[illustration: "'don't you know any better than to come in here?' demanded the prince"] truxton king a story _of_ graustark by george barr mccutcheon author of "graustark" "beverly of graustark" etc. with illustrations by harrison fisher new york dodd, mead & company contents chapter page i truxton king ii a meeting of the cabinet iii many persons in review iv truxton trespasses v the committee of ten vi ingomede the beautiful vii at the witch's hut viii looking for an eye ix strange disappearances x the iron count xi under the ground xii a new prisoner arrives xiii a divinity shapes xiv on the river xv the girl in the red cloak xvi the merry vagabond xvii the throwing of the bomb xviii truxton on parade xix truxton exacts a promise xx by the water-gate xxi the return xxii the last stand xxiii "you will be mrs. king" illustrations "'don't you know any better than to come in here?' demanded the prince" (page ) _frontispiece_ "'you are the only man to whom i feel sure that i can reveal myself and be quite understood'" _facing page_ "'bobby! don't be foolish. how could i be in love with _him_?'" "'his majesty appears to have--ahem--gone to sleep,' remarked the grand duke tartly" truxton king a story of graustark chapter i truxton king he was a tall, rawboned, rangy young fellow with a face so tanned by wind and sun you had the impression that his skin would feel like leather if you could affect the impertinence to test it by the sense of touch. not that you would like to encourage this bit of impudence after a look into his devil-may-care eyes; but you might easily imagine something much stronger than brown wrapping paper and not quite so passive as burnt clay. his clothes fit him loosely and yet were graciously devoid of the bagginess which characterises the appearance of extremely young men whose frames are not fully set and whose joints are still parading through the last stages of college development. this fellow, you could tell by looking at him, had been out of college from two to five years; you could also tell, beyond doubt or contradiction, that he had been in college for his full allotted time and had not escaped the usual number of "conditions" that dismay but do not discourage the happy-go-lucky undergraduate who makes two or three teams with comparative ease, but who has a great deal of difficulty with physics or whatever else he actually is supposed to acquire between the close of the football season and the opening of baseball practice. this tall young man in the panama hat and grey flannels was truxton king, embryo globe-trotter and searcher after the treasures of romance. somewhere up near central park, in one of the fashionable cross streets, was the home of his father and his father's father before him: a home which truxton had not seen in two years or more. it is worthy of passing notice, and that is all, that his father was a manufacturer; more than that, he was something of a power in the financial world. his mother was not strictly a social queen in the great metropolis, but she was what we might safely call one of the first "ladies in waiting." which is quite good enough for the wife of a manufacturer; especially when one records that her husband was a manufacturer of steel. it is also a matter of no little consequence that truxton's mother was more or less averse to the steel business as a heritage for her son. be it understood, here and now, that she intended truxton for the diplomatic service: as far removed from sordid steel as the new york post office is from the court of st. james. but neither truxton's father, who wanted him to be a manufacturing croesus, or truxton's mother, who expected him to become a social solomon, appears to have taken the young man's private inclinations into consideration. truxton preferred a life of adventure distinctly separated from steel and velvet; nor was he slow to set his esteemed parents straight in this respect. he had made up his mind to travel, to see the world, to be a part of the big round globe on which we, as ordinary individuals with no personality beyond the next block, are content to sit and encourage the single ambition to go to europe at least once, so that we may not be left out of the general conversation. young mr. king believed in romance. he had believed in santa claus and the fairies, and he grew up with an ever increasing bump of imagination, contiguous to which, strange to relate, there was a properly developed bump of industry and application. hence, it is not surprising that he was willing to go far afield in search of the things that seemed more or less worth while to a young gentleman who had suffered the ill-fortune to be born in the nineteenth century instead of the seventeenth. romance and adventure, politely amorous but vigorously attractive, came up to him from the seventeenth century, perhaps through the blood of some swash-buckling ancestor, and he was held enthralled by the possibilities that lay hidden in some far off or even nearby corner of this hopelessly unromantic world of the twentieth century. to be sure there was war, but war isn't romance. besides, he was too young to fight against spain; and, later on, he happened to be more interested in football than he was in the japs or the russians. the only thing left for him to do was to set forth in quest of adventure; adventure was not likely to apply to him in fifth avenue or at the factory or--still, there was a certain kind of adventure analogous to broadway, after all. he thought it over and, after trying it for a year or two, decided that broadway and the tenderloin did not produce the sort of romance he could cherish for long as a self-respecting hero, so he put certain small temptations aside, chastened himself as well as he could, and set out for less amiable but more productive by-ways in other sections of the globe. we come upon him at last--luckily for us we were not actually following him--after two years of wonderful but rather disillusioning adventure in mid-asia and all africa. he had seen the congo and the euphrates, the ganges and the nile, the yang-tse-kiang and the yenisei; he had climbed mountains in abyssinia, in siam, in thibet and afghanistan; he had shot big game in more than one jungle, and had been shot at by small brown men in more than one forest, to say nothing of the little encounters he had had in most un-occidental towns and cities. he had seen women in morocco and egypt and persia and--but it is a waste of time to enumerate. strange to say, he was now drifting back toward the civilisation which we are pleased to call our own, with a sense of genuine disappointment in his heart. he had found no sign of romance. adventure in plenty, but romance--ah, the fairy princesses were in the story books, after all. here he was, twenty-six years old, strong and full of the fire of life, convincing himself that there was nothing for him to do but to drift back to dear old new york and talk to his father about going into the offices; to let his mother tell him over and over again of the nice girls she knew who did not have to be rescued from ogres and all that sort of thing in order to settle down to domestic obsolescence; to tell his sister and all of their mutual friends the whole truth and nothing but the truth concerning his adventures in the wilds, and to feel that the friends, at least, were predestined to look upon him as a fearless liar, nothing more. for twenty days he had travelled by caravan across the persian uplands, through herat, and meshed and bokhara, striking off with his guide alone toward the sea of aral and the eastern shores of the caspian, thence through the ural foothills to the old roman highway that led down into the sweet green valleys of a land he had thought of as nothing more than the creation of a hairbrained fictionist. somewhere out in the shimmering east he had learned, to his honest amazement, that there was such a land as graustark. at first he would not believe. but the english bank in meshed assured him that he would come to it if he travelled long enough and far enough into the north and west and if he were not afraid of the hardships that most men abhor. the dying spirit of romance flamed up in his heart; his blood grew quick again and eager. he would not go home until he had sought out this land of fair women and sweet tradition. and so he traversed the wild and dangerous tartar roads for days and days, like the knights of scheherazade in the times of old, and came at last to the gates of edelweiss. not until he sat down to a rare dinner in the historic hotel regengetz was he able to realise that he was truly in that fabled, mythical land of graustark, quaint, grim little principality in the most secret pocket of the earth's great mantle. this was the land of his dreams, the land of his fancy; he had not even dared to hope that it actually existed. and now, here he was, pinching himself to prove that he was awake, stretching his world-worn bones under a dainty table to which real food was being brought by--well, he was obliged to pinch himself again. from the broad terrace after dinner he looked out into the streets of the quaint, picture-book town with its mediæval simplicity and ruggedness combined; his eyes tried to keep pace with the things that his fertile brain was seeing beyond the glimmering lights and dancing window panes--for the whole scene danced before him with a persistent unreality that made him feel his own pulse in the fear that some sudden, insidious fever had seized upon him. if any one had told him, six months before, that there was such a land as graustark and that if he could but keep on travelling in a certain direction he would come to it in time, he would have laughed that person to scorn, no matter how precise a geographer he might have been. young mr. king, notwithstanding his naturally reckless devotion to first impressions, was a much wiser person than when he left his new york home two years before. roughing it in the wildest parts of the world had taught him that eagerness is the enemy of common sense. therefore he curbed the thrilling impulse to fare forth in search of diversion on this first night; he conquered himself and went to bed early--and to sleep at once, if that may serve to assist you in getting an idea of what time and circumstances had done for his character. a certain hard-earned philosophy had convinced him long ago that adventure is quite content to wait over from day to day, but that when a man is tired and worn it isn't quite sensible to expect sleep to be put off regardless. with a fine sense of sacrifice, therefore, he went to bed, forsaking the desire to tread the dim streets of a city by night in advance of a more cautious survey by daylight. he had come to know that it is best to make sure of your ground, in a measure, at least, before taking too much for granted--to look before you leap, so to speak. and so, his mind tingling with visions of fair ladies and goodly opportunities, he went to sleep--and did not get up to breakfast until noon the next day. and now it becomes my deplorable duty to divulge the fact that truxton king, after two full days and nights in the city of edelweiss, was quite ready to pass on to other fields, completely disillusionised in his own mind, and not a little disgusted with himself for having gone to the trouble to visit the place. to his intense chagrin, he had found the quaint old city very tiresome. true, it was a wonderful old town, rich in tradition, picturesque in character, hoary with age, bulging with the secrets of an active past; but at present, according to the well travelled truxton, it was a poky old place about which historians either had lied gloriously or had been taken in shamelessly. in either case, edelweiss was not what he had come to believe it would be. he had travelled overland for nearly a month, out of the heart of asia, to find himself, after all, in a graveyard of great expectations! he had explored edelweiss, the capital. he had ridden about the ramparts; he had taken snapshots of the fortress down the river and had not been molested; he had gone mule-back up the mountain to the snowcapped monastery of st. valentine, overtopping and overlooking the green valleys below; he had seen the tower in which illustrious prisoners were reported to have been held; he had ridden over the king's road to ganlook and had stood on american bridges at midnight--all the while wondering why he was there. moreover, he had traversed the narrow, winding streets of the city by day and night; never, in all his travels, had he encountered a more peaceful, less spirit-stirring place or populace. everybody was busy, and thrifty, and law abiding. he might just as well have gone to prague or nuremburg; either was as old and as quaint and as stupid as this lukewarm city in the hills. where were the beautiful women he had read about and dreamed of ever since he left teheran? on his soul, he had not seen half a dozen women in edelweiss who were more than passably fair to look upon. true, he had to admit, the people he had seen were of the lower and middle classes--the shopkeepers and the shopgirls, the hucksters and the fruit vendors. what he wanted to know was this: what had become of the royalty and the nobility of graustark? where were the princes, the dukes and the barons, to say nothing of the feminine concomitants to these excellent gentlemen? what irritated him most of all was the amazing discovery that there was a cook's tourist office in town and that no end of parties arrived and departed under his very nose, all mildly exhilarated over the fact that they had seen graustark! the interpreter, with "cook's" on his cap, was quite the most important, if quite the least impressive personage in town. it is no wonder that this experienced globe-trotter was disgusted! there was a train to vienna three times a week. he made up his mind that he would not let the saturday express go down without him. he had done some emphatic sputtering because he had neglected to take the one on thursday. shunning the newly discovered american club in castle avenue as if it were a pest house, he lugubriously wandered the streets alone, painfully conscious that the citizens, instead of staring at him with admiring eyes, were taking but little notice of him. tall young americans were quite common in edelweiss in these days. one dingy little shop in the square interested him. it was directly opposite the royal café (with american bar attached), and the contents of its grimy little windows presented a peculiarly fascinating interest to him. time and again, he crossed over from the café garden to look into these windows. they were packed with weapons and firearms of such ancient design that he wondered what they could have been used for, even in the middle ages. once he ventured inside the little shop. finding no attendant, he put aside his suddenly formed impulse to purchase a mighty broadsword. from somewhere in the rear of the building came the clanging of steel hammers, the ringing of highly tempered metals; but, although he pounded vigorously with his cane, no one came forth to attend him. on several occasions he had seen a grim, sharp-featured old man in the doorway of the shop, but it was not until after he had missed the thursday train that he made up his mind to accost him and to have the broadsword at any price. with this object in view, he quickly crossed the square and inserted his tall frame into the narrow doorway, calling out lustily for attention. so loudly did he shout that the multitude of ancient swords and guns along the walls seemed to rattle in terror at this sudden encroachment of the present. "what is it?" demanded a sharp, angry voice at his elbow. he wheeled and found himself looking into the wizened, parchment-like face of the little old man, whose black eyes snapped viciously. "do you think i am deaf?" "i didn't know you were here," gasped truxton, forgetting to be surprised by the other's english. "the place looked empty. excuse me for yelling." "what do you want?" "that broad--say, you speak english, don't you?" "certainly," snapped the old man. "why shouldn't i? i can't afford an interpreter. you'll find plenty of english used here in edelweiss since the americans and british came. they won't learn our language, so we must learn theirs." "you speak it quite as well as i do." "better, young man. you are an american." the sarcasm was not lost on truxton king, but he was not inclined to resent it. a twinkle had come into the eyes of the ancient; the deep lines about his lips seemed almost ready to crack into a smile. "what's the price of that old sword you have in the window?" "do you wish to purchase it?" "certainly." "three hundred gavvos." "what's that in dollars?" "four hundred and twenty." "whew!" "it is genuine, sir, and three hundred years old. old prince boris carried it. it's most rare. ten years ago you might have had it for fifty gavvos. but," with a shrug of his thin shoulders, "the price of antiquities has gone up materially since the americans began to come. they don't want a thing if it is cheap." "i'll give you a hundred dollars for it, mr.--er--" he looked at the sign on the open door--"mr. spantz." "good day, sir." the old man was bowing him out of the shop. king was amused. "let's talk it over. what's the least you'll take in real money?" "i don't want your money. good day." truxton king felt his chin in perplexity. in all his travels he had found no other merchant whom he could not "beat down" two or three hundred per cent. on an article. "it's too much. i can't afford it," he said, disappointment in his eyes. "i have modern blades of my own make, sir, much cheaper and quite as good," ventured the excellent mr. spantz. "you make 'em?" in surprise. the old man straightened his bent figure with sudden pride. "i am armourer to the crown, sir. my blades are used by the nobility--not by the army, i am happy to say. spantz repairs the swords and guns for the army, but he welds only for the gentlemen at court." "i see. tradition, i suppose." "my great-grandfather wrought blades for the princes a hundred years ago. my son will make them after i am gone, and his son after him. i, sir, have made the wonderful blade with the golden hilt and scabbard which the little prince carries on days of state. it was two years in the making. there is no other blade so fine. it is so short that you would laugh at it as a weapon, and yet you could bend it double. ah, there was a splendid piece of work, sir. you should see the little toy to appreciate it. there are diamonds and rubies worth , gavvos set in the handle. ah, it is--" truxton's eyes were sparkling once more. somehow he was amused by the sudden garrulousness of the old armourer. he held up his hand to check the flow of words. "i say, herr spantz, or monsieur, perhaps, you are the first man i've met who has volunteered to go into rhapsodies for my benefit. i'd like to have a good long chat with you. what do you say to a mug of that excellent beer over in the café garden? business seems to be a little dull. can't you--er--lock up?" spantz looked at him keenly under his bushy brows, his little black eyes fairly boring holes into king's brain, so to speak. "may i ask what brings you to edelweiss?" he asked abruptly. "i don't mind telling you, mr. spantz, that i'm here because i'm somewhat of a fool. false hopes led me astray. i thought graustark was the home, the genesis of romance, and i'm more or less like that chap we've read about, who was always in search of adventure. somehow, graustark hasn't come up to expectations. up to date, this is the slowest burg i've ever seen. i'm leaving next saturday for vienna." "i see," cackled spantz, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "you thought you could capture wild and beautiful princesses here just as you pleased, eh? let me tell you, young man, only one american--only one foreigner, in fact--has accomplished that miracle. mr. lorry came here ten years ago and won the fairest flower graustark ever produced-the beautiful yetive--but he was the only one. i suppose you are surprised to find graustark a solid, prosperous, god-fearing little country, whose people are wise and happy and loyal. you have learned, by this time, that we have no princesses for you to protect. it isn't as it was when mr. lorry came and found her serene highness in mediæval difficulties. there is a prince on the throne to-day--you've seen him?" "no. i'm not looking for princes. i've seen hundreds of 'em in all parts of the world." "well, you should see prince robin before you scoff. he's the most wonderful little man in all the world." "i've heard of nothing but him, my good mr. spantz. he's seven years old and he looks like his mother and he's got a jewelled sword and all that sort of thing. i daresay he's a nice little chap. got american blood in him, you see." "do not let any one hear you laugh about him, sir. the people worship him. if you laugh too publicly, you may have your hands full of adventures in a very few minutes--and your body full of fine steel blades. we are very proud of our prince." "i beg your pardon, mr. spantz. i didn't mean _lesé majesté_. i'm bored, that's all. you wouldn't blame me for being sore if you'd come as far as i have and got as little for your pains. why, hang it all, this morning that confounded man from cook's had a party of twenty-two american school-teachers and bible students in the castle grounds and i had to stand on my toes outside the walls for two hours before i could get a permit to enter. american engineers are building the new railroad; american capital controls the telephone and electric light companies; there are two american moving picture shows in regengetz circus and an american rush hand laundry two blocks up. and you can get bourbon whisky anywhere. it's sickening." "the americans have done much for edelweiss, sir. we don't resent their progressiveness. they have given us modern improvements without overthrowing ancient customs. my dear young sir, we are very old here--and very honest. that reminds me that i should accept your kind invitation to the café garden. if you will bear with me for just one moment, sir." with this polite request, the old man retired to the rear of the shop and called out to some one upstairs. a woman's voice answered. the brief conversation which followed was in a tongue unknown to king. "my niece will keep shop, sir, while i am out," spantz explained, taking his hat from a peg behind the door. truxton could scarcely restrain a smile as he glanced over his queer little old guest. he looked eighty but was as sprightly as a man of forty. a fine companion for a youth of twenty-six in search of adventure! they paused near the door until the old man's niece appeared at the back of the shop. king's first glance at the girl was merely a casual one. his second was more or less in the nature of a stare of amazement. a young woman of the most astounding beauty, attired in the black and red of the graustark middle classes, was slowly approaching from the shadowy recesses at the end of the shop. she gave him but a cursory glance, in which no interest was apparent, and glided quietly into the little nook behind the counter, almost at his elbow. his heart enjoyed a lively thump. here was the first noticeably good-looking woman he had seen in edelweiss, and, by the powers, she was a sword-maker's niece! the old man looked sharply at him for an instant, and a quick little smile writhed in and out among the mass of wrinkles. instead of passing directly out of the shop, spantz stopped a moment to give the girl some suddenly recalled instruction. truxton king, you may be sure, did not precede the old man into the street. he deliberately removed his hat and waited most politely for age to go before youth, in the meantime blandly gazing upon the face of this amazing niece. across the square, at one of the tables, he awaited his chance and a plausible excuse for questioning the old man without giving offence. somewhere back in his impressionable brain there was growing a distinct hope that this beautiful young creature with the dreamy eyes was something more than a mere shopgirl. it had occurred to him in that one brief moment of contact that she had the air, the poise of a true aristocrat. the old man, over his huge mug of beer, was properly grateful. he was willing to repay king for his little attention by giving him a careful history of graustark, past, present and future, from the time of tartar rule to the time of the so-called "american invasion." ills glowing description of the little prince might have interested truxton in his lord fauntleroy days, but just at present he was more happily engaged in speculating on the true identify of the girl in the gun-shop. he recalled the fact that a former royal princess of graustark had gone sight-seeing over the world, incognita, as a miss guggenslocker, and had been romantically snatched up by a lucky american named lorry. what if this girl in the gun-shop should turn out to be a--well, he could hardly hope for a princess; but she might be a countess. the old mart was rambling on. "the young prince has lived most of his life in washington and london and paris, sir. he's only seven, sir. of course, you remember the dreadful accident that made him an orphan and put him on the throne with the three 'wise men of the east' as regents or governors. the train wreck near brussels, sir? his mother, the glorious princess yetive, was killed and his father, mr. lorry, died the next day from his injuries. that, sir, was a most appalling blow to the people of graustark. we loved the princess and we admired her fine american husband. there never will be another pair like them, sir. and to think of them being destroyed as they were--in the most dreadful way, sir. their coach was demolished, you remember. i--i will not go into the details. you know them, of course. god alone preserved the little prince. he was travelling with them, on the way from london to edelweiss. by some strange intervention of providence he had gone with his governess and other members of the party to the luggage van in the fore part of the train, which had stopped on a side track below the station. the collision was from the rear, a broken rail throwing a locomotive into the princess's coach. this providential escape of the young prince preserved the unbroken line of the present royal family. if he had been killed, the dynasty would have come to an end, and, i am telling no secret, sir, when i say that a new form of government would have followed." "what sort of government?" "a more modern system, sir. perhaps socialistic. i can't say. at all events, a new dynasty could not have been formed. the people would have rejected it. but prince robin was spared and, if i do say it, sir, he is the manliest little prince in all the world. you should see him ride and fence and shoot--and he is but seven!" "i say, mr. spantz, i don't believe i've told you that your niece is a most remarkably beau--" "as i was saying, sir," interrupted spantz, so pointedly that truxton flushed, "the little prince is the idol of all the people. under the present regency he is obliged to reside in the principality until his fifteenth year, after which he may be permitted to travel abroad. graustark intends to preserve him to herself if it is in her power to do so. woe betide the man who thinks or does ill toward little prince robin." king was suddenly conscious of a strange intentness of gaze on the old man's part. a peculiar, indescribable chill swept over him; he had a distinct, vivid impression that some subtle power was exercising itself upon him--a power that, for the briefest instant, held him in a grip of iron. what it was, he could not have told; it passed almost immediately. something in the old man's eyes, perhaps--or was it something in the queer smile that flickered about his lips? "my dear mr. spantz," he hastened to say, as if a defence were necessary, "please don't get it into your head that i'm thinking ill of the prince. i daresay he's a fine little chap and i'm sorry he's--er--lost his parents." spantz laughed, a soft, mirthless gurgle that caused truxton to wonder why he had made the effort at all. "i imagine his serene highness has little to fear from any american," he said quietly. "he has been taught to love and respect the men of his father's land. he loves america quite as dearly as he loves graustark." despite the seeming sincerity of the remark, truxton was vaguely conscious that a peculiar harshness had crept into the other's voice. he glanced sharply at the old man's face. for the first time he noticed something sinister--yes, evil--in the leathery countenance; a stealthiness in the hard smile that seemed to transform it at once into a pronounced leer. like a flash there darted into the american's active brain a conviction that there could be no common relationship between this flinty old man and the delicate, refined girl he had seen in the shop. now he recalled the fact that her dark eyes had a look of sadness and dejection in their depths, and that her face was peculiarly white and unsmiling. spantz was eyeing him narrowly. "you do not appear interested in our royal family," he ventured coldly. truxton hastened to assure him that he was keenly interested. especially so, now that i appreciate that the little prince is the last of his race." "there are three regents, sir, in charge of the affairs of state--count halfont, the duke of perse and baron jasto dangloss, who is minister of police. count halfont is a granduncle of the prince, by marriage. the duke of perse is the father of the unhappy countess ingomede, the young and beautiful wife of the exiled "iron count" marlanx. no doubt you've heard of him." "i've read something about him. sort of a gay old bounder, wasn't he? seems to me i recall the stories that were printed about him a few years ago. i remember that he was banished from the principality and his estates seized by the crown." "quite true, sir. he was banished in and now resides on his estates in austria. three years ago, in buda pesth, he was married to ingomede, the daughter of the duke. count marlanx has great influence at the austrian court. despite the fact that he is a despised and discredited man in his own country, he still is a power among people high in the government of more than one empire. the duke of perse realised this when he compelled his daughter to accept him as her husband. the fair ingomede is less than twenty-five years of age; the iron count is fully sixty-five." "she ought to be rescued," was king's only comment, but there was no mistaking the gleam of interest in his steady grey eyes. "rescued?" repeated the old man, with a broad grin. "and why? she is mistress of one of the finest old castles in austria, schloss marlanx, and she is quite beautiful enough to have lovers by the score when the count grows a little blinder and less jealous. she is in edelweiss at present, visiting her father. the count never comes here." "i'd like to see her if she's really beautiful. i've seen but one pretty woman in this whole blamed town--your niece, herr spantz. i've looked 'em over pretty carefully, too. she is exceedingly attract--" "pardon me, sir, but it is not the custom in graustark to discuss our women in the public drinking places." king felt as if he had received a slap in the face. he turned a fiery red under his tan and mumbled some sort of an apology. "the countess is a public personage, however, and we may speak of her," went on the old man quickly, as the american, in his confusion, called a waiter to replenish the tankards. the steely glitter that leaped into the armourer's eyes at this second reference to his niece disappeared as quickly as it came; somehow it left behind the impression that he knew how to wield the deadly blades he wrought. "i'd like to hear more about her," murmured mr. king. "anything to pass the time away, mr. spantz. as i said before, i journeyed far to reach this land of fair women and if there's one to be seen, i'm properly eager to jump at the chance. i've been here two days and i've seen nothing that could start up the faintest flutter around my heart. i'm sorry to say, my good friend, that the women i've seen in the streets of edelweiss are not beauties. i won't say that they'd stop a clock, but they'd cause it to lose two or three hours a day, all right enough." "you will not find the beautiful women of edelweiss in the streets, sir." "don't they ever go out shopping?" "hardly. the merchants, if you will but notice, carry their wares to the houses of the noble and the rich. graustark ladies of quality would no more think of setting foot in a shop or bazaar than they would think of entering a third class carriage. believe me, there are many beautiful women in the homes along castle avenue. noblemen come hundreds of miles to pay court to them." "just the same, i'm disgusted with the place. it's not what it's cracked up to be. saturday will see me on my way." "to-morrow the garrison at the fortress marches in review before the prince. if you should happen to be on the avenue near the castle gate at twelve o'clock, you will see the beauty and chivalry of graustark. the soldiers are not the only ones who are on parade." there was an unmistakable sneer in his tone. "you don't care much for society, i'd say," observed truxton, with a smile. spantz's eyes flamed for an instant and then subtly resumed their most ingratiating twinkle. "we cannot all be peacocks," he said quietly. "you will see the prince, his court and all the distinguished men of the city and the army. you will also see that the man who rides beside the prince's carriage wheel is an american, while graustark nobles take less exalted places." "an american, eh?" "yes. have you not heard of john tullis, the prince's friend?" "another seven-year-old?" "not at all. a grown man, sir. he, your countryman, is the real power behind our throne. on his deathbed, the prince's father placed his son in this american's charge and begged him to stand by him through thick and thin until the lad is able to take care of himself. as if there were not loyal men in graustark who might have done as much for their prince!" king looked interested. "i see. the people, no doubt, resent this espionage. is that it?" spantz gave him a withering look, as much as to say that he was a fool to ask such a question in a place so public. without replying, he got to his feet and made ready to leave the little garden. "i must return. i have been away too long. thank you, sir, for your kindness to an old man. good day, sir, and--" "hold on! i think i'll walk over with you and have another look at that broadsword. i'm--" "to-morrow, sir. it is past time to close the shop for to-day. come to-morrow. good day." he was crossing the sidewalk nimbly before king could offer a word of remonstrance. with a disappointed sigh, the american sank back in his chair, and watched his odd companion scurry across the square. suddenly he became conscious of a disquieting feeling that some one was looking at him intently from behind. he turned in his chair and found himself meeting the gaze of a ferocious looking, military appearing little man at a table near by. to his surprise, the little man's fierce stare maintained its peculiarly personal intentness until he, himself, was compelled to withdraw his own gaze in some little confusion and displeasure. his waiter appeared at his elbow with the change. "who the devil is that old man at the table there?" demanded young mr. king loudly. the waiter assumed a look of extreme insolence. "that is baron dangloss, minister of police. anything more, sir?" "yes. what's he looking so hard at me for? does he think i'm a pickpocket?" "you know as much as i, sir," was all that the waiter said in reply. king pocketed the coin he had intended for the fellow, and deliberately left the place. he could not put off the feeling, however, that the intense stare of baron dangloss, the watch-dog of the land, followed him until the corner of the wall intervened. the now incensed american glanced involuntarily across the square in the direction of spantz's shop. he saw three mounted soldiers ride up to the curb and hail the armourer as he started to close his doors. as he sauntered across the little square his gaze suddenly shifted to a second-story window above the gun-shop. the interesting young woman had cautiously pushed open one of the shutters and was peering down upon the trio of red-coated guardsmen. almost at the same instant her quick, eager gaze fell upon the tall american, now quite close to the horsemen. he saw her dark eyes expand as if with surprise. the next instant he caught his breath and almost stopped in his tracks. a shy, impulsive smile played about her red lips for a second, lighting up the delicate face with a radiance that amazed him. then the shutter was closed gently, quickly. his first feeling of elation was followed instantly by the disquieting impression that it was a mocking smile of amusement and not one of inviting friendliness. he felt his ears burn as he abruptly turned off to the right, for, somehow, he knew that she was peeping at him through the blinds and that something about his tall, rangy figure was appealing to her sense of the ridiculous. you will see at once that truxton king, imaginative chap that he was, had pounced upon this slim, attractive young woman as the only plausible heroine for his prospective romance, and, as such, she could not be guilty of forwardness or lack or dignity. besides, first impressions are always good ones: she had struck him at the outset as being a girl of rare delicacy and refinement. in the meantime, baron dangloss was watching him covertly from the edge of the café garden across the square. chapter ii a meeting of the cabinet at this time, the principality of graustark was in a most prosperous condition. its affairs were under the control of an able ministry, headed by the venerable count halfont. the duke of perse, for years a resident of st. petersburg, and a financier of high standing, had returned to edelweiss soon after the distressing death of the late princess yetive and her american husband, and to him was entrusted the treasury portfolio. he at once proceeded to endear himself to the common people by the advocacy of a lower rate of taxation; this meant the reduction of the standing army. he secured new and advantageous treaties with old and historic foes, putting graustark's financial credit upon a high footing in the european capitals. the people smugly regarded themselves as safe in the hands of the miserly but honest old financier. if he accomplished many things by way of office to enhance his own particular fortune, no one looked askance, for he made no effort to blind or deceive his people. of his honesty there could be no question; of his financial operations, it is enough to say that the people were satisfied to have their affairs linked with his. the financing of the great railroad project by which edelweiss was to be connected with the siberian line in the north, fell to his lot at a time when no one else could have saved the little government from heavy losses or even bankruptcy. the new line traversed the country from serros, capital of dawsbergen, through the mountains and canyons of graustark, across axphain's broad steppes and lowlands, to a point at which russia stood ready to begin a connecting branch for junction with her great line to the pacific. all told, it was a stupendous undertaking for a small government to finance; it is well known that graustark owns and controls her public utility institutions. the road, now about half completed, was to be nearly two hundred miles in length, fully two-thirds of which was on graustark territory. the preponderance of cost of construction fell upon that principality, dawsbergen and axphain escaping with comparatively small obligations owing to the fact that they had few mountains to contend with. as a matter of fact, the dawsbergen and axphain ends of the railroad were now virtually built and waiting for the completion of the extensive work in the graustark highlands. the opening of this narrative finds the ministry preparing to float a new five million gavvo issue of bonds for construction and equipment purposes. agents of the government were ready to depart for london and paris to take up the matter with the great banking houses. st. petersburg and berlin were not to be given the opportunity to gobble up these extremely fine securities. this seemingly extraordinary exclusion of russian and german bidders was the result of vigorous objections raised by an utter outsider, the american, john tullis, long time friend and companion of grenfall lorry, consort to the late princess. tullis was a strange man in many particulars. he was under forty years of age, but even at that rather immature time of life he had come to be recognised as a shrewd, successful financial power in his home city, new york. at the very zenith of his power he suddenly and with quixotic disregard for consequences gave up his own business and came to graustark for residence, following a promise made to grenfall lorry when the latter lay dying in a little inn near brussels. they had been lifelong friends. tullis jestingly called himself the little prince's "morganatic godfather." for two years he had been a constant resident of graustark, living contentedly, even indolently, in the picturesque old castle, his rooms just across the corridor from those occupied by the little prince. to this small but important bit of royalty he was "uncle jack"; in that capacity he was the most beloved and at the same time the most abused gentleman in all graustark. as many as ten times a week he was signally banished from the domain by the loving, headstrong little ruler, only to be recalled with grave dignity and a few tears when he went so far as to talk of packing his "duds" in obedience to the edict. john tullis, strong character though he was, found this lazy, _dolce far niente_ life much to his liking. he was devoted to the boy; he was interested in the life at this tiny court. the days of public and court mourning for the lamented princess and her husband wearing away after an established period, he found himself eagerly delving into the gaieties that followed. life at the castle and in the homes of the nobility provided a new and sharp contrast to the busy, sordid existence he had known at home. it was like a fine, wholesome, endless dream to him. he drifted on the joyous, smiling tide of pleasure that swept edelweiss with its careless waves night and day. clever, handsome, sincere in his attitude of loyalty toward these people of the topmost east, he was not long in becoming a popular idol. his wide-awake, resourceful brain, attuned by nature to the difficulties of administration, lent itself capably to the solving of many knotty financial puzzles; the ministry was never loth to call on him for advice and seldom disposed to disregard it. an outsider, he never offered a suggestion or plan unasked; to this single qualification he owed much of the popularity and esteem in which he was held by the classes and the masses. socially, he was a great favourite. he enjoyed the freedom of the most exclusive homes in edelweiss. he had enjoyed the distinction of more than one informal visit to old princess volga of axphain, just across the border, to say nothing of shooting expeditions with young prince dantan of dawsbergen, whose american wife, formerly miss calhoun of washington, was a friend of long standing. john tullis was, beyond question, the most conspicuous and the most admired man in edelweiss in these serene days of mentorship to the adored prince robin. there was but one man connected with the government to whom his popularity and his influence proved distasteful. that man was the duke of perse. on more than one occasion the cabinet had chosen to be guided by the sagacity of john tullis in preference to following the lines laid down by the astute minister of finance. the decision to offer the new bond issue in london and paris was due to the earnest, forceful argument of john tullis--outside the cabinet chamber, to be sure. this was but one instance in which the plan of the treasurer was overridden. he resented the plain though delicate influence of the former wall street man. tullis had made it plain to the ministry that graustark could not afford to place itself in debt to the russians, into whose hands, sooner or later, the destinies of the railroad might be expected to fall. the wise men of graustark saw his point without force of argument, and voted down, in the parliament, the duke's proposition to place the loan in st. petersburg and berlin. for this particular act of trespass upon the duke's official preserves he won the hatred of the worthy treasurer and his no inconsiderable following among the deputies. but john tullis was not in edelweiss for the purpose of meddling with state affairs. he was there because he elected to stand mentor to the son of his life-long friend, even though that son was a prince of the blood and controlled by the will of three regents chosen by his own subjects. he was there to watch over the doughty little chap, who one day would be ruler unrestrained, but who now was a boy to be loved and coddled and reprimanded in the general process of man-making. to say that the tiny prince loved his big, adoring mentor would be putting it too gently: he idolised him. tullis was father, mother and big brother to the little fellow in knickers. the american was a big, broad shouldered man, reddish haired and ruddy cheeked, with cool grey eyes; his sandy mustache was closely cropped and turned up ever so slightly at the corners of his mouth. despite his colouring, his face was somewhat sombre--even stern--when in repose. it was his fine, enveloping smile that made friends for him wherever he listed, with men and with women. more frequently than otherwise it made more than friends of the latter. one woman in graustark was the source of never-ending and constantly increasing interest to this stalwart companion to the prince. that woman was, alas! the wife of another man. moreover, she was the daughter of the duke of perse. the young and witty countess of marlanx came often to edelweiss. she was a favourite at the castle, notwithstanding the unhealthy record of her ancient and discredited husband, the iron count. tullis had not seen the count, but he had heard such tales of him that he could not but pity this glorious young creature who called him husband. there is an old saying about the kinship of pity. not that john tullis was actually in love with the charming countess. he was, to be perfectly candid, very much interested in her and very much distressed by the fact that she was bound to a venerable reprobate who dared not put his foot on graustark soil because once he had defiled it atrociously. but of the countess and her visits to edelweiss, more anon--with the indulgence of the reader. at present we are permitted to attend a meeting of the cabinet, which sits occasionally in solemn collectiveness just off the throne room within the tapestried walls of a dark little antechamber, known to the outside world as the "room of wrangles." it is ten o'clock of the morning on which the prince is to review the troops from the fortress. the question under discussion relates to the loan of , , gavvos, before mentioned. at the head of the long table, perched upon an augmentary pile of law books surmounted by a little red cushion, sits the prince, almost lost in the hugh old walnut chair of his forefathers. down the table sit the ten ministers of the departments of state, all of them loving the handsome little fellow on the necessary pile of statutes, but all of them more or less indifferent to his significant yawns and perplexed frowns. the prince was a sturdy, curly-haired lad, with big brown eyes and a lamentably noticeable scratch on his nose--acquired in less stately but more profitable pursuits. (it seems that he had peeled his nose while sliding to second base in a certain american game that he was teaching the juvenile aristocracy how to play.) his wavy hair was brown and rebellious. no end of royal nursing could keep it looking sleek and proper. he had the merit of being a very bad little boy at times; that is why he was loved by every one. although it was considered next to high treason to strike a prince of the royal blood, i could, if i had the space, recount the details of numerous fisticuffs behind the state stables in which, sad to relate, the prince just as often as not came off with a battered dignity and a chastened opinion of certain small fry who could not have been more than dukes or barons at best. but he took his defeats manfully: he did not whimper _lesé majesté_. john tullis, his "uncle jack," had proclaimed his scorn for a boy who could not "take his medicine." and so prince robin took it gracefully because he was prince. to-day he was--for him--rather oppressively dignified and imperial. he may have blinked his weary eyes a time or two, but in the main he was very attentive, very circumspect and very much puzzled. custom required that the ruling prince or princess should preside over the meetings of the cabinet. it is needless to observe that the present ruler's duty ended when he repeated (after count halfont): "my lords, we are now in session." the school-room, he confessed, was a "picnic" compared to the "room of wrangles": a fellow got a recess once in a while there, but here--well, the only recess he got was when he fell asleep. to-day he was determined to maintain a very dignified mien. it appears that at the last meeting he had created considerable havoc by upsetting the ink well while trying to fill his fountain pen without an injector. moreover, nearly half a pint of the fluid had splashed upon the duke of perse's trousers--and they were grey, at that. whereupon the duke announced in open conclave that his highness needed a rattling good spanking--a remark which distinctly hurt the young ruler's pride and made him wish that there had been enough ink to drown the duke instead of merely wetting him. about the table sat the three regents and the other men high in the administration of affairs, among them general braze of the army, baron pultz of the mines, roslon of agriculture. the duke of perse was discussing the great loan question. the prince was watching his gaunt, saturnine face with more than usual interest. "of course, it is not too late to rescind the order promulgated at our last sitting. there are five bankers in st. petersburg who will finance the loan without delay. we need not delay the interminable length of time necessary to secure the attention and co-operation of bankers in france and england. it is all nonsense to say that russia has sinister motives in the matter. it is a business proposition--not an affair of state. we need the money before the winter opens. the railroad is now within fifteen miles of edelweiss. the bridges and tunnels are well along toward completion. our funds are diminishing, simply because we have delayed so long in preparing for this loan. there has been too much bickering and too much inane politics. i still maintain that we have made a mistake in refusing to take up the matter with st. petersburg or berlin. why should we prefer england? why france?" for some unaccountable reason he struck the table violently with his fist and directed his glare upon the astonished prince. the explosive demand caught the ruler by surprise. he gasped and his lips fell apart. then it must have occurred to him that the question could be answered by no one save the person to whom it was so plainly addressed. he lifted his chin and piped up shrilly, and with a fervour that startled even the intense perse: "because uncle jack said we should, that's why." we have no record of what immediately followed this abrupt declaration; there are some things that never leak out, no matter how prying the chronicler may be. when one stops to consider that this was the first time a question had been put directly to the prince--and one that he could understand, at that--we may be inclined to overlook his reply, but we cannot answer for certain members of the cabinet. unconsciously, the boy in knickers had uttered a truth that no one else had dared to voice. john tullis _was_ the joint stepping-stone and stumbling-block in the deliberations of the cabinet. it goes without saying that the innocent rejoinder opened the way to an acrid discussion of john tullis. if that gentleman's ears burned in response to the sarcastic comments of the duke of perse and baron pultz, they probably tingled pleasantly as the result of the stout defence put up by halfont, dangloss and others. moreover, his most devoted friend, the prince, whose lips were sullenly closed after his unlucky maiden effort, was finding it exceedingly difficult to hold his tongue and his tears at the same time. the lad's lip trembled but his brown eyes glowered; he sat abashed and heard the no uncertain arraignment of his dearest friend, feeling all the while that the manly thing for him to do would be to go over and kick the duke of perse, miserably conscious that such an act was impossible. his little body trembled with childish rage; he never took his gaze from the face of the gaunt traducer. how he hated the duke of perse! the duke's impassioned plea was of no avail. his _confrères_ saw the wisdom of keeping russia's greedy hand out of the country's affairs--at least for the present--and reiterated their decision to seek the loans in england and france. the question, therefore, would not be taken to parliament for reconsideration. the duke sat down, pale in defeat; his heart was more bitter than ever against the shrewd american who had induced all these men to see through his eyes. "i suppose there is no use in kicking against the pricks," he said sourly as he resumed his seat. "i shall send our representatives to london and paris next month. i trust, my lords, that we may have no trouble in placing the loans there." there was a deep significance the dry tone which he assumed. "i do not apprehend trouble," said count halfont. "our credit is still good, your grace. russia is not the only country that is ready to trust us for a few millions. have no fear, your grace." "it is the delay that i am apprehensive of, your excellency." at this juncture the prince, gathering from the manner of his ministers that the question was settled to his liking, leaned forward and announced to his uncle, the premier: "i'm tired, uncle caspar. how much longer is it?" count halfont coughed. "ahem! just a few minutes, your highness. pray be patient--er--my little man." prince bobby flushed. he always knew that he was being patronised when any one addressed him as "my little man." "i have an engagement," he said, with a stiffening of his back. "indeed?" said the duke dryly. "yes, your grace--a very important one. of course, i'll stay if i have to, but--what time is it, uncle caspar?" "it is half past eleven, your highness." "goodness, i had a date for eleven. i mean a engagement--an engagement." he glanced helplessly, appealingly from count halfont to baron dangloss, his known allies. the duke of perse smiled grimly. in his most polite manner he arose to address the now harassed princeling, who shifted uneasily on the pile of law books. "may your most humble subject presume to inquire into the nature of your highness's engagement?" "you may, your grace," said the prince. the duke waited. a smile crept into the eyes of the others. "well, what is the engagement?" "i had a date to ride with uncle jack at eleven." "and you imagine that 'uncle jack' will be annoyed if he is kept waiting by such a trivial matter as a cabinet meeting, unfortunately prolonged?" "i don't know just what that means," murmured the prince. then his face brightened. "but i don't think he'll be sore after i tell him how busy we've been." the duke put his hand over his mouth. "i don't think he'll mind half an hour's wait, do you?" "he likes me to be very prompt." count halfont interposed, good-humouredly. "there is nothing more to come before us to-day, your grace, so i fancy we may as well close the meeting. to my mind, it is rather a silly custom which compels us to keep the prince with us--er--after the opening of the session. of course, your highness, we don't mean to say that you are not interested in our grave deliberations." prince bobby broke in eagerly: "uncle jack says i've just _got_ to be interested in 'em, whether i want to or not. he says it's the only way to catch onto things and become a regular prince. you see, uncle caspar, i've got a lot to learn." "yes, your highness, you have," solemnly admitted the premier. "but i am sure you _will_ learn." "under such an able instructor as uncle jack you may soon know more than the wisest man in the realm," added the duke of perse. "thank you, your grace," said the prince, so politely that the duke was confounded; "i know uncle jack will be glad to hear that. he's--he's afraid people may think he's butting in too much." "butting in?" gasped the premier. at this the duke of perse came to his feet again, an angry gleam in his eyes. "my lords," he began hastily, "it must certainly have occurred to you before this that our beloved prince's english, which seems after all to be his mother tongue, is not what it should be. butting in! yesterday i overheard him advising your son, pultz, to 'go chase' himself. and when your boy tried to chase himself--'pon my word, he did--what did our prince say? what _did_ you say, prince robin?" "i--i forget," stammered prince bobby. "you said 'mice!' or was it--er--" "no, your grace. rats. i remember. that's what i said. that's what all of us boys used to say in washington." "god deliver us! has it come to this, that a prince of graustark should grow up with such language on his lips? i fancy, my lords, you will all agree that something should be done about it. it is too serious a matter. we are all more or less responsible to the people he is to govern. we cannot, in justice to them, allow him to continue under the--er--influences that now seem to surround him. he'll--he'll grow up to be a barbarian. for heaven's sake, my lords, let us consider the prince's future--let us deal promptly with the situation." "what's he saying, uncle caspar?" whispered the prince fiercely. "sh!" cautioned count halfont. "i won't sh! i am the prince. and i'll say 'chase yourself' whenever i please. it's good english. i'll pronounce it for you in our own language, so's you can see how it works that way. it goes like--" "you need not illustrate, your highness," the premier hastened to say. turning to the duke, he said coldly: "i acknowledge the wisdom in your remarks, your grace, but--you will pardon me, i am sure--would it not be better to discuss the conditions privately among ourselves before taking them up officially?" "that confounded american has every one hypnotised," exploded the duke. "his influence over this boy is a menace to our country. he is making on oaf of him--a slangy, impudent little--" "your grace!" interrupted baron dangloss sharply. "uncle jack's all right," declared the prince, vaguely realising that a defence should be forthcoming. "he is, eh?" rasped the exasperated duke, mopping his brow. "he sure is," pronounced the prince with a finality that left no room for doubt. they say that fierce little baron dangloss, in striving to suppress a guffaw, choked so impressively that there was a momentary doubt as to his ever getting over it alive. "he is a mountebank--a meddler, that's what he is. the sooner we come to realise it, the better," exclaimed the over-heated duke. "he has greater influence over our beloved prince than any one else in the royal household. he has no business here--none whatsoever. his presence and his meddling is an affront to the intelligence of--" but the prince had slid down from his pile of books and planted himself beside him so suddenly that the bitter words died away on the old man's lips. robin's face was white with rage, his little fists were clenched in desperate anger, his voice was half choked with the tears of indignation. "you awful old man!" he cried, trembling all over, his eyes blazing. "don't you say anything against uncle jack. i'll--i'll banish you--yes, sir--banish you like my mother fired count marlanx out of the country. i won't let you come back here ever--never. and before you go i'll have uncle jack give you a good licking. oh, he can do it all right. i--i hate you!" the duke looked down in amazement into the flushed, writhing face of his little master. for a moment he was stunned by the vigorous outburst. then the hard lines in his face relaxed and a softer expression came into his eyes--there was something like pride in them, too. the duke, be it said, was an honest fighter and a loyal graustarkian; he loved his prince and, therefore, he gloried in his courage. his own smile of amusement, which broke in spite of his inordinate vanity, was the sign that brought relief to the hearts of his scandalised _confrères_. "your highness does well in defending a friend and counsellor," he said gently. "i am sorry to have forgotten myself in your presence. it shall not occur again. pray forgive me." prince bobby was still unappeased. "i _could_ have you beheaded," he said stubbornly. "couldn't i, uncle caspar?" count halfont gravely informed him that it was not customary to behead gentlemen except for the most heinous offences against the crown. the duke of perse suddenly bent forward and placed his bony hand upon the unshrinking shoulder of the prince, his eyes gleaming kindly, his voice strangely free from its usual harshness. "you are a splendid little man, prince robin," he said. "i glory in you. i shall not forget the lesson in loyalty that you have taught me." bobby's eyes filled with tears. the genuine humility of the hard old man touched his tempestuous little heart. "it's--it's all right, du--your grace. i'm sorry i spoke that way, too." baron dangloss twisted his imperial vigorously. "my lords, i suggest that we adjourn. the prince must have his ride and return in time for the review at one o'clock." as the prince strode soberly from the room of wrangles, every eye was upon his sturdy little back and there was a kindly light in each of them, bar none. the duke, following close behind with halfont, said quietly: "i love him, caspar. but i have no love for the man he loves so much better than he loves any of us. tullis is a meddler--but, for heaven's sake, my friend, don't let; bobby know that i have repeated myself." later on, the prince in his khaki riding suit loped gaily down the broad mountain road toward ganlook, beside the black mare which carried john tullis. behind them rode three picked troopers from the house guard. he had told tullis of his vainglorious defence in the antechamber. "and i told him, uncle jack, that you could lick him. you can, can't you?" the american's face was clouded for a second; then, to please the boy, a warm smile succeeded the frown. "why, bobby, you dear little beggar, he could thresh me with one hand." "what?" almost shrieked prince bobby, utterly dismayed. "he's a better swordsman than i, don't you see. gentlemen over here fight with swords. i know nothing about duelling. he'd get at me in two thrusts." "i--i think you'd better take some lessons from colonel quinnox. it won't do to be caught napping." "i daresay you're right." "say, uncle jack, when are you going to take me to the witch's hovel?" the new thought abruptly banished all else from his eager little brain. "some day, soon," said tullis. "you see, i'm not sure that she's receiving visitors these days. a witch is a very arbitrary person. even princes have to send up their cards." "let's telegraph her," in an inspired tone. "i'll arrange to go up with you very soon, bobby. it's a hard ride through the pass and--and there may be a lot of goblins up there where the old woman keeps herself." the witch's hovel was in the mountain across the most rugged of the canyons, and was to be reached only after the most hazardous of rides. the old woman of the hills was an ancient character about whom clung a thousand spookish traditions, but who, in the opinion of john tuilis, was nothing more than a wise fortune-teller and necromancer who knew every trick in the trade of hoodwinking the superstitious. he had seen her and he had been properly impressed. somehow, he did not like the thought of taking the prince to the cabin among the mists and crags. "they say she eats boys, now and then," he added, as if suddenly remembering it. "gee! do you suppose we could get there some day when she's eating one?" as they rode back to the castle after an hour, coming down through castle avenue from the monastery road, they passed a tall, bronzed young man whom tullis at once knew to be an american. he was seated on a big boulder at the roadside, enjoying the shade, and was evidently on his way by foot to the castle gates to watch the _beau monde_ assembling for the review. at his side was the fussy, well-known figure of cook's interpreter, eagerly pointing out certain important personages to bun as they passed. of course, the approach of the prince was the excuse for considerable agitation and fervour on the part of the man from cook's. he mounted the boulder and took off his cap to wave it frantically. "it's the prince!" he called out to truxton king. "stand up! hurray! long live the prince!" tullis had already lifted his hand in salute to his countryman, and both had smiled the free, easy smile of men who know each other by instinct. the man from cook's came to grief. he slipped from his perch on the rock and came floundering to the ground below, considerably crushed in dignity, but quite intact in other respects. the spirited pony that the prince was riding shied and reared in quick affright. the boy dropped his crop and clung valiantly to the reins. a guardsman was at the pony's head in an instant, and there was no possible chance for disaster. truxton king unbent his long frame, picked up the riding crop with a deliberateness that astonished the man from cook's, strode out into the roadway and handed it up to the boy in the saddle. "thank you," said prince bobby. "don't mention it," said truxton king with his most engaging smile. "no trouble at all." chapter iii many persons in review truxton king witnessed the review of the garrison. that in itself was rather a tame exhibition for a man who had seen the finest troops in all the world. a thousand earnest looking soldiers, proud of the opportunity to march before the little prince--and that was all, so far as the review was concerned. but, alluringly provident to the welfare of this narrative, the red and black uniformed soldiers were not the only persons on review that balmy day in july. truxton king had his first glimpse of the nobility of graustark. he changed his mind about going to vienna on the saturday express. a goodly number of men before him had altered their humble plans for the same reason, i am reliably informed. mr. king saw the court in all its glory, scattered along the shady castle avenue--in carriages, in traps, in motors and in the saddle. his brain whirled and his heart leaped under the pressure of a new-found interest in life. the unexpected oasis loomed up before his eyes just as he was abandoning all hope in the unprofitable desert of romance. he saw green trees and sparkling rivulets, and he sighed with a new, strange content. no, on second thoughts, he would not go to vienna. he would stay in edelweiss. he was a disciple of micawber; and he was so much younger and fresher than that distinguished gentleman, that perhaps he was justified in believing that, in his case, something was bound to "turn up." if truxton king had given up in disgust and fled to vienna, this tale would never have come to light. instead of being the lively narrative of a young gentleman's adventures in far-away graustark, it might have become a tale of the smart set in new york--for, as you know, we are bound by tradition to follow the trail laid down by our hero, no matter which way he elects to fare. somewhat dismayed by his narrow escape, he confided to his friend from cook's that he could never have forgiven himself if he had adhered to his resolution to leave on the following day. "i didn't know you'd changed your mind, sir," remarked mr. hobbs in surprise. "of course you didn't know it," said truxton. "how could you? i've just changed it, this instant. i didn't know it myself two minutes ago. no, sir, hobbs--or is it dobbs? thanks--no, sir, i'm going to stop here for a--well, a week or two. where the dickens do these people keep themselves? i haven't seen 'em before." "oh, they are the nobility--the swells. they don't hang around the streets like tourists and rubbernecks, sir," in plain disgust. "i thought you were an englishman," observed king, with a quizzical smile. "i am, sir. i can't help saying rubbernecks, sir, though it's a shocking word. it's the only name for them, sir. that's what the little prince calls them, too. you see, it's one form of amusement they provide for him, and i am supposed to help it along as much as possible. mr. tullis takes him out in the avenue whenever i've got a party in hand. i telephone up to the castle that i've got a crowd and then i drive 'em out to the park here. the prince says he just loves to watch the rubbernecks go by. it's great fun, sir, for the little lad. he never misses a party, and you can believe it or not, he has told me so himself. yes, sir, the prince has had more than one word with me--from time to time." king looked at the little man's reddish face and saw therein the signs of exaltation indigenous to a land imperial. he hesitated for an instant and then remarked, with a mean impulse to spoil hobbs's glorification: "i have dined with the president of the united states." hobbs was politely unimpressed. "i've no doubt, sir," he said. "i daresay it was an excellent dinner." king blinked his eyes and then turned them upon the passing show. he was coming to understand the real difference between men. "i say, who is that just passing--the lady in the victoria?" he asked abruptly. "that is the countess marlanx." "whew! i thought she was the queen!" hobbs went into details concerning the beautiful countess. during the hour and a half of display he pointed out to king all of the great personages, giving a baedeker-like account of their doings from childhood up, quite satisfying that gentleman's curiosity and involving his cupidity at the same time. when, at last, the show was over, truxton and the voluble little interpreter, whom he had employed for the occasion, strolled leisurely back to the heart of the town. something had come over king, changing the quaint old city from a prosaic collection of shops and thoroughfares into a veritable playground for cinderellas and prince charmings. the women, to his startled imagination, had been suddenly transformed from lackadaisical drudges into radiant personages at whose feet it would be a pleasure to fall, in whose defence it would be divine to serve; the men were the cavaliers that had called to him from the pages of chivalrous tales, ever since the days of his childhood. here were knights and ladies such as he had dreamed of and despaired of ever seeing outside his dreams. hobbs was telling him how every one struggled to provide amusement for the little prince at whose court these almost mythological beings bent the knee. "every few days they have a royal troupe of acrobats in the castle grounds. next week tantora's big circus is to give a private performance for him. there are marionettes and punch and judy shows, and all the doings of the grand grignol are beautifully imitated. the royal band plays every afternoon, and at night some one tells him stories of the valorous men who occupied the throne before him. he rides, plays baseball and cricket, swims, goes shooting--and, you may take it from me, sir, he is already enjoying fencing lessons with colonel quinnox, chief of the castle guard. mr. tullis, the american, has charge of his--you might say, his education and entertainment. they want to make of him a very wonderful prince. so they are starting at the bottom. he's quite a wonderful little chap. what say, sir?" "i was just going to ask if you know anything about a young woman who occasionally tends shop for william spantz, the armourer." hobbs looked interested. "she's quite a beauty, sir, i give you my word." "i know that, hobbs. but who is she?" "i really can't say, sir. she's his niece, i've heard. been here a little over a month. i think she's from warsaw." "well, i'll say good-bye here. if you've nothing on for to-morrow we'll visit the castle grounds and--ahem!--take a look about the place. come to the hotel early. i'm going over to the gun-shop. so long!" as he crossed the square, his mind full of the beautiful women he had seen, he was saying to himself in a wild strain of exhilaration: "i'll bet my head that girl isn't the nobody she's setting herself up to be. she looks like these i've just seen. she's got the marks of a lady. you can't fool me. i'm going to find out who she is and--well, maybe it won't be so dull here, after all. it looks better every minute." he was whistling gaily as he entered the little shop, ready to give a cheery greeting to old spantz and to make him a temporising offer for the broadsword. but it was not spantz who stood behind the little counter. truxton flushed hotly and jerked off his hat. the girl smiled. "i beg pardon," he exclaimed. "i--i'm looking for mr. spantz--i--" "he is out. will you wait? he will return in a very few minutes." her voice was clear and low, her accent charming. the smile in her eyes somehow struck him as sad, even fleeting in its attempt at mirth. as she spoke, it disappeared altogether and an almost sombre expression came into her face. "thanks. i'll--wait," he said, suddenly embarrassed. she turned to the window, resuming the wistful, preoccupied gaze down the avenue. he made pretence of inspecting the wares on the opposite wall, but covertly watched her out of the corner of his eye. perhaps, calculated he, if she were attired in the gown of one of those fashionables she might rank with the noblest of them in beauty and delicacy. her dark little head was carried with all the serene pride of a lady of quality; her features were clear cut, mobile, and absolutely flawless. he was sure of that: his sly analysis was not as casual as one might suppose under the circumstances. as a matter of fact, he found himself having what he afterward called "a very good look at her." she seemed to have forgotten his presence. the longer he looked at the delicate profile, the more fully was he convinced that she was not all that she pretended. he experienced a thrill of hope. if she wasn't what she pretended to be, then surely she must be what he wanted her to be--a lady of quality. in that case there was a mystery. the thought restored his temerity. "beg pardon," he said, politely sauntering up to the little counter. he noted that she was taller than he had thought, and slender. she started and turned toward him with a quick, diffident smile, her dark eyes filling with an unspoken apology. "i wanted to have another look at the broadsword there. may i get it out of the window, or will you?" very quickly--he noticed that she went about it clumsily despite her supple gracefulness--she withdrew the heavy weapon from the window and laid it upon the counter. he was looking at her with a peculiar smile upon his lips. she flushed painfully. "i am not--not what you would call an expert," she said frankly. "you mean in handling broadswords," he said in his most suave manner. "it's a cunning little thing, isn't it?" he picked up the ponderous blade. "i don't wonder you nearly dropped it on your toes." "there must have been giants in those days," she said, a slight shudder passing over her. "whoppers," he agreed eagerly. "i've thought somewhat of buying the old thing. not to use, of course. i'm not a giant." "you're not a pigmy," she supplemented, her eyes sweeping his long figure comprehensively. "what's the price?" he asked, his courage faltering under the cool, impersonal gaze. "i do not know. my uncle has told you?" "i--i think he did. but i've got a wretched memory when it comes to broadswords." she laughed. "this is such a very old broadsword, too," she said. "it goes back beyond the memory of man." "how does it come that you don't know the price?" he asked, watching her narrowly. she met his inquiring look with perfect composure. "i am quite new at the trade. i hope you will excuse my ignorance. my uncle will be here in a moment." she was turning away with an air that convinced king of one thing: she was a person who, in no sense, had ever been called upon to serve others. "so i've heard," he observed. the bait took effect. she looked up quickly; he was confident that a startled expression flitted across her face. "you have heard? what have you heard of me?" she demanded. "that you are new at the business," he replied coolly. "you are a stranger in a strange land, so they say." "you have been making inquiries?" she asked, disdain succeeding dismay. "tentatively, that's all. ever since you peeked out of the window up there and laughed at me. i'm curious, you see." she stared at him in silent intensity for a moment. "that's why i laughed at you. you were _very_ curious." "am i so bad as all that?" he lamented. she ignored the question. "why should you be interested in me, sir?" mr. king was inspired to fabricate in the interest of psychical research. "because i have heard that you are not the niece of old man spantz." he watched intently to catch the effect of the declaration. she merely stared at him; there was not so much as the flutter of an eyelid. "you have heard nothing of the kind," she said coldly. "well, i'll confess i haven't," he admitted cheerfully. "i was experimenting. i'm an amateur sherlock holmes. it pleases me to deduce that you are not related to the armourer. you don't look the part." now she smiled divinely. "and why not, pray? his sister was my mother." "in order to establish a line on which to base my calculations, would you mind telling me who your father is?" he asked the question with his most appealing smile--a smile so frankly impudent that she could not resent it. "my mother's husband," she replied in the same spirit. "well, that is _quite_ a clue!" he exclaimed. "'pon my soul, i believe i'm on the right track. excuse me for continuing, but is he a count or a duke or just a--" "my father is dead," she interrupted, without taking her now serious gaze from his face. "i beg your pardon," he said at once. "i'm sorry if i've hurt you." "my mother is dead. now can you understand why i am living here with my uncle? even an amateur may rise to that. now, sir, do you expect to purchase the sword? if not, i shall replace it in the window." "that's what i came here for," said he, resenting her tone and the icy look she gave him. "i gathered that you came in the capacity of sherlock holmes--or something else." she added the last three words with unmistakable meaning. "you mean as a--" he hesitated, flushing. "you knew i was alone, sir." "by jove, you're wrong there. i give you my word, i didn't. if i'd known it, i'd surely have come in sooner. there, forgive me. i'm particularly light-headed and futile to-day, and i hope--beg pardon?" she was leaning toward him, her hands on the counter, a peculiar gleam in her dark eyes--which now, for the first time, struck him as rather more keen and penetrating than he had suspected before. "i simply want to tell you, mr. king, that unless you really expect to buy this sword it is not wise in you to make it an excuse for coming here." "my dear young lady, i--" "my uncle has a queer conception of the proprieties. he may think that you come to see me." a radiant smile leaped into her face, transforming its strange sombreness into absolutely impish mirth. "well, hang it all, he can't object to that, can he? besides, i never buy without haggling," he expostulated, suddenly exhilarated, he knew not why. "don't come in here unless you expect to buy," she said, serious in an instant. "it isn't the custom in edelweiss. young men may chat with shopgirls all the world over--but in edelweiss, no--unless they come to pay most honourable court to them. my uncle would not understand." "i take it, however, that you would understand," he said boldly. "i have lived in vienna, in paris and in london. but now i am living in edelweiss. i have not been a shopgirl always." "i can believe that. my deductions are justified." "pray forgive me for offering this bit of advice. a word to the wise. my uncle would close the door in your face if--if he thought--" "i see. well, i'll buy the blooming sword. anyhow, that's what i came in for." "no. you came in because i smiled at you from the window upstairs. it is my sitting-room." "why did you smile? tell me?" eagerly. "it was nature asserting itself." "you mean you just couldn't help it?" "that's precisely what i mean." "not very complimentary, i'd say." "a smile is ever a compliment, sir." "i say, do you know you interest me?" he began warmly, but she put her finger to her lips. "my uncle is returning. i must not talk to you any longer." she glanced uneasily out upon the square, and then hurriedly added, a certain wistfulness in her voice and eyes. "i couldn't help it to-day. i forgot my place. but you are the first gentleman i've spoken to since i came here." "i--i was afraid you might think i am not a gentleman. i've been rather fresh." "i happen to have known many gentlemen. before i went into--service, of course." she turned away abruptly, a sudden shadow crossing her face. truxton king exulted. at last he was touching the long-sought trail of the golden girl! here was romance! here was mystery! spantz was crossing the sidewalk. the american leaned forward and half-whispered: "just watch me buy that broadsword. i may, in time, buy out the shop, piece by piece." she smiled swiftly. "let me warn you: don't pay his price." "thanks." when spantz entered the door, a moment later, the girl was gazing listlessly from the window and truxton king was leaning against the counter with his back toward her, his arms folded and a most impatient frown on his face. "hello!" he said gruffly. "i've been waiting ten minutes for you." spantz's black eyes shot from one to the other. "what do you want?" he demanded sharply. as he dropped his hat upon a stool near, the door, his glance again darted from the man to the girl and back again. "the broadsword. and, say, mr. spantz, you might assume a different tone in addressing me. i'm a customer, not a beggar." the girl left the window and walked slowly to the rear of the shop, passing through the narrow door, without so much as a glance at king or the old man. spantz was silent until she was gone. "you want the broadsword, eh?" he asked, moderating his tone considerably. "it's a rare old--" "i'll give you a hundred dollars-not another cent," interrupted king, riot yet over his resentment. there followed a long and irritating argument, at the conclusion of which mr. king became the possessor of the weapon at his own price. remembering himself in time, he fell to admiring some old rings and bracelets in a cabinet near by, thus paving the way for future visits. "i'll come in again," he said indifferently. "but you are leaving to-morrow, sir." "i've changed my mind." "you are not going?" "not for a few days." "then you have discovered something in edelweiss to attract you?" grinned the old armourer. "i thought you might." "i've had a glimpse of the swells, my good friend." "it's all the good you'll get of it," said spantz gruffly. "i daresay you're right. clean that sword up a bit for me, and i'll drop in to-morrow and get it. here's sixty gavvos to bind the bargain. the rest on delivery. good day, mr. spantz." "good day, mr. king." "how do you happen to know my name?" spantz put his hand over his heart and delivered himself of a most impressive bow. "when so distinguished a visitor comes to our little city," he said, "we lose no time in discovering his name. it is a part of our trade, sir, believe me." "i'm not so sure that i do believe you," said truxton king to himself as he sauntered up the street toward the hotel. "the girl knew me, too, now that i come to think of it. heigho! by jove, i _do_ hope i can work up a little something to interest--hello!" mr. hobbs, from cook's, was at his elbow, his eyes glistening with eagerness. "i say, old dangloss is waiting for you at the regengetz, sir. wot's up? wot you been up to, sir?" "up to? up to, hobbs?" "my word, sir, you must have been or he wouldn't be there to see you." "who is dangloss?" "minister of police--haven't i told you? he's a keen one, too, take my word for it. he's got sherlock beat a mile." "so have i, hobbs. i'm not slow at sherlocking, let me tell you that. how do you know he's waiting to see me?" "i heard him ask for you. and i was there just now when one of his men came in and told him you were on your way up from the gunshop down there." "so they're watching me, eh? 'gad, this is fine!" he lost no time in getting to the hotel. a well-remembered, fierce-looking little man in a white linen suit was waiting for him on the great piazza. baron jasto dangloss was a polite man but not to the point of procrastination. he advanced to meet the puzzled american, smiling amiably and twirling his imposing mustachios with neatly gloved fingers. "i have called, mr. king, to have a little chat with you about your father," he said abruptly. he enjoyed the look of surprise on the young man's face. "my father?" murmured truxton, catching his breath. he was shaking hands with the baron, all the while staring blankly into his twinkling, snapping eyes. "won't you join me at this table? a julep will not be bad, eh?" king sat down opposite to him at one of the piazza tables, in the shade of the great trailing vines. "fine," was his only comment. a waiter took the order and departed. the baron produced his cigarette case. king carefully selected one and tapped its tip on the back of his hand. "is--has anything happened to my father?" he asked quietly. "bad news?" "on the contrary, sir, he is quite well. i had a cablegram from him to-day." "a cablegram?" "yes. i cabled day before yesterday to ask if he could tell me the whereabouts of his son." "the deuce you say!" "he replies that you are in teheran." "what is the meaning of this, baron?" "it is a habit i have. i make it a practice to keep in touch with the movements of our guests." "i see. you want to know all about me; why i'm here, where i came from, and all that. well, i'm ready for the 'sweat box.'" "pray do not take offence. it is my rule. it would not be altered if the king of england came. ah, here are the juleps. quick service, eh?" "remarkably so, due to your powers of persuasion, i fancy." "i really ordered them a few minutes before you arrived. you see, i was quite certain you'd have one. you take one about this hour every day." "by jove, you have been watching me!" cried truxton delightedly. "what are you doing in edelweiss, mr. king?" asked the baron abruptly but not peremptorily. "sight-seeing and in search of adventure," was the prompt response. "i fancied as much. you've seen quite a bit of the world since you left home two years ago, on the twenty-seventh of september." "by jove!" "been to south africa, asia and--south america--to say nothing of europe. that must have been an exciting little episode in south america." "you don't mean to say--" "oh, i know all about your participation in the revolution down there. you were a captain, i understand, during the three weeks of disturbance. splendid! for the fun of the thing, i suppose. well, i like it in you. i should have done it myself. and you got out of the country just in time, if i remember rightly. there was a price placed on your head by the distressed government. i imagine they would have shot you if they could have caught you--as they did the others." the old man chuckled. "you don't expect to return to south america, do you? the price is still offered, you know." king was glaring at him in sheer wonder. here was an episode in his life that he fondly hoped might never come to light; he knew how it would disturb his mother. and this foxy old fellow away off here in graustark knew all about it. "well, you're a wonder!" in pure admiration. "an appreciated compliment, i assure you. this is all in the way of letting you know that we have found out something concerning your movements. now, to come down to the present. you expected to leave to-morrow. why are you staying over?" "baron, i leave that to your own distinguished powers of deduction," said truxton gently. he took a long pull at the straw, watching the other's face as he did so. the baron smiled. "you have found the young lady to be very attractive," observed the baron. "where have you known her before?" "i beg pardon?" "it is not unusual for a young man in search of adventure to follow the lady of his choice from place to place. she came but recently, i recall." "you think i knew her before and followed her to edelweiss?" "i am not quite sure whether you have been in warsaw lately. there is a gap in your movements that i can't account for." king became serious at once. he saw that it was best to be frank with this keen old man. "baron dangloss, i don't know just what you are driving at, but i'll set you straight so far as i'm concerned. i never saw that girl until the day before yesterday. i never spoke to her until to-day." "she smiled on you quite familiarly from her window casement _yesterday_," said dangloss coolly. "she laughed at me, to be perfectly candid. but what's all this about? who is she? what's the game? i don't mind confessing that i have a feeling she is not what she claims to be, but that's as far as i've got." dangloss studied the young man's face for a moment and then came to a sudden decision. he leaned forward and smiled sourly. "take my advice: do not play with fire," he said enigmatically. "you--you mean she's a dangerous person? i can't believe that, baron." "she has dangerous friends out in the world. i don't mean to say she will cause you any trouble here--but there is a hereafter. mind you, i'm not saying she isn't a good girl, or even an adventuress. on the contrary, she comes of an excellent family--in fact, there were noblemen among them a generation or two ago. you know her name?" "no. i say, this is getting interesting!" he was beaming. "she is olga platanova. her mother was married in this city twenty-five years ago to professor platanova of warsaw. the professor was executed last year for conspiracy. he was one of the leaders of a great revolutionary movement in poland. they were virtually anarchists, as you have come to place them in america. this girl, olga, was his secretary. his death almost killed her. but that is not all. she had a sweetheart up to fifteen months ago. he was a prince of the royal blood. he would have married her in spite of the difference in their stations had it not been for the intervention of the crown that she and her kind hate so well. the young man's powerful relatives took a hand in the affair. he was compelled to marry a scrawny little duchess, and olga was warned that if she attempted to entice him away from his wife she would be punished. she did not attempt it, because she is a virtuous girl--of that i am sure. but she hates them all--oh, how she hates them! her uncle, spantz, offered her a home. she came here a month ago, broken-spirited and sick. so far, she has been exceedingly respectful to our laws. it is not that we fear anything from her; but that we are obliged to watch her for the benefit of our big brothers across the border. now you know why i advised you to let the fire alone." king was silent for a moment, turning something over in his head. "baron, are you sure that she is a red?" "quite. she attended their councils." "she doesn't look it, 'pon my word. i thought they were the scum of the earth." "the kind you have in america are. but over here--oh, well, we never can tell." "i don't mind saying she interests me. she's pretty--and i have an idea she's clever. baron, let me understand you. do you mean that this is a polite way of commanding me to have nothing to do with her?" "you put it broadly. in the first place, i am quite sure she will have nothing to do with you. she loved the husband of the scrawny duchess. _you_, my good friend, handsome as you are, cannot interest her, believe me." "i daresay you're right," glumly. "i am merely warning you. young men of your age and temperament sometimes let their fancies lead them into desperate predicaments. i've no doubt you can take care of yourself, but--" he paused, as if very much in doubt. "i'm much obliged. and i'll keep my eyes well opened. i suppose there's no harm in my going to the shop to look at a lot of rings and knick-knacks he has for sale?" "not in the least. confine yourself to knick-knacks, that's all." "isn't spantz above suspicion?" "no one is in my little world. by the way, i am very fond of your father. he is a most excellent gentleman and a splendid shot." truxton stared harder than ever. "what's that?" "i know him quite well. hunted wild boars with him five years ago in germany. and your sister! she was a beautiful young girl. they were at carlsbad at the time. was she quite well when you last heard?" "she was," was all that the wondering brother could say. "well, come in and see me at the tower. i am there in the mornings. come as a caller, not as a prisoner, that's all." the baron cackled at his little jest. "_au revoir!_ till we meet again." they were shaking hands in the friendliest manner. "oh, by the way, you were good enough to change your mind to-day about the personal attractiveness of our ladies. permit me to observe, in return, that not a few of our most distinguished beauties were good enough to make inquiries as to your identity." he left the american standing at the head of the steps, gazing after his retreating figure with a look of admiration in his eyes. truxton fared forth into the streets that night with a greater zest in life than he had ever known before. some thing whispered insistently to his fancy that dreariness was a thing of the past; he did not have to whistle to keep up his spirits. they were soaring of their own accord. he did not know, however, that a person from the secret service was watching his every movement. nor, on the other hand, is it at all likely that the secret service operative was aware that he was not the only shadower of the blithe young stranger. a man with a limp cigarette between his lips was never far from the side of the american--a man who had stopped to pass the time of day with william spantz, and who, from that hour was not to let the young man out of his sight until another relieved him of the task. chapter iv truxton trespasses he went to bed that night, tired and happy. to his revived spirits and his new attitude toward life in its present state, the city had suddenly turned gay and vivacious. twice during the evening he passed spantz's shop. it was dark, upstairs and down. he wondered if the unhappy olga was looking at him from behind the darkened shutters. but even if she were not--la, la! he was having a good time! he was gay! he was seeing pretty women in the cafés and the gardens! well, well, he would see her to-morrow--after that he would give proper heed to the baron's warning! an anarchist's daughter! he slept well, too, with never a thought of the saturday express which he had lain awake on other nights to lament and anathematise. bright and early in the morning he was astir. somehow he felt he had been sleeping too much of late. there was a sparkle in his eyes as he struck out across town after breakfast. he burst in upon mr. hobbs at cook's. "say, hobbs, how about the castle to-day--in an hour, say? can you take a party of one rubbernecking this a.m.? i like you, hobbs. you are the best interpreter of english i've ever seen. i can't help understanding you, no matter how hard i try not to. i want you to get me into the castle grounds to-day and show me where the duchesses dawdle and the countesses cavort. i'm ashamed to say it, hobbs, but since yesterday i've quite lost interest in the middle classes and the component parts thereof. i have suddenly acquired a thirst for champagne--in other words, i have a hankering for the nobility. catch the idea? good! then you'll guide me into the land of the fairies? at ten?" "i'll take you to the castle grounds, mr. king, all right enough, sir, and i'll tell you all the things of interest, but i'll be 'anged, sir, if i've got the blooming nerve to introduce you to the first ladies of the land. that's more than i can ever 'ope to do, sir, and--" "lord bless you, hobbs, don't look so depressed. i don't ask you to present me at court. i just want to look at the lilacs and the gargoyles. that's as far as i expect to carry my invasion of the dream world." "of course, sir, you understand there are certain parts of the park not open to the public. the grotto and the playgrounds and the basin of venus--" "i'll not trespass, so don't fidget, hobbs. i'll be here for you at ten." mr. hobbs looked after the vigorous, happy figure as it swung down the street, and shook his head mournfully. turning to the solitary clerk who dawdled behind the cashier's desk he remarked with more feeling than was his wont: "he's just the kind of chap to get me into no end of trouble if i give 'im rope enough. take it from me, stokes, i'll have my hands full of 'im up there this morning. he's charged like a soda bottle; and you never know wot's going to happen unless you handle a soda bottle very careful-like." truxton hurried to the square and across it to the shop of the armourer, not forgetting, however, to look about in some anxiety for the excellent dangloss, who might, for all he knew, be snooping in the neighbourhood. spantz was at the rear of the shop, talking to a customer. the girl was behind the counter, dressed for the street. she came quickly out to him, a disturbed expression in her face. as he doffed his hat, the smile left his lips; he saw that she had been weeping. "you must not come here, mr. king," she said hurriedly, in low tones. "take your broadsword this morning and--please, for my sake, do not come again. i--i may not explain why i am asking you to do this, but i mean it for your good, more than for my own. my uncle will be out in a moment. he knows you are here. he is listening now to catch what i am saying to you. smile, please, or he will suspect--" "see here," demanded king, smiling, but very much in earnest, "what's up? you've been crying. what's he been doing or saying to you? i'll give him a--" "no, no! be sensible! it is nothing in which you could possibly take a hand. i don't know you, mr. king, but i am in earnest when i say that it is not safe for you to come here, ostensibly to buy. it is too easily seen through--it is--" "just a minute, please," he interrupted. "i've heard your story from baron dangloss. it has appealed to me. you are not happy. are you in trouble? do you need friends, miss platanova?" "it is because you would be a friend that i ask you to stay away. you cannot be my friend. pray do not consider me bold for assuming so much. but i know--i know _men_, mr. king. the baron has told you all about me?" she smiled sadly. "alas, he has only told you what he knows. but it should be sufficient. there is no place in my life for you or any one else. there never can be. so, you see, you may not develop your romance with me as the foundation. oh, i've heard of your quest of adventure. i like you for it. i had an imagination myself, once on a time. i loved the fairy books and the love tales. but not now-not now. there is no romance for me. nothing but grave reality. do not question me! i can say no more. now i must be gone. i--i have warned you. do not come again!" "thanks, for the warning," he said quietly. "but i expect to come in occasionally, just the same. you've taken the wrong tack by trying to frighten me off. you see, miss platanova, i'm actually looking for something dangerous--if that's what you mean." "that isn't all, believe me," she pleaded. "you can gain nothing by coming. you know who i am. i cannot be a friend--not even an acquaintance to you, mr. king. good-bye! please do not come again!" she slipped into the street and was gone. king stood in the doorway, looking after her, a puzzled gleam in his eyes. old spantz was coming up from the rear, followed by his customer. "queer," thought the american. "she's changed her tactics rather suddenly. smiled at me in the beginning and now cries a bit because i'm trying to return the compliment. well, by the lord harry, she shan't scare me off like--hello, mr. spantz! good morning! i'm here for the sword." the old man glared at him in unmistakable displeasure. truxton began counting out his money. the customer, a swarthy fellow, passed out of the door, turning to glance intently at the young man. a meaning look and a sly nod passed between him and spantz. the man halted at the corner below and, later on, followed king to cook's office, afterward to the castle gates, outside of which he waited until his quarry reappeared. until king went to bed late that night this swarthy fellow was close at his heels, always keeping well out of sight himself. "i'll come in soon to look at those rings," said king, placing the notes on the counter. spantz merely nodded, raked in the bills without counting them, and passed the sword over to the purchaser. "very good, sir," he growled after a moment. "i hate to carry this awful thing through the streets," said king, looking at the huge weapon with despairing eye. inwardly, he was cursing himself for his extravagance and cupidity. "it belongs to you, my friend. take it or leave it." "i'll take it," said truxton, smiling indulgently. with that he picked up the weapon and stalked away. a few minutes later he was on his way to the castle grounds, accompanied by the short-legged mr. hobbs, who, from time to time, was forced to remove his tight-fitting cap to mop a hot, exasperated brow, so swift was the pace set by long-legs. the broadsword reposed calmly on a desk under the nose of a properly impressed young person named stokes, cashier. hobbs led him through the great park gates and up to the lodge of jacob fraasch, the venerable high steward of the grounds. here, to king's utter disgust, he was booked as a plain cook's tourist and mechanically advised to pay strict attention to the rules which would be explained to him by the guide. "cook's tourist, eh?" muttered king wrathfully as they ambled down the shady path together. he looked with disparaging eye upon the plain little chap beside him. "it's no disgrace," growled hobbs, redder than ever. "you're inside the grounds and you've got to obey the rules, same as any tourist. right this way, sir; we'll take a turn just inside the wall. now, on your left, ladies and--ahem!--i should say--ahem!--sir, you may see the first turret ever built on the wall. it is over four hundred years old. on the right, we have--" "see here, hobbs," said king, stopping short, "i'm damned if i'll let you lecture me as if i were a gang of hayseeds from oklahoma." "very good, sir. no offence. i quite forgot, sir." "just _tell_ me--don't lecture." for three-quarters of an hour they wandered through the spacious grounds, never drawing closer to the castle than permitted by the restrictions; always coming up to the broad driveway which marked the border line, never passing it. the gorgeous beauty of this historic old park, so full of traditions and the lore of centuries, wrought strange fancies and bold inclinations in the head of the audacious visitor. he felt the bonds of restraint; he resented the irksome chains of convention; he murmured against the laws that said he should not step across the granite road into the cool forbidden world beyond--the world of kings. hobbs knew he was doomed to have rebellion on his hands before long; he could see it coming. "when we've seen the royal stables, we'll have seen everything of any consequence," he hastened to say. "then we'll leave by the upper gates and--" "hobbs, this is all very beautiful and very grand and very slow," said king, stopping to lean against the moss-covered wall that encircled the park within a park: the grounds adjoining the grotto. "can't i hop over this wall and take a peep into the grotto?" "by no means," cried hobbs, horrified. "that, sir, is the most proscribed spot, next to the castle itself. you _can't_ go in there." king looked over the low wall. the prospect was alluring. the pool, the trickling rivulets, the mossy banks, the dense shadows: it was maddening to think he could not enter! "i wouldn't be in there a minute," he argued. "and i might catch a glimpse of a dream-lady. now, i say, hobbs, here's a low place. i could jump--" "mr. king, if you do that i am ruined forever. i am trusted by the steward. he would cut off all my privileges--" hobbs could go no further. he was prematurely aghast. something told him that mr. king would hop over the wall. "just this once, hobbs," pleaded his charge. "no one will know." "for the love of moses, sir, i--" hobbs began to wail. then he groaned in dismal horror. king had lightly vaulted the wall and was grinning back at him from the sacred precincts--from the playground of princesses. "go and report me, hobbs, there's a good fellow. tell the guards i wouldn't obey. that will let you out, my boy, and i'll do the rest. for heaven's sake, hobbs, don't burst! you'll explode sure if you hold in like that much longer. i'll be back in a minute." he strode off across the bright green turf toward the source of all this enchantment, leaving poor mr. hobbs braced against the wall, weak-kneed and helpless. if he heard the frantic, though subdued, whistles and the agonized "hi!" of the man from cook's a minute or two later, he gave no heed to the warning. a glimpse behind might have shown him the error of his ways, reflected in the disappearance of hobbs's head below the top of the wall. but he was looking ahead, drinking in the forbidden beauties of this fascinating little nook of nature. never in all his wanderings had he looked upon a more inviting spot than this. he came to the edge of the deep blue pool, above which could be seen the entrance to the grotto. little rivulets danced down through the crannies in the rocks and leaped joyously into the tree-shaded pool. below and to the right were the famed basins of venus, shimmering in the sunlight, flanked by trees and banks of the softest green. on their surface swam the great black swans he had heard so much about. through a wide rift in the trees he could see the great, grey castle, half a mile away, towering against the dense greens of the nearby mountain. the picture took his breath away. he forgot hobbs. he forgot that he was; trespassing. here, at last, was the graustark he had seen in his dreams, had come to feel in his imagination. regardless of surroundings or consequences, he sat down upon the nearest stone bench, and removed his hat. he was hot and tired and the air was cool. he would drink it in as if it were an ambrosial nectar in--and, moreover, he would also enjoy a cigarette. carefully he refrained from throwing the burnt-out match into the pool below: even such as he could feel that it might be desecration. as he leaned back with a sigh of exquisite ease and a splendid exhalation of turkish smoke, a small, imperious voice from somewhere behind broke in upon his primary reflections. "what are you doing in here?" demanded the voice. truxton, conscious of guilt, whirled with as much consternation as if he had been accosted by a voice of thunder. he beheld a very small boy standing at the top of the knoll above him, not thirty feet away. his face was quite as dirty as any small boy's should be at that time of day, and his curly brown hair looked as if it had not been combed since the day before. his firm little legs, in half hose and presumably white knickers, were spread apart and his hands were in his pockets. king recognised him at once, and looked about uneasily for the attendants whom he knew should be near. it is safe to say that he came to his feet and bowed deeply, even in humility. "i am resting, your highness," he said meekly. "don't you know any better than to come in here?" demanded the prince. truxton turned very red. "i am sorry. i'll go at once." "oh, i'm not going to put you out," hastily exclaimed the prince, coming down the slope. "but you are old enough to know better. the guards might shoot you if they caught you here." he came quite close to the trespasser. king saw the scratch on his nose. "oh, i know you now. you are the gentleman who picked up my crop yesterday. you are an american." a friendly smile illumined his face. "yes, a lonely american," with an attempt at the pathetic. "where's your home at?" "new york. quite a distance from here." "you ever been in central park?" "a thousand times. it isn't as nice as this one." "it's got amilies--no, i don't mean that," supplemented the prince, flushing painfully. "i mean--an-i-muls," very deliberately. "our park has no elephunts or taggers. when i get big i'm going to set out a few in the park. they'll grow, all right." "i've shot elephants and tigers in the jungle," said truxton. "i tell you they're no fun when they get after you, wild. if i were you i'd set 'em out in cages." "p'raps i will." the prince seemed very thoughtful. "won't you sit down, your highness?" the youngster looked cautiously about. "say, do you ever go fishing?" he demanded eagerly. "occasionally." "you won't give me away, will you?" with a warning frown. "don't you tell jacob fraasch. he's the steward. i--i know a fine place to fish. would you mind coming along? look out, please! you're awful big and they'll see you. i don't know what they'd do to us if they ketched us. it would be dreadful. would you mind sneaking, mister? make yourself little. right up this way." the prince led the way up the bank, followed by the amused american, who stooped so admirably that the boy, looking back, whispered that it was "just fine." at the top of the knoll, the prince turned into a little shrub-lined path leading down to the banks of the pool almost directly below the rocky face of the grotto. "don't be afraid," he whispered to his new friend. "it ain't very deep, if you should slip in. but you'd scare the fish away. gee, it's a great place to catch 'em. they're all red, too. d'you ever see red fish?" truxton started. this was no place for him! the prince had a right to poach on his own preserves, but a grown man to be caught in the act of landing the royal goldfish was not to be thought of. he hung back. "i'm afraid i won't have time, your highness. a friend is waiting for me back there. he--" "it's right here," pleaded the prince. "please stop a moment. i--i don't know how to put the bait on the pin. i just want to catch a couple. they won't bite unless there's worms on the hook. i tried 'em. look at 'em! goodness, there's lots of 'em. nobody can see us here. please, mister, fix a worm for me." the man sat down behind a bush and laughed joyously. the eager, appealing look in the lad's eyes went to his heart. what was a goldfish or two? a fish has no feeling--not even a goldfish. there was no resisting the boyish eagerness. "why, you're a real boy, after all. i thought being a prince might have spoiled you," he said. "uncle jack says i can always be a prince, but i'll soon get over being a boy," said prince bobby sagely. "you _will_ fix it, won't you?" king nodded, conscienceless now. the prince scurried behind a big rock and reappeared at once with a willow branch from the end of which dangled a piece of thread. a bent pin occupied the chief end in view. he unceremoniously shoved the branch into the hands of his confederate, and then produced from one of his pockets a silver cigarette box, which he gingerly opened to reveal to the gaze a conglomerate mass of angle worms and grubs. "a fellow gets awful dirty digging for worms, doesn't he?" he pronounced. "i should say so," agreed the big boy. "whose cigarette case is this?" "uncle caspar's--i mean count halfont's. he's got another, so he won't miss this one. i'm going to leave some worms in it when i put it back in his desk. he'll think the fairies did it. do you believe in fairies?" "certainly, peter," said truxton, engaged in impaling a stubborn worm. "my name isn't peter," said the prince coldly. "i was thinking of peter pan. ever hear of him?" "no. say, you mustn't talk or you'll scare 'em away. is it fixed?" he took the branch and gingerly dropped the hook into the dancing pool. in less time than it requires to tell it he had a nibble, a bite and a catch. there never was a boy so excited as he when the scarlet nibbler flew into the shrubbery above; he gasped with glee. truxton recovered the catch from the bushes and coolly detached the truculent pin. "i'll have 'em for dinner," announced the prince. "are you going to catch a mess?" queried the man, appalled. "sure," said bobby, casting again with a resolute splash. "are you not afraid they'll get onto you if you take them to the castle?" asked the other diplomatically. "goldfish are a dead give-away." "nobody will scold 'cept uncle jack, and he won't know about it. he's prob'ly gone away by this time." king noticed that his lip trembled suddenly. "gone away?" "yes. he was banished this morning right after breakfast." the announcement began with a tremor but ended with imperial firmness. "great scott!" gasped the other, genuinely shocked. "i banished him," said the prince ruefully. "but," with a fine smile, "i don't think he'll go. he never does. see my sign up there?" he pointed to the rocks near the grotto. "i did it with hugo's shoe blacking." a placard containing the important announcement, "no fishing aloud" stared down at the poachers from a tree trunk above. there was nothing very peremptory in its appearance, but its designer was sufficiently impressed by the craftiness it contained. "i put it up so's people wouldn't think anybody--not even me--would dare to fish here. oh, look!" the second of his ruddy mess was flopping in the grass. again truxton thought of mr. hobbs, this time with anxious glances in all directions. "where do they think you are, your highness?" "out walking with my aunt. only she met count vos engo, and while they were talking i made a sneak--i mean, i stole away." "then they'll be searching for you in all parts of the--" began truxton, coming to his feet. "i really must be going. please excuse me, your--" "oh, don't go! i'll not let 'em do anything to you," said the prince staunchly. "i like americans better than anybody else," he went on with deft persuasiveness. "they ain't--aren't afraid of anything. they're not cowards." truxton sat down at once. he could not turn tail in the face of such an exalted opinion. "i'm not supposed to ever go out alone," went on the prince confidentially. "you see, they're going to blow me up if they get a chance." "blow you up?" "haven't you heard about it? with dynamite bums--bombs. yes, sir! that's the way they do to all princes." he was quite unconcerned. truxton's look of horror diminished. no doubt it was a subterfuge employed to secure princely obedience, very much as the common little boy is brought to time by mention of the ubiquitous bogie man. "that's too bad," commiserated truxton, baiting the pin once more. "it's old count marlanx. he's going to blow me up. he hated my mother and my father, so i guess he hates me. he's turrible, uncle caspar says." king was very thoughtful for a moment. something vivid yet fleeting had shot through his brain--something that he tried to catch and analyse, but it was gone before he could grasp its significance. he looked with new interest upon this serene, lovable little chap, who was growing up, like all princes, in the shadow of disaster. suddenly the fisherman's quick little ears caught a sound that caused him to reveal a no-uncertain agitation. he dropped his rod incontinently and crawled to the opening in the shrubbery, peering with alarmed eyes down the path along the bank. "what is it? a dynamiter?" demanded truxton uneasily. "worse'n that," whispered his royal highness. "it's aunt loraine. gee!" to king's utter dismay, the prince scuttled for the underbrush. "here!" he called in consternation. the prince stopped, shamefaced on the instant. "i thought you were going to protect me." "i shall," affirmed bobby, manfully resuming his ground. "she's coming up the path. don't run," he exclaimed scornfully, as truxton started for the rocks. "she can't hurt you. she's only a girl." "all right. i won't run," said the big culprit, who wished he had the power to fly. "and there's saffo and cors over there watching us, too. we're caught. i'm sorry, mister." on the opposite bank of the pool stood two rigid members of the royal guard, intently watching the fishers. king was somewhat disturbed by the fact that their rifles were in a position to be used at an instant's notice. he felt himself turning pale as he thought of what might have happened if he had taken to flight. a young lady in a rajah silk gown, a flimsy panama hat tilted well over her nose, with a red feather that stood erect as if always in a state of surprise, turned the bushes and came to a stop almost at king's elbow. he had time to note, in his confusion, that she was about shoulder-high alongside him, and that she was staring up into his face with amazed grey eyes. afterward he was to realise that she was amazingly pretty, that her teeth were very white and even, that her eyes were the most beautiful and expressive he had ever seen, that she was slender and imperious, and that there were dimples in her checks so fascinating that he could not gather sufficient strength of purpose to withdraw his gaze from them. of course, he did not see them at the outset: she was not smiling, so how could he? the prince came to the rescue. "this is my aunt loraine, mr.--mr.--" he swallowed hard and looked helpless. "king," supplied truxton, "truxton king, your highness." then with all the courage he could produce, he said to the beautiful lady: "i'm as guilty as he. see!" he pointed ruefully to the four goldfish, which he had strung upon wire grass and dropped into the edge of the pool. she did not smile. indeed, she gave him a very severe look. "how cruel!" she murmured. "bobby, you deserve a sound spanking. you are a very naughty little boy." she spoke rapidly in french. "he put the bait on," said bobby, also in french. here was treachery! truxton delivered himself of some french. "oh, i say, your highness, you said you'd pardon me if i were caught." "i can't pardon you until you are found guilty," said the prince in english. "please put those poor little things back in the pool, mr. king," said the lady in perfect english. "gladly--with the prince's permission," said king, also in english. the prince looked glum, but interposed no imperial objection. instead he suddenly shoved the cigarette box under the nose of his dainty relative, who at that unpropitious instant stooped over to watch king's awkward attempt to release the fishes. "look at the worms," said the prince engagingly, opening the box with a snap. "oh!" cried the young lady, starting back. "throw them away! the horned things!" "oh, they can't bite," scoffed the prince. "see! i'm not afraid of 'em. look at this one." he held up a wriggler and she fled to the rock. she happened to glance at truxton's averted face and was conscious of a broad grin; whereupon she laughed in the quick staccato of embarrassment. it must be confessed that king's composure was sorely disturbed. in the first place, he had been caught in a most reprehensible act, and in the second place, he was not quite sure that the prince could save him from ignominious expulsion under the very eyes--and perhaps direction--of this trim and attractive member of the royal household. he found himself blundering foolishly with the fishes and wondering whether she was a duchess or just a plain countess. even a regal personage might jump at the sight of angle worms, he reflected. he glanced up, to find her studying him, plainly perplexed. "i just wondered in here," he began guiltily. "the prince captured me down there by the big tree." "did you say your name is truxton king?" she asked somewhat sceptically. "yes, your--yes, ma'am," he replied. "of new york." "your father is mr. emerson king? are you the brother of adele king?" truxton stared. "have you been interviewing the police?" he asked before he thought. "the police? what have you been doing?" she cried, her eyes narrowing. "most everything. the police know all about me. i'm a spotted character. i thought perhaps they had told you about me." "i asked if you were adele's brother." "i am." "i've heard her speak of her brother truxton. she said you were in south america." he stared the harder. could he believe his ears? she was regarding him with cool, speculative interest. "i wonder if you are he?" "i think i am," he said, but doubtfully. "please pardon my amazement. perhaps i'm dreaming. at any rate, i'm dazed." "we were in the convent together for two years. now that i observe you closely, you _do_ resemble her. we were very good friends, she and i." "then you'll intercede for me?" he urged, with a fervent glance in the direction of the wall. she smiled joyously. he realised then and there that he had never seen such beautiful teeth, nor any creature so radiantly beautiful, for that matter. "more than that," she said, "i shall assist you to escape. come!" he followed her through the shrubbery, his heart pounding violently. the prince, who trotted on ahead, had mentioned a count. was she married? was she of the royal blood? what extraordinary fate had made her the friend of his sister? he looked back and saw the two guardsmen crossing the bridge below, their eyes still upon him. "it's very good of you," he said. she glanced back at him, a quaint smile in her eyes. "for adele's sake, if you please. trespassing is a very serious offence here. how did you get in?" "i hopped in, over the wall." "i'd suggest that you do not hop out again. hopping over the walls is not looked upon with favour by the guards." he recalled the distressed mr. hobbs. "the man from cook's tried to restrain me," he said in proper spirit. "he was very much upset." "i dare say. you are a cook's tourist, i see. how very interesting! bobby, uncle jack is waiting to take you to see the trained dogs at the eastern gate." the prince gave a whoop of joy, but instantly regained his dignity. "i can't go, auntie, until i've seen him safe outside the walls," he said firmly. "i said i would." they came to the little gate and passed through, into a winding path that soon brought them to a wide, main-travelled avenue. a light broke in upon truxton's mind. he had it! this was the wonderful countess marlanx! no sooner had he come to that decision than he was forced to abandon it. the countess's name was ingomede and she already had been pointed out to him. "i suppose i shall have to recall uncle jack from exile," he heard the prince saying to the beautiful lady. truxton decided that she was not more than twenty-two. but they married very young in these queer old countries--especially if they happened to be princes or princesses. he wanted to talk, to ask questions, to proclaim his wonder, but discreetly resolved that it was best to hold his tongue. he was by no means sure of himself. be that as it may, he was filled with a strange rejoicing. here was a woman with whom he was as sure to fall in love as he was sure that the sun shone. he liked the thought of it. now he appreciated the distinction between the olga platanova type and that which represented the blood of kings. there _was_ a difference! here was the true patrician! the castle suddenly loomed up before them--grey and frowning, not more than three hundred yards away. he was possessed of a wild desire to walk straight into the grim old place and proclaim himself the feudal owner, seizing everything as his own--particularly the young woman in the rajah silk. people were strolling in the shady grounds. he felt the instant infection of happy indolence, the call to luxury. men in gay uniforms and men in cool flannels; women in the prettiest and daintiest of frocks--all basking in the playtime of life, unmindful of the toil that fell to the sons of martha out in the sordid world. "do you think you can find your man from cook's?" she asked. "unless he has gone and jumped into the river, your--madam. in any event, i think i may safely find my way out. i shall not trouble you to go any farther. thank you for overlooking my indiscretion. thank you, my dear little prince, for the happiest experience of my life. i shall never forget this hour." he looked boldly into her eyes, and not at the prince. "have you ever been in new york?" he asked abruptly. he was not at all sure whether the look she gave him was one of astonishment or resentment. at any rate, it was a quick glance, followed by the palpable suppression of words that first came to her lips, and the substitution of a very polite: "yes, and i love it." he beamed. the smile that came into her eyes escaped him. if he could have seen it, his bewilderment; would have been sadly increased. "say!" whispered the prince, dropping back as if to impart a grave secret. "see that man over there by the fountain, mr. king?" "bobby!" cried the lady sharply. "good-bye, mr. king. remember me to your sister when you write. she--" "that's aunt loraine's beau," announced the prince. "that's count eric vos engo." truxton's look turned to one of interest at once. the man designated was a slight, swarthy fellow in the uniform of a colonel. he did not appear to be particularly happy at the moment. the american observed the lady's dainty ears. they had turned a delicate pink. "may i ask who--" began truxton timidly. "she will know if you merely call me loraine." "so long," said the prince. they parted company at once, the prince and the lady in the rajah silk going toward the castle, king toward the gates, somewhat dazed and by no means sure of his senses. he came down to earth after he had marched along on air for some distance, so to speak, and found himself deciding that she was a duchess here, but loraine at school. what a wonderful place a girl's school must be! and his sister knew her--knew a lady of high degree! "hobbs!" he called, catching sight of a dejected figure in front of the chief steward's door. "oh, it's you, is it?" said mr. hobbs sullenly. "it is, hobbs--very much me. i've been fishing with royalty and chatting with the nobility. where the devil have _you_ been?" "i've been squaring it with old man fraasch. i'm through with you, sir. no more for me, not if i know--" "come along, hobbs," said the other blithely, taking hobbs by the arm. "the prince sent his love to you." "did he mention cook's?" gasped hobbs. "he certainly did," lied truxton. "he spoke of you most kindly. he wondered if you could find time to come around to-morrow." chapter v the committee of ten it has been said before that truxton king was the unsuspecting object of interest to two sets of watchers. the fact that he was under the surveillance of the government police, is not surprising when we consider the evident thoroughness of that department; but that he should be continually watched by persons of a more sinister cast suggests a mystery which can be cleared up by visiting a certain underground room, scarce two blocks from the tower of graustark. it goes without saying that corporeal admittance to this room was not to be obtained easily. in fact, one must belong to a certain band of individuals; and, in order to belong to that band, one must have taken a very solemn pledge of eternal secrecy and a primal oath to devote his life to certain purposes, good or evil, according to his conscience. by means of the friendly sesame that has opened the way for us to the gentler secrets, we are permitted to enter this forbidding apartment and listen in safety to the ugly business of the committee of ten. there were two ways of reaching this windowless room, with its low ceilings and dank airs. if one had the secret in his possession, he could go down through the mysterious trap door in the workshop of william spantz, armourer to the crown; or he might come up through a hidden aperture in the walls of the great government sewer, which ran directly parallel with and far below the walls of the quaint old building. one could take his choice of direction in approaching this hole in the huge sewer: he could come up from the river, half a mile away, or he could come down from the hills above if he had the courage to drop through one of the intakes. it is of special significance that the trap door in spantz's workshop was reserved for use by the armourer and his more fastidious comrades--of whom three were women and one an established functionary in the royal household. one should not expect ladies to traverse a sewer if oilier ways are open to them. the manner of reaching the workshop was not so simple, however, as you might suppose. the street door was out of the quest ion, with dangloss on the watch, day and night. as much as can be said for the rear door. it was necessary, therefore, that the favored few should approach the shop by extraordinary paths. for instance, two of the women came through friendly but unknown doors in the basements of adjoining houses, reaching the workshop by the narrow stairs leading up from a cobwebby wine-cellar next door. spantz and olga platanova, of course, were at home in the place. all of which may go to prove that while ten persons comprised the committee, at least as many more of the shopkeepers in that particular neighbourhood were in sympathy with their secret operations. so cleverly were all these means of approach concealed and so stealthy the movements of the committee, that the existence of this underground room, far below the street level, was as yet unsuspected by the police. more than that, the existence of the committee of ten as an organisation was unknown to the department, notwithstanding the fact that it had been working quietly, seriously for more than a year. the committee of ten represented the brains and the activity of a rabid coterie in edelweiss, among themselves styled the party of equals. in plain language, they were "reds." less than fifty persons in graustark were affiliated with this particular community of anarchists. for more than a year they had been preparing themselves against the all-important hour for public declaration. their ranks had been augmented by occasional recruits from other lands; their literature was circulated stealthily; their operations were as secret as the grave, so far as the outside world was concerned. and so the poison sprung up and thrived unhindered in the room below the street, growing in virulence and power under the very noses of the vaunted police of edelweiss, slowly developing into a power that would some day assert itself with diabolical fury. there were men and women from axphain and dawsbergen in this seed circle that made edelweiss its spreading ground. they were reds of the most dangerous type--silent, voiceless, crafty men and women who built well without noise, and who gave out nothing to the world from which they expected to take so much. the nominal leader was william spantz, he who had a son in the prince's household, julius spantz, the master-of-arms. far off in the hills above the danube there lived the real leader of this deadly group--the iron count marlanx, exile from the land of his birth, hated and execrated by every loyal graustarkian, hating and execrating in return with a tenfold greater venom. marlanx, the man who had been driven from wealth and power by the sharp edict of prince robin's mother, the lamented yetive, in the days of her most glorious reign,--this man, deep in his raging heart, was in complete accord with the desperate band of reds who preached equality and planned disaster. olga platanova was the latest acquisition to this select circle. a word concerning her: she was the daughter of professor platanova, one time oculist and sociologist in a large german university. he had been one of the most brilliant men in europe and a member of a noble family. there was welcome for him in the homes of the nobility; he hobnobbed, so to speak, with the leading men of time empire. the platanova home in warsaw was one of the most inviting and exclusive in that great, city. the professor's enthusiasm finally carried him from the conservative paths in which he had walked; after he had passed his fiftieth year he became an avowed leader among the anarchists and revolutionists in poland, his native state. less than a year before the opening of this tale he was executed for treason and conspiracy against the empire. his daughter, olga, was recognised as one of the most beautiful and cultured young women in warsaw. her suitors seemed to be without number; nor were they confined to the student and untitled classes with whom she was naturally thrown by force of circumstance. more than one lordly adventurer in the lists of love paid homage to her grace and beauty. finally there came one who conquered and was beloved. he was the son of a mighty duke, a prince of the blood. it was true love for both of them. the young prince pledged himself to marry her, despite all opposition; he was ready to give up his noble inheritance for the sake of love. but there were other forces greater than a young man's love at work. the all-powerful ruler of an empire learned of this proposed mesalliance and was horrified. two weeks afterward the prince was called. the will of the crown was made known to him and--he obeyed. olga platanova was cast aside but not forgotten. he became the husband of an unloved, scrawny lady of diadems. when the situation became more than he could bear he blew out his brains. when olga heard the news of his death she was not stricken by grief. she cried out her joy to a now cloudless sky, for he had justified the great love that had been theirs and would be theirs to the end of time. from a passive believer in the doctrines of her father and his circle she became at once their most impassioned exponent. over night she changed from a gentle-hearted girl into a woman whose breast flamed with a lust for vengeance against a class from which death alone could free her lover. she threw herself, heart and soul, into the deliberations and transactions of the great red circle: her father understood and yet was amazed. then he was put to death by the class she had come to hate. one more stone in the sepulchre of her tender, girlish ideals. when the time came she travelled to graustark in response to the call of the committee of ten; she came prepared to kill the creature she would be asked to kill. and yet down in her heart she was sore afraid. she was there, not to kill a man grown old in wrongs to her people, but to destroy the life of a gentle, innocent boy of seven! there were times when her heart shrank from the unholy deed she had been selected to perform; she even prayed that death might come to her before the hour in which she was to do this execrable thing in behalf of the humanity she served. but there was never a thought of receding from the bloody task set down for her--a task so morbid, so horrid that even the most vicious of men gloated in the satisfaction that they had not been chosen in her place. weeks before she came to graustark olga platanova had been chosen by lot to be the one to do this diabolical murder. she did not flinch, but came resolute and ready. even the men in the committee of ten looked upon the slender, dark-eyed girl with an awe that could not be conquered. she had not the manner of an assassin, and yet they knew that she would not draw back; she was as soft and as sweet as the madonnas they secretly worshipped, and yet her heart was steeled to a purpose that appalled the fiercest of them. on a saturday night, following the last visit of truxton king to the armourer, the committee of ten met in the underground room to hear the latest word from one who could not be with them in person, but was always there in spirit--if they were to believe his most zealous utterances. the iron count marlanx, professed hater of all that was rich and noble, was the power behind the committee of ten. the assassination of the little prince and the overthrow of the royal family awaited his pleasure: he was the man who would give the word. not until he was ready could anything be done, for marlanx had promised to put the committee of ten in control of this pioneer community when it came under the dominion of anarchists. alas, for the committee of ten! the wiliest fox in the history of the world was never so wily as the iron count. some day they were to find out that he was using them to pull his choicest chestnuts from the fire. the committee was seated around the long table in the stifling, breathless room, the armourer at the head. those who came by way of the sewer had performed ablutions in the queer toilet room that once had been a secret vault for the storing of feudal plunder. what air there was came from the narrow ventilator that burrowed its ways up to the shop of william spantz, or through the chimney-hole in the ceiling. olga platanova sat far down the side, a moody, inscrutable expression in her dark eyes. she sat silent and oppressed through all the acrid, bitter discussions which carried the conclave far past the midnight hour. in her heart she knew that these men and women were already thinking of her as a regicide. it was settled--it was ordained. at spantz's right lounged peter brutus, a lawyer--formerly secretary to the iron count and now his sole representative among these people. he was a dark-faced, snaky-eyed young man, with a mop of coarse black hair that hung ominously low over his high, receding forehead. this man was the chosen villain among all the henchmen who came at the beck and call of the iron count. julius spantz, the armourer's son, a placid young man of goodly physical proportions, sat next to brutus, while down the table ranged others deep in the consideration of the world's gravest problems. one of the women was madame drovnask, whose husband had been sent to siberia for life; and the other, anna cromer, a rabid red lecturer, who had been driven from the united states, together with her amiable husband: an assassin of some distinction and many aliases, at present foreman in charge of one of the bridge-building crews on the new railroad. every man in the party, and there were eight, for olga was not a member of the ten, wore over the lower part of his face a false black beard of huge dimensions. not that they were averse to recognition among themselves, but in the fear that by some hook or crook dangloss or his agents might be able to look in upon them--through stone walls, as it were. they were not men to belittle the powers of the wonderful baron. as it sat in secret conclave, the committee of ten was a sinister-looking group. brutus was speaking. "the man is a spy. he has been brought here from america by tullis. sooner or later you will find that i am right." "it is best to keep close watch on him," advised one of the men. "we know that he is in communication with the police and we know that he visits the castle, despite his declaration that he knows no one there. to-day's experience proves that. i submit that the strictest caution be observed where he is concerned." "we shall continue to watch his every movement," said william spantz. "time will tell. when we are positive that he is a detective and that he is dangerous, there is a way to stop his operations." his son grinned amiably as he swept his finger across his throat. the old man nodded. "dangloss suspects more than one of us" ventured brutus, his gaze travelling toward olga. there was lewd admiration in that steady glance. "but we'll fool the old fox. the time will soon be here for the blow that frees graustark from the yoke. she will be the pioneer among our estates, we the first of the individuals in equality; here the home seat of perfect rulership. there is nothing that can stop us. have we not the most powerful of friends? who is greater and shrewder than count marlanx? who could have planned and perfected an organization so splendid? will any one dispute this?" he had the floor, and having the floor means everything to a red. for half an hour he spoke with impassioned fervour, descanting furiously on the amazing virtues of his wily master and the plans he had arranged. it appeared in the course of his remarks that marlanx had friends and supporters in all parts of graustark. hundreds of men in the hills, including honest shepherds and the dishonest brigands who thrived on them, coal miners and wood stealers, hunters and outlaws were ready to do his bidding when the time was ripe. moreover, marlanx had been successful in his design to fill the railway construction crews with the riff-raff of all europe, all of whom were under the control of leaders who could sway them in any movement, provided it was against law and order. as a matter of fact, according to brutus, nearly a thousand aliens were at work on the road, all of them ready to revolt the instant the command was given by their advisers. something that the committee of ten did not know was this: those alien workmen were no less than so many hired mercenaries in the employ of the iron count, brought together by that leader and his agents for the sole purpose of overthrowing the crown in one sudden, unexpected attack, whereupon count marlanx would step in and assume control of the government. they had been collected from all parts of the world to do the bidding of this despised nobleman, no matter to what lengths he might choose to lead them. brutus, of course, knew all this: his companions on the committee were in complete ignorance of the true motives that brought marlanx into their operations. with a cunning that commands admiration, the iron count deliberately sanctioned the assassination of the little prince by the reds, knowing that the condemnation of the world would fall upon them instead of upon him, and that his own actions following the regicide would at once stamp him as irrevocably opposed to anarchy and all of its practices! in the course of his remarks, peter brutus touched hastily upon the subject of the little prince. "he's not very big," said he, with a laugh, "and it won't require a very big bomb to blow him to smithereens. he will--" "stop!" cried olga platanova, springing to her feet and glaring at him with dilated eyes. "i cannot listen to you! you shall not speak of it in that way! peter brutus, you are not to speak of--of what i am to do! never--never again!" they looked at her in amazement and no little concern. madame drovnask was the first to speak, her glittering eyes fastened upon the drawn, white face of the girl across the table. "are you going to fail? are you weakening?" she demanded. "no! i am not going to fail! but i will not permit any one to jest about the thing i am to do. it is a sacred duty with me. but, madame drovnask--all of you, listen--it is a cruel, diabolical thing, just the same. were it not in behalf of our great humanity, i, myself, should call it the blackest piece of cruelty the world has ever known. the slaughter of a little boy! a dear, innocent little boy! i can see the horror in all of your faces! you shudder as you sit there, thinking of the thing i am to do. yes, you are secretly despising me, your instrument of death! i--i, a girl, i am to cast the bomb that blows this dear little body to pieces. i! do you know what that means? even though i am sure to be blown to pieces by the same agent, the last thing i shall look upon is his dear, terrified little face as he watches me hurl the bomb. ah!" she shuddered violently as she stood there before them, her eyes closed as if to shut out the horrible picture her mind was painting. there were other white faces and ice-cold veins about the table. the sneer on anna cromer's face deepened. "she will bungle it," came in an angry hiss from her lips. olga's lids were lifted. her dark eyes looked straight into those of the older woman. "no," she said quietly, her body relaxing, "i shall not bungle it." william spantz had been watching her narrowly, even suspiciously. now his face cleared. "she will not fail," he announced calmly. "let there be no apprehension. she is the daughter of a martyr. her blood is his. it will flow in the same cause. sit down, olga, my dear. we will not touch upon this subject again--until--" "i know, uncle," she said quietly, resuming her seat and her attitude of indifference. the discussion went back to truxton king. "isn't it possible that he is merely attracted by the beauty of our charming young friend here?" ventured madame drovnask, after many opinions had been advanced respecting his interest in the shop and its contents. "it is a habit with americans, i am told." "miss platanova is most worthy of the notice of any man," agreed brutus, with an amiable leer. olga seemed to shrink within herself. it was plain that she was not a kindred spirit to these vicious natures. "it is part of his game," said julius spantz. "he knows olga's past; he is waiting for a chance to catch her off her guard. he may even go so far as to make pretty love to you, cousin, in the hope that--no offence, my dear, no offence!" her look had silenced him. "mr. king is not a spy," she said steadily. "well," concluded william spantz, "we are safe if we take no chances with him. he must be watched all the time. if we discover that he is what some of us think he is, there is a way to end his usefulness." "let him keep away from the shop downstairs," said peter brutus, with a sidelong glance at the delicate profile of the girl down the table. she smiled suddenly, to the amazement of her sinister companions. "have no fear, brutus. when he hears that you object, he will be very polite and give us a wide berth," she said. peter flushed angrily. "he doesn't mean any good by you," he snapped. "he'll fool you and--poof! away he goes, rejoicing." she still smiled. "you have a very good opinion of me, peter brutus." "well," doggedly, "you know what men of his type think of shopgirls. they consider them legitimate prey." "and what, pray, do men of your type think of us?" she asked quietly. "enough of this," interposed william spantz. "now, brutus, what does count marlanx say to this day two weeks? will he be ready? on that day the prince and the court are to witness the unveiling of the yetive memorial statue in the plaza. it is a full holiday in graustark. no man will be employed at his usual task and--" brutus interrupted him. "that is the very day that the count has asked me to submit to the committee. he believes it to be the day of all days. nothing should go amiss. we conquer with a single blow. by noon of that day, the th of july, the committee of ten will be in control of the state; the new regime will be at hand. a new world will be begun, with edelweiss as the centre, about which all the rest shall revolve. we--the committee of ten--will be its true founders. we shall be glorified forever--" "we've heard all this before, brutus," said julius spantz unfeelingly, "a hundred times. it's talk, talk, talk! what we need now is action. are we sure that the count will be prepared to do all that he says he will on the th of july? will he have his plans perfected? are his forces ready for the stroke?" "positively. they await the word. that's all i can say," growled peter. "the death of the prince is the signal for the overthrow of the present government and the establishment of the new order of equal humanity." "after all," mused julius, master-at-arms in the castle, "it is more humane to slay the prince while he is young. it saves him from a long life of trouble and fear and the constant dread of the very thing that is to happen to him now. yes, it is best that it should come soon." down in his heart, julius loved the little prince. for an hour longer the committee discussed plans for the eventful day. certain details were left for future deliberations; each person had his part to play and each one was settled in his or her determination that nothing should go amiss. the man they feared was dangloss. they did not fear god! when they dispersed for the night, it was to meet again three days hence for the final word from marlanx, who, it seems, was not so far away that communication with him was likely to be delayed. a sword hung over the head of truxton king, an innocent outsider, and there was a prospect that it would fall in advance of the blow that was intended to startle the world. olga platanova was the only one who did not look upon the sprightly american as a spy in the employ of the government--a dangerously clever spy at that. up in the distant hills slept the iron count, dreaming of the day when he should rule over the new graustark--for he would rule!--a smile on his grizzled face in reflection of recent waking thoughts concerning the punishment that should fall swiftly upon the assassins of the beloved prince robin. he would make short shrift of assassins! chapter vi ingomede the beautiful a light, chilling drizzle had been falling all evening, pattering softly upon the roof of leaves that covered the sidewalks along castle avenue, glistening on the lamp-lit pavements and blowing ever so gently in the faces of those who walked in the dripping shades. far back from the shimmering sidewalks, surrounded by the blackest of shadows, and approached by hedge-bordered paths and driveways, stood the mansions occupied by the nobility of this gay little kingdom. a score or more of ancient palaces, in which the spirit, of modern aggression had wrought interior changes but had left the exteriors untouched, formed this aristocratic line of homes. here were houses that had been built in the fifteenth century,--great, square, solemn-looking structures, grown grey and green with age. there were lights in a thousand windows along this misty, royal road--lights that reflected the pleasures of the rich and yet caused no envy in time hearts of the loyal poor. almost in the centre of the imposing line stood the home of the duke of perse, minister of finance, flanked on either side by structures as grim and as gay as itself, yet far less significant in their generation. here dwelt the most important man in the principality, not excepting the devoted prime minister himself. not that perse was so well beloved, but that he held the destinies of the land in midas-like fingers. more than that, he was the father of the far-famed countess marlanx, the most glorious beauty at the austrian and russian courts. she had gone forth from graustark as its most notable bride since the wedding day of the princess yetive, late in the nineties. ingomede, the beautiful, had journeyed far to the hymeneal altar; the husband who claimed her was a hated, dishonoured man in his own land. they were married in buda pesth. all europe pitied her at the time; there was but one form of prophecy as to her future. there were those who went so far as to say that her father had delivered her into the hands of a latter-day bluebeard, who whisked her off into the highlands many leagues from vienna. she was seen no more in the gay courts for a year. then, of a sudden, she appeared before them all, as dazzlingly beautiful as ever, but with a haunting, wistful look in her dark eyes that could not be mistaken. the old count found an uneasy delight in exhibiting her to the world once more, plainly as a bit of property that all men were expected to look upon with envy in their hearts. she came up out of the sombre hills, freed from what must have been nothing less than captivity in that once feudal castle, to prove to his world that she thrived in spite of prophetic babblers. they danced from court to court, grotesquely mis-mated, deceiving no one as to the true relations that existed between them. she despised him without concealment; he took pride in showing that he could best resent her attitude by the most scrupulous devotion, so marked that its intent could not be mistaken. then the duke of perse resumed his residence in edelweiss, opening the old palace once more to the world. his daughter, after the death of the princess, began her extended visits to the home of her girlhood. so long as the princess was alive she remained away from edelweiss, reluctant to meet the friend who had banished her husband long before the wedding day in buda pesth. now she came frequently and stayed for weeks at a time, apparently happy during these escapes from life in the great capitals. here, at least, she was free from the grim old man whose countess she was; here, all was sweet and warm and friendly, delicious contrast to the cold, bitter life she knew on the danube. without warning she came and without farewells she left edelweiss on the occasion of these periodical visits. no word was ever spoken concerning her husband, except on the rare occasions when she opened her heart to the father who had bartered her into slavery for the sake of certain social franchises that the iron count had at his disposal. the outside world, which loved her, never heard of these bitter passages between father and child. like cinderella, she sometimes disappeared from joyous things at midnight; the next heard of her, she was in vienna, or at schloss marlanx. if the duke of perse repented of his bargain in giving his daughter to the iron count, he was never known to intimate as much. he loved ingomede in his own, hard way. no doubt he was sorry for her. it is a fact that she was sorry for him. she could read his bitter thoughts more clearly than he suspected. of late she came more frequently to edelweiss than before. she was seen often at the castle; no court function was complete without the presence of this lovely noblewoman; no _salon_ worth while unless graced by her wit and her beauty. john tullis was always to remember the moment when he looked upon this exquisite creature for the first time. that was months ago. after that he never ceased being a secret, silent worshipper at her transient shrine. ten o'clock on this rainy night: a carriage has drawn up before the lower gates to the perse grounds, and a tall, shadowy figure leaves it to hurry through the shrub lined walks to the massive doors. a watchman in the garden salutes him. the tall figure dips his umbrella in response, characteristically laconic. a footman lifts his hand to his forelock at the top of the steps and throws open the doors without question. this visitor is expected, it is plain to be seen; a circumstance which may or may not explain the nervousness that attends him as he crosses the broad hall toward the library. tullis had long since ceased to be a welcome visitor in the home of the duke of perse. the men were openly unfriendly to each other. the duke resented the cool interference of the sandy-haired american; on the other hand, tullis made no effort to conceal his dislike, if not distrust, of the older man. he argued--with unofficial and somewhat personal authority,--that a man who could trade his only child for selfish ends might also be impelled to sacrifice his country's interests without cramping his conscience. the countess was alone in the long, warm-tinted library. she stood before the dying embers in the huge old fireplace, her foot upon one of the great iron dogs. her smiling face was turned toward the door as he entered. "it is good of you to come," she said, as they shook hands warmly. "do you know it is almost a year since you last came to this house?" "it would be a century, countess, if i were not welcomed in other houses where i am sure of a glimpse of you from time to time and a word now and then. still, a year's a year. the room hasn't changed so far as i can see. the same old tiger-skin there, the rugs, the books, the pictures--the leopard's skin here and the--yes, the lamp is just where it used to be. 'pon my soul, i believe you are standing just as you were when i last saw you here. it's uncanny. one might think you had not moved in all these months!" "or that it has been a minute instead of a year," she supplemented. his quick, involuntary glance about him did not escape her understanding. "the duke has gone to ganlook to play bridge with friends," she said at once. "he will not return till late. i have just telephoned--to make sure." her smile did more than to reassure him. "of course, you will understand how impossible it is for me to come here, countess. your father, the duke, doesn't mince matters, and i'm not quite a fool." tullis squinted at the fire. "do you think ill of me for asking you to come to-night?" "not at all," he said cheerfully, "so long as you are quite sure that your father is in ganlook. he would be perfectly justified in kicking me out if he were to catch me here. and as i'm rather cumbersome and he's somewhat venerable, i don't like to think of the jar it would be to his system. but, so long as he isn't here, and i am, why shouldn't i draw up a chair before the fire for you, and another for myself, with the cigarettes and a world between us, to discuss conditions as they are, not as they might be if we were discovered? shall i? good! i defy any one's father to get me out of this chair until i am ready to relinquish it voluntarily." "i suppose you superintended the 'going-to-bed' of prince robin before you left the castle?" she said, lying back in the comfortable chair and stretching her feet out to the fire. he handed her a match and watched her light the long, ridiculously thin cigarette. "yes. i never miss it, countess. the last thing he does, after saying his prayers, is to recall me from exile. he wouldn't be happy if he couldn't do that. he says amen and hops into bed. then he grins in a far from imperial way and announces that he's willing to give me another chance, and please won't i tell him the latest news concerning jack-the-giant-killer. he asked me to-night if i thought you'd mind if he banished your father. they've had a children's quarrel, i believe. if you do mind, i am to let him know: he won't banish him. he's very fond of you, countess." she laughed gaily. "he is a dear boy. i adore him. i think i quite understand why you are giving up your life to him. at first i wasn't sure." "you thought i expected to gain something by it, is not that so? well, there are a great many people who think so still--your father among them. they'll never understand. i don't blame them, for, i declare to you, i don't fully appreciate it myself. john tullis playing nurse and story-teller to a seven-year-old boy, to the exclusion of everything else, is more than i can grasp. somehow, i've come to feel that he's mine. that must be the reason. but you've heard me prate on this subject a hundred times. don't let me start it again. there's something else you want to talk to me about, so please don't encourage me to tell all the wonderful things he has said and done to-day." "it is of the prince that i want to speak, mr. tullis," she said, suddenly serious. "i don't care to hear whether he stubbed his toe to-day or just how much he has grown since yesterday, but i do want to talk very seriously with you concerning his future--i might say his immediate future." he looked at her narrowly. "are you quite serious?" "quite. i could not have asked you to come to this house for anything trivial. we have become very good friends, you and i. too good, perhaps, for i've no doubt there are old tabbies in edelweiss who are provoked to criticism--you know what i mean. their world is full of imaginary affairs, else what would there be left for old age? but we are good friends and we understand why we are good friends, so there's the end to that. as i say, i could not have asked so true a friend into the house of his enemy for the mere sake of having my vanity pleased by his obedience." "i am quite sure of that," he said. "are you in trouble, countess? is there anything i can do?" "it has to do with the prince, not with me," she said. "and yet i am in trouble--or perhaps i should say, i am troubled." "the prince is a sturdy little beggar," he began, but she lifted her hand in protest. "and he has sturdy, loyal friends. that is agreed. and yet--" she paused, a perplexed line coming between her expressive eyes. john tullis opened his own eyes very wide. "you don't mean to say that he is--he is in peril of any sort?" she looked at him a long time before speaking. he could feel that she was turning something over in her mind before giving utterance to the thought. at last she leaned nearer to him, dropping the ash from her cigarette into the receiver as she spoke slowly, intensely. "i think he is in peril--in deadly peril." he stared hard. "what do you mean?" he demanded, with an involuntary glance over his shoulder. she interpreted that glance correctly. "the peril is not here, mr. tullis. i know what you are thinking. my father is a loyal subject. the peril i suggest never comes to graustark." she said no more but leaned forward, her face whiter than its wont. he frowned, but it was the effect of temporary perplexity. gradually the meaning of her simple, though significant remark filtered through his brain. "never comes to graustark?" he almost whispered. "you don't--you can't mean your--your husband?" "i mean count marlanx," she said steadily. "he means evil to prince robin? good heavens, countess, i--i can't believe it. i know he is bitter, revengeful, and all that, but--" "he is all that and more," she said. "first, you must let me impress you that i am not a traitor to his cause. i could not be that, for the sufficient reason that i only suspect its existence. i am not in any sense a part of it. i do not _know_ anything. i only feel. i dare say you realise that i do not love count marlanx--that there is absolutely nothing in common between us except a name. we won't go into that. i--" "i am overjoyed to hear you say this, countess," he said very seriously. "i have been so bold on occasion as to assert--for your private ear, of course--that you could not, by any freak of nature, happen to care for count marlanx, whom i know only by description. you have laughed at my so-called american wit, and you have been most tolerant. now, i feel that i am justified. i'm immeasurably glad to hear you confess that you do not love your husband." "i cannot imagine any one so stupid as to think that i do love count marlanx, for that matter, that he loves me. still, i am relieved to hear you say that you are glad. it simplifies the present for us, and that is what we are to discuss." "you are very, very beautiful, and young, and unhappy," he said irrelevantly, a darker glow in his cheeks. she smiled serenely, without a trace of diffidence or protest. "i can almost believe it, you say it so convincingly," she said. for a moment she relaxed luxuriantly into an attitude of physical enjoyment of herself, surveying her toe-tips with a thoughtfulness that comprehended more; and then as abruptly came back to the business of the moment. "you must not spoil it all by saying it too fervently," she went on with a smile of warning. he gave a short laugh of confusion and sank back in the chair. "you have never tried to make love to me," she went on. "that's what i like about you. i think most men are silly, not because i am so very young, but because my husband is so ridiculously old. don't you think so? but, never mind! i see you are quite eager to answer--that's enough. take another cigarette and--listen to what i am going to say." he declined the cigarette with a shake of his head. after a moment she went on resolutely: "as i said before, i do not know that my suspicions are correct. i have not even breathed them to my father. he would have laughed at me. my husband is a graustarkian, even as i am, but there is this distinction between us: he despises graustark, while i love her in every drop of my blood. i know that in his heart he has never ceased to brew evil for the throne that disgraced him. he openly expresses his hatred for the present dynasty, and has more than once said in public gatherings that he could cheerfully assist in its utter destruction. that, of course, is commonly known in graustark, where he is scorned and derided. but he is not a man to serve his hatred with mere idle words and inaction." she stopped for a moment, and then cried impulsively: "i must first know that you will not consider me base and disloyal in saying these things to you. after all, he is my husband." he saw the faint curl of her lip. "before that," he argued simply, "you were a daughter of graustark. you were not born to serve a cause that means evil to the dear land. graustark first made you noble; you can't go back on that, you know. don't let your husband degrade you. i think you can see how i feel about it. please believe that i know you can do no wrong." "thank you," she said, returning the look in his earnest grey eyes with one in which the utmost confidence shone. "you are the only man to whom i feel sure that i can reveal myself and be quite understood. it isn't as if i had positive facts to divulge, for i have not; they are suspicions, fears, that's all, but they are no longer vague shapes to me; they mean something." "tell me," he said quietly. he seemed to square his broad shoulders and to set his jaw firmly, as if to resist physical attack. she knew she had come with her fears to a man in whose face it was declared that he could laugh at substance as well as shadow. "i am seeing you here in this big room, openly, for the simple reason that if i am being watched this manner of meeting may be above suspicion. we may speak freely here, for we cannot be heard unless we raise our voices. don't betray surprise or consternation. the eyes of the wall may be better than its ears." "you don't mean to say you are being watched here in your father's house?" he demanded. "i don't know. this i do know: the count has many spies in edelweiss. he is systematically apprised of everything that occurs at court, in the city, or in the council chamber. so you see, he is being well served, whether to an evil purpose or to satisfy his own innate curiosity, i do not know. he has reports almost daily,--voluminous things, partly in cipher, partly free, and he is forever sending men away on secret, mysterious missions. understand, i do not know that he is actually planning disaster to graustark. day before yesterday i saw his secretary in the streets--a man who has been in his employ for five years or more and who now pretends to be a lawyer here. his name is brutus. i spoke with him. he said that he had left the count six weeks ago in vienna, determined to set out for himself in his chosen profession. he knows, of course, that i am not and never have been in the confidences of my husband. i asked him if it was known in edelweiss that he had served the count as secretary. he promptly handed me one of his business cards, on which he refers to himself as the former trusted and confidential secretary of count marlanx. now, i happen to know that he is still in my husband's service,--or was no longer ago than last week." "my dear countess, he may be serving him legitimately as an attorney. there would be nothing strange in that." "but he is still serving him as confidential secretary. he is here for a purpose, as my husband's representative. i have not been asleep all these months at schloss marlanx. i have seen and heard enough to convince me that some great movement is on foot. my intelligence tells me that it has to do with graustark. as he wishes the prince no good, it must be for evil." "but there is nothing he can do. he has no following here. the prince is adored by the people. count marlanx would not be such a fool as to--" "he is no fool," she interrupted quickly. "that's why i am afraid. if he is plotting against the crown, you may depend upon it he is laying his plans well. john tullis, that man is a devil--a devil incarnate." she turned her face away. a spasm of utter repugnance crossed her face; she shuddered so violently that his hand went forth to clutch the fingers that trembled on the arm of the chair. he held them in his firm grasp for a moment. they looked into each other's eyes and he saw the flicker of undisguised horror in hers. an instant later she was herself again. withdrawing her hand, she added, with a short laugh of derision: "still i did not expect heaven, so why complain." "but you are an angel," he blurted out. "i don't believe the count will agree to that," she said, with a reflective twinkle in her dark eyes. "he has not found me especially angelic. if you imagine that i cannot scratch back, my dear friend, you are very much mistaken. i have had the pleasure of giving him more than one bad half hour. you may be sure he has never called me an angel. quite the other thing, i assure you. but we are straying from the point." "wait a moment, please," he commanded. "i want to say to you here and now: you are the gentlest, loveliest woman i have ever known. i don't say it idly. i mean it. if you gave him half as good as he sent, i rejoice in your spirit. now, i want to ask if you expect to go back to live with the da--with him." "that, mr. tullis, is hardly a matter i can discuss with you," she said gently, and he was not offended. "perhaps not, countess, but now is the time for you to decide the issue. why should you return to castle marlanx? why keep up the farce--or i might say, tragedy--any longer? you love graustark. you love the prince. you betray them both by consorting with their harshest foe. oh, i could tell you a thousand reasons why--" "we haven't time for them," she interrupted, with mock despair in her face. "besides, i said we cannot discuss it. it requires no learned argument to move me, one way or the other. i can decide for myself." "you should divorce him," he said harshly. she laughed easily, softly. "my good friend, if i did that, i'd lose your friendship." he opened his lips to remonstrate, but suddenly caught the undercurrent of the naive remark. "by jove," he said, his eyes glowing, "you must not risk finding me too obtuse." "bravo!" she cried. "you are improving." "i could provide a splendid substitute for the friendship you speak of," he said coolly. "poof! what is that to me? i could have a hundred lovers--but, ach, friends are the scarcest things in the world. i prefer friendship. it lasts. there! i see disapproval in your face! you americans are so literal." she gazed into the fireplace for a moment, her lips parted in a whimsical smile. he waited for her to go on; the words were on her tongue's end, he could tell. "a divorce at twenty-five. i believe that is the accepted age, isn't it? if one gets beyond that, she--but, enough of this!" she sprang to her feet and stood before him, the flash dying in her eyes even as it was born that he might see so briefly. "we diverge! you must go soon. it is best not to be seen leaving here at a very late hour--especially as my father is known to be away. i am afraid of peter brutus. he is here to watch--_everybody_." she was leaning against the great carved mantel post, a tall, slender, lissome creature, exquisitely gowned in rarest irish lace, her bare neck and shoulders gleaming white against the dull timbers beyond, the faint glow from the embers creeping up to her face with the insistence of a maiden's flush. he gazed in rapt admiration, his heart thumping like fury in his great breast. she was little more than a girl, this wife of old marlanx, and yet how wise, how clever, how brilliant she was! a face of unusual pallor and extremely patrician in its modelling, surmounted by a coiffure so black that it could be compared only to ebony--black and almost gleaming with the life that was in it. it came low on her forehead, shading the wondrous dark eyes--eyes that were a deep yellowish green in their division between grey and black, eyes that were soft and luminous and unwaveringly steadfast, impelling in their power to fascinate, yet even more dangerously compassionate when put to the test that tries woman's vanity. there were diamonds on her long, tapering fingers, and a rope of pearls in her hair. a single wide gold band encircled her arm above the elbow, an arm-band as old as the principality itself, for it had been worn by twenty fair ancestors before her. the noblewomen of graustark never wore bracelets on their wrists; always the wide chased gold band on the upper arm. there was a day, not so far back in history, when they wore bands on their ankles. she was well named ingomede, the beautiful. a soft, almost imperceptible perfume, languorous in its appeal to the senses, exuded from this perfect creation; added to this, the subtle, unfailing scent of young womanhood; the warm, alive feel of her presence in the atmosphere; a suggestion of something sensuous, clean, pure, delicious. the undescribable. "does baron dangloss know this man brutus?" asked tullis, arising to stand beside her. a sub-conscious, triumphant thrill shot through him as an instantaneous flash of his own physical superiority over this girl's husband came over him. he was young and strong and vital. he could feel the sensation of being strong; he tingled with the glory of it. he was thirty-five, marlanx seventy. he wondered if marlanx had ever been as strong as he. "i don't know," she said thoughtfully. "i have not spoken to him concerning brutus. perhaps he knows. the baron is very wise. let me tell you how i happen to know that peter brutus is still serving count marlanx and why i think his presence signifies a crisis of some sort." tullis stood facing the great fireplace, his back to the hail. he observed that she looked toward the doors quite as often as she looked at him; it struck him that she was extremely cautious despite her apparent ease. her voice, always low and even, second lower still. "in the first place, i have a faithful friend in one of the oldest retainers at schloss marlanx. his daughter is my maid. she is here with me now. the old man came to see josepha one day last week. he had accompanied count marlanx to the town of balak, which is in axphain, a mile beyond the graustark line. peter brutus was with my husband in balak for two days. they were closeted together from morning till night in the house where marlanx was stopping. at the end of two days brutus went away, but he carried with him a vast sum of money provided by my husband. it was given out that he was on his way to serros in dawsbergen, where he expected to purchase a business block for his master. marlanx waited another day in balak, permitting josepha's father to come on to edelweiss with a message for me and to see his daughter. he--" "and josepha's father saw brutus in edelweiss?" "no. but he did see him going into balak as he left for edelweiss that morning. he wore a disguise, but jacob says he could not be mistaken. moreover, he was accompanied by several men whom he recognised as graustark mountaineers and hunters of rather unsavoury reputation. they left brutus at the gates of balak and went off into the hills. all this happened before i knew that peter was living in edelweiss. when i saw him here, i knew at once that his presence meant something sinister. i can put many things together that once puzzled me--the comings and goings of months, the secret reports and consultations, the queer looking men who came to the castle, the long absences of my husband and my--my own virtual imprisonment--yes, imprisonment. i was not permitted to leave the castle for days at a time during his absences." "surely you will not go back again"--he began hotly. "sh!" she put a finger to her lips. a man-servant was quietly crossing the hall just off the library. "he is a new man. i do not like his appearance." "do you think he heard us or observed anything? i can make short work of him if--" he paused significantly. she smiled up into his face. "he did not hear anything. we've frightened him off, if he intended to play the eavesdropper." the servant had disappeared through a door at the end of the hall. "then there were the great sums of money that my husband sent off from time to time, and the strange boxes that came overland to the castle and later went away again as secretly as they came. mr. tullis, i am confident in my mind that those boxes contained firearms and ammunition. i have thought it all out. perhaps i am wrong, but it seems to me that i can almost see those firearms stored away in the caves and cabins outside of edelweiss, ready for instant use when the signal comes." "god! an uprising? a plot so huge as that?" he gasped, amazed. it is fortunate that he was not facing the door; the same servant, passing once more, might have seen the tell-tale consternation in his eyes. "it cannot be possible! why, dangloss and his men would have scented it long ago." "i have not said that i am sure of anything, remember that. i leave it to you to analyse. you have the foundation on which to work. i'd advise you to waste no time. something tells me that the crisis is near at hand." "why should josepha's father tell these things to you?" "because, if you will pardon my frankness, i have protected his daughter against count marlanx. he understands. and yet he would not betray a trust imposed upon him even by the count. he has only told me what any one else might have seen with his own eyes. wait! the new servant is in the hall again." she clapped her hands sharply and called out "franz!" the new man appeared in the doorway almost on the instant. "you may replenish the fire, franz." the man, a sallow, precise fellow, crossed deliberately and poked the half dead fire; with scrupulous care he selected two great chunks of wood from the hopper near by and laid them on the coals, the others watching his movements with curious interest. there was nothing about the fellow to indicate that he was other than what he pretended to be. "isn't it strange that we should have fires in july?" she asked casually. "the mountain air and the night fogs make it absolutely necessary in these big old houses." "we had a jolly fire in the prince's room when i left the castle. our monarch is subject to croup, you see." "that is all, franz." the man bowed and left the room. "what do you think of him?" she asked, after a moment. "he has a very bad liver," was all tullis deigned to offer in response. the countess stared for a moment and then laughed understandingly. "i think he needs a change." "i have a strange feeling that he is but one of a great many men who are in edelweiss for the purposes i mentioned before. now i have a favour to ask of you. will you take this matter up with baron dangloss as if on your own initiative? do not mention me in any way. you can understand why i ask this of you. let them believe that the suspicions are yours. i trust you to present them without involving me." "trust me, my dear countess. i am a very diplomatic liar. you need have no fear. i shall find a quick way of getting my friend dangloss on the right track. it may be a wild goose chase, but it is best to be on the safe side. may i now tell you how greatly i appreciate your confidence in--" she stopped him with a glance. "no, you may not tell me. there is nothing more to be said." "i think i understand," he said gently. "let us change the subject. i have uttered my word to the wise. eh bien! it may not be so bad as i think. let us hope so, at least." "i have a vague notion that you'd rejoice if we should catch your ogre and chop his head off," said he, coolly lighting a fresh cigarette. she liked his assurance. he was not like other men. glancing up at his sandy thatch, she said, with a rueful droop at the corners of her mouth, a contradictory smile in her eyes: "i shall rejoice more if you do not lose your head afterwards." "_double entendre_?" "not at all." "i thought, perhaps, you referred to an unhappy plight that already casts its shadow before," he said boldly. "i may lose everything else, my dear countess, but _not_ my head." "i believe you," she said, strangely serious. "i shall remember that." she knew this man loved her. "sit down, now, and let us be comfy. we are quite alone," she added instantly, a sudden confusion coming over her. "first, will you give me that box of candy from the table? thank you so much for sending it to me. how in the world do you manage to get this wonderful new york candy all the way to graustark? it is quite fresh and perfectly delicious." "oh, fifth avenue isn't so far away as you think," he equivocated. "it's just around the corner--of the world. what's eight or nine thousand miles to a district messenger boy? i ring for one and he fetches the candy, before you can wink your eye or say jack robinson. it's a marvellous system." he watched her white teeth set themselves daintily in the rich nougat; then the red lips closed tranquilly only to open again in a smile of rapture. for reasons best known to himself, he chose not to risk losing the thing he had vowed not to lose. he turned his head--and carefully inspected the end of his cigarette. a wholly unnecessary precaution, as any one might have seen that it was behaving beautifully. her eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she studied his averted face in that brief instant. when he turned to her again, she was resting her head against the back of the chair, and her eyes were closed as if in exquisite enjoyment of the morsel that lay behind her smiling lips. "are you enjoying it?" he asked. "tremendously," she replied, opening her eyes slowly. "'gad, i believe you are," he exclaimed. she sat up at once, and caught her breath, although he did not know it. his smile distinctly upset her tranquillity. "by the way," he added, as if dismissing the matter, "have you forgotten that on tuesday we go to the witch's hut in the hills? bobby has dingdonged it into me for days." "it will be good fun," she said. then, as a swift afterthought: "be sure that the bodyguard is strong--and true." chapter vii at the witch's hut the next morning, before setting forth to consult the minister of police at the tower, he called up the perse palace on the telephone and asked for the countess, to tell her in so many words that he had been followed from her door to the very gates of the castle grounds. not by one man alone, for that would have excited suspicion, but by half a dozen at least, each one taking up the surveillance in the most casual manner as the watcher before him left off. tullis was amazed by the cunning which masked these proceedings; there was a wily brain behind it. the duke's secretary answered the call. tullis was completely bowled over by the curt information that the countess marlanx had left edelweiss before six that morning, to join her husband, who was shooting wild boars with a party in axphain. "when does she return?" demanded the american, scarcely believing his ears. she had said nothing of this the night before. what could it mean? "i do not know, sir." "in a day or two?" "she took sixteen trunks, sir," was the laconic reply, as if that told the story in full. "well, i'm damned!" "i beg pardon, sir!" "i beg _your_ pardon. good morning." * * * * * in the meantime, our excellent young friend, truxton king, was having a sorry time of it. it all began when he went to the cathedral in the hope of seeing the charming aunt of the little prince once more. not only did he attend one service, but all of them, having been assured that the royal family worshipped there quite as regularly and as religiously as the lowliest communicant. she did not appear. more than all this, he met with fresh disappointment when he ambled down to the armourer's shop. the doors were locked and there was no sign of life about the shuttered place. the cafés were closed on this day of rest, so there was nothing left for him to do but to slink off to his room in the regengetz, there to read or to play solitaire and to curse the progress of civilisation. monday was little better than sunday. hobbs positively refused to escort him to the castle grounds again. no amount of bribing or browbeating could move the confounded englishman from his stand. he was willing to take him anywhere else, but never again would he risk a personally conducted tour into hot waters royal. mr. king resigned himself to a purely business call at the shop of mr. spantz. he looked long, with a somewhat shifty eye, at the cabinet of ancient rings and necklaces, and then departed without having seen the interesting miss platanova. if the old man observed a tendency to roam in the young man's eye, he did not betray the fact--at least not so that any one could notice. truxton departed, but returned immediately after luncheon, vaguely inclined to decide between two desirable rings. after a protracted period of indecision, in which olga remained stubbornly out of sight, he announced that he could not make up his mind, and would return later for another inspection. at his room in the hotel, he found a note addressed to himself. it did not have much to say, but it meant a great deal. there was no signature, and the handwriting was that of a woman. "_please do not come again_." that was all. he laughed with a fine tone of defiance and--went back to the shop at five o'clock, just to prove that nothing so timid as a note could stop him. this, however, was after he had taken a long walk down castle avenue, with a supplementary stroll of little incident outside the grim, high walls that enclosed the grounds. if any one had told him that he was secretly hoping to find a crevasse through which he could invade paradise, i make no doubt he would have resented the imputation soundly. on the occasion of this last visit to the shop, he did not stay long, but went away somewhat dazed to find himself the possessor of a ring he did not want and out of pocket just thirty dollars, american. having come to the conclusion that knight-errantry of that kind was not only profligate but distinctly irritating to his sense of humour, he looked up mr. hobbs and arranged for a day's ride in the mountains. "you'll oblige me, mr. hobbs, by removing that band from your cap. i know you're an interpreter. it's an insult to my intelligence to have it flaunted in my face all day long. i'll admit you're what you say you are, so take it off before we start out to-morrow." and so, minus the beguiling insignia of office, mr. hobbs led his hypercritical patron into the mountain roads early the next morning, both well mounted and provided with a luncheon large enough to restore the amiability that was sure to flag at mid-day unless sustained by unæsthetic sandwiches and beer. the day was bright and clear, warm in the valley where the city lay, cooler to cold as one mounted the winding roads that led past the lofty monastery of st. valentine, sombre sentinel among the clouds. a part of edelweiss is built along the side of the mountain, its narrow streets winding upward and past countless terraces to the very base of the rocky, jagged eminence at whose top, a full mile above the last sprinkling of houses, stands the isolated, bleak monastery. the view from these upper streets, before one enters the circuitous and hidden monastery road that winds afar in its climb, is never to be forgotten by the spectator, no matter how often he traverses the lofty thoroughfares. as far as the eye can reach, lies the green valley, through which winds the silvery river with its evergreen banks and spotless white houses-greens and whites that almost shame the vaunted tints of old ireland as one views them from the incoming steamers. immediately below one's feet lies the compact little city, with its red roofs and green chimney pots, its narrow streets and vivid awnings, its wide avenues and the ancient castle to the north. to the south, the fortress and the bridges; encircling the city a thick, high wall with here and there enormous gates flanked by towers so grim and old that they seem ready to topple over from the sheer fatigue of centuries. a soft, indian summer haze hangs over the lazy-lit valley; it is always so in the summer time. outside the city walls stretch the wheat-fields and the meadows, the vineyards and orchards, all snug in the nest of forest-crowned hills, whose lower slopes are spotted with broken herds of cattle and the more mobile flocks of sheep. an air of tranquillity lies low over the entire vista; one dozes if he looks long into this peaceful bowl of plenty. from the distant passes in the mountains to the east and north come the dull intonations of dynamite blasts, proving the presence of that disturbing element of progress which is driving the railroad through the unbroken heart of the land. it is a good three hours' ride to the summit of monastery mountain. and, after the height has been attained, one does not care to linger long among the chilly, whistling crags, with their snow-crevasses and bitter winds; the utter loneliness, the aloofness of this frost-crowned crest appals, disheartens one who loves the fair, green things of life. in the shelter of the crags, at the base of the monastery walls, looking out over the sunlit valley, one has his luncheon and his snack of spirits quite undisturbed, for the monks pay no heed to him. they are not hospitable, neither are they unfriendly. one seldom sees them. truxton king and mr. hobbs were not long in disposing of their lunch. it was too cold for comfort in their draughty dining-room, and they were not invited to enter the inhospitable gates. in half an hour they were wending their way down the north side of the peak by gradually declining roads, headed for the much-talked-of home of the witch in ganlook gap, some six miles from edelweiss as the crow flies, but twice that distance over the tortuous bridle paths and post roads. it was three o'clock when they clattered down the stone road and up to the forbidding vale in which lurked, like an evil, guilty thing, the log-built home of that ancient female who made no secret of her practices in witchcraft. the hut stood back from the mountain road a hundred yards or more, at the head of a small, thicket-grown recess. a low, thatched roof protruded from the hill against which the hut was built. as a matter of fact, a thin chimney grew out of the earth itself, for all the world like a smoking tree stump. the hovel was a squalid, beggary thing that might have been built over night somewhere back in the dark ages. its single door was so low that one was obliged to stoop to enter the little room where the dame had been holding forth for three-score years, 'twas said. this was her throne-room, her dining-room, her bed-chamber, her all, it would seem, unless one had been there before and knew that her kitchen was beyond, in the side of the hill. the one window, sans glass, looked narrowly out upon an odd opening in the foliage below, giving the occupant of the hut an unobstructed view of the winding road that led up from edelweiss. the door faced the monastery road down which the two men had just ridden. as for the door yard, it was no more than a pebbly, avalanche-swept opening among the trees and rocks, down which in the glacial age perhaps a thousand torrents had leaped, but which was now so dry and white and lifeless that one could only think of bones bleached and polished by a sun that had sickened of the work a thousand years ago. this brief, inadequate description of the witch's hut is given in advance of the actual descent of the personally conducted gentleman for the somewhat ambiguous reason that he was to find it not at all as described. the two horsemen rode into the glen and came plump upon a small detachment of the royal guard, mounted and rather resolute in their lack of amiability. "wot's this?" gasped mr. hobbs, drawing rein at the edge of the pebbly dooryard. "soldiers, i'd say," remarked mr. king, scowling quite glumly from beneath the rim of his panama. "hello!" his eyes brightened and his hat came off with a switch. "there's the prince!" "my word," ejaculated mr. hobbs, and forthwith began to ransack his pockets for the band which said he was from cook's. farther up the glen, in fact at the very door of the witch's hut, were gathered a small but rather distinguished portion of the royal household. it was not difficult to recognise the little prince. he was standing beside john tullis; and it is not with a desire to speak ill of his valour that we add: he was clutching the slackest part of that gentleman's riding breeks with an earnestness that betrayed extreme trepidation. facing them, on the stone door-step, was the witch herself, a figure to try the courage of a time-tried hero, let alone the susceptibilities of a small boy in knickers. behind tullis and the prince were several ladies and gentlemen, all in riding garments and all more or less ill at ease. truxton king's heart swelled suddenly; all the world grew bright again for him. next to the tall figure of colonel quinnox, of the royal guard, was the slim, entrancing lady of his most recent dreams--the prince's aunt! the lady of the grotto! the lady of the goldfish conspiracy! the countess marlanx, tall and exquisite, was a little apart from the others, with baron dangloss and young count vos engo--whom truxton was ready to hate because he was a recognised suitor for the hand of the slim, young person in grey. he thought he had liked her beyond increase in the rajah silk, but now he confessed to himself that he was mistaken. he liked her better in a grey riding habit. it struck him sharply, as he sat there in the saddle, that she would be absolutely and adorably faultless in point lace or calico, in silk or gingham, low-neck or high. he was for riding boldly up to this little group, but a very objectionable lieutenant barred the way, supported in no small measure by the defection of mr. hobbs, who announced in a hoarse, agitated whisper that he's "be 'anged if he'd let any man make a fool of him twice over." the way was made easy by the intervention of the alert young woman in grey. she caught sight of the restricted adventurers--or one of them, to be quite accurate--and, after speeding a swift smile of astonishment, turned quickly to prince bobby. a moment later, the tall stranger with the sun-browned face was the centre of interest to the small group at the door. he bowed amiably to the smiling young person in grey and received a quick nod in response. as he was adventuring what he considered to be a proper salute for the prince, he observed that a few words passed between the lad's aunt and john tullis, who was now surveying him with some interest. the prince broke the ice. "hello!" he cried shrilly, his little face aglow. "hello!" responded the gentleman, readily. john tullis found himself being dragged away from the witch's door toward the newcomer at the bottom of the glen. mr. hobbs listened with deepening awe to the friendly conversation which resulted in truxton king going forward to join the party in front of the hut. he came along in the rear, after having tethered the tired horses, not quite sure that he was awake. the prince had called him mr. cook, had asked him how his sons were, all of which was highly gratifying when one pauses to consider that he had got his cap band on upside down in his excitement. he always was to wonder how the little monarch succeeded in reading the title without standing on his head to do so. truxton was duly presented to the ladies and gentlemen of the party by john tullis, who gracefully announced that he knew king's parents in new york. baron dangloss was quite an old friend, if one were to judge by the manner in which he greeted the young man. the lady in grey smiled so sweetly and nodded so blithely, that tullis, instead of presenting king to her as he had done to the countess marlanx and others, merely said: "and you know one another, of course." whereupon she flushed very prettily and felt constrained to avoid truxton's look of inquiry. he did not lose his wits, but vowed acquiescence and assumed that he knew. as a result of the combined supplications of the entire party, the old woman grudgingly consented to take them into her hovel, where, in exchange for small pieces of silver, she would undertake certain manifestations in necromancy. truxton king, scarcely able to believe his good fortune, crowded into the loathsome, squalid room with his aristocratic companions, managing, with considerable skill, to keep close beside his charming friend. they stood back while the others crowded up to the table where the hag occupied herself with the crystal ball. never had truxton looked upon a creature who so thoroughly vindicated the life-long reliance he had put in the description of witches given by the fairy-tale tellers of his earliest youth. she had the traditional hook-nose and peaked chin, the glittering eyes, the thousand wrinkles and the toothless gums. he looked about for the raven and the cat, but if she had them, they were not in evidence. at a rough guess, he calculated her age at one hundred years. a youth of extreme laziness, who baron dangloss said was the old woman's grandson, appeared to be her man-of-all-work. he fetched the old woman's crystal, placed stools for the visitors, lighted the candles on the table, occupying no less than a quarter of an hour in performing these simple acts, so awkward that at least two of his observers giggled openly and whispered their opinions. "gruesome lady, isn't she?" whispered king. "i shall dream of her for months," whispered the lady in grey, shuddering. "are you willing to have her read your future in that ball?" "do you really think she can tell?" "i once had a fortune-teller say that i would be married before i was twenty-three," he informed her. she appeared interested. "and were you?" "no. but she did her part, you know--the fortune-teller, i mean." "she warned you. i see. so it really wasn't her fault." she was watching the preparations at the table with eager eyes, her lips parted and her breath coming quick through excitement. "would you mind telling me how i am to address you?" whispered king. they were leaning against the mud-plastered wall near the little window, side by side. the whimsical smile that every one loved to see was on his lips, in his eyes. "you see, i'm a stranger in a strange land. that accounts for my ignorance." "you must not speak while she is gazing into the crystal," she warned, after a quick, searching glance at his face. he could have sworn that he saw a gleam of concern in her eyes, followed instantly by a twinkle that meant mischief. "please consider my plight," he implored. "i can't call you aunt loraine, you know." she laughed silently and turned her head to devote her entire attention to the scene at the table. truxton king was in a sudden state of trepidation. had he offended her? there was a hot rush of blood to his ears. he missed the sly, wondering glance that she gave him out of the corner of her eye a moment later. although it was broad daylight, the low, stuffy room would have been pitch dark had it not been for the flickering candles on the table beside the bent, grey head of the mumbling fortune-teller, whose bony fingers twitched over and about the crystal globe like wiggling serpents' tails. the window gave little or no light and the door was closed, the grinning grandson leaning against it limply. the picture was a weird, uncanny one, despite the gay, lightsome appearance of the visitors. the old woman, in high, shrill tones, had commanded silence. the men obeyed with a grim scepticism, while the women seemed really awed by their surroundings. the witch began by reading the fortune of john tullis, who had been pushed forward by the wide-eyed prince. in a cackling monotone she rambled through a supposititious history of his past, for the chief part so unintelligible that even he could not gainsay the statements. later, she bent her piercing eyes upon the prince and refused to read his future, shrilly asserting that she had not the courage to tell what might befall the little ruler, all the while muttering something about the two little princes who had died in a tower ages and ages ago. seeing that the boy was frightened, tullis withdrew him to the background. the countess marlanx, who had returned that morning to edelweiss as mysteriously as she had left, came next. she was smiling derisively. "you have just returned from a visit to some one whom you hate," began the witch. "he is your husband. you will marry again. there is a fair-haired man in love with you. you are in love with him. i can see trouble--" but the countess deliberately turned away from the table, her cheeks flaming with the consciousness that a smile had swept the circle behind her graceful back. "ridiculous," she said, and avoided john tullis's gaze. "i don't care to hear any more. come, baron you are next." truxton king, subdued and troubled in his mind, found himself studying his surroundings and the people who went so far to make them interesting. he glanced from time to time at the delicate, eager profile of the girl beside him; at the soft, warm cheek and the caressing brown hair; at the little ear and the white slim neck of her--and realised just what had happened to him. he had fallen in love; that was the plain upshot of it. it had come to pass, just as he had hoped it would in his dearest dreams. he was face to face with the girl of royal blood that the story books had created for him long, long ago, and he was doing just what he had always intended to do: falling heels over head and hopelessly in love with her. never had he seen hair grow so exquisitely about the temples and neck as this one's hair--but, just to confound his budding singleness of interest, his gaze at that instant wandered off and fell upon something that caused him to stare hard at a certain spot far removed from the coiffure of a fair and dainty lady. his eye had fallen upon a crack in the door that led to the kitchen, although he had no means of knowing that it was a kitchen. to his amazement, a gleaming eye was looking out upon the room from beyond this narrow crack. he looked long and found that he was not mistaken. there was an eye, glued close to the opposite side of the rickety door, and its gaze was directed to the countess marlanx. the spirit of adventure, recklessness, bravado--whatever you may choose to call it--flared high in the soul of this self-despised outsider. he could feel a strange thrill of exaltation shooting through his veins; he knew as well as he knew anything that he was destined to create commotion in that stately crowd, even against his better judgment. the desire to spring forward and throw open the door, thus exposing a probable con-federate, was stronger than he had the power to resist. even as he sought vainly to hold himself in check, he became conscious that the staring eye was meeting his own in a glare of realisation. without pausing to consider the result of his action, he sprang across the room, shouting as he did so that there was a man behind the door. grasping the latch, he threw the door wide open, the others in the room looking at him as if he were suddenly crazed. he had expected to confront the owner of that basilisk eye. there was not a sign of a human being in sight. beyond was a black little room, at the back of which stood an old cooking stove with a fire going and a kettle singing. he leaped through, prepared to grasp the mysterious watcher, but, to his utter amazement, the kitchen was absolutely empty, save for inanimate things. his surprise was so genuine that it was not to be mistaken by the men who leaped to his side. he had time to note that two of them carried pistols in their hands, and that tullis and quinnox had placed themselves between the prince and possible danger. there was instant commotion, with cries and exclamations from all. quick as the others were, the old woman was at his side before them, snarling with rage. her talon-like fingers sunk into his arm, and her gaze went darting about the room in a most convincing way. some minutes passed before the old woman could be quieted. then king explained his action. he swore solemnly, if sheepishly, that he could not have been mistaken, and yet the owner of that eye had vanished as if swallowed up by the mountain. baron dangloss was convinced that the young man had seen the eye. without compunction he began a search of the room, the old woman looking on with a grin of glee. "search! search!" she croaked. "it was the spirit eye! it is looking at you now, my fine baron! it finds you, yet cannot be found. no, no! oh, you fools! get out! get out! all of you! prince or no prince, i fear you not, nor all your armies. this is my home! my castle! go! go!" "there was a man here, old woman," said the baron coolly. "where is he? what is your game? i am not to be fooled by these damnable tricks of yours. where is the man?" she laughed aloud, a horrid sound. the prince clutched tullis by the leg in terror. "brace up, bobby," whispered his big friend, leaning down to comfort him. "be a man!" "it--it's mighty hard," chattered bobby, but he squared his little shoulders. the ladies of the party had edged forward, peering into the kitchen, alarm having passed, although the exclamation "boo!" would have played havoc with their courage. "i swear there was some one looking through that crack," protested king, wiping his brow in confusion. "miss--er--i should say--_you_ could have seen it from where you stood," he pleaded, turning to the lady in grey. "dear me, i wish i had," she cried. "i've always wanted to see some one snooping." "there is no window, no trap door, no skylight," remarked the baron, puzzled. "nothing but the stovepipe, six inches in diameter. a man couldn't crawl out through that, i'm sure. mr. king, we've come upon a real mystery. the eye without a visible body." "i'm sure i saw it," reiterated truxton. the prince's aunt was actually laughing at him. but so was the witch, for that matter. he didn't mind the witch. suddenly the old woman stepped into the middle of the room and began to wave her hands in a mysterious manner over an empty pot that stood on the floor in front of the stove. the others drew back, watching her with the greatest curiosity. a droning song oozed from the thin lips; the gesticulations grew in weirdness and fervor. then, before their startled eyes, a thin film of smoke began to rise from the empty pot. it grew in volume until the room was quite dense with it. even more quickly than it began, it disappeared, drawn apparently by some supernatural agency into the draft of the stove and out through the rickety chimney pipe. even dangloss blinked his eyes, and not because they were filled with smoke. a deafening crash, as of many guns, came to their ears from the outside. with one accord the entire party rushed to the outer door, a wild laugh from the hag pursuing them. "there!" she screamed. "there goes all there was of him! and so shall we all go some day. fire and smoke!" not one there but thought on the instant of the arabian nights and the genii who went up in smoke--those never-to-be-forgotten tales of wonder. just outside the door stood lieutenant saffo of the guard, his hand to his cap. he was scarcely distinguishable, so dark had the day become. "good lord!" shouted tullis. "what's the matter? what has happened?" "the storm, sir," said saffo. "it is coming down the valley like the wind." a great crash of thunder burst overhead and lightning darted through the black, swirling skies. "very sudden, sir," added mr. hobbs from behind. "like a puff of wind, sir." the witch stood in the door behind them, smiling as amiably as it was possible for her to smile. "come in," she said. "there's room for all of you. the spirits have gone. ha, ha! my merry man! even the eye is gone. come in, your highness. accept the best i can offer--shelter from the hurricane. i've seen many, but this looks to be the worst. so it came sudden, eh? ha, ha!" the roar of wind and rain in the trees above seemed like a howl of confirmation. into the hovel crowded the dismayed pleasure-seekers, followed by the soldiers, who had made the horses fast at the first sign of the storm. down came the rain in torrents, whisked and driven, whirled and shot by the howling winds, split by the lightning and urged to greater glee by the deafening applause of the thunder. apple carts in the skies! out in the dooryard the merry grandson of the witch was dancing as if possessed by revelling devils. chapter viii looking for an eye "washing the dead men's bones," was the remark king made a few minutes later. the storm was at its height; the sheets of rain that swept down the pebbly glen elicited the gruesome sentence. he stood directly behind the quaking loraine, quite close to the open door; there is no doubt that the observation was intended for her ears, maliciously or otherwise. she gave him an awed glance, but no verbal response. it was readily to be seen that she was terrified by the violence of the mountain tornado. as if to shame him for the frivolous remark, she suddenly changed her position, putting herself behind him. "i like that," he remonstrated, emboldened by the elements. "you leave me in front to be struck by the first bolt of lightning that comes along. and i a stranger, too." "isn't it awful?" she murmured, her fingers in her ears, her eyes tightly closed. "do you think we'll be struck?" "certainly not," he assured her. "this is a charmed spot. it's a frolic of her particular devils. she waves her hand: all the goblins and thunder-workers in this neck of the woods hustle up to see what's the matter. then there's an awful rumpus. in a minute or two she'll wave her hand and--presto! it will stop raining. but," with a distressed look out into the thick of it, "it would be a beastly joke if lightning should happen to strike that nag of mine. i'd not only have to walk to town, but i'd have to pay three prices for the brute." "i think she's perfectly--ooh!--perfectly wonderful. goodness, that was a crash! where do you think it struck?" "if you'll stand over here a little closer i'll point out the tree. see? right down the ravine there? see the big limb swaying? that's the place. the old lady is carrying her joke too far. that's pretty close home. stand right there, please. i won't let it rain in on you." "you are very good, mr. king. i--i've always thought i loved a storm. ooh! but this is too terrible! aren't you really afraid you'll be struck? thanks, ever so much." he had squared himself between her and the door, turning his back upon the storm: but not through cowardice, as one might suppose. "don't mention it. i won't mind it so much, don't you know, if i get struck in the back. how long ago did you say it was that you went to school with my sister?" all this time the witch was haranguing her huddled audience, cursing the soldiers, laughing gleefully in the faces of her stately, scornful guests, greatly to the irritation of baron dangloss, toward whom she showed an especial attention. tullis was holding the prince in his arms. colonel quinnox stood before them, keeping the babbling, leering beldame from thrusting her face close to that of the terrified boy. young vos engo glowered at truxton king from the opposite side of the room. mr. hobbs had safely ensconced himself in the rear of the six guardsmen, who stood near the door, ready to dash forth if by any chance the terrified horses should succeed in breaking away. the countess marlanx, pale and rigid, her wondrous eyes glowing with excitement, stood behind john tullis, straight and strong, like a storm spirit glorying in the havoc that raged about her. time and again she leaned forward to utter words of encouragement in the ear of the little prince, never without receiving a look of gratitude and surprise from his tall protector. and all this time the goose-herd grandson of the witch was dancing his wild, uncanny solo in the thick of the brew, an exalted grin on his face, strange cries of delight breaking from his lips: a horrid spectacle that fascinated the observers. with incredible swiftness the storm passed. almost at its height, there came a cessation of the roaring tempest; the downpour was checked, the thunder died away and the lightning trickled off into faint flashes. the sky cleared as if by magic. the exhibition, if you please, was over! even the most stoical, unimpressionable men in the party looked at each other in bewilderment and--awe, there was no doubt of it. the glare that dangloss bent upon the hag proved that he had been rudely shaken from his habitual complacency. "it is the most amazing thing i've ever seen," he said, over and over again. the countess marlanx was trembling violently. tullis, observing this, tried to laugh away her nervousness. "mere coincidence, that's all," he said. "surely you are not superstitious. you can't believe she brought about this storm?" "it isn't that," she said in a low voice. "i feel as if a grave personal danger had just passed me by. not danger for the rest of you, but for me alone. that is the sensation i have: the feeling of one who has stepped back from the brink of an abyss just in time to avoid being pushed over. i can't make you understand. see! i am trembling. i have seen no more than the rest of you, yet am more terrified, more upset than robin, poor child. perhaps i am foolish. i _know_ that something dreadful has--i might say, touched me. something that no one else could have seen or felt." "nerves, my dear countess. shadows! i used to see them and feel them when i was a lad no bigger than bobby if left alone in the dark. it is a grown-up fear of goblins. you'll be over it as soon as we are outside." ten minutes later the cavalcade started down the rain-swept road toward the city, dry blankets having been placed across the saddles occupied by the ladies and the prince. the witch stood in her doorway, laughing gleefully, inviting them to come often. "come again, your highness," she croaked sarcastically. "the next time i come, it will be with a torch to burn you alive!" shouted back dangloss. to tullis he added: "'gad, sir, they did well to burn witches in your town of salem. you cleared the country of them, the pests." darkness was approaching fast among the sombre hills; the great pass was enveloped in the mists and the gloaming of early night. in a compact body the guardsmen rode close about prince robin and his friend. ingomede had urged this upon tullis, still oppressed by the feeling of disaster that had come over her in the hovel. "it means something, my friend, it means something," she insisted. "i feel it--i am sure of it." riding quite close beside him, she added in lower tones: "i was with my husband no longer ago than yesterday. do you know that i believe it is count marlanx that i feel everywhere about me now? _he_--his presence--is in the air! oh, i wish i could make you feel as i do." "you haven't told me why you ran away on sunday," he said, abruptly, dismissing her argument with small ceremony. "he sent for me. i--i had to go." there was a new, strange expression in her eyes that puzzled him for a long time. suddenly the solution came: she was completely captive to the will of this hated husband. the realisation brought a distinct, sickening shock with it. down through the lowering shades rode the prince's party, swiftly, even gaily by virtue of relaxation from the strain of a weird half hour. no one revealed the slightest sign of apprehension arising from the mysterious demonstration in which nature had taken a hand. truxton king was holding forth, with cynical good humour, for the benefit, if not the edification of baron dangloss, with whom he rode--mr. hobbs galloping behind not unlike the faithful sancho of another quixote's day. "it's all tommy-rot, baron," said truxton. "we've got a dozen stage wizards in new york who can do all she did and then some. that smoke from the kettle is a corking good trick--but that's all it is, take my word for it. the storm? why, you know as well as i do, baron, that she can't bring rain like that. if she could, they'd have her over in the united states right now, saving the crops, with or without water. that was chance. hobbs told me this morning it looked like rain. by the way, i must apologise to him. i said he was a crazy kill-joy. the thing that puzzles me is what became of the owner of that eye. i'll stake my life on it, i saw an eye. 'gad, it looked right into mine. queerest feeling it gave me." "ah, that's it, my young friend. what became of the eye? poof! and it is gone. we searched immediately. no sign. it is most extraordinary." "i'll admit it's rather gruesome, but--i say, do you know i've a mind to look into that matter if you don't object, baron. it's a game of some sort. she's a wily old dame, but i think if we go about it right we can catch her napping and expose the whole game. i'm going back there in a day or two and try to get at the bottom of it. that confounded eye worries me. she's laughing up her sleeve at us, too, you know." "i should advise you to keep away from her, my friend. granted she has tricked us: why not? it is her trade. she does no harm--except that she's most offensively impudent. and i rather imagine she'll resent your investigation, if you attempt it. i can't say that i'd blame her." the baron laughed. "baron, it struck me a bit shivery at the time, but i want to say to you now that the eye that i saw at the crack was not that of an idle peeper, nor was it a mere fakir's substitute. it was as malevolent as the devil and it glared--do you understand? glared! it didn't _peep!_" truxton king, for reasons best known to himself, soon relapsed into a thoughtful, contemplative silence. between us, he was sorely vexed and disappointed. when the gallant start was made from the glen of "dead men's bones," he found that he was to be cast utterly aside, quite completely ignored by the fair loraine. she rode off with young count vos engo without so much as a friendly wave of the hand to him. he said it over to himself several times: "not even a friendly wave of her hand." it was as if she had forgotten his existence, or--merciful powers! what was worse--as if she took this way of showing him his place. of course, that being her attitude, he glumly found his place--which turned out rather ironically to be under the eye of a police officer--and made up his mind that he would stay there. vos engo, being an officer in the royal guard, rode ahead by order of colonel quinnox. truxton, therefore, had her back in view--at rather a vexing distance, too--for mile after mile of the ride to the city. not so far ahead, however, that he could not observe every movement of her light, graceful figure as she swept down the king's highway. she was a perfect horsewoman, firm, jaunty, free. somehow he knew, without seeing, that a stray brown wisp of hair caressed her face with insistent adoration: he could see her hand go up from time to time to brush it back--just as if it were not a happy place for a wisp of hair. perhaps--he shivered with the thought of it--perhaps it even caressed her lips. ah, who would not be a wisp of brown hair! he galloped along beside the baron, a prey to gloomy considerations. what was the use? he had no chance to win her. that was for story-books and plays. she belonged to another world--far above his. and even beyond that, she was not likely to be attracted by such a rude, ungainly, sunburned lout as he, with such chaps about as vos engo, or that what's-his-name fellow, or a dozen others whom he had seen. confound it all, she was meant for a prince, or an archduke. what chance had he? but she was the loveliest creature he had ever seen. yes; she was the golden girl of his dreams. within his grasp, so to speak, and yet he could not hope to seize her, after all. was she meant for that popinjay youth with the petulant eye and the sullen jaw? was he to be the lucky man, this vos engo? the baron's dry, insinuating voice broke in upon the young man's thoughts. "i think it's pretty well understood that she's going to marry him." the little old minister had been reading king's thoughts; he had the satisfaction of seeing his victim start guiltily. it was on the tip of truxton's tongue to blurt out: "how the devil did you know what i was thinking about?" but he managed to control himself, asking instead, with bland interest: "indeed? is it a good match, baron?" the baron smiled. "i think so. he has been a trifle wild, but i believe he has settled down. splendid family. he is desperately in love, as you may have noted." "i hadn't thought much about it. is she in love with him?" "she sees a great deal of him," was the diplomatic answer. truxton considered well for a minute or two, and then bluntly asked: "would you mind telling me just who she is, baron? what is her name?" dangloss was truly startled. he gave the young man a quick, penetrating glance; then a set, hard expression came into his eyes. "do you mean, sir, that you don't know her?" he asked, almost harshly. "i don't know her name." "and you had the effrontery to--my excellent friend, you amaze me. i can't believe it of you. why, sir, how dare you say this to me? i know that americans are bold, but, by gad, sir, i've always looked upon them as gentlemen. you--" "hold on, baron dangloss," interrupted truxton, very red in the face. "don't say it, please. you'd better hear my side of the story first. she went to school with my sister. she knows me, but, confound it, sir, she refuses to tell me who she is. do you think that is fair? now, i'll tell you how it came about." he related the story of the goldfish and the pinhook. the baron smiled comfortably to himself, a sphinx-like expression coming into his beady eyes as he stared steadily on ahead; her trim grey back seemed to encourage his admiring smile. "well, my boy, if she elects to keep you in the dark concerning her name, it is not for me to betray her," he said at the end of the recital. "ladies in her position, i dare say, enjoy these little mysteries. if she wants you to know, she'll tell you. perhaps it would be well for you to be properly, officially presented to her hi--to the young lady. your countryman, mr. tullis, will be glad to do so, i fancy. but let me suggest: don't permit your ingenuousness to get the better of you again. she's having sport with you on account of it. we all know her propensities." it was dusk when they entered the northern gates. above the castle, king said good-bye to tullis and the countess, gravely saluted the sleepy prince, and followed mr. hobbs off to the heart of the city. he was hot with resentment. either she had forgotten to say good-bye to him or had wilfully decided to ignore him altogether; at any rate, she entered the gates to the castle grounds without so much as an indifferent glance in his direction. truxton knew in advance that he was to have a sleepless, unhappy night. in his room at the hotel he found the second anonymous letter, unquestionably from the same source, but this time printed in crude, stilted letters. it had been stuck under the door, together with some letters that had been forwarded from teheran. "_leave the city at once. you are in great danger. save yourself_!" this time he did not laugh. that it was from olga platanova he made no doubt. but why she should interest herself so persistently in his welfare was quite beyond him, knowing as he did that in no sense had he appealed to her susceptibility. and what, after all, could she mean by "great danger"? "save yourself!" he sat for a long time considering the situation. at last he struck the window sill a resounding thwack with his fist and announced his decision to the silent, disinterested wall opposite. "i'll take her advice. i'll get out. not because i'm afraid to stay, but because there's no use. she's got no eyes for me. i'm a plain impossibility so far as she's concerned. it's vos engo--damn little rat! old dangloss came within an ace of speaking of her as 'her highness.' that's enough for me. that means she's a princess. it's all very nice in novels, but in real life men don't go about picking up any princess they happen to like. no, sir! i might just as well get out while i can. she treated me as if i were a yellow dog to-day--after i'd been damned agreeable to her, too, standing between her and the lightning. i might have been struck. i wonder if she would have been grateful. no; she wouldn't. she'd have smiled her sweetest, and said: "wasn't it lucky?" he picked up the note once more. "if i were a storybook hero, i'd stick this thing in my pocket and set out by myself to unravel the mystery behind it. but i've chucked the hero job for good and all. i'm going to hand this over to dangloss. it's the sensible thing to do, even if it isn't what a would-be hero in search of a princess aught to do. what's more, i'll hunt the baron up this very hour. hope it doesn't get olga into trouble." he indulged in another long spell of thoughtfulness. "no, by george, i'll not turn tail at the first sign of danger. i'll stay here and assist dangloss in unravelling this matter. and i'll go up to that witch's hole before i'm a day older to have it out with her. i'll find out where the smoke came from and i'll know where that eye went to." he sighed without knowing it. "by jove, i'd like to do something to show her i'm not the blooming duffer she thinks i am." he could not find baron dangloss that night, nor early the next day. hobbs, after being stigmatised as the only british coward in the world, changed his mind and made ready to accompany king to the hovel in ganlook gap. by noon the streets in the vicinity of the plaza were filled with strange, rough-looking men, undeniably labourers. "who are they?" demanded king, as they rode past a particularly sullen, forbidding crowd at the corner below the city hail. "there's a strike on among the men who are building the railroad," said hobbs. "ugly looking crowd, eh?" "a strike? 'gad, it's positively homelike." "i heard a bit ago that the matter has been adjusted. they go back to work to-morrow, slight increase in pay and a big decrease in work. they were to have had their answer to-day. mr. tullis, i hear, was instrumental in having the business settled without a row." "they'd better look out for these fellows," said king, very soberly. "i don't like the appearance of 'em. they look like cut-throats." "take my word for it, sir, they are. they're the riff-raff of all europe. you should have seen them of a sunday, sir, before the order went out closing the drinking places on that day. my word, they took the town. there was no living here for the decent people. women couldn't go out of their houses." "i hope baron dangloss knows how to handle them?" in some anxiety. "by the way, remind me to look up the baron just as soon as we get back to town this evening." "if we ever get back!" muttered the unhappy mr. hobbs. prophetic lamentation! in due time they rode into the sombre solitudes of ganlook gap and up to the witch's glen. here mr. hobbs balked. he refused to adventure farther than the mouth of the stony ravine. truxton approached the hovel alone, without the slightest trepidation. the goose-herd grandson was driving a flock of geese across the green bowl below the cabin. the american called out to him and a moment later the youth, considerably excited, drove his geese up to the door. he could understand no english, nor could truxton make out what he was saying in the native tongue. while they were vainly haranguing each other the old woman appeared at the edge of the thicket above the hut. uttering shrill exclamations, she hurried down to confront king with blazing eyes. he fell back, momentarily dismayed. her horrid grin of derision brought a flush to his cheek; he faced her quite coolly. "i'll lay you a hundred gavvos that the kettle and smoke experiment is a fake of the worst sort," he announced, after a somewhat lengthy appeal to be allowed to enter the hut as a simple seeker after knowledge. "have it your own way! have it your own way!" she cackled. "tell you what i'll do; if i can't expose that trick in ten minutes, i'll make you a present of a hundred gavvos." she took him up like a flash, a fact which startled and disconcerted him not a little. her very eagerness augured ill for his proposition. still, he was in for it; he was determined to get inside the hut and solve the mystery, if it were possible. exposure of the witch would at least attract the interest if not the approval of a certain young lady in purple and fine linen. that was surely worth while. with a low, mocking bow, the shrivelled hag stood aside and motioned for him to precede her into the hovel. he looked back at mr. hobbs. that gentleman's eyes seemed to be starting from his head. "a hundred gavvos is a fortune not easily to be won," said the old dame. "how can i be sure that you will pay me if you lose?" "it is in my pocket, madam. if i don't pay, you may instruct your excellent grandson to crack me over the head. he looks as though he'd do it for a good deal less money, i'll say that for him." "he is honest--as honest as his grandmother," cried the old woman. she bestowed a toothless grin upon him. "now what is it you want to do?" they were standing in the centre of the wretched living-room. the goose-boy was in the door, looking on with strangely alert, questioning eyes, ever and anon peering over his shoulder toward the spot where hobbs stood with the horses. he seldom took his gaze from the face of the old woman, a rat-like smile touching the corners of his fuzz-lined lips. "i want to go through that kitchen, just to satisfy myself of one or two things." king was looking hard at the crack in the kitchen door. suddenly he started as if shot. the staring, burning eye was again looking straight at him from the jagged crack in the door! "i'll get you this time," he shouted, crossing the room in two eager leaps. the door responded instantly to his violent clutch, swung open with a bang, and disclosed the interior of the queer little kitchen. the owner of that mocking, phantom eye was gone! like a frantic dog, truxton dashed about the little kitchen, looking in every corner, every crack for signs of the thing he chased. at last he paused, baffled, mystified. the old woman was standing in the middle of the outer room, grinning at him with what was meant for complacency, but which struck him at once as genuine malevolence. "ha, ha!" she croaked. "you fool! you fool! search! smell him out! all the good it will do you! ha, ha!" "by gad, i _will_ get at the bottom of this!" shouted truxton, stubborn rage possessing him. "there's some one here, and i know it. i'm not such a fool as to believe--say! what's that? the ceiling! by the eternal, that scraping noise explains it! there's where the secret trap-door is--in the ceiling! within arm's reach, at that! watch me, old woman! i'll have your spry friend out of his nest in the shake of a lamb's tail." the hag was standing in the kitchen door now, still grinning evilly. she watched the eager young man pound upon the low ceiling with a three-legged stool that he had seized from the floor. "i don't see how he got up there so quickly, though. he must be like greased lightning." he was pounding vigorously on the roughly boarded ceiling when the sharp voice of the old woman, raised in command, caused him to lower the stool and turn upon her with gleaming, triumphant eyes. the look he saw in her face was sufficient to check his enterprise for the moment. he dropped the stool and started toward her, his arms extended to catch her swaying form. the look of the dying was in her eyes; she seemed to be crumpling before him. he reached her in time, his strong arms grasping the frail, bent figure as it sank to the floor. as he lifted her bodily from her feet, intent upon carrying her to the open air, her bony fingers sank into his arm with the grip of death, and--could he believe his ears!--a low, mocking laugh came from her lips. down where the pebbly house-yard merged into the mossy banks, mr. hobbs sat tight, still staring with gloomy eyes at the dark little hut up the glen. his sturdy knees were pressing the skirts of the saddle with a firmness that left no room for doubt as to the tension his nerves were under. now and then he murmured "my word!" but in what connection it is doubtful if even he could tell. a quarter of an hour had passed since king disappeared through the doorway: mr. hobbs was getting nervous. the shiftless, lanky goose-herd came forth in time, and lazily drove his scattered flock off into the lower glen. the horses were becoming impatient. to his extreme discomfort, not to say apprehension, they were constantly pricking their ears forward and snorting in the direction of the hovel; a very puzzling circumstance, thought mr. hobbs. at this point he began to say "dammit," and with some sense of appreciation, too. presently his eye caught sight of a thin stream of smoke, rather black than blue, arising from the little chimney at the rear of the cabin. his eyes flew very wide open; his heart experienced a sudden throbless moment; his mind leaped backward to the unexplained smoke mystery of the day before. it was on the end of his tongue to cry out to his unseen patron, to urge him to leave the witch to her deviltry and come along home, when the old woman herself appeared in the doorway--alone. she sat down upon the doorstep, pulling away at a long pipe, her hooded face almost invisible from the distance which he resolutely held. he felt that she was eyeing him with grim interest. for a few minutes he waited, a sickening doubt growing up in his soul. a single glance showed him that the chimney was no longer emitting smoke. it seemed to him that the old woman was losing all semblance of life. she was no more than a black, inanimate heap of rags piled against the door-jamb. hobbs let out a shout. the horses plunged viciously. slowly the bundle of rags took shape. the old woman arose and hobbled toward him, leaning upon a great cane. "whe--where's mr. king?" called out hobbs. she stopped above him and he could see her face. mr. hobbs was chilled to the bone. her arm was raised, a bony finger pointing to the treetops above her hovel. "he's gone. didn't you see him? he went off among the treetops. you won't see him again." she waited a moment, and then went on, in most ingratiating tones: "would you care to come into my house? i can show you the road he took. you--" but mr. hobbs, his hair on end, had dropped the rein of king's horse and was putting boot to his own beast, whirling frantically into the path that led away from the hated, damned spot! down the road he crashed, pursued by witches whose persistence put to shame the efforts of those famed ladies of tam o'shanter in the long ago; if he had looked over his shoulder, he might have discovered that he was followed by a riderless horse, nothing more. but a riderless horse is a gruesome thing--sometimes. chapter ix strange disappearances the further adventures of mr. hobbs on this memorable afternoon are quickly chronicled, notwithstanding the fact that he lived an age while they were transpiring, and experienced sensations that would still be fresh in his memory if he lived to be a hundred. he was scarcely well out of sight of the cabin when his conscience began to smite him: after all, his patron might be in dire need of his services, and here he was, fleeing from an old woman and a whiff of smoke! hobbs was not a physical coward, but it took more than a mile of hard-ridden conscience to bring his horse to a standstill. then, with his heart in his mouth, he slowly began to retrace his steps, walking where he had galloped a moment before. a turn in the road brought him in view of something that caused him to draw rein sharply. a hundred yards ahead, five or six men were struggling with a riderless bay horse. "my gawd!" ejaculated hobbs. "it's _his_ horse! i might have known!" he looked eagerly for his patron. there was no sign of him, so hobbs rode slowly forward, intent upon asking the woodmen--for such they appeared to be--to accompany him to the glen, now but a short distance ahead. as he drew nearer, it struck him forcibly that the men were not what he had thought them to be. they were an evil-looking lot, more like the strikers he had seen in the town earlier in the day. even as he was turning the new thought over in his mind, one of them stepped out of the little knot, and, without a word of warning, lifted his arm and fired point blank at the little englishman. a pistol ball whizzed close by his head. his horse leaped to the side of the road in terror, almost unseating him. but hobbs had fighting blood in his veins. what is more to the point, he had a mauser revolver in his pocket. he jerked it out, and, despite a second shot from the picket, prepared to ride down upon the party. an instant later half a dozen revolvers were blazing away at him. hobbs turned at once and rode in the opposite direction, whirling to fire twice at the unfriendly group. soon he was out of range and at leisure. he saw the futility of any attempt to pass them. the only thing left for him to do was to ride as quickly as possible to the city and give the alarm: at the same time, to acquaint the police with the deliberate assault of the desperadoes. his mind was so full of the disaster to truxton king--he did not doubt for an instant that he had been destroyed by the sorceress--that he gave little thought to his own encounter with the rascals in the roadway. he had come to like the impetuous young man with the open purse and the open heart. despite his waywardness in matters conventional to the last degree he could not but admire him for the smile he had and the courage that never failed him, even when the smile met the frown of rebuke. riding swiftly through the narrow, sunless defile he was nearing the point where the road connected with the open highway; from there on the way was easy and devoid of peril. suddenly his horse swerved and leaped furiously out of stride, stumbling, but recovering himself almost instantaneously. in the same second he heard the sharp crack of a firearm, far down the unbroken ravine to his left. a second shot came, this time from the right and quite close at hand. his horse was staggering, swaying--then down he crashed, hobbs swinging clear barely in time to escape being pinioned to the ground. a stream of blood was pouring from the side of the poor beast. aghast at this unheard of wantonness, the little interpreter knew not which way to turn, but stood there dazed until a third shot brought him to his senses. the bullet kicked up the dust near his feet. he scrambled for the heavy underbrush at the roadside and darted off into the forest, his revolver in his hand, his heart palpitating like mad. time and again as he fled through the dark thickets, he heard the hoarse shouts of men in the distance. it dawned upon him at last that there had been an uprising of some kind in the city--that there was rioting and murder going on--that these men were not ordinary bandits, but desperate strikers in quest of satisfaction for grievances ignored. night came and he dropped to the soft, dank earth, utterly exhausted and absolutely lost for the time being in the pathless hills. at ten o'clock the next morning colonel quinnox and a company of soldiers, riding from the city gates toward the north in response to a call for help from honest herders who reported attacks and robberies of an alarming nature, came upon the stiff, foot-sore, thorn-scratched mr. hobbs, not far from the walls of the town. the colonel was not long in grasping the substance of hobbs's revelations. he rode off at once for the witch's hovel, sending hobbs with a small, instructed escort to the castle, where baron dangloss was in consultation with mr. tullis and certain ministers. the city was peaceful enough, much to the surprise of hobbs. no disturbance had been reported, said the guardsmen who rode beside him. up in the hills there had been some depredations, but that was all. "all?" groaned mr. hobbs. "all? hang it all, man, wot do you call all? you haven't heard 'alf all of it yet. i tell you, there's been the devil to pay. wait till the colonel comes back from ganlook gap. he'll have news for you; take it from me, he will. that poor chap 'as gone up in smoke, as sure as my name's hobbs." they met baron dangloss near the barracks, across the park from the castle. he was in close, earnest conversation with john tullis and count halfont, both of whom seemed to be labouring under intense excitement. over by the arsenal the little prince, attended by his aunt loraine and count vos engo--with two mechanical guardsmen in the background--was deep in conversation with julius spantz, the master-of-arms. if he had been near enough to hear, he might have learned that prince robin's air-gun was very much out of order and needed attention at once. the arrival of hobbs, a pitiful but heroic object, at once arrested the attention of every one. his story was heard by a most distinguished audience; in fact, hobbs was near to exploding with his own suddenly acquired importance. not only were there dark, serious looks from the men in the party, and distressed exclamations from the most beautiful young lady in the world (he had always said that of her), but he had the extreme unction of bringing tears to the eyes of a prince, and of hearing manfully suppressed sobs from the throat of the same august personage. the looks that went round at the conclusion of his disjointed and oft-interrupted story, expressed something more than consternation. "there is nothing supernatural about king's disappearance," said tullis sharply. "that's all nonsense. he had money about him and it perhaps turns out that there really was a man at the crack in the door--a clever brigand who to-day has got the better of our vain-glorious friend. the shooting in the hills is more disturbing than this, to my mind. gentlemen, you shouldn't lose any time in running these fellows down. it will mean trouble if it gets under way. they're an ugly lot." "this mystery coming on top of the other is all the more difficult to understand. i mean the disappearance of the countess marlanx," said baron dangloss, pulling at his imperial in plain perplexity. "but we must not stop here talking. will you come with me, mr. tullis, to the tower? i shall send out my best man to work on the case of the lady. it is a most amazing thing. i still have hope that she will appear in person to explain the affair." "i think not," said tullis gloomily. "this looks like abduction-foul play, or whatever you choose to call it. she has never left her father's house in just this manner before. i believe, baron, that marlanx has taken her away by force. she told me yesterday that she would never go back to him if she could help it. i have already given you my suspicions regarding his designs upon the--ahem!" catching the eager gaze of the prince, he changed the word "throne" to "treasury." the baron nodded thoughtfully. "the countess attended the fête at baron pultz's last night, leaving at twelve o'clock. i said good-night to her at the fountain and watched her until she passed through the gate between the baron's grounds and those of her father adjoining. she would not permit me to accompany her to the doors. her maid had preceded her and was waiting just beyond the gate--at least, so she says to-day. it is less than two hundred feet from the gate to perse's doorsteps. well, she never crossed that space. her maid waited for an hour near the fernery and then came to the baron's. the countess has not been seen since she passed through the gate in the wall. i say that she has been carried away." "the maid will be at my office at eleven with the duke of perse and the house servants. i have detailed a man to look up this fellow brutus you speak of, and to ascertain his whereabouts last night. come, we will go to the tower. the duke is greatly distressed. he suspects foul play, i am confident, but he will not admit that marlanx is responsible." "but what about mr. king?" piped up a small voice. "colonel quinnox has gone to look for him, bobby," began tullis, frowning slightly. he was interested in but one human being at that moment. "i want the old witch beheaded," said the prince. "why don't you go, uncle jack? he's an american. he'd help you, i bet, if you were in danger." tullis flushed. then he patted prince robin's shoulder and said, with no little emotion in his voice: "perhaps i deserve the rebuke, bobby, but you must not forget that there is a lady in distress. which would you have me do--desert the lady whom we all love or the man whom we scarcely know?" "the lady," said bobby promptly. "hasn't she got a husband to look after her? mr. king has no friends, no relations, nothing. aunt loraine likes him and so do i." "he's a fine chap," asserted hobbs, and afterward marvelled at his own temerity. loraine, her merry eyes now dark with anxiety, her cheeks white with resolution, turned upon john tullis. "you might leave the rescue of the countess to the proper authorities--the police," she said calmly. "i think it is your duty as an american to head the search for mr. king. if count marlanx has spirited his wife away, pray, who has a better right?" "but we are not sure that he--" "we are sure that mr. king is either dead or in dire need of help," she interrupted hotly. he looked at her in surprise, swayed by two impulses. "colonel quinnox is quite competent to conduct the search," he said shortly. "but colonel quinnox has gone forth on another mission. he may be unable to give any of his time to the search for mr. king. it is outrageous, john tullis, to refuse help--" "i don't refuse help," he exclaimed. "they may take the whole army out to look for him, so far as i am concerned. but, i'll tell you this--i consider it my duty as a man to devote what strength i have to the service of a _woman_ in trouble. that ends it! come, baron; we will go to the tower." the amazed young woman looked at him with wide, comprehending eyes. her lip trembled under the rebuke. count halfont intervened, hastily proposing that a second party be sent out at once with instructions to raze the witch's hut if necessary. "i shall be happy to lead the expedition," said young count vos engo, bowing deeply to the young lady herself. "you shall, vos engo," said halfont. "prepare at once. take ten men. i shall report to general braze for you." tullis turned suddenly to the resentful girl. "loraine," he said gently, as the others drew away, "don't be hard with me. you don't understand." "yes, i do," she said stubbornly. "you are in love with her." "yes; that's quite true." "a married woman!" "i can't help it. i must do all i can for her." she looked into his honest eyes for a moment. "forgive me," she murmured, hanging her head. "what is mr. king to us, after all?" "he is simply paying for his foolhardiness. americans do that the world over." "be careful that you do not pay for something worse than foolhardiness." "i think you may trust me." she smiled brightly up into his face. "have your way, then. remember that i am her friend, too." then she hurried off after the prince and vos engo, who was already giving instructions to an attentive orderly. "poor mr. king!" she said to the prince, as they stood by watching the preparations. "i am afraid, bobby, he can't come to your circus this week. i sent the invitation this morning, early. he may never receive it. isn't it dreadful, count vos engo?" count vos engo was politely concerned, but it should not be expected that, in his present state of mind regarding her, he could be seriously grieved by anything that might have happened to the rash american. the guard about the prince was doubled: orders requiring the strictest care of his person were issued by count halfont. by this time, it may be suspected, the suspicions of john tullis had been communicated to men high in the government; no small amount of credence was attached to them. baron dangloss began to see things in a different light; things that had puzzled him before now seemed clear. his office was the busiest place in edelweiss. "it is not unreasonable to suspect that marlanx, or some of his agents, having concluded that the countess knew too much of their operations, and might not be a safe repository, decided to remove her before it was too late. understand, gentlemen, i don't believe the countess is in sympathy with her husband's schemes--" the duke of perse interrupted the doughty baron. "you assume a great deal, baron, in saying that he has schemes inimical to the best interests of this country." "i fancy that your grace will admit that your venerable son-in-law--who, if i mistake not, is some ten years your senior--has no great love for the reigning power in graustark. we will pass that, however," said the baron, pointedly. "we should be wise enough to guard against any move he may make; it is imperative that we should not be caught napping." "i don't believe he has taken my daughter away by force. why should he do so? she goes to him voluntarily at the end of each visit. there is no coercion." he met john tullis's stony gaze without flinching. "i insist that she has been stolen by these brigands in the hills, to be held for ransom." the stories of the maid, the footmen, the groundmen were all to the effect that the countess had not returned to her father's home after leaving the fête next door. there were no signs of a struggle in the garden, nor had there been the slightest noise to attract the attention of the waiting maid. it was not impossible, after all, that she had slipped away of her own accord, possessed of a sudden whim or impulse. the new man-servant, suspected by the countess herself, passed through the examination creditably. tullis, of course, had not yet told dangloss of the countess's own suspicions concerning this man. they were a part of their joint secret. the american felt sure, however, that this man knew more of the night's work than he had told. he conveyed this belief to dangloss, and a close watch was set upon the fellow. more than once during the long afternoon john tullis found himself wishing that he had that dare-devil, thoroughbred young countryman of his, truxton king, beside him; something told him that the young man would prove a treasure in resourcefulness and activity. late in the afternoon, a telegram was brought to tullis which upset all of their calculations and caused the minister of police to swear softly in pure disgust. it was from the countess marlanx herself, sent from porvrak, a station far down the railway, in the direction of vienna. it was self-explanatory: "i am going to schloss marlanx, there to end my days. there is no hope for me. i go voluntarily. will you not understand why i am leaving edelweiss? you must know." it was signed "ingomede." tullis was dumbfounded. he caught the penetrating glance of dangloss and flushed under the sudden knowledge that this shrewd old man also understood why she was leaving edelweiss. because of _him!_ because she loved him and would not be near him. his heart swelled exultantly in the next moment; a brave resolve was born within him. "we don't need a key to that, my boy," said the baron indulgently. "but i will say that she has damned little consideration for you when she steals away in the dead of night, without a word. in a ball dress, too. unfeeling, i'd say. well, we can devote our attention to mr. king, who _is_ lost." "see here, baron," said tullis after a moment, "i want you to give me a couple of good men for a few days. i'm going to schloss marlanx. i'll get her away from that place if i have to kill marlanx and swing for it." at seven o'clock that night, accompanied by two clever secret service men, tullis boarded the train for the west. a man who stood in the tobacconist's shop on the station platform smiled quietly to himself as the train pulled out. then he walked briskly away. it was peter brutus, the lawyer. a most alluring trap had been set for john tullis! the party that had gone to ganlook gap in charge of count vos engo returned at nightfall, no wiser than when it left the barracks at noon. riding bravely, but somewhat dejectedly beside the handsome young officer in command was a girl in grey. it was her presence with the troop that had created comment at the gates earlier in the day. no one could understand why she was riding forth upon what looked to be a dangerous mission. least of all, count vos engo, who had striven vainly to dissuade her from the purpose to accompany the soldiers. now she was coming home with them, silent, subdued, dispirited--even more so than she allowed the count to see. "i was hateful to him yesterday," she said penitently, as they rode into the city. vos engo had been thinking of something else: the remark disturbed him. "he was very presumptuous-yesterday," he said crossly. she transfixed him with a look meant to be reproachful. "that's why i managed the ticket for bobby's circus," she said, looking ahead with a genuinely mournful droop of her lip. "i was sorry for him. oh, dear, oh, dear what will his poor mother say--and his sister?" "we've done all we can, loraine. except to cable," he added sourly. "yes, i suppose so. poor fellow!" colonel quinnox and his men had been scouring the hills for bandits. they arrived at the witch's cabin a few minutes after vos engo and his company. disregarding the curses of the old woman, a thorough search of the place was made. the forest, the ravine, the mountainside for a mile or more in all directions were gone over by the searchers. there was absolutely no sign of the missing man, nor was there the least indication that there had been foul play. the old woman's story, reflected by the grandson, was convincing so far as it went. she said that the young man remained behind in the kitchen to puzzle himself over the smoke mystery, while she went out to her doorstep. the man with the horses became frightened when she went down to explain the situation to him. he fled. a few minutes later the gentleman emerged, to find his horse gone, himself deserted. cursing, he struck off down the glen in pursuit of his friend, and that was the last she saw of him. not long afterward she heard shooting in the gap and sent her grandson to see if anything could have happened to her late visitor, who, it seems, owed her one hundred gavvos as a forfeit of some sort. the further prosecution of the search was left to colonel quinnox and his men. loraine, shuddering, but resolute, had witnessed the ransacking of the hut, had urged the arrest of the hag, and had come away disheartened but satisfied that the woman had told them the truth. quinnox's theory was accepted by all. he believed that king had fallen into the hands of brigands and that a heavy ransom would be demanded for his release. in a warm-tinted room at the castle, later on in the evening, the prince, in pajamas, was discoursing bravely on the idiosyncrasies of fate. his only auditor was the mournful loraine, who sat beside the royal bed in which he wriggled vaguely. the attendants were far down the room. "never mind, aunt loraine, you can't help it. i'm just as sorry as you are. say, are you in love with him?" "in love with whom?" "mr. king." "of course not, silly. what an absurd question. i do not know him at all." "that's all right, aunt loraine. i believe in love at first sight. he is a--" "bobby! don't be foolish. how could i be in love with _him_?" "well, you can't help it sometimes. even princes fall in love without knowing it." "i suppose so," dreamily. "it's mighty hard to make up your mind which one you love best, though. dr. barrett's daughter in new york is awful nice, but i think she's--" "she is twenty years older than you, bobby, if you mean to say you are in love with her." "well, but i'll grow up, auntie. anyhow, paula vedrowski is not so old as i. she is--" "for heaven's sake, bobby, do go to sleep!" "don't you care to hear about _my_ love affairs?" "you are perfectly ridiculous!" "all right for you, auntie. i shan't listen when you want to tell me about yours. gee, uncle jack listens, you bet. i wish he was here this minute. say, is he ever going to get married?" there was no answer. he peered over the top of the pillow. there were tears in his aunt loraine's eyes. "oh, say, auntie, darling, don't cry! i'll--i'll go to sleep, honest!" she was not in love with truxton king, but she was a fine, tender-hearted girl, who suffered because of the thing that had happened to him and because she loved his sister. over in the hotel regengetz, on a little table in the centre of the room, lay a thick envelope with the royal arms emblazoned in the upper corner. it contained an invitation to the private circus that had been arranged for the little prince, and it bore the name of truxton king. across the foot of the bed hung his evening clothes, laid out by a faithful and well-tipped house valet, snug and ready for instant use. but where was truxton king? chapter x the iron count when king, in the kindness of his heart, grasped the old woman to keep her from falling to the floor, he played directly into the hands of very material agencies under her control. there was nothing ghostly or even spiritual in the incidents that followed close upon the simulated fainting spell of the fortune-teller. it has been said before that her bony fingers closed upon his arms in a far from feeble manner. he had no time for surprise at this sudden recovery; there was only time to see a fiendish grin flash into her face. the next instant something struck him in the face; then with a fierce jerk this same object tightened about his neck. his attempt to yell out was checked before a sound could issue from his lips. it all came to him in a flash. a noose had been dropped over his head; as he was pulled backward, his startled, bulging eyes swept the ceiling. the mystery was explained, but in a manner that left him small room for satisfaction. above him a square opening had appeared in the ceiling; two ugly, bearded faces were leaning over the edge and strong hands were grasping a thick rope. in a frenzy of fear and desperation he cast the old woman from him and tore violently at the rope. they were drawing hard from above; his toes were barely touching the floor; he was strangling. frantically he grasped the rope, lifting himself from the floor in the effort to loosen the noose with his free hand. a hoarse laugh broke upon his dinning ears, the leering faces drew nearer; and then, as everything went black, a heavy, yet merciful blow fell upon his head. as consciousness left him, he felt himself rushing dizzily upward, grasped by powerful hands and whisked through the opening into air so hot and stiffling that his last thought was of the fires of hell. not many minutes passed before consciousness, which had been but partially lost, returned to him. the ringing sensation remained in his head, but he was no longer choking. the noose had been removed from his neck; the rope itself was now serving as a bond for his hands and feet, a fact that impressed itself upon him when he tried to rise. for some time he lay perfectly still, urging his senses into play: wondering where he was and what had happened to him. it was pitch dark and the air was hot and close. not a sound came to his throbbing cars. with characteristic irrepressibility he began to swear softly, but articulately. proof that his profanity was mild--one might say genteel--came in an instant. a gruff voice, startlingly near at hand, interrupted him. "spit it out, young feller! swear like a man, not like a damn canary bird." truxton tried hard to pierce the darkness, a strange thrill passing through his veins. the hidden speaker was unquestionably an american. "what the devil does all this mean?" demanded the captive. "where am i?" "it means business, and you're here, that's where you are," was the sarcastic answer. "are you an american?" "no. i'm a chinaman." "oh, come off! answer square." "well, i was born in newport." as an afterthought: "kentucky." "you're in a damned nice business, i'll say that for you," growled truxton. "who is responsible for this outrage?" he heard the man yawn prodigiously. "depends on what you call an outrage." "this is the damnedest high-handed outrage i've ever--" "better save your breath, young feller. you won't have it very long, so save what you can of it." truxton was silent for a moment, analysing this unique remark. "you mean i am to stop breathing altogether?" "something like that." "why?" "i don't know." "you don't know? well, who does?" "you'll find out when the boss gets good and ready." "you are a fine american!" "look here, young feller, i've been polite to you, so don't get gay. i'll come over there and kick your jaw in." "come ahead. anything to break the monotony." "didn't you get enough of the hangman's knot and the sandbag? want more, eh? well, if i wasn't so darned comfortable i'd come over there and give it to you. now don't rile me!" "i deserve to be kicked for being such a blithering fool as to get into this mess. come on and kick me." "you wanted to get a poke at the old man's eye, did ye? by thunder, that's like an american. never satisfied to let things alone. see what it got you into?" "the old man's eye? what old man?" "that's for you to find out, if you can. you've made a hell of a poor start at it." "you're a good-natured scoundrel" "thanks for them kind words." "well, what are you going to do with me? i don't like the air in here. it's awful. how long do i stay here?" "say, you're a gritty little man. i like your nerve. too bad we ain't on the same side. i'll tell you this: you won't be here long. how would the old girl down there put it? you're going on a long voyage. that's it. but first we'll get out of this rat hole, just as soon as them other guys come back from the cave. you'll get fresh air purty soon. now, don't talk any more. i'm through gossipin'!" "how do you, an american, happen to be mixed up in a deal like this?" "it's healthier work than makin' barrels at--i was goin' to say sing sing, but i hear they've changed the name. i prefer outdoor work." "fugitive, eh?" "you might call it that. i'm wanted in seven states. the demand for me is great." truxton saw that he could get nothing out of the satirical rascal, so fell to speculating for himself. that he was still in the loft above the hovel was more or less clear to him. his mind, now active, ran back to the final scene in the kitchen. the trap-door in the ceiling, evidently a sliding arrangement, explained the mysterious disappearance of the owner of the eye; he had been whisked up through the aperture by confederates and the trap-door closed before it could be discovered. the smoking kettle no longer puzzled him, now that he knew of the secret room above the kitchen; a skilfully concealed blow-pipe could have produced the phenomenon. the space in which he was now lying, half suffocated, was doubtless a part of the cleverly designed excavation at the back of the hovel, the lower half being the kitchen, the upper an actual gateway to the open air somewhere in the mountainside. that he had fallen into the hands of a band of conspirators was also quite clear to him. whether they were brigands or more important operators against the crown, he was, of course, in no position to decide. time would tell. it was enough that they expected to kill him, sooner or later. this, in itself, was sufficient to convince him that he was not to be held for ransom, but to be disposed of for reasons best known to his captors. like a shot the warning of olga platanova flashed into his brain. here, then, was the proof that she actually knew of the peril he was in. but why should he be an object of concern to these men, whoever they were? his guard had mentioned "the old man." good heavens, could he mean spantz? the cold perspiration was standing on king's brow. spantz! he recalled the wickedness in the armourer's face. but why should spantz wish him evil? again intuition, encouraged by memory, supplied him with a possible, even plausible explanation. the anarchists! the reds! olga was an avowed anarchist; she was almost a prisoner in the house of her uncle. truxton's guard sat up suddenly and felt for his weapon when the captive let out a bitter oath of understanding and rage. "by gad, they think i am a detective!" he added, light coming to him with a rush. "what's that?" snapped the other. truxton could almost feel the other's body grow tense despite the space between them. "are you a detective? are you? by god, if you are, i'll finish you up right here. you--" "no! they're on the wrong scent. by jove, the laugh's on old man spantz." "oho! so you _do_ know what's up, then? spantz, eh? well, what you've guessed at or found out won't make much difference, my fine young fellow. they've got you, and you'll be worse off than danny deever in the mornin'! hello! here they come. now we'll get out of this infernal bake-oven. say, do you know, you've been cuddlin' up against a j'int of warm stove pipe for nearly an hour? sh!" the glimmer of a light came bobbing up from somewhere behind truxton; he could see the flickering shadows on the wall. two men crept into the room a moment later. one of them carried a lantern; the other turned king's body over with his foot. "you damned brute," grated the captive. "call him what you like, young feller," said his first acquaintance. "he can't understand a word you say. well, do we pull out?" this to the man with the lantern. the roof was so low that they were compelled to stoop in moving about. truxton saw that the three ruffians were great, brutal-faced fellows, with bared arms that denoted toil as well as spoils. "immediate!" said the lantern bearer. "come; we drag him to the cave." "drag? nix; we c'n carry him, pard. i'm not for draggin' him down that passage. grab hold there,--you! hey, get his feet, damn you!" the third man was reluctant to understand, but at last grasped the prisoner by the feet, swearing in a language of his own. the yankee desperado took his shoulders, and together, with earnest grunts, they followed the man with the lantern, truxton knew not whither except that it was away from the wretched sweat-hole. he could see that they were crowding through a low, narrow passage, the earthen sides of which reeked with moisture. twice they paused to rest, resuming the journey after a season of cursing, finally depositing him with scant courtesy upon the rocky floor of what proved to be a rather commodious cave. the breath was almost jarred from his body. he had the satisfaction of driving his two heels viciously against the person of the man who had held them the last ten minutes, receiving a savage kick in return. daylight streamed into this convenient "hole in the wall;" lying upon his side, truxton faced the opening that looked out upon the world. he saw nothing but blue sky. near the opening, looking down as if into the valley below, stood the tall, gaunt figure of a man, thin-shouldered and stooped. his back was to the captive, but king observed that the three men, with two companions, who sat at the back of the cave, never removed their gaze from the striking figure outlined against the sky. many minutes passed before the watcher turned slowly to take in the altered conditions behind him. king saw that he was old; grey-haired and cadaverous, with sharp, hawk-like features. this, then, was the "old man," and he was not william spantz. unlike spantz in every particular was this man who eyed him so darkly, so coldly. here was a highborn man, a man whose very manners bespoke for him years at court, a life spent in the upper world, not among the common people. truxton found himself returning the stare with an interest that brought results. "your name is king, i believe," came from the thin lips of the old man. the tones were as metallic as the click of steel. "yes. may i inquire--" "no, you may not inquire. put a gag in his mouth. i don't care to hear anything from him. gag him and cut the rope from his feet. he may walk from now on." three men sprang to do his bidding. king felt in that instant that he was looking for the first time upon the features of the iron count, marlanx the dishonoured. he lay there helpless, speechless for many minutes, glancing at this cruel tyrant. into his soul sank the conviction that no mercy would come from this man, this hater of all men; justice would play no part in the final, sickening tragedy. it was enough that marlanx suspected him of being in the way; to be suspected was to be condemned. the whole, hellish conspiracy flashed through his brain. he closed his eyes with the horror of it all. here was marlanx on graustark soil, conniving with cutthroats, commanding them without opposition. what could it mean except a swift-growing menace to the crown--to the little prince. marlanx was speaking. truxton looked up, as at an executioner. the lean, cruel face of that beautiful girl's husband was not far from his own; the fiery eyes were burning into his. the iron count sat upon a boulder near his feet. "so you are the quixote who would tilt at invisible windmills, eh? i remember you quite well. we have met before. perhaps you remember meeting my eye in dame babba's cabin--twice, i think. you remember, i see. ha, ha! you were very slow not to have caught such an old man. you were near to it the first time, but--you missed it, eh? i thought you might have seen my heels as i disappeared. i dare say you are wondering what i intend to do with you, now that i have you. well, i am not the man to mince words. mr. king, you are quite young, but the good die young. i am very old, you observe. i will not say that you are to die to-night or to-morrow or any day, for i do not know. i am going to send you to a court. not an ordinary court, mr. king, but one of extreme perspicacity. i fancy you will die before long. we can spare you. i do not approve of meddlers. it seems to be quite settled that you are a police agent. be that as it may, i imagine our little court of last resort will take no chances, one way or the other. a man or two, more or less, will not be counted a year from now." the steady, cruel eyes fascinated king. he knew that he was in desperate straits, that he had one chance in a million to escape, and yet he found himself held by the spell of those eyes, drinking in certain metallic monotones as if hypnotised. "i am glad you called again at my temporary abode, mr. king. americans are always welcome: the sooner they come, the sooner it's over. it may interest you to know that i am very partial to americans. were i a cannibal, i could eat them with relish. if i had my way, all americans should be in heaven. the earth surely is not good enough nor big enough for them, and hell is already overcrowded. yes," reflectively pressing his nose with a bony forefinger, "i love the americans dearly. i should enjoy a similar visit from mr. john tullis. although, i may say, he seems to be choosing another way of testing my hospitality. i expect him to visit me in my humble castle before many days. i should like to have him remain there until his dying day." there was a deep significance in his smile. king shuddered. his gaze followed the gaunt, spidery old man as he returned to the opening for another long survey of the valley below. night was falling; the sky was growing darker, and the wind was rising. marlanx's sharp features were not so distinguishable when he returned to the boulder. the men in the cave had not spoken except in whispers. they appeared to be living in abject fear of this grim old nobleman. "night is coming. i must say farewell, my bold young friend. my way lies to the north. this is merely a land of promise to me. you go southward, to the city of edelweiss. but not through the gates; oh, no! there are other ways, as you will find. if you should, by any chance, escape the jurisdiction of the court i am sending you to, i sincerely trust you may honour me with another visit here. i come often to the hovel in the glen. it is the only friendly house i know of in all graustark. some day i may be able to recompense its beauteous mistress. my good friends, dangloss, and halfont, and braze--and tullis, whom i know only by reputation--are, as yet, unaware of my glorious return to graustark, else they would honour me with their distinguished presence. some day i may invite them to dine with me. i shall enjoy seeing them eat of the humble pie i can put before them. good-bye, my brave sir galahad; i may never see you again." with a courtly bow he turned from the tense-muscled captive and directed his final instructions to the men. "take him at once to the city, but be on your guard. a single false move now means utter ruin for all of us. our affairs go so well at present that we cannot afford to offend dame fortune. she smiles on us, my men. take this fool to the house on the monastery road. there you will turn him over to the others. it is for them to drag the truth from his lips. i'd suggest, dear mr. king, that you tell them all you know before they begin the dragging process. it is a very unpleasant way they have." with a curt nod to the men, he strode out through the mouth of the cave and was gone. dusk had settled down upon mountain and valley; a thin fog swam high in the air above. one of the men cut the rope that bound truxton's feet. "get up," said the newport man. "we've got to be movin'. how'd you like the old man? smart bug, ain't he? say, he'll throw the hooks into them guys down in edelweiss so hard one of these days that they won't come out till they rot out." still gagged and somewhat dizzy, king was hurried off into the narrow mountain path, closely surrounded by the five men. "they tell me your friend, the cook guy, got plugged down in the gap when he tried to duck this afternoon," volunteered the yankee unconcernedly. hobbs shot? king's eyes suddenly filled with tears, a great wave of pity and shame rushing to his heart. poor hobbs! he had led him into this; to gratify a vain-glorious whim, he had done the little englishman to death. the silent, cautious march down the valley, through the gap and along the ridge carried them far into the night. king knew that they were skirting the main roads, keeping to the almost hidden trails of the mountaineers. they carried no light, nor did they speak to each other, except in hoarse whispers. in single file they made their way, the prisoner between them, weary, footsore and now desperate in the full realisation of his position. being gagged, he could make no appeal to the one man who might befriend him--his villainous countryman. it occurred to him--grim thought--that the astute marlanx had considered that very probability, and had made it impossible for him to resort to the cupidity of the hireling. at last, when he could scarcely drag his feet after him, they came to a halt. a consultation followed, but he could not understand a word. this much he knew: they were in the hills directly above the northern gates. two of the men went forward, moving with extreme caution. in half an hour they returned and the march was resumed. their next halt came sooner than he expected. the vague, black shadow of a lightless house loomed up before them. in a twinkling he was hustled across the road and into a door. then down a flight of stairs, through pitchy darkness, guided by two of the men, a whispered word of advice now and then from the yankee saving him from perilous stumbles. he was jerked up sharply with a command to stand still. a light flashed suddenly in his face, blinding him for the moment. voices in eager, quick conversation came to his ears long before his eyes could take in the situation. soon he saw that they were in a broad, bare cellar; three men in heavy black beards were in earnest conversation with several of his captors; all were gesticulating fiercely. his newport companion enlightened him, between puffs of the pipe he was struggling with. "here's where we say good-bye, young fellow. we turn you over to these gents, whoever they are. i'm sort of out of it when they get to jabberin' among themselves. i can understand 'em when they talk slow, but, say, did you ever hear a flock of union square sparrows chirp faster than them fellers is talkin' now? nix. you go into the village gay with these schwabs by the sewer line, i guess." truxton pricked up his ears. "the old man has had a hole chopped in the sewer here, they tell me, and it's a snap to get into the city. not very clean or neat, but it gets you there. well, so long! they're ready, i see. they don't monkey long when they've got a thing to do. i'd advise you not to be too stubborn when they get you to headquarters; it may go easier with you. i'm not so damned bad, young feller. it's just the business i'm in--and the company." king felt a thrill of real regard for the rascal. he nodded his thanks and tried to smile. the fellow grinned and slapped him on the shoulder, unobserved by the others. in another moment his guardianship was transferred; he was being hurried across the cellar toward an open doorway. down a few stone steps he was led by the bearded crew, and then pushed through a hole in what appeared to be a heavy brick wall. he realised at once where he was. the gurgle of running water, the odor of foul airs came up to him. it was the great sewer that ran from the hills through the heart of the city, flushed continuously by a diverted mountain stream that swept down from above. he was wading in cold water over a slippery bottom, tightly held by two men, the third going ahead with the lantern. always ahead loomed the black, opaque circle which never came nearer, never grew smaller. it was the ever receding wall of darkness. he did not know how long they traversed the chill sewer in this fashion. in time, however, the water got deeper; rats began to scurry along the sides of the circle or to swim frantically on in front of the disturbers. the smells were sickening, overpowering. only excitement, curiosity, youth--whatever you may care to term it-kept him up and going. the everlasting glory of youth never ends until old age has provided the surfeit of knowledge; the strife to see ahead, to find out what is to be, to know,--that is youth. youth dies when curiosity ends. the emotion is even stronger than the dread of what may lie beyond in the pallid sea of uncertainty. his bones were chilled and creaking with fatigue. he was remorselessly hungry. there was water, but he could not drink it. at last the strange journey ended. they came to a niche in the slimy wall. up into this the men climbed, dragging him after them. the man above was cautiously tapping on what appeared to be solid masonry. to king's surprise a section of the wall suddenly opened before them. he was seized from above by strong hands and literally jerked through the hole, his companions following. up narrow steps, through a sour-smelling passage and--then, into a long, dimly lighted room, in the centre of which stood a long table. he was not permitted to linger here for long, but passed on into a small room adjoining. some one, speaking in english, told him to sit down. the gag was removed from his stiff, inflamed mouth. "fetch him some water," said a voice that he was sure he recognised--a high, querulous voice. "hello, spantz," articulated truxton, turning to the black-bearded, bent figure. there was an instance of silence. then spantz spoke, with a soft laugh: "you will not know so much to-morrow, herr king. give him the water, man. he has much to say to us, and he cannot talk with a dry throat." "nor an empty stomach," added king. he drank long of the pitcher that was held to his lips. "this is not the regengetz," growled a surly voice. "you mean, i don't eat?" "not at midnight, my friend." "it seems to be an all-night joint." "enough," cried spantz. "bring him out here. the others have come." king was pushed out into the larger room, where he was confronted by a crowd of bewhiskered men and snaky-eyed women with most intellectual nose-glasses. it required but a glance to convince him that the whiskers were false. for nearly an hour he was probed with questions concerning his business in edelweiss. threats followed close upon his unsatisfactory answers, though they were absolutely truthful. there was no attempt made to disguise the fact that they were conspiring against the government; in fact, they were rather more open than secretive. when he thought of it afterward, a chill crept over him. they would not have spoken so openly before him if they entertained the slightest fear that he would ever be in a position to expose them. "we'll find a way to make you talk to-morrow, my friend. starving is not pleasant." "you would not starve me!" he cried. "no. you will have the pleasure of starving yourself," said a thin-eyed fellow whom he afterward knew as peter brutus. he was thrown back into the little room. to his surprise and gratification, the bonds on his wrists were removed. afterward he was to know that there was method in this action of his gaolers: his own utter impotency was to be made more galling to him by the maddening knowledge that he possessed hands and feet and lungs--and could not use them! he found a match in his box and struck it. there was no article of furniture. the floor was bare, the walls green with age. he had a feeling that there would be rats; perhaps lizards. a search revealed the fact that his purse, his watch and his pocket-knife were missing. another precious match showed him that there were no windows. a chimney hole in the ceiling was, perhaps, the only means by which fresh air could reach this dreary place. "well, i guess i'm here to stay," he said to himself. he sat down with his back to the wall, despair in his soul. a pitiful, weak smile came to him in the darkness, as he thought of the result of his endeavour to "show off" for the benefit of the heartless girl in rajah silk. "what an ass i am," he groaned. "now she will never know." sleep was claiming his senses. he made a pillow of his coat, commended himself to the charity of rats and other horrors, and stretched his weary bones upon the relentless floor. "no one will ever know," he murmured, his last waking thought being of a dear one at home. chapter xi under the ground day and night were the same to the occupant of the little room. they passed with equal slowness and impartial darkness. five days that he could account for crawled by before anything unusual happened to break the strain of his solitary, inexplicable confinement. he could tell when it was morning by the visit of a bewhiskered chambermaid with a deep bass voice, who carried a lighted candle and kicked him into wakefulness. the second day after his incarceration began, he was given food and drink. it was high time, for he was almost famished. thereafter, twice a day, he was led into the larger room and given a surprisingly hearty meal. moreover, he was allowed to bathe his face and hands and indulge in half an hour's futile stretching of limbs. after the second day few questions were asked by the men who had originally set themselves up as inquisitors. at first they had treated him with a harshness that promised something worse, but an incident occurred on the evening of the second day that changed the whole course of their intentions. peter brutus had just voiced the pleasure of the majority by urging the necessity for physical torture to wring the government's secrets from the prisoner. king, half famished, half crazed by thirst, had been listening to the fierce argument through the thin door that separated the rooms. he heard the sudden, eager movement toward the door of his cell, and squared himself against the opposite wall, ready to fight to the death. then there came a voice that he recognised. a woman was addressing the rabid conspirators in tones of deadly earnestness. his heart gave a bound. it was the first time since his incarceration that he had heard the voice of olga platanova, she who had warned him, she who still must be his friend. once more he threw himself to the floor and glued his ear to the crack; her voice had not the strident qualities of the other women in this lovely company. "you are not to do this thing," she was saying. king knew that she stood between her companions and the door. "you are not to touch him! do you hear me, peter brutus? all of you?" there followed the silence of stupefaction, broken at last by a voice which he recognised as that of old man spantz. "olga! stand aside!" "no! you shall not torture him. i have said he is no spy. i still say it. he knows nothing of the police and their plans. he has not been spying upon us. i am sure of it." "how can you be sure of it?" cried a woman's voice, harsh and strident. "he has played with you," sneered another. "i will not discuss the point. i know he is not what you say he is. you have no right to torture him. you have no right to hold him prisoner." "god, girl, we cannot turn him loose now. he must never go free again. he must die." this was from spantz. "we cannot release him, i grant you," she said, and truxton's heart sank. "not now, but afterward, yes. when it is all over he can do no harm. but, hear me now, all of you. if he is harmed in any way, if he is maltreated, or if you pursue this design to starve him, i shall not perform my part of the work on the th. this is final." for a full minute, it seemed to king, no one spoke. "you cannot withdraw," exclaimed peter brutus. "you are pledged. you are sworn. it is ordained." "try me, and see if i will not do as i say. he is to be treated kindly so long as we hold him here and he is to be released when the committee is in power. then he may tell all that he knows, for it will be of no avail. he cannot escape, that you know. if he were a spy i would offer no objection to your methods. he is an american gentleman, a traveller. i, olga platanova, say this to you. it is not a plea, not a petition; it is an ultimatum. spare him, or the glorious cause must suffer by my defection." "sh! not so loud, girl! he can hear every word you say!" "why should it matter, madam? he is where he can do no harm to our cause. let him hear. let him understand what it is that we are doing. are we ashamed of our duty to the world? if so, then we are criminals, not deliverers. i am not ashamed of what god wills me to do. it is horrible, but it is the edict of god. i will obey. but god does not command us to torture an innocent man who happens to fall into our hands. no! let him hear. let him know that i, olga platanova, am to hurl the thing that is to destroy the life of prince robin. i am not afraid to have him know to-day what the world will know next week. let him hear and revile me now, as the world will do after it is over and i am gone. the glory will be mine when all the people of this great globe are joined to our glorious realm. then the world will say that olga platanova was not a beast, but a deliverer, a creator! let him hear!" the listener's blood was running cold. the life of prince robin! an assassination! "the thing that will destroy!" a bomb! god! for half an hour they argued with her, seeking to turn her from the stand she had taken; protesting to the last stage, cursing her for a sentimental fool. then they came to terms with her. truxton king owed his life to this strange girl who knew him not at all, but who believed in him. he suffered intensely in the discovery that she was, in the end, to lend herself to the commission of the most heartless and diabolical of crimes--the destruction of that innocent, well-worshipped boy of graustark. "you must be in love with this simple-minded american, who comes--" peter brutus started to say at one stage of the discussion, when the frail girl was battling almost physically with her tormentors. "stop! peter brutus, you shall not say that! you know where my love lies! don't say that to me again, you beast!" she had cried, and brutus was silenced. truxton was brought into the room a few minutes later. he was white with emotion as he faced the committee of ten. before a word could be addressed to him he blurted out: "you damned cowards! weak as i am, i would have fought for you, miss platanova, if i could have got through that door. thank you for what you have done to convince these dogs! i would to god i could save you from this thing you are pledged to do. it is frightful! i cannot think it of you! give it up! all of you, give this thing up! i will promise secrecy--i will never betray what i have heard. only don't do this awful thing! think of that dear little boy--" olga platanova cried out and covered her eyes with her hands, murmuring the words "dear little boy" over and over again. she was led from the room by william spantz. peter brutus stood over king, whose arms were held by two stalwart men. "enough!" he commanded. "we spare you, not for her sake, but for the sake of the cause we serve. hear me: you are to be held here a prisoner until our plans are consummated. you will be properly fed and cared for. you have heard miss platanova say that she will cook the food for you herself, but you are not to see her. do not seek to turn her from her purpose. that you cannot do. she is pledged to it; it is irrevocable. we have perhaps made a mistake in bringing you here: it would have been far wiser to kill you in the beginning, but--" king interrupted him. "i haven't the least doubt that you will kill me in the end. she may not be here to protect me after--after the assassination." "she is prepared to die by the same bomb that slays the prince," was all that brutus would say in response to this, but king observed the sly look that went round amongst them. he knew then that they meant to kill him in the end. afterward, in his little room, he writhed in the agony of helplessness. the prince, his court, the government--all were to be blasted to satisfy the end of this sickening conspiracy. loraine! she, too, was doomed! he groaned aloud in his misery and awe. food and water came after that, but he ate and drank little, so depressed had he become. he sought for every means of escape that suggested itself to him. the walls, the floors, the doors, the stairway to the armourer's shop--all were impassable, so carefully was he guarded. from time to time he heard inklings of the plot which was to culminate on the fatal th; he did not get the details in particular, but he knew that the bomb was to be hurled at the prince near the entrance to the plaza and that marlanx's men were to sweep over the stricken city almost before the echo died away. there was a telegraph instrument in the outer room. he could hear it ticking off its messages day and night, and could hear the discussion of reports as they came in or went out. it soon became clear to him that the wire connected the room with marlanx's headquarters near balak in axphain, a branch instrument being stationed in the cave above the witch's hut. he marvelled at the completeness of the great conspiracy; and marvelled more because it seemed to be absolutely unknown to the omnipresent dangloss. on his third night he heard the committee discussing the failure of one of marlanx's most cunning schemes. the news had come in over the wire and it created no small amount of chagrin among the red conspirators. that one detail in their mighty plot should go contrary to expectations seemed to disturb them immeasurably. king was just beginning to realise the stupendous possibilities of the plot; he listened for every detail with a mind so fascinated by horror that it seemed hardly able to grasp the seriousness of his own position. it seemed that marlanx deemed it necessary--even imperative--to the welfare of the movement, that john tullis should be disposed of summarily before the crucial chapter in their operations. truxton heard the committee discussing the fiasco that attended his first attempt to draw the brainy, influential american out of the arena. it was clear that marlanx suspected tullis of a deep admiration for his wife, the countess ingomede; he was prepared to play upon that admiration for the success of his efforts. the countess disappeared on a recent night, leaving the court in extreme doubt as to her fate. later a decoy telegram was sent by a marlanx agent, informing tullis that she had gone to schloss marlanx, never to return, but so shrewdly worded that he would believe that it had been sent by coercion, and that she was actually a prisoner in the hands of her own husband. tullis was expected to follow her to the castle, bent on rescue. as a matter of fact, the countess was a prisoner in the hills near balak, spirited away from her own garden by audacious agents of the iron count. tullis was swift to fall into the trap, but, to the confusion of the arch-plotter, he was just as swift to avoid the consequences. he left edelweiss with two secret service men, bound for schloss marlanx. all unknown to him, a selected company of cutthroats were in waiting for him on the hills near the castle. to the amazement of the conspirators, he suddenly retraced his tracks and came back to edelweiss inside of twenty-four hours, a telegram stopping him at gushna, a hundred miles down the line. the message was from dangloss and it was in cipher. a trainman in the service of marlanx could only say, in explanation, that the american had smiled as he deciphered the dispatch and at once left the carriage with his men to await the up-train at six o'clock. peter brutus repeated a message he had just received from marlanx at balak. it was to the effect that he had reason to believe that his wife had managed, through an unknown traitor, to send word to the tower that she was not at schloss marlanx, nor in any immediate danger. he felt himself supported in this belief by the obvious fact that no further efforts had been made by tullis or the police since that day. the authorities apparently were inactive and tullis was serenely secure at the royal castle. the guard about the prince, however, had been largely increased. tullis was known to be re-organising the royal guard, supported by the ministry to a man, it was said; not even the duke of perse opposed him. "the count is more afraid of this man tullis than of all the rest," averred peter brutus. "he has reasons to hate and fear the americans. that is why he desires the death of our prisoner. he has said, time and again, over the wire that king will in some way escape and play the deuce with our plans. it does not seem possible, however. we have him absolutely secure, and olga--well, you know how she feels about it." "i don't see why he should be so disturbed by tullis," growled one of the men. "he has no real authority at court and he is but one man against an unseen army that will not strike until everything is ready. there can be no--" "that is what i have said to my master, julius, but he will not be convinced. he says that he has had experience with one american, lorry, and he knows the breed. tullis has more power at court than the people think. he is shrewd and strong and not to be caught napping. as a matter of fact, the count says, tullis has already scented danger in the air and has induced the ministry to prepare for an uprising. of course, he cannot know of the dynamiting that is to open the way to success, but it is true that if anybody can upset our plans, it is this meddling american. he is a self-appointed guardian of the prince and he is not to be sneered at. the regents are puppets, nothing more." julius spantz agreed with brutus. "i know that the guard is being strengthened and that certain precautions are being taken to prevent the abduction of the prince. it is common rumour among the soldiers that count marlanx will some day seek to overthrow the government and take the throne. the air is full of talk concerning this far-distant possibility. thank god, it is to be sooner than they think. if tullis and general braze were given a month or two longer, i doubt if we could succeed. the blow must catch them unprepared." "this is the d, saturday is the th. they can do nothing in four days," said one of the women. "count marlanx will be ready on the th. he has said so. a new strike will be declared on the railroad on the th and the strikers will be in the city with their grievances. saturday's celebration will bring men from the mountains and the mines to town. a single blow, and we have won." so spoke brutus. "then why all this fear of tullis?" demanded anna cromer. "it is not like the iron count," added madame drovnask with a sneer. olga platanova had not spoken. she was not there to talk. she was only to act on the th of july. she was the means to an end. "well, fear or no fear, the count lies awake trying to think of a way to entice him from the city before the th. it may be silly, madam, but count marlanx is a wiser man than any of us here. he is not afraid of dangloss or braze or quinnox, but he is afraid of what he calls 'american luck!' he is even superstitious about it." "we must not--we cannot fail," grated william spantz, and the cry was reiterated by half a dozen voices. "the world demands success of us!" cried anna cromer. "we die for success, we die for failure! it is all one!" the next morning, after a sleepless night, truxton king made his first determined attempt to escape. all night long he had lain there thinking of the horrid thing that was to happen on the black th. he counted the days, the hours, the minutes. morning brought the d. only three days more! oh, if he could but get one word to john tullis, the man marlanx feared; if he could only break away from these fiends long enough to utter one cry of warning to the world, even with his dying gasp! marlanx feared the americans! he even feared him, a helpless captive! the thrill of exultation that ran through his veins was but the genesis of an impulse that mastered him later on. he knew that two armed men stood guard in the outer room day and night. the door to the stairway leading into the armourer's shop was of iron and heavily barred; the door opening into the sewer was even more securely bolted; besides, there was a great stone door at the foot of the passage. the keys to these two doors were never out of the possession of william spantz; one of his guards held the key to the stairway door. his only chance lay in his ability to suddenly overpower two men and make off by way of the armourer's shop. when his little door was opened on the morning of the d, truxton king's long, powerful figure shot through as if sped by a catapult. the man with the candle and the knife went down like a beef, floored by a blow on the jaw. the american, his eyes blazing with hope and desperation, kept onward--to find himself face to face with olga platanova! she was staring at him with frightened eyes, her lips apart, her hands to her breast. the tableau was brief. he could not strike her down. with a curse he was turning to the man on the floor, eager to snatch the keys from his belt. a scream from her drawn lips held him; he whirled and looked into the now haggard face of the girl he had considered beautiful. the penalty for her crime was already written there. she was to die in three days! "he has not the key!" she cried. "nor have i. you have no chance to escape. go back! go back! they are coming!" a key rattled in the door. when it swung open, two men stood in the aperture, both with drawn pistols. the girl leaped between them and the helpless, defeated american. "remember!" she cried. "you are not to kill him!" peter brutus had risen from the floor, half dazed but furious. he made a vicious leap at king, his knife ready for the lunge. "i'm glad it's you," roared king, leaping aside. his fist shot out and again brutus went down. the men in the doorway actually laughed. "a good blow, even if it avails you nothing," said one of them drily. "he is not an especial favorite with us. return to your room at once. miss platanova, call your uncle. it is now necessary to bind the fellow's hands. they are too dangerous to be allowed to roam at large in this fashion." all day long truxton paced his little prison, bitterly lamenting his ill-timed effort. now he would be even more carefully guarded. his hands were bound behind his back; he was powerless. if he had only waited! luck had been against him. how was he to know that the guard with the keys had gone upstairs when olga brought his breakfast down? it was fate. the d dragged itself into the past and the th was following in the gloomy wake of its predecessors. two days more! he began to feel the approach of madness! his own death was not far away. it would follow that of the prince and of olga platanova, his friend. but he was not thinking of his own death; he was thinking of the prince's life! the atmosphere of suppressed excitement that characterised the hushed gatherings in the outer room did not fail to leave its impression upon him; he knew there was murder in the hearts of these fanatics; he could feel the strain that held their hitherto vehement lips to tense whisperings and mutterings. he could distinguish the difference between the footsteps of to-day and those of yesterday; the tread was growing lighter, unconsciously more stealthy with each passing hour. forty-eight hours! that was all! truxton found himself crying bitterly from time to time; not because he was in terror but because he knew of the thing that hourly drew nearer despite the fact that he knew! olga platanova's voice was heard no more before the committee of ten. something told him that she was being groomed and primed in an upstairs room! primed like a gun of war! he wondered if she could be praying for courage to do the thing that had been set down for her to do. food now came irregularly to him. she was no longer preparing it. she was making herself ready! early that night, as he lay with his ear to the crack of the door, he heard them discussing his own death. it was to come as soon as olga had gone to her reward! she was not there to defend him. spantz had said that she was praying in her room, committing her soul to god! truxton king suddenly pricked up his ears, attracted by a sentence that fell from the lips of one of the men. "tullis is on his way to the hills of dawsbergen by this time. he will be out of the way on the th safe enough." "count marlanx was not to be satisfied until he had found the means to draw him away from edelweiss," said another. "this time it will work like a charm. late this afternoon tullis was making ready to lead a troop of cavalry into the hills to effect a rescue. sancta maria! that was a clever stroke! not only does he go himself, but with him goes a captain with one hundred soldiers from the fort. ha, ha! marlanx is a fox! a very exceptional fox!" tullis off to the hills? with soldiers, to effect a rescue! truxton sat up, his brain whirling. "a wise fox!" agreed peter brutus, thickly. his lips were terribly swollen from king's final blow. "tullis goes off chasing a jack-o'-lantern in the hills; marlanx sits by and laughs at the joke he's played. it is good! almost too good to be true. i wonder what our fine prisoner will say to it when the new prisoner comes to keep him company over the th." chapter xii a new prisoner arrives it was far past midnight when king was roused from the doze into which he had fallen, exhausted and disconsolate, an hour earlier. sounds of unusual commotion reached him from the outer room. instantly he was wide awake, breathing heavily in the sudden overpowering fear that he had slept for many hours and that the time had come for the conspirators to go forth. was it the th? loud, quick commands came to his ears; the moving of eager footsteps; the drawing of bolts. "they are here at last," he heard some one say. "god, this suspense has been horrible. but they are here." "stand ready, then, with the guns!" cried peter brutus. "it may be a trick, after all. don't open that door down there, spantz, until you know who is on the outside." then followed a long interval of dead silence. "it's all right," came at last in the relieved, eager voice of peter brutus. "clear the way, comrades. give them room! by our holy father, this is a brave triumph. ah!" heavy footsteps clogged into the room, accompanied by stertorous breathing and no small amount of grunting from masculine throats. doors were closed, bolts shot, and then many voices let loose their flow of eager exclamations. not one, but three or four languages were spoken by the excited, intense occupants of the outer room; king could, make nothing of what they said. finally the sharp, incisive voice of william spantz broke through the babble, commanding silence. "still unconscious," he said, when some measure of order was secured. "yes," grunted one of the men, evidently a newcomer. "since we left the house above the ramparts. no need for gags or bonds, but we used them, just the same. now that we are here, what is to be done?" "we will have our instructions to-morrow. the count is to inform us before nightfall where she is to be removed to. next week she is to go to schloss marlanx." brutus inserted a cruel, heartless laugh, and then added: "there she is to remain until he is quite ready to take her to new apartments--in town. trust the master to dispose of her properly. he knows how to handle women by this time." a woman, thought truxton. the countess! they had brought her here from balak, after all. what a remorseless brute marlanx must be to maltreat his beautiful wife as--truxton did not complete the angry reflection. words from the other side of the door checked the train of thought. "to my mind, she is more beautiful than his own wife," observed anna cromer. "she will be a fine morsel for the count, who has even cast longing eyes on so homely a mortal as i." "all women are alike to him," said spantz sententiously. "i hope she is not to be left here for long. i don't like women about at a time like this. no offence, madame drovnask." "she'll go to-morrow night, i'm sure," said peter. "i told the count we could not keep her here over the--over the th. you see, there is a bare possibility that none of us may ever come back after the bomb is hurled. see? we don't want a woman to die of starvation down here, in that event. i don't care what happens to the man in there. but the count does not want this one to starve. oh, no; not he." "we must put her in the room with the american for the present. you are sure he will take her away before saturday? a woman's cries are most distressing." it was spantz who spoke. "i'll stop her crying," volunteered anna cromer harshly. "i fancy you could, my dear," agreed spantz. they all laughed. "she's regaining her senses," exclaimed one of the men. "stand back, every one. give her air." "air?" cried anna cromer. "it's at a premium down here, raoul." presently the door to king's room was thrown open. he had got to his feet and was standing in the centre of the room, his eyes blinking in the glare of light. "holloh!" cried peter brutus, "you up, eh? we've got a fair lady for you, my friend. get back there, you dog! keep in your corner." truxton faced the ugly crowd beyond the door for a moment and then fell back to the corner to watch the proceedings with wondering, pitying eyes. "you are a fine bunch of human beings," he blurted out, savage with despair and rage. no one gave heed to the compliment. a man with a lighted candle entered first, holding the light above his head. he was followed by two others, who supported the drooping, tottering figure of a woman. "let her sit there against the wall, drago. julius, fetch in more candles. she must not be left in the dark. _he_ says she is not to be frightened to death. women are afraid of the dark--and strange dogs. let there be light," scoffed peter brutus, spitting toward king. "i'll get you for that some day," grated the american, white with anger. peter hesitated, then spat again and laughed loudly. "enough!" commanded william spantz. "we are not children." turning to king he went on, a touch of kindness in his voice: "cheer her if you can. she is one of your class. do not let the lights go out." raising his hands, he fairly drove the others from the doorway. an instant later, king and his miserable, half-conscious companion were alone, locked in together, the fitful light from the candle on the floor playing hide and seek in shadows he had not seen before during his age of imprisonment. for a long time he stood in his corner, watching the figure huddled against the opposite wall. her face was not plainly visible, her head having dropped forward until the chin nestled in the lace jabot at her throat. a mass of tangled hair fell across her eyes; her arms hung limply at her sides; small, modish riding hoots showed beneath the hem of her skin, forlorn in their irresoluteness. her garments were sadly bedraggled; a pathetic breast rose and fell in choking sobs and gasps. suddenly he started forward, his eyes wide and staring. he had seen that grey riding habit before! he had seen the hair! two eager steps he took and then halted, half way. she had heard him and was raising her eyes, bewildered and wavering between dreamland and reality. "great jehovah!" he gasped, unbelieving. "you? my god, is it you?" he dropped to his knees before her, peering into her startled eyes. a look of abject terror crossed the tired, tear-stained face. she shrank away from him, shivering, whimpering like a cowed child. "what is it? where am i?" she moaned. "oh, let me go! what have i done, that you should bring me here? let me go, mr. king! you are not so wicked as--" "i? i bring you here?" he interrupted, aghast. then he understood. utter dismay filled his eyes. "you think that i have done this thing to you? god above us! look! i, too, am a prisoner here. i've been here for days, weeks, years. they are going to kill me after to-morrow. and you think that i have done this to you!" "i don't know what--oh, mr. king, what does it all mean? forgive me! i see now. you are bound--you are suffering--you are years older. i see now. but why is it? what have you done? what have i done?" she was growing hysterical with terror. "don't shrink from me," he urged. "try to calm yourself. try to look upon me as a friend--as a possible saviour. lie quiet, do, for a little while. think it all out for yourself." he knelt there before her while she sobbed out the last agony of alarm. there were no tears in her eyes; racking sobs shook her slender body; every nerve was aquiver, he could see. patiently he waited, never taking his firm, encouraging gaze from her face. she grew calmer, more rational. then, with the utmost gentleness, he persuaded her to rise and walk about the little room with him. "it will give you strength and courage," he urged. "poor little girl! poor little girl!" she looked up into his face, a new light coming into her eyes. "don't talk now," he said softly. "take your time. hold to my arm, please. there! in a little while you'll be able to tell me all about it--and then we'll set about to find a way to escape these devils. we'll laugh at 'em, after all." for five or ten minutes he led her back and forth across the room, very tenderly. at first she was faint and uncertain; then, as her strength and wits came back to her, courage took the place of despair. she smiled wanly and asked him to sit down with her. "a way to escape, you said," she murmured, as he dropped to her side. "where are we? what is it all about?" "not so loud," he cautioned. "i'll be perfectly candid with you. you'll have to be very, very brave. but wait. perhaps it will be easier for you to tell me what has happened to you, so far as you know. i can throw light on the whole situation, i think. tell me, please, in your own way and time. we're in a sorry mess, and it looks black, but, this much i can tell you: you are to be set free in a few days, unharmed. you may rest easy. that much is assured." "and you?" she whispered, clutching his arm tightly, the swift thrill of relief dying almost as it was born. "what of you?" "oh, i'll get out all right," he affirmed with a confidence he did not feel. "i'm going to get you out of this or die in the attempt. sh! don't oppose me," he went on whimsically. "i've always wanted to be a hero, and here's my chance. now tell me what happened to you." her piquant, ever-sprightly face had lost the arrogance that had troubled all his dreams of conquest. she was pale and shivering and so sorely distressed that he had it in his heart to clasp her in his arms as one might do in trying to soothe a frightened child. her face grew cloudy with the effort to concentrate her thoughts; a piteous frown settled upon her brow. "i'm not sure that i can recall everything. it is all so terrible--so unaccountable. it's like a dream that you try to remember and cannot. finding you here in this place is really the strangest part of it. i cannot believe that i am awake." she looked long and anxiously into his face, her eyebrows drawn together in an earnest squint of uncertainty. "oh, mr. king, i have had such a dreadful--dreadful time. am i awake?" "that's what i've been asking of myself," he murmured. "i guess we're both awake all right. nightmares don't last forever." her story came haltingly; he was obliged to supply many of the details by conjecture, she was so hazy and vague in her memory. at the beginning of the narrative, however, truxton was raised to unusual heights; he felt such a thrill of exaltation that for the moment he forgot his and her immediate peril. in a perfectly matter-of-fact manner she was informing him that her search for him had not been abandoned until baron dangloss received a telegram from paris, stating that king was in a hospital there, recovering from a wound in the head. "you can imagine what i thought when i saw you here a little while, ago," she said, again looking hard at his face as if to make sure. "we had looked everywhere for you. you see, i was ashamed. that man from cook's told us that you were hurt by--by the way i treated you the day before you disappeared, and--well, he said you talked very foolishly about it." he drew a long breath. somehow he was happier than he had been before. "hobbs is a dreadful ass," he managed to say. it seems that the ministry was curiously disturbed by the events attending the disappearance of the countess ingomede. the deception practised upon john tullis, frustrated only by the receipt of a genuine message from the countess, was enough to convince the authorities that something serious was afoot. it may have meant no more than the assassination of tullis at the hands of a jealous husband; or it may have been a part of the vast conspiracy which dangloss now believed to be in progress of development. "development!" truxton king had exclaimed at this point in her narrative. "good god, if dangloss only knew what i know!" there had been a second brief message from the countess. she admitted that she was with her husband at the axphain capital. this message came to tullis and was to the effect that she and the count were leaving almost immediately for a stay at biarritz in france. "mr. king," said the narrator, "the countess lied. they did not go to biarritz. i am convinced now that she is in the plot with that vile old man. she may even expect to reign in graustark some day if his plans are carried out. i saw count marlanx yesterday. he was in graustark. i knew him by the portrait that hangs in the duke of perse's house--the portrait that ingomede always frowns at when i mention it to her. so, they did not go to france." she was becoming excited. her eyes flashed; she spoke rapidly. on the morning of the d she had gone for her gallop in the famous ganlook road, attended by two faithful grooms from the royal stables. "i was in for a longer ride than usual," she said, with sudden constraint. she looked away from her eager listener. "i was nervous and had not slept the night before. a girl never does, i suppose." he looked askance. "yes?" he queried. she was blushing, he was sure of it. "i mean a girl is always nervous and distrait after--after she has promised, don't you see." "no, i don't see." "i had promised count vos engo the night before that i--oh, but it really has nothing to do with the story. i--" truxton was actually glaring at her. "you mean that you had promised to marry count vos engo!" he stammered. "we will not discuss--" "but did you promise to be his wife? is he the man you love?" he insisted. she stared at him in surprise and no little resentment. "i beg of you, mr. king--" she began, but he interrupted her. "forgive me. i'm a fool. don't mind me." he sank back against the wall, the picture of dejection. "it doesn't matter, anyway. i've got to die in a day or two, so what's the odds?" "how very strangely you talk. are you sure--i mean, do you think it is fever? one suffers so--" he sighed deeply. "well, that's over! whew! it was a dream, by jove!" "i don't understand." "please go on." she waited a moment and then, looking down, said very gently: "i'm so sorry for you." he laughed, for he thought she pitied him because he had awakened from the dream. then she resumed her story, not to be interrupted again. he seemed to have lost all interest. she had gone six or eight miles down the ganlook road when she came up with five troopers of the royal guard. it was a lonely spot at the junction of the king's highway and the road to the mines. one of the troopers came forward and respectfully requested her to turn off into the mine road until a detachment passed, in charge of a gang of desperadoes taken at the inn of the hawk and raven the night before. unsuspecting, she rode off into the forest lane for several hundred yards. it was a trap. the men were not troopers, but brigands gotten up in the uniform of the guard. once away from the main highway, they made prisoners of her and the two grooms. then followed a long ride through roads new to her. at noon they came to a halt while the rascals changed their clothing, appearing in their true garb, that of the mountaineer. half dead with dread, she heard them discussing their plans; they spoke quite freely in the presence of the well-beaten grooms, who were led to expect death before many hours. it was the design of the bandits to make their way to the almost impregnable fastnesses in the hills of dawsbergen, the wild principality to the south. there they could hold her against all hope of rescue, until an immense sum of money was paid over in ransom by her dispairing friends. when night came they were high in the mountains back of the monastery, many hours ahead of any pursuit. they became stupidly careless, and the two grooms made a dash for freedom. one of them was killed, but the other escaped. she was afterward to recall that no effort was made to recapture him; they deliberately allowed him to escape, their cunning purpose becoming only too apparent later on. instead of hurrying on to dawsbergen, they dropped swiftly down into the valley above the city. no secret was made of the ruse they had employed to mislead the prospective pursuers. the rescue party, they swore joyously, would naturally be led by john tullis; he would go with all haste to the dawsbergen hills. the word of the trusty groom would be taken as positive proof that the captive was in that country. she shuddered as she listened to their exultant chuckles. it had been a most cunningly conceived plan and it promised to result profitably for them in the end. some time during the slow, torturing ride through the forest she swooned. when she came to her senses she was in a dimly lighted room, surrounded by men. the gag had been removed from her mouth. she would have shrieked out in her terror, had not her gaze rested upon the figure of a man who sat opposite, his elbows on the back of the chair which he straddled, his chin on his arms. he was staring at her steadily, his black eyes catching her gaze and holding it as a snake holds the bird it has charmed. she recognised the hard, hawk-like face. there could be no mistake. she was looking into the face that made the portrait of the iron count so abhorrent to her: the leathery head of a cadaver with eyes that lived. a portrait of voltaire, the likeness of a satyr, a suggestion of satan--all rushed up from memory's storehouse to hold her attention rapt in contemplation of this sinister figure. he smiled. it was like the crumpling of soft leather. then, with a word to one of the men, he abruptly left the room. after that she broke down and cried herself into the sleep of exhaustion. all the next day she sat limp and helpless in the chair they had brought to her. she could neither eat nor drink. late in the afternoon marlanx came again. she knew not from whence he came: he stood before her suddenly, as if produced by the magic of some fabled genie, smiling blandly, his hands clasped behind his back, his attitude one of lecherous calculation. truxton king ground his teeth with rage and despair while she was breathlessly repeating the suave compliments that oozed from the lips of the tormentor. "he laughed when i demanded that he should restore me to my friends. he chided me when i pleaded and begged for mercy. my questions were never answered. he only said that no harm was to come to me; i was merely touching purgatory that i might better appreciate paradise when i came to it. oh, it was horrible! i thought i would go mad. finally i called him a beast; i don't know what else i said. he merely smiled. presently he called one of the men into the room. he said something about a sewer and a hole in the ground. then the man went out and i heard the clicking of a telegraph instrument. i heard certain instructions. i was to be taken to a certain place in the city at nightfall and kept there until to-morrow night, when i am again to be removed by way of the river. that is all i know. where am i, mr. king? oh, this dreadful place! why are we here--you and i?" king's heart throbbed fiercely one more. he was looking straight into the piteous, wondering eyes; his gaze fell to the parted, tremulous lips. a vast hunger possessed his soul. in that moment he could have laid down his life for her, with a smile of rejoicing. then he told her why she was there, why he was there--and of the th. the dreadful th! her eyes grew wide with horror and understanding; her bosom rose and fell rapidly with the sobs of suppressed terror. at last he had finished his stupefying tale; they sat side by side staring into each other's eyes, helpless, stricken. "god in heaven!" she repeated over and over again, in a piteous whisper. the candle flickered with feeble interest in the shadows that began to grow in the farthest corner. the girl drew closer to the side of the strong yet powerless man. their gaze went to the sputtering candle. it was going out and they would be in utter darkness. and yet neither thought of the supply of fresh candles in the corner. king brought himself out of the strange lethargy with a jerk. it was high time, for the light was going. "quick!" he cried. "the candle! light a fresh one. my hands are bound." she crept to the candles and joined the wicks. a new light grew as the old one died. then she stood erect, looking down upon him. "you are bound. i forgot." she started forward, dropping to her knees beside him, an eager gleam in her eyes. "if i can untie the rope--will that help? can you do anything? you are strong. there must be a way. there must be one little chance for you--for us. let me try." "by jove," he whispered admiringly, his spirits leaping to meet hers. "you've got pluck. you put new life in me. i--i was almost a--a quitter." "you have been here so long," she explained quickly. "and tied all these days." she was tugging at the knot. "only since i gave that pleasant punch to peter brutus." "that shows what you can do," she whispered warmly. "oh, i wonder! i wonder if we have a chance! anyway, your arms will be free. i shall feel safer if your arms are free." he sat with his back to her while she struggled with the stubborn knots. a delicious thrill of pleasure swept over him. she had said she would feel safer if his arms were free! she was struggling, with many a tense straining of delicate fingers, to undo the bonds which held him helpless. the touch of her eager fingers, the closeness of her body, the warmth of her breathing--he was beginning to hope that the effort might be prolonged interminably. at last, after many despairing tugs, the knot relaxed. "there!" she cried, sinking back exhausted. "oh, how it must have hurt you! your wrists are raw!" he suppressed the tactless impulse to say that he preferred a rope on the wrists to one about his neck, realising that the jest could only shock and not amuse her under the present conditions. his arms were stiff and sore and hung like lead at his sides. she watched him, with narrowed eyes, while he stood off and tried to work blood and strength back into his muscles. "do you think you can--can do anything now, mr. king?" she asked, after a long interval. he would not tell her how helpless he was, even with his hands free. so he smiled bravely and sought to reassure her with the most imposing boasts he could utter. she began to breathe easier; the light in her eyes grew brighter, more hopeful. "we must escape," she said, as if it were all settled. "it cannot be to-night," he gently informed her, a sickness attacking her heart. "don't you think you'd better try to get some sleep?" he prevailed upon her to lie down, with his coat for a pillow. in two minutes she was asleep. for an hour or more he sat there, looking sorrowfully at the tired, sweet face, the utmost despair in his soul. at last he stretched himself out on the floor, near the door, and as he went to sleep he prayed that providence might open a way for him to prove that she was not depending on him in vain. chapter xiii a divinity shapes it was pitch dark when he awoke. "by heaven, it was a dream, after all," he murmured. "well, thank god for that. she isn't in this damnable hole. and," with a quickening of the blood, "she hasn't said she was going to marry vos engo." the sound of light breathing came to his ears. he sat up. his hands were free. it had not been a dream. she _was_ lying over there asleep. the candle had burnt itself out, that was all. he crept softly across the floor; in the darkness he found her, and touched the garments she wore--and drew back enthralled. a strange joy filled him; she was his for the time being. they were equals in this direful, unlovely place; royal prejudice stood for nothing here. the mad desire to pick her up in his arms and hold her close came over him--only to perish as quickly as it flamed. what was he thinking of? she stirred restlessly as he crept back to the door. the sharp, quick intake of her breath told him that she was awake. he stopped and utter silence fell upon the room. a little moan escaped her lips: "who is it? why is it so dark? what--" "it is i," he whispered eagerly. "king. don't be afraid. the candle burnt out while we were asleep. i did not intend to sleep. i'm sorry. we can't have a light now until some one comes in the morning. don't be afraid." "i am afraid. where are you?" "here!" he hastened to her side. as he came up she touched his face with her hand timorously. he caught the wayward fingers in his own and held them, drawing quite close to her. "it's all right," he said. "will they come soon?" "i hope not--i mean, yes; it must be morning." "i loathe the dark," she sighed. presently her head dropped over against his shoulder and she was asleep again. "i don't give a damn if they never come," thought truxton king, intoxicated with bliss. afraid to move for fear of disturbing her, he sat there for an hour or more his back twisted and uncomfortable, but never so resolute. he would not have moved for all the world. all this time his brain was working like mad in the new-found desire to perform miracles for the sake of this lovely, unattainable creature. was there no way to foil these triumphant conspirators? he was forgetting the prince, the horrors of the th; he was thinking only of saving this girl from the fate that marlanx had in store for her. vos engo may have had the promise, but what could it profit him if marlanx had the girl? "i've got about as much chance as a snowball," he reflected, courage and decision growing stronger each moment. "i might just as well die one way as another. if i could only catch 'em napping for a minute, i might turn the trick. god, that would be--" he was lost in ecstatic contemplation of the glory that such an event would bring. footsteps in the outer room recalled him to the bitter reality of their position. he awoke her and whispered words of encouragement into her bewildered ears. then he put on his coat and threw himself on the floor, first wrapping the rope about his wrists to deceive the guard. a key turned in the padlock and the bolt was raised. old man spantz stood in the doorway, peering in at them. in surly tones truxton replied to his sharp query, saying that the candle had gone out while he slept. "it is noon," said the old man irascibly. then he came in and lighted a candle. "noon of the th," said truxton bitterly. "in twenty-four hours it will be all over, eh, spantz?" "at noon to-morrow," said spantz grimly. there were half a dozen men in the outer room, conversing in low, excited tones; the fervent gesticulations which usually marked their discussions were missing, proving the constraint that had descended upon them. one of them--it was julius spantz--brought in the food for the prisoners, setting it on the floor between them. "it is usually the duty of our friend julius to feed me," observed truxton to his fellow-prisoner. "i dare say he won't mind if you relieve him of the task." "she can feed you if she likes," growled julius. "julius?" queried the girl from the castle, peering at the man. "not julius spantz, of the armoury?" "the same," said truxton. julius laughed awkwardly and withdrew. "son of our distinguished host here. permit me to present herr william--" "enough," snarled william spantz, with a threatening movement toward king. his manner changed completely, however, when he turned to address the young lady. "i beg to inform you, madam, that your stay in this unwholesome place is to be brief. pray endure it for the remainder of this day. to-night you will be removed to more pleasant quarters, that a friend has prepared for you. i may say to you, however, that it will he necessary to place a gag in your mouth before you depart. this is to be a critical night in our affairs." he lifted an inspired gaze heavenward. "let me assure you, madam, that the two gentlemen who are to conduct you to the count's--to your new quarters, are considerate, kindly men; you need feel no further alarm. i am requested to tell you this, so that you may rest easy for the balance of the day. as for you, my friend," turning to truxton and smiling ironically, "i deeply deplore the fact that you are to remain. you may be lonesome in the dead hours, for, as you may imagine, we, your dearest friends, will be off about a certain business that is known to you, if i mistake not in believing that you have listened at the door these many nights. when we next gather in the room beyond, a new dispensation will have begun. you may be interested then to hear what we have to say--out there." truxton was silent for a moment, a sudden, swift thought flooding his brain. controlling the quiver of anticipation in his voice, he took occasion to say: "i only hope you'll not forget to come back. i should be lonesome, spantz." "oh, we'll not forget you." "i suppose not. by the way, would you mind telling me what has become of your niece?" spantz glared at him. "she does not meet with us now. my niece is consecrating her every thought to the task that lies before her. you will not see her again." "it's an infernal shame, that's what it is," exclaimed king, "to put it all upon that poor girl! god, i'd give ten years of my life to lead her out of this devil's mess. she's too good for--for that. it's--" "she will be out of it, as you say, to-morrow, my excellent samaritan. she knows." there could be no mistake as to the meaning of the prophetic words. with a profound bow to the lady and a leer for king, he departed, bolting the door behind him. instantly king was at her side. "an idea has come to me," he whispered eagerly. "i think i see a way. by george, if it should only happen as i hope it may!" "tell me!" she insisted. "not now. i must think it all out carefully. it won't do to get your hopes up and then fail." whatever the thought was that had come to him, it certainly had put new life and hope into him. she nibbled at the unwholesome food, never removing her eyes from his tall, restless figure as he paced the floor, his brows knit in thought. finally he sat down beside her, calmly helping himself to a huge slice of bread and a boiled carrot. "i've never liked carrots before. i love 'em now. i'm taking them for my complexion." "don't jest, mr. king. what is it you intend to do? please tell me. i must know. you heard what he said about taking me to the count's. he meant marlanx. i will die first." "no. i will die first. by the way, i may as well tell you that i wasn't thinking altogether of how we are to escape. there was something else on my mind." he stopped and looked at her puzzled face. "why should i save you from marlanx just to have you hurry off and get married to vos engo? it's a mean thought, i know," hastily, "and unworthy of a typical hero, but, just the same, i hate to think of you marrying some one--else." "some one else?" she questioned, a pucker on her forehead. "oh, i know i wouldn't have a ghost of a chance, even if there wasn't a vos engo. it isn't that," he explained. "i recognise the--er--difference in our stations and--" "are you crazy, mr. king?" "not now. i was a bit touched, i think, but i'm over it now. i dare say it was caused by excessive reading of improbable romances. life rather takes it out of a fellow, don't you know. it's all simple enough in books, but in--" "what has all this got to do with your plan to escape?" "nothing at all. it merely has to do with my ambition to become a true hero. you see, i'm an amateur hero. of course, this is good practice for me; in time, i may become an expert and have no difficulty in winning a duchess or even a princess. don't misunderstand me. i intend to do all i can toward rescuing you to-night. the point i'm trying to get at is this: don't you think it's pretty rough on a hero to save the girl for some other fellow to snap up and marry?" "i think i begin to see," she said, a touch of pink coming into her cheeks. "that's encouraging," he said, staring gloomily at the food he had put aside. "you are quite sure you promised vos engo that you'd marry him?" "no. i did not promise him that i'd marry him," she said, leaning back and surveying him between narrowed lids. "i beg your pardon. you said you had promised--" "you did not allow me time to finish. i meant to say that i had promised to let him know in a day or two. that is all, mr. king." there was a suspicious tremor in her voice and her gaze wavered beneath his unbelieving stare. "what's that?" he demanded. "you--you don't mean to say that--oh, lord! i wonder! i wonder if i have a chance--just a ghost of a chance?" he leaned very close, incredulous, fascinated. "what is it that you are going to let him know? yes or no?" "that was the question i was considering when the brigands caught me," she answered, meeting his gaze fairly. "i haven't thought of it since." "of course, he is in your own class," said truxton glumly. she hesitated an instant, her face growing very serious. "mr. king, has no one told you my name--who i am?" she asked. "you are the prince's aunt, that's all i know." "no more his aunt in reality than jack tullis is his uncle. i thought you understood." "who are you, then?" "i am jack tullis's sister, a new yorker bred and born, and i live not more than two blocks from your--" "for the love of--" he began blankly; then words failed him, which was just as well. he gulped twice, joy or unbelief choking him. the smile that crept into her face dazzled him; he stared at her in speechless amazement. "then--then, you are not a duchess or a--" he began again. "not at all. a very plain new yorker," she said, laughing aloud in sudden hysteria. for some reason she drew quickly away from him. "you are not disappointed, are you? does it spoil your romance to--" "spoil it? disappointed? no! by george, i--i can't believe that any such luck--no, no, i don't mean it just that way! let me think it out. let me get it through my head." he leaned back against the wall and devoured her with eager, disturbing eyes. "you are tullis's sister? you live near--oh, i say, this is glorious!" he arose and took a turn about the room. in some nervousness and uncertainty she also came to her feet, watching him wonderingly. he hurried back to her, a new light in his eyes. she was very desirable, this slender, uncertain person in the crumpled grey. "miss tullis," he said, a thrill in his voice, "you are a princess, just the same. i never was so happy in my life as i am this minute. it isn't so black as it was. i thought i couldn't win you because you--" "win me?" she gasped, her lips parted in wonder. "precisely. now i'm looking at it differently. i don't mind telling you that i'm in love with you--desperately in love. it's been so with me ever since that day in the park. i loved you as a duchess or a princess, and without hope. now, i--i--well, i'm going to hope. perhaps vos engo has the better of me just now, but i'm in the lists with him--with all of them. if i get you out of this place--and myself as well--i want you to understand that from this very minute i am trying to win you if it lies in the power of any american to win a girl who has suitors among the nobility. will--will you give me a chance--just a ghost of a chance? i'll try to do the rest." "are--are you really in earnest?" she murmured, composure flying to the winds. "yes; terribly so," he said gently. "i mean every word of it. i do love you." "i--i cannot talk about it now, mr. king," she fluttered, moving away from him in a sudden panic. presently he went over to her. she was standing near the candle, staring down at the flame with a strangely preoccupied expression in her eyes. "forgive me," he said. "i was hasty, inconsiderate. i--" "you quite took my breath away," she panted, looking up at him with a queer little smile. "i know," he murmured. her troubled gaze resumed its sober contemplation of the flame. "how was i to tell--" she began, but checked herself. "please, mr. king, you won't say anything more to me about--about it,--just now, will you? shall we talk of our plans for to-night? tell me about them." he lowered his eyes, suddenly disheartened. "i only ask you to believe that i am desperately in earnest." "i cannot comprehend how--i mean, it is so very wonderful. you don't think me unappreciative, or mean, do you?" "of course not. you are startled, that's all. i'm a blundering fool. still, you must agree that i was frightfully bowled over when i found that you were not what i thought. i couldn't hold back, that's all. by jove, isn't it wonderful? here i've been looking all over the world for you, only to find that you've been living around the corner from me all these years! it's positively staggering! why," with a sudden burst of his unquenchable buoyancy, "we might have been married two years ago and saved all this trouble. just think of it!" she smiled. "i do like you," she said warmly, giving him her hand. he kissed it gallantly and stepped back--resolutely. "that's something," he said with his humblest, most conquering smile. "you won't leave me to my fate because you think i'm going to marry--some one else?" he grew very sober. "miss tullis, you and i have one chance in a thousand. you may as well know the truth." "oh, i can't bear the thought of that dreadful old man," she cried, abject distress in her eyes. he gritted his teeth and turned away. she went back to the corner, dully rearranging the coat he had given her for comfort. she handled it with a tenderness that would have astonished the garment had it been capable of understanding. for a long time she watched him in silence as he paced to and fro like a caged lion. twice she heard him mutter: "an american girl--good lord," and she found herself smiling to herself--the strange, vagrant smile that comes of wonder and self-gratification. late in the afternoon--long hours in which they had spoken to each other with curious infrequency, each a prey to sombre thoughts--their door was unlocked and anna cromer appeared before them, accompanied by two of the men. crisply she commanded the girl to come forth; she wanted to talk with her. she was in the outer room for the better part of an hour, listening to anna cromer and madame drovnask, who dinned the praises of the great count marlanx into her ears until she was ready to scream. they bathed the girl's face and brushed her hair and freshened her garments. it occurred to her that she was being prepared for a visit of the redoubtable marlanx himself, and put the question plainly. "no," said anna cromer. "he's not coming here. you are going to him. he will not be count marlanx after to-morrow, but citizen marlanx--one of the people, one of us. ah, he is a big man to do this." little did they know marlanx! "julius and peter will come for you to-night," said madame drovnask, with an evil, suggestive smile. "we will not be here to say farewell, but, my dear, you will be one of us before--well, before many days have passed." truxton was beginning to tremble with the fear that she would not be returned to their room, when the door was opened and she came in--most gladly, he could see. the two women bade him a cool, unmistakable _good-bye_, and left him in charge of the men who had just come down from the shop above. for half an hour peter brutus taunted him. it was all he could do to keep his hands wrapped in the rope behind his back; he was thankful when they returned him to his cell. the time was not ripe for the dash he was now determined to make. "get a little nap, if you can," he said to loraine, when the door was locked behind him. "it won't be long before something happens. i've got a plan. you'll have your part to play. god grant that it may work out well for us. you--you might pray if--if--" "yes, i _can_ pray," she said simply. "i'll do my part, mr. king." he waited a moment. "we've been neighbours in new york for years," he said. "would you mind calling me truxton,--and for adele's sake, too?" "it isn't hard to do, truxton." "good!" he exclaimed. she rebelled at the mere thought of sleep, but, unfastening her collar and removing the jabot, she made herself a comfortable cushion of his coat and sat back in her corner, strangely confident that this strong, eager american would deliver her from the philistines--this fighting american with the ten days' growth of beard on his erstwhile merry face. sometime in the tense, suffocating hours of the night they heard the sounds of many footsteps shuffling about the outer room; there were hoarse, guttural, subdued good-byes and well-wishes, the creaking of heavy doors and the dropping of bolts. eventually king, who had been listening alertly, realised that but two of the men remained in the room--peter brutus and julius spantz. an hour crept by, and another, seemingly interminable king was fairly groaning under the suspense. the time was slowly, too slowly approaching when he was to attempt the most desperate act in all this sanguinary tragedy--the last act for him, no doubt, but the one in which he was to see himself glorified. there remained the chance--the slim chance that only providence considers. he had prayed for strength and cunning; she had prayed for divine intervention. but, after all, luck was to be the referee. he had told her of his plan; she knew the part she was to play. and if all went well--ah, then! he took a strange lesson in the language of graustark: one sentence, that was all. she had whispered the translation to him and he had grimly repeated it, over and over again. "she has fainted, damn her!" it was to be their "open sesame"--if all went well! suddenly he started to his feet, his jaws set, his eyes gleaming. the telegraph instrument was clicking in the outer room! he had wrapped his handkerchief about his big right hand, producing a sort of cushion to deaden the sound of a blow with the fist and to protect his knuckles; for all his strength was to go into that one mighty blow. if both men came into the room, his chance was smaller; but, in either event, the first blow was to be a mighty one. taking his position near the girl, who was crouching in real dismay, he leaned against the wall, his hands behind him, every muscle strained and taut. the door opened and julius spantz, bewhiskered and awkward, entered. he wore a raincoat and storm hat, and carried a rope in one of his hands. he stopped just inside the door to survey the picture. "time you were asleep," he said stupidly, addressing king. "i'd put you to sleep, julius, if miss tullis could have managed to untie these infernal bonds," said truxton, with pleasant daring. "i don't tie lovers' knots," grinned julius, pleased with his own wit. "come, madam, i must ask you to stand up. will you put your own handkerchief in your mouth, or must i use force--ah, that's good! i'm sorry, but i must wrap this cloth about--" he did not complete the sentence, for he had come within range. the whole weight of truxton king's body was behind the terrific blow that landed on the man's jaw. loraine suppressed the scream that rose to her white lips. julius spantz's knees crumpled; he lunged against the wall and was sliding down when king caught him in his arms. the man was stunned beyond all power of immediate action. it was the work of an instant to snatch the revolver from his coat pocket. "guard the door!" whispered king to the girl, pressing the revolver into her hand. "and shoot if you have to!" a handkerchief was stuffed into the unconscious man's mouth; the long coat and boots were jerked from his limp body before his hands and feet were bound with the rope he carried; the bushy whiskers and wig were removed from his head and transferred in a flash to that of the american. then the boots, coat and hat found a new wearer. peter brutus was standing in the stairway, leading to the sewer, listening eagerly for sounds from either side. "hurry up, julius," he called imperatively. "they are below with the boat. they have given the signal." the new julius uttered a single sentence; that was all. if peter heard the noise attending the disposal of his comrade, he was justified in believing that the girl had offered some resistance. when a tall, grunting man emerged from the inner room, bearing the limp figure of a girl in a frayed raincoat, he did not wait to ask questions, but rushed over and locked the cell-door. then he led the way down the narrow stairway, lighting the passage with a candle. his only reply to king's guttural remark in the graustark language was: "don't speak, you fool! not a word until we reach the river." down the steps they went to the opening in the wall of the sewer. there, before the bolts were drawn by brutus, a series of raps were exchanged by men outside and the one who held the keys within. a moment later, the girl was being lowered through the hole into rough, eager arms. brutus and his companion dropped through, the secret block of masonry was closed, and off through the shallow waters of the sewer glided the party riverward in the noiseless boat that had come up to ferry them. there were three men in the boat, not counting truxton king. chapter xiv on the river no word was spoken during this cautious, extraordinary voyage underground. the boat drifted slowly through the narrow channel, unlighted and practically unguided. two of the men sat at the rowlocks, but the oars rested idly in the boat. with their hands they kept the craft from scraping against the walls. the pseudo-julius supported his charge in the stern of the boat; peter brutus sat in the bow, a revolver in his hand, his gaze bent upon the opaqueness ahead. a whispered word of encouragement now and then passed from the lips of the hopeful american into the ear of the almost pulseless girl, who lay up against his knee. "we'll do it--sure!" he whispered once, ever so softly. "yes," she scarcely, breathed, but he heard and was thrilled. the rope had dropped from her arms; she had taken the handkerchief from her mouth at his whispered command. at last the boat crept out into the rainy, starless night. he drew the skirts of his own mackintosh over her shoulders and head. a subdued command came from the man in the bow; the oars slipped into the deep, black waters of the river; without a splash or a perceptible sound the little craft scudded toward midstream. the night was so inky black that one could not see his hand before his face. at least two of the occupants opened up their throats and lungs and gulped in the wet, fresh air. never had anything been so glorious to truxton king as these first tremendous inhalations of pure, free air. she felt his muscles expand; his whole body grew stronger and more vital. her heart was pounding violently against his leg; he could feel its throbs, he could hear the quick, eager panting of her breath. it was now that he began to wonder, to calculate against the plans of their silent escort. whither were they bound? when would his chance come to strike the final, surprising blow? only the greatest effort at self-control kept him from ruining everything by premature action; his exultation was getting the better of him. coolness and patience were greater assets now than strength and daring. the boat turned in mid-stream and shot swiftly up the river, past the black fortress with its scattered sentry lights, where slept a garrison in sweet ignorance of the tragedy that was to come upon them when the sun was high. the lights of the city itself soon peeped down into the rain-swept waters; music from the distant cafés came faintly to the ears of the midnight voyagers. a safe haven at their very elbows, and yet unattainable. the occasional creak of an oar, a whispered oath of dismay, the heavy breathing of toilers, the soft blowing of the mist-that was all; no other sound on the broad, still river. it was, indeed, a night fit for the undertaking at hand. truxton began to chafe under the strain. his uneasiness was increased by the certain conviction that before long they would be beyond the city, the walls of which were gradually slipping past he could not even so much as guess at their destination. there was also the likelihood of encountering reinforcements, sent out to meet the boatmen, or for protection at the time of landing. a hundred doubts and misgivings assailed him. to suddenly open fire on the rascals went against the grain. a dashing, running fight on shore was more to his liking. an ill-timed move would foil them even as success was in their grasp. he considered their chances if he were to overturn the frail boat and strike out for shore in the darkness. this project he gave up at once: he did not know the waters nor the banks between which they glided. they were past the walls now and rowing less stealthily. before long they would be in a position to speak aloud; it would be awkward for him. the situation was rapidly growing more and more desperate; the time was near at hand when the final effort would have to be exerted. he slipped the revolver from his pocket; somehow he was unable to keep his teeth from chattering; but it was through excitement, not fear. suddenly the boat turned to the right and shot toward the unseen bank. they were perhaps half a mile above the city wall. truxton's mind was working like a trip-hammer. he was recalling a certain nomad settlement north of the city, the quarters of fishermen, poachers and horse-traders: a squalid, unclean community that lay under the walls between the northern gates and the river. these people, he was not slow to surmise, were undoubtedly hand in glove with marlanx, if not so surely connected with the misguided committee of ten. this being the eve of the great uprising, it was not unlikely that a secret host lay here awake and ready for the foul observance of the coming holiday; here, at least, chafed an eager, vicious, law-hating community of mendicants and outcasts. he had little time to speculate on the attitude of the denizens of this unwholesome place. the prow of the boat grated on the pebbly bank, and peter brutus leaped over the edge into the shallow water. "come on, julius--hand her over to me!" he cried, making his way to the stern. as he leaned over the side to seize the girl in his arms, truxton king brought the butt of the heavy revolver down upon his skull. brutus dropped across the gunwale with a groan, dead to all that was to happen in the next half hour or more. king was anxious to avoid the hullaballoo that shooting was sure to create on shore. action had been forced upon him rather precipitously, but he was ready. leaning forward, he had the two amazed oarsmen covered with the weapon. "hands up! quick!" he cried. two pairs of hands went up, together with strange oaths. truxton's eyes had grown used to the darkness; he could see the men quite plainly. "what are you doing?" he demanded of loraine, who, behind him, was fumbling in the garments of the unconscious brutus. "getting his revolver," she replied, with a quaver in her voice. "good!" he said exultantly. "let's think a minute," he went on. "we don't dare turn these fellows loose, even if we disarm them. they'll have a crowd after us in two minutes." still, keeping the men covered, he cudgelled his brain for the means of disposing of them. "i have it. we must disarm them, tie them up and set 'em adrift. do you mind getting out into the water? it's ankle deep, that's all. i'll keep them covered while you take their guns." "nice way to treat a friend," growled one of the men. "a friend? by george, it's my newport acquaintance. well, this is a pleasure! i suppose you know that i'll shoot if you resist. better take it quietly." "oh, you'll shoot, all right," said the other. "i told them damn fools that a yankee'd get the better of 'em, even if they ran a steam roller over him two or three times. say, you're a pippin! i'd like to take off my hat to you." "don't bother. i acknowledge the tribute." loraine tullis was in the water by this time. with nervous haste she obeyed king's instructions; the big revolvers were passed back to him. "i've changed my mind," said truxton' suddenly. "we'll keep the boat. get in, miss tullis. there! now, push off, newport." "what the devil--" began newport, but king silenced him. the boat slowly drifted out into the current. "now, row!" he commanded. with his free hand he reached back and dragged the limp brutus into the boat. "'gad, i believe he's dead," he muttered. for five minutes the surly oarsmen pulled away, headed in the direction from which they came. "can you swim?" demanded king. "not a stroke," gasped newport. "good lord, pal, you're not going to dump us overboard. it's ten feet deep along here." "pull on your left, hard. that's right. i'm going to land you on the opposite shore-and then bid you a cheerful good-night." two minutes later they ran up under the western bank of the stream, which at this point was fully three hundred yards wide. the nearest bridge was a mile and a half away and habitations were scarce, as he well knew. under cover of the deadly revolver, the two men dropped into the water, which was above their waists; the limp form of peter brutus was pulled out and transferred to the shoulders of his companions. "good-night," called out truxton king cheerily. he had grasped the oars; the little boat leaped off into the night, leaving the cursing desperadoes waist-deep in the chilly waters. "see you later," sang out newport, with sudden humour. "we'll go south," said truxton king to the girl who sat in the stern, clutching the sides of the boat with tense fingers. "i don't know just where we'll land, but it won't be up in devil's patch, you may rest assured of that. pardon me if i do not indulge in small talk and bonmots; i'm going to be otherwise employed for some time, miss tullis. do you know the river very well?" "not at all," she replied. "i only know that the barge docks are below here somewhere. i'm sure we can get into the city if we can find the docks. let me take the oars, too, mr. king. i can row." "no. please sit where you are and keep your eyes ahead. can you see where we're going?" "i can see the lights. we're in mid-stream, i think. it's so very dark and the wind is coming up in a gale. it's--it's going to storm. don't you think we'd better try for a landing along the walls? they say the river is very treacherous." she was trembling like a leaf. "i'll row over to the east side, but i don't like to get too close to the walls. some one may have heard the shouts of our friends back there." not another word passed between them for ten or twelve minutes. she peered anxiously ahead, looking for signs of the barge dock, which lay somewhere along this section of the city wall. in time, of course, the marooned desperadoes might be expected to find a way to pursue them, or, at least, to alarm watchful confederates on the city side of the river. it was a tense, anxious quarter of an hour for the liberated pair. so near to absolute safety, and yet so utterly in the dark as to what the next moment, might develop--weal or woe. at least the sound of rapidly working rowlocks came to the girl's ears. they were slipping along in the dense blackness beneath the walls, making as little noise as possible and constantly on the lookout for the long, low dock. "they're after us," grated truxton, in desperation. "they've got word to friends one way or another. by jove! i'm nearly fagged, too. i can't pull much farther. hello! what's this?" the side of the boat caromed off' a solid object in the water, almost spilling them into the wind-blown river. "the docks!" she whispered. "we struck a small scow, i think. can you find your way in among the coal barges?" he paddled along slowly, feeling his way, scraping alongside the big barges which delivered coal from the distant mines to the docks along the river front. at last he found an opening and pushed through. a moment later they were riding under the stern of a broad, cargoless barge, plumb up against the water-lapped piles of the dock. standing in the bow of the boat he managed to pull himself up over the slippery edge. it was the work of a second to draw her up after him. with an oar which he had thought to remove beforehand, he gave the boat a mighty shove, sending it out into the stream once more. then, hand in hand, they edged slowly, carefully along the gravel-strewn dock, between vast piles of lumber and steep walls of coal. it was only necessary to find the railway company's runways leading into the yards above; in time of peace there was little likelihood that the entrances to the dock would be closed, even at night. loud curses came up from the river, proclaiming the fact that the pursuers had found the empty boat. afterwards they were to learn that "newport's" shouts had brought a boatload of men from the opposite bank, headed by the innkeeper, in whose place loraine was to have encountered marlanx later on, if plans had not miscarried. she was to have remained in this outside inn until after the sacking of the city on the following day. the girl translated one remark that came up to them from the boatload of pursuers: "the old man is waiting back there. he'll kill the lot of us if we don't bring the girl." by this time king had located the open space which undoubtedly afforded room for the transfer of cargoes from the dock to the company's yards inside the walls. without hesitation he drew her after him up this wide, sinister roadway. they stumbled on over the rails of the "dummy track," collided with collier trucks, slipped on the soggy chutes, but all the while forged ahead toward the gates that so surely lay above them. the pursuers were trying for a landing, noisily, even boisterously. it struck truxton as queer that these men were not afraid of alarming the watchmen on the docks or the man at the gate above. suddenly it came to him that there would be no one there to oppose the landing of the miscreants. no doubt hundreds of men already had stolen through these gates during the night, secreting themselves in the fastnesses of the city, ready for the morrow's fray. it is no small wonder that he shuddered at the thought of it. there was no one on the wharf--at least, no one in sight. they rushed up the narrow railway chutes and through one of the numerous gateways that opened out upon the barge docks. no one opposed them; no one was standing guard. from behind came the sound of rushing footsteps. lightning flashed in the sky and the rumble of thunder broke over the desolate night. "they'll see us by the lightning," gasped truxton, almost ready to drop from faintness and exhaustion. he was astounded, even alarmed, to find that his strength had been so gravely depleted by confinement and lack of nourishment. they were inside the city walls. ahead of them, in that labyrinth of filthy streets lay the way to the distant square. his arm was now about her waist, for she was half-fainting; he could hear her gasping and moaning softly, inarticulate cries of despair. switch-lights blinked in the distance. off to the right of them windows showed lights; the clang of a locomotive bell came to them as from a great distance. their progress was abruptly halted by the appearance of a man ahead, standing like a statue in the middle of the network of tracks. they stumbled toward him, not knowing whether he was friend or foe. one look into their faces, aided by the flare of a yardman's lantern, and the fellow turned tail and fled, shouting as he did so. following a vivid flash of lightning, two shots were fired by the men who were now plunging up through the gates, a hundred yards or more away. the same flash of lightning showed to king the narrow, muddy street that stretched ahead of them, lined with low, ugly houses of a nondescript character. instead of doing the obvious thing, he turned sharply to the left, between the lines of freight cars. their progress was slow; both were ready to drop; the way was dark and unknown to them. at last they came to the end of their rope: they were literally up against the great city wall! they had reached the limits of the railway yards and were blocked on all sides by they knew not how many rows of cars. somewhere off to the right there were streets and houses and people, but they did not have the strength to try to reach them. a car door stood open in front of them. he waited for a second flash of lightning to reveal to him the nature of its interior. it was quite empty. without hesitation he clambered in and pulled her up after him. they fell over, completely fagged. a few minutes later the storm broke. he managed to close the door against the driving torrents. she was sobbing plaintively, poor, wet, bedraggled sweetheart--he called her that, although she did not hear him. "we've fooled them," he managed to whisper, close to her ear. "they won't look here. you're safe, loraine. 'gad, i'd like to see any one get you away from me now." she pressed his arm, that was all. he found himself wondering what answer she would give to vos engo when he took her to him to-morrow. to-morrow! this was the th! would there be a to-morrow for any of them--for vos engo, for tullis, for the prince? for _her_? "there will be time to warn them in the morning," he thought, dulled by fatigue. "we can't go on now." "truxton," he heard her saying, tremulously, "do you think we can do anything for them--the prince and those who are with him? how can we lie here when there is so much to be done?" "when the storm abates--when we are rested--we will try to get away from here. those devils know that i will give the alarm. they will have hundreds of men watching to head us off. it means everything to them. you see, i know their plans. but, loraine, dear little girl, brave as you are and willing as i am, we can't go on until we've pulled ourselves together. we're safe here for awhile. later on, we'll try to steal up to the city. they will be watching every approach to the castle and to the tower, hoping to stop me in time. we must out-fox them again. it will be harder, too, little girl. but, if i don't do any more, i pledge you that i'll save you from marlanx." "oh, i know you will. you must, truxton." "i'd--i'd like to be sure that i am also saving you from vos engo. i hate to think of you throwing yourself away on one of these blithering, fortune-hunting noblemen." she pressed his arm again. "by jove, it's great fun being a hero, after all--and it isn't so difficult, if the girl helps you as you helped me. it's too bad i couldn't do it all by myself. i have always counted on rescuing you from an ogre's castle or something of that sort. it's rather commonplace as it is, don't you think?" "i don't--know what--you're talking about," she murmured. then she was fast asleep. the storm raged; savage bursts of wind rocked the little freight car; the rain hissed viciously against their frail hotel; thunder roared and lightning rent sky and earth. the weary night-farers slept with pandemonium dinning in their ears. he sat with his back against the side of the car, a, pistol in one hand, the other lying tenderly upon the drenched hair of the girl whose head rested upon his leg. she had slipped down from his shoulder; he did not have the desire or the energy to prevent it. at his side lay the discarded whiskers. manfully as he had fought against the impelling desire to sleep, he could not beat it off. his last waking thought was of the effort he must make to reach dangloss with the warning. then the storm abated; the soft drip of rain from the eaves of the car beat a monotonous tattoo in the pools below; the raw winds from the mountains blew stealthily in the wake of the tornado, picking up the waste that had been left behind only to cast it aside with a moan of derision. something stirred in the far end of the car. a still, small noise as of something alive that moved with the utmost wariness. a heavy, breathing body crept stealthily across the intervening space; so quietly that a mouse could have made but little less noise. then it stopped; there was not a sound inside the car except the deep, regular breathing of truxton king. the girl's respiration was so faint that one might have thought she did not breathe at all. again the sly, cautious movement of a heavy body; the creaking of a joint or two, the sound of a creature rising from a crouching position to the upright; then the gentle rubbing of cloth, the fumbling of fingers in a stubborn pocket. an instant later the bluish flame of a sulphur match struggled for life, growing stronger and brighter in the hand of a man who stood above the sleepers. chapter xv the girl in the red cloak inside of an hour after the return of the frightened, quivering groom who had escaped from the brigands in the hills, jack tullis was granted permission by the war department to take a hundred picked men with him in the effort to overtake and capture the abductors of his sister. the dazed groom's story hardly had been told to the horrified brother before he was engaged in telephoning to general braze and baron dangloss. a hurried consultation followed. other affairs that had been troubling the authorities for days were forgotten in the face of this distressing catastrophe; there was no time to be lost if the desperadoes were to be headed before they succeeded in reaching the dawsbergen passes with their lovely captive. once there, it would be like hunting a needle in a haystack; they could elude pursuit for days among the wild crags of upper dawsbergen, where none but outlaws lived, and fierce beasts thrived. unluckily for the dearest hopes of the rescuing party, the miserable groom did not reach the city until almost noon of the day following the abduction. he had lost his way and had wandered all night in the forests. when miss tullis failed to return at nightfall, her brother, having in mind the mysterious disappearance of truxton king and the flight of countess ingomede, was preparing to set forth in search of her. a telephone message from ganlook, fifteen miles north of the city, came at seven o'clock, just as he was leaving the castle. the speaker purported to be the countess prandeville, a very estimable chatelaine who ruled socially over the grim old village of ganlook. she informed tullis that his sister was with her for the night, having arrived in the afternoon with a "frightful headache." she would look after the dear child, of whom she was very fond, and would send her down in the morning, when she would surely be herself again. greatly relieved, tullis gave up his plan to ride off in quest of her; he knew the amiable countess, and felt that his sister was in good hands. it was not until the return of the groom that he recalled the fact that the voice on the telephone was not quite like that of the countess. he had been cleverly hoodwinked. baron dangloss, obtaining connection with the prandeville household in ganlook, at once discovered that loraine had not been in the chateau in many days. the fierce, cock-robin baron was sadly upset. three prominent persons had been stolen from beneath his nose, so to speak. he was beside himself with rage and dismay. this last outrage was the climax. the old man adored the sister of jack tullis; he was heartbroken and crushed by the news of the catastrophe. for a while he worked as if in a daze; only the fierce spurring of jack tullis and vos engo, who believed himself to be an accepted suitor, awoke him from an unusual state of lethargy. it is even said that the baron shed tears without blowing his nose to discredit the emotion. the city was soon to know of the fresh outrage at the hands of the bandits in the hills. great excitement prevailed; there were many sincere lamentations, for the beautiful american girl was a great favourite--especially with those excellent persons who conducted bazaars in the main avenues. loraine, being an american, did not hesitate to visit the shops in person: something that the native ladies never thought of doing. hundreds of honest citizens volunteered to join in a search of the hills, but the distinction was denied them. the war department issued official notice to all merchants that their places of business must be decorated properly against the holiday that would occur on the morrow. shops were to be closed for two hours at midday, during the ceremonies attending the unveiling of the yetive monument in the plaza. the merchants might well give their time to decorating their shops; the soldiers could do all the searching and all the fighting that was necessary. strict orders, backed by method, were issued to the effect that no one was to pass through the gates during the day, except by special permission from general braze. count vos engo was eager to accompany the expedition to dawsbergen in search of his wayward lady-love. tullis, who liked the gay young nobleman despite the reputation he had managed to live down, was willing that he should be the one to lead the troops, but colonel quinnox flatly refused to consider it. "to-morrow's celebration in the city will demand the attendance of every noble officer in the guard," he said. "i cannot allow you to go, count vos engo. your place is here, beside the prince. line officers may take charge of this expedition to the hills; they will be amply able to manage the chase. i am sorry that it happens so. the royal guard, to a man, must ride with the prince to-morrow." captain haas, of the dragoons, was put in charge of the relief party, much to the disgust of vos engo; and at two o'clock in the afternoon they were ready to ride away. the party was armed and equipped for a bitter chase. word had been sent to serros, the capital of dawsbergen, asking the assistance of prince dantan in the effort to overtake the abductors. a detachment, it was announced in reply, was to start from serros during the afternoon, bound for the eastern passes. baron dangloss rode to the southern gate with the white-faced, suffering tullis. "we will undoubtedly receive a communication from the rascals this afternoon or to-morrow," he said gloomily. "they will not be slow to make a formal demand for ransom, knowing that you and your sister are possessed of unlimited wealth. when this communication arrives it may give us a clue to their whereabouts; certainly as to their methods. if it should be necessary, tullis, to apprise you of the nature of this demand, i, myself, will ride post haste to st. michael's pass, which you are bound to reach to-morrow after your circuit of the upper gaps. it is possible, you see, that an open attack on these fellows may result in her--er--well, to be frank--her murder. damn them, they'd do it, you know. my place to-morrow is here in the city. there may be disturbances. nothing serious, of course, but i am uneasy. there are many strangers in the city and more are coming for the holiday. the presence of the prince at the unveiling of the statue of his mother--god bless her soul!--is a tremendous magnet. i would that you could be here to-morrow, john tullis; at prince robin's side, so to speak." "poor little chap! he was terribly cut up when i told him i was going. he wanted to come. had his little sword out, and all that. said the celebration could be postponed or go hang, either one. look after him closely to-morrow, dangloss. i'd shoot myself if anything were to happen to him. marlanx is in the air; i feel him, i give you my word, i do! i've been depressed for days. as sure as there's a sun up yonder, that old scoundrel is planning something desperate. don't forget that we've already learned a few things regarding his designs." he waited a moment before uttering his gravest fear. "don't give him a chance to strike at the prince." "he wouldn't dare to do that!" "he'd dare anything, from what i've heard of him." "you hate him because--" "go on! yes, i hate him because he has made _her_ unhappy. hello, who's this?" a man who had ridden up to the gates, his horse covered with foam, was demanding admission. the warders halted him unceremoniously as dangloss rode forward. they found that he was one of the foremen in the employ of the railway construction company. he brought the disquieting news that another strike had been declared, that the men were ugly and determined to tear up the track already laid unless their demands were considered, and, furthermore, that there had been severe fighting between the two factions engaged on the work. he urgently implored dangloss to send troops out to hold the rioters in check. many of the men were demanding their pay so that they might give up their jobs and return to their own lands. "what is your name?" demanded the harassed minister of police. "polson," replied the foreman. he lied, for he was no other than john cromer, the unsavoury husband of anna cromer, of the committee of ten. "come with me," said dangloss. "we will go to general braze. good-bye and good luck, tullis." the little baron rode back into the city, accompanied by the shifty-eyed cromer, while john tullis sped off to the south, riding swiftly by the side of the stern-faced captain haas, an eager company of dragoons behind, a mountain guide in front. at that very moment, loraine tullis was comparing notes with truxton king in the room beneath the armourer's shop; count marlanx was hiding in the trader's inn outside the northern gates; the abductors themselves were scattered about the city, laughing triumphantly over the success of the ruse that had drawn the well-feared american away on a wild-goose chase to the distant passes of dawsbergen. more than that: at five o'clock in the afternoon a second detachment of soldiers left the city for the scene of the riots in the construction camps, twenty miles away. surely the well-laid plans of the iron count were being skilfully carried out! all afternoon and evening men straggled in from the hills and surrounding country, apparently loth to miss the early excitement attending the ceremonies on the following day. sullen strikers from the camps came down, cursing the company but drinking noisy toasts to the railroad and its future. the city by night swarmed with revelling thousands; the bands were playing, the crowds were singing, and mobs were drinking and carousing in the lower end. the cold, drizzling rain that began to blow across the city at ten o'clock did little toward checking the hilarity of the revellers. honest citizens went to bed early, leaving the streets to the strangers from the hills and the river-lands. not one dreamed of the ugly tragedy that was drawing to a climax as he slept the sleep of the just, the secure, the conscience-free. at three o'clock in the morning word flew from brothel to brothel, from lodging house to lodging house, in all parts of the slumbering city; a thousand men crept out into the streets after the storm, all animated by one impulse, all obeying a single fierce injunction. they were to find and kill a tall american! they were to keep him or his companion from getting in touch with the police authorities, or with the royal castle, no matter what the cost! the streets were soon alive with these alert, skulking minions. every approach to the points of danger was guarded by desperate, heavily armed scoundrels who would not have hesitated an instant if it came to their hands to kill truxton king, the man with all their dearest secrets in his grasp. in dark doorways lounged these apparently couchless strangers; in areaways and alleys, on doorsteps they found shelter; in the main streets and the side streets they roamed. all the time they had an eager, evil eye out for a tall american and a slender girl! dangloss's lynx-eyed constabulary kept close watch over these restless, homeless strangers, constantly ordering them to disperse, or to "move on," or to "find a bed, not a doorstep." the commands were always obeyed; churlishly, perhaps, in many instances, but never with physical resistance. at five o'clock, a stealthy whisper went the rounds, reaching the ear of every vagabond and cutthroat engaged in the untiring vigil. like smoke they faded away. the silent watch was over. the word had sped to every corner of the town that it was no longer necessary to maintain the watch for truxton king. he was no longer in a position to give them trouble or uneasiness! the twenty-sixth dawned bright and cool after the savage storm from the north. brisk breezes floated down from the mountain peaks; an unreluctant sun smiled his cheeriest from his seat behind the hills, warmly awaiting the hour when he could peep above them for a look into the gala nest of humanity on the western slope. everywhere there was activity, life, gladness and good humour. gaudy decorations which had been torn away by the storm were cheerfully replaced; workmen refurbished the public stands and the royal box in the plaza; bands paraded the avenues or gave concerts in regengetz circus; troops of mounted soldiers and constabulary patroled the streets. there was nothing to indicate to the municipality that the vilest conspiracy of the age--of any age--was gripping its tentacles about the city of edelweiss, the smiling, happy city of mountain and valley. no one could have suspected guile in the laughter and badinage that masked the manner of the men who were there to spread disaster in the bunting-clad thoroughfares. "i don't like the looks of things," said baron dangloss, time and again. his men were never so alert as to-day and never so deceived. "there can't be trouble of any sort," mused colonel quinnox. "these fellows are ugly, 'tis true, but they are not prepared for a demonstration. they are unarmed. what could they do against the troops, even though they are considerably depleted?" "colonel, we'll yet see the day when graustark regrets the economy that has cut our little army to almost nothing. what have we now, all told? three hundred men in the royal guard. less than six hundred in the fortress. i have a hundred policemen. there you are. to-day there are nearly two hundred soldiers off in the mountains on nasty business of one sort or another. 'gad, if these ruffians from the railroad possessed no more than pistols they could give us a merry fight. there must be a thousand of them. i don't like it. we'll have trouble before the day's over." "general braze says his regulars can put down any sort of an uprising in the city," protested quinnox. "in case of war, you know we have the twenty thousand reserves, half of whom were regulars until two years ago." "perfectly true. quinnox, it's your duty to take care of the prince. you've done so in your family for fifteen generations. see to it that prince robin is well looked after to-day, that's all." "trust me for that, baron," said quinnox with his truest smile. even marlanx knew that he would have to kill a quinnox before a graustark ruler could be reached. by eleven o'clock the streets in the neighbourhood of the plaza were packed with people. all along castle avenue, up which the prince was to drive in the coach of state, hung the proud, adoring burghers and their families: like geese to flock, like sheep to scatter. at twelve the castle gates were to be thrown open for the brilliant cavalcade that was to pass between these cheering rows of people. in less than a quarter of an hour afterward, the prince and his court, the noble ladies and gentlemen of graustark, with the distinguished visitors from other lands, would pass into the great square through regengetz circus. at the corner below the crowded castle café, in the north side of the square, which was now patroled by brilliant dragoons, two men met and exchanged the compliments of the day. one of them had just come up on horseback. he dismounted, leaving the animal in charge of an urchin who saw a gavvo in sight. this man was young and rather dashing in appearance. the other was older and plainly a citizen of some consequence. "well?" said the latter impatiently, after they had passed the time of day for the benefit of the nearest on-lookers. the younger man, slapping his riding boot with his crop, led the way to the steps of a house across the sidewalk. both had shot a swift, wary glance at one of the upper windows. "everything is ready. there will be no hitch," said the horseman in low tones. "you have seen spantz?" "sh! no names. yes. the girl is ready." "and the fortress?" "fifty men are in the houses opposite and others will go there--later on." "we must keep the reserves out of the fortress. it would mean destruction if they got to the gun-rooms and the ammunition houses." "is he here?" with a motion toward the upper window. "yes. he came disguised as an old market woman, just after daybreak." "well, here's his horse," said the other, "but he'll have to change his dress. it isn't a side saddle." the young villain laughed silently. "go up now to the square, peter. your place is there." if one had taken the time to observe, he might have seen that the young man wore his hat well forward, and that his face was unnaturally white. we, who suspect him of being peter brutus, have reason to believe that there was an ugly cut on the top of his head and that it gave him exceeding pain. shortly after half past eleven o'clock certain groups of men usurped the positions in front of certain buildings on the south side of the square. a score here, a half score there, others below them. they favoured the shops operated by the friends of the committee of ten; they were the men who were to take possession of the rifles that lay hidden behind counters and walls. here, there, everywhere, all about the city, other instructed men were waiting for the signal that was to tell them to hustle deadly firearms from the beds of green-laden market wagons. it was all arranged with deadly precision. there could be no blunder. the iron count and his deputies had seen to that. men were stationed in the proper places to cut all telephone and telegraph wires leading out of the city. others were designated to hold the gates against fugitives who might seek to reach the troops in the hills. marlanx's instructions were plain, unmistakable. only soldiers and policemen were to be shot; members of the royal household were already doomed, including the ministry and the nobles who rode with the royal carriage. the committee of ten had said that there would not be another ministry, never another graustark nobility; only the party of equals. the iron count had smiled to himself and let them believe all that they preached in secret conclave. but he knew that there would be another ministry, a new nobility and a new ruler, and that there would be _no committee of ten!_ two thousand crafty mercenaries, skilled rioters and fighters from all parts of the world stood ready in the glad streets of edelweiss to leap as one man to the standard of the iron count the instant he appeared in the square after the throwing of the bomb. a well-organised, carefully instructed army of no mean dimensions, in the uniform of the lout and vagabond, would rise like a flash of light before the dazzled, panic-stricken populace, and marlanx would be master. without the call of drum or bugle his sinister soldiers of fortune would leap into positions assigned them; in orderly, determined company front, led by chosen officers, they would sweep the square, the circus and the avenues, up-town to the castle, down-town to the fortress and the railway station, everywhere establishing the pennant of the man who had been banished. the present dynasty was to end at one o'clock! so said marlanx! how could dangloss or braze or quinnox say him nay? they would be dead or in irons before the first shock of disaster had ceased to thrill. the others? pah! they were as chaff to the iron count. the calm that precedes the storm fell upon the waiting throng; an ominous silence spread from one end of the avenue to the other. for a second only it lasted. the hush of death could not have been quieter nor more impressive. even as people looked at each other in wonder, the tumult came to its own again. afterward a whole populace was to recall this strange, depressing second of utter stillness; to the end of time that sudden pall was spoken of with bated breath and in awe. then, from the distant castle came the sound of shouts, crawling up the long line of spectators for the full length of the avenue to the eager throng in regengetz circus, swelling and growing louder as the news came that the prince had ridden forth from the gates. necks were craned, rapt eyes peered down the tree-topped boulevard, glad voices cried out tidings to those in the background. the prince was coming! bonny, adorable prince robin! down the broad avenue came the royal military band, heading the brilliant procession. banners were flying; gold and silver standards gleamed in the van of the noble cavalcade; brilliantly uniformed cuirassiers and dragoons on gaily caparisoned horses formed a gilded phalanx that filled the distant end of the street, slowly creeping down upon the waiting thousands, drawing nearer and nearer to the spot of doom. a stately, noble, inspiring procession it was that swept toward the plaza. the love of the people for their little prince welled up and overflowed in great waves of acclamation. pomp and display, gold and fine raiment were but the creation of man; prince robin was, to them, the choicest creation of god. he was their prince! on came the splendid phalanx of guardsmen, followed by rigid infantrymen in measured tread; the clattering of horses' hoofs, the beat of drums, the clanking of scabbards and the jangling of royal banners, rising even above the hum of eager voices. the great coach of gold, with its half score of horses, rolled sombrely beneath nature's canopy of green, surrounded on all sides by proud members of the royal guard. word came down the line that the prince sat alone in the rear seat of the great coach, facing the prime minister and countess halfont. two carriages from the royal stables preceded the prince's coach. in the first was the duke of perse and three fellow-members of the cabinet; the second contained baron dangloss and general braze. after the prince came a score or more of rich equipages filled with the beauty, the nobility, the splendour of this rich little court. the curtains in a house at the corner of the square parted gently. a hawk-faced old man peered out upon the joyous crowd. his black eyes swept the scene. a grim smile crept into his face. he dropped the curtains and walked away from the window, tossing a cigarette into a grate on the opposite side of the room. then he looked at his watch. all of the bands in the square had ceased playing when the castle gates were opened for the royal procession: only the distant, rythmic beat of a lively march came up from the avenue to the ears of this baleful old man in the second-story front room of the home of apothecary boltz. at the extreme outer side of regengetz circus a small group of men and women stood, white-faced and immovable, steadfastly holding a position in the front rank of spectators. shrinking back among this determined coterie was the slender, shuddering figure of olga platanova, haggard-faced, but with the light of desperation in her eyes. as the procession drew nearer, the companions of this wretched girl slunk away from her side, losing themselves in the crowd, leaving her to do her work while they sought distant spots of safety. olga platanova, her arms folded beneath the long red cloak she wore, remained where they had placed her and--waited! chapter xvi the merry vagabond the man who stood in the middle of the freight-car, looking down in wonder at the fugitives, was a tall vagabond of the most picturesque type. no ragamuffin was ever so tattered and torn as this rakish individual. his clothes barely hung together on his lank frame; he was barefoot and hatless; a great mop of black hair topped his shrewd, rugged face; coal-black eyes snapped and twinkled beneath shaggy brows and a delighted, knowing grin spread slowly over his rather boyish countenance. he was not a creature to strike terror to the heart of any one; on the contrary, his mischievous, sprightly face produced an impression of genuine good humour and absolute indifference to the harsh things of life. long, thin lips curled into a smile of delicious regard; his sides shook with the quiet chuckle of understanding. he did not lose his smile, even when the match burned his finger tips and fell to the floor of the car. instead, the grin was broader when he struck the second match and resumed his amused scrutiny of his fellow-lodgers. this time he practised thrift: he lighted a cigarette with the match before tossing it aside. then he softly slid the car door back in its groove and looked out into the moist, impenetrable night. a deep sigh left his smiling lips; a retrospective langour took possession of his long frame; he sighed again, and still he smiled. leaning against the side of the door this genial gypsy smoked in blissful silence until the stub grew so short that it burned his already singed fingers. he was thinking of other days and nights, and of many maids in far-off lands, and of countless journeys in which he, too, had had fair and gentle company--short journeys, yes, but not to be forgotten. ah, to be knight of the road and everlasting squire to the goddess of love! he always had been that--ever since he could remember; he had loved a hundred briefly; none over long. it was the only way. once more he turned to look upon the sleeping pair. this time he lighted the stub of a tallow candle. the tender, winning smile in his dark eyes grew to positive radiance. ah, how he envied this great, sleeping wayfarer! how beautiful his mistress! how fortunate the lover! and how they slept--how tired they were! whence had they come? from what distant land had they travelled together to reach this holiday-garnished city in the hills? vagabonds, tramps! they were of his world, a part of his family; he knew and had loved a hundred of her sisters, he was one of a hundred-thousand brothers to this man. why should he stay here to spoil their waking hour? the thought came to him suddenly. no; he would surrender his apartment to them. he was free and foot-loose; he could go elsewhere. he _would_ go elsewhere. softly he tip-toed to his own corner of the car, looking over his shoulder with anxious eyes to see that his movements did not disturb them. he gathered up his belongings: an ancient violin case, a stout walking stick, a goodly sized pack done up in gaudy cloth, a well-worn pair of sandals with long, frayed lacings. as gently he stole back to the door. here he sat down, with his feet hanging outside the car. then, with many a sly, wary glance at his good comrades, he put on his sandals and laced them up the leg. he tossed a kiss to the sleeping girl, his dark gypsy face aglow with admiration and mischief, and was about to blow out the light of his candle. then he changed his mind. he arose and stood over them again, looking long and solemnly at the face of the sleeping girl. ah, yes, she was the most beautiful he had ever seen--the very fairest. he had known her sisters, but-no, they were not like this one. with a sly grimace of envy he shook his fist at the tall man whose leg served as a pillow for the tired head. the girl looked wan and tired--and hungry. poor thing! never had he seen one so sweet and lovely as she; never had he seen such a shockingly muddy mackintosh, however, as the one she wore, never were hands so dirty as the slender ones which lay limp before her. with a determined shake of his head and a new flash of the eye he calmly seated himself and began to open his ragged pack. once he paused, a startled look in his face. he caught sight of the revolver at truxton's side for the first time. the instant of alarm passed and a braver smile than ever came. ah, here was a knight who would fight for his lady love! good fellow! bravo! at last his small store of food lay exposed. without hesitation he divided the pieces of smoked venison, giving one part to himself, two to the sleepers; then the miller's bread and the cheese, and the bag of dates he had bought the day before. he tied up his own slender portion and would have whistled for the joy of it all had he not bethought himself in time. from one of his pockets he drew out tobacco and cigarette papers. with his back planted up against the wall of the car, his legs crossed and his feet wiggling time to the inward tune he sang, he calmly rolled half a dozen cigarettes and placed them, one by one, beside the feast. one match from his thin supply he placed alongside the cigarettes. then he looked very doubtful. no; one might blow out. he must not be niggardly. so he kept two for himself and gave three to the guest at his banquet. again he blew a kiss to the prettiest girl he had ever seen. snuffing his candle, he dropped to the ground and closed the door against all spying, uncivil eyes. the first grey of dawn was growing in the sombre east. he looked out over the tops of cars and sniffed the air. the rain was over. he knew. a tinge of red that none but the gypsy could have distinguished betrayed the approach of a sunny day. jauntily he swung off down the path between the lines of cars, his fickle mind wavering between the joys of the coming day and the memory of the loveliest romany he had ever encountered. daybreak found him at the wharf gates. it was gloomy here and silent; the city above looked asleep and unfruitful. his heart was gay; he longed for company. whimsical, careless hearted, he always obeyed the impulse that struck him first. as he stood there, surveying the wet, deserted wharf, it came to him suddenly that if he went back and played one soft love-song before the door of the car, they might invite him to join them in the breakfast that the genie had brought. his long legs were swift. in five minutes he was half way down the line of cars, at the extreme end of which stood the happy lodging place of his heart's desire. then he paused, a dubious frown between his eyes. no! he said, slapping his own cheek soundly; it would not be fair! he would not disturb them, not he! how could he have thought of such a thing. _le bon dieu!_ never! he would breakfast alone! coming to an empty flat car, direct from the quarries, he resolutely seated himself upon its edge, and, with amiable resignation, set about devouring his early meal, all the while casting longing, almost appealing glances toward the next car but one. busy little switch engines began chugging about the yards; the railroad, at least, was exhibiting some signs of life. here and there the crews were "snaking" out sections and bumping them off to other parts of the gridiron; a car here, a car there--all aflounder, but quite simple to this merry wanderer. he knew all about switching, he did. it did not cause him the least uneasiness when a sudden jar told him that an engine had been attached to the distant end of the string in which he breakfasted. nor was he disturbed when the cars began to move. what cared he? he would ride in his dining-car to the objective switch, wherever that was, and no doubt would find himself nearer the main freight depot, with little or no walking to do on his journey to the square. but the "string" was not bound for another track in the yards; it was on its way to the main line, thence off through the winding valley into strange and distant lands. sir vagabond, blissfully swinging his heels and munching his venison, smiled amiably upon the yard men as he passed them by. so genial was the smile, so frank the salutation, that not one scowled back at him or hurled the chunk of coal that bespeaks a surly temper. down through the maze of sidetracks whisked the little train, out upon the main line with a thin shriek of greeting, past the freight houses--it was then that sir vagabond sat up very straight, a look of mild interest in his eyes. interest gave way to perplexity, perplexity to concern. what's this? leaving the city? he wasted no time. this would never do! clutching his belongings to his side, he vaulted from one hand, nimbly and with the gracefulness of wide experience, landing safely on his feet at the roadside. there he stood with the wry, dazed look of a man who suddenly finds himself guilty of arrant stupidity, watching the cars whiz past on their way to the open country. just ahead was the breach in the wall through which all trains entered or left the city. into that breach shot the train, going faster and faster as it saw the straight, clear track beyond. he waited until the tail end whisked itself out of sight in the cut below the city walls, and then trudged slowly, dejectedly in the opposite direction, his heart in his boots. he was thinking of the luckless pair in the empty "box." suddenly he stopped, his chin up, his hands to his sides. a hearty peal of laughter soared from his lips. he was regarding the funny side of the situation. the joke was on them! it was rich! the more he thought of their astonishment on awaking, the more he laughed. he leaned against a car. his immense levity attracted attention. four or five men approached him from the shadows of the freight houses, ugly, unsmiling fellows. they demanded of him the cause of his unseemly mirth. with tears in his merry black eyes he related the plight of the pretty slumberers, dwelling more or less sentimentally on the tender beauty of the maiden fair. they plied him with questions. he described the couple--even glowingly. then the sinister fellows smiled; more than that, they clapped each other on the back and swore splendidly. he was amazed and his own good humour gave way to fierce resentment. what right had these ruffians to laugh at the misfortunes of that unhappy maid? a switchman came up, and one of the men, a lank american whom we should recognise by the sound of his voice (having heard it before), asked whither the train was bound and when it would first stop in its flight. "at the poo quarries, seventeen kilometers down the line. they cut out a few empties there. she goes on to the division point after that." "any trains up from that direction this morning?" demanded "newport." "not till this afternoon. most of the crews are in the city for the--" but the switchman had no listeners beyond that statement. and so it was that the news spread over town at five o'clock that truxton king was where he could do no harm. it was well known that the train would make forty miles an hour down the steep grade into the lower valley. up into the city strolled sir vagabond, his fiddle in his hand, his heart again as light as a feather. some day--ah, some day! he would see her again on the road. it was always the way. then he would tell her how unhappy he had been--for a minute. she was so pretty, so very pretty! he sighed profoundly. we see no more of him. when truxton king first awoke to the fact that they were no longer lying motionless in the dreary yards, he leaped to his feet with a startled shout of alarm. loraine sat up, blinking her eyes in half-conscious wonder. it was broad daylight, of course; the train was rattling through the long cut just below the city walls. with frantic energy he pulled open the door. for a minute he stared at the scudding walls of stone so close at hand, uncomprehendingly. then the truth burst upon him with the force of a mighty blow. he staggered back, his jaw dropping, his eyes glaring. "what the dev--great god, loraine! we're going! we're moving!" he cried hoarsely. "i know it," she gasped, her body rocking violently with the swaying of the wild, top-heavy little car. "great scott! how we're pounding it! fifty miles an hour. where are we?" he cried, aghast. he could scarcely keep his feet, so terrific was the speed and so sickening the motion. she got to her feet and lurched to his side. "don't fall out!" she almost shrieked. he drew back with her. together they swayed like reeds in a windstorm, staring dizzily at the wall before them. suddenly the train shot out into the open, farm-spattered valley. truxton fell back dumbfounded. "the country!" he exclaimed. "we've been carried away. i--i can't believe my senses. could we have slept--what a fool, what an idiot! god in heaven! the prince! he is lost!" he was beside himself with anguish and despair, raging like a madman, cursing himself for a fool, a dog, a murderer! little less distressed than her companion, loraine tullis still had the good sense to keep him from leaping from the car. he had shouted to her that he must get back to the city; she could go on to the next town and find a hiding place. he would come to her as soon as he had given the alarm. "you would be killed," she cried, clutching his arm fiercely. "you never can jump, truxton. see how we are running. if you jump, i shall follow. i won't go on alone. i am as much to blame as you." the big, strong fellow broke down and cried, utterly disheartened. "don't cry, truxton, please don't cry!" she pleaded. "something will happen. we must stop sometime. then we can get another train back, or telegraph, or hire a wagon. it must be very early. the sun is scarcely up. do be brave! don't give up!" he squared his shoulders. "you put me to shame!" he cried abjectly. "i'm--i'm unnerved, that's all. it was too much of a blow. after we'd got away from those scoundrels so neatly, too. oh, it's maddening! i'll be all right in a minute. you plucky, plucky darling!" the train whirled through a small hamlet without even slackening its speed. truxton endeavoured to shout a warning to two men who stood by the gates; but they merely laughed, not comprehending. then he undertook to arrest the attention of the engineer. he leaned from the door and shouted. the effort was futile, almost disastrous. a lurch came near to hurling him to the rocky road bed. now and then they passed farmers on the high road far above, bound for the city. they called out to them, but the cries were in vain. with every minute they were running farther and farther away from the city of edelweiss; every mile was adding to the certainty of the doom which hung over the little prince and his people. a second small station flew by. "ronn: seven kilometers to edelweiss." he looked at her in despair. "we're going faster and faster," he grated. "this is the fastest train in the world, loraine, bar none." just then his gaze alighted on the pathetic breakfast and the wandering cigarettes. he stared as if hypnotised. was he going mad? an instant later he was on his hands and knees, examining the mysterious feast. she joined him at once; no two faces ever before were so puzzled and perplexed. "by heaven!" he exclaimed, drawing her away from the spot in quick alarm, comprehension flooding his brain. "i see it all! we've been deliberately shanghaied! we've been bottled up here, drugged, perhaps, and shipped out of town by fast freight--no destination. don't touch that stuff! it's probably full of poison. great scott! what a clever gang they are! and what a blithering idiot they have in me to deal with. oh, how easy!" whereupon he proceeded to kick the unoffending breakfast, cigarettes and all, out of the car door. to their dying day they were to believe that the food had been put there by agents of the great conspirator. it readily may be surmised that neither of them was given to sensible deductions during their astounding flight. if they had thought twice, they might have seen the folly of their quick conclusions. marlanx's men would not have sent loraine off in a manner like this. but the distracted pair were not in an analytical frame of mind just then; that is why the gentle munificence of sir vagabond came to a barren waste. mile after mile flew by. the unwilling travellers, depressed beyond description, had given up all hope of leaving the car until it reached the point intended by the wily plotters. to their amazement, however, the speed began to slacken perceptibly after they had left the city ten or twelve miles behind. truxton was leaning against the side of the door, gloomily surveying the bright, green landscape. for some time loraine had been steadying herself by clinging to his arm. they had cast off the unsightly rain coats and other clumsy articles. once, through sheer inability to control his impulses, he had placed his arm about her slim waist, but she had gently freed herself. her look of reproach was sufficient to check all future impulses of a like nature. "hello!" said he, coming out of his bitter dream. "we're slowing up." he looked out and ahead. "no station is in sight. there's a bridge down the road a bit--yes, there's our same old river. by george!" his face was a study. "what is it?" she cried, struck by his sudden energy of speech. "they're running slow for the bridge. afraid of the floods. d'ye see? if they creep up to it as they do in the united states when they're cautious, we'll politely drop off and--'pon my soul, she's coming down to a snail's pace. we can swing off, loraine. now's our chance!" the train was barely creeping up to the bridge. he clasped her in the strong crook of his left arm, slid down to a sitting position, and boldly pushed himself clear of the car, landing on his feet. staggering forward with the impetus he had received, he would have fallen except for a mighty effort. a sharp groan escaped his lips as he lowered her to the ground. she looked anxiously into his face and saw nothing there but relief. the cars rumbled across the bridge, picked up speed beyond, and thundered off in the distance with never so much as a thought of the two who stood beside the track and laughed hysterically. "come along," said the man briefly. "we must try to reach that station back there. there i can telegraph in. oh!" his first attempt to walk brought out a groan of pain. he had turned his ankle in the leap to the ground. she was deeply concerned, but he sought to laugh it off. gritting his teeth determinedly, he led the way back along the track. "lean on me," she cried despairingly. "nonsense," he said with grim stubbornness. "i don't mind the pain. we can't stop for a sprained ankle. it's an old one i got playing football. we may have to go a little slow, but we'll not stop, my dear--not till we get word to dangloss!" she found a long, heavy stick for him; thereafter he hobbled with greater speed and less pain. at a wagon-road crossing they paused to rest, having covered two miles. the strain was telling on him; perspiration stood out in great drops upon his brow; he was beginning to despair. her little cry of joy caused him to look up from the swollen ankle which he was regarding with dubious concern. an oxcart was approaching from the west. "a ride!" she cried joyously. she had been ready to drop with fatigue; her knees were shaking. his first exclamation of joy died away in a groan of dismay. he laughed bitterly. "that thing couldn't get us anywhere in a week," he said. "but it will help," she cried brightly, an optimist by force of necessity. they stopped the cart and bargained for a ride to ronn. the man was a farmer, slow and suspicious. he haggled. "the country's full of evil men and women these days," he demurred. "besides i have a heavy enough load as it is for my poor beasts." miss tullis conducted the negotiations, making the best of her year's acquaintance with the language of the country. "don't tell him why we are in such a hurry," cautioned king. "he may be a marlanx sympathiser." "you have nothing in your cart but melons," she said to the farmer, peeping under the corner of the canvas covering. "i am not going through ronn, but by the high road to edelweiss," he protested. "a good ten kilometers." "but carry us until we come up with some one who can give us horses." "horses!" he croaked. "every horse in the valley is in edelweiss by this time. this is the great day there. the statue of--" "yes, yes, i know. we are bound for edelweiss. can you get us there in two hours?" "with these beasts, poor things? never!" "it will be worth your while. a hundred gavvos if you carry us to a place where we can secure quicker transportation." in time she won him over. he agreed to carry them along the way, at his best speed, until they came up with better beasts or reached the city gates. it was the best he could do. the country was practically deserted on this day. at best there were but few horses in the valley; mostly oxen. they climbed up to the seat and the tortuous journey began. the farmer trotted beside the wheel nearly all of the way, descanting warmly in painful english on the present condition of things in the hills. "the rascals have made way with the beautiful miss tullis. she is the american lady stopping at the castle. you should see her, sir. excepting our dear princess yetive--god rest her soul--she is the most beautiful creature graustark has ever seen. i have seen her often. not quite so grand as the countess ingomede, but fairer, believe me. she is beloved by everyone. many a kind and generous word has she spoken to me. my onion beds are well known to her. she has come to my farm time and again, sir, with the noble personages, while riding, and she has in secret bought my little slips of onions. she has said to me that she adores them, but that she can only eat them in secret. ah, sir, it is a sad day for graustark that evil has happened to her. her brother, they say, is off in the dawsbergen hills searching for her. he is a grand man." his passengers were duly interested. she nudged the lugubrious truxton when the man spoke of the onions. "what a fibber! i hate onions." "she is to be married to the count vos engo; a fine lad, sir. now she is gone, i don't know what he will do. suicide, mayhap. many is the time i have cautioned her not to ride in the hills without a strong guard. these bandits are getting very bold." "do you know the great count marlanx?" demanded king, possessed of a sudden thought. the man faced him at the mention of the name, a suspicious gleam in his eyes. "count marlanx!" he snorted. without another word, he drew the beasts to a standstill. there was no mistaking the angry scowl. "are you friends of that snake? if you are, get out of my cart." "he's all right," cried truxton. "tell him who we are, loraine, and why we _must_ get to the city." five minutes later, the farmer, overcome by the stupendous news, was lashing his oxen with might and main; the astonished beasts tore down the road to ronn so bravely that there seemed some prospect of getting a telegram through in time. all the way the excited countryman groaned and swore and sputtered his prayers. at ronn they learned that the operator had been unable to call edelweiss since seven o'clock. the wires were down or had been cut. truxton left a message to be sent to dangloss in case he could get the wire, and off they started again for the city gates, having lost considerable time by the diverted mile or two. not man, woman or child did they encounter as the miles crept by. the country was barren of humanity. ahead of them was the ascent to be conquered by oxen so old and feeble that the prospect was more than dubious. "if it should be that my team gives out, i will run on myself to give the alarm," cried the worthy, perspiring charioteer. "it shall not be! god preserve us!" three times the oxen broke down, panting and stubborn; as many times he thwacked them and kicked them and cursed them into action again. they stumbled pitifully, but they _did_ manage to go forward. in time the city gates came in sight--far up the straight, narrow road. "pray god we may not be too late," groaned the farmer. "damn the swine who took their horses to town before the sun was up. curse them for fools and imbeciles. fools never get into heaven. thank the good lord for that." it seemed to the quivering americans that the gates were mocking them by drawing farther away instead of coming nearer. "are we going backward?" groaned truxton, his hands gripping the side of the bounding seat. near the gates, which were still open, it occurred to him in a single flash of dismay that he and loraine would be recognised and intercepted by marlanx watchers. between the fierce jolts of the great cart he managed to convey his fears to her. it was she who had the solution. they might succeed in passing the gates if they hid themselves in the bed of the cart, underneath the thick canvas covering. the farmer lifted the cloth and they crawled down among the melons. in this fashion they not only covered the remainder of the distance, half stifled by the heat and half murdered by the uncomfortable position, but passed through the gates and were taken clattering down the streets toward the centre of town. "to the tower!" cried the anxious truxton. "impossible!" shouted the farmer. "the streets are roped off and the crowds are too great." "then let us out as near to the tower as possible, cried the other. "here we are," cried the driver, a few minutes later, pulling up his half dead oxen and leaping to the ground. he threw off the covering and they lost no time in tumbling from their bed of melons to the cobble-stone pavement of a narrow alley into which he had turned for safety. "through this passage!" he gasped, hoarse with excitement. "the tower is below. follow me! my oxen will stand. i am going with you!" his rugged face was aglow. off through the alley they hurried, king disdaining the pain his ankle was giving him. they came to the crowded square a few minutes later. the clock in the cathedral pointed to twelve o'clock and after! the catastrophe had not yet taken place; the people were laughing and singing and shouting. they were in time. everywhere they heard glad voices crying out that the prince was coming! it was the royal band that they heard through dinning ears! "great god!" cried truxton, stopping suddenly and pointing with trembling hand to a spot across the street and a little below where they had pushed through the resentful, staring throng on the sidewalk. "there she is! at the corner! stop her!" he had caught sight of olga platanova. the first row of dragoons was already passing in front of her. less than two hundred feet away rolled the royal coach of gold! all this flashed before the eyes of the distracted pair, who were now dashing frantically into the open street, disregarding the shouts of the police and the howls of the crowd. "an anarchist!" shouted king hoarsely. he looked like one himself. "the bomb! the bomb! stop the prince!" colonel quinnox recognised this bearded, uncouth figure, and the flying, terrified girl at his heels. king was dragging her along by the hand. there was an instant of confusion on the part of the vanguard, a drawing of sabres, a movement toward the coach in which the prince rode. quinnox alone prevented the dragoons from cutting down the pallid madman who stumbled blindly toward the coaches beyond. he whirled his steed after an astonished glance in all directions, shouting eager commands all the while. when he reached the side of the gasping american, that person had stopped and was pointing toward the trembling olga, who had seen and recognised him. "stop the coach!" cried king. loraine was running frantically through the ranks of horsemen, screaming her words of alarm. the duke of perse leaped from his carriage and ran forward, shouting to the soldiers to seize the disturbers. panic seized the crowd. there was a mad rush for the corner above. olga platanova stood alone, her eyes wide and glassy, staring as if petrified at the face of truxton king. he saw the object in her wavering hand. with a yell he dashed for safety down the seething avenue. the duke of perse struck at him as he passed, ignoring the frantic cry of warning that he uttered. a plain, white-faced farmer in a smock of blue was crossing the street with mighty bounds, his eyes glued upon the arm of the frail, terrified anarchist. if he could only arrest that palsied, uncertain arm! but she hurled the bomb, her hands going to her eyes as she fell upon her knees. chapter xvii. the throwing of the bomb the scene that followed beggars all powers of description. a score of men and horses lay writhing in the street; others crept away screaming with pain; human flesh and that of animals lay in the path of the frenzied, panic-stricken holiday crowd; blood mingled with the soft mud of regengetz circus, slimy, slippery, ugly! rent bodies of men in once gaudy uniforms, now flattened and bruised in warm, oozy death, were piled in a mass where but a moment before the wondering vanguard of troopers had clustered. for many rods in all directions stunned creatures were struggling to their feet after the stupendous shock that had felled them. the clattering of frightened horses, the shouts and screams of men and women, the gruesome rush of ten thousand people in stampede--all in twenty seconds after the engine of death left the hand of olga platanova. olga platanova! there was nothing left of her! she had failed to do the deed expected of her, but she would not hear the execrations of those who had depended upon her to kill the prince. we draw a veil across the picture of olga platanova after the bomb left her hand; no one may look upon the quivering, shattered thing that once was a living, beautiful woman. the glimpse she had of truxton king's haggard face unnerved her. she faltered, her strength of will collapsed; she hurled the bomb in a panic of indecision. massacre but not conquest! down in an alley below the tower, a trembling, worn team of oxen stood for a day and night, awaiting the return of a master who was never to come back to them. god rest his simple soul! truxton king picked himself up from the street, dazed, bewildered but unhurt. everywhere about him mad people were rushing and screeching. scarcely knowing what he did, he fled with the crowd. from behind him came the banging of guns, followed by new shouts of terror. he knew what it meant! the revolutionists had begun the assault on the paralysed minions of the government. scores of royal guardsmen swept past him, rushing to the support of the coach of gold. the sharp, shrill scream of a single name rose above the tumult. some one had seen the iron count! "marlanx!" he looked back toward the gory entrance to the circus. there was marlanx, mounted and swinging a sabre on high. ahead was the mass of carriages, filled with the white-faced, palsied prey from the court of graustark. somewhere in that huddled, glittering crowd were two beings he willingly would give his own life to save. foot soldiers, policemen and mounted guardsmen began firing into the crowd at the square, without sense or discretion, falling back, nevertheless, before the well-timed, deliberate advance of the mercenaries. from somewhere near the spot where olga platanova fell came a harsh, penetrating command: "cut them off! cut them off from the castle!" it was his cue. he dashed into the street and ran toward the carriages, shouting with all his strength: "turn back! it is marlanx! to the castle!" then it was that he saw the prince. the boy was standing on a seat on the royal coach of state, holding out his eager little hands to some one in the thick of the crowd that surged about him. he was calling some one's name, but no one could have heard him. truxton's straining eyes caught sight of the figure in grey that struggled forward in response to the cries and the extended hands. he pushed his way savagely through the crowd; he came up with her as she reached the side of the coach, and with a shout of encouragement grasped her in his arms. "aunt loraine! aunt loraine!" he now heard the name the boy cried with all his little heart. two officers struck at the uncouth, desperate american as he lifted the girl from the ground and deliberately tossed her into the coach. "turn back!" he shouted. a horseman rode him down. he looked up as the plunging animal's hoofs clattered about his head. vos engo, with drawn sword, was crowding up to the carriage door, shouting words of rejoicing at sight of the girl he loved. somehow he managed to crawl from under the hoofs and wheels, not without thumps and bruises, and made his way to the sidewalk. the coach had swung around and the horses were being lashed into a gallop for the castle gates. he caught a glimpse of her, holding the prince in her arms, her white, agonised face turned toward the mob. distinctly he heard her cry: "save him! save truxton king!" from the sidewalks swarmed well-armed hordes of desperadoes, firing wildly into the ranks of devoted guardsmen grouped in the avenue to cover the flight of their royal charge. truxton fled from the danger zone as fast as his legs would carry him. bullets were striking all about him. later on he was to remember his swollen, bitterly painful ankle; but there was no thought of it now. he had played football with this same ankle in worse condition than it was now--and he had played for the fun of it, too. he realised that his life was worth absolutely nothing if he fell into the hands of the enemy. his only chance lay in falling in with some sane, loyal citizen who could be prevailed upon to hide him until the worst was over. there seemed no possibility of getting inside the castle grounds. he had done his duty and--he laughed bitterly as he thought of it--he had been ridden down by the men he came to save. some one was shouting his name behind in the scurrying crowd. he turned for a single glance backward. little mr. hobbs, pale as a ghost, his cap gone, his clothing torn, was panting at his elbow. "god save us!" gasped hobbs. "are you alive or am i seeing all the bloody ghosts in the world?" "i'm alive all right," cried king. "where can we go? be quick, hobbs! think! don't sputter like that. i want to be personally conducted, and damned quick at that." "before god, sir, i 'aven't the idea where to go," groaned hobbs. "it's dreadful! did you see what the woman did back there--" "don't stop to tell me about it, hobbs. keep on running. go ahead of me. i'm used to following the man from cook's." "right you are, sir. i say, by jove, i'm glad to see you--i am. you came right up out of the ground as if--" "is there no way to get off this beastly avenue?" panted king. "they're shooting back there like a pack of wild men. i hate to think of what's going on." "dangloss will 'ave them all in the jug inside of ten minutes, take my word--" "they'll have dangloss hanging from a telephone; pole, hobbs! don't talk! run!" soldiers came riding up from behind, turning to fire from their saddles into the throng of cutthroats, led by the grim old man with the bloody sabre. in the centre of the troop there was a flying carriage. the duke of perse was lying back in the seat, his face like that of a dead man. far ahead rattled the royal coach and the wildly flying carriages of state. "the prince is safe!" shouted king joyously. "they'll make it! thank god!" colonel quinnox turned in his saddle and searched out the owner of that stirring voice. "come!" he called, drawing rein as soon as he caught sight of him. even as king rushed out into the roadway a horseman galloped up from the direction of the castle. he pulled his horse to his haunches almost as he was riding over the dodging american. "here!" shouted the newcomer, scowling down upon the young man. "swing up here! quick, you fool!" it was vos engo, his face black with fury. quinnox had seized the hand of mr. hobbs on seeing help for king and was pulling him up before him. there was nothing for truxton to do but to accept the timely help of his rival. an instant later he was up behind him and they were off after the last of the dragoons. "if you don't mind, count, i'll try my luck," grated the american. holding on with one arm, he turned and fired repeatedly in the direction of the howling crowd of rascals. "ride to the barracks gates, vos engo!" commanded colonel quinnox. "be prepared to admit none but the royal reserves, who are under standing orders to report there in time of need." "god grant that they may be able to come," responded the count. over his shoulder he hissed to his companion. "it was not idle heroics, my friend, nor philanthropy on my part. i was commanded to come and fetch you. she would never have spoken to me again if i had refused." "she? ah, yes; i see. good! she did not forget me!" cried truxton, his heart bounding. "my own happiness depends on my luck in getting you to safety," rasped the count. "my life's happiness. understand, damn you, it is not for you that i risk my life." "i understand," murmured truxton, a wry smile on his pale lips. "you mean, she is going to pay you in some way for picking me up, eh? well, i'll put an end to that. i'll drop off again. then you can ride on and tell her--i wouldn't be a party to the game. do you catch my meaning?" "you would, eh?" said the count angrily. "i'd like to see you drop off while we're going at this--" "i've got my pistol in the middle of your back," grated truxton. "slow up a bit or i'll scatter your vertebræ all over your system. pull up!" "as you like," cried vos engo. "i've done my part. colonel quinnox will bear witness." he began pulling his horse down. "now, you are quite free to drop off." without a word the american swung his leg over and slid to the ground. "thanks for the lift you've given me," he called up to the astonished officer. "don't thank me," sang out his would-be saviour as he put spur to his horse. it is a lamentable thing to say, but truxton king's extraordinary sacrifice was not altogether the outgrowth of heroism. we have not been called upon at any time to question his courage; we have, on the other hand, seen times when he displayed the most arrant foolhardiness. i defy any one to prove, however, that he ever neglected an opportunity to better himself by strategy at the expense of fortitude. therefore, it is not surprising that even at such a time as this we may be called upon to record an example of his spectacular cunning. be sure of it, he did not decide to slide from vos engo's horse until he saw a way clear to better his position, and at the same time to lessen the glory of his unpleasant rescuer. less than a hundred yards behind loped a riderless horse; the dragoon who had sat the saddle was lying far back in the avenue, a bullet in his head. hobbling to the middle of the road, the american threw up his hands and shouted briskly to the bewildered animal. throwing his ears forward in considerable doubt, the horse came to a standstill close at hand. five seconds later king was in the saddle and tearing along in the wake of the retreating guard, his hair blowing from his forehead, his blood leaping with the joy of achievement. mr. hobbs afterward informed him that count vos engo's oaths were worth going miles to avoid. "we need such men as king!" cried colonel quinnox as he waited inside the gates for the wild rider. a moment later king dashed through and the massive bolts were shot. as he pulled up in front of the steward's lodge to await the orders of the colonel, the exultant american completed the soliloquy that began with the mad impulse to ride into port under his own sails. "i'll have to tell her that he did a fine thing in coming back for me, much as he hated to do it. what's more, i shan't say a word about his beastly temper. we'll let it pass. he deserves a whole lot for the part he played. i'll not forget it. too bad he had to spoil it all by talking as he did. but, hang me, if he shall exact anything from her because he did a thing he didn't want to do. i took a darned sight bigger chance than he did, after all. good lord, what a mess i would have been in if the nag hadn't stopped! whew! well, old boy, you did stop, god bless you. colonel," he spoke, as quinnox came up, "do you think i can buy this horse? he's got more sense than i have." small bodies of foot soldiers and policemen fighting valiantly against great odds were admitted to the grounds during the next half hour. scores had been killed by the fierce, irregular attack of the revolutionists; others had become separated from their comrades and were even now being hunted down and destroyed by the infuriated followers of marlanx. a hundred or more of the reserves reached the upper gates before it occurred to the enemy to blockade the streets in that neighbourhood. general braze, with a few of his men, bloody and heartsick, was the last of the little army to reach safety in the castle grounds, coming up by way of the lower gates from the fortress, which they had tried to reach after the first outbreak, but had found themselves forestalled. the fortress, with all guns, stores and ammunition, was in the hands of the iron count and his cohorts. baron dangloss had been taken prisoner with a whole platoon of fighting constables. this was the last appalling bit of news to reach the horrified, disorganised forces in the castle grounds. citizens had fled to their homes, unmolested. the streets were empty, save for the armed minions of the iron count. they rushed hither and thither in violent detachments, seeking out the men in uniform, yelling and shooting like unmanageable savages. before two o'clock the city itself was in the hands of the hated enemy of the crown. he and his aliens, malefactors and all, were in complete control of the fortress, the gates and approaches, the tower and the bloody streets. a thousand of them,--eager, yelling ruffians,--marched to within firing distance of the castle walls and held every approach against reinforcements. except for the failure to destroy the prince and his counsellors, the daring, unspeakable plans of count marlanx had been attended by the most horrifying results. he was master. there was no question as to that. the few hundred souls in the castle grounds were like rats in a trap. a wise as well as a cruel man was marlanx. he lost no time in issuing a manifesto to the stunned, demoralised citizens of edelweiss. scores of criers went through the streets during the long, wretched afternoon, announcing to the populace that count marlanx had established himself as dictator and military governor of the principality--pending the abdication of the prince and the beginning of a new and substantial regime. all citizens were commanded to recognise the authority of the dictator; none except those who disobeyed or resented this authority would be molested. traffic would be resumed on the following monday. tradespeople and artisans were commanded to resume their occupations under penalty of extreme punishment in case of refusal. these and many other edicts were issued from marlanx's temporary headquarters in the plaza--almost at the foot of the still veiled monument of the beloved princess yetive. toward evening, after many consultations and countless reports, marlanx removed his headquarters to the tower. he had fondly hoped to be in the castle long before this. his rage and disappointment over the stupid miscarriage of plans left no room for conjecture as to the actual state of his feelings. for hours he had raved like a madman. every soldier who fell into his hands was shot down like a dog. the cells and dungeons in the great old tower were now occupied by bruised, defeated officers of the law. baron jasto dangloss, crushed in spirit and broken of body, paced the blackest and narrowest cell of them all. the gall and wormwood that filled his soul was not to be measured by words. he blamed himself for the catastrophe; it was he who had permitted this appalling thing to grow and burst with such sickening results. in his mind there was no doubt that marlanx had completely overthrown the dynasty and was in full possession of the government. he did not know that the prince and his court had succeeded in reaching the castle, whose walls and gates were well-nigh impregnable to assault, even by a great army. if he had known this he might have rejoiced! late in the evening he received a visit from marlanx, the new master. the iron count, lighted by a ghostly lantern in the hands of a man who, ten hours before, had been a prisoner within these very walls, came up to the narrow grating that served as a door and gazed complacently upon the once great minister of police. "well," said dangloss, his eyes snapping, "what is it, damn you?" marlanx stroked his chin and smiled. "i believe this is my old confrère, baron dangloss," he remarked. "dear me, i took you, sir, to be quite impeccable. here you are, behind the bars. will wonders never cease?" dangloss merely glared at him. the iron count went on suavely: "you heard me, baron. still, i do not require an answer. how do you like your new quarters? it may please you to know that i am occupying your office, and also that noble suite overlooking the plaza. i find myself most agreeably situated. by the way, baron, i seem to recall something to mind as i look at you. you were the kindly disposed gentleman who escorted me to the city gates a few years ago and there turned me over to a detachment of soldiers, who, in turn, conveyed me to the border. if i recall the occasion rightly, you virtually kicked me out of the city. am i right?" "you are!" was all that the bitter dangloss said, without taking his fierce gaze from the sallow face beyond the bars. "i am happy to find that my memory is so good," said marlanx. "i expect to be able to repeat the operation," said dangloss. "how interesting! you forget that history never repeats itself." "see here, marlanx, what is your game? speak up; i'm not afraid of you. do you intend to take me out and shoot me at sunrise?" "oh, dear me, no! that would be a silly proceeding. you own vast estates in graustark, if i mistake not, just as i did eight or nine years ago. well, i have come into my own again. the crown relieved me of my estates, my citizenship, my honour. i have waited long to regain them. understand me, dangloss; i am in control now; my word is law. i do not intend to kill you. it is my intention to escort you to the border and kick you out of graustark. see for yourself how it feels. everything you possess is to be taken away from you. you will be a wanderer on the face of the earth--a pauper. all you have is here. therein lies the distinction: i had large possessions in other lands. i had friends and a following, as you see. you will have none of these, baron." "a splendid triumph, you beast!" "of course, you'd much prefer being shot." "not at all. banish me, if you please; strip me of all i possess. but i'll come back another day, count marlanx." "ah, yes; that reminds me. i had quite forgotten to say that the first ten years of your exile are to be spent in the dungeons at schloss marlanx. how careless of me to have neglected to state that in the beginning. in ten years you will be seventy-five, baron. an excellent time of life for one to begin his wanderings over the world which will not care to remember him." "do you expect me to get down on my knees and plead for mercy, you scoundrel?" "i know you too well for that, my dear baron." "get out of my sight!" "pray do not forget that i am governor of the tower at present. i go and come as i choose." "god will punish you for what you have done. there's solace in that." "as you like, baron. if it makes it easier for you to feel that god will take a hand in my humble affairs, all well and good. i grant you that delectable privilege." baron dangloss turned his back upon his smiling enemy, his body quivering with passion. "by the way, baron, would you care to hear all the latest news from the seat of war? it may interest you to know that the castle is besieged in most proper fashion. no one--" "the castle besieged? then, by the eternal, you did not take the prince!" "not at all! he is in the castle for a few hours of imaginary safety. to-night my men will be admitted to the grounds by friends who have served two masters for a twelve-month or longer." "traitors in the castle?" cried dangloss in horror. he was now facing the count. "hardly that, my dear sir. agents, i should call them. isn't it splendid?" "you are a--" "don't say it, baron. save your breath. i know what you would call me, and can save you the trouble of shouting it, as you seem inclined to do." "thank god, your assassins not only failed to dynamite the boy, but your dogs failed to capture him. by heaven, god _is_ with prince robin, after all!" "how exalted you seem, baron! it is a treat to look at you. oh, another thing: the platanova girl was not _my_ assassin." "that's a lie!" "you shall not chide me in that fashion, baron. you are very rude. no; the girl was operating for what i have since discovered to be the committee of ten, leading the party of equals in graustark. to-morrow morning i shall have the committee of ten seized and shot in the public square. we cannot harbour dynamiters and assassins of that type. there are two-score or more of anarchist sympathisers here. we will cheerfully shoot all of them--an act that you should have performed many days ago, my astute friend. it might have saved trouble. they are a dangerous element in any town. those whom i do not kill i shall transport to the united states in exchange for the americans who have managed to lose themselves over here. a fair exchange, you see. moreover, i hear that the united states government welcomes the reds if they are white instead of yellow. clever, but involved, eh? well, good night, baron. sleep well. i expect to see you again after the rush of business attending the adjustment of my own particular affairs. in a day or two i shall move into the castle. you may be relieved to know that i do not expect to find the time to kick you out of graustark under a week or ten days." "my men: what of them? the brave fellows who were taken with me? you will not deprive--" "in time they will be given the choice of serving me as policemen or serving the world as examples of folly. rest easy concerning them. ah, yes, again i have stupidly forgotten something. your excellent friend, tullis, will not re-enter edelweiss alive. that is quite assured, sir. so you see, he will, after all, be better off than you. i don't blame him for loving my wife. it was my desire to amicably trade my wife off to him for his charming sister, but the deal hangs fire. what a scowl! i dare say you contemplate saying something bitter, so i'll retire. a little later on i shall be chatting with the prince at the castle. i'll give him your gentlest felicitations." but marlanx was doomed to another disappointment before the night was over. the castle gates were not opened to his forces. colonel quinnox apprehended the traitors in time to prevent the calamity. ten hostlers in the royal stables were taken redhanded in the attempt to overpower the small guard at the western gates. their object was made plain by the subsequent futile movement of a large force of men at that particular point. prince robin was safe for the night. chapter xviii truxton on parade count marlanx was a soldier. he knew how to take defeat and to bide his time; he knew how to behave in the hour of victory and in the moment of rout. the miscarriage of a detail here and there in this vast, comprehensive plan of action did not in the least sense discourage him. it was no light blow to his calculations, of course, when the designs of an organisation separate and distinct from his own failed in their purpose. it was part of his plan to hold the misguided reds responsible for the lamentable death of prince robin. the people were to be given swift, uncontrovertible proof that he had no hand in the unforeseen transactions of the anarchists, who, he would make it appear, had by curious coincidence elected to kill the prince almost at the very hour when he planned to seize the city as a conqueror. his own connection with the operations of the mysterious committee of ten was never to be known to the world. he would see to that. at nine o'clock on sunday morning a small group of people gathered in the square: a meeting was soon in progress. a goods-box stood over against the very spot on which olga platanova died. an old man began haranguing the constantly growing crowd, made up largely of those whose curiosity surpassed discreetness. in the group might have been seen every member of the committee of ten, besides a full representation of those who up to now had secretly affiliated with the party of equals. a red flag waved above the little, excited group of fanatics, close to the goods-box rostrum. one member of the committee was absent from this, their first public espousal of the cause. later on we are to discover who this man was. two women in bright red waists were crying encouragement to the old man on the box, whose opening sentences were no less than an unchanted requiem for the dead martyr, olga platanova. in the midst of his harangue, the hand of william spantz was arrested in one of its most emphatic gestures. a look of wonder and uncertainty came into his face as he gazed, transfixed, over the heads of his hearers in the direction of the tower. peter brutus was approaching, at the head of a group of aliens, all armed and marching in ominously good order. something in the face of peter brutus sent a chill of apprehension into the very soul of the old armourer. and well it may have done so. "one moment!" called out peter brutus, lifting his hand imperatively. the speaker ceased his mouthings. "count marlanx desires the immediate presence of the following citizens at his office in the tower. i shall call off the names." he began with william spantz. the name of each of his associates in the committee of ten followed. after them came a score of names, all of them known to be supporters of the anarchist cause. "what is the business, peter?" demanded william spantz. "does it mean we are to begin so soon the establishing of the new order--" began anna cromer, her face aglow. peter smiled wanly. "do not ask me," he said, emphasising the pronoun. "i am only commanded to bring the faithful few before him." "but why the armed escort?" growled julius spantz, who had spent an unhappy twenty-four hours in bondage. "to separate the wheat from the chaff," said peter. "move on, good people, all you whose names were not called." the order was to the few timid strangers who were there because they had nowhere else to go. they scattered like chaff. ten minutes later every member of the committee of ten, except peter brutus, was behind lock and bar, together with their shivering associates, all of them dumbly muttering to themselves the awful sentence that marlanx had passed upon them. "you are to die at sunset. graustark still knows how to punish assassins. she will make an example of you to-day that all creatures of your kind, the world over, will not be likely to forget in a century to come. there is no room in graustark for anarchy. i shall wipe it out to-day." "sir, your promise!" gasped william spantz. "we are your friends--the true party of--" "enough! do not speak again! captain brutus, you will send criers abroad to notify the citizens that i, count marlanx, have ordered the execution of the ringleaders in the plot to dynamite the prince. at sunset, in the square. away with the carrion!" then it was, and not till then, that the committee of ten found him out! then it was that they came to know peter brutus! what were their thoughts, we dare not tell: their shrieks and curses were spent against inpenetrable floors and walls. baron dangloss heard, and, in time, understood. even he shrank back and shuddered. it has been said that marlanx was a soldier. there is one duty that the soldier in command never neglects: the duty to those who fell while fighting bravely for or against him. sunday afternoon a force of men was set to work burying the dead and clearing the pavements. those of his own nondescript army who gave up their lives on the th were buried in the public cemeteries. the soldiers of the crown, as well as the military police, were laid to rest in the national cemetery, with honours befitting their rank. each grave was carefully marked and a record preserved. in this way marlanx hoped to obtain his first footing in the confidence and esteem of the citizens. the unrecognisable corpse of olga platanova was buried in quicklime outside the city walls. there was something distinctly gruesome in the fact that half a dozen deep graves were dug alongside hers, hours before death came to the wretches who were to occupy them. at three o'clock the iron count coolly sent messengers to the homes of the leading merchants and bankers of the city. they, with the priests, the doctors, the municipal officers and the manufacturers were commanded to appear before him at five o'clock for the purpose of discussing the welfare of the city and its people. hating, yet fearing him, they came; not one but felt in his heart that the old man was undisputed ruler of their destinies. hours of horror and despair, a night and a day of bitter reflection, had brought the trembling populace to the point of seeing clearly the whole miserable situation. the reserves were powerless; the royal guard was besieged and greatly outnumbered; the fortress was lost. there was nothing for them to do but temporise. time alone could open the way to salvation. marlanx stated his position clearly. he left no room for doubt in their minds. the strings were in his hands: he had but to pull them. the desire of his life was about to be attained. without hesitation he informed the leading men of the city that he was to be the prince of graustark. "i have the city," he said calmly. "the farms and villages will fall in line. i do not worry over them. in a very short time i shall have the castle. the question for you to decide for yourselves is this: will you be content to remain here as thrifty, peaceable citizens, protecting your fortunes and being protected by a man and not by a child. if not, please say so. the alternative is in the hands of the crown. i am the crown. the crown may at any time confiscate property and banish malcontents and disturbers. a word to the wise, gentlemen. inside of a week we will have a new government. you will not suffer under its administration. i should be indeed a fool to destroy the credit or injure the integrity of my own dominion. but, let me say this, gentlemen," he went on after a pause, in which his suavity gave way to harshness; "you may as well understand at the outset that i expect to rule here. i will rule graustark or destroy her." the more courageous in his audience began to protest against the high-handed manner in which he proposed to treat them. not a few declared that they would never recognise him as a prince of the realm. he waited, as a spider waits, until he thought they had gone far enough. then he held up his hand and commanded silence. "those of you who do not expect or desire to live under my rule--which, i promise you, shall be a wise one,--may leave the city for other lands just as soon as my deputies have completed the formal transfer of all your belongings to the crown treasury--all, i say, even to the minutest trifle. permit me to add, in that connection, gentlemen: the transfer will not be a prolonged affair." they glared back at him and subsided into bitter silence. "i am well aware that you love little prince robin. ha! you may not cheer here, gentlemen, under penalty of my displeasure. it is quite right that you should, as loyal subjects, love your prince, whoever he may be. i shall certainly expect it. now, respecting young master robin: i have no great desire to kill him." he waited to see the effect of this brutal announcement. his hearers stiffened and--yes, they held their breath. "he has one alternative--he and his lords. i trust that you, as sensible gentlemen, will find the means to convey to him your advice that he seize the opportunity i shall offer him to escape with his life. no one really wants to see the little chap die. let me interrupt myself to call to your attention the fact that i am punishing the anarchists at sunset. this to convince you that assassination will not be tolerated in graustark. to resume: the boy may return to america, where he belongs. he is more of an american than one of us. i will give him free and safe escort to the united states. certain of his friends may accompany him; others whom i shall designate will be required to remain here until i have disposed of their cases as i see fit. these conditions i shall set forth in my manifesto to the present occupant of the castle. if he chooses to accept my kindly terms, all well and good. if not, gentlemen, i shall starve him out or blow the castle down about his smart little ears. you shudder! well, i can't blame you. i shudder myself sometimes when i think of it. there will be a great deal of royal blood, you know. ah, that reminds me: it may interest you to hear that i expect to establish a new nobility in graustark. the present house of lords is objectionable to me. i trust i may now be addressing at least a few of the future noble lords of graustark. good day, gentlemen. that is all for the present. kindly inform me if any of my soldiers or followers overstep the bounds of prudence. rapine and ribaldry will not be tolerated." the dignitaries and great men of the city went away, dazed and depressed, looking at each other from bloodshot eyes. not one friend had marlanx in that group, and he knew it well. he did not expect them to submit at once or even remotely. they might have smiled, whereas they frowned, if they could have seen him pacing the floor of his office, the moment the doors closed behind their backs, clenching his hands and cursing furiously. at the castle the deepest gloom prevailed. it was like a nightmare to the beleaguered household, a dream from which there seemed to be no awakening. colonel quinnox's first act after posting his forces in position to repel attacks from the now well-recognised enemy, was to make sure of the safety of his royal master. inside the walls of the castle grounds he, as commander of the royal guard, ruled supreme. general braze tore off his own epaulets and presented himself to quinnox as a soldier of the file; lords and dukes, pages and ministers, followed the example of the head of the war department. no one stood on the dignity of his position; no one does, as a rule, with the executioner staring him in the face. every man took up arms for the defence of the castle, its prince and its lovely women. prince robin, quite recovered from his fright, donned the uniform of a colonel of the royal dragoons, buckled on his jewelled sword, and, with boyish zeal, demanded colonel quinnox's reasons for not going forth to slay the rioters. "what is the army for, colonel quinnox?" he asked with impatient wonder. it was late in the afternoon and the prince was seated in the chair of state, presiding over the hurriedly called council meeting. notably absent were baron dangloss and the duke of perse. chief officers of the guard and the commissioned men of the army were present--that is, all of them who had not gone down under the treacherous fire. "your highness," said the colonel bitterly, "the real army is outside the walls, not inside. we are a pitiful handful-less than three hundred men, all told, counting the wounded. count marlanx heads an army of several thousand. he--" "he wants to get in here so's he can kill me? is that so, colonel quinnox?" the prince was very pale, but quite calm. "oh, i wouldn't put it just that way, your--" "oh, i know. you can't fool me. i've always known that he wants to kill me. but how can he? that's the question; how can he when i've got the royal guard to keep him from doing it? he can't whip the royal guard. nobody can. he ought to know that. he must be awful stupid." his perfect, unwavering faith in the guard was the same that had grown up with every prince of graustark and would not be gainsaid. a score of hearts swelled with righteous pride and as many scabbards rattled as heels clicked and hands went up in salute. "your highness," said quinnox, with a glance at his fellow-officers, "you may rely upon it, count marlanx will never reach you until he has slain every man in the royal guard." "and in the army--our poor little army," added general braze. "thank you," said the prince. "you needn't have told me. i knew it." he leaned back in the big chair, almost slipping from the record books on which he sat, a brave scowl on his face. "gee, i wish he'd attack us right now," he said, with ingenuous bravado. the council of war was not a lengthy one. the storm that had arisen out of a perfectly clear sky was briefly discussed in all its phases. no man there but realised the seriousness of the situation. count halfont, who seemed ten years older than when we last saw him, addressed the cabinet. "john tullis is still outside the city walls. if he does not fall into a trap through ignorance of the city's plight, i firmly believe he will be able to organise an army of relief among the peasants and villagers. they are loyal. the mountaineers and shepherds, wild fellows all, and the ones who have fallen into the spider's net. count marlanx has an army of aliens; they are not even revolutionists. john tullis, if given the opportunity, can sweep the city clear of them. my only fear is that he may be tricked into ambush before we can reach him. no doubt marlanx, in devising a way to get him out of the city, also thought of the means to keep him out." "we must get word to tullis," cried several in a breath. a dozen men volunteered to risk their lives in the attempt to find the american in the hills. two men were chosen--by lot. they were to venture forth that very night. "my lords," said the prince, as the council was on the point of dissolving, "is it all right for me to ask a question now?" "certainly, robin," said the prime minister. "well, i'd like to know where mr. king is." "he's safe, your highness," said quinnox. "aunt loraine is worried, that's all. she's sick, you see--awful sick. do you think mr. king would be good enough to walk by her window, so's she can see for herself? she's in the royal bedchamber." "the royal bedchamber?" gasped the high chamberlain. "i gave up my bed right off, but she won't stay in it. she sits in the window most of the time. it's all right about the bed. i spoke to nurse about it. besides, i don't want to go to bed while there's any fighting going on. so, you see, it's all right. say, uncle caspar, may i take a crack at old marlanx with my new rifle if i get a chance? i've been practising on the target range, and uncle jack says i'm a reg'lar buffalo bill." count halfont unceremoniously hugged his wriggling grand-nephew. a cheer went up from the others. "long live prince robin!" shouted count vos engo. prince robin looked abashed. "i don't think i could hit him," he said with becoming modesty. they laughed aloud. "but, say, don't forget about mr. king. tell him i want him to parade most of the time in front of my windows." "he has a weak ankle," began colonel quinnox lamely. "very difficult for him to walk," said vos engo, biting his lips. the prince looked from face to face, suspicion in his eyes. it dawned on him that they were evading the point. a stubborn line appeared between his brows. "then i command you, colonel quinnox, to give him the best horse in the stables. i want him to ride." "it shall be as you command, your highness." a few minutes later, his grand-uncle, the prime minister, was carrying him down the corridor; prince robin was perched upon the old man's shoulder, and was a thoughtful mood. "say, uncle caspar, mr. king's all right, isn't he?" "he is a very brave and noble gentleman, bobby. we owe to his valour the life of the best boy in all the world." "yes, and aunt loraine owes him a lot, too. she says so. she's been crying, uncle caspar. say, has she just got to marry count vos engo?" "my boy, what put that question into your mind?" "she says she has to. i thought only princes and princesses had to marry people they don't want to." "you should not believe all that you hear." bobby was silent for twenty steps. then he said: "well, i think she'll make an awful mistake if she lets mr. king get away." "my boy, we have other affairs to trouble us at present without taking up the affairs of miss tullis." "well, he saved her life, just like they do in story books," protested the prince. "well, you run in and tell her this minute that mr. king sends his love to her and begs her to rest easy. see if it doesn't cheer her up a bit." "maybe she's worried about uncle jack. i never thought about that," he faltered. "uncle jack will come out on top, never fear," cried the old man. half an hour later, truxton king, shaven and shorn, outfitted and polished, received orders to ride for twenty minutes back and forth across the plaza. he came down from colonel quinnox's rooms in the officer's row, considerably mystified, and mounted the handsome bay that he had brought through the gates. haddan, of the guard, rode with him to the plaza, but could offer no explanation for the curious command. five times the now resentful american walked his horse across the plaza, directly in front of the terrace and the great balconies. about him paced guardsmen, armed and alert; on the outer edge of the parade ground a company of soldiers were hurrying through the act of changing the guard; in the lower balcony excited men and women were walking back and forth, paying not the least attention to him. above him frowned the grey, lofty walls of the castle. no one was in view on the upper balcony, beyond which he had no doubt lay the royal chambers. he had the mean, uncomfortable feeling that people were peering at him from remote windows. suddenly a small figure in bright red and gold and waving a tiny sword appeared at the rail of the broad upper gallery. truxton blinked his eyes once or, twice and then doffed his hat. the prince was smiling eagerly. "hello!" he called. truxton drew rein directly below him. "i trust your highness has recovered from the shock of to-day," he responded. "i have been terribly anxious. are you quite well?" "quite well, thank you." he hesitated for a moment, as if in doubt. then: "say, mr. king, how's your leg?" truxton looked around in sudden embarrassment. a number of distressed, white-faced ladies had paused in the lower gallery and were staring at him in mingled curiosity and alarm. he instantly wondered if colonel quinnox's riding clothes were as good a fit as he had been led to believe through hobbs and others. "it's--it's fine, thank you," he called up, trying to subdue his voice as much as possible. bobby looked a trifle uncertain. his glance wavered and a queer little wrinkle appeared between his eyes. he lowered his voice when he next spoke. "say, would you mind shouting that a little louder," he called down, leaning well over the rail. truxton flushed. he was pretty sure that the prince was not deaf. there was no way out of it, however, so he repeated his communication. "it's all right, your highness." bobby gave a quick glance over his shoulder at one of the broad windows. truxton distinctly saw the blinds close with a convulsive jerk. "thanks! much obliged! good-bye!" sang out the prince, gleefully. he waved his hand and then hopped off the chair on which he was standing. truxton heard his little heels clatter across the stone balcony. for a moment he was nonplused. "well, i'm--by jove! i understand!" he rode off toward the barracks, his head swimming with joy, his heart jumping like mad. at the edge of the parade ground he turned in his saddle and audaciously lifted his hat to the girl who, to his certain knowledge, was standing behind the tell-tale blind. "cheer up, hobbs!" he sang out in his new-found exuberance as he rode up to the dismal englishman, who moped in the shade of the stable walls. "don't be down-hearted. look at me! never say die, that's my motto." "that's all very well, sir," said hobbs, removing the unlighted pipe from his lips, "but you 'aven't got a dog and a parrot locked up in your rooms with no one to feed them. it makes me sick, 'pon my soul, sir, to think of them dying of thirst and all that, and me here safe and sound, so to speak." that night haddan and a fellow-subaltern attempted to leave the castle grounds by way of the private gate in the western wall, only to be driven back by careful watchers on the outside. a second attempt was made at two o'clock. this time they went through the crypt into the secret underground passage. as they crawled forth into the blackest of nights, clear of the walls, they were met by a perfect fusillade of rifle shots. haddan's companion was shot through the leg and arm and it was with extreme difficulty that the pair succeeded in regaining the passage and closing the door. no other attempt was made that night. sunday night a quick sortie was made, it being the hope of the besieged that two selected men might elude marlanx's watch-dogs during the melee that followed. curiously enough, the only men killed were the two who had been chosen to run the gauntlet in the gallant, but ill-timed attempt to reach john tullis. on monday morning the first direct word from count marlanx came to the castle. under a flag of truce, two of his men were admitted to the grounds. they presented the infamous ultimatum of the iron count. in brief, it announced the establishment of a dictatorship pending the formal assumption of the crown by the conqueror. with scant courtesy the iron count begged to inform prince robin that his rule was at an end. surrender would result in his safe conduct to america, the home of his father; defiance would just so surely end in death for him and all of his friends. the prince was given twenty-four hours in which to surrender his person to the new governor of the city. with the expiration of the time limit mentioned, the castle would be shelled from the fortress, greatly as the dictator might regret the destruction of the historic and well-beloved structure. no one would be spared if it became necessary to bombard; the rejection of his offer of mercy would be taken as a sign that the defenders were ready to die for a lost cause. he would cheerfully see to it that they died as quickly as possible, in order that the course of government might not be obstructed any longer than necessary. the defenders of the castle tore his message in two and sent it back to him without disfiguring it by a single word in reply. the scornful laughter which greeted the reading of the document by count halfont did not lose any of its force in the report that the truce-bearers carried, with considerable uneasiness, to the iron count later on. no one in the castle was deceived by marlanx's promise to provide safe conduct for the prince. they knew that the boy was doomed if he fell into the hands of this iniquitous old schemer. more than that, there was not a heart among them so faint that it was not confident of eventual victory over the usurper. they could hold out for weeks against starvation. hope is an able provider. a single, distant volley at sunset had puzzled the men on guard at the castle. they had no means of knowing that the committee of ten and its wretched friends had been shot down like dogs in the public square. peter brutus was in charge of the squad of executioners. soon after the return of marlanx's messengers to the tower, a number of carriages were observed approaching in castle avenue. they were halted a couple of hundred yards from the gates and once more a flag of truce was presented. there was a single line from marlanx: "i am sending indisputable witnesses to bear testimony to the thoroughness of my conquest. "marlanx." investigation convinced the captain of the guard that the motley caravan in the avenue was made up of loyal, representative citizens from the important villages of the realm. they were admitted to the grounds without question. the countess prandeville of ganlook, terribly agitated, was one of the first to enter the haven of safety, such as it was. after her came the mayors and the magistrates of a dozen villages. count marlanx's reason for delivering these people over to their friends in the castle was at once manifest. by the words of their mouths his almost complete mastery of the situation was conveyed to the prince's defenders. in every instance the representative from a village sorrowfully admitted that marlanx's men were in control. ganlook, an ancient stronghold, had been taken without a struggle by a handful of men. the countess's husband was even now confined in his own castle under guard. the news was staggering. count halfont had based his strongest hopes on the assistance that would naturally come from the villages. moreover, the strangely commissioned emissaries cast additional gloom over the situation by the report that mountaineers, herdsmen and woodchoppers in the north were flocking to the assistance of the iron count, followed by hordes of outlaws from the axphain hills. they were swarming into the city. these men had always been thorns in the sides of the crown's peace-makers. "it is worse than i thought," said count halfont, after listening to the words of the excited magistrates. "are there no loyal men outside these walls?" "thousands, sir, but they are not organised. they have no leader, and but little with which to fight against such a force." "it is hard to realise that a force of three or four thousand desperadoes has the power to defy an entire kingdom. a city of , people in the hands of hirelings! the shame of it!" truxton king was leaning against a column not far from the little group, nervously pulling away at the pipe quinnox had given him. as if impelled by a common thought, a half dozen pairs of eyes were turned in his direction. their owners looked as quickly away, again moved by a common thought. the minister of mines gave utterance to a single sentence that might well have been called the epitome of that shrewd, concentrated thought: "there must be some one who can get to john tullis before it is too late." they looked at one another and then once more at the american who had come among them, avowedly in quest of adventure. chapter xix truxton exacts a promise truxton king had been in a resentful frame of mind for nearly forty-eight hours. in the first place, he had not had so much as a single glimpse of the girl he now worshipped with all his heart. in the second place, he had learned, with unpleasant promptness, that count vos engo was the officer in command of the house guard, a position as gravely responsible as it was honourable. the cordon about the castle was so tightly drawn in these perilous hours that even members of the household were subjected to examination on leaving or entering. truxton naturally did not expect to invade the castle in search of the crumb of comfort he so ardently desired; he did not, however, dream that vos engo would deny him the privilege of staring at a certain window from a rather prim retreat in a far corner of the plaza. he had, of course, proffered his services to colonel quinnox. the colonel, who admired the americans, gravely informed him that there was no regular duty to which he could be assigned, but that he would expect him to hold himself ready for any emergency. in case of an assault, he was to report to count vos engo. "we will need our bravest men at the castle," he had said. truxton glowed under the compliment. "in the meantime, mr. king, regain your strength in the park. you show the effect of imprisonment. your adventures have been most interesting, but i fancy they invite rest for the present." it was natural that this new american should become an object of tremendous interest to every one in and about the castle. the story of his mishaps and his prowess was on every lip; his timely appearance in regengetz circus was regarded in the light of divine intervention, although no one questioned the perfectly human pluck that brought it about. noble ladies smiled upon him in the park, to which they now repaired with timorous hearts; counts and barons slapped him on the back and doughty guardsmen actually saluted him with admiration in their eyes. but he was not satisfied. loraine had not come forward with a word of greeting or relief; in fact, she had not appeared outside the castle doors. strangely enough, with the entire park at his disposal, he chose to frequent those avenues nearest the great balconies. more than once he visited the grotto where he had first seen her; but it was not the same. the occasional crack of a rifle on the walls no longer fired him with the interest he had felt in the beginning. forty-eight hours had passed and she still held aloof. what could it mean? was she ill? had she collapsed after the frightful strain? worse than anything else: was she devoting all of her time to count vos engo? toward dusk on monday, long after the arrival of the refugees, he sat in gloomy contemplation of his own unhappiness, darkly glowering upon the unfriendly portals from a distant stone bench. a brisk guardsman separated himself from the knot of men at the castle doors and crossed the plaza toward him. "aha," thought truxton warmly, "at last she is sending a message to me. perhaps she's--no, she couldn't be sending for me to come to her." judge his dismay and anger when the soldier, a bit shamefaced himself, briefly announced that count vos engo had issued an order against loitering in close proximity to the castle. mr. king was inside the limit described in the order. would he kindly retire to a more distant spot, etc. truxton's cheek burned. he saw in an instant that the order was meant for him and for no one else--he being the only outsider likely to come under the head of "loiterer." a sharp glance revealed the fact that not only were the officers watching the little scene, but others in the balcony were looking on. resisting the impulse to argue the point, he hastily lifted his hat to the spectators and turned into the avenue without a word. "i am sorry, sir," mentioned the guardsman earnestly. truxton turned to him with a frank smile, meant for the group at the steps. "please tell count vos engo that i am the last person in the world to disregard discipline at a time like this." his glance again swept the balcony, suddenly becoming fixed on a couple near the third column. count vos engo and loraine tullis were standing there together, unmistakably watching his humiliating departure. to say that truxton swore softly as he hurried off through the trees would be unnecessarily charitable. the next morning he encountered vos engo near the grotto. two unsuccessful attempts to leave the castle grounds had been made during the night. truxton had aired his opinion to mr. hobbs after breakfast. "i'll bet my head i could get away with it," he had said, doubly scornful because of a sleepless night. "they go about it like a lot of chumps. no wonder they are chased back." catching sight of vos engo, he hastened across the avenue and caught up to him. the count was apparently deep in thought. "good morning," said truxton from behind. the other whirled quickly. he did not smile as he eyed the tall american. "i haven't had a chance to thank you for coming back for me last saturday. allow me to say that it was a very brave thing to do. if i appeared ungrateful at the time, i'm sure you understood my motives." "the whole matter is of no consequence, mr. king," said the other quietly. "nevertheless, i consider it my duty to thank you. i want to get it out of my system. having purged myself of all that, i now want to tell you of a discovery that i made last evening." "i am not at all interested." "you will be when i have told you, however, because it concerns you." "i do not like your words, mr. king, nor the way in which you glare at me." "i'm making it easier to tell you the agreeable news, count vos engo; that's all. you'll be delighted to hear that i thought of you nearly all night and still feel that i have not been able to do you full justice." "indeed?" with a distinct uplifting of the eyebrows. "take your hand off your sword, please. some other time, perhaps, but not in these days when we need men, not cripples. i'll tell you what i have discovered and then we'll drop the matter until some other time. we can afford a physical delay, but it would be heartless to keep you in mental suspense. frankly, count, i have made the gratifying discovery that you are a damned cur." count vos engo went very white. he drew his dapper figure up to its full height, swelled his robin redbreast coat to the bursting point, and allowed his right hand to fly to his sword. then, as suddenly, he folded his arms and glared at truxton. "as you say, there is another and a better time. we need dogs as well as men in these days." "i hope you won't forget that i thanked you for coming back last saturday." the count turned and walked rapidly away. truxton leaned against the low wall alongside the allée. "i don't know that i've helped matters any," he said to himself ruefully. "he'll not let me get within half a mile of the castle after this. if she doesn't come out for a stroll in the park, i fancy i'll never see her--heigho! i wish something would happen! why doesn't marlanx begin bombarding? it's getting devilish monotonous here." he strolled off to the stables, picking up mr. hobbs on the way. "hobbs," he said, "we've got to find john tullis, that's all there is to it." he was scowling fiercely at a most inoffensive lawn-mower in the grass at the left. "i daresay, sir," said mr. hobbs with sprightly decisiveness. "he's very much needed." "i'm going to need him before long as my second." "your second, sir? are you going to fight a duel?" "i suppose so," lugubriously. "it's too much to expect him to meet me with bare fists. oh, hobbs, i wish we could arrange it for bare knucks!" he delivered a mighty swing at an invisible adversary. hobbs's hat fell off with the backward jerk of surprise. "oh, my word!" he exclaimed admiringly, "wot a punch you've got!" later on, much of his good humour was restored and his vanity pleased by a polite request from count halfont to attend an important council in the "room of wrangles" that evening at nine. very boldly he advanced upon the castle a few minutes before the appointed hour. he went alone, that he might show a certain contempt for count vos engo. notwithstanding the fact that he started early enough for the chamber, he was distressingly late for the meeting. he came upon loraine tullis at the edge of the terrace. she was walking slowly in the soft shadows beyond the row of lights on the lower gallery. king would have passed her without recognition, so dim was the light in this enchanted spot, had not his ear caught the sound of a whispered exclamation. at the same time the girl stopped abruptly in the darkest shadow. he knew her at a glance, this slim girl in spotless white. "loraine!" he whispered, reaching her side in two bounds. she put out her hands and he clasped them. a quick, hysterical little laugh came from her lips. plainly, she was confused. "i've been dying for a glimpse of you. do you think you've treated me--" "don't, truxton," she pleaded, suddenly serious. she sent a swift glance toward the balconies. "you must not come here. i saw--well, you know. i was so ashamed. i was so sorry." he still held her hands. his heart was throbbing furiously. "yes, they ordered me to move on, as if i were a common loafer," he said, with a soft chuckle. "i'm used to it, however. they ran me out of meshed for taking snapshots; they banished me from damascus, and they all but kicked me out of jerusalem--i won't say why. but where have you kept yourself? why have you avoided me? after getting the prince to parade me in front of your windows, too. it's dirt mean, loraine." "i have been ill, truxton--truly, i have," she said quickly, uneasily. "see here, what's wrong? you are in trouble. i can tell by your manner. tell me--trust me." "i am worried so dreadfully about john," she faltered. "that isn't all," he declared. "there's something else. what promise did you make to vos engo last saturday after--well, if you choose to recall it--after i brought you back to him--what did you promise him?" "don't be cruel, truxton," she pleaded. "i cannot forget all you have done for me." "you told vos engo to ride back and pick me up," he persisted. "he told me in so many words. now, i want a plain answer, loraine. did you promise to reward him if he--well, if he saved me from the mob?" she was breathlessly silent for a moment. "no," she said, in a low voice. "what was it, then? i must know, loraine." he was bending over her, imperiously. "i am very--oh, so very unhappy, truxton," she murmured. he was on the point of clasping her in his arms and kissing her. but he thought better of it. "i came near spoiling everything just now," he whispered hoarsely. "what?" "i almost kissed you, loraine,--i swear it was hard to keep from it. that would have spoiled everything." "yes, it would," she agreed quickly. "i'm not going to kiss you until you have told me you love vos engo." "i--i don't understand," she cried, drawing back and looking up into his face with bewildered eyes. "because then i'll be sure that you love me." "be sensible, truxton." "i'll know that you promised to love him if he'd save me. it's as clear as day to me. you _did_ tell him you'd marry him if he got me to a place of safety." "no. i _refused_ to marry him if he did not save you. oh, truxton, i am so miserable. what is to become of all of us? what is to become of john, and bobby--and you?" "i--i think i'll kiss you now, loraine," he whispered almost tremulously. "god, how i love you, little darling!" "don't!" she whispered, resolutely pushing him away after a sweet second of indecision. "i cannot--i cannot, truxton dear. don't ask me to--to do that. not now, please--not now!" he stiffened; his hands dropped to his sides, but there was joy in his voice. "i can wait," he said gently. "it's only a matter of a few days; and i--i won't make it any harder for you just now. i think i understand. you've--you've sort of pledged yourself to that--to him, and you don't think it fair to--well, to any of us. i'm including you, you see. i know you don't love him, and i know that you're going to love me, even if you don't at this very instant. i'm not a very stupid person, after all. i can see through things. i saw through it all when he came back for me. that's why i jumped from his horse and took my chances elsewhere. he did a plucky thing, loraine, but i--i couldn't let it go as he intended it to be. confound him, i would have died a thousand times over rather than have you sacrifice yourself in that way. it was splendid of you, darling, but--but very foolish. you've got yourself into a dreadful mess over it. i've got to rescue you all over again. this time, thank the lord, from a castle." she could not help smiling. his joyousness would not be denied. "how splendid you are!" she said, her voice thrilling with a tone that could not be mistaken. he put his hands upon her shoulders and looked down into the beautiful, upturned face, a genuinely serious note creeping into his voice when he spoke again. "don't misconstrue my light-heartedness, dearest. it's a habit with me, not a fault. i see the serious side to your affair--as you view it. you have promised to marry vos engo. you'll have to break that promise. he didn't save me. colonel quinnox would have accomplished it, in any event. he can't hold you to such a silly pledge. you--you haven't by any chance told him that you love him?" he asked this in sudden anxiety. "really, truxton, i cannot discuss--" "no, i'm quite sure you haven't," he announced contentedly. "you couldn't have done that, i know. now, i want you to make me a promise that you'll keep." "oh, truxton--don't ask me to say that i'll be your--" she stopped, painfully embarrassed. "that will come later," he said consolingly. "i want you to promise, on your sacred word of honour, that you'll kiss no man until you've kissed me." "oh!" she murmured, utterly speechless. "promise!" "i--i cannot promise that," she said in tones almost inaudible. "i am not sure that i'll ever--ever kiss anybody. how silly you are!" "i'll make exception in the case of your brother--and, yes, the prince." "i'll not make such a promise," she cried. "then, i'll be hanged if i'll save you from the ridiculous mess you've gotten yourself into," he announced with finality. "moreover, you're not yet safe from old marlanx. think it over, my--" "oh, he cannot seize the castle--it is impossible!" she cried in sudden terror. "i'm not so sure about that," he said laconically. "what is it you really want me to say?" she asked, looking up with sudden shyness in her starry eyes. "that you love me--and me only, loraine," he whispered. "i will not say it," she cried, breaking away from him. "but," as she ran to the steps, a delicious tremor in her voice--"i _will_ consider the other thing you ask." "darling--don't go," he cried, in eager, subdued tones, but she already was half way across the balcony. in a moment she was gone. "poor, harassed little sweetheart!" he murmured, with infinite tenderness. for a long time he stood there, looking at the window through which she had disappeared, his heart full of song. then, all at once, he remembered the meeting. "great scott!" in dismay. "i'm late for the pow-wow." a twisted smile stole over his face. "i wonder how they've managed to get along without me." then he presented himself, somewhat out of breath, to the attendants at the south doors, where he had been directed to report. a moment later he was in the castle of graustark, following a stiff-backed soldier through mediæval halls of marble, past the historic staircase, down to the door of the council chamber. he was filled with the most delicious sensation of awe and reverence. only in his dearest dreams had he fancied himself in these cherished halls. and now he was there--actually treading the same mosaic floors that had known the footsteps of countless princes and princesses, his nostrils tingling with the rare incense of five centuries, his blood leaping to the call of a thousand romances. the all but mythical halls of graustark--the sombre, vaulted, time-defying corridors of his fancy. somewhere in this vast pile of stone was the girl he loved. each shadowy nook, each velvety recess, seemed to glow with the wizardry of love-lamps that had been lighted with the building of the castle. how many hearts had learned the wistful lesson in these aged halls? how many loves had been sheltered here? he walked on air. he pinched himself--and even then was not certain that he was awake. it was too good to be true. he was ushered into a large, sedately furnished room. a score of men were there before him--sitting or standing in attitudes of attention, listening to the words of general braze. king's entrance was the signal for an immediate transfer of interest. the general bowed most politely and at once turned to count halfont with the remark that he had quite finished his suggestions. the prime minister came forward to greet the momentarily shy american. king had time to note that the only man who denied him a smile of welcome was count vos engo. he promptly included his rival in his own sweeping, self-conscious smile. "the council has been extolling you, mr. king," said the prime minister, leading him to a seat near his own. truxton sat down, bewildered. "we may some day grow large enough to adequately appreciate the invaluable, service you have performed in behalf of graustark." truxton blushed. he could think of nothing to say, except: "i'm sorry to have been so late. i was detained." involuntarily he glanced at vos engo. that gentleman started, a curious light leaping into his eyes. "mr. king, we have asked you here for the purpose of hearing the full story of your experiences during the past two weeks, if you will be so good as to relate them. we have had them piecemeal. i need not tell you that graustark is in the deepest peril. if there is a single suggestion that you can make that will help her to-night, i assure you that it will be given the most grateful consideration. graustark has come to know and respect the resourcefulness and courage of the american gentleman. we have seen him at his best." "i have really done no more than to--er--save my own neck," said truxton simply. "any one might be excused for doing the same. graustark owes a great deal more to miss tullis than it does to me, believe me, my lords. she had the courage, i the strength." "be assured of our attitude toward miss tullis," said halfont in reply. "graustark loves her. it can do no more than that. it is from miss tullis that we have learned the extent of your valorous achievements. ah, my dear young friend, she has given you a fair name. she tells us of a miracle and we are convinced." truxton stammered his remonstrances, but glowed with joy and pride. "here is the situation in a nutshell," went on the prime minister. "we are doomed unless succor reaches us from the outside. we have discussed a hundred projects. while we are inactive, count marlanx is gaining more power and a greater hold over the people of the city. we have no means of communication with prince dantan of dawsbergen, who is our friend. we seem unable to get warning to john tullis, who, if given time, might succeed in collecting a sufficient force of loyal countrymen to harass and eventually overthrow the dictator. unless he is reached before long, john tullis and his combined force of soldiers will be ambushed and destroyed. i am loth to speak of another alternative that has been discussed at length by the ministers and their friends. the duke of perse, from a bed of pain and anguish, has counselled us to take steps in the direction i am about to speak of. you see, we are taking you into our confidence, mr. king. "we can appeal to russia in this hour of stress. moreover, we may expect that help will be forthcoming. but we will have to make an unpleasant sacrifice. russia is eager to take over our new issue of railway bonds. hitherto, we have voted against disposing of the bonds in that country, the reason being obvious. st. petersburg wants a new connecting line with her possessions in afghanistan. our line will provide a most direct route--a cut-off, i believe they call it. last year the grand duke paulus volunteered to provide the money for the construction of the line from edelweiss north to balak on condition that russia be given the right to use the line in connection with her own roads to the orient. you may see the advantage in this to russia. mr. king, if i send word to the grand duke paulus, agreeing to his terms, which still remain open to us, signing away a most valuable right in what we had hoped would be our own individual property, we have every reason to believe that he will send armed forces to our relief, on the pretext that russia is defending properties of her own. that is one way in which we may oust count marlanx. the other lies in the ability of john tullis to give battle to him with our own people carrying the guns. i am confident that count marlanx will not bombard the castle except as a last resort. he will attempt to starve us into submission first; but he will not destroy property if he can help it. i have been as brief as possible. lieutenant haddan has told us quite lately of a remark you made which he happened to overhear. if i quote him correctly, you said to the englishman hobbs that you could get away with it, meaning, as i take it, that you could succeed in reaching john tullis. the remark interested me, coming as it did from one so resourceful. may i not implore you to tell us how you would go about it?" truxton had turned a brick red. shame and mortification surged within him. he was cruelly conscious of an undercurrent of irony in the premier's courteous request. for an instant he was sorely crushed. a low laugh from the opposite side of the room sent a shaft to his soul. he looked up. vos engo was still smiling. in an instant the american's blood boiled; his manner changed like a flash; blind, unreasoning bravado succeeded embarrassment. he faced count halfont coolly, almost impudently. "i think i was unfortunate enough to add that your men were going about it--well, like amateurs," he said, with a frank smile. "i meant no offense." then he arose suddenly, adjusted his necktie with the utmost _sang froid_, and announced: "i did say i could get to john tullis. if you like, i'll start to-night." his words created a profound impression, they came so abruptly. the men stared at him, then at each other. it was as if he had read their thoughts and had jumped at once to the conclusion that they were baiting him. every one began talking at once. soon some one began to shake his hand. then there were cheers and a dozen handshakings. truxton grimly realised that he had done just what they had expected him to do. he tried to look unconcerned. "you will require a guide," said colonel quinnox, who had been studying the _degage_ american in the most earnest manner. "send for mr. hobbs, please," said truxton. a messenger was sent post haste to the barracks. the news already was spreading throughout the castle. the chamber door was wide open and men were coming and going. eager women were peering through the doorway for a glimpse of the american. "there should be three of us," said king, addressing the men about him. "one of us is sure to get away." "there is not a man here--or in the service--who will not gladly accompany you, mr. king," cried general braze quickly. "count vos engo is the man i would choose, if i may be permitted the honour of naming my companion," said truxton, grinning inwardly with a malicious joy. vos engo turned a yellowish green. his eyes bulged. "i--i am in command of the person of his royal highness," he stammered, suddenly going very red. "i had forgotten your present occupation," said truxton quietly. "pray pardon the embarrassment i may have caused you. after all, i think hobbs will do. he knows the country like a book. besides, his business in the city must be very dull just now. he'll be glad to have the chance to personally conduct me for a few days. as an american tourist, i must insist, gentlemen, on being personally conducted by a man from cook's." they did not know whether to laugh or to treat it as a serious announcement. mr. hobbs came. that is to say, he was produced. it is doubtful if mr. hobbs ever fully recovered from the malady commonly known as stage fright. he had never been called mr. hobbs by a prime minister before, nor had he ever been asked in person by a minister of war if he had a family at home. moreover, no assemblage of noblemen had ever condescended to unite in three cheers for him. afterward truxton king was obliged to tell him that he had unwaveringly volunteered to accompany him on the perilous trip to the hills. be sure of it, mr. hobbs was not in a mental condition for many hours to even remotely comprehend what had taken place. he only knew that he had been invited, as an english _gentleman_, to participate in a council of war. but mr. hobbs was not the kind to falter, once he had given his word; however hazy he may have been at the moment, he knew that he had volunteered to do something. nor did it seem to surprise him when he finally found out what it was. "we'll be off at midnight, hobbs," said truxton, feeling in his pocket for the missing watch. "as you say, mr. king, just as you say," said hobbs with fine indifference. as truxton was leaving the castle ten minutes later, hobbs having gone before to see to the packing of food-bags and the filling of flasks, a brisk, eager-faced young attendant hurried up to him. "i bear a message from his royal highness," said the attendant, detaining him. "he should be sound asleep at this time," said truxton, surprised. "his royal highness insists on staying awake as long as possible, sir. it is far past his bedtime, but these are troublesome times, he says. every man should do his part. prince robin has asked for you, sir." "how's that?" "he desires you to appear before him at once, sir." "in--in the audience chamber?" "in his bedchamber, sir. he is very sleepy, but says that you are to come to him before starting away on your mission of danger." "plucky little beggar!" cried truxton, his heart swelling with love for the royal youngster. "sir!" exclaimed the attendant, his eyes wide with amazement and reproof. "i'll see him," said the other promptly, as if he were granting the audience. he followed the perplexed attendant up the grand staircase, across thickly carpeted halls in which posed statuesque soldiers of the royal guard, to the door of the prince's bedchamber. here he was confronted by count vos engo. "enter," said vos engo, with very poor grace, standing aside. the sentinels grounded their arms and truxton king passed into the royal chamber, alone. chapter xx by the water-gate it was a vast, lofty apartment, regal in its subdued lights. an enormous, golden bed with gorgeous hangings stood far down the room. so huge was this royal couch that truxton at first overlooked the figure sitting bolt upright in the middle of it. the tiny occupant called out in a very sleepy voice: "here i am, mr. king. gee, i hate a bed as big as this. they just make me sleep in it." an old woman advanced from the head of the couch and motioned truxton to approach. "i am deeply honoured, your highness," said the visitor, bowing very low. through the windows he could see motionless soldiers standing guard in the balcony. "come over here, mr. king. nurse won't let me get up. excuse my nighty, will you, please? i'm to have pajamas next winter." truxton advanced to the side of the bed. his eyes had swept the room in search of the one person he wanted most to see of all in the world. an old male servitor was drawing the curtains at the lower end of the room. there was no one else there, except the nurse. they seemed as much a part of the furnishings of this room as if they had been fixtures from the beginning. "i am sure you will like them," said truxton, wondering whether she were divinely secreted in one of the great, heavily draped window recesses. she had been in this room but recently. a subtle, delicate, enchanting perfume that he had noticed earlier in the evening--ah, he would never forget it. the prince's legs were now hanging over the edge of the bed. his eyes were dancing with excitement; sleep was momentarily routed. "say, mr. king, i wish i was going with you to find uncle jack. you will find him, won't you? i'm going to say it in my prayers to-night and every night. they won't hardly let me leave this room. it's rotten luck. i want to fight, too." "we are all fighting for you, prince robin." "i want you to find uncle jack, mr. king," went on bobby eagerly. "and tell him i didn't mean it when i banished him the other day. i really and truly didn't." he was having difficulty in keeping back the tears. "i shall deliver the message, your highness," said truxton, his heart going out to the unhappy youngster. "rest assured of that, please. go to sleep and dream that i have found him and am bringing him back to you. the dream will come true." "are you sure?" brightening perceptibly. "positively." "americans always do what they say they will," said the boy, his eyes snapping. "here's something for you to take with you, mr. king. it's my lucky stone. it always gives good luck. of course, you must promise to bring it back to me. it's an omen." he unclasped his small fingers; in the damp palm lay one of those peculiarly milky, half-transparent pebbles, common the world over and of value only to small, impressionable boys. truxton accepted it with profound gravity. "i found it last th of july, when we were celebrating out there in the park. i'm always going to have a th of july here. don't you lose it, mr. king, and you'll have good luck. baron dangloss says it's the luckiest kind of a stone. and when you come back, mr. king, i'm going to knight you. i'd do it now, only aunt loraine says you'd be worrying about your title all the time and might be 'stracted from your mission. i'm going to make a baron of you. that's higher than a count in graustark. vos engo is only a count." truxton started. he looked narrowly into the frank, engaging eyes of the boy in the nighty. "i shall be overwhelmed," he said. then his hand went to his mouth in the vain effort to cover the smile that played there. "my mother used to say that american girls liked titles," said the prince with ingenuous candor. "yes?" he hoped that she was eavesdropping. "nurse said that i was not to keep you long, mr. king," said the prince ruefully. "i suppose you are very busy getting ready. i just wanted to give you my lucky stone and tell you about being a baron. i won't have any luck till you come back. tell mr. hobbs i'm thinking of making him a count. you're awful brave, mr. king." "thank you, prince robin. may i--" he glanced uneasily at the distant nurse--"may i ask how your aunt loraine is feeling?" "she acted very funny when i sent for you. i'm worried about her." "what did she do, your highness?" "she rushed off to her room. i think, mr. king, she was getting ready to cry or something. you see, she's in trouble." "in trouble?" "yes. i can't tell you about it." "she's worried about her brother, of course--and you." "i just wish i could tell you--no, i won't. it wouldn't be fair," bobby said, checking himself resolutely. "she's awful proud of you. i'm sure she likes you, mr. king." "i'm very, very glad to hear that." bobby had great difficulty in keeping his most secret impressions to himself. in fact, he floundered painfully in an attack on diplomacy. "you should have seen her when uncle caspar came in to say you were going off to find her brother. she cried. yes, sir, she did. she kissed me and--but you don't like to hear silly things about girls, do you? great big men never do." "i've heard enough to make me want to do something very silly myself," said truxton, radiant. "i--i don't suppose i could--er--see your aunt loraine for a few minutes?" "i think not. she said she just--now, you mustn't mind her, mr. king--she just couldn't bear it, that's all. she told me to say she'd pray for you and--oh, mr. king, i do hope she won't marry that other man!" truxton bent his knee. "your highness, as it seems i am not to see her, and as you seem to be the very best friend i have, i should very much like to ask a great favour of you. will you take this old ring of mine and wish it on her finger just as soon as i have left your presence?" "how did you know she was coming in again?" in wide-eyed wonder. "excuse me. i shouldn't ask questions. what shall i wish?" it was the old ring that had come from spantz's shop. the prince promptly hid it beneath the pillow. "i'll leave that to you, my best of friends." "i bet it'll be a good wish, all right. i know what to wish." "i believe you do. would you mind giving her something else from me?" he hesitated before venturing the second request. then, overswept by a warm, sweet impulse, he stepped forward, took the boy's face between his eager hands, and pressed a kiss upon his forehead. "give her that for me, will you, prince robin goodfellow." bobby beamed. "but i never kiss her _there!_" "i shall be ten thousand times obliged, your highness, if you will deliver it in the usual place." "i'll do it!" almost shouted the prince. then he clapped his hand over his mouth and looked, pop-eyed with apprehension, toward the nurse. "then, good-bye and god bless you," said truxton. "i must be off. your uncle jack is waiting for me, up there in the hills." bobby's eyes filled with tears. "oh, mr. king, please give him my love and make him hurry back. i--i need him awful!" truxton found mr. hobbs in a state bordering on collapse. "i say, mr. king, it's all right to say we'll go, but how the deuce are we to do it? my word, there's no more chance of getting out of the--" "listen, hobbs: we're going to swim out," said truxton. he was engaged in stuffing food into a knapsack. colonel quinnox and haddan had been listening to hobbs's lamentations for half an hour, in king's room. "swim? oh, i say! by hokey, he's gone clean daffy!" hobbs was eyeing him with alarm. the others looked hard at the speaker, scenting a joke. "not yet, hobbs. later on, perhaps. i had occasion to make a short tour of investigation this afternoon. doubtless, gentlemen, you know where the water-gate is, back of the castle. well, i've looked it over--and under, i might say. hobbs, you and i will sneak under those slippery old gates like a couple of eels. i forgot to ask if you can swim." "to be sure i can. _under_ the gates? my word!" "simple as rolling off a log," said truxton carelessly. "the cascades and basin of venus run out through the gate. there is a space of at least a foot below the bottom of the gate, which hasn't been opened in fifty years, i'm told. a good swimmer can wriggle through, d'ye see? that lets him out into the little canal that connects with the river. then--" "i see!" cried quinnox. "it can be done! no one will be watching at that point." the sky was overcast, the night as black as ebony. the four men left the officers' quarters at one o'clock, making their way to the historic old gate in the glen below the castle. arriving at the wall, truxton briefly whispered his plans. "you remember, colonel quinnox, that the stream is four or five feet deep here at the gate. the current has washed a deeper channel under the iron-bound timbers. the gates are perhaps two feet thick. for something like seven or eight feet from the bottom they are so constructed that the water runs through an open network of great iron bars. now, hobbs and i will go under the gates in the old-clothes you have given us. when we are on the opposite side we'll stick close by the gate, and you may pass our dry clothes out between the bars above the surface of the water. our guns, the map and the food, as well. it's very simple. then we'll drop down the canal a short distance and change our clothes in the underbrush. hobbs knows where we can procure horses and he knows a trusty guide on the other side of the city. so long, colonel. i'll see you later." "god be with you," said quinnox fervently. the four men shook hands and king slipped into the water without a moment's hesitation. "right after me, hobbs," he said, and then his head went under. a minute later he and hobbs were on the outside of the gate, gasping for breath. standing in water to their necks, quinnox and haddan passed the equipment through the barred openings. there were whispered good-byes and then two invisible heads bobbed off in the night, wading in the swift-flowing canal, up to their chins. swimming would have been dangerous, on account of the noise. holding their belongings high above their heads, with their hearts in their mouths, king and the englishman felt their way carefully along the bed of the stream. not a sound was to be heard, except the barking of dogs in the distance. the stillness of death hung over the land. so still, that the almost imperceptible sounds they made in breathing and moving seemed like great volumes of noise in their tense ears. a hundred yards from the gate they crawled ashore and made their way up over the steep bank into the thick, wild underbrush. not a word had been spoken up to this time. "quietly now, hobbs. let us get out of these duds. 'gad, they're like ice. from now on, hobbs, you lead the way. i'll do my customary act of following." hobbs was shivering from the cold. "i say, mr. king, you're a wonder, that's wot you are. think of going under those bally gates!" "that's right, hobbs, think of it, but don't talk." they stealthily stripped themselves of the wet garments, and, after no end of trouble, succeeded in getting into the dry substitutes. then they lowered the wet bundles into the water and quietly stole off through the brush, hobbs in the lead, intent upon striking the king's highway, a mile or two above town. it was slow, arduous going, because of the extreme caution required. a wide detour was made by the canny hobbs--wider, in fact, than the impatient american thought wholly necessary. in time, however, they came to the highway. "well, we've got a start, hobbs. we'll win out, just as i said we would. easy as falling off a log." "i'm not so blooming sure of that," said hobbs. he was recalling a recent flight along this very road. "we're a long way from being out of the woods." "don't be a kill-joy, hobbs. look at the bright side of things." "i'll do that in the morning, when the sun's up," said hobbs, with a sigh. "come along, sir. we take this path here for the upper road. it's a good two hours' walk up the mountain to rabot's, where we get the horses." all the way up the black, narrow mountain path hobbs kept the lead. king followed, his thoughts divided between the blackness ahead and the single, steady light in a certain window now far behind. he had seen the lighted window in the upper balcony as he passed the castle on the way to the gate. somehow he knew she was there saying good-bye and godspeed to him. at four o'clock, as the sun reached up with his long, red fingers from behind the monastery mountain, truxton king and hobbs rode away from rabot's cottage high in the hills, refreshed and sound of heart. rabot's son rode with them, a sturdy, loyal lad, who had leaped joyously at the chance to serve his prince. undisturbed, they rode straight for the passes below st. valentine's. behind and below them lay the sleeping, restless, unhappy city of edelweiss, with closed gates and unfriendly, sullen walls. there reigned the darkest fiend that graustark, in all her history, had ever come to know. truxton king had slipped through his fingers with almost ridiculous ease. so simple had it been, that the two messengers, gloating in the prospect ahead, now spoke of the experience as if it were the most trivial thing in their lives. they mentioned it casually; that was all. now, let us turn to john tullis and his quest in the hills. it goes without saying that he found no trace of his sister or her abductors. for five days he scoured the lonely, mysterious mountains, dragging the tired but loyal hundred about at his heels, distracted by fear and anguish over the possible fate of the adored one. on the fifth day, a large force of dawsbergen soldiers, led by prince dantan himself, found the fagged, disspirited american and his half-starved men encamped in a rocky defile in the heart of the wilderness. that same night a graustark mountaineer passed the sentinels and brought news of the disturbance in edelweiss. he could give no details. he only knew that there had been serious rioting in the streets and that the gates were closed against all comers. he could not tell whether the rioters--most of whom he took to be strikers, had been subdued or whether mob-law prevailed. he had been asked to cast his lot with the strikers, but had refused. for this he was driven away from his home, which was burned. his wife and child were now at the monastery, where many persons had taken refuge. in a flash it occurred to john tullis that marlanx was at the bottom of this deviltry. the abduction of loraine was a part of his plan! prince dantan advised a speedy return to the city. his men were at the command of the american. moreover, the prince himself decided to accompany the troops. before sunrise, the command, now five or six hundred strong, was picking its way down the dangerous mountain roads toward the main highway. fifteen miles below edelweiss they came upon the company of soldiers sent out to preserve order in the railroad camps. the officer in charge exhibited a document, given under the hand and seal of baron dangloss, directing him to remain in command of the camps until the strikers, who were unruly, could be induced to resume work once more. this order, of course, was a forgery, designed to mislead the little force until marlanx saw fit to expose his hand to the world. it had come by messenger on the very day of the rioting. the messenger brought the casual word that the government was arresting and punishing the lawless, and that complete order would hardly be established for several days at the outside. he went so far as to admit that an attempt on the life of the prince had failed. other reports had come to the camps, and all had been to the effect that the rioting was over. the strikers, it seemed, were coming to terms with their employers and would soon take up the work of construction once more. all this sufficed to keep the real situation from reaching the notice of the young captain; he was obeying orders and awaiting the return of the workmen. the relief that swept into the souls of the newly arrived company was short-lived. they had gone into camp, tired, sore and hungry, and were preparing to take a long needed rest before taking up the last stage of their march toward the city. john tullis was now in feverish haste to reach the city, where at least he might find a communication from the miscreants, demanding ransom. he had made up his mind to pay whatever they asked. down in his heart, however, there was a restless fear that she had not fallen into the hands of ordinary bandits. he could not banish the sickening dread that she was in the power of marlanx, to whom she alone could pay the ransom exacted. hardly had the men thrown themselves from their horses when the sound of shooting in the distance struck their ears. instantly the entire force was alert. a dozen shots were fired in rapid succession; then single reports far apart. the steady beat of horses' feet was now plain to the attentive company. there was a quick, incisive call to arms; a squad stood ready for action. the clatter of hoofs drew nearer; a small group of horsemen came thundering down the defile. three minutes after the firing was first heard, sentries threw their rifles to their shoulders and blocked the approach of the riders. a wild, glad shout went up from the foremost horseman. he had pulled his beast to its haunches almost at the muzzles of the guns. "tullis!" he shouted, waving his hat. john tullis ran toward the excited group in the road. he saw three men, one of whom was shouting his name with all the power in his lungs. "thank god, we've found you!" cried the horseman, swinging to the ground despite the proximity of strange rifles. "put up your guns! we're friends!" "king!" exclaimed tullis, suddenly recognising him. a moment later they were clasping hands. "this is luck! we find you almost as soon as we set out to do so. glory be! you've got a fair-sized army, too. we'll need 'em--and more." "what has happened, king? where have you been? we looked for you after your disap--" "that's ancient history," interrupted the other. "how soon can you get these troops on the march? there's not a moment to be lost." "good god, man, tell me what it is--what has happened? the prince? what of him?" cried tullis, grasping king's arm in the clutch of a vise. "he sends his love and rescinds the order of exile," said king, smiling. then seriously: "marlanx has taken the city. it was all a game, this getting rid of you. he's superstitious about americans. there was bomb-throwing in the square and a massacre afterward. the prince and all the others are besieged in the castle. i'll tell you all about it. hobbs and i are the only men who have got away from the castle alive. we left last night. our object was to warn you in time to prevent an ambush. you've got to save the throne for prince robin. i'll explain as we go along. i may as well inform you right now that there's a big force of men waiting for you in the ravine this side of the monastery. we saw them. thank god, we got to you in time. you can now take 'em by surprise and--whiff! they'll run like dogs. back here a couple of miles we came upon a small gang of real robbers. we had a bit of shooting and--i regret to say--no one was bagged. i'd advise you to have this force pushed along as rapidly as possible. i have a message from your sister, sir." "loraine? where is she, king?" "don't tremble like that, old man. she's safe enough--in the castle. oh, it was a fine game marlanx had in his mind." while the troopers were making ready for the march, truxton king and hobbs related their story to eager, horrified groups of officers. it may be well to say that neither said more of his own exploits than was absolutely necessary to connect the series of incidents. prince dantan marvelled anew at this fresh demonstration of yankee courage and ingenuity. king graphically narrated the tale from beginning to end. the full force of the amazing tragedy was brought home to the pale, half-dazed listeners. there were groans and curses and bitter cries of vengeance. john tullis was crushed; despair was written in his face, anguish in his eyes. what was to become of the prince? "first of all, tullis, we must destroy these scoundrels who are lying in wait for you in the ravine," said prince dantan. "after that you can be in a position to breathe easily while collecting the army of fighters that mr. king suggests. surely, you will be able to raise a large and determined force. my men are at prince robin's disposal. captain haas may command them as his own. i deplore the fact that i may not call upon the entire dawsbergen army. marlanx evidently knows our laws. our army cannot go to the aid of a neighbor. we have done so twice in half a century and our people have been obliged to pay enormous indemnity. but there are men here. i am here. we will not turn back, mr. tullis. my people will not hold me at fault for taking a hand in this. i shall send messengers to the princess; she, of course, must know." the battalion, augmented by the misguided company from the deserted railroad camps, moved swiftly into the defile, led by young rabot. truxton king rode beside the brother of the girl he loved, uttering words of cheer and encouragement. "king, you _do_ put new courage into me. you are surcharged with hope and confidence. by heaven, i believe we can drive out that damned beast and his dogs. we _will_ do it!" "there's a chap named brutus. i ask special permission to kill him. that's the only request i have to make." "i very strongly oppose the appeal to grand duke paulus. we must act decisively before that alternative is forced upon the unhappy halfont. it was perse's scheme, months ago. perse! confound him, i believe he has worked all along to aid--" "hold on, tullis," interrupted king soberly. "i wouldn't say that if i were you. the duke was wounded by the dynamiters and i understand he lies on his bed and curses marlanx from morning till night. he prays constantly that his daughter may be freed from the old scoundrel." "the countess ingomede--has anything been heard from her?" asked tullis. he had been thinking of her for days--and nights. "well, nothing definite," said king evasively. he was reminded at this moment of his own love affair. seized by the boldest impulse that had ever come to him, he suddenly blurted out: "tullis, i love your sister. i have loved her from the beginning. all that has happened in the last week has strengthened my adoration. i think she cares for me, but,--but--" "my dear mr. king, i'm sorry--" began tullis, genuinely surprised. "but it seems that she's promised to marry vos engo. i'll tell you how it happened." then he related the episode of the rout in castle avenue. "it's all wrong for her to marry that chap. if she hasn't been bullied into it before we get back to her, i'd like to know if you won't put a stop to his damned impudence. what right has such a fellow as vos engo to a good american girl like loraine? none whatever. besides, i'm going to fight him when we're through fighting marlanx. i want you as my second. can't say whether it will be swords, pistols or knuckles. i hope you'll oblige me. as a matter of fact, i had two primary objects in looking you up out here in the hills. first, to ask you for loraine; second, to engage you as my second." tullis was silent for a while. then he said, quite seriously: "king, i have looked with some favour upon vos engo. i thought she liked him. he isn't a bad fellow, believe me. i want loraine to be happy. as for this promise to him, i'll talk that over with her--if god permits me to see her again i shall allow her to choose, king. you or vos engo--the one she loves, that's all. as for seconding you, i am at your service." king beamed. "that means, i take it, that you want me to win at least one of the contests. well," with his whimsical, irresistible smile, "it won't be necessary to try for the other if vos engo shoots me in this one." "you will never know the extent of my gratitude, king. you have saved her from a hellish fate. i shall be disappointed in her if she does not choose you. i owe you a debt of gratitude almost as great for saving that dear little boy of--ours. i shall not forget what you have done--never!" early in the afternoon the force under captain haas was divided into three companies, for strategic purposes. the plan to surprise and defeat the skulkers in the ravine had been carefully thought out. two strong companies struck off into the hills; the third and weakest of the trio kept the road, apparently marching straight into the trap. signals had been arranged. at a given sign the three parties were to swoop down upon the position held by the enemy. several hours passed. the troop in the highroad prepared to camp just below the treacherous pass in which the ambush was known to be laid. scouts had located the confident rascals in the ravines above the highway. with the news that their prey was approaching, they were being rapidly rushed into position at the head of the pass. shortly before sunset the troop in the road began to advance, riding resolutely into the ravine. even as the gloating, excited desperadoes prepared to open fire from their hidden position at the head of the pass, their pickets came running in with the word that two large forces were drawing in on them from the north and east. the trappers were trapped. they realised that they had been out-generalled, and they understood their deficiencies. not a man among them knew the finer points of warfare. they were thugs and roustabouts and ill-omened fellows who could stab in the back; they were craven in the face of an open peril. there were few shots fired. the men in ambuscade tried to escape to the fastnesses of the hills. some of them stood ground and fought, only to be mown down by the enemy; others were surrounded and made captive; but few actually succeeded in evading the troopers. all were ready to sue for mercy and to proclaim their willingness to divert allegiance from dictator to crown. herded like so many cattle, guarded like wolves, they were driven city-ward, few if any of them exhibiting the slightest symptom of regret or discomfiture. in fact, they seemed more than philosophic: they were most jovial. these were soldiers of fortune, in the plainest sense. it mattered little with whom they were allied or against whom they fought, so long as the pay was adequate and prompt. indeed, the leaders of the party--officers by grace of lucky tosses--benignly proffered the services of themselves and men in the movement to displace count marlanx! "he cannot hold out," said the evil-faced captain in cool derision. "he cannot keep his promises to us. so why should we cut our own throats? all we ask is transportation to austria after the job's over. that's where most of us came from, your excellencies. count on us, if you need us. down with marlanx!" "long live prince--" three-fourths of them stopped there because they did not even know the name of the little ruler. chapter xxi the return from the highlands below the monastery, captain haas and his men were able to study the situation in the city. the impracticability of an assault on any one of the stubborn, well-guarded gates was at once recognised. a force of seven hundred men, no matter how well trained or determined, could not be expected to surmount walls that had often withstood the attack of as many thousands. the wisdom of delaying until a few thousand loyal, though poorly armed countrymen could be brought into play against the city appealed at once to prince dantan and john tullis. withdrawing to an unexposed cut in the hills, safe from the shells that might be thrown up from the fortress, they established their camps, strongly entrenched and practically invulnerable against any attack from below. squads of men were sent without delay into the hills and valleys to call the panic-stricken, wavering farmers into the fold. john tullis headed the company that struck off into the well-populated ganlook district. marlanx, as if realising the nature of the movement in the hills, began a furious assault on the gates leading to the castle. the watchers in the hills could see as well as hear the conflict that raged almost at their feet, so to speak. they cheered like mad when the motley army of the usurper was frustrated in the attempt to take the main gates. from the walls about the park, quinnox's men, few as they were, sent such deadly volleys into the streets below that the hordes fell back and found shelter behind the homes of the rich. with half an eye, one could see that the rascals were looting the palaces, secure from any opposition on the part of the government forces; through the glasses, scattered crowds of men could be seen carrying articles from the houses; more than one of the mansions went up in flames as the day grew old and the lust of the pillagers increased. the next morning, captain haas announced to his followers that marlanx had begun to shell the castle. big guns in the fortress were hurling great shells over the city, dropping them in the park. on the other hand, colonel quinnox during the night had swung three gatling guns to the top of the wall; they were stationed at intervals along the wall, commanding every point from which an assault might be expected. it was a well-known fact that there was no heavy ordnance at the castle. all day long, marlanx's men, stationed in the upper stories of houses close to the walls, kept up a constant rifle fire, their bullets being directed against the distant windows of the castle. that this desultory fusillade met with scant response at the hands of quinnox, was quite apparent to the uneasy, champing watchers near the monastery. "marlanx will not begin the actual bombardment until he knows that tullis is drawing together a formidable force," prophesied prince dantan. "but when he does begin the real shelling," mourned truxton king, chafing like a lion under the deadly inaction. "i can't bear the thought of what it means to those inside the castle. he can blow it to pieces over their heads. then, from the house tops, he can pick them off like blackbirds. it's awful! is there nothing that we can do, prince? damn it all, i know we can force a gate. and if we once get in where those cowardly dogs are lording it, you'll see 'em take the walls like steeple-chasers." "my dear mr. king," said prince dantan calmly, "you don't know colonel quinnox and the house guard. the quinnoxs have guarded graustark's rulers for i don't know how many generations. history does not go back so far, i fear. you may depend on it, there will be no living guardsmen inside those walls when marlanx lays his hands on the prince." that night recruits from the farms and villages began to straggle into the camp. they were armed with rifles, ordinary shotguns and antique "blunderbusses;" swords, staves and aged lances. all were willing to die in the service of the little prince; all they needed was a determined, capable leader to rally them from the state of utter panic. they reported that the crown foragers might expect cheerful and plenteous tribute from the farmers and stock growers. only the mountaineers were hostile. the army now grew with astonishing rapidity. the recruits were not fighting men in a military sense, but their hearts were true and they hungered for the chance to stamp out the evil that lay at their feet. by the close of the second day nearly three thousand men were encamped above the city. late that night john tullis rode into camp at the head of a great company from the ganlook province. he had retaken the town of ganlook, seized the fortress, and recruited the entire fighting strength of the neighbourhood. more than that, he had unlimbered and conveyed to the provisional camp two of the big guns that stood above the gates at the fortress. there had been a dozen skirmishes between the regulars and roving bands of desperadoes. a savage fight took place at ganlook and another in the gap below the witch's hut. in both of these sanguinary affrays the government forces had come off victorious, splendid omens that did not fail to put confidence into the hearts of the men. marlanx trained two of his big guns on the camp in the hills. from the fortress he threw many futile shells toward their place of shelter. they did no damage; instead of death, they brought only laughter to the scornful camp. under cover of night, the two ganlook cannons were planted in a position commanding the southeastern city gate. it was the plan of the new besiegers to bombard this gate, tearing it to pieces with shot. when their force was strong enough offensively, an assault would be flung against this opening. drill and discipline were necessary, however, before the attempt could be made. in the present chaotic, untrained condition of their forces, an assault would prove not only ineffectual, but disastrous. day after day the recruits were put through hard drill under the direction of the regular officers. every day saw the force increased. this made hard work for the drill-masters. the willingness of the recruits, however, lessened the task considerably. the knowledge that marlanx had no big guns except those stationed in the fortress was most consoling to tullis and his friends. he could not destroy the castle gates with shells, except by purest chance. he could drop shells into the castle, but to hit a gate twenty feet wide? never! field ordnance was unknown to this country of mountains. the iron count's inability to destroy the castle gates made it feasible for the men in the hills to devote considerable more time to drill and preparation than they might have sacrificed if the conditions were the reverse. they were confident that quinnox could hold the castle for many days. with all this in mind, captain haas and prince dantan beat down the objections of the impatient americans; the work of preparation against ignominous failure went on as rapidly as possible. haas would not attack until he was ready, or it became absolutely certain that the men at the castle were in dire need. signalling between the castle and the hills had been going on for days. the absence of the "wigwag" system made it impossible to convey intelligible messages. truxton king was growing haggard from worry and loss of sleep. he could not understand the abominable, criminal procrastination. he was of a race that did things with a dash and on the spur of the moment. his soul sickened day by day. john tullis, equally unhappy, but more philosophical, often found him seated upon a rock at the top of the ravine, an unlighted pipe in his fingers, his eyes intent upon the hazy castle. "cheer up, king. our time will come," he was wont to say. "i've just got to do something, tullis. this standing around is killing me." again he would respond: "don't forget that i love some one down there, old man. maybe she's worrying about me, as well as about you." once he gave poor mr. hobbs a frightful tongue-lashing and was afterward most contrite and apologetic. poor hobbs had been guilty of asking if he had a headache. truxton was assigned to several scouting expeditions, simply to provide him with action and diverting excitement. one of these expeditions determined the impossibility of entering the city through the railroad yards because of the trestle-work and the barricade of freight cars at the gap in the wall. they had been in camp for a week. the stategists had practically decided that the assault could be made within a day or two. all was in readiness--or as near as it could be--and all was enthusiasm and excitement. "if haas puts it off another day i'm going to start a round robin, whatever that is," said truxton. as he said it to a dawsbergen officer who could not understand english, it is doubtful if that gentleman's polite nod of acquiescence meant unqualified approval of the project. at first they had built no fires at night. now the force was so formidable that this precaution was unnecessary. the air was chill and there were tents for but a few of the troopers. the fires in the ravine always were surrounded by great circles of men, eagerly discussing the coming battle. at the upper end of the ravine were the tents of the officers, prince dantan and john tullis. the latter shared his with king and mr. hobbs. up here, the circle about the kindly pile of burning logs was small, select and less demonstrative. here they smoked in silence most of the time, each man's thoughts delivered to himself. above, on the jutting rock, sat the disconsolate, lovesick truxton. it was the night before the proposed assault on the gates. the guns were in position and the cannonading was to begin at daybreak. he was full of the bitterness of doubt and misgiving. was she in love with vos engo? was the count's suit progressing favourably under the fire of the enemy? was his undoubted bravery having its effect upon the wavering susceptibilities of the distressed loraine? here was he, truxton king, idle and useless for more than a week, beyond range of the guns of the foe, while down there was vos engo in the thick of it, at the side of the girl he loved in those long hours of peril, able to comfort her, to cheer her, to fight for her. it was maddening. he was sick with uncertainty, consumed by jealousy. his pipe was not out now: he was smoking furiously. the sound of a voice in sharp command attracted his attention. one of the sentries in the road below the elbow of the ridge had stopped some one who was approaching the camp. there was a bright moon, and truxton could see other pickets hurrying to join the first. a few moments later the trespassers were escorted through the lines and taken directly to headquarters. a man and two women, king observed. somewhat interested, he sauntered down from his lonely boulder and joined the group of officers. john tullis was staring hard at the group approaching from the roadway. they were still outside the circle of light, but it was plain to all that the newcomers were peasants. the women wore the short red skirts and the pointed bonnets of the lower classes. gaudy shawls covered their shoulders. one was tall and slender, with a bearing that was not peasant-like. it was she who held tullis's intense, unbelieving gaze until they were well inside the fire-light. she walked ahead of her companions. suddenly he sprang forward with a cry of amazement. it was the countess ingomede. her arrival created a sensation. in a moment she was in the centre of an amazed circle of men. tullis, after his first low, eager greeting at the edge of the fire circle, drew her near to the warmth-giving flames. prince dantan and captain haas threw rugs and blankets in a great heap for her to sit upon. every one was talking at once. the countess was smiling through her tears. "make room for my maid and her father. they are colder and more fatigued than i," she said, lifting her tired, glorious eyes to john tullis, who stood beside her. "we have come from balak. they suffered much, that i might enjoy the slender comforts i was so ready to share with them." "thank god, you are here," he said in low, intense tones. she could not mistake the fervour in his voice nor the glow in his eyes. her wondrous, yellowish orbs looked steadily into his, and he was satisfied. they paid tribute to the emotion that moved him to the depths of his being. love leaped up to him from those sweet, tired eyes; leaped with the unerring force of an electric current that finds its lodestone in spite of mortal will. "i knew you were here, john. i am not going back to count marlanx. it is ended." "i knew it would come, ingomede. you will let me tell you how glad i am--some day?" "some day, when i am truly, wholly free from him, john. i know what you will say, and i think you know what i shall say in reply." both understood and were exalted. no other word passed between them touching upon the thing that was uppermost in their minds. food was provided for the wayfarers, and tullis's tent was made ready for the countess and her maid. "truxton," said he, "we will have to find other quarters for the night. i've let my apartment--furnished." "she's gloriously beautiful, john," was all that truxton said, puffing moodily at his pipe. he was thinking of one more beautiful, however. "i suppose you'd think it a favour if i'd pot marlanx for you to-morrow." "it doesn't matter whether he's potted or not, my friend. she will not go back to him. he will have to find another prisoner for his household." truxton's thoughts went with a shudder to the underground room and the fair prisoner who had shared it with him. the dread of what might have been the fate of loraine tullis--or what might still be in store for her--brought cold chills over him. he abruptly turned away and sat down at the outer edge of the group. the countess's story was soon told. sitting before the great fire, surrounded by eager listeners, she related her experiences. prince dantan was her most attentive listener. she had been seized on the night of the ball as she started across her father's garden. before sunrise she was well on her way to balak, in charge of three of the count's most faithful henchmen. as for the messages that were sent to edelweiss, she knew nothing of them, except the last, which she had managed to get through with the assistance of josepha's father. she was kept a close prisoner in a house just outside of balak, and came to learn all of the infamous projects of her husband. at the end of ten days her maid was sent to her from edelweiss. she brought the news of the calamity that had befallen the city. it was then that she determined to break away from her captors and try to reach the monastery of st. valentine, where protection would be afforded her for the time being. after several days of ardent persuasion, she and josepha prevailed upon the latter's father to assist them in their flight. not only was he persuaded, but in the end he journeyed with them through the wildest country north of ganlook. they were four days in covering the distance, partly on foot, partly by horse. near the city they heard of the presence of troops near the monastery. farmers' wives told them of the newly formed army and of its leaders. she determined to make her way to the camp of those who would destroy her husband, eager to give them any assistance that her own knowledge of marlanx's plans might provide. many details are omitted in this brief recital of her story. perhaps it is well to leave something to the imagination. one bit of information she gave created no end of consternation among the would-be deliverers of the city. it had the effect of making them all the more resolute; the absolute necessity for immediately regaining control in the city was forced upon them. she told them that count marlanx had lately received word that the grand duke paulus was likely to intervene before many days, acting on his own initiative, in the belief that he could force the government of graustark to grant the railway privileges so much desired by his country. marlanx realised that he would have to forestall the wily grand duke. if he were in absolute control of the graustark government when the russian appeared, he and he alone would be in a position to deal with the situation. unless the castle fell into his hands beforehand, insuring the fall of the royal house and the ministry, the grand duke's natural inclination would be to first befriend the hapless prince and then to demand recompense in whatsoever form he saw fit. "the grand duke may send a large force of men across the border at any time," said the countess in conclusion. "count marlanx is sure to make a decisive assault as soon as he hears that the movement has begun. he had hopes of starving them out, thus saving the castle from destruction, but as that seems unlikely, his shells will soon begin to rain in earnest upon the dear old pile." truxton king was listening with wide open ears. as she finished this dreary prediction he silently arose to his feet and, without a word to any one, stalked off in the darkness. tullis looked after him and shook his head sadly. "i'll be happy on that fellow's account when daybreak comes and we are really at it," he said to prince dantan, who knew something of king's affliction. but truxton king was not there at daybreak. when he strode out of the camp that night, he left it behind forever. the unfortunate lack of means to communicate with the occupants of the castle had been the source of great distress to captain haas. if the defenders could be informed as to the exact hour of the assault from the outside, they could do much toward its speedy success by making a fierce sortie from behind their own walls. a quick dash from the castle grounds would serve to draw marlanx's attention in that direction, diminishing the force that he would send to check the onslaught at the gates. but there was no means of getting word to colonel quinnox. his two or three hundred men would be practically useless at the most critical period of the demonstration. truxton king had all this in mind as he swung off down the mountain road, having stolen past the sentries with comparative ease. he was smiling to himself. if all went well with him, colonel quinnox would be able to rise to the occasion. if he failed in the daring mission he had elected to perform, the only resulting harm would be to himself; the plans of the besiegers would not suffer. he knew his ground well by this time. he had studied it thoroughly from the forlorn boulder at the top of the ravine. by skirting the upper walls, on the mountain side, he might, in a reasonably short space of time, reach the low woodlands north of the castle walls. the danger from marlanx's scouts outside the city was not great; they had been scattered and beaten by haas's recruiting parties. he stood in more danger from the men he would help, they who were the watchful defenders of the castle. it must have been two o'clock when he crossed the king's highway, a mile or more above the northern gates, and struck down into the same thick undergrowth that had protected him and hobbs on a memorable night not long before. at three o'clock, a dripping figure threw up his hands obligingly and laughed with exultation when confronted by a startled guardsman _inside_ the castle walls and not more than fifty yards from the water gates! he had timed his entrance by the sound of the guardsman's footstep on the stone protecting wall that lined the little stream. when he came to the surface inside the water gate, the sentry was at the extreme end of his beat. he shouted a friendly cry as he advanced toward the man, calling out his own name. ten minutes later he was standing in the presence of the haggard, nerve-racked quinnox, pouring into his astonished ears the news of the coming attack. while he was discarding his wet clothing for others, preparations for the sortie were getting under way. the colonel lost no time in routing out the sleeping guardsmen and reserves, and in sending commands to those already on duty at the gates. the quick rattle of arms, the rush of feet, the low cries of relief, the rousing of horses, soon usurped the place of dreary, deadly calm. when the sun peeped over the lofty hills, he saw inside the gates a restless, waiting company of dragoons, ready for the command to ride forth. worn, haggard fellows, who had slept but little and who had eaten scarcely anything for three days; men who would have starved to death. now they were forgetting their hunger and fatigue in the wild, exultant joy of the prospect ahead. meantime, king had crossed the grounds with colonel quinnox, on the way to the castle. he was amazed, almost stupefied by the devastation that already had been wrought. trees were down; great, gaping holes in the ground marked the spots where shells had fallen; the plaza was an almost impassable heap of masonry and soil, torn and rent by huge projectiles. but it was his first clear view of the castle itself that appalled the american. a dozen or more balls had crashed into the façade. yawning fissures, gigantic holes, marked the path of the ugly messengers from marlanx. nearly all of the windows had been wrecked by riflemen who shot from the roofs of palaces in and about the avenue. two of the smaller minarets were in ruins; a huge pillar in the lower balcony was gone; the terrace had been ploughed up by a single ricochetting shell. "great god!" gasped king. "it is frightful!" "they began bombarding yesterday afternoon. we were asked to surrender at three o'clock. our reply brought the shells, mr. king. it was terrible." "and the loss of life, colonel?" demanded the other breathlessly. "after the first two or three shells we found places of shelter for the prince and his friends. they are in the stone tower beyond the castle, overlooking what still remains of the ancient moat. ah, there are no faltering hearts here, mr. king. the most glorious courage instead. count vos engo guards the prince and the ladies of the household. alas! it was hunger that we feared the most. to-day we should have resorted to horse's flesh. there was no other way. we knew that relief would come some day. john tullis was there. we had faith in him and in you. and now it is to-day! this shall be our day, thank god! nothing can stand before us!" "tullis is very anxious about his sister," ventured truxton. quinnox looked straight ahead, but smiled. "she is the pluckiest of them all." "is she well?" "perhaps a trifle thin, sir, that is all. i dare say that is due to scarcity of nourishment, although the prince and his closest associates were the last to feel deprivation." "how does the prince take all this, colonel?" "as any prince of graustark would, sir. there is no other way. it is in the blood." "poor little chap!" "he will rejoice to know that you have found his lucky stone so effective. the prince has never wavered in his loyalty to that pebble, sir." together they entered the castle. inside there were horrid signs of destruction, particularly off the balconies. "no one occupies the upper part of the castle now, sir." attendants sped to the tower, shouting the battle tidings. no compunction was felt in arousing the sleeping household. as a matter of fact, there was no protest from the eager ladies and gentlemen who hurried forth to hear the news. the prince came tumbling down the narrow iron stairs from his room above, shouting joyously to truxton king. no man was ever so welcome. he was besieged with questions, handshakings and praises. even the duke of perse, hobbling on crutches, had a kindly greeting for him. tears streamed down the old man's cheeks when king told him of his daughter's safe arrival in the friendly camp. truxton picked the prince up in his arms and held him close to his breast, patting his back all the while, his heart so full that he could not speak. "i knowed you'd come back," bobby kept crying in his ear. "aunt loraine said you wouldn't, but i said you would. i knowed it--i knowed it! and now you're going to be a baron, sure enough. isn't he, uncle caspar?" but truxton was not listening to the eager prattle. he remembered afterward that bobby's hands and face were hot with fever. just now he was staring at the narrow staircase. vos engo and loraine were descending slowly. the former was white and evidently very weak. he leaned on the girl for support. count halfont offered the explanation. "vos engo was shot last week, through the shoulder. he is too brave to give up, as you may see. it happened on the terrace. there was an unexpected fusilade from the housetops. eric placed himself between the marksmen and miss tullis. a bullet that might have killed her instantly, struck him in the shoulder. they were fleeing to the balcony. he fell and she dragged him to a place of safety. the wound is not so serious as it might have been, but he should be in bed. he, like most of us, has not removed his clothing in five days and nights." king never forgot the look in loraine's eyes as she came down the steps. joy and anguish seemed to combine themselves in that long, intense look. he saw her hand go to her heart. her lips were parted. he knew she was breathing quickly, tremulously. the prince was whispering in his ear: "keep the lucky stone, mr. king. please keep it. it will surely help you. i gave her your kiss. she was happy--awful happy for awhile. 'nen the count he saved her from the bullet. but you just keep the lucky stone." king put him down and walked directly across to meet her at the foot of the steps. she gave him her hands. the look in her tired eyes went straight to his heart. vos engo drew back, his face set in a frown of displeasure. "my brother?" she asked, without taking her gaze from his eyes. "he is well. he will see you to-day." "and you, truxton?" was her next question, low and quavering. "unharmed and unchanged, loraine," he said softly. "tell me, did vos engo stand between you and the fire from the--" "yes, truxton," she said, dropping her eyes as if in deep pain. "and you have not--broken your promise to him?" "no. nor have i broken my promise to you." "he is a brave man. i can't help saying it," said the american, deep lines suddenly appearing in his face. swiftly he turned to vos engo, extending his hand. "my hand, sir, to a brave man!" vos engo stared at him for a moment and then turned away, ignoring the friendly hand. a hot flush mounted to loraine's brow. "this is a brave man, too, eric," she said very quietly. vos engo's response was a short, bitter laugh. chapter xxii the last stand soon after five o'clock, a man in the topmost window of the tower called down that the forces in the hills were moving in a compact body toward the ridges below the southern gates. "give them half an hour to locate themselves," advised truxton king. "they will move rapidly and strike as soon as the shells have levelled the gates. the proper time for your sortie, colonel, would be some time in advance of their final movement. you will in that way draw at least a portion of marlanx's men away from the heart of the city. they will come to the assistance of the gang bivouacked beyond the duke of perse's palace." one hundred picked men were to be left inside the castle gates with vos engo, prepared to meet any flank movement that might be attempted. three hundred mounted men were selected to make the dash down castle avenue, straight into the camp of the sharpshooters. it was the purpose of the house guard to wage a fierce and noisy conflict off the avenue and then retire to the castle as abruptly as they left it, to be ready for marlanx, should he decide to make a final desperate effort to seize their stronghold. king, fired by a rebellious zeal, elected to ride with the attacking party. his heart was cold with the fear that he was to lose loraine, after all. the fairy princess of his dreams seemed farther away from him than ever. "i'll do what i can for the prince," he said to himself. "he's a perfect little brick. damn vos engo! i'll make him repent that insult. every one noticed it, too. she tried to smooth it over, but--oh, well, what's the use!" the dash of the three hundred through the gates and down the avenue was the most spectacular experience in truxton's life. he was up with quinnox and general braze, galloping well in front of the yelling troop. these mounted carbineers, riding as bedouins, swept like thunder down the street, whirled into the broad, open arena beyond the duke's palace, and were upon the surprised ruffians before they were fully awake to the situation. they came tumbling out of barns and sheds, clutching their rifles in nerveless hands, aghast in the face of absolute destruction. it was all over with the first dash of the dragoons. the enemy, craven at the outset, threw down their guns and tried to escape through the alleys and side streets at the end of the common. firing all the time, the attacking force rode them down as if they were so many dogs. the few who stood their ground and fought valiantly were overpowered and made captive by quinnox. less than a hundred men were found in the camp. instead of retreating immediately to the castle, quinnox, acting on the suggestion of the exhilarated king, kept up a fierce, deceptive fire for the benefit of the distant marlanx. after ten or fifteen minutes of this desultory carnage, it was reported that a large force of men were entering the avenue from regengetz circus. quinnox sent his chargers toward this great horde of foot-soldiers, but they did not falter as he had expected. on they swept, two or three thousand of them. at their head rode five or six officers. the foremost was count marlanx. the cannons were booming now in the foothills. marlanx, if he heard them and realised what the bombardment meant, did not swerve from the purpose at present in his mind. quinnox saw now that the iron count was determined to storm the gates, and gave the command to retreat. waving their rifles and shouting defiance over their shoulders, the dragoons drew up, wheeled and galloped toward the gates. truxton king afterward recalled to mind certain huge piles of fresh earth in a corner of the common. he did not know what they meant at the time of observation, but he was wiser inside of three minutes after the whirlwind brigade dashed through the gates. scarcely were the massive portals closed and the great steel bars dropped into place by the men who attended them, when a low, dull explosion shook the earth as if by volcanic force. then came the crashing of timbers, the cracking of masonry, the whirring of a thousand missiles through the air. before the very eyes of the stunned, bewildered defenders, dismounting near the parade ground, the huge gates and pillars fell to the ground. the gates have been dynamited! then it was that truxton king remembered. marlanx's sappers had been quietly at work for days, drilling from the common to the gates. it was a strange coincidence that marlanx should have chosen this day for his culminating assault on the castle. the skirmish at daybreak had hurried his arrangements, no doubt, but none the less were his plans complete. the explosives had been laid during the night; the fuses reached to the mouth of the tunnel, across the common. as he swept up the avenue at the head of his command, hawk-faced and with glittering eyes, he snarled the command that put fire to the fuses. he was still a quarter of a mile away when the gates crumbled. with short, shrill cries, scarcely human in their viciousness, he urged his men forward. he and brutus were the first to ride up to the great hole that yawned where the gates had stood. beyond they could see the distracted soldiers of the prince forming in line to resist attack. a moment later his vanguard streamed through the aperture and faced the deadly fire from the driveway. like a stone wall the men under quinnox stood their ground; a solid, defiant line that fired with telling accuracy into the struggling horde. on the walls two gatling guns began to cackle their laugh of death. and still the mercenaries poured through the gap, forming in haphazard lines under the direction of the maddened iron count. at last they began to advance across the grassy meadow. when one man fell under the fire of the guardsmen, another rushed into his place. three times the indomitable graustarkians drove them back, and as often did marlanx drag them up again, exalted by the example he set. "'gad, he _is_ a soldier," cried truxton, who had wasted a half dozen shots in the effort to bring him down. "hello! there's my friend brutus. he's no coward, either. here's a try for you, brutus." he dropped to his knee and took deliberate aim at the frenzied henchman. the discovery that there were three bullets in brutus's breast when he was picked up long afterward did not affect the young man's contention that his was the one that had found the heart. the fall of brutus urged the iron count to greater fury. his horse had been shot from under him. he was on his feet, a gaunt demon, his back to the enemy, calling to his men to follow him as he moved toward the stubborn row of green and red. bullets hissed about his ears, but he gave no heed to them. more than one man in the opposing force watched him as if fascinated. he seemed to be absolutely bullet-proof. there were times when he stumbled and almost fell over the bodies of his own men lying in the path. by this time his entire force was inside the grounds. colonel quinnox was quick to see the spreading movement on the extreme right and left. marlanx's captains were trained warriors. they were bent on flanking the enemy. the commander of the guard gave the command to fall back slowly toward the castle. firing at every step, they crossed the parade ground and then made a quick dash for the shelter of the long balconies. they held this position for nearly an hour, resisting each succeeding charge of the now devilish foe. time and again the foremost of the attacking party reached the terrace, only to wither under the deadly fire from behind the balustrades. marlanx, down in the parade ground, was fairly pushing his men into the jaws of death. there was no question as to the courage of the men he commanded. these were not the ruffians from all over the world. they were the reckless, devil-may-care mountaineers and robbers from the hills of graustark itself. truxton king's chance to pay his debt to vos engo came after one of the fiercest, most determined charges. the young count, who had transferred his charges from the old tower to the strong north wing of the castle, had been fighting desperately in the front rank for some time. his weakness seemed to have disappeared entirely. as the foe fell back in the face of the desperate resistance, vos engo sprang down the steps and rushed after them, calling others to join him in the attempt to complete the rout. near the edge of the terrace he stopped. his leg gave way under him and he fell to the ground. truxton saw him fall. he leaped over the low balustrade, dropping his hot rifle, and dashed across the terrace to his rival's assistance. a hundred men shot at him. vos engo was trying to get to his feet, his hand upon his thigh; he was groaning with pain. "it's my turn," shouted the american. "i'll square it up if i can. then we're even!" he seized the wounded man in his strong arms, threw him over his shoulder and staggered toward the steps. "release me, damn you!" shrieked vos engo, striking his rescuer in the face with his fist. "i'm saving you for another day," said king as he dropped behind the balustrade, with his burden safe. a wild cheer went up from the lips of the defenders, scornful howls from the enemy. "i pray god it may be deferred until i am capable of defending myself," groaned vos engo, glaring at the other with implacable hatred in his eyes. "you might pray for my preservation, too, while you're at it," said truxton, as he crept away to regain his rifle. there were other witnesses to truxton's rash act. in a lofty window of the north wing crouched a white-faced girl and a grim old man. the latter held a rifle in his tense though feeble hands. they had been there for ten minutes or longer, watching the battle from their eerie place of security. now and then the old man would sight his rifle and fire. a groan of anger and dismay escaped his lips after each attempt to send his bullet to the spot intended. the girl who crouched beside him was there to designate a certain figure in the ever-changing mass of humanity on the bloody parade ground. her clear eyes sought for and found marlanx; her unwavering finger pointed him out to the old marksman. she saw vos engo fall. then a tall, well-known figure sprang into view, dashing toward her wounded lover. her heart stopped beating. the blood rushed to her eyes. everything before her turned red--a horrid, blurring red. with her hands to her temples, she leaned far over the window ledge and screamed--screamed words that would have filled truxton king with an endless joy could he have heard them above the rattle of the rifles. "a brave act!" exclaimed the old man at her side. "who is he?" but she did not hear him. she had fallen back and was gasping supplication, her eyes set upon the old man's face with a stare that meant nothing. the corner of the building had shut out the picture; it was impossible for her to know that the man and his burden had reached the balcony in safety. even now, they might be lying on the terrace, riddled by bullets. the concentrated aim of the enemy had not escaped her horrified gaze. the cheering did not reach her ears. the old man roused her from the stupor of dread. he called her name several times in high, strident tones. dully she responded. standing bolt upright in the window she sought out the figure of marlanx, and pointed rigidly. "ah," groaned the old man, "they will not be driven back this time! they will not be denied. it is the last charge! god, how they come! our men will be annihilated in--where is he? now! ah, i see! yes, that is he! he is near enough now. i cannot miss him!" marlanx was leading his men up to the terrace. a howling avalanche of humanity, half obscured by smoke, streamed up the slope. at the top of the terrace, the iron count suddenly stopped. his long body stiffened and then crumpled like a reed. a score of heavy feet trampled on the fallen leader, but he did not feel the impact. a bullet from the north wing had crashed into his brain. "at last!" shrieked the old man at the window. "come, miss tullis; my work is done." "he is dead, your grace?" in low, awed tones. "yes, my dear," said the duke of perse, a smile of relief on his face. "come, let me escort you to the prince. you have been most courageous. graustark shall not forget it. nor shall i ever cease thanking you for the service you have rendered to me. i have succeeded in freeing my unhappy daughter from the vile beast to whom i sold her youth and beauty and purity. come! you must not look upon that carnage!" together they left the little room. as they stepped into the narrow hall beyond they realised that the defenders had been driven inside the walls of the castle. the crash of firearms filled the halls far below; a deafening, steady roar came up to them. "it is all over," said the duke of perse, hobbling across the hall and throwing open the door to a room opposite. a group of terrified women were huddled in the far corner of the spacious room. in front of them was the little prince, a look of terror in his eyes, but with the tiny sword clutched in his hand--a pathetic figure of courage and dread combined. the duke of perse held open the door for loraine tullis, but she did not enter. when he turned to call, she was half way down the top flight of stairs, racing through the powder smoke toward the landing below. at every step she was screaming in the very agony of gladness: "stand firm! hold them! help is coming! help is coming!" a last look through the window at the end of the hail had revealed to her the most glorious of visions. red and green troops were pouring through the dismantled gateway, their horses surging over the ugly ground-rifts and debris as if possessed of the fabled wings. she had seen the rear line in the storming forces hesitate and then turn to meet the whirlwind charge of the cavalrymen. her brother was out there and all was well. she was crying the joyous news from the head of the grand stairway when truxton king caught sight of her. smoke writhed about her slim, inspiriting figure. her face shone through the drab fog like an undimmed star of purest light. he bounded up the steps toward her, drawn as by magnet against which there was no such thing as resistance. he was powder-stained and grimy; there was blood on his face and shirt front. "you are shot," she cried, clutching the post at the bend in the stairs. "truxton! truxton!" "not even scratched," he shouted, as he reached her side. "it's not my--" he stopped short, even as he held out his arms to clasp her to his breast. "it's some one else's blood," he finished resolutely. she swayed toward him and he caught her in his arms. "i love you--oh, i love you, truxton!" she cried over and over again. he was faint with joy. his kisses spoke the adoration he would have cried out to her if emotion had not clogged his throat. "eric?" she whispered at last, drawing back in his arms and looking up into his eyes with a great pity in her own. "is he--is he dead, truxton?" "no," he said gently. "badly hurt, but--" "he will not die? thank god, truxton. he is a brave--oh, a very brave man." then she remembered her mission into this whirlpool of danger. "go! don't lose a moment, darling! tell colonel quinnox that jack has come! the dragoons are--" he did not hear the end of her cry. a quick, fierce kiss and he was gone, bounding down the stairs with great shouts of encouragement. leaderless, between the deadly fires, the mercenaries gave up the fight after a brief stand at the terrace. six hundred horsemen ploughed through them, driving them to the very walls of the castle. here they broke and scattered, throwing down their arms and shouting for mercy. it was all over inside of twenty minutes. the prince reigned again. * * * * * nightfall brought complete restoration of order, peace and security in the city of edelweiss. hundreds of lives had been lost in the terrific conflict of the early morning hours; hundreds of men lay on beds of suffering, crushed and bleeding from the wounds they had courted and received. "i knowed we'd whip them," shouted the prince, wriggling gleefully in john tullis's straining embrace half an hour after the latter had ridden through the gate. tears streamed down the big man's face. one arm held the boy, the other encircled the sister he had all but lost. in the monastery of st. valentine there was another woman, waiting for him to come to her with the news of a glorious victory. perhaps she was hoping and praying for the other news that he would bring her, who knows? if he came to her with kisses, she would know without being told in so many words. truxton did not again see loraine until late in the afternoon. he had offered his services to colonel quinnox and had worked manfully in the effort to provide comfort for the wounded of both sides. general braze was at work with his men in the open city, clearing away the ugly signs of battle. the fortress and tower were full of the prisoners of war. baron dangloss, pale, emaciated, sick but resolute, was free once more and, with indomitable zeal, had thrown himself and his liberated men at once into the work of rehabilitation. it was on the occasion of the baron's first visit to the prince, late in the day, that truxton saw the girl he worshipped. prince robin had sent for him to appear in the devastated state chamber. publicly, in the presence of the court and ministry, the little ruler proclaimed him a baron and presented to him a great seal ring from among the ancient crown jewels. "say, mr. king," said bobby, after he had called the american quite close to him by means of a stealthy crooking of his finger, "would you mind giving me my lucky stone? i don't think you'll need it any longer. i will, i'm sure. you see a prince has such a lot of things to trouble him. wars and murders and everything." "thank you, prince robin," said king, placing the stone in the little hand. "i couldn't have got on without it. may it always serve you as well." "noblesse oblige, baron," said prince robin gravely. "hello!" in an excited whisper. "here's baron dangloss. he's been in his own gaol!" truxton withdrew. near the door he met loraine. she had just entered the room. there was a bright look of relief in her eyes. "count vos engo has asked for you, truxton," she said in a low voice. a delicate flush crept into her cheeks; a sudden shyness leaped into her eyes, and she looked away. "loraine, have you told him?" "yes. i am so sorry for him. he is one of the bravest men i have ever known, truxton dear. and, as it is with all men of his race, love knew no reason, no compromise. but i have made him see that i--that i cannot be his wife. he knows that i love you." "somehow, darling, i'm sorry for him." "he will not pretend friendship for you, dear," she went on painfully. "he only wants to thank you and to apologise, as you did, not so long ago. and he wants to ask you to release him from a certain obligation." "you mean our--our fight?" "yes. he is to lose his right arm, truxton. you understand how it is with him now." chapter xxiii "you will be mrs. king" late that night it was reported at the castle that a large force of men were encamped on the opposite side of the river. a hundred camp-fires were gleaming against the distant uplands. "the grand duke paulus!" exclaimed count halfont. "thank god, he did not come a day earlier. we owe him nothing to-day--but yesterday! ah, he could have demanded much of us. send his messengers to me, colonel quinnox, as soon as they arrive in the morning. i will arise early. there is much to do in graustark. let there be no sluggards." a mellow, smiling moon crept up over the hills, flooding the laud with a serene radiance. once more the windows in the castle gleamed brightly; low-voiced people strolled through the shattered balconies; others wandered about the vast halls, possessed by uncertain emotions, torn by the conflicting hands of joy and gloom. in a score of rooms wounded men were lying; in others there were dead heroes. at the barracks, standing dully against the distant shadows, there were many cots of suffering. and yet there was rejoicing, even among those who writhed in pain or bowed their heads in grief. victory's wings were fanning the gloom away; conquest was painting an ever-widening streak of brightness across the dark, drear canvas of despair. in one of the wrecked approaches to the terrace, surrounded by fragments of stone and confronted by ugly destruction, sat a young man and a slender girl. there were no lights near them; the shadows were black and forbidding. this particular end of the terrace had suffered most in the fierce rain of cannon-balls. so great was the devastation here that one attained the position held by the couple only by means of no little daring and at the risk of unkind falls. from where they sat they could see the long vista of lighted windows and yet could not themselves be seen. his arm was about her; her head nestled securely against his shoulder and her slim hands were willing prisoners in one of his. she was saying "truxton, dear, i did _not_ love eric vos engo. i just thought it was love. i never really knew what love is until you came into my life. then i knew the difference. that's what made it so hard. i had let him believe that i might care for him some day. and i _did_ like him. so i--" "you are sure--terribly sure--that i am the only man you ever really loved?" he interrupted. she snuggled closer. "haven't i just told you that i didn't know what it was until--well, until now?" "you will never, never know how happy i am, loraine!" he breathed into her ear. "i hope i shall always bring happiness to you, truxton," she murmured, faint with the joy of loving. "you will make me very unhappy if you don't marry me to-morrow." "i couldn't think of it!" "i don't ask you to think. if you do, you may change your mind completely. just marry me without thinking, dearest." "i will marry you, truxton, when we get to new york," she said, but not very firmly. he saw his advantage. "but, my dear, i'm tired of travelling." it was rather enigmatic. "what has that to do with it?" she asked. "well, it's this way: if we get married in new york we'll have to consider an extended and wholly obligatory wedding journey. if we get married here, we can save all that bother by bridal-tripping to new york, instead of away from it. and, what's more, we'll escape the rice-throwing and the old shoes and the hand-painted trunk labels. greater still: we will avoid a long and lonely trip across the ocean on separate steamers. that's something, you know." "we _could_ go on the same steamer." "quite so, my dear. but don't you think it would be nicer if we went as one instead of two?" "i suppose it would be cheaper." "they say a fellow saves money by getting married." "i hate a man who is always trying to save money." "well, if you put it that way, i'll promise never to save a cent. i'm a horrible spendthrift." "oh, you'll have to save, truxton!" "how silly we are!" he cried in utter joyousness. he held her close for a long time, his face buried in her hair. "listen, darling: won't you say you'll be my wife before i leave graustark? i want you so much. i can't go away without you." she hesitated. "when are you going, truxton? you--you haven't told me." it was what he wanted. "i am going next monday," he said promptly. as a matter of fact, he had forgotten the day of the week they were now living in. "monday? oh, dear!" "will you?" "i--i must cable home first," she faltered. "that's a mere detail, darling. cable afterward. it will beat us home by three weeks. they'll know we're coming." "i must ask john, really i must, truxton," she protested faintly. "hurray!" he shouted--in a whisper. "he is so desperately in love, he won't think of refusing anything we ask. shall we set it for saturday?" they set it for saturday without consulting john tullis, and then fell to discussing him. "he is very much in love with her," she said wistfully. "and she loves him, loraine. they will be very happy. she's wonderful." "well, so is john. he's the most wonderful man in all this world." "i am sure of it," he agreed magnanimously. "i saw him talking with her and the duke of perse as i came out awhile ago. they were going to the duke's rooms up there. the duke will offer no objections. i think he'll permit his daughter to select his next son-in-law." "how could he have given her to that terrible, terrible old man?" she cried, with a shudder. "she won't be in mourning for him long, i fancy. nobody will talk of appearances, either. she could marry jack to-morrow and no one would criticise her." "oh, that would be disgusting, truxton!" "but, my dear, he isn't to have a funeral, so why not? they buried his body in quicklime this afternoon. no mourners, no friends, no tears! hang it all, she's foolish if she puts on anything but red." "they can't be married for--oh, ever so long," she said very primly. "no, indeed," he said with alacrity. but he did not believe what he said. if he knew anything about john tullis, it would not be "ever so long" before prince robin's friend turned benedict and husband to the most noted beauty in all graustark. "i shall be sorry to leave graustark," she said dreamily, after a long period of silent retrospection. "i've had the happiest year of my life here." "i've had the busiest month of my life here. i'll never again say that the world is a dull place. and i'll never advise any man to go out of his own home city in search of the most adorable woman in the world. she's always there, bless her heart, if he'll only look around a bit for her." "but you wouldn't have found me if you hadn't come to graustark." "i shudder when i think of what might have happened to you, my princess sweetheart, if i hadn't come to edelweiss. no; i would not have found you." feeling her tremble in his arms, he went on with whimsical good humour: "you would have been eaten up by the ogre long before this. or, perhaps, you would have succeeded in becoming a countess." "as it is, i shall be a baroness." "in graustark, but not in new york. that reminds me. you'll be more than a baroness--more than a princess. you will be a queen. don't you catch the point? you will be mrs. king." * * * * * the grand duke paulus was distinctly annoyed. he had travelled many miles, endured quite a number of hardships, and all to no purpose. when dawn came, his emissaries returned from the city with the lamentable information that the government had righted itself, that marlanx's sensational revolution was at an end, and that the regents would be highly honoured if his excellency could overlook the distressingly chaotic conditions at court and condescend to pay the castle a visit. the regents, the prince and the citizens of graustark desired the opportunity to express their gratitude for the manner in which he had voluntarily (and unexpectedly) come to their assistance in time of trouble. the fact that he had come too late to render the invaluable aid he so nobly intended did not in the least minimise the volume of gratefulness they felt. the grand duke admitted that he was at sea, diplomatically. he was a fifth wheel, so to speak, now that the revolution was over. not so much as the tip of his finger had he been able to get into the coveted pie. there was nothing for him to do but to turn round with his five thousand cossacks and march disconsolately across the steppes to an imperial railroad, where he could embark for home. however, he would visit the castle in a very informal way, extend his congratulations, offer his services--which he knew would be declined with thanks--and profess his unbounded joy in the discovery that graustark happily was so able to take care of herself. incidentally, he would mention the bond issue; also, he would find the opportunity to suggest to the ministry that his government still was willing to make large grants and stupendous promises if any sort of an arrangement could be made by which the system might be operated in conjunction with branch lines of the imperial roads. and so it was that at noon he rode in pomp and splendour through the city gates, attended by his staff and a rather overpowering body-guard. his excuse for the early call was delicately worded. he said in his reply to the message from the count that it would give him great pleasure to remain for some time at the castle, were it not for the fact that he had left his own province in a serious state of unrest; it was imperative that he should return in advance of the ever-possible and always popular uprising. therefore he would pay his respects to his serene highness, renew his protestations of friendship, extend his felicitations, and beg leave to depart for his own land without delay. as he rode from regengetz circus into castle avenue, a small knot of american tourists crowded to the curb and bent eager, attentive ears to the words of a stubby little person whom we should recognise by his accent; but, for fear that there may be some who have forgotten him in the rush of events, we will point to his cap and read aloud: "cook's interpreter." mr. hobbs was saying: "the gentleman on the gray horse, ladies and gentlemen, is his _highness_, the grand duke paulus. he has come to pay his respects to his serene highness. now, if you will kindly step this way, i will show you the spot where the bomb was thrown. 'aving been an eye-witness to the shocking occurrence, i respectfully submit that i," etc. with a pride and dignity that surpassed all moderate sense of appreciation, he delivered newly made history unto his charges, modestly winding up his discourse with the casual remark that the prince had but recently appointed him twelfth assistant steward at the castle, and that he expected to assume the duties of this honorary position just as soon as cook & sons could find a capable man to send up in his place. the american tourists, it may be well to observe, arrived by the first train that entered the city from the outside world. the audience was at two o'clock. prince robin was in a state of tremendous excitement. never before had he been called upon to receive a grand duke. he quite forgot yesterday's battle in the face of this most imposing calamity. more than that, he was in no frame of mind to enjoy the excitement attending the rehabilitation of the castle; oppressed by the approaching shadow of the great man, he lost all interest in what was going on in the castle, about the grounds and among his courtiers. "what'll i do, uncle jack, if he asks any questions?" he mourned. they were dressing him in the robes of state. "answer 'em," said his best friend. "but supposin' i can't? then what?" "he won't ask questions, bobby. people never do when a potentate is on his throne. it's shockingly bad form." "i hope he won't stay long," prayed bobby, a grave pucker between his brows. he was a very tired little boy. his eyes were heavy with sleep and his lips were not very firm. "count halfont will look after him, bobby; so don't worry. just sit up there on the throne and look wise. the regents will do the rest. watch your uncle caspar. when he gives the signal, you arise. that ends the audience. you walk out--" "i know all about that, uncle jack. but i bet i do something wrong. this thing of receiving grand dukes is no joke. 'specially when we're so terribly upset. really, i ought to be looking after the men who are wounded, attending to the funerals of--" "now, bobby, don't flunk like that! be a man!" bobby promptly squared his little shoulders and set his jaw. "oh, i'm not scared!" he was thoughtful for a moment. "but, i'll tell you, it's awful lonesome up in that big chair, so far away from all your friends. i wish uncle caspar would let me sit down with the crowd." the grand duke, with all the arrogance of a real personage, was late. it was not for him to consider the conditions that distressed the court of graustark. not at all. he was a grand duke and he would take his own time in paying his respects. what cared he that every one in the castle was tired and unstrung and sad and--sleepy? any one but a grand duke would have waited a day or two before requiring a royal audience. when he finally presented himself at the castle doors, a sleepy group of attendants actually yawned in his presence. a somnolent atmosphere, still touched by the smell of gunpowder, greeted him as he strode majestically down the halls. somehow each person who bowed to him seemed to do it with the melancholy precision of one who has been up for six nights in succession and doesn't care who knows it. no one had slept during the night just passed. excitement and the suffering of others had denied slumber to one and all--even to those who had not slept for many days and nights. now the reaction was upon them. relaxation had succeeded tenseness. when the grand duke entered the great, sombre throne room, he was confronted by a punctiliously polite assemblage, but every eyelid was as heavy as lead and as prone to sink. the prince sat far back in the great chair of his ancestors, his sturdy legs sticking straight out in front of him, utterly lost in the depths of gold and royal velvet. two-score or more of his courtiers and as many noble ladies of the realm stood soberly in the places assigned them by the laws of precedence. the grand duke advanced between the respectful lines and knelt at the foot of the throne. "arise, your highness," piped bobby, with a quick glance at count halfont. it was a very faint, faraway voice that uttered the gracious command. "graustark welcomes the grand duke paulus. it is my pleasure to--to--to--" a helpless look came into his eyes. he looked everywhere for support. the grand duke saw that he had forgotten the rehearsed speech, and smiled benignly as he stepped forward and kissed the hand that had been extended somewhat uncertainly. "my most respectful homage to your majesty. the felicitations of my emperor and the warmest protestations of friendship from his people." with this as a prologue, he engaged himself in the ever-pleasurable task of delivering a long, congratulatory address. if there was one thing above another that the grand duke enjoyed, it was the making of a speech. he prided himself on his prowess as an orator and as an after-dinner speaker; but, more than either of these, he gloried in his ability to soar extemporaneously. for ten minutes he addressed himself to the throne, benignly, comfortably. then he condescended to devote a share of his precious store to the courtiers behind him. if he caught more than one of them yawning when he turned in their direction, he did not permit it to disturb him in the least. his eyes may have narrowed a bit, but that was all. after five minutes of high-sounding platitudes, he again turned to the prince. it was then that he received his first shock. prince robin was sound asleep. his head was slipping side-wise along the satiny back of the big chair, and his chin was very low in the laces at his neck. the grand duke coughed emphatically, cleared his throat, and grew very red in the face. the court of graustark was distinctly dismayed. here was shocking state of affairs. the prince going to sleep while a grand duke talked! "his majesty appears to have--ahem--gone to sleep," remarked the grand duke tartly, interrupting himself to address the prime minister. "he is very tired, your excellency," said count halfont, very much distressed. "pray consider what he has been through during the--" "ah, my dear count, do not apologise for him. i quite understand. ahem! ahem!" still he was very red in the face. some one had laughed softly behind his back. "i will awaken him, your excellency," said the prime minister, edging toward the throne. "not at all, sir!" protested the visitor. "permit him to have his sleep out, sir. i will not have him disturbed. who am i that i should defeat the claims of nature? it is my pleasure to wait until his majesty's nap is over. then he may dismiss us, but not until we have cried: 'long live the prince!'" for awhile they stood in awkward silence, this notable gathering of men and women. then the prime minister, in hushed tones, suggested that it would be eminently proper, under the circumstances, for all present to be seated. he was under the impression that his serene highness would sleep long and soundly. stiff-backed and uncomfortable, the court sat and waited. no one pretended to conceal the blissful yawns that would not be denied. a drowsy, ineffably languid feeling took possession of the entire assemblage. here and there a noble head nodded slightly; eyelids fell in the silent war against the god of slumber, only to revive again with painful energy and ever-weakening courage. the prime minister sat at the foot of the throne and nodded in spite of himself. the minister of the treasury was breathing so heavily that his neighbor nudged him just in time to prevent something even more humiliating. john tullis, far back near the wall, had his head on his hand, bravely fighting off the persistent demon. prince dantan of dawsbergen was sound asleep. the grand duke was wide awake. he saw it all and was equal to the occasion. after all, he was a kindly old gentleman, and, once his moment of mortification was over, he was not above charity. bobby's poor little head had slipped over to a most uncomfortable position against the arm of the chair. putting his finger to his lips, the grand duke tip-toed carefully up to the throne. with very gentle hands he lifted bobby's head, and, infinitely tender, stuffed a throne cushion behind the curly head. still with his finger to his lips, a splendid smile in his eyes, he tip-toed back to his chair. as he passed count halfont, who had risen, he whispered: "dear little man! i do not forget, my lord, that i was once a boy. god bless him!" then he sat down, conscious of a fine feeling of goodness, folded his arms across his expansive chest, and allowed his beaming eyes to rest upon the sleeping boy far back in the chair of state. incidentally, he decided to delay a few days before taking up the bond question with the ministry. the grand duke was not an ordinary diplomat. in one of the curtained windows, far removed from the throne, sat truxton king and loraine tullis. all about them people were watching the delicate little scene, smiling drowsily at the grand duke's tender comedy. no one was looking at the two in the curtained recess. her hand was in his, her head sank slowly toward his inviting shoulder; her heavy lids drooped lower and lower, refusing to obey the slender will that argued against complete surrender. at last her soft, regular breathing told him that she was asleep. awaiting his opportunity, he tenderly kissed the soft, brown hair, murmured a gentle word of love, and settled his own head against the thick cushions. everywhere they dozed and nodded. the grand duke smiled and blinked his little eyes. he was very wide awake. that is how he happened to see the prince move restlessly and half open his sleep-bound eyes. the grand duke leaned forward with his hand to his ear, and listened. he had seen the boy's lips move. from dreamland came bobby's belated: "good-ni--ight." the end proofreading team. the sunny side of diplomatic life - by l. de hegermann-lindencrone author of "in the courts of memory" illustrated with portraits, facsimiles, etc. harper & brothers publishers new york and london mcmxiv , by harper & brothers printed in the united states of america published october, [illustration: lillie de hegermann-lindencrone reproduced from the portrait painted in by b.c. porter.] contents page note vii the alphabet of a diplomat ix washington, - rome, - stockholm, - paris, - berlin, - illustrations lillie de hegermann-lindencrone _frontispiece_ mrs. u.s. grant _facing p._ sarah bernhardt " dom pedro " henry w. longfellow " james g. blaine " ole bull " queen margherita " king victor emanuel " two young queens " the palace, monza (front) " palace and gardens " note from f. liszt " aalholm. built in " inscriptions in one of the rooms at aalholm, bearing the date " francesco crispi " king oscar " the king of sweden " the riksdag of sweden " facsimile of letter from grieg " a letter in english from king oscar " jules massenet at the height of his career " a note from massenet " fÉlix faure when president of france " lines from "la princesse lointaine" with rostand's autograph " bjÖrnson " the empress of germany on her favorite mount " emperor william in the uniform of the guards " two views of royalty " the throne-room of the royal palace, berlin " queen louise of denmark " the royal palace and lustgarten, berlin " count hatzfeldt " the emperor in " note madame de hegermann-lindencrone, the writer of these letters, is the wife of the recently retired danish minister to germany. she was formerly miss lillie greenough, of cambridge, massachusetts, where she lived with her grandfather, judge fay, in the fine old fay mansion, now the property of radcliffe college. as a child miss greenough developed the remarkable voice which later was to make her well known, and when only fifteen years of age her mother took her to london to study under garcia. two years later miss greenough became the wife of charles moulton, the son of a well-known american banker, who had been a resident in paris since the days of louis philippe. as madame charles moulton the charming american became an appreciated guest at the court of napoleon iii. upon the fall of the empire mrs. moulton returned to america, where mr. moulton died, and a few years afterward she married m. de hegermann-lindencrone, at that time danish minister to the united states, and later periods his country's representative at stockholm, rome, paris, washington and berlin. the alphabet of a diplomat _ambassador_ a man, just a little below god. _attaché_ the lowest rung of the ladder. _blunder_ how absurd! why, _never_!... _chancellery_ the barn-yard where he is plucked. _chief_ the cock of the walk. _colleagues_ a question merely of time and place. _court_ where one learns to make courtesies. _decorations_ the balm for all woes. _dinners_ the surest road to success. _disponsibility_ the styx, whence no one returns. _esprit_ (_de corps_) the corps is there, but where is the _esprit_? _etiquette_ the ten commandments. _finesse_ a narrow lane where two can walk abreast. _friendships_ ships that pass in the night. _gotha_ (_almanack_) the bible of a diplomat. _highness_ _his_, _her_, make a deep courtesy. _ignoramus_ a person who does not agree with you. _innuendo_ an obscure side-light of truth. _joke_ something beneath the dignity of a diplomat to notice. _knowledge (private)_ _news_ which every one already knows. _legation_ apartments to let. _letters_ (_de créance_) the first impression. _letters_ (_de rappel_) the last illusion. _majesté_ (_lèse_) too awful to think of. _majesties_ human beings with royal faults. _nobodies_ people to be avoided like poison. _opulence_ when in service. _pension_ too small to be seen with the naked eye. _poverty_ when out of service. _quo_ (_status_) diplomatic expression, meaning in french, _une jambe en l'air_. _ruse_ a carefully disguised thought as transparent as a soap-bubble. _secretary_ furniture easily moved. _traditions_ a door always open for refuge. _traités_ (_de paix_) a series of dinners paid for by a lavish government. _uniform_ a bestarred and beribboned livery. _visits_ the most important duty of a diplomat. _wisdom_ good to have, but easily dispensed with. _xpectations_ a tree which seldom bears fruit. _yawn_ what a diplomat does over his _rapports_. _zeal_ something a diplomat ought never to have too much of. the sunny side of diplomatic life washington, - washington, _november, _. dear mother,--after my hurriedly written letter of the th you will know that we have arrived here safely. my first introduction to my first post as diplomat's wife was made unwittingly by a gentleman walking with a friend just behind me. "who is that gentleman?" said he, indicating johan. "that? that is the minister of denmark." i, struggling with an arm-load of flowers culled from well-intentioned friends at different stations on the road, my maid and johan's valet bringing up the rear with the overflow of small baggage, passed unnoticed. now we are quite established here, and i have already commenced my diplomatic duties. there seems to be no end of card-leaving and card-receiving, and a list of rules on etiquette (the ten commandments of a diplomat) as long as your arm. i never knew of anything so confusing. i try to remember the things that i must do and the things that i must not do. how many cold shower-baths of reproval have i already received; how many unruly things have i already done! we are invited to many dinners, luncheons, and entertainments of all kinds. i am knee-deep in engagements, actually wading in them. the engagement-book you gave me is already overfilled. we were very much amused at the collection of newspaper cuttings you sent us. johan thought the one describing him as "a massive blonde of magnificent proportions, whose pure heart and clean hands had won all hearts in washington" [previous to winning mine], was much too personal. "the medals [his prized decorations] were not his fault, and should not be laid up against him; and as for the gold key which he wears on his back, it is considered a great honor, as few danes have had it conferred on them, being, as it is, the key of the king's own bedchamber, and giving the wearer the privilege of entering there when he likes." another one which amused us says "the bride is to be congratulated on having annexed as fine a specimen of a viking as any one could desire, and, although she has not secured a golden crown for her marble brow, she has secured a name that ought to be good for a '_three-bagger_' on any diamond, and that just to see it written on a hotel register makes any hotel clerk faint." johan asked me what a "three-bagger" was, but i could not tell him. then the worst one! "mr. de hegermann is envoy extraordinary and parson to his danish 'nibs.'" johan was horrified at this _lèse majesté_. we looked the word "nibs" out in the dictionary, only to find that in cribbage "nibs" means the knave of trumps. this made matters worse; to call his sovereign a knave--even of trumps--seemed too disrespectful. it was very nice of norris, your cambridge grocer, to placard the fruit in his shop window in our honor. "lindencrone beauties" and "the danish pair" show a certain amount of humor which ought to be applauded. such a pun goes to my heart. i hope you encouraged him by buying them all and can tell me what a "danish pair" looks like. it would take more than one letter of mine written on foolscap paper to tell you of our colleagues and friends. i can do it in sections when i have time. but, oh, when can i get the time! * * * * * i have had my "audience" (johan calls it an "audience"; i call it a "call on mrs. president grant at the white house"). there was nothing formal or formidable about it. mrs. grant and i sat on the sofa together and talked generalities. johan could not tell me what to expect. he said _his_ audience with the president had been a surprise, unprecedented by anything he had ever seen. as it was his first post as minister, he had pictured to himself that it would be somewhat like the ceremonies abroad--very solemn and impressive. of course he was in his red gala uniform, with all his decorations. a hired landau brought him to the steps of the white house, which he mounted with conscious dignity. his written speech, nicely folded, he carried in his hand. in europe there would have been a crowd of gorgeous chamberlains to receive him, but here he found a negro, who, on seeing him, hurriedly donned a coat and, with an encouraging wave of the hand, said: "come right along in, sir. i'll let them know you're here, sir." johan was shown into a room and waited with patience until the president and mr. hamilton fish came in. mr. grant was dressed in a gray walking-suit and wore a colored tie; and mr. hamilton fish (secretary of state) had evidently just come in from a walk, as his turned-up trousers signified. johan read his speech, and the president answered by reading, with some difficulty, a paper which mr. fish handed to him at the last moment. after this exchange of formalities johan shook hands with the president, and without further ceremony he left the room, the door this time being opened by a white servant in black clothes. mr. fish at parting casually observed that the weather was fine. i was officially presented on their reception days to the wives of all the ministers, and made my visits to the members of the _corps diplomatique_. we were invited to dinner at the white house--a dinner given to the _corps diplomatique_. i was taken in by m. de schlözer, the german minister, and sat between him and sir edward thornton (the english minister), who sat on the right of mrs. grant. we were opposite to the president. i noticed that he turned his wine-glasses upside down, to indicate, i suppose, that he did not drink wine during dinner. afterward we amused ourselves by walking in the long blue room. the president disappeared with some of the gentlemen to smoke and was lost to view. the company also faded gradually away. mrs. grant did not seem inclined to gaze on us any longer, and appeared to be relieved when we shook her outstretched hand and said "good night." a dinner to which we went, given by the schiskines (the russian minister) in honor of the grand-duke constantine of russia, was most delightful. the grand duke is very charming, natural, with a sly twinkle in his mild blue eye. he has a very handsome face, is extremely musical, and plays the piano with great _finesse_, having a most sympathetic touch. [illustration: mrs. u.s. grant from a photograph taken about , when she was mistress of the white house.] [illustration: sarah bernhardt from a photograph taken at the time of her visit to boston.] after dinner we darned stockings. this sounds queer, but nevertheless it is true. the schiskines had just bought a darning-machine. they paid eighty-six dollars for it; but to darn, one must have holes, and no holes could be found in a single decent stocking, so they had to cut holes, and then we darned. the grand duke was so enchanted with this darning that he is going to take a machine home to the grand duchess, his august mother. the darning done, we had some music. m. de schlözer improvised on the piano, and after the grand duke had played some chopin i sang. m. de schlözer went through his little antics as advance-courier of my singing: he screwed the piano-stool to the proper height (he thinks it must be just so high when i accompany myself); he removed all albums from sight for fear people might be tempted to glance in them; he almost snatched fans from the hands of unoffending ladies, fearing they might use them; no dogs were to be within patting distance, _and no smoking_; he turned all the chairs to face the piano so that no one should turn his back to it. these are all heinous crimes in his eyes. he would, if he could, have pulled down all the portières and curtains, as he does in his own house when i sing there. what must people think of him? you ask me, "what kind of a cook have you?" don't speak of it--it is a sore subject! we have the black cook from the white house (so her certificate says). she is not what our fancy painted her. neither is the devil as black as he is painted (i don't know why i associate them in my mind). we had painted this cook white. i shudder to think how the white house must have lived in those years when she did the cooking. our dinners are simply awful. although she has _carte blanche_ to provide anything and everything she wants, our dinners are failures. i look the fact in the face and blush. our musical parties are better when i do the cooking and johan does the serving--i mean when i sing and he fills the gaps. the diplomats groan. "think," they say, "what a finished cook would do with all the delicious things they have here--all these wonderful birds and meats and vegetables, and only the one sauce!" the charity concert, of which i was _dame patronesse_, went off with success. we made a great deal of money. m. de schlözer paid twenty dollars for his ticket. my chorus covered itself with glory and was encored. as the concert finished at ten, we adjourned to the zamaconas' (minister of mexico) first ball, and i hope, for them, their only one. it was one of those _soirées_ where people appropriate the forks and spoons. it cost, they say, ten thousand dollars. the assemblage was promiscuous, to say the least. every one who asked for an invitation got one, and went. the minister had hired the house next the legation, and cut doors into it so that there should be plenty of room, but even then there was not sufficient space to contain the crowd of miscellaneous guests. there were two orchestras, but no one wanted to dance. every one wandered about through the rooms or lolled in the grottoes, which were lighted with different-colored lamps. in every corner were fountains of cologne, around which the gentler sex stood in crowds saturating their handkerchiefs--some of which had cross-stitch initials in red thread. mirrors were placed at the end of each room to prolong the vista. "mexico," in enormous letters formed by gas-jets, stood over the entrances. and as for the supper, it was in a room out of all proportion to the gathering! there was no question of getting into it; only prize-fighters and professional athletes could elbow their way through the crowd. the waiters had long since disappeared, frightened at their formidable task. the chairs intended for the guests were utilized as tables on which to put unfinished plates of food and half-empty glasses. everything that was not spilled on the floor was spilled on the table. such things as bonbons, cakes, etc., that could be stowed away in pockets, vanished like magic. gentlemen (?) broke the champagne-bottles by knocking them on the table, sending the contents flying across the room. the lady guests drew out the silver skewers which ornamented the _plats montées_ and stuck them in their hair as mementoes of this memorable evening. washington, . dear aunt,--the best way i can spend this ash-ful wednesday is to write a penitent letter to you and beg you to forgive my long silence; but if you could imagine what a life we have been leading, i think that, being the being you are, you would make excuses for a niece who gets up with the sun and goes to bed with the morning star. when that morning star appears i am so tired i can think of nothing but bed and the bliss of laying my diplomatic body down to rest. dear old mr. corcoran (almost blind now) gave a unique banquet in honor of johan and me. we went first to the theater to see "rip van winkle" played by jefferson. it was delightful, though i cried my eyes out. from the theater we went to mr. corcoran's house for a roasted-in-the-shell oyster supper. johan, who had never before attended such a feast, thought he had got loose among a lot of milkmaids and firemen, each with his bucket and pail, and when he saw the enormous pile of oysters brought in on platters he wondered how many "r's" march had in her. however, like a lamb he sat next to his pail, and after having consumed about a bushel himself he became quite expert at opening the oysters and throwing the shells in his pail. it was a most amusing and original evening, and the amount of oyster-shells we left behind us would have paved the way to the capitol. another original entertainment i must tell you about. we received a note from general burnside (senator from rhode island): "will you come to my codfish dinner on thursday next?" we of course accepted and went. general burnside and senator anthony are great friends and live together. i never could understand, and never dared to ask, why such a little state as rhode island needed two senators. however, that is neither here nor there. the other guests were mr. bayard, mr. blaine, mrs. blaine, mrs. lawrence, general sherman. according to the rules of a codfish dinner, every one was provided with the same amount of boiled codfish, hard-boiled eggs, beets, carrots, and potatoes, and every english sauce ever made. every one made his own mixture, which was passed about and "sampled." the lucky person who got the greatest number of votes received a beautiful silver bowl. the dining-room was arranged as if it were a camp. there were no ornaments of any kind, and we sat on little iron tent-chairs. you may imagine after we had finished with the codfish that our appetites were on the wane, and we felt that we had dined sumptuously, if monotonously, when, lo! our genial host surprised us with an enormous turkey (reared on his own estate), twenty-seven pounds in weight, with its usual accompaniments of cranberry sauce, sweet-potatoes, and so forth. mr. blaine and mr. bayard were fountains of wit. then another entertainment, a sort of _mardi-gras maigre_ feast, was a champagne tea given for us at the capitol by mr. blaine. he had invited a great many of the senators and the ministers, his wife, and some other ladies. these mighty people talked politics and had prodigious appetites. sandwiches and cake disappeared in a hazy mist, and they drank oceans of champagne. they took cocktails before, during, and after! i amused myself--as i can't talk politics, and would not if i could--by noticing the ingenuity and variety of the spittoons placed about in convenient spots. the spittoons that tried to be pretty were the most hideous. i liked best the simplicity of the large, open, ready-to-receive ones filled with clean, dainty sand. there was no humbug about them, no trying to be something else; whereas the others, that pretended to be etruscan vases or umbrella-stands or flower-pots, were failures in my eyes. why are they ashamed of themselves? why do they call themselves by the graceful name of "cuspidor"--suggestive of castanets and andalusian wiles? why such foolish masquerading? spittoons will be spittoons--they risk not being recognized. i said as much as this to mr. blaine. "you are right," he said, "to fight their battles. did you ever hear the story about the western man who was not accustomed to such artistic objects, and said in one of his spitting moods, 'if you don't take that darned thing away i'll spit in it'?" i forgot to tell you that the emperor and empress of brazil are here "doing" washington--doing it so thoroughly that they have almost overdone it. the brazilian minister is worn out. every day he has a dinner and an entertainment of some kind. the emperor wants to see everything and to know everybody. no institution is neglected, and all the industries are looked into thoroughly. he goes to the senate very often and sits through the whole _séance_, wishing to understand everything. he always tries to get hold of the people who can give him the most information on any subject. dom pedro is most popular; one sees him everywhere. at the ball at the english minister's for their majesties, a gentleman presented to the empress said, "_je suis le sénateur qui parle frangais_." the empress said to johan, "i beg of you to keep near me and talk to me so that the '_senateur qui parle français_' may be discouraged in his pursuit." philadelphia, . my dear aunt,--is your heart melted with pity, or does it burst with national pride, and do you disregard such trifles as heat and exhaustion? i told you in my last letter that the diplomats were invited _en bloc_ (at the country's expense) to be present at the opening of the centennial exposition. the country provided good rooms for us at this hotel, where we are invited to spend two days: one of those days was the day before yesterday, and i think that the other will be enough for me, for anything more awful than the heat at the present moment cannot well be conceived. it is as if philadelphia had said to its friends, "you provide the exposition, and we'll provide the heat." there were carriages placed at our disposal for the opening, and we drove out to the grounds in great style. we were welcomed at the entrance by some officials and ushered to our seats on the red-hot platform draped with flags. president grant then entered, accompanied by all his ministers. after the opening speech by the president all the church-bells in the city began ringing, cannons were fired, the orchestra burst forth with national hymns--"star-spangled banner" and "hail, columbia." people waved handkerchiefs, and the display of patriotism was overpowering. in coming out, after the president had left the tribune, the crowd filled in after him, and we had to fight our way out as best we could. [illustration: dom pedro emperor of brazil.] the heat, which no thermometer could register--and there was no shade for the thermometer to register in--and the crowd were something fearful. people were almost crushed to death, and those who did the most crushing were the fat policemen, who stood in every one's way and on every one's toes and barred the whole procession. johan looked like an enormous poppy in his red uniform; the sun blazing through the glass roof almost set him on fire (the diplomats were begged to come in uniform, and that meant coats padded and buttoned up to the chin). johan tells fabulous stories of the number of stout old ladies he saved, who all threatened to faint away on his decorations. he says he carried them bodily through the crowd and deposited them on the grass outside and went back for more. i was miraculously saved. i clasped my arms around the fat body of a policeman and whispered endearing words with a foreign accent to the effect that a foreigner who had come there at the invitation of the country ought to be saved at any cost. he thought so too, and was very kind and sympathetic, but as i clung to his padded coat and felt his scorching buttons i wondered whether it were better to die crushed than to suffer suffocation. however, we were all saved; even johan's chamberlain key clung to his back, and his decorations actually stayed in their places, which i think was wonderful, considering the stout ladies. my dress left a good deal of itself behind--only the front breadth held it onto my person; the back breadths were trampled on as far up as people could trample and were dirty beyond words. a large dinner was prepared for us, where patriotic toasts were drunk galore. we went out to the grounds the next day and rolled about in what they call "rolling-chairs," and had things explained to us by some nice gentlemen with gold-braided caps. we will go once more to see what we left unseen, and then i turn my head toward cambridge. washington, _march, _. the question of the annual _dîner diplomatique_ was cleverly managed by mr. evarts. mr. hayes wanted to suppress wine and give tea and mineral water, but mr. evarts put his foot down. he said that the diplomats would not understand an official dinner without wine, and proposed, instead, a _soirée musicale_--in other words, a rout. the diplomats had a separate entrance (a novelty) from the garden side. there was an orchestra at the end of the blue room which drowned conversation when you were near it. i noticed that most of the young ladies found it too near, and sought other corners. the supper _ne laissait rien à désirer_, and there was a sumptuous buffet open the whole evening; punch-bowls filled with lemonade were placed in the different _salons_. on the whole, it was a great success. i think that the teetotality of the white house displeases as much our country-people as it does the foreigners. at one of our musical parties mr. blaine came rather late, and, clapping his hands on johan's shoulder, said, "my kingdom for a glass of whisky; i have just dined at the white house." others call the white house dinners "the life-saving station." mrs. hayes was very nice to me. she sent me a magnificent basket of what she called "specimen flowers," which were superb orchids and begonias. on her card was written, "thanking you again for the pleasure you gave me by your singing." washington, _march, _. my dear mother,--we are now having a visit of the queen of the sandwich islands. i suppose in europe she would show to great advantage, but here her blackness is at a low premium. there was a large reception for her royal blackness at the white house, where all the diplomats were present. the queen talked with people with the aid of an interpreter. her remarks necessarily being restricted, she said about the same thing to every one. she was bristling with jewelry, and the large white pearls on her broad, black bosom took on extra splendor. robert (our colored valet), who was waiting in the corridor, caught sight of her as she walked by, and remarked, when he reached home, to my maid that he was "surprised that they should make such a fuss over a colored person"; and he attempted to turn his flat nose in the air; but, as it is not the kind that turns, it refused. robert wears a conspicuous decoration in his buttonhole whenever we have a dinner. the first time johan noticed it he almost fainted away, as he knows every decoration under the sun, and, thinking it looked like the _légion d'honneur_, he proposed to question robert about it; but robert eluded the master's clutch as the door-bell was ringing. johan was considerably disturbed until he learned the truth, which was that robert belonged to a reading-club--a browning and tennyson club--and this was its badge. our colleagues thought he was the minister from hayti! washington, _spring, _. dear mother,--i must tell you the honor which has been conferred on me. i have been admitted into the enchanted circle of the brain club. i am an honorary member. mrs. dahlgren is the president, and i suppose all the set of intellectuals, "_les élus des élus_" belong to it. i have only been twice to the meetings. i think i am a failure as far as brains go, but the members like my singing, and i am only called upon to take an active part when the members are falling off their chairs, trying with literary efforts to keep awake. the first meeting was a ghastly affair. the subject to be discussed was the "metamorphosis of negative matter." you may imagine that i was staggered. i had no more idea what negative matter was than the inhabitants of mars. they took us alphabetically. when they got to "h," mrs. dahlgren (who, as president, sat in a comfortable chair with arms to it, while the others sat on hard dining-room, cane-bottomed chairs) turned to me and said, "has mrs. _hegermann_ anything to say concerning the metamorphosis of negative matter?" i had on my blue velvet gown, and thought of it fast becoming chair-stamped, and i wondered if negative matter would comprise that. however, i wisely refrained from speech, and shook a sad smile from my closed lips. "h" to "k" had a great deal to say. every one looked wise and wore an appearance of interest. they slid down to "l." then mrs. dahlgren said, "has mrs. _lindencrone_ anything to say on the metamorphosis of negative matter?" i answered that i had not discovered anything since the last time they asked me. they were not accustomed to one lady having two names, each beginning with a capital letter. the members had a beautiful time when they got to "r." up rose a gaunt female who knew all about it and seemed positive about the "negative" part. we were pulled suddenly up to time, and some one turned upon poor me and asked if i agreed. i answered hastily, "certainly i do." dear me! what had i said? half the company rose with a bound. "do you, really?" they asked in chorus. "that is more than we do. we cannot at all agree with a theory which is utterly false from the base." how i wished i knew what the false base had been. was it the negative, or the metamorphosis, or the matter? i murmured humbly, hiding behind a lame neutrality, that i had mistaken the cause for the effect. they all turned and looked at me with fierce eyes. i think they were staggered at this colossal utterance, for they gave up discussing, and "s" to "z" never had a chance to say anything. then they adjourned to the supper-room. after having eaten scalloped oysters and chicken salad, no more questions were discussed. i was asked to sing. i am afraid that i am only looked upon as a bird on these mighty occasions. on the piano-stool i felt myself safe, and i sang. in the middle of my song some heavy person leaning against a shaky bookcase uprooted it, and it fell with a crash on the floor. i halted midway in my song. people rushing in from the supper-room asked, "what is the matter?" "negative," answered miss loring, quick as thought, at which they all laughed. mr. brooks, to cover the confusion, said in a loud voice, "this is not the first time madame hegermann has brought down the house." there was more laughter, and i sat down again at the piano and sang "tender and true," an exquisite song written by mrs. lincoln about a young soldier killed during the war, who wore to the last a knot of blue ribbon his sweetheart had given him. m. de schlözer is bubbling over with joy, for he has the famous pianist, von bülow, staying with him at the german legation. he says von bülow is most amiable about playing, and plays whenever he is asked. his technique is wonderful and perfect. the ladies in washington are wild over him, and figuratively throw themselves at his feet. he is giving two concerts here, and everybody has taken tickets. m. de schlözer gave last evening one of his memorable dinners, followed by music. i know two people who enjoyed it--schlözer and myself. schlözer was going to ask julian sturgis, but julian sturgis had on some former occasion crossed his legs and looked distrait or had shown in some such trivial manner that he was bored, which so exasperated schlözer that he barred him out, and invited mr. bayard instead, who perhaps loved music less, but showed no outward signs of boredom. von bülow is not only a wonderful pianist, but a very clever man of the world. he sent me a book written by wagner about music and wrote on the first page "_voici un livre qui vous intéressera. de la part du mari de la femme de l'auteur_." clever, isn't it? you know that madame wagner is the daughter of liszt. she ran away from von bülow in order to marry wagner. bülow dedicated a song to me, called "adieu." it is pretty enough to sing when he plays the accompaniment, but otherwise i do not care for it. i sang it after dinner, and every one said it was charming, but i had the feeling that the ladies were more interested in my toilette than in bülow's song. i don't blame them, for my dress _is_ lovely (worth called it "_un rêve_"), but i fancy i look like a corot autumn sunset reflected in a stagnant lily-pond. it is of light salmon-colored satin, with a tulle overskirt and clusters of water-lilies here and there. i could have bought a real corot with the same money. mr. blaine, who is at present speaker of the house, and mr. roscoe conkling, one of the senators from new york, are the two most prominent members of the republican party, but are personally deadly enemies. mr. blaine is an excellent talker, very popular with the ladies. in a drawing-room, he is generally found in a corner, quoting poetry (a specialty of his) to some handsome lady. he knows all the poetry in the world! they say that he is the best speaker the house has ever known; it is quite wonderful to see the rapidity with which he counts the ayes and noes, pointing at each voter with the handle of his club. he grasps a situation in an instant, and gives a quick retort when he thinks it is deserved. roscoe conkling is quite a different type. he is very dignified and pompous--perhaps a little theatrical; not at all a society man, and, though he may be less vain than mr. blaine, he has the appearance of being more so. the foreign ministers have the "right of the floor," which means they have the right to enter the house of representatives when they like. on one great occasion a member of the house offered m. de schlözer his seat, which happened to be between two members who suddenly got up and began the most heated discussion over schlözer's head. he found the situation dangerous and wished himself elsewhere. he said he felt like the biblical baby when the two mothers were wrangling before the great solomon. however, the storm spent itself in words, and fortunately the disputants did not come to blows. johan says he was very much struck the first time he went to congress by seeing two opposing members, after bitterly attacking each other for hours, walk quietly away arm-in-arm, obviously the best of friends. a little incident which occurred in the senate amused johan very much. roscoe conkling begged a colleague sitting next to him to read out loud something he wished to quote in his speech while he paused to draw a breath. the colleague read, and conkling, without a word of thanks, took back the book; but when a colored man brought him a cup of tea (which he always takes during his speeches) he stood up and in a very loud voice, making a solemn bow, said, "i thank you, sir!" i call that coquetting with the gallery, don't you? we have been invited to take a trip to california by the railroad company. we can transport ourselves to omaha; then all our expenses are to be defrayed by the lavish company. we have all accepted. who could refuse such a tempting invitation? california, _spring, _. dear m.,--the rendezvous was to be at the third station before reaching omaha, where we really did all meet. on arriving at the next one, some of the party asked the conductor how long the train would stop, and he answered, "twenty minutes"; so off they started on foot to see the town. we wise ones stayed in the train, which also started off, leaving our truants behind, but their bags remained with us. when they returned to the station, before the twenty minutes had expired, they found the train gone! they hired a special train at great expense and delay, hoping to overtake us at omaha. but before they reached omaha an official appeared and said that he had received a telegram from headquarters at chicago, acknowledging that the conductor had been at fault in starting a little earlier than he had said; therefore the company felt itself responsible and insisted on refunding the money the extra train had cost. where else but in america are mistakes so quickly and nicely remedied? perhaps in this instance it could be explained by the fact that one of them was a prominent member of the republican party, and the other no less than the assistant secretary of state. we were glad to receive our penitent wanderers, who promised to be more careful another time. we slept at omaha, which is the jumping-off place, and to-morrow morning early we are going to "jump." we have already traveled seventeen hundred and fifty miles, and have not yet begun our real trip. omaha has still wooden sidewalks and muddy roads; the post-office, school-house, and churches are all built on a grand scale, and the streets laid out in squares and broad avenues. probably they have already designs for a grand-opera house. one can see future written all over it. mr. cadwalader had bought in philadelphia the best comestibles that it could provide, and had them stowed away in big hampers and put in the baggage-car. when the train stopped an hour for food, which it did three times a day, we preferred to spend that hour looking about us and (as mr. kasson said) stretching our legs rather than going into the overcrowded eating-rooms, which were reeking of food, loud talk, and ravenous passengers. the stations were always low wooden buildings with a piazza; sometimes no other houses were to be seen. on wooden boxes were enthroned the loafers, who must have ridden miles just to see passengers get in and out of the train. to show how kind these rough people must be when they are not engaged in killing people, chickens foraged about between their huge boots, and i saw a dog quietly asleep within an inch of a kick. as soon as the train started we went into the baggage-car and, seated about on the trunks, enjoyed our delicious feast. we occupied almost one entire parlor-car. there were only two extra seats, and those were filled by two men surrounded by a mountain of newspapers and magazines of all kinds. i said, nodding toward one of these, "what a handsome man that is!" "do you know who it is?" asked mr. cadwalader. "no. how should i?" "that is the famous scout, buffalo bill." "really!" i exclaimed. "i had fancied him quite different from that. he looks like the pictures of charles the first. his eyes are so soft, and he has such lovely brown curls and a could-not-hurt-a-fly look about him." "well," said mr. cadwalader, "he has killed more men than he can count on his fingers when he tries to go to sleep." "i can't imagine it," i said, gazing with admiration at buffalo bill's fine and kind face and splendid figure. "his friend does not look so amiable." "i should think _not_. that is the celebrated mr. holmes of texas. he is a terror in this part of the world." "he looks it," i said. "see all the pistols he has about him. i can see one in his coat pocket, and one in his vest pocket, and..." "and many under his coat which you can't see." just at that moment the "terror" got up, and, lo! a pistol fell out of his clothing on to the floor. fortunately, it did not go off, but it frightened us almost out of our senses (the ladies, of course). buffalo bill picked up the weapon and handed it back to mr. holmes, who put it quietly in his pocket, seeming rather abashed. buffalo bill and his friend walked down the middle of the car, and we were somewhat agitated when he stopped in front of johan and said in a soft, cooing voice, "would you take a drink with me, sir?" we gasped when we saw johan shake his head and say politely with a smile, "no, thank you." we expected a volley of pistol-shots and the speedy wiping out of us all, but buffalo bill merely gave johan an inquiring look and a tired but sarcastic smile. mr. cadwalader said, hurriedly, to johan, "go, for heaven's sake!" johan hastened to follow the good advice and buffalo bill, and said with diplomatic artifice, "on second thoughts, sir, i will not refuse your invitation, as i am a little thirsty." on which the three gentlemen went out together. johan came back refreshed and radiant. never had he seen or talked to such a delightful person. buffalo bill had offered him some of his own favorite brand of whisky, which johan found very good. johan asked b.b. later, being on more familiar terms, "would you have been offended if i had refused to drink with you?" b.b. answered, "if i had not seen that you were a foreigner i should not have liked it," meaning, i suppose, bloody murder and sudden death. b.b. said the reason why he had chosen johan out of the rest to drink with was that johan looked so like the grand-duke alexis, for whom he had been a guide on the prairies some years ago. general taylor, son of the former president, joined us at cheyenne. * * * * * we have just passed thirty snow-sheds at rock creek, and have seen some wolves and some antelopes roaming about. we looked for buffaloes, but the only buffalo we saw was the mild bill, who sat quietly reading a magazine, looking at us with his soft-brown eyes. we were very high up in the rocky mountains. all around us was snow, and the view of the blue mountains, the tops of which were quite white, looked beautiful in the distance. there were some indians on horseback drawn up in file as the train went by. they had all their war-paint on, were covered with picturesque blankets, and their feather head-dresses reached over their horses' backs; they had buckskin leggings covered with beads, which made them look very picturesque. they looked stolidly and indifferently at us while we stared at them admiringly from the car windows. the prairie-dogs looked like squirrels "sitting up so cute," as miss c. said, "dodging in and out of their holes." at one of the stations a whole band of indians climbed into the train with guttural war-whoops and invaded the baggage-car. we thought we were being "held up," but they behaved themselves very well. the thought of buffalo bill, to say nothing of mr. holmes of texas with his pistols, reassured us; and the only difference that the presence of the indians made to us was that we avoided the baggage-car for our midday meal. at another station a quantity of loafers, mostly indians, smelling dreadfully of whisky, surrounded us and begged for money. among them an old indian woman who looked like the witch of endor (they said she was over a hundred years old) stretched out a long, bony, orang-outang arm, and when we gave her a few cents the old thing actually grinned with joy. it was painful to see this creature with the accumulated look of greed on her withered old brown face. our baggage-master always kept his hat on, slouched at a tremendous angle. we wondered how it could keep on unless it was pinned to his ear. mr. kasson begged us to pretend not to notice it, because the man was very sensitive on the subject. he told us his story. the man had been fishing with some friends, near an indian settlement, when the indians attacked them and killed the others outright. the baggage-master saved his life by "playing 'possum" (as mr. k. called pretending to be dead), and the indians scalped him with a broken tin can. if he had made the slightest movement they would have despatched him. how horrible! we wondered if it could be true! to-morrow "the distinguished party" mentioned in the paper are going to arrive at salt lake city. i will write from there unless i am snatched up by some craving widower, if there exists such a thing as a widower--or by some husband with too few wives. * * * * * a wild desire possessed us to sit on the cow-catcher in order to get a better view of the cañon. the engineer refused at first, but gave in at last. he said it was most dangerous. "you might," he added, "scoop up a chinaman, or some animal straying on the rails." "how exciting!" we cried. "who but a chosen few have the luck to scoop up a live chinaman?" johan had the worst place, and therefore the least chance of getting the chinaman. he sat up on a little iron seat attached to the boiler, holding on to the piston for dear life, and every time the whistle went off--and it went off very often--he nearly did the same. the fireman was obliged every other minute to whistle to frighten the cows away from the track. we others were more fortunate, having only to balance ourselves and clutch our neighbor. the least jar would have capsized us all. the chinamen working on the railroad gazed at us in wonder; but we did not scoop any of them in, nor did we get any cows. the long tunnels were nasty and damp, and we were glad to breathe the fresh air again after having passed through them. after a ride of half an hour we got off our cow-catcher at the next station, feeling rather proud of the _bravoure_ we had shown, but, all the same, thankful to be safe and sound. salt lake city is such a pretty place, so beautifully situated. the great mountains capped with snow surround it and send the clearest mountain streams down through the streets. no town could be better drained than this one. the lake is eighty miles away, and salted to exaggeration. out of four quarts of water one can obtain one quart of salt. we thought of taking a bath in it and being sent home pickled and cured--of traveling. we met on the train a colonel hooker, citizen of utah. he introduced himself to us and gave us free passes on the railroad where the mormon line branches off; so he must be some one of importance. he telegraphed to announce our arrival at the hotel, and we flattered ourselves that all mormondom would be agog. we did not, however, notice any great animation as we drove up to the hotel, and felt rather hurt that we did not create more of a sensation. we had introductory letters to brigham young. the next day being sunday, we went to the tabernacle to attend their religious service. happily, brigham young had returned the night before from st. joseph, where he had sojourned with the "faithful." the tabernacle is an enormous building which, we were told, can hold fourteen thousand people. it was filled to overflowing. the seating for the members was arranged in a semicircle of tiers, the minor elders sitting in the lowest seats. as the tiers mounted there were fewer seats and therefore fewer elders, and so on, until the highest point was reached, where the high priest--brigham young--sat alone in his glory. on the opposite side was the magnificent organ built in boston. when they began building the tabernacle, gigantic as they intended it to be, they did not know that the organ which had been ordered from boston (probably wrong measurements had been sent) would be bigger than the tabernacle. when it arrived they found that, instead of the organ having been made for the tabernacle, the tabernacle would have to be made for the organ. to celebrate the prophet's return they had the communion service. people all stayed in their pews, and the bread, cut in good healthy pieces, was handed about in bread-baskets; after which pitchers with ice-water were passed, and the water was poured in goblets, which were placed before the people. brigham young gave his flock a tremendous rating with lowering eyebrows and a thunder-cloud in each eye, and the flock trembled as one man. he said that during his absence they had not behaved themselves as they ought to have done. they had not only been found swearing and drunk, but they had mingled breath with the gentiles. we feared he referred to colonel hooker, whose breath had mingled--the finger of wrath seemed to point that way. we felt very sorry for our companion and sat huddled together, a humiliated group of gentiles, trembling to meet the glance of the wrathful prophet. after the service we were all received at brigham young's house, where he seemed to be expecting us. he looked like any old vermont farmer, with his white fringe of beard under his fat, puffy cheeks, and his thick, jet-black eyebrows over his keen eyes. he talked to us about his mission in this world and told us about the hardships his people had borne when they came to st. joseph, which was the first place they "struck" after their tramp over the desert, where most of the men died. it was there he received a mysterious message from on high telling him that bigamy would be pardonable under the circumstances. he told johan that the danes were some of his best subjects. johan made his most diplomatic bow, as if he thought that this compliment to his nation ought to be acknowledged. we heard after that brigham young had said this because the danes were known to take the most wives and ask no questions. it seems that b.y. is almost a widower now, poor man. he has only twenty-seven wives. amelia reigns supreme just now; the others sit forlorn in rocking-chairs in their empty parlors, biting their nails and chewing the bitter gum of envy. johan thought we ought perhaps to demand an official "audience" of amelia, but the others repulsed this inspiration. it was amusing to walk by brigham young's big house, a long rambling building with innumerable doors. each wife has an establishment of her own, consisting of parlor, bedroom, and a front door, the key of which she keeps in her pocket. we walked about after luncheon, and colonel hooker drove us through the streets and up the hill to show us the view, which was magnificent beyond words. we left salt lake city next day with regret. it was telegraphed to reno that we were to arrive there, to be treated, escorted, and transported to virginia city free of charge. they began the treating by giving us an excellent breakfast at the hotel. they asked us ladies if we wanted to go down the shaft with the gentlemen to see the famous silver-mine. we cried "yes" with enthusiasm. a dressing-room was put at our disposal, and the clothes we were to wear were neatly placed in piles. there were miners' jackets, miner's leather trousers, and felt hats. we chose the suits best fitting our different anatomies, and dressed. my choice fell on a boy's rather clean suit. we felt very rakish in the dressing-room, but very sheepish when we joined the gentlemen outside. in going down the shaft we had to stand on the platform of the cage, which had neither railing nor support of any kind. we went down thirteen hundred feet and stepped out into the alleys of the shining ore. after walking for what seemed miles, they showed us a hole and a shaft. we looked down a hundred feet deeper, where the men who were working were almost naked. the thermometer was fabulously high. there was a tank of cold water where the men who worked could plunge every two minutes out of the five. the air beginning to be rather oppressive, we requested to be taken up to our mother earth. how glad we were to breathe the fresh air. a bath was awaiting us, and when we became ladies again we were taken all over the works, and saw the process of making silver bricks out of the walls we had been walking between, the beating of the metal, the sifting and weighing, and finally the silver bricks. they have , men working day and night. they are , feet below the surface now, and hope to go lower. the "pocket" is feet long, but the poor stockholders' pockets are empty, for all that. (i am a stockholder and ought to know.) each lady was presented with a bag of silver ore-rocks they seemed to me. my bag had " dollars" written on it, in fun, i am sure. i left it at the hotel, as it was too heavy to carry. we left virginia city that evening for carson city and slept there, glad to shake off the silver dust from our weary feet. the next day at a.m. two carriages, one with four horses and the other with two, were before the door, and we drove up the mountain, took the little narrow-gage railroad which is there to carry the logs down to the lake. sitting on the front logs, we rode down the mountain. the big beams of timber are brought to the mines in order to prop up the places where the ore has been taken out. these logs do a lot of traveling. they are cut on the other side of lake tahoe, dragged over the lake by a tug, sawed the right length by a sawing-mill, then carried up the mountain by this railroad and floated down by means of a wood trough, three feet wide, for twenty-two miles to another railroad, thence to virginia city. a steam-launch was waiting for us, and we cruised about this lovely lake, which is of the bluest water and the greenest shadows you ever saw. one sees a hundred feet down; the water is as clear as crystal. j. talked fishing with the pilot, who promised to take him out fishing with him. he caught a beautiful rainbow-trout (as they are called here) from the launch. when he gets home he will tell you how big the biggest fish was he lost. we arrived at san francisco at two o'clock. one of the men brought me some splendid cherries, big as plums, and johan's consul met us on the ferryboat. this last was in a great hurry to get back to his home, as he did not know whether it was a boy or a girl. we were driven to the palace hotel, which is very fine. each of us had a complete apartment, _salon_, bed, and bathroom. having been five days and nights in the train, you may imagine we were tired. i was not only tired, but dizzy and glad to go to bed. senator sharon, who owns this hotel, sent us word begging us not to make any engagement for saturday and sunday next, as he intends inviting us to his country place. no bill is to be presented to us here. we are not expected to pay for anything. we are his guests, and, strange to say, not one of us knows him, excepting, of course, mr. kasson. the drive out to the cliffs is enchanting. i had never seen a live sea-lion before, and here were thousands of them, barking, diving in the water and wriggling out of it, and basking in the sun on the rocks. general mcdowell took us out for an early tour the next day in his steam-launch. at five o'clock there was a dense fog covering everything, but suddenly it lifted as we approached. we made the circle of the angel island, then landed in a paradise of flowers. i don't think i ever saw such flowers as these. the heliotropes looked as big as cauliflowers, and i saw an ambitious and enormous tomato resembling a pumpkin, on the top of a veranda. the fuchsias were as large as dinner-bells, and when the sun rose over the bay no words can describe how beautiful it was--like one of turner's pictures, only more exaggerated. i think if i am going to be an angel, as i certainly am, instead of going to paris when i die, i should prefer to go to this angelic island. we ladies were invited by a well-known chinese tea merchant to a chinese feast. the table looked rather bare, having only a teacup and a plate before each person. the cups are double, the smaller one being placed on the other to keep in the tea-leaves. after drinking the pale water in which the leaves have soaked, we were served the viands. each dish is brought in separately and put on the table. every one of them is a _ragoût_ of some kind. the chinaman dives in with his chopsticks, and aims for the best piece he sees. everything is eaten from the same plate--indeed, why should the plate be changed, since everything tastes and looks alike? i waited in vain for birds'-nest pudding, but i could probably not have distinguished it from the other _ragoûts_ if it had been there. the gentlemen went off on a purely masculine tour, with a policeman in tow. they wanted to see opium-dens and slums. they never told us a word of what they did see--the mean things! philip v.r., accompanied by an american policeman, took us to a chinese theater in the evening. i was so nervous i hardly dared to look about me. the dusky mass of uncanny chinamen with their shaved heads and their black pigtails sitting underneath us in the parquet was not pleasing, and the stage was merely a platform where some privileged of the audience sat unconcernedly. the scenery was--screens. how easy to shift. we had the policeman of course; but, though he kept a vigilant eye on us to prevent anything from happening in the way of an assault, as frequently happens here, the idea of fire frightened us to such a degree that our one wish was to get away. the upper gallery in which our box was situated was so low that you could touch the ceiling with your hand. the gas-jets had no globes, and the flickering flames suggested everything that was horrible. if there had been a fire no one could possibly have been saved. we felt no interest in the play. it had begun a month ago; the hero had not yet advanced further than his childhood. perhaps next year when he grows up the play will be more interesting. nougats and other sweets, which looked as if they had circulated since the hero of the play was born, were passed about to the spectators. we were glad to reach the hotel in safety and bid our nice american policeman good night. san francisco, _may, _. my dear aunt,--the letters of introduction we brought to san francisco have already procured us many invitations. we were at a dinner last night, which governor stanford gave us. he has only twenty-five millions--hardly worth mentioning. each of us ladies had a millionaire to take us in to dinner. mine was most amiable. he passed all the other millionaires _en revue_; i wish i could remember all he said about them, but i only have a sort of vague recollection that every millionaire had come to san francisco with only fifty cents in his pocket, and that all the millionaires' wives had gone, in former days, about in the streets of san francisco selling milk or thread and needles. i was not spared the history of any of them. mr. s. himself told me that he had made his fortune first in hosiery, and then he invested his money in stocks. there were thirty people present, divided thus: distinguished party, ten; millionaires, twenty. every conceivable bird, alive or mechanical, was heard during this repast; besides, there were musical boxes at each end of the room, which made a tremendous confusion. i know to a cent how much this house cost--one million two hundred thousand dollars, my neighbor told me. it is a great, white, wooden, square house with a veranda around it, perched up on a sandy hill without any garden and without a view of any kind, and certainly without the least beauty. the picture-gallery, which really has some fine pictures, cost four hundred thousand dollars. they had had italian workmen brought especially from italy to put down the mosaic pavement in the hall, which was huge. we wandered through all the rooms, each one in a different style and epoch, and all in bad taste. i looked about in the so-called ballroom for a piano, and was surprised at not seeing one there; but i noticed several in the other rooms, decorated in the style of the room. they were in every color of wood and charged with brass ornaments. evidently they were there _as ornaments, not to be used_. some one must have said to mr. s., "you must have a piano." and he must have answered: "certainly. of course we must. let us have one in each room, by all means." the servants all had mustaches and hair curled with tongs. i saw the eyebrows of my party go up at an angle when the servants offered them johannesburg in gold cups, and still higher up when they saw the mustached waiters pouring white wine in glasses which were previously filled with red wine and alternated indiscriminately. we were taken up-stairs to see mrs. s.'s bedroom. it was worthy of an empress, having point-lace coverlids, satin down quilts trimmed with real valenciennes. what struck me the most in all this splendor was that so much money should have been expended in furnishing a perishable wooden palace which any tuppenny earthquake or fire could demolish in a moment. another thing i noticed was that, though everything else was so handsome and costly, the glass and porcelain were of the most ordinary kind. we enjoyed ourselves immensely and compared notes when we reached the hotel. barring our individual millionaire, we hardly spoke to the others. we were simply insignificant meteors passing hastily in their midst. well, we went to the senator's country place. a carriage with four horses was waiting for us at the station, and we drove up in fine style to the millionaire's mansion, where some irish servants with baggy trousers, tumbled cravats, and no gloves opened wide the doors, ushering us into a large hall, where a gentleman whom we guessed was our host came forward to greet us. we were glad that we were going at last to make his acquaintance. he is a millionaire and a senator. that is all i can say about him at present, except that he is extremely hospitable. he did not know one of us from the other, except kasson. he knew we were a "distinguished party" because the papers said so. when we were being dealt out to our rooms there was great confusion. senator sharon had an ancient _dame de compagnie_--the head priestess--who made it a particular point to dispose of miss clymer before any of the rest of us. she said, "which of these gents is your husband?" at which miss c. blushed and found no other answer than, "_none_." j. and i finally secured the same room, because when mr. s. in a moment of despair said, with an all-comprehensive wave of his hand, "gentlemen, please take your wives," j. and i paired off. the senator did not notice this little detail, for when dinner was announced he said to j., "will you please take that young lady in to dinner?" pointing to me. johan explained in which relation he stood to the young lady. the senator was not in the least surprised, and merely answered: "is that so? well, then, take some one else." a semi-millionaire took me in. he told me all his early life of poverty and threw in various reminiscences. i never knew the like of millionaires for telling you of their former miseries. they always do! when the ancient dame saw mr. kasson and me talking after dinner, she said to us with a kittenish smile, "husbands and wives mustn't talk together." hopeless! we did not even try to explain. the evening was forlorn. there were many dreary drawing-rooms, horribly furnished, but brilliantly lighted. a brawling musical box was supposed to enliven us. we talked in that desultory way that one does with people whom you meet for the first time and never want to meet again. some of the millionaires hovered among us, but failed to impress us either with their past or present fortunes. oh, joy! bedtime came at last. _may th._ i have just had time to scribble these few words before the post comes for my letter. we have been driving about, admiring landscapes, one another, every one else, millionaires! everything that money can do to spoil nature has been done here, but nature will have her own way in the end; and in spite of the millionaires' millions and the incongruity of everything, we cannot but admire this beautiful and wonderful country. before our departure the senator actually knew us one from the other. he said to me, struggling with my names, "well, mrs. _lindermann hegercrone_, i am very sorry you are going." * * * * * we started on visit no. --this time to mr. lathrop's beautiful place in menlo park. the grounds are perfectly laid out. flowers of all kinds arranged in parterres, clusters of trees such as i had never seen before, roses as big as sunflowers, and the beautiful sparkling lake in front of the window and the blue mountains in the distance, made the place a perfect paradise. the stables were extra fine, the floor and ceiling being inlaid in two kinds of wood found only in california. the room where the bridles were kept had such beautiful polished panels that they shone like mirrors. there must have been harnesses for twelve horses hanging on the walls. mr. l. gave me a box made of the thirty different kinds of wood found in california. the following day we drove with four horses to mr. rathbone's, who also has a gorgeous place. his picture-gallery is worthy of a rothschild. * * * * * we left san francisco for los angeles; the directors of the road put everything at our disposition as usual. we had a _salon_, bed, and dressing-rooms in one car, and miss cadwalader and miss clymer had similar ones in another. there were kitchen, dining and reading rooms for the whole party, which had now grown to be sixteen in number, senator conover and his wife and some officers going with general taylor to fort yuma having joined us. we went to santa monica, which is the fashionable watering-place of these parts. here we drove on the beach, which is thirty miles long. a gentleman of los angeles was attached to our party and showed us the sights. we saw all kinds of ranches--orange, grape, and bee ranches. then we drove to a mexican settlement, where they gave us a gorgeous dinner, really worthy of more time than we could give it, for we had to leave at five o'clock for los angeles, where we dined again. the next day we started off on another tour. we drove through twenty-five miles of banana, pineapple, pomegranate groves and vineyards. we tasted all the wines and fruit-syrups, and drank native port and champagne. we had a special train and arrived at merced the next morning, to start on our yosemite valley tour. _may th._ just our luck! the first rain for four months pours down to-day. we drove, nevertheless, from a.m. until p.m. (only stopping for our meals), over barren, sandy, and desolate country. we saw whole flocks of sheep dead and dying by thousands from want of care and drought. we (seven and the driver) were packed away in an open three-seated wagon with four horses, and drove over the dreariest road one can imagine. we passed continually places where the ground was all upturned, evidently either worked-out or abandoned gold-diggings. it was very pathetic when one thought of the work, time, and hopes wasted there. at twelve o'clock we reached hunter's (the name of the hotel), and then we drove over more dismal plains still to a hotel called clark's. it must originally have been a lovely place, but now it is spoiled by the gold-diggings. here we stayed all night in a very rough kind of tavern. during the night we heard the howls of wolves and jackals very near the hotel, which was not pleasant. we started at five o'clock the next morning in a big, open _char-à-bancs_, and went through the most beautiful forest. the trees are all from one hundred and fifty to two hundred feet high, and from six to seven feet in diameter; hardly any smaller trees among them. and such wonderful ferns! and the ice-plants! this has a brilliant red stalk and flowers coming from under the snow. we were so high up that there was snow on the ground all about us. the trees are perfectly beautiful. the mansanilla, the branches of which are like red coral, and the leaves the lightest of greens, the california laurel, and many others of which i do not know the names, were too beautiful. the white pine has cones one and a half feet long. we drove up for four hours through the forest, until we reached the height of five thousand feet. here was a magnificent view, as you may imagine. then we began going down. that was something dreadful! the driver, with his six horses, drove at a diabolical rate, one foot on the brake, the other planted against the dashboard to keep his balance, holding a tremendously long whip in one hand and the six reins in the other. i shut my eyes and said my prayers. i cannot find words to describe my emotion when i saw the precipice on one side and the mountain on the other, especially when we came to a sharp corner and looked in front, when we actually seemed to be going into space. we arrived exhausted at the yosemite valley, where the feeling of repose at being on flat ground and driving through those green pastures surrounded by the six-thousand-feet-high mountains was delicious. we found the hotel large, comfortable, with a good many other visitors. the _table d'hôte_ dinner was well attended. outside the hotel we spied an indian lurking about. they told us that he was the last of the yosemite tribe; he boasted that he had never spoken to a white man. i am sure no white man would ever care to speak to such an uncouth-looking tramp as he was, dressed in ragged clothes and wearing shabby boots, playing hide-and-seek in the most undignified manner, and utterly unworthy of the traditional cooper indian. j. had time to put in a little fishing. the last of the yosemites dodged behind the trees, watching him and probably envying him the lone minnow which was brought back in triumph. the next morning we mounted horses and donkeys and rode up to cloud's rest to see the glorious view over the whole yosemite range. our horses picked their way most carefully over the stones and water puddles. j. had a donkey who pretended that he was weak in all his four legs. when he went up the mountain his fore legs stumbled at every moment, inviting j. to get off and lead him, and when he came down the mountain his back legs gave way and he sat down, so that j. could not help getting off. the result was that j. had to lead him both up and down and could have dispensed with his services entirely. the bride's veil falls six thousand feet in a straight fall, becoming only a tiny spray and a fine mist before it reaches the rocks at the bottom. bright and early the next morning we drove to see mirror lake, which was really like a mirror. the air was deliciously fresh and fragrant with spring flowers. we bought some photographs and turned them upside down. the lake and mountains were so mirrored that you could not see which was top or bottom. the next day being sunday, we thought we would stay quietly in yosemite valley, enjoying the rest and beauty of our surroundings. the hotel was good, and the place was enticing. here it was that the funniest thing happened we had yet encountered. a deputation of one knocked at our door at an early hour this morning. we had just finished a plain sunday breakfast of hash, fried potatoes, corn cakes, griddle-cakes, and syrup fresh from the white-pine trees. but i am digressing, and the man is still knocking at our door. j. opened it and let him in. with many hums and haws he said that he had been sent to ask j. if he would read the prayers and preach a sermon in the drawing-room of the hotel, "its being sunday and you being a minister." j. was a little aghast, not exactly understanding, while i was shaking with laughter at the other end of the room, and would not have interfered for worlds for fear of losing a word of the dialogue. "i read the gospel!" cried j. "yes, sir. you're a minister, ain't yer?" "well, yes, i am, but not the kind you mean." the little man said, condescendingly: "we are not particular as to sect. whether you're a _baptist_ or _methodist_, it makes no difference as long as you will preach." j. had difficulty in explaining in his best english that preaching was not a specialty of his. he did not add that all he did in that line was to administer occasionally a mild _savon_ which he kept only for family use when we washed our linen at home. the abashed ambassador left us, shaking his head, and evidently wondering why a minister, whether from denmark or lapland, couldn't preach, any more than a doctor who was a doctor couldn't practise. you may be sure that this episode gave us plenty to laugh about to last all that beautiful day in the valley of yosemite. we stopped there altogether three days, and were lost in admiration and wonder at the beauty of everything. the greatest wonder the gentlemen met was the item on the bill for blacking boots, which was fifteen dollars. they paid without a murmur, because they wanted to tell their friends about it when they got home. we took our leave of beautiful yosemite valley, throwing a disdainful look at the _boots_, and we saw the last of the yosemites peeping at us from behind the shrubbery. we mounted the stage-coach which was to take us to mariposa grove. we drove up the mountain all right, but when the summit was reached the coachman began to whip up his six horses and started galloping them down and turning those corners in such a reckless manner that our hair stood on end; and in answer to our gentle words reminding him that there were human beings in the coach he said, coolly: "oh, i guess it'll be all right, but this is my first experience." on a sharp turn of the road we suddenly saw a great white pine about six feet in diameter lying right across our path. it had evidently fallen in the night. fortunately, the driver saw it and managed to pull up his six horses in time to avoid a catastrophe. how in the world should we ever get over this obstacle? all our projects would be disarranged if there came a single unexpected delay. a _conseil de guerre_ was held, every one talking at once, and it was decided that the driver should unhitch the horses, and that each lady should hold two of them, while the men were to look about to find timber enough to improvise an inclined plane on both sides of this enormous tree-trunk, so that the coach could be hauled up on one side and dragged down on the other. the gentlemen managed to get the carriage over, then they led the horses over, and lastly we ladies were piloted across. after a delay of an hour we were able to drive to mariposa hotel, where we found eight saddle-horses waiting for us. it was all most exciting, and we enjoyed every moment of the ride through the most beautiful forest in the world. the ordinary trees of this forest would be gigantic in any other part of the globe (six to seven feet in diameter), but when we "struck" the first big tree i almost fell off my horse with wonder. this tree was four hundred feet high and about thirty-three feet in diameter. i knew beforehand that they were monstrously big and high, but i did not know that they had such a beautiful color--a red cinnamon. the first branch was a hundred feet from the ground and six feet in diameter. in the mariposa grove there are three hundred of these giants. in one tree, which was partly hollowed out by fire, we seven people sat on horseback. that gives you an idea! we saw a carriage full of travelers drive through a hollow fallen tree as if through a tunnel. one must see these to imagine what they are like. the "old giant" was the most imposing and grandest of them all--thirty-seven feet in diameter, and high! one got dizzy trying to see the top, which is really not the top. the winds up there do not allow themselves to be encroached upon, and the young shoots are nipped off as soon as they appear. we had to sleep at mariposa grove (clark's hotel) in the evening. we talked of nothing else but the wonderful trees until some one asked me if i was too tired to sing. i was willing enough. there was, in fact, a piano in the parlor--an old, yellow-keyed out-of-tune chickering which had seen better days somewhere--and a spiral stool very rickety on its legs. there were wax flowers under dusty globes. though no one of our party cared much for music, and the surroundings were anything but inspiring, still i longed to sing. i sang a lot of things, and my tired audience no doubt thought i had done enough and ought to go to bed, which i did, after having received their thanks and seeing the heads of the servant-girls and various other heads and forms disappear from the veranda. _may th._ we left clark's early in the morning without having made a second trip to the trees, as we wanted to, but the time was nearing when john cadwalader was to leave us for his trip around the world. we were already too late as it was, and if anything should happen like another gulliver across our downward path he would lose the steamer which starts from san francisco in three days. i sat in the favorite seat next to the driver and waved a long farewell to the beautiful forest which i shall probably never see again. here another funny thing happened. everything funny seems to happen at the end of our trip. the driver (a new one, not the one of yesterday) after a long silence, and having changed a piece of straw he was chewing from one side of his mouth to the other many times, made up his mind to speak. i did not speak first, though i longed to, as i am told it is not wise to speak to the man at the wheel, especially when the wheel happens to be a california coach and six horses. "a beautiful day," the driver ventured. "yes," i said, "it is one of the most beautiful days i have ever seen." he, after a long pause, said, "was you in the hotel parlor last night?" "yes," i said, "i was." "did you hear that lady sing?" "yes, i did. did you?" "you bet i did. i was standing with the rest of the folks out on the piazza." how curious it would be to hear a wild western unvarnished, unprejudiced judgment of myself! "what did you think of her singing?" i asked my companion. he replied by asking, "have you ever heard a nightingale, ma'm?" "oh yes, many times," i answered, wondering what he would say next. "wal, i guess some of them nightingales will have to take a back seat when she sings." i actually blushed with pride. i considered this was the greatest compliment i had ever had. we arrived safely, without any adventure, at sacramento, where john cadwalader left us, and the rest of the party continued as far as chicago together, where we bade each other good-by, each going his different way. cambridge, _june, _. my dear sister,--sarah bernhardt is playing in boston now, much to boston's delight. i went to see her at the tremont house, where she is staying. she looked enchanting, and was dressed in her most characteristic manner, in a white dress with a border of fur. fancy, in this heat! she talked about paris, her latest successes, asked after nina, and finally--what i wanted most to know--her impressions of america. this is her first visit. i found that she seemed to be cautious about expressing her opinions. she said she was surprised to see how many people in america understood french. "really?" i answered. "it did not strike me so the other evening when i heard you in 'la dame aux camelias.'" "i don't mean the public," she replied. "it apparently understands very little, and the turning of the leaves of the librettos distracts me so much that i sometimes forget my rôle. at any rate, i wait till the leaves have finished rustling. but in society," she added, "i find that almost every one who is presented to me talks very good french." "well," i answered, "if boston didn't speak french i should be ashamed of it." she laughed. "sometimes," she said, "they do make curious mistakes. i am making note of all i can remember. they will be amusing in the book i am writing. a lady said to me, 'what i admire the most in you, madame, _c'est votre température_.'" she meant "temperament." "what did you answer to that?" i asked. "i said, '_oui, madame, il fait très chaud_,' which fell unappreciated." she is bored with reporters, who besiege her from morning till night. one--a woman--who sat with note-book in hand for ages ("_une éternité_" she said) reporting, the next day sent her the newspaper in which a column was filled with the manner she treated her nails. not one word about "_mon art_"! "some of my _admirateurs_" she said, "pay their fabulous compliments through an interpreter." she thought this was ridiculous. when i got up to leave she said, "_chère_ madame, you know mr. longfellow?" "yes," i replied, "very well." "could you not arrange that i might make his bust? you can tell him that you know my work, and that i can do it if he will let me." i told her that i would try. she was profuse in her thanks in anticipation, but, alas! mr. longfellow, when i spoke to him, turned a cold shoulder on the idea. he begged me to assure sarah bernhardt nothing would have given him more pleasure, but, with a playful wink, "i am leaving for portland in a few days, and i am afraid she will have left boston when i come back"--thus cutting the gordian (k)_not_ with a snap. but, evidently regretting his curtness, he said, "tell her if she is at liberty to-morrow i will offer her a cup of tea." then he added: "you must come and chaperon me. it would not do to leave me alone with such a dangerous and captivating visitor." he invited mr. howells and oliver wendell holmes to meet her. i wrote to sarah bernhardt what the result of my interview was and gave the invitation. she sent back a short "i will come." the next afternoon i met her at mr. longfellow's. when we were drinking our tea she said, "_cher_ m. longfellow, i would like so much to have made your bust, but i am so occupied that i really have not the time." and he answered her in the most suave manner, "i would have been delighted to sit for you, but, unfortunately, i am leaving for the country to-morrow." how clever people are! mr. longfellow speaks french like a native. he said: "i saw you the other evening in 'phèdre.' i saw rachel in it fifty years ago, but you surpass her. you are magnificent, for you are _plus vivante_. i wish i could make my praises vocal--_chanter vos louanges_." "i wish that you could make _me_ vocal," she said. "how much finer my phèdre would be if i could sing, and not be obliged to depend upon some horrible soprano behind the scenes!" "you don't need any extra attraction," mr. longfellow said. "i wish i could make you feel what i felt." "you can," she said, "and you do--by your poetry." "can you read my poetry?" "yes. i read your 'he-a-vatere.'" "my--oh yes--'hiawatha.' but you surely do not understand that?" "yes, yes, indeed i do," she said. "_chaque mot_." [illustration: henry w. longfellow] [illustration: james g. blaine when speaker of the house of representatives.] "you are wonderful," he said, and fearing that she might be tempted to recite "_chaque mot_" of his "hiawatha," hastened to present mr. holmes, who was all attention. at last the tea-party came to an end. we all accompanied her to her carriage, and as she was about to get in she turned with a sudden impulse, threw her arms round mr. longfellow's neck, and said, "_vous étes adorable_," and kissed him on his cheek. he did not, seem displeased, but as she drove away he turned to me and said, "you see i did need a chaperon." johan has just come home from boston, bringing incredible stories about having talked in a machine called telephone. it was nothing but a wire, one end in boston and the other end in cambridge. he said he could hear quite plainly what the person in cambridge said. mr. graham bell, our neighbor, has invented this. how wonderful it must be! he has put up wires about boston, but not farther than cambridge--yet. he was ambitious enough to suggest providence. "what!" cried the members of the committee. "you think you can talk along a wire in the air over that distance?" "let me just try it," said bell. "i will bear half the expense of putting up the wire if you will bear the other half." he was ultra-convinced of his success when, on talking to his brother in cambridge from boston in order to invite him to dinner, adding, "bring your mother-in-law," he heard, distinctly but feebly, the old lady's voice: "good gracious! again! what a bore!" there is also another invention, called phonograph, where the human voice is reproduced, and can go on for ever being reproduced. i sang in one through a horn, and they transposed this on a platina roll and wound it off. then they put it on another disk, and i heard my voice--for the first time in my life. if that is my voice, i don't want to hear it again! i could not believe that it could be so awful! a high, squeaky, nasal sound; i was ashamed of it. and the faster the man turned the crank the higher and squeakier the voice became. the intonation--the pronunciation--i could recognize as my own, but the _voice_!... dear me! [_johan, desiring me to know his family, suggested that we spend the christmas holidays in denmark, and we arrived safely after a slow and very stormy voyage._] "bjÖrnemose," _december , _. dear mother,--denmark looks very friendly under its mantle of snow, glistening with its varnish of ice. it is lovely weather. the sun shines brightly, but it is as cold as greenland. they tell me it is a very mild winter. compared with alaska, it may be! the house, which is heated only by large porcelain stoves, is particularly cold. these stoves are filled with wood in the early morning, and when the wood is burned out they shut the door and the porcelain tiles retain the heat--still, the ladies all wear shawls over their shoulders and shiver. i go and lean my back up against the huge white monument, but this is not considered good form. the baltic sea, which is at the foot of the snow-covered lawn, is filled with floating ice. it must be lovely here in the summer, when one can see the opposite shores of thuro across the blue water. my new family, taken singly and collectively, is delightful. i shall tell you later about the dear, genial general--my father-in-law--the kind mother, and the three devoted sisters. _now_ i shall only write--as i promised you--my _first_ impressions. we live in a manner which is, i fancy, called "patriarchal," and which reminds me continually of frederika bremer's book called _home_. a great many things in the way of food are new to me. for instance, there is a soup made of beer, brown bread, and cream, and another made of the insides of a goose, with its long neck and thin legs, boiled with prunes, apples, and vinegar. then rice porridge is served as soup and mixed with hot beer, cinnamon, butter, and cream. these all seem very queer, but they taste very good, i asked for oatmeal porridge, but i was told that oatmeal was used only for cataplasms. corn is known only as ornamental shrubbery, and tomatoes, alas! are totally unknown. every one i have met so far has been most kind and hospitable. we have been invited out to dinner several times. i will describe the first one, which was unique as a _début_. the distances are enormous between country houses in this land; and, as the hour named for dinner was six o'clock, we had to begin dressing in the afternoon at the early hour of three. at four we were packed in the family landau, with a mountain of rugs and different things to keep our feet warm. we jogged along the hard, slippery highroad at a monotonous pace; and, as it is dark at four o'clock, nothing could have been more conducive to slumber and peaceful dreams. finally we arrived. every one was standing up when we entered the _salon_. there seemed to be a great number of people. i was presented to all the ladies, and the gentlemen were brought up one by one and named to me. they bowed, shook my hand, and retired. i noticed that all the ladies wore long trailing skirts--lilac or gray--and had real flowers in their hair and on their bosoms. dinner was announced. then there came a pause. the host and the hostess were looking about for some one to undertake _me_--some one who could _tale engelsk_ (talk english). finally they decided upon a lank, spectacled gentleman, who offered me his arm and took me in. my father-in-law, who was the person highest in rank, sat on the left of the hostess. i thought this peculiar, but such is the custom here. from the moment we sat down until we rose from the table my english-speaking friend never stopped talking. he told me he had learned my language when a boy, but had forgotten a great deal; if he had said he had forgotten it entirely he would have been nearer the truth. he wanted to tell me the family history of a gentleman opposite us, and began by saying: "do you see that gentleman? he has been washing you all the time." "washing me?" i exclaimed. "what do you mean?" "yes, the one with the gray hairs and the bird." i looked about for a canary perched on some one's nose. "it is a pity," he went on to say, "that he has no shield." "how is that?" i asked. "i thought every one had a shield of some sort?" to make it clearer to me, he said, uln danish we call a shield a _barn_." "is he a farmer?" said i, much puzzled. "oh dear, no! he is a lawyer like me." "then what does he want with a barn?" "every couple [pronounced copol] wants _burn_," he replied. "what is it they want?" i asked. "what do you call _burn_?" "burn," he explained, "is _pluriel_ for barn. _eight_ barn, two _burn_." "what?" i cried, "eight barns to burn! why do they want to burn eight barns? they must be crazy!" all this will sound to you as idiotic as it did to me, but you will get the explanation at the end of the chapter, as i did--on the drive home--the two hours of which were entirely taken up in laughing at the mistakes of the good lawyer, who did his best. our conversation languished after this. my brain could not bear such a strain. suddenly he got up from his chair. i thought that he was going to take himself and his english away, but after he had quaffed a whole glass of wine, at one swallow, bowed over it, and pointed his empty glass at johan, he resumed his seat, and conversation flowed again. it seems that johan had honored him with a friendly nod and an uplifted glass, which obliged him to arise and acknowledge the compliment. in denmark there is a great deal of _skaal_-drinking (_skaal_, in danish, means drinking a toast). i think there must be an eleventh commandment--"thou shalt not omit to _skaal_." the host drinks with every one, and every one drinks with every one else. it seems to me to be rather a cheap way of being amiable, but it looks very friendly and sociable. when a person of high rank drinks with one of lower the latter stands while emptying his glass. when we left the table i did not feel that my danish had gained much, and certainly my partner's english had not improved. however, we seemed to have conversed in a very spirited manner, which must have impressed the lookers-on with a sense of my partner's talent for languages. on our return to the _salon_ we found more petroleum-lamps, and the candelabra lighted to exaggeration with wax candles. the lamp-shades, which i thought were quite ingenious, were of paper, and contained dried ferns and even flattened-out butterflies between two sheets of shiny tissue-paper. the _salon_ had dark walls on which hung a collection of family portraits. ladies with puckered mouths and wasp-like waists had necks adorned with gorgeous pearls, which had apparently gone to an early grave with their wearers. i saw no similar ones on the necks of the present generation. after the coffee was served and a certain time allowed for breathing, the daughter of the house sat down, without being begged, at an upright piano, and attacked the "moonlight sonata." this seemed to be the signal for the ladies to bring out their work-bags. the knitting made a pleasing accompaniment to the moonlight of the sonata, as if pelicans were gnashing their teeth in the dimness. the sterner sex made a dash for the various albums and literature on the round table in the center of the room, and turned the leaves with a gentle flutter. the sonata was finished in dead silence. as it was performed by one of the family, no applause was necessary. i was asked to sing; and, though i do not like to sing after dinner, i consented, not to be disobliging. before taking my seat on the revolving piano-stool i looked with a severe eye at the knitting-needles. the ladies certainly did try to make less noise, but they went on knitting, all the same. the flushed-with-success lawyer, wishing to show his appreciation of my singing, leaned gracefully across the piano, and said, "_kammerherrinde_ [that is my title], you sing as if you had a beard in your throat." "a what?" i gasped. "a beard?" "yes! a beautiful beard," and added, with a conscious smile, "i sing myself." good heavens! i thought, and asked, "do you know what a beard is?" "in danish we call a beard a _fugle_" (pronounced _fool_.) "then," i said, pretending to be offended, "i sing like a fool?" "exactly," he said with enthusiasm, his eyes beaming with joy through his spectacles. this was hopeless. i moved gently away from the man who "talked english." the candles had burned down almost to their _bobèches_, and we were beginning to forget that we had eaten a dinner of fifteen courses, when in came a procession of servants with piles of plates in their arms and trays of _smördröd_ (sandwiches), tea, beer (in bottles), and cakes, which are called here _kicks_. everything seemed very tempting except the things handed about by the stable-boy, who was dressed for the occasion in a livery, much too large, and was preceded and followed by a mixed odor of stable and almond soap. what struck me as unusual was that the host named the hour for his guests to go home. therefore all the carriages were before the door at the same time. johan explained the mistakes on the way home. "the man with the gray hairs and the _beard_" (pronounced like _heard_) had been _watching_ me. _shield_ meant _child! a child_ in danish is _et barn_, which sounds the same as _eight barn_. _two children_ (in danish) are _to börn_, pronounced _toe burn. bird_ he pronounced like _beard_, because it was written so. a bird in danish is _fugle_ (fool). do you wonder that i was somewhat bewildered? _january, ._ dear mother,--after christmas johan and i went to copenhagen, where i was presented to the king and the queen. i was first received by the _grande maîtresse_, madame de raben, and three _dames d'honneur_, who were all pleasant but ceremonious. when the queen entered the room and i was presented to her she was most gracious and affable. she motioned me to sit down beside her on the sofa. she said that she had heard much about me. she spoke of my father-in-law, whom she _loved_, and johan, whom she _liked_ so much. she was most interested to hear about you and the children. she had heard that nina promised to be a beauty. "if children would only grow up to their promises!" i said. "mine have," said the queen; "they are all beautiful." she showed me the photographs of the princess of wales and the grand-duchess dagmar of russia. if they resemble their pictures they must indeed be beautiful. the _salon_ in which we sat was filled with drawings, pastels, and photographs, and was so crowded with furniture that one could hardly move about. "i've been told," the queen said, "that you have a splendid voice and sing wonderfully. you must come some day and sing for me; i love music." then we talked music, the most delightful of subjects. the king came in. he was also perfectly charming, and as kind as possible. he is about sixty years old, but looks younger, having a wonderfully youthful figure and a very handsome face. the king preferred to speak french, but the queen liked better to talk english, which she does to perfection. "have you learned danish yet?" the king asked me. "alas! your majesty," i answered, "though i try very hard to learn, i have not mastered it yet, and only dare to inflict it on my family." "you will not find it difficult," he said. "you will learn it in time." "i hope so, your majesty--time is a good teacher." he told me an anecdote about queen desiree, of sweden, wife of bernadotte, who on her arrival in stockholm did not know one word of swedish. she was taught certain phrases to use at her first reception when ladies were presented to her. she was to say, "are you married, madame?" and then, "have you any children?" of course, she did not understand the answers. "she was very unlucky," the king laughed, "and got things mixed up, and once began her conversation with a lady by asking, 'have you any children?'" the lady hastened to answer, "yes, your majesty, i have seven?" "are you married?" asked the queen, very graciously. "you must not do anything like _that_," said the king, smilingly. i promised that i would try not to. the _grande maîtresse_ came in, and i thought it was the signal for me to go--which apparently it was. there was a little pause; then the queen held out her hand and said, "i hope to see you again very soon." the king shook hands kindly with me, and i reached the antechamber, escorted by the ladies. my next audience was with the crown princess. she is the daughter of the late king of sweden (carl xv.) and niece of the present king oscar, whom i used to know in paris. this audience was not so ceremonious as the one i had had with the queen. there was only one lady-in-waiting, who received me in the _salon_ adjoining that of the princess. she accompanied me to the door, presented me, and withdrew, leaving us together. in the beginning the conversation palled somewhat. i had been warned that it was not etiquette for me to start any subject of conversation, though i might enlarge on it once it had been broached. the crown princess was so kind as to speak of something which she thought would interest me, and the conventional half-hour passed pleasantly and quickly. i had other audiences. the queen dowager, the widow of king christian viii., lives in one of the four palaces in the square of amalienborg. she is very stately, and received me with great etiquette. she was dressed in a stiff black brocade dress, with a white lace head-dress over her bandeaux; she wore short, white, tight kid gloves. she spoke french, and was most kind, telling me a great deal about denmark and its history, which interested me very much. as mademoiselle de rosen, her first _dame d'honneur_, re-entered the room i made my courtesy, kissed the queen's hand, and the audience was over. johan accompanied me to the fourth audience, which for me was the most difficult one. it was with the princess caroline, widow of prince ferdinand, brother of king christian viii., who died when he was heir-apparent to the throne. she spoke only danish to us, so i sat and gazed about, not understanding a word she said to johan. she wore flaxen braids wound above her ears, through which the cotton showed like the petal of a flower. she had a lace cap on her head with long lace ends, and these caught in everything she wore--her eye-glasses, her neck-chain, her rings and bracelets, and she seemed to do nothing but try to extricate herself while talking. this she did steadily, in order (i suppose) to prevent any one else from talking. she is so deaf that she cannot hear a word. she had once been burned, and the effects of that, with the mark of former smallpox, makes her face look far from handsome. but all these things have not prevented her from reaching the ripe old age of eighty. johan supplied what little there was of conversation on our side. she asked him, "how did you come to denmark?" he, enchanted to be asked something he could answer, replied that he had come on one of the big german boats, and, to accentuate the fact that it was something _big_ he came in, he made a wide circular movement with his arms and became quite eloquent, flattering himself that he was very interesting. the princess fixed a pair of earnest eyes on him, and said, in hushed tones, "and what became of the child?" we took our leave. in stooping to kiss her royal highness's hand her cap caught in an ornament i had on my bonnet, and there we stood tied together. johan tried in vain to undo us, but was obliged to call in the lady-in-waiting, who finally disentangled us. denmark, _january, _. dear mother,--the queen of denmark is an adorable and lovely queen. i am happy to call her _my_ queen. a few days after my audience we were invited to a dinner at amalienborg. we met in the _salon_, before their majesties came in. when they had made a little _cercle_ and said a word to every one, dinner was announced. the king gave one arm to the queen and the other to the princess anne of hesse--the queen's sister-in-law. the king and the queen sat next to each other. there were about forty people at table. admiral bille took me in; he talked english perfectly, and was--like all naval officers!--very charming. the queen said to me: "i should so like to hear you sing. will you come to-morrow? i will send my carriage for you, and please don't forget to bring some music." as if i should forget! i was only too delighted. the next morning the queen sent her own coupé for me at eleven o'clock. i felt very grand; all the people in the street bowed and courtesied, thinking i was one of the royal family. i let down the glasses on both sides of the coupé so that every one could have a chance to bow. i was at once ushered into the queen's _salon_ by an old red-liveried majordomo who had many decorations on his breast. the queen was alone with the _grande maîtresse_, and after having talked a little she said, "now we'll have some music," and led the way into the ballroom, where there were two pianos. the queen sat on the sofa, wearing an expression that was half pre-indulgent and half expectant. the _grande maîtresse_, who was there, _not_ in her official character, but as a musician, accompanied me when i sang "_voi che sapete_." when i came to the phrase, "_non trovo pace notte ne di_," the queen raised her hand to her eyes, which were filled with tears, and after i had finished, said, "please sing another." i spread out the music of "biondina" in front of the eye-glasses of the _grande maîtresse_, but the first bars convinced me that if i were to sing _that_ song, _she_ was not to play it, and, against all etiquette, i placed my hands over hers and gently pushed her off the seat, saying, "may i?" i confess i deserved the daggers she looked at me, but the queen only laughed and said, "you are quite right; you must play _that_ for yourself." the queen seemed to be delighted, and after some more music i returned to the hotel in the same regal manner i had come. copenhagen, _february, _. dear mother,--some days have passed between this and my last letter, but i have been very busy. i have tried to do some sight-seeing--there are many interesting and enchanting things to see here. then i have had a great many visits to pay, and i go often to sing with the queen. yesterday i lunched at the palace. the queen had said to me before: "when you come to me, come straight to my room. don't bother about going first to the _dames d'honneur_. the servant has orders." so yesterday, when i arrived, the old decorated servant who sits in the antechamber simply opened the door of the queen's private apartments, where i found her and the princess thyra alone. the queen said, "you will stay to luncheon, will you not?" i hesitated, as we had invited some friends to lunch with us, but that was evidently no obstacle. she said: "never mind that. i will send word to your husband that i have kept you." of course i stayed. we had a great deal of music. i sang "beware" for the first time. the queen said, "oh, the king must hear that," and rang the bell, sending the servant to beg prince valdemar to come in. on his appearing, the queen said, "valdemar, you must tell papa that he must come." prince valdemar soon returned, saying, "papa has lumbago, and says he cannot come." the queen shook her head, evidently not believing in the lumbago, and said, "lumbago or not, papa _must_ come, even if we have to _bring_ him." the king came without being "brought," and i sang "beware" for him, and then "_ma mère était bohémienne_," the queen accompanying me in both. "now," said the queen, "please sing that song which you play for yourself--the one with such a dash." she meant "biondina." "please, madame," said the king, when i had finished, "sing 'beware' again." then we went down a little side-staircase for luncheon. the dining-room is quite small and looks out upon the square. the table could not have seated more than twelve people. besides the king and queen, there were prince hans and prince wilhelm (brothers of the king), prince valdemar, princess thyra, and myself. there were no ladies or gentlemen in waiting, except the king's adjutant. on a side-table were the warm meats, vegetables, and several cold dishes. no servants were allowed in the room. it is the only meal when the family are quite alone together; the serving was all done by the royalties themselves. i felt quite shy when the king proposed to shell my shrimps for me! "oh, your majesty," i said, "i can do that myself!" "no," said he, "i am sure you cannot. at any rate, not as it ought to be done." he was quite right. i never could have done it so dexterously as he did. he took the shells off and put the shrimps on some bread--they looked like little pink worms. i did not dare to get up and serve myself at the side-table, and rather than be waited on by royalty i preferred eating little and going away hungry. the king was very gay. he asked me how i was getting on with my danish. i told him some of my mistakes, at which they all laughed. copenhagen, _february, _. dear mother,--after our music and luncheon the other day at the palace the queen asked me if i would like to drive with her to see bernstorff castle, where they spend their summers. i accepted the invitation with delight. to drive with her was bliss indeed. bernstorff is about an hour's drive from copenhagen. when the open landau appeared in the _porte-cochère_ the queen got in; i sat on her left and the lady of honor sat opposite. the danish royal livery is a bright red covered with braid. the coachman's coat has many red capes, one on top of the other, looking like huge pen-wipers. j. had told me it was not etiquette for any one driving with the queen to bow. we happened to pass j. walking with a friend of his, and it seemed odd that i was obliged to cut him dead. when people see the queen's carriage coming they stop their own, and the ladies get out on the sidewalk and make deep courtesies. gentlemen bow very low and stand holding their hats in their hands until the royal carriage has passed. the castle of bernstorff is neither large nor imposing, but looks home-like and comfortable. the queen showed me all over it--her private rooms, and even upstairs where her _atelier_ is; she paints charmingly--as well as she plays the piano. she pointed out on the window-panes of a room over the principal _salon_ different things that her daughters had written with their diamond rings on the glass: "farewell, my beautiful clouds!--alexandra." "till the next time.--dagmar." "_a bientôt_--willie" (the young king of greece).[ ] [ ] king george of greece who was assassinated in . she told me that bernstorff was the first home she and the king had lived in after their marriage, when he was prince, and they love it so much that they prefer it to the larger castles. they go to fredensborg in the autumn. the grand-duchess dagmar and the princess of wales, when they come to bernstorff in the summer, sleep in the room which they shared as children. i cannot tell you how nice the royal family are to me. we were present at a state ball at christiansborg. on arriving we passed up a magnificent staircase and went through many large _salons_, the walls of which were covered with fine tapestries and old spanish leather, and a long gallery of beautiful pictures, before we reached the _salon_ where i belonged according to my rank (every one is placed according to the rules of the protocol). their majesties entered. the queen looked dazzlingly brilliant. she wore all the crown jewels and had some splendid pearls on her neck. the king looked superb in his uniform. they were followed by the princess thyra (the young and sympathetic princess with eyes like a gazelle), and the youngest son, prince valdemar. the crown prince and princess were already there. she also had some wonderful jewels, inherited, they said, from her mother, who was of the royal family of holland. their majesties were very gracious to me. the king even did me the honor to waltz with me. he dances like a young man of twenty. he went from one lady to another and gave them each a turn. i was taken to supper by a person whose duty it was to attend to me--i forget his name. the king danced the cotillon. you will hardly see that anywhere else--a gentleman of sixty dancing a cotillon. the principal street in copenhagen is ostergade, where all the best shops are. it is very narrow. people sometimes stop and hold conversations across the street, and perambulating nurses, lingering at the shop windows, hold up the traffic. there is a very pretty square called amagertorv, where all the peasant women assemble, looking very picturesque in their national dresses, with their little velvet caps embroidered in gold, and their quaker-like bonnets with a fichu tied over them. they quite fill up the square with flowers, fruits, and vegetables, and stand in the open air by their wares in spite of wind, rain, and weather. around the corner, in front of christiansborg castle, by the canal, your nose will inform you that this is the fish-market, where the fish are brought every morning, wriggling and gasping in the nets in which they have been caught overnight. it is a very interesting sight to see all the hundreds of boats in the canal, which runs through the center of the town. the other evening there was a large musical _soirée_ given at amalienborg. i won't tell you the names of those who were present, as you would not know them, but they are the most prominent names here. their majesties sat in two gilded arm-chairs, in front of which was a rug. there was a barytone from the royal theater who sang some danish songs; then the princess thyra and an english lady and i sang the trio from "elijah," and a quartette with the barytone. i sang several times alone. there was an english lady, whose name i do not remember, who played a solo on the _cornet à piston_. her face was hidden by her music, which was on a stand in front of her. after i had sung the "_caro nome_" from "rigoletto," and the english lady had played her solo, the deaf princess caroline--who, with her ears filled with cotton and encompassed by her flaxen braids, sat in front--said, in a loud and penetrating voice, "i like _that_ lady's singing better than the other one's"--meaning me. every one laughed. i had never had a _cornet à piston_ as a rival before. _march , ._ dear mother,--our last day here. i lunched at amalienborg, and was the only stranger present. the king, who sat next to me, said, "i feel quite hurt that you have never asked me for my photograph." "but i have one," i answered, "which i bought. i dare not ask your majesty to sign it." "one must always dare," he answered, smilingly. "may i 'dare' to ask you to accept one from me?" he got up from the table and left the room, being absent for a few minutes. when the door opened again we saw the king standing outside, trying to carry a large picture. his majesty had gone up to the room in which the picture hung, and the servant who had taken it from the wall brought it to the door of the dining-room, whence the king carried it in himself. the mark of the dusty cord still showed on his shoulder. it was a life-size portrait of himself painted in oil. he said, "will you accept this?" i could not believe my ears. this for me! i hesitated. the queen said, "my dear, you must take it, since the king desires it." "but," i replied, "how can i?" her majesty answered, "your husband would not like you to refuse. take it!--_you must!_" and added, "the ribbon [the blue order of the elephant] is beautifully painted"--as if the rest were not! the princess thyra said, "papa has only had six portraits painted of himself. this one is painted by mr. shytte. i don't think that it is half handsome enough for papa. do you?" "well," said the king, "i shall have it sent to your hotel." i could not thank his majesty enough, and i am sure i looked as embarrassed as i felt. as we were going away the next day, this was my last visit to the queen. on bidding me good-by she pressed something into my hand and said, "you leave me so many _souvenirs_! i have only one for you, and here it is." it was a lovely locket of turquoises. on opening it i found the queen's portrait on one side and the princess thyra's on the other. she kissed me, and i kissed her hand, with tears in my eyes. we return to björnemose to bid our parents good-by; then farewell to denmark. we leave in four days for new york. washington, _february, _. dear mother,--monsieur de schlözer is one of the colleagues whom we like best. i wish you knew him! i do not know anything more delightful than to see him and carl schurz together. they are not unlike in character; they are both witty, refined, always seeing the beautiful in everything, almost boyish in their enthusiasm, and clever, _cela va sans dire_, to their finger-tips. they bring each other out, and they both appear at their best, which is saying a great deal. we consider that we are fortunate to number them among our _intimes_. would it interest you to know how these _intimes_ amuse themselves? life is so simple in washington, and there are so few distractions outside of society, that we only have our social pleasures to take the place of theaters and public entertainments. it is unlike paris and other capitals in this respect. we have organized a club which we call "the national rational international dining club," to which belong mrs. bigelow lawrence, her sister miss chapman, mr. de schlözer, carl schurz, aristarchi bey (the turkish minister), count dönhoff (secretary to the german legation), and ourselves. so when we are free, and not invited elsewhere, we dine together at one another's houses. i am the president, mrs. lawrence the vice-president, schurz the treasurer, schlözer the sergeant-at-arms, and johan has the most difficult--and (as mr. schurz calls it) the "onerous"--duty of recognizing and calling attention to the jokes, which in his conscientious attempts to seize he often loses entirely. the "rational" part is the menu. we are allowed a soup, one roast, one vegetable and dessert, and _two_ wines, one of which, according to the regulations, _must be good_. we do not even need so much, for there is more laughing than eating. a stuffed goose from the smithsonian institution serves as a _milieu de table_, and is sent, on the day of the dinner, to the person who gives it. we always have music. schurz and schlözer play the piano alternately, and i do the singing. i must say that a more appreciative audience than our co-diners cannot be imagined. we have laws and by-laws written on large foolscap paper, bearing a huge seal which looks very official. mr. schurz carries it in his inside pocket, and sometimes at large dinners he pulls it out and begins reading it with the greatest attention, and every one at the table believes that there is something very important going on in politics. but we, the initiated, know that the document is the law of the n.r.i. dining club. then, when all eyes are fastened on him, he puts the paper deliberately back in his pocket, with a sly wink at the members. mr. schurz is now secretary of the interior, and a great personage. when one thinks that he hardly knew a word of our language when he came to this country (a young man of twenty), and that now he is one of our first orators, one cannot help but admire him. because he has entirely identified himself with the politics of our country he has risen to the high position which he now holds. you said, when you heard him deliver that oration at harvard college, that you were astonished that any foreigner could have such complete command of the language. he is integrity itself, with a great mind free from all guile, and is filled with the enthusiasm and vivacity of youth. during the revolutionary movement in germany in he helped a political friend escape from the schandau prison, and on account of that was himself condemned to death. however, he managed to evade pursuit and took refuge in america, where he has lived ever since. _le chevalier_, as we call senator bayard, because he is so entirely _sans reproche_, sent his photograph to mrs. t. and wrote on the back of it, "_avec les regards de t. bayard_." she showed it to her friends with the scathing remark, "people should not write french if they don't understand the language." others, who understood the language, thought it very clever. schlözer has let it be known in the foreign office in berlin that a secretary who has money to spend is more desirable in america than one who has not. he thinks that it is more advantageous for a young man to travel through the country and learn things than to sit copying despatches in the _chancellerie_ in washington. in this respect count dönhoff, his new secretary, ought to satisfy him, for never was a person so determined to see everything, know everybody, and do all that is doing. he begged mr. schurz to give him permission to accompany general adam, who, because he knew the indians and their little ways and how to deal with them, was sent out to montana to rescue the family of one of the commissioners who had been captured. these two gentlemen (adam and dönhoff) went to the place where the women and children were concealed, and remained there a week, trying to induce the indians to give them up. they were finally successful, but it was known afterward that the indians during the time they were there were holding council every night to decide whether or not they would hang the two "pale-faces" to the first tree in the morning. both schurz and schlözer were relieved to see count dönhoff when he returned safe and sound. they reproached themselves for allowing him to start on such an expedition, as it was a very reckless adventure, and a great risk for him. washington, _march, _. my dear mother,--we have taken the fant house for this winter. people say it is haunted. as yet we have not seen any ghosts nor found any skeletons in the closets. the possible ghosts have no terrors for me. on the contrary, i should love to meet one face to face! but the rats are plentiful and have probably played ghosts' parts and given the house its reputation. those we have here are so bold and assertive that i have become quite accustomed to them. i meet them on the staircase, and they politely wait for me to pass. one old fellow--i call him alcibiades, because he is so audacious--actually gnaws at our door, as if begging to be allowed to come in and join us. we put poison in every attractive way we can think of all about, but they seem to like it and thrive upon it. johan, having had a danish sailor recommended to him, allows him to live in a room up-stairs and to help a little in the house while waiting for a boat. he is very masterful in his movements, and handles the crockery as if it were buckets of water, and draws back the portieres as if he were hauling at the main-sheet. mr. robeson (secretary of the navy), who ought to know _le dernier cri_ on the subject of the habits of rats, told us that the only way to get rid of them was to catch one and dress him up in a jacket and trousers--red preferable--tie a bell round his neck, and let him loose. "then," he said, "the rat would run about among his companions and indicate the pressure brought upon rats, and soon there would not be one left in the house." this was an idyl for our sailor. he spent most of his days making a jacket with which to clothe the rat, and actually did catch one (i hoped he was not my friend of the staircase) and proceeded to put him into this sailor-made costume, which was not an easy thing to do, and had he not been accustomed to bracing up stays and other nautical work he never could have accomplished the thing. however, he _did_ accomplish it; he tied the bell on the rat's neck and let him loose. the remedy (though uttered from an official mouth for which we have great respect) was worse than the evil. the rat refused to run about to warn his friends. on the contrary, he would not move, but looked imploringly into the eyes of his tormentor, as if begging to be allowed to die in his normal skin. then, i believe, he went and sulked in a corner and committed suicide--he was so mortified. we said one rat in a corner was worse than twelve on the staircase. the outreys (the french minister) had their diplomatic reception, and sent cards to every one they knew and many they did not know. the ladies who went expected madame outrey to be dressed in the latest fashion; being the wife of the french minister, it was her duty to let society into the secrets of parisian "modes," but she was dressed in a simple, might-have-been-made-at-home black gown. this exasperated the ladies (who had gone with an eye to copying) to such a degree that many went home with pent-up and wounded feelings, as if they had been defrauded of their rights and without supper--which, had they stayed, they would have found to be the latest thing in suppers. washington. the grass on our small plot has reached the last limit of endurance and greenness, and is sprouting weeds at a great rate; also our one bush, though still full of chirpiness, is beginning to show signs of depression. we were invited to a spiritualistic _séance_ at the l----'s _salon_. the empress josephine has consented to materialize in america after having visited the continent. we saw her, and a more unempress-looking empress i cannot imagine. to convince a skeptic she displayed her leg to show how well it had succeeded in taking on flesh. i have no patience with people who believe such nonsense. the famous spiritualist poster is also here in washington. he is clever in a way, and has made many converts simply by putting two and two together. we went, of course, to see him, and came away astounded, but not convinced. he produced a slate on which were written some wonderful things about a ring which had a history in j.'s family. j. could not imagine how any one could have known it. foster said to me: "i had a premonition that you were coming to-day. see!" and he pulled up his sleeve and there stood "lillie," written in what appeared to be my handwriting in gore, i suppose--it was red. i urged baron bildt to go and see him, knowing that he liked that sort of thing. the moment he appeared, foster, smelling a diplo-rat, said, "madame hegermann sent you to me," upon which baron bildt succumbed instantly. teresa carreno, the _wunderkind_, now a _wunder-mädchen_, having arrived at the age when she wisely puts up her hair and lets down her dresses, is on a concert tour with wilhelmj (the famous violinist). he is not as good as wieniawski, and can't be named in the same breath with ole bull. they came here to lunch, together with schlözer, who brought the violin. i invited a good many people to come in the afternoon--among others, aristarchi, who looks very absorbed when music is going on, but with him it means absolutely nothing, because he is a little deaf, but looks eager in order to seize other people's impressions. wilhelmj played, and teresa carreno played, and i sang a song of wilhelmj's from the manuscript. he said, "you sing it as if you had dreamed it." i thought if i had dreamed it i should have dreamed of a patchwork quilt, there were so many flats and sharps. my eyes and brain ached. after a good deal of music wilhelmj sank in a chair and said, "i can no more!" and fell to talking about his wines. he is not only a violinist, but is a wine merchant. schlözer and j. naturally gave him some large orders. washington is very gay, humming like a top. everything is going on at once. the daily receptions i find the most tiresome things, they are so monotonous. women crowd in the _salons_, shake hands, leave a pile of cards on the tray in the hall, and flit to other spheres. at a dinner at senator chandler's mr. blaine took me in, and eugene hale, a congressman, sat on the other side. they call him "blaine's little boy." he was very amusing on the subject of alexander agassiz (the pioneer of my youthful studies, under whose ironical eye i used to read schiller), who is just now being lionized, and is lecturing on the national history of the peruvians. agassiz has become a millionaire, not from the proceeds of his brain, but from copper-mines (calumet and hecla). how his dear old father would have liked to possess some of his millions. sam ward is the diner-out _par excellence_ here, and is the king of the lobby _par préférence_. when you want anything pushed through congress you have only to apply to sam ward, and it is done. i don't know whether he accomplishes what he undertakes by money or persuasion; it must be the latter, for i think he is far from being a rich man. his lobbying is mostly done at the dinner-table. he is a most delightful talker and full of anecdotes. mrs. robeson's "sunday evenings" are very popular. she has given up singing and does not--thank heaven!--have any music. she thinks it prevents people from talking (sometimes it does, and sometimes it has the contrary effect). she prefers the talking, in which she takes the most active part. mr. robeson is the most amiable of hosts, beams and laughs a great deal. the _enfant terrible_ is quoted incessantly. she must be overwhelmingly amusing. she said to her mother when she saw her in evening dress; "mama, pull up your collar. you must not show your stomach-ache!" everything in anatomy lower than the throat she calls "stomach-ache"--the fountain of all her woes, i suppose. mr. blaine and mr. robeson, supplemented by general schenck, are great poker-players. they are continually talking about the game, when they ought to be talking politics for the benefit of foreigners. you hear this sort of thing, "well, you couldn't beat my full house," at which the diplomats prick up their ears, thinking that there will be something wonderful in congress the next day, and decide to go there. mr. brooks, of cambridge, made his fourth-of-july oration at our _soirèe_ on thursday. this is the funniest thing i have ever heard. mr. evarts almost rolled off his seat. it is supposed to be a speech made at a paris _fêtë_ on the fourth of july, where every speaker got more patriotic as the evening went on. the last speech was the climax: "i propose the toast, '_the united states!_'--bordered on the north by the aurora borealis; on the east by the rising sun; on the west by the procession of equinoxes; and on the south by eternal chaos!" washington, _april, _. mr. schurz, as secretary of the interior, was to receive a conclave of indians, and could not refuse mrs. lawrence, miss chapman, and myself when we begged to be present at the interview. they came to make some contracts. the interpreter, or agent, or whatever he was, who had them in charge proposed to dress them suitably for the occasion, but when he heard there were to be ladies present he added colored and striped shirts, which, the indians insisted upon wearing over their embroidered buckskin trousers. they caused a sensation as they came out of the clothes-shop. they had feather head-dresses and braids of hair hanging down by the sides of their brown cheeks. they wore bracelets on their bare arms and blankets over their shoulders. they sat in a semicircle around mr. schurz. after mr. schurz had heard what the interpreter had to say he and the other members of the committee (they call them "undershirts") talked together for a while, and mr. schurz said, "i cannot accept," which was translated to the chief, who looked more sullen and treacherous than before. then there was a burst of wild indian, and the chief held forth in a deep bass voice, i fancy giving pieces of his mind to mr. schurz, which were translated in a milder form. mrs. lawrence, who looks at everything in a rosy, sentimental light, thought they looked high-spirited and noble. i, who am prosaic to my finger-tips, thought they looked conceited, brutal, and obstinate. they all sat with their tomahawks laid by the side of their chairs. the chief was not insensible to the beauty of miss chapman, and sat behind his outspread fingers, gazing at her and her jewelry. we were glad to get away from the barbarous-looking people. all the same, the interview was very interesting. * * * * * general and mrs. albert meyer gave a dinner in honor of the president and mrs. hayes, to which some diplomats were invited. you know mr. meyer is the man called "old prob," because he tells one beforehand what weather one can expect for the next picnic. this was the first dinner that the presidential couple had gone to, and we were a little curious to see how it would be managed. as neither mr. nor mrs. hayes drinks wine, they were served all the different known brands of mineral waters, milk, and tea. but the others got wine. mr. meyer was very funny when he took up his glass, looked at it critically, and said, "i recommend this vintage." the president did not seem to mind these _plaisanteries_. we were curious to see what they would do when _punch à la romaine_, which stood on the menu in a little paragraph by itself, would be served. it was a rather strong punch (too strong for any of the diplomats) and the glasses were deep, but they seemed to enjoy this glimpse into the depths of perdition and did not leave a mouthful. taking it, you see, with a spoon made a difference. the lesseps were among the guests. there are thirteen little lesseps somewhere; only one daughter is with them. monsieur lesseps is twenty-five years older than madame, if not more. when the three came in the _salon_, young miss bayard said, "the girl is taking her mother and grandfather into society." a weird menu was at the side of each plate; it was in french--on account, i suppose, of the lesseps. one of the items was _l'estomac de dinde à l'ambassadrice, pommes sautees_. mr. john hay, who sat next to me, remarked, ironically, "why do they not write their menu in plain english?" "i think," i answered, "that it is better in french. how would 'turkey to an ambassadress's stomach' or 'jumped potatoes' sound?" he could find no answer to this. madame lesseps confided to me in our coffee-cups that she and her husband were in "vasheengton _en touristes, mais aussi, ils avaient des affaires_." the _affaires_ are no less than the panama canal. cambridge, _summer, _. ole bull (the great violinist) has taken james russell lowell's house in cambridge. he is remarried, and lives here with his wife and daughter. he has a magnificent head, and that broad, expansive smile which seems to belong to geniuses. liszt had one like it. he and mrs. bull come here often on sunday evenings, and sometimes he brings his violin. mrs. b. accompanies him, and he plays divinely. there is no violinist on earth that can compare with him. there may be many who have as brilliant a technique, but none who has his _feu sacrè_ and the tremendous magnetism which creates such enthusiasm that you are carried away. the sterner sex pretend that they can resist him, but certainly no woman can. he is very proud of showing the diamond in his bow which was given to him by the king of sweden. he loves to tell the story of king frederick vii. of denmark, who said to him: "where did you learn to play the violin? who was your teacher?" ole bull answered, "your majesty, the pine forests of norway and the beautiful _fjords_ taught me!" the king, who had no feeling for such high-flown sentiments, turned to one of his _aides-de-camp_ and said, "_sikken vrövl_"--the danish for "what rubbish!" mr. john owen (mr. longfellow's shadow) swoops down on us occasionally on the wings of poesy. i don't always comprehend the poesy, and sometimes would like to cut the wings, but owen can't be stopped. every event is translated into verse; even my going to newport by the ten-o'clock train, which sounds prosy enough, inspires him, and the next morning he comes in with a poem. then we see it in the _boston advertiser_, evening edition. [illustration: ole bull from a photograph taken in new york in .] cambridge. a dane, a friend of johan's, who had come to america to write a book on american institutions, asked the consul to find him a quiet boarding-house in a quiet street. the consul knew of exactly such a retreat, and directed the professor to the place. it was not far from the revere house. he arrived there in the evening, unpacked his treasures, congratulating himself on his cozy quarters and his nice landlady, who asked such a modest price that he jumped at it. the next morning, at four o'clock, he was awakened by a strange noise, the like of which he had never heard outside a zoological garden. at first he thought he was still dreaming, and turned over to sleep again, but the noise repeated itself. this time it seemed to come from under his bed, and sounded like a lion's roar. probably a circus had passed and a lion had got loose and was prowling about, seeking what he could devour! he thought of ringing up the house, but demurred, reflecting that whoever answered the bell would probably be the first victim. again the roar! fear overcame his humane impulses; he rang, hoping that if the lion's appetite was appeased by the first victim, he might be spared. the landlady appeared in the flesh, calmly and quietly. "did you ring, sir?" she asked, placidly. "i did indeed," he answered. "will you kindly tell me whether i am awake or asleep? it seems to me that i heard the roar of a lion. did no one else hear it?" the landlady hesitated, embarrassed, and answered, "i did, sir--you and i are the only persons in the house." "then the lion is waiting for us?" he said, quaking in his slippers. "i beg your pardon, sir," the woman answered. "i had hoped that you had not noticed anything--" "good gracious!" he said, "do you think i can be in the house with a roaring lion and not notice anything?" "he happens to be hungry this morning, and nothing will keep him quiet," said the kind lady, as if she were talking of her kitten. "madam," screamed the infuriated dane, "one of us is certainly going mad! when i tell you that there is a lion roaming over your house you stand there quietly and tell me that he is hungry?" "if you will wait a moment, sir, i will explain." "no explanation is needed, madam. if i can get out of this house alive i will meet you in some other un-lion-visited part of boston and pay you." and he added, with great sarcasm, "he is probably a pet of yours, and your ex-boarders have furnished his meals." instead of being shocked at this, the gentle landlady's eyes beamed with content. "that's just it--he is a pet of mine, and he lives in the back parlor." "the lion is here in your back parlor, and you have the face to keep boarders?" shrieked the dane. "my other boarders have left me." "i should think so, and this one is going to do like-wise, and without delay"--beginning to put his things in his bag. she said she was sorry he thought of going, but she could understand he was nervous. nervous! if he could have given his feelings words he would have said that never in all his life had he been so scared. the meek lady before him watched him while he was making up his packages and his mind. what he made up was his reluctance to flee from danger and leave the lion-hearted little woman alone. "i will not go," he said, in the voice of an early christian martyr. "you see, sir, this is how it happened," began the woman. "a very nice sailor came to board here, but could not pay his bill, so to settle with me he offered me his pet dog. i thought it a puppy, and as i had taken a fancy to the little thing--he used to drink milk with the cat out of the same saucer--i consented to keep it." "and he turned out to be a lion? how did you first notice it?" "well, sir, i soon saw he attracted attention in the street. he wanted to fight all the other animals, and attacked everything from a horse to a milk-pan. it was when i was giving him a bath that i noticed that his tail was beginning to bunch out at the end and his under-jaw was growing pointed. then the awful thought came to me--it was not a dog, but a lion! this was a dreadful moment, for i loved him, and he was fond of me, and i could not part with him. he grew and grew--his body lengthened out and his paws became enormous, and his shaggy hair covered his head. but it was when he tried to get up in my lap, and became angry because my lap was not big enough to hold him, that he growled so that i became afraid. then i had bars put up before the door of my back parlor, which was my former dining-room, and i keep him there." "do you feed him yourself?" "yes, sir, but it takes a fortune to keep him in meat." "how old do you think he is?" the dane asked, beginning now to feel a respectful admiration for the lone woman who preferred to give up boarders rather than give up her companion. "that i do not know," she replied, "but from his size and voice i should say he was full-grown." "i can vouch for his voice. will you show him to me?" he had never seen a lion boarding in a back parlor, and rather fancied the novelty. he told the consul afterward that he had never seen a finer specimen of the bengal lion. to his mistress he was obedient and meek as a lamb. she could do anything she liked with him; she passed her hand lovingly over his great head, caressing his tawny locks, while the lion looked at her with soft and tender eyes, and stuck out his enormous tongue to lick her hand. the dane stayed on, like the good man he was. he had not the heart to deprive the little woman of the few dollars he paid for his room, which would go toward buying food for her pet. he himself became very fond of "leo," and would surreptitiously spend all his spare money at the butcher's, who must have wondered, when he sent the quarters of beef, how such a small family could consume so much--and the dane would pass hours feeding the lion with tidbits held on the end of his umbrella. we were told afterward that the police discovered that the noises coming from the house were not the usual boston east winds, and, having found out from what they proceeded, suggested that the zoological gardens should buy the animal, for which they paid an enormous price. so the sailor did pay his debt, after all! cambridge, _march, _. dear l.,--i love to write to you; my thoughts run away with me, my pen flies like a bird over the paper. you need not remind me of the fact that my handwriting is execrable. i know it, therefore don't waft it across america. spare me this mortification. tear the letters up after reading them, or _before_, if you like. when i see the stacks of never-looked-through letters being dragged from one place to the other, tied up in their old faded ribbons, i feel that i do not wish mine to have the same fate. i read the other day h.'s lively letters full of dash, written in her happy girlhood, and think of her as she is now, the tired mother of six children, without a sparkle of humor left in her, and nothing more spicy in her epistles than a lengthy account of the coal bill or the children's measles. all the life taken out of her for ever! just deadly dull! i feel in the above pathetic mood whenever i look out of my window and see the veteran washington elm facing wind and weather, bravely waiting the end. with what care they bolster up its weary limbs, saw off its withered branches, and deluge its old roots! they spend days belting and tarring its waist, trying to destroy the perverse caterpillars; but with all this they can never give it back its fresh and green youth. it goes on patiently year after year putting forth its leaves in spring and coquetting in its summer garb with its younger rivals. in autumn the pretty colored leaves fly away, and it remains bare and grim under its coating of snow and ice. some day it will blow down, and nothing but the monumental stone will be left on which future generations will read, "under this tree george washington first took command of the american army, july , ." if i stay in cambridge long enough i shall become a beacon of wisdom. every one is so learned. if i happen to meet a lady in the street she will begin to talk of the "old masters" as if it were as natural a subject of conversation as the weather. washington, _march , _. johan has this moment received the news that he is transferred to rome. we feel dreadfully sad to leave washington and all our dear friends. our good schlözer would say "_que faire? la diplomatie a des exigences qu'il ne faut pas négliger_." the queen of denmark writes, "i hope that you are sure that i never omit to name your husband when a change is coming on in diplomacy, and i hope soon to see something advance to fulfil my wish. alas, no great benefit to me personally, as you will not live in copenhagen, but you would come here in an easier way, and you would be in europe. farewell, dear lilly, farewell, and think of me as i of you. yours.... louise. the king's best compliments." from this i fancy it was the gracious queen whose finger pointed to the post rome. this will be the last letter you will get from me from this side of the atlantic, as i am going to be very busy--as busy as the bee i only hope that people will let the busy b. rome, - rome, palazzo rospigliosi, _december, _. dear mother,--we are now almost settled in the eternal city, after a process which has seemed to me as eternal as the city itself, and i am so far established as to be able to take up the threads of my new life. the first of these will be this letter to you. we found an apartment in this palace which is large and comfortable. it looks onto the piazza quirinal on one side, and on the other into the courtyard, where we see the procession of tourists with red baedekers under their arms, filing into the palazetto to admire the famous "aurora." johan had been received by king umberto before i arrived. the ceremony seems to have been full of splendor and surrounded with etiquette. a magnificent gala coach drawn by two splendid horses brought signor peruzzi (master of ceremonies), accompanied by an escort of carabineers, to the hôtel bristol, where johan was stopping, attracting a large crowd in the piazza barberini--less than this is sufficient to collect gazers-on in italy, where the natives pass most of their time in gazing at nothing at all. as the carriage entered the _grande cour_ of the palace, the guards presented arms and the military band played. a second master of ceremonies met johan at the foot of the principal staircase, while the grand master of ceremonies waited for him at the head of it. accompanied by these gentlemen, johan passed through the long gallery, which was lined on both sides by the civil and military members of the household. at the extreme end of the gallery stood the prefect of the palace, signor visone, who preceded johan to the king's apartment and retired after having announced him to his majesty. this seems complicated, but you see it takes all these functionaries to present a minister to a king. johan had prepared his obligatory speech about _les bonnes relations_ which had always existed between italy and denmark, and so forth, but the king did not give him the opportunity to make any speech at all. he held out his hand and said in a most friendly and cordial manner, "_je suis bien content de vous voir, et j'èspère que vous vous plairez parmi nous_." his majesty then asked johan about king christian, and spoke about the visit he had made to denmark some years ago. before the end of the audience johan succeeded in making the king accept his _lettres de créance_, and presented the greetings of king christian; but the speech remained unspoken. the contrast seemed very striking between the ceremonious manner in which he was conducted to the king, and the simple and unconventional manner in which he was received by his majesty. yesterday i asked for an audience with the queen. the marquise villamarina (the _grande maîtresse_) wrote that the queen, though desiring to see me, thought it better to defer the audience until after the reception of the _corps diplomatique_, which was to take place in a few days. i am rather glad of the few days of rest before the first of january, as i am completely tired out. _january, ._ dear mother,--the great event of the season has just taken place! the _corps diplomatique_ has been received by their majesties at the quirinal, and i have made my first official appearance and worn my first court train. this splendid ceremony took place at two o'clock in the afternoon, a rather trying time to be _décolletée_ and look your best. in my letter from paris i told you about my dress made by worth. it really is quite lovely--white brocade, with the tulle front--all embroidered with iridescent beads and pearls. the _manteau de cour_ is of white satin, trimmed with valenciennes lace and ruches of chiffon. i wore my diamond tiara, my pearls on my neck, and everything i owned in the way of jewelry pinned on me somewhere. johan was in full gala uniform--the red one--on the back of which was the chamberlain's key on the blue ribbon. on arriving at the quirinal we drove through the _porte-cochère_ and stopped at the grand staircase, which was lined all the way up by the tall and handsome guards, dressed in their brilliant uniforms. we were received in the _salon_ adjoining the throne-room by the marquise villamarina and the _préfet du palais_. in crossing this _salon_ one lets one's train drag on the floor and proceeds, peacock-like, toward the ballroom. it seems that this is the proper thing to do, as it is expected of you to allow all beholders to admire your train and to verify its length. it must be four and a half yards long. i was told that the train of one of the diplomatic ladies last year was not long enough, and she was officially reproached. she excused herself by saying that she thought it would go "_that once_," but she found that it didn't go, and it was considered very disrespectful of her to disregard the court's regulations. on entering the ballroom you pick up your train and go to your place--for every lady has her place according to her _ancienneté_. i, being the wife of the newest minister, was naturally at the very end, and next to me was the newest minister himself. while waiting for their majesties you let your train fall, and it lies in a heap at your left side. behind each lady was a red-velvet _fauteuil_, in which she could rest for a moment, if her colleagues would screen her from public view by "closing up," according to military language. we did not, fortunately, have long to wait. the doors were opened and their majesties entered. the ladies courtesied low, and the gentlemen bowed reverentially. i was quite overcome by the queen's dazzling beauty and regal presence. she wore a beautiful dress of very pale salmon-colored satin, embroidered in the same color. a red-velvet _manteau de cour_ covered with heavy embossed silver embroidery hung from her shoulders. her jewels were handsomer than anything i had ever seen before, even more magnificent than those of the empress eugénie. the king and queen separated. the king turned to the _doyen_ of the _corps diplomatique_, talked a long time with him, and then passed on, having a word for each gentleman, not overlooking even the youngest secretary. the queen went directly toward the countess wimphen, the _doyenne_, and, holding out her hand, leaned forward as if to kiss her cheek. the ambassadress sank almost to the ground. then the queen talked with all the ambassadresses and to the ministers' wives. madame westenberg, the wife of the minister from holland, being the _plus ancienne_ of these, stood, full of importance at the head of her flock. the queen's ready mind found something of interest to say to every one, and she seemed brimming over with conversation. there were continual glances between their majesties, as if they were mutually comparing notes, which i fancy were something like this, "you'd better hurry, or i shall finish before you do." every time the queen turned, marquis guiccioli (the queen's chamberlain) bent down to the ground and arranged her train, spreading it out flat on the floor. when the queen caught sight of me a smile of recognition passed over her face, and when she gave me her hand she said: "i am so glad to see you again, and so happy to know that we are going to have you in rome. i've never forgotten your singing. your voice is still ringing in my ears." i answered, "i have never forgotten your majesty's kindness to me when i was here before." "i remember so well," she said, "how beautifully you and the marquise villamarina sang that duet from 'la pavorita.' we shall have some music later, i hope," and she added, "the king was delighted with monsieur de hegermann." i said that monsieur de hegermann was very much flattered by the king's gracious manner when the king received him. on leaving me the queen crossed the room, directing her steps toward the _doyen_ ambassador. in the mean while the king came toward the ladies, passing rapidly from one to the other. he made quick work of us, as he did most of the talking himself, hardly ever waiting for an answer. he said to me, "the queen tells me that you have been here before." "i have, your majesty," i answered; "i was here five years ago and had the honor to be presented to you." "really?" said the king. "i don't remember." "but i've known you longer even than that," i said. "how so?" asked the king, abruptly. "when your majesty was in paris in ." "that makes us very old friends," he said, smilingly. finally, when their majesties had finished the circle, they met at the end of the ball-room; every one made a _grande reverence_, and they bowed graciously in response and withdrew. we ladies, in walking out, allowed our _manteaux_ to trail behind us. we entered the room where refreshments were served, and crowded around the buffet, which groaned under the weight of all sorts of good things. we drank one another's health and happy new year in champagne. _january, ._ dear mother,--you would never believe that my official duties weigh as heavily on me as they do. i received a letter from the marquise villamarina, saying that "her gracious sovereign would be pleased to receive me on the seventh at three o'clock." therefore, dressed in my best, i drove to the quirinal. it is so near our palace that i had hardly entered the carriage before i had to get out of it. the gorgeously dressed and long-bearded _concierge_ who stood pompously at the entrance of the palace waved the carriage to the other end of the courtyard, and pounded his mace on the pavement in an authoritative manner. i mounted the broad, winding staircase, went through the long gallery lined with lackeys, and reached the _salon_, where the marquise villamarina was waiting to receive me. after the usual greetings she said, "_sa majesté vous attend_," and led me through many _salons_ to the one where the queen was. i noticed, as we walked along, that the marquise removed her right-hand glove, i took this as a hint that i should do the same. the queen was standing when i entered the room. i made a deep courtesy before going in. she came forward and gave me her ungloved hand, over which i bowed deeply. the marquise retired, leaving me alone with the queen, who motioned me to sit beside her on the sofa. she spoke french, and so rapidly that i could hardly follow her. she was kindness itself, as affable and charming as one could possibly be, and put me at my ease immediately. she had a little diamond ball hanging on a chain in the folds of her dress, the prettiest little watch i ever saw. after a half-hour, which passed like a flash, the marquise reappeared in the doorway. this was a signal for me to take my leave. the queen rose, gave me her hand, and said, "good-by, madame de hegermann; i'm so glad to have you here in rome." i should have liked to kiss her hand, but i was told that the wife of a foreign minister never kisses the hand of any queen save her own. i feel now that i am really launched. let us hope that my barque will ride the waves successfully! in europe visits are not as with us in america. here the residents wait until the stranger makes the first visit; in america it is just the contrary. i must say i like the european way best. it would be very awkward for _me_ to receive visitors now, especially when my household is in its present chaotic state. i hope it will be only a question of cards for some time yet. _january , ._ dear mother,--last night the princess palavicini gave what she intended to be the finest ball of the season, for which no expense was spared. they had sent to paris for the cotillon favors, to nice for flowers to decorate the magnificent _salons_ of the palazzo rospigliosi, and to naples for the famous neapolitan orchestra. the princess palavicini is one of the queen's ladies of honor, belongs to one of the most aristocratic families in italy, and claims to have the most select society in rome. the king and the queen had consented to grace the ball with their presence. that the king had promised to go was a great exception, as he has never been willing to go to any function outside of the quirinal since the much-talked-of ball at the duke di fiano's. i believe that it is only his keen sense of duty that makes him attend his own entertainments. all the guests were assembled and awaiting the arrival of their majesties, but they did not come. the reason given was that the present members of the ministry took exception to the fact that neither they nor their wives had been invited. the ministers sent word to the king that if their majesties attended the ball they would give in their resignations _en bloc_. the result was that the ball was a complete failure. all the spirit had gone out of the guests, who moved about aimlessly, talking in groups, and then quietly disappeared. the dancers of the cotillon waited for the supper, which they said was magnificent and sufficient for a hungry army. rome, _february _. dear ----,--the two sons of the king of sweden (prince oscar and prince carl) are here for a fortnight's visit, and are seeing rome thoroughly in the company of two chamberlains, two cicerones, and some friends. the young princes gave a dinner at the hôtel quirinal, to which we were invited. they had engaged the neapolitan singers from naples, who sang the most delightful and lively songs. we felt like dancing a _saltarello_, and perhaps might have done so if we had been in less princely presences. the scandinavian club gave a feast--the finest and greatest in the annals of the club--in honor of the two princes, to welcome the swedish and norwegian minister's bride, and also to welcome us--a great combination--and to celebrate the carnival by a fancy ball. people were begged to come in costume, which, to be amiable, every one was delighted to do. the costumes were not original. roman peasants were abundant. this costume needs only a towel folded square and put on the head, and a roman apron, easily obtained at the campo di fiore for a song. flower-girls with hats turned up on the side and baskets of flowers were also popular. the handsome prince carl, who is six feet six, needed only a helmet to personify to perfection a youthful god mars. prince oscar merely wore his naval mess-jacket. herr ross (the norwegian artist) was the head and spirit of the ball and directed everything. he was dressed appropriately as a _pierrot_, with a wand in his hand, and pirouetted about to his heart's content. all was done on the most economical basis, as the club is entirely composed of artists, who, consequently, are poor. the lines were drawn apparently at the food, but in _skaals_ (toasts)--the thing dearest the scandinavian heart--they were extremely liberal and reckless. all six of us were toasted to a crisp brown, and at each separate toast we stood up and listened to the tale of our virtues. the celebrated ibsen honored this feast with his presence, and especially honored the chianti and genzano wines, which were served copiously, in _fiascos_. when you see ibsen, with his lion face and tangle of hair, for the first time, you are fascinated by him, knowing what a genius he is, but when you talk with him, and feel his piercing, critical eyes looking at you from under his bushy brows, and see his cruel, satirical smile, you are a little prejudiced against him. we meet him often at our friend ross's studio at afternoon teas, where there is always a little music. ibsen sits sullen, silent, and indifferent. he does not like music, and does not disguise his dislike. this is not, as you may imagine, inspiring to the performers. in fact, just to look at him takes all the life out of you. he is a veritable wet blanket. i have read all his works in the original. i think they lose a great deal in being translated. the norwegian language is very curt and concise, each word conveying almost the meaning of two in english, which enables the author to paint a whole situation in a few words. i can see the difference, in reading the english translations, and where they fail to convey his real meaning. strangers who wish to see ibsen must go to the cheap italian restaurant, "falcone," where he sits before a small iron table, eating deviled devil-fish. no wonder that he is morbid and his plays weird! _february, ._ dear mother,--i know you would like to hear about the first ball at the quirinal. it was very splendid. since the last and famous ball at the tuileries i had seen nothing like it. when we had mounted the guard-lined staircase and passed through innumerable _salons_ we were received by the _grande maîtresse_, surrounded by numerous _dames de palais_, all so beautiful that i wondered if they had been chosen for their beauty alone. i never saw so many handsome women grouped together. numerous chamberlains preceded us into the ballroom and showed us the benches where the _corps diplomatique_ have their places. the benches looked inviting enough, with their red-velvet coverings and their gilded legs, but i did not feel as if i should care to sit on them for hours. madame minghetti sat on one of the _taborets_ on one side of the throne, and madame cairoli (wife of the minister of foreign affairs) occupied the _taboret_ on the other side. these two ladies are the only ones who have the right to sit on the little square stools that are called _taborets_. we waited in our places until we heard the orchestra start the national hymn, then every one stood up as the king and the queen entered arm in arm, followed by splendidly dressed and bejeweled _dames d'honneur_ and the numerous suite. their majesties went to the throne, stood there a moment, then stepped down and spoke to the two ladies on the _taborets_. the _quadrille d'honneur_ commenced almost immediately. count wimphen approached the queen, making the deepest of bows, offered her his hand, and led her to her place on the floor. m. de keudell and the countess wimphen took their places opposite the queen. there were only two other couples. every one stood while this quadrille was being danced. the queen looked exquisite, and seemed to be in the best of spirits. she was the _point de mire_ of all eyes. she wore a superb gown of light-blue brocade, the front entirely trimmed with old venetian lace. her necklace and tiara were of enormous pearls and diamonds. she was truly a vision of beauty and queenly grace. after the _quadrille d'honneur_ the dancing became general. the queen first talked to the ambassadresses, then to the wives of the ministers, sitting down on the bench beside the lady she desired to converse with, the one on the other side moving on discreetly to make more room for the queen. the king never came anywhere near the ladies, but talked only with the gentlemen, frequently keeping one by his side and addressing him while he talked with another. the dancing continued until the queen had returned from a tour of the other _salons_, where she had been talking with those assembled there. re-entering the ballroom, preceded as always by her chamberlains and followed by her ladies, she joined the king, and both, bowing graciously as if to say good night, retired. [illustration: queen margherita mother of the present king of italy as she appeared in . the tiara was a present from the king on the preceding christmas. in the necklace are some of the crown jewels, pearls and six remarkable emeralds.] rome, _february, _. dear ----,--mrs. elliot brought ouida to see me on my reception-day. ouida is, i am afraid, a little bit of a _poseuse_, but geniuses have privileges which cannot be endured in ordinary people. she was dressed with a lofty disregard of roman climate and its possibilities, and in utter defiance of common sense. she wore a dress open at the throat, with short sleeves, and the thinnest of shoes and stockings, which she managed to show more than was quite necessary. she spoke in an affected voice, and looked about her continually as if people were watching her and taking notes. among the ladies of the queen here are three americans who have married italians and have entered the charmed circle of the court. their services are only required upon certain gala occasions. one is the daughter of hickson fields (whom we used to know so well in paris), who has married prince brancaccio. another american lady, the wife of prince cenci, who is of the same family as the lady with the turban. both the prince and the princess are at court, he as chamberlain and she as _dame de palais_. he is called the "_boeuf à la mode_," not because he in any way looks like a _boeuf_, but because he is fine-looking, masterful, and _à la mode_. count gianotti, first master of ceremonies, has also an american wife. she was a miss kinney, a daughter of mrs. kinney whom we knew in washington. she is tall and striking-looking. her friday receptions are well attended, especially when she lets it be known that there will be _particularly_ fine music. while the artist at the piano thinks he is making a heavy and great success and is wrestling with his _arpeggios_ on a small piano, the guests come and go and rattle their teacups, regardless of the noise, while the music goes on. this is often the case in roman _salons_. the marquis de noailles is the french ambassador. you recollect him and the marquise, who were in washington the first year we were there. he, as you know, is of the bluest blood of france. she is of polish extraction and lived in paris, where she had a _succès de beauté_ in the napoleonic days. after her first husband's death (count schwieskoska) she married de noailles. they have an offspring, an _enfant terrible_, if there ever was one, who is about nine years old, and a worse torment never existed. nobody on earth has the slightest control over him--neither father, mother, nor tutor. the marquis makes excuses for his bringing-up by saying that, having had a very severe, rod-using father himself, he was determined that if he ever had a child he would spare the rod. he can flatter himself that he has thoroughly succeeded in spoiling the child. when we were at a very large and official dinner at the farnese palace (the french embassy), where the beautifully decorated tables filled the whole length of the carracci gallery, the guests were amazed as seeing doudou (the name of the infant) come in on a velocipede and ride round and round the table, all the servants dodging about to avoid collision, holding their platters high in the air, for fear of being tripped up and spilling the food. the astonished guests expected every moment to have their chairs knocked from under them. this made this should-be-magnificent dinner into a sort of circus. no persuasion or threats could induce this terrible child to go away, and he continued during the dinner to do his velocipede exercises. he must be a very trying boy. his mother told me herself that he forces both her and his father to take castor or any other oil when the doctor prescribes it for him. people tell horrible stories about him. i am sure you will say what every one else says--"why don't his parents give him a good spanking?" at a small dinner at the english embassy i met the celebrated tenor, mario. i had not seen him since in paris in , when he was singing with alboni and patti in "rigoletto." alboni once invited the duke and the duchess of newcastle, mr. tom hohler, and ourselves to dinner to meet mario in her cozy apartment in the avenue kleber. i was perfectly fascinated by mario and thought him the beau ideal of a lothario. his voice was melodious and _caressante_, as the french say, and altogether his manners were those of a charmer. it was a most interesting dinner, and i was all ears, not wanting to lose a word of what alboni and he said. what they talked about most was their many reminiscences, and almost each of their phrases commenced, "_vous rappelez vous_?" and then came the reminiscence. after fourteen years i meet him here, a grandpapa, traveling with his daughter. he is now the marquis di candia (having resumed his title), _et l'homme du monde parfait_; he is seventy years old and has a gray and rather scanty beard instead of the smooth, carefully trimmed brown one of _autrefois_. why do captivating and fascinating creatures, such as he was, ever grow old? but, as auber used to say, "the only way to become old is to live a long time." at the embassy dinner he did not sit next to me, alas! but afterward we sat on the sofa and talked of alboni, paris, and music. i told him that the first time i had heard him sing was in america, when he sang with grisi. "so long ago?" he said. "why, you couldn't have been born!" "oh yes," i answered; "i was born, and old enough to appreciate your singing. i have never forgotten it, nor your voice. one will never hear anything like it again. have you quite given up singing?" i asked. "why, i am a grandfather! you would not have a grandfather sing, would you?" "i would," i answered, "if the grandfather was mario." rome, _ _. dear ----,--the opening of the parliament is a great occasion in rome (where one would like to be both inside and outside at the same time). the children's governess had a friend who offered them seats in her window, and this is what they saw outside: the streets lined with soldiers from the quirinal to the house of parliament, the large places in the square swept clean and sanded (an unusual sight in rome), thousands of citizens hanging out of the windows, flags and pennants waving in the air; brilliant cavalcades followed one another, accompanied by military bands playing inspiring music, and then came the bersagliere, in their double-quick step, sounding their bugles as they marched along, their hats cocked very much on one side, with long rooster feathers streaming out in the wind. this is the most unique regiment (i was going to say cockiest) one can imagine. their uniforms are very dark green, their hats are black patent leather, and they wear black gloves and leggings. i am told that these soldiers do not live long--that they hardly ever reach the age of forty. the strain on the heart, caused by their quick pace, which is something between a run and a trot, is too great, especially for the buglers, who blow their bugles while running. at last came the splendid gala coaches of the king and the queen, followed by many others, and then the military suite, making a splendid procession. [illustration: king victor emmanuel from a photograph given to madame de hegermann-lindencrone in .] inside, the large building was crowded to its limit. the state ministers were in their seats in front, the members of parliament behind them. the balconies were filled with people, and every available place was occupied. when the queen entered the royal _loge_ with her ladies and chamberlains, there was a great deal of clapping of hands, which is the way an italian shows his enthusiasm and loyalty. every one arose and remained standing while the queen came forward to the front of her _loge_, bowed and smiled, and bowed and bowed again until the clapping ceased; then she took her seat, and every one sat down. the _loge_ reserved for the diplomatic corps is directly opposite the queen's. after a few moments' pause the platform supporting the throne was noiselessly invaded by numerous officers in their glittering and brilliant uniforms, and members of the court in their court dress covered with decorations, who took their places on each side of the throne. the king came in quietly without any pomp, and was greeted by the most enthusiastic and prolonged demonstration. he acknowledged the ovation, but evidently chafed under the slight delay, as if impatient to commence his speech. before doing so he turned toward the queen's _loge_ with a respectful inclination of the head, as if to acknowledge her presence, then, bowing to the diplomatic _loge_ and turning to the audience, read his proclamation. it was most difficult to hear what the king said, perched as we were high above him; but we understood by the frequent interruptions and the enthusiastic _benes_ and _bravos_ and the clapping of hands that what he said pleased his subjects. the speech over, the king, accompanied by his suite, left as quietly as he had entered, amid the vociferous applause that followed. the queen then arose, smiled and bowed to the assembly, and withdrew. the streets were thronged with soldiers and people, and it was as much as his life was worth for the coachman to draw up in front of the door. mr. and mrs. field have almost completed their enormous palace out by santa maria maggiore, but they have not, as they hoped, succeeded in making that part of rome fashionable. they have bought land as far as the colosseum; nero's gold house, which stands in a _finocchi_ patch, is theirs too. the tenement-houses near them continue to festoon the façades with the week's wash in every state of unrepair. there is no privacy about the italians washing their dirty linen, though they do wash at home. i seem to be introducing you to all rome. mr. and mme. minghetti are old friends--that is, i have known her from . then she was princess camporeale, very handsome and captivating. she is just as attractive now and holds rome in her hand. her _salon_ is the _salon_ where all fashionable rome flocks. she has arranged it in the most artistic manner. it is crowded with furniture, with cozy corners and flirtatious nooks between _armoires_ and palm-trees. valuable old pictures and tapestries decorate the walls. the _salon_ is two stories high and has an ornamental little winding staircase on which an enormous stuffed peacock stands with outspread tail, as if guarding things below. on her sunday afternoons one is sure to hear some good music. no one refuses, as it gives a person a certain prestige to be heard there. mr. minghetti, possessing the order of the annunciata (the highest decoration of italy), is called "_le cousin du roi_." he is a great personage. he has been prime minister and still plays a very conspicuous part in politics. he has written many books on constitutional law. he is tall, handsome, and altogether delightful. the storys still live in the third heaven of the barberini palace, where on fridays there is a steady procession of tea-thirsty english and americans who toil upward. the two sons are what mr. story calls "promising." waldo (the elder) promises to rival his father as a sculptor. julian promises to be a great painter. his picture of cardinal howard, all in red against a red background, is a fine study in color besides being an excellent likeness. the haseltines are flourishing like green bay-trees. their beautiful apartment in the altieri palace, where his _atelier_ is, is filled with his exquisite water-colors and paintings. her brother, mr. marshall, is staying with them. he is very amusing. last evening he held the table in a roar when he told of a recent experience. at the duchess fiano's costume ball he had worn a costume of a mignon-henri-ii. he described it to us. a light-blue satin jacket, and trunk-hose, slashed to exaggeration, with white satin puffs, a jaunty velvet cap with a long feather, and white satin shoes turned up at the ends. worth had made it and put a price on it almost equal to marshall's income, and just because it had cost so much and he had received a good many compliments he thought it was his duty to have it and himself photographed as a memento of his reckless extravagance before the costume was consigned to oblivion. on the day of his appointment with the artist he was dressed and ready in his costume. as it was a rainy day, he provided himself with an umbrella and a pair of india-rubbers big enough to go over the gondola-like shoes. he also carried a stuffed falcon in his hand so that there should be no doubt as to what he was. unluckily, the horse fell down on the slippery _corso_, and the coachman insisted upon marshall's getting out. "you may imagine my feelings," he said, "at being obliged to show myself in broad daylight in this get-up. a crowd of gaping idiots gathered about me and made particularly sarcastic remarks. one said, '_e il re!_' ('it is the king'). another screamed, '_quante e bello i piccolo_!' there was i stranded in the middle of the _corso_, holding an umbrella over my head in one hand and that ridiculous falcon in the other, my feather dripping down my back; and when i looked down at blue legs fast turning another color and my huge india-rubbers i realized what a spectacle i was making of myself...." we laughed till the tears rolled down our cheeks. he showed us the photograph, and i must say that a less mignon-henri-ii-like mignon and a more typical american face and figure could not be imagined. if henri ii had caught sight of him with his thin legs, side-whiskers, and eye-glasses he would have turned in his grave. dr. nevin, our pastoral shepherd, has really done a great deal for the american church here and ought to have a vote of thanks. he has collected so much money that he has not only built the pretty church, but has decorated it with burne-jones's tall angels and copies of the mosaics from ravenna. he has also built a comfortable rectory, which he has filled with rare _bric-à-brac_. they say that no one is a better match for the wily dealers in antiquities than the reverend gentleman, and the pert little cabmen don't dare to try any of their tricks on him. he shows another side of his character when in the pulpit. the mere sound of his own voice in reading the scriptures affects him to tears. last sunday he almost broke down completely when he was reading about elijah and the bears (a tale which does not seem in the least pathetic to me). he is a great sportsman and plays all games with enthusiasm, and is a fervent but bad whist-player, and when he revokes (which he often does) we suppose he is thinking out his next sunday's sermon. in the summer vacation he goes to the rocky mountains and kills bears. a few sundays ago it was, if ever, the occasion to say, "don't kill the organist; he is doing his best." signor rotoli (the organist), who does not know one word of english, was dozing through dr. nevin's usual sermon, and, having the music open before him of the solo that mr. grant (the tenor) was going to sing, heard the first words of the prayer, "o lord, grant--" thought that it was the signal for the anthem, and crashed down the opening chords. dr. nevin looked daggers at him, as if he could have killed him on the spot, and had there been anything at hand heavier than his sermon he certainly would have thrown it at him. _march, ._ dear ----,--the carnival is over. as it is the first carnival i have ever seen, i must describe it to you. it lasts almost a week. it commenced last wednesday and finished yesterday. mr. saumares, of the english embassy, had taken a balcony just opposite the palazzo fiano, where the queen always goes. he invited us for the whole week, and when we were not in the fray ourselves, we went there at five o'clock to take tea and to see the _corso di barbeir_ (the race of the wild horses). the first day of the carnival we were full of energy and eagerness. we were all in our shabbiest clothes, as this is the customary thing. the coachman and the valet also had their worst clothes on, which is saying a good deal, and the horses were even worse than usual, which is saying a good deal more. the carriages were filled to overflowing with flowers, bonbons, and confetti by the bushel. our servant, giuseppe, had been since early morning bargaining for the things, and after tucking us in the carriage he contemplated us with pride as we drove off. we started from the piazzo del popolo at three o'clock, and pelted every one, exhausting our ammunition recklessly. dirty little beggar-boys would jump on the step of the carriage and snatch what flowers they could, even out of our hands, and would then sell them back to us, scrambling for the soldi which we threw at them; and, what was worse, they picked the same bouquets up, which by this time had become mere stems without flowers and covered with mud, and threw them at us. they wanted their fun, too. at five o'clock we stood on the balcony to watch the race of the wild horses. these are brought straight in from the country, quite wild and untamed. they are covered with all sorts of dangling pointed tin things and fire-crackers, which not only frighten them dreadfully, but hurt them. they started at the piazza del popolo and were hooted and goaded on by the excited screams of the populace all the way down the narrow _corso_, which is a mile long. it is a wonder that the poor creatures in their fright did not dart into the howling crowd, but they did not. they kept straight on their way, stung to desperation by the fireworks on their backs. at the piazza di venezia the street narrows into a very small passage, which divides the palazzo from its neighbor opposite. here sheets (or, rather, sails) were hung across this narrow place, into which the horses, blinded with terror, puzzled and confused, ran headlong, and were easily caught. the one who gets there first gets the prize, and is led back through the streets, tired and meek, wearing his number on a card around his neck. it is a cruel sport, but the italians enjoy it, believing, as they do, that animals have no souls, and therefore can support any amount of torture. nothing is done on friday. the following tuesday--mardi-gras--was the last day. then folly reigned supreme. after the horses had run their race and twilight had descended on the scene, the _moccoletti_ began. this is such a childish sport that it really seems impossible that grown-up men and women could find any amusement in taking part in it. lighting your own small tallow candle and trying to put out your neighbor's--that is what it amounts to. does it not sound silly? yet all this vast crowd is as intent on it as if their lives and welfare were at stake. at eight o'clock, however, this came to an end, the last flickering light was put out, and we went home--one would think to play with our dolls. rome, _ _. dear ----,--since we are bereft of balls and _soirées_ we devote our time to improving our italian. johan and i take lessons of a monsignore who appears precisely at ten every morning. we struggle through some verbs, and then he dives into dante, the most difficult thing to comprehend in the italian language. then he tries to explain it in italian to us, which is more difficult still. he makes us read aloud to him, during which he folds his hands over his fat stomach and audibly goes to sleep. he will awake with a start and excuse himself, saying that he gets up at five o'clock in the morning for _matines_, and that naturally at eleven he is sleepy; but i think he only pretends to sleep and takes refuge behind his eyelids, in order to ponder over the italian language as "she is spoke." sgambati, the very best composer and pianist in rome, gives lessons to nina, who he says has "_molto talento_." sgambati has a wonderful and sympathetic touch, which is at once velvety and masterful. his gavotte is a _chef-d'oeuvre_. he calls it a gavotte, but i tell him he ought to call it "the procession of the cavaliers," because it has such a martial ring to it. it does not in the least resemble a gavotte louis xv. i seem to see in my mind's eye henry v. trying to rally his comrades about him and incite them to combat. sgambati looks like a _preux chevalier_ himself, with his soft, mild blue eyes and long hair and serene brow. he brought a song that he composed, he said, "_per la distinta eccellenza hegermann_ expressly by her devoted and admiring sgambati." although the song was beautiful as a piano piece and as _he_ played it, i could not sing it. i said: "my dear sgambati, i can never sing 'mio' on a si-bemol. can i not change it for an 'a'?" "no!" answered sgambati. "the-whole meaning would be lost; but you can broaden it out and sing 'miaa.'" another shining light is tosti, who comes to us very often. he is by far the best beloved of popular composers. he understands the voice thoroughly and composes songs which are melodious and easy to sing. therefore every one sings them. he has not much of a voice, but when he sings his compositions he makes them so charming that they sell like wildfire. he is the most amiable of geniuses, and never refuses to sing when he is asked. yesterday i sang something i had composed as a _vocalize_. he liked it so much that he asked why i did not sing it as a song. i said, "i cannot write either it or the accompaniment." "that is easy enough," he replied. "i will write it for you," and scribbled it off then and there. he dedicated a piece to me called "forever," which i sing on every occasion. i have a great friend in madame helbig, the wife of herr helbig, the german archæologist in rome. she is born a russian princess, and is certainly one of the best amateur musicians, if not the best, i have ever met. she is of immense proportions, being very tall and very stout. one might easily mistake her for a priest, as she is always dressed in a long black garment which is a sort of water-proof; and as her hair is short and she never wears a hat, you may well imagine that she is very well known in rome. when she hails a cab to take her up the very steep caffarelli hill, where they live, the cabbies, who are humorists in their way, look at her, then at their poor, half-fed horses and the weak springs of their dilapidated _bottes_ (cabs), shake their heads, and, holding up two dirty fingers, say, "_in due volte_" (which means "in two trips"). mr. ross, the norwegian painter, whose english is not quite up to the mark, said she was the "hell-biggest" woman he ever saw; and when she undertook a journey to russia, said, "dear me, how can she ever travel with that corpse of hers?" rome, holy week, _ _. my dear aunt,--the churches are open all day. st. peter's, laterano, santa maria maggiore each has one of the famous sopranos. the music is--well, simply divine! i can't say more. you must hear it to appreciate it. (some day i hope you will.) good friday is the great day at st. peter's. the church is so crowded that one can hardly get a place to stand. there are not chairs enough in any of the churches during holy week for the numerous strangers that pervade rome. my servant generally carries a camp-stool and rug, and i sit entranced, listening in the deepening twilight to the heavenly strains of palestrina, pergolese, and marcello. sometimes the soloists sing gounod's "ava maria" and rossini's "stabat mater," and, fortunately, drown the squeaky tones of the old organ. a choir of men and boys accompanies them in "the inflammatus," where the high notes of m.'s tearful voice are almost supernatural. people swarm to the laterano on saturday to hear the vespers, which are especially fine. after the solo is finished, the priests begin their monotonous gregorian chants, and at the end of those they _slap-bang_ their prayer-books on the wooden benches on which they are sitting, making a noise to wake the dead. i thought they were furious with one another and were refusing to sing any more. it seemed very out of place for such an exhibition of temper. a knowing friend told me that it was an old jewish custom which had been repeated for ages on this particular day and at this hour. it closes the lenten season. on easter sunday i sang in the american church. dr. nevin urged me so much that i did not like to refuse. i chose mendelssohn's beautiful anthem, "come unto me." rome, _ _. dear ----,--we have moved from the palazzo rospigliosi to the palazzo tittoni, in via rasella, which leads from the palazzo barberini down to the fontana di trevi. i never would have chosen this palace, beautiful as it is, if i could have foreseen the misery i suffer when i hear the wicked drivers goading and beating their poor beasts up this steep hill. the poor things strain every muscle under their incredible burdens, but are beaten, all the same. i am really happy when i hear the crow--i mean the bray--of a donkey. it has a jubiliant ring in it, as if he were somehow enjoying himself, and my heart sympathizes with him. but it may be only his way of expressing the deepest depths of woe. mrs. charles bristed, of new york, a recent convert to the church of rome, receives on saturday evenings. she has accomplished what hitherto has been considered impossible--that is, the bringing together of the "blacks" (the ultra-catholic party, belonging to the vatican) and the "whites," the party adhering to the quirinal. these two parties meet in her _salon_ as if they were of the same color. the pope's singers are the great attraction. she must either have a tremendously long purse or great persuasive powers to get them, for her _salon_ is the only place outside the churches where one can hear them. therefore this _salon_ is the only platform in rome where the two antagonistic parties meet and glare at each other. we went there last saturday. the chairs were arranged in rows, superb in their symmetry at first, but after the first petticoats had swept by everything was in a hopeless confusion. two ladies sitting on one chair, one lady appropriating two chairs instead of one, and another sitting sideways on three. the consequence was that there was a conglomeration of empty chairs in the middle of the room, while crowds of weary guests stood in and near the doorway, with the thermometer sky-high! when one sees the pope's singers in evening dress and white cravats the prestige and effect are altogether lost. this particular evening was unusually brilliant, for the monsignores and cardinals were extra-abundant. there were printed programs handed to us with the list of the numerous songs that we were going to hear. the famous moresca, who sings at the laterano, is a full-faced soprano of forty winters. he has a tear in each note and a sigh in each breath. he sang the jewel song in "faust," which seemed horribly out of place. especially when he asks (in the hand-glass) if he is really marguerita, one feels tempted to answer, "_macché_," for him. then they sang a chorus of palestrina, all screaming at the top of their lungs, evidently thinking they were in st. peter's. it never occurred to them to temper their voices to the poor shorn lambs wedged up against the walls. afterward followed the duet, "_quis est homo_," of rossini's "stabat mater," sung by two gray-haired sopranos. this was extremely beautiful, but the best of all was the solo sung by a fat, yellow-mustached barytone. i never heard anything to compare to his exquisite voice. we shall never hear anything like it in this world, and i doubt in the next. maroni is the man who always directs the pope's singers. he makes more noise beating time with his roll of music on the piano than all the cab-drivers below in the piazza del popolo. the supper-room was a sight to behold--the enormous table fairly creaking under the weight of every variety of food filled half the room, leaving very little space for the guests. the sopranos got in first, ahead even of the amiable hostess, who stopped the whole procession, trying to go abreast through the door with a portly cardinal and a white diplomat, leaving us, the hungry black and white sheep, still wrestling with the chairs. you must have heard of hamilton aidé, the author of _the poet and the prince_ and other works. he comes frequently to see us, and always brings either a new book or a new song--for he is not only a distinguished author, but a composer as well. he sings willingly when asked. he is very fond of one of his songs, called "the danube river." if he had not brought the music and i had not seen the title as i laid it on the piano, i should never have known that it was anything so lively as a river he was singing about. though i could occasionally hear the word "river," i hoped that as the river and singer went on they would have a little more "go" in them; but they continued babbling along regardless of obstacles and time. i was extremely mortified to see that several of my guests had dozed off. the river and the singer had had a too-lullaby effect on them. rome, _ _. dear ----,--next to the palazzo tittoni lives a delightful family--the count and countess gigliucci, with a son and two daughters. the countess is the celebrated clara novello of oratorio fame. the three ladies are perfectly charming. i love to go to see them, and often drop in about tea-hour, when i get an excellent cup of english tea and delicious muffins, and enjoy them in this cozy family circle. though they live in a palace and have a showy _portier_, they do not disdain to do their shopping out of the window by means of a basket, which the servant-girl lets down on a string for the daily marketing. even cards and letters are received in this way, as the porter refuses to carry anything up to their third story. "_sortita!_" screamed down in a shrill voice is the answer to the visitor waiting below in the courtyard. when the three ladies are sitting at the tea-table dispensing tea, one of them will suddenly commence the trio from "elijah"--"lift thine eyes"--the other two joining in (singing without an accompaniment, of course) in the most delicious manner. their voices are so alike in _timbre_ and quality that it is almost impossible to distinguish one from the other. after the trio they go on pouring out tea as if nothing had happened, whereas for me it is an event. it is such perfection! countess gigliucci comes sometimes and sings with me. her voice is still beautiful and clear as a bell. what must it have been in its prime? in her letters to me she calls me "my delicious blackbird." rome, _march, _. the king of sweden came to rome on an official visit to their majesties. i suppose it is called official because he is staying as a guest at the quirinal, therefore he is hardly seen in private. you remember that i saw a good deal of him when he was in paris in . he was then hereditary prince to the throne of sweden, and was called prince oscar. he only stayed three days at rome. there was a gala dinner to which all the diplomats were invited. he greeted me very cordially, shook hands in his genial manner, and talked about the past (sixteen years ago) as if it were yesterday. he said, smilingly: "you see, since i have become king i have cut my hair." i had no idea what he meant and looked puzzled. "don't you remember," he said, "you called me 'the _hair_ apparent' on account of my long locks?" "oh, your majesty," i said, "how could i have been so rude?" "it was not rudeness," he said, kindly. "you said what you liked in those days. you were not then a diplomat's wife." the day of his departure from rome we went to the station. the king was very gracious, and said to johan, "i hope you and your wife will come some day to sweden," and gave my hand an extra-hearty squeeze. a hearty squeeze from his hand was something to remember! * * * * * the queen has asked me to sing with her, and i go regularly twice a week to the quirinal at two o'clock. we sing all kinds of duets, classical and the ultra-modern. the queen's singing-master, signor vera, and sometimes the composer, signor marchetti, accompany us--they bring new music which has appeared, which we _déchiffrons_ under their critical eyes. it is the greatest delight i have to be able to be with her majesty in such an informal way. she is so enchanting, so natural, so gay, and so fascinating. no one can resist her. am i not a greatly privileged person? i presented nina to her last week--her majesty told me to bring her with me on one of our singing-lesson days at half past one--so we had a half-hour of conversation before the singing-master came. the queen said, after nina had gone: "what a beauty she is! she will set the world on fire." _may, ._ the visit of the newly married couple, prince tomaso, brother of the queen, and princess isabella of bavaria, has been the occasion of many festivities. yesterday there was a garden party in the quirinal gardens. it was a perfect day, and the beautiful toilets of the ladies made the lawn look like a _parterre_ of living flowers. the grounds are so large that there were several entertainments going on at the same time without interfering with one another. a band of gipsies in their brilliant dresses were singing in one place, and in a _bosquet_ a troupe of neapolitans were dancing the tarantella in their white-stockinged feet. there were booths where you could have your photograph taken and your fortune told. everywhere you were given souvenirs of some kind. one played at the _tombola_ and always got a prize. buffets, of course, at every turn. we went from one surprise to another. the prince of naples was omnipresent and seemed to enjoy himself immensely. whoever arranged this _fête_ ought to have received a decoration. twilight and the obligation of having to dress for the evening concert put a stop to this delightful afternoon. in the evening there was a gala concert which was very entertaining. it commenced by a piece written by the baron renzie and very well performed by amateurs, and some mandolinists, who played several things more or less acceptably, and then came a long and tedious symphony which was too classical for the majority of the audience. the queen and the duchess of genoa seemed to enjoy it. i did, too, but the king looked bored to death, and the bridegroom went fast to sleep. the queen, who was sitting next to him, gave him a vigorous pinch to wake him up. the pinch had the intended effect, but the groan he gave was almost too audible. in the interlude when ices were passed the princess talked with the wives of the diplomats who were brought up to her. the queen, still laughing at her brother's discomfiture, passed about among the other guests. _december, ._ we returned to rome a week ago. it was said that their majesties had expressed the desire that as many diplomats as possible should be present when the crown prince of germany came for his visit to the quirinal. during the stay of the crown-prince frederic the crowds waited patiently outside the quirinal, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. he is very popular, and whenever he shows himself he is cheered to _outrance_. sometimes he came out on the balcony, and once he took the prince of naples up in his strong arms and cried "_evviva l'italia_" the people clapped their hands till they were worn out. there were fireworks from the castel st. angelo in his honor which were wonderfully fine. to reach the balconies reserved for the _corps diplomatique_ we were obliged to leave our carriages in a little side-street and go through a long carpeted passage, the walls of which were hung with fine old tapestries taken from the quirinal in order to hide the unsightly objects concealed behind them. the balconies were erected on the outside of the dilapidated houses which overlook the tiber and facing the castel st. angelo. how they ever managed to make this passage is a mystery! in the daytime one could not see the possibility of cutting through the labyrinth of these forlorn tumble-down houses. we sat trembling for fear that the shaky planks would suddenly give way and plunge us into the whirling tiber under our feet. the fireworks were the most gorgeous display of pyrotechnics i ever saw. and the bouquet as the _finale_ was a magnificent tornado of fire which left a huge "f" blazing, which lighted up the december night. we were thankful when we reached home alive. the next and last evening of the festivities was a gala opera, where there was a great deal of clapping and enthusiasm which accompanied a rather poor performance of "aida." they said that verdi was in the audience, but he did not appear, nor was there any demonstration made for him. rome, _january, _. my dear ----,--there are a few changes in the embassies. sir saville lumley has succeeded sir august paget at the english embassy. sir saville's own paintings now cover lady paget's chocolate cherubs--only those above the door and their bulrushes are left to tell the tale. monsieur decrais, the new french ambassador and his wife, who replace the de noailles in the farnese palace, are already established. the iciness of siberia continues to pervade the palace in spite of all efforts to warm those vast _salons_, enormous in their proportions--i do not know how many _métres_ they are to the ceiling. the carracci gallery separates the bedrooms from the _salons_. madame decrais says that they are obliged to dress like eskimos when they cross it, as they do twenty times a day. how the roman climate must have changed since the time when the romans went about in togas and sandals and lay on slabs of marble after their bath! we are delighted to have our dear friend m. de schlözer here. he is minister to the vatican, and is (or ought to be) as black as ink, while we quirinalers are as white as the driven snow; but he has no prejudice as to color, nor have we, so we see one another very often and dine together whenever we can. as soon as his silver was unpacked we were invited straightway to dinner. his rooms in the palazzo capranica (belonging to the family of madame ristori's husband) are as bare as those he occupied in washington--barer, even, for here there are no _portières_. in the _salon_ he had his beloved steinway grand, one stiff sofa, four enormous _fauteuils_, destined for his cardinals, a few small gilt _chaises volantes_ (as he calls little chairs that are easy to move about), one table on which reposes the last piece of marble picked up while strolling in the forum, and, as a supreme banality, his niece's christmas present, a _lamp-mat_, on which stands the lamp in solitary glory. schlözer's dinners are of the best, and are most amusing. he superintends everything himself and gives himself no end of trouble. each course as it is served receives an introductory speech: "_ce paté, mon cher, est la gloire de ma cuisinière_" etc. he says that all _volaille_ ought to be carved at the table, therefore he carves the birds and the chickens himself, brandishing the knife with gusto while sharpening it. and as for the wines! dear me! after filling his glass he holds it against the light, tastes the wine, smacks his lips, and says: "_ce vin de bordeaux est du ' . il faut le boire avec recueillement. je l'ai débouché moi-même_." he has a great liking for lenbach (the famous painter), although they are utterly different in character and ways. lenbach is not musical, and is rather rough and gruff in his manners. even his best friends acknowledge that he does not possess the thing called manners. he is clever and witty in his way, but his way is sarcastic and peevish. sometimes when he is talking to you he beams and scowls alternately behind his spectacles. you think that he is listening to you, but not at all! he is only thinking out his own thoughts, in which he seems always to be wrapped. lenbach occupies the same apartment in the palazzo borghese that pauline bonaparte lived in. probably the very couch is still there on which she reclined for her famous statue. you remember what a modest lady friend said to her, "_cela m'étonne que vous ayez pu poser comme cela_!"--meaning, without clothes; to which the princess replied: "but why do you wonder? canova had a fire in the room." lenbach asked permission to paint nina. we did not refuse, and expected great things. he photographed her twenty times in different poses, turning her head (physically, not morally) every which way, and painted thirteen pictures of her, but there was only one (a very pretty profile in crayon with a pink ear and a little dash of yellow on the hair) which he thought good enough to give us. do not ask me what we have done or whom we have seen. we are out morning, noon, and night. every day there is a regular "precession of the equinoxes"--luncheons, dinners, and _soirées_ galore. i sing twice a week with the queen--red-letter days for me. i look forward with joy to passing that hour with her. i never knew any one so full of interest, humor, and intelligence. it is delightful to see her when she is amused. she can laugh so heartily, and no one, when there is occasion for sympathy, is more ready to give it. her kind eyes can fill with tears as quickly as they can see the fun in a situation. nina and i go out every morning from ten to twelve. johan is then busy with his despatches and shut up in the chancellery. it is the fashion during those hours to drive in a cab in the _corso_. it is not considered _chic_ to go out in one's own carriage until the afternoon. i am glad of the excuse of buying even a paper of pins in order to be out in the sunshine. another queer fashion is that on sundays gentlemen (the highest of the high) who have their own fine equipages, of which on week-days they are so proud, drive to the fashionable places, like villa borghese and villa doria, in _cabs_. sometimes you will see the beaux most in vogue squeezed (three or four of them) in a little _botte_ (the italian name for cab), looking very uncomfortable. but as it is the thing to do, they are proud and happy to do it. but on other days!--horrible! nevertheless, it is on sundays (_especially_ on sundays) that principe massimo causes people to stop and stare because he drives abroad on that day in his high-seated phaeton, his long side-whiskers floating in the wind, his servants in their conspicuous dark-red liveries covered with armorial braid, pale-blue cuffs and collars, sitting behind him. then it is that the romans say to themselves, our aristocracy is not yet dead. our colleagues, the de w.'s, had a _loge_ in the argentina theater and invited us the other evening to go with them to see the great salvini in "hamlet." the theater was filled to the uppermost galleries; you could not have wedged in another person. the people in the audience, when not applauding, were as silent as so many mice; this is unlike the usual theater-going italian, who reads and rustles his evening paper all through the performance, looking up occasionally to hiss. salvini surpassed himself, perhaps on account of the presence of her majesty, whose eyes never wandered from the stage, except in the _entr'actes_, when she responded to the ovation the public always makes wherever she appears. she rose and bowed with her sweet smile, the smile which wins all hearts. there was only one hitch during the performance, and that was when hamlet and polonius fought the duel; the latter, unfortunately, missed his aim and speared hamlet's wig with his sword, on which it stuck in spite of the most desperate efforts to shake it off. salvini, all unconscious, continued fencing until he caught sight of his wig dangling in the air and, realizing his un-hamlet-like bald head, backed out into the side-wing, leaving polonius to get off the stage as best he could. in the _entr'acte_ monsieur de w. and i talked over the play, and, unfortunately, i said, "did hamlet ever exist?" a bomb exploding under our noses could not have been more disastrous! he burst out in indignant tones, and we almost came to literary blows in our violent discussion. m. de w. insists upon it that shakespeare knew all about hamlet and where he lived, the medieval clothes he wore, and that he was the sepulchral prince with whom we are so familiar; that ophelia was a very misused and unhappy young lady, who drowned herself in a water-lily pond; and that hamlet's papa used to come nights and scare the life out of the courtiers. "wait a little," i said. "i flatter myself that i know the story of hamlet thoroughly. i spent all last summer studying the old danish chronicle, which was written in latin in by a monk called saxo grammaticus, then translated into old-fashioned danish, which i translated, to amuse myself, into english. if what saxo says is true hamlet lived about two or three hundred years before christ." "impossible!" almost screamed my friend. i went on, regardless of m. de w.'s dangerous attitude: "denmark at that time was divided into several kingdoms, and hamlet's father was king in a part of jutland, which, let us say, was as small as rhode island--" "what nonsense!" interrupted m. de w., indignantly. "he probably went about in fur-covered legs and a sheepskin over his shoulders, as was then the fashion. he was called amleth; shakespeare simply transposed the h. he was a naughty little boy, vicious and revengeful. he despised his mother and hated his uncle, who was his stepfather." [illustration: two young queens from a photograph, taken in , of the two daughters of the king of denmark. they were then the princess of wales and the grand duchess dagmar. they are now the widows of two european sovereigns, dowager queen alexandra of england and the dowager empress of russia. they spend their summers together in a small cottage near copenhagen. alexandra is on the right of the picture.] "why?" asked, in a milder tone, m. de w. "because his mother and the uncle, wishing to marry and mount the throne, killed hamlet's father. hamlet passed his youth haunted by thoughts of revenge and how he could punish the two sinners." "it was clever of shakespeare to let the father do the haunting and leave to hamlet the _rôle_ of a guileless and sentimental youth; the authorities do not agree as to whether hamlet was really a fool or only pretended to be one." "fool he certainly was not," i replied. "he was clever enough to play the part of one, and he played it so well that no one, even at that time, could make out what he really was." "then," declared m. de w., "shakespeare got that part of it right--perhaps you will concede that much. how about hamlet's grave? surely there is no humbug about that? i have seen it myself. has it been there since two hundred years b.c.?" "hamlet's grave at helsingör is an interesting bit of imagination. a unique instance of inaccuracy on the part of the danes! hamlet lived to be king in his little land and was buried where he died--if he ever lived--as an irishman would say." "how confusing you are," said my opponent. "you destroy my dearest illusions--i, who adore shakespeare's hamlet." "i adore shakespeare's hamlet, too, but i do not adore saxo's. hamlet's love for his father was the only redeeming point about him. did you know that he married the daughter of the king of england?" "shakespeare only mentions ophelia, and we are led to believe that hamlet died unmarried." "well," i answered, "if saxo is right, he was married, had lots of children, and continued the dynasty till _dato_." "go on! you interest me." "he made himself very disagreeable at home with his silly talk and his hatred of the king and the queen. in a conversation he had with his mother he flung away all disguise and also hurled some unpleasant and extremely unvarnished truths full in the maternal face." "that does not speak well for him," said mr. de w. "to get rid of him," i continued, warming to my subject, "the danish court sent him to the english court with a nice letter of introduction, and at the same time sent a letter to the king of england, begging him to have hamlet killed somehow or other, but clever hamlet stole and read the letter and killed the messenger himself." "that shows he was no fool," acknowledged m. de w. "the king of england gave him a fine dinner, and i think the english court must have opened its eyes when hamlet pushed away the food, saying it was '_too bad to eat_.' he told them that the bread tasted of dead men's bones and the wine of blood, and, worst of all, that the queen was not a born lady. when the court asked with one voice how he dared breathe such an insult he answered that there were three things that proved that what he said was true." "it would amuse me to know what the three things were," said m. de w. "one was," i said, "that the queen held up her dress while walking; another, that she threw a shawl over her head; and the last, that she picked her teeth and chewed the contents! i actually blush for the danes when i read the account of that dinner." "i confess," laughed de w., "that that _was_ pretty bad. tell me some more." "the courtiers hurried to examine into affairs and found that everything that hamlet said was true. the poor queen was horribly mortified, for they discovered that her papa had been a peasant." "i suppose," said m. de w., "that the court forbade the banns after that." "no," i said, "hamlet went home with his bride, and the royal danish court of jutland made an enormous feast for the home-coming of the princely couple. _this_ was the thing that hamlet had waited for all his life. saxo hurries over this harrowing episode. hamlet succeeded in getting all the guests dead drunk, then he pulled the tapestries all down on top of them and set fire to the palace and burned them all up. what do you think of your adorable hamlet now?" "i think," said m. de w., curtly, "all things considered, that hamlet was a damn fool!" "i thought so too until i read the speech he made to his subjects when he mounted the throne. it was the most beautiful bit of sentiment, the tenderest tribute to his dead father, and showed his undaunted love for his country. i am sorry that shakespeare made no mention of this." mr. story, who was with us, said he once heard a lady say she did not care much for shakespeare, because he was "so full of quotations." rome, _ _. dear ----,--the king drives every day in his high english phaeton through the crowded streets, not fearing to expose himself to his people, as some other sovereigns do. when some one remonstrated with him, "your majesty ought not to run such risk," he answered, smilingly: "_comment donc! c'est un des ennuis de notre métier_." everybody bows respectfully, and in return he takes off his hat and holds it at right angles, keeping the reins in the other hand. sometimes he does not get the chance to put his hat back on his head the whole length of the _corso_. his adjutant sits by his side and a lacquey sits behind, dressed in black. the king likes simplicity in all things. the queen drives in a landau (_à huit resorts_), accompanied by her lady in waiting; the servants in their brilliant red liveries can be seen from a long distance. her majesty recognizes every one, smiles and bows right and left; sometimes she will look back and give a person an extra smile. she says that she can see, while flying by, all the objects exposed in the shop windows, and often sends the servant back to buy what she has noticed. when their majesties meet in the drive in their respective equipages the queen rises in her seat as if to make a courtesy, and the king responds in the most ceremonious manner. before christmas the queen goes about in the shops and makes her own purchases (the shops are then shut to the public). all the ladies of the court receive magnificent gifts, generally in the shape of jewels. the king always keeps on his writing-table and within touch a quantity of rare unset stones. he likes to look at them and handle them; and then, when the occasion comes to give a present, he has the stones set in diamonds. milan, _november , _. my dear aunt,--we arrived here last night, and shall remain till to-morrow, when we are expected at monza, where the king and the queen have invited us to make them a visit. count gianotti came this afternoon to tell us that we are to take the train leaving here at three o'clock. johan and i went out for a stroll while the maid and valet were packing. we wandered through the victor emmanuel gallery, then went into the ever-enchanting cathedral. i never tire of seeing this wonderful place. i pay my two soldi for a chair and sit there, lost in thought and admiration. the dimness and silence make it very solemn and restful. every little while a procession of intoning priests shuffle by to go to some altar in one of the side-chapels for some particular service. sometimes it is a baptism, and the peasants whose babies are going to be baptized stand in an awed group around the font. everything is done in a most matter-of-fact way. i look at the splendid carvings and filigree of marble and wonder how any _one_ mountain can have furnished so much marble, since it started furnishing hundreds of years ago. it is lucky that the mountain belongs exclusively to the church! on my return to the hotel i found a card from countess marcello, saying that the queen had suggested our going to the scala theater, and that we were to occupy the royal box. she has just left monza. she is lady in waiting to the queen, and, her duties having finished for this month, she is replaced by the princess palavicini. she told us that there were at present no guests at monza. she said that there are three categories of toilets: "_good, better_, and _best_" (as she put it), besides the unexpected which always arrived in the shape of court mournings, and one must be prepared for them all. when the king's sister (princess clothilde) is there, only severe, sober, and half-high dresses are worn. for the queen's mother (the duchess of genoa) the usual evening dress, _décolletée_, with a train. but when the queen of portugal comes everything must be extra magnificent, with tiaras and jewels galore and the last things of modernity. we arrived in the theater just as the curtain was going down on the first act. the audience stared steadily at us with and without opera-glasses. i suppose people thought that we were members of some royal family. as the performance was not interesting and i was tired, we left at an early hour. i scribble this off to you just before going to bed. monza, _november d_. you see that i am writing on royal paper, which is a sign that we are here. now i will tell you about things as far as we have got. at the station in milan, count gianotti met us and put us safely in the carriage, which bore a kingly crown; princess brancaccio accompanied us. on arriving at monza station we found signor peruzzi waiting for us, and an open barouche drawn by four horses mounted by postilions from the royal stables. we drove through the town and through the long avenue leading to the _château_ at a tremendous pace, people all taking off their hats as we passed. [illustration: the palace, monza (front) occupied in the summer by the king and queen of italy.] [illustration: palace and gardens here the king and queen entertained their friends. apartments in the second story, the entire right half as seen in the picture, were occupied by the de hegermann-lindencrones.] in the courtyard (which is immense) the carriage stopped at the entrance of the left wing, and we entered the _château_, where the marquise villamarina met us and led the way to our apartment, telling me, as we walked along, that her majesty was looking forward with much pleasure to seeing us, and said that we were expected at five o'clock for tea in the _salon_ and that i was to come dressed as i was, adding that she would come for us to show the way. i had time to admire our gorgeous set of rooms, which is finer than anything i had ever seen before--finer than compiègne, and certainly finer than our apartment at fredensborg. we passed through an antechamber which led to my _salon_, the walls of which are covered with red damask, the curtains and furniture of the same; many beautiful modern pictures hang on the walls, and there are pretty vitrines filled with _bric-à-brac_. my dressing-room is entirely _capitonné_ in blue satin from top to bottom--even the ceiling. it has long mirrors set in the walls, in which i am reflected and re-reflected _ad infinitum_. my bath-room is a dream with its tiled walls and marble bath. (my maid's room is next this.) my bedroom is as large as a ballroom; the curtains, _portières_, divans, and comfortable arm-chairs are of white satin, and in the middle is a glass chandelier fit for a doge's palace. a hundred candles can light me when i go to bed. my bed stands on a rather high platform and has white-satin curtains hanging from a _baldaquin_ with fringe and tassels, and a huge aubusson carpet covers the whole floor. next to my bedroom is j.'s bedroom, which is also very large, with two windows, furnished in red brocade; great gilt consols support the elaborate-framed italian mirrors. then comes his dressing-room, which connects with his bath-room and his valet's room. then another antechamber giving on to a corridor which leads to the great gallery. the marquise came to my door, and we followed her through two or three drawing-rooms before we reached the center room, which is a very large _salle_ with a dome taking in three stories. the queen welcomed me most cordially and seemed very glad to see me. she kissed me on both cheeks and made me sit by her on the sofa. she was, as always, lovely and gracious. the repast was a very sumptuous high tea--all sorts of cold meats, birds, confitures, cakes of various kinds, and sandwiches. i asked the queen if she had been singing much during the summer. "alas, no!" she replied. "my voice has had a vacation, and vera and marchetti have also had theirs. i have been in stresa with my mother, and in turin, but, now you are here, we shall certainly have some music. vera is here," and at that very moment the amiable old master appeared. we remained talking till nearly six o'clock; then we went up to dress for dinner. i had a better look at our rooms. they appeared more magnificent than before. my maid had unpacked everything, and a fire was burning brightly in my bedroom, making it look cozy, if one can make such a royal and luxurious apartment look cozy. i looked at my bed on its platform and wondered how in the world i was ever to get in it when the time came. the sheets and pillow-cases were of the finest linen trimmed with exquisite valenciennes, like huge pocket-handkerchiefs. instead of blankets there was a large white-satin perfumed, sachet with a cord sewed round it, completely covering the bed. johan was told not to be in evening-dress suit. the king always wears a _redingote_ and a black tie. the other gentlemen, of course, do the same. the dinner was at seven o'clock. every one was assembled when we entered the _salon_. the prince of naples was talking with some ladies. his _gouverneur_, colonel osio, stood near him. after a few moments the king and the queen came in together. the king greeted us with great kindness. the prince kissed his mother's hand, made a military salute to his father, and left the _salon_. he is fifteen years old now, but looks younger. he wears a uniform which makes him look even smaller than he really is. the king gave his arm to the queen, and every one followed into the dining-room, going through the japanese room. i should say that there were twenty people at table, j. and i being the only guests. i sat on the right of the king, and johan sat on the right of the queen. the dinner was delicious. we had the famous white truffles from piemonte supplied exclusively for the king. these truffles exist only in certain forests belonging to the crown in piemonte. and there is only a certain kind of pigs that have the particular kind of nose that can find them and rout them out from under the ground. a pig and his nose are not enticing caterers, but nevertheless the truffles are delicious. when they are served they have rather a strong odor of garlic, but they do not taste of it in the least. "well," said the king, as we sat down to the table, "what have you been doing?" "your majesty would be soon tired if i told you all i have done," i said. "_bien!_ that is a good commencement. we will have enough for the whole dinner.... i listen...." "to begin with, we spent two months in denmark. then i went to america to see my mother; then to paris; then to the riviera; and from monte carlo here." "monte carlo," remarked the king. "that is a bad place. i have never been there. it is out of the circuit of my official duties," he added, laughingly. "it is a very bad place, your majesty, if you are unlucky in play; otherwise it is a lovely place." "of course you played at the tables?" the king said. "of course," i replied. "and lost all your money," said the king, and laughed. "no, your majesty. i won. i won enough to bring away a hundred-franc gold piece which i keep as a fetish." "lend it to me! i need a fetish badly," said the king. "certainly i will," and prepared to unhook it from the chain it was on. "no, no! i am only joking. i do not need anything to bring me luck." then he changed the conversation suddenly. after dinner we returned to the _grande salle_. the king and the gentlemen remained with the ladies a little while, then went to smoke in the billiard-room. as the king hardly ever sits down--or, if he does, sits on the edge of the billiard-table--the gentlemen were obliged to stand during the hour before the king joined the queen. we ladies sat with the queen, who entertained us with her impressions of the novels she had just been reading. she has such a wonderful way of absorbing and analyzing that she can give you in a few words a complete and concise synopsis of the plot and all the situations, besides making clever criticisms. it was eleven o'clock before his majesty and the gentlemen returned from their billiards and cigars. the queen got up, bade us good night, and left the room with the king. i was appalled when i was ready to occupy my royal bed. it seemed to have become more imposing and more majestic than when i last saw it. i tried to put a chair on the platform, but the platform was too narrow. the only way was to climb on a chair near the bed and from it make a desperate jump. so i put the chair, said, "_one, two, three_," and jumped. the white-satin hangings, fringes, and tassels swung and jingled from the rebound. once in bed, i cuddled down under the scented linen. i brought the sachet up to the level of my nose, where it hovered for just a little moment before it slid off me and off the bed. then commenced a series of pulling up and slipping down which lasted until i was thoroughly waked up for the night. the only way i got the better of the sachet was to balance it warily and pretend i slept. in the morning we were served a real italian breakfast in our room: thin pekoe tea, a little cream, and much powdered sugar, and an assortment of sweet cakes replacing the customary english buttered toast. monza, _november , _. dear mother,--i want to tell you what we did, though we did not do anything of great interest. it was such horrible weather that we could not drive out, as is the queen's custom every day. after luncheon signor vera (the queen's singing-master who accompanied us in rome) was called in, and her majesty and i sang our duets. all the music from the quirinal seems to have been transported here, and vera knows exactly where to put his hand upon everything as it is needed. there is a new edition of marcello's psalms which are very amusing to _déchiffrer_. sometimes the queen takes the soprano part, at others she takes the contralto. at three o'clock the queen went to her apartment, and i took that occasion to pay some visits to the other ladies in their different _salons_. we met in the _grande salle_ for tea. m. and mme. minghetti arrived from milan by the same train we came on monday, and came straight from the carriage into the _salon_. the queen seemed enchanted to see them. they are charming people. he is as delightful as he is unpretentious, which is rare in a man so celebrated as he is, and she has lost none of her fascinations, although she is a grandmother. they brought the last news from rome, and the conversation was on politics and war; they talked so rapidly that neither my brain nor my italian could keep pace with them. i might have told you something of interest if i had been able to understand what they said. at seven o'clock there was a military dinner. as there were about sixty people present, the dinner was served in the large dining room. the king and the gentlemen of the household were, as usual, in _redingotes_ and black ties, but the generals and the officers were in all their war-paint, most gorgeous to behold. i sat on the left of the king (madame minghetti was on his right), and next to the dearest old general in the world, who was politeness itself, and, though i suppose we shall never see each other again, he gave himself much trouble to entertain me. he told me that he had been with the king when he fought in the battle of custozza (in the austrian war), where the king had shown so much bravery and courage. the king, hearing what my neighbor was saying (he probably raised his voice a trifle), leaned across me, and, laughingly holding up a warning finger, said: "if you go on like that i shall leave the table." "oh, your majesty! that would never do," said my general. "now, madame," turning to me, "shall we talk of the weather?" after dinner there was _le cercle_. their majesties went about and talked to everybody. the king seemed in the best of spirits, laughing continually, and familiarly clapping the officer to whom he was talking on the back. every one stayed in the _salon_ until it was time for the military guests to take their leave. _november , ._ dear ----,--this morning i received a little word from the marquise villamarina: "please put on a warm dress, as her majesty intends taking a long drive after luncheon, and it will be chilly and damp before we get back." we came into the _salon_ just in time not to be too late, for their majesties entered almost immediately. the prince of naples (they call him the _principino_) sat next to me at luncheon. he is very clever--unusually clever--and has a memory that some day ought to stand him in good stead. mine by the side of it felt like a babe in arms. the questions he asked, _à brule-point_, would have startled a person cleverer than i am. he is very military and knows all about the different wars that have been fought since the time of moses, and when he wished to know how many officers were killed in the battle of chattanooga i had to confess that, if i had ever known, i had forgotten. but he knew everything concerning chattanooga and all other battles. when the white truffles were served (they were temptingly buried in a nest of butter) the prince said, "how can you eat those things?" "you mean, your highness, these delicious truffles?" "yes," he answered; "they don't taste bad, but they stink so." "oh, monseigneur," i cried, "you must not say that word. it is a dreadful word." "oh no, it is not. it is in the bible." i could not contradict him. i hope he will find out later that there are some words in the bible that are not used in general conversation. after luncheon the queen said: "we are going to take a very long drive. you must dress very warmly." i went to my room. i had a little time before the rendezvous in the _salon_, and i thought perhaps i could finish my letter begun yesterday, but, alas! i could not.... i returned to the _salon_ with everything i owned in the way of furs and wraps, and found all the guests waiting for the queen. the equipages here are always _a la daumon_--that is, open landaus--seats for four people inside, a rumble behind, and a seat for the coachman, if there is a coachman, but the two postilions on the four horses are seemingly all that are required. in front of the garden-side _perron_ were the two landaus waiting. the queen, madame minghetti, and johan sat inside of the first landau. general garadaglia and i sat on the coachman's box and manoeuvered the brake. it happened rather often that we forgot to manoeuver. then we would get a very reproachful glance from the postilions, and we would turn the brake on to the last wrench; then we would get another look because the wheels could not move. somehow we never got the right tension. the queen enjoyed our confusion. when we passed through the small villages the whole populace would run out into the streets to gaze at us. i thought it strange that the villagers, who must have seen the queen hundreds of times, did not seem to recognize her, and sometimes bowed to me, thinking, i suppose, that i, being on the first seat, must naturally be the first person. how different it is in denmark! when any royal carriage passes, people courtesy, sometimes even when the carriage is empty. the queen ordered the postilions to go slowly through the narrow streets of the village to avoid the risk of running over the crowds of children. i never saw so many. eight or ten at each door! they all seemed to be of the same age, and all were dressed in red calico, which made a very pretty note of color against the shabby houses. there are a great many manufactories about here, and i suppose red calico must be cheap. we reached the _palazzo_ before sunset. i was quite chilled through in spite of all my wraps (heavy and warm as they were) and thankful to get out of them and get a hot cup of tea. we found the marquise dadda and the countess somaglia, who had arrived for tea. the queen always receives her friends at this time. another military dinner this evening! evidently, monza is polishing off the military just now. it is very amusing for us, as it gives us the chance to see all the celebrities. i sat to the left of his majesty, and he told me in a loud voice who every one was and what each one had done. he did not seem to mind their hearing. pointing to one of the generals, he said, laughingly: "he is _tout ce qu'il y a de plus militaire_; even his night-gowns have epaulettes on them, and he sleeps with one hand on his sword." monza, _ th of november_. dear ----,--signor bonghi, the great italian savant, arrived for luncheon to-day. he is a personality! i will describe him later. i will only say now he is most learned and very absent-minded. after luncheon the queen wanted us to see the old cathedral of monza, where, as you know, the famous iron crown of charlemagne is kept. so after lunch the landau was ordered for us. marquise trotti (_dame d'honneur_) accompanied us. the queen asked signor bonghi to go with us to explain things. quite a crowd collected about the church door to stare at the court equipages. the handsome tall servants, in their brilliant red liveries, were alone worth looking at. it is very much of a ceremony to see the iron crown. after having visited the cathedral thoroughly we were conducted down some steps to the little chapel which contains the crown. the priest is obliged to put on the robes of high mass, and is assisted by another priest and a boy who swings the censer all the time. the _cappellano_ collected the money (twenty lire) from our party before the proceedings. (it is always well to be on the safe side.) the money question settled, the priest read some prayers, knelt many times, then ascended a little step-ladder, opened a gilded cupboard which was fastened to the wall, unlocked it, said some more prayers, and then with great reverence took out a casket, which he held high above his head, intoning a special prayer. he came down from the step-ladder, bringing the casket with him, which he opened, and we were allowed to look at, but not touch, the celebrated relic. the same ceremony was gone through when it was replaced. do you know that this crown was born in the year , and is made out of a nail supposed to be taken from christ's cross and hammered into a ring, and is encircled by a gold band about eight centimeters wide? outside the iron is a gold band set with _soi-disant_ precious stones. not much to look at, and certainly not heavy to wear. while we were there signor bonghi, at the request of the queen, copied a latin inscription on a tomb. he translated it from the latin and gave it to the queen when he returned, also to me. (i inclose it.) inscription on a tomb in monza cathedral _quod fuit, est; erit peril articulo brevis horae ergo quid prodest esse fuisse fore esse fuisse fore trio florida sunt sine flore cum simul omne peril quod fuit est erit._ that which is, that which has been, that which shall be perishes in one short hour. to what use is it to exist, to have existed, or to exist in time to come? the present, the past, the future are three flowers without perfume, since all perish together, the present, the past, the future. princess pia di savoya, princess trivulzio, count greppi, and others were invited to tea. after they had gone the queen had a fancy to run out in the park without a hat, in spite of the cold and drizzly rain, and with only a light cloak. she did not mind, so no one else minded. of course, we all did as she did, except princess palavicini (_dame d'honneur_), who had just arrived, and who asked permission that she might retire to her room in order to rest before dinner. monza, _november th_. dear mother,--i try every day to get a moment to write, as you desire, but the days go so quickly and the evenings come so soon that i hardly have time to do anything but change from one dress to the other. after luncheon this morning the king ordered some large scales to be brought into the _salon_, and we were all weighed. our kilos were written in a book, and each person was asked to write his name under his kilo. this took a long time. the queen weighs twenty kilos less than johan. there was a twinkle in the eye of the king when general pasi got on the scales. general pasi is enormously tall, and big in proportion, being a good deal more than six feet and very stout. they piled on all the weights they had, but nothing sufficed. pasi looked aghast (could the royal board be so fattening?) ... and wondered if it were not time for heroic action. and when it was found that the king had had his foot on the scales all the time every one was convulsed with laughter, especially the king, who enjoyed his little joke. the queen's drive to-day was to the marquise dadda's (one of her ladies in waiting), who has a pretty villa and park near here. we had thought of leaving monza to-day, but the queen wished us to stay longer, and of course we did not refuse, though my toilets were at a rather low ebb, having thought to remain only a few days. i sat to the left of the king at dinner. he seemed very melancholy, and told me that never in his life had he had such a painful experience as he had this afternoon. a few days ago a quite young soldier had struck his superior officer and had been sentenced to death. the king said: "he is to be shot to-morrow in the barracks near the park, and this afternoon his poor mother, accompanied by the priest, came to the palace to make a last and supreme effort to obtain pardon. his mother clung to my knees and wept her soul out: 'he is my only child and only nineteen years old--too young to die. take me instead. _sono vecchia, egli tanto giovine!_' ['i am old, and he so young!'] the priest added that the boy had always been such a good son--kind and gentle to his mother--and begged that he should be pardoned." the king repeated all this with tears in his good eyes. "i am sure that your majesty did pardon him. did you not?" "no," he said, "though it broke my heart to refuse. in military affairs one must not interfere with the discipline." "but this one," i urged, tearfully; "could there not be extenuating circumstances? do pardon him, your majesty. just think what that would mean for the poor mother." but the king, true to his ideas of military discipline, said: "no! he is condemned to die. he must die." the king could not shake off the impression this interview had made on him, and j., who passed the evening in the smoking-room with his majesty, said that he never saw the king so depressed as he was this evening. the queen came up to me directly after dinner, saying: "what _were_ you and the king talking about? you both looked so serious and sad." i told her. she said, "the king has such a good heart." the thought of the poor young fellow who was to be shot kept me awake, and i thought at five o'clock that i heard the report of guns, but i was not sure. my imagination was so keen that i could have pictured anything to myself. the first thing the king said to me at luncheon was, "did you hear this morning?" i told him i heard something, but i dreaded to think what it might have meant. "alas!" he said, as his eyes filled with tears, "it is too true, i hate to think of it." we left monza at three o'clock this afternoon, i cannot tell you how kind their majesties were to me! the queen kissed me good-by and said, "_au revoir à rome_." the king gave me his arm and went down the steps of the grand staircase of the principal entrance with me and put me himself in the landau. "you do not know what an honor this is," said signor peruzzi--as if i did not appreciate it! we drove to the station in state and traveled in the royal compartment to milan.... we intended to leave for rome and home this evening, but i feel too tired to do anything but send to you these few lines and go to bed. to-morrow night will find us in the palazzo tittoni, where the children already have arrived. rome, _january, _. dear aunt maria,--just now we are reveling in liszt. rome is wild over him, and one leaves no stone unturned in order to meet him. fortunate are those who have even a glimpse of him, and thrice blessed are those who _know_ and hear him. he is the prince of musicians--in fact, he is treated like a prince. he always has the precedence over every one; even ambassadors--so tenacious of their rights--give them up without hesitation. every one is happy to pay this homage to genius. we met him the first time at m. de schlözer's dinner. schlözer, with his usual tact, plied him well with good food, gave him the best of wines and a superlative cigar. (liszt is a great epicure and an inveterate smoker.) m. de schlözer never mentioned the word "music," but made liszt talk, and that was just the thing liszt wanted to do, until, seeing that he was not expected to play, he was crazy to get to the piano. finally he could not resist, and said to schlözer, "do play something for me!" "never!" said schlözer. "i would not dare." then liszt turned to me and asked me to sing. i also said, "i would not dare." whereupon he said, "well, since no one will do anything, i will play myself." (the minghettis, von keudell, and count arco, schlözer's secretary, were the guests.) how divinely he played! he seemed to be inspired. certainly the enthusiastic and sympathetic listeners were worthy to be his audience. "do you still sing massenet?" he said to me. "do you recollect my dining with you in paris, and your singing those exquisite songs?" "recollect it!" i cried. "how do you think i could ever forget?" "will you not sing? i will accompany you," he said. "have you any of massenet's songs?" "i have nothing with me to-night. i never dreamt of singing," i answered. schlözer said: "that is no obstacle. i will send a servant to your house directly to fetch the music." and in a very short time the music was in my hands. then liszt sat down and, turning over the pages, found what he wanted, and i sang. schlözer was radiantly happy. there was not one disturbing element. every one was as appreciative as he was himself--those who listened as well as those who performed. [illustration: note from f. liszt] liszt was at his best; i mean that he could not have been better. knowing that count arco sang, he insisted on hearing him. arco at first declined, but finally yielded--there was no resisting the arch-charmer. liszt played the "_suoni la tromba_" (arco's _cheval de bataille_), by heart, of course, singing himself, to help the timid singer, and adding variations on the piano. liszt was in such high spirits that we would not have been surprised if he had danced a jig. he threw his long hair back from his forehead, as if to throw care to the winds. later he spread his large hands over the keyboard in protest and said, "_no more from me_, but we must hear schlözer before we go." therefore schlözer was obliged to play. he can only improvise, as you know. liszt sat by his side and played a helpful bass. schlözer ordered some champagne, and we all drank one another's healths. it was after one o'clock when we bade our host adieu. johan and i took liszt in our carriage and left him at his apartment in the via margutta on our way home. we saw a great deal of him afterward, and he dined with us twice. the first time we asked grieg, the norwegian genius, thinking it would please liszt to meet him. perhaps this was a mistake. however, it was a most interesting evening. mrs. grieg sang charmingly (grieg's songs, of course); and liszt, with his hands folded in front of him, was lost in thought--or was he asleep? let us say he _dozed_--only waking up to clap his hands and cry "brava!" but it was perfectly wonderful when he read at sight a concerto of grieg's, in manuscript, which grieg had brought with him. liszt played it off as if he had known it all his life, reading all the orchestra parts. both these great artists were enchanted with each other, but after a while liszt became tired of music and asked if we could not have a game of whist. to play a banal game of whist with liszt seemed a sacrilege, but we played, all the same. i was very _distraite_, seeing grieg and his wife (who do not play cards) wandering restlessly around the room, and sometimes i put on an ace when a two would have done the deed. liszt plays the piano better than he plays whist. i don't know how many times he revoked. every one pretended not to notice, and we paid up at the finish without a murmur. he was delighted to win four lire and something, and counted out the small change quite conscientiously. johan drove him home--a very tired and sleepy liszt--and only left him at the sill of his door. i received a very queer letter the day liszt dined here. i copy it for you. it was from the princess w----, a lady whose friendship he renounced when he took holy orders. i hear that you are going to have the master (_le maître_) to dine at your house. i beg of you to see that he does not sit in a draught of air, or that the cigar he will smoke will not be too strong, and the coffee he drinks will be weak, for he cannot sleep after, and please see that he is brought safely to his apartment. yours, etc., etc. * * * * * all these instructions were carried out to the letter. on another occasion liszt wrote to me that he would bring some of his songs to try over at five o'clock. i inclose his letter. what a chance, thought i, for me to give pleasure to some of my friends who i knew were longing to see him. although he had said _entre nous_ in his letter, and i knew that he really wanted to look through the songs alone with me, i could not resist the temptation--though it was such rank disobedience--and said to them: "liszt is coming to me at five o'clock. if you would like to hear him, and consent to be hidden behind a door, i will invite you." they all accepted with rapture, and were assembled in the little _salon_ before the time appointed. the door was left open and a large screen placed before it. johan fetched liszt in our carriage, as he always does. i received him and the book of _lieder_, which he brought with him. (only johan and nina were present.) he opened the book at "_comment disaient ils?_"--one of his most beautiful songs, which has an exquisite but very difficult accompaniment. he played with fairy fingers, and we went over it several times. i could see the screen swerving and waving about; but liszt's back was turned, so he could not see it. after we had finished tea was served, and then he said, "have you heard my 'rigoletto'?" "yes," i said, "but not by you." "well," he said, "i will play it for you. your piano is better than the one i have. it is a pleasure to play on it." the screen, now alive with emotion, almost tipped over. after "rigoletto" he played "_les soirées de vienne_," and this time the screen actually did topple over and exposed to view the group of ladies huddled behind it. i shuddered to think how the master would take this horrible treachery. he took it better than i expected--in fact, he laughed outright. the ladies came forward and were presented to him, and were delighted. i am sure that liszt was, too; at any rate, he laughed so much at my ruse and contrition that the tears rolled down his cheeks. he wiped them away with his pocket-handkerchief, which had an embroidered "f.l." in the corner. this he left behind, and i kept it as a souvenir. some days after this there was a large dinner given by the german ambassador (herr von keudell) for the princess frederick carl. liszt and many others, including ourselves, were present. the ambassador allowed the gentlemen only a short time to smoke; he gave them good but small cigars. i do not know how the great master liked this, for he is a fervent smoker. however, as _le charbonnier est maître chez lui_, our host had his way and the music commenced, as he wished, very soon after dinner. both the ambassador and his wife are perfect pianists. they play four-hand pieces on two pianos. on this occasion, to do honor to the famous composer, they grappled with a formidable work by liszt, called "mazeppa." (i fancy that liszt is a little like rossini, who used to say, "_jouez pour moi toute autre chose que ma musique_.") mazeppa's wild scampering over the two keyboards made our hair stand on end, but the master dozed off in peaceful slumber and only waked up and cried "bravo!" when mazeppa had finished careering and the two pianists were wiping their perspiring brows. liszt begged the princess to whistle, and opened his book of _lieder_ at "_es muss ein wunderbares sein_" (a lovely song) and said, "can you whistle that?" yes, she could; and did it very carefully and in a _wunderbares_ manner. liszt was astonished and delighted. then liszt played. each time i hear him i say, "never has he played like this." how can a person surpass himself? liszt does. he had the music of "_comment disaient ils?_" in the same book and begged me to sing it. "do you think," he said, "you could add this little cadenza at the end?" and he played it for me. "i think so," i said. "it does not seem very difficult," and hummed it. "i had better write it for you," he said, "so that you will not forget it." and he took out his visiting-card and wrote it on the back. (i send it to you.) [illustration: from f. liszt handwritten music score.] liszt is not always as amiable as this. he resents people counting on his playing. when baroness k. inveigled him into promising to take tea with her because he knew her father, she, on his accepting, invited a lot of friends, holding out hopes that liszt would play. she pushed the piano into the middle of the room--no one could have possibly failed to see it. every one was on the _qui vive_ when liszt arrived, and breathless with anticipation. liszt, who had had many surprises of this sort, i imagine, saw the situation at a glance. after several people had been presented to him, liszt, with his most captivating smile, said to the hostess: "_où est votre piano, chère madame?_" and looked all about for the piano, though it was within an inch of his nose. "oh, monseigneur! would you, really...?" advancing toward the piano triumphantly. "you are too kind. i never should have dared to ask you." and, waving her hand toward it, "_here_ is the piano!" "ah," said liszt, who loves a joke, "_c'est vrai. je voulais y poser mon chapeau_." very crestfallen, but undaunted, the baroness cried, "but, monseigneur, you will not refuse, if only to play a scale--merely to _touch_ the piano!" but liszt, as unkind as she was tactless, answered, coldly, "madame, i never play my scales in the afternoon," and turned his back on her and talked with madame helbig. as they stood there together, he and madame helbig, one could not see very much difference between them. she is as tall as liszt, wears her hair short, and is attired in a long water-proof which looks like a soutane; and he wears his hair long, and is attired in a long soutane which looks like a water-proof. as regards their clothes, the only noticeable difference was that her gown was buttoned down the front and his was not. both have the same broad and urbane smile. one of the last dinners with liszt before he left rome was at the duke and duchess sermonetas'--the minghettis, the keudells, schlözer, and ourselves. lenbach, the celebrated painter, was invited, but forgot all about the invitation until long after the dinner. then he hurriedly donned a _redingote_ and appeared, flurried and distressed. liszt was in one of his most delightful moods, and began improvising a tarantella, and madame minghetti jumped up suddenly and started to dance. schlözer, catching the spirit of it, joined her. who ever would have thought that the sedate german minister to the pope could have been so giddy! he knelt down, clapping his hands and snapping his fingers to imitate castanets. madame minghetti, though a grandmother, danced like a girl of sixteen, and liszt at the piano played with neapolitan gaiety! it was a moment never to be forgotten. keudell's kind eyes beamed with joy. lenbach looked over his spectacles and forgot his usual sarcastic smile. we all stood in an enchanted circle, clapping our hands in rhythmical measure. our good friend ludolf, as liszt's ambassador, asked the abbé--who has a great respect for "the powers that be"--to a beautiful dinner, to which we were invited, the minghettis, the keudells, and four others--making twelve in all. madame minghetti accepted for herself, but excused her husband, who she said was not to be in rome that evening. count ludolf asked m. de pitteurs (the belgian minister) to fill minghetti's place. five minutes before dinner was announced, in came madame minghetti with monsieur minghetti. "what!" cried the count. "i did not expect _you_! why did you not send me word that you were coming? we shall be thirteen at table, and that will never do." both m. and mme. minghetti were very much embarrassed. "there is nothing easier," answered signor minghetti. "i can go home." you may imagine that this was not very pleasant for the great minghetti, who had probably never had such an experience in all his life. count arco, seeing the situation, and as a solution to the difficulty, went across the street to the club, thinking that some one could be found. fortunately, he succeeded, and you may be sure the emergency guest was only too delighted to make the fourteenth at _that_ table. the minghettis kindly and magnanimously overlooked the count's want of tact. liszt, as if he wished to make us forget this untimely incident, played after dinner as he had never played before. but nothing could suppress count ludolf--never mind where the _plats_ were, his feet continued to get into them. right in the middle of liszt's most exquisite playing our irrepressible host said, in a loud voice: "if any one wishes to have a game of whist, there are tables in the other room." liszt stopped short, but, seeing all our hands raised in holy horror at the thought of exchanging him for a game of whist, consented amiably to remain at the piano. liszt honored me by coming to my reception, brought by m. de keudell--liszt is always brought. imagine the delight of my friends who came thus unexpectedly on the great master. they made a circle around him, trying to edge near enough to get a word with him. he was extremely amiable and seemed pleased to create this manifestation of admiration. (can one ever have enough?) there are two young musical geniuses here at the villa medici, both _premier prix de rome_. one is gabriel pierné, surnamed "_le bébé_" because he is so small and looks so boyish--he really does not seem over fourteen years of age--and another, paul vidal, who is as good a pianist as pierné, but not such a promising composer. i asked liszt if he would allow these two young artists to play some of their compositions for him. liszt kindly consented, and the appointed day found them all in the _salon_. liszt was enchanted (so he said); but how many times has he said, clapping the delighted artist on the shoulder, "_mon cher, vous avez un très grand talent.... vous irez loin; vous arriverez_," a great phrase! and then he would sit down at the piano, saying with a smile, "do you play this?" and play it and crush him to atoms, and they would depart, having _la mort dans l'âme_, and overwhelmed with their imperfections. instead of encouraging them, he discouraged them, poor fellows! speaking of young artists in general, he said once, "_il n'y a personne qui apprécie comme moi les bonnes intentions, mais je n'en aime pas toujours les resultats_." you may believe that my artistic soul is full of joy when i can collect about me such artists as liszt, grieg, sgambati, pierné, vidal, mme. helbig, and countess gigliucci, not to mention the queen's _gentilhomme de la reine_ (marquis villamarina), who has the most delicious barytone voice i have ever heard--but he seems to think as little of this divine gift as if it were his umbrella. vera (the singing-master) was prevented from coming to-day to the queen's lesson, and signor marchetti replaced him. he is a very well-known composer, and has written an opera called "ruy blas," which has had quite a success here in italy. the queen and i sing a duet from it which is really charming. baron renzis had some theatricals at his pretty villa in piazza indipendenza, in which nina acted the principal _rôle_, in "l'été de st.-martin." senateur alfieri (son of the celebrated alfieri) took the part of the uncle. one of the thirteen pictures lenbach painted of nina was put on the stage and afterward brought before the curtain, but it created no enthusiasm--people did not think it did her justice. one actor (a young frenchman) had such a stage-fright that when he had to say this phrase (it was all he had to say), "_le peintre vous a diablement flattée_," he said, "_le diable vous a peintrement flattée_," which caused a roar of laughter and hurt lenbach's feelings.... massenet has just sent a complete collection of his songs--all six. i like the first two best--"_poëme d'avril_" and "_poëme de souvenir_." this last he dedicated to me. there stands on the title-page, "_madame, vous avez si gracieusement protege le poëme d'avril_...", etc. the "_poëme d'hiver_," "_poëme d'octobre_," and "_poëme d'amour_" have pretty things in them, but they are far from being so complete as the first ones. massenet wrote the date of its composition on each title-page, and a few bars of music. i took them to the queen, and we looked them over together. she was enchanted, and thought them the most graceful and refined things she had ever heard. she said, "i envy you having them." "would your majesty like to have some?" i asked. "yes, indeed; very much," she replied. "but i could never sing them. you would have to teach me how. they suit your voice, but would they mine? no one can sing them as you do." "i learnt them with massenet; that is why," i replied. i wrote to massenet and begged him to send the same collection to the queen, as she had been so delighted with his songs, and added, "don't forget to put your name, the dates, and a bar or two of music just like what you sent to me." most amiably he did what i asked for, and the queen was more than pleased, and immediately thanked him through the marquise villamarina. massenet has become a great celebrity now. twenty years ago, when he was struggling to get on in paris, auber and i helped him. i used to pay him five francs an hour for copying manuscripts. now one pays twenty francs _just to look at him_! mr. morgan, of london, has hired our good friend george wurts's magnificent apartment in the relic-covered palazzo antici-mattei. wurts is secretary to the american legation in petersburg, but comes occasionally to see his friends in rome, who all welcome him with delight. mr. morgan gives beautiful dinners, and, although he has as many fires as he can possibly have, the huge rooms are freezingly cold, and sometimes we sit wrapped in our mantles. rome, _ st of january, _. my dear aunt,--all johan's and my most affectionate greetings: "may the year which commences to-day bring you every joy." i am selfish enough to wish that it will bring _us_ the joy of seeing you. you promised to make us a visit. why not this spring? it is six o'clock. i am sitting in my dressing-gown and feeling good for nothing. the diplomatic reception this afternoon was as brilliant as the others which i have described so often. the queen was, _if possible_, more beautiful and gracious than ever. (i think the same each time i see her.) every eye followed her. does there exist in the world a more complete and lovely woman? to-day the queen's dress was exquisite--a white satin covered with paillettes and beads, the court train of blue velvet heavily embroidered in silver. the tiara of diamonds, with great upward-pointed shaped pearls which her majesty wore, was the king's new-year gift. "my christmas present," the queen told me. the king seemed more talkative than usual; he spoke a long time with each person and smiled and laughed continually. politics must be _easy_--like honors in whist. there is evidently no trouble in that quarter. _march._ dear ----,--i have permission to tell the great secret. nina is engaged to the young dane i wrote to you about--a count raben-levetzau. he is very charming and belongs to one of the best families in denmark. we went to the german ambassador's (herr von keudell's) ball last evening at the palazzo caffarelli, which the king and the queen honored with their presence. as soon as i could, i approached the queen, who was sitting in one of the gilded chairs on the _estrade_ which does duty for a throne, and told her of nina's engagement. she came forward to the edge of the platform and, beckoning nina to come to her, held out her hand and kissed her on both cheeks before the whole assemblage. of course, the news circulated as quick as lightning. when the king heard it he came straight up to us, and i presented frederick to him. his majesty was most affable, and said, smilingly, to nina: "are we really going to lose you? we shall miss our beautiful stella" (star). and turning to frederick, he said: "i do not give my consent _at all_. i think that i will forbid the banns." every one crowded around nina, eager to congratulate her. frederick was as radiant as a new-blossomed _fiancé_ could possibly be. _march._ we are as busy as bees. the trousseau is being made by the nuns in the trinita de monti convent. the queen sent nina a beautiful point-lace fan with mother-of-pearl sticks. the queen of denmark sent her a bracelet with diamonds and pearls. count raben's family and all the colleagues have given her beautiful presents. _april th._ it is all over--nina is married and gone. day before yesterday was a day of emotions. in the morning we went at ten o'clock to the campidoglio, where the magistrate's offices are and where the _sindaco_ (the marquis guiccioli, a great friend of nina's) performed the civil marriage. he particularly wished to do this _en personne_ as a special favor. he made a charming and affectionate speech and gave the pen we signed the contract with to nina. then we drove home, changed our dresses, and were ready at two o'clock for the real marriage at the church. the church was filled to the last pew. when nina came in on johan's arm there was a murmur of admiration. she looked exquisitely in her bridal gown, and as she turned round before descending the altar steps and threw back her veil she was a vision of beauty, and i am sure she will be a "joy for ever." all rome came to the reception at our house. while at sorrento we went one afternoon to take tea with the marion crawfords. they have a charming villa on the rocks. they seemed very glad to see us, and showed us all over the villa and their pretty garden. "my den," as mr. crawford called his sunny and comfortable library quite worthy of the lion he is. they are a very handsome couple. she is as sympathetic as he is, and they both talk in the most entertaining and lively manner. we had a delightful afternoon. i was asked to sing at a charity concert to be given in the magnificent _salle de gardes_ in the barberini palace. the concert was arranged by all the most fashionable ladies in rome, who with the ladies of the court were _dames patronesses_. i accepted, as the queen expressed the wish that i should. she even selected the songs she thought best for the occasion, and was present with all the court, which, of course, gave great _éclat_ to the concert. every place was taken, and, enormous as was the _salle_, it was crammed to its limit, people standing up by hundreds. sarah bernhardt, being in rome, promised to lend her aid; she recited a monologue in her soft, melodious voice, but so low that it could hardly have been heard farther than the first few rows of seats. i sang the "rossignol" and liszt's "_que disaient ils?_" to sgambati's accompaniment. madame helbig played the accompaniment of the "capriciosa" of blumenthal, the one that has all those wonderful cadenzas which run rampant through the different keys. madame helbig is a marvelous musician. i must tell you what she did. when i was soaring all alone up in the clouds without any earthly help in that long cadenza, she foresaw that i was not coming down on the right note and changed the key from four sharps to four flats without any one noticing it, thereby saving me from dire disaster. any musician can change from sharps to flats, but she was reading this very difficult accompaniment almost at first sight and before a large audience. i think that it was a tremendous _tour de force_. aalholm, _august, _. my dear aunt,--did you receive the newspaper cuttings i sent you describing the home-coming of frederick and nina? did they not read like fairy tales? aalholm castle is situated on the sea. it is one of the most historic places in the country, and seems to have been bandied back and forth to pay the different kings' debts. christopher ii. was imprisoned here (the prisons still exist), and two more moldy and unpleasant places to be shut up in cannot well be imagined. the guards used to walk up and down in front of the aperture through which food was passed to the unfortunate and damp monarch. later aalholm came into count raben's family (in the eighteenth century). there are, of course, all sorts of legends and ghostly stories which, as in all ancient castles, are, with the family specter, absolutely necessary. women in gauzy drapery have been seen roaming about in dark corridors, horses have been heard rattling their chains in the courtyard. mirrors also do something, but i forget what. however, no phantoms, i believe, have been noticed during this generation; probably the building which is going on now has discouraged them on their prowling tours and routed them from their lairs. i have watched with interest for the last three weeks the workmen who are making a hole in the massive walls in a room next to mine. the walls are about ten feet thick and are made of great boulders, the space between being filled with mortar which time has made as hard as iron. every king or owner of aalholm since the time it has stood on its legs seems to have had different ideas about windows. one sees on its tired old exterior traces of every kind and every period. some round, some a mere slit in the wall, some with arches all helter-skelter, without any regard to symmetry or style. each owner made his window, and each successor bricked it up and put his window in its place. the building is very long, with two towers. it looks at a distance like a huge dachshund with head and tail sticking up. there is a chapel in one wing, which no one ever enters, and there is a theater in another wing, where in old times there were given plays. the park is beautiful beyond words. you come across some old graves of vikings, of which nothing is left save the stones they used for the making of them. the treasures that they contained have long since been removed by a wise government in order to fill the national museums. many gold and silver coins have been picked up _in the grounds_, and are turned to use by making tankards and bowls, and very pretty and interesting they are. on the walls of the large hall there are inscriptions which were made in the sixteenth century to commemorate the visits of different monarchs. king frederick ii., , must have had many friends with him. like our modern guest-book, each guest left his name and motto, which was painted on the walls, with his motto and his particular sign, such as a mug or a rake (i hope these did not refer to his personal attributes). one that king frederick wrote seems to me to be very pathetic, and makes one think that his friends must have been ultra-treacherous and false. it reads: "_mein hilf in gott. wildbracht allein ist treu_." ("god is my help. wildbracht [the name of his dog] alone is faithful.") don't you think that has a sad note in it? [illustration: aalholm. built in in some changes were made and from time to time windows have been cut through the walls.] [illustration: inscriptions in one of the rooms at aalholm, bearing the date those at the top are: left: "my hope is in god. wildtbragt [his dog] alone is faithful.--frederick ii., king of denmark and norway." right: "god forgets not his own.--soffia, queen of denmark." those below were made by members of the court, who attached their individual marks instead of signatures.] milan, hotel milan, _october , _. dear aunt m----,--just think what luck i have had. they say that everything comes to those who wait, and what i have waited for has come at last. i have seen and made the acquaintance of verdi, the famous. he always stops at this hotel, because he is a friend of the proprietor's, mr. spatz, who, knowing my desire to meet verdi, said that he would arrange an interview. this he kindly did. verdi received me in his _salon_. he looks just like his photographs--very interesting face with burning eyes. his welcome was just warm enough not to be cold. the conversation opened, of course, on music. i said that i admired his music more than that of any other composer in the world. this was stretching a point, but it brought a pale smile to his verdigris countenance (this is unworthy of the worst punster). i told him that i often had the honor of singing with the queen, and that we sang many duets from his operas. he did not seem to be much impressed by this miracle and received it with amiable indifference. i longed to hear him talk, but with the exception of a few "_veramentes_" and "_grazies_" he remained passive and silent. by way of saying something he asked me if i had heard tamagno in "othello." "yes," i said. "i cannot think of anything more splendid. i never heard anything to equal him, and monsieur maurel is equally fine, is he not?" "his singing is well enough," answered verdi, "but his accent is deplorable." after this the conversation languished, and i feared it would die for want of fuel. i felt that i had been spinning my web in vain--that i might catch some other fly, but not verdi, when suddenly he said: "you tell me that you sing often with the queen. which duets of mine do you sing?" he asked with seeming interest. i named several. "what voice has the queen? soprano or contralto?" "the queen's voice is mezzo-soprano," i answered. "and yours?" he asked. "mine is about the same, equally mezzo-soprano." this seemed to amuse him. "do you think the queen would like to have me write something [quite jocosely] equally mezzo-soprano?" "i am sure that the queen," i answered, gushingly, "would be overjoyed." "_bene_," said the great _maestro_ with a smile. "then i win." "how enchanting!" i cried, crimson with enthusiasm. "but may i beg one thing?" "beg! _je vous en prie_." "_fa dieze_ [f sharp] is a weak point in both our voices." "_bene_," he said, waving his hand toward his piano. "i will write a duet for you, and only put one g minor in it." "g minor!" i exclaimed. "why, that is--" he interrupted, "have you ever noticed that g minor is much easier to sing than p sharp?" he did not wait for my assurance that i did not notice any difference, but said, suddenly, "when do you go to monza?" "we are waiting to hear. perhaps to-morrow." "ah," he said, thoughtfully, as if turning over in his mind whether or not he could have the duet ready. monza, _october th_. bonghi came yesterday. at the request of the queen he read aloud my sketch of the hamlet legend before the _promenade en voiture_. the queen thanked me and said that she was going to keep the manuscript, but bonghi cut my literary wings by pronouncing in his brusque way that, although it was interesting and he liked the contents, it was badly written. "_chère madame_," he said, "you write very well, but you do not know the art of punctuating. you write as the water runs, as the arrow flies; therefore, in reading what you have written i have no time to breathe. i cannot separate the different ideas. a comma means a _point d'arrêt_, a moment of repose. every period should be an instant in which to digest a thought." i felt crushed by this, but tried to defend myself by saying that i had only written it for one indulgent eye, and ended lamely by promising that the next time i wrote anything i would be more careful. "i will do as mark twain did--put the punctuations at the end, and one can take one's choice." we had some music again this evening. the duke played some solos on his violoncello. he has a beautiful instrument. if amati made cellos (perhaps he did), he must have made this one. at dinner i sat next to him. he said, "i was very much interested in what you wrote about hamlet." "in spite of the lack of commas?" i asked. "yes, in spite of the lack of commas. but i wonder if all you wrote was true?" "how can we ever find out?" "i hate to think of him as a myth." "please don't think of him as a myth. think of him as you always have; otherwise you will owe me a grudge." looking across the table to signor bonghi, he said: "he is a wonderful man. i like his name, too--ruggiero bonghi, _tout court_." "it sounds," i said, "so full of strength and power and straight to the point, with no accessories, doesn't it?" "you say that to _me_, who have twenty-four names." "twenty-four! dear me! do you know them all?" "i must confess that i do not, but i will look them up in the gotha and write them out for you." "twenty-four," i repeated. "how out of breath the priest who baptized you must have been!" "oh," cried the prince, "he did not mind; he got a louis [twenty-franc piece] for each name." rome, palazzo sforza-cesarini, _january, _. my dear aunt,--after the reception of the diplomats on the st of january we moved from palazzo tittoni to this, our new home. we have in the largest _salon_ an enormous and gorgeously sculptured chimneypiece which has a tiny fire-place that, when crammed full of wood, and after we have puffed our lungs out blowing on it and prodded it with tongs, etc., consents to smile and warm the chair nearest to it, but nothing else. the ceiling (a work of art of some old master) is way up in the clouds; i am almost obliged to use an opera-glass to see which are angels' or cherubs' legs up there in the blue. the figures in the corners, i suppose, represent faith, hope, and charity; the fourth must be the goddess of plenty. she is emptying an enormous cornucopia over our heads of the most tempting fruit, which makes my mouth water and makes me wish she would drop some of it in my lap. this palace used to belong to that nice hospitable family you've heard about--_the borgias_. i dare say they did a good deal of their poisoning in these very _salons_. we were rather agitated the other day when a hole was discovered in one of the walls. i put my hand way down in it as far as i could and pulled out a little bottle which contained some dark liquid. poison, for sure! it looked very suspicious. giuseppe, our italian butler, who is as italian as an italian can be, was frightened out of his senses (the few he possesses) and held the bottle at arm's-length. to test the contents of the vial he put half of it in some food he gave to a thin and forlorn cat who hovered about our kitchen, and for whom giuseppe cherished no love. however, the cat survived with eight of its lives. then a rabbit a friend of giuseppe's wanted to get rid of was given the rest. he also lived and thrived. after these experiments we don't think much of borgia poisons. one of the rooms behind the _salon_ (so large that it is divided into four) has the most beautiful frescoed ceiling. it is a pity that it is so dark there that one cannot see it properly. perhaps originally it was a chapel and the frescoes were easier seen when the altar-candles were burning. but can one imagine a borgia needing a chapel or a borgia ever praying? just around the corner from us is the _campo di fiori_ (field of flowers), where one might expect to buy flowers, but it is the one thing you do not find there. everything else, from church ornaments to umbrellas, from silver candlesticks to old clothes, you can buy for a song not so musical as mendelssohn's "without words"; on the contrary, the buying of the most insignificant object is accompanied by a volume of words screamed after the non-buyer in true jewish style. then around another corner you come across the torso, made famous by that witty tailor called pasquino, where he placarded his satirical witticisms; his post-office for anonymous letters! we have just come home from the pantheon. there is held every year for the anniversary of king victor emmanuel's death a memorial service _pour le repos de son âme_. if it had been my soul it would never have reposed; it would have jumped up and clapped its wings to applaud the music, which, though always beautiful, to-day was divine. i even forgot to freeze during the long two hours we stayed in the icy-cold building, open to wind and weather above and full of piercing draughts below. the marble pavement, which has collected damp and mold since b.c., has long since become so wavy and uneven that you walk very unsteadily over it; the costly marbles of which the pavement is made in fine mosaic-work have sunken away from their contours centuries ago, so that now you only realize how beautiful it must have been in its prime. the high and imposing catafalque, erected for this occasion, which filled the whole center of the large _basilique_, reaching almost to the dome, was surrounded by enormous candelabra containing wax candles as big as birch-trees. the ministers of state and the diplomats had a _loge_ reserved for them next to the orchestra, and, although there were carpets and rugs under our feet, the humidity and cold penetrated to the marrow of our stateful and diplomatic bones. there were tiers of seats for people who were fortunate enough to procure tickets. gayarré, the wonderful spanish tenor, sang several solos, each one more exquisite than the other. i have never heard a more beautiful voice, and certainly have never heard a more perfect artist. the way he phrases and manages his voice is a lesson in itself. tamagno, the famous italian tenor, sings wonderfully also, but very differently. he gives out all the voice he has, and you are overcome with the strength and power and the compass of his unique voice. he is the _tenor robusto par excellence_ of the world. one cannot compare the two singers. gayarré has the real quality of a tenor, exquisitely tender, suave, and still powerful. he has a way of keeping his voice bottled up until a grand climax; then he lets it swell out in a triumphal burst. this funeral service is a very long and fatiguing affair. i pity the _carabinieri_ (the soldiers) who are on service that day. although they are men chosen for their powerful build, some of them cannot endure the fatigue of standing "at arms" the two hours that the service lasts. i suppose the poor things are put there from early dawn, and there they must stand, stiff and straight, with uplifted sword, without moving a muscle. we saw one (not this year, but last) faint dead away and drop in a heap on the marble steps of the altar. his sword and casque made a great clatter when they fell and rattled over the pavement. four of his comrades rushed in, picked him up, and carried him out, staggering under his weight. he was replaced by another _carabinier_ noiselessly and so quickly that you hardly knew that anything had happened. the argentina theater attempted to give wagner's ring. it was a dismal performance. wagner is not at his best in an italian setting, with all the gas turned on and the scenery half tumbling down and the orchestra fiddling in full view. in the first act of "rheingold," where the three maidens are swimming, the poor girls, with hair of unequal lengths, sprawled about, their arms clutching at air, and held up to the roof by visible and shaky ropes, half the time forgetting to sing in their wild efforts to keep themselves from falling, separated from the audience only by a gauze curtain which was transparency itself. denmark, _july, _. my dear aunt,--denmark in july is ideal. it is never too warm in the day and always cool at night. i have been spending a few days with howard on his farm. on the fourth of july howard wished to give the peasants in the neighborhood an entertainment to celebrate his country's "glorious fourth." he hoped to inspire them with due enthusiasm and give them a good day's sport. the danish peasant's idea of amusement is to walk leisurely to the place of rendezvous, to sit quietly and rest from his week's hard work, eat plenty of smörrebrod (sandwiches), drink barrels of beer, have tobacco _ad libitum_, and finally to leave as lazily as he came. this feast was going to be otherwise. everything was to be done _à l'américaine_. the fourth fell on a sunday, and the farmers all accepted and came on the stroke of the clock, dressed in their sunday-best clothes, which are of heavy broadcloth, made in the fashion of louis philippe, voluminous over the hips, thick, heavy-soled boots, and with long snake-like pipes hanging from their mouths. howard had arranged all sorts of _gymkhana_ sports, for which prizes were to be given. there were to be the long jump, the high jump, a running-race, catching the greased pig, pole-climbing, a race in a bag, and so forth. "they shall have a high old time," said howard. their dismay only equaled their astonishment when they were told what was expected of them. what! jump, run, and be tied up in bags and climb poles? was this the way that they were going to amuse themselves on this hot day? were soiling their clothes, perspiring, and suffering tortures in their tight boots the delightful, reposeful feast they had been invited to? their inborn politeness would not allow them to do otherwise than obey the wishes of their host. they tried their best to perform the feats put down on the program. their week's work of mowing, cutting trees, plowing, threshing, and the different things belonging to a farmer's life seemed child's play compared with this so-called enjoyment. they did not understand why they got prizes for deeds they had not done, and received the box of cigars or silver mug with unperturbed serenity. consternation and resignation were the only expressions on their faces. neither did they understand when they were told to cry "hurrah!" and wave their hats after howard should finish his oration. that he made standing on a table. he expatiated on the beauty of liberty and the soul-inspiring feeling of independence, and became quite eloquent. they cheered in a spiritless and cheerless manner. for them liberty was a high-sounding word which meant nothing. an enlightened government provided them with all they needed. why have the bother to choose your doctor or your priest when all that is done for you? only to pay taxes. can anything be more simple? the games h. tried to teach them were not successful. they stood in a circle and were told (howard rubbed his hands in a dainty manner) that "this is the way we wash our clothes." this did not appeal to them; they knew too well how they washed theirs, and they saw no fun in imitating such every-day affairs as washing and ironing. every way "we did" things had to be explained at length and translated into danish. and the most inexplicable of all the games was "oranges and lemons." when they were asked if they wanted oranges or lemons; they all answered, truthfully and conscientiously, "oranges." who in his senses would prefer a sour lemon to a juicy orange? the result was that the battle was very one-sided--all oranges and only one lemon. the dance was also rather dismal. the musicians played some national waltzes, and the guests shuffled about on the sanded floor, treading a slow measure and on one another's toes; the women held on to their partners by their shoulders, and the men clutched the women round their bulky waists. however, they all kept the measure, and some of the men really danced quite well. the _finale_ was the fireworks. it ought to have been a grand display, but the rockets were damp, the "wheels," which ought to have wheeled up in the air, merely whizzed on the ground and seemed to make for the nearest guest in an absolutely vicious manner. all the things that ought to have gone off stayed and sputtered. as an entertainment it was a failure. the guests, however, had plenty to eat and drink, and carried away pockets full of tobacco and cigars, but it was rather pathetic to see the worn-out and weary farmers dragging their tired limbs slowly and ponderously down the avenue with a look of "why all this?" depicted on their faces. monza, _october th_. after luncheon to-day we went out on the terrace to drink our coffee. the sun was warm and the air deliciously cool, a typical italian autumn day. as we sat there we heard some mysterious noise which came from the side of the park where the avenue terminates and is divided from the deer-park by a large iron gate. looking down the avenue, we saw a man peering through the bars of the gate. he had a bear with him. her majesty was curious to see them and ordered the gate unlocked and the man and the bear permitted to enter. the man was quite young, with soft black eyes and dazzling teeth. he led the bear by a heavy iron chain passed through a ring in its nose. the queen went down the steps and talked with him. "will he bite me if i pat him?" she asked. "no, signora; he is very good" ("_e molto buono_"). he hesitated a moment, and then said, "signora, will you tell me which of the ladies there is the _regina_?" the queen was immensely amused, and answered, "i am the queen" ("_son io la regina_"). the young fellow was quite overcome, and threw himself on the ground and kissed the hem of her dress. "how did you tame the bear?" inquired her majesty. he answered in a very agitated voice: "_maesta_, it was very easy. bears are not difficult to tame. one must only be kind and patient." "you look," said the queen, "as if _you_ were very kind and patient." the young italian passed his hand lovingly over his companion's shaggy head, and as he looked up at the beautiful and smiling queen his eyes filled with tears. "i love him," he said, simply; "he is my only friend." we, who stood near enough to hear, were trembling on the verge of weeping. he added, "we never leave each other; we eat and sleep together, and all i have i share with him." i saw tears in the queen's eyes, which she quickly wiped away; and, turning to the man, she asked, "can he do any tricks?" "_si, maesta_, he can lie on his back and put his paws up in the air and hum." this did not seem much of a trick, probably being a bear's customary attitude. "well," said the queen, "let us see what he can do." but, although the bear was addressed in terms of tenderest endearment and although we hoped that he would obey his master and do honor to the occasion, he did nothing of the kind. on the contrary, instead of lying down and humming he stood up his full height on his hind legs and began to waltz, swaying his long, plump body and shaking his thick, brown fur. he opened his mouth wide, showing his white teeth and his great red tongue, and looked as if he were laughing and as if it was the funniest thing in the world that he was doing. "he does not seem to be very obedient," smiled her majesty. "he is afraid," said the man, trying to make excuses for his pet. "you must come again," said the queen, "when your bear is better trained," and, turning to signor borea (her chamberlain), told him to give the man some money and direct him to the forester's lodge, where some food should be given to him. the young italian's face beamed with joy when he beheld the vast sum (twenty lire) he had received, and led his disobedient companion away in disgrace; but the bear, quite unconscious of being in disgrace, turned his head for a last friendly glance, walked on his hind legs in his clumsy and swaggering manner, but with a certain dignity, down the avenue. the king, who was with us on the terrace, had been a silent witness of the whole scene, and, not being able to resist the promptings of his kind heart, followed the couple. we saw him put a gold piece in the brown palm of the poor fellow, whose "only friend" had failed him on this unique occasion. he seemed quite overcome by this danaë-like shower of gold, and hesitated before taking the piece, thinking, perhaps, that on this occasion honesty might be the best policy, and said: "the queen has already given me much." "that does not matter," said the king. "you must take what _i_ give you. do you know who i am?" "no, signor. are you garibaldi?" the king laughed. "no, i am not garibaldi; i am the king." this second surprise was too much for the little man, and he almost fell down in his emotion. what his dreams were that night must have been like one of the arabian nights. reggio, _october th_. dear ----,--count spaletti has a very fine _château_ (a large park and a beautiful forest), where he and his family live in patriarchal style. it is the true italian traditional home-life in every respect. there is on the farm a large building in which the famous parmesan cheese is made. we were shown the entire process from the milking of the cows down to the great wheels (which look like millstones) and the completed cheese. milking is a process with which you are, perhaps, not familiar. it is done with the help of a maiden and a three-legged stool, while the cow goes on chewing the worn-out cud of her last meal, occasionally giving a cenci-like glance of approbation. but i won't tell you about that; i will let you in the secrets of parmesan-cheese making, so that when you are eating it grated on macaroni you may know what an old stager you have to do with. the milk is put in great vats just as it comes from the _mesdames les vaches_; there it remains, occasionally turned around, not churned, with a wooden paddle, until it becomes a solid substance. when it is hard enough to handle it is put into large round wooden forms and allowed to remain untouched--for how long do you think? _one year!_ then they put it under the oil _régime_--that is to say, olive-oil is poured through the cheese at regular intervals until the rind is as black and thick as leather. in four years it is ready to be sold. each cheese weighs several hundred pounds, is a foot thick, and is as big as a cart-wheel. we eat it every day for luncheon and dinner. i like it so much better, fresh and straight from the farm (if anything four years old can be called fresh), than when stale and grated. rome, _ _. my dear aunt,--leo xiii.'s jubilee has been the means of bringing the world to rome. every day during these last weeks we have watched the carts passing our house piled with huge cases which contained the presents destined for the holy father. the streets are filled with pilgrims from everywhere. one cannot look in any direction without seeing processions of nuns, priests, and monks of all nations and denominations, from the dingy brown franciscans, the capucines with their white mantles displaying their bare legs, to the youthful disciples of the propaganda in their brilliant scarlet cassocks, not to speak of the _forestiere_ armed with their red baedekers, who are doing rome and at the same time _doing_ the pope's jubilee. everything and every one on the way to the vatican. we went to see the gifts, which are exposed in many rooms on the ground floor of the vatican. there was an enormous quantity of things of every description, useful, ornamental, and superfluous. the windmills, bells, every sort of vehicle, rowboats, sailboats, and every modern invention had been put out in the vatican gardens. you can have no idea of the incredible amount of slippers sent (thousands of them); church _vêtements_ by the hundreds, embroidered by millions of women who must have worked themselves blind; the most exquisite articles of needlework, incrusted with pearls and precious stones which have probably cost a mint of money. the princess del drago's gift was a large diamond cross with an enormous emerald in the center, an heirloom from her mother, the queen of spain. there were many other private gifts which were equally valuable. almost a ship-load of canned fruits and vegetables sent from america; these were arranged in a gigantic pyramid. just to look at them made my mouth water and me homesick. ridiculous objects from _naïf_ donors, such as babies' socks and jackets, and silver things for a lady's toilet-table, and other equally inappropriate things, must have surprised the pope when he saw them. i have not mentioned the millions of francs the pope received in money; he can easily dispose of that; and he intends, i believe, to make presents to every church in italy of the different objects which can be useful. but what can he do with the babies' socks? on last thursday the pope said mass in st. peter's. it was the great event of the year. as we are accredited to the quirinal, of course i never can have the opportunity to be received by his holiness; therefore i was very glad when the monsignore who is still _dantefying_ us offered to give me a _carte d'entrée_. i was obliged to be at st. peter's at a very early hour, and succeeded, owing to having a "friend at court" (the swedish chamberlain to the pope, marquis de lagergren), in getting an excellent place where i had a good view of the pope and the whole ceremony. ladies are dressed entirely in black, with black veils instead of hats, on these occasions. there was a great deal of noise in the church--much scraping of chairs, rather loud talking, people being shown to their seats, and, above all other noises, _the organ_. i cannot honestly say that the music was beautiful. with the exception of the days when the best singers of the pope's choir sing, the music in st. peter's is not good. the organ is as antiquated as the organist, who plays with all the stops pulled out. the center of the church was filled with wooden benches and chairs. the altar was brilliantly lighted with hundreds of wax candles; the columns around it were hung with tawdry red damask curtains, which, in my opinion, rather took from the dignity of this magnificent church. the swiss guards ushered people to their seats. they looked very picturesque in their costumes of bright red and yellow, slashed sleeves, and brass helmets. in due time the serious and somber chamberlains, in their black satin and velvet costumes, appeared; next came the bishops, in their purple robes; and directly preceding his holiness the pope were the cardinals, in red. then came the twelve men carrying the gold pontifical chair in which the pope was seated; they walked very solemnly and slowly. every one dropped on his knees, and the pope raised his thin white hand to bless the kneeling crowd. he mounted the steps of the high altar and began reading mass. his voice was very feeble and scarcely audible. it was very impressive. it would be impossible to give you an idea of the intense solemnity of this scene, especially for me, as i have no talent for description. women wept and waved their wet handkerchiefs; the sterner sex would have done the same, i dare say, if they had not been ashamed to show so much emotion. _march , _. the emperor wilhelm of germany died yesterday. though he was so very old, the news of his death was unexpected and cast a gloom over rome. of course, all gaieties are ended, and court mourning ordered for three weeks. king umberto left directly for genoa to meet the new emperor, who started from san remo on his way to berlin. the dinner for king umberto's birthday, which was to have been on the th, has been _décommandé_. the prince of naples has already left for berlin to represent the king at the emperor's funeral--his first official act since he has become of age. _may , ._ my dear aunt,--my letters are very uninteresting. i cannot help it. there is nothing going on in society. in fact, many of the italians have left rome, and the colleagues are resting on their oars--those who have any to rest on. i am resting on my "pinafore" oars. how lucky we had it when we did! taking advantage of this moment of inactivity, the roman ladies arranged a charity performance, for which marquise del grillo (madame ristori) promised to give her services. she chose the famous play "marie antoinette," which is supposed to be one of her best. the tickets were to be procured only from the ladies of the committee (of which i was one), and, though they cost a fabulous price, the theater was crammed to suffocation. madame ristori's acting was, of course, perfect, her voice musical, her italian delicious, and her gestures were faultless. if one might dare criticize such an artist, one could say that her movements might have been a little more queenly, but a queen's grace and dignity must be very difficult to acquire from sheer imagination. also her dress was far from what it ought to have been. i am sure no french dressmaker had the making of _that_ gown. in the first act marie antoinette, in the _apothéose_ of her glory, wore voluminous skirts and crinoline, according to the famous picture. madame ristori wore a crinoline, to be sure; but her dress was too short in front and showed her low-heeled shoes of white satin, and when she moved about her gown of heavy brocade swayed from side to side like a pendulum. one recognized the great artist in the scene in the prison, where she bade the king and her children adieu. this was very touching, and there was not a dry eye in the audience. i know that _i_ sniffed and wept and blew my nose, and was quite ashamed of showing my feelings so explosively. i went to see her on her reception-day (the next friday) and found her in her every-day surroundings, her pretty daughter hovering about with teacups and cakes, everything looking very home-like and prosaic, and marie antoinette eating sandwiches with a healthy appetite and talking of the latest gossip. i could hardly believe that i had shed so many tears over her sad fate a few nights ago. * * * * * the sad news of the death of emperor frederick came day before yesterday from san remo. every one had been expecting his death for months. the italians loved him, and mourn him as if he had been their own. there is court mourning for three weeks. monza, _october , _. my dear aunt,--you ought to have a map of europe continually under your eyes, and little pins to stick in the places where we last were. space and distance are nothing to your "wandering jew(el)s." going from italy to denmark and back again twice a year, we are obliged to traverse the whole of europe, and, as "all roads lead to rome," we can choose the one we like best. wherever we go we are enigmas to our fellow-travelers, who can never decide what nation we belong to. johan talks danish to me; we talk french to the governess, german to the valet, italian to my maid, and english alternately. i think we would have puzzled the builders of the tower of babel at that confusing moment when they all burst forth in unknown tongues. rome, _october , _. my dear aunt,--we are having a series of entertainments in honor of the new kaiser. this is his first official visit since he has become emperor. he arrived here on the th at four o'clock. we were invited by m. and mme. huffer to see the _entrée_. they being germans, their decorations surpassed all others. carpets out of every window, flags flying, and the german coat of arms placed in every available spot on their beautiful palace in the via nazionale. the king, accompanied by the prince of naples, followed by the duke of genoa, duc d'aosta, m. crispi, marquis gravina, and marquis guiccioli, and other notabilities, drove to the station through a double line of troops on both sides of the street. the usually dirty waiting-room in the station was hung with tapestries taken from the quirinal and the splendid louis xv. furniture taken from the beautiful palace of caserta. the train which preceded the emperor's, decked out with garlands and flags, came in sight, the traditional red carpet was laid down, the final orders shouted, and the imperial train appeared. the soldiers presented arms, and the military bands struck up the german national hymn. the king wore the uniform of a general. he advanced to meet his imperial guest. they embraced and kissed each other on both cheeks, then they presented the princes and the different members of their suites. the emperor was in the red uniform of the hussars and looked very young and handsome. in the first _berline_ (as they call the demi-gala blue landaus) were the emperor and the king; in the second were the prince of naples and prince henry of prussia (the emperor's brother); in the third the duc d'aosta and the duke of genoa; in the fourth, count herbert bismarck and the german ambassador (count solms). the other carriages, of which there must have been ten, contained the military and civil members of both the sovereigns. there was a great demonstration in front of the quirinal palace. the emperor and the king came out on the balcony amid screams of "_eh! viva!_" one old man--a german, i suppose--who was covered with medals shouted at the top of his lungs. "_hoch!_" hoping to make a sensation, but the emperor made no sign that he heard it. the next day (friday), as had been arranged long beforehand, the emperor made his visit to the pope; the carriage from the quirinal brought him to the residence of herr von schlözer (the german minister to the vatican), where the emperor lunched and changed his uniform. schlözer's account of the luncheon was very amusing. his household was apparently not arranged for the reception of emperors. he and his secretary were in great straits to provide the proper luxuries for their august guest. schlözer possessed nothing so frivolous as a mirror, therefore he sent to borrow ours. we sent him the one we thought best suited to the occasion. it was so different from schlözer's modest belongings that the emperor's quick eye guessed instantly that it was a stranger, and said, "where did this come from?" i give you herr von schlözer's account in his own language. "i had no extra toilet things to put into the emperor's room, but, fortunately, i had bought a cake of soap in berlin; this i put on a piece of marble i had picked up in the forum, which i thought would do for a soap-dish. the emperor went into the adjoining room to change his uniform, and suddenly appeared in the doorway, holding out his wet hands, and said, '_mein liebe_ schlözer, can't you give me a towel?' _donnerwetter!_ said schlözer, that was the one thing that i had forgotten." the luncheon was (excepting the famous wines on which he prides himself) of the simplest kind of italian repasts, of which macaroni, frittura mista, and cutlets with saffron (_à la milanais_) formed the chief feature. the emperor was in the best of spirits and enjoyed it all, interlarded as it was with schlözer's unique remarks. the emperor's own horses and carriages and _piqueurs_ (brought expressly from berlin for this one visit to the pope) were waiting before the german legation to convey his majesty and herr von schlözer to the vatican. the whole route through which they drove was lined with a double row of the national troops to the very steps of the vatican. every window was filled with people anxious to catch a glimpse of the handsome and youthful emperor as he passed by in his open victoria; prince henry and count bismarck followed in another of the emperor's carriages. at the early hour of half past nine the _haute société_, the ministers, the senators and deputies--in fact, _all rome_--were summoned to meet the emperor at the campidoglia. it was to be lighted for the first time with electricity--a great event. people were to meet in the statue-gallery. after all were assembled, the king, the queen, and the emperor entered, followed by the princes and their different suites. the emperor was dressed in the uniform of the _garde de corps_ (all white) with a silver breastplate and silver helmet. he was an apparition! and did not look unlike one of the statues. or was he a lohengrin who had come in a swan-drawn skiff down the tiber to save some italian elsa? there were some presentations made. i, for one, was presented to his imperial majesty, and was charmed with his graciousness. we talked english, which i think rather pleased him, for he made some facetious remarks on things and people and actually laughed. the next evening, the th, the fireworks and the illumination of the forum, the colosseum, and the palatino, were the entertainment after a _dîner de famille_. the diplomatic corps was bidden to the villino. the place was rather too small to contain all the guests. fortunately, it was a pleasant evening; there was a full moon which lent charm to the scene. bengal lights, to my mind, are the cheapest form of illumination, but the fireworks--for which the italians are so renowned--were splendid. rockets of all colors, bursting in mid-air and sending down showers of lighted balls, were never-ending, and everything belonging to pyrotechnics was in profusion and perfection. the _bouquet_ (which is the french for the _apothéose_) surpassed everything i had ever seen before. it lasted several minutes. when everything has burned out, only the brilliant "w" with an imperial crown remained, and faded gradually away. rome, _march, _. dear aunt,--rome is placarded all over with blood-curdling pictures of "the wild west show" and portraits of our friend buffalo bill. i call him "our friend," although i can't say i know him very well. we traveled in the same car with him for a whole week on our way to california ten years ago. that is not enough, is it? i had never seen a wild west show and was most eager to go; besides, i wanted to see "our friend" in his professional character. we made up a large party and went there _en bande_. the tents were put up not far from the vatican gardens, behind castel st. angelo. none of us had ever been to such a performance, and we were all delighted at the marvelous feats of lassoing by the cowboys and the rifle-shooting of the cowgirls, who looked so pretty in their short leather skirts and leggings. one of them threw pieces of silver in the air and shot them in two with her rifle. everything was wonderful. duke sermoneta, who went with us, having read on the posters that buffalo bill professed to tame any wild or vicious horse, wished to test buffalo bill's ability, and perhaps with a little maliciousness had ordered some of the wild horses from his estate to be brought to rome. these untamed horses are like those that used to run in the _corsi dei barberi_ during the carnival in rome when rome had carnivals. the duke was very sure that no one could tame them, much less put a saddle on them; the audience, no doubt, thought the same. there was quite an excitement when the frightened things came rushing into the arena and stood looking about them with terrified eyes. but the cowboys knew very well what to do. they quickly lassoed them, and somehow, before we could see the whole process, they were forced to the ground, plunging about and making desperate efforts to get up. finally, after many attempts, a saddle was placed on them, and lo and behold! the ferocious wild horses were conquered and, as meek as mary's little lamb, were ridden around the arena to the accompaniment of great clapping, screaming, and applause. every one was as enthusiastic as the duke sermoneta over the stubborn and agile young wild-westers. then buffalo bill's herald came forward and proposed that the italian _campagna_ boys, who had brought the duke's horses, should mount the american bucking horses. the duke gave his consent readily. he was very willing that his men should show what they could do. well, they showed what they could _not_ do; they could not keep on the horses a minute, even if they managed to get on; they turned somersaults in every direction, fell off, and rolled about on the ground. the audience roared. buffalo bill appeared on a beautiful horse, holding his gray sombrero in his hand, acknowledging the applause. he looks very handsome with his long, fair hair falling on his shoulders and his charles-the-second fine face. the duke said, "how i should like to speak to that man!" we said that we knew him and that perhaps we could get him to come to us. i wrote on my card: "it would give m. de hegermann and myself much pleasure to speak with you. we traveled in the same train with you to california some years ago, if you remember." i sent the card by a little page who was selling popcorn. at the first opportunity buffalo bill came, preceded by the boy. he said he "remembered us perfectly." i introduced him to the duke, who, after having complimented him on his "show" and laughed over the awkward attempts of _his_ boys, asked him if we might see the camp. no gentleman from the court of louis xv. could surpass buffalo bill's refined and courteous manners. he said if we would wait until the performance was over he would "show us about." we did wait, and went all over the camp with him, and saw everything that was to be seen, and smelled the different fried things which lurked in every corner. buffalo bill beckoned to some of the cowboys to come forward and named them to us. i think they were delighted. they had such good, honest (and even handsome) faces. my heart warmed to them. one said to me, "why, you talk english as good as an american!" "that is not wonderful," i answered; "i am an american." "is that so?" he asked. "well, america's a pretty good place, ain't it? a good sight better than over here--that is what i think," and, pointing to the duke sermoneta said, "is that gent american, too?" "no," i answered. "he is an italian. those were his horses you tamed this afternoon." "is that so? well, i would not like to tell him that them boys of his can't ride worth a cent and the horses ain't worth their hide." i hoped that duke sermoneta had not overheard this conversation. buffalo bill showed us a young indian woman who had had a baby a few days ago. "it was baptized this morning," he added. "what do you think it was called?" "is it a boy or a girl?" asked the duke, looking at the brown, wizened face of the little thing, which was swaddled in an old shawl. "a girl," answered the young mother, in english. "then i suppose you called it roma," i said. "no," said buffalo bill. "it is the custom among the indians to give to the baby the name of the first thing the mother sees after its birth." "then they must have named it tent," i said. buffalo bill laughed. "no, you must guess again. it was called saint peter's." "poor little girl!" said the kind-hearted duke, and put a gold piece in the ready and delighted hand of the mother. rome, _ _. dear ----,--signor sonsogni, the promoter of music and art, gave several librettos of operas to different composers in italy, and promised a large reward to the victorious competitor. signor crispi kindly offered me his _loge_, thinking that it would interest me to be present at one of the performances. there had been many of these before, but nothing remarkable had so far been produced. we arrived in the theater while they were playing a short opera of two acts, which was unfavorably received and quickly condemned with contempt and hisses. the judges looked bored to death and discouraged, and the audience seemed ready to growl and grumble at anything. mugnoni led the orchestra in his usual excitable manner. if any of the operas had been good for anything they would have shown at their best under his masterful baton. then came the "cavalleria rusticana." already when the overture was played the audience was enchanted, and as it progressed the enthusiasm became greater and greater, the excited audience called for the _autore_ (author). mascagni, urged and pushed forward from the sidewings, evidently against his will, appeared, looking very shabby in an old gray suit with trousers turned up, as if he had just come in from the street. his hair was long and unkempt, his face haggard and thin--evidently he had been starved and unwashed for weeks. this really was the case. he bowed modestly and with a _naïf_ awkwardness which was very pathetic. the italian public, just as wild in its enthusiasm as it is merciless in its disapproval, rose as one man with a bound and cheered vociferously. but when the intermezzo was played there was a burst of thundering applause, clapping of hands, and shouts of enthusiasm. i never heard anything like it. mascagni was called at least twenty times before the curtain. any other composer would have beamed all over with joy and pride at such an ovation, but mascagni only looked shy and bewildered. the tears rolled down my cheeks as i looked at the poor young fellow (he is only twenty years old), who probably that very morning was wondering how he could provide food for his wife and baby. fancy what his emotions must have been to wake up so unexpectedly to glory and success! [illustration: francesco crispi prime minister of italy. from a photograph taken in .] mascagni, his wife, and his baby lived in a garret, and had not money enough to buy even a candle. the only instrument he had when he wrote the opera was an accordion. his little wife is nineteen, and the baby is one year old. italy thought it possessed another verdi. the next day after his triumph leghorn (his birthplace) gave him the citizenship of the town. sonsogni handed him a large sum of money (the promised prize), and mascagni had orders to begin on another opera. will that be as good? one says that necessity is the mother of invention; it seems that in this case poverty was the father of "cavalleria rusticana." _ ._ dear ----,--johan is named to stockholm, and we must leave rome. needless to say that i am broken-hearted to leave italy and the queen. milan, _september _. dear ----,--we went yesterday to bid good-by to their majesties, who are at monza, and for j. to present his letters of _rappel_. we arrived in time for luncheon; there were no other guests. after luncheon we sat out under the trees by the side of the pretty lake; there was an awning put there, and we stayed all the afternoon in the shade of the large trees which bordered the lake. the king was very gay; he wanted every one to row out in the small boats that were there; then he and the prince took another boat and tried to collide. the king pretended that he could not row, and made such hopeless attempts that all those in the other boats were splashed with water. on taking leave of her majesty, which was done with a great deal of weeping on my part, she handed me a beautiful sapphire-and-diamond brooch and a very large photograph signed by her dear hand _en souvenir_. the king gave johan his photograph and the decoration of _la couronne d'italie_. the day passed only too quickly. i cannot tell you how miserable i was to take leave of their majesties, who had always been so kind and gracious to me. but what use is it to mourn my fate. nothing can change the fact that we are bidding good-by to italy. stockholm, - stockholm, _october, _. dear l.,--we arrived here (our new post) at an early hour in the morning. we found the secretary and carriages waiting for us, and drove to the hotel, where we stayed until our apartment was quite ready. our furniture from rome has already arrived, so all we have to do now is, like coffee, to settle. we have taken the same house that has been the danish legation for the last forty years, and where johan used to live when he was secretary here twenty years ago. the apartment is very large. it has twenty-four rooms, ten windows on drottning gatan, and thirteen on the side-street. the ballroom has five windows (three on one street and two on another); a large _salon_, two smaller _salons_, a library, and a spacious dining-room; and it has (quite rare in stockholm) a _porte-cochère_. the chancellery is in the courtyard, having its separate entrance and staircase. the evening before we left copenhagen we had the honor of dining with the king and queen of denmark, at amalienborg. it was a family dinner, j. and i being the only guests. after dinner the queen talked a long time with me and handed me the letter she had written to the queen of sweden. "i told her," she said, "that i was very fond of you, and i knew that she would be equally so. and how the duke of nassau [her brother] admired you and your singing." "if your majesty hadn't said it, i never would have believed that the duke liked my singing. i was under the impression that he would have liked me better without the singing." "yes," the queen said, "i confess that he is not musical, and does not like _all_ music, but he really did like to hear you sing. he told me so." "of course he knows," i answered, "but he is the last person from whom i expected to receive a compliment." as their majesties retired, the queen held out her hand, and when i stooped to kiss it she kissed me affectionately on both cheeks. the king, on shaking hands with me, said, "_god reise_" which is danish for _bon voyage_. the first days in a new post are always very busy ones. my first visit was to _the doyenne_ of the _corps diplomatique_, baroness ph. she gave me a list of visits to be made, and a quantity of her own cards with _pour présenter_ with mine. yesterday j. was received by the king, and presented his _lettres de créance_. although j. had been secretary of legation, and had been groomsman at the marriage in stockholm of the crown prince of denmark to princess louise (niece of king oscar), and was very well known to the king, all the regular formalities had to be gone through with. j. made his traditional official speech to the king, both standing; and the king solemnly answered with an elaborate assurance that the relations between sweden and denmark had always been of the best and that they would remain so. when the ceremonious utterances were ended, the king put his arm on j.'s shoulder and said: "now let us sit down and have a good talk together of old times." the king "thee-and-thoued" johan, and said, "_her, du. naar kommer din husfru?_" which in english means, "listen thou. when is thy wife coming?" it is so strange that the swedish language has no word for _you_. one must either address people by their title, which is sometimes very awkward, or else say _thou_. i was dreadfully puzzled when i first came here. right opposite my window was a sign, "_dam bad rum!_" i said: "how queer! people generally cry up their wares, not down. who ever heard of a seller saying that his rum was as bad as that?" i found out afterward that the sign was merely to let people know that a ladies' bath-room was to be found there. the next excitement was my audience with the queen, and thereby hangs, if not a tale, a teapot with a tempest in it. i must tell you all about it. i hope you will appreciate the tremendously complicated position in which i was placed. it seems that in the time of queen christina of sweden, one hundred and fifty years ago, the ladies of her court wore black silk or satin dresses and sleeves of a certain pattern. the court has seen no reason to make any change of dress since that time. to-day it wears the same style of dress and the same _sleeves_--the cause of the tempest! in answer to my request for an audience i received a letter from the _grande maîtresse_, saying that the queen would receive me on thursday next; the _doyenne_ of the _corps diplomatique_ would present me. then followed instructions: my dress was to be a black satin ball-dress, a train of four meters, lined with black silk, _décolleté_, white _glacé_ gloves, _et les manches de cour_. i had no idea what _les manches de cour_ were, and, naturally, i went to the _doyenne_ to find out. if i had announced that i intended to throw a bomb under the king's nose the effect could not have been more startling than when i said those fatal words, "_les manches de cour_." _madame la doyenne_ was so overcome that for a moment speech left her. she proceeded to tell me that in order to keep on the right side of the colleagues it would be advisable _not_ to wear the sleeves. "why not?" i asked, perplexed. "my husband says it is only on this one occasion that a foreign minister's wife is required to wear the sleeves." she acknowledged that this was true, but the diplomatic ladies had refused to wear them, and it was as much as peace and happiness were worth to displease the colleagues. "how can they refuse?" i asked. she explained that the idea of wearing the sleeves was disagreeable to them; therefore the court had passed over the point and made a compromise: the queen received them at the summer palace, drottningholm, _en toilette de ville_. in this way the difficulty had been temporarily overcome, but now it seemed they wished me to draw the chestnuts out of the fire. "what am i to do?" i asked. "the only thing i can see is to leave stockholm, my home, and my family, and come back in the summer when i can wear a bonnet." i meant this as a tremendous satire, but she took it quite seriously and said, "that would be wiser." i smiled and, handing her the letter i had in my hand, i said, "in this letter from the _grande maîtresse_ she said you were to present me." "of course i am to present you, but i refuse to wear the sleeves." "if such is the case," i said, "what would you advise me to do?" she answered: "i would advise you to avoid wearing the sleeves. you will make a precedent which all the _corps diplomatique_ will resent." "why should the ladies object to the sleeves?" i ventured to ask. "are they so unbecoming?" "it is not that they are unbecoming, but the ministers' wives dislike being dictated to. they say that they represent their sovereigns, and object to be told what they shall wear and what they shall _not_ wear." i remarked that at the court of st. james's no lady ever dreamt of objecting to wear the three plumes and the long tulle veil prescribed by _that_ court, and i could not see any difference so long as it was their majesties' wish. to this she replied, "i think you will regret it if you offend the whole _corps diplomatique_." on this i took my leave and drove straight to the _grande maîtresse_. my back was up, and even if the _corps diplomatique's_ back was up, too, i was determined to do nothing to displease the court of sweden. i explained the situation to the baroness axerhjelm, who already knew it, of course, better than i did. i could see it was a sore point. when i asked her to explain to me about the sleeves she offered to send for them that i might see them, and to lend me her sleeves that i might copy them. when i looked at the offending sleeves i did not think they were so appalling--only two white satin puffs held in with straps of narrow black velvet ribbon. on a black corsage they could not be so dreadful, especially as the fashion now is sleeves puffed to exaggeration. how silly! we received visit after visit and many letters from the now irate corps--so many that we were quite bewildered. j. looked through the archives of the legation to see if he could find anything bearing on this subject, but in vain. the mighty question does not seem to have troubled my predecessors. they seem to have worn the sleeves and gone on living. j. remembered that the wife of his former minister, on the occasion of the marriage of the crown prince, wore them. i decided to write to the queen of denmark to ask her advice, telling her of the threatened antagonism against me. this is her letter in reply: i advise you, dear lillie, to do as their majesties desire. the crown princess always wears the sleeves when in stockholm, and i think it would be more polite and less awkward if you wore them also. therefore i had them made. thursday came: my dress was ready and the obnoxious sleeves in their places, i quite admired them, and would not have minded wearing them every day. still, i could not but think how a whole ballroom of ladies with them on must have appeared in queen christina's time. although it was the duty of the baroness to accompany me, i was not surprised when i received a long letter explaining how a severe headache had suddenly swooped down on her and would deprive her of that pleasure. that was her way of getting over this _impasse_. the situation was awkward. this refusal at the eleventh hour was very annoying. i was not expected alone, but alone i should have to go. there was no alternative, and the absence of the _doyenne_ must explain itself as best it could. i arrived in solitary grandeur, and was conducted in state to the _salon_, where the _grande maîtresse_--with the sleeves, of course!--was ready to receive me. she did not seem in the least surprised at seeing me alone; possibly the _doyenne_ had written her own account of the headache. i could see that she applauded the stand i had taken, so i felt that if i had lost favor with my colleagues i had gained it at court. we went together to the _salon_, where we found the queen. she rose and gave me her hand, and i bowed low over it. she was dressed all in black, with the white satin sleeves conspicuous under a long lace veil which hung from her head. she is very fine-looking, tall, and imposing, with a quiet and serious manner. she looks the personification of goodness. i gave her the letter the queen of denmark had sent her. then she talked of her brother (duke of nassau), and said he had written about me and my singing, when we were both guests at _château furstenberg_. the queen added, "my brother is not musical" (indeed he was not), "but he said no singing had ever pleased him like yours." i bowed and tried not to look incredulous. "the king," she said, "is looking forward with great pleasure to seeing you again. he remembers a certain song you sang. was it not 'beware,' or something like that?" i did not think it unlikely. i had sung it often enough, goodness knows. i replied i did sing a song called that. the dire step had been taken, and as far as sleeves were concerned the incident was closed. when i reached home i changed my dress and drove to the house of the "suffering" _doyenne_. she had not expected such quick inquiries, for she looked the picture of health; and i met on the staircase a court lackey evidently bent on the same errand. she stammered a great many things about her headache, and how, when she had that particular _kind_ of headache, she was incapacitated from any effort. i sympathized deeply with her. her first question was, "did the queen have on the sleeves?" "certainly," i answered, curtly. _january, ._ dear l.,--king oscar is a king after one's ideas of what a king ought to be. he looks the king every inch of him, and that is saying a good deal, because he is over six feet. he has a splendid physique, is handsome and of much talent. he is a writer and a poet, and speaks all languages. you must be told that some kings are kings; but king oscar, there is no doubt about what he is! at a concert the other evening he came and sat by me, and began talking of music, of _his_ singing, and _my_ singing, and so forth, and finished by saying, "would you like to have me come to you some day and sing?" "of course, your majesty," i said. "i should be delighted. when may we have the honor of expecting you?" "how would next thursday be?" he asked. "and would half past two be agreeable to you?" i replied, "any day or any hour will suit me," although it was in fact the only day which did _not_ suit me, as it was my reception-day. "i hope that we may be quite by ourselves," said the king. "only you and the members of your legation." this i could easily promise, as i should have, in any case, closed my doors. "your majesty will stay and have a cup of tea. i hope." "with pleasure," he answered, "if that will not make my visit too long." "too long, your majesty! how could it be too long?" "well, then, you may expect me." how prepare for _les détails_? madame de sevigny writes somewhere, "_que les détails sont aussi chers à ceux que nous aimons, qu'ils sont ennuyeux aux autres_." the servants laid the traditional red carpet on the staircase. palms and plants were put in every possible place. at two o'clock the servants were already on the watch. the _porte-cochère_ was wide open and the _concierge_ all in a flutter. the piano-tuner, who had just spent an hour tuning my bechstein, had departed when a cart drew up in front of the door. what do you think it was? nothing less than the king's own piano, an _upright_ one, though it did connive at _deception_, as you will see. it was one of those pianos with which one could, by turning a key, lower the whole keyboard by half-tones, so that a barytone could masquerade as a tenor and spare the pianist the trouble of transposing the music, and no one would be the wiser. this was emotion no. . emotion no. : a carriage which stood before the door brought mr. halstrum, the pianist. emotion no. was another carriage full of things--a music-stand, a quantity of music-books, his majesty's spectacles, and a mysterious basket. emotion no. : the servants, with all their heads out of the window, spied a carriage coming full tilt up the street. in it was m. odman, the best tenor from the opera. finally the royal equipage, of which there could be no doubt this time, was seen from way down the street. j. descended the stairs to receive his majesty as his carriage entered the _porte-cochère_. i stood at the door of the apartment, and the king in his usual friendly manner said a hearty, "_god dag, god dag, fru hegermann_!" he was attended by only one chamberlain. we went into the _salon_. after a little while the king said, "what shall i sing for you?" and handed me a list of songs. "anything your majesty sings will be delightful," i answered, eagerly. "yes, but you must choose," the king said. i chose one i wanted to hear, but the king had already decided beforehand what he wanted to sing. (i might have spared myself the trouble.) he went toward the piano, but before he sang he took out of the mysterious basket an egg, which he broke and swallowed raw, to clear his voice. he began at the first song on the list, "adeleide" (beethoven), and sang that and one after another of those on the list. it seemed queer to have the _rôles_ reversed in this way. i generally sang for royalty, but here royalty was singing for me. [illustration: king oscar from an autographed photograph taken in .] the king and i sang the duet from "romeo and juliet" and his brother's romance, "_i rosens doft_," which i had sung with the king in paris many years ago. i sang some of my songs--"beware," of course. i wondered when the tenor, whom i was longing to hear, would come on the program. he only came once, and that was when he sang a duet with his majesty, a duet which the king had had arranged from the jacobite song called "charlie is my darling." the tenor, whose english was not his strong point, sang with great pathos "cha-r-r-r-r-r-r-lie es my tarling," as if a love-sick maiden were calling her lover. when the king sings he throws his whole soul into the music. if providence had bestowed a beautiful voice on him he would have done wonders, but one cannot expect a sovereign to give much time to cultivating his talents. our music finished, tea was served, and his majesty, apparently pleased with his visit, left at five o'clock. here is something the king wrote in my, album which is very characteristic of him: "if you do anything, do it without delay and with your whole heart and mind." _january, ._ dear l.,--i am going to give you a detailed account of the visit of the crown prince and princess of denmark, their annual visit for the king's birthday. johan left the evening before to go to kathrineholm, the last station before stockholm, in order to meet their highnesses, and from there to take the train and arrive here with them. several of the king's household did the same. i was at the station at eight o'clock. it is pitch-dark here at that hour. i pitied j. when i thought of his having to dress in full uniform in the little hotel at kathrineholm. the king and his four sons and gentlemen and ladies belonging to the court and society quite filled the room appropriated to royalty in stockholm station. the train steamed in, and steps were placed at the door of the car. the crown princess descended, followed by the crown prince, prince christian, princess louise (the eldest daughter), and prince hans (the king of denmark's brother). there was a great deal of kissing. the princess was beaming with joy, and said a word to every one. the dinner at court was at six. it was a family dinner, and as such the queen was able to be present. as a rule, she is not present at large dinners, because of her health. the king gave his arm to our princess, the crown prince took the queen. prince carl gave me his arm and put me on the left of the king. during the repast the king asked me if i had read his book of travels. i regretted to say that i had not. then he called his _chasseur_, who always stands behind his chair, and told him to beg the adjutant to see that a copy of the book should be sent to me. he talked a great deal of paris, of his admiration for the empress eugénie, and how he had enjoyed his visit during the exposition of . he said, "do you remember our excursion in my little boat when you, the princess mathilde, and marquis callifet did me the honor to come with me?" "yes, i remember very well, but i think the honor was on our side." "do you remember," he said, "the guitar, and those delightful songs you sang--'beware?' do you remember?" i remembered, certainly, and wondered if i had ever sung anything else in my life. "and our going to the rothschilds' place near boulogne," he continued, "where the porter refused to let us enter the park?" "yes," i replied. "but when he heard who you were all the doors were thrown wide open." "those were pleasant days," the king said with a sigh of recollection. "i was a good friend of yours, and never will i change." "i hope you never will, your majesty." "never," he said. "when once i am a friend, i am a friend for always, and i shall always be a good friend to you." and, taking up my hand from the table, he kissed it--a most embarrassing moment for me! * * * * * our ball was a great success. perhaps you don't know how festivities belonging to royal visits are managed. entertainments are prearranged three or four weeks before the arrival of the royal guests. i had never entertained royalty before, therefore i was naturally rather nervous. i sent to nice for kilos of flowers, and to rome for mosaic brooches and little _fiaschettis_, which i filled with perfume. i sent to paris for canes and card-cases and silver pencils, and arranged a surprise for my guests. this was a fancy-dress quadrille, to be danced by sixteen young people at the beginning of the cotillon. four couples were dressed as shepherds and shepherdesses in different-colored satins, with powdered hair and bright ribbons. the other four were dressed as _incroyables_. the great problem was how to arrange the different suppers, of which there must be five or six. the royalties must have a room to themselves. there must be three separate suppers for the other guests, two for the dancers, and two buffets going on all the evening. in the ballroom a dais was arranged with a red brocade for a background, on which were two red chairs for the king and the crown princess. after giving the last orders j. and i stood at the doors to receive our guests, who soon began pouring in. people in sweden are always very punctual, and arrive precisely at the time for which they are invited. of course, when royalty is present one should be a little earlier. here the host always names the hour when the carriages are to be ordered. i think this is very wise, because if the poor horses had to stand out in the cold, waiting until their masters chose to go home, they would freeze to death. fortunately, my dress, ordered from paris, arrived just the day before. at half past nine the servant announced the arrival of the royal carriages. j. and the secretaries flew downstairs, two servants raced after them, each carrying a candelabrum of six lighted candles. after j. had helped the king from the carriage he took the candelabra from the servants and preceded the king up the stairs to where i stood, according to custom, on the threshold of the door. i presented to the crown princess a large bouquet of red and white roses (the danish colors), with long streaming ribbons to match, and a smaller bouquet to the princess louise. the _tambour_, a curious name given to an antechamber in sweden, seemed overflowing with dazzling uniforms and showy liveries. it was a very cold night, and all the guests were muffled up to the tips of their noses when they came in. the display of india-rubbers was stupendous. you can see how necessary were the twenty-two large porcelain stoves which, in sweden, are built into the walls. for my ballroom i was obliged to add an american stove of the kind one fills once a day from the top. the king gave me his arm, and as we entered the _salon_ every one courtesied to the ground. then the crown princess came in with j. tea was passed, and when the usual ceremonies like presentations and greetings were finished, the _quadrille d'honneur_ commenced. the king took his place on the dais and watched the dancing. at eleven o'clock supper was announced. in entering the supper-room the king gave me his arm, the others following. we were fifteen at our table, ten of whom were royalties. j. did not sit down to supper with us, as it is not the custom in sweden for the host to absent himself from the rest of his guests. now came the moment for the surprise! when the royal guests were seated on the dais, sufficient space was made in front of them, the door opened from a side-room, and the dancers entered. i think those sixteen young people showed much self-denial to be willing to forego the early pleasures of the ball, as they had to do, and give up the time when others were dancing to being dressed, wigged, powdered, and painted. i had to put four rooms at their disposal, two for the ladies with their maids, one for the gentlemen and their valets, and one for their refreshments and supper. the shepherds and shepherdesses looked and danced their quadrille charmingly. the music for this was the mazurka from "romeo and juliet." when the _incroyables_ came in there was a murmur of admiration. they were beautifully dressed. they wore black satin costumes, and the ladies had white ruffs round their necks. the gentlemen wore high collars and lace jabots. each had a long stick in his hand and a monocle in his eye. the shepherds stood back while the _incroyables_ danced their quadrille. the music of this was the "gavotte louis xiii." as i had chosen the eight prettiest girls in stockholm, the effect was perfectly enchanting. after the second quadrille they joined forces and danced a _ronde_ to the music of "_le galop infernal_" of "_orphée aux enfers_" (offenbach). it was a great success, and the king desired them to dance it over again. the king thought it must have been a tremendous undertaking, but i told him that it was no trouble to me, as the ballet-master from the theater had taught them. these young people stayed in their pretty costumes for the cotillon, which commenced directly after their dance. in sweden people are not _blasé_ as to cotillon favors. they are not accustomed to receive anything more elaborate than flowers and little bows, so i think they all went home happy with their gifts. there is such a queer custom here. during the cotillon, at the same time with the ices, beer is served, and something they call _mandel-melck_ (milk mixed with almond essence). the young ladies also have to be sustained every little while by huge glasses of the blackest of porter. the royal guests left at two o'clock; then we had a sit-down supper for those remaining. at five o'clock i found myself in my bed, tired out but happy that everything had gone off so well. the next day the crown prince of sweden had arranged a tobogganing party at dyrsholm. we were a very gay company of twenty-four, meeting at the station to take the little local train to dyrsholm, and arriving about twelve o'clock. here we found an excellent luncheon which his royal highness had ordered, and which was, oh, so acceptable to us hungry mortals! on excursions of this kind in this cold latitude one is obliged to be very careful not to eat and especially not to drink too much, as there is always danger of congestion. it was a glorious day, the sun shining brilliantly in a clear sky, but bitterly cold. the thermometer, i was told, was eighteen below zero; i would have said thirty. we ladies were muffled up to our ears in fur, our feet buried in _pomposhes_, which are long, india-rubber boots lined with fur, and when we stood in the snow we had great shoes lined with straw. everything about us was white; the trees, were loaded with icicles and snow. the hill down which we toboganned was very steep, ending in a long slide over the frozen lake. the snow on both sides of our path was piled up four feet high at least. the fun of toboganning is the bunker. the sudden rise gives you such an impetus, and on the other side you get such a tremendous bump that generally one, if not _both_, of you fall off head first in the snow. one must be an adept to manage these sleds. the crown prince toboganned, as he did everything else, to perfection. of course, each prince had his own sled and invited some lady to go with him. the lady generally sits in front, with her legs stretched out, and holds on to everything she can, her clothes in particular. the gentleman sits behind, steering with his feet. the crown prince went often alone, and then he would lie flat on his stomach and steer with his long legs, as if he were sculling a boat. i did not feel the least nervous when i went with him, but i confess i did feel a little shy when i had to put my arms round his neck and clutch him for dear life when we jumped the bunker. he preferred having his companion behind him. the _revers de la médaille_ was the toiling up the long slope in the intense cold. i wondered if the pleasure was worth the toil, but if one did not go down on the sleds one would have to stay on the top of the hill and freeze. we enjoyed this sport till darkness put an end to it; then we returned, tired, cold, and hungry to town, to dine hurriedly and be ready for the theater at eight o'clock--a gala performance. [illustration: the king of sweden from a photograph taken when he was crown prince gustav. the crown and robe were worn at the formal opening of the riksdag by his father, king oscar.] j. and i were invited to sit in the royal box. the opera was "orphée," by glück. the crown princess suffers agonies when she hears music (everything sounds false to her sensitive ears). therefore, to spare her, they had chosen the shortest opera. in the _entr'actes_ refreshments were served in the small _salon_ which is kept in reserve for the king. it is the same room where king gustave iii. retired when he attended the ball which proved so fatal to him on the night of his assassination. the libretto of "_ballo in maschera_" by verdi, is made on this subject, and the scene laid in boston. stockholm, _ _. dear l.,--the opening of the rigsdag is a great event in stockholm. the _corps diplomatique_ met in the room in the palace called kronesal. the walls are covered with the three gold crowns of the swedish coat of arms painted on a blue background. they passed on through the rooms of the order of the sword, which had just as many swords on its walls as the other had crowns. you can never make a mistake as to where you are! the ladies were told to wear _toilette de ville_, and the gentlemen to dress in gala uniform. just before the time the king was to come in we were ushered down a little narrow staircase which led into the rigsdag, passed in front of the throne, and went up a still narrower staircase to the gallery reserved for the diplomats, which seemed very shaky. some day when the rigsdag is opening there will be a collapse of diplomats. the body of the hall was filled with the gentlemen, all the members of the two chambers in evening dress and the court officials in their uniforms. when the queen is present, which is not often, she sits opposite the _corps diplomatique_, surrounded by the ladies of the court, who wear little white fur capes over their shoulders. the galleries on both sides were filled with the nobility and society. the throne on which king oscar sat is on a raised platform filling the whole end of the hall. the throne is unique, made of silver, silver lions supporting it on both sides. back of the throne was a long blue velvet curtain hanging from the canopy. everything was ready and every one in his place. a deep silence reigned throughout. there was a blast of trumpets; every one stood up, and the king came down the same little staircase we had. he looked very majestic in his splendid robes of ermine, over which hung the blue order of the seraphim, the highest order in sweden, and of course all his other decorations. the crown he wears is magnificent, made of costly jewels, and, i should think, very heavy, causing the king to hold his head very straight and steady. he looked up at the _loge_ of the diplomats, made a slight inclination of the head, then mounted the few steps of the throne and sat in his silver chair. the crown prince came next, followed by prince carl and prince eugen. the three are as tall as the king. they wore blue velvet mantles trimmed with ermine, their uniforms showing underneath, and as if they had been handed down, but not let down, from former and shorter princes. they wore crowns which seemed difficult to balance on their heads. the king took the proclamation from the hands of his _rigskanzler_ and, standing up, read it in a loud and clear voice. he did not use his eye-glasses, because the letters were made so large that he could read without them. it was a fine and thrilling moment. the rigsdag being opened, the king left as he had come. stockholm, _ _. dear l.,--prince chira, one of the sons of the king of siam, came to see us to-day. he has just returned from st. petersburg. we were very glad to see him again. we knew him so well in copenhagen, where he has been living for some years. he has been in the danish army, and, although only nineteen years old, has passed the most difficult examinations, and is now an officer. he talks english, french, and danish with equal facility. when at aalholm he entered into all our games and charades with enthusiasm. he did not mind at all being dressed up as a sambo, and favored particularly a yellow wig. he has very yellowish skin, almond eyes, and beautiful white teeth. he came to see us straight from the castle, where he had been to see the king. he was very enthusiastic about his majesty (who is not?). he told us how the king had taken the grand cordon of the seraphim order off his own shoulders and hung it on his. the king being a giant, and prince chira about the size of a boy of ten, you can imagine how the cordon fitted him. chira said, "i reached up to about the king's waist, and when the king put the cordon on me it trailed on the ground, and i kept tripping over it when i left the room. it is most awkward," he added, laughing, "and i must wear it to-night at the big dinner at court which the king gives me." "leave it with me, and i will have a tuck made in it and send it to you before dinner." this he did. we measured off how much of a tuck should be made, and sent it to him in time. he came the next day to thank me and bid us good-by. he said, "i looked splendid last night _in my cordon_." in june and july it is never really dark in these latitudes. the sun shines till eleven o'clock, the birds sing and bustle about during the so-called night, and the cocks begin to crow at absurd hours. they must be perplexed as to what they are doing all these months. the early bird has to be very early to get off with the worm. bayreuth, _august, _. dear l.,--at last my dream of dreams has become a reality--under what enchanting conditions! mrs. l., my beloved friend, invited me to stay three weeks with her in the apartment which she has taken, opernstrasse, which was the habitation of wagner's special doctor. mrs. l.'s other guests were her sister, her niece, and mr. and mrs. brimmer from boston. johan promised to join us later. mrs. l, had her own cook and servants, and we lived like princes of the blood. a walk about the streets in the morning, then a sumptuous lunch, and then a little _siesta_ to fit us for the rest (or rather fatigue) of the day. at a little before four the carriages were at the door and we drove up the hill to the shrine, passing the foot-sore and weary pilgrims toiling on their way. the servant took our hats and coats, for no one must wear a hat in the audience, and no one needed a coat in this awful heat. [illustration: the riksdag of sweden from a photograph showing the opening of the riksdag at stockholm, january, . the de hegermann-lindencrones were _doyen_ and _doyenne_ of the diplomatic corps; he stands in the gallery on the left, fourth from end.] the signal to enter the auditorium is given by a blast of trumpets, generally the four bars of the most well-known melody in the to-be-given opera. the only boxes in the theater are in the rear, and madame wagner sits with her family in the middle one. after the people have taken their seats the house becomes pitch-dark, and from the depths of the unknown one hears the first notes of the overture. then the curtains are noiselessly drawn up. after this no one dares to breathe--woe to the unlucky one who gets a fit of sneezing or a tickling in the throat; better die at once than be the recipient of all the inward curses that are hurled at you! the first act generally lasts an hour, and the people emerge from the stifling auditorium into the fresh air with a sigh of relief. the germans make dashes of kangaroo leaps toward the casks of beer, and then rush for the tents where they get something to eat at the price of blood. the _entr'acte_ lasts an hour; then we hear the blasts of the four heralds again, which is the signal for the second act to commence, and so on until ten o'clock at night. then _home_, where we find a gorgeous _diner-soupertoire_ which triumphantly ends a day of emotion. wagner's operas, which lay about on our tables, all seem to have been given by him to _meinem lieben freund_, the doctor. how i regret that dishonesty did not get the upper hand! how easy it would have been for me to have purloined a book and its signature, but i am proud to say that i resisted, and my collection of autographs is to this day devoid of anything from richard wagner, showing that virtue is not always its own reward, since i regret having been virtuous. the off days were also delightful. we drove to the hermitage, lingered in the grounds belonging to the gentle and clever margräfin, and wondered if her tiny little court was not a trifle _ennuyenx_! one could fancy her sitting under the shady trees of the _charmille_, sewing beads on some bags, specimens of which were exhibited to us by an officious menial, and were of the most hideous description. i say hideous because i hate beads and all their works. i have just finished reading her memoirs, and i can only think how small their talk must have been--how narrow their visions! we drove to the other pretty resort, bellevue, and meandered about the rococco gardens, and sat on the stone benches surrounding the lake, and watched the graceful movements of the swans as they tried to avoid the spray from the fountains. we tried not to see the native music-lovers who clustered in crowds about the tables, which were covered with red checker-board table-covers and drinking-mugs. they sit under these lovely shady groves for hours, in their thick coats, which they wear in any season and in any climate, their ponderous field-glasses slung over their fat shoulders and their pockets bulging with guide-books and postal cards, swallowing by barrelfuls the cool and beloved beer and eating _butterbrod_ by platefuls. on saturday evenings madame wagner--called familiarly frau cosima--opens her _salon_, and every one goes who can get an invitation. there is generally music, and the best-artists from the opera-house are delighted to sing. also the inevitable pianist who is "the finest interpreter of chopin." (did you ever know one who was not?) very interesting evenings, these, because one sees all the notabilities that flock to bayreuth. princes, plebeians, and artists meet here in the limitless brotherhood of music. madame nordica has been singing throughout this season. her lohengrin is van dyke, and gruning plays tristan to her isolde. her voice is charming, and she acts very well, besides being very good to look at. she has a promising _affaire de coeur_ with a tenor called dohme, hungarian by birth, and, i should say, anything by nature. he is handsome, bold, and conceited, and thinks he can sing "parsifal." madame nordica has, i believe, sung for nothing, on the condition that her _fiancé_ should make his _début_ here previous to taking the world by storm, but madame cosima, with foresight and precaution, has been putting him off (and her on) until the last day of the season, which was yesterday. then frau cosima allowed him to make his appearance, upon which he donned his tunic, put on the traditional blond wig, took his spear in hand, and set forth to conquer. his first phrase, "_das weiss ich nicht_" which is about all he has to say in the first act, was coldly received. however, his bare legs and arms were admired from the rear as he stood his half-hour looking at the holy grail. in the second act, where he resists kundry's questionable allurements, he did passably well, though he gave the impression that even for a _reiner thor_--the german for a virtuous fool--she had no charms. she was a masterful, fat, and hideous german lady, and when she twisted a curl out of her yellow wig and sang, "_diese loche_" and cast her painted lips at him with the threat, "_diese lippe_" he remained hopelessly indifferent, with a not-if-i-know-it expression on his face. he was neither a singer nor an actor, and did not have a shadow of success. but he thought he had, and that was enough for him. it is not allowed in bayreuth to show any sign of approval (or the contrary) until the curtain falls on the last act of the last performance. then the public calls the artists out _en masse_. parsifal came with the others, and looked more like an arab beggar than anything resembling a parsifal. madame nordica took her _fiancé_ off the next day. she received from madame cosirna a lace fan, with thanks, for her exertions during the bayreuth season, but she was repaid enough by the satisfaction of seeing her _fiancé_ make his _début_, his first and last appearance, i fancy. they went to nuremberg the next day and had rooms near ours. we could hear her trilling with joy during their dinner duets, and when i went to see her in her apartment the conquering hero told stories about himself which i accepted at a fifty-per-cent. discount. madame nordica has certainly the loveliest of voices. what a pity the tenor of her life should not have a better chance to run smooth, for run smooth it will not with such a _thor_ in her possession. stockholm, _june, _. dear l.,--you will wonder why you have not heard from me for such a long time, but we have just returned from a trip to norway. you know j. is accredited there as well as in sweden, and he has to put in an occasional appearance, and we thought while he was putting that in we would put ours in with it. our party included nina and frederick. for five days we careened over mountains and dales, driving, sailing, riding norwegian ponies, and always enjoying ourselves to the utmost. one who has not seen the norwegian _fjords_ does not know how beautiful and picturesque the scenery is. you must come some day and see it for yourself. we reached bergen the th of june, the longest day of the year. there is no question of its being really dark, only between and a.m. you cannot see to read. it is a lovely time to travel, because you can travel the whole twenty-four hours. bergen is a very pretty town, with clean streets and nice shops. the jewelry, silver, and fur shops are really quite wonderful, but--there is always a thorn to every rose--the smell of fish pervades the town. go where you will, you cannot escape it. you don't wonder at this when you visit the fish-markets and see the monsters which are brought out of the deep every morning. they look like small whales. nina and i, with the energy of the american woman who knows what she wants and knows how to get it, were determined to see grieg in his surroundings. we hired a carriage in bergen and started on our pilgrimage. it needed not only the energy of an american, but the tongue of a dane and the perserverance of danaides. the griegs live in the most unget-at-able place that you can imagine, because he does not want any one to get at him. however, after driving for miles and worrying the life out of our driver by poking him in the back with our umbrellas and asking him if we had not arrived and when we should arrive, and such useless questions, our poor tired steed climbed a long hill where the road suddenly ended its course. we were obliged to leave the carriage and make the rest of the hill on foot, only to encounter, on arriving at a gate bearing these large and forbidding letters: "_her boer edward grieg, som önsker at vaere fri for folk._" ("here lives edward grieg, who wishes to be let alone.") but nina and i were not to be balked by such a trifle as edward grieg's wishes, and with some difficulty we managed to unfasten the hasp of the wooden gate. we expected to see a dragon or a ferocious bulldog fly at us, but all was peaceful within, and we walked into the lair without being molested, and marched boldly to the front door of the villa. there mrs. grieg opened the door to us and was (she said) delighted to see us. "and," she added, "how happy grieg will be, too!" this, we thought, was doubtful, but grieg pretended to be very "happy." we stayed as long as we dared, and, on being offered tea and cakes and urged to stay longer, we were shown, as a great privilege, the little summer-house at the bottom of the hill where grieg retires when he wishes to compose, and where mrs. grieg or any other angel dare not to tread. he has a grand steinway. this is about the only american thing which grieg does not hate. he said that he would have been a rich man if america had given him a royalty on his music, which is, as he said, played in every house in america. they bemoaned that they were overrun by american lady reporters. that was the reason they had put that notice on the gate--to keep them off the premises. they would beg, he said, "just to look at the garden and pluck a little _ukrut_ [weed], and then go away and write all sorts of nonsense, as if they had dragged all my secrets out of me. they are terrible," he added, "your lady compatriots." [illustration: facsimile of letter from grieg a letter from grieg [translation.] christiana, _nov. , _. my wife's and my own heartiest thanks for your kind telegram. i received it eight days too late by a perfectly incomprehensible and unfortunate mistake, but the joy over your greeting was none the less therefor. we remember so often and so willingly the beautiful time in rome where you showed us so much kindness. we hope and wish to have a glimpse of you at not a too distant day, perhaps in stockholm. with best greetings to your husband from us both. your devoted edward grieg.] grieg played some of his latest compositions, which were perfectly exquisite, and played them as only he can. he was full of fun, and told us of an american songstress who had been one of those who had "got in." she insisted on singing for him "_jeg elsker dig_" and made a cadenza of her own at the end. he said mrs. grieg almost fainted, and that his own hair had not finished standing on end ever since. he played this awful cadenza for us, and i must say it was ridiculous. mrs. grieg sings delightfully--_nothing but grieg, of course_. she has not a strong voice, but sings with exquisite pathos and charm. grieg loves to talk of his rude behavior and dwell with pleasure on his brusque speeches. he said a young american lady asked him to teach her one of his songs, and after she had sung it he turned round on the piano-stool and said: "are you singing for your living?" "no," she answered, "i sing for my pleasure." "don't you think that dancing would be pleasanter?" he asked. it was evident that they saw us go with regret; we certainly left them with regret. they looked, as they stood there together waving farewell, like two little gray elves; she with her short gray dress and short gray hair; and he with his long gray coat and long gray hair--a grieg study in gray. stockholm, _september, _. dear l.,--just as i was going to get a little rest, who should come to stockholm but the prince of naples? i begged him to give us one evening before he left, which he promised to do. he seemed as glad to see us as we were to see him. "what would your highness like best," i asked him, "an official dinner followed by a reception, or a little dinner with a dance?" "oh, madame, the little dinner and a little dance, by all means." so a little dinner it was. he does not care for dancing, but he knew the lancers and quadrilles, and we danced those. we played "fox and geese"; i fancy, from seeing his amusement, that he had never had a real romp in all his life. to finish, we danced a virginia reel. this was new to him and pleased him immensely. he insisted upon going through the entire dance until every couple had done its part. a few days later king oscar sent me the decoration of _litteris at artibus_, which i shall wear on great occasions. this decoration is a gold medal, and the ribbon that goes with it is blue. queen christina of sweden instituted the order. the medal is only given to women of merit, artistic or literary. jenny lind, frederika bremer, and christina nillson, and others have it. i have become the _doyenne_ of the diplomatic corps. i intend to make my colleagues walk very straight. so far my duties consist of dancing in _quadrilles d'honneur_ and always being taken into supper before every one else, and having the first place everywhere; i take precedence of all guests. these honors do not turn my head. stockholm, _april, _. dear l.,--we have been named to paris. never did people have such a time getting away from a place. all our furniture except a sofa and two chairs had been packed, and was already on the way to paris. the entire morning i was busy receiving notes and bouquets of all dimensions, tied with every imaginable national color. we breakfasted with our colleagues from germany, who had the apartment above us. while still at table a royal chamberlain announced that king oscar was coming in half an hour to bid us good-by. heavens! how could we receive his majesty without carpets or curtains, only the sofa and two chairs! what a predicament! but our good and kind friends came bravely to the rescue. they offered to send down rugs, palms, and flowers, so that we could receive our royal guest in the curtainless room. well, the palms and plants did certainly make the room look more inviting. j. camped on the one chair, and the king and i sat on the sofa. the king stayed half an hour. we were as sorry to leave him as he was to have us go. he kissed me on my forehead, and kissed j. on both cheeks, and said, "i shall come to paris to see you." j. escorted the king down-stairs and put him in his carriage, while i wiped away a tear. the royal visit over, our borrowed plumes were returned. hardly was the apartment bare again when there came a court lackey telling our bewildered valet that the "crown prince would be at the house in a short moment." our colleagues most amiably sent the rugs, etc., down again, and we sat in state and waited. the prince came, bringing a large photograph of himself, and said many nice things, expressing his sorrow that we were going to leave stockholm, and bade us good-by. the time was gradually approaching when i should put on my hat to depart. there were still a lot of things to be attended to at the last moment. our people had to be bid good-by and paid, and thousands of trifles, as you may imagine, to be thought of, and i began to despair of getting away. i seriously proposed to j. to pretend to leave, bidding people good-by at the station, and stop at the first place, to return the next morning and finish quietly what seemed so impossible to do then. what was our dismay, then, at receiving a telephone message from prince carl, asking if i could receive him. of course, i answered i would be proud, and our colleagues above, learning of this new complication, sent, without begging, the useful and ornamental things which had adorned our _salon_ before. prince carl came. he brought me a little bunch of lilies-of-the-valley, intending a gentle allusion to my name. we were very sad at the idea that we were to part, but part we must, and pretty soon. the tired rugs were taken back once more. prince eugen kindly telephoned that he wished to say good-by. it was already so late that there was no question of the rugs, for it was within an hour of our departure; therefore we were obliged to receive the prince without any accessories. he came with a little offering of flowers. however, that did not make any difference, because we all stood up. it is the custom here in stockholm that every one goes to the station to speed the parting guest. the station was overcrowded. we were showered with the good wishes of two hundred and fifty people, and flowers were in such quantities that we had to have an extra compartment for them. [illustration: a letter in english from king oscar] paris, - paris, _may, _. dear l.,--i can hardly believe that we have been here a month. the time has slipped by, as it has a way of doing when one is frightfully busy; in my case it was particularly exasperating. johan's secretary took rooms for us at the hôtel chatham, which was not a very good choice, as you will see. the day for johan to present his _lettres de créance_ was fixed for the th of april. m. crozier, the gentleman who introduces ambassadors and ministers to the president, appeared with two landaus, escorted by a detachment of the _garde nationale_. the little courtyard of the hotel could not contain more than the carriages; the horsemen were obliged to stay in the very narrow rue daunou, which they filled from one end to the other. while the two gentlemen were exchanging their greetings i slipped out and walked down the rue de la paix, which i found barred from the rue daunou as far as the rue de rivoli. i felt very proud when i thought from whom it was barred. i went into a shop while the brilliant _cortège_ was passing and, feigning ignorance, asked the woman at the counter: "what is this procession?" "_oh! c'est un de ces diplomates_" she said, shrugging her shoulders. i left the shop without buying anything--a paltry revenge on my part; still it was a revenge. we have found a suitable apartment in the rue pierre charron, and i have just now begun to look up some of my old friends. alas! there are not many left, but those who are seem glad to see me. my first official visit was to madame faure. this was easily managed. i simply went on one of her reception-days. an elysian master of ceremonies was waiting for me, and i followed him into the _salon_ where madame faure sat, surrounded by numerous ladies. a servant wrestled in vain with my name, "crone" being the only thing he seized, but the master of ceremonies announced to the president that i was the danish minister's wife, after which things went smoothly. to leave no doubt in the other guests' minds that i was a person of distinction and the wife of a minister madame faure asked me innumerable questions about _monsieur le ministre_. we were scarcely settled when there came the awful catastrophe of the burning of the _bazar de charité_, about which you have probably read. i had promised to go to it, and i can say that my life literally hung on a thread, for if my _couturière_ had kept her word and sent my dress home at the time she promised i should certainly have gone and would probably have been burned up with the others. marquise de gallifet also owed her life to my not going. she came to make me a visit and lingered a little. this _little_ saved her life. she entered the fated bazar just a moment before the fire broke out, and therefore managed to escape. frederikke and i drove to the offending dressmaker. (how i blessed her afterward!) when we passed the cours la reine we were very much astonished to see a man without a hat, very red in the face, waving two blackened hands in the most excited manner. he jumped into a cab and drove away as fast as the horse could gallop. then we saw a young lady, bareheaded, in a light dress, rushing through the street, and another lady leaning up against the wall as if fainting. the air was filled with the smell of burning tar and straw, and we noticed some black smoke behind the houses. i thought it must come from a stable burning in the neighborhood. we had been so short a time in paris that i did not realize how near we were to the street where the bazar was held. at half past five we drove through the rue françois i'er on our way home and saw a few people collected on the place, otherwise there seemed nothing unusual. when we passed through the avenue montaigne we met monsieur hanotaux (minister of foreign affairs) in a cab, looking wildly excited. he stood up and screamed to me, "_vous étes sauvée_." what could he mean? i thought that he was crazy. i screamed back, "_que dites vous_?" but he was already out of hearing. it was only when we reached home that we learned what had happened and understood what he had meant. how dreadful were the details! the bazar was in a vacant lot inclosed by the walls of surrounding houses, from which the only exit was through the room where a cinematograph had been put up. this, being worked by a careless operator, took fire. the interior of the bazar consisted of canvas walls, of which one part represented a street called _vieux paris_. the bazar was crowded; the stalls were presided over by the most fashionable ladies of paris, and there were many gentlemen in the crowd of buyers. when the fire broke out a gentleman whose wife was one of the stall-holders stood up near the door and cried out, "_mesdames, n'ayez pas peur. il n'y a pas de danger_," and quietly went out, leaving people to their fates. then came the panic. young ladies were trampled to death by their dancing-partners of the evening before. one of them was engaged to be married, and when her _fiancé_ walked over her body, in his frenzy to escape, she cried to him, "_suivez moi, pour l'amour de dieu!_" he screamed back, "_tout le monde pour soi_," and disappeared. she was saved by a groom from the stables opposite. she was horribly burned, but probably will live, though disfigured for life. under the wooden floor were thrown all the _débris_--tar, shavings, paper, etc. this burned very quickly, and the floor fell in, engulfing those who could not escape; the tarred roof and the canvas walls fell on them. what an awful death! the kitchen of a small hotel, which formed one side of the vacant lot, had one window about four feet from the ground. this was covered with stout iron bars. the cook, when he realized the disaster, managed to break the bars and, pushing out a chair, was able to drag a great many women through the window. he and the stable-boy were the only persons who seemed to have done anything toward helping. of course, around the uprooted and demolished turn-stile was the greatest number of victims, but masses were found heaped together before the canvas representing the street of _vieux paris_. the poor things in their agony imagined that it really was a street. it was all over in an hour. it seems almost incredible that such a tragedy could have taken place in so short a time. and to think that the whole catastrophe could have been averted by the expenditure of a few francs! when the architect heard that there was to be a cinematograph put up he pointed out the danger and begged that some firemen should be engaged. the president of the committee asked how much this would cost and, on being told twenty francs for each fireman, replied, "i think we will do without them." the duchesse d'alençon and the wife and daughters of the danish consul-general were among the victims. the dead were all taken to the palais de l'industrie and laid out in rows. through the whole night people searched with lanterns among the dead for their loved ones. it was remarked that, though there were many men's canes and hats, there was not one man found among the burned. not one man in all paris acknowledged that he had been to the bazar. within an incredibly short time subscriptions amounting to over a million francs were collected. from america came many messages of sympathy and a great deal of money. but no one could be found except the cook and the stable-boy who had done anything to merit a reward. after giving them large sums the rest of the money went to form a fund for the building of a chapel in commemoration of the disaster. paris, _ _. dear l.,--social life here is very confusing and fatiguing; physically, because distances are so immense. people live everywhere, from the Île st.-louis to the gates of st.-cloud. hardly a part of paris where some one you know does not live. the very act of leaving a few cards takes a whole afternoon. in reality there are three societies which make life for a diplomat, whose duty it is to be well with every one, very complicated and unending. the official season for dinners, receptions, and _soirées_ is in the winter; french society, just returned from the riviera and italy, has its real season in spring, when longchamps and auteuil have races and puteaux has its sports. the autumn is the time when strangers flock to paris; then commence the restaurant and theater parties. how can any lady have a reception-day where people of all countries, all politics, and all societies meet? impossible! i have tried it, and i am sorry to say that my receptions are dead failures. still, i persevere, as i am told it is my duty to receive. when our first invitation to the ball of the Élysées came i was most anxious to see what it would be like. is it not strange that the cards of invitation are the same used in the empire. "_la présidence de la république française_" stands instead of "_la maison de l'empereur_." i have the two before me, the old and the new, and they are exactly alike, color, paper, and engraving! the diplomatic corps has a separate entrance at the Élysées. we were met and conducted by a master of ceremonies to the room where the president and madame faure were standing. m. faure is called _un président décoratif_. he is tall, handsome, and has what you might call princely manners. the privileged ones passed before them and shook hands, quite _à l'américaine_. i was named by m, crozier and got from m. faure an extra squeeze by way of emphasizing that i was a new-comer. we then passed into the _salon_ where our colleagues were assembled, and did not move from there until the presidential pair came in at eleven o'clock. at these balls there are a great many--too many--people invited. i have been told that there are six thousand invitations sent out. to one gentleman is assigned the duty to stay in the first _salon_ and pass in review the toilets of the promiscuous guests and judge if they are suitable. when he sees a lady (?) in a high woolen dress with thick and soiled boots in which she has probably walked to the ball, he politely tells her that there must be some mistake about her invitation, and she walks meekly back to her _comptoir_. when m, and madame faure had finished receiving, they came into the room where the diplomats were; and the president, giving his arm to the lady highest in rank (the _protocole_ arranged the other couples) we marched through the crowd of gazers-on, through the ballroom, where some youths and maidens were whirling in the dance, through the palm-filled winter garden, where the people were crowded around a buffet, and through all the _salons_ until we reached the last one, quite at the end of the palace, where a sumptuous buffet awaited us. at one o'clock we returned home. it amused me to see old waldteufel still wielding his _bâton_ and playing his waltzes as of old. i wanted to speak to him, but, being in the procession, i could not stop. yesterday i had a visit from adelina patti. i had not seen her for a long time. it seemed only the other day that i had written a letter condoling with her on the death of nicolini, her second husband. this time she was accompanied by her third husband, baron cederstrom, a very fine-looking swede whose family we knew well in sweden. the _diva_ looked wonderfully young, and handsomer than ever. when they came into the _salon_ together one could not have remarked very much difference in their ages, though he is many years younger than she is. massenet comes often to see me. he is a great man now. he and saint-saëns are the most famous musicians of france at the present moment. massenet has never forgotten old kindnesses; and, no matter where he is, whether on a platform at a concert, or in a drawing-room full of people, he always plays as a prelude or an improvization the first bars of a favorite song of his i used to sing. he sends me a copy of everything he composes, and always writes the three bars of that song on the first page. among others we find our friend marquise de podesta. she is a sort of lady in waiting to ex-queen isabella of spain. i went to see her at the queen's beautiful palace in the avenue kléber. i was delighted when she asked me if i would like to make the acquaintance of the queen. i went two days later to what she called an "audience." the queen received me in a beautiful room lined with old gobelin tapestry and furnished with great taste. she is rather heavy and stout and wears a quantity of brown hair plastered over her temples, which does not give her the height a queen ought to have. she was very amiable, asked many questions about places and people i knew, and before i was aware of it i found myself spinning out lengthy tales. i should have much preferred she do the talking. [illustration: jules massenet at the height of his career from an autographed photograph taken in .] the empress eugénie is now here. and fancy! living at the hôtel continental, right opposite the gardens of the tuileries. i have not seen her for six years (since cap-martin). baron petri, who always accompanies her, answered my note asking if i might come to see her, saying that the empress would receive me with pleasure. you may imagine my emotion at seeing her again. i found her seated at the window facing the tuileries. how could she bear to be so near her old home? as if reading my thoughts, she said: "you wonder that i came here to this hôtel. it is very sad. there are so many memories. but it seems to bring me nearer _mon fils bien aimé_. i have him always before me. my poor louis! i can see him as a little boy, when he used to drive out in his carriage, always surrounded by the _cent gardes_." she told me of the terrible journey she had made to south africa. she had wished to go over the same route that the prince had taken on his way to zululand. how dreadful it must have been for her! can one imagine anything more tragic? her only child, whom she loved beyond anything in the world, whom she hoped to see on the throne! the future monarch of france! a napoleon! to be killed by a few zulus, in a war not in any way connected with france. the empress appeared weighed down with grief; nevertheless, she seemed to like to talk with me. i wish i could have heard more, but the arrival of the princess mathilde interrupted us, and i left. the papal _nonce_ (ambassador of the pope) had his official reception last week in his hotel, rue legendre, which is far too small to hold all the people who went there. all paris, in fact. no one is invited to these receptions, but every one thinks it a duty and a politeness to attend; consequently, there are a great number of people who walk in, are presented, and walk out. the _nonce_ is a charming man, simple in his manner, kind and gentle. i felt very proud the other evening to be on his arm after the dinner at the minister of foreign affair's, and walk about with him. when we passed by some of the unclothed dianas and venuses the dear old man held up his hand to cover his eyes: "_non devo guardare!_" nevertheless i caught him peeping under his eyelids. he came on my thursday to see me, accompanied by monsignore montagnini, his secretary, and sat a long time lingering over his teacup, and made himself very agreeable to the many ladies present. the _nonce_ accepted our invitation to dine on the th (he fixed the day himself). that evening i received a note from the secretary to say that the _nonce_ had forgotten that the th was ash wednesday, and, naturally, could not have the pleasure, etc. prince valdemar, the youngest son of the king of denmark, and princess marie, his wife, were dining yesterday with us, with prince george of greece, who is extremely agreeable and handsome. she (the princess marie) when in paris stays with her parents, the due and duchesse de chartres, in their beautiful palace, known in paris for its artistic architecture and its onyx staircase. [illustration: a note from massenet this was a reply to a letter of introduction which madame de hegermann-lindencrone had written miss geraldine farrar to massenet. he taught her subsequently _manon_.] the princess desired to meet president faure for some reason, and, as she could not do that in her father's house, she desired us to arrange a meeting on the neutral ground of the legation. on the day fixed they met here in the afternoon. i remained out of the _salon_, and only returned when the tea-table was brought in. the president partook of his tea with graceful nonchalance. paris, _ _. dear l.,--you ask, "what are you doing?" if you had asked what are we _not_ doing i would have told you, but what we _are_ doing covers acres of ground. we are in a whirlwind of duties and pleasures, dinners, _soirées_, and balls. it would bore you to death to hear about them. many of my old friends are still in paris; those _you_ knew are countess pourtales (just become a widow); marquise gallifet, who is more separated from her husband than ever. she remains faubourgeoise st.-germain, and he favors the republic. i find christine nillson here. from madame rivière she has become countess casa-miranda. she has a pretty little hôtel near us, where she sings not, "neither does she spin." i meet her at dear old mrs. pell's sunday-afternoon ladies' teas. nillson and i are the youngest members of the club. you may imagine what the others must be in the way of years. mrs. pell gives us each (we are twelve) a gold locket with a teacup engraved on its back, and a lock of her once brown hair inside, and we assemble and eat american goodies made in an ultra-superior manner by her _chef_. our occupations or amusements depend very much upon whom we are with. a whole army of doctors has just descended on us, and we are doing the medical side of paris. one day we went to see dr. doyen, the celebrated cutter-up of men. he said that operations other doctors spent an hour over _he_ did in ten minutes. it sounds a little boastful, but after what i saw i am sure that it is true. he has a very large hospital where he preaches and practises and gives cinematographic representations of his most famous operations. it was very interesting, because at the same time that we were looking at him in the pictures he was sitting behind us explaining things. strange to say that one or two of the doctors with us fainted away. the ladies did not faint, neither did they look on. the operation which took the most time was the cutting apart of the little indian twins, radica and dodica. this last one (poor little sickly thing) was dying of tuberculosis, and the question was whether the well one should be separated or die with her sister. while this was going on the little survivor came to the door and begged to be let in (she was tired of running up and down the corridor); therefore we knew that the operation had succeeded, which helped to make it less painful to witness. we visited, in company with these same doctors, the pasteur institute, young m. pasteur accompanying us. we began at the rooms where they examined hydrophobia in all its developments. persons who have been bitten by any animal are kept under observation, and they have to go to the institute forty times before they are either cured or beyond suspicion. there are two large rooms adjoining each other, one for the patients and the other for the doctors. every morning the unhappy men and women are received and cared for. _may , _. my dear l.,--we have just come home from bidding our crown prince and princess good-by at the station. on thursday madame faure and her daughter came to see me. on bidding them adieu i said i hoped the president had not forgotten the photograph of himself which he had promised me. madame faure answered, "_vous l'aurez ce soir méme, chère madame_." that very evening while we were dining with count and countess cornet we heard that félix faure had suddenly died. to-day we learned how he had died. not through the papers, but secretly, in an undertone and with a hushed voice. i think that the french papers ought to take the prize in the art of keeping a secret. one could never imagine that a whole nation could hold its tongue so completely! there appeared no sensational articles, no details, and no comments on the president of the french republic's departure from this world. everything in the way of details was kept secret by the officials. in our country, and, in fact, in every other country, such discretion would have been impossible; the news in all its details would have been hawked about the streets in half an hour. here was simply the news that félix faure had died. a week later the president's funeral took place at nôtre dame. seats were reserved for the _corps diplomatique_ by the side of the immense catafalque which stood in the center of the cathedral. huge torches were burning around it. after every one was seated, in came the four officers sent by the german emperor. four giants! the observed of all observers! their presence did not pass unnoticed, as you may imagine. they seemed more as if they were at a parade than at a funeral. the music was splendid; the famous organist guilmant was at the organ, and did "his best." i believe notre dame never heard finer organ-playing. i never did. the streets were full of troops; the large open square in front of the cathedral was lined with a double row of soldiers. the diplomats followed on foot in the procession from notre dame to père la chaise, traversing the whole of paris. paris, _ _. my dear sister,--you may think what a joy it is to me to have my dear friend mrs. bigelow lawrence staying with me here. every day we go to some museums and do a little sight-seeing. she is interested in everything. the new president (loubet) gave us for one night the presidential _loge_ at the grand opéra, and i cannot tell you how delighted we were to hear wagner's "meistersinger" given in french, and marvelously executed. all the best singers took part. the orchestra was magnificent beyond words. the artists played with a delicacy and a _culte_ not even surpassed at bayreuth. in the _entr'actes_ we reviewed--seated in the luxurious, spacious _loge_ where the huge sofas and the _fauteuils_ offered their hospitable arms--our impressions, which were ultra-enthusiastic. near us was madame cosima wagner, whom one of our party went to see. she expressed the greatest pleasure at the performance, not concealing her surprise that a representation in french and in france could be so perfect. if that most difficult of ladies was satisfied, imagine how satisfied _we_ must have been! [illustration: fÉlix faure when president of france from a photograph taken shortly before his sudden death and sent by his widow to madame de hegermann-lindencrone.] as a _bonne bouche_ we took mrs. lawrence to madame carnot's evening reception. these receptions are not gay. they might be called standing-_soirées_, as no one ever sits down. the guests move in a procession through the _salons_, the last one of which is rather a melancholy one. in the middle of it is a square piece of marble lying flat on the floor, and a quantity of withered wreaths and faded ribbons piled up on it. they are the souvenirs of the late president's funeral. madame carnot, a most charming lady, wears a long black veil as in the first days of her widowhood, and receives in a widowed-empress manner. mrs. lawrence's visit is the incentive for active service in the army of musicians. the president often sends me the _ci-devant_ imperial _loge_ at the conservatoire. in old times i used to think how splendid it would be to sit here! now i have the twelve seats to dispose of--six large gilded empire _fauteuils_ in front, and six small ones behind. there is always a bright coal-fire in the _salon_ adjoining, but it does not take away the damp coldness from a room where a ray of light or a breath of fresh air never can penetrate. the concerts seem exactly the same as they used to be; they do not appear to have changed either in their _repertoires_ or in their audiences. beethoven, haydn, and bach are still the fashion, and the old _habitués_ still bob their heads in rhythmical measure. the chorus of men and women look precisely as they did when dear old auber was _directeur_ (twenty-five years ago). i think that they must be the same. the sopranos are still dressed in white, and the contraltos in black, indicative of their voices' color. pugno with his pudgy hands played the concerto of mozart in his masterful manner. one wonders how he can have any command over the keyboard, he has such short arms and such a protruding stomach. as a modern innovation pierno's "_création_" was given, beautifully executed, but received only with toleration. just to go up the familiar worn staircase brought the old scenes vividly before me. then it was a great piece of luck to obtain a seat within its sacred walls, and such an event to go to a concert that i can still remember my sensations. paris, _ _. my dear sister,--you ask me to tell you about the "dreyfus affair." it is a lengthy tale, and such a tissue of lies and intrigue that common sense wonders if the impossible cannot be possible, if wrong cannot be right. you probably know more of the details of the case than i do, if you have followed it from the beginning, as i am just beginning to follow. i assure you it is as much as your life is worth to speak about it; and, as for bringing people together or inviting them to dinner, you must first find out if they are dreyfusards or anti-dreyfusards, otherwise you risk your crockery. the other day i was talking to an old gentleman who seemed very level-headed on the start. perhaps i might learn something! i ventured to say, "do tell me the real facts about the dreyfus affair." had i told him that he was sitting on a lighted bomb the effect on him could not have been more startling. "do you know that he is the greatest traitor that has ever lived? he gave the _bordereau_ to the german government." "what is a _bordereau_?" i asked. he seemed astonished that i did not know what a _bordereau_ was. "it is a list of secret documents. he gave this three years ago." "who discovered it?" i inquired. "it was found in the paper-basket of the german embassy, and monsieur paty du clam knew about it." "and then?" "well, then he was arrested and brought before the _conseil de guerre_, found guilty, and degraded before the army." "did he confess that he wrote the _bordereau_?" "no! on the contrary, he swore he had not, but the generals decided that he had. so he _must_ have!" "the generals may have been mistaken," i said. "such things have happened." "oh no. it is impossible that these officers could have been mistaken." "what did he say when he was accused?" i continued. "i hardly think that he was told of what he was accused." "do you mean to say," i cried, "that he did not know that he was suspected of high treason?" "he must have known that he wrote the _bordereau_," he replied. "_if_ he wrote it," i interrupted. "was he not condemned only on his handwriting?" "yes," replied my elderly friend, whose head i had thought level. "but to discover the truth one had to resort to all sort of ruses in order to convict him and convince the public." "why did the generals want to condemn him, if he was not guilty?" i asked. "they had to condemn some one," said my friend, who was beginning to be dreadfully bored. "the generals found dreyfus guilty, therefore dreyfus was guilty without doubt." "do you think that if an injustice has been done it will create a great indignation in other countries and will affect the coming exposition?" i inquired. "ah," said my wise friend, "_that_ is another thing. i think myself that it would be prudent to do something toward revising the judgment; everything ought to be done to make the exposition a success." and there the matter rested. i doubt if his friendship stood this test. any one who takes dreyfus's defense is looked upon as an enemy in the camp. i devour the papers. _le matin_ seems to be the only unprejudiced one. j. reads the others, but i have no patience with all their cooked-up and melodramatic stories. on the th of september the king of siam gave the diplomats an opportunity to meet him at a reception in the new and beautiful siamese legation. the king is good-looking, and tall for a siamese. he talked english perfectly and showed the greatest interest in everything he had seen. when he left paris a few days later he bought three hundred dozen pairs of silk stockings for his three hundred wives. quite a sum for the royal budget! one can't imagine bigamy going much further than that, can one? and he is only forty-two years old! i was very glad to meet colonel picquard at a dinner in a dreyfusard house. all that i had heard of him made me feel a great admiration for him. i was not disappointed. he is a most charming man, handsome, with such an honest and kind face. i hoped he would talk with me about dreyfus, and said as much to my hostess, who in her turn must have said "as much" to him, for he came and sat by me. i did not hesitate to broach the tabooed subject. he said: "i do not and have never thought that dreyfus was guilty. he may have done something else, but he never, in my belief, wrote the _bordereau_. i had not known him before. i was the officer who was sent to his cell to make him write his name; they forced him to write it a hundred times. he was perfectly calm, but it was so cold in his room that his fingers were stiff and his hands trembled. he kept saying, 'why am i to do this?' i was convinced then and there of his innocence. i could have wept with compassion when i saw how unconscious the poor fellow was. i was also on duty," he added, "when dreyfus was conducted to the ecole militaire the day he was degraded before the troops: his epaulettes were torn from his shoulders and his sword was broken in two. i never could have imagined that any one could endure so much. my heart bled for him." dreyfus was imprisoned _two weeks_ and subjected every day to mysterious questionings, of which he could not divine the purpose. neither he nor his counsel knew on what grounds he was arrested. forzinetti, who was in charge of dreyfus's prison, also believed him innocent, and said he had never seen a man suffer as he did. he kept repeating, "my only crime is having been born a jew." he has been confined ever since on the _ile du diable_ under the strictest surveillance. his jailer was not allowed to speak to him. when airing himself in the little inclosure, exposed to the awful heat, there was always a gun pointed at him. sometimes he was chained to his bed with irons, and a loaded pistol was always placed by his side in case he became weary of life. colonel picquard said: "it can only be the strong desire to prove his innocence that keeps his courage up." colonel schwartkopfen (the german military _attaché_ in paris) declares solemnly to any one who will listen that the german embassy has never had anything to do with dreyfus, and the _bordereau_ is unknown there. we are very anxious about the news we get from denmark. the dear queen is very ill, and there is little hope of her recovery. paris, _ th september_. dear ----,--the queen died last night. every one in paris has come to us to express his sympathy. as is the custom in europe, people write their names in a book placed in the antechamber. there are several hundred signatures. in denmark there is mourning ordered for six months. as there is no danish church in paris, a memorial service for the queen was celebrated in the greek chapel. it was most solemn and beautiful. i love to hear the mournful chants of the white-robed, solemn priests. it was very sad to hear of the assassination of the beautiful empress of austria. she was in geneva and about to take the little boat to go up the lake. the assassin met her and, apparently running against her accidentally, stabbed her. she did not feel the thrust and continued to walk on. when she stepped on the boat they noticed the blood on her dress, and soon after, on being taken to the hotel, she died. the french military _attaché_ in copenhagen was in paris some days and invited us to dinner at his mother's, who has a charming home. we met a great many agreeable people, among whom was the poet rostand (he is the brother-in-law of the _attaché_). rostand was very talkative, and i enjoyed, more than words can tell, my conversation with him. he was most amusing when he told of his efforts "to be alone with his thoughts." he said that when he was writing _l'aiglon_ he was almost crazy. "my head seemed bursting with ideas. i could not sleep, and my days were one prolonged irritation, and i became so nervous _que j'etais devenu impossible_. the slightest interruption sent me into spasms of _delire_. do you know what i did?" he asked me. "i suppose," i answered, "you went on writing, all the same." "no. you could never guess," he laughed. "i sat in a bath-tub all day. in this way no one could come and disturb me, and i was left alone." "tubs," i remarked, "seem to belong to celebrities. diogenes had one, i remember, where he sat and pondered." "but it was not a bath-tub. i consider my idea rather original! do you not think that the great sarah is magnificent in '_l'aiglon_'?" "magnificent," i said. "you are fortunate to have such an interpreter." "am i not?" he was a delightful man. he sent me a few lines of the princess lointaine, with his autograph. at mr. dannat's, the well-known american portrait-painter, i met the celebrated composer moskowski. one does not expect to find good looks and a pleasing talker and a _charmeur_ in a modern artist. but he combines all of these. he said: "i shall die a most miserable and unhappy man." "why?" i inquired. i feared he would confide in me the secrets of his heart, which is at present mostly occupied with his handsome and giddy wife. these, however, he kept wisely to himself. "i am like rubinstein," he said. "he was wretched because he could not write an opera. i also wish to write an opera, but i cannot." "who could, if not you?" i said. "i think your concerto one of the most beautiful things i have ever heard." "you flatter me," he said, modestly, "but, alas! you cannot make me a writer of operas. to-morrow afternoon is the _répétition générale_ at the cologne concert of my concerto. teresa careno plays the piano part. would you allow me to accompany you, if you would like to go?" did i accept? yes! teresa careno surpassed herself, and the concerto was enthusiastically received. siegfried wagner led the orchestra in a composition of his own. he was very arbitrary and made the artists go over and over again the same phrase without any seeming reason. one poor flutist almost tore his hair out by the roots. wagner was so dissatisfied with his playing that he stopped him twenty times. at last, as if it were a hopeless task, he shrugged his shoulders and went on. [illustration: lines from "la princesse lointaine" with rostand's autograph] count and countess castellane (miss gould) gave a great entertainment to inaugurate their hotel-palace in the bois. the young king of spain was their guest of honor, and the smiling hostess clung to his arm throughout the entire evening, introducing people as they passed. she did not know every one's name nor half of their titles. the cotillion was short and the supper long, and both were costly. the king of spain is not handsome, but he has charming manners and a determined jaw and a very sympathetic smile. we met him again at the grand prix in the president's pavilion. it was a most brilliant sight. every one in paris was there, and the toilets of the ladies were of the _dernier cri_. the king of sweden kept his word and really did come to paris. a dinner for him at the elysées included us (the only persons who were not french except the swedish legation). we are, as you know, what they call "_une legation de famille_." i was more than enchanted to see the king again. he promised to come and take tea with me the next day. "who would your majesty care to meet?" i asked him. "my old lady friends whom i used to know here before," the king answered. "your majesty does not mean all of them--that would be a legion." "no, no," he laughed. "not _all_, only ..." and named several. every one came, although invited at the eleventh hour. it was a merry meeting, and such _souveniring_! the king walked to my house accompanied by herr ancacronra, and the gentlemen whom the french government attached to his majesty during his visit. they were surprised that a king should prefer walking through the streets to being driven in a landau from the elysées. the king brought several photographs, which he distributed to his friends, and, wishing to write his name on them, desired me to give him "a nice pen with a broad point." oh dear! not a "nice" pen could be found in the house! and one with a broad point did not exist. as for the ink, it was thick at the bottom and thin on the top. he had to stir it about each time he put the pen in. i was more than mortified. paris, _ _. dear l.,--ambassador eustis has been replaced by general porter. it is fortunate for america that we have so clever and tactful a gentleman for our representative, especially in this moment of the spanish-american war. the french sympathies are (or were) with the spaniards, and the articles in the newspapers are, to say the least, satirical of the "yankees." when the reporters interviewed the ambassador they got such a clear, straight, and concise view of the situation that they changed entirely their attitude, and _now_ at last the papers tell the truth. general porter and his wife have taken the beautiful spitzer hôtel and are the personifications of hospitality. the marble staircase is draped with the american flag. they receive in the ancestral hall filled with knights in armor, and the guests sit in medieval chairs. the picture-gallery, which is famous, is lighted at _al giorno_. i fancy that most of the pictures have been taken away; however, there are a few in each of the small rooms, through which the guests wander with their heads at an angle giving an impression of subtle criticism. general porter always has a story _à propos_, no matter what you are talking about. i wish i could remember some of the best. this one i _do_ remember. he said: "i never believe but half of what is told me, but," he added, laughing and pointing to a lady, who recently had twins, "this does not apply to _her_." he borrowed from coquelin the following, "all american women are like pins--they go just as far as their heads allow them." is this original? i think it good if it is. do you remember countess de trobriand? well, she is still flourishing at the ripe age of eighty, and gives _soirées_ in her apartments in the champs elysées. some one said of these entertainments that they were not _assez brilliant_ to be called _trop brilliant_, but might be called _de trop_.... zola is mixing himself up with _l'affaire_ (that is what one calls the dreyfus tragedy; there is no other "affair" that counts), and is making himself very unpopular. he does not mind what he writes, and his attacks reach far and wide and spare no one. if he stirs up mud at the bottom of the well he does it in order to find the truth. at any rate, he is honest, though he has had to pay dear for the best policy. i do not read his books, but i have a great admiration for him. the public feeling is so strong against him that crowds of the populace rush about the streets pushing, howling, and screaming at the top of their lungs, "_conspuez zola!_" which i cannot translate in other words than, "spit on zola!" mrs. lawrence and i met a mob while driving through the place de la concorde, and a more absurd exhibition of vindictiveness cannot be imagined. poor zola has been condemned to pay a fine of--how much do you think? twenty-five thousand francs! he would not or could not pay. the authorities put all his worldly goods, which they valued at twenty thousand francs, up at auction, and went, on the day of the sale, belted with their official scarfes and armed with pretentions, and commenced the farce of the auction. an old kitchen table was the first thing to be sold. two francs were offered. "going, going, go--!" when a voice struck in, "_twenty-five thousand francs._" this sudden turn nonplussed the authorities. the auction was called off and came to an untimely end because no one knew exactly what to do. _may, ._ dear ----,--the opening of the exposition was a grand affair. i never saw so many people under one roof as there were yesterday at the salle des fêtes. the order in the streets was something wonderful. the police managed the enormous crowd as if it had been composed of so many tin soldiers. the ladies of the diplomatic corps and the wives of the foreign commissioners sat with madame loubet in a tribune, on very hard benches. the president stood on a raised platform overlooking the multitude, surrounded by his ministers, his official suite, and the ambassadors and foreign ministers in full uniform. it was a most brilliant sight. m. loubet made his speech in as loud a voice as he could command, but i doubt if it was very audible. several orchestras played before and after the speeches. since then i have been many times to the exposition, and the only fault i can find with it so far is that it is too enormous; but i admire the cleverness of the architects, who have brought paris into the middle of it and made it a part of it. both sides of the seine are utilized in the most practical manner. every country has its own superb building in the rue des nations. frederick is the _commisaire_ from denmark. the danish pavilion is the first to be finished and is called a success. we baptized it with great _éclat_. there were speeches and champagne, and the dane-brog was hoisted amid hurrahs of our compatriots. the _tapis roulant_ (moving sidewalk) is a very good scheme, as it takes you to every point. as yet people are a little shy about it and will stand and stare a long time before venturing to put their feet on it. the _fêtes_ at this time of the exposition are overpowering. all the ministers are outdoing themselves. they think nothing of inviting five hundred people to dinner and serving twenty courses. i sat next to m. l'epine, _prefet de police_, and a more restless companion i never had, although when quietly seated in his place he is a most charming one. we had not been five minutes at the table before several telegrams were brought to him. a riot in montmartre, a fire in the rue st. honoré, or a duel at the Île de puteaux, and he was up and down, telephoning and telegraphing, until finally before the end of the dinner he disappeared entirely. there were two concerts in different _salons_ during the evening, one vocal and the other orchestral, each guest choosing that which he liked best. i go every day to the exposition. there is always something new and interesting. yesterday it was a lunch with prince carl and princess ingeborg (our crown prince's daughter, who married her handsome cousin of sweden) at a restaurant called _restaurant bleu_, under the shadow of the eiffel tower. the prince wished to make the acquaintance of mr. eiffel, and the swedish minister, who was present, secured the distinguished architect's company. he went with us to the very top of his modern tower of babel, even to his own particular den, which is the highest point, where he alone has the right to go. the sensation of being up in the clouds is not pleasant, and as you change from one elevator to the other and cast your eyes down the giddy space you tremble. the view of paris spread out under you is stupendous, but i would not go up there again for worlds. the princely pair dined with us the same evening _en toilette de ville_, and we went to the rue de paris to see sadi-jako. the japanese minister, who sat in the box next to us, introduced her when she came in during the _entr'actes_ to pay her respects to him. she is very small, and has the high, shrill voice which the japanese women cultivate. she is the first woman who has ever acted in a japanese theater. otherwise the acting has always been done by men. sadi's husband performs also, and in a dreadfully realistic manner. he stabbed himself with a sword, and with such vigor that real blood, so it looked, ran down in bucketfuls over the stage, and he groaned and writhed in his death-throes. * * * * * paris would not be paris if it did not keep us on the _qui-vive_. every kind of celebrity from everywhere is duly lionized. paris, never republican at heart, still loves royalty in any shape, and at the merest specimen of it the parisians are down on their knees. * * * * * we have had the heavy-eyed krueger straight from the transvaal. paris made a great fuss over him, but he took his lionization very calmly. at the opéra people cheered and waved their handkerchiefs. he came forward to the edge of the _ioge_, bowed stiffly, and looked intensely bored. the _protocole_ furnishes the same program for each lion. a dinner at the elysées, a promenade, a gala opera, _et voilà_. fritjof nansen, the blond and gentle norwegian explorer, has just finished his visit here. as a scandinavian friend he came for a cup of tea and made himself most agreeable, and was, unlike other celebrities, willing to be drawn out. he told us of some of his most exciting adventures. starvation and exposure of all sorts belong to explorers. no one would think, to look at the mild and blue-eyed nansen, that he had gone through so many harrowing experiences. "the worst were," he said, "losing my dogs. i loved them all. to see them die from want of food and other sufferings broke my heart." i am sure that what he said was true, he looked so kind and good. among other personages of distinction paris greets is the shah of persia. the elysées gave him the traditional gala dinner, to which the diplomats were invited. the ballroom was arranged as a winter-garden, with a stage put at the end of it. the ballet from the opera danced and played an exquisite pantomime, but the august guest sat sullen and morose, hardly lifting his oriental eyes. people were brought up to him to be introduced, but he did not condescend to favor them with more than a guttural muttering--probably his private opinion, meant only for his suite. he merely glanced at us and looked away, as if too much bored for words. m. loubet stood on one side, and madame loubet sat in a _fauteuil_ next to him, but he had nothing to say to either of them. the government had put dr. evans's beautiful and perfect villa in the bois at his disposition. the persons belonging to the house say that it is swimming in dirt, and they never expect to get it clean again. the suite appear to have no other amusements than driving about the streets from morning to night. the elysées must have a hundred carriages in use for them. last evening there was a gala performance at the grand opéra for the _blasé_ shah. they gave "copelia," with the lovely mauri as _prima ballerina_. the audience made no demonstration, although it ought to have shown a certain amount of te deumness, on account of the shah's escape from an attempt on his life. he was miraculously saved, and will go on living his emotionless life for ever and ever. may allah protect him ... from us! speaking of orientals, the chinese minister has taken a very large apartment in the avenue hoche. evidently they expect to entertain on a large scale. the wife is called lady, but _he_ is not called lord; the two pretty daughters look more european than chinese, having pink-and-white complexions. his excellency was frightened out of his wits when m. loubet, desiring a private interview, sent for him. he, not knowing european ways, thought his last hours had come, and, expecting speedy extermination, hid himself. milady, though half american, did not know exactly what ascension day meant and asked her chinese servant. he replied, "great churchman gone topside to-day." mr. peck is the american commissioner to the exposition, and mr. thomas walsh is one of the members of the commission. he gave a colossal dinner at the restaurant at d'armenonville, and begged mr. martin, who knows every one in paris, to select the guests. it was only on the evening of the dinner he made the acquaintance of the one hundred people to whom he was host. nordica sang after dinner, and sang charmingly, as is her wont. mr. walsh invited us to the american section. we sat on the tarred roof of a restaurant, where lunch was served _a l'américaine_. my heart gladdened at the thought of hot griddle-cakes and corn fritters; but although everything was delicious, sitting on a tarred roof and being served by a loquacious black tyro was not appreciated by the foreign element. a lady--i won't tell you her name, though you know it--showed the greatest interest in the house mr. walsh is building in washington, and desired greatly to advise him and help him choose furniture for it. she thought louis xvi. style very suitable for one _salon_, and proposed renaissance style for the library, and empire for the gallery, and so forth. mr. walsh said, in his dry way, "you must really not bother so much, madame; plain tommy walsh is good enough for me." after which she lost interest in him and gave him up. we were horrified to hear of king humbert's assassination at monza. he was such a good man and loved his country so devotedly. to be struck down by one of his own people seems too cruel. how dreadful for queen margherita! court mourning is ordered for three weeks. paris, _ _. dear l.,--just a few lines from me to-day to answer your question, o merciless and adorable friend! dreyfus has been brought back from the dreadful island where he has been confined these last five years. five years of torture! he was taken to rennes to be tried. his lawyer, labori, has driven the judges almost out of their senses. the sensational attacks of zola and his sudden "_j'accuse_," the suicide of henry, the repeated demissions of the ministers and générals, _la femme voilée_, the disappearance of esterhazy (stamped as a first-class scamp), the attempt to get labori's papers by shooting him--the ludicrous and tragic episodes have at last come to an end. dreyfus is declared innocent, and people are beginning to realize what has happened. björnstjerne björnson, the famous norwegian poet, has, from the beginning, taken dreyfus's defense and written article after article in the papers and proclaimed in every manner his belief in his innocence. he hurried to paris when he heard that dreyfus had returned. we were very glad when an invitation came from the swedish minister (mr. ackermann) to lunch with the great author. i wish that you could see him, for to see him is to know him. he has the kindest and noblest face in the world. i wept over his account of the interview between him and dreyfus. the day and hour were fixed for his visit. he found madame dreyfus alone. she begged him to wait a moment, because her husband was so agitated at the thought of seeing him that he could not trust himself to appear. when at last dreyfus came into the room björnson opened his arms. dreyfus fell weeping into them and sobbed, "_merci! merci! vous avez crû en moi_"--björnson replied: "_mon ami, j'ai souffert pour vous, mon pauvre ami_." of course, this is only a very little part of what he told me, but it was all in this strain. he said that during the interview, which lasted an hour, dreyfus did not utter a word of reproach against his tormentors. [illustration: bjÖrnson from a photograph taken in .] björnson gave a tea-party at his daughter's house in passy, and invited us. i hoped that possibly dreyfus might be there, but he was not. however, i had the pleasure of seeing colonel picquard again, and we had a long talk together. afterward, when i bade björnson good-by, he stooped down and kissed me on my forehead before the roomful of people. imagine my embarrassment at this unexpected and gratuitous token of friendship, but, the kisser being björnson, every one knew that the accolade was merely the outpouring of a kind and good heart. paris, _august , _. the hottest day we have had! the thermometer was way up in the clouds. my maid, in doing my hair this morning, informed me of this fact. we conferred about my toilet for the afternoon _fête_ in the elysées gardens. we heard that twelve thousand people were invited. certainly i should be lost in a crowd like that and need not be dressed in my best. my maid thought a rather flimsy gown of about year before last would be good enough. johan thought that he would be so entirely out of sight that he was on the point of not going at all. well, we had a queer awakening. i was very much astonished when the master of ceremonies met me at the entrance and led me into the garden, where the vast lawn was one mass of humanity. he bade me take the first seat. i said to myself, "it is only for the moment; i shall have to move farther on later, when a higher-ranked lady arrives." not at all! i remained in the place of honor, to the right of madame loubet, to the very end. in the middle of the lawn were placed a dozen large red arm-chairs before which a strip of carpet was stretched, where we sat. three performances were arranged for the afternoon. to the right was a japanese theater where sadi-jako and her troupe played their _répertoire_. in the center was a grecian temple, before which a ballet of pretty girls danced on the grass in grecian dresses. the effect was charming. to the left was a little renaissance theater where people of different nationalities danced and sang in their national costumes. i never saw anything so wonderfully complete. only the french can do things like that. when the moment arrived for the official promenade, you may imagine how i felt when i saw monsieur loubet approach me and offer me his arm. after all, i was the first lady! why was i not dressed in my best? monsieur and i walked at the head of the procession. we made the tour of the gardens and through the whole palace, gazed on and stared at by the entire crowd of the twelve thousand spectators, until at last we reached the _salon_ where the buffet was established. paris, _ _. dear l.,--you might think that we are nearly exhausted, but health and energy seem to assert themselves, and we bob up like those weighted playthings children have. we have turned heads-up from our journey to denmark. we celebrated our silver wedding at aalholm. i won't bother you with the usual phrase, "how the time has flown!" twenty-five years! you have seen what an ordinary wedding in denmark is like. you can coat this one with silver, and then you will but know half the excitement. the setting being aalholm, the chief actors j. and i, the chorus being family and friends, you may imagine that this _fête_ left nothing to be desired. guests came from everywhere to the number of forty. even our best man came from norway. deputations and telegrams dropped on us by the hundreds; presents of silver in every form and shape. my dress was silver, and silver sprays in my hair, and j. wore them in his buttonhole. the dinner arranged by frederick on viking lines was splendid. speeches at every change of plates. i wept tears of pathos. an address of five hundred names, adorned with water-color sketches of our different legations, bearing a silver cover and a coat of arms, was presented by the danish colony in paris. it was all very touching and gratifying. the famous beauty, countess castiglione, departed this world a few days ago. she was the woman most talked of in the sixties. when i first saw her she was already _passée_. there is nothing that has not been said about her, but of this i know absolutely very little. she used to live in passy, and was called "_la recluse du passé_." she was so extraordinarily dressed and always created a sensation. for the last thirty years no notice had been taken of her. i quote the _figaro_: "countess castiglione in her day was considered the most beautiful woman living. a classical beauty, but entirely without charm. for the last years she has lived, after having arrived at the age of eighty, in a dismal apartment in the place vendôme, friendless, forgotten, and neglected." all her mirrors were covered with black stuff of some kind; she did not wish to see the sad relics of her beauty. at eleven o'clock every evening she took a walk with her maid around the place vendôme. she stayed in bed all day, never rising till twilight, and receiving no one but one or two old admirers who were faithful to the end. her things (_haillons_ they were called in official language) were sold at auction--piles of old ball-shoes, head-gear, gloves stiffened with moisture and age. apparently, she never gave anything away, but hoarded her treasures, which after her death were swept in corners and smelled of mold and damp. we are named to berlin. i am very sorry to leave paris; i was getting quite accustomed to its little ways. johan went to the elysées to present his _lettres de rappel_. it seems only yesterday he went to present his _lettres de créance_. the president gave him the grand cordon of the _légion d'honneur_, and to me the beautiful _service de sevres_ called "_la chasse_," a _surtout de table_ of five pieces. this is only given to royalty or ambassadors. one cannot buy it, as it belongs to the french government. i heard that they hesitated between giving me that or a piece of gobelin tapestry. i was glad they chose the _surtout de table_. it will be useful in two ways--as a subject of conversation and as a beautiful souvenir of our stay in paris. berlin, - berlin, _january , _. dear l.,--j.'s presentation of his _lettres de créance_ to the emperor was a small affair compared with former functions, which were combined with gala coaches, powdered coachmen, and _pourboires_. it was simply taking a train to potsdam, in which there was a section called _kaiserlich_. the minister of foreign affairs accompanied him, as was his duty. in a royal carriage from the court they were driven to the neues palais. j. was met by the _introducteur des ambassadeurs_ (herr von knesebeck) and conducted into the presence of the emperor, where j. made his speech. the emperor was very official and ceremonious when he responded, but in the conversation afterward was affability itself. j.'s audience with the empress was very hurried, because of the crown prince of denmark, who had arrived the night before in berlin. he stayed two days at neues palais. i arrived two weeks after this. the custom here is for a minister's wife to be presented by the _doyenne_ (madame sjögeny) to the _grande maîtresse_ (countess brockdorf) on one of her reception-days _before_ the _schleppenkur_. i found her very charming. my audience with the empress was fixed for a date a week later, and the swedish and the peruvian ministers' wives were to be received at the same time. we met in the _salon_ of countess brockdorf on the day appointed, and, preceded by her, went together to the _salon_ of the empress, where we found her highness already waiting. we sat about in a circle. the empress talked french with us and was most gracious. she has a wonderful figure; her white hair and youthful face and her lovely, kind smile make her very beautiful. she said that the emperor remembered me from rome and prince henry (her brother-in-law) recollected having met me at monza. i went in company with these same two ladies at an audience to the princess henry, who lives in the pretty pavilion on the left of the palace, overlooking the canal. she only comes to berlin when there are _fêtes_ at court, otherwise she and the prince live at kiel. our next visit was to princess friedric-leopold, the empress's sister. she lives in a palace in wilhelm-strasse when in berlin. she is very lively, talkative, and extremely natural in conversation. she has a beautiful country place near potsdam. the _schleppenkur_ is a great event in berlin. it takes place before the birthday of the emperor. i had never seen anything like this ceremony, and it interested me very much. perhaps it will you. it takes place at a very early hour in the evening--eight o'clock. this makes it necessary for one to begin to dress at six. naturally, you go without any dinner--a cup of bouillon is considered sufficient to keep you alive. it is the custom for diplomats to engage for the evening a _schutzmann_--a heavy mounted policeman. our particular one was waiting for us before our house and rode by the side of our carriage until we arrived at the entrance of the _schloss_. he looked very important, but i do not think he was of much use. however, it seems that a _schutzmann_ comes under the chapter of _noblesse oblige_, and we took him. he did a great deal of horsemanship, but never dared to disobey the chief policeman's orders, and when we arrived at portal we had to wait for the file like other people. he did not call up our carriage at the end, but had to be called up himself by the police force; then he appeared, bristling with energy, and galloped at our horses' heads to our door, where we laid our offering in his hand and bade him good night. the _schutzmann_ is one of our privileges and nuisances. i felt sorry for people who had been standing in the cold street for hours to watch the procession of carriages and the gala coaches (which the ambassadors use on this occasion), because they only get a glimpse through the frost-covered windows of glittering uniforms and dazzling diamonds. your dress (instructions as to which are printed even to the smallest detail on the back of your invitation) must be a ball-dress, with a train four meters long, short sleeves, and a _décolletage_ of the victorian period, and white kid (_glacé_) gloves. [illustration: emperor wilhelm in the uniform of the guards] [illustration: the empress of germany on her favorite mount] we arrived at the wendel entrance and mounted the long and fatiguing staircase before we reached the second story where the state apartments are. in the hall of the _corps de garde_ were several masters of ceremony, who received us with deep bows. i wondered what certain large baskets which looked like clothes-baskets were, and was told that ladies wearing boas or lace wraps around their shoulders were expected to drop them into these baskets. they would then be conveyed to the other staircase, where, after the ceremony, we would find our servants and carriages--and, we hoped, our boas! we passed through different rooms where groups of ladies were assembled. the _corps diplomatique_ filled two rooms. the ladies were in the first one, which leads to the throne room. the hungarian and russian ladies wear their national costumes, which are very striking and make them all look like exotic queens. the english ladies wear the three feathers and the long tulle white veil, which make them look like brides. we others wear what we like, ball-dresses of every hue, and all our jewels. no one can find fault with us if our trains, our _décolletage_, our sleeves and gloves, are not according to regulations. the chamberlains arranged us, consulting papers which they had in their hands, after the order of our rank. being the latest member, i was at the very end, only the wives of two _charges d'affaires_ being behind me. the one directly behind me held up my train, just as i held the train of the peruvian minister's wife in front of me. i hope that i have made this clear to you. the _doyenne_ stood by the door which led into the throne room through which she was to enter. four meters behind her was her daughter holding her train, and behind her were the ladies who had not already been presented at court. the room not being long enough, we formed a serpentine curve, reminding one of the game called "follow the leader." it must look funny to any one not knowing why we were so carefully tending the clothes of other people. i never let go the train of the colleague in front until she reached the door of the throne room, where i spread it out on the floor. then, as the lady passed into the room, two lackeys, one on each side of the door, poked the train with long sticks until it lay peacock-like on the parquet. [illustration: two views of royalty from photographs taken at lyngby, near copenhagen, in . in the facing photograph the former czar of russia is seen, with black hat and light clothes, holding his favorite dog. from left to right the others are: the princess of hesse; the princess marie; prince waldemar with his dog; a _dame d'honneur_; king christian x. of denmark; and the present czar of russia. the man at the extreme left of the picture is the present king, george of greece.] this is rather a critical moment. one has a great many things to think of. in the first place, you must keep at the proper distance from your predecessor. of this you can be pretty sure, because if you walk too fast there is the restraining hand of the chamberlain to prevent you. still, there is always the fear of dropping your fan or tripping over the front of your gown or of your tiara falling off. when i came in i saw his majesty standing on the throne, stately and solemn. for two hours he stands thus. with a mass of officers on my right and a few chamberlains at intervals on my left i advanced very slowly and, i hope, with a certain dignity. i saw the train of my colleague turn the corner around the officers. two other lackeys darted forth and pronged my train in place. i made my courtesy first to the emperor and then to the empress, who stood at his left. next to her majesty stood the _grande maîtresse_. i put myself by her side and presented frederikke and our secretary's wife, and the _grande maîtresse_ said their names to the empress. then as we passed out a servant picked up our trains and threw them over our arms, disappearing through the door of the immensely long gallery which is filled with pictures commemorating the numerous battles and events of the last forty years. i wondered, when i looked at the stretch of carpet, how any one carpet could be made so long. as i am the latest arrived minister's wife, i and my two acolytes were the last persons to enter the _weissesaal_ where the buffet stood. this buffet extended almost the whole length of the vast room. we refreshed ourselves. my little self was in sad need of being refreshed, and i devoured the sandwiches spread out temptingly under my eyes, and drank some reviving champagne, and waited for my better half, who, with the other better halves, was making his bow to the sovereigns. the ladies of the _corps diplomatique_ pass before the throne first and are followed by the gentlemen; then come the highest-ranked princesses, and so forth. it is very fatiguing moving about with one's court train dragging on one's arm, and i for one know that i was glad when we went down the marble staircase and found the servant who had sorted our boas from the baskets. there is no antechamber at the foot of the staircase, so one must stay exposed to the wintry blasts when the door is opened to let people out. it is extraordinary how long it takes ladies to disappear after their carriages are announced. they say a few last words, linger over the picking up of their skirts, and go out leisurely; also the servant seems unnecessarily long mounting his box, settling himself before the coachman drives away. berlin, _january, _. dear ----,--the st was the emperor's birthday. the whole city is beflagged, and there are all sorts of illumination preparations. "w's" in every dimension and color, the emperor's bust surrounded by laurel leaves, and flags in every window. johan went in gala uniform to the chapel in the _schloss_, where a religious service is always held, after which every one goes to congratulate his majesty and see the _défilé cour_ afterward. in the evening was the gala opera. johan dined at count billow's (the _reichskanzler_) at five o'clock, while i dressed for the theater. we were obliged to be there at eight o'clock sharp. "sharp" is the word here. there is no loitering where the emperor is concerned. everything is on time, and his majesty is sometimes _before_ the hour mentioned, but never _after_. the opera-house is rather small, but was beautifully decorated with garlands of artificial flowers hanging from the center of the dome down to the balconies, and from the proscenium boxes to the orchestra. in the center of the house is the royal box, the balustrade of which is covered with real flowers. from all the balconies are hung beautiful carpets covered with festoons. the whole interior was a mass of color. the emperor and empress sat, of course, in the front of the box, while the other chairs were filled by royal guests who had come to berlin to congratulate the emperor. the king of saxony, the king of würtemberg, and the other german royalties, all sat in the royal box. the emperor's sons had their seats in the balcony. the ambassadors occupied the four proscenium boxes. the highest princesses of the german nobility sat in the next balconies. the _corps diplomatique_ occupied the boxes and balconies adjoining the royal box. all the officers and secretaries of the embassies sat in the parquet. when the audience was seated the _directeur générale des théâtres_ entered the royal box, came forward, and rapped with his stick three times, a signal that their majesties were about to enter. the royal party came in very quietly and took their places. every one in the house, of course, stood up and bowed. it was a pretty sight from our balcony to see all the men's heads in the parquet bend down while they saluted their majesties. it looked like the swaying of wheat by the wind. gradually all the lights were turned out and the overture commenced. the opera was "carmen" and madame destinn sang. in the _entr'acte_ the diplomats and the ladies and gentlemen in the first balcony were begged to go in the foyer, where they were presented to the different royalties assembled there. the empress was covered with magnificent diamonds and pearls, and the jewels displayed by all these royal ladies, and all the glittering uniforms of the princes and officers made a splendid sight. the emperor came toward me with a gleam of recognition, and commenced in an entirely unceremonious way, shaking me heartily by the hand: "how do you do? it's a long time since i saw you." "not since rome, when your majesty was there in ," i answered. "so long ago? i remember it so well! as if it was yesterday!" "i, too," i said. "i remember your majesty being in the statue gallery of the capitol, where you looked like one of the statues itself, in your white uniform." "i remember," he said. "it was a dreadful glare." "it was the first time they ever put electricity in the capitol." "they put too much in," he said, "and such a lot of people! dear me! i shall never forget it. didn't i look bored?" "no, your majesty looked very serious and as handsome as a lohengrin" i answered. "lohengrin, really! i did not see any elsa i wanted to save." "oh, i meant only a lohengrin _de passage_," i replied. the emperor laughed. "that is good." "i recollect what your majesty wrote on the photograph you gave monsieur crispi." "really? what was it? i don't remember." "you wrote: '_gentilhomme, gentilhomme; corsaire, corsaire et demi_'." "what a good memory you have!" he said, and added, very kindly, "i am very glad to have you and your husband here, and i hope you will like berlin. but"--holding a finger warningly--"don't look for many lohengrins." in case, my dear, you don't understand this, i will tell you what it means: if you are nice to me i will be equally nice to you, _but_ if you are horrid i will (pokerly speaking) see you and go you one better. berlin, _january, _. dear ----,--every diplomatic lady has a reception-day. mine is thursday. last thursday there were one hundred and sixty people. my first receptions in january were very perplexing, because so many people came whom i did not know and who did not know me. our two secretaries, frederikke and i have a code of signals which help me over many a rough place. visitors leave their cards in the antechamber. the secretary stands in the first _salon_ and waves them into the large _salon_ where i am. if i raise my eyebrows the secretary knows that i depend upon him to find out who the person is, and the name, if possible. he, therefore, gets the card and shows it to me by some magical twist. sometimes he manages to whisper the name. often i fail to grasp either the whisper or the card; then i am lost, and flounder hopelessly about without bearings of any kind, asking leading-questions, cautiously feeling my way, not knowing whether i am talking to a person of great importance or the contrary. when at last my extreme wariness and diplomacy get hold of a clue, then i swim along beautifully on the top of the wave. frederikke helps me by taking odds and ends off my hands and sorting them out behind her teacups. all the young people flock about her, and with their laughter and flutterings add a gay note to the official element around me. the emperor desires that all his officers should be accustomed to society, and they receive orders to make afternoon visits, which they do--poor things--i suppose, much to their distaste. as no one knows them and they do not know any one, it must be very awkward for them. they come six at a time, leave a package of cards in the antechamber, present themselves, and each other. they click their heels, kiss the hand of the hostess, give a hopeless glance about them, move in a body toward the tea-table, return, and go through the same ceremony, and leave together, making a great clinking of swords and leaving an odor of perfumed pomade. berlin, _january, _. dear l.,--i have been to my first court ball here, i will describe this one to you, and never again. the invitation we received was very large. it told us that we were invited by order of his majesty, king and emperor, to appear at the königlicheschloss, thursday, at eight. we were accompanied, as usual, by the policeman on horseback. it amused me, while we were waiting in the carriage, to see standing before one of the entrances to the palace a whole line of soldiers with _serviettes_ hung over their shoulders. they were there for the purpose of washing the dishes after the supper. as i have said before, the _wendel treppe_ is very high and tiresome to mount. we found the hall of the _corps de garde_ filled with youthful pages whose ages are anywhere from fifteen to twenty. they were dressed in red coats, with large frills of lace, held in place by their mothers' best diamond brooch, and neat little low shoes with buckles and neat little white silk legs. i glided along the polished floor through the different rooms, which were empty, save for the numerous chamberlains. all had papers and diagrams in their hands, and they told the gentlemen as they passed who they were to take in to supper, and the name of the supper-room. each room has a name, like "marine room," "black eagle room," and so forth. the long gallery was filled with officers, whose uniforms were of every imaginable color and description, and gentlemen who looked as if they had just stepped out of a picture-frame. they wear their calling on their sleeves, as it were. the academician has a different costume from the judge. i noticed a clergyman in his priestly robes, his elizabethan ruff around his neck, his breast covered with decorations. he was sipping a glass of hot punch and smiling benignly about him. he had a most kind and sympathetic face. i would like to confess my sins to him, but just now i don't happen to have any to confess. tea was passed about while we were waiting to enter the ballroom. in the _weissesaal_ the _corps diplomatique_ has a raised platform reserved for it on the right of the throne where we ladies, beginning with the ambassadress, stand, following precedence. on the other side are all the princesses of the german nobility. i was shown to my place on the platform. when the two thousand people collected in this room raised their voices a little more than was seemly, the master of ceremonies pounded his stick on the floor--_there was to be no loud talking_--silence reigned a moment, and then the unruly guests burst out again, and were again reduced to silence by another and more ominous thump. the orchestra began the march of "tannhaüser." this was the signal for the entrance of the sovereigns. no one dared to breathe. people straightened themselves up, the ladies stepped down from their platform. from the middle arcades the young pages--twenty-four in number--entered in pairs. then came the oberhof marshal alone, followed by the four greatest personages in berlin, the duke trachenberg, prince fürstenberg, prince hohenlohe, and prince solms-baruth. after them came the emperor with the empress on his arm. every one bowed. they were followed by the five sons of the emperor--the crown prince, prince adalbert, prince eitel fritz, prince august wilhelm, and prince joachim; then all the princes and princesses of the house of prussia. [illustration: the throne-room of the royal palace, berlin] it was a very imposing sight as they all marched in. when the emperor and the empress reached the throne they made a stately bow to each other and separated, the empress turning to the _doyenne_ (the first ambassadress) and the emperor crossing to the ambassadors. each _chef de mission_ stood in front of his secretaries and presented them. my place was between the wives of the swedish and the brazilian ministers. my neighbor was very unhappy because she was not able to use her eyeglasses. eye-glasses are one of the things that are not allowed, nor are such things as boas or lace wraps. the empress spoke to all the ladies in either german, french, or english. she was accompanied by the _grande maîtresse_, who stood near. right behind the emperor are two gentlemen who are always within speaking distance. the first is the tallest young man to be found. he wears a red uniform, white knee-breeches, very high boots, a breastplate representing a brilliant rising sun, and a high blazing helmet surmounted by a silver eagle. this makes him the most conspicuous person in the room, so that you may always know where the emperor is by seeing the young officer's towering helmet above the crowd. the other is general scholl, a dear, kind old gentleman, who is dressed in the costume of frederick the great's time, with a white wig, the pigtail of which is tied with black ribbon, a huge jabot of lace with a diamond pin on his breast. all the other court persons wear dark blue dress-coats, with gold buttons, and carry in one hand the awe-inspiring stick, and in the other the list for the suppers. some of them are rather vain about their legs, and stand profile-wise so that they can be admired. they do look very well turned out, i must say, with their silk stockings and low buckled shoes. the ladies of the _corps diplomatique_ are not always as observant of court rules as they ought to be, and their _décolletage_ is not always impeccable. if worth sends a corsage with the fashionable cut--what do they do? they manage, when they stand on their platform _en vue_, to slip their shoulders out, thereby leaving a tell-tale red mark, only to slip the shoulders in place when royalty has its back turned. the empress was followed by a second tall young officer. he wore a red uniform and a hat with a high red feather, easily seen from a distance. countess brockdorf, to distinguish her from other ladies, wears a long black mantilla on her head and looks like a _duègne à l'espagnole_. the other ladies of honor stand near the empress in the background. i forgot to say that the wives of foreign ministers have _fauteuils_ on their platform, behind which stand their secretaries' wives. the ball was opened by the crown prince, who danced with the youngest _demoiselle d'honneur_, then the other princely couples joined. none but the princes have the privilege of dancing at first. the _valse a deux temps_ only is permitted. the court likes better the old-fashioned method of revolving in circles round and round the room, but occasionally it permits the lancers. the young ladies and gentlemen, who had been practising their dancing for weeks, began their gavotte. the ancient _ballet-danseuse_ sat up under an arch in the ceiling, and held up a warning finger if any mistake happened. the dances they learn are gavottes and minuets, which are very ingeniously arranged. some of the officers looked rather awkward when they had to point their toes or gaze in the eyes of their partners. during one of these dances the empress went off into the gallery, next to the ballroom, and ladies new to the court were brought up and presented to her. princess henry and princess leopold then made the tour of the guests. each time a royal person came to speak to us we were obliged to descend from our platform, in order to be on the same level. the emperor talked with all the ladies. to me he spoke in english, which, of course, he speaks perfectly. he was dressed in a hussar uniform, and held his casque in his left hand, and offered his right. he showed me a new decoration he had just received from the sultan. he pointed out the splendid diamonds, and seemed very pleased with it. a _vortänzer_ (the leader of the dance) is chosen in the beginning of the season. his duty is to arrange all balls and lead all cotillions that are given by society during the winter. he gives advice, indicates the officers who dance well--in fact, arranges everything. the young people pass three delightful flirtatious weeks learning these gavottes and minuets. many a happy couple date their bliss from those dancing-lessons. as i knew who was to take me in to supper, i waited in my place until my partner, the minister of justice, came to fetch me. i was very happy to be portioned off to such a charming gentleman. we were told to go in the marine room, where were the emperor and the empress. each prince had a table for twelve, over which he presided. at ours was prince adalbert, the emperor's naval son. a supper for two thousand guests sounds rather formidable, does it not? with a slight difference in favor of the first three rooms, the same supper is served to all. a supper here is just like a dinner, beginning with soup, two warm dishes, an entrée, dessert, fruit, and coffee. on our return to the ballroom there was some more dancing. the last dance was the prettiest of them all. their majesties took their places on the throne, stood watching with a pleased smile the procession of dancers who came in, four pairs at a time, from the last door of the ballroom. in each group the four officers belonged to the same regiment. first they danced a gavotte, and then twirled off in a waltz. then the other four couples came in. there were forty or fifty couples altogether. when they had all entered they formed a fan-shaped line and advanced toward their majesties, making the deepest of courtesies. then they spread out and made a large circle. the emperor and the empress bowed their thanks, and the dancers retired, and the orchestra sounded a fanfare. the ball was over. the emperor offered his arm to the empress, and all the princes followed in the same order in which they had entered. as we went through the long gallery servants handed glasses of hot punch about, which were very acceptable before going out in the cold air. i happened to glance in the open door of a room we passed and saw a mont blanc of _serviettes_ piled up to the ceiling, and next to that room was a regiment of soldiers wiping plates. after the _schleppenkur_ and before the kaiser's birthday comes the _ordens fest_. it is a yearly entertainment the emperor gives to those who have received the prussian order of the red eagle, the highest in rank of the elder members, and all the newly made. johan has just received the decoration. here every one sees all sorts of people, from cab-drivers to princes. there is a luncheon for two thousand guests. the emperor and the empress walk about and talk to as many as they can. the other evening we went to the winter garden, and the head waiter said to johan, "i have not seen you for a long time, your excellency--not since we lunched together at the _schloss_ at the _or dens fest_." berlin, _ _. dear l.,--the dear old king of denmark came to berlin to pay a visit to the emperor. he arrived the night before last. we went to fetch him at the station. johan was instructed to take rooms at the hotel for the suite, but the emperor begged the king to stay at the _schloss_, which he consented to do. the next morning the emperor came to berlin and drove the king out to the neues palais at potsdam, where there was a luncheon. johan said it was quite touching to see how tender and affectionate the emperor is toward the king. johan and his secretary were the only persons present outside the family. it was very amusing (johan said) after luncheon to see the young princess victoria louise and prince oscar, who went about with their fingers on their lips. j. wondered why. the crown prince told him that his young brother and sister talked so much that he had bribed them to keep silent for ten minutes and had promised them a mark each. they got the two marks! the kaiser has great affection for the king. his speech of welcome when he drank the king's health at lunch was very touching. this afternoon the king came to take tea with us. i had not seen him since the death of the queen. it was a great pleasure to have him in my house. he and i sat in the large _salon_, while johan, the king's adjutant, and a german gentleman attached to the king during his stay here remained in the next room. the king only talked about the queen. i, who loved her so much, was all tears. his majesty once in a while would put his hand on mine and say, "you loved her." we had our tea alone. he told me that the queen's room in amalienborg remains just as she had left it. my photograph was on the mantelpiece in her boudoir, and the cushion that i had embroidered for her was still on her _chaise-longue_. nothing there was to be disturbed. as the king left i pointed to the portrait of himself he had given me, which was hanging on the wall. i said: "i prize this, your majesty, more than anything i own, because you gave it to me yourself." "i was better-looking then than i am now. is that not true?" "your majesty is always handsome in _my_ eyes," i answered. "dear madame, you make me vain." and he took my hand, and the kind king kissed it like a _preux chevalier_ of the old school. as i followed him to the door he said, "do not come any farther; you will take cold. i will bid you good-by here." he is about eighty-five years old, and as youthful in his movements as a young man. j. said, "i am sorry we have no lift." [illustration: queen louise of denmark from a photograph taken in . she was the wife of king christian ix., and the mother of queen alexandra of england, empress dagmar of russia, king george of greece, and various royalties.] "i do not need a lift; i can still run down the stairs." which he did in a surprising manner. the king left that evening; and as he begged me not to come to the station, j. went without me. _february, ._ as johan is accredited to the court of mecklenburg-schwerin, we were invited to a great court ball which was to be given. we arrived at schwerin at twelve o'clock, and found the _maréchal de la cour_, the court servants and carriages at the station awaiting us. we were not installed in the castle, but at the grand duchess marie's palace in the town itself. the _maréchal_ who met us informed us that we were expected to luncheon at one o'clock. we just had time to change our dresses and drive to the castle. the lady of honor and the _maréchal de la cour_ received us in the hall on the ground floor, and the elevator took us up to the _salon_ where the grand duke and the grand duchess were awaiting us. the grand duchess is very charming and very handsome. she is the daughter of the duchess of cumberland, granddaughter of king christian. we had luncheon in one corner of the vaulted hall--a luncheon of twenty people. i sat on the right of the grand duke, who was most amiable. after luncheon the grand duchess took me into her boudoir and showed me all her souvenirs--photographs of bernstorff, a screen painted by the queen of denmark, and aquarelles of gmunden, her home. she has all the charm of her dear mother and her beloved grandmother. at four o'clock we left and drove about schwerin, making the obligatory visits. a court carriage with a lackey was put at our service during our stay. i rested, having rushed about since eight o'clock in the morning. our apartment in this palace looked as if the mistress had just left it. the drawing-room is filled with knick-knacks, a piano with music on it, and tables with writing-materials. at seven o'clock we dined with the grand master of ceremonies and his wife at their palace. a dinner where you know none of the guests and no one knows you must naturally be uninteresting, and this one did not prove the contrary. at half past nine we went again to the _château_ to attend the ball. a chamberlain met us at the antechamber and preceded us into the ballroom. the grand-ducal pair came toward us, and i was led to my place on a raised dais. i danced the _quadrille d'honneur_ with the grand duke. very nearly every one in the room was presented to me, and i found among them many people i had known before--therefore we had some subjects of conversation, for which i was thankful. the _château_ is a _bijou_. it has a winding staircase which is worthy of blois. we mounted this to go to the supper-room. the supper was served at small tables, and was excellent. frederikke danced the cotillion, and we stayed until the end. it had indeed been a long day for me. the next day we drove to the _château_ and bid their highnesses good-by. berlin, _ _. dear l.,--at one of the towers's costume balls mr. x, of american renown, dressed conspicuously as jupiter (of all ironies!), stalked about, trying to act up to his part by shaking in people's faces his ridiculous tin bolts held in white kid-glove hands, and facetiously knocking them on the head. he happened, while talking to a lady, to be right in front of the young prince. a friend tapped him discreetly on the shoulder, giving him a significant look. "what is the matter?" said mr. x, in a loud voice, glaring at his friend. a gentle whisper informed him that he had better turn round and face the prince. "heavens!" said the ungracious jupiter. "i can't help it; i'm always treading on their toes" (meaning the prince's). speaking of indiscretions, i was told (i cannot say whether it is true) that mrs. z, one of our compatriots, having met the emperor in norway, where their yachts were stationed, and feeling that she was on familiar enough terms, said to him: "is it not lovely in paris? have you been there lately?" "no, i have not," answered the surprised kaiser. "oh, how queer! you ought to go there. the french people would just love to see you." "do you think so?" said the emperor with a smile. thus encouraged, she enlarged on her theme, and, speaking for the whole french nation, continued, gushingly, "and if you would give them back alsace and lorraine they would simply adore you." the kaiser, looking at her gravely, as if she had solved a mighty problem, said, "i never thought of that, madame." the dear lady probably imagines to this day that she is the apostle of diplomacy. she came to berlin intending (so she said) to "_paint berlin red_." she took the list of court people and sent out invitations right and left for her five-o'clock teas, but aristocracy did not respond. berlin refused to be painted. berlin, _september, _. dear ----,--the kaiser went to copenhagen on the _hohenzollern_. johan and i met frederick and nina and stayed with them during the emperor's visit. there was a very large dinner at fredensburg, a dinner at charlottenberg (the crown prince's _château_) in honor of the kaiser. prince carl, who is about to be made king of norway, was there. princess maud was in england. the king seemed to be in the best of spirits, and the two sovereigns laughed and joked together. the emperor has a great affection for the king, and loves to show his respect and devotion. he often puts his arm around the king's shoulder when talking to him. i will just add here that johan received another decoration, and frederick, who is now minister of foreign affairs, received a grand cordon, as well as a bust in bronze of the kaiser. my gift from the emperor is a beautiful gold cigarette-case with his autograph in diamonds on the front, with the imperial crown, also in diamonds. the kaiser went to a dinner given in his honor at the y's.... johan, frederick, nina, and i were among the guests. at the end of the rather long dinner a little episode happened which shows how quick the emperor is to understand a situation and perceive its humorous side. according to custom, the emperor occupies the hostess's place, with her at his right. herr y made signs to his wife across the table, and in a stage whisper begged her to find out from the emperor if he wished coffee served at table or in the adjoining _salon_. the hostess apparently neither heard nor understood; at any rate, she said nothing to the emperor. the host asked again, in a stagier whisper, and made signs with his head toward the other room. still no answer. the emperor, looking over to me (i sat next to the host), said, with a merry twinkle in his eye, "something wrong in the code of signals." a few moments after he said quite casually to the host, "would you mind if we had coffee in the other _salon_?" the emperor that evening was in excellent spirits. in his short mess-jacket he looked like a young cadet. he told us several amusing anecdotes and experiences in a most witty manner. nina said to him: "your majesty, i have been looking in all the shop-windows to-day to see if i could find a good photograph of you. i wanted to bring it, and was going to ask you to sign it, but--" "but you could not find anything handsome enough, _hein_?" inquired the emperor, laughing. "that is true," nina answered. "your majesty's photographs do not do you justice." beckoning to an adjutant, the emperor said, "i want you to send to the shops and bring what photographs of me you can find." the man departed. although it was nine o'clock and most of the shops must have been shut, he did manage to bring some. then the kaiser examined the photographs, with a little amusing remark on each. "i do not think this is handsome enough--i look so cross. and this one looks conceited, which i don't think i am. do you?" "not in the least," nina answered. "in this one," he remarked, "i look as if i had just ordered some one to be hanged. and this one [taking up another] looks like a parsifal _de passage_"--referring to something i had once said. "i did not say parsifal, your majesty. i said lohengrin." "all the same thing," said he. "not at all," i said. "one was a knight, and the other was a fool." "well," he laughed, "i look like both." he did not like any of the photographs, and sent to the _hohenzollern_ for his own collection. his servant came back almost directly (he must have had wings) and brought a quantity of portraits, which were much finer and larger than those from the shops. he begged us to choose the one we liked best, and he wrote something amusing on it and signed his name. berlin, _january, _. dear ----,--the sad news of the death of our adored old king arrived this evening. we were very surprised, as the last account we had heard of him seemed more hopeful. though he was so very old (eighty-six years), he had a wonderful constitution and always was so active. i am glad that i saw him when he was here last year and had such a pleasant afternoon with him. johan was one of the pall-bearers at the king's funeral at roskilde. i did not go on to copenhagen. there was a funeral service here at the scandinavian chapel. we are to have mourning for six months. berlin, _june , _. dear l.,--if i were going to be married and had to go through all the ceremonies which attend the marriage of a german princess, i think i would remain an old maid. i will tell you what the wedding of the princess cecilia of mecklenburg was like. as it was the first royal wedding that i had ever attended, my impressions are fresh, if not interesting. i have seen royal silver and golden weddings, but never anything like this. the day before yesterday, the hottest day of all the tropical days we have been having, the princess arrived in berlin. the emperor and the empress met her at the station and drove her to bellevue castle, where there was a family lunch. she had numerous deputations and visits of all sorts until five o'clock, when she made her public entrance into berlin, passing through brandenburger tor. all the streets where the princess was to pass were decorated _à l'outrance_ with flags and flowers. carpets were hung from the balconies. the middle of the unter den linden, usually left to pedestrians, was freshly strewn with red earth for the procession of the carriages. all the public buildings were festooned with enormous paper roses as big as cabbages. there were high poles holding gilded baskets filled with flowers. in order that every one of the populace should have a souvenir these flowers were soaked in a preparation of wax, which made them quite hard, and they were warranted to last for some time. streamers of paper flowers, graduating from light yellow through the whole gamut of rainbow colors and ending in dark blue, reached to the ground from the tops of the houses. the opera house outdid itself. it was wise to cover it as much as possible--it is such an ugly building. the french ambassador invited us to see the _entrée_ from the balcony of the embassy in pariser platz. the little maidens, their heads crowned with wreaths, had been waiting in the sun for hours with their baskets filled with roses, which they were to throw before the princess as she passed. it was a splendid procession, headed by the _hofstalmeister_, followed by a staff of officers spangled with orders and decorations, in the most gorgeous uniforms. then the blast of trumpets and a mounted military band preceded the gala coach, only used for weddings, drawn by six horses with huge white plumes on their heads. in the coach was the empress, and on her right the princess cecilia in a light-blue dress, white hat, and long blue feathers. the coach stopped in the platz, and the mayor of berlin approached the window and presented a huge bouquet and delivered an address to the princess, who bowed graciously and smiled. the empress looked very happy. after this came all the other gala coaches, followed by the _garde du corps_. there was a family dinner, and after that the gala performance at the opera. i have already told you about these gala performances, so this will be only a repetition, except that there were more flowers and more carpets. all around on the ledge of the balcony there were fresh and real roses and carnations, so that every lady could take a bouquet away with her. garlands of paper flowers hung the entire distance from the ceiling to the prompter's box. one wondered how they found hands enough in berlin to make all these thousands of flowers. the parquet was a garden of uniforms. the emperor entered with the bride-elect on his arm, and the empress with the crown prince. the crown prince wore the white uniform of the guards, and a silver helmet. the other princes followed, all entering very quietly. every one in the theater bowed and courtesied, and save for the rustling of dresses and the rattling of swords there was not a sound to be heard. the crown prince and his _fiancée_ sat in the middle seats, the emperor to the right of his daughter. the overture was a composition made for the occasion, and played while all the lights were blazing, in order that every one could have a good look at the princess. then gradually the theater became dark, and the opera commenced. it was "orphée," by glück. madame destinn sang the principal part. her voice is very beautiful, but she is so small, and somewhat dumpy, that she did not look much like an orphée. to make the opera shorter they combined the first and second acts, and to allow orphée to go from hell to heaven without letting down the curtain they had invented a sort of treadmill on which orphée and eurydice should walk while the landscape behind them moved. it was a very ungraceful way of walking. they looked as if they were struggling up a hill over rough and stony ground. we went into the foyer after the performance and were presented to the princess. i had known her as a young girl in cannes, where her parents lived, therefore we had something to talk about. she is very charming, tall and willowy, and has a pleasant word and smile for every one. the wedding-day dawned in a relentless haze. we were invited to be at the chapel of the _schloss_ at five o'clock. the regulations about our court dress were the same as for the _schleppenkur_, only we were begged _not_ to wear _white_. my dress was yellow, with a yellow _manteau de cour_. frederikke wore a light-green _pailletted_ dress with a light-green train. we were a little late in starting; our _schutzmann_ had waited patiently in the courtyard for a long time. we drove through the crowded streets, lined with spectators. each clock we passed pointed in an exasperating way to the fact that we were late. j.'s sword seemed always to be in the way; every time he spoke out of the window to urge on the already goaded coachman the sword would catch on something. the air was more than suffocating, and there was evidently a storm brewing. we arrived before the portal of the _schloss_ at the last moment. ours was the last carriage to arrive. the pompous _suisse_ pounded his mace on the ground and said, warningly, "you must hurry; the kaiser is just behind you." and we _did_ hurry. the staircase makes three turns for each flight, and the chapel is the highest place in the palace, meaning seven turns for us. i grasped the tail of my ball dress in one hand and my heavy court train in the other and prepared to mount. on each turn i looked behind and could just see the eagle on the top of the emperor's silver helmet. we hurried as i never hurried in my life, for if his majesty had got ahead of us on any of these turns where the two flights meet and part, we would have been shut out from the chapel. as it was, one door was already closed. they opened it for us, and we were the last to enter before the princes. we crossed the chapel to reach the _estrade_ on which stood the _corps diplomatique_. in my hurry i forgot to let down my dress, and i don't dare to think how much stocking i must have exhibited. when finally i did reach my place i was so out of breath it took me a long time before i was in it again. [illustration: the royal palace and lustgarten, berlin] there was a general who stood before me with his plumed hat in his hand, and the plumes waved about like palm-trees, so near were they to my panting! then the emperor appeared with his suite, and stood at the right of the altar. he was a little ahead of time. there were about seventy-two princes and princesses. each of the princesses had a page or a young lady to hold up her train. the empress then entered, followed by her suite. the youngest _demoiselle d'honneur_ held her train, which was of red velvet covered with heavy embossed gold embroidery. after the empress came the crown prince in his white _garde de corps_ uniform. he looked very young and slender and quite pale. a moment after the bride came in. six young ladies held her train, which was light-blue velvet embroidered in silver, over a white-satin gown covered with beautiful point lace. the train was carefully spread on the floor. the choir of boys high up in the dome sang psalms with many verses. then the clergyman commenced his exhortation, which was very long. the heat was intense. some ladies about me thought they were going to faint, but happily they could not make up their minds. although the music was delicious, i longed to hear the organ. especially when the ceremony was finished i hoped that we should hear mendelssohn's march. but there was no organ in the chapel. it took the royal persons a long time to leave the chapel, each princess taking up a great deal of space with her train and her train-bearer. the last princely couple were strangely contrasted. the young duchesse d'aosta, who is unusually tall, walked with a tiny siamese prince. we followed down the steps to the _weissesaal_, where the members of the diplomatic corps defiled before the throne and made our courtesy--_one only_--before the emperor. all the suites and court gentlemen stood massed together opposite the throne. it was quite an ordeal to walk under the fire of so many eyes, as the parquet was without any carpet and very slippery, and the length of the room immense. after waiting what seemed an hour, the royalties, headed by the emperor and the empress, walked past us. the spectacle of these fifty princesses with their magnificent dresses, blazing with jewels, made one gasp. besides all the royal people of germany, representatives from other countries were present. prince christian and his wife, who is the sister to the bride, represented denmark. they all disappeared in the banqueting-hall at the end of the gallery. we others sat down at tables each containing twelve people, and were served a regular dinner. each table in our room had a superb _surtout de table_ in silver, and silver drinking-cups worthy of a museum. the _ménus_ and bonbons were trimmed with white-satin frills and had the photographs of the crown prince and princess, and were laid by each plate. a dinner for three thousand people! the young ladies and officers had their dinner at a standing buffet. we went back to the ballroom after the royalties had passed us again. the clouds outside were very oppressive. then the traditional _fackeltanz_ commenced. the _corps diplomatique_ had a platform to itself, fenced in with cords. we were so crowded that had it not been for the cord which held us in our places we would have tumbled out. the ladies of the nobility also had a platform. the herald, dressed in a short medieval, red-velvet costume, with the embroidered coat of arms of germany on his breast, advanced, trumpet in hand, and announced that the _fackeltanz_ was about to begin. the orchestra played a gavotte; and the crown prince, giving his hand to the empress, and the crown princess giving hers to the emperor, preceded by eight pages with torches and by prince fürstenberg, walked around the room. when they arrived before the throne they made the most reverential of bows before parting with their majesties, who took their places on the throne. the princess's train was carried by four young ladies, and by her side walked countess harrach, one of the _dames de palais_. after this the princess walked with every prince according to his rank, sometimes with two, one on each side, and the prince walked with two ladies. each tour of the _salon_ they made they stopped in front of the emperor and bowed and received their next partner. fancy what fatigue! the storm which we had expected now really burst upon us. peals of thunder mingled with the strains of the orchestra, and almost shook the ground. at eleven o'clock the princess had danced with every one and had made hundreds of courtesies, and on the signal given by their majesties retired with her suite. we went down the _hölletreppe_ (in english, _hell-stairs_), a rather diabolical name, but i hope it was paved with better intentions than the _wendeltreppe_, where we went up. my intention was, _bed_. we found our carriages and drenched coachman and dragged our trains home to their resting-places. we had been eight hours under arms. every one received a white ribbon with a little gold fringe on the end, bearing the monogram of the married couple. it was a _honi soit qui mal y pense_ remembrance of the royal wedding. prince wilhelm hohenzollern,[ ] cousin of the emperor, is a great philatelist, and brought his magnificent collection of albums (eight or ten large ones) to show me, and a pile of duplicates. his victoria was quite filled when he drove up to our door, and his _chasseur_ had to make two trips to bring them all up. collectors of postage-stamps make a brotherhood in themselves. he knew each stamp in his books, and explained all to us. [ ] father of the princess who married the young ex-king of portugal, manuel, in . he has twelve thousand! i brought out my little collection very shyly--it was so insignificant beside his. we passed two hours going through the two collections. he left six thousand duplicates with me to look over and chose from, so my collection was enriched by one thousand new specimens. he told me he had inherited a whole collection from his uncle, the king of rumania. he came to drink with us, and was always most amiable. he does not play cards, nor is he musical in any way, therefore conversation was our only resource. i brought in all my animals and put them through their tricks; the parrot played up wonderfully. he followed me about the room, sat on my shoulder, sang, and whistled. what amused people most was, when i sang "medje," a very sentimental song, he imitated a _rire-fou_ which seemed so inappropriate that every one was convulsed with laughter. then i showed my doves, which were pronounced "perfect darlings." my seven dogs did their best to amuse us. the parrot ran after them and bit their tails, which the dogs did not resent in the least. prince friedrich wilhelm of prussia also dined with us--a very formal dinner. he is rather serious for such a young man. he is tall and thin, and in his high, buttoned-to-the-chin uniform he looks even taller than he really is. he is very musical, and brought his violin and several books of music. he only approves of bach, beethoven, and mozart in his severer moods. he likes bach best of all. he plays very correctly, one might say without a fault, but i have heard violinists who play with more _brio_. he listened with kindness to a young danish girl who executed a dashing solo by brahms divinely, and nodded his head in approval when she had finished. the prince was begged to play several times, and he went through the entire _répertoire_ of sonatas he had brought with him. the guests were immensely pleased, and the _soirée_ was very successful. his brother, prince joachim albrecht, is also a very good musician, but differs radically from prince wilhelm. he plays the violoncello very well, and favors modern music. he composes ballads, and leads his own regimental orchestra. he is as jolly and unconventional as his brother is reserved and grave. when he dines with us he brings his violoncello, and i accompany him on my piano. he composed two very pretty and successful ballets, both given for charity. the first one was danced by frederikke and two other girls and three young officers. it was called "_la leçon de danse_." on the top of the program, instead of the english device, "_honi soit qui mal y pense_," i put "_honi soit qui mal y danse_" in the same shield. hardly any one in the german audience saw the joke--nothing more than that it was a _druckfehler_ (printer's error). the rehearsals were in my _salon_, and we had great amusement over them. the second ballet was more pretentious, and was danced in one of the largest theaters in berlin. it was called the "enchanted castle." a parvenu buys an ancestral castle, and on his arrival there falls asleep in the great hall, filled with the portraits of ancestors and knights in armor. the ladies, in their old-fashioned dresses, step out from their frames, and with the knights in armor move in a stately quadrille. after they return to their frames, thirty young couples dance a ballet, and when they finish, the parvenu wakes up. it was very pretty and brought in a lot of money, and there was a question of its being repeated for the emperor, but this was not done. _february, ._ dear l.,--the crown prince and the crown princess gave a small _bal-costume_. it was their first entertainment of any importance, though there were very few people invited. as frederikke is a dancing young person, we were invited, enabling me to take many girls under my protecting wing. the emperor was dressed as the grand elector of brandenburg. the empress had copied an old family portrait at san souci. she had a voluminous blond peruke and a flowing blue dress. she looked very handsome. the princes were generally dressed as their ancestors and looked very familiar, as almost all of them stand in the _sièges allée_. i learned much of german history that evening. the emperor was very kind and gave me a spirited and concise history of those whom his six sons represented. no one except the kaiser would ever have had the persistency to stay booted and spurred during the whole evening without a murmur, though he must have suffered from the heat and been uncomfortable to a great degree. he had thick, brown curls which hung close about his ears; thick, high, and hot leather boots; and heavy leather gloves which he conscientiously kept on till the very end. the kaiser is a wonderful personality. the more i see him the more i admire him. he impresses you as having a great sense of power and true and sound judgment. and then he is kind and good. i do not think him capable of doing a mean or small action. mrs. vanderbilt drove me out to potsdam in her motor, and, going through the forest, we passed in our hurried flight an automobile which we did not have time to remark upon. that evening there was a ball at court. when the emperor spoke to me he said: "you flew by the empress and me like lightning this afternoon when we were walking in the forest." "was that your majesty's motor?" i asked. "we went so fast that i did little else than hold on to my seat. it must have seemed ill-mannered to have flown by like that." there is to-night a _gesinde ball_ to which we are going. i know that you have no idea as to what a _gesinde ball_ is, so i will tell you that it is a ball given at some kind house by a kind lady. people dress themselves up as servants. it is our wildest dream, and we are never so happy as when we are gotten up to look like ladies' maids. i can tell you how some of them will look--self-made and to the manner born. i am going, since commands from superior quarters make it imperative, as a giddy old housekeeper or a care (worn) taker who has taken a smart gown from her mistress's wardrobe on the sly. several evenings later i heard your _prima donna_ with patience (because you sent her), but not with enthusiasm. she is like a hundred other would-be _prima donnas_ who cannot sing now and never can. these flock to berlin, study with all their might for two or three years, and sing worse each year. then they give a concert, for which they give away the tickets. they say they must have the berlin criticism. in the mean time their families are eating dry bread and their friends are squeezed like lemons. they get their criticism in some paper, cut it out, stick it on a nice piece of paper, and send it to their countrymen, who are out of pocket for a thousand marks or so. then they go back to their homesteads, discouraged and unhappy, and sing for nothing in the village choir for the rest of their lives. our winters are very much alike--always the same routine. the season commences with the reception of the _grande maîtresse_, then comes the _schleppenkur_, the _ordensfest_, and after that the emperor's birthday, with a gala opera in the evening; then the first, second, and third balls at court, and the gala performances at the opera when any sovereign comes to berlin on a visit. in lent there is always one entertainment at court. after easter every one disappears and all the blinds are pulled down. those who remain in berlin pretend they are away. the emperor speaks french and english with equal ease, but he likes best to speak english. he can be very lively at times, and then the next moment just as serious again. while talking to you he never takes his eyes off your face. he is seemingly all attention. sometimes when the diplomatic ladies stand side by side he glances to the next lady, evidently making up his mind about what he will talk with her. his voice is singularly clear, and what he says is straight to the point. he has the rare gift of making the person to whom he is talking appear at his very best. the life in potsdam is, i have been told, very home-like and cozy. the emperor often spends the evening reading aloud, while the empress sits near with her knitting. they love to be in the neues palais and stay there until after christmas. their christmas festivities must be worth seeing. each prince has a christmas tree and a table of his own, makes his own choice of presents, and ties up his own packages--as it were--and lights the christmas candles. these festivals are held in the mussel-room, on the ground floor, original if not pretty--a combination of shells, mother-of-pearl, and glass stone, which must be very effective in the brilliantly lighted room. the empress is very fond of riding, but often drives a little pony-carriage with two english "high-steppers." once when the shah of persia was spending the day at potsdam the empress offered to take him out for a drive in the park. half-way to their destination the lively pace of the horses alarmed the shah. he put his hand over hers, which held the reins, and said in his pigeon-french, "_vous-mourir seule_" and got out and walked back. the emperor said to me, "do you know mr. carnegie?" i said that i did not. "he is a clever gentleman," continued the emperor. "can you guess what he said to me?" i shook my head. the emperor then quoted mr. carnegie: "you and mr. roosevelt would make a nice tandem." "that shows tact and discrimination," i remarked. the emperor laughed. "i asked him which he thought would be the wheel-horse?" "what did he answer to that?" said i. "i am afraid mr. carnegie did not find anything to answer just then. he has not your talent for repartee." "in this case," i assured his majesty, "i should not have answered at all, for i have no idea what a wheel-horse is. if it is the horse which makes all the wheels turn, then it must be your majesty." "you see!" said the emperor, shaking his finger and laughing. we had the great pleasure of welcoming prince hans (king christian's brother). johan was with him in greece many years ago and has never ceased to love him. he is the most polite gentleman i ever saw; he almost begs your pardon for being kind to you. he dined with us yesterday. we invited to meet him prince albert schleswig-holstein (his nephew) and prince and princess wied[ ]. this young couple are delightfully charming. the prince has the most catching smile. it is impossible not to be in good spirits when you are with him. we sat out on the balcony after dinner and took our coffee and looked out into the brilliantly lighted square of brandenburger tor with its network of trams. i think our apartment is the most beautifully situated in all berlin. [ ] now king and queen of albania. _march, ._ dear l.,--the king of spain is in berlin now on a visit of a few days to the emperor. we only saw him at the gala performance at the opera. the kaiser had chosen "the huguenots." it was beautifully put on. madame hempel sang the part of marguerite de valois, and madame destinn sang valentine. the house was decorated in the usual manner, with carpets hanging from the balconies and flowers in great profusion everywhere. the king of spain sat between the kaiser and the kaiserin. he looks very young and very manly. after the first act, when we all met in the foyer, the emperor stood by him, and sometimes would take him by the arm and walk about in order to present people to him. i was presented to him, but i did not get more than a smile and a shake of the hand--i could not expect more. johan was more favored, for the king asked him how long he had been in berlin. you must confess that even that was not much. i was compensated by having quite a long talk with the kaiser--long for him, as he has so many people to talk to, and he feels, i am sure, every eye of the hoping-to-speak-to-him person in the room. he said: "i have just been reading the memoirs of general von moltke. did you ever know him?" "no," i said, "i never saw him, but i have a letter from him, written in to my father-in-law, dated from the tuileries." "he often speaks in his letters of your husband's grandparents' home in copenhagen--how he always felt at home and happy there, and was always sure to find a charming circle of interesting and literary people. you must read it; it would interest your husband, too." "did your majesty ever hear about moltke's visit to some grand-ducal court? moltke thought, of course, that as he had all the grand cordons and decorations in creation, he had also that of this court. when he was going to visit the grand duke he said to his servant, 'don't forget my decoration,' the servant looked high and low, but could not find it, and, thinking that he had mislaid it, went and bought one. moltke put on his uniform, the decoration being in place on his breast. when the grand duke entered he had in his hand an _étui_ containing the decoration, intending to hang it around moltke's neck himself. imagine his surprise at seeing it there already!" berlin, _november, _. dear l.,--our king and queen visit berlin. when the emperor learned of the date for the visit, and that their majesties were to be accompanied by the minister of foreign affairs (frederick) he proposed that nina should also come, and he invited them to be his guests at the _schloss_. this was joyful news for me. though nina had just had a dreadful fall while riding and had broken her arm and wrist, she had the courage to undertake the journey. they traveled with their majesties. the _lehrter bahnhof_ is particularly well adapted to receive royalties. it has a fine _façade_, and the open square in front is large enough to contain the military bands and the hundreds of carriages of all sorts. today it was overflowing. inside the station a broad flight of steps lead down to the platform, where was spread the traditional red carpet; the plants, bushes, and flowers all made it look very gay and festive. the train was expected at eleven o'clock. we hoped to get there very early, but found the emperor and his staff already on the platform, waiting. as our little party arrived (we and the secretaries) the emperor came forward, took my hand, and kissed it very graciously. we stood talking until the empress came, accompanied by all her ladies and suite. the train was announced by many signals and many whistlings, but no train came in. the locomotive had given out and the train had stopped a good way out of the station. the carpet not reaching so far, their majesties were obliged to walk quite a distance on the wet platform. by means of shunting and jerking the royal train was brought in under the station roof, but nowhere near the carpet. the small steps were put up to the carriage door, and the king and queen descended. the emperor kissed the king on both cheeks. the empress received the queen affectionately and gave her a bouquet, which she carried in her hand. i saw nina's pale face, pinched with pain, in the distance, and longed to fly to her, but etiquette compelled me to stay to make my obeisance to their majesties. the band which was in the station struck up the royal danish march, and we could hardly hear ourselves speak on account of the tremendous resonance. the procession of resplendent uniforms and the bright colors of the ladies' dresses made a brilliant sight as they walked through the station. the empress led the way, and we all followed to the waiting-room, where presentations to the queen took place. the empress presented every one of the ladies to the queen, _even me_. all the royal carriages seemed to be out--two open barouches with four horses were for the four royalties. i drove to the castle to see nina, who was already installed in her regal apartment. i went up the _wendeltreppe_, through two antechambers and a small _salon_, before reaching her magnificent drawing-room. it had superb tapestries on the walls and was filled with fine old dutch inlaid furniture. it is called the braunschweig suite, nine rooms in all. frederick had a separate staircase and entrance. nina and i went to the window to look out onto the _platz_ in front of the castle, and saw the parade pass before the emperor and the king, who stood in the rain while the troops marched by. nina had a court carriage and lackey at her disposal all the time she was in berlin. in the evening there was a state dinner in the superb _weissesaal_. johan and i and the members of the legation were the only diplomats present. we all met in the grand gallery; the emperor took in the queen of denmark, placing her on his right, and the king gave his arm to the empress and sat facing the emperor. the table was in the shape of a horseshoe, and there were about eighty people present. prince schleswig-holstein (familiarly called prince abby) took me in, and the emperor's son, prince adalbert, sat on my left. the _ménu_ was in german. some of the french dishes seemed to have puzzled the translator. the empress wore a dress of blue brocade and many beautiful jewels. our queen wore a light-gray satin trimmed with lace, and her famous diamond-and-pearl necklace. the emperor wore the danish uniform, and the king was in the uniform of his prussian regiment. a military band played throughout dinner. i was amused when the fruit and bonbons were passed. both the princes next to me piled their plates high with them and passed them over their shoulders to the young gentlemen pages who stood behind each royal person, thus depriving many ladies of the longed-for bonbons, which were adorned with the portraits of their majesties. the emperor made a very charming and touching speech in german, when we all stood up and emptied our glasses. the king replied in german, and we again got up and drank. after dinner every one went into the long gallery, and their four majesties talked very informally with us while taking their coffee. at eleven o'clock their majesties retired. i was glad, for nina's sake, that she could rest after her fatiguing day. i knew that she was suffering agonies from her tightly bandaged wrist. her arm was in a plaster cast, and she carried it in a sling cleverly hidden under her laces. the next day the empress took the queen with her to visit some charitable institutions. the king and the queen had graciously promised to lunch at our house, which was surrounded by a cordon of police, on foot and on horseback, in front and in the courtyard belonging to the legation. at two o'clock quite a procession of court carriages entered our _porte-cochère_, where i met the queen, presenting her with a bouquet tied with ribbons of the danish colors--red and white. our lunch was for forty people, and was served in two rooms. the king gave me his arm. the emperor had sent in the morning a life-sized crayon portrait of himself by lenbach as a present. the whole staircase was lined with palms and bushes, and of course there were plenty of flowers in the rooms. after luncheon a deputation of the danish colony met in the large _salons_ and were presented to their majesties. it was after five o'clock before every one had departed. the policemen had filed off, and the crowds which had collected in the street disappeared. the gala opera in the evening was like all the other gala operas i have described. at eight o'clock every one had assembled and was in his place. the opera was called "_der lange kerl_," written at the emperor's command by some german composer. it was a beautiful production, and represented frederick the great at sans-souci. in the first act the interior of sans-souci was copied after the famous picture of mezzler where frederick the great is playing on the flute. the "long fellow" was a giant, who, it seems, was a common soldier in the king's regiment. madame destinn took the part of a peasant woman, and washed up the pavement and prepared her vegetables for sale in the most realistic manner. the second scene, when potsdam wakes up in the morning, reminded me of the opening of the second act of "lohengrin." the last act was very sad, and rather lugubrious, representing frederick the great seated in the garden in front of sans-souci. there was no singing in this act at all, only pantomime. the respectful manner and the sad faces of the lackeys as they helped the poor old king to his chair and covered his knees with rugs, leaving him alone, was very pathetic. we went into the foyer after the performance. the empress presented all the notable people to the queen, and i stood near her in order to present others if necessary. berlin, _may, _. dear l.,--do not be surprised that you have not heard from me. we have been motoring. a most delightful tour. one does not know the bliss of traveling until one motors through germany as we have just done. i would send you my diary, but it reads too much like a ship's log. we started from berlin on the st of may and went as far as eisenach. in trying to climb the steep hill which leads to the halls where tannhauser sang his naughty description of venusberg our motor broke down, as if to commemorate the spot. we had to spend the night at eisenach for repairs. the next day we passed gotha, where we lunched, and passed the night at fulda. the next day we went on to weimar, where liszt's memory is as green as the trees in the grand-ducal park. everything is beautiful in this time of the year, and the days are long. what could be more enchanting i leave to your imagination. in munich we galleried from morning to night, and were utterly exhausted and hardly had the courage to dress for the opera; but, having tickets, economy got the better of prudence, and we sat through the long performance of "don giovanni" with _geduld_. andrada, the portuguese barytone, was very good and looked the part to perfection. in real life i am told he is a don juan himself. if the list of his victims has not yet reached _mille et un_ the fault cannot be laid at his door. his stage victims were all fat german _frauen_. zerlina wore a blond wig, showed very black eyebrows and red lips. her golden molars showed from afar. our visit to the artist lenbach and his wife was followed by an invitation to tea the next day. lenbach is divorced from his first wife, married to a countess arnim (also divorced). they have a dear little girl whom lenbach has painted several times. the studio is in a charming garden, arranged in the most artistic manner, full of broken columns and antique relics resembling the gardens on the venice canals. lenbach seen in the bosom of his family is a different lenbach from the one we knew in rome and paris--half society man, half artist. here he is simply _all papa_. we motored over the mountain to oberammergau. i do not dare to say that i was disappointed in the performance. i suppose years ago, when people began to go to oberammergau, it was more interesting, but now it is simply an enterprise, speculation kept alive by travelers and sight-seers. as a representation it is impressive in a way, but your illusions are dimmed by the prosaic manner in which everything is done. i felt a little queer when i met jesus christ smoking and wiping his muddy sandals with a dirty handkerchief, and saw mary magdalene flirting with the chauffeurs. when we sat at a _café_, enjoying a mug of beer and a sausage, we were surrounded by st. joseph and a brood of angels, all drinking beer. people may rave about the _stimmung_, the poetry, and the romance of it, but i saw beauty neither in the acting nor in the play. i do not speak of the music, there was so little of it. physical comfort goes a long way with yours lovingly. to sleep in a narrow bed having a piece of flannel buttoned between two coarse pieces of linen, to eat bad food, to sit on hard benches for hours under an open heaven which lets down occasionally a mild shower--this is what the germans call _stimmung_ and others call "local color" and what i call discomfort. still, it is one of the things one must do once in ten years. for a european to say, "i have not been to oberammergau," is like an american saying, "i have never been to niagara." whoever has been to see the crazy king ludwig's _châteaux_ knows more about them than i do, for i hated to go inside them. i gazed at the magnificent view and wondered how any but a crazy person could have furnished the interiors. what a life the king led his faithful subjects! they are still taxing all they can tax in order to pay his debts. poor things! they won't finish for a long time yet! berlin. dear l.,--the visit to the berlin court by king edward and queen alexandra is already a thing of the past, but i must tell you about it while it is still fresh in my mind. we, as _légation de famille_, went to the lehrter station to meet them on their arrival. when the train steamed in the emperor and the empress went forward to the door of the carriage, and as the king and the queen descended they all embraced affectionately. the empress led the queen to the waiting-room, where she presented all the ladies who were there. there was music inside and outside of the station. in fact, everything was so exactly like the reception of our king and queen, which i have described before, that i will not repeat myself. king edward looked tired and coughed constantly. the queen, whom i had not seen for a long time, seemed quite unchanged and charming as ever. there is not much time on such occasions to say more than a few words to each. we saw them drive off amid the most enthusiastic greetings from the populace massed together in the square. that evening there was a state banquet, served in the _weissesaal_, at which the kaiser read his speech in english to the king, and the king read his reply. i sat between lord granville and sir charles hardinge, between a cross-fire of wit and fun. the court orchestra, up in the gallery, played subdued music during the dinner, so that conversation was possible. their four majesties sat next to one another on one side of the table, and the _chancelier de l'empire_ sat opposite the empress. the english embassy and ourselves were the only diplomats among the hundred guests. the bonbons which were served with the fruit had photographs of king edward, the queen, and the german imperial family, and were, as is the custom, handed to the pages. these offerings are meant, i suppose, as a polite attention, and little souvenirs of the occasion, but the guests for whom the bonbons are intended go away empty-handed. these pages belong to the highest families in germany, and are present at all court functions, such as balls and dinners, and stand behind the chairs of the royal personages at the table. [illustration: count hatzfeldt from a recent photograph. he was prime minister of germany and german ambassador to london, brother-in-law of madame de hegermann-lindencrone. the picture shows over sixty decorations, all the important ones of europe, which have been given him. it is custom that the decorations of orders in diamonds are kept by the family after the death of the recipient. all other orders go back to the governments bestowing them.] after dinner we went into the long gallery, which in one part was arranged as a _salon_, with _fauteuils_ and chairs in circle. to show what a wonderful memory king edward has, he said to me: "do you remember a song you used to sing [i thought he was going to say 'beware'] with something about, 'i mean the daughter'?" "yes, your majesty, i remember very well. it was, 'i know a lady, a mrs. brady.'" "yes, that was it...'and has a daughter,' wasn't it?" i said, "what a memory your majesty has! fancy remembering that all these years. it was when your majesty came to sommerberg to play tennis with paul hatzfeldt." "that was a long time ago," continued king edward. "i was stopping then with the king and the queen of denmark at wiesbaden. i remember it all so well. poor hatzfeldt. you know what bismarck said about him?" "was it not something about his being the best horse in his stable?" "that is it," the king answered. "you have a good memory, too. how is countess raben?" "you mean 'the daughter'?" the king laughed. "yes, i mean 'the daughter.'" we did not stay long after the dinner, as evidently their majesties were fatigued after their journey. the king coughed incessantly, and the queen looked very tired. i think that she is beginning to look very like her mother, the dear old queen. the next day hundreds of court carriages were flying about berlin; i wish you could see the packages of cards that were sent to us. in the evening was the gala opera. the opera house is always decorated in the same way, and there is always the same audience. "sardanapal" was the play chosen by the emperor for this performance. i thought it very interesting to look at, but impossible to understand. it was a combination of orchestral music, choruses, and pantomime. a dreadful-looking nubian came out before the curtain between acts and told us in german poetry what was going to happen. the emperor had taken a great interest in the play, and had indicated all the costumes himself. every dress was a study and entirely correct, you may be sure, if the kaiser had anything to do with it. the ornaments which the actors wore were copied from specimens in the museums. the scenery was very fine, and when sardanapal was burned up, with his wives and collection of gold and silver things, the whole stage seemed to be on fire. this almost created a panic, and would have done so if the audience had not seen that their majesties sat calmly in their seats. it was very realistic. the emperor told me afterward in the foyer that the flames were nothing but chiffon, lighted with electric lights, and blown up with a fan from beneath. when the fire had done its work there was nothing left upon the stage but red-hot coals and smoldering _débris_. it was all very well, if we only had been spared the lugubrious man with the beard made of tight black curls, who did the talking. the next day the luncheon in honor of their english majesties at the english ambassador's, sir edward goschen, was full of emotion. king edward wore the uniform belonging to his german regiment, which, besides being buttoned tightly and apparently much padded, has a high and tight collar. he had received a deputation of most of the english colony and already looked wearied before we went in to luncheon. this was served in the ballroom, and was a long and elaborate affair. the king sat opposite the queen, and sir edward and lady goschen sat at either end of the table. all the princes, the german nobility, and ministers of state were present. the king apparently had a good appetite, and talked with his neighbors right and left and opposite, and seemed to enjoy himself. when we re-entered the drawing-room the king lit an enormous cigar and, seating himself on a low sofa, talked and smoked, when suddenly he threw his head back against the sofa, as if gasping for breath. the queen, who was on the other side of the room, rushed instantly to the king and quickly unbuttoned his collar and opened his coat. the two english physicians who had come with the king were finishing luncheon in another room. they were instantly called in, and they begged the guests to leave the _salon_ in order that the king might have more air. the king had not fainted, but on account of the tight collar, the heat of the room, the big cigar, and the violent fit of coughing, it was almost impossible for him to get his breath. the physicians helped him up from the low sofa into a high chair, and took away the cigar; but the king, as soon as he could speak, said, "give me another cigar." the physicians protested, but the king insisted upon the cigar, which they were obliged to give him. the guests returned, and the conversation rallied for a while, but the emotion of the few moments before could not be easily calmed. the king left the room quietly, hardly any one seeing him, reached the automobile, and drove to the castle. the queen followed him a few moments later. we were prepared to receive notice at any moment that the ball fixed for that evening would be countermanded. but it was not, and at eight o'clock--the hour one goes to court balls here--found every one assembled. as usual, we took our places on the platform reserved for the ladies of the _corps diplomatique_, and then, with the ceremonial which i have so often described, their majesties, preceded by the pages and court notables, entered. the emperor gave his arm to queen alexandra, and the empress entered with king edward. it is customary for the emperor and the empress to make a tour of the invited guests, but this evening the royal persons stayed on the throne and did not move during the dances. king edward and the queen supped at the table of the emperor, and immediately afterward retired to their rooms and were seen no more. during the whole evening they had not spoken to a single person. the next morning their majesties took their departure from the lehrter station. we went to bid them good-by. the emperor, in speaking to me, said, "you know, my uncle had such a fright the other night when he saw the fire, he wanted to leave the theater; it was only when i told him that the flames were chiffon that i could quiet him." when king edward bade me good-by he said, "please remember me to countess raben," and added, laughingly, "i mean the daughter." saint-saëns and massenet came to berlin to assist at a sort of _congrès de musique_. massenet was invited to lead the orchestra in "manon," and saint-saëns that of "samson and delilah." they accepted an invitation to lunch at our house, and i was delighted to see them again. they had come, they said, with prejudices on fire. they were sure that they would dislike everything german; but, having been begged to visit the kaiser in his _loge_ after the performance, they came away from the interview burning with enthusiasm. how charming the emperor was! how full of interest! so natural! etc., etc. they could not find words for their admiration. that is the way with the emperor. he charms every one. the first of my articles about compiègne appeared in _harper's magazine_ in the summer. at the ball at court in the following january the kaiser came to speak to me, his face beaming with the kindest of smiles. "i can't tell you how i have enjoyed your articles, i read them to myself and read them out loud to the empress." "how," said i "did your majesty discover them?" "i have always taken _harper's magazine_, ever since i was a little boy. you may imagine how astonished i was when i saw something from your pen. your description of napoleon the third is quite historical. you gave me a new idea of him. in many ways i always regret that i never saw him. i could have once, when i was quite small. i was with my parents at nice, and the emperor came there, but i did not see him." berlin, _may _. dear l.,--on the th we had just returned from a long motor trip, arriving late in the evening. how fortunate that we did not arrive a day later! the next morning johan was called on the telephone. the message was from hamburg, to say that our king (frederick viii) had died there, suddenly in the night. johan, of course, took the first train for hamburg. this was dreadful news. the king was traveling with the queen, princess thyra, prince gustave, and the usual suite. his majesty had bade them good-night and retired--alas! not to his room, for he wished to take a stroll through the streets of the town. it was only at two o'clock that the valet noticed that the king had not been in his room. then he alarmed the _hof-marshale_, who, with the other gentlemen, commenced a search. at five o'clock they found his majesty in the _krankenhaus_. he had fainted in the street and had been put into a cab, in which he died. johan stayed all the next day in hamburg, accompanying the queen on board the _daneborg_ (the royal yacht), which had been sent to take the king's body back to denmark. [illustration: the emperor in from an autographed photograph given to madame de hegermann-lindencrone.] the queen was overwhelmed with grief, but showed the greatest self-control. it has been a distressing time indeed for the duchess of cumberland. she has lost her eldest son (killed in an automobile accident on the way to schwerin to see his sister, the grand duchess) and now it is her brother who is taken so tragically. the young duke was very unwise to take that particular road. we had passed over the same route, or tried to, on our way to pay a visit to the grand-ducal pair not more than two weeks before. our chauffeur was appalled at the dreadful condition of the road and advised turning back. we made a great _détour_ and avoided an accident. the duke was driving himself, and the ruts in the road made the car jump so that the wheel struck him under the chin, he lost control, and the machine struck a tree, killing the duke instantly. the chauffeur was saved. berlin. mr. roosevelt and family arrived in berlin three days ago. society was on tiptoe with expectation. they talked of giving arthur nevin's indian opera, "poia," in order that the ex-president should have the thrill of seeing his compatriots in a german setting. this idea was abandoned, though count hülsen had accepted the opera and at an enormous expense had had it mounted at the grand opera. the kaiser received mr. roosevelt and was charmed with him, just as mr. roosevelt was charmed with the kaiser. of course, who could resist the magnetic forces of these two _dii ex machinâ_. ambassador and mrs. hill gave a large and all-comprising reception at the embassy in honor of their distinguished guest, which is much too small to contain the entire society of berlin and _embrace_ (i like that word) all the american colony. to gain a little more space they very practically turned the _porte-cochère_ into a _vestiaire_, where we took off our mantles before crossing the carpet-covered carriage-drive. mr. roosevelt was most amiable. he greeted people with a cordiality which bordered on _épanchement_--giving their hands a shaking the like of which they had never had before. mr. roosevelt remained by mrs. hill's side and smiled kindly at the guests as they poured in and out of the _salon_. that was about all the guests did--pour in and pour out. one could not expect even the most favored to exchange more than a few words with the great man. our conversations were in the style of the reception, short and quickly done with. mrs. hill: "this is madame de hegermann. she is american, from cambridge, massachusetts." mr. roosevelt: "ah!... i am a harvard man." me: "so am i! i mean i am a harvard woman! i was born and brought up in radcliffe college." mr. r.: "ah!" (_puzzled, trying to match the possible date of my birth with the birth of radcliffe college._) me: "radcliffe college was my grandparents' home." mr. r.: "oh, i see! well, madame, i am delighted to shake hands with any one from cambridge." johan's was like this: mrs. hill: "monsieur de hegermann was danish minister in washington some years ago." mr. r.: "i am sorry i was not president then. ha! ha! pleased to have met you, sir!" we were told that there would be speeches under the flag, but we poured out without anything of the kind occurring. berlin, _ _. dear l.,--it is not only the unexpected that arrives: the expected arrives also. the news we have been expecting these last years arrived yesterday. diplomacy has decided to divorce us. we are to leave berlin. johan ought to have left the service four years ago. according to the _protocole_ in denmark, a minister must retire when he reaches the _d'age limite_--the ambassador retiring at the age of seventy. the prime minister asked him to remain, and he did. but now it seems that the powers that be have decided. it is very sad, but true. countess brockdorf came to make me a visit of condolence. she said that her majesty had begged her to express her regrets. in the course of the visit she asked me when my book[ ] would come out, and when i told her that i thought in october she said, "i know that the emperor is counting on your giving him a copy." i promised that i would not forget it. [ ] _in the courts of memory_, published in the autumn of . * * * * * on the day fixed for johan's audience to present his letters of recall we were invited to luncheon at neues palais with their majesties. at wildpark, the emperor's private station, a few miles from potsdam, we were met by his carriage and drove through the beautiful park to the palace. the carriage stopped at the principal entrance, where a broad red carpet was stretched from the carriage-drive to the door. johan got out there. then i was driven to the other side of the palace, where i found another red carpet. this was the entrance which leads to the empress's suite of apartments. countess keller (the lady of honor) was waiting for me and led me to the empress. her majesty was most gracious; no one could have been more so. we remained talking until a lackey announced that johan's audience was finished and that the emperor was waiting in the dining-room for us. the kaiserin kindly took me by the arm, and we went together into the adjoining _salon_, where we found the emperor, the princess victoria augusta, johan, william von kidderling (minister of foreign affairs), who is always present at these official audiences, a chamberlain, an adjutant--not more than ten people in all. the kaiser, on seeing me, kissed my hand, and was, as usual, most kind and altogether delightful. i sat at his left, the young princess being at his right. i tried to say how grieved we were at the idea of leaving berlin, where we had spent ten happy years. he was gracious enough to say that both he and the empress were very sorry to lose us. he said many appreciative things about what i had written in _harper's_, and asked many questions showing that he had really read them. he seemed interested to hear about the emperor napoleon and the life at compiègne. he said that he met empress eugénie for the first time when in norway, three years ago. he had made a visit to her on her yacht, and she had "honored" him by taking tea with him on the _hohenzollern_. he said, "how beautiful she must have been when she was young!" "i saw her," i replied, "last spring at her villa at cape martin. she is _still_ beautiful, though she is eighty years old." "eighty years!" cried the kaiser, "and still a _charmeuse_! that is unique." all through luncheon i was thinking that this was the last time i should be talking to the interesting and wonderful _charmeur_ who was sitting next to me. the kaiser has a way of fixing those discerning gray eyes of his on you when he talks, and you have the feeling that he is sifting and weighing you in his mind--and when he smiles his face lights up with humor and interest. you feel as if a life-buoy were keeping you afloat. he has that wonderful gift of making people appear at their best. i gave him my book after luncheon. it looks very fitting in its red morocco binding. he appeared greatly delighted with it and begged me to write my name on the first page, which, of course, i was happy to do. the empress exclaimed: "'do give me one, too! once the emperor has it, i shall never get it." the kaiser's last words to us were, "promise not to forget berlin!" forget berlin--never! count hannibal a romance of the court of france. by stanley j. weyman. sorori sua caussa carae pro erga matrem amore etiam cariori hoc frater. contents i. crimson favours ii. hannibal de saulx, comte de tavannes iii. the house next the golden maid iv. the eve of the feast v. a rough wooing vi. "who touches tavannes?" vii. in the amphitheatre viii. two hens and an egg ix. unstable x. madame st. lo xi. a bargain xii. in the hall of the louvre xiii. diplomacy xiv. too short a spoon xv. the brother of st. magloire xvi. at close quarters xvii. the duel xviii. andromeda, perseus being absent xix. in the orleannais xx. on the castle hill xxi. she would, and would not xxii. playing with fire xxiii. a mind, and not a mind xxiv. at the king's inn xxv. the company of the bleeding heart xxvi. temper xxvii. the black town xxviii. in the little chapter-house xxix. the escape xxx. sacrilege! xxxi. the flight from angers xxxii. the ordeal by steel xxxiii. the ambush xxxiv. "which will you, madame?" xxxv. against the wall xxxvi. his kingdom chapter i. crimson favours. m. de tavannes smiled. mademoiselle averted her eyes, and shivered; as if the air, even of that close summer night, entering by the door at her elbow, chilled her. and then came a welcome interruption. "tavannes!" "sire!" count hannibal rose slowly. the king had called, and he had no choice but to obey and go. yet he hung a last moment over his companion, his hateful breath stirring her hair. "our pleasure is cut short too soon, mademoiselle," he said, in the tone, and with the look, she loathed. "but for a few hours only. we shall meet to-morrow. or, it may be--earlier." she did not answer, and "tavannes!" the king repeated with violence. "tavannes! mordieu!" his majesty continued, looking round furiously. "will no one fetch him? sacre nom, am i king, or a dog of a--" "i come, sire!" the count cried hastily. for charles, king of france, ninth of the name, was none of the most patient; and scarce another in the court would have ventured to keep him waiting so long. "i come, sire; i come!" tavannes repeated, as he moved from mademoiselle's side. he shouldered his way through the circle of courtiers, who barred the road to the presence, and in part hid her from observation. he pushed past the table at which charles and the comte de rochefoucauld had been playing primero, and at which the latter still sat, trifling idly with the cards. three more paces, and he reached the king, who stood in the _ruelle_ with rambouillet and the italian marshal. it was the latter who, a moment before, had summoned his majesty from his game. mademoiselle, watching him go, saw so much; so much, and the king's roving eyes and haggard face, and the four figures, posed apart in the fuller light of the upper half of the chamber. then the circle of courtiers came together before her, and she sat back on her stool. a fluttering, long-drawn sigh escaped her. now, if she could slip out and make her escape! now--she looked round. she was not far from the door; to withdraw seemed easy. but a staring, whispering knot of gentlemen and pages blocked the way; and the girl, ignorant of the etiquette of the court, and with no more than a week's experience of paris, had not the courage to rise and pass alone through the group. she had come to the louvre this saturday evening under the wing of madame d'yverne, her _fiance's_ cousin. by ill-hap madame had been summoned to the princess dowager's closet, and perforce had left her. still, mademoiselle had her betrothed, and in his charge had sat herself down to wait, nothing loth, in the great gallery, where all was bustle and gaiety and entertainment. for this, the seventh day of the fetes, held to celebrate the marriage of the king of navarre and charles's sister--a marriage which was to reconcile the two factions of the huguenots and the catholics, so long at war--saw the louvre as gay, as full, and as lively as the first of the fete days had found it; and in the humours of the throng, in the ceaseless passage of masks and maids of honour, guards and bishops, swiss in the black, white, and green of anjou, and huguenot nobles in more sombre habits, the country-bred girl had found recreation and to spare. until gradually the evening had worn away and she had begun to feel nervous; and m. de tignonville, her betrothed, placing her in the embrasure of a window, had gone to seek madame. she had waited for a time without much misgiving; expecting each moment to see him return. he would be back before she could count a hundred; he would be back before she could number the leagues that separated her from her beloved province, and the home by the biscay sea, to which even in that brilliant scene her thoughts turned fondly. but the minutes had passed, and passed, and he had not returned. worse, in his place tavannes--not the marshal, but his brother, count hannibal--had found her; he, whose odious court, at once a menace and an insult, had subtly enveloped her for a week past. he had sat down beside her, he had taken possession of her, and, profiting by her inexperience, had played on her fears and smiled at her dislike. finally, whether she would or no, he had swept her with him into the chamber. the rest had been an obsession, a nightmare, from which only the king's voice summoning tavannes to his side had relieved her. her aim now was to escape before he returned, and before another, seeing her alone, adopted his _role_ and was rude to her. already the courtiers about her were beginning to stare, the pages to turn and titter and whisper. direct her gaze as she might, she met some eye watching her, some couple enjoying her confusion. to make matters worse, she presently discovered that she was the only woman in the chamber; and she conceived the notion that she had no right to be there at that hour. at the thought her cheeks burned, her eyes dropped; the room seemed to buzz with her name, with gross words and jests, and gibes at her expense. at last, when the situation had grown nearly unbearable, the group before the door parted, and tignonville appeared. the girl rose with a cry of relief, and he came to her. the courtiers glanced at the two and smiled. he did not conceal his astonishment at finding her there. "but, mademoiselle, how is this?" he asked, in a low voice. he was as conscious of the attention they attracted as she was, and as uncertain on the point of her right to be there. "i left you in the gallery. i came back, missed you, and--" she stopped him by a gesture. "not here!" she muttered, with suppressed impatience. "i will tell you outside. take me--take me out, if you please, monsieur, at once!" he was as glad to be gone as she was to go. the group by the doorway parted; she passed through it, he followed. in a moment the two stood in the great gallery, above the salle des caryatides. the crowd which had paraded here an hour before was gone, and the vast echoing apartment, used at that date as a guard-room, was well-nigh empty. only at rare intervals, in the embrasure of a window or the recess of a door, a couple talked softly. at the farther end, near the head of the staircase which led to the hall below, and the courtyard, a group of armed swiss lounged on guard. mademoiselle shot a keen glance up and down, then she turned to her lover, her face hot with indignation. "why did you leave me?" she asked. "why did you leave me, if you could not come back at once? do you understand, sir," she continued, "that it was at your instance i came to paris, that i came to this court, and that i look to you for protection?" "surely," he said. "and--" "and do you think carlat and his wife fit guardians for me? should i have come or thought of coming to this wedding, but for your promise, and madame your cousin's? if i had not deemed myself almost your wife," she continued warmly, "and secure of your protection, should i have come within a hundred miles of this dreadful city? to which, had i my will, none of our people should have come." "dreadful? pardieu, not so dreadful," he answered, smiling, and striving to give the dispute a playful turn. "you have seen more in a week than you would have seen at vrillac in a lifetime, mademoiselle." "and i choke!" she retorted; "i choke! do you not see how they look at us, at us huguenots, in the street? how they, who live here, point at us and curse us? how the very dogs scent us out and snarl at our heels, and the babes cross themselves when we go by? can you see the place des gastines and not think what stood there? can you pass the greve at night and not fill the air above the river with screams and wailings and horrible cries--the cries of our people murdered on that spot?" she paused for breath, recovered herself a little, and in a lower tone, "for me," she said, "i think of philippa de luns by day and by night! the eaves are a threat to me; the tiles would fall on us had they their will; the houses nod to--to--" "to what, mademoiselle?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders and assuming a tone of cynicism. "to crush us! yes, monsieur, to crush us!" "and all this because i left you for a moment?" "for an hour--or well-nigh an hour," she answered more soberly. "but if i could not help it?" "you should have thought of that--before you brought me to paris, monsieur. in these troublous times." he coloured warmly. "you are unjust, mademoiselle," he said. "there are things you forget; in a court one is not always master of one's self." "i know it," she answered dryly, thinking of that through which she had gone. "but you do not know what happened!" he returned with impatience. "you do not understand that i am not to blame. madame d'yverne, when i reached the princess dowager's closet, had left to go to the queen of navarre. i hurried after her, and found a score of gentlemen in the king of navarre's chamber. they were holding a council, and they begged, nay, they compelled me to remain." "and it was that which detained you so long?" "to be sure, mademoiselle." "and not--madame st. lo?" m. de tignonville's face turned scarlet. the thrust in tierce was unexpected. this, then, was the key to mademoiselle's spirt of temper. "i do not understand you," he stammered. "how long were you in the king of navarre's chamber, and how long with madame st. lo?" she asked with fine irony. "or no, i will not tempt you," she went on quickly, seeing him hesitate. "i heard you talking to madame st. lo in the gallery while i sat within. and i know how long you were with her." "i met madame as i returned," he stammered, his face still hot, "and i asked her where you were. i did not know, mademoiselle, that i was not to speak to ladies of my acquaintance." "i was alone, and i was waiting." "i could not know that--for certain," he answered, making the best of it. "you were not where i left you. i thought, i confess--that you had gone. that you had gone home." "with whom? with whom?" she repeated pitilessly. "was it likely? with whom was i to go? and yet it is true, i might have gone home had i pleased--with m. de tavannes! yes," she continued, in a tone of keen reproach, and with the blood mounting to her forehead, "it is to that, monsieur, you expose me! to be pursued, molested, harassed by a man whose look terrifies me, and whose touch i--i detest! to be addressed wherever i go by a man whose every word proves that he thinks me game for the hunter, and you a thing he may neglect. you are a man and you do not know, you cannot know what i suffer! what i have suffered this week past whenever you have left my side!" tignonville looked gloomy. "what has he said to you?" he asked, between his teeth. "nothing i can tell you," she answered, with a shudder. "it was he who took me into the chamber." "why did you go?" "wait until he bids you do something," she answered. "his manner, his smile, his tone, all frighten me. and to-night, in all these there was a something worse, a hundred times worse than when i saw him last--on thursday! he seemed to--to gloat on me," the girl stammered, with a flush of shame, "as if i were his! oh, monsieur, i wish we had not left our poitou! shall we ever see vrillac again, and the fishers' huts about the port, and the sea beating blue against the long brown causeway?" he had listened darkly, almost sullenly; but at this, seeing the tears gather in her eyes, he forced a laugh. "why, you are as bad as m. de rosny and the vidame!" he said. "and they are as full of fears as an egg is of meat! since the admiral was wounded by that scoundrel on friday, they think all paris is in a league against us." "and why not?" she asked, her cheek grown pale, her eyes reading his eyes. "why not? why, because it is a monstrous thing even to think of!" tignonville answered, with the confidence of one who did not use the argument for the first time. "could they insult the king more deeply than by such a suspicion? a borgia may kill his guests, but it was never a practice of the kings of france! pardieu, i have no patience with them! they may lodge where they please, across the river, or without the walls if they choose, the rue de l'arbre sec is good enough for me, and the king's name sufficient surety!" "i know you are not apt to be fearful," she answered, smiling; and she looked at him with a woman's pride in her lover. "all the same, you will not desert me again, sir, will you?" he vowed he would not, kissed her hand, looked into her eyes; then melting to her, stammering, blundering, he named madame st. lo. she stopped him. "there is no need," she said, answering his look with kind eyes, and refusing to hear his protestations. "in a fortnight will you not be my husband? how should i distrust you? it was only that while she talked, i waited--i waited; and--and that madame st. lo is count hannibal's cousin. for a moment i was mad enough to dream that she held you on purpose. you do not think it was so?" "she!" he cried sharply; and he winced, as if the thought hurt him. "absurd! the truth is, mademoiselle," he continued with a little heat, "you are like so many of our people! you think a catholic capable of the worst." "we have long thought so at vrillac," she answered gravely. "that's over now, if people would only understand. this wedding has put an end to all that. but i'm harking back," he continued awkwardly; and he stopped. "instead, let me take you home." "if you please. carlat and the servants should be below." he took her left hand in his right after the wont of the day, and with his other hand touching his sword-hilt, he led her down the staircase, that by a single turn reached the courtyard of the palace. here a mob of armed servants, of lacqueys, and footboys, some bearing torches, and some carrying their masters' cloaks and _galoshes_, loitered to and fro. had m. de tignonville been a little more observant, or a trifle less occupied with his own importance, he might have noted more than one face which looked darkly on him; he might have caught more than one overt sneer at his expense. but in the business of summoning carlat--mademoiselle de vrillac's steward and major-domo--he lost the contemptuous "christaudins!" that hissed from a footboy's lips, and the "southern dogs!" that died in the moustachios of a bully in the livery of the king's brother. he was engaged in finding the steward, and in aiding him to cloak his mistress; then with a ruffling air, a new acquirement, which he had picked up since he came to paris, he made a way for her through the crowd. a moment, and the three, followed by half a dozen armed servants, bearing pikes and torches, detached themselves from the throng, and crossing the courtyard, with its rows of lighted windows, passed out by the gate between the tennis courts, and so into the rue des fosses de st. germain. before them, against a sky in which the last faint glow of evening still contended with the stars, the spire and pointed arches of the church of st. germain rose darkly graceful. it was something after nine: the heat of the august day brooded over the crowded city, and dulled the faint distant ring of arms and armour that yet would make itself heard above the hush; a hush which was not silence so much as a subdued hum. as mademoiselle passed the closed house beside the cloister of st. germain, where only the day before admiral coligny, the leader of the huguenots, had been wounded, she pressed her escort's hand, and involuntarily drew nearer to him. but he laughed at her. "it was a private blow," he said, answering her unspoken thought. "it is like enough the guises sped it. but they know now what is the king's will, and they have taken the hint and withdrawn themselves. it will not happen again, mademoiselle. for proof, see the guards"--they were passing the end of the rue bethizy, in the corner house of which, abutting on the rue de l'arbre sec, coligny had his lodgings--"whom the king has placed for his security. fifty pikes under cosseins." "cosseins?" she repeated. "but i thought cosseins--" "was not wont to love us!" tignonville answered, with a confident chuckle. "he was not. but the dogs lick where the master wills, mademoiselle. he was not, but he does. this marriage has altered all." "i hope it may not prove an unlucky one!" she murmured. she felt impelled to say it. "not it!" he answered confidently. "why should it?" they stopped, as he spoke, before the last house, at the corner of the rue st. honore opposite the croix du tiroir; which rose shadowy in the middle of the four ways. he hammered on the door. "but," she said softly, looking in his face, "the change is sudden, is it not? the king was not wont to be so good to us!" "the king was not king until now," he answered warmly. "that is what i am trying to persuade our people. believe me, mademoiselle, you may sleep without fear; and early in the morning i will be with you. carlat, have a care of your mistress until morning, and let madame lie in her chamber. she is nervous to-night. there, sweet, until morning! god keep you, and pleasant dreams!" he uncovered, and bowing over her hand, kissed it; and the door being open he would have turned away. but she lingered as if unwilling to enter. "there is--do you hear it--a stir in _that_ quarter?" she said, pointing across the rue st. honore. "what lies there?" "northward? the markets," he answered. "'tis nothing. they say, you know, that paris never sleeps. good night, sweet, and a fair awakening!" she shivered as she had shivered under tavannes' eye. and still she lingered, keeping him. "are you going to your lodging at once?" she asked--for the sake, it seemed, of saying something. "i?" he answered a little hurriedly. "no, i was thinking of paying rochefoucauld the compliment of seeing him home. he has taken a new lodging to be near the admiral; a horrid bare place in the rue bethizy, without furniture, but he would go into it to-day. and he has a sort of claim on my family, you know." "yes," she said simply. "of course. then i must not detain you. god keep you safe," she continued, with a faint quiver in her tone; and her lip trembled. "good night, and fair dreams, monsieur." he echoed the words gallantly. "of you, sweet!" he cried; and turning away with a gesture of farewell, he set off on his return. he walked briskly, nor did he look back, though she stood awhile gazing after him. she was not aware that she gave thought to this; nor that it hurt her. yet when bolt and bar had shot behind her, and she had mounted the cold, bare staircase of that day--when she had heard the dull echoing footsteps of her attendants as they withdrew to their lairs and sleeping- places, and still more when she had crossed the threshold of her chamber, and signed to madame carlat and her woman to listen--it is certain she felt a lack of something. perhaps the chill that possessed her came of that lack, which she neither defined nor acknowledged. or possibly it came of the night air, august though it was; or of sheer nervousness, or of the remembrance of count hannibal's smile. whatever its origin, she took it to bed with her and long after the house slept round her, long after the crowded quarter of the halles had begun to heave and the sorbonne to vomit a black-frocked band, long after the tall houses in the gabled streets, from st. antoine to montmartre and from st. denis on the north to st. jacques on the south, had burst into rows of twinkling lights--nay, long after the quarter of the louvre alone remained dark, girdled by this strange midnight brightness--she lay awake. at length she too slept, and dreamed of home and the wide skies of poitou, and her castle of vrillac washed day and night by the biscay tides. chapter ii. hannibal de saulx, comte de tavannes. "tavannes!" "sire." tavannes, we know, had been slow to obey the summons. emerging from the crowd, he found that the king, with retz and rambouillet, his marshal des logis, had retired to the farther end of the chamber; apparently charles had forgotten that he had called. his head a little bent--he was tall and had a natural stoop--the king seemed to be listening to a low but continuous murmur of voices which proceeded from the door of his closet. one voice frequently raised was beyond doubt a woman's; a foreign accent, smooth and silky, marked another; a third, that from time to time broke in, wilful and impetuous, was the voice of monsieur, the king's brother, catherine de medicis' favourite son. tavannes, waiting respectfully two paces behind the king, could catch little that was said; but charles, something more, it seemed, for on a sudden he laughed, a violent, mirthless laugh. and he clapped rambouillet on the shoulder. "there!" he said, with one of his horrible oaths, "'tis settled! 'tis settled! go, man, and take your orders! and you, m. de retz," he continued, in a tone of savage mockery, "go, my lord, and give them!" "i, sire?" the italian marshal answered, in accents of deprecation. there were times when the young king would show his impatience of the italian ring, the retzs and biragues, the strozzis and gondys, with whom his mother surrounded him. "yes, you!" charles answered. "you and my lady mother! and in god's name answer for it at the day!" he continued vehemently. "you will have it! you will not let me rest till you have it! then have it, only see to it, it be done thoroughly! there shall not be one left to cast it in the king's teeth and cry, 'et tu, carole!' swim, swim in blood if you will," he continued, with growing wildness. "oh, 'twill be a merry night! and it's true so far, you may kill fleas all day, but burn the coat, and there's an end. so burn it, burn it, and--" he broke off with a start as he discovered tavannes at his elbow. "god's death, man!" he cried roughly, "who sent for you?" "your majesty called me," tavannes answered; while, partly urged by the king's hand, and partly anxious to escape, the others slipped into the closet and left them together. "i sent for you? i called your brother, the marshal!" "he is within, sire," tavannes answered, indicating the closet. "a moment ago i heard his voice." charles passed his shaking hand across his eyes. "is he?" he muttered. "so he is! i heard it too. and--and a man cannot be in two places at once!" then, while his haggard gaze, passing by tavannes, roved round the chamber, he laid his hand on count hannibal's breast. "they give me no peace, madame and the guises," he whispered, his face hectic with excitement. "they will have it. they say that coligny--they say that he beards me in my own palace. and--and, _mordieu_," with sudden violence, "it's true. it's true enough! it was but to-day he was for making terms with me! with me, the king! making terms! so it shall be, by god and devil, it shall! but not six or seven! no, no. all! all! there shall not be one left to say to me, 'you did it!'" "softly, sire," tavannes answered; for charles had gradually raised his voice. "you will be observed." for the first time the young king--he was but twenty-two years old, god pity him!--looked at his companion. "to be sure," he whispered; and his eyes grew cunning. "besides, and after all, there's another way, if i choose. oh, i've thought and thought, i'd have you know." and shrugging his shoulders, almost to his ears, he raised and lowered his open hands alternately, while his back hid the movement from the chamber. "see-saw! see-saw!" he muttered. "and the king between the two, you see. that's madame's king-craft. she's shown me that a hundred times. but look you, it is as easy to lower the one as the other," with a cunning glance at tavannes' face, "or to cut off the right as the left. and--and the admiral's an old man and will pass; and for the matter of that i like to hear him talk. he talks well. while the others, guise and his kind, are young, and i've thought, oh, yes, i've thought--but there," with a sudden harsh laugh, "my lady mother will have it her own way. and for this time she shall, but, all! all! even foucauld, there! do you mark him. he's sorting the cards. do you see him--as he will be to-morrow, with the slit in his throat and his teeth showing? why, god!" his voice rising almost to a scream, "the candles by him are burning blue!" and with a shaking hand, his face convulsed, the young king clutched his companion's arm, and pinched it. count hannibal shrugged his shoulders, but answered nothing. "d'you think we shall see them afterwards?" charles resumed, in a sharp, eager whisper. "in our dreams, man? or when the watchman cries, and we awake, and the monks are singing lauds at st. germain, and--and the taper is low?" tavannes' lip curled. "i don't dream, sire," he answered coldly, "and i seldom wake. for the rest, i fear my enemies neither alive nor dead." "don't you? by g-d, i wish i didn't," the young man exclaimed. his brow was wet with sweat. "i wish i didn't. but there, it's settled. they've settled it, and i would it were done! what do you think of--of it, man? what do you think of it, yourself?" count hannibal's face was inscrutable. "i think nothing, sire," he said dryly. "it is for your majesty and your council to think. it is enough for me that it is the king's will." "but you'll not flinch?" charles muttered, with a quick look of suspicion. "but there," with a monstrous oath, "i know you'll not! i believe you'd as soon kill a monk--though, thank god," and he crossed himself devoutly, "there is no question of that--as a man. and sooner than a maiden." "much sooner, sire," tavannes answered grimly. "if you have any orders in the monkish direction--no? then your majesty must not talk to me longer. m. de rochefoucauld is beginning to wonder what is keeping your majesty from your game. and others are marking you, sire." "by the lord!" charles exclaimed, a ring of wonder mingled with horror in his tone, "if they knew what was in our minds they'd mark us more! yet, see nancay there beside the door? he is unmoved. he looks to-day as he looked yesterday. yet he has charge of the work in the palace--" for the first time tavannes allowed a movement of surprise to escape him. "in the palace?" he muttered. "is it to be done here, too, sire?" "would you let some escape, to return by-and-by and cut our throats?" the king retorted, with a strange spirt of fury; an incapacity to maintain the same attitude of mind for two minutes together was the most fatal weakness of his ill-balanced nature. "no. all! all!" he repeated with vehemence. "didn't noah people the earth with eight? but i'll not leave eight! my cousins, for they are blood-royal, shall live if they will recant. and my old nurse, whether or no. and pare, for no one else understands my complexion. and--" "and rochefoucauld, doubtless, sire?" the king, whose eye had sought his favourite companion, withdrew it. he darted a glance at tavannes. "foucauld? who said so?" he muttered jealously. "not i! but we shall see. we shall see! and do you see that you spare no one, m. le comte, without an order. that is your business." "i understand, sire," tavannes answered coolly. and after a moment's silence, seeing that the king had done with him, he bowed low and withdrew; watched by the circle, as all about a king were watched in the days when a king's breath meant life or death, and his smile made the fortunes of men. as he passed rochefoucauld, the latter looked up and nodded. "what keeps brother charles?" he muttered. "he's madder than ever to- night. is it a masque or a murder he is planning?" "the vapours," tavannes answered, with a sneer. "old tales his old nurse has stuffed him withal. he'll come by-and-by, and 'twill be well if you can divert him." "i will, if he come," rochefoucauld answered, shuffling the cards. "if not 'tis chicot's business, and he should attend to it. i'm tired, and shall to bed." "he will come," tavannes answered, and moved, as if to go on. then he paused for a last word. "he will come," he muttered, stooping and speaking under his breath, his eyes on the other's face. "but play him lightly. he is in an ugly mood. please him, if you can, and it may serve." the eyes of the two met an instant, and those of foucauld--so the king called his huguenot favourite--betrayed some surprise; for count hannibal and he were not intimate. but seeing that the other was in earnest, he raised his brows in acknowledgment. tavannes nodded carelessly in return, looked an instant at the cards on the table, and passed on, pushed his way through the circle, and reached the door. he was lifting the curtain to go out, when nancay, the captain of the guard, plucked his sleeve. "what have you been saying to foucauld, m. de tavannes?" he muttered. "i?" "yes," with a jealous glance, "you, m. le comte." count hannibal looked at him with the sudden ferocity that made the man a proverb at court. "what i chose, m. le capitaine des suisses!" he hissed. and his hand closed like a vice on the other's wrist. "what i chose, look you! and remember, another time, that i am not a huguenot, and say what i please." "but there is great need of care," nancay protested, stammering and flinching. "and--and i have orders, m. le comte." "your orders are not for me," tavannes answered, releasing his arm with a contemptuous gesture. "and look you, man, do not cross my path to-night. you know our motto? who touches my brother, touches tavannes! be warned by it." nancay scowled. "but the priests say, 'if your hand offend you, cut it off!'" he muttered. tavannes laughed, a sinister laugh. "if you offend me i'll cut your throat," he said; and with no ceremony he went out, and dropped the curtain behind him. nancay looked after him, his face pale with rage. "curse him!" he whispered, rubbing his wrist. "if he were any one else i would teach him! but he would as soon run you through in the presence as in the pre aux clercs! and his brother, the marshal, has the king's ear! and madame catherine's too, which is worse!" he was still fuming, when an officer in the colours of monsieur, the king's brother, entered hurriedly, and keeping his hand on the curtain, looked anxiously round the chamber. as soon as his eye found nancay, his face cleared. "have you the reckoning?" he muttered. "there are seventeen huguenots in the palace besides their highnesses," nancay replied, in the same cautious tone. "not counting two or three who are neither the one thing nor the other. in addition, there are the two montmorencies; but they are to go safe for fear of their brother, who is not in the trap. he is too like his father, the old bench-burner, to be lightly wronged! and, besides, there is pare, who is to go to his majesty's closet as soon as the gates are shut. if the king decides to save any one else, he will send him to his closet. so 'tis all clear and arranged here. if you are forward outside, it will be well! who deals with the gentleman with the tooth-pick?" "the admiral? monsieur, guise, and the grand prior; cosseins and besme have charge. 'tis to be done first. then the provost will raise the town. he will have a body of stout fellows ready at three or four rendezvous, so that the fire may blaze up everywhere at once. marcel, the ex-provost, has the same commission south of the river. orders to light the town as for a frolic have been given, and the halles will be ready." nancay nodded, reflected a moment, and then with an involuntary shudder-- "god!" he exclaimed, "it will shake the world!" "you think so?" "ay, will it not!" his next words showed that he bore tavannes' warning in mind. "for me, my friend, i go in mail to-night," he said. "there will be many a score paid before morning, besides his majesty's. and many a left-handed blow will be struck in the _melee_!" the other crossed himself. "grant none light here!" he said devoutly. and with a last look he nodded and went out. in the doorway he jostled a person who was in the act of entering. it was m. de tignonville, who, seeing nancay at his elbow, saluted him, and stood looking round. the young man's face was flushed, his eyes were bright with unwonted excitement. "m. de rochefoucauld?" he asked eagerly. "he has not left yet?" nancay caught the thrill in his voice, and marked the young man's flushed face and altered bearing. he noted, too, the crumpled paper he carried half-hidden in his hand; and the captain's countenance grew dark. he drew a step nearer, and his hand reached softly for his dagger. but his voice, when he spoke, was smooth as the surface of the pleasure-loving court, smooth as the externals of all things in paris that summer evening. "he is here still," he said. "have you news, m. de tignonville?" "news?" "for m. de rochefoucauld?" tignonville laughed. "no," he said. "i am here to see him to his lodging, that is all. news, captain? what made you think so?" "that which you have in your hand," nancay answered, his fears relieved. the young man blushed to the roots of his hair. "it is not for him," he said. "i can see that, monsieur," nancay answered politely. "he has his successes, but all the billets-doux do not go one way." the young man laughed, a conscious, flattered laugh. he was handsome, with such a face as women love, but there was a lack of ease in the way he wore his court suit. it was a trifle finer, too, than accorded with huguenot taste; or it looked the finer for the way he wore it, even as teligny's and foucauld's velvet capes and stiff brocades lost their richness and became but the adjuncts, fitting and graceful, of the men. odder still, as tignonville laughed, half hiding and half revealing the dainty scented paper in his hand, his clothes seemed smarter and he more awkward than usual. "it is from a lady," he admitted. "but a bit of badinage, i assure you, nothing more!" "understood!" m. de nancay murmured politely. "i congratulate you." "but--" "i say i congratulate you!" "but it is nothing." "oh, i understand. and see, the king is about to rise. go forward, monsieur," he continued benevolently. "a young man should show himself. besides, his majesty likes you well," he added, with a leer. he had an unpleasant sense of humour, had his majesty's captain of the guard; and this evening somewhat more than ordinary on which to exercise it. tignonville held too good an opinion of himself to suspect the other of badinage; and thus encouraged, he pushed his way to the front of the circle. during his absence with his betrothed, the crowd in the chamber had grown thin, the candles had burned an inch shorter in the sconces. but though many who had been there had left, the more select remained, and the king's return to his seat had given the company a fillip. an air of feverish gaiety, common in the unhealthy life of the court, prevailed. at a table abreast of the king, montpensier and marshal cosse were dicing and disputing, with now a yell of glee, and now an oath, that betrayed which way fortune inclined. at the back of the king's chair, chicot, his gentleman-jester, hung over charles's shoulder, now scanning his cards, and now making hideous faces that threw the on-lookers into fits of laughter. farther up the chamber, at the end of the alcove, marshal tavannes--our hannibal's brother--occupied a low stool, which was set opposite the open door of the closet. through this doorway a slender foot, silk-clad, shot now and again into sight; it came, it vanished, it came again, the gallant marshal striving at each appearance to rob it of its slipper, a dainty jewelled thing of crimson velvet. he failed thrice, a peal of laughter greeting each failure. at the fourth essay, he upset his stool and fell to the floor, but held the slipper. and not the slipper only, but the foot. amid a flutter of silken skirts and dainty laces--while the hidden beauty shrilly protested--he dragged first the ankle, and then a shapely leg into sight. the circle applauded; the lady, feeling herself still drawn on, screamed loudly and more loudly. all save the king and his opponent turned to look. and then the sport came to a sudden end. a sinewy hand appeared, interposed, released; for an instant the dark, handsome face of guise looked through the doorway. it was gone as soon as seen; it was there a second only. but more than one recognised it, and wondered. for was not the young duke in evil odour with the king by reason of the attack on the admiral? and had he not been chased from paris only that morning and forbidden to return? they were still wondering, still gazing, when abruptly--as he did all things--charles thrust back his chair. "foucauld, you owe me ten pieces!" he cried with glee, and he slapped the table. "pay, my friend; pay!" "to-morrow, little master; to-morrow!" rochefoucauld answered in the same tone. and he rose to his feet. "to-morrow!" charles repeated. "to-morrow?" and on the word his jaw fell. he looked wildly round. his face was ghastly. "well, sire, and why not?" rochefoucauld answered in astonishment. and in his turn he looked round, wondering; and a chill fell on him. "why not?" he repeated. for a moment no one answered him: the silence in the chamber was intense. where he looked, wherever he looked, he met solemn, wondering eyes, such eyes as gaze on men in their coffins. "what has come to you all?" he cried, with an effort. "what is the jest, for faith, sire, i don't see it?" the king seemed incapable of speech, and it was chicot who filled the gap. "it is pretty apparent," he said, with a rude laugh. "the cock will lay and foucauld will pay--to-morrow!" the young nobleman's colour rose; between him and the gascon gentleman was no love lost. "there are some debts i pay to-day," he cried haughtily. "for the rest, farewell my little master! when one does not understand the jest it is time to be gone." he was halfway to the door, watched by all, when the king spoke. "foucauld!" he cried, in an odd, strangled voice. "foucauld!" and the huguenot favourite turned back, wondering. "one minute!" the king continued, in the same forced voice. "stay till morning--in my closet. it is late now. we'll play away the rest of the night!" "your majesty must excuse me," rochefoucauld answered frankly. "i am dead asleep." "you can sleep in the garde-robe," the king persisted. "thank you for nothing, sire!" was the gay answer. "i know that bed! i shall sleep longer and better in my own." the king shuddered, but strove to hide the movement under a shrug of his shoulders. he turned away. "it is god's will!" he muttered. he was white to the lips. rochefoucauld did not catch the words. "good night, sire," he cried. "farewell, little master." and with a nod here and there, he passed to the door, followed by mergey and chamont, two gentlemen of his suite. nancay raised the curtain with an obsequious gesture. "pardon me, m. le comte," he said, "do you go to his highness's?" "for a few minutes, nancay." "permit me to go with you. the guards may be set." "do so, my friend," rochefoucauld answered. "ah, tignonville, is it you?" "i am come to attend you to your lodging," the young man said. and he ranged up beside the other, as, the curtain fallen behind them, they walked along the gallery. rochefoucauld stopped and laid his hand on tignonville's sleeve. "thanks, dear lad," he said, "but i am going to the princess dowager's. afterwards to his highness's. i may be detained an hour or more. you will not like to wait so long." m. de tignonville's face fell ludicrously. "well, no," he said. "i--i don't think i could wait so long--to-night." "then come to-morrow night," rochefoucauld answered, with good nature. "with pleasure," the other cried heartily, his relief evident. "certainly. with pleasure." and, nodding good night, they parted. while rochefoucauld, with nancay at his side and his gentlemen attending him, passed along the echoing and now empty gallery, the younger man bounded down the stairs to the great hall of the caryatides, his face radiant. he for one was not sleepy. chapter iii. the house next the golden maid. we have it on record that before the comte de la rochefoucauld left the louvre that night he received the strongest hints of the peril which threatened him; and at least one written warning was handed to him by a stranger in black, and by him in turn was communicated to the king of navarre. we are told further that when he took his final leave, about the hour of eleven, he found the courtyard brilliantly lighted, and the three companies of guards--swiss, scotch, and french--drawn up in ranked array from the door of the great hall to the gate which opened on the street. but, the chronicler adds, neither this precaution, sinister as it appeared to some of his suite, nor the grave farewell which rambouillet, from his post at the gate, took of one of his gentlemen, shook that chivalrous soul or sapped its generous confidence. m. de tignonville was young and less versed in danger than the governor of rochelle; with him, had he seen so much, it might have been different. but he left the louvre an hour earlier--at a time when the precincts of the palace, gloomy-seeming to us in the light cast by coming events, wore their wonted aspect. his thoughts, moreover, as he crossed the courtyard, were otherwise employed. so much so, indeed, that though he signed to his two servants to follow him, he seemed barely conscious what he was doing; nor did he shake off his reverie until he reached the corner of the rue baillet. here the voices of the swiss who stood on guard opposite coligny's lodgings, at the end of the rue bethizy, could be plainly heard. they had kindled a fire in an iron basket set in the middle of the road, and knots of them were visible in the distance, moving to and fro about their piled arms. tignonville paused before he came within the radius of the firelight, and, turning, bade his servants take their way home. "i shall follow, but i have business first," he added curtly. the elder of the two demurred. "the streets are not too safe," he said. "in two hours or less, my lord, it will be midnight. and then--" "go, booby; do you think i am a child?" his master retorted angrily. "i've my sword and can use it. i shall not be long. and do you hear, men, keep a still tongue, will you?" the men, country fellows, obeyed reluctantly, and with a full intention of sneaking after him the moment he had turned his back. but he suspected them of this, and stood where he was until they had passed the fire, and could no longer detect his movements. then he plunged quickly into the rue baillet, gained through it the rue du roule, and traversing that also, turned to the right into the rue ferronerie, the main thoroughfare, east and west, of paris. here he halted in front of the long, dark outer wall of the cemetery of the innocents, in which, across the tombstones and among the sepulchres of dead paris, the living paris of that day, bought and sold, walked, gossiped, and made love. about him things were to be seen that would have seemed stranger to him had he been less strange to the city. from the quarter of the markets north of him, a quarter which fenced in the cemetery on two sides, the same dull murmur proceeded, which mademoiselle de vrillac had remarked an hour earlier. the sky above the cemetery glowed with reflected light, the cause of which was not far to seek, for every window of the tall houses that overlooked it, and the huddle of booths about it, contributed a share of the illumination. at an hour late even for paris, an hour when honest men should have been sunk in slumber, this strange brilliance did for a moment perplex him; but the past week had been so full of fetes, of masques and frolics, often devised on the moment and dependent on the king's whim, that he set this also down to such a cause, and wondered no more. the lights in the houses did not serve the purpose he had in his mind, but beside the closed gate of the cemetery, and between two stalls, was a votive lamp burning before an image of the mother and child. he crossed to this, and assuring himself by a glance to right and left that he stood in no danger from prowlers, he drew a note from his breast. it had been slipped into his hand in the gallery before he saw mademoiselle to her lodging; it had been in his possession barely an hour. but brief as its contents were, and easily committed to memory, he had perused it thrice already. "at the house next the golden maid, rue cinq diamants, an hour before midnight, you may find the door open should you desire to talk farther with c. st. l." as he read it for the fourth time the light of the lamp fell athwart his face; and even as his fine clothes had never seemed to fit him worse than when he faintly denied the imputations of gallantry launched at him by nancay, so his features had never looked less handsome than they did now. the glow of vanity which warmed his cheek as he read the message, the smile of conceit which wreathed his lips, bespoke a nature not of the most noble; or the lamp did him less than justice. presently he kissed the note, and hid it. he waited until the clock of st. jacques struck the hour before midnight; and then moving forward, he turned to the right by way of the narrow neck leading to the rue lombard. he walked in the kennel here, his sword in his hand and his eyes looking to right and left; for the place was notorious for robberies. but though he saw more than one figure lurking in a doorway or under the arch that led to a passage, it vanished on his nearer approach. in less than a minute he reached the southern end of the street that bore the odd title of the five diamonds. situate in the crowded quarter of the butchers, and almost in the shadow of their famous church, this street--which farther north was continued in the rue quimcampoix--presented in those days a not uncommon mingling of poverty and wealth. on one side of the street a row of lofty gabled houses, built under francis the first, sheltered persons of good condition; on the other, divided from these by the width of the road and a reeking kennel, a row of peat-houses, the hovels of cobblers and sausage-makers, leaned against shapeless timber houses which tottered upwards in a medley of sagging roofs and bulging gutters. tignonville was strange to the place, and nine nights out of ten he would have been at a disadvantage. but, thanks to the tapers that to-night shone in many windows, he made out enough to see that he need search only the one side; and with a beating heart he passed along the row of newer houses, looking eagerly for the sign of the golden maid. he found it at last; and then for a moment he stood puzzled. the note said, next door to the golden maid, but it did not say on which side. he scrutinised the nearer house, but he saw nothing to determine him; and he was proceeding to the farther, when he caught sight of two men, who, ambushed behind a horse-block on the opposite side of the roadway, seemed to be watching his movements. their presence flurried him; but much to his relief his next glance at the houses showed him that the door of the farther one was unlatched. it stood slightly ajar, permitting a beam of light to escape into the street. he stepped quickly to it--the sooner he was within the house the better--pushed the door open and entered. as soon as he was inside he tried to close the entrance behind him, but he found he could not; the door would not shut. after a brief trial he abandoned the attempt and passed quickly on, through a bare lighted passage which led to the foot of a staircase, equally bare. he stood at this point an instant and listened, in the hope that madame's maid would come to him. at first he heard nothing save his own breathing; then a gruff voice from above startled him. "this way, monsieur," it said. "you are early, but not too soon!" so madame trusted her footman! m. de tignonville shrugged his shoulders; but after all, it was no affair of his, and he went up. halfway to the top, however, he stood, an oath on his lips. two men had entered by the open door below--even as he had entered! and as quietly! the imprudence of it! the imprudence of leaving the door so that it could not be closed! he turned, and descended to meet them, his teeth set, his hand on his sword, one conjecture after another whirling in his brain. was he beset? was it a trap? was it a rival? was it chance? two steps he descended; and then the voice he had heard before cried again, but more imperatively-- "no, monsieur, this way! did you not hear me? this way, and be quick, if you please. by-and-by there will be a crowd, and then the more we have dealt with the better!" he knew now that he had made a mistake, that he had entered the wrong house; and naturally his impulse was to continue his descent and secure his retreat. but the pause had brought the two men who had entered face to face with him, and they showed no signs of giving way. on the contrary. "the room is above, monsieur," the foremost said, in a matter-of-fact tone, and with a slight salutation. "after you, if you please," and he signed to him to return. he was a burly man, grim and truculent in appearance, and his follower was like him. tignonville hesitated, then turned and ascended. but as soon as he had reached the landing where they could pass him, he turned again. "i have made a mistake, i think," he said. "i have entered the wrong house." "are you for the house next the golden maid, monsieur?" "yes." "rue cinq diamants, quarter of the boucherie?" "yes." "no mistake, then," the stout man replied firmly. "you are early, that is all. you have arms, i see. maillard!"--to the person whose voice tignonville had heard at the head of the stairs--"a white sleeve, and a cross for monsieur's hat, and his name on the register. come, make a beginning! make a beginning, man." "to be sure, monsieur. all is ready." "then lose no time, i say. here are others, also early in the good cause. gentlemen, welcome! welcome all who are for the true faith! death to the heretics! 'kill, and no quarter!' is the word to-night!" "death to the heretics!" the last comers cried in chorus. "kill and no quarter! at what hour, m. le prevot?" "at daybreak," the provost answered importantly. "but have no fear, the tocsin will sound. the king and our good man m. de guise have all in hand. a white sleeve, a white cross, and a sharp knife shall rid paris of the vermin! gentlemen of the quarter, the word of the night is 'kill, and no quarter! death to the huguenots!'" "death! death to the huguenots! kill, and no quarter!" a dozen--the room was beginning to fill--waved their weapons and echoed the cry. tignonville had been fortunate enough to apprehend the position--and the peril in which he stood--before maillard advanced to him bearing a white linen sleeve. in the instant of discovery his heart had stood a moment, the blood had left his cheeks; but with some faults, he was no coward, and he managed to hide his emotion. he held out his left arm, and suffered the beadle to pass the sleeve over it and to secure the white linen above the elbow. then at a gesture he gave up his velvet cap, and saw it decorated with a white cross of the same material. "now the register, monsieur," maillard continued briskly; and waving him in the direction of a clerk, who sat at the end of the long table, having a book and a ink-horn before him, he turned to the next comer. tignonville would fain have avoided the ordeal of the register, but the clerk's eye was on him. he had been fortunate so far, but he knew that the least breath of suspicion would destroy him, and summoning his wits together he gave his name in a steady voice. "anne desmartins." it was his mother's maiden name, and the first that came into his mind. "of paris?" "recently; by birth, of the limousin." "good, monsieur," the clerk answered, writing in the name. and he turned to the next. "and you, my friend?" chapter iv. the eve of the feast. it was tignonville's salvation that the men who crowded the long white- walled room, and exchanged vile boasts under the naked flaring lights, were of all classes. there were butchers, natives of the surrounding quarter whom the scent of blood had drawn from their lairs; and there were priests with hatchet faces, who whispered in the butchers' ears. there were gentlemen of the robe, and plain mechanics, rich merchants in their gowns, and bare-armed ragpickers, sleek choristers, and shabby led- captains; but differ as they might in other points, in one thing all were alike. from all, gentle or simple, rose the same cry for blood, the same aspiration to be first equipped for the fray. in one corner a man of rank stood silent and apart, his hand on his sword, the working of his face alone betraying the storm that reigned within. in another, a norman horse-dealer talked in low whispers with two thieves. in a third, a gold- wire drawer addressed an admiring group from the sorbonne; and meantime the middle of the floor grew into a seething mass of muttering, scowling men, through whom the last comers, thrust as they might, had much ado to force their way. and from all under the low ceiling rose a ceaseless hum, though none spoke loud. "kill! kill! kill!" was the burden; the accompaniment such profanities and blasphemies as had long disgraced the paris pulpits, and day by day had fanned the bigotry--already at a white heat--of the parisian populace. tignonville turned sick as he listened, and would fain have closed his ears. but for his life he dared not. and presently a cripple in a beggar's garb, a dwarfish, filthy creature with matted hair, twitched his sleeve, and offered him a whetstone. "are you sharp, noble sir?" he asked, with a leer. "are you sharp? it's surprising how the edge goes on the bone. a cut and thrust? well, every man to his taste. but give me a broad butcher's knife and i'll ask no help, be it man, woman, or child!" a bystander, a lean man in rusty black, chuckled as he listened. "but the woman or the child for choice, eh, jehan?" he said. and he looked to tignonville to join in the jest. "ay, give me a white throat for choice!" the cripple answered, with horrible zest. "and there'll be delicate necks to prick to-night! lord, i think i hear them squeal! you don't need it, sir?" he continued, again proffering the whetstone. "no? then i'll give my blade another whet, in the name of our lady, the saints, and good father pezelay!" "ay, and give me a turn!" the lean man cried, proffering his weapon. "may i die if i do not kill one of the accursed for every finger of my hands!" "and toe of my feet!" the cripple answered, not to be outdone. "and toe of my feet! a full score!" "'tis according to your sins!" the other, who had something of the air of a churchman, answered. "the more heretics killed, the more sins forgiven. remember that, brother, and spare not if your soul be burdened! they blaspheme god and call him paste! in the paste of their own blood," he continued ferociously, "i will knead them and roll them out, saith the good father pezelay, my master!" the cripple crossed himself. "whom god keep," he said. "he is a good man. but you are looking ill, noble sir?" he continued, peering curiously at the young huguenot. "'tis the heat," tignonville muttered. "the night is stifling, and the lights make it worse. i will go nearer the door." he hoped to escape them; he had some hope even of escaping from the room and giving the alarm. but when he had forced his way to the threshold, he found it guarded by two pikemen; and glancing back to see if his movements were observed--for he knew that his agitation might have awakened suspicion--he found that the taller of the two whom he had left, the black-garbed man with the hungry face, was watching him a-tiptoe, over the shoulders of the crowd. with that, and the sense of his impotence, the lights began to swim before his eyes. the catastrophe that overhung his party, the fate so treacherously prepared for all whom he loved and all with whom his fortunes were bound up, confused his brain almost to delirium. he strove to think, to calculate chances, to imagine some way in which he might escape from the room, or from a window might cry the alarm. but he could not bring his mind to a point. instead, in lightning flashes he foresaw what must happen: his betrothed in the hands of the murderers; the fair face that had smiled on him frozen with terror; brave men, the fighters of montauban, the defenders of angely, strewn dead through the dark lanes of the city. and now a gust of passion, and now a shudder of fear, seized him; and in any other assembly his agitation must have led to detection. but in that room were many twitching faces and trembling hands. murder, cruel, midnight, and most foul, wrung even from the murderers her toll of horror. while some, to hide the nervousness they felt, babbled of what they would do, others betrayed by the intentness with which they awaited the signal, the dreadful anticipations that possessed their souls. before he had formed any plan, a movement took place near the door. the stairs shook beneath the sudden trampling of feet, a voice cried "de par le roi! de par le roi!" and the babel of the room died down. the throng swayed and fell back on either hand, and marshal tavannes entered, wearing half armour, with a white sash; he was followed by six or eight gentlemen in like guise. amid cries of "jarnac! jarnac!"--for to him the credit of that famous fight, nominally won by the king's brother, was popularly given--he advanced up the room, met the provost of the merchants, and began to confer with him. apparently he asked the latter to select some men who could be trusted on a special mission, for the provost looked round and beckoned to his side one or two of higher rank than the herd, and then one or two of the most truculent aspect. tignonville trembled lest he should be singled out. he had hidden himself as well as he could at the rear of the crowd by the door; but his dress, so much above the common, rendered him conspicuous. he fancied that the provost's eye ranged the crowd for him; and to avoid it and efface himself he moved a pace to his left. the step was fatal. it saved him from the provost, but it brought him face to face and eye to eye with count hannibal, who stood in the first rank at his brother's elbow. tavannes stared an instant as if he doubted his eyesight. then, as doubt gave slow place to certainty, and surprise to amazement, he smiled. and after a moment he looked another way. tignonville's heart gave a great bump and seemed to stand still. the lights whirled before his eyes, there was a roaring in his ears. he waited for the word that should denounce him. it did not come. and still it did not come; and marshal tavannes was turning. yes, turning, and going; the provost, bowing low, was attending him to the door; his suite were opening on either side to let him pass. and count hannibal? count hannibal was following also, as if nothing had occurred. as if he had seen nothing! the young man caught his breath. was it possible that he had imagined the start of recognition, the steady scrutiny, the sinister smile? no; for as tavannes followed the others, he hung an instant on his heel, their eyes met again, and once more he smiled. in the next breath he was gone through the doorway, his spurs rang on the stairs; and the babel of the crowd, checked by the great man's presence, broke out anew, and louder. tignonville shuddered. he was saved as by a miracle; saved, he did not know how. but the respite, though its strangeness diverted his thoughts for a while, brought short relief. the horrors which impended over others surged afresh into his mind, and filled him with a maddening sense of impotence. to be one hour, only one short half-hour without! to run through the sleeping streets, and scream in the dull ears which a king's flatteries had stopped as with wool! to go up and down and shake into life the guests whose royal lodgings daybreak would turn to a shambles reeking with their blood! they slept, the gentle teligny, the brave pardaillan, the gallant rochefoucauld, piles the hero of st. jean, while the cruel city stirred rustling about them, and doom crept whispering to the door. they slept, they and a thousand others, gentle and simple, young and old; while the half-mad valois shifted between two opinions, and the italian woman, accursed daughter of an accursed race, cried, "hark!" at her window, and looked eastwards for the dawn. and the women? the woman he was to marry? and the others? in an access of passion he thrust aside those who stood between, he pushed his way, disregarding complaints, disregarding opposition, to the door. but the pikes lay across it, and he could not utter a syllable to save his life. he would have flung himself on the doorkeepers, for he was losing control of himself; but as he drew back for the spring, a hand clutched his sleeve, and a voice he loathed hummed in his ear. "no, fair play, noble sir; fair play!" the cripple jehan muttered, forcibly drawing him aside. "all start together, and it's no man's loss. but if there is any little business," he continued, lowering his tone and peering with a cunning look into the other's face, "of your own, noble sir, or your friends', anything or anybody you want despatched, count on me. it were better, perhaps, you didn't appear in it yourself, and a man you can trust--" "what do you mean?" the young man cried, recoiling from him. "no need to look surprised, noble sir," the lean man, who had joined them, answered in a soothing tone. "who kills to-night does god service, and who serves god much may serve himself a little. 'thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn,' says good father pezelay." "hear, hear!" the cripple chimed in eagerly, his impatience such that he danced on his toes. "he preaches as well as the good father his master! so frankly, noble sir, what is it? what is it? a woman grown ugly? a rich man grown old, with perchance a will in his chest? or a young heir that stands in my lord's way? whichever it be, or whatever it be, trust me and our friend here, and my butcher's gully shall cut the knot." tignonville shook his head. "but something there is," the lean man persisted obstinately; and he cast a suspicious glance at tignonville's clothes. it was evident that the two had discussed him, and the motives of his presence there. "have the dice proved fickle, my lord, and are you for the jewellers' shops on the bridge to fill your purse again? if so, take my word, it were better to go three than one, and we'll enlist." "ay, we know shops on the bridge where you can plunge your arm elbow-deep in gold," the cripple muttered, his eyes sparkling greedily. "there's baillet's, noble sir! there's a shop for you! and there's the man's shop who works for the king. he's lame like me. and i know the way to all. oh, it will be a merry night if they ring before the dawn. it must be near daybreak now. and what's that?" ay, what was it? a score of voices called for silence; a breathless hush fell on the crowd. a moment the fiercest listened, with parted lips and starting eyes. then, "it was the bell!" cried one, "let us out!" "it was not!" cried another. "it was a pistol shot!" "anyhow let us out!" the crowd roared in chorus; "let us out!" and they pressed in a furious mass towards the door, as if they would force it, signal or no signal. but the pikemen stood fast, and the throng, checked in their first rush, turned on one another, and broke into wrangling and disputing; boasting, and calling heaven and the saints to witness how thoroughly, how pitilessly, how remorselessly they would purge paris of this leprosy when the signal did sound. until again above the babel a man cried "silence!" and again they listened. and this time, dulled by walls and distance, but unmistakable by the ears of fear or hate, the heavy note of a bell came to them on the hot night air. it was the boom, sullen and menacing, of the death signal. the doorkeepers lowered their pikes, and with a wild rush, as of wolves swarming on their prey, the band stormed the door, and thrust and struggled and battled a way down the narrow staircase, and along the narrow passage. "a bas les huguenots! mort aux huguenots!" they shouted; and shrieking, sweating, spurning with vile hands, viler faces, they poured pell-mell into the street, and added their clamour to the boom of the tocsin that, as by magic and in a moment, turned the streets of paris into a hell of blood and cruelty. for as it was here, so it was in a dozen other quarters. quickly as they streamed out--and to have issued more quickly would have been impossible--fiercely as they pushed and fought and clove their way, tignonville was of the foremost. and for a moment, seeing the street clear before him and almost empty, the huguenot thought that he might do something. he might outstrip the stream of rapine, he might carry the alarm; at worst he might reach his betrothed before harm befell her. but when he had sped fifty yards, his heart sank. true, none passed him; but under the spell of the alarm-bell the stones themselves seemed to turn to men. houses, courts, alleys, the very churches vomited men. in a twinkling the street was alive with men, roared with them as with a rushing tide, gleamed with their lights and weapons, thundered with the volume of their thousand voices. he was no longer ahead, men were running before him, behind him, on his right hand and on his left. in every side-street, every passage, men were running; and not men only, but women, children, furious creatures without age or sex. and all the time the bell tolled overhead, tolled faster and faster, and louder and louder; and shots and screams, and the clash of arms, and the fall of strong doors began to swell the maelstrom of sound. he was in the rue st. honore now, and speeding westward. but the flood still rose with him, and roared abreast of him. nay, it outstripped him. when he came, panting, within sight of his goal, and lacked but a hundred paces of it, he found his passage barred by a dense mass of people moving slowly to meet him. in the heart of the press the light of a dozen torches shone on half as many riders mailed and armed; whose eyes, as they moved on, and the furious gleaming eyes of the rabble about them, never left the gabled roofs on their right. on these from time to time a white-clad figure showed itself, and passed from chimney-stack to chimney- stack, or, stooping low, ran along the parapet. every time that this happened, the men on horseback pointed upwards and the mob foamed with rage. tignonville groaned, but he could not help. unable to go forward, he turned, and with others hurrying, shouting, and brandishing weapons, he pressed into the rue du roule, passed through it, and gained the bethizy. but here, as he might have foreseen, all passage was barred at the hotel ponthieu by a horde of savages, who danced and yelled and sang songs round the admiral's body, which lay in the middle of the way; while to right and left men were bursting into houses and forcing new victims into the street. the worst had happened there, and he turned panting, regained the rue st. honore, and, crossing it and turning left-handed, darted through side streets until he came again into the main thoroughfare a little beyond the croix du tiroir, that marked the corner of mademoiselle's house. here his last hope left him. the street swarmed with bands of men hurrying to and fro as in a sacked city. the scum of the halles, the rabble of the quarter poured this way and that, here at random, there swayed and directed by a few knots of men-at-arms, whose corselets reflected the glare of a hundred torches. at one time and within sight, three or four houses were being stormed. on every side rose heart-rending cries, mingled with brutal laughter, with savage jests, with cries of "to the river!" the most cruel of cities had burst its bounds and was not to be stayed; nor would be stayed until the seine ran red to the sea, and leagues below, in pleasant normandy hamlets, men, for fear of the pestilence, pushed the corpses from the bridges with poles and boat-hooks. all this tignonville saw, though his eyes, leaping the turmoil, looked only to the door at which he had left mademoiselle a few hours earlier. there a crowd of men pressed and struggled; but from the spot where he stood he could see no more. that was enough, however. rage nerved him, and despair; his world was dying round him. if he could not save her he would avenge her. recklessly he plunged into the tumult; blade in hand, with vigorous blows he thrust his way through, his white sleeve and the white cross in his hat gaining him passage until he reached the fringe of the band who beset the door. here his first attempt to pass failed; and he might have remained hampered by the crowd, if a squad of archers had not ridden up. as they spurred to the spot, heedless over whom they rode, he clutched a stirrup, and was borne with them into the heart of the crowd. in a twinkling he stood on the threshold of the house, face to face and foot to foot with count hannibal, who stood also on the threshold, but with his back to the door, which, unbarred and unbolted, gaped open behind him. chapter v. rough wooing. the young man had caught the delirium that was abroad that night. the rage of the trapped beast was in his heart, his hand held a sword. to strike blindly, to strike without question the first who withstood him was the wild-beast instinct; and if count hannibal had not spoken on the instant, the marshal's brother had said his last word in the world. yet as he stood there, a head above the crowd, he seemed unconscious alike of tignonville and the point that all but pricked his breast. swart and grim-visaged, his harsh features distorted by the glare which shone upon him, he looked beyond the huguenot to the sea of tossing arms and raging faces that surged about the saddles of the horsemen. it was to these he spoke. "begone, dogs!" he cried, in a voice that startled the nearest, "or i will whip you away with my stirrup-leathers! do you hear? begone! this house is not for you! burn, kill, plunder where you will, but go hence!" "but 'tis on the list!" one of the wretches yelled. "'tis on the list!" and he pushed forward until he stood at tignonville's elbow. "and has no cross!" shrieked another, thrusting himself forward in his turn. "see you, let us by, whoever you are! in the king's name, kill! it has no cross!" "then," tavannes thundered, "will i nail you for a cross to the front of it! no cross, say you? i will make one of you, foul crow!" and as he spoke, his arm shot out; the man recoiled, his fellow likewise. but one of the mounted archers took up the matter. "nay, but, my lord," he said--he knew tavannes--"it is the king's will there be no favour shown to-night to any, small or great. and this house is registered, and is full of heretics." "and has no cross!" the rabble urged in chorus. and they leapt up and down in their impatience, and to see the better. "and has no cross!" they persisted. they could understand that. of what use crosses, if they were not to kill where there was no cross? daylight was not plainer. tavannes' face grew dark, and he shook his finger at the archer who had spoken. "rogue," he cried, "does the king's will run here only? are there no other houses to sack or men to kill, that you must beard me? and favour? you will have little of mine, if you do not budge and take your vile tail with you! off! or must i cry 'tavannes!' and bid my people sweep you from the streets?" the foremost rank hesitated, awed by his manner and his name; while the rearmost, attracted by the prospect of easier pillage, had gone off already. the rest wavered; and another and another broke away. the archer who had put himself forward saw which way the wind was blowing, and he shrugged his shoulders. "well, my lord, as you will," he said sullenly. "all the same i would advise you to close the door and bolt and bar. we shall not be the last to call to-day." and he turned his horse in ill-humour, and forced it, snorting and plunging, through the crowd. "bolt and bar?" tavannes cried after him in fury. "see you my answer to that!" and turning on the threshold, "within there!" he cried. "open the shutters and set lights, and the table! light, i say; light! and lay on quickly, if you value your lives! and throw open, for i sup with your mistress to-night, if it rain blood without! do you hear me, rogues? set on!" he flung the last word at the quaking servants; then he turned again to the street. he saw that the crowd was melting, and, looking in tignonville's face, he laughed aloud. "does monsieur sup with us?" he said. "to complete the party? or will he choose to sup with our friends yonder? it is for him to say. i confess, for my part," with an awful smile, "their hospitality seems a trifle crude, and boisterous." tignonville looked behind him and shuddered. the same horde which had so lately pressed about the door had found a victim lower down the street, and, as tavannes spoke, came driving back along the roadway, a mass of tossing lights and leaping, running figures, from the heart of which rose the screams of a creature in torture. so terrible were the sounds that tignonville leant half swooning against the door-post; and even the iron heart of tavannes seemed moved for a moment. for a moment only: then he looked at his companion, and his lip curled. "you'll join us, i think?" he said, with an undisguised sneer. "then, after you, monsieur. they are opening the shutters. doubtless the table is laid, and mademoiselle is expecting us. after you, monsieur, if you please. a few hours ago i should have gone first, for you, in this house"--with a sinister smile--"were at home! now, we have changed places." whatever he meant by the gibe--and some smack of an evil jest lurked in his tone--he played the host so far as to urge his bewildered companion along the passage and into the living-chamber on the left, where he had seen from without that his orders to light and lay were being executed. a dozen candles shone on the board, and lit up the apartment. what the house contained of food and wine had been got together and set on the table; from the low, wide window, beetle-browed and diamond-paned, which extended the whole length of the room and looked on the street at the height of a man's head above the roadway, the shutters had been removed--doubtless by trembling and reluctant fingers. to such eyes of passers-by as looked in, from the inferno of driving crowds and gleaming weapons which prevailed outside--and not outside only, but throughout paris--the brilliant room and the laid table must have seemed strange indeed! to tignonville, all that had happened, all that was happening, seemed a dream: a dream his entrance under the gentle impulsion of this man who dominated him; a dream mademoiselle standing behind the table with blanched face and stony eyes; a dream the cowering servants huddled in a corner beyond her; a dream his silence, her silence, the moment of waiting before count hannibal spoke. when he did speak it was to count the servants. "one, two, three, four, five," he said. "and two of them women. mademoiselle is but poorly attended. are there not"--and he turned to her--"some lacking?" the girl opened her lips twice, but no sound issued. the third time-- "two went out," she muttered in a hoarse, strangled voice, "and have not returned." "and have not returned?" he answered, raising his eyebrows. "then i fear we must not wait for them. we might wait long!" and turning sharply to the panic-stricken servants, "go you to your places! do you not see that mademoiselle waits to be served?" the girl shuddered and spoke. "do you wish me," she muttered, in the same strangled tone, "to play this farce--to the end?" "the end may be better, mademoiselle, than you think," he answered, bowing. and then to the miserable servants, who hung back afraid to leave the shelter of their mistress's skirts, "to your places!" he cried. "set mademoiselle's chair. are you so remiss on other days? if so," with a look of terrible meaning, "you will be the less loss! now, mademoiselle, may i have the honour? and when we are at table we can talk." he extended his hand, and, obedient to his gesture, she moved to the place at the head of the table, but without letting her fingers come into contact with his. he gave no sign that he noticed this, but he strode to the place on her right, and signed to tignonville to take that on her left. "will you not be seated?" he continued. for she kept her feet. she turned her head stiffly, until for the first time her eyes looked into his. a shudder more violent than the last shook her. "had you not better--kill us at once?" she whispered. the blood had forsaken even her lips. her face was the face of a statue--white, beautiful, lifeless. "i think not," he said gravely. "be seated, and let us hope for the best. and you, sir," he continued, turning to carlat, "serve your mistress with wine. she needs it." the steward filled for her, and then for each of the men, his shaking hand spilling as much as it poured. nor was this strange. above the din and uproar of the street, above the crash of distant doors, above the tocsin that still rang from the reeling steeple of st. germain's, the great bell of the palais on the island had just begun to hurl its note of doom upon the town. a woman crouching at the end of the chamber burst into hysterical weeping, but, at a glance from tavannes' terrible eye, was mute again. tignonville found voice at last. "have they--killed the admiral?" he muttered, his eyes on the table. "m. coligny? an hour ago." "and teligny?" "him also." "m. de rochefoucauld?" "they are dealing with m. le comte now, i believe," tavannes answered. "he had his chance and cast it away." and he began to eat. the man at the table shuddered. the woman continued to look before her, but her lips moved as if she prayed. suddenly a rush of feet, a roar of voices surged past the window; for a moment the glare of the torches, which danced ruddily on the walls of the room, showed a severed head borne above the multitude on a pike. mademoiselle, with a low cry, made an effort to rise, but count hannibal grasped her wrist, and she sank back half fainting. then the nearer clamour sank a little, and the bells, unchallenged, flung their iron tongues above the maddened city. in the east the dawn was growing; soon its grey light would fall on cold hearths, on battered doors and shattered weapons, on hordes of wretches drunk with greed and hate. when he could be heard, "what are you going to do with us?" the man asked hoarsely. "that depends," count hannibal replied, after a moment's thought. "on what?" "on mademoiselle de vrillac." the other's eyes gleamed with passion. he leaned forward. "what has she to do with it?" he cried. and he stood up and sat down again in a breath. tavannes raised his eyebrows with a blandness that seemed at odds with his harsh visage. "i will answer that question by another question," he replied. "how many are there in the house, my friend?" "you can count." tavannes counted again. "seven?" he said. tignonville nodded impatiently. "seven lives?" "well?" "well, monsieur, you know the king's will?" "i can guess it," the other replied furiously. and he cursed the king, and the king's mother, calling her jezebel. "you can guess it?" tavannes answered; and then with sudden heat, as if that which he had to say could not be said even by him in cold blood, "nay, you know it! you heard it from the archer at the door. you heard him say, 'no favour, no quarter for man, for woman, or for child. so says the king.' you heard it, but you fence with me. foucauld, with whom his majesty played to-night, hand to hand and face to face--foucauld is dead! and you think to live? you?" he continued, lashing himself into passion. "i know not by what chance you came where i saw you an hour gone, nor by what chance you came by that and that"--pointing with accusing finger to the badges the huguenot wore. "but this i know! i have but to cry your name from yonder casement, nay, monsieur, i have but to stand aside when the mob go their rounds from house to house, as they will go presently, and you will perish as certainly as you have hitherto escaped!" for the second time mademoiselle turned and looked at him. "then," she whispered, with white lips, "to what end this--mockery?" "to the end that seven lives may be saved, mademoiselle," he answered, bowing. "at a price?" she muttered. "at a price," he answered. "a price which women do not find it hard to pay--at court. 'tis paid every day for pleasure or a whim, for rank or the _entree_, for robes and gewgaws. few, mademoiselle, are privileged to buy a life; still fewer, seven!" she began to tremble. "i would rather die--seven times!" she cried, her voice quivering. and she tried to rise, but sat down again. "and these?" he said, indicating the servants. "far, far rather!" she repeated passionately. "and monsieur? and monsieur?" he urged with stern persistence, while his eyes passed lightly from her to tignonville and back to her again, their depths inscrutable. "if you love monsieur, mademoiselle, and i believe you do--" "i can die with him!" she cried. "and he with you?" she writhed in her chair. "and he with you?" count hannibal repeated, with emphasis; and he thrust forward his head. "for that is the question. think, think, mademoiselle. it is in my power to save from death him whom you love; to save you; to save this _canaille_, if it so please you. it is in my power to save him, to save you, to save all; and i will save all--at a price! if, on the other hand, you deny me that price, i will as certainly leave all to perish, as perish they will, before the sun that is now rising sets to-night!" mademoiselle looked straight before her, the flicker of a dreadful prescience in her eyes. "and the price?" she muttered. "the price?" "you, mademoiselle." "i?" "yes, you! nay, why fence with me?" he continued gently. "you knew it, you have said it. you have read it in my eyes these seven days." she did not speak, or move, or seem to breathe. as he said, she had foreseen, she had known the answer. but tignonville, it seemed, had not. he sprang to his feet. "m. de tavannes," he cried, "you are a villain!" "monsieur?" "you are a villain! but you shall pay for this!" the young man continued vehemently. "you shall not leave this room alive! you shall pay for this insult!" "insult?" tavannes answered in apparent surprise; and then, as if comprehension broke upon him, "ah! monsieur mistakes me," he said, with a broad sweep of the hand. "and mademoiselle also, perhaps? oh! be content, she shall have bell, book, and candle; she shall be tied as tight as holy church can tie her! or, if she please, and one survive, she shall have a priest of her own church--you call it a church? she shall have whichever of the two will serve her better. 'tis one to me! but for paying me, monsieur," he continued, with irony in voice and manner; "when, i pray you? in eternity? for if you refuse my offer, you have done with time. now? i have but to sound this whistle"--he touched a silver whistle which hung at his breast--"and there are those within hearing will do your business before you make two passes. dismiss the notion, sir, and understand. you are in my power. paris runs with blood, as noble as yours, as innocent as hers. if you would not perish with the rest, decide! and quickly! for what you have seen are but the forerunners, what you have heard are but the gentle whispers that predict the gale. do not parley too long; so long that even i may no longer save you." "i would rather die!" mademoiselle moaned, her face covered. "i would rather die!" "and see him die?" he answered quietly. "and see these die? think, think, child!" "you will not do it!" she gasped. she shook from head to foot. "i shall do nothing," he answered firmly. "i shall but leave you to your fate, and these to theirs. in the king's teeth i dare save my wife and her people; but no others. you must choose--and quickly." one of the frightened women--it was mademoiselle's tiring-maid, a girl called javette--made a movement, as if to throw herself at her mistress's feet. tignonville drove her to her place with a word. he turned to count hannibal. "but, m. le comte," he said, "you must be mad! mad, to wish to marry her in this way! you do not love her. you do not want her. what is she to you more than other women?" "what is she to you more than other women?" tavannes retorted, in a tone so sharp and incisive that tignonville started, and a faint touch of colour crept into the wan cheek of the girl, who sat between them, the prize of the contest. "what is she more to you than other women? is she more? and yet--you want her!" "she is more to me," tignonville answered. "is she?" the other retorted, with a ring of keen meaning. "is she? but we bandy words and the storm is rising, as i warned you it would rise. enough for you that i _do_ want her. enough for you that i _will_ have her. she shall be the wife, the willing wife, of hannibal de tavannes--or i leave her to her fate, and you to yours!" "ah, god!" she moaned. "the willing wife!" "ay, mademoiselle, the willing wife," he answered sternly. "or no man's wife!" chapter vi. who touches tavannes? in saying that the storm was rising count hannibal had said no more than the truth. a new mob had a minute before burst from the eastward into the rue st. honore; and the roar of its thousand voices swelled louder than the importunate clangour of the bells. behind its moving masses the dawn of a new day--sunday, the th of august, the feast of st. bartholomew--was breaking over the bastille, as if to aid the crowd in its cruel work. the gabled streets, the lanes, and gothic courts, the stifling wynds, where the work awaited the workers, still lay in twilight; still the gleam of the torches, falling on the house-fronts, heralded the coming of the crowd. but the dawn was growing, the sun was about to rise. soon the day would be here, giving up the lurking fugitive whom darkness, more pitiful, had spared, and stamping with legality the horrors that night had striven to hide. and with day, with the full light, killing would grow more easy, escape more hard. already they were killing on the bridge where the rich goldsmiths lived, on the wharves, on the river. they were killing at the louvre, in the courtyard under the king's eyes, and below the windows of the medicis. they were killing in st. martin and st. denis and st. antoine; wherever hate, or bigotry, or private malice impelled the hand. from the whole city went up a din of lamentation, and wrath, and foreboding. from the cour des miracles, from the markets, from the boucherie, from every haunt of crime and misery, hordes of wretched creatures poured forth; some to rob on their own account, and where they listed, none gainsaying; more to join themselves to one of the armed bands whose business it was to go from street to street, and house to house, quelling resistance, and executing through paris the high justice of the king. it was one of these swollen bands which had entered the street while tavannes spoke; nor could he have called to his aid a more powerful advocate. as the deep "a bas! a bas!" rolled like thunder along the fronts of the houses, as the more strident "tuez! tuez!" drew nearer and nearer, and the lights of the oncoming multitude began to flicker on the shuttered gables, the fortitude of the servants gave way. madame carlat, shivering in every limb, burst into moaning; the tiring-maid, javette, flung herself in terror at mademoiselle's knees, and, writhing herself about them, shrieked to her to save her, only to save her! one of the men moved forward on impulse, as if he would close the shutters; and only old carlat remained silent, praying mutely with moving lips and a stern, set face. and count hannibal? as the glare of the links in the street grew brighter, and ousted the sickly daylight, his form seemed to dilate. he stilled the shrieking woman by a glance. "choose! mademoiselle, and quickly!" he said. "for i can only save my wife and her people! quick, for the pinch is coming, and 'twill be no boy's play." a shot, a scream from the street, a rush of racing feet before the window seconded his words. "quick, mademoiselle!" he cried. and his breath came a little faster. "quick, before it be too late! will you save life, or will you kill?" she looked at her lover with eyes of agony, dumbly questioning him. but he made no sign, and only tavannes marked the look. "monsieur has done what he can to save himself," he said, with a sneer. "he has donned the livery of the king's servants; he has said, 'whoever perishes, i will live!' but--" "curse you!" the young man cried, and, stung to madness, he tore the cross from his cap and flung it on the ground. he seized his white sleeve and ripped it from shoulder to elbow. then, when it hung by the string only, he held his hand. "curse you!" he cried furiously. "i will not at your bidding! i may save her yet! i _will_ save her!" "fool!" tavannes answered--but his words were barely audible above the deafening uproar. "can you fight a thousand? look! look!" and seizing the other's wrist he pointed to the window. the street glowed like a furnace in the red light of torches, raised on poles above a sea of heads; an endless sea of heads, and gaping faces, and tossing arms which swept on and on, and on and by. for a while it seemed that the torrent would flow past them and would leave them safe. then came a check, a confused outcry, a surging this way and that; the torches reeled to and fro, and finally, with a dull roar of "open! open!" the mob faced about to the house and the lighted window. for a second it seemed that even count hannibal's iron nerves shook a little. he stood between the sullen group that surrounded the disordered table and the maddened rabble, that gloated on the victims before they tore them to pieces. "open! open!" the mob howled: and a man dashed in the window with his pike. in that crisis mademoiselle's eyes met tavannes' for the fraction of a second. she did not speak; nor, had she retained the power to frame the words, would they have been audible. but something she must have looked, and something of import, though no other than he marked or understood it. for in a flash he was at the window and his hand was raised for silence. "back!" he thundered. "back, knaves!" and he whistled shrilly. "do what you will," he went on in the same tone, "but not here! pass on! pass on!--do you hear?" but the crowd were not to be lightly diverted. with a persistence brutal and unquestioning they continued to howl, "open! open!" while the man who had broken the window the moment before, jehan, the cripple with the hideous face, seized the lead-work, and tore away a great piece of it. then, laying hold of a bar, he tried to drag it out, setting one foot against the wall below. tavannes saw what he did, and his frame seemed to dilate with the fury and violence of his character. "dogs!" he shouted, "must i call out my riders and scatter you? must i flog you through the streets with stirrup-leathers? i am tavannes; beware of me! i have claws and teeth and i bite!" he continued, the scorn in his words exceeding even the rage of the crowd, at which he flung them. "kill where you please, rob where you please, but not where i am! or i will hang you by the heels on montfaucon, man by man! i will flay your backs. go! go! i am tavannes!" but the mob, cowed for a moment by the thunder of his voice, by his arrogance and recklessness, showed at this that their patience was exhausted. with a yell which drowned his tones they swayed forward; a dozen thundered on the door, crying, "in the king's name!" as many more tore out the remainder of the casement, seized the bars of the window, and strove to pull them out or to climb between them. jehan, the cripple, with whom tignonville had rubbed elbows at the rendezvous, led the way. count hannibal watched them a moment, his harsh face bent down to them, his features plain in the glare of the torches. but when the cripple, raised on the others' shoulders, and emboldened by his adversary's inactivity, began to squeeze himself through the bars, tavannes raised a pistol, which he had held unseen behind him, cocked it at leisure, and levelled it at the foul face which leered close to his. the dwarf saw the weapon and tried to retreat; but it was too late. a flash, a scream, and the wretch, shot through the throat, flung up his hands, and fell back into the arms of a lean man in black who had lent him his shoulder to ascend. for a few seconds the smoke of the pistol filled the window and the room. there was a cry that the huguenots were escaping, that the huguenots were resisting, that it was a plot; and some shouted to guard the back and some to watch the roof, and some to be gone. but when the fumes cleared away, the mob saw, with stupor, that all was as it had been. count hannibal stood where he had stood before, a grim smile on his lips. "who comes next?" he cried in a tone of mockery. "i have more pistols!" and then with a sudden change to ferocity, "you dogs!" he went on. "you scum of a filthy city, sweepings of the halles! do you think to beard me? do you think to frighten me or murder me? i am tavannes, and this is my house, and were there a score of huguenots in it, you should not touch one, nor harm a hair of his head! begone, i say again, while you may! seek women and children, and kill them. but not here!" for an instant the mingled scorn and brutality of his words silenced them. then from the rear of the crowd came an answer--the roar of an arquebuse. the ball whizzed past count hannibal's head, and, splashing the plaster from the wall within a pace of tignonville, dropped to the ground. tavannes laughed. "bungler!" he cried. "were you in my troop i would dip your trigger-finger in boiling oil to teach you to shoot! but you weary me, dogs. i must teach you a lesson, must i?" and he lifted a pistol and levelled it. the crowd did not know whether it was the one he had discharged or another, but they gave back with a sharp gasp. "i must teach you, must i?" he continued with scorn. "here, bigot, badelon, drive me these blusterers! rid the street of them! a tavannes! a tavannes!" not by word or look had he before this betrayed that he had supports. but as he cried the name, a dozen men armed to the teeth, who had stood motionless under the croix du tiroir, fell in a line on the right flank of the crowd. the surprise for those nearest them was complete. with the flash of the pikes before their eyes, with the cold steel in fancy between their ribs, they fled every way, uncertain how many pursued, or if any pursuit there was. for a moment the mob, which a few minutes before had seemed so formidable that a regiment might have quailed before it, bade fair to be routed by a dozen pikes. and so, had all in the crowd been what he termed them, the rabble and sweepings of the streets, it would have been. but in the heart of it, and felt rather than seen, were a handful of another kidney; sorbonne students and fierce-eyed priests, with three or four mounted archers, the nucleus that, moving through the streets, had drawn together this concourse. and these with threats and curse and gleaming eyes stood fast, even tavannes' dare-devils recoiling before the tonsure. the check thus caused allowed those who had budged a breathing space. they rallied behind the black robes, and began to stone the pikes; who in their turn withdrew until they formed two groups, standing on their defence, the one before the window, the other before the door. count hannibal had watched the attack and the check, as a man watches a play; with smiling interest. in the panic, the torches had been dropped or extinguished, and now between the house and the sullen crowd which hung back, yet grew moment by moment more dangerous, the daylight fell cold on the littered street and the cripple's huddled form prone in the gutter. a priest raised on the shoulders of the lean man in black began to harangue the mob, and the dull roar of assent, the brandished arms which greeted his appeal, had their effect on tavannes' men. they looked to the window, and muttered among themselves. it was plain that they had no stomach for a fight with the church, and were anxious for the order to withdraw. but count hannibal gave no order, and, much as his people feared the cowls, they feared him more. meanwhile the speaker's eloquence rose higher; he pointed with frenzied gestures to the house. the mob groaned, and suddenly a volley of stones fell among the pikemen, whose corselets rattled under the shower. the priest seized that moment. he sprang to the ground, and to the front. he caught up his robe and waved his hand, and the rabble, as if impelled by a single will, rolled forward in a huge one-fronted thundering wave, before which the two handfuls of pikemen--afraid to strike, yet afraid to fly--were swept away like straws upon the tide. but against the solid walls and oak-barred door of the house the wave beat, only to fall back again, a broken, seething mass of brandished arms and ravening faces. one point alone was vulnerable, the window, and there in the gap stood tavannes. quick as thought he fired two pistols into the crowd; then, while the smoke for a moment hid all, he whistled. whether the signal was a summons to his men to fight their way back--as they were doing to the best of their power--or he had resources still unseen, was not to be known. for as the smoke began to rise, and while the rabble before the window, cowed by the fall of two of their number, were still pushing backward instead of forward, there rose behind them strange sounds--yells, and the clatter of hoofs, mingled with screams of alarm. a second, and into the loose skirts of the crowd came charging helter-skelter, pell-mell, a score of galloping, shrieking, cursing horsemen, attended by twice as many footmen, who clung to their stirrups or to the tails of the horses, and yelled and whooped, and struck in unison with the maddened riders. "on! on!" the foremost shrieked, rolling in his saddle, and foaming at the mouth. "bleed in august, bleed in may! kill!" and he fired a pistol among the rabble, who fled every way to escape his rearing, plunging charger. "kill! kill!" cried his followers, cutting the air with their swords, and rolling to and fro on their horses in drunken emulation. "bleed in august, bleed in may!" "on! on!" cried the leader, as the crowd which beset the house fled every way before his reckless onset. "bleed in august, bleed in may!" the rabble fled, but not so quickly but that one or two were ridden down, and this for an instant checked the riders. before they could pass on-- "ohe!" cried count hannibal from his window. "ohe!" with a shout of laughter, "ride over them, dear brother! make me a clean street for my wedding!" marshal tavannes--for he, the hero of jarnac, was the leader of this wild orgy--turned that way, and strove to rein in his horse. "what ails them?" he cried, as the maddened animal reared upright, its iron hoofs striking fire from the slippery pavement. "they are rearing like thy bayard!" count hannibal answered. "whip them, whip them for me! tavannes! tavannes!" "what? this canaille?" "ay, that canaille!" "who touches my brother, touches tavannes!" the marshal replied, and spurred his horse among the rabble, who had fled to the sides of the street and now strove hard to efface themselves against the walls. "begone, dogs; begone!" he cried, still hunting them. and then, "you would bite, would you?" and snatching another pistol from his boot, he fired it among them, careless whom he hit. "ha! ha! that stirs you, does it!" he continued, as the wretches fled headlong. "who touches my brother, touches tavannes! on! on!" suddenly, from a doorway near at hand, a sombre figure darted into the roadway, caught the marshal's rein, and for a second checked his course. the priest--for a priest it was, father pezelay, the same who had addressed the mob--held up a warning hand. "halt!" he cried, with burning eyes. "halt, my lord! it is written, thou shalt not spare the canaanitish woman. 'tis not to spare the king has given command and a sword, but to kill! 'tis not to harbour, but to smite! to smite!" "then smite i will!" the marshal retorted, and with the butt of his pistol struck the zealot down. then, with as much indifference as he would have treated a huguenot, he spurred his horse over him, with a mad laugh at his jest. "who touches my brother, touches tavannes!" he yelled. "touches tavannes! on! on! bleed in august, bleed in may!" "on!" shouted his followers, striking about them in the same desperate fashion. they were young nobles who had spent the night feasting at the palace, and, drunk with wine and mad with excitement, had left the louvre at daybreak to rouse the city. "a jarnac! a jarnac!" they cried, and some saluted count hannibal as they passed. and so, shouting and spurring and following their leader, they swept away down the now empty street, carrying terror and a flame wherever their horses bore them that morning. tavannes, his hands on the ledge of the shattered window, leaned out laughing, and followed them with his eyes. a moment, and the mob was gone, the street was empty; and one by one, with sheepish faces, his pikemen emerged from the doorways and alleys in which they had taken refuge. they gathered about the three huddled forms which lay prone and still in the gutter: or, not three--two. for even as they approached them, one, the priest, rose slowly and giddily to his feet. he turned a face bleeding, lean, and relentless towards the window at which tavannes stood. solemnly, with the sign of the cross, and with uplifted hands, he cursed him in bed and at board, by day and by night, in walking, in riding, in standing, in the day of battle, and at the hour of death. the pikemen fell back appalled, and hid their eyes; and those who were of the north crossed themselves, and those who came from the south bent two fingers horse-shoe fashion. but hannibal de tavannes laughed; laughed in his moustache, his teeth showing, and bade them move that carrion to a distance, for it would smell when the sun was high. then he turned his back on the street, and looked into the room. chapter vii. in the amphitheatre. the movements of the women had overturned two of the candles; a third had guttered out. the three which still burned, contending pallidly with the daylight that each moment grew stronger, imparted to the scene the air of a debauch too long sustained. the disordered board, the wan faces of the servants cowering in their corner, mademoiselle's frozen look of misery, all increased the likeness; which a common exhaustion so far strengthened that when tavannes turned from the window, and, flushed with his triumph, met the others' eyes, his seemed the only vigour, and he the only man in the company. true, beneath the exhaustion, beneath the collapse of his victims, there burned passions, hatreds, repulsions, as fierce as the hidden fires of the volcano; but for the time they smouldered ash-choked and inert. he flung the discharged pistols on the table. "if yonder raven speak truth," he said, "i am like to pay dearly for my wife, and have short time to call her wife. the more need, mademoiselle, for speed, therefore. you know the old saying, 'short signing, long seisin'? shall it be my priest, or your minister?" m. de tignonville started forward. "she promised nothing!" he cried. and he struck his hand on the table. count hannibal smiled, his lip curling. "that," he replied, "is for mademoiselle to say." "but if she says it? if she says it, monsieur? what then?" tavannes drew forth a comfit-box, such as it was the fashion of the day to carry, as men of a later time carried a snuff-box. he slowly chose a prune. "if she says it?" he answered. "then m. de tignonville has regained his sweetheart. and m. de tavannes has lost his bride." "you say so?" "yes. but--" "but what?" "but she will not say it," tavannes replied coolly. "why not?" "why not?" "yes, monsieur, why not?" the younger man repeated, trembling. "because, m. de tignonville, it is not true." "but she did not speak!" tignonville retorted, with passion--the futile passion of the bird which beats its wings against a cage. "she did not speak. she could not promise, therefore." tavannes ate the prune slowly, seemed to give a little thought to its flavour, approved it a true agen plum, and at last spoke. "it is not for you to say whether she promised," he returned dryly, "nor for me. it is for mademoiselle." "you leave it to her?" "i leave it to her to say whether she promised." "then she must say no!" tignonville cried in a tone of triumph and relief. "for she did not speak. mademoiselle, listen!" he continued, turning with outstretched hands and appealing to her with passion. "do you hear? do you understand? you have but to speak to be free! you have but to say the word, and monsieur lets you go! in god's name, speak! speak then, clotilde! oh!" with a gesture of despair, as she did not answer, but continued to sit stony and hopeless, looking straight before her, her hands picking convulsively at the fringe of her girdle. "she does not understand! fright has stunned her! be merciful, monsieur. give her time to recover, to know what she does. fright has turned her brain." count hannibal smiled. "i knew her father and her uncle," he said, "and in their time the vrillacs were not wont to be cowards. monsieur forgets, too," he continued with fine irony, "that he speaks of my betrothed." "it is a lie!" tavannes raised his eyebrows. "you are in my power," he said. "for the rest, if it be a lie, mademoiselle has but to say so." "you hear him?" tignonville cried. "then speak, mademoiselle! clotilde, speak! say you never spoke, you never promised him!" the young man's voice quivered with indignation, with rage, with pain; but most, if the truth be told, with shame--the shame of a position strange and unparalleled. for in proportion as the fear of death instant and violent was lifted from him, reflection awoke, and the situation in which he stood took uglier shape. it was not so much love that cried to her, love that suffered, anguished by the prospect of love lost; as in the highest natures it might have been. rather it was the man's pride which suffered: the pride of a high spirit which found itself helpless between the hammer and the anvil, in a position so false that hereafter men might say of the unfortunate that he had bartered his mistress for his life. he had not! but he had perforce to stand by; he had to be passive under stress of circumstances, and by the sacrifice, if she consummated it, he would in fact be saved. there was the pinch. no wonder that he cried to her in a voice which roused even the servants from their lethargy of fear. "say it!" he cried. "say it, before it be too late. say, you did not promise!" slowly she turned her face to him. "i cannot," she whispered; "i cannot. go," she continued, a spasm distorting her features. "go, monsieur. leave me. it is over." "what?" he exclaimed. "you promised him?" she bowed her head. "then," the young man cried, in a transport of resentment, "i will be no part of the price. see! there! and there!" he tore the white sleeve wholly from his arm, and, rending it in twain, flung it on the floor and trampled on it. "it shall never be said that i stood by and let you buy my life! i go into the street and i take my chance." and he turned to the door. but tavannes was before him. "no!" he said; "you will stay here, m. de tignonville!" and he set his back against the door. the young man looked at him, his face convulsed with passion. "i shall stay here?" he cried. "and why, monsieur? what is it to you if i choose to perish?" "only this," tavannes retorted. "i am answerable to mademoiselle now, in an hour i shall be answerable to my wife--for your life. live, then, monsieur; you have no choice. in a month you will thank me--and her." "i am your prisoner?" "precisely." "and i must stay here--to be tortured?" tignonville cried. count hannibal's eyes sparkled. sudden stormy changes, from indifference to ferocity, from irony to invective, were characteristic of the man. "tortured!" he repeated grimly. "you talk of torture while piles and pardaillan, teligny and rochefoucauld lie dead in the street! while your cause sinks withered in a night, like a gourd! while your servants fall butchered, and france rises round you in a tide of blood! bah!"--with a gesture of disdain--"you make me also talk, and i have no love for talk, and small time. mademoiselle, you at least act and do not talk. by your leave i return in an hour, and i bring with me--shall it be my priest, or your minister?" she looked at him with the face of one who awakes slowly to the full horror, the full dread, of her position. for a moment she did not answer. then-- "a minister," she muttered, her voice scarcely audible. he nodded. "a minister," he said lightly. "very well, if i can find one." and walking to the shattered, gaping casement--through which the cool morning air blew into the room and gently stirred the hair of the unhappy girl--he said some words to the man on guard outside. then he turned to the door, but on the threshold he paused, looked with a strange expression at the pair, and signed to carlat and the servants to go out before him. "up, and lie close above!" he growled. "open a window or look out, and you will pay dearly for it! do you hear? up! up! you, too, old crop- ears. what! would you?"--with a sudden glare as carlat hesitated--"that is better! mademoiselle, until my return." he saw them all out, followed them, and closed the door on the two; who, left together, alone with the gaping window and the disordered feast, maintained a strange silence. the girl, gripping one hand in the other as if to quell her rising horror, sat looking before her, and seemed barely to breathe. the man, leaning against the wall at a little distance, bent his eyes, not on her, but on the floor, his face gloomy and distorted. his first thought should have been of her and for her; his first impulse to console, if he could not save her. his it should have been to soften, were that possible, the fate before her; to prove to her by words of farewell, the purest and most sacred, that the sacrifice she was making, not to save her own life but the lives of others, was appreciated by him who paid with her the price. and all these things, and more, may have been in m. de tignonville's mind; they may even have been uppermost in it, but they found no expression. the man remained sunk in a sombre reverie. he had the appearance of thinking of himself, not of her; of his own position, not of hers. otherwise he must have looked at her, he must have turned to her; he must have owned the subtle attraction of her unspoken appeal when she drew a deep breath and slowly turned her eyes on him, mute, asking, waiting what he should offer. surely he should have! yet it was long before he responded. he sat buried in thought of himself, and his position, the vile, the unworthy position in which her act had placed him. at length the constraint of her gaze wrought on him, or his thoughts became unbearable; and he looked up and met her eyes, and with an oath he sprang to his feet. "it shall not be!" he cried, in a tone low, but full of fury. "you shall not do it! i will kill him first! i will kill him with this hand! or--" a step took him to the window, a step brought him back--ay, brought him back exultant, and with a changed face. "or better, we will thwart him yet. see, mademoiselle, do you see? heaven is merciful! for a moment the cage is open!" his eye shone with excitement, the sweat of sudden hope stood on his brow as he pointed to the unguarded casement. "come! it is our one chance!" and he caught her by her arm and strove to draw her to the window. but she hung back, staring at him. "oh no, no!" she cried. "yes, yes! i say!" he responded. "you do not understand. the way is open! we can escape, clotilde, we can escape!" "i cannot! i cannot!" she wailed, still resisting him. "you are afraid?" "afraid?" she repeated the word in a tone of wonder. "no, but i cannot. i promised him. i cannot. and, o god!" she continued, in a sudden outburst of grief, as the sense of general loss, of the great common tragedy broke on her and whelmed for the moment her private misery. "why should we think of ourselves? they are dead, they are dying, who were ours, whom we loved! why should we think to live? what does it matter how it fares with us? we cannot be happy. happy?" she continued wildly. "are any happy now? or is the world all changed in a night? no, we could not be happy. and at least you will live, tignonville. i have that to console me." "live!" he responded vehemently. "i live? i would rather die a thousand times. a thousand times rather than live shamed! than see you sacrificed to that devil! than go out with a brand on my brow, for every man to point at me! i would rather die a thousand times!" "and do you think that i would not?" she answered, shivering. "better, far better die than--than live with him!" "then why not die?" she stared at him, wide-eyed, and a sudden stillness possessed her. "how?" she whispered. "what do you mean?" "that!" he said. as he spoke, he raised his hand and signed to her to listen. a sullen murmur, distant as yet, but borne to the ear on the fresh morning air, foretold the rising of another storm. the sound grew in intensity, even while she listened; and yet for a moment she misunderstood him. "o god!" she cried, out of the agony of nerves overwrought, "will that bell never stop? will it never stop? will no one stop it?" "'tis not the bell!" he cried, seizing her hand as if to focus her attention. "it is the mob you hear. they are returning. we have but to stand a moment at this open window, we have but to show ourselves to them, and we need live no longer! mademoiselle! clotilde!--if you mean what you say, if you are in earnest, the way is open!" "and we shall die--together!" "yes, together. but have you the courage?" "the courage?" she cried, a brave smile lighting the whiteness of her face. "the courage were needed to live. the courage were needed to do that. i am ready, quite ready. it can be no sin! to live with that in front of me were the sin! come!" for the moment she had forgotten her people, her promise, all! it seemed to her that death would absolve her from all. "come!" he moved with her under the impulse of her hand until they stood at the gaping window. the murmur, which he had heard indistinctly a moment before, had grown to a roar of voices. the mob, on its return eastward along the rue st. honore, was nearing the house. he stood, his arm supporting her, and they waited, a little within the window. suddenly he stooped, his face hardly less white than hers: their eyes met; he would have kissed her. she did not withdraw from his arm, but she drew back her face, her eyes half shut. "no!" she murmured. "no! while i live i am his. but we die together, tignonville! we die together. it will not last long, will it? and afterwards--" she did not finish the sentence, but her lips moved in prayer, and over her features came a far-away look; such a look as that which on the face of another huguenot lady, philippa de luns--vilely done to death in the place maubert fourteen years before--silenced the ribald jests of the lowest rabble in the world. an hour or two earlier, awed by the abruptness of the outburst, mademoiselle had shrunk from her fate; she had known fear. now that she stood out voluntarily to meet it, she, like many a woman before and since, feared no longer. she was lifted out of and above herself. but death was long in coming. some cause beyond their knowledge stayed the onrush of the mob along the street. the din, indeed, persisted, deafened, shook them; but the crowd seemed to be at a stand a few doors down the rue st. honore. for a half-minute, a long half-minute, which appeared an age, it drew no nearer. would it draw nearer? would it come on? or would it turn again? the doubt, so much worse than despair, began to sap that courage of the man which is always better fitted to do than to suffer. the sweat rose on tignonville's brow as he stood listening, his arm round the girl--as he stood listening and waiting. it is possible that when he had said a minute or two earlier that he would rather die a thousand times than live thus shamed, he had spoken beyond the mark. or it is possible that he had meant his words to the full. but in this case he had not pictured what was to come, he had not gauged correctly his power of passive endurance. he was as brave as the ordinary man, as the ordinary soldier; but martyrdom, the apotheosis of resignation, comes more naturally to women than to men, more hardly to men than to women. yet had the crisis come quickly he might have met it. but he had to wait, and to wait with that howling of wild beasts in his ears; and for this he was not prepared. a woman might be content to die after this fashion; but a man? his colour went and came, his eyes began to rove hither and thither. was it even now too late to escape? too late to avoid the consequences of the girl's silly persistence? too late to--? her eyes were closed, she hung half lifeless on his arm. she would not know, she need not know until afterwards. and afterwards she would thank him! afterwards--meantime the window was open, the street was empty, and still the crowd hung back and did not come. he remembered that two doors away was a narrow passage, which leaving the rue st. honore turned at right angles under a beetling archway, to emerge in the rue du roule. if he could gain that passage unseen by the mob! he _would_ gain it. with a swift movement, his mind made up, he took a step forward. he tightened his grasp of the girl's waist, and, seizing with his left hand the end of the bar which the assailants had torn from its setting in the window jamb, he turned to lower himself. one long step would land him in the street. at that moment she awoke from the stupor of exaltation. she opened her eyes with a startled movement; and her eyes met his. he was in the act of stepping backwards and downwards, dragging her after him. but it was not this betrayed him. it was his face, which in an instant told her all, and that he sought not death, but life! she struggled upright and strove to free herself. but he had the purchase of the bar, and by this time he was furious as well as determined. whether she would or no, he would save her, he would drag her out. then, as consciousness fully returned, she, too, took fire. "no!" she cried, "i will not!" and she struggled more violently. "you shall!" he retorted between his teeth. "you shall not perish here." but she had her hands free, and as he spoke she thrust him from her passionately, desperately, with all her strength. he had his one foot in the air at the moment, and in a flash it was done. with a cry of rage he lost his balance, and, still holding the bar, reeled backwards through the window; while mademoiselle, panting and half fainting, recoiled--recoiled into the arms of hannibal de tavannes, who, unseen by either, had entered the room a long minute before. from the threshold, and with a smile, all his own, he had watched the contest and the result. chapter viii. two hens and an egg. m. de tignonville was shaken by the fall, and in the usual course of things he would have lain where he was, and groaned. but when a man has once turned his back on death he is apt to fancy it at his shoulder. he has small stomach for surprises, and is in haste to set as great a distance as possible between the ugly thing and himself. so it was with the huguenot. shot suddenly into the full publicity of the street, he knew that at any instant danger might take him by the nape; and he was on his legs and glancing up and down before the clatter of his fall had travelled the length of three houses. the rabble were still a hundred paces away, piled up and pressed about a house where men were being hunted as men hunt rats. he saw that he was unnoted, and apprehension gave place to rage. his thoughts turned back hissing hot to the thing that had happened, and in a paroxysm of shame he shook his fist at the gaping casement and the sneering face of his rival, dimly seen in the background. if a look would have killed tavannes--and her--it had not been wanting. for it was not only the man m. de tignonville hated at this moment; he hated mademoiselle also, the unwitting agent of the other's triumph. she had thrust him from her; she had refused to be guided by him; she had resisted, thwarted, shamed him. then let her take the consequences. she willed to perish: let her perish! he did not acknowledge even to himself the real cause of offence, the proof to which she had put his courage, and the failure of that courage to stand the test. yet it was this, though he had himself provoked the trial, which burned up his chivalry, as the smuggler's fire burns up the dwarf heath upon the landes. it was the discovery that in an heroic hour he was no hero that gave force to his passionate gesture, and next moment sent him storming down the beetling passage to the rue du roule, his heart a maelstrom of fierce vows and fiercer menaces. he had reached the further end of the alley and was on the point of entering the street before he remembered that he had nowhere to go. his lodgings were no longer his, since his landlord knew him to be a huguenot, and would doubtless betray him. to approach those of his faith whom he had frequented was to expose them to danger; and, beyond the religion, he had few acquaintances and those of the newest. yet the streets were impossible. he walked them on the utmost edge of peril; he lurked in them under the blade of an impending axe. and, whether he walked or lurked, he went at the mercy of the first comers bold enough to take his life. the sweat stood on his brow as he paused under the low arch of the alley- end, tasting the bitter forlornness of the dog banned and set for death in that sunlit city. in every window of the gable end which faced his hiding-place he fancied an eye watching his movements; in every distant step he heard the footfall of doom coming that way to his discovery. and while he trembled, he had to reflect, to think, to form some plan. in the town was no place for him, and short of the open country no safety. and how could he gain the open country? if he succeeded in reaching one of the gates--st. antoine, or st. denis, in itself a task of difficulty--it would only be to find the gate closed, and the guard on the alert. at last it flashed on him that he might cross the river; and at the notion hope awoke. it was possible that the massacre had not extended to the southern suburb; possible, that if it had, the huguenots who lay there--frontenay, and montgomery, and chartres, with the men of the north--might be strong enough to check it, and even to turn the tables on the parisians. his colour returned. he was no coward, as soldiers go; if it came to fighting he had courage enough. he could not hope to cross the river by the bridge, for there, where the goldsmiths lived, the mob were like to be most busy. but if he could reach the bank he might procure a boat at some deserted point, or, at the worst, he might swim across. from the louvre at his back came the sound of gunshots; from every quarter the murmur of distant crowds, or the faint lamentable cries of victims. but the empty street before him promised an easy passage, and he ventured into it and passed quickly through it. he met no one, and no one molested him; but as he went he had glimpses of pale faces that from behind the casements watched him come and turned to watch him go; and so heavy on his nerves was the pressure of this silent ominous attention, that he blundered at the end of the street. he should have taken the southerly turning; instead he held on, found himself in the rue ferronerie, and a moment later was all but in the arms of a band of city guards, who were making a house-to-house visitation. he owed his safety rather to the condition of the street than to his presence of mind. the rue ferronerie, narrow in itself, was so choked at this date by stalls and bulkheads, that an edict directing the removal of those which abutted on the cemetery had been issued a little before. nothing had been done on it, however, and this neck of paris, this main thoroughfare between the east and the west, between the fashionable quarter of the marais and the fashionable quarter of the louvre, was still a devious huddle of sheds and pent-houses. tignonville slid behind one of these, found that it masked the mouth of an alley, and, heedless whither the passage led, ran hurriedly along it. every instant he expected to hear the hue and cry behind him, and he did not halt or draw breath until he had left the soldiers far in the rear, and found himself astray at the junction of four noisome lanes, over two of which the projecting gables fairly met. above the two others a scrap of sky appeared, but this was too small to indicate in which direction the river lay. tignonville hesitated, but not for long; a burst of voices heralded a new danger, and he shrank into a doorway. along one of the lanes a troop of children, the biggest not twelve years old, came dancing and leaping round something which they dragged by a string. now one of the hindmost would burl it onward with a kick, now another, amid screams of childish laughter, tripped headlong over the cord; now at the crossways they stopped to wrangle and question which way they should go, or whose turn it was to pull and whose to follow. at last they started afresh with a whoop, the leader singing and all plucking the string to the cadence of the air. their plaything leapt and dropped, sprang forward, and lingered like a thing of life. but it was no thing of life, as tignonville saw with a shudder when they passed him. the object of their sport was the naked body of a child, an infant! his gorge rose at the sight. fear such as he had not before experienced chilled his marrow. this was hate indeed, a hate before which the strong man quailed; the hate of which mademoiselle had spoken when she said that the babes crossed themselves at her passing, and the houses tottered to fall upon her! he paused a minute to recover himself, so deeply had the sight moved him; and as he stood, he wondered if that hate already had its cold eye fixed on him. instinctively his gaze searched the opposite wall, but save for two small double-grated windows it was blind; time-stained and stone-built, dark with the ordure of the city lane, it seemed but the back of a house, which looked another way. the outer gates of an arched doorway were open, and a loaded haycart, touching either side and brushing the arch above, blocked the passage. his gaze, leaving the windows, dropped to this--he scanned it a moment; and on a sudden he stiffened. between the hay and the arch a hand flickered an instant, then vanished. tignonville stared. at first he thought his eyes had tricked him. then the hand appeared again, and this time it conveyed an unmistakable invitation. it is not from the unknown or the hidden that the fugitive has aught to fear, and tignonville, after casting a glance down the lane--which revealed a single man standing with his face the other way--slipped across and pushed between the hay and the wall. he coughed. a voice whispered to him to climb up; a friendly hand clutched him in the act, and aided him. in a second he was lying on his face, tight squeezed between the hay and the roof of the arch. beside him lay a man whose features his eyes, unaccustomed to the gloom, could not discern. but the man knew him and whispered his name. "you know me?" tignonville muttered in astonishment. "i marked you, m. de tignonville, at the preaching last sunday," the stranger answered placidly. "you were there?" "i preached." "then you are m. la tribe!" "i am," the clergyman answered quietly. "they seized me on my threshold, but i left my cloak in their hands and fled. one tore my stocking with his point, another my doublet, but not a hair of my head was injured. they hunted me to the end of the next street, but i lived and still live, and shall live to lift up my voice against this wicked city." the sympathy between the huguenot by faith and the huguenot by politics was imperfect. tignonville, like most men of rank of the younger generation, was a huguenot by politics; and he was in a bitter humour. he felt, perhaps, that it was men such as this who had driven the other side to excesses such as these; and he hardly repressed a sneer. "i wish i felt as sure!" he muttered bluntly. "you know that all our people are dead?" "he can save by few or by many," the preacher answered devoutly. "we are of the few, blessed be god, and shall see israel victorious, and our people as a flock of sheep!" "i see small chance of it," tignonville answered contemptuously. "i know it as certainly as i knew before you came, m. de tignonville, that you would come!" "that _i_ should come?" "that some one would come," la tribe answered, correcting himself. "i knew not who it would be until you appeared and placed yourself in the doorway over against me, even as obadiah in the holy book passed before the hiding-place of elijah." the two lay on their faces side by side, the rafters of the archway low on their heads. tignonville lifted himself a little, and peered anew at the other. he fancied that la tribe's mind, shaken by the horrors of the morning and his narrow escape, had given way. "you rave, man," he said. "this is no time for visions." "i said naught of visions," the other answered. "then why so sure that we shall escape?" "i am certified of it," la tribe replied. "and more than that, i know that we shall lie here some days. the time has not been revealed to me, but it will be days and a day. then we shall leave this place unharmed, as we entered it, and, whatever betide others, we shall live." tignonville shrugged his shoulders. "i tell you, you rave, m. la tribe," he said petulantly. "at any moment we may be discovered. even now i hear footsteps." "they tracked me well-nigh to this place," the minister answered placidly. "the deuce they did!" tignonville muttered, with irritation. he dared not raise his voice. "i would you had told me that before i joined you, monsieur, and i had found some safer hiding-place! when we are discovered--" "then," the other continued calmly, "you will see." "in any case we shall be better farther back," tignonville retorted. "here, we are within an ace of being seen from the lane." and he began to wriggle himself backwards. the minister laid his hand on him. "have a care!" he muttered. "and do not move, but listen. and you will understand. when i reached this place--it would be about five o'clock this morning--breathless, and expecting each minute to be dragged forth to make my confession before men, i despaired as you despair now. like elijah under the juniper tree, i said, 'it is enough, o lord! take my soul also, for i am no better than my fellows!' all the sky was black before my eyes, and my ears were filled with the wailings of the little ones and the lamentations of women. 'o lord, it is enough,' i prayed. 'take my soul, or, if it be thy will, then, as the angel was sent to take the cakes to elijah, give me also a sign that i shall live.'" for a moment he paused, struggling with overpowering emotion. even his impatient listener, hitherto incredulous, caught the infection, and in a tone of awe murmured-- "yes? and then, m. la tribe!" "the sign was given me. the words were scarcely out of my mouth when a hen flew up, and, scratching a nest in the hay at my feet, presently laid an egg." tignonville stared. "it was timely, i admit," he said. "but it is no uncommon thing. probably it has its nest here and lays daily." "young man, this is new-mown hay," the minister answered solemnly. "this cart was brought here no further back than yesterday. it smells of the meadow, and the flowers hold their colour. no, the fowl was sent. to- morrow it will return, and the next, and the next, until the plague be stayed and i go hence. but that is not all. a while later a second hen appeared, and i thought it would lay in the same nest. but it made a new one, on the side on which you lie and not far from your foot. then i knew that i was to have a companion, and that god had laid also for him a table in the wilderness." "it did lay, then?" "it is still on the nest, beside your foot." tignonville was about to reply when the preacher grasped his arm and by a sign enjoined silence. he did so not a moment too soon. preoccupied by the story, narrator and listener had paid no heed to what was passing in the lane, and the voices of men speaking close at hand took them by surprise. from the first words which reached them, it was clear that the speakers were the same who had chased la tribe as far as the meeting of the four ways, and, losing him there, had spent the morning in other business. now they had returned to hunt him down; and but for a wrangle which arose among them and detained them, they had stolen on their quarry before their coming was suspected. "'twas this way he ran!" "no, 'twas the other!" they contended; and their words, winged with vile threats and oaths, grew noisy and hot. the two listeners dared scarcely to breathe. the danger was so near, it was so certain that if the men came three paces farther, they would observe and search the haycart, that tignonville fancied the steel already at his throat. he felt the hay rustle under his slightest movement, and gripped one hand with the other to restrain the tremor of overpowering excitement. yet when he glanced at the minister he found him unmoved, a smile on his face. and m. de tignonville could have cursed him for his folly. for the men were coming on! an instant, and they perceived the cart, and the ruffian who had advised this route pounced on it in triumph. "there! did i not say so?" he cried. "he is curled up in that hay, for the satan's grub he is! that is where he is, see you!" "maybe," another answered grudgingly, as they gathered before it. "and maybe not, simon!" "to hell with your maybe not!" the first replied. and he drove his pike deep into the hay and turned it viciously. the two on the top controlled themselves. tignonville's face was livid; of himself he would have slid down amongst them and taken his chance, preferring to die fighting, to die in the open, rather than to perish like a rat in a stack. but la tribe had gripped his arm and held him fast. the man whom the others called simon thrust again, but too low and without result. he was for trying a third time, when one of his comrades who had gone to the other side of the lane announced that the men were on the top of the hay. "can you see them?" "no, but there's room and to spare." "oh, a curse on your room!" simon retorted. "well, you can look." "if that's all, i'll soon look!" was the answer. and the rogue, forcing himself between the hay and the side of the gateway, found the wheel of the cart, and began to raise himself on it. tignonville, who lay on that hand, heard, though he could not see his movements. he knew what they meant, he knew that in a twinkling he must be discovered; and with a last prayer he gathered himself for a spring. it seemed an age before the intruder's head appeared on a level with the hay; and then the alarm came from another quarter. the hen which had made its nest at tignonville's feet, disturbed by the movement or by the newcomer's hand, flew out with a rush and flutter as of a great firework. upsetting the startled simon, who slipped swearing to the ground, it swooped scolding and clucking over the heads of the other men, and reaching the street in safety, scuttled off at speed, its outspread wings sweeping the earth in its rage. they laughed uproariously as simon emerged, rubbing his elbow. "there's for you! there's your preacher!" his opponent jeered. "d---n her! she gives tongue as fast as any of them!" gibed a second. "will you try again, simon? you may find another love-letter there!" "have done!" a third cried impatiently. "he'll not be where the hen is! let's back! let's back! i said before that it wasn't this way he turned! he's made for the river." "the plague in his vitals!" simon replied furiously. "wherever he is, i'll find him!" and, reluctant to confess himself wrong, he lingered, casting vengeful glances at the hay. but one of the other men cursed him for a fool; and presently, forced to accept his defeat or be left alone, he rejoined his fellows. slowly the footsteps and voices receded along the lane; slowly, until silence swallowed them, and on the quivering strained senses of the two who remained behind, descended the gentle influence of twilight and the sweet scent of the new-mown hay on which they lay. la tribe turned to his companion, his eyes shining. "our soul is escaped," he murmured, "even as a bird out of the snare of the fowler. the snare is broken and we are delivered!" his voice shook as he whispered the ancient words of triumph. but when they came to look in the nest at tignonville's feet there was no egg! chapter ix. unstable. and that troubled m. la tribe no little, although he did not impart his thoughts to his companion. instead they talked in whispers of the things which had happened; of the admiral, of teligny, whom all loved, of rochefoucauld the accomplished, the king's friend; of the princes in the louvre whom they gave up for lost, and of the huguenot nobles on the farther side of the river, of whose safety there seemed some hope. tignonville--he best knew why--said nothing of the fate of his betrothed, or of his own adventures in that connection. but each told the other how the alarm had reached him, and painted in broken words his reluctance to believe in treachery so black. thence they passed to the future of the cause, and of that took views as opposite as light and darkness, as papegot and huguenot. the one was confident, the other in despair. and some time in the afternoon, worn out by the awful experiences of the last twelve hours, they fell asleep, their heads on their arms, the hay tickling their faces; and, with death stalking the lane beside them, slept soundly until after sundown. when they awoke hunger awoke with them, and urged on la tribe's mind the question of the missing egg. it was not altogether the prick of appetite which troubled him, but regarding the hiding-place in which they lay as an ark of refuge providentially supplied, protected and victualled, he could not refrain from asking reverently what the deficiency meant. it was not as if one hen only had appeared; as if no farther prospect had been extended. but up to a certain point the message was clear. then when the hand of providence had shown itself most plainly, and in a manner to melt the heart with awe and thankfulness, the message had been blurred. seriously the huguenot asked himself what it portended. to tignonville, if he thought of it at all, the matter was the matter of an egg, and stopped there. an egg might alleviate the growing pangs of hunger; its non-appearance was a disappointment, but he traced the matter no farther. it must be confessed, too, that the haycart was to him only a haycart--and not an ark; and the sooner he was safely away from it the better he would be pleased. while la tribe, lying snug and warm beside him, thanked god for a lot so different from that of such of his fellows as had escaped--whom he pictured crouching in dank cellars, or on roof- trees exposed to the heat by day and the dews by night--the young man grew more and more restive. hunger pricked him, and the meanness of the part he had played moved him to action. about midnight, resisting the dissuasions of his companion, he would have sallied out in search of food if the passage of a turbulent crowd had not warned him that the work of murder was still proceeding. he curbed himself after that and lay until daylight. but, ill content with his own conduct, on fire when he thought of his betrothed, he was in no temper to bear hardship cheerfully or long; and gradually there rose before his mind the picture of madame st. lo's smiling face, and the fair hair which curled low on the white of her neck. he would, and he would not. death that had stalked so near him preached its solemn sermon. but death and pleasure are never far apart; and at no time and nowhere have they jostled one another more familiarly than in that age, wherever the influence of italy and italian art and italian hopelessness extended. again, on the one side, la tribe's example went for something with his comrade in misfortune; but in the other scale hung relief from discomfort, with the prospect of a woman's smiles and a woman's flatteries, of dainty dishes, luxury, and passion. if he went now, he went to her from the jaws of death, with the glamour of adventure and peril about him; and the very going into her presence was a lure. moreover, if he had been willing while his betrothed was still his, why not now when he had lost her? it was this last reflection--and one other thing which came on a sudden into his mind--which turned the scale. about noon he sat up in the hay, and, abruptly and sullenly, "i'll lie here no longer," he said; and he dropped his legs over the side. "i shall go." the movement was so unexpected that la tribe stared at him in silence. then, "you will run a great risk, m. de tignonville," he said gravely, "if you do. you may go as far under cover of night as the river, or you may reach one of the gates. but as to crossing the one or passing the other, i reckon it a thing impossible." "i shall not wait until night," tignonville answered curtly, a ring of defiance in his tone. "i shall go now! i'll lie here no longer!" "now?" "yes, now." "you will be mad if you do," the other replied. he thought it the petulant outcry of youth tired of inaction; a protest, and nothing more. he was speedily undeceived. "mad or not, i am going!" tignonville retorted. and he slid to the ground, and from the covert of the hanging fringe of hay looked warily up and down the lane. "it is clear, i think," he said. "good-bye." and with no more, without one upward glance or a gesture of the hand, with no further adieu or word of gratitude, he walked out into the lane, turned briskly to the left, and vanished. the minister uttered a cry of surprise, and made as if he would descend also. "come back, sir!" he called, as loudly as he dared. "m. de tignonville, come back! this is folly or worse!" but m. de tignonville was gone. la tribe listened a while, unable to believe it, and still expecting his return. at last, hearing nothing, he slid, greatly excited, to the ground and looked out. it was not until he had peered up and down the lane and made sure that it was empty that he could persuade himself that the other had gone for good. then he climbed slowly and seriously to his place again, and sighed as he settled himself. "unstable as water thou shalt not excel!" he muttered. "now i know why there was only one egg." meanwhile tignonville, after putting a hundred yards between himself and his bedfellow, plunged into the first dark entry which presented itself. hurriedly, and with a frowning face, he cut off his left sleeve from shoulder to wrist; and this act, by disclosing his linen, put him in possession of the white sleeve which he had once involuntarily donned, and once discarded. the white cross on the cap he could not assume, for he was bareheaded. but he had little doubt that the sleeve would suffice, and with a bold demeanour he made his way northward until he reached again the rue ferronerie. excited groups were wandering up and down the street, and, fearing to traverse its crowded narrows, he went by lanes parallel with it as far as the rue st. denis, which he crossed. everywhere he saw houses gutted and doors burst in, and traces of a cruelty and a fanaticism almost incredible. near the rue des lombards he saw a dead child, stripped stark and hanged on the hook of a cobbler's shutter. a little farther on in the same street he stepped over the body of a handsome young woman, distinguished by the length and beauty of her hair. to obtain her bracelets, her captors had cut off her hands; afterwards--but god knows how long afterwards--a passer-by, more pitiful than his fellows, had put her out of her misery with a spit, which still remained plunged in her body. m. de tignonville shuddered at the sight, and at others like it. he loathed the symbol he wore, and himself for wearing it; and more than once his better nature bade him return and play the nobler part. once he did turn with that intention. but he had set his mind on comfort and pleasure, and the value of these things is raised, not lowered, by danger and uncertainty. quickly his stoicism oozed away; he turned again. barely avoiding the rush of a crowd of wretches who were bearing a swooning victim to the river, he hurried through the rue des lombards, and reached in safety the house beside the golden maid. he had no doubt now on which side of the maid madame st. lo lived; the house was plain before him. he had only to knock. but in proportion as he approached his haven, his anxiety grew. to lose all, with all in his grasp, to fail upon the threshold, was a thing which bore no looking at; and it was with a nervous hand and eyes cast fearfully behind him that he plied the heavy iron knocker which adorned the door. he could not turn his gaze from a knot of ruffians, who were gathered under one of the tottering gables on the farther side of the street. they seemed to be watching him, and he fancied--though the distance rendered this impossible--that he could see suspicion growing in their eyes. at any moment they might cross the roadway, they might approach, they might challenge him. and at the thought he knocked and knocked again. why did not the porter come? ay, why? for now a score of contingencies came into the young man's mind and tortured him. had madame st. lo withdrawn to safer quarters and closed the house? or, good catholic as she was, had she given way to panic, and determined to open to no one? or was she ill? or had she perished in the general disorder? or-- and then, even as the men began to slink towards him, his heart leapt. he heard a footstep heavy and slow move through the house. it came nearer and nearer. a moment, and an iron-grated judas-hole in the door slid open, and a servant, an elderly man, sleek and respectable, looked out at him. tignonville could scarcely speak for excitement. "madame st. lo?" he muttered tremulously. "i come to her from her cousin the comte de tavannes. quick! quick! if you please. open to me!" "monsieur is alone?" "yes! yes!" the man nodded gravely and slid back the bolts. he allowed m. de tignonville to enter, then with care he secured the door, and led the way across a small square court, paved with red tiles and enclosed by the house, but open above to the sunshine and the blue sky. a gallery which ran round the upper floor looked on this court, in which a great quiet reigned, broken only by the music of a fountain. a vine climbed on the wooden pillars which supported the gallery, and, aspiring higher, embraced the wide carved eaves, and even tapestried with green the three gables that on each side of the court broke the skyline. the grapes hung nearly ripe, and amid their clusters and the green lattice of their foliage tignonville's gaze sought eagerly but in vain the laughing eyes and piquant face of his new mistress. for with the closing of the door, and the passing from him of the horrors of the streets, he had entered, as by magic, a new and smiling world; a world of tennis and roses, of tinkling voices and women's wiles, a world which smacked of florence and the south, and love and life; a world which his late experiences had set so far away from him, his memory of it seemed a dream. now, as he drank in its stillness and its fragrance, as he felt its safety and its luxury lap him round once more, he sighed. and with that breath he rid himself of much. the servant led him to a parlour, a cool shady room on the farther side of the tiny quadrangle, and, muttering something inaudible, withdrew. a moment later a frolicsome laugh, and the light flutter of a woman's skirt as she tripped across the court, brought the blood to his cheeks. he went a step nearer to the door, and his eyes grew bright. chapter x. madame st. lo. so far excitement had supported tignonville in his escape. it was only when he knew himself safe, when he heard madame st. lo's footstep in the courtyard and knew that in a moment he would see her, that he knew also that he was failing for want of food. the room seemed to go round with him; the window to shift, the light to flicker. and then again, with equal abruptness, he grew strong and steady and perfectly master of himself. nay, never had he felt a confidence in himself so overwhelming or a capacity so complete. the triumph of that which he had done, the knowledge that of so many he, almost alone, had escaped, filled his brain with a delicious and intoxicating vanity. when the door opened, and madame st. lo appeared on the threshold, he advanced holding out his arms. he expected that she would fall into them. but madame only backed and curtseyed, a mischievous light in her eyes. "a thousand thanks, monsieur!" she said, "but you are more ready than i!" and she remained by the door. "i have come to you through all!" he cried, speaking loudly because of a humming in his ears. "they are lying in the streets! they are dying, are dead, are hunted, are pursued, are perishing! but i have come through all to you!" she curtseyed anew. "so i see, monsieur!" she answered. "i am flattered!" but she did not advance, and gradually, light-headed as he was, he began to see that she looked at him with an odd closeness. and he took offence. "i say, madame, i have come to you!" he repeated. "and you do not seem pleased!" she came forward a step and looked at him still more oddly. "oh yes," she said. "i am pleased, m. de tignonville. it is what i intended. but tell me how you have fared. you are not hurt?" "not a hair!" he cried boastfully. and he told her in a dozen windy sentences of the adventure of the haycart and his narrow escape. he wound up with a foolish meaningless laugh. "then you have not eaten for thirty-six hours?" she said. and when he did not answer, "i understand," she continued, nodding and speaking as to a child. and she rang a silver handbell and gave an order. she addressed the servant in her usual tone, but to tignonville's ear her voice seemed to fall to a whisper. her figure--she was small and fairy- like--began to sway before him; and then in a moment, as it seemed to him, she was gone, and he was seated at a table, his trembling fingers grasping a cup of wine which the elderly servant who had admitted him was holding to his lips. on the table before him were a spit of partridges and a cake of white bread. when he had swallowed a second mouthful of wine--which cleared his eyes as by magic--the man urged him to eat. and he fell to with an appetite that grew as he ate. by-and-by, feeling himself again, he became aware that two of madame's women were peering at him through the open doorway. he looked that way and they fled giggling into the court; but in a moment they were back again, and the sound of their tittering drew his eyes anew to the door. it was the custom of the day for ladies of rank to wait on their favourites at table; and he wondered if madame were with them, and why she did not come and serve him herself. but for a while longer the savour of the roasted game took up the major part of his thoughts; and when prudence warned him to desist, and he sat back, satisfied after his long fast, he was in no mood to be critical. perhaps--for somewhere in the house he heard a lute--madame was entertaining those whom she could not leave? or deluding some who might betray him if they discovered him? from that his mind turned back to the streets and the horrors through which he had passed; but for a moment and no more. a shudder, an emotion of prayerful pity, and he recalled his thoughts. in the quiet of the cool room, looking on the sunny, vine-clad court, with the tinkle of the lute and the murmurous sound of women's voices in his ears, it was hard to believe that the things from which he had emerged were real. it was still more unpleasant, and as futile, to dwell on them. a day of reckoning would come, and, if la tribe were right, the cause would rally, bristling with pikes and snorting with war-horses, and the blood spilled in this wicked city would cry aloud for vengeance. but the hour was not yet. he had lost his mistress, and for that atonement must be exacted. but in the present another mistress awaited him, and as a man could only die once, and might die at any minute, so he could only live once, and in the present. then _vogue la galere_! as he roused himself from this brief reverie and fell to wondering how long he was to be left to himself, a rosebud tossed by an unseen hand struck him on the breast and dropped to his knees. to seize it and kiss it gallantly, to spring to his feet and look about him were instinctive movements. but he could see no one; and, in the hope of surprising the giver, he stole to the window. the sound of the lute and the distant tinkle of laughter persisted. the court, save for a page, who lay asleep on a bench in the gallery, was empty. tignonville scanned the boy suspiciously; a male disguise was often adopted by the court ladies, and if madame would play a prank on him, this was a thing to be reckoned with. but a boy it seemed to be, and after a while the young man went back to his seat. even as he sat down, a second flower struck him more sharply in the face, and this time he darted not to the window but to the door. he opened it quickly and looked out, but again he was too late. "i shall catch you presently, _ma reine_!" he murmured tenderly, with intent to be heard. and he closed the door. but, wiser this time, he waited with his hand on the latch until he heard the rustling of a skirt, and saw the line of light at the foot of the door darkened by a shadow. that moment he flung the door wide, and, clasping the wearer of the skirt in his arms, kissed her lips before she had time to resist. then he fell back as if he had been shot! for the wearer of the skirt, she whom he had kissed, was madame st. lo's woman, and behind her stood madame herself, laughing, laughing, laughing with all the gay abandonment of her light little heart. "oh, the gallant gentleman!" she cried, and clapped her hands effusively. "was ever recovery so rapid? or triumph so speedy? suzanne, my child; you surpass venus. your charms conquer before they are seen!" m. de tignonville had put poor suzanne from him as if she burned; and hot and embarrassed, cursing his haste, he stood looking awkwardly at them. "madame," he stammered at last, "you know quite well that--" "seeing is believing!" "that i thought it was you!" "oh, what i have lost!" she replied. and she looked archly at suzanne, who giggled and tossed her head. he was growing angry. "but, madame," he protested, "you know--" "i know what i know, and i have seen what i have seen!" madame answered merrily. and she hummed, "'ce fut le plus grand jour d'este que m'embrassa la belle suzanne!' oh yes, i know what i know!" she repeated. and she fell again to laughing immoderately; while the pretty piece of mischief beside her hung her head, and, putting a finger in her mouth, mocked him with an affectation of modesty. the young man glowered at them between rage and embarrassment. this was not the reception, nor this the hero's return to which he had looked forward. and a doubt began to take form in his mind. the mistress he had pictured would not laugh at kisses given to another; nor forget in a twinkling the straits through which he had come to her, the hell from which he had plucked himself! possibly the court ladies held love as cheap as this, and lovers but as playthings, butts for their wit, and pegs on which to hang their laughter. but--but he began to doubt, and, perplexed and irritated, he showed his feelings. "madame," he said stiffly, "a jest is an excellent thing. but pardon me if i say that it is ill played on a fasting man." madame desisted from laughter that she might speak. "a fasting man?" she cried. "and he has eaten two partridges!" "fasting from love, madame." madame st. lo held up her hands. "and it's not two minutes since he took a kiss!" he winced, was silent a moment, and then seeing that he got nothing by the tone he had adopted he cried for quarter. "a little mercy, madame, as you are beautiful," he said, wooing her with his eyes. "do not plague me beyond what a man can bear. dismiss, i pray you, this good creature--whose charms do but set off yours as the star leads the eye to the moon--and make me the happiest man in the world by so much of your company as you will vouchsafe to give me." "that may be but a very little," she answered, letting her eyes fall coyly, and affecting to handle the tucker of her low ruff. but he saw that her lip twitched; and he could have sworn that she mocked him to suzanne, for the girl giggled. still by an effort he controlled his feelings. "why so cruel?" he murmured, in a tone meant for her alone, and with a look to match. "you were not so hard when i spoke with you in the gallery, two evenings ago, madame." "was i not?" she asked. "did i look like this? and this?" and, languishing, she looked at him very sweetly after two fashions. "something." "oh, then i meant nothing!" she retorted with sudden vivacity. and she made a face at him, laughing under his nose. "i do that when i mean nothing, monsieur! do you see? but you are gascon, and given, i fear, to flatter yourself." then he saw clearly that she played with him: and resentment, chagrin, pique got the better of his courtesy. "i flatter myself?" he cried, his voice choked with rage. "it may be i do now, madame, but did i flatter myself when you wrote me this note?" and he drew it out and flourished it in her face. "did i imagine when i read this? or is it not in your hand? it is a forgery, perhaps," he continued bitterly. "or it means nothing? nothing, this note bidding me be at madame st. lo's at an hour before midnight--it means nothing? at an hour before midnight, madame!" "on saturday night? the night before last night?" "on saturday night, the night before last night! but madame knows nothing of it? nothing, i suppose?" she shrugged her shoulders and smiled cheerfully on him. "oh yes, i wrote it," she said. "but what of that, m. de tignonville?" "what of that?" "yes, monsieur, what of that? did you think it was written out of love for you?" he was staggered for the moment by her coolness. "out of what, then?" he cried hoarsely. "out of what, then, if not out of love?" "why, out of pity, my little gentleman!" she answered sharply. "and trouble thrown away, it seems. love!" and she laughed so merrily and spontaneously it cut him to the heart. "no; but you said a dainty thing or two, and smiled a smile; and like a fool, and like a woman, i was sorry for the innocent calf that bleated so prettily on its way to the butcher's! and i would lock you up, and save your life, i thought, until the blood-letting was over. now you have it, m. de tignonville, and i hope you like it." like it, when every word she uttered stripped him of the selfish illusions in which he had wrapped himself against the blasts of ill-fortune? like it, when the prospect of her charms had bribed him from the path of fortitude, when for her sake he had been false to his mistress, to his friends, to his faith, to his cause? like it, when he knew as he listened that all was lost, and nothing gained, not even this poor, unworthy, shameful compensation? like it? no wonder that words failed him, and he glared at her in rage, in misery, in shame. "oh, if you don't like it," she continued, tossing her head after a momentary pause, "then you should not have come! it is of no profit to glower at me, monsieur. you do not frighten me." "i would--i would to god i had not come!" he groaned. "and, i dare say, that you had never seen me--since you cannot win me!" "that too," he exclaimed. she was of an extraordinary levity, and at that, after staring at him a moment, she broke into shrill laughter. "a little more, and i'll send you to my cousin hannibal!" she said. "you do not know how anxious he is to see you. have you a mind," with a waggish look, "to play bride's man, m. de tignonville? or will you give away the bride? it is not too late, though soon it will be!" he winced, and from red grew pale. "what do you mean?" he stammered; and, averting his eyes in shame, seeing now all the littleness, all the baseness of his position, "has he--married her?" he continued. "ho, ho!" she cried in triumph. "i've hit you now, have i, monsieur? i've hit you!" and mocking him, "has he--married her?" she lisped. "no; but he will marry her, have no fear of that! he will marry her. he waits but to get a priest. would you like to see what he says?" she continued, playing with him as a cat plays with a mouse. "i had a note from him yesterday. would you like to see how welcome you'll be at the wedding?" and she flaunted a piece of paper before his eyes. "give it me," he said. she let him seize it the while she shrugged her shoulders. "it's your affair, not mine," she said. "see it if you like, and keep it if you like. cousin hannibal wastes few words." that was true, for the paper contained but a dozen or fifteen words, and an initial by way of signature. "i may need your shaveling to-morrow afternoon. send him, and tignonville in safeguard if he come.--h." "i can guess what use he has for a priest," she said. "it is not to confess him, i warrant. it's long, i fear, since hannibal told his beads." m. de tignonville swore. "i would i had the confessing of him!" he said between his teeth. she clapped her hands in glee. "why should you not?" she cried. "why should you not? 'tis time yet, since i am to send to-day and have not sent. will you be the shaveling to go confess or marry him?" and she laughed recklessly. "will you, m. de tignonville? the cowl will mask you as well as another, and pass you through the streets better than a cut sleeve. he will have both his wishes, lover and clerk in one then. and it will be pull monk, pull hannibal with a vengeance." tignonville gazed at her, and as he gazed courage and hope awoke in his eyes. what if, after all, he could undo the past? what if, after all, he could retrace the false step he had taken, and place himself again where he had been--by _her_ side? "if you meant it!" he exclaimed, his breath coming fast. "if you only meant what you say, madame." "if?" she answered, opening her eyes. "and why should i not mean it?" "because," he replied slowly, "cowl or no cowl, when i meet your cousin--" "'twill go hard with him?" she cried, with a mocking laugh. "and you think i fear for him. that is it, is it?" he nodded. "i fear just _so much_ for him!" she retorted with contempt. "just so much!" and coming a step nearer to tignonville she snapped her small white fingers under his nose. "do you see? no, m. de tignonville," she continued, "you do not know count hannibal if you think that he fears, or that any fear for him. if you will beard the lion in his den, the risk will be yours, not his!" the young man's face glowed. "i take the risk!" he cried. "and i thank you for the chance; that, madame, whatever betide. but--" "but what?" she asked, seeing that he hesitated and that his face fell. "if he afterwards learn that you have played him a trick," he said, "will he not punish you?" "punish me?" he nodded. madame laughed her high disdain. "you do not yet know hannibal de tavannes," she said. "he does not war with women." chapter xi. a bargain. it is the wont of the sex to snatch at an ell where an inch is offered, and to press an advantage in circumstances in which a man, acknowledging the claims of generosity, scruples to ask for more. the habit, now ingrained, may have sprung from long dependence on the male, and is one which a hundred instances, from the time of judith downwards, prove to be at its strongest where the need is greatest. when mademoiselle de vrillac came out of the hour-long swoon into which her lover's defection had cast her, the expectation of the worst was so strong upon her that she could not at once credit the respite which madame carlat hastened to announce. she could not believe that she still lay safe, in her own room above stairs; that she was in the care of her own servants, and that the chamber held no presence more hateful than that of the good woman who sat weeping beside her. as was to be expected, she came to herself sighing and shuddering, trembling with nervous exhaustion. she looked for _him_, as soon as she looked for any; and even when she had seen the door locked and double- locked, she doubted--doubted, and shook and hid herself in the hangings of the bed. the noise of the riot and rapine which prevailed in the city, and which reached the ear even in that locked room--and although the window, of paper, with an upper pane of glass, looked into a courtyard--was enough to drive the blood from a woman's cheeks. but it was fear of the house, not of the street, fear from within, not from without, which impelled the girl into the darkest corner and shook her wits. she could not believe that even this short respite was hers, until she had repeatedly heard the fact confirmed at madame carlat's mouth. "you are deceiving me!" she cried more than once. and each time she started up in fresh terror. "he never said that he would not return until to-morrow!" "he did, my lamb, he did!" the old woman answered with tears. "would i deceive you?" "he said he would not return?" "he said he would not return until to-morrow. you had until to-morrow, he said." "and then?" "he would come and bring the priest with him," madame carlat replied sorrowfully. "the priest? to-morrow!" mademoiselle cried. "the priest!" and she crouched anew with hot eyes behind the hangings of the bed, and, shivering, hid her face. but this for a time only. as soon as she had made certain of the respite, and that she had until the morrow, her courage rose, and with it the instinct of which mention has been made. count hannibal had granted a respite; short as it was, and no more than the barest humanity required, to grant one at all was not the act of the mere butcher who holds the trembling lamb, unresisting, in his hands. it was an act--no more, again be it said, than humanity required--and yet an act which bespoke an expectation of some return, of some correlative advantage. it was not in the part of the mere brigand. something had been granted. something short of the utmost in the captor's power had been exacted. he had shown that there were things he would not do. then might not something more be won from him? a further delay, another point; something, no matter what, which could be turned to advantage? with the brigand it is not possible to bargain. but who gives a little may give more; who gives a day may give a week; who gives a week may give a month. and a month? her heart leapt up. a month seemed a lifetime, an eternity, to her who had but until to-morrow! yet there was one consideration which might have daunted a spirit less brave. to obtain aught from tavannes it was needful to ask him, and to ask him it was needful to see him; and to see him _before_ that to-morrow which meant so much to her. it was necessary, in a word, to run some risk; but without risk the card could not be played, and she did not hesitate. it might turn out that she was wrong, that the man was not only pitiless and without bowels of mercy, but lacked also the shred of decency for which she gave him credit, and on which she counted. in that case, if she sent for him--but she would not consider that case. the position of the window, while it increased the women's safety, debarred them from all knowledge of what was going forward, except that which their ears afforded them. they had no means of judging whether tavannes remained in the house or had sallied forth to play his part in the work of murder. madame carlat, indeed, had no desire to know anything. in that room above stairs, with the door double-locked, lay a hope of safety in the present, and of ultimate deliverance; there she had a respite from terror, as long as she kept the world outside. to her, therefore, the notion of sending for tavannes, or communicating with him, came as a thunderbolt. was her mistress mad? did she wish to court her fate? to reach tavannes they must apply to his riders, for carlat and the men-servants were confined above. those riders were grim, brutal men, who might resort to rudeness on their own account. and madame, clinging in a paroxysm of terror to her mistress, suggested all manner of horrors, one on top of the other, until she increased her own terror tenfold. and yet, to do her justice, nothing that even her frenzied imagination suggested exceeded the things which the streets of paris, fruitful mother of horrors, were witnessing at that very hour. as we now know. for it was noon--or a little more--of sunday, august the twenty-fourth, "a holiday, and therefore the people could more conveniently find leisure to kill and plunder." from the bridges, and particularly from the stone bridge of notre dame--while they lay safe in that locked room, and tignonville crouched in his haymow--huguenots less fortunate were being cast, bound hand and foot, into the seine. on the river bank spire niquet, the bookman, was being burnt over a slow fire, fed with his own books. in their houses, ramus the scholar and goujon the sculptor--than whom paris has neither seen nor deserved a greater--were being butchered like sheep; and in the valley of misery, now the quai de la megisserie, seven hundred persons who had sought refuge in the prisons were being beaten to death with bludgeons. nay, at this hour--a little sooner or a little later, what matters it?--m. de tignonville's own cousin, madame d'yverne, the darling of the louvre the day before, perished in the hands of the mob; and the sister of m. de taverny, equally ill-fated, died in the same fashion, after being dragged through the streets. madame carlat, then, went not a whit beyond the mark in her argument. but mademoiselle had made up her mind, and was not to be dissuaded. "if i am to be monsieur's wife," she said with quivering nostrils, "shall i fear his servants?" and opening the door herself, for the others would not, she called. the man who answered was a norman; and short of stature, and wrinkled and low- browed of feature, with a thatch of hair and a full beard, he seemed the embodiment of the women's apprehensions. moreover, his _patois_ of the cider-land was little better than german to them; their southern, softer tongue was sheer italian to him. but he seemed not ill-disposed, or mademoiselle's air overawed him; and presently she made him understand, and with a nod he descended to carry her message. then mademoiselle's heart began to beat; and beat more quickly when she heard _his_ step--alas! she knew it already, knew it from all others--on the stairs. the table was set, the card must be played, to win or lose. it might be that with the low opinion he held of women he would think her reconciled to her lot; he would think this an overture, a step towards kinder treatment, one more proof of the inconstancy of the lower and the weaker sex, made to be men's playthings. and at that thought her eyes grew hot with rage. but if it were so, she must still put up with it. she must still put up with it! she had sent for him, and he was coming--he was at the door! he entered, and she breathed more freely. for once his face lacked the sneer, the look of smiling possession, which she had come to know and hate. it was grave, expectant, even suspicious; still harsh and dark, akin, as she now observed, to the low-browed, furrowed face of the rider who had summoned him. but the offensive look was gone, and she could breathe. he closed the door behind him, but he did not advance into the room. "at your pleasure, mademoiselle?" he said simply. "you sent for me, i think." she was on her feet, standing before him with something of the submissiveness of roxana before her conqueror. "i did," she said; and stopped at that, her hand to her side as if she could not continue. but presently in a low voice, "i have heard," she went on, "what you said, monsieur, after i lost consciousness." "yes?" he said; and was silent. nor did he lose his watchful look. "i am obliged to you for your thought of me," she continued in a faint voice, "and i shall be still further obliged--i speak to you thus quickly and thus early--if you will grant me a somewhat longer time." "do you mean--if i will postpone our marriage?" "yes, monsieur." "it is impossible!" "do not say that," she cried, raising her voice impulsively. "i appeal to your generosity. and for a short, a very short, time only." "it is impossible," he answered quietly. "and for reasons, mademoiselle. in the first place, i can more easily protect my wife. in the second, i am even now summoned to the louvre, and should be on my way thither. by to-morrow evening, unless i am mistaken in the business on which i am required, i shall be on my way to a distant province with royal letters. it is essential that our marriage take place before i go." "why?" she asked stubbornly. he shrugged his shoulders. "why?" he repeated. "can you ask, mademoiselle, after the events of last night? because, if you please, i do not wish to share the fate of m. de tignonville. because in these days life is uncertain, and death too certain. because it was our turn last night, and it may be the turn of your friends--to-morrow night!" "then some have escaped?" she cried. he smiled. "i am glad to find you so shrewd," he replied. "in an honest wife it is an excellent quality. yes, mademoiselle; one or two." "who? who? i pray you tell me." "m. de montgomery, who slept beyond the river, for one; and the vidame, and some with him. m. de biron, whom i count a huguenot, and who holds the arsenal in the king's teeth, for another. and a few more. enough, in a word, mademoiselle, to keep us wakeful. it is impossible, therefore, for me to postpone the fulfilment of your promise." "a promise on conditions!" she retorted, in rage that she could win no more. and every line of her splendid figure, every tone of her voice flamed sudden, hot rebellion. "i do not go for nothing! you gave me the lives of all in the house, monsieur! of all!" she repeated with passion. "and all are not here! before i marry you, you must show me m. de tignonville alive and safe!" he shrugged his shoulders. "he has taken himself off," he said. "it is naught to me what happens to him now." "it is all to me!" she retorted. at that he glared at her, the veins of his forehead swelling suddenly. but after a seeming struggle with himself he put the insult by, perhaps for future reckoning and account. "i did what i could," he said sullenly. "had i willed it he had died there and then in the room below. i gave him his life. if he has risked it anew and lost it, it is naught to me." "it was his life you gave me," she repeated stubbornly. "his life--and the others. but that is not all," she continued; "you promised me a minister." he nodded, smiling sourly to himself, as if this confirmed a suspicion he had entertained. "or a priest," he said. "no, a minister." "if one could be obtained. if not, a priest." "no, it was to be at my will; and i will a minister! i will a minister!" she cried passionately. "show me m. de tignonville alive, and bring me a minister of my faith, and i will keep my promise, m. de tavannes. have no fear of that. but otherwise, i will not." "you will not?" he cried. "you will not?" "no!" "you will not marry me?" "no!" the moment she had said it fear seized her, and she could have fled from him, screaming. the flash of his eyes, the sudden passion of his face, burned themselves into her memory. she thought for a second that he would spring on her and strike her down. yet though the women behind her held their breath, she faced him, and did not quail; and to that, she fancied, she owed it that he controlled himself. "you will not?" he repeated, as if he could not understand such resistance to his will--as if he could not credit his ears. "you will not?" but after that, when he had said it three times, he laughed; a laugh, however, with a snarl in it that chilled her blood. "you bargain, do you?" he said. "you will have the last tittle of the price, will you? and have thought of this and that to put me off, and to gain time until your lover, who is all to you, comes to save you? oh, clever girl! clever! but have you thought where you stand--woman? do you know that if i gave the word to my people they would treat you as the commonest baggage that tramps the froidmantel? do you know that it rests with me to save you, or to throw you to the wolves whose ravening you hear?" and he pointed to the window. "minister? priest?" he continued grimly. "_mon dieu_, mademoiselle, i stand astonished at my moderation. you chatter to me of ministers and priests, and the one or the other, when it might be neither! when you are as much and as hopelessly in my power to-day as the wench in my kitchen! you! you flout me, and make terms with me! you!" and he came so near her with his dark harsh face, his tone rose so menacing on the last word, that her nerves, shattered before, gave way, and, unable to control herself, she flinched with a low cry, thinking he would strike her. he did not follow, nor move to follow; but he laughed a low laugh of content. and his eyes devoured her. "ho! ho!" he said. "we are not so brave as we pretend to be, it seems. and yet you dared to chaffer with me? you thought to thwart me--tavannes! _mon dieu_, mademoiselle, to what did you trust? to what did you trust? ay, and to what do you trust?" she knew that by the movement which fear had forced from her she had jeopardized everything. that she stood to lose all and more than all which she had thought to win by a bold front. a woman less brave, of a spirit less firm, would have given up the contest, and have been glad to escape so. but this woman, though her bloodless face showed that she knew what cause she had for fear, and though her heart was indeed sick with terror, held her ground at the point to which she had retreated. she played her last card. "to what do i trust?" she muttered with trembling lips. "yes, mademoiselle," he answered between his teeth. "to what do you trust--that you play with tavannes?" "to his honour, monsieur," she answered faintly. "and to your promise." he looked at her with his mocking smile. "and yet," he sneered, "you thought a moment ago that i should strike you. you thought that i should beat you! and now it is my honour and my promise! oh, clever, clever, mademoiselle! 'tis so that women make fools of men. i knew that something of this kind was on foot when you sent for me, for i know women and their ways. but, let me tell you, it is an ill time to speak of honour when the streets are red! and of promises when the king's word is 'no faith with a heretic!'" "yet you will keep yours," she said bravely. he did not answer at once, and hope which was almost dead in her breast began to recover; nay, presently sprang up erect. for the man hesitated, it was evident; he brooded with a puckered brow and gloomy eyes; an observer might have fancied that he traced pain as well as doubt in his face. at last-- "there is a thing," he said slowly and with a sort of glare at her, "which, it may be, you have not reckoned. you press me now, and will stand on your terms and your conditions, your _ifs_ and your _unlesses_! you will have the most from me, and the bargain and a little beside the bargain! but i would have you think if you are wise. bethink you how it will be between us when you are my wife--if you press me so now, mademoiselle. how will it sweeten things then? how will it soften them? and to what, i pray you, will you trust for fair treatment then, if you will be so against me now?" she shuddered. "to the mercy of my husband," she said in a low voice. and her chin sank on her breast. "you will be content to trust to that?" he answered grimly. and his tone and the lifting of his brow promised little clemency. "bethink you! 'tis your rights now, and your terms, mademoiselle! and then it will be only my mercy--madame." "i am content," she muttered faintly. "and the lord have mercy on my soul, is what you would add," he retorted, "so much trust have you in my mercy! and you are right! you are right, since you have played this trick on me. but as you will. if you will have it so, have it so! you shall stand on your conditions now; you shall have your pennyweight and full advantage, and the rigour of the pact. but afterwards--afterwards, madame de tavannes--" he did not finish his sentence, for at the first word which granted her petition, mademoiselle had sunk down on the low wooden window-seat beside which she stood, and, cowering into its farthest corner, her face hidden on her arms, had burst into violent weeping. her hair, hastily knotted up in the hurry of the previous night, hung in a thick plait to the curve of her waist; the nape of her neck showed beside it milk-white. the man stood awhile contemplating her in silence, his gloomy eyes watching the pitiful movement of her shoulders, the convulsive heaving of her figure. but he did not offer to touch her, and at length he turned about. first one and then the other of her women quailed and shrank under his gaze; he seemed about to add something. but he did not speak. the sentence he had left unfinished, the long look he bent on the weeping girl as he turned from her, spoke more eloquently of the future than a score of orations. "_afterwards, madame de tavannes_!" chapter xii. in the hall of the louvre. it is a strange thing that love--or passion, if the sudden fancy for mademoiselle which had seized count hannibal be deemed unworthy of the higher name--should so entirely possess the souls of those who harbour it that the greatest events and the most astounding catastrophes, even measures which set their mark for all time on a nation, are to them of importance only so far as they affect the pursuit of the fair one. as tavannes, after leaving mademoiselle, rode through the paved lanes, beneath the gabled houses, and under the shadow of the gothic spires of his day, he saw a score of sights, moving to pity, or wrath, or wonder. he saw paris as a city sacked; a slaughter-house, where for a week a masque had moved to stately music; blood on the nailed doors and the close-set window bars; and at the corners of the ways strewn garments, broken weapons, the livid dead in heaps. but he saw all with eyes which in all and everywhere, among living and dead, sought only tignonville; tignonville first, and next a heretic minister, with enough of life in him to do his office. probably it was to this that one man hunted through paris owed his escape that day. he sprang from a narrow passage full in tavannes' view, and, hair on end, his eyes starting from his head, ran blindly--as a hare will run when chased--along the street to meet count hannibal's company. the man's face was wet with the dews of death, his lungs seemed cracking, his breath hissed from him as he ran. his pursuers were hard on him, and, seeing him headed by count hannibal's party, yelled in triumph, holding him for dead. and dead he would have been within thirty seconds had tavannes played his part. but his thoughts were elsewhere. either he took the poor wretch for tignonville, or for the minister on whom his mind was running; anyway he suffered him to slip under the belly of his horse; then, to make matters worse, he wheeled to follow him in so untimely and clumsy a fashion that his horse blocked the way and stopped the pursuers in their tracks. the quarry slipped into an alley and vanished. the hunters stood and blasphemed, and even for a moment seemed inclined to resent the mistake. but tavannes smiled; a broader smile lightened the faces of the six iron-clad men behind him; and for some reason the gang of ruffians thought better of it and slunk aside. there are hard men, who feel scorn of the things which in the breasts of others excite pity. tavannes' lip curled as he rode on through the streets, looking this way and that, and seeing what a king twenty-two years old had made of his capital. his lip curled most of all when he came, passing between the two tennis-courts, to the east gate of the louvre, and found the entrance locked and guarded, and all communication between city and palace cut off. such a proof of unkingly panic, in a crisis wrought by the king himself, astonished him less a few minutes later, when, the keys having been brought and the door opened, he entered the courtyard of the fortress. within and about the door of the gatehouse some three-score archers and arquebusiers stood to their arms; not in array, but in disorderly groups, from which the babble of voices, of feverish laughter, and strained jests rose without ceasing. the weltering sun, of which the beams just topped the farther side of the quadrangle, fell slantwise on their armour, and heightened their exaggerated and restless movements. to a calm eye they seemed like men acting in a nightmare. their fitful talk and disjointed gestures, their sweating brows and damp hair, no less than the sullen, brooding silence of one here and there, bespoke the abnormal and the terrible. there were livid faces among them, and twitching cheeks, and some who swallowed much; and some again who bared their crimson arms and bragged insanely of the part they had played. but perhaps the most striking thing was the thirst, the desire, the demand for news, and for fresh excitement. in the space of time it took him to pass through them, count hannibal heard a dozen rumours of what was passing in the city; that montgomery and the gentlemen who had slept beyond the river had escaped on horseback in their shirts; that guise had been shot in the pursuit; that he had captured the vidame de chartres and all the fugitives; that he had never left the city; that he was even then entering by the porte de bucy. again that biron had surrendered the arsenal, that he had threatened to fire on the city, that he was dead, that with the huguenots who had escaped he was marching on the louvre, that-- and then tavannes passed out of the blinding sunshine, and out of earshot of their babble, and had plain in his sight across the quadrangle, the new facade, italian, graceful, of the renaissance; which rose in smiling contrast with the three dark gothic sides that now, the central tower removed, frowned unimpeded at one another. but what was this which lay along the foot of the new italian wall? this, round which some stood, gazing curiously, while others strewed fresh sand about it, or after long downward-looking glanced up to answer the question of a person at a window? death; and over death--death in its most cruel aspect--a cloud of buzzing, whirling flies, and the smell, never to be forgotten, of much spilled blood. from a doorway hard by came shrill bursts of hysterical laughter; and with the laughter plumped out, even as tavannes crossed the court, a young girl, thrust forth it seemed by her fellows, for she turned about and struggled as she came. once outside she hung back, giggling and protesting, half willing, half unwilling; and meeting tavannes' eye thrust her way in again with a whirl of her petticoats, and a shriek. but before he had taken four paces she was out again. he paused to see who she was, and his thoughts involuntarily went back to the woman he had left weeping in the upper room. then he turned about again and stood to count the dead. he identified piles, identified pardaillan, identified soubise--whose corpse the murderers had robbed of the last rag--and touchet and st. galais. he made his reckoning with an unmoved face, and with the same face stopped and stared, and moved from one to another; had he not seen the slaughter about "_le petit homme_" at jarnac, and the dead of three pitched fields? but when a bystander, smirking obsequiously, passed him a jest on soubise, and with his finger pointed the jest, he had the same hard unmoved face for the gibe as for the dead. and the jester shrank away, abashed and perplexed by his stare and his reticence. halfway up the staircase to the great gallery or guard-room above, count hannibal found his brother, the marshal, huddled together in drunken slumber on a seat in a recess. in the gallery to which he passed on without awakening him, a crowd of courtiers and ladies, with arquebusiers and captains of the quarters, walked to and fro, talking in whispers; or peeped over shoulders towards the inner end of the hall, where the querulous voice of the king rose now and again above the hum. as tavannes moved that way, nancay, in the act of passing out, booted and armed for the road, met him and almost jostled him. "ah, well met, m. le comte," he sneered, with as much hostility as he dared betray. "the king has asked for you twice." "i am going to him. and you? whither in such a hurry, m. nancay?" "to chatillon." "on pleasant business?" "enough that it is on the king's!" nancay replied, with unexpected temper. "i hope that you may find yours as pleasant!" he added with a grin. and he went on. the gleam of malice in the man's eye warned tavannes to pause. he looked round for some one who might be in the secret, saw the provost of the merchants, and approached him. "what's amiss, m. le charron?" he asked. "is not the affair going as it should?" "'tis about the arsenal, m. le comte," the provost answered busily. "m. de biron is harbouring the vermin there. he has lowered the portcullis and pointed his culverins over the gate and will not yield it or listen to reason. the king would bring him to terms, but no one will venture himself inside with the message. rats in a trap, you know, bite hard, and care little whom they bite." "i begin to understand." "precisely, m. le comte. his majesty would have sent m. de nancay. but he elected to go to chatillon, to seize the young brood there. the admiral's children, you comprehend." "whose teeth are not yet grown! he was wise." "to be sure, m. de tavannes, to be sure. but the king was annoyed, and on top of that came a priest with complaints, and if i may make so bold as to advise you, you will not--" but tavannes fancied that he had caught the gist of the difficulty, and with a nod he moved on; and so he missed the warning which the other had it in his mind to give. a moment and he reached the inner circle, and there halted, disconcerted, nay taken aback. for as soon as he showed his face, the king, who was pacing to and fro like a caged beast, before a table at which three clerks knelt on cushions, espied him, and stood still. with a glare of something like madness in his eyes, charles raised his hand, and with a shaking finger singled him out. "so, by g-d, you are there!" he cried, with a volley of blasphemy. and he signed to those about count hannibal to stand away from him. "you are there, are you? and you are not afraid to show your face? i tell you, it's you and such as you bring us into contempt! so that it is said everywhere guise does all and serves god, and we follow because we must! it's you, and such as you, are stumbling-blocks to our good folk of paris! are you traitor, sirrah?" he continued with passion, "or are you of our brother alencon's opinions, that you traverse our orders to the damnation of your soul and our discredit? are you traitor? or are you heretic? or what are you? god in heaven, will you answer me, man, or shall i send you where you will find your tongue?" "i know not of what your majesty accuses me," count hannibal answered, with a scarcely perceptible shrug of the shoulders. "i? 'tis not i," the king retorted. his hair hung damp on his brow, and he dried his hands continually; while his gestures had the ill-measured and eccentric violence of an epileptic. "here, you! speak, father, and confound him!" then tavannes discovered on the farther side of the circle the priest whom his brother had ridden down that morning. father pezelay's pale hatchet-face gleamed paler than ordinary; and a great bandage hid one temple and part of his face. but below the bandage the flame of his eyes was not lessened, nor the venom of his tongue. to the king he had come--for no other would deal with his violent opponent; to the king's presence! and, as he prepared to blast his adversary, now his chance was come, his long lean frame, in its narrow black cassock, seemed to grow longer, leaner, more baleful, more snake-like. he stood there a fitting representative of the dark fanaticism of paris, which charles and his successor--the last of a doomed line--alternately used as tool or feared as master; and to which the most debased and the most immoral of courts paid, in its sober hours, a vile and slavish homage. even in the midst of the drunken, shameless courtiers--who stood, if they stood for anything, for that other influence of the day, the renaissance--he was to be reckoned with; and count hannibal knew it. he knew that in the eyes not of charles only, but of nine out of ten who listened to him, a priest was more sacred than a virgin, and a tonsure than all the virtues of spotless innocence. "shall the king give with one hand and withdraw with the other?" the priest began, in a voice hoarse yet strident, a voice borne high above the crowd on the wings of passion. "shall he spare of the best of the men and the maidens whom god hath doomed, whom the church hath devoted, whom the king hath given? is the king's hand shortened or his word annulled that a man does as he forbiddeth and leaves undone what he commandeth? is god mocked? woe, woe unto you," he continued, turning swiftly, arms uplifted, towards tavannes, "who please yourself with the red and white of their maidens and take of the best of the spoil, sparing where the king's word is 'spare not'! who strike at holy church with the sword! who--" "answer, sirrah!" charles cried, spurning the floor in his fury. he could not listen long to any man. "is it so? is it so? do you do these things?" count hannibal shrugged his shoulders and was about to answer, when a thick, drunken voice rose from the crowd behind him. "is it what? eh! is it what?" it droned. and a figure with bloodshot eyes, disordered beard, and rich clothes awry, forced its way through the obsequious circle. it was marshal tavannes. "eh, what? you'd beard the king, would you?" he hiccoughed truculently, his eyes on father pezelay, his hand on his sword. "were you a priest ten times--" "silence!" charles cried, almost foaming with rage at this fresh interruption. "it's not he, fool! 'tis your pestilent brother." "who touches my brother touches tavannes!" the marshal answered with a menacing gesture. he was sober enough, it appeared, to hear what was said, but not to comprehend its drift; and this caused a titter, which immediately excited his rage. he turned and seized the nearest laugher by the ear. "insolent!" he cried. "i will teach you to laugh when the king speaks! puppy! who laughs at his majesty or touches my brother has to do with tavannes!" the king, in a rage that almost deprived him of speech, stamped the floor twice. "idiot!" he cried. "imbecile! let the man go! 'tis not he! 'tis your heretic brother, i tell you! by all the saints! by the body of--" and he poured forth a flood of oaths. "will you listen to me and be silent! will you--your brother--" "if he be not your majesty's servant, i will kill him with this sword!" the irrepressible marshal struck in. "as i have killed ten to-day! ten!" and, staggering back, he only saved himself from falling by clutching chicot about the neck. "steady, my pretty marechale!" the jester cried, chucking him under the chin with one hand, while with some difficulty he supported him with the other--for he, too, was far from sober-- "pretty margot, toy with me, maiden bashful--" "silence!" charles cried, darting forth his long arms in a fury of impatience. "god, have i killed every man of sense? are you all gone mad? silence! do you hear? silence! and let me hear what he has to say," with a movement towards count hannibal. "and look you, sirrah," he continued with a curse, "see that it be to the purpose!" "if it be a question of your majesty's service," tavannes answered, "and obedience to your majesty's orders, i am deeper in it than he who stands there!" with a sign towards the priest. "i give my word for that. and i will prove it." "how, sir?" charles cried. "how, how, how? how will you prove it?" "by doing for you, sire, what he will not do!" tavannes answered scornfully. "let him stand out, and if he will serve his church as i will serve my king--" "blaspheme not!" cried the priest. "chatter not!" tavannes retorted hardily, "but do! better is he," he continued, "who takes a city than he who slays women! nay, sire," he went on hurriedly, seeing the king start, "be not angry, but hear me! you would send to biron, to the arsenal? you seek a messenger, sire? then let the good father be the man. let him take your majesty's will to biron, and let him see the grand master face to face, and bring him to reason. or, if he will not, i will! let that be the test!" "ay, ay!" cried marshal de tavannes, "you say well, brother! let him!" "and if he will not, i will!" tavannes repeated. "let that be the test, sire." the king wheeled suddenly to father pezelay. "you hear, father?" he said. "what say you?" the priest's face grew sallow, and more sallow. he knew that the walls of the arsenal sheltered men whose hands no convention and no order of biron's would keep from his throat, were the grim gate and frowning culverins once passed; men who had seen their women and children, their wives and sisters immolated at his word, and now asked naught but to stand face to face and eye to eye with him and tear him limb from limb before they died! the challenge, therefore, was one-sided and unfair; but for that very reason it shook him. the astuteness of the man who, taken by surprise, had conceived this snare filled him with dread. he dared not accept, and he scarcely dared to refuse the offer. and meantime the eyes of the courtiers, who grinned in their beards, were on him. at length he spoke, but it was in a voice which had lost its boldness and assurance. "it is not for me to clear myself," he cried, shrill and violent, "but for those who are accused, for those who have belied the king's word, and set at nought his christian orders. for you, count hannibal, heretic, or no better than heretic, it is easy to say 'i go.' for you go but to your own, and your own will receive you!" "then you will not go?" with a jeer. "at your command? no!" the priest shrieked with passion. "his majesty knows whether i serve him." "i know," charles cried, stamping his foot in a fury, "that you all serve me when it pleases you! that you are all sticks of the same faggot, wood of the same bundle, hell-babes in your own business, and sluggards in mine! you kill to-day and you'll lay it to me to-morrow! ay, you will! you will!" he repeated frantically, and drove home the asseveration with a fearful oath. "the dead are as good servants as you! foucauld was better! foucauld? foucauld? ah, my god!" and abruptly in presence of them all, with the sacred name, which he so often defiled, on his lips, charles turned, and covering his face burst into childish weeping; while a great silence fell on all--on bussy with the blood of his cousin resnel on his point, on fervacques, the betrayer of his friend, on chicot, the slayer of his rival, on cocconnas the cruel--on men with hands unwashed from the slaughter, and on the shameless women who lined the walls; on all who used this sobbing man for their stepping-stone, and, to attain their ends and gain their purposes, trampled his dull soul in blood and mire. one looked at another in consternation. fear grew in eyes that a moment before were bold; cheeks turned pale that a moment before were hectic. if _he_ changed as rapidly as this, if so little dependence could be placed on his moods or his resolutions, who was safe? whose turn might it not be to-morrow? or who might not be held accountable for the deeds done this day? many, from whom remorse had seemed far distant a while before, shuddered and glanced behind them. it was as if the dead who lay stark without the doors, ay, and the countless dead of paris, with whose shrieks the air was laden, had flocked in shadowy shape into the hall; and there, standing beside their murderers, had whispered with their cold breath in the living ears, "a reckoning! a reckoning! as i am, thou shalt be!" it was count hannibal who broke the spell and the silence, and with his hand on his brother's shoulder stood forward. "nay, sire," he cried, in a voice which rang defiant in the roof, and seemed to challenge alike the living and the dead, "if all deny the deed, yet will not i! what we have done we have done! so be it! the dead are dead! so be it! for the rest, your majesty has still one servant who will do your will, one soldier whose life is at your disposition! i have said i will go, and i go, sire. and you, churchman," he continued, turning in bitter scorn to the priest, "do you go too--to church! to church, shaveling! go, watch and pray for us! fast and flog for us! whip those shoulders, whip them till the blood runs down! for it is all, it seems, you will do for your king!" charles turned. "silence, railer!" he said in a broken voice. "sow no more troubles! already," a shudder shook his tall ungainly form, "i see blood, blood, blood everywhere! blood? ah, god, shall i from this time see anything else? but there is no turning back. there is no undoing. so, do you go to biron. and do you," he went on, sullenly addressing marshal tavannes, "take him and tell him what it is needful he should know." "'tis done, sire!" the marshal cried, with a hiccough. "come, brother!" but when the two, the courtiers making quick way for them, had passed down the hall to the door, the marshal tapped hannibal's sleeve. "it was touch and go," he muttered; it was plain he had been more sober than he seemed. "mind you, it does not do to thwart our little master in his fits! remember that another time, or worse will come of it, brother. as it is, you came out of it finely and tripped that black devil's heels to a marvel! but you won't be so mad as to go to biron?" "yes," count hannibal answered coldly. "i shall go." "better not! better not!" the marshal answered. "'twill be easier to go in than to come out--with a whole throat! have you taken wild cats in the hollow of a tree? the young first, and then the she-cat? well, it will be that! take my advice, brother. have after montgomery, if you please, ride with nancay to chatillon--he is mounting now--go where you please out of paris, but don't go there! biron hates us, hates me. and for the king, if he do not see you for a few days, 'twill blow over in a week." count hannibal shrugged his shoulders. "no," he said, "i shall go." the marshal stared a moment. "morbleu!" he said, "why? 'tis not to please the king, i know. what do you think to find there, brother?" "a minister," hannibal answered gently. "i want one with life in him, and they are scarce in the open. so i must to covert after him." and, twitching his sword-belt a little nearer to his hand, he passed across the court to the gate, and to his horses. the marshal went back laughing, and, slapping his thigh as he entered the hall, jostled by accident a gentleman who was passing out. "what is it?" the gascon cried hotly; for it was chicot he had jostled. "who touches my brother touches tavannes!" the marshal hiccoughed. and, smiting his thigh anew, he went off into another fit of laughter. chapter xiii. diplomacy. where the old wall of paris, of which no vestige remains, ran down on the east to the north bank of the river, the space in the angle between the seine and the ramparts beyond the rue st. pol wore at this date an aspect typical of the troubles of the time. along the waterside the gloomy old palace of st. pol, once the residence of the mad king charles the sixth--and his wife, the abandoned isabeau de baviere--sprawled its maze of mouldering courts and ruined galleries; a dreary monument of the gothic days which were passing from france. its spacious curtilage and dark pleasaunces covered all the ground between the river and the rue st. antoine; and north of this, under the shadow of the eight great towers of the bastille, which looked, four outward to check the stranger, four inward to bridle the town, a second palace, beginning where st. pol ended, carried the realm of decay to the city wall. this second palace was the hotel des tournelles, a fantastic medley of turrets, spires, and gables, that equally with its neighbour recalled the days of the english domination; it had been the abode of the regent bedford. from his time it had remained for a hundred years the town residence of the kings of france; but the death of henry ii., slain in its lists by the lance of the same montgomery who was this day fleeing for his life before guise, had given his widow a distaste for it. catherine de medicis, her sons, and the court had abandoned it; already its gardens lay a tangled wilderness, its roofs let in the rain, rats played where kings had slept; and in "our palace of the tournelles" reigned only silence and decay. unless, indeed, as was whispered abroad, the grim shade of the eleventh louis sometimes walked in its desolate precincts. in the innermost angle between the ramparts and the river, shut off from the rest of paris by the decaying courts and enceintes of these forsaken palaces, stood the arsenal. destroyed in great part by the explosion of a powder-mill a few years earlier, it was in the main new; and by reason of its river frontage, which terminated at the ruined tower of billy, and its proximity to the bastille, it was esteemed one of the keys of paris. it was the appanage of the master of the ordnance, and within its walls m. de biron, a huguenot in politics, if not in creed, who held the office at this time, had secured himself on the first alarm. during the day he had admitted a number of refugees, whose courage or good luck had led them to his gate; and as night fell--on such a carnage as the hapless city had not beheld since the great slaughter of the armagnacs, one hundred and fifty-four years earlier--the glow of his matches through the dusk, and the sullen tramp of his watchmen as they paced the walls, indicated that there was still one place in paris where the king's will did not run. in comparison of the disorder which prevailed in the city, a deadly quiet reigned here; a stillness so chill that a timid man must have stood and hesitated to approach. but a stranger who about nightfall rode down the street towards the entrance, a single footman running at his stirrup, only nodded a stern approval of the preparations. as he drew nearer he cast an attentive eye this way and that; nor stayed until a hoarse challenge brought him up when he had come within six horses' lengths of the arsenal gate. he reined up then, and raising his voice, asked in clear tones for m. de biron. "go," he continued boldly, "tell the grand master that one from the king is here, and would speak with him." "from the king of france?" the officer on the gate asked. "surely! is there more than one king in france?" a curse and a bitter cry of "king? king herod!" were followed by a muttered discussion that, in the ears of one of the two who waited in the gloom below, boded little good. the two could descry figures moving to and fro before the faint red light of the smouldering matches; and presently a man on the gate kindled a torch, and held it so as to fling its light downward. the stranger's attendant cowered behind the horse. "have a care, my lord!" he whispered. "they are aiming at us!" if so the rider's bold front and unmoved demeanour gave them pause. presently, "i will send for the grand master" the man who had spoken before announced. "in whose name, monsieur?" "no matter," the stranger answered. "say, one from the king." "you are alone?" "i shall enter alone." the assurance seemed to be satisfactory, for the man answered "good!" and after a brief delay a wicket in the gate was opened, the portcullis creaked upward, and a plank was thrust across the ditch. the horseman waited until the preparations were complete; then he slid to the ground, threw his rein to the servant, and boldly walked across. in an instant he left behind him the dark street, the river, and the sounds of outrage, which the night breeze bore from the farther bank, and found himself within the vaulted gateway, in a bright glare of light, the centre of a ring of gleaming eyes and angry faces. the light blinded him for a few seconds; but the guards, on their side, were in no better case. for the stranger was masked; and in their ignorance who it was looked at them through the slits in the black velvet they stared, disconcerted, and at a loss. there were some there with naked weapons in their hands who would have struck him through had they known who he was; and more who would have stood aside while the deed was done. but the uncertainty--that and the masked man's tone paralyzed them. for they reflected that he might be anyone. conde, indeed, stood too small, but navarre, if he lived, might fill that cloak; or guise, or anjou, or the king himself. and while some would not have scrupled to strike the blood royal, more would have been quick to protect and avenge it. and so before the dark uncertainty of the mask, before the riddle of the smiling eyes which glittered through the slits, they stared irresolute; until a hand, the hand of one bolder than his fellows, was raised to pluck away the screen. the unknown dealt the fellow a buffet with his fist. "down, rascal!" he said hoarsely. "and you"--to the officer--"show me instantly to m. de biron!" but the lieutenant, who stood in fear of his men, looked at him doubtfully. "nay," he said, "not so fast!" and one of the others, taking the lead, cried, "no! we may have no need of m. de biron. your name, monsieur, first." with a quick movement the stranger gripped the officer's wrist. "tell your master," he said, "that he who clasped his wrist _thus_ on the night of pentecost is here, and would speak with him! and say, mark you, that i will come to him, not he to me!" the sign and the tone imposed upon the boldest. two-thirds of the watch were huguenots, who burned to avenge the blood of their fellows; and these, overriding their officer, had agreed to deal with the intruder, if a papegot, without recourse to the grand master, whose moderation they dreaded. a knife-thrust in the ribs, and another body in the ditch--why not, when such things were done outside? but even these doubted now; and m. peridol, the lieutenant, reading in the eyes of his men the suspicions which he had himself conceived, was only anxious to obey, if they would let him. so gravely was he impressed, indeed, by the bearing of the unknown that he turned when he had withdrawn, and came back to assure himself that the men meditated no harm in his absence; nor until he had exchanged a whisper with one of them would he leave them and go. while he was gone on his errand the envoy leaned against the wall of the gateway, and, with his chin sunk on his breast and his mind fallen into reverie, seemed unconscious of the dark glances of which he was the target. he remained in this position until the officer came back, followed by a man with a lanthorn. their coming roused the unknown, who, invited to follow peridol, traversed two courts without remark, and in the same silence entered a building in the extreme eastern corner of the enceinte abutting on the ruined tour de billy. here, in an upper floor, the governor of the arsenal had established his temporary lodging. the chamber into which the stranger was introduced betrayed the haste in which it had been prepared for its occupant. two silver lamps which hung from the beams of the unceiled roof shed light on a medley of arms and inlaid armour, of parchments, books and steel caskets, which encumbered not the tables only, but the stools and chests that, after the fashion of that day, stood formally along the arras. in the midst of the disorder, on the bare floor, walked the man who, more than any other, had been instrumental in drawing the huguenots to paris--and to their doom. it was no marvel that the events of the day, the surprise and horror, still rode his mind; nor wonderful that even he, who passed for a model of stiffness and reticence, betrayed for once the indignation which filled his breast. until the officer had withdrawn and closed the door he did, indeed, keep silence; standing beside the table and eyeing his visitor with a lofty porte and a stern glance. but the moment he was assured that they were alone he spoke. "your highness may unmask now," he said, making no effort to hide his contempt. "yet were you well advised to take the precaution, since you had hardly come at me in safety without it. had those who keep the gate seen you, i would not have answered for your highness's life. the more shame," he continued vehemently, "on the deeds of this day which have compelled the brother of a king of france to hide his face in his own capital and in his own fortress. for i dare to say, monsieur, what no other will say, now the admiral is dead. you have brought back the days of the armagnacs. you have brought bloody days and an evil name on france, and i pray god that you may not pay in your turn what you have exacted. but if you continue to be advised by m. de guise, this i will say, monsieur"--and his voice fell low and stern. "burgundy slew orleans, indeed; but he came in his turn to the bridge of montereau." "you take me for monsieur?" the unknown asked. and it was plain that he smiled under his mask. biron's face altered. "i take you," he answered sharply, "for him whose sign you sent me." "the wisest are sometimes astray," the other answered with a low laugh. and he took off his mask. the grand master started back, his eyes sparkling with anger. "m. de tavannes?" he cried, and for a moment he was silent in sheer astonishment. then, striking his hand on the table, "what means this trickery?" he asked. "it is of the simplest," tavannes answered coolly. "and yet, as you just now said, i had hardly come at you without it. and i had to come at you. no, m. de biron," he added quickly, as biron in a rage laid his hand on a bell which stood beside him on the table, "you cannot that way undo what is done." "i can at least deliver you," the grand master answered, in heat, "to those who will deal with you as you have dealt with us and ours." "it will avail you nothing," count hannibal replied soberly. "for see here, grand master, i come from the king. if you are at war with him, and hold his fortress in his teeth, i am his ambassador and sacrosanct. if you are at peace with him and hold it at his will, i am his servant, and safe also." "at peace and safe?" biron cried, his voice trembling with indignation. "and are those safe or at peace who came here trusting to _his_ word, who lay in his palace and slept in his beds? where are they, and how have they fared, that you dare appeal to the law of nations, or he to the loyalty of biron? and for you to beard me, whose brother to-day hounded the dogs of this vile city on the noblest in france, who have leagued yourself with a crew of foreigners to do a deed which will make our country stink in the nostrils of the world when we are dust! you, to come here and talk of peace and safety! m. de tavannes"--and he struck his hand on the table--"you are a bold man. i know why the king had a will to send you, but i know not why you had the will to come." "that i will tell you later," count hannibal answered coolly. "for the king, first. my message is brief, m. de biron. have you a mind to hold the scales in france?" "between?" biron asked contemptuously. "between the lorrainers and the huguenots." the grand master scowled fiercely. "i have played the go-between once too often," he growled. "it is no question of going between, it is a question of holding between," tavannes answered coolly. "it is a question--but, in a word, have you a mind, m. de biron, to be governor of rochelle? the king, having dealt the blow that has been struck to-day, looks to follow up severity, as a wise ruler should, with indulgence. and to quiet the minds of the rochellois he would set over them a ruler at once acceptable to them--or war must come of it--and faithful to his majesty. such a man, m. de biron, will in such a post be master of the kingdom; for he will hold the doors of janus, and as he bridles his sea-dogs, or unchains them, there will be peace or war in france." "is all that from the king's mouth?" biron asked with sarcasm. but his passion had died down. he was grown thoughtful, suspicious; he eyed the other intently as if he would read his heart. "the offer is his, and the reflections are mine," tavannes answered dryly. "let me add one more. the admiral is dead. the king of navarre and the prince of conde are prisoners. who is now to balance the italians and the guises? the grand master--if he be wise and content to give the law to france from the citadel of rochelle." biron stared at the speaker in astonishment at his frankness. "you are a bold man," he cried at last. "but _timeo danaos et dona ferentes_," he continued bitterly. "you offer, sir, too much." "the offer is the king's." "and the conditions? the price?" "that you remain quiet, m. de biron." "in the arsenal?" "in the arsenal. and do not too openly counteract the king's will. that is all." the grand master looked puzzled. "i will give up no one," he said. "no one! let that be understood." "the king requires no one." a pause. then, "does m. de guise know of the offer?" biron inquired; and his eye grew bright. he hated the guises and was hated by them. it was _there_ he was a huguenot. "he has gone far to-day," count hannibal answered dryly. "and if no worse come of it should be content. madame catherine knows of it." the grand master was aware that marshal tavannes depended on the queen- mother; and he shrugged his shoulders. "ay, 'tis like her policy," he muttered. "'tis like her!" and pointing his guest to a cushioned chest which stood against the wall, he sat down in a chair beside the table and thought awhile, his brow wrinkled, his eyes dreaming. by-and-by he laughed sourly. "you have lighted the fire," he said, "and would fain i put it out." "we would have you hinder it spreading." "you have done the deed and are loth to pay the blood-money. that is it, is it? "we prefer to pay it to m. de biron," count hannibal answered civilly. again the grand master was silent awhile. at length he looked up and fixed tavannes with eyes keen as steel. "what is behind?" he growled. "say, man, what is it? what is behind?" "if there be aught behind, i do not know it," tavannes answered steadfastly. m. de biron relaxed the fixity of his gaze. "but you said that you had an object?" he returned. "i had--in being the bearer of the message." "what was it?" "my object? to learn two things." "the first, if it please you?" the grand master's chin stuck out a little, as he spoke. "have you in the arsenal a m. de tignonville, a gentleman of poitou?" "i have not," biron answered curtly. "the second?" "have you here a huguenot minister?" "i have not. and if i had i should not give him up," he added firmly. tavannes shrugged his shoulders. "i have a use for one," he said carelessly. "but it need not harm him." "for what, then, do you need him?" "to marry me." the other stared. "but you are a catholic," he said. "but she is a huguenot," tavannes answered. the grand master did not attempt to hide his astonishment. "and she sticks on that?" he exclaimed. "to-day?" "she sticks on that. to-day." "to-day? _nom de dieu_! to-day! well," brushing the matter aside after a pause of bewilderment, "any way, i cannot help her. i have no minister here. if there be aught else i can do for her--" "nothing, i thank you," tavannes answered. "then it only remains for me to take your answer to the king?" and he rose politely, and taking his mask from the table prepared to assume it. m. de biron gazed at him a moment without speaking, as if he pondered on the answer he should give. at length he nodded, and rang the bell which stood beside him. "the mask!" he muttered in a low voice as footsteps sounded without. and, obedient to the hint, tavannes disguised himself. a second later the officer who had introduced him opened the door and entered. "peridol," m. de biron said--he had risen to his feet--"i have received a message which needs confirmation; and to obtain this i must leave the arsenal. i am going to the house--you will remember this--of marshal tavannes, who will be responsible for my person; in the mean time this gentleman will remain under strict guard in the south chamber upstairs. you will treat him as a hostage, with all respect, and will allow him to preserve his _incognito_. but if i do not return by noon to-morrow, you will deliver him to the men below, who will know how to deal with him." count hannibal made no attempt to interrupt him, nor did he betray the discomfiture which he undoubtedly felt. but as the grand master paused-- "m. de biron," he said, in a voice harsh and low, "you will answer to me for this!" and his eyes glittered through the slits in the mask. "possibly, but not to-day or to-morrow!" biron replied, shrugging his shoulders contemptuously. "peridol! see the gentleman bestowed as i have ordered, and then return to me. monsieur," with a bow, half courteous, half ironical, "let me commend to you the advantages of silence and your mask." and he waved his hand in the direction of the door. a moment count hannibal hesitated. he was in the heart of a hostile fortress where the resistance of a single man armed to the teeth must have been futile; and he was unarmed, save for a poniard. nevertheless, for a moment the impulse to spring on biron, and with the dagger at his throat to make his life the price of a safe passage, was strong. then--for with the warp of a harsh and passionate character were interwrought an odd shrewdness and some things little suspected--he resigned himself. bowing gravely, he turned with dignity, and in silence followed the officer from the room. peridol had two men in waiting at the door. from one of these the lieutenant took a lanthorn, and, with an air at once sullen and deferential, led the way up the stone staircase to the floor over that in which m. de biron had his lodging. tavannes followed; the two guards came last, carrying a second lanthorn. at the head of the staircase, whence a bare passage ran, north and south, the procession turned right- handed, and, passing two doors, halted before the third and last, which faced them at the end of the passage. the lieutenant unlocked it with a key which he took from a hook beside the doorpost. then, holding up his light, he invited his charge to enter. the room was not small, but it was low in the roof, and prison-like, it had bare walls and smoke-marks on the ceiling. the window, set in a deep recess, the floor of which rose a foot above that of the room, was unglazed; and through the gloomy orifice the night wind blew in, laden even on that august evening with the dank mist of the river flats. a table, two stools, and a truckle bed without straw or covering made up the furniture; but peridol, after glancing round, ordered one of the men to fetch a truss of straw and the other to bring up a pitcher of wine. while they were gone tavannes and he stood silently waiting, until, observing that the captive's eyes sought the window, the lieutenant laughed. "no bars?" he said. "no, monsieur, and no need of them. you will not go by that road, bars or no bars." "what is below?" count hannibal asked carelessly. "the river?" "yes, monsieur," with a grin; "but not water. mud, and six feet of it, soft as christmas porridge, but not so sweet. i've known two puppies thrown in under this window that did not weigh more than a fat pullet apiece. one was gone before you could count fifty, and the other did not live thrice as long--nor would have lasted that time, but that it fell on the first and clung to it." tavannes dismissed the matter with a shrug, and, drawing his cloak about him, set a stool against the wall and sat down. the men who brought in the wine and the bundle of straw were inquisitive, and would have loitered, scanning him stealthily; but peridol hurried them away. the lieutenant himself stayed only to cast a glance round the room, and to mutter that he would return when his lord returned; then, with a "good night" which said more for his manners than his good will, he followed them out. a moment later the grating of the key in the lock and the sound of the bolts as they sped home told tavannes that he was a prisoner. chapter xiv. too short a spoon. count hannibal remained seated, his chin sunk on his breast, until his ear assured him that the three men had descended the stairs to the floor below. then he rose, and, taking the lanthorn from the table, on which peridol had placed it, he went softly to the door, which, like the window, stood in a recess--in this case the prolongation of the passage. a brief scrutiny satisfied him that escape that way was impossible, and he turned, after a cursory glance at the floor and ceiling, to the dark, windy aperture which yawned at the end of the apartment. placing the lanthorn on the table, and covering it with his cloak, he mounted the window recess, and, stepping to the unguarded edge, looked out. he knew, rather than saw, that peridol had told the truth. the smell of the aguish flats which fringed that part of paris rose strong in his nostrils. he guessed that the sluggish arm of the seine which divided the arsenal from the ile des louviers crawled below; but the night was dark, and it was impossible to discern land from water. he fancied that he could trace the outline of the island--an uninhabited place, given up to wood piles; but the lights of the college quarter beyond it, which rose feebly twinkling to the crown of st. genevieve, confused his sight and rendered the nearer gloom more opaque. from that direction and from the cite to his right came sounds which told of a city still heaving in its blood-stained sleep, and even in its dreams planning further excesses. now a distant shot, and now a faint murmur on one of the bridges, or a far-off cry, raucous, sudden, curdled the blood. but even of what was passing under cover of the darkness, he could learn little; and after standing awhile with a hand on either side of the window he found the night air chill. he stepped back, and, descending to the floor, uncovered the lanthorn and set it on the table. his thoughts travelled back to the preparations he had made the night before with a view to securing mademoiselle's person, and he considered, with a grim smile, how little he had foreseen that within twenty-four hours he would himself be a prisoner. presently, finding his mask oppressive, he removed it, and, laying it on the table before him, sat scowling at the light. biron had jockeyed him cleverly. well, the worse for armand de gontaut de biron if after this adventure the luck went against him! but in the mean time? in the mean time his fate was sealed if harm befell biron. and what the king's real mind in biron's case was, and what the queen- mother's, he could not say; just as it was impossible to predict how far, when they had the grand master at their mercy, they would resist the temptation to add him to the victims. if biron placed himself at once in marshal tavannes' hands, all might be well. but if he ventured within the long arm of the guises, or went directly to the louvre, the fact that with the grand master's fate count hannibal's was bound up, would not weigh a straw. in such crises the great sacrificed the less great, the less great the small, without a scruple. and the guises did not love count hannibal; he was not loved by many. even the strength of his brother the marshal stood rather in the favour of the king's heir, for whom he had won the battle of jarnac, than intrinsically; and, durable in ordinary times, might snap in the clash of forces and interests which the desperate madness of this day had let loose on paris. it was not the peril in which he stood, however--though, with the cold clear eye of the man who had often faced peril, he appreciated it to a nicety--that count hannibal found least bearable, but his enforced inactivity. he had thought to ride the whirlwind and direct the storm, and out of the danger of others to compact his own success. instead he lay here, not only powerless to guide his destiny, which hung on the discretion of another, but unable to stretch forth a finger to further his plans. as he sat looking darkly at the lanthorn, his mind followed biron and his riders through the midnight streets along st. antoine and la verrerie, through the gloomy narrows of the rue la ferronerie, and so past the house in the rue st. honore where mademoiselle sat awaiting the morrow--sat awaiting tignonville, the minister, the marriage! doubtless there were still bands of plunderers roaming to and fro; at the barriers troops of archers stopping the suspected; at the windows pale faces gazing down; at the gates of the temple, and of the walled enclosures which largely made up the city, strong guards set to prevent invasion. biron would go with sufficient to secure himself; and unless he encountered the bodyguard of guise his passage would quiet the town. but was it so certain that _she_ was safe? he knew his men, and while he had been free he had not hesitated to leave her in their care. but now that he could not go, now that he could not raise a hand to help, the confidence which had not failed him in straits more dangerous grew weak. he pictured the things which might happen, at which, in his normal frame of mind, he would have laughed. now they troubled him so that he started at a shadow, so that he quailed at a thought. he, who last night, when free to act, had timed his coming and her rescue to a minute! who had rejoiced in the peril, since with the glamour of such things foolish women were taken! who had not flinched when the crowd roared most fiercely for her blood! why had he suffered himself to be trapped? why indeed? and thrice in passion he paced the room. long ago the famous nostradamus had told him that he would live to be a king, but of the smallest kingdom in the world. "every man is a king in his coffin," he had answered. "the grave is cold and your kingdom shall be warm," the wizard had rejoined. on which the courtiers had laughed, promising him a moorish island and a black queen. and he had gibed with the rest, but secretly had taken note of the sovereign counties of france, their rulers and their heirs. now he held the thought in horror, foreseeing no county, but the cage under the stifling tiles at loches, in which cardinal balue and many another had worn out their hearts. he came to that thought not by way of his own peril, but of mademoiselle's; which affected him in so novel a fashion that he wondered at his folly. at last, tired of watching the shadows which the draught set dancing on the wall, he drew his cloak about him and lay down on the straw. he had kept vigil the previous night, and in a few minutes, with a campaigner's ease, he was asleep. midnight had struck. about two the light in the lanthorn burned low in the socket, and with a soft sputtering went out. for an hour after that the room lay still, silent, dark; then slowly the grey dawn, the greyer for the river mist which wrapped the neighbourhood in a clammy shroud, began to creep into the room and discover the vague shapes of things. again an hour passed, and the sun was rising above montreuil, and here and there the river began to shimmer through the fog. but in the room it was barely daylight when the sleeper awoke, and sat up, his face expectant. something had roused him. he listened. his ear, and the habit of vigilance which a life of danger instils, had not deceived him. there were men moving in the passage; men who shuffled their feet impatiently. had biron returned? or had aught happened to him, and were these men come to avenge him? count hannibal rose and stole across the boards to the door, and, setting his ear to it, listened. he listened while a man might count a hundred and fifty, counting slowly. then, for the third part of a second, he turned his head, and his eyes travelled the room. he stooped again and listened more closely, scarcely breathing. there were voices as well as feet to be heard now; one voice--he thought it was peridol's--which held on long, now low, now rising into violence. others were audible at intervals, but only in a growl or a bitter exclamation, that told of minds made up and hands which would not be restrained. he caught his own name, _tavannes_--the mask was useless, then! and once a noisy movement which came to nothing, foiled, he fancied, by peridol. he knew enough. he rose to his full height, and his eyes seemed a little closer together; an ugly smile curved his lips. his gaze travelled over the objects in the room, the bare stools and table, the lanthorn, the wine-pitcher; beyond these, in a corner, the cloak and straw on the low bed. the light, cold and grey, fell cheerlessly on the dull chamber, and showed it in harmony with the ominous whisper which grew in the gallery; with the stern-faced listener who stood, his one hand on the door. he looked, but he found nothing to his purpose, nothing to serve his end, whatever his end was; and with a quick light step he left the door, mounted the window recess, and, poised on the very edge, looked down. if he thought to escape that way his hope was desperate. the depth to the water-level was not, he judged, twelve feet. but peridol had told the truth. below lay not water, but a smooth surface of viscid slime, here luminous with the florescence of rottenness, there furrowed by a tiny runnel of moisture which sluggishly crept across it to the slow stream beyond. this quicksand, vile and treacherous, lapped the wall below the window, and more than accounted for the absence of bars or fastenings. but, leaning far out, he saw that it ended at the angle of the building, at a point twenty feet or so to the right of his position. he sprang to the floor again, and listened an instant; then, with guarded movements--for there was fear in the air, fear in the silent room, and at any moment the rush might be made, the door burst in--he set the lanthorn and wine-pitcher on the floor, and took up the table in his arms. he began to carry it to the window, but, halfway thither, his eye told him that it would not pass through the opening, and he set it down again and glided to the bed. again he was thwarted; the bed was screwed to the floor. another might have despaired at that, but he rose with no sign of dismay, and listening, always listening, he spread his cloak on the floor, and deftly, with as little noise and rustling as might be, be piled the straw in it, compressed the bundle, and, cutting the bed-cords with his dagger, bound all together with them. in three steps he was in the embrasure of the window, and, even as the men in the passage thrust the lieutenant aside and with a sudden uproar came down to the door, he flung the bundle lightly and carefully to the right--so lightly and carefully, and with so nice and deliberate a calculation, that it seemed odd it fell beyond the reach of an ordinary leap. an instant and he was on the floor again. the men had to unlock, to draw back the bolts, to draw back the door which opened outwards; their numbers, as well as their savage haste, impeded them. when they burst in at last, with a roar of "to the river! to the river!"--burst in a rush of struggling shoulders and lowered pikes, they found him standing, a solitary figure, on the further side of the table, his arms folded. and the sight of the passive figure for a moment stayed them. "say your prayers, child of satan!" cried the leader, waving his weapon. "we give you one minute!" "ay, one minute!" his followers chimed in. "be ready!" "you would murder me?" he said with dignity. and when they shouted assent, "good!" he answered. "it is between you and m. de biron, whose guest i am. but"--with a glance which passed round the ring of glaring eyes and working features--"i would leave a last word for some one. is there any one here who values a safe-conduct from the king? 'tis for two men coming and going for a fortnight." and he held up a slip of paper. the leader cried, "to hell with his safe-conduct! say your prayers!" but all were not of his mind. on one or two of the savage faces--the faces, for the most part, of honest men maddened by their wrongs--flashed an avaricious gleam. a safe-conduct? to avenge, to slay, to kill--and to go safe! for some minds such a thing has an invincible fascination. a man thrust himself forward. "ay, i'll have it!" he cried. "give it here!" "it is yours," count hannibal answered, "if you will carry ten words to marshal tavannes--when i am gone." the man's neighbour laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. "and marshal tavannes will pay you finely," he said. but maudron, the man who had offered, shook off the hand. "if i take the message!" he muttered in a grim aside. "do you think me mad?" and then aloud he cried, "ay, i'll take your message! give me the paper." "you swear you will take it?" the man had no intention of taking it, but he perjured himself and went forward. the others would have pressed round too, half in envy, half in scorn; but tavannes by a gesture stayed them. "gentlemen, i ask a minute only," he said. "a minute for a dying man is not much. your friends had as much." and the fellows, acknowledging the claim and assured that their victim could not escape, let maudron go round the table to him. the man was in haste and ill at ease, conscious of his evil intentions and the fraud he was practising; and at once greedy to have, yet ashamed of the bargain he was making. his attention was divided between the slip of paper, on which his eyes fixed themselves, and the attitude of his comrades; he paid little heed to count hannibal, whom he knew to be unarmed. only when tavannes seemed to ponder on his message, and to be fain to delay, "go on," he muttered with brutal frankness; "your time is up!" tavannes started, the paper slipped from his fingers. maudron saw a chance of getting it without committing himself, and quick as the thought leapt up in his mind he stooped, and grasped the paper, and would have leapt back with it! but quick as he, and quicker, tavannes too stooped, gripped him by the waist, and with a prodigious effort, and a yell in which all the man's stormy nature, restrained to a part during the last few minutes, broke forth, he flung the ill-fated wretch head first through the window. the movement carried tavannes himself--even while his victim's scream rang through the chamber--into the embrasure. an instant he hung on the verge; then, as the men, a moment thunderstruck, sprang forward to avenge their comrade, he leapt out, jumping for the struggling body that had struck the mud, and now lay in it face downwards. he alighted on it, and drove it deep into the quaking slime; but he himself bounded off right-handed. the peril was appalling, the possibility untried, the chance one which only a doomed man would have taken. but he reached the straw-bale, and it gave him a momentary, a precarious footing. he could not regain his balance, he could not even for an instant stand upright on it. but from its support he leapt on convulsively, and, as a pike, flung from above, wounded him in the shoulder, he fell his length in the slough--but forward, with his outstretched hands resting on soil of a harder nature. they sank, it is true, to the elbow, but he dragged his body forward on them, and forward, and freeing one by a last effort of strength--he could not free both, and, as it was, half his face was submerged--he reached out another yard, and gripped a balk of wood, which projected from the corner of the building for the purpose of fending off the stream in flood-time. the men at the window shrieked with rage as he slowly drew himself from the slough, and stood from head to foot a pillar of mud. shout as they might, they had no firearms, and, crowded together in the narrow embrasure, they could take no aim with their pikes. they could only look on in furious impotence, flinging curses at him until he passed from their view, behind the angle of the building. here for a score of yards a strip of hard foreshore ran between mud and wall. he struggled along it until he reached the end of the wall; then with a shuddering glance at the black heaving pit from which he had escaped, and which yet gurgled above the body of the hapless maudron--a tribute to horror which even his fierce nature could not withhold--he turned and painfully climbed the river-bank. the pike-wound in his shoulder was slight, but the effort had been supreme; the sweat poured from his brow, his visage was grey and drawn. nevertheless, when he had put fifty paces between himself and the buildings of the arsenal he paused, and turned. he saw that the men had run to other windows which looked that way; and his face lightened and his form dilated with triumph. he shook his fist at them. "ho, fools!" he cried, "you kill not tavannes so! till our next meeting at montfaucon, fare you well!" chapter xv. the brother of st. magloire. as the exertion of power is for the most part pleasing, so the exercise of that which a woman possesses over a man is especially pleasant. when in addition a risk of no ordinary kind has been run, and the happy issue has been barely expected--above all when the momentary gain seems an augury of final victory--it is impossible that a feeling akin to exultation should not arise in the mind, however black the horizon, and however distant the fair haven. the situation in which count hannibal left mademoiselle de vrillac will be remembered. she had prevailed over him; but in return he had bowed her to the earth, partly by subtle threats, and partly by sheer savagery. he had left her weeping, with the words "madame de tavannes" ringing doom in her ears, and the dark phantom of his will pointing onward to an inevitable future. had she abandoned hope, it would have been natural. but the girl was of a spirit not long nor easily cowed; and tavannes had not left her half an hour before the reflection, that so far the honours of the day were hers, rose up to console her. in spite of his power and her impotence, she had imposed her will upon his; she had established an influence over him, she had discovered a scruple which stayed him, and a limit beyond which he would not pass. in the result she might escape; for the conditions which he had accepted with an ill grace might prove beyond his fulfilling. she might escape! true, many in her place would have feared a worse fate and harsher handling. but there lay half the merit of her victory. it had left her not only in a better position, but with a new confidence in her power over her adversary. he would insist on the bargain struck between them; within its four corners she could look for no indulgence. but if the conditions proved to be beyond his power, she believed that he would spare her: with an ill grace, indeed, with such ferocity and coarse reviling as her woman's pride might scarcely support. but he would spare her. and if the worst befell her? she would still have the consolation of knowing that from the cataclysm which had overwhelmed her friends she had ransomed those most dear to her. owing to the position of her chamber, she saw nothing of the excesses to which paris gave itself up during the remainder of that day, and to which it returned with unabated zest on the following morning. but the carlats and her women learned from the guards below what was passing; and quaking and cowering in their corners fixed frightened eyes on her, who was their stay and hope. how could she prove false to them? how doom them to perish, had there been no question of her lover? of him she sat thinking by the hour together. she recalled with solemn tenderness the moment in which he had devoted himself to the death which came but halfway to seize them; nor was she slow to forgive his subsequent withdrawal, and his attempt to rescue her in spite of herself. she found the impulse to die glorious; the withdrawal--for the actor was her lover--a thing done for her, which he would not have done for himself, and which she quickly forgave him. the revulsion of feeling which had conquered her at the time, and led her to tear herself from him, no longer moved her much while all in his action that might have seemed in other eyes less than heroic, all in his conduct--in a crisis demanding the highest--that smacked of common or mean, vanished, for she still clung to him. clung to him, not so much with the passion of the mature woman, as with the maiden and sentimental affection of one who has now no hope of possessing, and for whom love no longer spells life, but sacrifice. she had leisure for these musings, for she was left to herself all that day, and until late on the following day. her own servants waited on her, and it was known that below stairs count hannibal's riders kept sullen ward behind barred doors and shuttered windows, refusing admission to all who came. now and again echoes of the riot which filled the streets with bloodshed reached her ears: or word of the more striking occurrences was brought to her by madame carlat. and early on this second day, monday, it was whispered that m. de tavannes had not returned, and that the men below were growing uneasy. at last, when the suspense below and above was growing tense, it was broken. footsteps and voices were heard ascending the stairs, the trampling and hubbub were followed by a heavy knock; perforce the door was opened. while mademoiselle, who had risen, awaited with a beating heart she knew not what, a cowled father, in the dress of the monks of st. magloire, stood on the threshold, and, crossing himself, muttered the words of benediction. he entered slowly. no sight could have been more dreadful to mademoiselle; for it set at naught the conditions which she had so hardly exacted. what if count hannibal were behind, were even now mounting the stairs, prepared to force her to a marriage before this shaveling? or ready to proceed, if she refused, to the last extremity? sudden terror taking her by the throat choked her; her colour fled, her hand flew to her breast. yet, before the door had closed on bigot, she had recovered herself. "this intrusion is not by m. de tavannes' orders!" she cried, stepping forward haughtily. "this person has no business here. how dare you admit him?" the norman showed his bearded visage a moment at the door. "my lord's orders," he muttered sullenly. and he closed the door on them. she had a huguenot's hatred of a cowl; and, in this crisis, her reasons for fearing it. her eyes blazed with indignation. "enough!" she cried, pointing, with a gesture of dismissal, to the door. "go back to him who sent you! if he will insult me, let him do it to my face! if he will perjure himself, let him forswear himself in person. or, if you come on your own account," she continued, flinging prudence to the winds, "as your brethren came to philippa de luns, to offer me the choice you offered her, i give you her answer! if i had thought of myself only, i had not lived so long! and rather than bear your presence or hear your arguments--" she came to a sudden, odd, quavering pause on the word; her lips remained parted, she swayed an instant on her feet. the next moment madame carlat, to whom the visitor had turned his shoulder, doubted her eyes, for mademoiselle was in the monk's arms! "clotilde! clotilde!" he cried, and held her to him. for the monk was m. de tignonville! under the cowl was the lover with whom mademoiselle's thoughts had been engaged. in this disguise, and armed with tavannes' note to madame st. lo--which the guards below knew for count hannibal's hand, though they were unable to decipher the contents--he had found no difficulty in making his way to her. he had learned before he entered that tavannes was abroad, and was aware, therefore, that he ran little risk. but his betrothed, who knew nothing of his adventures in the interval, saw in him one who came to her at the greatest risk, across unnumbered perils, through streets swimming with blood. and though she had never embraced him save in the crisis of the massacre, though she had never called him by his christian name, in the joy of this meeting she abandoned herself to him, she clung to him weeping, she forgot for the time his defection, and thought only of him who had returned to her so gallantly, who brought into the room a breath of poitou, and the sea, and the old days, and the old life; and at the sight of whom the horrors of the last two days fell from her--for the moment. and madame carlat wept also, and in the room was a sound of weeping. the least moved was, for a certainty, m. de tignonville himself, who, as we know, had gone through much that day. but even his heart swelled, partly with pride, partly with thankfulness that he had returned to one who loved him so well. fate had been kinder to him than he deserved; but he need not confess that now. when he had brought off the _coup_ which he had in his mind, he would hasten to forget that he had entertained other ideas. mademoiselle had been the first to be carried away; she was also the first to recover herself. "i had forgotten," she cried suddenly, "i had forgotten," and she wrested herself from his embrace with violence, and stood panting, her face white, her eyes affrighted. "i must not! and you--i had forgotten that too! to be here, monsieur, is the worst office you can do me. you must go! go, monsieur, in mercy i beg of you, while it is possible. every moment you are here, every moment you spend in this house, i shudder." "you need not fear for me," he said, in a tone of bravado. he did not understand. "i fear for myself!" she answered. and then, wringing her hands, divided between her love for him and her fear for herself, "oh, forgive me!" she said. "you do not know that he has promised to spare me, if he cannot produce you, and--and--a minister? he has granted me that; but i thought when you entered that he had gone back on his word, and sent a priest, and it maddened me! i could not bear to think that i had gained nothing. now you understand, and you will pardon me, monsieur? if he cannot produce you i am saved. go then, leave me, i beg, without a moment's delay." he laughed derisively as he turned back his cowl and squared his shoulders. "all that is over!" he said, "over and done with, sweet! m. de tavannes is at this moment a prisoner in the arsenal. on my way hither i fell in with m. de biron, and he told me. the grand master, who would have had me join his company, had been all night at marshal tavannes' hotel, where he had been detained longer than he expected. he stood pledged to release count hannibal on his return, but at my request he consented to hold him one hour, and to do also a little thing for me." the glow of hope which had transfigured her face faded slowly. "it will not help," she said, "if he find you here." "he will not! nor you!" "how, monsieur?" "in a few minutes," he explained--he could not hide his exultation, "a message will come from the arsenal in the name of tavannes, bidding the monk he sent to you bring you to him. a spoken message, corroborated by my presence, should suffice: '_bid the monk who is now with mademoiselle_,' it will run, '_bring her to me at the arsenal, and let four pikes guard them hither_.' when i begged m. de biron to do this, he laughed. 'i can do better,' he said. 'they shall bring one of count hannibal's gloves, which he left on my table. always supposing my rascals have done him no harm, which god forbid, for i am answerable.'" tignonville, delighted with the stratagem which the meeting with biron had suggested, could see no flaw in it. she could, and though she heard him to the end, no second glow of hope softened the lines of her features. with a gesture full of dignity, which took in not only madame carlat and the waiting-woman who stood at the door, but the absent servants-- "and what of these?" she said. "what of these? you forget them, monsieur. you do not think, you cannot have thought, that i would abandon them? that i would leave them to such mercy as he, defeated, might extend to them? no, you forgot them." he did not know what to answer, for the jealous eyes of the frightened waiting-woman, fierce with the fierceness of a hunted animal, were on him. the carlat and she had heard, could hear. at last-- "better one than none!" he muttered, in a voice so low that if the servants caught his meaning it was but indistinctly. "i have to think of you." "and i of them," she answered firmly. "nor is that all. were they not here, it could not be. my word is passed--though a moment ago, monsieur, in the joy of seeing you i forgot it. and how," she continued, "if i keep not my word, can i expect him to keep his? or how, if i am ready to break the bond, on this happening which i never expected, can i hold him to conditions which he loves as little--as little as i love him?" her voice dropped piteously on the last words; her eyes, craving her lover's pardon, sought his. but rage, not pity or admiration, was the feeling roused in tignonville's breast. he stood staring at her, struck dumb by folly so immense. at last-- "you cannot mean this," he blurted out. "you cannot mean, mademoiselle, that you intend to stand on that! to keep a promise wrung from you by force, by treachery, in the midst of such horrors as he and his have brought upon us! it is inconceivable!" she shook her head. "i promised," she said. "you were forced to it." "but the promise saved our lives." "from murderers! from assassins!" he protested. she shook her head. "i cannot go back," she said firmly; "i cannot." "then you are willing to marry him," he cried in ignoble anger. "that is it! nay, you must wish to marry him! for, as for his conditions, mademoiselle," the young man continued, with an insulting laugh, "you cannot think seriously of them. _he_ keep conditions and you in his power! he, count hannibal! but for the matter of that, and were he in the mind to keep them, what are they? there are plenty of ministers. i left one only this morning. i could lay my hand on one in five minutes. he has only to find one, therefore--and to find me!" "yes, monsieur," she cried, trembling with wounded pride, "it is for that reason i implore you to go. the sooner you leave me, the sooner you place yourself in a position of security, the happier for me! every moment that you spend here, you endanger both yourself and me!" "if you will not be persuaded--" "i shall not be persuaded," she answered firmly, "and you do but"--alas! her pride began to break down, her voice to quiver, she looked piteously at him--"by staying here make it harder for me to--to--" "hush!" cried madame carlat. "hush!" and as they started and turned towards her--she was at the end of the chamber by the door, almost out of earshot--she raised a warning hand. "listen!" she muttered, "some one has entered the house." "'tis my messenger from biron," tignonville answered sullenly. and he drew his cowl over his face, and, hiding his hands in his sleeves, moved towards the door. but on the threshold he turned and held out his arms. he could not go thus. "mademoiselle! clotilde!" he cried with passion, "for the last time, listen to me, come with me. be persuaded!" "hush!" madame carlat interposed again, and turned a scared face on them. "it is no messenger! it is tavannes himself: i know his voice." and she wrung her hands. "_oh, mon dieu, mon dieu_, what are we to do?" she continued, panic-stricken. and she looked all ways about the room. chapter xvi. at close quarters. fear leapt into mademoiselle's eyes, but she commanded herself. she signed to madame carlat to be silent, and they listened, gazing at one another, hoping against hope that the woman was mistaken. a long moment they waited, and some were beginning to breathe again, when the strident tones of count hannibal's voice rolled up the staircase, and put an end to doubt. mademoiselle grasped the table and stood supporting herself by it. "what are we to do?" she muttered. "what are we to do?" and she turned distractedly towards the women. the courage which had supported her in her lover's absence had abandoned her now. "if he finds him here i am lost! i am lost!" "he will not know me," tignonville muttered. but he spoke uncertainly; and his gaze, shifting hither and thither, belied the boldness of his words. madame carlat's eyes flew round the room; on her for once the burden seemed to rest. alas! the room had no second door, and the windows looked on a courtyard guarded by tavannes' people. and even now count hannibal's step rang on the stair! his hand was almost on the latch. the woman wrung her hands; then, a thought striking her, she darted to a corner where mademoiselle's robes hung on pegs against the wall. "here!" she cried, raising them. "behind these! he may not be seen here! quick, monsieur, quick! hide yourself!" it was a forlorn hope--the suggestion of one who had not thought out the position; and, whatever its promise, mademoiselle's pride revolted against it. "no," she cried. "not there!" while tignonville, who knew that the step was useless, since count hannibal must have learned that a monk had entered, held his ground. "you could not deny yourself?" he muttered hurriedly. "and a priest with me?" she answered; and she shook her head. there was no time for more, and even as mademoiselle spoke count hannibal's knuckles tapped the door. she cast a last look at her lover. he had turned his back on the window; the light no longer fell on his face. it was possible that he might pass unrecognized, if tavannes' stay was brief; at any rate, the risk must be run. in a half stifled voice she bade her woman, javette, open the door. count hannibal bowed low as he entered; and he deceived the others. but he did not deceive her. he had not crossed the threshold before she repented that she had not acted on tignonville's suggestion, and denied herself. for what could escape those hard keen eyes, which swept the room, saw all, and seemed to see nothing--those eyes in which there dwelt even now a glint of cruel humour? he might deceive others, but she who panted within his grasp, as the wild bird palpitates in the hand of the fowler, was not deceived! he saw, he knew! although, as he bowed, and smiling, stood upright, he looked only at her. "i expected to be with you before this," he said courteously, "but i have been detained. first, mademoiselle, by some of your friends, who were reluctant to part with me; then by some of your enemies, who, finding me in no handsome case, took me for a huguenot escaped from the river, and drove me to shifts to get clear of them. however, now i am come, i have news." "news?" she muttered with dry lips. it could hardly be good news. "yes, mademoiselle, of m. de tignonville," he answered. "i have little doubt that i shall be able to produce him this evening, and so to satisfy one of your scruples. and as i trust that this good father," he went on, turning to the ecclesiastic, and speaking with the sneer from which he seldom refrained, catholic as he was, when he mentioned a priest, "has by this time succeeded in removing the other, and persuading you to accept his ministrations--" "no!" she cried impulsively. "no?" with a dubious smile, and a glance from one to the other. "oh, i had hoped better things. but he still may? he still may. i am sure he may. in which case, mademoiselle, your modesty must pardon me if i plead urgency, and fix the hour after supper this evening for the fulfilment of your promise." she turned white to the lips. "after supper?" she gasped. "yes, mademoiselle, this evening. shall i say--at eight o'clock?" in horror of the thing which menaced her, of the thing from which only two hours separated her, she could find no words but those which she had already used. the worst was upon her; worse than the worst could not befall her. "but he has not persuaded me!" she cried, clenching her hands in passion. "he has not persuaded me!" "still he may, mademoiselle." "he will not!" she cried wildly. "he will not!" the room was going round with her. the precipice yawned at her feet; its naked terrors turned her brain. she had been pushed nearer, and nearer, and nearer; struggle as she might, she was on the verge. a mist rose before her eyes, and though they thought she listened she understood nothing of what was passing. when she came to herself, after the lapse of a minute, count hannibal was speaking. "permit him another trial," he was saying in a tone of bland irony. "a short time longer, mademoiselle! one more assault, father! the weapons of the church could not be better directed or to a more worthy object; and, successful, shall not fail of due recognition and an earthly reward." and while she listened, half fainting, with a humming in her ears, he was gone. the door closed on him, and the three--mademoiselle's woman had withdrawn when she opened to him--looked at one another. the girl parted her lips to speak, but she only smiled piteously; and it was m. de tignonville who broke the silence, in a tone which betrayed rather relief than any other feeling. "come, all is not lost yet," he said briskly. "if i can escape from the house--" "he knows you," she answered. "what?" "he knows you," mademoiselle repeated in a tone almost apathetic. "i read it in his eyes. he knew you at once: and knew, too," she added bitterly, "that he had here under his hand one of the two things he required." "then why did he hide his knowledge?" the young man retorted sharply. "why?" she answered. "to induce me to waive the other condition in the hope of saving you. oh!" she continued in a tone of bitter raillery, "he has the cunning of hell, of the priests! you are no match for him, monsieur. nor i; nor any of us. and"--with a gesture of despair--"he will be my master! he will break me to his will and to his hand! i shall be his! his, body and soul, body and soul!" she continued drearily, as she sank into a chair and, rocking herself to and fro, covered her face. "i shall be his! his till i die!" the man's eyes burned, and the pulse in his temples beat wildly. "but you shall not!" he exclaimed. "i may be no match for him in cunning, you say well. but i can kill him. and i will!" he paced up and down. "i will!" "you should have done it when he was here," she answered, half in scorn, half in earnest. "it is not too late," he cried; and then he stopped, silenced by the opening door. it was javette who entered. they looked at her, and before she spoke were on their feet. her face, white and eager, marking something besides fear, announced that she brought news. she closed the door behind her, and in a moment it was told. "monsieur can escape, if he is quick," she cried in a low tone; and they saw that she trembled with excitement. "they are at supper. but he must be quick! he must be quick!" "is not the door guarded?" "it is, but--" "and he knows! your mistress says that he knows that i am here." for a moment javette looked startled. "it is possible," she muttered. "but he has gone out." madame carlat clapped her hands. "i heard the door close," she said, "three minutes ago." "and if monsieur can reach the room in which he supped last night, the window that was broken is only blocked"--she swallowed once or twice in her excitement--"with something he can move. and then monsieur is in the street, where his cowl will protect him." "but count hannibal's men?" he asked eagerly. "they are eating in the lodge by the door." "ha! and they cannot see the other room from there?" javette nodded. her tale told, she seemed to be unable to add a word. mademoiselle, who knew her for a craven, wondered that she had found courage either to note what she had or to bring the news. but as providence had been so good to them as to put it into this woman's head to act as she had, it behoved them to use the opportunity--the last, the very last opportunity they might have. she turned to tignonville. "oh, go!" she cried feverishly. "go, i beg! go now, monsieur! the greatest kindness you can do me is to place yourself as quickly as possible beyond his reach." a faint colour, the flush of hope, had returned to her cheeks. her eyes glittered. "right, mademoiselle!" he cried, obedient for once, "i go! and do you be of good courage." he held her hand: an instant, then, moving to the door, he opened it and listened. they all pressed behind him to hear. a murmur of voices, low and distant, mounted the staircase and bore out the girl's tale; apart from this the house was silent. tignonville cast a last look at mademoiselle, and, with a gesture of farewell, glided a-tiptoe to the stairs and began to descend, his face hidden in his cowl. they watched him reach the angle of the staircase, they watched him vanish beyond it; and still they listened, looking at one another when a board creaked or the voices below were hushed for a moment. chapter xvii. the duel. at the foot of the staircase tignonville paused. the droning norman voices of the men on guard issued from an open door a few paces before him on the left. he caught a jest, the coarse chuckling laughter which attended it, and the gurgle of applause which followed; and he knew that at any moment one of the men might step out and discover him. fortunately the door of the room with the shattered window was almost within reach of his hand on the right side of the passage, and he stepped softly to it. he stood an instant hesitating, his hand on the latch; then, alarmed by a movement in the guard-room, as if some were rising, he pushed the door in a panic, slid into the room, and shut the door behind him. he was safe, and he had made no noise; but at the table, at supper, with his back to him and his face to the partly closed window, sat count hannibal! the young man's heart stood still. for a long minute he gazed at the count's back, spellbound and unable to stir. then, as tavannes ate on without looking round, he began to take courage. possibly he had entered so quietly that he had not been heard, or possibly his entrance was taken for that of a servant. in either case, there was a chance that he might retire after the same fashion; and he had actually raised the latch, and was drawing the door to him with infinite precaution, when tavannes' voice struck him, as it were, in the face. "pray do not admit the draught, m. de tignonville," he said, without looking round. "in your cowl you do not feel it, but it is otherwise with me." the unfortunate tignonville stood transfixed, glaring at the back of the other's head. for an instant he could not find his voice. at last-- "curse you!" he hissed in a transport of rage. "curse you! you did know, then? and she was right." "if you mean that i expected you, to be sure, monsieur," count hannibal answered. "see, your place is laid. you will not feel the air from without there. the very becoming dress which you have adopted secures you from cold. but--do you not find it somewhat oppressive this summer weather?" "curse you!" the young man cried, trembling. tavannes turned and looked at him with a dark smile. "the curse may fall," he said, "but i fancy it will not be in consequence of your petitions, monsieur. and now, were it not better you played the man?" "if i were armed," the other cried passionately, "you would not insult me!" "sit down, sir, sit down," count hannibal answered sternly. "we will talk of that presently. in the mean time i have something to say to you. will you not eat?" but tignonville would not. "very well," count hannibal answered; and he went on with his supper. "i am indifferent whether you eat or not. it is enough for me that you are one of the two things i lacked an hour ago; and that i have you, m. de tignonville. and through you i look to obtain the other." "what other?" tignonville cried. "a minister," tavannes answered, smiling. "a minister. there are not many left in paris--of your faith. but you met one this morning, i know." "i? i met one?" "yes, monsieur, you! and can lay your hand on him in five minutes, you know." m. de tignonville gasped. his face turned a shade paler. "you have a spy," he cried. "you have a spy upstairs!" tavannes raised his cup to his lips, and drank. when he had set it down-- "it may be," he said, and he shrugged his shoulders. "i know, it boots not how i know. it is my business to make the most of my knowledge--and of yours!" m. de tignonville laughed rudely. "make the most of your own," he said; "you will have none of mine." "that remains to be seen," count hannibal answered. "carry your mind back two days, m. de tignonville. had i gone to mademoiselle de vrillac last saturday and said to her 'marry me, or promise to marry me,' what answer would she have given?" "she would have called you an insolent!" the young man replied hotly. "and i--" "no matter what you would have done!" tavannes said. "suffice it that she would have answered as you suggest. yet to-day she has given me her promise." "yes," the young man retorted, "in circumstances in which no man of honour--" "let us say in peculiar circumstances." "well?" "which still exist! mark me, m. de tignonville," count hannibal continued, leaning forward and eyeing the young man with meaning, "_which still exist_! and may have the same effect on another's will as on hers! listen! do you hear?" and rising from his seat with a darkening face, he pointed to the partly shuttered window, through which the measured tramp of a body of men came heavily to the ear. "do you hear, monsieur? do you understand? as it was yesterday it is to-day! they killed the president la place this morning! and they are searching! they are still searching! the river is not yet full, nor the gibbet glutted! i have but to open that window and denounce you, and your life would hang by no stronger thread than the life of a mad dog which they chase through the streets!" the younger man had risen also. he stood confronting tavannes, the cowl fallen back from his face, his eyes dilated. "you think to frighten me!" he cried. "you think that i am craven enough to sacrifice her to save myself. you--" "you were craven enough to draw back yesterday, when you stood at this window and waited for death!" count hannibal answered brutally. "you flinched then, and may flinch again!" "try me!" tignonville retorted, trembling with passion. "try me!" and then, as the other stared at him and made no movement, "but you dare not!" he cried. "you dare not!" "no?" "no! for if i die you lose her!" tignonville replied in a voice of triumph. "ha, ha! i touch you there!" he continued. "you dare not, for my safety is part of the price, and is more to you than it is to myself! you may threaten, m. de tavannes, you may bluster, and shout and point to the window"--and he mocked, with a disdainful mimicry, the other's gesture--"but my safety is more to you than to me! and 'twill end there!" "you believe that?" "i know it!" in two strides count hannibal was at the window. he seized a great piece of the boarding which closed one-half of the opening; he wrenched it away. a flood of evening light burst in through the aperture, and fell on and heightened the flushed passion of his features, as he turned again to his opponent. "then if you know it," he cried vehemently, "in god's name act upon it!" and he pointed to the window. "act upon it?" "ay, act upon it!" tavannes repeated, with a glance of flame. "the road is open! if you would save your mistress, behold the way! if you would save her from the embrace she abhors, from the eyes under which she trembles, from the hand of a master, there lies the way! and it is not her glove only you will save, but herself, her soul, her body! so," he continued, with a certain wildness, and in a tone wherein contempt and bitterness were mingled, "to the lions, brave lover! will you your life for her honour? will you death that she may live a maid? will you your head to save her finger? then, leap down! leap down! the lists are open, the sand is strewed! out of your own mouth i have it that if you perish she is saved! then out, monsieur! cry 'i am a huguenot!' and god's will be done!" tignonville was livid. "rather, your will!" he panted. "your will, you devil! nevertheless--" "you will go! ha! ha! you will go!" for an instant it seemed that he would go. stung by the challenge, wrought on by the contempt in which tavannes held him, he shot a look of hate at the tempter; he caught his breath, and laid his hand on the edge of the shuttering as if he would leap out. but it goes hard with him who has once turned back from the foe. the evening light, glancing cold on the burnished pike-points of a group of archers who stood near, caught his eye and went chill to his heart. death, not in the arena, not in the sight of shouting thousands, but in this darkening street, with an enemy laughing from the window, death with no revenge to follow, with no certainty that after all she would be safe, such a death could be compassed only by pure love--the love of a child for a parent, of a parent for a child, of a man for the one woman in the world! he recoiled. "you would not spare her!" he cried, his face damp with sweat--for he knew now that he would not go. "you want to be rid of me! you would fool me, and then--" "out of your own mouth you are convict!" count hannibal retorted gravely. "it was you who said it! but still i swear it! shall i swear it to you?" but tignonville recoiled another step and was silent. "no? o _preux chevalier_, o gallant knight! i knew it! do you think that i did not know with whom i had to deal?" and count hannibal burst into harsh laughter, turning his back on the other, as if he no longer counted. "you will neither die with her nor for her! you were better in her petticoats and she in your breeches! or no, you are best as you are, good father! take my advice, m. de tignonville, have done with arms; and with a string of beads, and soft words, and talk of holy mother church, you will fool the women as surely as the best of them! they are not all like my cousin, a flouting, gibing, jeering woman--you had poor fortune there, i fear?" "if i had a sword!" tignonville hissed, his face livid with rage. "you call me coward, because i will not die to please you. but give me a sword, and i will show you if i am a coward!" tavannes stood still. "you are there, are you?" he said in an altered tone. "i--" "give me a sword," tignonville repeated, holding out his open trembling hands. "a sword! a sword! 'tis easy taunting an unarmed man, but--" "you wish to fight?" "i ask no more! no more! give me a sword," he urged, his voice quivering with eagerness. "it is you who are the coward!" count hannibal stared at him. "and what am i to get by fighting you?" he reasoned slowly. "you are in my power. i can do with you as i please. i can call from this window and denounce you, or i can summon my men--" "coward! coward!" "ay? well, i will tell you what i will do," with a subtle smile. "i will give you a sword, m. de tignonville, and i will meet you foot to foot here, in this room, on a condition." "what is it? what is it?" the young man cried with incredible eagerness. "name your condition!" "that if i get the better of you, you find me a minister." "i find you a--" "a minister. yes, that is it. or tell me where i can find one." the young man recoiled. "never!" he said. "you know where to find one." "never! never!" "you can lay your hand on one in five minutes, you know." "i will not." "then i shall not fight you!" count hannibal answered coolly; and he turned from him, and back again. "you will pardon me if i say, m. de tignonville, that you are in as many minds about fighting as about dying! i do not think that you would have made your fortune at court. moreover, there is a thing which i fancy you have not considered. if we fight you may kill me, in which case the condition will not help me much. or i--which is more likely--" he added, with a harsh smile, "may kill you, and again i am no better placed." the young man's pallid features betrayed the conflict in his breast. to do him justice, his hand itched for the sword-hilt--he was brave enough for that; he hated, and only so could he avenge himself. but the penalty if he had the worse! and yet what of it? he was in hell now, in a hell of humiliation, shame, defeat, tormented by this fiend! 'twas only to risk a lower hell. at last, "i will do it!" he cried hoarsely. "give me a sword and look to yourself." "you promise?" "yes, yes, i promise!" "good," count hannibal answered suavely, "but we cannot fight so, we must have more light." and striding to the door he opened it, and calling the norman bade him move the table and bring candles--a dozen candles; for in the narrow streets the light was waning, and in the half-shuttered room it was growing dusk. tignonville, listening with a throbbing brain, wondered that the attendant expressed no surprise and said no word--until tavannes added to his orders one for a pair of swords. then, "monsieur's sword is here," bigot answered in his half-intelligible patois. "he left it here yester morning." "you are a good fellow, bigot," tavannes answered, with a gaiety and good- humour which astonished tignonville. "and one of these days you shall marry suzanne." the norman smiled sourly and went in search of the weapon. "you have a poniard?" count hannibal continued in the same tone of unusual good temper, which had already struck tignonville. "excellent! will you strip, then, or--as we are? very good, monsieur; in the unlikely event of fortune declaring for you, you will be in a better condition to take care of yourself. a man running through the streets in his shirt is exposed to inconveniences!" and he laughed gaily. while he laughed the other listened; and his rage began to give place to wonder. a man who regarded as a pastime a sword and dagger conflict between four walls, who, having his adversary in his power, was ready to discard the advantage, to descend into the lists, and to risk life for a whim, a fancy--such a man was outside his experience, though in poitou in those days of war were men reckoned brave. for what, he asked himself as he waited, had tavannes to gain by fighting? the possession of mademoiselle? but mademoiselle, if his passion for her overwhelmed him, was in his power; and if his promise were a barrier--which seemed inconceivable in the light of his reputation--he had only to wait, and to- morrow, or the next day, or the next, a minister would be found, and without risk he could gain that for which he was now risking all. tignonville did not know that it was in the other's nature to find pleasure in such utmost ventures. nevertheless the recklessness to which tavannes' action bore witness had its effect upon him. by the time the young man's sword arrived something of his passion for the conflict had evaporated; and though the touch of the hilt restored his determination, the locked door, the confined space, and the unaccustomed light went a certain distance towards substituting despair for courage. the use of the dagger in the duels of that day, however, rendered despair itself formidable. and tignonville, when he took his place, appeared anything but a mean antagonist. he had removed his robe and cowl, and lithe and active as a cat he stood as it were on springs, throwing his weight now on this foot and now on that, and was continually in motion. the table bearing the candles had been pushed against the window, the boarding of which had been replaced by bigot before he left the room. tignonville had this, and consequently the lights, on his dagger hand; and he plumed himself on the advantage, considering his point the more difficult to follow. count hannibal did not seem to notice this, however. "are you ready?" he asked. and then-- "on guard!" he cried, and he stamped the echo to the word. but, that done, instead of bearing the other down with a headlong rush characteristic of the man--as tignonville feared--he held off warily, stooping low; and when his slow opening was met by one as cautious, he began to taunt his antagonist. "come!" he cried, and feinted half-heartedly. "come, monsieur, are we going to fight, or play at fighting?" "fight yourself, then!" tignonville answered, his breath quickened by excitement and growing hope. "'tis not i hold back!" and he lunged, but was put aside. "ca! ca!" tavannes retorted; and he lunged and parried in his turn, but loosely and at a distance. after which the two moved nearer the door, their eyes glittering as they watched one another, their knees bent, the sinews of their backs straining for the leap. suddenly tavannes thrust, and leapt away, and as his antagonist thrust in return the count swept the blade aside with a strong parry, and for a moment seemed to be on the point of falling on tignonville with the poniard. but tignonville retired his right foot nimbly, which brought them front to front again. and the younger man laughed. "try again, m. le comte!" he said. and, with the word, he dashed in himself quick as light; for a second the blades ground on one another, the daggers hovered, the two suffused faces glared into one another; then the pair disengaged again. the blood trickled from a scratch on count hannibal's neck; half an inch to the right and the point had found his throat. and tignonville, elated, laughed anew, and swaying from side to side on his hips, watched with growing confidence for a second chance. lithe as one of the leopards charles kept at the louvre, he stooped lower and lower, and more and more with each moment took the attitude of the assailant, watching for an opening; while count hannibal, his face dark and his eyes vigilant, stood increasingly on the defence. the light was waning a little, the wicks of the candles were burning long; but neither noticed it or dared to remove his eyes from the other's. their laboured breathing found an echo on the farther side of the door, but this again neither observed. "well?" count hannibal said at last. "are you coming?" "when i please," tignonville answered; and he feinted but drew back. the other did the same, and again they watched one another, their eyes seeming to grow smaller and smaller. gradually a smile had birth on tignonville's lips. he thrust! it was parried! he thrust again--parried! tavannes, grown still more cautious, gave a yard. tignonville pushed on, but did not allow confidence to master caution. he began, indeed, to taunt his adversary; to flout and jeer him. but it was with a motive. for suddenly, in the middle of a sentence, he repeated the peculiar thrust which had been successful before. this time, however, tavannes was ready. he put aside the blade with a quick parade, and instead of making a riposte sprang within the other's guard. the two came face to face and breast to shoulder, and struck furiously with their daggers. count hannibal was outside his opponent's sword and had the advantage. tignonville's dagger fell, but glanced off the metalwork of the other's hilt; tavannes' fell swift and hard between the young man's eyes. the huguenot flung up his hands and staggered back, falling his length on the floor. in an instant count hannibal was on his breast, and had knocked away his dagger. then-- "you own yourself vanquished?" he cried. the young man, blinded by the blood which trickled down his face, made a sign with his hands. count hannibal rose to his feet again, and stood a moment looking at his foe without speaking. presently he seemed to be satisfied. he nodded, and going to the table dipped a napkin in water. he brought it, and carefully supporting tignonville's head, laved his brow. "it is as i thought," he said, when he had stanched the blood. "you are not hurt, man. you are stunned. it is no more than a bruise." the young man was coming to himself. "but i thought--" he muttered, and broke off to pass his hand over his face. then he got up slowly, reeling a little, "i thought it was the point," he muttered. "no, it was the pommel," tavannes answered dryly. "it would not have served me to kill you. i could have done that ten times." tignonville groaned, and, sitting down at the table, held the napkin to his aching head. one of the candles had been overturned in the struggle and lay on the floor, flaring in a little pool of grease. tavannes set his heel upon it; then, striding to the farther end of the room, he picked up tignonville's dagger and placed it beside his sword on the table. he looked about to see if aught else remained to do, and, finding nothing, he returned to tignonville's side. "now, monsieur," he said in a voice hard and constrained, "i must ask you to perform your part of the bargain." a groan of anguish broke from the unhappy man. and yet he had set his life on the cast; what more could he have done? "you will not harm him?" he muttered. "he shall go safe," count hannibal replied gravely. "and--" he fought a moment with his pride, then blurted out the words, "you will not tell her--that it was through me--you found him?" "i will not," tavannes answered in the same tone. he stooped and picked up the other's robe and cowl, which had fallen from a chair--so that as he spoke his eyes were averted. "she shall never know through me," he said. and tignonville, his face hidden in his hands, told him. chapter xviii. andromeda, perseus being absent. little by little--while they fought below--the gloom had thickened, and night had fallen in the room above. but mademoiselle would not have candles brought. seated in the darkness, on the uppermost step of the stairs, her hands clasped about her knees, she listened and listened, as if by that action she could avert misfortune; or as if, by going so far forward to meet it, she could turn aside the worst. the women shivering in the darkness about her would fain have struck a light and drawn her back into the room, for they felt safer there. but she was not to be moved. the laughter and chatter of the men in the guard-room, the coming and going of bigot as he passed, below but out of sight, had no terrors for her; nay, she breathed more freely on the bare open landing of the staircase than in the close confines of a room which her fears made hateful to her. here at least she could listen, her face unseen; and listening she bore the suspense more easily. a turn in the staircase, with the noise which proceeded from the guard- room, rendered it difficult to hear what happened in the closed room below. but she thought that if an alarm were raised there she must hear it; and as the moments passed and nothing happened, she began to feel confident that her lover had made good his escape by the window. presently she got a fright. three or four men came from the guard-room and went, as it seemed to her, to the door of the room with the shattered casement. she told herself that she had rejoiced too soon, and her heart stood still. she waited for a rush of feet, a cry, a struggle. but except an uncertain muffled sound which lasted for some minutes, and was followed by a dull shock, she heard nothing more. and presently the men went back whispering, the noise in the guard-room which had been partially hushed broke forth anew, and perplexed but relieved she breathed again. surely he had escaped by this time. surely by this time he was far away, in the arsenal, or in some place of refuge! and she might take courage, and feel that for this day the peril was overpast. "mademoiselle will have the lights now?" one of the women ventured. "no! no!" she answered feverishly, and she continued to crouch where she was on the stairs, bathing herself and her burning face in the darkness and coolness of the stairway. the air entered freely through a window at her elbow, and the place was fresher, were that all, than the room she had left. javette began to whimper, but she paid no heed to her; a man came and went along the passage below, and she heard the outer door unbarred, and the jarring tread of three or four men who passed through it. but all without disturbance; and afterwards the house was quiet again. and as on this monday evening the prime virulence of the massacre had begun to abate--though it held after a fashion to the end of the week--paris without was quiet also. the sounds which had chilled her heart at intervals during two days were no longer heard. a feeling almost of peace, almost of comfort--a drowsy feeling, that was three parts a reaction from excitement--took possession of her. in the darkness her head sank lower and lower on her knees. and half an hour passed, while javette whimpered, and madame carlat slumbered, her broad back propped against the wall. suddenly mademoiselle opened her eyes, and saw, three steps below her, a strange man whose upward way she barred. behind him came carlat, and behind him bigot, lighting both; and in the confusion of her thoughts as she rose to her feet the three, all staring at her in a common amazement, seemed a company. the air entering through the open window beside her blew the flame of the candle this way and that, and added to the nightmare character of the scene; for by the shifting light the men seemed to laugh one moment and scowl the next, and their shadows were now high and now low on the wall. in truth, they were as much amazed at coming on her in that place as she at their appearance; but they were awake, and she newly roused from sleep; and the advantage was with them. "what is it?" she cried in a panic. "what is it?" "if mademoiselle will return to her room?" one of the men said courteously. "but--what is it?" she was frightened. "if mademoiselle--" then she turned without more and went back into the room, and the three followed, and her woman and madame carlat. she stood resting one hand on the table while javette with shaking fingers lighted the candles. then-- "now, monsieur," she said in a hard voice, "if you will tell me your business?" "you do not know me?" the stranger's eyes dwelt kindly and pitifully on her. she looked at him steadily, crushing down the fears which knocked at her heart. "no," she said. "and yet i think i have seen you." "you saw me a week last sunday," the stranger answered sorrowfully. "my name is la tribe. i preached that day, mademoiselle, before the king of navarre. i believe that you were there." for a moment she stared at him in silence, her lips parted. then she laughed, a laugh which set the teeth on edge. "oh, he is clever!" she cried. "he has the wit of the priests! or the devil! but you come too late, monsieur! you come too late! the bird has flown." "mademoiselle--" "i tell you the bird has flown!" she repeated vehemently. and her laugh of joyless triumph rang through the room. "he is clever, but i have outwitted him! i have--" she paused and stared about her wildly, struck by the silence; struck too by something solemn, something pitiful in the faces that were turned on her. and her lip began to quiver. "what?" she muttered. "why do you look at me so? he has not"--she turned from one to another--"he has not been taken?" "m. tignonville?" she nodded. "he is below." "ah!" she said. they expected to see her break down, perhaps to see her fall. but she only groped blindly for a chair and sat. and for a moment there was silence in the room. it was the huguenot minister who broke it in a tone formal and solemn. "listen, all present!" he said slowly. "the ways of god are past finding out. for two days in the midst of great perils i have been preserved by his hand and fed by his bounty, and i am told that i shall live if, in this matter, i do the will of those who hold me in their power. but be assured--and hearken all," he continued, lowering his voice to a sterner note. "rather than marry this woman to this man against her will--if indeed in his sight such marriage can be--rather than save my life by such base compliance, i will die not once but ten times! see. i am ready! i will make no defence!" and he opened his arms as if to welcome the stroke. "if there be trickery here, if there has been practising below, where they told me this and that, it shall not avail! until i hear from mademoiselle's own lips that she is willing, i will not say over her so much as yea, yea, or nay, nay!" "she is willing!" la tribe turned sharply, and beheld the speaker. it was count hannibal, who had entered a few seconds earlier, and had taken his stand within the door. "she is willing!" tavannes repeated quietly. and if, in this moment of the fruition of his schemes, he felt his triumph, he masked it under a face of sombre purpose. "do you doubt me, man?" "from her own lips!" the other replied, undaunted--and few could say as much--by that harsh presence. "from no other's!" "sirrah, you--" "i can die. and you can no more, my lord!" the minister answered bravely. "you have no threat can move me." "i am not sure of that," tavannes answered, more blandly. "but had you listened to me and been less anxious to be brave, m. la tribe, where no danger is, you had learned that here is no call for heroics! mademoiselle is willing, and will tell you so." "with her own lips?" count hannibal raised his eyebrows. "with her own lips, if you will," he said. and then, advancing a step and addressing her, with unusual gravity, "mademoiselle de vrillac," he said, "you hear what this gentleman requires. will you be pleased to confirm what i have said?" she did not answer, and in the intense silence which held the room in its freezing grasp a woman choked, another broke into weeping. the colour ebbed from the cheeks of more than one; the men fidgeted on their feet. count hannibal looked round, his head high. "there is no call for tears," he said; and whether he spoke in irony or in a strange obtuseness was known only to himself. "mademoiselle is in no hurry--and rightly--to answer a question so momentous. under the pressure of utmost peril, she passed her word; the more reason that, now the time has come to redeem it, she should do so at leisure and after thought. since she gave her promise, monsieur, she has had more than one opportunity of evading its fulfilment. but she is a vrillac, and i know that nothing is farther from her thoughts." he was silent a moment; and then, "mademoiselle," he said, "i would not hurry you." her eyes were closed, but at that her lips moved. "i am--willing," she whispered. and a fluttering sigh, of relief, of pity, of god knows what, filled the room. "you are satisfied, m. la tribe?" "i do not--" "man!" with a growl as of a tiger, count hannibal dropped the mask. in two strides he was at the minister's side, his hand gripped his shoulder; his face, flushed with passion, glared into his. "will you play with lives?" he hissed. "if you do not value your own, have you no thought of others? of these? look and count! have you no bowels? if she will save them, will not you?" "my own i do not value." "curse your own!" tavannes cried in furious scorn. and he shook the other to and fro. "who thought of your life? will you doom these? will you give them to the butcher?" "my lord," la tribe answered, shaken in spite of himself, "if she be willing--" "she is willing." "i have nought to say. but i caught her words indistinctly. and without her consent--" "she shall speak more plainly. mademoiselle--" she anticipated him. she had risen, and stood looking straight before her, seeing nothing. "i am willing," she muttered with a strange gesture, "if it must be." he did not answer. "if it must be," she repeated slowly, and with a heavy sigh. and her chin dropped on her breast. then, abruptly, suddenly--it was a strange thing to see--she looked up. a change as complete as the change which had come over count hannibal a minute before came over her. she sprang to his side; she clutched his arm and devoured his face with her eyes. "you are not deceiving me?" she cried. "you have tignonville below? you--oh, no, no!" and she fell back from him, her eyes distended, her voice grown suddenly shrill and defiant, "you have not! you are deceiving me! he has escaped, and you have lied to me!" "i?" "yes, you have lied to me!" it was the last fierce flicker of hope when hope seemed dead: the last clutch of the drowning at the straw that floated before the eyes. he laughed harshly. "you will be my wife in five minutes," he said, "and you give me the lie? a week, and you will know me better! a month, and--but we will talk of that another time. for the present," he continued, turning to la tribe, "do you, sir, tell her that the gentleman is below. perhaps she will believe you. for you know him." la tribe looked at her sorrowfully; his heart bled for her. "i have seen m. de tignonville," he said. "and m. le comte says truly. he is in the same case with ourselves, a prisoner." "you have seen him?" she wailed. "i left him in the room below, when i mounted the stairs." count hannibal laughed, the grim mocking laugh which seemed to revel in the pain it inflicted. "will you have him for a witness?" he cried. "there could not be a better, for he will not forget. shall i fetch him?" she bowed her head, shivering. "spare me that," she said. and she pressed her hands to her eyes while an uncontrollable shudder passed over her frame. then she stepped forward: "i am ready," she whispered. "do with me as you will!" * * * * * when they had all gone out and closed the door behind them, and the two whom the minister had joined were left together, count hannibal continued for a time to pace the room, his hands clasped at his back, and his head sunk somewhat on his chest. his thoughts appeared to run in a new channel, and one, strange to say, widely diverted from his bride and from that which he had just done. for he did not look her way, or, for a time, speak to her. he stood once to snuff a candle, doing it with an absent face: and once to look, but still absently, and as if he read no word of it, at the marriage writing which lay, the ink still wet, upon the table. after each of these interruptions he resumed his steady pacing to and fro, to and fro, nor did his eye wander once in the direction of her chair. and she waited. the conflict of emotions, the strife between hope and fear, the final defeat had stunned her; had left her exhausted, almost apathetic. yet not quite, nor wholly. for when in his walk he came a little nearer to her, a chill perspiration broke out on her brow, and shudderings crept over her; and when he passed farther from her--and then only, it seemed--she breathed again. but the change lay beneath the surface, and cheated the eye. into her attitude, as she sat, her hands clasped on her lap, her eyes fixed, came no apparent change or shadow of movement. suddenly, with a dull shock, she became aware that he was speaking. "there was need of haste," he said, his tone strangely low and free from emotion, "for i am under bond to leave paris to-morrow for angers, whither i bear letters from the king. and as matters stood, there was no one with whom i could leave you. i trust bigot; he is faithful, and you may trust him, madame, fair or foul! but he is not quick-witted. badelon, also, you may trust. bear it in mind. your woman javette is not faithful; but as her life is guaranteed she must stay with us until she can be securely placed. indeed, i must take all with me--with one exception--for the priests and monks rule paris, and they do not love me, nor would spare aught at my word." he was silent a few moments. then he resumed in the same tone, "you ought to know how we, tavannes, stand. it is by monsieur and the queen- mother; and _contra_ the guises. we have all been in this matter; but the latter push and we are pushed, and the old crack will reopen. as it is, i cannot answer for much beyond the reach of my arm. therefore, we take all with us except m. de tignonville, who desires to be conducted to the arsenal." she had begun to listen with averted eyes. but as he continued to speak surprise awoke in her, and something stronger than surprise--amazement, stupefaction. slowly her eyes came to him, and when he ceased to speak-- "why do you tell me these things?" she muttered, her dry lips framing the words with difficulty. "because it behoves you to know them," he answered, thoughtfully tapping the table. "i have no one, save my brother, whom i can trust." she would not ask him why he trusted her, nor why he thought he could trust her. for a moment or two she watched him, while he, with his eyes lowered, stood in deep thought. at last he looked up and his eyes met hers. "come!" he said abruptly, and in a different tone, "we must end this! is it to be a kiss or a blow between us?" she rose, though her knees shook under her; and they stood face to face, her face white as paper. "what--do you mean?" she whispered. "is it to be a kiss or a blow?" he repeated. "a husband must be a lover, madame, or a master, or both! i am content to be the one or the other, or both, as it shall please you. but the one i will be." "then, a thousand times, a blow," she cried, her eyes flaming, "from you!" he wondered at her courage, but he hid his wonder. "so be it!" he answered. and before she knew what he would be at, he struck her sharply across the cheek with the glove which he held in his hand. she recoiled with a low cry, and her cheek blazed scarlet where he had struck it. "so be it!" he continued sombrely. "the choice shall be yours, but you will come to me daily for the one or the other. if i cannot be lover, madame, i will be master. and by this sign i will have you know it, daily, and daily remember it." she stared at him, her bosom rising and falling, in an astonishment too deep for words. but he did not heed her. he did not look at her again. he had already turned to the door, and while she looked he passed through it, he closed it behind him. and she was alone. chapter xix. in the orleannais. "but you fear him?" "fear him?" madame st. lo answered; and, to the surprise of the countess, she made a little face of contempt. "no; why should i fear him? i fear him no more than the puppy leaping at old sancho's bridle fears his tall playfellow! or than the cloud you see above us fears the wind before which it flies!" she pointed to a white patch, the size of a man's hand, which hung above the hill on their left hand and formed the only speck in the blue summer sky. "fear him? not i!" and, laughing gaily, she put her horse at a narrow rivulet which crossed the grassy track on which they rode. "but he is hard?" the countess murmured in a low voice, as she regained her companion's side. "hard?" madame st. lo rejoined with a gesture of pride. "ay, hard as the stones in my jewelled ring! hard as flint, or the nether millstone--to his enemies! but to women? bah! who ever heard that he hurt a woman?" "why, then, is he so feared?" the countess asked, her eyes on the subject of their discussion--a solitary figure riding some fifty paces in front of them. "because he counts no cost!" her companion answered. "because he killed savillon in the court of the louvre, though he knew his life the forfeit. he would have paid the forfeit too, or lost his right hand, if monsieur, for his brother the marshal's sake, had not intervened. but savillon had whipped his dog, you see. then he killed the chevalier de millaud, but 'twas in fair fight, in the snow, in their shirts. for that, millaud's son lay in wait for him with two, in the passage under the chatelet; but hannibal wounded one, and the others saved themselves. undoubtedly he is feared!" she added with the same note of pride in her voice. the two who talked, rode at the rear of the little company which had left paris at daybreak two days before, by the porte st. jacques. moving steadily south-westward by the lesser roads and bridle-tracks--for count hannibal seemed averse from the great road--they had lain the second night in a village three leagues from bonneval. a journey of two days on fresh horses is apt to change scenery and eye alike; but seldom has an alteration--in themselves and all about them--as great as that which blessed this little company, been wrought in so short a time. from the stifling wynds and evil-smelling lanes of paris, they had passed to the green uplands, the breezy woods and babbling streams of the upper orleannais; from sights and sounds the most appalling, to the solitude of the sandy heath, haunt of the great bustard, or the sunshine of the hillside, vibrating with the songs of larks; from an atmosphere of terror and gloom to the freedom of god's earth and sky. numerous enough--they numbered a score of armed men--to defy the lawless bands which had their lairs in the huge forest of orleans, they halted where they pleased: at mid-day under a grove of chestnut-trees, or among the willows beside a brook; at night, if they willed it, under god's heaven. far, not only from paris, but from the great road, with its gibbets and pillories--the great road which at that date ran through a waste, no peasant living willingly within sight of it--they rode in the morning and in the evening, resting in the heat of the day. and though they had left paris with much talk of haste, they rode more at leisure with every league. for whatever tavannes' motive, it was plain that he was in no hurry to reach his destination. nor for that matter were any of his company. madame st. lo, who had seized the opportunity of escaping from the capital under her cousin's escort, was in an ill-humour with cities, and declaimed much on the joys of a cell in the woods. for the time the coarsest nature and the dullest rider had had enough of alarums and conflicts. the whole company, indeed, though it moved in some fashion of array with an avant and a rear-guard, the ladies riding together, and count hannibal proceeding solitary in the midst, formed as peaceful a band, and one as innocently diverted, as if no man of them had ever grasped pike or blown a match. there was an old rider among them who had seen the sack of rome, and the dead face of the great constable the idol of the free companies. but he had a taste for simples and much skill in them; and when madame had once seen badelon on his knees in the grass searching for plants, she lost her fear of him. bigot, with his low brow and matted hair, was the abject slave of suzanne, madame st. lo's woman, who twitted him mercilessly on his norman _patois_, and poured the vials of her scorn on him a dozen times a day. in all, with la tribe and the carlats, madame st. lo's servants, and the countess's following, they numbered not far short of two score; and when they halted at noon, and under the shadow of some leafy tree, ate their mid-day meal, or drowsed to the tinkle of madame st. lo's lute, it was difficult to believe that paris existed, or that these same people had so lately left its blood-stained pavements. they halted this morning a little earlier than usual. madame st. lo had barely answered her companion's question before the subject of their discussion swung himself from old sancho's back, and stood waiting to assist them to dismount. behind him, where the green valley through which the road passed narrowed to a rocky gate, an old mill stood among willows at the foot of a mound. on the mound behind it a ruined castle which had stood siege in the hundred years' war raised its grey walls; and beyond this the stream which turned the mill poured over rocks with a cool rushing sound that proved irresistible. the men, their horses watered and hobbled, went off, shouting like boys, to bathe below the falls; and after a moment's hesitation count hannibal rose from the grass on which he had flung himself. "guard that for me, madame," he said. and he dropped a packet, bravely sealed and tied with a silk thread, into the countess's lap. "'twill be safer than leaving it in my clothes. ohe!" and he turned to madame st. lo. "would you fancy a life that was all gipsying, cousin?" and if there was irony in his voice, there was desire in his eyes. "there is only one happy man in the world," she answered, with conviction. "by name?" "the hermit of compiegne." "and in a week you would be wild for a masque!" he said cynically. and turning on his heel he followed the men. madame st. lo sighed complacently. "heigho!" she said. "he's right! we are never content, _ma mie_! when i am trifling in the gallery my heart is in the greenwood. and when i have eaten black bread and drank spring water for a fortnight i do nothing but dream of zamet's, and white mulberry tarts! and you are in the same case. you have saved your round white neck, or it has been saved for you, by not so much as the thickness of zamet's pie-crust--i declare my mouth is beginning to water for it!--and instead of being thankful and making the best of things, you are thinking of poor madame d'yverne, or dreaming of your calf-love!" the girl's face--for a girl she was, though they called her madame--began to work. she struggled a moment with her emotion, and then broke down, and fell to weeping silently. for two days she had sat in public and not given way. but the reference to her lover was too much for her strength. madame st. lo looked at her with eyes which were not unkindly. "sits the wind in that quarter?" she murmured. "i thought so! but there, my dear, if you don't put that packet in your gown you'll wash out the address! moreover, if you ask me, i don't think the young man is worth it. it is only that what we have not got--we want!" but the young countess had borne to the limit of her powers. with an incoherent word she rose to her feet, and walked hurriedly away. the thought of what was and of what might have been, the thought of the lover who still--though he no longer seemed, even to her, the perfect hero--held a place in her heart, filled her breast to overflowing. she longed for some spot where she could weep unseen; where the sunshine and the blue sky would not mock her grief; and seeing in front of her a little clump of alders, which grew beside the stream, in a bend that in winter was marshy, she hastened towards it. madame st. lo saw her figure blend with the shadow of the trees. "quite _a la_ ronsard, i give my word!" she murmured. "and now she is out of sight! _la, la_! i could play at the game myself, and carve sweet sorrow on the barks of trees, if it were not so lonesome! and if i had a man!" and gazing pensively at the stream and the willows, my lady tried to work herself into a proper frame of mind; now murmuring the name of one gallant, and now, finding it unsuited, the name of another. but the soft inflection would break into a giggle, and finally into a yawn; and, tired of the attempt, she began to pluck grass and throw it from her. by-and-by she discovered that madame carlat and the women, who had their place a little apart, had disappeared; and affrighted by the solitude and silence--for neither of which she was made--she sprang up and stared about her, hoping to discern them. right and left, however, the sweep of hillside curved upward to the skyline, lonely and untenanted; behind her the castled rock frowned down on the rugged gorge and filled it with dispiriting shadow. madame st. lo stamped her foot on the turf. "the little fool!" she murmured pettishly. "does she think that i am to be murdered that she may fatten on sighs? oh, come up, madame, you must be dragged out of this!" and she started briskly towards the alders, intent on gaining company as quickly as possible. she had gone about fifty yards, and had as many more to traverse when she halted. a man, bent double, was moving stealthily along the farther side of the brook, a little in front of her. now she saw him, now she lost him; now she caught a glimpse of him again, through a screen of willow branches. he moved with the utmost caution, as a man moves who is pursued or in danger; and for a moment she deemed him a peasant whom the bathers had disturbed and who was bent on escaping. but when he came opposite to the alder-bed she saw that that was his point, for he crouched down, sheltered by a willow, and gazed eagerly among the trees, always with his back to her; and then he waved his hand to some one in the wood. madame st. lo drew in her breath. as if he had heard the sound--which was impossible--the man dropped down where he stood, crawled a yard or two on his face, and disappeared. madame stared a moment, expecting to see him or hear him. then, as nothing happened, she screamed. she was a woman of quick impulses, essentially feminine; and she screamed three or four times, standing where she was, her eyes on the edge of the wood. "if that does not bring her out, nothing will!" she thought. it brought her. an instant, and the countess appeared, and hurried in dismay to her side. "what is it?" the younger woman asked, glancing over her shoulder; for all the valley, all the hills were peaceful, and behind madame st. lo--but the lady had not discovered it--the servants who had returned were laying the meal. "what is it?" she repeated anxiously. "who was it?" madame st. lo asked curtly. she was quite calm now. "who was--who?" "the man in the wood?" the countess stared a moment, then laughed. "only the old soldier they call badelon, gathering simples. did you think that he would harm me?" "it was not old badelon whom i saw!" madame st. lo retorted. "it was a younger man, who crept along the other side of the brook, keeping under cover. when i first saw him he was there," she continued, pointing to the place. "and he crept on and on until he came opposite to you. then he waved his hand." "to me?" madame nodded. "but if you saw him, who was he?" the countess asked. "i did not see his face," madame st. lo answered. "but he waved to you. that i saw." the countess had a thought which slowly flooded her face with crimson. madame st. lo saw the change, saw the tender light which on a sudden softened the other's eyes; and the same thought occurred to her. and having a mind to punish her companion for her reticence--for she did not doubt that the girl knew more than she acknowledged--she proposed that they should return and find badelon, and learn if he had seen the man. "why?" madame tavannes asked. and she stood stubbornly, her head high. "why should we?" "to clear it up," the elder woman answered mischievously. "but perhaps, it were better to tell your husband and let his men search the coppice." the colour left the countess's face as quickly as it had come. for a moment she was tongue-tied. then-- "have we not had enough of seeking and being sought?" she cried, more bitterly than befitted the occasion. "why should we hunt him? i am not timid, and he did me no harm. i beg, madame, that you will do me the favour of being silent on the matter." "oh, if you insist? but what a pother--" "i did not see him, and he did not see me," madame de tavannes answered vehemently. "i fail, therefore, to understand why we should harass him, whoever he be. besides, m. de tavannes is waiting for us." "and m. de tignonville--is following us!" madame st. lo muttered under her breath. and she made a face at the other's back. she was silent, however. they returned to the others and nothing of import, it would seem, had happened. the soft summer air played on the meal laid under the willows as it had played on the meal of yesterday laid under the chestnut-trees. the horses grazed within sight, moving now and again, with a jingle of trappings or a jealous neigh: the women's chatter vied with the unceasing sound of the mill-stream. after dinner, madame st. lo touched the lute, and badelon--badelon who had seen the sack of the colonna's palace, and been served by cardinals on the knee--fed a water-rat, which had its home in one of the willow-stumps, with carrot-parings. one by one the men laid themselves to sleep with their faces on their arms; and to the eyes all was as all had been yesterday in this camp of armed men living peacefully. but not to the countess! she had accepted her life, she had resigned herself, she had marvelled that it was no worse. after the horrors of paris the calm of the last two days had fallen on her as balm on a wound. worn out in body and mind, she had rested, and only rested; without thought, almost without emotion, save for the feeling, half fear, half curiosity, which stirred her in regard to the strange man, her husband. who on his side left her alone. but the last hour had wrought a change. her eyes were grown restless, her colour came and went. the past stirred in its shallow--ah, so shallow--grave; and dead hopes and dead forebodings, strive as she might, thrust out hands to plague and torment her. if the man who sought to speak with her by stealth, who dogged her footsteps and hung on the skirts of her party, were tignonville--her lover, who at his own request had been escorted to the arsenal before their departure from paris--then her plight was a sorry one. for what woman, wedded as she had been wedded, could think otherwise than indulgently of his persistence? and yet, lover and husband! what peril, what shame the words had often spelled! at the thought only she trembled and her colour ebbed. she saw, as one who stands on the brink of a precipice, the depth which yawned before her. she asked herself, shivering, if she would ever sink to _that_. all the loyalty of a strong nature, all the virtue of a good woman, revolted against the thought. true, her husband--husband she must call him--had not deserved her love; but his bizarre magnanimity, the gloomy, disdainful kindness with which he had crowned possession, even the unity of their interests, which he had impressed upon her in so strange a fashion, claimed a return in honour. to be paid--how? how? that was the crux which perplexed, which frightened, which harassed her. for, if she told her suspicions, she exposed her lover to capture by one who had no longer a reason to be merciful. and if she sought occasion to see tignonville and so to dissuade him, she did it at deadly risk to herself. yet what other course lay open to her if she would not stand by? if she would not play the traitor? if she-- "madame,"--it was her husband, and he spoke to her suddenly,--"are you not well?" and, looking up guiltily, she found his eyes fixed curiously on hers. her face turned red and white and red again, and she faltered something and looked from him, but only to meet madame st. lo's eyes. my lady laughed softly in sheer mischief. "what is it?" count hannibal asked sharply. but madame st. lo's answer was a line of ronsard. chapter xx. on the castle hill. thrice she hummed it, bland and smiling. then from the neighbouring group came an interruption. the wine he had drunk had put it into bigot's head to snatch a kiss from suzanne; and suzanne's modesty, which was very nice in company, obliged her to squeal. the uproar which ensued, the men backing the man and the women the woman, brought tavannes to his feet. he did not speak, but a glance from his eyes was enough. there was not one who failed to see that something was amiss with him, and a sudden silence fell on the party. he turned to the countess. "you wished to see the castle?" he said. "you had better go now, but not alone." he cast his eyes over the company, and summoned la tribe, who was seated with the carlats. "go with madame," he said curtly. "she has a mind to climb the hill. bear in mind, we start at three, and do not venture out of hearing." "i understand, m. le comte," the minister answered. he spoke quietly, but there was a strange light in his face as he turned to go with her. none the less he was silent until madame's lagging feet--for all her interest in the expedition was gone--had borne her a hundred paces from the company. then-- "who knoweth our thoughts and forerunneth all our desires," he murmured. and when she turned to him, astonished, "madame," he continued, "i have prayed, ah, how i have prayed, for this opportunity of speaking to you! and it has come. i would it had come this morning, but it has come. do not start or look round; many eyes are on us, and, alas! i have that to say to you which it will move you to hear, and that to ask of you which it must task your courage to perform." she began to tremble, and stood looking up the green slope to the broken grey wall which crowned its summit. "what is it?" she whispered, commanding herself with an effort. "what is it? if it have aught to do with m. tignonville--" "it has not!" in her surprise--for although she had put the question she had felt no doubt of the answer--she started and turned to him. "it has not?" she exclaimed almost incredulously. "no." "then what is it, monsieur?" she replied, a little haughtily. "what can there be that should move me so?" "life or death, madame," he answered solemnly. "nay, more; for since providence has given me this chance of speaking to you, a thing of which i despaired, i know that the burden is laid on us, and that it is guilt or it is innocence, according as we refuse the burden or bear it." "what is it, then?" she cried impatiently. "what is it?" "i tried to speak to you this morning." "was it you, then, whom madame st. lo saw stalking me before dinner? "it was." she clasped her hands and heaved a sigh of relief. "thank god, monsieur!" she replied. "you have lifted a weight from me. i fear nothing in comparison of that. nothing!" "alas!" he answered sombrely, "there is much to fear, for others if not for ourselves! do you know what that is which m. de tavannes bears always in his belt? what it is he carries with such care? what it was he handed to you to keep while he bathed to-day?" "letters from the king." "yes, but the import of those letters?" "no." "and yet, should they be written in letters of blood!" the minister exclaimed, his face kindling. "they should scorch the hands that hold them and blister the eyes that read them. they are the fire and the sword! they are the king's order to do at angers as they have done in paris. to slay all of the religion who are found there--and they are many! to spare none, to have mercy neither on the old man nor the unborn child! see yonder hawk!" he continued, pointing with a shaking hand to a falcon which hung light and graceful above the valley, the movement of its wings invisible. "how it disports itself in the face of the sun! how easy its way, how smooth its flight! but see, it drops upon its prey in the rushes beside the brook, and the end of its beauty is slaughter! so is it with yonder company!" his finger sank until it indicated the little camp seated toy-like in the green meadow four hundred feet below them, with every man and horse, and the very camp-kettle, clear-cut and visible, though diminished by distance to fairy-like proportions. "so it is with yonder company!" he repeated sternly. "they play and are merry, and one fishes and another sleeps! but at the end of the journey is death. death for their victims, and for them the judgment!" she stood, as he spoke, in the ruined gateway, a walled grass-plot behind her, and at her feet the stream, the smiling valley, the alders, and the little camp. the sky was cloudless, the scene drowsy with the stillness of an august afternoon. but his words went home so truly that the sunlit landscape before the eyes added one more horror to the picture he called up before the mind. the countess turned white and sick. "are you sure?" she whispered at last. "quite sure." "ah, god!" she cried, "are we never to have peace?" and turning from the valley, she walked some distance into the grass court, and stood. after a time, she turned to him; he had followed her doggedly, pace for pace. "what do you want me to do?" she cried, despair in her voice. "what can i do?" "were the letters he bears destroyed--" "the letters?" "yes, were the letters destroyed," la tribe answered relentlessly, "he could do nothing! nothing! without that authority the magistrates of angers would not move. he could do nothing. and men and women and children--men and women and children whose blood will otherwise cry for vengeance, perhaps for vengeance on us who might have saved them--will live! will live!" he repeated, with a softening eye. and with an all- embracing gesture he seemed to call to witness the open heavens, the sunshine and the summer breeze which wrapped them round. "will live!" she drew a deep breath. "and you have brought me here," she said, "to ask me to do this?" "i was sent here to ask you to do this." "why me? why me?" she wailed, and she held out her open hands to him, her face wan and colourless. "you come to me, a woman! why to me?" "you are his wife!" "and he is my husband!" "therefore he trusts you," was the unyielding, the pitiless answer. "you, and you alone, have the opportunity of doing this." she gazed at him in astonishment. "and it is you who say that?" she faltered, after a pause. "you who made us one, who now bid me betray him, whom i have sworn to love? to ruin him whom i have sworn to honour?" "i do!" he answered solemnly. "on my head be the guilt, and on yours the merit." "nay, but--" she cried quickly, and her eyes glittered with passion--"do you take both guilt and merit! you are a man," she continued, her words coming quickly in her excitement, "he is but a man! why do you not call him aside, trick him apart on some pretence or other, and when there are but you two, man to man, wrench the warrant from him? staking your life against his, with all those lives for prize? and save them or perish? why i, even i, a woman, could find it in my heart to do that, were he not my husband! surely you, you who are a man, and young--" "am no match for him in strength or arms," the minister answered sadly. "else would i do it! else would i stake my life, heaven knows, as gladly to save their lives as i sit down to meat! but i should fail, and if i failed all were lost. moreover," he continued solemnly, "i am certified that this task has been set for you. it was not for nothing, madame, nor to save one poor household that you were joined to this man; but to ransom all these lives and this great city. to be the judith of our faith, the saviour of angers, the--" "fool! fool!" she cried. "will you be silent?" and she stamped the turf passionately, while her eyes blazed in her white face. "i am no judith, and no madwoman as you are fain to make me. mad?" she continued, overwhelmed with agitation, "my god, i would i were, and i should be free from this!" and, turning, she walked a little way from him with the gesture of one under a crushing burden. he waited a minute, two minutes, three minutes, and still she did not return. at length she came back, her bearing more composed; she looked at him, and her eyes seized his and seemed as if they would read his soul. "are you sure," she said, "of what you have told me? will you swear that the contents of these letters are as you say?" "as i live," he answered gravely. "as god lives." "and you know--of no other way, monsieur? of no other way?" she repeated slowly and piteously. "of none, madame, of none, i swear." she sighed deeply, and stood sunk in thought. then, "when do we reach angers?" she asked heavily. "the day after to-morrow." "i have--until the day after to-morrow?" "yes. to-night we lie near vendome." "and to-morrow night?" "near a place called la fleche. it is possible," he went on with hesitation--for he did not understand her--"that he may bathe to-morrow, and may hand the packet to you, as he did to-day when i vainly sought speech with you. if he does that--" "yes?" she said, her eyes on his face. "the taking will be easy. but when he finds you have it not"--he faltered anew--"it may go hard with you." she did not speak. "and there, i think, i can help you. if you will stray from the party, i will meet you and destroy the letter. that done--and would god it were done already--i will take to flight as best i can, and you will raise the alarm and say that i robbed you of it! and if you tear your dress--" "no," she said. he looked a question. "no!" she repeated in a low voice. "if i betray him i will not lie to him! and no other shall pay the price! if i ruin him it shall be between him and me, and no other shall have part in it!" he shook his head. "i do not know," he murmured, "what he may do to you!" "nor i," she said proudly. "that will be for him." * * * * * curious eyes had watched the two as they climbed the hill. for the path ran up the slope to the gap which served for gate, much as the path leads up to the castle beautiful in old prints of the pilgrim's journey, and madame st. lo had marked the first halt and the second, and, noting every gesture, had lost nothing of the interview save the words. but until the two, after pausing a moment, passed out of sight she made no sign. then she laughed. and as count hannibal, at whom the laugh was aimed, did not heed her, she laughed again. and she hummed the line of ronsard. still he would not be roused, and, piqued, she had recourse to words. "i wonder what you would do," she said, "if the old lover followed us, and she went off with him!" "she would not go," he answered coldly, and without looking up. "but if he rode off with her?" "she would come back on her feet!" madame st. lo's prudence was not proof against that. she had the woman's inclination to hide a woman's secret; and she had not intended, when she laughed, to do more than play with the formidable man with whom so few dared to play. now, stung by his tone and his assurance, she must needs show him that his trustfulness had no base. and, as so often happens in the circumstances, she went a little farther than the facts bore her. "any way, he has followed us so far!" she cried viciously. "m. de tignonville?" "yes. i saw him this morning while you were bathing. she left me and went into the little coppice. he came down the other side of the brook, stooping and running, and went to join her." "how did he cross the brook?" madame st. lo blushed. "old badelon was there, gathering simples," she said. "he scared him. and he crawled away." "then he did not cross?" "no. i did not say he did!" "nor speak to her?" "no. but if you think it will pass so next time--you do not know much of women!" "of women generally, not much," he answered, grimly polite. "of this woman a great deal!" "you looked in her big eyes, i suppose!" madame st. lo cried with heat. "and straightway fell down and worshipped her!" she liked rather than disliked the countess; but she was of the lightest, and the least opposition drove her out of her course. "and you think you know her! and she, if she could save you from death by opening an eye, would go with a patch on it till her dying day! take my word for it, monsieur, between her and her lover you will come to harm." count hannibal's swarthy face darkened a tone, and his eyes grew a very little smaller. "i fancy that he runs the greater risk," he muttered. "you may deal with him, but, for her--" "i can deal with her. you deal with some women with a whip--" "you would whip me, i suppose?" "yes," he said quietly. "it would do you good, madame. and with other women otherwise. there are women who, if they are well frightened, will not deceive you. and there are others who will not deceive you though they are frightened. madame de tavannes is of the latter kind." "wait! wait and see!" madame cried in scorn. "i am waiting." "yes! and whereas if you had come to me i could have told her that about m. de tignonville which would have surprised her, you will go on waiting and waiting and waiting until one fine day you'll wake up and find madame gone, and--" "then i'll take a wife i can whip!" he answered, with a look which apprised her how far she had carried it. "but it will not be you, sweet cousin. for i have no whip heavy enough for your case." chapter xxi. she would, and would not. we noted some way back the ease with which women use one concession as a stepping-stone to a second; and the lack of magnanimity, amounting almost to unscrupulousness, which the best display in their dealings with a retiring foe. but there are concessions which touch even a good woman's conscience; and madame de tavannes, free by the tenure of a blow, and with that exception treated from hour to hour with rugged courtesy, shrank appalled before the task which confronted her. to ignore what la tribe had told her, to remain passive when a movement on her part might save men, women, and children from death, and a whole city from massacre--this was a line of conduct so craven, so selfish, that from the first she knew herself incapable of it. but to take the only other course open to her, to betray her husband and rob him of that, the loss of which might ruin him, this needed not courage only, not devotion only, but a hardness proof against reproaches as well as against punishment. and the countess was no fanatic. no haze of bigotry glorified the thing she contemplated, or dressed it in colours other than its own. even while she acknowledged the necessity of the act and its ultimate righteousness, even while she owned the obligation which lay upon her to perform it, she saw it as he would see it, and saw herself as he would see her. true, he had done her a great wrong; and this in the eyes of some might pass for punishment. but he had saved her life where many had perished; and, the wrong done, he had behaved to her with fantastic generosity. in return for which she was to ruin him? it was not hard to imagine what he would say of her, and of the reward with which she had requited him. she pondered over it as they rode that evening, with the weltering sun in their eyes and the lengthening shadows of the oaks falling athwart the bracken which fringed the track. across breezy heaths and over downs, through green bottoms and by hamlets, from which every human creature fled at their approach, they ambled on by twos and threes; riding in a world of their own, so remote, so different from the real world--from which they came and to which they must return--that she could have wept in anguish, cursing god for the wickedness of man which lay so heavy on creation. the gaunt troopers riding at ease with swinging legs and swaying stirrups--and singing now a refrain from ronsard, and now one of those verses of marot's psalms which all the world had sung three decades before--wore their most lamb-like aspect. behind them madame st. lo chattered to suzanne of a riding mask which had not been brought, or planned expedients, if nothing sufficiently in the mode could be found at angers. and the other women talked and giggled, screamed when they came to fords, and made much of steep places, where the men must help them. in time of war death's shadow covers but a day, and sorrow out of sight is out of mind. of all the troop whom the sinking sun left within sight of the lofty towers and vine-clad hills of vendome, three only wore faces attuned to the cruel august week just ending; three only, like dark beads strung far apart on a gay nun's rosary, rode, brooding and silent, in their places. the countess was one--the others were the two men whose thoughts she filled, and whose eyes now and again sought her, la tribe's with sombre fire in their depths, count hannibal's fraught with a gloomy speculation, which belied his brave words to madame st. lo. he, moreover, as he rode, had other thoughts; dark ones, which did not touch her. and she, too, had other thoughts at times, dreams of her young lover, spasms of regret, a wild revolt of heart, a cry out of the darkness which had suddenly whelmed her. so that of the three only la tribe was single-minded. this day they rode a long league after sunset, through a scattered oak- wood, where the rabbits sprang up under their horses' heads and the squirrels made angry faces at them from the lower branches. night was hard upon them when they reached the southern edge of the forest, and looked across the dusky open slopes to a distant light or two which marked where vendome stood. "another league," count hannibal muttered; and he bade the men light fires where they were, and unload the packhorses. "'tis pure and dry here," he said. "set a watch, bigot, and let two men go down for water. i hear frogs below. you do not fear to be moonstruck, madame?" "i prefer this," she answered in a low voice. "houses are for monks and nuns!" he rejoined heartily. "give me god's heaven." "the earth is his, but we deface it," she murmured, reverting to her thoughts, and unconscious that it was to him she spoke. he looked at her sharply, but the fire was not yet kindled; and in the gloaming her face was a pale blot undecipherable. he stood a moment, but she did not speak again; and madame st. lo bustling up, he moved away to give an order. by-and-by the fires burned up, and showed the pillared aisle in which they sat, small groups dotted here and there on the floor of nature's cathedral. through the shadowy gothic vaulting, the groining of many boughs which met overhead, a rare star twinkled, as through some clerestory window; and from the dell below rose in the night, now the monotonous chanting of the frogs, and now, as some great bull-frog took the note, a diapason worthy of a brescian organ. the darkness walled all in; the night was still; a falling caterpillar sounded. even the rude men at the farthest fire stilled their voices at times; awed, they knew not why, by the silence and vastness of the night. the countess long remembered that vigil--for she lay late awake; the cool gloom, the faint wood-rustlings, the distant cry of fox or wolf, the soft glow of the expiring fires that at last left the world to darkness and the stars; above all, the silent wheeling of the planets, which spoke indeed of a supreme ruler, but crushed the heart under a sense of its insignificance, and of the insignificance of all human revolutions. "yet, i believe!" she cried, wrestling upwards, wrestling with herself. "though i have seen what i have seen, yet i believe!" and though she had to bear what she had to bear, and do that from which her soul shrank! the woman, indeed, within her continued to cry out against this tragedy ever renewed in her path, against this necessity for choosing evil, or good, ease for herself or life for others. but the moving heavens, pointing onward to a time when good and evil alike should be past, strengthened a nature essentially noble; and before she slept no shame and no suffering seemed--for the moment at least--too great a price to pay for the lives of little children. love had been taken from her life; the pride which would fain answer generosity with generosity--that must go, too! she felt no otherwise when the day came, and the bustle of the start and the common round of the journey put to flight the ideals of the night. but things fell out in a manner she had not pictured. they halted before noon on the north bank of the loir, in a level meadow with lines of poplars running this way and that, and filling all the place with the soft shimmer of leaves. blue succory, tiny mirrors of the summer sky, flecked the long grass, and the women picked bunches of them, or, italian fashion, twined the blossoms in their hair. a road ran across the meadow to a ferry, but the ferryman, alarmed by the aspect of the party, had conveyed his boat to the other side and hidden himself. presently madame st. lo espied the boat, clapped her hands and must have it. the poplars threw no shade, the flies teased her, the life of a hermit--in a meadow--was no longer to her taste. "let us go on the water!" she cried. "presently you will go to bathe, monsieur, and leave us to grill!" "two livres to the man who will fetch the boat!" count hannibal cried. in less than half a minute three men had thrown off their boots, and were swimming across, amid the laughter and shouts of their fellows. in five minutes the boat was brought. it was not large and would hold no more than four. tavannes' eye fell on carlat. "you understand a boat," he said. "go with madame st. lo. and you, m. la tribe." "but you are coming?" madame st. lo cried, turning to the countess. "oh, madame," with a curtsey, "you are not? you--" "yes, i will come," the countess answered. "i shall bathe a short distance up the stream," count hannibal said. he took from his belt the packet of letters, and as carlat held the boat for madame st. lo to enter, he gave it to the countess, as he had given it to her yesterday. "have a care of it, madame," he said in a low voice, "and do not let it pass out of your hands. to lose it may be to lose my head." the colour ebbed from her cheeks. in spite of herself her shaking hand put back the packet. "had you not better then--give it to bigot?" she faltered. "he is bathing." "let him bathe afterwards." "no," he answered almost harshly; he found a species of pleasure in showing her that, strange as their relations were, he trusted her. "no; take it, madame. only have a care of it." she took it then, hid it in her dress, and he turned away; and she turned towards the boat. la tribe stood beside the stern, holding it for her to enter, and as her fingers rested an instant on his arm their eyes met. his were alight, his arm even quivered; and she shuddered. she avoided looking at him a second time, and this was easy, since he took his seat in the bows beyond carlat, who handled the oars. silently the boat glided out on the surface of the stream, and floated downwards, carlat now and again touching an oar, and madame st. lo chattering gaily in a voice which carried far on the water. now it was a flowering rush she must have, now a green bough to shield her face from the sun's reflection; and now they must lie in some cool, shadowy pool under fern- clad banks, where the fish rose heavily, and the trickle of a rivulet fell down over stones. it was idyllic. but not to the countess. her face burned, her temples throbbed, her fingers gripped the side of the boat in the vain attempt to steady her pulses. the packet within her dress scorched her. the great city and its danger, tavannes and his faith in her, the need of action, the irrevocableness of action hurried through her brain. the knowledge that she must act now--or never--pressed upon her with distracting force. her hand felt the packet, and fell again nerveless. "the sun has caught you, _ma mie_," madame st. lo said. "you should ride in a mask as i do." "i have not one with me," she muttered, her eyes on the water. "and i but an old one. but at angers--" the countess heard no more; on that word she caught la tribe's eye. he was beckoning to her behind carlat's back, pointing imperiously to the water, making signs to her to drop the packet over the side. when she did not obey--she felt sick and faint--she saw through a mist his brow grow dark. he menaced her secretly. and still the packet scorched her; and twice her hand went to it, and dropped again empty. on a sudden madame st. lo cried out. the bank on one side of the stream was beginning to rise more boldly above the water, and at the head of the steep thus formed she had espied a late rosebush in bloom; nothing would now serve but she must land at once and plunder it. the boat was put in therefore, she jumped ashore, and began to scale the bank. "go with madame!" la tribe cried, roughly nudging carlat in the back. "do you not see that she cannot climb the bank? up, man, up!" the countess opened her mouth to cry "no!" but the word died half-born on her lips; and when the steward looked at her, uncertain what she had said, she nodded. "yes, go!" she muttered. she was pale. "yes, man, go!" cried the minister, his eyes burning. and he almost pushed the other out of the boat. the next second the craft floated from the bank, and began to drift downwards. la tribe waited until a tree interposed and hid them from the two whom they had left; then he leaned forward. "now, madame!" he cried imperiously. "in god's name, now!" "oh!" she cried. "wait! wait! i want to think." "to think?" "he trusted me!" she wailed. "he trusted me! how can i do it?" nevertheless, and even while she spoke, she drew forth the packet. "heaven has given you the opportunity!" "if i could have stolen it!" she answered. "fool!" he returned, rocking himself to and fro, and fairly beside himself with impatience. "why steal it? it is in your hands! you have it! it is heaven's own opportunity, it is god's opportunity given to you!" for he could not read her mind nor comprehend the scruple which held her hand. he was single-minded. he had but one aim, one object. he saw the haggard faces of brave men hopeless; he heard the dying cries of women and children. such an opportunity of saving god's elect, of redeeming the innocent, was in his eyes a gift from heaven. and having these thoughts and seeing her hesitate--hesitate when every movement caused him agony, so imperative was haste, so precious the opportunity--he could bear the suspense no longer. when she did not answer he stooped forward, until his knees touched the thwart on which carlat had sat; then, without a word, he flung himself forward, and, with one hand far extended, grasped the packet. had he not moved, she would have done his will; almost certainly she would have done it. but, thus attacked, she resisted instinctively; she clung to the letters. "no!" she cried. "no! let go, monsieur!" and she tried to drag the packet from him. "give it me!" "let go, monsieur! do you hear?" she repeated. and, with a vigorous jerk, she forced it from him--he had caught it by the edge only--and held it behind her. "go back, and--" "give it me!" he panted. "i will not!" "then throw it overboard!" "i will not!" she cried again, though his face, dark with passion, glared into hers, and it was clear that the man, possessed by one idea only, was no longer master of himself. "go back to your place!" "give it me," he gasped, "or i will upset the boat!" and, seizing her by the shoulder, he reached over her, striving to take hold of the packet which she held behind her. the boat rocked; and, as much in rage as fear, she screamed. a cry uttered wholly in rage answered hers; it came from carlat. la tribe, however, whose whole mind was fixed on the packet, did not heed, nor would have heeded, the steward. but the next moment a second cry, fierce as that of a wild beast, clove the air from the lower and farther bank; and the huguenot, recognizing count hannibal's voice, involuntarily desisted and stood erect. a moment the boat rocked perilously under him; then--for unheeded it had been drifting that way--it softly touched the bank on which carlat stood staring and aghast. la tribe's chance was gone; he saw that the steward must reach him before he could succeed in a second attempt. on the other hand, the undergrowth on the bank was thick, he could touch it with his hand, and if he fled at once he might escape. he hung an instant irresolute; then, with a look which went to the countess's heart, he sprang ashore, plunged among the alders, and in a moment was gone. "after him! after him!" thundered count hannibal. "after him, man!" and carlat, stumbling down the steep slope and through the rough briars, did his best to obey. but in vain. before he reached the water's edge, the noise of the fugitive's retreat had grown faint. a few seconds and it died away. chapter xxii. playing with fire. the impulse of la tribe's foot as he landed had driven the boat into the stream. it drifted slowly downward, and if naught intervened, would take the ground on count hannibal's side, a hundred and fifty yards below him. he saw this, and walked along the bank, keeping pace with it, while the countess sat motionless, crouching in the stern of the craft, her fingers strained about the fatal packet. the slow glide of the boat, as almost imperceptibly it approached the low bank; the stillness of the mirror- like surface on which it moved, leaving only the faintest ripple behind it; the silence--for under the influence of emotion count hannibal too was mute--all were in tremendous contrast with the storm which raged in her breast. should she--should she even now, with his eyes on her, drop the letters over the side? it needed but a movement. she had only to extend her hand, to relax the tension of her fingers, and the deed was done. it needed only that; but the golden sands of opportunity were running out--were running out fast. slowly and more slowly, silently and more silently, the boat slid in towards the bank on which he stood, and still she hesitated. the stillness, and the waiting figure, and the watching eyes now but a few feet distant, weighed on her and seemed to paralyze her will. a foot, another foot! a moment and it would be too late, the last of the sands would have run out. the bow of the boat rustled softly through the rushes; it kissed the bank. and her hand still held the letters. "you are not hurt?" he asked curtly. "the scoundrel might have drowned you. was he mad?" she was silent. he held out his hand, and she gave him the packet. "i owe you much," he said, a ring of gaiety, almost of triumph, in his tone. "more than you guess, madame. god made you for a soldier's wife, and a mother of soldiers. what? you are not well, i am afraid?" "if i could sit down a minute," she faltered. she was swaying on her feet. he supported her across the belt of meadow which fringed the bank, and made her recline against a tree. then as his men began to come up--for the alarm had reached them--he would have sent two of them in the boat to fetch madame st. lo to her. but she would not let him. "your maid, then?" he said. "no, monsieur, i need only to be alone a little! only to be alone," she repeated, her face averted; and believing this he sent the men away, and, taking the boat himself, he crossed over, took in madame st. lo and carlat, and rowed them to the ferry. here the wildest rumours were current. one held that the huguenot had gone out of his senses; another, that he had watched for this opportunity of avenging his brethren; a third, that his intention had been to carry off the countess and hold her to ransom. only tavannes himself, from his position on the farther bank, had seen the packet of letters, and the hand which withheld them; and he said nothing. nay, when some of the men would have crossed to search for the fugitive, he forbade them, he scarcely knew why, save that it might please her; and when the women would have hurried to join her and hear the tale from her lips he forbade them also. "she wishes to be alone," he said curtly. "alone?" madame st. lo cried, in a fever of curiosity. "you'll find her dead, or worse! what? leave a woman alone after such a fright as that!" "she wishes it." madame laughed cynically; and the laugh brought a tinge of colour to his brow. "oh, does she?" she sneered. "then i understand! have a care, have a care, or one of these days, monsieur, when you leave her alone, you'll find them together!" "be silent!" "with pleasure," she returned. "only when it happens don't say that you were not warned. you think that she does not hear from him--" "how can she hear?" the words were wrung from him. madame st. lo's contempt passed all limits. "how can she!" she retorted. "you trail a woman across france, and let her sit by herself, and lie by herself, and all but drown by herself, and you ask how she hears from her lover? you leave her old servants about her, and you ask how she communicates with him?" "you know nothing!" he snarled. "i know this," she retorted. "i saw her sitting this morning, and smiling and weeping at the same time! was she thinking of you, monsieur? or of him? she was looking at the hills through tears; a blue mist hung over them, and i'll wager she saw some one's eyes gazing and some one's hand beckoning out of the blue!" "curse you!" he cried, tormented in spite of himself. "you love to make mischief!" "no!" she answered swiftly. "for 'twas not i made the match. but go your way, go your way, monsieur, and see what kind of a welcome you'll get!" "i will," count hannibal growled. and he started along the bank to rejoin his wife. the light in his eyes had died down. yet would they have been more sombre, and his face more harsh, had he known the mind of the woman to whom he was hastening. the countess had begged to be left alone; alone, she found the solitude she had craved a cruel gift. she had saved the packet. she had fulfilled her trust. but only to experience, the moment the deed was done, the full poignancy of remorse. before the act, while the choice had lain with her, the betrayal of her husband had loomed large; now she saw that to treat him as she had treated him was the true betrayal, and that even for his own sake, and to save him from a fearful sin, it had become her to destroy the letters. now, it was no longer her duty to him which loomed large, but her duty to the innocent, to the victims of the massacre which she might have stayed, to the people of her faith whom she had abandoned, to the women and children whose death-warrant she had preserved. now, she perceived that a part more divine had never fallen to woman, nor a responsibility so heavy been laid upon woman. nor guilt more dread! she writhed in misery, thinking of it. what had she done? she could hear afar off the sounds of the camp; an occasional outcry, a snatch of laughter. and the cry and the laughter rang in her ears, a bitter mockery. this summer camp, to what was it the prelude? this forbearance on her husband's part, in what would it end? were not the one and the other cruel make-believes? two days, and the men who laughed beside the water would slay and torture with equal zest. a little, and the husband who now chose to be generous would show himself in his true colours. and it was for the sake of such as these that she had played the coward. that she had laid up for herself endless remorse. that henceforth the cries of the innocent would haunt her dreams. racked by such thoughts she did not hear his step, and it was his shadow falling across her feet which first warned her of his presence. she looked up, saw him, and involuntarily recoiled. then, seeing the change in his face-- "oh! monsieur," she stammered, affrighted, her hand pressed to her side, "i ask your pardon! you startled me!" "so it seems," he answered. and he stood over her regarding her dryly. "i am not quite--myself yet," she murmured. his look told her that her start had betrayed her feelings. alas! the plan of taking a woman by force has drawbacks, and among others this one: that he must be a sanguine husband who deems her heart his, and a husband without jealousy, whose suspicions are not aroused by the faintest flush or the lightest word. he knows that she is his unwillingly, a victim, not a mistress; and behind every bush beside the road and behind every mask in the crowd he espies a rival. moreover, where women are in question, who is always strong? or who can say how long he will pursue this plan or that? a man of sternest temper, count hannibal had set out on a path of conduct carefully and deliberately chosen; knowing--and he still knew--that if he abandoned it he had little to hope, if the less to fear. but the proof of fidelity which the countess had just given him had blown to a white heat the smouldering flame in his heart, and madame st. lo's gibes, which should have fallen as cold water alike on his hopes and his passion, had but fed the desire to know the best. for all that, he might not have spoken now, if he had not caught her look of affright; strange as it sounds, that look, which of all things should have silenced him and warned him that the time was not yet, stung him out of patience. suddenly the man in him carried him away. "you still fear me, then?" he said, in a voice hoarse and unnatural. "is it for what i do or for what i leave undone that you hate me, madame? tell me, i beg, for--" "for neither!" she said, trembling. his eyes, hot and passionate, were on her, and the blood had mounted to his brow. "for neither! i do not hate you, monsieur!" "you fear me then? i am right in that." "i fear--that which you carry with you," she stammered, speaking on impulse and scarcely knowing what she said. he started, and his expression changed. "so?" he exclaimed. "so? you know what i carry, do you? and from whom? from whom," he continued in a tone of menace, "if you please, did you get that knowledge?" "from m. la tribe," she muttered. she had not meant to tell him. why had she told him? he nodded. "i might have known it," he said. "i more than suspected it. therefore i should be the more beholden to you for saving the letters. but"--he paused and laughed harshly--"it was out of no love for me you saved them. that too i know." she did not answer or protest; and when he had waited a moment in vain expectation of her protest, a cruel look crept into his eyes. "madame," he said slowly, "do you never reflect that you may push the part you play too far? that the patience, even of the worst of men, does not endure for ever?" "i have your word!" she answered. "and you do not fear?" "i have your word," she repeated. and now she looked him bravely in the face, her eyes full of the courage of her race. the lines of his mouth hardened as he met her look. "and what have i of yours?" he said in a low voice. "what have i of yours?" her face began to burn at that, her eyes fell and she faltered. "my gratitude," she murmured, with an upward look that prayed for pity. "god knows, monsieur, you have that!" "god knows i do not want it!" he answered. and he laughed derisively. "your gratitude!" and he mocked her tone rudely and coarsely. "your gratitude!" then for a minute--for so long a time that she began to wonder and to quake--he was silent. at last, "a fig for your gratitude," he said. "i want your love! i suppose--cold as you are, and a huguenot--you can love like other women!" it was the first, the very first time he had used the word to her; and though it fell from his lips like a threat, though he used it as a man presents a pistol, she flushed anew from throat to brow. but she did not quail. "it is not mine to give," she said. "it is his?" "yes, monsieur," she answered, wondering at her courage, at her audacity, her madness. "it is his." "and it cannot be mine--at any time?" she shook her head, trembling. "never?" and, suddenly reaching forward, he gripped her wrist in an iron grasp. there was passion in his tone. his eyes burned her. whether it was that set her on another track, or pure despair, or the cry in her ears of little children and of helpless women, something in a moment inspired her, flashed in her eyes and altered her voice. she raised her head and looked him firmly in the face. "what," she said, "do you mean by love?" "you!" he answered brutally. "then--it may be, monsieur," she returned. "there is a way if you will." "a way!" "if you will!" as she spoke she rose slowly to her feet; for in his surprise he had released her wrist. he rose with her, and they stood confronting one another on the strip of grass between the river and the poplars. "if i will?" his form seemed to dilate, his eyes devoured her. "if i will?" "yes," she replied. "if you will give me the letters that are in your belt, the packet which i saved to-day--that i may destroy them--i will be yours freely and willingly." he drew a deep breath, still devouring her with his eyes. "you mean it?" he said at last. "i do." she looked him in the face as she spoke, and her cheeks were white, not red. "only--the letters! give me the letters." "and for them you will give me your love?" her eyes flickered, and involuntarily she shivered. a faint blush rose and dyed her cheeks. "only god can give love," she said, her tone low. "and yours is given?" "yes." "to another?" "i have said it." "it is his. and yet for these letters--" "for these lives!" she cried proudly. "you will give yourself?" "i swear it," she answered, "if you will give them to me! if you will give them to me," she repeated. and she held out her hands; her face, full of passion, was bright with a strange light. a close observer might have thought her distraught; still excited by the struggle in the boat, and barely mistress of herself. but the man whom she tempted, the man who held her price at his belt, after one searching look at her turned from her; perhaps because he could not trust himself to gaze on her. count hannibal walked a dozen paces from her and returned, and again a dozen paces and returned; and again a third time, with something fierce and passionate in his gait. at last he stopped before her. "you have nothing to offer for them," he said, in a cold, hard tone. "nothing that is not mine already, nothing that is not my right, nothing that i cannot take at my will. my word?" he continued, seeing her about to interrupt him. "true, madame, you have it, you had it. but why need i keep my word to you, who tempt me to break my word to the king?" she made a weak gesture with her hands. her head had sunk on her breast--she seemed dazed by the shock of his contempt, dazed by his reception of her offer. "you saved the letters?" he continued, interpreting her action. "true, but the letters are mine, and that which you offer for them is mine also. you have nothing to offer. for the rest, madame," he went on, eyeing her cynically, "you surprise me! you, whose modesty and virtue are so great, would corrupt your husband, would sell yourself, would dishonour the love of which you boast so loudly, the love that only god gives!" he laughed derisively as he quoted her words. "ay, and, after showing at how low a price you hold yourself, you still look, i doubt not, to me to respect you, and to keep my word. madame!" in a terrible voice, "do not play with fire! you saved my letters, it is true! and for that, for this time, you shall go free, if god will help me to let you go! but tempt me not! tempt me not!" he repeated, turning from her and turning back again with a gesture of despair, as if he mistrusted the strength of the restraint which he put upon himself. "i am no more than other men! perhaps i am less. and you--you who prate of love, and know not what love is--could love! could love!" he stopped on that word as if the word choked him--stopped, struggling with his passion. at last, with a half-stifled oath, he flung away from her, halted and hung a moment, then, with a swing of rage, went off again violently. his feet as he strode along the river-bank trampled the flowers, and slew the pale water forget-me-not, which grew among the grasses. chapter xxiii. a mind, and not a mind. la tribe tore through the thicket, imagining carlat and count hannibal hot on his heels. he dared not pause even to listen. the underwood tripped him, the lissom branches of the alders whipped his face and blinded him; once he fell headlong over a moss-grown stone, and picked himself up groaning. but the hare hard-pushed takes no account of the briars, nor does the fox heed the mud through which it draws itself into covert. and for the time he was naught but a hunted beast. with elbows pinned to his sides, or with hands extended to ward off the boughs, with bursting lungs and crimson face, he plunged through the tangle, now slipping downwards, now leaping upwards, now all but prostrate, now breasting a mass of thorns. on and on he ran, until he came to the verge of the wood, saw before him an open meadow devoid of shelter or hiding- place, and with a groan of despair cast himself flat. he listened. how far were they behind him? he heard nothing--nothing, save the common noises of the wood, the angry chatter of a disturbed blackbird as it flew low into hiding, or the harsh notes of a flock of starlings as they rose from the meadow. the hum of bees filled the air, and the august flies buzzed about his sweating brow, for he had lost his cap. but behind him--nothing. already the stillness of the wood had closed upon his track. he was not the less panic-stricken. he supposed that tavannes' people were getting to horse, and calculated that, if they surrounded and beat the wood, he must be taken. at the thought, though he had barely got his breath, he rose, and keeping within the coppice crawled down the slope towards the river. gently, when he reached it, he slipped into the water, and stooping below the level of the bank, his head and shoulders hidden by the bushes, he waded down stream until he had put another hundred and fifty yards between himself and pursuit. then he paused and listened. still he heard nothing, and he waded on again, until the water grew deep. at this point he marked a little below him a clump of trees on the farther side; and reflecting that that side--if he could reach it unseen--would be less suspect, he swam across, aiming for a thorn bush which grew low to the water. under its shelter he crawled out, and, worming himself like a snake across the few yards of grass which intervened, he stood at length within the shadow of the trees. a moment he paused to shake himself, and then, remembering that he was still within a mile of the camp, he set off, now walking, and now running in the direction of the hills which his party had crossed that morning. for a time he hurried on, thinking only of escape. but when he had covered a mile or two, and escape seemed probable, there began to mingle with his thankfulness a bitter--a something which grew more bitter with each moment. why had he fled and left the work undone? why had he given way to unworthy fear, when the letters were within his grasp? true, if he had lingered a few seconds longer, he would have failed to make good his escape; but what of that if in those seconds he had destroyed the letters, he had saved angers, he had saved his brethren? alas! he had played the coward. the terror of tavannes' voice had unmanned him. he had saved himself and left the flock to perish; he, whom god had set apart by many and great signs for this work! he had commonly courage enough. he could have died at the stake for his convictions. but he had not the presence of mind which is proof against a shock, nor the cool judgment which, in the face of death, sees to the end of two roads. he was no coward, but now he deemed himself one, and in an agony of remorse he flung himself on his face in the long grass. he had known trials and temptations, but hitherto he had held himself erect; now, like peter, he had betrayed his lord. he lay an hour groaning in the misery of his heart, and then he fell on the text "thou art peter, and on this rock--" and he sat up. peter had betrayed his trust through cowardice--as he had. but peter had not been held unworthy. might it not be so with him? he rose to his feet, a new light in his eyes. he would return! he would return, and at all costs, even at the cost of surrendering himself, he would obtain access to the letters. and then--not the fear of count hannibal, not the fear of instant death, should turn him from his duty. he had cast himself down in a woodland glade which lay near the path along which he had ridden that morning. but the mental conflict from which he rose had shaken him so violently that he could not recall the side on which he had entered the clearing, and he turned himself about, endeavouring to remember. at that moment the light jingle of a bridle struck his ear; he caught through the green bushes the flash and sparkle of harness. they had tracked him then, they were here! so had he clear proof that this second chance was to be his. in a happy fervour he stood forward where the pursuers could not fail to see him. or so he thought. yet the first horseman, riding carelessly with his face averted and his feet dangling, would have gone by and seen nothing if his horse, more watchful, had not shied. the man turned then; and for a moment the two stared at one another between the pricked ears of the horse. at last-- "m. de tignonville!" the minister ejaculated. "la tribe!" "it is truly you?" "well--i think so," the young man answered. the minister lifted up his eyes and seemed to call the trees and the clouds and the birds to witness. "now," he cried, "i know that i am chosen! and that we were instruments to do this thing from the day when the hen saved us in the haycart in paris! now i know that all is forgiven and all is ordained, and that the faithful of angers shall to-morrow live and not die!" and with a face radiant, yet solemn, he walked to the young man's stirrup. an instant tignonville looked sharply before him. "how far ahead are they?" he asked. his tone, hard and matter-of-fact, was little in harmony with the other's enthusiasm. "they are resting a league before you, at the ferry. you are in pursuit of them?" "yes." "not alone?" "no." the young man's look as he spoke was grim. "i have five behind me--of your kidney, m. la tribe. they are from the arsenal. they have lost one his wife, and one his son. the three others--" "yes?" "sweethearts," tignonville answered dryly. and he cast a singular look at the minister. but la tribe's mind was so full of one matter, he could think only of that. "how did you hear of the letters?" he asked. "the letters?" "yes." "i do not know what you mean." la tribe stared. "then why are you following him?" he asked. "why?" tignonville echoed, a look of hate darkening his face. "do you ask why we follow--" but on the name he seemed to choke and was silent. by this time his men had come up, and one answered for him. "why are we following hannibal de tavannes?" he said sternly. "to do to him as he has done to us! to rob him as he has robbed us--of more than gold! to kill him as he has killed ours, foully and by surprise! in his bed if we can! in the arms of his wife if god wills it!" the speaker's face was haggard from brooding and lack of sleep, but his eyes glowed and burned, as his fellows growled assent. "'tis simple why we follow," a second put in. "is there a man of our faith who will not, when he hears the tale, rise up and stab the nearest of this black brood--though it be his brother? if so, god's curse on him!" "amen! amen!" "so, and so only," cried the first, "shall there be faith in our land! and our children, our little maids, shall lie safe in their beds!" "amen! amen!" the speaker's chin sank on his breast, and with his last word the light died out of his eyes. la tribe looked at him curiously, then at the others. last of all at tignonville, on whose face he fancied that he surprised a faint smile. yet tignonville's tone when he spoke was grave enough. "you have heard," he said. "do you blame us?" "i cannot," the minister answered, shivering. "i cannot." he had been for a while beyond the range of these feelings; and in the greenwood, under god's heaven, with the sunshine about him, they jarred on him. yet he could not blame men who had suffered as these had suffered; who were maddened, as these were maddened, by the gravest wrongs which it is possible for one man to inflict on another. "i dare not," he continued sorrowfully. "but in god's name i offer you a higher and a nobler errand." "we need none," tignonville muttered impatiently. "yet many others need you," la tribe answered in a tone of rebuke. "you are not aware that the man you follow bears a packet from the king for the hands of the magistrates of angers?" "ha! does he?" "bidding them do at angers as his majesty has done in paris?" the men broke into cries of execration. "but he shall not see angers!" they swore. "the blood that he has shed shall choke him by the way! and as he would do to others it shall be done to him." la tribe shuddered as he listened, as he looked. try as he would, the thirst of these men for vengeance appalled him. "how?" he said. "he has a score and more with him and you are only six." "seven now," tignonville answered with a smile. "true, but--" "and he lies to-night at la fleche? that is so?" "it was his intention this morning." "at the old king's inn at the meeting of the great roads?" "it was mentioned," la tribe admitted, with a reluctance he did not comprehend. "but if the night be fair he is as like as not to lie in the fields." one of the men pointed to the sky. a dark bank of cloud fresh risen from the ocean, and big with tempest, hung low in the west. "see! god will deliver him into our hands!" he cried. tignonville nodded. "if he lie there," he said, "he will." and then to one of his followers, as he dismounted, "do you ride on," he said, "and stand guard that we be not surprised. and do you, perrot, tell monsieur. perrot here, as god wills it," he added, with the faint smile which did not escape the minister's eye, "married his wife from the great inn at la fleche, and he knows the place." "none better," the man growled. he was a sullen, brooding knave, whose eyes when he looked up surprised by their savage fire. la tribe shook his head. "i know it, too," he said. "'tis strong as a fortress, with a walled court, and all the windows look inwards. the gates are closed an hour after sunset, no matter who is without. if you think, m. de tignonville, to take him there--" "patience, monsieur, you have not heard me," perrot interposed. "i know it after another fashion. do you remember a rill of water which runs through the great yard and the stables?" la tribe nodded. "grated with iron at either end and no passage for so much as a dog? you do? well, monsieur, i have hunted rats there, and where the water passes under the wall is a culvert, a man's height in length. in it is a stone, one of those which frame the grating at the entrance, which a strong man can remove--and the man is in!" "ay, in! but where?" la tribe asked, his eyebrows drawn together. "well said, monsieur, where?" perrot rejoined in a tone of triumph. "there lies the point. in the stables, where will be sleeping men, and a snorer on every truss? no, but in a fairway between two stables where the water at its entrance runs clear in a stone channel; a channel deepened in one place that they may draw for the chambers above with a rope and a bucket. the rooms above are the best in the house, four in one row, opening all on the gallery; which was uncovered, in the common fashion until queen-mother jezebel, passing that way to nantes, two years back, found the chambers draughty; and that end of the gallery was closed in against her return. now, monsieur, he and his madame will lie there; and he will feel safe, for there is but one way to those four rooms--through the door which shuts off the covered gallery from the open part. but--" he glanced up an instant and la tribe caught the smouldering fire in his eyes--"we shall not go in by the door." "the bucket rises through a trap?" "in the gallery? to be sure, monsieur. in the corner beyond the fourth door. there shall he fall into the pit which he dug for others, and the evil that he planned rebound on his own head!" la tribe was silent. "what think you of it?" tignonville asked. "that it is cleverly planned," the minister answered. "no more than that?" "no more until i have eaten." "get him something!" tignonville replied in a surly tone. "and we may as well eat, ourselves. lead the horses into the wood. and do you, perrot, call tuez-les-moines, who is forward. two hours' riding should bring us to la fleche. we need not leave here, therefore, until the sun is low. to dinner! to dinner!" probably he did not feel the indifference he affected, for his face as he ate grew darker, and from time to time he shot a glance, barbed with suspicion, at the minister. la tribe on his side remained silent, although the men ate apart. he was in doubt, indeed, as to his own feelings. his instinct and his reason were at odds. through all, however, a single purpose, the rescue of angers, held good, and gradually other things fell into their places. when the meal was at an end, and tignonville challenged him, he was ready. "your enthusiasm seems to have waned," the younger man said with a sneer, "since we met, monsieur! may i ask now if you find any fault with the plan?" "with the plan, none." "if it was providence brought us together, was it not providence furnished me with perrot who knows la fleche? if it was providence brought the danger of the faithful in angers to your knowledge, was it not providence set us on the road--without whom you had been powerless?" "i believe it!" "then, in his name, what is the matter?" tignonville rejoined with a passion of which the other's manner seemed an inadequate cause. "what will you! what is it?" "i would take your place," la tribe answered quietly. "my place?" "yes." "what, are we too many?" "we are enough without you, m. tignonville," the minister answered. "these men, who have wrongs to avenge, god will justify them." tignonville's eyes sparkled with anger. "and have i no wrongs to avenge?" he cried. "is it nothing to lose my mistress, to be robbed of my wife, to see the woman i love dragged off to be a slave and a toy? are these no wrongs?" "he spared your life, if he did not save it," the minister said solemnly. "and hers. and her servants." "to suit himself." la tribe spread out his hands. "to suit himself! and for that you wish him to go free?" tignonville cried in a voice half-choked with rage. "do you know that this man, and this man alone, stood forth in the great hall of the louvre, and when even the king flinched, justified the murder of our people? after that is he to go free?" "at your hands," la tribe answered quietly. "you alone of our people must not pursue him." he would have added more, but tignonville would not listen. brooding on his wrongs behind the wall of the arsenal, he had let hatred eat away his more generous instincts. vain and conceited, he fancied that the world laughed at the poor figure he had cut; and the wound in his vanity festered until nothing would serve but to see the downfall of his enemy. instant pursuit, instant vengeance--only these, he fancied, could restore him in his fellows' eyes. in his heart he knew what would become him better. but vanity is a potent motive: and his conscience, even when supported by la tribe, struggled but weakly. from neither would he hear more. "you have travelled with him, until you side with him!" he cried violently. "have a care, monsieur, have a care, lest we think you papist!" and walking over to the men, he bade them saddle; adding a sour word which turned their eyes, in no friendly gaze, on the minister. after that la tribe said no more. of what use would it have been? but as darkness came on and cloaked the little troop, and the storm which the men had foreseen began to rumble in the west, his distaste for the business waxed. the summer lightning which presently began to play across the sky revealed not only the broad gleaming stream, between which and a wooded hill their road ran, but the faces of his companions; and these, in their turn, shed a grisly light on the bloody enterprise towards which they were set. nervous and ill at ease, the minister's mind dwelt on the stages of that enterprise: the stealthy entrance through the waterway, the ascent through the trap, the surprise, the slaughter in the sleeping-chamber. and either because he had lived for days in the victim's company, or was swayed by the arguments he had addressed to another, the prospect shook his soul. in vain he told himself that this was the oppressor; he saw only the man, fresh roused from sleep, with the horror of impending dissolution in his eyes. and when the rider, behind whom he sat, pointed to a faint spark of light, at no great distance before them, and whispered that it was st. agnes's chapel, hard by the inn, he could have cried with the best catholic of them all, "inter pontem et fontem, domine!" nay, some such words did pass his lips. for the man before him turned halfway in his saddle. "what?" he asked. but the huguenot did not explain. chapter xxiv. at the king's inn. the countess sat up in the darkness of the chamber. she had writhed since noon under the stings of remorse; she could bear them no longer. the slow declension of the day, the evening light, the signs of coming tempest which had driven her company to the shelter of the inn at the crossroads, all had racked her, by reminding her that the hours were flying, and that soon the fault she had committed would be irreparable. one impulsive attempt to redeem it she had made; but it had failed, and, by rendering her suspect, had made reparation more difficult. still, by daylight it had seemed possible to rest content with the trial made; not so now, when night had fallen, and the cries of little children and the haggard eyes of mothers peopled the darkness of her chamber. she sat up, and listened with throbbing temples. to shut out the lightning which played at intervals across the heavens, madame st. lo, who shared the room, had covered the window with a cloak; and the place was dark. to exclude the dull roll of the thunder was less easy, for the night was oppressively hot, and behind the cloak the casement was open. gradually, too, another sound, the hissing fall of heavy rain, began to make itself heard, and to mingle with the regular breathing which proved that madame st. lo slept. assured of this fact, the countess presently heaved a sigh, and slipped from the bed. she groped in the darkness for her cloak, found it, and donned it over her night gear. then, taking her bearings by her bed, which stood with its head to the window and its foot to the entrance, she felt her way across the floor to the door, and after passing her hands a dozen times over every part of it, she found the latch, and raised it. the door creaked, as she pulled it open, and she stood arrested; but the sound went no farther, for the roofed gallery outside, which looked by two windows on the courtyard, was full of outdoor noises, the rushing of rain and the running of spouts and eaves. one of the windows stood wide, admitting the rain and wind, and as she paused, holding the door open, the draught blew the cloak from her. she stepped out quickly and shut the door behind her. on her left was the blind end of the passage; she turned to the right. she took one step into the darkness and stood motionless. beside her, within a few feet of her, some one had moved, with a dull sound as of a boot on wood; a sound so near her that she held her breath, and pressed herself against the wall. she listened. perhaps some of the servants--it was a common usage--had made their beds on the floor. perhaps one of the women had stirred in the room against the wall of which she crouched. perhaps--but, even while she reassured herself, the sound rose anew at her feet. fortunately at the same instant the glare of the lightning flooded all, and showed the passage, and showed it empty. it lit up the row of doors on her right and the small windows on her left, and discovered facing her the door which shut off the rest of the house. she could have thanked--nay, she did thank god for that light. if the sound she had heard recurred she did not hear it; for, as the thunder which followed hard on the flash crashed overhead and rolled heavily eastwards, she felt her way boldly along the passage, touching first one door, and then a second, and then a third. she groped for the latch of the last, and found it, but, with her hand on it, paused. in order to summon up her courage, she strove to hear again the cries of misery and to see again the haggard eyes which had driven her hither. and if she did not wholly succeed, other reflections came to her aid. this storm, which covered all smaller noises, and opened, now and again, god's lantern for her use, did it not prove that he was on her side, and that she might count on his protection? the thought at least was timely, and with a better heart she gathered her wits. waiting until the thunder burst over her head, she opened the door, slid within it, and closed it. she would fain have left it ajar, that in case of need she might escape the more easily. but the wind, which beat into the passage through the open window, rendered the precaution too perilous. she went forward two paces into the room, and as the roll of the thunder died away she stooped forward and listened with painful intensity for the sound of count hannibal's breathing. but the window was open, and the hiss of the rain persisted; she could hear nothing through it, and fearfully she took another step forward. the window should be before her; the bed in the corner to the left. but nothing of either could she make out. she must wait for the lightning. it came, and for a second or more the room shone. the window, the low truckle-bed, the sleeper, she saw all with dazzling clearness, and before the flash had well passed she was crouching low, with the hood of her cloak dragged about her face. for the glare had revealed count hannibal; but not asleep! he lay on his side, his face towards her; lay with open eyes, staring at her. or had the light tricked her? the light must have tricked her, for in the interval between the flash and the thunder, while she crouched quaking, he did not move or call. the light must have deceived her. she felt so certain of it that she found courage to remain where she was until another flash came and showed him sleeping with closed eyes. she drew a breath of relief at that, and rose slowly to her feet. but she dared not go forward until a third flash had confirmed the second. then, while the thunder burst overhead and rolled away, she crept on until she stood beside the pillow, and, stooping, could hear the sleeper's breathing. alas! the worst remained to be done. the packet, she was sure of it, lay under his pillow. how was she to find it, how remove it without rousing him? a touch might awaken him. and yet, if she would not return empty- handed, if she would not go back to the harrowing thoughts which had tortured her through the long hours of the day, it must be done, and done now. she knew this, yet she hung irresolute a while, blenching before the manual act, listening to the persistent rush and downpour of the rain. then a second time she drew courage from the storm. how timely had it broken. how signally had it aided her! how slight had been her chance without it! and so at last, resolutely but with a deft touch, she slid her fingers between the pillow and the bed, slightly pressing down the latter with her other hand. for an instant she fancied that the sleeper's breathing stopped, and her heart gave a great bound. but the breathing went on the next instant--if it had stopped--and dreading the return of the lightning, shrinking from being revealed so near him, and in that act--for which the darkness seemed more fitting--she groped farther, and touched something. then, as her fingers closed upon it and grasped it, and his breath rose hot to her burning cheek, she knew that the real danger lay in the withdrawal. at the first attempt he uttered a kind of grunt and moved, throwing out his hand. she thought that he was going to awake, and had hard work to keep herself where she was; but he did not move, and she began again with so infinite a precaution that the perspiration ran down her face and her hair within the hood hung dank on her neck. slowly, oh so slowly, she drew back the hand, and with it the packet; so slowly, and yet so resolutely, being put to it, that when the dreaded flash surprised her, and she saw his harsh swarthy face, steeped in the mysterious aloofness of sleep, within a hand's breadth of hers, not a muscle of her arm moved, nor did her hand quiver. it was done--at last! with a burst of gratitude, of triumph, of exultation, she stood erect. she realized that it was done, and that here in her hand she held the packet. a deep gasp of relief, of joy, of thankfulness, and she glided towards the door. she groped for the latch, and in the act fancied his breathing was changed. she paused, and bent her head to listen. but the patter of the rain, drowning all sounds save those of the nearest origin, persuaded her that she was mistaken, and, finding the latch, she raised it, slipped like a shadow into the passage, and closed the door behind her. that done she stood arrested, all the blood in her body running to her heart. she must be dreaming! the passage in which she stood--the passage which she had left in black darkness--was alight; was so far lighted, at least, that to eyes fresh from the night, the figures of three men, grouped at the farther end, stood out against the glow of the lanthorn which they appeared to be trimming--for the two nearest were stooping over it. these two had their backs to her, the third his face; and it was the sight of this third man which had driven the blood to her heart. he ended at the waist! it was only after a few seconds, it was only when she had gazed at him awhile in speechless horror, that he rose another foot from the floor, and she saw that he had paused in the act of ascending through a trapdoor. what the scene meant, who these men were, or what their entrance portended, with these questions her brain refused at the moment to grapple. it was much that--still remembering who might hear her, and what she held--she did not shriek aloud. instead, she stood in the gloom at her end of the passage, gazing with all her eyes until she had seen the third man step clear of the trap. she could see him; but the light intervened and blurred his view of her. he stooped, almost as soon as he had cleared himself, to help up a fourth man, who rose with a naked knife between his teeth. she saw then that all were armed, and something stealthy in their bearing, something cruel in their eyes as the light of the lanthorn fell now on one dark face and now on another, went to her heart and chilled it. who were they, and why were they here? what was their purpose? as her reason awoke, as she asked herself these questions, the fourth man stooped in his turn, and gave his hand to a fifth. and on that she lost her self-control, and cried out. for the last man to ascend was la tribe--la tribe, from whom she had parted that morning. the sound she uttered was low, but it reached the men's ears, and the two whose backs were towards her turned as if they had been pricked. he who held the lanthorn raised it, and the five glared at her and she at them. then a second cry, louder and more full of surprise, burst from her lips. the nearest man, he who held the lanthorn high that he might view her, was tignonville, was her lover! "_mon dieu_!" she whispered. "what is it? what is it?" then, not till then, did he know her. until then the light of the lanthorn had revealed only a cloaked and cowled figure, a gloomy phantom which shook the heart of more than one with superstitious terror. but they knew her now--two of them; and slowly, as in a dream, tignonville came forward. the mind has its moments of crisis, in which it acts upon instinct rather than upon reason. the girl never knew why she acted as she did; why she asked no questions, why she uttered no exclamations, no remonstrances; why, with a finger on her lips and her eyes on his, she put the packet into his hands. he took it from her, too, as mechanically as she gave it--with the hand which held his bare blade. that done, silent as she, with his eyes set hard, he would have gone by her. the sight of her _there_, guarding the door of him who had stolen her from him, exasperated his worst passions. but she moved to hinder him, and barred the way. with her hand raised she pointed to the trapdoor. "go!" she whispered, her tone stern and low, "you have what you want! go!" "no!" and he tried to pass her. "go!" she repeated in the same tone. "you have what you need." and still she held her hand extended; still without faltering she faced the five men, while the thunder, growing more distant, rolled sullenly eastward, and the midnight rain, pouring from every spout and dripping eave about the house, wrapped the passage in its sibilant hush. gradually her eyes dominated his, gradually her nobler nature and nobler aim subdued his weaker parts. for she understood now; and he saw that she did, and had he been alone he would have slunk away, and said no word in his defence. but one of the men, savage and out of patience, thrust himself between them. "where is he?" he muttered. "what is the use of this? where is he?" and his bloodshot eyes--it was tuez-les-moines--questioned the doors, while his hand, trembling and shaking on the haft of his knife, bespoke his eagerness. "where is he? where is he, woman? quick, or--" "i shall not tell you," she answered. "you lie," he cried, grinning like a dog. "you will tell us! or we will kill you too! where is he? where is he?" "i shall not tell you," she repeated, standing before him in the fearlessness of scorn. "another step and i rouse the house! m. de tignonville, to you who know me, i swear that if this man does not retire--" "he is in one of these rooms?" was tignonville's answer. "in which? in which?" "search them!" she answered, her voice low, but biting in its contempt. "try them. rouse my women, alarm the house! and when you have his people at your throats--five as they will be to one of you--thank your own mad folly!" tuez-les-moines' eyes glittered. "you will not tell us?" he cried. "no!" "then--" but as the fanatic sprang on her, la tribe flung his arms round him and dragged him back. "it would be madness," he cried. "are you mad, fool? have done!" he panted, struggling with him. "if madame gives the alarm--and he may be in any one of these four rooms, you cannot be sure which--we are undone." he looked for support to tignonville, whose movement to protect the girl he had anticipated, and who had since listened sullenly. "we have obtained what we need. will you requite madame, who has gained it for us at her own risk--" "it is monsieur i would requite," tignonville muttered grimly. "by using violence to her?" the minister retorted passionately. he and tuez were still gripping one another. "i tell you, to go on is to risk what we have got! and i for one--" "am chicken-hearted!" the young man sneered. "madame--" he seemed to choke on the word. "will you swear that he is not here?" "i swear that if you do not go i will raise the alarm!" she hissed--all their words were sunk to that stealthy note. "go! if you have not stayed too long already. go! or see!" and she pointed to the trapdoor, from which the face and arms of a sixth man had that moment risen--the face dark with perturbation, so that her woman's wit told her at once that something was amiss. "see what has come of your delay already!" "the water is rising," the man muttered earnestly. "in god's name come, whether you have done it or not, or we cannot pass out again. it is within a foot of the crown of the culvert now, and it is rising." "curse on the water!" tuez-les-moines answered in a frenzied whisper. "and on this jezebel. let us kill her and him! what matter afterwards?" and he tried to shake off la tribe's grasp. but the minister held him desperately. "are you mad? are you mad?" he answered. "what can we do against thirty? let us be gone while we can. let us be gone! come." "ay, come," perrot cried, assenting reluctantly. he had taken no side hitherto. "the luck is against us! 'tis no use to-night, man!" and he turned with an air of sullen resignation. letting his legs drop through the trap, he followed the bearer of the tidings out of sight. another made up his mind to go, and went. then only tignonville, holding the lanthorn, and la tribe, who feared to release tuez-les-moines, remained with the fanatic. the countess's eyes met her old lover's, and whether old memories overcame her, or, now that the danger was nearly past, she began to give way, she swayed a little on her feet. but he did not notice it. he was sunk in black rage--rage against her, rage against himself. "take the light," she muttered unsteadily. "and--and he must follow!" "and you?" but she could bear it no longer. "oh, go," she wailed. "go! will you never go? if you love me, if you ever loved me, i implore you to go." he had betrayed little of a lover's feeling. but he could not resist that appeal, and he turned silently. seizing tuez-les-moines by the other arm, he drew him by force to the trap. "quiet, fool," he muttered savagely when the man would have resisted, "and go down! if we stay to kill him, we shall have no way of escape, and his life will be dearly bought. down, man, down!" and between them, in a struggling silence, with now and then an audible rap, or a ring of metal, the two forced the desperado to descend. la tribe followed hastily. tignonville was the last to go. in the act of disappearing he raised his lanthorn for a last glimpse of the countess. to his astonishment the passage was empty; she was gone. hard by him a door stood an inch or two ajar, and he guessed that it was hers, and swore under his breath, hating her at that moment. but he did not guess how nicely she had calculated her strength; how nearly exhaustion had overcome her; or that, even while he paused--a fatal pause had he known it--eyeing the dark opening of the door, she lay as one dead, on the bed within. she had fallen in a swoon, from which she did not recover until the sun had risen, and marched across one quarter of the heavens. nor did he see another thing, or he might have hastened his steps. before the yellow light of his lanthorn faded from the ceiling of the passage, the door of the room farthest from the trap slid open. a man, whose eyes, until darkness swallowed him, shone strangely in a face extraordinarily softened, came out on tip-toe. this man stood awhile, listening. at length, hearing those below utter a cry of dismay, he awoke to sudden activity. he opened with a turn of the key the door which stood at his elbow, the door which led to the other part of the house. he vanished through it. a second later a sharp whistle pierced the darkness of the courtyard, and brought a dozen sleepers to their senses and their feet. a moment, and the courtyard hummed with voices, above which one voice rang clear and insistent. with a startled cry the inn awoke. chapter xxv. the company of the bleeding heart. "but why," madame st. lo asked, sticking her arms akimbo, "why stay in this forsaken place a day and a night, when six hours in the saddle would set us in angers?" "because," tavannes replied coldly--he and his cousin were walking before the gateway of the inn--"the countess is not well, and will be the better, i think, for staying a day." "she slept soundly enough! i'll answer for that!" he shrugged his shoulders. "she never raised her head this morning, though my women were shrieking 'murder!' next door, and--name of heaven!" madame resumed, after breaking off abruptly, and shading her eyes with her hand, "what comes here? is it a funeral? or a pilgrimage? if all the priests about here are as black, no wonder m. rabelais fell out with them!" the inn stood without the walls for the convenience of those who wished to take the road early: a little also, perhaps, because food and forage were cheaper, and the wine paid no town-dues. four great roads met before the house, along the most easterly of which the sombre company which had caught madame st. lo's attention could be seen approaching. at first count hannibal supposed with his companion that the travellers were conveying to the grave the corpse of some person of distinction; for the _cortege_ consisted mainly of priests and the like mounted on mules, and clothed for the most part in black. black also was the small banner which waved above them, and bore in place of arms the emblem of the bleeding heart. but a second glance failed to discover either litter or bier; and a nearer approach showed that the travellers, whether they wore the tonsure or not, bore weapons of one kind or another. suddenly madame st. lo clapped her hands, and proclaimed in great astonishment that she knew them. "why, there is father boucher, the cure of st. benoist!" she said, "and father pezelay of st. magloire. and there is another i know, though i cannot remember his name! they are preachers from paris! that is who they are! but what can they be doing here? is it a pilgrimage, think you?" "ay, a pilgrimage of blood!" count hannibal answered between his teeth. and, turning to him to learn what moved him, she saw the look in his eyes which portended a storm. before she could ask a question, however, the gloomy company, which had first appeared in the distance, moving, an inky blot, through the hot sunshine of the summer morning, had drawn near, and was almost abreast of them. stepping from her side, he raised his hand and arrested the march. "who is master here?" he asked haughtily. "i am the leader," answered a stout pompous churchman, whose small malevolent eyes belied the sallow fatuity of his face. "i, m. de tavannes, by your leave." "and you, by your leave," tavannes sneered, "are--" "archdeacon and vicar of the bishop of angers and prior of the lesser brethren of st. germain, m. le comte. visitor also of the diocese of angers," the dignitary continued, puffing out his cheeks, "and chaplain to the lieutenant-governor of saumur, whose unworthy brother i am." "a handsome glove, and well embroidered!" tavannes retorted in a tone of disdain. "the hand i see yonder!" he pointed to the lean parchment mask of father pezelay, who coloured ever so faintly, but held his peace under the sneer. "you are bound for angers?" count hannibal continued. "for what purpose, sir prior?" "his grace the bishop is absent, and in his absence--" "you go to fill his city with strife! i know you! not you!" he continued, contemptuously turning from the prior, and regarding the third of the principal figures of the party. "but you! you were the cure who got the mob together last all souls'." "i speak the words of him who sent me!" answered the third churchman, whose brooding face and dull curtained eyes gave no promise of the fits of frenzied eloquence which had made his pulpit famous in paris. "then kill and burn are his alphabet!" tavannes retorted, and heedless of the start of horror which a saying so near blasphemy excited among the churchmen, he turned to father pezelay. "and you! you, too, i know!" he continued. "and you know me! and take this from me. turn, father! turn! or worse than a broken head--you bear the scar, i see--will befall you. these good persons, whom you have moved, unless i am in error, to take this journey, may not know me; but you do, and can tell them. if they will to angers, they must to angers. but if i find trouble in angers when i come, i will hang some one high. don't scowl at me, man!"--in truth, the look of hate in father pezelay's eyes was enough to provoke the exclamation. "some one, and it shall not be a bare patch on the crown will save his windpipe from squeezing!" a murmur of indignation broke from the preachers' attendants; one or two made a show of drawing their weapons. but count hannibal paid no heed to them, and had already turned on his heel when father pezelay spurred his mule a pace or two forward. snatching a heavy brass cross from one of the acolytes, he raised it aloft, and in the voice which had often thrilled the heated congregation of st. magloire, he called on tavannes to pause. "stand, my lord!" he cried. "and take warning! stand, reckless and profane, whose face is set hard as a stone, and his heart as a flint, against high heaven and holy church! stand and hear! behold the word of the lord is gone out against this city, even against angers, for the unbelief thereof! her place shall be left unto her desolate, and her children shall be dashed against the stones! woe unto you, therefore, if you gainsay it, or fall short of that which is commanded! you shall perish as achan, the son of charmi, and as saul! the curse that has gone out against you shall not tarry, nor your days continue! for the canaanitish woman that is in your house, and for the thought that is in your heart, the place that was yours is given to another! yea, the sword is even now drawn that shall pierce your side!" "you are more like to split my ears!" count hannibal answered sternly. "and now mark me! preach as you please here. but a word in angers, and though you be shaven twice over, i will have you silenced after a fashion which will not please you! if you value your tongue therefore, father--oh, you shake off the dust, do you? well, pass on! 'tis wise, perhaps." and undismayed by the scowling brows, and the cross ostentatiously lifted to heaven, he gazed after the procession as it moved on under its swaying banner, now one and now another of the acolytes looking back and raising his hands to invoke the bolt of heaven on the blasphemer. as the _cortege_ passed the huge watering-troughs, and the open gateway of the inn, the knot of persons congregated there fell on their knees. in answer the churchmen raised their banner higher, and began to sing the _eripe me, domine_! and to its strains, now vengeful, now despairing, now rising on a wave of menace, they passed slowly into the distance, slowly towards angers and the loire. suddenly madame st. lo twitched his sleeve. "enough for me!" she cried passionately. "i go no farther with you!" "ah?" "no farther!" she repeated. she was pale, she shivered. "many thanks, my cousin, but we part company here. i do not go to angers. i have seen horrors enough. i will take my people, and go to my aunt by tours and the east road. for you, i foresee what will happen. you will perish between the hammer and the anvil." "ah?" "you play too fine a game," she continued, her face quivering. "give over the girl to her lover, and send away her people with her. and wash your hands of her and hers. or you will see her fall, and fall beside her! give her to him, i say--give her to him!" "my wife?" "wife?" she echoed, for, fickle, and at all times swept away by the emotions of the moment, she was in earnest now. "is there a tie," and she pointed after the vanishing procession, "that they cannot unloose? that they will not unloose? is there a life which escapes if they doom it? did the admiral escape? or rochefoucauld? or madame de luns in old days? i tell you they go to rouse angers against you, and i see beforehand what will happen. she will perish, and you with her. wife? a pretty wife, at whose door you took her lover last night." "and at your door!" he answered quietly, unmoved by the gibe. but she did not heed. "i warned you of that!" she cried. "and you would not believe me. i told you he was following. and i warn you of this. you are between the hammer and the anvil, m. le comte! if tignonville does not murder you in your bed--" "i hold him in my power." "then holy church will fall on you and crush you. for me, i have seen enough and more than enough. i go to tours by the east road." he shrugged his shoulders. "as you please," he said. she flung away in disgust with him. she could not understand a man who played fast and loose at such a time. the game was too fine for her, its danger too apparent, the gain too small. she had, too, a woman's dread of the church, a woman's belief in the power of the dead hand to punish. and in half an hour her orders were given. in two hours her people were gathered, and she departed by the eastward road, three of tavannes' riders reinforcing her servants for a part of the way. count hannibal stood to watch them start, and noticed bigot riding by the side of suzanne's mule. he smiled; and presently, as he turned away, he did a thing rare with him--he laughed outright. a laugh which reflected a mood rare as itself. few had seen count hannibal's eye sparkle as it sparkled now; few had seen him laugh as he laughed, walking to and fro in the sunshine before the inn. his men watched him, and wondered, and liked it little, for one or two who had overheard his altercation with the churchmen had reported it, and there was shaking of heads over it. the man who had singed the pope's beard and chucked cardinals under the chin was growing old, and the most daring of the others had no mind to fight with foes whose weapons were not of this world. count hannibal's gaiety, however, was well grounded, had they known it. he was gay, not because he foresaw peril, and it was his nature to love peril; not--in the main, though a little, perhaps--because he knew that the woman whose heart he desired to win had that night stood between him and death; not, though again a little, perhaps, because she had confirmed his choice by conduct which a small man might have deprecated, but which a great man loved; but chiefly, because the events of the night had placed in his grasp two weapons by the aid of which he looked to recover all the ground he had lost--lost by his impulsive departure from the pall of conduct on which he had started. those weapons were tignonville, taken like a rat in a trap by the rising of the water; and the knowledge that the countess had stolen the precious packet from his pillow. the knowledge--for he had lain and felt her breath upon his cheek, he had lain and felt her hand beneath his pillow, he had lain while the impulse to fling his arms about her had been almost more than he could tame! he had lain and suffered her to go, to pass out safely as she had passed in. and then he had received his reward in the knowledge that, if she robbed him, she robbed him not for herself; and that where it was a question of his life she did not fear to risk her own. when he came, indeed, to that point, he trembled. how narrowly had he been saved from misjudging her! had he not lain and waited, had he not possessed himself in patience, he might have thought her in collusion with the old lover whom he found at her door, and with those who came to slay him. either he might have perished unwarned; or escaping that danger, he might have detected her with tignonville and lost for all time the ideal of a noble woman. he had escaped that peril. more, he had gained the weapons we have indicated; and the sense of power, in regard to her, almost intoxicated him. surely if he wielded those weapons to the best advantage, if he strained generosity to the uttermost, the citadel of her heart must yield at last! he had the defect of his courage and his nature, a tendency to do things after a flamboyant fashion. he knew that her act would plunge him in perils which she had not foreseen. if the preachers roused the papists of angers, if he arrived to find men's swords whetted for the massacre and the men themselves awaiting the signal, then if he did not give that signal there would be trouble. there would be trouble of the kind in which the soul of hannibal de tavannes revelled, trouble about the ancient cathedral and under the black walls of the angevin castle; trouble amid which the hearts of common men would be as water. then, when things seemed at their worst, he would reveal his knowledge. then, when forgiveness must seem impossible, he would forgive. with the flood of peril which she had unloosed rising round them, he would say, "go!" to the man who had aimed at his life; he would say to her, "i know, and i forgive!" that, that only, would fitly crown the policy on which he had decided from the first, though he had not hoped to conduct it on lines so splendid as those which now dazzled him. chapter xxvi. temper. it was his gaiety, that strange unusual gaiety, still continuing, which on the following day began by perplexing and ended by terrifying the countess. she could not doubt that he had missed the packet on which so much hung and of which he had indicated the importance. but if he had missed it, why, she asked herself, did he not speak? why did he not cry the alarm, search and question and pursue? why did he not give her that opening to tell the truth, without which even her courage failed, her resolution died within her? above all, what was the secret of his strange merriment? of the snatches of song which broke from him, only to be hushed by her look of astonishment? of the parades which his horse, catching the infection, made under him, as he tossed his riding-cane high in the air and caught it? ay, what? why, when he had suffered so great a loss, when he had been robbed of that of which he must give account--why did he cast off his melancholy and ride like the youngest? she wondered what the men thought, and looking, saw them stare, saw that they watched him stealthily, saw that they laid their heads together. what were they thinking of it? she could not tell; and slowly a terror, more insistent than any to which the extremity of violence would have reduced her, began to grip her heart. twenty hours of rest had lifted her from the state of collapse into which the events of the night had cast her; still her limbs at starting had shaken under her. but the cool freshness of the early summer morning, and the sight of the green landscape and the winding loir, beside which their road ran, had not failed to revive her spirits; and if he had shown himself merely gloomy, merely sunk in revengeful thoughts, or darting hither and thither the glance of suspicion, she felt that she could have faced him, and on the first opportunity could have told him the truth. but his new mood veiled she knew not what. it seemed, if she comprehended it at all, the herald of some bizarre, some dreadful vengeance, in harmony with his fierce and mocking spirit. before it her heart became as water. even her colour little by little left her cheeks. she knew that he had only to look at her now to read the truth; that it was written in her face, in her shrinking figure, in the eyes which now guiltily sought and now avoided his. and feeling sure that he did read it and know it, she fancied that he licked his lips, as the cat which plays with the mouse; she fancied that he gloated on her terror and her perplexity. this, though the day and the road were warrants for all cheerful thoughts. on one side vineyards clothed the warm red slopes, and rose in steps from the valley to the white buildings of a convent. on the other the stream wound through green flats where the black cattle stood knee- deep in grass, watched by wild-eyed and half-naked youths. again the travellers lost sight of the loir, and crossing a shoulder, rode through the dim aisles of a beech-forest, through deep rustling drifts of last year's leaves. and out again and down again they passed, and turning aside from the gateway, trailed along beneath the brown machicolated wall of an old town, from the crumbling battlements of which faces half-sleepy, half-suspicious, watched them as they moved below through the glare and heat. down to the river-level again, where a squalid anchorite, seated at the mouth of a cave dug in the bank, begged of them, and the bell of a monastery on the farther bank tolled slumberously the hour of nones. and still he said nothing, and she, cowed by his mysterious gaiety, yet spurning herself for her cowardice, was silent also. he hoped to arrive at angers before nightfall. what, she wondered, shivering, would happen there? what was he planning to do to her? how would he punish her? brave as she was, she was a woman, with a woman's nerves; and fear and anticipation got upon them; and his silence--his silence which must mean a thing worse than words! and then on a sudden, piercing all, a new thought. was it possible that he had other letters? if his bearing were consistent with anything, it was consistent with that. had he other genuine letters, or had he duplicate letters, so that he had lost nothing, but instead had gained the right to rack and torture her, to taunt and despise her? that thought stung her into sudden self-betrayal. they were riding along a broad dusty track which bordered a stone causey raised above the level of winter floods. impulsively she turned to him. "you have other letters!" she cried. "you have other letters!" and freed for the moment from her terror, she fixed her eyes on his and strove to read his face. he looked at her, his mouth grown hard. "what do you mean, madame?" he asked, "you have other letters?" "for whom?" "from the king, for angers!" he saw that she was going to confess, that she was going to derange his cherished plan; and unreasonable anger awoke in the man who had been more than willing to forgive a real injury. "will you explain?" he said between his teeth. and his eyes glittered unpleasantly. "what do you mean?" "you have other letters," she cried, "besides those which i stole." "which you stole?" he repeated the words without passion. enraged by this unexpected turn, he hardly knew how to take it. "yes, i!" she cried. "i! i took them from under your pillow!" he was silent a minute. then he laughed and shook his head. "it will not do, madame," he said, his lip curling. "you are clever, but you do not deceive me." "deceive you?" "yes." "you do not believe that i took the letters?" she cried in great amazement. "no," he answered, "and for a good reason." he had hardened his heart now. he had chosen his line, and he would not spare her. "why, then?" she cried. "why?" "for the best of all reasons," he answered. "because the person who stole the letters was seized in the act of making his escape, and is now in my power." "the person--who stole the letters?" she faltered. "yes, madame." "do you mean m. de tignonville?" "you have said it." she turned white to the lips, and trembling, could with difficulty sit her horse. with an effort she pulled it up, and he stopped also. their attendants were some way ahead. "and you have the letters?" she whispered, her eyes meeting his. "you have the letters?" "no, but i have the thief!" count hannibal answered with sinister meaning. "as i think you knew, madame," he continued ironically, "a while back before you spoke." "i? oh no, no!" and she swayed in her saddle. "what--what are you--going to do?" she muttered after a moment's stricken silence. "to him?" "yes." "the magistrates will decide, at angers." "but he did not do it! i swear he did not." count hannibal shook his head coldly. "i swear, monsieur, i took the letters!" she repeated piteously. "punish me!" her figure, bowed like an old woman's over the neck of her horse, seemed to crave his mercy. count hannibal smiled. "you do not believe me?" "no," he said. and then, in a tone which chilled her, "if i did believe you," he continued, "i should still punish him!" she was broken; but he would see if he could not break her further. he would try if there were no weak spot in her armour. he would rack her now, since in the end she must go free. "understand, madame," he continued in his harshest tone, "i have had enough of your lover. he has crossed my path too often. you are my wife, i am your husband. in a day or two there shall be an end of this farce and of him." "he did not take them!" she wailed, her face sinking lower on her breast. "he did not take them! have mercy!" "any way, madame, they are gone!" tavannes answered. "you have taken them between you; and as i do not choose that you should pay, he will pay the price." if the discovery that tignonville had fallen into her husband's hands had not sufficed to crush her, count hannibal's tone must have done so. the shoot of new life which had raised its head after those dreadful days in paris, and--for she was young--had supported her under the weight which the peril of angers had cast on her shoulders, died, withered under the heel of his brutality. the pride which had supported her, which had won tavannes' admiration and exacted his respect, sank, as she sank herself, bowed to her horse's neck, weeping bitter tears before him. she abandoned herself to her misery, as she had once abandoned herself in the upper room in paris. and he looked at her. he had willed to crush her; he had his will, and he was not satisfied. he had bowed her so low that his magnanimity would now have its full effect, would shine as the sun into a dark world; and yet he was not happy. he could look forward to the morrow, and say, "she will understand me, she will know me!" and, lo, the thought that she wept for her lover stabbed him, and stabbed him anew; and he thought, "rather would she death from him, than life from me! though i give her creation, it will not alter her! though i strike the stars with my head, it is he who fills her world." the thought spurred him to further cruelty, impelled him to try if, prostrate as she was, he could not draw a prayer from her. "you don't ask after him?" he scoffed. "he may be before or behind? or wounded or well? would you not know, madame? and what message he sent you? and what he fears, and what hope he has? and his last wishes? and--for while there is life there is hope--would you not learn where the key of his prison lies to-night? how much for the key to-night, madame?" each question fell on her like the lash of a whip; but as one who has been flogged into insensibility, she did not wince. that drove him on: he felt a mad desire to hear her prayers, to force her lower, to bring her to her knees. and he sought about for a keener taunt. their attendants were almost out of sight before them; the sun, declining apace, was in their eyes. "in two hours we shall be in angers," he said. "mon dieu, madame, it was a pity, when you two were taking letters, you did not go a step farther. you were surprised, or i doubt if i should be alive to-day!" then she did look up. she raised her head and met his gaze with such wonder in her eyes, such reproach in her tear-stained face, that his voice sank on the last word. "you mean--that i would have murdered you?" she said. "i would have cut off my hand first. what i did"--and now her voice was as firm as it was low--"what i did, i did to save my people. and if it were to be done again, i would do it again!" "you dare to tell me that to my face?" he cried, hiding feelings which almost choked him. "you would do it again, would you? mon dieu, madame, you need to be taught a lesson!" and by chance, meaning only to make the horses move on again, he raised his whip. she thought that he was going to strike her, and she flinched at last. the whip fell smartly on her horse's quarters, and it sprang forward. count hannibal swore between his teeth. he had turned pale, she red as fire. "get on! get on!" he cried harshly. "we are falling behind!" and riding at her heels, flipping her horse now and then, he forced her to trot on until they overtook the servants. chapter xxvii. the black town. it was late evening when, riding wearily on jaded horses, they came to the outskirts of angers, and saw before them the term of their journey. the glow of sunset had faded, but the sky was still warm with the last hues of day; and against its opal light the huge mass of the angevin castle, which even in sunshine rises dark and forbidding above the mayenne, stood up black and sharply defined. below it, on both banks of the river, the towers and spires of the city soared up from a sombre huddle of ridge-roofs, broken here by a round-headed gateway, crumbling and pigeon-haunted, that dated from st. louis, and there by the gaunt arms of a windmill. the city lay dark under a light sky, keeping well its secrets. thousands were out of doors enjoying the evening coolness in alley and court, yet it betrayed the life which pulsed in its arteries only by the low murmur which rose from it. nevertheless, the countess at sight of its roofs tasted the first moment of happiness which had been hers that day. she might suffer, but she had saved. those roofs would thank her! in that murmur were the voices of women and children she had redeemed! at the sight and at the thought a wave of love and tenderness swept all bitterness from her breast. a profound humility, a boundless thankfulness took possession of her. her head sank lower above her horse's mane; but this time it sank in reverence, not in shame. could she have known what was passing beneath those roofs which night was blending in a common gloom--could she have read the thoughts which at that moment paled the cheeks of many a stout burgher, whose gabled house looked on the great square, she had been still more thankful. for in attics and back rooms women were on their knees at that hour, praying with feverish eyes; and in the streets men--on whom their fellows, seeing the winding-sheet already at the chin, gazed askance--smiled, and showed brave looks abroad, while their hearts were sick with fear. for darkly, no man knew how, the news had come to angers. it had been known, more or less, for three days. men had read it in other men's eyes. the tongue of a scold, the sneer of an injured woman had spread it, the birds of the air had carried it. from garret window to garret window across the narrow lanes of the old town it had been whispered at dead of night; at convent grilles, and in the timber-yards beside the river. ten thousand, fifty thousand, a hundred thousand, it was rumoured, had perished in paris. in orleans, all. in tours this man's sister; at saumur that man's son. through france the word had gone forth that the huguenots must die; and in the busy town the same roof-tree sheltered fear and hate, rage and cupidity. on one side of the party- wall murder lurked fierce-eyed; on the other, the victim lay watching the latch, and shaking at a step. strong men tasted the bitterness of death, and women clasping their babes to their breasts smiled sickly into children's eyes. the signal only was lacking. it would come, said some, from saumur, where montsoreau, the duke of anjou's lieutenant-governor and a papist, had his quarters. from paris, said others, directly from the king. it might come at any hour now, in the day or in the night; the magistrates, it was whispered, were in continuous session, awaiting its coming. no wonder that from lofty gable windows, and from dormers set high above the tiles, haggard faces looked northward and eastward, and ears sharpened by fear imagined above the noises of the city the ring of the iron shoes that carried doom. doubtless the majority desired--as the majority in france have always desired--peace. but in the purlieus about the cathedral and in the lanes where the sacristans lived, in convent parlours and college courts, among all whose livelihood the new faith threatened, was a stir as of a hive deranged. here was grumbling against the magistrates--why wait? there, stealthy plannings and arrangements; everywhere a grinding of weapons and casting of slugs. old grudges, new rivalries, a scholar's venom, a priest's dislike, here was final vent for all. none need leave this feast unsated! it was a man of this class, sent out for the purpose, who first espied count hannibal's company approaching. he bore the news into the town, and by the time the travellers reached the city gate, the dusky street within, on which lights were beginning to twinkle from booths and casements, was alive with figures running to meet them and crying the news as they ran. the travellers, weary and road-stained, had no sooner passed under the arch than they found themselves the core of a great crowd which moved with them and pressed about them; now unbonneting, and now calling out questions, and now shouting, "vive le roi! vive le roi!" above the press, windows burst into light; and over all, the quaint leaning gables of the old timbered houses looked down on the hurry and tumult. they passed along a narrow street in which the rabble, hurrying at count hannibal's bridle, and often looking back to read his face, had much ado to escape harm; along this street and before the yawning doors of a great church whence a breath heavy with incense and burning wax issued to meet them. a portion of the congregation had heard the tumult and struggled out, and now stood close-packed on the steps under the double vault of the portal. among them the countess's eyes, as she rode by, a sturdy man- at-arms on either hand, caught and held one face. it was the face of a tall, lean man in dusty black; and though she did not know him she seemed to have an equal attraction for him; for as their eyes met he seized the shoulder of the man next him and pointed her out. and something in the energy of the gesture, or in the thin lips and malevolent eyes of the man who pointed, chilled the countess's blood and shook her, she knew not why. until then, she had known no fear save of her husband. but at that a sense of the force and pressure of the crowd--as well as of the fierce passions, straining about her, which a word might unloose--broke upon her; and looking to the stern men on either side she fancied that she read anxiety in their faces. she glanced behind. boot to boot, the count's men came on, pressing round her women and shielding them from the exuberance of the throng. in their faces too she thought that she traced uneasiness. what wonder if the scenes through which she had passed in paris began to recur to her mind, and shook nerves already overwrought? she began to tremble. "is there--danger?" she muttered, speaking in a low voice to bigot, who rode on her right hand. "will they do anything?" the norman snorted. "not while he is in the saddle," he said, nodding towards his master, who rode a pace in front of them, his reins loose. "there be some here know him!" bigot continued, in his drawling tone. "and more will know him if they break line. have no fear, madame, he will bring you safe to the inn. down with the huguenots?" he continued, turning from her and addressing a rogue who, holding his stirrup, was shouting the cry till he was crimson. "then why not away, and--" "the king! the king's word and leave!" the man answered. "ay, tell us!" shrieked another, looking upward, while he waved his cap; "have we the king's leave?" "you'll bide _his_ leave!" the norman retorted, indicating the count with his thumb. "or 'twill be up with you--on the three-legged horse!" "but he comes from the king!" the man panted. "to be sure. to be sure!" "then--" "you'll bide his time! that's all!" bigot answered, rather it seemed for his own satisfaction than the other's enlightenment. "you'll all bide it, you dogs!" he continued in his beard, as he cast his eye over the weltering crowd. "ha! so we are here, are we? and not too soon, either." he fell silent as they entered an open space, overlooked on one side by the dark facade of the cathedral, on the other three sides by houses more or less illumined. the rabble swept into this open space with them and before them, filled much of it in an instant, and for a while eddied and swirled this way and that, thrust onward by the worshippers who had issued from the church and backwards by those who had been first in the square, and had no mind to be hustled out of hearing. a stranger, confused by the sea of excited faces, and deafened by the clamour of "vive le roi!" "vive anjou!" mingled with cries against the huguenots, might have fancied that the whole city was arrayed before him. but he would have been wide of the mark. the scum, indeed--and a dangerous scum--frothed and foamed and spat under tavannes' bridle-hand; and here and there among them, but not of them, the dark-robed figure of a priest moved to and fro; or a benedictine, or some smooth-faced acolyte egged on to the work he dared not do. but the decent burghers were not there. they lay bolted in their houses; while the magistrates, with little heart to do aught except bow to the mob--or other their masters for the time being--shook in their council chamber. there is not a city of france which has not seen it; which has not known the moment when the mass impended, and it lay with one man to start it or stay its course. angers within its houses heard the clamour, and from the child, clinging to its mother's skirt, and wondering why she wept, to the provost, trembled, believing that the hour had come. the countess heard it too, and understood it. she caught the savage note in the voice of the mob--that note which means danger--and, her heart beating wildly, she looked to her husband. then, fortunately for her, fortunately for angers, it was given to all to see that in count hannibal's saddle sat a man. he raised his hand for silence, and in a minute or two--not at once, for the square was dusky--it was obtained. he rose in his stirrups, and bared his head. "i am from the king!" he cried, throwing his voice to all parts of the crowd. "and this is his majesty's pleasure and good will! that every man hold his hand until to-morrow on pain of death, or worse! and at noon his further pleasure will be known! vive le roi!" and he covered his head again. "vive le roi!" cried a number of the foremost. but their shouts were feeble and half-hearted, and were quickly drowned in a rising murmur of discontent and ill-humour, which, mingled with cries of "is that all? is there no more? down with the huguenots!" rose from all parts. presently these cries became merged in a persistent call, which had its origin, as far as could be discovered, in the darkest corner of the square. a call for "montsoreau! montsoreau! give us montsoreau!" with another man, or had tavannes turned or withdrawn, or betrayed the least anxiety, words had become actions, disorder a riot; and that in the twinkling of an eye. but count hannibal, sitting his horse, with his handful of riders behind him, watched the crowd, as little moved by it as the armed knight of notre dame. only once did he say a word. then, raising his hand as before to gain a hearing-- "you ask for montsoreau?" he thundered. "you will have montfaucon if you do not quickly go to your homes!" at which, and at the glare of his eye, the more timid took fright. feeling his gaze upon them, seeing that he had no intention of withdrawing, they began to sneak away by ones and twos. soon others missed them and took the alarm, and followed. a moment and scores were streaming away through lanes and alleys and along the main street. at last the bolder and more turbulent found themselves a remnant. they glanced uneasily at one another and at tavannes, took fright in their turn, and plunging into the current hastened away, raising now and then as they passed through the streets a cry of "vive montsoreau! montsoreau!"--which was not without its menace for the morrow. count hannibal waited motionless until no more than half a dozen groups remained in the open. then he gave the word to dismount; for, so far, even the countess and her women had kept their saddles, lest the movement which their retreat into the inn must have caused should be misread by the mob. last of all he dismounted himself, and with lights going before him and behind, and preceded by bigot, bearing his cloak and pistols, he escorted the countess into the house. not many minutes had elapsed since he had called for silence; but long before he reached the chamber looking over the square from the first floor, in which supper was being set for them, the news had flown through the length and breadth of angers that for this night the danger was past. the hawk had come to angers, and lo! it was a dove. count hannibal strode to one of the open windows and looked out. in the room, which was well lighted, were people of the house, going to and fro, setting out the table; to madame, standing beside the hearth--which held its summer dressing of green boughs--while her woman held water for her to wash, the scene recalled with painful vividness the meal at which she had been present on the morning of the st. bartholomew--the meal which had ushered in her troubles. naturally her eyes went to her husband, her mind to the horror in which she had held him then; and with a kind of shock--perhaps because the last few minutes had shown him in a new light--she compared her old opinion of him with that which, much as she feared him, she now entertained. this afternoon, if ever, within the last few hours, if at all, he had acted in a way to justify that horror and that opinion. he had treated her--brutally; he had insulted and threatened her, had almost struck her. and yet--and yet madame felt that she had moved so far from the point which she had once occupied that the old attitude was hard to understand. hardly could she believe that it was on this man, much as she still dreaded him, that she had looked with those feelings of repulsion. she was still gazing at him with eyes which strove to see two men in one, when he turned from the window. absorbed in thought, she had forgotten her occupation, and stood, the towel suspended in her half-dried hands. before she knew what he was doing he was at her side; he bade the woman hold the bowl, and he rinsed his hands. then he turned, and without looking at the countess, he dried his hands on the farther end of the towel which she was still using. she blushed faintly. a something in the act, more intimate and more familiar than had ever marked their intercourse, set her blood running strangely. when he turned away and bade bigot unbuckle his spur-leathers, she stepped forward. "i will do it!" she murmured, acting on a sudden and unaccountable impulse. and as she knelt, she shook her hair about her face to hide its colour. "nay, madame, but you will soil your fingers!" he said coldly. "permit me," she muttered half coherently. and though her fingers shook, she pursued and performed her task. when she rose he thanked her; and then the devil in the man, or the nemesis he had provoked when he took her by force from another--the nemesis of jealousy, drove him to spoil all. "and for whose sake, madame?" he added, with a jeer; "mine or m. de tignonville's?" and with a glance between jest and earnest, he tried to read her thoughts. she winced as if he had indeed struck her, and the hot colour fled her cheeks. "for his sake!" she said, with a shiver of pain. "that his life may be spared!" and she stood back humbly, like a beaten dog. though, indeed, it was for the sake of angers, in thankfulness for the past rather than in any desperate hope of propitiating her husband, that she had done it! perhaps he would have withdrawn his words. but before he could answer, the host, bowing to the floor, came to announce that all was ready, and that the provost of the city, for whom m. le comte had sent, was in waiting below. "let him come up!" tavannes answered, grave and frowning. "and see you, close the room, sirrah! my people will wait on us. ah!" as the provost, a burly man, with a face framed for jollity, but now pale and long, entered and approached him with many salutations. "how comes it, m. le prevot--you are the prevot, are you not?" "yes, m. le comte." "how comes it that so great a crowd is permitted to meet in the streets? and that at my entrance, though i come unannounced, i find half of the city gathered together?" the provost stared. "respect, m. le comte," he said, "for his majesty's letters, of which you are the bearer, no doubt induced some to come together." "who said i brought letters?" "who--?" "who said i brought letters?" count hannibal repeated in a strenuous voice. and he ground his chair half about and faced the astonished magistrate. "who said i brought letters?" "why, my lord," the provost stammered, "it was everywhere yesterday--" "yesterday?" "last night, at latest--that letters were coming from the king." "by my hand?" "by your lordship's hand--whose name is so well known here," the magistrate added, in the hope of clearing the great man's brow. count hannibal laughed darkly. "my hand will be better known by-and-by," he said. "see you, sirrah, there is some practice here. what is this cry of montsoreau that i hear?" "your lordship knows that he is his grace's lieutenant-governor in saumur." "i know that, man. but is he here?" "he was at saumur yesterday, and 'twas rumoured three days back that he was coming here to extirpate the huguenots. then word came of your lordship and of his majesty's letters, and 'twas thought that m. de montsoreau would not come, his authority being superseded." "i see. and now your rabble think that they would prefer m. montsoreau. that is it, is it?" the magistrate shrugged his shoulders and opened his hands. "pigs!" he said. and having spat on the floor, he looked apologetically at the lady. "true pigs!" "what connections has he here?" tavannes asked. "he is a brother of my lord the bishop's vicar, who arrived yesterday." "with a rout of shaven heads who have been preaching and stirring up the town!" count hannibal cried, his face growing red. "speak, man; is it so? but i'll be sworn it is!" "there has been preaching," the provost answered reluctantly. "montsoreau may count his brother, then, for one. he is a fool, but with a knave behind him, and a knave who has no cause to love us! and the castle? 'tis held by one of m. de montsoreau's creatures, i take it?" "yes, my lord." "with what force?" the magistrate shrugged his shoulders, and looked doubtfully at badelon, who was keeping the door. tavannes followed the glance with his usual impatience. "mon dieu, you need not look at him!" he cried. "he has sacked st. peter's and singed the pope's beard with a holy candle! he has been served on the knee by cardinals; and is turk or jew, or monk or huguenot as i please. and madame"--for the provost's astonished eyes, after resting awhile on the old soldier's iron visage, had passed to her--"is huguenot, so you need have no fear of her! there, speak, man," with impatience, "and cease to think of your own skin!" the provost drew a deep breath, and fixed his small eyes on count hannibal. "if i knew, my lord, what you--why, my own sister's son"--he paused, his face began to work, his voice shook--"is a huguenot! ay, my lord, a huguenot! and they know it!" he continued, a flush of rage augmenting the emotion which his countenance betrayed. "ay, they know it! and they push me on at the council, and grin behind my back; lescot, who was provost two years back, and would match his son with my daughter; and thuriot, who prints for the university! they nudge one another, and egg me on, till half the city thinks it is i who would kill the huguenots! i!" again his voice broke. "and my own sister's son a huguenot! and my girl at home white-faced for--for his sake." tavannes scanned the man shrewdly. "perhaps she is of the same way of thinking?" he said. the provost started, and lost one half of his colour. "god forbid!" he cried, "saving madame's presence! who says so, my lord, lies!" "ay, lies not far from the truth." "my lord!" "pish, man, lescot has said it, and will act on it. and thuriot, who prints for the university! would you 'scape them? you would? then listen to me. i want but two things. first, how many men has montsoreau's fellow in the castle? few, i know, for he is a niggard, and if he spends, he spends the duke's pay." "twelve. but five can hold it." "ay, but twelve dare not leave it! let them stew in their own broth! and now for the other matter. see, man, that before daybreak three gibbets, with a ladder and two ropes apiece, are set up in the square. and let one be before this door. you understand? then let it be done! the rest," he added with a ferocious smile, "you may leave to me." the magistrate nodded rather feebly. "doubtless," he said, his eye wandering here and there, "there are rogues in angers. and for rogues the gibbet! but saving your presence, my lord, it is a question whether--" but m. de tavannes' patience was exhausted. "will you do it?" he roared. "that is the question. and the only question." the provost jumped, he was so startled. "certainly, my lord, certainly!" he muttered humbly. "certainly, i will!" and bowing frequently, but saying no more, he backed himself out of the room. count hannibal laughed grimly after his fashion, and doubtless thought that he had seen the last of the magistrate for that night. great was his wrath, therefore, when, less than a minute later--and before bigot had carved for him--the door opened, and the provost appeared again. he slid in, and without giving the courage he had gained on the stairs time to cool, plunged into his trouble. "it stands this way, m. le comte," he bleated. "if i put up the gibbets and a man is hanged, and you have letters from the king, 'tis a rogue the less, and no harm done. but if you have no letters from his majesty, then it is on my shoulders they will put it, and 'twill be odd if they do not find a way to hang me to right him." count hannibal smiled grimly. "and your sister's son?" he sneered. "and your girl who is white-faced for his sake, and may burn on the same bonfire with him? and--" "mercy! mercy!" the wretched provost cried. and he wrung his hands. "lescot and thuriot--" "perhaps we may hang lescot and thuriot--" "but i see no way out," the provost babbled. "no way! no way!" "i am going to show you one," tavannes retorted. "if the gibbets are not in place by sunrise, i shall hang you from this window. that is one way out; and you'll be wise to take the other! for the rest and for your comfort, if i have no letters, it is not always to paper that the king commits his inmost heart." the magistrate bowed. he quaked, he doubted, but he had no choice. "my lord," he said, "i put myself in your hands. it shall be done, certainly it shall be done. but, but--" and shaking his head in foreboding, he turned to the door. at the last moment, when he was within a pace of it, the countess rose impulsively to her feet. she called to him. "m. le prevot, a minute, if you please," she said. "there may be trouble to-morrow; your daughter may be in some peril. you will do well to send her to me. my lord"--and on the word her voice, uncertain before, grew full and steady--"will see that i am safe. and she will be safe with me." the provost saw before him only a gracious lady, moved by a thoughtfulness unusual in persons of her rank. he was at no pains to explain the flame in her cheek, or the soft light which glowed in her eyes, as she looked at him across her formidable husband. he was only profoundly grateful--moved even to tears. humbly thanking her, he accepted her offer for his child, and withdrew wiping his eyes. when he was gone, and the door had closed behind him, tavannes turned to the countess, who still kept her feet. "you are very confident this evening," he sneered. "gibbets do not frighten you, it seems, madame. perhaps if you knew for whom the one before the door is intended?" she met his look with a searching gaze, and spoke with a ring of defiance in her tone. "i do not believe it!" she said. "i do not believe it! you who save angers will not destroy him!" and then her woman's mood changing, with courage and colour ebbing together, "oh no, you will not! you will not!" she wailed. and she dropped on her knees before him, and holding up her clasped hands, "god will put it in your heart to spare him--and me!" he rose with a stifled oath, took two steps from her, and in a tone hoarse and constrained, "go!" he said. "go, or sit! do you hear, madame? you try my patience too far!" but when she had gone his face was radiant. he had brought her, he had brought all, to the point at which he aimed. to-morrow his triumph awaited him. to-morrow he who had cast her down would raise her up. he did not foresee what a day would bring forth. chapter xxviii. in the little chapter-house. the sun was an hour high, and in angers the shops and booths, after the early fashion of the day, were open or opening. through all the gates country folk were pressing into the gloomy streets of the black town with milk and fruit; and at doors and windows housewives cheapened fish, or chaffered over the fowl for the pot. for men must eat, though there be gibbets in the place ste.-croix: gaunt gibbets, high and black and twofold, each, with its dangling ropes, like a double note of interrogation. but gibbets must eat also; and between ground and noose was so small a space in those days that a man dangled almost before he knew it. the sooner, then, the paniers were empty, and the clown, who pays for all, was beyond the gates, the better he, for one, would be pleased. in the market, therefore, was hurrying. men cried their wares in lowered voices, and tarried but a little for the oldest customer. the bargain struck, the more timid among the buyers hastened to shut themselves into their houses again; the bolder, who ventured to the place to confirm the rumour with their eyes, talked in corners and in lanes, avoided the open, and eyed the sinister preparations from afar. the shadow of the things which stood before the cathedral affronting the sunlight with their gaunt black shapes lay across the length and breadth of angers. even in the corners where men whispered, even in the cloisters where men bit their nails in impotent anger, the stillness of fear ruled all. whatever count hannibal had it in his mind to tell the city, it seemed unlikely--and hour by hour it seemed less likely--that any would contradict him. he knew this as he walked in the sunlight before the inn, his spurs ringing on the stones as he made each turn, his movements watched by a hundred peering eyes. after all, it was not hard to rule, nor to have one's way in this world. but then, he went on to remember, not every one had his self-control, or that contempt for the weak and unsuccessful which lightly took the form of mercy. he held angers safe, curbed by his gibbets. with m. de montsoreau he might have trouble; but the trouble would be slight, for he knew montsoreau, and what it was the lieutenant- governor valued above profitless bloodshed. he might have felt less confident had he known what was passing at that moment in a room off the small cloister of the abbey of st. aubin, a room known at angers as the little chapter-house. it was a long chamber with a groined roof and stone walls, panelled as high as a tall man might reach with dark chestnut wood. gloomily lighted by three grated windows, which looked on a small inner green, the last resting-place of the benedictines, the room itself seemed at first sight no more than the last resting-place of worn-out odds and ends. piles of thin sheepskin folios, dog's-eared and dirty, the rejected of the choir, stood against the walls; here and there among them lay a large brass-bound tome on which the chains that had fettered it to desk or lectern still rusted. a broken altar cumbered one corner: a stand bearing a curious--and rotting--map filled another. in the other two corners a medley of faded scutcheons and banners, which had seen their last toussaint procession, mouldered slowly into dust--into much dust. the air of the room was full of it. in spite of which the long oak table that filled the middle of the chamber shone with use: so did the great metal standish which it bore. and though the seven men who sat about the table seemed, at a first glance and in that gloomy light, as rusty and faded as the rubbish behind them, it needed but a second look at their lean jaws and hungry eyes to be sure of their vitality. he who sat in the great chair at the end of the table was indeed rather plump than thin. his white hands, gay with rings, were well cared for; his peevish chin rested on a falling-collar of lace worthy of a cardinal. but though the bishop's vicar was heard with deference, it was noticeable that when he had ceased to speak his hearers looked to the priest on his left, to father pezelay, and waited to hear his opinion before they gave their own. the father's energy, indeed, had dominated the angerins, clerks and townsfolk alike, as it had dominated the parisian _devotes_ who knew him well. the vigour which hate inspires passes often for solid strength; and he who had seen with his own eyes the things done in paris spoke with an authority to which the more timid quickly and easily succumbed. yet gibbets are ugly things; and thuriot, the printer, whose pride had been tickled by a summons to the conclave, began to wonder if he had done wisely in coming. lescot, too, who presently ventured a word. "but if m. de tavannes' order be to do nothing," he began doubtfully, "you would not, reverend father, have us resist his majesty's will?" "god forbid, my friend!" father pezelay answered with unction. "but his majesty's will is to do--to do for the glory of god and the saints and his holy church! how? is that which was lawful at saumur unlawful here? is that which was lawful at tours unlawful here? is that which the king did in paris--to the utter extermination of the unbelieving and the purging of that sacred city--against his will here? nay, his will is to do--to do as they have done in paris and in tours and in saumur! but his minister is unfaithful! the woman whom he has taken to his bosom has bewildered him with her charms and her sorceries, and put it in his mind to deny the mission he bears." "you are sure, beyond chance of error, that he bears letters to that effect, good father?" the printer ventured. "ask my lord's vicar! he knows the letters and the import of them!" "they are to that effect," the archdeacon answered, drumming on the table with his fingers and speaking somewhat sullenly. "i was in the chancellery, and i saw them. they are duplicates of those sent to bordeaux." "then the preparations he has made must be against the huguenots," lescot, the ex-provost, said with a sigh of relief. and thuriot's face lightened also. "he must intend to hang one or two of the ringleaders, before he deals with the herd." "think it not!" father pezelay cried in his high shrill voice. "i tell you the woman has bewitched him, and he will deny his letters!" for a moment there was silence. then, "but dare he do that, reverend father?" lescot asked slowly and incredulously. "what? suppress the king's letters?" "there is nothing he will not dare! there is nothing he has not dared!" the priest answered vehemently, the recollection of the scene in the great guard-room of the louvre, when tavannes had so skilfully turned the tables on him, instilling venom into his tone. "she who lives with him is the devil's. she has bewitched him with her spells and her sabbaths! she bears the mark of the beast on her bosom, and for her the fire is even now kindling!" the laymen who were present shuddered. the two canons who faced them crossed themselves, muttering, "avaunt, satan!" "it is for you to decide," the priest continued, gazing on them passionately, "whether you will side with him or with the angel of god! for i tell you it was none other executed the divine judgments at paris! it was none other but the angel of god held the sword at tours! it is none other holds the sword here! are you for him or against him? are you for him, or for the woman with the mark of the beast? are you for god or against god? for the hour draws near! the time is at hand! you must choose! you must choose!" and, striking the table with his hand, he leaned forward, and with glittering eyes fixed each of them in turn, as he cried, "you must choose! you must choose!" he came to the archdeacon last. the bishop's vicar fidgeted in his chair, his face a shade more shallow, his cheeks hanging a trifle more loosely, than ordinary. "if my brother were here!" he muttered. "if m. de montsoreau had arrived!" but father pezelay knew whose will would prevail if montsoreau met tavannes at his leisure. to force montsoreau's hand, therefore, to surround him on his first entrance with a howling mob already committed to violence, to set him at their head and pledge him before he knew with whom he had to do--this had been, this still was, the priest's design. but how was he to pursue it while those gibbets stood? while their shadows lay even on the chapter table, and darkened the faces of his most forward associates? that for a moment staggered the priest; and had not private hatred, ever renewed by the touch of the scar on his brow, fed the fire of bigotry he had yielded, as the rabble of angers were yielding, reluctant and scowling, to the hand which held the city in its grip. but to have come so far on the wings of hate, and to do nothing! to have come avowedly to preach a crusade, and to sneak away cowed! to have dragged the bishop's vicar hither, and fawned and cajoled and threatened by turns--and for nothing! these things were passing bitter--passing bitter, when the morsel of vengeance he had foreseen smacked so sweet on the tongue. for it was no common vengeance, no layman's vengeance, coarse and clumsy, which the priest had imagined in the dark hours of the night, when his feverish brain kept him wakeful. to see count hannibal roll in the dust had gone but a little way towards satisfying him. no! but to drag from his arms the woman for whom he had sinned, to subject her to shame and torture in the depths of some convent, and finally to burn her as a witch--it was that which had seemed to the priest in the night hours a vengeance sweet in the mouth. but the thing seemed unattainable in the circumstances. the city was cowed; the priest knew that no dependence was to be placed on montsoreau, whose vice was avarice and whose object was plunder. to the archdeacon's feeble words, therefore, "we must look," the priest retorted sternly, "not to m. de montsoreau, reverend father, but to the pious of angers! we must cry in the streets, 'they do violence to god! they wound god and his mother!' and so, and so only, shall the unholy thing be rooted out!" "amen!" the cure of st.-benoist muttered, lifting his head; and his dull eyes glowed awhile. "amen! amen!" then his chin sank again upon his breast. but the canons of angers looked doubtfully at one another, and timidly at the speakers; the meat was too strong for them. and lescot and thuriot shuffled in their seats. at length, "i do not know," lescot muttered timidly. "you do not know?" "what can be done!" "the people will know!" father pezelay retorted "trust them!" "but the people will not rise without a leader." "then will i lead them!" "even so, reverend father--i doubt," lescot faltered. and thuriot nodded assent. gibbets were erected in those days rather for laymen than for the church. "you doubt!" the priest cried. "you doubt!" his baleful eyes passed from one to the other; from them to the rest of the company. he saw that with the exception of the cure of st.-benoist all were of a mind. "you doubt! nay, but i see what it is! it is this," he continued slowly and in a different tone, "the king's will goes for nothing in angers! his writ runs not here. and holy church cries in vain for help against the oppressor. i tell you, the sorceress who has bewitched him has bewitched you also. beware! beware, therefore, lest it be with you as with him! and the fire that shall consume her, spare not your houses!" the two citizens crossed themselves, grew pale and shuddered. the fear of witchcraft was great in angers, the peril, if accused of it, enormous. even the canons looked startled. "if--if my brother were here," the archdeacon repeated feebly, "something might be done!" "vain is the help of man!" the priest retorted sternly, and with a gesture of sublime dismissal. "i turn from you to a mightier than you!" and, leaning his head on his hands, he covered his face. the archdeacon and the churchmen looked at him, and from him their scared eyes passed to one another. their one desire now was to be quit of the matter, to have done with it, to escape; and one by one with the air of whipped curs they rose to their feet, and in a hurry to be gone muttered a word of excuse shamefacedly and got themselves out of the room. lescot and the printer were not slow to follow, and in less than a minute the two strange preachers, the men from paris, remained the only occupants of the chamber; save, to be precise, a lean official in rusty black, who throughout the conference had sat by the door. until the last shuffling footstep had ceased to sound in the still cloister no one spoke. then father pezelay looked up, and the eyes of the two priests met in a long gaze. "what think you?" pezelay muttered at last. "wet hay," the other answered dreamily, "is slow to kindle, yet burns if the fire be big enough. at what hour does he state his will?" "at noon." "in the council chamber?" "it is so given out." "it is three hundred yards from the place ste.-croix and he must go guarded," the cure of st.-benoist continued in the same dull fashion. "he cannot leave many in the house with the woman. if it were attacked in his absence--" "he would return, and--" father pezelay shook his head, his cheek turned a shade paler. clearly, he saw with his mind's eye more than he expressed. "_hoc est corpus_," the other muttered, his dreamy gaze on the table. "if he met us then, on his way to the house and we had bell, book, and candle, would he stop?" "he would not stop!" father pezelay rejoined. "he would not?" "i know the man!" "then--" but the rest st. benoist whispered, his head drooping forward; whispered so low that even the lean man behind him, listening with greedy ears, failed to follow the meaning of his superior's words. but that he spoke plainly enough for his hearer father pezelay's face was witness. astonishment, fear, hope, triumph, the lean pale face reflected all in turn; and, underlying all, a subtle malignant mischief, as if a devil's eyes peeped through the holes in an opera mask. when the other was at last silent, pezelay drew a deep breath. "'tis bold! bold! bold!" he muttered. "but have you thought? he who bears the--" "brunt?" the other whispered, with a chuckle. "he may suffer? yes, but it will not be you or i! no, he who was last here shall be first there! the archdeacon-vicar--if we can persuade him--who knows but that even for him the crown of martyrdom is reserved?" the dull eyes flickered with unholy amusement. "and the alarm that brings him from the council chamber?" "need not of necessity be real. the pinch will be to make use of it. make use of it--and the hay will burn!" "you think it will?" "what can one man do against a thousand? his own people dare not support him." father pezelay turned to the lean man who kept the door, and, beckoning to him, conferred a while with him in a low voice. "a score or so i might get," the man answered presently, after some debate. "and well posted, something might be done. but we are not in paris, good father, where the quarter of the butchers is to be counted on, and men know that to kill huguenots is to do god service! here"--he shrugged his shoulders contemptuously--"they are sheep." "it is the king's will," the priest answered, frowning on him darkly. "ay, but it is not tavannes'," the man in black answered with a grimace. "and he rules here to-day." "fool!" pezelay retorted. "he has not twenty with him. do you do as i say, and leave the rest to heaven!" "and to you, good master?" the other answered. "for it is not all you are going to do," he continued, with a grin, "that you have told me. well, so be it! i'll do my part, but i wish we were in paris. st. genevieve is ever kind to her servants." chapter xxix. the escape. in a small back room on the second floor of the inn at angers, a mean, dingy room which looked into a narrow lane, and commanded no prospect more informing than a blind wall, two men sat, fretting; or, rather, one man sat, his chin resting on his hand, while his companion, less patient or more sanguine, strode ceaselessly to and fro. in the first despair of capture--for they were prisoners--they had made up their minds to the worst, and the slow hours of two days had passed over their heads without kindling more than a faint spark of hope in their breasts. but when they had been taken out and forced to mount and ride--at first with feet tied to the horses' girths--they had let the change, the movement, and the open air fan the flame. they had muttered a word to one another, they had wondered, they had reasoned. and though the silence of their guards--from whose sour vigilance the keenest question drew no response--seemed of ill-omen, and, taken with their knowledge of the man into whose hands they had fallen, should have quenched the spark, these two, having special reasons, the one the buoyancy of youth, the other the faith of an enthusiast, cherished the flame. in the breast of one indeed it had blazed into a confidence so arrogant that he now took all for granted, and was not content. "it is easy for you to say 'patience!'" he cried, as he walked the floor in a fever. "you stand to lose no more than your life, and if you escape go free at all points! but he has robbed me of more than life! of my love, and my self-respect, curse him! he has worsted me not once, but twice and thrice! and if he lets me go now, dismissing me with my life, i shall--i shall kill him!" he concluded, through his teeth. "you are hard to please!" "i shall kill him!" "that were to fall still lower!" the minister answered, gravely regarding him. "i would, m. de tignonville, you remembered that you are not yet out of jeopardy. such a frame of mind as yours is no good preparation for death, let me tell you!" "he will not kill us!" tignonville cried. "he knows better than most men how to avenge himself!" "then he is above most!" la tribe retorted. "for my part i wish i were sure of the fact, and i should sit here more at ease." "if we could escape, now, of ourselves!" tignonville cried. "then we should save not only life, but honour! man, think of it! if we could escape, not by his leave, but against it! are you sure that this is angers?" "as sure as a man can be who has only seen the black town once or twice!" la tribe answered, moving to the casement--which was not glazed--and peering through the rough wooden lattice. "but if we could escape we are strangers here. we know not which way to go, nor where to find shelter. and for the matter of that," he continued, turning from the window with a shrug of resignation, "'tis no use to talk of it while yonder foot goes up and down the passage, and its owner bears the key in his pocket." "if we could get out of his power as we came into it!" tignonville cried. "ay, if! but it is not every floor has a trap!" "we could take up a board." the minister raised his eyebrows. "we could take up a board!" the younger man repeated; and he stepped the mean chamber from end to end, his eyes on the floor. "or--yes, _mon dieu_!" with a change of attitude, "we might break through the roof?" and, throwing back his head, he scanned the cobwebbed surface of laths which rested on the unceiled joists. "umph!" "well, why not, monsieur? why not break through the ceiling?" tignonville repeated, and in a fit of energy he seized his companion's shoulder and shook him. "stand on the bed, and you can reach it." "and the floor which rests on it!" "_par dieu_, there is no floor! 'tis a cockloft above us! see there! and there!" and the young man sprang on the bed, and thrust the rowel of a spur through the laths. la tribe's expression changed. he rose slowly to his feet. "try again!" he said. tignonville, his face red, drove the spur again between the laths, and worked it to and fro until he could pass his fingers into the hole he had made. then he gripped and bent down a length of one of the laths, and, passing his arm as far as the elbow through the hole, moved it this way and that. his eyes, as he looked down at his companion through the falling rubbish, gleamed with triumph. "where is your floor now?" he asked. "you can touch nothing?" "nothing. it's open. a little more and i might touch the tiles." and he strove to reach higher. for answer la tribe gripped him. "down! down, monsieur," he muttered. "they are bringing our dinner." tignonville thrust back the lath as well as he could, and slipped to the floor; and hastily the two swept the rubbish from the bed. when badelon, attended by two men, came in with the meal he found la tribe at the window blocking much of the light, and tignonville laid sullenly on the bed. even a suspicious eye must have failed to detect what had been done; the three who looked in suspected nothing and saw nothing. they went out, the key was turned again on the prisoners, and the footsteps of two of the men were heard descending the stairs. "we have an hour, now!" tignonville cried; and leaping, with flaming eyes, on the bed, he fell to hacking and jabbing and tearing at the laths amid a rain of dust and rubbish. fortunately the stuff, falling on the bed, made little noise; and in five minutes, working half-choked and in a frenzy of impatience, he had made a hole through which he could thrust his arms, a hole which extended almost from one joist to its neighbour. by this time the air was thick with floating lime; the two could scarcely breathe, yet they dared not pause. mounting on la tribe's shoulders--who took his stand on the bed--the young man thrust his head and arms through the hole, and, resting his elbows on the joists, dragged himself up, and with a final effort of strength landed nose and knees on the timbers, which formed his supports. a moment to take breath, and press his torn and bleeding fingers to his lips; then, reaching down, he gave a hand to his companion and dragged him to the same place of vantage. they found themselves in a long narrow cockloft, not more than six feet high at the highest, and insufferably hot. between the tiles, which sloped steeply on either hand, a faint light filtered in, disclosing the giant rooftree running the length of the house, and at the farther end of the loft the main tie-beam, from which a network of knees and struts rose to the rooftree. tignonville, who seemed possessed by unnatural energy, stayed only to put off his boots. then "courage!" he panted, "all goes well!" and, carrying his boots in his hands, he led the way, stepping gingerly from joist to joist until he reached the tie-beam. he climbed on it, and, squeezing himself between the struts, entered a second loft, similar to the first. at the farther end of this a rough wall of bricks in a timber-frame lowered his hopes; but as he approached it, joy! low down in the corner where the roof descended, a small door, square, and not more than two feet high, disclosed itself. the two crept to it on hands and knees and listened. "it will lead to the leads, i doubt?" la tribe whispered. they dared not raise their voices. "as well that way as another!" tignonville answered recklessly. he was the more eager, for there is a fear which transcends the fear of death. his eyes shone through the mask of dust, the sweat ran down to his chin, his breath came and went noisily. "naught matters if we can escape him!" he panted. and he pushed the door recklessly. it flew open; the two drew back their faces with a cry of alarm. they were looking, not into the sunlight, but into a grey dingy garret open to the roof, and occupying the upper part of a gable-end somewhat higher than the wing in which they had been confined. filthy truckle- beds and ragged pallets covered the floor, and, eked out by old saddles and threadbare horserugs, marked the sleeping quarters either of the servants or of travellers of the meaner sort. but the dinginess was naught to the two who knelt looking into it, afraid to move. was the place empty? that was the point; the question which had first stayed, and then set their pulses at the gallop. painfully their eyes searched each huddle of clothing, scanned each dubious shape. and slowly, as the silence persisted, their heads came forward until the whole floor lay within the field of sight. and still no sound! at last tignonville stirred, crept through the doorway, and rose up, peering round him. he nodded, and, satisfied that all was safe, the minister followed him. they found themselves a pace or so from the head of a narrow staircase, leading downwards. without moving, they could see the door which closed it below. tignonville signed to la tribe to wait, and himself crept down the stairs. he reached the door, and, stooping, set his eye to the hole through which the string of the latch passed. a moment he looked, and then, turning on tiptoe, he stole up again, his face fallen. "you may throw the handle after the hatchet!" he muttered. "the man on guard is within four yards of the door." and in the rage of disappointment he struck the air with his hand. "is he looking this way?" "no. he is looking down the passage towards our room. but it is impossible to pass him." la tribe nodded, and moved softly to one of the lattices which lighted the room. it might be possible to escape that way, by the parapet and the tiles. but he found that the casement was set high in the roof, which sloped steeply from its sill to the eaves. he passed to the other window, in which a little wicket in the lattice stood open. he looked through it. in the giddy void white pigeons were wheeling in the dazzling sunshine, and, gazing down, he saw far below him, in the hot square, a row of booths, and troops of people moving to and fro like pigmies; and--and a strange thing, in the middle of all! involuntarily, as if the persons below could have seen his face at the tiny dormer, he drew back. he beckoned to m. tignonville to come to him; and when the young man complied, he bade him in a whisper look down. "see!" he muttered. "there!" the younger man saw and drew in his breath. even under the coating of dust his face turned a shade greyer. "you had no need to fear that he would let us go!" the minister muttered, with half-conscious irony. "no." "nor i! there are two ropes." and la tribe breathed a few words of prayer. the object which had fixed his gaze was a gibbet: the only one of the three which could be seen from their eyrie. tignonville, on the other hand, turned sharply away, and with haggard eyes stared about the room. "we might defend the staircase," he muttered. "two men might hold it for a time." "we have no food." "no." suddenly he gripped la tribe's arm. "i have it!" he cried. "and it may do! it must do!" he continued, his face working. "see!" and lifting from the floor one of the ragged pallets, from which the straw protruded in a dozen places, he set it flat on his head. it drooped at each corner--it had seen much wear--and, while it almost hid his face, it revealed his grimy chin and mortar-stained shoulders. he turned to his companion. la tribe's face glowed as he looked. "it may do!" he cried. "it's a chance! but you are right! it may do!" tignonville dropped the ragged mattress, and tore off his coat; then he rent his breeches at the knee, so that they hung loose about his calves. "do you the same!" he cried. "and quick, man, quick! leave your boots! once outside we must pass through the streets under these"--he took up his burden again and set it on his head--"until we reach a quiet part, and there we--" "can hide! or swim the river!" the minister said. he had followed his companion's example, and now stood under a similar burden. with breeches rent and whitened, and his upper garments in no better case, he looked a sorry figure. tignonville eyed him with satisfaction, and turned to the staircase. "come," he cried, "there is not a moment to be lost. at any minute they may enter our room and find it empty! you are ready? then, not too softly, or it may rouse suspicion! and mumble something at the door." he began himself to scold, and, muttering incoherently, stumbled down the staircase, the pallet on his head rustling against the wall on each side. arrived at the door, he fumbled clumsily with the latch, and, when the door gave way, plumped out with an oath--as if the awkward burden he bore were the only thing on his mind. badelon--he was on duty--stared at the apparition; but the next moment he sniffed the pallet, which was none of the freshest, and, turning up his nose, he retreated a pace. he had no suspicion; the men did not come from the part of the house where the prisoners lay, and he stood aside to let them pass. in a moment, staggering, and going a little unsteadily, as if they scarcely saw their way, they had passed by him, and were descending the staircase. so far well! unfortunately, when they reached the foot of that flight they came on the main passage of the first-floor. it ran right and left, and tignonville did not know which way he must turn to reach the lower staircase. yet he dared not hesitate; in the passage, waiting about the doors, were four or five servants, and in the distance he caught sight of three men belonging to tavannes' company. at any moment, too, an upper servant might meet them, ask what they were doing, and detect the fraud. he turned at random, therefore--to the left as it chanced--and marched along bravely, until the very thing happened which he had feared. a man came from a room plump upon them, saw them, and held up his hands in horror. "what are you doing?" he cried in a rage and with an oath. "who set you on this?" tignonville's tongue clave to the roof of his mouth. la tribe from behind muttered something about the stable. "and time too!" the man said. "faugh! but how come you this way? are you drunk? here!" he opened the door of a musty closet beside him, "pitch them in here, do you hear? and take them down when it is dark. faugh. i wonder you did not carry the things though her ladyship's room at once! if my lord had been in and met you! now then, do as i tell you! are you drunk?" with a sullen air tignonville threw in his mattress. la tribe did the same. fortunately the passage was ill-lighted, and there were many helpers and strange servants in the inn. the butler only thought them ill-looking fellows who knew no better. "now be off!" he continued irascibly. "this is no place for your sort. be off!" and, as they moved, "coming! coming!" he cried in answer to a distant summons; and he hurried away on the errand which their appearance had interrupted. tignonville would have gone to work to recover the pallets, for the man had left the key in the door. but as he went to do so the butler looked back, and the two were obliged to make a pretence of following him. a moment, however, and he was gone; and tignonville turned anew to regain them. a second time fortune was adverse; a door within a pace of him opened, a woman came out. she recoiled from the strange figure; her eyes met his. unluckily the light from the room behind her fell on his face, and with a shrill cry she named him. one second and all had been lost, for the crowd of idlers at the other end of the passage had caught her cry, and were looking that way. with presence of mind tignonville clapped his hand on her mouth, and, huddling her by force into the room, followed her, with la tribe at his heels. it was a large room, in which seven or eight people, who had been at prayers when the cry startled them, were rising from their knees. the first thing they saw was javette on the threshold, struggling in the grasp of a wild man, ragged and begrimed; they deemed the city risen and the massacre upon them. carlat threw himself before his mistress, the countess in her turn sheltered a young girl, who stood beside her and from whose face the last trace of colour had fled. madame carlat and a waiting-woman ran shrieking to the window; another instant and the alarm would have gone abroad. tignonville's voice stopped it. "don't you know me?" he cried, "madame! you at least! carlat! are you all mad?" the words stayed them where they stood in an astonishment scarce less than their alarm. the countess tried twice to speak; the third time-- "have you escaped?" she muttered. tignonville nodded, his eyes bright with triumph. "so far," he said. "but they may be on our heels at any moment! where can we hide?" the countess, her hand pressed to her side, looked at javette. "the door, girl!" she whispered. "lock it!" "ay, lock it! and they can go by the back-stairs," madame carlat answered, awaking suddenly to the situation. "through my closet! once in the yard they may pass out through the stables." "which way?" tignonville asked impatiently. "don't stand looking at me, but--" "through this door!" madame carlat answered, hurrying to it. he was following when the countess stepped forward and interposed between him and the door. "stay!" she cried; and there was not one who did not notice a new decision in her voice, a new dignity in her bearing. "stay, monsieur, we may be going too fast. to go out now and in that guise--may it not be to incur greater peril than you incur here? i feel sure that you are in no danger of your life at present. therefore, why run the risk--" "in no danger, madame!" he cried, interrupting her in astonishment. "have you seen the gibbet in the square? do you call that no danger?" "it is not erected for you." "no?" "no, monsieur," she answered firmly, "i swear it is not. and i know of reasons, urgent reasons, why you should not go. m. de tavannes"--she named her husband nervously, as conscious of the weak spot--"before he rode abroad laid strict orders on all to keep within, since the smallest matter might kindle the city. therefore, m. de tignonville, i request, nay i entreat," she continued with greater urgency, as she saw his gesture of denial, "you to stay here until he returns." "and you, madame, will answer for my life?" she faltered. for a moment, a moment only, her colour ebbed. what if she deceived herself? what if she surrendered her old lover to death? what if--but the doubt was of a moment only. her duty was plain. "i will answer for it," she said, with pale lips, "if you remain here. and i beg, i implore you--by the love you once had for me, m. de tignonville," she added desperately, seeing that he was about to refuse, "to remain here." "once!" he retorted, lashing himself into ignoble rage. "by the love i once had! say, rather, the love i have, madame--for i am no woman-weathercock to wed the winner, and hold or not hold, stay or go, as he commands! you, it seems," he continued with a sneer, "have learned the wife's lesson well! you would practise on me now, as you practised on me the other night when you stood between him and me! i yielded then, i spared him. and what did i get by it? bonds and a prison! and what shall i get now? the same! no, madame," he continued bitterly, addressing himself as much to the carlats and the others as to his old mistress. "i do not change! i loved! i love! i was going and i go! if death lay beyond that door"--and he pointed to it--"and life at his will were certain here, i would pass the threshold rather than take my life of him!" and, dragging la tribe with him, with a passionate gesture he rushed by her, opened the door, and disappeared in the next room. the countess took one pace forward, as if she would have followed him, as if she would have tried further persuasion. but as she moved a cry rooted her to the spot. a rush of feet and the babel of many voices filled the passage with a tide of sound, which drew rapidly nearer. the escape was known! would the fugitives have time to slip out below? some one knocked at the door, tried it, pushed and beat on it. but the countess and all in the room had run to the windows and were looking out. if the two had not yet made their escape they must be taken. yet no; as the countess leaned from the window, first one dusty figure and then a second darted from a door below, and made for the nearest turning, out of the place ste.-croix. before they gained it, four men, of whom, badelon, his grey locks flying, was first, dashed out in pursuit, and the street rang with cries of "stop him! seize him! seize him!" some one--one of the pursuers or another--to add to the alarm let off a musket, and in a moment, as if the report had been a signal, the place was in a hubbub, people flocked into it with mysterious quickness, and from a neighbouring roof--whence, precisely, it was impossible to say--the crackling fire of a dozen arquebuses alarmed the city far and wide. unfortunately, the fugitives had been baulked at the first turning. making for a second, they found it choked, and, swerving, darted across the place towards st.-maurice, seeking to lose themselves in the gathering crowd. but the pursuers clung desperately to their skirts, overturning here a man and there a child; and then in a twinkling, tignonville, as he ran round a booth, tripped over a peg and fell, and la tribe stumbled over him and fell also. the four riders flung themselves fiercely on their prey, secured them, and began to drag them with oaths and curses towards the door of the inn. the countess had seen all from her window; had held her breath while they ran, had drawn it sharply when they fell. now, "they have them!" she muttered, a sob choking her, "they have them!" and she clasped her hands. if he had followed her advice! if he had only followed her advice! but the issue proved less certain than she deemed it. the crowd, which grew each moment, knew nothing of pursuers or pursued. on the contrary, a cry went up that the riders were huguenots, and that the huguenots were rising and slaying the catholics; and as no story was too improbable for those days, and this was one constantly set about, first one stone flew, and then another, and another. a man with a staff darted forward and struck badelon on the shoulder, two or three others pressed in and jostled the riders; and if three of tavannes' following had not run out on the instant and faced the mob with their pikes, and for a moment forced them to give back, the prisoners would have been rescued at the very door of the inn. as it was they were dragged in, and the gates were flung to and barred in the nick of time. another moment, almost another second, and the mob had seized them. as it was, a hail of stones poured on the front of the inn, and amid the rising yells of the rabble there presently floated heavy and slow over the city the tolling of the great bell of st.-maurice. chapter xxx. sacrilege! m. de montsoreau, lieutenant-governor of saumur almost rose from his seat in his astonishment. "what! no letters?" he cried, a hand on either arm of the chair. the magistrates stared, one and all. "no letters?" they muttered. and "no letters?" the provost chimed in more faintly. count hannibal looked smiling round the council table. he alone was unmoved. "no," he said. "i bear none." m. de montsoreau, who, travel-stained and in his corselet, had the second place of honour at the foot of the table, frowned. "but, m. le comte," he said, "my instructions from monsieur were to proceed to carry out his majesty's will in co-operation with you, who, i understood, would bring letters _de par le roi_." "i had letters," count hannibal answered negligently. "but on the way i mislaid them." "mislaid them?" montsoreau cried, unable to believe his ears; while the smaller dignitaries of the city, the magistrates and churchmen who sat on either side of the table, gaped open-mouthed. it was incredible! it was unbelievable! mislay the king's letters! who had ever heard of such a thing? "yes, i mislaid them. lost them, if you like it better." "but you jest!" the lieutenant-governor retorted, moving uneasily in his chair. he was a man more highly named for address than courage; and, like most men skilled in finesse, he was prone to suspect a trap. "you jest, surely, monsieur! men do not lose his majesty's letters, by the way." "when they contain his majesty's will, no," tavannes answered, with a peculiar smile. "you imply, then?" count hannibal shrugged his shoulders, but had not answered when bigot entered and handed him his sweetmeat box; he paused to open it and select a prune. he was long in selecting; but no change of countenance led any of those at the table to suspect that inside the lid of the box was a message--a scrap of paper informing him that montsoreau had left fifty spears in the suburb without the saumur gate, besides those whom he had brought openly into the town. tavannes read the note slowly while he seemed to be choosing his fruit. and then-- "imply?" he answered. "i imply nothing, m. de montsoreau." "but--" "but that sometimes his majesty finds it prudent to give orders which he does not mean to be carried out. there are things which start up before the eye," tavannes continued, negligently tapping the box on the table, "and there are things which do not; sometimes the latter are the more important. you, better than i, m. de montsoreau, know that the king in the gallery at the louvre is one, and in his closet is another." "yes." "and that being so--" "you do not mean to carry the letters into effect?" "had i the letters, certainly, my friend. i should be bound by them. but i took good care to lose them," tavannes added naively. "i am no fool." "umph!" "however," count hannibal continued, with an airy gesture, "that is my affair. if you, m. de montsoreau, feel inclined, in spite of the absence of my letters, to carry yours into effect, by all means do so--after midnight of to-day." m. de montsoreau breathed hard. "and why," he asked, half sulkily and half ponderously, "after midnight only, m. le comte?" "merely that i may be clear of all suspicion of having lot or part in the matter," count hannibal answered pleasantly. "after midnight of to-night by all means do as you please. until midnight, by your leave, we will be quiet." the lieutenant-governor moved doubtfully in his chair, the fear--which tavannes had shrewdly instilled into his mind--that he might be disowned if he carried out his instructions, struggling with his avarice and his self-importance. he was rather crafty than bold; and such things had been, he knew. little by little, and while he sat gloomily debating, the notion of dealing with one or two and holding the body of the huguenots to ransom--a notion which, in spite of everything, was to bear good fruit for angers--began to form in his mind. the plan suited him: it left him free to face either way, and it would fill his pockets more genteelly than would open robbery. on the other hand, he would offend his brother and the fanatical party, with whom he commonly acted. they were looking to see him assert himself. they were looking to hear him declare himself. and-- harshly count hannibal's voice broke in on his thoughts; harshly, a something sinister in its tone. "where is your brother?" he said. and it was evident that he had not noted his absence until then. "my lord's vicar of all people should be here!" he continued, leaning forward and looking round the table. his brow was stormy. lescot squirmed under his eye; thuriot turned pale and trembled. it was one of the canons of st.-maurice, who at length took on himself to answer. "his lordship requested, m. le comte," he ventured, "that you would excuse him. his duties--" "is he ill?" "he--" "is he ill, sirrah?" tavannes roared. and while all bowed before the lightning of his eye, no man at the table knew what had roused the sudden tempest. but bigot knew, who stood by the door, and whose ear, keen as his master's, had caught the distant report of a musket shot. "if he be not ill," tavannes continued, rising and looking round the table in search of signs of guilt, "and there be foul play here, and he the player, the bishop's own hand shall not save him! by heaven it shall not! nor yours!" he continued, looking fiercely at montsoreau. "nor your master's!" the lieutenant-governor sprang to his feet. "m. le comte," he stammered, "i do not understand this language! nor this heat, which may be real or not! all i say is, if there be foul play here--" "if!" tavannes retorted. "at least, if there be, there be gibbets too! and i see necks!" he added, leaning forward. "necks!" and then, with a look of flame, "let no man leave this table until i return," he cried, "or he will have to deal with me. nay," he continued, changing his tone abruptly, as the prudence, which never entirely left him--and perhaps the remembrance of the other's fifty spearmen--sobered him in the midst of his rage, "i am hasty. i mean not you, m. de montsoreau! ride where you will; ride with me, if you will, and i will thank you. only remember, until midnight angers is mine!" he was still speaking when he moved from the table, and, leaving all staring after him, strode down the room. an instant he paused on the threshold and looked back; then he passed out, and clattered down the stone stairs. his horse and riders were waiting, but, his foot in the stirrup, he stayed for a word with bigot. "is it so?" he growled. the norman did not speak, but pointed towards the place ste.-croix, whence an occasional shot made answer for him. in those days the streets of the black city were narrow and crooked, overhung by timber houses, and hampered by booths; nor could tavannes from the old town hall--now abandoned--see the place ste.-croix. but that he could cure. he struck spurs to his horse, and, followed by his ten horsemen, he clattered noisily down the paved street. a dozen groups hurrying the same way sprang panic-stricken to the walls, or saved themselves in doorways. he was up with them, he was beyond them! another hundred yards, and he would see the place. and then, with a cry of rage, he drew rein a little, discovering what was before him. in the narrow gut of the way a great black banner, borne on two poles, was lurching towards him. it was moving in the van of a dark procession of priests, who, with their attendants and a crowd of devout, filled the street from wall to wall. they were chanting one of the penitential psalms, but not so loudly as to drown the uproar in the place beyond them. they made no way, and count hannibal swore furiously, suspecting treachery. but he was no madman, and at the moment the least reflection would have sent him about to seek another road. unfortunately, as he hesitated a man sprang with a gesture of warning to his horse's head and seized it; and tavannes, mistaking the motive of the act, lost his self- control. he struck the fellow down, and, with a reckless word, rode headlong into the procession, shouting to the black robes to make way, make way! a cry, nay, a shriek of horror, answered him and rent the air. and in a minute the thing was done. too late, as the bishop's vicar, struck by his horse, fell screaming under its hoofs--too late, as the consecrated vessels which he had been bearing rolled in the mud, tavannes saw that they bore the canopy and the host! he knew what he had done, then. before his horse's iron shoes struck the ground again, his face--even his face--had lost its colour. but he knew also that to hesitate now, to pause now, was to be torn in pieces; for his riders, seeing that which the banner had veiled from him, had not followed him, and he was alone, in the middle of brandished fists and weapons. he hesitated not a moment. drawing a pistol, he spurred onwards, his horse plunging wildly among the shrieking priests; and though a hundred hands, hands of acolytes, hands of shaven monks, clutched at his bridle or gripped his boot, he got clear of them. clear, carrying with him the memory of one face seen an instant amid the crowd, one face seen, to be ever remembered--the face of father pezelay, white, evil, scarred, distorted by wicked triumph. behind him, the thunder of "sacrilege! sacrilege!" rose to heaven, and men were gathering. in front the crowd which skirmished about the inn was less dense, and, ignorant of the thing that had happened in the narrow street, made ready way for him, the boldest recoiling before the look on his face. some who stood nearest to the inn, and had begun to hurl stones at the window and to beat on the doors--which had only the minute before closed on badelon and his prisoners--supposed that he had his riders behind him; and these fled apace. but he knew better even than they the value of time; he pushed his horse up to the gates, and hammered them with his boot while be kept his pistol-hand towards the place and the cathedral, watching for the transformation which he knew would come! and come it did; on a sudden, in a twinkling! a white-faced monk, frenzy in his eyes, appeared in the midst of the crowd. he stood and tore his garments before the people, and, stooping, threw dust on his head. a second and a third followed his example; then from a thousand throats the cry of "sacrilege! sacrilege!" rolled up, while clerks flew wildly hither and thither shrieking the tale, and priests denied the sacraments to angers until it should purge itself of the evil thing. by that time count hannibal had saved himself behind the great gates, by the skin of his teeth. the gates had opened to him in time. but none knew better than he that angers had no gates thick enough, nor walls of a height, to save him for many hours from the storm he had let loose! chapter xxxi. the flight from angers. but that only the more roused the devil in the man; that, and the knowledge that he had his own headstrong act to thank for the position. he looked on the panic-stricken people who, scared by the turmoil without, had come together in the courtyard, wringing their hands and chattering; and his face was so dark and forbidding that fear of him took the place of all other fear, and the nearest shrank from contact with him. on any other entering as he had entered, they would have hailed questions; they would have asked what was amiss, and if the city were rising, and where were bigot and his men. but count hannibal's eye struck curiosity dumb. when he cried from his saddle, "bring me the landlord!" the trembling man was found, and brought, and thrust forward almost without a word. "you have a back gate?" tavannes said, while the crowd leaned forward to catch his words. "yes, my lord," the man faltered. "into the street which leads to the ramparts?" "ye-yes, my lord." "then"--to badelon--"saddle! you have five minutes. saddle as you never saddled before," he continued in a low tone, "or--" his tongue did not finish the threat, but his hand waved the man away. "for you"--he held tignonville an instant with his lowering eye--"and the preaching fool with you, get arms and mount! you have never played aught but the woman yet; but play me false now, or look aside but a foot from the path i bid you take, and you thwart me no more, monsieur! and you, madame," he continued, turning to the countess, who stood bewildered at one of the doors, the provost's daughter clinging and weeping about her, "you have three minutes to get your women to horse! see you, if you please, that they take no longer!" she found her voice with difficulty. "and this child?" she said. "she is in my care." "bring her," he muttered with a scowl of impatience. and then, raising his voice as he turned on the terrified gang of hostlers and inn servants who stood gaping round him, "go help!" he thundered. "go help! and quickly!" he added, his face growing a shade darker as a second bell began to toll from a neighbouring tower, and the confused babel in the place ste.-croix settled into a dull roar of "_sacrilege_! _sacrilege_."--"hasten!" fortunately it had been his first intention to go to the council attended by the whole of his troop; and eight horses stood saddled in the stalls. others were hastily pulled out and bridled, and the women were mounted. la tribe, at a look from tavannes, took behind him the provost's daughter, who was helpless with terror. between the suddenness of the alarm, the uproar without, and the panic within, none but a man whose people served him at a nod and dreaded his very gesture could have got his party mounted in time. javette would fain have swooned, but she dared not. tignonville would fain have questioned, but he shrank from the venture. the countess would fain have said something, but she forced herself to obey and no more. even so the confusion in the courtyard, the mingling of horses and men and trappings and saddle-bags, would have made another despair; but wherever count hannibal, seated in his saddle in the middle, turned his face, chaos settled into a degree of order, servants, ceasing to listen to the yells and cries outside, ran to fetch, women dropped cloaks from the gallery, and men loaded muskets and strapped on bandoliers. until at last--but none knew what those minutes of suspense cost him--he saw all mounted, and, pistol in hand, shepherded them to the back gates. as he did so he stooped for a few scowling words with badelon, whom he sent to the van of the party: then he gave the word to open. it was done; and even as montsoreau's horsemen, borne on the bosom of a second and more formidable throng, swept raging into the already crowded square, and the cry went up for "a ram! a ram!" to batter in the gates, tavannes, hurling his little party before him, dashed out at the back, and putting to flight a handful of rascals who had wandered to that side, cantered unmolested down the lane to the ramparts. turning eastward at the foot of the frowning castle, he followed the inner side of the wall in the direction of the gate by which he had entered the preceding evening. to gain this his party had to pass the end of the rue toussaint, which issues from the place ste.-croix and runs so straight that the mob seething in front of the inn had only to turn their heads to see them. the danger incurred at this point was great; for a party as small as tavannes' and encumbered with women would have had no chance if attacked within the walls. count hannibal knew it. but he knew also that the act which he had committed rendered the north bank of the loire impossible for him. neither king nor marshal, neither charles of valois nor gaspard of tavannes, would dare to shield him from an infuriated church, a church too wise to forgive certain offences. his one chance lay in reaching the southern bank of the loire--roughly speaking, the huguenot bank--and taking refuge in some town, rochelle or st. jean d'angely, where the huguenots were strong, and whence he might take steps to set himself right with his own side. but to cross the great river which divides france into two lands widely differing he must leave the city by the east gate; for the only bridge over the loire within forty miles of angers lay eastward from the town, at ponts de ce, four miles away. to this gate, therefore, past the rue toussaint, he whirled his party daringly; and though the women grew pale as the sounds of riot broke louder on the ear, and they discovered that they were approaching instead of leaving the danger--and though tignonville for an instant thought him mad, and snatched at the countess's rein--his men-at-arms, who knew him, galloped stolidly on, passed like clockwork the end of the street, and, reckless of the stream of persons hurrying in the direction of the alarm, heedless of the fright and anger their passage excited, pressed steadily on. a moment and the gate through which they had entered the previous evening appeared before them. and--a sight welcome to one of them--it was open. they were fortunate indeed, for a few seconds later they had been too late. the alarm had preceded them. as they dashed up, a man ran to the chains of the portcullis and tried to lower it. he failed to do so at the first touch, and, quailing, fled from badelon's levelled pistol. a watchman on one of the bastions of the wall shouted to them to halt or he would fire: but the riders yelled in derision, and thundering through the echoing archway, emerged into the open, and saw, extended before them, in place of the gloomy vistas of the black town, the glory of the open country and the vine-clad hills, and the fields about the loire yellow with late harvest. the women gasped their relief, and one or two who were most out of breath would have pulled up their horses and let them trot, thinking the danger at an end. but a curt savage word from the rear set them flying again, and down and up and on again they galloped, driven forward by the iron hand which never relaxed its grip of them. silent and pitiless he whirled them before him until they were within a mile of the long ponts de ce--a series of bridges rather than one bridge--and the broad shallow loire lay plain before them, its sandbanks grilling in the sun, and grey lines of willows marking its eyots. by this time some of the women, white with fatigue, could only cling to their saddles with their hands; while others were red-hot, their hair unrolled, and the perspiration mingled with the dust on their faces. but he who drove them had no pity for weakness in an emergency. he looked back and saw, a half-mile behind them, the glitter of steel following hard on their heels: and "faster! faster!" he cried, regardless of their prayers: and he beat the rearmost of the horses with his scabbard. a waiting-woman shrieked that she should fall, but he answered ruthlessly, "fall then, fool!" and the instinct of self-preservation coming to her aid, she clung and bumped and toiled on with the rest until they reached the first houses of the town about the bridges, and badelon raised his hand as a signal that they might slacken speed. the bewilderment of the start had been so great that it was then only, when they found their feet on the first link of the bridge, that two of the party, the countess and tignonville, awoke to the fact that their faces were set southwards. to cross the loire in those days meant much to all: to a huguenot, very much. it chanced that these two rode on to the bridge side by side, and the memory of their last crossing--the remembrance that, on their journey north a month before, they had crossed it hand-in-hand with the prospect of passing their lives together, and with no faintest thought of the events which were to ensue, flashed into the mind of each of them. it deepened the flush which exertion had brought to the woman's cheek, then left it paler than before. a minute earlier she had been wroth with her old lover; she had held him accountable for the outbreak in the town and this hasty retreat; now her anger died as she looked and she remembered. in the man, shallower of feeling and more alive to present contingencies, the uppermost emotion as he trod the bridge was one of surprise and congratulation. he could not at first believe in their good fortune. "_mon dieu_!" he cried, "we are crossing!" and then again in a lower tone, "we are crossing! we are crossing!" and he looked at her. it was impossible that she should not look back; that she who had ceased to be angry should not feel and remember; impossible that her answering glance should not speak to his heart. below them, as on that day a month earlier, when they had crossed the bridges going northward, the broad shallow river ran its course in the sunshine, its turbid currents gleaming and flashing about the sandbanks and osier-beds. to the eye, the landscape, save that the vintage was farther advanced and the harvest in part gathered in, was the same. but how changed were their relations, their prospects, their hopes, who had then crossed the river hand-in-hand, planning a life to be passed together. the young man's rage boiled up at the thought. too vividly, too sharply it showed him the wrongs which he had suffered at the hands of the man who rode behind him, the man who even now drove him on and ordered him and insulted him. he forgot that he might have perished in the general massacre if count hannibal had not intervened. he forgot that count hannibal had spared him once and twice. he laid on his enemy's shoulders the guilt of all, the blood of all: and, as quick on the thought of his wrongs and his fellows' wrongs followed the reflection that with every league they rode southwards the chance of requital grew, he cried again, and this time joyously-- "we are crossing! a little, and we shall be in our own land!" the tears filled the countess's eyes as she looked westwards and southwards. "vrillac is there!" she cried; and she pointed. "i smell the sea!" "ay!" he answered, almost under his breath. "it lies there! and no more than thirty leagues from us! with fresh horses we might see it in two days!" badelon's voice broke in on them. "forward!" he cried, as the party reached the southern bank. "_en avant_!" and, obedient to the word, the little company, refreshed by the short respite, took the road out of ponts de ce at a steady trot. nor was the countess the only one whose face glowed, being set southwards, or whose heart pulsed to the rhythm of the horses' hoofs that beat out "home!" carlat's and madame carlat's also. javette even, hearing from her neighbour that they were over the loire, plucked up courage; while la tribe, gazing before him with moistened eyes, cried "comfort" to the scared and weeping girl who clung to his belt. it was singular to see how all sniffed the air as if already it smacked of the sea and of the south; and how they of poitou sat their horses as if they asked nothing better than to ride on and on and on until the scenes of home arose about them. for them the sky had already a deeper blue, the air a softer fragrance, the sunshine a purity long unknown. was it wonderful, when they had suffered so much on that northern bank? when their experience during the month had been comparable only with the direst nightmare? yet one among them, after the first impulse of relief and satisfaction, felt differently. tignonville's gorge rose against the sense of compulsion, of inferiority. to be driven forward after this fashion, whether he would or no, to be placed at the back of every base- born man-at-arms, to have no clearer knowledge of what had happened or of what was passing, or of the peril from which they fled, than the women among whom he rode--these things kindled anew the sullen fire of hate. north of the loire there had been some excuse for his inaction under insult; he had been in the man's country and power. but south of the loire, within forty leagues of huguenot niort, must he still suffer, still be supine? his rage was inflamed by a disappointment he presently underwent. looking back as they rode clear of the wooden houses of ponts de ce, he missed tavannes and several of his men; and he wondered if count hannibal had remained on his own side of the river. it seemed possible; and in that event la tribe and he and carlat might deal with badelon and the four who still escorted them. but when he looked back a minute later, tavannes was within sight, following the party with a stern face; and not tavannes only. bigot, with two of the ten men who hitherto had been missing, was with him. it was clear, however, that they brought no good news, for they had scarcely ridden up before count hannibal cried, "faster! faster!" in his harshest voice, and bigot urged the horses to a quicker trot. their course lay almost parallel with the loire in the direction of beaupreau; and tignonville began to fear that count hannibal intended to recross the river at nantes, where the only bridge below angers spanned the stream. with this in view it was easy to comprehend his wish to distance his pursuers before he recrossed. the countess had no such thought. "they must be close upon us!" she murmured, as she urged her horse in obedience to the order. "whoever they are!" tignonville muttered bitterly. "if we knew what had happened, or who followed, we should know more about it, madame. for that matter, i know what i wish he would do. and our heads are set for it." "what?" "make for vrillac!" he answered, a savage gleam in his eyes. "for vrillac?" "yes." "ah, if he would!" she cried, her face turning pale. "if he would. he would be safe there!" "ay, quite safe!" he answered with a peculiar intonation. and he looked at her askance. he fancied that his thought, the thought which had just flashed into his brain, was her thought; that she had the same notion in reserve, and that they were in sympathy. and tavannes, seeing them talking together, and noting her look and the fervour of her gesture, formed the same opinion, and retired more darkly into himself. the downfall of his plan for dazzling her by a magnanimity unparalleled and beyond compare, a plan dependent on the submission of angers--his disappointment in this might have roused the worst passions of a better man. but there was in this man a pride on a level at least with his other passions: and to bear himself in this hour of defeat and flight so that if she could not love him she must admire him, checked in a strange degree the current of his rage. when tignonville presently looked back he found that count hannibal and six of his riders had pulled up and were walking their horses far in the rear. on which he would have done the same himself; but badelon called over his shoulder the eternal "forward, monsieur, _en avant_!" and sullenly, hating the man and his master more deeply every hour, tignonville was forced to push on, with thoughts of vengeance in his heart. trot, trot! trot, trot! through a country which had lost its smiling wooded character and grew more sombre and less fertile the farther they left the loire behind them. trot, trot! trot, trot!--for ever, it seemed to some. javette wept with fatigue, and the other women were little better. the countess herself spoke seldom except to cheer the provost's daughter; who, poor girl, flung suddenly out of the round of her life and cast among strangers, showed a better spirit than might have been expected. at length, on the slopes of some low hills, which they had long seen before them, a cluster of houses and a church appeared; and badelon, drawing rein, cried-- "beaupreau, madame! we stay an hour!" it was six o'clock. they had ridden some hours without a break. with sighs and cries of pain the women dropped from their clumsy saddles, while the men laid out such food--it was little--as had been brought, and hobbled the horses that they might feed. the hour passed rapidly, and when it had passed badelon was inexorable. there was wailing when he gave the word to mount again; and tignonville, fiercely resenting this dumb, reasonless flight, was at heart one of the mutineers. but badelon said grimly that they might go on and live, or stay and die, as it pleased them; and once more they climbed painfully to their saddles, and jogged steadily on through the sunset, through the gloaming, through the darkness, across a weird, mysterious country of low hills and narrow plains which grew more wild and less cultivated as they advanced. fortunately the horses had been well saved during the long leisurely journey to angers, and now went well and strongly. when they at last unsaddled for the night in a little dismal wood within a mile of clisson, they had placed some forty miles between themselves and angers. chapter xxxii. the ordeal by steel. the women for the most part fell like sacks and slept where they alighted, dead weary. the men, when they had cared for the horses, followed the example; for badelon would suffer no fire. in less than half an hour, a sentry who stood on guard at the edge of the wood, and tignonville and la tribe, who talked in low voices with their backs against a tree, were the only persons who remained awake, with the exception of the countess. carlat had made a couch for her, and screened it with cloaks from the wind and the eye; for the moon had risen and where the trees stood sparsest its light flooded the soil with pools of white. but madame had not yet retired to her bed. the two men, whose voices reached her, saw her from time to time moving restlessly to and fro between the road and the little encampment. presently she came and stood over them. "he led his people out of the wilderness," la tribe was saying; "out of the trouble of paris, out of the trouble of angers, and always, always southward. if you do not in this, monsieur, see his finger--" "and angers?" tignonville struck in, with a faint sneer. "has he led that out of trouble? a day or two ago you would risk all to save it, my friend. now, with your back safely turned on it, you think all for the best." "we did our best," the minister answered humbly. "from the day we met in paris we have been but instruments." "to save angers?" "to save a remnant." on a sudden the countess raised her hand. "do you not hear horses, monsieur?" she cried. she had been listening to the noises of the night, and had paid little heed to what the two were saying. "one of ours moved," tignonville answered listlessly. "why do you not lie down, madame?" instead of answering, "whither is he going?" she asked. "do you know?" "i wish i did know," the young man answered peevishly. "to niort, it may be. or presently he will double back and recross the loire." "he would have gone by cholet to niort," la tribe said. "the direction is rather that of rochelle. god grant we be bound thither!" "or to vrillac," the countess cried, clasping her hands in the darkness. "can it be to vrillac he is going?" the minister shook his head. "ah, let it be to vrillac!" she cried, a thrill in her voice. "we should be safe there. and he would be safe." "safe?" echoed a fourth and deeper voice. and out of the darkness beside them loomed a tall figure. the minister looked and leapt to his feet. tignonville rose more slowly. the voice was tavannes'. "and where am i to be safe?" he repeated slowly, a faint ring of saturnine amusement in his tone. "at vrillac!" she cried. "in my house, monsieur!" he was silent a moment. then, "your house, madame? in which direction is it, from here?" "westwards," she answered impulsively, her voice quivering with eagerness and emotion and hope. "westwards, monsieur--on the sea. the causeway from the land is long, and ten can hold it against ten hundred." "westwards? and how far westwards?" tignonville answered for her; in his tone throbbed the same eagerness, the same anxiety, which spoke in hers. nor was count hannibal's ear deaf to it. "through challans," he said, "thirteen leagues." "from clisson?" "yes, monsieur le comte." "and by commequiers less," the countess cried. "no, it is a worse road," tignonville answered quickly; "and longer in time." "but we came--" "at our leisure, madame. the road is by challans, if we wish to be there quickly." "ah!" count hannibal said. in the darkness it was impossible to see his face or mark how he took it. "but being there, i have few men." "i have forty will come at call," she cried with pride. "a word to them, and in four hours or a little more--" "they would outnumber mine by four to one," count hannibal answered coldly, dryly, in a voice like ice-water flung in their faces. "thank you, madame; i understand. to vrillac is no long ride; but we will not ride it at present." and he turned sharply on his heel and strode from them. he had not covered thirty paces before she overtook him in the middle of a broad patch of moonlight, and touched his arm. he wheeled swiftly, his hand halfway to his hilt. then he saw who it was. "ah," he said, "i had forgotten, madame. you have come--" "no!" she cried passionately; and standing before him she shook back the hood of her cloak that he might look into her eyes. "you owe me no blow to-day. you have paid me, monsieur. you have struck me already, and foully, like a coward. do you remember," she continued rapidly, "the hour after our marriage, and what you said to me? do you remember what you told me? and whom to trust and whom to suspect, where lay our interest and where our foes'? you trusted me then! what have i done that you now dare--ay, dare, monsieur," she repeated fearlessly, her face pale and her eyes glittering with excitement, "to insult me? that you treat me as--javette? that you deem me capable of _that_? of luring you into a trap, and in my own house, or the house that was mine, of--" "treating me as i have treated others." "you have said it!" she cried. she could not herself understand why his distrust had wounded her so sharply, so home, that all fear of him was gone. "you have said it, and put that between us which will not be removed. i could have forgiven blows," she continued, breathless in her excitement, "so you had thought me what i am. but now you will do well to watch me! you will do well to leave vrillac on one side. for were you there, and raised your hand against me--not that that touches me, but it will do--and there are those, i tell you, would fling you from the tower at my word." "indeed?" "ay, indeed! and indeed, monsieur!" her face was in moonlight, his was in shadow. "and this is your new tone, madame, is it?" he said, slowly and after a pregnant pause. "the crossing of a river has wrought so great a change in you?" "no!" she cried. "yes," he said. and, despite herself, she flinched before the grimness of his tone. "you have yet to learn one thing, however: that i do not change. that, north or south, i am the same to those who are the same to me. that what i have won on the one bank i will hold on the other, in the teeth of all, and though god's church be thundering on my heels! i go to vrillac--" "you--go?" she cried. "you go?" "i go," he repeated, "to-morrow. and among your own people i will see what language you will hold. while you were in my power i spared you. now that you are in your own land, now that you lift your hand against me, i will show you of what make i am. if blows will not tame you, i will try that will suit you less. ay, you wince, madame! you had done well had you thought twice before you threatened, and thrice before you took in hand to scare tavannes with a parcel of clowns and fisherfolk. to- morrow, to vrillac and your duty! and one word more, madame," he continued, turning back to her truculently when he had gone some paces from her. "if i find you plotting with your lover by the way i will hang not you, but him. i have spared him a score of times; but i know him, and i do not trust him." "nor me," she said, and with a white, set face she looked at him in the moonlight. "had you not better hang me now?" "why?" "lest i do you an injury!" she cried with passion; and she raised her hand and pointed northward. "lest i kill you some night, monsieur! i tell you, a thousand men on your heels are less dangerous than the woman at your side--if she hate you." "is it so?" he cried. his hand flew to his hilt; his dagger flashed out. but she did not move, did not flinch, only she set her teeth; and her eyes, fascinated by the steel, grew wider. his hand sank slowly. he held the weapon to her, hilt foremost; she took it mechanically. "you think yourself brave enough to kill me, do you?" he sneered. "then take this, and strike, if you dare. take it--strike, madame! it is sharp, and my arms are open." and he flung them wide, standing within a pace of her. "here, above the collar-bone, is the surest for a weak hand. what, afraid?" he continued, as, stiffly clutching the weapon which he had put into her hand, she glared at him, trembling and astonished. "afraid, and a vrillac! afraid, and 'tis but one blow! see, my arms are open. one blow home, and you will never lie in them. think of that. one blow home, and you may lie in his. think of that! strike, then, madame," he went on, piling taunt on taunt, "if you dare, and if you hate me. what, still afraid! how shall i give you heart? shall i strike you? it will not be the first time by ten. i keep count, you see," he continued mockingly. "or shall i kiss you? ay, that may do. and it will not be against your will, either, for you have that in your hand will save you in an instant. even"--he drew a foot nearer--"now! even--" and he stooped until his lips almost touched hers. she sprang back. "oh, do not!" she cried. "oh, do not!" and, dropping the dagger, she covered her face with her hands, and burst into weeping. he stooped coolly, and, after groping some time for the poniard, drew it from the leaves among which it had fallen. he put it into the sheath, and not until he had done that did he speak. then it was with a sneer. "i have no need to fear overmuch," he said. "you are a poor hater, madame. and poor haters make poor lovers. 'tis his loss! if you will not strike a blow for him, there is but one thing left. go, dream of him!" and, shrugging his shoulders contemptuously, he turned on his heel. chapter xxxiii. the ambush. the start they made at daybreak was gloomy and ill-omened, through one of those white mists which are blown from the atlantic over the flat lands of western poitou. the horses, looming gigantic through the fog, winced as the cold harness was girded on them. the men hurried to and fro with saddles on their heads, and stumbled over other saddles, and swore savagely. the women turned mutinous and would not rise; or, being dragged up by force, shrieked wild, unfitting words, as they were driven to the horses. the countess looked on and listened, and shuddered, waiting for carlat to set her on her horse. she had gone during the last three weeks through much that was dreary, much that was hopeless; but the chill discomfort of this forced start, with tired horses and wailing women, would have darkened the prospect of home had there been no fear or threat to cloud it. he whose will compelled all stood a little apart and watched all, silent and gloomy. when badelon, after taking his orders and distributing some slices of black bread to be eaten in the saddle, moved off at the head of his troop, count hannibal remained behind, attended by bigot and the eight riders who had formed the rearguard so far. he had not approached the countess since rising, and she had been thankful for it. but now, as she moved away, she looked back and saw him still standing; she marked that he wore his corselet, and in one of those revulsions of feeling--which outrun man's reason--she who had tossed on her couch through half the night, in passionate revolt against the fate before her, took fire at his neglect and his silence; she resented on a sudden the distance he kept, and his scorn of her. her breast heaved, her colour came, involuntarily she checked her horse, as if she would return to him, and speak to him. then the carlats and the others closed up behind her, badelon's monotonous "forward, madame, _en avant_!" proclaimed the day's journey begun, and she saw him no more. nevertheless, the motionless figure, looming homeric through the fog, with gleams of wet light reflected from the steel about it, dwelt long in her mind. the road which badelon followed, slowly at first, and with greater speed as the horses warmed to their work, and the women, sore and battered resigned themselves to suffering, wound across a flat expanse broken by a few hills. these were little more than mounds, and for the most part were veiled from sight by the low-lying sea-mist, through which gnarled and stunted oaks rose mysterious, to fade as strangely. weird trees they were, with branches unlike those of this world's trees, rising in a grey land without horizon or limit, through which our travellers moved, weary phantoms in a clinging nightmare. at a walk, at a trot, more often at a jaded amble, they pushed on behind badelon's humped shoulders. sometimes the fog hung so thick about them that they saw only those who rose and fell in the saddles immediately before them; sometimes the air cleared a little, the curtain rolled up a space, and for a minute or two they discerned stretches of unfertile fields, half-tilled and stony, or long tracts of gorse and broom, with here and there a thicket of dwarf shrubs or a wood of wind-swept pines. some looked and saw these things; more rode on sulky and unseeing, supporting impatiently the toils of a flight from they knew not what. to do tignonville justice, he was not of these. on the contrary, he seemed to be in a better temper on this day and, where so many took things unheroically, he showed to advantage. avoiding the countess and riding with carlat, he talked and laughed with marked cheerfulness; nor did he ever fail, when the mist rose, to note this or that landmark, and confirm badelon in the way he was going. "we shall be at lege by noon!" he cried more than once, "and if m. le comte persists in his plan, may reach vrillac by late sunset. by way of challans!" and always carlat answered, "ay, by challans, monsieur, so be it!" he proved, too, so far right in his prediction that noon saw them drag, a weary train, into the hamlet of lege, where the road from nantes to olonne runs southward over the level of poitou. an hour later count hannibal rode in with six of his eight men, and, after a few minutes' parley with badelon, who was scanning the horses, he called carlat to him. the old man came. "can we reach vrillac to-night?" count hannibal asked curtly. "by challans, my lord," the steward answered, "i think we can. we call it seven hours' riding from here." "and that route is the shortest?" "in time, m. le comte, the road being better." count hannibal bent his brows. "and the other way?" he said. "is by commequiers, my lord. it is shorter in distance." "by how much?" "two leagues. but there are fordings and a salt marsh; and with madame and the women--" "it would be longer?" the steward hesitated. "i think so," he said slowly, his eyes wandering to the grey misty landscape, against which the poor hovels of the village stood out naked and comfortless. a low thicket of oaks sheltered the place from south-westerly gales. on the other three sides it lay open. "very good," tavannes said curtly. "be ready to start in ten minutes. you will guide us." but when the ten minutes had elapsed and the party were ready to start, to the astonishment of all the steward was not to be found. to peremptory calls for him no answer came; and a hurried search through the hamlet proved equally fruitless. the only person who had seen him since his interview with tavannes turned out to be m. de tignonville; and he had seen him mount his horse five minutes before, and move off--as he believed--by the challans road. "ahead of us?" "yes, m. le comte," tignonville answered, shading his eyes and gazing in the direction of the fringe of trees. "i did not see him take the road, but he was beside the north end of the wood when i saw him last. thereabouts!" and he pointed to a place where the challans road wound round the flank of the wood. "when we are beyond that point, i think we shall see him." count hannibal growled a word in his beard, and, turning in his saddle, looked back the way he had come. half a mile away, two or three dots could be seen approaching across the plain. he turned again. "you know the road?" he said, curtly addressing the young man. "perfectly. as well as carlat." "then lead the way, monsieur, with badelon. and spare neither whip nor spur. there will be need of both, if we would lie warm to-night." tignonville nodded assent and, wheeling his horse, rode to the head of the party, a faint smile playing about his mouth. a moment, and the main body moved off behind him, leaving count hannibal and six men to cover the rear. the mist, which at noon had risen for an hour or two, was closing down again, and they had no sooner passed clear of the wood than the trees faded out of sight behind them. it was not wonderful that they could not see carlat. objects a hundred paces from them were completely hidden. trot, trot! trot, trot! through a grey world so featureless, so unreal that the riders, now dozing in the saddle, and now awaking, seemed to themselves to stand still, as in a nightmare. a trot and then a walk, and then a trot again; and all a dozen times repeated, while the women bumped along in their wretched saddles, and the horses stumbled, and the men swore at them. ha! la garnache at last, and a sharp turn southward to challans. the countess raised her head, and began to look about her. there, should be a church, she knew; and there, the old ruined tower built by wizards, or the carthaginians, so old tradition ran; and there, to the westward, the great salt marshes towards noirmoutier. the mist hid all, but the knowledge that they were there set her heart beating, brought tears to her eyes, and lightened the long road to challans. at challans they halted half an hour, and washed out the horses' mouths with water and a little _guignolet_--the spirit of the country. a dose of the cordial was administered to the women; and a little after seven they began the last stage of the journey, through a landscape which even the mist could not veil from the eyes of love. there rose the windmill of soullans! there the old dolmen, beneath which the grey wolf that ate the two children of tornic had its lair. for a mile back they had been treading my lady's land; they had only two more leagues to ride, and one of those was crumbling under each dogged footfall. the salt flavour, which is new life to the shore-born, was in the fleecy reek which floated by them, now thinner, now more opaque; and almost they could hear the dull thunder of the biscay waves falling on the rocks. tignonville looked back at her and smiled. she caught the look; she fancied that she understood it and his thoughts. but her own eyes were moist at the moment with tears, and what his said, and what there was of strangeness in his glance, half-warning, half-exultant, escaped her. for there, not a mile before them, where the low hills about the fishing village began to rise from the dull inland level--hills green on the land side, bare and scarped towards the sea and the island--she espied the wayside chapel at which the nurse of her early childhood had told her beads. where it stood, the road from commequiers and the road she travelled became one: a short mile thence, after winding among the hillocks, it ran down to the beach and the causeway--and to her home. at the sight she bethought herself of carlat, and calling to m. de tignonville, she asked him what he thought of the steward's continued absence. "he must have outpaced us!" he answered, with an odd laugh. "but he must have ridden hard to do that." he reined back to her. "say nothing!" he muttered under his breath. "but look ahead, madame, and see if we are expected!" "expected? how can we be expected?" she cried. the colour rushed into her face. he put his finger to his lip, and looked warningly at badelon's humped shoulders, jogging up and down in front of them. then, stooping towards her, in a lower tone, "if carlat has arrived before us, he will have told them," he said. "have told them?" "he came by the other road, and it is quicker." she gazed at him in astonishment, her lips parted; and slowly she understood, and her eyes grew hard. "then why," she said, "did you say it was longer. had we been overtaken, monsieur, we had had you to thank for it, it seems!" he bit his lip. "but we have not been overtaken," he rejoined. "on the contrary, you have me to thank for something quite different." "as unwelcome, perhaps!" she retorted. "for what?" "softly, madame." "for what?" she repeated, refusing to lower her voice. "speak, monsieur, if you please." he had never seen her look at him in that way. "for the fact," he answered, stung by her look and tone, "that when you arrive you will find yourself mistress in your own house! is that nothing?" "you have called in my people?" "carlat has done so, or should have," he answered. "henceforth," he continued, a ring of exultation in his voice, "it will go hard with m. le comte, if he does not treat you better than he has treated you hitherto. that is all!" "you mean that it will go hard with him in any case?" she cried, her bosom rising and falling. "i mean, madame--but there they are! good carlat! brave carlat! he has done well!" "carlat?" "ay, there they are! and you are mistress in your own land! at last you are mistress, and you have me to thank for it! see!" and heedless in his exultation whether badelon understood or not, he pointed to a place before them where the road wound between two low hills. over the green shoulder of one of these, a dozen bright points caught and reflected the last evening light; while as he spoke a man rose to his feet on the hillside above, and began to make signs to persons below. a pennon, too, showed an instant over the shoulder, fluttered, and was gone. badelon looked as they looked. the next instant he uttered a low oath, and dragged his horse across the front of the party. "pierre!" he cried to the man on his left, "ride for your life! to my lord, and tell him we are ambushed!" and as the trained soldier wheeled about and spurred away, the sacker of rome turned a dark scowling face on tignonville. "if this be your work," he hissed, "we shall thank you for it in hell! for it is where most of us will lie to-night! they are montsoreau's spears, and they have those with them are worse to deal with than themselves!" then in a different tone, and throwing off all disguise, "men to the front!" he shouted. "and you, madame, to the rear quickly, and the women with you! now, men, forward, and draw! steady! steady! they are coming!" there was an instant of confusion, disorder, panic; horses jostling one another, women screaming and clutching at men, men shaking them off and forcing their way to the van. fortunately the enemy did not fall on at once, as badelon expected, but after showing themselves in the mouth of the valley, at a distance of three hundred paces, hung for some reason irresolute. this gave badelon time to array his seven swords in front; but real resistance was out of the question, as he knew. and to none seemed less in question than to tignonville. when the truth, and what he had done, broke on the young man, he sat a moment motionless with horror. it was only when badelon had twice summoned him with opprobrious words that he awoke to the relief of action. even after that he hung an instant trying to meet the countess's eyes, despair in his own; but it was not to be. she had turned her head, and was looking back, as if thence only and not from him could help come. it was not to him she turned; and he saw it, and the justice of it. and silent, grim, more formidable even than old badelon, the veteran fighter, who knew all the tricks and shifts of the _melee_, he spurred to the flank of the line. "now, steady!" badelon cried again, seeing that the enemy were beginning to move. "steady! ha! thank god, my lord! my lord is coming! stand! stand!" the distant sound of galloping hoofs had reached his ear in the nick of time. he stood in his stirrups and looked back. yes, count hannibal was coming, riding a dozen paces in front of his men. the odds were still desperate--for he brought but six--the enemy were still three to one. but the thunder of his hoofs as he came up checked for a moment the enemy's onset; and before montsoreau's people got started again count hannibal had ridden up abreast of the women, and the countess, looking at him, knew that, desperate as was their strait, she had not looked behind in vain. the glow of battle, the stress of the moment, had displaced the cloud from his face; the joy of the born fighter lightened in his eye. his voice rang clear and loud above the press. "badelon! wait you and two with madame!" he cried. "follow at fifty paces' distance, and, when we have broken them, ride through! the others with me! now forward, men, and show your teeth! a tavannes! a tavannes! a tavannes! we carry it yet!" and he dashed forward, leading them on, leaving the women behind; and down the sward to meet him, thundering in double line, came montsoreau's men-at-arms, and with the men-at-arms, a dozen pale, fierce-eyed men in the church's black, yelling the church's curses. madame's heart grew sick as she heard, as she waited, as she judged him by the fast-failing light a horse's length before his men--with only tignonville beside him. she held her breath--would the shock never come? if badelon had not seized her rein and forced her forward, she would not have moved. and then, even as she moved, they met! with yells and wild cries and a mare's savage scream, the two bands crashed together in a huddle of fallen or rearing horses, of flickering weapons, of thrusting men, of grapples hand-to-hand. what happened, what was happening to any one, who it was fell, stabbed through and through by four, or who were those who still fought single combats, twisting round one another's horses, those on her right and on her left, she could not tell. for badelon dragged her on with whip and spur, and two horsemen--who obscured her view--galloped in front of her, and rode down bodily the only man who undertook to bar her passage. she had a glimpse of that man's face, as his horse, struck in the act of turning, fell sideways on him; and she knew it, in its agony of terror, though she had seen it but once. it was the face of the man whose eyes had sought hers from the steps of the church in angers; the lean man in black, who had turned soldier of the church--to his misfortune. through? yes, through, the way was clear before them! the fight with its screams and curses died away behind them. the horses swayed and all but sank under them. but badelon knew it no time for mercy; iron-shod hoofs rang on the road behind, and at any moment the pursuers might be on their heels. he flogged on until the cots of the hamlet appeared on either side of the way; on, until the road forked and the countess with strange readiness cried "the left!"--on, until the beach appeared below them at the foot of a sharp pitch, and beyond the beach the slow heaving grey of the ocean. the tide was high. the causeway ran through it, a mere thread lipped by the darkling waves, and at the sight a grunt of relief broke from badelon. for at the end of the causeway, black against the western sky, rose the gateway and towers of vrillac; and he saw that, as the countess had said, it was a place ten men could hold against ten hundred! they stumbled down the beach, reached the causeway and trotted along it; more slowly now, and looking back. the other women had followed by hook or by crook, some crying hysterically, yet clinging to their horses and even urging them; and in a medley, the causeway clear behind them and no one following, they reached the drawbridge, and passed under the arch of the gate beyond. there friendly hands, carlat's foremost, welcomed them and aided them to alight, and the countess saw, as in a dream, the familiar scene, all unfamiliar: the gate, where she had played, a child, aglow with lantern- light and arms. men, whose rugged faces she had known in infancy, stood at the drawbridge chains and at the winches. others blew matches and handled primers, while old servants crowded round her, and women looked at her, scared and weeping. she saw it all at a glance--the lights, the black shadows, the sudden glow of a match on the groining of the arch above. she saw it, and turning swiftly, looked back the way she had come; along the dusky causeway to the low, dark shore, which night was stealing quickly from their eyes. she clasped her hands. "where is badelon?" she cried. "where is he? where is he?" one of the men who had ridden before her answered that he had turned back. "turned back!" she repeated. and then, shading her eyes, "who is coming?" she asked, her voice insistent. "there is some one coming. who is it? who is it?" two were coming out of the gloom, travelling slowly and painfully along the causeway. one was la tribe, limping; the other a rider, slashed across the forehead, and sobbing curses. "no more!" she muttered. "are there no more?" the minister shook his head. the rider wiped the blood from his eyes, and turned up his face that he might see the better. but he seemed to be dazed, and only babbled strange words in a strange _patois_. she stamped her foot in passion. "more lights!" she cried. "lights! how can they find their way? and let six men go down the _digue_, and meet them. will you let them be butchered between the shore and this?" but carlat, who had not been able to collect more than a dozen men, shook his head; and before she could repeat the order, sounds of battle, shrill, faint, like cries of hungry seagulls, pierced the darkness which shrouded the farther end of the causeway. the women shrank inward over the threshold, while carlat cried to the men at the chains to be ready, and to some who stood at loopholes above, to blow up their matches and let fly at his word. and then they all waited, the countess foremost, peering eagerly into the growing darkness. they could see nothing. a distant scuffle, an oath, a cry, silence! the same, a little nearer, a little louder, followed this time, not by silence, but by the slow tread of a limping horse. again a rush of feet, the clash of steel, a scream, a laugh, all weird and unreal, issuing from the night; then out of the darkness into the light, stepping slowly with hanging head, moved a horse, bearing on its back a man--or was it a man?--bending low in the saddle, his feet swinging loose. for an instant the horse and the man seemed to be alone, a ghostly pair; then at their heels came into view two figures, skirmishing this way and that; and now coming nearer, and now darting back into the gloom. one, a squat figure, stooping low, wielded a sword with two hands; the other covered him with a half-pike. and then beyond these--abruptly as it seemed--the night gave up to sight a swarm of dark figures pressing on them and after them, driving them before them. carlat had an inspiration. "fire!" he cried; and four arquebuses poured a score of slugs into the knot of pursuers. a man fell, another shrieked and stumbled, the rest gave back. only the horse came on spectrally, with hanging head and shining eyeballs, until a man ran out and seized its head, and dragged it, more by his strength than its own, over the drawbridge. after it badelon, with a gaping wound in his knee, and bigot, bleeding from a dozen hurts, walked over the bridge, and stood on either side of the saddle, smiling foolishly at the man on the horse. "leave me!" he muttered. "leave me!" he made a feeble movement with his hand, as if it held a weapon; then his head sank lower. it was count hannibal. his thigh was broken, and there was a lance-head in his arm. the countess looked at him, then beyond him, past him into the darkness. "are there no more?" she whispered tremulously. "no more? tignonville--my--" badelon shook his head. the countess covered her face and wept. chapter xxxiv. which will you, madame? it was in the grey dawning of the next day, at the hour before the sun rose, that word of m. de tignonville's fate came to them in the castle. the fog which had masked the van and coming of night hung thick on its retreating skirts, and only reluctantly and little by little gave up to sight and daylight a certain thing which night had left at the end of the causeway. the first man to see it was carlat, from the roof of the gateway; and he rubbed eyes weary with watching, and peered anew at it through the mist, fancying himself back in the place ste.-croix at angers, supposing for a wild moment the journey a dream, and the return a nightmare. but rub as he might, and stare as he might, the ugly outlines of the thing he had seen persisted--nay, grew sharper as the haze began to lift from the grey, slow-heaving floor of sea. he called another man and bade him look. "what is it?" he said. "d'you see, there? below the village?" "'tis a gibbet," the man answered, with a foolish laugh; they had watched all night. "god keep us from it." "a gibbet?" "ay!" "but what is it for? what is it doing there?" "it is there to hang those they have taken, very like," the man answered, stupidly practical. and then other men came up, and stared at it and growled in their beards. presently there were eight or ten on the roof of the gateway looking towards the land and discussing the thing; and by- and-by a man was descried approaching along the causeway with a white flag in his hand. at that carlat bade one fetch the minister. "he understands things," he muttered, "and i misdoubt this. and see," he cried after the messenger, "that no word of it come to mademoiselle!" instinctively in the maiden home he reverted to the maiden title. the messenger went, and came again bringing la tribe, whose head rose above the staircase at the moment the envoy below came to a halt before the gate. carlat signed to the minister to come forward; and la tribe, after sniffing the salt air, and glancing at the long, low, misty shore and the stiff ugly shape which stood at the end of the causeway, looked down and met the envoy's eyes. for a moment no one spoke. only the men who had remained on the gateway, and had watched the stranger's coming, breathed hard. at last, "i bear a message," the man announced loudly and clearly, "for the lady of vrillac. is she present?" "give your message!" la tribe replied. "it is for her ears only." "do you want to enter?" "no!" the man answered so hurriedly that more than one smiled. he had the bearing of a lay clerk of some precinct, a verger or sacristan; and after a fashion the dress of one also, for he was in dusty black and wore no sword, though he was girded with a belt. "no!" he repeated, "but if madame will come to the gate, and speak to me--" "madame has other fish to fry," carlat blurted out. "do you think that she has naught to do but listen to messages from a gang of bandits?" "if she does not listen she will repent it all her life!" the fellow answered hardily. "that is part of my message." there was a pause while la tribe considered the matter. in the end, "from whom do you come?" he asked. "from his excellency the lieutenant-governor of saumur," the envoy answered glibly, "and from my lord bishop of angers, him assisting by his vicar; and from others gathered lawfully, who will as lawfully depart if their terms are accepted. also from m. de tignonville, a gentleman, i am told, of these parts, now in their hands and adjudged to die at sunset this day if the terms i bring be not accepted." there was a long silence on the gate. the men looked down fixedly; not a feature of one of them moved, for no one was surprised. "wherefore is he to die?" la tribe asked at last. "for good cause shown." "wherefore?" "he is a huguenot." the minister nodded. "and the terms?" carlat muttered. "ay, the terms!" la tribe repeated, nodding afresh. "what are they?" "they are for madame's ear only," the messenger made answer. "then they will not reach it!" carlat broke forth in wrath. "so much for that! and for yourself, see you go quickly before we make a target of you!" "very well, i go," the envoy answered sullenly. "but--" "but what?" la tribe cried, gripping carlat's shoulder to quiet him. "but what? say what you have to say, man! speak out, and have done with it!' "i will say it to her and to no other." "then you will not say it!" carlat cried again. "for you will not see her. so you may go. and the black fever in your vitals." "ay, go!" la tribe added more quietly. the man turned away with a shrug of the shoulders, and moved off a dozen paces, watched by all on the gate with the same fixed attention. but presently he paused; he returned. "very well," he said, looking up with an ill grace. "i will do my office here, if i cannot come to her. but i hold also a letter from m. de tignonville, and that i can deliver to no other hands than hers!" he held it up as he spoke, a thin scrap of greyish paper, the fly-leaf of a missal perhaps. "see!" he continued, "and take notice! if she does not get this, and learns when it is too late that it was offered--" "the terms," carlat growled impatiently. "the terms! come to them!" "you will have them?" the man answered, nervously passing his tongue over his lips. "you will not let me see her, or speak to her privately?" "no." "then hear them. his excellency is informed that one hannibal de tavannes, guilty of the detestable crime of sacrilege and of other gross crimes, has taken refuge here. he requires that the said hannibal de tavannes be handed to him for punishment, and, this being done before sunset this evening, he will yield to you free and uninjured the said m. de tignonville, and will retire from the lands of vrillac. but if you refuse"--the man passed his eye along the line of attentive faces which fringed the battlement--"he will at sunset hang the said tignonville on the gallows raised for tavannes, and will harry the demesne of vrillac to its farthest border!" there was a long silence on the gate. some, their gaze still fixed on him, moved their lips as if they chewed. others looked aside, met their fellows' eyes in a pregnant glance, and slowly returned to him. but no one spoke. at his back the flush of dawn was flooding the east, and spreading and waxing brighter. the air was growing warm; the shore below, from grey, was turning green. in a minute or two the sun, whose glowing marge already peeped above the low hills of france, would top the horizon. the man, getting no answer, shifted his feet uneasily. "well," he cried, "what answer am i to take?" still no one moved. "i've done my part. will no one give her the letter?" he cried. and he held it up. "give me my answer, for i am going." "take the letter!" the words came from the rear of the group in a voice that startled all. they turned, as though some one had struck them, and saw the countess standing beside the hood which covered the stairs. they guessed that she had heard all or nearly all; but the glory of the sunrise, shining full on her at that moment, lent a false warmth to her face, and life to eyes woefully and tragically set. it was not easy to say whether she had heard or not. "take the letter," she repeated. carlat looked helplessly over the parapet. "go down!" he cast a glance at la tribe, but he got none in return, and he was preparing to do her bidding when a cry of dismay broke from those who still had their eyes bent downwards. the messenger, waving the letter in a last appeal, had held it too loosely; a light air, as treacherous, as unexpected, had snatched it from his hand, and bore it--even as the countess, drawn by the cry, sprang to the parapet--fifty paces from him. a moment it floated in the air, eddying, rising, falling; then, light as thistledown, it touched the water and began to sink. the messenger uttered frantic lamentations, and stamped the causeway in his rage. the countess only looked, and looked, until the rippling crest of a baby wave broke over the tiny venture, and with its freight of tidings it sank from sight. the man, silent now, stared a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. "well, 'tis fortunate it was his," he cried brutally, "and not his excellency's, or my back had suffered! and now," he added impatiently, "by your leave, what answer?" what answer? ah, god, what answer? the men who leant on the parapet, rude and coarse as they were, felt the tragedy of the question and the dilemma, guessed what they meant to her, and looked everywhere save at her. what answer? which of the two was to live? which die--shamefully? which? which? "tell him--to come back--an hour before sunset," she muttered. they told him and he went; and one by one the men began to go too, and stole from the roof, leaving her standing alone, her face to the shore, her hands resting on the parapet. the light breeze which blew off the land stirred loose ringlets of her hair, and flattened the thin robe against her sunlit figure. so had she stood a thousand times in old days, in her youth, in her maidenhood. so in her father's time had she stood to see her lover come riding along the sands to woo her! so had she stood to welcome him on the eve of that fatal journey to paris! thence had others watched her go with him. the men remembered--remembered all; and one by one they stole shamefacedly away, fearing lest she should speak or turn tragic eyes on them. true, in their pity for her was no doubt of the end, or thought of the victim who must suffer--of tavannes. they, of poitou, who had not been with him, knew nothing of him; they cared as little. he was a northern man, a stranger, a man of the sword, who had seized her--so they heard--by the sword. but they saw that the burden of choice was laid on her; there, in her sight and in theirs, rose the gibbet; and, clowns as they were, they discerned the tragedy of her _role_, play it as she might, and though her act gave life to her lover. when all had retired save three or four, she turned and saw these gathered at the head of the stairs in a ring about carlat, who was addressing them in a low eager voice. she could not catch a syllable, but a look hard and almost cruel flashed into her eyes as she gazed; and raising her voice she called the steward to her. "the bridge is up," she said, her tone hard, "but the gates? are they locked?" "yes, madame." "the wicket?" "no, not the wicket." and carlat looked another way. "then go, lock it, and bring the keys to me!" she replied. "or stay!" her voice grew harder, her eyes spiteful as a cat's. "stay, and be warned that you play me no tricks! do you hear? do you understand? or old as you are, and long as you have served us, i will have you thrown from this tower, with as little pity as isabeau flung her gallants to the fishes. i am still mistress here, never more mistress than this day. woe to you if you forget it." he blenched and cringed before her, muttering incoherently. "i know," she said, "i read you! and now the keys. go, bring them to me! and if by chance i find the wicket unlocked when i come down, pray, carlat, pray! for you will have need of prayers." he slunk away, the men with him; and she fell to pacing the roof feverishly. now and then she extended her arms, and low cries broke from her, as from a dumb creature in pain. wherever she looked, old memories rose up to torment her and redouble her misery. a thing she could have borne in the outer world, a thing which might have seemed tolerable in the reeking air of paris or in the gloomy streets of angers wore here its most appalling aspect. henceforth, whatever choice she made, this home, where even in those troublous times she had known naught but peace, must bear a damning stain! henceforth this day and this hour must come between her and happiness, must brand her brow, and fix her with a deed of which men and women would tell while she lived! oh, god--pray? who said, pray? "i!" and la tribe with tears in his eyes held out the keys to her. "i, madame," he continued solemnly, his voice broken with emotion. "for in man is no help. the strongest man, he who rode yesterday a master of men, a very man of war in his pride and his valour--see him, now, and--" "don't!" she cried, sharp pain in her voice. "don't!" and she stopped him with her hand, her face averted. after an interval, "you come from him?" she muttered faintly. "yes." "is he--hurt to death, think you?" she spoke low, and kept her face hidden from him. "alas, no!" he answered, speaking the thought in his heart. "the men who are with him seem confident of his recovery." "do they know?" "badelon has had experience." "no, no. do they know of this?" she cried. "of this!" and she pointed with a gesture of loathing to the black gibbet on the farther strand. he shook his head. "i think not," he muttered. and after a moment, "god help you!" he added fervently. "god help and guide you, madame!" she turned on him suddenly, fiercely. "is that all you can do?" she cried. "is that all the help you can give? you are a man. go down, lead them out; drive off these cowards who drain our life's blood, who trade on a woman's heart! on them! do something, anything, rather than lie in safety here--here!" the minister shook his head sadly. "alas, madame!" he said, "to sally were to waste life. they outnumber us three to one. if count hannibal could do no more than break through last night, with scarce a man unwounded--" "he had the women!" "and we have not him!" "he would not have left us!" she cried hysterically. "i believe it." "had they taken me, do you think he would have lain behind walls? or skulked in safety here, while--while--" her voice failed her. he shook his head despondently. "and that is all you can do?" she cried, and turned from him, and to him again, extending her arms, in bitter scorn. "all you will do? do you forget that twice he spared your life? that in paris once, and once in angers, he held his hand? that always, whether he stood or whether he fled, he held himself between us and harm? ay, always? and who will now raise a hand for him? who?" "madame!" "who? who? had he died in the field," she continued, her voice shaking with grief, her hands beating the parapet--for she had turned from him--"had he fallen where he rode last night, in the front, with his face to the foe, i had viewed him tearless, i had deemed him happy! i had prayed dry-eyed for him who--who spared me all these days and weeks! whom i robbed and he forgave me! whom i tempted, and he forbore me! ay, and who spared not once or twice him for whom he must now--he must now--" and unable to finish the sentence she beat her hands again and passionately on the stones. "heaven knows, madame," the minister cried vehemently, "heaven knows, i would advise you if i could." "why did he wear his corselet?" she wailed, as if she had not heard him. "was there no spear could reach his breast, that he must come to this? no foe so gentle he would spare him this? or why did _he_ not die with me in paris when we waited? in another minute death might have come and saved us this." with the tears running down his face he tried to comfort her. "man that is a shadow," he said, "passeth away--what matter how? a little while, a very little while, and we shall pass!" "with his curse upon us!" she cried. and, shuddering, she pressed her hands to her eyes to shut out the sight her fancy pictured. he left her for a while, hoping that in solitude she might regain control of herself. when he returned he found her seated, and outwardly more composed; her arms resting on the parapet-wall, her eyes bent steadily on the long stretch of hard sand which ran northward from the village. by that route her lover had many a time come to her; there she had ridden with him in the early days; and that way they had started for paris on such a morning and at such an hour as this, with sunshine about them, and larks singing hope above the sand-dunes, and with wavelets creaming to the horses' hoofs! of all which la tribe, a stranger, knew nothing. the rapt gaze, the unchanging attitude only confirmed his opinion of the course she would adopt. he was thankful to find her more composed; and in fear of such a scene as had already passed between them, he stole away again. he returned by-and-by, but with the greatest reluctance, and only because carlat's urgency would take no refusal. he came this time to crave the key of the wicket, explaining that--rather to satisfy his own conscience and the men than with any hope of success--he proposed to go halfway along the causeway, and thence by signs invite a conference. "it is just possible," he added, hesitating--he feared nothing so much as to raise hopes in her--"that by the offer of a money ransom, madame--" "go," she said, without turning her head. "offer what you please. but"--bitterly--"have a care of them! montsoreau is very like montereau! beware of the bridge!" he went and came again in half an hour. then, indeed, though she had spoken as if hope was dead in her, she was on her feet at the first sound of his tread on the stairs; her parted lips and her white face questioned him. he shook his head. "there is a priest," he said in broken tones, "with them, whom god will judge. it is his plan, and he is without mercy or pity." "you bring nothing from--him?" "they will not suffer him to write again." "you did not see him?" "no." chapter xxxv. against the wall. in a room beside the gateway, into which, as the nearest and most convenient place, count hannibal had been carried from his saddle, a man sat sideways in the narrow embrasure of a loophole, to which his eyes seemed glued. the room, which formed part of the oldest block of the chateau, and was ordinarily the quarters of the carlats, possessed two other windows, deep-set indeed, yet superior to that through which bigot--for he it was--peered so persistently. but the larger windows looked southwards, across the bay--at this moment the noon-high sun was pouring his radiance through them; while the object which held bigot's gaze and fixed him to his irksome seat, lay elsewhere. the loophole commanded the causeway leading shorewards; through it the norman could see who came and went, and even the cross-beam of the ugly object which rose where the causeway touched the land. on a flat truckle-bed behind the door lay count hannibal, his injured leg protected from the coverlid by a kind of cage. his eyes were bright with fever, and his untended beard and straggling hair heightened the wildness of his aspect. but he was in possession of his senses; and as his gaze passed from bigot at the window to the old free companion, who sat on a stool beside him, engaged in shaping a piece of wood into a splint, an expression almost soft crept into his harsh face. "old fool!" he said. and his voice, though changed, had not lost all its strength and harshness. "did the constable need a splint when you laid him under the tower at gaeta?" the old man lifted his eyes from his task, and glanced through the nearest window. "it is long from noon to night," he said quietly, "and far from cup to lip, my lord!" "it would be if i had two legs," tavannes answered, with a grimace, half- snarl, half-smile. "as it is--where is that dagger? it leaves me every minute." it had slipped from the coverlid to the ground. badelon took it up, and set it on the bed within reach of his master's hand. bigot swore fiercely. "it would be farther still," he growled, "if you would be guided by me, my lord. give me leave to bar the door, and 'twill be long before these fisher clowns force it. badelon and i--" "being in your full strength," count hannibal murmured cynically. "could hold it. we have strength enough for that," the norman boasted, though his livid face and his bandages gave the lie to his words. he could not move without pain; and for badelon, his knee was as big as two with plaisters of his own placing. count hannibal stared at the ceiling. "you could not strike two blows!" he said. "don't lie to me! and badelon cannot walk two yards! fine fighters!" he continued with bitterness, not all bitter. "fine bars 'twixt a man and death! no, it is time to turn the face to the wall. and, since go i must, it shall not be said count hannibal dared not go alone! besides--" bigot stopped him with an oath that was in part a cry of pain. "d---n her!" he exclaimed in fury, "'tis she is that _besides_! i know it. 'tis she has been our ruin from the day we saw her first, ay, to this day! 'tis she has bewitched you until your blood, my lord, has turned to water. or you would never, to save the hand that betrayed us, never to save a man--" "silence!" count hannibal cried, in a terrible voice. and rising on his elbow, he poised the dagger as if he would hurl it. "silence, or i will spit you like the vermin you are! silence, and listen! and you, old ban- dog, listen too, for i know you obstinate! it is not to save him. it is because i will die as i have lived, fearing nothing and asking nothing! it were easy to bar the door as you would have me, and die in the corner here like a wolf at bay, biting to the last. that were easy, old wolf- hound! pleasant and good sport!" "ay! that were a death!" the veteran cried, his eyes brightening. "so i would fain die!" "and i!" count hannibal returned, showing his teeth in a grim smile. "i too! yet i will not! i will not! because so to die were to die unwillingly, and give them triumph. be dragged to death? no, old dog, if die we must, we will go to death! we will die grandly, highly, as becomes tavannes! that when we are gone they may say, 'there died a man!'" "_she_ may say!" bigot muttered, scowling. count hannibal heard and glared at him, but presently thought better of it, and after a pause-- "ay, she too!" he said. "why not? as we have played the game--for her--so, though we lose, we will play it to the end; nor because we lose throw down the cards! besides, man, die in the corner, die biting, and he dies too!" "and why not?" bigot asked, rising in a fury. "why not? whose work is it we lie here, snared by these clowns of fisherfolk? who led us wrong and betrayed us? he die? would the devil had taken him a year ago! would he were within my reach now! i would kill him with my bare fingers! he die? and why not?" "why, because, fool, his death would not save me!" count hannibal answered coolly. "if it would, he would die! but it will not; and we must even do again as we have done. i have spared him--he's a white-livered hound!--both once and twice, and we must go to the end with it since no better can be! i have thought it out, and it must be. only see you, old dog, that i have the dagger hid in the splint where i can reach it. and then, when the exchange has been made, and my lady has her silk glove again--to put in her bosom!"--with a grimace and a sudden reddening of his harsh features--"if master priest come within reach of my arm, i'll send him before me, where i go." "ay, ay!" said badelon. "and if you fail of your stroke i will not fail of mine! i shall be there, and i will see to it he goes! i shall be there!" "you?" "ay, why not?" the old man answered quietly. "i may halt on this leg for aught i know, and come to starve on crutches like old claude boiteux who was at the taking of milan and now begs in the passage under the chatelet." "bah, man, you will get a new lord!" badelon nodded. "ay, a new lord with new ways!" he answered slowly and thoughtfully. "and i am tired. they are of another sort, lords now, than they were when i was young. it was a word and a blow then. now i am old, with most it is--'old hog, your distance! you scent my lady!' then they rode, and hunted, and tilted year in and year out, and summer or winter heard the lark sing. now they are curled, and paint themselves, and lie in silk and toy with ladies--who shamed to be seen at court or board when i was a boy--and love better to hear the mouse squeak than the lark sing." "still, if i give you my gold chain," count hannibal answered quietly, "'twill keep you from that." "give it to bigot," the old man answered. the splint he was fashioning had fallen on his knees, and his eyes were fixed on the distance of his youth. "for me, my lord, i am tired, and i go with you. i go with you. it is a good death to die biting before the strength be quite gone. have the dagger too, if you please, and i'll fit it within the splint right neatly. but i shall be there--" "and you'll strike home?" tavannes cried eagerly. he raised himself on his elbow, a gleam of joy in his gloomy eyes. "have no fear, my lord. see, does it tremble?" he held out his hand. "and when you are sped, i will try the spanish stroke--upwards with a turn ere you withdraw, that i learned from ruiz--on the shaven pate. i see them about me now!" the old man continued, his face flushing, his form dilating. "it will be odd if i cannot snatch a sword and hew down three to go with tavannes! and bigot, he will see my lord the marshal by- and-by; and as i do to the priest, the marshal will do to montsoreau. ho! ho! he will teach him the _coup de jarnac_, never fear!" and the old man's moustaches curled up ferociously. count hannibal's eyes sparkled with joy. "old dog!" he cried--and he held his hand to the veteran, who brushed it reverently with his lips--"we will go together then! who touches my brother, touches tavannes!" "touches tavannes!" badelon cried, the glow of battle lighting his bloodshot eyes. he rose to his feet. "touches tavannes! you mind at jarnac--" "ah! at jarnac!" "when we charged their horse, was my boot a foot from yours, my lord?" "not a foot!" "and at dreux," the old man continued with a proud, elated gesture, "when we rode down the german pikemen--they were grass before us, leaves on the wind, thistledown--was it not i who covered your bridle hand, and swerved not in the _melee_?" "it was! it was!" "and at st. quentin, when we fled before the spaniard--it was his day, you remember, and cost us dear--" "ay, i was young then," tavannes cried in turn, his eyes glistening. "st. quentin! it was the tenth of august. and you were new with me, and seized my rein--" "and we rode off together, my lord--of the last, of the last, as god sees me! and striking as we went, so that they left us for easier game." "it was so, good sword! i remember it as if it had been yesterday!" "and at cerisoles, the battle of the plain, in the old spanish wars, that was most like a joust of all the pitched fields i ever saw--at cerisoles, where i caught your horse? you mind me? it was in the shock when we broke guasto's line--" "at cerisoles?" count hannibal muttered slowly. "why, man, i--" "i caught your horse, and mounted you afresh? you remember, my lord? and at landriano, where leyva turned the tables on us again." count hannibal stared. "landriano?" he muttered bluntly. "'twas in ' , forty years ago and more! my father, indeed--" "and at rome--at rome, my lord? _mon dieu_! in the old days at rome! when the spanish company scaled the wall--ruiz was first, i next--was it not my foot you held? and was it not i who dragged you up, while the devils of swiss pressed us hard? ah, those were days, my lord! i was young then, and you, my lord, young too, and handsome as the morning--" "you rave!" tavannes cried, finding his tongue at last. "rome? you rave, old man! why, i was not born in those days. my father even was a boy! it was in ' you sacked it--five-and-forty years ago!" the old man passed his hands over his heated face, and, as a man roused suddenly from sleep looks, he looked round the room. the light died out of his eyes--as a light blown out in a room; his form seemed to shrink, even while the others gazed at him, and he sat down. "no, i remember," he muttered slowly. "it was prince philibert of chalons, my lord of orange." "dead these forty years!" "ay, dead these forty years! all dead!" the old man whispered, gazing at his gnarled hand, and opening and shutting it by turns. "and i grow childish! 'tis time, high time, i followed them! it trembles now; but have no fear, my lord, this hand will not tremble then. all dead! ay, all dead!" he sank into a mournful silence; and tavannes, after gazing at him awhile in rough pity, fell to his own meditations, which were gloomy enough. the day was beginning to wane, and with the downward turn, though the sun still shone brightly through the southern windows, a shadow seemed to fall across his thoughts. they no longer rioted in a turmoil of defiance as in the forenoon. in its turn, sober reflection marshalled the past before his eyes. the hopes of a life, the ambitions of a life, moved in sombre procession, and things done and things left undone, the sovereignty which nostradamus had promised, the faces of men he had spared and of men he had not spared--and the face of one woman. she would not now be his. he had played highly, and he would lose highly, playing the game to the end, that to-morrow she might think of him highly. had she begun to think of him at all? in the chamber of the inn at angers he had fancied a change in her, an awakening to life and warmth, a shadow of turning to him. it had pleased him to think so, at any rate. it pleased him still to imagine--of this he was more confident--that in the time to come, when she was tignonville's, she would think of him secretly and kindly. she would remember him, and in her thoughts and in her memory he would grow to the heroic, even as the man she had chosen would shrink as she learned to know him. it pleased him, that. it was almost all that was left to please him--that, and to die proudly as he had lived. but as the day wore on, and the room grew hot and close, and the pain in his thigh became more grievous, the frame of his mind altered. a sombre rage was born and grew in him, and a passion fierce and ill-suppressed. to end thus, with nothing done, nothing accomplished of all his hopes and ambitions! to die thus, crushed in a corner by a mean priest and a rabble of spearmen, he who had seen dreux and jarnac, had defied the king, and dared to turn the st. bartholomew to his ends! to die thus, and leave her to that puppet! strong man as he was, of a strength of will surpassed by few, it taxed him to the utmost to lie and make no sign. once, indeed, he raised himself on his elbow with something between an oath and a snarl, and he seemed about to speak. so that bigot came hurriedly to him. "my lord?" "water!" he said. "water, fool!" and, having drunk, he turned his face to the wall, lest he should name her or ask for her. for the desire to see her before he died, to look into her eyes, to touch her hand once, only once, assailed his mind and all but whelmed his will. she had been with him, he knew it, in the night; she had left him only at daybreak. but then, in his state of collapse, he had been hardly conscious of her presence. now to ask for her or to see her would stamp him coward, say what he might to her. the proverb, that the king's face gives grace, applied to her; and an overture on his side could mean but one thing, that he sought her grace. and that he would not do though the cold waters of death covered him more and more, and the coming of the end--in that quiet chamber, while the september sun sank to the appointed place--awoke wild longings and a wild rebellion in his breast. his thoughts were very bitter, as he lay, his loneliness of the uttermost. he turned his face to the wall. in that posture he slept after a time, watched over by bigot with looks of rage and pity. and on the room fell a long silence. the sun had lacked three hours of setting when he fell asleep. when he re-opened his eyes, and, after lying for a few minutes between sleep and waking, became conscious of his position, of the day, of the things which had happened, and his helplessness--an awakening which wrung from him an involuntary groan--the light in the room was still strong, and even bright. he fancied for a moment that he had merely dozed off and awaked again; and he continued to lie with his face to the wall, courting a return of slumber. but sleep did not come, and little by little, as he lay listening and thinking and growing more restless, he got the fancy that he was alone. the light fell brightly on the wall to which his face was turned; how could that be if bigot's broad shoulders still blocked the loophole? presently, to assure himself, he called the man by name. he got no answer. "badelon!" he muttered. "badelon!" had he gone, too, the old and faithful? it seemed so, for again no answer came. he had been accustomed all his life to instant service; to see the act follow the word ere the word ceased to sound. and nothing which had gone before, nothing which he had suffered since his defeat at angers, had brought him to feel his impotence and his position--and that the end of his power was indeed come--as sharply as this. the blood rushed to his head; almost the tears to eyes which had not shed them since boyhood, and would not shed them now, weak as he was! he rose on his elbow and looked with a full heart; it was as he had fancied. badelon's stool was empty; the embrasure--that was empty too. through its narrow outlet he had a tiny view of the shore and the low rocky hill, of which the summit shone warm in the last rays of the setting sun. the setting sun! ay, for the lower part of the hill was growing cold; the shore at its foot was grey. then he had slept long, and the time was come. he drew a deep breath and listened. but on all within and without lay silence, a silence marked, rather than broken, by the dull fall of a wave on the causeway. the day had been calm, but with the sunset a light breeze was rising. he set his teeth hard, and continued to listen. an hour before sunset was the time they had named for the exchange. what did it mean? in five minutes the sun would be below the horizon; already the zone of warmth on the hillside was moving and retreating upwards. and bigot and old badelon? why had they left him while he slept? an hour before sunset! why, the room was growing grey, grey and dark in the corners, and--what was that? he started, so violently that he jarred his leg, and the pain wrung a groan from him. at the foot of the bed, overlooked until then, a woman lay prone on the floor, her face resting on her outstretched arms. she lay without motion, her head and her clasped hands towards the loophole, her thick, clubbed hair hiding her neck. a woman! count hannibal stared, and, fancying he dreamed, closed his eyes, then looked again. it was no phantasm. it was the countess; it was his wife! he drew a deep breath, but he did not speak, though the colour rose slowly to his cheek. and slowly his eyes devoured her from head to foot, from the hands lying white in the light below the window to the shod feet; unchecked he took his fill of that which he had so much desired--the seeing her! a woman prone, with all of her hidden but her hands: a hundred acquainted with her would not have known her. but he knew her, and would have known her from a hundred, nay from a thousand, by her hands alone. what was she doing here, and in this guise? he pondered; then he looked from her for an instant, and saw that while he had gazed at her the sun had set, the light had passed from the top of the hill; the world without and the room within were growing cold. was that the cause she no longer lay quiet? he saw a shudder run through her, and a second; then it seemed to him--or was he going mad?--that she moaned, and prayed in half- heard words, and, wrestling with herself, beat her forehead on her arms, and then was still again, as still as death. by the time the paroxysm had passed, the last flush of sunset had faded from the sky, and the hills were growing dark. chapter xxxvi. his kingdom. count hannibal could not have said why he did not speak to her at once. warned by an instinct vague and ill-understood, he remained silent, his eyes riveted on her, until she rose from the floor. a moment later she met his gaze, and he looked to see her start. instead, she stood quiet and thoughtful, regarding him with a kind of sad solemnity, as if she saw not him only, but the dead; while first one tremor and then a second shook her frame. at length "it is over!" she whispered. "patience, monsieur; have no fear, i will be brave. but i must give a little to him." "to him!" count hannibal muttered, his face extraordinarily, pale. she smiled with an odd passionateness. "who was my lover!" she cried, her voice a-thrill. "who will ever be my lover, though i have denied him, though i have left him to die! it was just. he who has so tried me knows it was just! he whom i have sacrificed--he knows it too, now! but it is hard to be--just," with a quavering smile. "you who take all may give him a little, may pardon me a little, may have--patience!" count hannibal uttered a strangled cry, between a moan and a roar. a moment he beat the coverlid with his hands in impotence. then he sank back on the bed. "water!" he muttered. "water!" she fetched it hurriedly, and, raising his head on her arm, held it to his lips. he drank, and lay back again with closed eyes. he lay so still and so long that she thought that he had fainted; but after a pause he spoke. "you have done that?" he whispered; "you have done that?" "yes," she answered, shuddering. "god forgive me! i have done that! i had to do that, or--" "and is it too late--to undo it?" "it is too late." a sob choked her voice. tears--tears incredible, unnatural--welled from under count hannibal's closed eyelids, and rolled sluggishly down his harsh cheek to the edge of his beard. "i would have gone," he muttered. "if you had spoken, i would have spared you this." "i know," she answered unsteadily; "the men told me." "and yet--" "it was just. and you are my husband," she replied. "more, i am the captive of your sword, and as you spared me in your strength, my lord, i spared you in your weakness." "mon dieu! mon dieu, madame!" he cried, "at what a cost!" and that arrested, that touched her in the depths of her grief and her horror; even while the gibbet on the causeway, which had burned itself into her eyeballs, hung before her. for she knew that it was the cost to _her_ he was counting. she knew that for himself he had ever held life cheap, that he could have seen tignonville suffer without a qualm. and the thoughtfulness for her, the value he placed on a thing--even on a rival's life--because its was dear to her, touched her home, moved her as few things could have moved her at that moment. she saw it of a piece with all that had gone before, with all that had passed between them, since that fatal sunday in paris. but she made no sign. more than she had said she would not say; words of love, even of reconciliation, had no place on her lips while he whom she had sacrificed awaited his burial. and meantime the man beside her lay and found it incredible. "it was just," she had said. and he knew it; tignonville's folly--that and that only had led them into the snare and caused his own capture. but what had justice to do with the things of this world? in his experience, the strong hand--that was justice, in france; and possession--that was law. by the strong hand he had taken her, and by the strong hand she might have freed herself. and she had not. there was the incredible thing. she had chosen instead to do justice! it passed belief. opening his eyes on a silence which had lasted some minutes, a silence rendered more solemn by the lapping water without, tavannes saw her kneeling in the dusk of the chamber, her head bowed over his couch, her face hidden in her hands. he knew that she prayed, and feebly he deemed the whole a dream. no scene akin to it had had place in his life; and, weakened and in pain, he prayed that the vision might last for ever, that he might never awake. but by-and-by, wrestling with the dread thought of what she had done, and the horror which would return upon her by fits and spasms, she flung out a hand, and it fell on him. he started, and the movement, jarring the broken limb, wrung from him a cry of pain. she looked up and was going to speak, when a scuffling of feet under the gateway arch, and a confused sound of several voices raised at once, arrested the words on her lips. she rose to her feet and listened. dimly he could see her face through the dusk. her eyes were on the door, and she breathed quickly. a moment or two passed in this way, and then from the hurly-burly in the gateway the footsteps of two men--one limped--detached themselves and came nearer and nearer. they stopped without. a gleam of light shone under the door, and some one knocked. she went to the door, and, withdrawing the bar, stepped quickly back to the bedside, where for an instant the light borne by those who entered blinded her. then, above the lanthorn, the faces of la tribe and bigot broke upon her, and their shining eyes told her that they bore good news. it was well, for the men seemed tongue-tied. the minister's fluency was gone; he was very pale, and it was bigot who in the end spoke for both. he stepped forward, and, kneeling, kissed her cold hand. "my lady," he said, "you have gained all, and lost nothing. blessed be god!" "blessed be god!" the minister wept. and from the passage without came the sound of laughter and weeping and many voices, with a flutter of lights and flying skirts, and women's feet. she stared at him wildly, doubtfully, her hand at her throat. "what?" she said, "he is not dead--m. de tignonville?" "no, he is alive," la tribe answered, "he is alive." and he lifted up his hands as if he gave thanks. "alive?" she cried. "alive! oh, heaven is merciful. you are sure? you are sure?" "sure, madame, sure. he was not in their hands. he was dismounted in the first shock, it seems, and, coming to himself after a time, crept away and reached st. gilles, and came hither in a boat. but the enemy learned that he had not entered with us, and of this the priest wove his snare. blessed be god, who put it into your heart to escape it!" the countess stood motionless, and with closed eyes pressed her hands to her temples. once she swayed as if she would fall her length, and bigot sprang forward to support and save her. but she opened her eyes at that, sighed very deeply, and seemed to recover herself. "you are sure?" she said faintly. "it is no trick?" "no, madame, it is no trick," la tribe answered. "m. de tignonville is alive, and here." "here!" she started at the word. the colour fluttered in her cheek. "but the keys," she murmured. and she passed her hand across her brow. "i thought--that i had them." "he has not entered," the minister answered, "for that reason. he is waiting at the postern, where he landed. he came, hoping to be of use to you." she paused a moment, and when she spoke again her aspect had undergone a subtle change. her head was high, a flush had risen to her cheeks, her eyes were bright. "then," she said, addressing la tribe, "do you, monsieur, go to him, and pray him in my name to retire to st. gilles, if he can do so without peril. he has no place here--now; and if he can go safely to his home it will be well that he do so. add, if you please, that madame de tavannes thanks him for his offer of aid, but in her husband's house she needs no other protection." bigot's eyes sparkled with joy. the minister hesitated. "no more, madame?" he faltered. he was tender- hearted, and tignonville was of his people. "no more," she said gravely, bowing her head. "it is not m. de tignonville i have to thank, but heaven's mercy, that i do not stand here at this moment unhappy as i entered--a woman accursed, to be pointed at while i live. and the dead"--she pointed solemnly through the dark casement to the shore--"the dead lie there." la tribe went. she stood a moment in thought, and then took the keys from the rough stone window-ledge on which she had laid them when she entered. as the cold iron touched her fingers she shuddered. the contact awoke again the horror and misery in which she had groped, a lost thing, when she last felt that chill. "take them," she said; and she gave them to bigot. "until my lord can leave his couch they will remain in your charge, and you will answer for all to him. go, now, take the light; and in half an hour send madame carlat to me." a wave broke heavily on the causeway and ran down seething to the sea; and another and another, filling the room with rhythmical thunders. but the voice of the sea was no longer the same in the darkness, where the countess knelt in silence beside the bed--knelt, her head bowed on her clasped hands, as she had knelt before, but with a mind how different, with what different thoughts! count hannibal could see her head but dimly, for the light shed upwards by the spume of the sea fell only on the rafters. but he knew she was there, and he would fain, for his heart was full, have laid his hand on her hair. and yet he would not. he would not, out of pride. instead he bit on his harsh beard, and lay looking upward to the rafters, waiting what would come. he who had held her at his will now lay at hers, and waited. he who had spared her life at a price now took his own a gift at her hands, and bore it. "_afterwards, madame de tavannes_--" his mind went back by some chance to those words--the words he had neither meant nor fulfilled. it passed from them to the marriage and the blow; to the scene in the meadow beside the river; to the last ride between la fleche and angers--the ride during which he had played with her fears and hugged himself on the figure he would make on the morrow. the figure? alas! of all his plans for dazzling her had come--_this_! angers had defeated him, a priest had worsted him. in place of releasing tignonville after the fashion of bayard and the paladins, and in the teeth of snarling thousands, he had come near to releasing him after another fashion and at his own expense. instead of dazzling her by his mastery and winning her by his magnanimity, he lay here, owing her his life, and so weak, so broken, that the tears of childhood welled up in his eyes. out of the darkness a hand, cool and firm, slid into his, clasped it tightly, drew it to warm lips, carried it to a woman's bosom. "my lord," she murmured, "i was the captive of your sword, and you spared me. him i loved you took and spared him too--not once or twice. angers, also, and my people you would have saved for my sake. and you thought i could do this! oh! shame, shame!" but her hand held his always. "you loved him," he muttered. "yes, i loved him," she answered slowly and thoughtfully. "i loved him." and she fell silent a minute. then, "and i feared you," she added, her voice low. "oh, how i feared you--and hated you!" "and now?" "i do not fear him," she answered, smiling in the darkness. "nor hate him. and for you, my lord, i am your wife and must do your bidding, whether i will or no. i have no choice." he was silent. "is that not so?" she asked. he tried weakly to withdraw his hand. but she clung to it. "i must bear your blows or your kisses. i must be as you will and do as you will, and go happy or sad, lonely or with you, as you will! as you will, my lord! for i am your chattel, your property, your own. have you not told me so?" "but your heart," he cried fiercely, "is his! your heart, which you told me in the meadow could never be mine!" "i lied," she murmured, laughing tearfully, and her hands hovered over him. "it has come back! and it is on my lips." and she leant over and kissed him. and count hannibal knew that he had entered into his kingdom, the sovereignty of a woman's heart. * * * * * an hour later there was a stir in the village on the mainland. lanthorns began to flit to and fro. sulkily men were saddling and preparing for the road. it was far to challans, farther to lege--more than one day, and many a weary league to ponts de ce and the loire. the men who had ridden gaily southwards on the scent of spoil and revenge turned their backs on the castle with many a sullen oath and word. they burned a hovel or two, and stripped such as they spared, after the fashion of the day; and it had gone ill with the peasant woman who fell into their hands. fortunately, under cover of the previous night every soul had escaped from the village, some to sea, and the rest to take shelter among the sand-dunes; and as the troopers rode up the path from the beach, and through the green valley, where their horses shied from the bodies of the men they had slain, there was not an eye to see them go. or to mark the man who rode last, the man of the white face--scarred on the temple--and the burning eyes, who paused on the brow of the hill, and, before he passed beyond, cursed with quivering lips the foe who had escaped him. the words were lost, as soon as spoken, in the murmur of the sea on the causeway; the sea, fit emblem of the eternal, which rolled its tide regardless of blessing or cursing, good or ill will, nor spared one jot of ebb or flow because a puny creature had spoken to the night. in honour's cause, by george manville fenn. ________________________________________________________________________ this book is set in the court of george the first, a hanoverian king who was not very popular. to make himself feel more comfortable he had introduced into his court a number of german people, and also dutch ones. the hero of the story is -year old frank gowan, who is a page in the ante-room of the prince of wales, the king's eldest son. his father is an officer in the king's guard. another page is andrew, whose father is pro-jacobite, as andrew is himself. one evening a german baron deliberately insults frank's father, and a duel ensues, in which the german is very badly wounded, but eventually recovers. however, frank's father, who is very loyal to the king, is sentenced to be kicked out of his regiment, and to leave the country. the rest of the book is a series of searches for frank's father, sir robert gowan, roof-top escapes, working out who are the spies, and who the heroes in disguise. most of the action takes place in the palace, in the park which is still adjacent (and a very pretty part of london), and in a house in a street just the other side of the park from saint james's palace. as always with this author there are a number of close shaves. nh ________________________________________________________________________ in honour's cause, by george manville fenn. chapter one. two young courtiers. "ha--ha--ha--ha!" a regular ringing, hearty, merry laugh--just such an outburst of mirth as a strong, healthy boy of sixteen, in the full, bright, happy time of youth, and without a trouble on his mind, can give vent to when he sees something that thoroughly tickles his fancy. just at the same time the heavy london clouds which had been hanging all the morning over the park opened a little to show the blue sky, and a broad ray of sunshine struck in through the anteroom window and lit up the gloomy, handsome chamber. between them--the laugh and the sunshine--they completely transformed the place, as the lad who laughed threw himself into a chair, and then jumped up again in a hurry to make sure that he had not snapped in two the sword he wore in awkward fashion behind him. the lad's companion, who seemed to be about a couple of years older, faced round suddenly from the other end of the room, glanced sharply at one of the doors, and then said hurriedly: "i say, you mustn't laugh like that here." "it isn't broken," said he who had helped to make the solemn place look more cheerful. "what, your sword? lucky for you. i told you to take care how you carried it. easy enough when you are used to one." the speaker laid his left hand lightly on the hilt of his own, pressed it down a little, and stood in a stiff, deportment-taught attitude, as if asking the other to study him as a model. "but you mustn't burst out into guffaws like that in the palace." "seems as if you mustn't do anything you like here," said the younger lad. "wish i was back at winchester." "pooh, schoolboy! i shall have enough to do before i make anything of you." "you never will. i'm sick of it already: no games, no runs down by the river or over the fields; nothing to do but dress up in these things, and stand like an image all day. i feel just like a pet monkey in a cage." "and look it," said the other contemptuously. "what!" said the boy, flushing up to the temples, as he took a step toward the speaker, and with flashing eyes looked him up and down. "well, if you come to that, so do you, with your broad skirts, salt-box pockets, lace, and tied-up hair. see what thin legs you've got too!" "you insolent--no, i didn't mean that;" and an angry look gave place to a smile. "lay your feathers down, master frank gowan, and don't draw master frank gowan, and don't draw your skewer; that's high treason in the king's palace. you mustn't laugh here when you're on duty. if there's any fighting to be done, they call in the guard; and if any one wants to quarrel, he must go somewhere else." "i don't want to quarrel," said the boy, rather sulkily. "you did a moment ago, for all your hackles were sticking up like a gamecock's." "well, i don't now, drew," said the boy, smiling frankly; "but the place is all so stiff and formal and dull, and i can't help wanting to be back in the country. i used to think one was tied down there at the school, but that was free liberty to this." "oh, you young barbarian! school and the country! right enough for boys." "well, we're boys." the other coughed slightly, took a measured pace or two right and left, and gave a furtive glance at his handsome, effeminate face and slight form in the glass. then he said, rather haughtily: "you are, of course; but i should have thought that you might have begun to look upon me as a man." "oh, i will, if you like," said the other, smiling,--"a very young one, though. of course you're ever so much older than i am. but there, i'm going to try and like it; and i like you, forbes, for being so good to me. i'm not such a fool as not to know that i'm a sort of un-licked cub, and you will go on telling me what i ought, to do and what i oughtn't. i can play games as well as most fellows my age; but all this stiff, starchy court etiquette sickens me." "yes," said his companion, with a look of disgust on his face; "miserable, clumsy dutch etiquette. as different from the grand, graceful style of the old _regime_ and of saint germains as chalk is from cheese." "i say," said the younger of the pair merrily, after imitating his companion's glances at the doors, "you must not talk like that here." "talk like what?" said the elder haughtily. "calling things dutch, and about saint germains. i say, isn't that high treason?" "pooh!--well, yes, i suppose you're right. your turn now. but we won't quarrel, franky." "then, don't call me that," said the boy sharply; "frank, if you like. i did begin calling you drew. it's shorter and better than andrew. i say, i am ever so much obliged to you." "don't mention it. i promised sir robert i would look after you." "yes, my father told me." "and i like lady gowan. she's as nice as she is handsome. my mother was something like her." "then she must have been one of the dearest, sweetest, and best ladies that ever lived," cried the boy warmly. "thank ye, frank," said the youth, smiling and laying his arm in rather an affected manner upon the speaker's shoulder, as he crossed his legs and again posed himself with his left hand upon his sword hilt. but there was no affectation in the tone of the thanks expressed; in fact, there was a peculiar quiver in his voice and a slight huskiness of which he was self-conscious, and he hurriedly continued: "oh yes, i like you. i did at first; you seemed so fresh and daisy-like amongst all this heavy dutch formality. i'll tell you everything; and if you can't have the country, i'll see that you do have some fun. we'll go out together, and you must see my father. he's a fine, dashing officer; he ought to have had a good command given him. i say, frank, he's great friends with sir robert." "is he? my father never said so." "mine did; but--er--i think there are reasons just now why they don't want it to be known. you see your father's in the king's guards." "yes." "well, and mine isn't. he is not very fond of the house of brunswick." "i say, mind what you are saying." "of course. i shouldn't say it to any one else. but, i say, what made you burst put into that roar of laughter about nothing?" "it wasn't about nothing," said frank, with a mirthful look in his eyes. "what was it then? see anything out of the window?" "oh no; it was in this room." "well, what was it?" "oh, never mind." "here, i thought we were going to be great friends." "of course." "then friends must confide in one another. why don't you speak?" "i don't want to offend you." "come, out with it." "well, i was laughing at you." "why?" "to see you admiring yourself in the glass there." andrew forbes made an angry gesture, but laughed it off. "well, the prince's pages are expected to look well," he said. "you always look well without. but i wish you wouldn't do that sort of thing; it makes you seem so girlish." there was another angry gesture. "i can't help my looks." "there, now, you're put out again." "no, not a bit," said the youth hastily. "i say, though, you don't think much of the king, do you?" "oh yes," said frank thoughtfully; "of course." "why?" "why? well, because he's the king, of course. don't you?" "no! i don't think anything of him. he's only a poor german prince, brought over by the whigs. i always feel ready to laugh in his face." "i say," cried frank, looking at his companion in horror, "do you know what you are saying?" "oh yes; and i don't think a great deal of the prince. my father got me here; but i don't feel in my place, and i'm not going to sacrifice myself, even if i am one of the pages. i believe in the stuarts, and i always shall." "this is more treasonable than what you said before." "well, it's the truth." "perhaps it is. i say, you're a head taller than i am." "yes, i know that." "but you don't seem to know that if you talk like that you'll soon be the same height." "what, you think my principles will keep me standing still, while yours make you grow tall?" "no. i think if it gets known you'll grow short all in a moment." "they'll chop my head off? pooh! i'm not afraid. you won't blab." "but you've no business to be here." "oh yes, i have. plenty think as i do. you will one of these days." "never! what, go against the king!" "this german usurper you mean. oh, you'll come over to our side." "what, with my father in the king's guards, and my mother one of the princess's ladies of the bed-chamber! nice thing for a man to have a son who turned traitor." "what a red-hot whig you are, frank! you're too young and too fresh to london and the court to understand these things. he's king because a few whigs brought him over here. if you were to go about london, you'd find every one nearly on the other side." "i don't believe it." "come for a few walks with me, and i'll take you where you can hear people talking about it." "i don't want to hear people talk treason, and i can't get away." "oh yes, you can; i'll manage it. don't you want to go out?" "yes; but not to hear people talk as you say. they must be only the scum who say such things." "better be the scum which rises than the dregs which sink to the bottom. come, i know you'd like a run." "i'll go with you in the evening, and try and catch some of the fish in that lake." "what, the king's carp! ha--ha! you want old bigwig to give you five pounds." "old bigwig--who's he?" "you know; the king." "sh!" "pooh! no one can hear." "but what do you mean about the five pounds?" "didn't you hear? they say he wrote to some one in hanover saying that he could not understand the english, for when he came to the palace they told him it was his, and when he looked out of the window he saw a park with a long canal in it, and they told him that was his too. then next day the ranger sent him a big brace of carp out of it, and when they told him he was to behave like a prince and give the messenger five guineas, he was astonished. oh, he isn't a bit like a king." "i say, do be quiet. i don't want you to get into trouble." "of course you don't," said the lad merrily. "but you mustn't think of going fishing now. hark! there are the guards." he hurried to the window, through which the trampling of horses and jingling of spurs could be heard, and directly after the leaders of a long line of horse came along between the rows of trees, the men gay in their scarlet and gold, their accoutrements glittering in the sunshine. "look well, don't they?" said andrew forbes. "they ought to have given my father a command like that. if he had a few regiments of horse, and as many of foot, he'd soon make things different for old england." "i say, do be quiet, drew. you'll be getting in trouble, i know you will. why can't you let things rest." "because i'm a royalist." "no, you're not; you're a jacobite. i say, why do they call them jacobites? what jacob is it who leads them?" "and you just fresh from winchester! where's your latin?" "oh, i see," cried the boy: "jacobus--james." "that's right; you may go up. i wish i was an officer in the guards." "behave yourself then, and some day the prince may get you a commission." "not he. perhaps i shall have one without. well, you'll go with me this evening?" "oh, i don't know." "that means you would if you could. well, i'll manage it. and i'll soon show you what the people in london think about the king." "sh! some one coming." the two lads darted from the window as one of the doors was thrown open, and an attendant made an announcement which resulted in the pages going to the other end to open the farther door and draw back to allow the prince and princess with a little following of ladies to pass through, one of the last of the group turning to smile at frank gowan and kiss her hand. the boy turned to his companion, looking flushed and proud as the door was closed after the retiring party. "how handsome the princess looked!" he said. "hush!" said forbes. "pretty well. not half so nice as your mother; you ought to be proud of her, frank." "i am," said the boy. "but what a pity!" "what's a pity?" "that she should be in the princess's train." "a pity! why the princess makes her quite a friend." "more pity still. well, we shall be off duty soon, and then i'll get leave for us to go." "i don't think i want to now." "well i do, and you'd better come and take care of me, or perhaps i shall get into a scrape." "no, you will not. you only talk as you do to banter me." "think so?" said andrew, with a peculiar smile. "well, we shall see. but you'll come?" "yes," said frank readily, "to keep you from getting into a scrape." chapter two. signs of the times. the water in the canal looked ruddy golden in the light glowing in the west, as the two pages passed through the courtyard along beneath the arches, where the soldiers on guard saluted them, and reached the long mall planted with trees. "halt! one can breathe here," said frank, with his eyes brightening. "come along; let's have a run." "quiet, quiet! what a wild young colt you are!--this isn't the country." "no; but it looks like a good makeshift!" cried frank. "who's disloyal now? nice way to speak of his majesty's park! i say, you're short enough as it is." "no, i'm not. i'm a very fair height for my age. it's you who are too long." "never mind that; but it's my turn to talk. suppose you get cut shorter for saying disloyal things under the window of the palace." "stuff! rubbish!" "is it? they give it to the people they call rebels pretty hard for as trifling things," said andrew, flushing a little. "they flogged three soldiers to death the other day for wearing oak apples in their caps." "what? why did they wear oak apples in their caps?" "because it was king charles's day; and they've fined and imprisoned and hung people for all kinds of what they call rebellious practices." "then you'd better be careful, master drew," said frank merrily. "i say, my legs feel as if they were full of pins and needles, with standing about so much doing nothing. it's glorious out here. come along; i'll race you to the end of this row of trees." "with the people who may be at the windows watching us! where's your dignity?" "have none. they wouldn't know it was us. we're not dressed up now, and we look like any one else." "i hope not," said andrew, drawing himself up. frank laughed, and his companion looked nettled. "it is nothing to laugh at. do you suppose i want to be taken for one of the mob?" "of course i don't. but, i say, look. i saw a fish rise with a regular flop. that must be a carp. they are fond of leaping out of the water with a splash. i say, this isn't a lake, is it? looks like a river." "oh, i don't know--yes, i do. some one said it's part of a stream that comes down from out beyond tyburn way, where they hang the people." "ugh! horrid! but look here, the water seems beautifully clear. let's get up to-morrow morning and have a bathe. i'll swim you across there and back." "tchah! i say, frank, what a little savage you are!" "didn't know there was anything savage in being fond of swimming." "well, i did. a man isn't a fish." "no," said frank, laughing; "he's flesh." "you know, now you belong to the prince's household, and live in the king's palace, you must forget all these boyish follies." "oh dear!" sighed frank. "we've got to support the dignity of the establishment as gentlemen in the prince's train. it wants it badly enough, with all these sausage-eating vans and vons and herrs. we must do it while things are in this state for the sake of old england." "i wish i had never come here," said frank dismally. "no, i don't," he added cheerfully. "i am close to my mother, and i see father sometimes. i say, didn't he look well at the head of his company yesterday?" "splendid!" cried andrew warmly. "here, cheer up, young one; you'll soon get to like it; and one of these days we'll both be marching at the heads of our companies." "think so?" cried frank eagerly. "i'm sure of it. of course i like our uniform, and thousands of fellows would give their ears to be pages at the palace; but you don't suppose i mean to keep on being a sort of lapdog in the anteroom. no. wait a bit. there'll be grand times by-and-by. we must be like the rest of the best people, looking forward to the turn of the tide." frank glanced quickly at the tall, handsome lad at his side, and quickened his pace and lengthened his stride to keep up with him, for he had drawn himself up and held his head back as if influenced by thoughts beyond the present. but he slackened down directly. "no need to make ourselves hot," he said. "you'd like to run, you little savage; but it won't do now. let the mob do that. look! that's lord ronald's carriage. quick! do as i do." he doffed his hat to the occupant of the clumsy vehicle, frank following his example; and they were responded to by a handsome, portly man with a bow and smile. "i say," said frank, "how stupid a man looks in a great wig like that." "bah! it is ridiculous. pretty fashion these dutchmen have brought in." "dutchmen! what dutchmen?" "oh, never mind, innocence," said andrew, with a half laugh. "just think of how handsome the gentlemen of the stuart time looked in their doublets, buff boots, long natural hair, and lace. this fashion is disgusting. here's old granthill coming now," he continued, as the trampling of horses made him glance back. "don't turn round; don't see him." "very well," said frank with a laugh; "but whoever he is, i don't suppose he'll mind whether i bow or not." "whoever he is!" cried andrew contemptuously. "i say, don't you know that he is one of the king's ministers?" "no," said frank thoughtfully. "oh yes, i do; i remember now. of course. but i've never thought about these things. he's the gentleman, isn't he, that they say is unpopular?" "well, you are partly right. he is unpopular; but i don't look upon him as a gentleman. hark! hear that?" he shouted excitedly, as he looked eagerly toward where the first carriage had passed round the curve ahead of him on its way toward westminster. "yes, there's something to see. i know; it must be the soldiers. come along; i want to see them." "no, it isn't the soldiers; it's the people cheering lord ronald on his way to the parliament house. they like him. every one does. he knows my father, and yours too. he knows me. didn't you see him smile? i'll introduce you to him first time there's a levee." "no, i say, don't," said frank, flushing. "he'd laugh at me." "so do i now. but this won't do, frank; you mustn't be so modest." the second carriage which had passed them rolled on round the curve in the track of the first and disappeared, frank noticing that many of the promenaders turned their heads to look after it. then his attention was taken up by his companion's words. "look here," he cried; "i want to show you fleet street." "fleet street," said frank,--"fleet street. isn't that where temple bar is?" "well done, countryman! quite right." "then i don't want to see it." "why?" said andrew, turning to him in surprise at the change which had come over his companion, who spoke in a sharp, decided way. "because i read about the two traitors' heads being stuck up there on temple bar, and it seems so horrible and barbarous." "so it is, frank," whispered andrew, grasping his companion's arm. "it's horrible and cowardly. it's brutal; and--and--i can't find words bad enough for the act of insulting the dead bodies of brave men after they've executed them. but never mind; it will be different some day. there, i always knew i should like you, young one. you've got the right stuff in you for making a brave, true gentleman; and--and i hope i have." "i'm sure you have," cried frank warmly. "then we will not pass under the old city gate, with its horrible, grinning heads: but i must take you to fleet street; so we'll go to westminster stairs and have a boat--it will be nice on the river." "yes, glorious on an evening like this," cried frank excitedly; "and, i say, we can go round by queen anne street." "what for? it's out of the way." "well, only along by the park side; i want to look up at our windows." "but your mother's at the palace." "father might be at home; he often sits at one of the windows looking over the park." "come along then," cried andrew mockingly; "the good little boy shall be taken where he can see his father and mother, and--hark! listen! hear that?" he cried excitedly. "yes. what can it be?" "the people hooting and yelling at granthill. they're mobbing his carriage. run, run! i must see that." andrew forbes trotted off, forgetting all his dignity as one of the princess's pages, and heedless now in his excitement of what any of the well-dressed promenaders might think; while, laughing to himself the while, frank kept step with him, running easily and looking quite cool when the tall, overgrown lad at his side, who was unused to outdoor exercise, dropped into a walk panting heavily. "too late!" he said, in a tone of vexation. "there the carriage goes, through storey's gate. look at the crowd after it. they'll hoot him till the soldiers stop them. come along, frank; we shall see a fight, and perhaps some one will be killed." chapter three. getting into hot water. the excitement of his companion was now communicated to frank gowan, and as fast as they could walk they hurried on toward the gate at the corner of the park, passing knot after knot of people talking about the scene which had taken place. but the boy did not forget to look eagerly in the direction of the row of goodly houses standing back behind the trees, and facing on to the park, before they turned out through the gate and found themselves in the tail of the crowd hurrying on toward palace ward. the crowd grew more dense till they reached the end of the street with the open space in front, where it was impossible to go farther. "let's try and get round," whispered andrew. "do you hear? they're fighting!" being young and active, they soon managed to get round to where they anticipated obtaining a view of the proceedings; but there was nothing to see but a surging crowd, for the most part well-dressed, but leavened by the mob, and this was broken up from time to time by the passing of carriages whose horses were forced to walk. "oh, if we could only get close up!" said andrew impatiently. "hark at the shouting and yelling. they are fighting with the soldiers now." "no, no, not yet, youngster," said a well-dressed man close by them; "it's only men's canes and fists. the whigs are getting the worst of it; so you two boys had better go while your heads are whole." "what do you mean?" "oh, i know a whig when i see one, my lad." "do you mean that as an insult, sir?" said andrew haughtily. "no," said the gentleman, smiling; "only as a bit of advice." "because if you did--" said andrew, laying his hand upon his sword. "you would send your friends to me, boy, and then i should not fight. nonsense, my lad. there, off with your friend while your shoes are good, and don't raise your voice, or some one will find out that you are from the palace. then the news would run like wild fire, and you ought to know by this time what a cowardly london mob will do. they nearly tore sir marland granthill out of his carriage just now. there, if i am not on your side, i speak as a friend." before andrew could make any retort, and just as frank was tugging at his arm to get him away, they were separated from the stranger by a rush in the crowd, which forced them up into a doorway, from whose step they saw, one after the other, no less than six men borne along insensible and bleeding from wounds upon the head, while their clothes were nearly torn from their backs. then the shouting and yelling began to subside, and the two lads were forced to go with the stream, till an opportunity came for them to dive down a side street and reach the river stairs, where they took a wherry and were rowed east. "i should like to know who that man was," said andrew, after a long silence, during which they went gliding along with the falling tide. "he spoke very well," said frank. "yes; but he took me for a whig," said the youth indignantly. "but, i say, what was it all about?" "oh, you'll soon learn that," replied andrew. "is there often fighting like this going on in the streets?" "every day somewhere." "but why?" said frank anxiously. "surely you know! because the whigs have brought in a king that the people do not like. there, don't talk about it any more now. i want to sit still and think." frank respected his companion's silence, and thankful at having escaped from the heat and pressure of the crowd, he sat gazing at the moving panorama on either side, enjoying the novelty of his position. his musings upon what he saw were interrupted by his companion, who repeated his former words suddenly in a low, thoughtful voice, but one full of annoyance, as if the words were rankling in his memory. "he took me for a whig." then, catching sight of his companion's eyes watching him wonderingly: "what say?" he cried. "did you speak?" "no; you did." "no, i said nothing." frank smiled. "yes, you said again that the man in the crowd took you for a whig." "did i? well, i was thinking aloud then." "where to, sir?" asked the waterman, as he sent the boat gliding along past the gardens of the temple, "london bridge?" "no; blackfriars." a few minutes later they landed at the stairs, and, apparently quite at home in the place, andrew led his companion in and out among the gloomy-looking streets and lanes of the old alsatian district, and out into the continuation of what might very well be called high street, london. "here we are," he said, as he directed their steps toward one of the narrow courts which ran north from the main thoroughfare; but upon reaching the end, where a knot of excitable-looking men were talking loudly upon some subject which evidently interested them deeply, one of the loudest speakers suddenly ceased his harangue and directed the attention of his companions to the two lads. the result was that all faced round and stared at them offensively, bringing the colour into andrew's cheeks and making frank feel uncomfortable. "let's go straight on," said the former; and drawing himself up, he walked straight toward the group, which extended right across the rough pavement and into the road, so that any one who wanted to pass along would be compelled to make a circuit by stepping down first into the dirty gutter. "keep close to me; don't give way," whispered andrew; and he kept on right in the face of the staring little crowd, till he was brought to a standstill, not a man offering to budge. "will you allow us to pass?" said andrew haughtily. "plenty o' room in the road," shouted the man who had been speaking. "aren't you going up the court?" "i do not choose to go into the muddy road, sir, because you and your party take upon yourselves to block up the public way," retorted andrew, giving the man so fierce a look that for a moment or two he was somewhat abashed, and his companions, influenced by the stronger will of one who was in the right, began to make way for the well-dressed pair. but the first man found his tongue directly. "here, clear the road!" he cried banteringly. "make way, you dirty blackguards, for my lords. lie down, some of you, and let 'em walk over you. lost your way, my lords? why didn't you come in your carriages, with horse soldiers before and behind? but it's no use to-day; the lord mayor's gone out to dinner with his wife." a roar of coarse laughter followed this sally, which increased as another man shouted in imitation of military commands: "heads up; draw skewers; right forward; ma-rr-rr-ch!" "scum!" said andrew contemptuously, as they left the little crowd behind. "is the city always like this?" said frank, whose face now was as red as his companion's. "yes, now," said andrew bitterly. "that's a specimen of a whig mob." "nonsense!" cried frank, rather warmly; "don't be so prejudiced. how can you tell that they are whigs?" "by the way in which they jumped at a chance to insult gentlemen. horse soldiers indeed! draw swords! oh! i should like to be at the head of a troop, to give the order and chase the dirty ruffians out of the street, and make my men thrash them with the flats of their blades till they went down on their knees in the mud and howled for mercy." "what a furious fire-eater you are, drew," cried frank, recovering his equanimity. "we ought to have stepped out into the road." "for a set of jeering ruffians like that!" cried andrew. "no. they hate to see a gentleman go by. london is getting disgraceful now." "never mind. there, i've seen enough of it. let's get down to the river again, and take a boat; it's much pleasanter than being in this noisy, crowded place." "not yet. we've a better right here than a mob like that. it would be running away." "why, how would they know?" said frank merrily. "i should know, and feel as if i had disgraced myself," replied andrew haughtily. "besides, i wanted to see a gentleman." "what, up that court?" said frank, looking curiously at his companion. "yes, a gentleman up that court. there are plenty of gentlemen, and noblemen, too, driven nowadays to live in worse places than that, and hide about in holes and corners." "oh, i say, don't be so cross because a lot of idlers would not make way." "it isn't that," said the youth. "it half maddens me sometimes." "then don't think about it. you are always talking about politics. i don't understand much about them, but it seems to me that if people obey the laws they can live happily enough." "poor frank!" said andrew mockingly. "but never mind. you have got everything to learn. this way." the boy was thinking that he did not want to learn "everything" if the studies were to make him as irritable and peppery as his companion, when the imperative order to turn came upon him by surprise, and he followed andrew, who had suddenly turned into a narrower court than the one for which he had first made, and out of the roaring street into comparative silence. "where are you going?" "this way. we can get round by the back. i want to see my friend." the court was only a few feet wide, and the occupants of the opposing houses could easily have carried on a conversation from the open windows; but these occupants seemed to be too busy, for in the glimpses he obtained as they passed, frank caught sight of workmen in paper caps and dirty white aprons, and boys hurrying to and fro, carrying packets of paper. but he had not much opportunity for noticing what business was being carried on, for they soon reached the end of the court, where a fresh group of men were standing listening to a speaker holding forth from an open window, and the lad fully expected a similar scene to that which had taken place in the main street. but people made way here, and andrew, apparently quite at home, turned to the left along a very dirty lane, plunged into another court, and in and out two or three times in silence, along what seemed to the boy fresh from quaint old winchester a perfect maze. "i say, drew," he said at last, "you must have been here before." "i? oh yes! i know london pretty well. now down here." he plunged sharply now round a corner and into the wide court he had at first made for, but now from its northern end. so quick and sudden was the movement made that the two lads, before they could realise the fact, found themselves in another crowd, which filled this court from end to end. the people composing it were principally of the rough class they had seen grouped at the lower part, but fully half were workmen in their shirt sleeves, many of them with faces blackened by their occupation, while a smaller portion was well-dressed, and kept on moving about and talking earnestly to the people around. "too late," said andrew, half to himself. "yes; we shall have to go round and reach the street farther along," said frank quietly. "we don't want to push through there." "but it's here i want to see my friend." "does he live in this place?" "no; but he is sure to be there--in that house." the lad nodded at a goodly sized mansion about half-way down the court; and even from where they stood they could make out that the place was crowded, and that something exciting was going on, the crowd in the court outside being evidently listeners, trying to catch what was said within, the murmurs of which reached the two lads' ears. all at once there was a loud outburst of cheering, shouting, and clapping of hands, as if at the conclusion of a speech; and this was responded to by a roar of yells, hoots, and derisive cries from the court. "oh! too late--too late," muttered andrew. "silence, you miserable crew!" but where heard his words passed unnoticed, those around evidently taking them as being addressed to the people in the great tavern. "let's get away--quickly, while we can," said frank, with his lips close to his companion's ear; but the lad shook him off angrily, and then uttered a cry of rage, for at that moment there was a loud crash and splintering of glass, the mob in the court, evidently under the direction of the well-dressed men, hurling stones, decayed vegetables, and rubbish of all kinds in at the windows of the tavern. this was responded to by shouts of defiance and a rain of pots, glasses, and pails of water; and even the pails themselves were hurled down upon the heads of the people in the court, while a long oaken settle which came clattering down fell crosswise, the end coming within a few inches of a man's head. "oh, do let's go!" frank very naturally said, gripping andrew's arm hard. but the lad seemed to have suddenly gone crazy with excitement, shouting and gesticulating with the rest, directing his words, which sounded like menaces, at the people crowding at the window of the house. at this the mob cheered, and, as if in answer to his orders, made a rush for the door, surging in, armed for the most part with sticks, and as if to carry the place by assault. "i can't go and leave him," thought frank; and directly after--as he looked up the court toward the end by which they had entered, and down from which they had been borne until they were nearly opposite the house--"if i wanted to," he muttered, as he saw how they were wedged in and swayed here and there by the crowd. the noise increased, the crowd beginning to cheer loudly, as crowds will when excited by the chance to commit mischief, and frank remained ignorant of the reasons which impelled them on, as he watched the exciting scene. the sound of blows, yells of defiance, and the angry, increasing roar of those contending within the house, set his heart beating wildly. for a few minutes, when he found himself shut in by the people around, a feeling of dread came over him, mingled with despair at his helplessness, and he would have given anything to be able to escape from his position; but as he saw man after man come stumbling out bruised and bleeding, and heard the cries of rage uttered by those who hemmed him in, the feeling of fear gave place to indignation, and this was soon followed by an angry desire to help those who, amidst the cheers of their fellows, pressed forward to take the place of those who were beaten back. it was at this moment that he saw two well-dressed men waving swords above their heads, and, white now with rage, andrew turned to him. "the cowards--the dogs!" he whispered. "frank lad, you will be man enough to help?" "yes, yes," panted the boy huskily, with a sensation akin to that which he had felt when hurt in his last school fight, when, reckless from pain, he had dashed at a tyrannical fellow-pupil who was planting blow after blow upon him almost as he pleased. "draw your sword then, and follow me." frank made a struggle to wrench himself free, but it was in vain. "i can't!" he panted. "my arms are pinned down to my side." "so are mine," groaned andrew. "i can hardly breathe." a furious yell of rage arose from fifty throats, and the two lads saw the attacking party come tumbling one over the other out of the tavern, driven back by the defenders, who charged bravely out after them, armed with stick and sword; and almost before the two lads could realise their position they found themselves being carried along in the human stream well out of reach of the blows being showered down by the rallying party from the house, who literally drove their enemies before them, at first step by step, striking back in their own defence, rendered desperate by their position, then giving up and seeking refuge in flight, when with a rush their companions gave way more and more in front. for a few minutes the heat and pressure were suffocating, and as frank and his companion were twisted round and borne backward, the former felt a peculiar sensation of giddy faintness, the walls swam round, the shouting sounded distant, and he was only half-conscious when, in company with those around, he was shot out of the narrow entrance of the court; and then the terrible pressure ceased. chapter four. frank's eyes begin to open. everything else seemed to the boy to cease at the same time, till he became conscious of feeling cold and wet, and heard a voice speaking: "and him quite a boy too. i wonder what his mother would say.--here, drink this, my dear; and don't you never go amongst the crazy, quarrelsome wretches again. i don't know what we're coming to with their fighting in the streets. it isn't safe to go out, that it isn't. drink it all, my dear; you'll feel better then. i always feel faint myself if i get in a crowd." frank had heard every word, with a peculiar dreamy feeling that he ought to listen and know who the boy was so addressed. then he became conscious that it was he who was drinking from a mug of water held to his lips; and, opening his eyes, he looked up into a pleasant, homely face bending over him in an open doorway, upon whose step he was sitting, half leaning against the doorpost, half against the woman who was kneeling at his side. "ah, that's better," said the woman. "now you take my advice; you go straight home. you're not a man yet, and don't want to mix yourself up with people fighting about who ought to be king. just as if it matters to such as us. as i often tell my husband, he'd a deal better attend to getting his living, and not go listening to people argifying whether it's to be the king on the other side of the water or on this. i say, give me peace and--you feel better, don't you?" "yes, thank you," said frank, making an effort to rise; but the moment he tried the ground seemed to heave up beneath him. "you're not quite right yet, my dear; sit still a little longer. and you too with a sword by your side, just as if you wanted to fight. i call it shocking, that i do." "but i am much better," said frank, ignoring the woman's remarks. "i can walk now. but did you see my friend?" "your friend? was it one of those rough-looking fellows who came running down with you between 'em, and half a dozen more hunting them, and they pushed you in here and ran on?" "oh no. my friend is a--ah! there he is. drew! drew!" looking white and strange, andrew forbes was coming hurriedly down the narrow lane, when he heard his name pronounced, and looking round he caught sight of his companion, and hurried to his side. "oh, here you are!" he panted. "i've been looking for you everywhere. i was afraid they had taken you to the watch-house. i couldn't keep by you; i was regularly dragged away." "were you hurt?" cried frank excitedly. "felt as if my ribs were all crushed in. but what about you?" "i suppose i turned faint," said frank. "i didn't know anything till i found myself here, and this lady giving me water." "oh, i'm not a lady, my dear," said the woman, smiling,--"only a laundress as does for some of the gentlemen in the temple. there now, you both go home; for i can see that you don't belong to this part of the town. i dare say, if the truth was known, he brought you here." frank was silent, but he glanced up at andrew, who was carefully rearranging his dress and brushing his cocked hat. "i thought as much," said the woman. "he's bigger, and he ought to have known better than to get into such a shameful disturbance.--what's that?--lor' bless me, no, my dear! why should i take a mark for a mug of cold water? put it in your pocket, my dear; you'll want it to buy cakes and apples. i don't want to be paid for doing a christian act." "then thank you very much," said frank warmly, offering his hand. "oh! if you will," said the woman, "i don't mind. it isn't the first time i've shook hands with a gentleman." the woman turned, smiling with pleasure, as if to repeat the performance with andrew forbes; but as she caught sight of his frowning countenance her hand fell to her side, and she dropped the youth a formal curtsey. "thank you for helping my friend," he said. "you're quite welkum, young man," said the woman tartly. "and if you'll take my advice, you won't bring him into these parts again, where they're doing nothing else but swash-buckling from morning to night. the broken heads i've seen this year is quite awful, and--" andrew forbes did not wait to hear the rest, but passed his arm through that of frank, and walked with him swiftly down the narrow lane toward the water-side. "you're not much hurt, are you?" "oh no. it was the heat and being squeezed so." "don't say you were frightened, lad!" cried andrew. "i was at first; but when i saw the people being knocked about so, i felt as if i wanted to help." "that's right. you've got the right stuff in you. but wasn't it glorious?" "glorious?" "yes!" cried andrew excitedly. "it was brave and gallant to a degree. the cowardly brutes were three times as many as the others." "oh no; the other side was the stronger, and they ought to have whipped." "nonsense! you don't know what you are talking about," said andrew warmly. "the miserable brutes were five or six times as strong, and the brave fellows drove them like a flock of sheep right out of the court, and scattered them in the street like chaff. oh, it made up for everything!" frank put his hand to his head. "i don't quite understand it," he said. "my head feels swimming and queer yet. i thought the people in the house were the weaker--i mean those who dashed out shouting, `down with the dutchmen!'" "of course," cried andrew; "that's what i'm saying. it was very horrible to be situated as we were." "yes, horrible," said frank quietly. "not able to so much as draw one's sword." "too much squeezed together." "yes," said andrew, with his face flushed warmly. "i did cry out and shout to them to come on; but one was so helpless and mixed-up-like that people could hardly tell which side they belonged to." "no," said frank drily; "it was hard." he looked meaningly at his companion as he spoke; but andrew's eyes were gazing straight before him, and he was seeing right into the future. "did you see your friend you wanted to speak to?" said frank, as they reached the river-side. "see him? yes, fighting like a hero; but i couldn't get near him. never mind; another time will do. i little thought i should come to the city to-day to see such a victory. it all shows how things are working." "going to ride back by boat?" said frank, as if to change the conversation. "oh yes; we can't go along fleet street and the strand. the streets will be full of constables, and soldiers out too i dare say. they're busy making arrests i know; and if we were to go along there, as likely as not there'd be some spy or one of the beaten side ready to point us out as having been in it." they reached the stairs, took their place in a wherry, and as they leaned back and the waterman tugged at his oars, against tide now, frank said thoughtfully: "i say, what would have happened if somebody had pointed us out?" "we should have been locked up of course, and been taken before the magistrate to-morrow. then it would all have come out about our being there, and--ha--ha--ha!--the prince would have had vacancies for two more pages.--i shouldn't have cared." "i should," said frank quickly, as he saw in imagination the pained faces of father and mother. "well, of course, so should i. don't take any notice of what i said. besides, we can be so useful as we are." "how?" said frank thoughtfully. "it always seems to me that we are but a couple of ornaments, and of no use at all." "ah! wait," said andrew quietly. then, as if feeling that he had been in his excitement letting his tongue run far too fast, he turned to his companion, and said gently: "you are the son of a gallant officer and a beautiful lady, and i know you would not say a word that would injure a friend." "i hope not," said frank, rather huskily. "i'm sure you would not, or i should not have spoken out as i have. but don't take any notice; you see, a man can't help talking politics at a time like this. well, when will you come to the city again?" "never, if i can help it," said frank shortly; and that night in bed he lay sleepless for hours, thinking of his companion's words, and grasping pretty clearly that king george the first had a personage in his palace who was utterly unworthy of trust. "and it's such a pity," said the boy, with a sigh. "i like andrew forbes, though he is a bit conceited and a dandy; but it seems as if i ought to speak to somebody about what i know. my father--my mother? there is no one else i should like to trust with such a secret. but he has left it to my honour, and i feel pulled both ways. what ought i to do?" he fell asleep at last with that question unanswered, and when he awoke the next morning the thought repeated itself with stronger force than before, "why, he must be at heart a traitor to the king!" and once more in dire perplexity frank gowan asked himself that question, "what shall i do?" chapter five. the officer of the guards. it would not take much guessing to arrive at the course taken by frank gowan. he cudgelled his brains well, being in a kind of mental balance, which one day went down in favour of making a clean breast of all he knew to his mother; the next day up went that side, for he felt quite indignant with himself. here, he argued, was he, frank gowan, freshly appointed one of the prince's pages, a most honourable position for a youth of his years, and with splendid prospects before him, cut off from his old school friendships, and enjoying a new one with a handsome, well-born lad, whom, in spite of many little failings at which he laughed, he thoroughly admired for his dash, courage, and knowledge of the world embraced by the court. this lad had completely taken him under his wing, made him proud by the preference he showed for his companionship, and ready to display his warm admiration for his new friend by making him the confidant of his secret desires; and what was he, the trusted friend, about to do? play traitor, and betray his confidence. but, then, was not andrew forbes seeking to play traitor to the king? "that's only talk and vanity," said the boy to himself. "he has done nothing traitorous; but if i go and talk to any one, i shall have done something--something cruelly treacherous, which must end in the poor fellow being sent away from the court in disgrace, perhaps to a severe punishment." he turned cold at the thought. "they hang or behead people for high treason," he thought; "and suppose drew were to be punished like that, how should i feel afterward? i should never forgive myself. besides, how could i go and worry my mother about such a business as this? it is not women's work, and it would only make her unhappy." but he felt that he might go to his father, and confide the matter to him, asking him on his honour not to do anything likely to injure drew. but he could not go and confide in his father, who was generally with his regiment, and they only met on rare occasions. by chance he caught sight of him on duty at the palace with the guard, but he could not speak to him then. at other times he was at his barrack quarters, and rarely at his town house across the park in queen anne street. this place was generally only occupied by the servants, lady gowan having apartments in the palace. hence frank felt that it would be very difficult to see his father and confide in him, and he grew more at ease in consequence. it was the way out of a difficulty most dear to many of us--to wit, letting things drift to settle themselves. and so matters went on for some days. frank had been constantly in company with andrew forbes, and his admiration for the handsome lad grew into a hearty friendship, which was as warmly returned. "he can't help knowing he is good-looking," thought frank, "and that makes him a bit conceited; but it will soon wear off. i shall joke him out of it. and he knows so much. he is so manly. he makes me feel like an awkward schoolboy beside him." frank knitted his brow a little over these thoughts, but he brightened up with a laugh directly. "i think i could startle him, though," he said half aloud, "if i had him down at winchester." it was one bright morning at the palace, where he was standing at the anteroom window just after the regular morning military display, and he had hardly thought this when a couple of hands were passed over his eyes, and he was held fast. "i know who it is," he said, "though you don't think it. it's you, drew." "how did you know?" said that individual merrily. "because you have hands like a girl's, and no lady here would have done it." "bah! hands like a girl's indeed! i shall have to lick you into a better shape, bear. you grow too insolent." "very well; why don't you begin?" said frank merrily. "because i don't choose. look here, young one; i want you to come out with me for a bit this afternoon." "no, thank you," replied the boy, shaking his head. "i don't want to go and see mad politicians quarrel and fight in the city, and get nearly squeezed to death." "who wants you to? it's only to go for a walk." "that was going for a walk." "afraid of getting your long hair taken out of curl?" said andrew banteringly. "no; that would curl up again; but i don't want to have my clothes torn off my back." "you won't get them torn off this afternoon. i want you to come in the park there, down by the water-side. you'll like that, savage." "yes, of course. can we fish?" "no, that wouldn't do; but i tell you what: you can take some bread with you and feed the ducks." "take some bread with me and feed the ducks!" cried the boy contemptuously. "well, that's what i'm going to do. then you won't come?" "yes, i will, drew, if i can get away. of course i will. oh, mother, you there?" lady gowan had just entered the room, and came up toward the window, smiling, and looking proud, happy, and almost too young to be the mother of the stout, manly-looking boy who hurried to meet her; and court etiquette did not hinder a loving exchange of kisses. she shook hands directly after with andrew forbes. "i am afraid that you two find it very dull here sometimes," she said. "well, yes, lady gowan," said the youth, "i often do. i'm not like frank here, with his friends at court." "but i have so few opportunities for seeing him, mr forbes. after a few weeks, though, i shall be at home yonder, and then you must come and spend as much time there as you can with frank." andrew bowed and smiled, and said something about being glad. "frank dear," said lady gowan, "i have had a letter from your father this morning, and i have written an answer. he wants to see you for a little while. he is at home for a couple of days. you can take the note across." "yes," cried frank, flushing with pleasure; but the next moment he turned to andrew with an apologetic look. "what is the matter?" said lady gowan. "am i interrupting some plans?" "oh, nothing, nothing, lady gowan," said andrew, warmly. "i was going out with drew, mother; but we can go another time. he will not mind." "but it was only this afternoon." "oh!" cried lady gowan, "he will be back in an hour or so. i am glad that you were going out, my boy; it will make a little change for you. and i am very glad, mr forbes, that he has found so kind a companion." andrew played the courtier to such perfection, that as soon as she had passed out of the room with her son lady gowan laughed merrily. "in confidence, frank," she said, "and not to hurt mr forbes's feelings, do not imitate his little bits of courtly etiquette. they partake too much of the dancing-master. i like to see my boy natural and manly. there, quick to your father, with my dear love, and tell him i am longing for his leave, when we can have, i hope, a couple of months in hampshire." "hah!" ejaculated frank, as he hurried across the park; "a couple of months in hampshire. i wonder how long it will be?" ten minutes later he was going up two steps at a time to the room affected by his father in the spacious house in queen anne street, where, as soon as he threw open the door, he caught sight of the lightly built but vigorous and active-looking officer in scarlet, seated at the window overlooking the park, deep in a formidable-looking letter. "ah, frank, my dear boy," he cried, hurriedly thrusting the letter into his breast, "this is good. what, an answer already? you lucky young dog, to have the best woman in the world for a mother. bless her!" he cried, kissing the letter and placing it with the other; "i'll read that when you are gone. not come to stay, i suppose?" "no, father," cried the boy, whose eyes flashed with excitement as they took in every portion of the officer in turn. "i've only come to bring the note; mother said you wished to see me." "of course, my boy, so as to have a few words. i just catch a glimpse of you now and then, but it's only a nod." "and i do often long so to come to you," cried frank, with his arm upon his father's shoulder. "that's right, boy," said sir robert, smiling and taking his hands; "but it wouldn't do for the captain of the guard to be hugging his boy before everybody, eh? we men must be men, and do all that sort of thing with a nod or a look. as long as we understand each other, my boy, that's enough, eh?" "yes, father, of course." "but bravo, frank; you're growing and putting on muscle. by george, yes! arms are getting hard, and--good--fine depth of chest for your age. don't, because you are the prince's page, grow into a dandy macaroni milk-sop, all scent, silk, long curls, and pomatum. i want you to grow into a man, fit for a soldier to fight for his king." "and that's what i want to do, father," said the lad proudly. "of course you do; and so you will. you are altering wonderfully, boy. why, hallo! i say," cried the captain, with mock seriousness, as he held his son sidewise and gazed at his profile against the light. "what's the matter, father?" cried frank, startled. "keep your head still, sir; i want to look. yes, it's a fact--very young and tender, but there it is; it's coming up fast. why, frank boy, you'll soon have to shave." "what nonsense!" cried the boy, reddening partly at being laughed at, but quite as much with satisfaction. "it's no nonsense, you young dog. there's your moustache coming, and no mistake. why, if i had a magnifying-glass, i could see it quite plainly." "i say, father, don't; i can't stop long, and--and--that teases one." "then i won't banter you, boy," cried sir robert, clapping him heartily on the shoulder; "but, i say, you know: it's too bad of you, sir. i don't like it." "what is, father? what have i done?" "oh i suppose you can't help it; but it's too bad of you to grow so fast, and make your mother look an old woman." "that she doesn't, father," cried the boy. "why, she's the youngest-looking and most beautiful lady at court." "so she is, my boy--so she is. heaven bless her!" "and as for you, father, you talk about looking old, and about me growing big and manly; i shall never grow into such a fine, handsome officer as you." "why, you wicked, parasitical, young court flatterer!" cried sir robert; "you're getting spoiled and sycophantish already." "i'm not, father!" cried the boy, flushing; "it's quite true, every word of it. everybody says what a noble-looking couple you are." "do they, my boy?" said the father more gently, and there was a trace of emotion in his tone. "but there's not much couple in it, living apart like this. ah, well, we have our duty to do, and mine is cut out for me. but never mind the looks, frank, my boy, and the gay uniform; it's the man i want you to grow into. but all the same, sir, nature is nature. look there." "what, at grandfather's portrait?" "yes, boy. you will not need to have yours painted, and i have not had mine taken for the same reason. is it like me?" "yes, father. if you were dressed the same, it would be exactly like you." "in twenty years' time it will do for you." frank laughed. "but i say yes, sir," cried sir robert. "why, in sixteen years' time, if i could have stood still, we two would be as much alike as a couple of peas. but in sixteen years perhaps i shall be in my grave." "father!" "well, i'm a soldier, my boy; and soldiers have to run risks more than other men." "oh, but you won't; you're too big and brave." "ha--ha--ha! flattering again. why, frank, i sometimes think i'm a coward." "you! a coward! i should like to hear any one say so." "a good many will perhaps, boy. but there, never mind that; and perhaps after all you had better not follow my profession." "what! not be a soldier!" "yes. do you really wish to be?" "why of course, father; i don't want to be a palace lapdog all my life." "bravo, frank! well said!" cried the father heartily. "well, you come of a military family, and i dare say i can get you a commission when the beard really does grow so that it can be seen without an optic glass." "oh, i say, father, you're beginning to tease again. i say, do get up and walk across the room." "eh? what for?" "i want to look at you." sir robert smiled and shook his head. then, slowly rising, he drew himself up in military fashion, and marched slowly across the room and back, with his broad-skirted scarlet and gold uniform coat, white breeches, and high boots, and hand resting upon his sword hilt, and looking the beau ideal of an officer of the king's guards. "there, have i been weak enough, frank?" he said, stopping in front of his son, and laying his hands affectionately upon his shoulders. "all show, my boy. when you've worn it as long as i have, you will think as little of it; but it is quite natural for it to attract a boy like you. but now sit down and tell me a little about how you spend your time. i find that you have quite taken up with andrew forbes. his father promised me that the lad should try and be companionable to you. forbes is an old friend of mine still, though he is in disgrace at court. how do you get on with andrew? like him?" "oh, very much, father." "well, don't like him too much, my boy. lads of your age are rather too ready to make idols of showy fellows a year or two older, and look up to them and imitate them, when too often the idol is not of such good stuff as the worshipper. so you like him?" "yes, father." "kind and helpful to you?" "oh, very." "well, what is it?" "what is what, father?" "that cloudy look on your face. why, frank, i've looked at you so often that i can read it quite plainly. why, you've been quarrelling with andrew forbes!" "oh no, father; we're the best of friends." "then what is it, frank? you are keeping something back." sir robert spoke almost sternly, and the son shrank from gazing in the fine, bold, questioning eyes. "i knew it," said sir robert. "what is it, boy? speak out." it was the firm officer talking now, and frank felt his breath come shorter as his heart increased the speed of its pulsations. "well, sir, i am waiting. why don't you answer?" "i can't, father." "can't? i thought my boy always trusted his father, as he trusts his son. there, out with it, frank. the old saying, my lad. the truth may be blamed, but can never be shamed. what is it--some scrape? there, let's have it, and get it over. always come to me, my boy. we are none of us perfect, so let there be no false shame. if you have done wrong, come to me and tell me like a man. if it means punishment, that will not be one hundredth part as painful to you as keeping it back and forfeiting my confidence in my dear wife's boy." "oh, i would come. i have wanted to come to you about this, but i felt that i could not." "why?" "because it would be dishonourable." "perhaps that is only your opinion, frank. would it not be better for me to give you my opinion?" the boy hesitated for a moment. then quickly: "i gave my word, father." "to whom?" "andrew forbes." "not to speak of whatever it is?" "yes, father." sir robert gowan sat looking stern and silent for a few moments as if thinking deeply. "frank boy," he said at last. "i am a man of some experience; you are a mere boy fresh from a country school, and now holding a post which may expose you to many temptations. i, then, as your father, whose desire is to watch over you and help you to grow into a brave and good man, hold that it would not be dishonourable for you to confide in me in every way. it can be no dishonour for you to trust me." "then i will tell you, father;" and the boy hastily laid bare his breast, telling of his adventures with andrew forbes, and how great a source of anxiety they had proved to be. "hah!" said sir robert, after sitting with knitted brows looking curiously at his son and hearing him to the end. "well, i am very glad that you have spoken, my boy, and i think it will be right for you to stand your ground, and be ready to laugh at master andrew and his political associations. it is what people call disloyal and treasonable on one side; on the other, it is considered noble and right. but you need not trouble your head about that. andrew forbes is after all a mere boy, very enthusiastic, and led away perhaps by thoughts of the prince living in exile instead of sitting on the throne of england. but you don't want to touch politics for the next ten years. it would be better for many if they never touched them at all. there, i am glad you have told me." "so am i now, father. but you will not speak about it all, so as to get drew in disgrace?" "i give you my word i will not, frank. oh, nonsense! it is froth-- fluff; a chivalrous boy's fancy and sympathy for one he thinks is oppressed. no, frank, no words of mine will do drew forbes any harm; but as for you--" "yes, father." "do all you can to help him and hold him back. it would be a pity for him to suffer through being rash. they might treat it all as a boy's nonsense--no, it would mean disgrace. keep him from it if you can." "i, father! he is so much older than i am, and i looked up to him." "proof of what i said, frank," cried sir robert, clapping his son upon the shoulder. "he is a bright, showy lad; but you carry more ballast than he. brag's a good dog, you know, but holdfast's a better. now, then, i think you ought to be going back. good-bye, my boy. i look to you to be your mother's protector more and more. perhaps in the future i may be absent. but you must go now, for i have an important letter to write. my dear love to your mother, and come to me again whenever you have a chance." sir robert went down to the garden door with his son, and let him out that way into the park. "mind," he said at parting. "keep away from political mobs." "i will," said frank to himself, as he turned back. "well, it will be all right going with drew this afternoon, as it is only to feed the ducks." chapter six. frank feeds the ducks. something very nearly akin to a guilty feeling troubled frank upon meeting his fellow-page that afternoon; but his father's promise, in conjunction with his words respecting andrew's actions being merely those of an enthusiastic boy, helped to modify the trouble he felt, and in a few minutes it passed off. for andrew began by asking how his friend's father was, and praising him. "i always liked your father, frank," he said; "but he's far too good for where he is. well, we're off duty till the evening. ready for our run?" "oh yes, i'm ready," said frank, laughing; "but you won't run unless somebody's carriage is being mobbed. you could go fast enough then." "well, of course i can run if i like. come along." "where's the bread?" asked frank. "bread? what bread? are you hungry already?" "no, no; the bread you talked about." "the bread i talked about? what nonsense! i never said anything about bread that i can remember." "well, you said we were going to feed the ducks." "oh-h-oh!" ejaculated andrew; and he then burst into a hearty fit of laughter. "of course: so i did. i didn't think of it. well, perhaps we had better take some. ring the bell, and ask one of the footmen to bring you some." frank thought it strange that his companion, after proposing that they should go and feed the ducks, had forgotten all about the bread. however, he said no more, but rang, and asked the servant to get him a couple of slices. the man stared, but withdrew, and came back directly. "i beg your pardon, sir," he said; "but did you wish me to bring the bread here?" "certainly. be quick, please. we are waiting to go out." the man withdrew for the second time, and the lads waited chatting together till andrew grew impatient. "ring again," he cried. "have they sent to have a loaf baked? it's getting late. let's start. never mind the bread." "oh, let's have it now it's ordered. how are we to feed the ducks without?" "throw them some stones," said andrew mockingly. "come along. we'll look at other people feeding them--if there are any. look here; it's twenty minutes by that clock since you gave the order." at that moment another footman opened the door, and held it back for one of his fellows to enter bearing a tray covered with a cloth, on which were a loaf, a butter-dish, knives, plates, glasses, and a decanter of water. "oh, what nonsense!" cried andrew impatiently. "there, cut a slice, frank, put it in your pocket, and come along, or we shall be late." "i did not know that ducks had particular hours for being fed," thought the boy, as he cut into the loaf, and then hacked off two slices instead of one, the two men-servants standing respectfully back and looking on, both being too well-trained to smile, as frank thrust one slice into his pocket and offered the other to andrew. "oh, i don't want it," he said impatiently. "better take it," cried frank. "i shan't give you any of mine." andrew hesitated for a moment, and then snatched a handkerchief from his pocket, wrapped the slice in it, and thrust the handkerchief back. "perhaps i had better take one too," he said aloud; and then to his companion as they went out: "makes one look so ridiculous and childish before the servants. they'll go chattering about it all over the place." "let them," said frank coolly. "i don't see anything to be ashamed of." "no," said andrew, with something like a sneer, "you don't; but you will some day. there, let's make haste." it did not strike the lad that his companion's manner was peculiar, only that he felt it to be rather an undignified proceeding; but he said nothing, and accommodating his stride to andrew's long one, they crossed the courtyard, went out into the park, and came in sight of the water glittering in the sun. "there's a good place," said frank. "plenty of ducks close in." "oh, there's a better place round on the other side," said andrew hastily. "let's go there." "anywhere you like," said frank, "so long as we're out here on the fresh grass again. what a treat it is to be among the green trees!" "much better than the country, eh?" "oh no; but it does very well. i say, i wish we might fish." "oh, we'll go fishing some day. walk faster; we're late." "fast as you like. what do you say to a run? you can run, you say, when you like." "oh no, we needn't run; only walk fast." "or the ducks will be impatient," said frank, laughing. "yes, or the ducks may be impatient," said andrew to himself, as he led on toward the end of the ornamental water nearest to where buckingham palace now stands, and bore off to the left; and when some distance back along the farther shore of the lake and nearly opposite to saint james's palace, he said suddenly: "look, frank, there is some one beforehand;" and he pointed to where a gentleman stood by the edge of the water shooting bits of biscuit with his thumb and finger some distance out, apparently for the sake of seeing the ducks race after them, some aiding themselves with their wings, and then paddling back for more. the two lads walked up to where the gentleman was standing, and as he heard them approach he turned quickly, and frank saw that he was a pale, slight, thin-faced, youngish-looking man who might be forty. "ah, andrew," he said, "you here; how are you? you have not come to feed the ducks?" "oh yes, i have," said andrew, giving the stranger a peculiar look; "and i've brought a friend with me. let me introduce him. mr frank gowan, captain sir robert gowan's son, and my fellow-servant with his royal highness. frank, this happens to be a friend of mine--mr george selby." "i am very glad to meet any friend of andrew forbes," said the stranger, raising his hat with a most formal bow. "i know sir robert slightly." as he replaced his hat and smiled pleasantly to the salute frank gave in return, he took a biscuit from his pocket, and began to break it in very small pieces, when, apparently without any idea of its looking childish, andrew took out his piece of bread, and after a moment's hesitation frank did the same, the ducks in his majesty's "canal," as he termed it, benefiting largely by the result. "any news?" said andrew, after this had been going on for some minutes, and as he spoke he turned his head and looked fixedly at mr selby. "no, nothing whatever; everything is as dull as can be," was the reply, and the fixed look was returned. there seemed to be nothing in these words of an exciting nature, and frank was intent upon a race between two green-headed drakes for a piece of crust which he had jerked out to a considerable distance; but all the same andrew forbes drew a deep breath, and his face flushed up. then he glanced sharply at frank, and looked relieved to find how his attention was diverted. "er--er--it is strange what a little news there is stirring nowadays," he said, huskily. "yes, very, is it not?" replied their new companion; "but i should have thought that you gentlemen, living as you do in the very centre of london life, would have had plenty to amuse you." "oh no," said andrew, with a forced laugh. "ours is a terrible humdrum life at the palace, so bad that gowan there is always wanting to go out into the country to find sport, and as he cannot and i cannot, we are glad to come out here and feed the ducks." "well," said the stranger gravely, jerking out a fresh piece of biscuit, "it is a nice, calm, and agreeable diversion. i like to come here for the purpose on wednesday and friday afternoons about this time. it is harmless, forbes." "very," said the youth, with another glance at frank; but he was breaking a piece of crust for another throw, and another meaning look passed between the two, forbes seeming to question the stranger with his eyes, and to receive for answer an almost imperceptible nod. "yes, i like feeding the ducks," said selby. "one acquires a good deal of natural history knowledge thereby, and also enjoys the pleasure of making new and pleasant friends." this was directed at frank, who felt uncomfortable, and made another bow, it being the proper thing to do, as his new acquaintance--he did not mentally call him friend--dropped a piece of biscuit, to be seized by a very fat duck, which had found racing a failure, and succeeded best by coming out of the water, to snap up the fragments which dropped at the distributors' feet. as the piece of biscuit fell, the stranger formally and in a very french fashion raised his cocked hat again. "and so you find the court life dull, mr gowan," he said. "yes," said the boy, colouring. "you see, i have not long left winchester and my school friends. miss the ga--sports; but andrew forbes has been very friendly to me," he added heartily. "of course you feel dull coming among strangers; but never fear, mr gowan, you will have many and valuable friends i hope, your humble servant among the number. it must be dull, though, at this court. now at saint--" "that's my last piece of bread, selby," said andrew hastily. "give me a bit of biscuit." "certainly, if i have one left," was the smiling reply, with another almost imperceptible nod. "yes, here is the last. of course you must find it dull, and we have not seen you lately at the club, my dear fellow. by the way, why not bring mr gowan with you next time?" "oh, he would hardly care to come. he does not care for politics, eh, frank?" "i don't understand them," said the boy quietly. "you soon will now you are resident in town, mr gowan; and i hope you will favour us by accompanying your friend forbes. only a little gathering of gentlemen, young, clever, and i hope enthusiastic. you will come?" "i--that is--" "say yes, frank, and don't be so precious modest. he will bring up a bit of country now and then. but he is fast growing into a man of town." "what nonsense, drew!" cried the boy quickly. "yes, what nonsense!" said the new acquaintance, smiling. "believe me, mr gowan, we do not talk of town at our little social club. i shall look forward to seeing you there as my guest. what do you say to monday?" "i say yes for both of us," said andrew quickly. "i am very glad. there, my last biscuit has gone, so till monday evening i will say good-bye--_au revoir_." "stick to the english, selby," said andrew sharply. "french is not fashionable at saint james's." "you are quite right, my dear forbes. good-bye, mr gowan. it is a pleasure to shake your father's son by the hand. till monday then, my dear forbes;" and with a more courtly bow than ever, the gentleman stalked slowly away, with one hand raising a laced handkerchief to his face, the other resting upon his sword hilt. "glad we met him," said andrew quickly, and he looked unusually excited. "one of the best of men. you will like him, frank." "but you should not have been so ready to accept a stranger's invitation for me." "pooh! he isn't a stranger. he'll be grateful to you for going. big family the selbys, and he'll be very rich some day. wonderful how fond he is, though, of feeding the ducks." "yes, he seems to be," said frank; and he accompanied his companion as the latter strolled on now along the bank after finishing the distribution of bread to the feathered fowl by sending nearly a whole biscuit skimming and making ducks and drakes on the surface of the water; but the living ducks and drakes soon ended that performance and followed the pair in vain. for andrew forbes had suddenly become very thoughtful; while his companion also had his fit of musing, which ended in his saying to himself: "i wish i was as clever as they are. it almost seemed as if they meant something more than they said. it comes from living in london i suppose, and perhaps some day i shall get to be as sharp and quick as they are. perhaps, though, it is all nonsense, and they meant nothing. but i wish drew had not said we'd go. i'm not a man, and what do i want at a club? i don't know anything that they'd want to know, living as i do shut up in the palace." but there frank gowan was wrong, for what went on at saint james's palace in the early days of the eighteenth century was of a great deal of interest to some people outside, and he never forgot the feeding of the ducks. chapter seven. how frank gowan grew one year older in one day. "i seem to have so many things to worry me," thought frank. "any one would think that in a place like this without lessons or studies there would be no unpleasantries; but as soon as i've got the better of one, another comes to worry me." this was in consequence of the invitation for the following monday. his mind was pretty well at ease about his confidential talk with his father; but he was nervous and uncomfortable about the visit to the club, and several times over he was on the point of getting leave to go across to sir robert to ask his opinion as to whether he ought to go. "i can't go and bother my mother about such a thing as that," he mused. "i ought to be old enough now to be able to decide which is right and which is wrong. drew thinks and talks like a man, while it seems to me that i'm almost a child compared to him. "well, let's try. ought i to go, or ought i not? there can't be any harm to me in going. there may be some friends of drew's whom i shan't like; but if there are i needn't go again. it's childish, when i want to become more manly, to shrink from going into society, like a great girl.--i'll go. if there's any harm in it, the harm is likely to be to drew, and--yes, of course; i could save him from getting into trouble. "then i ought to go," he said to himself decisively, and he felt at ease, troubling himself little more about the matter, but going through his extremely easy duties of waiting in the anteroom, bearing letters and messages from one part of the palace to the other, and generally looking courtly as a royal page. then the monday came, with andrew forbes in the highest of spirits, and ready to chat about the country, his friend's life at winchester, and to make plans for running down to see them when his father and mother went out of town. "i don't believe you'd like it if you did come," said frank. "oh yes, i should. why not?" "because you'd find some of the lanes muddy, and the edges of the roads full of brambles. you wouldn't care to see the bird's and squirrels and hedgehogs, nor the fish in the river, nor the rabbits and hares." "why, those are all things that i am dying to see in their natural places. i wish you would not think i am such a macaroni. why, after the way in which you have gone on about the country, isn't it natural that i should want to see more of it?" he kept on in this strain to such an extent that, instead of convincing his companion, he overdid it, and set him wondering. "i don't understand him a bit," he said to himself; "and i wish he wouldn't keep on calling me my dear fellow and slapping me on the back. i never saw him so wild and excitable before." the lad's musings were interrupted to his great disgust by andrew coming behind him with the very act and words which had annoyed him. for he started and turned angrily upon receiving a sounding slap between the shoulders. "why, frank, my dear fellow," cried andrew, "what ails you? hallo! eyes flashing lightning and brow heavy with thunder. has the gentle, shepherd-like swain from the country got a temper of his own?" "of course i have," cried the boy angrily. "why don't you let it lie quiet, and not wake it up by doing that!" "is the temper like a surly dog, then?" cried andrew, laughing mockingly. "will it bite?" "yes, if you tease it too much," snapped out frank. "oh, horrible! you alarm me!" cried andrew, bounding away in mock dread. "don't be a fool!" cried frank angrily; and the tone and gesture which accompanied the request sobered andrew in a moment, though his eyes looked his surprise that the boy whom he patronised with something very much like contempt could be roused up into showing so much strength of mind. "what's the matter, frank boy?" he said quietly; "eaten something that hasn't agreed with you?" "no," said the boy sharply. "i haven't eaten it--i can't swallow it." "eh? what do you mean? what is it?" "you," said frank shortly. "oh!" said andrew, raising his eyebrows a little and staring at him hard; "and pray how is it you can't swallow me?" "because you will keep going on in this wild, stupid way, and treating me as if i were some stupid boy whom you meant to make your butt." "what, to-day?" "yes, and yesterday, and the day before that, and last week, and--and ever since i've been here." "then why didn't you tell me of it if i did, like a gentleman should, and not call me a fool?" "i didn't; i said don't be a fool." "same thing. you insulted me." "well, you've insulted me dozens of times." "and amongst gentlemen, sir," continued andrew haughtily, and ignoring the other's words, "these things mean a meeting. gentlemen don't wear swords for nothing. they have their honour to defend. do you understand?" "oh yes, i understand," said frank warmly. "i haven't been behind the trees in the big field at winchester a dozen times perhaps without knowing what that means." "pish!" said andrew contemptuously; "schoolboys' squabbles settled with fists. black eyes, bruised knuckles, and cut lips." "well, schoolboys don't wear swords," cried frank, who was by no means quelled. "i learned fencing, and i dare say i could use mine properly. i've fenced with my father in the holidays many a time." "then i shall send a friend to you, sir," said andrew fiercely. "you mean an enemy," said frank grimly. "a friend, sir--a friend," said andrew haughtily; "and you can name your own." "no, i can't, and i shouldn't make such a fool of myself," cried frank defiantly. "you are very free, sir, with your fools," cried andrew. "such language as this is not fitted for the anteroom in the palace." "i suppose i may call myself a fool if i like." "when you are alone, sir, if you think proper, but not in my presence. perhaps you will have the goodness to name your friend now; it will save time and trouble." frank looked at his companion sharply. "then you mean to fight?" "yes, sir, i mean to chastise this insolence." "they wouldn't let us cross swords within the palace grounds." "pooh! no paltry excuses and evasions, sir," cried andrew, in whose thin cheeks a couple of red spots appeared. "of course we could not hold a meeting here. but there is the park. i see, though. big words, and now the dog that was going to bite is putting his tail between his legs, and is ready to run away." "is he?" said frank sharply, and a curiously stubborn look came into his face. "don't you be too sure of that. but, anyhow, i'm not going to cross swords with you in real earnest." "i thought so. you are afraid that i should pink you." "who's afraid?" "bah!" cried andrew contemptuously. "you are." "oh, am i?" growled frank. "look here; i'm sure my father wouldn't like me to fight you with swords, whether you pinked me as you call it, or i wounded you." "pish! frank gowan, you are a poltroon." "perhaps so; but look here, andrew forbes, you've often made me want to hit you when you've been so bounceable and patronising. now, we were going to see your friend to-night--" "we are going to see my friend to-night, sir. even if gentlemen have an affair, they keep their words." "if they can, and are fit to show themselves. i'm not going to that place with you this evening, though i had got leave to go out. you can go afterwards if you like; but if you'll come anywhere you like, where we shan't be stopped, i'll try and show you, big as you are, that i'm not a coward." "very well. i dare say we can find a place. but your sword is shorter than mine. you must wear my other one." "rubbish! i'm not going to fight with swords!" cried frank. "what! you mean pistols?" "i mean fists." in honour's cause. "pah! like schoolboys or people in the mob." "i shan't fight with anything else," said frank stubbornly. "you shall, sir. now, then, name your friend." "can't; he wouldn't go. he's such a hot, peppery fellow too." "then he is as big a coward as you are." "look here," said frank, almost in a whisper. "i don't know so much as you do about what we ought to do here, but i suppose it means a lot of trouble; and if it does i can't help it, but if you call me a coward again i'll hit you straight in the face." "coward then!" cried andrew, in a sharp whisper. "now hit me, if you dare." as he spoke he drew himself up to his full height, threw out his chest, and folded his arms behind him. quick as thought frank doubled his fist, and as he drew back his arm raised his firm white knuckles to a level with his shoulder, and then reason checked him, and he stood looking darkly into his fellow-page's eyes. "i knew it," cried the latter--"a coward; and your friend is worse than you, or you wouldn't have chosen him." "oh! don't you abuse him," said frank, with his face brightening; and his eyes shone with the mirth which had suddenly taken the place of his anger. "what! do you dare to mock me?" cried andrew. "no; only it seemed so comic. you know, i've only had one friend since i've been here. how could i ask you?" for a _few_ moments andrew stood gazing at him, as if hardly knowing how to parry this verbal thrust, and then the look which had accompanied it did its work. "i say," he said, in an altered tone, "this is very absurd." "yes, isn't it?" said frank. "i never thought we two were going to have such a row." "but you called me a fool." "didn't! but you did call me a coward. ha--ha! and yourself too. but, i say, drew, you don't think i'm a coward, do you?" andrew made no reply. "because i don't think i am," continued frank. "i always hated to have to fight down yonder. and as soon as we began i always felt afraid of hurting the boy i fought with; but directly he hit out and hurt me i forgot everything, and i used to go on hammering away till i dropped, and had to give in because he was too much for me, and i hadn't strength to go on hammering any more. but somehow," he added thoughtfully, and with simple sincerity in his tones, "i never even then felt as if i was beaten, though of course i was." "but you used to beat sometimes?" said andrew quietly. "oh yes, often; i generally used to win. i've got such a hard head and such bony knuckles. but, i say, you don't think i should be afraid to fight, do you?" "i'm sure you wouldn't be," cried andrew, with animation, "and--and, there i beg your pardon for treating you as i have and for calling you a coward. it was a lie, frank, and--will you shake hands?" there was a rapid movement, and this time the boy's fist flew out, but opened as it went and grasped the thin white hand extended toward him. "i say, don't please; you hurt," said andrew, screwing up his face. "oh, i beg your pardon," cried the boy. "i didn't mean to grip so hard. i say, though, is it as the officers say to the soldiers?" "what do you mean?" said andrew wonderingly. "as you were?" "of course. i'm sure our fathers never quarrelled and fought, and i swear we never will." "that's right," cried frank. "and i never felt as if i liked you half so much as i do now. why, frank, old fellow, you seem as if you had suddenly grown a year older since we began to quarrel." "do i?" said the boy, laughing. "i am glad. no, i don't think i am. but, i say, we mustn't quarrel often then, for i shall grow old too soon." "i said we'd never quarrel again," said andrew seriously; "and somehow you are really a good deal older than i have thought. but, i say, we must go and meet mr selby to-night." "oh yes, of course; and i shall always stand by and stop you in case you turn peppery to any one else, and stop you from righting him." "if it was in a right cause you would not." "i shouldn't?" "no; i believe you would help me, and be ready to draw on my behalf." frank turned to the speaker with a thoughtful, far-off look in his eyes, as if he were gazing along the vista of the future at something happening far away. "i hope that will never come," he said quietly, "for when i used to fight with my fists, as i said, i always forgot what i was about. how would it be if i held a drawn sword?" "you would use it as a gentleman, a soldier, and a man of honour should," said andrew warmly. "should i?" said frank sadly. "yes, i am sure you would." chapter eight. the traitors' heads. "where is mr selby's club?" asked frank, as they started that afternoon to keep their appointment. "you be patient, and i'll show you," replied andrew. "but we are not going by water, are we?" "to be sure we are. it's the pleasantest way, and we avoid the crowded streets. i am to introduce you, so i must be guide." this silenced frank, who sank back in his seat when they stepped into a wherry without hearing the order given to the waterman; and once more his attention was taken up by the busy river scene, which so engrossed his thoughts that he started in surprise on finding that they were approaching the stairs where they had landed upon their last visit, but he made no remark aloud. "i did not know it was in the city," he said, however, to himself; and when they landed, and andrew began to make his way toward fleet street, his suspicion was aroused. "is the club anywhere near that court where there was the fight?" he said suddenly. "eh? oh yes, very near! this is the part of london where all the wits, beaux, and clever men meet for conversation. you learn more in one night listening than you do in a month's reading. you'll like it, i promise you." frank was silent, and in spite of his companion's promise felt a little doubtful. "have you known mr selby very long?" he asked. "depends upon what you call long." "do you like him?" "oh yes, he's a splendid fellow. so are his friends splendid fellows. you'll like them too. thorough gentlemen. most of them of good birth." frank was silent again; but he was becoming very observant now, as he noticed that, though they were going by a different way, they were tending toward the scene of their adventure, and the fight rose vividly before his imagination. but all was perfectly quiet and orderly around. there were plenty of people about, but all apparently engaged in business matters, though all disposed to turn and look after the well-dressed youths, who seemed foreign to their surroundings. it was a relief to frank to find that there were no signs of an idling crowd, and he was congratulating himself upon that fact when, after increasing his pace as if annoyed at being noticed, andrew said sharply: "walk a bit faster. how the oafs do stare!" "why, drew!" cried frank, suddenly checking himself, as his companion, who had led him to the spot from the opposite side, suddenly turned into the court where they had been wedged in the crowd. "what is it?" said his companion impatiently. "come along, quick!" "but this is the place where they were fighting." "of course; i know it is. what of it? they're not fighting now." as he spoke he was glancing rapidly up and down the court, and with his arm well through that of frank he urged him on toward the door of the large house. frank was annoyed at having, as he felt, been deceived as to their destination, and ready to hang back. but he felt that it would seem cowardly, and that andrew's silence had been from a feeling that if he had said where they were coming he would have met with a refusal, while the next moment the boy found himself in the passage of the house. a burly man, in a big snuff-coloured coat, confronted them, arranging a very curly wig as he came, but smiled, bowed, and drew back to allow the visitors to pass; and with a supercilious nod andrew led on, apparently quite familiar with the place, and turned up a broad, well-worn staircase, quite half of whose balusters were perfectly new and unpainted, evidently replacing those broken out for weapons during the fight. the sight of these and their suggestions did not increase frank's desire to be there, but he went on up. "for this time only," he said to himself; "but i'm not going to let him cheat me again." a buzz of voices issued from a partly opened door on the first floor, and andrew walked straight in without hesitation, frank finding himself in the presence of about twenty gentlemen, standing at one end of a long room, along whose sides were arranged small tables laid for dinner. the conversation stopped on the instant, and every eye was turned toward the new-comers, who doffed their hats with the customary formal bows, when, to the great relief of frank, one gentleman detached himself from the group and came to meet them. "how are you, mr selby?" said andrew loudly. "the happier for seeing you keep your engagement," said their friend the feeder of ducks, smiling. "mr gowan, i am delighted to find my prayer has not been vain. let me introduce you to our friends here of the club. we look upon this as a home, where we are all perfectly at our ease; and we wish our visitors--our neophytes--to feel the same. gentlemen, let me introduce my guest, mr frank gowan. i think some of you have heard his father's--sir robert gowan's--name." there was a warm murmur of assent, and to a man the party assembled pressed forward to bid the visitors welcome. so pleasantly warm was the reception given to him, and so genuine the efforts made to set him at his ease, that the lad's feeling of diffidence and confusion soon began to pass away, and with it the feeling of uneasiness; for the boy felt that these gentlemen could not have been of the party engaged in the riot, and he had nearly persuaded himself that, as this was evidently a public tavern, quite another class of people had occupied the room on his previous visit to the place, only he could not make this explanation fit with andrew's excitement and desire to join in the fight. but he had little time for thought. his bland and pleasant-spoken host took up too much of his attention, chatting fluently about the most matter-of-fact occurrences, political business being entirely excluded, and cleverly drawing the lads out in turn to talk about themselves and their aspirations, so ably, indeed, that before the agreeable little dinner served to these three at a table close to the window was half over, frank found that he was relating some of his country life and school adventures to his host, and that the gentlemen at the tables on either side were listening. the knowledge that he was being overheard acted as an extinguisher to the light of the boy's oratory, and he stopped short. "well?" said his host, with a pleasant smile; while andrew leaned back, apparently quite satisfied with the impression his companion was making. "pray go on. you drew the great trout close to the river-bank. don't say you lost it after all." "oh no, i caught it," said frank, colouring; "but i am talking too much." "my dear boy," said mr selby, "believe me, your fresh, young experiences are delightful to us weary men of the town. cannot you feel how they revive our recollections of our own boyish days? there, pray don't think we are tired of anecdotes like this. forbes here used to be fond of the country; but he has grown such a lover of town life and the court that he hardly mentions it now." he went on playfully bantering andrew, till quite a little passage of give-and-take ensued, which made frank think of what a strange mixture of clever, vain boy and thoughtful man his fellow-page seemed to be, while his own heart sank as he began to make comparisons, and he felt how thoroughly young he seemed to be amongst the clever men by whom he was surrounded. but all the time his ears were active, and he listened for remarks that would endorse his suspicions of the principles of the members. still, not a word reached him save such as strengthened andrew's assurance that mr selby was one of a party of clever men who liked to meet for social intercourse. the fight must have been with other people who occupied the room, he thought, and in all probability had nothing to do with this club at all. the evening passed rapidly away, and before frank realised that it was near the time when they ought to be back at saint james's mr selby turned to him. "we are early birds here," he said; "so pray excuse what i am about to say, and believe that i am delighted to have made your acquaintance, one which is the beginning, i feel, of a life friendship. gentlemen," he said, rising, "it is time to part till our next meeting. hands round, please, and then adieu." he turned to frank, and held out his hand with a smile. "our little parting ceremony," he said. the boy involuntarily held out his, ready to say good-bye; but it was clasped warmly by selby in his left and retained, while andrew with a quick, eager look took his other. frank stared, for the rest, who had increased by degrees to nearly forty, all joined hands till they had formed a ring facing inward. what did it mean? for a moment the boy felt ready to snatch his hands away; but as he thought of so doing, he felt the clasp on either side grow firmer, and in a clear, low voice their host said: "across the water." "across the water," was echoed in a low, deep murmur by every one but frank. then hand ceased to clasp hand, people began to leave, and mr selby went quickly to the other end of the room. "all over," said andrew, in a quick whisper. "now then off, or we shall get into trouble for being late." "yes, let's go," said frank, in a bewildered way; and he went downstairs with his companion, and out into the cool, pleasant night air of the street. "we shall have to walk," said andrew, "so step out." frank obeyed in silence, and nothing more was said till, without thinking of where they were, they saw temple bar before them. "what did they mean by that?" said frank suddenly. "by what?" "joining hands together and saying `across the water.'" "oh, nothing. a way of saying good-bye if you live in surrey." "don't treat me as if i were a child," cried frank passionately. "i'm sure it meant more than that." "well, suppose it does, what then?" "what then? why, you have been tricking and deceiving me. just too as it seemed that we were going to be the best of friends." "nonsense! we are the best of friends, tied more tightly than ever to stand by each other to the end." "then there is something in all this?" "of course there is. you knew there was when we agreed to come." "i did not!" cried frank indignantly; "or if i thought that there might be, i felt that it was only a little foolish enthusiasm on your part, and that mr selby was only a casual friend." "oh no; he is one of my best friends." "drew, i shall never forgive you. it was mean and cruel to take me there in ignorance of what these men were." "very nice gentlemanly fellows, and you looked as if you enjoyed their society." "i see it all clearly enough now," continued frank excitedly, and without heeding; "they are jacobites." "not the only ones in london, if they are." "and `across the water' means that man--the pretender." "hush! don't call people names," said andrew, in a warning whisper. "you never know who is next you in the street." "i don't care who hears me. it is the truth." "don't you be peppery now. why, you were all amiability till we came away." "because i could not think that there was anything in it. i could not believe you would play me such a trick." "all things are fair in love and war," said andrew. "it is a base piece of deception, and i'll never trust you again." "oh yes, you will, always. you'll like them more and more every time you go." "i go there again? never!" "oh yes, you will, often, because we all like you, and you are just the boy to grow into the man we want. i had no sooner mentioned your name to mr selby than he said, `yes, he must join us, of course.'" "join you? why, you are a band of conspirators." "silence, i tell you! that man in front heard you and turned his head." "i don't care." "then i must make you. look here, frank, whatever we are, you are the same." "i!" cried the boy in horror. "of course. this is twice you have come to our club, and there is not a man there to-night who does not look upon you as our new brother." "then they must be undeceived." "impossible! you have joined hands with us, and breathed our prayer for him across the water." "i did not; i never opened my lips." "you seemed to; anyhow, you clasped hands with us, and that is enough." "i refuse to have any dealings with your club, and for your sake as well as mine i shall acquaint my father with everything that has taken place." "that would not matter," said andrew coolly. "but you will not. i introduced you to mr selby, who had come on purpose to see you." "then that feeding ducks was a design?" "of course it was; the spies and the guard might interfere with a stranger hanging about at the water-side, but they can have nothing to say to a man feeding the ducks." "oh, what base treachery and deception! but i will not be tricked like this. it was the act of a traitor." "it was the act of a friend to save you in the troubles that are to come." "i don't care what you say. i will clear myself from even a suspicion of being an enemy of the king." "you are a friend of the king," said andrew, tightening his hold of his companion's arm; "and you cannot draw back now." "i can, and will. why can i not? who is to prevent me?" "every man you saw there to-night--every man of the thousand who was not there. frank boy, ours is a great and just cause, and the sentence on the man who has joined us and then turns traitor--" "i have not joined." "you have, and i am your voucher. you are one of us now." "and if i go back, what then?" cried frank contemptuously. "the sentence is death." "bah! nonsense! but let me tell you this, that the sentence really is death for him who, being the king's servant, turns traitor. who stands worse to-night, you or i?--oh!" ejaculated the boy quickly, and with a sharp ring of horror in his tones; "look there!" the moon was shining brightly now, full upon the grim-looking old city gateway, and frank gowan stood where he had stopped short, as if paralysed by the sight before him. "yes, i know," said andrew coolly, as he looked up; "i have seen them before. traitors' heads." chapter nine. frank has a bad night. "i wish i had a better head," sighed frank, as he lay in bed that night; "it seems to get thicker and thicker, and as if every time i tried to think out what is the best thing to do it got everything in a knot." he turned over, and lay hot and uncomfortable for a few minutes, and then perhaps for the hundredth time he turned over again, found his pillow comfortless, and jumped up into a sitting position, to punch and bang it about for some minutes, before returning it to its place, lying down, and finding it as bad as ever. "it's of no use," he groaned; "i shall never get a wink of sleep to-night. i wish i could get up and dress, and go for a walk out there in the cool by the side of the water; but as soon as i got outside i should be challenged by the guard. i don't know the password, and i should be arrested and marched off to the guardroom. even if i could get down there by the canal, i should feel no better, for i should be thinking of nothing else but feeding the ducks." this thought made him twist and writhe in the bed to such an extent that the clothes refused to submit to the rough treatment, and glided off to seek peace and quietness upon the floor. the pleasant coolness was gratifying for a few minutes; but the boy's love of order put an end to his lying uncovered, and he sprang out of bed, dragged the truant clothing back, remade his bed extremely badly, and once more lay down. the occupation relieved him for a while, and he began to hope that he would go to sleep; but the very fact of his endeavouring to lose consciousness made him more wakeful, and he lay with wide-open eyes, going over the events of the evening, till he got into a passion with andrew forbes, with mr george selby, and most of all with himself. "how could i be such an idiot as to go? i ought to have known better. i might have been sure, after what i had seen, that there was something wrong. but then," he groaned, "i did fancy something was wrong, and i went to try and keep drew out of mischief. oh, what an unlucky fellow i am! "it's of no use," was his next thought. "i shall never do any good here, only keep on getting into trouble. why, if this were to be known, it would bring disgrace on my father and mother, and they would have to leave court--father would perhaps lose his commission." he sprang up again in horror at the very thought of this, drew up his knees, and passed his arms round them, to sit for long enough packed up with his chin upon his knees somewhat after the fashion of a peruvian mummy. "it's horrible," he groaned to himself--"horrible, that's what it is. and this is being what mother calls a good son. they'll be nice and proud of me when they know. "ah-h-h-ah! there goes that wretched old clock over the gateway again! it can't be five minutes since it chimed before. it seems to have been chiming ever since i came to bed. what time is it, i wonder? bah! three-quarters past. three-quarters past what? oh dear, how thirsty i am! and i've had three glasses of water since i came to bed. going to feed the ducks! oh, i wish i'd said i'd go out and fight with drew, and pinked him as he calls it. he wouldn't have been able to lead me into this scrape. but more likely he would have pinked me. well, and a precious good thing too. it would have been all right, and i couldn't then have gone. "phew! how hot it is. my skin seems to prickle and tingle, as if somebody had been playing tricks with the bed; and all this time i believe that miserable dandy drew is snoring away, and not troubling a bit. there, if it isn't chiming again! it can't be a quarter of an hour since i heard it last. ting, tang. last quarter. well, go on; four quarters, and then strike, and i shall know what time it is. what! a quarter past? well, a quarter past what? oh, that clock's wrong. it chimed three-quarters just now. it can't have chimed the four quarters since, and struck the hour; it's impossible. i'm sure it must be wrong." he threw himself down again in despair, feeling as if sleep were farther off than ever. "oh dear!" he moaned; "drew told me i seemed a year older after that row. i feel another year older since then; and if it goes on like this, i shall be like an old man by morning. but there, i'm not going to give up in this cowardly way. i'll show master drew that i'm not such a boy as he thinks for. it's all nonsense! just because i went and dined there with him and his friend, and was then led into standing up with them and joining hands, i'm to be considered as having joined them, and become a jacobite! why, it's childish; and as to his threats of what they would do if i ran back, i don't care, i won't believe it. i'm not such a baby. death indeed! i've only just begun to live. "ugh! it was very ugly, very shocking to see those heads stuck up there over temple bar; and yet drew took it as coolly as could be. why, it was he who ought to have been frightened, not i. and i'm not frightened--i won't be frightened. i won't say anything; but i'm not going there again. no, i won't speak--unless they do threaten me. then i must tell all. but only wait till morning, and i'll have it out with master drew. not quite so much of a schoolboy as he thinks me. "there'll be no sleep for me to-night," he said at last, in a resigned way. "well, it's perhaps so much the better. i have been able to think out what i mean to do, and now i'll just try and arrange what i shall say to drew in the morning; and, after that, i'll get up and dress, and have a long read. i do wonder, though, what time it is." he then lay wondering and waiting for the clock to chime again, but he did not hear it chime its next quarter, for now that he had made up his mind not to go to sleep, sleep came to him with one of those sudden seizures which drop us in an instant into the oblivion which gives rest and refreshment to the wearied body and brain. then, all at once, as he lay with his eyes closed, he did hear it plainly. "ah, at last!" he cried,--"first quarter, second quarter, third quarter, fourth quarter. now, then, i shall know what time it is." the clock struck, and he counted--nine. then he listened for more, opened his eyes, and stared in amazement at the light streaming through the shuttered windows, and leaped out of bed. "why," he cried, "it's breakfast-time! i must have been asleep after all." then he stood looking back into yesterday, for the evening's proceedings came to him with a flash. "a jacobite!" he said aloud; "and those heads upon the top of the gate!" chapter ten. in the horns of a dilemma. it was a bright morning; but now it seemed to frank gowan that the world had suddenly turned back. andrew forbes met him in the most friendly way after breakfast. he was almost affectionate in his greeting. "didn't dream about the traitors' heads on temple bar, did you?" "no," said frank coldly. "i lay awake and thought about them." "ugh!" ejaculated andrew, with a shudder. "what gruesome things to take to bed with you. i didn't; i was so tired that i went off directly and slept like a top." frank looked at him in disgust. "hallo! what's the matter?" cried his fellow-page. "not well?" "i was wondering whether you had any conscience." "i say, hark at the serious old man!" cried andrew merrily. "whatever made you ask that?" "because it seemed impossible you could have one, to treat it all so lightly after taking me there last night." "i don't see how you can call it that. you were invited, and you went with me." "that's a contemptible piece of shuffling," cried frank. andrew flushed up and frowned. "pooh!" he said, laughing it off. "you are tired and cross this morning. what a fellow you are for wanting to quarrel! but we can't do that, now we're brethren." "no, we are not," said frank hotly. "i'll have nothing to do with the miserable business." "colt kicking on first feeling his harness," said andrew merrily. "never mind, frank; you'll soon get used to it." "never." "and it's a grand harness to wear. i say, what's the good of making a fuss about it? you'll thank me one of these days." "then you have no conscience," cried frank sternly. "why, frank, old boy, you make me feel quite young beside you. what a serious old man you've grown into! but if you will have it out about conscience," he continued warmly, after a glance at each of the doors opening out of the room in which they were, "i'll tell you this: my conscience would not let me, any more than would the consciences of thousands more, settle down to being ruled over by a german prince, invited here by a party of scheming politicians, to the exclusion of the rightful heir to the throne. what do you say to that?" "only this," said frank: "that you and i have nothing to do with such things as who ought to be king or who ought not. we're the prince's servants, and we are bound to do our duty to him and his father. if we go on as you propose, we become conspirators and traitors." "oh, i say, what a sermon; what a lot about nothing! people don't study these things in war and politics. i'm for the simple right or wrong of things. i say it's wrong for king george the first to be on the throne, so i shall not stick at trifles in fighting for the right." "well, if you talk like that in a place where they say that walls have ears, you'll soon save me the trouble and pain of speaking." "there was no one to hear but you, and you're safe," said andrew, laughing. "brothers don't betray brothers, for one thing; and you know what i told you last night. if you were to betray us, your life would not be safe for a day." "pish!" "oh, you take it that way, do you? you think you are safe because you are here in the palace, surrounded by guards. now, i'll tell you something that you don't know. you believe that i am the only one here who is ready to throw up his hat and draw his sword for the king." "yes, and i'm right." "only ignorant, frank, my boy. now listen. we jacobites have people everywhere ready to strike when the time comes. here in this palace we have ladies and gentlemen forced to keep silence for the present, but who will be in ecstasies as soon as they know the good news mr selby gave me last night. why, the king's and prince's households contain some of our staunchest people; and if you like to go lower, there are plenty of us even among the royal guards. now, what do you say to that?" "it can't be true." "very well; i shan't quarrel with your ignorance. but look here, frank; take my advice: don't you do anything foolish, for so sure as you betray any secret you possess there will be hundreds of hands against you--yes, boy as you are, and unimportant as you think yourself. if you breathe a word, it is not merely against me, but against the safety of scores here; and to save themselves one or the other will send his sword through you at the first opportunity, wipe it, put it back in its sheath, and walk away. no one would be the wiser, and poor frank gowan, of whom his mother and father are so proud, would lie dead, while i should have lost the friend for whom i care more than for any one i ever met." "you don't; it isn't true," cried frank. "if it were, you would not have led me into this scrape." "yes, i should. i tell you that you will thank me some day." "for making me a traitor?" "nonsense! who can be a traitor who fights for his rightful king? there, let's leave it now. you have been brought into the right way, and you are ready to fight against it because you don't see the truth yet; but it will all come out, and--very soon." "what?" cried frank, for there was a meaning look to accompany the latter words. "i'm not going to repeat what i said; but you will soon see." "then i must speak out at once. i shrank from it for fear of troubling my mother; but now you force me to." "don't, frank. i shouldn't like to see you hurt." "whether i'm hurt or whether i'm not is nothing to you." "yes, it is. i have told you why. i couldn't bear to see you struck down." "i don't believe that i should be." "i do, and i don't want you to risk it, for one thing. for the other, i don't want to be arrested, and to have my head chopped off, for you couldn't speak without getting me into trouble." frank stared at him with his purpose beginning to waver. "i might get off easily, being what they would call a mere boy. but i don't know; perhaps they would think that, as i was in a particular position in the palace, they ought to make an example of me." he laughed lightly as he threw himself into a seat by the window. "i've no one to care about me except the dad, and a little more trouble wouldn't hurt him very much. perhaps he'd be proud because i died for the king. i say, would you like to know why i am such a steady follower of him across the water?" frank didn't speak, but his eyes said yes. "because i found how my poor father was wrong-treated. he's free, but he's little better than a prisoner. he's looked upon as a traitor, and i'm kept here principally as a sort of hostage to make him keep quiet. that's it, and they'll shorten me for certain if they find anything out. poor old dad, though; i dare say he'll be sorry, for he likes me in his way." the trampling of horses was heard in the distance, and andrew turned sharply. "here they come again. how bright and gay they look this morning! ah! i should have liked to live and be an officer in a regiment like that, ready to fight for my king; but i suppose i am not to be tall enough," he added, with a mocking laugh. "wonder whether they'll stick my head on temple bar. now, frank, here's your chance; come and shout to the nearest officer--`stop and arrest a traitor!' well, why don't you? he will hear you if you holloa well." frank made no reply. "oh," cried andrew, "you are letting your chance go by. well, perhaps it's better, and it will give me time to send a message to warn the dear old dad. no, that wouldn't do, because he would at once settle that it was your doing, and then--well, i should have signed your death-warrant, franky. it would be all over with us both, and pretty soon. you first, though, for our people wouldn't stop for a trial. i say: feel afraid? somehow i don't. perhaps that will come later on. sure to, i suppose; for it must be very horrible to have to die when one is so young, and with so many things to do. going?" "yes," said frank gravely, as he turned away. "good-bye, then. perhaps we shan't see each other again." a peculiar thrill ran through frank, and his heart gave one great throb. but he did not turn round. he went out of the room, to go somewhere to be alone--to try to think quietly out what he ought to do, and to solve the problem which would have been a hard one for a much older head, though at that moment it seemed to the boy as if he had suddenly grown very old, and that the present was separated from his happy boyish days by a tremendous space. chapter eleven. another invitation. several days passed, and at each fresh meeting andrew forbes looked at his fellow-page inquiringly, as if asking whether he had spoken out yet; but the lad's manner was sufficient to show that he had not, though frank was very cool and distant when they were alone. then andrew began to banter his companion. "head's all right yet," he said one morning, laughing; and he gave it a slow twirl round like a ball in a socket. "feels a bit loose sometimes; not at all a pleasant sensation. you're all right still, i see. felt a bit nervous about you, though, once or twice." frank frowned slightly; but andrew went on. "i noticed one of us trying the point of his sword; and twice over after dark i saw men watching this window, and that made me think that you must have spoken, especially as i saw lady--well, never mind names-- examining something she had drawn out of the bosom of her dress. she slipped it back as soon as she saw me, but i feel certain that it was a sort of bodkin or stiletto. `that's meant for poor frank,' i said to myself; for, you know, in history women have often done work of that kind. but, there, you don't seem to have any holes in you; so i suppose you are all right for the present." "how can you joke about so serious a matter?" cried frank. "because i want to put an end to this miserable pique between us," cried andrew warmly. "it's absurd, and i hate it. i thought we were to be always friends. i can't bear it, frank, for i do like you." "it was your doing," said the lad coldly. "no. it was the wretched state our country is in that did it all." "you always get the better of me in arguments," said frank, "so i am not going to fight with you in that way. but i know i am right." "and i know that i am right," cried andrew. "i shall not, as i said before, try to argue with you. we could never agree." "no; it wants some one else to judge between us, and i'll tell you who's the man." "i don't see how we can speak about our troubles." "no need to," said andrew. "he'll know all about it. let's leave it to old father time. he proves all things. but, i say, frank, don't be obstinate. there's a meeting of the friends the day after to-morrow. you'll come with me if we can get away?" "i shall do all i can to stop you from going!" cried frank. "by betraying me?" "no; i can't do that. i promised to be your friend; and though it may be my duty, i couldn't do such a treacherous thing." "as if i didn't know," said andrew, laying his arm on the lad's shoulder. "do you think i would have been so open if i had not been sure of you? there, you will come?" "never again." "never's a long time, frank. come." "once more, no!" "to take care of me, and keep me from being too rash." "i can't betray you and your friends," said frank sadly; "but i can do all that is possible to save you from a great danger." "and so can i you. i'm right." "no; i am right." "you think so now; but i know you will come round. in the meantime, thank you, frank. i knew, i say, that you would be staunch; but i'll tell you this: a word now from you would mean the breaking up of that party in the city, and, unless i could warn them in time, the seizure and perhaps death of many friends, and amongst them of one whom i love. i told him everything about you, and of our friendship, and it was he who bade me to bring you out in the park there, so that he might see you first, and judge for himself whether he should like you to join us." "you mean mr george selby?" "yes, i mean mr george selby," said andrew, with a peculiar smile and emphasis on his words. "it was a very risky thing for him to come here close to the palace with so many spies about; but throwing biscuits to the ducks was throwing dust in the people's eyes as well." "yes. i felt that it was a trick," said frank sadly. "obliged to stoop to tricks now, my lad. well, he was delighted with you, and told me how glad he was for me to have such a friend. he says you must be of us, frank, so that in the good times ahead you may be one of the friends of the rightful king. you'll like mr george selby." "i hate him," said frank warmly, "for leading you astray, and for trying to lead me in the same evil way." "tchut! some one coming." the "some one" proved to be the prince with a train of gentlemen, nearly all of whom were germans, and they passed through the anteroom on their way out. "see that tall, light-haired fellow?" said andrew, as soon as they were alone again. "the german baron?" "yes, the one in uniform." "yes. he's the baron steinberg, a colonel in the hanoverian guards." "that's the man. he came over on saturday. well, i hate him." "why? because he's a german?" "pooh! i shouldn't hate a man because he was a foreigner. i hate him because he's an overbearing bully, who looks down on everything english. he quite insulted me yesterday, and i nearly drew upon him. but i didn't." "what did he do?" "put his hand upon my shoulder, and pushed me aside. `out of the way, booby!' he said in german. a rude boor!" "oh, it was his rough way, perhaps. you mustn't take any notice of that." "mustn't i?" exclaimed andrew. "we shall see. that isn't all. i hate him for another thing." "you're a queer fellow, drew. i think you divide the world into two sets--those you hate and those you love." "and a good division too. but these german fellows want teaching a lesson, and somebody will be teaching it if they don't mend. oh! i hate that fellow, and so ought you to." "why? because he is a german?" "not for that. i'll tell you. i didn't see you yesterday, or i'd have told you then. you were in the big reception-room?" "when my father was on duty with his company of the guards?" "yes, and your mother was in the princess's train." "yes, and i didn't get one chance to speak to her." "well, that fellow did; he spoke to her twice, and i saw him staring at her insolently nearly all the time the princess and her ladies were there." "well?" "that is all," said andrew shortly. "they'll be at her drawing-room this afternoon, and if i were you i should go and stop near lady gowan as much as i could." "i should like to," said frank, looking at his friend wonderingly; "but of course i can't go where i like." a few minutes later one of the servants brought in a note and handed it to frank, who opened it eagerly. "no answer," he said to the man; and then he turned to his companion. "read," he said. "from my father." "`come and dine at the mess this evening, and bring andrew forbes,'" read the lad, and he flushed with pleasure. "of course you will not come," said frank mockingly. "you could not be comfortable with such a loyal party." "with such a host as captain sir robert gowan!" cried andrew. "oh yes, i could. i like him." he smiled rather meaningly, and then the conversation turned upon the treat to come, both lads being enthusiastic about everything connected with the military. this was broken into by the same servant entering with another note. "my turn now, frank," said andrew merrily; "but who's going to write to me?" to his annoyance, as he turned to take the note, the man handed it to frank and left the antechamber. "well, you seem to be somebody," cried andrew, who now looked nettled. "from my mother," said frank, after glancing through the missive. "lucky you; mother and father both here. my poor father nowhere, hiding about like a thief. talk about friends at court!" "it does seem hard for you," said frank. "see what she says." "h'm! `so sorry not to be able to speak to you yesterday. come to my rooms for an hour before the reception this afternoon. i long to see you, my dear boy.'" andrew handed back the letter with a sigh. "lucky you, frank. i say, don't repeat what i said about yesterday." "of course not." "that's right. men talk about things when they are alone which would frighten ladies. she might get thinking that i should get up a quarrel with that steinberg." "i'm sure my mother wouldn't think anything of the sort," said frank, smiling at his friend's conceit. "oh, i don't know," said andrew importantly. "yes i do, though. it was a rather stupid remark. but i wish i were you, frank," he continued, with a genuine unspoiled boyish light coming into his eyes, which looked wistful and longing. "perhaps, if i had a mother and father here in the court, i should be as loyal as you are." "of course you would be. well, they like you. you're coming to dine with my father to-night, and i wish i could take you with me to see my mother early this afternoon." "do you--do you really, frank?" cried the lad eagerly. "of course i do; you know i always say what i mean." "then thank you," cried the lad warmly; "that's almost as good as going." "i'll ask her to invite you next time. hallo! where are you off to?" "only to my room for a bit." "what for? anything the matter?" "matter? pish! well, yes. i'm thinking i'd better be off, for fear, instead of my converting you, you'll be taking advantage of my weakness, offering me a share in sir robert and lady gowan for a bribe, and converting me." "i wish i could," said frank to himself, as his companion hurried out of the room. "why not? suppose i were to take my mother into my confidence, and ask her to try and win him away from what is sure to end in a great trouble!" chapter twelve. the trouble grows. frank was thinking in this strain when he went to his mother's rooms in the palace soon after, and her maid showed him at once to where she was sitting reading, having dressed for the princess's reception in good time, so as to be free to receive her son. "oh!" ejaculated the maid, as she was just about to leave the room; and there was a look of dismay in her countenance. "what is it?" cried lady gowan, turning sharply with her son clasped in her arms. "your dress, my lady--the lace. it will be crushed flat." "oh," said lady gowan, with a merry laugh, "never mind that. come in an hour and set all straight again." "yes, my lady," said the maid; and mother and son were left alone. "as if we cared for satins and laces, frank darling, at a time like this. my own dear boy," she whispered, as she kissed him again and again, holding his face between her white hands and gazing at him proudly. "there, i'm crushing your curls." "go on," said frank; "crush away. you can brush them for me before i go--like you used to when i was home for the holidays." "in the dear old times, frank darling," cried lady gowan, "when we did not have to look at each other from a distance. but never mind; we shall soon go down into the country for a month or two, away from this weary, formal court, and then we'll have a happy time." frank gazed proudly at his mother again and again during that little happy interview, which seemed all sunshine as he looked back upon it from among the clouds of the troubles which so soon came; and he thought how young and girlish and beautiful she appeared. "the most beautiful lady at the court," he told himself, "as well as the sweetest and the best." time after time the words he wished to speak rose to his lips, for the longing to make her his confidante over the jacobite difficulty was intense. but somehow at the critical moments he either shrank from fear of causing her trouble and anxiety, or else felt that he ought not to run the risk of bringing andrew into trouble after what had passed. he knew that lady gowan would not injure the mistaken lad; but still there was the risk of danger following. besides, he had to some extent confided in his father, and would probably say more; so that if it was right that lady gowan should know, his father would speak. she gave him very little chance for making confidences till just at the end of the hour she had set apart for him, when the maid appeared to repair the disorder which she alone could see, but was dismissed at once. "another ten minutes by the clock, and then mr frank will be going." the maid withdrew. "oh, how time flies, my darling!" said the lady. "and i had so many more things to say to you, so much advice to give to my dearest boy. but i am proud to have you here, frank. your father's so much away from me, that it is nice to feel that i have my big, brave son to protect me." frank coloured, and thought of his companion's words. "it reconciles me more to being here, my boy," she continued; "for you see it means your advancement as well. but these are very anxious, troublous times for both your father and me. and you are going to dine with him at the mess this evening. well, you are very young, and i want to keep you still a boy; but, heigh-ho! you are growing fast, and will soon be a man. so be careful and grow into the brave, honourable, loyal gentleman i wish you to be." "i will try so hard," he said eagerly; and once more he longed to speak out, but she gave him no time, though at the last moment he would hardly have spoken. as it was, he stood feeling as if he were very guilty while she held his hand. "of course, my dear," she said, "you are too young to have taken any interest in the political troubles of the time; but i want you to understand that it's the happiest thing for england to be as it is, and i want you as you grow older to be very careful not to be led away by discontented men who may want to plunge the country into war by bringing forward another whom they wish to make king." "mother!" began frank excitedly. "don't interrupt me, dear. in a few minutes you must go. whatever feelings your father and i may at one time have had, we are now fixed in our determination to support those who are now our rulers. the prince has been very kind to us, and the princess has become my dearest friend. i believe she loves me, frank, and i want her to find that my boy will prove one of her truest and best followers. i want you to grow up to be either a great soldier or statesman." "i shall be a soldier like my father," said frank proudly. "we shall see, frank," said lady gowan, smiling. "you are too young yet to decide. wait a little--bide a wee, as they say in the north country. now you must go; but you will promise me to be careful and avoid all who might try to lead you away. think that your course is marked out for you--the way to become a true, loyal gentleman." "i promise, mother," said the lad firmly. "of course you do, my boy," said lady gowan proudly. "there, kiss me and go. i have to play butterfly in the court sunshine for a while; but how glad shall i be to get away from it all to our dear old country home." "and so shall i, mother," cried frank, with his eyes sparkling. "for a holiday, frank. life is not to be all play, my boy; and recollect that play comes the sweeter after good work done. there, i had you here for a pleasant chat, and i have done nothing but give you lessons on being loyal to your king; but we are separated so much, i have so few opportunities for talking to you, that i am obliged to give you a little serious advice." "go on talking to me like that, mother," said the boy, clinging to her. "i like to hear you." "and you always will, won't you, frank?" "of course," he said proudly. "one word frank, dear, and then you must go. do you know why i have spoken like this? no, i will not make a question of it, but tell you at once. andrew forbes"--frank started and changed colour--"is your very close companion, and with all his vanity and little weaknesses, he is still a gallant lad and a gentleman. poor boy! he is very strangely placed here at the court, an attendant on the prince and princess, while his father is known to be a staunch adherent of the pretender--a jacobite. he was your father's closest friend, and i knew his poor wife--andrew's mother--well. it was very sad her dying so young, and leaving her motherless boy to the tender mercies of a hard world just when dissensions led his father to take the other side. the princess knows everything about him, and it was at my request that he was placed here, where i could try and watch over him. now, naturally enough, andrew has leanings toward his father's side; but he must be taught to grow more and more staunch to the king, and i want you, who are his closest companion, to carefully avoid letting him influence you, while you try hard to wean him from every folly, so that, though he is older in some things, he may learn the right way from my calm, grave, steady boy." "but, mother--" "yes," she said, smiling; "i can guess what you are about to say. go, dearest. no: not another word.--yes, i am ready now." this to her maid, who was standing in the doorway, looking very severe; and frank was hurried out to return to his own quarters. chapter thirteen. a very bad dinner. "and i could have told her so easily then," thought frank, as he went away feeling proud and pleased, and yet more troubled than ever. "wean andrew from his ideas? i wonder whether i could. of course i shall try hard; and if i succeeded, what a thing to have done! i'm not going to think which side is right or wrong. we're the king's servants, and have nothing to do with such matters. drew has been trying to get me over to their side. now i'm going to make him come to ours, in spite of all the mr george selbys in london." that afternoon the princess's reception-rooms were crowded by a brilliant assemblage of court ladies and gentlemen, many of whom were in uniform; and there was plenty to take the attention of a lad fresh from the country, without troubling himself about political matters. he saw his father, but not to speak to. the latter gave him a quick look and a nod, though, which the boy interpreted to mean, "don't forget this evening." "just as if i am likely to," thought frank, as he gazed proudly after the handsome, manly-looking officer. he had a glimpse or two of his mother, who was in close attendance upon the princess, and with a natural feeling of pride the lad thought to himself that his father and mother were the most royal-looking couple there. at last he found himself close to andrew forbes, who eagerly joined him, their duties having till now kept them separate. "isn't it horrible?" said andrew, with a look of disgust in his flushed face. "horrible! i thought it the grandest sight i have ever seen. what do you mean by horrible?" "this guttural chattering of the people. why, you can hardly hear an english word spoken. it's all double dutch, till i feel as if my teeth were set on edge." "nonsense! good chance to learn german." "i'd rather learn hottentot. look too what a lot of fat, muffin-faced women there are, and stupid, smoky, sour-kraut-eating men. to my mind there are only two people worth looking at, and they are your father and mother." frank, who had felt irritated at his companion's persistent carping, began to glow, for he felt that his companion's words were genuine. "yes, they do look well, don't they?" "splendid. i do like your mother, frank." "well, she likes you." "h'm. i don't know," said the lad dubiously. "but i do," said frank quickly. "she told me so only this afternoon." "what! here, tell me what she said." "that she knew your mother so well, and that it was sad about her dying so young, and that she felt, as i took it, something the same toward you as she did toward me." "did--did she talk like that, frank?" said andrew, with his lower lip quivering a little. "yes; and told me she hoped i should always be a good friend to you, and keep you out of mischief." "stuff!" cried andrew. "i'm sure she did not say that." "she did," said frank warmly. "not in those words, perhaps; but that was what she meant." andrew laughed derisively. "why, i'm a couple of years nearly older than you." "so she said; but she spoke as if she thought that i could influence you." "bless her!" said andrew warmly. "i feel as proud of her as you do, frank, only i'm sorry for her to be here amongst all these miserable german people. look, there's that stuck-up, conceited baron brokenstone, or whatever his name is. a common german adventurer, that's what he is; and yet he's received here at court." "well, he's one of the king's hanoverian generals." "i should like to meet him under one of our generals," said andrew. "i consider it an insult for a fellow like that to be speaking to your mother--our mother, frank, if she talks about me like that. i hate him, and feel as if i should like to go and hit him across the face with my glove." "what for? oh, i say, drew, what a hot-headed fellow you are." "it isn't my head, franky; it's my heart. it seems to burn when i see these insolent dutch officers lording it here, and smiling in their half-contemptuous, half-insulting way at our english ladies. ugh! i wonder your father doesn't stop it. look at him yonder, standing as if he were made of stone. i shall tell him what i think to-night." "you would never be so foolish and insulting," said frank warmly. "he would be angry." "no, i suppose i must not," said andrew gloomily. "he would say it was the impertinence of a boy." they had to separate directly after, and a few minutes later frank saw his father crossing the room toward the door. frank was nearest, and by a quick movement reached it first, and stepped outside so as to get a word or two from him as he came out. but sir robert was stopped on his way, and some minutes elapsed before frank saw the manly, upright figure emerge from the gaily dressed crowd which filled the anteroom, and stride toward him, but evidently without noticing his presence. "father," he whispered. sir robert turned upon him a fierce, angry face, his eyes flashing, and lips moving as if he were talking to himself. but the stern looks softened to a smile as he recognised his son, and he spoke hurriedly: "don't stop me, my boy; i'm not fit to talk to you now. oh, absurd!" "is anything the matter, father?" said frank anxiously, as he laid his hand on his father's arm. "matter? oh, nothing, boy. just a trifle put out. the rooms are very hot. there, i must go. don't forget to-night, you and young forbes." he nodded and strode on, leaving his son wondering; for he had never seen such a look before upon his father's face. he thought no more of it then, for his attention was taken up by the coming of the princess with her ladies, the reception being at an end; while soon after andrew forbes joined him, and began questioning him again about lady gowan, and what she had said about his dead mother, ending by turning frank's attention from the emotion he could hardly hide by saying banteringly: "you'll have to be very strict with me, frank, or you'll have a great deal of trouble to make me a good boy." "i shall manage it," said frank, with a laugh; and not very long after they were on their way to the guards' messroom, both trying to appear cool and unconcerned, but each feeling nervous at the idea of dining with the officers. sir robert was there, looking rather flushed and excited, as he stood talking to a brother-officer in the large room set apart for the guards; but his face lit up with a pleasant smile as the boys entered, and he greeted them warmly, and introduced them to the officer with him. "makes one feel old, murray," he said, "to have a couple of great fellows like these for sons." "sons? i thought that--" began the officer. "oh, about this fellow," said sir robert merrily. "oh yes, he's forbes's boy; but lady gowan and i seem to have adopted him like. sort of step-parents to him--eh, andrew?" "i wish i could quite feel that, sir robert," said andrew warmly. "well, quite feel it then, my lad," said sir robert, clapping him on the shoulder. "it rests with you.--think frank here will ever be man enough for a soldier, murray?" "man enough? of course," said the officer addressed. "we must get them both commissions as soon as they're old enough. forbes might begin now." "h'm! ha!" said sir robert, giving the lad a dry look. "andrew forbes will have to wait a bit." then, seeing the blood come into the lad's face at the remark which meant so much: "he's going to wait for frank here.--well, isn't it nearly dinner-time?--hungry, boys?" "er--no, sir," said andrew. "frank is," said sir robert, smiling at his son. "can't help it, father," said the boy frankly. "i always am." "and a capital sign too, my lad," said the officer addressed as murray. "there's nothing like a fine healthy appetite in a boy. it means making bone and muscle, and growing. oh yes, he'll be as big as you are, gowan. make a finer man, i'll be bound." "don't look like it," said sir robert merrily; "why, the boy's blushing like a great girl." the conversation was ended by the entrance of several other officers, who all welcomed the two lads warmly, and seemed pleased to do all they could to set at their ease the son and _protege_ of the most popular officer in the regiment. captain murray, his father's friend, was chatting with frank, when he suddenly said: "here are the rest of the guests." six german officers entered the room, and frank started and turned to glance at his father, and then at andrew, whom he found looking in his direction; but sir robert had advanced with the elderly colonel of the regiment, and captain murray rose as well. "i shall have to play interpreter," he said, smiling. "come along, and the colonel will introduce you two, or i will. they don't speak any english; and if you two do not, your father and i are the only men present who know german." the introductions followed, and feeling very uncomfortable all the while, frank and his companion were in due course made known to baron steinberg, count von baumhof, and to the four other guests, whose names he did not catch; and then, by the help of captain murray and sir robert, a difficult conversation was carried on, the german officers assuming a haughty, condescending manner towards the guardsmen, who were most warm in their welcome. at the end of a few minutes captain murray returned to where the two lads were standing, leaving sir robert trying his best to comprehend the visitors, and translating their words to the colonel and his brother-officers. "rather an unthankful task," said the captain, smiling. "these germans treat us as if they had conquered the country, and we were their servants. never mind; i suppose it is their nature to." "yes," said andrew warmly; "they make my blood boil. i know i am only a boy; but that was no reason why they should insult frank gowan here and me with their sneering, contemptuous looks." "never mind, my lad. i noticed it. show them, both of you, that you are english gentlemen, and know how to treat strangers and guests." "yes, yes, of course," said frank hastily. "they will be more civil after dinner. ah, and there it is." for the door was thrown open, one of the servants announced the dinner, and the colonel led off with baron steinberg, after saying a few words to sir robert, who came directly to his brother-officer. "the colonel wishes the places to be changed, murray," he said, "so that you and i can be closer to the head of the table on either side, to do the talking with the visitors. i wish you would take my boy here on your left. forbes, my lad, you come and sit with me." andrew had begun to look a little glum at being set on one side on account of the german officers; but at sir robert's last words he brightened up a little, and they followed into the messroom, which was decorated with the regimental colours; the hall looked gay with its fine display of plate, glass, flowers, and fruit, and the band was playing in a room just beyond. the scene drove away all the little unpleasantry, and the dinner proceeded, with the colonel and his officers doing their best to entertain their guests, but only seeming to succeed with the two pages of honour, to whom everything was, in its novelty, thoroughly delightful. the german officers, though noblemen and gentlemen, gave their hosts a very poor example of good breeding, being all through exceedingly haughty and overbearing, and treating the attempts of sir robert and captain murray to act as their interpreters to the colonel and the other officers with a contempt that was most galling; and more than once frank saw his father, who was opposite, bite his lip and look across at captain murray, who, after one of these glances, whispered to frank: "your dad's getting nettled, my lad, and i find it very consoling." "why?" said frank, who felt annoyed with himself for enjoying the evening so much. "why? because i was fancying that i must have a very hasty temper for minding what has been taking place. do you know any german at all?" "very little," said frank quickly. "what a pity! you could have said something to this stolid gentleman on my right. he seems to think i am a waiter." "i thought he was very rude several times." "well, yes, i suppose we must call it rude. the poor old colonel yonder is in misery; he does hardly anything but wipe his forehead. does not young forbes speak german?" "no, he hates it," said frank hastily. "enough to make him," muttered the captain. "but never mind; you must both come and dine with us another time, when we are all englishmen present. this is a dreary business; but we must make the best of it." he turned to say something courteous to the heavy, silent officer on his right, but it was coldly received, and after a few words the german turned to converse with one of his fellow-countrymen, others joined in, and the colonel looked more troubled and chagrined than ever. the dinner went slowly on; and at last, with the conversation principally carried on by the german guests, who were on more than one occasion almost insolent to their entertainers, the dessert was commenced, several of the officers drawing their chairs closer, and a young ensign, who looked very little older than frank, whispered to him: "i heard your father say that you were coming into the army." "yes, i hope to," replied the lad. "then you set to at once to study german. we shall be having everything german soon." "then i shall not join," said andrew across the table; and the officer on his right laughed. sir robert and captain murray were too much occupied now to pay any attention to their young guests, who found the officers below them eager to make up for this, and they began chatting freely, so that this was the pleasantest part of the evening. but at the upper part of the table matters were getting more strained. the colonel and his friends, whom he had placed with the foreign guests, after trying hard all through to make themselves agreeable and to entertain the visitors, had received so many rebuffs that they became cold and silent, while the germans grew more and more loud in their remarks across the table to each other. many of these remarks were broad allusions to the country in which they were and its people, and the annoyance he felt was plainly marked on sir robert's brow in deeply cut parallel lines. ignoring their hosts, the visitors now began to cut jokes about what they had seen, and from a word here and there which, thanks to his mother, frank was able to grasp, they were growing less and less particular about what they said. baron steinberg had had a great deal to say in a haughtily contemptuous manner, and frank noticed that whenever he spoke his friends listened to him with a certain amount of deference, as if he were the most important man present. he noted, too, that when the baron was speaking his father looked more and more stern, but whenever it fell to his lot to interpret something said by the colonel he was most studiously courteous to the guest. frank had grown interested in an anecdote being related for his and andrew's benefit by one of the young officers below, and as it was being told very humorously his back was half turned to the upper part of the table, and he was leaning forward so as not to miss a word. at the same time, though, he was half-conscious that the baron on the colonel's right was talking loudly, and saying something which greatly amused his compatriots, when all at once sir robert gowan sprang to his feet, and captain murray cried across the table to him: "gowan! for heaven's sake take no notice." frank's heart began to throb violently, as he saw his father dart a fierce look at his brother-officer, and then take a couple of strides up the side of the table to where the baron sat on the colonel's right. "gowan, what is the matter?" cried the colonel. "what has he said?" "i'll interpret afterwards, sir," said sir robert, in a deep, hoarse voice, "when we are alone;" then fiercely to the baron in german: "take back those words, sir. it is an insult--a lie!" the baron sprang to his feet, his example being followed by his brother-officers, and, leaning forward, he seemed about to strike, but with a brutally contemptuous laugh he bent down, caught up his glass, and threw it and its contents in sir robert's face. every one had risen now, and captain murray made a rush to reach the other side; but before he was half-way there, frank had seen his father dart forward, there was the sound of a heavy blow, and the german baron fell back with his chair, the crash resounding through the room, but only to be drowned by the fierce roar of voices, as the german officers clapped their hands to their swordless sides, and then made a rush to seize sir robert. the colonel could not speak a word of german, but his looks and gestures sufficed as he sprang before them. "keep back, gentlemen!" he said; "i am in ignorance of the cause of all this." "a most gross insult, sir!" cried captain murray angrily. "silence, sir!" cried the colonel. "these gentlemen were _my_ guests, and whatever was said captain sir robert gowan has committed an unpardonable breach of social duty. to your quarters, sir, without a word." "right, colonel," replied sir robert quietly, as he stood pale and stern, returning the vindictive looks of the german guests, who would have attacked him but for the action taken by his brother-officers. what took place afterward was confused to frank by the giddy excitement in his brain; but he was conscious of seeing the baron assisted to a chair, and then talking in savage anger to his compatriots, while at the other end of the room there was another knot where the younger officers and captain murray were with sir robert. "it was a mad thing to do, gowan," cried the former. "flesh and blood could not bear it, lad," replied frank's father. "mad? what would you have done if in the presence of your son those words had been uttered?" "as you did, old lad," cried captain murray, with his face flushing, "and then stamped my heel upon his face." there was a low murmur of satisfaction from the young officers around. "hah!" said sir robert, "i thought so." then with a quiet smile he caught andrew's and frank's hands: "so sorry, my dear boys, to have spoiled your evening. go now.--murray, old lad, see them off, and then come to my quarters." "oh, sir robert," whispered andrew, clinging to his hand, and speaking in a low, passionate voice, "i am glad. that did me good." "what! you understood his words?" "i? no." "that's right! go now, frank boy. one moment, my lad. you are suddenly called upon to act like a man." "yes, father! what do you want me to do?" "keep silence, my lad. not a word about this must reach your mother's ears." "come, frank, my lad," said captain murray gently. "you are better away from here." the words seemed to come from a distance, but the lad started and followed the captain outside, where the young officers gathered about him, eager to shake hands and tell him that they were all so glad; but he hardly heard them, and it was in a strangely confused way that he parted from captain murray, who said that he could go no farther, as he wanted to hurry back to sir robert. then the two lads were alone. "what does it all mean, drew?" cried frank passionately. "oh, i must go back. it's cowardly to come away from my father now." "you can't go to him. he'll be under arrest." "arrest!" cried frank. "yes, for certain. but don't look like that, lad. it's glorious--it's grand." "but arrest? he said it was an insult. they can't punish him for that." "punishment? pooh! what does that matter? every gentleman in the army will shout for him, and the men throw up their caps. oh, it's grand-- it's grand! and they'll meet, of course; and sir robert must--he shall--he will too. he'll run the miserable german through." "what? fight! my father fight--with him?" "yes, as sure as we should have done after such a row at school." "but--with swords?" "officers don't fight with fists." "oh!" cried frank wildly; "then that's what he meant when he said that my mother must not know." chapter fourteen. frank's dreadful dawn. frank gowan lay awake for hours that night with his brain in a wild state of excitement. the scene at the dinner, the angry face of his father as he stood defying the baron's friends after striking the german down, the colonel's stern interference, and his orders for sir robert to go to his quarters--all troubled him in turn; then there was the idea of his father being under arrest, and the possibility of his receiving some punishment, all repeating themselves in a way which drove back every prospect of sleep, weary as the lad was; while worst of all, there was andrew forbes's remark about an encounter to come, and the possible results. it was too horrible. suppose sir robert should be killed by the fierce-looking baron! frank turned cold, and the perspiration came in drops upon his temples as he thought of his mother. he sat up in bed, feeling that he ought to go to his father and beg of him to escape anywhere so as to avoid such a terrible fate. but the next minute his thoughts came in a less confusing way, and he knew that he could not at that late hour get to his father's side, and that even if he could his ideas were childish. his father would smile at him, and tell him that they were impossible--that no man of honour could fly so as to avoid facing his difficulties, for it would be a contemptible, cowardly act, impossible for him to commit. "i know--i know," groaned the boy, as he flung himself down once more. "i couldn't have run away to escape from a fight at school. it would have been impossible. why didn't i learn german instead of idling about as i have! if i had i should have known what the baron said. what could it have been?" the hours crept sluggishly by, and sleep still avoided him. not that he wished to sleep, for he wanted to think; and he thought too much, lying gazing at his window till there was a very faint suggestion of the coming day; when, leaving his bed, he drew the curtain a little on one side, to see that the stars were growing paler, and low down in the east a soft, pearly greyness in the sky just over the black-looking trees of the park. it was cold at that early hour, and he shivered and crept back to bed, thinking that his mother in the apartments of the ladies of honour was no doubt sleeping peacefully, in utter ignorance of the terrible time of trouble to come; and then once more he lay down to think, as others have in their time, how weak and helpless he was in his desires to avert the impending calamity. "no wonder i can't sleep," he muttered; and the next moment he slept. for nature is inexorable when the human frame needs rest, or men would not sleep peacefully in the full knowledge that it must be their last repose on earth. five minutes after, his door was softly opened, a figure glided through the gloom to his bedside, and bent over him, like a dimly seen shadow, to catch him by the shoulder. "frank! frank! here, quick! wake up!" the lad sprang back into wakefulness as suddenly as if a trigger had been touched, and all the drowsiness with which he was now charged had been let off. "yes; what's the matter? who's there?" "hush! don't make a noise. jump up, and dress." "drew?" "yes. be quick!" "but what's the matter?" "i couldn't sleep, so i got up and dressed, and opened my window to stand looking out at the stars, till just now i heard a door across the courtyard open, and three men in cloaks came out." "officers' patrol--going to visit the sentries." "no; your father, captain murray, and some one else. i think it was the doctor; he is short and stout." "then father's going to escape," said frank, in an excited whisper. "escape! bah!" replied andrew, in a tone full of disgust. "how could he as a gentleman? can't you see what it means? they're going to a meeting." "a meeting?" faltered frank. "oh, how dull you are! yes, a meeting; they're going to fight!" frank, who had leisurely obeyed his companion's command to get up and dress, now began to hurry his clothes on rapidly, while andrew went on: "i don't know how they've managed it, because your father was under arrest; but i suppose the officers felt that there must be a meeting, and they have quietly arranged it with the germans. of course it's all on the sly. make haste." "yes. i shan't be a minute. you have warned the guard of course?" "done what?" said andrew. "given the alarm," panted frank. "i say, are you mad, or are you still asleep? what do you mean?" "mad! asleep! do you think i don't know what i'm saying?" "i'm sure you don't." "do you think i want my father to be killed?" "do you think your father wants to be branded as a coward? don't be such a foolish schoolboy. you are among men now. i wish i hadn't come and woke you. they'll be getting it over too before i'm there." he made a movement toward the door, but frank seized him by the arm. "no, no; don't go without me," he whispered imploringly. "why not? you'd better go to bed again. you're just like a great girl." "i must go with you, drew. i'm afraid i didn't hardly know what i was saying; but it seems so cold-blooded to know that one's own father is going to a fight that may mean death, and not interfere to stop it." "interfere to stop it--may mean death! i hope it does to some one," whispered andrew fiercely. "there, let go; i can't stop any longer." "you're not going without me. there, i'm ready now." "but i can't take you to try and interfere. i thought you'd like me to tell you." "yes, i do. i must come, and--and i won't say or do anything that isn't right." "i can't trust you," said andrew hastily. "it was a mistake to come and tell you. there, let go." "you are not going without me!" cried frank, fiercely now; and he grasped his companion's arm so firmly that the lad winced. "come on, then," he said; and, with his breath coming thick and short, frank followed his companion downstairs and out of the door of the old house in the palace precincts, into the long, low colonnade. they closed the door softly, and ran together across the courtyard in the dim light, but were challenged directly after by a sentry. "hush! don't stop us," whispered andrew. "you know who we are--two of the royal pages." "can't pass," said the man sternly. "but we must," said frank, in an agonised whisper. "here, take this." "can't pass," said the man; "'gainst orders. you must come to the guardroom." but he took the coin frank handed to him, and slipped it into his pocket. "we want to go to the meeting--the fight," whispered andrew now. "we won't own that you let us go by." "swear it," said the man. "yes, of course. honour of gentlemen." "well, i dunno," said the man. "yes, you do. which way did they go when they passed the gate?" "couldn't see," said the man; "too dark. i thought it was one of them games. my mate yonder'll know, only he won't let you go by without the password." "oh yes, he will," said andrew excitedly. "come on." "mind, i never see you go by," said the man. "of course you didn't," said andrew; "and i can't see you; it's too dark yet." they set off running, and the next minute were at the gate opening on to the park, where another sentry challenged them. "i'm mr frank gowan, captain sir robert gowan's son, and this is mr andrew forbes, prince's page." "yes, i know you, young gentlemen; but where's the password?" "oh, i don't know," said andrew impatiently. "don't stop us, or they'll get it over before we're there. look here; come to our rooms any time to-day, and ask for us. we'll give you a guinea to let us go." "i dursn't," said the man, in a whisper. "which way did they go?" said frank, trembling now with anxiety. "strite acrost under the trees there. they've gone to the bit of a wood down by the water." "yes; that's a retired spot," panted andrew. "here, let's go on." "can't, sir, and i darn't. it's a jewel, aren't it?" "yes, a duel." "well, i'm not going to be flogged or shot for the sake of a guinea, young gentlemen, and i won't. but if you two makes a roosh by while i go into my sentry-box, it aren't no fault o' mine." he turned from them, marched to his little upright box, and entered it, while before he could turn the two lads were dashing through the gate, and directly after were beneath the trees. it was rapidly growing lighter now; but the boys saw nothing of the lovely pearly dawn and the soft wreaths of mist which floated over the water. the birds were beginning to chirp and whistle, and as they ran on blackbird after blackbird started from the low shrubs, uttering the chinking alarm note, and flew onward like a velvet streak on the soft morning glow. in a minute or so they had reached the water-side, and stopped to listen; but they could hear nothing but the gabbling and quacking of the water-fowl. "too late--too late!" groaned frank. "which way shall we go?" "left," said andrew shortly. "sure to go farther away." they started again, running now on the grass, and as they went on step for step: "mayn't have begun yet," panted andrew. "sure to take time preparing first.--there, hark!" for from beneath a clump of trees, a couple of hundred yards in front, there was an indistinct sound which might have meant anything. this the boys attributed to the grinding together of swords, and hurried on. before they had gone twenty yards, though, it stopped; and as all remained silent after they had gone on a short distance farther, the pair stopped, too, and listened. "going wrong," said frank despairingly. "no. right," whispered andrew, grasping his companion's arm; for a low voice in amongst the trees gave what sounded like an order, and directly after there was a sharp click as of steel striking against steel, followed by a grating, grinding sound, as of blade passing over blade. frank made a rush forward over the wet grass, disengaging his arm as he did so; but andrew bounded after him, and flung his arms about his shoulders. "stop!" he whispered. "you're not going on if you are going to interfere." "let go!" said frank, in a choking voice. "i'm not going to interfere. i am going to try and act like a man." "honour?" "honour!" and once more they ran on, to reach the trees and thread their way through to where a couple of groups of gentlemen stood in a grassy opening, looking on while two others, stripped to shirt and breeches, were at thrust and parry, as if the world must be rid of one of them before they had done. as frank saw that one was his father--slight, well-knit, and agile--and the other--heavy, massively built, and powerful--the baron steinberg, the desire was strong to rush between them; but the power was wanting, and he stood as if fixed to the spot, staring with starting eyes at the rapid exchanges made, for each was a good swordsman, well skilled in attack and defence, while the blades, as they grated edge to edge and played here and there, flashed in the morning light; and as if in utter mockery of the scene, a bird uttered its sweet song to the coming day. there were moments when, as the german's blade flashed dangerously near sir robert's breast, frank longed to close his eyes, but they were fixed, and with shuddering emotion he followed every movement, feeling a pang as a deadly thrust was delivered, drawing breath again as he saw it parried. for quite a minute the baron kept up a fierce attack in this, the second encounter since they had begun, but every thrust was turned aside, and at last, as if by one consent, the combatants drew back a step or two with their breasts heaving, and, without taking their eyes off each other, stood carefully re-rolling up their shirt sleeves over their white muscular arms. and now a low whispering went on among the officers, german and english, who were present, and andrew said softly in frank's ear: "don't move--don't make a sign. it might unsettle sir robert if he knew you were here." frank felt that this was true, and with his heart beating as if it would break from his chest he stood watching his father, noting that his breathing was growing more easy, and that he was, though his face was wet with perspiration, less exhausted than his adversary, whose face appeared drawn with hate and rage as he glared at the english captain. suddenly captain murray broke the silence by saying aloud to the german officers: "we are of opinion, gentlemen, that only one more encounter, the third, should take place. this should decide." "tell them not to interfere," said steinberg fiercely, but without taking his eyes off his adversary. then in french, with a very peculiar accent, he cried, "_en garde_!" and stepped forward to cross swords with sir robert once more. the latter advanced at the same moment, and the blades clicked and grated slightly, as their holders stood motionless, ready to attack or defend as the case might be. for nearly half a minute they stood motionless, eye fixed on eye, each ready to bring to bear his utmost skill, for, from the first the german had fought with a vindictive rage which plainly showed that he was determined to disable, if he did not slay, his adversary; while, enraged as he had been, there was, after some hours of sleep, no such desire on the part of sir robert. he desired to wound his enemy, but that was all; and as he at the first engagement realised the german's intentions, he fought cautiously, confining himself principally to defence, save when he was driven, for his own safety, to retaliate. the seconds and those who had come as friends, at the expense of a breach of discipline and the consequences which might follow, had grasped this from the first; and though he had great faith in his friend's skill, captain murray had been longing for an opportunity to interfere and end the encounter. none had presented itself, and the german officers had so coldly refused to listen to any attempt at mediation that there was nothing for it but to let matters take their course. and now, as the adversaries stood motionless with their blades crossed, sir robert's friends felt to a man, as skilled fencers, that the time had arrived for him to take the initiative, press his adversary home, and end the duel by wounding him. but sir robert still stood on his guard, the feeling in his breast being--in spite of the terrible provocation he had received--that he had done wrong in striking his colonel's guest, and he kept cool and clear-headed, resolved not to attack. then, all at once, by an almost imperceptible movement of the wrist, the baron made his sword blade play about his enemy's, laying himself open to attack, to tempt his adversary to begin. twice over he placed himself at so great a disadvantage that it would have been easy for sir robert to have delivered dangerous thrusts; but the opportunities were declined, for the english captain's mind was made up, and frank heard an impatient word from murray's lips, while andrew uttered a loud sigh. then, quick as lightning, the baron resumed his old tactics, sending in thrust after thrust with all the skill he could command. his blade quivered and bent, and seemed to lick that of sir robert like a lambent tongue of fire; and frank felt ready to choke, as he, with andrew, unable to control their excitement, crept nearer and nearer to the actors in the terrible life drama, till they were close behind captain murray and the other english officers, hearing their hard breathing and the short, sharp gasps they uttered as some fierce thrust was made which seemed to have gone home. but no: giving way very slightly, in spite of the fashion in which he was pressed by the german, sir robert turned every thrust aside; and had he taken advantage of his opportunities, he could have again and again laid the baron at his feet, but not in the way he wished, for his desire now was to inflict such a wound as would merely place his enemy _hors de combat_. a murmur now arose amongst the englishmen, for the affair was becoming murderous on one side. but the german officers looked on stolidly, each with his left hand resting upon the hilt of his sword, as if ready to resent any interference with the principals in a deadly way. there was no hope of combination there to end the encounter, and once more captain murray and his friends waited for sir robert to terminate the fight, as they now felt that he could at any time. for, enraged by the way in which he was being baffled by the superior skill of his adversary, the baron's attack was growing wild as well as fierce; and, savagely determined to end all by a furious onslaught, he made a series of quick feints, letting his point play about sir robert's breast, and then, quick as lightning, lunged with such terrible force that frank uttered a faint cry. his father heard it, and though he parried that thrust, it was so nervously that he was partly off his guard with that which followed, the result being that a red line suddenly sprang into sight from just above his wrist, nearly to his elbow, and from which the blood began to flow. a cry of "halt!" came from captain murray and his friends, and this was answered by a guttural roar from the baron, while, as the former, as second, stepped forward to beat down the adversaries' swords, the german officers at once drew their weapons, not to support the baron's second, but as a menace. it was all almost momentary, and while it went on the baron, inspired by the sight of the blood, pressed forward, thrusting rapidly, feeling that the day was his own. but that strong british arm, though wounded, grasped the hilt of sir robert's blade as rigidly as if it were of the same metal; and as the baron lunged for what he intended for his final thrust, he thoroughly achieved his object, but not exactly as he meant. his sword point was within an inch of sir robert's side, when a quick beat in octave sent it spinning from his hand, while at the same instant, and before the flying sword had reached the ground, sir robert's blade had passed completely through his adversary's body. the german officers rushed forward, not to assist their fallen leader, but, sword in hand, evidently to avenge his fall, so taking the englishmen by surprise that, save sir robert's second, neither had time to draw. it would have gone hard with them, but, to the surprise of all, there was a short, sharp order, and an officer and a dozen of the guards dashed out of the clump of trees which sheltered the duellists, to arrest the whole party for brawling within the palace precincts. chapter fifteen. the conqueror. the german party blustered, but the officer in command of the guards had no hesitation in forcing them to submit. they threatened, but the fixed bayonets presented at their breasts, and the disposition shown by the sturdy englishmen who bore them to use them on the instant that an order was given, ended in a surrender. as the baron fell, the feeling of horror which attacked frank passed away, and, handkerchief in hand, he sprang to his father's side, binding it tightly round the wound, and following it up by the application of a scarf from his neck. "ah, frank lad," said sir robert, as if it were quite a matter of course that his son should help him; and he held up his arm, so that the wound could be bound while he spoke to captain murray. "it was an accident," he said excitedly. "i swear that i was only on my defence." "we saw," said the captain quietly. "he regularly forced himself on your blade." "how is he, doctor?" said sir robert excitedly. "bad," replied the surgeon, who was kneeling beside the fallen man, while his disarmed companions looked fiercely on. "don't worry yourself about it, gowan," said one of sir robert's brother-officers; "the brute fought like a savage, and tried his best to kill you." "i'd have given ten years of my life sooner than it should have happened.--that will do, boy." "bad job, gowan," said the officer who had arrested them. "the colonel was very wild as soon as he knew that you had broken arrest and come to this meeting, and it will go hard with you, murray, and you others." "oh, we were spectators like the boys here," said one of the officers. "yes, it's a bad job," said captain murray; "but a man must stand by his friend. never mind, gowan, old fellow; if they cashier us, we must offer our swords elsewhere. i say," he continued, turning to the captain of the guard, "you are not going to arrest these boys?" "the two pages? no; absurd. they found out that there was an affair on, and came to see. got over the wall, i suppose. i should have done the same. i can't see them. now, doctor, as soon as you say the word, my men shall carry our german friend on their muskets. how is he?" "as i said before--bad," replied the surgeon sternly. "better send two men for a litter. he must be taken carefully." "then i'll leave two men with you while i take my prisoners to the guard-house. fall in, gentlemen, please. you boys get back to your quarters. now, messieurs--meinherrs, i mean--you are my prisoners. vorwarts! march!" "aren't you faint, father?" whispered frank, who took sir robert's uninjured arm. "only sick, boy--heartsick more than anything. frank, your mother must know, and if she waits she will get a garbled account. go to her as soon as you get to the palace, and tell her everything--the simple truth. i am not hurt much--only a flesh wound, which will soon heal." "and if she asks me why you fought, father," whispered frank, "what am i to say?" sir robert frowned heavily, and turned sharply to gaze in his son's eyes. "frank boy," he said, "you are beginning trouble early; but you must try and think and act like a man. when i go, your place is at your mother's side." "when you go, father?" "yes, i shall have to go, boy. tell her i fought as a man should for the honour of those i love. now say no more; i am a bit faint, and i want to think." the strange procession moved in toward the gates, the german officers talking angrily together, and paying little heed to their fellow-prisoners, save that one of them darted a malignant glance at sir robert gowan, which made andrew turn upon him sharply with an angry scowl, looking the officer up and down so fiercely that he moved menacingly toward the lad; but the guardsman at his side raised his arm and stepped between them. just then the boys' eyes met, and frank, who was still supporting his father, gave his friend a grateful look. when the guard-house was reached, it was just sunrise, upon as lovely a morning as ever broke; and it contrasted strangely with the aspect of the men who had been out for so sinister a design. frank felt something of the kind as the door was opened to admit his father, one accustomed to command, and now ready to enter as a prisoner; but he had very little time then for private thought, for the colonel suddenly appeared, and without a glance at sir robert said sharply: "well?" "too late to stop it, sir," reported the officer in command. "captain sir robert gowan wounded in the arm." "baron steinberg?" "the doctor is with him, sir. a litter is to be sent at once." "but--surely not--" "no, not dead, sir; but run through the body." "tut, tut, tut!" ejaculated the colonel; and he turned now to sir robert with words of reproach on his lips, but the fixed look of pain and despair upon his officer's features disarmed him, and he signed to the prisoner to enter. "what shall i do now, father?" said frank. "let me fetch another doctor." "nonsense, boy. only a flesh wound. go back to the park at once; i want to hear what news there is." "of the baron, father?" "yes; make haste. i must know how he is." frank gave a quick, short nod, pressed his father's hand, and hurried out, to find andrew, whom he had forgotten for the moment, walking up and down in front of a knot of soldiers, looking as fretful as a trapped wolf in a cage. "they wouldn't let me come in," he said impatiently. "i only got in because i was supporting my father," said frank quickly. "come along; i'm going to see how the baron is. has the litter gone?" "no; there are the men coming with it now." the two lads set off running, andrew's ill-humour passing off in action, and he chatted quite cheerily as they made for the park. "your father was splendid, frank!" he cried. "i was proud of him. what a lesson for those haughty sausage-eaters!" "but it is a terrible business, drew." "stuff! only an affair of honour. of course it may be serious for your father if the baron dies: but he won't die. some of his hot blood let out. do him good, and let all these hanoverians see what stuff the english have in them. don't you fidget. why, every one in the guards will be delighted. i know i am. wouldn't have missed that fight for anything." "you don't ask how my father's wound is." "no, and he would not want me to. nasty, shallow cut, that's all. here we are." they trotted into the opening where the greensward was all trampled and stamped by the combatants' feet, and found the doctor kneeling by his patient just as they had left him, and the two grenadiers with grounded arms standing with their hands resting on the muzzles of their pieces. "hallo! young men," cried the doctor, rising and stepping to them. "is that litter going to be all day?" "they're bringing it, sir," said frank; "we ran on first. how is he now?" frank looked at the white face before him with its contracted features and ghastly aspect about the pinched-in lips. "about as bad as he can be, my lad. a man can't have a sharp piece of steel run through his chest without feeling a bit uncomfortable. lesson for you, my boys. you see what duelling really is. you'll neither of you quarrel and go out after this." "why not?" said andrew sharply. "i should, and so would frank gowan, if we were insulted by a foreigner." "bah!" cried the doctor testily. "nice language for a boy like you." "please tell me, sir," said frank anxiously. "will he get better?" "why do you want to know, you young dog?" said the doctor, turning upon him sharply. "no business here at all, either of you." "my father is so anxious to know. i want to run back and tell him." "oh, that's it!" said the doctor gruffly. "no business to have broken out to fight; but i suppose i must tell him. go back and say that the baron has got a hole in his chest and another in his back, and his life is trying to slip out of one of them; but i've got them stopped, and that before his life managed to pop out. lucky for him that i was here; and i'm very glad, tell your father, that it has turned out as it has, for i stood all through the ugly business, expecting every moment that he would go down wounded to the death." "yes, i'll tell him," said frank hurriedly. "don't rush off like that, boy. how should you like to be a surgeon?" "not at all, sir." "and quite right," said the doctor, taking out his box, and helping himself to a liberal pinch of snuff. "nice job for a man like me to have to do all i can to save the life of a savage who did all he could to murder one of my greatest friends. there, run back and tell him to make his mind easy about my lord here. i won't let him die, and as soon as i can i'll come and see to his arm." the boys ran off again, passing the litter directly; but when they reached the guard-house, the sentry refused to let them pass, and summoned another of the guards, who took in a message to the captain who made the arrest. he came to the door directly, and learned what they wanted. "i can't admit you," he said. "the colonel's orders have been very strict. i'll go and set your father's mind at rest, for of course he'll be glad that he did not kill his adversary." the captain nodded in a friendly way, and went back. "he can't help himself, frank," said andrew. "don't mind about it. and there won't be any punishment. the king and the prince will storm and shout a bit in dutch, and then it will all blow over. your father's too great a favourite with the troops for there to be any bother, and the bigwigs know how pleased every one will be that the dutchman got the worst of it. i say, look; it's only half-past five now!" "what: not later than that!" cried frank in astonishment, for he would have been less surprised if he had heard that it was midday. "here they come," whispered andrew; and, turning quickly, frank saw the soldiers bearing in the wounded baron, with the doctor by his side, and they waited till they saw the litter borne in to the guardroom, and the door was shut. "i say, who would have thought of this when we were going over to the messroom yesterday evening? what shall we do now--go back to bed?" "to bed!" said frank reproachfully. "no. i have the worst to come." "what, are you going to challenge one of the germans? i'll second you." "don't be so flippant. there, good-bye for the present." "good-bye be hanged! you're in trouble, and i'm going to stick to you like a man." "yes, i know you will, drew; but let me go alone now." "what for? where are you going? you're not going to be so stupid as to begin petitioning, and all that sort of nonsense, to get your father off?" "no," said frank, with his lower lip quivering; "he'll fight his own battle. i've got a message from him for my mother, and i have to break the news to her." andrew forbes uttered a low, soft whistle, and nodded his head. "before she gets some muddled story, not half true. i say, tell her not to be frightened and upset. sir robert shan't come to harm. why, we could raise all london if they were to be queer to him. but take my word for it, they won't be." frank hardly heard his last words, for they were now in the calm, retired quadrangle of the palace, one side of which was devoted to the apartments of the ladies in attendance upon the queen and princess, and the lad went straight to the door leading to his mother's rooms, and rang. chapter sixteen. frank has a painful task. for the moment frank gowan forgot that it was only half-past five, and after waiting a reasonable time he rang again. but all was still in the court, which lay in the shade, while the great red-brick clock tower was beginning to glow in the sunshine. there were some pigeons on one of the roofs preening their plumes, and a few sparrows chirping here and there, while every window visible from where the boy stood was whitened by the drawn-down blinds. he rang again and waited, but all was as silent as if the place were uninhabited, and the whistling of wings as half a dozen pigeons suddenly flew down to begin stalking about as if in search of food sounded startling. "too soon," thought frank; and going a little way along, he seated himself upon a dumpy stone post, to wait patiently till such time as the palace servants were astir. and there in the silence his thoughts went back to his adventures that morning, and the scene, which seemed to have been enacted days and days ago, came vividly before his eyes, while he thrilled once more with the feeling of mingled horror and excitement, as he seemed to stand again close behind captain murray, expecting moment by moment to see his father succumb to the german's savage attack. there it all was, as clear as if it were still going on, right to the moment when the baron missed his desperate thrust and literally fell upon his adversary's point. "it was horrid, horrid, horrid," muttered the lad with a shiver; and he tried to divert his mind by thinking of how he should relate just a sufficiency of the encounter to his mother, and no more. "yes," he said to himself. "i'll just tell her that they fought, that father was scratched by the baron's sword, and then the baron was badly wounded in return. "that will do," he said, feeling perfectly satisfied; "i'll tell her just in this way." but as he came to this determination, doubt began to creep in and ask him whether he could relate the trouble so coolly and easily when his mother's clear eyes were watching him closely and searching for every scrap of truth; and then he began to think it possible that he might fail, and stand before her feeling guilty of keeping a great deal back. "i know i shall grow confused, and that she will not believe that poor father's arm was only scratched, and she'll think at once that it is a serious wound, and that the baron is dead." he turned so hot at this that he rose quickly, and walked along all four sides of the quadrangle to cool himself before going to the door once more and giving a sharp ring. "are the servants going to lie in bed all day?" he said peevishly. "they ought to be down before this." but the ring meeting with no response, he sat down again to try and think out what the consequences of the events of the morning would be. here, however, he found himself confronted by a thick, black veil, which shut out the future. it was easy enough to read the past, but to imagine what was to come was beyond him. at last, when quite an hour had passed, he grew impatient, and rang sharply this time, to hear a window opened somewhere at the top of the house; and when he looked up, it was to see a head thrust forth and rapidly withdrawn. five minutes or so afterward he heard the shooting of bolts and the rattling down of a chain, the door was opened, and a pretty-looking maidservant, with sleep still in her eyes, confronted him ill-humouredly. "how late you are!" cried frank. "no, sir; please, it's you who are so early. we didn't go to bed till past one." "is lady gowan up yet?" "lor' bless you, sir, no! why--oh, i beg your pardon, i'm sure, sir. i didn't know you at first; it's her ladyship's son, isn't it?" "yes, of course. i want to see her directly." "but you can't, sir. she won't be down this two hours." "go and tell my mother i am here, and that i want to see her on important business." "very well, sir; but i know i shall get into trouble for disturbing her," said the maid ill-humouredly. "she was with the princess till ever so late." the girl went upstairs, leaving frank waiting in the narrow passage of the place, and at the end of a few minutes she returned. "her ladyship says, sir, you are to come into her little boudoir and wait; she'll dress, and come down in a few minutes." frank followed the maid to the little room, and stood waiting, for he could not sit down in his anxiety. he felt hot and cold, and as if he would have given anything to have hurried away, but there was nothing for it but to screw up his courage and face the matter. "she'll be half an hour yet," he muttered, "and that will give me time to grow cool; then i can talk to her." he was wrong; for at the end of five minutes there was the rustling of garments, and lady gowan entered, in a loose morning gown, looking startled at being woke up by such a message. "why, frank, my darling boy, what is it?" she cried, as the boy shrank from her eyes when she embraced him affectionately. "you are ill! no; in trouble! i can see it in your eyes. look up at me, my boy, and be in nature what you are by name. you were right to come to me. there, sit down by my side, and let it be always so--boy or man, let me always be your _confidante_, and i will forgive you and advise you if i can." frank was silent, but he clung to her, trembling. "speak to me, dear," she said, drawing him to her and kissing his forehead; "it cannot be anything very dreadful--only some escapade." his lips parted, but no words would come, and he shivered at the thought of undeceiving her. "come, come, dear," she whispered, "there is no one to hear you but i; and am i not your mother?" "yes, but--" that was all. he could say no more. "frank, my boy, why do you hesitate?" she whispered, as she passed her soft, warm hand over his forehead, which was wet and cold. "come, speak out like a brave lad. a boy of your age should be manly, and if he has done wrong own to it, and be ready to bear the reproof or punishment he has earned. come, let me help you." "you help me?" he gasped. "yes, i think i can. you dined at the mess last night; your face is flushed and feverish, your head is hot, and your hands wet and cold. phoebe tells me that in her sleep she heard you ringing at the bell soon after five. is this so?" "yes," he said with his eyes and a quick nod of the head. "hah! and am i right in saying that you have had scarcely any or no sleep during the night?" he nodded again quickly, and felt as if it would be impossible to try and set his mother right. "hah! i am angry with you. i feel that i ought to be. there has been some escapade. your father would have watched over you while he was there. it must have been afterwards--andrew forbes and some of the wild young officers. yes, i see it now; and i never warned you against such a peril, though it is real enough, i fear." "oh, mother, mother!" groaned the boy in agony. "i knew it," she said sternly; "they have led you away to some card- or dice-playing, and you have lost. now you are fully awake to your folly." the boy made a brave effort to speak out, but still no words would come. "well," said lady gowan, taking his hand to hold it firmly between her own. but he was still silent. "i am angry, and cruelly disappointed in you, frank," she said sternly. "but your repentance has been quick, and you have done what is right. there, i will forgive you, on your solemn promise that you will not again sin like this. i will give you the money to pay the miserable debt, and if i have not enough i will get it, even if i have to sell my diamonds." she looked at him as it expecting now a burst of repentant thanks; but he remained speechless, and a feeling of resentment against him rose in lady gowan's breast, as she felt that this was not the return the boy should have made to her gentle reproof, her offer to free him from his difficulty, and her eyes flashed upon him angrily. "oh, mother!" he cried, "don't look at me like that." "i must, frank," she said, loosing his hand, "you are not meeting me in this matter as you should." "no, no," he cried, finding his tongue now, and catching her hands in his, as he sank on his knees before her. "don't shrink from me, though it does seem so cruel of me." "more cruel, my boy, than you think," she said, as she resigned her hands to him lovingly once more. "speak out to me, then. it is what i fear?" "oh no, no, mother darling," he groaned. "i must speak now. it is far worse than that." "worse!" she cried, with a startled look in her eyes. "some quarrel?" he bowed his head, partly in assent, partly to escape her piercing look. "and you are no longer a schoolboy--you wear a sword. oh, frank, frank! you--andrew forbes." he shook his head and bowed it down. then he raised it firmly and proudly, and met his mother's eyes gazing wildly at him now, as she tried to release her hands, but as he held them tightly, pressed them with her own against her throbbing breast. "he told me to come to you as a man and break the news." "he--your father--told you--to break the news. ah, i see it all. a quarrel--and they have fought--but he bade you come. then he lives!" "yes, yes, mother dear. he is wounded, but very slightly in the arm." lady gowan uttered a low, piteous cry, and sank upon her knees beside her son, with her lips moving quickly for some moments, as he supported her where they knelt together. "wounded--dangerously?" she moaned. "no, no; believe me, mother, slightly in his sword arm. he walked back with me." "to his quarters?" "no. he was arrested." "ah!" ejaculated lady gowan. "arrested--why?" frank hastily explained. "oh the horror of these meetings! but this man, your father struck him? but why?" frank repeated his father's message, and lady gowan looked bewildered. "i cannot understand," she said. "these german officers are favourites of the king, and the baron must have cruelly insulted your father, or he, who is so brave and strong and gentle, would never have done this. they are proud and overbearing, and i know treat our english officers with contempt. yes, it must have been from that. when was it?" "at daybreak." "where?" "just yonder in the park." "and your father took you?" said lady gowan, with a look of horror. "no, no, mother; he did not know i was there till it was just over, and he told me how it was." "yes, i see." "i was horrified and frightened when drew came and told me. i could not keep away." "no," she said softly, "of course not. i should have gone myself had i known. but your good, brave father wounded, and the man who insulted him escaped unhurt!" "no, no, mother; he is--" "frank! not dead?" she cried in horror, for the boy stopped. "no, no; but very dangerously wounded. the soldiers carried him back on a litter, but the doctor says that he will live." once more, while she knelt there, lady gowan's lips moved as her eyes closed, and she bent down her head above her son's shoulder. at last she raised it, and said, firmly: "we must be brave over this terrible misfortune, frank dear. but tell me; do i know the worst?" "yes, yes, mother; i meant to keep a great deal back, and i can't look in your eyes, and say anything that is not perfectly true." "and never will, my son," she cried, with a wildly hysterical burst of tears, which she checked in a few moments. "there, your mother is very weak, you see, dear; but i am going to be strong now. then that explains the sternness of the arrest. let us look the matter in the face. your father struck this german nobleman, the guest of the regiment. they fought this morning, and the cause of the trouble is badly hurt. the king and the prince will be furious. they will look upon it as a mutinous attack upon one of their favourites. yes, i must see the princess at once. i will go to her chamber now; so leave me, my boy, and wait. i will write to you, and i must try and get a note to your father. there, go, my own brave boy, and be comforted. the trouble may not be so great after all, for we have a friend who loves us both--the princess, and she will help me in my sore distress. there, go, my boy; she must have the news from me, as your father contrived that it should come to me. i can go to her chamber at any time, for she has told me again and again that she looks upon me as her dearest friend." the next minute frank was crossing the quadrangle on his way back, feeling relieved of much of his burden; but before he reached the quarters occupied by the royal pages, andrew forbes stood before him. "at last!" he said. "i've been waiting here ever since. how does she take it?" "bravely," said frank, with a proud look. "she has just gone in to tell the princess." "and she will get sir robert out of the scrape if she can. but it won't do, frank," said andrew, shaking his head. "she'll be very kind to your mother, but you may as well know the worst. she can't; for his majesty will have something to say about his baron. your father might as well have hit the king himself." chapter seventeen. the king's decree. "any fresh news?" "no. have you any?" "not much; but i've seen the doctor again this morning." "you told me yesterday that he said you were not to dare to come to him any more." "yesterday! why, that was four days ago." "nonsense! that would have been before the duel." "i say, frank, are you going out of your mind?" "i don't know," said the boy wearily. "my head's muddled with want of sleep." "muddled? i should think it is. why, it's a week to-day since that glorious fight in the park." "glorious?" "yes. i wish our officers would challenge all the german officers, fight them, and wound them, and send them out of the country." "don't talk nonsense. talk about the doctor. he did tell you not to come any more." "yes; he said he wouldn't be bothered by a pack of boys." "yes; he said the same to me every time i went." "every time! have you been there much?" "about four times a day." "no wonder he was snappish to me, then." "i suppose it has been tiresome, and he has called me all sorts of names, and said i worried his life out; but he always ended by smiling and shaking hands." "you haven't been this morning of course?" "yes, i have." "well?" "he says father's arm is going on well; but the baron is very bad." "serve him right." "but i want him to get well." "oh, he'll get well some day. he's such a big, thick fellow, that it's a long wound from front to back, and takes time. be a lesson to him. i say, how's lady gowan?" "very miserable and low-spirited." "humph!" ejaculated andrew; and he glanced in a curious, furtive way at his companion. "i say, i thought the princess was to speak to the king, and get your father pardoned." "she did speak to him, and the prince has too." "well?" "we don't know any more yet. i suppose my father is kept under arrest so as to punish him." "yes," said andrew, with a strange hesitation, which took frank's attention. "why did you say `_yes_' like that?" he cried, with his dull, listless manner passing off, and a keen, eager look in his eyes. "did i say `_yes_' like that?" "you know you did. what is it you are keeping back, drew?" "i say, don't talk like that," said andrew petulantly. "i never saw such a fellow as you are. here, only the other day you looked up to me in everything, and i tried to teach you how to behave like a young man of the world in courtly society." "yes, you did, and i am greatly obliged; but--" "seems like it," said andrew sharply. "then all at once you set up your hackles, and show fight like a young cockerel, and begin bouncing over me--i mean trying to; and it won't do, young gowan. i'm your senior." "yes, yes, i know," cried frank angrily; "but this is all talk, just for the sake of saying something to put me off. now speak out; what is it you're keeping back?" "there you go again, bully gowan! here, i say, you know i'm not going to stand this. you keep your place." "don't, don't, drew, when i'm in such trouble!" cried frank appealingly. "ah! that's better. now you've dropped into your place again, boy." "you have something fresh--some great trouble--and you are hiding it from me." "well, how can i help it?" said andrew. "you're bad enough as it is, and i don't want to make matters worse." "but that's what you are doing. why don't you speak?" "because you'll go and tell dear lady gowan, and it will half kill her." "what!" cried frank, springing at his companion, and catching him by the shoulder. "and i look upon her as if she was my mother as well as yours, and i'd cut off my hand sooner than hurt her feelings more." "i knew there was something fresh," cried frank excitedly; "and, whatever it is, i must tell her, drew. i promised her that i'd be quite open, and keep nothing from her." "there, i knew i was right. how can i help keeping it back? and don't, frank lad. i say, how strong you are. you're ragging my collar about. i shan't be fit to be seen." "then why don't you speak? it's cruel, horrible," cried frank hoarsely. "because it comes so hard, old lad. i feel just as you told me you felt when you had to go and tell lady gowan that morning." "yes, yes, i know; but do--do speak! you've tortured me enough." "i've just seen captain murray." "ah!" "he was coming out of the colonel's quarters." "well? be quick--oh, do be quick!" "i ran to him, and he took me into his room and told me." "yes--told you--what?" "he said he was very sorry for you and lady gowan, but the king was as hard as a rock. the prince had been at him, and the princess too; but he would hardly listen to them, and the most he would do was--it seems that steinberg is a very old favourite." "oh, i knew all that long ago! why do you break off in that tantalising way?" "there is to be no regular court-martial, such as was to have been as soon as the doctor said sir robert could bear it." "yes, yes." "oh, it's no, no, frank. he's to be dismissed from his regiment." "i was afraid so," cried frank. "but to exchange into another. what regiment is he to go in?" andrew was silent. "well, go on! why don't you speak?" cried frank wildly. "i asked you what regiment he was to go in." "no regiment at all. he's dismissed from the king's service, and he is to leave the country. if he comes back, he is to be severely punished." "oh, they could not punish him more severely," cried frank, with an angry stamp of the foot. "yes, they could. his majesty"--andrew forbes said the two last words with bitter irony in his tones--"might order his execution." "then we are all to go away," said frank, frowning. "i don't know about that," replied andrew. "but it's a good thing for your father." "what! a good thing?" "yes; to get out of the service of such a miserable usurper. if it were not for the terrible upset to lady gowan, i should be ready to congratulate her." "that will do," said frank sharply. "don't get introducing your principles here." "our principles," whispered andrew, with a meaning look. "your principles," continued frank, with emphasis. "i'm in no temper for that, and i don't want to quarrel. i must go and tell her as soon as i'm off duty. she'll be ready to hate the sight of me for always bringing her bad news." but before the boy was relieved from his daily duties in the anteroom, a note was brought to him from lady gowan confirming andrew's words. in fact, frank's mother had known the worst over-night. but there was other news in the letter which told the lad that his father was to leave london that evening, that he was to accompany his mother to see him for a farewell interview, and that she wished him to be ready to go with her at seven o'clock. frank read the letter twice, and felt puzzled. he read it again, and sought out his friend. "been to see lady gowan?" andrew asked. "no; read this." the lad took the letter, shrugged his shoulders as he read it, and handed it back. "that's plain enough," he said bitterly. "do you think so? i don't. i can't make out the end." "you are to call for lady gowan, and take her to sir robert's quarters." "no, no, i mean about a farewell visit." "well, isn't that plain?" "but we shall go too." "i don't think so. your mother is the princess's friend, and she does not wish to lose her. you will both have to stay." "impossible!" cried frank excitedly. "well, we shall see," said andrew meaningly. that evening frank took his mother, closely veiled, to sir robert's quarters, where he had been ever since the duel, with a sentry beneath his window, another stationed at his door. the pass lady gowan bore admitted them at once, and the next minute they were in sir robert's room, to find him looking pale and stern, busily finishing with his servant the preparations for an immediate start. the man was dismissed, and father, mother, and son were alone. lady gowan was the first to speak. "you know the orders that have been given, robert?" she said. "yes; i travel with a strong escort to harwich, where i am to take ship and cross." "of course we are going with you, robert," said lady gowan. sir robert was silent for a few moments, and frank stood watching him anxiously, eager to hear his reply. "no," he said at last. "i am driven out of the country, and it would not be right to take you with me now." "robert!" cried lady gowan. "hush!" he said appealingly. "i have much to bear now; don't add to my burden. at present i have no plans. i do not even know where i shall direct my steps. i am to be shipped off to ostend. it would be madness to take you from here yet. the princess is your friend, and i understand that the prince is well-disposed toward me. you must stay here for the present." "but i am sure that her royal highness will wish me to leave her service now." "and i am not," said sir robert. "for the present i wish you to stay." lady gowan bent down and kissed his hand in obedience to her husband's wishes. "but you will take me with you, father?" cried frank. "you, my boy? no. you cannot leave your mother. she and i both look to you to fill my place till the happier days come, when i can return to england. you hear me, frank?" a protest was on the lad's lips; but there was a stern decision in sir robert's eyes and tones which silenced it, and with quivering lip he stood listening to his father's instructions, till there was a tap at the door, and an officer appeared to announce that the visitors must leave. "very well," said sir robert quietly, and the officer withdrew. "oh, father!" cried frank, "let me go and ask for another hour." "no, my boy," said sir robert, firmly. "it is better so. why should we try to prolong pain? good-bye, frank, till we meet again. you must be a man now, young as you are. i leave your mother in your care." his farewell to lady gowan was very brief, and then at his wish she tore herself away, and with her veil drawn-down to hide her emotion, she hurried out, resting on frank's arm; while he, in spite of his father's recent words, was half choked as he felt how his mother was sobbing. "don't speak to me, dear," she whispered, as they reached her apartments. "i cannot bear it. i feel as if we were forsaking your father in the time of his greatest need." it was painful to leave her suffering; but there was a feeling of desire urging the lad away, and he hurried out, finding andrew faithfully waiting at the door, and ready to press his hand in sympathy. "it's terribly hard, lad," he said. "oh, dear; what a wicked world it is! but you are coming to see him go?" frank nodded--he could not trust himself to speak--and they started back for sir robert's quarters. they were none too soon; for already a couple of coaches were at the door, and a military guard was drawn up, keeping back a little crowd, the wind of the approaching departure having got abroad. the lads noticed that fully half were soldiers; but they had little time for making observations, for already sir robert was at the door, and the next minute he had stepped into the first coach, the second, standing back, being filled with guards, one being beside the coachman on the box, and two others standing behind. an officer and two soldiers followed sir robert. the door was banged to as frank and andrew dashed forward, and forced their way past the sentries who kept back the crowd. it required little effort, for as soon as the guards recognised them they gave place, and enabled them to run beside the coach for a little way, waving their hands to the banished man. sir robert saw them, and leaned forward, and his face appeared at the window, when, as if influenced by one spirit, the soldiers uttered a tremendous cheer, the rest joined in, and the next minute the boys stood panting outside in front of the clock tower, with the carriages disappearing on their way east. "oh, frank, frank!" cried andrew excitedly, "is this free england? if we had only known--if we had only known." frank's heart was too full for speech, and, hardly heeding his companion's words, he stood gazing after the two coaches, feeling lower in spirits than he ever had before in his life. "we ought to have known that the soldiers and the people were all upon his side. a little brave effort, with some one to lead them, and we could have rescued him. the men would have carried everything before them." "rather curious expressions of opinion for one of the royal pages, young gentleman," said a stern voice. "captain murray!" cried andrew, who was thoroughly startled to find his words taken up so promptly by some one behind him. "yes, my lad, captain murray. i am glad, gowan, that such words did not fall from you, though in your case they would have been more excusable." "perhaps, sir," cried frank, in his loyalty to his friend, though truthfully enough, "it was because i could not speak. i wish i had helped to do it, though." "hah! yes, brave and manly, but weak and foolish, my boy. recollect what and where you are, and that whispers spoken in the precincts of the palace often have echoes which magnify them and cause those who uttered them much harm." "i'm not sorry i spoke," said andrew hotly. "it has been horribly unjust to sir robert gowan." "suppose we discuss that shut in between four walls which have no ears, my lad. but let me ask you this, my hot-blooded young friend--suppose you had roused the soldiers into rising and rescuing sir robert gowan, what then?" "it would have been a very gallant thing, sir," said andrew haughtily. "of course, very brave and dashing, but a recklessly impulsive act. what would have followed?" captain murray turned from andrew to frank, and the latter saw by the dim lamplight that the words were addressed more particularly to him. "we should have set him free." "no. you might have rescued him from his guards; but he would have been no more free than he is now. he could not have stayed in england, but would have had to make for the coast, and escape to france or holland in some smuggler's boat. you see he would have been just where he is now. but it is more probable that you would not have secured him, for the guard would at the first attempt have been called upon to fire, and many lives would have been sacrificed for nothing." "i thought you were sir robert gowan's friend, sir," said andrew bitterly. "so i am, boy; but i am the king's servant, sworn to obey and defend him. his majesty's commands were that sir robert should leave his service, and seek a home out of england. it is our duty to obey. and now listen to me, mr andrew forbes, and you too, frank gowan; and if i speak sternly, remember it is from a desire to advise my old comrade's son and his companion for the best. a still tongue maketh a wise head. but i am not going to preach at you; and it is better that you should take it to heart--you in particular, andrew forbes, for you occupy a peculiar position here. your father is a proscribed rebel." "you dare to say that of my father!" cried the lad, laying his hand upon his sword. "yes, you foolish lad. let that hilt alone. keep your sword for your enemies, not for your friends, even if they tell you unpleasant truths. your tongue, my lad, runs too freely, and will get you sooner or later into trouble. men have been punished for much less than you have said, even to losing their lives." "is this what a king's officer should do?" cried andrew, who was white with anger,--"play the part of a spy?" "silly, hot-headed boy," said captain murray. "i saw you both, and came up to speak to my old friend's son, when i could not help hearing what your enemies would call traitorous remarks. frank, my lad, you are the younger in years, but you have the older head, and you must not be led away by this hot-blooded fellow. there, come both of you to my quarters." "frank, i'm going to my room," said andrew, ignoring the captain's words. "no, you are coming with us," said captain murray. "frank, my lad, your father asked me to give an eye to you, and bade me tell you that if you were ever in any difficulty you were to come to me for help. remember that please, for i will help robert gowan's son in every way i can." the friendly feeling he had already had for his father's companion all came back on the instant, and frank held out his hand. "hah, that's right, boy. you have your father's eye for a friend. come along, and let's have a quiet chat. i want company to-night, for this business makes one low-spirited. come along, hotspur." "do you mean to continue insulting me, sir?" said andrew sharply. "i? no. there, you are put out because i spoke so plainly. look here, forbes, i should not like to see you arrested and dismissed from your service for uttering treasonable words, and you will be one of these days. it is being talked about in the palace, but fortunately only by your friends. come, it is only a few steps, and we may as well talk sitting down." the lad was on the point of declining coldly; but the officer's extended hand and genial smile disarmed him, and there was something so attractive in his manner that, unable to resist, he allowed captain murray to pass an arm through his and march both lads to his quarters. "hah! this is better," he said, as he placed chairs for his visitors. "poor old gowan! i wish he were with us. why, frank, my lad, what a series of adventures in a short time! only the other night, and we were all sitting comfortably at dinner. how soon a storm springs up. heard the last about our german friend?" "enemy," muttered andrew. "well, enemy if you like. i saw the doctor just before i caught sight of you, and he told me--" "not dead?" said frank wildly. "no. he has made a sudden change for the better. the doctor says he has the constitution of an ox, and that has pulled him through." "ugh!" ejaculated andrew; and frank spoke hastily to cover his companion's rudeness. "how long do you think my father will have to be away?" "till his. majesty dies, or, if he is fortunate, till your mother and the princess have won over his royal highness to do battle with his father on your father's behalf." "but do you think he is likely to succeed?" "i hope so, my lad. the king may give way. it will not be from friendly feeling, or a desire to do a kind action--what do you call it?--an act of clemency." "he'll never pardon sir robert!" cried andrew, bringing his fist down upon the table heavily. "i think he will," said captain murray; "for his majesty is a keen man of the world, a good soldier, and a good judge of soldiers. i think that out of policy, and the knowledge that he is very unpopular, he may think it wise to pardon a gallant officer, and to bring him back into the ranks of the men whom he can trust." "yes, yes," cried frank excitedly; and his eyes brightened as he treasured up words, every one of which would, he felt sure, gladden his mother's heart. "hadn't you better get up and see if any one is listening at the door, captain murray?" said andrew sarcastically. "because my words sound treasonable, my lad?" "yes, and may be magnified by the echoes of the palace walls, sir." the big, frank officer sank back in his chair, and laughed merrily. "you're a queer fellow, forbes--a clever fellow--with a splendid memory; but--there, don't feel insulted--you must have been meant for a woman: you have such a sharp, spiteful tongue. no, no, no--sit still. you must take as well as give. do you two ever fall out, frank? he's as hot as pepper." "yes, often," said frank, smiling; "but we soon make it up again, for he's about the bravest and best fellow i ever knew." as frank spoke, he reached over and gripped his friend's arm warmly. "you don't know how good and kind and helpful he has been in all this trouble." "i believe it," said captain murray, smiling. "he's a lucky fellow too, for he has won a good friend. you hear, hotspur? a good friend in frank here, who is the very spit of his father, one of the bravest, truest soldiers that ever lived." these words were said in a way which made frank feel a little choky, and turned the tide of andrew forbes's anger, which now ebbed rapidly away. "you'll come to me, my lads, both of you, if you want help?" said the captain, at their parting an hour later. "yes, of course," cried frank eagerly; but andrew forbes was silent. "and you, andrew lad. gowan asked me to be a friend to you too; for he said that lady gowan liked you, and that it was a hard position for a lad like you to be placed in, and he is right." "did sir robert say that, sir?" said the lad huskily. "yes, when we said good-bye." "yes, i will come to you, sir--when i can." the last words were to himself, and he was silent for some time as they walked back to their quarters. "i wish i hadn't such a sharp temper, frank," he said at last. "but it is a queer position, and the harness galls me. i can't help it. i ought to go away." chapter eighteen. the doctor makes a suggestion and frank is startled. "your mother must be a favourite with the princess, and no mistake," said andrew one morning, "or after that business of your father's you would never be allowed to stay." "if you come to that," said frank in retort, "if one half of what i know about were to get abroad, where would you be?" "perhaps in two pieces, with the top bit carefully preserved, as a warning to treasonable people--so called." "i don't think that," said frank gravely; "for they would not go to such lengths with a mere boy." "who are you calling a mere boy?" "you," replied frank coolly. "you are quite as young as i am in some things, though you are so much older in others." "perhaps so," said andrew rather haughtily. "anyhow, i don't feel in the least afraid of my principles being known. you can't tell tales, being one of us." "i--am--not--and--never--will--be!" said frank, dividing his words as if there were a comma between each pair, and speaking with tremendous emphasis. "oh, all right," said andrew, with a merry laugh. "i should like to hear you say that to mr george selby." "i'd say it plainly to him and the whole of the members of his club," said frank hotly. "not you. wouldn't dare. come with me on friday and say it." "i? no. let them come to me if they want it said." "they don't. they've got you, and they'll keep you." "time will prove that, drew. i'm very glad, though, that you have given up going." "given up what?" "going to those dangerous meetings; and, i say, give up being so fond of staring at yourself in the glass. i never did see such a vain coxcomb of a fellow." "h-r-r-ur!" growled andrew, as he swung round fiercely upon his fellow-page. "oh, if i had not made up my mind that i wouldn't quarrel with a brother! ah! you may laugh; but you'll repent it one of these days." the lad clenched his fist as he spoke; but he was met by such a good-tempered smile that he turned away again more angry than ever. "i can't hit you--i won't hit you!" he gasped. "i know that," cried frank. "you can't hit a fellow who is fighting hard to make you sensible. i say, who is this mr george selby?" "never you mind." "but i do mind. i want to know." "well, a great friend of him over the water." "how came you to get acquainted with him first?" "you wait, and you'll know." "don't tell me without you like; but he's a dangerous friend, and i'm very glad you've given up seeing him." "are you?" said andrew, with a curious smile. "why, i've seen him again and again." "you have!" cried frank, in astonishment. "when?" "oh, at different times. last evening, for instance, in the park, while you were with your mother. he came to feed the ducks." "you won't be happy till you are sent away in disgrace." "that's very true, franky; but i don't think i shall feel the disgrace. what would you say, too, if i told you that i have been three times to the city?" "impossible!" "oh no; these things are not impossible to one who wants to do them." "oh, drew, drew!" cried frank. "there, don't you pity me. you are the one to be pitied." "i say, hadn't we better talk about something else?" "yes. has lady gowan heard from sir robert?" frank shook his head gloomily. "what, not written yet?" "no." "then they're stopping his letters!" cried andrew. frank started violently. "that's it. just the mean thing that these people would do. i'm sure your father would not have let all this time pass without sending news." "oh, they would not do that!" cried frank. "he is waiting till he is settled down, and then we shall go and join him." "you will not," said andrew. "they'll keep you both here, as you'll see. but, i say, hadn't we better talk about something else?" "if you like," said frank coldly. "well, then, i haven't heard, for i haven't seen captain murray or the doctor. what news have you heard of steinberg?" "he's getting better, and going home to hanover as soon as he can bear to travel." "that's good news," cried andrew. "i wish he'd take the king and his court with him." frank gave him an angry look, then a sharp glance round to see if his companion's words had been heard, and the latter burst out laughing. "poor old frank!" he said merrily. "there, i won't tease you by saying all these disloyal things. but, i say, your acts give the lie to your words. you're as true to us as steel. come, don't be cross." this sort of skirmishing went on often enough, for the two lads were always at work trying to undermine each other's principles; but they dropped into the habit of leaving off at the right time, so as to avoid quarrelling, and the days glided on in the regular routine of the court. but a great change had taken place in one who so short a time before was a mere schoolboy, and lady gowan could not help remarking it in the rather rare occasions when she had her son alone, and talked to him and made him the repository of her troubles. "i could not bear all this, frank," she said one day, "if it were not for the princess's kindness. some day we shall have your father forgiven, and he will be back." "but some day is so long coming, mother. why don't we go to him?" "because he wishes us to stay here, and he will not expose me to the miseries and uncertainties of the life he is leading." "but we would not mind," cried frank. "no, we would not mind; but we must do that which he wishes, my dear." this was three months after sir robert's enforced departure from the court, and when andrew forbes's words respecting the communications sent by sir robert being stopped had long proved to be unjust. "is he still in france?" asked frank. "yes, still there," said lady gowan, with a sigh. "and we can't join him. don't you think, if you tried again, the princess might succeed in getting him recalled?" "i have tried till i dare try no more, for fear of disgusting one who has proved herself my great friend by my importunity. we must be content with knowing that some day your father will be recalled, and then all will be well again." lady gowan did not explain to her son by what means she had letters from her husband, and once when he asked her point-blank she did not speak out, and he did not dare to press the matter. and still the time went on. baron steinberg was declared by the doctor well enough to take his journey; and one day, to frank's relief, andrew met him with the news that the german noble had taken his departure. "i saw him go," said andrew; "and, as he came out to the carriage, looking as thin as a herring, i couldn't help smiling, for all the bounce seemed to be gone out of him, and he was walking with a stick." "poor wretch!" said frank. "nonsense! got what he deserved. some of these foreign officers seem to think that they wear swords and learn to use them for nothing else but to enable them to play the part of bullies and insult better men, force them to a fight, and then kill them. i'm only too glad one of them has had his lesson." "but it's very horrible," said frank thoughtfully. "of course it is," said andrew, purposely misunderstanding him. "he'd have killed your father with as little compunction as he would a rat." "yes, i'm afraid so," said frank, with a shiver. "but he won't be so ready to insult people next time; and next time will be a long way off, i know. but, i say, it's sickening, that it is." "what is?" "the fuss made over a fellow like that. baron indeed! he's only a foreign mercenary; and here is your poor father sent out of the country, while my lord has apartments set aside for him in the palace, and he's petted and pampered, and now at last he goes off in one of the king's carriages with an escort." "oh, well, as far as he is concerned, it does not matter." "oh, but it does. i say it's shameful that such preference should be shown to foreigners. if matters go on like this, there'll be no old england left; we shall be all living in a bit of germany." "well, he has gone," said frank; "so let it rest." "i can't, i tell you; it makes my blood boil." "go and drink some cold water to cool it." "bah! you'll never make a good outspoken englishman, frank." "perhaps not. i shall never make a quarrelsome one," said frank quietly. "what! oh, i like that! why, you're the most quarrelsome fellow i ever met. i wonder we haven't had our affair in the park before now. if it hadn't been for my forbearance we should." frank stared at his companion in astonishment, for it was quite evident that he was speaking sincerely. "come along," said andrew. "where?" "out in the park, where we can breathe the fresh air. i feel stifled in these close rooms, breathing the air of a corrupt court." "no, thank you," said frank. "what? you won't come?" "no, thank you." "why? we're quite free this morning." "i'm afraid." "what, that i shall challenge you to fight somewhere among the trees?" "no; i don't want to go and feed the ducks." "there, what did i say?" cried andrew. "you really are about as quarrelsome a fellow as ever lived. no, no; i don't mean that. come on, frank, old lad; i do want a breather this morning. i'll do anything you like--run races if you wish." "will mr george selby be out there on the look-out for you?" "no," said andrew, with a gloomy look. "poor fellow! i wish he would. honour bright, we shan't meet any one i sympathise with there." "very well then, i'll come." "hurrah!" cried andrew eagerly. "it is stuffy and close in here. i did hope that we should have been down at the old house by this time." "yes, that holiday got knocked on the head. has lady gowan heard from your father again?" "hush!" "oh, very well; i'll whisper. but there are no spies here." "mother hasn't heard now for some time, and she's growing very uneasy. she has been getting worse and worse. oh, what a miserable business it is! i wish we were with him." "yes, i wish we were; for if matters go on like this much longer, i shall run away. here, what do you say, frank? i'm sick of being a palace poodle. let's go and seek adventures while we're searching for your father." "seek nonsense!" said frank testily. "life isn't like what we read in books." "oh yes, it is--a deal more than you think. let's go; it would be glorious." "nonsense! even if i wanted to, how could i? you know what my father said--that i was to stay and protect my mother." "she'd be safe enough where she is, and she'd glory in her son being so brave as to go in search of his father." "no, she would think it was cowardly of me to forsake her, whatever she might say; and if i went off in that way, after the kind treatment we have received from the prince and princess, it would make my poor mother's position worse than ever." "i don't believe that the prince and princess would mind it a bit. for i will say that for him--he isn't such a bad fellow; and i nearly like her. he isn't so very easy, frank, i can tell you. he's pretty nearly a prisoner. the king won't let him go and live away, because he's afraid he'd grow popular, and things would be worse than they are. look how the people are talking, and how daring they are getting." "are they?" "oh yes. there'll be trouble soon. come on." "mind, i trust to your honour, drew." "of course. then you won't come off with me?" "no--i--will not." andrew laughed. "i say, though," he said, as they went past the quarters the baron had occupied, "it was rather comic to see that cripple go. just before he got into the carriage, he turned to thank the doctor, and he caught sight of me." "what! did he recognise you?" "i don't think so; but i was laughing--well no, smiling--and he smiled back, and bowed to me, thinking, i suppose, that i was there to say good-bye to him. he little knew, what i was thinking. well, good riddance. but the doctor--" "eh?" said a sharp voice, and the gentleman named stepped out of one of the dark doorways they were passing in the low colonnade. "want to see me, my lads?" "n-no," stammered andrew, thoroughly taken aback. "we--were talking about you starting the baron off." "oh, i see," said the doctor, smiling. "of course, i saw you there. yes, he's gone. hah! yes! that was a very peculiar wound, young gentlemen; and i honestly believe that not one in a hundred in my profession could have saved his life. i worked very hard over his case, and he went off, without so much as giving me a little souvenir--a pin or a ring, or a trifle of that kind--seal, for instance." "what could you expect from one of those germans, sir?" said andrew contemptuously. "yes, what indeed!" said the doctor, taking snuff, and looking curiously at frank. "bad habit this, young man. don't you follow my example. dirty habit, eh? but, i say, young fellow," he added, turning to andrew, "a still tongue maketh a wise head. wise man wouldn't shout under the palace windows such sentiments as those, holding the german nation up to contempt. there, a nod's as good as a wink to a blind horse. here, gowan, what's the last news?" "i don't know of any, sir." "come, come! i'm a friend of his. you needn't be so close with me. i mean about your father." "i have none, sir." "eh? don't you know where he is?" "no, sir," said frank sadly. "humph! pity!" said the doctor, taking a fresh pinch of snuff. "because, if you had known, you might have written to tell him that i've cured the baron, and sent him away. yes, i worked very hard over his case. many's the night i sat up with him, so that he shouldn't, slip through my fingers. for it would have been so much worse for your father if he had." "yes, horrible," said frank. "i say, you ought to get him back now. have a try." "but what can i do, sir?" cried frank eagerly. "oh, i don't know. no use to ask me, boy. politics are not in my way. if you like to come to me with a broken bone, or a cut, or a hole in you anywhere, i'm your man, and i'll try and set you right. or if you want a dose of good strong physic, i'll mix you up something that will make you smack your lips and shout for sugar. but that other sort of thing is quite out of my way. what do you say to our all signing a round robin, and sending it into the king? for we all want gowan back." "yes, sir--capital!" cried frank; but andrew smiled contemptuously. "or look here. you're a boy--smart lad too, with plenty of brains," continued the doctor, who had noticed andrew's sneer; "sensible sort of boy--not a dandy, gilded vane, like forbes here. ah! don't you look at me like that, sir, or next time you're sick i'll give you such a dose as shall make you smile the other way." "come along, frank," said the lad angrily. "you wait a minute. i haven't done with him yet. look here, boy," he continued, clapping frank on the shoulder; "there's nothing a man and a father likes better than a good, natural, straightforward, manly sort of boy. i don't mean a fellow who spends half his time scenting himself, brushing his hair to make it curl, and looking at himself in the glass.--here, hallo! what's the matter with you, forbes? i didn't say you did. pavement warm? cat on hot bricks is nothing to you." andrew tightened his lips, and the doctor went on. "look here, gowan; i tell you what i'd do if i were you. i should just wait for my chance--you'll get plenty--and then i should go right in front of the king, dump myself down on one knee, and when he asks you what you want, tell him bluntly, like a manly boy should, to forgive your father, who is as brave an officer as ever cried `forward!' to a company of soldiers." "bah!" ejaculated andrew. "bo!" cried the doctor. "good-looking gander! what do you know about it?--you ask him. as the offended king, he may feel ready to say _no_; but as the man and father, he'll very likely be ready to say _yes_." "oh, i never thought of that!" cried frank excitedly. "then think about it now, my boy. that's my prescription for a very sore case. you do it and win; and if your mother doesn't think she's got the best son in the world, i'm a dutchman, and we've got plenty without." "oh, thank you, thank you, doctor!" cried frank. "wish you luck, boy. do that, and you may be as proud as a peacock afterward--proud as andrew forbes here, and that's saying a deal." the doctor nodded to them both, took a fresh pinch of snuff loudly, and went off. "bah!" growled andrew, as he went off at a great rate toward the park. "ridiculous! how can an english gentleman advise such a degrading course. go down on your knees to that dutchman, and beg!" "i'd go down on my face to him, drew," cried frank excitedly. "you won't follow out his advice?" "i will, and when everybody is there," cried frank. "he's right, and i believe that the king will." andrew was silent for some minutes, and they walked on, inadvertently going down by the water-side, and directing their steps to the clump of trees where the duel had taken place. they passed over the ground in silence, each picturing the scene, and then went slowly on, so as to pass round the end of the canal--for such it was in those days--and return by the other side. andrew was the first to break the silence, frank being plunged in deep thought over the doctor's advice. "you ought to be very proud of your father, frank," he said. "i am," was the laconic reply. "my father, when i told him, said he behaved most gallantly, but that he ought to have killed his man." "your father!" cried frank, staring. "why, when did you see your father?" "can't people write?" said andrew hastily; and he looked slightly confused. "i did learn how to read and write," he added, with a forced laugh. frank was silent for a few moments. "i say," he said at last, "doesn't it seem strange that we should be both like this--each with his father obliged to keep abroad?" "very," said andrew drily, and he glanced sidewise at his companion; but frank was thinking with his brow all in lines, till they came round opposite to the house overlooking the park, where he stopped to gaze up at the windows. "poor old place looks dismal," said andrew, "with its shutters to and blinds drawn-down. i wonder your mother doesn't let it." "what, our house?" cried frank, flushing. "oh, they wouldn't do that." "seems a pity for such a nice place to be empty. but there is some one in it of course?" "only our old housekeeper and a maid. come along; it makes me feel miserable to look at the place." "but doesn't your mother go there now?" "no; she has not been since--since--" he did not finish his sentence, for a curious sensation of huskiness affected his throat, and he felt determined now to follow out the doctor's suggestion, so that there might be some one to take interest in the old town house again. he took a step or two, and then waited, for andrew appeared to be attracted more than repelled by the gloomy aspect of the blank-looking place, and then, all at once, frank's heart seemed to stand still, and a stifling sense of suffocation to affect him, so that it was some moments before he could speak, and then it was in a tone of voice that startled his companion. "come away!" cried frank angrily, and with singular haste. "don't stop there staring at the windows; it looks so absurd." andrew made no reply then, but walked sharply off with his companion till they were some hundred yards away. "don't be cross with me, franky," he said gently. "it isn't my fault, and you ought to know. i feel it as much as you do. i always liked sir robert, and you know how much i care for lady gowan." frank turned to him warmly. "yes, i know you do," he said, with a wild and wistful look in his eyes; and his lips parted as if he were eager to say something particular to his companion. "there, don't take on about it. things seem all out of joint with us all; but they'll come right some day. and don't you take any notice of me. i feel sometimes as if i'd turned sour, and as if everything was wrong, and i was curdled. i can't help it. perhaps the doctor's right. you do as he said, and ask the king boldly. for some things i should like to see sir robert back." frank made a quick gesture as if to speak out, but andrew checked him with a laugh. "oh, i mean it," he said. "i'd rather he joined us." frank gave an indignant start. "there, there! don't be cross. i won't say any more. you ask the king. he's only a man, if he is a king; and if he doesn't grant your petition, i shall hate him ten times as much as i do now. why, what a fellow you are! you're all of a tremble, and your face is quite white." "is it?" said frank, with a strange little gasp. "yes; either thinking about that petition, or the sight of your poor, dismal old house, or both of them, have regularly upset you. come along, and don't think about them. i must say this, though, for i want to be honest: if i were placed as you are, with a father who had stood so high in george's service, i think perhaps i should be ready to do what the doctor said for the sake of my mother if she was alive." again frank gave his companion that wistful look, and his lips parted, but no words came; and they went on down by the water-side, without noticing that a shabby-looking man was slouching along behind them, throwing himself down upon the grass, as if idling away the time. and all the while that the two lads were in the park he kept them in sight, sometimes close at hand, sometimes distant, but always ready to follow them when they went on. frank noticed it at last, as they were standing by the water's edge, and whispered his suspicions that they were being watched. "who by? that ragged-looking fellow yonder?" "yes; don't take any notice." "no, i'm not going to," said andrew, stooping to pick up a stone and send it flying over the water. "spy, perhaps. well, we're not feeding the ducks to-day. he's a spy for a crown. well, let him spy. the place is full of them. i've a good mind to lead him a good round, and disappoint him. no, i will not; it might lead to our being arrested for doing nothing, and what would be the good of doing that?" the man did his work well, for he kept them in sight without seeming to be looking at them once, till they went back to the palace, where they parted for a time, and andrew said to himself: "i wish i had not talked as i did about his father and mother. poor old fellow; how he was upset!" chapter nineteen. it was not fancy. andrew forbes would have felt more compunction had he seen frank when he was alone; for the lad hurried to his room, where he stood trembling with agitation and thinking of what he should do. his first thought was to go to his mother; but he knew that he could not see her at that hour, and even if it had been possible, he shrank from telling her, partly from dread of the state of agitation in which his news would plunge her, partly from the thought that he might have been mistaken--that fancy had had a great deal to do with it. "but i'll put that to the test as soon as it's dark, if i can get away unseen," he said to himself; and then he walked up and down his room, wondering whether andrew had seen anything--coming to the conclusion at last that if he had he would have spoken out at once. then came another vein of thought to trouble him, and he was mentally tossed about as to whether he ought not to have confided in his companion. then again he tortured himself as to whether he ought not to go at once to captain murray and confide in him. question after question arose till his head felt dizzy, and he was so confused that he was afraid to go and join his companion at the evening meal. but at last his common sense told him that all this worry of thought was due to the cowardly desire to get help, when, under the circumstances, he knew that he ought to have sufficient manliness to act and prove whether what he had seen was fancy or the reality. if it proved to be real-- he trembled at the thought; but making a brave effort, he well bathed his aching temples with cold water, and went down to the evening meal, made a show of eating, and then excused himself on the plea of a very bad headache, got up, and was leaving the room, when, to his horror, andrew joined him. "here," he said, "i don't like to see you in this way. i helped to give you this headache. let's go and have a walk up and down the courtyard." "no, don't you come," said frank, so earnestly that andrew gave way and drew back. "very well," he said. "go and lie down for a bit; you'll be better then." frank made as if to go to his room, but took his hat and cloak and slipped out, forcing himself to cross the courtyard calmly and walk carelessly by the sentries, turning off directly after in the opposite direction to that in which he wished to go, and without seeming to pay any attention kept his eyes travelling in all directions in search of the man they had seen in the afternoon. but he was nowhere visible, and to make more sure the lad took off his hat to fan himself, the evening being warm, and in so doing purposely dropped his glove, so that in stooping to recover it he could give a good look to the rear to see whether he was followed. but there was no one suspicious-looking in sight, and, taking advantage of the darkness of the soft, warm evening, he began to walk more sharply, going through the park till he was opposite to the house, and after glancing to right and left, to make sure that he was not observed, he began to examine it carefully. those to right and left had several windows illumined, but his old london home was all in complete darkness, though he felt that if he went round to the street front he would see a light in the housekeeper's room. dark, everywhere dark; no gleam showing anywhere, not even at the window upon which his eyes had last rested when he was there that afternoon. "fancy," he thought; and he breathed more freely. "yes, it must have been fancy." "no, it was not fancy!" and his heart began to throb violently, his breath came short, and he looked wildly to right and left, and then walked across the road to stand beneath the trees to make sure that no one was watching from there. but he was quite alone as far as he could see, and he ran lightly back to the railings, wild with excitement now, and stood gazing across the little garden at that back window which was heavily curtained; but right up in the left-hand corner there was a faint glow, which he soon proved to himself could not be a reflection on the glass from outside. then he was right; and, panting now as if he had been running heavily, he went round into the street, reached the front of the house, where, as he had expected, he could see low down the faintly illumined blind of the housekeeper's room, and then rang gently. he waited, and there was no response; and he rang again, but the time passed again; minutes--more probably moments--elapsed before he heard a window opened softly overhead. "what is it?" said a woman's voice. "come down and open the door, berry," said the boy quickly. "you, master frank?" "yes; make haste." "is--is any one with you?" said the woman in a whisper, "because i don't like opening the door after dark." "no, i'm quite alone. make haste." the woman did not stop to close the window, and the next minute frank heard the bolts drawn softly back, the key turned, and as the door was being opened he stepped forward, but only to stop short on the step, for the housekeeper had not removed the chain. "what is it, my dear?" she said. she had not brought a light, and frank could dimly see her face at the narrow opening. "what is it?" cried frank impatiently. "take down the chain, and let me in. don't keep me standing here." "but her ladyship gave me strict orders, my dear, that i wasn't to admit any one after dark, for there are so many wicked people about." "did my father tell you not to admit me?" whispered frank, with his face close to the narrow slit. "what! before he went abroad, my dear?" faltered the woman. "no, no--yesterday, to-day--whenever he came back." "sir robert, my dear?" whispered the woman, with her voice trembling. "don't be so stupid. i must--i will see him. i saw his face at the window this afternoon." "oh, my dear, my dear!" stammered the woman. "there, take down the chain, berry." "i--i don't think i ought, my dear. stop a minute, and i'll go and ask him." "no, no. let me go up at once. you'll be quite right in letting me." the woman uttered a gasp, closed the door, and softly unhooked the chain, after which she opened the door just sufficiently for the boy to pass in, and closed and fastened it again. the hall was dark as could be, save for a faint gleam from the fanlight; but frank could have gone blindfold, and dashing over the marble floor to the foot of the staircase, he bounded up two steps at a time, reached the door of the back room, beneath which shone a line of light, and turned the handle sharply. as he did so, there was a dull sound within, and the light was extinguished. "open the door, father," whispered the boy, with his lips to the keyhole. "it is i--frank." there was the dull tremor of a heavy step crossing the floor, the door was unlocked, and the boy sprang forward in the darkness, the door was closed and relocked, and he was clasped in a pair of strong arms. "oh, dad, dad, dad!" cried the lad, in a panting whisper. "my own boy! then you saw me this afternoon?" "yes, just a faint glimpse of you. oh, father, father, it wasn't safe for you to come back!" "no, not very, my boy; but i couldn't stop away any longer. how is the dear one?" "quite well--only she looks thin and pale, father. she's fretting so because you are away." "hah!" ejaculated sir robert, in a long-drawn sigh. "i felt that she must be, and that helped to draw me back. heaven bless her!--frank lad, as you have found me out--but stop, did you tell her you had seen me?" "i haven't seen her since, father; and if i had, i shouldn't have dared. what would she think?" "bullets and bayonets, or worse, my boy. quite right; spoken like the brave, thoughtful lad you are growing. but it's very hard, frank. don't you think you could manage to bring her over here--say this time to-morrow evening?" "yes, father, easily," said frank. "my boy. oh, if you knew how i long to see her again!" "yes, father," said frank bitterly, "i could bring her, but for what?-- to see you arrested for coming back. it would be madness. there are spies everywhere. i had to be so careful to get round here without being followed." sir robert groaned as he stood there in the darkness, holding his son by his arms in a firm grip. "i can't help it, father. i must tell you the truth," cried the boy passionately. "yes, you are quite right, boy, and i'm weak and foolish to have proposed such a thing. but it's hard, my lad--very, very hard." "don't i know, father?" "yes, yes, boy. but tell me, does she talk about me to you much?" "she talks of nothing else, father. but listen; i'm going to petition the king myself. i'm going to kneel to him, and beg him to give you leave to return." "you are, my boy?" "yes, father," cried frank excitedly, "directly i get a chance." "no, frank, don't do that," said sir robert, rather sternly. "you don't wish me to, father?" sir robert drew a deep breath, and then hoarsely: "no. i desire that you do not. your mother has through the princess prayed and prayed in vain. no, frank, you shall not do that." "very well, father," said the boy drearily. "hist! some one!" whispered sir robert; and frank turned sharply to see light gleaming beneath the door, and his father stepped away from him, and something on the table grated softly as it was taken up. then a soft voice said: "wouldn't you like a light, sir robert? i saw yours was out." "yes," came from close to where frank stood with his hands turning wet in the darkness, and then he felt his father brush by him, the door was unlocked, and the housekeeper's white face was seen lit up by the candle she carried. "thank you, berry," said sir robert; and he took the candle and relocked the door after the woman. the light dazzled frank for a few minutes, and then he was gazing wonderingly in his father's face, to see that it was thin and careworn, while the lines in his forehead were deepened. his sword and pistols lay upon the table close to some sheets of paper, the inkstand showing that he had been writing when he was interrupted by his visitor; and the boy noticed, too, that there was a heavy cloak over a chair back, and the curtains were very closely drawn. "don't look so smart as in the old days, frank, eh?" said sir robert, with a sad smile. "you look like my father," said the boy firmly. "and you like my son," cried sir robert, patting the boy's head. "then you really would not like me to venture to ask the king, father?" sir robert pointed to a chair close by his own, and they sat down, the father still retaining his boy's hand. "no, frank," he said gravely. "i should not now. it is too late." "but it would mean bringing you back, father." "i am not a clever man, frank lad," said sir robert. "i am fair as a soldier, and i know my duties pretty well; but when we get into the maze of politics and social matters, i am afraid that i am very stupid. here, however, i seem to see in a dim sort of way that such a thing as you propose would be only weak and romantic. it sounds very nice, but it would only be raising your hopes and--stop. does your mother know that you think of doing this?" "oh no, father; the doctor only just suggested it--now that steinberg has recovered." "very good of the doctor, and i am deeply in his debt for saving that wretched german baron's life. not pleasant to have known that you had killed a man in a quarrel, frank." "horrible, father!" said the boy emphatically. "yes, horrible, lad. but the doctor is a better man at wounds than he is at giving counsel. no, frank, under any circumstances it would not have done. king george is too hard and matter-of-fact a man of the world to be stirred by my boy's appeal. his german folk would look upon it as weakness, and would be offended. he cannot afford to offend the german people, for he has no real english friends, and between the two stools he'd be afraid of coming to the ground. no, you shall not humble yourself to do this; and," he said firmly, "it is too late." there was something so commanding in the way these last words were said that frank drew a deep sigh of regret, and the hopeful vision faded away behind the cloud his father drew over it. but the minutes were precious, and he could not afford time to regret the dashing of his hopes, when he had him for whose benefit they were designed sitting there holding his hand. "then you are going to stay here now, father?" he said. "here? no, frank. it is only a temporary hiding-place. i shall be off to-morrow." "where to, father?" "humph! don't know for certain, my boy. as you say, the place swarms with spies, and though i have had to give up my gay uniform, plenty of people know my face, and i don't even feel now that they are not hunting me down." "but if they did, what would happen?" "a fight, frank--don't tell your mother this; she suffers enough. i can't afford to be captured, and--you know what they do with the poor wretches they take?" frank shivered, and glanced at his father's sword and pistols. "loaded, father?" he said in a whisper. "yes, boy." "and is your sword sharp?" "as sharp as the cutler could make it. and i know how to use it, frank; but a man who carries a sword--if he is a man--is like a bee with its sting; he will not use it save at the last extremity. you must remember that with yours." "yes, father. but do think again; we are both so unhappy there at the court." "what, in the midst of luxury and show!" said sir robert banteringly. "pah! what is the use of all that when we know that you are driven away and dare not show your face? oh, do think again. can't you let us come and join you?" "it is impossible, my boy. don't press me. i have too many troubles as it is. look here, frank; you are growing fast into a man, and you must try to help me as you did just now when i turned weak and foolish. the intense longing to see your mother was too much for me, but i have mastered it. you two are safe and well-cared for at the palace, where the princess is your mother's friend. i am nobody now, and what i do will not count as regards your mother and you. so try and be content, and stay." "but you, father? surely the king will forgive you soon." "never, boy," said sir robert sternly. "so be careful. a hint dropped of my whereabouts would give your mother intense suffering and dread for my life; so she must not know." "but your friends, father? captain murray--the doctor. every one likes you." "they must not know, so be cautious. i feel quite a young man, frank, and don't want to have my life shortened, nor my body neither," he added, with a grim smile. "oh, father!" cried the boy, with a shudder. "we must look the worst in the face, frank. by my return here my life is forfeit, and the king's people would be justified in shooting me down." "oh, but, father, this is horrible." "not to a soldier, frank," said sir robert, smiling. "soldiers get used to being shot at, and they don't mind so much, because they know how hard it is for any one to hit a mark. there, you are warned now, so let's talk of pleasanter things." "yes, of course, father; but i may come and see you again often?" "if you wish to see me taken." frank shuddered again. "no. this must be your only visit. i am glad you have come; but i can't afford to indulge in good things now." "you are going to stay in england, father?" cried frank anxiously. "i don't know." "what are you going to do?" "that i cannot tell either, my boy; and if i did know, for your mother's and your peace of mind i would not tell you." "that isn't trusting me, father," said frank gloomily. "and that is not trusting me, frank--to know what is best." "oh, but i do trust you, father. now tell me," cried the boy eagerly, "what shall i do to help you?" "stay where you are patiently, and watch over and help your mother." "is that all, father?" said the boy, in a disappointed tone of voice. "all? is it not enough to be trusted to keep my secret, the knowledge which means your father's life, boy, and to have the guardianship of the truest and best woman who ever lived--your mother? and you ask `is that all?'" "don't be angry with me, father. i am very young and stupid. i will be as contented as i can; only it is so hard to know that you are in danger, and to be doing nothing to help you." "you will be doing a great deal to help me, for you will be giving me rest of mind--and i want it badly enough. there, now you had better go. you may be asked for, and you can't make the excuse that you have been to see your father." "no," sighed frank. "but i shall see you again soon?" "perhaps. i may come here sometimes. an extra hole is useful to a hunted animal, frank; but don't question me, my boy, even if i seem mysterious. as your father, i can tell you nothing." frank sighed and clung to his father's arm. "there, i'll run one risk. you may come here sometimes. it will not look suspicious for you to visit your mother's empty house." "my father's empty house," said the boy. "no, your mother's. your father is an exile, an outcast, without any rights in england. i am dead in the eyes of the law, frank, and when you come of age you can reign in my stead. why, boy, if you liked to make a stand for it, they would, i dare say, tell you that you are now sir frank gowan." he looked so merrily in his son's face, that the boy joined in his mirth. "you must go now, my boy. i have work that will take me all night. but if you do come here in the hope of seeing me--" "i shall not come," said the boy firmly. "why?" "because, to please myself, i will not do anything to make your position dangerous." "well said, frank; but come now and then for my pleasure, and if i am not here, do this." he rose and walked to a portrait framed in the wainscotting over a side table, pointed to one little oval nut in the carving, twisted it slightly, and the picture swung forward, showing a shallow closet behind fitted with shelves, and in which were swords and pistols, with flasks of powder and pouches of ball. "you can look in there; and if i have been, you will find a letter, written for you and your mother, by a mr cross to apparently nobody. i am mr cross, frank. there. try if you can open it." he closed the picture door, and the boy tried, and opened and shut the panel easily, noting at the same time how ingeniously the carving tallied with portions on the other side of the framing. "now, then, sharp and short like a soldier, frank. heaven bless and protect you and your mother, who must not know i have been here. good-bye!" "good-bye, father," cried the boy in a choking voice as he clung to the strong, firm man, who pressed him to his breast, and then snatched himself away, and caught up sword and pistol from the table. for there was a sharp, impatient knocking on the panel of the door, and sir robert whispered: "we have stayed too long!" chapter twenty. lady gowan at bay. obeying the impulse of the moment, frank snatched the remaining pistol from the table, and drew his sword, seeing his father nod approval, as he stretched out his hand to extinguish the light; but before he had dashed it out, the knocking was repeated, and they heard a well-known voice. "robert--robert! open quickly, dearest. it is i." "ah!" cried frank, with his heart giving a tremendous bound, while sir robert unlocked and flung open the door, and clasped his wife to his breast. lady gowan was half swooning and speechless from excitement; but, making a brave effort, she recovered herself, and panted out as she struggled to free herself from her husband's firm arms: "quick! not a moment to lose. escape for your life." "what! they know?" "yes. the princess came to my room to warn me. the spies have traced you here; information has been given at the palace. the king has been told, and the princess bade me try to save your life before the guard came to arrest you." "hah! sharp work for us, frank lad. well, i have seen and kissed you, darling. now i must try and save your husband's life." as he spoke he buckled on his sword belt, thrust his pistols in his pockets, frank handing him the second, and took up his hat and the heavy cloak from where they lay. "good-bye, darling. frank knows how i can get a letter to you through him." "yes, yes; but you are killing me, robert; for pity's sake, fly!" "my own! yes," he whispered, as he folded lady gowan in his arms again. "ah!" cried frank wildly, for a heavy series of blows from the front-door knocker resounded through the house. "too late!" cried lady gowan wildly, as frank dashed out of the door to the front room to peer through the window. he was back in a few moments, to find his mother clinging to his father, ghastly with the horrible dread which had attacked her. "soldiers--a dozen at least in front!" panted frank. there was another loud knocking at the street door. "quick, father, out by that window. you can drop from the balcony." "yes, my boy, easily." "then get over the railing and cross the park. go straight through by the palace. no one would think you likely to take that way." "good advice, boy. out with the candle. that's right." lady gowan blew out the light, and frank quickly drew the heavy curtain aside, and uttered a groan, for the garden was full of armed men, dimly seen in the gloom amid the shrubs. "trapped, frank," said sir robert quietly, the danger having made the soldier cool. lady gowan uttered a faint, despairing cry. "hush, dear!" said sir robert firmly. "be a woman--my wife. i may escape yet. see berry, and keep her from opening the door, no matter what they say or do." "yes, yes," said lady gowan excitedly; "but, robert, what will you do?" "escape, if you help me. now be calm. let them break in, and when they do face them. you were alarmed, and did not know what evil was abroad. you need no excuse for refusing to have your house--and it is your house--opened to a riotous party of drunken soldiers for aught you know. now go down. do anything you can to gain time for me. heaven bless you, darling, till we meet again!" lady gowan's answer was to hurry out on the staircase, where the place was echoing to the resounding knocks and orders to open in the king's name. she was just in time to seize the old housekeeper by the arm, while a hysterical crying came from the maid below. "oh, my lady, my lady! they're going to break in. i was about to unfasten the door." "silence! touch it at your peril," cried lady gowan imperatively. "let them break in if they dare. go below to that foolish, sobbing girl, and stay there keeping her quiet." "but they'll break down the door, my lady." "let them," said lady gowan coolly. but she started as one of the narrow side windows was shivered by the butt of a musket, and the fragments of glass fell inside with a tinkling sound. "that's right; now reach in and shoot back the bolts." a hand and arm were thrust in through the hammered iron scroll work which covered the glass in the place of iron bars across the narrow window for protection, rendering it impossible for a man to creep past. but the arm came freely right up to its owner's shoulder, and in the gloom could be seen feeling about, the hand strained here and there to reach bolt, bar, or lock. vainly enough, for they were far out of reach; and at last, after several more angry orders, it was withdrawn. "try the other window!" cried the voice of the officer in command. "quick, men; don't shilly-shally. use your butts." _crash_, _crash_ and _tinkle_, _tinkle_ went the broken glass as it fell upon the marble floor beyond the mat; but the hole made was not in the best place, and there was another crash as the butt of a musket was driven through higher up, and simultaneously there was the loud report of the piece used as a battering-ram. "what are you doing?" roared the officer. "went off, sir." "went off, idiot! you must have touched the trigger." "no, sir. both hands hold of the barrel." "silence, sir! how dare you!" roared the officer--"how dare you! any one hurt, sergeant?" "no, sir; bullet went too high; but it's gone through a window opposite." proof came of the truth of the man's word, for a window on the other side of the street was thrown open, and a voice shouted angrily: "hallo there! what are you doing? want to shoot people?" "go in, and shut your window!" cried the officer, in an authoritative tone. "yes, that's all very well," cried the voice; "but you've no right to--" "silence, sir! in the king's name!" roared the officer. "here, four rear rank face about, make ready, present!" there was a shuffling sound, and the ring of muskets being brought up to the shoulder; but before the command _fire_! could be uttered, even if it had been intended, the window opposite was banged down, and a laugh arose. "now then there," said the officer to the man who had thrust in his arm on the other side of the door, "can you reach?" there was no reply for a time, while the man strained and reached out up and down, his hand making a peculiar whispering sound as it passed over the panelled woodwork between the door and window. "can't reach, sir." "here, let me try." a faint light appeared at the window for a few moments, and then there was a chinking sound as it was darkened again, and lady gowan, as she stood panting there, dimly made out that a sword was thrust through, an arm followed, and she could hear the blade ring and scrape as it was used to feel for the fastenings, clicking loudly against the ironwork and the chain which hung at the side ready for hanging across the door, to pass over a spiral hook on the other side. this went on for a few minutes, when, as with an angry exclamation the officer who had thrust his arm through paused to rest, lady gowan stepped forward out of the darkness, went close to the door, bent down, and caught the ring at the end of the hanging chain, and raised it to hook it across and fasten it to secure the door. she hardly made a sound with foot or dress; but as she drew the chain tight it chinked against the hook, and the officer heard her. "ha!" he shouted, with his face to the broken glass. "i see you there. open this door, or--" _click_, _click_ went the chain into its place, and, raising the blade of his sword, the officer made a sweeping blow at the brave woman, which struck her on the shoulder as she drew back. "now," he roared, "will you open?" the answer was a faint rustling, as lady gowan drew back into the dark part of the hall, fortunately unhurt, for the arm which wielded the sword was the left, and thoroughly crippled by its owner's position. "lucky for you i didn't give point," he muttered. then aloud: "once more, in the king's name, open this door!" "i'd die first," said lady gowan to herself; and she stood close to the foot of the great staircase listening, and hardly daring to breathe, as she strained her ears to catch some sound of what might be going on upstairs, her wildly dilated eyes fixed the while on the slips of windows on either side of the door. but from within the house all she could hear was a low sobbing from the housekeeper's room below, and the murmur of her old servant's voice as she tried to calm the hysterical girl who was nearly crazy with terror. but her attention was taken up directly by the voices outside, which came plainly to her through the broken windows. "well?" said the officer sharply; and she knew by the reply that one of the men must have climbed the iron railings and been down into the area. "both windows covered with big iron bars, sir, and the door seems a reg'lar thick 'un." "how long will they be getting back, sergeant, with the hammer and crowbars?" "'nother ten minutes or quarter-hour, sir." "bah! well, run round to the back, and tell them to keep a sharp look-out. see that the men are well awake at the end of the street, and keep two more ready back and front to stop every one who comes out of the houses in case he tries to escape by the roof." "yes, sir." "if any one appears on the roof, and does not surrender, fire." the sergeant's heavy paces were heard going along the pavement, every step seeming to crush down lady gowan's heart, as her head swam, and in imagination she saw the flash of the soldiers' muskets, and then heard the heavy fall of one for whom she would have gladly died. her hand went out to catch at the bottom pillar of the balustrade, and she stood swaying to and fro in the darkness, struggling hard to master the terrible sensation of faintness which came over her. it soon passed off, for the thought came to her that she must be firm. she was doing nothing to help her husband; but he had bidden her keep watch there over that door, and guard it against danger from within, and as a soldier's wife she would have died sooner than neglect the duty with which he had intrusted her. for how did she know what pressure might be brought to bear upon the weak woman below? the soldiery had been into the area, where there were only the glass windows between, and a broken pane would form an easy way for passage of threats. if bidden to open in the king's name, what might they not do? ah, she must guard against that, and with her nerves newly strung, she stood listening for a few moments to the buzz of voices outside, and then, feeling that it was impossible for danger to assail them without warning from the front door, she went to the head of the stairs which led down into the basement. "in the king's name!" she said softly. "robert is my king, and i can obey none other." she was herself again now--the quick, eager, brave woman, ready to do anything to save her husband's life; and gliding down the stairs she silently passed the open door of the housekeeper's room, where she could hear the servant girl sobbing, and the old housekeeper trying to comfort her and then to comfort herself. the next minute, quite unheard, she was at the end of the stone passage where the big, heavy door opened into the area, and began passing her hand over bolt, bar, and lock, to find all fast; and with a sigh of relief she was in the act of softly drawing out the big key, when a movement outside told her that a sentry had been placed at that door, and that the man must have heard the movement of the key. this made her pause, with her heart throbbing wildly; but in a minute or so she recovered herself, and almost by hairbreadths drew the great key slowly out with scarcely another sound, and crept back along the passage once more, past the open doorway through which the light streamed, and then up the stairs, and back to her former position in the dark hall, feeling confident now that no one could pass into the house from below unheard. the voices of the soldiers came to her, and an angry inquiry or two from the officer, who was getting out of patience. "have they gone to the smith's to get the things made?" he cried angrily. "well, sir, you see, it aren't like muskets, or swords, or ammunition," said the sergeant. "we don't want pioneering tools every day." "but they ought to be ready for use at a moment's notice." "so they are," grumbled the sergeant to himself; "but you've got to get to 'em first." and now it appeared to lady gowan that an hour passed slowly away, without news of what was passing upstairs, and her agony seemed to be more than she could bear. every sense had been on the strain, as she stood in trembling expectancy of hearing a shot fired--a shot that she knew would be at the life of her boy's father; but the sluggish minutes crawled on, and still all was silent above, while outside she was constantly hearing little things which showed how thoroughly the soldiery were on the alert. she had not heard the officer speak for some time, and she divined that he must have gone round to the back of the house, where it faced the open park; but he would, she was sure, return soon, to give directions to the men who arrived with the tools for breaking in the door; and when this was done, if sir robert had not found a way to escape, there would be bloodshed. her husband would never surrender while he could grasp a sword, and frank would be certain to draw in his father's defence, and then-- then lady gowan felt, as it were, an icy stab, which passed with a shock right through her; for the thought suggested itself how easy it would be for the soldiers to get a short ladder into the garden front of the house, rear it against the balcony outside the drawing-room window, and force their way in there. no bars would trouble them, and the shutters would give but little resistance. why had she not thought of that before? and as she thoroughly grasped this weakness of their little fort in the rear she turned cold with horror, for there was a faint sound on the staircase behind her, and as at the same moment she heard the loud steps of approaching men on the pavement outside a hand made a quick clutch from the darkness behind at her arm. chapter twenty one. for dear life. "now, frank, my boy," said sir robert, as the door closed on lady gowan, "they have us in front, and they have us in the rear. a fox, they say, always has two holes to the earth. a man is obliged to have a third way of escape if his enemies are too many for him, and i don't want to fight with the king's men for other reasons than that they belong to my old regiment." "shall i light the candle again, father?" "no, it will take too long, and i can do what i want in the dark. i've a rope here." frank heard his father unlock a cabinet, and his heart beat hopefully, when the next minute his father bade him "take hold," and he felt a thin, soft coil of rope passed into his hands. he needed no telling what was to follow, for he grasped the idea at once, and followed his father out of the room without a word. they paused on the staircase for a few moments, and heard the shivering of the glass and the stern summons for the door to be opened; and then sir robert laid his hand upon his son's shoulder. "seems cowardly, frank, to try to escape, and leave a woman to bear the brunt of the encounter; but i must play the fugitive now. i can't afford to surrender; the risks are too great. come on. your mother must not be disappointed after what she has done, and have to see me marched off." frank was astounded at his father's coolness, but he said nothing, and followed him quickly to the top of the house to where there was a trap-door in the ceiling over the passage leading to one of the attics. without telling, frank bent down and raised the light steps which were on one side of the passage, passed his arm through the coil of rope, went up the steps, and pushed open the trap-door, which fell back, leaving an opening for him to pass through into the false roof. sir robert followed, and a door formed like a dormer window in the slope of the roof was unbolted ready for him to step out on to the narrow leads. "now, frank lad, give me the rope," said sir robert in a low voice. "then follow me along by the parapet. we need not crawl, for it will hide us from the soldiers if we lean inward and keep one hand on the sloping slates." "yes, i understand," said frank; "you mean to go along the roofs right to the end." "yes: right." "and fasten the rope round a chimney stack?" "that's quite right too; and now listen. i shall not be able to talk to you out there. as soon as i am down, don't stop to untie the rope; it will be too tight from my weight. cut it, and draw it up again quickly, then get back as you came, shut the door after you, and take down the steps before you join your mother. but you must do something with the rope." "hide it?" said frank. "it would be found, and i don't want you or your mother to have the credit of helping me to escape." "burn it in the kitchen fire?" "there will not be time. they will search the house. i cannot propose a way, only do something with it. now good-bye." "good-bye?" faltered frank. "yes, while i can speak to you. quick! a soldier's good-bye. that will do; now out after me." sir robert's "good-bye" was a firm grip of his son's hand, and then he crept out on to the roof; frank followed him, his heart throbbing with excitement; and as he stepped out he could hear voices down below in the garden beneath the drawing-room windows. frank shivered a little, for he felt sure that they would be seen against the sky, in spite of their precaution of leaning toward the sloping roof, and he fully expected to hear the report of muskets; but the shiver was more due to excitement than fear. "they would not be able to hit us on a night like this, while we are moving," he said to himself; and with a strange feeling of wild exhilaration, he followed the dark figure before him, climbing across the low walls which separated house from house, and finding it easy enough to walk along in the narrow path-like space of leaded roof, which extended from the bottom of the slate slope to the low parapet with its stone coping, beyond which nothing was visible but the tops of the trees in the park. they must have passed over the roofs of twenty houses before sir robert stopped; and, as frank crept up close to him, he put his lips to the boy's ear. "it's a drop of ten feet to the next house," he said. "must go down from here." a sensation of dread did now attack frank, as he thought of the descent of a heavy man by the frail rope. if it had been he who was to go down, it would have been different, and he would have felt no hesitation. catching at his father's arm, he whispered: "are you sure that it will bear you?" "certain." "but the chimney stack?" whispered frank, as he could dimly make out that his father was uncoiling the rope, and he could see no place that would be suitable. "hist! this is better." sir robert was now kneeling down, and after being puzzled for a few moments, frank then made out that his father was passing one end of the rope through an opening at the corner of the parapet where the rain-water ran through a leaded shoot into the upright leaden stack-pipe which ran down the house and carried it into the drain. frank dimly made out that he knotted the rope carefully, and tried it by pulling hard twice over, before throwing a few yards over the parapet and letting the rest run through his hands till it was all down. his next movement puzzled the boy, but he grasped the meaning directly after. they were at an angle now, and sir robert was carefully testing the stone coping, to see if it were tight in its place and the pieces held together by the iron clamps kept in their places by the running in of molten lead. apparently satisfied, he turned quickly to where frank stood, now trembling, grasped his hand, and whispered: "have you a knife?" "yes, father." "cut the rope, and get back as soon as you can. don't wait to listen whether i elude the men." "no, father." sir robert stood holding his son's hand for a few moments, and listening to the murmur of voices at the back of his house, where the soldiers were talking rather excitedly. "for liberty and life, frank!" whispered sir robert then; and with the perspiration standing in great drops on the boy's face, he saw his father grasp the rope knotted so tightly from the hole by the lead on which he stood over the stone coping, throw back his cloak, and then lay himself flat on the parapet, and carefully lower his feet as he held on by the stone. from that he lowered himself, and, partly supported by the top of the leaden stack-pipe, he slowly changed his right hand to the loop of the rope; then softly gliding by the wide-open head of the pipe, he began to descend with the rope well twined round his right leg, and held to the calf of his heavy boot by the edge of his left boot sole. "if the rope should break or come undone!" thought the boy, as he turned cold and dropped upon his knees to reach over and grip the knot with both hands, while his lips moved as he muttered a prayer, feeling the thin cord quiver and jerk as if it were a strange nerve which connected him with his father, who was below there somewhere in the darkness--jar, thrill, and make a humming noise like the string of some huge bass instrument, but so faint that it would have been inaudible at any other time. but he could hear plainly enough, without any exaltation of his senses, that the soldiers were talking earnestly not a hundred yards away, their voices rising clearly to where the boy knelt. how long was it that he could feel that vibration of the cord which thrilled through him right to his toes, and made his hair feel as if it were being lifted from his scalp? ten minutes--five minutes--a quarter of an hour? not many seconds, and then it stopped; and the horror of feeling it suddenly slacken and hearing a heavy crashing fall did not assail the anxious boy, though he had fully expected it. the vibration ceased, and there was a quick, warning shake, which frank interpreted to mean a signal for him to remember his orders, and hasten back to the house. he would have liked to lean over, listening and straining his sight to follow the further movements of his father; but sir robert had, unconsciously to both, gradually disciplined his son into a prompt, soldierly way of instantly obeying orders, and directly that wave had passed up to him, frank's knife was out, and the rope, after a good deal of sawing, was cut through, the knife replaced, and the cord was rapidly drawn up, and laid down on the leads in a loose coil. he bent over then for a moment or two and listened, but all was still just below. there was no alarm such as he had dreaded, no shouting and firing of shots; and gathering up the rope, he hurried back along the narrow leads, using the same precaution of leaning inward, passed from house to house quickly, and kept on asking himself what he should do to hide the rope. no idea came, and he had nearly reached home before it flashed across his brain, and he drew a breath of relief. there was a hiding-place just before him, at the top of the low ridge of the house two doors away from his own. a low chimney was smoking steadily, and without pausing to think whether it was wise or no he crept up the slates, reached the ridge, grasped the side of the chimney stack, and stood upright, finding that he could just reach the top of the smoking pot. that was enough. the next minute he had the end of the rope passed in; and resting his wrists on the top of the pot, he drew and drew, rather slowly at first, but more and more rapidly as the descending end gained weight, and at last sufficed to run it down, and then it was gone. he slid down the slates, and, feeling relieved of an incubus, he reached their own house, glided in at the dormer, shut and bolted the door, descended through the trap, drawing it over him, went down the steps, laid them in their place, and, lastly, wondering whether he had soiled his hands with the black on the top of the house, he ran rapidly downstairs. as he ran he could hear the heavy tramp of the soldiers in the street at the front, and when he reached the lower flights dimly made out the figure of his mother standing at the bottom step, and stretched out his hand and caught her arm. lady gowan uttered a cry of horror, and sprang forward into the hall, facing round to meet her invisible enemy; but she uttered a faint sigh of relief as her arm was caught again, and she heard the familiar voice whisper: "hush! hush! mother." "ah!" she whispered back. "your father?" frank's answer was drowned by a thunderous blow delivered with a sledge-hammer upon the door close to the lock, and this was followed by another and another, which raised echoes up the staircase, and brought a series of hysterical shrieks from the housekeeper's room. but lady gowan paid no heed to either. she caught her son by the arms, and drew him farther from the door, placed her lips to his ear, and whispered in an agonised tone: "your father?--speak!" "got down safe, and gone," whispered back frank; and as his mother clung to him a strange thrill of elation ran through his nerves, making him feel that he was engaged in an adventure full of delirious joy. he felt that he must shout and cheer to get rid of the intense excitement which made his blood bubble in his veins, and he was ready for any mad display in what was like playing some wonderful game, in which, after a desperate struggle, his side was winning. "let them hammer and bang down the door, mother. the idiots! they are giving him time to get safe away. oh the fools, the fools! shall i go and speak to them?" "no, no," whispered lady gowan, speaking with her lips once more to her boy's ear, for the noise made was deafening. "let them take time to break in, and then we must parley with them, and let them suspect us and make a regular search. they will waste nearly an hour, frank." "of course they will," cried the boy joyously; "but, i say, mother, we're not going to put up with this, you know; i'm not going to have you insulted by these people breaking into the house. i shall show fight." "no, no, don't do anything imprudent, frank. we must assume that we took them for a ruffianly mob who tried to break in." "but they said, `in the king's name,' mother," said the boy dubiously. "and we would not believe them, my boy. frank, frank, it is horrible to incite you to prevaricate and dally with the truth, but it is to save your father's life. be silent. on my head be the sin, and i will speak and bear it." the crashing of the woodwork went on beneath the blows, and the murmur that rose like a low, deep accompaniment outside told that a crowd had collected, and were being kept back by the soldiery. "this way, frank," cried lady gowan; and she drew her son after her to the head of the basement steps, where she called aloud to the housekeeper, who came hurrying up, candle in hand, to where mother and son stood. the old woman looked ghastly, and frank could hear a strange sobbing from below, in spite of the noise at the front, which was partly deadened from where they stood. "master, my lady?" cried the woman wildly. "safe--escaped, berry," said lady gowan, in a voice full of exultation. "safe--escaped, my lady!" cried the woman, with the light of exultation rising now in her countenance. "then let them batter the house down, the wretches. i don't care now." "but, berry, listen. sir robert is out of their reach by now; but they must not know that he has been here." "ha, ha, ha!" laughed the woman wildly; "they won't get anything out of me. what! me tell 'em that my dear young master, whom i nursed when he wasn't half the size of master frank--tell 'em he has been here! i'd sooner have my tongue cut out." "but the girl--the girl?" "what her, my lady?" said the housekeeper contemptuously. "oh, they'll get nothing out of her to-night but shrieks, and nothing now, for she's shruck herself hoarse and speechless." "ah!" sighed lady gowan, "then now i can feel at rest. come up, frank." she led the way to the staircase, and hurried on to the drawing-room, with the massive front door being broken piecemeal by the heavy sledge-hammer; but each chain and bolt still held, and there was no way in yet but for light and noise, so that, before they gave way, frank had time to get a light and ignite the candles in two sets of branches in the drawing-room which they had entered and then fastened the door. this done, he turned in surprise to see that his mother had thrown back her hood, rearranged her hair, and was standing there before him flushed, but proud and perfectly calm. "oh, mother!" he cried, stepping up to her and kissing her. "i can't help it. drew is right. i am so proud of you." "are you?" she said, smiling, as she returned his kiss, and her look said that the pride was reciprocal. they gazed in each other's eyes for a few moments, as if deaf to the sounds below-stairs, which told that the soldiers had at last gained an entrance. then a change came over lady gowan's face, her upper lip curled, and a look of haughty scorn shone from her eyes. "they are coming up, my boy," she cried. "leave me to speak." for answer frank drew his sword, caught up the silver branch with its three candles from the table, and took a couple of strides in front of his mother toward the door, as it was dashed open, when, sword in hand, followed by half a dozen men with fixed bayonets, the officer in command rushed in. chapter twenty two. saved! "here, how dare you!" shouted frank angrily; and, in utter astonishment, the officer stopped short, and lowered the sword he had fully expected to use, while the men threw up their bayonets and stood fast. "i don't know you, but you belong to the guards, i suppose, and--" "silence, frank! let me speak," said lady gowan, without a tremor in her voice. "then you are not an armed mob of rioters. pray, what does this outrage mean?" "i ask your pardon, lady gowan," said the young officer, recovering himself; "it is a painful act of duty." "to break into my house, sir!" said lady gowan haughtily, while her son felt more than ever that he was engaged in some madly exciting game. "i was refused entrance, after repeatedly demanding it in the king's name." "in the king's name!" cried lady gowan scornfully. "how were i, my son, or my servants to know that this was not the excuse made by one of the riotous jacobite bands to obtain entrance and plunder my home?" "i cannot help fulfilling my duty, lady gowan," said the young officer respectfully. "i must proceed to the arrest." "arrest?" cried lady gowan hurriedly. "oh, frank! but surely--ah, i will speak to the princess. such a trivial act--a thoughtless boy. arrest him for absenting himself without leave--to meet his mother--at his own home?" "your ladyship must be trifling with me," said the officer sternly, "and i cannot be played with. information was brought to the palace that sir robert gowan is here, and at all costs my orders are to arrest him. i beg that you will tell him to surrender at once." "go back to those who sent you, sir, and tell them that sir robert gowan is not here." "then where is he, madam?" "you have no right to question me, sir," said lady gowan haughtily; "but, to end this interview, i will answer your question. i do not know." "your ladyship tells me that?" cried the officer quickly. "i refuse to be questioned by you, sir," said lady gowan with dignity. "you are in the king's guards; you have a duty to perform. i am helpless at this moment. pray do it, and go. but i insist, in the name of the lady whom i have the honour to serve, that you do not go without leaving a proper guard to protect this house from pillage by the mob outside." the officer looked puzzled and confused for a moment or two, and then he spoke again sharply. "i am bound to take your ladyship's word," he said; "but you know!" he cried, turning suddenly upon frank, and so fiercely intended as to throw him off his guard. "come, sir; it is of no use to prevaricate. where is sir robert?" but frank was as firm as his mother, and he met the young officer's eyes without flinching. "where is my father?" he said quietly. "i don't know, and if i did i wouldn't tell you." a flush of anger suffused the young guardsman's face; but the boy's manner touched him home, and the anger passed away in a laugh. "well," he said, "that's not a bad answer. unfortunately, young gentleman, i can't be satisfied with it.--lady gowan, i regret having this duty placed in my hands to carry out, but i must perform it. i am compelled to disbelieve you and your son, and search the house." "do your duty then, sir," said lady gowan coldly; "but i cannot stay here to submit to the insult. i insist upon my house being protected." "my men are at the door, madam, and no one will be allowed to pass. i answer for the place being safe." "thank you, sir," said lady gowan courteously. "i do not blame you for all this. i presume my son and i can pass your men?" "of course, madam," said the officer; and his manner changed, for these words impressed him more than any denial that sir robert was there. "i thank you for going, though," he said, recovering his composure. "you relieve me from the painful duty of arresting sir robert in your presence." lady gowan smiled, and drew her hood over her head. "come, frank," she said; "see me back to the palace; you will not need your sword." the officer took up the silver branch frank had set down, and as the boy returned his sword to its sheath, and his mother took his arm, the officer preceded them, and lit them down the stairs, where lady gowan stopped in the splinter-strewn hall to speak to the housekeeper. "see, berry," she said quietly, "that this gentleman and his men have every opportunity for searching the house. a rumour has been carried to the palace that sir robert is here. when they have done, men will be placed as sentries to guard the place. in the morning send for the workmen to see that a new door is placed there, and to do first what is necessary to board this one up." "yes, my lady," said the housekeeper quietly. the next minute lady gowan and her son passed out of the house with a corporal and four men to escort them back to the palace, the crowd making way for the armed men, while the officer returned to the hall, and looked at the sergeant fixedly. "gone?" said the officer. "yes, sir. bird's flown," replied the sergeant. "well, search from top to bottom, from cellar to leads. that's the way he must have gone." "if it wasn't a false alarm, sir," said the man respectfully. "i never had much faith in any spies." "be on your guard; he may be here," said the officer. "now search." the sergeant went off promptly with his men, muttering to himself: "and nobody's better pleased than me. nicely we should have been groaned at if we had found him. that is, if we had taken him; but he'd have fought like the man he is. well, i'm glad he's gone." "i saved, frank, saved!" whispered lady gowan, as they parted on reaching the palace. "yes, mother, saved. oh, don't look like that!" she kissed him hurriedly, and entered her apartment, to hurry thence to the princess's chamber; while frank made for his own, with his head feeling as if it were full of buzzing sounds, and ready to ask himself if all that he had gone through was not part of a feverish dream. chapter twenty three. more about the ducks. the news was all over the palace the next morning; but before meeting andrew forbes, frank hurried to his mother's apartments, to find her dressed, but lying down, her maid saying that she was very ill, but that she would see mr gowan. "i thought you would come, my boy," said lady gowan, embracing him. "oh, my darling, what a horrible night! tell me again all about your father's escape." "you're not well enough, mother," said the boy bluntly. "it will only agitate you more. isn't it enough that i helped him to get safe away without any accident?" "yes, yes, you are right," said lady gowan. "but how rash, how mad of him to come! frank, remember that you must not breathe a word about how it was that i was able to warn him." "i see," said frank; "it would make mischief." "and this has undone all that i was trying to do. he might have been forgiven in time; now we shall have to wait perhaps for years." "then don't let's wait, mother. he says that we should have to suffer terribly if we shared his lot with him. but who cares? i shouldn't a bit, and i'm sure you wouldn't mind." "i, my boy?" cried lady gowan passionately. "i'd gladly lead the humblest life with him, so that we could be at peace." "very well, then; let's go." lady gowan shook her head. "we must respect your father's wishes, frank," she said sadly. "no; we must stay as we are till we are ordered to leave here, or your father bids us come." "there," said the boy, "i was right. you must not talk about it any more; it only makes you cry. never mind what happened last night. he has got safely away." "but if he should venture again, my boy," sobbed lady gowan. "never mind about _ifs_, mother. of course he longed to see us, and he ran the risk, so as to be near. i should have done the same, if i had been like he is. there, now you lie still and read all day. he won't run any more risks, so as not to frighten you. i must go now." lady gowan clung to her son for a few minutes, and then he hurried away, to find andrew forbes in the courtyard. "ah, i was right!" he said. "i went to your rooms, thinking i should catch you; but you were up and off. i thought this would be where you had come. but, i say, i thought we were friends." "well, so we are." "don't seem like it, for you to go and have a jolly night of adventures like that, and leave me out in the cold." "i couldn't help it, drew," said frank apologetically. "yes, you could. i smell a rat now. i thought you turned very queer when we were by your house yesterday. then you saw him at one of the windows?" frank looked at him frowningly, and then nodded his head. "and never told me! well, this is being a friend! i would have trusted you. but, i say, it was grand. i've just seen captain murray and the doctor. they were together in the captain's room. they wouldn't say so, of course, but they were delighted to hear he got away, though they say they wouldn't wonder if you were dismissed." "i don't care, if my mother has to leave too." "ah! but the princess wouldn't let her go. i say, how do you feel now?" "very miserable," said frank sadly. "nonsense! you mean not so precious loyal as you were." "if you are going to begin about that business again, i am going," said frank coldly. "i've done. i'm satisfied. you'll be as eager on the other side some day, frank; and i like you all the better for being so staunch as you are. as my father says, it makes you the better worth winning." "when did your father say that?" cried frank sharply. "never mind. perhaps he wrote it to me. you can't expect me to be quite open with you if you're not with me. but, i say," cried the lad enthusiastically, "it's grand!" "what is?" "for us to be both with our fathers banished. why, frank, it's like making heroes of us." "making geese of us! what nonsense!" "just as you like; but i shall feel what i please. i never did see such a fellow as you are, though. you have no more romance in you than a big drum. but, i say, tell us all about it." with a little pressing frank told him all, the narrative being given, in an undertone, and after a faithful promise of secrecy, on one of the benches under a tree in the park, while andrew sat with his fingers interlaced and nipped between his knees, flushed of face, his eyes flashing, and his teeth set. "oh," he cried at last, "i wish i had been there, and it had come to a fight." "what good would that have done?" said frank. "oh, i don't know; but what a night! it was glorious! and to think that all the while i was moping alone over a stupid book, while you were enjoying yourself like that." "enjoying myself!" cried frank scornfully. "yes, enjoying yourself. there, with your sword out, defending your beautiful mother from the guards, after saving your father's life, and keeping the castle--house, i mean--against the men who were battering down the gate--door." "well," said frank drily, "if i have no more romance in me than there is in a big drum, you have." "i should think i have!" cried the lad, whose handsome, effeminate face was scarlet with his excitement. "why, you cold-blooded, stony-hearted old countryman, can't you see that you were doing man's work, and having glorious adventures?" "no; only that it was very horrible," said frank, with his brow all in lines. "bah! i don't believe you felt like that. what a chance! what a time to have! all the luck coming to you, and i'm obliged to lead the life of a palace lapdog, when i want to be a soldier fighting for my king." "wait till you get older," said frank. "i wanted to be a man last night." "why, you were a man. it was splendid!" cried andrew enthusiastically. "i wasn't a man, and it wasn't splendid," said frank sadly. "i felt all right then; but when i woke this morning, i seemed to see myself standing there in our drawing-room, with my sword in one hand and the big silver candlestick in the other, and i felt that i must have looked very ridiculous, and that the young officer and the men with him must have laughed at me." "er-r-err!" growled andrew; "i haven't patience with you, franky. you're too modest by half--modest as a great girl. no, you're not; no girl could have behaved like you did. i only wish i had had the chance to be there. ridiculous indeed! very ridiculous to help your father to escape as you did, 'pon my honour. oh yes, very ridiculous! i want to be as ridiculous as that every day of my life; and if it isn't playing the man--" "yes, that's it," said frank gloomily,--"playing the man, when one's only a boy." "bah! hold your tongue, stupid. you don't know yet what you did do. but, i say, that was ridiculous, if you like." "what was?" said frank, starting. "climbing up the roof to hide the rope, and stuffing it down the next-door chimney. i say: i wonder what the people thought." frank smiled now. "well, that does seem comic." "it was glorious. but they'll never know. they'll think the sweeps must have left it when the chimney was last swept. but i suppose you've heard about lieutenant brayley's report?" "no, not a word. i went as soon as i was dressed to see how my mother was." "oh, i heard from murray. he reported that it was a false alarm, and that sir robert could not have been there, for he had the house well watched back and front, and all the approaches to the houses adjoining. oh, i do enjoy getting the better of the other side. and, i say, every one's delighted that he escaped, if he was there; but i hope he won't get taken. tell him to mind, franky, for every place swarms with spies, and that it's next to impossible to get out of the country. oh, i wouldn't have him taken for all the world." "thank ye," said frank warmly; "but how am i to tell him that?" andrew turned and gave his companion a peculiar smiling look. "of course," he said merrily, "how can you tell him? he did not tell you how to write to him--oh, no; nor where to find the letters he sent to you. oh, no; he wouldn't do that. not at all likely, is it?" frank turned white. "how did you know that?" he said hoarsely. "because i'm rowing in the same boat, franky. why, of course he did. now, didn't he?" the boy nodded. "so did my father, of course. there, i'm going to thoroughly trust you, if you don't me. i'd trust you with anything, because i can feel that you couldn't go wrong. i don't want you to tell me where your father told you to write, or what name he is going to take, or how you are to get his letters, for of course he couldn't write to the palace. but he told you how to communicate with him, i do know, frank. it was a matter of course with your father like that. i say, what do you think of a tin box in a hollow tree in the park, where you can bury it in the touchwood when you go to feed the ducks?" "that would be a good way of course," said frank; "but no, it isn't like that." "what, for you and your father? who said it was? i meant for me and mine." "what! feed the ducks! drew!" cried frank excitedly. "yes; what's the matter?" "feed the ducks?" "yes, feed the ducks!" "you don't mean to tell me that--that--" "mr george selby is my father? of course i do." "oh!" ejaculated frank in astonishment. "isn't it fine?" cried andrew. "he comes and feeds the ducks--his majesty king george's ducks--and the precious spies stand and watch him; and sometimes he has a chance to see me, and sometimes he hasn't, and then he leaves a note for me in the old tree, for he says it's the only pleasure he has in his solitary exiled life." "oh, drew!" cried frank warmly. "yes, poor old chap. i'm not worth thinking about so much, only i suppose i'm something like what poor mother was, and he likes it, or he wouldn't leave all his plots and plans for getting poor james francis on the throne to come risking arrest. they'd make short work of him, frank, if they knew--head shorter. i shall tell him i've told you. but i know what he'll say." "that you were much to blame," said frank eagerly. "not he. he'll trust you, as i do. he likes you, frank. he told me he liked you all the better for being so true to your principles, and that he was very glad to find that i had made friends with you. there, now you can tell me as much as you like. nothing at all, if you think proper; but i shall trust you as much as you'll let me, my lad. there, it's time to go in. i want to hear more about what they're doing. as they know that your father has been seen, they'll be more strict than ever. but let's go round by your old house." "no, no," said frank, with a shudder. "better go.--come, don't shiver like that. you were a man last night; be one now." "come along then," said frank firmly; and they walked sharply round by the end of the canal, and back along the opposite side toward westminster, passing several people on the way, early as the hour was. "don't seem to notice any one," said andrew; "and walk carelessly and openly, just as if you were going--as we are--to look at your old house where the adventure was." "why?" "because several of the people we pass will be spies. i don't want to put you all in a fidget; but neither you nor your mother will be able to stir now without being watched." "do you think so?" said frank, who felt startled. "sure of it. there, that's doing just what i told you not to do, opening your mouth like a bumpkin for the flies to jump down your throat, and making your eyes look dark all round like two burnt holes in a blanket. come along. you mustn't mind anything now. i don't: i'm used to it. let 'em see that you don't care a rush, and that they may watch you as much as they please. now don't say anything to me, only walk by me, and we'll go by the park front of your place. i want to have a quiet stare at the tops of the houses and at the corner where your father slipped down the rope." frank obeyed his companion, and they walked on, seeing no one in particular, save an elderly man with a very bad cough, who stopped from time to time to rest upon his crutch-handled stick, and indulge in a long burst of coughing, interspersing it with a great many "oh dears!" and groans. they left him behind, as they passed the last tall house, where frank shuddered as he saw the upright leaden stack, the hole in the parapet, where the rope was tied, and the garden beneath. the boy turned hot as he went over the whole adventure again and thought the same thoughts. then he glanced sharply through the iron railings in search of footmarks, but saw none, for andrew uttered a warning "take care," and he looked straight before him again as he went out by the park gate, and turned back and through the streets till they reached the front of the house, where men were nailing up boards, and a couple of soldiers stood on duty, marching up and down, as if some royal personage were within. frank glanced at the workmen, and would have increased his pace, but andrew had hold of his arm and kept him back. "don't hurry," he said quietly; and then lightly to one of the sentries, "got some prisoners inside, my man?" the sentry grinned, and gave his head a side wise nod toward frank. "ask this young gentleman, sir; he knows." frank flushed scarlet, as he turned sharply to the man, whom he now recognised as one of the guards who entered the drawing-room with the officer. "ah, to be sure," said andrew coolly; and nodding carelessly, he went on and out by the gate into the park at the end of the street, where the old man they had previously seen was holding on by the railings coughing violently. "poor old gentleman!" said andrew sarcastically, but loud enough for him to hear; "he seems to be suffering a good deal from that cough." the man bent his head lower till his brow rested on the hand which held on by the railings, and coughed more than ever. "you needn't have made remarks about him," whispered frank. "i'm afraid he heard what you said." "i meant him to hear," said andrew loudly; and he stopped and looked back directly. "a miserable, contemptible impostor. i could cure his wretched cough in two minutes with that stick he leans on." the man started as if he had received a blow, and raised his head to glare fiercely at the youth, who was looking him superciliously up and down. "look at him, frank," continued andrew; "did you ever see such a miserable, hangdog-looking cur?" frank felt in agony, and gripped his companion by the arm. "did you mean that to insult me, boy?" said the man angrily. "done it without the stick," said andrew, not appearing to notice the man's words. "you see a good lash from the tongue was enough. now, can you imagine it possible that any one could sink so low as to earn his living by watching his fellow-creatures, spying their every act, and then betraying them for the sake of a few dirty shillings, to send them to prison or to the gibbet? there can be nothing on earth so base as a thing like this. why, a footpad is a nobleman compared to him." "you insolent young puppy!" cried the man; and entirely forgetful of his infirmity, he took three or four paces toward them, with his stick raised to strike. frank's hand darted to his sword, but andrew did not stir. he stood with his lids half closed and his lips compressed, staring firmly at his would-be assailant, never flinching for a moment, nor removing his eyes from those which literally glowed with anger. "the cough's gone, frank, and the disguise might as well go with it. he is not an invalid, but one of the vile, treacherous ruffians in the pay of the government. let your blade alone; he daren't strike, for fear of having a sword through his miserable carcass. he was dressed as a sailor the other day, and he looked as if he had never had a foot at sea. he has been hanging about the park for the past month. pah! look at the contemptible worm." the miserable spy and informer, who had remained with his stick raised, turned white with passion, as he stood listening to the lad's scathing words, and had either of the boys flinched he might have struck at them. as it was, he uttered a fierce imprecation, let the point of his stick drop to the ground, and turned away to hobble for a few steps, and, as if from habit, began to cough; but andrew burst into a bitter laugh, and with a fierce oath the man turned again and shook his stick at him before ceasing his cough and walking sharply away, erect and vigorous as any. "well," said andrew, "do you think i insulted him too much?" "why, he is an impostor!" "pah! london swarms with his kind. they have sent many a good, true, and innocent man to tyburn for the sake of blood-money--men whose only fault was that they believed james francis to be our rightful king. frank," cried the lad passionately, "i can't tell you how i loathe the reptiles. i knew that wretch directly; my father pointed him out to me as one to beware of. if he knew what we do, he would send my dear, brave father to the scaffold, and he is trying hard to send yours. where's your pity for the poor invalid now?" "oh!" ejaculated frank excitedly, "can such things be true?" "true? why was he dogging us this morning? i can't be sure, of course; but as likely as not it was upon his information that your poor father was almost taken last night, and your mother nearly broken-hearted this morning. why, frank, i never saw you look so fierce before. it's all nonsense about my being two years older than you. you've overtaken and passed me, lad. i'm getting quite afraid of you." "oh, don't banter me now, drew. i can't bear it." "it's only my spiteful tongue, frank. i don't banter you at heart. i'm in earnest. only a short time ago i used to think i was as old as a man, and it was trouble about my father made me so. now i can't help seeing how trouble is altering you too. don't mind what i say, but i must say it. some day you'll begin to think that i am not so much to blame for talking as i do about our royal master." frank drew a long, deep breath, and felt as if it might after all be possible. "there, that's enough for one morning," cried andrew merrily. "we're only boys after all, even if i am such a queer fish. let's be boys again now. what do you say? i'll race you round the end of the canal, and see who can get in first to breakfast." "no," said frank; "i want to walk back quietly and think." "and i don't mean to let you. there, we've had trouble enough before breakfast. let's put it aside, and if we can get away go and see the horse guards parade, and then listen to the band and see some of the drilling. i want to learn all i can about an officer's duty, so as not to be like a raw recruit when i get my commission, if i ever do. i say: hungry?" "i? no." "then you must be. make a good breakfast, lad. sir robert's safe enough by now, and he'll be more cautious in future about coming amongst his majesty's springes and mantraps. look yonder; there's captain murray. who's that with him?" "the doctor." "so it is. let's go and talk to them." "no; let them go by before we start for the gate. i feel as if every one will be knowing about last night, and want to question me. i wish i could go away till it has all blown over." "but you can't, frank; and you must face it out like a man. i say--" "well?" "you're not likely to see the king, and if you did it's a chance if he'd know who you are; but you're sure to see the prince, and i am a bit anxious to know whether he'll take any notice about what his page did last night, and if he does, what he'll say." "i'm pretty well sure to see him this afternoon," said frank gloomily; "and if he questions me i can't tell him a lie. what shall i say?" "i'll tell you," said andrew merrily. "yes? what?" "say nothing. he can't make you speak." "then he'll be angry, and it will be fresh trouble for my mother." "i don't believe he will be," said andrew. "well, don't spoil your breakfast about something which may never happen. wait and see. the worst he could do would be to have you dismissed; and if he does he'll dismiss me too, for i shan't stop here, frank, unless my father says i must." chapter twenty four. with prince and princess. frank thought over his companion's proposals for spending such time as they could get away from duty, and soon after breakfast said what he thought. "every one seems to know about it," he said mournfully. "it's wonderful what an excitement it has caused." "not a bit. every one knows lady gowan and her son, and how sir robert was sent out of the country on account of that duel in the park; so of course they talk about it." "but wherever we go we shall be meeting people who will want to question me." "yes," said andrew quietly. "i've been thinking the same. it's a great nuisance, for i wanted to go soldiering to-day." "there's nothing to prevent you going." "yes, there is--you. i'm not going without you go too." "but, drew--" "there, don't say any more about it," said the lad warmly. "i know. it wouldn't be pleasant for you to go, so you stay in, and we'll read or talk." "but i don't like to force you to give up." "not going to force me. i'm going to stay because i like it, and keep you company, and stop people from talking to you." frank said little, but he thought a great deal, and the most about how, in spite of his old belief that he should never thoroughly care for his fellow-page, the tie of sympathy between them from the similarity of their positions was growing stronger every day. as it happened they did not lose much, for they found that they would have to be a good deal on duty, and the consequence was that much of the early part of the day was spent in the antechamber to help usher in quite a long string of gentlemen, who wished for an audience with the prince. in the afternoon, just as frank was longing for his freedom so that he might go and inquire how lady gowan was, he received a sharp nudge from andrew, and turned quickly, to find that a knot of ladies had entered the room, and naturally his first glance was to see if his mother was with them. but he did not see her, his eyes lighting instead upon the princess, who was on her way to join her husband. the blood rose to frank's cheeks as he saw that her royal highness was looking at him intently, and his confusion increased as she smiled pleasantly at him in passing. instead of hurrying forward to open the door for her as usual, he stood in his place as if frozen, and the duty fell to andrew, who joined him as soon as the last lady had passed through the door and the curtain was let fall. "i say, frank," said the lad merrily, "she didn't seem very cross with you. lucky to be you, with your mother a favourite. you're all right, and i don't suppose you'll hear another word about the business. it's a good thing sometimes to be a boy." but andrew proved to be wrong, and within the next hour or so; for the last of the audience--reckless officers praying for promotion and gentlemen asking the prince's support as they sought for place--had gone, when a servant entered the anteroom, and took frank's breath away by saying that the prince wished to speak with him directly. "it's all over with you, frank," whispered andrew; "leave me a lock of your hair, and you may as well give me your sword for a keepsake. you'll never want it again." these bantering words did not quell the boy's alarm, but he had no time for thought; he had to go, and, drawing himself up and trying to put on a firm mien, he went to the door, drew aside the curtain, knocked, and entered. the prince was busy at a table covered with papers, the princess sat near him in the opening of one of the windows, and her ladies were at the other end of the room beyond earshot. the boy grasped all this as he moved toward the table, and then stood waiting respectfully for his royal highness to speak. but some minutes elapsed, during which the boy's heart beat heavily, and he stood watching the prince, as he kept on dipping his pen in the ink and signed some of the papers by him, and drew the pen across others. frank would have given anything for a look of encouragement from the princess; but she sat with her face still turned away, reading. at last! the prince looked up sharply, as if he had just become aware of the boy's presence, and said in rather imperfect english: "well, my boy!" frank, who had felt so manly the previous night and that morning, was the schoolboy again, completely taken aback, and for a few moments stood staring blankly at the inquiring eyes before him. then, as the prince raised his brows as if about to say, "why don't you speak?" the boy said hurriedly: "your royal highness sent for me." "sent for you? no--oh yes, i remember. well, sir, what excuse have you to make for yourself?" "none, your highness," said the boy firmly. "humph! defiant and obstinate?" frank shook his head. he could not trust himself to speak. "hah! that's better," said the prince. "well, what have you to say in excuse for your conduct, before i order you to quit my service?" "nothing, your highness." "humph! very wise of you, sir. i hate lying excuses." frank darted a quick glance in the direction of the princess, in the hope that she would intercede for him, as he saw himself sent off in disgrace, separated from the mother whom his father had bidden him to watch over and protect. the idea was horrible, and with his hands turning moist in the palms, and the dew gathering in fine drops about his temples, he felt ready to promise anything to ensure his stay at the palace. "i may tell you what i have heard from the officer in charge of the guard last night--everything which took place. what am i to think of one of my servants standing with his sword drawn to resist his majesty's officer in the execution of his duty?" "it was to defend my mother, sir," said frank firmly. "oh! well, that is what a son should do, and that is some excuse. a lady i respect, and whom the princess esteems. but this is very serious at a time like this, when his majesty is surrounded by enemies; and there must be no more such acts as this, mr gowan. if you were a man, i should not have spoken as i do; you would have been dealt with by others. but as you are a mere thoughtless boy, ready to act on the impulse of the moment, and as, for your mother's sake, the princess has interceded for you, i am disposed to look over it." "thank your royal highness," cried frank, drawing a long, deep breath, full of relief. "now you may go back to your duties, and remember this: you are very young, and have good prospects before you. you are my servant now you are a boy; i hope you will be my servant still when you grow up to be a man. i shall want men whom i can trust--men to whom i can say `protect me,' and who will do it." "yes, your highness, and i will," cried frank eagerly, as he took a couple of steps forward. "so would my father, your highness. he is a fine, brave, true soldier, and--" "he has a son who believes in him. well?" "he was forced to fight, your highness. you would not have believed in him as a soldier if he had refused, and it is so cruel and hard that he should have been sent away. pray--pray ask the king to forgive him now." "humph! you are a very plain-spoken young gentleman," said the prince sternly. "you draw your sword to protect your mother, and now i suppose if your father is not pardoned you will turn rebel and draw it again to protect him." "your royal highness has no right to think such a thing of me," said the boy, flushing warmly. "i was taught that i was to do my duty here." "and very good teaching too, sir; but boys are very ready to forget what they are taught; and princes and kings have a right to think and say what they please." "i beg your royal highness's pardon. you said you wanted faithful servants, and a truer and better man than my father never lived." "here, how old are you, young fellow?" "seventeen, your highness." "and you are arguing like a man of seven-and-forty. well, it is a fine thing for a boy to be able to speak like that of his father, and i will not quarrel with you for being so plain. but look here, my boy: i am not the king." "but your royal highness will be some day," said frank excitedly, for he had the wild belief that he was going to carry the day. "humph! perhaps, boy; but that is a bad argument to use. there, i will be plain with you. it does not rest with me to pardon your father." "but his majesty--" began the boy excitedly. "i cannot ask his majesty, boy," said the prince sternly. "i am very angry to find that one of my attendants was mixed up with last night's troubles; but, as i told you, at the intercession of the princess, i am disposed to look over it, if you promise me that in future you will be more careful, and do your duty as my servant should." "i will, your highness.--but my poor father?" "must wait until his majesty is disposed to pardon his offence. go." the prince waved his hand toward the door, and then for a moment or two he looked startled, for in a quick, impulsive way the boy darted forward and caught the raised hand. the sudden movement startled the princess too, and she sprang from her chair; but the look of alarm passed from her eyes as she saw the boy bending down to kiss the prince's hand, and as he let it fall she held out her own. frank saw the movement, and the next instant he was down on one knee, kissing it, and rose to give the princess a smile full of gratitude. at that moment he felt his shoulder heavily grasped by the prince. "good lad!" he said. "go to your duties. i see i shall have in you a servant i can trust." frank did not know how he got out of the room, for his head was in a whirl, and he did not thoroughly come to himself till he had been seated for some time by his mother's couch and had told her all that had passed. but somehow lady gowan did not look happy, and when she parted from her son there was a wistful look in her eyes which told of a greater trouble than that of which the boy was aware. "of course," said andrew forbes, when he had drawn the full account of the boy's experiences from him; "but you need not be so precious enthusiastic over it. you had done nothing, though plenty of people get hung nowadays for that." "but he was very kind and nice to me." "kind and nice!" said andrew, with a sneer. "that was his artfulness. he wants to make all the friends he can against a rainy day--his rainy day. he's thinking of being king; but he won't be. i do know that." frank gave him an angry look, and turned away; but his companion caught his arm. "don't go, frank; that was only one of my snarls. i'm not so generous and ready to believe in people as you are." frank remembered his companion's position and his confidence about his father, and turned back. "i can't bear to hear you talk like that." "slipped out," said andrew hurriedly. "there, then, it's all right again for you. but there's no mistake about your having a good friend in the princess." chapter twenty five. frank boils over. there seemed to be a good deal of excitement about the court one day; people were whispering together, and twice over, as frank was approaching, he noted that they either ceased talking or turned their backs upon him and walked away. but he took no further notice of it then, for his mind was very full of his father, of whom he had not heard for some time. his mother had seemed terribly troubled and anxious when he had met her, but he shrank from asking her the cause, feeling that his father's long silence was telling upon her; and in the hope of getting news he went again and again to the house in queen anne street, ascended to the drawing-room, and opened the picture-panelled closet door. but it was for nothing. the housekeeper had told him that sir robert had not been; but thinking that his father could have let himself in unknown to the old servant, frank clung to the hope that he might have been, deposited a letter, and gone again, possibly in the night. in every visit, though, he was disappointed, but contented himself by thinking that his father had acted wisely, and felt that it was not safe to come for fear that he might be watched. it was nearly a week since he had been to the house, and he was longing for an opportunity to go again, but opportunity had not served, and he came to the conclusion that he would slip off that very afternoon, after exacting a promise from andrew forbes that he would keep in the anteroom ready to attend to any little duty which might require the presence of one of the pages. to his surprise, though, andrew was nowhere to be seen. to have inquired after him would only have served to draw attention to his absence, so he contented himself with waiting patiently, but minute by minute he grew more anxious, feeling convinced that something must have occurred. "whatever has happened?" he said to himself at last, as he saw officers begin to arrive and be ushered into the prince's room; but why, there was no chance for him to know, as there was no one to whom he could apply for information, and at last he sat alone in the great blank saloon, fidgeting as if he were upon thorns, and inventing all manner of absurd reasons to account for his companion's absence. "i know," he said to himself at last; "he has noticed that there is something on the way, and gone out to try and pick up news. he'll be here directly." but he was wrong. andrew did not come, and several little things occurred to show him that there was undue excitement about the place. at last his suspense came to an end, as he sat alone, for andrew appeared looking flushed and excited, glanced sharply round as soon as he was inside the door, caught sight of his friend, and half ran to join him. "oh, here you are, then, at last!" cried frank. "at last," said the lad. "yes; where have you been--news-hunting?" "yes," he whispered excitedly; "news-hunting, and i ran it down." "what is it? there are three officers with the prince, and i heard some one say that a messenger was to be despatched to bring the king back to town." "did you hear that?" cried andrew excitedly. "yes." "ah!" ejaculated andrew. "what is it? a riot?" "yes, a very big riot, lad; a very, very big one. now we shall see." "it doesn't seem likely for it to be _we_," said frank sarcastically. "why don't you out with it, and tell me what's the matter?" "oh, two things; but haven't you heard?" "of course not, or i shouldn't be begging and praying of you to speak." "i found a letter from the dad, that's one thing, and he told me what i find the place is ringing with." "something about bells?" said frank, laughing. "yes, if you like," said andrew wildly. "the tocsin. war, my lad, war!" "what! with france?" "no; england. at last. the king has landed." "i say, are you going mad?" "yes, with excitement. frank, the game has begun, and we must throw up everything now, and join hands with the good men and true who are going to save our country." "bah! you've got one of your fits on again," cried frank contemptuously; "what a gunpowder fizgig you are!" "look here!" said andrew, in an angry whisper; "this is no time for boyish folly. we must be men. the crisis has come, and this miserable sham reign is pretty well at an end." "the prince is in yonder," said frank warningly. "prince!" said drew contemptuously; "i know no prince but james francis stuart. now, listen; there must be no shilly-shallying on your part; we want every true patriot to draw the sword for his country." "ah well, i'm not what you call a true patriot, and so i shan't draw mine." "bah!" ejaculated drew. "and bah!" cried frank. "don't you play the fool,--unless you want some one to hear you," he continued, in a warning whisper. "what do i care? i have had great news from my father, and the time has at last come when we must strike for freedom." "are you mad? do you know where you are?" cried frank, catching him by the arm. "not mad, and i know perfectly where i am. look here, frank; there must be no more nonsense. i tell you the time has come to strike. our friends have landed, or are about to land. there is going to be a complete revolution, and before many hours the house of hanover will be a thing of the past, and the rightful monarch of the house of stuart will be on the throne." "then you are mad," said frank, with another uneasy glance at the curtained door beyond where they stood, "or you would never talk like this." "i shall talk how i please now," cried the lad excitedly. "let them do their worst. i feel ready to wait till the prince comes out, and then draw my sword and shout, `god save king james the third!'" "no, you are not. you would not so insult one who has always behaved well to you." "bah! i am nobody. i don't count. how have he and his behaved to my poor father and to yours? frank, i know i'm wildly excited, and feel intoxicated by the joyful news; but i know what i am talking about, and i will not have you behave in this miserable, cold-blooded way, when our fathers are just about to receive their freedom and come back to their rights." "it's no use to argue with you when you're in this state," said frank coldly; "but i won't sit here and have you say things which may lead to your being punished. i should be a poor sort of friend if i did." "pah! have you no warm blood in you, that you sit there as cool as a frog when i bring you such glorious news?" "it isn't glorious," said frank. "it means horrible bloodshed, ruin, and disaster to hundreds or thousands of misguided men." "misguided! do you know what you are talking about?" "yes, perfectly." "have you no feeling for your father and mother's sufferings?" "leave my father and mother out of the question, please." "i can't. i know you're not a coward, frank; but you're like a stupid, stubborn blood-horse that wants the whip or spur to make him go. when he does begin, there's no holding him." "then don't you begin to use whip or spur, drew, in case." "but i will. i must now. it is for your good. i'm not going to stand by and see you and your mother crushed in the toppling-down ruins of this falling house. do you hear me? the time has come, and we want every one of our friends, young and old, to strike a good bold blow for liberty." "let your friends be as mad as they like," said frank angrily. "i'm not going to stand by either and see drew forbes go to destruction." "bah!--to victory. there, no more arguing. you are one of us, and you must come out of your shell now, and take your place." "i'm not one of you," said frank sturdily, and too warm now to think of the danger of speaking aloud; "i was tricked into saying something or joining in while others said it, and i am not a jacobite, and i never will be!" "i tell you that you are one." "have it so if you like; but it's in name only, and i'll show you that i am not in deed. you talked about crying before the prince, `god save king james!' god save king george! there!" he spoke out loudly now, but repented the next moment, for fear that he should have dared his companion to execute his threat. "coward!" cried andrew. "the miserable german usurper who has banished your father!" "you said that you knew i was not a coward." "then i retract it. you are if you try to hang back now." "call me what you like, i'll have nothing to do with it. they don't want boys." "they do--every one; and you must come and fight." "indeed!" "yes, or be punished as a traitor." "let them come and punish me, then," said frank hotly. "i wear a sword, and i know how to use it." "then come and use it like a man. come, frank. don't pretend that you are going to show the white feather." "i don't." "it is monstrous!" panted the lad, who was wildly excited by his enthusiasm. "i want you--my friend--to stand by me now at a critical time, and you treat me like this. i can't understand it when you know that your father is a staunch supporter of the royal cause." "of course i do. what's that got to do with it? do you think because he has been sent away that he would forget his oath to the king?" "i said the royal cause, not the usurper's." "it is false. my father is still in the king's service, waiting for his recall." "your father is my father's friend, as i am yours, and he is now holding a high command in king james's army." "it's not true, drew; it's one of your tricks to get me to go with you, and do what i faithfully promised i never would do. you know it's false. high in command in king james's army! why, he has no army, so it can't be true." "i tell you, it is true. my father and yours are both generals." "look here," said frank, turning and speaking now in an angry whisper, "you're going too far, drew. i don't want to quarrel--i hate to quarrel. perhaps i am like a stubborn horse; but i did warn you not to use the whip or spur, and you will keep on doing it. please let it drop. you're making me feel hot, and when i feel like that my head goes queer, and i hit out and keep on hitting, and feel sorry for it afterwards. i always did at school, and i should feel ten times as sorry if i hit you. now you sit down, and hold your tongue before you're heard and get into a terrible scrape." "sit down! at a time like this!" cried the lad. "oh, will nothing stir you? are you such a cowardly cur that you are going to hide yourself among the german petticoats about the palace? i tell you, it is true: general sir robert gowan throws up his hat for the king." "cowardly cur yourself!" cried frank, whose rage had been bubbling up to boiling-point for the last ten minutes and now burst forth. "miserable traitor! i thought better of you!" cried andrew bitterly. "pah! friends! you are not worth the notice of a gentleman. out of the way, you wretched cur!" he struck frank sharply across the face with his glove, as he stepped forward to pass, and quick as lightning the boy replied with a blow full in the cheek, which sent him staggering back, so that he would have fallen had it not been for the wall. in an instant court rules and regulations were forgotten. the boys knew that they wore swords, and these flashed from their scabbards, ornaments no longer, and the next moment they crossed, the blades gritted together, thrust and parry followed, and each showed that the instructions he had received were not in vain. what would have been the result cannot be told, save that it would have been bitter repentance for the one who had sent his blade home; but before any mischief had been done in the furious encounter, the doors at either end of the anteroom were opened, and the prince and the officers from the audience chamber with the guards from the staircase landing rushed in, the former narrowly escaping a thrust from andrew's sword, as with his own weapon he beat down the boys'. "how dare you!" he cried. "now!" cried andrew defiantly to frank, as he stood quivering with rage--"now is your time. speak out; tell the whole truth." "yes, the whole truth," said the prince sternly. "what does this brawl mean?" frank did not hesitate for a moment. "it was my fault, your royal highness," he cried, panting. "we quarrelled; i lost my temper and struck him." "who dared to draw?" thundered the prince. "we both drew together, your royal highness," cried frank hurriedly, for fear that andrew should be beforehand with him; "but i think i was almost the first." "you insolent young dogs!" cried the prince; "how dare you brawl and fight here!--take away their swords; such boys are not fit to be trusted with weapons. as for you, sir," he said, turning fiercely on frank, "like father like son, as you english people say. and you, sir--you are older," he cried to andrew. "there, take them away, and keep them till i have decided how they shall be punished.--come back to my room, gentlemen. such an interruption is a disgrace to the court." he turned and walked toward the door, followed by the three officers, one of whom on entering looked back at the lads and smiled, as if he did not think that much harm had been done. but neither of the lads saw, for andrew was whispering maliciously to frank: "you dared not speak. you knew how i should be avenged." "yes, i dared; but i wasn't going to be such a coward," cried frank sharply. "ah, stop that!" cried the officer who held the boys' swords, and had just given orders to his men to take their places in front and rear of his prisoners. "do you want to begin again? hang it all! wait till you get to the guardroom, if you must fight." "don't speak to me like that!" cried andrew fiercely. "it is not the custom to insult prisoners, i believe." "forward! march!" said the officer; and then, to frank's annoyance, as well as that of andrew, he saw that the officer was laughing at them, and that the men were having hard work to keep their countenances. five minutes later they had been marched down the staircase, across the courtyard, to the entrance of the guardroom, where, to frank's great mortification, the first person he saw was captain murray. "hallo! what's this?" he cried. "prisoners? what have you lads been about?" "fighting," said frank sullenly, andrew compressing his lips and staring haughtily before him, as if he felt proud, of his position. "fighting! with fists?" cried captain murray. "oh no," said the officer of the guard; "quite correctly. here are their skewers." "but surely not anywhere here?" "oh yes," said the officer mirthfully; "up in the anteroom, right under the prince's nose." "tut--tut--tut!" ejaculated captain murray, half angry, half amused. "the prince came between them, and the tall cock nearly sent his spur through him," continued the officer. "i s'pose this means the tower and the block, doesn't it, murray? or shall we have the job to shoot 'em before breakfast to-morrow morning?" "if i were only free," cried andrew, turning fiercely on the officer, "you would not dare to insult me then." "then i'm very glad you are not. i say, why in the name of wonder are you not in the service, my young fire-eater? you are not in your right place as a page." "because--because--" "stop! that will do, young man," said captain murray sternly. "let him be," he continued to his brother-officer. "the lad is beside himself with passion." "oh, i've done; but are they to be put together? they'll be at each other's throats again." "no, they will not," said captain murray. "frank, give me your word as your father's son that this quarrel is quite at an end." "oh yes, i've done," said the boy quickly. "and you, mr forbes?" "no," cried andrew fiercely. "i shall make no promises. and as for you, frank gowan, i repeat what i said to you: every word is true." "you think it is," said frank quietly, "or you wouldn't have said it. but it isn't true. it couldn't be." "that will do, young gentlemen," said captain murray sternly. "i should have thought you could have cooled down now. now, mr forbes, will you give me your word that you will behave to your fellow-prisoner like a gentleman, and save me the unpleasant duty of placing you in the cell." "yes. come, drew," said frank appealingly. "we were both wrong. i'll answer for him, captain murray." "well, one can't quarrel if the other will not. you can both have my room while you are under arrest. place a sentry at their door," and turning to his brother-officer, and, giving frank a nod, as he looked at him sadly and sternly, captain murray walked away. a few minutes later the key of the door was turned upon them, and they heard one of the guard placed on sentry duty outside. chapter twenty six. "what did he say?" frank threw himself into a chair, and andrew forbes began to walk up and down like a newly caged wild beast. frank thought of the last time he was in that room, and of captain murray's advice to him; then of the quarrel, and his companion's mad words against his father. from that, with a bound, his thoughts went to his mother. what would she think when she heard--as she would surely hear in a few minutes--about the encounter? he felt ready to groan in his misery, for the trouble seemed to have suddenly increased. andrew did not speak or even glance at him; and fully a quarter of an hour passed before frank had decided as to the course he ought to pursue. once he had made up his mind he acted, and, rising from his chair, he waited until his fellow-prisoner was coming toward him in his wearisome walk, and held out his hand. "will you shake hands, drew?" he said. the lad stopped on the instant, and his face lit up with eagerness. "yes," he cried, "if you'll stand by me like a man." "what do you mean?" "escape with me. get out of the window as soon as it is dark, and make a dash for it. let them fire; they would not hit us in the dark, and we could soon reach the friends and be safe." "run away and join your friends?" said frank quietly. "yes! we should be placed in the army at once, as soon as they knew who we were. come, you repent of what you said, and you will be faithful to the cause?" "won't you shake hands without that?" "no, i cannot. i am ready to forgive everything you said or did to me; but i cannot forgive such an act as desertion in the hour of england's great need. shake hands." "can't," said frank sadly; and he thrust his hands into his pockets, walked to the window, and stood looking out into the courtyard. no word was spoken for some time, and no sound broke the stillness that seemed to have fallen upon the place, save an occasional weary yawn from the soldier stationed outside the door and the tramp of the nearest sentry, while andrew very silently still imitated the action of a newly caged wild animal. at last he stopped suddenly. "have you thought that over?" he said. "no," replied frank. "doesn't want thinking over. my mind was made up before." "and you will take the consequences?" "hang the consequences!" cried frank angrily. "what is your rightful monarch, or your pretender, or whatever he is, to me? i don't understand your politics, and i don't want to. i've only one thing to think about. my father told me that, as far as i could, i was to stand by and watch over my mother in his absence, and i wouldn't forsake my post for all the kings and queens in the world; so there!" "then i suppose if i try to escape you will give the alarm and betray me?" "i don't care what you suppose. but i shouldn't be such a sneak. i wish you would go, and not bother me. you've no business here, and it would be better if you were away; but i don't suppose you will do much good if you do go." "oh!" ejaculated andrew, as if letting off so much indignant steam; "and this is friendship!" "i don't care what you say now. your ideas are wider and bigger than mine, i suppose. i'm a more common sort of fellow, with only room in my head to think about what i've been taught and told to do. perhaps you're right, but i don't see it." "i can't give you up without one more try," said andrew, standing before him with his brow all in lines. "you say your father told you to stay and watch over your mother?" "yes; and i will." "but since then he has changed his opinions; he is on our side now, and i cannot but think that he would wish you to try and strike one blow for his--bah!" andrew turned away in bitter contempt and rage, for strong in his determination not to be stung into a fresh quarrel, the boy he addressed, as soon as he heard his companion begin to reiterate his assertion that sir robert gowan had gone over to the pretender's side, turned slowly away, and, with his elbows once more resting on the window-sill, thrust a finger into each ear, and stopped them tight. so effectually was this done, that he started round angrily on feeling a hand laid upon his shoulder. "it's of no use, drew, i won't--oh, it's you, captain murray!" "yes, my lad. has he been saying things you don't like?" frank nodded. "well, that's one way of showing you don't want to listen. your mother wishes to see you, and you can go to her." "ah!" cried the boy eagerly. "give me your word as a gentleman that you will go to her and return at once, and i will let you cross to lady gowan's apartments without an escort." "escort, sir?" said frank wonderingly. "well, without a corporal and a file of men as guard." "oh, of course i'll come back," said the boy, smiling. "i'm not going to run away." "go, then, at once." captain murray walked with him to the door, made a sign to the sentry, who drew back to stand at attention, and the boy began to descend. "how long may i stay, sir?" he asked. "as long as lady gowan wishes; but be back before dark." "poor old drew!" thought frank, as he hurried across to the courtyard upon which his mother's apartments opened; "it's a deal worse for him than it is for me. but he's half mad with his rightful-king ideas, and ready to say or do anything to help them on. but to say such a thing as that about my father! oh!" he was ushered at once into his mother's presence, but she did not hear the door open or close; and as she lay on a couch, with her head turned so that her face was buried in her hands, he thought she was asleep. "mother," he said softly, as he bent over her. lady gowan sprang up at once; but instead of holding out her arms to him as he was about to drop on his knees before her, her wet eyes flashed angrily, and she spoke in a voice full of bitter reproach. "i have just heard from the princess that my son, whom i trusted in these troublous times to be my stay and help, has been brawling disgracefully during his duties at the court." "brawling disgracefully" made the boy wince, and a curious, stubborn look began to cloud his face. "her royal highness tells me that you actually so far forgot yourself as to draw upon young forbes, that you were half mad with passion, and that some terrible mischief would have happened if the prince, who heard the clashing from his room of audience, had not rushed in, and at great risk to himself beaten down the swords. that is what i have been told, and that you are both placed under arrest. is it all true?" "yes, mother," said the lad bluntly; and he set his teeth for the encounter that was to come. "is this the conduct i ought to expect from my son, after all my care and teaching--to let his lowest passions get the better of him, so that, but for the interference of the prince, he might have stained his sword with the blood of the youth he calls his friend?" "it might have been the other way, mother," said the boy bluntly. "yes; and had you so little love, so little respect for your mother's feelings, that you could risk such a thing? i have been prostrated enough by what has happened. suppose, instead, the news had been brought to me that in a senseless brawl my son had been badly wounded-- or slain?" "senseless brawl" made the boy wince again. "it would have been very horrible, mother," he said, in a low voice. "it would have killed me. why was it? what was the cause?" "oh, it was an affair of honour, mother," said frank evasively. "an affair of honour!" cried lady gowan scornfully; "a boy like you daring to speak to me like that! honour, sir! where is the honour? it comes of boys like you two, little better than children, being allowed to carry weapons. do you not know that it is an honour to a gentleman to wear a sword, because it is supposed that he would be the last to draw it, save in some terrible emergency for his defence or to preserve another's life, and not at the first hasty word spoken? had you no consideration for me? could you not see how painful my position is at the court, that you must give me this fresh trouble to bear?" "yes, mother; you know how i think of you. i couldn't help it." "shame! could not help it! is this the result of your education--you, growing toward manhood--my son to tell me this unblushingly, to give me this pitiful excuse--you could not help it? why was it, sir?" "well, mother, we quarrelled. drew is so hot-tempered and passionate." "and you are perfectly innocent, and free from all such attributes, i suppose, sir," cried lady gowan sarcastically. "oh no, i'm not, mother," said the lad bluntly, as he felt he would give anything to get away. "i've got a nasty, passionate temper; but i'm all right if it isn't roused and drew will keep on till he rouses it." "pitiful! worse and worse!" cried lady gowan. "all this arose, i suppose, out of some contemptible piece of banter or teasing. he said something to you, then, that you did not like?" "yes," said frank eagerly, "that was it." "and pray what did he say?" "say--oh--er--he said--oh, it was nothing much." "speak out--the truth, sir," cried lady gowan, fixing her eyes upon her son's. "oh, he said--something i did not like, mother." "what was it, sir? i insist upon knowing." "oh, it was nothing much." "let me be the judge of that, sir. i, as your mother, would be only too glad to find that you had some little excuse for such conduct." "and then," continued frank hurriedly, "i got put out, and--and i called him a liar." "what was it he said?" "and then he struck me over the face with his glove, mother, and i couldn't stand that, and i hit out, and sent him staggering against the wall." "why?--what for?" insisted lady gowan. "and in a moment he whipped out his sword and attacked me, and of course i had to draw, or he would have run me through." "is that true, sir--andrew forbes drew on you first?" "of course it's true, mother," said the lad proudly. "did i ever tell you a lie?" "never, my boy," said lady gowan firmly. "it has been my proud boast to myself that i could trust my son in everything." "then why did you ask me in that doubting way if it was true?" "because my son is prevaricating with me, and speaking in a strange, evasive way. he never spoke to me like that before. do you think me blind, frank? do you think that i, upon whom your tiny eyes first opened--your mother, who has watched you with all a mother's love from your birth, cannot read every change in your countenance? do you think i cannot see that you are fighting hard to keep something back?--you, whom i have always been so proud to think were as frank by nature as you are by name? come, be honest with me. you are hiding something from me?" "yes, mother," cried the lad, throwing back his head and speaking defiantly now, "i am." "then tell me what it is at once. i am your mother, from whom nothing should be hid. if the matter is one for which you feel shame, if it is some wrong-doing, the more reason that you should come to me, my boy, and confide in me, that i may take you once again to my heart, and kneel with you, that we may together pray for forgiveness and the strength to be given to save you from such another sin." "mother," cried the boy passionately, "i have not sinned in this!" "ah!--then what is it?" "i cannot tell you." "frank, if ever there was a time when mother and son should be firmly tied in mutual confidence, it is now. i have no one to cling to but you, and you hold me at a distance like this." "yes, yes; but i cannot tell you." "you think so, my boy; but don't keep it from me." "mother," cried frank wildly, "i must!" "you shall not, my boy. i will know." "i cannot tell you." he held out his hands to her imploringly, but she drew back from him, and her eyes seemed to draw the truth he strove so hard to keep hidden from his unwilling lips. "there, then!" he cried passionately; "i bore it as long as i could: because he insulted my father--it was to defend his honour that i struck him, and we fought." "you drew to defend your father's honour," said lady gowan hoarsely; and her face looked drawn and her lips white. "yes, that was it. is it so childish of me to say that i could not help that?" "no," said lady gowan, in a painful whisper. "how did he insult your father? what did he say?" "must i tell you?" "yes." frank drew a long, deep, sobbing breath, and his voice sounded broken and strange, as he said in a low, passionate voice: "he dared to insult my father--he said he was false to the king--that he had broken his oath as a soldier--that he was a miserable rebel and jacobite, and had gone over to the pretender's side." "oh!" ejaculated lady gowan, shrinking back into the corner of the couch, and covering her face with her hands. "mother, forgive me!" cried the lad, throwing himself upon his knees, and trying to draw her hands from her face. "i could not speak. it seemed so horrible to have to tell you such a cruel slander as that. i could not help it. i should have struck at anybody who said it, even if it had been the prince himself." lady gowan let her son draw her hands from her white, drawn face, and sat back gazing wildly in his eyes. "oh, mother!" he cried piteously, "can you think this a sin? don't look at me like that." she uttered a passionate cry, clasped him to her breast, and let her face sink upon his shoulder, sobbing painfully the while. "i knew what pain it would give you, dear," he whispered, with his lips to her ear; "but you made me tell you. i was obliged to fight him. father would have been ashamed of me, and called me a miserable coward, if i had not stood up for him as i did." "then--then--he said that of your father?" faltered lady gowan, with her convulsed face still hidden. "yes." "and you denied it, frank." "of course," cried the lad proudly; "and then we fought, and i did not know what was happening till the prince came and struck down our swords." lady gowan raised her piteous-looking face, pressed her son back from her, and rose from the couch. "go now, my boy," she said, in a low, agonised voice. "back to prison?" he said. "but tell me first that you are not so angry with me. i can't feel that i was so wrong." "no, no, my boy--no, i cannot blame you," sighed lady gowan. "and you forgive me, mother?" "forgive you? oh, my own, true, brave lad, it is not your fault, but that of these terrible times. go now, i can bear no more." "say that once again," whispered frank, clinging to her. "i cannot speak, my darling. i am suffering more than i can tell you. there, leave me, dearest. i want to be alone, to think and pray for help in this terrible time of affliction. frank, i am nearly broken-hearted." "and i have been the cause," he said sadly. "you? oh no, no, my own, brave, true boy. i never felt prouder of you than i do now. go back. i must think. then i will see the princess. the prince is not so very angry with you, and he will forgive you when he knows the truth." "and you, mother?" "i?" cried the poor woman passionately. "heaven help me! i do not feel that i have anything to forgive." lady gowan embraced her son once more, and stood looking after him as he descended the stairs, while frank walked over to his prison with head erect and a flush of pride in his cheeks. "there," he muttered, as he passed the sentry, "let them say or do what they like; i don't care now." chapter twenty seven. the breach widens. andrew started from his seat as frank entered the room and the door was closed and locked behind him; but, seeing who it was, he sat down again with his face averted. "shall i tell him?" thought frank. "no; it would be like triumphing over him to show him i have found out that he has been trying to cheat me into going off." the boy felt so satisfied and at ease that he was more and more unwilling to hurt his fellow-prisoner's feelings, and after a while he spoke. "i suppose they'll give us something to eat," he said. andrew looked up at him in astonishment, but only to frown the next moment and turn his head away again. frank went to the window and stood looking out, one corner commanding a view of the park; and after watching the people come and go for some time, he suddenly turned to his companion: "here are the horse guards coming, drew. want to see them?" "no. will you have the goodness to leave me in peace?" "no," said frank quietly. "how can i? we're shut up together here perhaps for ever so long, and we can't keep up that miserable quarrel now. hadn't we better shake hands?" "what do you suppose i'm made of?" said andrew fiercely. "same stuff as i am," replied frank almost as sharply; "and as i've shown myself ready to forgive and forget what has happened, you ought to do the same." but it was of no use. try how he would to draw andrew into conversation, the latter refused to speak; and at last the boy gave up in despair, and began to look about the captain's room for something out of which he could drag some amusement. this last he had to extract from one of the books on a shelf; but it proved dry and uninteresting, though it is doubtful whether one of the most cheery nature would have held his attention long. for he had so much to think about that his mind refused to grasp the meaning of the different sentences, and one minute he was wondering whether his father would venture to the house, the next he was going over the scene of the quarrel in the antechamber. then he thought sadly about his interview with his mother, but only to feel elated and happy, though it was mingled with sorrow at having given her so much pain. a little resentment began to spring up, too, against andrew, as the true cause of it all, but it did not last; he felt far too much at rest for that, and the anger gave way to pity for the high-spirited, excitable lad seated there in the deepest dejection, and he began to wish now that he had not called him a liar and struck him. "i shall go melancholy mad," muttered frank at last, "if they keep us shut up long, and drew goes on like this. but i wonder whether there will really be a rising against the king?" curiosity made him try to be communicative, and he turned to his silent companion. "think there really will be any fighting?" he said. andrew turned to him sharply. "why do you ask?" he said. "simple reason: because i want to know." "you have some other reason." "because i want to send word to the prince that you are a rebel, and intend to go and join the pretender's followers, of course," said frank sarcastically. "don't be so spiteful, drew. we can't live here like this. why don't you let bygones be bygones?" "what interest can it be to you?" said andrew, ignoring the latter part of his fellow-prisoner's remark. "do you suppose such a rising can take place without its being of interest to every one? there, we won't talk about it unless you like. look here, i can't sit still doing nothing; it gives me pins and needles in my hands and feet. i'll ring and ask captain murray to let us have a draught board if you'll play." "pish!" cried andrew contemptuously; and frank sighed and gave up again, to take refuge in staring out of the window for some time. then his tongue refused to be quiet, and he cried to his silent companion: "there is something going on for certain. i've counted twelve officers go by since i've been standing here." there was no heed paid to his remark, and at last the boy drew a breath full of relief, for he heard steps on the stairs, the sentry's piece rattled, and then the key turned in the lock, and captain murray entered, looking very stern. "frank gowan," he said, "you give me your _parole d'honneur_ that you will not do anything foolish in the way of attempting to escape?" "oh yes, of course, sir," said the boy. "i don't want to escape." "that's right. and you, andrew forbes?" "no; i shall make no promises," was the reply. "don't be foolish, my lad. you ought to have cooled down by this time. give me your word: it will make your position bearable, and mine easy." "i shall give no promises," said andrew haughtily. "i have been arrested, and brought here a prisoner, and i shall act as a prisoner would." "try to escape? don't attempt to do anything so foolish, my lad. i will speak out like a friend to you. there has been some important news brought to the palace; the guard has been quadrupled in number, double sentries have been placed, and they would fire at any one attempting to pass the gates without the word to-night. now, give me your promise." "i--will--not," said andrew, speaking firmly, and meeting the captain's eyes without shrinking. "don't be so foolish, drew," whispered frank. "i shall do as i think best," was the reply. "you are at liberty to do the same, sir." "very well," said captain murray, interrupting them. "perhaps you will be more sensible and manly after a night's rest. i did not expect to find a lad of your years behaving like a spiteful girl." andrew's eyes flashed at him; but the captain paid no heed, and went on: "i have spoken to the colonel, frank, and for your father's sake he will be glad to see you at the mess table this evening. you are free of it while you are under arrest. i will come for you in half an hour. by the way, i have told my man to come to you for instructions about getting your kit from your room. you will use him while you are a prisoner." "oh, thank you, captain murray," cried the boy eagerly. "pray make use of my servant, mr forbes, and order him to fetch what you require." andrew bowed coldly, and the captain left the room, his servant tapping at the door directly after, and entering to receive his orders from frank. "now, drew," he said at last, "tell him what to fetch for you." "i do not require anything," said the youth coldly. "yes, look here. there is a little desk on the table in my room; bring me that." "hadn't you better give in, and make the best of things?" said frank, as soon as they were alone. "had you not better leave me to myself, frank gowan?" said andrew coldly. "we are no longer friends, but enemies." "no, we can't be that," cried frank. "come; once more, shake hands." andrew looked at him for a few moments fixedly, and then said slowly: "come, that's better." "on the day when your king george is humbled to the dust, and you are, with all here, a helpless prisoner. i'll shake hands and forgive you then." "not till then?" cried frank, flushing. "not till then." "which means that we are never to be friends again, drew. nonsense! you are still angry. captain murray is right." "that i speak like a spiteful girl!" cried the lad sharply. "no, i did not mean that," said frank quietly; "but if i had meant it, i should not have been very far from right. i hope that you will think differently after a night's rest. come, think differently now, and give up all those mad thoughts which have done nothing but make us fall out. it isn't too late. captain murray is trying to make things pleasant for us; tell him when he comes that you'll dine with him." andrew made an angry gesture, and frank shrugged his shoulders, went into the adjoining room to wash his hands, and came back just as the tramp of soldiers was heard outside, the order was given for them to halt, and then followed their heavy footsteps on the stairs. the next minute captain murray entered the room. "ready, bloodthirsty prisoner?" he said, smiling. "yes, sir, quite," replied frank; while andrew sat at the other end of the room with his back to them. frank glanced in his fellow-prisoner's direction, and then turned back to the captain, and his lips moved quickly as he made a gesture in andrew's direction. the captain read his meaning, nodded, walked up to the lad, and touched him on the shoulder, making him start to his feet. "life's very short, andrew forbes," he said quietly, "and soldiers are obliged to look upon it as shorter for them than for other men. it isn't long enough to nurse quarrels or bear malice. i think i have heard you say that you hope to be a soldier some day." "yes, i do," said the lad, with a meaning which the captain could not grasp. "very well, then; act now like a frank soldier to another who says to you, try and forget this trouble, and help every one to make it easier for you. there's care enough coming, my lad; and i may tell you that the prince has enough to think about without troubling himself any more over the mad prank of two high-spirited boys. there, i'll wait for you; go into my room, and wash your hands and smooth your face. i venture to say that you will both get a wigging to-morrow, and then be told to go back to your duties." andrew did not budge, and the captain's face grew more stern. "come on, drew," cried frank; but the lad turned away. "yes, come along," cried the captain; "a good dinner will do you both good, and make you ready to laugh at your morning's quarrel. do you hear?" there was no reply. "you are not acting like a hero, my lad," said the captain, smiling once more. still there was no reply. "very well, sir; you refuse your parole, and i can say no more. i have my duty to do, and i cannot offer you my hospitality here. you are still under arrest." he walked to the door, threw it open, made a sign, and a corporal and two guardsmen marched in. "take this gentleman to the guardroom," he said. "your officer has his instructions concerning him." "oh, drew!" whispered frank; but the lad drew himself up, and took a few steps forward, placing himself between the guards, and kept step with them as they marched out and down the stairs. the next minute their steps were heard on the paving-stones without, and frank darted to the window, to stand gazing out, feeling half choked with sorrow for his friend. a touch on the arm made him remember that captain murray was waiting. "it's a pity, frank," he said; "but i did all i could. he's a bit too high-spirited, my lad. the best thing for him will be the army; the discipline would do him good." frank longed to speak, but he felt that his lips were sealed. "well, we must not let a bit of hot temper spoil our dinner, my lad. by the way, what news of your father?" "none, sir," said the boy sadly, though the thought of what andrew forbes had said made him wince. "humph!" said captain murray, looking at the boy curiously. "there, i don't want to pump you. tell him next time you write that there will be a grand night at the mess when he comes back to his old place. now, then, we shall be late." "would you mind excusing me, sir?" said frank. "yes, very much. nonsense! you must be quite hungry by now." "no: i was; but it's all gone." "hah!" said the captain, gripping him by the shoulder; "you're your father's own boy, frank. i like that, but i can't have it. you accepted the invitation, and i want you, my lad. never mind andrew forbes; he only requires time to cool down. he'll be ready to shake hands in the morning. come, or we shall get in disgrace for being late." frank was marched off to the messroom; but he felt as if every mouthful would choke him, and that he would have given anything to have gone and shared andrew forbes's confinement, even if he had only received hard words for his pains. chapter twenty eight. a night alarm. it was very plain to frank that the officers did not look upon his offence in a very serious light, for the younger men received him with a cheer, and the elders with a smile, as they shook hands, while the doctor came and clapped him on the shoulder. "hallo, young fire-eater!" he cried; "when are you coming to stay?" "to stay, sir?" said the boy, feeling puzzled. "yes, with your commission. we've lost your father. we must have you to take his place." "no, sir," said frank, flushing. "i don't want to take my father's place. i want to see him back in it." "well said!" cried the colonel; "what we all want. but get to be a bit more of a man, and then coax the prince to give you a commission. i think we can make room for robert gowan's son in the corps, gentlemen?" there was a chorus of assent at this; and the colonel went on: "come and sit by me, my lad. we can find a chair for you and your guest, murray, at this end. why, you're not fit for a page, my lad; they want soft, smooth, girlish fellows for that sort of thing. a young firebrand like you, ready to whip out his sword and use it, is the stuff for a soldier." frank wished the old officer would hold his tongue, and not draw attention to him, for every one at the table was listening, and captain murray sat smiling with grim satisfaction. but the colonel went on: "very glad to see you here this evening, my boy. why, i hear that you are quite a favourite with the prince." "it does not seem like it, sir," said frank, who was beginning to feel irritated. "i am a prisoner." there was a laugh at this, which ran rippling down the table. "not bad quarters for a prisoner, eh, gentlemen?" said the colonel. "pooh! my lad, you are only under arrest; and we are very glad you are, for it gives us the opportunity of having the company of robert gowan's son." frank flushed with pleasure to find how warmly his father's name was received; and the colonel went on: "don't you trouble your head about being under arrest, boy. the prince was obliged to have you marched off. it wouldn't do for him to have every young spark drawing and getting up a fight in the palace. by the way, what was the quarrel about? you struck young forbes?" "yes, sir." "well, of course he would draw upon you; but how came you to strike him?" the boy hesitated; but the colonel's keen eyes were fixed upon him so steadfastly, that he felt that he must speak and clear himself of the suspicion of being a mere quarrelsome schoolboy, and he said firmly: "he said insulting things about my father, sir." there was a chorus of approval at this; and as soon as there was silence, the colonel looked smilingly round the table: "i think we might forgive this desperate young culprit for committing that heinous offence, gentlemen. what do you say?" there was a merry laugh at this; and the colonel turned to the lad. "we all forgive you, mr gowan. it is unanimous. now, i think we are a little hard upon you; so pray go on with your dinner." "i don't think his arrest will last long, sir," said captain murray, after a while. "pooh! no: i'm afraid not," said the colonel; "and we shall lose our young friend's company. the prince is a good soldier himself, even if he is a german. gowan will hear no more of it, i should say; and i don't want to raise his hopes unduly, but on the strength of this rising, when we want all good supporters of his majesty in their places, i should say that the occasion will be made one for sending word to captain sir robert gowan to come back to his company." frank flushed again, and looked at captain murray, who smiled and nodded. "by the way, murray," said the colonel, "why did you not bring the other young desperado to dinner?" the captain shrugged his shoulders. "a bit sulky," he said. "feels himself ill-used." "oh!" ejaculated the colonel; and seeing frank's troubled face, he changed the conversation, beginning to talk about the news of a rising in the north, where certain officers were reported to have landed, and where the pretender, james francis, was expected to place himself at their head, and march for london. "a foolish, mad project, i say, gentlemen," exclaimed the colonel; "and whatever my principles may have been, i am a staunch servant of his majesty king george the first, and the enemy of all who try and disturb the peace of the realm." a burst of applause followed these words; and the conversation became general, giving frank the opportunity for thinking over the colonel's words, and of what a triumph it would be for his father to return and take up his old position. "poor old drew!" he said to himself, with a sigh. "what would he think if he heard them talking about its being a mad project?" then he went on thinking about how miserable his old companion must be in the guardroom, watched by sentries; and as he kept on eating for form's sake, every mouthful seemed to go against him, and he wished the dinner was over. for, in addition to these thoughts, others terribly painful would keep troubling him, the place being full of sad memories. he recalled that he was sitting in the very seat occupied by the german baron upon that unlucky evening; and the whole scene of the angry encounter came vividly back, even to the words that were spoken. the natural sequence to this was his being called by andrew forbes in the dull grey of the early morning to go and witness that terrible sword fight in the park; and he could hardly repress a shudder as he seemed to see the german's blade flashing and playing about his father's breast, till the two thrusts were delivered, one of which nearly brought the baron's career to a close. nothing could have been kinder than the treatment the young guest received from the officers; but nothing could have been more painful to the lad, and again and again he wished himself away as the dinner dragged its slow length along, and he sat there feeling lonely, occupied toward the end almost entirely with thoughts of his father, andrew's false charge about him being generally uppermost, and raising the indignant colour to his cheeks. "i wonder where he is now," he thought, "and what he is doing?" then once more about what delight his mother would feel if the colonel's ideas came to pass, and sir robert came back in triumph. "oh, it's too good to be true," thought the boy; but he clung to the hope all the same. the only time when he was relieved from the pressure of his sad thoughts was when the conversation around grew animated respecting the probabilities of the country being devastated by civil war; but even then it made his heart ache on andrew forbes's account, as he heard the quiet contempt with which the elder officers treated the pretender's prospects, the colonel especially speaking strongly on the subject. "no," he said, "england will never rise in favour of such a monarch as that. it is a mad business, that will never win support. the poor fellow had better settle down quietly to his life in france. the reign of the stuarts is quite at an end." "poor old drew," thought frank. "i wish he could have heard that; but he would not have believed if he had." then the officers went on talking of the possibility of their regiment being called upon for active service, and the boy could not help a feeling of wonder at the eager hopes they expressed of having to take part in that which would probably result in several of those present losing their lives or being badly wounded. "i wonder whether i shall be as careless about my life when i am grown-up and a soldier?" he thought. the regular dinner had long been over, and the members of the mess had been sitting longer than usual, the probability of the regiment going into active service having supplied them with so much food for discussion that the hour was getting late, and the young guest had several times over felt an intense longing to ask permission to leave the table, his intention being to get captain murray to let him join andrew forbes. but he felt that as a guest he could not do this, and must wait till the colonel rose. he was thinking all this impatiently for the last time, feeling wearied out after so terribly exciting a day as he had passed through, when the colonel and all present suddenly sprang to their feet; for a shot rang out from close at hand, followed by a loud, warning cry, as if from a sentry; then, before any one could reach the door to run out and see what was wrong, there was another shot, and again another, followed by a faint and distant cry. chapter twenty nine. a watch night. "what is it--an attack?" "quick, gentlemen!" cried the colonel; "every man to his quarters." he had hardly spoken before a bugle rang out; and as frank was hurried out with the rest into the courtyard, it was to see, by the dim light of the clouded moon and the feeble oil lamps, that the guard had turned out, and the tramp of feet announced that the rest of the men gathered for the defence of the palace and its occupants were rapidly hurrying out of their quarters, to form up in one or other of the yards. frank felt that he was out of place; but in his interest and excitement he followed captain murray like his shadow, and in very few minutes knew that no attack had been made upon the palace, but that the cause of the alarm was from within, and his heart sank like lead as the captain said to him: "poor lad! he must be half crazy to do such a thing. come with me." frank followed him, and the next minute they met, coming from the gate on the park side, a group of soldiers, marching with fixed bayonets toward the guardroom, two of the men within bearing a stretcher, on which lay andrew forbes, apparently lifeless. for the lad had been mad enough to make a dash for his liberty, in spite of knowing what would follow, the result being that the sentry by the guardroom had challenged him to stop, and as he ran on fired. this spread the alarm, and the second sentry toward the gate had followed his comrade's example as he caught a glimpse of the flying figure, while the third sentry outside the gate, standing in full readiness, also caught sight of the lad as he dashed out and was running to reach the trees of the park. this shot was either better aimed, or the unfortunate youth literally leaped into the line of fire, for as the sentry drew trigger, just as the lad passed between two of the trees, drew uttered a sharp cry of agony and fell headlong to the earth. "poor lad! poor lad!" muttered captain murray; and he made a sign to the soldiers not to interfere, as frank pressed forward to catch his friend's hand. then aloud, "where is the doctor?" "here, of course," said that gentleman sharply from just behind them. "always am where i'm wanted, eh? look sharp, and take him to the guardroom." "no, no--to my quarters," said captain murray quickly. "tut--tut--tut! what were they about to let him go?" in a few minutes the wounded lad was lying on captain murray's bed, with the colonel, captain murray, and two or three more of the officers present, and frank by the bedside, for when the colonel said to the lad, "you had better go," the doctor interfered, giving frank a peculiar cock of the eye as he said, "no, don't send him away; he can help." frank darted a grateful look at the surgeon, and prepared to busy himself in undressing the sufferer. "no, no; don't do that now--only worry him. i can see what's wrong, and get at it." the position of the injury was plain enough to see from the blood on the lad's sleeve, and the doctor did not hesitate for a moment; but, taking out a keen knife from a little case in his pocket, he slit the sleeve from cuff to shoulder, and then served the deeply stained shirt sleeve the same. "dangerous?" said the colonel anxiously. "pooh! no," said the doctor contemptuously. "nice clean cut. just as if it had been done with a knife," as he examined the boy's thin, white left arm. "you ought to give that sentry a stripe, colonel, for his clever shooting. hah! yes, clean cut for two inches, and then buried itself below the skin. not enough powder, or it would have gone through instead of stopping in here. no need for any probing or searching. here we are." as he spoke he made a slight cut with his keen knife through the white skin, where a little lump of a bluish tint could be seen, pressed with his thumbs on either side, and the bullet came out like a round button through a button-hole, and rolled on to the bed. "better save that for him, gowan," said the doctor cheerfully. "he'll like to keep it as a curiosity. stopped its chance of festering and worrying him and making him feverish. now we'll have just a stitch here and a stitch there, and keep the lips of the wound together." as he spoke he took a needle and silk from his case, just as if he had brought them expecting that they would be wanted, took some lint from one pocket, a roll of bandage from another, and in an incredibly short time had the wound bound up. "likely to be serious?" said captain murray. "what, this, sir? pooh! not much worse than a cut finger. smart a bit. poor, weak, girlish sort of a fellow; feeble pulse. good thing he had fainted, and didn't know what i was doing. well, squire, how are you?" andrew forbes lay perfectly still, ghastly pale, and with his eyes closely shut, till the doctor pressed up first one lid and then the other, frowning slightly the while. "can i get anything for you, doctor?" said captain murray. "eh? oh no! he'll be all right. feels sick, and in a bit of pain. let him lie there and go to sleep." "but he is fainting. oughtn't you to give him something, or to bathe his face?" "look here!" cried the doctor testily, "i don't come interfering and crying `fours about,' or `by your right,' or anything of that kind, when you are at the head of your company, do i?" "of course not." "then don't you interfere when i'm in command over one of my gang. i've told you he's all right. i ought to know." "oh yes; let the doctor alone, murray," said the colonel. "there, i'm heartily glad that matters are no worse. foolish fellow to attempt such a wild trick. you will want a nurse for him, doctor." "nurse! for that? pooh! nonsense! i'm very glad he was so considerate as not to disturb me over my dinner. i shouldn't have liked that, squire gowan. didn't do it out of spite because he was not asked to dinner, did he?" "pish! no; he was asked," said captain murray. "yes; you wanted to say something, gowan?" "only that i will have a mattress on the floor, sir, and stay with him." "not necessary, boy," said the doctor sharply. "let him be with his friend, doctor," said captain murray. "friend, sir? i thought they were deadly enemies, trying hard to give me a job this morning to fit their pieces together again. i don't want to stop him from spoiling his night's rest if he likes; but if he stays, won't they begin barking and biting again?" "not much fear of that--eh, frank? there, stay with your friend. i'm in hopes that you will do him more good than the doctor." "oh, very well," said that gentleman. "then you don't think there is anything to be alarmed about?" said frank anxiously. "pooh! no; not a bit more than if you had cut your finger with a sharp knife. now, if the bullet had gone in there, or there, or there, or into his thick young head," said the doctor, making pokes at the lad's body as he lay on the bed, "we should have some excuse for being anxious; but a boy who has had his arm scratched by a bullet! the idea is absurd. i say, colonel, are boys of any good whatever in the world?" "oh yes, some of them," said the colonel, smiling and giving frank a kindly nod. "good night, my lad. there will be no need for you to sit up, i think." "not a bit, gowan," said the doctor quietly. "don't fidget, boy. he'll be all right." frank looked at him dubiously. "i mean it, my lad," he said, in quite a different tone of voice. "you may trust me. good night." he shook hands warmly with the boy, and all but captain murray left the chamber, talking about the scare that the shots had created in the palace. "i hear they thought the pretender had dropped in," said the doctor jocosely. then the door was shut, and the sound cut off. "i'll leave you now, frank, my lad," said captain murray. "take one of the pillows, and lie down in the next room on the couch. there's an extra blanket at the foot of the bed. i will speak to my servant to be on the alert, and to come if you ring. don't scruple to do so, if you think there is the slightest need, and he will fetch the doctor at once. you will lie down?" "if you think i may," said frank, as he walked with him to the door of the sitting-room, beyond earshot of the occupant of the bed. "i am sure you may, my boy. the doctor only confirmed my own impression, and i feel sure he would know at a glance." "but drew seems quite insensible, sir." "yes--seems," said captain murray. "there, trust the doctor. i do implicitly. i think he proved his knowledge in the way he saved baron steinberg's life. good night. you will have to be locked in; but the sentry will have the key, and you can communicate with him as well as ring, so you need not feel lonely. there, once more, good night." the captain passed out, and frank caught sight of a tall sentinel on the landing before the door was closed and locked, the boy standing pale and thoughtful for some moments, listening to the retiring steps of his father's old friend, before crossing the room, and entering the chamber, which looked dim and solemn by the light of the two candles upon the dressing table. he took up one of these, and went to the bedside, to stand gazing down at andrew's drawn face and bandaged arm, his brown hair lying loose upon the pillow, and making his face look the whiter by contrast. "in much pain, drew?" he said softly; but there was no reply. "can i do anything for you?" still no reply, and the impression gathered strength in the boy's mind that his companion could hear what he said but felt too bitter to reply. this idea grew so strong, that at last he said gently: "don't be angry with me, drew. it is very sad and unfortunate, and i want to try and help you bear it patiently. would you like me to do anything for you? talk to you--read to you; or would you like me to write to your father, and tell him of what has happened?" but, say what he would, andrew forbes made no sign, and lay perfectly still--so still, that in his anxiety frank stretched out his hand to touch the boy's forehead and hands, which were of a pleasant temperature. "he is too much put out to speak," thought frank; "and i don't wonder. he must feel cruelly disappointed at his failure to escape; but i'm glad he has not got away; for it would have been horrible for him to have gone and joined the poor foolish enthusiasts who have landed in the north." he stood gazing sadly down at the wounded lad for some minutes, and then softly took the extra pillow and blanket from the bed, carried them to the little couch in the next room, returned for the candles, and, after holding them over the patient for a few minutes, he went back quietly to the sitting-room, placed them on the table, took a book, and sat down to read. he sat down to read, but he hardly read a line, for the scenes of the past twenty-four hours came between his eyes and the print, and at the end of a quarter of an hour he wearily pushed the book aside, took up one of the candles, and looked in the chamber to see how andrew appeared to be. apparently he had not moved; but now, as the boy was going to ask him again if he could do anything for him, he heard the breath coming and going as if he were sleeping calmly; and feeling that this was the very best thing that could happen to him, he went softly back to his seat, and once more drew the book to his side. but no; the most interesting work ever written would not have taken his attention, and he sat listening for the breathing in the next room, then to the movements of the sentry outside as he moved from time to time, changing feet, or taking a step or two up and down as far as the size of the landing would allow. then came a weary yawn, and the clock chimed and struck twelve, while, before it had finished, the sounds of other clocks striking became mingled with it, and frank listened to the strange jangle, one which he might have heard hundreds of times, but which had never impressed him so before. at last silence, broken only by the pacings of other sentries; and once more came from the landing a weary yawn, which was infectious, for in spite of his troubles frank yawned too, and felt startled. "i can't be sleepy," he said to himself; "who could at such a time?" and to prove to himself that such a thing was impossible, and show his thorough wakefulness, he rose, and once more walked into the chamber, looked at the wounded lad, apparently sleeping calmly, and returned to his seat to read. and now it suddenly dawned upon him that, in spite of his desire to be thoroughly wakeful, nature was showing him that he could not go through all the past excitement without feeling the effects, for, as he bent firmly over his book to read, he found himself suddenly reading something else--some strange, confused matter about the house in queen anne street, and the broken door. then he started up perfectly wakeful, after nodding so low that his face touched the book. "how absurd!" he muttered; and he rose and walked up and down the room. the sentry heard him, and began to pace the landing. frank returned to his seat, looked at the book, and went off instantly fast asleep, and almost immediately woke up again with a start. "oh, this won't do," he muttered. "i can't--i won't sleep." the next minute he was fast, but again he woke up with a start. "it's of no use," he muttered; "i must give way to it for a few minutes. i'll lie down, and perhaps that will take it off, and i shall be quite right for the rest of the night." very unwillingly, but of necessity, for he felt that he was almost asleep as he moved about, he rose, took up the blanket from the couch, threw it round him like a cloak, punched up the pillow, and lay down. "there!" he said to himself; "that's it. i don't feel so sleepy this way; it's resting oneself by lying down. i believe i could read now, and know what i am reading. how ridiculous it makes one feel to be so horribly sleepy! some people, they say, can lie down and determine to wake up in an hour, or two hours, or just when they like. well, i'd do that--i mean i'd try to do that--if i were going to sleep; but i won't sleep. i'll lie here resting for a bit, and then get up again, and go and see how drew is. it would be brutal to go off soundly, with him lying in that state. how quiet it all seems when one is lying down! it's as if one could hear better. yes, i can hear drew breathing quite plain; and how that sentry does keep on yawning! sentries must get very sleepy sometimes when on duty in the night, and it's a terribly severe punishment for one who does sleep at his post. well, i'm a sentry at my post to watch over poor drew, and i should deserve to be very severely punished if i slept; not that i should be punished, except by my own conscience." he lay perfectly wakeful now, looking at the candles, which both wanted snuffing badly, and making up his mind to snuff them; but he began thinking of his father, then wondering once more where he could be, and feeling proud of the way in which the officers talked about him. "if the king would only pardon him!" he thought, "how--i must get up and snuff those candles; if i don't, that great black, mushroom-like bit of burnt wick will be tumbling off and burning in the grease, and be what they call a thief in the candle. how it does grow bigger and bigger!" and it did grow bigger and bigger, and fell into the tiny cup of molten grease--for in those days the king's officers were not supplied with wax candles for their rooms--and it did form a thief, and made the candle gutter down, while the other slowly burned away into the socket, and made a very unpleasant odour in the room, as first one and then the other rose and fell with a wanton-looking, dancing flame, which finally dropped down and rose no more, sending up a tiny column of smoke instead. then the sentry was relieved, and so was frank, for, utterly worn out, he was sleeping heavily, with nature hard at work repairing the waste of the day, and so soundly that he did not know of the reverse of circumstances, and that andrew forbes had risen to enter the outer room, and look in, even coming close to his side, as if to see why it was he did not keep watch over him and come and see him from time to time. history perhaps was repeating itself: the mountain would not go to mahomet, so mahomet had to go to the mountain. chapter thirty. a strange awakening. there is not much room in a bird's head for brains; but it has plenty of thinking power all the same, and one of the first things a bird thinks out is when he is safe or when he is in danger. as a consequence of this, we have at the present day quite a colony of that shyest of wild birds, the one which will puzzle the owner of a gun to get within range--the wood-pigeon, calmly settled down in saint james's park, and feeding upon the grass, not many yards away from the thousands of busy or loitering londoners going to and fro across the enclosure, which the birds have found out is sacred to bird-dom, a place where no gun is ever fired save on festival days, and though the guns then are big and manipulated by artillerymen, the charges fired are only blank. but saint james's park from its earliest enclosure was always a place for birds--even the name survives on one side of the walk devoted by charles the second to his birdcages, where choice specimens were kept; so that a hundred and eighty years ago, when the country was much closer to the old palace than it is now, there was nothing surprising in the _chink_, _chink_ of the blackbird and the loud musical song of thrush and lark awakening a sleeper there somewhere about sunrise. and to a boy who loved the country sights and sounds, and whose happiest days had been spent in sunny hampshire, it was very pleasant to lie there in a half-roused, half-dreamy state listening to the bird notes floating in upon the cool air through an open window, even if the lark's note did come from a cage whose occupant fluttered its wings and pretended to fly as it gazed upward from where it rested upon a freshly cut turf. the sweet notes set frank gowan thinking of the broad marshy fields down by the river, bordered with sedge, reed, and butter-bur, where the clear waters raced along, and the trout could be seen waiting for the breakfast swept down by the stream--where the marsh marigolds studded the banks with their golden chalices, the purple loosestrife grew in brilliant beds of colour, and the creamy meadow-sweet perfumed the morning air. far more delightful to him than any palace, more musical than the choicest military band, it all sent a restful sense of joy through his frame, the more invigorating that the window was wide, and the odour of the burned-down candles had passed away. he lay imbibing the sweet sounds and freshness through ear and nostril; but for a time his eyes remained fast closed. then, at a loud thrilling burst from the lark's cage in the courtyard, both eyes opened, and he lay staring up at the whitewashed ceiling, covered with cracks, and looking like the map of nowhere in wonderland. for the lark sang very sweetly to charm the wished-for mate, which never came, and frank smiled and gradually lowered his eyes so that they were fixed upon the uncurtained window till the lark finished its lay. then, and then only, did he begin to think in the way a boy muses when his senses grow more and more awake. first of all he began to wonder why it was that the window was wide-open--not that it mattered, for the air was very cool and sweet; then why it was his bedroom looked so strange; then why it was that the blanket was close up to his face without the sheet; and, lastly, he sat up feeling that horrible sense of depression which comes over us like a cloud when there has been trouble on the previous day--trouble which has been forgotten. for a moment or two he felt that he must be dreaming. but no, he was dressed, this was captain murray's room, there was the door open leading into the chamber where andrew forbes lay, and yes--then it all came with crushing force--he lay wounded after that mad attempt to escape, while the friend who had offered to sit with him and watch had calmly lain down and gone to sleep. "oh, it is monstrous!" panted the boy, as he threw the blanket aside, and stepped softly, and trembling with excitement, toward the chamber. for now the dread came that something might have happened during the night, in despite of the doctor's calm way of treating the injury. the idea was so terrible that, as he reached the door, he stopped short, and turned a ghastly white, not daring to look in. but recalling now that he had heard his friend's breathing quite plainly over-night, he listened with every nerve on the strain. not a sound, till the lark burst forth again. he hesitated no longer, but, full of shame and self-reproach for that which he could not help, he stepped softly into the room, and then stood still, staring hard at the bed, and at a blood-stained handkerchief lying where it had been thrown upon the floor. for a few moments the lad did not stir--he was perfectly stunned; and then he began to look slowly round the room for an explanation. the bed was without tenant. had captain murray, or some other officer, come with a guard while he slept and taken the prisoner away? then the truth came like a flash:-- the window in the next room--it was open! he darted back and ran to the window to thrust out his head and look down. yes, it was easy enough; he could himself have got out, hung by his hands, and dropped upon the pavement, which would not have been above eight feet from the soles of his boots as he hung. but the wound! how could a lad who was badly wounded in the arm manage to perform such a feat? he must have been half wild, delirious from fever, to have done such a thing. no. fresh thoughts came fast now. it stood to reason that if drew had been half wild with delirium he must have been roused; and he now recalled how coolly the doctor had taken the injury, and captain murray's half-contemptuous manner, which he had thought unfeeling. then, too, it was strange that drew should have lain as he did, with his eyes tightly closed, just as if he were perfectly insensible, and never making the slightest sign when he had spoken to him. for a few minutes frank battled with the notion; but it grew stronger and stronger, and at last he was convinced. "then he was shamming," he muttered indignantly, "pretending to be worse than he really was, so as to throw people off their guard, and then try again to escape." once more he tried to prove himself to be in the wrong and thoroughly unjust to the wounded lad; but facts are stubborn things, and one after the other they rose up, trifles in themselves, but gaining strength as the array increased, and at last a bitter feeling of anger filled the boy's breast, as he felt perfectly convinced of the truth that drew had lain there waiting till he was asleep, and then, in spite of his wound, had crept out of the window, dropped, and gone. but how could he? the sentries had stopped him before; why did they not do so at the second attempt? and besides, there was the sentry just outside the door. why had not he heard? frank went to the window again, and looked out, to find that it was not deemed necessary to place a guard over the guardroom and the officers' quarters, save that there was one man at the main doorway, and this was beyond an angle from where he stood, while the next sentries were in the courtyard to his left, and the stable-yard, to his right. so that, covered by the darkness, it was comparatively an easy task to drop down unnoticed, though afterwards it was quite a different thing. "then he has gone!" said frank softly; and he shrank away from the window, to stand thinking about how the lad could have managed to get away unseen by the sentries. thoughts came faster than ever; and he, as it were, put himself in his companion's position, and unconsciously enacted almost exactly what had taken place. for frank mentally went through what he would have done under the circumstances if he had been a prisoner who wished to get away. he would have waited till all was still, and when the sentry at the door was pacing up and down, and his footsteps on the stone landing would help to dull any noise he made, he would slip out of the window, drop on to his toes, and then go down on all fours, and creep along close to the wall beneath the windows, right for the piazza-like place, and along beneath the arches, making not for either of the entrance gates, but for the private garden. there he would be stopped by the wall; but there was a corner there with a set of iron spikes pointing downward to keep people from climbing over, but which to an active lad offered good foot-and hand-hold, by means of which he felt that he could easily get to the top. from there he could drop down, go right across the garden to the outer wall, which divided it from the park, and get on that somewhere by the help of one of the trees. once on the top, he could choose his place, and crawl to it like a cat. then all he had to do was to lower himself by his hands, and drop down, to be free to walk straight away, and take refuge with his friends. "oh, i could get out as easily as possible, if i wanted to," muttered frank. "poor drew! what's to become of him now?" frank stood thinking still, and saw it all more and more plainly. drew would know where his father was, and go and join him. and then? frank shuddered, for he seemed to see ruin and misery, and the destruction of all prospects for his friend; and, in spite of the indignation he felt against him for his deceit, his heart softened, and he muttered, as he turned to go once more into the bed-chamber: "poor old drew! i did like him so much, after all." as the boy entered the bedroom something caught his eye on the dressing table, and he looked at it wonderingly. it was the book he had been reading in the other room; the book, he knew, was there on the table when he lay down. could he have taken it into the bed-chamber? no, he was sure he had not. besides, there was a pen laid upon it, and it was open at the fly-leaf. frank panted with excitement, for there, written in his friend's hand, were the words: "_good-bye, old frank. we'll shake hands some day, when i come back in triumph. i can't forget you, though we did fall out so much. you'll be wiser some day. i can't write more; my wound hurts so much. i'm going to escape. if they shoot me, never mind; i shall have died like a man, crying, `god save king james_!' "_drew f_." the tears rose to frank's eyes, and he did not feel ashamed of them, as he closed the book and thrust it into his pocket. "poor old drew!" he said softly; "he believes he is doing right, and it is, after all, what his father taught him. my father taught me differently, so we can't agree." what should he do? he must speak out, and it could make no difference now, for drew must be safe away. he did not like to summon the sentry, and he shrank too, for he felt that he might be accused of aiding in the escape; but while he was thinking he heard steps crossing the open space in front, and glancing through the chamber window, he saw captain murray and the doctor coming toward the place. the next minute their steps were on the stairs, the sentry challenged, the key rattled in the door, and the doctor entered first, to say jocularly as frank advanced from the chamber: "morning, gowan. wounded man's not dead, i hope." chapter thirty one. in more hot water. frank gazed sharply at the doctor, but remained silent, his countenance being so fixed and strange that captain murray took alarm. "hang it, frank lad, what's the matter? why don't you speak?" he did not wait to hear the boy's answer, but rushed at once into his bed-chamber and returned directly. "here, what is the meaning of this?" he cried. "where is young forbes?" "gone, sir," said frank, finding his voice. "gone? what do you mean?" "i sat up watching him till i could not keep my eyes open. then i lay down, and when i awoke this morning the window was open, and he had escaped." "impossible!" cried captain murray angrily. "humph! i don't know so much about that, murray," said the doctor, after indulging in a grunt. "the young rascal was gammoning us last night, pretending to be so bad." "but there was no deceit about the wound." "not a bit, man; but he was making far more fuss about it than was real. it was only a clean cut, especially where i divided the skin and let out the ball. by george! though, the young rascal could bear a bit of pain." "but do you mean to tell me that he could escape alone with a wound like that to disable his arm?" "oh yes. it would hurt him terribly; but a lad with plenty of courage would grin and bear that, and get away all the same. i'm glad of it." "what! glad the prisoner has escaped?" "oh, i don't mean that," said the doctor. "i mean glad he had so much stuff in him. it was a clever bit of acting, and shows that he must have the nerve of a strong man. i beg his pardon, for last night i thought him as weak as a girl for making so much fuss over a mere scratch. it was all sham, that insensibility. i knew in a moment--you remember i said so to you when we went away." the captain nodded. "but i thought it was the weak, vain, young coxcomb making believe so as to pose as a hero who was suffering horribly." "but once more," cried captain murray warmly, "do you mean to tell me that, with one arm disabled, that boy could have managed to escape from the window without help?" "to be sure i do. give him a pretty good sharp, cutting pain while he was using his arm. did you hear him cry out, gowan?" "no, sir," said frank sharply; and he turned angrily upon the captain: "you said something very harsh about drew forbes not being able to get away without help. you don't think i helped him to get away?" "yes, i do, boy," said the captain, with soldierly bluntness. "i think you must have known he wanted to escape, and that you helped him to get out of the window; and i consider it a miserably contemptible return for the kindness of your father's old friend." "it is not true, captain murray," cried frank hotly. "you have no right to doubt my word. doctor, i assure you i did not know till i woke this morning, when i was utterly astonished." "and ran to the door, and gave notice to the sentry," said captain murray coldly. "no, i did not do that. i see now that i ought to have done so, and i was hesitating about it when you both came. but i had only just found it out then." "and i suppose i shall be called to account for letting him go," said the captain bitterly. "why didn't you go with him? were you afraid?" "oh, come, come, murray," cried the doctor reproachfully; "don't talk so to the boy. he's speaking the truth, i'll vouch for it. afraid? rob gowan's boy afraid? pooh! he's made of the wrong sort of stuff." "yes, sir," cried the boy, in a voice hoarse with emotion, "i was afraid,--not last night, for i did not know he was going; but when he begged and prayed of me to run away with him, and join the people rising for the pretender, i was afraid to go and disgrace my mother and father--and myself." "well done! well said, frank, my lad!" cried the doctor, taking him by one hand to begin patting him on the back. "that's a knock down for you, murray. now, sir, you've got to apologise to our young friend here--beg his pardon like a man." "if i have misjudged him, i beg his pardon humbly--like a man," said captain murray coldly. "i hope i have; but i cannot help thinking that he must have been aware of his companion's flight. mr gowan, your parole is at an end, sir. you will keep closely to these rooms." "bah!" cried the doctor; "why don't you say you are going to have him locked up in the black hole. murray, i'm ashamed of you. it's bile, sir, bile, and i must give you a dose." "i am going now, doctor," said the captain coldly. "which means i am to come away, if i don't want to be locked up too. very well, i have nothing to do here. there, shake hands, frank. don't you mind all this. he believes this now; but he'll soon see that he is wrong, and come back and shake hands. your father knew how to choose his friends when he chose captain murray. he's angry, and, more than that, he's hurt, because he thinks you have deceived him; but you have not, my lad. doctors can see much farther into a fellow than a soldier can, and both of your windows are as wide-open and clear as crystal. there, it will be all right." he gave the boy's shoulder a good, warm, friendly grip, and followed the captain out of the room. the door was locked, some orders were given to the sentry, frank heard the descending steps, and after standing gazing hard at the closed door for some minutes he dropped into the chair by the table, the one in which he had had such a struggle to keep awake. then he placed his arms before him, and let his head go down upon them, feeling hot, bitter, and indignant against captain murray, and as if he were the most unhappy personage in the whole world. a quarter of an hour must have passed before he started up again with a proud look in his eyes. "let him--let everybody think so if they like," he said aloud. "i don't care. she'll believe me, i know she will. oh! if i could only go to her and tell her; but i can't. no," he cried, in an exultant tone; "she knows me better and i know she'll come to me." chapter thirty two. a big wigging. "i won't show that i mind," thought frank; and in a matter-of-fact way he went into the bedroom, and made quite a spiteful use of the captain's dressing table and washstand, removing all traces of having passed the night in his clothes, and he had just ended and changed his shoes, which had been brought there, when the outer door was unlocked, and the captain's servant came in to tidy up the place. the servant was ready to talk; but frank was in no talking humour, and went and stood looking out of the window till the man had gone, when the boy came away, and began to imitate andrew forbes's caged-animal-like walk up and down the room, in which health-giving exercise to a prisoner he was still occupied when there were more steps below--the tramp of soldiers, the guard was changed, and frank felt a strong desire to look out of the window to see if another sentry was placed there; but he felt too proud. it would be weak and boyish, he thought; so he began walking up and down again, till once more the door was unlocked, and the captain's servant entered, bearing a breakfast tray, and left again. "just as if i could eat breakfast after going through all this!" he said sadly. "i'm sure i can't eat a bit." but after a few minutes, when he tried, he found that he could, and became so absorbed in the meal and his thoughts that he blushed like a girl with shame to see what a clearance he had made. the tray was fetched away, and the morning passed slowly in the expectation that lady gowan would come; but midday had arrived without so much as a message, and frank's heart was sinking again, when he once more heard steps, and upon the door being opened, captain murray appeared. "he has come to say he believes me," thought the boy, as his heart leapt; but it sank again upon his meeting his visitor's eyes, for the captain looked more stern and cold than ever, and his manner communicated itself to the boy. "you will come with me, gowan," said the captain sternly. "where to?" was upon the boy's lips; but he bit the words back, and swallowed them. he would not have spoken them and humbled himself then for anything, and rising and taking his hat, he walked out and across the courtyard, wondering where he was being taken, for he had half expected that it was to the guardroom to be imprisoned more closely. but a minute showed him that the growing resentment was unnecessary, for he was not apparently to submit to that indignity; and now the blood began to flush up into his temples, for he grasped without having had to ask where his destination was to be. in fact, the captain marched him to the foot of the great staircase, past the guard, and into the long anteroom, where he spoke to one of the attendants, who went straight to the door at the end leading into the prince's audience chamber. and now for a few moments the captain's manner changed, and he bent his head down to whisper hastily: "the prince has sent for you, boy, to question you himself. for heaven's sake speak out frankly the simple truth. i cannot tell you how much depends upon it. recollect this: your mother's future is at stake, and--" the attendant reappeared, came to him, and said respectfully: "his royal highness will see you at once." there was no time for the captain to say more--no opportunity offered for frank to make any indignant retort concerning the truth. for the curtain was held back, the door opened, and captain murray led the way in, slowly followed by his prisoner, who advanced firmly enough toward where the prince sat, his royal highness turning his eyes upon him at once with a most portentous frown. "well, sir," he said at once, "so i find that i have fresh bad news of you. you are beginning early in life. not content with what has passed, you have now turned traitor." the prince's looks, if correctly read, seemed to intimate that he expected the boy to drop on his knees and piteously cry for pardon; but to the surprise of both present he cried indignantly: "it is not true, your royal highness." "eh? what, sir? how dare you speak to me like this?" cried the prince. "i have heard everything about this morning's and last night's business, and i find that i have been showing kindness to a young viper of a traitor, who is in direct communication with the enemy, and playing the spy on all my movements so as to send news." "it is not true, your highness!" cried the boy warmly. "you have been deceived. just as if i would do such a thing as that!" "do you mean to pretend that this young forbes, your friend and companion, is not in correspondence with the enemy?" "no, your royal highness," said the lad sadly. "you knew it?" "yes." "then, as my servant, why did you not inform me, sir?" "because i was your servant, sir, and not a spy," said the boy proudly. "very fine language, upon my honour!" cried the prince. "but you are friends with him; and last night, after his first failure, you helped him to escape." "i did not, sir!" cried the boy passionately. "words, words, sir," said the prince; "even your friend here, captain murray, feels that you did." "and it is most unjust of him, sir!" cried the boy. "don't speak so bluntly to me," said the prince sternly. "now attend. you say you did not help him?" "yes, your royal highness." "mind this. i know all the circumstances. give me some proof that you knew nothing of his escape." "i can't, sir," cried the boy passionately. "i was asleep, and when i woke he was gone." "weak, weak, sir. now look here; you say you are my servant, and want me to believe in you. be quite open with me; tell me all you know, and for your mother's sake i will deal leniently with you. what do you know about this rising and the enemy's plans?" "nothing, your highness." "what! and you were hand and glove with these people. that wretched boy must have escaped to go straight to his father and acquaint him with everything he knows. what reason have i to think you would not do the same?" "i!" cried the boy indignantly; "i could not do such a thing. ah!" he cried, with a look of joy, making his white face flush and grow animated. "your royal highness asked me for some proof;" and he lugged at something in his pocket, with which, as he let his hands fall, one had come in contact. "what have you there, sir?" "a book, your highness," panted the boy; "but it won't come out. hah! that's it. look, look! i found that on the table when i woke this morning. see what he has written here." frank was thinking nothing about royalty or court etiquette in his excitement. he dragged out the book, opened the cover, went close up to the prince, and banged it down before him, pointing to the words, which the prince took and read before turning his fierce gaze upon the lad's glowing face. "there!" cried the boy, "that proves it. you must see now, sir. he cheated me. i thought he was very bad. but you see he was well enough to go. that shows how he wanted me to join him, and i wouldn't. oh, don't say you can't see!" "yes, i can see," said the prince, without taking his eyes off him. "did you know of this, captain murray?" "i? no, your royal highness. it is fresh to me." "read." captain murray took the book, read the scrap of writing, and, forgetting the prince's presence, he held out his hands to his brother-officer's son. "oh, frank, my boy!" he cried, "forgive me for doubting your word." "oh yes, i forgive you!" cried the lad, seizing and clinging to his hands. "i knew you'd find out the truth. i don't mind now." "humph!" ejaculated the prince, looking on gravely, but with his face softening a little. "the boy's honest enough, sir. but you occupy a very curious position, young gentleman, a very curious position, and everything naturally looked very black against you." "did it, your highness? yes, i suppose so." "then you had been quarrelling with that wretched young traitor about joining the--the enemy?" said the prince. frank winced at "wretched young traitor"; but he answered firmly: "yes, sir; we were always quarrelling about it, but i hoped to get him to think right at last." "and failed, eh?" said the prince, with a smile. "yes, sir." "and pray, was it about this business that you fought out yonder?" "it had something to do with it, sir," said frank, flushing up. "he said--" frank stopped short, looking sadly confused, and grew more so as he found the questioner had fixed his eyes, full now of suspicion, upon him. "well, what did he say, sir?" frank was silent, and hung his head. "do you hear me, sir?" "must i speak, captain murray?" said the boy appealingly. "yes, the simple truth." "he said, your royal highness, that my father had joined the enemy, and was a general in the rebel army, and i struck him for daring to utter such a lie--and then we fought." "why?" said the prince sternly, "for telling you the truth?" "the truth, sir!" cried the boy indignantly. "don't say you believe that of my father, sir. there is not a more faithful officer in the king's service." "your father is not in the king's service, but holds a high command with the rebels, boy." "no, sir, no!" cried the lad passionately; "it is not true." at that moment, when he had not heard the rustling of a dress, a soft hand was laid upon frank's shoulder, and, turning sharply, he saw that it was the princess who had approached and now looked pityingly in his face, and then turned to the prince. "don't be angry with him," she said gently; "it is very brave of him to speak like this, and terrible for him, poor boy, to know the truth." "no, no, your highness, it is not true!" cried frank wildly; and he caught and kissed, and then clung to the princess's hand. "my poor boy!" she said tenderly. "no, no; don't you believe it, madam!" he cried. "it is not--it can't be true. some enemy has told you this." "no," said the princess gently, "no enemy, my boy. it was told me by one who knows too well. i had it from your mother's lips." frank gazed at her blankly, and his eyes then grew full of reproach, as they seemed to say, "how can you, who are her friend, believe such a thing?" "there boy," said the prince, interposing; "come here." frank turned to him, and his eyes flashed. "don't look like that," continued the prince. "i am not angry with you now. i believe you, and i like your brave, honest way in defending your father. but you see how all this is true." "no!" cried the boy firmly. "your royal highness and the princess have been deceived. some one has brought a lying report to my poor mother, who ought to have been the last to believe it. i cannot and will not think it is true." "very well," said the prince quietly. "you can go on believing that it is not. i wish, my boy, i could. there, you can go back to your duties. you will not go over to the enemy, i see." the boy looked at the speaker as if about to make some angry speech; but his emotions strangled him, and, forgetting all etiquette, he turned and hurried from the room. "look after him, captain murray," said the prince quietly; "true gold is too valuable to be lost." the captain bowed, and hurried into the antechamber; but frank had gone, one of the gentlemen in attendance saying that he had rushed through the chamber as if he had been half mad, and leaped down the stairs three or four at a time. "gone straight to his mother," thought the captain; and he went on down the staircase, frowning and sad, for he was sick at heart about the news he had that morning learned of his old friend. chapter thirty three. frank's faith. frank went straight to his mother's apartments. "i don't think my lady is well enough to see you to-day, sir," said her woman. "tell her i must see her," cried the boy passionately; and a few minutes after, looking very white and strange, lady gowan entered the room. she looked inquiringly in the boy's eyes, and a faint sob escaped her lips as she caught him in her arms, kissed him passionately, and then laid her head upon his shoulder, while for some minutes she sobbed so violently that the boy dared not speak, but tried to caress her into calmness once more. "oh, frank, frank!" she sighed at last; and he held her more tightly to his breast. "i was obliged to come, mother," he said; "and now that i have come i dare not speak." "yes, speak, dear, speak; say anything to me now," she sighed. "but it seems so cruel, mother, while you are ill like this!" "speak, dear, speak. i ought to have sent to you before; but i was so heart-broken, so cowardly and weak, that i dared not confess it even to my own child." "mother," cried the boy passionately, "it is not true." lady gowan heaved a piteous sigh. "the prince sent for me, thinking i helped drew forbes to escape." "ah! he has escaped?" "yes, gone to join his father with the rebels; but the prince believes me now. he asked me first if i were going to join my father with the rebels too." "and--and--what did you say?" faltered lady gowan. "i?" cried the boy proudly. "i told him that he had no more faithful servant living than my father, though he was dismissed from the guards." lady gowan uttered a weary sigh once more. "oh, mother!" cried frank, "shame on you to believe this miserable lie! how can you be so weak!" "ah, frank, frank, frank!" she sighed wearily. "it seems too horrible to imagine that you could so readily think such a thing. the prince believes it, and the princess too, and she said the news came from you." "yes, dear, i was obliged to tell her. frank, my boy, i knew it when i saw you last--when i was in such trouble, and spoke so angrily to you. i could not, oh, i could not tell you then." "no. i am very glad you could not, mother," said the boy firmly. "you cannot, and you shall not, believe it. can't you see that it is impossible? there, don't speak to me; don't think about it any more. you are weak and ill, and that makes you ready to think things which you would laugh at as absurd at another time. oh, i wish i had said what i ought to have said to the prince," he cried excitedly. "i did not think of it then." "what--what would you have said?" cried lady gowan, raising her pale, drawn face to gaze in her son's eyes. "that he could soon prove my father's truth by sending him orders to come back and take his place in the regiment." "ah!" sighed lady gowan; and she let her head fall once more upon her son's shoulder. frank started impatiently. "oh!" he cried, "and you will go on believing it. there, i can't be angry with you now, you are so ill; but try and believe the truth, mother. father is the king's servant, and he would not--he could not break his oaths. there, you will see the truth when you get better; and you must, you must get better now. it was this news which made you so ill?" "yes, my boy, yes," she said, in a faint whisper; "and i blame myself for not going with him. if i had been by his side, he would not have changed." "he has not changed, mother," said the lad firmly. "but how did you get the news?" "it came through andrew forbes's father--mr george selby, as he calls himself now. he sent it to--to one of the gentlemen in the palace. i must not mention names." "ha--ha--ha!" laughed frank scornfully. "i thought it was some miserable, hatched-up lie. mr george selby has been playing a contemptible, spy-like part, trying to gain over people in the palace. he and his party tried to get me to join them." "you, my boy?" cried lady gowan, in wonder; "and you did not tell me." "no; conspiracies are not for women to know anything about," said the boy, talking grandly. "but i did tell my father." "yes; and what did he say?" "almost nothing. i forget now, mother. treated it with contempt. there, i must go now." "back under arrest?" "arrest? no, dear. i am the prince's page, and he knows now that i am no rebel. i am to go back to my duties as if nothing had happened." lady gowan uttered a sigh full of relief. "but i'm going to prove first of all how terribly wrong you have been, mother, in believing this miserable scandal. it is because my poor father is down, and everybody is ready to trample upon him. but we'll show them yet. you must be brave, mother, and look and speak as if now you did not believe a word about the story. do as i will do: go back to your place with the princess, and hold up your head proudly." "no, no, no, my boy; i have been praying the princess to let us both go away from the court, for that our position here was horrible." "ah! and what did she say?" cried frank excitedly. "that it was impossible; that we were not to blame, and that i was more her friend than ever." "oh, i do love the princess!" cried the boy enthusiastically. "there, you see, she does not at heart believe the miserable tale. no, you shall not go away, mother; it would be like owning that it was true. be brave and good and full of faith. father said i was to defend you while he was away, and i'm going to--against yourself while you are weak and ill. oh, what lots of things you've taught me about trying to be brave and upright and true; now i'm going to try and show you that i will. we cannot leave the court; it would be dishonouring father. good-bye till to-morrow. oh, mother, how old all this makes me feel." "my own boy!" "yes, but i don't feel a bit like a boy now, mother. it's just as if i had been here for years. there, once more kiss me--good-bye!" "my darling! but what are you going to do?" "something to show you that father has been slandered. good-bye! to-morrow i shall make you laugh for joy." and tearing himself away from his mother's clinging arms, the boy hurried out, down the stairs, and out into the courtyard, full of the plan now in his mind. chapter thirty four. a stirring encounter. more sentries were about the palace, and the guardroom was full of soldiers, but no one interfered with the prince's page, who went straight to the gates, and without the slightest attempt at concealment walked across to the banks of the canal, along by its edge to the end, passed round, and made for his father's house. twice over he saw men whom his ready imagination suggested as belonging to the corps of spies who kept the comers and goers from the palace under observation, but he would not notice them. "let them watch if they like. i'm doing something i'm proud of, and not ashamed." in this spirit he made for the house, and reached it, to find that the battered door had been replaced by a new one, which looked bright and glistening in its coats of fresh paint. he knocked and rang boldly, and as he waited he glanced carelessly to right and left, to see that one of the men he had passed in the park had followed, and was sauntering slowly along in his direction. "how miserably ashamed of himself a fellow like that must feel!" he thought. at that moment there was the rattling of a chain inside, and the door was opened as far as the links would allow. "oh, it's you, master francis," said the housekeeper, whose scared and troubled face began to beam with a smile; and directly after he was admitted, and the door closed and fastened once more. frank confined his words to friendly inquiries as to the old servant's health, and she hesitated after replying, as if expecting that he would begin to question her; but he went on upstairs, and shut himself in the gloomy-looking room overlooking the park. then, obeying his first impulse, he walked to the window to throw back the shutters. "no. wouldn't do," he said to himself. "there is sure to be some one watching the house from the back, and it would show them that i came straight here for some particular reason. i can manage in the dark." it was not quite dark to one who well knew the place; and with beating heart he went across to the picture, and, familiar now with the ingenious mechanism, he pressed the fastening, and then stood still, with the picture turned so that the closet stood open before him. he hesitated, for though he was so full of hope that he felt quite certain that there would be some communication from his father, he did not like to put it to the test for fear of disappointment. that he felt--after his brave defence of his father, and his belief that he would be able to find a letter which would sweep away all doubt and prove to his mother that she was wrong--would be almost unbearable, and so he waited for quite two minutes. "oh, what a coward i am," he muttered at last; and running his hand along the bottom shelf, he felt for the letter he hoped to find. his heart sank, for there was nothing there, and he hesitated once more, feeling that half his chance was gone. but there was the upper shelf, and once more with beating heart he began to pass his hand over it very slowly, and the next moment he touched a packet, which began to glide along the shelf. then he started back, thrust to the canvas-covered panel and fastened it almost in one movement, turning as he did so to face the door, which was slowly opened, and a dimly seen figure stepped forward, to stand gazing in. "why didn't i lock the door after me?" thought the boy, who was half wild now with excitement and dread, as he tried to make out by the few rays which struck across from the shutters who the man could be. that was too hard; but it seemed from the attitude that his back was half turned to him, and that he was trying to see what was going on in the room. the next moment he had proof that he was right, for the dimly seen figure softly turned and gazed straight at where he stood. "he must see me," thought the boy; and in his excitement he felt that he must take the aggressive, and began the attack. "who are you? what are you doing here?" he cried sharply. "a thief?" "oh no, young gentleman," said a voice. "what are you doing here?" for answer frank stepped quickly to the window and threw open one of the shutters, the light flashing in and showing him the face of the man he had passed in the park, the man who had followed him into the street, and seen him enter the house. "oh, i see," said frank contemptuously,--"a spy." "a gentleman in the king's service, boy, holding his majesty's warrant, and doing his duty. why have you come here?" "why have i come to my own house? go back out of here directly. how came the housekeeper to let you in?" "she did not, my good boy," said the man quietly; "and she did not put up the chain." "then how did you get in, sir?" "with my key of course--into _your_ house." "oh, this is insufferable!" panted frank. "while my father is away it is my house. i am his representative, and i don't believe his majesty would warrant a miserable spy to use false keys to get into people's homes." "you have a sharp tongue for a boy," said the man coolly; "but i must know why you have come, all the same." "watch and spy, and find out then, you miserable, contemptible hound!" cried frank in a rage--with the man for coming, and with himself for not having taken better precautions. for it was maddening. there was the letter waiting for him; he had touched it; and now he could not get at it for this man, who would not let him quit his sight, and perhaps after he was gone would search until he found it. the man looked hard at him for a few moments, but not menacingly. it was in the fashion of a man who was accustomed to be snubbed, bullied, and otherwise insulted, but did not mind these things in the least, so long as he could achieve his ends. he made frank turn cold, though, with dread, for he began to look round the room, noticing everything in turn in search of the reason for the boy's visit, for naturally he felt certain that there was some special reason, and he meant to find it out. frank stood watching him for a while, and then, as the man did not walk straight at the picture, and begin to try if he could find anything behind, the boy began to pluck up courage, and, drawing a long breath by way of preparation, he said, as he stepped forward: "now, sir, i don't feel disposed to leave you here while i go upstairs to my old room, so have the goodness to leave." "when you do, mr gowan--not before." "what!" cried frank fiercely; and he clapped his hand to where his sword should hang, but it had not been returned to him by the officer who arrested him, and he coloured with rage and annoyance. "ah, you have no sword," said the man coolly. "just as well, for you would not be able to use it. at the least attempt at violence, one call from this whistle would bring help to the back and front of the house, and you would be arrested. i presume you do not want to be in prison again?" "what do you know about my being arrested?" "there is not much that i do not know," said the man, with a laugh. "it is of no use to kick, my good sir. i only wish you to understand that violence will do no good." "bah!" ejaculated frank angrily; and he walked straight out of the room on to the landing, trying to bang the door behind him; but the man caught it, and came out quickly and quietly after him. "what shall i do?" thought frank; and for a moment he was disposed to descend and leave the house, but he felt that he could not without first gaining possession of the letter. it would be impossible to bear the strain, especially with the accompaniment of the dread of its being discovered and placing information which might prove disastrous to his father in the hands of a spy. the next minute his mind was made up. he determined to weary out the man if he could, while he on his part went up to his own old bedroom, which he used to occupy when he came home from school while his father and mother were in town. he would go up to it, and sit down and read if he could. the man should not come in there, of that he was determined; and he felt that he must risk the fellow's searching the place they had left. "for if he has a key, he could come in at any time, and hunt about the place. but how did he get a key to fit the door?" frank thought for a few moments, and then it was plain enough: he had obtained it from the people who made the new door to the house. "i must get the letter before i go," thought the boy now, "so as to send word to father that he must not venture to come again, because the place is so closely watched; and i must tell him of this piece of miserable intrusion." he took a few steps down, and the man followed; but before the landing was reached, he turned sharply round, and began to ascend rapidly. the man still followed close to his elbow, and in this way the second floor was reached, where the door of frank's bedroom lay a little to the right. the last time he was up there he was in company with his father in the dark, on the night of the escape, and a faint thrill of excitement ran through him as he recalled all that had passed. he turned sharply to the spy, and said indignantly: "look here, fellow, this is my bedroom;" and he pointed to the door. "yes, i know," said the man coolly; "but it's a long time since you slept there." "and what's that to you? go down. you are not coming in there." "i have the warrant of his majesty's minister to go where i please on secret service, sir," said the man blandly; "and you, as one of the prince's household, dare not try to stop me." "oh!" ejaculated the boy fiercely; and seizing the door knob he turned it quickly, meaning to rush in, bang the door in the fellow's face, and lock him out. "let him do his worst," thought frank, who was now beside himself with rage; but he did not carry out his plan, for the door did not yield. it was locked, and as he rattled the knob his fingers rubbed against the handle of the key. perhaps it was the friction against the steel which sent a flash of intelligence to his brain; but whether or no the flash darted there, and lit up that which the moment before was very dark with something akin to despair. he rattled the handle to and fro several times; and uttering an ejaculation full of anger, he threw himself heavily against the door, but it did not of course yield. "pooh!" he cried; and letting go of the door knob, he seized the handle of the key, and dragged and dragged at it, making it grate and rattle among the wards, each moment growing more excited, and ended by snatching his hand away, and stamping furiously on the floor. "don't stand staring there, idiot!" he cried, with a flash of anger. "can't you see that key won't turn?" "not if you drag at it like that," said the man, smiling blandly. "that is good for locksmiths, not for locks;" and stepping calmly forward, he took hold of the key, turned it slowly so that the bolt shot back with a sharp snap; then, turning the knob, he opened the door, walked into the little bedroom, and stood back a little, holding it so that there was room for frank to pass in. "bah!" ejaculated frank savagely; and he stepped in, raising his right hand, and making a quick menacing gesture, as if to strike the man a heavy blow across the face. taken thoroughly by surprise by frank's feint, the spy made a step back, when, quick as thought, the boy seized the handle, drew it to him, banging the door and turning the key, and stood panting outside, his enemy shut safely within. "here, open this door!" cried the man; and he began to thump heavily upon the panels. "quick! before i break it down." "break it down," cried the boy tauntingly. "how clever for a spy to walk into a trap like that." there was a moment's silence, and then--as if long coming--something which resembled the echo of frank's angry stamp on the floor was heard, followed by a heavy bump. the man had thrown himself against the door. "he won't break out in a hurry," muttered the boy; and he ran to the staircase, and in familiar old fashion seized the rail, threw himself half over, and let himself slide down the polished mahogany to the first floor, where he rushed in, closed and locked the door of the room, hurried excitedly to the picture door of the closet, the portrait of his ancestor seeming to his excited fancy to smile approval, and, as he applied his hand to the fastening, he heard faintly a noise overhead. the next moment a chill ran through him, for the window of his bedroom had evidently been thrown open, and a clear, shrill whistle twice repeated rang out. "that means help," thought frank, and he hesitated; but it was now or never, he felt, and opening the closet, he snatched the desired letter from the shelf, thrust it into his breast, and closed the closet once more. the whistle was sounded again, and a fresh thought assailed the boy. "they'll seize me, search me, and take the letter away. what shall i do?" he ran to the window in time to see a strange man climb the rails, and drop into the garden, run toward the house, stoop down, and pick up something. "the key that opens the front door," cried frank in despair. "he must have thrown it out." for a moment or two he stood helpless, unable to move; then, recalling the fact that the man would have to run round to the front door, he darted out of the room, bounded down the staircase, reached the hall door, and with hands trembling from the great excitement in which he was, he slipped the top and bottom bolts. "hah!" he ejaculated; "the key won't open them." then, darting to the top of the stairs leading down to the housekeeper's room, he ran almost into the old servant's arms. "oh, master frank, was that you whistling, sir?" she cried. "no; that man upstairs." "what man upstairs, my dear?" "hush! don't stop me. have you a fire there?" "yes, my dear; it is very chilly down in that stone-floored room, that i am obliged to have one lit." "that's right. go away; i want to be there alone. and listen, berry; i have bolted the front door. if any one knocks, don't go." "oh, my dear, don't say people are coming to break it down again!" "never you mind if they are. get out of my way." there was the rattling of a key faintly heard, and then _bang, bang, bang_, and the ringing of the bell. "they've come," said frank. "but never mind; i'll let them in before they break it." there was a faint squeal from the kitchen just then. "oh!" cried the housekeeper wildly, "that girl will be going into fits again." "let her," said frank. "stop! is the area door fastened?" "oh yes, my dear. i always keep that locked." frank stopped to hear no more, but ran into the housekeeper's room, whose window, well-barred, looked up a green slope toward the park. there was a folding screen standing near the fire, a luxury affected by the old housekeeper, who used it to ward off draughts, which came through the window sashes, and the boy opened this a little to make sure that he was not seen by any one who might come and stare in. then, standing in its shelter, he tore the letter from his breast pocket, broke the seal, opened it with trembling fingers, and began to read, with eyes beginning to dilate and a choking sensation rising in his breast. for it was true, then--the charge was correct. andrew forbes's words had not been an insult, the prince had told the simple fact. "oh, the shame of it!" panted the boy, as he read and re-read the words couched in the most affectionate strain, telling him not to think ill of the father who loved him dearly, and begged of him to remember that father's position, hopeless of being able to return from his exile, knowing that his life was forfeit, treated as if he were an enemy. so that in despair he had yielded to the pressure put upon him by old friends, and joined them in the bold attempt to place the crown upon the head of the rightful heir. "whatever happens, my boy, i leave your mother to you as your care." frank's hands were cold and his forehead wet as he read these last words, and the affectionate, loving way in which his father concluded his letter, the last information being that he was in england, and had gone north to join friends who would shortly be marching on london. "burn this, the last letter i shall be able to leave for you, unless we triumph. then we shall meet again." "`burn this,'" said frank, in a strange, husky whisper. "yes, i meant to burn this;" and in a curious, unemotional way, looking white and wan the while, he dropped the letter in the fire, and stood watching it as it blazed up till the flame drew near the great red wax seal bearing his father's crest. this melted till the crest was blurred out, the wax ran and blazed, and in a few moments there was only a black, crumpled patch of tinder, over and about which a host of tiny sparks seemed to be chasing each other till all was soft and grey. "i needn't have burned it," said the boy, in a low, pained voice. "what does it matter now?" he stood looking old and strange as he spoke. it did not seem a boy's face turned to the fire, but that of an effeminate young man in some great suffering, as he said again, in a voice which startled him and made him shiver: "what does it matter now?" he turned his head and listened then, before stooping to take up the poker and scatter the grey patch of ashes that still showed letters and words; for he appeared to have suddenly awakened to the fact that the thundering of the knocker was still going on and the bell pealing. "hah!" he sighed; "i must go back and tell her i was wrong. poor mother, what she must feel!" he moved slowly toward the door of the room, and then encountered the housekeeper standing at the foot of the stairs. "oh, my dear, my dear!" she moaned; "what shall we do? i heard them send for hammers to break in again." "they will not, berry," he said quietly. "i will go up and let them in." "oh, my dear!" cried the woman, forgetting the noise at the front door. "don't speak like that. what is the matter? you're white as ashes." "matter?" he said, looking at the old woman wistfully. "matter--ashes-- yes, ashes. i can't tell you, berry. i'm ill. i feel as if--as if--" he did not finish the sentence aloud, but to himself, and he said: "as if my father i loved so were dead." he walked quietly upstairs now into the hall, where there was the buzzing of voices coming in from the street, where people were collecting, and he distinctly heard some one say: "here they come." it did not seem to him to matter who was coming; and he walked quietly to the door, shot back the bolts, and threw it open, for half a dozen men to make a dash forward to enter; but the boy stood firmly in the opening, with his face flushing once more, and looking more like his old self. "well," he cried haughtily. "what is it?" "mr bagot--mr bagot! where is he?" "bagot? do you mean the spy who insulted me?" at the word "spy" there was an angry groan from the gathering crowd, and the men began to press forward. "the fellow insulted me," said frank loudly, "and i locked him in one of the upstairs rooms." "hooray!" came from the crowd. "well done, youngster!" and then there was a menacing hooting. "go and fetch him down," continued frank. "yah! spies!" came from the mob, and the men on the step gladly obeyed the order to go upstairs, and rushed into the house. "shall we fetch 'em out, sir," cried a big, burly-looking fellow, "and take and pitch 'em in the river?" "no; leave the miserable wretches alone," said the boy haughtily. "don't touch them, if they go quietly away." "hooray!" shouted the crowd; and then all waited till bagot came hurriedly down, white with anger, followed by his men, and seized frank by the shoulder. "you're my prisoner, sir." "stand off!" cried the lad fiercely; and he wrenched himself free, just as the mob, headed by the burly man, dashed forward. "you put a finger on him again, and we'll hang the lot of you to the nearest lamps!" roared the man fiercely; and the party crowded together, while frank seized the opportunity to close the door. "look here, fellow," he said haughtily. "i am going back to the palace. you can follow, and ask if you are to arrest me there." then turning to the crowd: "thank you, all of you; but they will not dare to touch me, and if you wish me well don't hurt these men." "ur-r-ur!" growled the crowd. "look here, you," cried frank, turning to the leader of the little riot. "i ask you to see that no harm is done to them." "then they had better run for it, squire," cried the man. "if they're here in a minute, i won't answer for what happens." "then let your lads see me safely back to my quarters," said the boy, as a happy thought; and starting off, the crowd followed him cheering to the palace gates, where they were stopped by the sentries; and they cheered him loudly once more as he walked slowly by the soldiery. "arrested again!" said frank softly. "well, if i can only go and see her first, it does not matter now." chapter thirty five. frank asks leave to go. "yes," said lady gowan sadly, after her meeting with her son, "it is terrible; but after all my teaching, telling you of your duty to be loyal to those whom we serve and who have been such friends to us, i could not nerve myself to tell you the dreadful truth. you are right, my boy. more than ever now we are out of place here; we must go." "yes, mother," said the boy gravely, "we must go." "let me read the letter, frank." "read it, mother? i have repeated every word. it wanted no learning. i knew it when i had read it once." "yes; but i must read your father's letter to you myself." "how could i keep it?" he said, almost fiercely. "i expected to be arrested and searched. it is burned." lady gowan uttered a weary sigh, and clung to her boy's hand. "going, dear?" she said; "so soon?" "yes, mother; i have so much to do. i can't stay now. perhaps i shall be a prisoner again after this business, and coming back here protected by a riotous crowd." "no, no, dear; the prince, however stern his father may be, is just, and he will not punish you." "i don't know," said the boy drearily. "i want to do something before i am stopped;" and he hurried away, looking older and more careworn than ever, to go at once to the officers' quarters, intending to see captain murray; but the first person he met was the doctor, who caught him by the arm, and almost dragged him into his room. "sit down there," he cried sharply, as he scanned the boy with his searching gaze. "don't stop me, sir, please," said frank appealingly. "i am very busy. do you want me?" "no; but you look as if you want me." "no, sir--no." "but i say you do. don't contradict me. think i don't know what i'm saying? you do want me. a boy of your years has no business to look like that. what have you been doing? why, your pulse is galloping nineteen to the dozen, and your head's as hot as fire. you've been eating too much, you voracious young wolf. it's liver and bile. all right, my fine fellow! pill hydrarg, to-night, and to-morrow morning a delicious goblet before breakfast--sulph mag, tinct sennae, ditto calumba. that will set you right." frank looked at him for a moment piteously, and then burst into a strange laugh. "eh, hallo!" cried the doctor; "don't laugh in that maniacal way, boy. have i got hold of the pig by the wrong tail? bah! i mean the wrong tail by the pig. nonsense! nonsense! i mean the wrong pig by--oh, i see now. why, frank, my boy, of course. ah, poor lad! poor lad! murray has been telling me. well, it's a bad job, and i shouldn't have thought it of rob gowan. but there, i don't know: _humanum est errare_. not so much erroring in it either. circumstances alter cases, and i dare say that if i were kicked out of the army, and i had a chance to be made chief surgeon to the forces of you know whom, i should accept the post." the boy's head sank down upon his hands, and he did not seem to hear the doctor's words. "poor lad!" he continued; "it's a very sad affair, and i'm very sorry for you. i always liked your father, and i never disliked you, which is saying a deal, for i hate boys as a rule. confounded young monkeys, and no good whatever, except to get into mischief. there, i see now--ought to have seen it with half an eye. there, there, there, my lad; don't take on about it. cheer up! you're amongst friends who like you, and the sun will come out again, even if it does get behind the black clouds sometimes." he patted the boy's shoulder, and stroked his back, meaning, old bachelor as he was, to be very tender and fatherly; but it was clumsily done, for the doctor had never served his time to playing at being father, and begun by practising on babies. hence he only irritated the boy. "he talks to me and pats me as if i were a dog," said frank to himself; and he would have manifested his annoyance in some way to one who was doing his best, when fortunately there was a sharp rap at the door, and a familiar voice cried: "may i come in, doctor?" "no, sir, no. i'm particularly engaged. oh, it's you, murray!--mind his coming in, gowan?" "oh no; i want to see him!" cried the boy, springing up. "come in!" shouted the doctor. "you here, frank?" said the captain, holding out his hands, in which the boy sadly placed his own, but withdrew them quickly. "yes, of course he is," said the doctor testily. "came to see his friends. in trouble, and wants comforting." "yes," said captain murray quietly, as he laid his hand upon the boy's shoulder. "then you know the truth now, frank?" "yes, sir," said the boy humbly. "i was coming to apologise to you, when the doctor met me and drew me in here." "yes; looked so ill. thought i'd got a job to tinker him up; but he only wants a bit of comforting, to show him he's amongst friends." "you were coming to do what, boy?" said the captain, as soon as he could get in a word,--"apologise?" "yes, sir; i was very obstinate and rude to you." "yes, thank goodness, my lad!" cried the captain, holding the boy by both shoulders now, as he hung his head. "look up. apologise! why, frank, you made me feel very proud of my old friend's son. i always liked you, boy; but never half so well as when you spoke out as you did to the prince. so you know all now?" "yes," said the boy bitterly. "how?" "my father has written to me telling me it is true." "hah! well, it's a bad job, my lad; but we will not judge him. robert gowan must have suffered bitterly, and been in despair of ever coming back, before he changed his colours. but we can't see why, and how things are. i want no apology, frank, only for you to come to me as your father's old friend." frank looked at him wonderingly. "come with me, boy." frank looked at him still, but his eyes were wistful now and full of question. "i want you to come with me to the prince." "yes, sir," said frank gravely. "i want to beg for an audience before i go." "before you go, frank?" "yes, sir. of course we cannot stay here now." "humph! ah, yes, i see what you mean," said the captain quietly. "well, come. you are half a soldier, frank, and the prince is a soldier, i want you to come and speak out to him, and apologise as you did to me--like a man." "yes, sir," replied frank, "that is what i wished to do." "then forward!" cried the captain. "let's make our charge, even if we are repulsed." "good-bye, and thank you, doctor," said frank. "what for? pooh! nonsense, my lad; that's all right. and, i say, people generally come and see me when they want something, physic or plasters, or to have bullet holes stopped up, or arms and legs sewn on again. don't you wait for anything of that sort, boy; you come sometimes for a friendly bit of chat." frank smiled gratefully, but shook his head as he followed captain murray out into the stable-yard. "come along, frank; there's nothing like making a bold advance, and getting a trouble over. we may not be able to get an audience with so many officers coming and going; but i'll send in my name." frank followed him into the anteroom, the place looking strange to him, and seeming as if it were a year since he had been there last, a fancy assisted by the fact that some five-and-twenty officers, whose faces were strange, stood waiting their turns when captain murray sent in his name by a gentleman in attendance. but, bad as the prospect looked, they did not have long to wait, for, at the end of about a quarter of an hour, the attendant came out, passing over all those who looked up eagerly ready to answer to their names, and walked to where captain murray was seated talking in a low voice to frank. "his royal highness will see you at once, gentlemen." frank did not feel in the slightest degree nervous as he entered, but followed the captain with his head erect, ready to speak out and say that for which he had come, when the prince condescended to hear; but he took no notice of the boy at first, raising his head at last from his writing, and saying: "well, captain murray, what news?" "none, your royal highness," said the soldier bluffly. "i have only come to bring frank gowan, your page, before you." "eh? oh yes. the boy who was so impudent, and told me i was no speaker of the truth." "i beg your royal highness's pardon." "and you ought, boy. what more have you to say?" "that i was wrong, sir. i believed it could not be true. i have found out since that it was as you said." "hah! you ought always to believe what a royal personage says--eh, murray?" the captain bowed, and smiled grimly. "don't agree with me," said the prince sharply. "well, boy, you are very sorry, eh?" "yes, your royal highness, i am very sorry," said frank firmly. "i know better now, and i apologise to you." the prince, moving himself round in his chair, frowning to hide a feeling of amusement, stared hard at the lad as if to look him down, and frowned in all seriousness as he found the boy looked him full in the eyes without a quiver of the lid. "humph! so you, my page, consider it your duty to come and apologise to me for doubting my word?" "yes, your highness, and to ask your forgiveness." "and suppose i refuse to give it to so bold and impudent a boy, what then?" and he gazed hard once more in the lad's flushing face. "i should be very, very sorry, sir; for you and the princess have been very good and kind to my poor mother and me." "yes, yes," said the prince, "too kind, perhaps, to have such a return as--" he stopped short as he saw a spasm contract the boy's features. "but there," he continued, "you are not to blame, and i do forgive you, boy. i liked the bold, brave way in which you showed your belief in your father." captain murray darted a quick glance at his young companion, as much as to say, "i told you so." "go on, my boy, as you have begun, and you will make a firm, strong, trustworthy man; and, goodness knows, we want them badly enough. there, i will not say any more--yes, i will one word, my boy. i am sorry that your father was not recalled some time back. he was a brave soldier, for whom i felt respect." frank could bear no more, and he bent his head to conceal the workings of his face. "there, take him away, murray, and keep him under your eye. there's good stuff in the boy, and we must get him a commission as soon as he is old enough." "no, your highness," said frank, recovering himself. "eh? what?" "i came to beg your royal highness's pardon, and to ask your permission for my mother and me to leave the royal service at once. we both feel that it is not the place for us now." "humph!" ejaculated the prince, frowning; "and i think differently. take him away, murray; the boy is hurt--wounded now.--that will do, gowan; go. no: i refuse absolutely. the princess does not wish lady gowan to leave; and _i_ want _you_." "there!" cried captain murray, as they crossed the courtyard on their way back to the officers' quarters; "it is what i expected of the prince. you can't leave us unless you run away, frank; and you've proved yourself too much of a gentleman for that. you see, everybody wants you here." frank could not trust himself to speak, for he was, in spite of his troubles, some years short of manhood and manhood's strength. chapter thirty six. the worst news. next morning frank rose in his old quarters, firmly determined to keep to his decision. it was very kind and generous of the prince, he felt; but his position would be intolerable, and his mother would not be able to bear an existence fraught with so much misery; and, full of the intention to see her and beg her to prevail on the princess to let them leave, he waited his time. but it did not come that day. he had to return to his duties in the prince's anteroom, and at such times as he was free he found that his mother was engaged with her royal mistress. the next day found him more determined than ever; but another, a greater, and more unexpected obstacle was in the way. he went to his mother's apartments, to find that, worn out with sorrow and anxiety, she had taken to her bed, and the princess's physician had seen her and ordered complete rest, and that she should be kept free from every anxiety. "how can i go now!" thought the boy; "and how can she be kept free from anxiety!" it was impossible in both cases, while with the latter every scrap of news would certainly be brought to her, for the palace hummed with the excitement of the troubles in the north; and as the day glided by there came the news that the earl of mar had set up the standard of the stuarts in scotland, and proclaimed prince james king of great britain; but the pretender himself remained in france, waiting for the promised assistance of the french government, which was slow in coming. still the scottish nobles worked hard in the prince's cause, and by degrees the earl of mar collected an army of ten thousand fighting men, including the staunch highlanders, who readily assumed claymore and target at the gathering of the clans. it was over the english rising that frank was the more deeply interested, and he eagerly hungered for every scrap of news which was brought to the palace, captain murray hearing nearly everything, and readily responding to the boy's questions, though he always shook his head and protested that it would do harm and unsettle him. "you'd better shut up your ears, frank lad, and go on with your duties," he said one day. "but tell me first, what is the last news about lady gowan?" "ill, very ill," said the boy wearily. "all this is killing her." "then the bad news ought to be kept from her." "bad news!" gasped frank. "is it then so bad?" "of course; isn't it all bad?" "oh!" ejaculated the boy; "i thought there was something fresh-- something terrible. but how can the news be kept from her? the princess goes and sits with her every day, and then tells her everything. she learns more than i do, and gets it sooner; but i can't go and ask her, for i always feel as if it were cruel and torturing her to make her speak about our great trouble while she is so ill. now, tell me all you know." "it is not much, boy. the duke of argyle is busy; he is now appointed to the command of the king's forces in scotland, and some troops are being landed from ireland to join his clans." "yes, yes; but in england?" cried the boy. "my father is not in scotland. it is about what is going on in england that i want to know." it was always the same, and by degrees, as the days went by, frank learned that his father had, with other gentlemen, joined the earl of derwentwater, and that they were threatening newcastle. it seemed an age before the next tidings came, and frank's heart sank, while those in the palace were holding high festival, for the pretender's little army there had been beaten off, and was in retreat through cumberland on the way to lancashire. a little later came news that in the boy's secret heart made him rejoice and brought gloom into the palace. for it soon leaked out that the county militias had been assembled hastily to check the pretender's forces, but only to be put to flight and scattered in all directions. then despatch after despatch reached the palace from the north, all containing bad news. the rebels had marched on, carrying everything before them till they neared preston in triumph. "then they'll go on increasing in strength," whispered frank, as he sat with captain murray on the evening of the receipt of that news, "and march right on to london!" "want them to?" said the captain drily. "yes--no--no--yes--i don't know." "nice loyal sort of a servant the prince has got," said the captain. "don't talk to me like that, captain murray," said the boy passionately. "i feel that i hate for the rebels to succeed; but how can i help wishing my father success?" "no, you cannot," said the captain quietly. "but he will not succeed, my lad. he and the others are in command of a mere rabble of undisciplined men, and before long on their march they will be met by some of the king's forces sent to intercept them." "yes, yes," cried the boy, with his cheeks flushing, "and then?" "what is likely to happen in spite of the training of the leaders? the undrilled men cannot stand against regular troops, even if they are enthusiastic. no: disaster must come sooner or later, and then there is only one chance for us, frank." "for us? i thought you said that the king's troops would win." "yes, and they will. i as a soldier feel that it must be so. we shall win; but i say there is only one chance for us as friends--a quick escape for your father to the coast and taking refuge in france. we must not have him taken, frank, come what may." "thank you, captain murray," said the boy, laying his hand on his friend's sleeve. "you have made me happier than i have felt for days." "and it sounds very disloyal, my boy; but i can't help my heart turning to my old friend to wish him safe out of the rout." "then you think it will be a rout?" panted frank. "it must be sooner or later. they may gain a few little advantages by surprise, or the cowardice of the troops; but those successes can't last, and when the defeat comes it will be the greater, and mean a complete end to a mad scheme." "but the prince must be with them by this time, sir." "the pretender? no; he is still in france without coming forward, and leaving the misguided men who would place him on the throne to be slaughtered for aught he seems to care." captain murray proved to be a true prophet, for he had spoken on the basis of his experience of what properly trained men could do against troops hastily collected, and badly armed men whose discipline was of the rudest description. sooner even than the captain had anticipated the news came in a despatch brought from the north of england. the pretender's forces, under lords derwentwater, kenmuir, and nithsdale, were encountered by the king's troops; and before the two bodies joined battle a summons was sent to the rebel army calling upon the men to lay down their arms or be attacked without mercy. the pretender's generals tried to treat the summons to surrender with contempt, laughed at it, and bade their followers to stand fast and the victory would be theirs. but, in spite of the exhortations of their officers, the sight of the king's regular troops drawn up in battle array proved too much for the raw forces. probably they were wearied with marching and the many difficulties they had had to encounter. their enthusiasm leaked out, life seemed far preferable to death, and they surrendered at discretion. there was feasting and rejoicing at saint james's that night, when the news came of the bloodless victory; while in one of the apartments mother and son were shut up alone in the agony of their misery and despair, for whatever might be the fate of the common people of the pretender's army, the action of the king toward all who opposed him was known to be of merciless severity. the leaders of the rebellion could expect but one fate--death by the executioner. "but, mother, mother! oh, don't give way to despair like that," cried frank. "we have heard so little yet. father would fight to the last before he would fly; but when all was over he would be too clever for the enemy, and escape in safety to the coast." "no," said lady gowan, in tones which startled her son. "your father, frank, would never desert the men he had led. it would be to victory or death. it was not to victory they marched that day." "but his name is not mentioned in the despatch." "no," said lady gowan sadly. "nor is that of colonel forbes." "ah!" cried frank; "and poor drew, he would be there." at last he was compelled to quit the poor, suffering woman; but before going to his own chamber, he went over to the officers' quarters, to try and see captain murray. there was a light in his room, and the sound of voices in earnest conversation; and frank was turning back, to go and sit alone in his despair, when he recognised the doctor's tones, and he knocked and entered. the eager conversation stopped on the instant, as the two occupants of the room saw the boy's anxious, white face looking inquiringly from one to the other. "come in and sit down," said captain murray, in a voice which told of his emotion; "sit down, my boy." frank obeyed in silence, trying hard to read the captain's thoughts. "you have come from your mother?" "yes; she is very ill." "she has heard of the disaster, then?" "yes. the princess went and broke it to her as gently as she could." "and she told you?" "yes; she sent for me as soon as she heard." "poor lady!" said the captain. "amen to that," said the doctor huskily; and he pulled out his snuff-box, and took three pinches in succession, making himself sneeze violently as an excuse for taking out his great red-and-yellow silk handkerchief and using it to a great extent. "hah!" he said at last, as he looked across at frank, with his eyes quite wet; "and poor old robert gowan! rebel, they call him; but we here, frank, can only look upon him more as brother than friend." "but," cried the boy passionately, "there is hope for him yet. he is not taken, in spite of what my mother said. he would have escaped to the coast, and made again for france." "what did your mother say?" asked captain murray, looking at the boy fixedly. "my mother say? that my father would never forsake the men whom he was leading to victory or death." "yes; she was right, frank, my lad. he would never turn his back on his men to save himself." "of course not, till the day was hopelessly lost." "not when the day was hopelessly lost," said captain murray, so sternly that frank took alarm. "why do you speak to me like that?" he cried, rising from his seat. "his name was not in the despatch. ah! you have heard. there is something worse behind. oh, captain murray, don't say that he was killed." "i say," said that officer sadly, "it were better that he had been killed--that he had died leading his men, as a brave officer should die." "then he did not," cried frank, with a hoarse sigh of relief. "no, he escaped that." "and to liberty?" "no, my boy, no," said the doctor, uttering a groan. "but i tell you that his name was not in the despatch. he couldn't have been taken prisoner." there was silence in the room, and the candles for want of snuffing were very dim. "why don't you speak to me?" cried frank passionately. "am i such a boy that you treat me as a child?" "my poor lad! you must know the truth," said captain murray gently. "your father's and colonel forbes's names are both in the despatch as prisoners." "no, no, no!" cried frank wildly. "the princess--" "kept the worst news back, to try and spare your poor mother pain. it is as i always feared." "then you are right," moaned frank; and he uttered a piteous cry. "yes, it would have been better if he had died." for the headsman's axe seemed to be glimmering in the black darkness ahead, and he shuddered as he recalled once more what he had seen on temple bar. chapter thirty seven. under the dark cloud. there was no waiting for news now. despatch succeeded despatch rapidly, and the occupants of the palace were made familiar with the proceedings in the north; and as frank heard more and more of the disastrous tidings he was in agony, and at last announced to captain murray that he could bear it all no longer. "i must go and join my father," he said one day. "it is cruel and cowardly to stay here in the midst of all this luxury and rejoicing, while he is being dragged up to london like a criminal." "have you told lady gowan of your intentions?" said the captain quietly. "told her? no!" cried frank excitedly. "why, in her state it would half kill her." "and if you break away from here and go to join your father, it would quite kill her." frank looked at him aghast, and the captain went on: "we must practise common sense, frank, and not act madly at a time like this." "is it to act madly to go and help one's father in his great trouble?" "no; you must help him, but in the best way." "that is the best way," said the boy hotly. "no. what would you do?" "go straight to him and try and make his lot more bearable. think how glad he would be to see me." "of course he would, and then he would blame you for leaving your mother's side when she is sick and suffering." "but this is such a terrible time of need. i must go to him; but i wanted to be straightforward and tell you first." "good lad." "think what a terrible position mine is, captain murray." "i do, boy, constantly; but i must, as your friend and your father's, look at the position sensibly." "oh, you are so cold and calculating, when my father's life is at stake." "yes. i don't want you to do anything that would injure him." "i--injure him!" "yes, boy." "but i only want to be by his side." "well, to do that you would run away from here, for the prince would not let you go." "no, he will not. i asked him." "you did?" "yes, two days ago." "then if you go without leave, you will make a good friend angry." "perhaps so; but i cannot stay away." "you must, boy, for it would be injuring your father; and, look here, if you went, you could not get near the prisoners. those who have them in charge would not let you pass." "but i would get a permission from the king." "rubbish, boy! he would not listen to you. he might as a man be ready to pardon your father; but as king he would feel that he could not. no; i must speak plainly to you: his majesty will deal sternly with the prisoners, to make an example for his enemies, and show them the folly of attempting to shake his position on the throne." "oh, captain murray! captain murray!" cried the boy. "look here, frank lad. your journey to meet the prisoners would be an utter waste of energy, and you would most likely miss them, for to avoid the possibility of attempts at rescue their escort would probably take all kinds of byways and be constantly changing their route." "but i should have tried to help my father, even if i failed." "don't run the risk of failure, boy," said the captain earnestly. "our only hopes lie in the prince and princess. the prince would, i feel sure, spare your father's life if he could, for the sake of his wife's friend. but he is not king, only a subject like ourselves, and he will be governed by his father and his father's ministers. now you see that you must not alienate our only hope by doing rash things." frank looked at him in despair. "now do you see why i oppose you?" "yes, yes," said the boy despondently. "oh, how i wish i were wise!" "there is only one way to grow wise, frank: learn--think and calculate before you make a step. now, look here, my boy. the prince has plenty of good points in his character. he likes you; and he shall be appealed to through your mother and the princess. now, promise me that you will do nothing rashly, and that you will give up this project." "should i be right in giving it up?" "yes," said the captain emphatically. "but what will my father think? i shall seem to be forsaking him in his great trouble." "he will think you are doing your duty, and are trying hard to save his life. come, don't be down-hearted, for we are all at work. there is our regiment to count upon yet--the king's own guards, who will, to a man, join in a prayer to his majesty to spare the life of the most popular officer in the corps." "ah! yes," cried frank. "i don't want even to hint at mutiny; but the king at a time like this would think twice before refusing the prayer of the best regiment in his service." "oh, captain murray!" cried the lad excitedly. "i will promise everything. i will go by your advice." "that's right, my lad; my head is a little older than yours, you know. now, go back to your duties, and let the prince see that his page is waiting hopefully and patiently to see how he will help him. go to your mother, too, all you can, and tell her, to cheer her up, that we are all hard at work, and that no stone shall be left unturned to save sir robert's life." frank caught the captain's hands in his, and stood holding them for a few moments before hurrying out of the room. then more news came of each day's march, and of the slow approach of the prisoners--the leaders only, the rest being imprisoned in cheshire and lancashire to await their fate. it was hard work, but frank kept his word, trying to be more energetic than ever over his duties, and finding that he was not passing unnoticed, for every morning the prince gave him a quiet look of recognition, or a friendly nod, but never once spoke. the most painful part of his life in those days was in his visits to his mother. these were agony to him, feeling as he did more and more how utterly insignificant and helpless he was; but he had one satisfaction to keep him going and make him look forward longingly for the next meeting--paradoxical as it may sound--so as to suffer more agony and despair, for he could plainly see that his mother clung to him now as her only stay, and that she was happiest when he was with her, and begged and prayed of him to come back to her as soon as he possibly could, now that she was so weak and ill. "i believe, my darling," she whispered one evening, "that i should have died if you had not been here." "yes, my lad," said the princess's physician to him as well; "you must be with lady gowan as much as you can. her illness is mental, and you can do more for her now than i can. ha--ha! i shall have to resign my post to you." "yes," said the boy to himself, "captain murray is quite right;" and he went straight to his friend's quarters, as he often did, to give him an account of his mother's state. "yes, sir," he said; "you were quite right: it would have killed her if i had gone away." "come, you are beginning to believe in me, frank. now i have some news for you." "about drew forbes?" cried frank eagerly. "no; i have made all the inquiries i can, but i can hear nothing of the poor fellow. his father is with yours; but the lad seems to have dropped out of sight, and i have my fears." "oh, don't say that," cried frank excitedly; "he was so young." "yes," said the captain grimly; "but in a fight young and old run equal chances, while in the exposure and suffering of forced marches the young and untried fare worse than the old and seasoned. drew forbes was a weak, girlish fellow, all brain and no muscle. i am in hopes, though, that he may have broken down, and be lying sick at some cottage or farmhouse." "hopes!" cried frank. "yes, he may get well with rest. better than being well and strong, and on his way to suffer by the rope or axe." frank shuddered. "now then," cried the captain sharply, to change the conversation; "you found my advice good?" "yes, yes," said frank. "then take some more. look here, frank; the doctor and i were talking about you last night, and he is growing very anxious. he said the blade was wearing out the scabbard, and that you were making an old man of yourself." "not a young one yet," said the boy, smiling sadly. "never mind that. you'll grow old soon enough. he says what i think, that you never go out, and that you will break down." "oh, absurd! i don't want exercise." for answer the captain clapped him on the shoulder, and twisted him round. "look at your white face in the glass, my boy. don't risk illness. you will want all your strength directly in the fight for life to come. your father will, in all probability, reach london to-morrow." "ah!" cried frank excitedly. "yes; we had news this morning by the messenger who brought the royal despatches. the colonel had a brief letter. get leave to go out to-morrow, and come with me." "yes, where?" "we'll try and meet the escort, and see your father, even if we cannot speak." "oh!" ejaculated frank; and, utterly worn out with anxiety and want of proper food, he reeled, a deathly feeling of sickness seized him, and his eyes closed. when he opened them again he was lying upon the captain's couch, with his temples and hair wet, and he looked wonderingly in the face of his father's friend. "better?" "yes; what is it? oh my head! the room's going round." "drink," said the captain. "that's better. it will soon go off." "but why did i turn like that?" "from weakness, lad. shall i send for the doctor?" "no, no," cried frank, struggling up into a sitting position. "i'm better now. how stupid of me!" "nature telling you she has been neglected, my lad. you have not eaten much lately?" "i couldn't." "nor slept well?" "horribly. i could only lie and think." "and you have not been outside the walls?" "no; i have felt ashamed to be seen, and as if people would look at me and say, `his father is one of the prisoners.'" "all signs of weakness, as the doctor would say. now you want to be strong enough to go with me to-morrow--mounted?" "of course." "then try and do something to make yourself fit. i shouldn't perhaps be able to catch you as i did just now if you fainted on horseback, and in a london crowd; for we should be under the wing of the troops sent to meet the prisoners coming in." "i shall be all right, sir," said the boy firmly. "go and have a walk in the fresh air, then, now." "must i?" said frank dismally. "if you wish to go with me." "where shall i go, then?" "anywhere; go and have a turn in the park." "what, go and walk up and down there, where people may know me!" "yes, let them. don't take any notice. try and amuse yourself. be a boy again, or a man if you like, and do as charles the second used to do: go and feed the ducks. well, what's the matter? there's no harm in feeding ducks, is there?" "oh no," said the boy confusedly; "i'll go;" and he hurried out. chapter thirty eight. feeding the ducks again. "go and feed the ducks," said frank to himself, as he obtained some biscuits, and, in his readiness to obey his elder's wishes, went slowly toward the water-side; "how little he knows what a deal that means;" and, almost unconsciously, he strolled on down to the side of the canal, thinking of mr george selby and drew, and of the various incidents connected with his walks out there, which, with the duel, seemed in his disturbed state of mind to have taken place years--instead of months-- ago, when he was a boy. he went slowly on, forgetting all about the biscuits, till he noticed that several of the water-fowl were swimming along, a few feet from the bank, and watching him with inquiring eyes. he stopped short, turned to face the water, which was sparkling brightly in the sunshine, and taking a biscuit out of his capacious "salt-box pocket," he began to break it in little bits and throw them to the birds. "ah, what a deal has happened since we were here doing this that day," thought the boy; and his mind went back to his first meeting with drew's father, the invitation to the dinner, and the scene that evening in the tavern. "please give me a bit, good gentleman," said a whining voice at his elbow. "i'm so hungry, please, sir. arn't had nothing since yes'day morning, sir." frank turned sharply, to see that a ragged-looking street boy, whom he had passed lying apparently asleep on the grass a few minutes before, was standing close by, hugging himself with his arms, and holding his rags as if to keep them from slipping off his shoulders. he wore a dismally battered cocked hat which was a size too large for him, and came down to his ears over his closely cropped hair. his shirt was dirty and ragged, and his breeches and shoes were of the most dilapidated character, the latter showing, through the gaping orifices in front, his dirty, mud-encrusted toes. frank saw all this at a glance; but the poor fellow's face took his attention most, for it was pitiable, thin, and careworn, and would have been white but for the dirt with which it was smudged. frank looked at him with sovereign contempt. "so hungry that you can't stoop down by the water's edge to wash your filthy face and hands, eh?" "wash, sir?" said the lad piteously; "what's the good? don't matter for such as me. you don't know." "miserable wretch!" thought frank; "what a horribly degraded state for a poor fellow to be in." then aloud: "here, which will you have--the biscuit or this?" he held out a coin that would have bought many biscuits in one hand, the broken piece in the other. "biscuit, please, gentleman," whined the lad. "i am so hungry, you don't know." "take both," said frank; and they were snatched from his hands. "oh, thank you, gentleman," whined the lad, as some one passed. "you don't know what trouble is;" and he began to devour the biscuit ravenously. "not know what trouble is!" cried frank scornfully. "do you think fine clothes will keep that out? oh, i don't know that i wouldn't change places with you, after all." "poor old laddie!" said the youth, looking at him in a peculiar way, and with his voice seeming changed by the biscuit in his mouth; "and i thought he was enjoying himself, and feeding the ducks, and not caring a bit." "what!" exclaimed frank wildly. "don't you know me, frank?" "drew!" "then the disguise is as right as can be. keep still. nonsense! don't try to shake hands. stand at a distance. there's no knowing who may be watching you. give me another biscuit. i am hungry, really. there, go on feeding the ducks. how useful they are. sort of co-conspirators, innocent as they look. i'll sit down behind you as if watching you, and i can talk when there's no one near." frank obeyed with his face working, and drew forbes threw himself on the grass once more. "drew, old fellow, you make me feel sick." "what, because i look such a dirty wretch?" "no, no. i'm ill and faint, and it's horrible to see you like this." "yes; not much of a macaroni now." "we--we were afraid you were dead." "no; but i had a narrow squeak for my life. i and two more officers escaped and rode for london. i only got here yesterday, dressed like this, hoping to see you; but you did not come out." "no; this is the first time i have been here since you left. how is the wound?" "oh, pooh! that's well enough. bit stiff, that's all. i say, is it all real?" "what?" "me being here dressed like this." "oh, it's horrible." "not it. better than being chopped short, or hung. i am glad you've come. i want to talk to you about your father and mine. they'll be in town to-morrow, i should say." "yes, i know. tell me, what are you going to do?" "do? we're going to raise the mob, have a big riot, and rescue them. i want to know what you can do to help." "we are trying to help in another way," said frank excitedly. "how?" "petitioning the king through the prince." "no good," said drew shortly. "there's no mercy to be had. our way is the best." "but tell me: you are in a terrible state--you want money." "no. we've plenty, and plenty of friends in town here. don't think we're beaten, my good fellow." frank's supply of biscuit came to an end, and to keep up appearances he began to delude the ducks by throwing in pebbles. "there's one of those spy fellows coming, frank," said drew suddenly. "don't look round, or take any notice." frank's heart began to beat, as he thrust his hand into his pocket, for his fingers to come in contact with one little fragment of biscuit passed over before, and, waiting till he heard steps close behind him, he threw the piece out some distance, and stood watching the rush made by the water-fowl, one conveying the bit off in triumph. frank searched in vain for more, and he was regretting that he had been so liberal in his use of the provender, and racking his brains for a means of keeping up the conversation without risk to his companion, when about half a biscuit fell at his feet, and he seized it eagerly. "he's pretty well out of hearing, frank; but speak low. i don't want to be taken. you'd better move on a bit, and stop again. i'll go off the other way after that spy, and work round and come back. you go and sit down a little way from the bushes yonder, and i'll creep in behind, and lie there, so as to talk to you. got a book?" "no," said frank sadly. "haven't you a pocket-book?" "oh yes." "well, that will do. take it out after you've sat down, and pretend to make a sketch of the trees across the water." "ah, i shouldn't have thought of that." "you would if you had been hunted as i have. there, don't look round. i'm off." "but if we don't meet again, drew? i want to do something to help you." "then do as i have told you," said the lad sharply; and he shuffled away, limping slightly, while, after standing as if watching the water-fowl for about ten minutes, and wondering the while whether he was being watched, frank strolled on very slowly in the opposite direction, making for a clump of trees and bushes about a couple of hundred yards away, feeling that this must be right, and upon reaching the end, going on about half its length, and then carelessly seating himself on the grass about ten feet from the nearest bush. after a short time, passed in wondering whether drew would be able to get hidden behind him unseen, he took out his pocket-book and pencil, and with trembling fingers began to sketch. fortunately he had taken lessons at the big hampshire school, and often received help from his mother, who was clever with her pencil, so that to give colour to his position there he went on drawing, a tiny reproduction of the landscape across the water slowly growing up beneath his pencil-point. but it was done almost unconsciously, for he was trembling with dread lest his object there should be divined and result in andrew being captured, now that a stricter watch than ever was kept about the surroundings of the palace. one moment he felt strong in the belief that no one could penetrate his old companion's disguise; the next he was shuddering in dread of what the consequences would be, and wishing that drew had not come. at the same time he was touched to the heart at the lad running such a risk when he had escaped to safety among his london friends. for drew had evidently assumed this pitiful disguise on purpose to come and see him. there could be no other object than that of trying to see his friend. would he be able to speak to him again? "i say, they're keeping a sharp look-out, franky," came from behind in a sharp whisper, making him start violently. "don't do that. go on sketching," whispered drew; and frank devoted himself at once to his book. "that fellow went on, and began talking to another. i saw him, but i don't think he saw me. i say, i shall have to go soon." "yes, yes; i want you to stay, drew, but pray, pray escape!" "why?" "because i wouldn't for worlds have you taken." there was a few moments' pause, and then drew spoke huskily. "thank ye," he said. "i was obliged to come and see you again. i wanted to tell you that i'm sorry i didn't shake hands with you, frank." "ah!--i'll slip back to where you are and shake hands now," cried the boy excitedly. "no, no; pray don't move. it's too risky; i don't want to be caught. i must be with those who are going to rescue my father and yours to-morrow.--think that you are shaking hands with me. now, there's my hand, old lad. that's right. yes, i can believe we have hold again. perhaps i shall never see you again, franky; perhaps i shall be taken. if i am, please think that i always looked upon you as a brother, and upon lady gowan as if i were her son." "yes, drew, yes, drew," whispered frank in a choking voice, as he bent over his open book. "give my love to dear lady gowan, and tell her how i feel for her in her great trouble." "yes, yes, i will," whispered frank, as he shaded away vigorously at his sketch, but making some curious hatchings. "tell her that there'll be a hundred good, true men making an effort to save sir robert to-morrow, and we'll do it. i'd like you to come and help, but you mustn't. it would be too mad." "no. i'll come," whispered the boy excitedly. "no, you will not come," said drew. "you can't, for you don't know when and where it will be." "then tell me," whispered frank, with his face very close to his paper. "i'd die first, old lad," came back. "lady gowan has suffered enough from what has happened. she shan't have another trouble through me. i tried to get you away; but i'm sorry now, for her sake. you stop and take care of her. your father said--" "yes, what did he say?" "he told me it was his only comfort in his troubles to feel that his son was at his mother's side." "ah!" sighed frank; and then he uttered a warning, "hist! some one coming;" and he gazed across the water and went on sketching, for he had suddenly become aware of some one coming from his left over the grass, and he trembled lest his words should have been heard, for every one now seemed likely to be a spy. it was hard work to keep from looking up, and to appear engrossed with his task; but he mastered the desire, even when he was conscious of the fresh-comer being close at hand, his shadow cast over the paper, and he knew that he was passing between him and the clump of shrubs. then whoever it was paused, and frank felt that he was looking down at the drawing, while the boy's heart went on thumping heavily. "he must have heard me speaking," he thought; and then he gave a violent start and looked up, for a voice said: "well done, young gentleman. quite an artist, i see." the speaker's face was strange, and he had keen, searching eyes, which seemed as if they were reading the boy's inmost thoughts as he faltered: "oh no, only a little bit of a sketch." then he started again, for there was the sound of a blow delivered by a stick, a sharp cry, a scuffle, and drew bounded out from the bushes, followed by frank's old enemy whom he had trapped at the house. but drew would have escaped if it had not been for the stranger, who, acting in collusion with bagot, caught the lad by the arm and held him. frank had sprung to his feet, to stand white and trembling, and drew sword ready to interfere on behalf of his old companion, who, however, began to act his part admirably. "don't you hit me," he whined; "don't you hit me." "you young whelp!" cried bagot. "what are you doing here?" "i dunno," whined drew. "must go somewheres. only came to lie down and have a snooze." "a lie, sir, a lie. i've had my eye upon you for hours. i saw you here last night." "that you didn't, sir. it was too cold, and i went away 'fore eight o'clock." "lucky for you that you did, or you'd have found yourself in the round house." "don't you hit me; don't you hit me," cried drew, writhing. "i'll cut you to pieces," snarled bagot. "i watched him," he continued to the man who held the lad in a firm grip in spite of his struggles to get away. "he was sneaking up to this young gentleman, begging and trying to pick his pocket." "that i wasn't," whined drew. "i was orfle 'ungry, and he was pitching away cake things to the ducks. i only arksed for a bit because i was so 'ungry--didn't i, sir?" "yes," said frank hoarsely. "i gave him a biscuit." "then what's this?" said the man who held him, wrenching open drew's hand, in spite of a great show of resistance, and seizing a shilling. "you managed to rob him, then." "no, no," said frank. "i gave him the money." that disarmed suspicion. "but he'd sneaked round behind you. i watched him, and found him here where he had crawled, and lay pretending to be asleep. i wager you had not seen him." "no," said frank sharply. "i had not seen him since he came up to beg;" and the boy drew a breath of relief, for he had shivered with the dread that the man was going to ask him if he knew that drew was there. "better take your shilling back, sir," said the man. "i? no," said frank proudly. "let the poor, shivering wretch go. he wants it badly enough." "then thank your stars the young gentleman speaks for you," said bagot sharply. "off with you, and don't you show your face this way again." "don't you hit me then," whimpered drew. "don't you hit me;" and he limped off, repeating the words as he went, while frank stood looking after him, feeling as if he could not stir a step. "that was a clever trick of yours, young gentleman," said bagot, with a broad grin. "but i don't bear any malice. king's service, sir. you see, i can take care of you as well as watch." "yes. thank you," said frank coldly; and with a sigh of relief he tore the leaf bearing the sketch out of his pocket-book, and then turned cold, for he felt that he had made a false move. the other man was watching him. "spoiled my sketch," he said, with a half laugh. "made me start so that my pencil went right across it." fortunately this was quite true, and it carried conviction. "don't tear it up, sir," said the second man respectfully. "i should like to take that home to please my little girl. she'd know the place. she often comes to feed the ducks." the man was human, then, after all, even if he was a spy, and frank's heart softened to him a little as he gave him the sketch. "thank ye, sir," said the man, who looked pleased; and the lad stopped and listened to him, feeling that it was giving drew time to get away. "i can tell her i saw a young gentleman drawing it. she's quite clever with her pencil, sir; but she can't, of course, touch this." frank hesitated for a few moments as to which way he should go, inclination drawing him after his friend; but wisdom suggested the other direction, and he strolled off without looking back till he could do so in safety, making the excuse of throwing in the remains of the biscuit drew had returned to the ducks. he had been longing intensely to look back before and see if the men were following his friend; but to his great relief he found that they were not very far from where he now stood. then he walked quietly back toward the palace gates with his head beginning to buzz with excitement at the news he had heard. "they're going to rescue him to-morrow," he thought. "ought i to tell captain murray? no; impossible. he might feel that it was his duty to warn the king. it would be giving him a task to fight against duty and friendship. i dare not even tell my mother, for fear the excitement might do her harm. no, i must keep it to myself, and i shall be there--i shall be there." he did not see where he was going, for in his imagination he was on horseback, looking on at a mighty, seething crowd making a bold rush at the cavalry escort round some carriages. but he was brought to himself directly after by a bluff voice saying: "don't run over me, frank, my lad. but that's right; the walk has brought some colour into your cheeks." the colour deepened, as the speaker went on: "i've arranged for a quiet horse to be ready with mine, my lad, and i have a good hint or two as to where we ought to go so as to be in the route. it will not be till close on dusk, though." "oh, if i could tell exactly the way they will come, and the time, and let drew know, it might mean saving my father's life," thought frank. "i must tell captain murray then. "no, it would not do," he mused; "for if i did, he would not move an inch. how to get the news, and go and find drew! but where? ah! i might hear of him from some one at the tavern where they have that club." "why, frank lad, what are you thinking about?" said the captain. "i've been talking to you for ever so long, and you don't answer." "oh, captain murray," said the boy sadly, "you must know." "yes, my lad," said the captain sadly, "of course i know." chapter thirty nine. at the last moment. there was not much sleep for the boy that night, for he was in the horns of a terrible dilemma. what should he do? he turned from side to side of his bed, trying to argue the matter out, till his father's fate, his duty to the king and prince, the natural desire to help, his love for his mother, captain murray and his duty to the king and friendship for his brother-officer and companion, were jumbled up in an inextricable tangle with drew forbes and the attempt at rescue. "oh!" he groaned, as day broke and found him still tossing restlessly upon his pillow; "i often used to tell poor drew that he was going mad. i feel as if i were already gone, for my head won't work. i can't think straight, just too when i want to be perfectly clear, and able to make my plans." it would have prostrated a cleverer and more calculating brain than frank's--one of those wonderful minds which can see an intricate game of chess right forward, the player's own and his adversary's moves in attack or defence--to have calmly mapped out the proper course for the lad through the rocks, shoals, and quicksands which beset his path. as it happened, all his mental struggles proved to be in vain; for, as is frequently the case in life, the maze of difficulties shaped themselves into a broad, even path, along which the boy travelled till the exciting times were past. to begin with, nature knew when the brain would bear no more; and just at sunrise, when frank had tried to nerve himself for a fresh struggle by plunging face and a good portion of his head into cold water previous to having a good brisk rub, and then lain down to think out his difficulty once more, unconsciously choosing the best attitude for clear thought, a calm and restful sensation stole over him. one moment he was gazing at the bright light stealing in beside his blind; the next he was in profound mental darkness, wrapped in a deep, restful slumber, which lasted till nearly ten o'clock, when he was aroused by a knocking at his door, and leaped out of bed, confused and puzzled, unable for a few moments to collect his thoughts into a focus and grasp what it meant. "yes," he said at last. "what is it?" "will you make haste and go across to lady gowan's apartments, sir?" said a voice. "she has been very ill all night, and wishes to see you." "oh!" groaned frank to himself. then aloud: "yes; come over directly." he began to dress rapidly, with all the troubles of the night magnified and made worse by the mental lens of reproach through which he was looking at his conduct. "how can i be such a miserable, thoughtless wretch!" he thought. "how could i neglect everything which might have helped to save my poor father for the sake of grovelling here, and all the time my mother ill, perhaps dying, while i slept, not seeming to care a bit!" he had a few minutes of hard time beneath the unsparing lashes he mentally applied to himself as he was dressing; and then, ready to sink beneath his load of care, and feeling the while that he ought to have obtained from captain murray the route the prisoners would take, and then have found drew forbes and told him, so as to render the attempt at rescue easier, he hurried across the first court, and then into the lesser one to his mother's apartments. "the doctor's with her, sir," whispered the maid. "how is she now?" asked frank. "dreadfully bad, sir. pray make haste to her; she asked for you again when the doctor came." frank hurried up, to find the quiet physician who attended her and a nurse in the room, while the patient lay with her eyes looking dim, and two hectic spots in her thin cheeks, gazing anxiously at the door. a faint smile of recognition came upon her lips, and she raised one hand to her son, and laid it upon his head as he sank upon his knees by the bedside. "oh, mother darling!" he whispered, in a choking voice, "forgive me for not coming before." she half closed her eyes, and made a movement of the lips for him to kiss her. then her eyes closed, as she breathed a weary sigh. frank turned in horror to the physician, who bent down and whispered to him. "don't be alarmed; it is sleep. she has, i find, been in a terribly excited state, and i have been compelled to administer a strong sedative. she will be calmer when she wakes. sleep is everything now." "you are not deceiving me, sir?" whispered frank. "no. that is the simple truth," replied the physician, very firmly. "your mother may wake at any time; but i hope many hours will first elapse. i find that she has expressed an intense longing for you to come to her side, and, as you saw, she recognised you." "oh yes, she knew me," said frank eagerly. "but pray tell me--she is not dying?" "lady gowan is in a very serious condition," replied the doctor; "but i hope she will recover, and--" "yes, yes; pray speak out to me, sir," pleaded the boy. "her ailment is almost entirely mental; and if the news can be brought to her that the king will show mercy to her husband, i believe that her recovery would be certain." "then you think i ought to go at once and try to save my father?" "no," said the physician gravely. "i know all the circumstances of the case. you can do no good by going. leave that to your friends--those high in position. your place is here. whenever lady gowan wakes, she must find you at her bedside. there, i will leave you now. absolute quiet, mind. sleep is the great thing. i will come in again in about three hours. the nurse knows what to do." the physician went out silently, and frank seated himself by his mother's pillow, to hold the thin hand which feebly clung to his and watch her, thinking the while of how his difficulties had been solved by these last orders, which bound him there like the endorsement of his father's commands to stay by and watch over his mother. he could think clearly now, and see that much of that which he had desired to do was impossible. even if he had set one duty aside, that to the prince, his master, and let his love for and desire to save his father carry all before them, he could see plainly enough that it was not likely that he would have found drew forbes. a visit to the tavern club would certainly have resulted in finding that the occupants were dispersed and the place watched by spies. then, even if he had found drew, wherever he and his friends were hiding, it was not likely that they would have altered their plans for any information which he could give them. everything would have been fixed as they thought best, and no change would have been made. clearer still came the thought that he had no information to give them further than that the prisoners would probably be brought into london that evening, which way captain murray might know, but he would never depart from his duty so far as to supply the information that it might be conveyed to the king's enemies. he was too loyal for that, gladly as he would strive to save his friend. it was then with a feeling of relief that frank sat there by his mother's bed, holding her hand, and thinking that he could do no more, while upon the nurse whispering to him that she would be in the next room if wanted, and leaving him alone, he once more sank upon his knees to rest his head against the bed, and prayed long and fervently in no tutored words, but in those which gushed naturally and simply from his breast, that the lives of those he loved might be spared and the terrible tribulation of the present times might pass away. hour after hour passed, and the nurse came in and out softly from time to time, nodding to the watcher and smiling her satisfaction at finding her patient still plunged in a sleep, which, as the day went on, grew more and more profound. then when alone frank's thoughts went wandering away along the great north road by which the prisoners must be slowly approaching london, to find their fate. and at such times his thoughts were busy about his mother's friends. what were they doing to try and save his father? then his thoughts went like a flash to his meeting with drew the day before; and his words came full of hope, and sent a feeling of elation through him. the rebels were not beaten, as drew had said, and there was no doubt about their making a brave effort to rescue the prisoners before they were shut up in gaol. and in imagination frank built up what would in all probability be done. small parties of the jacobites would form in different places, and with arms hidden gradually converge upon some chosen spot which the prisoners with their escort must pass. then at a given signal an attack would be made. the escort would be of course very strong; but the jacobites would be stronger, and in all probability the mob, always ready for a disturbance, would feel sympathy with the unfortunate prisoners, and help the attacking party, or at least join in checking the guards, resenting their forcing their horses through the crowd which would have gathered; so that the prospects looked very bright in that direction, and the boy felt more and more hopeful. twice over the servant came to the door to tell the watcher that first breakfast, and then lunch, was waiting for him in the room below; but he would not leave the bedside, taking from sheer necessity what was brought to him, and then resuming his watch. the physician came at the end of three hours as he had promised, but stayed only a few minutes. "exactly what i wished," he said. "go on watching and keeping her quiet, and don't be alarmed if she sleeps for many hours yet. i will come in again this afternoon." frank resumed his seat by the bed, and then hastily pencilled a few lines to captain murray, telling him that it would be impossible to leave the bedside, and sent the note across by the servant, who brought a reply back. it was very curt and abrupt. "of course. i see your position. sorry, for i should have liked him to see you." the note stung frank to the quick. "he thinks i am trying to excuse myself, when i would give the world to go with him," he muttered. a glance at the pale face upon the pillow took off some of the bitterness, though, and he resumed his watch while the hours glided by. at four the physician came again. "not awake?" he said; and he touched his patient's pulse lightly, and then softly raised one of lady gowan's eyelids, and examined the pupil. "nature is helping us, mr gowan," he said softly. "but she ought to have awoke by now, sir?" "i expected that she would have done so; but nothing could be better. she is extremely weak, and if she could sleep like this till to-morrow her brain would be rested from the terrible anxiety from which she is suffering. i will look in once more this evening." frank was alone again with his charge, and another hour passed, during which the lad dwelt upon the plans that had been made, and calculated that captain murray must be about starting on his mission to meet the escort bringing in the prisoners. and as this idea came to him, frank sat with his head resting upon his hands, his elbows upon his knees, trying hard to master the bitter sense of disappointment that afflicted him. "and he will be looking from the carriage window to right and left, trying to make out whether i am there!" he groaned. "oh, it seems cruel--cruel! and he will not know why i have not come." but one gleam of hope came here. captain murray might find an opportunity to speak with the prisoner, and he would tell him that his son was watching by his suffering mother. "he will know why i have not come then," frank said softly; and after an impatient glance at the clock, he began again to think of drew and his plans for the rescue. but now, in the face of the precautions which would be taken, this seemed to be a wildly chimerical scheme, one which was not likely to succeed, and he shook his head sadly as a feeling of despair began to close him in like a dark cloud. he was at his worst, feeling more and more hopeless, as he sat there, with his face buried in his fingers, when a hand was lightly placed upon his head, and starting up it was to find that his mother was awake, and gazing wistfully at him. he bent over her, and her arms clasped his neck. "my boy! my boy!" she said faintly; and she drew him to her breast, to hold him there for some moments before saying quickly: "have i slept long, dear?" "yes, ever since morning, mother." "what time is it?" "about half-past five." "all that time?" she said excitedly. "he must be near now. frank, my boy, the prisoners were to reach london soon after dark." "yes, mother, i know," he said, looking at her wistfully, as he held her hand now to his cheek. "is there any news?" "no, mother, none." "oh," she moaned, "this terrible suspense! frank, my darling, you must not stay here. have you been with me all the time i have been asleep?" "yes, mother, all. you asked for me." "yes, my darling, in my selfishness; but you ought to go and get the latest tidings. frank, it is your duty to be there when your father reaches this weary city. he ought not to be looking in vain for one of those he loves. you must go at once. do you hear me? it is your duty." "the doctor said it was my duty to watch by you," said frank, with his heart beating fast, as he wondered whether captain murray had gone. "with me? oh, what am i, if your being where he could see you, if only for a moment, would give him comfort in his sore distress!" "i was going, mother," whispered the boy excitedly. "captain murray was going to let me be with him, and he as an officer would have been able to take me right up to the escort." "then why are you here? oh, go--go at once!" "i was to stay with you, mother, so that you might see me when you awoke," he said huskily, the intense longing to go struggling with the desire to stay. "yes, yes, and i have seen you; but i am nothing if we can contrive to give him rest. go, then, at once." "but you are not fit to be left." "i shall not be left," she said firmly. "quick, frank. you are increasing my agony every moment that you stay. oh, my boy, pray, pray go, and then come back and tell me that you have seen him. go. take no refusal; fight for a position near him if you cannot get there by praying, and tell him how we are suffering for his sake--how we love him, and are striving to save him. oh, and i keep you while i am talking, and he must be very near! quick! kiss me once and go, and i will lie here and pray that you may succeed." "you wish it--you command me to go, mother?" he panted. "yes, yes, my boy," she cried eagerly; and he bent down over her, pressed his lips to hers, and darted to the door. "nurse, nurse!" he said hoarsely, "come and stay with my mother." then to himself as he rushed down the stairs: "too late--too late! he must have gone." chapter forty. on the great north road. the heavy, leaden feeling of despair and disappointment increased as frank gowan ran across the courtyard, feeling that it was useless to expect to find captain murray, but making for his quarters in the faint hope that he might have been detained, and cudgelling his brains as he ran, to try and find a means of learning the route that the escort would take, so that he might even then try and intercept the prisoners' carriages. but no idea, not the faintest gleam of a way out of his difficulty helped him; and he felt ready to fling himself down in his misery and despair, as he reached the officers' quarters. it was like a mockery to him in his agony to see the sentry, who recognised him, draw himself up, and present arms to his old captain's son, and it checked the question he would have asked the man as to when captain murray had passed, for he could not speak. "i must see if he is here," he thought, as he ran up the stairs to the room which had been his prison; and turning the handle of the door, he rushed in and uttered a groan, for the room was, as he had anticipated, empty. but the bedroom door was closed, and he darted to that and flung it open. "gone! gone! gone!" he groaned. "what shall i do? will they take him to the tower?" he knew that there was no saying what might be the destination of the prisoners; but he rushed back to the staircase, meaning to go straight to the tower by some means, and then he stopped short and uttered a half hysterical cry, for there was captain murray ascending the stairs. "not gone?" he cried. "no; but i am just off. i wish you could have gone with me, frank. it would have done your poor father good." "i am going. she wishes it, and sends me." "hah! quick, then. back to your room." "oh, i'm ready," cried the boy. "nonsense! we are going to ride. your boots and sword, boy. i'll lend you a military cloak." "but it will be losing time," panted frank. "it will be gaining it, my boy. you cannot go through a london mob like that. you are going to ride with soldiers, and you must not look like a page at a levee. quick!" "you will wait for me?" "of course." frank ran to his rooms, drew on his high horseman's boots, buckled on his sword, which had been returned to him, and ran back to where captain murray was waiting for him with a cloak over his arm. "no spurs?" he said. "never mind. you will have a well-trained horse. i have got passes for two, frank; and, as it happens, i know the officer of the horse guards who is in command of the detachment going to meet the escort, so that we can get close up to the prisoners. let's see: you do ride?" "oh yes; my father taught me long ago, anything--bare-backed often enough." "good. i am glad, boy. it was sorry work going without you. but i know why it was. walk quickly; no time to lose." he hurried his companion to the stables of the horse guards, where a couple of the men were waiting, and a horse was ready saddled. "quick!" he said to the men. "i shall want the second charger, after all." it was rapidly growing dark, and one man lit a lanthorn, while the other clapped the bit between the teeth of a handsome black horse, turned the docile creature in its stall, and then slipped on a heavy military saddle with its high-peak holsters and curb-bit. five minutes after they were mounted and making for charing cross. "which way are we going?" asked frank, whose excitement increased to a feeling of wild exhilaration, as he felt the beautifully elastic creature between his knees, with a sensation of participating in its strength, and being where he would have a hundred times the chance of getting to speak to his father. "up north," said the captain abruptly. "north? why not east? they will take him to the tower." "no. steady horse. walk, walk! hold yours in, boy. we must go at a slow pace till we get to the top of the lane." the horses settled down to their walk, almost keeping pace for pace, as the captain said quietly: "i have got all the information i required. no, they will not take the prisoners to the tower, but to newgate." "newgate?" cried frank; "why, that is where the thieves and murderers go." "yes," said the captain abruptly. "look here, frank. they are not to reach the prison till nine, so we have plenty of time to get some distance out. they will come in by the north road, and i don't think we can miss them." "why risk passing them?" said frank. "because, if we intercept the escort on the great north road somewhere beyond highgate, you will be able to ride back near the carriage in which your father is, and, even if you cannot speak to him, you will see him, and be seen." "but it will be horrible; i shall look like one of the soldiers guarding him to his cell." "never mind what you look like, so long as your father sees that he is not forgotten by those who love him." the captain ceased speaking, and their horses picked their way over the stones, their hoofs clattering loudly, and making the people they passed turn to stare after the two military-looking cavaliers in cocked hat and horseman's cloak, and with the lower parts of their scabbards seen below to show that they were well armed. saint martin's church clock pointed to seven as they rode by; and then, well acquainted with the way, the captain made for the north-east, breaking into a trot as they reached the open street where the traffic was small, frank's well-trained horse keeping step with its stable companion; and by the shortest cuts that could be made they reached islington without seeing a sign of any unusual excitement, so well had the secret been kept of the coming of the prisoners that night. "not much sign of a crowd to meet them, frank," said the captain, as they went now at a steady trot along the upper road. "pretty good proof that we are in time." "why, what is a good sign?" asked frank. "so few people about. if the prisoners and their escort had passed, half islington would have been out gossiping at their doors." "suppose they have come some other way?" "not likely. this was to be their route, and at half-past eight two troops of horse guards will march up the road to meet the escort at islington. that will bring out the crowd." frank winced as if he had suddenly felt the prick of a knife, so sharp was the spasm which ran through him. for the moment he had quite forgotten the prospect of an attempt at rescue; now the mention of the soldiery coming to meet the unhappy prisoners and strengthen the escort brought all back, and with it the questioning thought: "would drew's friends make the venture when so strong a force would be there?" "no--yes--no--yes," his heart seemed to beat; then the rattle of the horses' hoofs took it up--no, yes, no, yes; and now it seemed to be the time to tell captain murray of the attempt that was to be made, or rather that was planned. "and if i tell him he will feel that it is his duty as a soldier to warn the officer in command of the escort, and he will take them at a sharp trot round by some other way. oh, i can't tell him! it would be like robbing my father of his last chance." frank felt more and more that his lips were sealed; and as to the danger which murray would incur--well, he was a soldier well mounted, and he must run the risk. "as i shall," thought frank. "it will be no worse for him than for me. it is not as if i were going to try and save myself. i'll stand by him, weak boy as i am. or no; shall i not be escaping with my father?" he shook his head the next moment, and felt that he could not be of the rescuing party. he must still be the prince's page, and return to the palace to bear his mother the news of the escape. "for he will--he must escape," thought the boy. "drew's friends will be out in force to-night, and i shall be able to go back and tell her that he is safe." as they rode on through the pleasant dark night frank thought more of the peril into which his companion was going, and hesitated about telling him, so that he might be warned; but again he shrank from speaking, for fear that it might mean disaster to drew's projects. "and he has his father to save as well as mine. i can't warn him," he concluded. "i run the risk as well as he." he felt better satisfied the next minute, as he glanced sidewise at the bold, manly bearing of the captain, mounted on the splendid, well-trained charger. "captain murray can take care of himself," he thought; and the feelings which were shut within his breast grew into a sensation of excitement that was almost pleasurable. "quite countrified out here, frank," said the captain suddenly, as the road began to ascend; and after passing highbury the houses grew scarce, being for the most part citizens' mansions. "don't be down-hearted, my lad. the law is very curious. it is a strong castle for our defence, but full of loopholes by which a man may escape." "escape?" cried frank excitedly. "you think he may escape?" "i hope so, and i'd give something now if my oaths were not taken, and i could do something in the way of striking a blow for your father's liberty." for a few minutes the boy felt eagerly ready to confess all he knew; but the words which had raised the desire served also to check it. "if my oaths were not taken," captain murray had said; and he was the very soul of honour, and would not break his allegiance to his king. "my father did," thought the boy sadly. then he brightened. "no," he thought, "the king broke it, and set him free by banishing him from his service." "how do you get on with your horse, lad?--walk." the horses changed their pace at the word. the hill was getting steep. "oh, i get on capitally. it's like sitting in an easy-chair. i haven't been on a horse for a year." "then you learned to ride well, frank. find the advantage of having your boots, though. fancy a ride like this in silk stockings and shoes!--you ought to go into the cavalry some day." frank sighed. "bah! don't look at the future as being all black, boy. stick to hope, the lady who carries the anchor. one never knows what may turn up." "no, one never knows what may turn up," cried the boy excitedly; and then he checked himself in dread lest his companion should read his thoughts respecting the rescue. but the captain's next words set him at rest. "that's right, my lad. try and keep a stout heart. steep hill this. do you know where we are?" "only that we are on the great north road." "yes. when we are on the top of this hill, we shall be in the village of highgate; and if it was daylight, we could see all london if we looked back, and the country right away if we looked forward. i propose to stop at the top of the hill and wait." "yes," said frank eagerly. "perhaps go on for a quarter of a mile, so as to be where we are not observed." the horses were kept at a walking pace till the village was reached, and here a gate was stretched across, and a man came out to take the toll, frank noticing that he examined them keenly by the light of a lanthorn. "any one passed lately--horsemen and carriages?" said the captain quietly. the man chuckled. "yes, a couple of your kidney," said the man. "you're too late." a pang shot through frank, and he leaned forward. "too late? what do you mean, sir?" cried the captain sharply; and, as he spoke, he threw back his horseman's cloak, showing his uniform slightly. "oh, i beg your worships' pardon. i took you for gentlemen of the road." "what, highwaymen?" "yes, sir. a couple of them went by not ten minutes ago. but i don't suppose they'll try to stop you. they don't like catching tartars. be as well to have your pistols handy, though." "thank you for the hint," said the captain, and they rode on. "what do you say, frank?" said the captain. "shall we go any farther? it would be an awkward experience for you if we were stopped by highwaymen. shall we stop?" "oh, we cannot stop to think about men like that," said frank excitedly. "not afraid, then?" "i'm afraid we shall not meet the prisoners," said the boy sadly. "forward, then. but unfasten the cover of your holsters. you will find loaded pistols there, and can take one out if we are stopped--i mean if any one tries to stop us. but," he added grimly, "i don't think any one will." at another time it would have set the boy trembling with excitement; but his mind was too full of the object of their expedition, and as the horses paced on the warning about the gentlemen who infested the main roads in those days was forgotten, so that a few minutes later it came as a surprise to the boy when a couple of horsemen suddenly appeared from beneath a clump of trees by the roadside, came into the middle of the road, and barred their way. "realm?" said one of the men sharply. "keep off, or i fire," cried captain murray. the two mounted men reined back on the instant, and, pistol in hand, the captain and frank went on at a walk. "i don't think--nay, i'm sure--that those men are not on the road, frank," said the captain quietly. "that was a password. _realm_. can they be friends of the prisoners sent forward as scouts?" "do you think so?" said frank. "yes," replied the captain thoughtfully; "and if they are, we are quite right. the prisoners have not passed, and i should not wonder if there were an attempt made to rescue them before they reach town." frank's head began to buzz, and he nipped his horse so tightly that the animal broke into a trot. "steady! walk," cried the captain; and the next minute he drew rein, to sit peering forward into the darkness, listening for the tramp of horses, which ought to have been heard for a mile or two upon so still a night. "can't hear them," he said in a disappointed tone. "but we will not go any farther." at that moment frank's horse uttered a loud challenging neigh, which was answered from about a hundred yards off, and this was followed by another, and another farther away still. "there they are," said the captain, "halting for a rest to the horses before trotting down. forward!" they advanced again; but had not gone far before figures were dimly seen in the road, and directly after a stern voice bade them halt. the captain replied with a few brief words, and they rode forward, to find themselves facing a vedette of dragoons, a couple of whom escorted them to where, upon an open space, in the middle of which was a pond, a strong body of cavalry was halted, the greater part of the men dismounted; but about twenty men were mounted, and sat with drawn swords, surrounding a couple of carriages, each with four horses-- artillery teams--and the drivers in their places ready to start at a moment's notice. chapter forty one. the attempt at rescue. frank's eyes took all this in, and then turned dim with the emotion he felt, and for a few moments everything seemed to swim round him. his horse, however, needed no guiding; it kept pace with its companion, and the lad's emotional feeling passed off as he found himself in presence of the officer in command of the escort and his subordinates, a warm greeting taking place between captain murray and the principal officer, an old friend. "don't seem regular, murray; but with this note from the prince, i suppose i shall be held clear if you have come to help the prisoners escape," said the officer lightly. "escape!" said captain murray sharply. "no, no; nonsense, old fellow," said the dragoon officer merrily. "of course i was bantering you." "yes, i know," said captain murray quickly; "but we were stopped by a couple of mounted men a quarter of a mile back." "highway men?" "i thought so at first; but they challenged us for a password." "well! these fellows work hand and glove." "no," said captain murray, "i feel sure they were scouts, ridden forward to get touch with you, and then go back and give warning." "what for? whom to? you don't think it means an attempt to rescue?" "i do," said murray firmly. "thanks for the warning, old fellow," said the officer through his teeth. "well, mine are picked men, and my instructions are that a strong detachment will be sent out to meet us, and vedettes planted all along the road, to fall in behind us as we pass. pity too. what madness!" frank's heart sank as he heard every word, while his attention was divided between the two dark carriages with their windows drawn up, and he sat wondering which held his father. "yes, madness," said the captain sadly. "i shall be very glad when my job's at an end," said the dragoon officer. "it's miserable work." "horrible!" replied murray; and then he turned to frank. "hold my rein for a few moments," he said; and, dismounting, he walked away with the officers, to stand talking for a few minutes, while, as frank sat holding his companion's horse, and watching the well-guarded carriages, a distant neigh and the stamping of horses told of a strong detachment guarding the rear. "if i only dared ride up to the carriages," thought the boy; and he felt that he did dare, only that it would be useless, for without permission the dragoons would not let him pass. but a light broke through the mental darkness of despair directly, for murray came back with the officer in command, a stern, severe-looking man, but whose harsh, commanding voice softened a little as he laid one hand on the horse's neck, and held out his other to the rider. "i did not know who you were, mr gowan. my old friend, captain murray, has just told me. shake hands, my lad. i am glad to know the brave son of a gallant soldier. don't think hardly of me for doing my duty sternly as a military man should. i ought perhaps to send you both back," he continued in a low tone; "but if you and captain murray like to ride by the door of the first carriage, you can, and i will instruct the officer and men not to hinder any reasonable amount of conversation that may be held." "god bless you!" whispered frank, in a choking voice. "oh, don't say anything, my boy. only give me your word, not as a soldier, but as a soldier's son, that you will do nothing to help either of the prisoners to escape." "yes, i give you my word," said frank quickly. he would have given anything to be near his father and speak to him for a few minutes. "that will do.--murray, we shall go on at a sharp trot; but you are both well mounted, i see." then he said in an undertone: "i don't believe they will venture anything when they see how strong we are. if the rascals do, i shall make a dash, standing at nothing; but at the first threatenings get the boy away. my instructions are that the prisoners are not to escape--_alive_!" "i understand," said captain murray; and he mounted his horse. the next minute an order was given in a low tone; it was passed on, and the men sprang to their saddles. then another order, "draw swords!" there was a single note from a trumpet; and as frank and captain murray sat ready, the officer in command led them himself, and placed one at each door of the first carriage, a dragoon easing off to right and left to make place for them. frank's hand was on the glass directly, and the window was let down. "father!" he cried in a low, deep voice, which was nearly drowned by the trampling, crashing of wheels, and jingle of accoutrements, but heard within; and it was answered by a faint cry of astonishment, and the rattle of fetters, as two hands linked together appeared at the window. "frank, my dear boy! you here?" the boy could not answer, but leaned over toward the carriage with his hand grasped between his father's. "hah! this is a welcome home!" cried sir robert cheerily. "gentlemen, my son." "there's captain murray at the other window," gasped out frank at last. "ah! more good news," said sir robert. "murray, my dear old fellow, this is good of you." the prisoner's voice sounded husky, as he turned his head to the right in the darkness. "i can't shake hands even if you wished to, for we are doubly fettered now." "gowan, i'm glad to meet you again," said the captain hoarsely. "god bless you, old friend! i know you are. i see now; you brought frank here to meet me. like you, old fellow. there, i cannot talk to you. but you know what i feel." "yes. talk to your boy," cried murray. "quick, while you can. the order to trot will come directly." "yes. thanks," said sir robert; and he turned back to his son, who clung to his hands. "quick, frank boy. your mother--well?" "very, very ill. heart-broken." "hah!" groaned sir robert. "but, father, these handcuffs? surely you are not--" "yes, yes. i'm a dangerous fellow now, my boy. we are all chained hand and foot like the worst of criminals, my friends and i." "oh!" groaned frank. "bah! only iron," said sir robert bitterly. "never mind them now. tell me of your mother. are you still at the palace?" "yes; the princess--the prince--will not hear of our leaving, and--" then a note from a trumpet rang out, the horses sprang forward at a sharp trot, and the dragoon on frank's left changed his sword to his left hand, so as to place his right on the rein of the boy's charger, though it was hardly needed, the well-trained horse bearing off a little to avoid injury from the wheel, but keeping level with the window, so that from time to time, though conversation was impossible, father and son managed to bridge the space between them and touch hands. it was fortunate for the lad that he was mounted upon a trained cavalry charger, for he had nothing to do but keep his seat, his mount settling down at once to the steady military trot side by side with the horse next to it, and keeping well in its distance behind the horse in front, so that the rider was able to devote all his attention to the occupant of the carriage, who leaned forward with his head framed in the darkness of the window, as if pictured in the sight of his son, possibly for the last time, for in those hours sir robert gowan had not the slightest doubt as to what his fate would be. on his side, frank sat in his saddle watching his father's dimly seen face, but ready to start and glance in any direction from which a fresh sound was heard. the first time was on reaching the turnpike gate, where the toll-taker seemed disposed to hesitate about letting the advance guard pass. the result was an outcry, which sent frank's heart with a leap toward his lips, for he felt certain that the attack had commenced. but the foremost men dismounted, seized the gate, lifted it off its hook hinges, and cast it aside, the troops and carriages thundered through, and made the people of highgate village come trooping out in wonder to see what this invasion of their quiet meant. then the descent of the hill commenced, with the heavy old-fashioned carriages swaying on their c-springs; but no slackening of speed took place, and the artillerymen hurried their horses along, as if the load they drew were some heavy gun or a waggon full of ammunition. twice over frank gazed at the foremost carriage in alarm, so nearly was it upset in one of the ruts of the ill-kept road; but the rate at which they were going saved it, and they thundered along without accident to where the gradient grew less steep. there was very little traffic on the road at that time of the night, and not many people about, while before those who were startled by the noise of the passing troops had time to come out the prisoners had gone by. holloway and highbury were passed, and islington reached, but no sign of an attempt at rescue caught frank's anxious eyes; neither was there any appearance of fresh troops till the head of the escort turned down the road which entered the city at the west end of cheapside. but here the boy started, for they passed between two outposts, a couple of dragoons facing them on either side of the road, sitting like statues till the whole of the escort had passed, when they turned in after it, four abreast, and brought up the rear, but some distance in front of the rear guard. at the end of another fifty yards two more couples were seen, and at the end of every similar interval four more dragoons turned in at the rear, strengthening the escort, while it was evident that they had previously cleared the road of all vehicles, turning them into the neighbouring ways, so that the cortege was enabled to continue its progress at the same steady military trot as they had commenced with on leaving highgate. again and again frank, now growing breathless, had hoped that the walking pace would once more be renewed, so as to afford him a chance to speak to his father; but he wished in vain, for, except at two sharp turnings, the whole body of dragoons swept along at the sharp trot, and without change, saving that as london was neared the men flanking the carriages were doubled. but though no sign of rescue caught frank's eyes, he saw that the stationing of the dragoons to keep the way and the turning of the traffic out of the road had had their effect; for at every step the collection of people along the sides and at the windows increased, till, when the road changed to a busy london street, there was quite a crowd lining the sides. "there will be no rescue," sighed the lad; and he turned from sweeping the sides of the street to gaze sadly at his father, whose face he could now see pretty plainly, as they passed one of the dismal street lamps which pretended in those days to light the way. he could see that, brief as the time had been since he last saw his father, his countenance had sadly altered. there was a stern, careworn look in his eyes, and he looked older, and as if he had been exposed to terrible hardships. he noted too that he did not seem to have had the opportunity given him of attending to his person, but had been treated with the greatest of severity. the lad's gloomy musings on the aspect of the face which beamed lovingly upon him, the eyes seeming to say, "don't be down-hearted, boy!" were suddenly brought to an end by a check in their progress, for the advance guard, from being a hundred yards ahead, had by degrees shortened the space to fifty, twenty, and ten yards, and finally was only the front of the column. but still they had advanced at a trot, and the officer in command sent orders twice over for the vanguard to increase their distance. "tell him i can't," said the officer in front. "it can only be done by riding over the people." and now the men stationed to keep the way had utterly failed, the people having crowded in from the side streets north of saint martin's-le-grand till the pairs of dragoons were hemmed in, and in spite of several encounters with the crowd they were forced to remain stationary. the check that came was the announcement that the trot could no longer be continued, and, perforce, the escort advanced at a walk; while, as frank glanced round for a moment, it suddenly struck him that, save at the windows of the houses, there was not a woman to be seen, the crowd consisting of sturdy-looking men. the lad had no eyes for the crowd, though. the relapse into a walk had given him the opportunity for grasping his father's hand again, and sir robert said to him hurriedly: "my dearest love to your mother, frank lad. tell her, whatever happens, i have but one thought, and that it is for her, that we may meet in happier times." "meet in happier times" rang through frank like a death-knell, for he grasped what his father meant, and tried to speak some words of comfort, but they would not come. even if they had, they would have been drowned by a tremendous cheer which arose from the crowd and went rolling onward. "the wretches!" muttered frank; and he turned to look round, with his eyes flashing his indignation. then, as the cheer went rolling away forward, he repeated his words aloud, unconscious that they would be heard. "the wretches! it is not a sight." "they're a-cheering of 'em, sir," said the dragoon at his elbow, "not hooting 'em, poor fellows!" frank darted a grateful look in the man's eyes, and his heart leaped with excitement as the light flashed upon him. it was a manoeuvre, and there would be an attempt to rescue, after all. "i believe we're in for a row, sir," continued the man, leaning over to him and speaking in a low voice. "strikes me the best thing for you to do would be to step into the carriage to your friend before the fight begins: i'll hold your horse." "i!" said frank sharply. "i wouldn't be such a cur." "well said, youngster. then you try and stick by me. we shall be in the thick of it, and nobody shall hurt you if i can help it." "do--do you think, then, that there will be trouble?" "yes, for some of us, sir," said the man. "they mean to try and get the prisoners, and the attack will be here." frank was unconscious of a movement behind him, till a horseman forced his way in between him and the dragoon, and captain murray said sharply: "try and ease off, my man." "not to be done, sir," replied the dragoon. "there's going to be an attempt at rescue, frank," whispered the captain. "shake hands with your father before we are forced away." at that moment word was passed along from the rear, running from man to man as they still kept on at a slow walk: "flats of your swords; drive them back." the next minute, just as a fresh cheer was being started, the trumpet rang out behind "trot!" and the men put spurs to their horses, and dashed on, driving a road through the crowd; and, amidst a savage yelling and hooting which took the place of the hearty cheer for the prisoners, the escort literally forced their way for another fifty yards, the men in advance striking to right and left with the flats of their heavy cavalry swords. but it was soon evident that they were slackening speed, and the trumpet rang out again, but with an uncertain sound, for it was nearly drowned by the angry yelling which arose. the command was _gallop_, but the execution of the order was _walk_, and a minute later the whole escort came to a stand, literally wedged in, with the frightened horses standing shivering and snorting, only one here and there trying to rear and plunge. "we're caught, frank lad. think of nothing but keeping your seat. take out a pistol, and point it at the first man who tries to drag you from your horse. ah! i thought so." orders were passed along now to the dragoons to defend themselves, for efforts were being made to drag some of the outside men from their horses. blades flashed on high, cut and point were given, and amidst howlings and savage execrations blood began to flow. and now, as if by magic, sticks and swords appeared among the crowd; men who had forced their way under the horses' necks, or crept under them, appeared everywhere; and amidst a deafening roar, as the seething mass swayed here and there, frank caught sight of two men busy just before him, doing something with knives. one of the dragoons noticed it too, and he leaned forward to make a thrust at one of the two; but as he bent over his horse's neck a cudgel was raised, fell heavily across the back of his neck, and he dropped forward, and was only saved from falling by a comrade's help. "they've cut the traces," said captain murray hoarsely. "it's an organised attempt." as he spoke men were rising amongst them; and, before frank could realise how it happened, a dozen filled up the little spaces about the carriage, while moment by moment the dragoons were being rendered more helpless. the blows they rained down were parried with swords; they were dragged from their horses; and, in several cases, helped by their fellows, men climbed up behind them, and pinioned their arms. organised indeed it seemed to be, for while the greater part of the rioters devoted their attention to rendering the great escort helpless, others kept on forcing their way till they had surrounded the carriages, trusting to their companions to ward off the blows directed at them, but in too many cases in vain. frank tried his best to remain near his father, but he was perfectly helpless, and had to go as his horse was slowly forced along, till he was several yards away from the carriage door, at which he could still see the prisoner watching him as if thinking only of the safety of his boy, while the captain was still farther away, using his pistol to keep off attempts made to dismount him. all attempts at combination were getting useless now for the troops, and it was every man for himself; but the mob did not seem vindictive only when some dragoon struck mercilessly at those who hemmed him in, when the result rapidly followed that he was dragged from his horse and trampled underfoot. sir robert was now shut out from his son's gaze by several men forcing themselves to the carriage door, and frank was rising in his stirrups to try and catch another glimpse of him, when in the wild swaying about of the crowd his horse was forced nearer to captain murray, an eddy sending the captain fortunately back to him, so that their horses made an effort, and came side by side once more, snorting and trembling with fear. "the men are helpless, frank lad," said the captain, with his lips to the lad's ear. "they can do nothing more. they are literally wedged in." "my father?" panted frank. "it will be a rescue, my lad." an exultant roar rose now from the dense mass of people which filled the wide street, and, separated from each other, as well as from their officers, the dragoons ceased to use their swords, while the men round them who held them fast wedged waved their sticks and hats, cheering madly. "told you so, sir," shouted some one close behind them; and frank turned, to see a dragoon, capless and bleeding from a cut on his forehead, sitting calmly enough on his horse. "can't do any more, sir," said the man, in answer to a frown from captain murray. "they've got my sword. it's the same with all of us. we couldn't move." the cheering went on, and in the midst of it the carriages began to move, dragged by the crowd, for there was not a soldier within a dozen yards. the clumsy vehicles were being dragged by hand, and the horses led away toward a side street, while the cheering grew more lusty than ever, and then changed into a yell of execration. "what does that mean?" said captain murray excitedly. "i don't know," said frank, having hard work to make himself heard. "let's try and get to the carriage." "impossible, my lad," said captain murray. "great heavens! what a gehenna!" the yelling rose louder than ever from the direction of cheapside, and directly after the cause was known, for a heavy, ringing volley rang out clear and sharp above the roar of the crowd, and went on reverberating from side to side of the street. hardly had it died away when another rattling volley came from the other direction; and in answer to an inquiring look from frank, captain murray placed his lips to the boy's ear. "the foot guards," he cried; "the mob is between two fires." the pressure was now terrible, the crowd yielding to the attack from both directions, and yells, wild cries, and groans rose in one horrible mingling, as for a few minutes the seething mass of people were driven together in the centre formed by the carriages; and from where he sat, gazing wildly at the chaos of tossing arms and wild faces, whose owners seemed now to be thinking of nothing but struggling for their lives, frank could see men climbing over their fellows' heads, dashing in windows, and seeking safety by climbing into the houses, whose occupants in many cases reached down to drag people up out of the writhing mass beneath. in half a dozen places streams could be seen setting into the side streets; and mingled with the attacking party, dragoons of the escort, perfectly helpless, were pressed slowly along, and in every instance with one, sometimes with two men mounted behind them. frank caught these things at a glance, while his and the captain's mounts were being slowly forced farther away from the carriages, which were once more stationary, jammed in by the densest portion of the crowd. and now, without a thought of his own safety, the boy's heart began to beat high, for not a single dragoon was near the prisoners, and some strange movement was evidently taking place there, but what, it was some moments before he could see. it seemed to him that several people there had been injured, and that those between him and the first carriage had been crushed to death, while the crowd were passing the bodies over their heads face upward toward the narrow side street up which an effort had been made to drag the carriages. as far as he could make out by the lamplight, that was it evidently, and so strangely interested was the lad, so fascinated by the sight, that he paid no heed to a couple more volleys fired to right and left. for the moment he hardly knew why he was watching this. then it came home to him as he twice over saw a gleam as of metal on one of the bodies which floated as it were over a forest of hands and glided onward toward and up the side street. "look, boy! do you see?" said captain murray, with his lips close to the lad's ear. "they have dragged the prisoners out, and are passing them over the heads of the crowd." frank nodded his head sharply without turning to the speaker, for he could not remove his eyes from the scene till the last fettered figure had passed from his sight. and now at length the awful pressure began to relax, for the half-dozen streams were setting steadily out of the main street, while in several spots where dragoons had sat wedged in singly two had drifted together. then there were threes and fours, and soon after a little body of about twenty had coalesced, stood in something like order, and were able to make a stand. right away toward cheapside there was now visible beneath a faint cloud of smoke, which looked ruddy in the torch- and lamplight, a glittering line above the heads of the still dense crowd, and frank grasped the fact that they were bayonets. then turning in the other direction he saw, far up the street toward islington, another glittering line, showing that a second body of infantry barred the way. and now once more came the sound of firing, and frank's heart resumed its wild beating, for it came rolling down the side street nearly opposite to him, that up which he had seen the prisoners passed, and he knew that troops must be guarding the end. this was plain enough, for the steady stream passing up it grew slower, then stopped; there was a tremendous shouting and yelling, and the human tide came slowly rolling back, then faster and faster, till it set right across the main street, and joined one going off in the opposite direction. soon after, to the boy's horror, he caught sight of one of the prisoners being borne along over the heads of the returning crowd; then of another and another. and now, as the two lines of dimly seen bayonets drew nearer in both directions, there was once more the sound of the trumpet; and in half a dozen places the dragoons began to form up, and, minute by minute growing stronger in the power to move, swords were seen to flash, and they forced their way through the stream, cutting it right across, and hemming in the portion of the crowd over whose heads the perfectly helpless prisoners were being borne. this manoeuvre having been executed, the rest proved simple. knot after knot of the dragoons forced their way up to what had become their rallying-point, the foot guards were steadily advancing up and down the main street toward the carriages, and another company was steadily driving the people back along the side street up which the prisoners had been borne. "a brave attempt, frank," said captain murray; "but they have failed. come along;" and, dizzy with excitement, the boy felt his horse begin to move beneath him toward the escort which formed a crescent round the carriages in double rank, through which they passed slowly the men of the crowd they had entrapped, till some forty or fifty only remained, whose retreat was cut off by the bristling line of bayonets drawn across the side street down which they had come. frank had no eyes for the scene behind him, now shown by the light of many smoky torches,--the roadway littered with hats, sticks, and torn garments, trampled people lying here and there, others who had been borne and laid down close to the houses, whose occupants were now coming out to render the assistance badly enough needed, for even here many were wounded and bleeding from sword cuts: of the ghastly traces of the firing, of course, nothing was visible there. he did not heed either the state of the dragoons, who had not escaped scot free, many of them being injured by sword and cudgel; some had been dragged from their horses and trampled; others stood behind the double line, separated from their mounts, which had gone on with the crowd; most of them were hatless, while several had had their uniforms torn from their backs. frank had no eyes for all this; his attention was too fully taken up by the proceedings near the carriages, where the fettered and handcuffed prisoners--five--were being passed in by men of the foot guards, who then formed up round the vehicles, toward which the two teams of horses were now brought back, the men roughly knotting together the cut traces, and fastening them ready for a fresh start toward the prison. "one of the prisoners has been carried off, frank," whispered captain murray then; and in a weak voice the lad said: "my father?" "no, my lad; he is in the second carriage now." the next minute orders were given, and the dragoons advanced to clear the way for the carriages, now surrounded by the bristling bayonets of half a regiment of foot guards, who refused passage to captain murray and the boy, so that they had to be content with riding in front of the rear guard of dragoons. and now once more the yelling of the crowd arose from the direction of cheapside, where the mob had again gathered strongly; but no mercy was shown. the heavy mass of dragoons that formed the advance guard had received their orders to clear the way, and, finding a determined opposition, the trumpet rang out once more, and they advanced at a gallop, trampling down all before them for a few minutes till the crowd broke and ran. the way was clear enough as at a double the grenadiers came up, and passed round the angle at newgate street, the escort driving the mob before it; and the wide space at the west end of the old bailey was reached. this was packed with troops, who had preserved an opening for the carriages, and into it the grenadiers marched, and formed up round the massive prison gates. and now frank made an effort, with captain murray's assistance, to get to the carriage door again for one short farewell. but in the hurry and excitement of the time, the pass from the palace and the military uniform the captain wore went for nothing, the dense mass of grenadiers stood firm, and very few minutes sufficed for the prisoners to be passed in and the gates closed. a strong force of infantry was stationed within and without, for the authorities dreaded an attack upon the prison; and the regiment of dragoons that had been detailed to meet the escort and guard the road to islington patrolled the approaches, while the rest marched off to their quarters amidst the hooting and yelling of the crowd. captain murray turned off at once into a side street, and rode beside frank for some distance, respecting in silence his young companion's grief, hardly a word passing till they reached the guards' stables and left their horses, which looked, by the light of the men's lanthorns, as if they had passed through a river. then the pair hurried across the park, feeling half-stunned by their adventure, frank so entirely, exhausted that he would have gladly availed himself of his friend's arm. but he fought hard, and just as the clock was striking twelve he made his way to his mother's room, wondering whether he was to be called upon to face some fresh grief. but he found lady gowan lying awake, and ready to stretch out her hands to him. "you saw him, frank?" she whispered; and the disorder of his appearance escaped her notice. "yes, mother; i rode beside him, and he spoke to me." "yes, yes; what did he say?" cried lady gowan. frank delivered his father's loving message, and his mother's eyes closed. "yes," she said softly, "to meet again in happier times." then, unclosing her eyes again, she moaned out, "oh, frank, frank, my boy, my boy!" and he forgot his own weakness and suffering in his efforts to perform the sacred duty which had fallen to his lot. chapter forty two. after the failure. that next morning, after a long sleep, the result of exhaustion, frank gowan awoke with the horrors of the previous night seeming to have grown so that they could no longer be borne. he hurried across to his mother's apartments, to find from the nurse that she was sleeping, and must not of course be disturbed; so he went over to captain murray, who received him warmly. "better, my lad?" he said. "better?" cried frank reproachfully. "i mean rested. frank lad, we had a narrow escape of our lives last night. i hear already that about fifty dragoons were more or less injured." "and how many of the people?" said frank bitterly. "that will never be known, my boy. it is very horrible when orders are given to fire upon a crowd. many fell, i'm afraid. but there, don't look so down-hearted." "have you heard who was the prisoner that escaped?" "yes. they have not taken him again yet; but i don't think he will be able to get right away." "not if he can reach the coast?" said frank. "ah! he might then. there, frank lad, i want to be true to my duty-- don't tell upon me--but i can't help feeling that we had bad luck last night, or some one we know might have been the lucky man." frank caught at his hand and held it. "if i were the king, i'd pack the prisoners off to france," continued captain murray. "i don't like taking revenge on conquered enemies." "ah, now you make me feel as if i can speak openly to you," cried frank. "tell me, do you think there is still any hope of an escape?" "there always is, my lad. one thing is very evident, and that is that your father and his companions have plenty of friends in london who are ready to risk their lives to save them. come, don't be down-hearted; we must hope for the best. they have to be tried yet. a dozen things may happen. besides, your father was not one of the leaders of the rebellion. what's the matter with your arm?" "my arm? oh, i don't know. it's so stiff and painful i can hardly lift it. yes, i remember now. some one in the crowd struck me with a heavy stick. i did not feel it so much then; it was only numbed." "you had better let the doctor see it." "oh no," replied frank. "i have too many other troubles to think about. captain murray, what shall i do? i must see my father. give me your advice, or come with me to ask permission of the prince." the captain sat frowning for a few moments, and then rose. "yes," he said abruptly; "come." frank sprang after him as he moved toward the door, and in a few minutes they were in the antechamber, where a knot of officers were discussing the proceedings of the previous night, but ceased upon their attention being directed to the son of one of the prisoners. the captain sent in his name as soon as he could; but his efforts to gain an audience were not so successful as upon previous occasions. there were many waiting, and the prince made no exception in captain murray's favour. the order of precedence was rigidly adhered to, and hours had passed away before the attendant came to where frank and the captain were seated waiting. "his royal highness will see you, sir," said the gentleman-in-waiting. frank sprang to his feet as the captain rose, and moved toward the curtained door. "i am sorry," said the attendant, with a commiserating look, "but his royal highness expressly said that captain murray was to come alone." frank's lips parted as a look of anguish came into his pale face, and he turned his appealing eyes to the captain, who shook his head sadly. "i will beg him to see you, my boy," he whispered. "i look to his seeing you to get his consent." frank sank back into his seat, and turned his face to the window to hide it from those present, and seemed to them to be gazing out at the gay show of troops under arms and filling the courtyard; but, as he sat, he saw only the interior of the prince's room, with captain murray appealing on his behalf: all else was non-existent. he had not moved, he had not heard the low buzz of eager conversation that went on, new-comers being unaware of his presence. fortunate it was that he was deaf to all that was said, for the fate of the prisoners lodged like ordinary malefactors the previous night in newgate was eagerly discussed, and his father's name was mentioned by several in connection with the axe. he was still sitting in the same vacant way when, at the end of half an hour, a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and the captain's voice said in a low tone, "come." "he will see me?" cried frank, rising quickly. "hush! keep your sorrow to yourself, as an englishman should," whispered the captain. "the room is full of people." "but he will see me?" "no. come away," said the captain quietly. frank gave him a defiant look; then turned away and walked straight toward the curtained door, which the attendant was about to open to admit another gentleman to the prince's presence. before he was half-way there the captain's strong grasp was upon his shoulder. "what are you going to do, boy?" he said sternly. "see the prince myself. he must--he shall give me leave to go." "do you wish to destroy the last chance? frank, for your mother's sake!" "no; don't make me struggle before all these people to get free," said the boy firmly; but as he spoke the captain's last words stood out before him in their real significance. "for your mother's sake!" he turned back without another word, and walked with his companion out of the room and down into the courtyard without a word. "take me somewhere," he said, in a strange, dazed way. "my head feels confused. i hardly know what i am saying." captain murray drew the boy's hand through his arm, and made as if to lead him to his quarters; but it meant passing crowded-together troops, and, altering his mind, he walked with him sharply out into the park, till they reached a secluded place where there was a seat. "sit down, boy." "yes," said frank obediently. "now tell me, please." "i was in there long, but there is little to tell you, boy," said the captain, in a harsh, brusque way to conceal the agony of disappointment he felt. "i appealed again and again to the prince to give me an order to admit us to the prison, but he sternly refused me, and i have angered him terribly by my obstinate return to the assault. frank boy, it is like this. the prince told me that, before your father joined the pretender, he had made a direct appeal, at his wife's wish, for your father's pardon, and been refused. he says that now, after this open act of rebellion, it is impossible for him to appeal again. that the king is furious because one of the most important prisoners has been allowed to escape--there is a rumour that it was prince james francis himself--and that it would be madness to ask for any permission. men who rebel against their lawful sovereign have no wives or children; they are outlaws without rights. that it is sad for those who love them, but that they must suffer, as they have made others suffer by causing so much blood to be shed." "he said those cruel words?" said frank, with his eyes flashing. "yes," said the captain sadly. "knowing what my poor mother suffers, and my despair?" "he was angry, and spoke more hardly than he meant, my boy. there is another thing too; the prince and his majesty are not on friendly terms. i hear that they have quarrelled, and that they parted in great anger. frank, you must wait and hope." "wait and hope--wait and hope!" said frank bitterly. "is that the way a son should seek to comfort his father, and try to save his life? sit still, and do nothing but wait and hope! oh, it is of no use! i cannot bear it. i will not stay chained up in this dreadful place. i cannot, i will not serve either the prince or king who would hurry my father to the block." "stop! think what you are saying, boy. what rash thing are you going to do?" "rash? nothing can be rash at such a time. i am going to try and save my father." "once more, boy--your mother, have you forgotten her?" "no," said the lad firmly; "but i should be forgetting her if i made no effort, but sat still and let things drift." captain murray sighed, and rose from his seat. "frank," he said gravely, "i never had a brother, but for years now your father seemed to fill a brother's place with me, and i tell you as a man that there is nothing i would not do to save his life. i am a simple soldier; i know my duties well, and if the need arose i could go and face death with the rest, feeling that it was the right thing to do; but i am not clever, i am no statesman--not one of those who can argue and fence--unless," he said bitterly, "it is with my sword. i looked upon you as a mere boy, but over this you are more the man than i. you master me. i cannot do more than defend myself. still, i think i am advising you rightly when i beg and pray of you to do nothing rash. don't take any step, i say once more, that will embitter the prince against you. i will go now. stay here for a while till you grow calmer, and then come to my quarters. i feel that i only irritate you, and must seem weak and cowardly to you. you will be better alone. i, too, shall be better alone. i want to try and think, and it is hard work this morning, for i am in terrible pain. one of my ribs was broken last night in that crowd, and at times i am sick and faint." frank heard his words, but did not seem to grasp them, and sat back in his seat with his chin resting upon his breast as the captain walked slowly away. had he looked after him, he would have seen that twice over he stopped to lean for a few minutes against a tree. but the boy neither looked up nor stirred. he sat for some time as if completely stunned, till he heard steps approaching, and then, with an impatient movement, he turned a little in his seat, so as to hide his face from whoever it was coming by. the next moment a familiar voice said distinctly behind him: "don't look up--don't move or speak. be at your father's house at four this afternoon, holding the door ajar till i slip in." "drew!" ejaculated frank, in a sharp whisper, as he obeyed the order, thrilling the while as if with new life infused through his veins; and his eyes followed the tall, slight figure of a jaunty-looking young man, dressed in the height of fashion, walking along as if proud of his bearing and the gold-headed, clouded cane he flourished as he promenaded the park. drew forbes, whose life would probably be forfeit in those wild times if he were recognised by either of the spies who haunted the palace precincts--drew, wearing no disguise, though changed in aspect by his hair being so closely cropped behind! what his appearance might be face to face frank could not tell. chapter forty three. a meeting between friends. "`be at your father's house at four this afternoon, holding the door ajar till i slip in,'" said frank, repeating his old companion's words, trembling with excitement the while, as he watched till the figure had disappeared, when a feeling of resentment sent the hot blood to his temples. "no. i will not go. it only means more trouble. oh, how much of it all is due to him!" "no," he said a few minutes later. "that is unjust. he must have been with the people who attempted the rescue last night. i will go. he is brave and true, after all. yes, it is to help again to save my father, and i will be there." it was like a fillip to him, and a few minutes after he rose, and went back to the palace, passing several officials whom he knew, all saluting him in a kindly way, as if full of sympathy, but not attempting to speak. his goal was his mother's room, and to his surprise he found her evidently anxiously expecting him, but very calm and resigned in her manner. "frank dear," she said gently, "i feel as if it is almost heartless of me to seem so, but i am better. i will not despair, my own boy, for i feel so restful. it is as if something told me that our prayers would be heard." "and with him lying in irons in that dreadful gaol," thought frank, with a momentary feeling of resentment--momentary, for it passed away, and he sat with her, telling her, at her urgent prayer, of all the proceedings of the past night, as well as of his ill-success that morning. he had prayed of her not to press him, but she insisted, and it was to find that, in place of sending her into a fit of despondent weeping, she spoke afterwards quite calmly. "yes," she said gently, as she raised his hand to her cheek and held it there; "all these things are the plans of men, kings, and princes, with their armies. but how insignificant it all seems compared with the greatness of the power which rules all. frank dearest, we cannot--we must not despair." he looked at her wonderingly, and with his heart very sore; but somehow she seemed to influence him, the future did not look quite so solidly black as it had that morning, and he felt ready to tell her of his encounter with drew. but fearing to raise her hopes unduly on so slender a basis he refrained, and stayed with her till the time was approaching for his visit to the house across the park. then he left her wondering at the feeling of lightness that came over him, and not attributing it to the fact that he had something to do--something which called his faculties into action to scheme and contrive the meeting without being baffled by those who dogged the steps of every one about the place. hope was inspiring him too again, and he refrained from going near captain murray, setting quite at nought all thought of his duties at the palace, and waiting in his room watching the clock till he felt that it was time to go. he sat for a few moments longer, trying to come to a conclusion which would be the better plan--to go carefully to the house after taking every precaution against being seen, or to go boldly without once looking back. the latter was the plan he determined to adopt; but to throw dust in the eyes of any watcher, he placed a couple of books under one arm, and determined to bring three or four different ones back, so as to make it appear that he had been to change some works in his father's library. whether any spy was upon his track or no he could not tell, for, following out his plan, he went straight away to the house, thundered loudly at the door, and dragged at the bell. the old housekeeper admitted him with her old precautions, and eagerly asked after her ladyship's health. her next question, whether he had heard from sir robert, convinced the lad that, living her quiet, secluded life, she was in perfect ignorance of the stirring events of the past two or three weeks, and he refrained from enlightening her. "now, berry," he said, "go down and stay there till i call you up again." "oh, my dear young master!" said the old woman, beginning to sob. "why, what's the matter, berry?" he cried. "oh, my dear, my dear!" she sobbed, with her apron to her eyes; "it's glad i am to see you when you come, but i do wish you'd stay away." "stay away! why?" "because it only means fresh trouble whenever you come over here. i don't care for myself a bit, my dear; but as soon as i see your bonny face, i begin to quake, for i know it means spies and soldiers coming after you and i expect to see you marched off to the tower, and brought back with your head chopped off and put up along with the traitors. don't do it, my dear; don't do it." "don't do what?" cried frank impatiently. "don't go running dreadful risks, my dear, and meddling with such matters. let 'em have which king they like, and quarrel and fight about it; but don't you have anything to do with it at all." "and don't you try to interfere with matters you can't understand, you dear old berry," cried the lad, kissing her affectionately. "ah! that's like the dear little curly-headed boy who used to come and kiss me, and ask me to melt lumps of sugar in the wax candle to make him candy drops. i often think now, master frank, that you have forgotten your poor old nurse. ah! i remember when you had the measles so badly, and your poor dear little face was red and dreadful--" "yes, yes, berry; but i am so busy now. i expect some one to come." "not the soldiers, my dear?" "no, no, no!" "nor those dreadful spies?" "i hope not, berry. you go down, please, at once, and wait till i call you up." "yes, my dear, yes," said the woman sadly. "you're master now poor dear sir robert is away. i'll go; but pray, pray be careful. it would kill me, my dear." "kill you?" cried frank. "what would?" "i should--yes, i would do that!--i should crawl somehow as far as the city to have one look at your poor dear head sticking on a spike, and then i should creep down a side street, and lay my head on a doorstep, and die." "no, you shan't!" cried frank, laughing in spite of his excitement, as he hurried the weeping old woman to the top of the basement stairs. "i'll come here properly, with my head upon my shoulders. there, there; go down and wait. i don't think anything will happen to-day to frighten you. never mind; if any one comes i'll open the door." "oh, my dear, i can't let you do that," remonstrated the old woman. "what would my lady say?" "that old berry was a dear, good, obedient housekeeper, who always did what she was told." "ah!" sighed the old lady, with a piteous smile; "you always did coax and get the better of me, master frank; and many's the time i've made you ill by indulging you with pudding and cakes that you begged for. yes, i'll go down, my dear; but i'll come the moment you call or ring." frank stood watching her till she reached the foot of the stairs, and then started and ran across the hall in his excitement, for a clock was striking, and he had hardly let down the chain and unfastened the door to hold it ajar, when there was a step outside, it was pushed open, and drew forbes glided in, and thrust it to. "frank, old lad!" he cried excitedly, as the chain was replaced; and he seized his companion by the shoulders, and shook him. "oh, i am glad to see you again." "and i you," cried the lad, as full of excitement. "hah! these are queer times. i am fit to touch now. did you ever see such a miserable, dirty beggar as i was that day in the park?" "don't talk about that, drew," cried frank; "come upstairs." "yes, we may as well sit down, for i'm nearly run off my legs. i say, did you get hurt in the crowd?" "a little," said frank eagerly. "were you there?" drew did not reply till they were in the room on the first floor looking over the park; and then he threw himself full length on one of the couches, while frank closed and locked the door. "not laziness, old lad--fagged, and must rest when i can. was i there? of course i was. but oh, what a mess we made of it! everything was well thought out; but you were too strong for us. we should have got them all away if they had not trapped us with the foot guards. some soldier must have planned it all. our fellows fought like lions till they began firing volleys and drove all before them with fixed bayonets. poor dear old frank! i am sorry for you." "and i'm as sorry for you," said the boy sadly, as he pressed the thin, white, girlish hand which held his. "sorry for me?" said drew sharply. "i'm all right." "then your father was not one of the prisoners?" said frank eagerly. "not with them? didn't you see him there?" "no; i only saw that two other gentlemen were in the carriage with my father. i only had eyes for him." "that's natural enough," said drew; "i hardly saw your father till we got them all out of the carriages, chained hand and foot. oh, what miserable, cowardly tyranny! gentlemen, prisoners of war, treated like thieves and murderers! poor fellows! they could do nothing to help themselves." "but you rescued one," said frank. "is he safe?" "safe as safe," cried drew joyously. "ah!" said frank with a sigh, "you are very loyal to your prince." "i don't know so much about that, old lad. he does not turn out well." "not grateful to you all for saving him, while the others were recaptured and cast in gaol!" drew sat up suddenly. "i say, what are you talking about?" he cried. "about your rescuing and carrying off the prince to safety." "nonsense! he was safe enough before. didn't i say he does not turn out well?" "yes; but you rescued him last night: i heard it at the palace this morning." "stuff! he kept himself safe enough over the water without showing his face." "then who was it you saved?" "who was it? why, my dear old dad, of course. we nearly lost him, for a great tall guardsman had got hold of him by the fetter ring round his waist, only i made him let go. i hope i haven't killed him, frank," added the lad between his teeth; "but i had a sword in my hand--and i used it." "oh, i am glad you have saved your father, drew." "and i am sorry we did not save yours, frank. perhaps if you had been helping us you might have done as i did, and he too might have been where your king's people couldn't touch him. "there, i did not mean to say that," continued drew, after a short pause. "it isn't kind and straight to you. i won't reproach you, franky; for i can't help feeling that you are, as father says, the soul of honour. he said i was to tell you how proud he felt that you were my best friend--we are friends still, frank?" "of course." "but i have said some nasty things to you, old lad." "i can't remember things like that," said frank sadly; "only that when you did not talk of the other side we were very jolly together." "and i couldn't help it," said drew earnestly. "i know it." "well, i didn't come here to talk about that." "no, it's all past. let's talk about the future." "yes; how's dear lady gowan?" "how can she be, drew?" said frank wearily. the tears started to drew's eyes, which filled, as he caught his friend's hands in his, and the next moment the big drops began trickling down. "there," he said quietly, "i'm crying like a great girl. i can't help it when i think about her. i always was a weak, passionate, hysterical sort of fellow, frank, and i'm worse than ever now with all this strain. but you tell her when you go back that there are some thousands of good men and true now in london who will not stop till they have saved dear sir robert, and the other brave leaders who are shut up in that wretched prison." "ah!" sighed frank; "if they only could!" "but we will," cried drew excitedly. "well, your father is safe," said frank bitterly. "i suppose he will leave the country now?" "what, and forsake his friends?" cried drew proudly. "you don't know my father yet. no; he says he will not stir till your father is safe; and we'll have them out yet, if we have to burn the prison first." frank looked at him wildly. "but there are more ways of killing a cat than hanging it, lad," continued drew with a laugh, as he dashed away the last of his hysterical tears. "i look a nice sort of a hero, don't i? but i came to tell you not to be down-hearted, for there are plenty of brains at work." "and i must help!" cried frank excitedly. "no; you leave it to the older heads. i should like to help too; but my father says that i am to leave it to him. he has a plan. and now i am coming to what i came principally for." "then you have something else to say?" "yes. is your mother still so very ill?" "yes, very." "that is bad; but ill or no, she must make an effort." "oh, she is making every effort to get my father spared," cried frank bitterly. "i suppose so," said drew. "but look here; your poor father is suffering horribly." "as if i did not know that!" cried frank. "and my father says that lady gowan must get a permit to allow her to go and see him in prison." "yes, of course," cried frank excitedly. "go back then now, and tell her to get leave; the princess will--must get that for her. they can't refuse it." "no, they dare not!" said frank, whose pale face was now quivering with emotion. "when would she go?" "as soon as possible--to-day if she could." "to-morrow would be better," said drew quietly. "she would go in her carriage, of course." "oh no; she would go in one of the royal carriages--the one used by the ladies of honour." "of course. i did not see that." "i shall go with her," said frank. "no; she must go to him alone. you saw sir robert yesterday. my father thought of that. he said it would be better." "i'll do anything he thinks best." "then go back now, and tell her to be calm, and to try all she can to be strong enough to see the princess and get the permission." "yes, i'll go directly," said frank. "but you? i don't want you to run any risks." "and i don't want to. may i stay here till dark?" "of course." "then call up your housekeeper, and tell her that i am to come and go here just as if i belonged to the place." frank hesitated for a moment, and then said, "yes, of course." "i'll tell you why, frank, my lad," said drew quickly. "when your mother leaves the palace to go to newgate, she must call here first." "here first! why?" "to see me. i shall be here with a very important message from my father to yours. tell lady gowan she must come, for it may mean the saving of your father's life." "but--" "don't raise obstacles, lad," cried drew angrily. "is there anything so strange in her telling the servants to drive to her own house and calling here first?" "then it is to take files and ropes," whispered frank. "it is to do nothing of the sort," said drew sharply. "such plans would be childish. lady gowan will not be asked to do anything to help her husband to escape. it can't be done that way, frank. now, then, you are man enough to think for her in this emergency. tell her what to do, and she will cling to you and follow your advice. will you do this?" "will i do it!" cried the lad. "is there anything i would not do to spare her pain?" "that's good. come here, and meet her afterwards." "yes, of course." "give her plenty of time first. now ring for your old lady, and tell her i am to stay and do as i like. and, i say, frank, i'm starving. i have eaten nothing to-day." "oh!" ejaculated the lad. "well, that will please her." "i must have a key to come and go." "you shall do what you please, only pray be careful. don't get yourself arrested." "not if i can help it, lad. now, be of good heart; we shall save your father yet. it may not be till after his trial." "his trial?" "of course. they'll all be tried and condemned; but we will have them away, and perhaps james francis on the throne even yet." frank looked at him searchingly, when drew lay down again, as if something was on his mind that he could not clearly grasp; but he said nothing, and rang the bell, which was answered directly by the old housekeeper. "mrs berry," said frank, "my friend here--" "mr andrew forbes, sir, yes." "hi! hush! what are you talking about?" cried drew, starting up angrily. "i'm not here, my good woman. do you want to send me to prison?" "oh dear me, oh dear me!" cried the poor woman excitedly. "what have i done now?" "nothing, nothing, berry," said frank hastily, "only it must not be known that mr forbes is here. you must not mention his name again." "very well, sir," said the woman sadly; and she gave her young master a reproachful look. "my friend will have the front-door key, and stay here or come and go as often as he likes." "very well, sir. you are master now," said the housekeeper sadly. "he will be here to meet my mother, who will probably come over to-morrow." "oh, my dear master frank!" cried the woman, brightening up. "that is good news." "so do all you can for my friend. he wants breakfast or lunch at once. he's faint and hungry." "oh, i'll get something ready directly, sir." "and you will be silent and discreet, berry." "you may trust me, sir; and i'll do my best to make your friend comfortable. will he sleep here to-night?" "if he wishes, berry." "certainly, sir;" and the housekeeper hurried away. "that's right," said drew quietly. "i don't think any one saw me come. now you be off, and don't fail to send lady gowan to comfort your poor father in his distress." they parted directly after, and frank hurried back, and went straight to his mother's apartments. chapter forty four. the prison pass. "oh, my boy!" cried lady gowan, "how long you have been without coming to me." frank looked at her in surprise, as she rose from the couch on which she had been lying--dressed. "yes, yes, dear, i feel stronger now. have you any news? where have you been?" "home," said frank, watching her intently. "i have seen drew forbes." "yes, yes; has he any news?" "he has seen his father, and says that you are not to lose hope." "all words, words!" sighed lady gowan, wringing her hands. "and that it is your duty to go and see my father in prison." "as if we needed to be told that," cried lady gowan scornfully. "i am going to him directly i can get permission." "you are?" cried frank excitedly. "of course. the princess has been here to see me, and she has promised that if i am well enough i shall have an order to see your father in his prison to-morrow." "oh!" cried frank excitedly, "that is good news. i had come to beg you to appeal to the princess. mother dearest, the forbeses are our friends, but you must not speak about them to a soul." "i, my boy?" cried lady gowan, clinging to him, and speaking passionately; "i can speak of no one--think of no one but your father now." "but you must, mother. it is important. they have promised to help my father to escape." "frank!--no, no; it is impossible. oh, my dear boy, you must not join in any plot. you must not--yes, yes, it is your duty to try and save his life, come what may," cried lady gowan. "hush, mother! pray be calm," whispered frank. "now listen. you will not be asked to do anything but this." "yes, yes. what, dear?" she said, in a sharp whisper. "no: wait a moment." she made an effort to regain her composure, and at last succeeded. "don't think ill of me, my boy," she said. "i wished to be--i have tried to be--loyal to those who have been our truest friends; but your father's life is at stake, and i can only think now of saving him. speak out--tell me what they wish." "i hardly know, mother; but they only ask this: that you convey an important message from andrew's father to mine." "is that all?" sighed lady gowan. "you must drive over to our house when you leave here to-morrow; go in, and you will find drew waiting there." "drew forbes waiting at our house?" said lady gowan in astonishment. "yes; he will have the message from his father for you to bear, and you must not fail, for it may mean the ruining of his hopes." "i--i do not understand, my dear," sighed lady gowan; "but i will do anything now. i would die that i might save his life." "but will you be able to go, mother? you are so weak." "the thought that i shall see him and bear him news that may save his life will give me strength, frank. yes, i will go." frank felt astonished at the change which had come over her, and sat answering her questions about his proceedings on the previous night, for, in her thirst to know everything, she made him repeat himself again and again; but he could not help noticing that all the while she was keenly on the alert, listening to every sound, and at last starting up as her attendant entered the room with a letter. "hah!" she cried, snatching it from the woman's hands. "and the nurse says, my lady, may she come in now?" "no, no; i cannot see her. go!" cried lady gowan imperiously; and she tore open the letter, as the woman left the room. "hah! see, see, frank! it is an order signed by the king himself. with the princess's dear love and condolence. heaven bless her! but oh! look!" frank took the order and read it quickly. it was for lady gowan, alone and unattended, to be admitted to the prisoner's cell for one hour only on the following day. "i must write and appeal again, my boy. you must be with me." "no, mother," said frank sadly. "i was with my father last night. this visit should be for you alone." she looked at him half resentfully, and then drew him to her breast. before he left her he once more drew from her the promise that she would fulfil the instructions he gave her, and call in queen anne street, go up, see drew forbes, and take the message from his father. "i don't understand it," said the lad to himself, as he left his mother's apartments; "but it must mean something respecting my father's prospects of escape--some instructions perhaps. oh, everything must give way now to saving his life." then thinking and thinking till his brain began to swim, he went to his own room, feeling utterly exhausted, but unable to find rest. in the morning he ran round, and found that the doctor was with his mother; and as the great physician came out he shook hands with the lad. "yes?" he said smiling; "you wish to know whether i think lady gowan will be able to go and pay that visit this afternoon? most certainly. her illness is principally from anxiety, and i have no hesitation in saying that she would be worse if i forbade her leaving her apartments. i will be here to see her in the evening after her return." frank entered his mother's room to find her wonderfully calm, but there was a peculiarly wild look of excitement in her eyes; and as the lad gazed inquiringly at her, she said softly: "have no fear, dear. i shall be strong enough to bear it. you will come, and see me start! the carriage will be here at two." "and you will go round home first?" said frank softly. "yes," she cried, with the excited look in her eyes seeming to grow more intense. "but, my boy, my boy, if i could only have you with me! frank dear, we must save him. but do you think that these people can and will help him?" "i feel sure, mother," replied frank. "take the message drew brings to you, and see what my father says." "yes," she said thoughtfully. "i feel that they will help, for these people are staunch to each other. they helped the pretender to escape." "it was not the pretender, mother," whispered frank; "it was drew's father. and he has vowed that he will not leave england and seek safety until my father is safe." "then heaven bless him!" cried lady gowan, passionately. "i had my doubts as to whether it would be wise to bear his message to your father, but i am contented now. leave me, my dearest boy. i want strength to bear the interview this afternoon, and the doctor told me that, unless i rested till the last moment, i should not have enough to carry me through. but you will be here?" "i will be here," he said tenderly; and once more they parted, frank going across to captain murray, and telling him of his mother's visit. "it is too much for her to bear," he said sadly. "surely she has not the strength!" "you don't know my mother's determination," said the boy proudly. "oh yes, she will go." "heaven give her the fortitude to bear the shock!" muttered the captain. "can i do anything--see her there?" he asked. "no, no," said frank hastily. "she must go alone. the carriage will take her and wait. but you; how is the side?" "oh, i have no time to think about a little pain, my boy. frank, we are all trying what we can do by a petition to his majesty. the colonel will present it when it is ready. he must--he shall show mercy this time; so cheer up, boy. no man in the army has so many friends as your father, and the king will see this by the names attached to our prayer." but these words gave little encouragement, and frank felt that in his heart he had more faith in some bold attempt made by his father's friends. he thought, moreover, from drew's manner, that there must be something more in progress than he divined, and going back to his duties--which he did or left undone without question now--he waited impatiently for the afternoon. but never had the hours dragged along so slowly, and it seemed a complete day when, at a few minutes before two, he went round to his mother's apartments, and found one of the private carriages with the servants in plain liveries waiting at the door. on ascending to his mother's room, he found her seated there, dressed almost wholly in black, and with a thick veil held in her hand. she was very pale and stern; but her face lit up as the boy crossed to her, and took her cold, damp hands in his. "there," she said tenderly, "you see how calm i am." "yes; but if i could only go with you, mother!" he said. "yes; if you could only go with me, my boy! but it is impossible. no, not impossible, for you will be with me in spirit all the time. i take your love to your father--and--ah!" her eyes closed, and she seemed on the point of fainting, but, struggling desperately against the weakness, she mastered it and rose. "take me down to the carriage, frank," she said firmly. "it is the waiting which makes me weak. once in action, i shall go on to the end. you will be here to meet me on my return? it will be more than two hours--perhaps three. there, you see i am firm now." he could not speak, and he felt her press heavily upon his arm, as he led her downstairs and handed her into the carriage. then for the first time a thought struck him. "mother," he whispered, as he leaned forward into the carriage. "you ought not to go alone. some lady--" "hush! not a word to weaken me now. i ought to go alone," she said firmly. "i could not take another there. i could not bear her presence with me. it is better so. tell the men to drive to queen anne street first." the door was closed sharply, he gave the servants their instructions, and then stood watching the carriage as it crossed the courtyard. but as it disappeared he felt that the excitement was more than he could bear, and, in place of going back to the prince's antechamber, he hurried out into the park, to try and cool his heated brain. chapter forty five. captain murray's news. the walk in the cool air beneath the trees seemed to have the opposite effect to that intended, for the boy's head was burning, and his busy imagination kept on forming pictures of what had passed and was passing then. he saw his mother get out of the carriage at their own door, that weak, sorrow-bent form in black, and enter, the carriage waiting for her return. he followed her up the broad staircase into the half-darkened drawing-room, where drew was waiting to give her the important message from his father. "yes," thought the boy; "it will be a letter of instructions what he is to do, for they have, i feel certain now, made some plan for his escape. but what?" then, with everything in his waking dream, he saw his mother descend and leave the house again, enter the carriage, the steps were rattled up, the door closed, and he followed it in imagination along the crowded streets to the dismal front of newgate, where, with vivid clearness, he saw her enter the gloomy door and disappear. "i can't bear it," he groaned, as he threw himself on the grass; "i can't bear it. i feel as if i shall go mad." at last the hot, beating sensation in his head grew less painful, for the vivid pictures had ceased to form themselves as he mentally saw his mother enter the prison, and in a dull, heavy, despairing fashion he reclined there, waiting until fully two hours should have passed away before he attempted to return to his mother's apartment to await her return. the time went slowly now, and he lay thinking of the meeting that must be taking place, till, feeling that if he lay longer there he should excite attention, he rose and walked slowly on, meaning to go right round the park, carrying out his original intention of trying to grow calm. he went slowly on, so as to pass the time, for he felt that it would be unbearable to go back to his mother's room, and perhaps have the nurse and maid fidgeting in and out. the result was that he almost crept along thinking, but in a different strain, for there were no more vivid pictures, his brain from the reaction seeming drowsy and sluggish. half unconscious now of the progress of time, he sauntered on till the sight of the back of their house roused the desire to go and see if drew were still there; and, hurrying now, he made his way round to the front, knocked, heard the chain put up, and as it was opened saw the old housekeeper peering out suspiciously. the next minute he was in the hall, with the old woman looking at him anxiously. "did my mother come?" he said hoarsely. "poor dear lady! yes, my dear, looking so bent and strange she could hardly speak to me; and when she lifted her veil i was shocked to see how thin and pale she was." "yes, yes; but did she go up and see--" "mr friend? yes, my dear, and stayed talking to him for quite half an hour before she came down. she did not ring first; but i saw her from the window almost tottering, and leaning on the footman's arm. he had quite to help her into the carriage. oh, my dear, is all this trouble never to have an end?" "don't talk to me, berry; but please go down. i am going up to see my friend. he is in the drawing-room, i suppose?" "oh yes, my dear. he has been in and out when i have not known, and i heard him talking to himself last night. poor young man! he seems in trouble too." "yes, yes. go down now," said frank hastily; and as the old woman descended, he sprang up the stairs, and turned the handle of the drawing-room door. but it was locked. he knocked sharply. "open the door," he said, with his lips to the keyhole. "it is i-- frank." the key was turned, and he stepped in quickly, to stand numbed with surprise; for lady gowan, looking ghastly white, stood before him, without bonnet or cloak. "well?" she cried; "tell me quick!" and her voice sounded hoarse and strange. "you here!" stammered frank. "oh, i see. oh, mother, mother, and you have been too ill to go." "no, no. don't question me," she said wildly. "i can't bear it. only tell me, boy--the truth--the truth!" "you are ill," he cried. "here, let me help you to the couch. lie down, dear. the doctor must be fetched." "frank!" she cried, "do you wish to drive me mad? don't keep it back. i am not ill. your father! has he escaped?" it was some minutes before he could compel his mother to believe that he knew nothing, and grasped from her incoherent explanations that, when she had reached the house two hours before, she had come up to the drawing-room and found drew impatiently waiting there. he had then given her his father's message of hope for his dear friend's safety, and his assurance that a couple of thousand friends would save him. moreover, the lad unfolded the plan they had made. it was simple enough, and possible from its daring, for at the sight of the king's order the authorities of the prison would be off their guard. lady gowan was to give up dress, bonnet, and cloak, furnish drew with the royal mandate, leave him to complete the disguise by means of false hair, and thus play the part of the heart-broken, weeping wife. thus disguised, he was to go down to the carriage, be helped in, and driven to the prison. there he was to stay the full time, and in the interval to exchange dresses with the prisoner, who, cloaked and veiled, bent with suffering and grief, was to present himself at the door when the steps of the gaolers were heard, and suffer himself to be assisted back to the carriage and driven off. "yes, but then--then--" cried frank wildly. "oh, it is madness; it could not succeed!" "don't, don't say that, my boy," wailed lady gowan. "i must, mother, i must," cried the boy passionately. "why did he not confide in me? i could have told him what i dared not tell you." "yes, yes, what?" cried lady gowan. "tell me now. i can--i will bear it." "my poor father was fettered hand and foot. it was impossible for him to escape." there was a painful silence, which was broken at last by lady gowan, who laid her hands with a deprecating gesture upon her son's breast. "don't blame me, frank," she whispered. "i was in despair. i snatched at the proposal, thinking it might do some good, when my heart was yearning to be at your father's side. you cannot think what i suffered." "blame you?" cried frank. "oh, how could i, mother? but i must leave you now." "leave me! at a time like this?" "yes, you must bear it, mother. i will come back as soon as possible; but drew--the carriage? even if he succeeded in deceiving the gaolers and people, what has happened since?" "yes, you must go," said lady gowan, as she fought hard to be firm. "go, get some news, my boy, and come back to me, even if it is to tell me the worst. remember that i am in an agony of suspense that is killing me." frank hurried out, feeling as if it was all some terrible dream, and on reaching the street he directed his steps east, to make his way to the great prison. but he turned back before he had gone many yards. "no," he thought; "everything must be over there, and i could not get any news. they would not listen to me." he walked hurriedly along, turning into the park, and another idea came to him: the royal stables, he would go and see if the carriage had returned. if it had, he could learn from the servants all that had occurred. he broke into a run, and was three parts of the way back to the stable-yard, seeing nothing before him, when his progress was checked by a strong arm thrown across his chest. "don't stop me!" he shouted.--"you, captain murray!" "yes, i was in search of you. have you heard?" "heard? heard what?" panted the boy. "your father has escaped." frank turned sharply to dash off; but captain murray's strong hand grasped his arm. "stop!" he cried. "i cannot run after you; i'll walk fast. my side is bad." "don't stop me," cried frank piteously. "i must, boy. it is madness to be running about like this. don't bring suspicion upon you, and get yourself arrested--and separated from your mother when she wants you most." "hah!" ejaculated frank; and he fell into step with his father's old comrade. "i will not ask you where you are going; but i suppose in search of your mother." "yes; she is at home." "what? my poor boy! no. the news is now running through the palace like wildfire. she went to visit your father in newgate this afternoon, as you know. i don't wish to ask what complicity you had in the plot." "none," cried frank excitedly. "i am glad of it, though anything was excusable for you at such a time. on reaching the prison she was supported in by the servants and gaolers. she stayed there nearly an hour, and, as the people there supposed, she was carried back to the carriage in a chair, half fainting." "ah!" ejaculated frank, who was trembling in every limb. "the servants say that the carriage was being driven back quickly by the shortest cuts, so as to avoid the main thoroughfares, when in one of the quiet streets by soho three horsemen stopped the way, and seized the reins as the coachman drew up to avoid an accident. a carriage which had been following came up, and half a dozen men sprang from it--one from the box, two from behind, and the rest from inside. the footmen were hustled away, and threatened with drawn swords by four of the attacking party, while the others opened the door, as one of them says, to abduct lady gowan, but the other declares that it was a man in disguise who sprang out and then into the other carriage, which was driven off, all taking place quickly and before any alarm could be given. the startled men then came on to state what had occurred; but almost at the same time the tidings came from the prison that lady gowan remained behind, and that it was sir robert whom they had helped away." "oh!" groaned frank, giddy with excitement. "come faster, or i must run. she is dying to know. i must go and tell her he is safe." "you cannot, you foolish boy," cried the captain, half angrily. "do you suppose they would admit you to the prison now?" "prison!" cried frank wildly. "did i not tell you that she was close here--at our own house." "what! when did you see her?" "not a quarter of an hour ago." captain murray uttered a gasp. "my poor lad!" he groaned. "poor rob--poor lady gowan! then it is all a miserable concoction, frank. he has not escaped." "yes, yes," cried the lad wildly. "you don't understand. it was drew forbes who went--my mother's cloak and veil." "what! and your mother is safe at home?" "yes, yes," cried frank. "don't you see?" the captain burst into a wild, strange laugh, and stood with his face white from agony and his hand pressed upon his side. "run," he whispered; "i am crippled. i can go no farther. tell her at once. they will get him out of the country safely now. oh, frank boy, what glorious news!" frank hardly heard the last words, but dashed off to where he found his mother kneeling by the couch in the darkened room, her face buried in her hands. but she heard his step, and sprang up, her face so ghastly that it frightened him as he shouted aloud: "safe, mother!--escaped!" "ah!" she cried, in a low, deep sigh full of thankfulness; and she fell upon her knees with her hands clasped together and her head bent low upon her breast, just as the clouds that had been hanging heavily all the day opened out; and where the shutters were partly thrown back a broad band of golden light shot into the room and bathed the kneeling figure offering up her prayer of thankfulness for her husband's life, while frank knelt there by her side. it was about an hour later, when mother and son were seated together, calm and pale after the terrible excitement, talking of their future--of what was to happen next, and what would be their punishment and that of the brave, high-spirited lad who was now a prisoner--that berry tapped softly at the door. "a letter, my lady," she said, "for master frank;" and as she came timidly forward, the old woman's eyes looked red and swollen with weeping. "for me, berry?" cried frank wonderingly. "why, nurse, you've been crying." "i'm heart-broken, master frank, to see all this trouble." "then go and mend it," cried the lad excitedly. "the trouble's over. it's all right now." "ah! and may i bring your ladyship a dish of tay?" "yes, and quickly," said frank tearing open the letter. "mother!" he cried excitedly, "it's from drew." it was badly written, and in a wild strain of forced mirth. "just a line, countryman," he wrote. "this is to be delivered when all's over, and dear old sir robert is safe away. tell my dear lady gowan i'm doing this as i would have done it for my own mother, and did not tell you because you're such a jealous old chap, and would have wanted to go yourself. i say, don't tell her this. i don't believe they'll do anything to me, because they'll look upon me as a boy, and i'm reckoning upon its being the grandest piece of fun i ever had. if they do chop me short off, i leave you my curse if you don't take down my head off the spike they'll stick it on, at the top of temple bar, out of spite because they could not get sir robert's. good-bye, old usurper worshipper. i can't help liking you, all the same. try and get my sword, and wear it for the sake of crack-brained drew." "poor old drew!" groaned frank, in a broken voice. "oh, mother, i was not to let you see all this." "not see it?" said lady gowan softly; and her tears fell fast upon the letter, as she pressed it to her lips. "yes, frank, you would have done the same. but no; they will not--they dare not punish him. the whole nation would rise against those who took vengeance upon the brave act of the gallant boy." that evening the problem of their future was partly solved by another letter brought by hand from the palace. it was from the princess, and very brief: "i cannot blame you for what you have done, for my heart has been with you through all your trouble. at present you and your son must remain away. some day i hope we shall meet again. "always your friend." chapter forty six. au revoir. about a fortnight after the events related in the last chapter a little scene took place on board a fishing lugger, lying swinging to a buoy in one of the rocky coves of the cornish coast. a small boat hung behind, in which, dimly seen in the gloom of a soft dark night, sat a sturdy-looking man, four others being seated in the lugger, ready to cast off and hoist the two sails, while, quite aft on the little piece of deck, beneath which there was a cabin, stood four figures in cloaks. "all ready, master," said one of the men in a singsong tone. "tide's just right, and the wind's springing up. we ought to go." "in one minute," said one of the gentlemen in cloaks; and then he turned to lay his hands upon the shoulders of the figure nearest to him: "yes, we must get it over, frank. good-bye, god bless you, boy! we are thoroughly safe now; but i feel like a coward in escaping." "no, gowan," said the gentleman behind him. "we can do no more. if they are to be saved, our friends will do everything that can be done. remember they wish us gone." "yes; but situated as i am it is mad to go. you have your son, thanks to the efforts of the prince and princess. i have to leave all behind. frank boy, will you let me go alone? will you not come with me, even if it is to be a wanderer in some distant land?" frank uttered a half-strangled cry, and clung to his father's hands. "yes, father," he said, in a broken voice; "i cannot leave you. i'll go with you, and share your lot." "god bless you, my boy!" cried the captain, folding him in his arms. "there," he said the next minute, in decisive tones, "we must be men. no; i only said that to try if you were my own true lad. go back; your place is at your mother's side. your career is marked out. i will not try to drag you from those who are your friends. the happy old days may come for us all again, when this miserable political struggling is at an end. frank," he whispered, "who knows what is in the future for us all?" then quite cheerfully: "good-bye, lad. i'll write soon. get back as quickly as you can. say good-bye to colonel forbes and drew." "good-bye--good-bye!" cried frank quickly, as he shook hands, and then was hurried into the little boat, his father leaning over from the lugger to hold his hand till the last. that last soon came, for the rope was slipped from the ring of the buoy as one of the sails was hoisted, the lugger careened as the canvas caught the wind, and the hands were suddenly snatched apart. the second sail followed, and the lugger seemed to melt away into the gloom, as the boat softly rose and fell upon the black water fifty yards from the rocky shore. "good-bye!" came from out of the darkness, and again, "good-bye!" in the voices of colonel forbes and his son drew. lastly, and very faintly heard, sir robert gowan's voice floated over the heaving sea: "_au revoir_!" history tells of the stern punishment meted out to the leaders of the rebellion--saving to lord nithsdale, who escaped, as sir robert had, in women's clothes--of the disastrous fights in scotland, and the many condemned to death or sent as little better than slaves to the american colonies. but it does not tell how years after, at the earnest prayer of the gallant young officer in the prince's favourite regiment, sir robert gowan was recalled from exile to take his place in the army at a time when the old pretender's cause was dead, and drew forbes and his father were distinguished officers in the service of the king of france. the end. note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original lovely illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) under the rose by frederic s. isham author of the strollers with illustrations by howard chandler christy [frontispiece: kneeling, he received it.] the bobbs-merrill company publishers : indianapolis copyright nineteen hundred three the bowen-merrill company january contents chapter i a nest of ninnies ii a royal eavesdropper iii a gift for the duke iv an impatient suitor v jacqueline fetches the princess' fan vi the arrival of the duke vii the court of love viii a brief truce ix the flight of the fool x the fool returns to the castle xi a new messenger to the emperor xii the duke enters the lists xiii a chaplet for the duke xiv an early morning visit xv a new discovery xvi tidings from the court xvii jacqueline's quest xviii the secret of the jesters xix a figure in the moonlight xx an unequal conflict xxi the deserted hut xxii the tale of the sword xxiii the dwarf makes an early call xxiv an encounter at the bridge xxv in the tent of the emperor xxvi the debt of nature xxvii a maid of france xxviii the favorite is alarmed xxix the favorite is reassured list of illustrations kneeling, he received it . . . . . . . . . _frontispiece_ taking the book, he opened it at random, mechanically sinking at her feet. he threw the dregs of his glass in the face of the jester. he looked not at the young girl, but calmly met the scrutiny of the king. under the rose chapter i a nest of ninnies "a song, sweet jacqueline!" "no, no--" "jacqueline!--jacqueline!--" "no more, i say--" a jingle of tinkling bells mingled with the squeak of a viola; the guffaws of a rompish company blended with the tuneless chanting of discordant minstrels, and the gray parrot in its golden cage, suspended from one of the oaken beams of the ceiling, shook its feathers for the twentieth time and screamed vindictively at the roguish band. jingle, jingle, went the merry bells; squeak, squeak, the tightened strings beneath the persistent scraping of the rosined bow. on his throne in fools' hall, triboulet, the king's hunchback, leaned complacently back, his eyes bent upon a tapestry but newly hung in that room, the meeting place of jesters, buffoons and versifiers. "we appeal to triboulet--" "triboulet!" a girl's silvery laugh rang out. "triboulet!" again the derisive musical tones. upon his chair of state, the dwarf did not answer; professed not to hear. by the uncertain glimmer of torches and the flickering glow of the fire he was engaged in tracing a resemblance to himself in the central figure of the composition wrought in threads of silk--momus, fool by patent to jove, thrust from olympus and greeting the earth-born with a great grin. "an excellent likeness!" muttered triboulet. "a very pretty likeness!" he continued, swelling with pride. and truly it was said that sprightly ladies, working between love and pleasure times, drew from the court fool for their conception of the mythological buffoon, reproducing triboulet's great head; his mouth, proportionately large; his protruding eyes; his bowed back, short, twisted legs and long, muscular arms; and his nose far larger than that of francis, who otherwise had the largest nose in the kingdom. but how could they depict the meanness of soul that dwelt in that extraordinary shell? the blithesome tapestry-makers, albeit adepts in form, grace and harmony, could not touch the subjectiveness of existence. thus it was a double pleasure for triboulet to see, limned in well-chosen hues, his form, the crookedness of which he was as proud as any courtier of his symmetry and beauty, the while his dark, vain soul lay concealed behind the mask of merry deformity and laughing monstrosity. "would your majesty like to command me?" the mocking feminine voice recalled triboulet from his pleasing contemplation. "no, no!" he answered, sullenly, and condescended to turn his glance upon the assemblage. over a goodly gathering of jesters, buffoons, poets, and even philosophers, he lorded it, holding his head as high as his hump would permit and conscious of his own place in the esteem of the king. not long ago the monarch had laughed and applauded when triboulet had twisted his features into a horrid grimace, and since then the dwarf's little heart had expanded with such arrogance, it seemed to him he was almost francis himself as he sat there on francis' sometime throne; and these sir jollys were his subjects all--marot, caillette, brusquet, villot, and the lesser lights, jesters of barons, cardinals and even bishops! rabelais, too, that poor, dissolute devil of a writer, learned as homer, brutish as homer's swine--all subjects of his, the king of jesters, save one; one whom he eyed with certain fear and wonder; fear, because she was a woman--and triboulet esteemed all the sex but "highly perfected devils"--and wonder, at finding her different from, and more perplexing than even the rest of her kind! "jacqueline!--" now she was perched on one corner of the table, and her face had a witch-like loveliness, as though borrowing its pallor and beauty from the moon, source of all magic and necromancy. her eyes shone with such luster that, seeking their hue, they held the observer's gaze in mocking languor, and cheated the inquisitive coxcomb of his quest, the while the disdainful lips curved laughingly and so bewildered him, he forgot the customary phrases and stood staring like a nonny. her footstep fell so light, she was so agile and quick, the superstitious dwarf swore she was but a creature of the night and held surreptitious meetings with all the familiar spirits of demonology. as she never denied the uncanny imputation, but only displayed her small white teeth maliciously, by way of answer, triboulet felt assured he was right and crossed himself religiously whenever she gazed too fixedly at him. a most _gracieuse folle_, her dress was in keeping with her character, yellow being the predominating color. to the fanciful adornment of the gown her lithe figure lent itself readily, while her rebellious curls were well adapted to that badge of her servitude, the jaunty cap that crowned their waving abundance. in especial disdain, from her position upon the corner of the table, her glance wandered down the board and rested on rabelais, the gourmand, before whom were an empty trencher and tankard. the priest-doctor-writer-scamp who affected the company of jesters and liked not a little the hospitality of fools' hall, which adjoined the pastry branch of the castle kitchen and was not far removed from the wine butts, had just unrolled a bundle of manuscript, all daubed with trencher grease and tankard drippings, and was about to read aloud the strange adventures of one pantagruel, when, overcome by indulgence, his head fell forward on the table, almost in the wooden platter, and the papers fluttered to the floor. "put him out!" commanded triboulet from his high place. but she of the jaunty cap sprang from the table. "how wise are your majesty's decrees!" she said mockingly with her glance upon the dwarf. he shifted uneasily in the throne. "you should have put him out before! but now"--turning contemptuously to the poor figure of the great man--"he's harmless. his silence is golden; his speech was dross." "and yet," answered marot, thoughtfully, "the king esteems him; the king who is at once scholar, poet, wit, soldier--" "soldier!" she exclaimed, quickly. "when he can not conquer italy and regain his heritage!" "can not?" ventured triboulet, mindful of the dignity of his royal master. "why not?" "because the women would conquer him!" "nay; the king prefers the blue eyes of france," spoke up the cardinal's fool, he of the viola. "then do you set our queen of fools, our fair jacqueline, out of his majesty's good graces," interposed one of the lesser jesters, a mere baron's hireling, who long had burned with secret admiration for the maid of the coquettish cap. "i am _such_ a fool as to want the good graces of no man--or monarch!" she replied boldly, without glancing at the speaker. "an he were in love, you would be two fools!" laughed caillette, the court poet. "in love, 'tis only the man is the fool or--the fooled!" she returned pointedly, and caillette, despite his self-possession, flushed painfully. since diane de poitiers had wedded her ancient lord, the poet had become grave, studious, almost sad. "and is your mistress, the king's ward, fooling with her betrothed?" he asked quickly, conscious of knowing winks and nudges. "the princess louise and the duke of friedwald are to wed for reasons of state," said the young woman, gravely. "there'll be no fools." "ah, a loveless match!" "but not a landless one!" retorted she of the cap without the bells. "besides, it cements the friendship of francis and charles v! what more would you? but i'll tell you a secret." at that the company flocked around her, as though there was something enticing in her tone; the vague promise of an interesting bit of gossip or the indefinite suggestion of a court scandal. "a secret!" said the cardinal's fool, rubbing his hands together. his master often rewarded him for particularly choice morsels of loose tittle-tattle. "oh, nothing very wicked!" she answered, waving them back with her small hand. "'tis only that they play at make-believe in love, the princess and her betrothed! but after all, it is far more sensible than real love-making, where if the pleasure be more acute, the pangs are therefore the greater. she addresses to him the tenderest counterfeit verses; he returns them in kind. she even simulated such an illusory sadness that the duke has sent his own jester, who has but just arrived at court, to amuse her (ahem!) dullness, until he himself could come!" at this the cardinal's buffoon looked disappointed, for his master liked more highly-flavored hearsay, while triboulet frowned and brought down his heavy fist upon the arm of the throne. "a new jester forsooth!" he exclaimed. "and why not?" lifting her swart brows, quizzically. "we are already overstocked with 'prentice fools," he retorted, looking over the throng. "ah, you fear perhaps some one may depose you?" remarked jacqueline coldly. a guarded laugh arose from the gathering and the dwarf's eyes gleamed. "depose me, triboulet!" he shouted, rising. "triboulet is sovereign lord of all at whom he mocks! his wand is mightier than an episcopal miter!" in his overweening rage and vanity he fairly crouched before the throne, eying them all like a cat. his thick lips trembled; his eyes became bloodshot. he forgot all prudence. "doth not the king himself seek my advice?" he laughed horribly. "hath not, perhaps, many a fair gentleman been burned--aye, burned to ashes as a calvinist!--at my suggestion!" "miserable wretch! spy!" exclaimed the young woman, paler than a lily, as she bent her eyes, with fully opened lids, upon him. as if to shield himself, he raised his hand, yet drunkenness or wrath overcame caution and superstition, and the red eyes met the dark ones. but a moment, and the former dropped sullenly; a strange thrill ran through him. he thought he was bewitched. "_non nobis domine!_" he murmured, striving to recall a hymn. as latin was the language of witchcraft, so, also, was it the antidote. contemptuously she turned her back and walked slowly to the fire. upon her white face and supple figure played the elfish glow, lighting the little cap and the waving tresses beneath. regarding her furtively, triboulet's courage returned, since she was looking at the coals, not at him. "ho, ho!" he said jocosely. "you all thought i was sincere. listen, my children! the art of fooling lies in trumped-up earnestness." he smiled hideously. "bravo, triboulet!" cried an admiring voice. "only time and art can give you such mastery over the passions," continued the jester. "which one of you would depose me? who so ugly as i? poets, philosophers! i snap my fingers at them. poor moths! and you dare bait me with a new-comer! let him look to himself!" from earnestness to grandiloquence was but a step. "let him come!" and triboulet, imitating the pose of francis himself, drew his wooden sword. "let him come!" he repeated, fiercely. "who?" called out a gay and reckless voice. through the doorway leading into the kitchen stepped a young man; slender, almost boyish in appearance, with light-brown hair and deep-set eyes that belied the gaiety and mirth of his features. his costume, that of a jester, was silk of finest texture and design, upon which were skilfully fashioned in threads of silver the arms of charles v, king of spain and emperor of germany, the powerful rival of francis, whose friendship now, for reasons of state, the latter sought. smilingly the foreign jester gazed around the room; at the unusual furnishings, picturesque, yet appropriate; at the inmates, the fools scattered about the great board or near the mighty fireplace; the renowned philosopher, rabelais, sleeping on his arms, with hand outstretched toward the neglected tankard; at the striking appearance of the girl who looked with casual, careless interest upon him; at the grotesque, crook-backed figure before the throne. and observing the incongruity of his surroundings, he laughed lightly, while his glance, turning inquiringly if not insolently, from one to the other, lingered in some surprise upon the young woman. he had heard that in far-away france the motley was not confined to men. had not jeanne, queen of charles i, possessed her jestress, artaude de puy, "_folle_ to our dear companion," as said the king? had not madame d'or, wearer of the bells, kept the nobles laughing? had not the haughty, eccentric don john, his handsome, merry joculatrix, attached to his princely household? but knowing only by rumor of these matters, the jester from abroad looked hard at her, the first madcap in petticoats he had ever seen. for her part, jacqueline bore his scrutiny with visible annoyance. "well," she said impatiently, a flash of resentment in her fine eyes, "have you conned me over enough?" "too much, mistress," he replied in no wise abashed, "an it hath displeased you. too little to please myself." "yourself!" she returned, with sudden anger at his persistent gaze. "some lord's plaything to beat or whip; a toy--" "and yet a poet who can make rhymes on woman's beauty," he answered with a careless laugh. "another courtier!" grumbled triboulet. "lacking true wit, fools nowadays essay only compliments to cover their dullness." with the same air of insolent amusement, the new-comer turned to the throne and its occupant, whom he subjected to an even more deliberate investigation. "is it man or manikin, gentle mistress?" he asked, after concluding his examination. she did not deign to answer, but the offended triboulet waved his wooden sword vindictively. "manikin!" he roared, and sprang with vicious lunges upon the duke's jester, who falling back before the suddenness of the assault, whipped out his weapon in turn, and, laughing, threw himself into an attitude of defense. "a mortal combat!" cried the cardinal's wit-snapper. "charles v and francis!" exclaimed caillette, referring to the personal challenge which had once passed between the two great monarchs. "with a throne for the victor!" he added gaily, indicating triboulet's chair of state. the clatter and din awoke rabelais, who drowsily regarded the combatants with lack-luster gaze and undoubtedly thought himself once more amid the fanciful conflicts of fearful giants. "fall to, pantagruel, my merry paladin!" he exclaimed bombastically. "cut, slash, stab, fence and justle!" and himself, reaching for an imaginary sword, encountered the tankard which he would have raised to his lips but that his shaggy head fell again to the board before his willing arm had obeyed the passing impulse of his sluggish brain. "fence!--justle!" he murmured, and slept once more. but the parrot, again disturbed, could not so easily compose itself to slumber. whipping its head from its downy nest, it outspread its gray wings gloriously and screamed and shouted, as though venting all the thunders of the vatican upon the offending belligerents. and above the uproar and noise of arms, rabble and bird, arose the piercing voice of triboulet: "watch me spit this bantam-cock!" chapter ii a royal eavesdropper tough and sharp-pointed, a wooden sword was no insignificant weapon, wielded by the thews and sinews of a triboulet. crouching like an animal, the king's buffoon sprang with headlong fury, uttering hoarse, guttural sounds that awakened misgivings regarding the fate of his too confident antagonist. "do not kill him, triboulet!" cried marot, alarmed lest the duke's fool should be slain outright. "remember he has journeyed from the court of charles v!" "charles v!" came through triboulet's half-closed teeth. "my master's one great enemy!" "hush!" muttered villot. "our master's enemy is now his dear friend!" "friend!" sneered the other, but even as he thrust, his sword tingled sharply in his hand, and, whisked magically out of his grip, described a curve in the air and fell at a far end of the room. at the same time a stinging blow descended smartly on the dwarf's hump. "pardon me!" laughed the duke's fool. "being unused to such exercise, my blade fell by mistake on your back." if looks could have killed, triboulet would have achieved his original purpose, but after a vindictive though futile glance his head drooped despondently. to have been thus humiliated before those whom he regarded as his vassals! what jest could restore him the prestige he had enjoyed; what play of words efface the shame of that public chastisement? had he been beaten by the king--but thus to suffer at the hand of a foreign fool! and the monarch--would he learn of it?--the punishment of the royal jester? as in a dream, he heard the hateful voices of the company. "'tis not the first time he has been wounded--there!" said fearless caillette, who openly acknowledged his aversion for the king's favorite fool. "but be seated, gentle sir," he added to the stranger, "and share our rough hospitality." "rough, certes!" commented the other, as he returned his blade to his belt. "and as i see no stool--" "there's the throne!" returned caillette, courteously. "since you have overcome triboulet, his place is yours." "a precarious place!" said the new-comer, easily, dropping, nevertheless, into the chair. "the king is dead! long live the king!" cried the cardinal's jester. "long live the king!" they shouted, every fool and zany raising a tankard, save the dwarf and the young woman, the former continuing to glare vindictively upon the usurper, and the latter to all intent remaining oblivious of the ceremony of installation. poised upon a chair, she idly thrust her fingers through the gilded bars of the cage that hung from the rafters and gently stroked the head of the now complaisant bird. "poor jocko! poor jocko!" she murmured. "la!--la!--la!--" sang the parrot, responsive to her light caress. "your majesty's wishes! your majesty's decree!" exclaimed the monastic wit-worm. "hear! hear!" roared brusquet. "silence!" commanded marot. "his majesty speaks." "toot! toot! toot!" rang out the flourish of a trumpet, a clarion prelude to the fiat from the throne. the new king in motley arose; heedless, devil-may-care, very erect in his preposterously pointed shoes. "i appoint you, thony, treasurer of the exchequer, because you are quick at sleight-of-hand," he began. "good," laughed marot. "an he's more light-fingered than his predecessor, he's a master of prestidigitation!" "you, brusquet," went on the new master of fool's hall, "i reward with the government of guienne, for he who governs his own house so ill is surely fitted for greater tasks of incompetency." this allusion to the petticoat rule which dominated the luckless jester at home was received in good part by all save the hapless domestic bondman himself. "you, villot, are made admiral of the fleet." villot smiled, thinking how francis had but recently bestowed that office upon the impoverished husband of pretty madame d'etaille. "thanks, your majesty," he began, "but if some post nearer home--" "you are to sail at once!" "but my wife--" "will remain at court!" announced the duke's jester with great decision. villot made a wry face. the king in motley smiled significantly. "a safe haven, villot! besides, remember a court without ladies is like a spring without flowers." a movement resembling apprehension swept through the company. the epigram had been francis'; the court--a flower-bed of roses--was, in consequence, a thorny maze for a jester to tread. from her chair at the far end of the room, the young woman looked at the new-comer for the first time since his enthronement. her fingers yet played between the gilded bars; the posture she had assumed set forth the pliant grace of her figure. above the others, she glanced at him, her hair very black against the golden cage; her arm, very white, half unsheathed from the great hanging sleeve. "you are over-bold," she said, a peculiar smile upon her lips. "nay; i have spoken no treason, mistress," he retorted blithely. "not by word of mouth, perhaps, but by imputation." he raised his brows with a gesture of wanton protest, while the face before him clouded. her eyes held his; her little teeth just gleamed between the crimson of her lips. "i presume you consider charles the more fitting monarch?" she continued. was it the disdain of her voice? did she read his passing thoughts? did she challenge him to utter them? "in truth," the jester said carelessly, "charles builds fortresses, not pleasure palaces; and garrisons them with soldiers, not ladies." she half-smiled. her glance fell. her hand moved caressingly, the sleeve waving beneath. "poor jocko! poor jocko!" she murmured. triboulet's glance beamed with delight. she was casting her spell over his enemy. "oh," muttered triboulet, "if the king could but have heard!" perhaps it was a breath of air, but the tapestry depicting the misadventures of momus waved and moved. triboulet, who noted everything, saw this, and suffered an expression of triumph momentarily to rest upon his malignant features. had his prayer been answered? "a spring without flowers," forsooth! dearly cherished the august gardener his beautiful roses. great red roses; white roses; blossoms yet unopened! following his gaze, a significant light appeared in the young woman's eyes, while her arm fell to her side. "now to see presumption sue for pardon," she whispered to herself. one by one the company, too, turned in the direction triboulet was looking. in portraiture the classical buffoon grinned and gibed at them from the tapestry; and even from his high station above the clouds jupiter, who had ejected the offending fool of the gods, looked less stern and implacable. an expectant hush fell upon the assemblage, when suddenly jove and momus alike were unceremoniously thrust aside, and, as the folds fell slowly back, before the many-hued curtain stood a man of stately and majestic mien. a man whose appearance caused deep-seated consternation, whose forbidding aspect made the very silence portentous and terrifying. with dress slashed and laced, rich in jewelry and precious stones, he remained motionless, regarding the motley gathering, while an ominous half-smile played about his features. he said nothing, but his reserve was more sinister than language. capricious, cruel was his face; in his eyes shone covert enjoyment of the situation. would he never speak? with one hand he stroked his beard; with the other he toyed with the lace on his doublet. "you were talking, children," he said, finally, "before i came in." "if your majesty," ventured triboulet, "has heard all, your majesty will not blame--us!" and he glanced malevolently toward the duke's jester, who, upon the king's abrupt entrance, had descended from the platform. observing the emblazoned arms of charles v upon the dress of the culprit, a faint look of surprise swept francis' face. did it recall that fatal day, when on the field of battle, a rival banner had waved ever illusively; ever beyond his reach? now it shone before him as though mocking his friendship for his one-time powerful enemy, the only man he feared, the emperor who had overthrown him. the sinister smile of the king gave way to gloomy thoughtfulness. "who is this knave?" he asked at length, fixedly regarding the erstwhile badge of his defeat. "a poor fool, sire!" replied the kneeling man. "those arms, embroidered on your dress--what do they mean?" said the king shortly. "the arms of my master's master, your majesty!" was the over-confident answer. "who is your master?" "the duke of friedwald, sire, the betrothed of the princess louise." "and your purpose here?" "my master sent me to the princess. 'i'll miss thee, rogue,' said he. ''tis proof of love to send thee, my merry companion of the wine cup! but go! nature hath formed thee to conjure sadness from a lady's face.' so i set out upon my perilous journey, and, favored by fortune, am but safely arrived. i was e'en now about to repair to the princess, whom i trust, in my humble way, to amuse." "and thou shalt!" said the king, significantly. "oh, your majesty!" with assumed modesty. "that is," added francis, "if it will amuse her to see you hanged!" "and if it did not amuse her, sire?" spoke up the new-comer, without a tremor in his voice. "what then?" asked the king. "it would be a breach of hospitality to hang me, the servant of the duke who is servant of charles v!" he replied boldly. francis started. like a menace shone the arms of the great emperor. vividly he recalled his own humiliation, his long captivity, and mistrusted the power of his subtile, amiable friend-enemy. friendship? sweeter was hatred. but the promptings of wisdom had suggested the policy of peace; the reins of expediency drove him, autocrat or slave, to the doctrines of loving brotherhood. he turned his gloomy eyes upon the glowing countenance of triboulet. "what say you, fool?" "your majesty," answered the eager dwarf, "could hang him without breach of hospitality." "how do you make that good, triboulet?" asked the monarch. "the duke has given him to the princess. the princess is a subject of your majesty. the king of france has jurisdiction over the princess' fool and surely can proceed in so small a matter as hanging him." francis bent a malignant look upon the young man. behind the dwarf stood the jestress, now an earnest spectator of the scene. "this new-comer's stay with us promises to be brief, caillette," she whispered. "hark, you witch! he answers," returned the poet. "what can he say?" she retorted, shrugging her shoulders. "he is already condemned." "are you pleased, mistress? just because the poor fellow stared at you overmuch." "oh," she said, insensibly, "it was written he should hang himself. now we'll hear how ably audacity parleys with fate." "it would be no breach of hospitality, sire, to hang the princess' fool," spoke the condemned man with no sign of waning confidence, "yet it would seem to depreciate the duke's gift. your majesty should hang the one and spare the other. 'tis a matter of logic," he went on quickly, "to point out where the duke's gift ends and the princess' fool begins. a gift is a gift until it is received. the princess has not yet received the duke's gift. therefore, your majesty can not hang me, as the princess' fool; nor would your majesty desire to hang me as the duke's gift." imperceptibly the monarch's mien relaxed, for next to a contest with blades he liked the quick play of words. "answer him, triboulet," he said. "your majesty--your majesty--" stammered the dwarf, and paused in despair, his wits failing him at the critical juncture. "enough!" commanded the king, sternly. a sound of suppressed merriment even as he spoke startled the gathering. "who laughed?" he cried suddenly. "was it you, mistress?" fastening his eyes upon the young woman. her head fell lower and lower like some dark flower on a slender stem. from out of the veil of her mazy hair came a voice, soft with seeming humility. "it might have been jocko, sire," she said. "he sometimes laughs like that." the king looked from the woman to the bird; then from the bird to the woman, a gleam of recollection in his glance. "humph!" he muttered. "is this where you serve your mistress? look to it you serve not yourself ill!" an instant her eyes flashed upward. "my mistress is at prayers," she answered, and looked down again as quickly. "and you meanwhile prefer the drollery of these madcaps to the attentions of our courtiers?" said francis, more gently. "certes are you gipsy-born!" her hands clasped tighter, but she answered not, and he turned more sternly to the new king of the motley. "as for you," he continued, "for the present the duke's gift is spared. but let the princess' fool look to himself. remember, a guarded tongue insures a ripe old age, and even a throne in fools' hall is fraught with hazard. here! some of you, take this"--indicating the sleeping rabelais--"and throw it into the horse-pond. yet see that he does not drown--your heads upon it! 'tis to him france looks for learning." he paused; glanced back at the kneeling girl. "you, mistress who-seeks-to-hide-her-face, teach that parrot not to laugh!" he added grimly. the tapestry waved. mute the motley throng stared where the king had stood. a light hand touched the arm of the duke's fool, and, turning, he beheld the young woman; her eyes were alight with new fire. "in god's name," she exclaimed, passionately, "let us leave. you have done mischief enough. follow me." "where'er you will," he responded gallantly. chapter iii a gift for the duke the sun and the breeze contended with the mist, intrenched in the stronghold of the valley. from the east the red orb began its attack; out of the west rode the swift-moving zephyrs, and, vanquished, the wavering vapor stole off into thin air, or hung in isolated wreaths above the foliage on the hillside. soon the conquering light brightly illumined a medieval castle commanding the surrounding country; the victorious breeze whispered loudly at its gloomy casements. a great norman structure, somber, austere, it was, however brightened with many modern features that threatened gradually to sap much of its ancient majesty. "fill up the moat," francis had ordered. "'tis barbaric! what lover would sigh beneath walls thirty feet thick! and the portcullis! away with it! summon my italian painters to adorn the walls. we may yet make habitable these legacies from the savage, brutal past." so the mighty walls, once set in a comparative wilderness, a tangle of thicket and underbrush, now arose from garden, lawn and park, where even the deer were no longer shy, and the water, propelled by artificial power, shot upward in jets. seated at a window which overlooked this sylvan aspect, modified if not fashioned by man, a young woman with seeming conscientiousness, told her beads. the apartment, though richly furnished, was in keeping with the devout character of its fair mistress. a brush or aspersorium, used for sprinkling holy water, was leaning against the wall. upon a table lay an open psalter, with its long hanging cover and a ball at the extremity of the forel. behind two tall candlesticks stood an altar-table which, being unfolded, revealed three compartments, each with a picture, painted by andrea del sarto, the once honored guest of francis. the princess louise, cousin of francis' former queen, claude, had been reared with rigid strictness, although provided with various preceptors who had made her more or less proficient in the profane letters, as they were then called, latin, greek, theology and philosophy. the fame of her beauty had gone abroad; her hand had been often sought, but the obdurate king had steadfastly refused to sanction her betrothal until charles, the emperor, himself proposed a union between the fair ward of the french monarch and one of his nobles, the young duke of friedwald. to this francis had assented, for he calculated upon thus drawing to his interests one of his rival's most chivalrous knights, while far-seeing charles believed he could not only retain the duke, but add to his own court the lovely and learned ward of the king. and in this comedy of aggrandizement the puppets were willing--as puppets must needs be. indeed, the duke was seriously enamored of the princess, whose portrait he had seen in miniature, and had himself importuned the emperor to intercede with francis, knowing that the only way to the lady's hand was through the good offices of him who aspired to the mastery of all europe, if not the world. charles, unwilling to disoblige one whose principality was the most powerful of the austrian provinces he sought to absorb in his scheme for the unification of all nations, offered no demur to a request fraught with advantage to himself. besides, cold and calculating though he was, the emperor entertained a certain affection for the duke, who on one occasion, when charles had been sore beset by the troops of solyman, had extricated his royal leader from the alternatives of ignominious capture or an untimely end. accordingly, a formal proposal, couched in language of warm friendship to the king, was despatched by the emperor. when francis, with some misgiving, arising from experience with womankind, laid the matter before louise, she, to his surprise, proved her devotion and loyalty by her entire submissiveness, and the king, kissing her hand, generously vowed the wedding festivities should be worthy of her beauty and fealty. was she thinking of that scene now and the many messages which had subsequently passed between her distant lover and herself, as the white fingers ceased to tell the beads? was she questioning fate and the future when the rosary fell from her hand and the clinking of the great glass beads on the hard floor aroused her from a reverie? languidly she rose, crossed the room toward a low dressing table, when at the same time one of the several doors of the apartment opened, admitting the jestress, jacqueline, whose long, flowing gown of dark green bore no distinguishing mark of the motley she had assumed the night before. the dreamy, almost lethargic, gaze of the princess rested for a moment upon the ardent eyes of the maid who stood motionless before her. "the duke's jester who arrived last night awaits your pleasure without," said the girl. "bid him enter. stay! the fillet for my hair. seems he a merry fellow?" "so merry, madam, he mimicked the king last night in fool's hall, beat triboulet, appointed knaves in jest to high offices, and had been hanged for his forwardness but that he narrowly saved his neck by a slender device." "what; all that in so short a time!" exclaimed the princess. "a most presumptuous rogue!" "the king, madam, was behind the tapestry and heard it all: his appointment of thony as treasurer, because he is apt at palming money; brusquet, governor of guienne, since he governs his own home so ill; and villot, admiral of the fleet, that he might sail away and leave his pretty wife behind him." "i'll warrant me the story is known to the entire court ere this," laughed the lady. "won't madame d'etaille be in a temper! and the admiral when he hears of it--on the high seas! the king was eavesdropping, you say, and yet spared the jester? he must bear a charmed life." "he dubbed himself the duke's gift, madam, and boldly claimed privilege under the poor cloak of hospitality." "surely," murmured the princess, "there will be no lack of entertainment with this knave under the same roof. too much entertainment, i fear me. well, admit the bold fellow." crossing to the door, the maid pushed it back and the figure of the jester passed the threshold:--a figure so graceful and well-built, the lady's eyes, turning toward him with mild inquiry, lingered with approval; lingered, and were upraised to a fair, handsome face, when approval gave way to wonder. was this the imprudent, hot-brained rogue who had swaggered in fools' hall, and made a farce of the affairs of the nation? his countenance seemed that of a courtier rather than a low-born scape-grace; his bearing in consonance, as, approaching the princess, he knelt near the edge of her sweeping crimson garment. quietly the maid withdrew to a corner of the apartment where she seated herself on a low stool, her fingers idly playing with the delicate carvings of a vase of silver, containing water that had been blessed and standing conveniently near the aspersorium. "you come from the duke of friedwald, fool?" said the mistress, recovering from her surprise. "yes, princess." louise smiled, and looked toward the maid as if to say: "why, he's a model of decorum!" but the girl continued regarding the figures on the vase, seemingly indifferent to the scene before her. "i hear, sirrah, but a poor account of your behavior last night," continued the princess. "you must have a care, or i shall send you back to the duke and command him to have you whipped. you have been here but overnight, yet how many enemies have you made? the king; the admiral, and--last but not least--a certain lady. poor fool! you may have saved your neck, but for how long? fie! what an account must i give of you to your master!" "ah, madam," he answered quickly, "you show me now the folly of it all." "let me see," she went on more gently, "what we may do, since you are penitent? the king may forgive; the admiral forget, but the lady--she will neither forget nor forgive. fortunately, i think she fears to disoblige me, and, if i let it be known you are an indispensable part of my household--" she paused thoughtfully--"besides, she has a little secret she would keep from the king. yes; the secret will save you!" and louise smiled knowingly, as one who, although most devout, perhaps had missed a few paters or credos in listening to idle worldly gossip. "madam," he said, raising his head, "you overwhelm me with your goodness." "oh, i like her not; a most designing creature," returned the lady carelessly. "but you may rise. hand me that embroidery," she added when he had obeyed. "how do i know the duke, my betrothed, whom i have never seen, has not sent you to report upon my poor charms? what if you were only his emissary?" "princess," he answered, "i am but a fool; no emissary. if i were--" "well?" she smiled indulgently at the open admiration written so boldly upon his face, and, encouraged by her glance, he regarded her swiftly, comprehensively; the masses of hair the fillet ill-confined; eyes, soft-lidded, dreamy as a summer's day; a figure, pagan in generous proportions; a foot, however, _petite_, parisian, peeping from beneath a robe, heavy, voluminous, vivid! "if you were?" she suggested, passing a golden thread through the cloth she held. "i would write him the miniature he has of you told but half the truth." "so you have seen the miniature? it lies carelessly about, no doubt?" yet her tone was not one of displeasure. "the duke frequently draws it from his breast to look at it." "and so many handsome women in the kingdom, too!" laughed the princess. "a tiny, paltry bit of vellum!" her lips curled indulgently, as of a person sure of herself. did not the fool's glance pay her that tribute to which she was not a stranger? her lashes, suddenly lifted, met his fully, and drove his look, grown overbold, to cover. the princess smiled; she might well believe the stories about him; yet was not ill-pleased. "like master; like man!" says the proverb. she continued to survey the graceful figure, well-poised head and handsome features of the jester. "tell me, sirrah," she continued, "of the duke. straightforwardly, or--i'll leave thee to the mercy of madam the admiral's wife! what is he like?" "a fairly likely man!" "'tis what one says of a man when one can say nothing else. he is not then very handsome?" "he has never been so considered!" the princess' needle remained suspended, then viciously plunged into the golden cupid she was embroidering. "the king hath played with me," she murmured. "he represented him as one of the most distinguished-appearing knights in the emperor's domains. is he dark or light?" she went on. "dark." "tall?" "rather short." "his eyes?" said the lady, after an ominous pause. "brown." "his manners?" "those of a soldier." "his speech?" "that of one born to command." "command!" returned the princess, ironically. "odious word!" "you, madam," quickly answered the jester, "he would serve." a moment her glance challenged his, coldly, proudly, and then her features softened. the indolent look crept into her eyes once more; the tension of her lips relaxed. "command and serve!" laughed the princess. "a paradox, if not a paragon, it seems! not handsome--probably ugly!--a soldier--full of oaths--a blusterer--strong in his cups! what a list of qualifications! well"--with a sigh--"what must needs be must be! the emperor plays the rook; francis moves his pawn--my poor self. the game, beyond the two moves, is naught to us. perhaps we shall be sacrificed, one or both! what of that, if it's a draw, or one of the players checkmates the other--" "but, princess," cried the fool, "he loves you! passionately!--devotedly!--" "a passing fancy for a painted semblance!" said the lady, as rising she turned toward the casement, the golden cupid falling from her lap to the floor. in the rhythmic ease of her movement, in her very attitude, was consciousness of her own power, but to the poet-jester, surrounded as he was by symbols of worship and devotion, her expressed self-doubt seemed that of some saintly being, cloistered in the solitude of a sanctuary. "nay," he answered swiftly, "he has but to see you--with the sunlight in your hair--as i see you now! the pawn, madam, would become a queen; his queen! what would matter to him the game of charles or francis? let charles grow greater, or francis smaller. his gain would be--you!" the fingers of the maid who sat at the far end of the room ceased to caress the silver vase; her hands were tightly clasped together; in her dark eyes was an ironical light, as her gaze passed from the jester to her mistress. almost motionless stood the princess until he had finished; motionless it would have seemed but for the chain on her breast, which rose and fell with her breathing. from the jeweled network which half-bound her hair shone flashes of light; a tress which escaped the glittering environment lay like a serpent of gold upon the crimson of her gown where the neck softly uprose. a hue, delicately rich as the tinted leaves of orange blossoms, mantled her cheeks. she shook her head in soft dissent. "queen for how long?" she answered gently. "as long as gentle claude was queen for francis? as long as saintly eleanor held undisputed sway?" "as long as eleanor is queen in the hearts of her people!" he exclaimed, passionately. "as long as france is her bridegroom!" deliberately she half-turned, the coil of gold falling over her shoulder. near her hand, white against the dark casement, a blood-red rose trembled at the entrance of her chamber, and, grasping it lightly, she held it to her face as if its perfume symbolized her thoughts. "is there so much constancy in the world?" she asked musingly. "can such singleness of heart exist? like this flower which would bloom and die at my window? a bold flower, though! day by day has it been growing nearer. here," she added, breaking it from the stem and holding it to the jester. "madam!" he cried. "take it," she laughed, "and--send it to the duke!" kneeling, he received it. "thou art a fellow of infinite humor indeed. equally at home in a lady's boudoir, or a fools' drinking bout. come, jacqueline, queen marguerite awaits our presence. she has a new chapter to read, but whether another instalment of her tales, or a prayer for her mirror of the sinful soul, i know not. as for you, sir"--with a parting smile--"later we shall walk in the garden. there you may await us." chapter iv an impatient suitor "well, sir mariner, do you not fear to venture so far on a dangerous sea?" asked a mocking voice. "a dangerous sea, fair jacqueline?" he replied, stroking the head of the hound which lay before the bench. "i see nothing save smiling fields and fragrant beds of flowers." "oh, i recognize now monsieur diplomat, not sir mariner!" she retorted. beneath her head-dress, resembling in some degree two great butterfly wings, her face looked smaller than its wont. laced tight, after the fashion, the _cotte-hardie_ made her waist appear little larger than could be clasped by the hands of a soldier, while a silken-shod foot with which she tapped the ground would have nestled neatly in his palm. was it pique that moved her thus to address the duke's jester? since he had arrived, jacqueline had been relegated, as it were, to the corner. she, formerly ever first with the princess, had perforce stood aside on the coming of the foreign fool whose company her mistress strangely seemed to prefer to her own. first had it been talking, walking and jesting, in which last accomplishment he proved singularly expert, judging from the peals of laughter to which her mistress occasionally gave vent. then it had become riding, hawking and, worst of all, reading. lately louise, learned, as has been set forth, in the profane letters, had displayed a marked favor for books of all kinds--the tree of battles, by bonnet, the breviary of nobles in verse, the "_livre des faits d'armes et de chevalerie_," by christine de pisan; and in a secluded garden spot, with her fool and servant, she sedulously pursued her literary labors. as books were rare, being hand-printed and hand-illumined, the princess' choice of volumes was not large, but marguerite, the king's sister, possessed some rarely executed poems--in their mechanical aspect; the monarch permitted her the use of several precious chronicles; while the abbess in the convent near by, who esteemed louise for her piety and accomplishments, submitted to her care a gorgeously painted, satin-bound life of saint agnes, a roman virgin who died under the sanguinary persecution of diocletian. but jacqueline frowningly noticed that the saint's life lay idle--conspicuously, though fittingly, on the altar-table--while a manuscript of the queen of navarre suspiciously accompanied the jester when he sought the pleasant nook selected for reading and conversation. it was to this spot the maid repaired one soft summer afternoon, where she found the fool and a volume--marguerite's, by the purple binding and the love-knot in silver!--awaiting doubtless the coming of the princess; and at the sight of them, the book of romance and the jester who brought it, what wonder her patience gave way? "you have been here now a fortnight, monsieur diplomat," she continued, bending the eyes which triboulet so feared upon the other. "thirteen days, to be exact, sweet jacqueline!" he answered calmly. "indeed! then there is some hope for you, if you've kept track of time," she returned pointedly. still he forbore to qualify his manner, save with a latent smile that further exasperated the girl. "what mean you, gentle mistress?" he asked quietly, without even looking at her. "'sweet jacqueline!' 'gentle mistress!' you are profuse with soft words!" she cried sharply. "and yet they turn you not from anger." "anger!" she said, her eyes flashing. "not another man at court would dare to talk to me as you do." at this he lifted his brows and surveyed her much as one would a spoiled child, a glance that excited in her the same emotion she had experienced the night of his arrival in fools' hall, when he had contemplated her in her garb of joculatrix, as some misplaced anomaly. "i know, mistress," he returned ironically, "you have a reputation for sorcery. but i think it lies more in your eyes than in the moon." "and yet i can see the future for all that," she replied, persistently, defiantly. "the future?" he retorted, and looked from the earth to the sky. "what is the goal of yonder tiny cloud? can you tell me that?" "the goal?" she repeated, uplifting her head. "wait! it is very small. the sun is already swallowing it up." "heigho!" yawned the jester, outstretching his yellow-pointed boot, "i catch not the moral to the fable--an there be one! "the moral!" she said, quickly. "ask marot." "why marot?" balancing the stick with the fool's head in his hand. "because he dared love queen marguerite!" she answered impetuously. "the fool in motley; the lady in purple! how he jested at her wedding! how he wept when he thought himself alone!" "he had but himself to blame, jacqueline," returned the other with composure, although his eyes were now bent straight before him. "he could not climb to her; she could not stoop to him. yet i daresay, it was a mad dream he would not have foregone." "not have foregone!" she exclaimed, quickly. "what would he not have given to tear it from his breast; aye, though he tore his heart with it! that day, bright and fair, when henry d'albret, king of navarre, took her in his arms and kissed her brow! when amid gay festivities she became his bride! not have foregone? yes; marot would forego that day--and other days." still that inertia; that irritating immobility. "what a tragic tale for a summer day!" was his only comment. "and caillette!" she continued, rapidly. "distinguished in mien, graceful in manner. in the house of his patron, he dared look up to that nobleman's daughter, diane de poitiers. a dream; a youthful dream! enter monsieur de brézé, grand seneschal of normandy. shall i tell you the rest? how caillette stares, moody, knitting his brows at his cups! of what is the jester thinking?" "whether the grand seneschal will let him sleep with the spaniels, jacqueline, or turn him out," laughed the jester. angrily she clasped her hands before her. "is it the way your mind would move?" she retorted. "a jester without a roof to cover him is like a dog without a kennel, mistress." disdain, contempt, rapidly crossed her face, but her lip curved knowingly and her voice came more gently, because of the greater sting that lay behind her words. "you but seek to flout me from my tale," she said sweetly. "caillette is none such, as you know. they were young together. 'twas said he confessed his love; that tokens passed between them. rhymes he writ to her; a flower, perhaps, she gave him. a flower he yet cherishes, mayhap; dried, faded, yet plucked by her!" involuntarily the hand of her listener touched his breast, the first sign he had made that her story moved him. jacqueline, watching him keenly, smiled, and demurely looked away. her next words seemed to dance from her lips, as with head bent, like a butterfly poised, she addressed her remark to vacancy. "a flower for himself, no doubt! not given him for another!" whereupon she turned in time to catch the burning flush which flamed his cheek and left it paler than she had ever seen it. at this first signal of her success--proving that he was not impregnable to her attack--she hummed a little song and beat time on the sward with a green-shod foot. "what mean you?" he asked, momentarily dropping his unruffled manner. "not much!" lightly she tripped to a bush, broke off a flower and regarded it mischievously. "why should people hide that which is so sweet and fragrant?" she remarked, and set the rose in her hair. "hide?" he said, looking at the flower, but not at her. "i trust you kept the rose, monsieur diplomat?" she spoke up, suddenly, her expression most serious. "what rose?" he asked, now become restless beneath her cutting tongue. "what rose! as if you did not know! how innocent you look! how many roses are there in the world? a thousand? or only one? what rose? her rose, of course. have you got it? i hope so--for the duke is coming and might ask for it!" this, then, was the information she had taken such a roundabout way to communicate! it was to this end she had purposely led the conversation by adroit stages, studying him gaily, impatiently or maliciously, as she marked the effect of her words upon him. all alive, she stepped back laughing; elate, she put her arms about a branch of the rose-bush and drew a score of roses to her bosom, as though she were a witch, impervious to thorns. he had risen--yes, there was no doubt about it!--but her sunny face was turned to the flowers. his countenance became at once puzzled and thoughtful. "the duke--coming--" he condescended to ask for information now. sidewise she gazed at him, unrelenting. "does the flower become me?" she asked. "the duke--coming--" he repeated. "how impolite! to refuse me a compliment!" she flashed. the next moment he was by her side, and had taken her arm, almost roughly. "speak out!" he cried. "some one is coming! what duke is coming?" "you hurt me!" she exclaimed, angrily. he loosened his grasp. "what duke?" she answered scornfully. "her duke! your duke! the emperor's duke!" "the duke of friedwald?" he asked. "of course! the princess' fiancé; bridegroom-to-be; future husband, lord and master," she explained, with indubious and positive iteration. "but the time--set for the wedding---has not expired," he protested with what she thought seemed a suspicion that she was playing with him. "that is easily answered," she said cheerfully. "the duke, it seems, has become more and more enamored. finally his passion has so grown and grown he fears to let it grow any more, and, as the only way out of the difficulty, petitioned the king to curtail the time of probation and relieve him of the constantly augmenting suspense. to which his most gracious majesty, having been a lover himself (on divers occasions) and measuring the poor fellow's troubles by the qualms he has himself experienced, has seen generously fit to cut off a few weeks of waiting and set the wedding for the near future." "how know you this?" he demanded, sharply, striding to and fro. "this morning the princess sent me with a message to the countess d'etampes. you know her? you have heard? she has succeeded the countess of châteaubriant. well, the king was with her--not the countess of châteaubriant, but the other one, i mean. they left poor me to await his majesty's pleasure, and, as the countess d'etampes has but newly succeeded to her present exalted position and the king has not yet discovered her many imperfections, i should certainly have fallen asleep for weariness had i not chanced to overhear portions of their conversation. the countess d'etampes, it seemed, was very angry. 'your majesty promised to send her home,' she said. 'but, my dear, give me time,' pleaded the king. 'pack her off at once,' she demanded, raising her voice. 'send her to her husband. that's where she belongs. think of him, poor fellow!' laughing, his majesty capitulated. 'well, well, back to her castle goes the countess of châteaubriant!' thereupon--" "but the duke, mistress," interrupted the jester, who had become more and more impatient during the prolonged narration. "the duke?" "am i not to tell it in my own way?" she returned. "what manners you have! first, you pinch my arm until i must needs cry out. then you ask a question and interrupt me before i can answer." "interrupt!" he muttered. "you might have told a dozen tales. what care i for the king's jezebels?" "jezebels!" she repeated, in mock horror. "i see plainly, if you don't die one way, you will another." "'tis usually the case. but go on with your story." "if i can not tell it in my own way--" "tell it as you will, if your way be as slow as your tongue is sharp," he answered sullenly. "sharp! jezebels! you deserve not to hear, but--the king, it seems, had laid the duke's request before the countess d'etampes. 'here is an impatient suitor,' he said gaily. 'how shall we cure his passion?' 'by marrying him,' blithely answered this light-of-love. ''tis a medicine that never fails!' his majesty frowned; i could not see him, but felt sure of it from his tone, for although he neglects the queen, yet, to some degree, is mindful of her dignity. 'marriage is a holy state, madam,' he replied severely. 'there's no doubt about it, francis,' returned the lady, 'and therefore is the antidote to passion. but a man bent on matrimony is like a child that wants a toy. better give it to him at once--the plaything will the sooner be thrown aside!' 'nay, madam,' he said reprovingly, 'the duke shall have his wish, but for no such reason.' 'what reason then?' quoth she, petulantly. 'because thou hast shown me love is a monarch stronger than any king and that we are but as slaves in its hands!' he exclaimed, passionately. 'i know i shall like the duke,' cried she, 'since he is the cause of that pretty speech.' "at this point, not daring to listen longer, i coughed; there was silence; then the countess herself appeared at the door and looked at me sharply. with such grace as i could command, i delivered my message, left the house and was hurrying through the garden when chance threw you in my way. and now you have it all, sir." "the princess--has she heard the king has received a letter from the duke, and that his majesty has changed the wedding date?" the jester spoke slowly, but jacqueline was assured that beneath his deliberate manner surged deep and conflicting emotions; that his calmness was no more than a mask to conceal his pain. had he given utterance to the feeling that beset him, had he betrayed more than a suggestion of the passion, rage or grief which struggles for mastery beneath a forced sloth of sensibility, she would have once more mocked him with laughter. but perhaps his very quiescence inclined her to look upon him with a grain of sympathy or compassion, for her tones were now grave. "the princess knows; has heard all from the king. not long since he sent for her. will she consent? what else can she do? 'tis the monarch who commands; we who obey!" "is the court then only a mart, a guildhall?" he exclaimed. "a woman--even a princess--should be won, not--exchanged!" her lashes drooped; in her gaze shone once more the ironical amusement. "why," she said, "from what wilds, or forests, have you come? the heart follows where the trader lists! think you the princess will wear the willow?" she laughed. "how well you know women!" "do you mean that she--" "i mean that her welfare is in strong hands; that there will be few greater in all the land; none more honored! the duke's principality is vast--but here comes the princess." the hound sprang to his feet and ran gamboling down the path. "ask her the rest yourself, most unsophisticated fool! ah,"--with a touch she could not resist--"what a handsome bride she will make for the duke!" chapter v jacqueline fetches the princess' fan through the flowery path, so narrow her gown brushed the leaves on either side, the princess louise appeared, walking slowly. a head-dress, heart-shaped, held her hair in its close confines; the gown of cloth-of-silver damask fitted closely to her figure, and, from the girdle, hung a long pendent end, elaborately enriched. with short, sharp barks, the dog bounded before her, but the hand usually extended to caress the animal remained at her side. intently the jester watched her draw near and ever nearer, their common trysting spot, her favorite garden nook. a handsome bride, forsooth, as jacqueline had suggested. all in white was she now; a glittering white, with silver adornment; ravishingly hymeneal. a bride for a duke--or a king--more stately than the queen; handsomer than the favorite of favorites who ruled the king and france. "jacqueline," she said, evincing neither surprise nor any other emotion, as she approached, "go and fetch my fan. i believe 'tis in the king's ante-chamber." "madam carried no fan when"--began the girl. "then 'tis somewhere else. do not bandy words, but find it." sinking on the bench as the maid walked quickly away, she remained for some moments in silent thought,--a reverie the jester forbore to disturb. her head rested on her arm, from which fell the flowing sleeve almost to the ground; her wrist was lightly inclasped by a slender golden band of delicate byzantine enamel work; over the sculptured form of the stone griffin that constituted one of the supports of the ancient norman bench flowed the voluminous folds of her dress, partly concealing the monster from view. against the clambering ivy which for centuries had reveled in this chosen spot, and which the landscape gardeners of francis had wisely spared, lay her hand, a small ring of curious workmanship gleaming from her finger. the ring caused the jester to start, remembering he had last seen it worn by the king. truly, the capricious, but august, monarch must have been well pleased with the complaisance of his fair ward, and the face of the fool, glowing and eager, became on the instant hard and cold. did he experience now the first pangs of that sorrow jacqueline had vividly portrayed as the love-portion of marot and caillette? faintly the ivy whispered above the princess, telling perhaps of other days when, centuries gone by, some norman lady had been wooed and won, or wooed and lost, in the shadow of the griffin, which, silent, sphinx-like, yet endured through the ages. idly the princess louise plucked a leaf from the old, old vine, picked it apart and let the pieces float away. as they fluttered and fell at the jester's feet she regarded him with thoughtful blue eyes. "how far is it," she asked, "to the duke's principality?" if he had doubted the maid's story, he was now convinced. the ring and her question confirmed jacqueline's narrative. moodily he surveyed the great claws of the griffin, firmly planted on the earth, and then looked from the feet to the laughing mouth of the stone figure, or so much of it as the shining dress left uncovered. "about fifteen days' journey, princess," he replied. "no farther?" "barring accidents, it may be made in that time." she did not notice how dull was his tone; how he avoided her gaze. blind to him, she turned the ring around and around on her finger, as though her thoughts were concentrated on it. "accidents," she repeated, her hand now motionless. "is the way perilous?" "the country is most unsettled." "what do you mean by unsettled?" she continued, bending forward with fingers clasped over her knees. supinely she waved a foot back and forth, showing and then withdrawing the point of a jeweled slipper, and a suggestion of lavender in silk network above. "what do you call unsettled?" "the country is infested with many roving bands commanded by the so-called independent barons who owe allegiance to neither king nor emperor," he answered. "their homes are perched, like eagles' nests, upon some mountain peak that commands the valleys travelers must proceed through. a fierce, untamed crew, bent on rapine and murder!" "did you encounter any such?" gently. "ofttimes." "and left unscathed?" "because i was a jester, madam; something less than man; a lordling's slave; a woman's plaything! their sentinels shared with me their flasks; i slept before their signal fires, and even supped in the heart of their stone fastnesses. fools and monks are safe among them, for the one amuses and the other absolves their sins. yet is there one free baron," he added reflectively, "whom even i should have done well to avoid; he, the most feared, the most savage! louis, the bastard of pfalz-urfeld!" "have you ever met him?" asked the princess, in a mechanical tone. "no," with a short laugh. "a few of his knaves i encountered, however, whose conduct shamed the courtesy of the other mountain rogues. i all but fared ill indeed, from them. to the pleasantry of my greeting, they replied with the true pilferer's humor; the free baron had ordered every one searched. they would have robbed and stripped me, despite the color of my coat, only fortunately, instead of a fool's staff, i had a good blade of the duke's. for a moment it was cut and thrust--not jest and gibe; the suddenness of the attack surprised them, and before they could digest the humor of it the fool had slipped away." she leaned inertly back against the soft cushion of ivy. in the shadow the tint on her cheeks deepened, but below the sunlight played about her shoulders through leafy interspace, or crept in dancing spots down over her gown and arms. "the duke would not be molested by these outlaws?" she continued, pursuing her line of questioning. "the duke has a strong arm," he answered cautiously. "they may be well content to permit him to come and go as he sees fit." "well, well," she said, perversely, "i was only curious about the distance and the country." "for leagues the land is wild, bleak, inhospitable, and then 'tis level, monotonous, deserted, so lonely the song dies on the wandering minstrel's lips. but the duke rides fast with his troop and soon would cover the mountain paths and dreary wastes." "nay," she interrupted impatiently, "i asked not how the duke would ride." "i thought you wished to know, princess," he replied, humbly. "you thought"--she began angrily, sitting erect. "i know, princess; a fool should but jest, not think." "why do you cross me to-day?" she demanded petulantly. "can you not see--" abruptly she rose; impatiently moved away; but a few steps, however, when she turned, her face suddenly free from annoyance, in her eyes a soft decision. "there!" she exclaimed with a smile, half-arch, half-repentant. "how can any one be angry on such a day--all sunshine, butterflies and flowers!" he did not reply, and, mistress once more of herself, she drew near. "what a contrast to the stuffy palace, with all the courtiers, ministers and lap-dogs!" she went on. "here one can breathe. but how shall we make the most of such a day? stroll into the forest; sit by the fountain; run over the grass?" her voice was softer than it had been; her words fraught with suggestions of exhilarating companionship. did she note their effect? at any rate, she laughed lightly. "but how," she resumed, surveying the great enfolding skirt, "could one trip the sward with this monstrous gown, weighted with wreaths of silver? is it not but one of the many penalties of high birth? oh, for the short skirts of the lowly! what comfort to be arrayed like jacqueline!" "and she, princess, doubtless thinks likewise of more gorgeous apparel." his heart beat faster as he strove to answer her in kind. "a waste of cloth in vanity, as saith master calvin!" she replied, lifting her arms that shone with creamy softness from the dangling folds of heavy silk. "were it not for this courtly encumbrance, i should propose going into the fields with the haymakers. you may see them now--look!--through the opening in the foliage." with an expression, part resignation, part regret, she leaned against the wind-worn griffin which formed the arm of the bench. fainter sounded the warning of the jestress in the ears of the duke's fool; so faint it became but a weak admonition. more and more he abandoned himself to the pleasure of the moment. "to make the most of the day," the princess had said. how? by denying himself the sight of her ever-varying grace; by refusing to yield to the charm of her voice. he raised his head more boldly; through her drooping lashes a lazy light shot forth upon him, and the shadow of a smile seemed to say: "that is better. when the mistress is indulgent, a fool should not be unbending. a melancholy jester is but poor company." and so her mood swayed his; he forgot his resolution, his pride, and yielded to the infatuation of the moment. but when he endeavored to call the weapons of his office to his aid, her glance and the shadow of that smile left him witless. jest, fancy and whim had taken flight. "well?" she said. "well, sir fool?" his color shifted; withal his half-embarrassment, there was something graceful and noble in his bearing. "madam"--he began, and stopped for want of matter to put into words. but if the princess was annoyed at the new-found dullness of her _plaisant_, her manner did not show it. "what," she said, gently; "no news from the court; no word of intrigue; no story of the king? i should seek a courtier for my companion, not a jester. but there! what book have you brought?" indicating the volume that lay upon the bench. "guillaume de lorris's 'romance of the rose,'" he answered, more freely. "where did we leave off?" "where the hero, arriving at a fountain, beheld a beautiful rose tree," said the fool in a low tone. "desiring the rose, he reached to gather it--" "yes, i remember. and then, reason and danger did battle with love." "is it your wish we continue?" he asked, taking the book in his hand. "i would fain learn if he gathers his rose. nay, sit here on the bench and i"--brightly--"may look over your shoulder ever and anon, to steal a glimpse of the pretty pictures." unquestioningly, he obeyed her, the book, illumined, gleaming in the sunshine; the letters, red, gold, many-hued, dancing before them. love in crimson, the five silver shafts of cupid, the tower of jealousy, a frowning fortress, the rose, incentive for endless striving and endeavor--all floated by on the creamy parchment leaves. so interested was she in these wondrous pages, executed with such precision and perfection, with marginal adornment, and many a graceful turn and fancy in initial letter and tail-piece, she seemed to him for the moment rather some simple lowly maiden than a proud princess of the realm. "how much splendor the penman has shown!" she murmured, her breath on his cheek. "'tis more beautiful than the 'life of saint agnes.' is not that figure well done? a hard, austere old man; reason, i believe, in monkish attire." "reason, or duty, ever partakes of the monastery," he retorted with a short, mirthless laugh. "duty; obedience!" she broke in. "do i not know them? please turn the page." reaching over, she herself did so, her fingers touching his, her bosom just brushing his shoulder; and then she flushed, for it was venus's self the page revealed, standing on a grassy bank and showing love the rose. around the queen of beauty floated a silver gauze; her hair was indicated by threads of gold tossed luxuriantly about her; upon the shoulder of love rested her hand, encouraging him in his quest. most zealously had the monk-artist executed the lovely lady, as though some heart-dream flowed from the ink on his pen, every line exact, each feature radiantly shown. some youthful anchorite, perhaps, was he, and this the fair temptation that had assailed his fancy; such a vision as st. anthony wrestled with in the grievous solitude of his hermit cell. from the book and the picture, the jester, feeling the princess draw back impulsively, dared look up, and, looking up, could not look down from a loveliness surpassing the idealization on vellum of a monkish dream. from head to foot, the sunlight bathed the princess, glistening in her hair until it was alive with light. even when he gazed into her blue eyes he was conscious of a more flaming glory than lay in the heavens of their depths; a splendent maze that shed a brightness around her. "oh, princess," he said, wildly, "i know what the king hath told you! why you wear the monarch's ring!" "the monarch's ring!" she repeated, as recalled suddenly from wandering thought. "why--how know you--ah, jacqueline--" "and a ring signifieth consent. you will fulfill the king's desire?" "the king's desire?" she replied, mechanically. "is it not the will of god?" "but your own heart?" he cried, holding her with his eager gaze. she laid her hand on his shoulder; her eyes answered his. did she not realize the tragedy the future held for him? or did to-morrow seem far off, and the present become her greater concern? was hers the philosophy of marguerite's code which taught that the sweets of admiration should be gathered on the moment? that a cry of pain from a worshiping heart, however lowly, was honeyed flattery to love's votaries? as the jester looked at her a sudden chill seized his breast. jacqueline's mocking laughter rang in his ears. "ask her the rest yourself, most unsophisticated fool!" "then you will obey the king?" he persisted, dully. "why," she answered, smiling and bending nearer, "will you spoil the day?" "you would give yourself to a man, whether or not you loved him?" a frown gathered on the princess' brow, but she stooped, herself picked up the book he had dropped, brushed the earth from it and seated herself upon the bench. her manner was quiet, resolute; her action, a rebuke to the forward fool. "will you not read?" she said, with an inscrutable look. "true," he exclaimed, rising quickly, "i was sent to amuse--" "and you have found me a too exacting mistress?" she asked, more gently, checking the implied reproach. "exacting!" he repeated. "what then?" she said, half sadly. "nothing," he answered. but in his mind jacqueline's scornful words reiterated themselves: "think you the princess will wear the willow?" taking the book, he opened it at random, mechanically sinking at her feet. the quest, the idle quest! was it but an awakening? so far lay the branch above his reach! his voice rose and fell with the mystic rhythm of the meter, now dwelling on death and danger, the shortness of life, the sweetness of passion; then telling the pleasures of the dance. [illustration: taking the book, he opened it at random, mechanically sinking at her feet.] lower fell the princess' hand until it touched the reader's head; touched and lingered. before the fool's eyes the letters of the book became blurred and then faded away. doubt, misgiving, fear, vanished on the moment. the flower she had given him seemed to burn on his heart. he forgot the decree of the king; her equivocation; the unanswered question. passionately he thrust his hand into his doublet. "the rose and love are one," he cried. "the rose is--" "pardon me, madam," said a voice, and jacqueline, clear-eyed, calm, stood before them; "the fan was not in the king's ante-chamber, or i should have been here sooner. i trust you have not been put out for want of it?" "not at all, jacqueline," returned her mistress, with a natural, tranquil movement, "although"--sharply--"you were gone longer than you should have been!" chapter vi the arrival of the duke proficient as a poet, bold as a soldier, adroit as a statesman, the king was, nevertheless, most fitted for the convivial role of host, and no part that he played in his varied repertoire afforded such opportunity for the nice display of his unusual talents. history hath sneered at his rhymes as flat, stale and unprofitable; upon the bloody field he had been defeated and subsequently imprisoned; clever in diplomacy, the sagacity of his opponent, charles, had in truth overmatched him; yet as the ostentatious boniface, in grand bib and tucker, prodigal in joviality and good-fellowship, his reputation rests without a flaw. in anticipation of the arrival of the duke and his suite, the monarch had ordered a series of festivities and entertainments such as would gratify his desire for pageantry and display, and at the same time do honor to a guest who was to espouse one of france's fairest wards. to the castle repaired tailors, embroiderers and goldsmiths to make and devise garments for knights, ladies, lords and esquires and for the trapping, decking and adorning of coursers, jennets and palfries. bales of silks and satins had been long since conveyed thither from distant paris, in anticipation of the coming marriage; and the old norman castle that had once resounded with the clashing of arms, the snap of the cross-bow and the clang of the catapult now echoed with the merry stir and flurry of peace; a bee-hive of activity wherein were no drones; marshal, grand master, chancellor and grand chamberlain preparing for mysteries and hunting parties; dowagers, matrons and maids making ready for balls and other pastimes. with this new influx of population to the pleasure palace came a plentiful sprinkling of wayside minstrels, jugglers, mountebanks, dulcimer and lute players, street poets who sang the praises of some fair cobbleress or pretty sausage girl; scamps of students from the paris haunts of vice, loose fellows who conned the classical poets by day and took a purse by night; dancers, dwarfs, and merry men all, not averse to-- "haunch and ham, and cheek and chine while they gurgled their throats with right good wine." here sauntered a wit-cracker, a peacock feather in his hand, arm-in-arm with an impoverished "banquet beagle," or "feast hound;" there passed a jack in green, a bladder under his arm and a tankard at his belt, with which latter he begged that sort of alms that flows from a spigot. as vagrant followers hover on the verge of a camp, or watchful vultures circle around their prey, so these lower parasites (distinct from the other well-born, more aristocratic genus of smell-feast) prowled vigilantly without the castle walls and beyond the limits of the royal pleasure grounds, finding occasional employment from lackey, valet or equerry, who, imitating their betters, amused themselves betimes with some low buffoon or vulgar clown and rewarded him for his gross stories and antics with a crust and a cup. faith, in those thrice happy days, every henchman could whistle to him his shabby poet, and every ostler hold court in the stable, with a _visdase_, or ass face, to keep the audience in a roar, and a nimble-footed trull to set them into ecstasies. but woe betide the honest wayfarer who strolled beyond the orderly precincts of the king's walls after dusk; for if some street coxcomb was too drunk to rob him, or a ribald latin scholar saw him not, he surely ran into a nest of pavement tumblers or cellar poets who forthwith stripped him and turned him loose in the all-insufficient garb of nature. a fantastic, waggish crew--yet francis minded them not, so long as they observed sufficient etiquette to keep their distance from his royal person and immediate following. this nice decorum, however, be it said, was an unwritten law with these waifs and scatterlings, knowing the merry monarch who tolerated them afar would feel no compunction at hanging them severally, or in squads, from the convenient branches of the trees surrounding the castle, should the humor seize him that such summary chastisement were best for their morals and the welfare of the community. thus, though bold, were they also shy, drinking humbly from a black-jack quart in the kitchen and vanishing docilely enough when the sovereign cook bid them be gone with warm words or by flinging over them ladles of hot soup. one bright morning, like rabbits peeping from their holes when they hear the footfall of the hunter, these field ramblers and wayside peregrinators were all agog, emerging from grassy cover and thicket retreat, to gaze open-mouthed after a gay cavalcade that issued from the castle gate, and rode southward with waving banner and piercing trumpet note. "the king, knaves!" cried a grimy estray with bells upon his person that jingled like those of a jewish high priest, to a group of players and gamesters. "already my mouth waters at the thoughts of the wedding feast, and the scraps and bones that will be thrown away. there i warrant you we'll all find hearty cheer." "why are fools ever welcome at a wedding?" asked a singing scholar. "because there are two in the ceremony, and the rest make the chorus," answered a philandering mime. "and our merry monarch goeth down the road to meet one of the two," said a close-cropped rogue. "well, he's a brave knight to come so far to yield himself captive--to a woman," returned the student. "as horace saith--" "thou calumniator! shrimp of a man!" exclaimed a dark-browed drab dressed like a gipsy, seizing the scholar's short doublet. "an i get at you--" "take the garment, you harridan, not the man," he retorted, slipping deftly out of the jerkin and dancing away to a safe distance. "ha! there's wedded bliss for you!" laughed a man in franciscan attire, a rough rascal disguised as one of those priests called "god's fools" or "christ's fools." "a week ago, when i married them, they were billing and cooing. but to your holes, children! when the king returns he would not have his guest gaze upon such scarecrows and trollops. disperse, and beelzebub take you!" and as the group scattered the sound of beating horses' hoofs died away in the distance. francis was unusually good-humored that day. apprised by a herald that the duke and his followers were nearing the castle, he had sent the messenger back announcing a trysting-place, and now rode forth to meet his guest and escort him with honor to the castle. upon a noble steed, black as night, the monarch sat; the saddle and trappings crimson in color; the stirrup and bit, of gold; a jaunty plume of white ostrich feathers waving above the jetty mane. the costume of the king's stalwart figure displayed a splendid suit of plate armor, enriched with chased work and ornament in gold, his appearance in keeping with his character of monarch and knight who sought to revive the spirit of chivalry at a period when the practical modern tendencies seriously threatened to undermine the practices and traditions of a once-exalted, but now fast-failing, institution for the regulation of morals and conduct. by his side, less radiant only in comparison with the august monarch, rode the rank and quality of the realm, with silver and spangles, and fluttering plumes, scabbards gleaming with jewels, and girdles adorned with rich settings. furiously galloping behind came an attenuated snow-white charger, bearing the hunchback. a bladder dangling over his shoulder, his bagpipe hanging from his waist, triboulet bobbed frantically up and down, clinging desperately to the saddle or winding his legs about the charger's neck to preserve his equilibrium. "you would better jog along more quietly, fool," observed a courtier, warningly, "or you will suffer for it." "alas, sir," replied triboulet, "i stick my spurs into my horse to keep him quiet, but the more i prick him the more unruly i find the obstinate beast." the king, who heard, laughed, and the dwarf's heart immediately expanded, auguring he should soon be restored to the monarch's favor; for since the night the buffoon had failed to answer the duke's jester in fools' hall francis had received triboulet's advances and small pleasantries with terrifying coldness. in fact, the dwarf had never passed such an uncomfortable period during his career, save on one memorable occasion when a band of mischievous pages had set upon him, carried him to the scaffold and nailed his enormous ears to the beam. now, reassured, burning with delight, the jester spurred presumptuously forward, no longer feeling bound to lag in the rear. "go back!" cried an angry knight. "i can not bear a fool on my right." triboulet reined in his horse, but pushed ahead on the other side of the rider who had spoken. "i can bear it very well," he retorted and found his proud reward in the company's laughter. the remark, moreover, passed from lip to lip to the king, and the misshapen jester felt his little cup of happiness filled once more to the brim; his old prestige seemed coming back to him; holding his position in the road, he gazed disdainfully at the disgruntled knight, and the other returned the look with one of hearty ill-will, muttering an imprecation and warning just above his breath. "sire," called out triboulet, loudly, now above fearing courtier, knight or any high official of the realm, "the count de piseione says he will beat me to death." "if he does," good-naturedly answered the king, "i will hang him quarter of an hour afterward." "please, your majesty, hang him quarter of an hour before." thus right pleasantly, with quip and jest, and many a smart sally, did the monarch and his retinue draw near the meeting spot, where at a fork of the road, beneath the shade of overhanging branches, were already assembled a goodly group of soldiers. beyond them, at a respectful distance, stood many beasts of burden, heavily laden, the great packs promising stores of rare and costly gifts. at the head of the troopers was a thick-set man, with broad shoulders and brawny frame, mounted on a powerful gray horse. this leader, whom the approaching company surmised to be the duke, sat motionless as a statue, gazing steadfastly at the shining armor and gallant figure of the king who spurred to him, a friendly greeting on his lips. then, lightly springing to earth and throwing his bridle to one of his troop, the foreign noble approached the royal horseman on foot, and, bending his head, knelt before him, respectfully kissing his hand. grim, silent, with hardened faces, the duke's men regarded the scene, their dusty attire (albeit rich enough beneath the marks of travel), sun-burned visages and stolid manner in marked contrast with the bearing and aspect of the king's gay following. one of the alien troop pulled a red mustachio fiercely and eyed a blithe popinjay of the court with quizzical superiority; the others remained, stock-still, but observant. "i see you are punctual and waiting, noble sir!" said the monarch gaily when the initial formalities had been complied with. "but that is no more than should be expected from--an impatient bridegroom." then, gazing curiously, yet with penetrating look, on the features of his guest, who now had arisen: "you appear slightly older than i expected from the letter of our dear friend and brother, the emperor." and truly the duke's appearance was that of a man more nearly five and thirty than five and twenty; his face was brown from exposure and upon his brow the scar of an old sword wound; yet a fearless, dashing countenance; an eye that could kindle to headlong passion, and a thick-set neck and heavy jaw that bespoke the foeman who would battle to the last breath. "older, sire?" he replied with composure. "that must needs be, since living in the saddle ages a man." "truly," returned the monarch, instinctively laying his hand upon his sword. "the clash of arms, the thunder of hoofs, the waving banners--yes, glory is a seductive mistress who robs us of our youth. have i not wooed her and found--gray hairs? who shall give me back those days?" "history, your majesty, shall give them to posterity," answered the duke. "even those we lost to charles?" muttered the king, a shadow passing over his countenance. "glory, sire, is a mistress sometimes fickle in her favors." "and yet we live but for--" he broke off abruptly, and with the eye of a trained commander surveyed the duke's men. "daredevils; daredevils, all!" he muttered. "rough-looking fellows, sire!" apologized the duke, "but tried and faithful soldiers. somewhat dusty and road-worn." and his eyes turned meaningly to the king's suite; the flashing girdles of silver, the shining hilts, the gorgeous cloaks and even the adornment of ribbons. "nay," said francis meditatively, "on a rough journey i would fain have these fire-eaters at my back. they look as though they could cut and hew." "moderately well, your majesty," answered the duke with modesty. "will you mount, noble sir, and ride with me? yonder is the castle, and in the castle is a certain fair lady whom you, no doubt, fain would see." long gazed the duke of friedwald at the distant venerable pile of stone; the majestic turrets and towers softly floating in a dreamy mist; the setting, fresh, woody, green. long he looked at this inviting picture and then breathed deeply. "ah, sire, i would the meeting were over," he remarked in a low voice. "why so, sir?" asked the king in surprise. "do you fear you will not fancy the lady?" "i fear she may not fancy me," retorted the nobleman, soberly. "your own remark, sire; that i appear older than you had expected?" he continued, gravely, significantly. "a recommendation in your favor," laughed the monarch. "i ever prefer sober manhood to callow youth about me. the one is a prop, stanch, tried; the other a reed that bends this way and that, or breaks when you press it too hard." "i should be lacking in gratitude were i not deeply appreciative of your majesty's singular kindness," replied the duke, his face flushing with pleasure. "but your majesty knows womankind--" "nay; i've studied them a little, but know them not," retorted francis, dryly. "and it is unlikely the lady may find me all her imagination has depicted," went on the nobleman, with palpable embarrassment. "my noble master, the emperor, hath--regarding me still as but a stripling from his own vantage point of age and wisdom--represented me a young man in his proposals. but though i'm younger than i look, and feel no older than i am, how young, or how old, shall i seem to the princess?" "young enough to be her husband; old enough for her to look up to," answered the monarch, reassuringly. "again," objected the duke, meditatively regarding the castle, "she may be expecting a handsome, debonair bridegroom, and when she sees me"--ruefully surveying himself--"what will she say?" "what will she say? 'yes' at the altar. is it not enough?" leaning back in his saddle, the king's face expressed the enjoyment he derived from the conversation with the backward and too conscientious soldier. here was a groom whose wedding promised the court much amusement and satisfaction in those jovial days of jesting and merry-making. "come," resumed the king, encouragingly, "i'll warrant you more forward in battle." "battle!" said the duke. "that's another matter. to see your foeman's gleaming eyes!--but hers!-- should they express anger, disdain--" "let yours show but the greater wrath," advised the king, complaisantly. "in love, like cures like! let me be your physician; i'll warrant you'll find me proficient." "i've heard your majesty hath practised deeply," returned the noble, readily, in spite of his perplexity. "deeply?" francis lifted his brow. "i am but a superficial student; master only of the rudiments; no graduate of the college of love. moreover, i've heard the letters you exchanged were--ahem!--well-enough writ. you pressed your suit warmly for one unlearned, a mere novice." "because i had seen her face, your majesty; had it ever before me in the painted miniature. any man"--with a rough eloquence and fervor that impressed the king with the depth of his passion--"could well worship at that fair shrine, but that she--" "forward, i beg you!" interrupted the king. "womankind are but frail flesh, sir; easily molded; easily won. she is a woman; therefore, soft, yielding; yours for the asking. you are over valorous at a distance; too timorous near her. approach her boldly, and, though she were diana's self, i'll answer for your victory! eh, triboulet, are our ladies cold-hearted, callous, indifferent to merit?" "cold-hearted?" answered the dwarf, with a ludicrous expression of feigned rapture. "were i to relate--but, no, my tongue is silent--discretion--your majesty will understand--" "well," said the duke, "with encouragement from the best-favored scholar in the kingdom and the--ugliest, i should proceed with more confidence." "best-favored!" smirked the little monster. "really, you flatter me." "a whimsical fellow, sire," vouchsafed the nobleman. "when he is not tiresome," answered the monarch. "on, gentlemen!" and the cavalcade swept down the road toward the castle. far behind, with cracking of whip, followed the mules and their drivers. chapter vii the court of love the rough norman banqueting hall, with its massive rafters, frayed tapestries and rude adornment of bristling heads of savage boars, wide-spreading antlers and other trophies of the chase, had long since been replaced under the king's directions by an apartment more to the satisfaction of a monarch who was a zealous and lavish patron of the brilliant italian school of painting, sculpture and architecture. those barbarous decorations, celebrating the hunt, had been relegated to subterranean regions, the walls dismantled, and the room turned over to a corps of artists of such renown as da vinci, françois clouet, jean cousin and the half-mad benvenuto cellini. where formerly wild boars had snarled with wicked display of yellow tusks from the blackened plaster, now cleopatra, in the full bloom of her mature charms, reclined with her stalwart roman hero in tender dalliance. where once the proud and stately head of the majestic stag had hung over door and panel, now classic nymphs bathed in a pellucid pool, and the only horns were those which adorned the head of him who, according to the story, dared gaze through the foliage, and was rewarded for his too curious interest by--that then common form of punishment--metamorphosis. overhead, vast transformation from the great ribbed beams of oak and barren interspaces, graceful peri floated on snow-white clouds and roguish cupids swam through the azure depths, to the edification of nondescript prodigies, who constituted the massive molding, or frame, to the decorative scene. the ancient fireplace, broad and deep, had given way to an ornate mantel of marble; the capacious tankard and rotund pewter pot of olden times, suggestive of mighty butts of honest beer, had been supplanted by goblets of silver and gold, covered with scroll work, arabesques or chiseled figures. in this spacious hall, begilt, bemirrored, assembled, on the evening of the duke's arrival, francis, his court and the guest of the occasion. from wide-spreading chandeliers, with their pendent, pear-shaped crystals, a thousand candles threw a flood of light upon the scene, as 'mid trumpet blast and softer strains of harmony, king francis and good queen eleanor led the way to the royal table; and thereat, shortly after, at a signal from the monarch, the company seated themselves. at the head of the board was the king; on his right, his lawful consort, pale, composed, saintly; on his left, the countess d'etampes, rosy, animated, free. next to the favorite sat the "fairest among the learned and most learned among the fair," marguerite, beloved sister of francis, and her second husband, henry d'albret, king of navarre; opposite, henry the dauphin and his spouse, catharine de medici; not far removed, diane de poitiers, whose dark eyes henry ever openly sought, while catharine complacently talked affairs of state with the chancellor. in the midst of this illustrious company, and further surrounded by a plentiful sprinkling of ruddy cardinals, fat bishops, constables, governors, marshals and ladies, more or less distinguished through birth or beauty, the duke of friedwald and the princess louise were a center of attraction for the wits whose somewhat free jests the license of the times permitted. at the foot of the royal table places had been provided for marot, caillette, triboulet, jacqueline and the duke's fool. the heads and figures of the ladies of the court were for the most part fearfully and wonderfully bedecked. in some instances the horned-shaped head-dress had been followed by yet loftier steeples, "battlements to combat god with gold, silver and pearls; wherein the lances were great forked pins, and the arrows the little pins." with more simplicity, the princess louise wore her hair cased in a network of gold and jewels, and the austere french moralist who assailed the higher bristling ramparts of vanity would, perhaps, have borne in silence this more modest bastion of the flesh and the devil. but the face beneath was a greater danger to those who hold that beauty is a menace to salvation; on her cheek hung the rosy banner of youth; in her eyes shone the bright arrows of conquest. and the duke, discarding his backwardness, as a soldier his cloak before battle, watched the hue that mantled her face, proffered his open breast to the shining lances of her gaze, and capitulated unconditionally before the smile of victory on her blood-red lips. with his great shoulders, his massive neck and broad, virile face, he seemed a cyclops among pygmies in that gathering of slender courtiers and she but a flower by his side. "i thought, sire, your duke was timorous, bashful as a boy?" murmured the countess d'etampes to the king. "he was--on the road!" answered the king thoughtfully. "then has he marvelously recovered his assurance." "in love, madam, as in battle, the zest grows with the fray," said francis with meaning. "and the duke is reputed a brave soldier. he looks very strong, as if--almost--he might succeed with any woman he were minded to carry off." "to carry off!" laughed the monarch. "'tis he, madam, who will be bound in tethers! at heart he's shame-faced as a callow younker." she wilfully shook her head. "no woman could keep him in leading-strings, your majesty. there is something domineering, savage, crushing, in his hand. look at it, on the table there. is it not mighty as an iron gauntlet? what other man at the board has such a brutal hand? the strength in it makes me shudder. will she not bend to it; kiss it?" with amused superiority francis regarded his fair neighbor on the left. "women, madam, are but hasty judges of men," he said, dryly, "and then 'tis fancy more than reason which governs their verdict. if the duke should seem over-confident, 'tis to hide a certain modesty, and not to appear out of confidence in so large a company." "and yet, sire, at their first meeting he did not comport himself like one easily put out," persisted the favorite. "''tis with a cold hand you welcome me, princess,' he said, noticing her insensibility of manner. then rising he gazed upon her long and deep, as a soldier might survey a battlefield. 'and yet,' said he, still holding her fingers, 'i'll warrant me warm blood could course through this little hand.' at that the color rose in her cheek; behold! the statue was touched with life and she looked at him as drawn against her will. 'if my hand be cold, my lord,' she answered, courteously, 'it belies the character of your welcome.' whereupon he laughed like one who has had a victory." "beshrew me," said the king, modifying his last observation, "if women are not all eyes and ears! i neither heard nor saw all that. a little constraint--a natural blush to punctuate their talk--the meeting seemed conventional enough. 'tis through your own romantic heart you looked, anne!" quicker circulated the goblets of silver, gold and crystal; faster babbled the pretty lips; brighter grew the eyes beneath the stupendous towers that crowned the heads of the court ladies. all talked at once without disturbing the king, who now whispered soft nothings in the ear of the countess. from the other tables in the hall arose a varying cadence of clatter and laughter, which increased with the noise and din of the king's own board; a clamor always just subservient to the deeper chorus of the royal party; an accompaniment, as it were, full yet unobtrusive, to the hubbub from the more exalted company. but the princely uproar growing louder, the grand-masters, grand-chamberlain, gentlemen of the chamber and lesser lights of the church were enabled to carol and make merry with less restraint. the pungent smell of roses permeated the hall, arising from a screen of shrubbery at one end of the room wherein sang a hundred silver-toned birds. at the king's table caillette recited a merry roundelay, and triboulet roared out tale after tale, each more full-flavored than the one that went before it, flinging smart sayings at marriage, and drawing a ludicrous picture of the betrayed husband. villot, a lily in his hand, which he regarded ever sentimentally, caroled the boisterous espousals of a yokel and a cinder-wench, while marot and a bishop contended in a heated argument regarding the translation of a certain passage of ovid's "art of love." singularly pale, unusually tranquil, the duke's fool furtively watched his master and the princess. in contrast to his composure, jacqueline's merriment seemed the more unrestrained; she laughed like a witch; her hands flashed with pretty gestures, and she had so tossed her head, her hair floated around her, wild and disordered. "why are you so quiet?" she whispered to the duke's fool. "is there not enough merriment, mistress?" he answered, gravely. "there can never be any to spare," she said. "and you would do well to remember your office." "what do you mean?" he asked, absently. "that you have many enemies; that you can not live at court with a jaundiced countenance. heigh-ho! alackaday! you should hie yourself back to the woods and barren wastes of friedwald, master fool." her sparkling glance returned to the exhilarating scene. well had the assemblage been called a court of love. now soft eyes invited burning glances, and graceful heads swayed alluringly toward the handsome cavaliers who momentarily had found lodgment in hearts which, like palaces, had many ante-chambers. from hidden recesses, strains of music filled the room with tinkling passages of sensuous, but illusive, harmony; a dream of ardor, masked in the daintiness of a minuet. upon the back of the princess' chair rested one of the duke's hands; with the other he lifted his glass--a frail thing in fingers better adapted for a sword-hilt or massive battle mace. "drink, princess," he said, bending over her, "to--our meeting!" her eyelids fluttered before his look; her breast rose a little. the scar on his brow held her gaze, as one fascinated, but she drew away slightly and mechanically sought the tiny golden goblet at her elbow. dreamily, dreamily, sounded the rhythmical music; heavily, so heavily hung the perfume in the air! full of mist seemed the hall; the king, the queen, the countess, all of the party, unreal, fanciful. the touch of the goblet chilled her lips and she put it down quickly. "is not the wine to your liking?" he asked, his hand tightening on her chair. "perhaps it is too sour for your taste?" "nay; i thought it rather sweet," she answered. "oh, i meant not that--" "it _is_ sweet wine, princess," he said, setting down an empty glass. "sweeter than our austrian vintage. not white and thin and watery, but red--red as blood--red as your heart's blood--or mine--" crash! from the hand of the duke's jester had fallen a goblet to the floor. the princess started, turned; for a moment their glances bridged the distance from where she sat, to the fools' end of the table; then hers slowly fell; slowly, and she passed a hand, whereon shone the king's ring, across her brow; looked up, as though once more to span infinity with her gaze, when her eyes fell short and met the duke's. deliberately he lifted his filled glass. "red as your heart's blood--and mine--my love!" he repeated; and then stared sharply across the table at his jester. triboulet, swaggering in his chair, so high his feet could not touch the floor, surveyed the broken glass, the duke and the duke's fool. for some time his vigilant eyes had been covertly studying the unconscious foreign jester, noting sundry signs and symptoms. nor had the princess' look when the goblet had fallen, been lost upon the misshapen buffoon; alert, wide-awake, his mind, quick to suspect, reached a sudden conclusion; a conclusion which by rapid process of reasoning became a conviction. privileged to speak where others must need be silent, his profession that of prying subtlety, which spared neither rank nor power so that it raised a laugh, he felt no hesitation in publishing the information he had gleaned by his superior mental nimbleness. "ho! ho!" he bellowed, the better to attract attention to himself. "the duke sent his fool to amuse his betrothed and the fool hath lost his heart to his mistress." the king left off his whispering, catharine turned from the chancellor, diane ceased furtively to regard caillette, while the queen of navarre laughed nervously and murmured: "princess and jester! it will make another tale." but henry of navarre looked gravely down. he, and francis' queen--a passive spectator at the feast--and a bishop, whose interest lay in a truffled capon, alone followed not the direction of the duke's eyes. the fair favorite of the king clapped her hands, but the monarch frowned, not having forgotten that night in fools' hall when the jester had appointed rogues to offices. "what is this? a fool in love with the princess?" said the king, ominously. "even so, your majesty," cried triboulet. "but a moment ago duke robert did whisper to his bride-to-be, and the fool's hand trembled like a leaf and dropped his glass. tra! la! la! what a situation! holy saint-bagpipe! here's a comedy in high life!" "a comedy!" repeated the duke, and half-rose from his chair, regarding his fool with surprise and anger. now triboulet roared. had he not in the past attained his high position of favorite jester to the king by his very foolhardihood? and were not trusting lovers and all too-confiding husbands the legitimate butt of all jesting? "look at the fool," he went on exultantly. "does any one doubt his guilt? he is silent; he can not speak!" and, indeed, the foreign jester seemed momentarily disconcerted, although he strove to appear indifferent. "a presumptuous knave!" muttered francis, darkly. "he saved his neck once only by a trick." "oh, the duke would not mind, now, if you were to hang him, sire," answered triboulet, blithely. "true!" smiled the king. "the question of breach of hospitality might not occur. what have you to say, fool?" he continued, turning to the object of the buffoon's insidious and malicious attack. "laugh!" whispered jacqueline, furtively pressing the arm of the duke's fool. "laugh, or--" the touch and her words appeared to arouse him from his lethargy and the jester arose, but not before the princess, with flaming cheeks, but proud bearing, had cast a quick glance in his direction; a glance half-appealing, half-resentful. idly the joculatrix regarded him, her hands upon the table playing with the glasses, her lips faintly repeating the words of a roundelay: "for love is madness; while madness rules, fools in love remain but fools! sing hoddy-doddy, noddy! remain but fools!" with the eyes of the company upon him, the duke's fool impassively studied the carven figure on his stick. if he felt fear of the king's anger, the resentment of his master, or the malice of the dwarf, his countenance now did not betray it. he had seemed about to speak, but did not. "well, rascal, well?" called out the king. "do you think your wand will save you, sirrah?" he added impatiently. "why not, sire?" tranquilly answered the jester. the duke's face grew more and more ominous. still the fool, looking up, did not quail, but met his master's glance freely, and those who observed noted it was the duke who first turned away, although his jaw was set and his great fist clenched. swiftly the jester's gaze again sought the princess, but she had plucked a spray of blossoms from the table and was holding it to her lips, mindlessly biting the fragrant leaves; and those who followed the fool's glance saw in her but a picture of languid unconcern such as became a kinswoman of the king. almost imperceptibly the brow of the _plaisant_ clouded, but recovering himself, he confronted the king with an enigmatic smile. "why not?" he repeated. "in the court of love is not the fool's wand greater than a king's miter or the pastoral staff of the abbé de lys? besides, sire," he added quickly, "as a fool takes it, in the court of love, not to love--is treason!" "good!" murmured the bishop, still eating. "not to love is treason!" "who alone is the culprit? whose heart alone is filled with umbrage, hatred, pique?" "triboulet! triboulet, the traitor!" suddenly cried the countess, sprightly as a child. "yes; triboulet, the traitor!" exclaimed the fool, pointing the wand of folly at the hunchback. even francis' offended face relaxed. "positively, i shall never hang this fellow," he said grimly to marguerite. "before this tribunal of ladies whose beauty and learning he has outraged by his disaffection and spleen, i summon him for trial," continued the duke's jester. "triboulet, arise! illustrious ladies of the court of love, the offender is in your hands." "a little monster!" spoke up diane with a gesture of aversion, real or affected. "he is certainly somewhat reprehensible," added the queen of navarre, whose tender heart ever inclined to the weaker side. "an unconscionable rogue," murmured the bishop, complacently clasping his fat fingers before him. "so he is already tried by the church and the tribunal," went on the _plaisant_ of the duke. "the church hath excommunicated him and the court of love--" "will banish him!" exclaimed the countess mirthfully, regarding the captious monarch with mock defiance. "yes, banish him; turn him out," echoed catharine, carelessly. "but, your majesty!" remonstrated the alarmed triboulet, turning to the monarch whose favor he had that day enjoyed. "appeal not to me!" returned francis, sternly. "here venus rules!" and he gallantly inclined to the countess. "venus at whom he scoffs!" broke in jacqueline, shrilly, leaning back in her chair with her hands on her hips. "you witch!--you sorceress!--it was you who"--he hissed with venomous glance. "hear him!" exclaimed the girl, lightly. "he calls me witch--sorceress--because, forsooth, i am a woman!" "a woman--a devil"--muttered triboulet between his closed teeth. "and now," she cried, rising, impetuously, "he says that women are devils! what shall we do with him?" "pelt him out!" answered the countess. "pelt him out!" with peals of merriment and triumphant shouts, the court, of one accord, directed a fusillade of fruits, nuts and other viands at the head and person of the raging and hapless buffoon, the countess herself, apple in hand--eve bent upon vengeance--leading in the assault. the other tables responded with a cross-fire, and heavier articles succeeded lighter, until after having endured the continuous attack for a few moments as best he might, the unlucky dwarf raised his arms above his head and fairly fled from the hall, leaving behind in his haste a bagpipe and his wooden sword. "so may all traitors be punished!" said the bishop unctuously, as he reached for a dish of confections that had escaped the fair hands in search of ammunition. "well," laughed the countess d'etampes, "if we have the support of the church--" "i will confess you, myself, madam," gallantly retorted the bishop. "and all the court of love?" asked marguerite. "ah, your highness--all?--i am old--in need of rest--but with an assistant or two--" "assistant or two!" interrupted catharine, imperiously. "would the task then be so great?" "nay"--with gentle expostulation--"but you--members of the court--are many; not your sins." "i suppose," whispered jacqueline to the duke's fool, when the attention of the company was thus withdrawn from the jester's end of the table, "you think yourself in fine favor now?" "yes," he answered, absently; "thanks to your suggestion." "my suggestion!" she repeated, scornfully. "i gave you none." "well, then, your crossing triboulet." "oh, that," she replied, picking at a bunch of grapes, "was to defend my sex, not you." "but your warning for me to laugh?" "why," she returned, demurely, "'twas to see you go more gallantly to your execution. and"--eating a grape--"that is reasonably certain to be your fate. you've only made a few more enemies to-night--the duke--the--" "name them not, fair jacqueline," he retorted, indifferent. "true; you'll soon learn for yourself," she answered sharply. "i think i should prefer to be in triboulet's place to yours at present." "why," he said, with a strange laugh, "there's a day for the duke and a day for the fool." deliberately she turned from him and sang very softly: "for love is madness; (a dunce on a stool!) a king in love, a king and a fool! sing hoddy-doddy, noddy! a king and a fool!" the monarch bent over the countess; diane and the dauphin exchanged messages with their eyes; catharine smiled on villot; the princess listened to her betrothed; and the jestress alone of all the ladies leaned back and sang, heart-free. but suddenly she again broke off and looked curiously at the duke's _plaisant_. "why did you not answer them with what was first in your mind?" she asked. "what was that?" he said, starting. "how can i tell?" she returned, studying him. "you can tell a great deal," he replied. "sing hoddy-doddy, noddy! the duke and the fool"-- she hummed, deigning no further words. chapter viii a brief truce "turn out these torch-bearers, human candlesticks, and _valets de chambre_, and i'll get me to bed," commanded the duke, standing in the center of his room, and the trooper with the fierce red mustaches waved a swarm of pages, cup-bearers and attendants from the door and closed it. "how are the men quartered, johann?" "with all the creature comforts, my lord," answered the soldier. "the king hath dressed them like popinjays; they drink overmuch, dice, and run after the maids, but otherwise are well-behaved." "drink; dice; run after the maids!" said the noble, gazing thoughtfully downward. "hold them in check, johann, as though we were in a campaign." "yes, my lord," returned the man, staring impassively before him. "and especially keep them from the kitchen wenches. there's more danger in these _femmes de chambre_, laundresses and scullery cinderellas than in a column of glittering steel. remember, no court of love in the scullery. now go! yet stay, johann!" he added, suddenly. "this fool of ours is a bold fellow. look to him well!" saluting respectfully, an expression of quick intelligence on his florid features, the trooper backed out of the room. with his hands behind him, his shoulders bent forward, the duke long pondered, his look, keen and discerning; his perspicacity clear, in spite of francis' wine, or the intoxication of the princess' eyes. although the noble's glance seemed bent on vacancy, it was himself as well as others he was studying; weighing the memorable events of the evening; recalling to mind every word with the princess; reviewing her features, the softening of her cold disdain; now, mentally distrustful, because she was a woman; again, confident he already dominated the citadel of her heart. but a new element had entered into the field; an element unforeseen--the jester!--and, although not attaching great importance to this possible source of hazard in his plans for the future, the duke was too good a soldier to disregard any risk, however slight. in love and battle, every peril should be avoided; every vulnerable point made impregnable. besides, the fool was audacious, foolhardy; his language of covert mockery and quick wit proved him an intelligent antagonist, who might become a desperate one. "a woman and a fool," muttered the duke, striding with quick step across his chamber, "are two uncertain quantities. the one should be subjected; the other removed!" museful, he stood before the niche, wherein shone a cross of silver, set with amethysts and turquoise, his rugged face lighted by the uncertain flickering of the candles. "removed!" he repeated, contemplatively. "and she--" the clear tinkling of a bell broke in upon his cogitation; a faint, musical sound that seemed at his very elbow. he wheeled about abruptly, saw nothing save the mysterious shadows of the curtains, the flickering lamps, the dark outline of the canopy of the great bed. instinctively he knew he was not alone, and yet his gaze, rapidly sweeping the apartment, failed to perceive an intruder. again the tinkling, a low laugh, and, turning sharply toward an alcove from whence the sounds came, the duke, through the half-light and trailing, sombrous shadows of its entrance, perceived a figure in a chair. from a candle set in a spiked, enameled stick, a yellow glimmering, that came and went with the sputtering flame, rested upon an ironical face, a graceful figure in motley and a wand with the jester's head and the bell. without rising, the _plaisant_ quizzically regarded the surprised nobleman, who in spite of his self-control had stepped back involuntarily at the suddenness of the encounter. "good evening, my lord," said the fool. "i am like the genii of the tale. you think of me, and i appear." regaining his composure at once, the king's guest bent his heavy brows over his deep-set eyes, and deliberately surveyed the fool. "and now," went on the jester, gaily, "it is in your mind i am like as suddenly to--disappear! am i at fault?" "on the contrary, you are unusually clear-witted," was the answer. "oh, my lord, you over-estimate my poor capacity!" returned the nobleman's unasked caller with a deprecatory gesture. the hands of the other worked impatiently; his herculean figure blocked the doorway. "you are a merry fellow!" he observed. "it is to be regretted, but--confess you have brought it upon yourself?" "what? my fate? oh, yes!" and he indifferently regarded the wand and the wooden figure upon it, without moving from the chair. "you have no fear?" questioned the duke, quietly. "fear? why should i?" yawning, the fool stretched his arms, looking not at the nobleman, but beyond him, and, instinctively, the princess' betrothed peered over his shoulder in the semi-darkness behind, while his hand quickly sought his sword. "fie, most noble duke!" exclaimed the jester. "we have no eavesdroppers or interlopers, believe me! we are entirely alone, you and i--master and fool. there; come no nearer, i beg!" as the nobleman menacingly moved toward him. "have you any argument to advance, sir fool, why i should not?" said the other, grimly, a gleam of amusement depicted on his broad face as he paused the while. "an argument, sharp as a needle, somewhat longer!" replied the jester, touching his breast and drawing from between the folds of his doublet a shining hilt. harsh and loud laughed the king's guest. "you fool," he said, "you had your opportunity below there in the hall and missed it. you hesitated, went blindly another course, and now"--with ominous meaning--"you are here!" upon the stick a candle dripped, sputtered and went out; the jester bent forward and with the copper snuffer on the table near by deftly trimmed the remaining light. "only fools fight in darkness," he remarked, quietly, "and here is but one of them." "you pit yourself and that--plaything!--against me?" asked the burly soldier, derisively. "have you hunted the wild boar, my lord?" lightly answered the other. "how mighty it is! how savage! what tusks! you know the pastime? a quick step, a sure arm, an eye like lightning--presto! your boar lies on his back, with his feet in the air! you, my lord, are the boar; big, clumsy, brutal! shall we begin the sport? i promise to prick you with every rush." the prospective bridegroom paused thoughtfully. "there is some justice in what you say," he returned, his manner that of a man who has carefully weighed and considered a matter. "i confess to partiality for the thick of the fray, the brunt of the fight, where men press all around you." "assuredly, my lord; for then the boar is in his element; no matter how he rushes, his tusks strike yielding flesh." "why should we fight at all--at present?" cautiously ventured the noble, with further hesitation. "not that i doubt i could easily crush you"--extending his muscular arms--"but you _might_ prick me, and, just now, discretion may be the better part of valor. i--a duke, engaged to wed a princess, have much to lose; you, nothing! a fool's stroke might kill a king." "or a knave, my lord!" added the _plaisant_. "or a knave, sirrah!" thundered the duke, the veins starting out on his forehead. the jester half drew his dagger; his quiet confidence and glittering eye impressed even his antagonist, inured to scenes of violence and strife. "is it a truce, most noble lord?" said the fool, significantly. "a truce wherein we may call black, black; and white, white! a truce which may be broken by either of us, with due warning to the other?" knitting his brow, the noble stood motionless, deeply pondering, his headlong passion evidently at combat with his judgment; then his face cleared, a hard, brusque laugh burst from his lips and he brought his fist violently down on the massive oak table near the door. "so be it!" he assented, with a more open look. "a truce--without any rushes from the boar?" "fool! does not my word suffice?" contemptuously retorted the duke. "yes; for although you are--what you are--you have been a soldier, and would not break a truce." "such commendation from--my jester is, indeed, flattering!" satirically remarked the king's guest, seating himself in a great chair which brought him face to face with the fool and yet commanded the door, the intruder's only means of retreat. "pardon me, the duke's jester, you mean?" "yes; mine!" "a distinction with a difference!" retorted the fool. "it is quite true i am the duke's jester; it is equally untrue i am yours. therefore, we reach the conclusion that you and the duke are two different persons. plainly, not being the duke, you are an impostor. have you any fault to find with my reasoning?" "on the contrary," answered the other, with no sign of anger or surprise, "your reasoning is all that could be desired. why should i deny what you already know? i was aware, of course, that you knew, when i first learned his jester was in the castle. frankly, i am not the duke--to you!" "but with francis and the court?" suggested the fool, uplifting his brows. "i am the duke--and such remain! you understand?" "perfectly, my lord," replied the jester, shrugging his shoulders. "but since i am not the king, nor one of the courtiers, whom, for the time being, have i the honor of addressing? but, perhaps, i am over-inquisitive." "not at all," said the other, with mocking ceremony. "you are a whimsical fellow; besides, i am taken with a man who stands near death without flinching. to tell you the truth, our truce is somewhat to my liking. there are few men who would have dared what you have to-night. and although you're only a fool--will you drink with me from this bottle on the table here? i'm tired of ceremonies of rank and would clink a glass in private with a merry fellow. what say you?" and leaning over, he filled two large goblets with the rich beverage from a great flask placed on the stand for his convenience. his face lighted with gross conviviality, but behind his jovial, free manner, that of a trooper in his cups, gleamed a furtive, guarded look, as though he were studying and testing his man. "i'm for a free life; some fighting; but snug walls around for companionship," he continued. "look at my soldiers now; roistering, love-making! charles? francis? not one of the troop would leave me for emperor or king! not one but would follow me--where ambition leads!" holding up the glass, he looked into the depths of the thick burgundy. "why, a likely fellow like you should carry a gleaming blade, not a wooden sword. i know your duke--a man of lineage--a string of titles long as my arm--an underling of the emperor, while i"--closing his great jaw firmly--"owe allegiance to no man, or monarch, which is the same thing. drink, lad; i'm pleased i did not kill you." "and i," laughed the _plaisant_, "congratulate myself you are still alive--for the wine is excellent!" "still alive!" exclaimed the king's guest, boisterously, although a dark shadow crossed his glance. "i'm scarred from head to foot, and my hide is as tough as--" "a boar's?" tapping his chin with the fool's head on his wand. "ah, you will have your jest," retorted the host of the occasion, good-naturedly. "it's bred in the bone. a quality for a soldier. next to courage is that fine sense of humor which makes a man a _bon camarade_. put down your graven image, lad; you were made to carry arms, not baubles. put it down, i say, and touch glasses with louis, of pfalz-urfeld." "the bastard of hochfels!" exclaimed the jester, fixedly regarding the man whose name was known throughout europe for his reckless bravery, his personal resources and his indomitable pride or love of freedom and independence, which held him aloof from emperor or monarch, and made him peer and leader among the many intractable spirits of the austrian country who had not yet bowed their necks to conquest; a soldier of many battles, whose thick-walled fortress, perched picturesquely in mid-air on a steep mountain top, established his security on all sides. "the same, my friend of the motley," continued the other, not without complacency, observing the effect of his announcement on the jester. "he who calls himself the free baron of hochfels?" observed the fool, setting down the glass from which he had moderately partaken. "aye; a man of royal and peasant blood," harshly answered the free-booter. "ambition, arrogance, are the kingly inheritance; strength, a constitution of iron, the low-born legacy. what think you of such an endowment?" "you are far from your castle, my lord of hochfels," commented the jester, absently, unmindful of a question he felt not called upon to answer. "and yet as safe as in my own mountain nest," retorted the free baron, or free-booter, indifferently. "who would betray me? there is not a trooper of mine but would die for his master. you would not denounce me, because--but why enumerate the reasons? i hold you in the palm of my hand, and, when i close my fingers, there's the end of you." "but where--allow me; the wine has a rare flavor," and he reached for the flask. "drink freely," returned the pretender; "it is the king's own, and you are my guest. you were about to ask--" "whence came the idea for this mad adventure?" said the jester, his eyes seemingly bent in admiration on the goblet he held; a half globe of crystal sustained by a golden bacchus. "idea!" repeated the self-called baron, with a gesture of satisfaction. "it was more than an idea. it was an inspiration, born of that chance which points the way to greatness. the feat accomplished, all europe will wonder at the wanton exploit. at first francis will rage; then seeing me impregnably intrenched, will make the best of the marriage, especially as the groom is of royal blood. next, an alliance with the french king against the emperor. why not; was not francis once ready to treat even with solyman to defeat charles, an overture which shocked christendom? and while charles' energies are bent to the task of protecting his country from the turks, a new leader appears; a devil-may-care fellow--and then--and then--" he broke off abruptly; stared before him, as though the fumes of wine were at last beginning to rise to his head; toyed with his glass and drank it quickly at a draft. "what an alluring will-o'-the-wisp is--to-morrow!" he muttered. "an illusive hope that reconciles us with to-day," answered the _plaisant_. "illusive!" cried the other. "only for poets, dreamers, fools!" "and you, sir baron, are neither one nor the other," remarked the jester. "no philosopher, but a plain soldier, who chops heads--not logic. but the inspiration that caused you to embark upon this hot-brained, pretty enterprise?" "upon a spur of rock that overlooks the road through the mountain is set the vulture's nest, sir fool," began the adventurer in a voice at once confident and arrogant. "at least, so the time-honored fortress of hochfels is disparagingly designated by the people. as the road is the only pass through the mountains, naturally we come more or less in contact with the people who go by our doors. being thus forced, through the situation of our fortress, into the proximity of the traveling public, we have, from time to time, made such sorties as are practised by a beleaguered garrison, and have, in consequence, taken prisoners many traffickers and traders, whose goods and chattels were worthy of our attention as spoils of war. generally, we have confined our operations to migratory merchants, who carry more of value and cause less trouble than the emperor's soldiers or the king's troopers, but occasionally we brush against one of the latter bands so that we may keep in practice in laying our blades to the grindstone, and also to show we are soldiers, not robbers." "which remains to be proved," murmured the attentive jester. "your pardon, noble lord"--as the other half-started from his chair--"let me fill your glass. 'tis a pity to neglect such royal wine. proceed with your story. come we presently to the inspiration?" "at once," answered the apparently appeased master of the fortress, wiping his lips. "one day our western outpost brought in a messenger, and, when we had stripped the knave, upon him we found a miniature and a letter from the princess to the duke. the latter was prettily writ, with here and there a rhyme, and moved me mightily. the eagle hath its mate, i thought, but the vulture of hochfels is single, and this reflection, with the sight of the picture and that right, fair script, saddened me. "and then, on a sudden, came the inspiration. why not play a hand in this international marriage charles and francis were bringing about? i commanded the only road across the mountain; therefore, did command the situation. the emperor and the king should be but the wooden figures, and i would pull the strings to make them dance. the duke, your master, why should he be more than a name? the princess' letter told me she had never seen her betrothed. what easier than to redouble the sentries in the valley, make prisoners of the messengers, clap them in the fortress dungeons, read the missives, and then despatch them to their respective destinations by men of my own?" "then that was the reason why on my way through the mountains your knaves attacked me?" said the listener quickly. "exactly; to search you. how you slipped through their hands i know not." and he glanced at the other curiously. "they were but poor rogues," answered the jester quickly. "certainly are you not one!" exclaimed the free baron, with a glance of approval at the slender figure of his antagonist. "two of them paid for their carelessness. the others were so shamed, they told me some great knight had attacked them. a fool in motley!" he laughed. "no wonder the rogues hung their heads! but in deceiving me," he added thoughtfully, "they permitted their master to run into an unknown peril--his ignorance that a fool of the duke, or a fool wearing the emblem of the emperor, had gone to francis' court." "you were saying, sir free baron, you intended to read the messages between the princess and the duke, and afterward to despatch them by messengers of your own?" interrupted the _plaisant_. "such were my plans. moreover, i possessed a clerk--a knave who had killed an abbot and fled from the monastery--a man of poetry, wit and sentiment. whenever the letters lacked for ardor, and the lovers had grown too timid, him i set to forge a postscript, or indite new missives, which the rogue did most prettily, having studied love-making under the monks. and thus, sir fool, i courted and won the princess--by proxy!" "of a certainty, your wooing was at least novel, sir knight of the vulture's nest," dryly observed the jester. "although, had my master known the deception, you would, perhaps, have paid dearly for it." "your master, forsooth!" laughed the outlaw lord. "a puny scion of a worn-out ancestry! such a woman as the princess wants a man of brawn and muscle; no weakling of the nursery." "well," said the fool, slowly, "you became intermediary between the princess and the duke, and the king and the emperor. but to come into the heart of france; to the king's very palace--did you not fear detection?" "how?" retorted the other, raising his head and resting his eyes, bloodshot and heavy, on the fool's impassive features. "the road between the two monarchs is mine; no message can now pass. the emperor and the duke may wonder, but the way here is long, and"--with a smile--"i have ample time for the enterprise ere the alarm can be given." "and you paved the way for your coming by altering the letters of the duke, or forging new ones?" suggested the listener. "how else? a word added here and there; a post-script, or even a page! as for their highnesses' seals, any fool can break and mend a seal. in a week the duke will wonder at the princess' silence; in a fortnight he will become uneasy; in a month he will learn the cage has been left open and the bird hath flown. then, too, shall the gates of the dungeon be set ajar, and the true, but tardy, messengers permitted to go their respective ways. is it not a nice adventure? am i not a fitter leader than your duke?" "undoubtedly," returned the jester. "he sits at home, while you are here in his stead. but what will the princess say when she learns?" "nothing. she loves me already." the fool turned pale; the hand that held his glass, however, was firm, and he set the goblet down without a tremor. "she may weep a little, but it will pass like a summer shower. women are weak; women are yielding. have i not reason to know?" he burst out. "i, a--" brusquely he arose from his chair, leaving the sentence uncompleted. sternly he surveyed the jester. "why not take service with me?" he continued, abruptly. "austria is ripe to revolt against the tyranny of the emperor. with the discontent in the netherlands, the dissensions in spain, europe is like a field, cut up, awaiting new-comers." he paused to allow the force of his words to appeal to the other's imagination. "what say you?" he continued. "will you serve me?" "the matter's worth thinking over," answered the fool, evasively. "well, take your time," said the king's guest, regarding him more sharply. "and now, as the candles are low and the flask is empty, you had better take your leave." at this intimation that the other considered the interview ended, the fool started to his feet and deliberately made his way to the door opening into the corridor. "good-night!" he said, and was about to depart when the free baron held him with a word. "hold! why have you not attempted to unmask me--before?" steadily the two looked at each other; the eyes of the elder man, cruel, deep, all-observing; those of the younger, steady, fearless, undismayed. few of his troopers could withstand the sinister penetration of louis of hochfels' gaze, but on the jester it seemed to have no more effect than the casual glance of one of francis' courtiers. "you knew--and yet you made no sign?" continued the master of the fortress. "because i like a strong play and did not wish to spoil it--too soon!" the questioner's brow fell; the lids half-veiled the dark, savage eyes, but the mouth relaxed. "ah, you always have your answer," he returned with apparent cordiality. "good-night--and, by the by, our truce is at an end." "the truce--and the wine," said the jester, as with a ceremonious bow, he vanished amid the shadows in the hall. slowly the free baron closed the door and locked it; looked at the cross and at the bed, but made no motion toward either. "he has already rejected my proposal," thought the self-styled duke. "does he seek for higher rewards by betraying me? or is it, then, triboulet told the truth? is he an aspiring lover of the princess? or is he only faithful to his master? why have i failed to read him? as though a film lay across his eyes, that index to a man's soul!" motionless the free baron stood, long pondering deeply, until upon the mantel the richly-chased clock began to strike musically, yet admonishingly. whereupon he glanced at the cross; hesitated; then, noting the lateness of the hour, and with, perhaps, a mental reservation to retrieve his negligence on the morrow, he turned from the silver, bejeweled symbol and immediately sought the sensuous bodily enjoyment of a couch fit for a king or the pope himself. chapter ix the flight of the fool another festal day had come and gone. the crimson shafts of the dying sun had succumbed to the lengthening shadows of dusk, and the pigeons were wending their way homeward to the castle parapets and battlements, when, toward the arched entrance on the front, strode the duke's fool. beyond the castle walls and the inclosure of the pleasure grounds the peace of twilight rested on the land; the great fields lay becalmed; the distant forests were bivouacs of rest. the afternoon had been a labor of pleasure; about the great basin of the fountain had passed an ever-varying shifting of moving figures; between the trees bright colors appeared and vanished, and from the heart of concealed bowers had come peals of laughter or strains of music. unnoticed among the merry throng in palace and park, the jester had moved aimlessly about; unobserved now, he turned his back upon the gray walls, satiated, perhaps, with the fêtes inaugurated by the kingly entertainer. but as he attempted to pass the gate, a stalwart guard stepped forward, presenting a formidable-looking glave. "your permit to leave?" he said. "a permit? of course!" replied the fool, and felt in his coat. "but what a handsome weapon you have; the staff all covered with velvet and studded with brass tacks!" "has the emperor charles, then, no such weapons?" asked the gratified soldier. "none so handsome! may i see it?" the guard unsuspiciously handed the glave to the jester, who immediately turned it upon the sentinel. "give it back, fool!" cried the alarmed guard. "nay; i am minded to call out and show a soldier of france disarmed by a foreign fool." "as well chop off my head with it!" sighed the man. "and if i wish to walk without the gate?" suggested the jester. "go, good fool!" replied the other, without hesitation. "well, here is the glave. if any one admires it again, let him study the point. but why may no one pass out?" "because so many soldiers and good citizens have been beaten and robbed by those who hover around the palace. but you may go in peace," he added. "no one will harm a fool. if 'tis amusement you seek, there's a camp on the verge of the forest where a dark-haired, good-looking baggage dances and tells cards. you can find the place from the noise within, and if you're merry, they'll welcome you royally. go; and god be with you!" the jester turned from the good-natured guard and quickly walked down the road, which wound gracefully through the valley and lost itself afar in a fringe of woodland. a light pattering on the hard earth behind caused him to look about. following was a dog that now sprang forward with joyous demonstration. the fool stooped and gravely caressed the hound which last he had seen at the princess' feet. "why," he said, "thou art now the fool's only friend at court." when again he moved on with rapid, nervous stride, the animal came after. darker grew the road; deeper hued the fields and stubble; more somber the distant castle against the gloaming. only the cry of a diving night-bird startled the stillness of the tranquil air; a rapacious filcher that quickly rose, and swept onward through the sea of night. its melancholy note echoed in the breast of the fool; mechanically, without relaxing his swift pace, he looked upward to follow it, when a short, sharp bark behind him and a premonition of impending danger caused him to spring suddenly aside. at the same time a dagger descended in the empty air, just grazing the shoulder of the jester, who, recovering himself, grasped the arm of his assailant and grappled with him. finding him a man of little strength, the fool easily threw him to the earth and kneeling on his breast in turn menaced the assailant with the weapon he had wrested from him. "have you any reason, knave, why i should spare you?" asked the fool. "if i had--for want of breath--it would fail me!" answered the miscreant with some difficulty. the duke's jester arose. "get up, rogue!" he said, and the man obeyed. he was a pale, gaunt fellow, with long hair, unshaven face, hollow cheeks, and dark eyes, set deeply in his head and shaded by thick, black brows. his dress consisted of a rough doublet, with lappet sleeves, carried down to a point, tight leggings, broad shoes and the puffed upper hose; the entire raiment frayed and worn; his flesh, or, rather, his bones, showing through the scanty covering for his legs, while his feet were no better protected than those of a trooper who has been long on the march. he displayed no fear or enmity; on the contrary, his manner was rather friendly than otherwise, as though he failed to understand the enormity of his offense and the position in which he was placed. shifting from one foot to another, he crossed his great, thin hands before him and patiently awaited his captor's pleasure. the latter surveyed him curiously, and, noting his woebegone features and beggarly attire, pity, perhaps, assuaged his just anger toward this starveling. "why did you wish to kill me?" asked the jester quietly, if somewhat impatiently. "it was not my wish, master fool," gently replied the other, but even as he spoke the resignation in his manner gave way to a look of apprehension. lifting his hand, he felt in his breast and glanced about him on the road. then his face brightened. "with your permission--i have e'en dropped something--" and stooping, the scamp-scholar picked up a small, leathern-bound volume from the ground, where it had fallen during the struggle, and held it tightly clutched in his hand. "ah," he muttered with a glad sigh, "i feared i had lost it--my horace! and now, sir jester, what would you with me?" "a question i might answer with a question," replied the fool. "having failed in your enterprise, why should i spare you?" "you shouldn't," returned the vagabond-student. "the ancients teach but the irrevocable law of retribution." to hear a would-be assassin, a castaway out of pocket and heels and elbows, calmly proclaiming the greek doctrine of inevitableness, under such circumstances, would have surprised an observer even more experienced and worldly than the duke's fool. involuntarily his face softened; this _pauvre diable_ gazed upon eternity with the calm eyes of a socrates. "you do not then beg for life?" said the _plaisant_, his former impatience merging into mild curiosity. "is it worth begging for?" asked the straitened book-worm. "life means a pinched stomach, a cold body; death, no hunger to fear, and a bed that, though cold, chills us not. what we know not doth not exist--for us; ergo, to lie in the earth is to rest in the lap of luxury, for all our consciousness of it. but to be unconscious of the ills of this perishable frame, horace likewise must be as dead to us as our aches and pains. thus is life made preferable to death. yes; i would live. hold, though--" he again hesitated in deep thought--"what avails horace if--" he began. "why, what new data have entered in the premises?" observed the wondering jester. "nanette!" was the gloomy answer. "who, pray, is nanette?" asked the fool, thrusting his assailant's weapon in his jerkin. "a wanton haggard whose tongue will run post sixteen stages together! who would make the devil himself malleable; then, work, hammer and wire-draw him!" "and what is she to you?" "my wife! that is, she claims that exalted place, having married me one night when i was in my cups through a false priest who dresses as a franciscan monk. 'fools in the court of god' are these priests called, and truly he is a jester, for certainly is he no true monk. but nanette, nevertheless, asserts she is the lawful partner of my sorrows. so work your will on me. a stroke, and the shivering spirit is wafted across the styx." "and if i gave you not only your life--for a consideration hereafter to be mentioned--but a small silver piece as well?" suggested the jester, who had been for some moments buried in thought. "ha!" ejaculated the scamp-student, brightening. "your gift would match the piece i already have and which--dolt that i was!--i overlooked to include in my chain of reasoning." and thrusting his hand into his ragged doublet, after some search he extracted a diminutive disk upon which he gazed not without ardor. "thus are we forced to start the chain of reasoning anew," he remarked, "with horace and this bit of metal on one side of the scales and nanette on the other. now unless the devil sits on the beam with nanette--which he's like to do--the book and the bit of dross will outweigh her and we arrive at the certitude that life, qualified as to duration, may be happily endured." "what argument does the dross carry, knave?" demanded the fool, looking down at the hound that crouched at his feet. "with it may be purchased that which warms the pinched stomach. with it may be bought an elixir, so strong and magical, it may breed defiance even of nanette. sir fool, i have concluded to accept life and the small silver piece." "well and good," commented the jester. "but there are conditions attached to my clemency." "conditions!" retorted the vagabond. "what are conditions to a philosopher, once he has reached a logical assurance?" "first, you must find me a horse. your nanette, as i take it, is a gipsy and in the camp, are, surely, horses." "but why should you want a horse? 'tis not far to the castle?" said the puzzled scholar. "no; but 'tis far away from it. next, tell me where you got that small piece of silver, like the one i have promised you?" "from nanette." "what for?" "to accomplish that which i have failed to do," replied the student, willingly. "but, alas, not having earned it, have i the right idly to spend it?" he added, dolefully, half to himself. "why did nanette--" began the jester. but the other raised his arm with an expostulatory gesture. "many things i know," he interrupted; "odds and ends of erudition, but a woman's mind i know not, nor want to know. i had as soon question beelzebub as her; yea, to stir up the devil with a stick. if sparing my life is contingent on my knowing why she does this, or that, then let me pay the debt of nature." "no; 'tis slight punishment to take from a man that which he values so little he must reason with himself to learn if he value it at all," returned the duke's jester, slowly. "we'll waive the question, if you find me the horse." "'tis nanette you must ask. there's but one, old, yet serviceable--" "then take me to nanette." "very well. follow me, sir; and if you're still of a mind when you see her, you can question her." "why, is she so weird and witch-like to look upon?" said the fool. "nay; the devil hides his claws behind the daintiest fingers, all pink and white. he conceals his cloven hoof in a slipper, truly sylph-like." "you arouse my curiosity. i would fain meet this fair monster." "come then, master fool," replied the scamp-student, leaving the road for the field to the right, and the jester, after a moment's deliberation, turned likewise into the stubble, while the hound, as if satisfied with the service it had performed, slowly retraced its way toward the castle, stopping, however, now and then to look around after the two men, whose figures grew smaller and smaller in the distance. for some space they walked in silence; then the scholar paused, and, pointing to a low, rambling house that once had been a hunter's lodge and now had fallen into decay, exclaimed: "there's where she lives, fool. i'll warrant she's not alone." at the same time a clamor of voices and a chorus of rough melody, coming from the cottage, confirmed the assurance his spouse was not, indeed, holding solitary vigil. "'tis e'en thus every night," murmured the scamp student in a melancholy tone. "she gathers 'round her the scum of all rudeness; ragged alchemists of pleasure, who sing incessantly, like grasshoppers on a summer day." "where is the horse?" said the jester, abruptly. "stalled in one of the rooms for safe keeping. there are so many rascals and thieves around, you see--" "they e'en rob one another!" returned the fool. advancing more cautiously, the two men approached the ancient forester's dwelling, the hue and cry sounding louder as they drew near, a mingled discord of laughter, shouting and caterwauling, with a woman's piercing voice at times dominating the general vociferation. the philosopher shook his head despondingly, while, creeping to one of the windows, the jester looked in. near the fire was a misshapen creature, a sort of monstrous imbecile that chattered and moaned; a being that bore some resemblance to the ancient morios once sold at the olden forum morionum to the ladies who desired these hideous animals for their amusement. at his feet gamboled a dwarf that squeaked and screeched, distorting its face in hideous grimaces. scattered about the room, singing, bawling or brawling, were indigent morris dancers; bare-footed minstrels; a pinched and needy versificator; a reduced mountebank; a swarthy clown, with a hare's mouth; joculators of the streets, poor as rats and living as such, straitened, heedless fellows, with heads full of nonsense and purses empty, poor in pocket, but rich in _plaisanterie_. upon the table, with cards in her lap, which she studied idly, sat a hard-featured, deep-bosomed woman, neither old nor uncomely, with thick, black hair, coarse as a horse's mane, cheeks red as a berry, glowing with health. in her pose was a certain savage grace, an untrammeled freedom which revealed the vigorous outlines of a well-proportioned figure. her eye was bright as a diamond and bold as a trooper's; when she lifted her head she looked disdainfully, scornfully, fiercely, upon the strange and monstrous company of which she was queen. "where can the thief-friar be?" muttered the student. "he is usually not far off from sweet nanette." "you mean the monk who had a hand in your nuptials?" "who else? he, the source of all ill. he who gave her the money of which she e'en presented me a moiety. whoever employed him--was it your friends, gentle sir?--rewarded him with gold. being a craven rogue, i e'en suspect him of shifting the task to myself for a beggarly pittance, whilst he is off with the lion's share." the jester, watching the company within, made no reply. from the student to the woman, to the friar, was a chain leading--where? he found it not difficult to surmise. suddenly nanette threw down the cards and laughed harshly. "neither the devil nor his imps could read the things that are happening in the castle!" then abruptly springing from the table, she made her way to the fire, over which hung a pot of some savory stew, a magnet to the company's sharp desire; for throughout all the boisterous merriment wandering glances had invariably returned to it. to reach the kettle and make herself mistress of the culinary preparations, she cuffed a dwarf with such vigor that he hobbled howling from a suspicious proximity to the appetizing mess to a safe refuge beneath the table. with equally dauntless spirit, she pushed aside the herculean morio who had been childishly standing over the pot, licking his fingers in eager anticipation; whereupon the imbecile set up a sharp cry that blended with the deeper roar of the lilliputian. "and i caught the rabbit!" piteously bellowed the latter from his retreat. "and i found the turnips!" cried the colossal idiot, tears running down his lubberly cheeks. "peace, you demons!" exclaimed the woman, waving the spoon at them, "or, by the hell-born, you'll ne'er taste morsel of it!" quieted by this stupendous threat, they closed their mouths and opened their eyes but the wider, while the gipsy spouse of the student stirred and stirred the mixture in the iron pot, gazing at the fire with frowning brow as though she would read some page of the future in the leaping flames. "saw you but now how she served the dwarf and the overgrown lump?" whispered the student to the duke's fool. "are you still minded to meet her?" for answer the jester left the window, stepped to the door, and, opening it, strode into the room. chapter x the fool returns to the castle as the duke's fool suddenly appeared in the crowded apartment, the hubbub abruptly ceased; the minstrels and mountebanks gazed in surprise at the slender figure of the alien jester whose rich garments proclaimed him a personage of importance, one who had reached that pinnacle in buffoonery, the high office of court _plaisant_. the morio crouched against the wall, his fear of the new-comer as great as his body was large; the garret minstrels stopped strumming their instruments, while the woman at the fire uttered a quick exclamation and dropped the spoon with a clatter to the floor, where it was promptly seized by the dwarf, who, taking advantage of the woman's consternation, thrust it greedily to his lips. but soon recovering from her wonderment, the gipsy soundly boxed the dwarf's ears, recovered her spoon and set herself once more to stirring the contents of the pot. the jester observed her for a moment--the heavy, bare arm moving round and round over the kettle; her sunburnt legs uncovered to the knee; the masculine attitude of her figure with the torn and worn garments that covered her--and she seemed to him a veritable trull of disorder and squalor. the gipsy, too, looked at him over her shoulder, and, as she gazed, her hand went slower and slower, until all motion ceased, and the spoon lay on the edge of the pot, when she turned deliberately, offering him the full sight of her bold cheeks and shameless eyes. "are you nanette, wife of this philosopher?" asked the duke's fool, approaching, and indicating the miserable scamp who clung near the doorway as one undecided whether to enter or run away. "yes; i am nanette, his true and lawful spouse," she answered with a shrill laugh. "wilt come to me, true-love?" she called out to her apprehensive yoke-mate. "nay; i'll go out in the air a while," hurriedly replied the vagabond-scholar, and quickly vanished. "ah, how he loves me!" she continued. "so much he prefers a cony-burrow to his own fireside," said the fool dryly. "a hole i' the earth is too good for such a scurvy fellow," she retorted. "but what would you here, fool? a song, a jest, a dance? or have you come to learn a new story, or ballad, for the lordlings you must entertain?" unabashed, she approached a step nearer. "your stories, mistress, would be unsuited for the court, and your ballads best unsung," he retorted. "i came, not to sharpen my wits, but to learn from whom the thief-friar got the small piece of silver you gave your consort, and, also, to procure a horse." her brazen eyes wavered. "a horse and a fool flying," she muttered. "even what the cards showed. the fool seeking the duke!" a puzzled look crossed her face. "but the duke is here?" she continued to herself. "a strange riddle! all the signs show devilment, but what it is--" "good nanette," interrupted the jester, satirically, "i have no time for spells or incantation." "how dared you come here," she said, hoarsely, "after--" "after your mate proved but an indifferent servant of yours?" he concluded, meeting her sullen gaze with one so stern and inflexible that before it her eyes fell. "do you not know," she said, endeavoring to maintain a hardened front, "i have but to say the word, and all these friends of mine would tear you to pieces? what would you do, my pretty fellows, an i ask you?" she cried out, her voice rising audaciously. "would you suffer this duke's jester to stand against me?" glances of suspicion and animosity shot from a score of eyes; fists were half-clenched; knives appeared in a trice from the concealment of rags, and a low murmur arose from the gathering. even the imbecile morio, nature's trembling coward, became suddenly valiant, and, with huge frame uplifted, seemed about to spring savagely upon the fool. an expression of disgust replaced all other feeling on the features of the duke's _plaisant_. "spare me your threats, nanette," he replied, coldly. "had you intended to set them on me, you would have done it long ere this." the woman hesitated. his calm, almost contemptuous, confidence was not without its effect upon her. had he trembled, she would have spoken, but before his disdain, and the gay splendor of his attire, conspicuous amid rags from rubbish heaps, she felt a sudden consciousness of her own unclean environment; at the same time unusual warnings in her conjurations recurred to her. something about him--was it dignity or pride or a nameless fear she herself experienced but could not understand?--beat down her eyes and she turned them doggedly away. abruptly she moved to the fire and again began to stir the mess, while the suppressed excitement in the room at once subsided. a minstrel lightly touched his battered dulcimer; a poet hummed a song in the dialect of thieves; a juggler began practising some deft work for hand and eye, and he of the hare lip sank quietly into a corner and patiently watched the simmering pot. the dwarf, with some misgiving, as a dog that is beaten crawls cautiously out of its kennel, crept from beneath the table. "oh, mistress," he whimpered, "some of it has boiled over!" "boiled over!" echoed the morio, mournfully. at the same time the woman grasped the handle of the heavy kettle, lifted it from the jack, displaying in her bared arms the muscles of a man, and, staggering beneath the load, bore it steaming to the table. amid the subsequent confusion, the gipsy held aloof from the demolition of the rabbit, and, seating herself at the foot of the table, began moodily once more to turn the cards. a merry droll acted as host and dipped freely for all with the long spoon, commenting the while he dispensed the mess according to the wants of the miscellaneous gathering: "pot-luck! 'tis luck, and they're no field mice in it! there's everything else!" or "a bit of rabbit, my masters! i'll warrant he'll hop down your throats as fast as e'er he jumped a hillock." and, when one ate too greedily, slap went a spoonful of gravy o'er him with: "i thought you would catch it, knave!" "are they not blithe devils 'round the caldron?" muttered the woman. "there it is again!"--bending over the bits of pasteboard on the table. "the duke here! and the fool on horseback! what do the cards mean?" "that i must have the horse, nanette," said the duke's jester, standing motionless and firm before the fireplace. "are you the fool?" she asked, more to herself than him. "why does he wish to ride away?" "will you sell me the horse?" he demanded. she hesitated. around them danced the shadows of the kettle-gourmands: "a kern and a drole, a varlet and a blade a drab and a rep, a skit and a jade--" sang the street poet; the dwarf and the morio (a lilliputian and gulliver) fought a mimic combat; the juggler and the clown, who could eat no more, were keeping time to a chorus by beating with their empty trenchers on the table. "sell you the horse? for what?" asked the gipsy. "for five gold pieces." "a fool with five gold pieces!" she exclaimed, incredulously. "here! you may see them." and he opened a purse he carried at his girdle. "do not let them know," she said, hurriedly. "they would kill you and--" "you would not get the money," he added, significantly. "if you act quickly, find me a horse and let me go; it is you, not they, who will profit." abruptly she rose. "it is fate," she remarked, her eyes greedy. his glance, as he stood there, proud and stern, cut her sharply. "say cupidity, nanette!" he laughed softly. "it is more profitable not to betray me. in the one case you get much; in the other, little." "stay here," she replied, hastily. "i'll fetch the horse." and vanished. a moment he remained, then resolutely turning to the door through which she had disappeared, opened it, and found himself in a combined sleeping-room and stable; a dark apartment, with floor of hardened earth and a single window, open to wind and weather. the atmosphere in this chamber for man and beast was impregnated with the smell of mold and dry-rot, mingled with the livelier effluvium of dirt and grime of years; but amid the malodor and mustiness, on a couch under the window, slumbered and snored the false franciscan monk. by his side was a tankard, half-filled with stale sack, and in his hand he clutched a gold piece as though he had had an intimation it would be safer there than elsewhere on his person during the pot-valiant sleep he had deliberately courted. his hood had fallen back, displaying a bullet head, red cheeks and purple nose, while the wooden beads of this sottish counterfeit of a friar trailed from his girdle on the ground. from a stall in a far corner a large, bony-looking nag turned its head reproachfully, as if mentally protesting against such foul quarters and the poor company they offered. its melancholy whinny upon the appearance of the woman was a sigh for freedom; a sad suspiration to the memory of radiant clover fields or poppy-starred meadows. "why, here's a holy man worn out by too many paternosters," commented the duke's fool, standing on the threshold; and then gazed from the gold piece in the monk's hand to the woman. "i need not ask where you got the silver, nanette. 'tis a chain of evidence leading--where?" the gipsy replied only with dark looks, regarding his intrusion in this inner sanctuary as a fresh provocation for her just displeasure. the jester, however, paid no attention to these signs of new acerbity on her face. crossing to the couch, he shook the monk vigorously, but the latter only held his piece of money tighter like a miser whose treasure is threatened, and snored the louder. again the fool essayed to waken him, and this time he opened his eyes, felt for his beads and commenced to mutter a prayer in latin words, strung together in meaningless phrases. "why," commented the jester, "his learning is as false as his cloak. wake up, sirrah! would you approach heaven's gate with a feigned prayer on your lips and a toss-pot in your hand?" "_christe tuum_--i absolve you! i absolve you!" muttered the friar. "go your way in peace." "hear me, thou trumped-up monk; do you want another piece of gold?" "gold!" repeated the other, tipsily. "what--what for? to--to help some fool to paradise--or purgatory? 'tis for the church i beg, good people. the holy church--church i say!" winking and blinking, seeing nothing before him, he held out a trembling hand. "the piece of gold--give it to me!" he mumbled. "yes; in exchange for your cloak," answered the jester. "my cloak, thou horse-leech! sell my skin for--piece of gold! want my cloak? take it!" and the dissembler rolled over, extending his arms. the jester grasped the garment by the sleeves and with some difficulty whipped it from him. "now hand me--the money and--cover me with rags that--i may sleep," continued the beer-bibber. "so"--as he grasped the money the fool gave him and stretched himself luxuriously beneath a noisome litter of cast-off clothes and rubbish--"i languish in ecstasies! the angels--are singing around me." with growing surprise and ill-humor had the woman observed this novel proceeding, and now, when the jester had himself donned the false friar's gown, she said grudgingly: "you did not give him one of the five pieces?" "no; there are still five left." "a bit of gold for a cloak!" she grumbled. "it is overmuch. but there!" unfastening a door that looked out upon the field. "give me the money and be gone." he grasped the bridle of the horse, handed her the promised reward, and, drawing the hood of the monk's garment over his head, led the nag out into the open air. the door closed quickly behind him and he heard the wooden bolt as it shot into place. above the dark outlines of the forest, the moon, full-orbed, now shone in the sky, with a myriad attendant stars, its silver beams flooding the open spaces and revealing every detail, soft, dreamy, yet distinct. a languorous, redolent air just stirred the waving grain, on which rested a glossy shimmer. as the fool was about to spring upon the horse, a shadow suddenly appeared around the corner of the house and the animal danced aside in affright. before the jester could quiet and mount the nag, the shadow resolved itself into a man, and, behind him, came a numerous band, the play of light on helmet, sword and dagger revealing them as a party of troopers. doubtless having indulged freely, they had become inclined to new adventures, and accordingly had bent their footsteps toward the "little house on the verge of the wood," where merry company was always to be found. at the sight of the duke's fool and the horse they pressed forward, and, with one accord, surrounded him. "the franciscan monk!" cried one. "where is he going so late with the nag?" asked another. "he's off to confess some one," exclaimed a third. "a petticoat, most likely, the rogue!" rejoined the second speaker. "well, what have we to do with his love affairs?" laughed the first trooper. "ride on, good father, and keep tryst." "yes, ride on!" the others called out. the monk bowed. an interruption which had promised to defeat his designs seemed drawing to a harmless conclusion. his hopes ran high; the soldiers had not yet penetrated beneath the costume; he had already determined to leap upon the horse in a rush for freedom when a heavy, detaining hand was laid on his shoulder. "one moment, knave!" said a deep voice, and, wheeling sharply, the fool looked into the keen, ferret eyes of the trooper with the red mustaches. "i have a question to ask. have you done that which you were to do?" the friar nodded his assent. "the fool will trouble the duke no more," he answered. "ah, he is"--began the soldier. "even so. and now pray let me pass." "yes; let him pass!" urged one of the soldiers. "would you keep some longing trollop waiting?" the leader of the troopers did not answer; his glance was bent upon the ground. "yes, you may go," he commented, "when--" and suddenly thrust forth an arm and pulled back the enshrouding cloak. "the duke's fool!" he cried. "close in, rogues! let him not escape." fiercely the fool's hand sought his breast; then, swiftly realizing that it needed but a pretext to bring about the end desired by the pretender in the castle, with an effort he restrained himself, and confronted his assailants, outwardly calm. "'tis a poor jest which fails," he said, easily. "jest!" grimly returned he of the red mustaches. "call you it a jest, this monk's disguise? once on the horse, it would have been no jest, and i'll warrant you would soon have left the castle far behind. yes; and but for the cloven foot, the jest, as you call it, would have succeeded, too. had it not been," he added, "for the pointed, silken shoe, peeping out from beneath the holy robe--a covering of vanity, instead of holy nakedness--you would certainly have deceived me, and"--with a brusque laugh--"slipped away from your master, the duke." "the duke?" said the jester, as casting the now useless cloak from him, he deliberately scrutinized the rogue. "the duke," returned the man, stolidly. "well, this spoils our sport for to-night, knaves," he went on, turning to the other troopers, "for we must e'en escort the jester back to the castle." "beshrew him!" they answered, of one accord. "a plague upon him!" and slowly the fool and the soldiers began to retrace their way across the moon-lit fields, the trooper with the red mustaches grumbling as they went: "such luck to turn back now, with all those mad-caps right under our nose! a curse to a dry march over a dusty meadow! an unsanctified dog of a monk! 'tis like a campaign, with naught but ditch water to drink. the devil take the friar and the jester! forward! the fool in the center, and those he would have fooled around him!" and when they disappeared in the distance the gipsy woman might have been seen leaving the house by the stable door and leading in the horse. chapter xi a new messenger to the emperor between caillette and the duke's jester had arisen one of those friendships which spring more from similitude than unlikeness; an amity of which each had been unconscious in its inception, but which had gradually grown into a sentiment of comradeship. caillette was of noble mien, graceful manner and elegant address; a soldier by preference; a jester against his will, forced to the office by the nobleman who had cared for and educated him. in the duke's fool he had found his other self; a man who like himself lent dignity to the gentle art of jesting; who could turn a rhyme and raise a laugh without resorting to grossness. the line of demarcation between the clown and the merry-and-wise wit was, in those days, not clearly drawn. the stories of the former, which made the matrons look down and the maidens to hide their faces, were often more appreciated by the inebriate nobles than some subtile comicality or nimble lines of poetry, that would serve to take home and think over, and which improved with time like a wine of sound body. triboulet abused the ancient art of foolery, thought caillette; the duke's _plaisant_ played upon it with true drollery, and as a master who has a delicate ear for an instrument, so caillette, being sensitive to broadness or stupidity which masked as humor or pleasantry, turned naturally from the mountebank to the true jester. moreover, caillette experienced a superior sadness, sifted through years of infestivity and gloom, beginning when diane was led to the altar by the grand seneschal of normandy, that threw an actual, albeit cynical, interest about the love-tragedy of the duke's fool which the other divined and--from his own past heart-throbs--understood. the _plaisant_ to the princess' betrothed, caillette would have sworn, was of gentle birth; his face, manner and bearing proclaimed it; he was, also, a scholar and a poet; his courage, which caillette divined, fitted him for the higher office of arms. certainly, he became an interesting companion, and the french jester sought his company on every occasion. and this fellowship, or intimacy, which he courted was destined to send caillette forth on a strange and adventuresome mission. the day following the return of the duke's fool to the castle, francis, who early in his reign had sought to model his life after the chivalrous romances, inaugurated a splendid and pompous tournament. some time before, the pursuivants had proclaimed the event and distributed to the knights who were to take active part the shields of arms of the four _juges-diseurs_, or umpires of the field. on this gala occasion the scaffolds and stands surrounding the arena were bedecked in silks of bright colors; against the cloudless sky a thousand festal flags waved and fluttered in the gentle breeze; beneath the tasseled awning festoons of bright flowers embellished gorgeous hangings and tapestries. the king rode from the castle under a pavilion of cloth of gold and purple velvet, with the letters f and r, boldly outlined, followed by ladies and courtiers, pages and attendants. amid the shouts and huzzas of the people, the monarch and his retinue took their places in the center of the stand, the royal box hung with ornate brocades and trimmings. in an inclosure of white, next to that of the king, was seated the lady of the tournament, the princess louise, and her maids of honor, arrayed all in snowy garb, and, against the garish brilliancy of the general background, a pompous pageantry of colors, the decoration of this dainty nook shone in silvery contrast. a garland of flowers was the only crown the lady wore; no other adornment had her fair shoulders save their own argent beauty, of which the fashion of the day permitted a discernible suggestion. one arm hung languorously across the railing, as she leaned forward with seeming carelessness, but intently directed her glance to the scene below, where the attendants were arranging the ring or leading the wondrously pranked-out chargers to their stalls. behind her, motionless as a statue, with face that looked paler, and lips the redder, and hair the blacker, stood the maid jacqueline. if the casual glance saw first the blond head, the creamy arms and sunny blue eyes of the princess, it was apt to linger with almost a start of wonder upon the striking figure of the jestress, a nocturnal touch in a pearly picture. "on my word, there's a decorative creature for any lord to have in his house," murmured the aged chancellor of the kingdom, sitting near the monarch. "who is she?" "a beggar's brat francis found here when he took the castle," replied the beribboned spark addressed. "you know the story?" "yes," said the white-haired diplomat, half-sadly. "this castle once belonged to the great constable of dubrois. when he fell from favor the king besieged him; the constable fled and died in spain. that much, of course, i--and the world--know. but the girl--" "when our victorious monarch took possession of this ancient pile," explained the willing courtier, "the only ones left in it were an old gamekeeper and his daughter, a gipsy-like maid who ran wild in the woods. time hath tamed her somewhat, but there she stands." "and what sad memories of a noble but unfortunate gentleman cluster around her!" muttered the chancellor. "alas, for our brief hour of triumph and favor! yesterday was he great; i, nothing. to-day, what am i, while he--is nothing." a great murmur, resolving itself into shouts and resounding outcry, interrupted the noble's reminiscent mood, as a thick-set figure in richly chased armor, mounted on a massive horse, crossed the arena. "_bon vouloir!_" they cried. "_bon vouloir!_" it was the name assumed by the free baron for the day, while other knights were known for the time being by such euphonious and chivalrous appellations as _vaillant desyr_, _bon espoir_ or _coeur loyal_. _bon vouloir_, upon this popular demonstration, reined his steed, and, removing his head-covering, bowed reverently to the king and his suite, deeply to the lady of the tournament and her retinue, and carelessly to the vociferous multitude, after which he retired to a large tent of crimson and gold, set apart for his convenience and pleasure. from the purple box the monarch had nodded graciously and from the silver bower the lady had smiled softly, so that the duke had no reason for dissatisfaction; the attitude of the crowd was of small moment, an unmusical accompaniment to the potent pantomime, of which the principal figures were francis, the king arthur of europe, and the princess, queen of beauty's unbounded realm. in front of the duke's pavilion was hung his shield, and by its side stood his squire, fancifully dressed in rich colors. behind ranged the men of arms, whose lances formed a fence to hold in check the people from far and wide, among whom the pick-purses, light-fingered scamps, and sturdy beggars conscientiously circulated, plying themselves assiduously. the fashion of the day prescribed carrying the purse and the dagger dangling from the girdle, and many a good citizen departed from the tourney without the one and with the other, and it is needless to say which of the two articles the filcher left its owner. and none was more enthusiastic or demonstrative of the features of the lists than these rapacious riflers, who loudly cheered the merry monarch or shouted for his gallant knights, while deftly cutting purse-cords or despoiling honest country dames of brooches, clasps or other treasured articles of adornment. near the duke's pavilion, to the right, had been pitched a commodious tent of yellow material, with ropes of the same color, and a fool's cap crowning the pole in place of the customary banner. over the entrance was suspended the jester's gilded wand and a staff, from which hung a blown bladder. here were quartered the court jesters whom francis had commanded to be fittingly attired for the lists and to take part in the general combat. in vain had triboulet pleaded that they would occasion more merriment if assigned to the king's box than doomed to the arena. "that may be," francis had answered, "but on this occasion all the people must witness your antics." "antics!" triboulet had shuddered. "an i should be killed, your majesty?" "then it will be amusing to see you quiet for once in your life," had been the laughing reply. and with this poor assurance the dwarf had been obliged to content himself--not merrily, 'tis true, but with much inward disquietude, secretly execrating his monarch for this revival of ancient and barbarous practices. now, in the rear of the jesters' pavilion, his face was yellow with trepidation, as the armorer buckled on the iron plates about his stunted figure, fastening and riveting them in such manner, he mentally concluded he should never emerge from that frightful shell. "the worst of it is," dryly remarked the hunchback's valet as he briskly plied his little hammer, "these clothes are so heavy you couldn't run away if you wanted to." "oh, that the duke were married and out of the kingdom!" triboulet fervently wished, and the fiery comments of marot, villot and those other reckless spirits, who seemed to mind no more the prospect of being spitted on a lance than if it were but a novel and not unpleasant experience to look forward to, in no wise served to assuage his heart-sinking. at the entrance of the pavilion stood caillette, who had watched the passing of _bon vouloir_ and now was gazing upward into a sea of faces from whence came a hum of voices like the buzzing of unnumbered bees. "certes," he commented, "the king makes much of this unmannered, lumpish, beer-drinking noble who is going to wed the princess." "caillette," said the low voice of the duke's jester at his elbow, "would you see a woman undone?" "why, _mon ami_!" lightly answered the french fool, "i've seen many undone--by themselves." "ah," returned the other, "i appeal to your chivalry, and you answer with a jest." "how else," asked caillette, with a peculiar smile that was at once sweet and mournful, "can one take woman, save as a jest--a pleasant mockery?" "your irony precludes the test of friendship--the service i was about to ask of you," retorted the duke's fool, gravely. "test of friendship!" exclaimed the poet. "'tis the only thing i believe in. love! what is it? a flame! a breath! look out there--at the flatterers and royal sycophants. those are your emissaries of love. ye gods! into the breasts of what jack-a-dandies and parasites has descended the unquenchable fire of jove! now as for comradeship"--placing his hand affectionately on the other's shoulder--"by castor and pollux, and all the other inseparables, 'tis another thing. but expound this strange anomaly--a woman wronged. who is the woman?" "the princess louise!" caillette glanced from the place where he stood to the center of the stand and the white bower, inclining from which was a woman, haughty, fair, beautiful; one whose face attracted the attention of the multitude and who seemed not unhappy in being thus scrutinized and admired. shaking his head slowly, the court poet dropped his eyes and studied the sand at his feet. "she looks not wronged," he said, dryly. "she appears to enjoy her triumphs." "and yet, caillette, 'tis all a farce," answered the duke's jester. "so have i--thought--on other occasions." and again his gaze flew upward, not, however, to the lady whom francis had gallantly chosen for queen of beauty, but, despite his alleged cynicism, to a corner of the king's own box, where sat she who had once been a laughing maid by his side and with whom he had played that diverting pastoral, called "first love." it was only an instant's return into the farcical but joyous past, and a moment later he was sharply recalled into the arid present by the words of his companion. "the man the princess louise is going to marry is no more robert, the duke of friedwald, than you are!" exclaimed the foreign fool. "he is the bastard of pfalz-urfeld, the so-called free baron of hochfels. his castle commands the road between the true duke and francis' domains. he made himself master of all the correspondence, conceived the plan to come here himself and intends to carry off the true lord's bride. indeed, in private, he has acknowledged it all to me, and, failing to corrupt me to his service, last night set an assassin to kill me." his listener, with folded arms and attentive mien, kept his eyes fixed steadily upon the narrator, as if he doubted the evidence of his senses. without, the marshals had taken their places in the lists and another stentorian dissonance greeted these officers of the field from the good-humored gathering, which, basking in the anticipation of the feast they knew would follow the pageantry, clapped their hands and flung up their caps at the least provocation for rejoicing. upon the two jesters this scene of jubilation was lost, caillette merely bending closer to the other, with: "but why have you not denounced him to the king?" "because of my foolhardiness in tacitly accepting at first this free-booter as my master." caillette shot a keen glance at the other and smiled. his eyes said: "foolhardiness! was it not, rather, some other emotion? had not the princess leaned more than graciously toward her betrothed and--" "i thought him but some flimsy adventurer," went on the duke's fool, hastily, "and told myself i would see the play played out, holding the key to the situation, and--" "you underestimated him?" "exactly. his plans were cunningly laid, and now--who am i that the king should listen to me? at best, if i denounce him, they would probably consider it a bit of pleasantry, or--madness." "yes," reluctantly assented caillette, triboulet's words, "a fool in love with the princess!" recurring to him; "it would be undoubtedly even as you say." the duke's jester looked down thoughtfully. he had only half-expressed to the french _plaisant_ the doubts which had assailed him since his interview with louis of hochfels. who could read the minds of monarchs? the motives actuating them? should he be able to convince francis of the deception practised upon him, was it altogether unlikely that the king might not be brought to condone the offense for the sake of an alliance with this bastard of pfalz-urfeld and the other unconquerable free barons of the austrian border against charles himself? had not francis in the past, albeit openly friendly with the emperor, secretly courted the favor of the powerful german nobles in charles' own country? had not his covenant with the infidel, solyman, been a covert attempt to undermine the emperor's power? from the day when, as young men, both had been aspirants for the imperial throne of germany and francis had suffered defeat, the latter had assiduously devoted himself to the retributory task of gaining the ascendancy over his successful rival. and now, although the tempering years had assuaged their erstwhile passions and each had professed to eschew war and its violence, might not this temptation prove too great for francis to resist a last blow at the emperor's prestige? how easy to affect disbelief of a fool, to overthrow the fabric of friendship between charles and himself, and at the same time apparently not violate good faith or conscience! the voice of caillette broke in upon his thoughts. "you will not then attempt to denounce him?" the fool hesitated. "alone--out of favor with the king, i like not to risk the outcome--but--if i may depend upon you--" "did ever friend refuse such a call?" exclaimed caillette, promptly. a quick glance of gratitude flashed from the other's eyes. "there is one flaw in the free baron's position," resumed the duke's fool, more confidently; "a fatal one 'twill prove, if it is possible to carry out my plans. he thinks the emperor is in austria, and his followers guard the road through the mountains. he tells himself not only are the emperor and the duke of friedwald too far distant to hear of the pretender and interfere with the nuptials, but that he obviates even the contingency of their learning of that matter at all by controlling the way through which the messengers must go. thus rests he in double security--but an imaginary one." "what mean you?" asked caillette, attentively, from his manner giving fuller credence to the extraordinary news he had just learned. "that charles, the emperor, is not in austria, but in aragon at saragossa, where he can be reached in time to prevent the marriage. just before my leaving, the emperor, to my certain knowledge, secretly departed for spain on matters pertaining to the governing of aragon. charles plays a deep game in the affairs of europe, though he works ever silently and unobtrusively. is he not always beforehand with your king? when francis was preparing the gorgeous field of the cloth of gold for his english brother, did not charles quietly leave for the little isle, and there, without beat of drum, arrange his own affairs before henry was even seen by your pleasure-loving monarch? yes; to the impostor and to francis, charles is in austria; to us--for now you share my secret--is he in spain, where by swift riding he may be found, and yet interdict in this matter." "then why--haven't you ere this fled to the emperor with the news?" "last night i had determined to get away, when first i was assaulted by an assassin of the impostor, and next detained by his troop and brought back to the castle. i had even left on foot, trusting to excite less suspicion, and hoping to find a horse on the way, but fortune was with the pretender. so here am i, closely watched--and waiting," he added grimly. the listener's demeanor was imperturbability itself. he knew why the other had taken him into his confidence, and understood the silent appeal as plainly as though words had uttered it. perhaps he duly weighed the perils of a flight without permission from the court of the exacting and capricious monarch, and considered the hazards of the trip itself through a wild and brigand-infested country. possibly, the thought of the princess moved him, for despite his irony, it was his mocking fate to entertain in his breast, against his will, a covert sympathy for the gentler sex; or, looking into the passionate face of his companion, he may have been conscious of some bond of brotherhood, a fellow-feeling that could not resist the call upon his good-will and amicable efforts. the indifference faded from caillette's face and almost a boyish enthusiasm shone in his eyes. "_mon ami_, i'll do it!" he exclaimed, lightly. "i'll ride to the emperor for you." silently the jester of the duke wrung his hand. "i've long sighed for an adventure," laughed caillette. "and here is the opportunity. caillette, a knight-errant! but"--his face falling--"the emperor will look on me as a madman." "nay," replied the duke's _plaisant_, "here is a letter. when he reads it he will, at least, think the affair worth consideration. he knows me, and trusts my fidelity, and will be assured i would not jest on such a serious matter. believe me, he will receive you as more than a madman." "why, then, 'twill be a rare adventure," commented the other. "wandering in the country; the beautiful country, where i was reared; away from the madness of courts. already i hear the wanton breezes sighing in sapphic softness and the forests' elegiac murmur. tell me, how shall i ride?" "as a knight to the border; thence onward as a minstrel. in spain there's always a welcome for a blithe singer." "'tis fortunate i learned some spanish love songs from a fair señora who was in charles' retinue the time he visited francis," added caillette. "an i should fail?" he continued, more gravely. "you will not fail," was the confident reply. "i am of your mind, but things will happen--sometimes--and why do you not speak to the princess herself--to warn her--" "speak to her!" repeated the duke's jester, a shadow on his brow. "when he has appealed to her, perhaps--when--" he broke off abruptly. his tone was proud; in his eyes a look which caillette afterward understood. as it was, the latter nodded his head wisely. "a woman whose fancy is touched is--what she is," he commented, generally. "truly it would be a more thankless task, even, than approaching the king. for women were ever creatures of caprice, not to be governed by any court of logic, but by the whimsical, fantastic rules of marguerite's court. court!" he exclaimed. "the word suggests law; reason; where merit hath justice. call it not love's court, but love's caprice, or crochet. but look you, there's another channel to the princess' mind--yonder black-browed maid--our ally in motley--when she chooses to wear it--jacqueline." "she likes me not," returned the fool. "would she believe me in such an important matter?" "i'm afraid not," tranquilly replied caillette, "in view of the improbability of your tale and the undoubted credentials held by this pretender. for my part, to look at the fellow was almost enough. but to the ladies, his brutality signifieth strength and power; and his uncouthness, originality and genius. marguerite, even, is prepossessed in his favor and has written a platonic poem in his honor. as for the princess"--pressing the other's arm gently--"do you not know, _mon ami_, that women are all alike? there is but one they obey--the king--that is as high as their ambitions can reach--and even him they deceive. why, the countess d'etampes--but this is no time for gossip. we are fools, you and i, and love, my friend, is but broad farce at the best." even as he spoke thus, however, from the lists came the voices of the well-instructed heralds, secretaries of the occasion, who had delved deeply into the practices of the merry and ancient pastime: "love of ladies! for you and glory! chivalry but fights for love. look down, fair eyes!" a peroration which was answered with many pieces of silver from the galleries above, and which the gorgeously dressed officials readily unbent to gather. among the fair hands which rewarded this perfunctory apostrophe to the tender passion none was more lavish in offerings than those matrons and maids in the vicinity of the king. a satirical smile again marred caillette's face, but he kept his reflections to himself, reverting to the business of the moment. "i should be off at once!" he cried. "but what can we do? the king hath commanded all the jesters to appear in the tournament to-day, properly armed and armored, the better to make sprightlier sport amid the ponderous pastime of the knights. here am i bound to shine on horseback, willy-nilly. yet this matter of yours is pressing. stay! i have it. i can e'en fall from my horse, by a ruse, retire from the field, and fly southward." "then will i wish you godspeed, now," said the duke's fool. "never was a stancher heart than thine, caillette, or a truer friend." "one word," returned the other, not without a trace of feeling which even his cynicism could not hide. "beware of the false duke in the arena! it will be his opportunity to--" "i understand," answered the duke's fool, again warmly pressing caillette's hand, "but with the knowledge you are fleeing to spain i have no fear for the future. if we meet not after to-day--" "why, life's but a span, and our friendship has been short, but sweet," added the other. now without sounded a flourish of trumpets and every glance was expectantly down-turned from the crowded stand, as with a clatter of hoofs and waving of plumes france's young chivalry dashed into the lists, divided into two parties, took their respective places and, at a signal from the musicians, started impetuously against one another. chapter xii the duke enters the lists in that first "joyous and gentle passage of arms," wherein the weapons were those "of courtesy," their points covered with small disks, several knights broke their lances fairly, two horsemen of the side wearing red plumes became unseated, and their opponents, designated as the "white plumes," swept on intact. "well done!" commented the king from his high tribunal, as the squires and attendants began to clear the lists, assisting the fallen belligerents to their tents. "we shall have another such memorable field as that of ashby-de-la-zouch!" the following just, reduced to six combatants, three of the red plumes and three of the white, was even yet more spirited than the first tilt, for the former trio couched their lances with the determination to retrieve the day for their party. in this encounter two of the whites were unhorsed, thus placing the contention once more on an equal basis, while in the third conflict the whites again suffered similar disaster, and but one remained to redeem his party's lapse from an advantage gained in the opening combat. all eyes were now fastened upon this single remnant of the white fellowship in arms, who, to wrest victory from defeat, became obliged to overcome each in turn of the trio of reds, a formidable task for one who had already been successful in three stubborn matches. it was a hero-making opportunity, but, alas! for the last of the little white company. like many another, he made a brave dash for honor and the "bubble reputation"; the former slipped tantalizingly from his grasp, and the latter burst and all its pretty colors dissolved in thin air. now he lay still on the sands and the king only remarked: "certes, he possessed courage." and the words sounded like an epitaph, a not inglorious one, although the hand that gripped the lance had failed. the defeated champion was removed; the opportunity had passed; the multitude stoically accepted the lame and impotent conclusion, and the tournament proceeded. event followed event, and those court ladies who at first had professed their nerves were weaker than their foremothers' now watched the arena with sparkling eyes, no longer turning away at the thrilling moment of contact. taking their cue from the king, they were lavish in praise and generous in approval, and at an unusual exhibition of skill the stand grew bright with waving scarfs and handkerchiefs. simultaneous with such an animated demonstration from the galleries would come a roar of approval from the peasantry below, crowded where best they could find places, bespeaking for their part, likewise, an increasing lust for the stirring pastime. in truth, the only dissatisfied onlookers were the quick-fingered spoilers and rovers who, packed as close as dried dates in a basket by the irresistible forward press of the people, found themselves suddenly occupationless, without power to move their arms, or ply their hands. thus held in a mighty compress, temporary prisoners with their spoils in their pockets, and cheap jewelry shining enticingly all about them, they were obliged for the time to comport themselves like honest citizens. but, although their bodies were in durance vile, their eyes could roam covetously to a showy trinket on the broad bosom of some buxom good-wife, or a gewgaw that hung from the neck of a red-cheeked lass. "ha!" muttered the scamp-student to his good spouse, "here are all the jolly boys immersed to their necks, like prisoners buried in the sand by the arabs." "hush!" she whispered, warningly. "see you yonder--the duke's fool; he wears the arms of charles, the emperor." "and there's the duke of friedwald himself," answered the ragged scholar. "look! the jesters are going to fight. they have arranged them in two parties. half of them go with the duke and his knights; the other half with his lordship's opponents." "but the duke's fool, by chance, is set against his master," she mumbled, significantly. "call you it chance?" he said in a low voice, and nanette nudged him angrily in the side with her elbow, so that he cried out, and attention would have been called to them but for a ripple of laughter which started on the edge of the crowd and was taken up by the serried ranks. "ho! ho! look at triboulet!" shouted the delighted populace. "ah, the droll fellow!" all eyes were now bent to the arena, where, on a powerful nag, sat perched the misshapen jester. with whip and spur he was vehemently plying a horse that stubbornly stood as motionless as carven stone. thinking at the last moment of a plan for escape from the dangerous features of the tourney, the hunchback had bribed one of the attendants to fetch him a steed which for sullen obduracy surpassed any charger in the king's stables. fate, he was called, because nothing could move or change him, and now, with head pushed forward and ears thrust back, he proved himself beneath the blows and spurring of the seemingly excited rider, worthy of this appellation. "go on, fate; go on!" exclaimed the apparently angry dwarf. "will you be balky now, when triboulet has glory within his grasp? miserable beast! unhappy fate! when bright eyes are watching the great triboulet!" if not destined to score success with his lance, the dwarf at least had won a victory through his comical situation and ready wit. fair ladies forgot his ugliness; the pages his ill-humor; the courtiers his vindictive slyness; the monarch the disappointment of his failure to worst the duke's fool, and all applauded the ludicrous figure, shouting, waving his arms, struggling with inexorable destiny. finally, in despair, his hands fell to his side. "oh, resistless necessity!" he cried. but in his heart he said: "it is well. i am as safe as on a wooden horse. here i stand. let others have their heads split or their bodies broken. triboulet, like the gods, views the carnage from afar." while this bit of unexpected comedy riveted the attention of the spectators the duke and his followers had slowly ridden to their side of the inclosure. here hovered the squires, adjusting a stirrup, giving a last turn to a strap, or testing a bridle or girth. behind stood the heralds, trumpeters and pursuivants in their bright garb of office. at his own solicitation had the duke been assigned an active part in the day's entertainment. the king, fearing for the safety of his guest and the possible postponement of the marriage should any injury befall him, had sought to dissuade him from his purpose, but the other had laughed boisterously at the monarch's fears and sworn he would break a lance for his lady love that day. francis, too gallant a knight himself to interpose further objection to an announcement so in keeping with the traditions of the lists, thereupon had ordered the best charger in his stables to be placed at the disposal of the princess' betrothed, and again nodded his approbation upon the appearance of the duke in the ring. but at least one person in that vast assemblage was far from sharing the monarch's complaisant mood. if the mind of the duke's fool had heretofore been filled with bitterness upon witnessing festal honors to a mere presumptuous free baron, what now were his emotions at the reception accorded him? from king to churl was he a gallant noble; he, a swaggerer, ill-born, a terrorist of mountain passes. even as the irony of the demonstration swept over the jester, from above fell a flower, white as the box from whence it was wafted. downward it fluttered, a messenger of amity, like a dove to his gauntlet. and with the favor went a smile from the lady of the lists. but while _bon vouloir_ stood there, the symbol in his hand and the applause ringing in his ears, into the tenor of his thoughts, the consciousness of partly gratified ambition, there crept an insinuating warning of danger. "my lord," said the trooper with the red mustache, riding by the side of his master, "the fool is plotting further mischief." "what mean you?" asked the free baron, frowning, as he turned toward his side of the field. "go slowly, my lord, and i will tell you. i saw the fool and another jester with their heads together," continued the trooper in a low tone. "they were standing in front of the jesters' tent. you bade me watch him. so i entered their pavilion at the back. making pretext to be looking for a gusset for an armor joint, i made my way near the entrance. there, bending over barbet pieces, i overheard fragments of their conversation. it even bore on your designs." "a conversation on my designs! he has then dared--" "all, my lord. a scheming knave! after i had heard enough, i gathered up a skirt of tassets--" "what did you hear?" said the other, impatiently. "a plan by which he hoped to let the emperor know--" a loud flourish of trumpets near them interrupted the free baron's informer, and when the clarion tones had ceased it was the master who spoke. "there's time but for a word now. come to my tent afterward. meanwhile," he went on, hurriedly, "direct a lance at the fool--" "but, my lord," expostulated the man, quickly, "the jesters only are to oppose one another." "it will pass for an accident. francis likes him not, and will clear you of unknightly conduct, if--" he finished with a boldly significant look, which was not lost upon his man. "even if the leaden disk should fall from my lance and leave the point bare?" said the trooper, hoarsely. "even that!" responded the free baron, hastily. "_laissez-aller!_" cried the marshals, giving the signal to begin. above, in her white box, the princess turned pale. with bated breath and parted lips, she watched the lines sweep forward, and, like two great waves meeting, collide with a crash. the dust that arose seemed an all-enshrouding mist. beneath it the figures appeared, vague, undefined, in a maze of uncertainty. "oh!" exclaimed louise, striving to penetrate the cloud; "he is victorious!" "they have killed him!" said jacqueline, at the same time staring toward another part of the field. "killed him!--what--" began the princess, now rosy with excitement. "no; he has won," added the maid, in the next breath, as a portion of the obscuring mantle was swept aside. "of course! where are your eyes?" rejoined her mistress triumphantly. "the duke, is one of the emperor's greatest knights." "in this case, madam, it is but natural your sight should be better than my own," half-mockingly returned the maid. and, in truth, the princess was right, for the king's guest, through overwhelming strength and greater momentum, had lightly plucked from his seat a stalwart adversary. others of his following failed not in the "attaint," and horses and troopers floundered in the sand. apart from the duke's victory, two especial incidents, one comic, stood out in the confused picture. that which partook of the humorous aspect, and was seen and appreciated by all, had for its central figure an unwilling actor, the king's hunchback. like the famous steed builded by the greeks, triboulet's "wooden horse" contained unknown elements of danger, and even while the jester was congratulating himself upon absolute immunity from peril the nag started and quivered. at the flourish of the brass instruments his ears, that had lain back, were now pricked forward; he had once, in his palmy, coltish time, been a battle charger, and, perhaps, some memory of those martial days, the waving of plumes and the clashing of arms, reawoke his combative spirit of old. or, possibly his brute intelligence penetrated the dwarf's knavish pusillanimity, and, changing his tactics that he might still range on the side of perversity, resolved himself from immobility into a rampant agency of motion. furiously he dashed into the thick of the conflict, and triboulet, paralyzed with fear and dropping his lance, was borne helplessly onward, execrating the nag and his capricious humor. opposed to the hunchback rode villot, who, upon reaching the dwarf and observing his predicament, good-naturedly turned aside his point, but was unable to avoid striking him with the handle as he rode by. to triboulet that blow, reëchoing in the hollow depths of his steel shell, sounded like the dissolution of the universe, and, not doubting his last moment had come, mechanically he fell to earth, abandoning to its own resources the equine fate that had served him so ill. striking the ground, and, still finding consciousness had not deserted him, instinct prompted him to demonstrate that if his armor was too heavy for him to run away in, as the smithy-_valet de chambre_ had significantly affirmed, yet he possessed the undoubted strength and ability to crawl. thus, amid the guffaws of the peasantry and the smiles of the nobles, he swiftly scampered from beneath the horses' feet, hurriedly left the scene of strife, and finally reached triumphantly the haven of his tent. the other incident, witnessed by jacqueline, was of a more serious nature. as the lines swept together, with the dust rising before, she perceived that the duke's trooper had swerved from his course and was bearing down upon the duke's fool. "oh," she whispered to herself, "the master now retaliates on the jester." and held her breath. had he, too, observed these sudden perfidious tactics? apparently. yet he seemed not to shun the issue. "why does he not turn aside?" thought the maid. "he might yet do it. a fool and a knight, forsooth!" but the fool pricked his horse deeply; it sprang to the struggle madly; crash! like a thunderbolt, steed and rider leaped upon the trooper. then it was jacqueline had murmured: "they have killed him!" not doubting for a moment but that he had sped to destruction. a second swift glance, and through the veil, less obscure, she saw the jester riding, unharmed, his lance unbroken. had he escaped, after all? and the trooper? he lay among the trampling horses' feet. she saw him now. how had it all come about? her mind was bewildered, but in spite of the princess' assertion to the contrary, her sight seemed unusually clear. "good lance, fool!" cried a voice from the king's box. "the jester rides well," said another. "the knight's lance even passed over his head, while the fool's struck fairly with terrific force." "but why did he select the jester as an adversary?" continued the first speaker. "mistakes will happen in the confusion of a _mêlée_--and he has paid for his error," was the answer. and jacqueline knew that none would be held accountable for the treacherous assault. now the fool had dismounted and she observed that he was bending over another jester who had been unhorsed. "why," she murmured to herself in surprise, "caillette! as good a soldier as a fool. who among the jesters could have unseated him?" but her wonderment would have increased, could she have overheard the conversation between the duke's fool and caillette, as the former lifted the other from the sands and assisted him to walk, or rather limp, to the jesters' pavilion. "did i not tell you to beware of the false duke?" muttered caillette, not omitting a parenthesis of deceptive groans. "ah, if it had only been he, instead," began the fool. "why," interrupted the seemingly injured man, "think you to stand up against the boar of hochfels?" "i would i might try!" said the other quickly. "your success with the trooper has turned your head," laughed caillette, softly. "one last word. look to yourself and fear not for me. mine injuries--which i surmise are internal as they are not visible--will excuse me for the day. nor shall i tarry at the palace for the physician, but go straight on without bolus, simples or pills, a very mercury for speed. danger will i eschew and a pretty maid shall hold me no longer than it takes to give her a kiss in passing. here leave me at the tent. turn back to the field, or they will suspect. trust no one, and--you'll mind it not in a friend, one who would serve you to the end?--forget the princess! serve her, save her, as you will, but, remember, women are but creatures of the moment. adieu, _mon ami_!" and caillette turned as one in grievous physical pain to an attendant, bidding him speedily remove the armor, while the duke's fool, more deeply stirred than he cared to show, moved again to the lists. chapter xiii a chaplet for the duke loud rang encomium and blessing on the king, as the people that night crowded in the rear courtyard around the great tables set in the open air, and groaning beneath viands, nutritious and succulent. what swain or yokel had not a meed of praise for the monarch when he beheld this burden of good cheer, and, at the end of each board, elevated a little and garlanded with roses, a rotund and portly cask of wine, with a spigot projecting hospitably tablewards? forgotten were the tax-lists under which the commonalty labored; it was "hosanna" for francis, and not a plowman nor tiller of the soil bethought himself that he had fully paid for the snack and sup that night. how could he, having had no one to think for him; for then rousseau had not lived, voltaire was unborn, and the most daring approach to lese-majesty had been rabelais' jocose: "the wearers of the crown and scepter are born under the same constellation as those of cap and bells." upon the green, smoking torches illumined the people and the surroundings; beneath a great oven, the bright coals cast a vivid glow far and near. close to the broad face of a cask--round and large like that of a full-fed host presiding at the head of the board--sat the franciscan monk, whose gluttonous eye wandered from quail to partridge, thence onward to pastry or pie, with the spigot at the end of the orbit of observation. nor as it made this comprehensive survey did his glance omit a casual inventory of the robust charms of a bouncing maid on the opposite side of the table. scattered amid the honest, good-natured visages of the trusting peasants were the pinched adventurers from paris, the dwellers of that quarter sacred to themselves. yonder plump, frisky dame seemed like the lamb; the gaunt knave by her side, the wolf. at length the company could eat no more, although there yet remained a void for drinking, and as the cups went circling and circling, their laughter mingled with the distant strains of music from the great, gorgeously lighted pavilion, where the king and his guests were assembled to close the tourney fittingly with the celebration of the final event--the awarding of the prize for the day. "can you tell me, good sir, to whom the umpires of the field have given their judgment?" said a townsman to his country neighbor. "did you not hear the king of arms decide the duke of friedwald was the victor?" answered the other. "a decision of courtesy, perhaps?" insinuated the parisian. "nay; two spears he broke, and overcame three adversaries during the day. fairly he won the award." "i wish we might see the presentation," interrupted a maid, pertly, her longing eyes straying to the bright lights afar. "presentation!" repeated the countryman. "did we not witness the sport? a fig for the presentation! give me the cask and a juicy haunch, with a lass like yourself to dance with after, and the nobles are welcome to the sight of the prize and all the ceremony that goes with it." within the king's pavilion, the spectacle alluded to, regretfully by the girl and indifferently by the man, was at that moment being enacted. upon a throne of honor, the lady of the tournament, attended by two maids, looked down on a brilliant assemblage, through which now approached the king and the princess' betrothed. the latter seemed somewhat thoughtful; his eye had but encountered that of the duke's fool, whose gaze expressed a disdainful confidence the other fain would have fathomed. but for that unfortunate meeting in the lists which had sealed the lips of the only person who had divined the hidden danger, the free baron would now have been master of the _plaisant's_ designs. above, in the palace, the trooper with the red mustaches lay on his couch unconscious. for how long? the court physician could not say. the soldier might remain insensible for hours. thus had the jester served himself with that stroke better than he knew, and he of hochfels bit his lip and fumed inwardly, but to no purpose. not that he believed the peril to be great, but the fact he could not grasp it goaded him, and he cursed the trooper for a dolt and a poltroon that a mere fool should have vanquished him. and so he had left him, with a last look of disgust at the silent lips that could not do his bidding, and had proceeded to the royal pavilion, where the final act of the day's drama--more momentous than the king or other spectators realized--was to be performed; an act in which he would have appeared with much complacency, but that his chagrin preyed somewhat on his vanity. but his splendid self-control and audacity revealed to the courtly assemblage no trace of what was passing in his mind. he walked by the king's side as one not unaccustomed to such exalted company, nor overwhelmed by sudden honors. his courage was superb; his demeanor that of one born to command; in him seemed exemplified a type of brute strength and force denoting a leader--whether of an army or a band of swashbucklers. as the monarch and the free baron drew near, the princess slowly, gracefully arose, while now grouped around the throne stood the heralds and pursuivants of the lists. in her hand louise held the gift, covered with a silver veil, an end of which was carried by each of the maids. "fair lady of the tournament," said the king, "this gallant knight is _bon vouloir_, whom you have even heard proclaimed the victor of the day." "approach, _bon vouloir_!" commanded the queen of love. the maids uncovered the gift, the customary chaplet of beaten gold, and, as the free baron bowed his head, the princess with a firm hand fulfilled the functions of her office. rising, _bon vouloir_, amid the exclamations of the court, claimed the privilege that went with the bauble. a moment he looked at the princess; she seemed to bend beneath his regard; then leaning forward, deliberately rather than ardently, he touched her cheek with his lips. those who watched the queen of love closely observed her face become paler and her form tremble; but in a moment she was again mistress of herself, her features prouder and colder than before. "did you notice how he melted the ice of her nature?" whispered diane, with a malicious little laugh, to the countess. "and yet 'twas not his--warmth that did it," wisely answered the favorite of the king. "his coldness, then," laughed the other, as the musicians began to play, and the winner of the chaplet led the princess to the dance. "is it not so, sire?" she added, turning to the king, who at that moment approached. "he, indeed, forgot a part of the ceremony," graciously assented francis. "a part of the ceremony, your majesty?" questioned diane. "to kiss the two damsels of the princess; and one of them was worthy of casual courtesy," he added, musingly. "which, sire?" asked the countess, quickly. "the dark-browed maid," returned the monarch, thoughtfully. "where did i notice her last?" and then he remembered. it was she who, he suspected, had laughed that night in fools' hall. recalling the circumstance, the king looked around for her, but she had drawn back. "is it your pleasure to open the festivities, sire?" murmured the favorite, and, without further words, francis acquiesced, proffering his arm to his companion. masque, costume ball, ballet, it was all one to the king and the court, who never wearied of the diverting vagaries of the dance. now studying that pantomimic group of merrymakers, in the rhythmical expression of action and movement could almost be read the influence and relative positions of the fair revelers. the countess, airy and vivacious, perched, as it were, lightly yet securely on the arm of the throne; diane, fearless, confident of the future through the dauphin; catharine, proud of her rank, undisturbed in her own exalted place as wife of the dauphin; marguerite, mixture of saint and sinner, a soft heart that would oft-times turn the king from a hard purpose. "there! i've danced enough," said a panting voice, and jacqueline, breathless, paused before the duke's fool, who stood a motionless spectator of the revelry. in his rich costume of blue and white, the figure of the foreign jester presented a fair and striking appearance, but his face, proud and composed, was wanting in that spirit which animated the features of his fellows in motley. "one more turn, fair jacqueline?" suggested marot, her partner in the dance. "not one!" she answered. "is that a dismissal?" he asked, lightly. "'tis for you to determine," retorted the maid. "modesty forbids i should interpret it to my desires," he returned, laughing, as he disappeared. tall, seeming straighter than usual, upon each cheek a festal rose, she stood before the duke's _plaisant_, inscrutable, as was her fashion, the scarf about her shoulders just stirring from the effects of the dance, and her lips parted to her hurried breathing. "how did you like the ceremony?" she asked, quietly. "and did you know," she went on, without noticing the dark look in his eyes or awaiting his response, "the lance turned upon you to-day was not a 'weapon of courtesy'?" "you mean it was directed by intention?" he asked indifferently. "not only that," she answered. "i mean that the disk had been removed and the point left bare." "a mistake, of course," he said, with a peculiar smile. a look of impatience crossed her face, but she gazed at him intently and her eyes held his from the floor where they would have strayed. "are you stupid, or do you but profess to be?" she demanded. "before the tilt i noticed the duke and his trooper talking together. when they separated the latter, unobserved as he thought, struck the point of his weapon against his stirrup. the disk fell to the ground." "your glance is sharp, jacqueline," he retorted, slowly. "thank you for the information." her eyes kindled; an angry retort seemed about to spring from her lips. it was with difficulty she controlled herself to answer calmly a moment later. "you mean it can serve you nothing? perhaps you are right. to-day you were lucky. to-morrow you may be--what? to-day you defended yourself well and it was a good lance you bore. had it been any other jester, the king would have praised him. because it was you, no word has been spoken. if anything, your success has annoyed him. several of the court spoke of it; he answered not; 'tis the signal to ignore it, and--you!" "then are you courageous to brave public opinion and hold converse with me," he replied, with a smile. "public opinion!" she exclaimed with flashing eyes. "what would they say of a jestress? who is she? what is she?" she ended abruptly; bit her lips, showing her gleaming white teeth. then some emotion, more profound, swept over her expressive face; she looked at him silently, and when she spoke her voice was more gentle. "i can not believe," she continued thoughtfully, "that the duke told his trooper to do that. 'tis too infamous. the man must have acted on his own responsibility. the duke could not, would not, countenance such baseness." "you have a good opinion of him, gentle mistress," he said in a tone that exasperated her. "who has not?" she retorted, sharply. "he is as brave as he is distinguished. farewell. if you served him better, and yourself less, you--" "would serve myself better in the end?" he interrupted, satirically. "thanks, good jacqueline. a woman makes an excellent counselor." disdainfully she smiled; her face grew cold; her figure looked never more erect and inflexible. "why," she remarked, "here am i wasting time talking when the music is playing and every one is dancing. even now i see a courtier approaching who has thrice importuned me." and the jestress vanished in the throng as abruptly as she had appeared. thoughtfully the duke's fool looked, not after her, but toward a far end of the pavilion, where he last had seen the princess and her betrothed. "caillette should now be well on his way," he told himself. "no one has yet missed him, or if they do notice his absence they will attribute it to his injuries." this thought lent him confidence; the implied warnings of the maid passed unheeded from his mind; indeed, he had scarcely listened to them. amid stronger passions, he felt the excitement of the subtile game he and the free baron were playing; the blind conviction of a gambler that he should yet win seized him, dissipating in a measure more violent thoughts. he began to calculate other means to make assurance doubly sure; an intricate realm of speculation, considering the safeguards the boar of hochfels had placed about himself. to offset the triumphs of the king's guest there occurred to the jester the comforting afterthought that the greater the other's successes now the more ignominious would be his downfall. the free baron had not hesitated to use any means to obliterate his one foeman from the scene; and he repeated to himself that he would meet force with cunning, and duplicity with stealth, spinning such a web as lay within his own capacity and resources. but in estimating the moves before him, perhaps in his new-found trust, he overlooked the strongest menace to his success--a hazard couched within himself. outspreading from the pavilion's walls were floral bowers with myriad lights that shone through the leaves and foliage, where tiny fragrant fountains tinkled, or diminutive, fairy-like waterfalls fell amid sweet-smelling plants. green, purple, orange, red, had been the colors chosen in these dainty retreats for such of the votaries of the court of love as should, from time to time, care to exchange the merry-making within for the languorous rest without. it was yet too early, however, for the sprightly devotees to abandon the lively pleasures of the dance, so that when the duke's fool abstractedly entered the balmy, crimson nook, at first he thought himself alone. around him, carmine, blood-warm flowers exhaled a commingling redolence; near him a toy-like fountain whispered very softly and confidentially. through the foliage the figures moved and moved; on the air the music fell and rose, thin in orchestration, yet brightly penetrating in sparkling detail. buoyant were the violins; sportive the flutes; all alive the gitterns; blithesome the tripping arpeggios that crisply fell from the strings of the joyous harps. the rustling of a gown admonished him he was not alone, and, looking around, amid the crimson flowers, to his startled gaze, appeared the face of her of whom he was thinking; above the broad, white brow shone the radiance of hair, a gold that was almost bronze in that dim light; through the green tangle of shrubbery, a silver slipper. "ah, it is you, fool?" she said languidly. it may be, he contrasted the indifference of her tones now with the unconscious softness of her voice when she had addressed him on another occasion--in another garden; for his face flushed, and he would have turned abruptly, when-- "oh, you may remain," she added, carelessly. "the duke has but left me. he received a message that the man hurt in the lists was most anxious to see him." into the whirl of his reflections her words insinuated themselves. why had the free baron gone to the trooper? what made his presence so imperative at the bedside of the soldier that he had abruptly abandoned the festivities? surely, more than mere anxiety for the man's welfare. the jester looked at the princess for the answer to these questions; but her face was cold, smiling, unresponsive. in the basin of the fountain tiny fish played and darted, and as his eyes turned from her to them they appeared as swift and illusive as his own surging fancies. "the--duke, madam, is most solicitous about his men," he said, in a voice which sounded strangely calm. "a good leader has always in mind the welfare of his soldiers," she replied, briefly. her hand played among the blossoms. over the flowers she looked at him. her features and arms were of the sculptured roundness of marble, but the reflection of the roses bathed her in the warm hue of life. as he met her gaze the illumined pages of a book seemed turning before his eyes. did she remember? she could not but perceive his emotion; the tribute of a glance beyond control, despite the proud immobility of his features. "sit here, fool," she said, not unkindly, "and you may tell me more about the duke. his exploits--of that battle when he saved the life of the emperor." the jester made no move to obey, but, looking down, answered coldly: "the duke, madam, likes not to have his poor deeds exploited." "poor deeds!" she returned, and seemed about to reply more sharply when something in his face held her silent. leaning her head on her hand, she appeared to forget his presence; motionless save for a foot that waved to and fro, betraying her restless mood. the sound of her dress, the swaying of the foot, held his attention. in that little bower the air was almost stifling, laden with the perfume of many flowers. even the song of the birds grew fainter. only the tiny fountain, more assertive than ever, became louder and louder. the princess breathed deeply; half-arose; a vine caught in her hair; she stooped to disentangle it; then held herself erect. "how close it is in here!" she murmured, arranging the tress the plant had disturbed. "go to the door, fool, and see if you can find your master." involuntarily he had stepped toward her, as though to assist her, but now stopped. his face changed; he even laughed. that last word, from her lips, seemed to break the spell of self-control that held him. "my master!" he said in a hard, scoffing tone. "whom mean you? the man who left you to go to the soldier? that blusterer, my master! that swaggering trooper!" her inertness vanished; the sudden anger and wonderment in her eyes met the passion in his. "how dare you--dare you--" she began. "he is neither my master, nor the duke; but a mere free-booter, a mountain terrorist!" pride and contempt replaced her surprise, but indignation still remained. his audacity in coming to her with this falsehood; his hardihood in maintaining it, admitted of but one explanation. by her complaisance in the past she had fanned the embers of a passion which now burst beyond control. she realized how more than fair she looked that evening--had she not heard it from many?--had not the eyes of the king's guest told her?--and she believed that this lie must have sprung to the jester's lips while he was regarding her. as the solution crossed her mind, revealing the _plaisant_, a desperate and despicable, as well as lowly wooer, her face relaxed. in the desire to test her conclusion, she laughed quietly, musically. cruelly kind, smiled the princess. "you are mad," she breathed softly. "you are mad--because--because you--" he started, studying her eagerly. he fancied he read relenting softness in her gaze; a flash of memory into a past, where glamour and romance, and the heart-history of the rose made up life's desideratum. wherein existence was but an allegory of love's quest, and the goal, its consummation. had she not bent sedulously over the rose of the poet? had not her breath come quickly, eagerly? could he not feel it yet, sweet and warm on his cheek? into the past, having gone so far, he stepped now boldly, as though to grasp again those illusive colors and seize anew the intangible substance. he was but young, when shadows seem solid, when dreams are corporeal stuff, and fantasies, rock-like strata of reality. so he knelt before her. "yes," he said, "i love you!" and thus remained, pale, motionless, all resentment or jealousy succeeded by a stronger emotion, a feeling chivalric that bent itself to a glad thraldom, the desire but to serve her--to save her. his heart beat faster; he raised his head proudly. "listen, princess," he began. "though i meant it not, i fear i have greatly wronged you. i have much to ask your pardon for; much to tell you. it is i--i--" the words died on his lips. from the princess' face all softness had suddenly vanished. her gaze passed him, cold, haughty. across the illusory positiveness of his world--immaterial, psychological, ghostly--an intermediate orb--a tangible shadow was thrown. behind him stood the free baron and the king. quickly the fool sprang to his feet. "princess!" exclaimed the hoarse voice of the master of hochfels. "my lord?" for a moment neither spoke, and then the clear, cold voice of the princess broke the silence. "are all the fools in your country so presumptuous, my lord?" she said. the king's countenance lightened; he turned his accusing glance upon the fool. as in a dream stood the latter; the words he would have uttered remained unspoken. but briefly the monarch surveyed him, satirically, darkly; then turning, with a gesture, summoned an attendant. not until the hands of two soldiers fell upon him did the fool betray any emotion. then his face changed, and the stunned look in his eyes gave way to an expression of such unbridled feeling that involuntarily the king stepped back and the free baron drew his sword. but neither had the monarch need for apprehension, nor the princess' betrothed use for his weapon. some emotion, deeper than anger, replaced the savage turmoil of the jester's thoughts, as with a last fixed look at the princess he mechanically suffered himself to be led away. louise's gaze perforce followed him, and when the canvas fell and he had disappeared she passed a hand across her brow. "are you satisfied, my lord?" said the king to the free baron. "the knave has received his just deserts, sire," replied the other, and, stepping to the princess' side, raised her hand to his lips. "_mère de dieu!_" cried the monarch, passing his arm in a friendly manner over the free baron's shoulder and addressing louise. "you will find robert of friedwald worthy of your high trust, cousin." without, they were soon whispering it. the attendant, who was the count of cross, breathed what he knew to the duke of montmorency, who told du bellays, who related the story to diane de poitiers, who embellished it for villot, who carried it to jacqueline. "triboulet has his wish," said the poet-fool, half-regretfully. "there is one jester the less." "where have they taken him?" asked the girl, steadily. "where--but to the keep!" "that dungeon of the old castle?" "well," he returned significantly, "a fool and his jests--alas!--are soon parted. let us make merry, therefore, while we may. for what would you? come, mistress--the dance--" "no! no! no!" she exclaimed, so passionately he gazed at her in surprise. chapter xiv an early-morning visit in a mood of contending thought, the free baron left his apartments the next morning and traversed the tapestry-hung corridor leading toward the servants' and soldiers' quarters. he congratulated himself that the incident of the past night had precipitated a favorable climax in one source of possible instability, and that the fool who had opposed him had been summarily removed from the field of action. confined within the four walls of the castle dungeon, there was scant likelihood he would cause further trouble and annoyance. francis' strong prison house would effectively curb any more interference with, or dabbling in, the affairs of the master of the vulture's nest. following the exposure of the jester's weakness, his passion for his mistress, francis, as villot told jacqueline, had immediately ordered the fool into strictest confinement, the donjon of the ancient structure. in that darkened cell he had rested over night and there he would no doubt remain indefinitely. the king's guest had not been greatly concerned with the jester's quixotic love for the princess, being little disposed to jealousy. he was no sighing solicitant for woman's favor; higher allurements than woman's eyes, or admiration for his inamorata, moved him--that edge of appetite for power, conquest hunger, an itching palm for a kingdom. his were the unscrupulous soldier's rather than the eager true-love's dreams. but to offset his satisfaction that the jester lay under restraint he took in bad part the trooper's continued insensibility which deprived him of the much-desired information. when he had repaired to the bedside of the soldier the night before he had only his trip for his pains, as the man had again sunk into unconsciousness shortly before his coming. thus the free baron was still in ignorance of the person to whom the fool had betrayed him. the fact that there still roamed an unfettered some one who possessed the knowledge of his identity caused him to knit his brows and look glum. these jesters were daring fellows; several of them had borne arms, as, for example, clement marot, who had been taken prisoner with francis at the battle of pavia. brusquet had been a hanger-on of the camp at avignon; villot, a paris student; caillette had received the spirited education of a soldier in the household of his benefactor, diane's father. and as for the others--how varied had been their careers!--lives of hazard and vicissitude; scapegraces and adventurers--existing literally by their wits. to what careless or wanton head had his secret been confined? what use would the rashling make of it? daringly attempt to approach the throne with this startling budget of information; impulsively seek the princess; or whisper it over his cups among the _femmes de chambre_, laundresses or scullery maids? "if the soldier should never speak?" thought the free baron out of humor, as he drew near the trooper's door. "what a nest of suspicion may be growing! the wasps may be breeding. a whisper may become an ominous threat. is not the danger even greater than it was before, when i could place my hand on my foeman? the man must speak!--must!" with a firm step the king's guest entered the chamber of the injured soldier. upon a narrow bed lay the trooper, his mustachios appearing unusually red and fierce against his now yellow, washed-out complexion. as the free baron drew near the couch a tall figure arose from the side of the bed. "how is your patient, doctor?" said the visitor, shortly. "low," returned the other, laconically. this person wore a black gown; a pair of huge, broad-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of a thin, long nose, and in his claw-like fingers he held a vial, the contents of which he stirred slowly. his aspect was that of living sorrow and melancholy. "has he been conscious again?" asked the caller. "he has e'en lain as you see him," replied the wearer of the black robe. "humph!" commented the free baron, attentively regarding the motionless and silent figure. "i urged upon him the impropriety of sending for you at the festivities," resumed the man, sniffing at the vial, "but he became excited, swore he would leave the bed and brain me with mine own pestle if i ventured to hinder him. so i consented to convey his request." "and when i arrived he was still as a log," supplemented the visitor, gloomily. "alas, yes; although i tried to keep him up, giving him specifics and carminatives and bleeding him once." "bleeding him!" cried the false duke, angrily, glowering upon the impassive and woebegone countenance of the medical attendant. "as if he had not bled enough from his hurts! quack of an imposter! you have killed him!" "as for that," retorted the man in a sing-song voice, "no one can tell whether a medicine be antidote or poison, unless as leechcraft and chirurgery point out--" "his days are numbered," quoth the free baron to himself, staring downward. but as he spoke he imagined he saw the red mustachios move, while one eye certainly glared with intelligent hatred upon the doctor and turned with anxious solicitude upon his master. the latter immediately knelt by the bedside and laid his hand upon the already cold one of the soldier. "speak!" he said. it was the command of an officer to a trooper, an authoritative bidding, and seemed to summon a last rallying energy from the failing heart. the man's gaze showed that he understood. from the free baron's eye flashed a glance of savage power and force. "speak!" he repeated, cruelly, imperatively. the mustachios quivered; the leader bent his head low, so low his face almost touched the soldier's. a voice--was it a voice, so faint it sounded?--breathed a few words: "the emperor--spain--caillette gone!" quickly the free baron sprang to his feet. the soldier seemed to fall asleep; his face calm and tranquil as a campaigner's before the bivouac fire at the hour of rest; the ugliness of his features glossed by a new-found dignity; only his mustachios strangely fierce, vivid, formidable, against the peace and pallor of his countenance. the leech looked at him; stopped stirring the drug; leaned over him; straightened himself; took the vial once more from the table and threw the medicine out of the window. then he methodically began gathering up bottles and other receptacles, which he placed neatly in a handbag. the free baron passed through the door, leaving the cheerless practitioner still gravely engaged in getting together his small belongings. soberly the king's guest walked down the echoing stairway out into the open air of the court. the emperor in spain? it seemed not unlikely. charles spent much of his time in that country, nor was it improbable he had gone there quietly, without flourish of trumpet, for some purpose of his own. his ways were not always manifest; his personality and mind-workings were characterized by concealment. if the emperor had gone to spain, a messenger, riding post-haste, could reach charles in time to enable that monarch to interpose in the nuptials and override the confidence the free baron had established for himself in the court of francis. an impediment offered by charles would be equivalent to the abandonment of the entire marital enterprise. pausing before a massive arched doorway that led into a wing of the castle where the free baron knew the jesters and certain of the gentlemen of the chamber lodged, the master of hochfels, in answer to his inquiries from a servant, learned that caillette had not been in his apartments since the day before; that he had ridden from the tournament, ostensibly to return to his rooms, but nothing had been heard of him since. and the oddest part of it was, as the old woman volubly explained when the free baron had pushed his way into the tastefully furnished chambers of the absent fool, the jester had been desperately wounded; had groaned much when the duke's _plaisant_ had assisted him from the field, and had been barely able to mount his horse with the assistance of a squire. meditatively, while absorbing this prattle, the visitor gazed about him. the bed had been unslept in, and here and there were evidences of a hasty and unpremeditated leave-taking. upon an open desk lay a half-finished poem, obviously intended for no eyes save the writer's. several dainty missives and a lace handkerchief, with a monogram, invited the unscrupulous and prying glance of the inquisitive newsmonger. but as these details offered nothing additional to the one great germ of information embodied in the loquacity of the narrator, the free baron turned silently away, breaking the thread of her volubility by unceremoniously disappearing. no further doubt remained in his mind that the duke's _plaisant_ had sent a comrade in motley to the emperor, and, as he would not have inspired a mere fool's errand, charles without question was in spain, several days nearer to the court of the french monarch than the princess' betrothed had presumed. caillette had now been four-and-twenty hours on his journey; it would be useless to attempt pursuit, as the jester was a gallant horseman, trained to the hunt. such a man would be indefatigable in the saddle, and the other realized that, strive as he might, he could never overcome the handicap. then of what avail was one fool in the dungeon, with a second--on the road? should he abandon his quest, be driven from his purpose by a nest of motley meddlers? the idea never seriously entered his mind; he would fight it out doggedly upon the field of deception. but how? as surely as the sun rose and set, before many days had come and gone the hand of charles would be thrust between him and his projects. circumspect, suspicious, was the emperor; he would investigate, and investigation meant the downfall of the structure of falsehood that had been erected with such skill and painstaking by the subtile architect. the maker had pride in his work, and, to see it totter and tumble, was a misfortune he would avert with his life--or fall with it. as he had no intention, however, of being buried beneath the wreckage of his endeavors, he sought to prop the weakening fabric of invention and mendacity by new shuffling or pretense. should a disgraced fool be his undoing? from that living entombment should his foeman in cap and bells yet indirectly summon the force to bend him to the dust, or send him to the hangman's knot? step by step the king's guest had left the palace behind him, until the surrounding shrubbery shut it from view, but the path, sweeping onward with graceful curve, brought him suddenly to a beautiful château. lost in thought, he gazed within the flowering ground, at the ornate architecture, the marble statues and the little lake, in whose pellucid depths were mirrored a thousand beauties of that chosen spot--an improved eden of the landscape gardener wherein resided the countess d'etampes. "why," thought the free baron, brightening abruptly, "that chance which served me last night, which forced the trooper to speak to-day, now has led my stupid feet to the soothsayer." within a much begilt and gorgeous bower, he soon found himself awaiting patiently the coming of the favorite. upon a tiny chair of gold, too fragile for his bulk, the caller meanwhile inspected the ceilings and walls of this dainty domicile, mechanically striving to decipher a painted allegory of venus and mars, or helen and paris, or the countess and francis--he could not decide precisely its purport--when she who had succeeded châteaubriant floated into the room, dressed in some diaphanous stuff, a natural accompaniment to the other decorations; her dishabille a positive note of modesty amid the vivid colorings and graceful poses of those tributes to love with which primaticcio and other italian artists had adorned this bower. "how charming of you!" vaguely murmured the lady, sinking lightly upon a settee. "what an early riser you must be, duke." although it was then but two hours from noon, the visitor confessed himself open to criticism in this regard. "and you, as well, madam," he added, "must plead guilty of the same fault. one can easily see you have been out in the garden, and," he blundered on, "stolen the tints from the roses." sharply the countess looked at him, but read only an honest attempt at a compliment. "why," she said, "you are becoming as great a flatterer as the rest of them. but confess now, you did not call to tell me that?" the free baron looked from her through the folding doors into a retiring apartment, set with arabesque designs, and adorned with inlaid tables bearing statues of alabaster and enamel. purposely he waited before he replied, and was gratified to see how curiously she regarded him when again his glance returned to her. "no, madam," he answered, taking credit to himself for his diplomacy, "it is not necessary that truth should be premeditated. i had a serious purpose in seeking you. of all the court you alone can assist me; it is to you, only, i can look for aid. knowing you generous, i have ventured to come." "what a serious preamble," smiled the lady. "how grave must be the matter behind it!" "the service i ask must be from the king," he went on, with seeming embarrassment. "then why not go to his majesty?" she interrupted, with the suggestion of a frown. "because i should fail," he retorted, frankly. "the case is one wherein a messenger--like yourself--a friend--may i so call you?--would win, while i, a rough soldier, should but make myself ridiculous, the laughing stock of the court." "you interest me," she laughed. "it must be a pressing emergency when you honor me--so early in the day." "it is, madam," he replied. "very pressing to me. i want the wedding day changed." "changed!" she exclaimed, staring at him. "deferred?" "no; hastened, madam. it is too long to wait. go to the king; ask him to shorten the interval; to set the day sooner. i beg of you, madam!" his voice was hard and harsh. it seemed almost a demand he laid upon her. had he been less blunt or coercive, had he employed a more honeyed appeal, she would not have felt so moved in his behalf. in the atmosphere of adulation and blandishment to which she was accustomed, the free baron offered a marked contrast to the fine-spoken courtiers, and she leaned back and surveyed him as though he were a type of the lords of creation she had not yet investigated. "oh, this is delicious!" purred the countess. "samson in the toils! his locks shorn by our fair delilah!" the thick-set soldier arose; muscular, well-knit, virile. "i fear i am detaining you, madam," he said, coldly. "no; you're not," she answered, merrily. "won't you be seated--please! i should have known," she could not resist adding, "that love is as sensitive as impatient." "i see, madam, that you have your mind made up to refuse me, and therefore--" "refuse," repeated the favorite, surveying this unique petitioner with rising amusement. "how do you read my mind so well?" "then you haven't determined to refuse me?" and he stepped toward her quickly. "no, i haven't," she answered, throwing back her head, like a spoiled child. "on the contrary, i will be your messenger, your advocate, and will plead your cause, and will win your case, and the king shall say 'yes,' and you shall have your princess whene'er you list. all this i promise faithfully to do and perform. and now, if you want to leave me so sullenly, go!" but the free baron dropped awkwardly to his knee, took her little hand in his massive one and raised it to his lips. "madam, you overwhelm me," he murmured. "that is all very well," she commented, reflectively, "but what about the princess? what will she say when--" "it shall be my task to persuade her. i am sure she will consent," returned the suitor. "oh, you're sure of that?" observed the lady. "you have some faith in your own powers of persuasion--in certain quarters!" "not in my powers, madam, but in the princess' amiability." "perhaps you have spoken to her already?" asked the countess. "no, madam; without your assistance, of what use would be her willingness?" "what a responsibility you place on my weak shoulders!" cried the other. "however, i will not shift the burden. i will go to his majesty at once. and do you"--gaily--"go to the princess." "at your command!" he replied, and took his departure. without the inclosure of the château gardens, the free baron began to review the events of the morning with complacency and satisfaction, but, as he took up the threads of his case and examined them more narrowly, his peace of mind was darkened with the shadow of a new disquietude. what if francis, less easily cozened than the countess, should find his suspicions aroused? what if the princess, who had immediately dismissed the fool's denouncement of the free baron as an ebullition of blind jealousy--after informing her betrothed of the mad accusation--should see in his request equivocal circumstances? or, was the countess--like many of her sisters--given to second thoughts, and would this after-reverie dampen the ardor of her impetuous promise? "but," thought the king's guest, banishing these assailing doubts, "there never yet was victory assured before the battle had been fought, and, with renewed precautions, defeat is most unlikely." by the time he had reached this conclusion he had arrived at the princess' door. chapter xv a new discovery the dim rays of a candle glimmered within a cubical space, whereof the sides consisted of four stone walls, and a ceiling and floor of the same substantial material. for furnishings were provided a three-legged stool, a bundle of straw and--the tallow dip. one of the walls was pierced by a window, placed almost beyond the range of vision; the outlook limited by day to a bit of blue sky or a patch of verdant field, with the depressing suggestion of a barrier to this outer world, three feet in thickness, massively built of stone and mortar, hardened through the centuries. at night these pictures faded and the egyptian darkness within became partly dispelled through the brave efforts of the small wick; or when this half-light failed, a far star without, struggling in the depths of the palpable obscure, appeared the sole relief. but now the few inches of candle had only begun to eke out its brief period of transition and the solitary occupant of the cell could for some time find such poor solace as lay in the companionship of the tiny yellow flame. with his arms behind him, the duke's fool moved as best he might to and fro within the narrow confines of his jail; the events which had led to his incarceration were so recent he had hardly yet brought himself to realize their full significance. neither francis' anger nor the free baron's covert satisfaction during the scene following their abrupt appearance in the bower of roses had greatly weighed upon him; but not so the attitude of the princess. how vividly all the details stood out in his brain! the sudden transitions of her manner; her seeming interest in his passionate words; her eyes, friendly, tender, as he had once known them; then portentous silence, frozen disdain. what latent energy in the free baron's look had invested her words with his spirit? had the adduction of his mind compelled hers to his bidding, or had she but spoken from herself? into the marble-like pallor of her face a faint flush had seemed to insinuate itself, but the words had dropped easily from her lips: "are all the fools of your country so presumptuous, my lord?" above the other distinctive features of that tragic night, to the _plaisant_ this question had reiterated itself persistently in the solitude of his cell. true, he had forgotten he was only a jester; but had it not been the memory of her soft glances that had hurried him on to the avowal? she had no fault to be condoned; the fool was the sole culprit. from her height, could she not have spared him the scorn and contempt of her question? over and over, through the long hours he had asked himself that, and, as he brooded, the idealization with which he had adorned her fell like an enshrouding drapery to the dust; of the vestment of fancy nothing but tatters remained. a voice without, harsh, abrupt, broke in upon the jester's thoughts. the prisoner started, listened intently, a gleam of fierce satisfaction momentarily creeping into his eyes. if love was dead, a less exalted feeling still remained. "how does the fool take his imprisonment?" asked the arrogant voice. "quietly, my lord," was the jailer's reply. "he is inclined to talk over much?" "not at all," answered the man. a brief command followed; a key was inserted in the lock, and, with a creaking of bolts and groaning of hinges, the warder swung back the iron barrier. upon the threshold stood the commanding figure of the free baron. a moment he remained thus, and then, with an authoritative gesture to the man, stepped inside. the turnkey withdrew to a discreet distance, where he remained within call, yet beyond the range of ordinary conversation. immovably the king's guest gazed upon the jester, who, unabashed, calmly endured the scrutiny. "well, fool," began the free baron, bluntly, "how like you your quarters? you fought me well; in truth very well. but you labored under a disadvantage, for one thing is certain: a jester in love is doubly--a fool." "is that what you have come to say?" asked the plaisant, his bright glance fastened on the other's confident face. "i came--to return the visit you once made me," easily retorted the master of hochfels. "by this time you have probably learned i am an opponent to be feared." "as one fears the assassin's knife, or a treacherous onslaught," said the fool. "did i not say, when you left that night, the truce was over?" returned the king's guest, frowning. "true," was the ironical answer. "forewarned; forearmed. and that sort of warfare was to be expected from the bastard of pfalz-urfeld." "well," unreservedly replied the free baron, who for reasons of his own chose not to challenge the affront, "in those two instances you were not worsted. and as for the trooper who attacked you--i know not whether your lance or the doctor's lancet is responsible for his taking off. but you met him with true attaint. you would have made a good soldier. it is to be regretted you did not place your fortune with mine--but it is too late now." "yes," answered the _plaisant_, "it is too late." louis of hochfels gave him a sharp look. "you cling yet to some forlorn hope?" to the fool came the vision of a brother jester speeding southward, ever southward. the free baron smiled. "caillette, perhaps?" he suggested. for a moment he enjoyed his triumph, watching the expression of the fool's countenance, whereon he fancied he read dismay and astonishment. "you know then?" said the _plaisant_ finally. "that you sent him to the emperor? yes." in the fool's countenance, or his manner, the king's guest sought confirmation of the dying trooper's words. also, was he fencing for such additional information as he might glean, and for this purpose had he come. had the emperor really gone to spain? the soldier's assurance had been so faint, sometimes the free baron wondered if he had heard aright, or if he had correctly interpreted the meager message. "and you--of course--detained caillette?" remarked the prisoner, with an effort at indifference, his heart beating violently the while. "no," slowly returned the other. "he got away." into his eyes the fool gazed closely, as if to read and test this unexpected statement. "got away!" he repeated. "how, since you knew?" "because i learned too late," quietly replied the free baron. "he was four-and-twenty hours gone when i found out. too great a start to be overcome." "why should you tell me this--unless it is a lie?" coolly asked the jester. "a lie!" exclaimed the visitor, frowning. "yes, like your very presence in francis' court," added the fool, fearlessly. in the silence ensuing the passion slowly faded from the countenance of the king's guest. he remembered he had not yet ascertained what he wished to know. "such recriminations from you remind me of a bird beating its wings against the bars of its cage," at length came the unruffled response. "why should i lie? there is no need for it. you sent caillette; he is on his way now, for all of me. for"--leading to the thread of what he sought--"why should i have stopped him? he embarked on a hopeless chase. how can he reach austria and the emperor in time to prevent the marriage?" the jester's swift questioning glance was not lost upon the speaker, who, after a pause, continued. "had i known, i am not sure i would have prevented his departure. what better way to dispose of him than to let him go on a mad-cap journey? besides, you must have forgotten about the passes. how could you expect him to get by my sentinels? it will attract less attention to have him stopped there than here." all this, spoken brusquely, was accompanied by frank, insolent looks which beneath their seeming openness concealed an intentness of purpose and a shrewd penetration. only the first abrupt change in the fool's look, a slight one though it was, betrayed the jester to his caller. in that swiftly passing gleam, as the free baron spoke of austria, and not of spain, the other read full confirmation of what he desired to know. "he will do his best," commented the jester, carelessly. "and man can do no more," retorted the king's guest. "many a battle has been thus bravely lost." he had hoped to provoke from the _plaisant_ some further expression of self-content in his plans for the future, but the other had become guarded. what if he offered the fool clemency? asked the princess' betrothed of himself. if the jester had confidence in the future he would naturally rather remain in the narrow confines of his dark chamber than consider proposals from one whom he believed he would yet overcome. the free baron began to enjoy this strategic duplicity of language; the environing dangers lent zest to equivocation; the seduction of finding himself more potent than forces antagonistic became intoxicating to his egotism. "why," he said, patronizingly, surveying the slender figure of the fool, "a good man should die by the sword rather than go to the scaffold. what if i were to overlook caillette and the rest? he is harmless,"--more shrewdly; "let him go. as for the princess--well, you're young; in the heyday for such nonsense. i have never yet quarreled seriously with man for woman's sake. there are many graver causes for contention--a purse, or a few acres of land; right royal warfare. if i get the king to forgive you, and the princess to overlook your offense, will you well and truthfully serve me?" "never!" answered the fool, promptly. "he is sure the message will reach charles in spain," mentally concluded the king's guest. "yet," he continued aloud in a tone of mockery, "you did not hesitate to betray your master yourself. why, then, will you not betray him to me?" "to him i will answer, not to you," returned the jester, calmly. a contemptuous smile crossed the free baron's face. "and tell him how you dared look up to his mistress? that you sought to save her from another, while you yourself poured your own burning tale into her ear? two things i most admire in nature," went on the free baron, with emphasis. "a dare-devil who stops not for man or satan, and--an honest man. you take but a compromising middle course; and will hang, a hybrid, from some convenient limb." "but not without first knowing that you, too, in all likelihood, will adorn an equally suitable branch, my lord of the thieves' rookery," said the jester, smiling. louis of hochfels responded with an ugly look. his bloodshot eyes took fire beneath the provocation. "fool, you expect your duke will intervene!" he exclaimed. "not when he has been told all by the king, or the princess," he sneered. "do you think she cares? you, a motley fool; a theme for jest between us." "but when she learns about you?" retorted the plaisant, significantly. "she will e'en be mistress of my castle." "castle?" laughed the jester. "a robber's aery! a footpad's retreat! a rifler of the roads become a great lord? you of royal blood! then was your father a king of thieves!" the free baron's face worked fearfully; the kingly part of him had been a matter of fanatical pride; through it did he believe he was destined to power and honors. but before the cutting irony of the _plaisant_, that which is heaven-born--self-control--dropped from him; the mad, brutal rage of the peasant surged in his veins. infuriate his hand sought his sword, but before he could draw it the fool, anticipating his purpose, had rushed upon him with such impetuosity and suddenness that the king's guest, in spite of his bulk and strength, was thrust against the wall. like a grip of iron, the jester's fingers were buried in his opponent's throat. for one so youthful and slender in build, his power was remarkable, and, strive as he might, the princess' betrothed could not shake him off. although his arms pressed with crushing force about the figure of the fool, the hand at his throat never relaxed. he endeavored to thrust the _plaisant_ from him, but, like a tiger, the jester clung; to and fro they swayed; to the free baron, suffocated by that gauntlet of steel, the room was already going around; black spots danced before his eyes. he strove to reach for the dagger that hung from his girdle, but it was held between them. perhaps the muscles of the king's guest had been weakened by the excesses of francis' court, yet was he still a mighty tower of strength, and, mad with rage, by a last supreme effort he finally managed to tear himself loose, hurling the fool violently from him into the arms of the jailer, who, attracted by the sound of the struggle, at that moment rushed into the cell. this keeper, himself a burly, herculean soldier, promptly closed with the prisoner. breathless, exhausted, the free baron marked the conflict now transferred to the turnkey and the jester. the former held the fool at a decided disadvantage, as he had sprung upon the back of the jester and was also unweakened by previous efforts. but still the fool contended fiercely, striving to turn so as to grapple with his assailant, and wonderingly the free baron for a moment watched that exhibition of virility and endurance. during the wrestling the jester's doublet had been torn open and suddenly the gaze of the king's guest fell, as if fascinated, upon an object which hung from his neck. bending forward, he scrutinized more closely that which had attracted his attention and then started back. harshly he laughed, as though a new train of thought had suddenly assailed him, and looked earnestly into the now pale face of the nearly helpless fool. "why," he cried, "here's a different complication!" and stooping suddenly, he grasped the stool from the floor and brought it down with crushing force upon the _plaisant's_ head. a cowardly, brutal blow; and at once the prisoner's grasp relaxed, and he lay motionless in the arms of the warder, who placed him on the straw. "i think the knave's dead, my lord," remarked the man, panting from his exertion. "that makes the comedy only the stronger," replied the free baron curtly, as he knelt by the side of the prostrate figure and thrust his hand under the torn doublet. having procured possession of the object which chance had revealed to him, he arose and, without further word, left the cell. chapter xvi tidings from the court when brusquet, the jester, fled from the camp at avignon, where he had presumed to practise medicine, to the detriment of the army, some one said: "fools and cats have nine lives," and the revised proverb had been accepted at court. it was this saying the turnkey muttered when he bent over the prostrate figure of the duke's _plaisant_ after the free baron had departed. thus one of the fabled sources of existence was left the fool, and again it seemed the proverb would be realized. day after day passed, and still the vital spark burned; perhaps it wavered, but in this extremity the jester had not been entirely neglected; but who had befriended him, assisting the spirit and the flesh to maintain their unification, he did not learn until some time later. youth and a strong constitution were also a shield against the final change, and when he began to mend, and his heart-beats grew stronger, even the jailer, his erstwhile assailant, the most callous of his several keepers, exhibited a stony interest in this unusual convalescence. the touch of a hand was the _plaisant's_ first impression of returning consciousness, and then into his throbbing brain crept the outlines of the prison walls and the small window that grudgingly admitted the light. to his confused thoughts these surroundings recalled the struggle with the free baron and the jailer. as across a dark chasm, he saw the face of the false duke, whereon wonder and conviction had given way to brutal rage, and, with the memory of that treacherous blow, the fool half-started from his couch. a low voice carried him back from the past to a vague cognizance of a woman's form, standing at the head of the bed, and two grave, dark eyes looking down upon him which he strove in vain to interrogate with his own. he would have spoken, but the soothing pressure of the hand upon his forehead restrained him, and, turning to the wall, sleep overcame him; a slumber long, sound and restorative. motionless the figure remained, listening for some time to his deep breathing and then stole away as silently as she had come. amid a solitude like that of a catacomb the hours ran their course; the day grew old, and eventide replaced the waning flush in the west. the shadows deepened into night, and the first kisses of morn again merged into the brighter prime. near the cell the only sound had been the footstep of the warder, or the scampering of a rat, but now from afar seemed to come a faint whispering, like the murmur of the ocean. it was the voice of awakened nature; the wind and the trees; the whir of birds' wings, or the sound of other living creatures in the forest hard by. a song of life and buoyancy, it breathed just audibly its cheering intonation about the prison bars, when the captive once more stirred and gazed around him. as he did so, the figure of the woman, who had again noiselessly entered the cell, stepped forward and stood near the couch. "are you better?" she asked. he raised himself on his elbow, surprised at the unexpected appearance of his visitor. "jacqueline!" he said, wonderingly, recognizing the features of the joculatrix. "i must have been unconscious all night." and he stared from her toward the window. "yes," she returned with a peculiar smile; "all night." and bending over him, she held a receptacle to his lips from which he mechanically drank a broth, warm and refreshing, the while he endeavored to account for the strangeness of her presence in the cell. she placed the bowl on the floor and then, straightening her slim figure, again regarded him. "you are improving fast," she commented, reflectively. "thanks to your sovereign mixture," he answered, lifting a hand to his bandaged head, and striving to collect his scattered ideas which already seemed to flow more consecutively. the pain which had racked his brow had grown perceptibly less since his last deep slumber, and a grateful warmth diffused itself in his veins with a growing assurance of physical relief. "but may i ask how you came here?" he continued, perplexity mingling with the sense of temporary languor that stole over him. "i heard the duke tell the king you had attacked him and he had struck you down," she replied, after a pause. his face darkened; his head throbbed once more; with his fingers he idly picked at the straw. "and the king, of course, believed," he said. "oh, credulous king!" he added scornfully. "was ever a monarch so easily befooled? a judge of men? no; a ruler who trusts rather to fortune and blind destiny. unlike charles, he looks not through men, but at them." "think no more of it," she broke in, hastily, seeing the effect of her words. "nay, good jacqueline," quickly retorted the jester; "the truth, i pray you. believe me, i shall mend the sooner for it. what said the duke--as he calls himself?" "why, he shook his head ruefully," answered the girl, not noticing his reservation. "'your majesty,' he said, 'for the memory of bygone quibbles i sought him, but found him not--alack!--on the stool of repentance.'" about the fool's mouth quivered the grim suggestion of a half-smile. "he is the best jester of us all," he muttered. "and then?" fastening his eyes upon hers. "'no sooner, sire,' went on the duke, 'had i entered the cell than he rushed upon me, and, it grieves me, i used the wit-snapper roughly.' so"--folding her hands before her and gazing at the _plaisant_--"i e'en came to see if you were killed." "you came," he said. "yes; but how?" "what matters it?" she answered. "perhaps it was magic, and the cell-doors flew open at my touch." "i can almost believe it," he returned. and his glance fell thoughtfully from her to the couch. before the assault he had lain at night upon the straw on the floor, and this unhoped-for immunity from the dampness of the stones or the scampering of occasional rats suggested another starting point for mental inquiry. she smiled, reading the interrogation on his face. "one of the turnkeys furnished the bed," she remarked, shrewdly. "do you like it?" "it is a better couch than i have been accustomed to," he replied, in no wise misled by her response, and surmising that her solicitation had procured him this luxury. "nevertheless, the night has seemed strangely long." "it has been long," she returned, moving toward the window. "a week and more." surprise, incredulity, were now written upon his features. that such an interval should have elapsed since the evening of the free baron's visit appeared incredible. he could not see her countenance as she spoke; only her figure; the upper portion bright, the lower fading into the deep shadows beneath the aperture in the wall. "you tell me i have lain here a week?" he asked finally, recalling obscure memories of faintly-seen faces and voices heard as from afar. "and more," she repeated. for some moments he remained silent, passing from introspection to a current of thought of which she could know nothing; the means he had taken to thwart the ambitious projects of the king's guest. "has caillette returned?" he continued, with ill-disguised eagerness. "caillette?" she answered, lifting her brows at the abruptness of the inquiry. "has he been away? i had not noticed. i do not know." "then is he still absent," said the jester, decisively. "had he come back, you would have heard." quickly she looked at him. caillette!--spain!--these were the words he had often uttered in his delirium. although he seemed much better and the hot flush had left his cheeks, his fantasy evidently remained. "a week and over!" resumed the fool, more to himself than to his companion. "but he still may return before the duke is wedded." "and if he did return?" she asked, wishing to humor him. "then the duke is not like to marry the princess," he burst out. "not like--to marry!" she replied, suddenly, and moved toward him. her clear eyes were full upon him; closely she studied his worn features. "not like--but he has married her!" the jester strove to spring to his feet, but his legs seemed as relaxed as his brain was dazed. "has married!--impossible!" he exclaimed fiercely. "they were wedded two days since," she went on quietly, possibly regretting that surprise, or she knew not what, had made her speak. "wedded two days since!" he repeated it to himself, striving to realize what it meant. did it mean anything? he remembered how mockingly the jestress' face had shone before him in the past; how derisive was her irony. from fools' hall to the pavilion of the tournament had she flouted him. "wedded two days since!" "you must have your drollery," he said, unsteadily, at length. she did not reply, and he continued to question her with his eyes. quite still she remained, save for an almost imperceptible movement of breathing. against the dull beams from the aperture above, her hair darkly framed her face, pale, dim with half-lights, illusory. when he again spoke his voice sounded new to his own ears. "how could the princess have been married? even if i have lain here as long as you say, the day for the wedding was set for at least a week from now." "but changed!" she responded, unexpectedly. "changed!" he cried, sitting on the edge of the couch, and regarding her as though he doubted he had heard aright. "why should it have been changed?" "because the duke became a most impatient suitor," she answered. "daily he grew more eager. finally, to attain his end, he importuned the countess. she laughed, but good-naturedly acceded to his request, and, in turn importuned the king--who generously yielded. it has been a rare laughing matter at court--that the duke, who appeared the least passionate adorer, should really have been such a restless one." "dolt that i have been!" exclaimed the jester, with more anger, it seemed to the girl, than jealousy. "he knew about caillette, but professed to be ignorant that the emperor was in spain. and i believed his words; thought i was holding something from him; let myself imagine he could not penetrate my designs. while all the time he was intriguing with the king's favorite and felt the sense of his own security. what a cat's paw he made of me! and so he--they are gone, jacqueline?" "yes," she returned, surprised at his language, and, for the first time, wondering if the duke's wooing admitted of other complications than she had suspected. "they are on their way to the duke's kingdom." "his kingdom!" said the fool, with derision. "but go on. tell me about it, jacqueline. their parting with the court? how they set out on their journey. all, jacqueline; all!" "they were married in the chapelle de la trinité," responded the girl, hesitating. then with an odd side look, she went on rapidly: "the bridal party made an imposing cavalcade: the princess in her litter, behind a number of maids on horseback. at the castle gates several pages, dressed as cupids, sent silver arrows after the bridal train. 'hymen; io hymen!' cried the throng. 'godspeed!' exclaimed queen marguerite, and threw a parchment, tied with a golden ribbon, into the princess' litter; an epithalamium, in verse, written in her own fair hand. '_esto perpetua_!' murmured the red cardinal. besides the groom's own men, the king sent a strong escort to the border, and thus it was a numerous company that rode from the castle, with colors flying and the princess' handkerchief fluttering from her litter a last farewell." "a last farewell!" repeated the fool. "a splendent picture, jacqueline. they all shouted _te deum_, and none stood there to warn her." "to warn!" retorted the jestress. "not a maid but envied her that spectacle; the magnificence and splendor!" "but not what will follow," he said, and, lying back on his couch, closed his eyes. rapidly the scene passed before him; the false duke at the head of the cavalcade, elate, triumphant; the princess in her litter, brilliant, dazzling; the laughter, the hurried adieus; tears and smiles; the smart sayings of the jesters, a bride their legitimate prey, her blushes the delight of the facetious nobles; the complacency of the pleasure-loving king--all floated before his eyes like the figment of a dream. how mocking the pomp and glitter! for the princess, what an awakening was to ensue! the free baron must have known the emperor was in spain, and had met the fool's stratagem with a final masterly manoeuver. the bout was over; the first great bout; but in the next--would there be a next? jacqueline's words now implied a doubt. "you are soon to leave here," she said. "for paris." seated on the stool, her hands crossed over her knees, jacqueline seemed no longer a creature of indefinite or ambiguous purpose. on the contrary, her profile was rimmed in light, and very matter-of-fact and serious it seemed. "why am i to leave for paris?" he remarked, absently. "because they are going to take you there," she returned, "to be tried as a heretic." he started and again sat up. "in your room was found a book by calvin. of course," she went on, "you will deny it belonged to you?" "what would that avail?" he said, indifferently. "but have the followers of luther, or calvin, no friends in francis' court?" "have they in charles' domains?" she asked quickly. "the protestants in germany are a powerful body; the emperor is forced to bear with them." "here they have no friends--openly," she went on. "secretly--marguerite, marot; others perhaps. but these will not serve you; could not, if they would. besides, this heresy of which you are accused is but a pretext to get rid of you." "and how, good jacqueline, has the king treated the new sect?" she held her hand suddenly to her throat; her face went paler, as from some tragic recollection. "oh," she answered, "do not speak of it!" "they burned them?" he persisted. "before notre dame!" her voice was low; her eyes shone deep and gleaming. "you are sorry, then, for those vile heretics?" asked the fool, curiously. she raised her head, half-resentfully. "their souls need no one's pity," she retorted, proudly. "and you think mine is soon like to be beyond earthly caring?" her glance became impatient. "most like," she returned, curtly. "but what excuse does the king give for his cruelty?" he continued, musingly. "they threw down the sacred images in one of the churches. now a heretic need expect no mercy. they are placed in cages--hung from beams--over the fire. the court was commanded to witness the spectacle--the king jested--the countess laughed, but her features were white--" here the girl buried her face in her hands. soon, however, she looked up, brushing back the hair from her brow. "marguerite has interposed, but she is only a feather in the balance." abruptly she arose. "would you escape such a fate?" she said. he remained silent, thinking that if the mission to the emperor miscarried, his own position might, indeed, be past mending. if the exposure of the free baron were long delayed, the fool's assurance in his own ultimate release might prove but vain expectation. in paris the trial would doubtless not be protracted. from the swift tribunal to the slow fire constituted no complicated legal process, and appeal there was none, save to the king, from whom might be expected little mercy, less justice. "escape!" the jester answered, dwelling on these matters. "but how?" "by leaving this prison," she answered, lowering her voice. he glanced significantly at the walls, the windows and the door, beyond which could be heard the tread of the jailer and the clanking of the keys hanging from his girdle. "i would have done that long since, jacqueline, if i had had my will," he replied. "are you strong enough to attempt it?" she remarked, doubtfully, scanning the thin face before her. "your words shall make me so," he retorted, and looking into his glittering eyes, she almost believed him. "not to-day, but to-morrow," the girl added, thoughtfully. "perhaps then--" "i shall be ready," he broke in impatiently. "what must i do?" "not drink this wine i have brought, but give it to the turnkey in the morning. invite him to share it, but take none yourself, feigning sudden illness. he will not refuse, being always sharp-set for a cup. nothing can be done with the other jailers, but this one is a thirsty soul, ever ready to bargain for a dram. your couch cost i know not how many flagons. although he drinks many tankards and pitchers every day, yet will this small bottle make him drowsy. you will leave while he is sleeping." "in the daylight, mistress?" he asked, eagerly. "why not wait--" "no," she said, decisively; "there is no other way. this turnkey is only a day watchman. it is dangerous, but the best plan that suggested itself. i know many unfrequented corridors and passages through the old part of the castle the king has not rebuilt, and a road at the back, now little used, that runs through the wood and thicket down the hill. it is a desperate chance, but--" "the danger of remaining is more desperate," he interrupted, quickly. "besides, we shall not fail. it is in the book of fate." his expression changed; became fierce, eager. "are you, indeed, the arbiter of that fate; the sorceress triboulet feared?" "you are thinking of the duke," she answered, with a frown, "and that if you escape--" "truly, you are a sorceress," he replied, with a smile. "i confess life has grown sweet." she moved abruptly toward the door. "nay, i meant not to offend you," he spoke up, more gently. "it is your own fortunes you ever injure," she retorted, gazing coldly back at him. "one moment, sweet jacqueline. why did you not go with the princess?" her face changed; grew dark; from eyes, deep and gloomy, she shot a quick glance upon him. "perhaps--because i like the court too well to leave it," she answered mockingly, and, vouchsafing no further word, quickly vanished. it was only when she had gone the jester suddenly remembered he had forgotten to thank her for what she had done in the past or what she proposed doing on the morrow. chapter xvii jacqueline's quest "truly, are you a right proper fool; for a man, merry in adversity, is as wise as master rabelais. many the time have i heard him say a fit of laughter drives away the devil, while the groans of flagellating saints seem as music to beelzebub's ears. thus, a wit-cracker is the demon's enemy, and the band of pantagruel, an evangelical brotherhood, that with tankard and pot sends the arch-fiend back to the bottomless pit." and the fool's jailer, seated on the stool within the cell, stretched out his legs and uplifted the bottle to his lips, while, judging from the draft he took and assuming the verity of the theory he advanced, the prince of darkness at that moment must have fled a considerable distance into his chosen realms. "ah, you know the great philosopher, then?" commented the jester from the couch, closely watching the sottish, intemperate face of his keeper, and running his glance over the unwieldy form which bade fair to outrival one of the wine butts in the castle cellar. "know him!" exclaimed this lowly votary. "i have e'en been admitted to his table--at the foot, 'tis true--when the brave fellows of pantagruel were at it. not for my wit was i thus honored"--the _plaisant_ made a dissenting gesture, the irony of which passed over the head of the speaker--"but because a giant flagon appeared but a child's toy in my hands. the followers of pantagruel fell on both sides, like wheat before the blade of the reaper, until doctor rabelais and myself only were left. from the head to the foot of the table the great man looked. how my heart swelled with pride! 'swine of epicurus, are you still there?' he said. and then--and then--" with a crash the bottle fell from the hand of the keeper to the stone floor. the massive body swayed on the small stool; his eyes stupidly shut and opened. "swine of epicurus," he repeated. "swine--" and followed the bottle, rolling gently from the stool. he made but one motion, to extend his huge bulk more comfortably, and then was still. "why," thought the fool, "if jacqueline fails me not, all may yet be well." but even as he thus reflected the door of the cell opened, and a face white as a lily, looked in. her glance passed hastily to the motionless figure and an expression of satisfaction crossed her features. "the keys!" she said, and the jester, bending over the prostrate jailer, detached them from his girdle. "lock the door when we leave," she continued. "the other keeper does not come to relieve him for six hours." "it would be an offset for the many times he has locked me in," answered the fool. "a scurvy trick; yet, as master rabelais says, pantagruelians select not their bed." "is this a time for jesting?" exclaimed the girl, impatiently. "he has been treating me to gargantuan discourse, jacqueline," said the fool, humbly. "i was but answering him in kind." "and by delay increasing our danger!" "our danger!" he started. since she had first broached the subject of escape but one sweet and all-absorbing idea had possessed him--retaliation. liberty was the means to that end, and every other thought and consideration had given way to this desire. he had fallen asleep with the free baron's dark features imaged on his fevered brain; when he had awakened the morbid fantasy had not left him. but now, at her words, in her presence, a new light was suddenly shed upon the enterprise, and he paused abruptly, even as he turned to leave the cell. with growing wonder she watched his altered features. "well," she exclaimed, impatiently, "why do you stand there?" "should i escape, you, jacqueline, would remain to bear the brunt," he said, reflectively. "the jailer, when he awakes, will tell the story: who brought the wine; who succored the prisoner. to go, but one course is open." and he glanced down upon the prostrate man. "to silence him forever!" she started and half-shrank from him. "could you do it?" he shook his head. "in fair contest, i would have slain him. but now--it is not he, but i, who am helpless. and yet what is such a sot's life worth? nothing. everything. farewell, sweet jestress; i must trust to other means, and--thank you." the outstretched hand she seemed not to see, but tapped the floor of the cell yet more impatiently with her foot, as was her fashion when angered. here was the prison door open, and the captive enamored of confinement; at the culminating point conjuring reasons why he should not flee. to have gone thus far; to have eliminated the jailer, and then to draw back, with the keys in his hand--truly no scene in a comedy could be more extravagant. the girl laughed nervously. "what egotists men are!" she said. "good sir jester, in offering you liberty i am serving myself; myself, you understand!" she repeated. "let us hasten on, lest in defeating your own purpose, you defeat mine." "what will you answer when he"--indicating the drugged turnkey--"accuses you?" "was ever such perversity!" was all she deigned to reply, biting her lip. "you are somewhat wilful yourself, jacqueline," he retorted, with that smile which so exasperated her. "listen," she said at length, slowly, impressively. "you need have no fear for me when you go. i tell you that more danger remains to me by your staying than in your going; that your obstinacy leaves me unprotected; that your compliance would be a boon to me. by the memory of my mother, by the truth of this holy book"--drawing a little volume passionately from her bosom--"i swear to what i have told you." eagerly her eyes met his searching gaze, and he read in their depths only truth and candor. "i have a quest for you. it concerns my life, my happiness. all i have done for you has been for this end." her eyes fell, but she raised them again quickly. "will you accept a mission from one who is not--a princess?" "name her not!" exclaimed the jester sharply. and then, recovering himself, added, less brusquely: "what is it you want, mistress?" "this is no time nor place to tell it," she went on rapidly, seeing by his face that his dogged humor had melted before her appeal, "but soon, before we part, you shall know all; what it is i wish to intrust in your hands." a moment she waited. "your argument is unanswerable, jacqueline," he said finally. "i own myself puzzled, but i believe you, so--have your way." "this cloak then"--handing him a garment she had brought with her--"throw it over you," she continued hurriedly. "if we meet any one it may serve as a disguise. and here is a sword," bringing forth a weapon that she had carried concealed beneath a flowing mantle. "can you use it?" "i can but try, jacqueline," he replied, fastening the girdle about his waist and half-drawing and then thrusting the blade back into the scabbard. "it seems a priceless weapon," he added, his eye lingering on the richly inlaid hilt, "and has doubtless been wielded by a gallant hand." "speak not of that," she retorted, sharply, a strange flash in her eyes. "he who handled it was the bravest, noblest--" she broke off abruptly, and they left the cell, he locking the door behind him. down the dimly lighted passage she walked rapidly, while the jester tractably and silently followed. his strength, he found, had come back to him; the joys of freedom imparted new elasticity to his limbs; that narrow, cheerless way looked brighter than a royal gallery, or francis' _salle des fêtes_. before him floated the light figure of the jestress, moving faster and ever faster down the dark corridor, now veering to the right or left, again ascending or descending well-worn steps; a tortuous route through the heart of the ancient fortress, whose mystery seemed dread and covert as that of a prison house. confidently, knowing well the puzzling interior plan of the old pile, she traversed the labyrinth that was to lead them without, finally pausing before a small door, which she tried. "usually it is unlocked," she said, in surprise. "i never knew it fastened before." "is that our only way out?" "the only safe way. perhaps one of the keys--" but he had already knelt before the door and the young girl watched him with obvious anxiety. he vainly essayed all the keys, save one, and that he now strove to fit to the lock. it slipped in snugly and the stubborn bolt shot back. entering, he closed the door behind them and hastily looked around, discovering that they stood in a crypt, the central part of which was occupied by a burial vault. in the crypt chapels were a number of statues, in marble and bronze, most of them rude, antique, yet not of indifferent workmanship, especially one before which the jestress, in spite of the exigency of the moment, stopped as if impelled by an irresistible impulse. this monument, so read the inscription, had been erected by the renowned constable of dubrois to his young and faithful consort, anne. but a part of a minute the girl gazed, with a new and softened expression, upon the marble likeness of the last fair mistress of the castle, and then hurriedly crossed the old mosaic pavement, reaching a narrow flight of stairs, which she swiftly ascended. a door that yielded to the fool's shoulder led into a deserted court, on one side of which were the crumbling walls of the chapel. here several dark birds perched uncannily on the dead branch of a massive oak that had been shattered by lightning. in its desolation the oak might have been typical of the proud family, once rulers of the castle, whose corporeal strength had long since mingled with the elements. this open space the two fugitives quickly traversed, passing through a high-arched entrance to an olden bridge that spanned a moat. long ago had the feudal gates been overthrown by francis; yet above the keystone appeared, not the salamander, the king's heraldic emblem, but the almost illegible device of the old constable. beyond the great ditch outstretched a rolling country on which the jester gazed with eager eyes, while his companion swiftly led the way to a clump of willow and aspen on the other side of the moat. beneath the spreading branches were tethered two horses, saddled and bridled. wonderingly he glanced from them to her. "from whence did you conjure them, gentle mistress?" asked the fool. "some one i knew placed them there." "but why--two horses, good jacqueline?" "because i am minded to show you the path through the wood," she replied. "you might mistake it and then my purpose would not be served. give me your hand, sir. i am wont to have my own way." and as he reluctantly extended his palm she placed her foot upon it, springing lightly to the saddle. "'tis but a canter through the forest. the day is glorious, and 'twill be rare sport." already had she gathered in the reins and turned her horse, galloping down a road that swept through a grove of poplar and birch, and he, after a moment's hesitation, rode after her. like one born to the chase, she kept her seat, her lithe figure swaying to the movements of the steed. soon the brighter green of her gown fluttered amid the somber-tinted pines and elms, as the younger forest growth merged into a stern array of primeval monarchs. here reigned an austere silence--a stillness that now became the more startlingly broken. "jacqueline!" said the fool, spurring toward her. "do you hear?" "the hunters? yes," she replied. "they are coming this way." "perhaps it were better to draw back from the road," she suggested, calmly. "do you draw back to the castle!" he returned, quickly, his brow overcast. "and miss the hunt? not i, monsieur spoil-sport." "but if they find you with me?" she only tossed her head wilfully and did not answer. nearer came the hue and cry of the chase. a heavy-horned buck sprang into the road and vanished like a flash into the timber on the other side. shortly afterward, in a compact bunch, with heads downbent and stiffened tails, the pack, a howling, discordant mass, swept across the narrow, open space. "quick!" exclaimed the jester, and they turned their horses into the underbrush. scarcely had they done so when, closely following the dogs, appeared the first of the hunters, mounted on a splendid charger, with housings of rose-velvet. "_pardieu!_" muttered the _plaisant_, "i owe the king no thanks, but he rides well. do you not think so, jacqueline?" her answering gaze was puzzling. after francis rode many lords and ladies, a stream of color crossing the road; riding habits faced with gold; satin doublets covered with _rivières_ of diamonds; torsades wherein gold became the foil to precious stones. so near was the gorgeous cavalcade--the grand falconer, whippers-in, and the bearers of hooded birds mingling with the courtiers immediately behind the king--the escaped prisoner and the jestress could hear the panting of horses. fleeting, transient, it passed; fainter sounded the din of hounds and horn; now it almost died away in the distance. the last couple had scarcely vanished before the fool and his companion left their ambush. "you ride farther, jacqueline?" he said. "a little farther." "it will be far to return," he protested. "i have no fear," she answered, tranquilly. again he let her have her way, as one would yield to a wilful child. on and on they sped; past the place where the deer-run crossed the broader path; through an ever-varying forest; now on one side, a rocky basin overrun with trees and shrubs; again, on the other hand, a great gorge, in whose depths flowed a whispering stream. yonder appeared the gray walls of an ancient monastery, one part only of which was habitable; a turn in the road swallowed it up as though abruptly to complete the demolition time was slowly to bring about. on and on, until the way became wilder and the wood more overgrown with bushes and tangled shrubbery, when she suddenly stopped her horse. he understood; at last they were to part. and, remembering what he owed to her, the jester suddenly found himself regretting that here their paths separated forever. swiftly his mind flew back to their first meeting; when she had flouted him in fools' hall. a perverse, capricious maid. how she had ever crossed him, and yet--nursed him. attentively he regarded her. the customary pallor of her face had given way to a faint tint; her eyes were humid, dewy-bright; beneath the little cap, the curling tresses would have been the despair of those later-day reformers, the successors of calvinists and lutherans. "a will-o'-the-wisp," he thought. "a man might follow and never grasp her." did she read what he felt? that mingled gratitude and perplexity? her clear eyes certainly seemed to have a peculiar mastery over the thoughts of others. now they expressed only mockery. "the greater danger is over," she said, quietly. "from now on there is less fear of your being taken." "thanks to you!" he answered, searching her with his glance. here he doubted not she would make known the quest of which she had spoken. whatever it might be, he would faithfully requite her; even to making his own purpose subservient to it. "it is now time," she said, demurely, "to acquaint you with the mission. of course, you will accept it?" "can you ask?" he answered, earnestly. "you promise?" "to serve you with my life." "then we had better go on," she continued. "but, mademoiselle, i thought--" "that we were to part here? not at all. i am not yet ready to leave you. in fact, good master jester, i am going with you. _i_ am the quest; _i_ am the mission. are you sorry you promised?" chapter xviii the secret of the jestress she, the quest, the mission! with growing amazement he gazed at her, but she returned his look, as though enjoying his surprise. "you do not seem overpleased with the prospect of my company?" she observed. "or perhaps you fear i may encumber you?" with mock irony. "confess, the service is more onerous than you expected?" beneath her flushed, yet smiling face lay a nervous earnestness he could divine, but not fathom. "different, certainly," he answered, brusquely. her eyes flashed. "how complimentary you are!" "for your own sake--" "my sake!" she exclaimed, passionately. her little hand closed fiercely; proudly her eyes burned into his. "think you i have taken this step idly? that it is but the caprice of a moment? oh, no; no! it was necessary to flee from the court. but to whom could a woman turn? not to any of the court--tools of the king. one person only was there; he whose life was as good as forfeited. do you understand?" "that my life belongs to you? yes. but that you should leave the court--where you have influence, friends--" "influence! friends!" he was startled by the bitterness of her voice. "tell me, jacqueline--why do you wish to go?" he said, wonderingly. "because i wish to," she returned, briefly, and stroked the shining neck of her horse. indeed, how could she apprise him of events which were now the talk of the court? how francis, evincing a sudden interest as strong as it was unexpected, had exchanged triboulet for herself, and the princess, at the king's request, had taken the buffoon with her, and left the girl behind. the jestress' welcome to the household of the queen of navarre; a subsequent bewildering shower of gifts; the complacent, although respectful, attentions of the king. how she had endured these advances until no course remained save the one she had taken. no; she could not tell the duke's fool all this. between _folle_ and fugitive fell a mutual reserve. did he divine some portion of the truth? are there moments when the mind, tuned to a tension, may almost feel what another experiences? why had the girl not gone with her mistress? he remembered she had evaded this question when he had asked it. looking at her, for the first time it crossed his mind she would be held beautiful; an odd, strange beauty, imperious yet girlish, and the conviction crept over him there might be more than a shadow of excuse for her mad flight. beneath his scrutiny her face grew cold, disdainful. "like all men," she said, sharply, as though to stay the trend of his thoughts, "you are prodigal in promises, but chary in fulfilment." "where is it your pleasure to go?" he asked quietly. "that we shall speak of hereafter," she answered, haughtily. "forward then." "i can ride on alone," she demurred, "if--" "nay; 'tis i who crave the quest," he returned, gravely. her face broke into smiles, "what a devoted cavalier!" she exclaimed. "come, then. let us ride out into the world. at least, it is bright and shining--to-day. do you fear to follow me, sir? or do you believe with the hunchback that i am an enchantress and cast over whom i will the spell of _diablerie_?" "you may be an enchantress, mistress, but the spell you cast is not _diablerie_," he answered in the same tone. "fine words!" she said, mockingly. "but it remains to be seen into what a world i am going to lead you!" and rode on. the rush of air, the swift motion, the changing aspect of nature were apparently not without their effect on her spirits, for as they galloped along she appeared to forget their danger, the certainty of pursuit and the possibility of capture. blithesome she continued; called his attention to a startled hare; pointed with her whip to a red-eyed boar that sullenly retreated at their approach; laughed when an overhanging branch swept her little cap from her head and merrily thanked him when he hastily dismounted and returned it to her. "you see, fool, what a burden i am like to prove!" she said, readjusting the cap, and, ere he could answer, had passed on, as if challenging him to a test of speed. "have a care!" he cried warningly, as they came to a rough stretch of ancient highway, but she seemed not to hear him. that she could ride in such madcap fashion, seemingly oblivious of the gravity of their desperate fortunes, was not ill-pleasing to the jester; no timorous companion, shrinking from phantoms, he surmised she would prove. thus mile after mile they covered and the shadows had reached their minimum length, when, coming to a clear pool of water, they drew rein to refresh themselves from the provisions in the saddle-bags. bread and wine--sumptuous fare for poor fugitives--they ate and drank with keen relish. dreamily she watched the green insects skimming over the surface of the shimmering water. on the bank swayed the rushes, as though making obeisance to a single gorgeous lily, set like a queen in the center of this little shining kingdom. "was the repast to your liking?" she asked, suddenly looking from the pool to him. "entirely, fair jacqueline. the wine was excellent. hunger gave it bouquet, and appetite aged it. never did bread taste so wholesome, and as for the service--" "it was perfect--lacking grand master, grand chamberlain, grand marshals, grand everybody," she laughed. in the reflected glow from pool and shining leaves, her eyes were so full of light he could but wonder if this were the same person who had so gravely stood by his bedside in the cell. that she should thus seem carelessly to dismiss all thought of danger appeared the more surprising, because he knew she was not one to lull herself with the assurance of a false security. to him her bright eyes said: "i am in your care. be yours the task now." and thus interpreting, he broke in upon her thoughts. "having dined and wined so well, shall we go on, jacqueline?" to which she at once assented by rising, and soon they had left the principality of the lily far in the distance. now the road so narrowed he fell behind. the character of the country had changed; some time ago they had passed out of the wild forest, and had begun to traverse a great, level plain, broken with stubble. as far as the eye could reach, no other human figures were visible; the land outstretched, apparently without end; no habitations dotted the landscape, and, the sole signs of life, wheeling birds of prey, languidly floated in the air. at length she glanced around. was it to reassure herself the jester rode near; that she had not, unattended, entered that forbidding territory? then she paused abruptly and the fool approached. "by this time the turnkey should be relieved," she said. "but not released," he answered, holding up the keys which he yet wore at his girdle. "they will have to come a long distance to find them," he continued, and threw the keys far away upon the sward. "they may not think of following on this road at all," she returned. "it is the old castle thoroughfare, long since disused." "and leads where?" "southward, to the main road." "how came you to know it?" he asked, quickly. "how--because i lived in the castle before the king built the palace and the new thoroughfare," she answered slowly. "you lived in the castle, then, when it was the residence of the proud constable of dubrois? you must have been but a child," he added, reflectively. "yes; but children may have long memories." "in your case, certainly. how well you knew all the passages and corridors of the castle!" she responded carelessly and changed the conversation. the thoroughfare broadening, for the remainder of the day they pressed forward side by side. but a single human figure, during all those hours, they encountered, and that when the afternoon had fairly worn away. for some time they had pursued their journey silently, when at a turn in the road the horse of the jester shied and started back. at the same time an unclean, offensive-looking monk in franciscan attire arose suddenly out of the stubble by the wayside. in his hand he held a heavy staff, newly cut from the forest, a stock which in his brawny arms seemed better adapted for a weapon than as a prop for his sturdy frame. from the rope girdle about his waist depended a rosary whose great beads would have served the fingers of a cyclops, and a most diminutive, leathern-bound prayer-book. at the appearance of the fool and his companion, he opened an enormous mouth, and in a voice proportionately large began to whine right vigorously: "charity, good people, for the mother church! charity in the name of the holy mother! in the name of the saints, the apostles and the evangelists! st. john, st. peter, st.--" then broke off suddenly, staring stupidly at the jester. "the duke's fool!" he exclaimed. "what are you doing here? a plague upon it! you have as many lives as a monk." "call you yourself a monk, rascal?" asked the jester, contemptuously. "at times. charity, good fool!" the canting rogue again began to whine, edging nearer. "charity, mistress! for the sake of the prophets and the disciples! the seven sacraments, the feast of the pentecost and the passover! in the name of the holy fathers! st. sebastian! st. michael! st.--" but the fugitives had already sped on, and the unregenerate knave turned his pious eloquence into an unhallowed channel of oaths, waving his staff menacingly after them. "i fear me," said the jester, when they had put a goodly distance between themselves and the solitary figure, "yonder brother craves almsgiving with his voice, and enforces the bounty with his staff. woe betide the good samaritan who falls within reach of his pilgrim's prop." "you knew him?" she asked. "i had the doubtful pleasure," he answered. "he was hired to kill me." "why?" in surprise. "because the--duke wanted me out of the way." she asked no further questions, although he could see by her brow she was thinking deeply. was the duke then no better than a common assassin? she frowned, then gave an impatient exclamation. "it is inexplicable," she said, and rode the faster. the jester, too, was silent, but his mind dwelt upon the future and its hazards. he little liked their meeting with the false monk. why was the franciscan traveling in their direction? had others of that band of pillagers, street-fools and knave-minstrels, formerly infesting the neighborhood of the palace, gone that way? he did not believe the monk would long pursue a solitary pilgrimage, for varlets of that kind have common haunts and byways. the encounter suggested hazard ahead as well as the danger of pursuit from the palace. but this apprehension of a new source of peril he kept from his companion; since go on they must, there was no need to disquiet her further. the mystic silver light of the day had now become golden; the sky, brilliant, many-colored, overdomed the vast, sullen earth; between two roseate streamers a whitish crescent unobtrusively was set. seemingly misplaced in a sanguinary sea, passionless it lay, but as the ocean of light grew dull the crescent kindled. over a thick patch of pine trees in the distance myriads of dark birds hovered and screamed in chorus. now they circled restlessly above that shaded spot; then darted off, a cloud against the sky, and returned with renewed cawing and discord. as the riders approached the din abruptly ceased, the creatures mysteriously and suddenly vanishing into the depths of the thicket below. in the fading light, fool and jestress drew rein, and, moved by the same purpose, looked about them. on the one hand was the deserted, desolate plain over which lay a sullen, gathering mist; on the other, the sombrous obscurity of the wood. everywhere, an ominous silence, and overhead the crescent growing in luster. "do you see any sign of house or inn?" said the girl, peering afar down the road, which soon lost itself in the general monotony of the landscape. "none, mistress; the country seems alike barren of farmhouse or tavern." "what shall we do? i am full weary," she confessed. "the forest offers the best protection," he reluctantly suggested. little as he favored delay, he realized the wisdom of sparing their horses. moreover, her appeal was irresistible. she gazed half-dubiously into that woody depth. "why not rest by the wayside--in the moonlight?" "i like not the open road," he answered. "but if you fear the darkness--" for answer she guided her horse to the verge of the forest and lightly sprang to the ground. upon a grassy knoll, but a little way within, he spread his cloak. "there, jacqueline, is your couch," he said. "but you?" she asked. "to rob you thus of your cloak seems ill-comradeship." "the cloak is yours," he returned. "as it is, you will find it but a hard bed." "it will seem soft as down," she replied, and seated herself on the hillock. in the gloom he could just distinguish the outline of her figure, with her elbow on her knee, and her hair blacker than the shadows themselves. a long-drawn, moaning sound, coming without warning behind her, caused the girl to turn. "what is that?" she said, quickly. "the wind, jacqueline. it is rising." as he spoke, like a monster it entered the forest; about them branches waved and tossed: a friendly star seen through the boughs lost itself behind a cloud. yet no rain fell and the air seemed hot and dry, despite the mists which clung to the ground. a crash of thunder or a flash of lightning would have relieved that sighing dolor which filled the little patch of timber with its melancholy sounds. suddenly, above the plaint and murmur of wind and forest, the low, clear voice of the girl arose; the melody was no ballad, arietta or pastoral, such as he had before heard from her lips, but a simple hymn, the setting by calvin. the jester started. how came she to know that forbidden music? not only to know, but to sing it as he had never heard it sung before. sweetly it vibrated, her waywardness sunk in its swelling rhythm; its melody freighted with the treasure of her trust. as he listened he felt she was betraying to him the hidden well of her faith; the secret of her religion; that she, his companion, was proclaiming herself a heretic, and, therefore, doubly an outcast. a stanza, and the melody died away on the wings of the tempest. his heart was beating violently; he looked expectantly toward her. even more gently, like a lullaby to the turbulent night, the full-measured cadence of the majestic psalm was again heard. then another voice, deeper, fuller, blended with that of the first singer. unwavering, she continued the song, as though it had been the most natural matter he should join his voice with hers. fainter fell the harmony; then ceased altogether--a hymn destined to become interwoven with terrible memories, the tragic massacre of the huguenots on the ill-fated night of st. bartholomew. again prevailed the tristful dirge of the pines. "you sing well, mistress," said the jester, softly. "is it true you are one of a hated sect?" "as true as that you did not deny the heretic volume found in your room," she replied. a silence ensued between them. "it was marot placed the horses there for us," she said, at length. "he, too, is a heretic, and would have saved you." thereafter the silence remained unbroken for some moments, and then-- "god keep you, mistress," he said. "god keep you," she answered, softly. soon her deep breathing told him she was sleeping, and, as he listened, in fancy he could hear the faint echoes of her voice, accompanied by the sighing wind. how intrepid had she seemed; how helpless was she now; and, as he bent over her, divining yet not seeing, he asked himself whence had come this faith in him, that like a child she slumbered amid the unrest of nature? what had her life been, who her friends, that she should thus have chosen a jester as comrade? what had driven her forth from the court to nameless hazards? had he surmised correctly? was it-- "the king," she murmured, with sudden restlessness in her sleep. "the king," she repeated, with aversion. in the jester's breast upleaped a fierce anger. this was the art-loving monarch who burned the fathers and brothers of the new faith; this, the righteous ruler who condemned men to death for psalm-singing or for listening to grave discourse; this the christian king, the brilliant patron of science and learning. the storm had sighed itself to rest, the stars had come out, but leaning with his back against a tree, the fool still kept vigil. chapter xix a figure in the moonlight experiencing no further inconvenience than the ordinary vicissitudes of traveling without litter or cavalcade, several days of wandering slowly passed. few people they met, and those, for the most part, various types of vagabonds and nomads; some wild and savage, roaming like beasts from place to place; others, harmless, mere bedraggled birds of passage. in this latter class were the vagrant-entertainers, with dancing rooster or singing dog, who stopped at every peasant's door. to the shrill piping of the flageolet, these merry stragglers added a step of their own, and won a crust for themselves, a bone for the dog or a handful of grain for the performing fowl. in those days when court ladies rode in carved and gilded coaches, and their escorts on horses covered with silken, jeweled nets, the modest appearance of the jestress and her companion was not calculated to attract especial attention from the yokels and honest peasantry; although their steeds, notwithstanding their unpretentious housings, might still excite the cupidity of highway rogues. as it minimized their risk from this latter class, the young girl was content to wear the cap of the jestress, piquantly perched upon her dark curls, thereby suggesting an indefinable affinity with vagrancy and the itinerant fraternity. not only had she donned the symbol of her office, but she endeavored to act up to it, accepting the sweet with the sour, with ever a jest at discomfort and concealing weariness with a smile. often the fool wondered at her endurance and her calm courage in the face of peril, for although they met with no misadventures, each day seemed fraught with jeopardy. perhaps it was fortunate their attire, somewhat travel-stained, appeared better suited to the character of poor, migratory wearers of the cap and bells than to the more magnificent roles of _fou du roi_ or _folle de la reine_. but although they had gone far, the jester knew they had not yet traveled beyond the reach of francis' arm, and that, while the king might reconcile himself to the escape of the _plaisant_, he would not so easily tire in seeking the maid. once they slept in the fields; again, beside an old ruined shrine, in the shadow of an ancient cross; the third night, on the bank of a stream, when it rained, and she shivered until dawn with no word of complaint. fortunately the sun arose, bright and warm, drying the garments that clung to her slender figure, at the peasants' houses they paused no longer than necessary to procure food and drink, and, not to awaken suspicion, she preferred paying them with a song of the people rather than from the well-filled purse she had brought with her. and as the fool listened to a sprightly, contagious carol and noted its effect on clod and hind, he wondered if this could be the same voice he had heard, uplifted in one of master calvin's psalms in the solitude of the forest. she had the gift of music, and, sometimes on the journey, would break out with a catch or madrigal by marot, caillette, or herself. it appeared a brave effort to bear up under continued hardship--insufficient rest and sharp riding--and the jester reproached himself for thus taxing her strength; but often, when he suggested a pause, she would shake her head wilfully, assert she was not tired, and ride but the faster. "no, no!" she would say; "if we would escape, we must keep on. we can rest afterward." "where do you wish to go?" he asked her once. "there is time enough yet to speak of that," she returned, evasively. "you have some plan, mistress?" "perhaps." this answer forbade his further questioning; offended, possibly, his sense of that confidence which is due comrade to comrade, but she became immediately so propitiative and sweetly dependent--the antithesis to that self-reliance her response implied--he thought no more of it, but remained content with her reticence. half-shyly, she looked at him beneath her dark lashes, as if to read how deeply he was annoyed, and, seeing his face clear, laughed lightly. "what are you laughing at, mistress?" he said. "if i knew i could tell," she replied. toward sundown on the fourth day they came to a lonely inn, set in a clearing on the verge of a forest. they had ridden late in the moonlight the night before, and all that morning and afternoon almost without resting, and the first sight of the solitary hostelry was not unwelcome to the weary fugitives. a second inspection of the place, however, awakened misgivings. the building seemed the better adapted for a fortress than a tavern, being heavily constructed with massive doors and blinds, and loopholes above. a brightly painted sign, the rooks' haunt, waved cheerily, it is true, above the door, as though to disarm suspicion, but the isolated situation of the inn, and the depressing sense of the surrounding wilderness, might well cause the wayfarer to hesitate whether to tarry there or continue his journey. a glance at the pale face and unnaturally bright eyes of the girl brought the jester, however, to a quick decision. springing from his horse, he held out his hand to assist her, but, overcome by weakness, or fatigue, she would have fallen had he not sustained her. quickly she recovered, and with a faint flush mantling her white cheek, withdrew from his grasp, while at the same time the landlord of the tavern came forward to welcome his guests. in appearance mine host was round and jovial; his bulk bespoke hearty living; his rosy face reflected good cheer; his stentorian voice, free-and-easy hospitality. his eyes constituted the only setback to this general impression of friendliness and fellow-feeling; they were small, twinkling, glassy. "good even to you, gentle folk," he said. "you tarry for the night, i take it?" "if you have suitable accommodations," answered the jester, reassured by the man's aspect and manner. "the rooks' haunt never yet turned away a weary traveler," answered the landlord. "you come from the palace?" "yes," briefly, as a lad led away their horses. "and have done well? reaped a harvest from the merry lords and ladies?" "there were many others there for that purpose," returned the jester, following the proprietor to the door of the hostelry. "true. still i'll warrant your fair companion cozened the silver pieces from the pockets of the gentry." and, smiling knowingly, he ushered them into the principal living room of the tavern. it was a smoke-begrimed apartment, with tables next to the wall, and rough chairs and benches for the guests. heavy pine rafters spanned the ceiling; the floor was sprinkled with sand; from a chain hung a wrought-iron frame for candles. upon a shelf a row of battered tankards, suggesting many a bout, shone dully, like a line of war-worn troopers, while a great pewter pitcher, the worse for wear, commanded the disreputable array. in this room was gathered a nondescript company: mountebanks and buffoons; rogues unclassified, drinking and dicing; a robust vagrant, at whose feet slept a performing boar, with a ring--badge of servitude--through its nose; a black-bearded, shaggy-haired spanish troubadour, with attire so ragged and worn as to have lost its erstwhile picturesque characteristics. this last far from prepossessing worthy half-started from his seat upon the appearance of fool and jestress; stared at them, and then resumed his place and the ballad he had been singing: "within the garden of beaucaire he met her by a secret stair, said aucassin, 'my love, my pet, these old confessors vex me so! they threaten all the pains of hell unless i give you up, _ma belle_,'-- said aucassin to nicolette." watching the nimble fingers of the shabby minstrel with pitiably childish expression of amusement, a half-imbecile morio leaned upon the table. his huge form, for he was a giant among stalwart men, and his great moon-shaped head made him at once an object hideous and miserable to contemplate. but the poor creature seemed unaware of his own deformities, and smiled contentedly and patted the table caressingly to the sprightly rhythm. gazing upon this choice assemblage, the _plaisant_ was vaguely conscious that some of the curious and uncommon faces seemed familiar, and the picture of the franciscan monk whom they had overtaken on the road recurred to him, together with the misgivings he had experienced upon parting from that canting knave. he half-expected to see nanette; to hear her voice, and was relieved that the gipsy on this occasion did not make one of the unwonted gathering. the landlord, observing the fool's discriminating gaze, and reading something of what was passing in his mind, reassuringly motioned the new-comers to an unoccupied corner, and by his manner sought to allay such mistrust as the appearance of his guests was calculated to inspire. "we have to take those that come," he said, deprecatorily. "the rascals have money. it is as good as any lord's. besides, whate'er they do without, here must they behave. and--for their credit--they are docile as children; ruled by the cook's ladle. you will find that, though there be ill company, you will partake of good fare. if i say it myself, there's no better master of the flesh pots outside of paris than at this hostelry. the rogues eat as well as the king's gentlemen. feasting, then fasting, is their precept." "at present we have a leaning for the former, good host," carelessly answered the fool. "though the latter will, no doubt, come later." "for which reason it behooves a man to eat, drink and be merry while he may," retorted the other. "what say you to a carp on the spit, with shallots, and a ham boiled with pistachios?" "the ham, if it be ready. our appetites are too sharp to wait for the fish." "then shall you have with it a cold teal from the marshes, and i'll warrant such a repast as you have not tasted this many a day. because a man lives in a retired spot, it does not follow he may not be an epicure," he went on, "and in my town days i was considered a good fellow among gourmands." his eyes twinkled; he studied the new-comers a moment, and then vanished kitchenward. his self-praise as a provider of creature comforts proved not ill deserved; the viands, well prepared, were soon set before them; a serving lad filled their glasses from a skin of young but sound wine he bore beneath his arm, and, under the influence of this cheer, the young girl's cheek soon lost its pallor. in the past she had become accustomed to rough as well as gentle company; so now it was disdain, not fear, she experienced in that uncouth gathering; the same sort of contempt she had once so openly expressed for master rabelais, whipper-in for all gluttons, wine-bibbers and free-livers. as the darkness gathered without, the merriment increased within. over the scene the dim light cast an uncertain luster. indefatigably the dicers pursued their pastime, with now and then an audible oath, or muttered imprecation, which belied that docility mine host had boasted of. the troubadour played and the morio yet listened. several of a group who had been singing now sat in sullen silence. suddenly one of them muttered a broken sentence and his fellows immediately turned their eyes toward the corner where were fool and jestress. this ripple of interest did not escape the young girl's attention, who said uneasily: "why do those men look at us?" "one of them spoke to the others," replied the jester. "he called attention to something." "what do you suppose it was?" she asked curiously. "_gladius gemmatus!_" ["the jeweled sword."] whence came the voice? near the couple, in a shadow, sat a woebegone looking man who had been holding a book so close to his eyes as to conceal his face. now he permitted the volume to fall and the jester uttered an exclamation of surprise, as he looked upon those pinched, worn, but well-remembered features. "the scamp-student!" he said. immediately the reader buried his head once more behind the book and spoke aloud in latin as though quoting some passage which he followed with his finger; "did you understand?" "yes," answered the _plaisant_, apparently speaking to the jestress, whose face wore a puzzled expression. the scamp-student laid the volume on the table. "these men are outlaws and intend to kill you for your jeweled sword," he continued in the language of horace. "why do you tell me this?" asked the fool in the same tongue, now addressing directly the scholar. "because you spared my life once; i would serve you now." "what's all this monk's gibberish about?" cried an angry voice, as the master of the boar stepped toward them. "a discussion between two scholars," readily answered the scamp-student. "why don't you talk in a language we understand?" grumbled the man. "latin is the tongue of learning," was the humble response. "i like not the sound of it," retorted the other, as he retired. from a distance, however, he continued to cast suspicious glances in their direction. bewildered, the girl looked from one of the alleged controverters to the other. who was this starveling the jester seemed to know? again were they conversing in the language of the monastery, and their colloquy led to a conclusion as unexpected as it was startling. "what if we leave the inn now?" asked the jester. "they would prevent you." "who is the leader?" "the man with the boar," answered the scamp-student. "but it is the morio who usually kills their victims." the jester glanced at the colossal monster, repugnant in deformity, and then at the girl, who was tapping impatiently on the table with her white fingers. the fool's color came and went; what human strength might stand against that frightful prodigy of nature? "is there no way to escape?" he asked. "alas! i can but warn; not advise," said the scholar. "already the leader suspects me." a half-shiver ran through him. in the presence of actual and seemingly assured death he had appeared calm, resigned, a socrates in temperament; before the mere prospect of danger the apprehensive thief-and-fugitive elements of his nature uprose. he would meet, when need be, the grim-visaged monster of dissolution with the dignity of a stoic, but by habit disdained not to dodge the shadow with the practised agility of a filcher and scamp. so the lower part of his moral being began to cower; he glanced furtively at the company. "yes; i am sure i have put my own neck in it," he muttered. "i must devise a way to save it. i have it. we must seem to quarrel." and rising, he closed his book deliberately. "fool!" he said in a sharp voice. "your argument is as scurvy as your latin. thou, a philosopher! a bookless, shallow dabbler! so i treat you and your reasonings!" whereupon, with a quick gesture, he threw the dregs of his glass in the face of the jester. so suddenly and unexpectedly was it done, the other sprang angrily from his seat and half drew his sword. a moment they stood thus, the fool with his hand menacingly upon the hilt; the scamp-scholar continuing to confront him with undiminished volubility. [illustration: he threw the dregs of his glass in the face of the jester.] "a smatterer! an ignoramus! a dunce!" he repeated in high-pitched tones to the amusement of the company. "make a ring for the two monks, my masters," cried the man with the boar. "then let each state his case with bludgeon or dagger." "with bludgeon or dagger!" echoed the excited voice of the morio, whose appearance had undergone a transformation. the indescribable vacancy with which he had listened to the minstrel was replaced by an expression of revolting malignity. the jestress half-arose, her face once more white, her dark eyes fastened on the fool. but the latter, realizing the purpose of the affront, and the actual service the scamp-student had rendered him, unexpectedly thrust back his blade. "i'll not fight a puny bookworm," he said, and resumed his seat, although his cheek was flushed. "you bear a brave sword, fool, for one so loath to draw," sneered the master of the boar. disappointed at this tame outcome of an affair which had so spirited a beginning, the company, with derisive scoffing and muttered sarcasm, resumed their places; all save the morio, who stood glaring upon the jester. "stab! stab!" he muttered through his dry lips, and at that moment the troubadour played a few chords on his instrument. the passion faded from the creature's face; quietly he turned and sought the chair nearest to the minstrel. "sing, master," he said. "_diable_, thou art an insatiable monster!" grumbled the troubadour. "insatiable," smilingly repeated the strange being. "if you went also, _ma douce miette_! the joys of heaven i'd forego to have you with me there below,'-- said aucassin to nicolette." softly sang the troubadour. over the gathering a marked constraint appeared to fall. more soberly the men shook their dice; the scamp-student took up his book, but even horace seemed not to absorb his undivided attention; a mountebank attempted several tricks, but failed to amuse his spectators. the candles, burning low, began to drip, and the servant silently replaced them. beneath lowering brows the master of the boar moodily regarded the young girl, whose face seemed cold and disdainful in the flickering light. the _plaisant_ addressed a remark to her, but she did not answer, and silently he watched the shadow on the floor, of the chandelier swinging to and fro, like a waving sword. "will you have something more, good fool?" said the insinuating and unexpected voice of the host at the _plaisant's_ elbow. "nothing." "you were right not to draw," continued the boniface with a sharp look. "what could a jester do with the blade? i'll warrant you do not know how to use it?" "nay," answered the fool; "i know how to use it not--and save my neck." mine host nodded approvingly. "ha! a merry fellow," he said. "come; drink again. 'twill make you sleep." "i have better medicine than that," retorted the jester, and yawned. "ah, weariness. i'll warrant you'll rest like a log," he added, as he moved away. at that some one who had been listening laughed, but the fool did not look up. a great clock began to strike with harsh clangor and jacqueline suddenly arose. at the same time the minstrel, stretching his arms, strolled to the door and out into the open air. "good-night, mistress," said the harsh voice of the master of the boar, as his glittering eyes dwelt upon her graceful figure. the girl responded coldly, and, amid a hush from the company, made her way to the stairs, which she slowly mounted, preceded by the lad who had waited upon them, and followed by the jester. "a craven fellow for so trim a maid," continued he of the boar, as they disappeared. "she has eyes like friar's lanterns. what a decoy she'd make for the lords in paris!" "yes," assented the landlord, "a pitfall to pill 'em and poll 'em." at the end of the passage the guide of jestress and fool paused before a door. "your room, mistress," he said. "and yonder is yours, master jester." then placing the candle on a stand and vouchsafing no further words, he shuffled off in the darkness, leaving the two standing there. "lock your door this night, jacqueline," whispered the fool. "you submit over-easily to an affront," was her scornful retort, turning upon the jester. "perhaps," he replied, phlegmatically. "yet forget not the bolt." "it were more protection than you are apt to prove," she answered, and, quickly entering the room closed hard the door. a moment he stood in indecision; then rapped lightly. "jacqueline," he said, in a low voice. there was no answer. "jacqueline!" the bolt shot sharply into place, fastening the door. no other response would she make, and the jester, after waiting in vain for her to speak, turned and made his way to his own chamber, adjoining hers. weary as the young girl was, she did not retire at once, but going to the window, threw wide open the blinds. bright shone the moon, and, leaning forth, she gazed upon clearing and forest sleeping beneath the soft glamour. a beautiful, yet desolate scene, with not a living object visible--yes, one, and she suddenly drew back, for there, motionless in the full light, and gazing steadfastly toward her room, stood a figure in whom she recognized the spanish troubadour. chapter xx an unequal conflict surveying his room carefully in the dim light of a candle, the fool discovered he stood in a small apartment, with a single window, whose barren furnishings consisted of a narrow couch, a chair and a massive wardrobe. unlike the chamber assigned to jacqueline, the door was without key or bolt; a significant fact to the jester, in view of the warning he had received. nor was it possible to move wardrobe or bed, the first being too heavy and the last being screwed to the floor, had the occupant desired to barricade himself from the anticipated danger without. a number of suspicious stains enhanced the gruesome character of the room, and as these appeared to lead to the wardrobe, the jester carried his investigation to a more careful survey of that imposing piece of furniture. opening the door, although he could not find the secret of the mechanism, the fool concluded that the floor of this ponderous wooden receptacle was a trap through which the body of the victim could be secretly lowered. this brief exploration of his surroundings occupied but a few moments, and then, after blowing out the candle and heaping the clothes together on the bed into some resemblance of a human figure lying there, the jester drew his sword and softly crept down the passage toward the stairs, at the head of which he paused and listened. he could hear the voices and see the shadows of the men below, and, with beating heart, descended a few steps that he might catch what they were saying. crouching against the wall, with bated breath, he heard first the landlord's tones. "well, rogues, what say you to another sack of wine?" asked the host, cheerily. "it will serve--while we wait," ominously answered the master of the boar. "haven't we waited long enough?" said an impatient voice. "tut! tut! young blood," growled another, reprovingly. "would you disturb him at his prayers?" "the landlord is right," spoke up the leader. "we have the night before us. bring the wine." in stentorian tones the host called the serving-man, and soon from the clinking of cups, the clearing of throats, and the exclamations of satisfaction, foully expressed, the listening jester knew that the skin had been circulated and the tankards filled. one man even began to sing again an equivocal song, but was stopped by a warning imprecation to which he ill-naturedly responded with a half-defiant curse. "knaves! knaves!" cried the reproachful voice of the landlord. "can you not drink together like honest men?" this mild expostulation of the host seemed not without its effect, for the impending quarrel passed harmlessly away. "where, think you, he got the sword?" asked one of the gathering, reverting to the enterprise in hand. "stole it, most likely," replied the leader. "it is booty from the palace." "and therefore is doubly fair spoils," laughed another. "remember, rogues," interrupted the host, "one-third is my allotted portion. else we fall out." "art so solicitous, thou corpulent scrimp!" grumbled he of the boar. "have you not always had the hulking share? pass the wine!" "foul names break no bones," laughed the host. "you were always a churlish, ungentle knave. there's the wine, an it's not better than your temper, beshrew me for the enemy of true hospitality. but to show i am none such, here's something to sup withal; prime head of calf. bolt and swig, as ye will." the rattle of dishes and the play of forks succeeded this good-natured suggestion. it was truly evident mine host commanded the good will and the services of the band by appealing to their appetites. an esculent roast or pungent stew was his cure for uprising or rebellion; a high-seasoned ragout or fricassee became a sovereign remedy against treachery or defection. he could do without them, for knaves were plentiful, but they could not so easily dispense with this fat master of the board who had a knack in turning his hand at marvelous and savory messes, for which he charged such full reckoning that his third of the spoils, augmented by subsequent additions, was like to become all. a wave of anger against this unwieldy hypocrite and well-fed malefactor swept over the jester. the man's assumed heartiness, his manner of joviality and good-fellowship, were only the mask of moral turpitude and blackest purpose. but for the lawless scholar, the fool would probably have retired to his bed with full confidence in the probity and honesty of the greatest delinquent of them all. "what shall we do with the girl?" asked one of the outlaws, interrupting this trend of thought in the listener's mind. "serve her the same as the fool," answered the landlord, carelessly. "but she's a handsome wench," retorted the leader, thoughtfully. "straight as a poplar; eyes like a sloe. with the boar and the jade, i should do well, when i become tired resting here." "if she's as easily tamed as the boar?" suggested the host, significantly. "devil take me, if her nails are as long as his tusks," retorted the follow, with a coarse laugh. "an i had a hostelry in town, she could bait the nobles thither," commented the host, thoughtfully. "give her to the scamp-student," remarked the fellow who had first spoken. "nay, since nanette ran off with a street singer and left me spouseless, i have made a vow of celibacy," hastily answered the piping voice of the lank scholar. a series of loud guffaws greeted the scamp-student's declaration, while the subsequent rough humor of the knaves made the listener's cheek burn with indignation. yet forced to listen he was, knowing that the slightest movement on his part would quickly seal the fate of himself and the young girl. but every fiber of his being revoked against that ribald talk; he bit his lip hard, hearing her name bandied about by miscreants and wretches of the lowest type, and even welcomed a startling change in the discourse, occasioned by the leader. "enough, rogues. we must settle with the jester first. afterward, it will be time enough to deal with the maid. hast done feeding and tippling yet, morio?" "yes, master," said the suspiciously muffled voice of the imbecile. "here's the knife then. you shall have another tankard when you come back." "another tankard!" muttered the creature. at these significant words, knowing that the crucial moment had come, the jester retreated rapidly, and, making his way down the passage, stood in a dark corner near his room. as of one accord the voices ceased below; a heavy creaking announced the approach of the morio; nearer and nearer, first on the stairs, then in the upper corridor. from where he remained concealed the fool dimly discerned the figure of the would-be assassin. at the door of the jestress' room it paused. the fool lifted his blade; the form passed on. before the chamber of the _plaisant_ its movements became more stealthy; it bent and listened. should the jester spring upon it now? a strange loathing made him hesitate, and, before he had time to carry his purpose into execution, the creature, throwing aside further pretense of caution, swung back the door and launched himself across the apartment. a heavy blow, swiftly followed by another; afterward, the stillness of death. every moment the jester expected an outcry; the announcement of the fruitlessness of the attack, but the morio made no sound. the silence became oppressive; the _plaisant_ felt almost irresistibly impelled toward that terrible chamber, when with heavy, lumbering step, the creature reappeared, traversed the hall like a huge automaton and mechanically descended the stairs. recovering from his surprise, the fool again resumed his position commanding the scene below, and breathlessly awaited the sequel to the singular pantomime he had witnessed. "well, is it done?" asked the harsh voice of the master of the boar. "yes; done!" was the submissive answer. "good! now to get the sword." "not so fast," broke in the landlord. "do you kill, morio, without drawing blood? look at his dagger." the leader took the blade, examined it, and then began to call down curses on the head of the imbecile monster. "clean, save for a thread of cotton," he cried angrily. "you never went near him." "yes, yes, master!" replied the creature, eagerly. "then, perhaps, you strangled him?" suggested the man. "no; stab! stab!" reiterated the morio, in an almost imploring tone, shrinking from the glances cast upon him. "bah! you stabbed the bed, fool; not the man," roughly returned the other. "the rogue has guessed our purpose and left the room," he continued, addressing the others. "but he's skulking somewhere. well, knaves, here's a little coursing for us all. up with you, morio, and find him. perhaps, though, he may prefer to come down." and the leader called out: "give yourself up, rascal, or it will be the worse for you." to this paradoxical threat no answer was returned. standing in the shadow at the head of the stairs, the jester only gripped tighter the hilt of the coveted sword, while across his vision flashed the picture of the young girl, left helpless, alone! what mercy would they show? the coarse words of the master of the boar and the gibing, loose responses of the company recurred to him, and, setting his jaw firmer, the plaisant peered, with gleaming eyes, down into the semi-gloom. "you won't answer?" cried the leader, after a short interval. "smell him out then, rogues." knife in hand, the others at his heels, the morio slowly made his way up the stairs. goaded by the taunts of the outlaws, his face was distorted with ferocity; through his lips came a fierce, sibilant breathing; in the dim light his colossal figure and enormous head seemed in no wise human, but rather a murderous phantasm. with head rolling from side to side, stabbing in the air with his knife, he continued to approach,--an object calculated to strike terror into any breast. "oh! oh!" murmured a voice behind the jester, and, turning, he saw jacqueline. disturbed by the tumult and the loud voices, the jestress had left her room to learn the cause of the unusual din, and now, with her dark hair a cloud around her, stood gazing fearfully over the fool's shoulder. at the sound of the young girl's voice, so near, the _plaisant's_ hand, which for the moment had been unsteady, became suddenly steel. almost impatiently he awaited the coming of the morio; at last he drew near, but, as if instinctively realizing the presence of danger, paused, his arm ceasing to strike, but remaining stationary in the air. "go on!" impatiently shouted those behind him. at the command the creature sprang forward furiously, when the sword of the jester shot out; once, twice! from the morio's grip fell the dagger; over his face the lust for killing was replaced by a look of surprise; with a single moan, he threw both arms on high, and, tottering like an oak, the monster fell backward with a crash, carrying with him the rogues behind. imprecations, threats and cries of pain ensued; several knaves went limping away from the struggling group; one lay prostrate as the morio himself; the master of the boar rubbed his shoulder, anathematizing roundly the cause of the disaster. "i think my arm's put out!" he said. "is the creature dead?" he added, viciously. "dead as a herring," answered the landlord, bending over the motionless figure. "beshrew me, i thought the jester was a craven," growled he of the boar. "what does it mean?" "that he saw the snare and spread another," replied the host. "go back to your room, mistress," whispered the plaisant to the young girl, "and lock yourself in." "nay; i'll not leave you," she replied. "do you think they will return?" she added in a voice she strove to make firm. "i am certain of it. go, i beg you--to your window and call out. it is a slender hope, but the best we have. fear not; i can hold the stairs yet a while." a moment she hesitated, then glided away. at the same time he of the boar grasped a sword in his left hand, and, with his right hanging useless, rushed up the stairs. "oh, there you are, my nimble wit-cracker!" he cried, as the jester stepped boldly out. "'twas a pretty piece of foolery you played on the monster and us, but quip for quirk, my merry wag!" and, so speaking, he directed a violent thrust which, had it taken effect, would, indeed, have made good the leader's threat. but the _plaisant_ stepped aside, the blow grazed his shoulder, while his own blade, by a rapid counter, passed through the throat of his antagonist. with a shriek, the blood gushing from the wound, the master of the boar fell lifeless on the stairs, his sword clattering downward. at that gruesome sight, his fellows paused irresolute, and, seeing their indecision, the jester rushed headlong upon them, striking fiercely, when their hesitation turned into panic and the knaves fairly fled. below, the irate landlord stamped and fumed, cuffing and striking as he moved among them with threats and abuse. "white-livered varlets! pigeon-hearted rogues! unmanned by a motley fool! a witling the lords beat with their slippers! because of a chance blow against an imbecile, or a disabled man, you hesitate. a fig for them! what if they be dead? the spoil will be the greater for the rest." thus exhorted, the knaves once more took heart and gathered for the attack. glaves were provided for those in front, and the _plaisant_ waited, grimly determined, yet liking little the aspect of those terrible weapons and feeling the end of the unequal contest was not far distant, when a light hand was laid on his arm. "follow me quickly," said jacqueline. "we may yet escape. don't question me, but come!" she went on hurriedly. impressed by her earnestness, the jester, after a moment's hesitation, obeyed. she led him to her room, closed and locked the door--but not before a scampering of feet and sound of voices told them the rogues had gained the upper passage--and drew him hastily to the window. "see," she said eagerly. "a ladder!" "and at the foot of the ladder, our horses!" he exclaimed, in surprise. "who has done this?" her response was interrupted by a hand at their door and a clamor without, followed by heavy blows. "quick, jacqueline!" he cried, and helped her to the long ladder, set, as it seemed, providentially against the wall. "can you do it?" he asked, yet holding her hand. her eyes gave him answer, and he released her, watching her descend. the door quivered beneath the general onslaught of the now exultant outlaws, and, as a glave shattered the panel the jester threw himself over the casement. a deafening hubbub ensued; the door suddenly gave way, and the band rushed into the room. at the same time the _plaisant_ ran down the ladder and sprang to the ground at the young girl's side. from above came exclamations of wonder and amazement, mingled with invective. "they're gone!" cried one. "here they are!" exclaimed another, looking down from the window. the jester at once seized the means of descent, but not before the man who had discovered them was on the upper rounds; a quick effort on the fool's part, and ladder and rogue toppled over together. the enterprising knave lay motionless where he fell. "_vrai dieu_! he wanted to come down," said an approving voice. turning, the jester beheld the spanish troubadour, who was composedly engaged in placing bundles of straw against the wall of the inn. "i don't think he'll bother you any more," continued the minstrel in his deep tones. "if you'll ride down the road, i'll join you in a moment." so saying, he knelt before the combustible accumulation he had been diligently heaping together and struck a spark which, seizing on the dry material, immediately kindled into a great flame. "what are you doing, villain?" roared the landlord from the window, discovering the forks of fire, already leaping and crackling about the tavern. "only making a bonfire of a foul nest," lightly answered the minstrel, standing back as though to admire his handiwork. "your vile hostelry burns well, my dissembling host." "hell-dog! varlet!" screamed the proprietor, overwhelmed with consternation. "is it thus you greet your guests?" replied the troubadour, throwing another bundle of straw upon the already formidable conflagration. "you were not wont to be so discourteous, my prince of bonifaces." but recovering from his temporary stupor, the landlord, without reply, disappeared from the window. "now may we safely leave the flames to the wind," commented the minstrel, as he sprang upon a small nag which had been fastened to a shed near by. "as we have burned the roof over our heads," he continued, addressing the wondering jester and his companion, who had already mounted and were waiting, "let us seek another hostelry." swiftly the trio rode forth from the tavern yard, out into the moonlit road. "not so quickly, my friends," commented the troubadour. "as i fastened the doors and blinds without, we may proceed leisurely, for it will be some time before mine host and his friends can batter their way from the inn. besides, it goes against the grain to run so precipitously from my fire. such a beautiful _auto da fé_, as we say in spain." "who are you, sir?" asked the fool. the minstrel laughed, and answered in his natural voice. "don't you know me, _mon ami_?" he said, gaily. "what a jest this will be at court? how it will amuse the king--" "caillette!" exclaimed the _plaisant_, loudly. "caillette!" chapter xxi the deserted hut "himself!" laughed the minstrel. "did i not tell you i should become a spanish troubadour?" then, reaching out his hand, he added seriously: "right pleased am i to meet you. but how came you here?" "i have fled from the keep of the old castle, where i lay charged with heresy," answered the jester, returning the hearty grip. "the keep!" exclaimed caillette in surprise. "you are fortunate not to have been brought to trial," he added, thoughtfully. "few get through that seine, and his holiness, the pope, i understand, has ordered the meshes made yet smaller." they had paused on the brow of a hill, commanding the view of road and tavern. dazed, the young girl had listened to the greeting between the two men. this ragged, beard-begrown troubadour, the graceful, elegant caillette of francis' court? it seemed incredible. at the same time, through her mind passed the memory of the _plaisant's_ reiterated exclamation in prison: "caillette--in spain!"--words she had attributed to fever, not imagining they had any foundation in fact. but now this unexpected encounter abruptly dispelled her first supposition and opened a new field for speculation. certainly had he been on a mission of some kind, somewhere, but what his errand she could not divine. a diplomat in tatters, serving a fellow-jester. fools had oft intruded themselves in great events ere this, but not those who wore the motley; heretofore had the latter been content with the posts of entertainers, leaving to others the more precarious offices of intrigant. but if she was surprised at caillette's unexpected presence and disguise, that counterfeit troubadour had been no less amazed to see her, the joculatrix of the princess, in the mean garb of a wayside _ministralissa_, wandering over the country like one born to the nomadic existence. that she had a nature as free as air and the spirit of a gipsy he well believed, but that she would forego the security of the royal household for the discomforts and dangers of a vagrant life he could not reconcile to that other part of her character which he knew must shrink from the actualities of the straggler's lot. he had watched her at the inn; how she held herself; how she was a part of, and yet apart from, that migratory company; and what he had seen had but added to his curiosity. "have you left the court, mistress?" he now asked abruptly. "yes," she answered, curtly. caillette gazed at her and her eyes fell. then put out with herself and him, she looked up boldly. "why not?" she demanded. "why not, indeed?" he repeated, gently, although obviously wondering. the constraint that ensued between them was broken by a new aspect of the distant conflagration. fanned by the breeze, the flames had ignited the thatched roof of the hostelry and fiery forks shot up into the sky, casting a fierce glow over the surrounding scene. through the glare, many birds, unceremoniously routed from their nests beneath the eaves, flew distractedly. before the tavern, now burning on all sides, could be distinguished a number of figures, frantically running hither and thither, while above the crackling of the flames and the clamorous cries of the birds was heard the voice of the proprietor, alternately pleading with the knaves to save the tavern and execrating him who had applied the torch. "_cap de dieu_! the landlord will snare no more travelers," said caillette. "my horse had become road-worn and perforce i had tarried there sufficient while to know the company and the host. when you walked in with this fair maid, i could hardly believe my eyes. 'twas a nice trap, and the landlord an unctuous fellow for a villain. assured that you could not go out as you came, i e'en prepared a less conventional means of exit." he had scarcely finished this explanation when, with a shower of sparks and a mighty crash, the heavy roof fell. a lambent flame burst from the furnace; grew brighter, until the clouds became rose-tinted; a glory as brilliant as short-lived, for soon the blaze subsided, the glow swiftly faded, and the sky again darkened. "it is over," murmured caillette; and, as they touched their horses, leaving the smoldering ruins behind them, he added: "but how came the scamp-student to serve you? i was watching closely, and listening, too; so caught how 'twas done." "i spared his life once," answered the jester. "and he remembered? 'tis passing strange from such a rogue. a clever device, to warn you in latin that his friends intended to kill one or both of you for the jeweled sword." "why," spoke up the young girl, her attention sharply arrested, "was it not a mere discussion of some kind? and--the quarrel?" "a pretense on the rogue's part to avert the suspicion of the master of the boar. i could but marvel"--to the jester--"at your forbearance." "i fear me jacqueline had the right to a poor opinion of her squire," replied the duke's fool. "nor do i blame her," he laughed, "in esteeming a stout bolt more protection than a craven blade." but the girl did not answer. through her brain flashed the recollection of her cold disdain; her scornful words; her abrupt dismissal of the jester at her door. weighing what she had said and done with what he had not said and done, she turned to him quickly, impulsively. through the semi-darkness she saw the smile around his mouth and the quizzical look with which he was regarding her. whereupon her courage failed. she bit her lip and remained silent. they had now passed the brow of the hill; on each side of the highway the forests parted wider and wider, and the thoroughfare was bathed in a white light. as they rode along on this clearly illumined highway, caillette glanced interrogatively at the _plaisant_. the outcome of his journey--should he speak now? or later--when they were alone? heretofore neither had made reference to it; caillette, perhaps, because his mind had been surprised into another train of thought by this unexpected encounter; the duke's fool because the result of the journey was no longer momentous. since the other had left, conditions were different. the good-natured scoffing and warnings of his fellow-jester had proved not unwarranted. the answer of the duke's fool to his companion's glance was a direct inquiry. "you found the emperor?" he said. "yes; and presented your message with some misgiving." "and did he treat it with the scant consideration you expected?" "on the contrary. his majesty read it not once, but twice, and changed color." "and then?" the narrator paused and furtively surveyed the jestress. her face was pale, emotionless; as they sped on, she seemed riding through no volition of her own, the while she was vaguely conscious of the dialogue of her companions. "whatever magic your letter contained," resumed caillette, "it seemed convincing to charles. 'my brother francis must be strangely credulous to be so cozened by an impostor,' quoth he, with a gleam of humor in his gaze." "impostor!" it was the young girl who spoke, interrupting, in her surprise, the troubadour's story. "you did not know, mistress?" said caillette. "no," she answered, and listened the closer. "when i left, two messages the emperor gave me," went on the other; "one for the king, the other for you." and taking from his doublet a document, weighted with a ponderous disk, the speaker handed it to the duke's fool, who silently thrust it in his breast. "moreover, unexpectedly, but as good fortune would have it, his majesty was even then completing preparations for a journey through france to the netherlands, owing to unlooked-for troubles in that part of his domains, and had already despatched his envoys to the king. charles assured me that he would still further hasten his intended visit to the low countries and come at once. meanwhile his communication to the king"--tapping his breast--"will at least delay the nuptials, and, with the promise of the emperor's immediate arrival, the marriage can not occur." "it has occurred," said the jester. the other uttered a quick exclamation. "then have i failed in my errand," he muttered, blankly. "but the king--had he no suspicion?" "it was through the countess d'etampes the monarch was led to change the time for the festivities," spoke up jacqueline, involuntarily. "she!" exclaimed the poet, with a gesture of half-aversion. for some time they went on without further words; then suddenly caillette drew rein. "this news makes it the more necessary i should hasten to the king," he said. "the emperor's message--francis should receive it at once. here, therefore, must i leave you. or, why do you not return with me?"--addressing the jester. "the letter from charles will exonerate you and francis will reward you in proportion to the injuries you have suffered. what say you, mistress?" "that i will never go back," she answered, briefly, and looked away. caillette's perplexity was relieved by the _plaisant_. "farewell, if you must leave," said the latter. "we meet again, i trust." "the fates willing," returned the poet. "farewell, and good fortune go with you both." and wheeling abruptly, he rode slowly back. the jester and the girl watched him disappear over the road they had come. "a true friend," said the _plaisant_, as caillette vanished in the gloom. "you regret not returning with him, perhaps?" she observed quickly. "honors and offices of preferment are not plentiful." "i want none of them from francis," he returned, as they started slowly on their way. the road before them descending gradually, passed through a gulch, where the darkness was greater, and such light as sifted through the larch and poplar trees rested in variable spots on the earth. overhead the somber obscurity appeared touched with a veil of shimmer or sheen like diamond dust floating through the mask of night. their horses but crept along; the girl bent forward wearily; heretofore the excitement and danger had sustained her, but now the reaction from all she had endured bore down upon her. she thought of calling to the fool; of craving the rest she so needed; but a feeling of pride, or constraint, held her silent. before her the shadows danced illusively; the film of brightness changed and shifted; then all glimmering and partial shade were swallowed up in a black chasm. riding near, the jester observed her form sway from side to side, and spurred forward. in a moment he had clasped her waist, then lifted her from the saddle and held her before him. "jacqueline!" he cried. she offered no resistance; her head remained motionless on his breast. sedulously he bent over her; the warm breath reassured him; tired nature had simply succumbed. irresolute he paused, little liking the sequestered gulch for a resting-place; divining the prickly thicket and almost impenetrable brushwood that lined the road. an unhealthy miasma seemed to ascend from below and clog the air; through the tangle of forest, phosphorus gleamed and glowworms flitted here and there. gathering the young form gently to him, the jester rode slowly on, and the horse of his companion followed. so he went, he knew not how long; listening to her breathing that came, full and deep; half-fearing, half-wondering at that relaxation. for the first time he forgot about the emperor and his purpose; the free baron and the desires of sweet avengement. he thought only of her he held; how courageous yet alone she was in the world; how she had planned the service which won her the right to his protection; her flight from francis--but where? to whom could she go? to whom could she turn? unconscious she lay in his arms in that deep sleep, or heavy inertia following exhaustion, her pale face against his shoulder; and as the young _plaisant_ bent over her his heart thrilled with protecting tenderness. "why, what other maid," he thought, "would ride on until she dropped? would meet discomfort at every turn with a jest or a merry stave?" and, but for him, whom else had she? this young girl, had she not become his burden of responsibility; his moral obligation? for the first time he seemed to realize how the fine tendrils of her nature had touched his; touched and clung, ever so gently but fast. her fine scorn for dissimulation; her answering integrity; the true adjustment of her instinct--all had been revealed to him under the test of untoward circumstances. he saw her, too, secretly and silently cherishing a new faith in her bosom, amid a throng, lax and infirm of purpose, and wonderment gave way to another emotion, as his mind leaped from that past, with its covert, inner life, to the untrammeled moment when she had thrown off the mask in the solitude of the forest. had some deeper chord of his nature been struck then? their aspirations of a kindred hope had mingled in the majestic psalm; a larger harmony, remote from roundelay, or sparkling cadenza, that drew him to this calvin maid. a solemn earnestness fell upon his spirits; the starlight bathed his brow, and he found the mystery of the night and nature inexplicably beautiful. afar the bell of some wanderer from the herd tinkled drowsily, arousing him from his reverie. the horses were ascending; the road emerged into a plain, set with bracken and gorse, with here and there a single tree, whose inclining trunk told of storms braved for many seasons. near the highway, in the shadow of a poplar, stood a shepherd's hut, apparently deserted and isolated from human kind. the fool reined the horse, which for some time had been moving painfully, and at that abrupt cessation of motion the jestress looked up with a start. meeting his eyes, at first she did not withdraw her own; questioningly, her bewildered gaze encountered his; then, with a quick movement, she released herself from his arm and sprang to the ground. he, too, immediately dismounted. she felt very wide-awake now, as though the sudden consciousness of that encircling grasp, or something in his glance before she slipped from him, had startled away the torpor of somnolence. "you fainted, or fell asleep, mistress," he said, quietly. "yes--i remember--in the gorge." "it was impossible to stop there, so--i rode on. but here, in this shepherd's hut, we may find shelter." and turning the horses, he would have led them to the door, but the animals held back; then stood stock-still. striding to the hut, the jester stepped in, but quickly sprang to one side, and as he did so some creature shot out of the door and disappeared in the gloom. "a wolf!" exclaimed the _plaisant_. entering the hut once more, he struck a light. in a corner lay furze and firewood, and from this store he drew, heaping the combustible material on the hearth, until a cheering blaze fairly illumined the worn and dilapidated interior. near the fireplace were a pot and kettle, whose rusted appearance bespoke long disuse; but a trencher and porridge spoon on a stool near by seemed waiting the coming of the master. a couch of straw had been the lonely shepherd's bed--and later the lodgment of his enemy, the wolf. above it, on the wall, hung a small crucifix of wood. for the fugitives this mean abode appeared no indifferent shelter, and it was with satisfaction the jester arranged a couch for the girl, before the fire, a rude pallet, yet-- "here you may rest, jacqueline, without fear of being disturbed again this night," he said. she sank wearily upon the straw; then gave him her hand gratefully. her face looked rosy in the reflection from the hearth; a comforting sense of warmth crept over her as she lay in front of the blaze; her eyes were languorous with the luxury of the heat after a chilling ride. drawing the cloak to her chin, she smiled faintly. was it at his solicitude? he noticed how her hair swept from the saddle pillowing her head, to the earth; and, sitting there on the stool, wondering, perhaps, at its abundance, or half-dreaming, he forgot he yet held her hand. gently she withdrew it, and he started; then, realizing how he had been staring at her, with somewhat vacant gaze, perhaps, but fixedly, he made a motion to rise, when her voice detained him. "why did you not tell me it was not a discussion with the scamp-student?" she asked. "why did you let me imagine that you--" her eyes said the rest. "you should not have permitted me to--to think it," she reiterated. he was silent. she closed her eyes; but in a moment her lashes uplifted. her glance flashed once more upon him. "and i should not have thought it," she said. "jacqueline!" he cried, starting up. she did not answer; indeed, seemed sleeping; her face turned from him. through the open doorway a streak of red in the east heralded the coming glory of the morn. "peep, peep," twittered a bird on the roof of the hovel. from the poplar it was answered by a more melodious phrase, a song of welcome to the radiant dawn. a moment the jester listened, his head raised to the growing splendor of the heavens, then threw himself on the earthen floor of the hut and was at once overcome with sleep. chapter xxii the tale of the sword the slanting rays of the sinking sun shot athwart the valley, glanced from the tile roofs of the homes of the peasantry, and illumined the lofty towers of a great manorial château. to the rider, approaching by the road that crossed the smiling pasture and meadow lands, the edifice set on a mount--another of francis' transformations from the gloomy fortress home--appeared regal and splendid, compared with the humbler houses of the people lying prostrate before it. viewed from afar, the town seemed to abase itself in the presence of the architectural preëminence of that monarch of buildings. even the sun, when it withdrew its rays from the miscellaneous rabble of shops and dwellings, yet lingered proudly upon the noble structure above, caressing its imposing and august outlines and surrounding it with the glamour of the afterglow, when the sun sank to rest. into the little town, at the foot of the big house, rode shortly before nightfall the jester and his companion. during the day the young girl had seemed diffident and constrained; she who had been all vivacity and life, on a sudden kept silence, or when she did speak, her tongue had lost its sharpness. the weapons of her office, bright sarcasm and irony, or laughing persiflage, were sheathed; her fine features were thoughtful; her dark eyes introspective. in the dazzling sunshine, the memory of their ride through the gorge; the awakening at the shepherd's hut; something in his look then, something in his accents later, when he spoke her name while she professed to sleep--seemed, perhaps, unreal, dream-like. his first greeting that morning had been a swift, almost questioning, glance, before which she had looked away. in her face was the freshness of dawn; the grace of spring-tide. overhead sang a lark; at their feet a brook whispered; around them solitude, vast, infinite. he spoke and she answered; her reserve became infectious; they ate their oaten cakes and drank their wine, each strongly conscious of the presence of the other. then he rose, saddled their horses, and assisted her to mount. she appeared over-anxious to leave the shepherd's hut; the jester, on the other hand, cast a backward glance at the poplar, the hovel, the brook. a crisp, clear caroling of birds followed them as they turned from the lonely spot. so they rode, pausing betimes to rest, and even then she had little to say, save once when they stopped at a rustic bridge which spanned a stream. both were silent, regarding the horses splashing in the water and clouding its clear depths with the yellow mud from its bed. from the cool shadows beneath the planks where she was standing, tiny fish, disturbed by this unwonted invasion, shot forth like darts and vanished into the opaque patches. half-dreamily watching this exodus of flashing life from covert nook and hole, she said unexpectedly: "who is it that has wedded the princess?" for a moment he did not answer; then briefly related the story. "and why did you not tell me this before?" she asked when he had finished. "would you have credited me--then?" he replied, with a smile. quickly she looked at him. was there that in her eyes which to him robbed memory of its sting? at their feet the water leaped and laughed; curled around the stones, and ran on with dancing bubbles. perhaps he returned her glance too readily; perhaps the recollection of the ride the night before recurred over-vividly to her, for she gazed suddenly away, and he wondered in what direction her thoughts tended, when she said with some reserve: "shall we go on?" they had not long left the brook and the bridge, when from afar they caught sight of the regal château and the clustering progeny of red-roofed houses at its base. at once they drew rein. "shall we enter the town, or avoid it by riding over the mead?" said the _plaisant_. "what danger would there be in going on?" she asked. "whom might we meet?" thoughtfully he regarded the shining towers of the royal residence. "no one, i think," he at length replied, and they went on. around the town ran a great wall, with watch-towers and a deep moat, but no person questioned their right to the freedom of the place; a sleepy soldier at the gate merely glancing indifferently at them as they passed beneath the heavy archway. gabled houses, with a tendency to incline from the perpendicular, overlooked the winding street; dull, round panes of glass stared at them, fraught with mystery and the possibility of spying eyes behind; but the thoroughfare in that vicinity appeared deserted, save for an old woman seated in a doorway. before this grandam, whose lack-luster eyes were fastened steadfastly before her, the fool paused and asked the direction of the inn. "follow your nose, if nature gave you a straight one," cried a jeering voice from the other side of the thoroughfare. "if it be crooked, a blind man and a dog were a better guide." the speaker, a squat, misshapen figure, had emerged from a passage turning into the street, and now stood, twirling a fool's head on a stick and gazing impudently at the new-comers. the crone whom the _plaisant_ had addressed remained motionless as a statue. "ha! ha!" laughed the oddity who had volunteered this malapert response to the jester's inquiry, "yonder sign-post"--pointing to the aged dame--"has lost its fingers--or rather its ears. better trust to your nose." "triboulet!" exclaimed jacqueline. "is it you, lady-bird?" said the surprised dwarf, recognizing in turn the maid. "and with the _plaisant_," staring hard at the fool. then a cunning look gradually replaced the wonder depicted on his features. "you are fleeing from the court; i, toward it," he remarked, jocosely. "what mean you, fool?" demanded the horseman, sternly. "that i have run away from the duke, fool," answered the hunchback. "the foreign lord dared to beat me--triboulet--who has only been beaten by the king. sooner or later must i have fled, in any event, for what is triboulet without the court; or the court, without triboulet?" his indignation merging into arrogant vainglory. "when did you leave the--duke?" asked the other, slowly. "several days ago," replied the dwarf, gazing narrowly at his questioner. "down the road. he should be far away by this time." suspiciously the duke's jester regarded the hunchback and then glanced dubiously toward the gate through which they had entered the town. he had experienced triboulet's duplicity and malice, yet in this instance was disposed to give credence to his story, because he doubted not that louis of hochfels would make all haste out of francis' kingdom. nor did it appear unreasonable that triboulet should pine for the excitement of his former life; the pleasures and gaiety which prevailed at fools' hall. if the hunchback's information were true, they need now have little fear of overtaking the free baron and his following, as not far beyond the château-town the main road broke into two parts, the one continuing southward and the other branching off to the east. while the horseman was thus reflecting, triboulet, like an imp, began to dance before them, slapping his crooked knees with his enormous hands. "a good joke, my master and mistress in motley," he cried. "the king was weak enough to exchange his dwarf for a demoiselle; the latter has fled; the monarch has neither one nor the other; therefore is he, himself, the fool. and thou, mistress, art also worthy of the madcap bells," he added, his distorted face upturned to the jestress. "how so?" she asked, not concealing the repugnance he inspired. "because you prefer a fool's cap to a king's crown," he answered, looking significantly at her companion. "wherein you but followed the royal preference for head-coverings. ho! ho! i saw which way the wind blew; how the monarch's eyes kindled when they rested on you; how the wings of madame d'etampes's coif fluttered like an angry butterfly. know you what was whispered at court? the reason the countess pleaded for an earlier marriage for the duke? that the princess might leave the sooner--and take the jestress, her maid, with her. but the king met her manoeuver with another. he granted the favorite's request--but kept the jestress." "silence, rogue!" commanded the duke's fool, wheeling his horse toward the dwarf. "and then for her to turn from a throne-room to a dungeon," went on triboulet, satirically, as he retreated. "as brusquet wrote; 'twas: "'_morbleu_! a merry monarch and a jestress fair; a jestress fair, i ween!'--" but ere the hunchback could finish this scurrilous doggerel of the court, over which, doubtless, many loose witlings had laughed, the girl's companion placed his hand on his sword and started toward the dwarf. the words died on triboulet's lips; hastily he dodged into a narrow space between two houses, where he was safe from pursuit. jacqueline's face had become flushed; her lips were compressed; the countenance of the duke's _plaisant_ seemed paler than its wont. "little monster!" he muttered. but the hunchback, in his retreat, was now regarding neither the horseman nor the young girl. his glittering eyes, as if fascinated, rested on the weapon of the _plaisant_. "what a fine blade you've got there!" he said curiously. "much better than a wooden sword. jeweled, too, by the holy bagpipe! and a coat of arms!"--more excitedly--"yes, the coat of arms of the great constable of dubrois. as proud a sword as that of the king. where did you get it?" and in his sudden interest, the dwarf half-ventured from his place of refuge. "answer him not!" said the girl, hastily. "was it you, mistress, gave it him?" he asked, with a sudden, sharp look. her contemptuous gaze was her only reply. "by the dust of kings, when last i saw it, the haughty constable himself it was who wore it," continued triboulet. "aye, when he defied francis to his face. i can see him now, a rich surcoat over his gilded armor; the queen-mother, an amorous dulcinea, gazing at him, with all her soul in her eyes; the brilliant company startled; even the king overawed. 'twas i broke the spell, while the monarch and the court were silent, not daring to speak." "you!" from the young woman's eyes flashed a flame of deepest hatred. the hunchback shrank back; then laughed. "i, triboulet!" he boasted. "'ha!' said i, 'he's greater than the king!' whereupon francis frowned, started, and answered the constable, refusing his claim. not long thereafter the constable died in spain, and i completed the jest. 'so,' said i, 'he is less than a man.' and the king, who remembered, laughed." "let us go," said the jestress, very white. silently the _plaisant_ obeyed, and triboulet once more ventured forth. "momus go with you!" he called out after them. and then: "'_morbleu_! a merry monarch and a jestress fair;'" more quickly they rode on. furtively, with suppressed rage in his heart, the duke's fool regarded his companion. her face was cold and set, and as his glance rested on its pale, pure outline, beneath his breath he cursed brusquet, triboulet and all their kind. he understood now--too well--the secret of her flight. what he had heretofore been fairly assured of was unmistakably confirmed. the sight of the tavern which they came suddenly upon and the appearance of the innkeeper interrupted this dark trend of thought, and, springing from his horse, the jester helped the girl to dismount. the house, being situated in the immediate proximity of the grand château, received a certain patronage from noble lords and ladies. this trade had given the proprietor such an opinion of his hostelry that common folk were not wont to be overwhelmed with welcome. in the present instance the man showed a disposition to scrutinize too closely the modest attire of the new-comers and the plain housings of their chargers, when the curt voice of the jester recalled him sharply from this forward occupation. with a shade less of disrespect, the proprietor bade them follow him; rooms were given them, and, in the larger of the two chambers, the _plaisant_, desiring to avoid the publicity of the dining and tap-room, ordered their supper to be served. during the repast the girl scarcely spoke; the capon she hardly touched; the claret she merely sipped. once when she held the glass to her lips, he noticed her hand trembled just a little, and then, when she set down the goblet, how it closed, almost fiercely. beneath her eyes shadows seemed to gather; above them her glance shone ominously. "oh," she said at length, as though giving utterance to some thought, which, pent-up, she could no longer control; "the irony; the tragedy of it!" "what, jacqueline?" he asked, gently, although he felt the blood surging in his head. "'_morbleu_! a merry monarch'--" she began, and broke off abruptly, rising to her feet, with a gesture of aversion, and moving restlessly across the room. "after all these years! after all that had gone before!" "what has gone before, jacqueline?" "nothing," she answered; "nothing." for some time he sat with his sword across his knees, thinking deeply. she went to the window and looked out. when she spoke again her voice had regained its self-command. "a dark night," she said, mechanically. "jacqueline," he asked, glancing up from the blade, "why in the crypt that day we escaped did you pause at that monument?" quickly she turned, gazing at him from the half-darkness in which she stood. "did you see to whom the monument was erected?" she asked in a low voice. "to the wife of the constable. but what was anne, duchess of dubrois, to you?" "she was the last lady of the castle," said the girl softly. again he surveyed the jeweled emblem on the sword, mocking reminder of a glory gone beyond recall. "and how was it, mistress, the castle was confiscated by the king?" he continued, after a pause. "shall i tell you the story?" she asked, her voice hardening. "if you will," he answered. "triboulet's description of the scene where the constable braved the king, insisting on his rights, was true," she observed, proudly. "but why had the noble wearer of this sword been deprived of his feudality and tenure?" "because he was strong and great, and the king feared him; because he was noble and handsome, and the queen-regent loved him. it was not her hand only, louise of savoy, francis' mother, offered, but--the throne." "the throne!" said the wondering fool. quickly she crossed the room and leaned upon the table. in the glimmer of the candles her face was soft and tender. he thought he had never seen a sweeter or more womanly expression. "but he refused it," she continued, "for he loved only the memory of his wife, lady anne. she, a perfect being. the other--what?" on her features shone a fine contempt. "then followed the endless persecution and spite of a woman scorned," she continued, rapidly. "one by one, his honors were wrested from him. he who had borne the flag triumphantly through italy was deprived of the government of milan and replaced by a brother of madame de châteaubriant, then favorite of the king. his castle, lands, were confiscated, until, driven to despair, he fled and allied himself with the emperor. 'traitor,' they called him. he, a bayard." a moment she stood, an exalted look on her features; tall, erect; then stepped toward him and took the sword. with a bright and radiant glance she surveyed it; pressed the hilt to her lips, and with both hands held it to her bosom. as if fascinated, the fool watched her. her countenance was upturned; a moment, and it fell; a dark shadow crossed it; beneath her lashes her eyes were like night. "but he failed because charles, the emperor, failed him," she said, almost mechanically, "and broken in spirit, met his death miserably in exile. yet his cause was just; his memory is dearer than that of a conqueror. she, the queen-mother, is dead; god alone may deal with her." more composed, she resumed her place in the chair on the other side of the table, the sword across her arm. "and how came you, mistress," he asked, regarding her closely, "in the pleasure palace built by francis?" "when the castle was taken, all who had not fled were a gamekeeper and his little girl--myself. the latter"--ironically--"pleased some of the court ladies. they commended her wit, and gradually was she advanced to the high position she occupied when you arrived," with a strange glance across the board at her listener. "and the gamekeeper--your father--is dead?" "long since." "the constable had no children?" "yes; a girl who, it is believed, died with him in spain." the entrance of the servant to remove the dishes interrupted their further conversation. as the door opened, from below came the voices of new-comers, the impatient call of tipplers for ale, the rattle of dishes in the kitchen. wrapped in the recollections the conversation had evoked, to jacqueline the din passed unnoticed, and when the rosy-cheeked lass had gone--it was the jester who first spoke. "what a commentary on the mockery of fate that the sword of such a man, so illustrious, so unfortunate, should be intrusted to a fool!" "why," she said, looking at him, her arms on the table, "you drew it bravely, and--once--more bravely--kept it sheathed." his face flushed. she half smiled; then placed the blade on the board before him. "there it is." above the sword he reached over, as if to place his hand on hers, but she quickly rose. absently he returned the weapon to his girdle. she took a step or two from him, nervously; lifted her hand to her brow and breathed deeply. "how tired i feel!" she said. immediately he got up. "you are worn out from the journey," he observed, quickly. but he knew it was not the journey that had most affected her. "i will leave you," he went on. "have you everything you need?" "everything," she answered carelessly. he walked to the door. the light was on his face; hers remained shaded. "good-night," she said. "good-night, jacqueline, duchess of dubrois," he answered, and, turning, disappeared down the corridor. chapter xxiii the dwarf makes an early call from one of the watch-towers of the town rang the clear note of a trumpet, a tribute of melody, occasioned by the awakening in the east. as the last clarion tones reëchoed over the sleeping village, a crimson rim appeared above the horizon and soon the entire wheel of the chariot of the sun-god rolled up out of the illimitable abyss and began its daily race across the sky. the stolid bugler yawned, tucked his trumpet under his arm, and, having perfunctorily performed the duties of his office, tramped downward with more alacrity than he had toiled upward. about the same time the sleepy guard at the town gate was relieved by an equally drowsy-appearing trooper; here and there windows were flung open, and around the well in the small public square the maids began to congregate. in the tap-room of the tavern the landlord moved about, setting to rights the tables and chairs, or sprinkling fresh sand on the floor. the place had a stale, close odor, as though not long since vacated by an inabstinent company, a supposition further borne out by the disorder of the furniture, and the evidence the gathering had not been over-nice about spilling the contents of their toss-pots. the host had but opened the front door, permitting the fresh, invigorating air from without to enter, when the duke's _plaisant_, his cloak over his arm, descended the stairs, and, addressing the landlord, asked when he and his companion could be provided with breakfast. "breakfast!" grumbled the proprietor. "the maids are hardly up and the fires must yet be started. it will be an hour or more before you can be served." the jester appeared somewhat dissatisfied, but contented himself with requesting the other to set about the meal at once. "you ride forth early," answered the man, in an aggrieved tone. the _plaisant_ made no reply as he strode to the door and looked out; noted sundry signs of awakening life down the narrow street, and then returned to the tap-room. "you had a noisy company here last night, landlord?" he vouchsafed, glancing around the room and recalling the laughter and shouts he had heard below until a late hour. "noisy company!" retorted the innkeeper. "a goodly company that ate and drank freely. distinguished company that paid freely. the king's own guards who are acting as escort to robert, the duke of friedwald, and his bride, the princess. noisy company, forsooth." the young man started. "the king's guards!" he said. "what are they doing here?" the other vigorously rubbed the top of a table with a damp cloth. "acting as escort to the duke, as i told you," he replied. "the duke is here, also?" "yes; at the château. the princess had become weary of travel; besides, had sprained her ankle, i heard, and would have it the cavalcade should tarry a few days. they e'en stopped at my door," he went on ostentatiously, "and called for a glass of wine for the princess. 'tis true she took it with a frown, but the hardships of journeying do not agree with grand folks." these last words the jester, absorbed in thought, did not hear. with his back to the man, he stood gazing through the high window, apparently across the street. but between the two houses on the other side of the thoroughfare was a considerable open space, and through this, far away, on the mount, could be seen the château. the sunlight shone bright on turret and spire; its walls were white and glistening; its outlines, graceful and airy as a fabric of imagination. "and yet it was a handsome cavalcade," continued the proprietor, his predilection for pomp overcoming his churlishness. "the princess on a steed with velvet housings, set with precious stones. her ladies attired in eastern silks. behind the men of arms; francis' troops in rich armor; the duke's soldiers more simply arrayed. at the head of the procession rode--" "have the horses brought out at once." thus brusquely interrupted, the innkeeper stared blankly at his guest, who had left the window and now stood in the center of the room confronting him. "and the breakfast?" asked the man. "i have changed my mind and do not want it," was the curt response. the host shrugged his shoulders disagreeably, as the plaisant turned and ascended the stairs. "unprofitable travelers," muttered the landlord, following with his gaze the retreating figure. hastily making his way to the room of the young girl, the jester knocked on the door. "are you awake, jacqueline?" "yes," answered a voice within. "we must ride forth as soon as possible. the duke is at the château." "at the château!" she exclaimed in surprise. then after a pause: "and triboulet saw us. he will tell that you are here. i will come down at once. wait," she added, as an afterthought seized her. he heard her step to the window. "i think the gates of the château are open," she said. "i am not sure; it is so far." "do you see any one on the road leading down?" "no," came the answer. "nor could i. but perhaps they have already passed." again the jester returned to the tap-room, where he found the landlord polishing the pewter tankards. "the horses?" said the fool sharply. "the stable boy will bring them to the door," was the response, and the innkeeper held a pot in the air and leisurely surveyed the shining surface. "the reckoning?" deliberately the man replaced the receptacle on the table, and, pressing his thumbs together, began slowly to calculate: "bottle of wine, ten sous; capon, twenty sous; two rooms--" when the jester took from his coat the purse the young girl had given him, and, selecting a coin, threw it on the board. at the sight of the purse and its golden contents the countenance of the proprietor mollified; his price forthwith varied with his changed estimate of his guest's condition. "two rooms, fifty sous; fodder, forty sous"--he went on. "that would make--" "keep the coin," said the _plaisant_, "and have the stable boy make haste." with new alacrity, the innkeeper thrust the pistole into a leathern pouch he carried at his girdle. a guest who paid so well could afford to be eccentric, and if he and the young lady chose to travel without breakfast, it was obviously not for the purpose of economy. therefore, exclaiming something about "a lazy rascal that needed stirring up," the now interested landlord was about to go to the barn himself, when, with a loud clattering, a party of horsemen rode up to the tavern; the door burst open and triboulet, followed by a tall, rugged-looking man and a party of troopers, entered the hall. swiftly the jester glanced around him; the room had no other door than that before which the troopers were crowded; he was fairly caught in a trap. remorsefully his thoughts flew to the young girl and the trust she had imposed in him. how had he rewarded that confidence? by a temerity which made this treachery on the part of the hunchback possible. even now before him stood triboulet, bowing ironically. "i trust you are well?" jeered the dwarf, and with a light, dancing step began to survey the other from side to side. "and the lady--is she also well this morning? how pleased you both were to see me yesterday!" assuming an insolent, albeit watchful, pose. "so you believed i had run away from the duke? as if he could get on without me. what would be a honeymoon without triboulet! the maids of honor would die of ennui. one day they trick me out with true-lovers' knots! the next, give me a cupid's head for a wand. leave the duke!" he repeated, bombastically. "triboulet could not be so unkind." "enough of this buffoonery!" said a decisive voice, and the dwarf drew back, not without a grimace, to make room for a person of soldierly mien, who now pushed his way to the front. over his doublet this gentleman wore a somewhat frayed, but embroidered, cloak; his broad hat was fringed with gold that had lost its luster; his countenance, deeply burned, seemed that of an old campaigner. he regarded the fool courteously, yet haughtily. "your sword, sir!" he commanded, in the tone of one accustomed to being obeyed. "to whom should i give it?" asked the duke's jester. "to the vicomte de gruise, commandant of the town. i have a writ for your arrest as a heretic." "who has lodged this information against me?" "triboulet. that is, he procured the duke's signature to the writ." "and you think the duke a party to this farce, my lord?" said the fool, with assumed composure. "it has not occurred to you that before the day is over all the village will be laughing at the spectacle of their commandant--pardon me--being led by the nose by a jester?" the officer's sun-burned face became yet redder; he frowned, then glanced suspiciously at triboulet, whose reputation was france-wide. "this man was the duke's fool," screamed the dwarf, "and was imprisoned by order of the king. his companion who is here with him was formerly jestress to the princess. she is a sorceress and bewitched the monarch. then her fancy seized upon the heretic, and, by her dark art, she opened the door of the cell for him. together they fled; she from the court, he from prison." the commandant looked curiously from the hunchback to the accused. if this were acting, the dwarf was indeed a master of the art. "besides, his haste to leave the village," eagerly went on triboulet. "why was he dressed at this hour? ask the landlord if he did not seem unduly hurried?" at this appeal the innkeeper, who had been an interested spectator, now became a not unwilling witness. "it is true he seemed hurried," he answered. "when he first came down he ordered breakfast. i happened to mention the duke was at the château, whereupon he lost his appetite with suspicious suddenness, called for his horses, and was for riding off with all haste." from the commandant's expression this testimony apparently removed any doubts he may have entertained. above the heads of the troopers massed in the doorway the duke's _plaisant_ saw jacqueline, standing on the stairs, with wide-open, dark eyes fastened upon him. involuntarily he lifted his hand to his heart; across the brief space glance melted into glance. persecuted calvin maid--had not her fate been untoward enough without this new disaster? had not the king wrought sufficient ill to her and hers in the past? would she be sent back to the court; the monarch? for himself he had no thought, but for her, who was nobler even than her birthright. he had been thrice a fool who had not heeded portentous warnings--the sight of triboulet, the clamor of the troopers--and had failed to flee during the night. as he realized the penalty of his negligence would fall so heavily upon her, a cry of rage burst from the fool's lips and he sprang toward his aggressors. the young girl became yet whiter; a moment she clung to the baluster; then started to descend the stairs. a dozen swords flashed before her eyes. she drew in her breath sharply, when as if by some magic, the anger faded from the face of the duke's fool; the hand he had raised to his breast fell to his side; his blade remained sheathed. "your pardon, my lord," he said to the commandant. "i have no intention of resisting the authority of the law, but if you will grant me a few moments' private audience in this room, i promise to convince you the duke of friedwald never signed that writ." "let him convince the council that examines heretics," laughed triboulet. "i'll warrant they'll make short work of his arguments." "i will give you my sword, sir," went on the jester. "afterward, if you are satisfied, you shall return it to me. if you are not, on my word as a man of honor, i will go with you without more ado." "a calvinist, a jester, a man of honor!" cried the dwarf. but narrowly the vicomte regarded the speaker. "_pardieu_!" he exclaimed gruffly. "keep your sword! i promise you i can look to my own safety." and in spite of triboulet's remonstrance, he waved back the troopers and closed the door upon the _plaisant_ and himself. outside the dwarf stormed and stamped. "the jester is desperate. it is the noble count who is a nonny. open, fool-soldiers!" this command not being obeyed by the men who guarded the entrance, the dwarf began to abuse them. a considerable interval elapsed; the hunchback, who dared not go into the room himself, compromised by kneeling before the keyhole; at the foot of the stairs stood the girl, her strained gaze fastened upon the door. "they must be near the window," muttered triboulet in a disappointed tone, rising. "what can they be about? surely will he try to kill the commandant." but even as he spoke the door was suddenly thrown open and the vicomte appeared on the threshold. "clear the hall!" he commanded sharply to the surprised soldiers. "if i mistake not," he went on, addressing the duke's jester, "your horses are at the door." "you are going to let them go?" burst forth triboulet. "i trust you and this fair lady"--turning to the wondering girl, who now stood expectantly at the side of the foreign fool--"will not harbor this incident against our hospitality," went on the vicomte, without heeding the dwarf. "the king will hang you!" exclaimed triboulet, his face black with disappointment and rage, as he witnessed the _plaisant_ and the jestress leave the tavern together. "let them go and you must answer to the king. one is a heretic who threw down a cross; the other i charge with being a sorceress." a terrible arraignment in those days, yet the vicomte was apparently deaf. hat in hand, he waved them adieu; the steeds sprang forward, past the soldiers, and down the street. "after them!" cried the dwarf to the troopers, "dolts! joltheads!" whereupon one of the men, angered at this baiting, reaching out with his iron boot, caught the dwarf such a sharp blow he staggered and fell, striking his head so violently he lay motionless on the walk. at the same time, far above, a body of troopers might have been seen issuing from the gates of the château and leisurely wending their way downward. chapter xxiv an encounter at the bridge some part of the interview with the commandant which had resulted in their release the jester told his companion as they sped down the sloping plain in the early silvery light which transformed the dew-drops and grassy moisture into veils of mist. behind them the château was slowly fading from view; the town had already disappeared. around them the singing of the birds, the cooing of the cushat doves and the buzzing of the bees, mingled in dreamy cadence. on each side stretched the plain which, washed by recent heavy rains, was now spangled with new-grown flowers; here, far apart in sequestered beauty; there, clustering companionably in a mass of color. "upon the strength of the letter from the emperor, the vicomte took the responsibility of allowing us to depart," explained the fool. "in it his majesty referred to his message to the king, to the part played by him who took the place of the duke, and what he was pleased to term my services to francis and himself." so much the _plaisant_ related, but he did not add that the commandant, with triboulet's words in mind, had at first demurred about permitting the jestress to go. "_vrai dieu_!" that person had exclaimed. "if what the dwarf said be true? to cross the king!--and yet," he had added cynically, "it sounds most unlike. did aladdin flee from the genii of the lamp? such a magician is francis. châteaux, gardens--'tis clearly an invention of triboulet's!" and the fallacy of this conclusion the duke's _plaisant_ had not sought to demonstrate. without question, the young girl listened, but when he had finished her features hardened. intuitively she divined a gap in the narrative; herself! from the dwarf's slur to caillette's gentle look of surprise constituted a natural span for reflection. and the duke's fool, seeing her face turn cold, attributed it, perhaps, to another reason. her story recurred to him; she was no longer a nameless jestress; an immeasurable distance separated a mere _plaisant_ from the survivor of one of the noblest, if most unfortunate, families of france. she had not answered the night before when he had addressed her as the daughter of the constable; motionless as a statue had she gazed after him; and, remembering the manner of their parting, he now looked at her curiously. "all's well that ends well," he said, "but i must crave indulgence, lady jacqueline, for having brought you into such peril." she flushed. "do you persist in that foolishness?" she returned quickly. "do you deny the right to be so called?" "did i not tell you--the constable's daughter is dead?" "to the world! but to the fool--may he not serve her?" his face was expectant; his voice, light yet earnest. her answer was half-sad, half-bright, as though her tragedy, like those acted dramas, had its less somber lines. and in the stage versions of those dark, mournful pieces were not the softer bits introduced with cap and bell? the fool's stick and the solemn march of irresistible and lowering destiny went hand in hand. everywhere the tinkle of the tiny bells. "poor service!" she retorted. "a discredited mistress!" "one i am minded for," he replied, a sudden flash in his eyes. she looked away; her lips curved. "for how long?" she said, half-mockingly, and touched her horse before he could reply. what words had her action checked on his lips? a moment was he disconcerted, then riding after her, he smiled, thinking how once he had carelessly passed her by; how he had looked upon her but as a wilful child. a child, forsooth! his pulses throbbed fast. life had grown strangely sweet, as though from her look, when she had stood on the stairs, he had drawn new zest. to serve her seemed a happiness that drowned all other ills; a selfish bond of subordination. her misfortunes dignified her; her worn gown was dearer in his eyes than courtly splendor; the disorder of her hair more becoming than nets of gold and coifs of jewels. he forgot their danger; the broad plain lay like a pleasure garden before them; fairer in natural beauty than francis' conventional parks. and she, too, had ceased to remember the dwarf's words, for the joy of youth is strong, and the sunshine and air were rarely intoxicating. there was a stirring rhythm in the movement of the steeds; noiselessly their hoofs beat upon the soft earth and tender mosses. the rains which elsewhere had flooded the lowlands here but enlivened the vernal freshness of the scene. the air was full of floating thistle-down; a cloud of insects dancing in the light, parted to let them pass. at the sight of a bush, white with flowers, she uttered an exclamation of pleasure, and broke off a branch covered with fragrant blossoms, as they rode by. out of the depths of this store-house of sweets a plundering humming-bird flashed and vanished, a jewel from nature's crown! she held the branch to her face and he glanced at her covertly; she was all jestress again. the cadence of that measured motion shaped itself to an ancient lyric in keeping with the song of birds, the blue sky, and the wild roses. "hark! hark! pretty lark! little heedest thou my pain." he bent his head listening; he could scarcely hear the words. was it a sense of new security that moved her; the reaction of their narrow escape; the knowledge they were leaving the château and all danger behind them? "hark! hark! pretty lark!--" boom! far in the distance sounded the discharge of a cannon--its iron voice the antithesis to the poet's dainty pastoral. as the report reverberated over the valley, from the grass innumerable insects arose; the din died away; the disturbed earth-dwellers sank back to earth again. the song ceased from the young girl's lips, and, gazing quickly back, she could just distinguish, above one of the parapets of the château, a wreath, already nearly dissolved in the blue of the sky. the jester, who had also turned in his saddle, met her look of inquiry. "it sounds like a signal of some kind--a salute, perhaps," he said. "or a call to arms?" she suggested, and he made no answer. "it means--pursuit!" silent they rode on, but more rapidly. with pale face and composed mien she kept by his side; her resolute expression reassured him, while her glance said: "do not fear for me." gradually had they been descending from the higher slopes of the country of which the château-mount was the loftiest point and now were passing through the lower stretches of land. here, the highway ran above fields, inundated by recent rains, and marshes converted into shining lakes. out of the water uprose a grove of trees, spectral-like; screaming wild-fowl skimmed the surface, or circled above. the pastoral peace of the meadows, garden of the wild flower and home of the song-bird, was replaced by a waste of desolation and wilderness. long they dashed on through the loneliness of that land; a depressing flight--but more depressing than the abandoned and forlorn aspect of the scene was the consciousness that their steeds had become road-worn and were unable to respond. long, long, they continued this pace, a strained period of suspense, and then the fool drew rein. "look, jacqueline," he said. "the river!" before them, fed by the rivulets from the distant hills, the foaming current threatened to overflow its banks. already the rising waters touched the flimsy wooden structure that spanned the torrent. contemplatively he regarded it, and then placing his hand for a moment on hers, said encouragingly: "perhaps, after all, we are borrowing trouble?" she shook her head. "if i could but think it," she answered. something seemed to rise in her throat. "a moment i forgot, and--was not unhappy! but now i feel as though the end was closing about us." he tightened his grasp. "you are worn with fatigue; fanciful!" he replied. "the end!" she repeated, passionately. "yes; the end!" and threw off his hand. "look!" he followed her eyes. "waving plumes!" he cried. "and drawing nearer! come, jacqueline! let us ride on!" "how?" she answered, in a lifeless tone. "the bridge will not hold." for answer he turned his horse to it; proceeded slowly across. it wavered and bent; her wide-opened eyes followed him; once she lifted her hand to her breast, and then became conscious he stood on the opposite bank, calling her to follow. she started; a strange smile was on her lips, and touching her horse sharply, she obeyed. "is it to death he has called me?" she asked herself. in her ears sounded the swash and eddying of the current; she closed her eyes to keep from falling, when she felt a hand on the bridle, and in a moment had reached the opposite shore. the jester made no motion to remount, but remained at her horse's head, closely surveying the road they had traveled. "must we go on?" she said, mechanically. "only one of them can cross at a time," he answered, without stirring. "it is better to meet them here." "oh," she spoke up, "if the waters would only rise a little more and carry away the bridge." he glanced quickly around him, weighing the slender chance for success if he made that last desperate stand, and then, grasping a loose plank, began using it as a lever against one of the weakened supports of the bridge. soon the beam gave way, and the structure, now held but at the middle and one side, had already begun to sag, when from around the curve of the highway appeared louis of hochfels, and a dozen of his followers. the free baron rode to the brim of the torrent, regarded the flood and the bridge, and stopped. he was mounted on a black spanish barb whose glistening sides were flecked with foam; a cloak of cloth of gold fell from his brawny shoulders; his heavy, red face looked out from beneath a sombrero, fringed with the same metal. a gleam of grim recollection shone from his bloodshot eyes as they rested on the fool. "oh, there you are!" he shouted, with savage satisfaction. "out of the frying-pan into the fire! or rather--for you escaped the fagots at notre dame--out of the fire into the frying-pan!" above the tumult of the torrent his stentorian tones were plainly heard. without response, the jester inserted the plank between the structure and the middle support. the other, perceiving his purpose, uttered an execration that was drowned by the current, and irresolutely regarded the means of communication between the two shores, obviously undetermined about trusting his great bulk to that fragile intermedium. here was a temporary check on which he had not calculated. but if he demurred about crossing himself, the free baron did not long display the same infirmity of purpose regarding his followers. "over with you!" he cried angrily to them. "the lightest first! fifty pistoles to the first across!" and then, calling out to the fool: "in half an hour, you, my fine wit-cracker, shall be hanging from a branch. as for the maid, she is a witch, i am told--we will test her with drowning." tempted by their leader's offer, one of the troopers, a lank, muscular-looking fellow, at once drove the spurs into his horse. back and forth moved the lever in the hands of the jester; the soldier was midway on the bridge, when it sank suddenly to one side. a moment it acted as a dam, then bridge, horse and rider were swept away with a crash and carried downward with the driving flood. vainly the trooper sought to turn his steed toward the shore; the debris from the structure soon swept him from his saddle. striking out strongly, he succeeded in catching a trailing branch from a tree on the bank, but the torrent gripped his body fiercely, and, after a desperate struggle, tore him away. as his helpless follower disappeared, the free baron gave a brief command, and he and his troops posted rapidly down the bank. the young girl breathed a sigh of relief; her eyes were yet full of awe from the death struggle she had witnessed. fascinated, her gaze had rested on the drowning wretch; the pale face, the look of terror; but now she was called to a realization of their own situation by the abrupt departure of the squad on the opposite shore. "they have gone," she cried, in surprise, as the party vanished among the trees. "but not far." the jester's glance was bent down the stream. "see, where the torrent broadens. they expect to find a fording place." once more they set forth; he knowing full well that the free baron and his men, accustomed to the mountain torrents, unbridled by the melting snows, would, in all likelihood, soon find a way to cross the freshet. his mind misgave him that he had loosened the bridge at all. would it not have been better to force the conflict there, when he had the advantage of position? but right or wrong, he had made his choice and must abide by it. to add to his discomfiture, his horse, which at first had lagged, now began to limp, and, as they proceeded, this lameness became more apparent. with a twinge of heart, he plied the spur more strongly, and the willing but broken creature responded as best it could. again it hastened its pace, seeming in a measure to recover strength and endurance, then, without warning, lurched, fell to its knees and quickly rolled over on its side. jacqueline glanced back; the animal lay motionless; the rider was vainly endeavoring to rise. pale with apprehension she returned, and, dismounting, stood at the head of the prostrate animal. determinedly the jester struggled, the perspiration standing on his brow in beads. at length, breathing hard, he rested his head on his elbow. "here am i caught to stay, jacqueline!" he said. "the horse is dead. but you--you must still go on." with clasped hands she stood looking down at him. she scarcely knew what he was saying; her mind seemed in a stupor; with apathetic eyes she gazed down the road. but the accident had happened in a little hollow, so that the outlook in either direction along the highway was restricted. "my emperor is both chivalrous and noble," continued the _plaisant_, quickly. "go to him. you must not wait here longer. i did not tell you, but i think the free baron will have no difficulty in crossing. you have no time to lose. go; and--good-by!" "but--he had a long way to ride--even if he could cross," she said slowly, passing her hand over her brow. "jacqueline!" he cried out, impatiently. she made no motion to leave, and, reading in her face her determination, angered by his own helplessness, he strove violently to release himself, until wrenching his foot in his frantic efforts, he sank back with a groan. at that sound of pain, wrung from him in spite of his fortitude, all her seeming apathy vanished. with a low cry, she dropped on her knees in the road and swiftly took his head in her arms. it was he, not the young girl, who spoke first. he forgot all peril--hers and his. he only knew her warm, young arms were about him; that her heart was throbbing wildly. "jacqueline!" he cried, passionately. "jacqueline!" and threw an arm about her, drawing her closer, closer. did she hear him? she did not reply. nor did she release him. she did not even look down. but he felt her bosom rising and falling faster than its wont. "jacqueline," he repeated, "are you listening?" she stirred slightly; the pallor left her face. in her gaze shone a light difficult to divine--pity, tenderness, a warmer passion? where had he seen it before? in the cell when he lay injured; in his waking dreams? it seemed the sudden dawn of the full beauty of her eyes; a half-remembered impression which now became real. yet even as she looked down his face changed; his eager glance grew dark; he listened intently. the sound of horses' hoofs beat upon the air. "jacqueline!--go!--there is yet time!" abruptly she arose. he held out his hand for a last quick pressure; a god-speed to this stanch maid-comrade of the motley. "god keep you, mistress!" standing in the road, gazing up the hollow, she neither saw his hand nor caught his words of farewell. an expression of bewilderment had overspread her features; quickly she glanced in the opposite direction. "see! see!" she exclaimed, excitedly. but he was past response; overcome by pain, in a last desperate attempt to regain his feet, he had lost consciousness. as he fell back, above the hill in the direction she was looking, appeared the black plumes of a band of horsemen. "no; they are not--" her glance rested on the jester, lying there motionless, and hastening to his side, she lifted his head and placed it in her lap. so the troopers of the emperor charles--a small squad of outriders--found her sitting in the road, her hair disordered about her, her face the whiter against that black shroud. chapter xxv in the tent of the emperor on an eminence commanding the surrounding country an unwonted spectacle that same day had presented itself to the astonished gaze of the workers in a neighboring vineyard. gleaming with crimson and gold, a number of tents had appeared as by magic on the mount, the temporary encampment of a rich and numerous cavalcade. but it was not the splendent aspect of this unexpected bivouac itself so much as the colors and designs of the flags and banners floating above which aroused the wonderment of the tillers of the soil. here gleamed no salamander, with its legend, "in fire am i nourished; in fire i die," but the less magniloquent and more dreaded coat of arms of the emperor, the royal rival and one-time jailer of the proud french monarch. the sunlight, reflected from the golden tassels and ornamentation of the tents, threw a flaming menace over the valley, and the peasants in subdued tones talked of the sudden coming of the dreaded foeman. _mère de dieu_! what did it portend! _ventre saint gris_! were they going to storm the fortresses of the king? was an army following this formidable retinue of nobles, soldiers and servants? above, on the mount, as the sun climbed toward the meridian, was seated in one of the largest of the tents a man of resolute and stern mien who gazed reflectively toward the fertile plain outstretching in the distance. his grizzled hair told of the after-prime of life; he was simply, even plainly, dressed, although his garments were of fine material, and from his neck hung a heavy chain of gold. his doublet lacked the prolonged and grotesque peak, and was less puffed, slashed and banded than the coat worn by those gallants of the day who looked to italy for the latest extravagances of fashion. his hat, lying carelessly on the table at his elbow, was devoid of aigrette, jewels or plume; a head-covering for the campaign rather than the court. within reach of his hand stood a heavy golden goblet of massive german workmanship, the solid character of which contrasted with the drinking vessels after cellini's patterns affected by francis. this he raised to his lips, drank deeply, replaced the goblet on the table, and said as much to himself as to those around him: "a fair land, this of our brother! small wonder he likes to play the host, even to his enemies. we may conquer him on the ensanguined field, but he conquers us--or henry of england!--on a field of cloth of gold!" "but for your majesty to put yourself in the king's power?" ventured a courtier, who wore a begemmed torsade and a cloak of genoa velvet. the monarch leaned back in his great chair and his face grew harsh. as he sat there musing, his virility and iron figure gave him rather the appearance of the soldier than the emperor. this impression his surroundings further emphasized, for the walls of the tent were covered, not with the gorgeous-colored gobelins of the pleasure-loving french, but with severe and stately tapestries from his native flanders, depicting in somber shades various scenes of martial triumph. when he raised his head he cast a look of ominous displeasure upon the last speaker. "had he not once the english king beneath his roof?" answered the monarch. "at amboise, where we visited francis some years ago, was there any restraint put upon us?" a grim smile crossed his features at the recollection of the gorgeous _fêtes_ in his honor on that other occasion. perhaps, too, he thought of the excitements held out by those servitors of the king, the frail and fair ladies of the court, for he added: "_saints et saintes_! 'twas a palace of pleasure, not a dungeon, he prepared for us. but enough of this! it is time we rode on. let the cavalcade, with the tents, follow behind." "think you, your majesty, if the princess be not yet married to the bastard, she is like to espouse the true duke?" asked the courtier, as a soldier left the tent to carry out the orders of the emperor. charles arose abruptly. "of a surety! he must have loved her greatly, else--" the clattering of hoofs, drawing nearer, interrupted the emperor's ruminations, and, wheeling sharply, he gazed without. a band of horsemen appeared on the mount. "the outriders!" he said in surprise. "why have they returned?" "they are bearing some one on a litter," answered the attendant noble, "and--_cap de dieu_--there is a woman with them!" as the troops approached, the emperor strode forward. out in the sunlight his face appeared older, more careworn, but although it cost him an effort to walk, his step was unfaltering. a moment he surveyed the men with peremptory glance, and then, casting one look at their burden, uttered an exclamation. his surprise, however, was of short duration. at once his features resumed their customary rigor. "what does this mean?" he asked, shortly, addressing the leader of the soldiers. "is he badly hurt?" "that i can not say, your majesty," replied the man. "a horse fell upon his leg, which is badly bruised, and there may be other injuries." "where did you find him?" continued the emperor, still regarding the pale face of the _plaisant_. "not far from here, your majesty. the woman was sitting in the road, holding his head." charles' glance swiftly sought the jestress and then returned. "they were being pursued, for shortly after we came a squad of men appeared from the opposite direction. when they saw us they fled. the woman insisted upon being brought here, when she learned of your majesty's presence." "take the injured man into the next tent and see he has every care. as for the woman, i will speak with her alone." "your majesty's orders to break camp--" began the courtier. "we have changed our mind and will remain here for the present." and the emperor, without further words, turned and reëntered his pavilion. with his hands behind him, he stood thoughtfully leaning against a table; his countenance had become somber, morose. the twinges of pain from a disease which afterward caused him to abdicate the throne and relinquish all power and worldly vanities for a life of religious meditation began to make themselves felt. love--ambition--what were they? the perishable flesh--was it the all-in-all? those sudden pangs of the body seemed like over-forward confessors abruptly admonishing him. the jester and the woman--francis and the princess--what had they become to him now? figures in an intangible, illusory dream. deeply religious, repentant, perhaps, for past misdeeds at such a moment as this, the soldier-emperor stood before a silver crucifix. "_credo in sanctum_," he murmured, with contrite glance. "how repugnant is human glory! to conquer the earth; to barter what is immortal! _carnis resurrectionem--_" a shadow fell across the tapestry, and glancing from the blessed symbol, he saw before him, kneeling on the rug, the figure of a woman. for her it was an inauspicious interruption. with almost a frown, charles, recalled from an absorbing period of oblation and self-examination, surveyed the young girl. the reflection of dark colors from the hangings and tapestries softened the pallor of her face; her hair hung about her in disorder; her figure, though meanly garbed, was replete with youth and grace. silent she continued in the posture of a suppliant. "well?" said the monarch finally, in a harsh voice. slowly she lifted her head; her dark eyes rested on the ruler steadfastly, fearlessly. "your majesty commanded my presence," she answered. "who are you?" he asked coldly. "i am called jacqueline; my father was the constable of dubrois." incredulity replaced every other emotion on the emperor's features, and, approaching her, he gazed attentively into the countenance she so frankly uplifted. with calmness she bore that piercing scrutiny; his dark, troubled soul, looking out of his keen gray eyes, met an equally lofty spirit. "the constable of dubrois! you, his daughter!" he repeated. his thoughts swiftly pierced the shadows of the past; that umbrageous past, darkened with war and carnage; the memory of triumphs; the bitterness of defeats! and studying her eyes, her face, as in a vision he recalled the features, the bearing, of him who had held himself an equal to his old rival, francis. a red spot rose to his cheek as he reviewed the martial, combative days; the game of arms he had played so often with francis--and won! not always by daring, or courage--rather by sagacity, clear-headedness, more potent than any other force! but a pang of bodily suffering reminded him of the present and its ills, and the vainglory of brief exultation faded as quickly as it had assailed him; involuntarily his glance sought the sacred emblem of intercession. when he regarded her once more his face had resumed its severe, uncompromising aspect. "the constable was a proud, haughty man," he said, brusquely. "yea, over-proud, in fact. you know why he fled to me?" "yes, sire," she answered, flushing resentfully. "to persuade me to espouse his cause against the king. many times have my good brother, francis, and myself gone to war," he added, reflectively and not without a certain complacency, "but then were we engaged in troubles in the east; to keep the mohammedans from overrunning our christian land. how could i oblige the constable by fighting the heathen and the believers in the gospel in one breath? your father--for i am ready to believe him such, by the evidence of your face, and, especially, your eyes--accused me of little faith. but i had either to desert him, or europe. his cause was lost; 'twas the fortune of war; the fate of great families becomes subservient to that of nations." he spoke as if rather presenting the case to himself than to her; as though he sought to analyze his own action through the medium of time and the trend of larger events. attentively she watched him with deep, serious eyes, and, catching her almost accusing look and knowing how, perhaps, he shuffled with history, his brow grew darker; he was visibly annoyed at her--his own conscience--he knew not what! "i did not complain, your majesty," she said proudly. her answer surprised him. again he observed her attire; the pallor of her face; the dark circles beneath her eyes. grimly he marked these signs of poverty; those marks of the weariness and privations she had undergone. "was it not your intention to seek me? to beg an asylum, perhaps?" he went on, less sternly. "not to beg, your majesty! to ask, yes! but now--not that!" "_vrai dieu_!" muttered charles. "there is the father over again! it is strange this maiden clothed almost in rags should claim such illustrious parentage," he continued to himself, as he walked restlessly to and fro. "it is more strange i ask no other proofs than herself--the evidence of my eyes! where did you come from?" he added, aloud, pausing before her. "the court of francis?" "yes, sire." "why did you leave the king?" "why--because--" her hands clenched. the gray eyes continued to probe her. "because i hate him!" the emperor's face relaxed; a gleam of humor shone in his glance. "hate him whom so many of your sex love?" he replied. through her tresses he saw her face turn red; passionately she arose. "with your majesty's permission, i will go." "go?" he said abruptly. "where can you go? you are somewhat quick of temper, like--. have i refused you aught? i could not serve your father," he continued, taking her hand, and, not ungently, detaining her, "but i may welcome his daughter--though necessity, the ruler of kings, made me helpless in his behalf!" as in a flash her resentment faded. half-paternally, half-severely, he surveyed her. "sit down here," he went on, indicating a low stool. "you are weary and need refreshment." silent she obeyed, and the emperor, touching a bell, gave a low command to the servitor who appeared. in a few moments meat, fruits and wine were set before her, and charles, from his point of vantage--no throne of gold, but a chair lined with cordovan leather, watched her partake. the pains had again left him; the monk gave way to the ruler; he thought of no more phrases of the credo, but with impassive face listened to her story, or as much as she cared to relate. when she had finished, for some time he offered no comment. "a strange tale," he said finally. "but what will our nobles do when ladies take mere fools for knight-errants?" "he is no mere fool!" she spoke up, impulsively. the emperor shot a quick look at her from beneath his lowering brows. "i mean--he is brave--and has protected me many times," she explained in some confusion. "and so you, knowing what you were, remained--with a poor jester--a clown--rather than leave him to his fate?" continued charles, inexorably, recalling the words of the outriders. her face became paler, but she held her head more proudly; the spirit of the jestress sprang to her lips, "it is only kings, sire, who fear to cling to a forlorn cause!" his eyes grew dark and gloomy; morosely he bent his gaze upon her. no one had ever before dared to speak to him like that, for charles had no love for jesters, and kept none in his court. unsparing, iron-handed, he had gone his way. but, perhaps, in her very fearlessness he recognized a touch of his own inflexible nature. at any rate, his sternness soon gave way to an expression of melancholy. "god alone knows the hearts of monarchs!" he said, somberly, and directed his glance toward the crucifix. moved by his unexpected leniency and the aspect of his cheerlessness, she immediately repented of her response. he looked so old, and melancholy, this great monarch. when he again turned to her his face and manner expressed no further cognizance of her reply. "you need rest," he said, "and shall have a tent to yourself. now go!" he continued, placing his hand for a moment, not unkindly, on her head. "i shall give orders for your entertainment. it will be rough hospitality, but--you are used to that. i am not sorry, child, you hate our brother francis, if it has driven you to our court." chapter xxvi the debt of nature although the daughter of the constable received every attention commensurate with the cheer of the camp, the day passed but slowly. with more or less interest she viewed the diversified group of soldiers, drawn by charles from the various countries over which he ruled: the brawny troops from flanders; the alert-looking guards, recruited from the mountains of spain; the men of friedwald, with muscles tough as the fibers of the fir in their native forests. even the orient--suggestive of many campaigns!--had been drawn upon, and the bright-garbed olive-skinned attendants, moving among the tents of purple or crimson, blended picturesquely with the more solid masses of color. for the flemish soldiery, who had brought the fool and herself to the camp, the young girl had a nod and a word, but it was the men of friedwald who especially attracted her attention, and unconsciously she found herself picturing the land that had fostered this stalwart and rough soldiery. a rocky, rugged region, surely; with vast forests, unbroken brush! yonder armorer, polishing a joint of steel, seemed like a survivor of that primeval epoch when the trees were roofs and the ground the universal bed. once or twice she passed him, curiously noting his great beard and giant-like limbs. but he minded her not, and this, perhaps, gave her courage to pause. "what sort of country is friedwald?" she said, abruptly. "wild," he answered. "is the duke liked?" she went on. "yes." "do you know his--jester?" "no." for all the information he would volunteer, the man might have been doctor rabelais' model for laconicism, and a moment she stood there with a slight frown. then she gazed at him meditatively; tap! tap! went the tiny hammer in the mighty hand, and, laughing softly, she turned. these men of friedwald were not unpleasing in her eyes. twice had she approached the tent wherein lay the fool, only to learn that the emperor was with the duke's _plaisant_. "a slight relapse of fever," had said the italian leech, as he blocked the entrance and stared at her with wicked, twinkling eyes. she need be under no apprehension, he had added; but to her quick fancy his glance said: "a maid wandering with a fool!" apprehension? no; it could not be that she felt but a new sense of loneliness; of that isolation which contact with strange faces emphasized. what had come over her? she asked herself. she who had been so self-sufficient; whose nature now seemed filled with sudden yearnings and restlessness, impatience--she knew not what. she who thought she had partaken so abundantly of life's cup abruptly discovered renewed sources for disquietude. with welling heart she watched the sun go down; the glory of the widely-radiating hues give way to the pall of night. upon her young shoulders the mantle of darkness seemed to rest so heavily she bowed her head in her hands. "a maid and a fool! ah, foolish maid!" whispered the wanton breeze. the pale light of the stars played upon her, and the dews fell, until involuntarily shivering with the cold, she arose. as she walked by the emperor's quarters she noticed a figure silhouetted on the canvas walls; to and fro the shadow moved, shapeless, grotesque, yet eloquent of life's vexation of spirit. turning into her own tent, the jestress lighted the wick of a silver lamp; a faint aroma of perfume swept through the air. it seemed to soothe her--or was it but weariness?--and shortly she threw herself on the silken couch and sank to dreamless slumber. when she awoke, the bright-hued dome of the tent was aglow in the morning sun; the reflected radiance bathed her face and form; her heaviness of heart had taken wings. the little lamp was still burning, but the fresh fragrance of dawn had replaced the subtile odor of the oriental essence. upon the rug a single streak of sunshine was creeping toward her. in the brazier which had warmed her tent the glowing bark and cinnamon had turned to cold, white ash. through the girl's veins the blood coursed rapidly; a few moments she lay in the rosy effulgence, restfully conscious that danger had fled and that she was bulwarked by the emperor's favor, when a sudden thought broke upon this half-wakeful mood, and caused her to spring, all alert, from her couch. to dress, with her had never been a matter of great duration. the hair of the joculatrix naturally rippled into such waves as were the envy of the court ladies; her supple fingers adjusted garment after garment with swift precision, while her figure needed no device to lend grace to the investment. soon, therefore, had she left her tent, making her way through the awakening camp. in the royal kitchen the cook was bending over his fires, while an assistant mixed a beverage of barley-water, yolks of eggs and senna wine for charles when he should become aroused. those courtiers, already astir, cast many glances in the girl's direction, as she moved toward the tent of the fool. but if these gallants were sedulous, she was correspondingly indifferent. anxiety or loyalty--that stanchness of heart which braved even the ironical eyes of the black-robed master of medicine--drove her again to the ailing jester's tent, and, remembering how she had ridden into camp--and into the august emperor's favor--these fondlings of fortune looked significantly from one to the other. "a jot less fever, solicitous maid," said the leech in answer to the inquiries of the jestress, and she endured the glance for the news, although the former sent her away with her face aflame. "an the leech let her in, he'd soon have to let the patient out," spoke up a gallant. "her eyes are a sovereign remedy, where bolus, pills and all vile potions might fail." "if this be a sample of francis' damsels, i care not how long we are in reaching the low countries," answered a second. to this the first replied in kind, but soon had these gallants matters of more serious moment to divert them, for it began to be whispered about that louis of hochfels had determined to push forward. the unwonted activity in the camp ere long gave credence to the rumor; the troopers commenced looking to their weapons; squires hurried here and there, while near the tents stood the horses, saddled and bridled, undergoing the scrutiny of the grooms. some time, however, elapsed before the emperor himself appeared. nothing in the bead-roll, or devotional offering of the morning, had he overlooked; the divers dishes that followed had been scrupulously partaken of, and then only--as a man not to be hurried from the altar or the table--had he emerged from his tent. his glance mechanically swept the camp, noting the bustle and stir, the absence of disorder, and finally rested on the girl. for a moment, from his look, it seemed he might have forgotten her, and she who had involuntarily turned to him so solicitously, on a sudden felt chilled, as confronted by a mask. his voice, when at length he spoke, was hard, dry, matter-of-fact, and it was jacqueline whom he addressed. "you slept well?" "yes, sire," she answered. "and have already been to the fool's tent, i doubt not." the mask became half-quizzical, half-friendly, as her cheeks mantled beneath his regard. was it but quiet avengement against a jestress whose tongue had been unsparing enough, even to him, the day before? certes, here stood now only a rosy maid, robbed of her spirit; or a _folle_, struck witless, and charles' face softened, but immediately grew stern, as his mind abruptly passed from wandering jestress and fleeing fool to matters of more moment. under vow to the virgin, the emperor had announced he would not draw sword himself that day, but, seated beneath a canopy of velvet, overlooking the valley, he so far compromised with conscience as personally to direct the preparations for the conflict. on his sable throne, surrounded by funereal hangings, how white and furrowed, how harassed with many cares, he appeared in the glare of the morn to the young girl! was this he who held nearly all europe in his palm? who between martial commands talked of holy orders, the apostolic see and the seven sacraments to his priestly confessor? and from aloof she studied him, with new doubts and misgiving, her thoughts running fast; and anon bent her eyes to the hill on the other side of the valley. in her condition of mind, confused as before a crisis, it was a distinct relief when toward noon word was brought that the free baron was approaching. soon, not far distant, the _cortège_ of louis of hochfels was seen; at the front, flashing helmets and breastplates; behind, a cavalcade of ladies on horseback and litters, above which floated many flags and banners. would he come on; would he turn back? many opinions were rife. "oh," cried a page with golden hair, "there will be no battle after all." and truly, confronted by the aspect of the emperor's camp, the marauder had at first hesitated; but if the dangers before him were great, those behind were greater. accordingly, leaving the cavalcade of the princess, her maids and attendants, the free baron of hochfels, surrounded by his own trusted troops, dashed forward arrogantly into the valley, bent upon sweeping aside even the opposition of charles himself. "yonder's a daring knave, your majesty," with some perturbation observed the prelate who stood near the emperor's chair. "certes, he tilts at fame, or death, with a bold lance," replied charles. "would that robert of friedwald were there to cry him quits." while thus he spoke, as calm as though secluded in one of his monastery retreats, weighing the affairs of state, nearer and nearer drew the soldiers of the bastard of pfalz-urfeld; roughly calculating, a force numerically as strong as the emperor's own guard. the young girl, her face now white and drawn, watched the approaching band. would charles never give the signal? imperturbable sat the mounted troopers of the emperor, awaiting the word of command. at length, when her breath began to come fast and sharp, charles raised his arm. in a solid, steady body, his men swept onward. the girl strove to look away, but could not. both bands, gaining in momentum, met with a crash. that nice symmetry of form and orderliness of movement was succeeded by a tangle of men and horses; the bristling array of lances had vanished, and swords and weapons for hand-to-hand warfare threw a play of light amid the jumble of troops and steeds, flags and banners. with sword red from carnage, louis of hochfels drew his men around him, hurling them against the firm front of charles' veterans. it was the crucial moment; the turning point in a struggle that could not be prolonged, but would be rather sharp, short and decisive. if his men failed at the onset, all was lost; if they gained but a little ascendancy now, their mastery of the field became fairly assured. great would be the reward for success; the fruits of victory--the emperor himself. and savagely the free baron cut down a stalwart trooper; his blade pierced the throat of another. "clear the way to charles!" he cried, exultantly. "he is our guerdon." so terrible that rush, the guard of spain on the right and the troops of flanders on the left began to give way; only the men of friedwald stood, but with the breaking of the forces on each side it was inevitable they, too, must soon be overwhelmed. involuntarily, as the quick eye of the emperor detected this sign of impending disaster, he half-started from his chair. his hand sought his side; in his eyes shone a steely light. the prelate quickly crossed himself and raised his head as if in prayer. "the penance, sire," he murmured, but his voice trembled. mechanically charles replaced his blade. "yea; better a kingdom lost," he muttered, "than a broken vow." yet, after so many battles won in the field and diet; after titanic contests with kings in christendom, and solyman in the east, to fall, by the mockery of fate, into the grasp of a thieving mountain rifler-- "ambition! power! we sow but the sand," whispered satiety. "vainglory is a sleeveless errand," murmured the spirit of the flagellant. yet he gazed half-fiercely at his priestly adviser, when suddenly his gloomy eye brightened; the inutility of ambition was forgotten; unconsciously he clasped the arm of the joculatrix, who had drawn near. his grip was like a gauntlet; even in her tense, strained mood she winced. "the fight is not yet lost!" he exclaimed. as he spoke the figure of a knight, fully armed, who had made his way through the avenue of tents, was seen swiftly descending the hill. upon his strong arabian steed, the rider's appearance and bearing signaled him as a soldier apart from the rank and file of the guard. his coat-of-arms, that of the house of friedwald, was richly emblazoned upon the housings of his courser. whence had he come? the attendants and equerries had not seen him in the camp. only the taciturn armorer of friedwald looked complacently after him, stroking his great beard, as one well satisfied. as this late-comer approached the scene of strife the flanks of the guard were wavering yet more perilously. "a miracle, sire!" cried the prelate. "but one that partakes more of earth than heaven," retorted charles, with ready irony. "who is he, sire?" breathlessly asked the young girl. at her feet whimpered the blue-eyed page, holding to her skirt, all his courage gone. but ere he could answer--if he had seen fit to do so--from below, out of the vortex, came the clamorous shouts: "the duke! the duke!" the master of the mountain pass heard also, and felt at that moment a sudden thrill of premonition. the guerdon; the quittance; could it be possible after all, the end was not far? he could not believe it, yet a paroxysm of fury seized him; his strength became redoubled; wherever his sword touched a trooper fell. but like a wave, recovering from the recoil, the soldiers of friedwald broke upon his doomed band with a force manifold augmented; broke and carried the flanks with it, for the assaulting parties to the right and left were dismayed by the strength unexpectedly hurled against the center. the bulky flemish, the lithe spaniard, the lofty trooper of friedwald, overflowed the shattered line of the marauders. "duke robert!" and "friedwald!" shouted the austrian band. "cowards! would you give way?" cried the free baron, striking among them. "fools! better the sword than the rope. come!" but in his frenzied efforts to rally his men the master of hochfels found himself face to face with the leader of the already victorious troops. at the sight of him the bastard paused; his breast rose and fell with his labored breathing; his sword was dyed red, also his arms, his clothes; from his forehead the blood ran down over his beard. his eyes rolled like those of an animal; he seemed something inhuman; an incarnation of baffled purpose. "if it is reprisal you want, sir duke, you shall have it," he panted. "reprisal!" exclaimed robert of friedwald, scornfully. "the best you can offer is your life." and with that they closed. evading the strokes of his more bulky antagonist, the younger man's sword repeatedly sought the vulnerable part of the other's armor. the free baron's strength became exhausted; his blows rang harmlessly, or struck the empty air. a sensation of pain admonished him of his own disability. about him his band had melted away; doggedly had they given up their lives beneath sword, mace and poniard. the ground was strewn with the slain; riderless horses were galloping up the road. the free baron breathed yet harder; before his eyes he seemed to see only blood. of what avail had been his efforts? he had won the princess, but how brief had been his triumphs! with a belief that was almost superstition, he had imagined his destiny lay thronewards. but the curse of his birth had been a ban to his efforts; the bitterness of defeat smote him. he knew he was falling; his nerveless hand loosened his blade. "i am sped!" he cried; "sped!" and released his hold, while the tide of conflict appeared abruptly to sweep away. as he struck the earth an ornament that he had worn about his neck became unfastened and dropped to the ground. but once he moved; to raise himself on his elbow. "the hazard of the die!" he muttered, striving to see with eyes that were growing blind. a rush of blood interrupted him, he fell back, straightened out, and stirred no more. now had the din of strife ceased altogether, when descending the slope appeared a cavalcade, at the head of which rode a lady on a white palfrey, followed by several maids and guarded by an escort of soldiers who wore the king's own colors. a stricken procession it seemed as it drew near, the faces of the women white with fear; the gay attire and gorgeous trappings--a mockery on that ensanguined arena. proudly proceeded the lady on the white horse, although in her eyes shone a look of dread. it was an age when women were accustomed to scenes of bloodshed, inured to conflicts in the lists; yet she shuddered as her palfrey picked its way across that field. at the near side of the hollow her glance singled out a motionless figure among those lying where they had fallen, a thick-set man, whose face was upturned to the sky. one look into those glassy eyes, so unresponsive to her own, and she quickly dismounted and fell on her knees beside the recumbent form. she took one of the cold hands in hers, but dropped it with a scream. "dead!" she cried; "dead!" the lady stared at that terribly repulsive face. for some moments she seemed dazed; sat there dully, the onlookers forbearing to disturb her. then her gaze encountered that of him who had slain the free baron and she sprang to her feet. on her features an expression of bewilderment had been followed by one of recognition. "the duke's fool!" she exclaimed wildly. "he is dead, and you have killed him! the fool has murdered his master." "it is true he is dead," answered the other, leaning heavily on his sword and surveying the inanimate form, "but he was no master of mine." "that, madame la princesse, we will also affirm," broke in an austere voice. behind them rode the emperor, a dark figure among those bright gowns and golden trappings, the saddle cloth and adornments of his steed somber as his own garments. as he spoke he waved back the cavalcade, and, in obedience to the gesture, the ladies, soldiers and attendants withdrew to a discreet distance. bitterly the princess surveyed the monarch; overwrought, a torrent of reproaches sprang from her lips. "why has your majesty made war on my lord? why have you countenanced his enemies and harbored his murderers?" and then, drawing her figure to its full height, her tawny hair falling in a cloud about her shoulders: "be sure, sire, my kinsman, the king, will know how to avenge my wrongs." "he can not, madam," answered charles coldly. "they are already avenged." "already avenged!" she exclaimed, with her gaze upon the prostrate figure. "yes, madam. for he who hath injured you has paid the extreme penalty." "he who was my husband has been foully murdered!" she retorted, vehemently. "what had the duke of friedwald done to bring upon himself your majesty's displeasure?" "nothing," answered the emperor, more gently. "nothing! and yet he lies there--dead!" "he who lies before you is not the duke, but louis of hochfels, the bastard of pfalz-urfeld." "ah," she cried, excitedly, "i see you have been listening to the false fool, his murderer." an expression of annoyance appeared on the emperor's face. he liked not to be crossed at any time by any one. "you have well called him the false fool, madam," said charles, curtly, "for he is no true fool." "and yet he rode with your troops!" "to redeem his honor, madam." "his honor!" with a scornful face she approached nearer to the monarch. "his honor! in god's name, what mean you?" "that the false fool, madam, is himself the duke of friedwald!" chapter xxvii a maid of france "the duke of friedwald!" it was not the princess who thus exclaimed, but jacqueline. charles had spoken loudly, and, drawn irresistibly to the scene, she had caught his significant words at the moment she recognized, in his brave accoutrements, him whom she had known as the duke's fool. when she had heard, above the din of the fray, the cries with which the new-comer had been greeted, no suspicion of his identity had crossed her mind. she had wondered, been puzzled at the unexpected appearance of robert, duke of friedwald, but that he and the ailing fool were one and the same was wide from her field of speculation. in amazement, she regarded the knight who had turned the tide of conflict, and then started, noticing the colors he wore, a paltry yellow ribbon on his arm, the badge of her office. much she had not understood now appeared plain. his assurance in fools' hall; his reckless daring; his skill with the sword. he was a soldier, not a jester; a lord, not a lord's servant. lost in no less wonder, the princess gazed from the free baron to charles, and back again to the lifeless form. stooping, she looked steadfastly into the face, as though she would read its secret. perhaps, too, as she studied those features, piece by piece she patched together the scenes of the past. her own countenance began to harden, as though some part of that mask of death had fallen upon her, and when she glanced once more at the emperor they saw she no longer doubted. with forced self-control, she turned to the emperor. "doubtless, it is some brave pastime," she said to charles. "will your majesty deign to explain?" "nay," answered the emperor, dryly; "that thankless task i'll leave to him who played the fool." uncovering, the duke of friedwald approached. the excitement of the contest over, his pallid features marked the effects of his recent injuries, the physical strain under which he had labored. her cold eyes swept over him haughtily, inquiringly. "for the part i have played, madam," he said, "i ask your forbearance. if we both labored under a delusion, i have only regret--" "regret!" was it an outburst of grief, or wounded pride? he flushed, but continued firmly: "madame la princesse, when first a marriage was proposed between us i was younger in experience if not in years than i am now; more used to the bivouac or hunters' camps than courts. and woman--" he smiled--"well, she was a vague ideal. at times, she came to me when sleeping before the huntsman's fire in the solitudes of the forest; again, was reflected from the pages of classic lore. she seemed a part of the woods and the streams, for by ancient art had she not been turned into trees and running brooks? so she whispered in the boughs and murmured among the rushes. mere _schwärmerei_. do you care to hear? 'tis the only defense i can offer." her contemptuous blue eyes remained fastened on him; she disdained to answer. "it was a dreamer from brake and copse who went in the disguise of a jester to be near her; to win her for himself--and then, declare his identity. well may you look scornful. love!--it is not such a romantic quality--at court. a momentary pastime, perhaps, but--a deep passion--a passion stronger than rank, than death, than all--" above the face of her whom he addressed his glance rested upon jacqueline, and he paused. the princess could but note, and a derisive expression crept about her mouth. "once i would have told you all," he resumed. "that night--when you were lady of the lists. but--" he broke off abruptly, wishing to spare her the bitter memory of her own acts. did she remember that day, when she had been queen of the chaplet? when she had crowned him whom now death and dishonor had overtaken? "the rest, madam, you know--save this." and stooping, he picked up the ornament that had dropped from louis of hochfels' neck. "here, princess, is the miniature you sent me. he, who used you so ill, stole it from me in prison; through it, he recognized the fool for the duke; with an assassin's blow he struck me down." a moment he looked at that fair painted semblance. did it recall the past too vividly? his face showed no pain; only tranquillity. his eye was rather that of a connoisseur than a lover. he smiled gently; then held it to her. mechanically she let the portrait slip through her fingers, and it fell to the moistened grass near the form of him who had wedded her. then she drew back her dress so that it might not touch the body at her feet. "have i your majesty's permission to withdraw?" she said, coldly. "if you will not accept our poor escort to the king," answered charles. "my ladies and myself will dispense with so much honor, sire," she returned. "such service as we can command is at your disposal, madam," he repeated. "it is not far distant to the château, sire." "as you will," said the emperor. with no further word she bowed deeply, turned, and slowly retracing her steps, mounted her horse, and rode away, followed by her maids and the troopers of france. as she disappeared, without one backward glance, the duke gazed quickly toward the spot where jacqueline had been standing. he remembered the young girl had heard his story; he had caught her eyes upon him while he was telling it; very deep, serious, judicial, they seemed. were they weighing his past infatuation for the princess; holding the scales to his acts? swiftly he turned to her now, but she had vanished. save for rough nurses, companions in arms, moving here and there among the wounded, he and the emperor stood alone. in the bushes a bird which had left a nest of fledglings returned and caroled among the boughs; a clarifying melody after the mad passions of the day. the elder man noted the direction of the duke's glance, the yellow ribbon on his arm. "so it was a jestress, not a princess you found, thou dreamer," he said, half-ironically. "the daughter of the constable of dubrois, sire," was the reply. the emperor nodded. "the family colors have changed," he observed dryly. "with fortune, sire." "truly," said charles, "fortune is a jestress. she had like to play on us this day. but your fever?" he added, abruptly, setting his horse's head toward camp. "is gone, sire," answered the duke, riding by his side. "and your injuries?" "were so slight they are forgotten." "then is the breath of battle better medicine than nostrum or salve. in youth, 'tis the sword-point; in age, turn we to the hilt-cross. but this maid--have you won her?" the young man changed color. "won her, sire?" he replied. "that i know not--no word has passed--" "no word," said the emperor, doubtingly. "a knight-errant and a castleless maid!" the duke vouchsafed no answer. "humph!" added charles. "thus do our plans come to naught. if you got her, and wore her, what end would be served?" "no end of state, perhaps, sire." "why," observed the monarch, "the state and the faith--what else is there? but go your way. how smooth it may be no man can tell." "is the road like to be rougher than it has been, sire?" "the maid belongs to france," answered charles, "and france belongs to the king." "the king!" exclaimed the duke, fiercely. involuntarily had they drawn rein in the shade of a tiny thicket overlooking the valley. even from this slight exercise, bowed and weary appeared the emperor's form. the hand which controlled his steed trembled, but the lines of his face spoke of unweakened sinew of spirit, the iron grip of a will that only death might loosen. "the king!" repeated the young man. "he is no king of mine, nor hers. to you, sire, only, i owe allegiance, or my life, at your need." a gentler expression softened the emperor's features, as a gleam of sunshine forces itself into the somberest forest depths. "we have had our need," he said. "not long since." his glance swept the outlook below. "heaven watches over monarchs," he added, turning a keen, satirical look on the other, "but through the vigilance of our earthly servitors." the duke's response was interrupted by the appearance below of a horseman, covered with dust, riding toward them, and urging his weary steed up the incline with spur and voice. deliberately the monarch surveyed the new-comer. "what make you of yonder fellow?" he said. "he is not of the guard, nor of the bastard's following." "his housings are the color of france, sire." "then can i make a shrewd guess of his purpose," observed the monarch. as he spoke the horseman drew nearer and a moment later had stopped before the emperor. "a message from the king, sire!" exclaimed the man, dismounting and kneeling to present a formidable-looking document, with a great disk of lead through which a silken string was drawn. breaking the seal, the emperor opened the missive. "it is well," he said at length, folding the parchment. "the king was even on his way to the château to await our coming, when he met caillette and received our communication. go you to the camp"--to the messenger--"where we shall presently return." and as the man rode away: "the king begs we will continue our journey at our leisure," he added, "and announces he will receive us at the château." "and have i your permission to return to friedwald, sire?" asked the other in a low voice. "alone?" "nay; i would conduct the constable's daughter there to safety." "and thus needlessly court francis' resentment? not yet." the young man said no word, but his face hardened. "tut!" said the emperor, dryly, although not unkindly. "where's fealty now? fine words; fine words! a slender chit of a maid, forsooth. without lands, without dowry; with naught--save herself." "is she not enough, sire?" "francis is more easily disarmed in his own castle by his own hospitality than in the battle-field," observed charles, without replying to this question. "in field have we conquered him; in palace hath he conquered himself, and our friendship. therefore you and the maid return in our train to the king's court." "at your order, sire." but the young man's voice was cold, ominous. chapter xxviii the favorite is alarmed thus it befell that both robert of friedwald and jacqueline accompanied the emperor to the little town, the scene of their late adventures, and that they who had been fool and joculatrix rode once more through the street they had ne'er expected to see again. the flags were flying; cannon boomed; they advanced beneath wreaths of roses, the way paved with flowers. standing at the door of his inn, the landlord dropped his jaw in amazement as his glance fell upon the jestress and her companion behind the great emperor himself. his surprise, too, was abruptly voiced by a ragged, wayworn person not far distant in the crowd, whose fingers had been busy about the pockets of his neighbors; fingers which had a deft habit of working by themselves, while his eyes were bent elsewhere and his lips joined in the general acclaim; fingers which like antennas seemed to have a special intelligence of their own. now those long weapons of abstraction and appropriation ceased their deft work; he became all eyes. "good lack! who may the noble gentleman behind the emperor be?" he exclaimed. "surely 'tis the duke's fool." "and ride with the emperor?" said a burly citizen at his elbow. "'tis thou who art the fool." "truly i think so," answered the other. "i see; believe; but may not understand." at that moment the duke's gaze in passing chanced to rest upon the pinched and over-curious face of the scamp-student; a gleam of recollection shone in his glance. "_gladius gemmatus!_" cried the scholar, and a smile on the noble's countenance told him he had heard. turning the problem in his mind, the vagrant-philosopher forgot about pilfering and the procession itself, when a soldier touched him roughly on the shoulder. "are you the scamp-student?" said the trooper. "now they'll hang me with these spoils in my pockets," thought the scholar. but as bravely as might be, he replied: "the former i am; the latter i would be." "then the duke of friedwald sent me to give you this purse," remarked the man, suiting the action to the word. "he bade me say 'tis to take the place of a bit of silver you once did not earn." and the trooper vanished. "well-a-day!" commented the burly citizen, regarding the gold pieces and the philosopher in wonderment of his own. "you may be a fool, but you must be an honest knave." at the château the meeting between the two monarchs was unreservedly cordial on both sides. they spoke with satisfaction of the peace now existing between them and of other matters social and political. the emperor deplored deeply the untimely demise of francis' son, charles, who had caught the infection of plague while sleeping at abbeville. later the misalliance of the princess was cautiously touched upon. that lady, said francis gravely, to whom the gaieties of the court at the present time could not fail to be distasteful, had left the château immediately upon her return. ever of a devout mind, she had repaired to a convent and announced her intention of devoting herself, and her not inconsiderable fortune, to a higher and more spiritual life. charles, who at that period of his lofty estates himself hesitated between the monastery and the court, applauded her resolution, to which the king perfunctorily and but half-heartedly responded. shortly after, the emperor, fatigued by his journey, begged leave to retire to his apartments, whither he went, accompanied by his "brother of france" and followed by his attendants. at the door francis, with many expressions of good will, took leave of his royal guest for the time being, and, turning, encountered the duke of friedwald. francis, himself once accustomed to assume the disguise of an archer of the royal guard the better to pursue his love follies among the people, now gazed curiously upon one who had befooled the entire court. "you took your departure, my lord," said the king, quietly, "without waiting for the order of your going." "he who enacts the fool, your majesty, without patent to office must needs have good legs," replied the young man. "else will he have his fingers burnt." "only his fingers?" returned the monarch with a smile, somewhat sardonic. "truly," thought the other, as francis strode away, "the king regrets the fool's escape from notre dame and the fagots." during the next day charles called first for his leech and then for a priest, but whether the former or the latter, or both, temporarily assuaged the restlessness of mortal disease, that night he was enabled to be present at the character dances given in his honor by the ladies of the court in the great gallery of the château. at a signal from the cornet, gitterns, violas and pipes began to play, and francis and his august guest, accompanied by queen eleanor, and the emperor's sister, marguerite of navarre, entered the hall, followed by the dauphin and catharine de medici, diane de poitiers, the duchesse d'etampes; marshal, chancellor and others of the king's friends and counselors; courtiers, poets, jesters, philosophers; a goodly company, such as few monarchs could summon at their beck and call. charles' eye lighted; even his austere nature momentarily kindled amid that brilliant spectacle; francis' palace of pleasure was an intoxicating antidote to spleen or hypochondria. and when the court ladies, in a dazzling band, appeared in the dance, led by the duchesse d'etampes, he openly expressed his approval. "ah, madam," he said to the queen of navarre, "there is little of the monastery about our good brother's court." "did your majesty expect we should cloister you?" she answered, with a lively glance. he gazed meditatively upon the "rose of valois," or the "pearl of the valois," as she was sometimes called; then a shadow fell upon him; the futility of ambition; the emptiness of pleasure. in scanty attire, the duchesse d'etampes, with the king, flashed before him; the former, all beauty, all grace, her little feet trampling down care, so lightly. somberly he watched her, and sighed. mentally he compared himself to francis; they had traveled the road of life together, discarding their youth at the same turn of the highway; yet here was his french brother, indefatigable in the pursuit of merriment, while his own soul sang _miséréré_ to the tune of francis' fiddles. yet, had he overheard the conversation of the favorite and the king, the emperor's moodiness would not, perhaps, have been unmixed with a stronger feeling. "sire," the duchess was saying in her most persuasive manner, "while you have charles--once your keeper--in your power, here in the château, you will surely punish him for the past and avenge yourself? you will make him revoke the treaty of madrid, or shut him up in one of louis xi's oubliettes?" "i will persuade him if i can," replied the king coldly, "but never force him. my honor, madam, is dearer to me than my interests." the favorite said no more of a cherished project, knowing francis' temper and his stubbornness when crossed. she merely shrugged her white shoulders and watched him closely. the monarch had not scrupled once to break his covenant with charles, holding that treaties made under duress, by _force majeure_, were legally void, while now-- but the king was composed of contradictions, or--was her own influence waning? she had observed a new expression cross his countenance when in the retinue of the emperor he had noted the daughter of the constable; such a tenderness as she remembered at bayonne when the king had looked upon her, the duchess, for the first time. when she next spoke her words were the outcome of this train of thought. "to think the jestress, jacqueline, should turn out the daughter of that traitor, the constable of dubrois," she observed, keenly. "a traitor, certainly," said francis, "but also a brave man. perhaps we pressed him too hard," he added retrospectively. "we were young in years and hot-tempered." "your majesty remembers the girl--a dark-browed, bold creature?" remarked the duchess, smiling amiably. "dark-browed, perhaps, madam; but i observed nothing bold in her demeanor," answered the king. "what! a jestress and not bold! a girl who frequented fools' hall; who ran away from court with the _plaisant_!" she glanced at him mischievously, like a wilful child, but before his frown the smile faded; involuntarily she clenched her hands. "madam," he replied cynically, "i have always noticed that women are poor judges of their own sex." and conducting her to a seat, he raised her jeweled fingers perfunctorily to his lips, and, wheeling abruptly, left her. "ah!" thought triboulet, ominously, who had been closely observing them, "the king is much displeased." had the duchess observed the monarch's lack of warmth? at any rate, somewhat perplexedly she regarded the departing figure of the king; then humming lightly, turned to a mirror to adjust a ringlet which had fallen from the golden net binding her tresses. "_mère de dieu_! woman never held man--or king--by sighing," she thought, and laughed, remembering the countess of châteaubriant; a veritable niobe when the monarch had sent her home. but triboulet drew a wry face; his little heart was beating tremulously; dark shadows crossed his mind. two portentous stars had appeared in the horoscope of his destiny: he who had been the foreign fool; she who was the daughter of the constable. almost fiercely the hunchback surveyed the beautiful woman before him. with her downfall would come his own, and he believed the king had wearied of her. how hateful was her fair face to him at that moment! already in imagination he experienced the bitterness of the fall from his high estates, and shudderingly looked back to his own lowly beginning: a beggarly street-player of bagpipes; ragged, wretched, importuning passers-by for coppers; reviled by every urchin. but she, meeting his glance and reading his thought, only clapped her hands recklessly. "how unhappy you look," she said. "madam, do you think the duke--" he began. "i think he will cut off your head," she exclaimed, and triboulet turned yellow; but a few moments later took heart, the duchess was so lightsome. "by my sword--if i had one--our jestress has made a triumphant return," commented caillette as he stood with the duke of friedwald near one of the windows, surveying the animated scene. "already are some of the ladies jealous as barbary pigeons. her appearance has been remarked by the duc de montrin and other gentlemen in attendance, and--look! now the great de guise approaches her. here one belongs to everybody." the other did not answer and caillette glanced quickly at him. "you will not think me over-bold," he went on, after a moment's hesitation, "if i mention what is being whispered--by them?" including in a look and the uplifting of his eyebrows the entire court. the duke laid his hand warmly on the shoulder of the poet-fool. "is there not that between us which precludes the question?" "i should not venture to speak about it," continued caillette, meeting the duke's gaze frankly, "but that you once honored me with your confidence. that i was much puzzled when i met you and--our erstwhile jestress--matters not. 'twas for me to dismiss my wonderment, and not strive to reconcile my neighbor's affairs. but when i hear every one talking about my--friend, it is no gossip's task to come to him with the unburdening of the prattle." "what are they saying, caillette?" asked the duke, in his eyes a darker look. "that you would wed this maid, but that the king will use his friendly offices with charles to prevent it." "and do they say why francis will so use his influence?" continued the other. "because of the claim such a union might give an alien house to a vast estate in france; the confiscated property of the constable of dubrois. and--but the other reason is but babble, malice--what you will." and caillette's manner quickly changed from grave to frivolous. "now, _au revoir_; i'm off to fools' hall," he concluded. "whenever it becomes dull for you, seek some of your old comrades there." and laughing, caillette disappeared. thoughtfully the duke continued to observe the jestress. between them whirled the votaries of pleasure; before him swept the fragrance of delicate perfumes; in his ears sounded the subtile enticement of soft laughter. her face wore a proud, self-reliant expression; her eyes that look which had made her seem so illusive from the inception of their acquaintance. and now, since his identity had been revealed, she had seemed more puzzling to him than ever. when he had sought her glance, her look had told him nothing. it was as though with the doffing of the motley she had discarded its recollections. in a tentative mood, he had striven to fathom her, but found himself at a loss. she had been neither reserved, nor had she avoided him; to her the past seemed a page, lightly read and turned. had caillette truly said "now she belonged to the world"? stepping upon one of the balconies overlooking the valley, the duke gazed out over the tranquil face of nature, his figure drawn aside from the flood of light within. between heaven and earth, the château reared its stately pile, and far downward those twinkling flashes represented the town; yonder faint line, like a dark thread, the encircling wall. above the gate shone a glimmer from the narrow casement of some officer's quarters; and the jester's misgivings when they had ridden beneath the portcullis into the town for the first time, recurred to him; also, the glad haste with which they had sped away. memories of dangers, of the free and untrammeled character of their wandering, that day-to-day intimacy, and night-to-night consciousness of her presence haunted him. her loyalty, her fine sense of comradeship, her inherent tenderness, had been revealed to him. still he seemed to feel himself the jester, in the gathering of fools, and she a _ministralissa_, with dark, deep eyes that baffled him. the sound of voices near the window aroused him from this field of speculation, voices that abruptly riveted his attention and held it: the king's and jacqueline's. chapter xxix the favorite is reassured the young man's brow drew dark; tumultuous thoughts filled his brain; caillette's words, brusquet's rhymes, confirming his own conviction, rankled in his mind. this king dared arrogate a law absolute unto himself; its statutes, his own caprices; its canons, his own pretensions? the duke remembered the young girl's outburst against the monarch and a feeling of hatred arose in his breast; his hand involuntarily sought his sword, the blade of francis' implacable enemy. "we have heard your story, my child, from our brother, the emperor," the king was saying, "and although your father rebelled against his monarch, we harbor it not against the daughter." "sire," she answered, in a low tone, "i regret the emperor should have acquainted you with this matter." "you have no cause for fear," francis replied, misinterpreting her words. she offered no response, and the duke, moving into the light, observed the king was regarding the young girl intently, his tall figure conspicuous above the courtiers. flushed, jacqueline looked down; the white-robed form, however, very straight and erect; her hair, untrammeled with the extreme conventions of the day; a single flower a spot of color amid its abundance. even the duchess--bejeweled, bedecked, tricked out--in her own mind had pronounced the young girl beautiful, and there surely was no mistaking the covert admiration of the monarch as his glance encompassed her. despite her assumed composure, it was obvious to the duke, however, that only by a strong effort had she nerved herself to that evening's task; the red hue on her cheeks, the brightness of her eyes, told of the suppressed excitement her manner failed to betray. "why should you leave with charles?" continued francis. "perhaps were we over-hasty in confiscating the castle of the constable. _vrai dieu_," he added, meditatively. "had he unbent but a little! marguerite told us we were driving him to despair, but the queen regent and the rest of our counselors prevailed--" he broke off abruptly and directed a bolder gaze to hers. "may not a monarch, mademoiselle, undo what he has done?" "even a king can not give life to the dead," she replied, and her voice sounded hard and unyielding. "no," he assented, moodily, "but it would not be impossible to restore the castle--to his daughter." "sire!" she exclaimed in surprise; then shook her head. "with your majesty's permission, i shall leave with the emperor." francis made an impatient movement; her inflexibility recalled one who long ago had renounced his fealty to the throne; her resistance kindled the flame that had been smoldering in his breast. "but if i have pointed out to the emperor that your proper station is here?" he went on. "if he recognizes that it would be to your disadvantage to divert that destiny which lies in france?" his words were measured; his manner tinged with seeming paternal interest; but, as through a mask, she discerned his face, cynical, libidinous, the countenance of a sybarite, not a king. the air became stifling; the ribaldry of laughter enveloped her; instinctively she glanced around, and her restless, troubled gaze fell upon the duke. what was it he read in her eyes? a confession of insecurity, fear; a mute appeal? before it all his doubts and misgivings vanished; the look they exchanged was like that when she had stood on the staircase in the inn. upon the monarch, engrossed in his purpose, it was lost. if silence give consent, then had she already acquiesced in a wish which, from a king, became a demand. but francis, ever complaisant, with an inconsistent chivalry worthy of the subterfuge of his character, desired to appear forbearing, indulgent. "for your own sake," he added, "must we refuse that permission you ask of us." she did not answer, and, noting the direction of her gaze, the eager expectancy written on her face, francis turned sharply. at the same time the duke stepped forward. the benignity faded from the king's manner; his countenance, which "at no time would have made a man's fortune," became rancorous, caustic; the corners of his mouth appeared almost updrawn to his nostrils. he had little reason to care for the duke, and this interruption, so flagrant, menacing almost, did not tend to enhance his regard. in nowise daunted, the young man stood before him. "i trust, sire, your majesty will reconsider your decision?" with a strained look the young girl regarded them. to what new dangers had she summoned him? was not she, the duke, even the emperor himself, in the power of the king, for the present at least? and knowing well francis' headstrong passions, his violence when crossed, it was not strange at that moment her heart sank; she felt on the brink of an abyss; a nameless peril toward which she had drawn the companion of her flight. it seemed an endless interval before the monarch spoke. "ah, you heard!" remarked francis at length, satirically. "inadvertently, sire," answered the duke. his voice was steady, his face pale, but in his blue eyes a glint as of fire came and went. self-assurance marked his bearing; dignity, pride. he looked not at the young girl, but calmly met the scrutiny of the king. the latter surveyed him from head to foot; then suddenly stared hard at a sword whose hilt gleamed even brighter than his own, and was fashioned in a form that recalled not imperfectly a hazard of other days. [illustration: he looked not at the young girl, but calmly met the scrutiny of the king.] "where did you get that blade?" he asked, abruptly. "from the daughter of the constable of dubrois." "why did she give it to you?" "to protect her, sire." the monarch's countenance became more thoughtful; less acrimonious. how the present seemed involved in the past! were kings, then, enmeshed in the web of their own acts? were even the gods not exempt from retributory justice? those were days of superstition, when a coincidence assumed the importance of inexorable destiny. "once was it drawn against me," said francis, reflectively. "i trust, sire, it may never again be drawn by an enemy of your majesty." the king did not reply, but stood as a man who yet took counsel with himself. "by what right," he asked, finally, "do you speak for the lady?" a moment the duke looked disconcerted. "by what right?" then swiftly he regarded the girl. as quickly--a flash it seemed--her dark eyes made answer, their language more potent than words. he could but understand; doubt and misgiving were forgotten; the hesitation vanished from his manner. hastily crossing to her side, he took her hand and unresistingly it lay in his. his heart beat faster; her sudden acquiescence filled him with wonder; at the same time, his task seemed easier. to protect her now! the king coughed ironically, and the duke turned from her to him. "by what right, your majesty?" he said in a voice which sounded different to francis. "this lady is my affianced bride, sire." pique, umbrage, mingled in the expression which replaced all other feeling on the king's countenance as he heard this announcement. with manifest displeasure he looked from one to the other. "is this true, mademoiselle?" he asked, sternly. her cheek was red, but she held herself bravely. "yes, sire," she said. a new emotion leaped to the duke's face as he heard her lips thus fearlessly confirm the answer of her eyes. and so before the monarch--in that court which marguerite called the court of love--they plighted their troth. something in their manner, however, puzzled the observant king; an exaltation, perhaps, uncalled for by the simple telling of a secret understanding between them; that rapid interchange of glances; that significance of manner when the duke stepped to her side. francis bit his lips. "_ma foi!_" he exclaimed, sharply. "this is somewhat abrupt. how long, my lord, since she promised to be your wife?" "since your majesty spoke," returned the duke, tranquilly. "and before that?" "before? i only knew that _i_ loved _her_, sire." "and now you know, for the first time, that _she_ loves _you_?" added the king, dryly. "but the emperor--are you not presuming overmuch that he will give his consent? or think you"--with fine irony--"that marriages of state are made in heaven?" "it was once my privilege, sire, so to serve the emperor, as his majesty thought, that he bade me ask of him what i would, when i would. heretofore have i had nothing to ask; now, everything." some of the asperity faded from francis' glance. the situation appealed to his strong penchant for merry _plaisanterie_. besides--such was his overweening pride--to hear a woman confess she cared for another dampened his own ardor, instead of stimulating it. "none but himself could be his parallel;" the royal lover could brook no rival. had she merely desired to marry the former fool--the countess of châteaubriant had had a husband--but to love him! after all, she was but an audacious slip of a girl; a dark-browed, bold gipsy; by nature, intended for the motley--yes, the duchesse d'etampes was right. then, he liked not her parentage; she was a constant reminder of one who had been like to make vacant the throne of france, and to destroy, root and branch, the proud house of orleans. moreover, whispered avarice, he would save the castle for himself; a stately and right royal possession. he had, indeed, been over-generous in proffering it. love, said reason, was unstable, flitting; woman, a will-o'-the-wisp; but a castle--its noble solidity would endure. at the same time, policy admonished the king that the duke was a subject of his good brother, the emperor, and a rich, powerful noble withal. so with such grace as he could command francis greeted one whom he preferred to regard as an ally rather than an enemy. "truly, my lord," he said not discourteously, masking in a courtly manner his personal dislike for him whose sharp criticism he once had felt in fools' hall, "a nimble-witted jester was lost when you resumed the dignity of your position. but," he added cautiously, as a sudden thought moved him, "this lady has appeared somewhat unexpectedly; the house of friedwald is not an inconsequential one." "what mean you, sire?" asked the young man, as the king paused. francis studied him shrewdly. "why," he replied at length, hesitatingly, "there is that controversy of the constable of dubrois; certain lands and a castle, long since rightly confiscated." "your majesty, there is another castle, and lands to spare, in a distant country," returned the duke quickly. "these will suffice." "as you will," said the king in a livelier tone. "for the future, command our good offices--since you have made us sponsor of your fortunes." with which well-covered confession of his own defeat, francis strode away. as he turned, however, he caught the smile of the duchesse d'etampes and crossed to her graciously. "your dress becomes you well, anne," he said. she glanced down at herself demurely; her lashes veiled a sudden gleam of triumph. "how kind of you, sire, to notice--my poor gown." "i was right," murmured triboulet, joyfully, as he saw king and favorite walking together. "no one will ever replace the duchess." silent, hand in hand, the duke and the joculatrix stood upon the balcony. below them lay the earth, wrapped in hazy light. behind them, the court, with its glamour. "have i done well, jacqueline, to answer the king as i have done?" he said finally. "are you content to resign all--forever--here in france? to go with me--" "into a new world," she interrupted. "once i asked you to take me, but you hesitated, and were like to leave me behind you." "but now 'tis i who ask," he answered. "and i--who hesitate?" looking out over the valley, where the shadow of a cloud crossed the land. "do you hesitate, jacqueline?" she turned. about her lips trembled the old fleeting smile. "what woman knows her mind, sir fool? yet if it were not so--" "if it were not so?" he said, eagerly. her eyes became grave on a sudden. "i might believe i had been of one mind--long." "jacqueline!--sweet jestress!--" he caught her suddenly in his arms, his fine young features aglow. this then was the goal of his desires; a goal of delight, far, far beyond all youthful dreams or early imaginings. with drooping eyelids, she stood in his embrace; she, once so proud, so self-willed. he drew her closer--kissed her hair!--the rose!-- she raised her head, and--sweeter still--he kissed her lips. across the valley the shadow receded; vanished. in the full glory of nightly splendor lay the earth, and as the mystic radiance lighted up a world of beauty, it seemed at last they beheld their world; the light more beautiful for the shade and the purple mists. none imaginary portraits by walter pater th edition contents chapter i. a prince of court painters chapter ii. denys l'auxerrois chapter iii. sebastian van storck chapter iv. duke carl of rosenmold chapter i. a prince of court painters extracts from an old french journal valenciennes, september . they have been renovating my father's large workroom. that delightful, tumble-down old place has lost its moss-grown tiles and the green weather-stains we have known all our lives on the high whitewashed wall, opposite which we sit, in the little sculptor's yard, for the coolness, in summertime. among old watteau's workpeople came his son, "the genius," my father's godson and namesake, a dark-haired youth, whose large, unquiet eyes seemed perpetually wandering to the various drawings which lie exposed here. my father will have it that he is a genius indeed, and a painter born. we have had our september fair in the grande place, a wonderful stir of sound and colour in the wide, open space beneath our windows. and just where the crowd was busiest young antony was found, hoisted into one of those empty niches of the old hotel de ville, sketching the scene to the life, but with a kind of grace--a marvellous tact of omission, as my father pointed out to us, in dealing with the vulgar reality seen from one's own window--which has made trite old harlequin, clown, and columbine, seem like people in some fairyland; or like infinitely clever tragic actors, who, for the humour of the thing, have put on motley for once, and are able to throw a world of serious innuendo into their burlesque looks, with a sort of comedy which shall be but tragedy seen from the other side. he brought his sketch to our house to-day, and i was present when my father questioned him and commended his work. but the lad seemed not greatly pleased, and left untasted the glass of old malaga which was offered to him. his father will hear nothing of educating him as a painter. yet he is not ill-to-do, and has lately built himself a new stone house, big and grey and cold. their old plastered house with the black timbers, in the rue des cardinaux, was prettier; dating from the time of the spaniards, and one of the oldest in valenciennes. october . chiefly through the solicitations of my father, old watteau has consented to place antony with a teacher of painting here. i meet him betimes on the way to his lessons, as i return from mass; for he still works with the masons, but making the most of late and early hours, of every moment of liberty. and then he has the feast-days, of which there are so many in this old-fashioned place. ah! such gifts as his, surely, may once in a way make much industry seem worth while. he makes a wonderful progress. and yet, far from being set-up, and too easily pleased with what, after all, comes to him so easily, he has, my father thinks, too little self-approval for ultimate success. he is apt, in truth, to fall out too hastily with himself and what he produces. yet here also there is the "golden mean." yes! i could fancy myself offended by a sort of irony which sometimes crosses the half-melancholy sweetness of manner habitual with him; only that as i can see, he treats himself to the same quality. october . antony watteau comes here often now. it is the instinct of a natural fineness in him, to escape when he can from that blank stone house, with so little to interest, and that homely old man and woman. the rudeness of his home has turned his feeling for even the simpler graces of life into a physical want, like hunger or thirst, which might come to greed; and methinks he perhaps overvalues these things. still, made as he is, his hard fate in that rude place must needs touch one. and then, he profits by the experience of my father, who has much knowledge in matters of art beyond his own art of sculpture; and antony is not unwelcome to him. in these last rainy weeks especially, when he can't sketch out of doors, when the wind only half dries the pavement before another torrent comes, and people stay at home, and the only sound from without is the creaking of a restless shutter on its hinges, or the march across the place of those weary soldiers, coming and going so interminably, one hardly knows whether to or from battle with the english and the austrians, from victory or defeat:--well! he has become like one of our family. "he will go far!" my father declares. he would go far, in the literal sense, if he might--to paris, to rome. it must be admitted that our valenciennes is a quiet, nay! a sleepy place; sleepier than ever since it became french, and ceased to be so near the frontier. the grass is growing deep on our old ramparts, and it is pleasant to walk there--to walk there and muse; pleasant for a tame, unambitious soul such as mine. december . antony watteau left us for paris this morning. it came upon us quite suddenly. they amuse themselves in paris. a scene-painter we have here, well known in flanders, has been engaged to work in one of the parisian play-houses; and young watteau, of whom he had some slight knowledge, has departed in his company. he doesn't know it was i who persuaded the scene-painter to take him; that he would find the lad useful. we offered him our little presents--fine thread-lace of our own making for his ruffles, and the like; for one must make a figure in paris, and he is slim and well-formed. for myself, i presented him with a silken purse i had long ago embroidered for another. well! we shall follow his fortunes (of which i for one feel quite sure) at a distance. old watteau didn't know of his departure, and has been here in great anger. december . twelve months to-day since antony went to paris! the first struggle must be a sharp one for an unknown lad in that vast, overcrowded place, even if he be as clever as young antony watteau. we may think, however, that he is on the way to his chosen end, for he returns not home; though, in truth, he tells those poor old people very little of himself. the apprentices of the m. metayer for whom he works, labour all day long, each at a single part only,--coiffure, or robe, or hand,--of the cheap pictures of religion or fantasy he exposes for sale at a low price along the footways of the pont notre-dame. antony is already the most skilful of them, and seems to have been promoted of late to work on church pictures. i like the thought of that. he receives three livres a week for his pains, and his soup daily. may . antony watteau has parted from the dealer in pictures a bon marche and works now with a painter of furniture pieces (those headpieces for doors and the like, now in fashion) who is also concierge of the palace of the luxembourg. antony is actually lodged somewhere in that grand place, which contains the king's collection of the italian pictures he would so willingly copy. its gardens also are magnificent, with something, as we understand from him, altogether of a novel kind in their disposition and embellishment. ah! how i delight myself, in fancy at least, in those beautiful gardens, freer and trimmed less stiffly than those of other royal houses. methinks i see him there, when his long summer-day's work is over, enjoying the cool shade of the stately, broad-foliaged trees, each of which is a great courtier, though it has its way almost as if it belonged to that open and unbuilt country beyond, over which the sun is sinking. his thoughts, however, in the midst of all this, are not wholly away from home, if i may judge by the subject of a picture he hopes to sell for as much as sixty livres--un depart de troupes, soldiers departing--one of those scenes of military life one can study so well here at valenciennes. june . young watteau has returned home--proof, with a character so independent as his, that things have gone well with him; and (it is agreed!) stays with us, instead of in the stone-mason's house. the old people suppose he comes to us for the sake of my father's instruction. french people as we are become, we are still old flemish, if not at heart, yet on the surface. even in french flanders, at douai and saint omer, as i understand, in the churches and in people's houses, as may be seen from the very streets, there is noticeable a minute and scrupulous air of care-taking and neatness. antony watteau remarks this more than ever on returning to valenciennes, and savours greatly, after his lodging in paris, our flemish cleanliness, lover as he is of distinction and elegance. those worldly graces he seemed when a young lad to hunger and thirst for, as though truly the mere adornments of life were its necessaries, he already takes as if he had been always used to them. and there is something noble--shall i say?--in his half-disdainful way of serving himself with what he still, as i think, secretly values over-much. there is an air of seemly thought--le bel serieux--about him, which makes me think of one of those grave old dutch statesmen in their youth, such as that famous william the silent. and yet the effect of this first success of his (of more importance than its mere money value, as insuring for the future the full play of his natural powers) i can trace like the bloom of a flower upon him; and he has, now and then, the gaieties which from time to time, surely, must refresh all true artists, however hard-working and "painful." july . the charm of all this--his physiognomy and manner of being--has touched even my young brother, jean-baptiste. he is greatly taken with antony, clings to him almost too attentively, and will be nothing but a painter, though my father would have trained him to follow his own profession. it may do the child good. he needs the expansion of some generous sympathy or sentiment in that close little soul of his, as i have thought, watching sometimes how his small face and hands are moved in sleep. a child of ten who cares only to save and possess, to hoard his tiny savings! yet he is not otherwise selfish, and loves us all with a warm heart. just now it is the moments of antony's company he counts, like a little miser. well! that may save him perhaps from developing a certain meanness of character i have sometimes feared for him. august . we returned home late this summer evening--antony watteau, my father and sisters, young jean-baptiste, and myself--from an excursion to saint-amand, in celebration of antony's last day with us. after visiting the great abbey-church and its range of chapels, with their costly encumbrance of carved shrines and golden reliquaries and funeral scutcheons in the coloured glass, half seen through a rich enclosure of marble and brasswork, we supped at the little inn in the forest. antony, looking well in his new-fashioned, long-skirted coat, and taller than he really is, made us bring our cream and wild strawberries out of doors, ranging ourselves according to his judgment (for a hasty sketch in that big pocket-book he carries) on the soft slope of one of those fresh spaces in the wood, where the trees unclose a little, while jean-baptiste and my youngest sister danced a minuet on the grass, to the notes of some strolling lutanist who had found us out. he is visibly cheerful at the thought of his return to paris, and became for a moment freer and more animated than i have ever yet seen him, as he discoursed to us about the paintings of peter paul rubens in the church here. his words, as he spoke of them, seemed full of a kind of rich sunset with some moving glory within it. yet i like far better than any of these pictures of rubens a work of that old dutch master, peter porbus, which hangs, though almost out of sight indeed, in our church at home. the patron saints, simple, and standing firmly on either side, present two homely old people to our lady enthroned in the midst, with the look and attitude of one for whom, amid her "glories" (depicted in dim little circular pictures, set in the openings of a chaplet of pale flowers around her) all feelings are over, except a great pitifulness. her robe of shadowy blue suits my eyes better far than the hot flesh-tints of the medicean ladies of the great peter paul, in spite of that amplitude and royal ease of action under their stiff court costumes, at which antony watteau declares himself in dismay. august . i am just returned from early mass. i lingered long after the office was ended, watching, pondering how in the world one could help a small bird which had flown into the church but could find no way out again. i suspect it will remain there, fluttering round and round distractedly, far up under the arched roof till it dies exhausted. i seem to have heard of a writer who likened man's life to a bird passing just once only, on some winter night, from window to window, across a cheerfully-lighted hall. the bird, taken captive by the ill-luck of a moment, re-tracing its issueless circle till it expires within the close vaulting of that great stone church:--human life may be like that bird too! antony watteau returned to paris yesterday. yes!--certainly, great heights of achievement would seem to lie before him; access to regions whither one may find it increasingly hard to follow him even in imagination, and figure to one's self after what manner his life moves therein. january . antony watteau has competed for what is called the prix de rome, desiring greatly to profit by the grand establishment founded at rome by lewis the fourteenth, for the encouragement of french artists. he obtained only the second place, but does not renounce his desire to make the journey to italy. could i save enough by careful economies for that purpose? it might be conveyed to him in some indirect way that would not offend. february . we read, with much pleasure for all of us, in the gazette to-day, among other events of the world, that antony watteau had been elected to the academy of painting under the new title of peintre des fetes galantes, and had been named also peintre du roi. my brother, jean-baptiste, ran to tell the news to old jean-philippe and michelle watteau. a new manner of painting! the old furniture of people's rooms must needs be changed throughout, it would seem, to accord with this painting; or rather, the painting is designed exclusively to suit one particular kind of apartment. a manner of painting greatly prized, as we understand, by those parisian judges who have had the best opportunity of acquainting themselves with whatever is most enjoyable in the arts:--such is the achievement of the young watteau! he looks to receive more orders for his work than he will be able to execute. he will certainly relish--he, so elegant, so hungry for the colours of life--a free intercourse with those wealthy lovers of the arts, m. de crozat, m. de julienne, the abbe de la roque, the count de caylus, and m. gersaint, the famous dealer in pictures, who are so anxious to lodge him in their fine hotels, and to have him of their company at their country houses. paris, we hear, has never been wealthier and more luxurious than now: and the great ladies outbid each other to carry his work upon their very fans. those vast fortunes, however, seem to change hands very rapidly. and antony's new manner? i am unable even to divine it--to conceive the trick and effect of it--at all. only, something of lightness and coquetry i discern there, at variance, methinks, with his own singular gravity and even sadness of mien and mind, more answerable to the stately apparelling of the age of henry the fourth, or of lewis the thirteenth, in these old, sombre spanish houses of ours. march . we have all been very happy,--jean-baptiste as if in a delightful dream. antony watteau, being consulted with regard to the lad's training as a painter, has most generously offered to receive him for his own pupil. my father, for some reason unknown to me, seemed to hesitate the first; but jean-baptiste, whose enthusiasm for antony visibly refines and beautifies his whole nature, has won the necessary permission, and this dear young brother will leave us to-morrow. our regrets and his, at his parting from us for the first time, overtook our joy at his good fortune by surprise, at the last moment, as we were about to bid each other good-night. for a while there had seemed to be an uneasiness under our cheerful talk, as if each one present were concealing something with an effort; and it was jean-baptiste himself who gave way at last. and then we sat down again, still together, and allowed free play to what was in our hearts, almost till morning, my sisters weeping much. i know better how to control myself. in a few days that delightful new life will have begun for him: and i have made him promise to write often to us. with how small a part of my whole life shall i be really living at valenciennes! january . jean-philippe watteau has received a letter from his son to-day. old michelle watteau, whose sight is failing, though she still works (half by touch, indeed) at her pillow-lace, was glad to hear me read the letter aloud more than once. it recounts--how modestly, and almost as a matter of course!--his late successes. and yet!--does he, in writing to these old people, purposely underrate his great good fortune and seeming happiness, not to shock them too much by the contrast between the delicate enjoyments of the life he now leads among the wealthy and refined, and that bald existence of theirs in his old home? a life, agitated, exigent, unsatisfying! that is what this letter really discloses, below so attractive a surface. as his gift expands so does that incurable restlessness one supposed but the humour natural to a promising youth who had still everything to do. and now the only realised enjoyment he has of all this might seem to be the thought of the independence it has purchased him, so that he can escape from one lodging-place to another, just as it may please him. he has already deserted, somewhat incontinently, more than one of those fine houses, the liberal air of which he used so greatly to affect, and which have so readily received him. has he failed truly to grasp the fact of his great success and the rewards that lie before him? at all events, he seems, after all, not greatly to value that dainty world he is now privileged to enter, and has certainly but little relish for his own works--those works which i for one so thirst to see. march . we were all--jean-philippe, michelle watteau, and ourselves--half in expectation of a visit from antony; and to-day, quite suddenly, he is with us. i was lingering after early mass this morning in the church of saint vaast. it is good for me to be there. our people lie under one of the great marble slabs before the jube, some of the memorial brass balusters of which are engraved with their names and the dates of their decease. the settle of carved oak which runs all round the wide nave is my father's own work. the quiet spaciousness of the place is itself like a meditation, an "act of recollection," and clears away the confusions of the heart. i suppose the heavy droning of the carillon had smothered the sound of his footsteps, for on my turning round, when i supposed myself alone, antony watteau was standing near me. constant observer as he is of the lights and shadows of things, he visits places of this kind at odd times. he has left jean-baptiste at work in paris, and will stay this time with the old people, not at our house; though he has spent the better part of to-day in my father's workroom. he hasn't yet put off, in spite of all his late intercourse with the great world, his distant and preoccupied manner--a manner, it is true, the same to every one. it is certainly not through pride in his success, as some might fancy, for he was thus always. it is rather as if, with all that success, life and its daily social routine were somewhat of a burden to him. april . at last we shall understand something of that new style of his-the watteau style--so much relished by the fine people at paris. he has taken it into his kind head to paint and decorate our chief salon--the room with the three long windows, which occupies the first floor of the house. the room was a landmark, as we used to think, an inviolable milestone and landmark, of old valenciennes fashion--that sombre style, indulging much in contrasts of black or deep brown with white, which the spaniards left behind them here. doubtless their eyes had found its shadows cool and pleasant, when they shut themselves in from the cutting sunshine of their own country. but in our country, where we must needs economise not the shade but the sun, its grandiosity weighs a little on one's spirits. well! the rough plaster we used to cover as well as might be with morsels of old figured arras-work, is replaced by dainty panelling of wood, with mimic columns, and a quite aerial scrollwork around sunken spaces of a pale-rose stuff and certain oval openings--two over the doors, opening on each side of the great couch which faces the windows, one over the chimney-piece, and one above the buffet which forms its vis-a-vis--four spaces in all, to be filled by and by with "fantasies" of the four seasons, painted by his own hand. he will send us from paris arm-chairs of a new pattern he has devised, suitably covered, and a clavecin. our old silver candlesticks look well on the chimney-piece. odd, faint-coloured flowers fill coquettishly the little empty spaces here and there, like ghosts of nosegays left by visitors long ago, which paled thus, sympathetically, at the decease of their old owners; for, in spite of its new-fashionedness, all this array is really less like a new thing than the last surviving result of all the more lightsome adornments of past times. only, the very walls seem to cry out:--no! to make delicate insinuation, for a music, a conversation, nimbler than any we have known, or are likely to find here. for himself, he converses well, but very sparingly. he assures us, indeed, that the "new style" is in truth a thing of old days, of his own old days here in valenciennes, when, working long hours as a mason's boy, he in fancy reclothed the walls of this or that house he was employed in, with this fairy arrangement--itself like a piece of "chamber-music," methinks, part answering to part; while no too trenchant note is allowed to break through the delicate harmony of white and pale red and little golden touches. yet it is all very comfortable also, it must be confessed; with an elegant open place for the fire, instead of the big old stove of brown tiles. the ancient, heavy furniture of our grandparents goes up, with difficulty, into the garrets, much against my father's inclination. to reconcile him to the change, antony is painting his portrait in a vast perruque and with more vigorous massing of light and shadow than he is wont to permit himself. june . he has completed the ovals:--the four seasons. oh! the summerlike grace, the freedom and softness, of the "summer"--a hayfield such as we visited to-day, but boundless, and with touches of level italian architecture in the hot, white, elusive distance, and wreaths of flowers, fairy hayrakes and the like, suspended from tree to tree, with that wonderful lightness which is one of the charms of his work. i can understand through this, at last, what it is he enjoys, what he selects by preference, from all that various world we pass our lives in. i am struck by the purity of the room he has re-fashioned for us--a sort of moral purity; yet, in the forms and colours of things. is the actual life of paris, to which he will soon return, equally pure, that it relishes this kind of thing so strongly? only, methinks 'tis a pity to incorporate so much of his work, of himself, with objects of use, which must perish by use, or disappear, like our own old furniture, with mere change of fashion. july . on the last day of antony watteau's visit we made a party to cambrai. we entered the cathedral church: it was the hour of vespers, and it happened that monseigneur le prince de cambrai, the author of telemaque, was in his place in the choir. he appears to be of great age, assists but rarely at the offices of religion, and is never to be seen in paris; and antony had much desired to behold him. certainly it was worth while to have come so far only to see him, and hear him give his pontifical blessing, in a voice feeble but of infinite sweetness, and with an inexpressibly graceful movement of the hands. a veritable grand seigneur! his refined old age, the impress of genius and honours, even his disappointments, concur with natural graces to make him seem too distinguished (a fitter word fails me) for this world. omnia vanitas! he seems to say, yet with a profound resignation, which makes the things we are most of us so fondly occupied with look petty enough. omnia vanitas! is that indeed the proper comment on our lives, coming, as it does in this case, from one who might have made his own all that life has to bestow? yet he was never to be seen at court, and has lived here almost as an exile. was our "great king lewis" jealous of a true grand seigneur or grand monarque by natural gift and the favour of heaven, that he could not endure his presence? july . my own portrait remains unfinished at his sudden departure. i sat for it in a walking-dress, made under his direction--a gown of a peculiar silken stuff, falling into an abundance of small folds, giving me "a certain air of piquancy" which pleases him, but is far enough from my true self. my old flemish faille, which i shall always wear, suits me better. i notice that our good-hearted but sometimes difficult friend said little of our brother jean-baptiste, though he knows us so anxious on his account--spoke only of his constant industry, cautiously, and not altogether with satisfaction, as if the sight of it wearied him. september . will antony ever accomplish that long-pondered journey to italy? for his own sake, i should be glad he might. yet it seems desolately far, across those great hills and plains. i remember how i formed a plan for providing him with a sum sufficient for the purpose. but that he no longer needs. with myself, how to get through time becomes sometimes the question,--unavoidably; though it strikes me as a thing unspeakably sad in a life so short as ours. the sullenness of a long wet day is yielding just now to an outburst of watery sunset, which strikes from the far horizon of this quiet world of ours, over fields and willow-woods, upon the shifty weather-vanes and long-pointed windows of the tower on the square--from which the angelus is sounding-with a momentary promise of a fine night. i prefer the salut at saint vaast. the walk thither is a longer one, and i have a fancy always that i may meet antony watteau there again, any time; just as, when a child, having found one day a tiny box in the shape of a silver coin, for long afterwards i used to try every piece of money that came into my hands, expecting it to open. september . we were sitting in the watteau chamber for the coolness, this sultry evening. a sudden gust of wind ruffled the lights in the sconces on the walls: the distant rumblings, which had continued all the afternoon, broke out at last; and through the driving rain, a coach, rattling across the place, stops at our door: in a moment jean-baptiste is with us once again; but with bitter tears in his eyes;--dismissed! october . jean-baptiste! he too, rejected by antony! it makes our friendship and fraternal sympathy closer. and still as he labours, not less sedulously than of old, and still so full of loyalty to his old master, in that watteau chamber, i seem to see antony himself, of whom jean-baptiste dares not yet speak,--to come very near his work, and understand his great parts. so jean-baptiste's work, in its nearness to his, may stand, for the future, as the central interest of my life. i bury myself in that. february . if i understand anything of these matters, antony watteau paints that delicate life of paris so excellently, with so much spirit, partly because, after all, he looks down upon it or despises it. to persuade myself of that, is my womanly satisfaction for his preference--his apparent preference--for a world so different from mine. those coquetries, those vain and perishable graces, can be rendered so perfectly, only through an intimate understanding of them. for him, to understand must be to despise them; while (i think i know why) he nevertheless undergoes their fascination. hence that discontent with himself, which keeps pace with his fame. it would have been better for him--he would have enjoyed a purer and more real happiness--had he remained here, obscure; as it might have been better for me! it is altogether different with jean-baptiste. he approaches that life, and all its pretty nothingness, from a level no higher than its own; and beginning just where antony watteau leaves off in disdain, produces a solid and veritable likeness of it and of its ways. march . there are points in his painting (i apprehend this through his own persistently modest observations) at which he works out his purpose more excellently than watteau; of whom he has trusted himself to speak at last, with a wonderful self-effacement, pointing out in each of his pictures, for the rest so just and true, how antony would have managed this or that, and, with what an easy superiority, have done the thing better--done the impossible. february . there are good things, attractive things, in life, meant for one and not for another--not meant perhaps for me; as there are pretty clothes which are not suitable for every one. i find a certain immobility of disposition in me, to quicken or interfere with which is like physical pain. he, so brilliant, petulant, mobile! i am better far beside jean-baptiste--in contact with his quiet, even labour, and manner of being. at first he did the work to which he had set himself, sullenly; but the mechanical labour of it has cleared his mind and temper at last, as a sullen day turns quite clear and fine by imperceptible change. with the earliest dawn he enters his workroom, the watteau chamber, where he remains at work all day. the dark evenings he spends in industrious preparation with the crayon for the pictures he is to finish during the hours of daylight. his toil is also his amusement: he goes but rarely into the society whose manners he has to re-produce. the animals in his pictures, pet animals, are mere toys: he knows it. but he finishes a large number of works, door-heads, clavecin cases, and the like. his happiest, his most genial moments, he puts, like savings of fine gold, into one particular picture (true opus magnum, as he hopes), the swing. he has the secret of surprising effects with a certain pearl-grey silken stuff of his predilection; and it must be confessed that he paints hands--which a draughtsman, of course, should understand at least twice as well other people--with surpassing expression. march . is it the depressing result of this labour, of a too exacting labour? i know not. but at times (it is his one melancholy!) he expresses a strange apprehension of poverty, of penury and mean surroundings in old age; reminding me of that childish disposition to hoard, which i noticed in him of old. and then--inglorious watteau, as he is!--at times that steadiness, in which he is so great a contrast to antony, as it were accumulates, changes, into a ray of genius, a grace, an inexplicable touch of truth, in which all his heaviness leaves him for a while, and he actually goes beyond the master; as himself protests to me, yet modestly. and still, it is precisely at those moments that he feels most the difference between himself and antony watteau. "in that country, all the pebbles are golden nuggets," he says; with perfect good-humour. june . 'tis truly in a delightful abode that antony watteau is just now lodged--the hotel or town-house of m. de crozat, which is not only a comfortable dwelling-place, but also a precious museum lucky people go far to see. jean-baptiste, too, has seen the place, and describes it. the antiquities, beautiful curiosities of all sorts--above all, the original drawings of those old masters antony so greatly admires-are arranged all around one there, that the influence, the genius, of those things may imperceptibly play upon and enter into one, and form what one does. the house is situated near the rue richelieu, but has a large garden bout it. m. de crozat gives his musical parties there, and antony watteau has painted the walls of one of the apartments with the four seasons, after the manner of ours, but doubtless improved by second thoughts. this beautiful place is now antony's home for a while. the house has but one story, with attics in the mansard roofs, like those of a farmhouse in the country. i fancy antony fled thither for a few moments, from the visitors who weary him; breathing the freshness of that dewy garden in the very midst of paris. as for me, i suffocate this summer afternoon in this pretty watteau chamber of ours, where jean-baptiste is at work so contentedly. may . in spite of all that happened, jean-baptiste has been looking forward to a visit to valenciennes which antony watteau had proposed to make. he hopes always--has a patient hope--that antony's former patronage of him may be revived. and now he is among us, actually at his work-restless and disquieting, meagre, like a woman with some nervous malady. is it pity, then, pity only, one must feel for the brilliant one? he has been criticising the work of jean-baptiste, who takes his judgments generously, gratefully. can it be that, after all, he despises and is no true lover of his own art, and is but chilled by an enthusiasm for it in another, such as that of jean-baptiste? as if jean-baptiste over-valued it, or as if some ignobleness or blunder, some sign that he has really missed his aim, started into sight from his work at the sound of praise--as if such praise could hardly be altogether sincere. june . and at last one has actual sight of his work--what it is. he has brought with him certain long-cherished designs to finish here in quiet, as he protests he has never finished before. that charming noblesse--can it be really so distinguished to the minutest point, so naturally aristocratic? half in masquerade, playing the drawing-room or garden comedy of life, these persons have upon them, not less than the landscape he composes, and among the accidents of which they group themselves with such a perfect fittingness, a certain light we should seek for in vain upon anything real. for their framework they have around them a veritable architecture--a tree-architecture--to which those moss-grown balusters, termes, statues, fountains, are really but accessories. only, as i gaze upon those windless afternoons, i find myself always saying to myself involuntarily, "the evening will be a wet one." the storm is always brooding through the massy splendour of the trees, above those sun-dried glades or lawns, where delicate children may be trusted thinly clad; and the secular trees themselves will hardly outlast another generation. july . there has been an exhibition of his pictures in the hall of the academy of saint luke; and all the world has been to see. yes! besides that unreal, imaginary light upon these scenes, these persons, which is pure gift of his, there was a light, a poetry, in those persons and things themselves, close at hand we had not seen. he has enabled us to see it: we are so much the better-off thereby, and i, for one, the better. the world he sets before us so engagingly has its care for purity, its cleanly preferences, in what one is to see--in the outsides of things-and there is something, a sign, a memento, at the least, of what makes life really valuable, even in that. there, is my simple notion, wholly womanly perhaps, but which i may hold by, of the purpose of the arts. august . and yet! (to read my mind, my experience, in somewhat different terms) methinks antony watteau reproduces that gallant world, those patched and powdered ladies and fine cavaliers, so much to its own satisfaction, partly because he despises it; if this be a possible condition of excellent artistic production. people talk of a new era now dawning upon the world, of fraternity, liberty, humanity, of a novel sort of social freedom in which men's natural goodness of heart will blossom at a thousand points hitherto repressed, of wars disappearing from the world in an infinite, benevolent ease of life--yes! perhaps of infinite littleness also. and it is the outward manner of that, which, partly by anticipation, and through pure intellectual power, antony watteau has caught, together with a flattering something of his own, added thereto. himself really of the old time--that serious old time which is passing away, the impress of which he carries on his physiognomy--he dignifies, by what in him is neither more nor less than a profound melancholy, the essential insignificance of what he wills to touch in all that, transforming its mere pettiness into grace. it looks certainly very graceful, fresh, animated, "piquant," as they love to say--yes! and withal, i repeat, perfectly pure, and may well congratulate itself on the loan of a fallacious grace, not its own. for in truth antony watteau is still the mason's boy, and deals with that world under a fascination, of the nature of which he is half-conscious methinks, puzzled at "the queer trick he possesses," to use his own phrase. you see him growing ever more and more meagre, as he goes through the world and its applause. yet he reaches with wonderful sagacity the secret of an adjustment of colours, a coiffure, a toilette, setting i know not what air of real superiority on such things. he will never overcome his early training; and these light things will possess for him always a kind of representative or borrowed worth, as characterising that impossible or forbidden world which the mason's boy saw through the closed gateways of the enchanted garden. those trifling and petty graces, the insignia to him of that nobler world of aspiration and idea, even now that he is aware, as i conceive, of their true littleness, bring back to him, by the power of association, all the old magical exhilaration of his dream--his dream of a better world than the real one. there, is the formula, as i apprehend, of his success--of his extraordinary hold on things so alien from himself. and i think there is more real hilarity in my brother's fetes champetres--more truth to life, and therefore less distinction. yes! the world profits by such reflection of its poor, coarse self, in one who renders all its caprices from the height of a corneille. that is my way of making up to myself for the fact that i think his days, too, would have been really happier, had he remained obscure at valenciennes. september . my own poor likeness, begun so long ago, still remains unfinished on the easel, at his departure from valenciennes--perhaps for ever; since the old people departed this life in the hard winter of last year, at no distant time from each other. it is pleasanter to him to sketch and plan than to paint and finish; and he is often out of humour with himself because he cannot project into a picture the life and spirit of his first thought with the crayon. he would fain begin where that famous master gerard dow left off, and snatch, as it were with a single stroke, what in him was the result of infinite patience. it is the sign of this sort of promptitude that he values solely in the work of another. to my thinking there is a kind of greed or grasping in that humour; as if things were not to last very long, and one must snatch opportunity. and often he succeeds. the old dutch painter cherished with a kind of piety his colours and pencils. antony watteau, on the contrary, will hardly make any preparations for his work at all, or even clean his palette, in the dead-set he makes at improvisation. 'tis the contrast perhaps between the staid dutch genius and the petulant, sparkling french temper of this new era, into which he has thrown himself. alas! it is already apparent that the result also loses something of longevity, of durability--the colours fading or changing, from the first, somewhat rapidly, as jean-baptiste notes. 'tis true, a mere trifle alters or produces the expression. but then, on the other hand, in pictures the whole effect of which lies in a kind of harmony, the treachery of a single colour must needs involve the failure of the whole to outlast the fleeting grace of those social conjunctions it is meant to perpetuate. this is what has happened, in part, to that portrait on the easel. meantime, he has commanded jean-baptiste to finish it; and so it must be. october . antony watteau is an excellent judge of literature, and i have been reading (with infinite surprise!) in my afternoon walks in the little wood here, a new book he left behind him--a great favourite of his; as it has been a favourite with large numbers in paris.* those pathetic shocks of fortune, those sudden alternations of pleasure and remorse, which must always lie among the very conditions of an irregular and guilty love, as in sinful games of chance:--they have begun to talk of these things in paris, to amuse themselves with the spectacle of them, set forth here, in the story of poor manon lescaut--for whom fidelity is impossible, vulgarly eager for the money which can buy pleasures, such as hers--with an art like watteau's own, for lightness and grace. incapacity of truth, yet with such tenderness, such a gift of tears, on the one side: on the other, a faith so absolute as to give to an illicit love almost the regularity of marriage! and this is the book those fine ladies in watteau's "conversations," who look so exquisitely pure, lay down on the cushion when the children run up to have their laces righted. yet the pity of it! what floods of weeping! there is a tone about which strikes me as going well with the grace of these leafless birch-trees against the sky, the pale silver of their bark, and a certain delicate odour of decay which rises from the soil. it is all one half-light; and the heroine, nay! the hero himself also, that dainty chevalier des grieux, with all his fervour, have, i think, but a half-life in them truly, from the first. and i could fancy myself almost of their condition sitting here alone this evening, in which a premature touch of winter makes the world look but an inhospitable place of entertainment for one's spirit. with so little genial warmth to hold it there, one feels that the merest accident might detach that flighty guest altogether. so chilled at heart things seem to me, as i gaze on that glacial point in the motionless sky, like some mortal spot whence death begins to creep over the body! *possibly written at this date, but almost certainly not printed till many years later.--note in second edition. and yet, in the midst of this, by mere force of contrast, comes back to me, very vividly, the true colour, ruddy with blossom and fruit, of the past summer, among the streets and gardens of some of our old towns we visited; when the thought of cold was a luxury, and the earth dry enough to sleep on. the summer was indeed a fine one; and the whole country seemed bewitched. a kind of infectious sentiment passed upon us, like an efflux from its flowers and flowerlike architecture--flower-like to me at least, but of which i never felt the beauty before. and as i think of that, certainly i have to confess that there is a wonderful reality about this lovers' story; an accordance between themselves and the conditions of things around them, so deep as to make it seem that the course of their lives could hardly have been other than it was. that impression comes, perhaps, wholly of the writer's skill; but, at all events, i must read the book no more. june . and he has allowed that mademoiselle rosalba--"ce bel esprit"--who can discourse upon the arts like a master, to paint his portrait: has painted hers in return! she holds a lapful of white roses with her two hands. rosa alba--himself has inscribed it! it will be engraved, to circulate and perpetuate it the better. one's journal, here in one's solitude, is of service at least in this, that it affords an escape for vain regrets, angers, impatience. one puts this and that angry spasm into it, and is delivered from it so. and then, it was at the desire of m. de crozat that the thing was done. one must oblige one's patrons. the lady also, they tell me, is consumptive, like antony himself, and like to die. and he, who has always lacked either the money or the spirits to make that long-pondered, much-desired journey to italy, has found in her work the veritable accent and colour of those old venetian masters he would so willingly have studied under the sunshine of their own land. alas! how little peace have his great successes given him; how little of that quietude of mind, without which, methinks, one fails in true dignity of character. november . his thirst for change of place has actually driven him to england, that veritable home of the consumptive. ah me! i feel it may be the finishing stroke. to have run into the native country of consumption! strange caprice of that desire to travel, which he has really indulged so little in his life--of the restlessness which, they tell me, is itself a symptom of this terrible disease! january . as once before, after long silence, a token has reached us, a slight token that he remembers--an etched plate, one of very few he has executed, with that old subject: soldiers on the march. and the weary soldier himself is returning once more to valenciennes, on his way from england to paris. february . those sharply-arched brows, those restless eyes which seem larger than ever--something that seizes on one, and is almost terrible, in his expression--speak clearly, and irresistibly set one on the thought of a summing-up of his life. i am reminded of the day when, already with that air of seemly thought, le bel serieux, he was found sketching, with so much truth to the inmost mind in them, those picturesque mountebanks at the fair in the grande place; and i find, throughout his course of life, something of the essential melancholy of the comedian. he, so fastidious and cold, and who has never "ventured the representation of passion," does but amuse the gay world; and is aware of that, though certainly unamused himself all the while. just now, however, he is finishing a very different picture--that too, full of humour--an english family-group, with a little girl riding a wooden horse: the father, and the mother holding his tobacco-pipe, stand in the centre. march . to-morrow he will depart finally. and this evening the syndics of the academy of saint luke came with their scarves and banners to conduct their illustrious fellow-citizen, by torchlight, to supper in their guildhall, where all their beautiful old corporation plate will be displayed. the watteau salon was lighted up to receive them. there is something in the payment of great honours to the living which fills one with apprehension, especially when the recipient of them looks so like a dying man. god have mercy on him! april . we were on the point of retiring to rest last evening when a messenger arrived post-haste with a letter on behalf of antony watteau, desiring jean-baptiste's presence at paris. we did not go to bed that night; and my brother was on his way before daylight, his heart full of a strange conflict of joy and apprehension. may . a letter at last! from jean-baptiste, occupied with cares of all sorts at the bedside of the sufferer. antony fancying that the air of the country might do him good, the abbe haranger, one of the canons of the church of saint germain l'auxerrois, where he was in the habit of hearing mass, has lent him a house at nogent-sur-marne. there he receives a few visitors. but in truth the places he once liked best, the people, nay! the very friends, have become to him nothing less than insupportable. though he still dreams of change, and would fain try his native air once more, he is at work constantly upon his art; but solely by way of a teacher, instructing (with a kind of remorseful diligence, it would seem) jean-baptiste, who will be heir to his unfinished work, and take up many of his pictures where he has left them. he seems now anxious for one thing only, to give his old "dismissed" disciple what remains of himself and the last secrets of his genius. his property-- livres only--goes to his relations. jean-baptiste has found these last weeks immeasurably useful. for the rest, bodily exhaustion perhaps, and this new interest in an old friend, have brought him tranquillity at last, a tranquillity in which he is much occupied with matters of religion. ah! it was ever so with me. and one lives also most reasonably so.--with women, at least, it is thus, quite certainly. yet i know not what there is of a pity which strikes deep, at the thought of a man, a while since so strong, turning his face to the wall from the things which most occupy men's lives. 'tis that homely, but honest cure of nogent he has caricatured so often, who attends him. july . our incomparable watteau is no more! jean-baptiste returned unexpectedly. i heard his hasty footsteps on the stairs. we turned together into that room; and he told his story there. antony watteau departed suddenly, in the arms of m. gersaint, on one of the late hot days of july. at the last moment he had been at work upon a crucifix for the good cure of nogent, liking little the very rude one he possessed. he died with all the sentiments of religion. he has been a sick man all his life. he was always a seeker after something in the world that is there in no satisfying measure, or not at all. chapter ii. denys l'auxerrois almost every people, as we know, has had its legend of a "golden age" and of its return--legends which will hardly be forgotten, however prosaic the world may become, while man himself remains the aspiring, never quite contented being he is. and yet in truth, since we are no longer children, we might well question the advantage of the return to us of a condition of life in which, by the nature of the case, the values of things would, so to speak, lie wholly on their surfaces, unless we could regain also the childish consciousness, or rather unconsciousness, in ourselves, to take all that adroitly and with the appropriate lightness of heart. the dream, however, has been left for the most part in the usual vagueness of dreams: in their waking hours people have been too busy to furnish it forth with details. what follows is a quaint legend, with detail enough, of such a return of a golden or poetically-gilded age (a denizen of old greece itself actually finding his way back again among men) as it happened in an ancient town of medieval france. of the french town, properly so called, in which the products of successive ages, not with-out lively touches of the present, are blended together harmoniously, with a beauty specific--a beauty cisalpine and northern, yet at the same time quite distinct from the massive german picturesque of ulm, or freiburg, or augsburg, and of which turner has found the ideal in certain of his studies of the rivers of france, a perfectly happy conjunction of river and town being of the essence of its physiognomy--the town of auxerre is perhaps the most complete realisation to be found by the actual wanderer. certainly, for picturesque expression it is the most memorable of a distinguished group of three in these parts,--auxerre, sens, troyes,--each gathered, as if with deliberate aim at such effect, about the central mass of a huge grey cathedral. around troyes the natural picturesque is to be sought only in the rich, almost coarse, summer colouring of the champagne country, of which the very tiles, the plaster and brickwork of its tiny villages and great, straggling, village-like farms have caught the warmth. the cathedral, visible far and wide over the fields seemingly of loose wild-flowers, itself a rich mixture of all the varieties of the pointed style down to the latest flamboyant, may be noticed among the greater french churches for breadth of proportions internally, and is famous for its almost unrivalled treasure of stained glass, chiefly of a florid, elaborate, later type, with much highly conscious artistic contrivance in design as well as in colour. in one of the richest of its windows, for instance, certain lines of pearly white run hither and thither, with delightful distant effect, upon ruby and dark blue. approaching nearer you find it to be a travellers' window, and those odd lines of white the long walking-staves in the hands of abraham, raphael, the magi, and the other saintly patrons of journeys. the appropriate provincial character of the bourgeoisie of champagne is still to be seen, it would appear, among the citizens of troyes. its streets, for the most part in timber and pargeting, present more than one unaltered specimen of the ancient hotel or town-house, with forecourt and garden in the rear; and its more devout citizens would seem even in their church-building to have sought chiefly to please the eyes of those occupied with mundane affairs and out of doors, for they have finished, with abundant outlay, only the vast, useless portals of their parish churches, of surprising height and lightness, in a kind of wildly elegant gothic-on-stilts, giving to the streets of troyes a peculiar air of the grotesque, as if in some quaint nightmare of the middle age. at sens, thirty miles away to the west, a place of far graver aspect, the name of jean cousin denotes a more chastened temper, even in these sumptuous decorations. here all is cool and composed, with an almost english austerity. the first growth of the pointed style in england--the hard "early english" of canterbury--is indeed the creation of william, a master reared in the architectural school of sens; and the severity of his taste might seem to have acted as a restraining power on all the subsequent changes of manner in this place--changes in themselves for the most part towards luxuriance. in harmony with the atmosphere of its great church is the cleanly quiet of the town, kept fresh by little channels of clear water circulating through its streets, derivatives of the rapid vanne which falls just below into the yonne. the yonne, bending gracefully, link after link, through a never-ending rustle of poplar trees, beneath lowly vine-clad hills, with relics of delicate woodland here and there, sometimes close at hand, sometimes leaving an interval of broad meadow, has all the lightsome characteristics of french river-side scenery on a smaller scale than usual, and might pass for the child's fancy of a river, like the rivers of the old miniature-painters, blue, and full to a fair green margin. one notices along its course a greater proportion than elsewhere of still untouched old seignorial residences, larger or smaller. the range of old gibbous towns along its banks, expanding their gay quays upon the water-side, have a common character--joigny, villeneuve, julien-du-sault--yet tempt us to tarry at each and examine its relics, old glass and the like, of the renaissance or the middle age, for the acquisition of real though minor lessons on the various arts which have left themselves a central monument at auxerre.--auxerre! a slight ascent in the winding road! and you have before you the prettiest town in france--the broad framework of vineyard sloping upwards gently to the horizon, with distant white cottages inviting one to walk: the quiet curve of river below, with all the river-side details: the three great purple-tiled masses of saint germain, saint pierre, and the cathedral of saint etienne, rising out of the crowded houses with more than the usual abruptness and irregularity of french building. here, that rare artist, the susceptible painter of architecture, if he understands the value alike of line and mass of broad masses and delicate lines, has "a subject made to his hand." a veritable country of the vine, it presents nevertheless an expression peaceful rather than radiant. perfect type of that happy mean between northern earnestness and the luxury of the south, for which we prize midland france, its physiognomy is not quite happy--attractive in part for its melancholy. its most characteristic atmosphere is to be seen when the tide of light and distant cloud is travelling quickly over it, when rain is not far off, and every touch of art or of time on its old building is defined in clear grey. a fine summer ripens its grapes into a valuable wine; but in spite of that it seems always longing for a larger and more continuous allowance of the sunshine which is so much to its taste. you might fancy something querulous or plaintive in that rustling movement of the vine-leaves, as blue-frocked jacques bonhomme finishes his day's labour among them. to beguile one such afternoon when the rain set in early and walking was impossible, i found my way to the shop of an old dealer in bric-a-brac. it was not a monotonous display, after the manner of the parisian dealer, of a stock-in-trade the like of which one has seen many times over, but a discriminate collection of real curiosities. one seemed to recognise a provincial school of taste in various relics of the housekeeping of the last century, with many a gem of earlier times from the old churches and religious houses of the neighbourhood. among them was a large and brilliant fragment of stained glass which might have come from the cathedral itself. of the very finest quality in colour and design, it presented a figure not exactly conformable to any recognised ecclesiastical type; and it was clearly part of a series. on my eager inquiry for the remainder, the old man replied that no more of it was known, but added that the priest of a neighbouring village was the possessor of an entire set of tapestries, apparently intended for suspension in church, and designed to portray the whole subject of which the figure in the stained glass was a portion. next afternoon accordingly i repaired to the priest's house, in reality a little gothic building, part perhaps of an ancient manor-house, close to the village church. in the front garden, flower-garden and potager in one, the bees were busy among the autumn growths--many-coloured asters, bignonias, scarlet-beans, and the old-fashioned parsonage flowers. the courteous owner readily showed me his tapestries, some of which hung on the walls of his parlour and staircase by way of a background for the display of the other curiosities of which he was a collector. certainly, those tapestries and the stained glass dealt with the same theme. in both were the same musical instruments--pipes, cymbals, long reed-like trumpets. the story, indeed, included the building of an organ, just such an instrument, only on a larger scale, as was standing in the old priest's library, though almost soundless now, whereas in certain of the woven pictures the hearers appear as if transported, some of them shouting rapturously to the organ music. a sort of mad vehemence prevails, indeed, throughout the delicate bewilderments of the whole series--giddy dances, wild animals leaping, above all perpetual wreathings of the vine, connecting, like some mazy arabesque, the various presentations of one oft-repeated figure, translated here out of the clear-coloured glass into the sadder, somewhat opaque and earthen hues of the silken threads. the figure was that of the organ-builder himself, a flaxen and flowery creature, sometimes wellnigh naked among the vine-leaves, sometimes muffled in skins against the cold, sometimes in the dress of a monk, but always with a strong impress of real character and incident from the veritable streets of auxerre. what is it? certainly, notwithstanding its grace, and wealth of graceful accessories, a suffering, tortured figure. with all the regular beauty of a pagan god, he has suffered after a manner of which we must suppose pagan gods incapable. it was as if one of those fair, triumphant beings had cast in his lot with the creatures of an age later than his own, people of larger spiritual capacity and assuredly of a larger capacity for melancholy. with this fancy in my mind, by the help of certain notes, which lay in the priest's curious library, upon the history of the works at the cathedral during the period of its finishing, and in repeated examination of the old tapestried designs, the story shaped itself at last. towards the middle of the thirteenth century the cathedral of saint etienne was complete in its main outlines: what remained was the building of the great tower, and all that various labour of final decoration which it would take more than one generation to accomplish. certain circumstances, however, not wholly explained, led to a somewhat rapid finishing, as it were out of hand, yet with a marvellous fulness at once and grace. of the result much has perished, or been transferred elsewhere; a portion is still visible in sumptuous relics of stained windows, and, above all, in the reliefs which adorn the western portals, very delicately carved in a fine, firm stone from tonnerre, of which time has only browned the surface, and which, for early mastery in art, may be compared with the contemporary work of italy. they come nearer than the art of that age was used to do to the expression of life; with a feeling for reality, in no ignoble form, caught, it might seem, from the ardent and full-veined existence then current in these actual streets and houses. just then auxerre had its turn in that political movement which broke out sympathetically, first in one, then in another of the towns of france, turning their narrow, feudal institutions into a free, communistic life--a movement of which those great centres of popular devotion, the french cathedrals, are in many instances the monument. closely connected always with the assertion of individual freedom, alike in mind and manners, at auxerre this political stir was associated also, as cause or effect, with the figure and character of a particular personage, long remembered. he was the very genius, it would appear, of that new, free, generous manner in art, active and potent as a living creature. as the most skilful of the band of carvers worked there one day, with a labour he could never quite make equal to the vision within him, a finely-sculptured greek coffin of stone, which had been made to serve for some later roman funeral, was unearthed by the masons. here, it might seem, the thing was indeed done, and art achieved, as far as regards those final graces, and harmonies of execution, which were precisely what lay beyond the hand of the medieval workman, who for his part had largely at command a seriousness of conception lacking in the old greek. within the coffin lay an object of a fresh and brilliant clearness among the ashes of the dead--a flask of lively green glass, like a great emerald. it might have been "the wondrous vessel of the grail." only, this object seemed to bring back no ineffable purity, but rather the riotous and earthy heat of old paganism itself. coated within, and, as some were persuaded, still redolent with the tawny sediment of the roman wine it had held so long ago, it was set aside for use at the supper which was shortly to celebrate the completion of the masons' work. amid much talk of the great age of gold, and some random expressions of hope that it might return again, fine old wine of auxerre was sipped in small glasses from the precious flask as supper ended. and, whether or not the opening of the buried vessel had anything to do with it, from that time a sort of golden age seemed indeed to be reigning there for a while, and the triumphant completion of the great church was contemporary with a series of remarkable wine seasons. the vintage of those years was long remembered. fine and abundant wine was to be found stored up even in poor men's cottages; while a new beauty, a gaiety, was abroad, as all the conjoint arts branched out exuberantly in a reign of quiet, delighted labour, at the prompting, as it seemed, of the singular being who came suddenly and oddly to auxerre to be the centre of so pleasant a period, though in truth he made but a sad ending. a peculiar usage long perpetuated itself at auxerre. on easter day the canons, in the very centre of the great church, played solemnly at ball. vespers being sung, instead of conducting the bishop to his palace, they proceeded in order into the nave, the people standing in two long rows to watch. girding up their skirts a little way, the whole body of clerics awaited their turn in silence, while the captain of the singing-boys cast the ball into the air, as high as he might, along the vaulted roof of the central aisle to be caught by any boy who could, and tossed again with hand or foot till it passed on to the portly chanters, the chaplains, the canons themselves, who finally played out the game with all the decorum of an ecclesiastical ceremony. it was just then, just as the canons took the ball to themselves so gravely, that denys--denys l'auxerrois, as he was afterwards called--appeared for the first time. leaping in among the timid children, he made the thing really a game. the boys played like boys, the men almost like madmen, and all with a delightful glee which became contagious, first in the clerical body, and then among the spectators. the aged dean of the chapter, protonotary of his holiness, held up his purple skirt a little higher, and stepping from the ranks with an amazing levity, as if suddenly relieved of his burden of eighty years, tossed the ball with his foot to the venerable capitular homilist, equal to the occasion. and then, unable to stand inactive any longer, the laity carried on the game among themselves, with shouts of not too boisterous amusement; the sport continuing till the flight of the ball could no longer be traced along the dusky aisles. though the home of his childhood was but a humble one--one of those little cliff-houses cut out in the low chalky hillside, such as are still to be found with inhabitants in certain districts of france-there were some who connected his birth with the story of a beautiful country girl, who, about eighteen years before, had been taken from her own people, not unwillingly, for the pleasure of the count of auxerre. she had wished indeed to see the great lord, who had sought her privately, in the glory of his own house; but, terrified by the strange splendours of her new abode and manner of life, and the anger of the true wife, she had fled suddenly from the place during the confusion of a violent storm, and in her flight given birth prematurely to a child. the child, a singularly fair one, was found alive, but the mother dead, by lightning-stroke as it seemed, not far from her lord's chamber-door, under the shelter of a ruined ivy-clad tower. denys himself certainly was a joyous lad enough. at the cliff-side cottage, nestling actually beneath the vineyards, he came to be an unrivalled gardener, and, grown to manhood, brought his produce to market, keeping a stall in the great cathedral square for the sale of melons and pomegranates, all manner of seeds and flowers (omnia speciosa camporum), honey also, wax tapers, sweetmeats hot from the frying-pan, rough home-made pots and pans from the little pottery in the wood, loaves baked by the aged woman in whose house he lived. on that easter day he had entered the great church for the first time, for the purpose of seeing the game. and from the very first, the women who saw him at his business, or watering his plants in the cool of the evening, idled for him. the men who noticed the crowd of women at his stall, and how even fresh young girls from the country, seeing him for the first time, always loitered there, suspected--who could tell what kind of powers? hidden under the white veil of that youthful form; and pausing to ponder the matter, found themselves also fallen into the snare. the sight of him made old people feel young again. even the sage monk hermes, devoted to study and experiment, was unable to keep the fruit-seller out of his mind, and would fain have discovered the secret of his charm, partly for the friendly purpose of explaining to the lad himself his perhaps more than natural gifts with a view to their profitable cultivation. it was a period, as older men took note, of young men and their influence. they took fire, no one could quite explain how, as if at his presence, and asserted a wonderful amount of volition, of insolence, yet as if with the consent of their elders, who would themselves sometimes lose their balance, a little comically. that revolution in the temper and manner of individuals concurred with the movement then on foot at auxerre, as in other french towns, for the liberation of the commune from its old feudal superiors. denys they called frank, among many other nicknames. young lords prided themselves on saying that labour should have its ease, and were almost prepared to take freedom, plebeian freedom (of course duly decorated, at least with wild-flowers) for a bride. for in truth denys at his stall was turning the grave, slow movement of politic heads into a wild social license, which for a while made life like a stage-play. he first led those long processions, through which by and by "the little people," the discontented, the despairing, would utter their minds. one man engaged with another in talk in the market-place; a new influence came forth at the contact; another and then another adhered; at last a new spirit was abroad everywhere. the hot nights were noisy with swarming troops of dishevelled women and youths with red-stained limbs and faces, carrying their lighted torches over the vine-clad hills, or rushing down the streets, to the horror of timid watchers, towards the cool spaces by the river. a shrill music, a laughter at all things, was everywhere. and the new spirit repaired even to church to take part in the novel offices of the feast of fools. heads flung back in ecstasy--the morning sleep among the vines, when the fatigue of the night was over--dew-drenched garments--the serf lying at his ease at last: the artists, then so numerous at the place, caught what they could, something, at least, of the richness, the flexibility of the visible aspects of life, from all this. with them the life of seeming idleness, to which denys was conducting the youth of auxerre so pleasantly, counted but as the cultivation, for their due service to man, of delightful natural things. and the powers of nature concurred. it seemed there would be winter no more. the planet mars drew nearer to the earth than usual, hanging in the low sky like a fiery red lamp. a massive but well-nigh lifeless vine on the wall of the cloister, allowed to remain there only as a curiosity on account of its immense age, in that great season, as it was long after called, clothed itself with fruit once more. the culture of the grape greatly increased. the sunlight fell for the first time on many a spot of deep woodland cleared for vine-growing; though denys, a lover of trees, was careful to leave a stately specimen of forest growth here and there. when his troubles came, one characteristic that had seemed most amiable in his prosperity was turned against him--a fondness for oddly grown or even misshapen, yet potentially happy, children; for odd animals also: he sympathised with them all, was skilful in healing their maladies, saved the hare in the chase, and sold his mantle to redeem a lamb from the butcher. he taught the people not to be afraid of the strange, ugly creatures which the light of the moving torches drew from their hiding-places, nor think it a bad omen that approached. he tamed a veritable wolf to keep him company like a dog. it was the first of many ambiguous circumstances about him, from which, in the minds of an increasing number of people, a deep suspicion and hatred began to define itself. the rich bestiary, then compiling in the library of the great church, became, through his assistance, nothing less than a garden of eden--the garden of eden grown wild. the owl alone he abhorred. a little later, almost as if in revenge, alone of all animals it clung to him, haunting him persistently among the dusky stone towers, when grown gentler than ever he dared not kill it. he moved unhurt in the famous menagerie of the castle, of which the common people were so much afraid, and let out the lions, themselves timid prisoners enough, through the streets during the fair. the incident suggested to the somewhat barren pen-men of the day a "morality" adapted from the old pagan books--a stage-play in which the god of wine should return in triumph from the east. in the cathedral square the pageant was presented, amid an intolerable noise of every kind of pipe-music, with denys in the chief part, upon a gaily-painted chariot, in soft silken raiment, and, for headdress, a strange elephant-scalp with gilded tusks. and that unrivalled fairness and freshness of aspect:--how did he alone preserve it untouched, through the wind and heat? in truth, it was not by magic, as some said, but by a natural simplicity in his living. when that dark season of his troubles arrived he was heard begging querulously one wintry night, "give me wine, meat; dark wine and brown meat!"--come back to the rude door of his old home in the cliff-side. till that time the great vine-dresser himself drank only water; he had lived on spring-water and fruit. a lover of fertility in all its forms, in what did but suggest it, he was curious and penetrative concerning the habits of water, and had the secret of the divining-rod. long before it came he could detect the scent of rain from afar, and would climb with delight to the great scaffolding on the unfinished tower to watch its coming over the thirsty vine-land, till it rattled on the great tiled roof of the church below; and then, throwing off his mantle, allow it to bathe his limbs freely, clinging firmly against the tempestuous wind among the carved imageries of dark stone. it was on his sudden return after a long journey (one of many inexplicable disappearances), coming back changed somewhat, that he ate flesh for the first time, tearing the hot, red morsels with his delicate fingers in a kind of wild greed. he had fled to the south from the first forbidding days of a hard winter which came at last. at the great seaport of marseilles he had trafficked with sailors from all parts of the world, from arabia and india, and bought their wares, exposed now for sale, to the wonder of all, at the easter fair--richer wines and incense than had been known in auxerre, seeds of marvellous new flowers, creatures wild and tame, new pottery painted in raw gaudy tints, the skins of animals, meats fried with unheard-of condiments. his stall formed a strange, unwonted patch of colour, found suddenly displayed in the hot morning. the artists were more delighted than ever, and frequented his company in the little manorial habitation, deserted long since by its owners and haunted, so that the eyes of many looked evil upon it, where he had taken up his abode, attracted, in the first instance, by its rich though neglected garden, a tangle of every kind of creeping, vine-like plant. here, surrounded in abundance by the pleasant materials of his trade, the vine-dresser as it were turned pedant and kept school for the various artists, who learned here an art supplementary to their own,--that gay magic, namely (art or trick) of his existence, till they found themselves grown into a kind of aristocracy, like veritable gens fleur-de-lises, as they worked together for the decoration of the great church and a hundred other places beside. and yet a darkness had grown upon him. the kind creature had lost something of his gentleness. strange motiveless misdeeds had happened; and, at a loss for other causes, not the envious only would fain have traced the blame to denys. he was making the younger world mad. would he make himself count of auxerre? the lady ariane, deserted by her former lover, had looked kindly upon him; was ready to make him son-in-law to the old count her father, old and not long for this world. the wise monk hermes bethought him of certain old readings in which the wine-god, whose part denys had played so well, had his contrast, his dark or antipathetic side; was like a double creature, of two natures, difficult or impossible to harmonise. and in truth the much-prized wine of auxerre has itself but a fugitive charm, being apt to sicken and turn gross long before the bottle is empty, however carefully sealed; as it goes indeed, at its best, by hard names, among those who grow it, such as chainette and migraine. a kind of degeneration, of coarseness--the coarseness of satiety, and shapeless, battered-out appetite--with an almost savage taste for carnivorous diet, had come over the company. a rumour went abroad of certain women who had drowned, in mere wantonness, their newborn babes. a girl with child was found hanged by her own act in a dark cellar. ah! if denys also had not felt himself mad! but when the guilt of a murder, committed with a great vine-axe far out among the vineyards, was attributed vaguely to him, he could but wonder whether it had been indeed thus, and the shadow of a fancied crime abode with him. people turned against their favourite, whose former charms must now be counted only as the fascinations of witchcraft. it was as if the wine poured out for them had soured in the cup. the golden age had indeed come back for a while:--golden was it, or gilded only, after all? and they were too sick, or at least too serious, to carry through their parts in it. the monk hermes was whimsically reminded of that after-thought in pagan poetry, of a wine-god who had been in hell. denys certainly, with all his flaxen fairness about him, was manifestly a sufferer. at first he thought of departing secretly to some other place. alas! his wits were too far gone for certainty of success in the attempt. he feared to be brought back a prisoner. those fat years were over. it was a time of scarcity. the working people might not eat and drink of the good things they had helped to store away. tears rose in the eyes of needy children, of old or weak people like children, as they woke up again and again to sunless, frost-bound, ruinous mornings; and the little hungry creatures went prowling after scattered hedge-nuts or dried vine-tendrils. mysterious, dark rains prevailed throughout the summer. the great offices of saint john were fumbled through in a sudden darkness of unseasonable storm, which greatly damaged the carved ornaments of the church, the bishop reading his mid-day mass by the light of the little candle at his book. and then, one night, the night which seemed literally to have swallowed up the shortest day in the year, a plot was contrived by certain persons to take denys as he went and kill him privately for a sorcerer. he could hardly tell how he escaped, and found himself safe in his earliest home, the cottage in the cliff-side, with such a big fire as he delighted in burning upon the hearth. they made a little feast as well as they could for the beautiful hunted creature, with abundance of waxlights. and at last the clergy bethought themselves of a remedy for this evil time. the body of one of the patron saints had lain neglected somewhere under the flagstones of the sanctuary. this must be piously exhumed, and provided with a shrine worthy of it. the goldsmiths, the jewellers and lapidaries, set diligently to work, and no long time after, the shrine, like a little cathedral with portals and tower complete, stood ready, its chiselled gold framing panels of rock crystal, on the great altar. many bishops arrived, with king lewis the saint himself accompanied by his mother, to assist at the search for and disinterment of the sacred relics. in their presence, the bishop of auxerre, with vestments of deep red in honour of the relics, blessed the new shrine, according to the office de benedictione capsarum pro reliquiis. the pavement of the choir, removed amid a surging sea of lugubrious chants, all persons fasting, discovered as if it had been a battlefield of mouldering human remains. their odour rose plainly above the plentiful clouds of incense, such as was used in the king's private chapel. the search for the saint himself continued in vain all day and far into the night. at last from a little narrow chest, into which the remains had been almost crushed together, the bishop's red-gloved hands drew the dwindled body, shrunken inconceivably, but still with every feature of the face traceable in a sudden oblique ray of ghastly dawn. that shocking sight, after a sharp fit as though a demon were going out of him, as he rolled on the turf of the cloister to which he had fled alone from the suffocating church, where the crowd still awaited the procession of the relics and the mass de reliquiis quae continentur in ecclesiis, seemed indeed to have cured the madness of denys, but certainly did not restore his gaiety. he was left a subdued, silent, melancholy creature. turning now, with an odd revulsion of feeling, to gloomy objects, he picked out a ghastly shred from the common bones on the pavement to wear about his neck, and in a little while found his way to the monks of saint germain, who gladly received him into their workshop, though secretly, in fear of his foes. the busy tribe of variously gifted artists, labouring rapidly at the many works on hand for the final embellishment of the cathedral of st. etienne, made those conventual buildings just then cheerful enough to lighten a melancholy, heavy even as that of our friend denys. he took his place among the workmen, a conventual novice; a novice also as to whatever concerns any actual handicraft. he could but compound sweet incense for the sanctuary. and yet, again by merely visible presence, he made himself felt in all the varied exercise around him of those arts which address themselves first of all to sight. unconsciously he defined a peculiar manner, alike of feeling and expression, to those skilful hands at work day by day with the chisel, the pencil, or the needle, in many an enduring form of exquisite fancy. in three successive phases or fashions might be traced, especially in the carved work, the humours he had determined. there was first wild gaiety, exuberant in a wreathing of life-like imageries, from which nothing really present in nature was excluded. that, as the soul of denys darkened, had passed into obscure regions of the satiric, the grotesque and coarse. but from this time there was manifest, with no loss of power or effect, a well-assured seriousness, somewhat jealous and exclusive, not so much in the selection of the material on which the arts were to work, as in the precise sort of expression that should be induced upon it. it was as if the gay old pagan world had been blessed in some way; with effects to be seen most clearly in the rich miniature work of the manuscripts of the capitular library,--a marvellous ovid especially, upon the pages of which those old loves and sorrows seemed to come to life again in medieval costume, as denys, in cowl now and with tonsured head, leaned over the painter, and led his work, by a kind of visible sympathy, often unspoken, rather than by any formal comment. above all, there was a desire abroad to attain the instruments of a freer and more various sacred music than had been in use hitherto--a music that might express the whole compass of souls now grown to manhood. auxerre, then as afterwards, was famous for its liturgical music. it was denys, at last, to whom the thought occurred of combining in a fuller tide of music all the instruments then in use. like the wine-god of old, he had been a lover and patron especially of the music of the pipe, in all its varieties. here, too, there had been evident those three fashions or "modes":--first, the simple and pastoral, the homely note of the pipe, like the piping of the wind itself from off the distant fields; then, the wild, savage din, that had cost so much to quiet people, and driven excitable people mad. now he would compose all this to sweeter purposes; and the building of the first organ became like the book of his life: it expanded to the full compass of his nature, in its sorrow and delight. in long, enjoyable days of wind and sun by the river-side, the seemingly half-witted "brother" sought and found the needful varieties of reed. the carpenters, under his instruction, set up the great wooden passages for the thunder; while the little pipes of pasteboard simulated the sound of the human voice singing to the victorious notes of the long metal trumpets. at times this also, as people heard night after night those wandering sounds, seemed like the work of a madman, though they awoke sometimes in wonder at snatches of a new, an unmistakable new music. it was the triumph of all the various modes of the power of the pipe, tamed, ruled, united. only, on the painted shutters of the organ-case apollo with his lyre in his hand, as lord of the strings, seemed to look askance on the music of the reed, in all the jealousy with which he put marsyas to death so cruelly. meantime, the people, even his enemies, seemed to have forgotten him. enemies, in truth, they still were, ready to take his life should the opportunity come; as he perceived when at last he ventured forth on a day of public ceremony. the bishop was to pronounce a blessing upon the foundations of a new bridge, designed to take the place of the ancient roman bridge which, repaired in a thousand places, had hitherto served for the chief passage of the yonne. it was as if the disturbing of that time-worn masonry let out the dark spectres of departed times. deep down, at the core of the central pile, a painful object was exposed--the skeleton of a child, placed there alive, it was rightly surmised, in the superstitious belief that, by way of vicarious substitution, its death would secure the safety of all who should pass over. there were some who found themselves, with a little surprise, looking round as if for a similar pledge of security in their new undertaking. it was just then that denys was seen plainly, standing, in all essential features precisely as of old, upon one of the great stones prepared for the foundation of the new building. for a moment he felt the eyes of the people upon him full of that strange humour, and with characteristic alertness, after a rapid gaze over the grey city in its broad green framework of vineyards, best seen from this spot, flung himself down into the water and disappeared from view where the stream flowed most swiftly below a row of flour-mills. some indeed fancied they had seen him emerge again safely on the deck of one of the great boats, loaded with grapes and wreathed triumphantly with flowers like a floating garden, which were then bringing down the vintage from the country; but generally the people believed their strange enemy now at last departed for ever. denys in truth was at work again in peace at the cloister, upon his house of reeds and pipes. at times his fits came upon him again; and when they came, for his cure he would dig eagerly, turned sexton now, digging, by choice, graves for the dead in the various churchyards of the town. there were those who had seen him thus employed (that form seeming still to carry something of real sun-gold upon it) peering into the darkness, while his tears fell sometimes among the grim relics his mattock had disturbed. in fact, from the day of the exhumation of the body of the saint in the great church, he had had a wonderful curiosity for such objects, and one wintry day bethought him of removing the body of his mother from the unconsecrated ground in which it lay, that he might bury it in the cloister, near the spot where he was now used to work. at twilight he came over the frozen snow. as he passed through the stony barriers of the place the world around seemed curdled to the centre--all but himself, fighting his way across it, turning now and then right-about from the persistent wind, which dealt so roughly with his blond hair and the purple mantle whirled about him. the bones, hastily gathered, he placed, awefully but without ceremony, in a hollow space prepared secretly within the grave of another. meantime the winds of his organ were ready to blow; and with difficulty he obtained grace from the chapter for a trial of its powers on a notable public occasion, as follows. a singular guest was expected at auxerre. in recompense for some service rendered to the chapter in times gone by, the sire de chastellux had the hereditary dignity of a canon of the church. on the day of his reception he presented himself at the entrance of the choir in surplice and amice, worn over the military habit. the old count of chastellux was lately dead, and the heir had announced his coming, according to custom, to claim his ecclesiastical privilege. there had been long feud between the houses of chastellux and auxerre; but on this happy occasion an offer of peace came with a proposal for the hand of the lady ariane. the goodly young man arrived, and, duly arrayed, was received into his stall at vespers, the bishop assisting. it was then that the people heard the music of the organ, rolling over them for the first time, with various feelings of delight. but the performer on and author of the instrument was forgotten in his work, and there was no re-instatement of the former favourite. the religious ceremony was followed by a civic festival, in which auxerre welcomed its future lord. the festival was to end at nightfall with a somewhat rude popular pageant, in which the person of winter would be hunted blindfold through the streets. it was the sequel to that earlier stage-play of the return from the east in which denys had been the central figure. the old forgotten player saw his part before him, and, as if mechanically, fell again into the chief place, monk's dress and all. it might restore his popularity: who could tell? hastily he donned the ashen-grey mantle, the rough haircloth about the throat, and went through the preliminary matter. and it happened that a point of the haircloth scratched his lip deeply, with a long trickling of blood upon the chin. it was as if the sight of blood transported the spectators with a kind of mad rage, and suddenly revealed to them the truth. the pretended hunting of the unholy creature became a real one, which brought out, in rapid increase, men's evil passions. the soul of denys was already at rest, as his body, now borne along in front of the crowd, was tossed hither and thither, torn at last limb from limb. the men stuck little shreds of his flesh, or, failing that, of his torn raiment, into their caps; the women lending their long hairpins for the purpose. the monk hermes sought in vain next day for any remains of the body of his friend. only, at nightfall, the heart of denys was brought to him by a stranger, still entire. it must long since have mouldered into dust under the stone, marked with a cross, where he buried it in a dark corner of the cathedral aisle. so the figure in the stained glass explained itself. to me, denys seemed to have been a real resident at auxerre. on days of a certain atmosphere, when the trace of the middle age comes out, like old marks in the stones in rainy weather, i seemed actually to have seen the tortured figure there--to have met denys l'auxerrois in the streets. chapter iii. sebastian van storck it was a winter-scene, by adrian van de velde, or by isaac van ostade. all the delicate poetry together with all the delicate comfort of the frosty season was in the leafless branches turned to silver, the furred dresses of the skaters, the warmth of the red-brick house fronts under the gauze of white fog, the gleams of pale sunlight on the cuirasses of the mounted soldiers as they receded into the distance. sebastian van storck, confessedly the most graceful performer in all that skating multitude, moving in endless maze over the vast surface of the frozen water-meadow, liked best this season of the year for its expression of a perfect impassivity, or at least of a perfect repose. the earth was, or seemed to be, at rest, with a breathlessness of slumber which suited the young man's peculiar temper. the heavy summer, as it dried up the meadows now lying dead below the ice, set free a crowded and competing world of life, which, while it gleamed very pleasantly russet and yellow for the painter albert cuyp, seemed wellnigh to suffocate sebastian van storck. yet with all his appreciation of the national winter, sebastian was not altogether a hollander. his mother, of spanish descent and catholic, had given a richness of tone and form to the healthy freshness of the dutch physiognomy, apt to preserve its youthfulness of aspect far beyond the period of life usual with other peoples. this mixed expression charmed the eye of isaac van ostade, who had painted his portrait from a sketch taken at one of those skating parties, with his plume of squirrel's tail and fur muff, in all the modest pleasantness of boyhood. when he returned home lately from his studies at a place far inland, at the proposal of his tutor, to recover, as the tutor suggested, a certain loss of robustness, something more than that cheerful indifference of early youth had passed away. the learned man, who held, as was alleged, the doctrines of a surprising new philosophy, reluctant to disturb too early the fine intelligence of the pupil entrusted to him, had found it, perhaps, a matter of honesty to send back to his parents one likely enough to catch from others any sort of theoretic light; for the letter he wrote dwelt much on the lad's intellectual fearlessness. "at present," he had written, "he is influenced more by curiosity than by a care for truth, according to the character of the young. certainly, he differs strikingly from his equals in age, by his passion for a vigorous intellectual gymnastic, such as the supine character of their minds renders distasteful to most young men, but in which he shows a fearlessness that at times makes me fancy that his ultimate destination may be the military life; for indeed the rigidly logical tendency of his mind always leads him out upon the practical. don't misunderstand me! at present, he is strenuous only intellectually; and has given no definite sign of preference, as regards a vocation in life. but he seems to me to be one practical in this sense, that his theorems will shape life for him, directly; that he will always seek, as a matter of course, the effective equivalent to--the line of being which shall be the proper continuation of--his line of thinking. this intellectual rectitude, or candour, which to my mind has a kind of beauty in it, has reacted upon myself, i confess, with a searching quality." that "searching quality," indeed, many others also, people far from being intellectual, had experienced--an agitation of mind in his neighbourhood, oddly at variance with the composure of the young man's manner and surrounding, so jealously preserved. in the crowd of spectators at the skating, whose eyes followed, so well-satisfied, the movements of sebastian van storck, were the mothers of marriageable daughters, who presently became the suitors of this rich and distinguished youth, introduced to them, as now grown to man's estate, by his delighted parents. dutch aristocracy had put forth all its graces to become the winter morn: and it was characteristic of the period that the artist tribe was there, on a grand footing,--in waiting, for the lights and shadows they liked best. the artists were, in truth, an important body just then, as a natural consequence of the nation's hard-won prosperity; helping it to a full consciousness of the genial yet delicate homeliness it loved, for which it had fought so bravely, and was ready at any moment to fight anew, against man or the sea. thomas de keyser, who understood better than any one else the kind of quaint new atticism which had found its way into the world over those waste salt marshes, wondering whether quite its finest type as he understood it could ever actually be seen there, saw it at last, in lively motion, in the person of sebastian van storck, and desired to paint his portrait. a little to his surprise, the young man declined the offer; not graciously, as was thought. holland, just then, was reposing on its laurels after its long contest with spain, in a short period of complete wellbeing, before troubles of another kind should set in. that a darker time might return again, was clearly enough felt by sebastian the elder--a time like that of william the silent, with its insane civil animosities, which would demand similarly energetic personalities, and offer them similar opportunities. and then, it was part of his honest geniality of character to admire those who "get on" in the world. himself had been, almost from boyhood, in contact with great affairs. a member of the states-general which had taken so hardly the kingly airs of frederick henry, he had assisted at the congress of munster, and figures conspicuously in terburgh's picture of that assembly, which had finally established holland as a first-rate power. the heroism by which the national wellbeing had been achieved was still of recent memory--the air full of its reverberation, and great movement. there was a tradition to be maintained; the sword by no means resting in its sheath. the age was still fitted to evoke a generous ambition; and this son, from whose natural gifts there was so much to hope for, might play his part, at least as a diplomatist, if the present quiet continued. had not the learned man said that his natural disposition would lead him out always upon practice? and in truth, the memory of that silent hero had its fascination for the youth. when, about this time, peter de keyser, thomas's brother, unveiled at last his tomb of wrought bronze and marble in the nieuwe kerk at delft, the young sebastian was one of a small company present, and relished much the cold and abstract simplicity of the monument, so conformable to the great, abstract, and unuttered force of the hero who slept beneath. in complete contrast to all that is abstract or cold in art, the home of sebastian, the family mansion of the storcks--a house, the front of which still survives in one of those patient architectural pieces by jan van der heyde--was, in its minute and busy wellbeing, like an epitome of holland itself with all the good-fortune of its "thriving genius" reflected, quite spontaneously, in the national taste. the nation had learned to content itself with a religion which told little, or not at all, on the outsides of things. but we may fancy that something of the religious spirit had gone, according to the law of the transmutation of forces, into the scrupulous care for cleanliness, into the grave, old-world, conservative beauty of dutch houses, which meant that the life people maintained in them was normally affectionate and pure. the most curious florists of holland were ambitious to supply the burgomaster van storck with the choicest products of their skill for the garden spread below the windows on either side of the portico, and along the central avenue of hoary beeches which led to it. naturally this house, within a mile of the city of haarlem, became a resort of the artists, then mixing freely in great society, giving and receiving hints as to the domestic picturesque. creatures of leisure--of leisure on both sides--they were the appropriate complement of dutch prosperity, as it was understood just then. sebastian the elder could almost have wished his son to be one of them: it was the next best thing to the being an influential publicist or statesman. the dutch had just begun to see what a picture their country was--its canals, and boompjis, and endless, broadly-lighted meadows, and thousands of miles of quaint water-side: and their painters, the first true masters of landscape for its own sake, were further informing them in the matter. they were bringing proof, for all who cared to see, of the wealth of colour there was all around them in this, supposably, sad land. above all, they developed the old low-country taste for interiors. those innumerable genre pieces--conversation, music, play--were in truth the equivalent of novel-reading for that day; its own actual life, in its own proper circumstances, reflected in various degrees of idealisation, with no diminution of the sense of reality (that is to say) but with more and more purged and perfected delightfulness of interest. themselves illustrating, as every student of their history knows, the good-fellowship of family life, it was the ideal of that life which these artists depicted; the ideal of home in a country where the preponderant interest of life, after all, could not well be out of doors. of the earth earthy--genuine red earth of the old adam--it was an ideal very different from that which the sacred italian painters had evoked from the life of italy, yet, in its best types, was not without a kind of natural religiousness. and in the achievement of a type of beauty so national and vernacular, the votaries of purely dutch art might well feel that the italianisers, like berghem, boll, and jan weenix went so far afield in vain. the fine organisation and acute intelligence of sebastian would have made him an effective connoisseur of the arts, as he showed by the justice of his remarks in those assemblies of the artists which his father so much loved. but in truth the arts were a matter he could but just tolerate. why add, by a forced and artificial production, to the monotonous tide of competing, fleeting existence? only, finding so much fine art actually about him, he was compelled (so to speak) to adjust himself to it; to ascertain and accept that in it which should least collide with, or might even carry forward a little, his own characteristic tendencies. obviously somewhat jealous of his intellectual interests, he loved inanimate nature, it might have been thought, better than man. he cared nothing, indeed, for the warm sandbanks of wynants, nor for those eerie relics of the ancient dutch woodland which survive in hobbema and ruysdael, still less for the highly-coloured sceneries of the academic band at rome, in spite of the escape they provide one into clear breadth of atmosphere. for though sebastian van storck refused to travel, he loved the distant--enjoyed the sense of things seen from a distance, carrying us, as on wide wings of space itself, far out of one's actual surrounding. his preference in the matter of art was, therefore, for those prospects a vol d'oiseau--of the caged bird on the wing at last--of which rubens had the secret, and still more philip de koninck, four of whose choicest works occupied the four walls of his chamber; visionary escapes, north, south, east, and west, into a wide-open though, it must be confessed, a somewhat sullen land. for the fourth of them he had exchanged with his mother a marvellously vivid metsu, lately bequeathed to him, in which she herself was presented. they were the sole ornaments he permitted himself. from the midst of the busy and busy-looking house, crowded with the furniture and the pretty little toys of many generations, a long passage led the rare visitor up a winding staircase, and (again at the end of a long passage) he found himself as if shut off from the whole talkative dutch world, and in the embrace of that wonderful quiet which is also possible in holland at its height all around him. it was here that sebastian could yield himself, with the only sort of love he had ever felt, to the supremacy of his difficult thoughts.--a kind of empty place! here, you felt, all had been mentally put to rights by the working-out of a long equation, which had zero is equal to zero for its result. here one did, and perhaps felt, nothing; one only thought. of living creatures only birds came there freely, the sea-birds especially, to attract and detain which there were all sorts of ingenious contrivances about the windows, such as one may see in the cottage sceneries of jan steen and others. there was something, doubtless, of his passion for distance in this welcoming of the creatures of the air. an extreme simplicity in their manner of life was, indeed, characteristic of many a distinguished hollander--william the silent, baruch de spinosa, the brothers de witt. but the simplicity of sebastian van storck was something different from that, and certainly nothing democratic. his mother thought him like one disembarrassing himself carefully, and little by little, of all impediments, habituating himself gradually to make shift with as little as possible, in preparation for a long journey. the burgomaster van storck entertained a party of friends, consisting chiefly of his favourite artists, one summer evening. the guests were seen arriving on foot in the fine weather, some of them accompanied by their wives and daughters, against the light of the low sun, falling red on the old trees of the avenue and the faces of those who advanced along it:--willem van aelst, expecting to find hints for a flower-portrait in the exotics which would decorate the banqueting-room; gerard dow, to feed his eye, amid all that glittering luxury, on the combat between candle-light and the last rays of the departing sun; thomas de keyser, to catch by stealth the likeness of sebastian the younger. albert cuyp was there, who, developing the latent gold in rembrandt, had brought into his native dordrecht a heavy wealth of sunshine, as exotic as those flowers or the eastern carpets on the burgomaster's tables, with hooch, the indoor cuyp, and willem van de velde, who painted those shore-pieces with gay ships of war, such as he loved, for his patron's cabinet. thomas de keyser came, in company with his brother peter, his niece, and young mr. nicholas stone from england, pupil of that brother peter, who afterwards married the niece. for the life of dutch artists, too, was exemplary in matters of domestic relationship, its history telling many a cheering story of mutual faith in misfortune. hardly less exemplary was the comradeship which they displayed among themselves, obscuring their own best gifts sometimes, one in the mere accessories of another man's work, so that they came together to-night with no fear of falling out, and spoiling the musical interludes of madame van storck in the large back parlour. a little way behind the other guests, three of them together, son, grandson, and the grandfather, moving slowly, came the hondecoeters--giles, gybrecht, and melchior. they led the party before the house was entered, by fading light, to see the curious poultry of the burgomaster go to roost; and it was almost night when the supper-room was reached at last. the occasion was an important one to sebastian, and to others through him. for (was it the music of the duets? he asked himself next morning, with a certain distaste as he remembered it all, or the heady spanish wines poured out so freely in those narrow but deep venetian glasses?) on this evening he approached more nearly than he had ever yet done to mademoiselle van westrheene, as she sat there beside the clavecin looking very ruddy and fresh in her white satin, trimmed with glossy crimson swans-down. so genially attempered, so warm, was life become, in the land of which pliny had spoken as scarcely dry land at all. and, in truth, the sea which sebastian so much loved, and with so great a satisfaction and sense of wellbeing in every hint of its nearness, is never far distant in holland. invading all places, stealing under one's feet, insinuating itself everywhere along an endless network of canals (by no means such formal channels as we understand by the name, but picturesque rivers, with sedgy banks and haunted by innumerable birds) its incidents present themselves oddly even in one's park or woodland walks; the ship in full sail appearing suddenly among the great trees or above the garden wall, where we had no suspicion of the presence of water. in the very conditions of life in such a country there was a standing force of pathos. the country itself shared the uncertainty of the individual human life; and there was pathos also in the constantly renewed, heavily-taxed labour, necessary to keep the native soil, fought for so unselfishly, there at all, with a warfare that must still be maintained when that other struggle with the spaniard was over. but though sebastian liked to breathe, so nearly, the sea and its influences, those were considerations he scarcely entertained. in his passion for schwindsucht--we haven't the word--he found it pleasant to think of the resistless element which left one hardly a foot-space amidst the yielding sand; of the old beds of lost rivers, surviving now only as deeper channels in the sea; of the remains of a certain ancient town, which within men's memory had lost its few remaining inhabitants, and, with its already empty tombs, dissolved and disappeared in the flood. it happened, on occasion of an exceptionally low tide, that some remarkable relics were exposed to view on the coast of the island of vleeland. a countryman's waggon overtaken by the tide, as he returned with merchandise from the shore! you might have supposed, but for a touch of grace in the construction of the thing--lightly wrought timber-work, united and adorned by a multitude of brass fastenings, like the work of children for their simplicity, while the rude, stiff chair, or throne, set upon it, seemed to distinguish it as a chariot of state. to some antiquarians it told the story of the overwhelming of one of the chiefs of the old primeval people of holland, amid all his gala array, in a great storm. but it was another view which sebastian preferred; that this object was sepulchral, namely, in its motive--the one surviving relic of a grand burial, in the ancient manner, of a king or hero, whose very tomb was wasted away.--sunt metis metae! there came with it the odd fancy that he himself would like to have been dead and gone as long ago, with a kind of envy of those whose deceasing was so long since over. on more peaceful days he would ponder pliny's account of those primeval forefathers, but without pliny's contempt for them. a cloyed roman might despise their humble existence, fixed by necessity from age to age, and with no desire of change, as "the ocean poured in its flood twice a day, making it uncertain whether the country was a part of the continent or of the sea." but for his part sebastian found something of poetry in all that, as he conceived what thoughts the old hollander might have had at his fishing, with nets themselves woven of seaweed, waiting carefully for his drink on the heavy rains, and taking refuge, as the flood rose, on the sand-hills, in a little hut constructed but airily on tall stakes, conformable to the elevation of the highest tides, like a navigator, thought the learned writer, when the sea was risen, like a ship-wrecked mariner when it was retired. for the fancy of sebastian he lived with great breadths of calm light above and around him, influenced by, and, in a sense, living upon them, and surely might well complain, though to pliny's so infinite surprise, on being made a roman citizen. and certainly sebastian van storck did not felicitate his people on the luck which, in the words of another old writer, "hath disposed them to so thriving a genius." their restless ingenuity in making and maintaining dry land where nature had willed the sea, was even more like the industry of animals than had been that life of their forefathers. away with that tetchy, feverish, unworthy agitation! with this and that, all too importunate, motive of interest! and then, "my son!" said his father, "be stimulated to action!" he, too, thinking of that heroic industry which had triumphed over nature precisely where the contest had been most difficult. yet, in truth, sebastian was forcibly taken by the simplicity of a great affection, as set forth in an incident of real life of which he heard just then. the eminent grotius being condemned to perpetual imprisonment, his wife determined to share his fate, alleviated only by the reading of books sent by friends. the books, finished, were returned in a great chest. in this chest the wife enclosed the husband, and was able to reply to the objections of the soldiers who carried it complaining of its weight, with a self-control, which she maintained till the captive was in safety, herself remaining to face the consequences; and there was a kind of absoluteness of affection in that, which attracted sebastian for a while to ponder on the practical forces which shape men's lives. had he turned, indeed, to a practical career it would have been less in the direction of the military or political life than of another form of enterprise popular with his countrymen. in the eager, gallant life of that age, if the sword fell for a moment into its sheath, they were for starting off on perilous voyages to the regions of frost and snow in search after that "north-western passage," for the discovery of which the states-general had offered large rewards. sebastian, in effect, found a charm in the thought of that still, drowsy, spellbound world of perpetual ice, as in art and life he could always tolerate the sea. admiral-general of holland, as painted by van der helst, with a marine background by backhuizen:--at moments his father could fancy him so. there was still another very different sort of character to which sebastian would let his thoughts stray, without check, for a time. his mother, whom he much resembled outwardly, a catholic from brabant, had had saints in her family, and from time to time the mind of sebastian had been occupied on the subject of monastic life, its quiet, its negation. the portrait of a certain carthusian prior, which, like the famous statue of saint bruno, the first carthusian, in the church of santa maria degli angeli at rome, could it have spoken, would have said, "silence!" kept strange company with the painted visages of men of affairs. a great theological strife was then raging in holland. grave ministers of religion assembled sometimes, as in the painted scene by rembrandt, in the burgomaster's house, and once, not however in their company, came a renowned young jewish divine, baruch de spinosa, with whom, most unexpectedly, sebastian found himself in sympathy, meeting the young jew's far-reaching thoughts half-way, to the confirmation of his own; and he did not know that his visitor, very ready with the pencil, had taken his likeness as they talked on the fly-leaf of his note-book. alive to that theological disturbance in the air all around him, he refused to be moved by it, as essentially a strife on small matters, anticipating a vagrant regret which may have visited many other minds since, the regret, namely, that the old, pensive, use-and-wont catholicism, which had accompanied the nation's earlier struggle for existence, and consoled it therein, had been taken from it. and for himself, indeed, what impressed him in that old catholicism was a kind of lull in it--a lulling power--like that of the monotonous organ-music, which holland, catholic or not, still so greatly loves. but what he could not away with in the catholic religion was its unfailing drift towards the concrete--the positive imageries of a faith, so richly beset with persons, things, historical incidents. rigidly logical in the method of his inferences, he attained the poetic quality only by the audacity with which he conceived the whole sublime extension of his premises. the contrast was a strange one between the careful, the almost petty fineness of his personal surrounding--all the elegant conventionalities of life, in that rising dutch family--and the mortal coldness of a temperament, the intellectual tendencies of which seemed to necessitate straightforward flight from all that was positive. he seemed, if one may say so, in love with death; preferring winter to summer; finding only a tranquillising influence in the thought of the earth beneath our feet cooling down for ever from its old cosmic heat; watching pleasurably how their colours fled out of things, and the long sand-bank in the sea, which had been the rampart of a town, was washed down in its turn. one of his acquaintance, a penurious young poet, who, having nothing in his pockets but the imaginative or otherwise barely potential gold of manuscript verses, would have grasped so eagerly, had they lain within his reach, at the elegant outsides of life, thought the fortunate sebastian, possessed of every possible opportunity of that kind, yet bent only on dispensing with it, certainly a most puzzling and comfortless creature. a few only, half discerning what was in his mind, would fain have shared his intellectual clearness, and found a kind of beauty in this youthful enthusiasm for an abstract theorem. extremes meeting, his cold and dispassionate detachment from all that is most attractive to ordinary minds came to have the impressiveness of a great passion. and for the most part, people had loved him; feeling instinctively that somewhere there must be the justification of his difference from themselves. it was like being in love: or it was an intellectual malady, such as pleaded for forbearance, like bodily sickness, and gave at times a resigned and touching sweetness to what he did and said. only once, at a moment of the wild popular excitement which at that period was easy to provoke in holland, there was a certain group of persons who would have shut him up as no well-wisher to, and perhaps a plotter against, the common-weal. a single traitor might cut the dykes in an hour, in the interest of the english or the french. or, had he already committed some treasonable act, who was so anxious to expose no writing of his that he left his very letters unsigned, and there were little stratagems to get specimens of his fair manuscript? for with all his breadth of mystic intention, he was persistent, as the hours crept on, to leave all the inevitable details of life at least in order, in equation. and all his singularities appeared to be summed up in his refusal to take his place in the life-sized family group (tres distingue et tres soigne remarks a modern critic of the work) painted about this time. his mother expostulated with him on the matter:--she must needs feel, a little icily, the emptiness of hope, and something more than the due measure of cold in things for a woman of her age, in the presence of a son who desired but to fade out of the world like a breath--and she suggested filial duty. "good mother," he answered, "there are duties towards the intellect also, which women can but rarely understand." the artists and their wives were come to supper again, with the burgomaster van storck. mademoiselle van westrheene was also come, with her sister and mother. the girl was by this time fallen in love with sebastian; and she was one of the few who, in spite of his terrible coldness, really loved him for himself. but though of good birth she was poor, while sebastian could not but perceive that he had many suitors of his wealth. in truth, madame van westrheene, her mother, did wish to marry this daughter into the great world, and plied many arts to that end, such as "daughterful" mothers use. her healthy freshness of mien and mind, her ruddy beauty, some showy presents that had passed, were of a piece with the ruddy colouring of the very house these people lived in; and for a moment the cheerful warmth that may be felt in life seemed to come very close to him,--to come forth, and enfold him. meantime the girl herself taking note of this, that on a former occasion of their meeting he had seemed likely to respond to her inclination, and that his father would readily consent to such a marriage, surprised him on the sudden with those coquetries and importunities, all those little arts of love, which often succeed with men. only, to sebastian they seemed opposed to that absolute nature we suppose in love. and while, in the eyes of all around him to-night, this courtship seemed to promise him, thus early in life, a kind of quiet happiness, he was coming to an estimate of the situation, with strict regard to that ideal of a calm, intellectual indifference, of which he was the sworn chevalier. set in the cold, hard light of that ideal, this girl, with the pronounced personal views of her mother, and in the very effectiveness of arts prompted by a real affection, bringing the warm life they prefigured so close to him, seemed vulgar! and still he felt himself bound in honour; or judged from their manner that she and those about them thought him thus bound. he did not reflect on the inconsistency of the feeling of honour (living, as it does essentially, upon the concrete and minute detail of social relationship) for one who, on principle, set so slight a value on anything whatever that is merely relative in its character. the guests, lively and late, were almost pledging the betrothed in the rich wine. only sebastian's mother knew; and at that advanced hour, while the company were thus intently occupied, drew away the burgomaster to confide to him the misgiving she felt, grown to a great height just then. the young man had slipped from the assembly; but certainly not with mademoiselle van westrheene, who was suddenly withdrawn also. and she never appeared again in the world. already, next day, with the rumour that sebastian had left his home, it was known that the expected marriage would not take place. the girl, indeed, alleged something in the way of a cause on her part; but seemed to fade away continually afterwards, and in the eyes of all who saw her was like one perishing of wounded pride. but to make a clean breast of her poor girlish worldliness, before she became a beguine, she confessed to her mother the receipt of the letter--the cruel letter that had killed her. and in effect, the first copy of this letter, written with a very deliberate fineness, rejecting her--accusing her, so natural, and simply loyal! of a vulgar coarseness of character--was found, oddly tacked on, as their last word, to the studious record of the abstract thoughts which had been the real business of sebastian's life, in the room whither his mother went to seek him next day, littered with the fragments of the one portrait of him in existence. the neat and elaborate manuscript volume, of which this letter formed the final page (odd transition! by which a train of thought so abstract drew its conclusion in the sphere of action) afforded at length to the few who were interested in him a much-coveted insight into the curiosity of his existence; and i pause just here to indicate in outline the kind of reasoning through which, making the "infinite" his beginning and his end, sebastian had come to think all definite forms of being, the warm pressure of life, the cry of nature itself, no more than a troublesome irritation of the surface of the one absolute mind, a passing vexatious thought or uneasy dream there, at its height of petulant importunity in the eager, human creature. the volume was, indeed, a kind of treatise to be:--a hard, systematic, well-concatenated train of thought, still implicated in the circumstances of a journal. freed from the accidents of that particular literary form with its unavoidable details of place and occasion, the theoretic strain would have been found mathematically continuous. the already so weary sebastian might perhaps never have taken in hand, or succeeded in, this detachment of his thoughts; every one of which, beginning with himself as the peculiar and intimate apprehension of this or that particular day and hour, seemed still to protest against such disturbance, as if reluctant to part from those accidental associations of the personal history which had prompted it, and so become a purely intellectual abstraction. the series began with sebastian's boyish enthusiasm for a strange, fine saying of doctor baruch de spinosa, concerning the divine love:--that whoso loveth god truly must not expect to be loved by him in return. in mere reaction against an actual surrounding of which every circumstance tended to make him a finished egotist, that bold assertion defined for him the ideal of an intellectual disinterestedness, of a domain of unimpassioned mind, with the desire to put one's subjective side out of the way, and let pure reason speak. and what pure reason affirmed in the first place, as the "beginning of wisdom," was that the world is but a thought, or a series of thoughts: that it exists, therefore, solely in mind. it showed him, as he fixed the mental eye with more and more of self-absorption on the phenomena of his intellectual existence, a picture or vision of the universe as actually the product, so far as he really knew it, of his own lonely thinking power--of himself, there, thinking: as being zero without him: and as possessing a perfectly homogeneous unity in that fact. "things that have nothing in common with each other," said the axiomatic reason, "cannot be understood or explained by means of each other." but to pure reason things discovered themselves as being, in their essence, thoughts:--all things, even the most opposite things, mere transmutations, of a single power, the power of thought. all was but conscious mind. therefore, all the more exclusively, he must minister to mind, to the intellectual power, submitting himself to the sole direction of that, whithersoever it might lead him. everything must be referred to, and, as it were, changed into the terms of that, if its essential value was to be ascertained. "joy," he said, anticipating spinosa--that, for the attainment of which men are ready to surrender all beside--"is but the name of a passion in which the mind passes to a greater perfection or power of thinking; as grief is the name of the passion in which it passes to a less." looking backward for the generative source of that creative power of thought in him, from his own mysterious intellectual being to its first cause, he still reflected, as one can but do, the enlarged pattern of himself into the vague region of hypothesis. in this way, some, at all events, would have explained his mental process. to him that process was nothing less than the apprehension, the revelation, of the greatest and most real of ideas--the true substance of all things. he, too, with his vividly-coloured existence, with this picturesque and sensuous world of dutch art and dutch reality all around that would fain have made him the prisoner of its colours, its genial warmth, its struggle for life, its selfish and crafty love, was but a transient perturbation of the one absolute mind; of which, indeed, all finite things whatever, time itself, the most durable achievements of nature and man, and all that seems most like independent energy, are no more than petty accidents or affections. theorem and corollary! thus they stood: "there can be only one substance: (corollary) it is the greatest of errors to think that the non-existent, the world of finite things seen and felt, really is: (theorem): for, whatever is, is but in that: (practical corollary): one's wisdom, therefore, consists in hastening, so far as may be, the action of those forces which tend to the restoration of equilibrium, the calm surface of the absolute, untroubled mind, to tabula rasa, by the extinction in one's self of all that is but correlative to the finite illusion--by the suppression of ourselves." in the loneliness which was gathering round him, and, oddly enough, as a somewhat surprising thing, he wondered whether there were, or had been, others possessed of like thoughts, ready to welcome any such as his veritable compatriots. and in fact he became aware just then, in readings difficult indeed, but which from their all-absorbing interest seemed almost like an illicit pleasure, a sense of kinship with certain older minds. the study of many an earlier adventurous theorist satisfied his curiosity as the record of daring physical adventure, for instance, might satisfy the curiosity of the healthy. it was a tradition--a constant tradition--that daring thought of his; an echo, or haunting recurrent voice of the human soul itself, and as such sealed with natural truth, which certain minds would not fail to heed; discerning also, if they were really loyal to themselves, its practical conclusion.--the one alone is: and all things beside are but its passing affections, which have no necessary or proper right to be. as but such "accidents" or "affections," indeed, there might have been found, within the circumference of that one infinite creative thinker, some scope for the joy and love of the creature. there have been dispositions in which that abstract theorem has only induced a renewed value for the finite interests around and within us. centre of heat and light, truly nothing has seemed to lie beyond the touch of its perpetual summer. it has allied itself to the poetical or artistic sympathy, which feels challenged to acquaint itself with and explore the various forms of finite existence all the more intimately, just because of that sense of one lively spirit circulating through all things--a tiny particle of the one soul, in the sunbeam, or the leaf. sebastian van storck, on the contrary, was determined, perhaps by some inherited satiety or fatigue in his nature, to the opposite issue of the practical dilemma. for him, that one abstract being was as the pallid arctic sun, disclosing itself over the dead level of a glacial, a barren and absolutely lonely sea. the lively purpose of life had been frozen out of it. what he must admire, and love if he could, was "equilibrium," the void, the tabula rasa, into which, through all those apparent energies of man and nature, that in truth are but forces of disintegration, the world was really settling. and, himself a mere circumstance in a fatalistic series, to which the clay of the potter was no sufficient parallel, he could not expect to be "loved in return." at first, indeed, he had a kind of delight in his thoughts--in the eager pressure forward, to whatsoever conclusion, of a rigid intellectual gymnastic, which was like the making of euclid. only, little by little, under the freezing influence of such propositions, the theoretic energy itself, and with it his old eagerness for truth, the care to track it from proposition to proposition, was chilled out of him. in fact, the conclusion was there already, and might have been foreseen, in the premises. by a singular perversity, it seemed to him that every one of those passing "affections"--he too, alas! at times--was for ever trying to be, to assert itself, to maintain its isolated and petty self, by a kind of practical lie in things; although through every incident of its hypothetic existence it had protested that its proper function was to die. surely! those transient affections marred the freedom, the truth, the beatific calm, of the absolute selfishness, which could not, if it would, pass beyond the circumference of itself; to which, at times, with a fantastic sense of wellbeing, he was capable of a sort of fanatical devotion. and those, as he conceived, were his moments of genuine theoretic insight, in which, under the abstract "perpetual light," he died to self; while the intellect, after all, had attained a freedom of its own through the vigorous act which assured him that, as nature was but a thought of his, so himself also was but the passing thought of god. no! rather a puzzle only, an anomaly, upon that one, white, unruffled consciousness! his first principle once recognised, all the rest, the whole array of propositions down to the heartless practical conclusion, must follow of themselves. detachment: to hasten hence: to fold up one's whole self, as a vesture put aside: to anticipate, by such individual force as he could find in him, the slow disintegration by which nature herself is levelling the eternal hills:--here would be the secret of peace, of such dignity and truth as there could be in a world which after all was essentially an illusion. for sebastian at least, the world and the individual alike had been divested of all effective purpose. the most vivid of finite objects, the dramatic episodes of dutch history, the brilliant personalities which had found their parts to play in them, that golden art, surrounding us with an ideal world, beyond which the real world is discernible indeed, but etherealised by the medium through which it comes to one: all this, for most men so powerful a link to existence, only set him on the thought of escape--means of escape--into a formless and nameless infinite world, quite evenly grey. the very emphasis of those objects, their importunity to the eye, the ear, the finite intelligence, was but the measure of their distance from what really is. one's personal presence, the presence, such as it is, of the most incisive things and persons around us, could only lessen by so much, that which really is. to restore tabula rasa, then, by a continual effort at self-effacement! actually proud at times of his curious, well-reasoned nihilism, he could but regard what is called the business of life as no better than a trifling and wearisome delay. bent on making sacrifice of the rich existence possible for him, as he would readily have sacrificed that of other people, to the bare and formal logic of the answer to a query (never proposed at all to entirely healthy minds) regarding the remote conditions and tendencies of that existence, he did not reflect that if others had inquired as curiously as himself the world could never have come so far at all--that the fact of its having come so far was itself a weighty exception to his hypothesis. his odd devotion, soaring or sinking into fanaticism, into a kind of religious mania, with what was really a vehement assertion of his individual will, he had formulated duty as the principle to hinder as little as possible what he called the restoration of equilibrium, the restoration of the primary consciousness to itself--its relief from that uneasy, tetchy, unworthy dream of a world, made so ill, or dreamt so weakly--to forget, to be forgotten. and at length this dark fanaticism, losing the support of his pride in the mere novelty of a reasoning so hard and dry, turned round upon him, as our fanaticism will, in black melancholy. the theoretic or imaginative desire to urge time's creeping footsteps, was felt now as the physical fatigue which leaves the book or the letter unfinished, or finishes eagerly out of hand, for mere finishing's sake, unimportant business. strange! that the presence to the mind of a metaphysical abstraction should have had this power over one so fortunately endowed for the reception of the sensible world. it could hardly have been so with him but for the concurrence of physical causes with the influences proper to a mere thought. the moralist, indeed, might have noted that a meaner kind of pride, the morbid fear of vulgarity, lent secret strength to the intellectual prejudice, which realised duty as the renunciation of all finite objects, the fastidious refusal to be or do any limited thing. but besides this it was legible in his own admissions from time to time, that the body, following, as it does with powerful temperaments, the lead of mind and the will, the intellectual consumption (so to term it) had been concurrent with, had strengthened and been strengthened by, a vein of physical phthisis--by a merely physical accident, after all, of his bodily constitution, such as might have taken a different turn, had another accident fixed his home among the hills instead of on the shore. is it only the result of disease? he would ask himself sometimes with a sudden suspicion of his intellectual cogency--this persuasion that myself, and all that surrounds me, are but a diminution of that which really is?--this unkindly melancholy? the journal, with that "cruel" letter to mademoiselle van westrheene coming as the last step in the rigid process of theoretic deduction, circulated among the curious; and people made their judgments upon it. there were some who held that such opinions should be suppressed by law; that they were, or might become, dangerous to society. perhaps it was the confessor of his mother who thought of the matter most justly. the aged man smiled, observing how, even for minds by no means superficial, the mere dress it wears alters the look of a familiar thought; with a happy sort of smile, as he added (reflecting that such truth as there was in sebastian's theory was duly covered by the propositions of his own creed, and quoting sebastian's favourite pagan wisdom from the lips of saint paul) "in him, we live, and move, and have our being." next day, as sebastian escaped to the sea under the long, monotonous line of wind-mills, in comparative calm of mind--reaction of that pleasant morning from the madness of the night before--he was making light, or trying to make light, with some success, of his late distress. he would fain have thought it a small matter, to be adequately set at rest for him by certain well-tested influences of external nature, in a long visit to the place he liked best: a desolate house, amid the sands of the helder, one of the old lodgings of his family property now, rather, of the sea-birds, and almost surrounded by the encroaching tide, though there were still relics enough of hardy, sweet things about it, to form what was to sebastian the most perfect garden in holland. here he could make "equation" between himself and what was not himself, and set things in order, in preparation towards such deliberate and final change in his manner of living as circumstances so clearly necessitated. as he stayed in this place, with one or two silent serving people, a sudden rising of the wind altered, as it might seem, in a few dark, tempestuous hours, the entire world around him. the strong wind changed not again for fourteen days, and its effect was a permanent one; so that people might have fancied that an enemy had indeed cut the dykes somewhere--a pin-hole enough to wreck the ship of holland, or at least this portion of it, which underwent an inundation of the sea the like of which had not occurred in that province for half a century. only, when the body of sebastian was found, apparently not long after death, a child lay asleep, swaddled warmly in his heavy furs, in an upper room of the old tower, to which the tide was almost risen; though the building still stood firmly, and still with the means of life in plenty. and it was in the saving of this child, with a great effort, as certain circumstances seemed to indicate, that sebastian had lost his life. his parents were come to seek him, believing him bent on self-destruction, and were almost glad to find him thus. a learned physician, moreover, endeavoured to comfort his mother by remarking that in any case he must certainly have died ere many years were passed, slowly, perhaps painfully, of a disease then coming into the world; disease begotten by the fogs of that country--waters, he observed, not in their place, "above the firmament"--on people grown somewhat over-delicate in their nature by the effects of modern luxury. chapter iv. duke carl of rosenmold one stormy season about the beginning of the present century, a great tree came down among certain moss-covered ridges of old masonry which break the surface of the rosenmold heath, exposing, together with its roots, the remains of two persons. whether the bodies (male and female, said german bone-science) had been purposely buried there was questionable. they seemed rather to have been hidden away by the accident, whatever it was, which had caused death--crushed, perhaps, under what had been the low wall of a garden--being much distorted, and lying, though neatly enough discovered by the upheaval of the soil, in great confusion. people's attention was the more attracted to the incident because popular fancy had long run upon a tradition of buried treasures, golden treasures, in or about the antiquated ruin which the garden boundary enclosed; the roofless shell of a small but solidly-built stone house, burnt or overthrown, perhaps in the time of the wars at the beginning of the eighteenth century. many persons went to visit the remains lying out on the dark, wild plateau, which stretches away above the tallest roofs of the old grand-ducal town, very distinctly outlined, on that day, in deep fluid grey against a sky still heavy with coming rain. no treasure, indeed, was forthcoming among the masses of fallen stone. but the tradition was so far verified, that the bones had rich golden ornaments about them; and for the minds of some long-remembering people their discovery set at rest an old query. it had never been precisely known what was become of the young duke carl, who disappeared from the world just a century before, about the time when a great army passed over those parts, at a political crisis, one result of which was the final absorption of his small territory in a neighbouring dominion. restless, romantic, eccentric, had he passed on with the victorious host, and taken the chances of an obscure soldier's life? certain old letters hinted at a different ending--love-letters which provided for a secret meeting, preliminary perhaps to the final departure of the young duke (who, by the usage of his realm, could only with extreme difficulty go whither, or marry whom, he pleased) to whatever worlds he had chosen, not of his own people. the minds of those still interested in the matter were now at last made up, the disposition of the remains suggesting to them the lively picture of a sullen night, the unexpected passing of the great army, and the two lovers rushing forth wildly at the sudden tumult outside their cheerful shelter, caught in the dark and trampled out so, surprised and unseen, among the horses and heavy guns. time, at the court of the grand-duke of rosenmold, at the beginning of the eighteenth century might seem to have been standing still almost since the middle age--since the days of the emperor charles the fifth, at which period, by the marriage of the hereditary grand-duke with a princess of the imperial house, a sudden tide of wealth, flowing through the grand-ducal exchequer, had left a kind of golden architectural splendour on the place, always too ample for its population. the sloping gothic roofs for carrying off the heavy snows still indented the sky--a world of tiles, with space uncurtailed for the awkward gambols of that very german goblin, hans klapper, on the long, slumberous, northern nights. whole quarryfuls of wrought stone had been piled along the streets and around the squares, and were now grown, in truth, like nature's self again, in their rough, time-worn massiveness, with weeds and wild flowers where their decay accumulated, blossoming, always the same, beyond people's memories, every summer, as the storks came back to their platforms on the remote chimney-tops. without, all was as it had been on the eve of the thirty years' war: the venerable dark-green mouldiness, priceless pearl of architectural effect, was unbroken by a single new gable. and within, human life--its thoughts, its habits, above all, its etiquette--had keen put out by no matter of excitement, political or intellectual, ever at all, one might say, at any time. the rambling grand-ducal palace was full to overflowing with furniture, which, useful or useless, was all ornamental, and none of it new. suppose the various objects, especially the contents of the haunted old lumber-rooms, duly arranged and ticketed, and their highnesses would have had a historic museum, after which those famed "green vaults" at dresden would hardly have counted as one of the glories of augustus the strong. an immense heraldry, that truly german vanity, had grown, expatiating, florid, eloquent, over everything, without and within--windows, house-fronts, church walls, and church floors. and one-half of the male inhabitants were big or little state functionaries, mostly of a quasi decorative order--the treble-singer to the town-council, the court organist, the court poet, and the like--each with his deputies and assistants, maintaining, all unbroken, a sleepy ceremonial, to make the hours just noticeable as they slipped away. at court, with a continuous round of ceremonies, which, though early in the day, must always take place under a jealous exclusion of the sun, one seemed to live in perpetual candle-light. it was in a delightful rummaging of one of those lumber-rooms, escaped from that candle-light into the broad day of the uppermost windows, that the young duke carl laid his hand on an old volume of the year , printed in heavy type, with frontispiece, perhaps, by albert duerer--ars versificandi: the art of versification: by conrad celtes. crowned poet of the emperor frederick the third, he had the right to speak on that subject; for while he vindicated as best he might old german literature against the charge of barbarism, he did also a man's part towards reviving in the fatherland the knowledge of the poetry of greece and rome; and for carl, the pearl, the golden nugget, of the volume was the sapphic ode with which it closed--to apollo, praying that he would come to us from italy, bringing his lyre with him: ad apollinem, ut ab italis cum lyra ad germanos veniat. the god of light, coming to germany from some more favoured world beyond it, over leagues of rainy hill and mountain, making soft day there: that had ever been the dream of the ghost-ridden yet deep-feeling and certainly meek german soul; of the great duerer, for instance, who had been the friend of this conrad celtes, and himself, all german as he was, like a gleam of real day amid that hyperborean german darkness--a darkness which clave to him, too, at that dim time, when there were violent robbers, nay, real live devils, in every german wood. and it was precisely the aspiration of carl himself. those verses, coming to the boy's hand at the right moment, brought a beam of effectual daylight to a whole magazine of observation, fancy, desire, stored up from the first impressions of childhood. to bring apollo with his lyre to germany! it was precisely that he, carl, desired to do--was, as he might flatter himself, actually doing. the daylight, the apolline aurora, which the young duke carl claimed to be bringing to his candle-lit people, came in the somewhat questionable form of the contemporary french ideal, in matters of art and literature--french plays, french architecture, french looking-glasses--apollo in the dandified costume of lewis the fourteenth. only, confronting the essentially aged and decrepit graces of his model with his own essentially youthful temper, he invigorated what he borrowed; and with him an aspiration towards the classical ideal, so often hollow and insincere, lost all its affectation. his doating grandfather, the reigning grand-duke, afforded readily enough, from the great store of inherited wealth which would one day be the lad's, the funds necessary for the completion of the vast unfinished residence, with "pavilions" (after the manner of the famous mansard) uniting its scattered parts; while a wonderful flowerage of architectural fancy, with broken attic roofs, passed over and beyond the earlier fabric; the later and lighter forms being in part carved adroitly out of the heavy masses of the old, honest, "stump gothic" tracery. one fault only carl found in his french models, and was resolute to correct. he would have, at least within, real marble in place of stucco, and, if he might, perhaps solid gold for gilding. there was something in the sanguine, floridly handsome youth, with his alertness of mind turned wholly, amid the vexing preoccupations of an age of war, upon embellishment and the softer things of life, which soothed the testy humours of the old duke, like the quiet physical warmth of a fire or the sun. he was ready to preside with all ceremony at a presentation of marivaux's death of hannibal, played in the original, with such imperfect mastery of the french accent as the lovers of new light in rosenmold had at command, in a theatre copied from that at versailles, lined with pale yellow satin, and with a picture, amid the stucco braveries of the ceiling, of the septentrional apollo himself, in somewhat watery red and blue. innumerable wax lights in cut-glass lustres were a thing of course. duke carl himself, attired after the newest french fashion, played the part of hannibal. the old duke, indeed, at a council-board devoted hitherto to matters of state, would nod very early in certain long discussions on matters of art--magnificent schemes, from this or that eminent contractor, for spending his money tastefully, distinguishings of the rococo and the baroque. on the other hand, having been all his life in close intercourse with select humanity, self-conscious and arrayed for presentation, he was a helpful judge of portraits and the various degrees of the attainment of truth therein--a phase of fine art which the grandson could not value too much. the sergeant-painter and the deputy sergeant-painter were, indeed, conventional performers enough; as mechanical in their dispensation of wigs, finger-rings, ruffles, and simpers, as the figure of the armed knight who struck the bell in the residence tower. but scattered through its half-deserted rooms, state bed-chambers and the like, hung the works of more genuine masters, still as unadulterate as the hock, known to be two generations old, in the grand-ducal cellar. the youth had even his scheme of inviting the illustrious antony coppel to the court; to live there, if he would, with the honours and emoluments of a prince of the blood. the illustrious mansard had actually promised to come, had not his sudden death taken him away from earthly glory. and at least, if one must forgo the masters, masterpieces might be had for their price. for ten thousand marks--day ever to be remembered!--a genuine work of "the urbinate," from the cabinet of a certain commercially-minded italian grand-duke, was on its way to rosenmold, anxiously awaited as it came over rainy mountain-passes, and along the rough german roads, through doubtful weather. the tribune, the throne itself, were made ready in the presence-chamber, with hangings in the grand-ducal colours, laced with gold, together with a speech and an ode. late at night, at last, the waggon was heard rumbling into the courtyard, with the guest arrived in safety, but, if one must confess one's self, perhaps forbidding at first sight. from a comfortless portico, with all the grotesqueness of the middle age, supported by brown, aged bishops, whose meditations no incident could distract, our lady looked out no better than an unpretending nun, with nothing to say the like of which one was used to hear. certainly one was not stimulated by, enwrapped, absorbed in the great master's doings; only, with much private disappointment, put on one's mettle to defend him against critics notoriously wanting in sensibility, and against one's self. in truth, the painter whom carl most unaffectedly enjoyed, the real vigour of his youthful and somewhat animal taste finding here its proper sustenance, was rubens--rubens reached, as he is reached at his best, in well-preserved family portraits, fresh, gay, ingenious, as of privileged young people who could never grow old. had not he, too, brought something of the splendour of a "better land" into those northern regions; if not the glowing gold of titian's italian sun, yet the carnation and yellow of roses or tulips, such as might really grow there with cultivation, even under rainy skies? and then, about this time something was heard at the grand-ducal court of certain mysterious experiments in the making of porcelain; veritable alchemy, for the turning of clay into gold. the reign of dresden china was at hand, with one's own world of little men and women more delightfully diminutive still, amid imitations of artificial flowers. the young duke braced himself for a plot to steal the gifted herr boettcher from his enforced residence, as if in prison, at the fortress of meissen. why not bring pots and wheels to rosenmold, and prosecute his discoveries there? the grand-duke, indeed, preferred his old service of gold plate, and would have had the lad a virtuoso in nothing less costly than gold--gold snuff-boxes. for, in truth, regarding what belongs to art or culture, as elsewhere, we may have a large appetite and little to feed on. only, in the things of the mind, the appetite itself counts for so much, at least in hopeful, unobstructed youth, with the world before it. "you are the apollo you tell us of, the northern apollo," people were beginning to say to him, surprised from time to time by a mental purpose beyond their guesses--expressions, liftings, softly gleaming or vehement lights, in the handsome countenance of the youth, and his effective speech, as he roamed, inviting all about him to share the honey, from music to painting, from painting to the drama, all alike florid in style, yes! and perhaps third-rate. and so far consistently throughout he had held that the centre of one's intellectual system must be understood to be in france. he had thoughts of proceeding to that country, secretly, in person, there to attain the very impress of its genius. meantime, its more portable flowers came to order in abundance. that the roses, so to put it, were but excellent artificial flowers, redolent only of musk, neither disproved for carl the validity of his ideal nor for our minds the vocation of carl himself in these matters. in art, as in all other things of the mind, again, much depends on the receiver; and the higher informing capacity, if it exist within, will mould an unpromising matter to itself, will realise itself by selection, and the preference of the better in what is bad or indifferent, asserting its prerogative under the most unlikely conditions. people had in carl, could they have understood it, the spectacle, under those superficial braveries, of a really heroic effort of mind at a disadvantage. that rococo seventeenth-century french imitation of the true renaissance, called out in carl a boundless enthusiasm, as the italian original had done two centuries before. he put into his reception of the aesthetic achievements of lewis the fourteenth what young france had felt when francis the first brought home the great da vinci and his works. it was but himself truly, after all, that he had found, so fresh and real, among those artificial roses. he was thrown the more upon such outward and sensuous products of mind--architecture, pottery, presently on music--because for him, with so large intellectual capacity, there was, to speak properly, no literature in his mother-tongue. books there were, german books, but of a dulness, a distance from the actual interests of the warm, various, coloured life around and within him, to us hardly conceivable. there was more entertainment in the natural train of his own solitary thoughts, humoured and rightly attuned by pleasant visible objects, than in all the books he had hunted through so carefully for that all-searching intellectual light, of which a passing gleam of interest gave fallacious promise here or there. and still, generously, he held to the belief, urging him to fresh endeavour, that the literature which might set heart and mind free must exist somewhere, though court librarians could not say where. in search for it he spent many days in those old book-closets where he had lighted on the latin ode of conrad celtes. was german literature always to remain no more than a kind of penal apparatus for the teasing of the brain? oh for a literature set free, conterminous with the interests of life itself. in music, it might be thought, germany had already vindicated its spiritual liberty. one and another of those north-german towns were already aware of the youthful sebastian bach. the first notes had been heard of a music not borrowed from france, but flowing, as naturally as springs from their sources, out of the ever musical soul of germany itself. and the duke carl was a sincere lover of music, himself playing melodiously on the violin to a delighted court. that new germany of the spirit would be builded, perhaps, to the sound of music. in those other artistic enthusiasms, as the prophet of the french drama or the architectural taste of lewis the fourteenth, he had contributed himself generously, helping out with his own good-faith the inadequacy of their appeal. music alone hitherto had really helped him, and taken him out of himself. to music, instinctively, more and more he was dedicate; and in his desire to refine and organise the court music, from which, by leave of absence to official performers enjoying their salaries at a distance, many parts had literally fallen away, like the favourite notes of a worn-out spinet, he was ably seconded by a devoted youth, the deputy organist of the grand-ducal chapel. a member of the roman church amid a people chiefly of the reformed religion, duke carl would creep sometimes into the curtained court pew of the lutheran church, to which he had presented its massive golden crucifix, to listen to the chorales, the execution of which he had managed to time to his liking, relishing, he could hardly explain why, those passages of a pleasantly monotonous and, as it might seem, unending melody--which certainly never came to what could rightly be called an ending here on earth; and having also a sympathy with the cheerful genius of dr. martin luther, with his good tunes, and that ringing laughter which sent dull goblins flitting. at this time, then, his mind ran eagerly for awhile on the project of some musical and dramatic development of a fancy suggested by that old latin poem of conrad celtes--the hyperborean apollo, sojourning, in the revolutions of time, in the sluggish north for a season, yet apollo still, prompting art, music, poetry, and the philosophy which interprets man's life, making a sort of intercalary day amid the natural darkness; not meridian day, of course, but a soft derivative daylight, good enough for us. it would be necessarily a mystic piece, abounding in fine touches, suggestions, innuendoes. his vague proposal was met half-way by the very practical executant power of his friend or servant, the deputy organist, already pondering, with just a satiric flavour (suppressible in actual performance, if the time for that should ever come) a musical work on duke carl himself; balder, an interlude. he was contented to re-cast and enlarge the part of the northern god of light, with a now wholly serious intention. but still, the near, the real and familiar, gave precision to, or actually superseded, the distant and the ideal. the soul of the music was but a transfusion from the fantastic but so interesting creature close at hand. and carl was certainly true to his proposed part in that he gladdened others by an intellectual radiance which had ceased to mean warmth or animation for himself. for him the light was still to seek in france, in italy, above all in old greece, amid the precious things which might yet be lurking there unknown, in art, in poetry, perhaps in very life, till prince fortunate should come. yes! it was thither, to greece, that his thoughts were turned during those romantic classical musings while the opera was made ready. that, in due time, was presented, with sufficient success. meantime, his purpose was grown definite to visit that original country of the muses, from which the pleasant things of italy had been but derivative; to brave the difficulties in the way of leaving home at all, the difficulties also of access to greece, in the present condition of the country. at times the fancy came that he must really belong by descent to a southern race, that a physical cause might lie beneath this strange restlessness, like the imperfect reminiscence of something that had passed in earlier life. the aged ministers of heraldry were set to work (actually prolonging their days by an unexpected revival of interest in their too well-worn function) at the search for some obscure rivulet of greek descent--later byzantine greek, perhaps,--in the rosenmold genealogy. no! with a hundred quarterings, they were as indigenous, incorruptible heraldry reasserted, as the old yew-trees' asquat on the heath. and meantime those dreams of remote and probably adventurous travel lent the youth, still so healthy of body, a wing for more distant expeditions than he had ever yet inclined to, among his own wholesome german woodlands. in long rambles, afoot or on horseback, by day and night, he flung himself, for the resettling of his sanity, on the cheerful influences of their simple imagery; the hawks, as if asleep on the air below him; the bleached crags, evoked by late sunset among the dark oaks; the water-wheels, with their pleasant murmur, in the foldings of the hillside. clouds came across his heaven, little sudden clouds, like those which in this northern latitude, where summer is at best but a flighty visitor, chill out the heart, though but for a few minutes at a time, of the warmest afternoon. he had fits of the gloom of other people--their dull passage through and exit from the world, the threadbare incidents of their lives, their dismal funerals--which, unless he drove them away immediately by strenuous exercise, settled into a gloom more properly his own. yet at such times outward things also would seem to concur unkindly in deepening the mental shadow about him, almost as if there were indeed animation in the natural world, elfin spirits in those inaccessible hillsides and dark ravines, as old german poetry pretended, cheerfully assistant sometimes, but for the most part troublesome, to their human kindred. of late these fits had come somewhat more frequently, and had continued. often it was a weary, deflowered face that his favourite mirrors reflected. yes! people were prosaic, and their lives threadbare:---all but himself and organist max, perhaps, and fritz the treble-singer. in return, the people in actual contact with him thought him a little mad, though still ready to flatter his madness, as he could detect. alone with the doating old grandfather in their stiff, distant, alien world of etiquette, he felt surrounded by flatterers, and would fain have tested the sincerity even of max, and fritz who said, echoing the words of the other, "yourself, sire, are the apollo of germany!" it was his desire to test the sincerity of the people about him, and unveil flatterers, which in the first instance suggested a trick he played upon the court, upon all europe. in that complex but wholly teutonic genealogy lately under research, lay a much-prized thread of descent from the fifth emperor charles, and carl, under direction, read with much readiness to be impressed all that was attainable concerning the great ancestor, finding there in truth little enough to reward his pains. one hint he took, however. he determined to assist at his own obsequies. that he might in this way facilitate that much-desired journey occurred to him almost at once as an accessory motive, and in a little while definite motives were engrossed in the dramatic interest, the pleasing gloom, the curiosity, of the thing itself. certainly, amid the living world in germany, especially in old, sleepy rosenmold, death made great parade of itself. youth even, in its sentimental mood, was ready to indulge in the luxury of decay, and amuse itself with fancies of the tomb; as in periods of decadence or suspended progress, when the world seems to nap for a time, artifices for the arrest or disguise of old age are adopted as a fashion, and become the fopperies of the young. the whole body of carl's relations, saving the drowsy old grandfather, already lay buried beneath their expansive heraldries: at times the whole world almost seemed buried thus--made and re-made of the dead--its entire fabric of politics, of art, of custom, being essentially heraldic "achievements," dead men's mementoes such as those. you see he was a sceptical young man, and his kinsmen dead and gone had passed certainly, in his imaginations of them, into no other world, save, perhaps, into some stiffer, slower, sleepier, and more pompous phase of ceremony--the last degree of court etiquette--as they lay there in the great, low-pitched, grand-ducal vault, in their coffins, dusted once a year for all souls' day, when the court officials descended thither, and mass for the dead was sung, amid an array of dropping crape and cobwebs. the lad, with his full red lips and open blue eyes, coming as with a great cup in his hands to life's feast, revolted from the like of that, as from suffocation. and still the suggestion of it was everywhere. in the garish afternoon, up to the wholesome heights of the heiligenberg suddenly from one of the villages of the plain came the grinding death-knell. it seemed to come out of the ugly grave itself, and enjoyment was dead. on his way homeward sadly, an hour later, he enters by chance the open door of a village church, half buried in the tangle of its churchyard. the rude coffin is lying there of a labourer who had but a hovel to live in. the enemy dogged one's footsteps! the young carl seemed to be flying, not from death simply, but from assassination. and as these thoughts sent him back in the rebounding power of youth, with renewed appetite, to life and sense, so, grown at last familiar, they gave additional purpose to his fantastic experiment. had it not been said by a wise man that after all the offence of death was in its trappings? well! he would, as far as might be, try the thing, while, presumably, a large reversionary interest in life was still his. he would purchase his freedom, at least of those gloomy "trappings," and listen while he was spoken of as dead. the mere preparations gave pleasant proof of the devotion to him of a certain number, who entered without question into his plans. it is not difficult to mislead the world concerning what happens to those who live at the artificial distance from it of a court, with its high wall of etiquette. however the matter was managed, no one doubted, when, with a blazon of ceremonious words, the court news went forth that, after a brief illness, according to the way of his race, the hereditary grand-duke was deceased. in momentary regret, bethinking them of the lad's taste for splendour, those to whom the arrangement of such matters belonged (the grandfather now sinking deeper into bare quiescence) backed by the popular wish, determined to give him a funeral with even more than grand-ducal measure of lugubrious magnificence. the place of his repose was marked out for him as officiously as if it had been the delimitation of a kingdom, in the ducal burial vault, through the cobwebbed windows of which, from the garden where he played as a child, the young duke had often peered at the faded glories of the immense coroneted coffins, the oldest shedding their velvet tatters around them. surrounded by the whole official world of rosenmold, arrayed for the occasion in almost forgotten dresses of ceremony as if for a masquerade, the new coffin glided from the fragrant chapel where the requiem was sung, down the broad staircase lined with peach-colour and yellow marble, into the shadows below. carl himself, disguised as a strolling musician, had followed it across the square through a drenching rain, on which circumstance he overheard the old people congratulate the "blessed" dead within, had listened to a dirge of his own composing brought out on the great organ with much bravura by his friend, the new court organist, who was in the secret, and that night turned the key of the garden entrance to the vault, and peeped in upon the sleepy, painted, and bewigged young pages whose duty it would be for a certain number of days to come to watch beside their late master's couch. and a certain number of weeks afterwards it was known that "the mad duke" had reappeared, to the dismay of court marshals. things might have gone hard with the youth had the strange news, at first as fantastic rumour, then as matter of solemn enquiry, lastly as ascertained fact, pleasing or otherwise, been less welcome than it was to the grandfather, too old, indeed, to sorrow deeply, but grown so decrepit as to propose that ministers should possess themselves of the person of the young duke, proclaim him of age and regent. from those dim travels, presenting themselves to the old man, who had never been fifty miles away from home, as almost lunar in their audacity, he would come back--come back "in time," he murmured faintly, eager to feel that youthful, animating life on the stir about him once more. carl himself, now the thing was over, greatly relishing its satiric elements, must be forgiven the trick of the burial and his still greater enormity in coming to life again. and then, duke or no duke, it was understood that he willed that things should in no case be precisely as they had been. he would never again be quite so near people's lives as in the past--a fitful, intermittent visitor--almost as if he had been properly dead; the empty coffin remaining as a kind of symbolical "coronation incident," setting forth his future relations to his subjects. of all those who believed him dead one human creature only, save the grandfather, had sincerely sorrowed for him; a woman, in tears as the funeral train passed by, with whom he had sympathetically discussed his own merits. till then he had forgotten the incident which had exhibited him to her as the very genius of goodness and strength; how, one day, driving with her country produce into the market, and, embarrassed by the crowd, she had broken one of a hundred little police rules, whereupon the officers were about to carry her away to be fined, or worse, amid the jeers of the bystanders, always ready to deal hardly with "the gipsy," at which precise moment the tall duke carl, like the flash of a trusty sword, had leapt from the palace stair and caused her to pass on in peace. she had half detected him through his disguise; in due time news of his reappearance had been ceremoniously carried to her in her little cottage, and the remembrance of her hung about him not ungratefully, as he went with delight upon his way. the first long stage of his journey over, in headlong flight night and day, he found himself one summer morning under the heat of what seemed a southern sun, at last really at large on the bergstrasse, with the rich plain of the palatinate on his left hand; on the right hand vineyards, seen now for the first time, sloping up into the crisp beeches of the odenwald. by weinheim only an empty tower remained of the castle of windeck. he lay for the night in the great whitewashed guest-chamber of the capuchin convent. the national rivers, like the national woods, have a family likeness: the main, the lahn, the moselle, the neckar, the rhine. by help of such accommodation as chance afforded, partly on the stream itself, partly along the banks, he pursued the leisurely winding course of one of the prettiest of these, tarrying for awhile in the towns, grey, white, or red, which came in his way, tasting their delightful native "little" wines, peeping into their old overloaded churches, inspecting the church furniture, or trying the organs. for three nights he slept, warm and dry, on the hay stored in a deserted cloister, and, attracted into the neighbouring minster for a snatch of church music, narrowly escaped detection. by miraculous chance the grimmest lord of rosenmold was there within, recognised the youth and his companions--visitors naturally conspicuous, amid the crowd of peasants around them--and for some hours was upon their traces. after unclean town streets the country air was a perfume by contrast, or actually scented with pinewoods. one seemed to breathe with it fancies of the woods, the hills, and water--of a sort of souls in the landscape, but cheerful and genial now, happy souls! a distant group of pines on the verge of a great upland awoke a violent desire to be there--seemed to challenge one to proceed thither. was their infinite view thence? it was like an outpost of some far-off fancy land, a pledge of the reality of such. above cassel, the airy hills curved in one black outline against a glowing sky, pregnant, one could fancy, with weird forms, which might be at their old diableries again on those remote places ere night was quite come there. at last in the streets, the hundred churches, of cologne, he feels something of a "gothic" enthusiasm, and all a german's enthusiasm for the rhine. through the length and breadth of the rhine country the vintage was begun. the red ruins on the heights, the white-walled villages, white saint nepomuc upon the bridges, were but isolated high notes of contrast in a landscape, sleepy and indistinct under the flood of sunshine, with a headiness in it like that of must, of the new wine. the noise of the vineyards came through the lovely haze, still, at times, with the sharp sound of a bell--death-bell, perhaps, or only a crazy summons to the vintagers. and amid those broad, willowy reaches of the rhine at length, from bingen to mannheim, where the brown hills wander into airy, blue distance, like a little picture of paradise, he felt that france was at hand. before him lay the road thither, easy and straight.--that well of light so close! but, unexpectedly, the capricious incidence of his own humour with the opportunity did not suggest, as he would have wagered it must, "go, drink at once!" was it that france had come to be of no account at all, in comparison of italy, of greece? or that, as he passed over the german land, the conviction had come, "for you, france, italy, hellas, is here!"--that some recognition of the untried spiritual possibilities of meek germany had for carl transferred the ideal land out of space beyond the alps or the rhine, into future time, whither he must be the leader? a little chilly of humour, in spite of his manly strength, he was journeying partly in search of physical heat. to-day certainly, in this great vineyard, physical heat was about him in measure sufficient, at least for a german constitution. might it be not otherwise with the imaginative, the intellectual, heat and light; the real need being that of an interpreter--apollo, illuminant rather as the revealer than as the bringer of light? with large belief that the eclaircissement, the aufklaerung (he had already found the name for the thing) would indeed come, he had been in much bewilderment whence and how. here, he began to see that it could be in no other way than by action of informing thought upon the vast accumulated material of which germany was in possession: art, poetry, fiction, an entire imaginative world, following reasonably upon a deeper understanding of the past, of nature, of one's self--an understanding of all beside through the knowledge of one's self. to understand, would be the indispensable first step towards the enlargement of the great past, of one's little present, by criticism, by imagination. then, the imprisoned souls of nature would speak as of old. the middle age, in germany, where the past has had such generous reprisals, never far from us, would reassert its mystic spell, for the better understanding of our raffaelle. the spirits of distant hellas would reawake in the men and women of little german towns. distant times, the most alien thoughts, would come near together, as elements in a great historic symphony. a kind of ardent, new patriotism awoke in him, sensitive for the first time at the words national poesy, national art and literature, german philosophy. to the resources of the past, of himself, of what was possible for german mind, more and more his mind opens as he goes on his way. a free, open space had been determined, which something now to be created, created by him, must occupy. "only," he thought, "if i had coadjutors! if these thoughts would awake in but one other mind?" at strasbourg, with its mountainous goblin houses, nine stories high, grouped snugly, in the midst of that inclement plain, like a great stork's nest around the romantic red steeple of its cathedral, duke carl became fairly captive to the middle age. tarrying there week after week he worked hard, but (without a ray of light from others) in one long mistake, at the chronology and history of the coloured windows. antiquity's very self seemed expressed there, on the visionary images of king or patriarch, in the deeply incised marks of character, the hoary hair, the massive proportions, telling of a length of years beyond what is lived now. surely, past ages, could one get at the historic soul of them, were not dead but living, rich in company, for the entertainment, the expansion, of the present; and duke carl was still without suspicion of the cynic afterthought that such historic soul was but an arbitrary substitution, a generous loan of one's self. the mystic soul of nature laid hold on him next, saying, "come! understand, interpret me!" he was awakened one morning by the jingle of sledge-bells along the street beneath his windows. winter had descended betimes from the mountains: the pale rhine below the bridge of boats on the long way to kehl was swollen with ice, and for the first time he realised that switzerland was at hand. on a sudden he was captive to the enthusiasm of the mountains, and hastened along the valley of the rhine by alt breisach and basle, unrepelled by a thousand difficulties, to swiss farmhouses and lonely villages, solemn still, and untouched by strangers. at grindelwald, sleeping at last in the close neighbourhood of the greater alps, he had the sense of an overbrooding presence, of some strange new companions around him. here one might yield one's self to the unalterable imaginative appeal of the elements in their highest force and simplicity--light, air, water, earth. on very early spring days a mantle was suddenly lifted; the alps were an apex of natural glory, towards which, in broadening spaces of light, the whole of europe sloped upwards. through them, on the right hand, as he journeyed on, were the doorways to italy, to como or venice, from yonder peak italy's self was visible!--as, on the left hand, in the south-german towns, in a high-toned, artistic fineness, in the dainty, flowered ironwork for instance, the overflow of italian genius was traceable. these things presented themselves at last only to remind him that, in a new intellectual hope, he was already on his way home. straight through life, straight through nature and man, with one's own self-knowledge as a light thereon, not by way of the geographical italy or greece, lay the road to the new hellas, to be realised now as the outcome of home-born german genius. at times, in that early fine weather, looking now not southwards, but towards germany, he seemed to trace the outspread of a faint, not wholly natural, aurora over the dark northern country. and it was in an actual sunrise that the news came which finally put him on the directest road homewards. one hardly dared breathe in the rapid uprise of all-embracing light which seemed like the intellectual rising of the fatherland, when up the straggling path to his high beech-grown summit (was one safe nowhere?) protesting over the roughness of the way, came the too familiar voices (ennui itself made audible) of certain high functionaries of rosenmold, come to claim their new sovereign, close upon the runaway. bringing news of the old duke's decease! with a real grief at his heart, he hastened now over the ground which lay between him and the bed of death, still trying, at quieter intervals, to snatch profit by the way; peeping, at the most unlikely hours, on the objects of his curiosity, waiting for a glimpse of dawn through glowing church windows, penetrating into old church treasuries by candle-light, taxing the old courtiers to pant up, for "the view," to this or that conspicuous point in the world of hilly woodland. from one such at last, in spite of everything with pleasure to carl, old rosenmold was visible--the attic windows of the residence, the storks on the chimneys, the green copper roofs baking in the long, dry german summer. the homeliness of true old germany! he too felt it, and yearned towards his home. and the "beggar-maid" was there. thoughts of her had haunted his mind all the journey through, as he was aware, not unpleased, graciously overflowing towards any creature he found dependent upon him. the mere fact that she was awaiting him, at his disposition, meekly, and as though through his long absence she had never quitted the spot on which he had said farewell, touched his fancy, and on a sudden concentrated his wavering preference into a practical decision. "king cophetua" would be hers. and his goodwill sunned her wild-grown beauty into majesty, into a kind of queenly richness. there was natural majesty in the heavy waves of golden hair folded closely above the neck, built a little massively; and she looked kind, beseeching also, capable of sorrow. she was like clear sunny weather, with bluebells and the green leaves, between rainy days, and seemed to embody die ruh auf dem gipfel--all the restful hours he had spent of late in the wood-sides and on the hilltops. one june day, on which she seemed to have withdrawn into herself all the tokens of summer, brought decision to our lover of artificial roses, who had cared so little hitherto for the like of her. grand-duke perforce, he would make her his wife, and had already re-assured her with lively mockery of his horrified ministers. "go straight to life!" said his new poetic code; and here was the opportunity;--here, also, the real "adventure," in comparison of which his previous efforts that way seemed childish theatricalities, fit only to cheat a little the profound ennui of actual life. in a hundred stolen interviews she taught the hitherto indifferent youth the art of love. duke carl had effected arrangements for his marriage, secret, but complete and soon to be made public. long since he had cast complacent eyes on a strange architectural relic, an old grange or hunting-lodge on the heath, with he could hardly have defined what charm of remoteness and old romance. popular belief amused itself with reports of the wizard who inhabited or haunted the place, his fantastic treasures, his immense age. his windows might be seen glittering afar on stormy nights, with a blaze of golden ornaments, said the more adventurous loiterer. it was not because he was suspicious still, but in a kind of wantonness of affection, and as if by way of giving yet greater zest to the luxury of their mutual trust that duke carl added to his announcement of the purposed place and time of the event a pretended test of the girl's devotion. he tells her the story of the aged wizard, meagre and wan, to whom she must find her way alone for the purpose of asking a question all-important to himself. the fierce old man will try to escape with terrible threats, will turn, or half turn, into repulsive animals. she must cling the faster; at last the spell will be broken; he will yield, he will become a youth once more, and give the desired answer. the girl, otherwise so self-denying, and still modestly anxious for a private union, not to shame his high position in the world, had wished for one thing at least--to be loved amid the splendours habitual to him. duke carl sends to the old lodge his choicest personal possessions. for many days the public is aware of something on hand; a few get delightful glimpses of the treasures on their way to "the place on the heath." was he preparing against contingencies, should the great army, soon to pass through these parts, not leave the country as innocently as might be desired? the short grey day seemed a long one to those who, for various reasons, were waiting anxiously for the darkness; the court people fretful and on their mettle, the townsfolk suspicious, duke carl full of amorous longing. at her distant cottage beyond the hills, gretchen kept herself ready for the trial. it was expected that certain great military officers would arrive that night, commanders of a victorious host making its way across northern germany, with no great respect for the rights of neutral territory, often dealing with life and property too rudely to find the coveted treasure. it was but one episode in a cruel war. duke carl did not wait for the grandly illuminated supper prepared for their reception. events precipitated themselves. those officers came as practically victorious occupants, sheltering themselves for the night in the luxurious rooms of the great palace. the army was in fact in motion close behind its leaders, who (gretchen warm and happy in the arms, not of the aged wizard, but of the youthful lover) are discussing terms for the final absorption of the duchy with those traitorous old councillors. at their delicate supper duke carl amuses his companion with caricature, amid cries of cheerful laughter, of the sleepy courtiers entertaining their martial guests in all their pedantic politeness, like people in some farcical dream. a priest, and certain chosen friends to witness the marriage, were to come ere nightfall to the grange. the lovers heard, as they thought, the sound of distant thunder. the hours passed as they waited, and what came at last was not the priest with his companions. could they have been detained by the storm? duke carl gently re-assures the girl--bids her believe in him, and wait. but through the wind, grown to tempest, beyond the sound of the violent thunder--louder than any possible thunder--nearer and nearer comes the storm of the victorious army, like some disturbance of the earth itself, as they flee into the tumult, out of the intolerable confinement and suspense, dead-set upon them. the enlightening, the aufklaerung, according to the aspiration of duke carl, was effected by other hands; lessing and herder, brilliant precursors of the age of genius which centered in goethe, coming well within the natural limits of carl's lifetime. as precursors goethe gratefully recognised them, and understood that there had been a thousand others, looking forward to a new era in german literature with the desire which is in some sort a "forecast of capacity," awakening each other to the permanent reality of a poetic ideal in human life, slowly forming that public consciousness to which goethe actually addressed himself. it is their aspirations i have tried to embody in the portrait of carl. "a hard winter had covered the main with a firm footing of ice. the liveliest social intercourse was quickened thereon. i was unfailing from early morning onwards; and, being lightly clad, found myself, when my mother drove up later to look on, fairly frozen. my mother sat in the carriage, quite stately in her furred cloak of red velvet, fastened on the breast with thick gold cord and tassels. "'dear mother,' i said, on the spur of the moment, 'give me your furs, i am frozen.' "she was equally ready. in a moment i had on the cloak. falling below the knee, with its rich trimming of sables, and enriched with gold, it became me excellently. so clad i made my way up and down with a cheerful heart." that was goethe, perhaps fifty years later. his mother also related the incident to bettina brentano;--"there, skated my son, like an arrow among the groups. away he went over the ice like a son of the gods. anything so beautiful is not to be seen now. i clapped my hands for joy. never shall i forget him as he darted out from one arch of the bridge, and in again under the other, the wind carrying the train behind him as he flew." in that amiable figure i seem to see the fulfilment of the resurgam on carl's empty coffin--the aspiring soul of carl himself, in freedom and effective, at last. none none proofreading team. html version by al haines. frederick the great and his court an historical romance by l. muhlbach author of joseph ii. and his court translated from the german by mrs. chapman coleman and her daughters contents. book i. chapter i. the queen sophia dorothea, ii. frederick william i., iii. the tobacco club, iv. air-castles, v. father and son, vi. the white saloon, vii. the maid of honor and the gardener, viii. von manteuffel, the diplomat, ix. frederick, the prince royal, x. the prince royal and the jew, xi. the princess royal elizabeth christine, xii. the poem, xiii. the banquet, xiv. le roi est mort. vive le roi! xv. we are king, xvi. royal grace and royal displeasure, book ii. i. the garden of monbijou, ii. the queen's maid of honor. iii. prince augustus william, iv. the king and the son, v. the queen's tailor, vi. the illustrious ancestors of a tailor, vii. soffri e taci, viii. the coronation, ix. dorris ritter, x. old and new sufferings, xi. the proposal of marriage, xii. the queen as a matrimonial agent, xiii. proposal of marriage, xiv. the misunderstanding, xv. soiree of the queen dowager, xvi. under the lindens, xvii. the politician and the french tailor, xviii. the double rendezvous, book iii. i. the intriguing courtiers, ii. the king and the secretary of the treasury, iii. the undeceived courtier, iv. the bridal pair, v. the french and german tailors, or the montagues and capulets of berlin, vi. in rheinsberg, vii. the king and his friend, viii. the farewell audience of marquis von botter, the austrian ambassador, ix. the masquerade, x. the maskers, xi. reward and punishment, xii. the return, xiii. the death of the old time, xiv. the discovery, xv. the countermine, xvi. the surprise, xvii. the resignation of baron von pollnitz, frederick the great and his court. book i. chapter i. the queen sophia dorothea. the palace glittered with light and splendor; the servants ran here and there, arranging the sofas and chairs; the court gardener cast a searching glance at the groups of flowers which he had placed in the saloons; and the major domo superintended the tables in the picture gallery. the guests of the queen will enjoy to-night a rich and costly feast. every thing wore the gay and festive appearance which, in the good old times, the king's palace in berlin had been wont to exhibit. jesting and merrymaking were the order of the day, and even the busy servants were good-humored and smiling, knowing that this evening there was no danger of blows and kicks, of fierce threats and trembling terror. happily the king could not appear at this ball, which he had commanded sophia to give to the court and nobility of berlin. the king was ill, the gout chained him to his chamber, and during the last few sleepless nights a presentiment weighed upon the spirit of the ruler of prussia. he felt that the reign of frederick the first would soon be at an end; that the doors of his royal vault would soon open to receive a kingly corpse, and a new king would mount the throne of prussia. this last thought filled the heart of the king with rage and bitterness. frederick william would not die! he would not that his son should reign in his stead; that this weak, riotous youth, this dreamer, surrounded in rheinsberg with poets and musicians, sowing flowers and composing ballads, should take the place which frederick the first had filled so many years with glory and great results. prussia had no need of this sentimental boy, this hero of fashion, who adorned himself like a french fop, and preferred the life of a sybarite, in his romantic castle, to the battle-field and the night-parade; who found the tones of his flute sweeter than the sounds of trumpets and drums; who declared that there were not only kings by "the grace of god, but kings by the power of genius and intellect, and that voltaire was as great a king--yes, greater than all the kings anointed by the pope!" what use has prussia for such a sovereign? no, frederick william would not, could not die! his son should not reign in prussia, destroying what his father had built up! never should prussia fall into the hands of a dreaming poet! the king was resolved, therefore, that no one should know he was ill; no one should believe that he had any disease but gout; this was insignificant, never fatal. a man can live to be eighty years old with the gout; it is like a faithful wife, who lives with us even to old age, and with whom we can celebrate a golden wedding. the king confessed to himself that he was once more clasped in her tender embraces, but the people and the prince should not hope that his life was threatened. for this reason should sophia give a ball, and the world should see that the queen and her daughters were gay and happy. the queen was indeed really gay to-day; she was free. it seemed as if the chains which bound her bad fallen apart, and the yoke to which she had bowed her royal neck was removed. to-day she was at liberty to raise her head proudly, like a queen, to adorn herself with royal apparel. away, for to-day at least, with sober robes and simple coiffure. the king was fastened to his arm-chair, and sophia dared once more to make a glittering and queenly toilet. with a smile of proud satisfaction, she arrayed herself in a silken robe, embroidered in silver, which she had secretly ordered for the ball from her native hanover. her eyes beamed with joy, as she at last opened the silver-bound casket, and released from their imprisonment for a few hours these costly brilliants, which for many years had not seen the light. with a smiling glance her eyes rested upon the glittering stones, which sparkled and flamed like falling stars, and her heart beat high with delight. for a queen is still a woman, and sophia dorothea had so often suffered the pains and sorrows of woman, that she longed once more to experience the proud happiness of a queen. she resolved to wear all her jewels; fastened, herself, the sparkling diadem upon her brow, clasped upon her neck and arms the splendid brilliants, and adorned her ears with the long pendants; then stepping to the venetian mirror, she examined herself critically. yes, sophia had reason to be pleased; hers was a queenly toilet. she looked in the glass, and thought on bygone days, on buried hopes and vanished dreams. these diamonds her exalted father had given when she was betrothed to frederick william. this diadem had adorned her brow when she married. the necklace her brother had sent at the birth of her first child; the bracelet her husband had clasped upon her arm when at last, after long waiting, and many prayers, prince frederick was born. each of these jewels was a proud memento of the past, a star of her youth. alas, the diamonds had retained their brilliancy; they were still stars, but all else was vanished or dead--her youth and her dreams, her hopes and her love! sophia had so often trembled before her husband, that she no longer loved him. with her, "perfect love had not cast out fear." fear had extinguished love. how could she love a man who had been only a tyrant and a despot to her and to her children? who had broken their wills, cut off their hopes, and trodden under foot, not only the queen, but the mother? as sophia looked at the superb bracelet, the same age of her darling, she thought how unlike the glitter and splendor of these gems his life had been; how dark and sad his youth; how colorless and full of tears. she kissed the bracelet, and wafted her greeting to her absent son. suddenly the door opened, and the princesses ulrica and amelia entered. the queen turned to them, and the sad expression vanished from her features as her eyes rested upon the lovely and loving faces of her daughters. "oh, how splendid you look, gracious mamma!" exclaimed the princess amelia, as she danced gayly around her mother. "heaven with all its stars has fallen around you, but your sweet face shines out amongst them like the sun in his glory." "flatterer," said the queen, "if your father heard you, he would scold fearfully. if you compare me to the sun, how can you describe him?" "well, he is phoebus, who harnesses the sun and points out his path." "true, indeed." said the queen, "he appoints his path. poor sun!--poor queen!--she has not the right to send one ray where she will!" "who, notwithstanding, assumes the right, gracious mamma," said amelia, smiling, and pointing to the diadem, "for i imagine that our most royal king and father has not commanded you to appear in those splendid jewels." "commanded," said the queen, trembling; "if he could see me he would expire with rage and scorn. you know he despises expense and ornament." "he would immediately calculate," said amelia, "that he could build an entire street with this diadem, and that at least ten giants could be purchased for the guard with this necklace." she turned to her sister, who had withdrawn, and said: "ulrica, you say nothing. has the splendor of our mother bewildered you? have you lost your speech, or are you thinking whom you will command to dance with you at the ball this evening?" "not so," replied the little ulrica, "i was thinking that when i am to be a queen, i will make it a condition with my husband that i shall be entirely free to choose my toilet, and i will never be forbidden to wear diamonds! when i am a queen i will wear diamonds every day; they belong to majesty, and our royal mother was never more a queen than to-day!" "listen," said amelia, "to this proud and all-conquering little princess, who speaks of being a queen, as if it were all arranged, and not a doubt remained; know you that the king, our father, intends you for a queen? perhaps he has already selected you for a little margrave, or some unknown and salaried prince, such as our poor sister of bairout has wedded." "i would not give my hand to such a one!" said the princess, hastily. "you would be forced to yield, if your father commanded it," said the queen. "no," said ulrica, "i would rather die!" "die!" said sophia; "man sighs often for death, but he comes not; our sighs have not the power to bring him, and our hands are too weak to clasp him to our hearts! no, ulrica, you must bow your will to your father, as we have all done--as even the prince, your brother, was forced to do." "poor brother," said amelia, "bound to a wife whom he loves not--how wretched he must be!" ulrica shrugged her shoulders. "is not that the fate of all princes and princesses; are we not all born to be handled like a piece of goods, and knocked down to the highest bidder? i, for my part, will sell myself as dearly as possible; and, as i cannot be a happy shepherdess, i will be a powerful queen." "and i," said amelia, "would rather wed the poorest and most obscure man, if i loved him, than the richest and greatest king's son, to whom i was indifferent." "foolish children," said the queen, "it is well for you that your father does not hear you; he would crush you in his rage, and even to-day he would choose a king for you, amelia; and for you, little ulrica, he would seek a small margrave! hark, ladies! i hear the voice of the major domo; he comes to announce that the guests are assembled. put on a cheerful countenance. the king commands us to be joyous and merry! but remember that frederick has his spies everywhere. when you speak with pollnitz, never forget that he repeats every word to your father; be friendly with him; and above all things when he leads the conversation to the prince royal, speak of him with the most unembarrassed indifference; show as little interest and love for him as possible, and rather ridicule his romantic life in rheinsberg. that is the way to the heart of the king; and now, my daughters, come." at this moment the grand chamberlain, pollnitz, threw open the doors and announced that the company was assembled. the queen and princesses followed the master of ceremonies through the room, giving here and there a smile or a gracious word, which seemed a shower of gold to the obsequious, admiring crowd of courtiers. pride swelled the heart of sophia, as she stepped, to the sound of soft music, into the throne saloon, and saw all those cavaliers, covered with stars and orders--all those beautiful and richly-dressed women bowing humbly before her. she knew that her will was more powerful than the will of all assembled there; that her smiles were more dearly prized than those of the most-beloved bride; that her glance gave warmth and gladness like the sun. while all bowed before her, there was no one to whom she must bend the knee. the king was not near to-night; she was not bound by his presence and his rude violence. to-night she was no trembling, subjected wife, but a proud queen; while frederick was a poor, gouty, trembling, teeth-gnashing man--nothing more. chapter ii. frederick william i. mirth and gayety reigned in one wing of the palace, while in the other, and that occupied by the king himself, all was silent and solitary; in one might be heard joyous strains of music, in the other no sound reached the air but a monotonous hammering, which seemed to come immediately from the room of the king. frederick william, when in health, had accustomed himself to use his crutch as a rod of correction; he would shower down his blows, careless whether they fell on the backs of his lacqueys, his ministers of state, or his wife. when ill, he was contented to vent his wrath upon more senseless objects, and to flourish a hammer instead of his crutch. under the influence of the gout, this proud and haughty monarch became an humble carpenter; when chained to one spot by his disease, and unable to direct the affairs of state, he attempted to banish thought and suffering, by working with his tools. often in passing near the palace at a late hour of the night, you might hear the heavy blows of a hammer, and consider them a bulletin of the king's health. if he worked at night, the good people of berlin knew their king to be sleepless and suffering, and that it would be dangerous to meet him in his walk on the following day, for some thoughtless word, or careless look, or even the cut of a coat, would bring down on the offender a stinging blow or a severe reprimand. only a few days had passed since the king had caused the arrest of two young ladies, and sent them to the fortress of spandau, because, in walking through the park at schonhausen, he overheard them declare the royal garden to be "charmant! charmant!" one french word was sufficient to condemn these young girls in the eyes of the king; and it was only after long pleading that they were released from confinement. the men were fearful of being seized by the king, and held as recruits for some regiment; and the youths trembled if they were caught lounging about the streets. as soon, therefore, as the king left the proud castle of his ancestors, all who could fled from the streets into some house or by-way, that they might avoid him. but now they had nothing to fear. his queen dared to wear her jewels; his subjects walked unmolested through the streets, for the king was suffering, chained to his chair, and occupying himself with his tools. this employment had a beneficial effect: it not only caused the king to forgot his sufferings, but was often the means of relief. the constant and rapid motion of his hands and arms imparted a salutary warmth to his whole body, excited a gentle perspiration, which quieted his nervous system, and soothed him in some of his most fearful attacks. to-day the king was once more freed from his enemy, the gout; this evil spirit had been exorcised by honest labor, and its victim could hope for a few painless hours. the king raised himself from his chair, and with a loud cry of delight extended his arms, as if he would gladly embrace the universe. he commanded the servant, who was waiting in the adjoining room, to call together the gentlemen who composed the tobacco club, and to arrange every thing for a meeting of that august body. "but those gentlemen are at the queen's ball," said the astonished servant. "go there for them, then," said the king; "happily there are no dancers among them; their limbs are stiff, and the ladies would be alarmed at their capers if they attempted to dance. bring them quickly. pollnitz must come, and eckert, and baron von goltz, and hacke, the duke of holstein, and general schwerin. quick, quick! in ten minutes they must all be here, but let no one know why he is sent for. whisper to each one that he must come to me, and that he must tell no one where he is going. i will not have the queen's ball disturbed. quick, now, and if these gentlemen are not all here in ten minutes, i will give a ball upon your back, and your own howls will be the most appropriate music." this was a threat which lent wings to the feet of the servant, who flew like a whirlwind through the halls, ordered, with breathless haste, two servants to carry the tobacco, the pipes, and the beer-mugs into the king's chamber, and then hurried to the other wing of the palace, where the ball of the queen was held. fortune favored the poor servant. in ten minutes the six gentlemen stood in the king's ante-room, asking each other, with pale faces, what could be the occasion of this singular and unexpected summons. the servant shrugged his shoulders, and silently entered the king's room. his majesty, dressed in the full uniform of his beloved guard, sat at the round table, on which the pipes, and the mugs, filled with foaming beer, were already placed. he had condescended to fill a pipe with his own hands, and was on the point of lighting it at the smoking tallow candle which stood near him. "sire," said the servant, "the gentlemen are waiting in the next room." "do they know why i have sent for them?" said the king, blowing a cloud of smoke from his mouth. "your majesty forbade me to tell them." "well, go now, and tell them i am more furiously angry to-day than you have ever seen me; that i am standing by the door with my crutch, and i command them to come singly into my presence." the servant hurried out to the gentlemen, who, as the door was opened, perceived the king standing in a threatening attitude near the door, with his crutch raised in his hand. "what is the matter? why is the king so furious? what orders do you bring us from his majesty?" asked the gentlemen anxiously and hurriedly. the servant assumed a terrified expression, and said: "his majesty is outrageous to-day. woe unto him over whom the cloud bursts. he commanded me to say that each of you must enter the room alone. go now, for heaven's sake, and do not keep the king waiting!" the gentlemen glanced into each other's pale and hesitating countenances. they had all seen the threatening appearance of the king, as he stood by the door with his raised crutch, and no one wished to be the first to pass under the yoke. "your grace has the precedence," said the grand chamberlain, bowing to the duke of holstein. "no," he replied, "you are well aware his majesty does not regard etiquette, and would be most indignant if we paid any attention to it. go first yourself, my dear friend." "not i, your grace, i would not dare to take precedence of you all. if you decline the honor, it is due to general schwerin. he should lead on the battle." "there is no question of a battle," said general schwerin, "but a most probable beating, and baron von pollnitz understands that better than i do." "gentlemen," said the servant, "his majesty will become impatient, and then woe unto all of us." "but, my god," said count von goltz, "who will dare go forward?" "i will," said councillor eckert; "i owe every thing to his majesty, therefore i will place my back or even my life at his service." he approached the door with a firm step, and opened it quickly. the others saw the flashing eyes of the king, as he raised his stick still higher. they saw eckert enter, with his head bowed down and then the door was closed, and nothing more was heard. "against which of us is the anger of the king directed?" faltered pollnitz. "against one and all," said the servant, with a most malicious expression. "who will go now?" the gentlemen asked each other, and, after a long struggle, the grand chamberlain, von pollnitz, concluded to take the bitter step. once more, as the door opened, the king was seen waiting, crutch in hand, but the door closed, and nothing more was seen. four times was this scene repeated; four times was the king seen in this threatening attitude. but as general schwerin, the last of the six gentlemen, entered the room, the king no longer stood near the door, but lay in his armchair, laughing until the tears stood in his eyes, and baron von pollnitz stood before him, giving a most humorous account of the scene which had just taken place in the ante-room, imitating the voices of the different gentlemen, and relating their conversation. "you all believed in my rage," said the king, almost breathless with laughing. "the joke succeeded to perfection. yours, also, schwerin. do you at last know what it is to be afraid, you who never experienced the feeling on the field of battle?" "yes, sire, a shot is a small thing in comparison with the flashing of your eye. when the cannon thunders my heart is joyful, but it is very heavy under the thunder of your voice. i do not fear death, but i do fear the anger and displeasure of my sovereign." "oh, you are a brave fellow," said the king, warmly giving the general his hand. "and now, gentlemen, away with all constraint and etiquette. we will suppose the king to be at the ball. i am only your companion, frederick william, and will now proceed to the opening of the tobacco club." he once more lighted his pipe, and threw himself into one of the chairs, which were placed round the table; the other gentlemen followed his example, and the tobacco club was now in session. chapter iii. the tobacco club. there was a short interval of silence. each one busied himself with pipe and tobacco. the dense clouds of smoke which rolled from the lips of all had soon enveloped the room with a veil of bluish vapor, from the midst of which the tallow candle emitted a faint, sickly light. the king ordered the man in waiting to light several additional candles. "to-day our tobacco club must also present a festive appearance, that the contrast between it and the ball may not be too great. tell me, pollnitz, how are matters progressing over there? is the assemblage a handsome one? are they enjoying themselves? is the queen gay? and the princesses, are they dancing merrily?" "sire," said pollnitz, "a more magnificent festival than to-day's i have never witnessed. her majesty was never more beautiful, more radiant, or gayer than today. she shone like a sun in the midst of the handsomely dressed and adorned ladies of the court." "indeed! she was then magnificently attired?" said the king, and his countenance darkened. "sire, i had no idea the queen possessed so princely a treasure in jewels." "she has put on her jewels, then, has she? it seems they are taking advantage of my absence. they are merry and of good cheer, while i am writhing on a bed of pain," exclaimed the king, who, in his easily excited irritability, never once remembered that he himself had appointed this festival, and had demanded of his wife that she should lay aside care, and be cheerful and happy. "happily, however, your majesty is not ill, and not on a bed of pain. the queen has, therefore, good reason to be happy." the king made no reply, but raised his mug to his lips, and took a long draught of beer, and let fall its lid with an angry movement. "i should not be surprised if frederick had clandestinely come over to this ball," murmured the king. "they dare any thing when not apprehensive of my taking them by surprise." "but taking by surprise is your majesty's forte," exclaimed count hacke, endeavoring to give the conversation another direction. "never before in my life did i feel my heart beat as it did when i crossed the threshold of this chamber to-day." the king, who was easily soothed, laughed heartily. "and never before did i see such pale faces as yours. really, if the gout had not made my fingers so stiff and unwieldy, i would paint you a picture of this scene that would make a magnificent counterpart to my representation of the tobacco club, and i would call it 'the six tailor apprentices who are afraid of blue monday.' see! we will now devote ourselves to poetry and the arts, and our learned and fantastic son will soon have no advantage over us whatever. if he plays the flute, we paint. while he writes sentimental, we will write satirical poems; and while he sings to sun, moon, and stars, we will do as the gods, and, like jupiter, envelop ourselves in a cloud. let it be well understood, however, not for the purpose of deluding a semele or any other woman, at all times, and in all circumstances, we have been true to our wives, and in this particular the prince royal might well take his father as an example." "sire, he could do that in all things," exclaimed count von goltz, blowing a cloud of smoke from his lips. "he thinks at some future day to govern the kingdom with his book-learning and his poems," said the king, laughing. "instead of occupying himself with useful things, drilling recruits, drawing plans, and studying the art of war, he devotes his time to the acquirement of useless and superficial knowledge, which benefits no one, and is most injurious to himself. a dreaming scholar can never be a good king; and he who, instead of sword and sceptre, wields the pen and fiddle-bow, will never be a good general." "nevertheless, no regiment made a finer appearance, or was better drilled, at the last review, than that of the prince royal," said the duke of holstein. the king cast a distrustful look at him, and muttered a few words which no one understood. he was never pleased to hear any defence of the prince royal, and suspected every one who praised him. "your majesty forgets that this is a sitting of the tobacco club and not of the state council," said pollnitz, in a fawning voice. "if your majesty designed to be angry, it was not necessary to light the pipes and fill the beer-mugs; for while you are neither smoking nor drinking, the pipe goes out, and the beer becomes stale." "true," replied the king, and raising his glass he continued: "i drink this to the health of him who first overcame his timid heart and dared to enter my chamber. who was it? i have forgotten." "it was the privy councillor von eckert, sire," said count hacke, with an ironical smile. eckert bowed. "he entered the chamber as if going to battle," exclaimed von pollnitz, laughing. "in the spirit he took leave of all the fine breweries, and artfully constructed never-smoking chimneys which he had built; he also took leave of the city exchanges, which he had not yet provided with royal commissioners, destined to despoil them of their riches; he bade adieu to his decoration and to his money-bags, and exclaiming, 'to the king i owe all that i am, it is therefore but proper that my back as well as my life should be at his service,' marched courageously into the royal presence." "did he really do that? did he say that?" exclaimed the king. "eckert, i am pleased with you for that, and will reward you. it is true that i have elevated you from a lowly position; that i have made a gentleman of the chimney-sweep; but gratitude is a rare virtue, men seldom remember the benefits they have received; your doing so, is an evidence that you have a noble heart, one which i know how to appreciate. the new house which i am building in jager street shall be yours; and i will not present you with the naked walls, but it shall be handsomely furnished and fitted up at my expense." "your majesty is the most gracious, the best of monarchs!" exclaimed eckert, hastening to the king and pressing his hand to his lips. "yes, your majesty is right in saying that you have elevated me from the dust, but my heart, at least, was always pure, and i will endeavor to preserve it so. you have rescued me from the scum of the people. as the ancient romans gave freedom to those slaves who had rendered themselves worthy of it by good and noble deeds, so has my king also delivered me from the bondage of poverty and lowliness, and given me freedom, and i also will strive to render myself worthy of this great boon by good and noble actions." "and berlin offers you the best opportunities of doing so. there are still many smoking chimneys and indifferent beer breweries. privy councillor von eckert can, therefore, still execute many glorious deeds before he is gathered to his forefathers," exclaimed von pollnitz. all were amused at this, and the king himself could not refrain from smiling. von eckert's countenance had become pale and lowering, and casting an angry look at von pollnitz, he said, with a forced laugh: "really, your wit to-day is dazzling, and i am so charmed with your pleasantries, that should your wine merchant refuse to supply you with any more wine until your old accounts have been settled, i shall be perfectly willing to send you a few bottles from my own cellar, that your grace may be able to drink my health." "that i will gladly do," said pollnitz, affably. "yes, i will drink to your long and lasting health, for the longer you live the more time your ancestors will have to increase and to multiply themselves. and, as it seems that you are not destined to become the father of a coming generation, you should, at least, endeavor to become the progenitor of your ancestors and the father of your fathers. ancestors are born to you as children are to others, and, if i am not mistaken, you are already the possessor of three. for a gentleman of wealth and quality, this is, however, too few. i will, therefore, drink to your health, that you may still be able to create many ancestors. and i propose to your majesty to give him an ancestor for every chimney which he frees from smoke." "silence, pollnitz!" exclaimed the king, laughing. "no more of this raillery. listen to what i have to say. i have given eckert the new house, and as i have invested him with a title of nobility, it is but proper that a noble coat-of-arms should be placed over his door. gentlemen, let us consider what the escutcheon of eckert shall be. each of you, in his turn, shall give me his opinion. you, duke, commence." with grave and sober mien the gentlemen began to confer with each other in regard to von eckert's escutcheon; and each one considering the favor in which the former stood with the king, took pains to propose the most magnificent coat-of-arms imaginable. but the king was not pleased with the grave and learned devices which were proposed. he disliked giving the newly-made baron a coat-of-arms worthy of any house of old and established nobility, which would have placed him on an equality with the oldest counts and barons of the kingdom. "when i build a house," said the king, "i wish every one, to see that it is a new one; i therefore give it a nice white coat of paint, and not an old graystone color to make it look like a robber castle. eckert should, therefore, have a fresh touch of paint for his new dignity, a spick and span new coat-of-arms." "i am entirely of your majesty's opinion," exclaimed von pollnitz solemnly; "and as every noble family bears on its coat-of-arms some emblem and reminiscence of the deeds and events through which it became great, so should also the escutcheon of the noble house of eckert contain some such reminiscence. i propose to quarter this shield. the first field shall show on a silver ground a black chimney, in which we will also have indicated the prussian colors. the second field is blue, with a golden vat in the centre, having reference to eckert's great ability as a beer-brewer. the third field is green, with a golden pheasant in the middle, suggestive of eckert's earlier occupation as gamekeeper in brunswick; and the fourth field shows on a red ground a cock and a knife, a reminiscence of the good old times when privy councillor von eckert fed and dressed fowls in bairout." a peal of laughter from the entire club rewarded von pollnitz for his proposition. the king was also so well pleased, that he, in all gravity, determined to accept it, and to have a coat-of-arms with the above designated emblems adjusted over the door of the new house in jager street. the merriment of the gentlemen of the tobacco club was now becoming energetic, and jests and jokes were contributed by all. the grand chamberlain, von pollnitz, was, however, the gayest of the gay. and if the pleasantries which bubbled from his lips like water from a fountain, at any time threatened to flag, a glance at the pale face of von eckert, who fairly trembled with suppressed rage, was sufficient to renew his merriment. while the king was conversing with von eckert on the subject of his new house, pollnitz turned to his neighbor and asked if he had not made ample amends for his awkwardness in the first instance. "by my thoughtless repetition of that hypocritical man's words, i procured him the new house, but i have also given him a coat-of-arms; and i wager the privy councillor would willingly relinquish the former, if he could thereby get rid of the latter." "pollnitz, why are you looking so grave?" asked the king at this moment. "i wager you are in a bad humor, because the handsome house in jager street was not given to you." "by no means, your majesty; as handsome as the house is, it would not suit me at all." "ah, yes, you are right; it would be much too large a one for you!" said frederick william, laughing. "no, your majesty, it would be much too small for me. when a cavalier of my quality once determines to build a house, it should be arranged in accordance with his rank and standing, and that costs a great deal of money, much more than i ever possessed. it is true that my father left me a fortune of about two hundred thousand dollars, but what is such a trifle to a nobleman? it was not enough for a decent support, and it was too much to go begging on. i calculated how long this sum might be made to last, and finding that, with considerable economy, it would perhaps do for four years, i lived like a noble and generous cavalier for that time; and during that period i was fortunate enough to have the most devoted friends and the truest sweethearts, who never deserted me until the last dollar of my fortune was expended!" "do i understand you to say that you expended two hundred thousand dollars in four years?" asked the king. "yes, your majesty; and i assure you that i was obliged to practise the most, rigorous economy." frederick william regarded him with surprise, almost with admiration. to the king there was something in this man's nature which was imposing. it was perhaps the great contrast between the unlimited extravagance of the baron and his own frugality, which exerted so great an influence on the king, excited his astonishment, and enlisted his admiration in behalf of this ready, witty, and ever-merry courtier. "an income of fifty thousand dollars is, therefore, not sufficient for a decent support?" asked the king. "your majesty, if one attempted to live in a style befitting a nobleman, on that sum, he might die of hunger." "ah, explain that. what sum would you consider necessary to enable you to live in a style befitting a nobleman?" pollnitz remained lost in thought for a moment, and then replied: "you majesty, in order to live somewhat respectably, i should require four hundred thousand dollars yearly." "that is not true, not possible!" exclaimed the king. "that is so very possible, sire, that i hardly know whether it would suffice or not." "gentlemen, do you believe that?" asked the king. "i, for my part, have not the fourth part of this income," said the duke of holstein, smiling. "i not the tenth!" said count von der goltz. "and i not the twentieth!" exclaimed general von schwerin and count hacke at the same time. "and yet," said the king, "you all live as respected cavaliers, as esteemed gentlemen of my court. let us hear how pollnitz would manage to spend so much money. quick, jochen, quick, give us a sheet of paper and a pencil." the valet hastily executed this commission, and handed the king paper and pencil. "fill the glasses, jochen," ordered the king, "and then seat yourself at the foot of the table, and pay attention to what von pollnitz is about to explain. it is worth the trouble to learn how an income of four hundred thousand dollars can be spent in a respectable manner. you shall dictate, and i will be your secretary. woe to you, however, if you do not keep your word, if you expend less! for every thousand which you fail to account for, you shall drink ten glasses of beer, and smoke a pipe of the strong havana tobacco recently sent me by the stadtholder of holland." "but what shall i receive for every thousand which i expend over and above that sum?" asked von pollnitz, laughing. "oh, it is impossible that a nobleman should need more, that is, provided he does not expend it in a foolish manner, like a madman." "and if, in order to live in a style befitting a nobleman, i should nevertheless need more, what am i to receive for every thousand?" "well, then, for every thousand, i will pay a hundred of your oldest debts," said the king. "but commence. and you, gentlemen, drink and smoke, and pay attention to what he has to say." chapter iv. air-castles. "i will begin," said pollnitz. "first of all, i shall need a respectable house, to receive my guests in, to exhibit my collections, and entertain my friends; to pursue my studies, without being disturbed by the slightest noise; a house, in which my wife must have her separate apartments, and as i shall wish to have my friends with me, every now and then, to smoke, my wife's reception-rooms must be entirely separated from mine." "but," exclaimed the king, "your wife will certainly allow you to smoke in her rooms!" "and if she permitted it, your majesty, i would not do so; it becomes not a cavalier to smoke in a lady's room." the king reddened a little, and carried the mug to his lips, to hide his embarrassment; he remembered how often he had smoked in the queen's rooms, notwithstanding her sighs. pollnitz continued quietly: "i must then have several different reception-rooms, and as my wife and myself will frequently be at variance with each other, two different and widely-separated staircases will be necessary, that we may not meet, unless we wish it!" "oh! you mean to lead a wretched life with your wife; to quarrel with her every now and then, do you?" "no, sire, we will never quarrel; it ill becomes a cavalier to have a contest with his wife." the king reddened again, this time from anger. this exposition of a cavalier began to offend him; it seemed to be a satire upon himself; for unhappily the king not only smoked in the queen's rooms, but the world knew that his wife and children were often the objects of his violent temper, and that the queen had more than once been terribly frightened by his thundering reproaches and unbearable threats. "your highness sees that my house must be large, and as it is so, a host of servants and a large income will be necessary. but of this hereafter. let us speak of my houses, for it is easily understood that i must have a country residence." "yes, that is a reasonable demand," said the king, in adding the country house to his list. "but as i do not go to the country to live as i do in the city, but to enjoy the beauties of nature and scenery, i must have a garden, with vineyards, and beautiful walks, and, for their cultivation, many servants. and, as i cannot ask my friends to visit me simply to pluck my flowers, and eat my fruits, i must procure for them other and rarer pleasures. i must have a park for hunting, and a lake for fishing." "yes, that is well argued and true," said the king, noting the park and the lake on his paper. "now we are coming to the most important points--the kitchen and wine-cellar. on these two i must bestow most particular care. it would be most unworthy a cavalier to present such dishes to his friends as they can enjoy every day at home. no, if i invite my friends, they must be certain of having such luxuries as they cannot procure elsewhere--such rare and costly viands as will recall the wonders of fairy land!" "i am quite of your opinion," cried the king, and his face brightened at the thought of the delightful and costly dishes that the rich pollnitz would set before his friends. "listen: from time to time you can prepare for me the delightful bacon-pie that i once tasted at grumbkou's. oh, that was really splendid, and reminded one, as you say, of the wonders of fairy land! my cook obtained the receipt immediately; but what do you think? three bottles of champagne and three bottles of burgundy were necessary to stew the meat. i had to give up the intention of having such a pie, but i told grumbkou that when i felt like eating such an expensive dish, i would be his guest." "i will obey your commands, your highness," said pollnitz, earnestly, and bowing low to the king. "let us continue to furnish my house; after that we will speak of the pie. as hunting is decided upon, we must now consider the horses, for i cannot ask my friends to hunt on foot, or walk to the lake. i must have beautiful and noble steeds, and as horses and carriages do not take care of themselves, i must have a number of servants to attend to them." "that is true," said the king, adding the carriages and horses to his list. "that is true; but i find that you think a great deal of your friends and very little of yourself. your whole demand, so far, is for the benefit of your friends." "sire, hospitality is one of the noblest virtues of a cavalier, for which one can never do too much, but easily too little." the king frowned and looked threateningly before him; the rest of the club looked at pollnitz with increasing astonishment, surprised at his daring to show the king in this manner his faults and weaknesses. pollnitz alone remained gay and unembarrassed. "now, as i have attended sufficiently to the pleasure and comfort of my friends, it is time that i should think a little of myself. i therefore beg your highness to name the sum you deem necessary for my yearly expenses for charities and presents for my sweetheart." "your wife is your sweetheart. you intend to be a very tender husband, notwithstanding the two staircases." "sire, it would not become a cavalier to possess a wife and sweetheart in the same person. your wife represents your family, your sweetheart amuses you. you give your wife name and rank, your sweetheart your love and whole heart. a true cavalier does not love his wife, but he demands that the world shall honor her as the lady that bears his name." "pollnitz, pollnitz," said the king, shaking his hand threateningly at him, "take care that i never see your cavalier in my house, and no one that is like him; i would have no pity with him, but crush him with my kingly anger!" pollnitz was frightened, and covered himself in a cloud of smoke, that the king might not see his perplexity. "continue," said frederick william, after a short pause. "i have set aside a certain amount for every single article you have mentioned, but i truly hope you have concluded; and that the demon that dwells in you, and masters you, will make no further suggestions to your luxurious and insane fancies." "yes, your highness; and i beg you will calculate the sum total necessary for these different articles." the king calculated, his guests smoked and drank in silence, and pollnitz listened attentively to the sound of voices, and noise of horses in the court. the king suddenly uttered an oath, and brought his fist heavily down on the paper. "as truly as god lives, pollnitz is right! four hundred thousand dollars are not sufficient to support a cavalier of his pretensions. the sum here amounts to four hundred and fifty thousand dollars." "your highness confesses that i have demanded nothing superfluous or exaggerated?" "yes, i confess it." "consequently, your highness will be kind enough to pay me five thousand dollars." "the devil! how can i understand that?" "your majesty forgets that you promised me one hundred dollars for every thousand over and above the sum of four hundred thousand." "did i say that?" said the king; and as all present confirmed it, he laughed aloud, saying, "i see that none of you understand pollnitz. that was not my meaning. i did not say i would pay pollnitz the gold; but for every thousand above his four hundred thousand i would pay a hundred of his oldest debts, and that is quite a different affair. you know well, if i gave him the gold, his creditors would never receive a cent of it. but what i have promised i will do; bring me, to-morrow, a list of your oldest debts, and i will pay five thousand dollars upon them." "your highness, my account is not yet finished. i have only mentioned the most pressing and necessary articles, and much has been forgotten. i must have a forester to chase the poachers from my park, and a night watch to guard my country house, to feed the fish in my pond, to strike upon the water in order to silence the frogs, that my sleep and that of my friends may not be disturbed." "enough, enough of your castles in the air, fool that you are!" cried the king, half angry, half amused. "seek another sovereign, who is rich enough to provide for your follies." "sire," said pollnitz, "i will seek nothing elsewhere. i am too happy to have found so noble and gracious a monarch. i only wished to prove to your majesty, and these gentlemen that do me the honor to consider me a spendthrift, that a great fortune can be easily spent without extravagance and folly, and you will now understand that i have given a worthy proof of economy in fixing my yearly income at four hundred thousand dollars, when i could easily dispose of that sum in six months." the king laughed, and, raising the beer-pot aloft, commanded the gentlemen to drink to the health of the miser pollnitz. the beer-pots were raised, and were jingling merrily, when suddenly it seemed as if an electric shock had struck them all simultaneously--all with the exception of the king. the six cavaliers placed their beer-pots upon the table, and, rising with breathless haste from their chairs, bowed lowly and humbly. chapter v. father and son. the king, in speechless amazement, sank back in his chair. he could not yet conceive what spell had taken hold of these gentlemen, that made them rise from their seats in spite of the rules of the tobacco club. the king did not see that, behind him, the door had opened, and, in the midst of the smoke that filled the whole room, a young man was visible, whose appearance had produced this astounding impression upon the six cavaliers. and, certainly, there was something exalted and imposing in this youth. a wondrous combination of beauty, nobility of soul, youth, royalty, and melancholy was expressed in this face, whose sharp and marked lines spoke of severe pain and bitter experience, while so fresh and youthful a smile played upon the soft red lip, you could but suppose the heart young, confiding, and impressible. but the eyes were in wonderful contrast to these beautiful lips; they shone like great, mysterious, unfathomable stars--one moment sparkling with youthful superciliousness, the next with the firm, steady, piercing glance of an observing sage. the lofty, somewhat retreating forehead, and the straight, finely-pointed nose, formed a profile indicating commanding elevation of character. and the soul imprisoned behind these temples was powerfully agitated, seeking ever for freedom of thought and expression. it was the eye, the head of a hero; and, had his form corresponded with the giant strength of his glance, he would have been a titan, and might have crushed the world like a toy in his hand. but his slender, symmetrical, and graceful form was more weak than powerful, more maidenly than heroic. you felt, however, that this head might lend strength to the body, and if the titan could not overcome by physical strength, he could rule and conquer by the commanding power of his genius.[ ] [ ] a french traveller, by the name of birre, who went from paris to berlin to see frederick, describes him in this manner: buste admirable el vraiment royal, mais pauvre et miserable pedestal. sa tete et sa poitrine sont au dessous des eloges, le train d'en bas au dessous de la critique.--(see thiebault.) this was the unexpected apparition that shocked the gentlemen of the tobacco club, and forced them hastily from their seats! the king sat speechless and amazed in his chair, while the youth stood close behind him. "allow me to wish your majesty good-evening," said the prince, with his full, clear-ringing voice. the king was greatly agitated, and the blood rushed to his face. "fritz!" said he, in a light tone. "fritz!" repeated he more sternly, and already the sound of a coming storm was perceptible in his voice. "i come from ruppin," said the prince, in a quiet, kindly voice, "where i was reviewing my regiment, and i beg pardon for my unexpected appearance." the king made no reply; his mistrust was scornfully exhibited. he thought that the queen believed him to be suffering and confined to his room. he did not doubt for a moment that she had sent for the prince, and frederick was there to see if the life of the king was not in danger; if the throne of prussia would not soon be empty, and ready for its successor. these dark suspicions excited the king's ire, and filled his heart with bitter distrust. with a hasty movement he dashed back the hand of the prince royal, and arose from his chair. his scornful eye took in at a glance the whole circle, still standing in awe-struck silence around the table. "why have you arisen from your chairs?" cried the king, with trembling voice. "how dare you arise contrary to my command, and thus set yourselves in opposition to my kingly power? do you no longer know the laws of the tobacco club? do you not know that these laws positively forbid you to arise from your seats to greet any one? you are all silent, miserable cowards that you are, who do not attempt to defend yourselves, who go always with wind and tide, and deceive and flatter in every direction. answer me, pollnitz, did you not know the law of the tobacco club, forbidding you to arise from your seat?" "i know it, sire, but thought i might be allowed to make an exception of the prince royal." "so thought we all," said general schwerin, in a steady voice. the king struck with doubled fist on the table, and the pitchers and beer-mugs trembled. "you thought that," said the king, "and yet knew that no exception was ever made for me! but certainly the prince royal is of more consequence than the king. the prince royal is the future sovereign, the rising sun! what the king was not able to give, the prince royal may bestow. from the king there is nothing left to hope, nothing to fear; for this reason you turn to the prince royal; for this reason you ridicule the laws of the father to flatter the son. the son is a fine french cavalier, who loves ornament and courtesy, to whom the question of etiquette is important. you stand up also when the prince royal enters, although you know in this room all are equal, and here you have often forgotten that i am king. yes, the king can be forgotten--the prince royal never; he may soon be king!" "god grant your majesty a long and happy life," said the prince royal. during this passionate speech of the king, he had stood silent and immovable behind his chair. "who spoke to you? who told you to speak until you were questioned?" said the king, whose whole form trembled with rage. "you, the slave of etiquette, should know that no man speaks to the king until he is spoken to. truly you think the king does not understand etiquette. he is an old-fashioned man, and knows not how a true cavalier should conduct himself. now, pollnitz, you see there a cavalier after your own heart, a veritable model. ah, you thought perhaps i did not see the face lurking behind your picture; you suppose i did not recognize the cavalier you painted in such glowing colors, in order to prove that he must have four hundred thousand dollars yearly or be forced to make debts. patience! patience! my eyes are at last opened! woe, woe to you all when i see that you dare brave me in order to please the prince royal! i will prove to you that i yet live, and am your master. the tobacco club is closed, and you may all go to the devil!" "as i don't know the way there, will your majesty allow me to return to rheinsberg? i now take my leave," said the prince royal, bowing respectfully to the king. frederick william turned his head, and said but one word--"go!" the prince bowed again; then, turning to the cavaliers, he said: "good-evening, gentlemen. i sincerely regret to have been the cause of the king's anger. against you this displeasure is however just, for a command of the king should never be disobeyed, not even with a kind and magnanimous intent." the prince had with these words put himself beyond the reach of the king's rage, and at the same time done justice to all: to the king in acknowledging the justice of his anger; to the cavaliers in praising their good intentions. he was evidently master of the situation. with a firm, steady tread he left the room, while the king, in spite of his anger, could not help feeling that he had again failed in kindness to the prince royal. but this consciousness only made him the more passionate. he muttered a deep curse, and looked threateningly at the pale, trembling cavaliers. "hypocrites and eye-servants are you all," muttered he, as he slowly passed by them. "give me your arm, hacke, and lead me into the other room. i cannot look at these men any longer." count hacke rushed forward, and, leaning on his arm, the king tottered into the adjoining room. when the door closed behind them, the cavaliers seemed to awaken from their torpidity. they raised their heads, and looked at one another with a half-confused, half-angry gaze. they had been scolded like children, and felt that they were men. their honor had received a sensitive wound, but their awe of the king kept them from demanding satisfaction. when the count returned to order the gentlemen in the king's name to leave the palace, they did not have the courage to obey this command, but sent the count as their ambassador to the king to ask in the humblest manner for forgiveness and pardon, and to assure him that their behavior to the prince royal was but the consequence of involuntary thoughtlessness. the count, after much trembling, left the room to deliver this message to the king; the cavaliers waited in anxious silence for his return. at length the door opened, and the count appeared. "well, what says the king? has he forgiven us? will he take us into his favor again? is he convinced that we are his true, humble, and obedient servants?" all these questions the count answered by a slight motion of the hand. it was a moment of anxious expectation; all were eagerly looking at the count, who was to pronounce for them the words of forgiveness or condemnation. "gentlemen," at length said the count, and his voice sounded to the trembling courtiers hollow and awful as that of an angel of death, "gentlemen, the king says if you do not leave here at once, he will easily find means to compel you to do so!" this was a menace that gave strength to the trembling limbs of the courtiers. silently, with sad, troubled looks, they hastened away, and not until the great portals of the palace had closed upon them did they feel safe from the fear of imprisonment, and the king's crutch. the king had not yet subdued his anger. he thirsted for another victim. the servants wisely remained at a distance beyond the reach of the royal crutch; the king's ungovernable anger had even banished count hacke from the room. the king was alone, entirely alone in this dark, empty room, and its comfortless silence filled him with anxiety. he sank into his arm-chair, and looked with a sad glance around this large room, which, because of his parsimony, was but badly lighted with four tallow candles. nothing broke the silence but from time to time the gay music of the dance, which was heard from the other wing of the castle. mirth still reigned in the saloons of the queen. the king sighed; his heart was filled with melancholy and rage. the queen was gay, while her husband suffered. the court was joyful, while he sat alone and neglected, gnashing his teeth in this dark and joyless room. and yet he was the king, the all-powerful ruler of millions of subjects, who trembled before him, and yet not one of them loved him. all eyes were fixed upon the rising sun, upon frederick, so unlike his father, and so little the son of his father's heart. as the king thought of this, deep grief and a foreboding melancholy overcame him. in the anguish of his heart he turned to god and prayed. he silenced the voice of self-accusation and remorse, now whispering in his breast, by prayer. the king prayed. exhausted with rage, he fancied that he had given himself up to pious contrition and world-despising godliness. as the tones of the music were again heard, he experienced a pious exasperation over this unholy levity, a peaceful self-content; he belonged not to the ungodly, who gave themselves up to worldliness and vanity, but alone and deserted he prayed to his father in heaven. how small, how pitiful, how contemptible did the gay dancers appear to him! how pleased he was with himself, his holy walk and conversation! at this moment the anxious face of his valet appeared at the door. "your majesty commanded me to tell you so soon as the coffins which came yesterday were unpacked and placed in the white saloon: this is done, and the coffins can be seen." "ah! my coffin is ready!" said the king, involuntarily shuddering. "my coffin, and that of the queen! and sophia gives a ball, and perhaps dances, in place of bowing her soul in contrition before god. i will awaken her from these soul-destroying vanities; the arrival of the coffins now was an especial providence of god. the queen shall see them!" he called his two valets, commanded one to lead him to the ball-room, the other to illuminate the white saloon in which the coffins were placed. chapter vi. the white saloon. the queen had no suspicion of all that had happened in the chambers of the king; she had not observed the absence of the tobacco club, and after having made the grand tour of the saloons, she seated herself at the card-table. her majesty had no idea that her husband was free from pain, and had left his arm-chair; she was, therefore, gay and careless, filled with a sense of freedom and power. the cruel eye of frederick william was not bent upon her to look her down, and cast a veil of humility over the sparkling diamonds which adorned her brow; no, she was to-night entirely herself--every inch a queen! proud and happy, smiling and majestic. rejoicing in her own greatness and glory, she was still amiable and obliging to this great crowd of devoted, submissive, flattering, smiling men, who surrounded her; never had she been so gracious, never so queenly. as we have said, she had seated herself at the card-table, and the margrafin maria dorothea and the english and french ambassadors were her partners; behind her chair stood her two maids of honor, to whom she now and then addressed a word, or sent them to look after the young princesses, who were dancing in the adjoining room, and giving themselves up merrily to the pleasures of the evening. suddenly the music ceased, and a strange, unaccustomed silence reigned throughout the rooms. the queen was arranging the cards, and turned smilingly to one of her maids of honor, commanding her as soon as the dance was ended to lead the princesses to her side; she then gave her attention to the game, when suddenly the princess amelia, pale and terrified, rushed hastily to her mother, and whispered a few words in her ear. sophia dorothea uttered a low cry of terror, and exclaimed: "the king! my god, the king! he seems very angry!" said the princess; "do not let him see your diamonds." the partners of the queen sat in respectful silence, waiting for her to play; she dashed her cards upon the table, removed her necklace and bracelets hastily, and thrust the glittering heap into her dress pocket.[ ] [ ] see thiebault. "remove my long ear-rings," she whispered to amelia, and while the princess obeyed the command, the queen took her cards from the table. the glory was departed; the diamonds were hiding timidly in her pocket, and the fire of her eye was quenched. the king was there; sophia dorothea was no longer a royal queen, but a trembling, dependent woman, cowering before the rage of her husband. the partners of the queen sat quietly with downcast eyes, and did not appear to see the rash change in the toilet of her majesty, still seemingly waiting for the play of the queen. sophia played a queen, lord hastings played the king. "lost!" said her majesty, "so must the queen ever lose when the king comes; but it is always a comfort," she said, with a bitter smile, "to be overcome only by a king." she played on quietly, though she knew that the king was already in the door of the room and watching her closely. as the king stepped forward and called her name, she rose and advanced toward him with an expression of joyful surprise. "ah, my husband, what a great pleasure you have prepared for us!" she said smiling; "it is most amiable of your majesty to glorify this feast with your presence." "i come, however," said the king, in a rude, harsh voice, and thrusting the queen's arm in his own, "to cast gloom upon this fete; it is good and necessary in the midst of tumultuous earthly pleasures to be reminded of the fleeting vanity of all sublunary things; and to still the voluptuous music with prayer, i am come to administer this medicine to your vain and sin-sick soul. come with me, you there!" said the king, turning his head backward to the courtiers, who were gathered in silent and frightened groups. "you there, follow us!" he dragged the queen forward; silently the procession of richly-adorned guests followed the royal pair, no one knew where. the queen had in vain implored the king to make known his purpose. this long procession, adorned with flowers, diamonds, uniforms, and orders, had a gay and festal appearance; you might well suppose them wedding guests on their way to church. the principal actors on this occasion, however, did not promise to be a happy pair. the king looked steadily, with a frowning brow and tightly-compressed lips, right before him; the queen, wan and trembling, turned her eyes anxiously from side to side, seeking everywhere some new danger, some new terror prepared for her. the procession stepped silently and earnestly through the dressing-rooms, odorous with flowers; through the illuminated antechamber; further on through the corridors and up the wide stair steps; onward still through long passages till they reached the great doors of the white saloon, which frederick had built and adorned. "we have arrived," said the king, opening the door, and leading in the queen. suddenly sophia dorothea uttered a cry of horror, and fell backwards; behind her stood the curious, astonished, and shocked courtiers, pressing themselves hastily through the door of the saloon. "two coffins!" murmured the queen, with horror; her timid glance rested first upon the solemn coffins, then wandered anxiously to the lofty, imposing marble statues of the prince electors, who, in solemn rest, in this chamber of the dead, seemed to hold a watch over the coffins of the living. "yes, two coffins," said the king--"our coffins, sophia; and i resolved in this hour to show them to you and the assembled court, that this solemn warning might arouse you all from your unholy and sinful lusts. death must strike at your heart to awaken it from voluptuous sleep and cause you to look within. in these coffins we will soon rest, and all earthly vanity and glory will be at an end. no one will fear my glance or my crutch; no one will compliment the beautiful toilet of the queen, or admire her diamonds; dust will return to dust, and the king and the queen be nothing more than food for worms!" "not so," said sophia, whose noble and proud heart felt humbled by this pious grovelling of her husband; "not so, we will be more than dust and food for worms. the dust of common mortals will be scattered in every direction by the hand of time, and over their graves will history walk with destroying feet; but she will remain with us and will gather our dust, and build therewith a monument to our memory; when our bodies of flesh and blood are placed in the vault of our ancestors, our forms will arise again with limbs of marble and bosoms without hearts. look, my husband, at these statues of your exalted ancestors; they have also gone down into the vaults, but their marble forms have the best places in our splendid rooms; perhaps they listen to our words and behold our deeds." whilst the queen spoke, her countenance was illuminated with royal energy and beauty; she was now, indeed, truly imperial, without the aid of diamond coronets. the queen was herself again; she had conquered her womanish fears; she felt herself not only the wife of frederick, but the sister of the king of england, the mother of the future king. but frederick, in what he considered his holy penitential mood, was made angry by her self-possession, her proudly-erected head; he felt that this soul had made itself free from his heavy yoke, and claimed and enjoyed a separate existence; but she should acknowledge him again as her lord, and he bowed down with humble penitence. the queen should become the woman, the obedient wife; had not the bible said, and "he shall rule over thee"? "so, then, let our ancestors behold how we try our coffins before them," said the king, placing his hand heavily on the shoulder of the queen; "the world knows that diamonds become you, and that i, in my uniform, am a fine-looking fellow; let us see now how our coffins will clothe us!" "what do you mean, my king?" said sophia, fixing her trembling glance upon her husband. "i mean that we will see if we can take our places with dignity and worthily in our coffins; that we will do to-day in sport what we must hereafter do in solemn earnest." "this is indeed a cruel jest," said the queen. "oh, yes, to the children of this world every thing seems cruel which reminds them of death and the fleeting nature of all earthly joys," said the king, "but such a warning is good and healthy to the soul, and if we would accustom ourselves from time to time to leave the ballroom and rest awhile in our coffins, we would, without doubt, lead more holy and earnest lives. lay yourself, therefore, in your coffin, sophia; it will be to your soul's advantage, and my eyes will see a picture which, praised be god, you can never behold. i shall see you in your coffin." "oh, you are younger than i, my husband; you will surely see me buried; it is not therefore necessary to put me to this trial." "conquer thy soul, and make it quiet and humble," said the king; "we have come hither to try our coffins, and we will try them!" "the king had a feverish attack of piety to-day. i would not have come if i had known the intentions of your majesty," said the queen. "you would have come as i willed it," murmured the king, while his cheeks glowed with anger and his eye flashed fire. sophia saw these symptoms of a rising storm, and she knew that all restraints would be removed if she resisted longer. she called with a commanding tone to one of her maids of honor, and said proudly: "reach me your hand, duchess; i am weary, and will for awhile rest upon this bed, of a new and uncommon form." with the appearance and nobility of a truly royal soul, she raised her robe a little, lifted her foot over the edge of the coffin, and placed it firmly in the bottom. she stood in the coffin proudly erect, commanding and majestic to behold; then, with inimitable grace, she stooped and lay down slowly. the coffin creaked and groaned, and amongst the crowd of courtiers a murmur of horror and disgust was heard. the king stood near the coffin, and sophia dorothea looked at him so steadily, so piercingly, that he had not the courage to meet her glance, and fixed his eyes upon the ground. the queen stood up quietly. the countess hacke held out her hand to assist her, but she waved her proudly back. "no," she said, "kings and queens leave their coffins by their own strength and greatness, and sustained by the hand of history alone." sophia then stepped over the edge of the coffin, and, bowing profoundly to the king, she said-- "your majesty, it is now your turn." the king was confused. he cast a dark, distrustful glance upon the queen. her simple words had for him a prophetic meaning, and he shuddered as he drew near the coffin. with a powerful effort he overcame himself, stepped into the coffin, and nodded to some of his courtiers to assist him in lying down. "ah, i rest well upon this couch," said frederick. "here will i soon sleep till it shall please god to wake me at the resurrection!" "may that time be far removed, my king!" said sophia earnestly. "allow me to assist you." she reached her hand to the king; he seized it with alacrity, and was in the act of rising, when a wild and unaccustomed sound was heard without--a loud, piercing cry, which was many times repeated, then the sound of hasty steps approaching the room! the pallid and awe-struck courtiers whispered to each other. "what is it?" cried the king, who was still sitting in his coffin. no one answered. the courtiers whispered confused and wild words, but no one dared to answer. "i demand to know what has happened," said the king, as with much difficulty he sought to raise himself up. the major domo stepped forward. "your majesty, two soldiers are without who held watch in the corridor; they declare that a long, white figure, with a veiled face and black gloves, passed slowly by them the whole length of the corridor, and entered this room; they, believing that some unseemly mask wished to approach your majesty, followed the figure and saw it enter this room. they ran hither to seize the masker, but your majesty knows no such person is here." "the white lady!" cried the king, and sank powerless and as if broken to pieces in the coffin. "the white lady! veiled and with black gloves! that signifies my death!" "the white lady!" murmured the courtiers, withdrawing involuntarily from the door through which the evil-omened white lady should enter. the queen alone was silent. she looked around with a searching glance upon the marble statues of the prince electors, and her soul was far away with her beloved son frederick. chapter vii. the maid of honor, and the gardener. it was a lovely day in may. the lilacs were in bloom; the birds were singing their sweetest songs; the swans floating upon the tranquil lake, which, bordered with water lilies and other fragrant plants, was one of the chief ornaments in the garden of the prince royal at rheinsberg. it was still early; the residents of the palace, which was surrounded by this beautiful garden, were sleeping; the windows were closed and curtained, and you heard none of the sounds which usually arose from this gay and charming place. no music fell on the ear but the melting tones of the nightingale and the morning song of the lark. the prince royal himself was still asleep, for his flute was silent, and that was a sure sign to all who lived in the palace that the lord of the house was not awake, or at least that he had not yet begun the day. the music of his flute was the morning sacrifice with which the young prince greeted the day; it, like the pillar of memnon, which gave forth a sound when touched by the rays of the sun, announced to his flattering courtiers that their sun had arisen. but the flute was silent; the sun had therefore not arisen, although its beams had long been flooding the park in golden light, and drinking from every flower the dew that had fallen during the past sultry night. fritz wendel, the gardener, was already busy with his watering-pot, and was at the same time anxiously selecting and gathering the most beautiful flowers, and concealing them carefully under the various plants and bushes; perhaps to protect them from the heat of the sun, perhaps to secure them from the curious eyes of some observer. such eyes were already observing him, and resting upon him with an expression so tender and smiling, that you could see that the young girl to whom they belonged had a special interest in the tall, handsome gardener, who, in his modest, simple dress, and his great and imposing beauty, appeared to realize the truth of the old fables, of the gods who visited the earth in disguise. he might have been apollo charmed by some daphne, and taking this rude dress to approach the shepherdess he loved. perhaps this charming young girl thought thus, and on that account looked at him so smilingly from behind the lilacs, or perhaps she believed him to be a prince, and waited anxiously for the moment when he would throw off his disguise and declare himself her equal. for she was, although not a princess, maid of honor to one, and of noble birth. but youth is indifferent to such things as a genealogical tree, or a coat-of-arms, and what cared this child of thirteen summers whether fritz wendel was the son of a prince or a peasant? he pleased her because he was young and handsome, and he had one other great charm, he was her first lover. every one else called mademoiselle von sehwerin a child, and jested with little louise. the princess royal had begged her from her mother, as a sort, of plaything with which to amuse her lonely hours, and the title "maid of honor" was only a jest, which served merely to secure the entrance of the young lady to her royal mistress at any time. but louise was only a child in years; she possessed already the heart, the feelings, and the desires of a woman; nothing, therefore, hurt her pride so much as being called a child, and she was never happier than when her beauty and talent caused her youth to be forgotten. fritz wendel, the young gardener, knew nothing of her age. for him she was mademoiselle von schwerin, a young lady, the goddess at whose shrine he worshipped, the fairy under whose glance his flowers bloomed, and his heart beat high. for her alone he tended the flowers and the fruits; for her alone had god created the earth; was she not its queen, and was it not natural that fritz wendel lay at her feet, and called her the star of his existence? the young lady having watched her silent, dreaming "first lover" long enough, and tired of this unnatural silence, walked forward from her place of concealment, and bade fritz wendel good-morning, just as he was gathering a beautiful narcissus. poor fritz trembled, and a deep blush overspread his face; he was so embarrassed that he forgot to return the young girl's greeting, and only bent still lower over the flower which he held in his hand. "for whom are your flowers intended?" said louise, "and why have you hidden the most beautiful ones? will you not place them in the bouquet which you arrange every morning for the princess?" "i have never been ordered to gather the most beautiful flowers for the princess," said fritz wendel, who had not yet dared to glance at the young lady. "the prince royal commanded me to place fresh flowers in the vases every morning; that is all." "but it seems to me that is not all," said louise, laughing, "for you are gathering other flowers; for whom are they intended, if not for the princess royal?" fritz wendel at length dared to raise his eyes, and glance timidly at the smiling face of the young girl who stood near him. "they are also intended for a princess," he said, in a low voice--"for my princess." "oh! then you have a special princess for whom you gather flowers?" "yes, i have my princess, whom i serve, and for whom i would willingly sacrifice my life," cried the impetuous young man, with all the energy of his passionate and untamed nature. mademoiselle von schwerin played carelessly with the branch of the lilac which she held in her hand. she plucked off the small blossoms, and throwing them in the air, blew them about, as she danced here and there on tiptoe. "i would like to know how it is that i find a magnificent bouquet in my room every morning, and who it is that dares to gather more beautiful flowers for me than any to be found in the vases of the princess royal?" "it must be some one who adores you," said the young gardener, with his eyes on the ground, and blushing deeply at his own temerity. "then it is a nobleman, perhaps one of the court gentlemen," she said, casting a teasing glance on her embarrassed lover. "who else would dare to adore me, or to send me flowers?" "yes, you are right, who would dare?" murmured fritz wendel; "perhaps some poor, deluded mortal, led by a wild insanity to forget his humble condition, and consider himself your equal. there have been maniacs who imagined themselves great among earth's greatest men, and equal even to the very god in heaven." "how pale you are!" cried louise, looking at the young man with undissembled tenderness. "why do you weep, fritz?" she took his hand, and gazed into his eyes with a most singular expression, half curious, half questioning. fritz wendel trembled with delight at her touch, but withdrew his hand almost with violence. "i weep because i am a miserable gardener," he murmured; "i weep because i am not great and noble, like the gentlemen at court." "yesterday baron von kaiserling gave an account of an austrian general, who was the son of a peasant, and had been a cowherd. now he is a general, and is married to the daughter of a count." the countenance of fritz wendel beamed with energy and courage. "oh! why is there not a war?" he cried, enthusiastically. "i could not fail to become a general, for i should fight like a lion." "you would like to become a general, in order to marry the daughter of a count?" "not the daughter of a count, but--" "fritz wendel! fritz wendel!" called a voice in the distance. "it is the head gardener," said poor fritz, sadly. "farewell, farewell; be kind and gracious, and come again to-morrow to the garden." he took his basket of flowers, and hurried down the avenue. mademoiselle von schwerin followed him, with an angry glance. "once more no declaration of love," she murmured, stamping on the ground with the spitefulness of a child. "he shall make me a declaration. madame von morien says there is nothing more heavenly than to hear for the first time that you are beloved. she also says it is wisest not to choose your lovers among your equals, but either above or beneath you, for then you may be sure that you will not be betrayed. she told me yesterday that she was never so worshipped as by a young huntsman who served her father when she was just my age, and that no other man had ever adored her as he had done. now fritz wendel loves me also, and he shall make me a declaration, for i must know what this charming sensation is. he shall do it to-morrow. i will be so kind and gentle that he will tell me of his love. but now i must return to the palace. i dare not be found here," and the young girl flew away lightly as a gazelle. chapter viii. von manteuffel, the diplomat. the garden was again solitary. nothing was heard but the chattering of birds, as they flitted from limb to limb, and the whispering of the wind among the trees; all else was tranquil and still. but this did not last long. the noise of advancing footsteps gave evidence of the approach of some one, whose figure was soon visible at the entrance of the grand avenue. this person was again a lady, who, if not so beautiful as mademoiselle von schwerin, was still pretty enough to be called one of the fair sex. she was dressed in a charming and tasteful morning robe, which was eminently adapted to display to advantage the beautiful contour of her tall and stately figure. nor had she come into the garden merely to breathe the fresh morning air, and enjoy the delightful fragrance of flowers; these were scarcely observed, as she hurriedly swept past them. she stood still for a moment at the end of the long avenue, and looked cautiously around in all directions. seeing that no one was near, that she was alone and unobserved, she turned aside into the bushes, and, following a narrow, overgrown path, at last arrived at the garden wall, where she remained standing before a small door for a moment, listening with suppressed breathing. hearing nothing, she clapped her hands three times, and listened again. and now a repetition of her signal could be heard from the other side, and she cried in clear and silvery tones, "good-morning, good-morning!" a deep, manly voice returned her greeting from the other side of the wall. "it is he!" murmured the lady, and quickly drawing a key from her pocket, she opened the door. the man who had been standing outside sprang forward through the open gate, and, bowing low to the lady, pressed her proffered hand to his lips. "good-morning, count manteuffel," said she, smiling. "really you are as punctual as if coming to a rendezvous with your lady love." "tempi passali!" sighed the count. "i am married," "so am i," said the lady, laughing; "that is, however, no reason why--" "you should not still have ardent and devoted admirers." said the count, interrupting her. "but you are still young and beautiful, while i have grown old. tell me, kind lady, by what, art you have preserved the charming freshness of youth, and those bright and sparkling eyes by which i was so completely enslaved when i still had a heart?" the lady gave him a penetrating, mocking look. "count manteuffel," said she, "you are so friendly, and your adoration is of so profound a nature, that you undoubtedly have some very particular favor to solicit at my hands. but come, let us enter that little pavilion; there we will find comfortable seats, and be secure from all interruption." they passed silently along the wall to the pavilion, to which the same key gave access which had before opened the garden door. "here we are safe," said the lady, throwing back the lace veil which had concealed her face. "come, count, let us be seated; and now tell me why you desired this meeting, and why it is that your valet was not sent as usual to deliver your letters and to receive mine?" "i had an irresistible longing to see you, to behold once more your lovely countenance," said the count, with a deep sigh. "but just now you said you had no heart," said the lady, laughing. "you are the enchantress who recalls it to life. really you do credit to your name, and, thanks to madame brandt, my heart is again in flames." "count, it is very evident that you are now playing a part to which you are not accustomed," exclaimed madame brandt, laughing. "when you attempt to act the lover you become insipid, while your are known and acknowledged to be one of the shrewdest and most ingenious of diplomatists. but no diplomatic subterfuges with me, i pray. let us waste no time on the shell, but to the kernel at once! what do you require of me? in my last letter i gave you an accurate account of the state of affairs at court, and also of the state of my finances, which is precisely that of the prince royal's; that is, his purse is as empty as mine." "and both of you have an empress who is only too happy to have the privilege of supplying this deficiency," said count manteuffel, drawing forth a well-filled purse, through the silken meshes of which gold glittered, and presenting it to the lady. "i am only sorry to say there are several empresses who have the inestimable privilege of assisting the prince royal and madame brandt." "what do you mean, count? we no longer understand each other, and i beg of you not to speak in riddles, which i am not prepared to solve." "i mean to say that the prince royal, in his moneyed embarrassments, no longer addresses himself to the empress of austria, although she, as his nearest relative, as the aunt of the princess royal, has undoubtedly the first claim to his confidence." "but perhaps the purse of the empress of austria is insufficient to meet his demands," said madame von brandt. "he should first have tested the purse of the empress, as he frequently did in former times--in times when not only the prince royal, but also his sister of bairout, experienced the generosity of their imperial aunt. but the prince royal readily forgets the benefits which he has received." "that he does," sighed madame von brandt. "we poor women are the greatest sufferers. he has loved us all, and forgotten us all." "all?" asked count manteuffel. "all, count! we are nothing more to him than the plaything of an idle hour; he then wearies of us, and throws us aside. there is but one whom he truly loves and constantly." "and this lady's name?" "the flute, count! ah, you looked sadly crestfallen. true, this lady cannot be bribed, either with austrian gold or with the flattery of the skilful count manteuffel; she is always discreet, always mysterious; she never betrays her lover. ah, count, we might both learn something from this noble flute. yes, believe me, i would try to be like her, if, unfortunately, i did not need so many things for which a flute has no use, and if the glitter of austrian gold were not so alluring. but you, count manteuffel, why are you not like the flute? why have you spies and eavesdroppers at all places? why are you an austrian spy at the court of prussia--you who have wealth, rank, and standing which should place you above such paltry considerations?" count manteuffel's brow darkened, and he compressed his lips angrily. but he quickly subdued this momentary irritation, and was once more the affable, easy, and attentive diplomat. "i serve the austrian court from inclination," said he, "from preference, and certainly with honest intentions. i serve that court, because i am deeply convinced that upon austria devolves the privilege and duty of dethroning all other german princes, and uniting all germany under one government, of converting austria into germany. prussia must then cease to exist in austria, and must bend the knee as a vassal. that is my political conviction, and i act in accordance with it." "and for this political conviction you receive austrian gold and austrian decorations," observed madame von brandt, laughing. "for the sake of your political conviction you have spies at all points, at the court of potsdam, at the court of dresden, and even here at the little court at rheinsberg. not satisfied with having bought over the prince royal's cook, and induced him to keep a diary for your inspection,[ ] you have also succeeded in securing the services of that humble and modest little person, madame von brandt, who well knows that all this costs your grace a considerable amount of money. and now you wish to make me believe that you do these things on account of your political conviction. softly, my dear count! i, too, am a little diplomat, and have my convictions, and one of these is, that count manteuffel has but one passion, and that is, to play a political role, and to make as much money in that way as he possibly can. and to the good count manteuffel it is a matter of perfect indifference whether this money comes from prussian or from austrian sources." [ ] "youth of frederick the great," by preuss, page . "and why these amiable pleasantries?" said the count, with a forced smile. "they mean, my dear count, that this miserable acting should cease; that we should lay aside our masks, and deal with each other truly and sincerely, when alone, as we are at present. i serve you, because i am paid for it; you serve austria, because you are paid for it. if, in time of need, you were not at hand with a well-filled purse, i would cease to serve you; and you would no longer be enthusiastic on the subject of austrian dominion, if austria's money should cease to flow into your coffers. and now, my dear count, i believe we understand each other; and, without further circumlocution, what do you require of me--what have you to communicate?" "i must speak with you on matters of very grave importance." "i knew it! your flattery betrayed you," said madame brandt, "well, begin." "first of all, my dear baroness, you must know that the prince royal will in a few days be king." "not so, count; a courier arrived yesterday evening with the intelligence that his majesty was much better. the prince royal is so rejoiced that he has determined to give a fete in honor of madame von morien to-day." "does the prince royal still love this lady?" "i told you before that he loved his flute alone," said madame brandt. "does he not, then, love the princess royal?" "no! and perhaps he would not love her even if she were changed into a flute. he would probably say to quantz, 'it is not made of good wood, and has a bad tone,' and would lay it aside." "and do you believe he would do that with the princess? although she is no flute, do you believe he would cast her aside?" "the princess dreads it." "and so does the empress!" "but why was a woman, who not only knows nothing about music, but has a hoarse and discordant voice, and who articulates so indistinctly that the prince royal could not understand her were she to say the wittiest things imaginable, why should such a woman have been given as a wife to a prince of such remarkable musical proclivities? one does not marry a woman merely to look at her." "then you believe the prince royal will separate himself from his wife as soon as he obtains his freedom, that is, when he becomes king?" observed count manteuffel, thoughtfully. "of that i know nothing, count. the prince never speaks of his wife, even to his most intimate friends; and in his tenderest moments madame morien herself endeavors in vain to obtain some information on this subject." "the prince is very discreet and very suspicious. madame morien must be bought over," murmured the count. "that will be a difficult task," said madame brandt. "she is unfortunately very rich, and attaches but little importance to money. i know of but one means. procure for her a lover who is handsomer, more ardent, and more passionate than the prince royal, and she can be won! for it is well known that madame morien has a very susceptible heart." "baroness, no jesting, if you please; the matters under discussion are of the gravest importance, and our time is limited. madame morion must be won over. she alone can influence the prince through his heart, and her influence must be exerted to prevent a separation of the prince royal from his wife. you, my dear baroness, must induce madame morien to do this; you, with your bewitching eloquence, must make madame morien comprehend that this is the only means of doing penance for her sinful life, and that her only chance of reconciliation with heaven depends upon her restoration of the faithless husband to the arms of his noble wife. she could, perhaps, save the princess royal and the imperial court the disgrace of a separation. the princess must remain the wife of the king. this is the only tie which can bind the king to austria. the prince is surrounded by the enemies of austria, of whom suhm is the most dangerous." "well, he, at least, is not near the prince. you know that he is the ambassador of saxony at the court of petersburg." "therein lies the main difficulty! the prince royal places unlimited confidence in him, they correspond in characters which we have vainly endeavored to decipher; and the result of this correspondence is, that suhm has already procured the prince royal a loan of ten thousand dollars from the duke of courland, and that he has now secured him the annual sum of twenty-four thousand dollars from the empress anne. these payments will continue until the prince ascends the throne; the first has just been received."[ ] [ ] oeuvres de frederic le grand, vol. xvi., pp. , , , . "that is a fable," exclaimed madame brandt, laughing. "the prince is as poor as job, and for some time past has been literally besieged by his creditors!" "and it can be no other than russia who assists him in these difficulties!" exclaimed count manteuffel, in despair. "we must leave nothing undone to lessen the influence of this dangerous enemy, and to win prussia to austrian interests. germany wishes for peace, and prussia and austria must be on good terms. if prussia and austria were to take up arms against each other, the balance of power in europe would be destroyed, and a war would be inaugurated which, perhaps, for years would deluge germany with blood and tears! austria will do all that lies in her power to avoid this; and we, my dear friend, will be austria's allies, and will assist her to the best of our ability. russia has given prussia money, it is true, but an indebtedness of this kind ceases the moment the money is returned. when the prince royal ascends the throne, he will pay to russia what he owes her, and with that all obligations will be at an end. then another tie must be found to bind austria more firmly to prussia. and you must help to weave this tie. the prince royal must never be separated from his wife! the future queen of prussia will then be the niece of the empress. the duties of a nephew will consequently devolve on the king. to unite the two houses more closely, another marriage must be brought about. the prince augustus william, the presumptive heir of the prince royal, must, like the latter, espouse a princess of the house of brunswick--a sister of the princess royal." "that is impossible!" exclaimed madame brandt, with vivacity. "impossible? why impossible?" "because the heart of the prince augustus william is already filled with a deep and passionate love--a love which would even touch you, that is, if you are susceptible to pity." "my dear madame, we are speaking of affairs of state, and you discourse of love! what have politics to do with love? the prince may love whom he will, provided he marries the princess of brunswick." "but his is a great and noble, a real love, count--a love over which we have no power, in which the devil had no hand; a love as pure as heaven, and deserving of heaven's blessing! you must give this plan up, count; the prince augustus william will never marry the princess of brunswick. he is far too noble to give his hand without his heart, and that is devoted to the beautiful laura von pannewitz." "a prince of the blood who loves a little maid of honor, and wishes to marry her?" exclaimed von manteuffel, laughing loudly. "how romantic! how sublime! what excellent materials for a sentimental romance! my dear baroness, i congratulate you! this discovery does all honor to your poetical temperament." "mock me, if you will, count; but i repeat, nevertheless, prince augustus william will not marry the princess of brunswick, for he loves the beautiful maid of honor of the queen, and is determined to make her his wife." "we will know how to break this determination," said count manteuffel. "the prince royal will assist us, depend upon it. he is not an enthusiastic lover, like augustus william, and will never consent to his brother's making a misalliance." "and i tell you, the prince would rather die than give up the beautiful laura." "well, then she must give him up," said count manteuffel, with cruel composure. "poor laura," said madame brandt, with a sigh, "she loves him so dearly! it will break her heart to lose him." "pshaw! the heart of every woman is broken one or more times, but it always heals again, and when warmed by a new love, the old scars disappear entirely. you, dear baroness, have experienced this in yourself. have you no recollection of the days of our ardent and passionate love? did we not expect to die when we were separated? did we not wring our hands, and pray for death as a relief? and are we not still living, to smile pityingly at the pangs we then endured, and to remember how often we have experienced delight, how often love has since triumphed in our hearts?" "it is true," sighed madame brandt, "we outlive our sorrows; the heart of women resembles the worm--it still lives and quivers, although cut in pieces." "well," said count manteuffel, laughing, "the heart of laura von pannewitz is merely a worm, and we will not hesitate to cut it in pieces, as it will still live merrily on. you, my dear friend, shall be the knife which performs the operation. are you willing?" for a moment madame brandt looked down sadly, and seemed lost in thought. "true," she murmured, "we outlive it, but the best part of our being is destroyed! i should never have become what i am, if i had not been ruthlessly torn from my first dream of love. we will not kill laura von pannewitz's body, but her soul will suffer!" "and as it is not our province to look after souls, that need give us no care; a political necessity demands that prince augustus william shall marry the princess of brunswick. it demands, moreover, that the prince royal shall not be divorced from his wife, but that the niece of the empress shall be queen of prussia. in both of these affairs we need your assistance. you must closely watch the prince augustus william and his lady love, and, at the proper time, bring the affair to light. by your eloquence you must convince madame morien that it is her duty to exert her influence with the prince royal to prevent his separation from his wife. this is your task, and a noble task it is. its objects are--to protect the peace of married life; to recall two noble hearts to the duties which they owe to the world; and lastly, to create a new bond of union between two mighty german powers. the wife of the emperor charles vi., the noble empress, will not be ungrateful to her ally, madame brandt. on the day on which prince william espouses the princess louisa amelia of brunswick, madame brandt will receive a present of twenty thousand dollars from the empress." the countenance of madame brandt was radiant with pleasure and delight. "the prince shall and will marry the princess louisa amelia--my word for it. i am then to be the demon who, with his poisonous breath, destroys this romantic, this beautiful love; the evil genius who drives fair laura to despair. but why should i pity her? she suffers the fate of all women--my fate. who pitied, who saved me? no one listened to my cry of anguish, and no one shall heed the wailing cry of the fair laura von pannewitz. count, she is condemned! but, hark! do you not hear faint tones of distant music? the prince royal has arisen, and is playing the flute at his open window. we must now separate; the garden will soon be full of people, and we are no longer safe from intrusion. a boat-ride on the lake is in contemplation for the early morning hours, and then chazot will read voltaire's last drama to the assembled court." chapter ix. frederick, the prince royal. madame brandt was not mistaken; the prince royal was awake, and was bringing a tribute to beautiful, sunny nature in return for the sweetly-scented air that came through his window. there he stood, with the flute at his lips, and looked out at god's lovely, laughing world with a sparkling eye and joyful countenance. a cheerful quiet, a holy peace radiated from his beautiful face; his whole being seemed bathed in perfect harmony and contentment, and the soft, melting tones of his flute but echoed his thoughts. suddenly he ceased playing, and slightly bowed his head to catch the sweet, dying notes that were still trembling in the air. "that was good," said he, smiling, "and i believe i can note it down without exciting the anger of quantz." he took his flute again, and softly repeated the air he had just finished. "i will write it immediately, and play it this evening before my critical musicians." while speaking, frederick left his bedroom, and passed into his library. on entering this room, a beautiful smile flitted over his face, and he bowed his head as if saluting some one. it would be impossible to imagine a more charming and tasteful room. it had been arranged according to the directions of the prince royal, and was in a great degree a true portrait of himself, a temple which he had erected to art, science, and friendship. this room was in the new tower, and its circular form gave it a peculiar appearance. it was most appropriately compared to a temple. high glass cases around the walls contained the works of voltaire, racine, moliere, and corneille; those of homer, caesar, cicero, and ovid; also the italian poets dante, petrarch, and machiavel. all that had a good name in the literary world found its way into the library of the royal prince--all, excepting the works of german authors. between the book-cases, the shelves of which were ornamented here and there with busts of celebrated writers, were alcoves, in which stood small satin damask sofas, over which hung, in heavily-gilt frames, the portraits of frederick's friends and contemporaries. the largest and most beautiful was one of voltaire. he had received the honored place; and when frederick raised his eyes from his work, while sitting at his escritoire, they rested upon the smiling face of the talented french writer, whom the prince royal had selected as his favorite, and with whom he had for many years corresponded. the prince went with hasty steps to his table, and, without noticing the sealed letters that were lying there, he took a piece of lined paper, and began to write, humming softly the melody he had just composed. he occasionally threw down his pen, and took the flute that was lying at his side, to try, before noting them, different accords and passages. "it is finished at last," said the prince, laying aside his pen. "my adagio is finished, and i think quanta will have no excuse for grumbling to-day; he must be contented with his pupil. this adagio is good; i feel it; i know it; and if the bendas assume their usual artist airs, i will tell them--; no, i will tell them nothing," said the prince, smiling. "it is useless to show those gentlemen that i care for their approval, or court their applause. ours is a pitiful race, and i see the time approaching when i shall despise and mistrust the whole world; and still my heart is soft, and gives a warm approval to all that is great and beautiful, and it would make me very happy to love and trust my fellow-men; but they do not desire it--they would not appreciate it. am i not surrounded by spies, who watch all my movements, listen to every word i utter, and then pour their poison into the ear of the king? but enough of this," said the prince, after a pause. "this may air makes me dreamy. away with these cobwebs! i have not time to sigh or dream." he arose, and walked hastily up and down his room, then approached the escritoire, and took the letters. as his eye fell on the first, he smiled proudly. "from voltaire," he murmured softly, breaking the seal, and hastily opening the enclosure, which contained two letters and several loose scraps of printed matter. the prince uttered a cry of joyful astonishment, and scarcely noticing the two letters, he gazed with a half-tender, half-curious expression on the printed papers he held in his hand. "at last! at last!" exclaimed the prince, "my wish will be accomplished. the first step toward fame is taken. i shall no longer be unknown, or only known as the son of a king, the inheritor of a throne. i shall have a name. i shall acquire renown, for i will be a poet, an author, and shall claim a place in the republic of genius. i shall not need a crown to preserve my name in history. the first step is taken. my 'anti-machiavel' is in press. i will tread under foot this monster of knavish and diabolic statecraft, and all europe shall see that a german prince is the first to break a lance against this machiavel, who is making the people the slaves of princes. by his vile principles, he is moulding princes into such monsters that all mankind must curse them." and again looking at the paper, the prince read a few lines, his voice trembling with displeasure: "if it is a crime to destroy the innocence of a private individual who exercises a limited influence, is it not far worse to undermine the moral character of princes who should exhibit to their subjects an example of goodness, greatness, kindness, and love? the plagues sent by heaven are but passing, and destroy only in certain localities; and although most disastrous, their effects pass away in time. but the vices of kings create incurable misery; yes, misery enduring for generations. how deplorable is the condition of nations who have every evil to fear from their ruler, their property exposed to the covetousness of a prince, their freedom to his humor, and their lives to his cruelty!" frederick ceased, and turned over a few pages of his "anti-machiavel," and then continued to read: "machiavel speaks in his 'principe' of miniature sovereigns, who, having but small states, can send no armies to the field. the author advises them to fortify their capitals, and in time of war to confine themselves and their troops to them. "the italian princes, of whom machiavel speaks, only play the part of men before their servants. most of the smaller princes, and especially those of germany, ruin themselves by spending sums far exceeding their revenues, and thus by vanity are led to want. even the youngest scion of the least important salaried prince imagines himself as great as louis. he builds his versailles, and sustains his army. there is in reality a certain salaried prince of a noble house, who has in his service all the varieties of guards that usually form the households of great kings, but all on so minute a scale that it is necessary to employ a microscope to distinguish each separate corps, and whose army is perhaps strong enough to represent a battle on the stage of verona." prince frederick laughed aloud. "well, i think my most worthy cousin, ernest augustus, of saxe-weimar, will understand this allusion, and in gratitude for my giving his name to posterity in my 'anti-machiavel,' will unravel the mystery, and inform the world how it is possible, with the annual income of four hundred dollars, to keep a retinue of seven hundred men, a squadron of one hundred and eighty, and a company of cavalry; if he is capable of accomplishing this, without plunging into debt, he is certainly my superior, and i could learn a great deal from him. i could learn of him how to rid myself of this torment that i endure from day to day, from hour to hour. what could be a greater degradation to an honorable man than to be compelled to flatter the base pride of these vile usurers to whom i am forced to resort for the money i need; this money pressed, perhaps, from widows and orphans? to think that i, the inheritor of a kingdom, am in this condition--that i must lower myself to sue and plead before these men, while millions are lying in the cellars of my father's palace at berlin! but what! have i the right to complain? am i the only one who suffers from the closeness of the king? are not the people of berlin crying for bread, whilst the royal larder is filled to overflowing? but patience! the day will come when the keys will be in my hands--on that day i will give the people what rightly belongs to them, bread. i will unlock the treasury, and set free the imprisoned millions. but what noise is this?" said the prince, approaching the door. loud and angry voices were heard from without. "i tell you i must and will speak with the prince royal," cried a threatening voice; "i have waited in vain for two months, in vain addressed to him the most modest and respectful letters; i have not even been deemed worthy to receive an answer. now i have come to receive it in person, and i swear i will not leave this spot without an explanation with the prince royal." "it is ephraim," muttered frederick, with a deep frown. "well, you can stand here until you become a pillar of salt, like your great-grandmother of old," cried another voice. "this is knobelsdorf," said frederick. "the idea is good," said the first voice, "but it is not i who will become a pillar of salt, but others will from fright and terror, when i come with my avenging sword; for justice i will have, and if i do not obtain it here, i shall go and demand it of the king." "from the king! you do not know, then, that his majesty is dying?" "not so, not so! if that were so, i would not be here; i would have waited quietly for that justice from the new king which i demanded in vain from the prince royal. the king is recovering; i saw him in his arm-chair in the garden; for this reason i insist on speaking to the prince." "but if i tell you his royal highness is still asleep?" "i would not believe you, for i heard him playing on his flute." "that was quantz." "quantz! he is not capable of playing such an adagio; no, no, it could only have been the prince royal." "ah! this man wishes to bribe me with his flattery," said the prince, smiling, "and make me believe i am an orpheus. orpheus tamed lions and tigers with his music, but my flute is not even capable of taming a creditor." "but i say it was quantz," cried the poor frightened knobelsdorf; "the prince still sleeps, or is in bed, for he is not well, and gave orders to admit no one." "ah! i know all about that; noble gentlemen are always ill if they have to breathe the same air with their creditors," said ephraim, with a mocking smile; "but i tell you i will stay here until i have spoken to the prince, until he returns me four thousand dollars that i lent to him, more than a year ago, without interest or security. i must and will have my money, or i shall be ruined myself. the prince cannot wish that; he will not punish me so severely for the kindness and pity i showed to him in his greatest need." "this is really too much," cried knobelsdorf, "you are shameless; do you dare to speak of pity for the prince royal? do you dare to boast of having lent him money, while you only did it knowing he could and would repay you with interest?" "if ephraim knows that, he is cleverer than i am," said frederick, smiling sadly; "although i am a prince, i do not know how to get the miserable sum of four thousand dollars. but i must leave poor knobelsdorf no longer in this condition; i must quiet this uproar." and he hastened toward the door, as the noise without became louder and louder. chapter x. the prince royal and the jew. at this moment, while knobelsdorf was threatening the jew and calling the servants to thrust him out, the prince royal opened the door and showed his smiling face to the two combatants. "come in," said the prince, "i grant you the audience you so importunately demand." frederick stepped quietly back in his room, while ephraim, confused and humiliated by the calm dignity of the prince, advanced with bowed head and downcast eyes. "dear knobelsdorf," said frederick, turning to his gasping secretary, who stood amazed behind the jew, "i pray you to assemble all the ladies and gentlemen in the garden; we are going yachting; i will be with you in five minutes." "five minutes," said ephraim to himself, as knobelsdorf withdrew, "only one moment's audience for every thousand dollars! this is a proud debtor; i would have done better not to place myself in his power. but i will not be frightened, i will stand up boldly for my rights!" "and now, what have you to say to me?" said the prince, fixing his angry eyes upon ephraim. "what have i to say to your highness!" said ephraim, astonished. "more than a year ago i lent your highness four thousand dollars! i have as yet received neither principal nor interest." "well, what more?" "what more!" said ephraim. "yes, what more? it is impossible that you have come from berlin to rheinsberg to tell me what i have known for a year as well as yourself." "i thought your highness had forgotten," said the jew, fixing his eyes upon the prince, but casting them suddenly to the floor, as he met the flashing glance of frederick. "forgotten," said he, shrugging his shoulders; "i have a good memory for every act of kindness, and also for every offence against the respect and reverence due to the son of the king." his voice was so harsh and threatening, that ephraim trembled in his inmost heart, and stammered some words of apology. "my prince," said he, "i am a jew, that is to say a despised, reviled, and persecuted man! no--not a man, but a creature--kicked like a dog when poor and suffering, and even when the possessor of gold and treasures, scarcely allowed human rights. it is better for the dogs than for the jews in prussia! a dog dare have its young, and rejoice over them, but the jews dare not rejoice over their children! the law of the land hangs like a sword over them, and it may be that a jewess may be driven out of prussia because a child is born to her, only a specified number of jews being allowed in this enlightened land! perhaps the father is not rich enough to pay the thousand dollars with which he must buy the right to be a father every time a child is born to him! for this reason is gold, and again gold, the only wall of protection which a jew can build up between himself and wretchedness! gold is our honor, our rank, our destiny, our family, our home. we are nothing without gold, and even when we extend a golden hand, there is no hand advanced to meet it that does not feel itself contaminated by the touch of a jew! judge, then, your royal highness, how much we love, how highly we prize one to whom we give a part of our happiness, a part of our honor. i have done for you, my prince, what i have done for no other man. i have given you four thousand dollars, without security and without interest. i lent to knobelsdorf, for the prince royal, upon his mere word, my honest gold, and what have i received? my letters, in which i humbly solicit payment, remain unanswered. i am mocked and reviled--the door contemptuously shut in my face, which door, however, was most graciously opened when i brought my gold. such conduct is neither right nor wise; and as the worm turns when it is trodden upon, so is there also a limit to the endurance of the jew. he remembers at last that he is also one of god's creatures, and that god himself has given him the passion of revenge as well as the passion of love. the jew, when too long mishandled, revenges himself upon his torturers, and that will i also do, if i do not receive justice at your hands. that will i also do, if you refuse me my gold to-day." "you have made a lengthy and impertinent speech!" said frederick. "you have threatened me! but i will forgive you, because you are a jew; because the tongue is the only weapon a jew has, and knows how to use. i now advise you to put your sword in its sheath, and listen calmly to me. it is true, you have lent me four thousand dollars without security and without interest. you need not extol yourself for this, for you well know it is not the wish or the intention of the prince royal to oppress even the most pitiful of his subjects, or to withhold the smallest of their rights. you knew this; then why were you not satisfied to wait until i sent for you?" "i can wait no longer, your highness," cried ephraim, passionately. "my honor and credit are at stake. count knobelsdorf gave me his sacred promise that at the end of six months my money with interest should be returned. i believed him, because he spoke in the name of the prince royal. i now need this money for my business. i can no longer do without it. i must have it to-day." "you must? i say you shall not receive one penny of it to-day, nor to-morrow, nor for weeks!" "if your highness is in earnest, i must go elsewhere and seek redress." "that means you will go to the king." "yes, your highness, i will!" "are you ignorant of the law by which all are forbidden to lend money to the princes of the royal house?" "i am not ignorant of that law; but i know that the king will make an exception--that he will pay the money i lent to his successor. it is possible i may feel his crutch upon my back, but blows will not degrade me. the jew is accustomed to blows and kicks--to be daily trodden under foot. even if the king beats me, he will give me back my honor, for he will give me back my gold." "suppose that he also refuses you?" "then i will raise my voice until it is heard over the whole earth," cried ephraim, passionately. "well, then, raise your voice and cry out. i can give you no gold to-day." "no gold!" said ephraim. "am i again to be paid with cunning smiles and scornful words? you will withhold my gold from me? because you are great and powerful, you think you can oppress and mistreat a poor jew with impunity, but there is a god for the just and unjust, and he--" he stopped. before him stood frederick, blazing with anger. his lips were pallid and trembling, his arm uplifted. "strike, your highness!--strike!" cried ephraim, fiercely. "i deserve to be beaten, for i was a fool, and allowed myself to be dazzled with the glory of lending my gold to an unhappy but noble prince! strike on, your highness! i see now that this prince is but a man like the rest; he scorns and loathes the poor jew, but he will borrow his money, and defraud him of his rights." frederick's arm had fallen, and a soft smile played about his lips. "no," said he, "you shall see that frederick is not a man like other men. this day you shall have your money. i cannot pay you in money, but i will give you jewels, and horses from the stud that the king lately gave me." "then your highness has really no money?" said ephraim, thoughtfully. "it was not then to frighten and torment the poor jew that my gold was denied me. can it be possible that the great prince frederick, on whom the hopes of the people rest, and who is already dearly loved by his future subjects, can be without money? is it possible that he suffers like other men? my god! how dare we poor jews complain when the heir to a throne is harassed for money, and must endure privations?" the prince was not listening to ephraim; he had opened a closet, and taken from it a silver-bound casket, and was gazing intently at its contents. he drew forth a large diamond cross and some solitaires and approached the jew. "here are some jewels, i think, well worth your four thousand dollars; sell them and pay yourself," said the prince, handing him the sparkling stones. ephraim pushed the prince's hand gently back. "i lent gold, and gold only will i accept in payment." the prince stamped impatiently upon the ground. "i told you i had no gold!" "then i cannot receive any," said ephraim, passively. "the poor jew will wait still longer; he will give to the prince royal the gold which he needs, and of which the poor jew still has a little. i humbly ask your highness if you would not like to borrow another thousand, which i will gladly lend upon one condition." "well, and this condition?" "your highness is to pay me upon the spot the interest upon the four thousand in ready money? does your highness understand? just now you wished to pay my capital with diamonds and horses. will you give me as interest a few costly pearls--pearls which lie hidden in that flute, and which appear at your magical touch? i will count this as ready money!" frederick came nearer to ephraim, and eyeing him sternly, he said: "are you mocking me? would you make of the prince royal a travelling musician, who must play before the jew, in order to soften his heart?--would you--? ah, fredersdorf," said he, interrupting himself, as his valet approached him in a dusty travelling-suit, "have you just arrived from berlin?" "yes, your highness; and as i was told who was importuning your highness, i came in without changing my dress. the banker gave me this package for you. i believe it is from petersburg." "from suhm," said the prince, with a happy smile, and hastily breaking the seal, he drew from the package a letter and several books. casting a loving glance at the letter, he laid it on his writing-table; then turning away, so as not to be seen by ephraim, he took up the two books, and looked carefully at their heavily-gilded covers. frederick smiled, and, taking a penknife, he hastily cut off the backs of the books, and took out a number of folded papers. as the prince saw them, a look of triumph passed over his expressive face. "ten thousand dollars!" said he to himself. "the empress and the duke biron have fulfilled their promise!" frederick took some of the papers in his hand, and walked toward ephraim. "here are your four thousand dollars, and one hundred interest. are you satisfied?" "no, your royal highness, i am not satisfied! i am not satisfied with myself. when i came to rheinsberg i thought i had been wronged. it now seems to me that i have wronged your highness!" "let that pass," said frederick. "a prince must always be the scapegoat for the sin-offering of the people. they make us answerable for all their sufferings, but have no sympathy for us in our griefs. i owe you nothing more--you can go." ephraim bowed silently, and turned slowly toward the door. the eyes of the prince followed him with a kindly expression. he stepped to the table, and took up his flute. ephraim had reached the door of the ante-chamber, but when he heard the soft melting tones of the flute, he stopped, and remained listening breathlessly at the outer door. the piercing glance of the prince rested on him; but he continued to play, and drew from his flute such touching and melancholy tones that the poor jew seemed completely overcome. he folded his hands, as though engaged in fervent prayer; and even fredersdorf, although a daily hearer of the prince, listened in breathless silence to those sweet sounds. when the adagio was ended, the prince laid down his flute, and signed to fredersdorf to close the door; he wished to give ephraim an opportunity of slipping away unobserved. "did your highness know that the jew was listening?" said fredersdorf. "yes, i knew it; but i owed the poor devil something; he offered to lend me still another thousand dollars! i will remember this. and now, fredersdorf, tell me quickly how goes it in berlin? how is the king?" "better, your highness. he set out for potsdam a few days since, and the pure fresh air has done him good. he shows himself, daily upon the balcony, in full uniform. the physicians, it is true, look very thoughtful; but the rest of the world believe the king is rapidly improving." "god grant that the physicians may be again mistaken!" said the prince. "may the king reign many long and happy years! if he allow me to live as i wish, i would willingly give an arm if i could thereby lengthen his life. well, now for mirth and song! we will be gay, and thus celebrate the king's improvement. make, therefore, all liberal arrangements. give the cook his orders, and tell the ladies and gentlemen assembled in the garden that i will be with them immediately." the prince was now alone; he opened the letter he had received with the gold; his eye rested lovingly upon the handwriting of his distant friend, and his heart glowed as he read the words of friendship, admiration, and love from suhm. "truly," he said, raising his eyes devoutly to heaven, "a faithful friend is worth more than a king's crown. in spite of all my brilliant prospects in the future, what would have become of me if suhm had not stood by me for the second time and borrowed this money for me in russia--this paltry sum, which i have in vain sought to obtain in my own land? my heart tells me to write a few lines at once to suhm, expressing my unshaken friendship, my enduring love." frederick seated himself, and wrote one of those soul-inspiring letters for which he was so celebrated, and which ended thus: "in a short time my fate will be decided! you can well imagine that i am not at ease in my present condition. i have little leisure, but my heart is young and fresh, and i can assure you that i was never more a philosopher than now. i look with absolute indifference upon the future. my heart is not agitated by hope or fear, it is full of pity for those who suffer, of consideration for all honest men, and of tenderness and sympathy for my friends. you, whom i dare proudly count among the latter, may be more and more convinced that you will ever find in me what orestes was to his pylades, and that it is not possible for any one to esteem and love you more than your devoted frederick." "now," said the prince, as he arose, "away with the burdens, the gravities and cares of life! come, now, spirit of love! spirit of bliss! we will celebrate a feast this day in thy honor, thou goddess of youth and hope! come, lovely venus, and bring with thee thy son cupid! we will worship you both. to you belongs this day, this night. you, goddess of love, have sent me the little morien, that fluttering, light gazelle, that imperious, laughing fairy--that 'tourbillon' of caprice and passion. here is the poem i composed for her. madame brandt shall hand it to her, and shall lead the 'tourbillon' into the temple of love. away with earnest faces, dull eyes, and the wisdom of fools! come over me, spirit of love, and grant me one hour of blessed forgetfulness." the prince rang for his valet, and commanded him to lay out his latest french suit; he entered his boudoir, and with a comic earnestness, and the eager haste of a rash, impatient lover, he gave himself to the duties and arts of a royal toilet. chapter xi. the princess royal elizabeth christine. the princess royal had not yet left her rooms; she still waited for the prince, whose custom it was to give her his arm every morning and lead her to the saloon. on these occasions only did the princess elizabeth ever see her husband alone, then only did he address one word to her, touch her hand, or allow her to lean upon his arm. a sweet and sad happiness for this young wife, who lived only in the light of her husband's countenance; who had no other wish, no other prayer, no other hope than to please him. she felt that the eye of frederick never rested upon her with any other expression than that of cold friendship or absolute indifference. the reason for this she could never fathom. elizabeth would have given her heart's blood to be beloved by him for one single day, yes, for one short, blessed hour; to be clasped to his heart, not for form or etiquette, but as a loving and beloved wife, to receive in her ear the sweet whispers of his tenderness and his fondness. she would have given years of her life to have bought this man, whom she so passionately loved; he was her earthly god, the ideal of her maiden dreams. this man was her husband; he belonged to her; he was bound to her by the holiest ties, and yet there was an impassable gulf between them, which her unbounded love, her prayers, her sighs, could not bridge over. the prince loved her not; never had the slightest pulse of his heart belonged to her! he endured her, only endured her by his side, as the poor prisoner, sighing for fresh air, permits the presence of the jailer, when he can only thus buy a brief enjoyment of god's gay and sunny world. the prince royal was a prisoner, her prisoner. not love, but force had placed that golden ring upon his hand, that first link in the long, invisible heavy chain, which from that weary hour had bound his feet, yes, his soul; from which even his thoughts were never free. elizabeth knew that she was an ever-present, bitter memento of his sad, crushed, tortured, and humbled youth--a constant reminder of the noble friend of his early years, whose blood had been shed for him, and to whose last wild death-cry his tortured heart had been compelled to listen. her presence must ever recall the scorn, the hatred, the opposition of his stern father; the hardships, the abuse, the humiliations, yes, even the blows, all of which had at last bowed the noble mind of the prince and led him to take upon himself the slavery of this hated marriage, in order to be free from the scorn and cruelty of his father. to escape from his dreary prison in ruppin, he rushed into the bonds of wedlock. how could he ever forgive, how could he ever love this woman forced upon him, like drops of wormwood, and swallowed only with the hope of thereby escaping the torturous pains and last struggles with death? elizabeth had been ignorant of all these bitter truths. the prince had been ever considerate and kind, though cold, when they met: she had had one single confidential interview with him, and in that hour he had disclosed to her what had forced them together, and at the same time forever separated them. never could he love the wife associated in his mind, though innocently, with such cruelties and horrors; he was fully convinced that she, also, could not love a husband thus forced upon her; could entertain no feeling for him but that of respectful consideration and cold indifference. frederick did not know with what deadly wounds these words had pierced the princess; she had the strength to veil her passion and her shame with smiles, and in her modest maidenly pride she buried both in her heart. since that interview years had gone by, and every year the love of the princess royal for her husband became more ardent; his eyes were the sun which warmed and strengthened this flower of love, and her tears were the dew which nourished and gave it vitality. elizabeth hoped still to ravish the heart of her husband; she yet believed that her resigned, modest, but proud and great love, might conquer his coldness; and yet, in spite of this hope, in spite of this future trust, elizabeth trembled and feared more than formerly. she knew that the hour of decision was drawing nigh; she felt with the instinct of true love that a new storm was rising on the ever-clouded horizon of her marriage, and that the lightning might soon destroy her. frederick had been forced by the power of the king, his father, to marry her; how would it be when this power should cease, when her husband should be king? by no one held back; by no one controlled; free himself, and free to give laws to the world; to acknowledge no man as his judge; to be restrained by nothing but his conscience. might not even his conscience counsel him to dissolve this unnatural marriage, which had within itself no spark of god's truth, no ray of god's blessing? might not her husband cast her off and take this english princess for his wife? had she not been the choice of his heart? had not king george, although too late, declared his willingness for the betrothal? had they not loved each other with the enthusiasm of youth, although they had never met? did not sophia amelia's portrait hang in the library of the crown prince? did not the english princess wear his picture constantly near her heart? had she not sworn never to be the wife of another man? as elizabeth thought of these things she trembled, and it seemed to her that her whole life would go out in one great cry of anguish and horror. "no," she said, "i cannot live without him! i will never consent! he can kill me, but he cannot force me to break the solemn oath i have sworn on god's holy altar. he shall not cast me out into the wild wilderness, as abram did hagar, and choose another wife!" he could not force her to leave him, but he could beseech her, and elizabeth knew full well there was nothing in the world she could refuse to her husband, which he would condescend so far as to entreat; for one loving, grateful word from his lips, she would give him her heart's blood, drop by drop; for one tender embrace, one passionate kiss, she would lay down her life joyfully. but she would not believe in this separation; she would yet escape this unblessed fate--would find a way to his love, his sympathy, at least to his pity. it was a struggle for life, for happiness, for her future, yes, even for honor; for a divorced wife, even a princess, bears ever a stain upon her fair name, and walks lonely, unpitied, ever despised through the world. for these reasons the poor princess of late redoubled her efforts to please her husband; she entered more frequently into the gayeties of the court circle, and sometimes even took part in the frivolous and rather free jests of her husband's evening parties; sometimes she was rewarded by a smile and a glance of applause from frederick. this was for elizabeth the noblest jewel in her martyr crown of love, more costly, more precious than all her pearls and diamonds. to-day one of these joyous and unrestrained circles was to meet. the prince loved these fetes; he was more charming, witty, talented, and unrestrained, than any of his guests. princess elizabeth resolved to be no quiet silent member of this circle to-day; she would force her husband to look upon her and admire her; she would be more beautiful than all the other ladies of the court; more lovely than the gay and talented coquette, madame brandt; more entrancing than the genial 'tourbillon,' madame morien; yes, even the youthful schwerin, with her glancing eye and glowing cheek, should not excel her. she was also young and charming, might be admired, loved--yes, adored, not only as a princess, not only as the wife of the handsome and genial prince royal, but for her own lovely self. she had dismissed her maid, her toilet was completed, and she waited for the prince royal to lead her into the saloon. the princess stepped to the glass and examined herself, not admiringly, but curiously, searchingly. this figure in the mirror should be to her as that of a stranger to be remarked upon, and criticised coldly, even harshly; she must know if this woman might ever hope to enchain the handsome prince royal. "yes," whispered she to herself, "this form is slender and not without grace; this white satin robe falls in full voluptuous folds from the slender waist over the well-made form; it contrasts well with these shoulders, of which my maids have often said 'they were white as alabaster;' with this throat, of which madame morien says 'it is white and graceful as the swan's.' this foot, which peeps out from the silken hem of my robe, is small and slender; this hand is fair and small and well formed. i was constrained yesterday to promise the painter pesne to allow him to paint it for his goddess aurora; and this face! is it ugly to look upon? no, this face is not ugly; here is a high, clear forehead; the eyebrows well formed and well placed, the eyes are large and bright, the nose is small but nobly formed, the mouth good, the lips soft and red: yes, this face is handsome. o my god! why can i not please my husband?--why will he never look upon me with admiration?" her head sank upon her breast, and she was lost in sad and melancholy dreams; a few cold tears dropping slowly upon her cheeks aroused her; with a rash movement, she raised her head, and shook the tears from her eyes; then looked again in the glass. "why does not the prince love me?" whispered she again to herself with trembling lips. "i see it, i know it! it is written in unmistakable lines in this poor face. i know why he loves me not. these great blue eyes have no fire, no soul; this mouth has no magical, alluring smile. yes, alas! yes, that is a lovely form; but the soul fails!--a fine nature, but the power of intellect is wanting. my father, my heavenly father, i sleep; my soul lies dead and stiffened in the coffin with my secret sorrows; the prince could awaken it with his kisses, could breathe a new life into it by a glance." the princess raised her arms imploringly on high, and her trembling lips whispered, "pygmalion, why come you not to awaken thy galatea? why will you not change this marble statue into a woman of flesh and blood, with heart and soul? these lips are ready to smile, to utter a cry of rapture and delight, and behind the veil of my eyes lies a soul, which one touch of thine will arouse! o frederick! frederick! why do you torture me? do you not know that your wife worships, loves, adores you; that you are her salvation, her god? oh, i know these are unholy, sinful words! what then? i am a sinner! i am ready to give my soul in exchange for thee, frederick. why do you not hear me?--why have not my sighs, my tears the power to bring you to my side?" the poor, young wife sank powerless into her chair, and covering her face with her hands, wept bitterly. gay voices and loud laughter, sounding from beneath her window, aroused her from this trance of grief. "that is madame brandt and the duke of brunswick," said elizabeth, hastening to the window, and peeping from behind the curtains into the garden. yes, there stood the duke in lively conversation with jordan kaiserling chazot, and the newly-arrived bielfeld; but the ladies were nowhere to be seen, and the princess concluded they were already in the ante-room, and that the prince would soon join her. "he must not see that i have wept; no one must see that." she breathed upon her handkerchief, and pressed its damp folds upon her eyes. "no, i will smile and be gay like madame brandt and morien. i will laugh and jest, and no one shall guess that my heart is bleeding and dying with inexplicable grief. yes, gay will i be, and smiling; so only can i please my husband." she gave a sad, heart-breaking laugh, which was echoed loudly and joyously in the ante-room. chapter xii. the poem. the ladies of the court, and those who were guests at the palace of rheinsberg, were assembled, and waiting in the ante-room, as the princess royal had supposed. a few of them had withdrawn to one of the windows with madame von katch, the first lady of honor, and were conversing in low voices, while madame von brandt and madame von morien held an earnest but low-toned conversation in another part of the room. madame von morien listened anxiously to her friend, arid the varying emotions of her soul were clearly mirrored on her speaking countenance. at one moment a happy smile overspread her lovely features, but the next a cloud lay on that pure, fair brow, and darkened those black and glorious eyes. "as i told you," whispered madame von brandt, "the empress desires you to understand that, if you will assist in carrying out her wishes, you may depend upon her gratitude. you must employ all your eloquence and influence to induce the prince royal to dismiss from his mind the idea of divorcing his wife at the death of the king." "i do not blame the empress," said madame von morien, with a roguish smile. "it remains to be seen, however, whether the wishes of the prince royal and those of the empress coincide. you are well aware that prince frederick is not the man to be led by the will of others." "not by the will of the empress, dearest, but by yours." "well how does this good empress expect to bribe me, for i hope she does not think me so silly and childish as to consider her words commands, merely because they fall from the lips of an empress. no, the little morien is at this moment a more important person to the empress than the empress is to me, and it is, therefore, very natural that i should make my conditions." "only name them, my dear friend, and i assure you in advance that they will be fulfilled, unless you should demand the moon and the stars; these the empress cannot obtain for you." "ah, you have divined my condition," said madame von morien, smiling. "i demand a star--one that is brighter and more beautiful than those in the sky--one that the empress can give." "i do not understand you," said her astonished friend. "you will soon understand--only listen. have you not heard that the austrian empress intends to establish a new order--an order of virtue and modesty?" madame von brandt burst into a clear, silvery laugh. "and do you wish to belong to this order?" "yes; and if the empress will not present me with the star of this order, i shall enter into no further arrangements." madame von brandt, still laughing, replied: "this is a most edifying idea. le tourbillon desires to become a member of the 'order of virtue.' the beautiful morien, whose greatest pride was to despise the prudish, and to snap her fingers at morality, now wishes to be in the train of modesty." "dear friend," said madame von morien, with a bewitching smile, which displayed two rows of the most exquisitely white teeth, "dear friend, you should always leave open a way of retreat; even as aesop in descending the mountain was not happy in the easy and delightful path, but already sighed over the difficulties of the next ascent, so should women never be contented with the joys of the present moment, but prepare themselves for the sorrows which most probably await them in the future. a day must come when we will be cut off by advancing years from the flowery paths of love and pleasure, and be compelled to follow in the tiresome footsteps of virtue. it is wise, therefore, to be prepared for that which must come as certainly as old age, and, if possible, to smooth away the difficulties from this rough path. to-day i am le tourbillon, and will remain so a few years; but when the roses and lilies of my cheek are faded, i will place the cross of the 'order of virtue' on my withered bosom, and become the defender of the god-fearing and the virtuous." the two ladies laughed, and their laughter was as gay and silvery, as clear and innocent as the tones of the lark, or the songs of children. le tourbillon, however, quickly assumed an earnest and pathetic expression, and said, in a snuffling, preaching voice: "do i not deserve to be decorated with the star of the 'order of virtue?' am i not destined to reunite with my weak but beautiful hands two hearts which god himself has joined together? i tell you, therefore, procure this decoration for me, or i refuse the role that you offer me." "i promise that your caprice shall be gratified, and that you will obtain the star," said madame von brandt, earnestly. "excuse me, my dear, that is not sufficient. i demand the assurance, in the handwriting of the empress of austria, the exalted aunt of our princess royal, that this order shall be established, and that i shall become a member. it would do no harm for the empress to add a few words of tenderness and esteem." "i shall inform the empress of your conditions immediately, and she will without doubt fulfil them, for the danger is pressing, and you are a most powerful ally." "good! thus far we are agreed, and nothing fails now but the most important part," said madame von morien, with a mischievous smile; "that is to discover whether i can accomplish your wishes--whether the prince royal considers me any thing more than 'le tourbillon,' 'the pretty morien,' or the turkish music to which he listens when he is gay. nothing is wanting but that the prince royal should really love me. it is true that he makes love to me; he secretly presses my hand; he occasionally whispers a few loving, tender words in my ear; and yesterday, when i met him accidentally in the dark corridor, he embraced me so passionately, and covered my lips with such glowing, stormy kisses, that i was almost stifled. but that is all--that is the entire history of my love." "no, that is not all. this history has a sequel," said madame von brandt, triumphantly, as she drew a sealed letter from her bosom, and gave it to her companion. "take this, it is a new chapter in your romance." "this letter has no address," returned madame von morien, smiling. "it is intended for you." "no, it is mine," suddenly cried a voice behind them, and a small hand darted forward, and tore the sealed paper from madame von morien. "mine, this letter is mine!" cried louise von schwerin, the little maid of honor, who, without being remarked, had approached the two ladies, and seized the letter at this decisive moment. "the letter belongs to me; it is mine," repeated the presumptuous young girl, as she danced laughingly before the two pale and terrified ladies. "who dares affirm that this letter, which has no address, is not intended for me?" "louise, give me the letter," implored madame von morien, in a trembling voice. but louise found a pleasure in terrifying her beautiful friend, who invariably laughed at her, and called her a child when she spoke of her heart, and hinted at a secret and unhappy passion. louise wished to revenge herself by claiming the privileges of a child. "take the letter if you can," cried the young girl, as she flew through the room as lightly as a gazelle, waving her prize back and forth like a banner, "take the letter!" madame von morien hurried after her, and now began a merry race through the saloon, accompanied by the laughter of the ladies, who looked on with the liveliest interest. and in reality it was a charming picture to see these beautiful figures, which flew through the hall like two atalantas, radiant with eagerness, with glowing cheeks and smiling lips, with fluttering locks and throbbing breasts. the young girl was still in advance; she danced on, singing and laughing, far before the beautiful morien, who began already to be wearied. "the letter is mine!" sang out this impudent little maiden, "and no one shall take it from me." but fear lent wings to madame von morien, who now made a last despairing effort, and flew like an arrow after louise. now she was just behind her; louise felt already her hot, panting breath upon her cheek; saw the upraised arm, ready to seize the letter--when suddenly the door opened, before which louise stood, and the princess royal appeared. the youthful maid of honor sank laughing at her feet, and said breathlessly, "gracious princess, protect me!" madame von morien remained motionless at the appearance of the princess royal, breathless not only from her rapid race, but also from fear, while madame von brandt, concealing, with a smile, her own alarm, approached her friend, that she might not remain without assistance at this critical moment. the rest of the company stood silent at a respectful distance, and looked with curious and inquiring glances at this singular scene. "well, and from what shall i protect you, little louise?" said the princess royal, as she bent smilingly over the breathless child. louise was silent for one instant. she felt that the princess would reprove her for her naughtiness; she did not wish to be again treated as a child before the whole court. she hastily resolved to insist upon the truth of her assertion that the letter was hers. "madame von morien wished to take my letter from me," said louise, giving the latter a perverse look. "i hope your royal highness knows this impudent child well enough not to put any faith in her words," said madame von morien, evasively, not daring to claim the letter as her property. "child! she calls me a child!" murmured louise, enraged, and now determined to revenge herself by compromising madame von morien. "then the letter does not belong to louise?" asked the princess royal, turning to madame von morien. "yes, your royal highness, it is mine," declared louise; "your royal highness can convince yourself of it. here is the letter; will you have the kindness to read the address?" "but this letter has no address," said the astonished princess. "and still madame von morion asserts that it is intended for her," cried louise, wickedly. "and mademoiselle von schwerin declares it belongs to her," said madame von morien, casting a furious look on louise. "i implore your royal highness to be the judge," said louise. "how can i decide to whom the letter belongs, as it bears no name?" said the princess, smiling. "by opening and reading it," said the young girl, with apparent frankness. "the letter is from my mother, and i do not care to conceal its contents from your royal highness." "are you willing, madame von morien? shall i open this letter?" but before the amazed and terrified young woman found time for a reply, madame von brandt approached the princess with a smiling countenance. she had in this moment of danger conceived a desperate resolution. the prince royal had informed her that this paper contained a poem. why might not this poem have been intended for the princess as well as for madame von morien? it contained, without a doubt, a declaration of love, and such declarations are suitable for any woman, and welcome to all. "if your royal highness will permit me, i am ready to throw light on this mystery," said madame von brandt. the princess bowed permission. "this letter belongs neither to madame von morien nor to mademoiselle von schwerin," said madame von brandt. "you promised to enlighten us," exclaimed the princess, laughing, "and it appears to me you have made the mystery more impenetrable. the letter belongs neither to madame von morien nor to little louise. to whom, then, does it belong?" "it belongs to your royal highness." "to me?" asked the astonished princess, while madame von morien gazed at her friend with speechless horror, and mademoiselle von schwerin laughed aloud. "yes, this letter belongs to your royal highness. the prince royal gave it to me, with the command to place it upon your table, before you went to your dressing-room; but i was too late, and understood that your highness was occupied with your toilet. i dared not disturb you, and retained the letter in order to hand it to you now. as i held it in my hand, and said jestingly to madame von morien that the prince royal had forgotten to write the address, mademoiselle von schwerin came and tore it from me in a most unladylike manner, and declared it was hers. that is the whole history." "and you say that the letter is mine?" said the princess, thoughtfully. "it is yours, and it contains a poem from his royal highness." "then i can break the seal?" said the princess, tearing open the paper. "ah!" she cried, with a happy smile, "it is a poem from my husband." "and here comes his royal highness to confirm the truth of my statement," cried madame von brandt, stepping aside. chapter xiii. the banquet. madame von brandt was right. the prince royal, surrounded by the cavaliers of his court, entered the saloon just as the princess had commenced reading the poem. on his entrance a murmur of applause arose, and the countenance of his wife was radiant with pleasure and delight on beholding this handsome and engaging young prince, whom she, emboldened by the love-verses which she held in her hand, joyfully greeted as her husband. on this day the prince did not appear as usual in the uniform of his regiment, but was attired in a french costume of the latest fashion. he wore a snuff-colored coat of heavy moire-antique, ornamented at the shoulders with long bows of lace, the ends of which were bordered with silver fringe. his trousers, of the same color and material, reached to his knees, and were here ornamented with rich lace, which hung far down over his silk stockings. on the buckles of his high, red-heeled shoes, glittered immense diamonds. these gems were, however, eclipsed by the jewelled buttons which confined his long, silver-brocaded waistcoat.[ ] [ ] bielfeld, vol. ii., page . the costume of the cavaliers who accompanied the prince was of the same style, but less rich. as this group of handsome and richly-attired gentlemen entered the saloon, the bright eyes of the ladies sparkled, and their cheeks colored with pleasure. the princess royal's countenance was illumined with delight; never had she seen the prince so handsome, never had he looked so loving. and this was all for her, the chosen one, whom he now blessed with his love. yes, he loved her! she had only read the commencement of the poem which he had written, but in this she had seen words of tender and passionate love. while she was gazing at her husband in silent ecstasy, madame von brandt approached the prince, and gracefully recounting the scene which had just occurred, requested him to confirm her statement. the prince's quick glance flitted for a moment from the beautiful morien, who trembled with consternation and terror to his wife, and, judging by the pleased expression of her face, he concluded that she believed this poem had been really addressed to herself. she had, therefore, not read it to the end; she had not yet arrived at the verse which contained a direct appeal to the beautiful tourbillon, the charming leontine. she must not be permitted to read the entire poem. that was all! the prince approached his wife with a smile, to which she was unaccustomed, and which made her heart beat high with delight. "i crave your indulgence," said he, "for my poor little poem, which reached you in so noisy a manner, and is really scarcely worth reading. read it in some solitary hour when you are troubled with ennui; it may then possibly amuse you for a moment. we will not occupy ourselves with verses and poems to-day, but will laugh and be merry; that is, if it pleases you, madame." the princess murmured a few low and indistinct words. as usual, she could find no expression for her thoughts, although her heart was full of love and delight. this modest shyness of the lips, this poverty of words, with her rich depth of feeling, was the great misfortune of the princess royal. it was this that made her appear awkward, constrained, and spiritless; it was this that displeased and estranged her husband. her consciousness of this deficiency made her still more timid and constrained, and deprived her of what little power of expression she possessed. had she at this moment found courage to make a ready and witty reply, her husband would have been much pleased. her silence, however, excited his displeasure, and his brow darkened. he offered her his arm; and, exchanging glances with madame morien, he conducted his wife to the dining-saloon, to the magnificently arranged and glittering table. "the gardener of rheinsberg, frederick of hohenzollern, invites his friends to partake of what he has provided. for the prince royal is fortunately not at home; we can, therefore, be altogether sans gene, and follow our inclinations, as the mice do when the cat is not at home." he seated himself between his wife and madame morien, whispering to the latter: "beautiful tourbillon, my heart is in flames, and i rely upon you to quench them. you must save me!" "oh, this heart of yours is a phoenix, and arises from its ashes renewed and rejuvenated." "but only to destroy itself again," said the prince. then taking his glass and surveying his guests with a rapid glance, he exclaimed: "our first toast shall be youth--youth of which the old are envious!--youth and beauty, which are so brilliantly represented here to-day, that one might well imagine venus had sent us all her daughters and playmates, as well as her lovers, the deposed and discarded ones as well as those whom she still favors, and only proposes to discard." the glasses rang out merrily in answer to this toast, and all betook themselves with evident zest to the costly and savory dishes, prepared by the master-hand of duvall the french cook, and which the prince seasoned with the attic salt of his ever-ready wit. they all gave themselves up to gayety and merriment, and pleasure sparkled in every eye. the corpulent knobelsdorf related in a stentorian voice some amusing anecdotes of his travels. chazot recited portions of voltaire's latest work. the learned and witty count kaiserling recited verses from the "henriade," and then several of gellert's fables, which were becoming very popular. he conversed with his neighbor, the artist pesne, on the subject of the paintings which his masterly hand had executed, and then turning to mademoiselle von schwerin, he painted in glowing colors the future of berlin--the future when they would have a french theatre, an italian opera, and of all things, an italian ballet-corps. for the latter the most celebrated dancers would be engaged, and it should eclipse every thing of the kind that had ever been seen or heard of in germany. at the lower end of the table sat the two vendas, the two grauns, and quantz, the powerful and much-feared virtuoso of the flute and instructor of the prince royal, whose rudeness was almost imposing, and before whom the prince himself was somewhat shy. but to-day even quantz was quiet and tractable. his countenance wore the half-pleased, half-grumbling expression of a bull-dog when stroked by a soft and tender hand. he is inclined to be angry, but is so much at his ease that he finds it absolutely impossible to growl. in their merriment the gentlemen were becoming almost boisterous. the cheeks of the ladies glowed with pleasure, and their lovers were becoming tender. the princess royal alone was silent; her heart was heavy and sorrowful. she had carefully reconsidered the scene which had occurred, and the result was, she was now convinced that the poem which she had received was not intended for her, but for some other fair lady. she was ashamed of her credulity, and blushed for her own vanity. for how could it be possible that the handsome and brilliant man who sat at her side, who was so witty and spirited, who was as learned as he was intelligent, as noble as he was amiable, how could it be possible that he should love her?--she who was only young and pretty, who was moreover guilty of the great, unpardonable fault of being his wife, and a wife who had been forced upon him. no, this poem had never been intended for her. but for whom, then? who was the happy one to whom the prince had given his love? her heart bled as she thought that another could call this bliss her own. she was too mild and gentle to be angry. she ardently desired to know the name of her rival, but not that she might revenge herself. no, she wished to pray for her whom the prince royal loved, to whom he perhaps owed a few days of happiness, of bliss. but who was she? the princess royal's glance rested searchingly on all the ladies who were present. she saw many beautiful and pleasing faces. many of them had intelligence, vivacity, and wit, but none of them were worthy of his love. her husband had just turned to his fair neighbor, and, with a fascinating smile, whispered a few words in her ear. madame morien blushed, cast down her eyes, but, raising them again and looking ardently at the prince royal, she murmured a few words in so low a tone that no one else heard them. how? could it be this one? but no, that was impossible. this giddy, coquettish, and superficial woman could by no possibility have captivated the noble and high-toned prince; she could not be elizabeth's happy rival. but who, then? alas, if this long and weary feast were only at an end! if she could but retire to her chamber and read this poem, the riddle would then be solved, and she would know the name of his lady-love. it seemed, however, that the prince had divined his wife's wish, and had determined that it should not be gratified. they had taken their seats at table at a very late hour to-day, at six o'clock. it had now become dark, and candelabras with wax candles were brought in and placed on the table. "the lights are burning," exclaimed the prince; "we will not leave the table until these lights are burned out, and our heads have become illuminated with champagne."[ ] [ ] bielfeld, vol i., page . the prince's own words. and amid conversation, laughter, and recitations, all went merrily on. but the heart of the princess royal grew sadder and sadder. suddenly the prince turned to her. "i feel the vanity of an author," said he, "and beg permission to inquire if you have no curiosity to hear the poem which i had the honor of sending you to-day by madame brandt?" "indeed i have, my husband," exclaimed the princess, with vivacity. "i long to become acquainted with its contents." "then permit me to satisfy this longing," said the prince, holding out his hand for the poem. the princess hesitated, but when she looked up and their eyes met, his glance was so cold and imperious, that she felt as if an icy hand were at her heart. she drew the poem from her bosom and handed it silently to her husband. "now, my little maid of honor, von schwerin," said the prince royal, smiling, "this sagacious, highly respectable, and worthy company shall judge between you and me, and decide whether this paper is a letter from her dear mother, as this modest and retiring child asserts, or a poem, written by a certain prince, who is sometimes induced by his imaginative fancy to make indifferent verses. listen, therefore, ladies and gentlemen, and judge between us. but that no one may imagine that i am reading any thing else, and substituting the tender thoughts of a lover for the fond words of motherly affection, madame morien shall look at the paper i am reading, and bear witness to my truth." he read off the first verses as they were written, and then improvising, recited a witty and humorous poem, in which he did homage to his wife's charms. his poem was greeted with rapturous applause. while he was reciting the improvised verses, madame morien had time to read the poem. when she came to the verses which contained a passionate declaration of love, and in which the prince half-humbly, half-imperiously, solicited a rendezvous, her breast heaved and her heart beat high with delight. after the prince had finished he turned to his wife with a smile, and asked if the poem had pleased her. "so much so," said she, "that i pray you to return it. i should like to preserve it as a reminiscence of this hour." "preserve it? by no means! a poem is like a flower. it is a thing of the present, and is beautiful only when fresh. the moment gave it, and the moment shall take it. we will sacrifice to the gods, what we owe to the gods." having thus spoken, the prince tore the paper into small pieces, which he placed in the palm of his hand. "go ye in all directions and teach unto all people that nothing is immortal, not even the poem of a prince," said he, and blowing the particles of paper, he sent them fluttering through the air like snowflakes. the ladies and gentlemen amused themselves with blowing the pieces from place to place. each one made a little bellows of his mouth, and endeavored to give some strip of paper a particular direction or aim--to blow it on to some fair one's white shoulders or into some gentleman's eye or laughing mouth. this caused a great deal of merriment. the princess was still sad and silent. now and then a scrap fell before her; these she blew no further, but mechanically collected and gazed at them in a listless and mournful manner. suddenly she started and colored violently. on one of these strips of paper she had read two words which made her heart tremble with anger and pain. these words were, "bewitching leontine!" the secret was out. the prince royal's poem had been addressed to leontine, to a bewitching leontine, and not to elizabeth! but who was this leontine? which of the ladies bore that name? she must, she would know! she called all her courage to her assistance. suddenly she took part in the general merriment, commenced to laugh and jest; she entered gayly into a conversation with her husband, with madame morien and the young baron bielfeld, who was her vis-a-vis. the princess had never been so gay, so unconstrained, and so witty. no one suspected that these jests, this laughter, was only assumed; that she veiled the pain which she suffered with a smiling brow. the candles had burnt half way down, and some of the gentlemen had begun to light the first tapers of the champagne illumination which the prince had prophesied. chazot no longer recited, but was singing some of the charming little songs which he had learned of the merry peasants of normandy, his fatherland. jordan improvised a sermon after the fashion of the fanatical and hypocritical priests who for some time past had collected crowds in the streets of berlin. kaiserling had risen from his seat and thrown himself into an attitude in which he had seen the celebrated lagiere in the ballet of the syrene at paris. knobelsdorf recounted his interesting adventures in italy; and even quanta found courage to give the prince's favorite dog, which was snuffling at his feet, and which he hated as a rival, a hearty kick. the prince royal alone had preserved his noble and dignified appearance. amid the general excitement he remained calm and dignified. the candles were burning low, and the champagne illumination was becoming intense in the heads of all the gentlemen except the prince and the baron bielfeld. "bielfeld must also take part in this illumination," said the prince, turning to his wife, and calling the former, he proposed to drink with him the health of his fiancee, whom he had left in hamburg. after bielfeld had left his seat and was advancing toward the prince royal, the princess hurriedly and noiselessly gave her instructions to a servant. she had observed that bielfeld had been drinking freely of the cold water which had been placed before him in a decanter. the servant emptied this decanter and filled it with sillery, which was as clear and limpid as water. bielfeld returning to his seat, heated by the toast he had been drinking, filled his glass to the brim, and drank instead of water the fiery sillery.[ ] [ ] bielfeld, vol. i., page . the princess royal, whose aim was to discover which of the ladies was the bewitching leontine, determined to strike a decisive blow. with an ingratiating smile she turned to bielfeld and said: "the prince royal spoke of your fiancee; i may, therefore, congratulate you." bielfeld, who did not dare to acknowledge that he was on the point of shamefully deserting this lady, bowed in silence. "may i know the name of your fiancee?" asked she. "mademoiselle von randau," murmured bielfeld, drinking another glass of sillery to hide his confusion. "mademoiselle von randau!" repeated the princess, "how cold, how ceremonious that sounds! to imagine how a lady looks and what she is like, it is necessary to know her christian name, for a given name is to some extent an index to character. what is your fiancee's name?" "regina, royal highness." "regina! that is a beautiful name. a prophecy of happiness. then she will always be queen of your heart. ah, i understand the meaning of names, and at home in my father's house i was called the sibyl, because my prophecies were always true. if you will give me your first names, i will prophecy your future, ladies. let us commence. what is your given name, madame von katsch?" while the princess was speaking, she played carelessly with the beautiful venetian glass which stood before her. the prince royal alone saw what no one else observed; he saw that the hand which toyed with the glass trembled violently; that while she smiled her lips quivered, and that her breathing was hurried and feverish. he comprehended what these prophecies meant; he was convinced that the princess had become acquainted with the contents of his poem. "do not give her your name," he whispered to madame morien. he then turned to his wife, who had just prophesied a long life and a happy old age to madame von katsch. "and your name, mademoiselle von schwerin?" said the prince royal. "louise." "ah, louise! well, i prophecy that you will be happier than your namesake, the beautiful la valliere. your conscience will never reproach you on account of your love affairs, and you will never enter a convent." "but then i will probably never have the happiness of being loved by a king," said the little maid of honor, with a sigh. this naive observation was greeted with a merry peal of laughter. the princess continued her prophecies; she painted for each one a pleasant and flattering future. she now turned to madame morien, still smiling, still playing with the glass. "well, and your name, my dear madame morien?" said she, looking into the glass which she held clasped in her fingers. "she is called 'le tourbillon,'" exclaimed the prince royal, laughing. "antoinette, louise, albertine, are my names," said madame morien, hesitatingly. the princess royal breathed free, and raised her eyes from the glass to the beautiful morien. "these are too many names to prophesy by," said she. "by what name are you called?" madame morien hesitated; the other ladies, better acquainted with the little mysteries of tourbillon than the princess, divined that this question of the princess and the embarrassment of madame morien betokened something extraordinary, and awaited attentively the reply of this beautiful woman. a momentary pause ensued. suddenly mademoiselle schwerin broke out in laughter. "well," said she, "have you forgotten your name, madame morien? do you not know that you are called leontine?" "leontine?" exclaimed the princess, and her fingers closed so tightly on the glass which she held in her hand, that it crushed, and drew from her a sharp cry of pain. the prince royal saw the astonished and inquiring glances of all directed to his wife, and felt that he must turn their attention in some other direction--that he must make a jest of this accident. "elizabeth, you are right!" said he, laughing. "the candles have burnt down; the illumination has begun; the festival is at an end. we have already sacrificed a poem to the gods, we must now do the same with the glasses, out of which we have quaffed a few hours of happiness, of merriment, and of forgetfulness. i sacrifice this glass to the gods; all of you follow my example." he raised his glass and threw it over his shoulder to the floor, where it broke with a crash. the others followed the example of the prince and his wife with shouts of laughter, and in a few minutes nothing was left of these beautiful glasses but the glittering fragments which covered the floor. but the company, now intoxicated with wine and delight, was not contented with this one offering to the gods, but thirsted for a continuation of their sport; and not satisfied with having broken the glasses, subjected the vases and the bowls of crystal to the same treatment. in the midst of this general confusion the door was suddenly opened, and fredersdorf appeared at the threshold, holding a letter in his hand. his uncalled-for appearance in this saloon was something so extraordinary, so unprecedented, that it could be only justified on the ground of some great emergency, something of paramount importance. they all felt this, notwithstanding their excitement and hilarity. a profound silence ensued. every eye was fixed anxiously upon the prince, who had received the letter from fredersdorf's hands and broken the seal. the prince turned pale, and the paper trembled in his hands he hastily arose from his seat. "my friends," said he, solemnly, "the feast is at an end. i must leave for potsdam immediately. the king is dangerously ill. farewell!" and offering his arm to his wife, he hastily left the saloon. the guests, who but now were so merry, silently arose and betook themselves to their chambers, and nothing could be heard save now and then a stolen whisper or a low and anxious inquiry. soon a deep and ominous silence reigned in the castle of rheinsberg. all slept, or at least seemed to sleep. chapter xiv. le roi est mort. vive le roi! king frederick william's end was approaching. past was his power and greatness, past all his dreams of glory. long did the spirit fight against the body; but now, after months of secret pain and torture, he had to acknowledge himself overpowered by death. the stiff uniform is no longer adapted to his fallen figure. etiquette and ceremony had been banished by the all-powerful ruler--by death. he is no longer a king, but a dying man--nothing more. a father taking leave of his children, a husband embracing his wife for the last time; pressing his last kisses upon her tearful face, and pleading for forgiveness for his harshness and cruelty. frederick william has made his peace with god and the world; his proud spirit is broken; his hard heart softened. long he had striven in the haughtiness of his heart before acknowledging his sins, but the brave and pious roloff approached his couch, and with accusations and reproaches awakened his slumbering conscience. at first he had but one answer to the priest's accusations, and that was proudly given: "i have ever been true to my wife." roloff continued to speak of his extortions, oppressions, and inhumanity. frederick william was at last convinced that he must lay down his crown and approach god with deep repentance, humbly imploring pardon and mercy. now that he had made his peace with god, there remained nothing for him to do but to arrange his earthly affairs, and take leave of his wife, and children, and friends. they were all called to his room that he might bid them farewell. by the side of the arm-chair, in which the king was reclining, wrapped in his wide silk mantle, stood his wife and the prince royal. his hands rested in theirs, and when he raised his weary eyes, he always met their tear-stained faces, their looks of unutterable love. death, that would so soon separate them forever, had at last united in love father and son. weeping loudly, frederick william, folded the prince royal in his arms, and with a voice full of tears, exclaimed: "has not god in his great mercy given me a noble son?" prince frederick bowed his head upon his father's breast, and prayed deeply and earnestly that his life might be spared. but the end was approaching; the king knew and felt it. he had the long coffin, the same in which he had laid himself for trial a few months before, brought into his room, and looking at it sadly, said, with a peaceful smile: "in this bed i shall sleep well!" he then called his secretary, eichel, and ordered him to read the programme of his funeral, which he had himself dictated. it was a strange picture to see this king, lying by the side of the coffin, surrounded by his children and servants, his weary head reclining on the shoulder of his wife, listening attentively to this programme, that spoke of him a still living and thinking being, as of a cold, dead, senseless mass. not as for a sad festival, but for a grand parade, had the king arranged it, and it made a fearful, half-comic impression upon the auditors, when was added, at the especial request of the king, that, after his laying out, a splendid table should be set in the great hall for all who had been present at the ceremony, and that none but the best wines from his cellar should be served. after having provided for his corpse, frederick william still wished to leave to each of his favorites, the prince of dessau and baron hacke, a horse. he ordered the horses to be led from their stalls to the court. he then desired his chair to be rolled to an open window, where he could see the entire court, and give a farewell look to each of these animals which had so often borne him to feasts and parades. oh! what costly, glorious days those were, when he could lightly swing himself upon these proud steeds, and ride out into god's fresh, free air, to be humbly welcomed by his subjects, to be received with the roll of drums and the sound of trumpets, and every moment of his life be made aware of his greatness and power by the devotion and humility of those who surrounded him! and that was all set aside and at an end. never again could he mount his horse, never again could he ride through the streets of berlin, and rejoice over the beautiful houses and stately palaces called into life by his royal will. never again will he receive the humble welcome of his subjects; and when on the morrow drums are beating and cannon thundering, they will not salute the king, but his corpse. oh! and life is so beautiful; the air is so fresh and balmy; the heavens of so clear and transparent a blue; and he must leave it all, and descend into the dark and lonely grave. the king brushed a tear from his eye, and turning his gaze from heaven and god's beautiful earth, looked upon the horses which a servant was leading to and fro in the court. as he did this, his countenance brightened, he forgot for the moment that death was near at hand, and looked with eager attention to see which of the horses the gentlemen would choose. when he saw the selection the prince of dessau had made, he smiled, with the pitying look of a connoisseur. "that is a bad horse, my dear prince," he exclaimed; "take the other one, i will vouch for him." after the prince had chosen the horse shown him by the king, and baron hacke the other, he ordered the most magnificent and costly saddles to be placed on them; and while this was being done, he looked on with eager interest. behind him stood the minister rodewills, and the secretary of state, whom the king had summoned to his presence to receive his resignation, by which he transferred the kingly authority to his son the prince royal. behind him stood frederick and the queen, the generals and the priests. the king was unconscious of their presence; he had forgotten that he was dying; he thought only of his horses, and a dark cloud settled on his face as the groom buckled a saddle covered with blue velvet over the yellow silk housing of prince anhalt's horse. "oh, if i were only well, how i would beat that stupid boy!" exclaimed the king, in a loud, menacing voice. "hacke, have the kindness to beat him for me." the horses pointed their ears and neighed loudly, and the servants trembled at the voice of their master, who was speaking to them as angrily as ever, but in a deep, sepulchral voice. but his anger was of short duration, and he sank back into his chair, breathing heavily and brokenly. he had not the strength to sign his resignation, and demanded to be taken from his chair and placed upon the bed. there he lay motionless, with half-closed eyes, groaning and sighing. a fearful stillness reigned in the chamber of death. all held their breath; all wished to hear the last death-sigh of the king; all wished to witness the mysterious and inscrutable moment when the soul, freeing itself from its earthly tenement, should ascend to the spring of light and life as an invisible but indestructible atom of divinity. pale and trembling the prince leaned over his father; the kneeling queen prayed in a low voice. with earnest and sorrowful faces the generals and cavaliers, physicians and priests, looked at this pale and ghost-like being, who but a few moments before was a king, and was now a clod of the valley. but no, frederick william was not yet dead; the breath that had ceased returned to his breast. he opened his eyes once more, and they were again full of intelligence. he ordered a glass to be given him, and looked at himself long and attentively. "i don't look as badly as i thought," said he, with the last fluttering emotion of human vanity. "feel my pulse, doctor, and tell me how long i have still to live." "your majesty insists on knowing?" "i command you to tell me." "well, then, your majesty is about to die," said ellert, solemnly. "how do you know it?" he asked, composedly. "by your wavering pulse, sire." the king held his arm aloft, and moved his hand to and fro. "oh, no," said he, "if my pulse were failing i could not move my hand; if--" suddenly he ceased speaking, and uttered a loud cry, his uplifted arm sinking heavily to his side. "jesus, jesus!" murmured the king, "i live and die in thee. thou art my trust." the last fearful prayer died on his lips, the spirit had flown, and frederick was no longer a living, thinking being, but senseless, powerless clay. the prince royal conducted the weeping queen from the apartment. the courtiers remained, but their features were no longer sad and sympathetic, but grave and thoughtful. the tragedy here was at an end, and all were anxious to see the drama from which the curtain was now to be drawn in the apartments of the prince royal. frederick william had breathed his last, and was becoming cold and stiff; he was only a corpse, with which one had nothing more to do. in unseemly haste they all crowded through the widely-opened folding doors of the death-chamber, and hastened into the ante-room that led to the young king's apartments. who will be favored, who receive the first rays of the rising sun? they all see a sunny future before them. a new period begins, a period of splendor, abundance, and joy; the king is young, and fond of display and gay festivities; he is no soldier king, but a cavalier, a writer, and a learned man. art and science will bloom, gallantry and fashion reign; the corporal's baton is broken, the flute begins her soft, melodious reign. thus thought all these waiting courtiers who were assembled in the young king's ante-chamber. thus thought the grand chamberlain pollnitz, who stood next to the door that led to the chamber within. yes, a new period must commence for him; his would be a brilliant future, for the prince royal had always been loving and gracious to him, and the young king must remember that it was pollnitz who induced frederick william to pay the prince's debts. the king must remember this, and, for the services he had rendered, raise him to honor and dignity; he must be the favorite, the envied, feared, and powerful favorite, before whom all should bend the knee as to the king himself. the king was young, inexperienced, and easily led; he had a warm heart, a rich imagination, and an ardent love of pleasure and splendor. these qualities must be cultivated in the young king; by these reins he would control him; and while intoxicated with pleasure and delight, he lay on his sweet-scented couch, strengthening himself for new follies, pollnitz would reign in his stead, and be the real king. these were no chimeras, no vain dreams, but a well-considered plan, in which pollnitz had a powerful abettor in the person of fredersdorf, chamberlain of the young king, who had promised that he should be the first that the king should call for. for this reason pollnitz stood nearest the door; for this reason he so proudly regarded the courtiers who were breathlessly awaiting the opening of that door. there, the door opens, and fredersdorf appears. "baron pollnitz!" "here i am," exclaimed pollnitz, casting a triumphant look at his companions, and following fredersdorf into the royal presence. "well, have i not kept my promise?" said fredersdorf, as they passed through the first room. "you have kept yours, and i will keep mine; we will reign together." "step in, the king is there," said fredersdorf. the young king stood at the window, his forehead resting on the sash, sighing and breathing heavily, as if oppressed. as he turned, pollnitz noticed that his eyes were red with weeping, and the courtier's heart misgave him. a young king, just come into power, and not intoxicated by his brilliant fortune, but weeping for his father's death! it augured ill for the courtier's plans. "all hail and blessing to your majesty!" exclaimed pollnitz, bowing with apparent enthusiasm to kiss the king's robe. the king stepped aside, motioned him off, and said, with a slight smile, "leave these ceremonies until the coronation. i need you now for other things. you shall be master of etiquette and ceremonies at my court, and you will commence your duties by making the necessary arrangements for my father's funeral. unhappily, i must begin my reign by disobeying my father's commands. i cannot allow this simple and modest funeral to take place. the world would not understand it, and would accuse me of irreverence. no, he must be interred with all the honors due to a king. that is my desire; see that it is accomplished." the grand chamberlain was dismissed, and passed out of the royal chambers lost in contemplation of his coming greatness, when, suddenly hearing his name, he turned and perceived the king at the door. "one thing more, pollnitz," said the king, his eye resting with a piercing expression on the smiling countenance of the courtier; "one thing more--above all things, no cheating, no bad jokes, no overrating, no accounts written with double chalk. i will never forgive any thing of this kind, remember that." without awaiting an answer, the king turned and re-entered his room. baron pollnitz stared after him with widely-distended eyes; he felt as if a thunderbolt had destroyed his future. this was not the extravagant, voluptuous, and confiding monarch that pollnitz had thought him, but a sober, earnest, and frugal king, that even mistrusted and saw through him, the wily old courtier. chapter xv. we are king. two days and nights had passed, and still no news from the prince royal. king frederick william still lived, and the little court of rheinsberg was consumed with impatience and expectation. all means of dissipation were exhausted. time had laid aside its wing, and put on shoes of lead. she flew no longer, but walked like an aged woman. how long an hour seems, when you count the seconds! how terribly a day stretches out when, with wakeful but wearied eyes, you long for its close! kaiserling's wit and chazot's merry humor, where are they? why is bielfeld's ringing laugh and the flute of quantz silenced? all is quiet, all are silent and waiting, dreaming of the happiness in store for them, of the day of splendor, power, and magnificence that will dawn for the favorites and friends of the prince royal when he ascends the throne. is it not a proud and delightful thing to be the confidant and companion of a king--to spend with him his treasures and riches, to share with him the devotion and applause of the people? until now they had been forced to disguise their friendship and devotion for the prince royal. they trembled for fear of exciting the king's anger, and were in daily terror of being banished by him from the presence of their prince. when the prince royal ascends the throne they will be his powerful and influential favorites, and their favor will be courted by all. they will be his co-regents, and through and with him will rule the nation. it is, therefore, not astonishing that they look forward to his accession to the throne with longing and impatience; not astonishing that they curse these sluggish, slowly-passing hours, and would fain have slept, slept on until the great and blessed moment when they should be awakened with the news that their friend prince frederick had ascended the throne of his fathers, and was king of prussia. in the midst of this excitement the princess royal alone seemed quiet and unconstrained. she was calm and composed; she knew that the events of the next few days would determine her whole life; she feared that her happiness hung on the slender thread which bound the dying king to life. but elizabeth christine had a brave heart and a noble soul; she had passed the night on her knees weeping and praying, and her heart was full of misery. she had at last become quiet and composed, and was prepared for any thing, even for a separation from her husband. if frederick expressed such a wish, she was determined to go. where? anywhere. far, far away. whichever route she took, she was certain to reach her destination, and this destination was the grave. if she could not live with him, she would die! she knew this, and knowing it, she was tranquil, even happy. "i invite all the ladies and gentlemen of the court to spend the evening in my room," she said, on the second day of this painful expectation; "we will endeavor to imagine that the prince royal is in our midst, and pass the hours in the usual manner; we will first go yachting; afterwards we will all take tea together, and baron bielfeld will read us a few chapters from the 'henriade.' we will then play cards, and finish the evening with a dance. does this programme meet with your approbation?" all murmured some words of assent and thanks, but their faces were nevertheless slightly clouded. perceiving this, the princess royal said: "it seems that you are not pleased, that my suggestion does not meet with your approbation. even the face of my little louise von schwerin is clouded, and the countenance of my good countess katsch no longer wears its pleasant smile. well, what is it? i must know. baron bielfeld, i appoint you speaker of this discontented community. speak, sir." the baron smiled and sighed: "your highness spoke a few days since of your gift of prophecy, and in fact you are a prophetess, and have seen through us. it is certainly a great happiness and a great honor to spend the evening in the apartments of the princess royal. but if your highness would allow us to ask a favor, it would be that our exalted mistress would condescend to receive us either in the garden saloon or music room, and not in your private apartments; for these apartments, beautiful and magnificent as they are, have one great, one terrible defect." "well," said the princess, as bielfeld concluded, "i am curious to know what this defect is. i believed my rooms to be beautiful and charming; the prince royal himself regulated their arrangement, and pesne and buisson ornamented them with their most beautiful paintings. quick then, tell me of this great defect!" "your highness, your apartments are in the right wing of the castle." the princess looked at him inquiringly, astonishment depicted in her countenance, and then laughed. "ah, now i see, my apartments are in the right wing of the castle; that is, from there you cannot watch the great bridge, over which all that come from berlin or potsdam must pass. you are right, this is a great defect. but the music room is in the left wing, and from there you can see both the bridge and the road. let us, then, adjourn to the music room for our reading, and when it becomes too dark to see, we will play cards in my apartments." they all followed the princess to the music room, where by chance or out of mischief the princess chose the seat farthest from the window, and thus compelled the company to assemble around her. as they followed her, they all looked longingly through the window and toward the bridge, over which the messenger of happiness might at any moment pass. bielfeld took the book selected by the princess, and commenced reading. but how torturing it was to road, to listen to these pathetic and measured alexandrines from the "henriade," while perchance in this same hour a new alexander was placing the crown upon his young and noble head! in fact, but little was heard of these harmonious verses. all looked stealthily toward the window, and listened breathlessly to every sound that came from the road. bielfeld suddenly ceased reading, and looked toward the window. "why do you not read on?" said the princess. "excuse me, i thought i saw a horse's head on the bridge!" forthwith, as if upon a given signal, they all flew to the windows; the princess herself, in the general commotion, hastened to one. yes! between the trees something was seen moving. there it is coming on the bridge now! a peal of laughter resounded through the rooms. an ox! count bielfeld's courier had transformed himself into an ox! they all stole back to their seats in confusion, and the reading was recommenced. but it did not last long; again bielfeld came to a stop. "pardon me, your highness, but now there is positively a horse on the bridge." again they all rushed anxiously to the window. it certainly was a horse, but its rider was not a royal messenger, but a common peasant. "i see," said the princess, laughing, "that we must discontinue our reading. let us walk in the left wing of the garden, and as near the gate as possible." "will the sun never set?" whispered bielfeld to count wartensleben, as they walked up and down. "i fear another joshua has arrested its course." but it set at last; it was now evening, and still no courier had passed the bridge. they accepted the princess' invitation, and hastened to her apartments and to the card-tables. and on this occasion, as heretofore, the cards exercised a magic influence over the inhabitants of rheinsberg, for they were striving to win that, from the want of which, not only the prince but all his courtiers had so often suffered--gold! count wartensleben had lately arrived and brought with him a well-filled purse, which bielfeld, kaiserling, and chazot were anxious to lighten. the princess played with her maids of honor a game called trisset, in her boudoir, while the rest of the company, seated at several tables in the adjoining room, played their beloved game of quadrille. the door suddenly opened, and a valet appeared. in passing the table at which count wartensleben, bielfeld, and several ladies were playing, he stealthily showed them a letter with a black seal, which he was about to deliver to the princess. "the king is then dead!" murmured they, hastily throwing their cards on the table; the counters fell together, but they looked at them in disdain. what cared they for a few lost pennies, now that their prince had become king? count wartensleben arose and said in a solemn voice: "i will be the first to greet the princess as queen, and i will exert every effort to utter the word 'majesty' in a full, resounding tone." "i will follow you," said bielfeld, solemnly. and both advanced to the open door, through which the princess could be seen still occupied in reading her letter. she seemed unusually gay, and a bright, smile played upon her lips. accidentally looking up, she perceived the two cavaliers advancing slowly and solemnly toward her. "ah, you know, then, that a courier has at last crossed that fatal bridge, and you come for news of the prince royal?" "prince royal?" repeated wartensleben, in amazement. "is he still the prince royal?" "you then thought he was king!" exclaimed the princess, "and came to greet me as your queen?" "yes, your highness, and the word 'majesty' was already on my lips." they all laughed heartily, and jested over this mistake, but were nevertheless thankful when they were at last dismissed and were allowed to retire to their rooms. when entirely alone, the princess drew from her bosom the letter she had received, to read it once more; she cast a loving and tender glance at the characters his hand had traced, and as her eyes rested on his signature, she raised the paper to her lips and kissed it. "frederick," whispered she, "my frederick, i love you so deeply that i envy this paper which has been touched by your hand, and upon which your glorious eyes have rested. no, no," said she, "he will not cast me off. is it not written here--'in a few days i and the people will greet you as queen.' no, he could not be so cruel as to set the crown on my head, and then cover it with ashes. if he acknowledges me as his wife and queen before his people, and before germany, it must be his intention never to disown me, but to let me live on by his side. oh, he must surely know how truly i love him, although i have never had the courage to tell him so. my tears and my sighs must have whispered to him the secret of my love, and he will have compassion with a poor wife who asks but to be permitted to adore and worship him. and who knows but that he may one day be touched by this great love, that he will one day raise up the poor woman who now lies trembling at his feet, and press her to his bosom. oh, that this may be so, my god; let it be, and then let me die!" she sank back on her couch, and, pressing the letter to her lips, whispered softly: "good-night, frederick, my frederick!" she smiled sweetly as she slept. perhaps she was dreaming of him. a deep silence soon reigned throughout the castle. all the lights were extinguished. sleep spread its wings over all these impatient and expectant hearts, and fanned them into forgetfulness and peaceful rest. all slept, and now the long-expected courier is at last passing over the bridge, which trembled beneath his horse's feet, but none hear him, all are sleeping so soundly. his knocks resound through the entire castle. it is the herald of the new era, which sheds its first bright morning rays over the evening of the dark and gloomy past. now all are awake, and running to and fro through the halls, each one burning with eagerness to proclaim the joyful news: "frederick is no longer prince royal. frederick is king and the ruler of prussia!" bielfeld is awakened by a loud knocking; he springs hastily out of bed and opens the door to his friend knobelsdorf. "up, up, my friend," exclaims the latter. "dress quickly. we must go down and congratulate the queen; we must be ready to accompany her immediately to berlin. frederick william is dead, and we will now reign in prussia." "ah, another fairy tale," said bielfeld dressing hastily; "a fairy tale, by which we have been too often deceived to believe in its truth." "no, no, this time it is true. the king is dead, quite dead! jordan has received orders to embalm the corpse, and once in his hands, it will never come to life again." bielfeld being now ready, the two friends hurried to the ante-chamber that led to the princess royal's apartments. the entire court of the new queen had assembled in this chamber, and they were endeavoring to suppress their joy and delight, and to look grave and earnest in consideration of the solemnity of the occasion. they conversed in whispers, for the bed-chamber of the princess was next to this room, and she still slept. "yes, the princess royal sleeps, but when she awakes she will be a queen! she must be awakened, to receive her husband's letter." the countess katsch, with two of elizabeth's maids of honor, entered her bed-chamber, well armed with smelling-bottles and salts. elizabeth christine still slept. but on so important an occasion the sleep even of a princess was not considered sacred. the countess drew back the curtains, and elizabeth was awakened by the bright glaring light. she looked inquiringly at the countess, who approached her with a low and solemn courtesy. "pardon me for waking your majesty--" "majesty, why 'your majesty?'" said the princess, quickly. "has another ox or horse crossed the fatal bridge?" "yes, your majesty, but it was baron villich's horse, and he brought the news that king frederick william expired yesterday at potsdam. i have a smelling-bottle here, your majesty; allow me to hold--" the young queen pushed back the smelling-bottle; she did not feel in the least like fainting, and her heart beat higher. "and has the baron brought no letter for me?" said she, breathlessly. "here is a letter, your majesty." the queen hastily broke the seal. it contained but a few lines, but they were in her husband's handwriting, and were full of significance. to her these few lines indicated a future full of splendor, happiness, and love. the king called her to share with him the homage of his subjects. it is true there was not a word of tenderness or love in the letter, but the king called her to his side; he called her his wife. away, then, away to berlin, where her husband was awaiting her; where the people would greet her as their queen; where a new world, a new life would unfold itself before her; a life of proud enjoyment! for elizabeth will be the queen, the wife of frederick. away, then, to berlin! the queen received the congratulations of her court in the music-room. and now to berlin, where a new sun has risen, a king frederick the second! chapter xvi. royal grace and royal displeasure. the cannon thundered, the bells rang loudly and merrily; the garrison in berlin took the oath, as the garrison in potsdam had done the day before. the young king held his first great court to-day in the white saloon. from every province, from every state, from every corporation, deputations had arrived to look upon the long-hoped-for king, the liberator from oppression, servitude, and famine. delight and pure unqualified joy reigned in every heart, and those who looked upon the features of frederick, illuminated with kindliness and intellect, felt that for prussia it was the dawning of a new era. but who was called to assist in organizing this new movement? whom had the king chosen from amongst his friends and servants? whom had he set aside? upon whom would he revenge himself? truth to tell, there were many now standing in the white saloon who had often, perhaps, in obedience to the king's command, brought suffering and bitter sorrow upon the prince royal; many were there who had humbled him, misused his confidence, and often brought down his father's rage and scorn upon him. will the king remember these things, now that he has the power to punish and revenge his wrongs? many had entered the white saloon trembling with anxiety; timidly keeping in the distance; glad that the eye of the king did not rest upon them; glad to slip unseen into a corner. but nothing escaped the eye of frederick; he had remarked the group standing in the far-off window; he understood full well their restless, disturbed, and anxious glances. a pitiful and sweet smile spread over his noble features, an expression of infinite gentleness illumined his face; with head erect he drew near to this group, who, with the instinct of a common danger, pressed more closely together, and awaited their fate silently. who had so often and so heavily oppressed the prince as colonel derchau? who had mocked at him and persecuted him so bitterly? who had carried out the harsh commands of the king against him so unrelentingly? it was derchau and grumbkow who presided at the first cruel trial of "captain fritz," and had repeated to him the hard and threatening words of the king. "captain fritz" had wept with rage, and sworn to revenge himself upon these cruel men. will the king remember the oath of the captain? the king stood now near the colonel; his clear eye was fixed upon him. this man, who had prepared for him so many woes, now stood with bowed head and loudly-beating heart, completely in his power. suddenly, with a rash movement, the king extended his hand, and said, mildly: "good-day, derchau." it was the first time in seven years that frederick had spoken to him, and this simple greeting touched his heart; he bowed low, and as he kissed the outstretched hand, a hot tear fell upon it. "colonel derchau," said the king, "you were a faithful and obedient servant to my royal father; you have punctually followed his wishes and given him unconditional obedience. it becomes me to reward my father's faithful subject. from to-day you are a major-general." as the king turned, his eye fell upon the privy councillor von eckert, and the mild and conciliating expression vanished from his features; he looked hard and stern. "has the coat-of-arms been placed upon the house in jager street?" said the king. "no, your majesty." "then i counsel you not to have it done; this house is the property of the crown, and it shall not be sacrificed by such folly. go home, and there you will receive my commands." pale and heart-broken, eckert glided from the group; mocking laughter followed his steps through the saloons; no one had a word of regret or pity for him; no one remembered their former friendship and oft-repeated assurances of service and gratitude. he passed tremblingly through the palace; as he reached the outer door, pollnitz stepped before him; a mocking smile played upon his lips, and his glance betrayed all the hatred which he had been compelled to veil or conceal during the life of frederick william. "now," said he, slowly, "will you send me the wine which you promised from your cellar? you understand, the wine from your house in jager street, for which i arranged the coat-of-arms! ah, those were charming days, my dear privy councillor! you have often broken your word of honor to me, often slandered me, and brought upon me the reproaches of the king. i have, however, reason to be thankful to you; this house which you have built in jager street is stately and handsome, and large enough for a cavalier of my pretensions. you have, also, at the cost of the king, furnished it with such princely elegance that it is in all things an appropriate residence for a cavalier. do you not remember my description of such a house? the king called it then a spanish air-castle. you, great-hearted man, have made my castle in the air a splendid reality, and now that it is finished and furnished, you will, in your magnanimity, leave that house to me. i shall be your heir! you know, my dear eckert, that the privy councillor is dead, and only the chimney-builder lives; and even the adroit chimney-builder is banished from berlin, and must remain twenty miles away from his splendid home. but tell me, eckert, when one of my chimneys smokes, may i not send a messenger to you, will you not promise me to come and put things in order for me?" eckert muttered some confused words, and tried to force pollnitz from the door, before which the hard-hearted, spiteful courtier had placed himself, like the angel with the avenging sword. "you wish to go," said he, with assumed kindliness. "oh, without doubt you wish to see the royal commands now awaiting you at your house. i can tell you literally the sentence of the king: you have lost your office, your income, your rank, and you are banished from berlin! that is all. the king, as you see, has been gracious; he could have had you executed, or sent to spandau for life, but he would not desecrate his new reign with your blood. for this reason was he gracious." "let me pass," said eckert, trembling, and pale as death. "i am choking! let me out!" pollnitz still held him back. "do you not know, good man, that a thousand men stand below in the courtyard? do you not hear their shouts and rejoicings? well, these hurrahs will be changed into growls of rage when the people see you, my dear eckert; in their wild wrath they might mistake you for a good roast, with which to quiet their hunger. you know that the people are hungry; you, who filled the barns of the king with grain, and placed great locks and bars upon the doors, lest the people, in their despairing hunger, might seize upon the corn! you even swore to the king that the people had enough, and did not need his corn or his help! listen, the people shout again; i will not detain you. go and look upon this happy people. the king has opened the granaries and scattered bread far and wide, and the tax upon meal is removed for a month.[ ] go, dear eckert, go and see how happy the people are!" [ ] see king's "history of berlin," vol. v. the king's own words. with a wild curse eckert sprang from the door; pollnitz followed him with a mocking glance. "revenge is sweet," he said, drawing a long breath; "he has often done me wrong, and now i have paid him back with usury. eckert is lost. would that i had his house! i must have it! i will have it! oh, i will make myself absolutely necessary to the king; i will flatter, i will praise, i will find out and fulfil his most secret, his unspoken wishes. i will force him to give me his confidence--to make me his maitre de plaisir. yes, yes, the house in jager street shall be mine! i have sworn it, and fredersdorf has promised me his influence. and now to the king; i must see for myself if this young royal child can, like hercules in his cradle, destroy serpents on the day of his birth; or, if he is a king, like all other kings, overcome by flattery, idle and vain, knowing or acknowledging no laws over himself, but those of his own conscience and his bon plaisir. but hark! that is the king's voice; to whom is he speaking?" pollnitz hastened into the adjoining room; the king was standing in the midst of his ministers, and a deputation of magistrates of berlin, and was in the act of dismissing them. "i command you," said the king, in conclusion, turning to his ministers, "as often as you think it necessary to make any changes in my orders and regulations, to make known your opinions to me freely, and not to be weary in so doing; i may, unhappily, sometimes lose sight of the true interests of my subjects; i am resolved that whenever in future my personal interest shall seem to be contrary to the welfare of my people, their happiness shall receive the first consideration." "alas, it will be very difficult to tame this youthful hercules!" murmured pollnitz, glancing toward the king, who was just leaving the apartment; "the serpents that we will twine about him must be strong and alluring; now happily fredersdorf and myself are acquainted with some such serpents, and we will take care that he finds them in his path." in the mean time the king had left the reception-room, and retired to his private apartments, where the friends and confidants from rheinsberg awaited him with hopeful hearts. they were all ready to receive the showers of gold, which, without doubt, would rain down upon them. they were all convinced that the young king would lay upon them, at least, a corner of the mantle of ermine and purple with which his shoulders should be adorned. they alone would be chosen to aid in bearing the burden of his kingly crown and royal sceptre. they were all dreaming of ambassadorships, presidencies, and major-generals' epaulettes. as the king entered, they received him with loud cries of joy. the margrave henry, who had often borne a part in the gay fetes at rheinsberg, hastened to greet the king with gay, witty words, and both hands extended. frederick did not respond to this greeting; he did not smile; looking steadily at the margrave, he stepped back and said: "monsieur, now i am the king; no longer the gardener at rheinsberg." the king read the pained astonishment in the faces of his friends who, one moment before, had been so hopeful, so assured; he advanced and said, in a kindly tone, "we are no longer in rheinsberg. the beautiful proverb of horace belongs to our past. 'folly is sweet in its season.' there i was the gardener and the friend--here i am the king; here all must work, and each one must use his talents and his strength in the service of the state, and thus prove to the people that the prince had reason to choose him for a friend." "and may i also be a partaker of that grace and be counted amongst the friends of the king?" said the old prince of anhalt dessau, who, with his two sons, had just entered and heard the last words of frederick; "will your majesty continue to me and my sons the favor which your ever-blessed father granted to us during so many long and happy years? oh, your majesty, i beseech you to be gracious to us, and grant us the position and influence which we have so long enjoyed." so saying, the old prince bent his knee to his youthful monarch. the king bowed his head thoughtfully, and a smile played upon his lips; he gave his hand to the prince, and commanded him to rise. "i will gladly leave you your place and income, for i am sure you will serve me as faithfully and zealously as you did my father. as regards the position and influence which you desire, i say to you all, no man under my reign will have position but i myself, and not even my best friend will exercise the slightest influence over me." the friends from rheinsberg turned pale, and exchanged stolen glances with each other. there was no more jesting; the hand of ice had been laid upon their beating hearts, and the wings of hope were broken. the king did not seem to remark the change; he drew near to his friend jordan, and taking his arm, walked to the window, and spoke with him long and earnestly. the courtiers and favorites looked after their happy friend with envious glances, and observed every shade in the countenances of the king and jordan. the king was calm, but an expression of painful surprise settled like a cloud upon jordan. now the king left the window, and called bielfeld to him; spoke with him also long and gravely, and then dismissed him, and nodded to chazot to join him; lastly he took the arm of the duke of wartensleben, and walked backward and forward, chatting with him. the duke was radiant with joy, but the other courtiers looked suspicious and lowering; with none of them had he spoken so long; no other arm had he so familiarly taken. it was clear that wartensleben was the declared favorite of the king; he had driven them from the field. the king observed all this; he had read the envy, malice, rage, and melancholy in the faces of his friends; he knew them all too well; had too long observed them, not to be able to read their thoughts. it had pleased him to sport awhile with these small souls, so filled with selfishness, envy, and every evil passion; he wished to give them a lesson, and bring them down from their dizzy and imaginary heights to the stern realities of life. the king had used wartensleben as his instrument for this purpose, and now must the poor duke's wings be clipped. the mounting waves of his ambition must be quieted by the oil of truth. "yes," said the king, "i am the ruler of a kingdom; i have a great army and a well-filled treasury, you cannot doubt that it is my highest aim to make my country blossom as the rose; to uphold the reputation of my army, and to make the best use of my riches. the gold is there to circulate; it is there to reward those who faithfully serve their fatherland; but above all other things it is there for those who are truly my friends." the features of the young duke were radiant with expectation; as the king saw this, a mocking smile flashed from his eye. "i will, however, naturally know how to distinguish between my friends, and those who do not need gold will not receive it. you, for example, my dear duke, are enormously rich; you will content yourself, therefore, with my love, as you will naturally never receive a dollar from me." so speaking, he nodded kindly to the duke, passed into the next room, and closed the door behind him. grave and dumb, the friends from rheinsberg gazed upon each other; each one regarded the other as his successful rival, and thought to see in him what he had not become--a powerful favorite, a minister, or general. all felt their love growing cold, and almost hated the friends who stood in their way. jordan was the first who broke silence. reaching his hand to bielfeld, he said: "it must not be thought that disappointed hopes have hardened our hearts, and that envy blinds us to the advantages of our friends. i love you, bielfeld, because of your advantages and talents; and i understand full well why the king advances you before me. receive also my good wishes, and be assured that from the heart i rejoice in your success." bielfeld looked amazed. "my success!" said he. "dear friend, you need not be envious; and as to my advancement, it is so small an affair that i can scarcely find it. the king said he intended me for a diplomatist, but that i needed years of instruction. with this view he had selected me to accompany duke truckfess to hanover. when i returned from there, i would receive further orders. this is my promotion, and you must confess i make a small beginning. but you, dear jordan, what important position have you received? you are the king's dearest friend, and he has without doubt advanced you above us all. i acknowledge that you merit this. tell us also what are you?" "yes," cried they all eagerly, "what are you? are you minister of state or minister of church affairs?" "what am i?" cried jordan, laughing. "i will tell you, my friends. i am not minister of church affairs; i am not minister of state. i am--ah, you will never guess what i am--i belong to the police! i must remove the beggars from the streets of berlin, and found a workhouse for them. now, dear friends, am i not enviable?" for a moment all were silent; then every eye was fixed upon wartensleben. "and you, dear duke, are you made happy? you have cut open the golden apple; you have the longed-for portfolio." "i!" cried the duke, half angry, half merry. "i have nothing, and will receive nothing. i will tell you what the king said to me. he assured me earnestly and solemnly that i was rich enough, and would never receive a dollar from him." at this announcement they all broke out in uproarious laughter. "let us confess," said bielfeld, "that we have played to-day a rare comedy--a farce which moliere might have written, and which must bear the title of la journee des dupes. now, as we have none of us become distinguished, let us all be joyful and love each other dearly. but listen! the king plays the flute; how soft, how melting is the sound!" yes, the king played the flute; he cast out with those melodious strains the evil spirit of ennui which the tiresome etiquette of the day had brought upon him. he played the flute to recover himself--to regain his cheerful spirit and a clear brow. soon he laid it aside, and his eye rested upon the unopened letters and papers with which the table was covered. yes, he must open all these letters, and answer them himself, he alone. nobody should do his work; all should work only through him; no one should decree or command in prussia but the king. every thing should flow from him. he would be the heart and soul of his country. frederick opened and read the letters, and wrote the answer on the margin of the paper, leaving it to the secretary to copy. and now the work was almost done; the paper with the great seal, which he now opened, was the last. this was a declaration from the church department, which announced that, through the influence of the catholic schools in berlin, many protestants had become catholics. did not his majesty think it best to close these schools? a pitiful smile played upon the lips of frederick as he read. "and they say they believe in one god, and their priests and ministers preach christian forbearance and christian love, while they know nothing of either. they have not god, but the church, always before their eyes; they are intolerant in their hearts, imperious, and full of cunning. i will bend them, and break down their assumed power. my whole life will be a battle with priests; they will mock at me, and call me a heretic. let the church be ever against me, if my own conscience absolves me. now i will begin the war, and what i now write will be a signal of alarm in the tents of all the pious priests." he took up the paper again and wrote on the margin, "all religions shall be tolerated. the magistrates must have their eyes open, and see that no sect imposes on another. in prussia each man shall be saved in his own way."[ ] [ ] busching. the king's words. book ii. chapter i. the garden of monbijou. the excitement of the first days was quieted. the young king had withdrawn for a short time to the palace in charlottenburg, while his wife remained in berlin, anxiously expecting an invitation to follow her husband. but the young monarch appeared to have no care or thought but for his kingdom. he worked and studied without interruption; even his beloved flute was untouched. berlin was, according to etiquette, draped with mourning for a few days; it served in this instance as a veil to the joy with which all looked forward to the coronation of the new king. all appeared earnest and solemn, but every heart was joyful and every eye beaming. the palace of the king was silent and deserted; the king was, as we have said, at charlottenburg; the young queen was in the palace formerly occupied by the prince royal, and the dowager queen sophia dorothea had retired with the two princesses, ulrica and amelia, to the palace of monbijou. all were anxious and expectant; all hoped for influence and honor, power and greatness. the scullion and the maids, as well as the counts and princes, and even the queen herself, dreamed of happy and glorious days in the future. sophia dorothea had been too long a trembling, subjugated woman; she was rejoicing in the thought that she might at length be a queen. her son would doubtless grant to her all the power which had been denied her by her husband; he would remember the days of tears and bitterness which she had endured for his sake; and now that the power was in his hands she would be repaid a thousandfold. the young king would hold the sceptre in his hands, but he must allow his mother to aid in keeping it upright; and if he found it too weighty, the queen was ready to bear it for him, and reign in his stead, while her dreamy son wrote poems, or played on the flute, or philosophized with his friends. frederick was certainly not formed to rule; he was a poet and a philosopher; he dreamed of a utopia; he imagined an ideal which it was impossible to realize. the act of ruling would be a weary trial to him, and the sounds of the trumpet but ill accord with his harmonious dreams. but happily his mother was there, and was willing to reign for him, to bear upon her shoulders the heavy burdens and cares of the kingdom, to work with the ministers, while the king wrote poetical epistles to voltaire. why should not sophia dorothea reign? were there not examples in all lands of noble women who governed their people well and honorably? was not england proud of her elizabeth, sweden of her christina, spain of isabella, russia of catharine? and even in prussia the queen sophia charlotte had occupied a great and glorious position. why could not sophia dorothea accomplish as much or even more than her predecessor? these were the thoughts of the queen as she walked up and down the shady paths of the garden of monbijou, and listened with a proud smile to the flattering words of count manteuffel, who had just handed her a letter of condolence from the empress of austria. "her majesty the empress has sent me a most loving and tender letter to-day," said the dowager queen, with an ironical smile. "she has then only given expression to-day, to those sentiments which she has always entertained for your majesty," said the count, respectfully. the queen bowed her head smilingly, but said, "the houses of hohenzollern and hapsburg have never been friendly; it is not in their nature to love one another." "the great families of capulet and montague said the same," remarked count manteuffel, "but the anger of the parents dissolved before the love of the children." "but we have not arrived at the children," said the queen proudly, as she thought how her husband had been deceived by the house of austria, and recalled that, on his death-bed he had commanded his son frederick to revenge those treacheries. "pardon me, your majesty, if i dare to contradict you; we have most surely arrived at the children, and the difficulties of the parents are forgotten in their love. is not the wife of the young king the deeply-loved niece of the austrian empress?" "she was already his wife, count, as my husband visited the emperor in bohemia, and it was not considered according to etiquette for the emperor to offer his hand to the king of prussia."[ ] [ ] seckendorf's leben. "she was, however, not his wife when austria, by her repeated and energetic representations, saved the life of the prince royal. for your majesty knows that at one time that precious life was threatened." "it was threatened, but it would have been preserved without the assistance of austria; for the mother of frederick was at hand, and that mother was sister to the king of england." and the queen cast on the count so proud and scornful a glance that his eyes fell involuntarily to the ground. sophia dorothea saw this, and smiled. this was her triumph; she would now show herself mild and forgiving. "we will speak no more of the past," she said, in a friendly manner. "the death of my husband has cast a dark cloud over it, and i must think only of the future, that my son, the young king, may not always behold me with tears in my eyes. no, i will look forward, for i have a great presentiment that prussia's future will be great and glorious." "would that it might be thus for the whole of germany!" cried the count. "it must be so, if the houses of hohenzollern and hapsburg will forget their ancient quarrels, and live together in love and peace." "let hapsburg extend to us the hand of love and peace; show us her sympathy, her justice, and her gratitude, in deeds, not words." "austria is prepared to do so, your majesty! the question is, whether prussia will grasp her hand and place upon it the ring of love." the queen glanced up so quickly that she perceived the dark and threatening look of the count. "austria is again making matrimonial plans," she said, with a bitter smile. "she is not satisfied with one marriage, such as that of her imperial niece, she longs for a repetition of this master-work. but this time, count, there is no dear one to be saved at any cost from a prison, this time the decision can be deferred until the arrival of all the couriers." and the queen, dismissing the count with a slight bow, recalled her ladies of honor, who were lingering at a short distance, and passed into one of the other walks. count manteuffel remained where the queen had left him, looking after her with an earnest and thoughtful countenance. "she is prouder and more determined than formerly," he murmured; "that is a proof that she will be influential, and knows her power. what she said of the courier was without doubt an allusion to the one who arrived an hour too late, with the consent of england, on the betrothal day of the prince royal. ah! there must be other couriers en route, and one of them was most probably sent to england. we must see that he arrives an hour too late, as the former one did." at this instant, and in his immediate vicinity, manteuffel heard a soft and melodious voice saying, "no, count, you can never make me believe in your love. you are much too blond to love deeply." "blond!" cried a manly voice, with a tone of horror. "you do not like fair hair, and until now i have been so proud of mine. but i will have it dyed black, if you will promise to believe in my love." the lady replied with a light laugh, which brought an answering smile to the countenance of count manteuffel. "it is my ally, madame von brandt," he said to himself. "i was most anxious to see her, and must interrupt her tender tete-a-tete with count voss for one moment." so speaking, the count hurried to the spot from which he had heard the voices of madame von brandt and her languishing lover. the count approached the lady with the most delighted countenance, and expressed his astonishment at finding his beautiful friend in the garden of the dowager queen. "her majesty did me the honor to invite me to spend a few weeks here," said madame von brandt. "she knew that my physician had ordered me to the country, as the only means to restore my health; and as she knows of my great intimacy with mademoiselle von pannewitz, one of her ladies of honor, she was so kind as to offer me a few rooms at monbijou. now i have explained to you the reason of my presence here as minutely as if you were my father confessor, and nothing remains to be done but to present you to my escort. this is count voss, a noble cavalier, a sans peur et sans reproche, ready to sacrifice for his lady love, if not his life, at least his fair hair." "beware, my dear count," said manteuffel, laughing, "beware that the color of your hair is not changed by this lovely scoffer--that it does not become a venerable gray. she is sufficiently accomplished in the art of enchantment to do that; i assure you that madame von brandt plays a most important role in the history of my gray hairs." "ah! it would be delightful to become gray in the service of madame von brandt," said the young count, in so pathetic a tone that his companions both laughed. "as often as i look at my gray hair i would think of her." and the young count gazed into the distance, like one entranced, and his smiling lips whispered low, unintelligible words. "this is one of his ecstatic moments," whispered madame von brandt. "he has the whim to consider himself an original; he imagines himself a petrarch enamored of his laura. we will allow him to dream awhile, and speak of our own affairs. but be brief, i beg of you, for we must not be found together, as you are a suspicious character, my dear count, and my innocence might be doubted if we were seen holding a confidential conversation." "ah, it is edifying to hear madame von brandt speak like a young girl of sixteen, of her threatened innocence. but we will tranquillize this timidity, and be brief. in the first place, what of the young queen?" "state of barometer: cold and damp, falling weather, stormy, with unfulfilled hopes, very little sunshine, and very heavy clouds." "that means that the queen is still fearful of being slighted by her husband." "she is no longer fearful--he neglects her already. the king is at charlottenburg, and has not invited the queen to join him. as a husband, he slights his wife; whether as king he will neglect his queen, only time will reveal." "and what of madame von morien?" "the king seems to have forgotten her entirely since that unhappy quid pro quo with the poem at rheinsberg; his love seems to have cooled, and he converses with her as harmlessly and as indifferently as with any other lady. no more stolen words, secret embraces, or amorous sighs. the miserable morien is consumed with sorrow, for since she has been neglected she loves passionately." "and that is unhappily not the means to regain that proud heart," said count mantcuffel, shrugging his shoulders. "with tears and languishing she will lose her influence, and only gain contempt. you who are the mistress of love and coquetry should understand that, and instruct your beautiful pupil. now, however, comes the most important question. what of the marriage of the prince augustus william?" madame von brandt sighed. "you are really inexorable. have you no compassion for the noble, heartfelt love of two children, who are as pure and innocent as the stars in heaven?" "and have you no compassion for the diamonds which long to repose upon your lovely bosom?" said count manteuffel; "no compassion for the charming villa which you could purchase? you positively refuse to excite the envy of all the ladies at court by possessing the most costly cashmere? you will--" "enough, count devil! you are in reality more a devil than a man, for you lead my soul into temptation. i must submit. i will become a serpent, reposing on the bosom of my poor laura, poisoning her love and lacerating her heart. ah, count, if you knew how my conscience reproaches me when i listen to the pure and holy confession of her love, when trembling and blushing she whispers to me the secrets of her youthful heart, and flies to me seeking protection against her own weakness! remember that these two children love each other, without ever having had the courage to acknowledge it. laura pretends not to understand the deep sighs and the whispered words of the prince, and then passes the long nights in weeping." "if that is the case, it is most important to prevent an understanding between these singular lovers. you must exert all your influence with the young lady to induce her to close this romance with an heroic act, which will make her appear a holy martyr in the eyes of the prince." "but, for example, what heroic act?" "her marriage." "but how can we find a man so suddenly to whom this poor lamb can be sacrificed?" "there is one," said the count, pointing to count voss, who appeared to have forgotten the whole world, and was occupied writing verses in his portfolio. madame von brandt laughed aloud. "he marry the beautiful laura!" "yes," said the count, earnestly, "he seeks a laura." "yes, but you forget that he considers me his laura." "you can, therefore, easily induce him to make this sacrifice for you; he will be magnified in his own eyes, if, in resigning you, he gives himself to the lady you have selected." "you are terrible," said madame von brandt. "i shudder before you, for i believe you have no human emotions in your heart of iron." "there are higher and nobler considerations, to which such feelings must yield. but see, the count has finished his poem. to work now, my beautiful ally; today you must perfect your masterpiece; and now, farewell," said the count, kissing her hand, as he left her side. madame von brandt approached the young count, who seemed to be again lost in thought. she placed her hand lightly on his shoulder, and whispered, half tenderly, half reproachfully, "dreamer, where are your thoughts?" "with you," said the count, who trembled and grew pale at her touch. "yes, with you, noblest and dearest of women; and as that tiresome gossip prevented me from speaking to you, i passed the time he was here in writing." "but you did not remember," said she, tenderly, "that you were compromising me before count manteuffel, who will not hesitate to declare in what intimate relationship we stand to one another. only think of writing without apology, while a lady and a strange gentleman were at your side!" "the world will only exclaim 'what an original!'" said count voss, with a foolish, but well-pleased smile. "but it will also say that this original shows little consideration for madame von brandt; that he must, therefore, be very intimate with her. the reputation of a woman is so easily injured; it is like the wing of the butterfly, so soon as the finger touches it or points at it, it loses its lustre; and we poor women have nothing but our good name and unspotted virtue. it is the only shield--the only weapon--that we possess against the cruelty of man, and you seek to tear that from us, and, then dishonored and humiliated, you tread us under foot!" "you are weeping!" cried the count, looking at his beloved, in whose eyes the tears really stood--"you are weeping! i am truly a great criminal to cause you to shed tears." "no, you are a noble but most thoughtless man," said madame von brandt, smiling through her tears. "you betray to the world what only god and we ourselves should know." "heavens! what have i betrayed?" cried the poor frightened count. "you have betrayed our love," whispered madame von brandt, as she glanced tenderly at the count. "what! our love?" he cried, beside himself with delight; "you admit that it is not i alone who love?" "i admit it, but at the same time declare that we must part." "never! no, never! no power on earth shall part us," said he, seizing her hand, and covering it with kisses. "but there is a power which has the right to separate us--the power of my husband. he already suspects my feelings for you, and he will be inexorable if he discovers that his suspicions are correct." "then i will call him out, and he will fall by my hand, and i shall bear you in triumph as my wife to my castle." "but if you should fall?" "ah! i had not thought of that," murmured the count, turning pale. "that would be certainly a most unhappy accident. we will not tempt fate with this trial, but seek another way out of our difficulty. ah, i know one already. you must elope with me." she said, with a sad smile, "the arm of the king extends far and wide, and my husband would follow us with his vengeance to the end of the world." "but what shall we do?" cried the count, despairingly; "we love each other; separated, we must be consumed with grief and sorrow. ah! ah! shall i really suffer the fate of petrarch, and pass my life in an eternal dirge? is there no way to prevent this?" madame von brandt placed her hand with a slight but tender pressure on his. "there is one way," she whispered, "a way to reassure, not only my husband, but the whole world, which will cast a veil over our love, and protect us from the wickedness and calumny of man." "show me this way," he exclaimed, "and if it should cost half of my fortune i would walk in it, if i could hope to gain your love." she bent her head nearer to him, and, with a most fascinating and tender glance, whispered, "you must marry, count." he withdrew a step, and uttered a cry of horror. "i must marry! you desire it--you who profess to love me?" "because i love you, dearest, and because your marriage will break the bands of etiquette which divide us. you must marry a lady of my acquaintance, perhaps one of my friends, and then no one, not even my husband, will consider our friendship remarkable." "oh! i see it; there is no other way," sighed the count. "if i were only married now!" "oh! you ungrateful, faithless man," cried madame von brandt, indignantly. "you long already for your marriage with the beautiful young woman, in whose love i shall be forgotten." "oh! you are well aware that i only wish to be married because you desire it." "prove this by answering that you will not refuse to marry the lady i shall point out to you." "i swear it." "you swear that you will marry no other than the one i name? you swear that you will overcome all obstacles, and be withheld by no prayers or reproaches?" "i swear it." "on the word of a count?" "on the word of a count. show me the lady, and i will marry her against the will of the whole world." "but if the lady should not love you?" "why should i care? do i love her? do i not marry her for your sake alone?" "ah! my friend," cried madame von brandt, "i see that we understand one another. come, and i will show you your bride." she placed her arm in his, and drew him away. her eye gleamed with a wild, menacing light, and she said sneeringly to herself, "i have selected a rich husband for my beautiful laura, and have bartered my soul for diamonds and cashmeres, and the gratitude of an empress." chapter ii. the queen's maid of honor. after her interview with count manteuffel, the queen sophia dorothea left the garden, and retired to her chamber. she dismissed her maids of honor for a few hours, requesting them to admit no one to her presence. she wished to consider and develop her plans in undisturbed quiet. she felt that austria was again prepared to throw obstacles in the way of her favorite project--an english marriage for one of her children. she wished to sharpen her weapons, and marshal her forces for the approaching combat. for a few hours, therefore, the maids of honor were free to follow their own inclinations, to amuse themselves as they thought fit. laura von pannewitz had declined accompanying the other ladies in their drive. her heart required solitude and rest. for her it was a rare and great pleasure to listen in undisturbed quiet to the sweet voices which whispered in her heart, and suffused her whole being with delight. it was so sweet to dream of him--to recall his words, his smiles, his sighs; all those little shades and signs which seemed so unimportant to the careless, but which convey so much to the loving observer! he had written to her yesterday, and she--she had had the cruel courage to return his letter unopened. but she had first pressed it to her lips and to her heart with streaming eyes, and had then fallen on her knees to pray to god, and to implore him to give her strength and courage to overcome her heart, to renounce his love. since then an entire day had passed, and she had not seen him, had heard nothing of him. oh, he must be sad and very angry with her; he wished never to see her again. and because he was angry, and wished to hold himself aloof from her, he, the loving and attentive son, had even neglected to pay the accustomed morning visit to his royal mother, which he had never before omitted. her heart beating hurriedly, and weeping with anguish, laura had been standing before her window curtain awaiting him, and had prayed to god that she might see him, or at least hear his voice in the distance. but the prince did not arrive, and now the time had passed at which he was accustomed to come. the queen had already retired to her study, and would admit no one. laura could, therefore, no longer hope to see the prince augustus william on this day. as she thought of this, she felt as if a sword had pierced her bosom, and despair took possession of her heart. she threw herself on her knees, wrung her hands, and prayed to god, not for strength and courage to renounce him as before, but for a little sunshine on her sad and sorrowful love. terrified at her own prayer, she had then arisen from her knees, and had hurried to the room of madame von brandt, to take refuge from her own thoughts and sorrows in the bosom of a friend. but her friend was not there, and she was told that madame von brandt had gone down into the garden. laura took her hat and shawl, and sought her. as she walked down the shady avenue, her glowing cheeks and burning eyes were cooled by the gentle breeze wafted over from the river spree, and she felt soothed; something like peace stole into her heart. laura had forgotten that she had come to the garden to seek her friend; she felt only that the calm and peace of nature had quieted her heart; that solitude whispered to her soul in a voice of consolation and of hope. hurriedly she passed on to the denser and more solitary part of the garden, where she could give herself up to dreams of him whose image still filled her heart, although she had vainly endeavored to banish it. she now entered the conservatory at the foot of the garden, which had been converted into a beautiful and charming saloon, for the exclusive use of the queen and her maids of honor. there were artificial arbors of blooming myrtle and orange, in which luxurious little sofas invited to repose; grottoes of stone had been constructed, in the crevices of which rare mountain plants were growing. there were little fountains which murmured and flashed pleasantly, and diffused an agreeable coolness throughout the atmosphere. laura seated herself in one of the arbors, which was covered with myrtle, and, in a reclining position, her head resting on the trunk of an aged laurel-tree, which formed part of the framework of the arbor, she closed her eyes that she might see nothing but him. it was a lovely picture, the beautiful and noble countenance of this young girl, enclosed as it were in a frame of living myrtle; her delicate but full and maidenly figure reclining against the trunk of the tree, to which the chaste and timid love of a virgin had once given life. she also was a daphne, fleeing from her own desires, fleeing from the sweetly-alluring voice of her lover, who, to her, was the god of beauty and of grace, the god of learning and the arts--her apollo, whom she adored and believed in, whom she feared, and from whom she fled like daphne, because she loved him. for a woman flees only from him whom she loves; she fears him only who is dangerous, not because his words of tenderness and flattery are alluring, but because her own heart pleads for him. laura was still sitting in the arbor, in a dreamy reverie. his image filled her thoughts; her love was prayer, her prayer love. her hands lay folded in her lap; a sweet, dreamy smile played about her lips, and from under her closed eyelids a few tears were slowly rolling down her soft, rosy cheeks. she had been praying to god to give her strength to conquer her own heart, and to bear, without murmuring and without betraying herself, the sorrow, the anger, and even the indifference of the prince. still she felt that her heart would break if he should desert and forget her. an alluring voice whispered that it would be a more blissful end to die, after an hour of ecstatic and intoxicating happiness, than to renounce his love, and still die. but the chaste laura did not wish to hear this voice; she would drown it with her prayers; and still, even while she prayed, she thought how great and sublime a happiness it would be to kiss the lips of her beloved, to whisper in his ear the long-concealed, long-buried secret of her love. and then his kiss still on her lips, and in the sunshine of his eyes, to fall down and die!--exchanging heaven for heaven; redeeming bliss with bliss. and sweeter dreams and more painful fantasies came over her; heavier and heavier sank her eyelids; a weight of sorrow rested on her heart, and made it weary unto death; until at the last, like the disciples on the mount, she slept for very sorrow. the silence was profound. suddenly stealthy footsteps could be heard, and the figure of a man appeared at the entrance of the grotto. cautiously he stepped forward, and cast an inquiring glance through the trailing vines which overhung the grotto, to the young girl who still slumbered, reclining on the trunk of the laurel-tree. it was fritz wendel, the gardener of rheinsberg. queen sophia dorothea had desired to have her greenhouses and flower-beds arranged in the style of those at rheinsberg. and, by command of the young king, several of the most expert gardeners of rheinsberg had been sent to berlin to superintend this arrangement in the garden of monbijou. fortune had favored the young gardener, and had again brought him near her he loved. for the little maid of honor, louise von schwerin, was not only the favorite of queen elizabeth, but queen sophia dorothea also loved this saucy and sprightly young girl, who, because she was a child, and as such was excusable, was allowed to break in upon court etiquette with her merry laughter, and to introduce an element of freshness and vivacity into the stiff forms of court life. moreover, by her thoughtless and presumptuous behavior at rheinsberg, she had lost favor with the young couple who now reigned in prussia. queen elizabeth could not forget that it was through louise she had learned the name of her happy rival. and the king was angry with her, because, through her, the secret of his verses to madame von morien had been discovered. louise von schwerin was rarely with queen elizabeth. sophia dorothea, however, kept this young girl near her person for whole days. her childish ways amused the queen, and her merry pranks drove the stiff and formal mistress of ceremonies, and the grave and stately cavaliers and ladies of the court, to despair. and the little maid of honor came to the queen willingly, for monbijou had for her a great charm since the handsome gardener, fritz wendel, had been there. the romance with this young man had not yet come to an end; this secret little love affair had a peculiar charm for the young girl; and as no other admirer had been found for the little louise, she for the present was very well pleased with the adoration of the young gardener, to whom she was not the "little louise," but the bewitching fairy, the beautiful goddess. it was fritz wendel who appeared at the entrance of the grotto, and looked anxiously toward the sleeping laura. he had been occupied in arranging the plants and flowers in this conservatory, which had been confided to his especial care. as the queen never entered the garden at this time, this hour had been set apart for his labors. in the midst of his occupation he was interrupted by the entrance of laura von pannewitz, and had hastily retired to the grotto, intending to remain concealed until the lady should have left the conservatory. from his hiding-place, concealed by the dense indian vines, he could see the myrtle arbor in which the beautiful laura reposed; and now, seeing that she slept, he advanced slowly and cautiously from the grotto. he listened attentively to her slow and regular breathing--yes, she really slept; he might therefore stealthily leave the saloon. "ah, if it were she!" he murmured; "if it were she! i would not leave here so quietly. i would find courage to fall down at her feet and to clasp her to my arms, while pressing my lips to hers, to suppress her cry of terror. but this lady," said he, almost disdainfully, turning to the sleeping laura, "is so little like her--that she is--" the words died on his lips, and he hastily retreated to the entrance of the grotto. he thought he heard footsteps approaching the conservatory. the door of the vestibule creaked on its hinges, and again--fritz wendel slipped hastily into the grotto, and concealed himself behind the dense vines. on the threshold of the saloon stood a young man, who looked searchingly around. his tall and graceful figure was clad in the uniform of the guards, which displayed his well-knit form to great advantage. the star on his breast, and the crape which he wore on his arm, announced a prince of the royal house; his beautifully-formed and handsome features wore an expression of almost effeminate tenderness. the glance of his large blue eyes was so soft and mild, that those who observed him long, were involuntarily touched with an inexplicable feeling of pity for this noble-looking youth. his broad brow showed so much spirit and determination that it was evident he was not always gentle and yielding, but had the courage and strength to follow his own will if necessary. it was prince augustus william, the favorite of the deceased king, on whose account the elder brother frederick had suffered so much, because the king had endeavored to establish the former as his successor to the throne in the place of his first-born.[ ] [ ] dr. fred. busching, page . but the prince's inclinations were not in accordance with the wishes of his father; augustus william desired no throne, no earthly power; in his retiring modesty he disliked all public display; the title of royal highness had no charm for him, and with the indifference of a true philosopher he looked down upon the splendor and magnificence of earthly glory. in his brother frederick, the disdain of outward pomp might be attributed to his superior mind and strength of understanding; while augustus william was actuated by a depth of feeling, a passionate and ardent sensitiveness. he had come to pay the queen, his mother, the customary morning visit, but when told she had desired that no one should be admitted to her presence, he was not willing that an exception should be made in his favor. "he had time to wait," he said, "and should be announced and called up from the garden only when the queen was again at leisure." after giving this order he had gone down into the garden, where a lover's instinct had conducted him to the conservatory, in which, to him, the most beautiful of all flowers, the lovely laura von pannewitz, reposed. he did not dream of finding her there, supposing she had accompanied the other ladies on their drive; he had sought this building that he might pass a few moments in undisturbed quiet--that he might think of her and the unrequited love which he had vainly endeavored to tear from his heart. it was therefore not her he sought when, on entering the conservatory, he looked searchingly around. he only wished to know that he was alone, that no one observed him. but suddenly he started, and a deep red suffused his countenance. he saw the beautiful sleeper in the arbor. in the first ecstasy of his delight he was on the point of throwing himself at her feet, and awakening her with his kisses. he started forward--but then hesitated, and stood still, an expression of deep melancholy pervading his features. "she will not welcome me," murmured he, "she will repel me as she did my letter yesterday. she does not love me, and would never forgive me if i should desecrate her pure lips with mine." he bowed his head and sighed. "but i love her," said he, after a long pause, "and will at least look at and adore her, as the catholics worship the virgin mary." and with a beaming smile, which illumined his whole countenance, the prince slowly and noiselessly stepped forward. "well," murmured fritz wendel in his hiding-place, "i have some curiosity to know what the prince has to say to this sleeping beauty; but, nevertheless, i would give a year of my life if i could slip away unobserved, for if the prince discovers me here i am lost!" he retired to that part of the grotto where the foliage was thickest, still however securing a place from which he could observe all that took place in the myrtle arbor. chapter iii. prince augustus william. the prince entered the myrtle arbor, and, perceiving the lovely sleeper, he approached her with a joyful countenance. "madonna, my madonna, let me pray to you, let me look at you," he murmured. "listen to my pleadings, and let a ray of your love sink into my heart." laura moved in her sleep, and uttered a few indistinct words. the prince kneeled motionless before her, and watched all her movements. the dreams that visited her were not bright; laura moaned and sighed in her sleep; her countenance assumed an expression so sad and painful that the eyes of the prince filled with tears. "she is suffering," he murmured; "why should she suffer? what is it that causes my beloved to sigh?" suddenly she opened her eyes, arose, and fastened her astonished and half-dreamy gaze upon the prince, who with folded hands was still kneeling before her, and gazing on her with tender, pleading eyes. a trembling seized her whole being, as the ocean trembles when touched by the first ray of the sun. a sweet, blissful astonishment was painted on every feature. "am i still dreaming?" she murmured, passing her hand across her brow, and pushing aside her long dark hair--"am i still dreaming?" "yes, you are dreaming," murmured prince augustus, seizing her hands and pressing them to his lips, "you are dreaming, madonna, let me dream with you, and be forever blessed. oh! withdraw not your hand, be not angry, let us still dream for one blessed moment." but she hastily set her hands free and arose from her seat; grandly and proudly she stood before him, and her flashing eyes rested with a severe and reproachful expression upon the still kneeling prince. "arise, my prince; it is not proper that the brother of the king should kneel before me; arise, and have the kindness to inform me what circumstances procured me the rare and unsolicited favor of being sought by your royal highness. but no, i divine it; you owe me no explanation; the queen has asked for me, and your highness was so gracious as to seek for the tardy servant, who is sleeping while her mistress calls; allow me to hasten to her." laura, feeling her strength failing, and suppressing with pain the tears that sprang from her heart to her eyes, endeavored to pass the prince. but he held her back; the timidity that had so often made him appear shy and embarrassed had vanished; he felt that at this moment he faced his destiny, and that his future depended upon the result of this interview. "no," he said earnestly, "the queen did not call you, she does not need you; remain, therefore, mademoiselle, and grant me a few moments of your time." his solemn voice and determined expression made her tremble, but still entranced; her soul bowed in humility and fear before him. she had always seen him humble and pleading, always submissive and obedient; now his glance was commanding, his voice imperious; and she, who had been able to withstand the entreaties of a lover, found no courage to resist the angry and commanding man. "remain," he repeated; "be seated, and allow me to speak to you honestly and truly." laura seated herself obediently and tremblingly; the prince stood before her, and looked at her with a sad smile. "yesterday you returned my letter unopened, but now you must hear me, laura; i wish it, and no woman can withstand the strong will of the man who loves her." laura trembled and grew pale; she feared that if at this moment he bade her forsake all, cast away, and trample under foot her honor, her reputation, her innocence and pure conscience, she would obey him as a true and humble slave, and follow and serve him her whole life. "yes, you shall hear me; i will know my fate--know if you really despise my great and devoted love, if you are without pity, without sympathy for my suffering, my struggles and despair. i should think that true, genuine love would, like the music of orpheus, have power to animate stones and flowers, and my love cannot even move the heart of a noble, feeling girl. what is the reason? why do you fly from me? is it, laura, because you deem me unworthy of your love? because your heart feels no emotion for me? are you cold and severe because you hold me for a bold beggar, who longs for the treasure belonging to another, whom you despise because he begs for what should be the free gift of your heart? or has your heart never been touched by love? if this is so, laura, and my love has not the power to awaken your heart, then do not speak, but let me leave you quietly. i will try to bear my misery or die; i shall have no one but myself to reproach, for god has denied me the power of winning love. but if this is not the reason of your coldness, if we are only separated by the vain prejudices of rank and birth, o laura, i entreat you, if this is all that separate us, speak one single word of comfort, of hope, one single low word, and i will conquer the whole world, break down all prejudices and laws, and cast them from me. i will be as great and strong as hercules, to clear the way, and make it smooth for our love. i will present you to the world as my betrothed, and before god and my king call you my wife. speak, laura, is it so? do you fly from me because of this star upon my breast--because i am called a royal prince? i implore you, tell me, is it so? if not, if you cast me from you because you do not love me, say nothing and i will go away for ever." a long, painful silence ensued. the prince watched the pained, frightened countenance of the young girl, who sat before him with bowed head, pale and motionless. "it is decided," he sighed, after a long pause; "farewell, i accept my destiny, you have spoken my sentence; may your heart never accuse you of cruelty!" he bowed low before her, then turned and walked across the saloon. laura had remained motionless; she now raised her head; she followed him with a glance that, had he seen it, would have brought him back to her--a look that spoke more than words or protestations. the prince had reached the door once more; he turned, their looks met, and a trembling delight took possession of her whole being; forgetting all danger, she longingly extended her arms toward him, and murmured his name. with a cry of delight he sprang to her side, and folded her with impassioned tenderness in his arms. laura concealed her tear-stained face upon his breast, and murmured, "god sees my heart, he knows how long i have prayed and struggled; may he be more merciful, more compassionate than man! i shall be cast off, despised; let it be, i shall think of this hour, and be happy." "no one shall dare to insult you," he said proudly; "from this hour you are my affianced, and some day i shall present you to the world as my wife." smiling sadly, she shook her head. "let us not speak of the future; it may be dark and sorrowful. i will not complain, i will bear my cross joyfully, and thank god for your love." he kissed the tears from her eyes, and murmured sweet and holy promises of love and faith. it was a moment of blissful joy, but laura suddenly trembled and raised her head from his breast to listen. the beating of drums and quickly-rolling carriages were heard without. "the king!" cried the young girl. "the king," murmured prince augustus, sadly, and he ventured no longer to hold the young girl in his arms. they were both awakened from their short, blessed dream, both were reminded of the world, and the obstacles that lay in their path. in their great happiness they had appeared small, but now were assuming giant-like proportions. "i must hasten to the queen," said laura, rising; "her majesty will need me." "and i must go and meet the king," sighed the prince. "go quickly; let us hasten, and take different paths to the castle." he took her hand and held it to his lips. "farewell, my beloved, my bride; trust me, and be strong in love and hope." "farewell," she murmured, and endeavored to pass him. once more he detained her. "shall we meet here again? will you let me enjoy here another hour of your dear presence? oh, bow not your head; do not blush; your sweet confession has made of this place a temple of love, and here i will approach you with pure and holy thoughts." he looked long into her beautiful, blushing face. "we will see each other here again," she murmured; "every day i shall await you here at the same hour; now hasten, hasten." both left the saloon; it was again silent and deserted; in a few moments fritz wendel stepped out from the grotto with glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes. "this is a noble secret that i have discovered--a secret that will bring me golden fruits. louise von schwerin is not more widely separated from the poor gardener, fritz wendel, than mademoiselle pannewitz from prince augustus william. a gardener can rise and become a nobleman, but mademoiselle pannewitz can never become a princess, never be the wife of her lover. louise von schwerin shall no longer be ashamed of the love of fritz wendel; i will tell her what i have seen, i will take her into the grotto, and let her witness the rendezvous of the prince and his beloved, and whilst he is telling laura of his love, i will be with my louise." chapter iv. the king and the son. laura was not mistaken. it was the king whom the castle guard were saluting with the beat of the drum. it was the king coming to pay his first visit to his mother at monbijou. he came unannounced, and the perplexed, anxious looks of the cavaliers showed that his appearance had caused more disturbance and terror than joy. with a slight laugh he turned to his grand chamberlain, pollnitz. "go tell her majesty that her son frederick awaits her." and followed by kaiserling and the cavaliers of the queen, he entered the garden saloon. queen sophia dorothea received the king's message with a proud, beaming smile. she was not then deceived, her dearest hopes were to be fulfilled; the young king was an obedient, submissive son; she was for him still the reigning queen, the mother entitled to command. the son, not the king, had come, disrobed of all show of royalty, to wait humbly as a suppliant for her appearance. she felt proud, triumphant! a glorious future lay before her. she would be a queen at last--a queen not only in name, but in truth. her son was king of prussia, and she would be co-regent. her entire court should be witness to this meeting; they should see her triumph, and spread the news far and wide. he came simply, without ceremony, as her son, but she would receive him according to etiquette, as it beseemed a queen. she wore a long, black trailing gown, a velvet ermine-bordered mantle, and caught up the black veil that was fastened in her hair with several brilliants. all preparations were at last finished, and the queen, preceded by pollnitz, arrived in the garden saloon. frederick, standing by the window, was beating the glass impatiently with his long, thin fingers. he thought his mother showed but little impatience to see her son who had hurried with all the eagerness of childlike love to greet her. he wondered what could be her motive, and had just surmised it as the door opened and the chamberlain announced in a loud voice--"her majesty, the widowed queen." a soft, mocking smile played upon his lips for a moment, as the queen entered in her splendid court dress, but it disappeared quickly, and hat in hand he advanced to meet her. sophia dorothea received him with a gracious smile, and gave him her hand to kiss. "your majesty is welcome," said she, with a trembling voice, for it grieved her proud heart to give her son the title of majesty. the king, perceiving something of this, said: "continue to call me your son, mother, for when with your majesty i am but an obedient, grateful son." "well, then, welcome, welcome my son!" cried the queen, with an undisguised expression of rapture, and throwing her arms around him, she kissed his forehead repeatedly. "welcome to the modest house of a poor, sorrowful widow." "my wish, dear mother, is, that you shall not think of yourself as a sad widow, but as the mother of a king. i do not desire you to be continually reminded of the great loss we have all sustained, and that god sent upon us. your majesty is not only the widowed queen, you belong not to the past, but to the present; and i beg that you will be called from this moment, not the widowed queen, but the queen-mother. grand chamberlain pollnitz, see that this is done." for a moment the queen lost her proud, stately bearing; she was deeply touched. the king's delicate attentions made her all the mother, and for a moment love silenced all her proud, imperious wishes. "oh, my son, you know how to dry my tears, and to change the sorrowing widow into a proud, happy mother," said she, pressing his hand tenderly to her heart. the king was so overjoyed at his mother's unfeigned tenderness that he was prepared to agree to all her demands, and humor her in every thing. "ah," said he, "i, not you, ought to render thanks that you are so willing to enter into my views. i will put your magnanimity still further to the test, and state a few more of my wishes." "let us hear them, my son," said the queen, "but first let me ask a favor." "let us be seated." the king led her to an arm-chair near a window, from which there was a beautiful view of the garden. the queen seated herself, and the young king remained standing in front of her, still holding his hat. sophia dorothea saw this, and was enraptured at this new triumph. turning to the king, she said: "let us now hear your wishes, and i promise joyfully to fulfil them." "i wish," said he, "your majesty to surround herself with a larger and more brilliant court. two maids of honor are not sufficient for the queen-mother, for if by chance one were sick, and the other fretful, there would be no one to divert and amuse your majesty. i therefore propose that you have six instead of two maids of honor." the queen looked at him in tender astonishment. "my son," said she, "you are a veritable magician. you divine all my wishes. thanks--many, many thanks. but your majesty is not seated," said she, as if just perceiving this. "madame," said he, laughing, "i awaited your permission." he seated himself, and said, "you agree to my proposal, mother?" "i agree to it, and beg your majesty to point out to me the ladies you have decided upon as my six maids of honor. your majesty has free choice, and all i wish is, to be told when you have decided. i only fear," said the queen, "that with my enlarged court there will not be room for the ladies to have their separate apartments at monbijou." "your majesty is no longer to live in this house," said the king; "it is large enough for a passing summer visit, but it does not answer for the residence of the queen-mother. i spoke some time since to knobelsdorf, and already a magnificent palace is being built for you." the queen blushed with pleasure; all her wishes seemed to be fulfilled to-day. she must know whether sophia dorothea was to be queen-regent as well as queen-mother. she thanked her son tenderly for this new proof of his love and kindness. "and still," said she, sighing, "perhaps i ought not to accept of your kindness. my husband's death should remind me of the transitory nature of life, and should lead me to pass the remainder of my days in seclusion, devoting my time to god." the king looked so anxious, so shocked, that the queen repented having given the conversation this gloomy turn. "it is cruel, mother," said he, "not to let me enjoy the pleasure of being with you without a drop of wormwood. but i see by your rosy cheeks and bright smile that you only wished to frighten me. let the architects and masons continue their work: god will be merciful to me, and grant a long life to the noblest and best-beloved of mothers!" he kissed her hand and rose; sophia dorothea was terrified. the king was leaving, and she still did not know how far her influence was to reach and what were to be its limits. "you will already leave me, my son?" said she, lovingly. "i must, your majesty. for from here i can hear the government machinery creaking and groaning; i must hasten to supply it with oil, and set it in motion again. ah! madame, it is no easy task to be a king. to do justice to all his obligations, a king must rise early and retire late; and i think truly it is much more pleasant to be reigned over than to reign." the queen could scarcely suppress her delight; the king's words were balm to her ambitious heart. "i can well see that it is as you say," said she, "but i think that the king has a right to amuse himself; i think that a mother has some claims on her son, even if he is a king. you must not leave now, my son. you must grant me the pleasure of showing you my new conservatory. give me your arm, and comply with my request." "madame, you now see what power you have over me," said he, as she laughingly took his arm. "i forget that i am the servant of my country, because i prefer being the servant of my queen." the large glass door was opened, and, leaning on the king's arm, the queen entered the garden. at some distance the princesses with their brother and the rest of the court followed. they were all silent, eagerly listening to the conversation of the royal couple. but the queen did not now care to be heard by her court. they had seen her triumph, but they should not be witness to a possible defeat. she now spoke in a low tone, and hurried her steps, to put a distance between herself and the courtiers. she spoke with the king about the garden, and then asked if he thought of passing the summer at rheinsberg. "alas," said he, "i will not have the time. for a king is but the first officer of his state, and as i receive my salary i must honestly fulfil the duties i have undertaken." "but i think your majesty does too much," said the queen. "you should allow yourself more relaxation, and not let state matters rest entirely upon your own shoulders. to one who is accustomed to associate with poets, artists, and the sciences, it must be very hard suddenly to bury himself in deeds, documents, and all sorts of dusty papers; you should leave this occasionally to others, and not work the state machinery yourself." "madame," said the king, "this machine has secrets and peculiarities that its architect can intrust to no workman, therefore he must lead and govern it himself; and if at times the wheels creak and it is not in perfect order, he has only himself to thank." "but you have your ministers?" "they are my clerks--nothing more!" "ah, i see, you intend to be a rock and take counsel from no one," said the queen, impatiently. "yes, your majesty, from you always; and with your gracious permission i will now consult you." "speak, my son, speak," said the queen, in breathless expectation. "i wish your advice upon theatrical matters. where must the new opera-house be built?" the queen's face darkened. "i am not a suitable adviser for amusements," said she, pointing to her black gown. "my mourning garments do not fit me for such employment, and you well know i do not care for the theatre; for how many cold, dull evenings have i passed there with your father!" "ah, madame," said the king, "i was not talking of a german theatre, which i dislike quite as much as yourself. no, we will have a french theatre and an italian opera. the french alone can act and only the italians can sing, but we germans can play; i have therefore charged graun to compose a new opera for the inauguration of the new opera-house." "and undoubtedly this inauguration will take place on a festive occasion," said the queen, going directly to the point. "perhaps at the wedding of one of your sisters?" "ah," said he, "your majesty is thinking of a wedding?" "not i, but others. yesterday i received from london a letter from my royal brother. and a few moments ago count manteuffel brought me letters of condolence from the empress of austria. it seems the count was, besides this, commissioned to sound me as to a possible marriage with prince augustus." "it is very unnecessary for the count to burden you with matters which are happily beyond the reach of your motherly duties. for, alas! the marrying of princes is a political affair, and is not determined by the mother's heart, but by the necessities of the kingdom." the queen bit her lip until it bled. "your majesty is, undoubtedly, thinking of performing this political obligation, and have chosen a bride for the prince," said she, sharply. "forgive me," said the king laughing, "i am not now thinking of marrying, but of unmarrying." sophia dorothea looked anxiously at the king. "how, my son, are you thinking of a divorce?" said she, tremblingly. "not of one, but of many, mother. does your majesty know that i have abolished the torture?" "no," said the queen impatiently, "i did not--politics do not concern me." "that is in conformity with the true womanly character of my mother," said he. "there is nothing so insipid and tiresome as a woman who gives up the graces and muses to excite herself with politics." "and still your majesty was just initiating me into politics." "ah, yes, i told you i had abolished the torture." "and i ask, how does that concern me?" "you ask why i am thinking of divorces? well, i told you that i had abolished the torture, and in doing this it was but natural that i busied myself about marriage. for your majesty will grant me that there is no severer rack, no more frightful torture, than an unhappy marriage." "it seems as if with the torture you will also abolish marriage," said the queen, terrified. the king laughed. "ah, no, madame, i am not pope, and have not received the right from god to decide over men's consciences, though perhaps the majority would be inclined to call me holy, and to honor me with godlike worship, if i would really abolish the torture of matrimony. but i am not ambitious, and renounce all claim to adoration. but while engaged in abolishing the torture, i could but see that when the marriage chains had ceased to be garlands of roses, and were transformed into heavy links of iron, there should be some means found to break them. i have therefore commanded that if two married people cannot live harmoniously, a divorce shall not be denied them. i hope that my royal mother agrees with me." "ah, there will soon be many divorce cases," said the queen, with a contemptuous smile. "all who are not thoroughly happy will hasten to the king for a divorce. who knows but that the king himself will set the people a good example?" "with god's help, madame," said the king, gravely. "my noble mother will always wish me to set my people a good example. a king is but the servant of a nation." "that is, indeed, an humble idea of a king, a king by the grace of god." "madame, i do not crave to be called a king by the grace of god. i prefer being king by my own right and strength. but forgive me, mother. you see how these politics mix themselves up with every thing. let them rest. you were speaking, i think, of the marriage of one of the princes?" "we were speaking of the marriage of prince augustus william," said the queen, who, with the obstinacy of a true woman, always returned to the point from which she had started, and who, in the desire of gaining her point, had lost all consideration and presence of mind. "i was telling you that i received yesterday a letter from my royal brother, and that king george the second is anxious to form an alliance between our children." "another marriage with england!" said the king, dejectedly. "you know there is no good luck in our english marriages. the courier who brings the english consent is always too late." the queen was enraged. "you mean that you have decided upon a bride for my son, that again my darling wish of intermarrying my children with the royal house of england is not to be realized? ah, your father's example must have been very satisfactory to you, as you follow so quickly in his footsteps." "i truly find, madame, that the king acted wisely in not regarding in the marriage of the prince royal the wishes of his heart and his family, but political interests, which he was bound to consider. i will certainly follow his example, and take counsel over the marriage of the prince royal, not with my own heart, not even with the wishes of my royal mother, but with the interests of prussia." "but augustus william is not prince royal," cried the queen, with trembling lips. "the prince is only your brother, and you may have many sons who will dispute with him the succession to the throne." an expression of deep sorrow lay like a dark veil upon the handsome face of the king. "i will have no children," said he, "and prince augustus william will be my successor." the queen had not the heart to reply. she looked at her son in amazement. their eyes met, and the sad though sweet expression of the usually clear, sparkling eyes of her son touched her, and awoke the mother's heart. with a hasty movement she took his hands, pressed them to her heart, and said: "ah, my son, how poor is this life! you are young, handsome, and highly gifted, you are a king, and still you are not happy." the king's face was brighter, his eyes sparkled as before. "life," said he, smiling, "is not a pleasure, but a duty, and if we honestly perform this duty we will be happy in the end. it is now time to return to my prison and be king once more." he embraced his mother tenderly, laughed and jested for a few moments with his sisters ulrica and amelia, then left, followed by his cavaliers. sophia dorothea remained in the garden, and ulrica, her favorite daughter, followed her. "your majesty looks sad and grave," said she, "and you have every reason to look happy. the king was remarkably kind and amiable. only think of it, you will have six maids of honor, and a beautiful palace is being built for you!" "oh, yes," said the queen, "i will be surrounded with outward glory." "and how anxious the king seemed for you to forget the past!" said princess amelia, who, with prince augustus william, had joined her mother and sister, "you are not the widowed queen but the queen-mother." "yes," murmured sophia dorothea to herself, "i am queen-mother, but i will never be queen-regent. ah, my children," cried she, passionately, "the king, your brother, was right. princes are not born to be happy. he is not so, and you will never be!" chapter v. the queen's tailor. a dreary silence had reigned for some time in the usually gay and happy family circle of the worthy court tailor. no one dared to speak or laugh aloud. m. pricker, the crown and head of the house, was sad and anxious, and the storm-cloud upon his brow threw a dark reflection upon the faces of his wife and two children, the beautiful anna, and the active, merry wilhelm, even the assistants in the work-room were affected by the general gloom; the gay songs of the apprentices were silenced, and the pretty house-maids looked discontented and dull. a tempest lowered over the house, and all appeared to tremble at its approach. when wilhelm, the son and heir of the house, returned from his work, he hastened to his mother's room, and casting a curious glance upon the old woman, who was seated on a sofa, grim-looking, and supporting her head upon her hand, he said, mysteriously-- "not yet!" mother pricker shook her head, sighed deeply, and replied: "not yet!" the beautiful anna was generally in her elegant room, painting or singing, and did not allow herself to be disturbed; but now when the bell rang, or a strange step was heard, she hastened to her mother, and said: "well, has it come?" again mother pricker sighed, shook her head, and answered-- "not yet!" m. pricker asked nothing, demanded nothing; silent and proud he sat in the midst of his family circle; stoically listened to the ringing of the bell, and saw strangers enter his counting-room, too proud to show any excitement. he wrapped himself in an olympian silence, and barricaded himself from the curious questions of his children by the stern reserve of parental authority. "i see that he suffers," said his wife to her daughter anna; "i see that he looks paler every day, and eats less and less; if this painful anxiety endures much longer, the poor man will become dangerously ill, and the king will be answerable for the death of one of his noblest and best subjects." "but why does our father attach such importance to this small affair?" said anna, with a lofty shrug of her shoulders. mother pricker looked at her with astonishment. "you call this a small affair, which concerns not only the honor of your father, but that of your whole family; which affects the position and calling enjoyed by the pricker family for a hundred years? it is a question whether your father shall be unjustly deprived of his honorable place, or have justice done him, and his great services acknowledged!" anna gave a hearty laugh. "dear mother, you look at this thing too tragically; you are making a camel of a gnat. the great and exalted things of which you speak have nothing to do with the matter; it is a simple question of title. the great point is, will our father receive the title of 'court tailor' to the reigning queen, or be only the tailor of the queen-dowager. it seems to me the difference is very small, and i cannot imagine why so much importance is attached to it." "you do not understand," sighed mother pricker; "you do not love your family; you care nothing for the honor of your house!" "pshaw! to be the daughter of a tailor is a very poor and doubtful honor," said anna, drearily, "even if he is the tailor of one or even two queens. our father is rich enough to live without this contemptible business; yes, to live in style. he has given his children such an education as nobles only receive; i have had my governess and my music-teacher; my brother his tutor; my father has not allowed him to walk through the streets, fearing that he might fall into the hands of the recruiting-officers. we have each our private rooms, beautifully furnished, and are the envy of all our friends. why, notwithstanding all this, will he condemn us to be and to continue to be the children of a tailor? why does he not tear down the sign from the door; this sign, which will be ever a humiliation, even though 'court tailor' should be written upon it! this title will never enable us to appear at court, and the noble cavaliers will never think of marrying the daughter of a tailor, though many would seek to do so if our father would give up his needlework, buy a country seat, and live, as rich and distinguished men do, upon his estate." "child, child, what are you saying?" cried mother pricker, clasping her hands with anguish. "thy father give up his stand, his honorable stand, which, for more than a hundred years, has been inherited by the family! thy father demean himself to buy with his honorably-earned gold a son-in-law from amongst the poor nobles, who will be ever thinking of the honor done us in accepting thee and thy sixty thousand dollars! thy father buy a country-seat, and spend in idleness that fortune which his forefathers and himself have been collecting for hundreds of years! that can never be, and never will your father consent to your marriage with any other man than an honest burgher; and he will never allow wilhelm to have any other calling than that of his father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather, a court tailor." the beautiful anna stamped involuntarily upon the floor, and a flush of scorn spread itself over her soft cheek. "i will not wed a burgher," said she, tossing her head proudly back, "and my brother wilhelm will never carry on the business of his father." "then your father will disinherit you--cast you out amongst strangers to beg your bread," said the old woman, wringing her hands. "god be thanked," said anna proudly, "there is no necessity for begging our bread; we have learned enough to carry us honorably through the world, and when all else fails, i have a capital in my voice which assures me a glittering future. the king will found an opera-house, and splendid singers are so rare that prussia will thank god if i allow myself to be prevailed upon to take the place of prima donna." "oh! unhappy, wretched child!" sobbed mother pricker, "you will dishonor your family, you will make us miserable, and cover us with shame; you will become an actress, and we must live to see our respectable, yes, celebrated name upon a play-bill, and pasted upon every corner." "you will have the honor of hearing all the world speak of your daughter, of seeing sweet flowers and wreaths thrown before her whenever she appears, and of seeing her praises in every number of every journal in berlin. i shall be exalted to the skies, and the parents called blessed who have given me life." "these are the new ideas," gasped out her mother--"the new ideas which are now the mode, and which our new king favors. alas! wailing and sorrow will come over our whole city; honor and principle will disappear, and destruction like that of sodom and gomorrah will fall upon berlin! these are the alluring temptations with which baron pollnitz fills your ear and crushes in your heart the worthy and seemly principles of your family. that,"--suddenly she stopped and listened; it seemed to her the bell rung; truly there was a step upon the stairs, and some one asked for m. and madame pricker. "pollnitz," whispered anna, and a glowing blush overspread her face, throat, and neck. "the baron pollnitz, the master of ceremonies," said madame pricker, with a mixture of joy and alarm. the door flew open, and with a gay, frolicsome greeting, pollnitz danced into the room; anna had turned to the window, and made no reply to his greeting. madame pricker stepped toward him, and greeted him with the most profound reverence, calling him master of ceremonies and master of the bed-chamber. "not so," said pollnitz; "why so much reverence and so many titles? i am indeed master of ceremonies, but without the title. his majesty, the young king, has no special fondness for renewing the titles lent to us by his blessed father, and every prayer and every representation to that effect has been in vain; he considers titles ridiculous and superfluous." madame pricker turned pale, and murmured some incomprehensible words. anna, however, who had up to this time been turned toward the window, suddenly looked at the two speakers, and fixed her great eyes questioningly upon the baron. "ah, at last i have the honor to see you, fair, beautiful anna!" said pollnitz; "i knew well some magic was necessary to fix those splendid eyes on me. allow me to kiss your hand, most honored lady, and forgive me if i have disturbed you." ho flew with an elegant pirouette to anna, and took her hand, which she did not extend to him, and, indeed, struggled to withhold; he then turned again to madame pricker, and bowing to her, said, with a solemn pathos: "i am not here to-day simply as the friend of the house, but as the ambassador of the king; and i beseech the honored madame pricker to announce to her husband that i wish to speak to him, and to deliver a message from the queen." madame pricker uttered a cry of joy, and forgetting all other considerations, hastened to the counting-room of her husband, to make known to him the important information. baron pollnitz watched her till the door closed, then turned to anna, who still leaned immovable in the window. "anna, dearest anna," whispered he tenderly, "at last we are alone! how i have pined for you, how happy i am to see you once again!" he sought to press her fondly to his heart, but the maiden waved him proudly and coldly back. "have you forgotten our agreement?" said she, earnestly. "no, i have held your cruelty in good remembrance; only, when i have fulfilled all your commands, will you deign to listen to my glowing wishes; when i have induced your father to employ for you another singing-master, and arranged for your glorious and heavenly voice to be heard by the king and the assembled court?" "yes," cried anna, with glowing eyes and burning cheeks, "that is my aim, my ambition. yes, i will be a singer; all europe shall resound with my fame; all men shall lie at my feet; and princes and queens shall seek to draw me into their circles." "and i will be the happiest of the happy, when the lovely nightingale has reached the goal. from my hand shall she first wing her flight to fame. but, when i have fulfilled my word, when you have sung in the royal palace before the queen and the court, then will you fulfil your promise? then pollnitz will be the happiest of mortals." "i will fulfil my word," she said, as proudly and imperiously as if she were already the celebrated and grace-dispensing prima donna. "on the day in which i sing for the first time before the king--the day in which the tailor's daughter has purified herself from the dishonor of her humble birth, and becomes a free, self-sustaining, distinguished artist--on that day we will have no reason to be ashamed of our love, and we can both, without humiliation, present our hearts to each other. baron pollnitz can take for his wife, without blushing, the woman ennobled by art, and prima donna anna pricker need not be humbled by the thought that baron pollnitz has forgotten his rank in his choice of a wife." baron pollnitz, courtier as he was, had not his features so completely under control as to conceal wholly the shock conveyed by the words of his beautiful sweetheart. he stared for a moment, speechless, into that lovely face, glowing with enthusiasm, ambition, and love. a mocking, demoniac smile appeared one moment on his lips, then faded quickly, and pollnitz was again the tender, passionate lover of anna pricker. "yes, my dearly-beloved anna," whispered he, clasping her in his arms, "on that blessed and happy day you will be my wife, and the laurels entwined in your hair will be changed into a myrtle-wreath." he embraced her passionately, and she resisted no longer, but listened ever to his words, which, like sweet opium, poisoned both the ear and heart of the young girl. but pollnitz released her suddenly, and stepped back, colder and more self-possessed than anna. he had heard a light, approaching step. "some one comes; be composed, dear one; your face betrays too much of your inward emotion." he danced to the open piano and played a merry strain, while anna hid her blushes in the branches of a geranium placed in the window, and tried to cool her glowing cheeks on the fresh green leaves. madame pricker opened the door, and bade the master of ceremonies enter the adjoining room, where m. pricker awaited him. chapter vi. the illustrious ancestors of a tailor. pollnitz offered his arm to the lovely anna, and followed madame pricker, laughing and jesting, into the next room. this was a long hall, which had an appearance of gloom and solemnity in its arrangements and decorations. the high walls, hung with dark tapestry, were poorly lighted by two windows. several divans, covered with a heavy silken material, the same color as the tapestry, were placed against the sides of the room, and over them hung a few oil paintings in black frames, each representing the figure of a man with a most solemn expression and bearing. the remarkable resemblance which these pictures bore to each other convinced you that they must be the portraits of one family. in each appeared the same countenance, the same short, clumsy figure, and only the costumes served to point out by their various styles the different periods at which they had been painted. a figure, closely resembling the pictures, stood in the centre of the hall; it had the same countenance, the same short, clumsy figure, and even the same dress as that represented in one of the pictures. you might have supposed that some galvanic experiment had given life and motion to the painted form, and that as soon as this power was exhausted it would become lifeless, and return to its place among the other pictures. but this figure was certainly living, for it greeted the grand chamberlain, without, however, leaving the round table which stood in the centre of the room. "i welcome you to the house of my fathers," it said, with great dignity. pollnitz threw a laughing, jesting glance toward anna, who had left his side on entering the room, and had withdrawn to one of the windows. "why are you so earnest and solemn to-day, my dear pricker?" said he, turning to the old gentleman. "are you not here as the ambassador of the royal court?" he replied. "i wished to receive you with all honor, and therefore desired you to come into this hall, that i might hear the royal message in the midst of my ancestors. tell me now how can i serve the house of my sovereign." "you can serve it, my dear pricker," said pollnitz, smiling, as he displayed a large sealed paper, "by altering the sign upon your door. in the place of 'court tailor of the queen and princess royal,' it should read--'court tailor of the dowager and of the reigning queen.' here is the patent, my dear sir." the old man quietly took the paper; not a feature of his cold, solemn face moved. madame pricker, however, could not conceal her joy. with a cry of delight she hurried to her husband, to embrace and congratulate him on his appointment. pricker waved her proudly back. "why do you congratulate me?" he said. "the house of hohenzollern has only done justice to my house, that is all. the title of court tailor to the reigning queen has become an inheritance in my family, and it would be a great ingratitude in the house of hohenzollern to withhold it from me. for more than a century the hohenzollerns have been dressed by my family; we have prepared their apparel for every ball and wedding, every baptism or burial; and if they were arrayed with elegance, it was entirely owing to our taste and dexterity. the proverb says, 'the tailor makes the man,' and it is true. we made the coronation dresses of both the queens; it follows that they could not have been crowned without our assistance, for which we, of course, deserve their gratitude." "i assure you, however, my dear friend," said pollnitz, "that it was with much difficulty i obtained this appointment for you, and you owe me some acknowledgments. all of my eloquence was necessary to induce the queen to grant my prayer." pricker grew pale, and his countenance lost its calm dignity. "take back your patent," he said, proudly, handing the baron the sealed paper; "i will not accept this title if it is not given willingly." "no, no, keep it," cried pollnitz; "you merit it; it is your right; i only mentioned the difficulty with which i obtained it, that i might win your heart, and incline you to grant a request which i wish to make." "i suppose you allude to the five hundred dollars which i lent you last month," said pricker, smiling, "speak of that no more--the debt is cancelled." "thank you," said pollnitz, "but i was not thinking of that small affair; it was quite another request i wished to make." "let me hear it," said the tailor, with a most gracious inclination of the head. "it concerns a young artist, who i would like to recommend to your protection," returned the crafty pollnitz, with a side glance at anna. "he is a young and talented musician, who desires to gain a livelihood by giving instruction, but unfortunately he is a stranger here, and has found but few patrons. i thought, therefore, that if you, who are so well known, would interest yourself in him, and give him your patronage, it would greatly benefit him, for doubtless many others would hasten to follow your example. if you will allow him to give singing-lessons to your daughter anna, his fortune is assured." "i grant your request," said pricker, solemnly, not for an instant doubting the motive of the baron. "i will bestow my protection upon this young artist; he can give my daughter a daily lesson, that is, if anna is willing to show this kindness to the poor young man." anna could scarcely restrain her laughter, as she replied: "you have commanded it, and i will obey, as a daughter should do." "very well," said her father, majestically; "that matter is arranged. and now, baron, i beg you will inform me at what time the coronation will take place, that i may make my preparations, and not be the cause of any delay on that solemn occasion." "the day of the coronation has not been decided, but it will certainly not be fixed before the first of august. you will have time to make all your preparations. later we will hold a consultation with her majesty the queen, and decide the style, color, and material of the costumes. i will only give you a single word of counsel, my dear friend. accommodate yourself to the new era. remember that we have a new king, who is the counterpart of his father. the father hated and despised elegance and fashion--the son adores them; the father was the sworn enemy of french manners--the son has a perfect passion for them; and if you would please the son, you must lay aside your old german habits and customs, as we have all done, and walk in the new path. i tell you a new era is approaching, a period of glory and splendor. every thing will be altered, but, above all, we will have new fashions. in the first place, you must rid yourself of your german apprentices, and replace them as quickly as possible with french workmen from paris. that is the only means of retaining the court favor." pricker listened to all this with horror and astonishment. his cheeks were white, and his voice trembled with anger, as he cried: "never shall that happen! never will i adopt the innovations which are now the fashion. shall i lay aside my respectable dress, to replace it with a monkey-jacket, and become a laughing-stock to all honest men? shall i so far forget my god, my forefathers, and my native land, as to call french workmen into my german work-room? shame on me if i ever conduct myself in such a godless and unchristian manner! never shall a french foot cross the threshold of my dwelling! never shall a french word be spoken there! i was born a german, and i will die a german. true to my fathers, and to the commands of my sainted sovereign, who hated and despised these frivolous french fashions, it shall be my pride to retain the good old german customs, and never shall a dress cut in the french style be made in my work-room." "if you act in this manner, the time of your good fortune is past," said pollnitz. pricker paid no attention to him, but looking at the pictures which hung on the wall, he bowed respectfully before one of them. "look!" he said, pointing to one of the portraits, "that is my great-great-grandfather. he was a german, and the best and ablest of men. with him began the connection between the houses of hohenzollern and pricker. for him the prince george william created the title of court tailor, and he would wear no garment that was not made by his favorite. he remembered him in his will, and from that time began the importance of the prickers. "then look at the next picture. it is the portrait of his son, who was the court tailor of frederick william, the great elector. he made the suit worn by the elector at the battle of fehrbellin; it was, however, the unhappy duty of his son to make the burial-dress of this great man. "but with this portrait begins a new era for prussia; this was the tailor of frederick the third, and he made the robe and mantle which frederick wore on the day of his coronation. his son succeeded him, and now began a new era for the prickers. "the son did not follow the example of his father; he was of a softer, a more poetical nature. he loved flowers and poetry, and adored beauty; he therefore became a lady's tailor. the princess royal, sophia dorothea, appointed him her tailor. he made the coronation robe of the queen, and the wedding-dress of the margravine of baireuth. "when he died he was succeeded by his son, the now living pricker. i made the wedding-dress of the duchess of brunswick, and the mourning of the present dowager-queen. and now, in the very presence of my ancestors, you tempt me to become a traitor to them and to their customs. no, i am a german, and i remain a german, even should it cause my ruin!" he bowed to the amused and astonished baron, and walked proudly through the hall to his work-room. his wife followed him with folded hands and heavy sighs. pollnitz and the lovely anna were again alone. "what an absurd man!" said pollnitz, laughing. "if moliere had known him he would have worked his character into a charming farce." "you forget that this absurd man may soon be your father-in-law," said anna, sternly, as she left his side. "that is true," said pollnitz, smiling; "we will spare him. come, one last kiss, my beautiful anna--one kiss as a reward for my successful acting. to-morrow you will have a singing-master, who is no poor wretch, but a celebrated and influential musician, who has undertaken to instruct you out of pure kindness for me, for he is not a teacher but a composer. graun himself will be your instructor, and it rests with you to crown our love with the happiest results." chapter vii. soffri e taci. the most ardent desire of the young queen was about to be accomplished; she was to have a private and unconstrained interview with her husband. the days of resignation, of hope deferred, and of hidden sorrow, were now over. the dearly-beloved and longed-for husband had at last returned to her! she need no longer hide her head in shame from her own servants, who, she imagines, are secretly laughing at and mocking her, because the young king is so cold and indifferent. she need no longer envy the poor woman she saw in the street yesterday, carrying dinner to her laboring husband. she will also have a husband, and will feel the guiding and supporting arm of a strong man at her side. no longer will she be a poor, neglected queen, but a proud and happy wife, envied of all the world. he had written that he desired to pay her a visit, and had requested her not to lock her door, as important business would prevent his coming until quite late. he would, however, certainly come, as he desired to have a private interview with her on this very evening. how wearily the hours of this day have passed, how slowly the sun sank to rest! it is at last evening; night is coming on. elizabeth can now dismiss her attendants, and retire to her private apartments to await her husband. he shall see how joyfully she will receive him, how happy he has made her. she will adorn herself, that he may be pleased; she will be beautiful, that he may smile upon her. the queen, with the assistance of her astonished maids, attires herself for the first time in one of the charming negligees recently sent by the empress of austria; for the first time she dons her prettily-worked and coquettish little cap, and encloses her tiny feet in gold-embroidered white satin slippers. this neglige? is really charming, and the queen's waiting-maids assure her that she never looked better, and was never more becomingly attired. but the queen desires to assure herself of this fact, and stepping forward to the mirror, she examines her dress with the careful eye of a connoisseur; then bending down, she regards her face attentively, and an expression of satisfaction flits over her features. elizabeth sees that she is young and pretty, and for the first time rejoices in her beauty. the maids regarded with astonishment these unusual preparations. why was elizabeth now so much rejoiced at the beauty of which she had never before seemed conscious? the toilet is at an end; the queen seats herself on the light blue sofa, and dismisses her maids with a mute gesture. but when the first maid approaches the door, and as usual drew the key from the lock in order to secure it from the outside, elizabeth awakes from her dreamy state and arises from her reclining position; a glowing color suffuses her cheek, and a happy smile plays around her lips. "do not lock the door to-day," said she, with emotion; "i await the king." as if astonished at her new happiness, she sinks back on the cushions, and covers her glowing face with her handkerchief, as if to shut out the dazzling light. the waiting-maids courtesy respectfully, and leave the room. in the ante-chamber this respectful expression vanishes from their features, and they turn to each other with mocking and derisive laughter. "poor queen! she wishes to make us believe that the king, while he altogether neglects her in public, sometimes pays her a secret visit. she wishes to make us believe that she is really the wife of the handsome young king; and we all know--yes, we all know--" and all three shrugged their shoulders derisively, and hurried off to their associates, to gossip with them about the poor, despised, neglected queen. but what was that? did they not hear a carriage driving into the inner court, and the guard presenting arms amid the rolling of drums? could it be as the queen had said? was the king really coming to his wife? the waiting-maids stood and listened; they heard steps on the grand staircase. yes, it was the king, who, preceded by his pages, carrying silver candelabras with wax candles, walked hastily down the corridor to his chambers, and from thence to those of the queen. what the queen had said was therefore true. he did not despise her; perhaps he loved her! the astonished waiting-maids hurried off to inform their friends that the king loved his wife passionately, and the royal pair was the happiest couple on earth. elizabeth christine also heard the equipages drive in to the court. with a cry of delight she sprang from her seat and listened. a fervent glow of happiness shot through her veins. she pressed her hands to her heart to still its rapid beating; her countenance was illumined with joy. but these feelings were so novel they almost terrified her, and filled her heart with tremulous anxiety. "my god," murmured she, "give me strength to bear this happiness, as i have borne misery!" but her prayer died on her lips, for she heard the door of the corridor open. she was no longer the queen, no longer the resigned and timid wife; she was now the happy and joyful woman hurrying to meet the husband of her love. and with uplifted head and proud satisfaction she might now confess without shame that she loved him; for he loved her also. he had requested a rendezvous, and was coming as a lover-her first love meeting. she will not be shy and silent to-day, now that she knows he loves her; her tongue will no longer be chained; she will have courage to confess all, to tell him how ardently she loves him, and how long and vainly she has struggled with her heart; how the flames had ever broken out anew; how his glances had ever renewed the ardor of her love. there--he knocked at the door--she could scarcely breathe; she could scarcely bid him enter; she could not move, and stood transfixed in the middle of the room; she could only stretch out her arms longingly, and welcome him with her smiles and tearful glances. the door opened; now he entered. the light of the wax candles fell on his face. it was handsome as ever, but his eye was cold, and his lips uttered no loving greeting. he walked forward a few steps, stood still, and bowed in a stiff and formal manner. a chill of horror crept over elizabeth; her arms sank down, and the smile vanished from her pallid face. "madame," said the king, and his voice sounded harsher and colder than she had ever before heard it--"madame, i must first beg your pardon for having disturbed you at so unseemly a time, and for having robbed you of an hour's sleep. but you see that i am a repentant sinner, and you will forgive me when i assure you that, as this is my first, it shall also be my last violation of your retirement!" the queen uttered a low cry, and pressed her hand to her heart. she felt as if a sword had pierced her breast, as if she were dying. the king raised his large blue eyes with a surprised look to the pale, trembling face of his wife. "you are pale, you are ill," said he, "and my presence is undoubtedly annoying; i will retire and send your waiting-maids to your assistance." while he was speaking the queen prayed to god for courage and strength; she called her womanly pride to her assistance, and struggled against her tears and her despair. the king, who in vain had waited for an answer, now hastily approached the door, murmuring a few impatient words. but elizabeth's courage had now returned, she had conquered her heart. "remain, sire," she said; "i beg you to remain; i feel well again. it was only a passing spasm from which i often suffer, and for which i crave your indulgence." "if i may then remain," said the king, smiling, "permit me to conduct you to a seat." she accepted the king's proffered arm and followed him to the sofa on which she had awaited him with such blissful anticipations, and on which he was now about to put her heart to the torture. the king did not seat himself by her side, but rolling an arm-chair forward, seated himself at some distance in front of her. "madame," said he, "is it credible that we two have been married for seven long years, and still have never been as man and wife to each other? our lips were forced to pronounce vows of which our hearts knew nothing. having been forced into this marriage, you must have hated me. you can never have forgiven me for having led you to the altar. at the foot of the altar we did not vow eternal love to each other, but eternal coldness and indifference; and to this hour, madame, you, at least, have faithfully kept this vow." the queen sank back, murmuring a few incomprehensible words, and her head fell wearily upon her breast. the king continued: "i come to-day to solicit your forgiveness for the involuntary injustice which i committed. i have made you unhappy, for you were forced to give your hand to an unloved man, of whom you knew that he loved you not. madame, it is unfortunately true, an abyss lies between us, and this abyss is filled with the blood of the dearest friend of my youth. oh, madame, forgive me this wrong, for the sake of what i have suffered! i then had a soft and tender heart, but it was trodden under foot, and has become hardened. i placed full confidence in the world, and it has deceived me terribly. i have suffered more than the poorest beggar; i was forced to regard my own father as a cruel enemy, who watched me unceasingly, awaiting a favorable moment to give me a death-blow. it was necessary that i should be continually on my guard, for the smallest fault, the slightest thoughtlessness, a trifle, a mere nothing, was sufficient to condemn me. oh, if you knew with what vermin i have been publicly calumniated and accused! after doing their utmost to make me odious to the world, and fearing they might perhaps still fail, they resorted to another expedient to compass my ruin, and endeavored to kill me with their ridicule. soffri e taci, this italian proverb was then the motto of my life. and believe me, it is hard to obey this seemingly so dry maxim; it has a grand significance."[ ] [ ] the king's own words. see oeuvres, etc., tom. xvi., p. . the king, oppressed as it were by these reminiscences, leaned back in his chair and breathed heavily. with downcast eyes and in silence the queen still sat before him, charmed by the music of his words, which found an echo in her heart like the dying wail of her youth. "i do not tell you this," continued the king, after a pause, "in order to play the role of a martyr in your sight, but because i wish you to understand by what means my spirit was at last broken, and my will made subservient to that of my father. i purchased my freedom, madam, by chaining you to myself. but in doing this, i vowed you should no longer be bound when it should be in my power to release you. this moment has come, and true to my vow, i am here. i know that you do not, cannot love me, madame. the question arises, is your aversion to me so great that you insist on a separation?" the queen raised her head and looked wonderingly into the mild and sorrowful countenance of her husband. she could no longer restrain the cry which trembled on her lips, no longer stem the tide of tears which gushed in torrents from her eyes. "my god! my god!" she exclaimed, with a plaintive wail, "he asks me if i hate him!" there was something in the tone of her voice, in this despairing cry of her soul, which ought to have betrayed the long-hidden secret of her love to the king. but perhaps he knew it already, and did not wish to understand. perhaps, in the nobility and native delicacy of his soul, he wished to represent the indifference and coldness which he experienced for his wife, as coming from herself. however, the king did not seem to notice her tears. "no, madame," said he, "i did not ask if you hated me, for i well know that your noble and womanly heart is not capable of this passion. i merely asked if your aversion to me was so great that it demanded a separation. i pray you to give me a short and decisive answer." but elizabeth christine had lost the power of speech; tears rained down her cheeks, and she could only give a mute assent. "you are, then, willing to be my wife before the world?" asked the king. "you are willing to remain queen of prussia, and nominally the wife of the king? you do not demand that my reign shall be inaugurated with the exposure of our domestic misfortunes, and that your chaste and virtuous name shall be branded about with mine before the calumniating world?" "no," said the queen, with feverish haste, for she feared her strength might fail her. "no, i do not demand it; i desire no separation!" "i thank you for this word," said the king, gravely. "it is worthy of a queen. you then feel with me that we princes have not even the right to cast off the burden which weighs us down, but must bear it patiently if it serve to secure the stability of our throne. enviable are those who dare complain of their sufferings, and show their scars. but it becomes us to wrap ourselves in silence, and not to show to the miserable, pitiful, and drivelling world, which envies and abuses, even while applauding us, that a king can also suffer. i thank you, madame, and from this hour you will find in me a true friend, a well-meaning brother, ever ready to serve you. give me your hand to this contract, which shall be more lasting and holier than that blessed by priests, to which our hearts did not say amen." in his proffered hand elizabeth laid her own slowly and solemnly. but when he clasped it in his own with a firm pressure, elizabeth started and a cry escaped her lips. she hastily withdrew her hand, and sinking back on the sofa, burst into tears. frederick allowed her tears to flow, regarding her with a look of deep sympathy. "you weep, madame," said he, after a long and painful pause. "i honor your tears; you weep for your lost youth; you weep because you are a queen, and because reason has conquered your heart and forbids you to make yourself free as any other woman except a princess might do. weep on, madame, i cannot dry your tears, for like yourself i have been cheated of my happiness; like yourself i am well aware of the sacrifice which we are both making to our royal standing. ah, madame, if we were only private individuals, if we were not the rulers of prussia, but her subjects, we might now be happy. feeling our own unhappiness, and desiring to save our subjects from a like misfortune, i have made a divorce more easily attainable." elizabeth arose from her reclining position and regarded the king with a mournful smile. "i thank your majesty," said she. "it is noble in you to alleviate that misfortune for others, which you have determined to endure." "ah, madame," exclaimed the king, smiling, "you forget that i have in you a noble friend and sister at my side, who will help me to bear this evil. and then we are not altogether unhappy; if we do not love, neither do we hate each other. we are brother and sister, not by blood, but united by the word of the priest. but never fear, madame, i will regard you only as a sister, and i promise you never to violate the respect due to your virtue!" "i believe you," murmured the queen, blushing, and inwardly ashamed of the charming and coquettish negligee in which she had received the king. "before the world we are still married, but i promise that this chain shall gall you as little as possible. in your private life you will only be reminded that you are still my wife, when it is absolutely unavoidable. at the coronation i must request your presence at my side. when this is over you will be as free and independent as circumstances will admit. you will have a court of your own, a summer and a winter residence, in which i shall never intrude." "i shall then never see you again!" said the queen, in the sad voice of resignation, which is often produced by an excess of pain. "oh, i pray you, madame, to permit me to meet you at times when etiquette demands it; but i shall take care that these meetings take place on official and neutral ground, and not in our private houses. i will never enter your house without your permission, and then only on particular fete days--your birthday for instance; and i trust that you will not refuse to receive me on such occasions." "no, i will not refuse," replied the queen, regarding her husband with a sad and reproachful look. but frederick did not see this look, or would not see it. "i beg," said the king, smiling, "that you will permit me to present you with the castle of schonhausen, as a reminiscence of the hour in which you found a faithful brother, and i a noble sister. accept this little gift as an earnest of our new bond of friendship. it has been fitted up and prepared as a summer residence for your use, and you can retire to it immediately after the coronation, if you are so inclined." "i thank you," said the queen in so low a voice that her words could scarcely be distinguished. "i thank you, and i will go there on the day after the coronation;" a sigh, almost a sob, escaped her breast. the king regarded with a clear and penetrating glance the meek woman who sat before him, who accepted her joyless and gloomy future with such heroic resignation. her mute anguish excited his compassion. he wished to throw a sunbeam into her dark future, to warm her heart with a ray of happiness. "well," said he, "i am on the point of making a little journey incognito, in the meanwhile you can go to schonhausen; but when i return i desire to spend a few weeks in rheinsberg in my family circle, and, as a matter of course, madame, you are a member of my family. i beg, therefore, that you will accompany me to rheinsberg." elizabeth's countenance was illumined with so beautiful and radiant a smile that even the king saw it and admired her beauty. she held out both her hands and greeted him with a loving glance, but her trembling lips refused to utter the words which her heart prompted. the king arose. "i must no longer deprive you of your repose, and i also need rest. we must both keep ourselves well and strong for the sake of our country and our subjects, for we both have a grand task to accomplish. you will administer consolation to the miserable and suffering; you will diffuse happiness and reap blessings; you will shine as a model of nobility and feminine virtue before all other women, and through your example will give noble wives and mothers to prussia's sons! and i," continued the king, a ray of enthusiasm lighting up his handsome face, "i will make my people great; my country shall have a place in the counsels of mighty nations. i will enlarge prussia and make her strong and powerful. my name shall be engraven in golden letters in the book of history. as fate has destined me to be a king, and will not permit me to spend my days in retirement and philosophic tranquillity like other and happier mortals, i will at least endeavor to accomplish my mission with honor to myself and advantage to my people. you will be a ministering angel to the needy and suffering of our subjects, and i will extend the boundaries of prussia and diffuse prosperity throughout the land! farewell, elizabeth! our paths will seldom meet, but if i were so fortunate as to believe in a hereafter, and your noble and gentle nature would almost persuade me to do so, i would say: 'in heaven we will perhaps meet oftener, and understand each other better.' pray to god in my behalf. i believe in god and in the efficacy of the prayers of the good and pious. farewell!" he bowed deeply. he did not see the deathly pallor and convulsive trembling of the queen. he did not see how she, after he had turned from her and was advancing toward the door, hardly knowing what she did, stretched out her arms after him, and whispered his name in a plaintive and imploring tone. he hurried on, and without once turning left the room. on the outside he stood still for a moment, and drew a long breath of relief. "poor woman! unfortunate queen!" he murmured, returning slowly to his chambers. "but why pity her? is not her lot mine, and that of all princes? a glittering misery--nothing else!" a few minutes later and the royal equipage again drove through the court yard. the king was returning to his summer residence at charlottenburg. the queen, who was on her knees, crying and sobbing, heard the carriage as it drove off. "gone! he is gone!" she exclaimed, with a cry of anguish; "he has deserted me, and i am a poor discarded woman! he despises me, and i--i love him!" and wringing her hands, she sobbed aloud. for a while she was tranquil and prayed, and then again burst into tears. her soul, which had suffered so long in silence, once mora rebelled. the voice of her youth made itself heard, and demanded in heart-rending accents a little sunshine, a little of the joy and happiness promised to mankind. she was at last quieted; she accepted her destiny, and bowed her head in humility and patience. morning was already dawning when elizabeth christine arose from her knees, pale and trembling, but resigned. "soffri e taci!" said she, sadly. "this was the motto of his youth, and this shall be the motto of my whole life! soffri e taci! how sad, and yet how grave are these words! oh! frederick, frederick! why do you condemn me to such torture; why has your heart no pity with me, no pity with my love? but no!" she exclaimed, firmly, "i will weep no more. he shall not despise me. i have accepted my destiny, and will bear it as beseems a queen. be still, my heart, be still. soffri e taci!" chapter viii. the coronation. berlin was resplendent; the streets were filled with happy faces and gayly-dressed people, and the houses garlanded with flowers. to-day was the young king's coronation festival. the citizens of berlin were assembled to take the oath of allegiance, and the nobles and officials to do homage to frederick as their king. crowds were moving toward the castle; all were anxious to see the king in his coronation uniform, to see him step upon the balcony to greet the people with the queen at his side, the young and lovely lady with the sweet smile and cloudless brow; all wished to see the rich equipages of the nobility, and, if possible, to collect some of the coins which, according to an old and time-honored custom, were to be showered amongst the people. thousands were standing before the castle, gazing intently upon the balcony where the king would soon appear. the windows of the surrounding houses were filled with lovely women richly dressed, holding wreaths and bouquets of fragrant flowers with which to greet their young and worshipped king. all were gay and joyous, all were eager to greet the new king with shouts of gladness. the people were ready to worship him who, during a few weeks of his reign, had done so much for them; had showered upon them so many blessings; had opened the granaries, diminished the taxes, and abolished the torture; who had recalled the religious sect so lately driven with derision from berlin, and declared that every man in prussia should worship god and seek his salvation in his own way. yes, all wished to greet this high-minded, high-souled king, who, being himself a philosopher and a writer, knew how to reward and appreciate the scholars and poets of his own land. frederick had recalled the celebrated philosopher wolf, punished some time before by frederick william. he had organized the academy of science, and filled it with learned and scientific men of the day. all this had been done in a few weeks. how much could still be hoped for? the king loved pomp and splendor; this would promote the industry of the people. how much money would be conveyed through him and his gay court to the working classes! what a costly festal life would now become the fashion in berlin and what a rich harvest would the manufacturers and tradesmen reap! not only the people dreamed of a golden era, but the noblemen and high officials, who now crowded the palace, were hopeful and expectant, and saw a rare future of costly feasts and intoxicating pleasures. the stupid and frugal entertainments of frederick william would give place to royal fetes worthy of the arabian nights. pollnitz, the grand chamberlain, was in his element; he was commissioned with the arrangements for all the court balls, was empowered to order every thing according to his own judgment and taste, and he resolved to lavish money with a liberal hand. pollnitz wished to realize his great ideal; and he wished to see embodied in frederick the picture he had drawn, for the benefit of the old king, of a true cavalier. the king had given him the power and he was resolved to use it. he thought and dreamed of nothing, now that the court mourning was drawing to a close, but the costly feasts which he would give. pollnitz was ever searching, with an experienced and critical eye, amongst the ladies and maids of honor for the fascinating beauty who should charm the heart of the young king, and draw him into the golden net of pleasure--the net pollnitz was so anxious to secure for him. that the king did not love his wife was no longer a secret at court. who, then, would win the love of this impassioned young monarch? this was the great question with pollnitz. there was the lovely madame wreeckie, who had shown so much kindness to the prince during his imprisonment. madame wreeckie was still young, still bewitching; perhaps it was only necessary to bring them together in order to rekindle the old flame. there was madame morien, "le tourbillon," who had so often charmed the prince during his minority, and for whom he had manifested a passionate preference. to be sure, since his coronation he had not noticed her, she had not received a single invitation to court. then dorris ritter, the poor innocent young girl who had been flogged through the streets of berlin, her only fault being that she was the first love of the crown prince. would the king, now that he was free to act, remember poor dorris and what she had suffered for him; her sorrow, her shame, and her despair? would not dorris ritter now rise to power and influence, be prayed to as a lovely saint, her shame being covered with a martyr's crown? pollnitz determined to keep an eye on dorris ritter, and if the king showed no special interest in any other woman, to draw her from her exile and abasement. but, alas! the coronation threw no light upon this torturing subject. pollnitz had hoped in vain that a round of intoxicating pleasures would begin with this day; in vain did he suggest to the king that a court ball should crown the solemnities of the day. "no," said frederick, "this shall be no day of thoughtless joy; it brings me sad retrospective thoughts and the consciousness of weighty duties. on this day my father seems to me to die anew. dismiss, therefore, your extravagant fancies to a more fitting time. i cannot trust you, pollnitz, with the decorations of the throne, your taste is too oriental for this occasion; i will therefore place this affair in the hands of m. costellan, who will order the simple decorations which i deem most fitting." the grand chamberlain could only shrug his shoulders contemptuously, and rejoice that he was not compromised by these contemptible arrangements; he grumbled to himself, and said scornfully: "this pitiful saloon, with no gilded furniture, no paintings, no works of art, with faded, shabby silk curtains: and that black, uncouth structure, is that really a throne--the throne of a young king? a long platform covered with cloth; an old arm-chair, black, worn, and rusty; a canopy covered with black cloth; faugh! it looks like a crow with his wings spread. can this be the throne of a king who receives for the first time the homage of his subjects?" a contemptuous mocking smile was on the lips of pollnitz as he saw the king and his three brothers enter the room. pollnitz could hardly suppress a cry of horror, as he looked at the king. what, no embroidered coat, no ermine mantle, no crown, nothing but the simple uniform of the guard, no decorations--not even the star upon his breast, to distinguish him from the generals and officials who surrounded him! nevertheless, as frederick stood upon that miserable platform with the princes and generals at his side, there was no one that could be compared with him; he seemed, indeed, to stand alone, his bearing was right royal; his countenance beamed with a higher majesty than was ever that lent by a kingly crown; the fire of genius was seen in the flashes of his piercing eye; proud and fearless thoughts were engraved upon his brow, and an indescribable grace played around his finely-formed mouth. there stood, indeed, "frederick the great;" he did not need the purple mantle, or the star upon his breast. god had marked him with elevated kingly thoughts, and the star which was wanting on his breast was replaced by the lustre of his eye. the solemn address of the minister of state, and the reply of president gorner, were scarcely listened to. frederick, though silent, had said more than these two ministers, with all their rounded periods; his glance had reached the heart of every one who looked upon him, and said, "i am thy king and thy superior;" they bowed reverently before him, not because chance had made him their sovereign, they were subdued by the power of intellect and will. the oath of allegiance was taken with alacrity. the king stood motionless upon his throne, betraying no emotion, calm, impassive, unapproachable, receiving the homage of his subjects, not haughtily but with the composed serenity of a great spirit accepting the tribute due to him, and not dazzled by the offering. the coronation was at an end. frederick stepped from the throne, and nodded to his brothers to follow him; the servants hastily opened the doors which led to the balcony, and carried out the bags filled with the gold and silver coins. the air resounded with the shouts of the populace. the king drew near to the iron railing, and greeted his subjects with a cordial smile. "you are my children," he said, "you have a right to demand of your father love, sympathy, and protection, and you shall have them." then taking a handful of coin he scattered it amongst the crowd. shouts of merriment and a fearful scuffling and scrambling was seen and heard below; each one wished to secure a coin thrown by the king himself, and they scarcely noticed the silver and gold which the young princes were scattering with liberal hands; all these were worthless, as long as it was possible to secure one piece which had been touched by frederick. the king saw this, and, much flattered by this disinterested mark of love, he again scattered the coin far and wide. while the men were struggling roughly and angrily for this last treasure, a weak, pallid woman sprang boldly into the thickest of the surging crowd. until now she had been cold and indifferent; the coins thrown by the young princes, and which had fallen at her feet, she had cast from her with disdain; now, however, as the king once more cast the coins in the midst of the gaping crowd, with a power which passion only gives she forced her way amongst the wild multitude, and with outstretched arms she shrieked out, "oh! give me one of these small coins, only a silver one, give it to me as a keepsake! oh! for god's sake, give me one!" suddenly strange murmurs and whispers were heard from amongst those who now recognized this poor outcast; they looked askance at her, they shrank from her as from a leper; and she who a moment before had sued to them so humbly, now stood in their midst like an enraged lioness. "it is she!--it is she!" they whispered; "she has come to see the king, for whom she suffered so much; for his sake she had been covered with shame; she has been driven from amongst the poor and innocent, and now she dares to come amongst us!" cried a harsh and pitiless voice. "we know how cruelly she was insulted and abused," said another, "but we all know that she was innocent; my heart is full of pity for her, and she has a right to a coin touched by the king." the last speaker approached the poor woman, and offered both a gold and silver coin. "take these coins, i beg you, and may they be to you an earnest of a better and happier future." she gazed with a hard and tearless eye upon the good-natured, kindly face. "no, there is no happy future for me--nothing but want, and misery, and despair; but i thank you for your pity, and i accept these coins as a memento of this hour." she took them and laid them in her tattered dress, walked erect through the circle which gathered around, and was soon lost in the crowd. she was soon forgotten. the king with his brilliant suite was still upon the balcony, they had not noticed the scene passing amongst the people below; none of them remarked this poor creature, who, having made her way through the crowd, now leaned against one of the pillars of the spire, and gazed earnestly upon the king. the money was exhausted, the king had shown himself to the people sufficiently, and now, according to etiquette, he must leave the balcony and make the grand tour of the saloons, greeting with kind and gracious words the assembled nobles. he motioned, however, to his followers to leave him, he wished to remain a few moments alone, and look thoughtfully upon this sea of upturned faces. frederick gazed eagerly below. that was no inanimate and pulseless creation moved to and fro by the wind, which he now looked upon, but a living, thinking, immortal people; with hearts to hate or love, with lips to bless or curse, their verdict would one day decide the great question as to his fame and glory as a monarch, or his neglect of holy duty, and the eternal shame which follows. they seemed to frederick to be pleading with him; they demanded but little--a little shade to rest in when weary with their daily labor; prompt justice and kindly protection, the right to live in peace, bearing the burden and sorrow of their lives patiently; pity for their necessities, forbearance for their weakness and folly. what did he, their king, demand of them? that alone, which a million of people, his people, could bestow, immortal fame!--they must give him the laurel of the hero, and crown him with the civic wreath; he would make his subjects strong, healthy, and happy--they must make his greatness known to all the world, and future ages. such were the thoughts of the king as he stood alone upon the balcony. his eye often wandered across to the spire, and as often as it did the wretched woman who was leaning against the pillar trembled fearfully, and her lips and cheeks became deadly pale. the king did not see her; he saw nothing of the outer world, his eye was turned within, reading the secrets of his own heart. in the grand saloons the nobles stood waiting in grim and angry silence the return of frederick; a cloud rested upon every brow; even pollnitz could no longer retain his gracious and stereotyped smile; he felt it to be a bitter grievance that the king should keep the nobility waiting while he stood gazing at a dirty mass of insignificant creatures called human beings! looking around the circle, pollnitz saw displeasure marked upon every face but three. "ah," said he to himself, "there are the three wreeckies; no doubt they have come to be rewarded for services rendered the crown prince; they were doubtless dangerous rivals for us all; they suffered much for the prince, and were banished seven years from court on his account. the king must indemnify them for all this, and who knows, perhaps he may give them the house in jager street, the house i am in the habit of calling mine! well, i must draw near them and hear all the king promises." so saying, pollnitz drew quietly near the messieurs wreeckie. at this moment there was a movement in the vast assembly, and all bowed low; as the king stepped into the saloon he commenced the grand tour of the room; he had a kind and friendly word for all; at last he reached the messieurs wreeckie, and remained standing before them. all glances were now directed to this group; all held their breath, not wishing to lose a word which frederick should say to these formidable rivals. the king stood before them, his eye was severe, and his brow clouded. "gentlemen," he said, "it has been a long time since i have seen you at the court of the king of prussia. i suppose you seek the prince royal; i do not think you will find him here. at this court you will only find a king who demands, above all things, that his majesty should be respected; that you subjugate yourselves to him in silent obedience; even when his orders appear harsh and cruel they must not be questioned for a moment; he who opposes the will of the king deserves punishment; i will not bear opposition at my court. there is but one will, but one law; that is the will and law of the king!" and, without further greetings, he passed on. the wreeckies stood pale and trembling, and the face of pollnitz was radiant with contentment. "well, those poor fellows will not receive my house in jager street," he said to himself, "they have fallen into disgrace; it appears the king wants to punish all those who rendered good service to the prince royal. louis the fourteenth said: 'it is most unworthy of a french king to punish any wrong done to the crown prince;' here the rule is reversed--the king of prussia deems it unworthy to reward the services rendered the prince royal. but what is the meaning of that crowd over there?" he exclaimed, interrupting himself, "why is the lord marshal approaching his majesty with such an eager, joyful air? i must know what is going on." again pollnitz made his way through the courtiers and arrived safely, right behind the king, just as my lord marshal was saying in an excited voice: "your majesty, there is a young man in the next room who begs your highness to allow him to throw himself at your feet and take the oath of allegiance; he has come from america to greet you as king. so soon as he heard of the illness of your father, he left his asylum and has travelled night and day; he has finished his journey at a most fortunate moment." the eye of the king rested coldly, unmoved on the speaker; and even after he ceased speaking, regarded him sternly. "what is the name of this young man, for whom you show so lively an interest?" said the king, after a pause. the lord marshal looked perplexed and frightened; he thought the king's heart should have told him who stood without; who it was that had left his asylum in america and longed to greet the new king. "sire," he said, hesitatingly, "your majesty demands to know the name of this young man?" "i demand it." the lord marshal breathed quickly. "well, your majesty, it is my nephew; it is lieutenant keith, who has come from america to throw himself at your majesty's feet." not a muscle of the king's countenance moved. "i know no lieutenant keith," he said, sternly; "he who was once known to me by that name was stricken from the officers' roll with the stigma of disgrace and shame, and was hung by the hangman in effigy, upon the gallows. if mr. keith is still living, i advise him to remain in america, where no one knows of his crime, or of his ignominious punishment." "your majesty will not receive him, then?" said the lord marshal, with a trembling voice. "you may thank god, sir, that i do not receive him--above all, that i ignore his being here; if i should know that he still lived, i should be forced to execute the sentence to which he was condemned by the court-martial." slightly nodding to the lord marshal, the king passed on and spoke a few indifferent words to some gentlemen standing near. "well, mr. keith will not get my house in the jager street," said pollnitz, laughing slightly. "what is the matter with this king, he seems to have lost his memory? god grant he may not forget who it was that induced frederick william to pay the debts of the prince royal, and to present him with the trakener stud." chapter ix. dorris ritter. when the king had left the balcony, a poor young woman, who had been sitting on the steps of the cathedral, arose and looked fearfully around her. the sight of the king had carried her far away, she had been dreaming of the blissful days of the past. his disappearance brought her back to the present--the sad, comfortless present. the king had left the balcony. what had she to do in this mob, that might again mock, insult, or commiserate her! she could stand neither their sneers nor their pity, she must flee from both. with a hasty movement she drew her shawl tighter around her poor slender figure, and hurried through the crowd. she came at last to a miserable small house. the low narrow door seemed unfriendly, inhospitable, as if it would permit no one to pass its threshold and enter its dreary, deserted rooms, from which no sound of life proceeded. but this small, quiet dwelling ought to have been a house of labor and occupation, and would not have been so poor and pitiful looking if the large iron bell hanging over the door had been oftener in motion, and filled the silent space with its cheerful sound. behind this door there was a shop, but the bell was generally silent, and purchasers rarely came to buy in this miserable little store the articles which could be purchased more reasonably in one of the large shops belonging to wealthy merchants. the house seemed to have seen better days. it had some claims to comfort and respectability. in the windows were placed bright shells and cocoanuts; there were the large blue china pots, in which the costly ginger is brought; there were quantities of almonds, raisons, citron, and lemons in glass shells; neat paper bags for coffee, and small chinese chests that had held real chinese tea. but these bags and chests were empty; the lemons and fruits were dried and hard; the ginger-pots held no more of their strengthening contents; even the dusty, faded sign over the door, which presented a wonderfully-ornamented negro engaged in unrolling dried tobacco leaves, was but a reminiscence of the past, for the tobacco had long since disappeared from the chests, and the little that was left had fallen to dust. the store contained but a few unimportant things: chicory for the poor, who could not pay for coffee; matches, and small home-made penny lights, with which poverty illuminated her misery and want; on the table, in glass cans, a few hardened, broken bits of candy; a large cask of old herring, and a smaller one of syrup. this was the inventory of the shop, these the possessions of this family, who alone occupied this house with their misery, their want, and their despair; whose head and only stay was the poor young woman now leaning wearily against the steps, dreading to enter her house of woe and wretchedness. she arose at length and hastily entered. the bells' hoarse creaking ring was heard, and a poor, pale boy hastened forward to inquire the comer's wants. he stopped and looked angrily at the poor woman who had entered. "ah, it is you, mother," said he, peevishly. "i hoped it was some one wishing to buy, then i could have bought some bread." "bread!" said the mother anxiously; "did i not, before i went out, give you the money to buy bread for you and your little sister?" "yes, but when father came home he threatened to beat me if i did not give up the money at once; i was frightened, and gave it; then he left, and anna and i have been crying for bread, while our father is amusing himself at the alehouse and our mother has taken a holiday, and has been looking at the festivities which i also would have been glad to see, but could not, because i must stay at home and watch the shop into which no one has entered, and take care of my little sister, who cries for bread, which i cannot give her." as he finished he threw an angry look at his mother, who, deeply grieved, had fallen back on a wooden bench. she looked lovingly at her son, and holding out her arms to him, said: "come, give me a kiss, and reward me for all my pain and suffering." "give us bread, then perhaps i will kiss you," said he, harshly. she looked terrified into his hard, cold face. she pressed her hand to her high, pale forehead, as if she would force back the madness that threatened her; she held the other hand to her heart, whose wild, feverish throbbings were almost choking her. "my god! my god!" murmured she, "am i then already mad? am i dreaming? is this my son, my karl, who loved me so dearly--my boy, who was the only comfort in my misery, the confidant of my tears and wretchedness? can i, whom he looks at with such dark glances, be his mother--his mother, who joyfully bears for him the scorn of the world, who has suffered and hungered for him, worked for him during the long, cold winter nights--his mother, whose love for him was so great that she was willing not to die, but for his sake to live on in her woe? karl, my son, come to your mother, for you well know how tenderly she loves you, and that she will die if you do not love her." "no, mother," said he, not moving, "you do not love me, nor my little sister anna; for if you loved us, you would not have left us to-day, and joined the gay people who were making merry while your poor children were at home groaning and crying." "oh, my child! my child! i did not go, out of idle curiosity," said she, sadly. "i went to consult the oracle of your future, and to see if there was not to be some hope, some comfort for my children; if this would not be the beginning of brighter days. i wished to read all this in a man's face; i wished to see if he still had a heart, or if, like all princes, he had become hard and pitiless." she had forgotten that she was speaking to her son; she was addressing herself, and had entirely forgotten that he was present. "ah," said he, sneeringly, "you thought he would now give you money for your shame; but father told me that all the gold in the world would not wipe out this shame, and that brandy was the only way besides death that could make us forget that we are despised and accursed. father told me--" the boy stopped and retreated a few steps; his mother had risen from her seat and stood before him, deadly pale, with widely-opened, flashing eyes, with trembling lips; every muscle of her face in play; her whole form trembling in a paroxysm of rage and frightful torture. it was not the head of a woman, but a medusa; not the look of a tender, loving mother, but of a wild, angry, threatening mad woman. "what did your father tell you?" cried she, wildly, to the trembling boy before her. "what did he say? i will, i must know! you are silent; speak, or i dash my brains out against the wall, and you will be guilty of your mother's death." "you will beat me if i tell you," said he insolently. "no, no, i will not beat you," said she, breathlessly; and folding her hands as if to pray, she continued: "my child, my child, have mercy on your mother. tell me what he said; with what words he poisoned your heart, and made the love for your poor mother die so quickly. tell me all, my son; i will not beat but bless you, though your words should cut my heart like a knife." she wished to press him to her heart, but he resisted passionately. "no," said he, "you shall not kiss me; father said you made all you touched unhappy and despised, and that we would be well, happy, and rich if you were not our mother." she shuddered; her arm fell powerless to her side, a hollow groan escaped her, her eyes were fixed and tearless. "what more did he tell you?" murmured she; "with what other tales did he amuse my child?" she looked at him with such a sad, painful smile, that he trembled and glanced timidly down; he now saw what torture he was preparing for her. "father was drunk," said he; "when he heard that you had gone out, he was furious; he cursed you so dreadfully that anna and i both cried, and i begged him not insult you so, for it hurt me, for then i still loved you." "then he still loved me!" said his mother, wringing her hands. "but he laughed at me, and said you did not deserve our love; that you were the cause of all our misery and want; he had become poor and wretched because he had married you, and taken to drink so as not to hear or see men pointing and laughing at you when you passed. but, mother, you look so pale, you tremble so! i will say no more; i will forget all father said; i will love you, mother; but do not look at me so dreadfully, and do not tremble in that way." the boy wept from grief and terror. his old love had awakened; he approached his mother to kiss her, but now she pushed him back. "i do not tremble," said she, though her teeth were chattering. "i do not tremble, and you must not forget what your father said; you must tell me all again. speak on, speak! i must hear all, know all. what more did he say?" the boy looked at her sadly. his voice, which before had been insolent and rude, was now quiet and gentle, and his eyes were full of tears. "he said he married you out of pity, and because you brought him a few thousand dollars. but this gold brought no blessing with it, but a curse; and that since then it had gone worse with him than with the executioner, whom all despise, and who dares not enter an honest man's house. but that you were more despised and disgraced than the miserable man who had stripped you in the open market and whipped you through the streets; that the boys had pelted you with mud, and that the streets became red with the blood that flowed down your back." the poor woman gave a piercing shriek, and fell as if struck by lightning to the floor. the boy threw himself weeping by her side; and the little girl, who had been sleeping in another corner of the room, awakened by the scream, came running toward them crying for bread. but the mother moved not; she lay there pale, with closed eyes; she was cold and lifeless; she did not hear her poor little girl cry; she did not feel the hot kisses and tears of her son, who was imploring her in anxious, tender, loving words, to open her eyes, to tell him that she was not angry, that she had forgiven him. but he suddenly stopped and listened eagerly; he thought he heard the well-known sound of the bell. "there it was again; if it is father, he will beat me to death," murmured he, as he went toward the shop door. "he forbade me to repeat a word of all that to mother." he opened the door, and there stood not his father but a richly-dressed gentleman, who, with a friendly gesture, pushed the boy aside and entered the shop. "i want some tobacco, my little fellow," said he; "therefore call mr. schommer to give me some from his best canister." "my father is not at home," said the boy, staring at the handsome, friendly gentleman. "well, i did not come precisely on his account," said the gentleman, with a strange laugh. "call your mother, madame schommer, and tell her i wish to make a purchase." "mother is lying in the back room on the floor, and i believe she is dead!" said karl, sobbing. the gentleman looked at him with amazement. "did you say dead? that would be very inconvenient, for i have greatly counted on her life. what did she die of? is a physician with her?" "no one is with her but my little sister; you can hear her crying!" "yes, i can hear her; and it is in truth no edifying music. no one else, did you say? where, then, are your friends? where is your father?" "father is at the ale-house, and friends we have none; we live all alone, for no one will live with us." "well, if you are alone, i may go to your mother," said he, with a careless laugh. "it is likely your mother has fainted; and as i am learned in these feminine swoons, it is very possible i may call her back to life. show the way, little cupid, and lead me to your mother, the fainting venus." and laughing, he followed the astonished boy into the back room. she still lay without movement on the floor, and little anna, kneeling by her side, was praying for bread. "that is your mother, madame schommer?" asked the strange gentleman, looking curiously at the pale woman. "yes, that is my mother," said the boy. "mother, mother, wake up!" said he, covering her face with kisses. "wake up, i do not believe what father said. i will love you! he was drunk! ah, my dear, dear mother, only wake up!" "she will awake," said the stranger, who was bending over her, laying his hand on her heart and temples, "she is, as i thought, not dead but in a swoon." the boy laughed aloud with glee. "my mother is not dead," said he, crying and laughing at once. "she will wake up and love me; we will all be so happy!" "mother, mother, give me some bread!" whimpered poor little anna. "are you then so hungry?" said the stranger, who was getting tired of this scene. "yes," said the boy, "she is hungry; we are both hungry. we have had nothing to eat all day. mother gave us money before she went out to buy bread and milk, but father came and took it to buy brandy for himself." "a worthy father," said the stranger, handing him something. "here, my son, is some money. take your sister, go to the baker's, and get something to eat, then seat yourselves and eat; and do not come back here until i call you. but if you see your father coming, then come and tell me." the children joyfully hurried to the door; they were not now thinking of their poor, fainting mother, but of the bread they would buy to satisfy their hunger. "but who," said the boy, turning around, "will watch the shop?" "well, i will," said the stranger; "i will watch your mother and your shop; go!" the children hurried away, and the stranger was alone with the fainting woman. chapter x. old and new suffering. the cavalier stood quietly some minutes, showing no sympathy for the poor insensible woman, and making no effort to arouse her to consciousness; he examined her face searchingly and curiously, not from sympathy for her sad condition, but with cold egotism, thinking only of his own special object. "hum," murmured he, "in spite of pallor and attenuation, there are yet traces of great beauty. i am sure if well nourished and well clothed she may yet allure the heart which must be ever touched with pity for her mournful fate; besides, she is poor--hopelessly, despairingly poor. the husband is a drunkard, the children cry for bread; she is so poorly clad, so pale, so thin; hunger has been her only lover. under these circumstances she will readily adopt my plans, and be my willing tool; she will acknowledge me as her master, and by god i will teach her how to bind this headstrong fool in chains. he has so far escaped all the pitfalls which fredersdorf and myself have so adroitly laid for him. dorris shall be the delilah who will tame this new samson. truly," he continued, as he cast a look of contempt upon the senseless form lying before him, "truly it is a desperate attempt to transform this dirty, pale, thin woman into a delilah. but the past is powerfully in her favor, and my samson has a heart full of melting pity and sensibility; moreover all previous efforts have failed, and it is pardonable to seek for extraordinary means in our despair. so to work! to work!" he took from his pocket a small phial of english salts, held it to her nose, and rubbed her temples with a small sponge. "ah, she moves," he said, resting for a moment from his work, and looking coldly and curiously upon the poor woman, who, with a shudder of newly-awakened life, now turned her head, and whose convulsed lips uttered short sighs and piteous complaints. pollnitz rubbed her temples again with the strong salts, and then, as he saw that consciousness was more and more restored, he raised her from the floor, and placed her softly in a chair. "auso armes, auso armes," muttered he. "la battaille commencera." the woman opened her eyes, and they wandered with an anxious and questioning look here and there, then fell upon the stranger, who, with a smiling and observant glance, followed every movement. her eyes were fixed and staring, her features expressed terror and scorn, her whole form was convulsed, she was still half dreaming, half unconscious. but her eye was immovably placed upon him, and she murmured in low tones, "i know this face--yes, i know this cold, smiling face, i have felt it twice! when was it? was it only in fearful dreams, or was it a frightful reality? when, where did i see this cold, devilish smile, this face so cold and heartless, so full of iron egotism?" "truly, she does not flatter," murmured pollnitz, but without changing for one moment his watchful but friendly mien. "i am curious to see if she will at last recognize me." "pollnitz!" cried she at last, with flaming eyes. "yes, it is you! i know you! you are baron pollnitz! who gave you the right to enter this house? what brings you here?" "i repeat your question," he replied, smiling, "what brought you here, here in this gloomy, miserable room; here where hunger and wailing have their dwelling; here where misery grins upon you with hollow-eyed terror? what do you here, dorris ritter?" she trembled convulsively at this name, her cheeks were dyed purple, and in another moment became ghastly pale. "why do you call me dorris ritter?" she cried, with gasping breath, "why remind me of the past, which stands like a dark spectre ever behind me, and grins upon me with bloody and shameful horrors?" lost wholly in these fearful remembrances, she stared before her, thinking no more of pollnitz, forgetting that his watchful and heartless eyes were ever fixed upon her. "dorris ritter!" she cried, slowly, "dorris ritter! where are you? why do they call you by thy name? can they not remember that you are a sleep walker wandering on the edge of a precipice, into which you must fall headlong if awakened by the sound of your name, dorris ritter?" she said, more loudly, fixing her eye upon pollnitz; "how dare you call my name, and tear me shrieking from my grave!" "now, that is exactly what i wish," said pollnitz; "i will raise you from this lowly and forgotten grave; you shall forget what you have suffered; you shall be rich, happy, distinguished, and envied." "i!" cried she, with mocking laughter, "and you will make that of me! you, baron pollnitz, you, who were partly the cause of my misery, and who looked smilingly upon my shame! what, then, what have i done to deserve so much shame and sorrow? my god!" cried she, in heartrending tones, "my heart was pure and innocent; i dared raise my head without fear, and look god and my parents in the face; even before him, my prince, i needed not to cast down my eyes; i was innocent, and he loved me because he could also respect me. alas! it was so silent, so resigned a love; it asked for nothing, it had no speech. was it our fault that others saw and pointed out this love without words, and which eyes of innocence only expressed? we stood far removed from each other, and a gulf lay between us, but heavenly music formed a golden starry bridge over this abyss, and the holy and melodious tones whispered to our young hearts, the complaints and longings of a speechless, self-renouncing love. only thus, only thus, a sweet dream, and nothing more! then you came to awaken us, to accuse the prince of high treason, to make of me a miserable prostitute. you cast my love, which i had only confessed to my father in heaven, like a dirty libel and foul fruit in my face; you wished to spot and stain my whole being, and you succeeded; you crushed my existence under your feet, and left me not one blossom of hope! oh, i will never forget how you tore me from the arms of my poor father! how you cast me into prison and chained my hands, because in the anguish of my shame and my despair i tried to take that life which you had dishonored! they came at last, and dragged me before the king. two men were with him, one with a common red and swollen visage, with thick, lascivious lips, with red and watery eyes--that was grumbkow; the other, with the fine friendly face, with the everlasting deceitful smile, the cold, contemptuous, heartless glance, that was you, baron pollnitz. ah, with what horrible glances did these three men look upon me! what mockery and contempt did their cruel voices express! i threw myself at the feet of the king; i prayed to him for mercy and grace; he kicked me from him, and shamed me with words and accusations which made my soul blush. i swore that i was innocent; that no sin lay upon me; that i had never been the beloved of the prince; that i had never spoken to him but in the presence of my father. then laughed they, and mocked me, and loudest of all laughed baron pollnitz, and his words of scoffing and insult pierced my heart like a poisoned arrow, and checked my flowing tears." "it is true," murmured pollnitz; "she has forgotten nothing." "forgotten!" cried she, with a wild laugh, "can i forget that i was driven through the streets like a wild beast; that i was stripped by the rough hands of the hangman's boy; that i heard behind me the scoffings and insults of the wild mob hired for the occasion; that i felt upon my naked back the cruel blows of the executioner's whip? oh, i have borne, and i have suffered; i did not become a maniac, i did not curse god, but i prayed to my father in heaven as i ran like a baited wild beast through the streets. i saw that all the houses were closed, that no one stood at the windows; no one had the courage to look upon my path of martyrdom, and it comforted me even in the midst of my torture, and i blessed those men who were pitiful to me, and who appeared to bear testimony to my innocence by refusing to witness my cruel punishment, and i ran further, and the hot blood flowed down my back. suddenly i came upon a house which was not closed, the door was open, before it stood the servants and pointed the finger of scorn at me, and mocked and jeered at me. on the balcony stood baron pollnitz, with his stony, heartless face! then i uttered a cry of rage and revenge, then my prayers were hushed or changed into wild curses, and i yelled and howled in my heart: he is guilty of my shame, he with his cruel jests, his pitiless sneers, has poisoned the ear of the king, has destroyed the last doubt of my guilt in the heart of his majesty. disgrace and shame upon baron pollnitz! may he be despised, lonely, and neglected in the hour of death; may remorse, the worm of conscience, feed upon his soul, and drive him hither and thither, restless and homeless all his life long!" she uttered a wild cry, and sank back powerless and broken in her chair. baron pollnitz was self-possessed and smiling throughout; he laid his hand upon the nerveless arm of the sobbing woman, and said with a soft, flattering tone: "it is true i have done you injustice, but i have come to make amends for the past. you shall yet raise your head proudly, and no one shall doubt of your innocence." she shook her head sadly. "how can that help me? my father died of shame; my husband, who married me from pity and because i had a poor two thousand crowns, could not bear that men should flee from me as from a branded culprit; this grief drove him to drink, and when he comes home drunk at night, he beats me and shames me; the next morning he prays, with strong crying and tears, for forgiveness, but goes again and begins anew the same sad existence. my children!" she could say no more; her words were choked with tears, as she thought of the hard and frightful language her little boy had used to her that morning. pollnitz was weary of the complaints and sobs of this wretched woman. "weep no more," said he; "weeping makes the eyes red, and you must henceforth be lovely and attractive; if you will follow my advice you and your children will once more be joyful and happy. i will send you beautiful clothing, and i know an adroit person who will make you charmingly attractive, and at the same time arrange your toilet with such enchanting grace that you will pass for the 'mater dolorosa' and the beautiful magdalen in the same person. then will i lead you to the king; then will he read in your lovely and noble face the touching and innocent story of his first love; it will then rest with you, who have so long been covered with dust and ashes, to kindle again the spark of your dead love, and find in his tenderness the reward and compensation for all the bitter past." she looked at him with flaming eyes, and her glance was so piercing that even pollnitz felt a little embarrassed, and involuntarily cast his eyes to the ground. "has the king sent you here with this message?" "no, not the king; but i know that he thinks of you with love and pity, and that he would be happy to find you." "if that is so, let him come to seek me. i will not go to him--i am the injured and dishonored one; it is his duty to repair my wrongs. but he will not come--i know it. i read it to-day in his face. the world has killed his heart; it has turned to stone in his breast--a gravestone for his dear-loved katt and for dorris ritter." "he will come; i say to you he will! hear me, dorris; you will not go to him? well, then, expect him here, and prepare yourself in such a way to receive him as to make an impression upon his heart; study carefully your part; revolve every word which you will say to him; consider every glance with which you will look upon him; put on the clothes which i will send you, and banish your husband and your children." "my children!" cried she, trembling; "no, no, only as a mother--only under the protection of their innocent presence will i ever see him; only for my children will i receive his sympathy and grace." pollnitz stamped involuntarily with his feet upon the floor, and muttered curses from between his tightly-pressed lips. "do you not understand that our whole scheme will fail unless you do exactly as i tell you; that you will attain nothing unless you begin wisely and prudently? you say the king has no heart; well, then, he has intellect, and this you must flatter; through this you may, perhaps, warm his stony heart; you must not trust wholly to the majesty of your misfortunes, but advance to meet him in the grace and glory of your beauty; by your soft eyes you must work upon his heart; not with your tears, but by enchanting smiles, he may be won." she looked at him with proud and contemptuous glances. "go!" said she; "go! we have nothing to do with each other. i would curse you and seek to revenge myself upon you for the new dishonor which you have put upon me by your shameless words, but i know i have not the right to resent. i am a degraded, dishonored woman, and all men believe they have the right to insult me and to mock at my misfortunes. go!" "you command me, then, to leave you; you will not heed the voice of a well-meaning friend; you--" "baron pollnitz," said she, with a voice tremulous with scorn, "i say go! drive me not to extremity. shall i call upon the neighbors to relieve me from the presence of one i abhor, who disregards the sanctity of my poor house, and abuses and sneers at a woman who hates him? go, and let me never see your face or hear your voice again!" "well, then, i will go; farewell, dear madame schommer; but i will come again, and perhaps i may be so happy as to find in your place the enchanting dorris ritter, that sentimental young maiden of the past, who loved the crown prince so passionately, and was so well pleased to receive his love and his presents." he laughed aloud, and left the dreary room with a courtly pirouette; with quick steps he hastened through the shop, and opening the door which led into the street, he kicked the two children who were sitting on the threshold to one side, and rushed into the street. "she is truly proud yet," murmured he, shrugging his shoulders. "the hangman's whip did not humble her--that pleases me; and i am more than ever convinced we will succeed with her; she must and shall be beloved of the king; and as she will not go to him, well, then, i will bring him to her. to-morrow the king will visit the site chosen for the palace of the queen-mother: that will be a glorious opportunity to induce him to enter her hut." dorris bitter had risen, and with uplifted arm and a proud glance she had followed pollnitz. her whole being was in feverish excitement. in this hour she was no more a poor, disheartened woman, from whom all turned away with contempt, but a proud wife conscious of her honor and her worth, who commanded her persecutor from her presence; who asked no mercy or grace, and demanded a recognition of her purity. as the steps of the baron faded away, and dorris was again alone, her feverish excitement subsided, and she was again a poor, pallid, trembling, humble woman. with a cry of the most profound woe she sank back in her chair, and stared long before her. suddenly she murmured from between her tightly-compressed lips: "woe to him! woe to him! when he forgets what i have suffered for him; woe to him, if he does not remove the shame which crushes me! woe to him, if he despises me as others do! then will dorris eitter be his irreconcilable enemy, and she will take vengeance so true as there is a god over us!" chapter xi. the proposal of marriage. "courage, my dear friend," said madame von brandt to count voss, who stood before her with the most mournful expression, and seemed so lost in grief as to be scarcely aware of the presence of his charming and bewitching armida. "i do not understand how you can laugh and be gay, if you love me," he said, sadly. "i love you truly, and therefore i am gay. we have almost gained our end; soon the suspicions of the world will be lulled, for who would dream that the husband of the young and beautiful laura von pannewitz could possibly love the old and ugly madame von brandt?" "you old! you ugly!" cried the young count, indignantly. "it is well that it is you who utter such a blasphemy; if any other did, i should destroy him." "you would do very wrong, dear count, for that would betray our love to the world. no, no, if any one should speak so to you, you must shrug your shoulders, and say, 'i am not acquainted with madame von brandt, i am indifferent whether she is handsome or ugly. she may be as old as methuselah, it does not concern me." "never will i say that, never will i be induced to utter so miserable and dishonorable a falsehood. no, dearest, you cannot demand that. you see your power over me, and treat me most cruelly. you condemned me to be married, and i have obeyed your commands, although my heart was breaking as i made my proposal to the queen. now i entreat that you will not torture me by demanding that i shall revile and caluminate you. no, no, i pray on my knees that you will be kind and merciful!" he threw himself on his knees before her, leaning his head upon the divan on which she was sitting. she placed her hand upon his head and played with his fair hair. "i am not cruel, i am only cautious," she whispered, almost tenderly. "trust me, alexander, you must not doubt my boundless love." "no, no, you do not love me," he sighed; "you are always hard and cruel, you have never granted me the smallest favor, you have never accepted one of my presents." a slight but scornful smile played upon the lips of this beautiful woman, while the enthusiastic and impassioned young man spake thus. she turned aside her face, that he might not see its expression. but he thought she was again angry with him. "ah," he said, despairingly, "you will not allow me even to behold your heavenly countenance; do you wish to drive me to distraction? what have i done to deserve this new torture? are you so offended because i entreated you to accept a gift from me? oh, it is so sweet to compel the one we love to think of us; to place a ring upon her finger, and bid her dream of him who loves her when she looks upon it; to bind a chain upon her neck, and whisper, 'you are fettered, my love enchains you, you are mine!' a man can only believe in the affection of his beloved when she condescends to accept something from him." "and would that give you faith in my love?" she said, in a tender, melting voice, as she turned smilingly toward him. "yes!" he exclaimed, "it would increase my faith." "well, then, give me some little thing that will remind me of you, that i can wear, as the spaniel wears the collar which bears the name of its master." she offered him her hand, which he covered with fervent kisses, and then drew from his bosom a large and heavy etui, which he placed in her hands. "but this contains not merely a ring," she said, reproachfully; "you have deceived me, misused my kindness; instead of presenting me with a small souvenir, with the pride of a king you wish to overwhelm me with your rich gifts. take back your case, count, i will not look at its contents; i will not behold how far your extravagance and pride have led you; take your treasures, and give me the simple ring that i promised to accept." she stood up, and handed him the etui with the air of an insulted queen, without once glancing at its contents, and only divining their value by the size and weight of the case. her poor lover regarded her with a truly despairing expression. "if you desire to destroy me, do it quickly and at once, not slowly, day by day, and hour by hour," he said, almost weeping. "i fulfil your smallest desire, i marry at your command, and you refuse to show me the slightest kindness." he was now really weeping, and turned aside that she might not behold his tears. then suddenly recovering himself, he said with the boldness of despair: "i will learn from you the use of the word no. if you refuse to accept this case, then i will refuse to marry mademoiselle von pannewitz. if you compel me to receive again those miserable stones, i will go at once to the queen, and tell her that i was mistaken, that i cannot and will not marry mademoiselle von pannewitz; that i have given up my plan, and am determined to leave berlin immediately." "no! no! you must not go! you shall not leave me!" she cried, with every appearance of terror; "give me the case, i will accept it. you must not leave berlin!" the young count uttered a cry of delight, and hurried to her side. "i will accept this etui," she said smiling, "but will not open it while we are together, for fear we might again disagree." count voss was beside himself with joy and gratitude, and vowed he would marry mademoiselle von pannewitz that very day, to obtain the kiss which madame von brandt had promised him at his wedding. "love might perhaps remove mountains," she said, "but it cannot give wings to the tongue of a queen. you have placed your proposals in the hands of her majesty, you selected this lofty lady to sue for you, and now you must wait until it pleases her to make your proposals known to the lady." "the queen promised to do that to-day. it was necessary for me to make my proposals to her, for the family of mademoiselle von pannewitz demanded that i should obtain the consent of the queen to my marriage before i could hope for theirs." "and laura, have you obtained her consent?" "oh," said the vain count, shrugging his shoulders, "i am certain of that; she is poor and entirely dependent on the proud dowager-queen; i will make her a countess, and insure her freedom; she will live independently upon her estates, and be surrounded with wealth and luxury; she will have every thing but a husband." "poor laura!" said madame von brandt, softly. "but you have been with me already too long; it might be remarked, and give rise to suspicion; go, now, i will work for you, and you must work for yourself. let no difficulties frighten you." the count left her slowly, while madame von brandt was scarcely able to conceal her impatience to be alone. she looked after him with a contemptuous smile, and murmured to herself: "vain fool, he deserves to be deceived. but now at last i will see what this precious etui contains." she flew to the table and hastily lifted the cover of the case. a cry of astonishment arose to her lips, and her eyes beamed as clearly and brightly as the diamonds resting upon the satin cushion within. "ah! this is really a royal present," she whispered, breathlessly, "more than royal, for i am confident king frederick would never present any woman with such diamonds; but i deserve them for my wonderful acting. this poor count is convinced that i am the noblest, most unselfish, and most loving of women. how well conceived, how wise it was to decline his first gift! i knew that he would replace it with something more costly and elegant, hoping to move me to change my resolution. how my heart bounded with delight when he drew forth this great case! i could scarcely withhold my hands from grasping the costly treasure. i concealed my impatience, and would not open the case in his presence, fearful that he might read my delight in my eyes, and that might have undeceived the poor fool as to my disinterestedness. truly it was very wise and very diplomatic in me; even manteuffel could not have acted more discreetly." she bent again over the flashing diamonds, and pressed her burning lips to the cold stones. "beautiful stones," she whispered tenderly, "your cold kiss animates my whole frame; i love you more than any human being, and when you are upon my neck i will desire no warmer embrace. welcome, then, beloved, to my house and my bosom. you shall be well cared for, i shall exert myself to provide you with worthy companions; many of your family are lying loosely about in the world, and you doubtless desire the company of your brothers and sisters. i myself share that desire, and will seek to accomplish it by bringing together more and more of your relations; i will invite your cousins, the pearls, and you shall be united. my diamonds and pearls shall have a gayer and more splendid wedding than count voss and beautiful laura von pannewitz." she laughed aloud in the joy of her heart, then closed the case and locked it carefully in her writing-desk. "and now to the queen-mother," she said; "the train is laid, it is only necessary to apply the match and await the explosion. i must point out to the queen that this marriage of the lovely laura with count voss is necessary to prevent a difficulty in the royal family, i must--eh bien! nous verrons. i hear the voice of the queen; she is taking her promenade, and i must not fail to be present." she took her hat and shawl, and hurried to the garden. chapter xii. the queen as a matrimonial agent. the queen-mother was taking a walk in the garden of monbijou. she was unusually gay today, and her countenance wore an expression of happiness to which it had long been a stranger. and the queen had good reason to be gay, for she seemed on the point of realizing the proud anticipations she had indulged in for so many weary years. her son was carrying into execution the promises which he had made on his first visit, and in which she had hardly dared to believe. she had already received the first monthly payment of her income as queen-dowager, which her son had largely increased. new appointments had been made to her court, and it had been placed on a truly royal footing; and yesterday the king had told her that he had already chosen a site for her new palace. moreover, the homage she received from the entire court, and more especially from the king's favorites, bore evidence to the fact that her influence was considered great, and that much importance was attached to her grace and favor. while queen elizabeth was passing her time joylessly at the castle of schonhausen, to which she had retired, the entire court was assembling at monbijou, and hastening to do homage to the queen-mother. even the young king, who had not yet paid a single visit to his wife at schonhausen, waited on the queen his mother daily, accompanied by a brilliant suite of cavaliers.[ ] [ ] thiebault, ii., page . the queen sophia dorothea had good reason to be gay, and to entertain the happiest anticipations in regard to the future. to-day for the first time she could take her morning walk attended by her brilliant suite, for the last appointments had only been made on the preceding day. when the queen now looked around, and she did so from time to time, she no longer saw the two maids of honor of earlier days walking languidly behind her. six of the most beautiful ladies, all of the first nobility, had been appointed to the queen's service, and were now engaged in a merry conversation with the four cavaliers in attendance on the queen, who had been selected for this office by the king himself. while conversing with her marshal, count rhedern, she could hear the merry laughter of the newly-appointed maid of honor louise von schwerin, and the soft, melodious voice of the beautiful laura von pannewitz, whose grace and loveliness had even excited the admiration of her husband the king, and for a few weeks thrown him into a state to which he was entirely unaccustomed.[ ] [ ] memoires de frederique wilhelmine de baireuth, vol. ii., p. . the queen, as we have said, was unusually gay, for she had just received a new proof of her own importance, and of the influence she was supposed to exert on the young king her son. count rhedern had solicited the assistance of the queen-mother in a very delicate and important matter, and had requested her to advocate his cause with king frederick. the count desired to marry, but the permission of the king was still wanting, and would probably be very difficult to obtain, for the count's chosen was unfortunately not of a noble family, but had the misfortune to be the daughter of a berlin merchant. "but," said the queen, after this confidential communication, "i do not understand why it is that you wish to marry this girl. i should think the nobility of our kingdom was not so poor in beautiful and marriageable ladies that a count rhedern should find it necessary to stoop so low in search of a wife. look behind you, count, and you will see the loveliest ladies, all of whom are of pure and unblemished descent." "true, your majesty. these ladies are beautiful, of good birth, young and amiable, but one thing is wanting to make them perfect. mademoiselle orguelin is neither beautiful nor of good birth, neither young nor amiable, but she has the one thing which those fairies lack, and for the sake of this one thing i am forced to marry her." "count, you speak in riddles, and as it seems to me in riddles of doubtful propriety," said the queen, almost angrily. "what is this one thing which mademoiselle orguelin has, and on account of which you are compelled to marry her?" "your majesty, this one thing is money." "ah, money," said the queen, smiling; "really, it well becomes a cavalier to marry beneath him for the sake of money!" "your majesty, it is because i am mindful of the duties which my rank impose on me, and of the demands which a cavalier of my standing should meet, that i have determined to make this misalliance. your majesty will be indulgent if i dare open before you the skeleton closet, and unveil the concealed misery of my house. the counts rhedern are an old and illustrious race. my ancestors were always rich in virtues but poor in gold. economy seems to have been the one virtue they ever possessed; they were too generous to reject any appeal made to them, and too proud to limit their expenditures to their small income. outwardly they maintained the pomp suitable to their standing, while they gnawed secretly and unseen at the hard crust of want. thus from father to son the debts were constantly increasing, and the revenues becoming smaller and smaller. if i do not make an end of this, and sever the gordian knot like alexander, instead of attempting the wearisome task of untying it, i shall soon present to the court and nobility the sad spectacle of a count rhedern who is compelled to give up his hotel, his equipage, his furniture, and his servants, and live like a beggar." "ah, this is really a sad and pressing affair!" exclaimed the queen, sympathizingly, "but are there no heiresses among the nobility, whose fortunes might save you?" "none, your majesty, who like mademoiselle orguelin would bring me a fortune of three millions." "three millions! that is a great deal, and i can now perfectly well understand why you are compelled to marry this orguelin. you have my consent, and i think i can safely promise you that of my son the king. make your arrangements and fear nothing. i guarantee that the king will not refuse your request." "after what your majesty has said, i feel assured on this point," exclaimed count rhedern, with a sigh. "how, and you still sigh, count?" "your majesty, i need the permission of one other person--the acceptance of the bride. and to this acceptance is appended a condition, the fulfilment of which again depends upon your majesty's kindness." "well, truly, this is a strange state of affairs. you speak gravely of your approaching marriage, and as yet are not even engaged. you speak of your bride, but mademoiselle orguelin has not yet accepted you, and whether she will or not, you say, depends on me." "yes, on your majesty, for this girl, who is as proud of her three millions as if it were the oldest and most illustrious pedigree, consents to be my wife only on the condition that she is acknowledged at court, and has access, as countess rhedern, to all court festivities." "truly this is a great pretension!" exclaimed the queen, angrily. "a pedlar's daughter who carries arrogance so far as to wish to appear at the court of the king of prussia! this can never be, and never could i advocate such an innovation: it is destructive, and only calculated to diminish the prestige of the nobility, and to deprive it of its greatest and best privilege--that privilege which entitles it alone to approach royalty. it was this view which prevented me from receiving the so-called count neal at my court, although my son the king admits him to his presence, and desires that i also should recognize this count of his creation. but, as a queen and a lady, i can never do this. there must be a rampart between royalty and the low and common world, and a pure and unblemished nobility alone can form this rampart. you see, therefore, my poor count, that i cannot accede to this request." "have compassion on me, your majesty. if your majesty will but remember that i am ruined; but i am a beggar if this union does not take place, if i do not marry the three millions of mademoiselle orguelin." "ah, certainly, i had forgotten that," said the queen, thoughtfully. "moreover," continued the count, somewhat encouraged, "this is a different affair altogether, and i do not believe that a principle is here at stake, as was the case with the so-called count neal. a man represents himself and his house, and no power on earth can give him better or nobler blood than already flows in his veins. but with a woman it is different. she receives her husband's name and his rank; she becomes blood of his blood, and can in no manner affect his nobility. the sons of countess rhedern will still be the counts rhedern, although the mother is not of noble birth." "true," said the queen, "this case is different from that of the adventurer neal. the rank of her husband would be sufficient to permit us to draw a veil over the obscure birth of this new-made countess." "and your majesty would then be the noble protectrice of our family," said the count, in a sweet and insinuating tone; "your majesty would not only restore my house to its ancient prestige, but you would retain the three millions of mademoiselle orguelin in prussia; for if i should not be able to fulfil the condition which this lady has made, mademoiselle orguelin will marry a rich young hollander, who is the commercial friend of her father, and has come here for the especial purpose of suing for the hand of his daughter." "ah, if that is the case, it becomes almost a duty to give you this girl, in order to prevent her millions from leaving the country," said the queen, smiling. "be hopeful, count, your wish will be granted, and this little millionnaire, who longs to appear at court, shall have her desire. i will speak with my son on this subject to-day; and you may take it for granted that your request will meet with a favorable response." and the queen, who was proud and happy to have an opportunity of showing the count how great was her influence with her royal son, graciously permitted him to kiss her hand, and listened well pleased to his exclamations of gratitude and devotion. she then dismissed him with a gracious inclination of her head, requesting him to inform madame von brandt, whose laughing voice could be heard at a short distance, that she desired to see her. while the count hurried off to execute the commission of his royal mistress, the queen walked on slowly and thoughtfully. now that she was permitted to be a queen, her woman's nature again made itself felt; she found it quite amusing to have a hand in the love affairs which were going on around her, and to act the part of the beneficent fairy in making smooth the path of true love. two of the first noblemen of her court had to-day solicited her kind offices in their love affairs, and both demanded of her the reestablishment of the prosperity and splendor of their houses. the queen, as before said, felt flattered by these demands, and was in her most gracious humor when madame von brandt made her appearance. their conversation was at first on indifferent subjects, but madame von brandt knew very well why the queen honored her with this interview, and kept the match in readiness to fire the train with which she had undermined the happiness and love of poor laura von pannewitz. "do you know," asked the queen suddenly, "that we have a pair of lovers at my court?" "a pair of lovers!" repeated madame von brandt, and so apparent was the alarm and astonishment depicted in her countenance that the queen was startled. "is this, then, so astonishing?" asked the queen, smiling. "you express so much alarm that one might suppose we were living in a convent, where it is a crime to speak of love and marriage. or were you only a little annoyed at not having heard of this love affair?" "your majesty," said madame von brandt, "i knew all about this affair, but had no idea that you had any knowledge of it." "certainly you must have known it, as mademoiselle von pannewitz is your friend, and has very naturally made you her confidant." "yes, i have been her confidant in this unhappy and unfortunate love," said madame von brandt, with a sigh; "but i can assure your majesty that i have left no arguments, no prayers, and even no threats untried to induce this poor young girl to renounce her sad and unfortunate love." "well, you might have saved yourself this trouble," said the queen, smiling; "for this love is not, as you say, a sad and unfortunate one, but a happy one! count voss came to me this morning as a suitor for the hand of mademoiselle von pannewitz." "poor, unhappy laura!" sighed madame von brandt. "how!" exclaimed the queen, "you still pity her, when i assure you that hers is not an unhappy, but a happy love, reciprocated by count voss, who is a suitor for her hand?" "but what has count voss to do with laura's love?" asked madame von brandt, with such well-acted astonishment that the unsuspecting queen might very well be deceived. "truly this is a strange question," exclaimed the queen. "you have just told me that mademoiselle von pannewitz entertains an unfortunate attachment for count voss; and when i inform you that so far from hers being an unfortunate attachment, it is returned by count voss, who is at this moment a suitor for her hand, you ask, with an air of astonishment, 'what has count voss to do with laura's love?'" "pardon me, your majesty, i did not say that my poor friend loved count voss." "how!" exclaimed the queen, impatiently; "it is then not count voss? pray, who has inspired her with this unfortunate love? who is he? do you know his name?" "your majesty, i know him; but i have vowed on the bible never to mention his name." "it was very inconsiderate in you to make such a vow," exclaimed the queen, impatiently. "your majesty, she who demanded it of me was my friend, and in view of her sorrow and tears i could not refuse a request by the fulfilment of which she would at least have the sad consolation of pouring out her sorrow and anguish into the bosom of a true and discreet friend. but the very friendship i entertain for her makes it my bounden duty to implore your majesty to sustain the offer of count voss with all the means at your command, and, if necessary, even to compel my poor laura to marry him." "how! you say she loves another, and still desire that i should compel her to marry count voss?" "your majesty, there is no other means of averting evil from the head of my dear laura; no other means of preserving two noble hearts from the misery their unfortunate passions might produce. laura is a noble and virtuous girl, but she loves, and would not long be able to withstand the passionate entreaties of her lover; she would hear no voice but that of him she loves." "this love is then returned?" asked the queen. "oh, your majesty, laura's maidenly pride would preserve her from an unrequited love." "and still you call this love an unfortunate one?" "i call it so because there are insurmountable obstacles in its way; an abyss lies between these lovers, across which they can never clasp hands. in order to be united they would have to precipitate themselves into its depths! every word of love which these unfortunates utter is a crime--is high treason." "high treason!" exclaimed the queen, whose eyes sparkled with anger. "ah, i understand you now. this proud, arrogant girl raises her eyes to a height to which a princess of the blood alone can aspire. in her presumption this girl thinks to play the role of a la valliere or a maintenon. yes, i now comprehend every thing--her pallor, her sighs, her melancholy, and her blushes, when i told her i expected the king and his court here to-day. yes, it must be so. mademoiselle von pannewitz loves the--" "your majesty," exclaimed madame von brandt, imploringly, "have the goodness not to mention the name. i should have to deny it, and that would be an offence to your majesty; but if i should acknowledge it, i would be false to my vow and my friendship. in your penetration, your majesty has divined what i hardly dared indicate, and my noble queen now comprehends why an early marriage with count voss would be the best means of preserving the happiness of two noble hearts." "mademoiselle von pannewitz will have to make up her mind to become the bride of count voss within the hour!" exclaimed the queen, imperiously. "woe to her if in her arrogance she should refuse to give up a love against which the whole force of my royal authority shall be brought to bear." "may your majesty follow the suggestions of your wisdom in all things! i only request that your majesty will graciously conceal from poor laura that you discovered her unhappy secret through me." "i promise you that," said the queen, who, forgetful of her royal dignity, in her angry impatience turned around and advanced hastily toward her suite, who, on her approach, remained standing in a respectful attitude. at this moment a lacquey, dressed in the royal livery, was seen advancing from the palace; he approached the maid of honor then on duty, mademoiselle von pannewitz, and whispered a few words in her ear. hurrying forward, this young lady informed the queen that her majesty the reigning queen had just arrived, and desired to know if her majesty would receive her. the queen did not reply immediately. she looked scornfully at the young girl who stood before her, humbly and submissively, with downcast eyes, and although she did not look up at the queen, she seemed to feel her withering and scornful glances, for she blushed deeply, and an anxious expression was depicted on her countenance. the queen observed that the blushing laura was wonderfully beautiful, and in her passionate anger could have trodden her under foot for this presumptuous and treasonable beauty. she felt that it was impossible longer to remain silent, longer to defer the decision. the queen's anger fairly flamed within her, and threatened to break forth; she was now a passionate, reckless woman, nothing more; and she was guided by her passion and the power of her angry pride alone. "i am going to receive her majesty," said sophia dorothea, with trembling lips. "her majesty has presented herself unceremoniously, and i shall therefore receive her without ceremony. all of you will remain here except mademoiselle von pannewitz, who will accompany me." chapter xiii. proposal of marriage. the greeting of the two queens was over; the inquiries of politeness and etiquette had been exchanged; sophia had offered queen elizabeth her hand and conducted her into the small saloon, where she was in the habit of receiving her family. the door leading to the conservatory was open, and the two maids of honor could be seen within, standing with laura, and asking questions in a low tone, to which she replied almost inaudibly. she felt that the decisive hour of her destiny was at hand, and she prayed that god would strengthen her for the coming trial. she trembled not for herself, but for her lover; for his dear sake she was determined to bear the worst, and bravely meet the shock; she would not yield, she would not die, for he would perish with her; in her heart of hearts, she renewed the oath of eternal love and eternal faith she had taken, and nerved herself for persecution and endurance. suddenly she heard the harsh voice of the queen calling her name; she looked up, and saw her standing in the door. "i beg the maids of honor to join the ladies in the garden; you, mademoiselle, will remain here; i have a few words to say to you." the ladies bowed and left the conservatory. laura remained alone; she stood with folded hands in the middle of the room; her cheek was deadly pale, her lips trembled, but her eyes were bright, and filled with a heroic and dreamy excitement. as sophia called her name, laura laid her hand upon her heart, as if to suppress its stormy beating, and with her head bowed meekly upon her breast she advanced submissively at the call of her mistress. at the door of the second saloon she remained standing, and awaited the further commands of the queen. as sophia did not speak, laura raised her eyes and looked timidly at the two queens, who were seated on a sofa opposite the door; they were both gazing at her, the queen-mother severely, with a proud and derisive smile, but queen elizabeth regarded with unutterable pity this poor girl, who reminded her of a broken lily. "mademoiselle von pannewitz," said sophia, after a long silence, "i have a matter of great importance to communicate to you, and as it admits of no delay, her majesty has allowed me to speak to you in her presence. listen attentively, and weigh well my words. i have treated you with affectionate kindness; you have always found in me a friend and mother. i therefore require of you unconditional and silent obedience--an obedience that as your queen and mistress i have a right to demand. you are of a noble but poor family, and your parents cannot support you in the style suitable to your birth. i have adopted you, and will now establish for you a future which will be both splendid and happy. a rich and gallant cavalier has proposed for your hand, and as it is a most fitting and advantageous offer, i have accepted it for you, and promised your consent." the queen ceased and looked piercingly at the young girl, who was still leaning against the door, silent and dejected. this dumb submission, this weak resignation revolted the queen; instead of softening her anger, she took this silence for defiance, this humility for stubbornness. "you are not at all anxious, it appears, to learn the name of your future husband," she said, sharply; "perhaps the rapture of joy binds your tongue, and prevents you from thanking me for my motherly care." "pardon, your majesty," said laura, raising her soft eyes to the harsh and severe countenance of the queen; "it was not joy that closed my lips, but reverence for your majesty; i feel no joy." "you feel no joy!" cried the queen, with the cruel rage of the lion who seizes his prey and tears it in pieces when there is none to deliver. "well, then, you will marry without joy, that is decided; and as you are too far above all womanly weakness to appear curious, i shall be obliged to name the happy man whose loving bride you are soon to be, that you make no mistakes, and perhaps, in the tenderness of your heart, render another than your appointed husband happy in your embraces." laura uttered a low cry of anguish, and her cheeks, colorless until now, were dyed red with shame. "have pity, your majesty," murmured elizabeth christine, laying her hand softly on the shoulder of the queen; "see how the poor girl suffers." sophia shrugged her shoulders contemptuously. "nonsense! do we not all suffer? have not i suffered? is there a woman on god's earth whose heart is not half melted away with hot and unavailing tears?" "it is true," said elizabeth; "we have but one exclusive privilege--to weep and to endure." the queen-mother turned again to laura, who had checked her tears, but was still standing bowed down, and trembling before her. "well," said sophia, "it still does not suit you to inquire the name of your lover, then i shall name him; mark well my words: it is count voss who has chosen you for his wife, and to him alone you have now to direct your heart and your tenderness." laura now raised her eyes and fixed them steadily upon this cruel mistress; her glance was no longer soft and pleading, but determined. the imperious manner of the queen, instead of intimidating the pale and gentle girl, awakened her to the consciousness of her own dignity. "majesty," she said, with cool decision, "love is not given by command, it cannot be bestowed arbitrarily." "by that you mean to affirm that you do not, and cannot love count voss," said the queen, suppressing her fury with difficulty. "yes, your majesty. i do not, i cannot love count voss." "well, then," cried sophia, "you will marry him without love, and that speedily!" laura raised her head passionately; her eye met the queen's, but this time not humbly, not timidly, but decisively. from this moment, sophia dorothea was to her no longer a queen, but a cruel, unfeeling woman, who was trampling upon her soul and binding it in chains. "pardon, your majesty, as i have said that i do not love count voss, it follows of course that i will never marry him." the queen sprang from her seat as if bitten by a poisonous reptile. "not marry him!" she shrieked; "but i say you shall marry him! yes, if you have to be dragged with violence to the altar!" "then at the altar i will say no!" cried laura von pannewitz, raising her young face, beaming with courage and enthusiasm, toward heaven. the queen uttered a wild cry and sprang forward; the lion was about to seize upon its prey and tear it to pieces, but elizabeth christine laid her hand upon the raised arm of the queen and held her back. "majesty," she said, "what would you do? you would not force this poor girl to marry against her will; she does not love count voss, and she is right to refuse him." "ha! you defend her?" cried sophia, brought to extremities by the resistance of the queen; "you have then no presentiment why she refuses the hand of count voss; you do not comprehend that when a poor dependent maid of honor refuses to marry a rich and noble cavalier, it is because she believes she has secured her future in another direction--because in the haughtiness of her vain, infatuated heart, she hopes through her beauty and well-acted coquetry to secure for herself a more brilliant lot. but, mark me! however charming and alluring that prospect may appear outwardly, even in its success there would be found nothing but infamy! she can never have the madness to believe that any priest in this land would dare to bind with the blessings of the holy church a love so boldly impudent, so traitorous; she can never hope to set her foot where only the lawful wife of a king can stand--where the sister of the king of england has stood! yes, where she still stands, and from whence she is resolved to repulse this miserable coquette, who hopes to conquer a throne through her shameless allurements." laura uttered a piercing scream, and with hands raised to heaven, she exclaimed, "my god! my god! can i bear this and live?" the queen broke into a wild, mocking laugh. elizabeth christine looked, questioningly, at this scene, which she did not comprehend, but which touched her heart by its tragic power. "it is a hard and cruel accusation which your majesty is bringing against this young girl; let us hope that laura will know how to defend herself." "defend herself! look at her! look how my words have crushed her! how her proud, aspiring soul is checked! believe me, elizabeth, she, whom you so generously pity, understands my words better than your majesty; and she knows well of what i accuse her; but you, my daughter, shall know also; you have a right to know." "mercy! your majesty, mercy!" cried laura, falling upon her knees and raising her arms pleadingly toward the queen; "speak no more! humble me no further! do not betray my secret, which in your mouth becomes a denunciation! let me remain even on the brink of the precipice, where you have dragged me! that is appalling, but cast me not down! so low and dust-trodden a creature is no longer worthy of the honor of approaching your majesty, i see that, and beg humbly for my dismissal, not as your majesty supposes, to lead an independent and happy, if still a shameful life, but to flee to some corner of the world, where alone and unseen i may weep over the beautiful and innocent dreams of my life, from which your majesty has awakened me so cruelly." she was wonderfully beautiful in this position; those raised arms, that noble, transparently pale, tear-stained countenance. sophia dorothea saw it, and it made her feel more bitter, more cruel. "ah, she dares to reproach me," she cried, contemptuously; "she still has a slight consciousness of her shame; she trembles to hear what she did not tremble to do! listen, my daughter, you that have for her so warm, so pitiful a heart; you who, when i have spoken, will detest and curse her as i do, and as you are entitled to do. believe me, elizabeth, i know all your suffering, all your sorrow; i know the secret history of your noble, proud, and silent heart. ask that girl there of your grief and misery; ask her the reason of your lonely, tearful nights; demand of her your broken happiness, your crushed hopes; demand of her your husband's love, your soul's peace. mademoiselle von pannewitz can return them all to you, as she has taken them from you, for she is the mistress of the king." "mistress of the king!" said elizabeth, with a painful cry, while laura let her hands glide from her face, and looked at the queen with an astonished expression. "yes," repeated sophia dorothea, whose hot blood rushed so violently through her veins that her voice faltered, and she was scarcely able to retain an appearance of self-control; "yes, she is the mistress of the king, and therefore refuses to marry count voss! but patience, patience, she shall not triumph! and if she dares to love my son, the son of the queen, king frederick of prussia, i will remind her of dorris ritter, who loved him, and was beloved by him! this dorris was flogged through the streets of berlin, and cast out from amongst men." laura uttered so loud and fearful a cry that even the queen-mother was startled, and for a moment touched with pity for the poor, broken-hearted girl who lay at her feet, like a poor, wounded gazelle in the convulsive agonies of death. but she would not give way to this pity; would not betray a weakness, of which she was ashamed. taking the hand of the young queen and casting a look of disdain at laura, she said, "come, my daughter, we will no longer bear the presence of this person, whose tears, i hope, spring from repentance and acknowledgment of her offence; may she obtain our pardon by resolving to-day, of her own free will, and without forcing us to harsher measures, to accept the hand of count voss; come, my daughter." the two queens stepped to the door. sophia threw it open violently, and passed immediately into the boudoir, but elizabeth did not follow her. she looked back at the poor sobbing girl lying upon the floor. the pale and noble face touched her womanly heart. "pardon, your majesty, if i do not follow immediately; i should like to say a few words to mademoiselle von pannewitz; i think i have a right to do so." the queen-mother experienced a cruel pleasure at these words. "oh, my daughter, even your forbearance is exhausted, and you feel that forgiveness is impossible; yes, speak to her, and let her feel the whole weight of your righteous indignation. words of reproach and accusation from your gentle lips will have a crushing power. but no delay--you know the king will soon be here." the queen closed the door. she wished to hear nothing that passed between elizabeth and laura; she needed rest, in order to receive the king with composure. chapter xiv. the misunderstanding. the young queen, the reigning queen, as she was called, was now alone with laura von pannewitz. she was for a moment speechless; strange, tempestuous feelings burned in the bosom of this gentle woman; she felt all the torments of rage and jealousy, and the humiliation of unrequited love. leaning against the wall, she looked frowningly at laura, who was kneeling before her, wringing her hands and weeping piteously. how could a woman weep who could call that happiness her own--to possess which elizabeth would cheerfully give years of her life? she had at last found the rival for whom she was despised; the destroyer of her happiness; the envied woman loved by frederick! as she saw this woman bathed in tears at her feet, an exulting joy for one moment filled her heart. but this violent emotion soon disappeared. elizabeth was too true and noble a woman to give herself up long to such resentment. she felt, indeed, a melancholy pleasure in knowing that it was not coldness of heart, but love for another, which estranged the king from her; in the midst of her wild grief she was still just; and she acknowledged that this woman, whom the king loved, was more charming and more beautiful than herself. the love elizabeth bore her husband was so unselfish, so resigned, so magnanimous, that she felt grateful to the woman who could impart a happiness to the king it had never been in her power to bestow. with a truly noble expression she approached the maid of honor, who, unconscious of the queen's presence, was still lying on the floor and weeping bitterly. "arise, laura," said elizabeth, gently. "how can a woman loved by the king be sad, or shed tears?" laura's hands fell slowly from her face; she checked her tears and looked piteously at the queen. "god, then, has heard my prayers," she said; "he does not wish your majesty to despise and condemn me; he permits me to clear myself before you!" "clear yourself," said elizabeth. "oh, believe me, in my eyes you need no justification. you are young, gay, beautiful, and witty; you have the rare art of conversation; you are cheerful and spirited. this has attracted frederick; for this he loves you; in saying this, all is said. it is impossible for a woman to resist his love. i forgive you freely, fully. i have but one prayer to make you: resolve all your duties into one; fill your soul with one thought, make the king happy! this is all. i have nothing more to say; farewell!" she was going, but laura held her back. "oh, your majesty," she cried imploringly, "listen to me! do not leave me under this cruel misconception--these insulting suppositions. do not think i am so degenerate, so base, so entirely without womanly feeling, as not to feel myself amenable to the laws of the land and of the church. oh, believe me, the husband of my queen is sacred in my eyes! and even if i were so unhappy as to love the king, otherwise than as a true, devoted subject, i would rather die than cast one shadow on the happiness of your majesty. unhappy and guilty as i am, i am no criminal. his majesty never distinguished me by word or look. i honored him, i revered him, and nothing more." "alas!" said the queen, "you are faint-hearted enough to deny him. you have not the courage to be proud of his love; you must, indeed, feel guilty." "my god! my god!" cried laura, passionately, "she does not believe me!" "no, i do not believe you, laura. i saw how you trembled and paled when the queen charged you with your love to her son, but i did not hear you justify yourself." "alas, alas!" murmured laura, in so low a voice as not to be heard by the queen, "i did not know her majesty was speaking of her son frederick." "deny it no longer," said elizabeth; "acknowledge his love, for which all women will envy you, and for which i forgive you." "do not believe what the queen-mother told you!" cried laura, passionately; "i have done you no wrong, i have no pardon to ask!" "and i," said elizabeth--"i make no reproaches; i do not wail and weep; i do not pass my nights, as the queen said, sleeplessly and in tears; i do not mourn over my lost happiness. i am content; i accept my fate--that is, if the king is happy. but if, perchance, this is not so, if you do not make his happiness your supreme object, then, laura, i take back the forgiveness so freely given, and i envy you in my heart. farewell." "no, no, you must not, you shall not go! believe my words! have some pity, some mercy on me! o heavenly father, i have suffered enough without this! it needed not these frightful accusations to punish me for a love which, though unwise, yes, mad, is not criminal. as truly as god reigns, it is not the king i love. you turn away, you do not believe me still! oh, your majesty." she stopped, her whole frame trembled--she had heard her lover's voice; god had sent him to deliver her, to clear her from these disgraceful suspicions. the door opened, and prince augustus william entered; his countenance was gay and careless, he had come to see the queen-mother, and had been directed to this saloon. already sportive and jesting words were on his lips, when he perceived this strange scene; laura on her knees, pale and trembling, before the proud queen, who left her disdainfully in her humble position. it was a sight that the proud lover could not endure. the hot blood of the hohenzollerns was raging. forgetful of all consequences, he sprung to her side, raised her from the floor and clasped her to his heart. then, trembling with anger, he turned to the queen. "what does this mean? why were you in that position? why were you weeping, laura? you on your knees, my laura! you, who are so innocent, so pure, that the whole world should kneel before and worship you! and you, madame," turning to elizabeth, "how can you allow this angel to throw herself in the dust before you? how dare you wound her? what did you say to bring anguish to her heart and flood her face with tears? madame, i demand an answer! i demand it in the name of honor, justice, and love. laura is my bride, it is my right to defend her." "now, now," said laura, clinging wildly to her lover, "she will no longer believe that i love her husband." "your bride!" said the queen, with a sad sweet smile; "how young and trusting you are, my brother, to believe in the possibility of such a marriage." "she will be my wife!" cried he passionately; "i swear it, and as truly as there is a god in heaven i will keep my oath! i have courage to dare all dangers, to trample under foot all obstacles. i do not shun the world's verdict or the king's power. my love is pure and honest, it has no need to hide and veil itself; it shall stand out boldly before god, the king, and the whole world! go, then--go, madame, and repeat my words to the king; betray a love which chance, undoubtedly, revealed to you. it was, i suppose, the knowledge of this love which led you to wound and outrage this noble woman." "it is true," said the queen, gently; "i did her injustice--i doubted her words, her protestations; but laura knows that this offence was involuntary, it all arose from a mistake of the dowager-queen." "how! my mother knows of our love!" said the prince, in amazement. "no, she is convinced that laura von pannewitz loves and is beloved by the king; for this reason she heaped reproaches upon her, and commanded her to marry count voss, who has just proposed for her hand." the prince clasped laura more firmly. "ah, they would tear you from me; but my arms will hold you and my breast will shield you, my darling. do not tremble, do not weep, my laura; arm in arm we will go to the king. i will lead you before my mother and the court, and tell them that you are my betrothed--that i have sworn to be true to you, and will never break my oath." "stop--be silent, for god's sake!" said elizabeth; "do not let your mother hear you--do not let the king know your sad, perilous secret. if he knows it you are lost." "your majesty does not then intend to make known what you have heard," said the prince. "have you the courage to conceal a secret from your husband?" "ah!" said the queen, with a sigh, "my life, thoughts, and feelings are a secret to him; i will but add this new mystery to the rest. guard this secret, which will in the end bring you pain and sorrow. be cautious, be prudent. let the dowager queen still think that it is the king whom laura loves, she will be less watchful of you. but now listen to my request; never speak to me of this love that chance revealed, and which i will seek to forget from this moment; never remind me of an engagement which in the eyes of the king and your mother would be unpardonable and punishable, and of which it would be my duty to inform them. as long as you are happy--that will be as long as your love is under the protection of secrecy--i will see nothing, know nothing. but when disaster and ruin break over you, then come to me; then you, my brother, shall find in me a fond, sympathizing sister, and you, poor, wretched girl, will find a friend who will open her arms to you, and will weep with you over your lost happiness." "oh, my queen!" cried laura, pressing her hand to her lips; "how noble, how generous you are!" elizabeth drew the poor trembling girl to her heart and kissed her pale brow. "for those who weep and suffer there is no difference of rank, a strong bond of human sympathy unites them. i am for you, not the queen, but the sister who understands and shares your griefs. when you weary of hidden agony and solitary weeping come to me at schonhausen; you will find there no gayeties, no worldly distractions, but a silent shady garden, in which i sometimes seem to hear god's voice comforting and consoling me. here you can weep unnoticed, and find a friend who will not weary you with questions." "i thank you, and i will come. ah! i know i shall soon need this comfort, my happiness will die an early death!" "and may i also come, my noble sister?" said the prince. "yes," said elizabeth, smiling, "you may also come, but only when laura is not with me. i now entreat you, for your own safety, to close this conversation. dry your eyes, laura, and try to smile, then go to the garden and call my maids of honor; and you, brother, come with me to the queen-mother, who is in her boudoir." "no!" said the prince, fiercely; "i cannot see her now, i could not control myself. i could not seem quiet and indifferent while i am suffering such tortures." "my brother," said the queen, "we princes have not the right to show how we suffer; it is the duty of all in our station to veil our feelings with a smile. come, the queen, who is indignant and angry, will yet receive us with a smile; and we, who are so sorrowful, will also smile. come." "one word more to laura," said the prince; and leading the young girl, who was endeavoring to suppress her emotion, to another part of the room, he threw his arm around her slender form, and pressed a kiss upon her fair cheek. "laura, my darling, do you remember your oath? will you be true and firm? will my mother's threats and commands find you strong and brave? you will not falter? you will not accept the hand of count voss? you will let no earthly power tear you from me? they can kill me, laura, but i cannot be untrue to myself or to you!" augustus laid his hand upon her beautiful head; the whole history of her pure and holy love was written in the look and smile with which she answered him. "do you remember that you promised to meet me in the garden?" "i remember," said she, blushing. "laura, in a few days we will be separated. the king wishes to make an excursion incognito--he has ordered me to accompany him; i must obey." "oh, my god! they will take you from me! i shall never see you again!" "we will meet again," said he encouragingly. "but you must grant me the comfort of seeing you once more before my departure, otherwise i shall not have the courage to leave you. the day for our journey is not yet determined; when it is fixed i will come to inform my mother of it in your presence. the evening before i will be in the conservatory and await you; will i wait in vain?" "no," whispered laura, "i will be there;" and as if fleeing from her own words, she hurried to the garden. prince augustus william looked for his sister-in-law to accompany her to the queen; but she had withdrawn, she did not wish to witness their parting. seeing this, the prince was on the point of following laura to the garden, when the beating of drums was heard from without. chapter xv. soiree of the queen dowager. "the king is coming," whispered augustus william, and he stepped towards the cabinet of the queen-mother. but the door was already opened, and the two queens hastened out; they wished to reach the garden saloon and there to welcome the king. the expression of both ladies was restless and anxious. sophia dorothea feared the meeting with her son, who would, perhaps, in the inflamed, eyes of his beloved, read the history of the last hours; his kingly anger would be kindled against those who brought tears to her eyes. the queen confessed that she had gone too far--had allowed herself to be mastered by her scorn; she was embarrassed and fearful. elizabeth christine was not restless, but deeply moved; her heart beat quickly at the thought of this meeting with her husband; she had not seen him since the day of the coronation, had not exchanged one single word with him since the ominous interview in her chamber at rheinsberg. not once on the day of the coronation had the king addressed her; and only once had he taken her hand. after the coronation he led her in the midst of the assembled court, and said with a clear and earnest voice: "behold, this is your queen." these ladies were so excited, so filled with their own thoughts that they hastened through the saloons, scarcely remarking the prince, who had stepped aside to allow them to pass. the queen-mother nodded absently and gave him a passing greeting, then turned again to elizabeth, who had scarcely patience to conform her movements to the slow and measured steps of the queen-mother; she longed to look upon her husband's face once more. "if laura von pannewitz complains to the king, we will have a terrific scene," said sophia. "she will not complain," replied elizabeth. "so much the worse, she will play the magnanimous, and i could less readily forgive that, than a complaint." at this moment the door opened. the king, followed by his attendants and those of the two queens, entered the saloon. the two ladies greeted the king with smooth brows and thoughtless laughter. nothing betrayed the restless anxiety reigning in their hearts. frederick hastened to meet his mother, and bowing low he greeted her with loving and respectful words, and tenderly kissed her hand; then turning to his wife he bowed stiffly and ceremoniously; he did not extend his hand, did not utter a word. elizabeth bowed formally in return, and forced back the hot tears which rushed into her eyes. the face of the queen-mother was again gay and triumphant. the king knew nothing as yet; she must prevent him from speaking with laura alone. she glanced around at the maid of honor, and saw that the young maiden, calm and unembarrassed, was conversing with the prince augustus william; her majesty was more than happy to see her son william entertaining the beautiful laura. "ah! now i know how to prevent the king from speaking to her alone," thought she. sophia was never so animated, so brilliant; her sparkling wit seemed even to animate the king. there was a laughing contest, a war of words, between them; piquant jests and intellectual bon mots, which seemed to the admiring courtiers like fallen stars, were scattered to right and left. the queen would not yield to her son, and indeed sometimes she had the advantage. queen elizabeth stood sad and silent near them, and if by chance the eye of the king fell upon her, she felt that his glance was contemptuous; her pale cheeks grew paler, and it was with great effort she forced her trembling lips to smile. the queen-mother proposed to her son and elizabeth to walk in the garden, and then to have a simple dance in the brilliant saloons. the court mourning would not allow a regular ball at this time. "but why should we seek for flowers in the garden," said the king; "can there be lovelier blossoms than those now blooming on every side?" his eye wandered around the circle of lovely maids of honor, who cast their eyes blushingly to the ground. six eyes followed this glance of frederick with painful interest. "he scarcely looked at laura von pannewitz," said the queen, with a relieved expression. "he did not once glance toward me," thought elizabeth, sighing heavily. "his eye did not rest for more than a moment upon any woman here," thought pollnitz; "so it is clear he has no favorite in this circle. i will, therefore, succeed with my beautiful dorris." frederick wished to spare his mother the fatigue of a walk in the garden--she was lame and growing fleshy; he therefore led her to a seat, and bowing silently, he gave his left hand to his wife and placed her by his mother. sophia, who watched every movement and every expression of her royal son, observed the cruel silence which he maintained toward his wife, and she felt pity for the poor, pale, neglected queen. sophia leaned toward the king, who stood hat in hand behind her divan, and whispered: "i believe, my son, you have not spoken one word to your wife!" the king's face clouded. "madame," said he, in a low but firm tone, "elizabeth christine is my queen, but not my wife!" and, as if he feared a further explanation, he nodded to the marquis algarotti and duke chazot to come forward and take part in the conversation. suddenly a lady, who had not before been seen in the court circle, approached the two queens. this lady was of a wondrous pallor; she was dressed in black, without flowers or ornament; her deep sunken eyes were filled with feverish fire, and a painful smile played upon her lips, which were tightly pressed together, as if to force back a cry of despair. no one recognised in this pale, majestic, gentle lady, the "tourbillon," the joyous, merry, laughing madame von morien; no one could have supposed that her fresh and rosy beauty could, in a few months, assume so earnest and sad a character. this was the first time madame von morien had appeared at the court of the queen-mother; she was scarcely recovered from a long and dangerous illness. no one knew the nature of her disease, but the witty and ill-natured courtiers exchanged many words of mockery and double meaning on the subject. it was said madame von morien was ill from the neglect of the king. she suffered from a chill, which, strange to say, had attacked the king, and not the beautiful coquette. her disease was a new and peculiar cold, which did not attack the lungs, but seized upon the heart; the same disease, indeed, which prostrated dido, upon the departure of the cruel aeneas. the queen-mother received this pale, but still lovely woman, most graciously; gave her the royal hand to kiss, and smiled kindly. "it is an age since we have seen you, fair baroness; it appears as if you will make yourself invisible, and forget entirely that we rejoice to see you." "your royal highness is most gracious to remind me of that," said madame von morien, in a low tone; "death had almost made me forget it, and assuredly i had not dared to approach you with this pale, thin face, had not your majesty's flattering command given me courage to do so." there was something in the low, suffering voice of madame von morien which awakened sympathy, and even disarmed the anger of the queen elizabeth. what bitter tears had she shed, what jealous agony endured, because of this enchanting woman! she saw her now for the first time since the fete at rheinsberg. looking into this worn and sorrowful face, she forgave her fully. with the instinct of a loving woman, the queen understood the malady of her rival; she felt that madame von morien was suffering from unrequited affection, and that despair was gnawing at her heart. the king had now no glance, no greeting for his "enchanting leontine;" he continued the conversation with algarotti and chazot quietly, and did not consider her profound and reverential salutation as worthy of the slightest notice. elizabeth christine was pitiful; she gave her hand to be kissed, and spoke a few friendly, kindly words, which touched the heart of the beautiful morien, and brought the tears to her eyes. the king, although standing near, did not appear even to see her. "i have some news to announce to your majesty," he said, turning to the queen-mother. "we are about to make berlin a temple of science and art, the seat of learning and knowledge. the muses, should they desire to leave olympus, shall receive a most hospitable reception. now listen to the great news. in autumn voltaire will visit us; and maupertius, the great scholar, who first discovered the form of the earth, will come, as president of our academy; and buncauson, who understands some of the mysteries of god, will also come to berlin. the celebrated eulert will soon belong to us." "this is indeed glorious news," said sophia; "but i fear that your majesty, when surrounded with so many scholars, philosophers, and historians, will entirely forget the poor ignorant women, and banish them from your learned court." "that would be to banish happiness, beauty, mirth, and the graces; and no one would expect such barbarism from the son of my noble and exalted mother," said frederick. "even the catholic church is wise enough to understand that in order to draw men into their nets, the trinity, father, son, and holy ghost is not sufficient, they have also called a lovely woman to their assistance, whose beauty and pure mysterious maidenhood is the finest, most piquant and intoxicating perfume of their gaudy religion. and what would the great painters have been without women--without their lovely, their bewitching sweethearts, whom they changed into holy maidens? from luxurious women were designed the modest, shrinking magdalens, before whose mysterious charms the wise children of men bow the knee in adoration. ah, how many madonnas has raphael painted from his fornarina! and correggio had the art to change his bewitching wife into a holy saint. i must confess, however, we owe correggio but small thanks; i should have been more grateful had he painted us a glowing woman, radiant with beauty, grace, and love. i, for my part, have a true disgust for weeping, sighing magdalens, who, when wearied with earthly loves and passions, turn half way to heaven, and swear to god the same oaths they have a thousand times sworn to men and a thousand times broken. now, if i were in god's place, i would not accept these wavering saints. for my part i hate these pale, tearful, sighing, self-destroying beauties, and the farcical exhibition of their sufferings would never soften my heart." while the king was speaking his eye turned for the first time toward madame von morion, and his glance rested long, with a cold and piercing expression, upon her. she had heard every word he had spoken, and every word was like a cold poisoned dagger in her heart; she felt, although her eyes were cast down, that his stern look rested upon her; she was conscious of this crushing glance, although she saw it not; she had the power not to cry out, not to burst into passionate tears, but to reply quietly to the queen, who in fact questioned her, only with the good-humored intention of drowning the hard and cruel words of the king. the queen wished to lead the conversation from the dangerous topic of religion and give it another direction. "my son," she said, "you have forgotten to mention another great surprise you have prepared for us. you say nothing of the german and french journals which you have presented to our good city of berlin; but i assure you i await with true impatience the day on which these journals appear, and i am profoundly interested in these new and charming lectures which make of politics an amusing theme, and give us all the small events of the day." "let us hope," said frederick, "that these journals will also tell us in the future of great events." then assuming a gay tone he said: "but your majesty forgets that you promised the ladies a dance, and see how impatiently the little princesses look toward us; my sister amelia is trying to pierce me with her scornful glances, because i have forced her to sit in her arm-chair like a maid of honor, for such a weary time, when she longs to float about like a frolicsome zephyr. to put a stop to her reproaches i will ask her to give me the first dance." the king took his sister's hand and led her into the dancing saloon. the queens and court followed. "now without doubt he will seek an opportunity to speak to laura von pannewitz," thought the queen-mother; "i must take measures to prevent it." she called prince augustus william to her side. "my son," said she, "i have a favor to ask of you." "oh, your majesty has only to command." "i know that you are a good son, willing to serve your mother. listen; i have important reasons for wishing that the king should not converse to-night, at least not alone, with laura von pannewitz; i will explain my reasons to you another time. i beg you, therefore, to pay court to laura, and not to leave her side should the king draw near. you will appear not to see his angry glances, but without embarrassment join in the conversation, and not turn away from laura until the king has taken leave. will you do this for me, my son?" "i will fulfil your royal commands most willingly," said the prince, "only it will be said that i am making love to laura von pannewitz." "well, let them say so, laura is young and lovely, and does credit to your taste. let the court say what it will, we will not make ourselves unhappy. but hasten, my son, hasten; it appears to me the king is even now approaching laura." the prince bowed to his mother, and with joy in his heart he placed himself by the side of his beloved. the queen-mother, entirely at ease, took her seat at the card-table with her daughter-in-law and their cavaliers, while the king amused himself in the ball-room, and danced a tour with almost every lady. he did not dance with leontine; not once did his eye meet hers, though her glances followed him everywhere with a tender, beseeching, melancholy expression. "so sad!" whispered madame von brandt, who, glowing with beauty and merriment, having just danced with the king, now took a seat by her side. madame von morien with a sigh held out her small hand. "dear friend," said she, in a low voice, "you were right. i should not have come here; i thought myself stronger than i am; i thought my mourning would touch him, and awaken at least his pity." "pity!" laughed madame von brandt; "men never have pity for women: they worship or despise them; they place us on an altar or cast us in the dust to be trodden under foot. we must take care, dear leontine, to build the altar on which they place us so high, that their arms cannot reach us to cast us down." "you are right; i should have been more prudent, wiser, colder. but what would you? i loved him, and believed in his heart." "you believed in the heart of a man! alas! what woman can boast that she ever closed that abyss and always retained the keys?" "yes, the heart of man is an abyss," said madame von morien; "in the beginning it is covered with flowers, and we believe we are resting in paradise; but the blossoms wither, and will no longer support us; we fall headlong into the abyss with wounded hearts, to suffer and to die." madame von brandt laid her hand, glittering with jewels, upon the shoulder of her friend, and looked derisively into the poor pale face. "dear morien," said she, "we cannot justly cast all the blame upon the men, when the day comes in which they make themselves free from the bonds of love. the fault is often the woman's. we misuse our power, or do not properly use it. it is not enough to love and to be loved. with love we must also possess the policy of love. this policy is necessary. the women who do not know how to govern the hearts which love them will soon lose their power. so was it with you, my dear friend; in your love you were too much the woman, too little the politician and diplomatist; and instead of wisely making yourself adored, by your coldness and reserve you yielded too much to your feelings, and have fallen into that abyss in which, poor leontine, you have for the moment lost your health and strength. but that must not remain the case; you shall rise from this abyss, proud, triumphant, and happy. i offer you my hand; i will sustain you: while you sigh i will think for you; while you weep i will see for you." madame von morien shook her head sadly. "you will only see that he never looks at me--that i am utterly forgotten." "but when i see that, i will shut my eyes that i may not see it; and when you see it, you must laugh gayly and look the more triumphant. dear friend, what has love made of you? where is your judgment and your coquetry? my god! you are a young maiden again, and sigh like a child for your first love. however tender we may be, we must not sacrifice all individuality; besides, being a woman you must still be a coquette, and in a corner of your most tender and yielding heart you must ever conceal the tigress, who watches and has her claws ready to tear in pieces those whom you love, if they ever seek to escape from you. cease, then, to be the neglected, tear-stained magdalen, and be again the revengeful, cruel tigress. you have, besides, outside of your love, a glittering aim--a member of the female order of virtue. to wear the cross of modesty upon your chaste breast, what an exalted goal! and you will reach it. i bring you the surest evidence of it; i bring you, as you wished, a letter from the empress, written with her own hand. you see all your conditions are fulfilled. the empress writes to you and assures you of her favor; she assures you that the order of virtue will soon be established. the king has not separated from his wife, and for this reason you receive a letter from the empress. now help to bring about the marriage of the prince augustus william with the princess of brunswick, and you will be an honored member of the austrian order of virtue. here, take at once this letter of the empress." madame von brandt put her hand in her pocket to get the letter, but turned pale, and said, breathlessly: "my god! this letter is not in my pocket, and yet i know positively that i placed it there. a short time before i joined you i put my hand in my pocket, and distinctly felt the imperial seal. the letter was there, i know it. what has become of it? who has taken it away from me? but no, it is not possible, it cannot be lost! i must have it; it must still be in my pocket." trembling with anxiety, with breathless haste madame von brandt emptied her pocket, hoping that the luckless letter might be sticking to her gold-embroidered handkerchief, or fastened in the folds of her fan. she did not remember that her anxiety might be observed; and truly no one noticed her, all were occupied with their own pleasures. all around her was movement, life, and merry-making; who would observe her? she searched again in vain, shook her handkerchief, unfolded the large fan; the letter could not be found. an indescribable anxiety overpowered her; had she lost the letter? had it been stolen from her? suddenly she remembered that while engaged a short time before with pollnitz she had drawn out her fan; perhaps at the same time the letter had fallen upon the floor, and pollnitz might have found it, and might now be looking for madame von morien in order to restore it. she searched in every direction for pollnitz. madame von morien had not remarked the anguish of her friend, or had forgotten it. she was again lost in dreams; her eyes fastened on the face of the young king, she envied every lady whose hand he touched in the dance, to whom he addressed a friendly word, or gave a gracious smile. "i see him no more," said she sadly. "who?" said madame von brandt, once more searching her pocket. "the king," morien answered, surprised at the question; "he must have left the saloon; i saw him a few moments since in conversation with pollnitz." "with pollnitz," said she eagerly, and she searched again in every direction for him. suddenly madame von morien uttered a low cry, and a rosy blush overspread her fair pale face; she had seen the king, their eyes had met; the sharp, observant glance of the king was steadily and sternly fixed upon her. the king stood in a window corner, half hidden by the long, heavy silk curtains, and gazed ever steadily at the two ladies. "i see the king," murmured madame von morien. "and i see pollnitz standing near him," said madame von brandt, whose eyes had followed the direction of her friend's. she thrust her handkerchief into her pocket and opened her fan in order to hide her reddened face behind it; the king's piercing look filled her with alarm. "let us walk through the saloons, dear morien," said she, rising up, "the heat chokes me, and i would gladly search a little for the letter; perhaps it may yet be found." "what letter?" asked madame von morien, indifferently. her friend stared at her and said: "my god! you have not heard one word i have said to you!" "oh, yes, that you had a letter to give me from the empress of austria." "well, and this letter i have lost here in these saloons." "some one will find it; and as it is addressed to me, will immediately restore it." "dear morien, i pray you in god's name do not seem so quiet and indifferent. this is a most important affair. if i did not leave this letter in my room, and have really lost it, we are in danger of being suspected; in fact, in the eyes of the king we will be considered as spies of austria." at the name of the king madame von morien was attentive and sympathetic. "but no one can read this letter. was it sealed?" "yes, it was sealed; but, look you, it was sealed with the private seal of the empress, and her name stands around the austrian arms. without opening the letter it will be known that it is from the empress of austria, and will awaken suspicion. hear me further; this letter was enveloped in a paper which had no address, but contained some words which will compromise us both if it is known that this letter was addressed to me." "what was written in this paper?" said madame von morien, still looking toward the king, who still stood in the window niche, and kept his eyes fixed upon the two ladies. "the paper contained only the following words: 'have the goodness to deliver this letter; you see the empress keeps her word; we must do the same and forget not our promises. a happy marriage is well pleasing in the sight of god and man; the married woman is adorned, the man crowned with virtue.'" "and this letter was signed?" "no, it was not signed; but if it falls into the hands of the king, he will know from whom it comes; he is acquainted with the handwriting of manteuffel." "come! come! let us look to it!" said madame von morien, now full of anxiety; "we must find this unfortunate paper; come!" she took the arm of her friend and walked slowly through the saloons, searching everywhere upon the inlaid floor for something white. "you are right," said the king, coming from the window and following the ladies with his eyes; "you are right. they are both searching anxiously, and it was surely madame von brandt to whom the outer covering of this letter was directed. let them seek; they will find as little as the eleven thousand virgins found. but now listen, baron, to what i say to you. this whole affair remains a secret known to no one. listen well, baron; known to no one! you must forget that you found this letter and gave it to me, or you will believe it to be a dream and nothing more." "yes, your majesty," said pollnitz, smiling; "a dream, such as eckert dreamed, when he supposed the house in jager street to be his, and awaked and found it to belong to your highness!" "you are a fool!" said the king, smiling; he nodded to pollnitz and joined the two queens, who had now finished their game of cards and returned to the saloon. the queen-mother advanced to meet her son, and extended her hand to him; she wished now to carry out her purpose and fulfil the promise given to duke rhedern. she did not doubt that the king, who received her with so much reverence and affection, would grant her request, and the court would be again witness to the great influence, and indeed the unbounded power which she had over her son. she stood with the king directly under the chandelier, in the middle of the saloon; near them stood the reigning queen and the princes and princesses of the royal house. it was an interesting picture. it was curious to observe this group, illuminated by the sharp light, the faces so alike and yet so different in expression; blossoms from one stem, and yet so unlike in greatness, form, and feature. the courtiers drew near, and in respectful silence regarded the royal family, who, bathed in a sea of light, were in the midst of them but not of them. "my son," said the queen, in a clear, silvery voice, "i have a request to make of you." the king kissed his mother's hand. "madame, you well know you have no need of entreaty; you have only to command." sophia smiled proudly. "i thank your majesty for this assurance! listen, then, my chamberlain, duke rhedern, wishes to marry. i have promised him to obtain your consent." "if my royal mother is pleased with the choice of her chamberlain, i am, of course, also content; always provided that, the chosen bride of the duke belongs to a noble family. what is the rank of this bride?" the queen looked embarrassed, and smiling, said: "she has no rank, your majesty." the king's brow darkened, "she was not born, then, to be a duchess. your chamberlain would do better to be silent over this folly than to force a refusal from me. i hate misalliances, and will not suffer them at my court." these loudly spoken and harsh words produced different impressions upon the family circle of the king; some were cast down, others joyful; some cheeks grew pale, and others red. sophia blushed from pleasure; she was now convinced that the king would not seek a divorce from his wife, in order to form a morganatic marriage with laura von pannewitz; and the queen-mother was of too noble and virtuous a nature herself to believe in the possibility of a mistress at the court of prussia. the love of the king for the lovely laura appeared now nothing more than a poetical idyl, which would soon pass away--nothing more! the words of the king made a painful impression upon augustus william; his brow clouded, his features assumed a painful but threatening expression; he was in the act of speaking, and opposing in the name of humanity and love those cruel words of the king, as elizabeth christine, who stood near him and observed him with tender sympathy, whispered lightly: "be silent, my brother; be considerate." the prince breathed heavily, and his glance turned for comfort toward the maids of honor. laura greeted him with her eyes, and then blushed deeply over her own presumption. strengthened by this tender glance from his beautiful bride, augustus was able to assume a calm and indifferent mien. in the meantime the queen-mother was not silenced by the words of the king. her pride rebelled against this prompt denial in the face of her family and the court. besides, she had given her royal word to the count, and it must be redeemed. she urged, therefore, her request with friendly earnestness, but the king was immovable. sophia, angry at the opposition to her will, was even the more resolved to carry out her purpose. she had a few reserved troops, and she decided to bring them now into the field. "your majesty should, without doubt, protect your nobles from unworthy alliances; but there are exceptional cases, where the interest of the nobility would be promoted by allowing such a union." sophia dorothea drew nearer to her son, and whispered lightly: "count rhedern is ruined, and must go to the ground if you forbid this marriage." the king was now attentive and sympathetic. "is the lady very rich?" "immensely rich, sire. she will bring the duke a million dollars; she is the daughter of the rich silk merchant orguelin." "ah, orguelin is a brave man, and has brought much gold into prussia by his fabrics," said the king, who was evidently becoming more yielding. "it would be a great pity if this gold should be lost to prussia," said the queen. "what do you mean, madame?" "this mademoiselle orguelin, thanks to her riches, has many lovers, and at this time a young merchant from holland seeks her hand; he has the consent of her father, and will also obtain hers, unless the count knows how to undermine him," said the queen, thus springing her last mine. "this must not be," said the king; "this orguelin shall not marry the rich hollander! those millions of crowns shall not leave prussia!" "but your majesty cannot prevent this girl from marrying the man of her choice, and you cannot forbid her father to give her a portion of his fortune." the king was silent a moment, and appeared to consider. he then said to his mother: "madame, you are an eloquent advocate for your client, and no man can withstand you. i give way, therefore; count rhedern has my consent to marry the orguelin." "but even that is not sufficient," said the queen; "there is yet another condition, without the filling of which this proud millionnaire refuses to give her hand to the duke." "ah, look you, the little bourgeoise makes conditions before she will wed a count." "yes, sire, she will become the wife of the count only with the count's assurance that she will be presented at court, and be received according to her new rank." "truly," said the king, with ironical laughter, "this little millionnaire thinks it an important point to appear at my court." "it appears so, sire; it seems that this is a greater glory than to possess a count for a husband." the king looked thoughtfully before him, then raised his eyes to his mother with a mocking smile. "mother, you know i can refuse you nothing; and as you wish it, mademoiselle orguelin, when she is married, shall be received at my court as a newly baked countess. but petition for petition, favor for favor. i promise you to receive this new baked countess if you will promise me to receive the count neal at your court?" "count neal," said the queen, "your majesty knows--" "i know," said the king, bowing, "i know that count neal is of as good family as the new countess of rhedern; that he possesses many millions which i have secured to prussia by granting him his title. so we understand each other. the new baked countess will be as well received at my court as count neal will at yours." he gave the queen his hand, she laid hers unwillingly within it, and whispered: "ah, my son, you have cruelly overreached me." "madame, we secure in this way three millions for prussia, and they weigh more than a few countly ancestors. the prussia of the future will triumph in battle through her nobles; but she will become greater, more powerful, through the industry of her people than by victory on the battle-field." chapter xvi. under the lindens. linden street, of berlin, which is now the most brilliant and most beautiful thoroughfare of that great city, was, in the year , a wild and desolate region. frederick the first loved pomp and splendor. his wife, when told upon her death-bed how much the king would mourn for her, said, smiling: "he will occupy himself in arranging a superb funeral procession; and if this ceremony is very brilliant, he will be comforted." frederick the first planted the trees from which this street takes its name, to render the drive to the palace of charlottenburg more agreeable to the queen, and to conceal as much as possible the desolate appearance of the surroundings; for all this suburb lying between the arsenal and the zoological garden was at that time a desolate and barren waste. the entire region, extending from the new gate to the far-distant behren street, was an immense mass of sand, whose drear appearance had often offended frederick while he was still the prince royal. nothing was to be seen, where now appear majestic palaces and monuments, the opera house and the catholic church, but sand and heaps of rubbish. frederick william the first had done much to beautify this poor deserted quarter, and to render it more fitting its near neighborhood to the palaces, which were on the other side of the fortifications; but the people of berlin had aided the king very little in this effort. none were willing to banish themselves to this desolate and remote portion of the city, and the few stately and palatial buildings which were erected there were built by the special order of the king, and at his expense. some wealthy men of rank had also put up a few large buildings, to please the king, but they did not reside in them, and the houses themselves seemed almost out of place. one of these large and stately houses had not been built by a count dohna, or a baron von pleffen, or any other nobleman, but by the most honorable and renowned court tailor pricker; and for the last few days this house had rejoiced in a new and glittering sign, on which appeared in large gilt letters, "court tailor to her majesty the dowager queen, and to her majesty the reigning queen." but this house, with its imposing inscription, was also surrounded by dirty, miserable cabins. in its immediate neighborhood was the small house which has already been described as the dwelling of poor anna schommer. a deep and unbroken silence reigned in this part of berlin, and the equipages of the royal family and nobility were rarely seen there, except when the king gave an entertainment at charlottenburg. but to-day a royal carriage was driven rapidly from the palace through this desolate region, and toward the linden avenue. here it stopped, and four gentlemen alighted. they were the king; the royal architect, major knobelsdorf; the grand chamberlain, von pollnitz; and jordan, the head of police and guardian of the poor. the king stood at the beginning of the linden avenue, and looked earnestly and thoughtfully at the large desolate surface spread out before him; his clear bright glance flew like lightning here and there. "you must transform this place for me, knobelsdorf; you must show yourself a very hercules. you have the ability, and i will furnish the money. here we will erect a monument to ourselves, and make a glorious something of the nothing of this desert. we will build palaces and temples of art and of religion. berlin is at present without every thing which would make it a tempting resort for the muses. it is your affair, knobelsdorf, to prepare a suitable reception for them." "but the muses are willing to come without that," said pollnitz, with his most, graceful bow, "for they would discover here the young god apollo, who, without doubt, found it too tiresome in heaven, and has condescended to become an earthly king." the king shrugged his shoulders. "pollnitz," he said, "you are just fitted to write a book of instructions for chamberlains and court circles; a book which would teach them the most honied phrases and the most graceful flatteries. why do you not compose such a work?" "it is absolutely necessary, your majesty, in order to write a book to have a quiet study in your own house, where you can arrange every thing according to your own ideas of comfort and convenience. as i do not at present possess a house, i cannot write this book." the king laughed and said: "well, perhaps knobelsdorf can spare a small spot here, on which to erect your tusculum. but we must first build the palace of the queen-mother, and a few other temples and halls. do you not think, jordan, that this is a most suitable place on which to realize all those beautiful ideals of which we used to dream at rheinsberg? could we not erect our acropolis here, and our temples to jupiter and minerva?" "in order to convince the world that it is correct in its supposition," said jordan, smiling, "that your majesty is not a christian, but a heathen, who places more faith in the religion of the old greeks than in that of the new church fathers." "do they say that? well, they are not entirely wrong if they believe that i have no great admiration for popery and the church. this church was not built by christ, but by a crafty priesthood. knobelsdorf, on this spot must stand the temple of which i have so often dreamed. there is space to accomplish all that fancy could suggest or talent execute." "then the palace of the dowager queen must not be placed here?" asked knobelsdorf. "no, not here; this place has another destination, of which i will speak further to you this evening, and learn if my plan has your approval. i dare say my most quarrelsome jordan will make some objections. eh bien, nous verrons. we will proceed and seek a situation for the palace of the queen." "if your majesty will permit me," said pollnitz, while the king with his three companions passed slowly down the linden avenue, "i will take the liberty of pointing out to you a spot, which appears most suitable to me for this palace. it is at the end of the avenue, and at the entrance to the park; it is a most beautiful site, and there would be sufficient room to extend the buildings at will." "show us the place," said the king, walking forward. "this is it," said pollnitz, as they reached the end of the avenue. "it is true," said the king, "here is space enough to erect a palace. what do you think, knobelsdorf, will this place answer?" "we must begin by removing all those small houses, your majesty; that would, of course, necessitate their purchase, for which we must obtain the consent of the possessors, who would, many of them, be left shelterless by this sudden sale." "shelterless!" said the king; "since jordan has become the father of the poor, none are shelterless," as he glanced toward his much-beloved friend. "this spot seems most suitable to me. the palace might stand on this side; on that a handsome public building, perhaps the library, and uniting the two a lofty arch in the grecian style. we will convert that wood into a beautiful park, with shady avenues, tasteful parterres, marble statues, glittering lakes, and murmuring streams." "only a frederick could dream it possible to convert this desolate spot into such a fairy land," said jordan, smiling. "for my part, i see nothing here but sand, and there a wood of miserable stunted trees." the king smiled. "blessed are they who believe without having seen," he said. "well, knobelsdorf, is there room here to carry out our extensive plans?" "certainly; and if your majesty will furnish me with the requisite funds, the work can be begun without delay." "what amount will be required?" "if it is all executed as your majesty proposes, at least a million." "very well, a million is not too much to prepare a pleasure for the queen-mother." "but," said pollnitz, "will not your majesty make those poor people acquainted with their fate, and console them by a gracious word for being compelled to leave their homes? it has only been a short time since i was driven by the rain to take shelter in one of those houses, and it made me most melancholy, for i have never seen such want and misery. there were starving children, a woman dying of grief, and a drunken man. truly as i saw this scene i longed to be a king for a few moments, that i might send a ray of happiness to brighten this gloomy house, and dry the tears of these wretched people." "it must have been a most terrible sight if even pollnitz was distressed by it," cried the king, whose noble countenance was overshadowed with sorrow. "come, jordan, we will visit this house, and you shall assist in alleviating the misery of its inhabitants. you, knobelsdorf, can occupy yourself in making a drawing of this place. lead the way, pollnitz." "my desire at last attained," thought pollnitz, as he led the king across the common. "it has been most difficult to bring the king here, but i am confident my plan will succeed. dorris ritter doubtless expects us; she will have considered my words, and yielding to her natural womanly coquetry, she will have followed my counsel, and have made use of the clothing i sent her yesterday." they now stood before the wretched house which pollnitz had indicated. "this house has truly a most gloomy appearance," said the king. "many sad tears have been shed here," said pollnitz, with the appearance of deep sympathy. the door of the shop was merely closed; the king pushed it open, and entered with his two companions. no one came forward to meet them; silence reigned in the deserted room. "permit me, your majesty, to go into that room and call the woman; she probably did not hear us enter." "no, i will go myself," said the king; "it is well that i should occasionally seek out poverty in its most wretched hiding-place, that i may learn to understand its miseries and temptations." "ah! my king," said jordan, deeply touched, "from to-day your people will no longer call you their king, but their father." the king stepped quickly to the door which pollnitz had pointed out; the two gentlemen followed, and remained standing behind him, glancing curiously over his shoulder. the king crossed the threshold, and then stood motionless, gazing into the room. "is it possible to live in such a den?" he murmured. "yes, it is possible," replied a low, scornful voice; "i live here, with misery for my companion." the king was startled by this voice, and turned toward that side of the room from which it proceeded; only then seeing the woman who sat in the farthest corner. she remained motionless, her hands folded on her lap; her face was deadly pail, but of a singularly beautiful oval; the hair encircling her head in heavy braids, was of a light, shining blond, and had almost the appearance of a halo surrounding her clear, pale face, which seemed illumined by her wonderful eyes. "she has not made use of the things which i sent," thought pollnitz; "but i see she understands her own advantages. she is really beautiful; she looks like a marble statue of the virgin mary in some poor village church." the king still stood gazing, with an earnest and thoughtful expression, at this woman, who looked fixedly at him, as if she sought to read his thoughts. but he remained quiet, and apparently unmoved. did the king recognize this woman? did he hear again the dying melodies of his early youth? was he listening to their sweet, but melancholy tones? neither pollnitz nor dorris ritter could discover this in his cold, proud face. jordan broke this silence by saying gently, "stand up, my good woman, it is the king who is before you." she rose slowly from her seat, but her countenance did not betray the least astonishment or pleasure. "the king!" she said; "what does the king desire in this den of poverty and misery?" "to alleviate both poverty and misery if they are undeserved," said the king softly. she approached him quickly, and made a movement as if she would offer him her hand. "my wretchedness is undeserved," she said, "but not even a king can alleviate it." "let me, at least, attempt to do so. in what can i assist you?" she shook her head sadly. "if king frederick, the son of frederick william the first, does not know, then i do not." "you are poor, perhaps in want?" "i do not know--it is possible," she said absently; "how can i among so many pains and torments distinguish between despair and anguish, and want and privation?" "you have children?" "yes," she said, shuddering, "i have children, and they suffer from hunger; that i know, for they often pray to me for bread, when i have none to give them." "why does not their father take care of them; perhaps he is not living?" "he lives, but not for us. he is wiser than i, and forgets his grief in drink, while i nourish the gnawing viper at my heart." "you have, then, nothing to ask of me?" said the king, becoming indignant. she gazed at him long and searchingly, with her great piercing eyes. "no," she said harshly. "i have nothing to ask." at this moment the door was thrown open, and the two children, karl and anna, ran in, calling for their mother; but they became silent on perceiving the strangers, and crept shyly to her side. dorris ritter was strangely moved by the appearance of her children; her countenance, which had borne so hard an expression, became mild and gentle. she grasped the hands of the two children, and with them approached the king. "yes, your majesty, i have a petition to make. i implore your pity for my children. they are pure and innocent as god's angels; let not the shame and misery of their parents fall upon their heads. king frederick, have pity on my children!" and overcome by her emotions and her anguish, this unhappy woman sank with her children at the feet of the king. the king regarded her thoughtfully, then turned to jordan. "jordan," said he, "to you i intrust the care of these children." the wretched woman started to her feet, and pressed her children to her arms with an expression as terrified and full of agony as that of the noble and touching statue of the greek niobe. "ah! you would tear my children from me! no, no, i ask nothing; we need no mercy, no assistance; we will suffer together; do not separate us. they would cease to love me; they would learn to despise me, their mother, who only lives in their presence; who, in the midst of all her sorrow and grief, thanks god daily upon her bended knees that he gave her these children, who alone have saved her from despair and death." "you have uttered very wild and godless words," said the king. "you should pray to god to make your heart soft and humble. to be poor, to suffer from hunger, to have a drunken husband, are great misfortunes, but they can be borne if you have a pure conscience. your children shall not be parted from you. they shall be clothed and taught, and i will also see what can be done for you. and now farewell." and the king, bowing slightly, turned toward the door, and in doing so placed a few pieces of gold on the table. dorris had watched every movement; she started wildly forward and seized the gold, which she handed to the king. "your majesty," she said, with flashing eyes, "i only implored mercy for my children; i did not beg for myself. my sufferings cannot be wiped out with a few pieces of gold." the countenance of the king assumed a most severe expression, and he threw an annihilating glance on this bold woman, who dared to oppose him. "i did not give the gold to you, but to your children," he said; "you must not rob them." he then continued more gently: "if you should ever need and desire assistance, then turn to me; i will remember your poverty, not your pride. tell me your name, therefore, that i may not forget." the poor, pale woman glanced searchingly at him. "my name," she said thoughtfully, as if to herself, "king frederick wishes to know my name. i am called--i am called anna schommer." and as she replied, she placed her hand upon the head of her little daughter, as if she needed a support. thus she stood trembling, but still upright, with head erect, while the king and his suite turned toward the door. her son, who had kept his eyes upon the king, now followed him and lightly touched his mantle. his mother saw it, and raising her arm threateningly, while with the other she still supported herself by leaning on her child, she cried: "do not touch him, my son. kings are sacred." frederick, already standing on the threshold, turned once more; his great, luminous eyes rested inquiringly on this pale, threatening figure. an indescribably sad smile played upon his features, but he spoke no word; and slowly turning, he passed through the door, and hurried silently from the shop. dorris ritter uttered a low cry when she no longer saw him; her hands slid powerless from the head of her child, and hung heavily at her side. the child, thus set at liberty, hurried out to gaze at the king and his escort. the poor woman was all alone--alone with her grief and painful memories. she stood for a long time motionless and silent, as if unconscious, then a dull, heavy groan escaped from her breast, and she fell as if struck by lightning. "he did not even know me," she cried. "for him i suffer pain and misery, and he passes by, and throws me the crumbs of benevolence which fall from his bountiful table." for many minutes she lay thus broken and trembling; then, suddenly excited by pride and revenge, she arose, with a wild gleam in her eyes. she raised her hand as if calling upon god to witness her words, and said solemnly, "he did not recognize me to-day, but a day will come on which he shall recognize me--the day on which i avenge my wretched and tormented life! he is a royal king and i a poor woman, but the sting of a venomous insect suffices to destroy even a king. revenge i will have; revenge for my poisoned existence." chapter xvii. the politician and the french tailor. without, the scene had changed in the meanwhile. the attention of the people had been attracted to the king's presence by the royal equipage which was slowly driving down the street, and one and all hurried from their houses to see and greet their handsome young monarch. men and women, young and old, were running about confusedly, each one inquiring of his neighbor why the king had come, and where he might now be, as his carriage was apparently awaiting him. and why was that fat man, who was seated on the sidewalk, sketching this sandy place with its poor little houses? even the proud and self-satisfied mr. pricker had not considered it beneath his dignity to descend to the street door, where he took his stand surrounded by his assistants and apprentices. "it is said the king has gone into the house of schommer, the grocer," said one of his assistants, returning from a reconnoissance he had made among the noisy and gossiping multitude. mr. pricker shook his head gravely. "he must have been misinformed, for he undoubtedly intended coming to this house and paying me a visit, an intention which would be neither novel nor surprising in my family. none of the rulers of the house of hohenzollern have as yet neglected to pay a visit to the house of pricker. the present king will not fail to observe this noble custom, for--" the worthy mr. pricker was interrupted by the shouts of the people. the king had appeared upon the streets, and was greeted with vociferous cheers, amid the waving of hats and handkerchiefs. mr. pricker, observing with intense satisfaction that the king had turned and was advancing in the direction of his house, stepped forward with a self-gratulatory smile, and placed himself immediately at the side of the king's path. but the king passed by without noticing him. on this occasion he did not return the greeting of the people in quite so gracious a manner as usual; his eye was dim, and his brow clouded. without even favoring the smiling and bowing pricker with a glance, he passed on to the carriage which awaited him in front of the court dressmaker's. the king entered hastily, his cavaliers following him, and the carriage drove off. the shouting of the populace continued, however, until it disappeared in the distance. "why do these poor foolish people shout for joy?" grumbled mr. pricker, shrugging his shoulders. now that the king had taken no notice of him, this man was enraged. "what do they mean by these ridiculous cries, and this waving of hats? the king regarded them as discontentedly as if they were vermin, and did not even favor them with a smile. how low-spirited he is! his not recognizing me, the court dressmaker of his wife, shows this conclusively. it must have been his intention to visit me, for his carriage had halted immediately in front of my door; in his depression he must have entirely forgotten it." the crowd had begun to disperse, and but a few isolated groups could now be seen, who were still eagerly engaged in discussing the king's appearance. at a short distance from mr. pricker were several grave and dignified citizens, dressed in long coats ornamented with immense ivory buttons, and wearing long cues, which looked out gravely from the three-cornered hats covering their smooth and powdered hair. mr. pricker observed these citizens, and with a friendly greeting beckoned to them to approach. "my worthy friends, did you also come to see the king?" "no, we were only passing, but remained standing when we saw the king." "a very handsome young man." "a very wise and learned young king." "and still--" "yes, and still--" "yes, that is my opinion also, worthy friends," sighed mr. pricker. "the many innovations and ordinances; it terrifies one to read them." "every day something new." "yes, it is not as it was in the good old times, under the late lamented king. ah, we then led a worthy and respectable life. one knew each day what the next would bring forth. he who hungered to-day knew that he would also do so on the morrow; he who was rich to-day knew that he would still be so on the morrow. ours was an honest and virtuous existence. prudence and propriety reigned everywhere; as a husband and father, the king set us an exalted example." "it is true, one ran the risk of being struck occasionally; and if a man had the misfortune to be tall, he was in danger of being enrolled among the guards," said another. "but this was all. in other respects, however, one lived quietly enough, smoked his pipe, and drank his pot of beer, and in these two occupations we could also consider the king as our model and ideal." "but now!" "yes, now! every thing changes with the rapidity of the wind. he who but yesterday was poor, is rich to-day; the man who was rich yesterday, is to-day impoverished and thrown aside; this was the fate of the privy counsellor von eckert. i worked for him, and he was a good customer, for he used a great many gloves, almost a dozen pair every month; and now i have lost this good customer by the new government." "but, then, eckert deserved it," said the fat beer brewer. "he oppressed the people, and was altogether an arrogant puffed-up fellow, who greeted nobody, not even myself. it serves him right that the king has taken the new house in jager street away from him; there was justice in that." "but the late lamented king had given it to him, and his last will should have been honored." "yes, that is true; the last will of the late lamented monarch should have been honored," they all exclaimed with earnest gravity. "oh, we will have to undergo a great many trials," sighed mr. pricker. "could you believe, my friends, that they contemplate depriving us of our respectable cue, and replacing it with a light, fantastic, and truly immoral wig?" "that is impossible! that can never be! we will never submit to that!" exclaimed the assembled group, with truly grecian pathos. "they wish to give us french fashions," continued pricker; "french fashions and french manners. i can see the day coming when we will have french glovemakers and shoemakers, french hair-dressers and beer-brewers; yes, and even french dressmakers. i see the day coming when a man may with impunity hang out a sign with french inscriptions over his shop-door, and when he who intersperses his honest german with french phrases, will no longer be well beaten. ah, the present king will not, like his lamented predecessor, have two girls arrested because they have said 'charmant;' he will not, with his own hands, belabor the young lads who have the assurance to appear on the streets in french costumes, as the deceased king so often did. every thing will be different, but not better, only more french." "yes, could it be believed," exclaimed the fat beer-brewer, "that they think of crying down beer, the favorite beverage of the late lamented king, which, at all events, should be holy in the sight of his son? at court no more beer will be drank, but only french wines; and he who wishes to be modern and acceptable at court will turn up his nose at the beer-pot, and drink mean and adulterated wines. yes, even coffee is coming into fashion, and the coffee-house keeper in the pleasure-garden, who, up to the present time, was only permitted to make coffee for the royal family and a few other rich people at court, has not alone received permission to serve coffee to everybody, but every innkeeper may do the same thing." "and have you heard," asked the glovemaker gloomily, "that the two hotel-keepers in berlin, nicolai and st. vincent, have their rivals, and will no longer keep the only houses where a good dinner can be had for money? two french cooks have already arrived, and one of them has opened a house in frederick street, the other one in king street, which they call 'restauration.'" "yes," said the shoemaker with a sigh, "i went to the french house in frederick street yesterday, and ate a meal out of curiosity. ah, my friends, i could have cried for rage, for i am sorry to say that it was a better meal than we could ever get at nicolai's or st. vincent's; moreover i paid less for it." "it is a shame. a frenchman comes here and gives a better and cheaper dinner than a native of berlin," said mr. pricker. "i tell you we will all have much to endure; and even my title is insufficient to protect me from insult and humiliation, for it might happen that--" mr. pricker suddenly became silent and stared toward the centre of the street, astonishment and curiosity depicted on his countenance and on that of his friends, who followed the direction of his glances. and in truth a very unusual spectacle presented itself to these worthy burghers. a carriage was slowly passing along the street drawn by two weary and smoking horses. this carriage was of the elegant and modern french make, now becoming fashionable at court, and was called a chaise. as the top was thrown back, its occupants could very well be seen. on the front seat were three persons. the first was a man of grave and earnest demeanor and commanding appearance. his tall and well-made figure was clad in a black velvet coat with little silver buttons, ornamented on the sleeves and breast with elegant lace ruffles. his hair, which was turning gray, was twisted in a knot at the back of his head, from which a ribbon of enormous length was pendant. a small three-cornered hat, of extraordinary elegance, rested on the toupet of curls which hung down on either side of his head and shaded the forehead, which displayed the dignity and sublimity of a jupiter. at his side sat two females, the middle one an elderly, grave-looking lady; the other a beautiful young girl, with smiling lips, glowing black eyes, and rosy cheeks. the elegant and graceful attire of these ladies was very different from the grave and sober costume of the women of berlin. their dresses were of lively colors, with wide sleeves bordered with lace, and with long waists, the low cut of which in front displayed in the one the beauty and freshness of her neck; and in the other, the richness of a guipure scarf with which her throat was covered. their heads were covered with immense toupets of powdered hair, surmounted by little velvet hats, from which long and waving ribbons hung down behind. on the back seat were three other young ladies dressed in the same style, but less richly. this first carriage was followed by a second, which contained six young men in french costumes, who were looking around with lively curiosity, and laughed so loudly that the worthy burgher who stood in front of pricker's house could hear every word they uttered, but unfortunately could understand nothing. "frenchmen!" murmured mr. pricker, with a slight shudder. "frenchmen!" echoed his friends, staring at this novel spectacle. but how? who was that standing by the first carriage which had halted in front of mr. pricker's house? who was that speaking with the young girl, who smilingly leant forward from the carriage and was laughing and jesting with him? how? was this young man really the son and heir of mr. pricker? was he speaking to these strangers, and that, too, in french? yes, mr. pricker could not deceive himself, it was his son; it was william, his heir. "how? does your son speak french?" asked the glovemaker, in a reproachful tone. "he so much desired to do so," said mr. pricker, with a sigh, "that i was forced to consent to give him a french teacher." william, who had observed his father, now hurried across the street. the young man's eyes glowed; his handsome face was enlivened with joy; his manner denoted eagerness and excitement. "father," said he, "come with me quickly! these strangers are so anxious to speak with you. just think how fortunate! i was passing along the charlottenburg road when i met the travellers. they addressed me in french, and inquired for the best hotel in berlin. it was lucky that i understood them, and could recommend the 'city of paris.' ah, father, what a beautiful and charming girl that is; how easy and graceful! in the whole city of berlin there is not so beautiful a girl as blanche. i have been walking along by the side of the carriage for half an hour, and we have been laughing and talking like old friends; for when i discovered who they were, and why they were coming to berlin, i told them who my father was directly, and then the old gentleman became so friendly and condescending. come, father, mr. pelissier longs to make your acquaintance." "but i do not speak french," said mr. pricker, who, notwithstanding his antipathy to frenchmen, still felt flattered by this impatience to make his acquaintance. "i will be your interpreter, father. come along, for you will also be astonished when you hear who this mr. pelissier is." and william drew his father impatiently to the carriage. mr. pricker's friends stood immovable with curiosity, awaiting his return with breathless impatience. at last he returned, but a great change had taken place in mr. pricker. his step was uncertain and reeling; his lips trembled, and a dark cloud shaded his brow. he advanced to his friends and regarded them with a wild and vacant stare. a pause ensued. the hearts of all beat with anxiety, and an expression of intense interest was depicted on every countenance. at last mr. pricker opened his trembling lips, and spoke in deep and hollow tones: "they are frenchmen! yes, frenchmen!" said he. "it is the new tailor sent for by the king. he comes with six french assistants, and will work for the king, the princes and the cavaliers of the court. but he is not only a tailor but also makes ladies' clothing; and his wife and daughter are the most celebrated dressmakers of paris; they also are accompanied by three female assistants, and expect to work for the queen, the princesses, and the entire court." "but that is impossible," exclaimed his friends. "the laws of our guild protect us. no woman can carry on the business of a tailor." "nevertheless they will do so," said pricker; "the king has accorded them this privilege. yes, every thing will now be different, handsomer and better. the king summons these french dressmakers to berlin, and the monsters ask my advice. they wish to know of me how they are to demean themselves toward the members of the guild. the new french dressmaker asks advice of me, of the court dressmaker pricker! ha, ha, ha! is not that laughable?" and mr. pricker broke out into a loud, wild laugh, which made his friends shudder, and then sunk slowly into the arms of the glover. his son william, who had been a witness of this scene, hurried to his father's assistance, and carried him into the house. from his carriage mr. pelissier looked proudly down upon the poor tailor. "the good master has fainted," said he with an olympic smile. "and he has good reason, for ruin is before him. he is a lost man; for how could he, an unknown german tailor, dare to compete with pelissier, the son of the celebrated tailor of louis the fourteenth? that would evince an assurance and folly with which i could not credit even a german brain." chapter xviii. the double rendezvous. the little maid of honor, louise von schwerin, was walking with quick steps up and down her room; she had locked her door to secure herself from interruption. she wished to read once more the mysterious note found yesterday in the bunch of flowers, and once more to meditate undisturbed upon its contents. louise knew the note was from the handsome gardener fritz wendel; from him came the beautiful flowers she found daily upon the sill of her window, and he only could have concealed the note amongst them. there were but a few lines, entreating her to meet him that night at eight o'clock, in the grotto of the conservatory, where she should learn an important and dangerous secret. "what can the secret be?" asked louise of herself, after reading the note again and again. "perhaps," she said, with a roguish smile, "perhaps he thinks that his love for me is a secret. dangerous it certainly is for him and for me, but a secret it is not. i am certain that he loves me, but it must be very sweet to be told so; to hear his lips confess at last what until now i have only read in those eloquent eyes. alas! is it not fearful, intolerable, to wait so long for a declaration of love? two months so near each other, but not one moment of sweet, unrestrained intercourse; always hemmed in by this cold, ceremonious, stupid court life; surrounded by spies and eavesdroppers; never alone, never free. is it not terrible to have a sweetheart, and never to have refused him a kiss, because he has never had the opportunity to demand one? they say there is rapture in the first kiss of your lover--in his first embrace. i must know this for myself, that they may no longer laugh and say i am a silly child without experience. i will have my experience! i will have my love affairs as well as the other ladies of the court, only mine shall be more extraordinary, more romantic. to be loved by a baron or a count is indeed commonplace; but to be adored by a gardener, who is beautiful as the god apollo, and whose obscure birth is his only fault--this is original, this is piquant. ah, madame von brandt laughed at me yesterday, at my stupidity and innocence; she was merry at my expense, because i had never been kissed, never received a stolen embrace, which she declared to be the most charming event in a woman's life. all the ladies laughed at me as she said this, and called me an unbaked roll left out in the cold--which never felt the fire. they shall laugh at me no longer," cried louise, with spiteful tears in her eyes and stamping her little foot. "no one shall mock at me again; and if they do, i will tell them i too have a lover; that i have had a declaration of love, and have received my lover's first kiss. i must be able to say this, and therefore i will meet fritz this evening in the grotto of the conservatory." even while saying this she was seized with a cold trembling; one moment her heart stood still, and then almost suffocated her with its rapid beating. a soft voice seemed to warn her against this imprudence; she seemed to see the pale face of her mother, and to hear her living counsels: "do not go, louise, frit wendel is no lover for louise von schwerin." her guardian angel spread once more his white wings around her, longing to protect and save. but, alas! she heard another voice, breathing flattering words and sweet promises. she saw a beautiful youth with his soft, large, hazel eyes fixed imploringly upon her. louise felt the irresistible charm of the forbidden, the disallowed, the dangerous. louise closed her ear to the warning voice; her good genius had no power over her. "i will go," she said, and a rosy blush suffused her childish cheeks; "nothing shall prevent me!" louise was now quite resolved; but she was not at peace with herself, and from time to time she hoped some unexpected occurrence, some unconquerable obstacle, would prevent her from taking this imprudent step. no difficulty arose; chance seemed to favor her meeting with her obscure lover. sophia dorothea was to visit her daughter-in-law at schonhausen, not as a queen, but without pomp and splendor. the two eldest maids of honor only would accompany her. neither louise von schwerin nor laura von pannewitz were to be of the party. sophia was glad that at least for a few hours she would not see the lovely, sad face, and soft, melancholy eyes of laura, nor hear the low and plaintive tones of her accusing voice. the king had gone to potsdam, it was therefore unnecessary to watch laura. indeed, of late the queen scarcely believed in this love, of which she had been so confident; she had tried in vain to discover any trace of an understanding between laura and the king. frederick scarcely noticed laura, and had spoken to her but once since that stormy day; then he had laughingly asked her why she was so pale and languishing, and if it was an unhappy love which made her look so mournful. since that day the queen no longer believed in the passion of the king for laura, and she reproached madame von brandt with having misled her. madame von brandt smiled mysteriously. "i did not say, your majesty, that the king loved laura; your suspicions fell upon him, and i did not undeceive you." "and why not?" said the queen angrily; "why did you not make known to me the name of laura's lover?" "because i had solemnly sworn not to disclose it," said madame von brandt. "is it not the king? then all the better for my poor laura." "still, i venture to implore your majesty to induce my dear young friend to accept the hand of count voss; she will thus perhaps be cured of her unhappy and hopeless passion." sophia was resolved to follow this advice; she therefore drove to schonhausen to see the young queen, and consult with her as to the most efficacious means of accomplishing this result. louise von schwerin thought the queen might still change her mind and command her to accompany her; she hoped and feared this at the same time. she would have wept bitterly at this result, but she knew it would be best for her. between anxiety and hope, doubts and fears, the time passed slowly. "there rolls a carriage from the court," said louise; she heard the loud cries of the guard and the beating of the drums. it was the queen leaving for schonhausen. louise was now free, now unobserved; nothing could prevent her from going to the grotto. with trembling steps and a quickly beating heart she slipped through the dark alleys of the garden and entered the conservatory. all was still and wrapped in a sweet twilight. the delightful odor of orange blossoms filled the place; which, like the subtle vapor of opium, intoxicated her senses. breathless with fear and expectation she entered the grotto; her eyes were blinded by the sudden darkness, and she sank to the ground. "thank god," she murmured softly, "i am alone, he is not here! i shall have time to recover, and then i can return; i am so frightened--i ought not to have come. perhaps the ladies of the court have arranged this practical joke at my expense. yes, that is it. it was folly to believe he would dare to ask me to meet him; he is too timid--too humble. yes, it is a trap laid for me, and i have fallen into it." she rose hastily to fly back to the palace; but it was too late; a strong arm was gently thrown around her neck, and she was drawn back to her seat. she tried to free herself, but could not; she heard the loud beating of his heart, which found an echo in her own; she felt his lips pressed to hers, but her childish modesty was aroused; she found she had the wish and courage to free herself. "let me go!" she cried breathlessly; "let me go! do not hold me a moment! i will go! i will go this instant! how dare you treat me in this manner? how and why did you come?" and louise, who was now free, remained standing to hear his reply. "how did i come here?" said the handsome gardener, in a submissive but pleading tone. "every night for four weeks i have worked upon this subterranean alley; this dark path, which should lead me here unseen. while others slept and dreamed i worked; and also dreamed with working eyes. mine were happy dreams. my work was done, and i could reach this consecrated spot unseen. i saw in my vision an angel, whom i adore, and to whom i have consecrated every hour, every moment of my life. look, mademoiselle, at the opening behind that large orange tree, that is the way to my paradise; through that opening i can reach a staircase, leading to a small cellar; another pair of steps takes me to a trap-door leading directly to my room. you can well imagine it required time, and strength, and courage to prepare this way." louise approached the opening curiously. this strange path made for her sake affected her more than all fritz wendel's words. only a mighty love could have moved a man in the darkness and alone to such a task. louise wished to conquer her confusion and to hide her embarrassment with light mockery and jesting. "truly," she said, laughing, "this is a dark and mysterious passage, but any one with a light would discover it. you know her majesty has the saloon illuminated occasionally in the evening, and takes her tea here." "no one will find this opening," said the gardener. he pushed the wooden tub, in which the orange-tree grew, with his foot; it gave way to a slight touch, and turned round over the opening. "look, mademoiselle, the tree covers my secret." "open it! open it! i pray you, i must see it!" "i will do so if you promise me not to leave me immediately." "i promise! i promise!" fritz wendel pushed back the orange-tree, then lifting louise gently in his arms, he carried her to the grassplot, and seating her, he threw himself on his knees before her, and bowed, as if in adoration. "you are my queen, the sovereign of my soul! i lay myself at your feet, as your slave. you alone can decide my fate. you can raise me to the heaven of heavens, or cast me in the dust. say only the little words 'i love you!' this will give me strength and power to brave the whole world. i will acquire fame and honor, and at no distant day before god and the whole world i will demand your hand! if you say, 'remain where you are, at my feet is your proper place; i despise the poor gardener, who dares to love the high-born lady!' then i will die; if i live i shall go mad. my brain reels at the thought of such wretchedness. i can die now, and bless you in dying; if i live in my madness i shall curse you for your cruelty." he ceased, and raised his handsome face pleadingly to hers. louise was speechless; she was intoxicated with the music of his voice and impassioned words. "you do not answer me! oh! before you cast me off consider my agony. the heart you despise contains a treasure of love and tenderness. no other man can love you as i do. you are my light and life. you are beautiful and fascinating; many will love you and seek your hand. who but the poor gardener will die for you if you say no? to me you are more than the most lovely of women, you are a goddess! oh, you know not what you have already made of me! what you will still make of me! when i saw you for the first time i was a poor, ignorant gardener, loving nothing but my flowers; knowing no language. the great book of nature was my only study. since that glorious day in which i looked upon you as a radiant, heavenly vision, i have realized my poverty; i have blushed at my ignorance. my life has been one great effort to make myself worthy of you. now, louise, command me. what shall i do? what shall i become? if you do not despise and laugh at my love, if you love me a little in return, if you have hope, courage, and patience to wait, i will be worthy of you!" "alas!" said louise, "this is the dream of a madman. the king and my noble and proud family would never consent that i should become your wife." "as to the king," said fritz, carelessly, "i would find means to obtain his consent, and honor and distinction, at his hands." "i understand," said louise, "the secret you intended to tell me--tell it now," she exclaimed, with a child's eager curiosity. "listen," said he, rising from his knees--"listen, but do not let us betray ourselves by loud words or exclamations." "i hear steps," said louise. "oh, if we should be discovered!" "fear nothing; look there, louise!" her eye followed the direction of his hand. under the laurel-tree sat laura von pannewitz, and before her knelt prince augustus william, radiant with happiness, and covering her hands with kisses. "laura, my bride, my darling, when will the day come in which i can call you mine to all eternity?" "that day will come when i am dead," said laura, with a sad smile. "yes, my prince, only when i am dead shall i be free to love you, and to pray for you. my freed spirit shall hover around you as your guardian angel, and protect you from all dangers. oh, if i could die now, and fulfil this noble mission!" louise was so absorbed in this scene that she did not notice fritz wendel as he drew near and again threw his arm around her. "look at them," he murmured; "he is a royal prince, and she only a poor maid of honor; he loves her, and she accepts his love, and fears no shame." louise laid her hand impatiently upon his lips and whispered, "hush!" he covered her hand with kisses; they listened with subdued breathing to the pure and ardent vows of the two lovers. for one moment laura, carried away by her own feelings and the earnest words of her lover, allowed him to press his lips to her cheek, and returned his vows of love and constancy. but at this moment louise heard the soft voice of laura entreating her lover to leave her, and not to make her blush for herself. "promise me," she cried, "never again to embrace me; our love must remain pure, and only when we fear not god's holy eye, dare we pray to him for assistance. let us retain the right to shed innocent tears over our unhappy love, and lay it as a sacrifice at the foot of god's throne in that day when the world shall separate and despise us." "no one shall dare to do that, laura; you are my future wife; i shall be ever near to defend you with my life's blood! but i promise what you ask; i will restrain my heart; only in dreams will i embrace you; i swear this, my beloved. but the day will come when you will cancel this vow--the day when i will claim you before god and man as my wife!" laura took his hand with a sweet, confiding smile: "i thank you, darling, i thank you, but now we must part." "part! alas, we shall not meet again for weeks. i am commanded to accompany the king on a pleasure trip; for me there is but one earthly pleasure, to see you--to be at your side." "go," she said, smiling; "go without fear; we can never forget each other; however widely separated, you are always before me; i am always with you, although you see me not." "yes, laura, there is not one moment of my life in which i do not see and hear you!" "well, then, go cheerfully with the king. our hearts understand each other; our souls are inseparable." the prince took her hand and pressed it to his heart, then silently they left the saloon. louise had long since freed herself from her lover, and she now arose, resolved to return to the palace. fritz wendel tried to detain her, but the weak and foolish child had gathered courage from the modest words and dignified example of laura. "if you touch me again, you have seen me for the last time! i will never again return to this grotto!" fritz wendel was encouraged by her words; he had not asked her to return, and she had half promised to do so. "i will not dare to touch you again," he said, humbly; "but will you not promise me to come again?" "well, i suppose i shall have to come again to hear the end of poor laura's romance." "this romance can be of great use to us," he said, seizing her hand and pressing it to his lips; "if mademoiselle accepts my love and allows me to hope i may one day become her husband, i will sell this secret to the king, and thus obtain his consent." "you would not be so cruel as to betray them to the king?" "yes, there is nothing i would not do to obtain your hand." book iii. chapter i. the intriguing courtiers. "you are right," said baron pollnitz, "yes, you are right, dear fredersdorf; this is not the way to vanquish our hercules or to influence him. he has no heart, and is not capable of love, and i verily believe he despises women." "he does not despise them," said fredersdorf, "he is wearied with them, which is far worse. women are always too ready to meet him; too many hearts have been given him unasked; no woman will ever have power over him." "how, what then, my dear friend?" cried pollnitz. "there are means to tame every living creature; the elephant and the royal lion can be tamed, they become under skilful hands gentle, patient, and obedient: is there no way to tame this king of beasts and hold him in bondage? unless we can ensnare him, we will be less than nothing, subject to his arbitrary temper, and condemned to obey his will. acknowledge that this is not an enviable position; it does not correspond with the proud and ambitious hopes we have both been for some time encouraging." "is it possible that when the king's chamberlain and a cunning old courtier like myself unite our forces the royal game can escape our artful and well-arranged nets?" "dear fredersdorf, this must not, this shall not be. it would be an everlasting shame upon us both." "what an unheard-of enormity, a king without a powerful and influential favorite!" "frederick shall have two, and as these places are vacant, it is but natural that we should strive to occupy them." "yes," said fredersdorf, "we will seize upon them and maintain our position. you called the king a young hercules--well, this hercules must be tamed." "through love of omphale." "no, not exactly, but omphale must lead him into a life of luxury, and put him to sleep by voluptuous feasts. call to mind how the roman emperor heliogabalus killed the proud and ambitious senators who wished to curtail his absolute power." "i am not so learned as you are, my dear friend, and i confess without blushing that i know nothing of heliogabalus." "listen, then: heliogabalus was weary of being but the obedient functionary of the senate; he wished to rule, and to have that power which the senate claimed as its own. he kept his ambitious desires to himself, however, and showed the senators a contented and submissive face. one day he invited them to a splendid feast at his villa; he placed before them the most costly meats and the choicest wines. they were sitting around this luxurious table, somewhat excited by drink, when the emperor arose and said with a peculiar smile: 'i must go now to prepare for you an agreeable surprise and practical joke, which you will confess has the merit of originality.' he left the room, and the tipsy senators did not observe that the doors were locked and bolted from without. they continued to drink and sing merrily; suddenly a glass door in the ceiling was opened, and the voice of heliogabalus was heard, saying: 'you were never satisfied with your power and glory, you were always aspiring after new laurels; this noble thirst shall now be satisfied.' a torrent of laurel wreaths and branches now fell upon the senators. at first they laughed, and snatched jestingly at the flying laurels. the most exquisite flowers were now added, and there seemed to be no end to the pelting storm. they cried out, 'enough, enough,' in vain; the wreaths and bouquets still poured upon them in unceasing streams; the floor was literally a bed of roses. at last, terror took possession of them; they wished to escape, and rushed to the doors, but they were immovable. through the sea of flowers, which already reached their knees, they waded to the window, but they were in the second story, and below they saw the roman legions with their sharp weapons pointed in the air. flight was impossible; they pleaded wildly for mercy, but the inexorable stream of flowers continued to flow. higher and higher rose the walls around them; they could no longer even plead for pity; they were literally buried in laurels. at last nothing was to be seen but a vast bed of roses, of which not even a fragrant leaf was stirred by a passing breeze. heliogabalus had not murdered his senators; he had suffocated them with sweets, that was all. well, what do you think of my story?" said fredersdorf. "it is full of interest, and heliogabalus must have been poetical; but i do not see the connection between the emperor and ourselves." "you do not?" said his friend impatiently; "well, let us follow his example. we will intoxicate this mighty king with enervating pleasures, we will tempt him with wine and women, we will stifle him with flowers." "but he has no taste for them," said pollnitz, sighing. "he does not care for the beauty of women, but he has other dangerous tastes; he has no heart, but he has a palate; he does not care for the love of women, but he enjoys good living--that will make one link in his fetters. then he loves pomp and splendor; he has so long been forced to live meanly that wealth will intoxicate him; he will wish to lavish honors and rain gold upon his people. frederick william has stowed away millions; we will help the son to scatter them." "this will be a new and thrillingly agreeable pastime, in the ordering of which he could not have a better adviser than yourself, baron." "while frederick and yourself are building new palaces and planning new amusements, i will rule, and help him to bear the burden of state affairs." "you will help him to scatter millions, and i will collect from the good prussians new millions for him to scatter. it is to be hoped that some heavy drops from this golden shower will fall into my purse," said pollnitz. "my finances are in an unhealthy state, and my landlord threatens to sell my furniture and my jewels, because for more than a year i have not paid my rent. you see now, fredersdorf, that i must have that house in jager street. i count upon it so surely that i have already borrowed a few thousand dollars from some confiding noble souls, whom i have convinced that the house is mine." "you shall have it," said fredersdorf; "the king will give it to you as a reward for the plans you have drawn for the new palaces." "has he seen them?" "yes, and approves them. the papers are in his desk, and need but his royal signature." "ah!" said pollnitz, "if they were but signed! what a glorious life would commence here! we would realize the arabian nights; and europe would gaze with dazzled eyes at the splendor and magnificence of our court. how vexed the treasurer, boden, will be when the king commands him to disburse for our revels and vanities the millions which he helped the late king to hoard together for far different purposes! this boden," said pollnitz thoughtfully, "will be our most dangerous opponent: you may believe this; i am somewhat versed in physiognomy. i have studied his countenance; he is a bold, determined man, who, when irritated, would even brave the king. all the other ministers agree with our plans, and will not stand in our way. they are not dangerous; i have made a compromise with them; they have resolved to think all we do right. but boden was inflexible; he would not understand my secret signs or hints; flattery has no power over him, and he is alike indifferent to promises and threats. all my dexterously aimed arrows rebounded from the rough coat-of-mail with which his honesty has clothed him." "do not concern yourself about boden," cried fredersdorf, "he is a lost man; he falls without any aid from us. the king hates him, and is only waiting for an opportunity to dismiss him. have you not noticed how contemptuously he treats him--never speaks to him or notices him, while he loves to chat with his other ministers? frederick did not dismiss him from office at once, because the old king loved him. boden was his treasurer and confidential friend, from whom he had no secrets; the king has therefore been patient; but his sun is set, of that you may be convinced. the king, though he seems not to notice him, watches him closely; one incautious movement and he will be instantly dismissed. this may happen this very day." "how?" said pollnitz. "the king has adopted the plan, which he had ordered knobelsdorf to sketch for him, for the new palace of the dowager-queen. it is to be a colossal wonder--the capitol of the north! the building of which will cost from four to five millions! these millions must come from boden's treasury; he must respect the royal order. if he does, he is an unscrupulous officer, and the king can no longer put faith in him. if he dares oppose the royal command, he is a traitor, and the king, who demands silent and unconditional obedience from his officers, will dismiss him. the king feels this himself, and when he gave me these documents, he said, with a peculiar smile, 'this is a bitter pill for boden--we will see if he is able to swallow it.' you see, now, that our good boden stands between two pitfalls, from both of which he cannot hope to escape alive." "ah, if this is true," said pollnitz, gayly, "our success is assured. the house in jager street will be mine, and you will be an influential minister. we will govern the ruler of prussia, and be mighty in the land. only think how all the courtiers will bow before us! the king will do nothing without our advice. i will make more debts. i will be as generous as fouquet, and as lavish and luxurious as lucullus; and if at last all my resources fail, i will do as heliogabalus did; if my creditors become troublesome, the old roman shall teach me how to silence them by some refinement in hospitality." "and i, the lowly born," said fredersdorf, "who have so long been a slave, will now have power and influence. the king loves me; i will be a true and faithful servant to him. i will be inflexible to those who have scorned me; those proud counts and barons, who have passed me by unnoticed, shall now sue to me in vain. the king's heart is mine, and i will be sustained by him. this tamed lion shall be drawn by prancing steeds in gilded chariots; we will anoint him with honey and feed him with nightingales' tongues; he shall bathe in lachrymae christi, and all that the most fantastic dream and the wildest flights of fancy can imagine shall be set before him. those good epicurean romans, who threw young maidens into their ponds for their eels to feed upon, in order that their meat might be tender and juicy, were sickly sentimentalists in comparison with what i shall be--" he stopped, for the door opened, and boden, their hated enemy, stood before them. they looked upon him indifferently, as a doomed adversary. boden approached quietly, and said to fredersdorf: "have the kindness to announce me to his majesty." "has his majesty sent for you?" said fredersdorf, carelessly. "he has not sent for me, but please say to his majesty that i am come to speak with him on important business." fredersdorf stepped into the adjoining room, and returned quickly, saying with a triumphant and malicious smile: "the king says he will send for you when he wishes to speak with you. these were his exact words; accommodate yourself to them in future." the minister's countenance was perfectly calm; his lip slightly trembled; but he spoke in his usual grave, composed manner: "the king may not desire to see me; but i, as an officer and minister of state, have the most urgent reasons for desiring an audience. go and tell him this." "these are proud, disrespectful words," said pollnitz, smiling blandly. "which i will faithfully report to his majesty," said fredersdorf. "i fear your excellency will pay dearly for this speech," whispered pollnitz. "fear nothing for me," said boden, with a quiet smile. "his majesty awaits you," said fredersdorf, still standing at the door. boden walked proudly by fredersdorf, casting upon him a look of contempt, who returned it with a mocking grin. "the fox is caught," he whispered, as the door closed upon him. "do you think so?" said pollnitz. "i am surprised and somewhat anxious at the king's receiving him." "fear nothing, he is but received to be dismissed. the king's eye flamed, and his brow, usually so clear, was heavily clouded; this betokens storms; may they break upon boden's devoted head! come, let us watch the tempest; there is nothing more instructive than a royal hurricane." "let us profit by the occasion, then." the two courtiers slipped noiselessly to the door and pushed the curtains carefully to one side, so as to see and hear clearly. chapter ii. the king and secretary of the treasury. the king received the secretary with a solemn and earnest bow. he stood leaning upon his writing-table, his arms folded, and his glance fixed upon boden. many a bold man had trembled at the eagle glance of frederick, but boden looked up clear, and betrayed neither confusion nor hesitation. "you insisted positively upon seeing me," said frederick, sternly; "let me hear now what you have to say." "i have much to say, and i must bespeak patience and indulgence; i fear that my words will seem dry and tedious to your majesty." "speak; i will myself determine how far i can grant you patience and indulgence." "your majesty is a fiery but noble and learned gentleman; besides this, you are young, and youth has a daring will--can renew the old and lumbering wheel and push the world forward in her progress. your majesty will, can, and must do this; god has given you not only the power, but the intellect and strength. your majesty will change many things and inaugurate new measures. the old times must give way before the new era. i saw that the first time i looked into my young king's eye--in that bold eye in which is written a great and glorious future for prussia; i understood that we, who had served the sainted king, might not appear worthy or young enough to carry out the purposes of the royal successor of frederick william. i waited, also, for my dismissal; but it came not. your majesty did not remove me from my office, and i confess this gave me pleasure. i said to myself, the king will not destroy, he will improve; and if he believes that his father's old servants can help him in that, so will we serve him and carry out his purposes with a holy zeal. i know the secret machinery of state. the king concealed nothing from me. i will explain all this to the young king; i will make him acquainted with this complicated and widely spread power; i will have the honor to make known to him my knowledge of the revenue and its uses. i rejoiced in the hope that i may yet serve my fatherland.'" "these are very friendly and perhaps well-meant propositions which you are making me," said the king, with a light laugh. "happily, however, i do not need them. i know already what is necessary, and as i have found amongst the papers of my father all the accounts of the states-general, you can understand that i know exactly what i receive as revenue and what i am to disburse. besides all this, i will not fatigue myself in minute details on this subject; i do not deem it of sufficient importance. my time is much occupied, and i have more important and better things to do than to weary myself over dull questions of finance." "no, majesty," cried boden, "you have nothing more important or better to do. the finances are the blood-vessels of the state, and the whole body would sicken and die if these vessels should be choked or irregular in their action." "then must we call the lancet to our aid," said the king. "i am the physician of this revenue, you are the surgeon only when i need the lancet; then will you strike the vein, and allow so much golden blood to flow as i think good and necessary." "no, this will i not do!" said boden, resolutely; "your majesty can dismiss me, but you cannot force me to act against my conscience." "boden!" cried the king in so loud and angry a tone that even the two listening courtiers trembled and turned pale. "this man is already a corpse," whispered pollnitz. "i already smell, even here, the refreshing fragrance of his body. we will bury him, and be his smiling heirs." "look, look at the fearful glance of the king!" whispered fredersdorf; "his eyes crush the over-bold, even as the glance of jove crushed the titans. yes, you are right, boden is a dead man. the king is so filled with scorn, he has lost the power of speech." "no, he opens his lips, let us listen." "boden," said the king, "you forget that you speak with the son, and not with the father. you were the favorite of frederick william, but you are not mine; and i will not suffer this inconsiderate and self-confident manner. remember that, and go on." "so long as i am in your service," said the minister, with a slight bow, "it is my first and my holiest duty to express my opinions freely to your majesty, to give you counsel according to the best of my strength and my ability. it remains with your majesty to reject my advice and to act differently, but still according to the constitution of the state." "the first duty of a servant is to give his counsel only when it is demanded; as i did not desire yours, you might have spared yourself this trouble." "your majesty did not ask my counsel, that is true," said the minister; "you only remembered me when you had commands to give as to the emptying of the royal treasury. your majesty thought you had no use for your finance minister, as you had all the papers relating to the states general. every one of your majesty's ministers is acquainted with these matters, and yet they would not feel able to decide the question of the disbursing of the kingly revenue, to say under what circumstances, and conformably to the powers of the states, this revenue should be disposed of. this, my king, requires a special knowledge, and i, as minister of finance, dare boast that i understand this matter." the king's brow became more and more clouded. "that may be," said he, impatiently, "but i am not willing to be restrained in my operations by narrow-minded laws; i will not live meanly like my father, and think only of gathering millions together." "nor did king frederick william live for that," said the minister boldly; "he lived economically, but where there was want, he knew how to give with a truly royal hand; this is proved by the provinces, by the cities and villages which he built out of dust and ashes; this is proved by the half million of happy men who now inhabit them in peace and comfort. more than three millions of dollars did the king give to lithuania, which was a howling wilderness, filled with famine and pestilence, until relieved by the generosity of their monarch; and while doing this he watched with close attention the accounts of his cook and spent but little money on the royal table. no! the king did not only gather millions together; he knew how to disburse them worthily." "this man must be crazy," whispered pollnitz; "he dares to praise the dead king at the expense and in the teeth of the living; that is indeed bold folly, and must lead to his destruction. the king has turned away from him; see, he goes to the window and looks without; he will give himself time to master his scorn and conquer the desire which he feels to crush this daring worm to the earth. i tell you," said pollnitz, "i would give boden a hundred glasses of champagne from my cellar in the jager street if i could see the king punish him with his own hands." the king turned again to the minister, who looked at him like a man who dared all and was resigned to all; he thought, with pollnitz and fredersdorf, that the king would crush him in his wrath. but frederick's face was calm, and a strangely mild glance beamed in his eye. "well, if you praise my father for disbursing millions, so will you also be content with me, for it is my purpose zealously to imitate him. i will begin by putting my court upon a truly royal footing; i will live as it becomes the king of prussia. the necessary preparations are already commenced, and a detailed plan lies now upon the table; i will sign it to-day." "may i read it, your majesty?" said boden. the king nodded, boden took the paper and glanced hastily over it, while the king folded his arms behind him and walked backwards and forwards. "i find the king wondrously wearisome and patient," murmured fredersdorf; "it is not his manner generally to withhold so long his crushing glances." "and with what derisive laughter that man there reads my plan!" said pollnitz, gnashing his teeth; "truly one might think he was making sport of it." "have you read it?" said the king, standing still before boden, and looking at him sharply. "yes, your majesty, i have read it." "well, and what think you of it?" "that only pollnitz, who it is well known has no gold, and is only acquainted with debt, could have drawn out such a plan, for the realization of which, not only prussian gold, but a fountain of gold from the arabian nights would be necessary." "i swear i will break this fellow's neck!" said pollnitz. a faint smile might be seen on the lips of frederick. "you do not approve of this plan?" said he. "your majesty, we have no strong box from which this sum can be abstracted, and if you are resolved to take from the state treasury the sum necessary for this purpose, so will this also be exhausted during the first year." "well, let us leave this plan for the present, and tell me how you stand as to the means necessary to build the palace of the queen-mother. have you received my instructions?" "i have received them." "and you have disbursed the sum necessary?" "no, sire, i cannot." "how! cannot, when i your king and lord command it?" boden bowed respectfully. "your majesty, there is a greater lord--that is, my conscience; my conscience forbids me to take this sum from the strong box designated. you require four millions of dollars, and you desire that this sum shall be taken from the money set apart for the maintenance of the army and the assistance of famished and suffering villages and towns. i acknowledge that the court of his sainted majesty was somewhat niggardly, and that you, sire, may justly find some changes necessary. if, however, it is determined to use for this purpose the funds set apart for other important objects, then must your majesty impose new and heavy taxes upon your subjects, or you must diminish the army." "diminish my army!" said the king; "never, never shall that be done!" "then, sire, if the building of a palace is absolutely necessary, take the sum for this purpose from your royal treasury; it contains now seven millions of dollars, and as there is no war in prospect, you may well use four millions of the seven in building a castle." "no, this will not do!" said frederick. "this money is set apart for other objects; you shall take these four millions from the designated sources." "i have had already the honor to show your majesty the consequence of such a course. you declare you will not diminish the army: it only remains then to impose a new tax." "do that, then," said the king, indifferently; "write a command for a new tax; that is your affair." the minister looked at the king in painful surprise, and a profound sorrow was painted in his face. "if this must be so, your majesty," said he, with a deeply moved voice, "then is the hour of my dismissal at hand, and i know what i have to do; i am no longer young enough to bear the burden of a portfolio; i belong to the old and cautious time, and my ideas do not suit the young era. i ask your majesty, in all humility and submission, to give me my dismissal. here is the paper which contains the plan of the palace; you will readily find another who will obey your commands. i am not sufficiently grown for this post of finance minister. i beg also for my dismissal." "at last," said the king, with glistening eyes. "at last!" repeated pollnitz; "truly it was a long time before this cowardly man could be brought to the point." "did i not tell you that the king was resolved to get rid of boden?" said fredersdorf; "but let us listen! no, why should we listen? boden has handed in his resignation, and the king has accepted it. i confess my back aches from this crouching position; i will go and drink a glass of champagne to the health of the new minister of finance." "you must not go. the king asked for you as boden was announced, and commanded that we should wait here in the ante-room until called, as he had something of importance to communicate. without doubt he will present me to-day with the deed of the house in jager street. look! in the last window niche i see a pair of very inviting chairs; let us make ourselves comfortable." the king had said "at last!" as boden offered his resignation; after a short silence he added: "it seems to me that you hesitated a long time before resigning." "it is true," said boden sadly; "i certainly had occasion to take this step earlier, but i still hoped i might be useful to my king." "and this hope has not deceived you," said frederick, drawing near to boden, and laying his hand on his shoulder; "i cannot accept your resignation." boden looked up amazed. the king's face was beautiful to behold--a touching and gentle expression spoke in every noble feature; his light-blue eye beamed with gladness and goodness. "how! your majesty will not accept my resignation?" "no, it would be great folly in me," said frederick, in a tone which brought tears to the eyes of the minister; "it would be great folly to deprive myself of so noble and faithful a servant. no, boden, i am not so great a spendthrift as to cast away such a treasure. now in order that you may understand your king, i will make you a confession: you had been slandered to me, and my distrust awakened. it was said of you that you filled the state treasury while the people hungered; it was said of you that you were resolved to hold on to your office, and therefore carried out the commands of the king, even though unjust to the people. i wished to prove you, boden, to see if you had been slandered or justly charged; i handled you, therefore, contemptuously; i gave you commissions which were oppressive; i drew upon the treasury so as to exhaust it fully; i wished to know if you were only a submissive servant or an honest man; i had long to wait, and your patience and forbearance were great. to-day i put you to the extremest proof, and by god! if you had carried out my unjust and unwise instructions, i would not only have deprived you of your office, but i would have held you to a strict account. you would have been a dishonest servant, who, in order to flatter the king, was willing to sin against the people. the welfare of my people is holy to me, and they shall not be oppressed by new taxes. praised be god! i can say i understand my duties; may every ruler do the same. may they keep their eyes steadily fixed upon their great calling; may they feel that this exaltation, this rank of which they are so proud, so jealous, is the gift of the people, whose happiness is intrusted to them; that millions of men have not been created to be the slaves of one man, to make him more terrible and more powerful. the people do not place themselves under the yoke of a fellow-man to be the martyrs of his humor and the playthings of his pleasure. no, they choose from amongst them the one they consider the most just, in order that he may govern them; the best, to be their father; the most humane, that he may sympathize and assist them; the bravest, to defend them from their enemies; the wisest, that they may not be dragged without cause into destructive wars--the man, in short, who seems to them the best suited to govern himself and them; to use the sovereign power, to sustain justice and the laws, and not to play the tyrant. these are my views of what a king should be, and i will fulfil my calling, so help me god! you, boden, must stand by and give me honest help." in the eyes of the minister might be seen joyful tears and a noble ambition; he bowed low and kissed the extended hand of the king. "how gracious has god been to my fatherland in giving it such a prince!" "you will not, then, insist upon your resignation?" said the king. "you are content to serve me, provided i do not diminish my army, and do not impose new taxes upon the people?" "i will be proud and happy to serve my king," said boden, deeply moved. "i must tell you, boden, this will be no light service, and my ministers will be hereafter less important personages than they have supposed themselves to be; i shall closely observe them all, and shall require much work of them, but i myself will be diligent. it seems to me an idle prince is a poor creature, that the world has little use for. i am resolved to serve my country with all my powers; but i will stand alone, independent, self-sustaining. my ministers will only be my instruments to carry out my purposes; they will have much to do, and have no influence. i will have no favorite, and never consult any other will than my own; but i shall require of them to express their opinions frankly and without fear in answer to my questions, and that they shall not fail to call my attention to any errors i may commit, either through haste or want of judgment." "all this i will do," said boden, deeply moved. "so truly as god will give me strength, i will serve my king and my fatherland faithfully to the end." "we are agreed, then," said frederick; "you will remain my minister. if you had not demanded your dismissal, i should have given it to you. i should have seen that you were justly accused, and were determined to remain minister at any price. thank god, you have proved to me that you are an honest man! but," said the king, "you are not only an honest man, but a bold, unterrified, truthful man; a true friend, grateful for benefits received, you do not cease to love your king and benefactor, even after his death. you have had the courage to defend the dead king, and to reproach his successor. the king cannot thank you for this; but as a son, i thank you--i say, 'come to my heart, true and faithful servant.' we kings are too poor to reward our servants in any other way than by confiding love." the king opened his arms and pressed boden to his heart, who wept aloud. "and now," cried the king, "we understand each other, and know what we have to expect, and that is always a great gain in this world, full of disappointment, hypocrisy, and cunning. i will now give you a proof that i do not close my ear to the reasonable counsels of my minister, and that i am ready to offer up my personal wishes; i will not build this palace for my mother; you have convinced me that i have not the income to do so. i cannot take four millions from the state treasury. this money will soon be needed for a more important object. but some changes are absolutely necessary in the royal palace; it must be made more worthy of a king. take, therefore, these plans and designs; strike from them what you consider superfluous. let me know what additions you think it best to adopt, and from what source we can draw the necessary funds."[ ] [ ] "history of berlin," thiebault. chapter iii. the undeceived courtier. at the time that the king was placing the extravagant plans, which baron von pollnitz had drawn up, into the hands of his minister of finance, the baron was waiting in the ante-room, in a state of smiling security, entertaining his friend fredersdorf with an account of his own future splendor and magnificence, speaking especially of the entertainments which he intended giving in his new house in jager street. when at length the door of the royal cabinet was opened, and the minister of finance entered the ante-room, pollnitz and fredersdorf stood up, not however to greet the minister, but to pass him with a cold, contemptuous smile on their way to the door of the cabinet. the smile died suddenly on pollnitz's lips, and he stood as if transfixed before the minister. "what are those papers which you hold?" he asked, extending his hand as if he would tear the papers from baron von boden. the minister pushed him back, as he carelessly shrugged his shoulders. "these are papers which his majesty handed me, that i might examine their contents, and see if they contained any thing but folly." "sir," said pollnitz, beside himself with rage, "these papers--" but he became suddenly silent, for the door of the cabinet was opened again, and the king entered the room. he glanced scornfully at pollnitz, who was scarcely able to conceal his anger, and approached baron von boden. "one thing more, minister," said the king, "i had forgotten that i had prepared a little surprise for you; i am aware that you are not rich, although you are the minister of finance, and i understand that you live in a limited way, scarcely worthy of your rank. we must alter this, and happily i know a house which even baron von pollnitz declares is worthy a nobleman. i present this house to you, with its entire contents. from this moment it is yours, and baron von pollnitz must go with you, and show it to you; he can point out to you all the advantages and conveniences which he has so often praised to me." pollnitz stood pale, trembling, and confused. "i do not know of what house your majesty speaks," he stammered, "of what house i can have said that it was worthy of the minister of finance." "not of the minister of finance, but of a nobleman, and boden is a nobleman, not only in name but in reality; and is entirely worthy to possess the house which i have presented to him. you are well acquainted with it, pollnitz; it is the house which my father had built for eckert, the beautiful house in jager street." "the house in jager street!" cried pollnitz, forgetting the restraint which the presence of the king usually imposed. "no, no, your majesty is pleased to jest. you do not mean the house in jager street, that house which--" "that house," interrupted the king, in a stern voice, "that house which pleased you so well, that you, as foolish children sometimes do, confused reality with your dreams, and imagined that this house already belonged to you, merely because you desired that it should do so. i would have smiled at this childish folly, if it had remained an amusement for your unemployed fancy; but you have deceived others as well as yourself, and that is an unpardonable fault, and one which you must repair immediately, if you do not wish to be dismissed from my service." "i do not understand your majesty; i do not know how i have forfeited the favor of my king." the king glanced angrily at the pale, trembling courtier. "you understand perfectly, baron von pollnitz, of which fault, amongst the many that you daily and hourly commit, i speak. you know that it has pleased you to declare the house, which i have just presented to boden, to be yours, and that you have found credulous people who have lent you money on that representation." "will your majesty grant me a favor?" said minister von boden, glancing kindly at pollnitz, who stood near him crushed and trembling. the king consented by bowing silently, and the minister proceeded: "your majesty has just made me most rich and happy, and i consider it my duty, as it is my pleasure, to share both riches and happiness with my fellow-creatures. baron von pollnitz, by the commands of the late king, executed the plans for the house which your majesty has so kindly presented to me; he also selected the decorations and furniture, and this may have led him to believe that the house, which had been built and furnished according to his taste, might become his own. i am much indebted to pollnitz, for a man so plain and simple as i am would never have been able to make this house so tasteful and elegant. permit me, therefore, your majesty, to liquidate this debt by considering the small mortgage which baron von pollnitz has put upon this house, as my affair." "what reply do you make to this proposition?" said the king, turning to pollnitz. "that if your majesty allows me i will accept it with pleasure, and i merely wish to ask the minister whether he will only take up those mortgages which i have already put upon the house, or the others which i intended putting?" "ah!" cried the king, laughing, "you are incorrigible. if poor boden is to satisfy not only your old creditors but your new ones, the present i have made him would probably reduce him to beggary in a few months. no, no, this one mortgage is sufficient, and as it amounts to only a few thousand dollars, it shall be paid from my purse; and that my gift to you, boden, may have no drawback, pollnitz may consider himself thus repaid for his trouble about the plans and arrangements of your house. but woe to you, pollnitz, if i should again hear of such folly and deceit; and if you do not give up such disgraceful conduct, and act in a manner becoming your rank and office, this is the last time that i will show any mercy for your folly. if there is a repetition of it, i will be inexorable, only a stern judge and king." "your majesty plunges me into an abyss of despair," said pollnitz, swinging his hands. "you demand that i shall create no new debts; and how is it possible to avoid that, when i have not even the money to pay the old ones? if your majesty desires that i should lead a new life, you should have the kindness to pay my old debts." the king paced the room silently for a short time, and then stood before pollnitz, and said: "you are so shameless and absurd that i must either drive you away or content myself with laughing at you. i will, however, remember that my father and grandfather laughed at you, and for the present i will also laugh, as i laugh at the silly pranks of merry mr. raths, my monkey. but even mr. raths was punished yesterday because he was too daring with his monkey tricks. mark this, baron von pollnitz, i will pay your debts this time; but if it should occur to you to make new ones, i will forget that you were the jester of my father and grandfather, and only remember that so reckless an individual cannot remain in my service. now accompany the minister to the jager street, and show him his house. your audience is at an end, gentlemen." after these gentlemen had left the room, the king stood for a long time as if lost in thought. he did not appear to be aware that he was not alone, that fredersdorf was standing in the window, to which he had withdrawn on the appearance of the king, and had been a trembling, despairing witness to this scene, which had disturbed his plans and hopes. suddenly the king walked rapidly through the room, and stood before fredersdorf--his eyes, usually so clear and bright, veiled as with a cloud, and an expression of deep melancholy upon his noble face. "fredersdorf," he said, with a voice so mild and gentle that his hearer trembled, and a deadly pallor overspread his countenance--"fredersdorf, is it really true that you all think of me only as your king, never as your fellow-man? that you have no love for your sovereign, only envy and hatred, only malice and cunning? and you, also, fredersdorf, you whom i have loved, not as a master loves his servant, but as a dear friend, with whom i have often forgotten that i was a prince, and only remembered that i was with a friend, who had a feeling heart for my cares and sorrows, and entertained a little love not for the prince but for the man. are you all determined to make me cold-hearted and distrustful? are you laboring to turn my heart to stone--to cut off my soul from faith and love? a day will come when you will call me cold and relentless, and no one will say that it was those i loved and trusted who made me thus." "mercy! mercy! my king," prayed fredersdorf, sinking to the feet of the king. "kill me! destroy me with your anger! only do not show me such kindness and love. oh! your majesty does not know how i love you, how my heart is bound up in yours; but i have a wild and ambitious heart, and in the thirst of my ambition i was not satisfied to remain the servant of my king. i wished to become powerful and influential. i longed to mount high above those who now look down upon and despise me because i am a servant. this, my king, is my whole crime, the remorseful confession of my guilt." "you did not wish to betray your king, you only desired to be the lord of your lord. you wished to reign through me. poor fredersdorf, do you think it such happiness to be a king? do you not know that this royal crown, which seems so bright to you, is only a crown of thorns, which is concealed with a little tinsel and a few spangles? poor fredersdorf, you are ambitious; i will gratify you in this as far as possible, but you must conquer the desire to control my will, and influence my resolutions. a king is only answerable to god," proceeded the king, "and only from god can he receive control or commands. i am the servant of god, but the master of men. i will gratify your ambition, fredersdorf, i will give you a title. you shall no longer be a mere servant, but a private secretary; and that you may be a master as well as a servant, i present you the estate czernihon, near rheinsberg. there you will be lord of your peasants and workmen, and learn if it is not a thankless office to rule. are you satisfied, my poor fredersdorf?" fredersdorf could not answer; he pressed his lips to the hand of the king, and wept aloud. chapter iv. the bridal pair. joy and exultation reigned in the house of the rich manufacturer orguelin. the proud daughter had consented to become the wife of count rhedern; she had at last accepted him, and the happy father, delighted at the prospect of soon becoming father-in-law to a count, busied himself with the preparations for the approaching wedding festivities, which were destined to excite the admiration and astonishment of the entire city by their magnificence and prodigal splendor. at this festival the future countess rhedern was to appear for the last time in the circle of her old friends, and then to take leave of them forever; for as a matter of course the countess rhedern would have to form new friendships and seek other society than that to which she had been accustomed as mademoiselle orguelin. but m. orguelin desired to exhibit to his associates, the manufacturers and merchants, this splendid nobleman who had now become his son; he wished to excite the envy and admiration of his friends by the princely magnificence of his house. but all this was far from being agreeable to count rhedern, who had other plans. his creditors and his poverty compelled him to marry this rich merchant's daughter, but he had no desire or intention of entering into any association or connection with the friends and relations of his wife; and even if it should be necessary to recognize his rich father-in-law, it did not follow that he would appear at his fetes to add lustre to the entertainment and be shown off as a highly ornamented acquisition. he trembled when he thought of the ridicule of the court cavaliers, to whom it would be an inexhaustible subject of jest, that he, the marshal of the queen, and a cavalier of old nobility, had played this role at a fete of the bourgeoisie, and had conversed, eaten, and danced with manufacturers and tradespeople. that could not and should not be. to preserve the prestige of his house, a nobleman might marry the daughter of a merchant, if she possessed a million, but he could not stoop so low as to consider himself a member of her family, and to recognize this or that relative. count rhedern thought of some plan by which he could frustrate this scheme of his father-in-law in regard to the wedding festivities, which would bring him into such undesirable and disagreeable association with persons beneath his rank, as he desired to avoid as far as possible all eclat in this misalliance. with a smiling countenance he entered one morning into the magnificent parlor of his affianced, who with her father's assistance was engaged in making out a list of the wedding guests. the count seated himself near his future bride, and listened with inward horror to the terrible and barbarous names which were placed on the list, the possessors of which could never appear at a knightly tournament or court festival, and were consequently excluded from all the joys and honors of the world. "well," said the father exultingly, "what do you think of our fete? it will be perfectly magnificent, will it not? the richest merchants of berlin will be present; and if one were to estimate us by our wealth, it would be found that more millions would be assembled there than germany has inhabitants. you will readily understand, my dear son, that in order to do honor to such guests, great preparations are necessary, for it is not easy to excite the astonishment and admiration of these proud merchants. it is quite easy to surprise one of your barons or counts; you are delighted when entertained with champagne or fine holstein oysters, but a rich merchant turns scornfully from turtle-soup and indian birds'-nests. nevertheless, my proud guests shall be surprised; they shall have a fine dinner, the like of which they have never seen. for this purpose i have ordered two of the best cooks from paris, who will arrive in a few days. they have written that they will need at least two weeks to make the necessary preparations for the wedding-dinner. for their services i will pay them a salary which is perhaps equal to the half-yearly pay of a marshal or chamberlain. moreover, we will have fireworks, illuminations, splendid music; yes, i have even thought of having a stage erected, and of engaging a french company to amuse our guests with a few comedies." "i am only afraid that but few of our guests will understand a word of these french plays," exclaimed his daughter, laughing. "that is quite possible; nevertheless french is now the rage, and it will attract attention if we have a french play. and you, my dear son, what do you say to all this? you look almost vexed." "i sigh because you wish to defer the wedding for so long a time." "ah, that is a compliment for you, my daughter. lovers are always impatient." "but i did not sigh only because i would so long be deprived of the happiness of leading my dear caroline to the altar, but because i should thereby lose the pleasure of presenting her to the court as my wife on the occasion of the large and most magnificent court ball with which the season will be opened." "a court ball is to take place?" asked caroline orguelin, with vivacity. "the king has, i believe, not yet returned from his journey." "but will do so in a few days, and as the court mourning is now at an end, the king will give a brilliant masquerade ball, which will probably be the only one given this winter." "a masquerade ball!" exclaimed his bride; "and i have never seen one!" "and this is to be a most magnificent one. moreover, the queen-mother has already promised me an invitation for my wife, and requested me to present her to the entire court on this occasion." "and is it impossible to have the wedding any sooner?" asked caroline, impatiently. "quite impossible," said m. orguelin. "and why impossible?" said the count. "could we not have the wedding at an early day, and the festival later? could we not, as is now customary in high circles, be married quietly, and have the festival at a later day? these noisy weddings are a little out of fashion at the present day, and it would be said at court that the wealthy and highly cultivated m. orguelin showed his disregard for the customs of our young and modern court by adhering to those of the old regime." "god forbid that i should do that!" exclaimed m. orguelin, in a terrified voice. "father, i detest noisy merry-makings, and insist on a quiet marriage. it shall not be said at court that mademoiselle orguelin, with all her acquaintances, had rejoiced over the inestimable happiness of becoming the wife of a count. i will be married quietly; afterwards the count may give a fete in honor of our marriage, which you, my father, can return." as usual, m. orguelin submitted to his daughter's will, and it was determined that a quiet wedding should take place in a few days, to be followed on a later day by a magnificent fete in the house of the father-in-law. "at which i shall certainly not be present," thought count rhedern, while he expressed his entire satisfaction with this arrangement. mademoiselle orguelin's proudest wishes were about to be accomplished. she was to be introduced at court, and the queen-mother had graciously declared her intention of presenting her to the king at the approaching masquerade. there was now wanting but one thing, and that was a suitable costume for this important occasion, and count rhedern assured her, with a sigh, that it would be very difficult to prepare it, as it would be almost impossible to find a tailor who would undertake to make, in so short a time, the gold-brocaded train which was necessary. "pelissier, the new french tailor, has even refused to make a little cloak for me," said count rhedern, "and his female assistants,--who are the most fashionable dress-makers, have been deaf to all entreaties for the last week. they take no more orders for the masquerade, and it was only yesterday that i met countess hake, who had been with the pretty blanche while i was with her father, descending the steps, wringing her hands and bathed in tears, because the proud dressmakers had replied to her prayers and entreaties with a cruel 'impossible!'" "i know, however, that m. pricker, the court dressmaker of the two queens, would not make me this reply," said caroline orguelin, proudly, "but that he would make whatever is necessary even if he should be forced to take several additional assistants." "then let us drive to m. pricker's," said her affianced, smiling; "but we must go at once, for we have no time to lose, and you can well imagine that i would be inconsolable if, after our marriage, i could not present you to the court as my wife on the first suitable occasion." "yes, we have no time to lose," repeated caroline, ringing a bell and ordering her carriage. when, after a few minutes, caroline orguelin and the count were alone in the carriage, she turned to him with a mocking smile, and remarked: "the wedding is, then, to take place the day after to-morrow." "yes, my dearest caroline, and on that day i will be the happiest of men." "your creditors," said she, shrugging her shoulders, "were then becoming so pressing that you suddenly experienced an ardent longing for my dowry." "my creditors?" asked the count; "i do not understand you, dearest caroline." "you understand me very well," said she, with cutting coldness; "it is, moreover, time that we understand each other, once for all. know, therefore, my dear sir, that i have not allowed myself to be deceived either by your tender protestations or by the role of an impatient lover, which you have acted so well. i am neither young nor pretty enough to awaken a passion in the breast of so noble and excellent a cavalier as count rhedern. you are poor, but rich in debts, and you needed therefore a rich wife; and as i happened to have more money than any of the beautiful and noble ladies of the court, you determined to marry me, deeming my rich dowry a sufficient compensation for the disgrace inflicted on your noble house. in a word, you chose me because you were tired of being dunned by your creditors, and of living in a state of secret misery; and i--i bought count rhedern with my millions, in order that i might appear at court." "well, truly, these confessions are very curious, highly original," said count rhedern, with a forced smile. "they are, however, necessary. we need no longer trouble ourselves with this useless acting and hypocrisy. it is also but just that i should inform you why i so ardently desire to become a lady of quality, that is, why i wish to be able to appear at court, for i hope you do not consider me silly enough to buy a count for the mere sake of being called countess?" "i should consider this wish by no means a silly one," murmured the count. "no," continued his bride. "i desired to become a countess that i might obtain access to court and enjoy a happiness of which thousands would be envious, although like the moth i could only flutter round the brilliant and dazzling light until it burned me to death. i told you i was no longer young. i, however, still have a young heart, a fresher heart perhaps than all your proud and beautiful ladies of the court, for mine was as hard and clear as crystal, until--" "well, conclude," said the count, as she hesitated; "continue these little confessions, which are certainly rarely made before, but generally after marriage. you spoke of your heart having been as hard and clear as crystal, until--" "until i had seen the king," continued his bride, blushing, "until i had gazed in those wondrous eyes, until i had seen the smile, so proud, and yet so mild and gentle, with which he greeted his people from the balcony." "it was then at the coronation that you formed the genial resolution of loving the king." "yes, it was on the coronation day that i for the first time comprehended how grand, how noble and sublime a true man could be. and my soul bowed in humility and obedience before the commanding glance of this titan, and my heart bowed in adoration at the feet of this man, whose smile was so wondrous, and whose eyes spoke such great things. oh! had i been near him as you were, i would have fallen at his feet and have said to him: 'i accept you as my master and my divinity; you are my ideal, and i will adore you as such with a pure and noble worship.' but i was far off, and could only pray to him in thought. i determined that i would be near him at some day; and i, who had wished to remain single, determined at this moment to marry--but to marry only a cavalier of the court. i inquired of my companion the names of the cavaliers who stood behind the king, and the most of them were married, but you were not, and i was told that you possessed a great many debts and very small means of paying them. on this day i told my father: 'i wish to marry count rhedern, i desire that you should purchase him for me, as you recently purchased the handsome set of nuremburg jewelry.'" "really, a very flattering and ingenious view of the matter," said the count, with a forced laugh. caroline continued: "my father intrusted this affair to a broker who had frequently done business for him before, and who proved to be an apt trader on this occasion, for you see he purchased the goods we desired, and the business transaction has been concluded. count, you will now understand why i made the condition that i should be admitted at court, and recognized as your countess, before i determined to become your wife." "i understand perfectly well," said the count, peevishly; "you made use of me as a bridge over which you might pass from your father's shop to the royal palace, as i will make use of you to pay my debts, and to enable me to live a life worthy of a count. ah, now that we understand one another so well, we will be perfectly at ease, and live a free and unconstrained life without annoying each other." "still, my dear count, you will sometimes experience a slight annoyance at my hands," said the millionnairess, gently placing her hand on the count's shoulder. "it was not only on account of your creditors that you desired so early a marriage, but mainly because the count considered it beneath his dignity to take part in the festivities of manufacturers and merchants. but i must inform you, dear sir, that i shall never forget that my father is a merchant, and that all my friends are the daughters of manufacturers and merchants. i will be a grateful daughter and a true friend, and i will compel you to show the same respect to my father and friends that i will show to yours." "compel!" exclaimed the count, "you will compel me?" "i said compel, and you will soon perceive that it is in my power to do so. listen: my father promised you that my dowry should be a million, out of which, however, your debts, and the expense of my trousseau, are to be defrayed. your debts, including the mortgage on your estates, amount to two hundred thousand, and my trousseau, diamonds, and the furnishing of my house will cost about the same sum. there will remain, therefore, but six hundred thousand, of which you will enjoy the benefit, according to our marriage contract. but you will readily understand that the interest of this small capital will not support the daughter of a rich merchant respectably, and that if i should desire to entertain the king in my house, i would perhaps expend in one evening the half of my income." the count regarded his bride with admiration, almost with reverence. "you then think that we could not live on the interest of six hundred thousand dollars?" asked he. "i do not only think so, but i am sure of it, for i needed as much when a girl. ah, my dear count, a great deal of money is necessary to gratify one's humors and caprices. my father is well aware of this fact, and has, therefore, given me as pin money a second million; this will, however, remain in his business, and i shall only receive the interest in monthly payments. i must, however, remark that this interest is not a part of my dowry, but is my personal property, with which i can do as i see fit. i can, if i wish, give fetes with this money, pay your debts, purchase horses and equipages for you, or i can give it to my father, who can make very good use of it in his business. and now pay attention: whenever you choose to neglect the proper and dutiful attention due to your wife, her father, or her friends, i will relinquish my pin money to my father, and you must look to some other source for the necessary funds." "but i shall always be an attentive and grateful husband, and a dutiful son to your father," exclaimed the count, charmed with the prospect of a second million. "then you will do well," said his bride, gravely, "for your monthly income will thereby be increased by four thousand dollars. you see i am a true merchant's daughter, and understand accounts. i have bought you, and know your worth, but i also desire to be properly esteemed and respected by you. you must never think you have honored me by making me a countess, but must always remember that my father is a millionnaire, whose only daughter and heiress pays you for your amiability, your title, and her admission to court. and now enough of these tedious affairs. the carriage has stopped, and we have arrived at our destination; let us put on our masks again, and be the fond lovers who marry for pure love and tenderness." "and in truth you deserve to be loved," exclaimed the count, pressing her hand to his lips. "you are the most discreet and charming of women, and i have no doubt that i will love you ardently some day." "poor count," said she, laughing, "on that day you will deserve commiseration, for i shall certainly never fall in love with you. a heart like mine loves but once, and dies of that love." "i hope that this death will at least be a very slow one," said the count, jumping out of the carriage, and assisting his bride elect to descend. chapter v. the french and german tailors, or the montagues and capulets of berlin. m. pricker stood at his window; his face was sad, and he looked with a troubled gaze at the house on the other side of the street. this was the house of the new french tailor, pelissier. many splendid equipages were drawn up before the door, and crowds of gayly dressed men and women were passing in and out. alas for earthly grandeur! alas for popular applause! pricker stood at his window, no one rang his bell, not a carriage was to be seen at his door, since the arrival of the french tailor. pricker was a lost man, wounded in his ambition, his most sacred feelings trampled upon, and his just claim to the gratitude of his generation disallowed. what advantage was it to him to be the acknowledged tailor of two queens? since, in the ardor of his patriotism, he had refused to employ french hands, not one of all those ladies who had formerly confided to him the secrets of their toilets remembered his discretion, or his ability to hide their defects, or supply their wants. the fickle and ungrateful world had forsaken him. even the hohenzollerns had forgotten the great deeds and still greater services of the prickers, and no longer knew how to reward true merit. since pelissier took the opposite house, pricker's heart was broken; night and day he was consumed with anguish; but he made no complaint, he suffered in spartan silence, and like a hero covered his bleeding wounds. one soft eye, one kindred heart discovered his silent sorrow; she, too, sorrowed as those without hope; she had not even the courage to offer consolation. in this hour of extremity poor pricker sometimes thought of selling his house, but the next moment he would blush at his weakness and cowardice in thus abandoning the field to his foe. in spiteful arrogance the french tailor had settled himself in the opposite house. it was a struggle for life or death offered by pelissier, and it should not be said that a pricker ignominiously declined the contest. pricker must remain, he must defy his adversary, and yield only in death to this dandy frenchman; he would therefore remain in those ancestral halls, which had so long sheltered the tailor of the two queens. he remained, but the death-worm was gnawing at his heart. pricker still gazed across the street, and with an added pang he saw another carriage rolling in that direction; but no, this time the carriage turned to his side of the street. in the first joy of his heart he sprang forward to open the door and aid the ladies in descending; he checked himself in time, however, remembering that this would compromise the dignity of his house. in a few moments madame pricker announced the rich mademoiselle orguelin and her future husband. pricker advanced to meet them with calm composure, but there was tumultuous joy in his heart. "you will be surprised, my dear pricker, that we did not send for you, but we should have lost time by that, and our affairs demand the greatest haste." pricker bowed proudly. "my house is accustomed to receive noble persons; my grandfather had once the happiness to welcome a prince. in what can i serve you?" "i need two complete court toilets," said mademoiselle orguelin--"the robes for a first presentation, and then for a great court ball." "then you wish a robe with a brocade train; i would choose blue velvet, it is most becoming to blondes, and throws a heavenly light upon their complexions." "then we will take sky blue," said the millionnaire, "with a train of silver. for the ball dress, my father has given me a dress woven in velvet and gold." "your toilets will be superb, and the appearance of the countess rhedern will do honor to the house of pricker." "you must promise to be ready in eight days." "in four, if necessary," said pricker, taking the long measure from his wife and approaching the lady. "i leave the trimmings entirely to your taste, but of course my dress must be of the newest french cut." pricker had laid the measure around the slender waist of mademoiselle orguelin; he now removed it violently. "you desire your dresses made after the latest french style?" he said, harshly. "of course; that is surely understood; no decent tailor would work in any other style. i should indeed be ridiculous to appear at court in a stiff old german costume. you must make me the tight-fitting french waist, the long points in front, the narrow sleeves reaching to the elbow and trimmed with rich lace." pricker folded his measure with heroic determination and laid it upon the table. "your dress cannot be made in the house of pricker, mademoiselle." "what, you refuse to work for me?" "i will not adopt the french fashions! that would be an insult to my ancestors. i will remain true to the good old german customs." "reflect," said count rhedern, "how much this obstinacy will cost you. you will lose all the patronage of the court; all the world adopts the new french fashions." "that is true," said the sorrowful pricker; he approached and pointed through the window to the house opposite. "once all those carriages stood before my door; once i dressed all those noble people; a wink would be sufficient to recall them. would i be untrue to the customs of my fathers, would i employ french workmen, all those carriages would be arrayed before my door. i hold the destiny of that contemptible frenchman in my hands; a word from me, and he would be ruined; but i will not speak that word. let him live to the disgrace and shame of the germans who abandoned the time-honored customs of their fatherland." the count offered his arm to his bride, and said, mockingly: "i thank you for your address. i see that a german tailor may be a consummate fool! come, my dear caroline, we will go to m. pelissier." pricker remained alone; grand and proud he stood in the middle of the saloon, and looked up, like a conquering hero, at the grim portraits of his ancestors. "be satisfied with me," he murmured; "i have made a new sacrifice to your names. my house is german, and german it shall remain." at this moment there arose on the air the clear, full voice of his daughter, who was practising with quantz a favorite italian air of the king. "nel tue giorni felice ricordati da me," sang the beautiful anna, while father pricker ran, like a madman, up and down the room, and stopped his ears, that he might not hear the hateful sound. he cursed himself for allowing the monster quantz to come to the house. "alas! alas! i have closed my heart to the new era and its horrors, hut i shall lose my children; they will not wish to wander in my ways." at this moment anna entered the room, with sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks. "father," she said, hastily, "the supreme desire of my heart will now be fulfilled. quantz has at last promised that i shall sing at the next court concert. in eight days the king returns, and a concert will be arranged, at which i, your happy daughter, will sing an italian song." "italian!" "she will sing italian," murmured quantz, who was listening at the door. "she will give all the world an opportunity to laugh and ridicule her; and i shall be held responsible; i would rather die!" anna was greatly excited, and did not notice her teacher; and, as her mother entered the room, she embraced her warmly. "mother, mother, quantz has pronounced me worthy to sing at the court. i shall cover myself with glory, and the daughter of the tailor will fill all germany with her fame!" "unhappy child, do you not know that your father is present?" "oh, my father shall be proud of me!" cried anna. mother pricker was frightened at the looks of her husband. anna scarcely noticed her parents; she said: "father, it is high time to think of my dress; it must be new and elegant." "you shall have it," said her father, solemnly; "it is an honor to sing before the king. i will make you a magnificent dress out of your mother's bridal robe." anna laughed contemptuously. "no, no, father; the time is past when we dared to wear the clothes of our great-grandmothers. the day is gone by for family relics. how the ladies of the court would laugh at my mother's old flowered robe! besides, the dress is too narrow for a modern hoop robe, the only style now tolerated." "a hoop robe!" cried the father, in tones of horror; "she wishes to wear a hoop robe!" "yes, and why not?" said anna. "does not the beautiful blanche wear one? and have not all the court ladies adopted them? no fashionable lady would dare now appear without a hoop robe." "who is blanche?" cried m. pricker, rising from his chair and looking threateningly at anna, "who is blanche?" "do you not know, father? oh, you are only pretending not to know! dearest blanche, whom i love like a sister, and to whom i can only pay stolen visits, for her father is furious that you have not returned his visit, and has forbidden any of his family to enter our house." "he did right; and i also forbid you to cross his threshold. i thought, anna, you had too much pride to enter the house of your father's enemy, or speak to his daughter." anna shrugged her shoulders silently, and now quick steps were heard approaching. "oh, quel pleusir d'etre amoreuse," sang a fresh, manly voice. "french!" cried father pricker, wild with rage. "william singing french!" the door was hastily opened, and william, heir to the house of pricker, stood upon the sill. he was arrayed in a most charming costume. a tight-fitting coat, short-waisted and long-tailed, wide sleeves, and large mother-of-pearl buttons; the cuffs and high-standing collar were richly embroidered in silver; his vest was "coleur de chair," and instead of a long plait, william had covered his hair with a powdered wig. a small three-cornered hat, worn jauntily to one side, was embroidered with silver, and ornamented with a black feather; in his hand he held a slight, graceful cane. william appeared before his father a complete model of a new-fashioned french dandy; rage and horror choked the old man's utterance. "well, father, do i please you? is not this attire worthy of a nobleman? only i cannot wear the white feather, which they say belongs exclusively to the nobility." "where did you get these clothes, william?" said his father, approaching him slowly; "who gave you the money to pay for them? it is a fool's costume! who made it for you?" "well, you gave me the money, dear father," said william, laughing; "that is, you will give it to me. this handsome suit has not yet been paid for. the name of pricker has a silvery sound; pelissier knows that, and credited me willingly; though at first he refused to work for me, and i thank blanche that i have a costume from the celebrated shop of pelissier." old pricker uttered a cry of rage, and seizing, with feverish violence, the long tails of his son's coat, he dragged him to and fro. "so pelissier made this! he has dared to array my son, the son and heir of the house of pricker, in this ridiculous manner! and you, william, you were shameless enough to receive this suit from your father's enemy. alas! alas! are you not afraid that your ancestors will rise from their graves to punish you?" "dear father," said william, "it is only a costume, and has nothing to do with character or principle." "never will i allow my son to be lost to me in this manner," cried pricker; "and if in the blindness of his folly he has lost himself, i will bring him back with violence, if necessary, to the right path. off, then, with this absurd coat! off with this fool's cap! off with all this livery!" pricker now began to pull and tear madly at his son's clothes; he knocked his hat off, and trampled it under his feet; he seized with both hands the lace collar, and laughed when the shreds remained in his hands. william was at first dumb with terror, but the loud laugh of his sister, who found this scene amusing, restored his presence of mind; with mad violence he pushed his father from him. "father," he cried, "i am no longer a boy! i will not bear this treatment; i will dress as i like, and as the fashions demand." "well spoken, my brother," said anna, laughingly, springing to his side; "we are children of the new era, and will dress as it demands. why did our parents give us modern educations if they wished us to conform to old-fashioned prejudice?" "'honour thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long in the land which the lord thy god giveth thee,'" said pricker, solemnly. "another bible verse," said anna, mockingly. "the book is no longer fashionable; and it is not half so amusing as voltaire." "enough, enough," said pricker; "now listen to my last determination. i command you to live and dress as your father and mother have dressed before you! woe to you if you despise my commands! woe to you if you defy my authority! i will disown you--and my curse shall be your inheritance; remember this. if you ever enter that house again, or speak to any of its inhabitants--if i ever see you in this french livery again, or if you, anna, ever appear before me in a hoop robe and toupe, from that moment you cease to be my children." father and mother left the room; the brother and sister remained alone. "well," said anna, "do you intend to obey these commands? will you wear the queue and the narrow, coarse frock coat?" "nonsense," said william, "that blanche may ridicule me, and all the world may laugh at me. you do not know, anna, how much blanche and myself love each other; we have vowed eternal love and faith, and she is to be my wife!" "you will then become an honorable tailor, as your fathers were." william laughed. "i follow a trade! i who have received the education of a nobleman! no, no, anna, you are not in earnest; you cannot believe that." "take care, william, you will be disinherited; father is in earnest." "oh, he will have to submit, as old pelissier must do; he will also be furious when he first learns that i am the husband of blanche; he has threatened her with his curse if she marries me. but in spite of all this we intend to marry; they must at last be reconciled. oh, blanche is beautiful as an angel!" "nevertheless she is a tailor's daughter," said anna. "yes, like my beautiful and amiable sister anna." "but i shall become a celebrated singer, and the wife of a nobleman." "well, and who says that blanche will not be the wife of a celebrated man, and that you will not be proud of me?" "will you be a man or a woman dressmaker?" "neither one nor the other! i shall be an actor; but silence, this is my secret and i must keep it!" chapter vi. in rheinsberg. the quiet castle of rheinsberg was again alive with noise. its halls resounded with music and laughter; gay and happy faces were everywhere to be seen; bright jests to be heard on every side. the charming days of the past, when frederick was prince royal, seemed to have returned; the same company now filled the castle; the same sports and amusements were enjoyed. all was the same, yet still, every thing was changed, transformed. almost all of those who had left rheinsberg with such proud hopes, such great desires, were again there, but with annihilated hopes. they had all expected to reign; they had claimed for themselves honor and power, but the young king had allowed to none the privilege of mounting the throne by his side. they were all welcome companions, loved friends. but none dared overstep the boundary of dependence and submission which he had drawn around them, and in the centre of which he stood alone, trusting to his own strength and will. they had gained nothing from the crown which rested upon frederick's noble head; but they had lost nothing. they returned to rheinsberg not exalted, though not humbled. but one heart was broken, one heart was bleeding from unseen pain. it was the heart of elizabeth, the heart of that poor rejected woman who was called the reigning queen, the wife of frederick. the king, on returning from his excursion to strasburg, had reminded her of her promise to follow him with her court to rheinsberg. and the poor sufferer, though she knew that the presence of the king would be for her a continual torment, an hourly renunciation, could not find strength to resist the desire of her own heart. she had followed her husband, saying to herself with a painful smile: "i will at least see him, and if he does not speak to me i will still hear his voice. my sufferings will be greater, but i shall be near him. the joy will help me to bear the pain. soffri e taci!" elizabeth christine was right; the king never spoke to her, never fixed those brilliant blue eyes, which possessed for her the depth and immensity of the skies, upon her pale countenance. with a silent bow he welcomed her daily at their meals, but he did not now lead her to the table and sit beside her. the presence of the margrave and margravine of baireuth seemed to impose upon him the duty of honoring his favorite sister, who was his guest more than his wife the queen. he sat, therefore, between his sister and her husband the count, at whose side the queen was placed. he did not speak to her but she saw him, and strengthened her heart by the sight of his proud and noble countenance. she suffered and was silent. she veiled her pain by a soft smile, she concealed the paleness of her cheek with artificial bloom, she covered the furrows that care already showed in her lovely and youthful face, with black, beauty-spots which were then the fashion. no one should think that she suffered. no one should pity her, not even the king. elizabeth christine joined in all the pleasures and amusements at rheinsberg. she laughed at bielfeld's jests, at pollnitz's bright anecdotes; she listened with beaming eyes to knobelsdorf's plans for beautifying the king's residence; she took part in the preparations for a drama that was to be performed. voltaire's "death of caesar," and "the frenchman in london," by boissy, had been chosen by the king to be played at rheinsberg, and in each piece she played a prominent role. the young queen, as it seemed, had become an enthusiastic admirer of the theatre; she was never missing at any of the rehearsals, and aided her beautiful maids of honor in the arrangements of their costumes. the king was now seldom to be seen in the circle of his friends and companions, and the tones of his flute were rarely to be heard. he passed the day in his library, no one dared disturb him, not even guentz. madame von brandt, who had accompanied the court to rheinsberg, said, in one of her secret meetings with count manteuffel: "the king is unfaithful to his last sweetheart, he has abandoned and rejected his flute." "but with what does the king occupy himself the entire day?" asked the count. "what is it that takes him from his friends and fills up all his time?" "nothing but scientific studies," said madame von brandt, shrugging her shoulders. "fredersdorf told me that he busies himself with maps and plans, is surrounded by his military books, and is occupied like an engineer with astrolabes and land surveyors. you now see that these are very innocent occupations, and that they can have no influence upon our affairs. the king, i promise you, will never be more divorced from his wife than he now is; and concerning the marriage of prince augustus william, my plans are so skilfully laid that there is no danger of failure, and poor laura von pannewitz will surely be sacrificed. all is well, and we have nothing to fear from the king's innocent studies." "ah, you call these innocent studies?" said the count; "i assure you that these studies will greatly disturb the austrian court, and i must at once notify my friend seckendorf of them." "you are making a mountain of a mole hill," said madame von brandt, laughing. "i assure you, you have nothing to fear. it is true the king passes the day in his study, but he passes his evenings with us, and he is then as gay, as unconstrained, as full of wit and humor as ever. perhaps he makes use of the solitude of his study to learn his role, for to-morrow, you know, we act the 'death of caesar,' and the king is 'brutus.'" "yes, yes," said count manteuffel, thoughtfully, "it strikes me the king is playing the part of brutus; to the eye he seems harmless and gay, but who knows what dark thoughts pregnant with mischief are hid in his soul?" "you are always seeing ghosts," said madame von brandt, impatiently. "but hear! the court clock is striking six; it is high time for me to return to the castle, for at seven the last rehearsal commences, and i have still to dress." and madame von brandt hastily took leave of her ally, and ran gayly to the castle. but she had no need to dress for the rehearsal. the king was not able to act; the strong will was to-day conquered by an enemy who stands in awe of no one, not even of a king--an enemy who can vanquish the most victorious commander. frederick was ill of a fever, which had tormented him the whole summer, which had kept him from visiting amsterdam, and which confined him to his bed in the castle of moyland, while orttaire was paying his long expected visit, had again taken a powerful hold upon him and made of the king a pale, trembling man, who lay shivering and groaning upon his bed, scoffing at ellart, his physician, because he could not cure him. "there is a remedy," said ellart, "but i dare not give it to your majesty." "and why not?" said the king. "because its strength must first be tested, to see if it can be used without danger; it must first be tried by a patient upon whose life the happiness of millions does not depend." "a human life is always sacred, and if not certain of your remedy, it is as vicious to give it to a beggar as to a king." "i believe," said ellart, "as entirely in this remedy as louis the fourteenth, who bought it secretly from talbot, the englishman, and paid him a hundred napoleons for a pound. the wife of the king of spain was cured by it." "give me this remedy," said the king, with chattering teeth. "pardon me, your majesty, but i dare not, though i have a small quantity with me which was sent by a friend from paris, and which i brought to show you as a great curiosity. this tiny brown powder is a medicine which was not distilled by the apothecary, but by nature." "then i have confidence in it," said the king; "nature is the best physician, the best apothecary, and what she brews is full of divine healing power. how is this remedy called?" "it is the peruvian bark, or quinine, the bark above all barks which, by a divine providence, grows in peru, the land of fevers." but the king had not the strength to listen to him. he now lay burning with fever; a dark purple covered his cheek, and his eyes, which, but a few moments before, were dull and lustreless, now sparkled with fire. the king, overpowered by the disease, closed his eyes, and occasionally unconnected, senseless words escaped his dry, burning lips. fredersdorf now entered, and through the open door the anxious, inquiring faces of pollnitz, bielfeld, jordan, and kaiserling could be seen. on tip-toe ellart approached the private chamberlain. "how is the king?" said he, hastily. "is he in a condition to hear some important news?" "not now. wait an hour; he will then be free from fever." "we will wait," said fredersdorf to the four courtiers who had entered the room, and were now standing around the royal bed. "is it bad news? if so, i advise you to wait until tomorrow." "well, i do not believe the king will think it bad," said kaiserling, laughing. "and i am convinced the king will be well pleased with our news," said bielfeld. "i think so, because the king is a sleeping hero waiting to be roused." "if you speak so loud," whispered pollnitz, "it will be you who will wake this hero, and the thunder of his anger will fall upon you." "pollnitz is right," said jordan; "be quiet, and let us await his majesty's waking." and the group stood in silence around the couch, with eyes fixed upon the king. he at last awoke, and a smile played upon his lip as he perceived the six cavaliers. "you stand there like mourners," said he; "and to look at you one would think you were undertakers!" "ah, sire, fever does not kill like apoplexy," said jordan, approaching his friend and pressing his hand tenderly. "your majesty called us undertakers," said pollnitz, laughing. "as usual, the divine prophetic mind of our king is in the right. there is certainly a funeral odor about us." "but god forbid that we should mourn," said bielfeld, "we are much better prepared to sound the battlesong." all this passed while the physician was feeling the king's pulse, and fredersdorf was tenderly arranging his pillows. the king looked at him inquiringly. "listen, fredersdorf," said he, "what meaning have all these mysterious words and looks; why are you all so grave? is one of my dogs dead? or are you only peevish because this abominable fever has cheated you of the rehearsal?" "no, your majesty. the dogs are in excellent health." "the king's pulse is perfectly quiet," said ellart, "you can communicate your news to him." baron pollnitz approached the king's couch. "sire, one hour ago a courier arrived who was the bearer of important information." "whence came he?" said the king, calmly. "from your majesty's ambassador in vienna, count borche." "ah!" said the king, "is the empress, our noble aunt, suffering?" "the empress is perfectly well, but her husband, the emperor--" "well, why do you not continue?" said the king, impatiently. "would your majesty not wish some restorative first?" said fredersdorf; but the king pushed him angrily away. "i wish your phrase, pollnitz. what of the emperor of austria?" "sire, emperor charles the sixth is no more, he died the twentieth of october." "truly," said frederick, leaning back, "it was worth the trouble to make so much to do about such insignificant news. if the emperor is dead, maria theresa will be empress of germany, that is all. it does not concern us." he stopped and closed his eyes. the physician again felt his pulse. "it is perfectly quiet," said he; "this prodigious news has not occasioned the slightest commotion or irregularity." "you are right," said the king, looking up. "neither is the death of the emperor charles to make the slightest change in our plans, but to execute them i must be perfectly well. it must not be said that a miserable fever changed my intentions and condemned me to idleness; i must have no fever on the day the news of the emperor's death arrives, or the good people of vienna will believe that i was made ill with fright. give me that powder, ellart, i will take it." "but i told your majesty that i cannot, dare not give it to you, for i have not tried its effect yet." "then try it on me," said the king, positively. "give me the powder." it was in vain that ellart called upon the cavaliers to support his opinion; in vain that they begged and implored the king not to take the powder, not to put his life in danger. "my life is in god's hands," said the king, earnestly; "and god, who created me, created also this bark. i trust more in god's medicine than in that of man. quick, give me the powder!" and as ellart still hesitated, he continued in a stern voice: "i command you, as your king and master, to give it to me. on my head rests the responsibility." "if your majesty commands i must obey, but i take these gentlemen to witness that i but do it on compulsion." and amid the breathless silence of the room, the king took the medicine. "now your majesty must rest," said ellart; "you must, by no means, return to berlin; by my holy right of physician, i forbid it." "and why should i return to berlin?" said the king, laughingly. "why should our harmless pleasure and amusements be given up? are we not to act voltaire's 'death of caesar?' no, i will not return to berlin. a trifle such as the emperor's death should not create such great disturbances. we will remain here and renew our former happy days, and forget that we have any duty but our enjoyment. now, gentlemen, leave me, i am well. you see, ellart, i did well to take that medicine; i will dress. fredersdorf, remain here. jordan, send me secretary eichel. i must dictate a few necessary letters, and then, gentlemen, we will meet in the music room, where i am to play a duet with quantz. i invite you as audience." the king dismissed his friends with a gracious smile, jested gayly with fredersdorf, and then dictated three letters to his secretary. one was to marshal von schwerin, the other to the prince of anhalt dessau, and the third to ambassador podrilse. the three held the same words, the same command, telling them to come immediately to rheinsberg. he then entered the music room, and never was frederick so gay, so witty, and unconstrained; never did he play on his flute more beautifully than on the day he heard of the death of the emperor of germany. the following morning the three gentlemen arrived from berlin and were at once admitted into the king's library. frederick met them with a proud, happy smile; his eye beamed with an unusual light; his forehead was smooth and free from care; he seemed inspired. "the emperor of germany is dead," said he, after the gentlemen were seated. "the emperor is dead, and i have sent for you to see what benefit we can derive from his death!" "oh, your majesty would not think of benefiting by a death which throws a royal house, nearly connected with you, into deep sorrow, and robs the reigning queen of prussia of an uncle!" cried the old prince of dessau, solemnly. "oh, it is well known that you are an imperialist," said the king, laughing. "no, your majesty, but a difficulty with austria would be a great misfortune for us." frederick shrugged his shoulders, and turned to the other two. "i also wish for your opinion, gentlemen," said he; "you are all men of experience, soldiers, and statesmen, and you must not refuse to advise one of my youth and inexperience." with a quiet smile he listened to their wise, peaceful propositions. "you then doubt my right to silesia?" said he, after a pause. "you do not think i am justified in demanding this silesia, which was dishonestly torn from my ancestors by the hapsburger?" "but your ancestors still kept the peace," said the prince of dessau; "they left silesia in the undisturbed possession of the austrians." "yes," said the king, in a firm voice,--"and when my ancestors, outwitted by the cunning intrigues of the austrian court, accommodated themselves to this necessity,--when for rendered services they were rewarded with base ingratitude, with idle, unmeaning promises, then they called upon their descendants to revenge such injustice, such insults to their honor and rights. frederick william, the great elector, cried prophetically when the austrian house deserted him and denied her sworn promises--'a revenger will rise from my ashes;' and my father, when he had witnessed to the full the ingratitude of the austrian court, felt that there could be no peace between the houses of austria and brandenburg, and he intrusted to me the holy mission of punishing and humiliating this proud, conceited court; he pointed me out to his ministers, and said: 'there stands one who will revenge me!' you see that my ancestors call me, my grandfather and father chose me for their champion and revenger; they call upon me to perform that which they, prevented by circumstances, could not accomplish; the hour which my ancestors designated has arrived--the hour of retribution! the time has come when the old political system must undergo an entire change. the stone has broken loose which is to roll upon nebuchadnezzar's image and crush it. it is time to open the eyes of the austrians, and to show them that the little marquis of brandenburg, whose duty they said it was to hand the emperor after meals the napkin and finger-bowl, has become a king, who will not be humbled by the austrians, and who acknowledges none but god as his master. will you help me; will you stand by me in this work with your experience and your advice?" "we will!" cried the three, with animation, borne away by the king's noble ardor. "our life, our blood, belong to our king, our country." frederick laughingly shook hands with them. "i counted upon you," said he, "nor will zithen and vinterfeldt fail us; we will not go to battle hastily and unprepared. all was foreseen, all prepared, and we have now but to put in execution the plans that have for some time been agitating my brain. here is the map for our campaign; here are the routes and the plan of attack. we shall at last stand before these austrians in battle array; and as they dared say of my father, that his gun was ever cocked but the trigger never pulled, we will show them that we are ready to discharge, and thrust down the double eagle from its proud pinnacle. the combat is determined and unalterable; let us be silent and prudent, no one must discover our plans; we will surprise the austrians. and now, gentlemen, examine these plans, and tell me if there are any changes to be made in them." chapter vii. the king and his friend. for several hours the king remained in earnest council with his advisers. as they left him he called jordan, and advanced to meet him with both hands extended. "well, jordan, rejoice with me; my days of illness are over, and there will be life and movement in this rusty and creaking machine of state. you have often called me a bold eagle, now we shall see if my wings have strength to bear me to great deeds, and if my claws are sharp enough to pluck out the feathers of the double eagle." "so my suspicions are correct, and it is against austria that my king will make his first warlike movement?" "yes, against austria; against this proud adversary, who, with envious and jealous eyes, watches my every step; who is pleased to look upon prussia as her vassal; whose emperor considered it beneath his dignity to extend his hand to my father, or offer him a seat; and now i will refuse the hand to austria, and force her from her comfortable rest." "for you, also, my king, will the days of quiet be over; your holy and happy hours with poetry, philosophy, and the arts, must be given up. the favorite of apollo will become the son of mars; we who are left behind can only look after you, we can do nothing for you, not even offer our breasts as a shield against danger and death." "away with such thoughts," said frederick, smiling; "death awaits us all, and if he finds me on the field of battle, my friends, my subjects, and history will not forget me. that is a comfort and a hope; and you, jordan, you know that i believe in a great, exalted, and almighty being, who governs the world. i believe in god, and i leave my fate confidently in his hands. the ball which strikes me comes from him; and if i escape the battle-field, a murderous hand can reach me, even in my bed-chamber; and surely that would be a less honorable, less famous death. i must do something great, decisive, and worthy of renown, that my people may love me, and look up to me with confidence and trust. it is not enough to be a king by inheritance and birth, i must prove by my deeds that i merit it. silesia offers me a splendid opportunity, and truly i think the circumstances afford me a solid and sure basis for fame." "alas! i see," sighed jordan, "that the love of your subjects, and the enthusiastic tenderness of your friends, is not sufficient for you; you would seek renown." "yes, you are right; this glittering phantom, fame, is ever before my eyes. i know this is folly, but when once you have listened to her intoxicating whispers, you cannot cast her off. speak not, then, of exposure, or care, or danger; these are as dust of the balance; i am amazed that this wild passion does not turn every man's head." "alas! your majesty, the thirst for fame has cost thousands of men their reasons and their lives. the field of battle is truly the golden book of heroes, but their names must be written therein in blood." "it is true," said the king, thoughtfully, "a field of battle is a sad picture for a poet and a philosopher; but every man in this world must pursue his calling, and i will not do my work half way. i love war for the sake of fame. pity me not, jordan, because these days of illness and peace and gayety are over; because i must go into the rough field, while you amuse yourself with horace, study pausanias, and laugh and make merry with anacreon. i envy you not. fame beckons me with her alluring glance. my youth, the fire of passion, the thirst for renown, and a mysterious and unconquerable power, tears me from this life of indolence. the glowing desire to see my name connected with great deeds in the journals and histories of the times drives me out into the battle-field.[ ] there will i earn the laurel-wreaths which kings do not find in their cradles, or upon their throne, but which as men, and as heroes, they must conquer for themselves." [ ] the king's own words. "the laurel will deck the brow of my hero, my frederick, in all time," said jordan, with tears in his eyes. "oh! i see before you a glorious future; it may be i shall have passed away--but where will my spirit be? when i stand near you and look upon you, i know that the spirit is immortal. the soul, noble and god-like, will be ever near you; so whether living or dead i am thine, to love you as my friend, to honor you as my sovereign, to admire you as a gifted genius, glowing with godly fire." "oh, speak not of death," said the king, "speak not of death; i have need of you, and it seems to me that true friendship must be strong enough even to conquer death! yes, jordan, we have need of each other, we belong to each other; and it would be cruel, indeed, to rob me of a treasure which we, poor kings, so rarely possess, a faithful and sincere friend. no, jordan, you will be my cicero to defend the justice of my cause, and i will be your caesar to carry out the cause happily and triumphantly." jordan was speechless; he shook his head sadly. the king observed him anxiously, and saw the deep, feverish purple spots, those roses of the grave, upon the hollow cheeks of his friend; he saw that he grew daily weaker; he heard the hot, quick breathing which came panting from his breast. a sad presentiment took possession of his heart, the smile vanished from his lips, he could not conceal his emotion, and walking to the window he leaned his hot brow upon the glass and shed tears which none but god should see. "my god! my god! how poor is a prince! i have so few friends, and these will soon pass away. suhm lies ill in marschau; perhaps i shall never see him again. jordan is near me, but i see death in his face and he will soon be torn from my side." jordan stood immovable and looked toward the king, who still leaned his head upon the window; he did not dare to disturb him, and yet he had important and sad news to announce. at last jordan laid his hand upon his shoulder. "pardon, my king," said he, in trembling tones, "pardon that i dare to interrupt you; but a hero dare not give himself up to sad thoughts before the battle, and when he thinks of death he must greet him with laughter, for death is his ally and his adjutant; and even if his ally grasps his nearest and best beloved friend, the hero and the conqueror must yield him up as an offering to victory." the king turned quickly toward the speaker. "you have death news to give me," said he curtly, leaning against the back of his chair. "you have death news for me, jordan." "yes, news of death, my prince," said he, deeply moved; "fate will accustom your majesty to such trials, that your heart may not falter when your friends fall around you in the day of battle." "it is, then, a friend who is dead," said frederick, turning pale. "yes, sire, your best beloved." the king said nothing; sinking in the chair, and grasping the arms convulsively, he leaned his head back, and in a low voice asked, "is it suhm?" "yes, it is suhm; he died in marschau. here is his last letter to your highness; his brother sent it to me, that i might hand it to your majesty." the king uttered a cry of anguish, and clasped his hands before his pallid face. great tears ran down his cheeks; with a hasty movement he shook them from his eyes, opened and read the letter. as he read it he sighed and sobbed aloud: "suhm is dead! suhm is dead! the friend who loved me so sincerely, even as i loved him. that noble man, who combined intellect, sincerity, and sensibility. my heart is in mourning for him; so long as a drop of blood flows in my veins i will remember him, and his family shall be mine. ah, my heart bleeds, and the wound is deep." the king, mastered by his grief, laid his head in his hand and wept aloud. then, after a long pause, he raised himself; he was calm and stern. "jordan," said he, firmly, "death hath no more power over me, never again can he wring my heart; he has laid an iron shield upon me, and when i go to battle i must be triumphant; my friend has been offered up as a victim. jordan, jordan, my wound bleeds, but i will bind it up, and no man shall see even the blood-stained cloth with which i cover it. i have overcome death, and now will i offer battle and conquer as become a hero, and a king. what cares the world that i suffer? the world shall know nothing of it; a mask before my face, and silence as to my agony. we will laugh and jest while we sorrow for our friend, and while we prepare to meet the enemy. we will play caesar and antonius now; hereafter we may really imitate them. come, jordan, come, we will try 'the death of caesar.'" chapter viii. the farewell audience of marquis von botter, the austrian ambassador. this was to be a fete day in the royal palace of berlin. the king intended giving a splendid dinner, after which the court would take coffee in the newly furnished rooms of the dowager queen, and a mask ball was prepared for the evening, to which the court, the nobility, and higher officials were invited. the court mourning for the emperor was at an end, and every one was determined to enjoy the pleasures of the carnival. never had the court led so gay, so luxurious a life. even the good old citizens of berlin seemed to appreciate this new administration, which brought so much money to the poorer classes, such heavy profits to tradesmen. they believed that this extravagant court brought them greater gains than an economical one, and were therefore contented with this new order of things. the king had refurnished the palace with an unheard of splendor. in the apartment of the queen-mother there was a room in which all the ornaments and decorations were of massive gold. even the french and english ambassadors were astonished at this "golden cabinet," and declared that such splendor and magnificence could not be found in the palaces of paris or london. the people of berlin, as we have said, were becoming proud of their court and their king, and they thought it quite natural that this young ruler, who was only twenty-eight years old, should interest himself very little in the affairs of state, and should give his time to pleasure and amusement. the king had accomplished his desire. no one suspected the deep seriousness that he concealed under this idle play. no one dreamed that this gay, smiling prince, on whose lips there was always a witty jest or bon mot; who proposed a concert every evening, in which he himself took part; who surrounded himself with artists, poets, and gay cavaliers, with whom he passed many nights of wild mirth and gayety--no one dreamed that this harmless, ingenuous young prince, was on the point of overthrowing the existing politics of the european states, and of giving an entirely new form to the whole of germany. the king had not raised his mask for a moment; he had matured his plans under the veil of inviolate secrecy. the moment of their accomplishment had now arrived; this evening, during the mask ball which had been prepared with such pomp and splendor, the king with his regiments would leave berlin and proceed to silesia. but even the troops did not know their destination. the journals had announced that the army would leave berlin to go into new winter quarters, and this account was generally believed. only a few confidants, and the generals who were to accompany the king, were acquainted with this secret. the king, after a final conference, in which he gave the last instructions and orders, said: "now, gentlemen, that we have arranged our business, we will think of our pleasure. i will see you this evening at the ball; we will dance once more with the ladies before we begin our war-dance." as the generals left him, his servant entered to assist at his toilet. pelissier, the french tailor, had prepared a new and magnificent costume for this evening, made in the latest parisian style. the king desired to appear once more in great splendor before exchanging the saloon for the camp. never had he bestowed such care upon his toilet; never had he remained so patiently under the hands of the barber; he even went to the large mirror when his toilet was completed, and carefully examined his appearance and costly dress. "well," he said, smiling, "if the marquis von botter is not deceived by this dandy that i see before me, it is not my fault. the good austrian ambassador must be very cunning indeed if he discovers a warrior in this perfumed fop. i think he will be able to tell my cousin, maria theresa, nothing more than that the king of prussia knows how to dress himself, and is the model of fashion." the king passed into the rooms of the queen-mother, where the court was assembled, and where he had granted a farewell audience to the marquis von botter, the ambassador of the youthful empress of austria. frederick was right: the marquis had been deceived by the mask of harmless gayety and thoughtless happiness assumed by the king and court. he had been sent by the empress with private instructions to sound the intentions of the prussian king, while his apparent business was to return her acknowledgments for the congratulations of the king of prussia on her ascension to the throne. the marquis von botter, as we have said, had been deceived by the gay and thoughtless manner of the king, and manteuffel's warnings and advice had been thrown away. the marquis had withdrawn with manteuffel to one of the windows, to await the entrance of the king; the ladies and gentlemen of the court were scattered through the rooms of the queen-mother, who was playing cards with queen christine in the golden cabinet. "i leave berlin," said the marquis, "with the firm conviction that the king has the most peaceful intentions." "as early as to-morrow your convictions will be somewhat shaken," replied manteuffel, "for this night the king and his army depart for silesia." at this moment the king appeared at the door of the golden cabinet. there was a sudden silence, and all bent low, bowing before the brilliant young monarch. frederick bowed graciously, but remained in the doorway, glancing over the saloon; it appeared to afford him a certain pleasure to exhibit himself to the admiring gaze of those present. he stood a living picture of youth, beauty, and manliness. "only look at this richly-dressed, elegant young man," whispered marquis von botter; "look at his youthful countenance, beaming with pleasure and delight; at his hands, adorned with costly rings, so white and soft, that they would do honor to the most high-bred lady; at that slender foot, in its glittering shoe. do you wish to convince me that this small foot will march to battle; that this delicate hand, which is only fitted to hold a smelling-bottle or a pen, will wield a sword? oh! my dear count, you make me merry with your gloomy prophecies." "still i entreat you to believe me. as soon as your audience is over, hasten to your hotel, and return to vienna with all possible speed; allow yourself no hour of sleep, no moment for refreshment, until you have induced your empress to send her army to silesia. if you do not, if you despise my advice, the king of prussia will reach silesia before you are in vienna, and the empress will receive this intelligence which you do not credit from the fleeing inhabitants of her province, which will have been conquered without a blow." the deep earnestness of the count had in it something so impressive, so convincing, that the marquis felt his confidence somewhat shaken, and looked doubtfully at the young monarch, who was now smiling and conversing with some of the ladies. but even in speaking the king had not lost sight of these two gentlemen who were leaning against the window, and whose thoughts he read in their countenances. he now met the eye of the marquis, and motioned to him to come forward. the marquis immediately approached the king, who stood in the centre of the saloon, surrounded by his generals. every eye was turned toward the glittering group, in which the young king was prominent: for those to whom the intentions of the king were known, this was an interesting piece of acting; while for the uninitiated, who had only an uncertain suspicion of what was about to happen, this was a favorable moment for observation. the austrian ambassador now stood before the king, making a deep and ceremonious bow. the king returned this salutation, and said: "you have really come to take leave, marquis?" "sire, her majesty, my honored empress, recalls me, and i must obey her commands, happy as i should be, if i were privileged, to sun myself still longer in your noble presence." "it is true, a little sunshine would be most beneficial to you, marquis. you will have a cold journey." "ah! your majesty, the cold is an evil that could easily be endured." "there are, then, other evils which will harass you on your journey?" "yes, sire, there is the fearful road through silesia, that lamentable austrian province. ah! your majesty, this is a road of which in your blessed land you have no idea, and which is happily unknown in the other austrian provinces. this poor silesia has given only care and sorrow to the empress; but, perhaps, for that reason, she loves it so well, and would so gladly assist it. but even nature seems to prevent the accomplishment of her noble intentions. heavy rains have destroyed the roads which had, with great expense, been rendered passable, and i learn, to my horror, that it is scarcely possible for a traveller to pass them without running the greatest danger." "well," said the king, quietly, "i imagine that nothing could happen to the traveller that could not be remedied by a bath and a change of dress." "excuse me, sire," cried the marquis, eagerly, "he would risk his health, yes, even his life, in crossing the deep marshes, covered with standing water, which are common in that country. oh! those are to be envied who need not expose themselves to this danger." the king was wearied with this crafty diplomatic play; he was tired of the piercing glances with which the ambassador examined his countenance. in the firm conviction of his success, and the noble pride of his open and truth-loving nature, it pleased him to allow the mask to fall, which had concealed his heroic and warlike intentions from the marquis. the moment of action had arrived; it was, therefore no longer necessary to wear the veil of secrecy. "well, sir," said the king, in a loud, firm voice, "if you feel so great a dread of this journey, i advise you to remain in berlin. i will go in your place into silesia, and inform my honored cousin, maria theresa, with the voice of my cannon, that the silesian roads are too dangerous for an austrian, but are most convenient for the king of prussia to traverse on his way to breslau." "your majesty intends marching to breslau?" asked the horrified marquis. "yes, sir, to breslau; and as you remarked, the roads are too dangerous for a single traveller, and i intend taking my army with me to protect my carriage." "oh!" exclaimed the marquis, "your majesty intends making a descent on the lands of my exalted sovereign?" the king glanced proudly and scornfully at this daring man. an involuntary murmur arose among the courtiers; the hands of the generals sought their swords, as if they would challenge this presumptuous austrian, who dared to reproach the king of prussia. the king quieted his generals with a slight motion of his hand, and turning again to the marquis, he said, composedly, "you express yourself falsely, marquis. i will make no descent upon the lands of the empress of austria; i will only reclaim what is mine--mine by acknowledged right, by inheritance, and by solemn contract. the records of this claim are in the state department of austria, and the empress need only read these documents to convince herself of my right to the province of silesia." "your majesty, by this undertaking, may, perhaps, ruin the house of austria, but you will most certainly destroy your own." "it depends upon the empress to accept or reject the propositions which i have made to her through my ambassador in vienna." the marquis glanced ironically at the king, and said, "sire, your troops are fair to see; the austrian army has not that glittering exterior, but they are veterans who have already stood fire." "you think my troops are showy," he said, impetuously; "eh bien, i will convince you that they are equally brave." thus speaking, the king gave the austrian ambassador a bow of dismissal. the audience was at an end. the ambassador made a ceremonious bow, and left the room, amid profound silence. scarcely had the door closed behind him before the noble countenance of the king had recovered its usual calm and lofty expression. he said gayly: "mesdames et messieurs, it is time to prepare for the mask ball; i have thrown aside my mask for a moment, but you, doubtless, think it time to assume yours. farewell until then." chapter ix. the masquerade. the saloons were brilliantly illuminated, and a train of gayly intermingled, fantastically attired figures were moving to and fro in the royal palace. it seemed as if the representatives of all nations had come together to greet the heroic young king. greeks and turks were there in gold-embroidered, bejewelled apparel. odalisks, spanish, russian, and german peasant women in every variety of costume; glittering fairies, sorceresses, and fortune-telling gypsies; grave monks, ancient knights in silver armor, castle dames, and veiled nuns. it was a magnificent spectacle to behold, these splendidly decorated saloons, filled with so great a variety of elegant costumes; and had it not been for the lifeless, grinning, and distorted faces, one might have imagined himself transported to elysium, where all nations and all races are united in unclouded bliss. but the cold, glittering masks which concealed the bright faces, sparkling with animation and pleasure, somewhat marred the effect of this spectacle, and recalled the enraptured spectator to the present, and to the stern reality. only in the last of these saloons was there an unmasked group. in this room sat the two queens, glittering with gems, for it was no longer necessary for sophia dorothea to conceal her jewels; without fear she could now appear before her court in her magnificent diamonds; and elizabeth christine, who knew well that her husband loved to see his queen appear in a magnificence befitting her dignity on festive occasions, had adorned herself with the exquisite jewelry which excited the admiration of the entire court, and which baron bielfeld declared to be a perfect miracle of beauty. next to the two queens and the princesses ulrica and amelia, stood the king in his magnificent ball costume. behind the royal family stood their suite, holding their masks in their hands, for all were required to uncover their faces on entering the room in which the royal family were seated. the king and the queen were about to fulfil the promises they had made each other; sophia dorothea was about to receive count neal, while the king was to welcome the recently married countess rhedern to court. the loud and ironical voice of the master of ceremonies, baron pollnitz, had just announced to the royal family the arrival of count and countess rhedern and count neal, and they were now entering the saloon, the sanctuary which was only open to the favored and privileged, only to those of high birth, or those whose offices required them to be near the king's person. no one else could enter this saloon without special invitation. the newly-made countess rhedern made her entrance on the arm of her husband. her face was perfectly tranquil and grave; an expression of determination rested on her features, which, although no longer possessing the charm of youth and beauty, were still interesting. her countenance was indicative of energy and decision. an expression of benevolence played around her large but well-formed mouth; and her dark eyes, which were not cast down, but rested quietly on the royal family, expressed so much spirit and intelligence that it was evident she was no ordinary woman, but a firm and resolute one, who had courage to challenge fate, and, if necessary, to shape her own destiny. but the proud and imperious queen sophia dorothea felt disagreeably impressed by the earnest glances with which the countess regarded her. if she had approached her tremblingly, and with downcast eyes, crushed, as it were, by the weight of this unheard-of condescension on the part of royalty, the queen would have been inclined to pardon her want of birth, and to forget her nameless descent: but the quiet and unconstrained bearing of the newly created countess enraged her. moreover, she felt offended by the elegant and costly toilet of the countess. the long silver-embroidered train, fastened to her shoulders with jewelled clasps, was of a rarer and more costly material than even the robe of the queen; the diadem, necklace, and jewelled bracelets could rival the parure of the queen, and the latter experienced almost a sensation of envy at the sight of the large fan which the countess held half open in her hand, and with which the queen had nothing that could compare. the fan was of real chinese workmanship, and ornamented with incomparable carvings in ivory, and beautiful paintings. the queen acknowledged the thrice-repeated courtesy of countess rhedern, with a slight inclination of the head only, while queen elizabeth christine greeted her with a gracious smile. the king, who noticed the cloud gathering on his mother's brow, and very well knew its cause, was amused to see the queen-mother, who had so warmly advocated the reception of countess rhedern at court, now receive her so coldly; and wishing to jest with his mother on the subject of this short-lived fancy, he greeted the countess very graciously, and turning to his mother, said: "you have done well, madame, to invite this beautiful countess to court; she will be a great acquisition, a great ornament." "a great ornament," repeated sophia dorothea, who now considered the quiet and unconstrained bearing of the countess as disrespectful to herself; and fixing her proud and scornful glances upon her as she contemptuously repeated the king's words, she said: "what a singular train you wear!" "it is of indian manufacture," said the countess, quietly; "my father is connected with several mercantile houses in holland, and from one of these i obtained the curious cloth which has attracted your majesty's attention." sophia dorothea reddened with shame and indignation. this woman had the audacity not only not to be ashamed of her past life, over which she should have drawn a veil, but she dared in this brilliant company, in the presence of two queens, to speak of her father's business relations--even while the queen magnanimously wished to forget, and veil the obscurity of her birth. "ah!" said the queen-mother, "you wear an article from your father's shop! truly, a convenient and ingenious mode of advertising your father's goods; and hereafter when we regard countess rhedern, we will know what is her father's latest article of trade." the smile which the queen perceived upon the lips of her suite was a sufficient reward for her cruel jest. the eyes of all were scornfully fixed upon the countess, whose husband stood at her side, pale and trembling, and with downcast eyes. but the young countess remained perfectly composed. "pardon me, your majesty," said she, in a full, clear voice, "for daring to contradict you, but my father's business is too well known to need any such advertisement." "well, then, in what does he deal?" said the queen, angrily. "your majesty," said the countess, bowing respectfully, "my father's dealings are characterized by wisdom, honor, generosity, and discretion." the queen's eyes flashed; a shopkeeper's daughter had dared to justify herself before the queen, and to defy and scoff at her anger. she arose proudly. she wished to annihilate this newly-created countess with her withering contempt. but the king, who perceived the signs of a coming storm upon his mother's brow, determined to prevent this outbreak. it wounded his noble and generous soul to see a poor, defenceless woman tormented in this manner. he was too noble-minded to take offence at the quiet and composed bearing of the countess, which had excited his mother's anger. in her display of spirit and intelligence, he forgot her lowly birth, and laying his hand gently upon his mother's shoulder he said, with a smile: "does not your majesty think that countess rhedern does honor to her birth? her father deals in wisdom, honor, and generosity. well, it seems to me that countess rhedern has inherited these noble qualities. my dear countess, i promise you my patronage, and will ever be a devoted customer of your house if you prove worthy of your father." "that i can promise your majesty," said the countess, an expression of proud delight flitting over her countenance, and almost rendering it beautiful; "and will your majesty have the kindness, at some future time," said she, taking her husband's arm, "to convince yourself that the house of rhedern and company, to which your majesty has so graciously promised his patronage, is in a condition to satisfy his requirements?" the queen-mother could hardly suppress a cry of anger and indignation. the countess had dared to give the king an invitation. she had committed a breach of etiquette which could only be accounted for by the most absolute ignorance, or the greatest impertinence, and one which the king would assuredly punish. but sophia dorothea was mistaken. bowing low, the king said, with that kindliness of manner which was peculiar to himself: "i will take the very first opportunity of paying your establishment a visit." sophia dorothea was very near fainting; she could stand this scene no longer; and giving herself up entirely to her anger, she was guilty of the same fault which the countess had committed through ignorance. forgetful of etiquette, she assumed a right which belonged to the reigning king and queen alone. arising hastily from her seat, she said, impatiently: "i think it is time we should join the dancers. do you not find the music very beautiful and enticing? let us go." the king smilingly laid his hand on her arm. "you forget, madame, that there is another happy man who longs to bask in the sunshine of your countenance. you forget, madame, that count neal is to have the honor of an introduction." the queen gave her son one of those proud, resigned, and reproachful looks which she had been in the habit of directing toward frederick william during her wedded life. she felt conquered, humbled, and powerless. the imperious expression fled from her brow, and found refuge in her eyes only. "and this, too!" murmured she, sinking back on her seat. she barely heard count neal's introduction. she acknowledged his respectful greeting with a slight inclination of the head, and remained silent. the king, who to-day seemed to be in a conciliatory mood, again came to the rescue. "madame," said he, "count neal is indeed an enviable man; he has seen what we will probably never see. he has been in the lovely, luxurious, and dreamy south; he has seen the sun of india; he was governor of surinam." "pardon me, your majesty," said the count, proudly; "i was not only governor, but vice-regent." "ah," said the king, "and what are the prerogatives of a vice-regent?" "i was there esteemed as your majesty is here. the governor of surinam is approached with the same submission, humility, and devotion, he enjoys the same homage as the king of prussia." "ah, you are then an equal of the king of prussia? baron pollnitz, you have been guilty of a great oversight; you have forgotten to provide a seat for my brother, the king of surinam. you must be indulgent this time, my dear brother, but at the next ball we will not forget that you are a vice-regent of surinam, and woe to the baron if he does not then provide a chair!" he then took his mother's arm, and signing to prince augustus william to follow him with the reigning queen, proceeded to the ball-room. on arriving there he released his mother's arm and said: "if agreeable to you, we will lay aside etiquette for a short time and mingle with the dancers." and without awaiting an answer, the king bowed and hurried off into the adjoining room, followed by pollnitz. he there assumed a domino and mask. the entire court followed the king's example. the prince, and even the reigning queen, took advantage of his permission. the queen was deserted by her suite, and left almost entirely alone in the large saloon. her marshal, count rhedern, his wife, and the page who held her train, were the only persons who remained. sophia dorothea heaved a deep sigh; she felt that she was no longer a queen, but a poor widow who had vacated the throne. happily, countess rhedern, the wife of her marshal, was still there; upon her she could at least vent her rage. "madame," said she, looking angrily at the countess "your train is too long; you should have brought some of the lads from your father's store to carry this train for you, in order that it might be more minutely examined." the countess bowed. "your majesty must pardon me for not having done so, but my father's assistants are not at my disposal. but perhaps we can find a remedy if your majesty really thinks i need a train-bearer. i suggest that some of my father's principal debtors should fill this place. i believe these gentlemen would willingly carry my train if my father would grant them a respite. if your majesty agrees to this proposition, i shall at once select two of your noblest cavaliers for my train-bearers, and will then no longer put your brilliant court to shame." the queen did not reply; she cast an angry glance at the quiet and composed countess, and then walked quietly toward the throne, around which the royal family had now assembled. chapter x. the maskers. the king, with the assistance of pollnitz, had now completed his toilet; he did not wish to be recognized, and his dress was similar to hundreds of others who were wandering through the rooms. "do you think i will be known?" "no, sire, it is not possible. now have the goodness to push your mask slightly over your eyes; they might perhaps betray you." "well, these eyes will soon see some curious things. did you ever stand upon a battle-field as a conqueror, surrounded by corpses, all your living enemies having fled before you?" "heaven in its mercy preserve me from such a sight! my enemies, sire, have never fled from me; they chase me and threaten me, and it is of god's great mercy that i have always escaped them." "who are these pursuing enemies of yours?" "they are my creditors, your majesty, and you may well believe that they are more terrible to me than a battle-field of corpses. unhappily, they still live, and the fiends torment me." "well, pollnitz, after i have seen my first battle-field, in the condition i have just described to you, and returned home victorious, i will assist you to kill off your rapacious enemies. until then keep bravely on the defensive. come, let us go, i have only half an hour left for pleasure." the king opened the door of the cabinet, and, jesting merrily, he mingled with the crowd, while pollnitz remained near the door, and cast a searching glance around the room. presently a mocking smile flitted over his face, and he said to himself: "there, there are all three of them. there is the modestly dressed nun who would not be recognized as madame von morien. there is the king of cards, manteuffel, who is not yet aware that a quick eye has seen his hand, and his trumps are all in vain. there at last is madame von brandt, 'the gypsy,' telling fortunes, and having no presentiment of the fate awaiting herself. a little scrap of paper carelessly lost and judiciously used by the lucky finder is quite sufficient to unmask three of the worldly wise." "well, baron," whispered the nun, "will you fulfil your promise?" "dear madame von morien," replied pollnitz, shrugging his shoulders, "the king expressly commanded me not to betray him." "pollnitz," said the nun, with a tearful voice, "have pity upon me; tell me the disguise of the king; you shall not only have my eternal gratitude--but look, i know you love diamonds; see this costly pin, which i will give for the news i crave." "it is impossible for poor, weak human nature to resist you," said pollnitz, stretching out his hand eagerly for the pin; "diamonds have a convincing eloquence, and i must submit; the king has a blue domino embroidered with silver cord, a white feather is fastened in his hat with a ruby pin, and his shoe-buckles are of rubies and diamonds." "thank you," said the nun, handing the pin and mingling hastily with the crowd. while pollnitz was fastening the pin in his bosom, the king of cards approached, and laid his hand on his shoulder. "well, baron, you see i am punctual; answer the questions of yesterday, and i will give you all the information necessary to secure you a rich and lovely wife." "i accept the terms. you wish to know what route the king will take and the number of his troops: this paper contains the information you desire; i obtained it from a powerful friend, one of the confidential servants of the king. i had to pay a thousand crowns for it; you see i did not forget you." "well, here is a draft for four thousand crowns," said manteuffel; "you see i did not forget your price." "and now for the rich and lovely wife." "listen. in nuremberg i am acquainted with a rich family, who have but one fair daughter; she will inherit a million. the family is not noble, but they wish to marry their daughter to a prussian cavalier. i have proposed you, and you are accepted; you have only to go to nuremberg and deliver these letters; you will be received as a son, and immediately after the wedding you will come into possession of a million." "a million is not such a large sum after all," said pollnitz. "if i must marry a citizen in order to obtain a fortune i know a girl here who is young, lovely, and much in love with me, and i think she has not less than a million." "well, take the letters; you can consider the subject. au revoir, my dear baron. oh, i forgot one other small stipulation connected with your marriage with the nuremberger; the family is protestant, and will not accept a catholic for their rich daughter; so you will have to become a protestant." "well, that is a small affair. i was once a protestant, and i think i was just as good as i am now." manteuffel laughed heartily, and withdrew. pollnitz looked thoughtfully at the letters, and considered the question of the nuremberg bride. "i believe anna pricker has at least a million, and old pricker lies very ill from the shock of his wife's sudden death. if our plan succeeds, and anna becomes a great singer, she will have powerful influence with the king; and it will be forgotten that she is a tailor's daughter. i believe i would rather have anna than the nuremberger, but i will keep the latter in reserve." pollnitz had reached this point in his meditations, when the gypsy stood before him; she greeted him with roguish words, and he was again the thoughtless and giddy cavalier. madame von brandt, however, had but little time for jesting. "you promised to give me information of the letter i lost at the last court festival," she said, anxiously. "yes, that very important letter, ruinously compromising two ladies and a nobleman. i suppose you would obtain the letter at any sacrifice?" "yes, at any sacrifice," said madame von brandt. "you asked a hundred louis d'ors for the letter; i have brought them with me; take them--now give me the letter." the baron took the money and put it in his pocket. "well, the letter, let me have it quickly," said madame von brandt. pollnitz hunted through his pockets anxiously. "my god!" he cried, "this letter has wings. i know i put it in my pocket, and it has disappeared; perhaps like yourself i lost it in the saloon; i must hasten to seek it." he wished to go immediately, but madame von brandt held him back. "have the goodness to give me my money until you have found the letter," she cried, trembling with rage. "your money?" cried pollnitz; "you gave me no money. why do you keep me? allow me to go and seek this important letter." he tore himself from her and mingled with the crowd. madame von brandt looked after him in speechless rage; she leaned against the wall, to prevent herself from falling. pollnitz laughed triumphantly. "this evening has brought me a thousand crowns, two hundred louis d'ors, a splendid diamond pin, and the promise of a rich wife. i think i may be content. through these intrigues i have enough to live on for months. i stand now high in the king's favor, and who knows, perhaps he may now give me a house, not the house in the jager street--that is, alas, no longer vacant. i see the king--i must hasten to him." suddenly he heard his name called, and turning he saw a lady in a black domino, the hood drawn over her head, and her face covered with an impenetrable veil. "baron pollnitz, a word with you, if you please," and slightly motioning with her hand, she passed before him. pollnitz followed her, curious to know his last petitioner, but the dark domino covered her completely. they had now reached a quiet window; the lady turned and said: "baron pollnitz, you are said to be a noble and gallant cavalier, and i am sure you will not refuse a lady a favor." "command me, madame," said pollnitz, with his eternal smile. "i will do all in my power." "make known to me the costume of the king." the baron stepped back in angry astonishment. "so, my beautiful mask, you call that a favor; i must betray his majesty to you. he has forbidden me positively to make known his costume to any one; you cannot desire me to be guilty of such a crime!" "i implore you to tell me," cried the mask; "it is not from idle curiosity that i desire to know: i have an ardent but innocent desire to say a few words to the king before he leaves for the wars, from which he may never return." in the excitement of deep feeling, the mask spoke in her natural voice, and there were certain tones which pollnitz thought he recognized; he must be certain, however, before speaking; he drew nearer, and gazing piercingly at the lady, he said. "you say, madame, that it is not in idle curiosity that you desire to know the costume of the king. how do i know that you do not entertain dangerous designs? how do i know but you are an enemy, corrupted by austria, and wish to lead the king to his destruction?" "the only security i can offer is the word of a noble lady who never told an untruth. god omnipotent, god omnipresent knows that my heart beats with admiration, reverence, and love for the king. i would rather die than bring him into danger." "will you swear that?" "i swear!" cried the lady, raising her arm solemnly toward heaven. pollnitz followed all her movements watchfully, and as the long sleeve of the domino fell back, he saw a bracelet of emeralds and diamonds, which he recognized; there was but one lady at the prussian court who possessed such a bracelet, and that was the reigning queen. pollnitz was too old a courtier to betray the discovery he had made; he bowed quietly to the lady, who, discovering her imprudence, lowered her arm, and drew her sleeve tightly over it. "madame," said the baron, "you have taken a solemn oath and i am satisfied; i will grant your request, but, as i gave my word of honor to tell no one the costume of his majesty, i must show it to you. i am now going to seek the king; i shall speak with no one but him; therefore the domino before whom i bow and whom i address will be the king; follow me." "i thank you," said the lady, drawing her domino closely over her; "i shall remember this hour gratefully, and if it is ever in my power to serve you, i shall do so." "this is indeed a most fortunate evening! i have earned money and diamonds and the favor of the queen, who up to this time has looked upon me with cold dislike." pollnitz approached the king and bowed low; the lady stood behind, marking well the costume of his majesty. "i have waited a long time for pollnitz," said the king. "sire, i had to wait for three masks; i have seen them all--madame von morien, madame von brandt, and baron von manteuffel. the baron remains true to his character; he is in the costume of the king of cards." "and madame von morien?" asked the king. "she is here as a nun, and burns with desire to speak with your majesty; and if you will step into the dark saloon, i do not doubt the repentant nun will quickly follow you." "well, what is the costume of madame von brandt?" "a gypsy, sire; a yellow skirt, with a red bodice embroidered in gold; a little hat studded with diamonds and a beauty spot on the left temple. she wished me to give her the letter i found, and i sold it to her for two hundred louis d'ors." "you had not the letter, however, and could not receive the money?" "pardon, your majesty, i took the louis d'ors, and then discovered that i had lost the letter, i came to seek it." the king laughed heartily, and said: "pollnitz, pollnitz, it is a blessed thing for the world that you are not married; your boys would be consummate rascals! did you give manteuffel the plan of the campaign and the number of the troops?" "yes, sire, i did; and the baron was so charmed that he made me a present of four thousand crowns! i took them, for appearance' sake; your majesty must decide what i must do with them." "keep the reward of your iniquity, baron. you hare a superb talent for thieving, and i would prefer you should practise it on the austrians to practising it on myself. go now, and see that i find my uniform in the cabinet." the king mingled again with the crowd, and was not recognized, but laughed and jested with them merrily as man to man. chapter xi. reward and punishment. suddenly the king ceased his cheerful laughter and merry jests: he had for the moment forgotten that he had any thing to do but amuse himself; he had forgotten that he was here to judge and to punish. frederick was standing by the once dearly loved count manteuffel, and as his eye fell upon him he was recalled to himself. "ah! i was looking for you," said the king, laying his hand upon the count's shoulder; "you were missing from my game, dear king of cards, but now that i have you, i shall win." the count had too good an ear not to recognize the king's voice in spite of its disguise; but he was too nice a diplomatist to betray his discovery by word or look. "what game do you wish to play with me, mask?" said he, following the king into an adjoining and unoccupied room. "a new game, the game of war!" said the king, harshly. "the game of war," repeated the count; "i have never heard of that game." the king did not answer at once; he was walking hastily up and down the room. "count," said he, stopping before manteuffel, "i am your friend. i wish to give you some good advice. leave berlin to-night, and never return to it!" "why do you advise this?" said the count, coolly. "because otherwise you are in danger of being imprisoned as a traitor and hung as a spy! make no answer; attempt no defence. i am your friend, but i am also the friend of the king. i would guard you from a punishment, though a just one; and i would also guard him from embarrassment and vexation. the king does not know that you are an austrian spy, in the pay of the imperial court. may he never know it! he once loved you; and his anger would be terrible if informed of your perfidy. yes, count manteuffel, this prince was young, inexperienced and trusting; he believed in your love and gave you his heart. let us spare his youth; let us spare him the humiliation of despising and punishing the man he once loved. oh, my god! it is hard to trample a being contemptuously under foot whom you once pressed lovingly to your heart. the king is gentle and affectionate: he is not yet sufficiently hardened to bear without pain the blows inflicted by a faithless friend. a day may come when the work of such friends, when your work, may be accomplished, when king frederick will wear about his heart a coat-of-mail woven of distrust; but, as i said, that time has not come. do not await it, count, for then the king would be inexorable toward you; he would look upon you only as a spy and a traitor! hasten, then, with flying steps from berlin." "but how, if i remain and attempt to defend myself?" said the count, timidly. "do not attempt it; it would be in vain. for in the same moment that you attempted to excuse yourself, the king would hear of your cunning, your intrigues, your bribery, and your treachery; he would know that you corresponded with his cook; that madame von brandt kept a journal for you, which you sent to the austrian court, and for which you paid her a settled sum; he would know that you watched his every word and step, and sold your information for austrian gold! no, no, dare not approach the king. a justification is impossible. leave here to-night, and never dare to tread again on prussian soil! remember i am your friend; as such i address you." "you then advise me to go at once, without taking leave of the king?" said the count, who could not now conceal his embarrassment. "i do! i command you," said the king; "i command you to leave this castle on the spot! silently, without a word or sign, as beseems a convicted criminal! i command you to leave berlin to-night. it matters not to me where yon go--to hell, if it suits your fancy." the count obeyed silently, without a word; to the king he bowed and left the room. the king gazed after him till he was lost in the crowd. "and through such men as that we lose our trust and confidence in our race; such men harden our hearts," said he to himself. "is that then true which has been said by sages of all times, that princes are condemned to live solitary and joyless lives; that they can never possess a friend disinterested and magnanimous enough to love them for themselves, and not for their power and glory? if so, why give our hearts to men? let us love and cherish our dogs, who are true and honest, and love their masters whether they are princes or beggars. ah, there is manteuffel's noble friend, that coquettish little gypsy; we will for once change the usual order of things: i will prophesy to her, instead of receiving her prophecies." the king approached and whispered: "pollnitz has found the precious letter, and is anxious to return it to you." "where is he?" said the gypsy, joyously. "follow me," said frederick, leading her to the same room where he had dismissed manteuffel. "here we are, alone and unnoticed," said the king, "and we can gossip to our heart's content." madame von brandt laughed: "two are needed for a gossip," said she; "and how do you know that i am in the humor for that? you led me here by speaking of a letter which baron pollnitz was to give me, but i see neither pollnitz nor the letter!" "pollnitz gave it to me to hand to you; but before i give it up i will see if i have not already learned something of your art, and if i cannot prophesy as well as yourself. give me your hand: i will tell your fortune." madame von brandt silently held out her trembling hand; she had recognized the voice; she knew it was the king who stood by her side. the king studied her hand without touching it. "i see wonderful things in this small hand. in this line it is written that you are a dangerous friend, a treacherous subject, and a cruel flirt." "can you believe this?" said she, with a forced laugh. "i do not only believe it, i know it. it is written in bold, imperishable characters upon your hand and brow. look! i see here, that from a foreign land, for treacherous service, you receive large sums of gold; here i see splendid diamonds, and there i read that twenty thousand crowns are promised you if you prevent a certain divorce. you tremble, and your hand shakes so i can scarcely read. keep your hand steady, madame; i wish to read not only your past but your future life." "i shall obey," whispered madame von brandt. "here i read of a dangerous letter, which fell, through your own carelessness, into the wrong hands. if the king should read that letter, your ruin would be unavoidable; he would punish you as a traitor; you would not only be banished from court, but confined in some strong fortress. when a subject conspires with the enemy during time of war, this is the universal punishment. be cautious, be prudent, and the king will learn nothing of this, and you may be saved." "what must i do to avert my ruin?" she said, breathlessly. "banish yourself, madame; make some excuse to withdraw immediately from berlin; retire to your husband's estate, and there, in quiet and solitude, think over and repent your crimes. when like mary magdalene you have loved, and deceived, and betrayed, like her you must repent, and see if god is as trusting as man; if you can deceive him with your tears as you once deceived us with your well-acted friendship. go try repentance with god; here it is of no avail. this reformation, madame, must commence at once. you will leave berlin to-morrow, and will not return till the king himself sends for you." "i go!" said madame von brandt, weeping bitterly; "i go! but i carry death in my heart, not because i am banished, but because i deserve my punishment; because i have wounded the heart of my king, and my soul withers under his contempt." "mary magdalene," said frederick, "truly you have a wondrous talent for acting; a hint is enough for you, and you master your part at once. but, madame, it is useless to act before the king; he will neither credit your tears nor your repentance; he would remember your crimes and pronounce your sentence. hasten, then, to your place of atonement. there you may turn saint, and curse the vain and giddy world. here is your letter--farewell!" the king hastened away, and madame von brandt, weeping from shame and humiliation, remained alone. the king passed rapidly through the crowded saloon and stepped on the balcony; he had seen the nun following him, and she came upon the balcony; he tore off his mask, and confronting the trembling woman, he said, in a harsh voice. "what do you want with me?" "your love," cried the nun, sinking upon her knees and raising her hands imploringly to the king; "i want the love you once promised me--the love which is my earthly happiness and my salvation--your love, without which i must die; wanting which, i suffer the tortures of purgatory!" "then suffer," said the king, harshly; retreating a few steps--"go and suffer; endure the torments of purgatory, you deserve them; god will not deliver you, nor will i." "alas! alas! i hear this, and i live," cried madame von morien, despairingly. "oh, my king, take pity on me; think of the heavenly past; think of the intoxicating poison your words and looks poured into my veins, and do not scorn and punish me because i am brought almost to madness and death by your neglect. see what you have made of me! see how poor leontine has changed!" she threw back her veil, and showed her pale and sorrowful countenance to the king. he gazed at her sternly: "you have become old, madame," he said, coldly--"old enough to tread in the new path you have so wisely prepared for yourself. you who have so long been the votary of love, are now old enough and plain enough to become a model of virtue. accept this order of virtue and modesty, promised you by the empress of austria. the king will not divorce his wife, and as this is supposed to be solely your work, the empress will not withhold the promised order." "my god! he knows all, and he despises me!" cried madame von morien, passionately. "yes, he despises you," repeated the king; "he despises and he has no pity on you! farewell!" without again looking toward the broken-hearted woman, he turned toward the dancing-saloon. suddenly he felt a hand laid softly upon his shoulder; he turned and saw at his side a woman in black, and thickly veiled. "one word, king frederick," whispered the lady. "speak, what do you wish?" said the king, kindly. "what do i wish?" said she, with a trembling voice; "i wish to see you; to hear your voice once more before you go to the battle-field, to danger, perhaps to death. i come to entreat you to be careful of your life! remember it is a precious jewel, for which you are not only answerable to god, but to millions of your subjects. oh, my king, do not plunge wantonly into danger; preserve yourself for your country, your people, and your family; to all of whom you are indispensable." the king shook his head, smilingly. "no one is indispensable. a man lost is like a stone thrown into the water; for a moment there is a slight eddy, the waters whirl, then all trace disappears, and the stream flows quietly and smoothly on. but not thus will i disappear. if i am destined to fall in this combat to which i am now hastening, my death shall be glorious, and my grave shall be known; it must, at least, be crowned with laurels, as no one will consecrate it with the tribute of love and tears. a king, you know, is never loved, and no one weeps for his death; the whole world is too busily engaged in welcoming his successor." "not so; not so with you, my king! you are deeply, fondly loved. i know a woman who lives but in your presence--a woman who would die of joy if she were loved by you; she would die of despair if death should claim you; you, her youthful hero, her ideal, her god! for this woman's sake who worships you; whose only joy you are; who humbly lays her love at your feet, and only asks to die there; for her sake i implore you to be careful of yourself; do not plunge wantonly into danger, and thus rob prussia of her king; your queen of the husband whom she adores, and for whom she is ready at any hour to give her heart's blood." the king clasped gently the folded hands of the veiled lady within his own; he knew her but too well. "are you so well acquainted with the queen that you know all the secrets of her heart?" "yes, i know the queen," whispered she; "i am the only confidant of her sorrows. i only know how much she loves, how much she suffers." "i pray you, then, go to the queen and bid her farewell for me. tell her that the king honors no other woman as he honors her; that he thinks she is exalted enough to be placed among the noble women of the olden times. he is convinced she would say to her warrior husband, as the roman wives said to their fathers, husbands, and sons, when handing their shields, 'return with them or upon them!' tell elizabeth christine that the king of prussia will return from this combat with his hereditary foe as a conqueror, or as a corpse. he cares little for life, but much for honor; he must make his name glorious, perchance by the shedding of his blood. tell elizabeth christine this, and tell her also that on the day of battle her friend and brother will think of her; not to spare himself, but to remember gratefully that, in that hour, a noble and pure woman is praying to god for him. and now adieu: i go to my soldiers--you to the queen." he bowed respectfully, and hurried to the music-room. the queen followed him with tearful eyes, and then drawing her hood tightly over her face, she hurried through a secret door into her apartments. while the queen was weeping and praying in her room, the king was putting on his uniform, and commanding the officers to assemble in the court-yard. prince augustus william was still tarrying in the dancing-saloon: he did not dance; no one knew he was there. he had shown himself for a few hours in a magnificent fancy suit, but unmasked; he then left the ballroom, saying he still had some few preparations to make for his journey. soon, however, he returned in a common domino and closely masked; no one but laura von pannewitz was aware of his presence; they were now standing together in a window, whose heavy curtains hid them from view. it was a sad pleasure to look once more into each other's eyes, to feel the warm pressure of loving hands, to repeat those pure and holy vows which their trembling lips had so often spoken; every fond word fell like glorious music upon their young hearts. the moment of separation had come; the officers were assembled, and the solemn beating of drums was heard. "i must leave you, my beloved, my darling," whispered the prince, pressing the weeping girl to his heart. laura sobbed convulsively. "leave me, alas, perhaps never to return!" "i shall return, my laura," said he, with a forced smile. "i am no hero; i shall not fall upon the battlefield. i know this; i feel it. i feel also that if this was to be my fate, i should be spared many sorrowful and agonizing hours; how much better a quick, glorious death, than this slow torture, this daily death of wretchedness! oh, laura, i have presentiments, in which my whole future is covered with clouds and thick darkness, through which even your lovely form is not to be seen; i am alone, all alone!" "you picture my own sufferings, my own fears," whispered laura. "alas! i forget the rapture of the present in the dim and gloomy future. oh, my beloved, my heart does not beat with joy when i look at you; it overflows with despair. i am never to see you again, my prince; our fond farewell is to be our last! oh, believe me, this sad presentiment is the voice of fate, warning us to escape from this enchanting vision, with which we have, lulled our souls to sleep. we have forgotten our duty, and we are warned that a cruel necessity will one day separate us!" "nothing shall separate us!" said the prince; "no earthly power shall come between us. the separation of to-day, which honor demands of me, shall be the last. when i return, i will remind you of your oath; i will claim your promise, which god heard and accepted. our love is from god, and no stain rests upon it; god, therefore, will watch over it, and will not withhold his blessing; with his help, we will conquer all difficulties, and we can dispense with the approbation of the world." laura shook her head sadly: "i have not this happy confidence; and i have not the strength to bear this painful separation. at times when i have been praying fervently for help, it seems to me that god is standing by and strengthening me to obey the command of the dowager-queen and give my hand to count voss. but when i wish to speak the decisive word my lips are closed as with a band of iron; it seems to me that, could i open them, the only sound i should utter would be a cry so despairing as to drive me to madness." the prince pressed her fondly to his heart: "swear to me, laura, that you will never be so faithless, so cowardly, as to yield to the threats of my mother," said he, passionately; "swear that you will be true to your oath; that oath by which you are mine--mine to all eternity; my wedded wife!" "i swear it," said she, solemnly, fixing her eyes steadily upon his agitated countenance. "they will take advantage of my absence to torture you. my mother will overwhelm you with reproaches, threats, and entreaties; but, if you love me, laura, you will find strength to resist all this. as yet my mother does not know that it is i whom you love; i who worship you; she suspects that the king or the young prince of brunswick possesses your heart. but chance may betray our love, and then her anger would be terrible. she would lose no time in separating us; would stop at nothing. then, laura, be firm and faithful; believe no reports, no message, no letter; trust only in me and in my word. i will not write to you, for my letters might be intercepted. i will send no messenger to you; he might be bribed. if i fall in battle, and god grants me strength in dying, i will send you a last embrace and a last loving word, by some pitying friend. in that last hour our love will have nothing to fear from the world, the king, or my mother. you will always be in my thoughts, darling, and my spirit will be with you." "and if you fall, god will have mercy on me and take me from this cruel world; it will be but a grave for me when no longer gladdened by your presence." the prince kissed her fondly, and slipped a ring on her finger. "that is our engagement ring," said he. "now you are mine; you wear my ring; this is the first link of that chain with which i will bind your whole life to mine! you are my prisoner; nothing can release you. but listen! what is that noise? the king has descended to the court; he will be looking for me. farewell, my precious one; god and his holy angels guard you!" he stepped slowly from behind the curtains and closed them carefully after him, so as to conceal laura; he passed hastily through the rooms to his apartment, threw off the domino which concealed his uniform, and seizing his sword he hastened to the court. the king was surrounded by his generals and officers; all eyes were fixed upon him; he had silenced every objection. there was amongst them but one opinion and one will, the will and opinion of the king, whom all felt to be their master, not only by divine right, but by his mighty intellect and great soul. frederick stood amongst them, his countenance beaming with inspiration, his eagle eye sparkling and glowing with the fire of thought, and a smile was on his lips which won all hearts. behind him stood the prince of anhault dessau, old zeithen, general vinterfeldt, and the adjutant-generals. above them floated a magnificent banner, whose motto, "pro gloria et patria," was woven in gold. frederick raised his naked sword and greeted the waving colors; he spoke, and his full, rich voice filled the immense square: "gentlemen, i undertake this war with no other ally than your stout hearts; my cause is just; i dare ask god's help! remember the renown our great ancestors gained on the battle-field of ferbellin! your future is in your own hands; distinction must be won by gallant and daring deeds. we are to attack soldiers who gained imperishable names under prince eugene. how great will be our glory if we vanquish such warriors! farewell! go! i follow without delay!" chapter xii. the return. the first campaign of the young king of prussia had been a bloodless one. not one drop of blood had been shed. a sentinel at the gate of breslau had refused to allow the prussian general to enter, and received for his daring a sounding box on the ear, which sent him reeling backward. the general with his staff entered the conquered capital of silesia, without further opposition. breslau was the capital of a province which for more than a hundred years had not been visited by any member of the royal house of austria. the heavy taxes imposed upon her were the only evidence that she belonged to the austrian dominions. breslau did not hesitate to receive this young and handsome king, who as he marched into the city gave a kindly, gracious greeting to all; who had a winning smile for all those richly-dressed ladies at the windows; who had written with his own hand a proclamation in which he assured the silesians that he came not as an enemy, and that every inhabitant would be secured in their rights, privileges, and freedom in their religion, worth, and service. the ties which bound the beautiful province of silesia to austria had long ago been shattered, and the prophecy of the king had already been fulfilled--that prophecy made in krossen. as the king entered krossen with his army, the clock of the great church tower fell with a thundering noise, and carried with it a portion of the old church. a superstitious fear fell upon the whole prussian army; even the old battle-stained warriors looked grim and thoughtful. the king alone smiled, and said: "the fall of this clock signifies that the pride of the house of austria will be humbled. caesar fell when landing in africa, and exclaimed: 'i hold thee, africa!'" those great men would not allow themselves to be influenced by evil omens. quickly, indeed, was frederick's prophecy fulfilled. the house of austria was suddenly humbled, and the prussian army was quietly in possession of one of her capitals. frederick had been joyfully received, not only by the protestants, who had so long suffered from the bitterest religious persecution, and to whom the king now promised absolute freedom of conscience and unconditional exercise of their religious worship, but by the catholics, even the priests and jesuits, who were completely fascinated by the intellect and amiability of frederick. no man mourned for the austrian yoke, and the prussians became great favorites with the silesians, particularly with the women, who, heart in hand, advanced to meet them; received the handsome and well-made soldiers as lovers, and hastened to have these tender ties made irrevocable by the blessing of the priest. hundreds of marriages between the prussians and the maidens of the land were solemnized during the six weeks frederick remained in silesia. these men, who, but a few weeks before, came as enemies and conquerors, were now adopted citizens, thus giving their king a double right to the possession of these provinces. it soon became the mode for the silesian girl to claim a prussian lover, and the taller and larger the lover, the prouder and more happy was the lucky possessor. baron bielfeld, who accompanied the king to breslau, met in the street one day a beautiful bourgeoise, who was weeping bitterly and wringing her hands; bielfeld inquired the cause of her tears, and she replied naively: "alas! i am indeed an object of pity; eight days ago i was betrothed to a prussian grenadier, who measured five feet and nine inches; i was very happy and very proud of him. to-day one of the guard, who measured six feet and two inches, proposed to me; and i weep now because so majestic and handsome a giant is offered me, and i cannot accept him." the king won the women through his gallant soldiers, the ladies of the aristocracy, through his own beauty, grace, and eminent intellect. frederick gave a ball to the aristocracy of breslau, and all the most distinguished and noble families, who had been before closely bound to the house of austria, eagerly accepted the invitation; they wished to behold the man who was a hero and a poet, a cavalier and a warrior, a youth and a philosopher; who was young and handsome, and full of life; who did not wrap himself in stiff, ceremonious forms, and appeared in the presence of ladies to forget that he was a king. he worshipped the ladies as a cavalier, and when they accepted the invitation to dance, considered it a flattering favor. while winning the hearts of the women through his gallantry and beauty, he gained the voices of men by the orders and titles which he scattered broadcast through the province. "i dreamed last night," said he to pollnitz, laughing, "that i created princes, dukes, and barons in breslau; help me to make my dream a reality by naming to me some of the most prominent families." pollnitz selected the names, and prince von pless, duke hockburg, and many others rose up proudly from this creative process of the king. silesia belonged, at this moment, unconditionally to prussia. the king could now return to berlin and devote himself to study, to friendship, and his family. the first act of that great drama called the seven years' war was now finished. the king should now, between the acts, give himself up to the arts and sciences, and strengthen himself for that deep tragedy of which he was resolved to be the hero. berlin received her king with shouts of joy, and greeted him as a demigod. he was no longer, in the eyes of the imperious austrians, the little margrave of brandenburg, who must hold the wash-basin for the emperor; he was a proud, self-sustaining king, no longer receiving commands from austria, but giving laws to the proud daughter of the caesars. the queen-mother and the young princesses met the king at the outer gates. the queen elizabeth christine, her eyes veiled with rapturous tears, received her husband tremblingly. alas! he had for her only a silent greeting, a cold, ceremonious bow. but she saw him once more; she could lose her whole soul in those melting eyes, in which she was ever reading the most enchanting magical fairy tales. in these days of ceremony he could not refuse her a place by his side; to sit near him at table, and at the concerts with which the royal chapel and the newly-arrived italian singers would celebrate the return of the king. graun had composed a piece of music in honor of this occasion, and not only the italian singer, laura farinelli, but a scholar of graun and quantz, a german singer, anna prickerin, would then be heard for the first time. this would be for anna an eventful and decisive day; she stood on the brink of a new existence--an existence made glorious by renown, honor, and distinction. it was nothing to her that her father lay agonizing upon his death-bed; it was nothing to her that her brother william had left his home three days before, and no one knew what had become of him. she asked no questions about father or brother; she sorrowed not for the mother lately dead and buried. she had but one thought, one desire, one aim--to be a celebrated singer, to obtain the hand of a man whom she neither loved nor esteemed, but who was a baron and an influential lord of the court. the object of anna's life was to become the wife of the baron, not for love. she wished to hide her ignoble birth under the glitter of his proud name; it was better to be the wife of a poor baron than the daughter of a tailor, even though he should be the court tailor, and a millionnaire. the king had been in berlin but two days, and pollnitz had already made a visit to his beautiful anna. never had he been so demonstrative and so tender; never before had he been seriously occupied with the thought of making her his wife; never had he looked upon it as possible. the example of count rhedern gave him courage; what the king had granted to the daughter of the merchant, he could not refuse to the daughter of the court tailor, more particularly when the latter, by her own gifts and talents, had opened the doors of the palace for herself; when by the power of her siren voice she had made the barriers tremble and fall which separated the tailor's daughter from the court circle. if the lovely anna became a celebrated singer, if she succeeded in winning the applause of the king, she would be ennobled; and no one could reproach the baron for making the beautiful prima donna his wife. if, therefore, she pleased the king, pollnitz was resolved to confess himself her knight, and to marry her as soon as possible--yes, as soon as possible, for his creditors followed him, persecuted him at every step, even threatened him with judgment and a prison. pollnitz reminded the king that he had promised, after his return from silesia, to assist him. frederick replied that he had not yet seen a battle-field, and was at the beginning and not the end of a war, for which he would require more gold than his treasuries contained; "wait patiently, also," he said, "for the promised day, for only then can i fulfil my promise." it was, therefore, a necessity with pollnitz to find some way of escape from this terrible labyrinth; and with an anxiously-beating heart he stood on the evening of the concert behind the king's chair, to watch every movement and every word, and above all to notice the effect produced by the voice of his anna. the king was uncommonly gay and gracious; these two days in his beloved berlin, after weeks of fatigue and weariness in silesia, had filled his heart with gladness. he had given almost a lover's greeting to his books and his flute, and his library seemed to him a sanctified home; with joy he exchanged his sword for a pen, and instead of drawing plans of battle, he wrote verses or witty letters to voltaire, whom he still honored, and in a certain sense admired, although the six days which voltaire had spent in rheinsberg, just before the silesian campaign, had somewhat diminished his admiration for the french author. after frederick's first meeting with voltaire at the castle of moyland, he said of him, "he is as eloquent as cicero, as charming as plinius, and as wise as agrippa; he combines in himself all the virtues and all the talents of the three greatest men of the ancients." he now called the author of the "henriade" a fool; it excited and troubled his spirit to see that this great author was mean and contemptible in character, cold and cunning in heart. he had loved voltaire as a friend, and now he confessed with pain that voltaire's friendship was a possession which must be cemented with gold, if you did not wish to lose it. the king who, a few months before, had compared him to cicero, plinius, and agrippa, now said to jordan, "the miser, voltaire, has still an unsatisfied longing for gold, and asks still thirteen hundred dollars! every one of the six days which he spent with me cost me five hundred and fifty dollars! i call that paying dear for a fool! never before was a court fool so generously rewarded." to-day frederick was expecting a new enjoyment; to-day, for the first time, he was to hear the new italian singer. this court concert promised him, therefore, a special enjoyment, and he awaited it with youthful impatience. at last graun gave the signal for the introduction; frederick had no ear for this simple, beautiful, and touching music; and the masterly solo of quantz upon the flute drew from him a single bravo; he thought only of the singers, and at last the chorus began. the heart of pollnitz beat loud and quick as he glanced at anna, who stood proud and grave, in costly french toilet, far removed from the farinelli. anna examined the court circles quietly, and looked as unembarrassed as if she had been long accustomed to such society. the chorus was at an end, and laura farinelli had the first aria to sing. anna prickerin could have murdered her for this. the italian, in the full consciousness of her power, returned anna's scorn with a half-mocking, half-contemptuous smile; she then fixed her great, piercing eyes upon the music, and began to sing. anna could have cried aloud in her rage, for she saw that the king was well pleased: he nodded his head, and a gay smile overspread his features; she saw that the whole court circle made up enchanted faces immediately, and that even pollnitz assumed an entirely happy and enthusiastic mien. the farinelli saw all this, and the royal applause stimulated her; her full, glorious voice floated and warbled in the artistic "fioritures" and "roulades," then dreamed itself away in soft, melodious tones; again it rose into the loftiest regions of sound, and was again almost lost in the simple, touching melodies of love. "delicious! superb!" said the king, aloud, as farinelli concluded. "exalted! godlike!" cried pollnitz; and now, as the royal sign had been given, the whole court dared to follow the example, and to utter light and repressed murmurs of wonder and applause. anna felt that she turned pale; her feet trembled; she could have murdered the italian with her own hands! this proud farinelli, who at this moment looked toward her with a questioning and derisive glance; and her eyes seemed to say, "will you yet dare to sing?" but anna had the proud courage to dare. she said to herself, "i shall triumph over her; her voice is as thin as a thread, and as sharp as a fine needle, while mine is full and powerful, and rolls like an organ; and as for her 'fioritures,' i understand them as well as she." with this conviction she took the notes in her hand, and waited for the moment when the "ritornelle" should be ended; she returned with a quiet smile the anxious look which her teacher, quantz, fixed upon her. the "ritornelle" was ended. anna began her song; her voice swelled loudly and powerfully, far above the orchestra, but the king was dull and immovable; he gave not the slightest token of applause. anna saw this, and her voice, which had not trembled with fear, now trembled with rage; she was resolved to awake the astonishment of the king by the strength and power of her voice; she would compel him to applaud! she gathered together the whole strength of her voice and made so powerful an effort that her poor chest seemed about to burst asunder; a wild, discordant strain rose stunningly upon the air, and now she had indeed the triumph to see that the king laughed! yes, the king laughed! but not with the same smile with which he greeted farinelli, but in mockery and contempt. he turned to pollnitz, and said: "what is the name of this woman who roars so horribly?" pollnitz shrugged his shoulders; he had a kind of feeling as if that moment his creditors had seized him by the throat. "sire," whispered he, "i believe it is anna prickerin." the king laughed; yes, in spite of the "fioritures" of the raging singer, who had seen pollnitz's shrug of the shoulders, and had vowed in the spirit to take a bloody vengeance. louder and louder the fair anna shrieked, but the king did not applaud. she had now finished the last note of her aria, and breathlessly with loudly-beating heart she waited for the applause of the king. it came not! perfect stillness reigned; even pollnitz was speechless. "do you know, certainly, that this roaring woman is the daughter of our tailor?" said the king. pollnitz answered, "yes," with a bleeding heart. "i have often heard that a tailor was called a goat, but his children are nevertheless not nightingales, and poor pricker can sooner force a camel through the eye of his needle than make a songstress of his daughter. the germans cannot sing, and it is an incomprehensible mistake of graun to bring such a singer before us." "she is a pupil of quantz," said pollnitz, "and he has often assured me she would make a great singer." "ah, she is a pupil of quantz," repeated the king, and his eye glanced around in search of him. quantz, with an angry face, and his eyebrows drawn together, was seated at his desk. "alas!" said frederick, "when he makes such a face as that, he grumbles with me for two days, and is never pleased with my flute. i must seek to mollify him, therefore, and when this mademoiselle prickerin sings again i will give a slight sign of applause." but anna prickerin sang no more; angry scorn shot like a stream of fire through her veins, she felt suffocated; tears rushed to her eyes; every thing about her seemed to be wavering and unsteady; and as her listless, half-unconscious glances wandered around, she met the gay, triumphant eyes of the farinelli fixed derisively upon her. anna felt as if a sword had pierced her heart; she uttered a fearful cry, and sank unconscious to the floor. "what cry was that?" said the king, "and what signifies this strange movement among the singers?" "sire, it appears that the prickerin has fallen into a fainting-fit," said pollnitz. the king thought this a good opportunity to pacify quantz by showing an interest in his pupil. "that is indeed a most unhappy circumstance," said the king, aloud. "hasten, pollnitz, to inquire in my name after the health of this gifted young singer. if she is still suffering, take one of my carriages and conduct her yourself to her home, and do not leave her till you can bring me satisfactory intelligence as to her recovery." so saying, the king cast a stolen glance toward the much-dreaded quantz, whose brow had become somewhat clearer, and his expression less threatening. "we will, perhaps," whispered the king, "escape this time with one day's growling; i think i have softened him." frederick seated himself, and gave the signal for the concert to proceed; he saw that, with the assistance of the baron, the unconscious songstress had been removed. chapter xiii. the death of the old time. the music continued, while pollnitz, filled with secret dread, ordered a court carriage, according to the command of the king, and entered it with the still insensible songstress. "the king does not know what a fearful commission he has given me," thought pollnitz, as he drove through the streets with anna prickerin, and examined her countenance with terror. "should she now awake, she would overwhelm me with her rage. she is capable of scratching out my eyes, or even of strangling me." but his fear was groundless. anna did not stir; she was still unconscious, as the carriage stopped before the house of her father. no one came to meet them, although pollnitz ordered the servant to open the door, and the loud ringing of the bell sounded throughout the house. no one appeared as pollnitz, with the assistance of the servants, lifted the insensible anna from the carriage and bore her into the house to her own room. as the baron placed her carefully upon the sofa, she made a slight movement and heaved a deep sigh. "now the storm will break forth," thought pollnitz, anxiously, and he ordered the servants to return to the carriage and await his return. he desired no witnesses of the scene which he expected, and in which he had good reason to believe that he would play but a pitiful role. anna prickerin now opened her eyes; her first glance fell upon pollnitz, who was bending over her with a tender smile. "what happiness, dearest," he whispered, "that you at last open your eyes! i was dying with anxiety." anna did not answer at once; her eyes were directed with a dreamy expression to the smiling countenance of pollnitz, and while he recounted his own tender care, and the gracious sympathy of the king, anna appeared to be slowly waking out of her dream. now a ray of consciousness and recollection overspread her features, and throwing up her arm with a rapid movement she administered a powerful blow on the cheek of her tender, smiling lover, who fell back with his hand to his face, whimpering with pain. "why did you shrug your shoulders?" she said, her lips trembling with anger, and, springing up from the sofa, she approached pollnitz with a threatening expression, who, expecting a second explosion, drew back, "why did you shrug your shoulders?" repeated anna. "i am not aware that i did so, my anna," stammered pollnitz. she stamped impatiently on the floor. "i am not your anna. you are a faithless, treacherous man, and i despise you; you are a coward, you have not the courage to defend the woman you have sworn to love and protect. when i ceased singing, why did you not applaud?" "dearest anna," said pollnitz, "you are not acquainted with court etiquette; you do not know that at court it is only the king who expresses approval." "you all broke out into a storm of applause as farinelli finished singing." "because the king gave the sign." anna shrugged her shoulders contemptuously, and paced the floor with rapid steps. "you think that all my hopes, all my proud dreams for the future are destroyed," she murmured, with trembling lips, while the tears rolled slowly down her cheeks. "to think that the king and the whole court laughed while i sang, and that presumptuous italian heard and saw it all--i shall die of this shame and disgrace. my future is annihilated, my hopes trodden under foot." she covered her face with her hands, and wept and sobbed aloud. pollnitz had no pity for her sufferings, but he remembered his creditors, and this thought rekindled his extinguished tenderness. he approached her, and gently placed his arm around her neck. "dearest," he murmured, "why do you weep, how can this little mischance make you so wretched? do we not love each other? are you not still my best beloved, my beautiful, my adored anna? have you not sworn that you love me, and that you ask no greater happiness than to be united to me?" anna raised her head that she might see this tender lover. "it is true," proceeded pollnitz, "that you did not receive the applause this evening which your glorious talent deserves; farinelli was in your way. the king has a prejudice against german singers; he says, 'the germans can compose music, but they cannot sing.' that prejudice is a great advantage for the italian. if you had borne an italian name, the king would have been charmed with your wonderful voice; but you are a german, and he refuses you his approval. but what has been denied you here, you will easily obtain elsewhere. we will leave this cold, ungrateful berlin, my beloved. you shall take an italian name, and through my various connections i can make arrangements for you to sing at many courts. you will win fame and gold, and we will live a blessed and happy life." "i care nothing for the gold; i am rich, richer than i even dreamed. my father told me to-day that he possessed nearly seven hundred thousand dollars, and that he would disinherit my brother, who is now absent from berlin. i will be his heiress, and very soon, for the physicians say he can only live a few days." the eyes of the baron gleamed. "has your father made his will? has he declared you his heiress?" "he intended doing so to-day. he ordered the lawyers to come to him, and i believe they were here when i started to this miserable concert. it was not on account of the money, but for fame, that i desired to become a prima donna. but i renounce my intention; this evening has shown me many thorns where i thought to find only roses. i renounce honor and renown, and desire only to be happy, happy in your love and companionship." "you are right; we will fly from this cold, faithless berlin to happier regions. the world will know no happier couple than the baron and baroness von pollnitz." pollnitz now felt no repugnance at the thought that the tailor's daughter had the presumptuous idea of becoming his wife. he forgave her low origin for the sake of her immense fortune, and thought it not a despicable lot to be the husband of the beautiful anna prickerin. he assured her of his love in impassioned words, and anna listened with beaming eyes and a happy smile. suddenly a loud weeping and crying, proceeding from the next room, interrupted this charming scene. "my father, it is my father!" cried anna, as she hastened to the door of the adjoining room, which, as we know, contained the ancestral portraits of the prickers. pollnitz followed her. in this room, surrounded by his ancestors, the worthy tailor lay upon his death-bed. pale and colorless as the portraits was the face of the poor man; but his eyes were gleaming with a wild, feverish glitter. as he perceived anna in her splendid french costume, so wild and fearful a laugh burst from his lips, that even pollnitz trembled. "come to me," said the old man, with a stammering voice, as he motioned to his daughter to approach his couch. "you and your brother have broken my heart; you have given me daily a drop of poison, of which i have been slowly dying. your brother left my house as the prodigal son, but he has not returned a penitent; he glories in his crime; he is proud of his shame. here is a letter which i received from him to-day, in which he informs me that he has eloped with the daughter of my second murderer, this french pelissier; and that he intends to become an actor, and thus drag through the dust the old and respectable name of his fathers. for this noble work he demands his mother's fortune. he shall have it--yes, he shall have it; it is five thousand dollars, but from me he receives nothing but my curse, and i pray to god that it may ring forever in his ears!" the old man lay back exhausted, and groaned aloud. anna stood with tearless eyes by the death-bed of her father, and thought only of the splendid future which each passing moment brought nearer. pollnitz had withdrawn to one of the windows, and was considering whether he should await the death of the old man or return immediately to the king. suddenly pricker opened his eyes, and turned them with an angry and malicious expression toward his daughter. "what a great lady you are!" he said, with a fearful grin; "dressed in the latest fashion, and a wonderful songstress, who sings before the king and his court. such a great lady must be ashamed that her father is a tailor. i appreciate that, and i am going to my grave, that i may not trouble my daughter. yes, i am going, and nothing shall remind the proud songstress of me, neither my presence nor any of my possessions. a prima donna would not be the heiress of a tailor." the old man broke out into a wild laugh, while anna stared at him, and pollnitz came forward to hear and observe. "i do not understand you, my father," said anna, trembling and disturbed. "you will soon understand me," stammered the old man, with a hoarse laugh. "when i am dead, and the lawyers come and read my will, which i gave them to-day, then you will know that i have left my fortune to the poor of the city, and not to this great songstress, who does not need it, as she has a million in her throat. my son an actor, my daughter a prima donna--it is well. i go joyfully to my grave, and thank god for my release. ah! you shall remember your old father; you shall curse me, as i have cursed you; and as you will shed no tears at my death, it shall, at least, be a heavy blow to you. you are disinherited! both disinherited! the poor are my heirs, and you and your brother will receive nothing but the fortune of your mother, of which i, unfortunately, cannot deprive you." "father, father, this is not possible--this cannot be your determination!" cried anna. "it is not possible for a father to be so cruel, so unnatural, as to disinherit his children!" "have you not acted cruelly and unnaturally to me?" asked the old man; "have you not tortured me? have you not murdered me, with a smile upon your lips, as you did your poor mother, who died of grief? no, no, no pity for unnatural children. you are disinherited!" the old man fell back with a loud shriek upon his couch, and his features assumed that fixed expression which is death's herald. "he is dying!" cried anna, throwing herself beside her father; "he is dying, and he has disinherited me!" "yes, disinherited!" stammered the heavy tongue of the dying man. pollnitz trembled at the fearful scene; he fled with hasty steps from this gloomy room, and only recovered his composure when once more seated in his carriage. after some moments of reflection, he said: "i will ask the king for my release from his service, and i will become a protestant, and hasten to nuremberg, and marry the rich patrician." chapter xiv. the discovery. they sat hand in hand in the quiet and fragrant conservatory; after a long separation they gazed once more in each other's eyes, doubting the reality of their happiness, and asking if it were not a dream, a delightful dream. this was the first time since his return from silesia that prince augustus william had seen his laura alone; the first time he could tell her of his longing and his suffering; the first time she could whisper in his ear the sweet and holy confession of her love--a confession that none should hear but her lover and her god. but there were four ears which heard every thing; four eyes which saw all that took place in the myrtle arbor. louise von schwerin and her lover, the handsome fritz wendel, sat arm in arm in the grotto, and listened attentively to the conversation of the prince and his bride. "how happy they are!" whispered louise, with a sigh. "are we not also happy?" asked fritz wendel, tenderly, clasping his arm more firmly around her. "is not our love as ardent, as passionate, and as pure as theirs?" "and yet the world would shed tears of pity for them, while we would be mocked and laughed at," said louise, sighing. "it is true that the love of the poor gardener for the beautiful mademoiselle von schwerin is only calculated to excite ridicule," murmured fritz wendel; "but that shall and will be changed; i shall soon begin the new career which i have planned for myself; my louise need then no longer blush for her lover, and my adoration for her shall no longer be a cause of shame and humiliation. i have a means by which i can purchase rank and position, and i intend to employ this means." "pray tell me how; let me know your plans," said louise. he pointed with a cruel smile to the lovers in the myrtle arbor. "this secret is my purchase money," said he, whispering; "i shall betray them to the king; and he will give me rank and wealth for this disclosure; for upon this secret depends the future of prussia. let us, therefore, listen attentively to what they say, that--" "no," said louise, interrupting him with vivacity, "we will not listen. it is cruel and ignoble to desire to purchase our own happiness with the misery of others; it is--" "for heaven's sake be quiet and listen!" said fritz wendel, softly, laying his hand on her angry lips. the conversation of the lovers in the myrtle arbor had now taken another direction. their eyes no longer sparkled with delight, but had lost their lustre, and an expression of deep sadness rested on their features. "is it then really true?" said laura, mournfully; "you are affianced to the princess of brunswick?" "it is true," said the prince, in a low voice. "there was no other means of securing and preserving our secret than to seem to yield to the king's command, and to consent to this alliance with a good grace. this cloak will shield our love until we can acknowledge it before the whole world; and that depends, my beloved, upon you alone. think of the vows of eternal love and fidelity we have made to each other; remember that you have promised to be mine for all eternity, and to devote your whole life to me; remember that you wear my engagement-ring on your finger, and are my bride." "and yet you are affianced to another, and wear another engagement ring!" "but this princess, to whom i have been affianced, knows that i do not love her. i have opened my heart to her; i told her that i loved you alone, and could never love another; that no woman but laura von pannewitz should ever be my wife; and she was generous enough to give her assistance and consent to be considered my bride until our union should no longer need this protection. and now, my dear laura, i conjure you, by our love and the happiness of our lives, yield to my ardent entreaties and my fervent prayers; have the courage to defy the world and its prejudices. follow me, my beloved; flee with me and consent to be my wife!" the glances with which he regarded her were so loving, so imploring, that laura could not find in her heart to offer decided resistance. her own heart pleaded for him; and now when she might altogether lose him if she refused his request, now that he was affianced to another, she was filled with a torturing jealousy; she was now conscious that it would be easier to die than renounce her lover. but she still had the strength to battle with her own weak heart, to desire to shut out the alluring voices which resounded in her own breast. like odysseus, she tried to be deaf to the sirens' voices which tempted her. but she still heard them, and although she had found strength to refuse her lover's prayers and entreaties to flee with him, yet she could not repel his passionate appeals to her to be his wife. it was so sweet to listen to the music of his voice; such bliss to lean her head on his shoulder, to look up into his handsome countenance and to drink in the words of ardent and devoted love which fell from his lips; to know what he suffers is for your sake! it rests with you to give him happiness or despair. she knew not that the words which she drank in were coursing like fire through her own veins, destroying her resolution and turning her strength to ashes. as he, at last, brought to despair by her silence and resistance, burst into tears, and accused her of cruelty and indifference, as she saw his noble countenance shadowed with pain and sorrow, she no longer found courage to offer resistance, and throwing herself into his arms, with a happy blush, she whispered: "take me; i am yours forever! i accept you as my master and husband. your will shall be mine; what you command i will obey; where you call me there will i go; i will follow you to the ends of the earth, and nothing but death shall hereafter separate us!" the prince pressed her closely and fervently to his heart, and kissed her pure brow. "god bless you, my darling; god bless you for this resolution." his voice was now firm and full, and his countenance had assumed an expression of tranquillity and energy. he was no longer the sighing, despairing lover, but a determined man, who knew what his wishes were, and had the courage and energy to carry them into execution. fritz wendel pressed louise more closely to his side, and whispered: "you say that laura is an angel of virtue and modesty, and yet she has not the cruel courage to resist her lover; she yields to his entreaties, and is determined to flee with him. will you be less kind and humane than this tender, modest laura? oh, louise, you should also follow your tender, womanly heart; flee with me and become my wife. i will conceal you, and then go to those who would now reject my suit scornfully, and dictate terms to them." "i will do as she does," whispered louise, with glowing cheeks. "what laura can do, i may also do; if she flies with her lover, i will fly with you; if she becomes his wife, i will be yours. but let us be quiet, and listen." "and now, my laura, listen attentively to every word i utter," said prince augustus william, gravely. "i have made all the necessary preparations, and in a week you will be my wife. there is a good and pious divine on one of my estates who is devoted to me. he has promised to perform the marriage ceremony. on leaving berlin we will first flee to him, and our union will receive his blessing in the village church at night; a carriage will await us at the door, which, with fresh relays of horses, will rapidly conduct us to the prussian boundary. i have already obtained from my friend the english ambassador a passport, which will carry us safely to england under assumed names; once there, my uncle, the king of england, will not refuse his protection and assistance; and by his intercession we will be reconciled to the king my brother. when he sees that our union has been accomplished, he will give up all useless attempts to separate us." "but he can and will punish you for this; you will thereby forfeit your right of succession to the throne, and for my sake you will be forced to renounce your proud and brilliant future." "i shall not regret it," said the prince, smiling. "i do not long for a crown, and will not purchase this bauble of earthly magnifisence at the expense of my happiness and my love. and perhaps i have not the strength, the talent, or the power of intellect to be a ruler. it suffices me to rule in your heart, and be a monarch in the kingdom of your love. if i can therefore purchase the uncontested possession of my beloved by renouncing all claims to the throne, i shall do so with joy and without the slightest regret." "but i, poor, humble, weak girl that i am, how can i make good the loss you will sustain for my sake?" asked laura. "your love will be more than a compensation. you must now lay aside all doubt and indecision. you know our plans for the future. on my part all the preliminary measures have been taken; you should also make whatever preparations are necessary. it is hartwig, the curate of oranienburg, who is to marry us. send the necessary apparel and whatever you most need to him, without a word or message. the curate has already been advised of their arrival, and will retain the trunks unopened. on next tuesday, a week from to-day, the king will give a ball. for two days previous to this ball you will keep your room on the plea of sickness; this will be a sufficient excuse for your not accompanying the queen. i shall accept the invitation, but will not appear at the ball, and will await you at the castle gate of monbijou. at eight o'clock the ball commences; at nine you will leave your room and the castle, at the gate of which i will receive you. at a short distance from the gate a carriage will be in readiness to convey us to oranienburg, where we will stop before the village church. there we will find a preacher standing before the altar, ready to perform the ceremony, and when this is accomplished we will enter another carriage which will rapidly convey us to hamburg, where we will find a ship, hired by the english ambassador, ready to take us to england. you see, dear laura, that every thing has been well considered, and nothing can interfere with our plans, now that we understand each other. in a week, therefore, remember, laura." "in a week," she whispered. "i have no will but yours." "until then we will neither see nor speak with each other, that no thoughtless word may excite suspicion in the breasts of the spies who surround us. we must give each other no word, no message, no letter, or sign; but i will await you at the castle gate at nine o'clock on next tuesday, and you will not let me wait in vain." "no, you shall not wait in vain," whispered laura, with a happy smile, hiding her blushing face on the breast of her lover. "and you, will you let me wait in vain?" asked fritz wendel, raising louise's head from his breast, and gazing on her glowing and dreamy countenance. "no, i shall not let you wait in vain," said louise von schwerin. "we will also have our carriage, only we will leave a little sooner than the prince and laura. we will also drive to oranienburg, and await the prince before the door of the church. we will tell him we knew his secret and did not betray him. we will acknowledge our love, laura will intercede for us, and the preacher will have to perform the ceremony for two couples instead of one. we will then accompany the prince and his wife in their flight to england; from there the prince will obtain pardon of the king, and we the forgiveness of my family. oh, this is a splendid, a magnificent plan!--a flight, a secret marriage at night, and a long journey. this will be quite like the charming romances which i am so fond of, and mine will be a fantastic and adventurous life. but what is that?" said she. "did you hear nothing? it seems to me i heard a noise as of some one opening the outer door of the conservatory." "be still," murmured fritz wendel, "i heard it also; let us therefore be on our guard." the prince and laura had also heard this noise, and were listening in breathless terror, their glances fastened on the door. perhaps it was only the wind which had moved the outer door; perhaps--but no, the door opened noiselessly, and a tall female figure cautiously entered the saloon. "the queen!" whispered laura, trembling. "my mother!" murmured the prince, anxiously looking around for some means of escape. he now perceived the dark grotto, and pointing rapidly toward it, he whispered: "quick, quick, conceal yourself there. i will remain and await my mother." the stately figure of the queen could already be seen rapidly advancing through the flowers and shrubbery, and now her sparkling eye and proud and angry face were visible. "quick," whispered the prince, "conceal yourself, or we are lost!" laura slipped hastily behind the myrtle and laurel foliage and attained the asylum of the grotto, unobserved by the queen; she entered and leaned tremblingly against the inner wall. blinded by the sudden darkness, she could see nothing, and she was almost benumbed with terror. suddenly she heard a low, whispering voice at her side: "laura, dear laura, fear nothing. we are true friends, who know your secret, and desire to assist you." "follow me, mademoiselle," whispered another voice; "confide in us as we confide in you. we know your secret; you shall learn ours. give me your hand; i will conduct you from this place noiselessly and unobserved, and you can then return to the castle." laura hardly knew what she was doing. she was gently drawn forward, and saw at her side a smiling girlish face, and now she recognized the little maid of honor, louise von schwerin. "louise," said she, in a low voice, "what does all this mean?" "be still," she whispered: "follow him down the stairway. farewell! i will remain and cover the retreat." louise now hastily concealed the opening through which fritz wendel and laura had disappeared, and then slipped noiselessly back to the grotto, and concealed herself behind the shrubbery at its entrance, so that she could see and hear every thing that took place. it was in truth queen sophia dorothea, who had dismissed her attendants and come alone to the conservatory at this unusual hour. this was the time at which the queen's maids of honor were not on service, and were at liberty to do as they pleased. the queen had been in the habit of reposing at this time, but to-day she could not find rest; annoyed at her sleeplessness, she had arisen, and in walking up and down had stepped to the window and looked dreamily down into the still and desolate garden. then it was that she thought she saw a female figure passing hurriedly down the avenue. it must have been one of her maids of honor; and although the queen had not recognized her, she was convinced that it was none other than laura von pannewitz, and that she was now going to a rendezvous with her unknown lover, whom the queen had hitherto vainly endeavored to discover. the queen called her waiting-maids to her assistance, and putting on her furs and hood, she told them she felt a desire to take a solitary walk in the garden, and that none of her attendants should be called, with which she hurried into the garden, following the same path which the veiled lady had taken. she followed the foot-tracks in the snow to the conservatory, and entered without hesitation, determined to discover the secret of her maid of honor, and to punish her. it was fortunate for the poor lovers that the increasing corpulence of the queen and her swollen right foot rendered her advance rather slow, so that when she at last reached the lower end of the conservatory she found no one there but her son augustus william, whose embarrassed and constrained reception of herself convinced the queen that her appearance was not only a surprise, but also a disagreeable one. she therefore demanded of him with severity the cause of his unexpected and unusual visit to her conservatory; and when augustus william smilingly replied-- "that he had awaited here the queen's awakening, in order that he might pay his visit--" the queen asked abruptly: "and who, my son, helped to dispel the ennui of this tedious waiting?" "no one, my dear mother," said the prince; but he did not dare to meet his mother's penetrating glance. "no one?" repeated she; "but i heard you speaking on entering the conservatory." "you know, your majesty, that i have inherited the habit of speaking aloud to myself from my father," replied the prince, with a constrained smile. "the king my husband did not cease speaking when i made his appearance," exclaimed the queen, angrily; "he had no secrets to hide from me." "the thoughts of my royal father were grand, and worthy of the sympathy of queen sophia dorothea," said the prince, bowing low. "god forbid that the thoughts of his son should be of another and less worthy character!" exclaimed the queen. "my sons should, at least, be too proud to soil their lips with an untruth; and if they have the courage to do wrong, they should also find courage to acknowledge it." "i do not understand you, my dear mother;" and meeting her penetrating glance with quiet composure, he continued, "i am conscious of no wrong, and consequently have none to acknowledge." "this is an assurance which deserves to be unmasked," exclaimed the queen, who could no longer suppress her anger. "you must know, prince, that i am not to be deceived by your seeming candor and youthful arrogance. i know that you were not alone, for i myself saw the lady coming here who kept you company while awaiting me, and i followed her to this house." "then it seems that your majesty has followed a fata morgana," said the prince, with a forced smile; "for, as you see, i am alone, and no one else is present in the conservatory." but even while speaking, the prince glanced involuntarily toward the grotto which concealed his secret. the queen sophia dorothea caught this glance, and divined its meaning. "there is no one in the saloon, and it now remains to examine the grotto," said she, stepping forward hastily. the prince seized her hand, and endeavored to hold her back. "i conjure you, mother, do not go too far in your suspicion and your examinations. remember that your suspicion wounds me." the queen gave him a proud, angry glance. "i am here on my own property," said she, withdrawing her hand, "and no one shall oppose my will." "well, then, madame, follow your inclination," said the prince, with a resolute air; "i wished to spare you an annoyance. let discord and sorrow come over us, if your majesty will have it so; and as you are inexorable, you will also find me firm and resolute. examine the grotto, if you will." he offered her his arm and conducted her to the grotto. sophia dorothea felt disarmed by her son's resolute bearing, and she was almost convinced that she had done him injustice, and that no one was concealed in the grotto. with a benignant smile she had turned to her son, to say a few soothing words, when she heard a low rustle among the shrubbery, and saw something white flitting through the foliage. "and you say, my son, that i was deceived by a fata morgana" exclaimed the queen, hurrying forward with outstretched arm. "come, my young lady, and save us and yourself the shame of drawing you forcibly from your hiding-place." the queen had not been mistaken. something moved among the shrubbery, and now a female figure stepped forth and threw herself at the feet of the queen. "pardon, your majesty, pardon! i am innocent of any intention to intrude on your majesty's privacy. i had fallen asleep in this grotto, and awoke when it was too late to escape, as your majesty was already at the entrance of the conservatory. in this manner i have been an involuntary witness of your conversation. this is my whole fault." the queen listened with astonishment, while the prince regarded with consternation the kneeling girl who had been found here in the place of his laura. "this is not the voice of mademoiselle von pannewitz," said the queen, as she passed out into the light, and commanded the kneeling figure to follow her, that she might see her face. the lady arose and stepped forward. "louise von schwerin!" exclaimed the queen and the prince at the same time, while the little maid of honor folded her hands imploringly, and said, with an expression of childish innocence: "o your majesty, have compassion with me! yesterday's ball made me so very tired; and as your majesty was sleeping, i thought i would come here and sleep a little too, although i had not forgotten that your majesty was not pleased to have us visit this conservatory alone." sophia dorothea did not honor her with a glance; her eyes rested on her son with an expression of severity and scorn. "really, i had a better opinion of you," said she. "it is no great achievement to mislead a child, and one that is altogether unworthy of a royal prince." "my mother," exclaimed the prince, indignantly, "you do not believe--" "i believe what i see," said the queen, interrupting him. "have done with your assurances of innocence, and bow to the truth, which has judged you in spite of your denial. and you, my young lady, will accompany me, and submit to my commands in silence, and without excuses. come, and assume a cheerful and unconstrained air, if you please. i do not wish my court to hear of this scandal, and to read your guilt in your terrified countenance. i shall take care that you do not betray your guilt in words. come." the prince looked after them with an expression of confusion and astonishment. "well, no matter how this riddle is solved," murmured he, after the queen had left the conservatory with her maid of honor, "laura is safe at all events, and in a week we will flee." chapter xv. the countermine. three days had slowly passed by, and fritz wendel waited in vain for a sign or message from his beloved. he groped his way every day through the subterranean alley to the grotto, and stood every night under her window, hoping in vain for a signal or soft whisper from her. the windows were always curtained and motionless, and no one could give the unhappy gardener any news of the poor louise von schwerin, who was closely confined in her room, and confided to the special guard of a faithful chambermaid. the queen told her ladies that louise was suffering from an infectious disease; the queen's physician confirmed this opinion, and cautioned the ladies of the court against any communication with the poor invalid. no special command was therefore necessary to keep the maids of honor away from the prisoner; she was utterly neglected, and her old companions passed her door with flying steps. but the queen, as it appeared, did not fear this contagion; she was seen to enter the sick girl's room every day, and to remain a long time. the tender sympathy of the queen excited the admiration of the whole court, and no one guessed what torturing anxiety oppressed the heart of the poor prisoner whenever the queen entered the room; no one heard the stern, hard, threatening words of sophia; no one supposed that she came, not to nurse the sick girl, but to overwhelm her with reproaches. louise withstood all the menaces and upbraidings of the queen bravely; she had the courage to appear unembarrassed, and, except to reiterate her innocence, to remain perfectly silent. she knew well that she could not betray laura without compromising herself; she knew that if the queen discovered the mysterious flight of laura, she would, at the same time, be informed of her love affair with the poor gardener, and of their secret assignations. louise feared that she would be made laughable and ridiculous by this exposure, and this fear made her resolute and decided, and enabled her to bear her weary imprisonment patiently. "i cannot be held a prisoner for ever," she said to herself. "if i confess nothing, the queen must at last be convinced of my innocence, and set me at liberty." but fritz wendel was less patient than his cunning louise. he could no longer support this torture; and as the fourth day brought no intelligence, and no trace of louise, he was determined to dare the worst, and, like alexander, to cut the gordian knot which he could not untie. with bold decision he entered the castle and demanded to speak with the king, stating that he had important discoveries to make known. the king received him instantly, and at fritz wendel's request dismissed his adjutants. "now we are without witnesses, speak," said the king. "i know a secret, your majesty, which concerns the honour and the future of the royal family; and you will graciously pardon me when i say i will not sell this secret except for a great price." the king's eyes rested upon the impudent face of fritz wendel with a dangerous expression. "name your price," said he, "but think well. if your secret is not worth the price you demand, you may perhaps pay for it with your head, certainly with your liberty." "my secret is of the greatest value, for it will save the dynasty of the hohenzollerns," said fritz wendel, boldly; "but i will sell it to your majesty--i will disclose it only after you have graciously promised me my price." "before i do that i must know your conditions," said the king, with difficulty subduing his rage. "i demand for myself a major's commission, and the hand of mademoiselle von schwerin." in the beginning the king looked at the bold speaker with angry amazement; soon, however, his glance became kind and pitiful. "i have to do with a madman," thought he; "i will be patient, and give way to his humor. i grant you your price," said he; "speak on." so fritz wendel began. he made known the engagement of the prince; he explained the plan of flight; he was so clear, so exact in all his statements, that frederick soon saw he was no maniac; that these were no pictures of a disordered brain, but a threatening, frightful reality. when the gardener had closed, the king, his arms folded across his back, walked several times backward and forward through the room; then suddenly stopped before fritz wendel, and seemed, with his sharp glance, to probe the bottom of his soul. "can you write?" said the king. "i can write german, french, english, and latin," said he, proudly. "seat yourself there, and write what i shall dictate in german. does mademoiselle von schwerin know your hand?" "sire, she has received at least twenty letters from me." "then write now, as i shall dictate, the one-and-twentieth." it was a short, laconic, but tender and impressive love-letter, which frederick dictated. fritz wendel implored his beloved to keep her promise, and on the same day in which the prince would fly with laura to escape with him to oranienburg, to entreat the protection of the prince, and through his influence to induce the priest to perform the marriage ceremony; he fixed the time and hour of flight, and besought her to leave the castle punctually, and follow him, without fear, who would be found waiting for her at the castle gate. "now, sign it," said the king, "and fold it as you are accustomed to do. give me the letter; i will see that it is delivered." "and my price, majesty," said fritz, for the first time trembling. the king's clouded brow threatened a fearful storm. "you shall have the price which your treachery and your madness has earned," said frederick, in that tone which made all who heard it tremble. "yes, you shall have what you have earned, and what your daring insolence deserves. were all these things true which you have related with so bold a brow, you would deserve to be hung; you would have committed a twofold crime!--have been the betrayer of a royal prince--have watched him like a base spy, and listened to his secrets, in order to sell them, and sought to secure your own happiness by the misery of two noble souls! you would have committed the shameful and unpardonable crime of misleading an innocent child, who, by birth, rank, and education, is eternally separated from you. happily for you, all this romance is the birth of your sick fancy. i will not, therefore, punish you, but i will cure you, as fools and madmen are cured; i will send you to a madhouse until your senses are restored, and you confess that this wild story is the picture of your disordered brain--until you swear that these are bold lies with which you have abused my patience. the restored invalid will receive my forgiveness--the obstinate culprit, never!" the king rang the bell, and said to his adjutants, "take this man out, and deliver him to the nearest sentinels; command them to place him at once in the military hospital; he is to be secured in the wards prepared for madmen--no man shall speak with him; and if he utters any wild and senseless tales, i am to be informed of it." "oh, sire! pardon, pardon! send me not into the insane asylum. i will retract all; i will believe that all this is false; that i have only dreamed--that--" the king nodded to his adjutants, and they dragged the sobbing, praying gardener from the room, and gave him to the watch. the king looked after him sadly. "and providence makes use of such pitiful men to control the fate of nations," said he. "a miserable garden-boy and a shameless maid of honor are the chosen instruments to serve the dynasty of the hohenzollerns, and to rob the prince royal of prussia of his earthly happiness! upon what weak, fine threads hang the majesty and worth of kings! alas, how often wretched and powerless man looks out from under the purple! in spite of all my power and greatness--in spite of my army, the prince would have flown, and committed a crime, that perhaps god and his conscience might have pardoned, but his king never! poor william, you will pay dearly for this short, sweet dream of love, and your heart and its illusions will be trodden under foot, even as mine have been. yes, alas! it is scarcely nine years, and it seems to me i am a hundred years older--that heavy blocks of ice are encamped about my heart, and i know that, day by day this ice will become harder. the world will do its part--this poor race of men, whom i would so gladly love, and whom i am learning daily to despise more and more!" he walked slowly to and fro; his face was shadowed by melancholy. in a short time he assumed his wonted expression, and, raising his head, his eyes beamed with a noble fire. "i will not be cruel! if i must destroy his happiness, it shall not be trodden under foot as common dust and ashes. alas, alas! how did they deal with me? my friend was led to execution, and a poor innocent child was stripped and horsewhipped through the streets, because she dared to love the crown prince! no, no; laura von pannewitz shall not share the fate of dorris ritter. i must destroy the happiness of my brother, but i will not cover his love with shame!" so saying, the king rang, and ordered his carriage to be brought round. he placed the letter, which he had dictated to fritz wendel, in his pocket, and drove rapidly to the queen-mother's palace. frederick had a long and secret interview with his mother. the ladies in the next room heard the loud and angry voice of the queen, but they could not distinguish her words. it seemed to them that she was weeping, not from sorrow or pain, but from rage and scorn, for now and then they heard words of menace, and her voice was harsh. at last, a servant was directed to summon mademoiselle von pannewitz to the presence of the queen. he soon returned, stating that mademoiselle laura's room was empty, and that she had gone to schonhausen to visit queen elizabeth christine. "i will follow her there myself," said the king, "and your majesty may rest assured that queen elizabeth will assist us to separate these unhappy lovers as gently as possible." "ah, you pity them still, my son?" said the queen, shrugging her shoulders. "yes, madame, i pity all those who are forced to sacrifice their noblest, purest feelings to princely rank. i pity them; but i cannot allow them to forget their duty." laura von pannewitz had lived through sad and weary days since her last interview with the prince. the enthusiasm and exaltation of her passion had soon been followed by repentance. the prince's eloquent words had lost their power of conviction, now that she was no more subject to the magic of his glance and his imposing beauty. he stood no longer before her, in the confidence of youth, to banish doubts and despair from her soul, and convince her of the justification of their love. laura was now fully conscious that she was about to commit a great crime--that, in the weakness of her love, she was about to rob the prince of his future, of his glory and power. she said to herself that it would be a greater and nobler proof of her love to offer up herself and her happiness to the prince, than to accept from him the sacrifice of his birthright. but in the midst of these reproaches and this repentance she saw ever before her the sorrowful face of her beloved--she heard his dear voice imploring her to follow him--to be his. laura, in the anguish of her soul and the remorse of conscience, had flown for refuge to the gentle, noble queen elizabeth, who had promised her help and consolation when the day of her trial should come. she had hastened, therefore, to schonhausen, sure of the tender sympathy of her royal friend. as laura's carriage entered the castle court, the carriage of the king drew up at the garden gate. he commanded the coachman to drive slowly away, and then stepped alone into the garden. he walked hastily through the park, and drew near to the little side door of the palace, which led through lonely corridors and unoccupied rooms, to the chamber of the queen. he knew that elizabeth only used this door when she wished to take her solitary walk in the park. the king wished to escape the curious and wondering observations of the attendants, and to surprise the queen and laura von pannewitz. he stepped on quietly, and, without being seen, reached the queen's rooms, convinced that he would find them in the boudoir. he was about to raise the portiere which separated it from the ante-room, when he was arrested by the voices of women; one piteous and full of tears, the other sorrowful but comforting. the king let the portiere fall, and seated himself noiselessly near the door. "let us listen awhile," said the king; "the women are always coquetting when in the presence of men. we will listen to them when they think themselves alone. i will in this way become acquainted with this dangerous laura, and learn better, than by a long interview, how i can influence her." the king leaned his head upon his stick, and fixed his piercing eyes upon the heavy velvet portiere, behind which two weak women were now perhaps deciding the fate of the dynasty of hohenzollern. "madame," said laura, "the blossoms of our happiness are already faded and withered, and our love is on the brink of the grave." "poor laura!" said the queen, with a weary smile, "it needed no gift of prophecy to foretell that. no flowers bloom around a throne; thorns only grow in that fatal soil! your young eyes were blinded by magic; you mistook these thorns for blossoms. alas! i have wounded my heart with them, and i hope that it will bleed to death!" "o queen, if you knew my doubts and my despair, you would have pity with me; you would not be so cruel as to command me to sacrifice my love and my happiness! my happiness is his, and my love is but the echo of his own. if it was only a question of trampling upon my own foolish wishes, i would not listen to the cry of my soul. but the prince loves me. oh, madame, think how great and strong this love must be, when i have the courage to boast of it! yes, he loves me; and when i forsake him, i will not suffer alone. he will also be wretched, and his tears and his despair will torture my heart. how can i deceive him? oh, madame, i cannot bear that his lips should curse me!" "yield him up now," said the queen, "and a day will come when he will bless you for it; a day in which he will confess that your love was great, was holy, that you sacrificed yourself and all earthly happiness freely, in order to spare him the wretchedness of future days. he loves you now, dearly, fondly, but a day will come in which he will demand of you his future, his greatness, his royal crown, all of which he gave up for you. he will reproach you for then having accepted this great sacrifice, and he will never forgive you for your weakness in yielding to his wishes. believe me, laura, in the hearts of men there lives but one eternal passion, and that is ambition. love to them is only the amusement of the passing hour, nothing more." "oh, madame, if that is so, would god that i might die; life is not worth the trouble of living!" cried laura, weeping bitterly. "life, my poor child, is not a joy which we can set aside, but a duty which we must bear patiently. you cannot trample upon this duty; and if your grief is strong, so must your will be stronger." "what shall i do? what name do you give the duty which i must take upon myself?" cried laura, with trembling lips. "i put my fate in your hands. what shall i do?" "you must overcome yourself; you must conquer your love; you must follow the voice of conscience, which brought you to me for counsel." "oh, my queen, you know not what you ask! your calm, pure heart knows nothing of love." "you say that i know nothing of love?" cried the queen, passionately. "you know not that my life is one great anguish, a never-ceasing self-sacrifice! yes, i am the victim of love--a sadder, more helpless, more torturing love than you, laura, can ever know. i love, and am not beloved. what i now confess to you is known only to god, and i tell you in order to console you, and give you strength to accept your fate bravely. i suffer, i am wretched, although i am a queen! i love my husband; i love him with the absorbing passion of a young girl, with the anguish which the damned must feel when they stand at the gates of paradise, and dare not enter in. my thoughts, my heart, my soul belong to him; but he is not mine. he stands with a cold heart near my glowing bosom, and while with rapture of love i would throw myself upon his breast, i must clasp my arms together and hold them still, and must seek and find an icy glance with which to answer his. look you, there was a time when i believed it impossible to bear all this torture; a time in which my youth struggled like tantalus; a time in which my pride revolted at this love, with its shame and humiliation; in which i would have given my crown to buy the right to fly into some lonely desert, and give myself up to tears. the king demanded that i should remain at his side, not as his wife, but as his queen; ever near him, but forever separated from him; unpitied and misunderstood; envied by fools, and thought happy by the world! and, laura, oh, i loved him so dearly that i found strength to bear even this torture, and he knows not that my heart is being hourly crushed at the foot of his throne. i draw the royal purple over my wounded bosom, and it sometimes seems to me that my heart's blood gives this ruddy color to my mantle. now, laura, do i know nothing of love? do i not understand the greatness of the sacrifice which i demand of you?" the queen, her face bathed in tears, opened her arms, and laura threw herself upon her bosom; their sighs and tears were mingled. the king sat in the ante-room, with pale face and clouded eyes. he bowed his head, as if in adoration, and suddenly a glittering brilliant, bright as a star, and nobler and more precious than all the jewels of this sorrowful world, fell upon his pallid cheek. "truly," said he to himself, "there is something great and exalted in a woman's nature. i bow down in humility before this great soul, but my heart, alas! cannot be forced to love. the dead cannot be awakened, and that which is shrouded and buried can never more be brought to life and light!" "you have conquered, my queen," said laura, after a long pause; "i will be worthy of your esteem and friendship. that day shall never come in which my lover shall reproach me with selfishness and weakness! 'i am ready to be offered up!' i will not listen to him; i will not flee with him; and while i know that he is waiting for me. i will cast myself in your arms, and beseech you to pray to god for me, that he would send death, his messenger of love and mercy, to relieve me from my torments." "not so, my laura," said the queen; "you must make no half offering; it is not enough to renounce your lover, you must build up between yourselves an everlasting wall of separation; you must make this separation eternal! you must marry, and thus set the prince a noble example of self-control." "marry!" cried laura; "can you demand this of me? marry without love! alas, alas! the prince will charge me with inconstancy and treachery to him, and i must bear that in silence." "but i will not be silent," said the queen, "i will tell him of your grief and of the greatness of your soul; and when he ceases, as he must do, to look upon you as his beloved, he will honor you as the protecting angel of his existence." "you promise me that. you will say to him that i was not faithless--that i gave him up because i loved him more than i did myself; i seemed faithless only to secure his happiness!" "i promise you that, laura." "well, then, i bow my head under the yoke--i yield to my fate--i accept the hand which count voss offers me. i ask that you will go to the queen-mother and say i submit to her commands--i will become the wife of count voss!" "and i will lead you to the queen and to the altar," said the king, raising the portiere, and showing himself to the ladies, who stared at him in breathless silence. the king drew nearer to laura, and bowing low, he said: "truly my brother is to be pitied, that he is only a prince, and not a freeman; for a pitiful throne, he must give up the holiest and noblest possession, the pure heart of a fair woman, glowing with love for him! and yet men think that we, the princes of the world, are to be envied! they are dazzled by the crown, but they see not the thorns with which our brows are beset! you, laura, will never envy us; but on that day when you see my brother in his royal mantle and his crown--when his subjects shout for joy and call him their king--then can you say to yourself, 'it was i who made him king--i anointed him with my tears!' and when his people honor and bless him, you can rejoice also in the thought, this is the fruit of the strength of my love!' come, i will myself conduct you to my mother, and i will say to her that i would consider myself happy to call you sister." turning to queen elizabeth, he said: "i will say to my mother that mademoiselle von pannewitz has not yielded to my power or my commands, but to the persuasive eloquence of your majesty, when the people of prussia have for years considered their protecting angel, and who from this time onward must be regarded as the guardian spirit of our royal house!" he reached his hand to the queen, but she took it not. trembling fearfully, with the paleness of death in her face, she pointed to the portiere and said, "you were there--you heard all!" the king, his countenance beaming with respectful admiration, drew near the queen, and placing his arm around her neck, he whispered, "yes, i was there--i heard all. i heard, and i know that i am a poor, blind man, to whom a kingdom is offered, a treasure-house of love and all good gifts, and i cannot, alas! cannot, accept it!" the queen uttered a loud cry, and her weary head dropped upon his shoulder. the king gazed silently into the pale and sorrowful face, and a ray of infinite pity beamed in his eyes. "i have discovered to-day a noble secret--a secret that god alone was worthy to know. from this day i consider myself as the high priest of the holiest of holies, and i will guard this secret as my greatest treasure. i swear this to you, and i seal my oath with this kiss pressed upon your lips by one who will never again embrace a woman!" he bowed low, and pressed a fervent, kiss upon the lips of the queen. elizabeth, who had borne her misfortunes bravely, had not the power to withstand the sweet joy of this moment; she uttered a loud cry, and sank insensible to the floor. when she awoke she was alone; the king had called her maids--had conducted laura von pannewitz to the carriage, and returned to berlin. elizabeth was again alone--alone with her thoughts--with her sorrows and her love. but a holy fire was in her eyes, and raising them toward heaven, she whispered: "i thank thee, o heavenly father, for the happiness of this hour! i feel his kiss upon my lips! by that kiss they are consecrated! never, never will they utter one murmuring word!" she arose and entered her cabinet, with a soft smile; she drew near to a table which stood by the window, and gazed at a beautiful landscape, and the crayons, etc., etc., which lay upon it. "he shall think of me from time to time," whispered she. "for his sake i will become an artist and a writer; i will be something more than a neglected queen. he shall see my books upon his table and my paintings on his wall. will i not then compel him sometimes to think of me with pride?" chapter xvi. the surprise. the day after the queen-mother's interview with the king, the court was surprised by the intelligence that the physician had mistaken the malady of louise von schwerin; that it was not scarlet fever, as had been supposed, but some simple eruption, from which she was now entirely restored. the little maiden appeared again amongst her companions, and there was no change in her appearance, except a slight pallor. no one was more amazed at her sudden recovery than louise. with watchful suspicion, she remarked that the queen-mother had resumed her gracious and amiable manner toward her, and seemed entirely to have forgotten the events of the last few days; her accusations and suspicions seemed quieted as if by a stroke of magic. in the beginning, louise believed that this was a trap laid for her, she was therefore perpetually on her guard; she did not enter the garden, and was well pleased that fritz wendel had the prudence and forbearance never to walk to and fro by her chamber, and never to place in her window the beautiful flowers which she had been wont to find there every morning. in a short time louise became convinced that she was not watched, that there were no spies about her path; that she was, in fact, perfectly at liberty to come and go as she pleased. she resumed her thoughtless manner and childish dreamings, walked daily in the garden, and took refuge in the green-house. strange to say, she never found her beautiful fritz, never met his glowing, eloquent eyes, never caught even a distant view of his handsome figure. this sudden disappearance of her lover made her restless and unhappy, and kindled the flame of love anew. louise, who in the loneliness and neglect of her few days of confinement, had become almost ashamed of her affair with fritz wendel, and begun to repent of her foolish love, now excited by the obstacles in her path, felt the whole strength of her passion revive, and was assured of her eternal constancy. "i will overcome all impediments," said this young girl, "and nothing shall prevent me from playing my romance to the end. fritz wendel loves me more passionately than any duke or baron will ever love me; he has been made a prisoner because of his love for me, and that is the reason i see him no more. but i will save him; i will set him at liberty, and then i will flee with him, far, far away into the wide, wide world where no one shall mock at our love." with such thoughts as these she returned from her anxious search in the garden. as she entered her room, she saw upon her table a superb bouquet, just such a tribute as her loved fritz had offered daily at her shrine before the queen's unfortunate discovery. with a loud cry of joy, she rushed to the table, seized the flowers, and pressed them to her lips; she then sought in the heart of her bouquet for the little note which she had ever before found concealed there. truly this bouquet contained also a love-letter, a very tender, glowing love-letter, in which fritz wendel implored her to fly with him; to carry out their original plan, and flee with him to oranienburg, where they would be married by the priest who had been won over by the prince augustus william. to-day, yes, this evening at nine o'clock must the flight take place. louise did not hesitate an instant; she was resolved to follow the call of her beloved. a court ball was to take place this evening, and louise von schwerin must appear in the suite of the queen; she must find some plausible excuse and remain at home. as the hour for the queen's morning promenade approached, louise became so suddenly ill that she was forced to ask one of the maids of honor to make her excuses, to return to her room, and lay herself upon the bed. the queen came herself to inquire after her health, and manifested so much sympathy, so much pity, that louise was fully assured, and accepted without suspicion the queen's proposal that she should give up the ball, and remain quietly in her room. louise had now no obstacle to fear; she could make her preparations for flight without interruption. the evening came. she heard the carriages rolling away with the queen and her suite. an indescribable anxiety oppressed this young girl. the hour of decision was at hand. she felt a maidenly trembling at the thought of her rash imprudence, but the hour was striking--the hour of romantic flight, the hour of meeting with her fond lover. it seemed to her as if she saw the imploring eyes of fritz ever before her--as if she heard his loving, persuasive voice. forgetting all consideration and all modesty, she wrapped herself in her mantle, and drawing the hood tightly over her head, she hastened with flying feet through the corridors and down the steps to the front door of the palace. with a trembling heart she stepped into the street. unspeakable terror took possession of her. "what if he was not there? what if this was a plot, a snare laid for her feet? but no, no!" she saw a tall and closely-muffled figure crossing the open square, and coming directly to her. she could not see his face, but it was surely him. now he was near her. he whispered the signal word in a low, soft tone. with a quaking heart, she gave the answer. the young man took her cold little hand, and hurried her forward to the corner of the square. there stood the carriage. the stranger lifted her in his arms, and carried her to the carriage, sprang in, and slammed the door. forward! the carriage seemed forced onward by the wings of the wind. in a few moments the city lay far behind them. in wild haste they flew onward, ever onward. the young man, still closely muffled, sat near to louise--her lover, soon to be her husband! neither spoke a word. they were near to each other, with quickly-beating hearts, but silent, still silent. louise found this conduct of her lover mysterious and painful. she understood not why he who had been so tender, so passionate, should remain so cold and still by her side. she felt that she must fly far, far away from this unsympathizing lover, who had no longer a word for her, no further assurances of love. yes, he despised her because she had followed him, no longer thought her worthy of his tenderness. as this thought took possession of her, she gave a fearful shriek, and springing up from her seat, she seized the door, and tried to open it and jump out. the strong hand of her silent lover held her back. "we have not yet arrived, mademoiselle," whispered he. louise felt a cold shudder pass over her. fritz wendel call her mademoiselle! and the voice sounded cold and strange. anxiously, silently, she sank back in the carriage. her searching glance was fixed upon her companion, but the night was dark. she could see nothing but the mysteriously muffled figure. she stretched out her small hands toward him, as if praying for help. he seized them, and pressed them to his heart and lips, but he remained silent. he did not clasp her in his arms as heretofore; he whispered no tender, passionate assurances in her ear. the terror of death overcame louise. she clasped her hands over her face, and wept aloud. he heard her piteous sobs, and was still silent, and did not seek to comfort her. onward went the flying wheels. the horses had been twice changed in order to reach the goal more quickly. louise wept without ceasing. exhausted by terror, she thought her death was near. twice tortured by this ominous silence, she had dared to say a few low, sobbing words to her companion, but he made no reply. at last the carriage stopped. "we have arrived," he whispered to louise, sprang from the carriage, and lifted her out. "where are we?" she said, convinced that she had been brought to a prison, or some secret place of banishment. "we are in oranienburg, and there is the church where the preacher awaits us." he took her arm hastily, and led her into the church. the door was opened, and as louise stepped upon the threshold, she felt her eyes blinded by the flood of light upon the altar. she saw the priest with his open book, and heard the solemn sounds of the organ. the young man led louise forward, but not to the altar; he entered first into the sacristy. there also wax lights were burning, and on the table lay a myrtle wreath and a lace veil. "this is your bridal wreath and veil," said the young man, who still kept the hood of his cloak drawn tightly over his face. he unfastened and removed louise's mantle, and handed her the veil and wreath. then he threw back his hood, and removed his cloak. louise uttered a cry of amazement and horror. he who stood before her was not her lover, was not the gardener fritz wendel, but a strange young officer in full-dress uniform! "forgive me," said he, "that i have caused you so much suffering to-day, but the king commanded me to remain silent, and i did so. we are here in obedience to the king, and he commanded me to hand you this letter before our marriage. it was written by his own hand." louise seized the royal letter hastily. it was laconic, but the few words it contained filled the heart of the little maiden with shame. the letter contained these lines: "as you are resolved, without regard to circumstances, to marry, out of consideration for your family i will fulfil your wish. the handsome gardener-boy is not in a condition to become your husband, he being now confined in a madhouse. i have chosen for you a gallant young officer, of good family and respectable fortune, and i have commanded him to marry you. if he pleases you, the priest will immediately perform the marriage ceremony, and you will follow your husband into his garrison at brandenburg. if you refuse him, the young officer, von cleist, has my command to place you again in the carriage, and take you to your mother. there you will have time to meditate upon your inconsiderate boldness. frederick ii." louise read the letter of the king again and again; she then fixed her eyes upon the young man who stood before her, and who gazed at her with a questioning and smiling face. she saw that he was handsome, young, and charming, and she confessed that this rich uniform was more attractive than the plain, dark coat of the gardener-boy fritz wendel. she felt that the eyes of the young cavalier were as glowing and as eloquent as those of her old love. "well," said he, laughing, "have you decided, mademoiselle? do you consider me worthy to be the envied and blessed husband of the enchanting and lovely louise von schwerin, or will you cruelly banish me and rob me of this precious boon?" she gazed down deep into his eyes and listened to his words breathlessly. his voice was so soft and persuasive, not harsh and rough like that of fritz wendel, it fell like music on her ear. "well," repeated the young von cleist, "will you be gracious, and accept me for your husband?" "would you still wish to marry me, even if the king had not commanded it?" "i would marry you in spite of the king and the whole world," said von cleist. "since i have seen you, i love you dearly." louise reached him her hand. "well, then," she said, "let us fulfil the commands of the king. he commands us to marry. we will commence with that: afterwards we will see if we can love each other without a royal command." the young captain kissed her hand, and placed the myrtle wreath upon her brow. "come, the priest is waiting, and i long to call you my bride." he led the young girl of fourteen to the altar. the priest opened the holy book, and performed the marriage ceremony. at the same hour, in the chapel of the king's palace, another wedding took place. laura von pannewitz and count voss stood before the altar. the king himself conducted laura, and queen elizabeth gave her hand to count voss. the entire court had followed the bridal pair, and all were witnesses to this solemn contract. only one was absent--the prince augustus william was not there. while laura von pannewitz stood above in the palace chapel, swearing eternal constancy to count voss, the prince stood below at the castle gate, waiting for her descent. but the hour had long passed, and she came not. a dark fear and torturing anguish came over him. had the king discovered their plan? was it he who held laura back, or had she herself forgotten her promise? was she unfaithful to her oath? the time still flew, and she came not. trembling with scorn, anguish, and doubt, he mounted the castle steps, determined to search through the saloons, and, at all risks, to draw near his beloved. driven by the violence of his love, he had almost determined to carry her off by force. throwing off his mantle, he stepped into the anteroom. no man regarded him. every eye was turned toward the great saloon. the prince entered. the whole court circle, which were generally scattered through the adjoining rooms, now forced themselves into this saloon--it glittered and shimmered with diamonds, orders, and gold and silver embroidery. the prince saw nothing of all this. he saw only the tall, pallid girl, who stood in the middle of the room with the sweeping bridal veil and the myrtle wreath in her hair. yes, it was her--laura von pannewitz--and near her stood the young, smiling count voss. what did all this mean? why was his beloved so splendidly attired? why was the royal family gathered around her? why was the queen kissing even now his beautiful laura, and handing her this splendid diamond diadem? why did count voss press the king's hand, which was that moment graciously extended to him, to his lips? prince augustus william understood nothing of all this. he felt as if bewildered by strange and fantastic dreams. with distended, glassy eyes he stared upon the newly wedded pair who were now receiving the congratulations of the court. but the king's sharp glance had observed him, and rapidly forcing his way through the crowd of courtiers, he drew near to the prince. "a word with you, brother," said the king; "come, let us go into my cabinet." the prince followed him, bewildered--scarcely conscious. "and now, my brother," said the king, as the door closed behind him, "show yourself worthy of your kingly calling and of your ancestors; show that you deserve to be the ruler of a great people; show that you know how to govern yourself! laura von pannewitz can never be yours; she is the wife of count voss!" the prince uttered so piercing, so heartrending a cry, that the king turned pale, and an unspeakable pity took possession of his soul. "be brave, my poor brother; what you suffer, that have i also suffered, and almost every one who is called by fate to fill an exalted position has the same anguish to endure. a prince has not the right to please himself--he belongs to the people and to the world's history, and to both these he must be ever secondary." "it is not true, it is not possible!" stammered the prince. "laura can never belong to another! she is mine! betrothed to me by the holiest of oaths, and she shall be mine in spite of you and of the whole world! i desire no crown, no princely title; i wish only laura, only my laura! i say it is not true that she is the wife of count voss!" "it is true," whispered a soft, tearful, choking voice, just behind him. the prince turned hastily; the sad eye of laura, full of unspeakable love, met his wild glance. queen elizabeth, according to an understanding with the king, had led the young countess voss into this apartment, and then returned with a light step to the adjoining room. "i will grant to your unhappy love, my brother, one last evening glow," said the king. "take a last, sad farewell of your declining sun; but forget not that when the sun has disappeared, we have still the stars to shine upon us, though, alas! they have no warmth and kindle no flowers into life." the king bowed, and followed his wife into the next room. the prince remained alone with laura. what was spoken and sworn in this last sad interview no man ever knew. in the beginning, the king, who remained in the next room, heard the raging voice of the prince uttering wild curses and bitter complaints; then his tones were softer and milder, and touchingly mournful. in half an hour the king entered the cabinet. the prince stood in the middle of the room, and laura opposite to him. they gazed into each other's wan and stricken faces with steady, tearless eyes; their hands were clasped. "farewell, my prince," said laura, with a firm voice; "i depart immediately with my husband; we will never meet again!" "yes, we will meet again," said the prince, with a weary smile; "we will meet again in another and a better world: i will be there awaiting you, laura!" they pressed each other's hands, then turned away. laura stepped into the room where count voss was expecting her. "come, my husband," she said; "i am ready to follow you, and be assured i will make you a faithful and submissive wife." "brother," said prince augustus william, extending his hand to the king, "i struggle no more. i will conform myself to your wishes, and marry the princess of brunswick." chapter xvii. the resignation of baron pollnitz. the morning after the ball, pollnitz entered the cabinet of the king; he was confused and sat down, and that happened to him which had never before happened--he was speechless. the king's eyes rested upon him with an ironical and contemptuous expression. "i believe you are about to confess your sins, pollnitz, and make me your father confessor. you have the pitiful physiognomy of a poor sinner." "sire, i would consent to be a sinner, but i am bitterly opposed to being a poor sinner." "ah! debts again; again in want!" cried the king. "i am weary of this everlasting litany, and i forbid you to come whining to me again with your never-ending necessities; the evil a man brings upon himself he must bear; the dangers which he involuntary incurs, he must conquer himself." "will not your majesty have the goodness to assist me, to reach me a helping hand and raise me from the abyss into which my creditors have cast me?" "god forbid that i should waste the gold upon a pollnitz which i need for my brave soldiers and for cannon!" said the king, earnestly. "then, sire," said pollnitz, in a low and hesitating tone, "i must beg you to give me my dismissal." "your dismissal! have you discovered in the moon a foolish prince who will pay a larger sum for your miserable jests and malicious scandals and railings than the king of prussia?" "not in the moon, sire, is such a mad individual to be found, but in a dutch realm; however, i have found no such prince, but a beautiful young maiden, who will be only too happy to be the baroness pollnitz, and pay the baron's debts." "and this young girl is not sent to a mad-house?" said the king; "perhaps the house of the baron von pollnitz is considered a house of correction, and she is sent there to be punished for her follies. has the girl who is rich enough to pay the debts of a pollnitz no guardian?" "father and mother both live, sire; and both receive me joyfully as their son. my bride dwells in nuremberg, and is the daughter of a distinguished patrician family." "and she buys you," said the king, "because she considers you the most enchanting of all nuremberger toys! as for your dismissal, i grant it to you with all my heart. seat yourself and write as i shall dictate." he looked toward the writing-table, and pollnitz, obeying his command, took his seat and arranged his pen and paper. the king, with his arms folded across his back, walked slowly up and down the room. "write! i will give you a dismissal, and also a certificate of character and conduct." the king dictated to the trembling and secretly enraged baron the following words: "we, frederick ii., make known, that baron pollnitz, born in berlin, and, so far as we believe, of an honorable family, page to our sainted grandfather, of blessed memory, also in the service of the duke of orleans, colonel in the spanish service, cavalry captain in the army of the deceased emperor, gentleman-in-waiting to the pope, gentlemen-in-waiting to the duke of brunswick, color-bearer in the service of the duke of weimar, gentleman-in-waiting to our sainted father, of ever-blessed memory; lastly, and at last, master of ceremonies in our service;--said baron pollnitz, overwhelmed by this stream of military and courtly honors which had been thrust upon him, and thereby weary of the vanities of this wicked world; misled, also, by the evil example of monteulieu, who, a short time ago, left the court, now entreats of us to grant him his dismissal, and an honorable testimony as to his good name and service. after thoughtful consideration, we do not find it best to refuse him the testimony he has asked for. as to the most important service which he rendered to the court by his foolish jests and inconsistencies, and the pastimes and distractions which he prepared for nine years for the amusement of our ever-blessed father, we do not hesitate to declare that, during the whole time of his service at court, he was not a street-robber nor a cut-purse, nor a poisoner; that he did not rob young women nor do them any violence; that he has not roughly attacked the honor of any man, but, consistently with his birth and lineage, behaved like a man of gallantry; that he has consistently made use of the talents lent to him by heaven, and brought before the public, in a merry and amusing way, that which is ridiculous and laughable amongst men, no doubt with the same object which lies at the bottom of all theatrical representations, that is, to improve the race. said baron has also steadily followed the counsel of bacchus with regard to frugality and temperance, and he has carried his christian love so far, that he has left wholly to the peasants that part of the evangelists which teaches that 'to give is more blessed than to receive.' he knows all the anecdotes concerning our castles and pleasure resorts, and has indelibly imprinted upon his memory a full list of all our old furniture and silver; above all things, he understands how to make himself indispensable and agreeable to those who know the malignity of his spirit and his cold heart." "as, however, in the most fruitful regions waste and desert spots are to be found, as the most beautiful bodies have their deformities, and the greatest painters are not without faults, so will we deal gently and considerately with the follies and sins of this much-talked-of baron; we grant him, therefore, though unwillingly, the desired dismissal. in addition to this, we abolish entirely this office so worthily filled by said baron, and wish to blot out the remembrance of it from the memory of man; holding that no other man can ever fill it satisfactorily." "frederick ii." the end. none ******************************************************************* this ebook was one of project gutenberg's early files produced at a time when proofing methods and tools were not well developed. there is an improved edition of this title which may be viewed as ebook (# ) at https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/ ******************************************************************* none beverly of graustark by george barr mccutcheon contents i east of the setting sun ii beverly calhoun iii on the road from balak iv the ragged retinue v the inn of the hawk and raven vi the home of the lion vii some facts and fancies viii through the ganlook gates ix the redoubtable dangloss x inside the castle walls xi the royal coach of graustark xii in service xiii the three princes xiv a visit and its consequences xv the testing of baldos xvi on the way to st. valentine's xvii a note translated xviii confessions and concessions xix the night fires xx gossip of some consequence xxi the rose xxii a proposal xxiii a shot in the darkness xxiv beneath the ground xxv the valor of the south xxvi the degradation of marlanx xxvii the prince of dawsbergen xxviii a boy disappears xxix the capture of gabriel xxx in the grotto xxxi clear skies beverly of graustark chapter i east of the setting sun far off in the mountain lands, somewhere to the east of the setting sun, lies the principality of graustark, serene relic of rare old feudal days. the traveler reaches the little domain after an arduous, sometimes perilous journey from the great european capitals, whether they be north or south or west--never east. he crosses great rivers and wide plains; he winds through fertile valleys and over barren plateaus; he twists and turns and climbs among sombre gorges and rugged mountains; he touches the cold clouds in one day and the placid warmth of the valley in the next. one does not go to graustark for a pleasure jaunt. it is too far from the rest of the world and the ways are often dangerous because of the strife among the tribes of the intervening mountains. if one hungers for excitement and peril he finds it in the journey from the north or the south into the land of the graustarkians. from vienna and other places almost directly west the way is not so full of thrills, for the railroad skirts the darkest of the dangerlands. once in the heart of graustark, however, the traveler is charmed into dreams of peace and happiness and--paradise. the peasants and the poets sing in one voice and accord, their psalm being of never-ending love. down in the lowlands and up in the hills, the simple worker of the soil rejoices that he lives in graustark; in the towns and villages the humble merchant and his thrifty customer unite to sing the song of peace and contentment; in the palaces of the noble the same patriotism warms its heart with thoughts of graustark, the ancient. prince and pauper strike hands for the love of the land, while outside the great, heartless world goes rumbling on without a thought of the rare little principality among the eastern mountains. in point of area, graustark is but a mite in the great galaxy of nations. glancing over the map of the world, one is almost sure to miss the infinitesimal patch of green that marks its location. one could not be blamed if he regarded the spot as a typographical or topographical illusion. yet the people of this quaint little land hold in their hearts a love and a confidence that is not surpassed by any of the lordly monarchs who measure their patriotism by miles and millions. the graustarkians are a sturdy, courageous race. from the faraway century when they fought themselves clear of the tartar yoke, to this very hour, they have been warriors of might and valor. the boundaries of their tiny domain were kept inviolate for hundreds of years, and but one victorious foe had come down to lay siege to edelweiss, the capital. axphain, a powerful principality in the north, had conquered graustark in the latter part of the nineteenth century, but only after a bitter war in which starvation and famine proved far more destructive than the arms of the victors. the treaty of peace and the indemnity that fell to the lot of vanquished graustark have been discoursed upon at length in at least one history. those who have followed that history must know, of course, that the reigning princess, yetive, was married to a young american at the very tag-end of the nineteenth century. this admirable couple met in quite romantic fashion while the young sovereign was traveling incognito through the united states of america. the american, a splendid fellow named lorry, was so persistent in the subsequent attack upon her heart, that all ancestral prejudices were swept away and she became his bride with the full consent of her entranced subjects. the manner in which he wooed and won this young and adorable ruler forms a very attractive chapter in romance, although unmentioned in history. this being the tale of another day, it is not timely to dwell upon the interesting events which led up to the marriage of the princess yetive to grenfall lorry. suffice it to say that lorry won his bride against all wishes and odds and at the same time won an endless love and esteem from the people of the little kingdom among the eastern hills two years have passed since that notable wedding in edelweiss. lorry and his wife, the princess, made their home in washington, but spent a few months of each year in edelweiss. during the periods spent in washington and in travel, her affairs in graustark were in the hands of a capable, austere old diplomat--her uncle, count caspar halfont. princess volga reigned as regent over the principality of axphain. to the south lay the principality of dawsbergen, ruled by young prince dantan, whose half brother, the deposed prince gabriel, had been for two years a prisoner in graustark, the convicted assassin of prince lorenz, of axphain, one time suitor for the hand of yetive. it was after the second visit of the lorrys to edelweiss that a serious turn of affairs presented itself. gabriel had succeeded in escaping from his dungeon. his friends in dawsbergen stirred up a revolution and dantan was driven from the throne at serros. on the arrival of gabriel at the capital, the army of dawsbergen espoused the cause of the prince it had spurned and, three days after his escape, he was on his throne, defying yetive and offering a price for the head of the unfortunate dantan, now a fugitive in the hills along the graustark frontier. chapter ii beverly calhoun major george calhoun was a member of congress from one of the southern states. his forefathers had represented the same commonwealth, and so, it was likely, would his descendants, if there is virtue in the fitness of things and the heredity of love. while intrepid frontiersmen were opening the trails through the fertile wilds west of the alleghanies, a strong branch of the calhoun family followed close in their footsteps. the major's great-grandfather saw the glories and the possibilities of the new territory. he struck boldly westward from the old revolutionary grounds, abandoning the luxuries and traditions of the carolinas for a fresh, wild life of promise. his sons and daughters became solid stones in the foundation of a commonwealth, and his grandchildren are still at work on the structure. state and national legislatures had known the calhouns from the beginning. battlefields had tested their valor, and drawing-rooms had proved their gentility. major calhoun had fought with stonewall jackson and won his spurs--and at the same time the heart and hand of betty haswell, the staunchest confederate who ever made flags, bandages and prayers for the boys in gray. when the reconstruction came he went to congress and later on became prominent in the united states consular service, for years holding an important european post. congress claimed him once more in the early ' s, and there he is at this very time. everybody in washington's social and diplomatic circles admired the beautiful beverly calhoun. according to his own loving term of identification, she was the major's "youngest." the fair southerner had seen two seasons in the nation's capital. cupid, standing directly in front of her, had shot his darts ruthlessly and resistlessly into the passing hosts, and masculine washington looked humbly to her for the balm that might soothe its pains. the wily god of love was fair enough to protect the girl whom he forced to be his unwilling, perhaps unconscious, ally. he held his impenetrable shield between her heart and the assaults of a whole army of suitors, high and low, great and small. it was not idle rumor that said she had declined a coronet or two, that the millions of more than one american midas had been offered to her, and that she had dealt gently but firmly with a score of hearts which had nothing but love, ambition and poverty to support them in the conflict. the calhouns lived in a handsome home not far from the residence of mr. and mrs. grenfall lorry. it seemed but natural that the two beautiful young women should become constant and loyal friends. women as lovely as they have no reason to be jealous. it is only the woman who does not feel secure of her personal charms that cultivates envy. at the home of graustark's princess beverly met the dukes and barons from the far east; it was in the warmth of the calhoun hospitality that yetive formed her dearest love for the american people. miss beverly was neither tall nor short. she was of that divine and indefinite height known as medium; slender but perfectly molded; strong but graceful, an absolutely healthy young person whose beauty knew well how to take care of itself. being quite heart-whole and fancy-free, she slept well, ate well, and enjoyed every minute of life. in her blood ran the warm, eager impulses of the south; hereditary love of case and luxury displayed itself in every emotion; the perfectly normal demand upon men's admiration was as characteristic in her as it is in any daughter of the land whose women are born to expect chivalry and homage. a couple of years in a new york "finishing school" for young ladies had served greatly to modify miss calhoun's colloquial charms. many of her delightful "way down south" phrases and mannerisms were blighted by the cold, unromantic atmosphere of a seminary conducted by two ladies from boston who were too old to marry, too penurious to love and too prim to think that other women might care to do both. there were times, however,--if she were excited or enthusiastic,--when pretty beverly so far forgot her training as to break forth with a very attractive "yo' all," "suah 'nough," or "go 'long naow." and when the bands played "dixie" she was not afraid to stand up and wave her handkerchief. the northerner who happened to be with her on such occasions usually found himself doing likewise before he could escape the infection. miss calhoun's face was one that painters coveted deep down in their artistic souls. it never knew a dull instant; there was expression in every lineament, in every look; life, genuine life, dwelt in the mobile countenance that turned the head of every man and woman who looked upon it. her hair was dark-brown and abundant; her eyes were a deep gray and looked eagerly from between long lashes of black; her lips were red and ever willing to smile or turn plaintive as occasion required; her brow was broad and fair, and her frown was as dangerous as a smile. as to her age, if the major admitted, somewhat indiscreetly, that all his children were old enough to vote, her mother, with the reluctance born in women, confessed that she was past twenty, so a year or two either way will determine miss beverly's age, so far as the telling of this story is concerned. her eldest brother--keith calhoun (the one with the congressional heritage)--thought she was too young to marry, while her second brother, dan, held that she soon would be too old to attract men with matrimonial intentions. lucy, the only sister, having been happily wedded for ten years, advised her not to think of marriage until she was old enough to know her own mind. toward the close of one of the most brilliant seasons the capital had ever known, less than a fortnight before congress was to adjourn, the wife of grenfall lorry received the news which spread gloomy disappointment over the entire social realm. a dozen receptions, teas and balls were destined to lose their richest attraction, and hostesses were in despair. the princess had been called to graustark. beverly calhoun was miserably unhappy. she had heard the story of gabriel's escape and the consequent probability of a conflict with axphain. it did not require a great stretch of imagination to convince her that the lorrys were hurrying off to scenes of intrigue, strife and bloodshed, and that not only graustark but its princess was in jeopardy. miss calhoun's most cherished hopes faded with the announcement that trouble, not pleasure, called yetive to edelweiss. it had been their plan that beverly should spend the delightful summer months in graustark, a guest at the royal palace. the original arrangements of the lorrys were hopelessly disturbed by the late news from count halfont. they were obliged to leave washington two months earlier than they intended, and they could not take beverly calhoun into danger-ridden graustark. the contemplated visit to st. petersburg and other pleasures had to be abandoned, and they were in tears. yetive's maids were packing the trunks, and lorry's servants were in a wild state of haste preparing for the departure on saturday's ship. on friday afternoon, beverly was naturally where she could do the most good and be of the least help--at the lorrys'. self-confessedly, she delayed the preparations. respectful maidservants and respectful menservants came often to the princess's boudoir to ask questions, and beverly just as frequently made tearful resolutions to leave the household in peace--if such a hullaballoo could be called peace. callers came by the dozen, but yetive would see no one. letters, telegrams and telephone calls almost swamped her secretary; the footman and the butler fairly gasped under the strain of excitement. through it all the two friends sat despondent and alone in the drear room that once had been the abode of pure delight. grenfall lorry was off in town closing up all matters of business that could be despatched at once. the princess and her industrious retinue were to take the evening express for new york and the next day would find them at sea. "i know i shall cry all summer," vowed miss calhoun, with conviction in her eyes. "it's just too awful for anything." she was lying back among the cushions of the divan and her hat was the picture of cruel neglect. for three solid hours she had stubbornly withstood yetive's appeals to remove her hat, insisting that she could not trust herself to stay more than a minute or two. "it seems to me, yetive, that your jailers must be very incompetent or they wouldn't have let loose all this trouble upon you," she complained. "prince gabriel is the very essence of trouble," confessed yetive, plaintively. "he was born to annoy people, just like the evil prince in the fairy tales." "i wish we had him over here," the american girl answered stoutly. "he wouldn't be such a trouble i'm sure. we don't let small troubles worry us very long, you know." "but he's dreadfully important over there, beverly; that's the difficult part of it," said yetive, solemnly. "you see, he is a condemned murderer." "then, you ought to hang him or electrocute him or whatever it is that you do to murderers over there," promptly spoke beverly. "but, dear, you don't understand. he won't permit us either to hang or to electrocute him, my dear. the situation is precisely the reverse, if he is correctly quoted by my uncle. when uncle caspar sent an envoy to inform dawsbergen respectfully that graustark would hold it personally responsible if gabriel were not surrendered, gabriel himself replied: 'graustark be hanged!'" "how rude of him, especially when your uncle was so courteous about it. he must be a very disagreeable person," announced miss calhoun. "i am sure you wouldn't like him," said the princess. "his brother, who has been driven from the throne--and from the capital, in fact--is quite different. i have not seen him, but my ministers regard him as a splendid young man." "oh, how i hope he may go back with his army and annihilate that old gabriel!" cried beverly, frowning fiercely. "alas," sighed the princess, "he hasn't an army, and besides he is finding it extremely difficult to keep from being annihilated himself. the army has gone over to prince gabriel." "pooh!" scoffed miss calhoun, who was thinking of the enormous armies the united states can produce at a day's notice. "what good is a ridiculous little army like his, anyway? a battalion from fort thomas could beat it to--" "don't boast, dear," interrupted yetive, with a wan smile. "dawsbergen has a standing army of ten thousand excellent soldiers. with the war reserves she has twice the available force i can produce." "but your men are so brave," cried beverly, who had heard their praises sung. "true, god bless them; but you forget that we must attack gabriel in his own territory. to recapture him means a perilous expedition into the mountains of dawsbergen, and i am sorely afraid. oh, dear, i hope he'll surrender peaceably!" "and go back to jail for life?" cried miss calhoun. "it's a good deal to expect of him, dear. i fancy it's much better fun kicking up a rumpus on the outside than it is kicking one's toes off against an obdurate stone wall from the inside. you can't blame him for fighting a bit." "no--i suppose not," agreed the princess, miserably. "gren is actually happy over the miserable affair, beverly. he is full of enthusiasm and positively aching to be in graustark--right in the thick of it all. to hear him talk, one would think that prince gabriel has no show at all. he kept me up till four o'clock this morning telling me that dawsbergen didn't know what kind of a snag it was going up against. i have a vague idea what he means by that; his manner did not leave much room for doubt. he also said that we would jolt dawsbergen off the map. it sounds encouraging, at least, doesn't it?" "it sounds very funny for you to say those things," admitted beverly, "even though they come secondhand. you were not cut out for slang." "why, i'm sure they are all good english words," remonstrated yetive. "oh, dear, i wonder what they are doing in graustark this very instant. are they fighting or--" "no; they are merely talking. don't you know, dear, that there is never a fight until both sides have talked themselves out of breath? we shall have six months of talk and a week or two of fight, just as they always do nowadays." "oh, you americans have such a comfortable way of looking at things," cried the princess. "don't you ever see the serious side of life?" "my dear, the american always lets the other fellow see the serious side of life," said beverly. "you wouldn't be so optimistic if a country much bigger and more powerful than america happened to be the other fellow." "it did sound frightfully boastful, didn't it? it's the way we've been brought up, i reckon,--even we southerners who know what it is to be whipped. the idea of a girl like me talking about war and trouble and all that! it's absurd, isn't it?" "nevertheless, i wish i could see things through those dear gray eyes of yours. oh, how i'd like to have you with me through all the months that are to come. you would be such a help to me--such a joy. nothing would seem so hard if you were there to make me see things through your brave american eyes." the princess put her arms about beverly's neck and drew her close. "but mr. lorry possesses an excellent pair of american eyes," protested miss beverly, loyally and very happily. "i know, dear, but they are a man's eyes. somehow, there is a difference, you know. i wouldn't dare cry when he was looking, but i could boo-hoo all day if you were there to comfort me. he thinks i am very brave--and i'm not," she confessed, dismally. "oh, i'm an awful coward," explained beverly, consolingly. "i think you are the bravest girl in all the world," she added. "don't you remember what you did at--" and then she recalled the stories that had come from graustark ahead of the bridal party two years before. yetive was finally obliged to place her hand on the enthusiastic visitor's lips. "peace," she cried, blushing. "you make me feel like a--a--what is it you call her--a dime-novel heroine?" "a yellow-back girl? never!" exclaimed beverly, severely. visitors of importance in administration circles came at this moment and the princess could not refuse to see them. beverly calhoun reluctantly departed, but not until after giving a promise to accompany the lorrys to the railway station. * * * * * the trunks had gone to be checked, and the household was quieter than it had been in many days. there was an air of depression about the place that had its inception in the room upstairs where sober-faced halkins served dinner for a not over-talkative young couple. "it will be all right, dearest," said lorry, divining his wife's thoughts as she sat staring rather soberly straight ahead of her, "just as soon as we get to edelweiss, the whole affair will look so simple that we can laugh at the fears of to-day. you see, we are a long way off just now." "i am only afraid of what may happen before we get there, gren," she said, simply. he leaned over and kissed her hand, smiling at the emphasis she unconsciously placed on the pronoun. beverly calhoun was announced just before coffee was served, and a moment later was in the room. she stopped just inside the door, clicked her little heels together and gravely brought her hand to "salute." her eyes were sparkling and her lips trembled with suppressed excitement. "i think i can report to you in edelweiss next month, general," she announced, with soldierly dignity. her hearers stared at the picturesque recruit, and halkins so far forgot himself as to drop mr. lorry's lump of sugar upon the table instead of into the cup. "explain yourself, sergeant!" finally fell from lorry's lips. the eyes of the princess were beginning to take on a rapturous glow. "may i have a cup of coffee, please, sir? i've been so excited i couldn't eat a mouthful at home." she gracefully slid into the chair halkins offered, and broke into an ecstatic giggle that would have resulted in a court-martial had she been serving any commander but love. with a plenteous supply of southern idioms she succeeded in making them understand that the major had promised to let her visit friends in the legation at st. petersburg in april a month or so after the departure of the lorrys. "he wanted to know where i'd rather spend the spring--washin'ton or lexin'ton, and i told him st. petersburg. we had a terrific discussion and neither of us ate a speck at dinner. mamma said it would be all right for me to go to st. petersburg if aunt josephine was still of a mind to go, too. you see, auntie was scared almost out of her boots when she heard there was prospect of war in graustark, just as though a tiny little war like that could make any difference away up in russia--hundreds of thousands of miles away--" (with a scornful wave of the hand)--"and then i just made auntie say she'd go to st. petersburg in april--a whole month sooner than she expected to go in the first place--and--" "you dear, dear beverly!" cried yetive, rushing joyously around the table to clasp her in her arms. "and st. petersburg really isn't a hundred thousand miles from edelweiss," cried beverly, gaily. "it's much less than that," said lorry, smiling, "but you surely don't expect to come to edelweiss if we are fighting. we couldn't think of letting you do that, you know. your mother would never--" "my mother wasn't afraid of a much bigger war than yours can ever hope to be," cried beverly, resentfully. "you can't stop me if i choose to visit graustark." "does your father know that you contemplate such a trip?" asked lorry, returning her handclasp and looking doubtfully into the swimming blue eyes of his wife. "no, he doesn't," admitted beverly, a trifle aggressively. "he could stop you, you know," he suggested. yetive was discreetly silent. "but he won't know anything about it," cried beverly triumphantly. "i could tell him, you know," said lorry. "no, you _couldn't_ do anything so mean as that," announced beverly. "you're not that sort." chapter iii on the road from balak a ponderous coach lumbered slowly, almost painfully, along the narrow road that skirted the base of a mountain. it was drawn by four horses, and upon the seat sat two rough, unkempt russians, one holding the reins, the other lying back in a lazy doze. the month was june and all the world seemed soft and sweet and joyous. to the right flowed a turbulent mountain stream, boiling savagely with the alien waters of the flood season. ahead of the creaking coach rode four horsemen, all heavily armed; another quartette followed some distance in the rear. at the side of the coach an officer of the russian mounted police was riding easily, jangling his accoutrements with a vigor that disheartened at least one occupant of the vehicle. the windows of the coach doors were lowered, permitting the fresh mountain air to caress fondly the face of the young woman who tried to find comfort in one of the broad seats. since early morn she had struggled with the hardships of that seat, and the late afternoon found her very much out of patience. the opposite seat was the resting place of a substantial colored woman and a stupendous pile of bags and boxes. the boxes were continually toppling over and the bags were forever getting under the feet of the once placid servant, whose face, quite luckily, was much too black to reflect the anger she was able, otherwise, through years of practice, to conceal. "how much farther have we to go, lieutenant?" asked the girl on the rear seat, plaintively, even humbly. the man was very deliberate with his english. he had been recommended to her as the best linguist in the service at radovitch, and he had a reputation to sustain. "it another hour is but yet," he managed to inform her, with a confident smile. "oh, dear," she sighed, "a whole hour of this!" "we soon be dar, miss bev'ly; jes' yo' mak' up yo' mine to res' easy-like, an' we--" but the faithful old colored woman's advice was lost in the wrathful exclamation that accompanied another dislodgment of bags and boxes. the wheels of the coach had dropped suddenly into a deep rut. aunt fanny's growls were scarcely more potent than poor miss beverly's moans. "it is getting worse and worse," exclaimed aunt fanny's mistress, petulantly. "i'm black and blue from head to foot, aren't you, aunt fanny?" "ah cain' say as to de blue, miss bev'ly. hit's a mos' monstrous bad road, sho 'nough. stay up dar, will yo'!" she concluded, jamming a bag into an upper corner. miss calhoun, tourist extraordinary, again consulted the linguist in the saddle. she knew at the outset that the quest would be hopeless, but she could think of no better way to pass the next hour then to extract a mite of information from the officer. "now for a good old chat," she said, beaming a smile upon the grizzled russian. "is there a decent hotel in the village?" she asked. they were on the edge of the village before she succeeded in finding out all that she could, and it was not a great deal, either. she learned that the town of balak was in axphain, scarcely a mile from the graustark line. there was an eating and sleeping house on the main street, and the population of the place did not exceed three hundred. when miss beverly awoke the next morning, sore and distressed, she looked back upon the night with a horror that sleep had been kind enough to interrupt only at intervals. the wretched hostelry lived long in her secret catalogue of terrors. her bed was not a bed; it was a torture. the room, the table, the--but it was all too odious for description. fatigue was her only friend in that miserable hole. aunt fanny had slept on the floor near her mistress's cot, and it was the good old colored woman's grumbling that awoke beverly. the sun was climbing up the mountains in the east, and there was an air of general activity about the place. beverly's watch told her that it was past eight o'clock. "good gracious!" she exclaimed. "it's nearly noon, aunt fanny. hurry along here and get me up. we must leave this abominable place in ten minutes." she was up and racing about excitedly. "befo' breakfas'?" demanded aunt fanny weakly. "goodness, aunt fanny, is that all you think about?" "well, honey, yo' all be thinkin' moughty serious 'bout breakfas' 'long to'ahds 'leben o'clock. dat li'l tummy o' yourn 'll be pow'ful mad 'cause yo' didn'--" "very well, aunt fanny, you can run along and have the woman put up a breakfast for us and we'll eat it on the road. i positively refuse to eat another mouthful in that awful dining-room. i'll be down in ten minutes." she was down in less. sleep, no matter how hard-earned, had revived her spirits materially. she pronounced herself ready for anything; there was a wholesome disdain for the rigors of the coming ride through the mountains in the way she gave orders for the start. the russian officer met her just outside the entrance to the inn. he was less english than ever, but he eventually gave her to understand that he had secured permission to escort her as far as ganlook, a town in graustark not more than fifteen miles from edelweiss and at least two days from balak. two competent axphainian guides had been retained, and the party was quite ready to start. he had been warned of the presence of brigands in the wild mountainous passes north of ganlook. the russians could go no farther than ganlook because of a royal edict from edelweiss forbidding the nearer approach of armed forces. at that town, however, he was sure she easily could obtain an escort of graustarkian soldiers. as the big coach crawled up the mountain road and further into the oppressive solitudes, beverly calhoun drew from the difficult lieutenant considerable information concerning the state of affairs in graustark. she had been eagerly awaiting the time when something definite could be learned. before leaving st. petersburg early in the week she was assured that a state of war did not exist. the princess yetive had been in edelweiss for six weeks. a formal demand was framed soon after her return from america, requiring dawsbergen to surrender the person of prince gabriel to the authorities of graustark. to this demand there was no definite response, dawsbergen insolently requesting time in which to consider the proposition. axphain immediately sent an envoy to edelweiss to say that all friendly relations between the two governments would cease unless graustark took vigorous steps to recapture the royal assassin. on one side of the unhappy principality a strong, overbearing princess was egging graustark on to fight, while on the other side an equally aggressive people defied yetive to come and take the fugitive if she could. the poor princess was between two ugly alternatives, and a struggle seemed inevitable. at balak it was learned that axphain had recently sent a final appeal to the government of graustark, and it was no secret that something like a threat accompanied the message. prince gabriel was in complete control at serros and was disposed to laugh at the demands of his late captors. his half-brother, the dethroned prince dantan, was still hiding in the fastnesses of the hills, protected by a small company of nobles, and there was no hope that he ever could regain his crown. gabriel's power over the army was supreme. the general public admired dantan, but it was helpless in the face of circumstances. "but why should axphain seek to harass graustark at this time?" demanded beverly calhoun, in perplexity and wrath. "i should think the brutes would try to help her." "there is an element of opposition to the course the government is taking," the officer informed her in his own way, "but it is greatly in the minority. the axphainians have hated graustark since the last war, and the princess despises this american. it is an open fact that the duke of mizrox leads the opposition to princess volga, and she is sure to have him beheaded if the chance affords. he is friendly to graustark and has been against the policy of his princess from the start." "i'd like to hug the duke of mizrox," cried beverly, warmly. the officer did not understand her, but aunt fanny was scandalized. "good lawd!" she muttered to the boxes and bags. as the coach rolled deeper and deeper into the rock-shadowed wilderness, beverly calhoun felt an undeniable sensation of awe creeping over her. the brave, impetuous girl had plunged gaily into the project which now led her into the deadliest of uncertainties, with but little thought of the consequences. the first stage of the journey by coach had been good fun. they had passed along pleasant roads, through quaint villages and among interesting people, and progress had been rapid. the second stage had presented rather terrifying prospects, and the third day promised even greater vicissitudes. looking from the coach windows out upon the quiet, desolate grandeur of her surroundings, poor beverly began to appreciate how abjectly helpless and alone she was. her companions were ugly, vicious-looking men, any one of whom could inspire terror by a look. she had entrusted herself to the care of these strange creatures in the moment of inspired courage and now she was constrained to regret her action. true, they had proved worthy protectors as far as they had gone, but the very possibilities that lay in their power were appalling, now that she had time to consider the situation. the officer in charge had been recommended as a trusted servant of the czar; an american consul had secured the escort for her direct from the frontier patrol authorities. men high in power had vouched for the integrity of the detachment, but all this was forgotten in the mighty solitude of the mountains. she was beginning to fear her escort more than she feared the brigands of the hills. treachery seemed printed on their backs as they rode ahead of her. the big officer was ever polite and alert, but she was ready to distrust him on the slightest excuse. these men could not help knowing that she was rich, and it was reasonable for them to suspect that she carried money and jewels with her. in her mind's eye she could picture these traitors rifling her bags and boxes in some dark pass, and then there were other horrors that almost petrified her when she allowed herself to think of them. here and there the travelers passed by rude cots where dwelt woodmen and mountaineers, and at long intervals a solitary but picturesque horseman stood aside and gave them the road. as the coach penetrated deeper into the gorge, signs of human life and activity became fewer. the sun could not send his light into this shadowy tomb of granite. the rattle of the wheels and the clatter of the horses' hoofs sounded like a constant crash of thunder in the ears of the tender traveler, a dainty morsel among hawks and wolves. there was an unmistakable tremor in her voice when she at last found heart to ask the officer where they were to spend the night. it was far past noon and aunt fanny had suggested opening the lunch-baskets. one of the guides was called back, the leader being as much in the dark as his charge. "there is no village within twenty miles," he said, "and we must sleep in the pass." beverly's voice faltered. "out here in all this awful--" then she caught herself quickly. it came to her suddenly that she must not let these men see that she was apprehensive. her voice was a trifle shrill and her eyes glistened with a strange new light as she went on, changing her tack completely: "how romantic! i've often wanted to do something like this." the officer looked bewildered, and said nothing. aunt fanny was speechless. later on, when the lieutenant had gone ahead to confer with the guides about the suspicious actions of a small troop of horsemen they had seen, beverly confided to the old negress that she was frightened almost out of her boots, but that she'd die before the men should see a sign of cowardice in a calhoun. aunt fanny was not so proud and imperious. it was with difficulty that her high-strung young mistress suppressed the wails that long had been under restraint in aunt fanny's huge and turbulent bosom. "good lawd, miss bev'ly, dey'll chop us all to pieces an' take ouah jewl'ry an' money an' clo'es and ev'ything else we done got about us. good lawd, le's tu'n back, miss bev'ly. we ain' got no mo' show out heah in dese mountings dan a--" "be still, aunt fanny!" commanded beverly, with a fine show of courage. "you must be brave. don't you see we can't turn back? it's just as dangerous and a heap sight more so. if we let on we're not one bit afraid they'll respect us, don't you see, and men never harm women whom they respect." "umph!" grunted aunt fanny, with exaggerated irony. "well, they never do!" maintained beverly, who was not at all sure about it. "and they look like real nice men--honest men, even though they have such awful whiskers." "dey's de wust trash ah eveh did see," exploded aunt fanny. "sh! don't let them hear you," whispered beverly. in spite of her terror and perplexity, she was compelled to smile. it was all so like the farce comedies one sees at the theatre. as the officer rode up, his face was pale in the shadowy light of the afternoon and he was plainly nervous. "what is the latest news from the front?" she inquired cheerfully. "the men refuse to ride on," he exclaimed, speaking rapidly, making it still harder for her to understand. "our advance guard has met a party of hunters from axphain. they insist that you--'the fine lady in the coach'--are the princess yetive, returning from a secret visit to st. petersburg, where you went to plead for assistance from the czar." beverly calhoun gasped in astonishment. it was too incredible to believe. it was actually ludicrous. she laughed heartily. "how perfectly absurd." "i am well aware that you are not the princess yetive," he continued emphatically; "but what can i do; the men won't believe me. they swear they have been tricked and are panic-stricken over the situation. the hunters tell them that the axphain authorities, fully aware of the hurried flight of the princess through these wilds, are preparing to intercept her. a large detachment of soldiers are already across the graustark frontier. it is only a question of time before the 'red legs' will be upon them. i have assured them that their beautiful charge is not the princess, but an american girl, and that there is no mystery about the coach and escort. all in vain. the axphain guides already feel that their heads are on the block; while as for the cossacks, not even my dire threats of the awful anger of the white czar, when he finds they have disobeyed his commands, will move them." "speak to your men once more, sir, and promise them big purses of gold when we reach ganlook. i have no money or valuables with me; but there i can obtain plenty," said beverly, shrewdly thinking it better that they should believe her to be without funds. the cavalcade had halted during this colloquy. all the men were ahead conversing sullenly and excitedly with much gesticulation. the driver, a stolid creature, seemingly indifferent to all that was going on, alone remained at his post. the situation, apparently dangerous, was certainly most annoying. but if beverly could have read the mind of that silent figure on the box, she would have felt slightly relieved, for he was infinitely more anxious to proceed than even she; but from far different reasons. he was a russian convict, who had escaped on the way to siberia. disguised as a coachman he was seeking life and safety in graustark, or any out-of-the-way place. it mattered little to him where the escort concluded to go. he was going ahead. he dared not go back--he must go on. at the end of half an hour, the officer returned; all hope had gone from his face. "it is useless!" he cried out. "the guides refuse to proceed. see! they are going off with their countrymen! we are lost without them. i do not know what to do. we cannot get to ganlook; i do not know the way, and the danger is great. ah! madam! here they come! the cossacks are going back." as he spoke, the surly mutineers were riding slowly towards the coach. every man had his pistol on the high pommel of the saddle. their faces wore an ugly look. as they passed the officer, one of them, pointing ahead of him with his sword, shouted savagely, "balak!" it was conclusive and convincing. they were deserting her. "oh, oh, oh! the cowards!" sobbed beverly in rage and despair. "i must go on! is it possible that even such men would leave--" she was interrupted by the voice of the officer, who, raising his cap to her, commanded at the same time the driver to turn his horses and follow the escort to balak. "what is that?" demanded beverly in alarm. from far off came the sound of firearms. a dozen shots were fired, and reverberated down through the gloomy pass ahead of the coach. "they are fighting somewhere in the hills in front of us," answered the now frightened officer. turning quickly, he saw the deserting horsemen halt, listen a minute, and then spur their horses. he cried out sharply to the driver, "come, there! turn round! we have no time to lose!" with a savage grin, the hitherto motionless driver hurled some insulting remark at the officer, who was already following his men, now in full flight down the road, and settling himself firmly on the seat, taking a fresh grip of the reins, he yelled to his horses, at the same time lashing them furiously with his whip, and started the coach ahead at a fearful pace. his only thought was to get away as far as possible from the russian officer, then deliberately desert the coach and its occupants and take to the hills. chapter iv the ragged retinue thoroughly mystified by the action of the driver and at length terrified by the pace that carried them careening along the narrow road, beverly cried out to him, her voice shrill with alarm. aunt fanny was crouching on the floor of the coach, between the seats, groaning and praying. "stop! where are you going?" cried beverly, putting her head recklessly through the window. if the man heard her he gave no evidence of the fact. his face was set forward and he was guiding the horses with a firm, unquivering hand. the coach rattled and bounded along the dangerous way hewn in the side of the mountain. a misstep or a false turn might easily start the clumsy vehicle rolling down the declivity on the right. the convict was taking desperate chances, and with a cool, calculating brain, prepared to leap to the ground in case of accident and save himself, without a thought for the victims inside. "stop! turn around!" she cried in a frenzy. "we shall be killed! are you crazy?" by this time they had struck a descent in the road and were rushing along at breakneck speed into oppressive shadows that bore the first imprints of night. realizing at last that her cries were falling upon purposely deaf ears, beverly calhoun sank back into the seat, weak and terror-stricken. it was plain to her that the horses were not running away, for the man had been lashing them furiously. there was but one conclusion: he was deliberately taking her farther into the mountain fastnesses, his purpose known only to himself. a hundred terrors presented themselves to her as she lay huddled against the side of the coach, her eyes closed tightly, her tender body tossed furiously about with the sway of the vehicle. there was the fundamental fear that she would be dashed to death down the side of the mountain, but apart from this her quick brain was evolving all sorts of possible endings--none short of absolute disaster. even as she prayed that something might intervene to check the mad rush and to deliver her from the horrors of the moment, the raucous voice of the driver was heard calling to his horses and the pace became slower. the awful rocking and the jolting grew less severe, the clatter resolved itself into a broken rumble, and then the coach stopped with a mighty lurch. dragging herself from the corner, poor beverly calhoun, no longer a disdainful heroine, gazed piteously out into the shadows, expecting the murderous blade of the driver to meet her as she did so. pauloff had swung from the box of the coach and was peering first into the woodland below and then upon the rocks to the left. he wore the expression of a man trapped and seeking means of escape. suddenly he darted behind the coach, almost brushing against beverly's hat as he passed the window. she opened her lips to call to him, but even as she did so he took to his heels and raced back over the road they had traveled so precipitously. overcome by surprise and dismay, she only could watch the flight in silence. less than a hundred feet from where the coach was standing he turned to the right and was lost among the rocks. ahead, four horses, covered with sweat, were panting and heaving as if in great distress after their mad run. aunt fanny was still moaning and praying by turns in the bottom of the carriage. darkness was settling down upon the pass, and objects a hundred yards away were swallowed by the gloom. there was no sound save the blowing of the tired animals and the moaning of the old negress. beverly realized with a sinking heart that they were alone and helpless in the mountains with night upon them. she never knew where the strength and courage came from, but she forced open the stubborn coachdoor and scrambled to the ground, looking frantically in all directions for a single sign of hope. in the most despairing terror she had ever experienced, she started toward the lead horses, hoping against hope that at least one of her men had remained faithful. a man stepped quietly from the inner side of the road and advanced with the uncertain tread of one who is overcome by amazement. he was a stranger, and wore an odd, uncouth garb. the failing light told her that he was not one of her late protectors. she shrank back with a faint cry of alarm, ready to fly to the protecting arms of hopeless aunt fanny if her uncertain legs could carry her. at the same instant another ragged stranger, then two, three, four, or five, appeared as if by magic, some near her, others approaching from the shadows. "who--who in heaven's name are you?" she faltered. the sound of her own voice in a measure restored the courage that had been paralyzed. unconsciously this slim sprig of southern valor threw back her shoulders and lifted her chin. if they were brigands they should not find her a cringing coward. after all, she was a calhoun. the man she had first observed stopped near the horses' heads and peered intently at her from beneath a broad and rakish hat. he was tall and appeared to be more respectably clad than his fellows, although there was not one who looked as though he possessed a complete outfit of wearing apparel. "poor wayfarers, may it please your highness," replied the tall vagabond, bowing low. to her surprise he spoke in very good english; his voice was clear, and there was a tinge of polite irony in the tones. "but all people are alike in the mountains. the king and the thief, the princess and the jade live in the common fold," and his hat swung so low that it touched the ground. "i am powerless. i only implore you to take what valuables you may find and let us proceed unharmed--" she cried, rapidly, eager to have it over. "pray, how can your highness proceed? you have no guide, no driver, no escort," said the man, mockingly. beverly looked at him appealingly, utterly without words to reply. the tears were welling to her eyes and her heart was throbbing like that of a captured bird. in after life she was able to picture in her mind's eye all the details of that tableau in the mountain pass--the hopeless coach, the steaming horses, the rakish bandit, and his picturesque men, the towering crags, and a mite of a girl facing the end of everything. "your highness is said to be brave, but even your wonderful courage can avail nothing in this instance," said the leader, pleasantly. "your escort has fled as though pursued by something stronger than shadows; your driver has deserted; your horses are half-dead; you are indeed, as you have said, powerless. and you are, besides all these, in the clutches of a band of merciless cutthroats." "oh," moaned beverly, suddenly leaning against the fore wheel, her eyes almost starting from her head. the leader laughed quietly--yes, good-naturedly. "oh, you won't--you won't kill us?" she had time to observe that there were smiles on the faces of all the men within the circle of light. "rest assured, your highness," said the leader, leaning upon his rifle-barrel with careless grace, "we intend no harm to you. every man you meet in graustark is not a brigand, i trust, for your sake. we are simple hunters, and not what we may seem. it is fortunate that you have fallen into honest hands. there is someone in the coach?" he asked, quickly alert. a prolonged groan proved to beverly that aunt fanny had screwed up sufficient courage to look out of the window. "my old servant," she half whispered. then, as several of the men started toward the door: "but she is old and wouldn't harm a fly. please, please don't hurt her." "compose yourself; she is safe," said the leader. by this time it was quite dark. at a word from him two or three men lighted lanterns. the picture was more weird than ever in the fitful glow. "may i ask, your highness, how do you intend to reach edelweiss in your present condition. you cannot manage those horses, and besides, you do not know the way." "aren't you going to rob us?" demanded beverly, hope springing to the surface with a joyful bound. the stranger laughed heartily, and shook his head. "do we not look like honest men?" he cried, with a wave of his hand toward his companions. beverly looked dubious. "we live the good, clean life of the wilderness. out-door life is necessary for our health. we could not live in the city," he went on with grim humor. for the first time, beverly noticed that he wore a huge black patch over his left eye, held in place by a cord. he appeared more formidable than ever under the light of critical inspection. chapter iv the ragged retinue "i am very much relieved," said beverly, who was not at all relieved. "but why have you stopped us in this manner?" "stopped you?" cried the man with the patch. "i implore you to unsay that, your highness. your coach was quite at a standstill before we knew of its presence. you do us a grave injustice." "it's very strange," muttered beverly, somewhat taken aback. "have you observed that it is quite dark?" asked the leader, putting away his brief show of indignation. "dear me; so it is!" cried she, now able to think more clearly. "and you are miles from an inn or house of any kind," he went on. "do you expect to stay here all night?" "i'm--i'm not afraid," bravely shivered beverly. "it is most dangerous." "i have a revolver," the weak little voice went on. "oho! what is it for?" "to use in case of emergency." "such as repelling brigands who suddenly appear upon the scene?" "yes." "may i ask why you did not use it this evening?" "because it is locked up in one of my bags--i don't know just which one--and aunt fanny has the key," confessed beverly. the chief of the "honest men" laughed again, a clear, ringing laugh that bespoke supreme confidence in his right to enjoy himself. "and who is aunt fanny?" he asked, covering his patch carefully with his slouching hat. "my servant. she's colored." "colored?" he asked in amazement. "what do you mean?" "why, she's a negress. don't you know what a colored person is?" "you mean she is a slave--a black slave?" "we don't own slaves any mo'--more." he looked more puzzled than ever--then at last, to satisfy himself, walked over and peered into the coach. aunt fanny set up a dismal howl; an instant later sir honesty was pushed aside, and miss calhoun was anxiously trying to comfort her old friend through the window. the man looked on in silent wonder for a minute, and then strode off to where a group of his men stood talking. "is yo' daid yit, miss bev'ly--is de end came?" moaned aunt fanny. beverly could not repress a smile. "i am quite alive, auntie. these men will not hurt us. they are _very nice_ gentlemen." she uttered the last observation in a loud voice and it had its effect, for the leader came to her side with long strides. "convince your servant that we mean no harm, your highness," he said eagerly, a new deference in his voice and manner. "we have only the best of motives in mind. true, the hills are full of lawless fellows and we are obliged to fight them almost daily, but you have fallen in with honest men--very nice gentlemen, i trust. less than an hour ago we put a band of robbers to flight--" "i heard the shooting," cried beverly. "it was that which put my escort to flight." "they could not have been soldiers of graustark, then, your highness," quite gallantly. "they were cossacks, or whatever you call them. but, pray, why do you call me 'your highness'?" demanded beverly. the tall leader swept the ground with his hat once more. "all the outside world knows the princess yetive--why not the humble mountain man? you will pardon me, but every man in the hills knows that you are to pass through on the way from st. petersburg to ganlook. we are not so far from the world, after all, we rough people of the hills. we know that your highness left st. petersburg by rail last sunday and took to the highway day before yesterday, because the floods had washed away the bridges north of axphain. even the hills have eyes and ears." beverly listened with increasing perplexity. it was true that she had left st. petersburg on sunday; that the unprecedented floods had stopped all railway traffic in the hills, compelling her to travel for many miles by stage, and that the whole country was confusing her in some strange way with the princess yetive. the news had evidently sped through axphain and the hills with the swiftness of fire. it would be useless to deny the story; these men would not believe her. in a flash she decided that it would be best to pose for the time being as the ruler of graustark. it remained only for her to impress upon aunt fanny the importance of this resolution. "what wise old hills they must be," she said, with evasive enthusiasm. "you cannot expect me to admit, however, that i am the princess," she went on. "it would not be just to your excellent reputation for tact if you did so, your highness," calmly spoke the man. "it is quite as easy to say that you are not the princess as to say that you are, so what matters, after all? we reserve the right, however, to do homage to the queen who rules over these wise old hills. i offer you the humble services of myself and my companions. we are yours to command." "i am very grateful to find that you are not brigands, believe me," said beverly. "pray tell me who you are, then, and you shall be sufficiently rewarded for your good intentions." "i? oh, your highness, i am baldos, the goat-hunter, a poor subject for reward at your hands. i may as well admit that i am a poacher, and have no legal right to the prosperity of your hills. the only reward i can ask is forgiveness for trespassing upon the property of others." "you shall receive pardon for all transgressions. but you must get me to some place of safety," said beverly, eagerly. "and quickly, too, you might well have added," he said, lightly. "the horses have rested, i think, so with your permission we may proceed. i know of a place where you may spend the night comfortably and be refreshed for the rough journey to-morrow." "to-morrow? how can i go on? i am alone," she cried, despairingly. "permit me to remind you that you are no longer alone. you have a ragged following, your highness, but it shall be a loyal one. will you re-enter the coach? it is not far to the place i speak of, and i myself will drive you there. come, it is getting late, and your retinue, at least, is hungry." he flung open the coach door, and his hat swept the ground once more. the light of a lantern played fitfully upon his dark, gaunt face, with its gallant smile and ominous patch. she hesitated, fear entering her soul once more. he looked up quickly and saw the indecision in her eyes, the mute appeal. "trust me, your highness," he said, gravely, and she allowed him to hand her into the coach. a moment later he was upon the driver's box, reins in hand. calling out to his companions in a language strange to beverly, he cracked the whip, and once more they were lumbering over the wretched road. beverly sank back into the seat with a deep sigh of resignation. "well, i'm in for it," she thought. "it doesn't matter whether they are thieves or angels, i reckon i'll have to take what comes. he doesn't look very much like an angel, but he looked at me just now as if he thought i were one. dear me, i wish i were back in washin'ton!" chapter v the inn of the hawk and raven two of the men walked close beside the door, one of them bearing a lantern. they conversed in low tones and in a language which beverly could not understand. after awhile she found herself analyzing the garb and manner of the men. she was saying to herself that here were her first real specimens of graustark peasantry, and they were to mark an ineffaceable spot in her memory. they were dark, strong-faced men of medium height, with fierce, black eyes and long black hair. as no two were dressed alike, it was impossible to recognize characteristic styles of attire. some were in the rude, baggy costumes of the peasant as she had imagined him; others were dressed in the tight-fitting but dilapidated uniforms of the soldiery, while several were in clothes partly european and partly oriental. there were hats and fezzes and caps, some with feathers in the bands, others without. the man nearest the coach wore the dirty gray uniform of as army officer, full of holes and rents, while another strode along in a pair of baggy yellow trousers and a dusty london dinner jacket. all in all, it was the motliest band of vagabonds she had ever seen. there were at least ten or a dozen in the party. while a few carried swords, all lugged the long rifles and crooked daggers of the tartars. "aunt fanny," beverly whispered, suddenly moving to the side of the subdued servant, "where is my revolver?" it had come to her like a flash that a subsequent emergency should not find her unprepared. aunt fanny's jaw dropped, and her eyes were like white rings in a black screen. "good lawd--wha--what fo' miss bev'ly--" "sh! don't call me miss bev'ly. now, just you pay 'tention to me and i'll tell you something queer. get my revolver right away, and don't let those men see what you are doing." while aunt fanny's trembling fingers went in search of the firearm, beverly outlined the situation briefly but explicitly. the old woman was not slow to understand. her wits sharpened by fear, she grasped beverly's instructions with astonishing avidity. "ve'y well, yo' highness," she said with fine reverence, "ah'll p'ocuah de bottle o' pepp'mint fo' yo' if yo' jes don' mine me pullin' an' haulin' 'mongst dese boxes. mebbe yo' all 'druther hab de gingeh?" with this wonderful subterfuge as a shield she dug slyly into one of the bags and pulled forth a revolver. under ordinary circumstances she would have been mortally afraid to touch it, but not so in this emergency. beverly shoved the weapon into the pocket of her gray traveling jacket. "i feel much better now, aunt fanny," she said, and aunt fanny gave a vast chuckle. "yas, ma'am, indeed,--yo' highness," she agreed, suavely. the coach rolled along for half an hour, and then stopped with a sudden jolt. an instant later the tall driver appeared at the window, his head uncovered. a man hard by held a lantern. _"qua vandos ar deltanet, yos serent,"_ said the leader, showing his white teeth in a triumphant smile. his exposed eye seemed to be glowing with pleasure and excitement. "what?" murmured beverly, hopelessly. a puzzled expression came into his face. then his smile deepened and his eye took on a knowing gleam. "ah, i see," he said, gaily, "your highness prefers not to speak the language of graustark. is it necessary for me to repeat in english?" "i really wish you would," said beverly, catching her breath. "just to see how it sounds, you know." "your every wish shall be gratified. i beg to inform you that we have reached the inn of the hawk and raven. this is where we dwelt last night. tomorrow we, too, abandon the place, so our fortunes may run together for some hours, at least. there is but little to offer you in the way of nourishment, and there are none of the comforts of a palace. yet princesses can no more be choosers than beggars when the fare's in one pot. come, your highness, let me conduct you to the guest chamber of the inn of the hawk and raven." beverly took his hand and stepped to the ground, looking about in wonder and perplexity. "i see no inn," she murmured apprehensively. "look aloft, your highness. that great black canopy is the roof; we are standing upon the floor, and the dark shadows just beyond the circle of light are the walls of the hawk and raven. this is the largest tavern in all graustark. its dimensions are as wide as the world itself." "you mean that there is no inn at all?" the girl cried in dismay. "alas, i must confess it. and yet there is shelter here. come with me. let your servant follow." he took her by the hand, and led her away from the coach, a ragged lantern-bearer preceding. beverly's little right hand was rigidly clutching the revolver in her pocket. it was a capacious pocket, and the muzzle of the weapon bored defiantly into a timid powder-rag that lay on the bottom. the little leather purse from which it escaped had its silver lips opened as if in a broad grin of derision, reveling in the plight of the chamois. the guide's hand was at once firm and gentle, his stride bold, yet easy. his rakish hat, with its aggressive red feather, towered a full head above beverly's parisian violets. "have you no home at all--no house in which to sleep?" beverly managed to ask. "i live in a castle of air," said he, waving his hand gracefully. "i sleep in the house of my fathers." "you poor fellow," cried beverly, pityingly. he laughed and absently patted the hilt of his sword. she heard the men behind them turning the coach into the glen through which they walked carefully. her feet fell upon a soft, grassy sward and the clatter of stones was now no longer heard. they were among the shadowy trees, gaunt trunks of enormous size looming up in the light of the lanterns. unconsciously her thoughts went over to the forest of arden and the woodland home of rosalind, as she had imagined it to be. soon there came to her ears the swish of waters, as of some turbulent river hurrying by. instinctively she drew back and her eyes were set with alarm upon the black wall of night ahead. yetive had spoken more than once of this wilderness. many an unlucky traveler had been lost forever in its fastnesses. "it is the river, your highness. there is no danger. i will not lead you into it," he said, a trifle roughly. "we are low in the valley and there are marshes yonder when the river is in its natural bed. the floods have covered the low grounds, and there is a torrent coming down from the hills. here we are, your highness. this is the inn of the hawk and raven." he bowed and pointed with his hat to the smouldering fire a short distance ahead. they had turned a bend in the overhanging cliff, and were very close to the retreat before she saw the glow. the fire was in the open air and directly in front of a deep cleft in the rocky background. judging by the sound, the river could not be more than two hundred feet away. men came up with lanterns and others piled brush upon the fire. in a very short time the glen was weirdly illuminated by the dancing flames. from her seat on a huge log, beverly was thus enabled to survey a portion of her surroundings. the overhanging ledge of rock formed a wide, deep canopy, underneath which was perfect shelter. the floor seemed to be rich, grassless loam, and here and there were pallets of long grass, evidently the couches of these homeless men. all about were huge trees, and in the direction of the river the grass grew higher and then gave place to reeds. the foliage above was so dense that the moon and stars were invisible. there was a deathly stillness in the air. the very loneliness was so appalling that beverly's poor little heart was in a quiver of dread. aunt fanny, who sat near by, had not spoken since leaving the coach, but her eyes were expressively active. the tall leader stood near the fire, conversing with half a dozen of his followers. miss calhoun's eyes finally rested upon this central figure in the strange picture. he was attired in a dark-gray uniform that reminded her oddly of the dragoon choruses in the comic operas at home. the garments, while torn and soiled, were well-fitting. his shoulders were broad and square, his hips narrow, his legs long and straight. there was an air of impudent grace about him that went well with his life and profession. surely, here was a careless freelance upon whom life weighed lightly, while death "stood afar off" and despaired. the light of the fire brought his gleaming face into bold relief, for his hat was off. black and thick was his hair, rumpled and apparently uncared for. the face was lean, smooth and strong, with a devil-may-care curve at the corners of the mouth. beverly found herself lamenting the fact that such an interesting face should be marred by an ugly black patch, covering she knew not what manner of defect. as for the rest of them, they were a grim company. some were young and beardless, others were old and grizzly, but all were active, alert and strong. the leader appeared to be the only one in the party who could speak and understand the english language. as beverly sat and watched his virile, mocking face, and studied his graceful movements, she found herself wondering how an ignorant, homeless wanderer in the hills could be so poetic and so cultured as this fellow seemed to be. three or four men, who were unmistakably of a lower order than their companions, set about preparing a supper. others unhitched the tired horses and led them off toward the river. two dashing young fellows carried the seat-cushions under the rocky canopy and constructed an elaborate couch for the "princess." the chief, with his own hands, soon began the construction of a small chamber in this particular corner of the cave, near the opening. the walls of the chamber were formed of carriage robes and blankets, cloaks and oak branches. "the guest chamber, your highness," he said, approaching her with a smile at the conclusion of his work. "it has been most interesting to watch you," she said, rising. "and it has been a delight to interest you," he responded. "you will find seclusion there, and you need see none of us until it pleases you." she looked him fairly in the eye for a moment, and then impulsively extended her hand. he clasped it warmly, but not without some show of surprise. "i am trusting you implicitly," she said. "the knave is glorified," was his simple rejoinder. he conducted her to the improvised bed-chamber, aunt fanny following with loyal but uncertain tread. "i regret, your highness, that the conveniences are so few. we have no landlady except mother earth, no waiters, no porters, no maids, in the inn of the hawk and raven. this being a men's hotel, the baths are on the river-front. i am having water brought to your apartments, however, but it is with deepest shame and sorrow that i confess we have no towels." she laughed so heartily that his face brightened perceptibly, whilst the faces of his men turned in their direction as though by concert. "it is a typical mountain resort, then," she said, "i think i can manage very well if you will fetch my bags to my room, sir." "by the way, will you have dinner served in your room?" very good-humoredly. "if you don't mind, i'd like to eat in the public dining-room," said she. a few minutes later beverly was sitting upon one of her small trunks and aunt fanny was laboriously brushing her dark hair. "it's very jolly being a princess," murmured miss calhoun. she had bathed her face in one of the leather buckets from the coach, and the dust of the road had been brushed away by the vigorous lady-in-waiting. "yas, ma'am, miss--yo' highness, hit's monstrous fine fo' yo', but whar is ah goin' to sleep? out yondah, wif all dose scalawags?" said aunt fanny, rebelliously. "you shall have a bed in here, aunt fanny," said beverly. "dey's de queeres' lot o' tramps ah eveh did see, an' ah wouldn' trust 'em 's fer as ah could heave a brick house." "but the leader is such a very courteous gentleman," remonstrated beverly. "yas, ma'am; he mussa came f'm gawgia or kaintuck," was aunt fanny's sincere compliment. the pseudo-princess dined with the vagabonds that night. she sat on the log beside the tall leader, and ate heartily of the broth and broiled goatmeat, the grapes and the nuts, and drank of the spring water which took the place of wine and coffee and cordial. it was a strange supper amid strange environments, but she enjoyed it as she had never before enjoyed a meal. the air was full of romance and danger, and her imagination was enthralled. everything was so new and unreal that she scarcely could believe herself awake. the world seemed to have gone back to the days of robin hood and his merry men. "you fare well at the inn of the hawk and raven," she said to him, her voice tremulous with excitement. he looked mournfully at her for a moment and then smiled naively. "it is the first wholesome meal we have had in two days," he replied. "you don't mean it!" "yes. we were lucky with the guns to-day. fate was kind to us--and to you, for we are better prepared to entertain royalty to-day than at any time since i have been in the hills of graustark." "then you have not always lived in graustark?" "alas, no, your highness. i have lived elsewhere." "but you were born in the principality?" "i am a subject of its princess in heart from this day forth, but not by birth or condition. i am a native of the vast domain known to a few of us as circumstance," and he smiled rather recklessly. "you are a poet, a delicious poet," cried beverly, forgetting herself in her enthusiasm. "perhaps that is why i am hungry and unshorn. it had not occurred to me in that light. when you are ready to retire, your highness," he said, abruptly rising, "we shall be pleased to consider the inn of the hawk and raven closed for the night. having feasted well, we should sleep well. we have a hard day before us. with your consent, i shall place my couch of grass near your door. i am the porter. you have but to call if anything is desired." she was tired, but she would have sat up all night rather than miss any of the strange romance that had been thrust upon her. but sir red-feather's suggestion savored of a command and she reluctantly made her way to the flapping blanket that marked the entrance to the bed-chamber. he drew the curtain aside, swung his hat low and muttered a soft goodnight. "may your highness's dreams be pleasant ones!" he said. "thank you," said she, and the curtain dropped impertinently. "that was very cool of him, i must say," she added, as she looked at the wavering door. when she went to sleep, she never knew; she was certain that her eyes were rebellious for a long time and that she wondered how her gray dress would look after she had slept in it all night. she heard low singing as if in the distance, but after a while the stillness became so intense that its pressure almost suffocated her. the rush of the river grew louder and louder and there was a swishing sound that died in her ears almost as she wondered what it meant. her last waking thoughts were of the "black-patch" poet. was he lying near the door? she was awakened in the middle of the night by the violent flapping of her chamber door. startled, she sat bolt upright and strained her eyes to pierce the mysterious darkness. aunt fanny, on her bed of grass, stirred convulsively, but did not awake. the blackness of the strange chamber was broken ever and anon by faint flashes of light from without, and she lived through long minutes of terror before it dawned upon her that a thunderstorm was brewing. the wind was rising, and the night seemed agog with excitement. beverly crept from her couch and felt her way to the fluttering doorway. drawing aside the blanket she peered forth into the night, her heart jumping with terror. her highness was very much afraid of thunder and lightning. the fire in the open had died down until naught remained but a few glowing embers. these were blown into brilliancy by the wind, casting a steady red light over the scene. there was but one human figure in sight. beside the fire stood the tall wanderer. he was hatless and coatless, and his arms were folded across his chest. seemingly oblivious to the approach of the storm, he stood staring into the heap of ashes at his feet. his face was toward her, every feature plainly distinguishable in the faint glow from the fire. to her amazement the black patch was missing from the eye; and, what surprised her almost to the point of exclaiming aloud, there appeared to be absolutely no reason for its presence there at any time. there was no mark or blemish upon or about the eye; it was as clear and penetrating as its fellow, darkly gleaming in the red glow from below. moreover, beverly saw that he was strikingly handsome--a strong, manly face. the highly imaginative southern girl's mind reverted to the first portraits of napoleon she had seen. suddenly he started, threw up his head and looking up to the sky uttered some strange words. then he strode abruptly toward her doorway. she fell back breathless. he stopped just outside, and she knew that he was listening for sounds from within. after many minutes she stealthily looked forth again. he was standing near the fire, his back toward her, looking off into the night. the wind was growing stronger; the breezes fanned the night into a rush of shivery coolness. constant flickerings of lightning illuminated the forest, transforming the tree-tops into great black waves. tall reeds along the river bank began to bend their tops, to swing themselves gently to and from the wind. in the lowlands down from the cave "will o' the wisps" played tag with "jack o' the lanterns," merrily scampering about in the blackness, reminding her of the revellers in a famous brocken scene. low moans grew out of the havoc, and voices seemed to speak in unintelligible whispers to the agitated twigs and leaves. the secrets of the wind were being spread upon the records of the night; tales of many climes passed through the ears of nature. from gentle undulations the marshland reeds swept into lower dips, danced wilder minuets, lashed each other with infatuated glee, mocking the whistle of the wind with an angry swish of their tall bodies. around the cornices of the inn of the hawk and raven scurried the singing breezes, reluctant to leave a playground so pleasing to the fancy. soon the night became a cauldron, a surging, hissing, roaring receptacle in which were mixing the ingredients of disaster. night-birds flapped through the moaning tree-tops, in search of shelter; reeds were flattened to the earth, bowing to the sovereignty of the wind; clouds roared with the rumble of a million chariots, and then the sky and the earth met in one of those savage conflicts that make all other warfare seem as play. as beverly sank back from the crash, she saw him throw his arms aloft as though inviting the elements to mass themselves and their energy upon his head. she shrieked involuntarily and he heard the cry above the carnage. instantly his face was turned in her direction. "help! help!" she cried. he bounded toward the swishing robes and blankets, but his impulse had found a rival in the blast. like a flash the walls of the guest chamber were whisked away, scuttling off into the night or back into the depths of the cavern. with the deluge came the man. from among the stifling robes he snatched her up and bore her away, she knew not whither. chapter vi the home of the lion "may all storms be as pleasant as this one!" she heard someone say, with a merry laugh. the next instant she was placed soundly upon her feet. a blinding flash of lightning revealed baldos, the goat-hunter, at her side, while a dozen shadowy figures were scrambling to their feet in all corners of the hawk and raven. someone was clutching her by the dress at the knees. she did not have to look down to know that it was aunt fanny. "goodness!" gasped the princess, and then it was pitch dark again. the man at her side called out a command in his own language, and then turned his face close to hers. "do not be alarmed. we are quite safe now. the royal bed-chamber has come to grief, however, i am sorry to say. what a fool i was not to have foreseen all this! the storm has been brewing since midnight," he was saying to her. "isn't it awful?" cried beverly, between a moan a shriek. "they are trifles after one gets used to them," he said. "i have come to be quite at home in the tempest. there are other things much more annoying, i assure your highness. we shall have lights in a moment." even as he spoke, two or three lanterns began to flicker feebly. "be quiet, aunt fanny; you are not killed at all," commanded beverly, quite firmly. "de house is suah to blow down. miss--yo' highness," groaned the trusty maidservant. beverly laughed bravely but nervously with the tall goat-hunter. he at once set about making his guest comfortable and secure from the effects of the tempest, which was now at its height. her couch of cushions was dragged far back into the cavern and the rescued blankets, though drenched, again became a screen. "do you imagine that i'm going in there while this storm rages?" beverly demanded, as the work progressed. "are you not afraid of lightning? most young women are." "that's the trouble. i am afraid of it. i'd much rather stay out here where there is company. you don't mind, do you?" "paradise cannot be spurned by one who now feels its warmth for the first time," said he, gallantly. "your fear is my delight. pray sit upon our throne. it was once a humble carriage pail of leather, but now it is exalted. besides, it is much more comfortable than some of the gilded chairs we hear about." "you are given to irony, i fear," she said, observing a peculiar smile on his lips. "i crave pardon, your highness," he said, humbly "the heart of the goat-hunter is more gentle than his wit. i shall not again forget that you are a princess and i the veriest beggar." "i didn't mean to hurt you!" she cried, in contrition, for she was a very poor example of what a princess is supposed to be. "there is no wound, your highness," he quickly said. with a mocking grace that almost angered her, he dropped to his knee and motioned for her to be seated. she sat down suddenly, clapping her hands to her ears and shutting her eyes tightly. the crash of thunder that came at that instant was the most fearful of all, and it was a full minute before she dared to lift her lids again. he was standing before her, and there was genuine compassion in his face. "it's terrible," he said. "never before have i seen such a storm. have courage, your highness; it can last but little longer." "goodness!" said the real american girl, for want of something more expressive. "your servant has crept into your couch, i fear. shall i sit here at your feet? perhaps you may feel a small sense of security if i--" "indeed, i want you to sit there," she cried. he forthwith threw himself upon the floor of the cave, a graceful, respectful guardian. minutes went by without a word from either. the noise of the storm made it impossible to speak and be heard. scattered about the cavern were his outstretched followers, doubtless asleep once more in all this turmoil. with the first lull in the war of the elements, beverly gave utterance to the thought that long had been struggling for release. "why do you wear that horrid black patch over your eye?" she asked, a trifle timidly. he muttered a sharp exclamation and clapped his hand to his eye. for the first time since the beginning of their strange acquaintanceship beverly observed downright confusion in this debonair knight of the wilds. "it has--has slipped off--" he stammered, with a guilty grin. his merry insolence was gone, his composure with it. beverly laughed with keen enjoyment over the discomfiture of the shame-faced vagabond. "you can't fool me," she exclaimed, shaking her finger at him in the most unconventional way. "it was intended to be a disguise. there is absolutely nothing the matter with your eye." he was speechless for a moment, recovering himself. wisdom is conceived in silence, and he knew this. vagabond or gentleman, he was a clever actor. "the eye is weak, your highness, and i cover it in the daytime to protect it from the sunlight," he said, coolly. "that's all very nice, but it looks to be quite as good as the other. and what is more, sir, you are not putting the patch over the same eye that wore it when i first saw you. it was the left eye at sunset. does the trouble transfer after dark?" he broke into an honest laugh and hastily moved the black patch across his nose to the left eye. "i was turned around in the darkness, that's all," he said, serenely. "it belongs over the left eye, and i am deeply grateful to you for discovering the error." "i don't see any especial reason why you should wear it after dark, do you? there is no sunlight, i'm sure." "i am dazzled, nevertheless," he retorted. "fiddlesticks!" she said. "this is a cave, not a drawing-room." "in other words, i am a lout and not a courtier," he smiled. "well, a lout may look at a princess. we have no court etiquette in the hills, i am sorry to say." "that was very unkind, even though you said it most becomingly," she protested. "you have called this pail a throne. let us also imagine that you are a courtier." "you punish me most gently, your highness. i shall not forget my manners again, believe me." he seemed thoroughly subdued. "then i shall expect you to remove that horrid black thing. it is positively villainous. you look much better without it." "is it an edict or a compliment?" he asked with such deep gravity that she flushed. "it is neither," she answered. "you don't have to take it off unless you want to--" "in either event, it is off. you were right. it serves as a partial disguise. i have many enemies and the black patch is a very good friend." "how perfectly lovely," cried beverly. "tell me all about it. i adore stories about feuds and all that." "your husband is an american. he should be able to keep you well entertained with blood-and-thunder stories," said he. "my hus--what do you--oh, yes!" gasped beverly. "to be sure. i didn't hear you, i guess. that was rather a severe clap of thunder, wasn't it?" "is that also a command?" "what do you mean?" "there was no thunderclap, you know." "oh, wasn't there?" helplessly. "the storm is quite past. there is still a dash of rain in the air and the wind may be dying hard, but aside from that i think the noise is quite subdued." "i believe you are right. how sudden it all was." "there are several hours between this and dawn, your highness, and you should try to get a little more sleep. your cushions are dry and--" "very well, since you are so eager to get rid of--" began beverly, and then stopped, for it did not sound particularly regal. "i should have said, you are very thoughtful. you will call me if i sleep late?" "we shall start early, with your permission. it is forty miles to ganlook, and we must be half way there by nightfall." "must we spend another night like this?" cried beverly, dolefully. "alas, i fear you must endure us another night. i am afraid, however, we shall not find quarters as comfortable as these of the hawk and raven." "i didn't mean to be ungrateful and--er--snippish," she said, wondering if he knew the meaning of the word. "no?" he said politely, and she knew he did not--whereupon she felt distinctly humbled. "you know you speak such excellent english," she said irrelevantly. he bowed low. as he straightened his figure, to his amazement, he beheld an agonizing look of horror on her face; her eyes riveted on the mouth of the cavern. then, there came an angrier sound, unlike any that had gone before in that night of turmoil. "look there! quick!" the cry of terror from the girl's palsied lips, as she pointed to something behind him, awoke the mountain man to instant action. instinctively, he snatched his long dagger from its sheath and turned quickly. not twenty feet from them a huge cat-like beast stood half crouched on the edge of the darkness, his long tail switching angrily. the feeble light from the depth of the cave threw the long, water-soaked visitor into bold relief against the black wall beyond. apparently, he was as much surprised as the two who glared at him, as though frozen to the spot. a snarling whine, a fierce growl, indicated his fury at finding his shelter--his lair occupied. "my god! a mountain lion! ravone! franz! to me!" he cried hoarsely, and sprang before her shouting loudly to the sleepers. a score of men, half awake, grasped their weapons and struggled to their feet in answer to his call. the lion's gaunt body shot through the air. in two bounds, he was upon the goat-hunter. baldos stood squarely and firmly to meet the rush of the maddened beast, his long dagger poised for the death-dealing blow. "run!" he shouted to her. beverly calhoun had fighting blood in her veins. utterly unconscious of her action, at the time, she quickly drew the little silver-handled revolver from the pocket of her gown. as man, beast and knife came together, in her excitement she fired recklessly at the combatants without any thought of the imminent danger of killing her protector. there was a wild scream of pain from the wounded beast, more pistol shots, fierce yells from the excited hunters, the rush of feet and then the terrified and almost frantic girl staggered and fell against the rocky wall. her wide gray eyes were fastened upon the writhing lion and the smoking pistol was tightly clutched in her hand. it had all occurred in such an incredible short space of time that she could not yet realize what had happened. her heart and brain seemed paralyzed, her limbs stiff and immovable. like the dizzy whirl of a kaleidoscope, the picture before her resolved itself into shape. the beast was gasping his last upon the rocky floor, the hilt of the goat hunter's dagger protruding from his side. baldos, supported by two of his men, stood above the savage victim, his legs covered with blood. the cave was full of smoke and the smell of powder. out of the haze she began to see the light of understanding. baldos alone was injured. he had stood between her and the rush of the lion, and he had saved her, at a cost she knew not how great. "oh, the blood!" she cried hoarsely. "is it--is it--are you badly hurt?" she was at his side, the pistol falling from her nervous fingers. "don't come near me; i'm all right," he cried quickly. "take care--your dress--" "oh, i'm so glad to hear you speak! never mind the dress! you are torn to pieces! you must be frightfully hurt. oh, isn't it terrible--horrible! aunt fanny! come here this minute!" forgetting the beast and throwing off the paralysis of fear, she pushed one of the men away and grasped the arm of the injured man. he winced perceptibly and she felt something warm and sticky on her hands. she knew it was blood, but it was not in her to shrink at a moment like this. "your arm, too!" she gasped. he smiled, although his face was white with pain. "how brave you were! you might have been--i'll never forget it--never! don't stand there, aunt fanny! quick! get those cushions for him. he's hurt." "good lawd!" was all the old woman could say, but she obeyed her mistress. "it was easier than it looked, your highness," murmured baldos. "luck was with me. the knife went to his heart. i am merely scratched. his leap was short, but he caught me above the knees with his claws. alas, your highness, these trousers of mine were bad enough before, but now they are in shreds. what patching i shall have to do! and you may well imagine we are short of thread and needles and thimbles--" "don't jest, for heaven's sake! don't talk like that. here! lie down upon these cushions and--" "never! desecrate the couch of graustark's ruler? i, the poor goat-hunter? i'll use the lion for a pillow and the rock for an operating table. in ten minutes my men can have these scratches dressed and bound--in fact, there is a surgical student among them, poor fellow. i think i am his first patient. ravone, attend me." he threw himself upon the ground and calmly placed his head upon the body of the animal. "i insist upon your taking these cushions," cried beverly. "and i decline irrevocably." she stared at him in positive anger. "trust ravone to dress these trifling wounds, your highness. he may not be as gentle, but he is as firm as any princess in all the world." "but your arm?" she cried. "didn't you say it was your legs? your arm is covered with blood, too. oh, dear me, i'm afraid you are frightfully wounded." "a stray bullet from one of my men struck me there, i think. you know there was but little time for aiming--?" "wait! let me think a minute! good heavens!" she exclaimed with a start. her eyes were suddenly filled with tears and there was a break in her voice. "i shot you! don't deny it--don't! it is the right arm, and your men could not have hit it from where they stood. oh, oh, oh!" baldos smiled as he bared his arm. "your aim was good," he admitted. "had not my knife already been in the lion's heart, your bullet would have gone there. it is my misfortune that my arm was in the way. besides, your highness, it has only cut through the skin--and a little below, perhaps. it will be well in a day or two, i am sure you will find your bullet in the carcass of our lamented friend, the probable owner of this place." ravone, a hungry-looking youth, took charge of the wounded leader, while her highness retreated to the farthest corner of the cavern. there she sat and trembled while the wounds were being dressed. aunt fanny bustled back and forth, first unceremoniously pushing her way through the circle of men to take observations, and then reporting to the impatient girl. the storm had passed and the night was still, except for the rush of the river; raindrops fell now and then from the trees, glistening like diamonds as they touched the light from the cavern's mouth. it was all very dreary, uncanny and oppressive to poor beverly. now and then she caught herself sobbing, more out of shame and humiliation than in sadness, for had she not shot the man who stepped between her and death? what must he think of her? "he says yo' all 'd betteh go to baid, miss bev--yo' highness," said aunt fanny after one of her trips. "oh, he does, does he?" sniffed beverly. "i'll go to bed when i please. tell him so. no, no--don't do it, aunt fanny! tell him i'll go to bed when i'm sure he is quite comfortable, not before." "but he's jes' a goat puncheh er a--" "he's a man, if there ever was one. don't let me hear you call him a goat puncher again. how are his legs?" aunt fanny was almost stunned by this amazing question from her ever-decorous mistress. "why don't you answer? will they have to be cut off? didn't you see them?" "fo' de lawd's sake, missy, co'se ah did, but yo' all kindeh susprise me. dey's p'etty bad skun up, missy; de hide's peeled up consid'ble. but hit ain' dang'ous,--no, ma'am. jes' skun, 'at's all." "and his arm--where i shot him?" "puffec'ly triflin', ma'am,--yo' highness. cobwebs 'd stop de bleedin' an' ah tole 'em so, but 'at felleh couldn' un'stan' me. misteh what's-his-names he says something to de docteh, an' den dey goes afteh de cobwebs, suah 'nough. 'tain' bleedin' no mo', missy. he's mostes' neah doin' we'y fine. co'se, he cain' walk fo' sev'l days wiv dem laigs o' his'n, but--" "then, in heaven's name, how are we to get to edelweiss?" "he c'n ride, cain't he? wha's to hindeh him?" "quite right. he shall ride inside the coach. go and see if i can do anything for him." aunt fanny returned in a few minutes. "he says yo'll do him a great favoh if yo' jes' go to baid. he sends his 'spects an' hopes yo' slumbeh won' be distubbed ag'in." "he's a perfect brute!" exclaimed beverly, but she went over and crawled under the blankets and among the cushions the wounded man had scorned. chapter vii some facts and fancies there was a soft, warm, yellow glow to the world when beverly calhoun next looked upon it. the sun from his throne in the mountain tops was smiling down upon the valley the night had ravaged while he was on the other side of the earth. the leaves of the trees were a softer green, the white of the rocks and the yellow of the road were of a gentler tint; the brown and green reeds were proudly erect once more. the stirring of the mountain men had awakened aunt fanny, and she in turn called her mistress from the surprisingly peaceful slumber into which perfect health had sent her not so many hours before. at the entrance to the improvised bedchamber stood buckets of water from the spring. "we have very thoughtful chambermaids," remarked beverly while aunt fanny was putting her hair into presentable shape. "and an energetic cook," she added as the odor of broiled meat came to her nostrils. "ah cain' see nothin' o' dat beastes, miss beverly--an'--ah--ah got mah suspicions," said aunt fanny, with sepulchral despair in her voice. "they've thrown the awful thing into the river," concluded beverly. "dey's cookin' hit!" said aunt fanny solemnly. "good heaven, no!" cried beverly. "go and see, this minute. i wouldn't eat that catlike thing for the whole world." aunt fanny came back a few minutes later with the assurance that they were roasting goat meat. the skin of the midnight visitor was stretched upon the ground not far away. "and how is he?" asked beverly, jamming a hat pin through a helpless bunch of violets. "he's ve'y 'spectably skun, yo' highness." "i don't mean the animal, stupid." "yo' mean 'at misteh goat man? he's settin' up an' chattin' as if nothin' happened. he says to me 'at we staht on ouah way jes' as soon as yo' all eats yo' b'eakfus'. de bosses is hitched up an'--" "has everybody else eaten? am i the only one that hasn't?" cried beverly. "'ceptin' me, yo' highness. ah'm as hungry as a poah man's dawg, an'--" "and he is being kept from the hospital because i am a lazy, good-for-nothing little--come on, aunt fanny; we haven't a minute to spare. if he looks very ill, we do without breakfast." but baldos was the most cheerful man in the party. he was sitting with his back against a tree, his right arm in a sling of woven reeds, his black patch set upon the proper eye. "you will pardon me for not rising," he said cheerily, "but, your highness, i am much too awkward this morning to act as befitting a courtier in the presence of his sovereign. you have slept well?" "too well, i fear. so well, in fact, that you have suffered for it. can't we start at once?" she was debating within herself whether it would be quite good form to shake hands with the reclining hero. in the glare of the broad daylight he and his followers looked more ragged and famished than before, but they also appeared more picturesquely romantic. "when you have eaten of our humble fare, your highness,--the last meal at the hawk and raven." "but i'm not a bit hungry." "it is very considerate of you, but equally unreasonable. you must eat before we start." "i can't bear the thought of your suffering when we should be hurrying to a hospital and competent surgeons." he laughed gaily. "oh, you needn't laugh. i know it hurts. you say we cannot reach ganlook before to-morrow? well, we can't stop here a minute longer than we--oh, thank you!" a ragged servitor had placed a rude bowl of meat and some fruit before her. "sit down here, your highness, and prepare yourself for a long fast. we may go until nightfall without food. the game is scarce and we dare not venture far into the hills." beverly sat at his feet and daintily began the operation of picking a bone with her pretty fingers teeth. "i am sorry we have no knives and forks" he apologized. "i don't mind"' said she. "i wish you would remove that black patch." "alas, i must resume the hated disguise. a chance enemy might recognize me." "your--your clothes have been mended," she remarked with a furtive glance at his long legs. the trousers had been rudely sewed up and no bandages were visible. "are you--your legs terribly hurt???" "they are badly scratched, but not seriously. the bandages are skilfully placed," he added, seeing her look of doubt. "ravone is a genius." "well, i'll hurry," she said, blushing deeply. goat-hunter though he was and she a princess, his eyes gleamed with the joy of her beauty and his heart thumped with a most unruly admiration. "you were very, very brave last night," she said at last--and her rescuer smiled contentedly. she was not long in finishing the rude but wholesome meal, and then announced her readiness to be on the way. with the authority of a genuine princess she commanded him to ride inside the coach, gave incomprehensible directions to the driver and to the escort, and would listen to none of his protestations. when the clumsy vehicle was again in the highway and bumping over the ridges of flint, the goat-hunter was beside his princess on the rear seat, his feet upon the opposite cushions near aunt fanny, a well-arranged bridge of boxes and bags providing support for his long legs. "we want to go to a hospital," beverly had said to the driver, very much as she might have spoken had she been in washington. she was standing bravely beside the forewheel, her face flushed and eager. baldos, from his serene position on the cushions, watched her with kindling eyes. the grizzled driver grinned and shook his head despairingly. "oh, pshaw! you don't understand, do you? hospital--h-o-s-p-i-t-a-l," she spelt it out for him, and still he shook his head. others in the motley retinue were smiling broadly. "speak to him in your own language, your highness, and he will be sure to understand," ventured the patient. "i am speaking in my--i mean, i prefer to speak in english. please tell him to go to a hospital," she said confusedly. baldos gave a few jovial instructions, and then the raggedest courtier of them all handed beverly into the carriage with a grace that amazed her. "you are the most remarkable goat-hunters i have ever seen," she remarked in sincere wonder. "and you speak the most perfect english i've ever heard," he replied. "oh, do you really think so? miss grimes used to say i was hopeless. you know i had a--a tutor," she hastily explained. "don't you think it strange we've met no axphain soldiers?" she went on, changing the subject abruptly. "we are not yet out of the woods," he said. "that was a purely american aphorism," she cried, looking at him intently. "where did you learn all your english?" "i had a tutor," he answered easily. "you are a very odd person," she sighed. "i don't believe that you are a goat-hunter at all." "if i were not a goat-hunter i should have starved long ago," he said. "why do you doubt me?" "simply because you treat me one moment as if i were a princess, and the next as if i were a child. humble goat-hunters do not forget their station in life." "i have much to learn of the deference due to queens," he said. "that's just like 'the mikado' or 'pinafore,'" she exclaimed. "i believe you are a comic-opera brigand or a pirate chieftain, after all." "i am a lowly outcast," he smiled. "well, i've decided to take you into edelweiss and--" "pardon me, your highness," he said firmly, "that cannot be. i shall not go to edelweiss." "but i command you--" "it's very kind of you, but i cannot enter a hospital--not even at ganlook. i may as well confess that i am a hunted man and that the instructions are to take me dead or alive." "impossible!" she gasped, involuntarily shrinking from him. "i have wronged no man, yet i am being hunted down as though i were a beast," he said, his face turning haggard for the moment. "the hills of graustark, the plateaus of axphain and the valleys of dawsbergen are alive with men who are bent on ending my unhappy but inconvenient existence. it would be suicide for me to enter any one of your towns or cities. even you could not protect me, i fear." "this sounds like a dream. oh, dear me, you don't look like a hardened criminal," she cried. "i am the humble leader of a faithful band who will die with me when the time comes. we are not criminals, your highness. in return for what service i may have performed for you, i implore you to question me no further. let me be your slave up to the walls of ganlook, and then you may forget baldos, the goat-hunter." "i never can forget you," she cried, touching his injured arm gently. "will you forget the one who gave you this wound?" "it is a very gentle wound, and i love it so that i pray it may never heal." she looked away suddenly. "tell me one thing," she said, a mist coming over her eyes. "you say they are hunting you to the death. then--then your fault must be a grievous one. have you--have you killed a man?" she added hastily. he was silent for a long time. "i fear i have killed more than one man," he said in low tones. again she shrank into the corner of the coach. "history says that your father was a brave soldier and fought in many battles," he went on. "yes," she said, thinking of major george calhoun. "he killed men then, perhaps, as i have killed them," he said. "oh, my father never killed a man!" cried beverly, in devout horror. "yet graustark reveres his mighty prowess on the field of battle," said he, half laconically. "oh," she murmured, remembering that she was now the daughter of yetive's father. "i see. you are not a--a--a mere murderer, then?" "no. i have been a soldier--that is all." "thank heaven!" she murmured, and was no longer afraid of him. "would--would a pardon be of any especial benefit to you?" she asked, wondering how far her influence might go with the princess yetive. "it is beyond your power to help me," he said gravely. she was silent, but it was the silence of deep reflection. "your highness left the castle ten days ago," he said, dismissing himself as a subject for conversation. "have you kept in close communication with edelweiss during that time?" "i know nothing of what is going on there," she said, quite truthfully. she only knew that she had sent a message to the princess yetive, apprising her of her arrival in st. petersburg and of her intention to leave soon for the graustark capital. "then you do not know that mr. lorry is still on the dawsbergen frontier in conference with representatives from serros. he may not return for a week, so colonel quinnox brings back word." "it's news to me," murmured beverly. "you do not seem to be alarmed," he ventured. "yet i fancy it is not a dangerous mission, although prince gabriel is ready to battle at a moment's notice." "i have the utmost confidence in mr. lorry," said beverly, with proper pride. "baron dangloss, your minister of police, is in these mountains watching the operations of axphain scouts and spies." "is he? you are very well posted, it seems." "moreover, the axphainians are planning to attack ganlook upon the first signal from their ruler. i do not wish to alarm your highness, but we may as well expect trouble before we come to the ganlook gates you are known to be in the pass, and i am certain an effort will be made to take possession of your person." "they wouldn't dare!" she exclaimed. "uncle sam would annihilate them in a week." "uncle sam? is he related to your aunt fanny? i'm afraid he could do but little against volga's fighting men," he said, with a smile. "they'd soon find out who uncle sam is if they touch me," she threatened grandly. he seemed puzzled, but was too polite to press her for explanations. "but, he is a long way off and couldn't do much if we were suddenly attacked from ambush, could he? what would they do to me if i were taken, as you suggest?" she was more concerned than she appeared to be. "with you in their hands, graustark would be utterly helpless. volga could demand anything she liked, and your ministry would be forced to submit." "i really think it would be a capital joke on the princess volga," mused beverly reflectively. he did not know what she meant, but regarded her soft smile as the clear title to the serenity of a princess. she sank back and gave herself over to the complications that were likely to grow out of her involuntary deception. the one thing which worried her more than all others was the fear that yetive might not be in edelweiss. according to all reports, she had lately been in st. petersburg and the mere fact that she was supposed to be traveling by coach was sufficient proof that she was not at her capital. then there was, of course, the possibility of trouble on the road with the axphain scouts, but beverly enjoyed the optimism of youth and civilization. baldos, the goat-hunter, was dreamily thinking of the beautiful young woman at his side and of the queer freak fortune had played in bringing them together. as he studied her face he could not but lament that marriage, at least, established a barrier between her and the advances his bold heart might otherwise be willing to risk. his black hair straggled down over his forehead and his dark eyes--the patch had been surreptitiously lifted--were unusually pensive. "it is strange that you live in graustark and have not seen its princess--before," she said, laying groundwork for enquiry concerning the acts and whereabouts of the real princess. "may it please your highness, i have not lived long in graustark. besides, it is said that half the people of ganlook have never looked upon your face." "i'm not surprised at that. the proportion is much smaller than i imagined. i have not visited ganlook, strange as it may seem to you." "one of my company fell in with some of your guards from the ganlook garrison day before yesterday. he learned that you were to reach that city within forty-eight hours. a large detachment of men has been sent to meet you at labbot." "oh, indeed," said beverly, very much interested. "they must have been misinformed as to your route--or else your russian escort decided to take you through by the lower and more hazardous way. it was our luck that you came by the wrong road. otherwise we should not have met each other--and the lion," he said, smiling reflectively. "where is labbot?" asked she, intent upon the one subject uppermost in her mind. "in the mountains many leagues north of this pass. had you taken that route instead of this, you would by this time have left labbot for the town of erros, a half-day's journey from ganlook. instead of vagabonds, your escort would have been made up of loyal soldiers, well-fed, well-clad, and well satisfied with themselves, at least." "but no braver, no truer than my soldiers of fortune," she said earnestly. "by the way, are you informed as to the state of affairs in dawsbergen?" "scarcely as well as your highness must be," he replied. "the young prince--what's his name?" she paused, looking to him for the name. "dantan?" "yes, that's it. what has become of him? i am terribly interested in him." "he is a fugitive, they say." "they haven't captured him, then? good! i am so glad." baldos exhibited little or no interest in the fresh topic. "it is strange you should have forgotten his name," he said wearily. "oh, i do so many ridiculous things!" complained beverly, remembering who she was supposed to be. "i have never seen him, you know," she added. "it is not strange, your highness. he was educated in england and had seen but little of his own country when he was called to the throne two years ago. you remember, of course, that his mother was an englishwoman--lady ida falconer." "i--i think i have heard some of his history--a very little, to be sure," she explained lamely. "prince gabriel, his half brother, is the son of prince louis the third by his first wife, who was a polish countess. after her death, when gabriel was two years old, the prince married lady ida. dantan is their son. he has a sister--candace, who is but nineteen years of age." "i am ashamed to confess that you know so much more about my neighbors than i," she said. "i lived in dawsbergen for a little while, and was ever interested in the doings of royalty. that is a poor man's privilege, you know." "prince gabriel must be a terrible man," cried beverly, her heart swelling with tender thoughts of the exiled dantan and his little sister. "you have cause to know," said he shortly, and she was perplexed until she recalled the stories of gabriel's misdemeanors at the court of edelweiss. "is prince dantan as handsome as they say he is?" she asked. "it is entirely a matter of opinion," he replied. "i, for one, do not consider him at all prepossessing." the day went on, fatiguing, distressing in its length and its happenings. progress was necessarily slow, the perils of the road increasing as the little cavalcade wound deeper and deeper into the wilderness. there were times when the coach fairly crawled along the edge of a precipice, a proceeding so hazardous that beverly shuddered as if in a chill. aunt fanny slept serenely most of the time, and baldos took to dreaming with his eyes wide open. contrary to her expectations, the axphainians did not appear, and if there were robbers in the hills they thought better than to attack the valorous-looking party. it dawned upon her finally that the axphainians were guarding the upper route and not the one over which she was traveling. yetive doubtless was approaching ganlook over the northern pass, provided the enemy had not been encountered before labbot was reached. beverly soon found herself fearing for the safety of the princess, a fear which at last became almost unendurable. near nightfall they came upon three graustark shepherds and learned that ganlook could not be reached before the next afternoon. the tired, hungry travelers spent the night in a snug little valley through which a rivulet bounded onward to the river below. the supper was a scant one, the foragers having poor luck in the hunt for food. daybreak saw them on their way once more. hunger and dread had worn down beverly's supply of good spirits; she was having difficulty in keeping the haggard, distressed look from her face. her tender, hopeful eyes were not so bold or so merry as on the day before; cheerfulness cost her an effort, but she managed to keep it fairly alive. her escort, wretched and half-starved, never forgot the deference due to their charge, but strode steadily on with the doggedness of martyrs. at times she was impelled to disclose her true identity, but discretion told her that deception was her best safeguard. late in the afternoon of the second day the front axle of the coach snapped in two, and a tedious delay of two hours ensued. baldos was strangely silent and subdued. it was not until the misfortune came that beverly observed the flushed condition of his face. involuntarily and with the compassion of a true woman she touched his hand and brow. they were burning-hot. the wounded man was in a high fever. he laughed at her fears and scoffed at the prospect of blood-poisoning and the hundred other possibilities that suggested themselves to her anxious brain. "we are close to ganlook," he said, with the setting of the sun. "soon you may be relieved of your tiresome, cheerless company, your highness." "you are going to a physician," she said, resolutely, alive and active once more, now that the worst part of the journey was coming to an end. "tell that man to drive in a gallop all the rest of the way!" chapter viii through the ganlook gates by this time they were passing the queer little huts that marked the outskirts of a habitable community. these were the homes of shepherds, hunters and others whose vocations related especially to the mountains. farther on there were signs of farming interests; the homes became more numerous and more pretentious in appearance. the rock-lined gorge broadened into a fertile valley; the road was smooth and level, a condition which afforded relief to the travelers. ravone had once more dressed the wounds inflicted by the lion; but he was unable to provide anything to subdue the fever. baldos was undeniably ill. beverly, between her exclamations of joy and relief at being in sight of ganlook, was profuse in her expressions of concern for the hero of the hawk and raven. the feverish gleam in his dark eyes and the pain that marked his face touched her deeply. suffering softened his lean, sun-browned features, obliterating the mocking lines that had impressed her so unfavorably at the outset. she was saying to herself that he was handsome after a most unusual cast; it was an unforgetable face. "your highness," he said earnestly, after she had looked long and anxiously at his half-closed eyes, "we are within an hour of ganlook. it will be dark before we reach the gates, i know, but you have nothing to fear during the rest of the trip. franz shall drive you to the sentry post and turn over the horses to your own men. my friends and i must leave you at the end of the mountain road. we are--" "ridiculous!" she cried. "i'll not permit it! you must go to a hospital." "if i enter the ganlook gates it will be the same as entering the gates of death," he protested. "nonsense! you have a fever or you wouldn't talk like that. i can promise you absolute security." "you do not understand, your highness." "nevertheless, you are going to a hospital," she firmly said. "you would die out here in the wilds, so what are the odds either way? aunt fanny, _will_ you be careful? don't you know that the least movement of those bags hurts him?" "please, do not mind me, your highness. i am doing very well," he said, smiling. the coach brought up in front of a roadside inn. while some of the men were watering the horses others gathered about its open window. a conversation in a tongue utterly incomprehensible to beverly took place between baldos and his followers. the latter seemed to be disturbed about something, and there was no mistaking the solicitous air with which they regarded their leader. the pseudo-princess was patient as long as possible and then broke into the discussion. "what do they want?" she demanded in english. "they are asking for instructions," he answered. "instruct them to do as i bid," she said. "tell them to hurry along and get you a doctor; that's all." evidently his friends were of the same opinion, for after a long harangue in which he was obdurate to the last, they left the carriage and he sank back with a groan of dejection. "what is it?" she anxiously demanded. "they also insist that i shall go to a surgeon," he said hopelessly. his eyes were moist and he could not meet her gaze. she was full of exultation. "they have advised me to put myself under your protection, shameless as that may seem to a man. you and you alone have the power to protect me if i pass beyond the walls of ganlook." "i?" she cried, all a-flutter. "i could not thrust my head into the jaws of death unless the princess of graustark were there to stay their fury. your royal hand alone can turn aside the inevitable. alas, i am helpless and know not what to do." beverly calhoun sat very straight and silent beside the misguided baldos. after all, it was not within her power to protect him. she was not the princess and she had absolutely no influence in ganlook. the authorities there could not be deceived as had been these ignorant men of the hills. if she led him into the city it was decidedly probable that she might be taking him to his death. she only could petition, not command. once at yetive's side she was confident she could save the man who had done so much for her, but ganlook was many miles from edelweiss, and there was no assurance that intervention could be obtained in time. on the other hand, if he went back to the hills he was likely to die of the poisonous fever. beverly was in a most unhappy state of mind. if she confessed to him that she was not the princess, he would refuse to enter the gates of ganlook, and be perfectly justified in doing so. "but if i should fail?" she asked, at last, a shiver rushing over her and leaving her cold with dread. "you are the only hope, your highness. you had better say farewell to baldos and let him again seek the friendly valley," said he wearily. "we can go no farther. the soldiers must be near, your highness. it means capture if we go on. i cannot expose my friends to the dangers. let me be put down here, and do you drive on to safety. i shall fare much better than you think, for i am young and strong and--" "no! i'll risk it," she cried. "you must go into the city. tell them so and say that i will protect you with my own life and honor." fever made him submissive; her eyes gave him confidence; her voice soothed his fears, if he possessed them. leaning from the window, he called his men together. beverly looked on in wonder as these strange men bade farewell to their leader. many of them were weeping, and most of them kissed his hand. there were broken sentences, tear-choked promises, anxious inquiries, and the parting was over. "where are they going?" beverly whispered, as they moved away in the dusk. "back into the mountains to starve, poor fellows. god be kind to them, god be good to them," he half sobbed, his chin dropping to his breast. he was trembling like a leaf. "starve?" she whispered. "have they no money?" "we are penniless," came in muffled tones from the stricken leader. beverly leaned from the window and called to the departing ones. ravone and one other reluctantly approached. without a word she opened a small traveling bag and drew forth a heavy purse. this she pressed into the hand of the student. it was filled with graustark gavvos, for which she had exchanged american gold in russia. "god be with you," she fervently cried. he kissed her hand, and the two stood aside to let the coach roll on into the dusky shadows that separated them from the gates of ganlook, old franz still driving--the only one of the company left to serve his leader to the very end. "well, we have left them," muttered baldos, as though to himself. "i may never see them again--never see them again. god, how true they have been!" "i shall send for them the moment i get to ganlook and i'll promise pardons for them all," she cried rashly, in her compassion. "no!" he exclaimed fiercely. "you are not to disturb them. better that they should starve." beverly was sufficiently subdued. as they drew nearer the city gates her heart began to fail her. this man's life was in her weak, incapable hands and the time was nearing when she must stand between him and disaster. "where are these vaunted soldiers of yours?" he suddenly asked, infinite irony in his voice. "my soldiers?" she said faintly. "isn't it rather unusual that, in time of trouble and uncertainty, we should be able to approach within a mile of one of your most important cities without even so much as seeing a soldier of graustark?" she felt that he was scoffing, but it mattered little to her. "it is a bit odd, isn't it?" she agreed. "worse than that, your highness." "i shall speak to dangloss about it," she said serenely, and he looked up in new surprise. truly, she was an extraordinary princess. fully three-quarters of an hour passed before the coach was checked. beverly, looking from the windows, had seem the lighted windows of cottages growing closer and closer together. the barking of roadside dogs was the only sound that could be heard above the rattle of the wheels. it was too dark inside the coach to see the face of the man beside her, but something told her that he was staring intently into the night, alert and anxious. the responsibility of her position swooped down upon her like an avalanche as she thought of what the next few minutes were to bring forth. it was the sudden stopping of the coach and the sharp commands from the outside that told her probation was at an end. she could no longer speculate; it was high time to act. "the outpost," came from baldos, in strained tones. "perhaps they won't know us--you, i mean," she whispered. "baron dangloss knows everybody," he replied bitterly. "what a horrid old busy-body he--" she started to say, but thought better of it. a couple of lanterns flashed at the window, almost blinding her. aunt fanny groaned audibly, but the figure of baldos seemed to stiffen with defiance. uniformed men peered into the interior with more rudeness and curiosity than seemed respectful to a princess, to say the least. they saw a pretty, pleading face, with wide gray eyes and parted lips, but they did not bow in humble submission as baldos had expected. one of the men, evidently in command, addressed beverly in rough but polite tones. it was a question that he asked, she knew, but she could not answer him, for she could not understand him. "what do you want?" she put in english, with a creditable display of dignity. "he does not speak english, your highness," volunteered baldos, in a voice so well disguised that it startled her. the officer was staring blankly at her. "every officer in my army should and must learn to speak english," she said, at her wits' end, "i decline to be questioned by the fellow. will you talk to him in my stead?" "i, your highness?" he cried in dismay. "yes. tell him who we are and ask where the hospital is," she murmured, sinking back with the air of a queen, but with the inward feeling that all was lost. "but i don't speak your language well," he protested. "you speak it beautifully," she said. baldos leaned forward painfully and spoke to the officer in the graustark tongue. "don't you know your princess?" he demanded, a trifle harshly. the man's eyes flew wide open in an instant and his jaw dropped. "th--the princess?" he gasped. "don't stare like that, sir. direct us to the main gate at once, or you will have cause to regret your slowness." "but the princess was--is coming by the northern pass," mumbled the man. "the guard has gone out to meet her and--" baldos cut him off shortly with the information that the princess, as he could see, had come by the lower pass and that she was eager to reach a resting-place at once. the convincing tone of the speaker and the regal indifference of the lady had full effect upon the officer, who had never seen her highness. he fell back with a deep obeisance, and gave a few bewildered commands to his men. the coach moved off, attended by a party of foot-soldiers, and beverly breathed her first sigh of relief. "you did it beautifully," she whispered to baldos, and he was considerably puzzled by the ardor of her praise. "where are we going now?" she asked. "into the city, your highness," he answered. it was beginning to dawn upon him that she was amazingly ignorant and inconsequential for one who enjoyed the right to command these common soldiers. her old trepidation returned with this brief answer. something told her that he was beginning to mistrust her at last. after all, it meant everything to him and so little to her. when the coach halted before the city gates she was in a dire state of unhappiness. in the darkness she could feel the reproachful eyes of old aunt fanny searching for her abandoned conscience. "ask if baron dangloss is in ganlook, and, if he is, command them to take me to him immediately," she whispered to baldos, a sudden inspiration seizing her. she would lay the whole matter before the great chief of police, and trust to fortune. her hand fell impulsively upon his and, to her amazement, it was as cold as ice. "what is the matter?" she cried in alarm. "you trusted me in the wilds, your highness," he said tensely; "i am trusting you now." before she could reply the officer in charge of the ganlook gates appeared at the coach window. there were lights on all sides. her heart sank like lead. it would be a miracle if she passed the gates unrecognized. "i must see baron dangloss at once," she cried in english, utterly disdaining her instructions to baldos. "the baron is engaged at present and can see no one," responded the good-looking young officer in broken english. "where is he?" she demanded nervously. "he is at the home of colonel goaz, the commandant. what is your business with him?" "it is with him and not with you, sir," she said, imperious once more. "conduct me to him immediately." "you cannot enter the gates unless you--" "insolence!" exclaimed baldos. "is this the way, sir, in which you address the princess? make way for her." "the princess!" gasped the officer. then a peculiar smile overspread his face. he had served three years in the castle guard at edelweiss! there was a long pause fraught with disaster for beverly. "yes, perhaps it is just as well that we conduct her to baron dangloss," he said at last. the deep meaning in his voice appealed only to the unhappy girl. "there shall be no further delay, _your highness!_" he added mockingly. a moment later the gates swung open and they passed through. beverly alone knew that they were going to baron dangloss under heavy guard, virtually as prisoners. the man knew her to be an impostor and was doing only his duty. there were smiles of derision on the faces of the soldiers when beverly swept proudly between the files and up the steps leading to the commandant's door, but there were no audible remarks. baldos followed, walking painfully but defiantly, and aunt fanny came last with the handbag. the guards grinned broadly as the corpulent negress waddled up the steps. the young officer and two men entered the door with the wayfarers, who were ordered to halt in the hallway. "will your highness come with me?" said the officer, returning to the hall after a short absence. there was unmistakable derision in his voice and palpable insolence in his manner. beverly flushed angrily. "baron dangloss is very _curious_ to see you," he added, with a smile. nevertheless, he shrank a bit beneath the cold gleam in the eyes of the impostor. "you will remain here," she said, turning to baldos and the negress. "and you will have nothing whatever to say to this very important young man." the "important young man" actually chuckled. "follow me, your most royal highness," he said, preceding her through the door that opened into the office of the commandant. baldos glared after them in angry amazement. "young man, some day and _soon_ you will be a much wiser soldier and, in the ranks," said beverly hotly. the smile instantly receded from the insolent fellow's face, for there was a world of prophecy in the way she said it. somehow, he was in a much more respectful humor when he returned to the hall and stood in the presence of the tall, flushed stranger with the ragged uniform. a short, fierce little man in the picturesque uniform of a graustark officer arose as beverly entered the office. his short beard bristled as though it were concealing a smile, but his manner was polite, even deferential. she advanced fearlessly toward him, a wayward smile struggling into her face. "i daresay you know i am not the princess," she said composedly. every vestige of fear was gone now that she had reached the line of battle. the doughty baron looked somewhat surprised at this frank way of opening the interview. "i am quite well aware of it," he said politely. "they say you know everyone, baron dangloss," she boldly said. "pray, who am i?" the powerful official looked at the smiling face for a moment, his bushy eyebrows contracting ever so slightly. there was a shameless streak of dust across her cheek, but there was also a dimple there that appealed to the grim old man. his eyes twinkled as he replied, with fine obsequiousness: "you are miss beverly calhoun, of washington." chapter ix the redoubtable dangloss beverly's eyes showed her astonishment. baron dangloss courteously placed a chair for her and asked her to be seated. "we were expecting you, miss calhoun," he explained. "her royal highness left st. petersburg but a few hours after your departure, having unfortunately missed you." "you don't mean to say that the princess tried to find me in st. petersburg?" cried beverly, in wonder and delight. "that was one of the purposes of her visit," said he brusquely. "oh, how jolly!" cried she, her gray eyes sparkling. the grim old captain was startled for the smallest fraction of a minute, but at once fell to admiring the fresh, eager face of the visitor. "the public at large is under the impression that she visited the czar on matters of importance," he said, with a condescending smile. "and it really was of no importance at all, that's what you mean?" she smiled back securely. "your message informing her highness of your presence in st. petersburg had no sooner arrived than she set forth to meet you in that city, much against the advice of her counsellors. i will admit that she had other business there but it could have waited. you see, miss calhoun, it was a great risk at this particular time. misfortune means disaster now. but providence was her friend. she arrived safely in ganlook not an hour since." "really? oh, baron dangloss, where is she?" excitedly cried the american girl. "for the night she is stopping with the countess rallowitz. a force of men, but not those whom you met at the gates, has just been dispatched at her command to search for you in the lower pass. you took the most dangerous road, miss calhoun, and i am amazed that you came through in safety." "the russians chose the lower pass, i know not why. of course, i was quite ignorant. however, we met neither brigands nor soldiers, axphain or graustark. i encountered nothing more alarming than a mountain lion. and that, baron dangloss, recalls me to the sense of a duty i have been neglecting. a poor wanderer in the hills defended me against the beast and was badly wounded. he must be taken to a hospital at once, sir, where he may have the proper care." whereupon, at his request, she hurriedly related the story of that trying journey through the mountains, not forgetting to paint the courage of baldos in most glowing colors. the chief was deeply interested in the story of the goat-hunter and his party. there was an odd gleam of satisfaction in his eyes, but she did not observe it. "you _will_ see that he has immediate attention, won't you?" she implored in the end. "he shall have our deepest consideration," promised he. "you know i am rather interested, because i shot him, just as if it were not enough that his legs were being torn by the brute at the time. he ought not to walk, baron dangloss. if you don't mind, i'd suggest an ambulance," she hurried on glibly. he could not conceal the smile that her eagerness inspired. "really, he is in a serious condition. i think he needs some quinine and whiskey, too, and--" "he shall have the _best_ of care," interrupted the captain. "leave him to me, miss calhoun." "now, let me tell you something," said she, after due reflection. "you must not pay any attention to what he says. he is liable to be delirious and talk in a terrible sort of way. you know delirious people never talk rationally." she was loyally trying to protect baldos, the hunted, against any incriminating statements he might make. "quite right, miss calhoun," said the baron very gravely. "and now, i'd like to go to the princess," said beverly, absolutely sure of herself. "you know we are great friends, she and i." "i have sent a messenger to announce your arrival. she will expect you." beverly looked about the room in perplexity. "but there has been no messenger here," she said. "he left here some minutes before you came. i knew who it was that came knocking at our gates, even though she traveled as princess yetive of graustark." "and, oh! that reminds me, baron dangloss, baldos still believes me to be the princess. is it necessary to--to tell him the truth about me? just at present, i mean? i'm sure he'll rest much easier if he doesn't know differently." "so far as i am concerned, miss calhoun, he shall always regard you as a queen," said dangloss gallantly. "thank you. it's very nice of you to--" a man in uniform entered after knocking at the door of the room. he saluted his superior and uttered a few words in his own language. "her royal highness is awaiting you at the home of the countess, miss calhoun. a detail of men will escort you and your servant to her place." "now, please, baron dangloss," pleaded beverly at the door, "be nice to him. you know it hurts him to walk. can't you have him carried in?" "if he will consent," said he quietly. beverly hurried into the outer room, after giving the baron a smile he never forgot. baldos looked up eagerly, anxiously. "it's all right," she said in low tones, pausing for a moment beside his chair. "don't get up! good-bye. i'll come to see you to-morrow. don't be in the least disturbed. baron dangloss has his instructions." impulsively giving him her hand which he respectfully raised to his lips, she followed aunt fanny and was gone. almost immediately baldos was requested to present himself before baron dangloss in the adjoining room. refusing to be carried in, he resolutely strode through the door and stood before the grim old captain of police, an easy, confident smile on his face. the black patch once more covered his eye with defiant assertiveness. "they tell me you are baldos, a goat-hunter," said baron dangloss, eyeing him keenly. "yes." "and you were hurt in defending one who is of much consequence in graustark. sit down, my good fellow." baldos' eyes gleamed coldly for an instant. then he sank into a chair. "while admitting that you have done graustark a great service, i am obliged to tell you that i, at least, know you to be other than what you say. you are not a goat-hunter, and baldos is not your name. am i not right?" "you have had instructions from your sovereign, baron dangloss. did they include a command to cross-question me?" asked baldos haughtily. dangloss hesitated for a full minute. "they did not. i take the liberty of inquiring on my own responsibility." "very well, sir. until you have a right to question me, i am baldos and a goat-hunter. i think i am here to receive surgical treatment." "you decline to tell me anything concerning yourself?" "only that i am injured and need relief." "perhaps i know more about you than you suspect, sir." "i am not in the least interested, baron dangloss, in what you know. the princess brought me into ganlook, and i have her promise of help and protection while here. that is all i have to say, except that i have implicit faith in her word." dangloss sat watching him in silence for some time. no one but himself knew what was going on in that shrewd, speculative mind. at length he arose and approached the proud fellow in rags. "you have earned every consideration at our hands. my men will take you to the hospital and you shall have the best of care. you have served our princess well. to-morrow you may feel inclined to talk more freely with me, for i am your friend, baldos." "i am grateful for that, baron dangloss," said the other simply. then he was led away and a comfortable cot in the ganlook hospital soon held his long, feverish frame, while capable hands took care of his wounds. he did not know it, but two fully armed soldiers maintained a careful guard outside his door under instructions from the head of the police. moreover, a picked detail of men sallied forth into the lower pass in search of the goat-hunter's followers. in the meantime beverly was conducted to the home of the countess rallowitz. her meeting with the princess was most affectionate. there were tears, laughter and kisses. the whole atmosphere of the place suggested romance to the eager american girl. downstairs were the royal guards; in the halls were attendants; all about were maidservants and obsequious lackeys, crowding the home of the kindly countess. at last, comfortable and free from the dust of travel, the two friends sat down to a dainty meal. "oh, i am so delighted," murmured beverly for the hundredth time. "i'm appalled when i think of the dangers you incurred in coming to me. no one but a very foolish american girl could have undertaken such a trip as this. dear me, beverly, i should have died if anything dreadful had happened to you. why did you do it?" questioned the princess. and then they laughed joyously. "and you went all the way to st. petersburg to meet me, you dear, dear yetive," cried beverly, so warmly that the attentive servant forgot his mask of reverence. "wasn't it ridiculous of me? i know gren would have forbidden it if he had been in edelweiss when i started. and, more shame to me, the poor fellow is doubtless at the conference with dawsbergen, utterly ignorant of my escapade. you should have heard the ministry--er--ah--" and the princess paused for an english word. "kick?" beverly supplied. "yes. they objected violently. and, do you know, i was finally compelled to issue a private edict to restrain them from sending an appeal to grenfall away off there on the frontier. whether or no, my uncle insisted that he should be brought home, a three-days' journey, in order that he might keep me from going to st. petersburg. of course, they could not disobey my edict, and so poor gren is none the wiser, unless he has returned from the conference. if he has, i am sure he is on the way to ganlook at this very minute." "what a whimsical ruler you are," cried beverly. "upsetting everything sensible just to rush off hundreds of miles to meet me. and axphain is trying to capture you, too! goodness, you must love me!" "oh, but i _did_ have a trifling affair of state to lay before the czar, my dear. to-morrow we shall be safe and sound in the castle and it will all be very much worth while. you see, beverly, dear, even princesses enjoy a diversion now and then. one wouldn't think anything of this adventure in the united states; it is the environment that makes it noticeable. besides, you traveled as a princess. how did you like it?" and then the conversation related particularly to the advantages of royalty as viewed from one side and the disadvantages as regarded from another. for a long time beverly had been wondering how she should proceed in the effort to secure absolute clemency for baldos. as yet she had said nothing to yetive of her promise to him, made while she was a princess. "at any rate, i'm sure the goat-hunters would not have been so faithful and true if they had not believed me to be a princess," said beverly, paving the way. "you haven't a man in your kingdom who could be more chivalrous than baldos." "if he is that kind of a man, he would treat any woman as gently." "you should have heard him call me 'your highness,'" cried beverly. "he will loathe me if he ever learns that i deceived him." "oh, i think he deceived himself," spoke yetive easily. "besides, you look as much like a princess as i." "there is something i want to speak very seriously about to you, yetive," said beverly, making ready for the cast. "you see, he did not want to enter ganlook with me, but i insisted. he had been so brave and gallant, and he was suffering so intensely. it would have been criminal in me to leave him out there in the wilderness, wouldn't it?" "it would have been heartless." "so i just made him come along. that was right, wasn't it? that's what you would have done, no matter who he was or what his objections might have been. well, you see, it's this way, yetive: he is some sort of a fugitive--not a criminal, you know--but just some one they are hunting for, i don't know why. he wouldn't tell me. that was perfectly right, if he felt that way, wasn't it?" "and he had fought a lion in your defense," supplemented yetive, with a schoolgirl's ardor. "and i had shot him in the arm, too," added beverly. "so of course, i just had to be reasonable. in order to induce him to come with me to a hospital, i was obliged to guarantee perfect safety to him. his men went back to the hills, all except old franz, the driver. now, the trouble is this, yetive: i am _not_ the princess and i cannot redeem a single promise i made to him. he is helpless, and if anything goes wrong with him he will hate me forever." "no; he will hate _me_ for i am the princess and he is none the wiser." "but he will be told that his princess was beverly calhoun, a supposedly nice american girl. don't you see how awkward it will be for me? now, yetive, darling, what i wish you to do is to write a note, order or edict or whatever it is to baron dangloss, commanding him to treat baldos as a patient and not as a prisoner; and that when he is fully recovered he is to have the privilege of leaving ganlook without reservation." "but he may be a desperate offender against the state, beverly." plaintively protested yetive. "if we only knew what he is charged with!" "i'm afraid it's something dreadfully serious," admitted beverly gloomily. "he doesn't look like the sort of man who would engage in a petty undertaking. i'll tell you his story, just as he told it to me," and she repeated the meagre confessions of baldos. "i see no reason why we should hesitate," said the princess. "by his own statement, he is not a desperate criminal. you did quite right in promising him protection, dear, and i shall sustain you. do you want to play the princess to baldos a little longer?" "i should love it," cried beverly, her eyes sparkling. "then i shall write the order to dangloss at once. oh, dear, i have forgotten, i have no official seal here." "couldn't you seal it with your ring?" suggested beverly. "oh, i have it! send for baron dangloss and have him witness your signature. he can't get away from that, you see, and after we reach edelweiss, you can fix up a regular edict, seal and all," cried the resourceful american girl. ink and paper were sent for and the two conspirators lent their wisdom to the task of preparing an order for the salvation of baldos, the fugitive. the order read: to baron jasto dangloss, commanding the civic and military police of graustark: "you are hereby informed that baldos, the man who entered the city with miss calhoun, is not to be regarded as a prisoner now or hereafter. he is to be given capable medical and surgical attention until fully recovered, when he is to be allowed to go his way in peace unquestioned. "also, he is to be provided with suitable wearing apparel and made comfortable in every way. "also, the members of his party, now in the hills (whose names are unknown to me), are to be accorded every protection. franz, the driver, is to have his freedom if he desires it. "and from this edict there is no recourse until its abatement by royal decree. "yetive." "there," said the princess, affixing her signature "i think that will be sufficient." then she rang for a servant. "send to baron dangloss and ask him to come here at once." fifteen minutes later the chief of police stood in the presence of the eager young interpreters of justice. "i want you to witness my signature, baron dangloss," said the princess after the greetings. "gladly," said the officer. "well, here is where i signed," said yetive, handing him the paper. "i don't have to write my name over again, do i?" "not at all," said the baron gallantly. and he boldly signed his name as a witness. "they wouldn't do that in the united states," murmured beverly, who knew something about red tape at washington. "it is a command to you, baron," said yetive, handing him the document with a rare smile. he read it through slowly. then he bit his lip and coughed. "what is the matter, baron?" asked yetive, still smiling. "a transitory emotion, your highness, that is all," said he; but his hand trembled as he folded the paper. chapter x inside the castle walls bright and early the next morning the party was ready for the last of the journey to edelweiss. less than twenty miles separated ganlook from the capital, and the road was in excellent condition. beverly calhoun, tired and contented, had slept soundly until aroused by the princess herself. their rooms adjoined each other, and when yetive, shortly after daybreak, stole into the american girl's chamber, beverly was sleeping so sweetly that the intruder would have retreated had it not been for the boisterous shouts of stable-boys in the courtyard below the windows. she hurried to a window and looked out upon the gray-cloaked morning. postillions and stable-boys were congregated near the gates, tormenting a ragged old man who stood with his back against one of the huge posts. in some curiosity, she called beverly from her slumbers, urging the sleepy one to hasten to the window. "is this one of your friends from the wilderness?" she asked. "it's franz!" cried beverly, rubbing her pretty eyes. then she became thoroughly awake. "what are they doing to him? who are those ruffians?" she demanded indignantly. "they are my servants, and--" "shame on them! the wretches! what has old franz done that they should--call to them! tell 'em you'll cut their heads off if they don't stop. he's a dear old fellow in spite of his rags, and he--" the window-sash flew open and the tormentors in the court below were astonished by the sound of a woman's voice, coming, as it were, from the clouds. a dozen pairs of eyes were turned upward; the commotion ended suddenly. in the window above stood two graceful, white-robed figures. the sun, still far below the ridge of mountains, had not yet robbed the morning of the gray, dewy shadows that belong to five o'clock. "what are you doing to that poor old man?" cried yetive, and it was the first time any of them had seen anger in the princess's face. they slunk back in dismay. "let him alone! you, gartz, see that he has food and drink, and without delay. report to me later on, sir, and explain, if you can, why you have conducted yourselves in so unbecoming a manner." then the window was closed and the princess found herself in the warm arms of her friend. "i couldn't understand a word you said, yetive? but i knew you were giving it to them hot and heavy. did you see how nicely old franz bowed to you? goodness, his head almost touched the ground." "he was bowing to you, beverly. you forgot that you are the princess to him." "isn't that funny? i had quite forgotten it--the poor old goose." later, when the coaches and escort were drawn up in front of the rallowitz palace ready for the start, the princess called the chief postillion, gartz, to the step of her coach. "what was the meaning of the disturbance i witnessed this morning?" she demanded. gartz hung his head. "we thought the man was crazy, your highness. he had been telling us such monstrous lies," he mumbled. "are you sure they were lies?" "oh, quite sure, your highness. they were laughable. he said, for one thing, that it was he who drove your highness's coach into ganlook last evening, when everybody knows that i had full charge of the coach and horses." "you are very much mistaken, gartz," she said, distinctly. he blinked his eyes. "your highness," he gasped, "you surely remember--" "enough, sir. franz drove the princess into ganlook last night. he says so himself, does he not?" "yes, your highness," murmured poor gartz. "what more did he say to you?" "he said he had come from his master, who is in the hospital, to inquire after your health and to bear his thanks for the kindnesses you have secured for him. he says his master is faring well and is satisfied to remain where he is. also, he said that his master was sending him back into the mountains to assure his friends that he is safe and to bear a certain message of cheer to them, sent forth by the princess. it was all so foolish and crazy, your highness, that we could but jibe and laugh at the poor creature." "it is you who have been foolish, sir. send the old man to me." "he has gone, your highness," in frightened tones. "so much the better," said the princess, dismissing him with a wave of the hand. gartz went away in a daze, and for days he took every opportunity to look for other signs of mental disorder in the conduct of his mistress, at the same time indulging in speculation as to his own soundness of mind. ganlook's population lined the chief thoroughfare, awaiting the departure of the princess, although the hour was early. beverly peered forth curiously as the coach moved off. the quaint, half-oriental costumes of the townspeople, the odd little children, the bright colors, the perfect love and reverence that shone in the faces of the multitude impressed her deeply. she was never to forget that picturesque morning. baron dangloss rode beside the coach until it passed through the southern gates and into the countryside. a company of cavalrymen acted as escort. the bright red trousers and top-boots, with the deep-blue jackets, reminded beverly more than ever of the operatic figures she had seen so often at home. there was a fierce, dark cast to the faces of these soldiers, however, that removed any suggestion of play. the girl was in ecstasies. everything about her appealed to the romantic side of her nature; everything seemed so unreal and so like the storybook. the princess smiled lovingly upon the throngs that lined the street; there was no man among them who would not have laid down his life for the gracious ruler. "oh, i love your soldiers," cried beverly warmly. "poor fellows, who knows how soon they may be called upon to face death in the dawsbergen hills?" said yetive, a shadow crossing her face. dangloss was to remain in ganlook for several days, on guard against manifestations by the axphainians. a corps of spies and scouts was working with him, and couriers were ready to ride at a moment's notice to the castle in edelweiss. before they parted, beverly extracted a renewal of his promise to take good care of baldos. she sent a message to the injured man, deploring the fact that she was compelled to leave ganlook without seeing him as she had promised. it was her intention to have him come to edelweiss as soon as he was in a condition to be removed. captain dangloss smiled mysteriously, but he had no comment to make. he had received his orders and was obeying them to the letter. "i wonder if grenfall has heard of my harum-scarum trip to st. petersburg," reflected yetive, making herself comfortable in the coach after the gates and the multitudes were far behind. "i'll go you a box of chocolate creams that we meet him before we get to edelweiss," ventured beverly. "agreed," said the princess. "don't say 'agreed,' dear. 'done' is the word," corrected the american girl airily. beverly won. grenfall lorry and a small company of horsemen rode up in furious haste long before the sun was in mid-sky. an attempt to depict the scene between him and his venturesome wife would be a hopeless task. the way in which his face cleared itself of distress and worry was a joy in itself. to use his own words, he breathed freely for the first time in hours. "the american" took the place of the officer who rode beside the coach, and the trio kept up an eager, interesting conversation during the next two hours. it was a warm, sleepy day, but all signs of drowsiness disappeared with the advent of lorry. he had reached edelweiss late the night before, after a three days' ride from the conference with dawsbergen. at first he encountered trouble in trying to discover what had become of the princess. those at the castle were aware of the fact that she had reached ganlook safely and sought to put him off with subterfuges. he stormed to such a degree, however, that their object failed. the result was that he was off for ganlook with the earliest light of day. regarding the conference with prince gabriel's representatives, he had but little to say. the escaped murderer naturally refused to surrender and was to all appearances quite firmly established in power once more. lorry's only hope was that the reversal of feeling in dawsbergen might work ruin for the prince. he was carrying affairs with a high hand, dealing vengeful blows to the friends of his half-brother and encouraging a lawlessness that sooner or later must prove his undoing. his representatives at the conference were an arrogant, law-defying set of men who laughed scornfully at every proposal made by the graustarkians. "we told them that if he were not surrendered to our authorities inside of sixty days we would declare war and go down and take him," concluded "the american." "two months," cried yetive. "i don't understand." "there was method in that ultimatum. axphain, of course, will set up a howl, but we can forestall any action the princess volga may undertake. naturally, one might suspect that we should declare war at once, inasmuch as he must be taken sooner or later. but here is the point: before two months have elapsed the better element of dawsbergen will be so disgusted with the new dose of gabriel that it will do anything to avert a war on his account. we have led them to believe that axphain will lend moral, if not physical, support to our cause. give them two months in which to get over this tremendous hysteria, and they'll find their senses. gabriel isn't worth it, you see, and down in their hearts they know it. they really loved young dantan, who seems to be a devil of a good fellow. i'll wager my head that in six weeks they'll be wishing he were back on the throne again. and just to think of it, yetive, dear, you were off there in the very heart of axphain, risking everything," he cried, wiping the moisture from his brow. "it is just eleven days since i left edelweiss, and i have had a lovely journey," she said, with one of her rare smiles. he shook his head gravely, and she resolved in her heart never to give him another such cause for alarm. "and in the meantime, mr. grenfall lorry, you are blaming me and hating me and all that for being the real cause of your wife's escapade," said beverly calhoun plaintively. "i'm awfully sorry. but, you must remember one thing, sir; i did not put her up to this ridiculous trip. she did it of her own free will and accord. besides, i am the one who met the lion and almost got devoured, not yetive, if you please." "i'll punish you by turning you over to old count marlanx, the commander of the army in graustark," said lorry, laughingly. "he's a terrible ogre, worse than any lion." "heaven pity you, beverly, if you fall into his clutches," cried yetive. "he has had five wives and survives to look for a sixth. you see how terrible it would be." "i'm not afraid of him," boasted beverly, but there came a time when she thought of those words with a shudder. "by the way, yetive, i have had word from harry anguish. he and the countess will leave paris this week, if the baby's willing, and will be in edelweiss soon. you don't know how it relieves me to know that harry will be with us at this time." yetive's eyes answered his enthusiasm. both had a warm and grateful memory of the loyal service which the young american had rendered his friend when they had first come to graustark in quest of the princess; and both had a great regard for his wife, the countess dagmar, who, as yetive's lady in waiting, had been through all the perils of those exciting days with them. as they drew near the gates of edelweiss, a large body of horsemen rode forth to meet them. the afternoon was well on the way to night, and the air of the valley was cool and refreshing, despite the rays of the june sun. "edelweiss at last," murmured beverly, her face aglow. "the heart of graustark. do you know that i have been brushing up on my grammar? i have learned the meaning of the word 'graustark,' and it seems so appropriate. _grau_ is gray, hoary, old; _stark_ is strong. old and strong--isn't it, dear?" "and here rides the oldest and strongest man in all graustark--the iron count of marlanx," said yetive, looking down the road. "see--the strange gray man in front there is our greatest general, our craftiest fighter, our most heartless warrior. does he not look like the eagle or the hawk?" a moment later the parties met, and the newcomers swung into line with the escort. two men rode up to the carriage and saluted. one was count marlanx, the other colonel quinnox, of the royal guard. the count, lean and gray as a wolf, revealed rows of huge white teeth in his perfunctory smile of welcome, while young quinnox's face fairly beamed with honest joy. in the post that he held, he was but following in the footsteps of his forefathers. since history began in graustark, a quinnox had been in charge of the castle guard. the "iron count," as he sometimes was called, was past his sixtieth year. for twenty years he had been in command of the army. one had but to look at his strong, sardonic face to know that he was a fearless leader, a savage fighter. his eyes were black, piercing and never quiet; his hair and close-cropped beard were almost snow-white; his voice was heavy and without a vestige of warmth. since her babyhood yetive had stood in awe of this grim old warrior. it was no uncommon thing for mothers to subdue disobedient children with the threat to give them over to the "iron count." "old marlanx will get you if you're not good," was a household phrase in edelweiss. he had been married five times and as many times had he been left a widower. if he were disconsolate in any instance, no one had been able to discover the fact. enormously rich, as riches go in graustark, he had found young women for his wives who thought only of his gold and his lands in the trade they made with cupid. it was said that without exception they died happy. death was a joy. the fortress overlooking the valley to the south was no more rugged and unyielding than the man who made his home within its walls. he lived there from choice and it was with his own money that he fitted up the commandant's quarters in truly regal style. power was more to him than wealth, though he enjoyed both. colonel quinnox brought news from the castle. yetive's uncle and aunt, the count and countess halfont, were eagerly expecting her return, and the city was preparing to manifest its joy in the most exuberant fashion. as they drew up to the gates the shouts of the people came to the ears of the travelers. then the boom of cannon and the blare of bands broke upon the air, thrilling beverly to the heart. she wondered how yetive could be so calm and unmoved in the face of all this homage. past the great hotel regengetz and the tower moved the gay procession, into the broad stretch of boulevard that led to the gates of the palace grounds. the gates stood wide open and inviting. inside was jacob fraasch, the chief steward of the grounds, with his men drawn up in line; upon the walls the sentries came to parade rest; on the plaza the royal band was playing as though by inspiration. then the gates closed behind the coach and escort, and beverly calhoun was safe inside the castle walls. the "iron count" handed her from the carriage at the portals of the palace, and she stood as one in a dream. chapter xi the royal coach of graustark the two weeks following beverly calhoun's advent into the royal household were filled with joy and wonder for her. daily she sent glowing letters to her father, mother and brothers in washington, elaborating vastly upon the paradise into which she had fallen. to her highly emotional mind, the praises of graustark had been but poorly sung. the huge old castle, relic of the feudal days, with its turrets and bastions and portcullises, impressed her with a never-ending sense of wonder. its great halls and stairways, its chapel, the throne-room, and the armor-closet; its underground passages and dungeons all united to fill her imaginative soul with the richest, rarest joys of finance. simple american girl that she was, unused to the rigorous etiquette of royalty, she found embarrassment in the first confusion of events, but she was not long in recovering her poise. her apartments were near those of the princess yetive. in the private intercourse enjoyed by these women, all manner of restraint was abandoned by the visitor and every vestige of royalty slipped from the princess. count halfont and his adorable wife, the countess yvonne, both of whom had grown old in the court, found the girl and her strange servant a source of wonder and delight. some days after beverly's arrival there came to the castle harry anguish and his wife, the vivacious dagmar. with them came the year-old cooing babe who was to overthrow the heart and head of every being in the household, from princess down. the tiny dagmar became queen at once, and no one disputed her rule. anguish, the painter, became anguish, the strategist and soldier. he planned with lorry and the ministry, advancing some of the most hair-brained projects that ever encouraged discussion in a solemn conclave. the staid, cautious ministers looked upon him with wonder, but so plausible did he made his proposals appear that they were forced to consider them seriously. the old count of marlanx held him in great disdain, and did not hesitate to expose his contempt. this did not disturb anguish in the least, for he was as optimistic as the sunshine. his plan for the recapture of gabriel was ridiculously improbable, but it was afterwards seen that had it been attempted much distress and delay might actually have been avoided. yetive and beverly, with dagmar and the baby, made merry while the men were in council. their mornings were spent in the shady park surrounding the castle, their afternoons in driving, riding and walking. oftentimes the princess was barred from these simple pleasures by the exigencies of her position. she was obliged to grant audiences, observe certain customs of state, attend to the charities that came directly under her supervision, and confer with the nobles on affairs of weight and importance. beverly delighted in the throne-room and the underground passages; they signified more to her than all the rest. she was shown the room in which lorry had foiled the viennese who once tried to abduct yetive. the dungeon where gabriel spent his first days of confinement, the tower in which lorry had been held a prisoner, and the monastery in the clouds were all places of unusual interest to her. soon the people of the city began to recognize the fair american girl who was a guest in the castle, and a certain amount of homage was paid to her. when she rode or drove in the streets, with her attendant soldiers, the people bowed as deeply and as respectfully as they did to the princess herself, and beverly was just as grand and gracious as if she had been born with a sceptre in her hand. the soft moonlight nights charmed her with a sense of rapture never known before. with the castle brilliantly illuminated, the halls and drawing-rooms filled with gay courtiers, the harpists at their posts, the military band playing in the parade ground, the balconies and porches offering their most inviting allurements, it is no wonder that beverly was entranced. war had no terrors for her. if she thought of it at all, it was with the fear that it might disturb the dream into which she had fallen. true, there was little or nothing to distress the most timid in these first days. the controversy between the principalities was at a standstill, although there was not an hour in which preparations for the worst were neglected. to beverly calhoun, it meant little when sentiment was laid aside; to yetive and her people this probable war with dawsbergen meant everything. dangloss, going back and forth between edelweiss and the frontier north of ganlook, where the best of the police and secret service watched with the sleepless eyes of the lynx, brought unsettling news to the ministry. axphain troops were engaged in the annual maneuvers just across the border in their own territory. usually these were held in the plains near the capital, and there was a sinister significance in the fact that this year they were being carried on in the rough southern extremity of the principality, within a day's march of the graustark line, fully two months earlier than usual. the doughty baron reported that foot, horse and artillery were engaged in the drills, and that fully , men were massed in the south of axphain. the fortifications of ganlook, labbot and other towns in northern graustark were strengthened with almost the same care as those in the south, where conflict with dawsbergen might first be expected. general marlanx and his staff rested neither day nor night. the army of graustark was ready. underneath the castle's gay exterior there smouldered the fire of battle, the tremor of defiance. late one afternoon beverly calhoun and mrs. anguish drove up in state to the tower, wherein sat dangloss and his watchdogs. the scowl left his face as far as nature would permit and he welcomed the ladies warmly. "i came to ask about my friend, the goat-hunter," said beverly, her cheeks a trifle rosier than usual. "he is far from an amiable person, your highness," said the officer. when discussing baldos he never failed to address beverly as "your highness." "the fever is gone and he is able to walk without much pain, but he is as restless as a witch. following instructions, i have not questioned him concerning his plans, but i fancy he is eager to return to the hills." "what did he say when you gave him my message?" asked beverly. "which one, your highness?" asked he, with tantalizing density. "why, the suggestion that he should come to edelweiss for better treatment," retorted beverly severely. "he said he was extremely grateful for your kind offices, but he did not deem it advisable to come to this city. he requested me to thank you in his behalf and to tell you that he will never forget what you have done for him." "and he refuses to come to edelweiss?" irritably demanded beverly. "yes, your highness. you see, he still regards himself with disfavor, being a fugitive. it is hardly fair to blame him for respecting the security of the hills." "i hoped that i might induce him to give up his old life and engage in something perfectly honest, although, mind you, baron dangloss, i do not question his integrity in the least. he should have a chance to prove himself worthy, that's all. this morning i petitioned count marlanx to give him a place in the castle guard." "my dear miss calhoun, the princess has--" began the captain. "her highness has sanctioned the request," interrupted she. "and the count has promised to discover a vacancy," said dagmar, with a smile that the baron understood perfectly well. "this is the first time on record that old marlanx has ever done anything to oblige a soul save himself. it is wonderful, miss calhoun. what spell do you americans cast over rock and metal that they become as sand in your fingers?" said the baron, admiration and wonder in his eyes. "you dear old flatterer," cried beverly, so warmly that he caught his breath. "i believe that you can conquer even that stubborn fellow in ganlook," he said, fumbling with his glasses. "he is the most obstinate being i know, and yet in ten minutes you could bring him to terms, i am sure. he could not resist you." "he still thinks i am the princess?" "he does, and swears by you." "then, my mind is made up. i'll go to ganlook and bring him back with me, willy-nilly. he is too good a man to be lost in the hills. good-bye, baron dangloss. thank you ever and ever so much. oh, yes; will you write an order delivering him over to me? the hospital people may be--er--disobliging, you know." "it shall be in your highness's hands this evening." the next morning, with colonel quinnox and a small escort, beverly calhoun set off in one of the royal coaches for ganlook, accompanied by faithful aunt fanny. she carried the order from baron dangloss and a letter from yetive to the countess rallowitz, insuring hospitality over night in the northern town. lorry and the royal household entered merrily into her project, and she went away with the godspeeds of all. the iron count himself rode beside her coach to the city gates, an unheard-of condescension. "now, you'll be sure to find a nice place for him in the castle guard, won't you, count marlanx?" she said at the parting, her hopes as fresh as the daisy in the dew, her confidence supreme. the count promised faithfully, even eagerly. colonel quinnox, trained as he was in the diplomacy of silence, could scarcely conceal his astonishment at the conquest of the hard old warrior. although the afternoon was well spent before beverly reached ganlook, she was resolved to visit the obdurate patient at once, relying upon her resourcefulness to secure his promise to start with her for edelweiss on the following morning. the coach delivered her at the hospital door in grand style. when the visitor was ushered into the snug little room of the governor's office, her heart was throbbing and her composure was undergoing a most unusual strain. it annoyed her to discover that the approaching contact with an humble goat-hunter was giving her such unmistakable symptoms of perturbation. from an upstairs window in the hospital the convalescent but unhappy patient witnessed her approach and arrival. his sore, lonely heart gave a bound of joy, for the days had seemed long since her departure. he had had time to think during these days, too. turning over in his mind all of the details in connection with their meeting and their subsequent intercourse, it began to dawn upon him that she might not be what she assumed to be. doubts assailed him, suspicions grew into amazing forms of certainty. there were times when he laughed sardonically at himself for being taken in by this strange but charming young woman, but through it all his heart and mind were being drawn more and more fervently toward her. more than once he called himself a fool and more than once he dreamed foolish dreams of her--princess or not. of one thing he was sure: he had come to love the adventure for the sake of what it promised and there was no bitterness beneath his suspicions. arrayed in clean linen and presentable clothes, pale from indoor confinement and fever, but once more the straight and strong cavalier of the hills, he hastened into her presence when the summons came for him to descend. he dropped to his knee and kissed her hand, determined to play the game, notwithstanding his doubts. as he arose she glanced for a flitting second into his dark eyes, and her own long lashes drooped. "your highness!" he said gratefully. "how well and strong you look," she said hurriedly. "some of the tan is gone, but you look as though you had never been ill. are you quite recovered?" "they say i am as good as new," he smilingly answered. "a trifle weak and uncertain in my lower extremities, but a few days of exercise in the mountains will overcome all that. is all well with you and graustark? they will give me no news here, by whose order i do not know." "turn about is fair play, sir. it is a well-established fact that you will give _them_ no news. yes, all is well with me and mine. were you beginning to think that i had deserted you? it has been two weeks, hasn't it?" "ah, your highness, i realize that you have had much more important things to do than to think of poor baldos, i am exceedingly grateful for this sign of interest in my welfare. your visit is the brightest experience of my life." "be seated!" she cried suddenly. "you are too ill to stand." "were i dying i should refuse to be seated while your highness stands," said he simply. his shoulders seemed to square themselves involuntarily and his left hand twitched as though accustomed to the habit of touching a sword-hilt. beverly sat down instantly; with his usual easy grace, he took a chair near by. they were alone in the ante-chamber. "even though you were on your last legs?" she murmured, and then wondered how she could have uttered anything so inane. somehow, she was beginning to fear that he was not the ordinary person she had judged him to be. "you are to be discharged from the hospital to-morrow," she added hastily. "to-morrow?" he cried, his eyes lighting with joy. "i may go then?" "i have decided to take you to edelweiss with me," she said, very much as if that were all there was to it. he stared at her for a full minute as though doubting his ears. "no!" he said, at last, his jaws settling, his eyes glistening. it was a terrible setback for beverly's confidence. "your highness forgets that i have your promise of absolute freedom." "but you are to be free," she protested. "you have nothing to fear. it is not compulsory, you know. you don't have to go unless you really want to. but my heart is set on having you in--in the castle guard." his bitter, mocking laugh surprised and wounded her, which he was quick to see, for his contrition was immediate. "pardon, your highness. i am a rude, ungrateful wretch, and i deserve punishment instead of reward. the proposal was so astounding that i forgot myself completely," he said. whereupon, catching him in this contrite mood, she began a determined assault against his resolution. for an hour she devoted her whole heart and soul to the task of overcoming his prejudices, fears and objections, meeting his protestations firmly and logically, unconscious of the fact that her very enthusiasm was betraying her to him. the first signs of weakening inspired her afresh and at last she was riding over him rough-shod, a happy victor. she made promises that yetive herself could not have made; she offered inducements that never could be carried out, although in her zeal she did not know it to be so; she painted such pictures of ease, comfort and pleasure that he wondered why royalty did not exchange places with its servants. in the end, overcome by the spirit of adventure and a desire to be near her, he agreed to enter the service for six months, at the expiration of which time he was to be released from all obligations if he so desired. "but my friends in the pass, your highness," he said in surrendering, "what is to become of them? they are waiting for me out there in the wilderness. i am not base enough to desert them." "can't you get word to them?" she asked eagerly. "let them come into the city, too. we will provide for the poor fellows, believe me." "that, at least, is impossible, your highness," he said, shaking his head sadly. "you will have to slay them before you can bring them within the city gates. my only hope is that franz may be here tonight. he has permission to enter, and i am expecting him to-day or to-morrow." "you can send word to them that you are sound and safe and you can tell them that graustark soldiers shall be instructed to pay no attention to them whatever. they shall not be disturbed." he laughed outright at her enthusiasm. many times during her eager conversation with baldos she had almost betrayed the fact that she was not the princess. some of her expressions were distinctly unregal and some of her slips were hopeless, as she viewed them in retrospect. "what am i? only the humble goat-hunter, hunted to death and eager for a short respite. do with me as you like, your highness. you shall be my princess and sovereign for six months, at least," he said, sighing. "perhaps it is for the best." "you are the strangest man i've ever seen," she remarked, puzzled beyond expression. that night franz appeared at the hospital and was left alone with baldos for an hour or more. what passed between them, no outsider knew, though there tears in the eyes of both at the parting. but franz did not start for the pass that night, as they had expected. strange news had come to the ears of the faithful old follower and he hung about ganlook until morning came, eager to catch the ear of his leader before it was too late. the coach was drawn up in front of the hospital at eight o'clock, beverly triumphant in command. baldos came down the steps slowly, carefully, favoring the newly healed ligaments in his legs. she smiled cheerily at him and he swung his rakish hat low. there was no sign of the black patch. suddenly he started and peered intently into the little knot of people near the coach. a look of anxiety crossed his face. from the crowd advanced a grizzled old beggar who boldly extended his hand. baldos grasped the proffered hand and then stepped into the coach. no one saw the bit of white paper that passed from franz's palm into the possession of baldos. then the coach was off for edelweiss, the people of ganlook enjoying the unusual spectacle of a mysterious and apparently undistinguished stranger sitting in luxurious ease beside a fair lady in the royal coach of graustark. chapter xii in service it was a drowsy day, and, besides, baldos was not in a communicative frame of mind. beverly put forth her best efforts during the forenoon, but after the basket luncheon had been disposed of in the shade at the roadside, she was content to give up the struggle and surrender to the soothing importunities of the coach as it bowled along. she dozed peacefully, conscious to the last that he was a most ungracious creature and more worthy of resentment than of benefaction. baldos was not intentionally disagreeable; he was morose and unhappy because he could not help it. was he not leaving his friends to wander alone in the wilderness while he drifted weakly into the comforts and pleasures of an enviable service? his heart was not in full sympathy with the present turn of affairs, and he could not deny that a selfish motive was responsible for his action. he had the all too human eagerness to serve beauty; the blood and fire of youth were strong in this wayward nobleman of the hills. lying back in the seat, he pensively studied the face of the sleeping girl whose dark-brown head was pillowed against the corner cushions of the coach. her hat had been removed for the sake of comfort. the dark lashes fell like a soft curtain over her eyes, obscuring the merry gray that had overcome his apprehensions. her breathing was deep and regular and peaceful. one little gloved hand rested carelessly in her lap, the other upon her breast near the delicate throat. the heart of baldos was troubled. the picture he looked upon was entrancing, uplifting; he rose from the lowly state in which she had found him to the position of admirer in secret to a princess, real or assumed. he found himself again wondering if she were really yetive, and with that fear in his heart he was envying grenfall lorry, the lord and master of this exquisite creature, envying with all the helplessness of one whose hope is blasted at birth. the note which had been surreptitiously passed to him in ganlook lay crumpled and forgotten inside his coat pocket, where he had dropped it the moment it had come into his possession, supposing that the message contained information which had been forgotten by franz, and was by no means of a nature to demand immediate attention. had he read it at once his suspicions would have been confirmed, and it is barely possible that he would have refused to enter the city. late in the afternoon the walls of edelweiss were sighted. for the first time he looked upon the distant housetops of the principal city of graustark. up in the clouds, on the summit of the mountain peak overlooking the city, stood the famed monastery of saint valentine. stretching up the gradual incline were the homes of citizens, accessible only by footpaths and donkey roads. beverly was awake and impatient to reach the journey's end. he had proved a most disappointing companion, polite, but with a baffling indifference that irritated her considerably. there was a set expression of defiance in his strong, clean-cut face, the look of a soldier advancing to meet a powerful foe. "i do hope he'll not always act this way," she was complaining in her thoughts. "he was so charmingly impudent out in the hills, so deliciously human. now he is like a clam. yetive will think i am such a fool if he doesn't live up to the reputation i've given him!" "here are the gates," he said, half to himself. "what is there in store for me beyond those walls?" "oh, i wish you wouldn't be so dismal," she cried in despair. "it seems just like a funeral." "a thousand apologies, your highness," he murmured, with a sudden lightness of speech and manner. "henceforth i shall be a most amiable jester, to please you." beverly and the faithful aunt fanny were driven to the castle, where the former bade farewell to her new knight until the following morning, when he was to appear before her for personal instructions. colonel quinnox escorted him to the barracks of the guards where he was to share a room with young haddan, a corporal in the service. "the wild, untamed gentleman from the hills came without a word, i see," said lorry, who had watched the approach. he and yetive stood in the window overlooking the grounds from the princess's boudoir, beverly had just entered and thrown herself upon a divan. "yes, he's here," she said shortly. "how long do you, with all your cleverness, expect to hoodwink him into the belief that you are the princess?" asked yetive, amused but anxious. "he's a great fool for being hoodwinked at all," said beverly, very much at odds with her protege. "in an hour from now he will know the truth and will be howling like a madman for his freedom." "not so soon as that, beverly," said lorry consolingly. "the guards and officers have their instructions to keep him in the dark as long as possible." "well, i'm tired and mad and hungry and everything else that isn't compatible. let's talk about the war," said beverly, the sunshine in her face momentarily eclipsed by the dark cloud of disappointment. baldos was notified that duty would be assigned to him in the morning. he went through the formalities which bound him to the service for six months, listening indifferently to the words that foretold the fate of a traitor. it was not until his hew uniform and equipment came into his possession that he remembered the note resting in his pocket. he drew it out and began to read it with the slight interest of one who has anticipated the effect. but not for long was he to remain apathetic. the first few lines brought a look of understanding to his eyes; then he laughed the easy laugh of one who has cast care and confidence to the winds. this is what he read: "she is not the princess. we have been duped. last night i learned the truth. she is miss calhoun, an american, going to be a guest at the castle. refuse to go with her into edelweiss. it may be a trap and may mean death. question her boldly before committing yourself." there came the natural impulse to make a dash for the outside world, fighting his way through if necessary. looking back over the ground, he wondered how he could have been deceived at all by the unconventional american. in the clear light of retrospection he now saw how impossible it was for her to have been the princess. every act, every word, every look should have told him the truth. every flaw in her masquerading now presented itself to him and he was compelled to laugh at his own simplicity. caution, after all, was the largest component part of his makeup; the craftiness of the hunted was deeply rooted in his being. he saw a very serious side to the adventure. stretching himself upon the cot in the corner of the room he gave himself over to plotting, planning, thinking. in the midst of his thoughts a sudden light burst in upon him. his eyes gleamed with a new fire, his heart leaped with new animation, his blood ran warm again. leaping to his feet he ran to the window to re-read the note from old franz. then he settled back and laughed with a fervor that cleared the brain of a thousand vague misgivings. "she is miss calhoun, an american going to be a guest at the castle,"--not the princess, but _miss_ calhoun. once more the memory of the clear gray eyes leaped into life; again he saw her asleep in the coach on the road from ganlook; again he recalled the fervent throbs his guilty heart had felt as he looked upon this fair creature, at one time the supposed treasure of another man. now she was miss calhoun, and her gray eyes, her entrancing smile, her wondrous vivacity were not for one man alone. it was marvelous what a change this sudden realization wrought in the view ahead of him. the whole situation seemed to be transformed into something more desirable than ever before. his face cleared, his spirits leaped higher and higher with the buoyancy of fresh relief, his confidence in himself crept back into existence. and all because the fair deceiver, the slim girl with the brave gray eyes who had drawn him into a net, was not a princess! something told him that she had not drawn him into his present position with any desire to injure or with the slightest sense of malice. to her it had been a merry jest, a pleasant comedy. underneath all he saw the goodness of her motive in taking him from the old life, and putting him into his present position of trust. he had helped her, and she was ready to help him to the limit of her power. his position in edelweiss was clearly enough defined. the more he thought of it, the more justifiable it seemed as viewed from her point of observation. how long she hoped to keep him in the dark he could not tell. the outcome would be entertaining; her efforts to deceive. if she kept them up, would be amusing. altogether, he was ready, with the leisure and joy of youth, to await developments and to enjoy the comedy from a point of view which she could not at once suspect. his subtle efforts to draw haddan into a discussion of the princess and her household resulted unsatisfactorily. the young guard was annoyingly unresponsive. he had his secret instructions and could not be inveigled into betraying himself. baldos went to sleep that night with his mind confused by doubts. his talk with haddan had left him quite undecided as to the value of old franz's warning. either franz was mistaken, or haddan was a most skilful dissembler. it struck him as utterly beyond the pale of reason that the entire castle guard should have been enlisted in the scheme to deceive him. when sleep came, he was contenting himself with the thought that morning doubtless would give him clearer insight to the situation. both he and beverly calhoun were ignorant of the true conditions that attached themselves to the new recruit. baron dangloss alone knew that haddan was a trusted agent of the secret service, with instructions to shadow the newcomer day and night. that there was a mystery surrounding the character of baldos, the goat-hunter, dangloss did not question for an instant: and in spite of the instructions received at the outset, he was using all his skill to unravel it. baldos was not summoned to the castle until noon. his serene indifference to the outcome of the visit was calculated to deceive the friendly but watchful haddan. dressed carefully in the close-fitting uniform of the royal guard, taller than most of his fellows, handsomer by far than any, he was the most noticeable figure in and about the barracks. haddan coached him in the way he was to approach the princess, baldos listening with exaggerated intentness and with deep regard for detail. beverly was in the small audience-room off the main reception hall when he was ushered into her presence. the servants and ladies-in-waiting disappeared at a signal from her. she arose to greet him and he knelt to kiss her hand. for a moment her tongue was bound. the keen eyes of the new guard had looked into hers with a directness that seemed to penetrate her brain. that this scene was to be one of the most interesting in the little comedy was proved by the fact that two eager young women were hidden behind a heavy curtain in a corner of the room. the princess yetive and the countess dagmar were there to enjoy beverly's first hour of authority, and she was aware of their presence. "have they told you that you are to act as my especial guard and escort?" she asked, with a queer flutter in her voice. somehow this tall fellow with the broad shoulders was not the same as the ragged goat-hunter she had known at first. "no, your highness," said he, easily. "i have come for instructions. it pleases me to know that i am to have a place of honor and trust such as this." "general marlanx has told me that a vacancy exists, and i have selected you to fill it. the compensation will be attended to by the proper persons, and your duties will be explained to you by one of the officers. this afternoon, i believe, you are to accompany me on my visit to the fortress, which i am to inspect." "very well, your highness," he respectfully said. he was thinking of miss calhoun, an american girl, although he called her "your highness." "may i be permitted to ask for instructions that can come only from your highness?" "certainly," she replied. his manner was more deferential than she had ever known it to be, but he threw a bomb into her fine composure with his next remark. he addressed her in the graustark language: "is it your desire that i shall continue to address you in english?" beverly's face turned a bit red and her eyes wavered. by a wonderful effort she retained her self-control, stammering ever so faintly when she said in english: "i wish you would speak english," unwittingly giving answer to his question. "i shall insist upon that. your english is too good to be spoiled." then he made a bold test, his first having failed. he spoke once more in the native tongue, this time softly and earnestly. "as you wish, your highness, but i think it is a most ridiculous practice," he said, and his heart lost none of its courage. beverly looked at him almost pathetically. she knew that behind the curtain two young women were enjoying her discomfiture. something told her that they were stifling their mirth with dainty lace-bordered handkerchiefs. "that will do, sir," she managed to say firmly. "it's very nice of you, but after this pay your homage in english," she went on, taking a long chance on his remark. it must have been complimentary, she reasoned. as for baldos, the faintest sign of a smile touched his lips and his eyes were twinkling as he bent his head quickly. franz was right; she did not know a word of the graustark language. "i have entered the service for six months, your highness," he said in english. "you have honored me, and i give my heart as well as my arm to your cause." beverly, breathing easier, was properly impressed by this promise of fealty. she was looking with pride upon the figure of her stalwart protege. "i hope you have destroyed that horrid black patch," she said. "it has gone to keep company with other devoted but deserted friends," he said, a tinge of bitterness in his voice. "the uniform is vastly becoming," she went on, realizing helplessly that she was providing intense amusement for the unseen auditors. "it shames the rags in which you found me." "i shall never forget them, baldos," she said, with a strange earnestness in her voice. "may i presume to inquire after the health of your good aunt fanny and--although i did not see him--your uncle sam?" he asked, with a face as straight and sincere as that of a judge. beverly swallowed suddenly and checked a laugh with some difficulty. "aunt fanny is never ill. some day i shall tell you more of uncle sam. it will interest you." "another question, if it please your highness. do you expect to return to america soon?" this was the unexpected, but she met it with admirable composure. "it depends upon the time when prince dantan resumes the throne in dawsbergen," she said. "and that day may never come," said he, such mocking regret in his voice that she looked upon him with newer interest. "why, i really believe you want to go to america," she cried. the eyes of baldos had been furtively drawn to the curtain more than once during the last few minutes. an occasional movement of the long oriental hangings attracted his attention. it dawned upon him that the little play was being overheard, whether by spies or conspirators he knew not. resentment sprang up in his breast and gave birth to a daring that was as spectacular as it was confounding. with long, noiseless strides, he reached the door before beverly could interpose. she half started from her chair, her eyes wide with dismay, her lips parted, but his hand was already clutching the curtain. he drew it aside relentlessly. two startled women stood exposed to view, smiles dying on their amazed faces. their backs were against the closed door and two hands clutching handkerchiefs dropped from a most significant altitude. one of them flashed an imperious glance at the bold discoverer, and he knew he was looking upon the real princess of graustark. he did not lose his composure. without a tremor he turned to the american girl. "your highness," he said clearly, coolly, "i fear we have spies and eavesdroppers here. is your court made up of--i should say, they are doubtless a pair of curious ladies-in-waiting. shall i begin my service, your highness, by escorting them to yonder door?" chapter xiii the three princes beverly gasped. the countess stared blankly at the new guard. yetive flushed deeply, bit her lip in hopeless chagrin, and dropped her eyes. a pretty turn, indeed, the play had taken! not a word was uttered for a full half-minute; nor did the guilty witnesses venture forth from their retreat. baldos stood tall and impassive, holding the curtain aside. at last the shadow of a smile crept into the face of the princess, but her tones were full of deep humility when she spoke. "we crave permission to retire, your highness," she said, and there was virtuous appeal in her eyes. "i pray forgiveness for this indiscretion and implore you to be lenient with two miserable creatures who love you so well that they forget their dignity." "i am amazed and shocked," was all that beverly could say. "you may go, but return to me within an hour. i will then hear what you have to say." slowly, even humbly, the ruler of graustark and her cousin passed beneath the upraised arm of the new guard. he opened a door on the opposite side of the room, and they went out, to all appearance thoroughly crestfallen. the steady features of the guard did not relax for the fraction of a second, but his heart was thumping disgracefully. "come here, baldos," commanded beverly, a bit pale, but recovering her wits with admirable promptness. "this is a matter which i shall dispose of privately. it is to go no further, you are to understand." "yes, your highness." "you may go now. colonel quinnox will explain everything," she said hurriedly. she was eager to be rid of him. as he turned away she observed a faint but peculiar smile at the corner of his mouth. "come here, sir!" she exclaimed hotly. he paused, his face as sombre as an owl's. "what do you mean by laughing like that?" she demanded. he caught the fierce note in her voice, but gave it the proper interpretation. "laughing, your highness?" he said in deep surprise. "you must be mistaken. i am sure that i could not have laughed in the presence of a princess." "it must have been a--a shadow, then," she retracted, somewhat startled by his rejoinder. "very well, then; you are dismissed." as he was about to open the door through which he had entered the room, it swung wide and count marlanx strode in. baldos paused irresolutely, and then proceeded on his way without paying the slightest attention to the commander of the army. marlanx came to an amazed stop and his face flamed with resentment. "halt, sir!" he exclaimed harshly. "don't you know enough to salute me, sir?" baldos turned instantly, his figure straightening like a flash. his eyes met those of the iron count and did not waver, although his face went white with passion. "and who are you, sir?" he asked in cold, steely tones. the count almost reeled. "your superior officer--that should be enough for you!" he half hissed with deadly levelness. "oh, then i see no reason why i should not salute you, sir," said baldos, with one of his rare smiles. he saluted his superior officer a shade too elaborately and turned away. marlanx's eyes glistened. "stop! have i said you could go, sir? i have a bit of advice to--" "my command to go comes from _your_ superior, sir," said baldos, with irritating blandness. "be patient, general," cried beverly in deep distress. "he does not know any better. i will stand sponsor for him." and baldos went away with a light step, his blood singing, his devil-may-care heart satisfied. the look in her eyes was very sustaining. as he left the castle he said aloud to himself with an easy disregard of the consequences: "well, it seems that i am to be associated with the devil as well as with angels. heavens! june is a glorious month." "now, you promised you'd be nice to him, general marlanx," cried beverly the instant baldos was out of the room. "he's new at this sort of thing, you know, and besides, you didn't address him very politely for an utter stranger." "the insolent dog," snarled marlanx, his self-control returning slowly. "he shall be taught well and thoroughly, never fear, miss calhoun. there is a way to train such recruits as he, and they never forget what they have learned." "oh, please don't be harsh with him," she pleaded. the smile of the iron count was not at all reassuring. "i know he will be sorry for what he has done, and you--" "i am quite sure he will be sorry," said he, with a most agreeable bow in submission to her appeal. "do you want to see mr. lorry?" she asked quickly. "i will send for him, general." she was at the door, impatient to be with the banished culprits. "my business with mr. lorry can wait," he began, with a smile meant to be inviting, but which did not impress her at all pleasantly. "well, anyway, i'll tell him you're here," she said, her hand on the door-knob. "will you wait here? good-bye!" and then she was racing off through the long halls and up broad stair-cases toward the boudoir of the princess. there is no telling how long the ruffled count remained in the ante-room, for the excited beverly forgot to tell lorry that he was there. there were half a dozen people in the room when beverly entered eagerly. she was panting with excitement. of all the rooms in the grim old castle, the boudoir of the princess was the most famously attractive. it was really her home, the exquisite abiding place of an exquisite creature. to lounge on her divans, to loll in the chairs, to glide through her priceless rugs was the acme of indolent pleasure. few were they who enjoyed the privileges of "little heaven," as harry anguish had christened it on one memorable night, long before the princess was mrs. grenfall lorry. "_now_, how do you feel?" cried the flushed american girl, pausing in the door to point an impressive finger at the princess, who was lying back in a huge chair, the picture of distress and annoyance. "i shall never be able to look that man in the face again," came dolefully from yetive's humbled lips. dagmar was all smiles and in the fittest of humors. she was the kind of a culprit who loves the punishment because of the crime. "wasn't it ridiculous, and wasn't it just too lovely?" she cried. "it was extremely theatrical," agreed beverly, seating herself on the arm of yetive's chair and throwing a warm arm around her neck. "have you all heard about it?" she demanded, naively, turning to the others, who unquestionably had had a jumbled account of the performance. "you got just what you deserved," said lorry, who was immensely amused. "i wonder what your august vagabond thinks of his princess and her ladies-in-hiding?" mused harry anguish. the count and countess halfont were smiling in spite of the assault upon the dignity of the court. "i'd give anything to know what he really thinks," said the real princess. "oh, beverly, wasn't it awful? and how he marched us out of that room!" "i thought it was _great_," said beverly, her eyes glowing. "wasn't it splendid? and isn't he good looking?" "he is good looking, i imagine, but i am no judge, dear. it was utterly impossible for me to look at his face," lamented the princess. "what are you going to do with us?" asked dagmar penitently. "you are to spend the remainder of your life in a dungeon with baldos as guard," decided miss calhoun. "beverly, dear, that man is no ordinary person," said the princess, quite positively. "of course he isn't. he's a tall, dark mystery." "i observed him as he crossed the terrace this morning," said lorry. "he's a striking sort of chap, and i'll bet my head he's not what he claims to be." "he claims to be a fugitive, you must remember," said beverly, in his defense. "i mean that he is no common malefactor or whatever it may be. who and what do you suppose he is? i confess that i'm interested in the fellow and he looks as though one might like him without half trying. why haven't you dug up his past history, beverly? you are so keen about him." "he positively refuses to let me dig," explained beverly. "i tried, you know, but he--he--well, he squelched me." "well, after all is said and done, he caught us peeping to-day, and i am filled with shame," said the princess. "it doesn't matter who he is, he must certainly have a most unflattering opinion as to _what_ we are." "and he is sure to know us sooner or later," said the young countess, momentarily serious. "oh, if it ever comes to that i shall be in a splendid position to explain it all to him," said beverly. "don't you see, i'll have to do a lot of explaining myself?" "baron dangloss!" announced the guard of the upper hall, throwing open the door for the doughty little chief of police. "your highness sent for me?" asked he, advancing after the formal salutation. the princess exhibited genuine amazement. "i did, baron dangloss, but you must have come with the wings of an eagle. it is really not more than three minutes since i gave the order to colonel quinnox." the baron smiled mysteriously, but volunteered no solution. the truth is, he was entering the castle doors as the messenger left them, but he was much too fond of effect to spoil a good situation by explanations. it was a long two miles to his office in the tower. "something has just happened that impels me to ask a few questions concerning baldos, the new guard." "may i first ask what has happened?" dangloss was at a loss for the meaning of the general smile that went around. "it is quite personal and of no consequence. what do you know of him? my curiosity is aroused. now, be quiet, beverly; you are as eager to know as the rest of us." "well, your highness, i may as well confess that the man is a puzzle to me. he comes here a vagabond, but he certainly does not act like one. he admits that he is being hunted, but takes no one into his confidence. for that, he cannot be blamed." "have you any reason to suspect who he is?" asked lorry. "my instructions were to refrain from questioning him," complained dangloss, with a pathetic look at the original plotters. "still, i have made investigations along other lines." "and who is he?" cried beverly, eagerly. "i don't know," was the disappointing answer. "we are confronted by a queer set of circumstances. doubtless you all know that young prince dantan is flying from the wrath of his half-brother, our lamented friend gabriel. he is supposed to be in our hills with a half-starved body of followers. it seems impossible that he could have reached our northern boundaries without our outposts catching a glimpse of him at some time. the trouble is that his face is unknown to most of us, i among the others. i have been going on the presumption that baldos is in reality prince dantan. but last night the belief received a severe shock." "yes?" came from several eager lips. "my men who are watching the dawsbergen frontier came in last night and reported that dantan had been seen by mountaineers no later than sunday, three days ago. these mountaineers were in sympathy with him, and refused to tell whither he went. we only know that he was in the southern part of graustark three days ago. our new guard speaks many languages, but he has never been heard to use that of dawsbergen. that fact in itself is not surprising, for, of all things, he would avoid his mother tongue. dantan is part english by birth and wholly so by cultivation. in that he evidently finds a mate in this baldos." "then, he really isn't prince dantan?" cried beverly, as though a cherished ideal had been shattered. "not if we are to believe the tales from the south. here is another complication, however. there is, as you know, count halfont, and perhaps all of you, for that matter, a pretender to the throne of axphain, the fugitive prince frederic. he is described as young, good looking, a scholar and the next thing to a pauper." "baldos a mere pretender," cried beverly in real distress. "never!" "at any rate, he is not what he pretends to be," said the baron, with a wise smile. "then, you think he may be prince frederic?" asked lorry, deeply interested. "i am inclined to think so, although another complication has arisen. may it please your highness, i am in an amazingly tangled state of mind," admitted the baron, passing his hand over his brow. "do you mean that another mysterious prince has come to life?" asked yetive, her eyes sparkling with interest in the revelations. "early this morning a despatch came to me from the grand duke michael of rapp-thorberg, a duchy in western europe, informing me that the duke's eldest son had fled from home and is known to have come to the far east, possibly to graustark." "great scott!" exclaimed anguish. "it never rains but it hails, so here's hail to the princes three." "we are the mecca for runaway royalty, it seems," said count halfont. "go on with the story, baron dangloss," cried the princess. "it is like a book." "a description of the young man accompanies the offer of a large reward for information that may lead to his return home for reconciliation. and--" here the baron paused dramatically. "and what?" interjected beverly, who could not wait. "the description fits our friend baldos perfectly!" "you don't mean it?" exclaimed lorry. "then, he may be any one of the three you have mentioned?" "let me tell you what the grand duke's secretary says. i have the official notice, but left it in my desk. the runaway son of the grand duke is called christobal. he is twenty-seven years of age, speaks english fluently, besides french and our own language. it seems that he attended an english college with prince dantan and some of our own young men who are still in england. six weeks ago he disappeared from his father's home. at the same time a dozen wild and venturous retainers left the grand duchy. the party was seen in vienna a week later, and the young duke boldly announced that he was off to the east to help his friend dantan in the fight for his throne. going on the theory that baldos is this same christobal, we have only to provide a reason for his preferring the wilds to the comforts of our cities. in the first place, he knows there is a large reward for his apprehension and he fears--our police. in the second place, he does not care to direct the attention of prince dantan's foes to himself. he missed dantan in the hills and doubtless was lost for weeks. but the true reason for his flight is made plain in the story that was printed recently in paris and berlin newspapers. according to them, christobal rebelled against his father's right to select a wife for him. the grand duke had chosen a noble and wealthy bride, and the son had selected a beautiful girl from the lower walks of life. father and son quarreled and neither would give an inch. christobal would not marry his father's choice, and the grand duke would not sanction his union with the fair plebeian." here beverly exclaimed proudly, her face glowing: "he doesn't look like the sort of man who could be bullied into marrying anybody if he didn't want to." "and he strikes me as the sort who would marry any one he set his heart upon having," added the princess, with a taunting glance at miss calhoun. "umph!" sniffed beverly defiantly. the baron went on with his narrative, exhibiting signs of excitement. "to lend color to the matter, christobal's sweetheart, the daughter of a game-warden, was murdered the night before her lover fled. i know nothing of the circumstances attending the crime, but it is my understanding that christobal is not suspected. it is possible that he is ignorant even now of the girl's fate." "well, by the gods, we have a goodly lot of heroes about us," exclaimed lorry. "but, after all," ventured the countess halfont, "baldos may be none of these men." "good heavens, aunt yvonne, don't suggest anything so distressing," said yetive. "he _must_ be one of them." "i suggest a speedy way of determining the matter," said anguish. "let us send for baldos and ask him point blank who he is. i think it is up to him to clear away the mystery." "no!" cried beverly, starting to her feet. "it seems to be the only way," said lorry. "but i promised him that no questions should be asked," said beverly, almost tearfully but quite resolutely. "didn't i, yet--your highness?" "alas, yes!" said the princess, with a pathetic little smile of resignation, but with loyalty in the clasp of her hand. chapter xiv a visit and its consequences that same afternoon baldos, blissfully ignorant of the stir he had created in certain circles, rode out for the first time as a member of the castle guard. he and haddan were detailed by colonel quinnox to act as private escort to miss calhoun until otherwise ordered. if haddan thought himself wiser than baldos in knowing that their charge was not the princess, he was very much mistaken; if he enjoyed the trick that was being played on his fellow guardsman, his enjoyment was as nothing as compared to the pleasure baldos was deriving from the situation. the royal victoria was driven to the fortress, conveying the supposed princess and the countess dagmar to the home of count marlanx. the two guards rode bravely behind the equipage, resplendent in brilliant new uniforms. baldos was mildly surprised and puzzled by the homage paid the young american girl. it struck him as preposterous that the entire population of edelweiss could be in the game to deceive him. "who is the princess's companion?" he inquired of haddan, as they left the castle grounds. "the countess dagmar, cousin to her highness. she is the wife of mr. anguish." "i have seen her before," said baldos, a strange smile on his face. the countess dagmar found it difficult at first to meet the eye of the new guard, but he was so punctiliously oblivious that her courage was restored. she even went so far as to whisper in beverly's ear that he did not remember her face, and probably would not recognize yetive as one of the eavesdroppers. the princess had flatly refused to accompany them on the visit to the fortress because of baldos. struck by a sudden impulse, beverly called baldos to the side of the vehicle. "baldos, you behaved very nicely yesterday in exposing the duplicity of those young women," she said. "i am happy to have pleased your highness," he said steadily. "it may interest you to know that they ceased to be ladies-in-waiting after that exposure." "yes, your highness, it certainly is interesting," he said, as he fell back into position beside haddan. during the remainder of the ride he caught himself time after time gazing reflectively at the back of her proud little head, possessed of an almost uncontrollable desire to touch the soft brown hair. "you can't fool that excellent young man much longer, my dear," said the countess, recalling the look in his dark eyes. the same thought had been afflicting beverly with its probabilities for twenty-four hours and more. count marlanx welcomed his visitors with a graciousness that awoke wonder in the minds of his staff. his marked preference for the american girl did not escape attention. some of the bolder young officers indulged in surreptitious grimaces, and all looked with more or less compassion upon the happy-faced beauty from over the sea. marlanx surveyed baldos steadily and coldly, deep disapproval in his sinister eyes. he had not forgotten the encounter of the day before. "i see the favorite is on guard," he said blandly. "has he told you of the lesson in manners he enjoyed last night?" he was leading his guests toward the quarters, baldos and haddan following. the new guard could not help hearing the sarcastic remark. "you didn't have him beaten?" cried beverly, stopping short. "no, but i imagine it would have been preferable. i _talked_ with him for half an hour," said the general, laughing significantly. when the party stopped at the drinking-fountain in the center of the fort, baldos halted near by. his face was as impassive as marble, his eyes set straight before him, his figure erect and soldierly. an occasional sarcastic remark by the iron count, meant for his ears, made no impression upon the deadly composure of the new guard who had had his _lesson_. miss calhoun was conscious of a vague feeling that she had served baldos an ill-turn when she put him into this position. the count provided a light luncheon in his quarters after the ladies had gone over the fortress. beverly calhoun, with all of a woman's indifference to things material, could not but see how poorly equipped the fort was as compared to the ones she had seen in the united states. she and the countess visited the armory, the arsenal, and the repair shops before luncheon, reserving the pleasures of the clubhouse, the officers' quarters, and the parade-ground until afterwards. count marlanx's home was in the southeast corner of the enclosure, near the gates. several of the officers lunched with him and the young ladies. marlanx was assiduous in his attention to beverly calhoun--so much so, in fact, that the countess teased her afterwards about her conquest of the old and well-worn heart. beverly thought him extremely silly and sentimental, much preferring him in the character of the harsh, implacable martinet. at regular intervals she saw the straight, martial form of baldos pass the window near which she sat. he was patrolling the narrow piazza which fronted the house. toward the close of the rather trying luncheon she was almost unable to control the impulse to rush out and compel him to relax that imposing, machine-like stride. she hungered for a few minutes of the old-time freedom with him. the iron count was showing her some rare antique bronzes he had collected in the south. the luncheon was over and the countess had strolled off toward the bastions with the young officers, leaving beverly alone with the host. servants came in to clear the tables, but the count harshly ordered them to wait until the guests had departed. "it is the dearest thing i have seen," said beverly, holding a rare old candlestick at arm's length and looking at it in as many ways as the wrist could turn. her loose sleeves ended just below the elbows. the count's eyes followed the graceful curves of her white forearm with an eagerness that was annoying. "i prize it more dearly than any other piece in my collection," he said. "it came from rome; it has a history which i shall try to tell you some day, and which makes it almost invaluable. a german nobleman offered me a small fortune if i would part with it." "and you wouldn't sell it?" "i was saving it for an occasion, your highness," he said, his steely eyes glittering. "the glad hour has come when i can part with it for a recompense far greater than the baron's gold." "oh, isn't it lucky you kept it?" she cried. then she turned her eyes away quickly, for his gaze seemed greedily endeavoring to pierce through the lace insertion covering her neck and shoulders. outside the window the steady tramp of the tall guard went on monotonously. "the recompense of a sweet smile, a tender blush and the unguarded thanks of a pretty woman. the candlestick is yours, miss calhoun,--if you will repay me for my sacrifice by accepting it without reservation." slowly beverly calhoun set the candlestick down upon the table her eyes meeting his with steady disdain. "what a rare old jester you are, count marlanx," she said without a smile. "if i thought you were in earnest i should scream with laughter. may i suggest that we join the countess? we must hurry along, you know. she and i have promised to play tennis with the princess at three o'clock." the count's glare of disappointment lasted but a moment. the diplomacy of egotism came to his relief, and he held back the gift for another day, but not for another woman. "it grieves me to have you hurry away. my afternoon is to be a dull one, unless you permit me to watch the tennis game," he said. "i thought you were interested only in the game of war," she said pointedly. "i stand in greater awe of a tennis ball than i do of a cannonball, if it is sent by such an arm as yours," and he not only laid his eyes but his hand upon her bare arm. she started as if something had stung her, and a cold shiver raced over her warm flesh. his eyes for the moment held her spellbound. he was drawing the hand to his lips when a shadow darkened the french window, and a saber rattled warningly. count marlanx looked up instantly, a scowl on his face. baldos stood at the window in an attitude of alert attention. beverly drew her arm away spasmodically and took a step toward the window. the guard saw by her eyes that she was frightened, but, if his heart beat violently, his face was the picture of military stoniness. "what are you doing there?" snarled the count. "did your highness call?" asked baldos coolly. "she did not call, fellow," said the count with deadly menace in his voice. "report to me in half an hour. you still have something to learn, i see." beverly was alarmed by the threat in his tones. she saw what was in store for baldos, for she knew quite as well as marlanx that the guard had deliberately intervened in her behalf. "he cannot come in half an hour," she cried quickly. "i have something for him to do, count marlanx. besides, i think i _did_ call." both men stared at her. "my ears are excellent," said marlanx stiffly. "i fancy baldos's must be even better, for he heard me," said beverly, herself once more. the shadow of a smile crossed the face of the guard. "he is impertinent, insolent, your highness. you will report to me tomorrow, sir, at nine o'clock in colonel quinnox's quarters. now, go!" commanded the count. "wait a minute, baldos. we are going out, too. will you open that window for me?" baldos gladly took it as a command and threw open the long french window. she gave him a grateful glance as she stepped through, and he could scarcely conceal the gleam of joy that shot into his own eyes. the dark scowl on the count's face made absolutely no impression upon him. he closed the window and followed ten paces behind the couple. "your guard is a priceless treasure," said the count grimly. "that's what you said about the candlestick," said she sweetly. she was disturbed by his threat to reprimand baldos. for some time her mind had been struggling with what the count had said about "the lesson." it grew upon her that her friend had been bullied and humiliated, perhaps in the presence of spectators. resentment fired her curiosity into action. while the general was explaining one of the new gun-carriages to the countess, beverly walked deliberately over to where baldos was standing. haddan's knowledge of english was exceedingly limited, and he could understand but little of the rapid conversation. standing squarely in front of baldos, she questioned him in low tones. "what did he mean when he said he had given you a lesson?" she demanded. his eyes gleamed merrily. "he meant to alarm your highness." "didn't he give you a talking to?" "he coached me in ethics." "you are evading the question, sir. was he mean and nasty to you? tell me; i want to know." "well, he said things that a soldier must endure. a civilian or an equal might have run him through for it, your highness." a flush rose to his cheeks and his lips quivered ever so slightly. but beverly saw and understood. her heart was in her eyes. "that settles it," she said rigidly. "you are not to report to him at nine tomorrow." "but he will have me shot, your highness," said he gladly. "he will do nothing of the kind. you are _my_ guard," and her eyes were gleaming dangerously. then she rejoined the group, the members of which had been watching her curiously. "count marlanx," she said, with entrancing dimples, "will you report to me at nine to-morrow morning?" "i have an appointment," he said slowly, but with understanding. "but you will break it, i am sure," she asserted confidently. "i want to give you a lesson in--in lawn tennis." later on, when the victoria was well away from the fort, dagmar took her companion to task for holding in public friendly discourse with a member of the guard, whoever he might be. "it is altogether contrary to custom, and--" but beverly put her hand over the critical lips and smiled like a guilty child. "now, don't scold," she pleaded, and the countess could go no further. the following morning count marlanx reported at nine o'clock with much better grace than he had suspected himself capable of exercising. what she taught him of tennis on the royal courts, in the presence of an amused audience, was as nothing to what he learned of strategy as it can be practiced by a whimsical girl. almost before he knew it she had won exemption for baldos, that being the stake for the first set of singles. to his credit, the count was game. he took the wager, knowing that he, in his ignorance, could not win from the blithe young expert in petticoats. then he offered to wager the brass candlestick against her bracelet. she considered for a moment and then, in a spirit of enthusiasm, accepted the proposition. after all, she coveted the candlestick. half an hour later an orderly was riding to the fort with instructions to return at once with miss calhoun's candlestick. it is on record that they were "love" sets, which goes to prove that beverly took no chances. count marlanx, puffing and perspiring, his joints dismayed and his brain confused, rode away at noon with baron dangloss. beverly, quite happy in her complete victory, enjoyed a nap of profound sweetness and then was ready for her walk with the princess. they were strolling leisurely about the beautiful grounds, safe in the shade of the trees from the heat of the july sun, when baron dangloss approached. "your royal highness," he began, with his fierce smile, "may i beg a moment's audience?" "it has to do with baldos, i'll take oath," said beverly, with conviction. "yes, with your guard. yesterday he visited the fortress. he went in an official capacity, it is true, but he was privileged to study the secrets of our defense with alarming freedom. it would not surprise me to find that this stranger has learned everything there is to know about the fort." his listeners were silent. the smiles left their faces. "i am not saying that he would betray us--" "no, no!" protested beverly. "--but he is in a position to give the most valuable information to an enemy. an officer has just informed me that baldos missed not a detail in regard to the armament, or the location of vital spots in the construction of the fortress." "but he wouldn't be so base as to use his knowledge to our undoing," cried yetive seriously. "we only know that he is not one of us. it is not beyond reason that his allegiance is to another power, dawsbergen, for instance. count marlanx is not at all in sympathy with him, you are aware. he is convinced that baldos is a man of consequence, possibly one of our bitterest enemies, and he hates him. for my own part, i may say that i like the man. i believe he is to be trusted, but if he be an agent of volga or gabriel, his opportunity has come. he is in a position to make accurate maps of the fort and of all our masked fortifications along the city walls." beyond a doubt, the baron was worried. "neither am i one of you," said beverly stoutly. "why shouldn't i prove to be a traitress?" "you have no quarrel with us, miss calhoun," said dangloss. "if anything happens, then, i am to be blamed for it," she cried in deep distress. "i brought him to edelweiss, and i believe in him." "for his own sake, your highness, and miss calhoun, i suggest that no opportunity should be given him to communicate with the outside world. we cannot accuse him, of course, but we can _protect_ him. i come to ask your permission to have him detailed for duty only in places where no suspicion can attach to any of his actions." "you mean inside the city walls?" asked yetive. "yes, your highness, and as far as possible from the fortress." "i think it is a wise precaution. don't be angry, beverly," the princess said gently. "it is for his own sake, you see. i am acting on the presumption that he is wholly innocent of any desire to betray us." "it would be easy for someone high in position to accuse and convict him," said dangloss meaningly. "and it would be just like someone, too," agreed beverly, her thoughts, with the others', going toward none but one man "high in power." later in the day she called baldos to her side as they were riding in the castle avenue. she was determined to try a little experiment of her own. "baldos, what do you think of the fortress?" she "i could overthrow it after half an hour's bombardment, your highness," he answered, without thinking. she started violently. "is it possible? are there so many weak points?" she went on, catching her breath. "there are three vital points of weakness, your highness. the magazine can be reached from the outside if one knows the lay of the land; the parade-ground exposes the ammunition building to certain disadvantages, and the big guns could be silenced in an hour if an enemy had the sense first to bombard from the elevation northeast of the city." "good heavens!" gasped poor beverly. "have you studied all this out?" "i was once a real soldier, your highness," he said, simply. "it was impossible for me not to see the defects in your fort." "you--you haven't told anyone of this, have you?" she cried, white-faced and anxious. "no one but your highness. you do not employ me as a tale-bearer, i trust." "i did not mean to question your honor," she said. "would you mind going before the heads of the war department and tell them just what you have told me? i mean about the weak spots." "if it is your command, your highness," he said quietly, but he was surprised. "you may expect to be summoned then, so hold yourself in readiness. and, baldos--" "yes, your highness?" "you need say nothing to them of our having talked the matter over beforehand--unless they pin you down to it, you know." chapter xv the testing of baldos a few hours later, all was dark and silent within the castle. on the stone walks below, the steady tread of sentinels rose on the still air; in the hallways the trusted guardsmen glided about like spectres or stood like statues. an hour before the great edifice had been bright and full of animation; now it slumbered. it was two o'clock. the breath of roses scented the air, the gurgle of fountains was the only music that touched the ear. beverly calhoun, dismissing aunt fanny, stepped from her window out upon the great stone balcony. a rich oriental dressing-gown, loose and comfortable, was her costume. something told her that sleep would be a long time coming, and an hour in the warm, delightful atmosphere of the night was more attractive than the close, sleepless silence of her own room. every window along the balcony was dark, proving that the entire household had retired to rest. she was troubled. the fear had entered her head that the castle folk were regretting the advent of baldos, that everyone was questioning the wisdom of his being in the position he occupied through her devices. her talk with him did much to upset her tranquillity. that he knew so much of the fortress bore out the subtle suspicions of dangloss and perhaps others. she was troubled, not that she doubted him, but that if anything went wrong an accusation against him, however unjust, would be difficult to overcome. and she would be to blame, in a large degree. for many minutes she sat in the dark shadow of a great pillar, her elbows upon the cool balustrade, staring dreamily into the star-studded vault above. far away in the air she could see the tiny yellow lights of the monastery, lonely sentinel on the mountain top. from the heights near that abode of peace and penitence an enemy could destroy the fortress to the south. had not baldos told her so? one big gun would do the work if it could be taken to that altitude. baldos could draw a perfect map of the fortress. he could tell precisely where the shells should fall. and already the chief men in edelweiss were wondering who he was and to what end he might utilize his knowledge. they were watching him, they were warning her. for the first time since she came to the castle, she felt a sense of loneliness, a certain unhappiness. she could not shake off the feeling that she was, after all, alone in her belief in baldos. her heart told her that the tall, straightforward fellow she had met in the hills was as honest as the day. she was deceiving him, she realized, but he was misleading no one. off in a distant part of the castle ground she could see the long square shadow that marked the location of the barracks and messroom. there he was sleeping, confidently believing in her and her power to save him from all harm. something in her soul cried out to him that she would be staunch and true, and that he might sleep without a tremor of apprehensiveness. suddenly she smiled nervously and drew back into the shadow of the pillar. it occurred to her that he might be looking across the moon-lit park, looking directly at her through all that shadowy distance. she was conscious of a strange glow in her cheeks and a quickening of the blood as she pulled the folds of her gown across her bare throat. "not the moon, nor the stars, nor the light in st. valentine's, but the black thing away off there on the earth," said a soft voice behind her, and beverly started as if the supernatural had approached her. she turned to face the princess, who stood almost at her side. "yetive! how did you get here?" "that is what you are looking at, dear," went on yetive, as if completing her charge. "why are you not in bed?" "and you? i thought you were sound asleep long ago," murmured beverly, abominating the guilty feeling that came over her. the princess threw her arm about beverly's shoulder. "i have been watching you for half an hour," she said gently. "can't two look at the moon and stars as well as one? isn't it my grim old castle? let us sit here together, dear, and dream awhile." "you dear yetive," and beverly drew her down beside her on the cushions. "but, listen: i want you to get something out of your head. i was _not_ looking at anything in particular." "beverly, i believe you were thinking of baldos," said the other, her fingers straying fondly across the girl's soft hair. "ridiculous!" said beverly, conscious for the first time that he was seldom out of her thoughts. the realization came like a blow, and her eyes grew very wide out there in the darkness. "and you are troubled on his account. i know it, dear. you--" "well, yetive, why shouldn't i be worried? i brought him here against his will," protested beverly. "if anything should happen to him--" she shuddered involuntarily. "don't be afraid, beverly. i have as much confidence in him as you have. his eyes are true. grenfall believes in him, too, and so does mr. anguish. gren says he would swear by him, no matter who he is." "but the others?" beverly whispered. "baron dangloss is his friend, and so is quinnox. they know a _man_. the count is different." "i loathe that old wretch!" "hush! he has not wronged you in any way." "but he _has_ been unfair and mean to baldos." "it is a soldier's lot, my dear." "but he may be prince dantan or frederic or the other one, don't you know," argued beverly, clenching her hands firmly. "in that event, he would be an honorable soldier, and we have nothing to fear in him. neither of them is our enemy. it is the possibility that he is not one of them that makes his presence here look dangerous." "i don't want to talk about him," said beverly, but she was disappointed when the princess obligingly changed the subject. baldos was not surprised, scarcely more than interested, when a day or two later, he was summoned to appear before the board of strategy. if anyone had told him, however, that on a recent night a pair of dreamy gray eyes had tried to find his window in the great black shadow, he might have jumped in amazement and--delight. for at that very hour he was looking off toward the castle, and his thoughts were of the girl who drew back into the shadow of the pillar. the graustark ministry had received news from the southern frontier. messengers came in with the alarming and significant report that dawsbergen was strengthening her fortifications in the passes and moving war supplies northward. it meant that gabriel and his people expected a fight and were preparing for it. count halfont hastily called the ministers together, and lorry and the princess took part in their deliberations. general marlanx represented the army; and it was he who finally asked to have baldos brought before the council. the iron count plainly intimated that the new guard was in a position to transmit valuable information to the enemy. colonel quinnox sent for him, and baldos was soon standing in the presence of yetive and her advisers. he looked about him with a singular smile. the one whom he was supposed to regard as the princess was not in the council chamber. lorry opened the examination at the request of count halfont, the premier. baldos quietly answered the questions concerning his present position, his age, his term of enlistment, and his interpretations of the obligations required of him. "ask him who he really is," suggested the iron count sarcastically. "we can expect but one answer to that question," said lorry, "and that is the one which he chooses to give." "my name is baldos--paul baldos," said the guard, but he said it in such a way that no one could mistake his appreciation of the fact that he could give one name as well as another and still serve his own purposes. "that is lie number one," observed marlanx loudly. every eye was turned upon baldos, but his face did not lose its half-mocking expression of serenity. "proceed with the examination, mr. lorry" said count halfont, interpreting a quick glance from yetive. "are you willing to answer any and all questions we may ask in connection with your observations since you became a member of the castle guard?" asked lorry. "i am." "did you take especial care to study the interior of the fortress when you were there several days ago?" "i did." "have you discussed your observations with anyone since that time?" "i have." "with whom?" "with her highness, the princess," said baldos, without a quiver. there was a moment's silence, and furtive looks were cast in the direction of yetive, whose face was a study. almost instantaneously the entire body of listeners understood that he referred to beverly calhoun. baldos felt that he had been summoned before the board at the instigation of his fair protectress. "and your impressions have gone no further?" "they have not, sir. it was most confidential." "could you accurately reproduce the plans of the fortress?" "i think so. it would be very simple." "have you studied engineering?" "yes." "and you could scientifically enumerate the defects in the construction of the fort?" "it would not be very difficult, sir." "it has come to our ears that you consider the fortress weak in several particulars. have you so stated at any time?" "i told the princess that the fortress is deplorably weak. in fact, i think i mentioned that it could be taken with ease." he was not looking at count marlanx, but he knew that the old man's eyes were flaming. then he proceeded to tell the board how he could overcome the fortress, elaborating on his remarks to beverly. the ministers listened in wonder to the words of this calm, indifferent young man. "will you oblige us by making a rough draft of the fort's interior?" asked lorry, after a solemn pause. baldos took the paper and in remarkably quick time drew the exact lay of the fortress. the sketch went the rounds and apprehensive looks were exchanged by the ministers. "it is accurate, by jove," exclaimed lorry. "i doubt if a dweller in the fort could do better. you must have been very observing." "and very much interested," snarled marlanx. "only so far as i imagined my observations might be of benefit to someone else," said baldos coolly. again the silence was like death. "do you know what you are saying, baldos?" asked lorry, after a moment. "certainly, mr. lorry. it is the duty of any servant of her highness to give her all that he has in him. if my observations can be of help to her, i feel in duty bound to make the best of them for her sake, not for my own." "perhaps you can suggest modifications in the fort," snarled marlanx. "why don't you do it, sir, and let us have the benefit of your superior intelligence? no, gentlemen, all this prating of loyalty need not deceive us," he cried, springing to his feet. "the fellow is nothing more nor less than an infernal spy--and the tower is the place for him! he can do no harm there." "if it were my intention to do harm, gentlemen, do you imagine that i should withhold my information for days?" asked baldos. "if i am a spy, you may rest assured that count marlanx's kindnesses should not have been so long disregarded. a spy does not believe in delays." "my--my kindnesses?" cried marlanx. "what do you mean, sir?" "i mean this. count marlanx," said baldos, looking steadily into the eyes of the head of the army. "it was kind and considerate of you to admit me to the fortress--no matter in what capacity, especially at a critical time like this. you did not know me, you had no way of telling whether my intentions were honest or otherwise, and yet i was permitted to go through the fort from end to end. no spy could wish for greater generosity than that." an almost imperceptible smile went round the table, and every listener but one breathed more freely. the candor and boldness of the guard won the respect and confidence of all except marlanx. the iron count was white with anger. he took the examination out of lorry's hands, and plied the stranger with insulting questions, each calm answer making him more furious than before. at last, in sheer impotence, he relapsed into silence, waving his hand to lorry to indicate that he might resume. "you will understand, baldos, that we have some cause for apprehension," said lorry, immensely gratified by the outcome of the tilt. "you are a stranger; and, whether you admit it or not, there is reason to believe that you are not what you represent yourself to be." "i am a humble guard at present, sir, and a loyal one. my life is yours should i prove otherwise." yetive whispered something in lorry's ear at this juncture. she was visibly pleased and excited. he looked doubtful for an instant, and then apparently followed her suggestion, regardless of consequences. "would you be willing to utilize your knowledge as an engineer by suggesting means to strengthen the fortress?" the others stared in fresh amazement. marlanx went as white as death. "never!" he blurted out hoarsely. "i will do anything the princess commands me to do," said baldos easily. "you mean that you serve her only?" "i serve her first, sir. if she were here she could command me to die, and there would be an end to baldos," and he smiled as he said it. the real princess looked at him with a new, eager expression, as if something had just become clear to her. there was a chorus of coughs and a round of sly looks. "she could hardly ask you to die," said yetive, addressing him for the first time. "a princess is like april weather, madam," said baldos, with rare humor, and the laugh was general, yetive resolved to talk privately with this excellent wit before the hour was over. she was confident that he knew her to be the princess. "i would like to ask the fellow another question," said marlanx, fingering his sword-hilt nervously. "you say you serve the princess. do you mean by that that you imagine your duties as a soldier to comprise dancing polite attendance within the security of these walls?" "i believe i enlisted as a member of the castle guard, sir. the duty of the guard is to protect the person of the ruler of graustark, and to do that to the death." "it is my belief that you are a spy. you can show evidence of good faith by enlisting to _fight_ against dawsbergen and by shooting to kill," said the count, with a sinister gleam in his eye. "and if i decline to serve in any other capacity than the one i now--" "then i shall brand you as a spy and a coward." "you have already called me a spy, your excellency. it will not make it true, let me add, if you call me a coward. i refuse to take up arms against either dawsbergen or axphain." the remark created a profound sensation. "then you are employed by both instead of one!" shouted the iron count gleefully. "i am employed as a guard for her royal highness," said baldos, with a square glance at yetive, "and not as a fighter in the ranks. i will fight till death for her, but not for graustark." chapter xvi on the way to st. valentine's "by jove, i like that fellow's coolness," said lorry to harry anguish, after the meeting. "he's after my own heart. why, he treats us as though we were the suppliants, he the alms-giver. he is playing a game, i'll admit, but he does it with an assurance that delights me." "he is right about that darned old fort," said anguish. "his knowledge of such things proves conclusively that he is no ordinary person." "yetive had a bit of a talk with him just now," said lorry, with a reflective smile. "she asked him point blank if he knew who she was. he did not hesitate a second. 'i remember seeing you in the audience chamber recently.' that was a facer for yetive. 'i assure you that it was no fault of mine that you saw me,' she replied. 'then it must have been your friend who rustled the curtains?' said the confounded bluffer. yetive couldn't keep a straight face. she laughed and then he laughed. 'some day you may learn more about me,' she said to him. 'i sincerely trust that i may, madam,' said he, and i'll bet my hat he was enjoying it better than either of us. of course, he knows yetive is the princess. it's his intention to serve beverly calhoun, and he couldn't do it if he were to confess that he knows the truth. he's no fool." baldos was not long in preparing plans for the changes in the fortress. they embodied a temporary readjustment of the armament and alterations in the ammunition house. the gate leading to the river was closed and the refuse from the fort was taken to the barges by way of the main entrance. there were other changes suggested for immediate consideration, and then there was a general plan for the modernizing of the fortress at some more convenient time. baldos laconically observed that the equipment was years behind the times. to the amazement of the officials, he was able to talk intelligently of forts in all parts of the world, revealing a wide and thorough knowledge and extensive inspection. he had seen american as well as european fortifications. the graustark engineers went to work at once to perfect the simple changes he advised, leaving no stone unturned to strengthen the place before an attack could be made. two, three weeks went by and the new guard was becoming an old story to the castle and army folk. he rode with beverly every fair day and he looked at her window by night from afar off in the sombre barracks. she could not dissipate the feeling that he knew her to be other than the princess, although he betrayed himself by no word or sign. she was enjoying the fun of it too intensely to expose it to the risk of destruction by revealing her true identity to him. logically, that would mean the end of everything. no doubt he felt the same and kept his counsel. but the game could not last forever, that was certain. a month or two more, and beverly would have to think of the return to washington. his courage, his cool impudence, his subtle wit charmed her more than she could express. now she was beginning to study him from a standpoint peculiarly and selfishly her own. where recently she had sung his praises to yetive and others, she now was strangely reticent. she was to understand another day why this change had come over her. stories of his cleverness came to her ears from lorry and anguish and even from dangloss. she was proud, vastly proud of him in these days. the iron count alone discredited the ability and the conscientiousness of the "mountebank," as he named the man who had put his nose out of joint. beverly, seeing much of marlanx, made the mistake of chiding him frankly and gaily about this aversion. she even argued the guard's case before the head of the army, imprudently pointing out many of his superior qualities in advocating his cause. the count was learning forbearance in his old age. he saw the wisdom of procrastination. baldos was in favor, but someday there would come a time for his undoing. in the barracks he was acquiring fame. reports went forth with unbiased freedom. he established himself as the best swordsman in the service, as well as the most efficient marksman. with the foils and sabers he easily vanquished the foremost fencers in high and low circles. he could ride like a cossack or like an american cowboy. of them all, his warmest admirer was haddan, the man set to watch him for the secret service. it may be timely to state that haddan watched in vain. the princess, humoring her own fancy as well as beverly's foibles, took to riding with her high-spirited young guest on many a little jaunt to the hills. she usually rode with lorry or anguish, cheerfully assuming the subdued position befitting a lady-in-waiting apparently restored to favor on probation. she enjoyed beverly's unique position. in order to maintain her attitude as princess, the fair young deceiver was obliged to pose in the extremely delectable attitude of being lorry's wife. "how can you expect the paragon to make love to you, dear, if he thinks you are another man's wife?" yetive asked, her blue eyes beaming with the fun of it all. "pooh!" sniffed beverly. "you have only to consult history to find the excuse. it's the dear old habit of men to make love to queens and get beheaded for it. besides, he is not expected to make love to me. how in the world did you get that into your head?" on a day soon after the return of lorry and anguish from a trip to the frontier, beverly expressed a desire to visit the monastery of st. valentine, high on the mountain top. it was a long ride over the circuitous route by which the steep incline was avoided and it was necessary for the party to make an early start. yetive rode with harry anguish and his wife the countess, while beverly's companion was the gallant colonel quinnox. baldos, relegated to the background, brought up the rear with haddan. for a week or more beverly had been behaving toward baldos in the most cavalier fashion. her friends had been teasing her; and, to her own intense amazement, she resented it. the fact that she felt the sting of their sly taunts was sufficient to arouse in her the distressing conviction that he had become important enough to prove embarrassing. while confessing to herself that it was a bit treacherous and weak, she proceeded to ignore baldos with astonishing persistency. apart from the teasing, it seemed to her of late that he was growing a shade too confident. he occasionally forgot his differential air, and relaxed into a very pleasing but highly reprehensible state of friendliness. a touch of the old jauntiness cropped out here and there, a tinge of the old irony marred his otherwise perfect mien as a soldier. his laugh was freer, his eyes less under subjugation, his entire personality more arrogant. it was time, thought she resentfully, that his temerity should meet some sort of check. and, moreover, she had dreamed of him two nights in succession. how well her plan succeeded may best be illustrated by saying that she now was in a most uncomfortable frame of mind. baldos refused to be properly depressed by his misfortune. he retired to the oblivion she provided and seemed disagreeably content. apparently, it made very little difference to him whether he was in or out of favor. beverly was in high dudgeon and low spirits. the party rode forth at an early hour in the morning. it was hot in the city, but it looked cold and bleak on the heights. comfortable wraps were taken along, and provision was made for luncheon at an inn half way up the slope. quinnox regaled beverly with stories in which grenfall lorry was the hero and yetive the heroine. he told her of the days when lorry, a fugitive with a price upon his head, charged with the assassination of prince lorenz, then betrothed to the princess, lay hidden in the monastery while yetive's own soldiers hunted high and low for him. the narrator dwelt glowingly upon the trip from the monastery to the city walls one dark night when lorry came down to surrender himself in order to shield the woman he loved, and quinnox himself piloted him through the underground passage into the very heart of the castle. then came the exciting scene in which lorry presented himself as a prisoner, with the denouement that saved the princess and won for the gallant american the desire of his heart. "what a brave fellow he was!" cried beverly, who never tired of hearing the romantic story. "ah, he was wonderful, miss calhoun. i fought him to keep him from surrendering. he beat me, and i was virtually his prisoner when we appeared before the tribunal." "it's no wonder she loved him and--married him." "he deserved the best that life could give, miss calhoun." "you had better not call me miss calhoun, colonel quinnox," said she, looking back apprehensively. "i am a highness once in a while, don't you know?" "i implore your highness's pardon!" said he gaily. the riders ahead had come to a standstill and were pointing off into the pass to their right. they were eight or ten miles from the city gates and more than half way up the winding road that ended at the monastery gates. beverly and quinnox came up with them and found all eyes centered on a small company of men encamped in the rocky defile a hundred yards from the main road. it needed but a glance to tell her who comprised the unusual company. the very raggedness of their garments, the unforgetable disregard for consequences, the impudent ease with which they faced poverty and wealth alike, belonged to but one set of men--the vagabonds of the hawk and raven. beverly went a shade whiter; her interest in everything else flagged, and she was lost in bewilderment. what freak of fortune had sent these men out of the fastnesses into this dangerously open place? she recognized the ascetic ravone, with his student's face and beggar's garb. old franz was there, and so were others whose faces and heterogeneous garments had become so familiar to her in another day. the tall leader with the red feather, the rakish hat and the black patch alone was missing; from the picture. "it's the strangest-looking crew i've ever seen," said anguish. "they look like pirates." "or gypsies" suggested yetive. "who are they, colonel quinnox? what are they doing here?" quinnox was surveying the vagabonds with a critical, suspicious eye. "they are not robbers or they would be off like rabbits" he said reflectively. "your highness, there are many roving bands in the hills, but i confess that these men are unlike any i have heard about. with your permission, i will ride down and question them." "do, quinnox. i am most curious." beverly sat very still and tense. she was afraid to look at baldos, who rode up as quinnox started into the narrow defile, calling to the escort to follow. the keen eyes of the guard caught the situation at once. miss calhoun shot a quick glance at him as he rode up beside her. his face was impassive, but she could see his hand clench the bridle-rein, and there was an air of restraint in his whole bearing. "remember your promise," he whispered hoarsely. "no harm must come to them." then he was off into the defile. anguish was not to be left behind. he followed, and then beverly, more venturesome and vastly more interested than the others, rode recklessly after. quinnox was questioning the laconic ravone when she drew rein. the vagabonds seemed to evince but little interest in the proceedings. they stood away in disdainful aloofness. no sign of recognition passed between them and baldos. in broken, jerky sentences, ravone explained to the colonel that they were a party of actors on their way to edelweiss, but that they had been advised to give the place a wide berth. now they were making the best of a hard journey to serros, where they expected but little better success. he produced certain papers of identification which quinnox examined and approved, much to beverly's secret amazement. the princess and the colonel exchanged glances and afterwards a few words in subdued tones. yetive looked furtively at beverly and then at baldos as if to enquire whether these men were the goat-hunters she had come to know by word of mouth. the two faces were hopelessly non-committal. suddenly baldos's horse reared and began to plunge as if in terror, so that the rider kept his seat only by means of adept horsemanship. ravone leaped forward and at the risk of injury clutched the plunging steed by the bit. together they partially subdued the animal and baldos swung to the ground at ravone's side. miss calhoun's horse in the meantime had caught the fever. he pranced off to the roadside before she could get him under control. she was thus in a position to observe the two men on the ground. shielded from view by the body of the horse, they were able to put the finishing touches to the trick baldos had cleverly worked. beverly distinctly saw the guard and the beggar exchange bits of paper, with glances that meant more than the words they were unable to utter. baldos pressed into ravone's hand a note of some bulk and received in exchange a mere slip of paper. the papers disappeared as if by magic, and the guard was remounting his horse before he saw that the act had been detected. the expression of pain and despair in beverly's face sent a cold chill over him from head to foot. she turned sick with apprehension. her faith had received a stunning blow. mutely she watched the vagabonds withdraw in peace, free to go where they pleased. the excursionists turned to the main road. baldos fell back to his accustomed place, his imploring look wasted. she was strangely, inexplicably depressed for the rest of the day. chapter xvii a note translated she was torn by conflicting emotions. that the two friends had surreptitiously exchanged messages, doubtless by an arrangement perfected since he had entered the service--possibly within the week--could not be disputed. when and how had they planned the accidental meeting? what had been their method of communication? and, above all, what were the contents of the messages exchanged? were they of a purely personal nature, or did they comprehend injury to the principality of graustark? beverly could not, in her heart, feel that baldos was doing anything inimical to the country he served, and yet her duty and loyalty to yetive made it imperative that the transaction should be reported at once. a word to quinnox and ravone would be seized and searched for the mysterious paper. this, however, looked utterly unreasonable, for the vagabonds were armed and in force, while yetive was accompanied by but three men who could be depended upon. baldos, under the conditions, was not to be reckoned upon for support. on the other hand, if he meant no harm, it would be cruel, even fatal, to expose him to this charge of duplicity. and while she turned these troublesome alternatives over in her mind, the opportunity to act was lost. ravone and his men were gone, and the harm, if any was intended, was done. from time to time she glanced back at the guard. his face was imperturbable, even sphinx-like in its steadiness. she decided to hold him personally to account. at the earliest available moment she would demand an explanation of his conduct, threatening him if necessary. if he proved obdurate there was but one course left open to her. she would deliver him up to the justice he had outraged. hour after hour went by, and beverly suffered more than she could have told. the damage was done, and the chance to undo it was slipping farther and farther out of her grasp. she began to look upon herself as the vilest of traitors. there was no silver among the clouds that marred her thoughts that afternoon. it was late in the day when the party returned to the castle, tired out. beverly was the only one who had no longing to seek repose after the fatiguing trip. her mind was full of unrest. it was necessary to question baldos at once. there could be no peace for her until she learned the truth from him. the strain became so great that at last she sent word for him to attend her in the park. he was to accompany the men who carried the sedan chair in which she had learned to sit with a delightful feeling of being in the eighteenth century. in a far corner of the grounds, now gray in the early dusk, beverly bade the bearers to set down her chair and leave her in quiet for a few minutes. the two men withdrew to a respectful distance, whereupon she called baldos to her side. her face was flushed with anxiety. "you must tell me the truth about that transaction with ravone," she said, coming straight to the point. "i was expecting this, your highness," said he quietly. the shadows of night were falling, but she could distinguish the look of anxiety in his dark eyes. "well?" she insisted impatiently. "you saw the notes exchanged?" "yes, yes, and i command you to tell me what they contained. it was the most daring thing i--" "you highness, i cannot tell you what passed between us. it would be treacherous," he said firmly. beverly gasped in sheer amazement. "treacherous? good heaven, sir, to whom do you owe allegiance--to me or to ravone and that band of tramps?" she cried, with eyes afire. "to both, your highness," he answered so fairly that she was for the moment abashed. "i am loyal to you--loyal to the heart's core, and yet i am loyal to that unhappy band of tramps, as you choose to call them. they are my friends. you are only my sovereign." "and you won't tell me what passed between you?" she said, angered by this epigrammatic remark. "i cannot and be true to myself." "oh? you are a glorious soldier," she exclaimed, with fierce sarcasm in her voice. "you speak of being true! i surprise you in the very act of--" "stay, your highness!" he said coldly. "you are about to call me a spy and a traitor. spare me, i implore you, that humiliation. i have sworn to serve you faithfully and loyally. i have not deceived you, and i shall not. paul baldos has wronged no man, no woman. what passed between ravone and myself concerns us only. it had nothing to do with the affairs of graustark." "of course you would say that. you wouldn't be fool enough to tell the truth," cried she hotly. "i am the fool! i have trusted you and if anything goes wrong i alone am to blame for exposing poor graustark to danger. oh, why didn't i cry out this afternoon?" "i knew you would not," he said, with cool unconcern. "insolence! what do you mean by that?" she cried in confusion. "in your heart you knew i was doing no wrong. you shielded me then as you have shielded me from the beginning." "i don't see why i sit here and let you talk to me like that," she said, feeling the symptoms of collapse. "you have not been fair with me, baldos. you are laughing at me now and calling me a witless little fool. you--you did something to-day that shakes my faith to the very bottom. i never can trust you again. good heaven, i hate to confess to--to everyone that you are not honest." "your highness!" he implored, coming close to the chair and bending over her. "before god, i am honest with you. believe me when i say that i have done nothing to injure graustark. i cannot tell you what it was that passed between ravone and me, but i swear on my soul that i have not been disloyal to my oath. won't you trust me? won't you believe?" his breath was fanning her ear, his voice was eager; she could feel the intensity of his eyes. "oh, i don't--don't know what to say to you," she murmured. "i have been so wrought up with fear and disappointment. you'll admit that it was very suspicious, won't you?" she cried, almost pleadingly. "yes, yes," he answered. his hand touched her arm, perhaps unconsciously. she threw back her head to give him a look of rebuke. their eyes met, and after a moment both were full of pleading. her lips parted, but the words would not come. she was afterwards more than thankful for this, because his eyes impelled her to give voice to amazing things that suddenly rushed to her head. "i want to believe you," she whispered softly. "you must--you do! i would give you my life. you have it now. it is in your keeping, and with it my honor. trust me, i beseech you. i have trusted you." "i brought you here--" she began, defending him involuntarily. "but, baldos, you forget that i am the princess!" she drew away in sudden shyness, her cheeks rosy once more, her eyes filling with the most distressingly unreasonable tears. he did not move for what seemed hours to her. she heard the sharp catch of his breath and felt the repression that was mastering some unwelcome emotion in him. lights were springing into existence in all parts of the park. beverly saw the solitary window in the monastery far away, and her eyes fastened on it as if for sustenance in this crisis of her life--this moment of surprise--this moment when she felt him laying hands upon the heart she had not suspected of treason. twilight was upon them; the sun had set and night was rushing up to lend unfair advantage to the forces against which they were struggling. the orchestra in the castle was playing something soft and tender--oh, so far away. "i forget that i am a slave, your highness," he said at last, and his voice thrilled her through and through. she turned quickly and to her utter dismay found his face and eyes still close to hers, glowing in the darkness. "those men--over there," she whispered helplessly. "they are looking at you!" "now, i thank god eternally," he cried softly, "you do not punish me, you do not rebuke me. god, there is no night!" "you--you must not talk like that," she cried, pulling herself together suddenly. "i cannot permit it, baldos. you forget who you are, sir." "ah, yes, your highness," he said, before he stood erect. "i forget that i was a suspected traitor. now i am guilty of _lese majeste."_ beverly felt herself grow hot with confusion. "what am i to do with you?" she cried in perplexity, her heart beating shamefully. "you swear you are honest, and yet you won't tell me the truth. now, don't stand like that! you are as straight as a ramrod, and i know your dignity is terribly offended. i may be foolish, but i _do_ believe you intend no harm to graustark. you _cannot_ be a traitor." "i will some day give my life to repay you for those words, your highness," he said. her hand was resting on the side of the chair. something warm touched it, and then it was lifted resistlessly. hot, passionate lips burned themselves into the white fingers, and a glow went into every fiber of her body. "oh!" was all she could say. he gently released the hand and threw up his chin resolutely. "i am _almost_ ready to die," he said. she laughed for the first time since they entered the park. "i don't know how to treat you," she said in a helpless flutter. "you know a princess has many trials in life." "not the least of which is womanhood." "baldos," she said after a long pause. something very disagreeable had just rushed into her brain. "have you been forgetting all this time that the princess yetive is the wife of grenfall lorry?" "it has never left my mind for an instant. from the bottom of my heart i congratulate him. his wife is an angel as well as a princess." "well, in the code of morals, is it quite proper to be so _loyal_ to another man's wife?" she asked, and then she trembled. he was supposed to know her as the wife of grenfall lorry, and yet he had boldly shown his love for her. "it depends altogether on the other man's wife," he said, and she looked up quickly. it was too dark to see his face, but something told her to press the point no further. deep down in her heart she was beginning to rejoice in the belief that he had found her out. if he still believed her to be the real princess, then he was--but the subject of conversation, at least, had to be changed. "you say your message to ravone was of a purely personal nature," she said. "yes, your highness." she did not like the way in which he said "your highness." it sounded as if he meant it. "how did you know that you were to see him to-day?" "we have waited for this opportunity since last week. franz was in the castle grounds last thursday." "good heavens! you don't mean it!" "yes, your highness. he carried a message to me from ravone. that is why ravone and the others waited for me in the hills." "you amaze me!" "i have seen franz often," he confessed easily. "he is an excellent messenger." "so it would seem. we must keep a lookout for him. he is the go-between for you all, i see." "did you learn to say 'you all' in america?" he asked. her heart gave a great leap. there was something so subtle in the query that she was vastly relieved. "never mind about that, sir. you won't tell me what you said in your note to ravone." "i cannot." "well, he gave you one in return. if you are perfectly sincere, baldos, you will hand that note over to me. it shall go no farther, i swear to you, if, as you vow, it does not jeopardize graustark. now, sir, prove your loyalty and your honesty." he hesitated for a long time. then from an inner pocket he drew forth a bit of paper. "i don't see why it has not been destroyed," he said regretfully. "what a neglectful fool i have been!" "you might have said it had been destroyed," she said, happy because he had not said it. "but that would have been a lie. read it, your highness, and return it to me. it must be destroyed." "it is too dark to read it here." without a word he handed the paper to her and called the chair bearers, to whom he gave instructions that brought her speedily beneath one of the park lamps. she afterwards recalled the guilty impulse which forced her to sit on the tell-tale note while the men were carrying her along in the driveway. when it was quite safe she slyly opened the missive. his hand closed over hers, and the note, and he bent close once more. "my only fear is that the test will make it impossible for me to kiss your hand again," said he in a strained voice. she looked up in surprise. "then it is really something disloyal?" "i have called it a test, your highness," he responded enigmatically. "well, we'll see," she said, and forthwith turned her eyes to the all-important paper. a quick flush crossed her brow; her eyes blinked hopelessly. the note was written in the graustark language! "i'll read it later, baldos. this is no place for me to be reading notes, don't you know? really, it isn't. i'll give it back to you to-morrow," she was in haste to say. an inscrutable smile came over his face. "ravone's information is correct, i am now convinced," he said slowly. "pray, your highness, glance over it now, that i may destroy it at once," he persisted. "the light isn't good." "it seems excellent." "and i never saw such a miserable scrawl as this. he must have written it on horseback and at full gallop." "it is quite legible, your highness." "i really cannot read the stuff. you know his handwriting. read it to me. i'll trust you to read it carefully." "this is embarrassing, your highness, but i obey, of course, if you command. here is what ravone says: "'we have fresh proof that she is not the princess, but the american girl. be exceedingly careful that she does not lead you into any admissions. the americans are tricky. have little to say to her, and guard your tongue well. we are all well and are hoping for the best.'" chapter xviii confessions and concessions beverly was speechless. "of course, your highness," said baldos, deep apology in his voice, "ravone is woefully misinformed. he is honest in his belief, and you should not misjudge his motives. how he could have been so blind as to confound you with that frisky american girl--but i beg your pardon. she is to be your guest. a thousand pardons, your highness." she had been struck dumb by the wording of the note, but his apparently sincere apology for his friend set her every emotion into play once more. while he was speaking, her wits were forming themselves for conflict. she opened the campaign with a bold attack. "you--you believe me to be the princess, sure 'nough, don't you?" but with all her bravery, she was not able to look him in the face. "how can you doubt it, your highness? would i be serving you in the present capacity if i believed you to be anyone else?" "ravone's warning has not shaken your faith in me?" "it has strengthened it. nothing could alter the facts in the case. i have not, since we left ganlook, been in doubt as to the identity of my benefactress." "it seems to me that you are beating around the bush. i'll come straight to the point. how long have you known that i am not the princess of graustark?" "what!" he exclaimed, drawing back in well-assumed horror. "do you mean--are you jesting? i beg of you, do not jest. it is very serious with me." his alarm was so genuine that she was completely deceived. "i am not jesting," she half whispered, turning very cold. "have you thought all along that i am the princess--that i am grenfall lorry's wife?" "you told me that you were the princess." "but i've never said that i was--was anyone's wife." there was a piteous appeal in her voice and he was not slow to notice it and rejoice. then his heart smote him. "but what is to become of me if you are not the princess?" he asked after a long pause. "i can no longer serve you. this is my last day in the castle guard." "you are to go on serving me--i mean you are to retain your place in the service," she hastened to say. "i shall keep my promise to you." how small and humble she was beginning to feel. it did not seem so entertaining, after all, this pretty deception of hers. down in his heart, underneath the gallant exterior, what was his opinion of her? something was stinging her eyes fiercely, and she closed them to keep back the tears of mortification. "miss calhoun," he said, his manner changing swiftly, "i have felt from the first that you are not the princess of graustark. i _knew_ it an hour after i entered edelweiss. franz gave me a note at ganlook, but i did not read it until i was a member of the guard." "you have known it so long?" she cried joyously. "and you have trusted me? you have not hated me for deceiving you?" "i have never ceased to regard you as _my_ sovereign," he said softly. "but just a moment ago you spoke of me as a frisky american girl," she said resentfully. "i have used that term but once, while i have said 'your highness' a thousand times. knowing that you were miss calhoun, i could not have meant either." "i fancy i have no right to criticise you," she humbly admitted. "after all, it does not surprise me that you were not deceived. only an imbecile could have been fooled all these weeks. everyone said that you were no fool. it seems ridiculous that it should have gone to this length, doesn't it?" "not at all, your highness. i am not--" "you have the habit, i see," she smiled. "i have several months yet to serve as a member of the guard. besides, i am under orders to regard you as the princess. general marlanx has given me severe instructions in that respect." "you are willing to play the game to the end?" she demanded, more gratified than she should have been. "assuredly, yes. it is the only safeguard i have. to alter my belief publicly would expose me to--to--" "to what, baldos?" "to ridicule, for one thing, and to the generous mercies of count marlanx. besides, it would deprive me of the privilege i mentioned a moment ago--the right to kiss your hand, to be your slave and to do homage to the only sovereign i can recognize. surely, you will not subject me to exile from the only joys that life holds for me. you have sought to deceive me, and i have tried to deceive you. each has found the other out, so we are quits. may we not now combine forces in the very laudible effort to deceive the world? if the world doesn't know that we know, why, the comedy may be long drawn out and the climax be made the more amusing." "i'm afraid there was a touch of your old-time sarcasm in that remark," she said. "yes, i am willing to continue the comedy. it seems the safest way to protect you--especially from general marlanx. no one must ever know, baldos; it would be absolutely pitiful. i am glad, oh, so glad, that you have known all the time. it relieves my mind and my conscience tremendously." "yes," he said gently; "i have known all along that you were not mr. lorry's wife." he had divined her thought and she flushed hotly. "you are still a princess, however. a poor goat-hunter can only look upon the rich american girl as a sovereign whom he must worship from far below." "oh, i'm not so rich as all that," she cried. "besides, i think it is time for a general clearing-up of the mysteries. are you prince dantan, prince frederic, or that other one--christobal somebody? come, be fair with me." "it seems that all edelweiss looks upon me as a prince in disguise. you found me in the hills--" "no; you found me. i have not forgotten, sir." "i was a vagabond and a fugitive. my friends are hunted as i am. we have no home. why everyone should suspect me of being a prince i cannot understand. every roamer in the hills is not a prince. there is a price upon my head, and there is a reward for the capture of every man who was with me in the pass. my name is paul baldos, miss calhoun. there is no mystery in that. if you were to mention it in a certain city, you would quickly find that the name of baldos is not unknown to the people who are searching for him. no, your highness, i regret exceedingly that i must destroy the absurd impression that i am of royal blood. perhaps i am spoiling a pretty romance, but it cannot be helped. i was baldos, the goat-hunter; i am now baldos, the guard. do you think that i would be serving as a graustark guard if i were any one of the men you mention?" beverly listened in wonder and some disappointment, it must be confessed. somehow a spark of hope was being forever extinguished by this straightforward denial. he was not to be the prince she had seen in dreams. "you are not like anyone else," she said. "that is why we thought of you as--as--as--" "as one of those unhappy creatures they call princes? thank fortune, your highness, i am not yet reduced to such straits. my exile will come only when you send me away." they were silent for a long time. neither was thinking of the hour, or the fact that her absence in the castle could not be unnoticed. night had fallen heavily upon the earth. the two faithful chair-bearers, respectful but with wonder in their souls, stood afar off and waited. baldos and beverly were alone in their own little world. "i think i liked you better when you wore the red feather and that horrid patch of black," she said musingly. "and was a heart-free vagabond," he added, something imploring in his voice. "an independent courtier, if you please, sir," she said severely. "do you want me to go back to the hills? i have the patch and the feather, and my friends are--" "no! don't suggest such a thing--yet." she began the protest eagerly and ended it in confusion. "alas, you mean that some day banishment is not unlikely?" "you don't expect to be a guard all your life, do you?" "not to serve the princess of graustark, i confess. my aim is much higher. if god lets me choose the crown i would serve, i shall enlist for life. the crown i would serve is wrought of love, the throne i would kneel before is a heart, the sceptre i would follow is in the slender hand of a woman. i could live and die in the service of my own choosing. but i am only the humble goat-hunter whose hopes are phantoms, whose ideals are conceived in impotence." "that was beautiful," murmured beverly, looking up, fascinated for the moment. "oh, that i had the courage to enlist," he cried, bending low once more. she felt the danger in his voice, half tremulous with some thing more than loyalty, and drew her hand away from a place of instant jeopardy. it was fire that she was playing with, she realized with a start of consciousness. sweet as the spell had grown to be, she saw that it must be shattered. "it is getting frightfully late," she sharply exclaimed. "they'll wonder where i've gone to. why, it's actually dark." "it has been dark for half an hour, your highness," said he, drawing himself up with sudden rigidness that distressed her. "are you going to return to the castle?" "yes. they'll have out a searching party pretty soon if i don't appear." "you have been good to me to-day," he said thoughtfully. "i shall try to merit the kindness. let me--" "oh, please don't talk in that humble way! it's ridiculous! i'd rather have you absolutely impertinent, i declare upon my honor i would. don't you remember how you talked when you wore the red feather? well, i liked it." baldos laughed easily, happily. his heart was not very humble, though his voice and manner were. "red is the color of insolence, you mean." "it's a good deal jauntier than blue," she declared. "before you call the bearers, miss--your highness, i wish to retract something i said awhile ago," he said very seriously. "i should think you would," she responded, utterly misinterpreting his intent. "you asked me to tell you what my message to ravone contained and i refused. subsequently the extent of his message to me led us into a most thorough understanding. it is only just and right that you should know what i said to him." "i trust you, baldos," she protested simply. "that is why i tell this to you. yesterday, your highness, the castle guard received their month's pay. you may not know how well we are paid, so i will say that it is ten gavvos to each. the envelope which i gave to ravone contained my wages for the past six weeks. they need it far more than i do. there was also a short note of good cheer to those poor comrades of mine, and the assurance that one day our luck may change and starvation be succeeded by plenty. and, still more, i told him that i knew you to be miss calhoun and that you were my angel of inspiration. that was all, your highness." "thank you, baldos, for telling me," she said softly. "you have made me ashamed of myself." "on the contrary, i fear that i have been indulging in mock heroics. truth and egotism--like a salad--require a certain amount of dressing." "since you are baldos, and not a fairy prince, i think you may instruct the men to carry me back, being without the magic tapestry which could transplant me in a whiff. goodness, who's that?" within ten feet of the sedan chair and directly behind the tall guard stood a small group of people. he and beverly, engrossed in each other, had not heard their approach. how long they had been silent spectators of the little scene only the intruders knew. the startled, abashed eyes of the girl in the chair were not long in distinguishing the newcomers. a pace in front of the others stood the gaunt, shadowy form of count marlanx. behind him were the princess yetive, the old prime minister, and baron dangloss. chapter xix the night fires "why, good evening. is that you?" struggled somewhat hysterically through beverly's lips. not since the dear old days of the stolen jam and sugar-bits had she known the feelings of a culprit caught red-handed. the light from the park lamps revealed a merry, accusing smile on the face of yetive, but the faces of the men were serious. marlanx was the picture of suppressed fury. "it is the relief expedition, your highness," said yetive warmly. "we thought you were lost in the wilds of the jungle." "she is much better protected than we could have imagined," said the iron count, malevolently mild and polite. "can't i venture into the park without being sent for?" asked beverly, ready to fly into the proper rage. the pink had left her cheeks white. "i am proud to observe, however, that the relief expedition is composed of the most distinguished people in all graustark. is there any significance to be attached to the circumstance?" "can't we also go strolling in the park, my dear?" plaintively asked yetive. "it depends upon where we stroll, i fancy," suggested marlanx derisively. beverly flashed a fierce look at the head of the army. "by the way, baron dangloss, where is the incomparable haddan?" baldos shot a startled glance at the two men and in an instant comprehension came to him. he knew the secret of haddan's constant companionship. an expression of bitter scorn settled upon his mouth, dangloss mumbled a reply, at which the iron count laughed sarcastically. "i am returning to the castle," said beverly coldly, "pray don't let me interfere with your stroll. or is it possible that you think it necessary to deliver me safely to my nurse, now that you have found me?" "don't be angry, dear," whispered yetive, coming close to her side. "i will tell you all about it later on. it was all due to count marlanx." "it was all done to humiliate me," replied beverly, indignation surpassing confusion at last. "i hate all of you." "oh, beverly!" whispered the princess, in distress. "well, perhaps _you_ were led into it," retracted beverly, half mollified. "look at that old villain whispering over there. no wonder his wives up and died. they just _had_ to do it. i hate all but you and count halfont and baron dangloss," which left but one condemned. "and baldos?" added yetive, patting her hand. "i wish you'd be sensible," cried beverly, most ungraciously, and yetive's soft laugh irritated her. "how long had you been listening to us?" "not so much as the tiniest part of a minute," said yetive, recalling another disastrous eavesdropping. "i am much wiser than when baldos first came to serve you. we were quite a distance behind count marlanx, i assure you." "then _he_ heard something?" asked beverly anxiously. "he has been in a detestable mood ever since we rejoined him. could he have heard anything disagreeable?" "no; on the contrary, it was quite agreeable." all this time baldos was standing at attention a few paces off, a model soldier despite the angry shifting of his black eyes. he saw that they had been caught in a most unfortunate position. no amount of explaining could remove the impression that had been forced upon the witnesses, voluntary or involuntary as the case might be. baldos could do nothing to help her, while she was compelled to face the suspicions of her best friends. at best it could be considered nothing short of a clandestine meeting, the consequences of which she must suffer, not he. in his heated brain he was beginning to picture scandal with all the disgusting details that grow out of evil misrepresentation. count halfont separated himself from the group of three and advanced to the sedan-chair. marlanx and dangloss were arguing earnestly in low tones. "shall we return, your highness?" asked halfont, addressing both with one of his rarest smiles. "if i remember aright, we were to dine _en famille_ to-night, and it is well upon the hour. besides, count marlanx is a little distressed by your absent-mindedness, miss beverly, and i fancy he is eager to have it out with you." "my absent-mindedness? what is it that i have forgotten?" asked beverly, puckering her brow. "that's the trouble, dear," said yetive. "you forgot your promise to teach him how to play that awful game called poker. he has waited for you at the castle since six o'clock. it is now eight. is it any wonder that he led the searching party? he has been on nettles for an hour and a half." "goodness, i'll wager he's in a temper!" exclaimed beverly, with no remorse, but some apprehension. "it would be wisdom to apologize to him," suggested yetive, and her uncle nodded earnestly. "all right. i think i can get him into good humor without half trying. oh, count marlanx! come here, please. you aren't angry with me, are you? wasn't it awful for me to run away and leave you to play solitaire instead of poker? but, don't you know, i was so wretchedly tired after the ride, and i knew you wouldn't mind if i--" and so she ran glibly on, completely forestalling him, to the secret amusement of the others. nevertheless, she was nervous and embarrassed over the situation. there was every reason to fear that the iron count had heard and seen enough to form a pretty good opinion of what had passed between herself and baldos in this remote corner of the park. a deep sense of shame was taking possession of her. marlanx, smiling significantly, looked into her brave little face, and permitted her to talk on until she had run out of breath and composure. then he bowed with exaggerated gallantry and informed her that he was hers to command, and that it was not for him to forgive but to accept whatever was her gracious pleasure. he called upon the chair-bearers and they took up their burden. beverly promptly changed her mind and concluded to walk to the castle. and so they started off, the chair going ahead as if out of commission forever. despite her efforts to do so, the american girl (feeling very much abused, by the way), was unsuccessful in the attempt to keep the princess at her side. yetive deliberately walked ahead with halfont and dangloss. it seemed to beverly that they walked unnecessarily fast and that marlanx was provokingly slow. baldos was twenty paces behind, as was his custom. "is it necessary for me to ask you to double the number of lessons i am to have?" marlanx asked. he was quite too close to her side to please beverly. "can't you learn in one lesson? most americans think they know all about poker after the first game." "i am not so quick-witted, your highness." "far be it from me to accelerate your wits, count marlanx. it might not be profitable." "you might profit by losing, you know," he ventured, leaning still closer, "poker is not the only game of chance. it was chance that gave me a winning hand this evening." "i don't understand." "it shall be my pleasure to teach you in return for instructions i am to have. i have tried to teach your excellent guard one phase of the game. he has not profited, i fear. he has been blind enough to pick a losing hand in spite of my advice. it is the game of hearts." beverly could not but understand. she shrank away with a shudder. her wits did not desert her, however. "i know the game," she said steadily. "one's object is to cast off all the hearts. i have been very lucky at the game, count marlanx." "umph!" was his ironical comment. "ah, isn't this a night for lovers?" he went on, changing tack suddenly. "to stroll in the shadows, where even the moon is blind, is a joy that love alone provides. come, fair mistress, share this joy with me." with that his hand closed over her soft arm above the elbow and she was drawn close to his side. beverly's first shock of revulsion was succeeded by the distressing certainty that baldos was a helpless witness of this indignity. she tried to jerk her arm away, but he held it tight. "release my arm, sir!" she cried, hoarse with passion. "call your champion, my lady. it will mean his death. i have evidence that will insure his conviction and execution within an hour. nothing could call him, i say, and--" "i _will_ call him. he is my sworn protector, and i will command him to knock you down if you don't go away," she flared, stopping decisively. "at his peril--" "baldos!" she called, without a second's hesitation. the guard came up with a rush just as marlanx released her arm and fell away with a muttered imprecation. "your highness!" cried baldos, who had witnessed everything. "are you afraid to die?" she demanded briefly; and clearly. "no!" "that is all," she said, suddenly calm. "i merely wanted to prove it to count marlanx." tact had come to her relief most opportunely. like a flash she saw that a conflict between the commander of the army and a guard could have but one result and that disastrous to the latter. one word from her would have ended everything for baldos. she saw through the iron count's ruse as if by divine inspiration and profited where he least expected her to excel in shrewdness. marlanx had deliberately invited the assault by the guard. his object had been to snare baldos into his own undoing, and a horrible undoing it would have been. one blow would have secured the desired result. nothing could have saved the guard who had struck his superior officer. but beverly thought in time. "to die is easy, your highness. you have but to ask it of me," said baldos, whose face was white and drawn. "she has no intention of demanding such a pleasant sacrifice" observed count marlanx, covering his failure skilfully. "later on, perhaps, she may sign your death warrant. i am proud to hear, sir, that a member of my corps has the courage to face the inevitable, even though he be an alien and unwilling to die on the field of battle. you have my compliments, sir. you have been on irksome duty for several hours and must be fatigued as well as hungry. a soldier suffers many deprivations, not the least of which is starvation in pursuit of his calling. mess is not an unwelcome relief to you after all these arduous hours. you may return to the barracks at once. the princess is under my care for the remainder of the campaign." baldos looked first at her and then at the sarcastic old general. yetive and her companions were waiting for them at the fountain, a hundred yards ahead. "you may go, baldos," said beverly in low tones. "i am not fatigued nor--" he began eagerly. "go!" snarled marlanx. "am i to repeat a command to you? do you ignore the word of your mistress?" there was a significant sneer in the way he said it. "mistress?" gasped baldos, his eye blazing, his arm half raised. "count marlanx!" implored beverly, drawing herself to her full height and staring at him like a wounded thing. "i humbly implore you not to misconstrue the meaning of the term, your highness," said the count affably, "ah, you have dropped something. permit me. it is a note of some description, i think." he stooped quickly--too quickly--and recovered from the ground at her feet the bit of paper which had fallen from her hand. it was the note from ravone to baldos which beverly had forgotten in the excitement of the encounter. "count marlanx, give me that paper!" demanded beverly breathlessly. "is it a love-letter? perhaps it is intended for me. at any rate, your highness, it is safe against my heart for the time being. when we reach the castle i shall be happy to restore it. it is safer with me. come, we go one way and--have you not gone, sir?" in his most sarcastic tone to the guard. beverly was trembling. "no, i have not; and i shall not go until i see you obey the command of her highness. she has asked you for that piece of paper," said baldos, standing squarely in front of marlanx. "insolent dog! do you mean to question my--" "give over that paper!" "if you strike me, fellow, it will be--" "if i strike you it will be to kill, count marlanx. the paper, sir." baldos towered over the iron count and there was danger in his dare-devil voice. "surely, sir, i am but obeying your own instructions. 'protect the princess and all that is hers, with your life,' you have said to me." "oh, i wish you hadn't done this, baldos," cried beverly, panic-stricken. "you have threatened my life. i shall not forget it, fool. here is the precious note, your highness, with my condolences to the writer." marlanx passed the note to her and then looked triumphantly at the guard. "i daresay you have done all you can, sir. do you wish to add anything more?" "what can one do when dealing with his superior and finds him a despicable coward?" said baldos, with cool irony. "you are reputed to be a brave soldier. i know that to be false or i would ask you to draw the sword you carry and--" he was drawing his sword as he spoke. "baldos!" implored beverly. her evident concern infuriated marlanx. in his heart he knew baldos to be a man of superior birth and a foeman not to be despised from his own station. carried away by passion, he flashed his sword from its sheath. "you have drawn on me, sir," he snarled. "i must defend myself against even such as you. you will find that i am no coward. time is short for your gallant lover, madam." before she could utter a word of protest the blades had clashed and they were hungry for blood. it was dark in the shadows of the trees and the trio were quite alone with their tragedy. she heard baldos laugh recklessly in response to marlanx's cry of: "oh, the shame of fighting with such carrion as you!" "don't jest at a time like this, count," said the guard, softly. "remember that i lose, no matter which way it goes. if you kill me i lose, if i beat you i lose. remember, you can still have me shot for insubordination and conduct unbecoming--" "stop!" almost shrieked beverly. at risk of personal injury she rushed between the two swordsmen. both drew back and dropped their points. not a dozen passes had been made. "i beg your highness's pardon," murmured baldos, but he did not sheathe his sword. "he forced it upon me," cried marlanx triumphantly. "you were witness to it all. i was a fool to let it go as far as this. put up your sword until another day--if that day ever comes to you." "he will have you shot for this, baldos," cried beverly in her terror. baldos laughed bitterly. "tied and blindfolded, too, your highness, to prove that he is a brave man and not a coward. it was short but it was sweet. would that you had let the play go on. there was a spice in it that made life worth living and death worth the dying. have you other commands for me, your highness?" his manner was so cool and defiant that she felt the tears spring to her eyes. "only that you put up your sword and end this miserable affair by going to your--your room." "it is punishment enough. to-morrow's execution can be no harder." marlanx had been thinking all this time. into his soul came the thrill of triumph, the consciousness of a mighty power. he saw the chance to benefit by the sudden clash and he was not slow to seize it. "never fear, my man," he said easily, "it won't be as bad as that. i can well afford to overlook your indiscretion of to-night. there will be no execution, as you call it. this was an affair between men not between man and the state. our gracious referee is to be our judge. it is for her to pardon and to condemn. it was very pretty while it lasted and you are too good a swordsman to be shot. go your way, baldos, and remember me as marlanx the man, not marlanx the general. as your superior officer, i congratulate and commend you upon the manner in which you serve the princess." "you will always find me ready to fight and to die for her" said baldos gravely. "do you think you can remember that. count marlanx?" "i have an excellent memory," said the count steadily. with a graceful salute to beverly, baldos turned and walked away in the darkness. "a perfect gentleman, miss calhoun, but a wretched soldier," said marlanx grimly. "he is a hero," she said quietly, a great calmness coming over her. "do you mean it when you say you are not going to have him punished? he did only what a man should do, and i glory in his folly." "i may as well tell you point blank that you alone can save him. he does not deserve leniency. it is in my power and it is my province to have him utterly destroyed, not only for this night's work, but for other and better reasons. i have positive proof that he is a spy. he knows i have this proof. that is why he would have killed me just now. it is for you to say whether he shall meet the fate of a spy or go unscathed. you have but to exchange promises with me and the estimable guardsman goes free--but he goes from edelweiss forever. to-day he met the enemy's scouts in the hills, as you know quite well. messages were exchanged, secretly, which you do not know of, of course. before another day is gone i expect to see the results of his treachery. there may be manifestations to-night. you do not believe me, but wait and see if i am not right. he is one of gabriel's cleverest spies." "i do not believe it. you shall not accuse him of such things," she cried. "besides, if he is a spy why should you shield him for my sake? don't you owe it to graustark to expose--" "here is the princess," said he serenely. "your highness," addressing yetive, "miss calhoun has a note which she refuses to let anyone read but you. now, my dear young lady, you may give it directly into the hands of her highness." beverly gave him a look of scorn, but without a second's hesitation placed the missive in yetive's hand. the iron count's jaw dropped, and he moistened his lips with his tongue two or three times. something told him that a valuable chance had gone. "i shall be only too happy to have your highness read the result of my first lesson in the graustark language," she said, smiling gaily upon the count. two men in uniform came rushing up to the party, manifestly excited. saluting the general, both began to speak at once. "one at a time," commanded the count. "what is it?" other officers of the guard and a few noblemen from the castle came up, out of breath. "we have discerned signal fires in the hills, your excellency," said one of the men from the fort. "there is a circle of fires and they mean something important. for half an hour they have been burning near the monastery; also in the valley below and on the mountains to the south." there was an instant of deathly silence, as if the hearers awaited a crash. marlanx looked steadily at beverly's face and she saw the triumphant, accusing gleam in his eyes. helplessly she stared into the crowd of faces. her eyes fell upon baldos, who suddenly appeared in the background. his face wore a hunted, imploring look. the next instant he disappeared among the shadows. chapter xx gossip of some consequence "there is no time to be lost," exclaimed count marlanx. "ask colonel braze to report to me at the eastern gate with a detail of picked troopers--a hundred of them. i will meet him there in half an hour." he gave other sharp, imperative commands, and in the twinkling of an eye the peaceful atmosphere was transformed into the turbulent, exciting rush of activity. the significance of the fires seen in the hills could not be cheaply held. instant action was demanded. the city was filled with the commotion of alarm; the army was brought to its feet with a jerk that startled even the most ambitious. the first thing that general marlanx did was to instruct quinnox to set a vigilant watch over baldos. he was not to be arrested, but it was understood that the surveillance should be but little short of incarceration. he was found at the barracks shortly after the report concerning the signal fires, and told in plain words that general marlanx had ordered a guard placed over him for the time being, pending the result of an investigation. baldos had confidently expected to be thrown into a dungeon for his affront. he did not know that grenfall lorry stood firm in his conviction that baldos was no spy, and was supported by others in high authority. marlanx was bottling his wrath and holding back his revenge for a distinct purpose. apart from the existence of a strong, healthy prejudice in the guard's favor, what the old general believed and what he could prove were two distinct propositions. he was crafty enough, however, to take advantage of a condition unknown to beverly calhoun, the innocent cause of all his bitterness toward baldos. as he hastened from the council chamber, his eyes swept the crowd of eager, excited women in the grand hall. from among them he picked beverly and advanced upon her without regard for time and consequence. despite her animation he was keen enough to see that she was sorely troubled. she did not shrink from him as he had half expected, but met him with bold disdain in her eyes. "this is the work of your champion," he said in tones that did not reach ears other than her own. "i prophesied it, you must remember. are you satisfied now that you have been deceived in him?" "i have implicit confidence in him. i suppose you have ordered his arrest?" she asked with quiet scorn. "he is under surveillance, at my suggestion. for your sake, and yours alone, i am giving him a chance. he is your protege; you are responsible for his conduct. to accuse him would be to place you in an embarrassing position. there is a sickening rumor in court circles that you have more than a merely kind and friendly interest in the rascal. if i believed that, miss calhoun, i fear my heart could not be kind to him. but i know it is not true. you have a loftier love to give. he is a clever scoundrel, and there is no telling how much harm he has already done to graustark. his every move is to be watched and reported to me. it will be impossible for him to escape. to save him from the vengeance of the army, i am permitting him to remain in your service, ostensibly, at least. his hours of duty have been changed, however. henceforth he is in the night guard, from midnight till dawn. i am telling you this, miss calhoun, because i want you to know that in spite of all the indignity i have suffered, you are more to me than any other being in the world, more to me even than my loyalty to graustark. do me the honor and justice to remember this. i have suffered much for you. i am a rough, hardened soldier, and you have misconstrued my devotion. forgive the harsh words my passion may have inspired. farewell! i must off to undo the damage we all lay at the door of the man you and i are protecting." he was too wise to give her the chance to reply. a moment later he was mounted and off for the eastern gates, there to direct the movements of colonel braze and his scouts. beverly flew at once to yetive with her plea for baldos. she was confronted by a rather sober-faced sovereign. the news of the hour was not comforting to the princess and her ministers. "you don't believe he is a spy?" cried beverly, stopping just inside the door, presuming selfishly that baldos alone was the cause for worry. she resolved to tell yetive of the conflict in the park. "dear me, beverly, i am not thinking of him. we've discussed him jointly and severally and every other way and he has been settled for the time being. you are the only one who is thinking of him, my dear child. we have weightier things to annoy us." "goodness, how you talk! he isn't annoying. oh, forgive me, yetive, for i am the silliest, addle-patedest goose in the kingdom. and you are so troubled. but do you know that he is being watched? they suspect him. so did i, at first, i'll admit it. but i don't--now. have you read the note i gave to you out there?" "yes, dear. it's just as i expected. he has known from the beginning. he knew when he caught dagmar and me spying behind that abominable curtain. but don't worry me any longer about him, please. wait here with me until we have reports from the troops. i shall not sleep until i know what those fires meant. forget baldos for an hour or two, for my sake." "you dear old princess, i'm an awful brute, sure 'nough. i'll forget him forever for your sake. it won't be hard, either. he's just a mere guard. pooh! he's no prince." whereupon, reinforced by mrs. anguish and the countess halfont, she proceeded to devote herself to the task of soothing and amusing the distressed princess while the soldiers of graustark ransacked the moonlit hills. the night passed, and the next day was far on its way to sunset before the scouts came in with tidings. no trace of the mysterious signalers had been found. the embers of the half-dozen fires were discovered, but their builders were gone. the search took in miles of territory, but it was unavailing. not even a straggler was found. the so-called troupe of actors, around whom suspicion centered, had been swallowed by the capacious solitude of the hills. riders from the frontier posts to the south came in with the report that all was quiet in the threatened district. dawsbergen was lying quiescent, but with the readiness of a skulking dog. there was absolutely no solution to the mystery connected with the fires on the mountain sides. baldos was questioned privately and earnestly by lorry and dangloss. his reply was simple, but it furnished food for reflection and, at the same time, no little relief to the troubled leaders. "it is my belief, mr. lorry, that the fires were built by brigands and not by your military foes. i have seen these fires in the north, near axphain, and they were invariably meant to establish communication between separated squads of robbers, all belonging to one band. my friends and i on more than one occasion narrowly escaped disaster by prying into the affairs of these signalers. i take it that the squads have been operating in the south and were brought together last night by means of the fires. doubtless they have some big project of their own sort on foot." that night the city looked for a repetition of the fires, but the mountains were black from dusk till dawn. word reached the castle late in the evening, from ganlook, that an axphainian nobleman and his followers would reach edelweiss the next day. the visit was a friendly but an important one. the nobleman was no other than the young duke of mizrox, intimate friend of the unfortunate prince lorenz who met his death at the hand of prince gabriel, and was the leader of the party which opposed the vengeful plans of princess volga. his arrival in edelweiss was awaited with deep anxiety, for it was suspected that his news would be of the most important character. beverly calhoun sat on the balcony with the princess long after midnight. the sky was black with the clouds of an approaching storm; the air was heavy with foreboding silence. twice, from their darkened corner near the pillar, they saw baldos as he paced steadily past the castle on patrol, with haddan at his side. dreamily the watchers in the cool balcony looked down upon the somber park and its occasional guardsman. neither was in the mood to talk. as they rose at last to go to their rooms, something whizzed through the air and dropped with a slight thud in the center of the balcony. the two young women started back in alarm. a faint light from beverly's window filtered across the stone floor. "don't touch it, beverly," cried the princess, as the girl started forward with an eager exclamation. but beverly had been thinking of the very object that now quivered before her in the dull light, saucy, aggressive and jaunty as it was the night when she saw it for the first time. a long, slim red feather bobbed to and fro as if saluting her with soldierly fidelity. its base was an orange, into which it had been stuck by the hand that tossed it from below. beverly grasped it with more ecstasy than wisdom and then rushed to the stone railing, yetive looking on in amazement. diligently she searched the ground below for the man who had sent the red message, but he was nowhere in sight. then came the sudden realization that she was revealing a most unmaidenly eagerness, to him as well as to the princess, for she did not doubt that he was watching from the shadows below. she withdrew from the rail in confusion and fled to her bed-chamber, followed by her curious companion. there were explanations--none of which struck speaker or listener as logical--and there were giggles which completely simplified the situation. beverly thrust the slim red feather into her hair, and struck an attitude that would have set baldos wild with joy if he could have seen it. the next day, when she appeared in the park, the feather stood up defiantly from the band of her sailor hat, though womanly perverseness impelled her to ignore baldos when he passed her on his way to mess. the duke of mizrox came into the city hours after the time set for his arrival. it was quite dark when the escort sent by colonel quinnox drew up at the castle gates with the visitor. the duke and his party had been robbed by brigands in the broad daylight and at a point not more than five miles from edelweiss! and thus the mystery of the signal fires was explained. count marlanx did not soon forget the triumphant look he received from beverly calhoun when the duke's misfortunes were announced. shameless as it may seem, she rejoiced exceedingly over the acts of the robbers. mizrox announced to the princess and her friends that he was not an emissary from the axphainian government. instead, he was but little less than a fugitive from the wrath of volga and the crown adherents. earlier in the week he had been summoned before volga and informed that his absence for a few months, at least, from the principality was desirable. the privilege was allowed him of selecting the country which he desired to visit during that period, and he coolly chose graustark. he was known to have friendly feelings for that state; but no objections were raised. this friendship also gave him a welcome in edelweiss. mizrox plainly stated his position to yetive and the prime minister. he asked for protection, but declined to reveal any of the plans then maturing in his home country. this reluctance to become a traitor, even though he was not in sympathy with his sovereign, was respected by the princess. he announced his willingness to take up arms against dawsbergen, but would in no way antagonize axphain from an enemy's camp. the duke admitted that the feeling in axphain's upper circles was extremely bitter toward graustark. the old-time war spirit had not died down. axphain despised her progressive neighbor. "i may as well inform your highness that the regent holds another and a deeper grudge against graustark," he said, in the audience chamber where were assembled many of the nobles of the state, late on the night of his arrival. "she insists that you are harboring and even shielding the pretender to our throne, prince frederic. it is known that he is in graustark and, moreover, it is asserted that he is in direct touch with your government." yetive and her companions looked at one another with glances of comprehension. he spoke in english now for the benefit of beverly calhoun, an interested spectator, who felt her heart leap suddenly and swiftly into violent insurrection. "nothing could be more ridiculous," said yetive after a pause. "we do not know frederic, and we are not harboring him." "i am only saying what is believed to be true by axphain, your highness. it is reported that he joined you in the mountains in june and since has held a position of trust in your army." "would you know prince frederic if you were to see him?" quietly asked lorry. "i have not seen him since he was a very small boy, and then but for a moment--on the day when he and his mother were driven through the streets on their way to exile." "we have a new man in the castle guard and there is a mystery attached to him. would you mind looking at him and telling us if he is what frederic might be in his manhood?" lorry put the question and everyone present drew a deep breath of interest. mizrox readily consented and baldos, intercepted on his rounds, was led unsuspecting into an outer chamber. the duke, accompanied by lorry and baron dangloss, entered the room. they were gone from the assemblage but a few minutes, returning with smiles of uncertainty on their faces. "it is impossible, your highness, for me to say whether or not it is frederic," said the duke frankly. "he is what i imagine the pretender might be at his age, but it would be sheer folly for me to speculate. i do not know the man." beverly squeezed the countess dagmar's arm convulsively. "hurrah!" she whispered, in great relief. dagmar looked at her in astonishment. she could not fathom the whimsical american. "they have been keeping an incessant watch over the home of frederic's cousin. he is to marry her when the time is propitious," volunteered the young duke. "she is the most beautiful girl in axphain, and the family is one of the wealthiest. her parents bitterly oppose the match. they were to have been secretly married some months ago, and there is a rumor to the effect that they did succeed in evading the vigilance of her people." "you mean that they may be married?" asked yetive, casting a quick glance at beverly. "it is not improbable, your highness. he is known to be a daring young fellow, and he has never failed in a siege against the heart of woman. report has it that he is the most invincible lothario that ever donned love's armor." beverly was conscious of furtive glances in her direction, and a faint pink stole into her temples. "our fugitive princes are lucky in neither love nor war," went on the duke. "poor dantan, who is hiding from gabriel, is betrothed to the daughter of the present prime minister of dawsbergen, the beautiful iolanda, i have seen her. she is glorious, your highness." "i, too, have seen her," said yetive, more gravely than she thought. "the report of their betrothal is true, then?" "his sudden overthrow prevented the nuptials which were to have taken place in a month had not gabriel returned. her father, the duke of matz, wisely accepted the inevitable and became prime minister to gabriel. iolanda, it is said, remains true to him and sends messages to him as he wanders through the mountains." beverly's mind instantly reverted to the confessions of baldos. he had admitted the sending and receiving of messages through franz. try as she would, she could not drive the thought from her mind that he was dantan and now came the distressing fear that his secret messages were words of love from iolanda. the audience lasted until late in the night, but she was so occupied with her own thoughts that she knew of but little that transpired. of one thing she was sure. she could not go to sleep that night. chapter xxi the rose the next morning aunt fanny had a hard time of it. her mistress was petulant; there was no sunshine in the bright august day as it appeared to her. toward dawn, after she had counted many millions of black sheep jumping backward over a fence, she had fallen asleep. aunt fanny obeyed her usual instructions on this luckless morning. it was beverly's rule to be called every morning at seven o'clock. but how was her attendant to know that the graceful young creature who had kicked the counterpane to the foot of the bed and had mauled the pillow out of all shape, had slept for less than thirty minutes? how was she to know that the flushed face and frown were born in the course of a night of distressing perplexities? she knew only that the sleeping beauty who lay before her was the fairest creature in all the universe. for some minutes aunt fanny stood off and admired the rich youthful glory of the sleeper, prophetically reluctant to disturb her happiness. then she obeyed the impulse of duty and spoke the summoning words. "wha--what time is it?" demanded the newcomer from the land of nod, stretching her fine young body with a splendid but discontented yawn. "seben, miss bev'ly; wha' time do yo' s'pose hit is? hit's d' reg'lah time, o' co'se. did yo' all have a nice sleep, honey?" and aunt fanny went blissfully about the business of the hour. "i didn't sleep a wink, confound it," grumbled beverly, rubbing her eyes and turning on her back to glare up at the tapestry above the couch. "yo' wasn' winkin' any when ah fust come into de room, lemme tell yo'," cackled aunt fanny with caustic freedom. "see here, now, aunt fanny, i'm not going to stand any lecture from you this morning. when a fellow hasn't slept a--" "who's a-lecturin' anybody, ah'd lak to know? ah'm jes' tellin' yo' what yo' was a-doin' when ah came into de room. yo' was a-sleepin' p'etty doggone tight, lemme tell yo'. is yo' goin' out fo' yo' walk befo' b'eakfus, honey? 'cause if yo' is, yo' all 'll be obleeged to climb out'n dat baid maghty quick-like. yo' baf is ready, miss bev'ly." beverly splashed the water with unreasonable ferocity for a few minutes, trying to enjoy a diversion that had not failed her until this morning. "aunt fanny," she announced, after looking darkly through her window into the mountains above, "if you can't brush my hair--ouch!--any easier than this, i'll have someone else do it, that's all. you're a regular old bear." "po' lil' honey," was all the complacent "bear" said in reply, without altering her methods in the least. "well," said beverly threateningly, with a shake of her head, "be careful, that's all. have you heard the news?" "wha' news, miss bev'ly?" "we're going back to washin'ton." "thank de lawd! when?" "i don't know. i've just this instant made up my mind. i think we'll start--let's see: this is the sixth of august, isn't it? well, look and see, if you don't know, stupid. the tenth? my goodness, where has the time gone, anyway? well? we'll start sometime between the eleventh and the twelfth." "of dis monf, miss bev'ly?" "no; september. i want you to look up a timetable for me to-day. we must see about the trains." "dey's on'y one leavin' heah daily, an' hit goes at six in de mo'nin'. one train a day! ain' 'at scan'lous?" "i'm sure, aunt fanny, it is their business--not ours," said beverly severely. "p'raps dey mought be runnin' a excuhsion 'roun' 'baout septembeh, miss bev'ly," speculated aunt fanny consolingly. "dey gen'ly has 'em in septembeh." "you old goose," cried beverly, in spite of herself. "ain' yo' habin' er good time, honey?" "no, i am not." "fo' de lan's sake, ah wouldn' s'picioned hit fo' a minnit. hit's de gayest place ah mos' eveh saw--'cept wash'ton an' lex'ton an' vicksbu'g." "well, you don't know everything," said beverly crossly. "i wish you'd take that red feather out of my hat--right away." "shall ah frow hit away, miss bev'ly?" "we--ll, no; you needn't do that," said beverly, "put it on my dressing-table. i'll attend to it." "wha's become o' de gemman 'at wo' hit in the fust place? ah ain' seen him fo' two--three days." "i'm sure i don't know. he's probably asleep. that class of people never lose sleep over anything." "'e's er pow'ful good-lookin' pusson," suggested aunt fanny. beverly's eyes brightened. "oh, do you think so?" she said, quite indifferently. "what are you doing with that hat?" "takin' out de featheh--jes' as--" "well, leave it alone. don't disturb my things, aunt fanny. how many times must i tell you--" "good lawd!" was all that aunt fanny could say. "don't forget about the time-tables," said beverly, as she sallied forth for her walk in the park. in the afternoon she went driving with princess yetive and the young duke of mizrox, upon whose innocent and sufficiently troubled head she was heaping secret abuse because of the news he brought. later, count marlanx appeared at the castle for his first lesson in poker. he looked so sure of himself that beverly hated him to the point of desperation. at the same time she was eager to learn how matters stood with baldos. the count's threat still hung over her head, veiled by its ridiculous shadow of mercy. she knew him well enough by this time to feel convinced that baldos would have to account for his temerity, sooner or later. it was like the cat and the helpless mouse. "it's too hot," she protested, when he announced himself ready for the game. "nobody plays poker when it's in the shade." "but, your highness," complained the count, "war may break out any day. i cannot concede delay." "i think there's a game called 'shooting craps,'" suggested she serenely. "it seems to me it would be particularly good for warriors. you could be shooting something all the time." he went away in a decidedly irascible frame of mind. she did not know it, but baldos was soon afterward set to work in the garrison stables, a most loathsome occupation, in addition to his duties as a guard by night. after mature deliberation beverly set herself to the task of writing home to her father. it was her supreme intention to convince him that she would be off for the states in an amazingly short time. the major, upon receiving the letter three weeks later, found nothing in it to warrant the belief that she was ever coming home. he did observe, however, that she had but little use for the army of graustark, and was especially disappointed in the set of men yetive retained as her private guard. for the life of her, beverly could not have told why she disapproved of the guard in general or in particular, but she was conscious of the fact, after the letter was posted, that she had said many things that might have been left unwritten. besides, it was not baldos's fault that she could not sleep; it was distinctly her own. he had nothing to do with it. "i'll bet father will be glad to hear that i am coming home," she said to yetive, after the letter was gone. "oh, beverly, dear, i hate to hear of your going," cried the princess. "when did you tell him you'd start?" "why, oh,--er--let me see; when _did_ i say? dash me--as mr. anguish would say--i don't believe i gave a date. it seems to me i said _soon_, that's all." "you don't know how relieved i am," exclaimed yetive rapturously? and beverly was in high dudgeon because of the implied reflection, "i believe you are in a tiff with baldos," went on yetive airily. "goodness! how foolish you can be at times, yetive," was what beverly gave back to her highness, the princess of graustark. late in the evening couriers came in from the dawsbergen frontier with reports which created considerable excitement in castle and army circles. prince gabriel himself had been seen in the northern part of his domain, accompanied by a large detachment of picked soldiers. lorry set out that very night for the frontier, happy in the belief that something worth while was about to occur. general marlanx issued orders for the edelweiss army corps to mass beyond the southern gates of the city the next morning. commands were also sent to the outlying garrisons. there was to be a general movement of troops before the end of the week. graustark was not to be caught napping. long after the departure of lorry and anguish, the princess sat on the balcony with beverly and the countess dagmar. they did not talk much. the mission of these venturesome young american husbands was full of danger. something in the air had told their wives that the first blows of war were to be struck before they looked again upon the men they loved. "i think we have been betrayed by someone," said dagmar, after an almost interminable silence. her companion did not reply. "the couriers say that gabriel knows where we are weakest at the front and that he knows our every movement. yetive, there is a spy here, after all." "and that spy has access to the very heart of our deliberations," added beverly pointedly. "i say this in behalf of the man whom you evidently suspect, countess. _he_ could not know these things." "i do not say that he does know, miss calhoun, but it is not beyond reason that he may be the go-between, the means of transferring information from the main traitor to the messengers who await outside our walls." "oh, i don't believe it!" cried beverly hotly. "i wonder if these things would have happened if baldos had never come to edelweiss?" mused the princess. as though by common impulse, both of the graustark women placed their arms about beverly. "it's because we have so much at stake, beverly, dear," whispered dagmar. "forgive me if i have hurt you." of course, beverly sobbed a little in the effort to convince them that she did not care whom they accused, if he proved to be the right man in the end. they left her alone on the balcony. for an hour after midnight she sat there and dreamed. everyone was ready to turn against baldos. even she had been harsh toward him, for had she not seen him relegated to the most obnoxious of duties after promising him a far different life? and now what was he thinking of her? his descent from favor had followed upon the disclosures which made plain to each the identity of the other. no doubt he was attributing his degradation, in a sense, to the fact that she no longer relished his services, having seen a romantic little ideal shattered by his firm assertions. of course, she knew that general marlanx was alone instrumental in assigning him to the unpleasant duty he now observed, but how was baldos to know that she was not the real power behind the iron count? a light drizzle began to fall, cold and disagreeable. there were no stars, no moon. the ground below was black with shadows, but shimmering in spots touched by the feeble park lamps. she retreated through her window, determined to go to bed. her rebellious brain, however, refused to banish him from her thoughts. she wondered if he were patroling the castle grounds in the rain, in all that lonely darkness. seized by a sudden inspiration, she threw a gossamer about her, grasped an umbrella and ventured out upon the balcony once more. guiltily she searched the night through the fine drizzling rain; her ears listened eagerly for the tread which was so well known to her. at last he strode beneath a lamp not far away. he looked up, but, of course, could not see her against the dark wall. for a long time he stood motionless beneath the light. she could not help seeing that he was dejected, tired, unhappy. his shoulders drooped, and there as a general air of listlessness about the figure which had once been so full of courage and of hope. the post light fell directly upon his face. it was somber, despondent, strained. he wore the air of a prisoner. her heart went out to him like a flash. the debonair knight of the black patch was no more; in his place there stood a sullen slave to discipline. "baldos!" she called softly, her voice penetrating the dripping air with the clearness of a bell. he must have been longing for the sound of it, for he started and looked eagerly in her direction. his tall form straightened as he passed his hand over his brow. it was but a voice from his dream, he thought. "aren't you afraid you'll get wet?" asked the same low, sweet voice, with the suggestion of a laugh behind it. with long strides he crossed the pavement and stood almost directly beneath her. "your highness!" he exclaimed gently, joyously. "what are you doing out there?" "wondering, baldos--wondering what you were thinking of as you stood under the lamp over there." "i was thinking of your highness," he called up, softly. "no, no!" she protested. "i, too, was wondering--wondering what you were dreaming of as you slept, for you should be asleep at this hour, your highness, instead of standing out there in the rain." "baldos," she called down tremulously, "you don't like this work, do you?" "it has nothing but darkness in it for me. i never see the light of your eyes. i never feel the--" "sh! you must not talk like that. it's not proper, and besides someone may be listening. the night has a thousand ears--or is it eyes? but listen: to-morrow you shall be restored to your old duties. you surely cannot believe that i had anything to do with the order which compels you to work at this unholy hour." "i was afraid you were punishing me for my boldness. my heart has been sore--you never can know how sore. i was disgraced, dismissed, forgotten--" "no, no--you _were_ not! you must not say that. go away now, baldos. you will ride with me to-morrow," she cried nervously. "please go to some place where you won't get dripping wet." "you forget that i am on guard," he said with a laugh. "but you are a wise counsellor. is the rain so pleasant to you?" "i have an umbrella," she protested. "what are you doing?" she cried in alarm. he was coming hand over hand, up the trellis-work that enclosed the lower verandah. "i am coming to a place where i won't get dripping wet," he called softly. there was a dangerous ring in his voice and she drew back in a panic. "you must not!" she cried desperately. "this is madness! go down, sir!" "i am happy enough to fly, but cannot. so i do the next best thing--i climb to you." his arm was across the stone railing by this time and he was panting from the exertion, not two feet from where she crouched. "just one minute of heaven before i go back to the shadow of earth. i am happy again. marlanx told me you had dismissed me. i wonder what he holds in reserve for me. i knew he lied, but it is not until now that i rejoice. come, you are to shield me from the rain." "oh, oh!" she gasped, overwhelmed by his daring passion. "i should die if anyone saw you here." yet she spasmodically extended the umbrella so that it covered him and left her out in the drizzle. "and so should i," responded he softly. "listen to me. for hours and hours i have been longing for the dear old hills in which you found me. i wanted to crawl out of edelweiss and lose myself forever in the rocks and crags. to-night when you saw me i was trying to say good-bye to you forever. i was trying to make up my mind to desert. i could not endure the new order of things. you had cast me off. my friends out there were eager to have me with them. in the city everyone is ready to call me a spy--even you, i thought. life was black and drear. now, my princess, it is as bright as heaven itself." "you must not talk like this," she whispered helplessly. "you are making me sorry i called to you." "i should have heard you if you had only whispered, my rain princess. i have no right to talk of love--i am a vagabond; but i have a heart, and it is a bold one. perhaps i dream that i am here beside you--so near that i can touch your face--but it is the sweetest of dreams. but for it i should have left edelweiss weeks ago. i shall never awaken from this dream; you cannot rob me of the joys of dreaming." under the spell of his passion she drew nearer to him as he clung strongly to the rail. the roses at her throat came so close that he could bury his face in them. her hand touched his cheek, and he kissed its palm again and again, his wet lips stinging her blood to the tips of her toes. "go away, please," she implored faintly. "don't you see that you must not stay here--now?" "a rose, my princess,--one rose to kiss all through the long night," he whispered. she could feel his eyes burning into her heart. with trembling, hurried fingers she tore loose a rose. he could not seize it with his hands because of the position he held, and she laughed tantalizingly. then she kissed it first and pressed it against his mouth. his lips and teeth closed over the stem and the rose was his. "there are thorns," she whispered, ever so softly. "they are the riches of the poor," he murmured with difficulty, but she understood. "now, go," she said, drawing resolutely away. an instant later his head disappeared below the rail. peering over the side she saw his figure spring easily to the ground, and then came the rapid, steady tramp as he went away on his dreary patrol. "i couldn't help it," she was whispering to herself between joy and shame. glancing instinctively out toward the solitary lamp she saw two men standing in its light. one of them was general marlanx; the other she knew to be the spy that watched baldos. her heart sank like lead when she saw that the two were peering intently toward the balcony where she stood, and where baldos had clung but a moment before. chapter xxii a proposal she shrank back with a great dread in her heart. marlanx, of all men! why was he in the park at this hour of the night? there could be but one answer, and the very thought of it almost suffocated her. he was drawing the net with his own hands, he was spying with his own eyes. for a full minute it seemed to her that her heart would stop beating. how long had he been standing there? what had he seen or heard? involuntarily she peered over the rail for a glimpse of baldos. he had gone out into the darkness, missing the men at the lamp-post either by choice or through pure good fortune. a throb of thankfulness assailed her heart. she was not thinking of her position, but of his. again she drew stealthily away from the rail, possessed of a ridiculous feeling that her form was as plain to the vision as if it were broad daylight. the tread of a man impelled her to glance below once more before fleeing to her room. marlanx was coming toward the verandah. she fled swiftly, pausing at the window to lower the friendly but forgotten umbrella. from below came the sibilant hiss of a man seeking to attract her attention. once more she stopped to listen. the "hist" was repeated, and then her own name was called softly but imperatively. it was beyond the power of woman to keep from laughing. it struck her as irresistibly funny that the iron count should be standing out there in the rain, signaling to her like a love-sick boy. once she was inside, however, it did not seem so amusing. still, it gave her an immense amount of satisfaction to slam the windows loudly, as if in pure defiance. then she closed the blinds, shutting out the night completely. turning up the light at her dressing-table, she sat down in a state of sudden collapse. for a long time she stared at her face in the mirror. she saw the red of shame and embarrassment mount to her cheeks and then she covered her eyes with her hands. "oh, what a fool you've been," she half sobbed, shrinking from the mirror as if it were an accuser. she prepared for bed with frantic haste. just as she was about to scramble in and hide her face in the pillows, a shocking thought came to her. the next she was at the windows and the slats were closed with a rattle like a volley of firearms. then she jumped into bed. she wondered if the windows were locked. out she sprang again like a flash, and her little bare feet scurried across the room, first to the windows and then to the door. "now, i reckon i'm safe," she murmured a moment later, again getting into bed. "i love to go to sleep with the rain pattering outside like that. oh, dear, i'm so sorry he has to walk all night in this rain. poor fellow! i wonder where he is now. goodness, it's raining cats and dogs!" but in spite of the rain she could not go to sleep. vague fears began to take possession of her. something dreadful told her that count marlanx was on the balcony and at her window, notwithstanding the rain pour. the fear became oppressive, maddening. she felt the man's presence almost as strongly as if he were in plain view. he was there, she knew it. the little revolver that had served her so valiantly at the inn of the hawk and raven lay upon a stool near the bedside every night. consumed by the fear that the window might open slowly at any moment, she reached forth and clutched the weapon. then she shrank back in the bed, her eyes fixed upon the black space across the room. for hours she shivered and waited for the window to open, dozing away time and again only to come back to wakefulness with a start. the next morning she confessed to herself that her fears had been silly. her first act after breakfasting alone in her room was to seek out colonel quinnox, commander of the castle guard. in her mind she was greatly troubled over the fate of the bold visitor of the night before. there was a warm, red glow in her face and a quick beat in her heart as she crossed the parade-ground. vagabond though he was, he had conquered where princes had failed. her better judgment told her that she could be nothing to this debonair knight of the road, yet her heart stubbornly resisted all the arguments that her reason put forth. colonel quinnox was pleasant, but he could give beverly no promise of leniency in regard to baldos. instructions had come to him from general marlanx, and he could not set them aside at will. her plea that he might once more be assigned to old-time duties found the colonel regretfully obdurate. baldos could not ride with her again until marlanx withdrew the order which now obtained, beverly swallowed her pride and resentment diplomatically, smiled her sweetest upon the distressed colonel, and marched defiantly back to the castle. down in her rebellious, insulted heart she was concocting all sorts of plans for revenge. chief among them was the terrible overthrow of the iron count. her wide scope of vengeance even contemplated the destruction of graustark if her end could be obtained in no other way. full of these bitter-sweet thoughts she came to the castle doors before she saw who was waiting for her upon the great verandah. as she mounted the steps, a preoccupied frown upon her fair brow, general marlanx, lean, crafty and confident, advanced to greet her. the early hour was responsible for the bright solitude which marked the place. but few signs of life were in evidence about the castle. she stopped with a sharp exclamation of surprise. then scorn and indignation rushed in to fill the place of astonishment. she faced the smiling old man with anger in her eyes. "good morning," he said, extending his hand, which she did not see. she was wondering how much he had seen and heard at midnight. "i thought the troops were massing this morning," she said coldly. "don't you mass, too?" "there is time enough for that, my dear. i came to have a talk with you--in private," he said meaningly. "it is sufficiently private here, count marlanx. what have you to say to me?" "i want to talk about last night. you were very reckless to do what you did." "oh, you _were_ playing the spy, then?" she asked scornfully. "an involuntary observer, believe me--and a jealous one. i had hoped to win the affections of an innocent girl. what i saw last night shocked me beyond expression." "well, you shouldn't have looked," she retorted, tossing her chin; and the red feather in her hat bobbed angrily. "i am surprised that one as clever as you are could have carried on an amour so incautiously," he said blandly. "what do you mean?" "i mean that i saw everything that occurred." "well, i'm not ashamed of it," obstinately. "good-bye, count marlanx." "one moment, please. i cannot let you off so easily. what right had you to take that man into your room, a place sacred in the palace of graustark? answer me, miss calhoun." beverly drew back in horror and bewilderment. "into my room?" she gasped. "let us waste no time in subterfuge. i saw him come from your window, and i saw all that passed between you in the balcony. love's eyes are keen. what occurred in your chamber i can only--" "stop! how dare you say such a thing to me?" she fiercely cried. "you miserable coward! you know he was not in my room. take it back--take back every word of that lie!" she was white with passion, cold with terror. "bah! this is childish. i am not the only one who _saw_ him, my dear. he was in your room--you were in his arms. it's useless to deny it. and to think that i have spared him from death to have it come to this! you need not look so horrified. your secret is safe with me. i come to make terms with you. my silence in exchange for your beauty. it's worth it to you. one word from me, you are disgraced and baldos dies. come, my fair lady, give me your promise, it's a good bargain for both." beverly was trembling like a leaf. this phase of his villainy had not occurred to her. she was like a bird trying to avoid the charmed eye of the serpent. "oh, you--you miserable wretch!" she cried, hoarse with anger and despair. "what a cur you are! you know you are not speaking the truth. how can you say such things to me? i have never wronged you--" she was almost in tears, impotent with shame and fear. "it has been a pretty game of love for you and the excellent baldos. you have deceived those who love you best and trust you most. what will the princess say when she hears of last night's merry escapade? what will she say when she learns who was hostess to a common guardsman at the midnight hour? it is no wonder that you look terrified. it is for you to say whether she is to know or not. you can bind me to silence. you have lost baldos. take me and all that i can give you in his stead, and the world never shall know the truth. you love him, i know, and there is but one way to save him. say the word and he goes free to the hills; decline and his life is not worth a breath of air." "and pretending to believe this of me, you still ask me to be your wife. what kind of a man are you?" she demanded, scarcely able to speak. "my wife?" he said harshly. "oh, no. you are not the wife of baldos," he added significantly. "good god!" gasped beverly, crushed by the brutality of it all. "i would sooner die. would to heaven my father were here, he would shoot you as he would a dog! oh, how i loathe you! don't you try to stop me! i shall go to the princess myself. she shall know what manner of beast you are." she was racing up the steps, flaming with anger and shame. "remember, i can prove what i have said. beware what you do. i love you so much that i now ask you to become my wife. think well over it. your honor and his life! it rests with you," he cried eagerly, following her to the door. "you disgusting old fool," she hissed, turning upon him as she pulled the big brass knocker on the door. "i must have my answer to-night, or you know what will happen," he snarled, but he felt in his heart that he had lost through his eagerness. she flew to yetive's boudoir, consumed by rage and mortification. between sobs and feminine maledictions she poured the whole story, in all its ugliness, into the ears of the princess. "now, yetive, you have to stand by me in this," announced the narrator conclusively, her eyes beaming hopefully through her tears. "i cannot prevent general marlanx from preferring serious charges against baldos, dear. i know he was not in your room last night. you did not have to tell me that, because i saw you both at the balcony rail." beverly's face took on such a radiant look of rejoicing that yetive was amply paid for the surprising and gratifying acknowledgment of a second period of eavesdropping. "you may depend upon me to protect you from marlanx. he can make it very unpleasant for baldos, but he shall pay dearly for this insult to you. he has gone too far." "i don't think he has any proof against baldos," said beverly, thinking only of the guardsman. "but it is so easy to manufacture evidence, my dear. the iron count has set his heart upon having you, and he is not the man to be turned aside easily." "he seems to think he can get wives as easily as he gets rid of them, i observe. i was going back to washington soon, yetive, but i'll stay on now and see this thing to the end. he can't scare a calhoun, no sir-ee. i'll telegraph for my brother dan to come over here and punch his head to pieces." "now, now,--don't be so high and mighty, dear. let us see how rational we can be," said the princess gently. whereupon the hot-headed girl from dixie suspended hostilities and became a very demure young woman. before long she was confessing timidly, then boldly, that she loved baldos better than anything in all the world. "i can't help it, yetive. i know i oughtn't to, but what is there to do when one can't help it? there would be an awful row at home if i married him. of course, he hasn't asked me. maybe he won't. in fact, i'm sure he won't. i shan't give him a chance. but if he does ask me i'll just keep putting him off. i've done it before, you know. you see, for a long, long time, i fancied he might be a prince, but he isn't at all. i've had his word for it. he's just an ordinary person--like--like--well, like i am. only he doesn't look so ordinary. isn't he handsome, yetive? and, dear me, he is so impulsive! if he had asked me to jump over the balcony rail with him last night, i believe i would have done it. wouldn't that have surprised old marlanx?" beverly gave a merry laugh. the troubles of the morning seemed to fade away under the warmth of her humor. yetive sat back and marvelled at the manner in which this blithe young american cast out the "blue devils." "you must not do anything foolish, beverly," she cautioned, "your parents would never forgive me if i allowed you to marry or even to fall in love with any tom, dick or harry over here. baldos may be the gallant, honest gentleman we believe him to be, but he also may be the worst of adventurers. one can never tell, dear. i wish now that i had not humored you in your plan to bring him to the castle. i'm afraid i have done wrong. you have seen too much of him and--oh, well, you _will_ be sensible, won't you, dear?" there was real concern in the face of the princess. beverly kissed her rapturously. "don't worry about me, yetive. i know how to take care of myself. worry about your old gabriel, if you like, but don't bother your head about me," she cried airily. "now let's talk about the war. marlanx won't do anything until he hears from me. what's the use worrying?" nightfall brought general marlanx in from the camps outside the gates. he came direct to the castle and boldly sent word to beverly that he must speak to her at once. she promptly answered that she did not want to see him and would not. without a moment's hesitation he appealed for an audience with the princess, and it was granted. he proceeded, with irate coolness, to ask how far she believed herself bound to protect the person of baldos, the guard. he understood that she was under certain obligations to miss calhoun and he wanted to be perfectly sure of his position before taking a step which now seemed imperative. baldos was a spy in the employ of dawsbergen. he had sufficient proof to warrant his arrest and execution; there were documents, and there was positive knowledge that he had conferred with strangers from time to time, even within the walls of the castle grounds. marlanx cited instances in which baldos had been seen talking to a strange old man inside the grounds, and professed to have proof that he had gone so far as to steal away by night to meet men beyond the city walls. he was now ready to seize the guard, but would not do so until he had conferred with his sovereign. "miss calhoun tells me that you have made certain proposals to her, count marlanx," said yetive coldly, her eyes upon his hawkish face. "i have asked her to be my wife, your highness." "you have threatened her, count marlanx." "she has exposed herself to you? i would not have told what i saw last night." "would it interest you to know that i saw everything that passed on the balcony last night? you will allow me to say, general, that you have behaved in a most outrageous manner in approaching my guest with such foul proposals. stop, sir! she has told me everything and i believe her. i believe my own eyes. there is no need to discuss the matter further. you have lost the right to be called a man. for the present i have only to say that you shall be relieved of the command of my army. the man who makes war on women is not fit to serve one. as for baldos, you are at liberty to prefer the charges. he shall have a fair trial, rest assured." "your highness, hear me," implored marlanx, white to the roots of his hair. "i will hear what you have to say when my husband is at my side." "i can but stand condemned, then, your highness, without a hearing. my vindication will come, however. with your permission, i retire to contrive the arrest of this spy. you may depose me, but you cannot ask me to neglect my duty to graustark. i have tried to save him for miss calhoun's sake--" but her hand was pointing to the door. ten minutes later beverly was hearing everything from the lips of the princess, and marlanx was cursing his way toward the barracks, vengeance in his heart. but a swift messenger from the castle reached the guard-room ahead of him. colonel quinnox was reading an official note from the princess when marlanx strode angrily into the room. "bring this fellow baldos to me, colonel quinnox," he said, without greeting. "i regret to say that i have but this instant received a message from her highness, commanding me to send him to the castle," said quinnox, with a smile. "the devil! what foolishness is this?" snarled the iron count. "have a care, sir," said quinnox stiffly. "it is of the princess you speak." "bah! i am here to order the man's arrest. it is more important than--" "nevertheless, sir, he goes to the castle first. this note says that i am to disregard any command you may give until further notice." marlanx fell back amazed and stunned. at this juncture baldos entered the room. quinnox handed him an envelope, telling him that it was from the princess and that he was to repair at once to the castle, baldos glanced at the handwriting, and his face lit up proudly. "i am ready to go, sir," he said, passing the iron count with a most disconcerting smile on his face. chapter xxiii a shot in the darkness baldos started off at once for the castle, his heart singing. in the darkness of the night he kissed the message which had come to him from "her highness." the envelope had been closed with the official seal of yetive, princess of graustark, and was sacred to the eyes of anyone save the man to whom it was directed. the words it contained were burned deep in his brain: "you are ordered to report for duty in the castle. come at once. her highness has sent an official command to colonel quinnox. count marlanx has been here. you are not expected to desert until you have seen me. there is an underground passage somewhere.--b." baldos went alone and swiftly. the note to colonel quinnox had been imperative. he was to serve as an inner guard until further orders. someone, it was reported, had tried to enter miss calhoun's room from the outside during the rainstorm of the previous night, and a special guard was to be stationed near the door. all of this was unknown to baldos, but he did not ask for any explanations. he was half way to the castle when the sharp report of a gun startled him. a bullet whizzed close to his ear! baldos broke into a crouching run, but did not change his course. he knew that the shot was intended for him, and that its mission was to prevent him from reaching the castle. the attendants at the castle door admitted him, panting and excited, and he was taken immediately to the enchanted boudoir of the princess which but few men were fortunate enough to enter. there were three women in the room. "i am here to report, your highness," said he, bowing low before the real princess, with a smile upon his flushed face. "you are prompt," said the princess "what have you to report, sir?" "that an attempt has just been made to kill a member of the castle guard," he coolly answered. "impossible!" "i am quite certain of it, your highness. the bullet almost clipped my ear." "good heavens!" gasped the listeners. then they eagerly plied him with more agitated questions than he could answer. "and did you not pursue the wretch?" cried the princess. "no, your highness. i was commanded to report to you at once. only the success of the assassin could have made me--well, hesitate," said he calmly. "a soldier has but to obey." "do you think there was a deliberate attempt to kill you?" asked the countess dagmar. beverly calhoun was dumb with consternation. "i cannot say, madame. possibly it was an accidental discharge. one should not make accusations unsupported. if you have no immediate need of my services, your highness, i will ask you to grant me leave of absence for half an hour. i have a peculiar longing to investigate." there was a determined gleam in his eyes. "no? no!" cried beverly. "don't you dare to go out there again. you are to stay right here in the castle, sir. we have something else for you to do. it was that awful old marlanx who shot at you. he--" "i left general marlanx in colonel quinnox's quarters, miss calhoun," interposed baldos grimly. "he could not have fired the shot. for two or three nights, your highness, i have been followed and dogged with humiliating persistence by two men wearing the uniforms of castle guards. they do not sleep at the barracks. may i ask what i have done to be submitted to such treatment?" there was a trace of poorly concealed indignation in his voice. "i assure you that this is news to me," said yetive in amazement. "i am being watched as if i were a common thief," he went on boldly. "these men are not your agents; they are not the agents of graustark. may i be permitted to say that they are spies set upon me by a man who has an object in disgracing me? who that man is, i leave to your royal conjecture." "marlanx?" "yes, your highness. he bears me a deadly grudge and yet he fears me. i know full well that he and his agents have built a strong case against me. they are almost ready to close in upon me, and they will have false evidence so craftily prepared that even my truest friends may doubt my loyalty to you and to the cause i serve. before god, i have been true to my oath. i am loyal to graustark. it was a sorry day when i left the valley and--" "oh!" cried beverly piteously. "don't say that." "alas, miss calhoun, it is true," said he sadly, "i am penned up here where i cannot fight back. treason is laid against me. but, beyond all this, i have permitted my loyalty to mislead my ambition. i have aspired to something i can cherish but never possess. better that i never should have tasted of the unattainable than to have the cup withdrawn just as its sweetness begins to intoxicate." he stood before them, pale with suppressed emotion. the women of graustark looked involuntarily at beverly, who sat cold and voiceless, staring at the face of the guard. she knew what he meant; she knew that something was expected of her. a word from her and he would understand that he had not tasted of the unattainable. in one brief moment she saw that she had deliberately led him on, that she had encouraged him, that she actually had proffered him the cup from which he had begun to sip the bitterness. pride and love were waging a conflict in this hapless southern girl's heart. but she was silent. she could not say the word. "i think i know what you mean, baldos," said yetive, seeing that beverly would not intervene. "we are sorry. no one trusts to your honor more than i do. my husband believes in you. i will confess that you are to be arrested as a spy to-morrow. to-night you are to serve as a guard in the castle. this should prove to you that i have unbounded faith in you. moreover, i believe in you to the extent that i should not be afraid to trust you if you were to go out into the world with every secret which we possess. you came here under a peculiar stress of circumstances, not wholly of your own volition. believe me, i am your friend." "i shall revere your highness forever for those words," said he simply. his eyes went hungrily to beverly's averted face, and then assumed a careless gleam which indicated that he had resigned himself to the inevitable. "i am constrained to ask you one question, sir," went on the princess. "you are not the common goat-hunter you assume. will you tell me in confidence who you really are?" the others held their breath. he hesitated for a moment. "will it suffice if i say that i am an unfortunate friend and advocate of prince dantan? i have risked everything for his sake and i fear i have lost everything. i have failed to be of service to him, but through no fault of mine. fate has been against me." "you are christobal," cried dagmar eagerly. he gave her a startled glance, but offered no denial. beverly's face was a study. if he were christobal, then what of the game-warden's daughter? "we shall question you no further," said yetive. "you enlisted to serve miss calhoun. it is for her to command you while you are here. may god be with you to the end. miss calhoun, will you tell him what his duties are for to-night? come, my dear." yetive and dagmar walked slowly from the room, leaving beverly and her guard alone. "i am at your service, miss calhoun," he said easily. his apparent indifference stung her into womanly revolt. "i was a fool last night," she said abruptly. "no; i was the fool. i have been the fool from the beginning. you shall not blame yourself, for i do not blame you. it has been a sweet comedy, a summer pastime. forget what i may have said to you last night, forget what my eyes may have said for weeks and weeks." "i shall never forget," said she. "you deserve the best in the world. would that i could give it to you. you have braved many dangers for my sake. i shall not forget. do you know that we were watched last night?" "watched?" he cried incredulously. "oh, fool that i am! i might have known. and i have subjected you to--to--don't tell me that harsh things have been said to you, miss calhoun!" he was deeply disturbed. "general marlanx saw you. he has threatened me, baldos,--" "i will kill him! what do i care for the consequences? he shall pay dearly for--" "stop! where are you going? you are to remain here, sir, and take your commands from me. i don't want you to kill him. they'd hang you or something just as bad. he's going to be punished, never fear!" baldos smiled in spite of his dismay. it was impossible to face this confident young champion in petticoats without catching her enthusiasm. "what have you done with--with that rose?" she asked suddenly, flushing and diffident. her eyes glistened with embarrassment. "it lies next my heart. i love it," he said bravely. "i think i'll command you to return it to me," vaguely. "a command to be disobeyed. it is in exchange for my feather," he smiled confidently. "well, of course, if you are going to be mean about--now, let me see," she said confusedly; "what are your duties for to-night? you are to stand guard in the corridor. once in awhile you will go out upon the balcony and take a look. you see, i am afraid of someone. oh, baldos, what's the use of my trifling like this? you are to escape from edelweiss to-night. that is the whole plan--the whole idea in a nutshell. don't look like that. don't you want to go?" now she was trembling with excitement. "i do not want to leave you," he cried eagerly. "it would be cowardly. marlanx would understand that you gave aid and sanction. you would be left to face the charges he would make. don't you see, beverly? you would be implicated--you would be accused. why did you not let me kill him? no; i will not go!" neither noticed the name by which he had called her. "but i insist," she cried weakly. "you must go away from me. i--i command you to--" "is it because you want to drive me out of your life forever?" he demanded, sudden understanding coming to him. "don't put it that way," she murmured. "is it because you care for me that you want me to go?" he insisted, drawing near. "is it because you fear the love i bear for you?" "love? you don't really--stop! remember where you are, sir! you must not go on with it, baldos. don't come a step nearer. do go to-night! it is for the best. i have been awfully wicked in letting it run on as it has. forgive me, please forgive me," she pleaded. he drew back, pale and hurt. a great dignity settled upon his face. his dark eyes crushed her with their quiet scorn. "i understand, miss calhoun. the play is over. you will find the luckless vagabond a gentleman, after all. you ask me to desert the cause i serve. that is enough. i shall go to-night." the girl was near to surrender. had it not been for the persistent fear that her proud old father might suffer from her wilfulness, she would have thrown down the barrier and risked everything in the choice. her heart was crying out hungrily for the love of this tall, mysterious soldier of fortune. "it is best," she murmured finally. later on she was to know the meaning of the peculiar smile he gave her. "i go because you dismiss me, not because i fear an enemy. if you choose to remember me at all, be just enough to believe that i am not a shameless coward." "you are brave and true and good, and i am a miserable, deceitful wretch," she lamented. "you will seek ravone and the others?" "yes. they are my friends. they love my poverty. and now, may it please your highness, when am i to go forth and in what garb? i should no longer wear the honest uniform of a graustark guard." "leave it to me. everything shall be arranged. you will be discreet? no one is to know that i am your--" "rest assured, miss calhoun. i have a close mouth," and he smiled contemptuously. "i agree with you," said she regretfully. "you know how to hold your tongue." he laughed harshly. "for once in a way, will you answer a question?" "i will not promise." "you say that you are dantan's friend. is it true that he is to marry the daughter of the duke of matz, countess iolanda?" "it has been so reported." "is she beautiful?" "yes; exceedingly." "but is he to marry her?" she insisted, she knew not why. "how should i know, your highness?" "if you call me 'your highness' again i'll despise you," she flared miserably. "another question. is it true that the young duke christobal fled because his father objected to his marriage with a game-warden's daughter?" "i have never heard so," with a touch of hauteur. "does he know that the girl is dead?" she asked cruelly. baldos did not answer for a long time. he stared at her steadily, his eyes expressing no emotion from which she could judge him. "i think he is ignorant of that calamity, miss calhoun," he said. "with your permission, i shall withdraw. there is nothing to be gained by delay." it was such a palpable affront that she shrank within herself and could have cried. without answering, she walked unsteadily to the window and looked out into the night. a mist came into her eyes. for many minutes she remained there, striving to regain control of her emotions. all this time she knew that he was standing just where she had left him, like a statue, awaiting her command. at last she faced him resolutely. "you will receive instructions as to your duties here from the guard at the stairs. when you hear the hall clock strike the hour of two in the morning go into the chapel, but do not let anyone see you or suspect. you know where it is. the door will be unlocked." "am i not to see you again?" he asked, and she did not think him properly depressed. "yes," she answered, after a pause that seemed like an eternity, and he went quietly, silently away. chapter xxiv beneath the ground while baldos was standing guard in the long, lofty hallway the iron count was busy with the machinations which were calculated to result in a startling upheaval with the break of a new day. he prepared and swore to the charges preferred against baldos. they were despatched to the princess for her perusal in the morning. then he set about preparing the vilest accusations against beverly calhoun. in his own handwriting and over his own signature he charged her with complicity in the betrayal of graustark, influenced by the desires of the lover who masqueraded as her protege. at some length he dwelt upon the well-laid plot of the spy and his accomplice. he told of their secret meetings, their outrages against the dignity of the court, and their unmistakable animosity toward graustark. for each and every count in his vicious indictment against the girl he professed to have absolute proof by means of more than one reputable witness. it was not the design of marlanx to present this document to the princess and her cabinet. he knew full well that it would meet the fate it deserved. it was intended for the eyes of beverly calhoun alone. by means of the vile accusations, false though they were, he hoped to terrorize her into submission. he longed to possess this lithe, beautiful creature from over the sea. in all his life he had not hungered for anything as he now craved beverly calhoun. he saw that his position in the army was rendered insecure by the events of the last day. a bold, vicious stroke was his only means for securing the prize he longed for more than he longed for honor and fame. restless and enraged, consumed by jealousy and fear, he hung about the castle grounds long after he had drawn the diabolical charges. he knew that baldos was inside the castle, favored, while he, a noble of the realm, was relegated to ignominy and the promise of degradation. encamped outside the city walls the army lay without a leader. each hour saw the numbers augmented by the arrival of reserves from the districts of the principality. his place was out there with the staff. yet he could not drag himself away from the charmed circle in which his prey was sleeping. morose and grim, he anxiously paced to and fro in an obscure corner of the grounds. "what keeps the scoundrel?" he said to himself angrily. presently, a villainous looking man dressed in the uniform of the guards, stealthily approached. "i missed him, general, but i will get him the next time." growled the man. "curse you for a fool!" hissed marlanx through his teeth. as another hireling came up. "what have you got to say?" the man reported that baldos had been seen on the balcony alone, evidently on watch. marlanx ground his teeth and his blood stormed his reason. "the job must be done to-night. you have your instructions. capture him if possible; but if necessary, kill him. you know your fate, if you fail." marlanx actually grinned at the thought of the punishment he would mete out to them. "now be off!" rashly he made his way to the castle front. a bright moon cast its mellow glow over the mass of stone outlined against the western sky. for an hour he glowered in the shade of the trees, giving but slight heed to the guards who passed from time to time. his eyes never left the enchanted balcony. at last he saw the man. baldos came from the floor at the end of the balcony, paced the full length in the moonlight, paused for a moment near beverly calhoun's window and then disappeared through the same door that had afforded him egress. inside the dark castle the clock at the end of the hall melodiously boomed the hour of two. dead quiet followed the soft echoes of the gong. a tall figure stealthily opened the door to yetive's chapel and stepped inside. there was a streak of moonlight through the clear window at the far end of the room. baldos, his heart beating rapidly, stood still for a moment, awaiting the next move in the game. the ghost-like figure of a woman suddenly stood before him in the path of the moonbeam, a hooded figure in dark robes. he started as if confronted by the supernatural. "come," came in an agitated whisper, and he stepped to the side of the phantom. she turned and the moonlight fell upon the face of beverly calhoun, "don't speak. follow me as quickly as you can." he grasped her arm, bringing her to a standstill. "i have changed my mind," he whispered in her ear. "do you think i will run away and leave you to shoulder the blame for all this? on the balcony near your window an hour ago i--" "it doesn't make any difference," she argued. "you have to go. i want you to go. if you knew just how i feel toward you you would go without a murmur." "you mean that you hate me," he groaned. "i wouldn't be so unkind as to say that," she fluttered. "i don't know who you are. come; we can't delay a minute. i have a key to the gate at the other end of the passage and i know where the secret panel is located. hush! it doesn't matter where i got the key. see! see how easy it is?" he felt her tense little fingers in the darkness searching for his. their hands were icy cold when the clasp came. together they stood in a niche of the wall near the chancel rail. it was dark and a cold draft of air blew across their faces. he could not see, but there was proof enough that she had opened the secret panel in the wall, and that the damp, chill air came from the underground passage, which led to a point outside the city walls. "you go first," she whispered nervously. "i'm afraid. there is a lantern on the steps and i have some matches. we'll light it as soon as--oh, what was that?" "don't be frightened," he said. "i think it was a rat." "good gracious!" she gasped. "i wouldn't go in there for the world." "do you mean to say that you intended to do so?" he asked eagerly. "certainly. someone has to return the key to the outer gate. oh, i suppose i'll have to go in. you'll keep them off, won't you?" plaintively. he was smiling in the darkness, thinking what a dear, whimsical thing she was. "with my life," he said softly. "they're ten times worse than lions," she announced. "you must not forget that you return alone," he said triumphantly. "but i'll have the lantern going full blast," she said, and then allowed him to lead her into the narrow passageway. she closed the panel and then felt about with her foot until it located the lantern. in a minute they had a light. "now, don't be afraid," she said encouragingly. he laughed in pure delight; she misunderstood his mirth and was conscious of a new and an almost unendurable pang. he was filled with exhilaration over the prospect of escape! somehow she felt an impulse to throw her arms about him and drag him back into the chapel, in spite of the ghost of the game-warden's daughter. "what is to prevent me from taking you with me?" he said intensely, a mighty longing in his breast. she laughed but drew back uneasily. "and live unhappily ever afterward?" said she. "oh, dear me! isn't this a funny proceeding? just think of me, beverly calhoun, being mixed up in schemes and plots and intrigues and all that. it seems like a great big dream. and that reminds me: you will find a raincoat at the foot of the steps. i couldn't get other clothes for you, so you'll have to wear the uniform. there's a stiff hat of mr. lorry's also. you've no idea how difficult it is for a girl to collect clothes for a man. there doesn't seem to be any real excuse for it, you know. goodness, it looks black ahead there, doesn't it? i hate underground things. they're so damp and all that. how far is it, do you suppose, to the door in the wall?" she was chattering on, simply to keep up her courage and to make her fairest show of composure. "it's a little more than three hundred yards," he replied. they were advancing through the low, narrow stone-lined passage. she steadfastly ignored the hand he held back for support. it was not a pleasant place, this underground way to the outside world. the walls were damp and mouldy; the odor of the rank earth assailed the nostrils; the air was chill and deathlike. "how do you know?" she demanded quickly. "i have traversed the passage before. miss calhoun," he replied. she stopped like one paralyzed, her eyes wide and incredulous. "franz was my guide from the outer gate into the chapel. it is easy enough to get outside the walls, but extremely difficult to return," he went on easily. "you mean to say that you have been in and out by way of this passage? then, what was your object, sir?" she demanded sternly. "my desire to communicate with friends who could not enter the city. will it interest you if i say that the particular object of my concern was a young woman?" she gasped and was stubbornly silent for a long time. bitter resentment filled her soul, bitter disappointment in this young man. "a young woman!" he had said, oh, so insolently. there could be but one inference, one conclusion. the realization of it settled one point in her mind forever. "it wouldn't interest me in the least. i don't even care who she was. permit me to wish you much joy with her. why don't you go on?" irritably, forgetting that it was she who delayed progress. his smile was invisible in the blackness above the lantern. there were no words spoken until after they had reached the little door in the wall. here the passage was wider. there were casks and chests on the floor, evidently containing articles that required instant removal from edelweiss in case of an emergency. "who was that woman?" she asked at last. the key to the door was in the nervous little hand. "one very near and dear to me. miss calhoun. that's all i can say at this time." "well, this is the only time you will have the chance," she cried loftily. "here we part. hush!" she whispered, involuntarily grasping his arm. "i think i heard a step. can anyone be following us?" they stopped and listened. it was as still as a tomb. "it must be the same old rat," he answered jokingly. she was too nervous for any pleasantries, and releasing her hold on his arm, said timidly, a "good-bye!" "am i to go in this manner? have you no kind word for me? i love you better than my soul. it is of small consequence to you, i know, but i crave one forgiving word. it may be the last." he clasped her hand and she did not withdraw it. her lips were trembling, but her eyes were brave and obstinate. suddenly she sat down upon one of the chests. if he had not told her of the other woman! "forgive me instead, for all that i have brought you to," she murmured. "it was all my fault. i shall never forget you or forgive myself. i--i am going back to washin'ton immediately. i can't bear to stay here now. good-bye, and god bless you. do--do you think we shall ever see each other again?" unconsciously she was clinging to his hand. there were tears in the gray eyes that looked pathetically up into his. she was very dear and enchanting, down there in the grewsome passageway with the fitful rays of the lantern lighting her face. only the strictest self-control kept him from seizing her in his arms, for something told him that she would have surrendered. "this is the end, i fear," he said, with grim persistence. she caught her breath in half a sob. then she arose resolutely, although her knees trembled shamelessly. "well, then, good-bye," she said very steadily. "you are free to go where and to whom you like. think of me once in awhile, baldos. here's the key. hurry! i--i can't stand it much longer!" she was ready to break down and he saw it, but he made no sign. turning the key in the rusty lock, he cautiously opened the door. the moonlit world lay beyond. a warm, intoxicating breath of fresh air came in upon them. he suddenly stooped and kissed her hand. "forgive me for having annoyed you with my poor love," he said, as he stood in the door, looking into the night beyond. "all--all right," she choked out as she started to close the door after him. "halt! you are our prisoner!" the words rang out sharply in the silence of the night. instinctively, beverly made an attempt to close the door; but she was too late. two burly, villainous looking men, sword in hand, blocked the exit and advanced upon them. "back! back!" baldos shouted to beverly, drawing his sword. like a flash, she picked up the lantern and sprang out of his way. capture or worse seemed certain; but her heart did not fail her. "put up your sword! you are under arrest!" came from the foremost of the two. he had heard enough of baldos's skill with the sword to hope that the ruse might be successful and that he would surrender peaceably to numbers. the men's instructions were to take their quarry alive if possible. the reward for the man, living, exceeded that for him dead. baldos instantly recognized them as spies employed by marlanx. they had been dogging his footsteps for days and even had tried to murder him, the desire for vengeance was working like madness in his blood. he was overjoyed at having them at the point of his sword. beverly's presence vouchsafed that he would show little mercy. "arrest me, you cowardly curs!" he exclaimed. "never!" with a spring to one side, he quickly overturned one of the casks and pushing it in front of him, it served as a rolling bulwark, preventing a joint attack. "you first!" he cried coolly, as his sword met that of the leader. the unhappy wretch was no match for the finest swordsman in graustark. he made a few desperate attempts to ward off his inevitable fate, calling loudly for his comrade to aid him. the latter was eager enough, but baldos's strategic roll of the cask effectively prevented him from taking a hand. with a vicious thrust, the blade of the goat-hunter tore clean through the man's chest and touched the wall behind. "one!" cried baldos, gloating in the chance that had come to him. the man gasped and fell. he was none too quick in withdrawing his dripping weapon, for the second man was over the obstacle and upon him. chapter xxv the valor of the south "hold the lantern higher, bev--" in the fury of the fight, he remembered the risk and importance of not mentioning her name, and stopped short. he was fighting fast but warily, for he realized that his present adversary was no mean one. as the swords played back and forth in fierce thrusts and parries, he spoke assuringly to beverly: "don't be frightened! as soon as i finish with this fellow, we will go on! ah! bravo! well parried, my man! how the deuce could such a swordsman as you become a cutthroat of marlanx?" beverly had been standing still all this time holding the light high above her head, according to her lover's orders, for she knew now that such he was and that she loved him with all her heart. she was a weird picture standing there as she watched baldos fighting for their lives, her beautiful face deathlike in its pallor. not a cry escaped her lips, as the sword-blades swished and clashed; she could hear the deep breathing of the combatants in that tomb-like passage. suddenly she started and listened keenly. from behind her, back there in the darkness, hurried footsteps were unmistakably approaching. what she had heard, then, was not the scurrying of a rat. some one was following them. a terrible anguish seized her. louder and nearer came the heavy steps. "oh, my god! baldos!" she screamed in terror, "another is coming!" "have no fear, dear one!" he sung out gaily. his voice was infinitely more cheerful than he felt, for he realized only too well the desperate situation; he was penned in and forced to meet an attack from front and rear. he fell upon his assailant with redoubled fury, aiming to finish him before the newcomer could give aid. from out of the gloom came a fiendish laugh. instantly, the dark figure of a man appeared, his face completely hidden by a broad slouch hat and the long cloak which enveloped him. a sardonic voice hissed, "trapped at last! my lady and her lover thought to escape, did they!" the voice was unfamiliar, but the atmosphere seemed charged with marlanx. "kill him, zem!" he shouted. "don't let him escape you! i will take care of the little witch, never fear!" he clutched at the girl and tried to draw her to him. "marlanx! by all the gods!" cried baldos in despair. he had wounded his man several times, though not seriously. he dared not turn to beverly's aid. the scene was thrilling, grewsome. within this narrow, dimly-lighted underground passage, with its musty walls sweating with dampness and thick with the tangled meshes of the spider's web, a brave girt and her lover struggled and fought back to back. to her dismay, beverly saw the point of a sword at her throat. "out of the way, girl," the man in the cloak snarled, furious at her resistance. "you die as well as your lover unless you surrender. he cannot escape me." "and if i refuse," cried the girl, trying desperately to gain time. "i will drive my blade through your heart and tell the world it was the deed of your lover." baldos groaned. his adversary, encouraged by the change in the situation, pressed him sorely. "don't you dare to touch me, count marlanx. i know you!" she hissed. "i know what you would do with me. it is not for graustark that you seek his life." the sword came nearer. the words died in her throat. she grew faint. terror paralyzed her. suddenly, her heart gave a great thump of joy. the resourcefulness of the trapped was surging to her relief. the valor of the south leaped into life. the exhilaration of conflict beat down all her fears. "take away that sword, then, please," she cried, her voice trembling, but not with terror now; it was exultation. "will you promise to spare his life? will you swear to let him go, if i--" "no, no, never! god forbid!" implored baldos. "ha, ha!" chuckled the man in the cloak. "spare his life! oh, yes; after my master has revelled in your charms. how do you like that, my handsome goathunter?" "you infernal scoundrel! i'll settle you yet!" baldos fairly fumed with rage. gathering himself together for a final effort, he rushed madly on his rapidly-weakening antagonist. "baldos!" she cried hopelessly and in a tone of resignation. "i must do it! it is the only way!" the man in the cloak as well as baldos was deceived by the girl's cry. he immediately lowered his sword. the lantern dropped from beverly's hands and clattered to the floor. at the same instant she drew from her pocket her revolver, which she had placed there before leaving the castle, and fired point blank at him. the report sounded like a thunder clap in their ears. it was followed quickly by a sharp cry and imprecation from the lips of her persecutor, who fell, striking his head with a terrible force on the stones. simultaneously, there was a groan and the noise of a limp body slipping to the ground, and, baldos, victor at last, turned in fear and trembling to find beverly standing unhurt staring at the black mass at her feet. "thank god! you are safe!" grasping her hand he led her out of the darkness into the moonlight. not a word was spoken as they ran swiftly on until they reached a little clump of trees, not far from one of the gates. here baldos gently released her hand. she was panting for breath; but he realized she must not be allowed to risk a moment's delay. she must pass the sentry at once. "have you the watchword?" he eagerly asked. "watchword?" she repeated feebly. "yes, the countersign for the night. it is ganlook. keep your face well covered with your hood. advance boldly to the gates and give the word. there will be no trouble. the guard is used to pleasure seekers returning at all hours of night." "is he dead?" she asked timorously, returning to the scene of horror. "only wounded, i think, as are the other men, though they all deserve death." he went with her as close to the gate as he thought safe. taking her hand he kissed it fervently. "good-bye! it won't be for long!" and disappeared. she stood still and lifeless, staring after him, for ages, it seemed. he was gone. gone forever, no doubt. her eyes grew wilder and wilder with the pity of it all. pride fled incontinently. she longed to call him back. then it occurred to her that he was hurrying off to that other woman. no, he said he would return. she must be brave, true to herself, whatever happened. she marched boldly up to the gate, gave the countersign and passed through, not heeding the curious glances cast upon her by the sentry; turned into the castle, up the grand staircase, and fled to the princess's bed-chamber. beverly, trembling and sobbing, threw herself in the arms of the princess. incoherently, she related all that had happened, then swooned. after she had been restored, the promise of yetive to protect her, whatever happened, comforted her somewhat. "it must have been marlanx," moaned beverly. "who else could it have been?" replied the princess, who was visibly excited. summoning all her courage, she went on: "first, we must find out if he is badly hurt. we'll trust to luck. cheer up!" she touched a bell. there came a knock at the door. a guard was told to enter. "ellos," she exclaimed, "did you hear a shot fired a short time ago?" "i thought i did, your highness, but was not sure." "baldos, the guard, was escaping by the secret passage," continued the princess, a wonderful inspiration coming to her rescue. "he passed through the chapel. miss calhoun was there. alone, and single-handed, she tried to prevent him. it was her duty. he refused to obey her command to stop and she followed him into the tunnel and fired at him. i'm afraid you are too late to capture him, but you may--, oh, beverly, how plucky you were to follow him! go quickly, ellos! search the tunnel and report at once." as the guard saluted, with wonder, admiration and unbelief, he saw the two conspirators locked in each other's arms. presently he returned and reported that the guards could find no trace of anyone in the tunnel, but that they found blood on the floor near the exit and that the door was wide open. the two girls looked at each other in amazement. they were dumbfounded, but a great relief was glowing in their eyes. "ellos," inquired the princess, considerably less agitated, "does any one else know of this?" "no, your highness, there was no one on guard but max, baldos, and myself." "well, for the present, no one else must know of his flight. do you understand? not a word to any one. i, myself, will explain when the proper time comes. you and max have been very careless, but i suppose you should not be punished. he has tricked us all. send max to me at once." "yes, your highness," said ellos, and he went away with his head swimming. max, the other guard, received like orders and then the two young women sank limply upon a divan. "oh, how clever you are, yetive," came from the american girl. "but what next?" "we may expect to hear something disagreeable from count marlanx, my dear," murmured the perplexed, but confident princess, "but i think we have the game in our own hands, as you would say in america." chapter xxvi the degradation of marlanx "aunt fanny, what is that white thing sticking under the window?" demanded beverly late the next morning. she was sitting with her face to the windows while the old negress dressed her hair. "looks lak a love letteh. miss bev'ly," was the answer, as aunt fanny gingerly placed an envelope in her mistress's hand. beverly looked at it in amazement. it was unmistakably a letter, addressed to her, which had been left at her window some time in the night. her heart gave a thump and she went red with anticipated pleasure. with eager fingers she tore open the envelope. the first glance at the contents brought disappointment to her face. the missive was from count marlanx; but it was a relief to find that he was very much alive and kicking. as she read on, there came a look of perplexity which was succeeded by burning indignation. the man in the cloak was preparing to strike. "your secret is mine. i know all that happened in the chapel and underground passage. you have betrayed graustark in aiding this man to escape. the plot was cleverly executed, but you counted without the jealous eye of love. you can save yourself and your honor, and perhaps your princess, but the conditions are mine. this time there can be no trifling. i want you to treat me fairly. god help you if you refuse. give me the answer i want and your secret is safe, i will shield you with my life. at eleven o'clock i shall come to see you. i have in my possession a document that will influence you. you will do well to keep a close mouth until you have seen this paper." this alarming note was all that was needed to restore fire to the lagging blood of the american girl. its effect was decidedly contrary to that which marlanx must have anticipated. instead of collapsing, beverly sprang to her feet with energy and life in every fiber. her eyes were flashing brightly, her body quivering with the sensations of battle. "that awful old wretch!" she cried, to aunt fanny's amazement. "he is the meanest human being in all the world. but he's making the mistake of his life, isn't he, aunt fanny? oh, of course you don't know what it is, so never mind. we've got a surprise for him. i'll see him at eleven o'clock, and then--" she smiled quite benignly at the thought of what she was going to say to him. beverly felt very secure in the shadow of the princess. a clatter of horses' hoofs on the parade-ground drew her to the balcony. what she saw brought joy to her heart. lorry and anguish, muddy and disheveled, were dismounting before the castle. "ah, this is joy! now there are three good americans here. i'm not afraid," she said bravely. aunt fanny nodded her head in approval, although she did not know what it was all about. curiosity more than alarm made beverly eager to see the document which old marlanx held in reserve for her. she determined to met him at eleven. a message from the princess announced the unexpected return of the two americans. she said they were (to use harry anguish's own expression) "beastly near starvation" and clamored for substantial breakfasts, beverly was urged to join them and to hear the latest news from the frontier. lorry and anguish were full of the excitement on which they had lived for many hours. they had found evidence of raids by the dawsbergen scouts and had even caught sight of a small band of fleeing horsemen. lorry reluctantly admitted that gabriel's army seemed loyal to him and that there was small hope of a conflict being averted, as he had surmised, through the defection of the people. he was surprised but not dismayed when yetive told him certain portions of the story in regard to marlanx; and, by no means averse to seeing the old man relegated to the background, heartily endorsed the step taken by his wife. he was fair enough, however, to promise the general a chance to speak in his own defense, if he so desired. he had this in view when he requested marlanx to come to the castle at eleven o'clock for consultation. "gabriel is devoting most of his energy now to hunting that poor dantan into his grave," said anguish. "i believe he'd rather kill his half-brother than conquer graustark. why, the inhuman monster has set himself to the task of obliterating everything that reminds him of dantan. we learned from spies down there that he issued an order for the death of dantan's sister, a pretty young thing named candace, because he believed she was secretly aiding her fugitive brother. she escaped from the palace in serros a week ago, and no one knows what has become of her. there's a report that she was actually killed, and that the story of her flight is a mere blind on the part of gabriel." "he would do anything," cried yetive. "poor child; they say she is like her english mother and is charming." "that would set gabriel against her, i fancy," went on anguish. "and, by the way, miss calhoun, we heard something definite about your friend, prince dantan. it is pretty well settled that he isn't baldos of the guard. dantan was seen two days ago by captain dangloss's men. he was in the dawsbergen pass and they talked with him and his men. there was no mistake this time. the poor, half-starved chap confessed to being the prince and begged for food for himself and his followers." "i tried to find him, and, failing in that, left word in the pass that if he would but cast his lot with us in this trouble we soon would restore him to his throne," said lorry. "he may accept and we shall have him turning up here some day, hungry for revenge. and now, my dear beverly, how are you progressing with the excellent baldos, of whom we cannot make a prince, no matter how hard we try?" beverly and the princess exchanged glances in which consternation was difficult to conceal. it was clear to beverly that yetive had not told her husband of the escape. "i don't know anything about baldos," she answered steadily. "last night someone shot at him in the park." "the deuce you say!" "in order to protect him until you returned, gren, i had him transferred to guard duty inside the castle," explained the princess. "it really seemed necessary. general marlanx expects to present formal charges against him this morning, so i suppose we shall have to put him in irons for a little while. it seems too bad, doesn't it, gren?" "yes. he's as straight as a string, i'll swear," said lorry emphatically. "i'll bet he wishes he were safely out of this place," ventured anguish, and two young women busied themselves suddenly with their coffee. "the chance is he's sorry he ever came into it," said lorry tantalizingly. while they were waiting for marlanx the young duke of mizrox was announced. the handsome axphainian came with relief and dismay struggling for mastery in his face. "your highness," he said, after the greetings, "i am come to inform you that graustark has one prince less to account for. axphain has found her fugitive." "when?" cried the princess and beverly in one voice and with astonishing eagerness, not unmixed with dismay. "three days ago," was the reply. "oh," came in deep relief from beverly as she sank back into her chair. the same fear had lodged in the hearts of the two fair conspirators--that they had freed baldos only to have him fall into the hands of his deadliest foes. "i have a message by courier from my uncle in axphain," said mizrox. "he says that frederic was killed near labbot by soldiers, after making a gallant fight, on last sunday night. the princess volga is rejoicing, and has amply rewarded his slayers. poor frederic! he knew but little happiness, in this life." there was a full minute of reflection before any of his hearers expressed the thought that had framed itself in every mind. "well, since dantan and frederic are accounted for, baldos is absolutely obliged to be christobal," said anguish resignedly. "he's just baldos," observed beverly, snuffing out the faint hope that had lingered so long. then she said to herself: "and i don't care, either. i only wish he were back here again. i'd be a good deal nicer to him." messengers flew back and forth, carrying orders from the castle to various quarters. the ministers were called to meet at twelve o'clock. underneath all the bustle there was a tremendous impulse of american cunning, energy and resourcefulness. everyone caught the fever. reserved old diplomats were overwhelmed by their own enthusiasm; custom-bound soldiers forgot the hereditary caution and fell into the ways of the new leaders without a murmur. the city was wild with excitement, for all believed that the war was upon them. there was but one shadow overhanging the glorious optimism of graustark--the ugly, menacing attitude of axphain. even the duke of mizrox could give no assurance that his country would remain neutral. colonel quinnox came to the castle in haste and perturbation. it was he who propounded the question that yetive and beverly were expecting: "where is baldos?" of course, the flight of the suspected guard was soon a matter of certainty. a single imploring glance from the princess, meant for the faithful quinnox alone, told him as plainly as words could have said that she had given the man his freedom. and quinnox would have died a thousand times to protect the secret of his sovereign, for had not twenty generations of quinnoxes served the rulers of graustark with unflinching loyalty? baron dangloss may have suspected the trick, but he did not so much as blink when the princess instructed him to hunt high and low for the fugitive. marlanx came at eleven. under the defiant calmness of his bearing there was lurking a mighty fear. his brain was scourged by thoughts of impending disgrace. the princess had plainly threatened his degradation. after all these years, he was to tremble with shame and humiliation; he was to cringe where he had always boasted of domineering power. and besides all this, marlanx had a bullet wound in his left shoulder! the world could not have known, for he knew how to conceal pain. he approached the slender, imperious judge in the council-chamber with a defiant leer on his face. if he went down into the depths he would drag with him the fairest treasure he had coveted in all his years of lust and desire. "a word with you," he said in an aside to beverly, as she came from the council-chamber, in which she felt she should not sit. she stopped and faced him. instinctively she looked to see if he bore evidence of a wound. she was positive that her bullet had struck him the night before, and that marlanx was the man with the cloak. "well?" she said coldly. he read her thoughts and smiled, even as his shoulder burned with pain. "i will give you the chance to save yourself. i love you. i want you. i must have you for my own," he was saying. "stop, sir! it may be your experience in life that women kneel to you when you command. it may be your habit to win what you set about to win. but you have a novel way of presenting your _devoire_, i must say. is this the way in which you won the five unfortunates whom you want me to succeed? did you scare them into submission?" "no, no! i cared nothing for them. you are the only one i ever loved--" "really, count marlanx, you are most amusing," she interrupted, with a laugh that stung him to the quick. "you have been unique in your love-making. i am not used to your methods. besides, after having known them, i'll confess that i don't like them in the least. you may have been wonderfully successful in the past, but you were not dealing with an american girl. i have had enough of your insults. go! go in and face--" "have a care, girl!" he snarled. "i have it in my power to crush you." "pooh!" came scornfully from her lips. "if you molest me further i shall call mr. lorry. let me pass!" "just glance at this paper, my beauty. i fancy you'll change your tune. it goes before the eyes of the council, unless you--" he paused significantly. beverly took the document and with dilated eyes read the revolting charges against her honor. her cheeks grew white with anger, then flushed a deep crimson. "you fiend!" she cried, glaring at him so fiercely that he instinctively shrank back, the vicious grin dying in his face. "i'll show you how much i fear you. i shall give this revolting thing to the princess. she may read it to the cabinet, for all i care. no one will believe you. they'll kill you for this!" she turned and flew into the presence of the princess and her ministers. speeding to the side of yetive, she thrust the paper into her hands. surprise and expectancy filled the eyes of all assembled. "count marlanx officially charges me with--with--read it, your highness," she cried distractedly. yetive read it, pale-faced and cold. a determined gleam appeared in her eyes as she passed the document to her husband. "allode," lorry said to an attendant, after a brief glance at its revolting contents, "ask count marlanx to appear here instantly. he is outside the door." lorry's anger was hard to control. he clenched his hands and there was a fine suggestion of throttling in the way he did it. marlanx, entering the room, saw that he was doomed. he had not expected beverly to take this appalling step. the girl, tears in her eyes, rushed to a window, hiding her face from the wondering ministers. her courage suddenly failed her. if the charges were read aloud before these men it seemed to her that she never could lift her eyes again. a mighty longing for washington, her father and the big calhoun boys, rushed to her heart as she stood there and awaited the crash. but lorry was a true nobleman. "gentlemen," he said quietly, "count marlanx has seen fit to charge miss calhoun with complicity in the flight of baldos. i will not read the charges to you. they are unworthy of one who has held the highest position in the army of graustark. he has--" "read this, my husband, before you proceed further," said yetive, thrusting into his hand a line she had written with feverish haste. lorry smiled gravely before he read aloud the brief edict which removed general marlanx from the command of the army of graustark. "is this justice?" protested marlanx angrily. "will you not give me a hearing? i beseech--" "silence!" commanded the princess. "what manner of hearing did you expect to give miss calhoun? it is enough, sir. there shall be no cowards in my army." "coward?" he faltered. "have i not proved my courage on the field of battle? am i to be called a--" "bravery should not end when the soldier quits the field of battle. you have had a hearing. count marlanx. i heard the truth about you last night." "from miss calhoun?" sneered he viciously. "i must be content to accept this dismissal, your highness. there is no hope for me. some day you may pray god to forgive you for the wrong you have done your most loyal servant. there is no appeal from your decision; but as a subject of graustark i insist that miss calhoun shall be punished for aiding in the escape of this spy and traitor. he is gone, and it was she who led him through the castle to the outer world. she cannot deny this, gentlemen. i defy her to say she did not accompany baldos through the secret passage last night." "it will do no harm to set herself right by denying this accusation," suggested count halfont solemnly. every man in the cabinet and army had hated marlanx for years. his degradation was not displeasing to them. they would ask no questions. but beverly calhoun stood staring out of the window, out upon the castle park and its gay sunshine. she did not answer, for she did not hear the premier's words. her brain was whirling madly with other thoughts. she was trying to believe her eyes. "the spy is gone," cried marlanx, seeing a faint chance to redeem himself at her expense. "she can not face my charge. where is your friend, miss calhoun?" beverly faced them with a strange, subdued calmness in her face. her heart was throbbing wildly in the shelter of this splendid disguise. "i don't know what all this commotion is about," she said. "i only know that i have been dragged into it shamelessly by that old man over there, if you step to the window you may see baldos himself. he has not fled. he is on duty!" baldos was striding steadily across the park in plain view of all. chapter xxvii the prince of dawsbergen both yetive and beverly experienced an amazing sense of relief. they did not stop to consider why or how he had returned to the castle grounds. it was sufficient that he was actually there, sound, well, and apparently satisfied. "i dare say count marlanx will withdraw his infamous charge against our guest," said lorry, with deadly directness. marlanx was mopping his damp forehead. his eyes were fastened upon the figure of the guard, and there was something like awe in their steely depths. it seemed to him that the supernatural had been enlisted against him. "he left the castle last night," he muttered, half to himself. "there seems to be no doubt of that," agreed gaspon, the grand treasurer. "colonel quinnox reports his strange disappearance." clearly the case was a puzzling one. men looked at one another in wonder and uneasiness. "i think i understand the situation," exclaimed marlanx, suddenly triumphant. "it bears out all that i have said. baldos left the castle last night, as i have sworn, but not for the purpose of escaping. he went forth to carry information to our enemies. can anyone doubt that he is a spy? has he not returned to carry out his work? and now, gentlemen, i ask you--would he return unless he felt secure of protection here?" it was a facer, yetive and beverly felt as though a steel trap suddenly had been closed down upon them. lorry and anguish were undeniably disconcerted. there was a restless, undecided movement among the ministers. "colonel quinnox, will you fetch baldos to the verandah at once?" asked lorry, his quick american perception telling him that immediate action was necessary. "it is cooler out there." he gave beverly a look of inquiry. she flushed painfully, guiltily, and he was troubled in consequence. "as a mere subject, i demand the arrest of this man," marlanx was saying excitedly. "we must go to the bottom of this hellish plot to injure graustark." "my dear count," said anguish, standing over him, "up to this time we have been unable to discern any reasons for or signs of the treachery you preach about. i don't believe we have been betrayed at all." "but i have absolute proof, sir," grated the count. "i'd advise you to produce it. we must have something to work on, you know." "what right have you to give advice, sir? you are not one of us. you are a meddler--an impertinent alien. your heart is not with graustark, as mine is. how long must we endure the insolence of these americans?" the count was fuming with anger. as might have been expected, the easy-going yankees laughed unreservedly at his taunt. the princess was pale with indignation. "count marlanx, you will confine your remarks to the man whom you have charged with treachery," she said. "you have asked for his arrest, and you are to be his accuser. at the proper time you will produce the proof. i warn you now that if you do not sustain these charges, the displeasure of the crown will fall heavily upon you." "i only ask your highness to order his arrest," he said, controlling himself. "he is of the castle guard and can be seized only on your command." "baldos is at the castle steps, your highness," said colonel quinnox from the doorway. the entire party left the council-chamber and passed out to the great stone porch. it must be confessed that the princess leaned rather heavily upon lorry's arm. she and beverly trembled with anxiety as they stood face to face with the tall guard who had come back to them so mysteriously. baldos stood at the foot of the stone steps, a guard on each side of him. one of these was the shamefaced haddan, dangloss's watchman, whose vigil had been a failure. the gaze of the suspected guard purposely avoided that of beverly calhoun. he knew that the slightest communication between them would be misunderstood and magnified by the witnesses. "baldos," said lorry, from the top step, "it has come to our ears that you left the castle surreptitiously last night. is it true that you were aided by miss calhoun?" baldos looked thankful for this eminently leading question. in a flash it gave him the key to the situation. secretly he was wondering what emotions possessed the slender accomplice who had said good-bye to him not so many hours before at the castle gate. he knew that she was amazed, puzzled by his sudden return; he wondered if she were glad. his quick wits saw that a crisis had arrived. the air was full of it. the dread of this very moment was the thing which had drawn him into the castle grounds at early dawn. he had watched for his chance to glide in unobserved, and had snatched a few hours' sleep in the shelter of the shrubbery near the park wall. "it is not true," he said clearly, in answer to lorry's question. both beverly and marlanx started as the sharp falsehood fell from his lips. "who made such an accusation?" he demanded. "count marlanx is our informant." "then count marlanx lies," came coolly from the guard. a snarl of fury burst from the throat of the deposed general. his eyes were red and his tongue was half palsied by rage. "dog! dog!" he shouted, running down the steps. "infamous dog! i swear by my soul that he--" "where is your proof, count marlanx?" sternly interrupted lorry. "you have made a serious accusation against our honored guest. it cannot be overlooked." marlanx hesitated a moment, and then threw his bomb at the feet of the conspirators. "i was in the chapel when she opened the secret panel for him." not a word was uttered for a full minute. it was beverly calhoun who spoke first. she was as calm as a spring morning. "if all this be true, count marlanx, may i ask why you, the head of graustark's army, did not intercept the spy when you had the chance?" marlanx flushed guiltily. the question had caught him unprepared. he dared not acknowledge his presence there with the hired assassins. "i--i was not in a position to restrain him," he fumbled. "you preferred to wait until he was safely gone before making the effort to protect graustark from his evil designs. is that it? what was your object in going to the chapel? to pray? besides, what right had you to enter the castle in the night?" she asked ironically. "your highness, may i be heard?" asked baldos easily. he was smiling up at yetive from the bottom of the steps. she nodded her head a trifle uneasily. "it is quite true that i left the castle by means of your secret passage last night." "there!" shrieked marlanx. "he admits that he--" "but i wish to add that count marlanx is in error when he says that miss calhoun was my accomplice. his eyes were not keen in the darkness of the sanctuary. perhaps he is not accustomed to the light one finds in a chapel at the hour of two. will your highness kindly look in the direction of the southern gate? your august gaze may fall upon the reclining figure of a boy asleep, there in the shadow of the friendly cedar. if count marlanx had looked closely enough last night he might have seen that it was a boy who went with me and not--" "fool! don't you suppose i know a woman's skirts?" cried the iron count. "better than most men, i fancy," calmly responded baldos. "my young friend wore the garments of a woman, let me add." lorry came down and grasped baldos by the arm. his eyes were stern and accusing. above, yetive and beverly had clasped hands and were looking on dumbly. what did baldos mean? "then, you did go through the passage? and you were accompanied by this boy, a stranger? how comes this, sir?" demanded lorry. every eye was accusing the guard at this juncture. the men were descending the steps as if to surround him. "it is not the first time that i have gone through the passage, sir," said baldos, amused by the looks of consternation. "i'd advise you to close it. its secret is known to more than one person. it is known, by the way, to prince gabriel of dawsbergen. it is known to every member of the band with which miss calhoun found me when she was a princess. count marlanx is quite right when he says that i have gone in and out of the castle grounds from time to time. he is right when he says that i have communicated with men inside and outside of these grounds. but he is wrong when he accuses miss calhoun of being responsible for or even aware of my reprehensible conduct. she knew nothing of all this, as you may judge by taking a look at her face at this instant." beverly's face was a study in emotions. she was looking at him with dilated eyes. pain and disappointment were concentrated in their expressive gray depths; indignation was struggling to master the love and pity that had lurked in her face all along. it required but a single glance to convince the most skeptical that she was ignorant of these astounding movements on the part of her protege. again every eye was turned upon the bold, smiling guardsman. "i have been bitterly deceived in you," said lorry, genuine pain in his voice. "we trusted you implicitly. i didn't think it of you, baldos. after all, it is honorable of you to expose so thoroughly your own infamy in order to acquit an innocent person who believed in you. you did not have to come back to the castle. you might have escaped punishment by using miss calhoun as a shield from her highness's wrath. but none the less you compel me to give countenance to all that count marlanx has said." "i insist that it was miss calhoun who went through the panel with him," said marlanx eagerly. "if it was this boy who accompanied you, what was his excuse in returning to the castle after you had fled?" "he came back to watch over miss calhoun while she slept. it was my sworn duty to guard her from the man who had accused her. this boy is a member of the band to which i belong and he watched while i went forth on a pretty business of my own. it will be useless to ask what that business was. i will not tell. nor will the boy. you may kill us, but our secrets die with us. this much i will say: we have done nothing disloyal to graustark. you may believe me or not. it has been necessary for me to communicate with my friends, and i found the means soon after my arrival here. all the foxes that live in the hills have not four legs," he concluded significantly. "you are a marvel!" exclaimed lorry, and there was real admiration in his voice. "i'm sorry you were fool enough to come back and get caught like this. don't look surprised, gentlemen, for i believe that in your hearts you admire him quite as much as i do." the faint smile that went the rounds was confirmation enough. nearly every man there had been trained in english-speaking lands and not a word of the conversation had been missed. "i expected to be arrested, mr. lorry," said baldos calmly. "i knew that the warrant awaited me. i knew that my flight of last night was no secret. i came back willingly, gladly, your highness, and now i am ready to face my accuser. there is nothing for me to fear." "and after you have confessed to all these actions? by george, i like your nerve," exclaimed lorry. "i have been amply vindicated," cried marlanx. "put him in irons--and that boy, too." "we'll interview the boy," said lorry, remembering the lad beneath the tree. "see; he's sleeping so sweetly," said baldos gently. "poor lad, he has not known sleep for many hour. i suppose he'll have to be awakened, poor little beggar." colonel quinnox and haddan crossed the grounds to the big cedar. the boy sprang to his feet at their call and looked wildly about. two big hands clasped his arms, and a moment later the slight figure came pathetically across the intervening space between the stalwart guards. "why has he remained here, certain of arrest?" demanded lorry in surprise. "he was safer with me than anywhere else, mr. lorry. you may shoot me a thousand times, but i implore you to deal gently with my unhappy friend. he has done no wrong. the clothes you see upon that trembling figure are torturing the poor heart more than you can know. the burning flush upon that cheek is the red of modesty. your highness and gentlemen, i ask you to have pity on this gentle friend of mine." he threw his arm about the shoulder of the slight figure as it drooped against him. "count marlanx was right. it was a woman he saw with me in the chapel last night." the sensation created by this simple statement was staggering. the flushed face was unmistakably that of a young girl, a tender, modest thing that shrank before the eyes of a grim audience. womanly instinct impelled yetive to shield the timid masquerader. her strange association with baldos was not of enough consequence in the eyes of this tender ruler to check the impulse of gentleness that swept over her. that the girl was guiltless of any wrong-doing was plain to be seen. her eyes, her face, her trembling figure furnished proof conclusive. the dark looks of the men were softened when the arm of the princess went about the stranger and drew her close. "bah! some wanton or other!" sneered marlanx. "but a pretty one, by the gods. baldos has always shown his good taste." baldos glared at him like a tiger restrained. "before god, you will have those words to unsay," he hissed. yetive felt the slight body of the girl quiver and then grow tense. the eyes of baldos now were fixed on the white, drawn face of beverly calhoun, who stood quite alone at the top of the steps. she began to sway dizzily and he saw that she was about to fall. springing away from the guards, he dashed up the steps to her side. his arm caught her as she swayed, and its touch restored strength to her--the strength of resentment and defiance. "don't!" she whispered hoarsely. "have courage," he murmured softly. "it will all be well. there is no danger." "so this is the woman!" she cried bitterly. "yes. you alone are dearer to me than she," he uttered hurriedly. "i can't believe a word you say." "you will, beverly. i love you. that is why i came back. i could not leave you to meet it alone. was i not right? let them put me into irons--let them kill me--" "come!" cried colonel quinnox, reaching his side at this instant. "the girl will be cared for. you are a prisoner." "wait!" implored beverly, light suddenly breaking in upon her. "please wait, colonel quinnox." he hesitated, his broad shoulders between her and the gaping crowd below. she saw with grateful heart that yetive and lorry were holding the steps as if against a warlike foe. "is she--is she your wife?" "good heavens, no!" gasped baldos. "your sweetheart?" piteously. "she is the sister of the man i serve so poorly," he whispered. quinnox allowed them to walk a few paces down the flagging, away from the curious gaze of the persons below. "oh, baldos!" she cried, her heart suddenly melting. "is she prince dantan's sister?" her hand clasped his convulsively, as he nodded assent. "now i _do_ love you." "thank god!" he whispered joyously. "i knew it, but i was afraid you never would speak the words. i am happy--i am wild with joy." "but they may shoot you," she shuddered. "you have condemned yourself. oh, i cannot talk to you as i want to--out here before all these people. don't move, colonel quinnox--they can't see through you. please stand still." "they will not shoot me, beverly, dear. i am not a spy," said baldos, looking down into the eyes of the slender boyish figure who stood beside the princess. "it is better that i should die, however," he went on bitterly. "life will not be worth living without you. you would not give yourself to the lowly, humble hunter, so i--" "i will marry you, paul. i love you. can't anything be done to--" "it is bound to come out all right in the end," he cried, throwing up his head to drink in the new joy of living. "they will find that i have done nothing to injure graustark. wait, dearest, until the day gives up its news. it will not be long in coming. ah, this promise of yours gives me new life, new joy. i could shout it from the housetops!" "but don't!" she cried nervously. "how does she happen to be here with you? tell me, paul. oh, isn't she a dear?" "you shall know everything in time. watch over her, dearest. i have lied today for you, but it was a lie i loved. care for her if you love me. when i am free and in favor again you will--ah!" he broke off suddenly with an exclamation. his eyes were bent eagerly on the circle of trees just beyond the parade-ground. then his hand clasped hers in one spasmodic grip of relief. an instant later he was towering, with head bare, at the top of the steps, his hand pointed dramatically toward the trees. ravone, still in his ragged uniform, haggard but eager, was standing like a gaunt spectre in the sunlight that flooded the terrace. the vagabond, with the eyes of all upon him, raised and lowered his arms thrice, and the face of baldos became radiant. "your highness," he cried to yetive, waving his hand toward the stranger, "i have the honor to announce the prince of dawsbergen." chapter xxviii a boy disappears this startling announcement threw the company into the greatest excitement. baldos ran down the steps and to the side of the astonished princess. "prince dantan!" she cried, unbelieving. he pushed the boyish figure aside and whispered earnestly into yetive's ear. she smiled warmly in response, and her eyes sparkled. "and this, your highness, is his sister, the princess candace," he announced aloud, bowing low before the girl. at that instant she ceased to be the timid, cringing boy. her chin went up in truly regal state as she calmly, even haughtily, responded to the dazed, half-earnest salutes of the men. with a rare smile--a knowing one in which mischief was paramount--she spoke to baldos, giving him her hand to kiss. "ah, dear baldos, you have achieved your sweetest triumph--the theatrical climax to all this time of plotting. my brother's sister loves you for all this. your highness," and she turned to yetive with a captivating smile, "is the luckless sister of dantan welcome in your castle? may i rest here in peace? it has been a bitterly long year, this past week," she sighed. fatigue shot back into her sweet face, and yetive's love went out to her unreservedly. as she drew the slight figure up the steps she turned and said to her ministers: "i shall be glad to receive prince dantan in the throne-room, without delay. i am going to put the princess to bed." "your highness," said baldos from below, "may i be the first to announce to you that there will be no war with dawsbergen?" this was too much. even marlanx looked at his enemy with something like collapse in his eyes. "what do you mean?" cried lorry, seizing him by the arm. "i mean that prince dantan is here to announce the recapture of gabriel, his half-brother. before the hour is past your own men from the dungeon in the mountains will come to report the return of the fugitive. this announcement may explain in a measure the conduct that has earned for me the accusation which confronts me. the men who have retaken gabriel are the members of that little band you have heard so much about. once i was its captain, prince dantan's chief of staff--the commander of his ragged army of twelve. miss calhoun and fate brought me into edelweiss, but my loyalty to the object espoused by our glorious little army has never wavered. without me they have succeeded in tricking and trapping gabriel. it is more than the great army of graustark could do. your highness will pardon the boast under the circumstances?" "if this is true, you have accomplished a miracle," exclaimed lorry, profoundly agitated. "but can it be true? i can't believe it. it is too good. it is too utterly improbable. is that really prince dantan?" "assuming that it is dantan, grenfall," said yetive, "i fancy it is not courteous in us to let him stand over there all alone and ignored. go to him, please." with that she passed through the doors, accompanied by beverly and the young princess. lorry and others went to greet the emaciated visitor in rags and tags. colonel quinnox and baron dangloss looked at one another in doubt and uncertainty. what were they to do with baldos, the prisoner? "you are asking yourself what is to be done with me," said baldos easily. "the order is for my arrest. only the princess can annul it. she has retired on a mission of love and tenderness. i would not have her disturbed. there is nothing left for you to do but to place me in a cell. i am quite ready, colonel quinnox. you will be wise to put me in a place where i cannot hoodwink you further. you do not bear me a grudge?" he laughed so buoyantly, so fearlessly that quinnox forgave him everything. dangloss chuckled, an unheard-of condescension on his part. "we shall meet again, count marlanx. you were not far wrong in your accusations against me, but you have much to account for in another direction." "this is all a clever trick," cried the iron count. "but you shall find me ready to accommodate you when the time comes." at this juncture lorry and count halfont came up with ravone. baldos would have knelt before his ruler had not the worn, sickly young man restrained him. "your hand, captain baldos," he said. "most loyal of friends. you have won far more than the honor and love i can bestow upon you. they tell me you are a prisoner, a suspected traitor. it shall be my duty and joy to explain your motives and your actions. have no fear. the hour will be short and the fruit much the sweeter for the bitterness." "thunder!" muttered harry anguish. "you don't intend to slap him into a cell, do you, gren?" baldos overheard the remark. "i prefer that course, sir, until it has been clearly established that all i have said to you is the truth. count marlanx must be satisfied," said he. "and, baldos, is all well with her?" asked the one we have known as ravone. "she is being put to bed," said baldos, with a laugh so jolly that ravone's lean face was wreathed in a sympathetic smile. "i am ready, gentlemen." he marched gallantly away between the guards, followed by dangloss and colonel quinnox. naturally the graustark leaders were cautious, even skeptical. they awaited confirmation of the glorious news with varying emotions. the shock produced by the appearance of prince dantan in the person of the ascetic ravone was almost stupefying. even beverly, who knew the vagabond better than all the others, had not dreamed of ravone as the fugitive prince. secretly she had hoped as long as she could that baldos would prove, after all, to be no other than dantan. this hope had dwindled to nothing, however, and she was quite prepared for the revelation. she now saw that he was just what he professed to be--a brave but humble friend of the young sovereign; and she was happy in the knowledge that she loved him for what he was and not for what he might have been. "he is my truest friend," said ravone, as they led baldos away. "i am called ravone, gentlemen, and i am content to be known by that name until better fortune gives me the right to use another. you can hardly expect a thing in rags to be called a prince. there is much to be accomplished, much to be forgiven, before there is a prince dantan of dawsbergen again." "you are faint and week," said lorry, suddenly perceiving his plight. "the hospitality of the castle is yours. the promise we made a few days ago holds good. her highness will be proud to receive you when you are ready to come to the throne-room. i am grenfall lorry. come, sir; rest and refresh yourself in our gladdened home. an hour ago we were making ready to rush into battle; but your astonishing but welcome news is calculated to change every plan we have made." "undoubtedly, sir, it will. dawsbergen hardly will make a fight to release gabriel. he is safe in your dungeons. if they want him now, they must come to your strongholds. they will not do it, believe me," said ravone simply. "alas, i am faint and sore, as you suspect. may i lie down for an hour or two? in that time you will have heard from your wardens and my story will be substantiated. then i shall be ready to accept your hospitality as it is proffered. outside your city gates my humble followers lie starving. my only prayer is that you will send them cheer and succor." no time was lost in sending to the gates for the strollers who had accomplished the marvel of the day. the news of gabriel's capture was kept from the city's inhabitants until verification came from the proper sources, but those in control of the affairs of state were certain that ravone's story was true. all operations came to a standstill. the movements of the army were checked. everything lay quiescent under the shock of this startling climax. "hang it," growled anguish, with a quizzical grin, as ravone departed under the guidance of count halfont himself, "this knocks me galley-west. i'd like to have had a hand in it. it must have been great. how the devil do you think that miserable little gang of tramps pulled it off?" "harry," said lorry disgustedly, "they taught us a trick or two." while the young princess was being cared for by yetive's own maids in one of the daintiest bedchambers of the castle, beverly was engaged in writing a brief but pointed letter to her aunt josephine, who was still in st. petersburg. she had persistently refused to visit edelweiss, but had written many imperative letters commanding her niece to return to the russian capital. beverly now was recalling her scattered wits in the effort to appease her aunt and her father at the same time. major calhoun emphatically had ordered her to rejoin her aunt and start for america at once. yesterday beverly would have begun packing for the trip home. now she was eager to remain in graustark indefinitely. she was so thrilled by joy and excitement that she scarcely could hold the pen. "father says the united states papers are full of awful war scares from the balkans. are we a part of the balkans, yetive?" she asked of yetive, with a puzzled frown, emphasizing the pronoun unconsciously. "he says i'm to come right off home. says he'll not pay a nickel of ransom if the brigands catch me, as they did miss stone and that woman who had the baby. he says mother is worried half to death. i'm just going to cable him that it's all off. because he says if war breaks out he's going to send my brother dan over here to get me. i'm having aunt josephine send him this cablegram from st. petersburg: 'they never fight in balkans. just scare each other. skip headlines, father dear. will be home soon. beverly.' how does that sound? it will cost a lot, but he brought it upon his own head. and we're not in the balkans, anyway. aunt joe will have a fit. please call an a. d. t. boy, princess. i want to send this message to st. petersburg." when candace entered the princess's boudoir half an hour later, she was far from being the timid youth who first came to the notice of the graustark cabinet. she was now attired in one of beverly's gowns, and it was most becoming to her. her short curly brown hair was done up properly; her pink and white complexion was as clear as cream, now that the dust of the road was gone; her dark eyes were glowing with the wonder and interest of nineteen years, and she was, all in all, a most enticing bit of femininity. "you are much more of a princess now than when i first saw you," smiled yetive, drawing her down upon the cushions of the window-seat beside her. candace was shy and diffident, despite her proper habiliments. "but she was such a pretty boy," protested dagmar. "you don't know how attractive you were in those--" candace blushed. "oh, they were awful, but they were comfortable. one has to wear trousers if one intends to be a vagabond. i wore them for more than a week." "you shall tell us all about it," said yetive, holding the girl's hand in hers. "it must have been a most interesting week for you." "oh, there is not much to tell, your highness," said candace, suddenly reticent and shy. "my step-brother--oh, how i hate him--had condemned me to die because he thought i was helping dantan. and i _was_ helping him, too,--all that i could. old bappo, master of the stables, who has loved me for a hundred years, he says, helped me to escape from the palace at night. they were to have seized me the next morning. bappo has been master of the stables for more than forty years. dear old bappo! he procured the boy's clothing for me and his two sons accompanied me to the hills, where i soon found my brother and his men. we saw your scouts and talked to them a day or two after i became a member of the band. bappo's boys are with the band now. but my brother dantan shall tell you of that. i was so frightened i could not tell what was going am. i have lived in the open air for a week, but i love it. dantan's friends are all heroes. you will love them. yesterday old franz brought a message into the castle grounds. it told captain baldos of the plan to seize gabriel, who was in the hills near your city. didn't you know of that? oh, we knew it two days ago. baldos knew it yesterday. he met us at four o'clock this morning;--that is part of us. i was sent on with franz so that i should not see bloodshed if it came to the worst. we were near the city gates baldos came straight to us. isn't it funny that you never knew all these things? then at daybreak baldos insisted on bringing me here to await the news from the pass. it was safer, and besides, he said he had another object in coming back at once." beverly flushed warmly. the three women were crowding about the narrator, eagerly drinking in her naive story. "we came in through one of the big gates and not through the underground passage. that was a fib," said candace, looking from one to the other with a perfectly delicious twinkle in her eye. the conspirators gulped and smiled guiltily. "baldos says there is a very mean old man here who is tormenting the fairy princess--not the real princess, you know. he came back to protect her, which was very brave of him, i am sure. where is my brother?" she asked, suddenly anxious. "he is with friends. don't be alarmed, dear," said yetive. "he is changing clothes, too? he needs clothes worse than i needed these. does he say positively that gabriel has been captured?" "yes. did you not know of it?" "i was sure it would happen. you know i was not with them in the pass." yetive was reflecting, a soft smile in her eyes. "i was thinking of the time when i wore men's clothes," she said. "unlike yours, mine were most uncomfortable. it was when i aided mr. lorry in escaping from the tower. i wore a guard's uniform and rode miles with him in a dark carriage before he discovered the truth." she blushed at the remembrance of that trying hour. "and i wore boy's clothes at a girl's party once--my brother dan's," said beverly. "the hostess's brothers came home unexpectedly and i had to sit behind a bookcase for an hour. i didn't see much fun in boy's clothes." "you ought to wear them for a week," said candace, wise in experience. "they are not so bad when you become accustomed to them--that is, if they're strong and not so tight that they--" "you all love baldos, don't you?" interrupted yetive. it was with difficulty that the listeners suppressed their smiles. "better than anyone else. he is our idol. oh, your highness, if what he says is true that old man must be a fiend. baldos a spy! why, he has not slept day or night for fear that we would not capture gabriel so that he might be cleared of the charge without appealing to--to my brother. he has always been loyal to you," the girl said with eager eloquence. "i know, dear, and i have known all along. he will be honorably acquitted. count marlanx was overzealous. he has not been wholly wrong, i must say in justice to him--" "how can you uphold him, yetive, after what he has said about me?" cried beverly, with blazing eyes. "beverly, beverly, you know i don't mean that. he has been a cowardly villain so far as you are concerned and he shall be punished, never fear. i cannot condone that one amazing piece of wickedness on his part." "you, then, are the girl baldos talks so much about?" cried candace eagerly. "you are miss calhoun, the fairy princess? i am so glad to know you." the young princess clasped beverly's hand and looked into her eyes with admiration and approval. beverly could have crushed her in her arms. the sounds of shouting came up to the windows from below. outside, men were rushing to and fro and there were signs of mighty demonstrations at the gates. "the people have heard of the capture," said candace, as calmly as though she were asking one to have a cup of tea. there was a pounding at the boudoir door. it flew open unceremoniously and in rushed lorry, followed by anguish. in the hallway beyond a group of noblemen conversed excitedly with the women of the castle. "the report from the dungeons, yetive," cried lorry joyously. "the warden says that gabriel is in his cell again! here's to prince dantan!" ravone was standing in the door. candace ran over and leaped into his arms. chapter xxix the capture of gabriel ravone was handsome in his borrowed clothes. he was now the clean, immaculate gentleman instead of the wretched vagabond of the hills. even beverly was surprised at the change in him. his erstwhile sad and melancholy face was flushed and bright with happiness. the kiss he bestowed upon the delighted candace was tender in the extreme. then, putting her aside he strode over and gallantly kissed the hand of graustark's princess, beaming an ecstatic smile upon the merry beverly an instant later. "welcome, prince dantan," said yetive, "a thousand times welcome." "all graustark is your throne, most glorious yetive. that is why i have asked to be presented here and not in the royal hall below," said ravone. "you will wait here with us, then, to hear the good news from our warden," said the princess. "send the courier to me," she commanded. "such sweet news should be received in the place which is dearest to me in all graustark." the ministers and the lords and ladies of the castle were assembled in the room when baron dangloss appeared with the courier from the prison. count marlanx was missing. he was on his way to the fortress, a crushed, furious, impotent old man. in his quarters he was to sit and wait for the blow that he knew could not be averted. in fear and despair, hiding his pain and his shame, he was racking his brain for means to lessen the force of that blow. he could withdraw the charges against baldos, but he could not soften the words he had said and written of beverly calhoun. he was not troubling himself with fear because of the adventures in the chapel and passage. he knew too well how yetive could punish when her heart was bitter against an evil-doer. graustark honored and protected its women. the warden of the dungeons from which gabriel had escaped months before reported to the princess that the prisoner was again in custody. briefly he related that a party of men led by prince dantan had appeared early that day bringing the fugitive prince, uninjured, but crazed by rage and disappointment. they had tricked him into following them through the hills, intent upon slaying his brother dantan. there could be no mistake as to gabriel's identity. in conclusion, the warden implored her highness to send troops up to guard the prison in the mountain-side. he feared an attack in force by gabriel's army. "your highness," said lorry, "i have sent instructions to colonel braze, requiring him to take a large force of men into the pass to guard the prison. gabriel shall not escape again, though all dawsbergen comes after him." "you have but little to fear from dawsbergen," said ravone, who was seated near the princess. candace at his side. "messages have been brought to me from the leading nobles of dawsbergen, assuring me that the populace is secretly eager for the old reign to be resumed. only the desperate fear of gabriel and a few of his bloody but loyal advisers holds them in check. believe me, dawsbergen's efforts to release gabriel will be perfunctory and halfhearted in the extreme. he ruled like a madman. it was his intense, implacable desire to kill his brother that led to his undoing. will it be strange, your highness, if dawsbergen welcomes the return of dantan in his stead?" "the story! the story of his capture! tell us the story," came eagerly from those assembled. ravone leaned back languidly, his face tired and drawn once more, as if the mere recalling of the hardships past was hard to bear. "first, your highness, may i advise you and your cabinet to send another ultimatum to the people of dawsbergen?" he asked. "this time say to them that you hold two dawsbergen princes in your hand. one cannot and will not be restored to them. the other will be released on demand. let the embassy be directed to meet the duke of matz, the premier. he is now with the army, not far from your frontier. may it please your highness, i have myself taken the liberty of despatching three trusted followers with the news of gabriel's capture. the two bappos and carl vandos are now speeding to the frontier. your embassy will find the duke of matz in possession of all the facts." "the duke of matz, i am reliably informed, some day is to be father-in-law to dawsbergen," smilingly said yetive. "i shall not wonder if he responds most favorably to an ultimatum." ravone and candace exchanged glances of amusement, the latter breaking into a deplorable little gurgle of laughter. "i beg to inform you that the duke's daughter has disdained the offer from the crown," said ravone. "she has married lieutenant alsanol, of the royal artillery, and is as happy as a butterfly. captain baldos could have told you how the wayward young woman defied her father and laughed at the beggar prince." "captain baldos is an exceedingly discreet person," beverly volunteered. "he has told no tales out of school." "i am reminded of the fact that you gave your purse into my keeping one memorable day--the day when we parted from our best of friends at ganlook's gates. i thought you were a princess, and you did not know that i understood english. that was a sore hour for us. baldos was our life, the heart of our enterprise. gabriel hates him as he hates his own brother. steadfastly has baldos refused to join us in the plot to seize prince gabriel. he once took an oath to kill him on sight, and i was so opposed to this that he had to be left out of the final adventures." "please tell us how you succeeded in capturing that--your half-brother," cried beverly, forgetting that it was another's place to make the request. the audience drew near, eagerly attentive. "at another time i shall rejoice in telling the story in detail. for the present let me ask you to be satisfied with the statement that we tricked him by means of letters into the insane hope that he could capture and slay his half-brother. captain baldos suggested the plan. had he been arrested yesterday, i feel that it would have failed. gabriel was and is insane. we led him a chase through the graustark hills until the time was ripe for the final act. his small band of followers fled at our sudden attack, and he was taken almost without a struggle, not ten miles from the city of edelweiss. in his mad ravings we learned that his chief desire was to kill his brother and sister and after that to carry out the plan that has long been in his mind. he was coming to edelweiss for the sole purpose of entering the castle by the underground passage, with murder in his heart. gabriel was coming to kill the princess yetive and mr. lorry. he has never forgotten the love he bore for the princess, nor the hatred he owes his rival. it was the duty of captain baldos to see that he did not enter the passage in the event that he eluded us in the hills." later in the day the princess yetive received from the gaunt, hawkish old man in the fortress a signed statement, withdrawing his charges against baldos the guard. marlanx did not ask for leniency; it was not in him to plead. if the humble withdrawal of charges against baldos could mitigate the punishment he knew yetive would impose, all well and good. if it went for naught, he was prepared for the worst. down there in his quarters, with wine before him, he sat and waited for the end. he knew that there was but one fate for the man, great or small, who attacked a woman in graustark. his only hope was that the princess might make an exception in the case of one who had been the head of the army--but the hope was too small to cherish. baldos walked forth a free man, the plaudits of the people in his ears. baron dangloss and colonel quinnox were beside the tall guard as he came forward to receive the commendations and apologies of graustark's ruler and the warm promises of reward from the man he served. he knelt before the two rulers who were holding court on the veranda. the cheers of nobles, the shouts of soldiery, the exclamations of the ladies did not turn his confident head. he was the born knight. the look of triumph that he bestowed upon beverly calhoun, who lounged gracefully beside the stone balustrade, brought the red flying to her cheeks. he took something from his breast and held it gallantly to his lips, before all the assembled courtiers. beverly knew that it was a faded rose! chapter xxx in the grotto the next morning a royal messenger came to count marlanx. he bore two sealed letters from the princess. one briefly informed him that general braze was his successor as commander-in-chief of the army of graustark. he hesitated long before opening the other. it was equally brief and to the point. the iron count's teeth came together with a savage snap as he read the signature of the princess at the end. there was no recourse. she had struck for beverly calhoun. he looked at his watch. it was eleven o'clock. the edict gave him twenty-four hours from the noon of that day. the gray old libertine despatched a messenger for his man of affairs, a lawyer of high standing in edelweiss. together they consulted until midnight. shortly after daybreak the morning following. count marlanx was in the train for vienna, never to set foot on graustark's soil again. he was banished and his estates confiscated by the government. the ministry in edelweiss was not slow to reopen negotiations with dawsbergen. a proclamation was sent to the prime minister, setting forth the new order of affairs and suggesting the instant suspension of hostile preparations and the restoration of prince dantan. accompanying this proclamation went a dignified message from dantan, informing his people that he awaited their commands. he was ready to resume the throne that had been so desecrated. it would be his joy to restore dawsbergen to its once peaceful and prosperous condition. in the meantime the duke of mizrox despatched the news to the princess volga of axphain, who was forced to abandon--temporarily, at least--her desperate designs upon graustark. the capture of gabriel put an end to her transparent plans. "but she is bound to break out against us sooner or later and on the slightest provocation," said yetive. "i daresay that a friendly alliance between graustark and dawsbergen will prove sufficient to check any ambitions she may have along that line," said ravone significantly. "they are very near to each other now, your highness. friends should stand together." beverly calhoun was in suspense. baldos had been sent off to the frontier by prince dantan, carrying the message which could be trusted to no other. he accompanied the graustark ambassadors of peace as dantan's special agent. he went in the night time and beverly did not see him. the week which followed his departure was the longest she ever spent. she was troubled in her heart for fear that he might not return, despite the declaration she had made to him in one hysterical moment. it was difficult for her to keep up the show of cheerfulness that was expected of her. reticence became her strongest characteristic. she persistently refused to be drawn into a discussion of her relations with the absent one. yetive was piqued by her manner at first, but wisely saw through the mask as time went on. she and prince dantan had many quiet and interesting chats concerning beverly and the erstwhile guard. the prince took lorry and the princess into his confidence. he told them all there was to tell about his dashing friend and companion. beverly and the young princess candace became fast and loving friends. the young girl's worship of her brother was beautiful to behold. she huddled close to him on every occasion, and her dark eyes bespoke adoration whenever his name was mentioned in her presence. "if he doesn't come back pretty soon, i'll pack up and start for home," beverly said to herself resentfully one day. "then if he wants to see me he'll have to come all the way to washington. and i'm not sure that he can do it, either. he's too disgustingly poor." "wha's became o' dat misteh baldos, miss bev'ly?" asked aunt fanny in the midst of these sorry cogitations. "has he tuck hit int' his haid to desert us fo' good? seems to me he'd oughteh--" "now, that will do, aunt fanny," reprimanded her mistress sternly. "you are not supposed to know anything about affairs of state. so don't ask." at last she no longer could curb her impatience and anxiety. she deliberately sought information from prince dantan. they were strolling in the park on the seventh day of her inquisition. "have you heard from paul baldos?" she asked, bravely plunging into deep water. "he is expected here tomorrow or the next day, miss calhoun. i am almost as eager to see him as you are," he replied, with a very pointed smile. "almost? well, yes, i'll confess that i am eager to see him. i never knew i could long for anyone as much as i--oh, well, there's no use hiding it from you. i couldn't if i tried. i care very much for him. you don't think it sounds silly for me to say such a thing, do you? i've thought a great deal of him ever since the night at the inn of the hawk and raven. in my imagination i have tried to strip you of your princely robes to place them upon him. but he is only baldos, in spite of it all. he knows that i care for him, and i know that he cares for me. perhaps he has told you." "yes, he has confessed that he loves you, miss calhoun, and he laments the fact that his love seems hopeless. paul wonders in his heart if it would be right in him to ask you to give up all you have of wealth and pleasure to share a humble lot with him." "i love him. isn't that enough? there is no wealth so great as that. but," and she pursed her mouth in pathetic despair, "don't you think that you can make a noble or something of him and give him a station in life worthy of his ambitions? he has done so much for you, you know." "i have nothing that i can give to him, he says. paul baldos asks only that he may be my champion until these negotiations are ended. then he desires to be free to serve whom he will. all that i can do is to let him have his way. he is a freelance and he asks no favors, no help." "well, i think he's perfectly ridiculous about it, don't you? and yet, that is the very thing i like in him. i am only wondering how we--i mean, how he is going to live, that's all." "if i am correctly informed he still has several months to serve in the service for which he enlisted. you alone, i believe, have the power to discharge him before his term expires," said he meaningly. that night baldos returned to edelweiss, ahead of the graustark delegation which was coming the next day with representatives from dawsbergen. he brought the most glorious news from the frontier. the duke of matz and the leading dignitaries had heard of gabriel's capture, both through the bappo boys and through a few of his henchmen who had staggered into camp after the disaster. the news threw the dawsbergen diplomats into a deplorable state of uncertainty. even the men high in authority, while not especially depressed over the fall of their sovereign, were in doubt as to what would be the next move in their series of tragedies. almost to a man they regretted the folly which had drawn them into the net with gabriel. baldos reported that the duke of matz and a dozen of the most distinguished men in dawsbergen were on their way to edelweiss to complete arrangements for peace and to lay their renunciation of gabriel before dantan in a neutral court. the people of dawsbergen had been clamoring long for dantan's restoration, and baldos was commissioned to say that his return would be the signal for great rejoicing. he was closeted until after midnight with dantan and his sister. lorry and princess yetive being called in at the end to hear and approve of the manifesto prepared by the prince of dawsbergen. the next morning the word went forth that a great banquet was to be given in the castle that night for prince dantan and the approaching noblemen. the prince expected to depart almost immediately thereafter to resume the throne in serros. baldos was wandering through the park early in the morning. his duties rested lightly upon his shoulders, but he was restless and dissatisfied. the longing in his heart urged him to turn his eyes ever and anon toward the balcony and then to the obstinate-looking castle doors. the uniform of a graustark guard still graced his splendid figure. at last a graceful form was seen coming from the castle toward the cedars. she walked bravely, but aimlessly. that was plain to be seen. it was evident that she was and was not looking for someone. baldos observed with a thrill of delight that a certain red feather stood up defiantly from the band of her sailor hat. he liked the way her dark-blue walking-skirt swished in harmony with her lithe, firm strides. she was quite near before he advanced from his place among the trees. he did not expect her to exhibit surprise or confusion and he was not disappointed. she was as cool as a brisk spring morning. he did not offer his hand, but, with a fine smile of contentment, bowed low and with mock servility. "i report for duty, your highness," he said. she caught the ring of gladness in his voice. "then i command you to shake hands with me," she said brightly. "you have been away, i believe?" with a delicious inflection. "yes, for a century or more, i'm sure." constraint fell upon them suddenly. the hour had come for a definite understanding and both were conquered by its importance. for the first time in his life he knew the meaning of diffidence. it came over him as he looked helplessly into the clear, gray, earnest eyes. "i love you for wearing that red feather," he said simply. "and i loved you for wearing it," she answered, her voice soft and thrilling. he caught his breath joyously. "beverly," as he bent over her, "you are my very life, my--" "don't, paul!" she whispered, drawing away with an embarrassed glance about the park. there were people to be seen on all sides. but he had forgotten them. he thought only of the girl who ruled his heart. seeing the pain in his face, she hastily, even blushingly, said: "it is so public, dear." he straightened himself with soldierly precision, but his voice trembled as he tried to speak calmly in defiance to his eyes. "there is the grotto--see! it is seclusion itself. will you come with me? i must tell you all that is in my heart. it will burst if i do not." slowly they made their way to the fairy grotto deep in the thicket of trees. it was yetive's favorite dreaming place. dark and cool and musical with the rippling of waters, it was an ideal retreat. she dropped upon the rustic bench that stood against the moss-covered wall of boulders. with the gentle reserve of a man who reveres as well as loves, baldos stood above her. he waited and she understood. how unlike most impatient lovers he was! "you may sit beside me," she said with a wistful smile of acknowledgment. as he flung himself into the seat, his hand eagerly sought hers, his courtly reserve gone to the winds. "beverly, dearest one, you never can know how much i love you," he whispered into her ear. "it is a deathless love, unconquerable, unalterable. it is in my blood to love forever. listen to me, dear one: i come of a race whose love is hot and enduring. my people from time immemorial have loved as no other people have loved. they have killed and slaughtered for the sake of the glorious passion. love is the religion of my people. you must, you shall believe me when i say that i will love you better than my soul so long as that soul exists. i loved you the day i met you. it has been worship since that time." his passion carried her resistlessly away as the great waves sweep the deck of a ship at sea. she was out in the ocean of love, far from all else that was dear to her, far from all harbors save the mysterious one to which his passion was piloting her through a storm of emotion. "i have longed so to hold you in my arms, beverly--even when you were a princess and i lay in the hospital at ganlook, my fevered arms hungered for you. there never has been a moment that my heart has not been reaching out in search of yours. you have glorified me, dearest, by the promise you made a week ago. i know that you will not renounce that precious pledge. it is in your eyes now--the eyes i shall worship to the end of eternity. tell me, though, with your own lips, your own voice, that you will be my wife, mine to hold forever." for answer she placed her arms about his neck and buried her face against his shoulder. there were tears in her gray eyes and there was a sob in her throat. he held her close to his breast for an eternity, it seemed to both, neither giving voice to the song their hearts were singing. there was no other world than the fairy grotto. "sweetheart, i am asking you to make a great sacrifice," he said at last, his voice hoarse but tender. she looked up into his face serenely. "can you give up the joys, the wealth, the comforts of that home across the sea to share a lowly cottage with me and my love? wait, dear,--do not speak until i am through. you must think of what your friends will say. the love and life i offer you now will not be like that which you always have known. it will be poverty and the dregs, not riches and wine. it will be--" but she placed her hand upon his lips, shaking her head emphatically. the picture he was painting was the same one that she had studied for days and days. its every shadow was familiar to her, its every unwholesome corner was as plain as day. "the rest of the world may think what it likes, paul," she said. "it will make no difference to me. i have awakened from my dream. my dream prince is gone, and i find that it's the real man that i love. what would you have me do? give you up because you are poor? or would you have me go up the ladder of fame and prosperity with you, a humble but adoring burden? i know you, dear. you will not always be poor. they may say what they like. i have thought long and well, because i am not a fool. it is the american girl who marries the titled foreigner without love that is a fool. marrying a poor man is too serious a business to be handled by fools. i have written to my father, telling him that i am going to marry you," she announced. he gasped with unbelief. "you have--already?" he cried. "of course. my mind has been made up for more than a week. i told it to aunt fanny last night." "and she?" "she almost died, that's all," said she unblushingly. "i was afraid to cable the news to father. he might stop me if he knew it in time. a letter was much smarter." "you dear, dear little sacrifice," he cried tenderly. "i will give all my life to make you happy." "i am a soldier's daughter, and i can be a soldier's wife. i have tried hard to give you up, paul, but i couldn't. you are love's soldier, dear, and it is a--a relief to surrender and have it over with." they fell to discussing plans for the future. it all went smoothly and airily until he asked her when he should go to washington to claim her as his wife. she gave him a startled, puzzled look. "to washington?" she murmured, turning very cold and weak. "you--you won't have to go to washington, dear; i'll stay here." "my dear beverly, i can afford the trip," he laughed. "i am not an absolute pauper. besides, it is right and just that your father should give you to me. it is the custom of our land." she was nervous and uncertain. "but--but, paul, there are many things to think of," she faltered. "you mean that your father would not consent?" "well,--he--he might be unreasonable," she stammered. "and then there are my brothers, keith and dan. they are foolishly interested in me. dan thinks no one is good enough for me. so does keith. and father, too, for that matter,--and mother. you see, it's not just as if you were a grand and wealthy nobleman. they may not understand. we are southerners, you know. some of them have peculiar ideas about--" "don't distress yourself so much, dearest," he said with a laugh. "though i see your position clearly--and it is not an enviable one." "we can go to washington just as soon as we are married," she compromised. "father has a great deal of influence over there. with his help behind you you will soon be a power in the united--" but his hearty laugh checked her eager plotting. "it's nothing to laugh at, paul," she said. "i beg your pardon a thousand times. i was thinking of the disappointment i must give you now. i cannot live in the united states--never. my home is here. i am not born for the strife of your land. they have soldiers enough and better than i. it is in the turbulent east that we shall live--you and i." tears came into her eyes. "am i not to--to go back to washin'ton?" she tried to smile. "when prince dantan says we may, perhaps." "oh, he is my friend," she cried in great relief. "i can get any favor i ask of him. oh, paul, paul, i know that my folks will think i'm an awful fool, but i can't help it. i shall let you know that i intend to be a blissful one, at least." he kissed her time and again, out there in the dark, soft light of the fairy grotto. "before we can be married, dearest, i have a journey of some importance to take," he announced, as they arose to leave the bower behind. "a journey? where?" "to vienna. i have an account to settle with a man who has just taken up his residence there." his hand went to his sword-hilt and his dark eyes gleamed with the fire she loved. "count marlanx and i have postponed business to attend to, dearest. have no fear for me. my sword is honest and i shall bring it back to you myself." she shuddered and knew that it would be as he said. chapter xxxi clear skies the duke of matz and his associates reached edelweiss in the afternoon. their attendants and servants carried luggage bearing the princely crest of dawsbergen, and meant for prince dantan and his sister candace. in the part of the castle set apart for the visitors an important consultation was held behind closed doors. there dantan met his countrymen and permitted them to renew the pledge of fealty that had been shattered by the overpowering influence of his mad half-brother. what took place at this secret meeting the outside world never knew. only the happy result was made known. prince dantan was to resume his reign over dawsbergen, as if it never had been interrupted. the castle, brilliant from bottom to top, filled with music and laughter, experienced a riot of happiness such as it had not known in years. the war clouds had lifted, the sunshine of contentment was breaking through the darkness, and there was rejoicing in the hearts of all. bright and glorious were the colors that made up the harmony of peace. men and women of high degree came to the historic old walls, garbed in the riches of royalty and nobility. to beverly calhoun it was the most enchanting sight she had ever looked upon. from the galleries she gazed down into the halls glittering with the wealth of graustark and was conscious of a strange feeling of glorification. she felt that she had a part in this jubilee. with candace she descended the grand staircase and mingled with the resplendent crowd. she was the center of attraction. dressed in a simple, close-fitting gown of black velvet, without an ornament, her white arms and shoulders gleaming in the soft light from the chandeliers, she was an enticing creature to be admired by men and women alike. two stalwart americans felt their hearts bound with pride as they saw the conquest their countrywoman was making. candace, her constant companion in these days, was consumed with delight. "you are the prettiest thing in all this world," she ecstatically whispered into beverly's ear. "my brother says so, too," she added conclusively. beverly was too true a woman not to revel in this subtle flattery. the great banquet hall was to be thrown open at midnight. there was dancing and song during the hours leading up to this important event. beverly was entranced. she had seen brilliant affairs at home, but none of them compared to this in regal splendor. it was the sensuous, overpowering splendor of the east. prince dantan joined the throng just before midnight. he made his way direct to the little circle of which beverly and candace formed the center. his rich, full military costume gave him a new distinction that quite overcame beverly. they fell into an animated conversation, exchanging shafts of wit that greatly amused those who could understand the language. "you must remember," beverly said in reply to one of ravone's sallies, "that americans are not in the least awed by europe's greatness. it has come to the pass when we call europe our playground. we now go to europe as we go to the circus or the county fair at home. it isn't much more trouble, you know, and we must see the sights." "alas, poor europe!" he laughed. as he strolled about with her and candace he pointed out certain men to her, asking her to tax her memory in the effort to recall their faces if not their apparel. she readily recognized in the lean, tired faces the men she had met first at the inn of the hawk and raven. "they were vagabonds then, miss calhoun. now they are noblemen. does the transition startle you?" "isn't baldos among them?" she asked, voicing the query that had been uppermost in her mind since the moment when she looked down from the galleries and failed to see him. she was wondering how he would appear in court costume. "you forget that baldos is only a guard," he said kindly. "he is a courtier, nevertheless," she retorted. she was vaguely disappointed because he was missing from the scene of splendor. it proved to her that caste overcame all else in the rock-ribbed east. the common man, no matter how valiant, had no place in such affairs as these. her pride was suffering. she was as a queen among the noblest of the realm. as the wife of baldos she would live in another world--on the outskirts of this one of splendor and arrogance. a stubborn, defiant little frown appeared on her brow as she pictured herself in her mind's eye standing afar off with "the man" baldos, looking at the opulence she could not reach. her impetuous, rebellious little heart was thumping bitterly as she considered this single phase of the life to come. she was ready to cry out against the injustice of it all. the little frown was portentous of deep-laid designs. she would break down this cruel barrier that kept baldos from the fields over which prejudice alone held sway. her love for him and her determination to be his wife were not in the least dulled by these reflections. the doors to the great banquet-hall were thrown open at last and in the disorder that followed she wondered who was to lead her to the feasting. the duke of mizrox claimed the princess candace. "i am to have the honor," said someone at her side, and the voice was the one she least expected to hear utter the words. the speaker was the man who deserved the place beside yetive--prince dantan himself. bewildered, her heart palpitating with various emotions, she took his arm and allowed herself to be drawn wonderingly through the massive doors. as they entered, followed by the brilliant company, the superb orchestra that beverly had so often enjoyed, began to play the stirring "hands across the sea." the musicians themselves seemed to have caught the universal feeling of joy and mirth that was in the air, and played as if inspired, their leader bowing low to the young american girl as she passed. it was his affectionate tribute to her. prince dantan, to her amazement, led her up the entire length of the banquet hall, to the head of the royal table, gorgeous with the plate of a hundred graustark rulers, placing her on his left and next to the slightly raised royal chairs. candace was on his right, the picture of happiness. beverly felt dizzy, weak. she looked helplessly at prince dantan. his smile was puzzling. as if in a daze, she saw grenfall lorry with the countess yvonne standing exactly opposite to her, he with the others, awaiting the appearance of the princess and the one who was to sit beside her. the music ceased, there was a hush over the room, and then yetive came forward, magnificent in her royal robes, smiling and happy. a tall man in the uniform of an exalted army officer stood beside her, gold braid and bejeweled things across his breast. beverly turned deathly white, her figure stiffened and then relaxed. it was baldos! she never knew how she dropped into the chair the servant held for her. she only knew that his dark eyes were smiling at her with love and mischief in their depths. there was a vague, uncertain sound of chattering; someone was talking eagerly to her, but she heard him not; there was a standing toast to the prince of dawsbergen; then the audacious ghost of baldos was proposing a ringing response to the princess yetive; the orchestra was playing the graustark and dawsbergen national hymns. but it was all as a dream to her. at last she heard candace calling to her, her face wreathed in smiles. scores of eyes seemed to be looking at her and all of them were full of amusement. "now, say that a girl can't keep a secret," came to her ears from the radiant sister of dantan. ravone, at her side, spoke to her, and she turned to him dizzily. "you first knew me as ravone, miss calhoun," he was saying genially. "then it became necessary, by royal command, for me to be prince dantan. may i have the honor of introducing myself in the proper person? i am christobal of rapp-thorburg, and i shall be no other than he hereafter. the friendship that binds me to prince dantan, at last in his proper place beside the princess of graustark, is to be strengthened into a dearer relationship before many days have passed." "the princess candace ceases to be his sister," volunteered the duke of mizrox. "she is and long has been his affianced wife." enchanted and confused over all that had occurred in the last few moments, beverly murmured her heartfelt congratulations to the joyous couple. the orchestra had again ceased playing. all eyes turned to baldos,--the real prince dantan,--who, glass in hand, rose to his feet. "your royal highness, ladies and gentlemen: graustark and dawsbergen are entering a new era. i pledge you my honor that never again shall the slightest misunderstanding exist between them. they shall go forth to their glorious destiny as one people. your gracious ruler has seen fit to bestow her hand and affections upon an american gentleman, your esteemed prince consort. we all know how loyally the people have approved her choice. there is one present, a trusted friend of your beautiful princess, and lovingly called in your hearts, beverly of graustark. whose example more worthy for me to follow than that of the princess yetive? with whom could i better share my throne and please you more than with your beloved american protege. i ask you to drink a toast to my betrothed, beverly calhoun, the future princess of dawsbergen." every glass was raised and the toast drunk amidst ringing cheers. the military band crashed out the air so dear to all americans, especially to southern hearts. beverly was too overcome to speak. "you all--!" she exclaimed. there was a tremendous commotion in the gallery. people were standing in their seats half frightened and amused, their attention attracted by the unusual scene. a portly negress totally unconscious of the sensation she was causing, her feet keeping time to the lively strains of music, was frantically waving a red and yellow bandanna handkerchief. it was aunt fanny, and in a voice that could be heard all over the banquet hall, she shouted: "good lawd, honey, ef der ain't playin' 'away down south in dixie,' hooray! hooray!" * * * * * hours later beverly was running, confused and humbled, through the halls to her room, when a swifter one than she came up and checked her flight. "beverly," cried an eager voice. she slackened her pace and glanced over her shoulder. the smiling, triumphant face of baldos met her gaze. the upper hall was almost clear of people. she was strangely frightened, distressingly diffident. her door was not far away, and she would have reached it in an instant later had he not laid a restraining, compelling hand upon her arm. then she turned to face him, her lips parted in protest. "don't look at me in that way," he cried imploringly. "come, dearest, come with me. we can be alone in the nook at the end of the hall. heavens, i am the happiest being in all the world. it has turned out as i have prayed it should." she allowed him to lead her to the darkened nook. in her soul she was wondering why her tongue was so powerless. there were a hundred things she wanted to say to him, but now that the moment had come she was voiceless. she only could look helplessly at him. joy seemed to be paralyzed within her; it was as if she slept and could not be awakened. as she sank upon the cushion he dropped to his knee before her, his hand clasping hers with a fervor that thrilled her with life. as he spoke, her pulses quickened and the blood began to race furiously. "i have won your love, beverly, by the fairest means. there has never been an hour in which i have not been struggling for this glorious end. you gave yourself to me when you knew i could be nothing more than the humblest soldier. it was the sacrifice of love. you will forgive my presumption--my very insolence, dear one, when i tell you that my soul is the forfeit i pay. it is yours through all eternity. i love you. i can give you the riches of the world as well as the wealth of the heart. the vagabond dies; your poor humble follower gives way to the supplicating prince. you would have lived in a cot as the guardsman's wife; you will take the royal palace instead?" beverly was herself again. the spell was gone. her eyes swam with happiness and love; the suffering her pride had sustained was swept into a heap labeled romance, and she was rejoicing. "i hated you to-night, i thought," she cried, taking his face in her hands. "it looked as though you had played a trick on me. it was mean, dear. i couldn't help thinking that you had used me as a plaything and it--it made me furious. but it is different now. i see, oh, so plainly. and just as i had resigned myself to the thought of spending the rest of my life in a cottage, away outside the pale of this glorious life! oh, it is like a fairy tale!" "ah, but it was not altogether a trick, dear one. there was no assurance that i could regain the throne--not until the very last. without it i should have been the beggar instead of the prince. we would have lived in a hovel, after all. fortune was with me, i deceived you for months, beverly--my beverly, but it was for the best. in defense of my honor and dignity, however, i must tell you that the princess has known for many days that i am dantan. i told her the truth when christobal came that day with the news. it was all well enough for me to pass myself off as a vagabond, but it would have been unpardonable to foist him upon her as the prince." "and she has known for a week?" cried beverly in deep chagrin. "and the whole court has known." "i alone was blind?" "as blind as the proverb. thank god, i won your love as a vagabond. i can treasure it as the richest of my princely possessions. you have not said that you will go to my castle with me, dear." she leaned forward unsteadily and he took her in his eager arms. their lips met and their eyes closed in the ecstasy of bliss. after a long time she lifted her lids and her eyes of gray looked solemnly into his dark ones. "i have much to ask you about, many explanations to demand, sir," she said threateningly. "by the rose that shields my heart, you shall have the truth," he laughed back at her. "i am still your servant. my enlistment is endless. i shall always serve your highness." "your highness!" she murmured reflectively. then a joyous smile of realization broke over her face. "isn't it wonderful?" "do you think your brothers will let me come to washington, now?" he asked teasingly. "it does seem different, doesn't it?" she murmured, with a strange little smile, "you _will_ come for me?" "to the ends of the earth, your highness." proofreading team. love affairs of the courts of europe by thornton hall, f.s.a., barrister-at-law, author of "love romancies of the aristocracy", "love intrigues of royal courts", etc., etc. to my cousin, lenore contents chap i. a comedy queen ii. the "bonnie prince's" bride iii. the peasant and the empress iv. a crown that failed v. a queen of hearts vi. the regent's daughter vii. a princess of mystery viii. the king and the "little dove" ix. the romance of the beautiful swede x. the sister of an emperor xi. a siren of the eighteenth century xii. the corsican and the creole xiii. the enslaver of a king xiv. an empress and her favourites xv. a seventeenth-century cinderella xvi. bianca, grand duchess of tuscany xvii. richelieu, the rouÉ xviii. the indiscretions of a princess xix. the indiscretions of a princess--_continued_ xx. the love-affairs of a regent xxi. a delilah of the court of france xxii. the "sun-king" and the widow xxiii. a throned barbarian xxiv. a friend of marie antoinette xxv. the rival sisters xxvi. the rival sisters--_continued_ xxvii. a mistress of intrigue xxviii. an ill-fated marriage xxix. an ill-fated marriage--_continued_ list of illustrations bianca capello bonaventura grand duchess of tuscany catherine the second of russia count gregory orloff desirÉe clary josephine de beauharnais, empress (by prud'hon) lola montez, countess of landsfeld ludwig i., king of bavaria francesco i., grand duke of tuscany caroline of brunswick, wife of george iv love affairs of the courts of europe chapter i a comedy queen "it was to a noise like thunder, and close clasped in a soldier's embrace, that catherine i. made her first appearance in russian history." history, indeed, contains few chapters more strange, more seemingly impossible, than this which tells the story of the maid-of-all-work--the red-armed, illiterate peasant-girl who, without any dower of beauty or charm, won the idolatry of an emperor and succeeded him on the greatest throne of europe. so obscure was catherine's origin that no records reveal either her true name or the year or place of her birth. all that we know is that she was cradled in some livonian village, either in sweden or poland, about the year , the reputed daughter of a serf-mother and a peasant-father; and that her numerous brothers and sisters were known in later years by the name skovoroshtchenko or skovronski. the very christian name by which she is known to history was not hers until it was given to her by her imperial lover. it is not until the year , when the future empress of the russias was a girl of seventeen, that she makes her first dramatic appearance on the stage on which she was to play so remarkable a part. then we find her acting as maid-servant to the lutheran pastor of marienburg, scrubbing his floors, nursing his children, and waiting on his resident pupils, in the midst of all the perils of warfare. the russian hosts had for weeks been laying siege to marienburg; and the commandant, unable to defend the town any longer against such overwhelming odds, had announced his intention to blow up the fortress, and had warned the inhabitants to leave the town. between the alternatives of death within the walls and the enemy without, pastor glück chose the latter; and sallying forth with his family and maid-servant, threw himself on the mercy of the russians who promptly packed him off to moscow a prisoner. for martha (as she seems to have been known in those days) a different fate was reserved. her red lips, saucy eyes, and opulent figure were too seductive a spoil to part with, general shérémétief decided, and she was left behind, a by no means reluctant hostage. peter's soldiers, now that victory was assured, were holding high revel of feasting and song and dancing. they received the new prisoner literally with open arms, and almost before she had wiped the tears from her eyes, at parting from her nurslings, she was capering gaily to the music of hautboy and fiddle, with the arm of a stalwart soldier round her waist. "suddenly," says waliszewski, "a fearful explosion overthrew the dancers, cut the music short, and left the servant-maid, fainting with terror, in the arms of a dragoon." thus did martha, the "siren of the kitchen," dance her way into russian history, little dreaming, we may be sure, to what dizzy heights her nimble feet were to carry her. for a time she found her pleasure in the attentions of a non-commissioned officer, sharing the life of camp and barracks and making friends by the good-nature which bubbled in her, and which was always her chief charm. when her sergeant began to weary of her, she found a humble place as laundry-maid in the household of menshikoff, the tsar's favourite, whose shirts, we are told, it was her privilege to wash; and who, it seems, was by no means insensible to the buxom charms of this maid of the laundry. at any rate we find menshikoff, when he was spending the easter of at witebsk, writing to his sister to send her to him. but a greater than menshikoff was soon to appear on the scene--none other than the emperor peter himself. one day the tsar, calling on his favourite, was astonished to see the cleanliness of his surroundings and his person. "how do you contrive," he asked, "to have your house so well kept, and to wear such fresh and dainty linen?" menshikoff's answer was "to open a door, through which the sovereign perceived a handsome girl, aproned, and sponge in hand, bustling from chair to chair, and going from window to window, scrubbing the window-panes"--a vision of industry which made such a powerful appeal to his majesty that he begged an introduction on the spot to the lady of the sponge. the most daring writer of fiction could scarcely devise a more romantic meeting than this between the autocrat of russia and the red-armed, bustling cleaner of the window-panes, and he would certainly never have ventured to build on it the romance of which it was the prelude. what it was in the young peasant-woman that attracted the emperor it is impossible to say. of beauty she seems to have had none--save perhaps such as lies in youth and rude health. we look at her portraits in vain to discover a trace of any charm that might appeal to man. her pictures in the romanof gallery at st petersburg show a singularly plain woman with a large, round peasant-face, the most conspicuous feature of which is a hideously turned-up nose. large, protruding eyes and an opulent bust complete a presentment of the typical household drudge--"a servant-girl in a german inn." but peter the great, who was ever abnormal in all his tastes and appetites, was always more ready to make love to a woman of the people than to the most beautiful and refined of his court ladies. his standard of taste, as of manners, has not inaptly been likened to that of a dutch sailor. but whatever it was in the low-born laundry-woman that attracted the tsar of russia, we know that this first unconventional meeting led to many others, and that before long catherine (for we may now call her by the name she made so famous) was removed from his favourite's household and installed in the imperial harem where, for a time at least, she seems to have shared her favours indiscriminately between her old master and her new--"an obscure and complaisant mistress"--until menshikoff finally resigned all rights in her to his sovereign. when catherine took up her residence in her new home, waliszewski tells us, "her eye shortly fell on certain magnificent jewels. forthwith, bursting into tears, she addressed her new protector: 'who put these ornaments here? if they come from the other one, i will keep nothing but this little ring; but if they come from you, how could you think i needed them to make me love you?'" if catherine lacked physical graces, this and many another story prove that she had a rare gift of diplomacy. she had, moreover, an unfailing cheerfulness and goodness of heart which quickly endeared her to the moody and capricious peter. in his frequent fits of nervous irritability which verged on madness, she alone had the power to soothe him and restore him to sanity. her very voice had a magic to arrest him in his worst rages, and when the fit of madness (for such it undoubtedly was) was passing away she would "take his head and caress it tenderly, passing her fingers through his hair. soon he grew drowsy and slept, leaning against her breast. for two or three hours she would sit motionless, waiting for the cure slumber always brought him, until at last he awoke cheerful and refreshed." thus each day the livonian peasant-woman took deeper root in the heart of the emperor, until she became indispensable to him. wherever he went she was his constant companion--in camp or on visits to foreign courts, where she was received with the honours due to a queen. and not only were her presence and her ministrations infinitely pleasant to him; her prudent counsel saved him from many a blunder and mad excess, and on at least one occasion rescued his army from destruction. so strong was the hold she soon won on his affection and gratitude that he is said to have married her secretly within three years of first setting eyes on her. her future and that of the children she had borne to him became his chief concern; and as early as , when he was leaving moscow to join his army, he left behind him a note: "if, by god's will, anything should happen to me, let the roubles which will be found in menshikoff's house be given to catherine vassilevska and her daughter." but whatever the truth may be about the alleged secret marriage, we know that early in , peter, in his admiral's uniform, stood at the altar with the livonian maid-servant, in the presence of his court officials, and with two of her own little daughters as bridesmaids. the wedding, we are told, was performed in a little chapel belonging to prince menshikoff, and was preceded by an interview with the dowager-empress and his princess sisters, in which peter declared his intention to make catherine his wife and commanded them to pay her the respect due to her new rank. then followed, in brilliant sequence, state dinners, receptions, and balls, at all of which the laundress-bride sat at her husband's right hand and received the homage of his subjects as his queen. picture now the woman who but a few years earlier had scrubbed pastor glück's floors and cleaned menshikoff's window-panes, in all her new splendours as empress of russia. the portraits of her, in her unaccustomed glories, are far from flattering and by no means consistent. "she showed no sign of ever having possessed beauty," says baron von pöllnitz; "she was tall and strong and very dark, and would have seemed darker but for the rouge and whitening with which she plastered her face." the picture drawn by the margravine of baireuth is still less attractive: "she was short and huddled up, much tanned, and utterly devoid of dignity or grace. muffled up in her clothes, she looked like a german comedy-actress. her old-fashioned gown, heavily embroidered with silver, and covered with dirt, had been bought in some old-clothes shop. the front of her skirt was adorned with jewels, and she had a dozen orders and as many portraits of saints fastened all along the facings of her dress, so that when she walked she jingled like a mule." but in the eyes of one man at least--and he the greatest in all russia--she was beautiful. his allegiance never wavered, nor indeed did that of his army, which idolised her to a man. she might have no boudoir graces, but at least she was the typical soldier's wife, and cut a brave figure, as she reviewed the troops or rode at their head in her uniform and grenadier cap. she shared all the hardships and dangers of campaigns with a smile on her lips, sleeping on the hard ground, and standing in the trenches with the bullets whistling about her ears, and men dropping to right and left of her. nor was there ever a trace of vanity in her. she was as proud of her humble origin as if she had been cradled in a palace. to princes and ambassadors she would talk freely of the days when she was a household drudge, and loved to remind her husband of the time when his empress used to wash shirts for his favourite. "though, no doubt, you have other laundresses about you," she wrote to him once, "the old one never forgets you." the letters that passed between this oddly assorted couple, if couched in terms which could scarcely see print in our more restrained age, are eloquent of affection and devotion. to peter his kitchen-queen was "friend of my heart," "dearest heart," and "dear little mother." he complains pathetically, when away with his army, "i am dull without you--and there is nobody to take care of my shirts." when catherine once left him on a round of visits, he grew so impatient at her absence that he sent a yacht to bring her back, and with it a note: "when i go into my rooms and find them deserted, i feel as if i must rush away at once. it is all so empty without thee." and each letter is accompanied by a present--now a watch, now some costly lace, and again a lock of his hair, or a simple bunch of dried flowers, while she returns some such homely gift as a little fruit or a fur-lined waistcoat. on both sides, too, a vein of jocularity runs through the letters, as when catherine addresses him as "your excellency, the very illustrious and eminent prince-general and knight of the crowned compass and axe"; and when peter, after the peace of nystadt, writes: "according to the treaty i am obliged to return all livonian prisoners to the king of sweden. what is to become of thee, i don't know." to which she answers, with true wifely (if affected) humility: "i am your servant; do with me as you will; yet i venture to think you won't send _me_ back." quite idyllic, this post-nuptial love-making between the great emperor and his low-born queen, who has so possessed his heart that no other woman, however fair, could wrest it from her. and in her exalted position of empress she practised the same diplomatic arts by which she had won peter's devotion. politics she left severely alone; she turned a forbidding back on all attempts to involve her in state intrigues, but she was ever ready to protect those who appealed to her for help, and to use her influence with her husband to procure pardon or lighter punishment for those who had fallen under his displeasure. nor did she forget her poor relations in livonia. one brother, a postillion, she openly acknowledged, introduced to her husband, and obtained a liberal pension for him; and to her other brothers and sisters she sent frequent presents and sums of money. more she could not well do during her husband's lifetime, but when she in turn came to the throne, she brought the whole family--postillion, shoemaker, farm-labourer and serf, their wives and families--to her capital, installed them in sumptuous apartments in her palaces, decked them in the finest court feathers, and gave them large fortunes and titles of nobility. when the tsar's quarrel with his eldest son came to its tragic _dénouement_ in alexis' death, her own son became heir presumptive to the throne of russia. and thus the chain that bound peter to his empress received its completing link. it only remained now to place the crown formally on the head of the mother of the new heir, and this supreme honour was hers in the month of may, . wonderful tales are told of the splendours of catherine's coronation. no existing crown was good enough for the ex-maid-of-all-work, so one of special magnificence was made by the court jewellers--a miracle of diamonds and pearls, crowned by a monster ruby--at a cost of a million and a half roubles. the coronation gown, which cost four thousand roubles, was made at paris; and from paris, too, came the gorgeous coach with its blaze of gold and heraldry, in which the tsarina made her triumphal progress through the streets of the capital from the winter palace. the culminating point of this remarkable ceremony came when, after peter had placed the crown on his wife's head, she sank weeping at his feet and embraced his knees. catherine, however, had not worn her crown many months when she found herself in considerable danger of losing not only her dignities but even her liberty. for some time, it is said, she had been engaged in a liaison with william mons, a handsome, gay young courtier, brother to a former mistress of the tsar. the love affair had been common knowledge at the court--to all but peter himself, and it was accident that at last opened his eyes to his wife's dishonour. one moonlight night, so the story is told, he chanced to enter an arbour in the palace gardens, and there discovered her in the arms of her lover. his vengeance was swift and terrible. mons was arrested the same night in his rooms, and dragged fainting into the tsar's presence, where he confessed his disloyalty. a few days later he was beheaded, at the very moment when the empress was dancing a minuet with her ladies, a smile on her lips, whatever grief was in her heart. the following day she was driven by her husband past the scaffold where her lover's dead body was exposed to public view--so close, in fact, that her dress brushed against it; but, without turning her head, she kept up a smiling conversation with the perpetrator of this outrage on her feelings. still not content with his revenge, peter next placed the dead man's head, enclosed in a bottle of spirits of wine, in a prominent place in the empress's apartments; and when she still smilingly ignored its horrible proximity, his anger, hitherto repressed, blazed forth fiercely. with a blow of his strong fist he shattered a priceless venetian vase, shouting, "thus will i treat thee and thine"--to which she calmly responded, "you have broken one of the chief ornaments of your palace; do you think you have increased its charm?" for a time peter refused to be propitiated; he would not speak to his wife, or share her meals or her room. but she had "tamed the tiger" many a time before, and she was able to do it again. within two months she had won her way back into full favour, and was once more the tsar's dearest _katiérinoushka._ a month later peter was dead, carrying his love for his peasant-empress to the grave, and catherine was reigning in his stead, able at last to conduct her amours openly--spending her nights in shameless orgies with her lovers, and leaving the rascally menshikoff to do the ruling, until death brought her amazing career to an end within sixteen months of mounting her throne. chapter ii the "bonnie prince's" bride in the pageant of our history there are few more attractive figures than that of "bonnie prince charlie," the "yellow-haired laddie" whose blue eyes made a slave of every woman who came under their magic, and whose genial, unaffected manners turned the veriest coward into a hero, ready to follow him to the death in that year of ill-fated romance, "the forty-five." the very name of the "bonnie prince," the hope of the fallen stuarts, the idol of scotland--leading a forlorn hope with laughter on his lips, now riding proudly at the head of his rabble army, now a fugitive ishmael among the hills and caves of the highlands, but ever the last to lose heart--has a magic still to quicken the pulses. that later years proved the idol's feet to be of clay, that he fell from his pedestal to end his days an object of contempt and derision, only served to those who knew him in the pride of his youth to mingle pity with the glamour of romance that still surrounds his name. in the year , when this story opens, charles edward, count of albany, had already travelled far on the downward road that led from the glory of prestonpans to his drunkard's grave. a pitiful pensioner of france, who had known the ignominy of wearing fetters in a french prison, a social outcast whose royal pretensions were at best the subject of an amused tolerance, the "laddie of the yellow hair" had fallen so low that the brandy bottle, which was his constant companion night and day, was his only solace. picture him at this period, and mark the pathetic change which less than thirty years had wrought in the stuart "darling" of "the forty-five," when many a proud lady of scotland would have given her life for a smile from his bonnie face. a middle-aged man with dropsy in his limbs, and with the bloated face of the drunkard; "dull, thick, silent-looking lips, of purplish red scarce redder than the skin; pale blue eyes tending to a watery greyness, leaden, vague, sad, but with angry streakings of red; something inexpressibly sad, gloomy, helpless, vacant, and debased in the whole face." such was this "young chevalier" when france took it into her head to make a pawn of him in the political chess-game with england. as a man he was beneath contempt; as a "king"--well, he was a _roi pour rire_; but at least the royal house he represented might be made a useful weapon against the arrogant hanoverian who sat on his father's throne. that rival stock must not be allowed to die out; his claims might weigh heavily some day in the scale between france and england. charles edward must marry, and provide a worthier successor to his empty honours. and thus it was that france came to the exiled prince with the seductive offer of a pretty bride and a pension of forty thousand crowns a year. the besotted charles jumped at the offer; left his brandy bottle, and, with the alacrity of a youthful lover, rushed away to woo and win the bride who had been chosen for him. and never surely was there such a grotesque wooing. charles was a physical wreck of fifty-two; his bride-elect had only seen nineteen summers. the daughter of prince gustav adolf of stolberg and the countess of horn, princess louise was kin to many of the greatest houses in europe, from the colonnas and orsinis to the hohenzollerns and bruces. in blood she was thus at least a match for her stuart bridegroom. she had spent some years in the seclusion of a monastery, and had emerged for her undesired trip to the altar a young woman of rare beauty and charm, with glorious brown eyes, the delicate tint of the wild rose in her dimpled cheeks, a wealth of golden hair, and a figure every line and movement of which was instinct with beauty and grace. she was a fresh, unspoilt child, bubbling with gaiety and the joy of life, and her dainty little head was full of the romance of sweet nineteen. such then was the singularly contrasted couple--"beauty and the beast" they were dubbed by many--who stood together at the altar at macerata on good friday of the year --the bridegroom, "looking hideous in his wedding suit of crimson silk," in flaming contrast to the virginal white of his pretty victim. it needed no such day of ill-omen as a friday to inaugurate a union which could not have been otherwise than disastrous--the union of a beautiful, romantic girl eager to exploit the world of freedom and of pleasure, and a drink-sodden man old enough to be her father, for whom life had long lost all its illusions. it is true that for a time charles edward was drawn from his bottle by the lure of a pretty and winsome wife, who should, if any power on earth could, have made a man again of him. she laughed, indeed, at his maudlin tales of past heroism and adventure in love and battle; to her he was a plaster hero, and she let him know it. she was "mated to a clown," and a drunken clown to boot--and, well, she would make the best of a bad bargain. if her husband was the sorriest lover who ever poured thick-voiced flatteries into a girl-wife's ears, there were others, plenty of them, who were eager to pay more acceptable homage to her; and these men--poets, courtiers, great men in art and letters--flocked to her _salon_ to bask in her beauty and to be charmed by her wit. after all, she was a queen, although she wore no crown. she had a court, although no royalties graced it. from the pope to the king of france, no monarch in europe would recognise her husband's kingship. but at such neglect, the offspring of jealousy, of course, she only smiled. she could indeed have been moderately happy in her girlish, light-hearted way, if her husband had not been such an impossible person. as for charles edward, he soon wearied of a bride who did nothing but laugh at him, and who was so ready to escape from his obnoxious presence to the company of more congenial admirers. he returned to his brandy bottle, and alternated between a fuddled brain and moods of wild jealousy. he would not allow his wife to leave the door without his escort; if she refused to accompany him, he turned the key in her bedroom door, to which the only access was through his own room. he took her occasionally to the theatre or opera, his brandy bottle always making a third for company. before the performance was half through he was snoring stertorously on the couch which he insisted on having in his box; and, more often than not, was borne to his carriage for the journey home helplessly drunk. and this within the first year of his wedded life. if any woman had excuse for seeking elsewhere the love she could not find in her husband it was louise of albany. there were dames in plenty in rome (where they were now living) who, not content with devoted husbands, had their _cisibeos_ to play the lover to them; but louise sought no such questionable escape from her unhappiness. her books and the clever men who thronged her _salon_ were all the solace she asked; and under temptation such as few women of that country and day would have resisted, she carried the shield of a blameless life. from rome the countess and her husband fared to florence in ; and here matters went from bad to worse. charles was now seldom sober day or night; and his jealousy often found expression in filthy abuse and cowardly assaults. hitherto he had been simply disgusting; now he was a constant menace, even to her life. she lived in hourly fear of his brutality; but in her darkest hour sunshine came again into her life with the coming of vittorio alfieri, whose name was to be linked with hers for so many years. at this time alfieri was in the very prime of his splendid manhood, one of the handsomest and most fascinating men in all europe. some four years older than herself, he was a tall, stalwart, soldierly man, blue-eyed and auburn-haired, an aristocrat to his finger-tips, a daring horseman, a poet, and a man of rare culture--just the man to set any woman's heart a-flutter, as he had already done in most of the capitals of the continent. he was a spoilt child of fortune, this italian poet and soldier, a man who had drunk deep of the cup of life, and to whom all conquests came with such fatal ease that already he had drained life dry of its pleasures. such was the man who one autumn day in the year came into the unhappy life of the countess of albany, still full of the passions and yearnings of youth. it was surely fate that thus brought together these two young people of kindred tastes and kindred disillusions; and we cannot wonder that, of that first meeting, alfieri should write, "at last i had met the one woman whom i had sought so long, the woman who could inspire my ambition and my work. recognising this, and prizing so rare a treasure, i gave myself up wholly to her." those were happy days for the countess that followed this fateful meeting--days of sweet communion of twin souls, hours of stolen bliss, when they could dwell apart in a region of high and ennobling thoughts, while the besotted husband was sleeping off the effects of his drunken orgies in the next room. to alfieri, louise was indeed "the anchor of his life," giving stability to his vacillating nature, and inspiring all that was best and noblest in him; while to her the association with this "splendid creature," who so thoroughly understood and sympathised with her, was the revelation of a new world. thus three happy years passed; and then the crisis came. one night the prince, in a mood of drunken madness, inflamed by jealousy, attacked his wife, and, after severely beating her, flung her down on her bed and attempted to strangle her. this was the crowning outrage of years of brutality. she could not, dared not, spend another day with such a madman. at any cost she must leave him--and for ever. when morning came, with alfieri's assistance, the plan of escape was arranged. in the company of a lady friend--and also of her husband, now scared and penitent, but fearing to let her out of his sight--she drove to a neighbouring convent, ostensibly to inspect the nuns' needlework. on reaching her destination she ran up the convent steps, entered the building, and the door was slammed and bolted behind her in the very face of charles edward, who had followed as fast as his dropsical legs would carry him up the steps. the prince, blazing at such an outrage, hammered fiercely at the door until at last the lady abbess herself showed her face at the grating, and told him in no ambiguous words that he would not be allowed to enter! his wife had come to her for protection; and if he had any grievance he had better appeal to the duke of tuscany. thus ended the tragic union of the "bonnie prince" and his countess. emancipation had come at last; and, while louise was now free to devote her life to her beloved alfieri, her brutal husband was left for eight years to the company of his bottle and the ministrations of his natural daughter, until a drunkard's grave at frascati closed over his mis-spent life. the pity and the tragedy of it! louise of albany and her poet-lover were now free to link their lives at the altar--but no such thought seems to have entered the head of either. they were perfectly happy without the bond of the wedding-ring, of which the countess had such terrible memories; and together they walked through life, happy in each other and indifferent to the world's opinion. now in florence, now in rome; living together in alsace, drifting to paris; and, when the revolution drove them from the french capital, seeking refuge in london, where we find the uncrowned queen of england chatting amicably with the "usurper" george in the royal box at the opera--always inseparable, and louise always clinging to the shreds of her royal dignity, with a throne in her ante-room, and "your majesty" on her servants' lips. thus passed the careless, happy years for countess and poet until, in , alfieri followed the "bonnie prince" behind the veil, and left a desolate louise to moan amid her tears, "there is no more happiness for me." but louise was not left even now without the solace of a man's love, which seemed as indispensable to her nature as the air she breathed. before alfieri had been many months in his florence tomb his place by the countess's side had been taken by françois xavier fabre, a good-looking painter of only moderate gifts, whose handsome face, plausible tongue, and sunny disposition soon made a captive of her middle-aged heart. at the time when fabre came thus into her life madame la comtesse had passed her fiftieth birthday--youth and beauty had taken wings; and passion (if ever she had any--for her relations with alfieri seem to have been quite platonic) had died down to its embers. but a man's companionship and homage were always necessary to her, and in fabre she found her ideal cavalier. her _salon_ now became more popular even than in the days of her young wifehood. it drew to it all the greatest men in europe, men of world-wide fame in statesmanship, letters, and art, all anxious to do homage to a woman of such culture and with such rare gifts of conversation. that she was now middle-aged, stout and dowdy--"like a cook with pretty hands," as stendhal said of her--mattered nothing to her admirers, many of whom remembered her in the days of her lovely youth. she was, in their eyes, as much a queen as if she wore a crown; and, moreover, she was a woman of magnetic charm and clever brain. and thus, with her books and her _salon_ and her cavalier, she spent the rest of her chequered life until the end came one day in ; and her last resting-place was, as she wished it to be, by the side of her beloved alfieri. in the church of santa croce, in florence, midway between the tombs of michael angelo and machiavelli, the two lovers sleep together their last sleep, beneath a beautiful monument fashioned by canova's hands--louise, wife of the "bonnie prince" (as we still choose to remember him) and vittorio alfieri, to whom, to quote his own words, "she was beyond all things beloved." chapter iii the peasant and the empress many an autocrat of russia has shown a truly sovereign contempt for convention in the choice of his or her favourites, the "playthings of an hour"; and at least three of them have carried this contempt to the altar itself. peter, the first, as we have seen, offered a crown to martha skovronski, a livonian scullery-maid, who succeeded him on the throne; the second catherine gave her hand as well as her heart to patiomkin, the gigantic, ill-favoured ex-sergeant of cavalry; and elizabeth, daughter of peter and his kitchen-queen, proved herself worthy of her parentage when she made alexis razoum, a peasant's son, husband of the empress of russia. you will search history in vain for a story so strange and romantic as this of the great empress and the lowly shepherd's son, whom her love raised from a hovel to a palace, and on whom one of the most amorous and fickle of sovereign ladies lavished honours and riches and an unwavering devotion, until her eyes, speaking their love to the last, were closed in death. it was in the humblest hovel of the village of lemesh that alexis razoum drew his first breath one day in . his father, gregory razoum, was a shepherd, who spent his pitiful earnings in drink--a man of violent temper who, in his drunken rages, was the terror not only of his home but of the entire village. his wife and children cowered at his approach; and on more than one occasion only accident (or providence) saved him from the crime of murder. on one such occasion, we are told, the child alexis, who from his earliest years had a passion for reading, was absorbed in a book, when his father, in ungovernable fury, seized a hatchet and hurled it at the boy's head. luckily, the missile missed its mark, and alexis escaped, to find refuge in the house of a friendly priest, who not only gave him shelter and protection, but taught him to write, and, above all, to sing--little dreaming that he was thus paving the way which was to lead the drunken shepherd's lad to the dizziest heights in russia. for the boy had a beautiful voice. when he joined the choir of his village church, people flocked from far and near to listen to the sweet notes that soared, pure and liquid as a nightingale's song, above the rest. "it was," all declared, "the voice of an angel--and the face of an angel," for alexis was as beautiful in those days as any child of picture or of dreams. one day a splendidly dressed stranger chanced to enter the lemesh church during mass--none other than colonel vishnevsky, a great court official, who was on his way back to moscow from a diplomatic mission; and he listened entranced to a voice sweeter than any he had ever heard. the service over, he made the acquaintance of the young chorister, interviewed his guardian, the "good samaritan" priest, and persuaded him to allow the boy to accompany him to the capital. thus the shepherd's son took weeping farewell of the good priest, of his mother, and of his brothers and sisters; and a few weeks later the empress and her ladies were listening enchanted to his voice in the imperial choir at moscow--but none with more delight than the princess elizabeth, daughter of peter the great, to whom alexis' beauty appealed even more strongly than his sweet singing. elizabeth, true daughter of her father, had already, young as she was, counted her lovers by the score--lovers chosen indiscriminately, from royal princes to grooms and common soldiers. she was already sated with the licence of the most dissolute court of europe, and to her the young cossack of the beautiful face and voice, and rustic innocence, opened a new and seductive vista of pleasure. she lost her heart to him, had him transferred to her own court as her favourite singer, and, within a few years, gave him charge of her purse and her properties. the shepherd's son was now not only lover-elect, but principal "minister" to the daughter of an emperor, who was herself to wear the imperial crown. and while alexis was thus luxuriating amid the splendour of a court, he by no means forgot the humble relatives he had left behind in his native village. his father was dead; his mother was reduced for a time to such a depth of destitution that she had to beg her bread from door to door. his sisters had found husbands for themselves in their own rank; and the favourite of an imperial princess had for brothers-in-law a tailor, a weaver, and a shepherd. when news came to alexis of his mother's destitution he had sent her a sum of money sufficient to install her in comfort as an innkeeper: the first of many kindnesses which were to work a startling transformation in the fortunes of the razoum family. events now hurried quickly. the empress anna died, and was succeeded on the throne by the infant ivan, her grand-nephew, who had been emperor but a few months when, in , a _coup d'état_ gave the crown to elizabeth, mistress of the lemesh peasant. alexis was now husband in all but name of the empress of all the russias; honours and riches were showered on him; he was general, grandmaster of the hounds, chief gentleman of the bedchamber, and lord of large estates yielding regal revenues. but all his grandeur was powerless to spoil the man, who still remained the simple peasant who, so many years earlier, had left his low-born mother with streaming eyes. his great ambition now was to share his good-fortune with her. she must exchange her village inn for the luxuries and splendours of a palace. and thus it was that one day a splendid carriage, with gay-liveried postillions, dashed up to the door of the lemesh inn and carried off the simple peasant woman, her youngest son, cyril, and one of her daughters, to the open-mouthed amazement of the villagers. at the entrance to the capital she was received by a magnificently attired gentleman, in whom she failed to recognise her son alexis, until he showed her a birthmark on his body. picture now the peasant-woman sumptuously lodged in the moscow palace, decked in all the finery of silks and laces and jewels, receiving the respectful homage of high court officials, caressed and petted by an empress, while her splendid son looks smilingly on, as proud of his cottage-mother as if she were a princess of the blood royal. that the innkeeper was not happy in her gilded cage, that her thoughts often wandered longingly to her cronies and the simple life of the village, is not to be wondered at. it was all very well for such a fine gentleman as her son, alexis; but for a poor, simple-minded woman like herself--well, she was too old for such a transplanting. and we can imagine her relief when, on the removal of the court to st petersburg, she was allowed to bring her visit to an end and to return to her inn with wonderful stories of all she had seen. her son and daughter, however, elected to remain. as for cyril, a handsome youth, almost young enough to be his brother's son, he was quick to win his way into the favour of the empress. before he had been many months at court he was made a count and gentleman of the bedchamber. he was given for bride a grand-niece of elizabeth; and at twenty-two he was viceroy of the ukraine, virtual sovereign of a kingdom of his own, with his peasant-mother, who declined to share his palace, comfortably installed in a modest house near his gates. cyril, in fact, was to his last day as unspoiled by his unaccustomed grandeur as his brother alexis. each was ready at any moment to turn from the obsequious homage of nobles to hobnob with a peasant friend or relative. how utterly devoid of false pride alexis was is proved by the following anecdote. one day when, in company with the empress, he was paying a visit to count löwenwolde, he rushed from elizabeth's side to fling his arms round the neck of one of his host's footmen. "are you mad, alexis?" exclaimed the empress, in her astonishment. "what do you mean by such senseless behaviour?" "i am not mad at all," answered the favourite. "he is an old friend of mine." but although no man ever deposed the shepherd from the first place in elizabeth's favour, it must not be imagined that he was her only lover. the daughter of the hot-blooded peter and the lusty scullery wench had always as great a passion for men as the second catherine, who had almost as many favourites in her boudoir as gowns in her wardrobes. she had her lovers before she was emancipated from the schoolroom; and not the least favoured of them, it is said, was her own nephew, peter the second, whom she would no doubt have married if it had been possible. she turned her back on one great alliance after another, preferring her freedom to a wedding-ring that brought no love with it; and she found her pleasure alike among the gentlemen of the court and among her own servants. in the long list of her favourites we find a general succeeded by a sergeant; boutourlin, the handsome courtier, giving place to lialin, the sailor; and count shouvalov retiring in favour of voytshinsky, the coachman. thus one liaison succeeded another from girlhood to middle-age--indeed long after she had passed the altar. but through all these varying attachments her heart remained constant to her shepherd-lover, to whom she was ever the devoted wife, and, when he was ill, the tenderest of nurses. to please him, she even accompanied him on a visit to his native village, smiling graciously on his humble friends of other days, and partaking of the hospitality of the poorest cottagers; while on all who had befriended him in the days of his obscurity she lavished her favours. of one man who had been thus kind she made a general on the spot; the friendly priest was given a highly paid post at court; high rank in the army was given to many of his humble relatives; and a husband was found for a favourite niece in count ryoumin, the chancellor's son. as for alexis himself, nothing was too good for him. although he had probably never handled a gun in his life she made him field-marshal and head of her army; and, at her request, charles vii. dubbed him count of the holy roman empire, a distinction which gregory orloff in later years prized more than all the honours catherine ii. showered on him; while the estates of which she made him lord were a small kingdom in themselves. alexis, the shepherd's son, was now, beyond any question, the most powerful man in russia. if he would, he might easily have taken the sceptre from the yielding hands of the empress and played the autocrat, as patiomkin played it under similar circumstances in later years. but alexis cared as little for power as for rank and wealth. he smiled at his honours. "fancy," he said, with his hearty laugh, "a peasant's son, a count; and a man who ought to be tending sheep, a field-marshal!" when courtly genealogists spread before him an elaborate family-tree, proving that he sprang from the princely stock of bogdan, with many a grand duke of lithuania among his lineal ancestors, he laughed loud and long at them for their pains. "don't be so ridiculous," he said. "you know as well as i that my parents were simple peasants, honest enough, but people of the soil and nothing else. if i am count and field-marshal and viceroy, i owe it all to the good heart of your empress and mine, whose humble servant i am. take it away, and let me hear no more of such foolery." such to the last was the unspoiled, child-like nature of the man who so soon was to be not merely the first favourite but husband of an empress. probably alexis would have lived and died elizabeth's unlicensed lover had it not been for the cunning of the cleverest of her chancellors, bestyouzhev, who saw in his mistress's infatuation for her peasant the means of making his own position more secure. elizabeth was still a young and attractive woman, who might pick and choose among some of the most eligible suitors in europe for a sharer of her throne; for there were many who would gladly have played consort to the good-looking autocrat of russia. such a husband, especially if he were a strong man, might seriously imperil the chancellor's position; might even dispense with him altogether. on the other hand, he was high in the favour of the shepherd's son, who had such a contempt for power, and who thus would be a puppet in his hands. why not make him husband in name as well as in fact? it was, after all, an easy task the chancellor thus set himself. elizabeth was by no means unwilling to wear a wedding-ring for the man who had loved her so loyally and so long; and any difficulties she might raise were quickly disposed of by her father-confessor, who was bestyouzhev's tool. thus it came to pass that one day elizabeth and alexis stood side by side before the village altar of perovo; and the words were spoken which made the shepherd's son husband of the empress. the secrecy with which the ceremony was performed was but a fiction. all the world knew that alexis gregorovitch was emperor by right of wedlock, and flocked to pay homage to him in his new and exalted character. he now had sumptuous apartments next to those of his wife; he sat at her right hand on all state occasions; he was her shadow everywhere; and during his frequent attacks of gout the empress ministered to him night and day in his own rooms with the tender devotion of a mother to a child. two children were born to them, a son and a daughter, the latter of whom, after a life of strange romance and vicissitude, ended her days in a loathsome dungeon of the fortress of saints peter and paul, the victim of catherine ii.'s vengeance--miserably drowned, so one story goes, by an inundation of her cell. on elizabeth's death, in the year , her husband was glad to retire from the court in which he had for so long played so splendid a part. "none but myself," he said, "can know with what pleasure i leave a sphere to which i was not born, and to which only my love for my dear mistress made me resigned. i should have been happier far with her in some small cottage far removed from the gilded slavery of court life." he was happy enough now leading the peaceful life of a country gentleman on one of his many estates. catherine ii. had mounted the throne of russia--the empress who, according to masson, had but two passions, which she carried to the grave--"her love of man, which degenerated into libertinage; and her love of glory, which degenerated into vanity." a woman with the brain of a man and the heart of a courtesan, catherine's fickle affection had flitted from one lover to another, until now it had settled on gregory orloff, the handsomest man in her dominions, whom she was more than half disposed to make her husband. this was a scheme which commended itself strongly to her chancellor, vorontsov. there was a most useful precedent to lend support to it--the alliance of the empress elizabeth with a man of immeasurably lower rank than catherine's favourite; but it was important that this precedent should be established beyond dispute. thus it was that one day, when count alexis was poring over his bible by his country fireside, chancellor vorontsov made his appearance with ingratiating words and promises. her majesty, he informed the count, was willing to confer imperial rank on him in return for one small favour--the possession of the documents which proved his marriage to her predecessor, elizabeth. on hearing the request, the ex-shepherd rose, and, with words of quiet scorn, refused both the request and the proffered honour. "am not i," he said, "a count, a field-marshal, a man of wealth? all of which i owe to the kindness of my dear, dead mistress. are not such honours enough for the peasant's son whom she raised from the mire to sit by her side, that i should purchase another bauble by an act of treachery to her memory? "but wait one moment," he continued; and, leaving the room, he returned carrying a small bundle of papers, which he proceeded to examine one by one. then, collecting them, he placed the bundle in the heart of the fire, to the horror of the onlooking chancellor; and, as the flames were reducing the precious documents to ashes, he said, "go now and tell those who sent you, that i never was more than the slave of my august benefactress, the empress elizabeth, who could never so far have forgotten her position as to marry a subject." thus with a lie on his lips--the last crowning evidence of loyalty to his beloved queen and wife--alexis razoum makes his exit from the stage on which he played so strangely romantic a part. a few years later his days ended in peace at his st petersburg palace, with the name he loved best, "elizabeth," on his lips. chapter iv a crown that failed henri of navarre, hero of romance and probably the greatest king who ever sat on the throne of france, had a heart as weak in love as it was stout in war. to his last day he was a veritable coward before the battery of bright eyes; and before ravaillac's dagger brought his career to a tragic end one may day in the year he had counted his mistresses to as many as the years he had lived. but of them all, fifty-seven of them--for the most part lightly coming and lightly going--only one ever really reached his heart, and was within measurable distance of a seat on his throne--the woman to whom he wrote in the hey-day of his passion, "never has man loved as i love you. if any sacrifice of mine could purchase your happiness, how gladly i would make it, even to the last drop of my life's blood." gabrielle d'estrées who thus enslaved the heart of the hero, which carried him to a throne through a hundred fights and inconceivable hardships, was cradled one day in the year in touraine. from her mother, françoise babou, she inherited both beauty and frailness; for the babou women were famous alike for their loveliness and for a virtue as facile even as that of marie gaudin, the pretty plaything of françois i., who left françois' arms to find a husband in philip babou and thus to transmit her charms and frailty to gabrielle. her father, antoine, son of jean d'estrées, a valiant soldier under five kings, was a man of pleasure, who drank and sang his way through life, preferring cupid to mars and the _joie de vivre_ to the call of duty. it is perhaps little wonder that antoine's wife, after bearing seven children to her husband, left him to find at least more loyalty in the marquess of tourel-alégre, a lover twenty years younger than herself. thus it was that, deserted by her mother, and with a father too addicted to pleasure to spare a thought for his children, gabrielle grew to beautiful girlhood under the care of an aunt--now living in the family château in picardy, now in the great paris mansion, the hotel d'estrées; and with so little guidance from precept or example that, in later years, she and her six sisters and brothers were known as the "seven deadly sins." in gabrielle at least there was little that was vicious. she was an irresponsible little creature, bubbling over with mischief and gaiety, eager to snatch every flower of pleasure that caught her eyes; a dainty little fairy with big blue "wonder" eyes, golden hair, the sweetest rosebud of a mouth, ready to smile or to pout as the mood of the moment suggested, with soft round baby cheeks as delicately flushed as any rose. such was gabrielle d'estrées on the verge of young womanhood when roger de saint-larry, duc de bellegarde, the king's grand equerry, and one of the handsomest young men in france, first set eyes on her in the château of coeuvres; and, as was inevitable, lost his heart to her at first sight. when he rode away two days later, such excellent use had he made of his opportunities, he left a very happy, if desolate maiden behind; for gabrielle had little power to resist fascinations which had made a conquest of many of the fairest ladies at court. when bellegarde returned to mantes, where henri was still struggling for the crown which was so soon to be his, he foolishly gave the king of navarre such a rapturous account of the young beauty of picardy and his conquest that henri, already weary of the faded charms of diane d'audouins, his mistress, promptly left his soldiering and rode away to see the lady for himself, and to find that bellegarde's raptures were more than justified. gabrielle, however, flattered though she was by such an honour as a visit from the king of navarre, was by no means disposed to smile on the wooing of "an ugly man, old enough to be my father." and indeed, henri, with all the glamour of the hero to aid him, was but a sorry rival for the handsome and courtly bellegarde. now nearing his fortieth year, with grizzled beard, and skin battered and lined by long years of hard campaigning, the future king of france had little to appeal to the romantic eyes of a maid who counted less than half his years; and the king in turn rode away from the coeuvres castle as hopelessly in love as bellegarde, but with much less encouragement to return. but the hero of ivry and a hundred other battles was no man to submit to defeat in any lists; and within a few weeks gabrielle was summoned to mantes, where he told her in decisive words that he loved her, and that no one, bellegarde or any other, should share her with him. "indeed!" she exclaimed, with a defiant toss of the head, "i will be no man's slave; i shall give my heart to whom i please, and certainly not to any man who demands it as a right." and within an hour she was riding home fast as her horse could gallop. henri was thunderstruck at such defiance. he must follow her at once and bring her to reason; but, in order to do so, he must risk his life by passing through the enemy's lines. such an adventure, however, was after his own heart; and disguising himself as a peasant, with a bundle of faggots on his shoulder, he made his way safely to coeuvres, where he presented himself, a pitiable spectacle of rags and poverty, to be greeted by his lady with shouts of derisive laughter. "oh dear!" she gasped between her paroxysms of mirth, "what a fright you look! for goodness' sake go and change your clothes." but though the king obeyed humbly, gabrielle shut herself in her room and declined point-blank to see him again. such devotion, however, expressed in such fashion, did not fail in its appeal to the romantic girl; and when, a little later, gabrielle visited the royalist army then besieging chartres, it was a much more pliant gabrielle who listened to the king's wooing and whose eyes brightened at his stories of bravery and danger. henri might be old and ugly, but he had at least a charm of manner, a frank, simple manliness, which made him the idol of his soldiers and in fact of every woman who once came under its spell. and to this charm even gabrielle, the rebel, had at last to submit, until bellegarde was forgotten, and her hero was all the world to her. the days that followed this slow awaking were crowded with happiness for the two lovers; when gabrielle was not by her king's side, he was writing letters to her full of passionate tenderness. "my beautiful love," "my all," "my trueheart"--such were the sweet terms he lavished on her. "i kiss you a million times. you say that you love me a thousand times more than i love you. you have lied, and you shall maintain your falsehood with the arms which you have chosen. i shall not see you for ten days, it is enough to kill me." and again, "they call me king of france and navarre--that of your subject is much more delightful--you have much more cause for fearing that i love you too much than too little. that fault pleases you, and also me, since you love it. see how i yield to your every wish." such were the letters--among the most beautiful ever penned by lover--which the king addressed to his "menon" in those golden days, when all the world was sunshine for him, black as the sky was still with the clouds of war. and she returned love for love; tenderness for passion. when he was lying ill at st denis, she wrote, "i die of fear. tell me, i implore you, how fares the bravest of the brave. give me news, my cavalier; for you know how fatal to me is your least ill. i cannot sleep without sending you a thousand good nights; for i am the princess constancy, sensible to all that concerns you, and careless of all else in the world, good or bad." through the period of stress and struggle that still separated henri from the crown which for nearly twenty years was his goal, gabrielle was ever by his side, to soothe and comfort him, to chase away the clouds of gloom which so often settled on him, to inspire him with new courage and hope, and, with her diplomacy checking his impulses, to smooth over every obstacle that the cunning of his enemies placed in his path. and when, at last, one evening in , henri made his triumphal entry into paris, on a grey horse, wearing a gold-embroidered grey habit, his face proud and smiling, saluting with his plume-crowned hat the cheering crowds, gabrielle had the place of honour in front of him, "in a gorgeous litter, so bedecked with pearls and gems that she paled the light of the escorting torches." this was, indeed, a proud hour for the lovers which saw henri acclaimed at "long last" king of france, and his loyal lady-love queen in all but name. the years of struggle and hardship were over--years in which henri of navarre had braved and escaped a hundred deaths; and in which he had been reduced to such pitiable straits that he had often not known where his next meal was to come from or where to find a shirt to put on his back. gabrielle was now marquise de monceaux, a title to which her royal lover later added that of duchesse de beaufort. her son, césar, was known as "monsieur," the title that would have been his if he had been heir to the french throne. all that now remained to fill the cup of her ambition and her happiness was that she should become the legal wife of the king she loved so well; and of this the prospect seemed more than fair. charming stories are told of the idyllic family life of the new king; how his greatest pleasure was to "play at soldiers" with his children, to join in their nursery romps, or to take them, like some bourgeois father, to the saint germain fair, and return loaded with toys and boxes of sweetmeats, to spend delightful homely evenings with the woman he adored. but it was not all sunshine for the lovers. paris was in the throes of famine and plague and flood. poverty and discontent stalked through her streets, and there were scowling and envious eyes to greet the king and his lady when they rode laughing by; or when, as on one occasion we read of, they returned from a hunting excursion, riding side by side, "she sitting astride dressed all in green" and holding the king's hand. nor within the palace walls was it all a bed of roses for gabrielle; for she had her enemies there; and chief among them the powerful duc de sully, her most formidable rival in the king's affection. sully was not only henri's favourite minister; he was the jonathan to his david, the man who had shared a hundred dangers by his side, and by his devotion and affection had found a firm lodging in his heart. between the minister and the mistress, each consumed with jealousy of the other, henri had many a bad hour; and the climax came when de sully refused to pass the extravagant charges for the baptism of the marquise's second son, alexander. gabrielle was indignant and appealed angrily and tearfully to the king, who supported his minister. "i have loved you," he said at last, roused to wrath, "because i thought you gentle and sweet and yielding; now that i have raised you to high position, i find you exacting and domineering. know this, i could better spare a dozen mistresses like you than one minister so devoted to me as sully." at these harsh words, gabrielle burst into tears. "if i had a dagger," she exclaimed, "i would plunge it into my heart, and then you would find your image there." and when henri rushed from the room, she ran after him, flung herself at his feet, and with heart-breaking sobs, begged for forgiveness and a kind word. such troubles as these, however, were but as the clouds that come and go in a summer sky. gabrielle's sun was now nearing its zenith; henri had long intended to make her his wife at the altar; proceedings for divorce from his wife, marguerite de valois, were running smoothly; and now the crowning day in the two lives thus romantically linked was at hand. in the month of april, , gabrielle and henri were spending the last ante-nuptial days together at fontainebleau; the wedding was fixed for the first sunday after easter, and gabrielle was ideally happy among her wedding finery and the costly presents that had been showered on her from all parts of france--from the ring henri had worn at his coronation and which he was to place on her finger at the altar, to a statue of the king in gold from lyons, and a "giant piece of amber in a silver casket from bordeaux." her wedding-dress was a gorgeous robe of spanish velvet, rich in embroideries of gold and silver; the suite of rooms which was to be hers as queen was already ready, with its splendours of crimson and gold furnishing. the greatest ladies in france were now proud to act as her tire-women; and princes and ambassadors flocked to fontainebleau to pay her homage. the last days of holy week it had been arranged that she should spend in devotion at paris, and henri was her escort the greater part of the way. when they parted on the banks of the seine they wept in each other's arms, while gabrielle, full of nameless forebodings, clung to her lover and begged him to take her back to fontainebleau. but with a final embrace he tore himself away; and with streaming eyes gabrielle continued her journey, full of fears as to its issue; for had not a seer of piedmont told her that the marriage would never take place; and other diviners, whom she had consulted, warned her that she would die young, and never call henri husband? two days later gabrielle heard mass at the church of st germain l'auxerrois; and on returning to the deanery, her aunt's home, became seriously ill. she grew rapidly worse; her sufferings were terrible to witness; and on good friday she was delivered of a dead child. to quote an eye-witness, "she lingered until six o'clock in very great pain, the like of which doctors and surgeons had never seen before. in her agony she tore her face, and injured herself in other parts of her body." before dawn broke on the following day she drew her last breath. when news of her illness reached the king, he flew to her swift as his horse could carry him, only to meet couriers on his way who told him that madame was already dead; and to find, when at last he reached st germain l'auxerrois, the door of the room in which she lay barred against him. he could not take her living once more into his arms; he was not allowed to see her dead. henri was as a man who is mad with grief; he was inconsolable.. none dared even to approach him with words of pity and comfort. for eight days he shut himself in a black-draped room, himself clothed in black; and he wrote to his sister, "the root of my love is dead; there will be no spring for me any more." three months later he was making love to gabrielle's successor, henriette d'entragues! thus perished in tragedy gabrielle d'estrées, the creature of sunshine, who won the bravest heart in europe, and carried her conquest to the very foot of a throne. chapter v a queen of hearts if ever woman was born for love and for empire over the hearts of men it was surely jeanne bécu, who first opened her eyes one august day in the year , at dreary vaucouleurs, in joan of arc's country, and who was fated to dance her light-hearted way through the palace of a king to the guillotine. scarcely ever has woman, born to such beauty and witchery, been cradled less auspiciously. her reputed father was a scullion, her mother a sempstress. for grandfather she had fabien bécu, who left his frying-pans in a paris kitchen to lead jeanne husson, a fellow-servant, to the altar. such was the ignoble strain that flowed in the veins of the vaucouleurs beauty, who five-and-twenty years later was playfully pulling the nose of the fifteenth louis, and queening it in his palaces with a splendour which marie antoinette herself never surpassed. from her sordid home jeanne was transported at the age of six to a convent, where she spent nine years in rebellion against rules and punishments, until "the golden head emerged at last from black woollen veil and coarse unstarched bands, the exquisite form from shapeless, hideous robe, the perfect little feet from abominable yellow shoes," to play first the rôle of lady's maid to a wealthy widow, and, when she wearied (as she quickly did) of coiffing hair, to learn the arts of millinery. "picture," says de goncourt, "the glittering shop, where all day long charming idlers and handsome great gentlemen lounged and ogled; the pretty milliner tripping through the streets, her head covered by a big, black _calèche_, whence her golden curls escaped, her round, dainty waist defined by a muslin-frilled pinafore, her feet in little high-heeled, buckled shoes, and in her hand a tiny fan, which she uses as she goes--and then imagine the conversations, proposals, replies!" such was jeanne bécu in the first bloom of her dainty beauty, the prettiest grisette who ever set hearts fluttering in paris streets; with laughter dancing in her eyes, a charming pertness at her red lips, grace in every movement, and the springtide of youth racing through her veins. when voltaire first saw her portrait, he exclaimed, "the original was fashioned for the gods." and we cannot wonder, as we look on the ravishing beauty of the face that wrung this eloquent tribute from the cold-blooded cynic--the tender, melting violet of the eyes, with their sweeping brown lashes, under the exquisite arch of brown eyebrows, the dainty little greek nose, the bent bow of the delicious tiny mouth, the perfect oval of the face, the complexion "fair and fresh as an infant's," and a glorious halo of golden hair, a dream of fascinating curls and tendrils. it was to this bewitching picture, "with the perfume and light as of a goddess of love," that jean du barry, self-styled comte, adventurer and roué, succumbed at a glance. but du barry's tenure of her heart, if indeed he ever touched it at all, was brief; for the moment louis xv. set eyes on the ravishing girl he determined to make the prize his own, a superior claim to which the comte perforce yielded gracefully. thus, in , we find jeanne bécu--or "mademoiselle vaubarnier," as she now called herself--transported by a bound to the palace of versailles and to the first place in the favour of the king, having first gone through the farce of a wedding ceremony with du barry's brother, guillaume, a husband whom she first saw on the marriage morning, and on whom she looked her last at the church door. then followed for the maid of the kitchen a few years of such queendom and splendour as have seldom fallen to the lot of any lady cradled in a palace--the idolatrous worship of a king, the intoxication of the power that only beauty thus enshrined can wield, the glitter of priceless jewels, rarest laces, and richest satins and silks, the flash of gold on dinner and toilet-table, an army of servants in sumptuous liveries, the fawning of great court ladies, the courtly flatteries of princes--every folly and extravagance that money could purchase or vanity desire. six years of such intoxicating life and then--the end. louis is lying on his death-bed and, with fear in his eyes and a tardy penitence on his lips, is saying to her, "madame, it is time that we should part." and, indeed, the hour of parting had arrived; for a few days later he drew his last wicked breath, and madame du barry was under orders to retire to a convent. but her grief for the dead king was as brief as her love for him had been small; for within a few months, we find her installed in her beautiful country home, lucienne, ready for fresh conquests, and eager to drain the cup of pleasure to the last drop. nor was there any lack of ministers to the vanity of the woman who had now reached the zenith of her incomparable charms. among the many lovers who flocked to the country shrine of the widowed "queen," was louis, duc de cossé, son of the maréchal de brissac, who, although madame du barry's senior by nine years, was still in the prime of his manhood--handsome as an apollo and a model of the courtly graces which distinguished the old _noblesse_ in the day of its greatest pride, which was then so near its tragic downfall. de cassé had long been a mute worshipper of louis' beautiful "queen," and now that she was a free woman he was at last able to pay open homage to her, a homage which she accepted with indifference, for at the time her heart had strayed to henry seymour, although in vain. the woman whose beauty had conquered all other men was powerless to raise a flame in the breast of the cold-blooded englishman; and, realising this, she at last bade him farewell in a letter, pathetic in its tender dignity. "it is idle," she wrote, "to speak of my affection for you--you know it. but what you do not know is my pain. you have not deigned to reassure me about that which most matters to my heart. and so i must believe that my ease of mind, my happiness, are of little importance to you. i am sorry that i should have to allude to them; it is for the last time." it was in this hour of disillusion and humiliation that she turned for solace to de cossé, whose touching constancy at last found its reward. it was not long before friendship ripened into a love as ardent as his own; and for the first time this fickle beauty, whose heart had been a pawn in the game of ambition, knew what a beautiful and ennobling thing true love is. those were halcyon days which followed for de cossé and the lady his loyalty had won; days of sweet meetings and tender partings--of a union of souls which even death was powerless to dissolve. when they could not meet--and de cossé's duties often kept him from her side--letters were always on the wing between lucienne and paris, letters some of which have survived to bring their fragrance to our day. thus the lover writes, "a thousand thanks, a thousand thanks, dear heart! to-day i shall be with you. yes, i find my happiness is in being loved by you. i kiss you a thousand times! good-bye. i love you for ever." in another letter we read, "yes, dear heart, i desire so ardently to be with you--not in spirit, my thoughts are ever with you, but bodily--that nothing can calm my impatience. good-bye, my darling. i kiss you many and many times with all my heart." the curious may read at the french record office many of these letters written in a bold, flowing hand by de cossé in the hey-day of his love. the paper is time-stained, the ink is faded; but each sentence still palpitates with the passion that inspired it a century and a quarter ago. and with this great love came new honours for de cossé. his father's death made him duc de brissac, head of one of the greatest houses in france, owner of vast estates. he was appointed governor of paris and colonel of the king's own body-guard. he had, in fact, risen to a perilous eminence; for the clouds of the great revolution were already massing in the sky, and the _sans-culotte_ crowds were straining to be at the throats of the cursed "aristos," and to hurl louis from his throne. brissac (as we must now call him) was thus an object of special hatred, as of splendour, standing out so prominently as representative of the hated _noblesse_. other nobles, fearful of the breaking of the storm, were flying in droves to seek safety in england and elsewhere. but when the governor of paris was urged to fly, he answered proudly, "certainly not. i shall act according to my duty to my ancestors and myself." and, heedless of his life, he clung to his duty and his honour, presenting a smiling face to the scowls of hatred and envy, and spending blissful hours at lucienne with the woman he loved. nor was she any less conscious of her danger, or less indifferent to it. she also had become a target of hatred and scarcely veiled threats. watchful eyes marked every coming and going of brissac's messengers with their missives of love; it was discovered that brissac's aide-de-camp, whose life they sought, was in hiding in her house; that she was supplying the noble emigrants with money. the climax was reached when she boldly advertised a reward of two thousand louis for a clue to the jewellery of which burglars had robbed her--jewels of which she published a long and dazzling list, thus bringing to memory the days when the late king had squandered his ill-gotten gold on her. the duc, at last alarmed for her--never for himself--begged her either to escape, or, as he wrote, to "come quickly, my darling, and take every precaution for your valuables, if you have any left. yes, come, and your beauty, your kindness and magnanimity. i am ashamed of it, but i feel weaker than you. how should i feel otherwise for the one i love best?" but already the hour for flight had passed. the passions of the mob were breaking down the barriers that were now too weak to hold them in check; the paris streets had their first baptism of blood, prelude to the deluge to follow; hideous, fierce-eyed crowds were clamouring at the gates of versailles; and de brissac was soon on his way, a prisoner, to orleans. the blow had fallen at last, suddenly, and with crushing force. when "louis hercule timoleon de cossé-brissac, soldier from his birth," was charged before the national high court with admitting royalists into the guards, he answered: "i have admitted into the king's guards no one but citizens who fulfilled all the conditions contained in the decree of formation": and no other answer or plea would he deign to his accusers. from his orleans prison, where he now awaited the inevitable end, he wrote daily to his beloved lady; and every day brought him a tender and cheering letter from her. on th august, , he writes: "i received this morning the best letter i have had for a long time past; none have rejoiced my heart so much. thank you for it. i kiss you a thousand times. you indeed will have my last thought. ah, my darling, why am i not with you in a wilderness rather than in orleans?" a few days later news reached madame du barry that her lover, with other prisoners, was to be brought from orleans to paris. he would thus actually pass her own door; she would at least see him once again, under however tragic conditions. with what leaden steps the intervening hours crawled by! each sound set her heart beating furiously as if it would choke her. each moment was an agony of anticipation. at last she hears the sound of coming feet. she flies to the window, piercing the dark night with straining eyes. the sound grows nearer, a tumult of trampling feet and hoarse cries. a mob of dark figures surges through her gates, pours riotously up the steps and through the open door. in the hall there is a pandemonium of cries and oaths; the door of her room is burst open, and something is flung at her feet. she glances down; and, with a gasp of unspeakable horror, looks down on the severed head of her lover, red with his blood. the _sans-culottes_ had indeed taken a terrible revenge. they had fallen in overwhelming numbers on the prisoners and their escort; the soldiers had fled; and de brissac found himself the centre of a mob, the helpless target of a hundred murderous blows. with a knife for sole weapon he fought valiantly, like the brave soldier he was, until a cowardly blow from behind felled him to the ground. "fire at me with your pistols," he shouted, "your work will the sooner be over." a few moments later he drew his last gallant breath, almost within sight of the house that sheltered his beloved. * * * * * united in life, the lovers were not long to be divided. "since that awful day," madame du barry wrote to a friend, "you can easily imagine what my grief has been. they have consummated the frightful crime, the cause of my misery and my eternal regrets--my grief is complete--a life which ought to have been so grand and glorious! good god, what an end!" thus cruelly deprived of all that made life worth living, she cared little how soon the end came. "i ask nothing now of life," she wrote, "but that it should quickly give me back to him." and her prayer was soon to be granted. a few months after that night of horrors she herself was awaiting the guillotine in her cell at the conciergerie. in vain did an irish priest who visited her offer to secure her escape if she would give him money to bribe her jailers. "no," she answered with a smile, "i have no wish to escape. i am glad to die; but i will give you money willingly on condition that you save the duchesse de mortemart." and while madame de mortemart, daughter of the man she loved, was making her way to safety under the priest's escort, jeanne du barry was being led to the scaffold, breathing the name of the man she had loved so well; and, however feeble the flesh, glad to follow where he had led the way. chapter vi the regent's daughter many unwomanly women have played their parts in the drama of royal courts, but scarcely one, not even those messalinas, catherine ii. of russia and christina of sweden, conducted herself with such a shameless disregard of conventionality as marie louise elizabeth d'orléans, known to fame as the duchesse de berry, who probably crowded within the brief space of her years more wickedness than any woman who was ever cradled in a palace. it is said that this libertine duchesse was mad; and certainly he would be a bold champion who would try to prove her sanity. but, apart from any question of a disordered brain, there was a taint in her blood sufficient to account for almost any lapse from conventional standards of pure living. her father was that duc d'orléans who shocked the none too strait-laced europe of two centuries ago by his orgies; her grandfather was that other orleans duke, brother of louis xiv., whose passion for his minions broke the heart of his english wife, the stuart princess henriettta; and she had for mother one of the daughters of madame de montespan, light-o'-love to _le roi soleil_. the offspring of such parents could scarcely have been normal; and how far from normal marie louise was, this story of her singular life will show. when her father, the duc de chartres, took to wife mademoiselle de blois, montespan's daughter, there were many who significantly shrugged their shoulders and curled their lips at such a union; and one at least, the duc's mother, elizabeth charlotte, princess palatine, was undisguisedly furious. she refused point-blank to be present at the nuptials, and when her son, fresh from the altar, approached her to ask her blessing, she retorted by giving the bridegroom a resounding slap on the face. such was the ill-omened opening to a wedded life which brought nothing but unhappiness with it and which gave to the world some of the most degenerate women (in addition to a son who was almost an idiot) who have ever been cradled. the first of these degenerates was marie elizabeth, who was born one august day in the year , and who from her earliest infancy was her father's pet and favourite. his idolatry of his first-born child, indeed, is one of the most inscrutable things in a life full of the abnormal, and in later years afforded much material for the tongue of scandal. he was inseparable from her; her lightest wish was law to him; he nursed her through her childish illnesses with more than the devotion of a mother; and, as she grew to girlhood, he worshipped at the shrine of her young beauty with the adoration of a lover and put her charms on canvas in the guise of a pagan goddess. the duc's affection for his daughter, indeed, was so extravagant that it was made the subject of scores of scurrilous lampoons to which even voltaire contributed, and was a delicious morsel of ill-natured gossip in all the _salons_ and cabarets of paris. at fifteen the princess was already a woman--tall, handsome, well-formed, with brilliant eyes and the full lips eloquent of a sensuous nature. already she had had her initiation into the vices that proved her undoing; for in a court noted for its free-living, she was known for her love of the table and the wine-bottle. such was the duc's eldest daughter when she was ripe for the altar and became the object of an intrigue in which her scheming father, the royal duchesses, the duc de saint-simon, the king himself, and the jesuits all took a part, and the prize of which was the hand of the young duc de berry, a younger son of the dauphin, the grandson of king louis. over the plotting and counterplotting, the rivalries and jealousies which followed, we must pass. it must suffice to record that the king's consent was at last won by the orleans faction; madame de maintenon was persuaded to smile on the alliance; and, one july day, the nuptials of the duc de berry and the orleans princess were celebrated in the presence of the royal family and the court. a regal supper followed; and, the last toast drunk, the young couple were escorted to their room with all the stately, if scarcely decent, ceremonial which in those days inaugurated the life of the newly-wedded. seldom has there been a more singular union than this of the duc d'orléans' prodigal daughter with the almost imbecile grandson of the french king. the duc de berry, it is true, was good to look upon. tall, fair-haired, with a good complexion and splendid health, he was physically, at twenty-four, no unworthy descendant of the great louis. he had, too, many amiable qualities calculated to win affection; but he was mentally little better than a clown. his education had been shamefully neglected; he had been suppressed and kept in the background until, in spite of his manhood, he had all the shyness, awkwardness and dullness of a backward child. as he himself confessed to madame de saint-simon, "they have done all they could to stifle my intelligence. they did not want me to have any brains. i was the youngest, and yet ventured to argue with my brother. afraid of the results of my courage, they crushed me; they taught me nothing except to hunt and gamble; they succeeded in making a fool of me, one incapable of anything and who will yet be the laughing-stock of everybody." such was the weak-kneed husband to whom was now allied the most precocious, headstrong young woman in all france; who, although still short of her sixteenth birthday, was a past-mistress of the arts of pleasure, and was now determined to have her full fling at any cost. she had been thoroughly spoiled by her too indulgent father, who was even then the most powerful man in france after the king; and she was in no mood to brook restraint from anyone, even from louis himself. the pleasures of the table seem now to have absorbed the greater part of her life. read what her grandmother, the princess palatine, says of her: "madame de berry does not eat much at dinner. how, indeed, can she? she never leaves her room before noon, and spends her mornings in eating all kinds of delicacies. at two o'clock she sits down to an elaborate dinner, and does not rise from the table until three. at four she is eating again--fruit, salad, cheese, etc. she takes no exercise whatever. at ten she has a heavy supper, and retires to bed between one and two in the morning. she likes very strong brandy." and in this last sentence we have the true secret of her undoing. the royal princess was, even tat this early age, a confirmed dipsomaniac, with her brandy bottle always by her side; and was seldom sober, from rising to retiring. to such a woman, a slave to the senses, a husband like the duc de berry, unredeemed by a vestige of manliness, could make no appeal. she wanted "men" to pay her homage; and, like catherine of russia, she had them in abundance--lovers who were only too ready to pay court to a beautiful princess, who might one day be queen of france. for the dauphin was now dead; his eldest son, the duc de bourgogne, had followed him to the grave a few months later. prince philip had renounced his right to the french crown when he accepted that of spain; and, between her husband and the throne there was now but one frail life, that of the three-year-old duc d'anjou, a child so delicate that he might easily not survive his great-grandfather, louis, whose hand was already relaxing its grasp of the sceptre he had held so long. on the intrigues with which this queen _in posse_ beguiled her days, it is perhaps well not to look too closely. they are unsavoury, as so much of her life was. her lovers succeeded one another with quite bewildering rapidity, and with little regard either to rank or good-looks. one special favourite of our sultana was la haye, a court equerry, whom she made chamberlain, and who is pictured by saint-simon as "tall, bony, with an awkward carriage and an ugly face; conceited, stupid, dull-witted, and only looking at all passable when on horseback." so infatuated was the duchesse with her ill-favoured equerry that nothing less would please her than an elopement to holland--a proposal which so scared la haye that, in his alarm, he went forthwith to the lady's father and let the cat out of the bag. "why on earth does my daughter want to run away to holland?" the due exclaimed with a laugh. "i should have thought she was having quite a good enough time here!" and so would anyone else have thought. and while his duchesse was thus dallying with her multitude of lovers and stupefying herself with her brandy bottle, her husband was driven to his wits' end by her exhibitions of temper, as by her infidelities. in vain he stormed and threatened to have her shut up in a convent. all her retort was to laugh in his face and order him out of her apartment. violent scenes were everyday incidents. "the last one," says saint-simon, "was at rambouillet; and, by a regrettable mishap, the duchesse received a kick." the duc's laggard courage was spurred to fight more than one duel for his wife's tarnished fame. of one of these sorry combats, maurepas writes, "her conduct with her father became so notorious that his grace the duc de berry, disgusted at the scandal, forced the duc d'orléans to fight a duel on the terrace at marly. they were, however, soon separated, and the whole affair was hushed up." but release from such an intolerable life was soon coming to the ill-used duc. one day, when hunting, he was thrown from his horse, and ruptured a blood-vessel. fearful of alarming the king, now near the end of his long life, he foolishly made light of his accident, and only consented to see a doctor when it was too late. when the doctors were at last summoned he was a dying man, his body drained of blood, which was later found in bowls concealed in various parts of his bedroom. with his last breath, he said to his confessor, "ah, reverend father, i alone am the real cause of my death." thus, one may day in , the duchesse found herself a widow, within four years of her wedding-day; and the last frail barrier was removed from the path of self-indulgence and low passions to which her life was dedicated. when, with the aged king's death in the following year, her father became regent of france, her position as daughter of the virtual sovereign was now more splendid than ever; and before she had worn her widow's weeds a month, she had plunged again, still deeper, into dissipation, with madame de mouchy, one of her waiting-women, as chief minister to her pleasures. it was at this time, before her husband had been many weeks in his grave, that the comte de riom, the last and most ill-favoured of her many lovers, came on the scene. nothing but a perverted taste could surely have seen any attraction in such a lover as this grand-nephew of the duc de lauzun, of whom the austere and disapproving palatine duchess draws the following picture: "he has neither figure nor good-looks. he is more like an ogre than a man, with his face of greenish yellow. he has the nose, eyes, and mouth of a chinaman; he looks, in fact, more like a baboon than the gascon he really is. conceited and stupid, his large head seems to sit on his broad shoulders, owing to the shortness of his neck. he is shortsighted and altogether is preternaturally ugly; and he appears so ill that he might be suffering from some loathsome disease." to this unflattering description, saint-simon adds the fact that his "large, pasty face was so covered by pimples that it looked like one large abscess.'" such, then, was the repulsive lover who found favour in the eyes of the regent's daughter, and for whom she was ready to discard all her legion of more attractive wooers. with the coming of de riom, the duchesse entered on the last and worst stage of her mis-spent life. strange tales are told of the orgies of which the luxembourg, the splendid palace her father had given her, was now the scene--orgies in which madame de mouchy and a jesuit, one father ringlet, took a part, and over which the evil de riom ruled as "lord of merry disports." the duchesse, now sunk to the lowest depths of degradation, was the veriest puppet in his strong hands, flattered by his coarse attentions and submitting to rudeness and ridicule such as any grisette, with a grain of pride, would have resented. when these scandalous "carryings-on" at the luxembourg palace reached the regent's ears and he ventured to read his daughter a severe lecture on her conduct, she retaliated by snapping her fingers at him and telling him in so many words to mind his own business. and to the tongue of scandal that found voice everywhere, she turned a contemptuous ear. she even locked and barred her palace gates to keep prying eyes at a safe distance. but, although she thus defied man, she was powerless to stay the steps of fate. her health, robust as it had been, was shattered by her excesses; and when a serious illness assailed her, she was horrified to find death so uncomfortably near. in her alarm she called for a priest to shrive her; and the abbé languet came at the summons to bring her the consolations of the church. he refused point-blank, however, to give the sinner absolution until the palace was purged of the presence of de riom and madame de mouchy, the arch-partners in her vices. to this suggestion the duchesse, perilous as her condition was, returned an uncompromising "no!" if the abbé would not absolve her--well, there were other priests, less exacting, who would; and one such priest of elastic conscience, a franciscan friar, was summoned to her bedside. then ensued an unseemly struggle around the dying woman's bed, in which the regent, cardinal noailles, madame de mouchy, and the rival clerics all played their parts. while the obliging friar remained in the room awaiting an opportunity to administer the last sacrament, the abbé and his curates kept watch at the bedroom door to see that he did no such thing; and thus the siege lasted for four days and nights until, the patient's crisis over, the services of the church were summarily dispensed with. with the return of health, the duchesse's piety quickly evaporated. it is true that she had had a fright; and, by way of modified penitence, she vowed to dress herself and her household in white for six months and also to make a husband of her lover. within a few weeks, de riom led the regent's daughter to the altar, thus throwing the cloak of the church over the licence of the past. now that our princess was once more a "respectable" woman, she returned gladly to her old life of indulgence; until the duchess palatine exclaimed in alarm, "i am afraid her excesses in drinking and eating will kill her." and never was prediction more sure of early fulfilment. when she was not keeping company with her brandy bottle, she was gorging herself with delicacies of all kinds, from patties and fricassées to peaches and nectarines, washed down with copious draughts of iced beer. as a last desperate effort to reform her, at the eleventh hour, the regent packed de riom off to his regiment. a few days later, the duchesse invited her father to a sumptuous banquet on the terrace at meudon, at which, regardless of her delicate health, she ate and drank more voraciously than ever. the same evening she was taken ill; and when, on the following sunday, her mother-in-law, the duchess, visited her, she found the patient in a deplorable condition--wasted to a "shadow" and burning with fever. "she was suffering such horrible pains in her toes and under the feet," says the duchess, "that tears came to her eyes. she looked so very bad that three doctors were called in consultation. they resolved to bleed her; but it was difficult to bring her to it, for her pains were so great that the least touch of the sheets made her shriek." a few days later, in the early hours of th july, , the duchesse de berry passed away in her sleep. the life which she had wasted with such shameless prodigality closed in peace; and at the moment when she was being laid to rest in the church of st denis, madame de mouchy, blazing in the dead woman's jewels, was laughing merrily over her champagne-glass at a dinner-party to which she had invited all the sharers in the orgies which had made the palace of the luxembourg infamous! the moral of this pitifully squandered life needs no pointing out. and on reviewing it one can only in charity echo the words spoken by madame de meilleraye of another sinner, the chevalier de savoie, "for my part, i believe the good god must think twice before sending one born of such parents to the nether regions." chapter vii a princess of mystery in the spring of the year the fashionable world of paris was full of speculation and gossip about a stranger, as mysterious as she was beautiful, who had appeared from no one knew where, in its midst, and who called herself the princess aly Émettée de vlodimir. that she was a woman of rank and distinction admitted of no question. her queenly carriage and the graciousness and dignity of her deportment were in keeping with the royal character she assumed; but more remarkable than these evidences of high station was her beauty, which in its brilliance eclipsed that of the fairest women of versailles and the tuileries. tall, with a figure of exquisite modelling and grace, her daintily poised head crowned with a coronal of golden-brown hair, with a face of perfect oval, dimpled cheeks as delicately tinted as a rose, her chief glory lay in her eyes, large and lustrous, which had the singular quality of changing colour--"now blue, now black, which gave to their dreamy expression a peculiar, mysterious air." who was she, this woman of beauty and mystery? it was rumoured that she was a circassian princess, "the heroine of strange romances." she was living luxuriously in a fine house in the most fashionable quarter of paris, in company with two german "barons"--one, the baron von embs, who claimed to be her cousin; the other, baron von schenk, who appeared to play the rôle of guardian. to her _salon_ in the ile st louis were flocking many of the greatest men in france, infatuated by her beauty, and paying homage to her charms. to a man, they adored the mysterious lady--from prince ojinski and other illustrious refugees from poland to the comte de rochefort-velcourt, the duke of limburg's representative at the french court, and the wealthy old _beau_ m. de marine, who, it was said, placed his long purse at her disposal. but while the men were thus her slaves, the women tossed their heads contemptuously at their dangerous rival. she was an adventuress, they declared with one voice; and great was their satisfaction when, one day, news came that the baron von embs had been arrested for debt and that, on investigation, he proved to be no baron at all, but the good-for-nothing son of a ghent tradesman. the "bubble" had soon burst, and the attentions of the police became so embarrassing that the princess was glad to escape from the scene of her brief triumphs with her cavaliers (von embs' liberty having been purchased by that "credulous old fool," de marine) to frankfort, leaving a wake of debts behind. arrived at frankfort, the fair circassian resumed her luxurious mode of life, carrying a part of her retinue of admirers with her, and making it known that she was daily expecting a large remittance from her good friend, the shah of persia. and it was not long before, thanks to the offices of de rochefort-velcourt, she had at her feet no less a personage than philip, duke of limburg, and prince of the empire, one of those petty german potentates who assumed more than the airs and arrogance of kings. though his duchy was no larger than an english county, philip had his ambassadors at the courts of vienna and versailles; and though he had neither courtiers, army, nor exchequer, he lavished his titles of nobility and surrounded himself with as much state and ceremonial as any tsar or emperor. but exalted and serene as was his highness, he was caught as helplessly in the toils of the princess aly as any lovesick boy; and within a week of making his first bow had her installed in his castle of oberstein, after satisfying the most clamorous of her creditors with borrowed money. that there might be no question of obligation, the princess repaid him with the most lavish promises to redeem his heavily mortgaged estate with the millions she was daily expecting from persia, and to use her great influence with tsar and sultan to support his claim to the schleswig and holstein duchies. and that he might be in no doubt as to her ability to discharge these promises, she showed him letters, addressed to her in the friendliest of terms by these august personages. each day in the presence of this most alluring of princesses forged new fetters for the susceptible duke, until one day she announced to him, with tears streaming down her pretty cheeks, that she had received a letter recalling her to persia--to be married. the crucial hour had arrived. the duke, reduced to despair, begs her to accept his own exalted hand in marriage, vowing that, if she refuses, he will "shut himself up in a cloister"; and is only restored to a measure of sanity when she promises to consider his offer. when hornstein, the duke's ambassador to vienna, appears on the scene, full of suspicion and doubts, she makes an equally easy conquest of him. she announces to his gratified ears her wish to become a catholic; flatters him by begging him to act as her instructor in the creed that is so dear to him; and she reveals to him "for the first time" the true secret of her identity. she is really, she says, the princess of azov, heiress to vast estates, which may come to her any day; and the first use she intends to make of her millions is to fill the empty coffers of the limburg duchy. hornstein is not only converted; he becomes as ardent an admirer as his master, the duke. the princess takes her place as the coming duchess of limburg, much to the disgust of his subjects, who show their feelings by hissing when she appears in public. her hour of triumph has arrived--when, like a bolt from the blue, an anonymous letter comes to hornstein revealing the story of her past doings in several capitals of europe, and branding her as an "impostor." for a time the duke treats these anonymous slanders with scorn. he refuses to believe a word against his divinity, the beautiful, high-born woman who is to crown his life's happiness and, incidentally, to save him from bankruptcy. but gradually the poison begins to work, supplemented as it is by the suspicions and discontent of his subjects. at last he summons up courage to ask an explanation--to beg her to assure him that the charges against her are as false as he believes them. she listens to him with quiet dignity until he has finished, and then replies, with tears in her eyes, that she is not unprepared for disloyalty from a man who is so obviously the slave of false friends and of public opinion, but that she had hoped that he would at least have some pity and consideration for a woman who was about to become the mother of his child. this unexpected announcement, with its appeal to his manhood, proves more eloquent than a world of proofs and protestations. the duke's suspicions vanish in face of the news that the woman he loves is to become the mother of his child, and in a moment he is at her knees imploring her pardon, and uttering abject apologies. he is now more deeply than ever in her toils, ready to defy the world in defence of the princess he adores and can no longer doubt. it is at this stage that a man who was to play such an important part in the princess's life first crosses her path--one domanski, a handsome young pole, whose passionate and ill-fated patriotism had driven him from his native land to find an asylum, like many another polish refugee, in the limburg duchy. he had heard much of the romantic story of the princess aly, and was drawn by sympathy, as by the rumour of her remarkable beauty, to seek an interview with her, during her visit to mannheim. such a meeting could have but one issue for the romantic pole. he lost both head and heart at sight of the lovely and gracious princess, and from that moment became the most devoted of all her slaves. when she returned to oberstein he was swift to follow her and to install himself under her castle walls, where he could catch an occasional glimpse of her, or, by good-fortune, have a few blissful moments in her company. indeed, it was not long before stories began to be circulated among the good folk of oberstein of strange meetings between the mysterious young stranger who had come to live in their midst and an equally mysterious lady. "the postman," it was rumoured, "often sees him on the road leading to the castle, talking in a shadow with someone enveloped in a long, black, hooded cloak, whom he once thought he recognised as the princess." no wonder tongues wagged in oberstein. what could be the meaning of these secret assignations between the princess, who was the destined bride of their duke, and the obscure young refugee? it was a delicious bit of scandal to add to the many which had already gathered round the "adventuress." but there was a greater surprise in store for the obersteiners, as for the world outside their walls. soon it began to be rumoured that the duke's bride-to-be was no obscure circassian princess; this was merely a convenient cloak to conceal her true identity, which was none less than that of daughter of an empress! she was, in fact, the child of elizabeth, tsarina of russia, and her peasant husband, razoum; and in proof of her exalted birth she actually had in her possession the will in which the late empress bequeathed to her the throne of russia. how these rumours originated none seemed to know. was it domanski who set them circulating? we know, at least, that they soon became public property, and that, strangely enough, they won credence everywhere. the very people who had branded her "adventuress" and hissed her in the streets, now raised cheers to the future empress of russia; while the duke, delighted at such a wonderful transformation in the woman he loved, was more eager than ever to hasten the day when he could call her his own. as for the princess, she accepted her new dignities with the complaisance to be expected from the daughter of a tsarina. there was now no need to refer the sceptics to circassia for proof of her station and her potential wealth. as heiress to one of the greatest thrones of europe, she could at last reveal herself in her true character, without any need for dissimulation. the curtain was now ready to rise on the crowning act of her life-drama, an act more brilliant than any she had dared to imagine. russia was seething with discontent and rebellion; the throne of catherine ii. was trembling; one revolt had followed another, until pugatchef had led his rabble of a hundred thousand serfs to the very gates of moscow--only, when success seemed assured, to meet disaster and death. if the ex-bandit could come so near to victory, an uprising headed by elizabeth's own daughter and heiress could scarcely fail to hurl catherine from her throne. it would have been difficult to find a more powerful ally in this daring project than prince charles radziwill, chief of polish patriots, who was then, as luck would have it, living in exile at mannheim, and who hated russia as only a pole ever hated her. to radziwill, then, domanski went to offer the help of his princess for the liberation of poland and the capture of catherine's throne. here indeed was a valuable pawn to play in radziwill's game of vengeance and ambition. but the prince was by no means disposed to snatch the bait hurriedly. experience had taught him caution. he must count the cost carefully before taking the step, and while writing to the princess, "i consider it a miracle of providence that it has provided so great a heroine for my unhappy country," he took his departure to venice, suggesting that the princess should meet him there, where matters could be more safely and successfully discussed. thus it was that the princess said her last good-bye to her ducal lover, full of promises for the future when she should have won her throne, and as "countess of pinneberg" set forth with a retinue of followers to venice, where she was regally received at the french embassy. here she tasted the first sweets of her coming queendom--holding her courts, to which distinguished poles and frenchmen flocked to pay homage to the empress-to-be, and having daily conferences with radziwill, who treated her as already a queen. that her purse was empty and the bankers declined to honour her drafts was a matter to smile at, since the way now seemed clear to a crown, with all it meant of wealth and power. when the venetian government grew uneasy at the plotting within its borders, she went to ragusa, where she blossomed into the "princess of all the russias," assumed the sceptre that was soon to be hers, issued proclamations as a sovereign, and crowned these regal acts by sending a ukase to alexis orloff, the russian commander-in-chief, "signed elizabeth ii., and instructing him to communicate its contents to the army and fleet under his command." once more, however, fortune played the princess a scurvy trick, just when her favour seemed most assured. one night a man was seen scaling the garden-wall of the palace she was occupying. the guard fired at him, and the following morning domanski was found, lying wounded and unconscious in the garden. the tongues of scandal were set wagging again, old suspicions were revived, and once again the word "adventuress"--and worse--passed from mouth to mouth. the men who had fawned on her now avoided her; worse still, radziwill, his latent suspicions thoroughly awakened, and confirmed by a hundred stories and rumours that came to his ears, declined to have anything more to do with her, and returned in disgust to germany. but even this crushing rebuff was powerless to damp the spirits and ambition of the "adventuress," who shook the dust of ragusa off her dainty feet, and went off to rome, where she soon cast her spell over sir william hamilton, our ambassador there, who gave her the warmest hospitality. "for several days," we learn, "she reigns like a queen in the _salon_ of the ambassador, out of whose penchant for beautiful women she has no difficulty in wiling a passport that enables her to enter the most exclusive circles of roman society." in rome she lays aside her regal trappings, and wins the respect of all by her unostentatious living and her prodigal charities. she becomes a favourite at the vatican; cardinals do homage to her goodness, with perhaps a pardonable eye to her beauty. but behind the brave and pious front she thus shows to the world her heart is growing more heavy day by day. poverty is at her door in the guise of importunate creditors, her servants are clamouring for overdue wages, and consumption, which for long has threatened her, now shows its presence in hectic cheeks and a hacking cough. fortune seems at last to have abandoned her; and it requires all her courage to sustain her in this hour of darkness. in her extremity she appeals to sir william hamilton for a loan, much as a queen might confer a favour on a subject, and hamilton, pleased to be of service to so fair and pious a lady, sends her letter to his leghorn banker, mr john dick, with instructions to arrange the matter. * * * * * while the princess aly was practising piety and cultivating cardinals in rome, with an empty purse and a pain-racked body to make a mockery of her claim to a crown, away in distant russia catherine ii. was nursing a terrible revenge on the woman who had dared to usurp her position and threaten her throne. the succession of revolutions, at which she had at first smiled scornfully, had now roused the tigress in her. she would show the world that she was no woman to be trifled with, and the first victim of her vengeance should be that brazen princess who dared to masquerade as "elizabeth ii." she sent imperative orders to her trusted and beloved orloff, fresh from his crushing defeat of the turkish fleet, to seize her at any cost, even if he had to raze ragusa to the ground; and these orders she knew would be executed to the letter. for was not orloff the man whose strong hands had strangled her husband and placed the crown on her head; also her most devoted slave? he was, it is true, the biggest scoundrel (as he was also one of the handsomest men) in europe, a man ready to stoop to any infamy, and thus the best possible tool for such an infamous purpose; but he was also her greatest admirer, eager to step into the place of "chief favourite" from which his brother gregory had just been dismissed. when, however, orloff went to ragusa, with his soldiers at his back, he found that the princess had already flown, leaving no trace behind her. he ransacked sicily in vain, and it was only when sir william hamilton's letter to his leghorn banker came to his hands that he discovered that she was in rome, a much safer asylum than ragusa. it was hopeless now to capture her by force; he must try diplomacy, and, by the hands of an aide-de-camp, he sent her a letter in which he informed her that he had received her ukase and was anxious to pay due homage to the future empress of russia. such was the "judas" message kristenef, orloff's emissary, carried to the princess, whom he found in a pitiful condition, wasted to a shadow by disease and starvation--"in a room cold and bare, whose only furniture was a leather sofa, on which she lay in a high fever, coughing convulsively." to such pathetic straits was "elizabeth ii." reduced when kristenef came with his fawning airs and lying tongue to tell her that alexis orloff, the greatest man in russia, had instructed him to offer her the throne of the tsars, and, as an earnest of his loyalty, to beg her acceptance of a loan of eleven thousand ducats. in vain did domanski, who was still by her side, warn her against the smooth-tongued envoy. she was flattered by such unexpected homage, her eyes were dazzled by the near prospect of the coveted crown which was to be hers, at last, just when hope seemed dead. she would accept orloff's invitation to go to pisa to meet him. "as for you," she said, "if you are afraid, you can stay behind. i am going where destiny calls me." this revolution in her fortunes acted like magic. new life coursed through her veins, colour returned to her cheeks, and brightness to her eyes, as one february day in she left rome, with the devoted domanski for companion and a brilliant escort, for pisa, where orloff greeted her as an empress. he gave regal fêtes in her honour and filled her ears with honeyed and flattering words. affecting to be dazzled by her beauty, he even dared to make passionate love to her, which no man of his day could do more effectively than this handsomest of the orloffs; and so infatuated was the poor princess by the adoration of her handsome lover and the assurance of the throne he was to give her, that she at last consented to share that throne with him, and by his side went through a marriage ceremony, at which two of his officers masqueraded as officiating priests. nothing remained now between her and the goal of her desires, except to make the journey to russia as speedily as possible, and a few hours after the wedding banquet we see her in the admiral's launch, with orloff and domanski and a brilliant suite of officers, leaving leghorn for the russian flagship, where she was received with the blare of bands and the booming of artillery. the crowning moment arrived when, as she was being hoisted to the deck in a gorgeous chair suspended from the yard-arm, her future sailors greeted her with thunders of shouts, "long live the empress!" the moment she set foot on deck she was seized, handcuffs were snapped on her wrists, and she was carried a helpless captive to a cabin. at the same moment domanski was overpowered before he had time to use his sword, and made a prisoner. the princess's cries for orloff, her husband and saviour, are met with derision. orloff she is told is himself a prisoner. he has, in fact, vanished, his dastardly mission executed; and she never saw him again. two months later the victim of a man's treachery and a woman's vengeance is looking with tear-dimmed eyes on "her capital" through a barred window of a cell in the fortress of saints peter and paul. over the tragic closing of her days we may not dwell long. the scene is too pitiful, too harrowing. in vain she implores an interview with catherine, who blazes into anger at the request. "the impudence of the wretch," she exclaims, "is beyond all bounds! she must be mad. tell her if she wishes any improvement in her lot to cease the comedy she is playing." prince galitzin, grand chancellor, exerts all his skill in vain to force a confession of imposture from her. to his wiles and threats alike she opposes a dignified and calm front. she persists in the story of her birth; refuses to admit that she is an impostor. even when she is flung into a loathsome cell, with bread and water for diet, she does not waver a jot in her demeanour of dignity or in her royal claims. only when she is charged with being the daughter of a prague innkeeper does she allow indignation to master her, as she retorts, "i have never been in prague in my life, and if i knew who had thus slandered me i would scratch his eyes out." domanski, too, proves equally intractable; even the promise of marriage to her will not wring from him a word that might discredit his beloved princess. but although the princess keeps such a brave heart under conditions that might well have broken it, her spirit is powerless against the insidious disease that is working such havoc with her body. in her damp, noisome cell consumption makes rapid headway. her strength ebbs daily; the end is coming swiftly near. she makes a last dying appeal to catherine to see her if but for a few moments, but the appeal falls on deaf ears. when she sends for a priest to minister to her last hours, and, by catherine's orders, he makes a final attempt to wrest her secret from her, she moans with her failing breath, "say the prayers for the dead. that is all there is for you to do here." four days later death came to her release. catherine's throne was safe from this danger at least, and she was left to dalliance with her legion of lovers, while the woman on whom she had wreaked such terrible vengeance lay deeply buried in the courtyard of her prison, the very soldiers who dug her grave being sworn to secrecy. thus in mystery her life opened, and in secrecy it closed. chapter viii the king and the "little dove" a savage murmur ran through the market-place of bergen, one summer morning in the year , as chancellor valkendorf made his pompous way along the avenues of stalls laden with their country produce, his passage followed by scowling eyes and low-spoken maledictions. there could not have been a more unwelcome visitor than this cold-eyed, supercilious chancellor, unless it were his master, christian, the danish prince who had come to rule norway with the iron hand, and to stamp out the fires of rebellion against the alien rule that were always smouldering, when not leaping into flame. bergen itself had been the scene of the latest revolt against oppressive and unjust taxes, and the insolent valkendorf, who was now taking his morning stroll in the market-place, was fresh from suppressing it with a rough hand which had left many a smart and longing for vengeance behind it. but the chancellor could afford to smile at such evidences of unpopularity. he knew that he was the most hated man in norway--after his master--but he had executed his mission well and was ready to do it again. and thus it was with an air, half-amused, half-contemptuous, that he made his progress this july morning among the booths and stalls of the market, with eyes scornfully blind to frowns, but very wide open for any pretty face he might chance to see. he had not strolled far before his eyes were arrested by as strangely contrasted a picture as any he had ever seen. behind one of the stalls, heaped high with luscious, many-coloured fruits and mountains of vegetables, were two women, each so remarkable in her different way that, almost involuntarily, he stood rooted to the spot, gazing open-eyed at them. the elder of the two was of gigantic stature, towering head and shoulders over her companion, with harsh, masculine face, massive jaw, coarse protruding lips, and black eyes which were fixed on him in a magnetic stare, defiant and scornful--for none knew better than she who the stranger was, and few hated him more. but it was not to this grim, hard-visaged amazon that valkendorf's eyes were drawn, compelling as were her stature and her basilisk stare. they quickly turned from her, with a motion of contempt, to feast on the vision by her side--that of a girl on the threshold of young womanhood and of a beauty that dazzled the eyes of the old voluptuary. how had she come there and in such company, this ravishing girl on whom nature had lavished the last touch of virginal loveliness, this maiden with her figure of such supple grace, the proud little oval face with its complexion of cream and roses, the dainty head from which twin plaits of golden hair fell almost to her knees, and the eyes blue as violets, now veiled demurely, now opening wide to reveal their glories, enhanced by a look of appeal, almost of fear. the chancellor, who was the last man to pass by a flower so seductively beautiful, approached the stall, undaunted by the forbidding eyes of the giantess, frau sigbrit, by name, and, after making a small purchase, sought to draw her into amiable conversation. "no," she said in answer to his inquiries, "we are not norwegian. we come from holland, my daughter and i, and we are trying to earn a little money before returning there. but why do you ask?" she demanded almost fiercely, putting a protecting arm around the girl, as if she would shield her from an enemy. "you are in such a different world from ours!" little by little, however, the grim face began to relax under the adroit flatteries and courtly deference of the chancellor--for none knew better than he the arts of charming, when he pleased; and it was not long before the amazon, completely thawed, was confiding to him the most intimate details of her history and her hopes. "yes, my daughter is beautiful," she said, with a look of pride at the girl which transfigured her face. "many a great man has told me so--dukes, princes, and lords. she is as fair a flower as ever grew in holland; and she is as sweet as she is fair. she is dyveke, my "little dove," the pride of my heart, my soul, my life. she is to be a queen one day. it has been revealed to me in my dreams. but when the day dawns it will be the saddest in my life." and with further amiable words and a final courtly salute, valkendorf continued his stroll, secretly promising himself a further acquaintance with the dragon and her "little dove." this was the first of many morning strolls in the bergen market, in which the chancellor spent delightful moments at frau sigbrit's stall, each leaving him more and more a slave to her daughter's charms; for he quickly found that to her physical perfections were allied a low, sweet voice, every note of which was musical as that of a nightingale, a quiet dignity and refinement as far removed from her station as her simple print frock with the bunch of roses nestling in the white purity of her bosom, and a sprightliness of wit which even her modesty could not always repress. thus it was that, when valkendorf at last returned to upsala and the court of his master, christian, his tongue was full of the praises of the "market-beauty" of bergen, whose charms he pictured so glowingly that the prince's heart became as inflamed by a sympathetic passion as his mind by curiosity to see such a siren. "i shall not rest," he said to his chancellor, "until i have seen your 'little dove' with my own eyes; and who knows," he added with a laugh, "perhaps i shall steal her from you!" it was in vain that valkendorf, now alarmed by his indiscretion, began to pour cold water on the flames he had lit. christian had quite lost his susceptible heart to the rustic and unknown beauty, and vowed that he could not rest until he had seen her with his own eyes. and within a month he was riding into bergen, with valkendorf by his side, at the head of a brilliant retinue. as the prince made his way through the crowded avenues of the bergen streets to an accompaniment of scowls punctuated by feeble, forced cheers, he cut a goodly enough figure to win many an admiring, if reluctant, glance from bright eyes. with his broad shoulders, his erect, well-knit figure clothed in purple velvet, his stern, swarthy face crowned by a white-plumed hat, christian looked every inch a prince. to-day, too, he was in his most amiable mood, with a smile ready to leap to his lips, and many a gracious wave of the hand and sweep of plumed hat to acknowledge the grudged salutes of his subjects. he could be charming enough when he pleased, and this was a day of high good-humour; for his mind was full of the pleasure that awaited him. even frau sigbrit's scowl was chased away when his eyes were drawn to her towering figure, and with a swift smile he singled her out for the honour of a special salute. when the prince at last arrived in the market-square, he was greeted by a procession of the prettiest maidens in bergen who, in white frocks and with flower-wreathed hair, advanced to pay him the homage of demure eyes. but among them all, the loveliest girls of the city, christian saw but one--a girl younger than almost any other, but so radiantly lovely that his eyes fixed themselves on her as if entranced, until her cheeks flamed a vivid crimson under the ardour of his gaze. "no need to point her out," he whispered delightedly to valkendorf, "i see your 'little dove,' and she is all you have told me and more." before many hours had passed, a court official appeared at frau sigbrit's cottage door with a command from the prince to her and her daughter to attend a state ball the following evening. if the poor market-woman had had a crown laid at her feet, her surprise and consternation could scarcely have been greater. but she would make a bigger sacrifice of inclination than this for the "little dove" who filled her heart, and who, she remembered, was destined to be a queen; and decking her in all the finery her modest purse could command and with a taste of which few would have suspected she was capable, the market stall-keeper stalked majestically through the avenue of gorgeous flunkeys, her little princess with downcast eyes following demurely in her wake. all the fairest women of bergen were gathered at this ball, the host of which was their coming king, but it was to the fruit-seller's daughter that all eyes were turned, in homage to such a rare combination of beauty, grace, and modesty. many a fair lip, it is true, curled in mockery, recognising in the belle of the ball the low-born girl of the market-place; but it was the mockery of jealousy, the scornful tribute to a loveliness greater than their own. as for prince christian, he had no eyes for any but the "little dove" who outshone all her rivals as the sun pales the stars. it was the maid of the market whom he led out for the first dance, and throughout the long night he rarely left her side, whirling round the room with her, his arm close-clasped round her slender waist, not seeing or indifferent to the glances of envy and hate that followed them; or, during the intervals, drinking in her beauty as he poured sweet flatteries into her ears. as for dyveke, she was radiantly happy at finding herself thus transported into the favour of a prince and the queendom of fair women, for whose envy she cared as little as for the danger in which she stood. if anything had remained to complete christian's infatuation, this intoxicating night of the ball supplied it. the "little dove" had found a secure nesting-place in his heart. she must be his at any cost. she and her mother alone, of all the guests, were invited to spend the rest of the night at the castle as the prince's guests; and when he parted from her the following day, it was with vows on his part of undying love and fidelity, and a promise on hers to come to him at upsala as soon as a suitable home could be found for her. thus easily was the dove caught in the toils of one of the most amorous princes of europe; but it must be said for her that her heart went with the surrender of her freedom, for the prince, with his ardent passion, his strength and his magnetism, had swept her as quickly off her feet as she had made a quick conquest of him. thus, before many weeks had passed, we find dyveke installed with her mother in a sumptuous home in the outskirts of upsala, queening it in the prince's court, and every day forging new fetters to bind him to her. and while dyveke thus ruled over christian's heart, her strong-minded mother soon established a similar empire over his mind. with the clever, masterful brain of a man, the amazon of the market-place developed such a capacity for intrigue, such a grasp of statesmanship and such arts of diplomacy that christian, strong man as he thought himself, soon became little more than a puppet in her hands, taking her counsel and deferring to her judgment in preference to those of his ministers. the fruit-seller thus found herself virtual prime minister, while her daughter reigned, an uncrowned queen. when the prince was summoned to copenhagen by his father's failing health, frau sigbrit and her daughter accompanied him, one in her way as indispensable as the other; and when king james died and christian reigned in his stead, the women of the bergen market were installed in a splendid suite of apartments in his palace. so hopeless was his subjection to both that his subjects, with an indifferent shrug of the shoulders, accepted them as inevitable. for a time, it is true, their supremacy was in danger. now that christian was king, it became important to provide him with a queen, and a suitable consort was found for him in the austrian princess, isabella, sister of the emperor charles v., a well-gilded bride, distinguished alike for her beauty and her piety. isabella, however, was one of the last women to tolerate any rivalry in her husband's affection, and before the marriage-contract was sealed, she had received a solemn pledge from christian's envoys that his relations with the pretty flower-girl should cease. but even christian's word of honour was seldom allowed to bar the way to his pleasure, and within a few weeks of isabella's bridal entry into copenhagen, dyveke and her mother resumed their places at his court, to his queen's unconcealed disgust and displeasure. more than this, he established them in a fine house near his palace gates; and when he was not dallying there with dyveke, he was to be found by her side at the castle of hvideur, of which he had made her chatelaine. the remonstrances of valkendorf and his other ministers were made to deaf ears; his wife's reproaches and tears were as futile as the strongly worded protestations of his royal relatives. pleadings, arguments, and threats were alike powerless to break the spell dyveke and her mother had cast over him. but dyveke's day of empire was now drawing to a tragic close. one day, after eating some cherries from the palace gardens, she was seized with a violent pain. all the skill of the court doctors could do as little to assuage her agony as to save her life; and within a few hours she died, clasped to the breast of her distracted lover! such was christian's distress that for a time his reason trembled in the balance. he vowed that he would not be separated from her even by death; he threatened to put an end to his own life since it had been reft of all that made it worth living. and when cooler moments came, he swore a terrible vengeance against those who had robbed him of his beloved. she had been poisoned beyond a doubt; but who had done the dastardly deed? the finger of suspicion pointed to the steward of his household, torbern oxe, who, it was said, had been among the most ardent of dyveke's admirers, and had had the audacity to aspire to her hand. it was even rumoured that he had had more intimate relations with her. such were the stories and suspicions that passed from mouth to mouth in christian's clouded court before dyveke's beautiful body was cold; and such were the tales which hans faaborg, the king's treasurer, poured into his master's ears. hans faaborg little dreamt that when he was thus trying to bring about the downfall of his rival he was sealing his own fate. christian lent an eager ear to the stories of his steward's iniquities; but, when he found there was no shred of proof to support them, his anger and disappointment vented themselves on the informer. he had long suspected faaborg of irregularities in his purse-holding, and in these suspicions found a weapon to use against him. faaborg was arrested; an examination of his ledgers showed that for years he had been waxing rich at his master's expense, and he had to pay with his life the penalty of his fraud and his unproved testimony. but faaborg, though thus removed from his path, was by no means done with. rumours began to be circulated that a strange light appeared every night above the dead man's head as he swung on the gallows. the city was full of superstitious awe and of whisperings that heaven was thus bearing witness to the treasurer's innocence. and even the king himself, when he too saw the unearthly light forming a halo round his victim's head, was filled with remorse and fear to such an extent that he had faaborg's body cut down and honoured with a state funeral. he was still, however, as far as ever from solving the mystery of dyveke's death; and the longer his desire for vengeance was baffled, the more clamorous it became. although nothing could be proved against torbern oxe, christian was by no means satisfied of his innocence, and he decided to discover by guile the secret which all other means had failed to reveal. he would, if possible, make his steward his own betrayer. one day, at a court banquet, he turned in jocular mood to the minister and said, "tell me now, my dear torbern, was there really any truth in what faaborg told me of your relations with my beautiful lady! don't hesitate to tell the truth, which only you know, for i assure you no harm shall come to you from it." thus thrown off his guard and reassured, the steward, who, like his master, had probably drunk not wisely, confessed that he had loved dyveke, and had asked her to be his wife. "but, sire," he added, "that was the extent of my offence. i was never intimate with her." during the remainder of the banquet christian was most affable to the indiscreet steward, not only showing no trace of resentment, but treating him with marked friendliness. the following day, however, torbern was flung into prison, and charged, not only with his confession, but with the murder of the woman he had so vainly loved; and, in spite of the storm of indignation that swept over denmark, the pleadings of the papal legate, arcimbaldo, and the tears of the queen, was sentenced to death for a crime of which there was no scrap of evidence to point to his guilt. this gross act of injustice proved to be the beginning of christian's downfall. his cruelties and oppressions had long made him odious to his subjects, and the climax came when a popular uprising hurled him from his throne and drove him an exile to holland. an attempt to recover his crown ended in speedy disaster, and his last years were spent, in company with his favourite dwarf, in a cell of the holstein castle of sondeborg. as for sigbrit, the woman who had played such a conspicuous and baleful part in christian's life, she deserted her benefactor at the first sign of his coming ruin and ended her days in her native holland, bemoaning to the last the loss of her "little dove," whom she had seen raised almost to a throne and had lost so tragically. chapter ix the romance of the beautiful swede augustus the strong, elector of saxony and king of poland, owes his place in the world's memory to his brawny muscles and to his conquest of women. like the third alexander of russia of later years, he could, with his powerful arms, convert a thick iron bar into a necklace, crush a pewter tankard by the pressure of a mighty hand, toss a heavy anvil into the air and catch it as another man would catch a ball, or with a wrench straighten out the stoutest horse-shoe ever forged. and his strength of muscle was matched by his skill in the lists of love. no louis of france could boast such an array of conquests as this saxon hercules, who changed his mistresses as easily as he changed his coats; the fairest women in europe, from turkey to poland, succeeded each other in bewildering succession as the slaves of his pleasure, and before he died he counted his children to as many as the year has days. of all these fair and frail women who thus ministered to the pleasure of the "saxon samson," none was so beautiful, so gifted, so altogether alluring as marie aurora, countess of königsmarck, the younger of the two daughters of conrad of königsmarck. born in the year , aurora was one of three children of the swedish count conrad and his wife, the daughter of the great field-marshal wrangel. her elder sister, little less fair than herself, found a husband, when little more than a child, in count axel löwenhaupt; her brother philip, the handsomest man of his day in europe, was destined to end his days tragically as the price of his infatuation for a queen. betrayed by a jealous woman, the countess platen, whose overtures he spurned, this too gallant lover of sophia dorothea of celle, wife of the first of our georges, was foully done to death in a corridor of the leine schloss by la paten's hired assassins, while she looked smilingly on at his futile struggle for life, and gloated over his dying agonies. on the death of her father, when she was but a child of three, aurora was taken by her mother from her native sweden to hamburg, where she grew to beautiful young womanhood; and when, in turn, her mother died, she found a home with her married sister, the countess löwenhaupt. and it is at this period of her life that her romantic story opens. if we are to believe her contemporaries, the world has seldom seen so much beauty and so many graces enshrined in the form of woman as in this daughter of sweden. her description reads like a catalogue of all human perfections. of medium height and a figure as faultless in its exquisite modelling as in its grace and suppleness; her hair, black as a raven's plumage, and falling, like a veil of night, below her knees, emphasised the white purity of face and throat, arms, and hands. her teeth, twin rows of pearls, glistened between smiling crimson lips, curved like cupid's bow. her face of perfect oval, with its delicately moulded features, was illuminated by a pair of large black eyes, now melting, now flaming, as mood succeeded mood. to these graces of body were allied equal graces of mind and character. her conversation sparkled with wit and wisdom; she could hold fluent discourse in half a dozen tongues; she played and sang divinely, wrote elegant verses, and painted dainty pictures. her manner was caressing and courteous; she was generous to a fault, with a heart as tender as it was large. and the supreme touch was added by an entire unconsciousness of her charms, and an unaffected modesty which captivated all hearts. such was aurora of königsmarck who, in company with her sister, set forth one day to claim the fortune which her ill-fated brother, philip, was said to have left in the custody of his hanoverian bankers--a journey which was to make such a dramatic revolution in her own life. arrived at hanover the sisters found themselves faced by no easy task. the bankers declared that they had nothing of the late count's effects beyond a few diamonds, which they declined to part with, unless evidence were forthcoming that the count had died and had left no will behind him--evidence which, owing to the secrecy surrounding his murder, it was impossible to furnish. and when a discharged clerk revealed the fact that the dishonest bankers had actually all the count's estate, valued at four hundred thousand crowns, in their possession, the sisters were unable to make them disgorge a solitary mark. in their extremity, they decided to appeal to the elector of saxony, who had known count philip well and who would, they hoped, be the champion of their rights; and, with this object, they journeyed to dresden, only to find themselves again baffled. augustus was away on a hunting excursion, and would not return for a whole month. his wife and mother, however, gave them a gracious reception, as charmed by their beauty and sweetness as sympathetic in their trouble. when at last augustus made his tardy appearance at his capital, the fair petitioners were presented to him by the dowager electress with words of strong recommendation to his favour. "these ladies, my son," she said, "have come to beg for your protection and help, to which they are entitled both by birth and their merits. i beg that you will spare no effort to ensure that justice is done to them." his mother's pleading, however, was not necessary to ensure a favourable hearing from the elector, whose eyes were eloquent of the admiration he felt for the two fairest women who had ever visited his land. aurora's beauty, enhanced by her attitude of appeal, the mute craving for protection, was irresistible. from the moment she entered his presence he was her slave, as anxious to do her will as any lovesick boy. and it was to her that, with his courtliest bow, he answered, "be assured, dear lady, that i shall know no rest until your wrongs are repaired. if i fail, i myself will make reparation in full. meanwhile, may i beg you and your sister to be my guests, that i may prove how deep is my sympathy, and how profound the respect i feel for you." thus it was that by the magic of beauty aurora and her countess sister found themselves installed at the dresden court, feted like queens, receiving the caresses of the court ladies, and the homage of every man, from augustus himself to the youngest page, of whom a smile from their pretty lips made a veritable slave. as for the elector, sated as he was with the easy smiles and favours of fair women, he gave to the swedish beauty, from the first, a homage he had never paid to any of her predecessors in his affection. but aurora was no woman to be easily won by any man. she listened smilingly to the elector's honeyed words, and received his attentions with the gracious complaisance of a queen. when, however, he ventured to tell her that "her charms inspired him with a passion such as he had never felt for any woman," she answered coldly, "i came here prepared for your generosity, but i did not expect that your kindness would assume a form to cause me shame. i beg you not to say anything that can lessen the gratitude i owe you, and the respect i feel for you." here indeed was a rebuff such as augustus was little prepared for, or accustomed to. the beauty, of whom he had hoped to make an easy conquest, was an iceberg whom all his ardour could not thaw. he was in despair. "i am sure she hates and despises me, while i love her dearer than life itself," he confessed to his favourite beuchling, who vainly tried to console and cheer him. he confided his passion and his pain to aurora's sister, whose hopeful words were alike powerless to dispel his gloom. when aurora held aloof from him, he sent letter after letter of passionate pleading to her by the hand of the trusty beuchling. "if you knew the tortures i am suffering," he wrote, "your kindness of heart could not resist pitying me. i was mad to declare my passion so brutally to you. let me expiate my fault, prostrate at your feet; and, if you wish for my death, let me at least receive my sentence from your own sweet lips." to such a desperate state was augustus brought within a few days of setting eyes on his new divinity! as for aurora of the tender heart, her lover's distress thawed her more than a year of passionate protestations could have done. she replied, assuring him of her gratitude, her esteem and respect, and begging him to dismiss such unworthy thoughts of her. but she had no word of encouragement to send him in the note which her lover kissed so rapturously before placing it next his heart. so alarmed, indeed, was aurora, that she announced her intention of leaving forthwith a court in which she was exposed to so much danger--a project to which her sister gave a reluctant approval. but the countess löwenhaupt was little disposed to leave a court where she at least was having such a good time; for she, too, had her lovers, and among them the prince of fürstenberg, the handsomest man in saxony, whose devotion was more than agreeable to her. she preferred to play the part of cupid's agent--to exercise her diplomacy in bringing together those two foolish persons, her sister and the elector. and so skilfully did she play her part, appealing to aurora's pity, and assuring augustus of her sister's love in spite of her seeming coldness, that before many weeks had passed aurora had yielded and was listening with no unwilling ear to the vows of her exalted lover, now transported to the seventh heaven of happiness. one condition she made, when their mutual troth was plighted, that it should, for a time at least, remain a secret from the court, and to this the elector gratefully assented. such was the strange wooing of augustus and the countess aurora, in which passion had its response in a pity which, in this case at least, was the parent of love. it was with no very light heart that aurora set forth to mauritzburg, a few days later, to keep "honeymoon tryst" with augustus, who had preceded her, to make, as she understood, the necessary preparations for her reception. with her sister and a mounted escort of the most beautiful ladies of the court, she had ridden as far as the entrance to the mauritzburg forest, when her carriage suddenly came to a halt in front of a magnificent palace. from the open door emerged diana with her attendant nymphs to greet her with words of welcome, and to beg her to tarry a while to accept the hospitality of the forest gods. in response to this flattering invitation aurora left her carriage and was escorted in stately procession to a saloon, richly painted with sylvan scenes, in which a sumptuous banquet was spread. no sooner were she and her ladies seated at the table than, to the strains of beautiful music, the god pan (none other than the elector himself), with his retinue of fawns and other richly and quaintly garbed forest gods, made his entry, and took his seat at the right hand of his goddess. then, to the deft ministry of diana and her satellites, and to the soft accompaniment of pipes and hautboys, the feasting began, while pan whispered love to the lady for whom he had prepared such a charming hospitality. the banquet had scarcely come to an end when the jubilant sound of horns was heard from the forest. a stag dashed by a window in full flight, and aurora and her ladies, rushing excitedly to the door, saw horses awaiting them for the hunt. in a moment they are mounted, and, gaily laughing, with pan leading the way, they are galloping through the forest glades in the wake of the flying stag and the music of the hounds, until the stag, hotly pursued, dashes into a lake, in the centre of which is a beautiful wooded island. dismounting, the ladies enter the gondolas which are so opportunely awaiting them, and are rowed across the strip of water just in time to witness the death of the gallant animal they have been chasing. the hunt over, aurora and her ladies are conducted to the leafy heart of the island, where, as by the touch of a magician's wand, a gorgeous eastern tent has sprung up, and here another sumptuous entertainment is prepared for them. seated on soft-cushioned divans, in the many-hued environment of oriental luxury, rare fruits and delicacies are brought to them in silver baskets by turbaned turks. the island sultan now appears, ablaze with gems, with his officers little less gorgeous than himself, and with deep obeisances craves permission to seat himself by aurora's side, a favour which she was not likely to refuse to a sultan in whom she recognised her lover, the elector. troupes of dancing-girls follow, and the moments fly swiftly to the twinkling of dainty feet, the gliding and posturing of supple bodies, and the strains of sensuous music. another hour spent in the gondolas, dreamily gliding under the light of the moon, and horses are again mounted; and aurora, with augustus riding proudly by her side, heads the splendid procession which, with laughter, and in the gayest of spirits, rides forth to the mauritzburg castle at the close of a day so full of delights. "here," was the elector's greeting, as he conducted his bride to her room with its furnishing of silver and rich damask, and its pictured cupid showering roses on the silk-curtained bed, "you are the queen, and i am your slave." such was the beginning of aurora's reign over the heart of the elector of saxony--a reign of unclouded splendour and happiness for the woman in whom pity for her lover was soon replaced by a passion as ardent as his own. fêtes and banquets and balls succeeded each other in swift sequence, at all of which aurora was queen, the focus of all eyes, and receiving universal homage, won no more by her beauty and her position as the elector's favourite than by her sweetness and graciousness to the humblest. no mistress of a king was ever more beloved than this daughter of sweden. even the elector's mother, a pattern of the most rigid propriety, had ever a kind word and a caress for her; his neglected wife made a friend and confidante of the woman of whom she said, "since i must have a rival, i am glad she should be one so sweet and lovable." we must hasten over the years that followed--years during which augustus had no eyes for any other woman than his "uncrowned queen," and during which she bore him a son who, as maurice of saxony, was to win many laurels in the years to come. it must suffice to say that never was royal liaison conducted with so much propriety, or was marked by so much mutual devotion and loyalty. but it was not in the nature of augustus the strong to remain always true to any woman, however charming; and although aurora's reign lasted longer than that of any half-dozen of her rivals, it, too, had its ending. within a month of the birth of her son, augustus, now king of poland, was caught in the toils of another enslaver, the beautiful countess esterle. aurora realised that her sun had set, and relinquishing her sceptre without a murmur, she retired to the convent of quedlinburg, of which augustus had appointed her abbess. thus in an atmosphere of peace and piety, beloved of all for her sweetness and charity, aurora of königsmarck spent her last years until the end came one day in the year ; and in the crypt of the convent she loved so well she sleeps her last sleep. chapter x the sister of an emperor when napoleon bonaparte, the shabby, sallow-faced, out-of-work captain of artillery, was kicking his heels in morose idleness at marseilles, and whiling away the dull hours in making love to desirée clary, the pretty daughter of the silk-merchant in the rue des phocéens, his sisters were living with their mother, the signora letizia, in a sordid fourth-floor apartment in a slum near the cannebiere, and running wild in the marseilles streets. strange tales are told of those early years of the sisters of an emperor-to-be--elisa bonaparte, future grand duchess of tuscany; pauline, embryo princess borghese; and caroline, who was to wear a crown as queen of naples--high-spirited, beautiful girls, brimful of frolic and fun, laughing at their poverty, decking themselves out in cheap, home-made finery, and flirting outrageously with every good-looking young man who was willing to pay homage to their _beaux yeux_. if marseilles deigned to notice these pretty young madcaps, it was only with the cold eyes of disapproval; for such "shameless goings-on" were little less than a scandal. the pity of it was that there was no one to check their escapades. their mother, the imposing madame mère of later years, seemed indifferent what her daughters did, so long as they left her in peace; their brothers, kings-to-be, were too much occupied with their own love-making or their pranks to spare them a thought. and thus the trio of tomboys were left, with a loose rein, to indulge every impulse that entered their foolish heads. and a right merry time they had, with their dancing, their private theatricals, the fun behind the scenes, and their promiscuous love affairs, each serious and thrilling until it gave place to a successor. of the three bonaparte "graces" the most lovely by far (though each was passing fair) was pauline, who, though still little more than a child, gave promise of that rare perfection of face and figure which was to make her the most beautiful woman in all france. "it is impossible, with either pen or brush," wrote one who knew her, "to do any justice to her charms--the brilliance of her eyes, which dazzled and thrilled all on whom they fell; the glory of her black hair, rippling in a cascade to her knees; the classic purity of her grecian profile, the wild-rose delicacy of her complexion, the proud, dainty poise of her head, and the exquisite modelling of the figure which inspired canova's 'venus victrix.'" such was pauline bonaparte, whose charms, although then immature, played such havoc with the young men of marseilles, and who thus early began that career of conquest which was to afford so much gossip for the tongue of scandal. that the winsome little minx had her legion of lovers from the day she set foot in marseilles, at the age of thirteen, we know; but it was not until frèron came on the scene that her volatile little heart was touched--frèron, the handsome coxcomb and arch-revolutionary, who was sent to marseilles as a commissioner of the convention. to pauline, the gay, gallant parisian, penniless adventurer though he was, was a veritable hero of romance; and at sight of him she completely lost her heart. it was a _grande passion_, which he was by no means slow to return. those were delicious hours which pauline spent in the company of her beloved "stanislas," hours of ecstasy; and when he left marseilles she pursued him with the most passionate protestations. "yes," she wrote, "i swear, dear stanislas, never to love any other than thee; my heart knows no divided allegiance. it is thine alone. who could oppose the union of two souls who seek to find no other happiness than in a mutual love?" and again, "thou knowest how i worship thee. it is not possible for paulette to live apart from her adored stanislas. i love thee for ever, most passionately, my beautiful god, my adorable one--i love thee, love thee, love thee!" in such hot words this child of fifteen poured out her soul to the paris dandy. "neither mamma," she vowed, "nor anyone in the world shall come between us." but pauline had not counted on her brother napoleon, whose foot was now placed on the ladder of ambition, at the top of which was an imperial crown, and who had other designs for his sister than to marry her to a penniless nobody. in vain did pauline rage and weep, and declare that "she would die--_voilà tout!_" napoleon was inexorable; and the flower of her first romance was trodden ruthlessly under his feet. when junot, his own aide-de-camp, next came awooing pauline, he was equally obdurate. "no," he said to the young soldier; "you have nothing, she has nothing. and what is twice nothing?" and thus lover number two was sent away disconsolate. napoleon's sun was now in the ascendant, and his family were basking in its rays. from the marseilles slums they were transported first to a sumptuous villa at antibes; then to the castle of montebello, at naples. the days of poverty were gone like an evil dream; the sisters of the famous general and coming emperor were now young ladies of fashion, courted and fawned on. their lovers were not marseilles tradesmen or obscure soldiers and journalists (like junot and frèron), but brilliant generals and men of the great world; and among them napoleon now sought a husband for his prettiest and most irresponsible sister. this, however, proved no easy task. when he offered her to his favourite general, marmont, he was met with a polite refusal. "she is indeed charming and lovely," said marmont; "but i fear i could not make her happy." then, waxing bolder, he continued: "i have dreams of domestic happiness, of fidelity, virtue; and these dreams i can scarcely hope to realise in your sister." albert permon, napoleon's old schoolfellow, next declined the honour of pauline's hand, although it held the bait of a high office and splendid fortune. the explanation of these refusals is not far to seek if we believe arnault's description of pauline--"an extraordinary combination of the most faultless physical beauty and the oddest moral laxity. she had no more manners than a schoolgirl--she talked incoherently, giggled at everything and nothing, mimicked the most serious personages, put out her tongue at her sister-in-law.... she was a good child naturally rather than voluntarily, for she had no principles." but pauline was not to wait long, after all, for a husband. among the many men who fluttered round her, willing to woo if not to wed the empty-headed beauty, was general leclerc, young and rich, but weak in body and mind, "a quiet, insignificant-looking man," who at least loved her passionately, and would make a pliant husband to the capricious little autocrat. and we may be sure napoleon heaved a sigh of relief when his madcap sister was safely tied to her weak-kneed general. pauline was at last free to conduct her flirtations secure from the frowns of the brother she both feared and adored, and she seems to have made excellent use of her opportunities; and, what was even more to her, to encourage to the full her passion for finery. dress and love filled her whole life; and while her idolatrous husband lavishly supplied the former, he turned a conveniently blind eye to the latter. remarkable stories are told of pauline's extravagant and daring costumes at this time. thus, at a great ball in madame permon's paris mansion, she appeared in a dress of classic scantiness of indian muslin, ornamented with gold palm leaves. beneath her breasts was a cincture of gold, with a gorgeous jewelled clasp; and her head was wreathed with bands spotted like a leopard's skin, and adorned with bunches of gold grapes. when this bewitching bacchante made her appearance in the ballroom the sensation she created was so great that the dancing stopped instantly; women and men alike climbed on chairs to catch a glimpse of the rare and radiant vision, and murmurs of admiration and envy ran round the _salon_. her triumph was complete. in the hush that followed, a voice was heard: "_quel dommage!_ how lovely she would be, if it weren't for her ears. if i had such ears, i would cut them off, or hide them." pauline heard the cruel words. the flush of mortification and anger flamed in her cheeks; she burst into tears and walked out of the room. madame de coutades, her most jealous rival, had found a rich revenge. general leclerc did not live long to play the slave to his little autocrat; and when he died at san domingo, the beautiful widow returned to france, accompanied by his embalmed body, with her glorious hair, which she had cut off for the purpose, wreathing his head! she had not, however, worn her weeds many months before she was once more surrounded by her court of lovers--actors, soldiers, singers, on each of whom in turn she lavished her smiles; and such time as she could spare from their flatteries and ogling she spent at the card-table, with fortune-tellers, or, chief joy of all, in decking her beauty with wondrous dresses and jewels. but the charming widow, sister of the great napoleon, was not long to be left unclaimed; and this time the choice fell on prince camillo borghese, a handsome, black-haired italian, who allied to a head as vain and empty as her own the physical graces and gifts of an admirable crichton, and who, moreover, was lord of all the famed borghese riches. pauline had now reached dizzy heights, undreamed of in the days, only ten short years earlier, when she was coquetting in home-made finery with the young tradesmen of marseilles. she was a princess, bearing the greatest name in all italy; and to this dignity her gratified brother added that of princess of gustalla. all the world-famous borghese jewels were hers to deck her beauty with--a small golconda of priceless gems; there was gold galore to satisfy her most extravagant whims; and she was still young--only twenty-five--and in the very zenith of her loveliness. picture, then, the pride with which, one early day of her new bridehood, she drove to the palace of st cloud in the gorgeous borghese state carriage, behind six horses, and with an escort of torch-bearers, to pay a formal call on her sister-in-law, josephine, empress-to-be. she had decked herself in a wonderful creation of green velvet; she was ablaze from head to foot with the borghese diamonds. such a dazzling vision could not fail to fill josephine with envy--josephine, who had hitherto treated her with such haughty patronage. as she sailed into the _salon_ in all her queen of sheba splendour, it was to be greeted by her sister-in-law in a modest dress of muslin, without a solitary gem to relieve its simplicity; and--horror!--to find that the room had been re-decorated in blue by the artful josephine--a colour absolutely fatal to her green magnificence! it was thus a very disgusted princess who made her early exit from the palace between a double line of bowing flunkeys, masking her anger behind an affectation of ultra-royal dignity. still, pauline was now a _grande dame_ indeed, who could really afford to patronise even napoleon's wife. her court was more splendid than that of josephine. she had lovers by the score--from blanguini, who composed his most exquisite songs to sing for her ears alone, to forbin, her artist chamberlain, whose brushes she inspired in a hundred paintings of her lovely self in as many unconventional guises. her caskets of jewels were matched by the most wonderful collection of dresses in france, the richest and daintiest confections, from pearl embroidered ball-gowns which cost twenty thousand francs to the mauve and silver in which she went a-hunting in the forest of fontainebleau. at petit trianon and in the faubourg st honoré, she had palaces that were dreams of beauty and luxury. the only thorn in her bed of roses was, in fact, her husband, the prince, the very sight of whom was sufficient to spoil a day for her. when, at napoleon's bidding, she accompanied borghese to his governorship beyond the alps, she took in her train seven wagon-loads of finery. at turin she held the court of a queen, to which the prince was only admitted on sufferance. royal visits, dinners, dances, receptions followed one another in dazzling succession; behind her chair, at dinner or reception, always stood two gigantic negroes, crowned with ostrich plumes. she was now "sister of the emperor," and all the world should know it! if only she could escape from her detested husband she would be the happiest woman on earth. but napoleon on this point was adamant. in her rage and rebellion she tore her hair, rolled on the floor, took drugs to make her ill; and at last so succeeded in alarming her imperial brother that he summoned her back to france, where her army of lovers gave her a warm welcome, and where she could indulge in any vanity and folly unchecked. matters were now hastening to a tragic climax for napoleon and the family he had raised from slumdom in marseilles to crowns and coronets. josephine had been divorced, to pauline's undisguised joy; and her place had been taken by marie louise, the proud austrian, whom she liked at least as little. when napoleon fell from his throne, she alone of all his sisters helped to cheer his exile in elba; for the brother she loved and feared was the only man to whom pauline's fickle heart was ever true. she even stripped herself of all her jewels to make the way smooth back to his crown. and when at last news came to her at rome of his death at st helena it was she who shed the bitterest tears and refused to be comforted. that an empire was lost, was nothing compared with the loss of the brother who had always been so lenient to her failings, so responsive to her love. two years later her own end came at florence. when she felt the cold hand of death on her, she called feebly for a mirror, that she might look for the last time on her beauty. "thank god," she whispered, as she gazed, "i am still lovely! i am ready to die." a few moments later, with the mirror still clutched in her hand, and her eyes still feasting on the charms which time and death itself were powerless to dim, died pauline bonaparte, sister of an emperor and herself an empress by the right of her incomparable beauty. chapter xi a siren of the eighteenth century when wilhelmine encke first opened her eyes on the world one day in the year , he would have been a bold prophet who would have predicted that she would one day be the uncrowned queen of the court of russia, _plus reine que la reine_, and that her children would have in their veins the proudest blood in europe. such a prophecy might well have been laughed to scorn, for little wilhelmine had as obscure a cradle as almost any infant in all prussia. her father was an army bugler, who wore private's uniform in frederick the great's army; and her early years were to be spent playing with other soldiers' children in the sordid environment of berlin barracks. when her father turned his back on the army, while wilhelmine was still nursing her dolls, it was to play the humble rôle of landlord of a small tavern, from which he was lured by the bait of a place as french-horn player in frederick's private band; and the goal of his modest ambition was reached when he was appointed trumpeter to the king. this was herr encke's position when the curtain rises on our story at potsdam, and shows us wilhelmine, an unattractive maid of ten, the cinderella of her family, for whom there seemed no better prospect than a soldier-husband, if indeed she were lucky enough to capture him. she was, in fact, the "ugly duckling" of a good-looking family, removed by a whole world from her beautiful eldest sister charlotte, who counted among her many admirers no less exalted a wooer than prince frederick william, the king's nephew and heir to his throne. there was, indeed, no more beautiful or haughty damsel in all potsdam than this trumpeter's daughter who had caught the amorous fancy of the prince, then, as to his last day, the slave of every pretty face that crossed his path. but charlotte encke was much too imperious a young lady to hold her royal lover long in fetters. he quickly wearied of her caprices, her petulances, and her exhibitions of temper; and the climax came one day when in a fit of anger she struck her little sister, in his presence, and he took up the cudgels for wilhelmine. this was the last straw for the disillusioned and disgusted prince, who sent charlotte off to paris, where as the countess matushke she played the fine lady at her lover's cost, while the prince took her cinderella sister under his protection. he took her education into his own hands, provided her with masters to teach her a wide range of accomplishments, from languages to dancing and deportment, while he himself gave her lessons in history and geography. nor did he lack the reward of his benevolent offices; for wilhelmine, under his ministrations, not only developed rare gifts and graces of mind, like many another cinderella before her; she blossomed into a rose of girlhood, more beautiful even than her imperious sister, and with a sweetness of character and a winsomeness which charlotte could never have attained. on her part, gratitude to her benefactor rapidly grew into love for the handsome and courtly prince; on his, sympathy for the ill-used cinderella, into a passion for the lovely maiden hovering on the verge of a still more beautiful womanhood. it was a mutual passion, strong and deep, which now linked the widely contrasted lives of the king-to-be and the trumpeter's daughter--a passion which, with each, was to last as long as life itself. wilhelmine was now formally installed in the place of the deposed charlotte as favourite of the heir to the throne; and idyllic years followed, during which she gave pledges of her love to the man who was her husband in all but name. that her purse was often empty was a matter to smile at; that she had to act as "breadwinner" to her family, and was at times reduced to such straits that she was obliged to pawn some of her small stock of jewellery in order to provide her lover with a supper, was a bagatelle. she was the happiest young woman in prussia. even what seemed to be a crowning disaster, fortune turned into a boon for her. when news of this unlicensed love-making came to the king's ears, he was furious. it was intolerable that the destined ruler of a great and powerful nation should be governed and duped by a woman of the people. he gave his nephew a sound rating--alike for his extravagance and his amour; and packed off wilhelmine to join her sister in paris. but, for once, frederick found that he had made a mistake. the prince, robbed of the woman he loved, took the bit in his teeth, and plunged so deeply into extravagant dallying with ballet-dancers and stars of the opera that the king was glad to choose the lesser evil, and to summon wilhelmine back to her prince's arms. one stipulation only he made, that she should make her home away from the capital and the dangerous allurements which his nephew found there. now at last we find cinderella happily installed, with the king's august approval, in a beautiful home which has since blossomed into the splendours of charlottenburg. here she gave birth to a son, whom frederick dubbed count de la marke in his nurse's arms, but who was fated never to leave his cradle. this child of love, the idol of his parents, sleeps in a splendid mausoleum in the great protestant church of berlin. as a sop to prussian morality and to make the old king quite easy, a complaisant husband was now found for the prince's favourite in his chamberlain, herr rietz, son of a palace gardener; and frederick william himself looked on while the woman he loved, the mother of his children, was converted by a few priestly words into a "respectable married woman"--only to leave the altar on his own arm, his wife in the eyes of the world. the time was now drawing near when wilhelmine was to reach the zenith of her adventurous life. one august day in frederick the great drew his last breath in the potsdam palace, and his nephew awoke to be greeted by his chamberlain as "your majesty." the trumpeter's daughter was at last a queen, in fact, if not in name, more secure in her husband's love than ever, and with long years of splendour and happiness before her. that his fancy, ever wayward, flitted to other women as fair as herself, did not trouble her a whit. like madame de pompadour, she was prepared even to encourage such rivalry, so long as the first place (and this she knew) in her husband's heart was unassailably her own. picture our cinderella now in all her new splendours, moving as a queen among her courtiers, receiving the homage of princes and ambassadors as her right, making her voice heard in the council chamber, and holding her _salon_, to which all the great ones of the earth flocked to pay tribute to her beauty and her gifts of mind. it was a strange transformation from the barracks-kitchen to the queendom of one of the greatest courts of europe; but no queen cradled in a palace ever wore her honours with greater dignity, grace, and simplicity than this daughter of an army bandsman. the days of the empty purse were, of course, at an end. she had now her ten thousand francs a month for "pin-money," her luxuriously appointed palace at charlottenburg, and her berlin mansion, "unter den linden," with its private theatre, in which she and her royal lover, surrounded by their brilliant court, applauded the greatest actors from paris and vienna. it is said that many of these stage-plays were of questionable decency, with more than a suggestion of the garden of eden in them; but this is an aspersion which madame de rietz indignantly repudiates in her "memoirs." while wilhelmine was thus happy in her court magnificence, varied by days of "delightful repose," at charlottenburg, france was in the throes of her revolution, drenched with the blood of her greatest men and fairest women; her king had lost his crown and his head with it; and europe was in arms against her. when frederick william joined his army camped on the rhine bank, wilhelmine was by his side to counsel him as he wavered between war and peace. the fate of the coalition against france was practically in the hands of the trumpeter's daughter, whose voice was all for peace. "what matters it," she said, "how france is governed? let her manage her own affairs, and let europe be saved from the horrors of bloodshed." in vain did the envoys of spain and italy, austria and england, practise all their diplomacy to place her influence in the scale of war. when lord henry spencer offered her a hundred thousand guineas if she would dissuade her husband from concluding a treaty with france, she turned a deaf ear to all his pleading and arguments. such influence as she possessed should be exercised in the interests of peace, and thus it was that the vacillating king deserted his allies, and signed the treaty of bâle, in . such was the triumphant issue of madame rietz's intervention in the affairs of europe; such the proof she gave to the world of her conquest of a king. it was thus with a light heart that she turned her back on the rhine camp; and with her husband's children and a splendid retinue set out on her journey to italy, to see which was the greatest ambition of her life. at the austrian court she was coldly received, it is true, thanks to her part in the treaty of bâle; but in italy she was greeted as a queen. at naples queen caroline received her as a sister; the trumpeter's daughter was the brilliant centre of fêtes and banquets and receptions such as might have gratified the vanity of an empress: while at florence she spent days of ideal happiness under the blue sky of italy and among her beauties of nature and art. it was at venice that she wrote to her king lover, "your majesty knows well that, for myself, i place no value on the foolish vanities of court etiquette; but i am placed in an awkward position by my daughter being raised to the rank of countess, while i am still in the lowly position of a bourgeoise." she had, in fact, always declined the honour of a title, which frederick william had so often begged her to accept; and it was only for her daughter's sake, when the question of an alliance between the young countess de la marke and lord bristol's heir arose, that she at last stooped to ask for what she had so long refused. a few weeks later her brother, the king's equerry, placed in her hands the patent which made her countess lichtenau, with the right to bear on her shield of arms the prussian eagle and the royal crown. wherever the countess (as we must now call her) went on her italian tour she drew men to her feet by the magnetism of her beauty, who would have paid no homage to her as _chère amie_ of a king; for she was now in the early thirties, in the full bloom of the loveliness that had its obscure budding in the potsdam barrack-rooms. young and old were equally powerless to resist her fascinations. she had, indeed, no more ardent slave and admirer than my lord bristol, the octogenarian bishop of londonderry, whose passion for the countess, young enough to be his granddaughter, was that of a lovesick youth. from "dear countess and adorable friend," he quickly leaps in his letters to "my dear wilhelmine." he looks forward with the impatience of a boy to seeing her at "that terrestrial paradise which is called naples, where we shall enjoy perpetual spring and spend delightful days in listening to the divine _paesiello_. do you know," he adds, "i passed two hours of real delight this morning in simply contemplating your elegant bedroom where only the elegant sleeper was missing." "it is in _crocelle_," he writes a little later, "that you will make people happy by your presence, and where you will recuperate your health, regain your gaiety, and forget an irishman; and a holy bishop, more worthy of your affection, on account of the deep attachment he has for you, will take his place." in june, , this senile lover writes, "in an hour i depart for germany; and, as the wind is north, with every step i take i shall say: 'this breeze comes perhaps from her; it has touched her rosy lips and mingled its scent with the perfume of her breath which i shall inhale, the perfume of the breath of my dear wilhelmine.'" but these days of dallying with her legion of lovers, of regal fêtes and pleasure-chasing, were brought to an abrupt conclusion when news came to her at venice that her "husband," the king, was dying, with the royal family by his bedside awaiting the end. such news, with all its import of sorrow and tragedy, set the countess racing across the continent, fast as horses could carry her, to the side of her beloved king, whom she found, if not _in extremis_, "very dangerously ill and pitifully changed" from the robust man she had left. her return, however, did more for him than all the skill of his doctors. it gave him a new lease of life, in which her presence brought happiness into days which, none knew better than himself, were numbered. for more than a year the countess was his tender nurse and constant companion, ministering to his comfort and arranging plays and tableaux for his entertainment. she watched over him as jealously as any mother over her dying child; but all her devotion could not stay the steps of death, which every day brought nearer. as the inevitable end approached, her friends warned her to leave charlottenburg while the opportunity was still hers--to escape with her jewels and her money (a fortune of £ , )--but to all such urging she was deaf. she would stay by her lover's side to the last, though she well knew the danger of delay. one november day in frederick william made his last public appearance at a banquet, with the countess at his right hand; and seldom has festival had such a setting in tragedy. "none of the guests," we are told, "uttered a word or ate a mouthful of anything; the plates were cleared at the hasty ringing of a bell. a convulsive movement made by the sick man showed that he was suffering agonies. before half-past nine every guest had left, greatly troubled. the majority of those who had been present never saw the unfortunate monarch again. they all shared the same presentiment of disaster, and wept." from that night the king was dead, even to his own court. the gates of his palace were closed against the world, and none were allowed to approach the chamber in which his life was ebbing away, save the countess, his nurse, and his doctors. even his children were refused admittance to his presence. as the marquis de saint mexent said, "the king of prussia ends his days as though he were a rich benefactor. all the relations are excluded by the housekeeper." a few days before the end came the countess was seen to leave the palace, carrying a large red portfolio--a suspicious circumstance which the crown prince's spies promptly reported to their master. there could be only one inference--she had been caught in the act of stealing state papers, a crime for which she would have to pay a heavy price as soon as her protector was no more! as a matter of fact the portfolio contained nothing more secret or valuable than the letters she had written to the king during the twenty-seven years of their romance, letters which, after reading, she consigned to the flames in her boudoir within an hour of the suspected theft of state documents. a few days later, on the night of the th of november ( ), the king entered on his "death agony," one fit of suffocation succeeding another, until the countess, unable to bear any longer the sight of such suffering, was carried away in violent convulsions. she saw him no more; for by seven o'clock in the morning frederick william had found release from his agony in death, and his son had begun to reign in his stead. at last the long-delayed hour of revenge had come to frederick william iii., who had always regarded his father's favourite as an enemy; and his vengeance was swift to strike. before the late king's body was cold, his successor's emissaries appeared at the palace door, unter den linden, with orders to search her papers and to demand the keys of every desk and cupboard. even then she scorned to fly before the storm which she knew was breaking. for three days and nights her carriage stood at her gates ready to take her away to safety; but she refused to move a step. then one morning, before she had left her bed, a major of the guards, with a posse of soldiers, appeared at her bedroom door armed with a warrant for her arrest; and for many weeks she was a closely guarded prisoner in her own house, subject to daily insults and indignities from men who, a few weeks earlier, had saluted her as a queen. at the trial which followed some very grave indictments were preferred against her. she was charged with having betrayed state secrets; with having robbed the royal exchequer; stolen the king's portfolio; and removed the priceless solitaire diamond from his crown, and the very rings from his fingers as he lay dying. to these and other equally grave charges the countess gave a dignified denial, which the evidence she was able to produce supported. the diamond and the rings were, in fact, discovered in places indicated by her where they had been put, by the king's orders, for safe custody. the trial had a happier ending than, from the malignity of her enemies, especially of the king, might have been expected. after three months of durance she was removed to a silesian fortress. her houses and lands were taken from her; but her furniture and jewels were left untouched, and with them she was allowed to enjoy a pension of four thousand thalers a year. such was the judgment of a court which proved more merciful than she had perhaps a right to expect. and two months later, the influence and pleading of her friends set her free from her fortress-prison to spend her life where and as she would. the sun of her splendour had indeed set, but many years of peaceful and not unhappy life remained for our ex-queen, who was still in the prime of her womanhood and beauty and with the magnetism that, to her last day, brought men to her feet. at fifty she was able to inspire such passion in the breast of a young artist, francis holbein, that he asked and won her hand in marriage. but this romance was short-lived, for within a year he left her, to spend the remainder of her days in paris, vienna, and her native prussia. here her adventurous career closed in such obscurity, at the age of sixty-eight, that even those who ministered to her last moments were unaware that the dying woman was the countess who had played so dazzling a part a generation earlier, as favourite of the king of prussia and queen of her loveliest women. chapter xii the corsican and the creole of the many women who succeeded one another with such bewildering rapidity in the favour of the first napoleon, from desirée clary, daughter of the marseilles silk-merchant, the "little wife" of his days of obscurity, to madame walewska, the beautiful pole, who so fruitlessly bartered her charms for her country's salvation, only one really captured his fickle heart--josephine de beauharnais, the woman whom he raised to the splendour of an imperial crown, only to fling her aside when she no longer served the purposes of his ambition. it was one october day in the year that josephine, vicomtesse de beauharnais, first cast the spell of her beauty on the "ugly little corsican," who had then got his foot well planted on the ladder, at the summit of which was his crown of empire. at twenty-six, the man who, but a little earlier, was an out-of-work captain, eating his heart out in a marseilles slum, was general-in-chief of the armies of france, with the disarmed rebels of paris grovelling at his feet. one day a handsome boy came to him, craving permission to retain the sword his father had won, a favour which the general, pleased by the boy's frankness and manliness, granted. the next day the young rebel's mother presented herself to thank him with gracious words for his kindness to her son--a creature of another world than his, with a beauty, grace and refinement which were a new revelation to his bourgeois eyes. the fair vision haunted him; the music of her voice lingered in his ears. he must see her again. and, before another day had passed, we find the pale-faced, grim corsican, with the burning eyes, sitting awkwardly on a horse-hair chair of madame's dining-room in her small house in the rue chantereine, nervously awaiting the entry of the vicomtesse who had already played such havoc with his peace of mind. and when at last she made her appearance, few would have recognised in the man, who made his shy, awkward bow, the famous general with whose name the whole of france was ringing. it was little wonder, perhaps, that the little corsican's heart went pit-a-pat, or that his knees trembled under him, for the lady whose smile and the touch of whose hand sent a thrill through him, was indeed, to quote his own words, "beautiful as a dream." from the chestnut hair which rippled over her small, proudly poised head to the arch of her tiny, dainty feet, "made for homage and for kisses," she was, "all glorious without." there was witchery in every part of her--in the rich colour that mantled in her cheeks; the sweet brown eyes that looked out between long-fringed eyelids; the small, delicate nose; "the nostrils quivering at the least emotion"; the exquisite lines of the tall, supple figure, instinct with grace in every moment; and, above all, in the seductive music of a voice, every note of which was a caress. sixteen years earlier, josephine had come from martinique to paris as bride of the vicomte de beauharnais, with whom she had led a more or less unhappy life, until the guillotine of the revolution left her a widow, with two children and an empty purse. but even this crowning calamity was powerless to crush the sunny-hearted creole, who merely laughed at the load of debts which piled themselves up around her. a little of the wreckage of her husband's fortune had been rescued for her by influential friends; but this had disappeared long before napoleon crossed her path. and at last the light-hearted widow realised that if she had a card left to play, she must play it quickly. here then was her opportunity. the little general was obviously a slave at her feet; he was already a great man, destined to be still greater; and if he was bourgeois to his coarse finger-tips, he could at least serve as a stepping-stone to raise her from poverty and obscurity. as for napoleon, he was a vanquished man--and he knew it--before ever he set foot in madame's modest dining-room. when he left, he "trod on air," for the vicomtesse had been more than gracious to him. the next day he was drawn as by a magnet to the rue chantereine, and the next and the next, each interview with his divinity forging fresh links for the chain that bound him; and at each visit he met under madame's roof some of the great ones of that other world in which josephine moved, the old _noblesse_ of france--who paid her the homage due to a queen. thus vanity and ambition fed the flames of the passion which was consuming him; and within a fortnight he had laid his heart and his fortune, which at the time consisted of "his personal wardrobe and his military accoutrements" at the feet of the creole widow; and one march day in napoleon bonaparte, general, and josephine de beauharnais, were made one by a registrar who obligingly described the bride as twenty-nine (thus robbing her of three years), and added two to the bridegroom's twenty-six years. after two days of rapturous honeymooning napoleon was on his way to join his army in italy, as reluctant a bridegroom as ever left cupid at the bidding of mars. at every change of horses during the long journey he dispatched letters to the wife he had left behind--letters full of passion and yearning. in one of them he wrote, "when i am tempted to curse my fate, i place my hand on my heart and find your portrait there. as i gaze at it i am filled with a joy unutterable. life seems to hold no pain, save that of severance from my beloved." at nice, amid all the labours and anxieties of organising his rabble army for a campaign, his thoughts are always taking wings to her; her portrait is ever in his hand. he says his prayers before it; and, when once he accidentally broke the glass, he was in an agony of despair and superstitious foreboding. his one cry was, "come to me! come to my heart and to my arms. oh, that you had wings!" even when flushed with the surrender of piedmont after a fortnight's brilliant fighting, in which he had won half a dozen battles and reaped twenty-one standards, he would have bartered all his laurels for a sight of the woman he loved so passionately. but while he was thus yearning for her in distant italy, madame was much too happy in her beloved paris to lend an ear to his pleadings. as wife of the great napoleon she was a veritable queen, fawned on and flattered by all the great ones in the capital. hers was the place of honour at every fête and banquet; the banners her husband had captured were presented to her amid a tumult of acclamation; when she entered a theatre the entire house rose to greet her with cheers. she was thus in no mood to leave her queendom for the arms of her husband, whose unattractive person and clumsy ardour only repelled her. when his letters calling her to him became more and more imperative, she could no longer ignore them. but she could, at least, invent an excellent excuse for her tarrying. she wrote to tell him that she was expecting to become a mother. this at least would put a stop to his importunity. and it did. napoleon was full of delight--and self-reproach at the joyful news. "forgive me, my beloved," he wrote. "how can i ever atone? you were ill and i accused you of lingering in paris. my love robs me of my reason, and i shall never regain it.... a child, sweet as its mother, is soon to lie in your arms. oh! that i could be with you, even if only for one day!" to his brother joseph he writes in a similar strain: "the thought of her illness drives me mad. i long to see her, to hold her in my arms. i love her so madly, i cannot live without her. if she were to die, i should have absolutely nothing left to live for." when, however, he learns that madame's illness is not sufficient to interfere with her paris gaieties, a different mood seizes him. jealousy and anger take the place of anxious sympathy. he insists that she shall join him--threatens to resign his command if she refuses. josephine no longer dares to keep up her deception. she must obey. and thus, in a flood of angry tears, we see her starting on her long journey to italy, in company with her dog, her maid, and a brilliant escort of officers. arrived at milan, she was welcomed by napoleon with open arms; but "after two days of rapture and caresses," he was face to face with the great crisis of castiglione. his army was in imminent danger of annihilation; his own fate and fortune trembled in the balance. nothing short of a miracle could save him; and on the third day of his new honeymoon he was back again in the field at grips with fate. but even at this supreme crisis he found time to write daily letters to the dear one who was awaiting the issue in milan, begging her to share his life. "your tears," he writes, "drive me to distraction; they set my blood on fire. come to me here, that at least we may be able to say before we die we had so many days of happiness." thus he pleads in letter after letter until josephine, for very shame, is forced to yield, and to return to her husband, who, as masson tells us, "was all day at her feet as before some divinity." such days of bliss were, however, few and far between for the man who was now in the throes of a titanic struggle, on the issue of which his fortunes and those of france hung. but when duty took him into danger where his lady could not follow, she found ample solace. monsieur charles, leclerc's adjutant, was all the cavalier she needed--an adonis for beauty, a hercules for strength, the handsomest soldier in napoleon's army, a past-master in all the arts of love-making. there was no dull moment for josephine with such a squire at her elbow to pour flatteries into her ears and to entertain her with his clever tongue. but monsieur charles had short shrift when napoleon's jealousy was aroused. he was quickly sent packing to paris; and josephine was left to write to her aunt, "i am bored to extinction." she was weary of her husband's love-rhapsodies, disgusted with the crudities of his passion. she had, however, a solace in the homage paid to her everywhere. at genoa she was received as a queen; at florence the grand duke called her "cousin"; the entire army, from general to private, was under the spell of her beauty and the graciousness that captivated all hearts. she was, too, reaping a rich harvest of costly presents and bribes, from all who sought to win napoleon's favour through her. the italian campaign at last over, madame found herself back again in her dear paris, raised to a higher pinnacle of queendom than ever, basking in the splendours of the husband whose glories she so gladly shared, though she held his love in such light esteem. but for him, at least, there was no time for dallying. within a few months he was waving farewell to her again, from the bridge of the _océan_ which was carrying him off to the conquest of egypt, buoyed by her promise that she would join him when his work was done. and long before he had reached malta she was back again in the vortex of paris gaiety, setting the tongue of scandal wagging by her open flirtation with one lover after another. it was not long before the news of madame's "goings-on" reached as far as alexandria. the dormant jealousy in napoleon, lulled to rest since monsieur charles had vanished from the scene, was fanned into flame. he was furious; disillusion seized him, and thoughts of divorce began to enter his brain. two could play at this game of falseness; and there were many beautiful women in egypt only too eager to console the great napoleon. when news came to josephine that her husband had landed at fréjus, and would shortly be with her, she was in a state bordering on panic. she shrank from facing his anger; from the revelation of debts and unwifely conduct which was inevitable. her all was at stake and the game was more than half lost. in her desperation she took her courage in both hands and set forth, as fast as horses could take her, to meet napoleon, that she might at least have the first word with him; but as ill-luck would have it, he travelled by a different route and she missed him. on her return to paris she found the door of napoleon's room barred against her. "after repeated knocking in vain," says m. masson, "she sank on her knees sobbing aloud. still the door remained closed. for a whole day the scene was prolonged, without any sign from within. worn out at last, josephine was about to retire in despair, when her maid fetched her children. eugène and hortense, kneeling beside their mother, mingled their supplications with hers. at last the door was opened; speechless, tears streaming down his cheeks, his face convulsed with the struggle that had rent his heart, bonaparte appeared, holding out his arms to his wife." such was the meeting of the unfaithful josephine and the husband who had vowed that he would no longer call her wife. the reconciliation was complete; for napoleon was no man of half-measures. he frankly forgave the weeping woman all her sins against him; and with generous hand removed the mountain of debt her extravagance had heaped up--debts amounting to more than two million francs, one million two hundred thousand of which she owed to tradespeople alone. but napoleon's passion for his wife, of whose beauty few traces now remained, was dead. his loyalty only remained; and this, in turn, was to be swept away by the tide of his ambition. a few years later josephine was crowned empress by her husband, and consecrated by the pope, after a priest had given the sanction of the church to her incomplete nuptials. she had now reached the dazzling zenith of her career. at the tuileries, at st cloud, and at malmaison, she held her splendid courts as empress. she had the most magnificent crown jewels in the world; and at malmaison she spent her happiest hours in spreading her gems out on the table before her, and feasting her eyes on their many-hued fires. her wardrobes were full of the daintiest and costliest gowns of which, we are told, more than two hundred were summer-dresses of percale and of muslin, costing from one thousand to two thousand francs each. less than six years of such splendour and luxury, and the inevitable end of it all came. napoleon's eyes were dazzled by the offer of an alliance with the eldest daughter of the austrian emperor. his whole ambition now was focused on providing a successor to his crown (josephine had failed him in this important matter); and in marie louise of austria he not only saw the prospective mother of his heir, but an alliance with one of the great reigning houses of europe, which would lend a much-needed glamour to his bourgeois crown. his mind was at last inevitably made up. josephine must be divorced. her pleadings and tears and faintings were powerless to melt him. and one december day, in the year , napoleon was free to wed his austrian princess; and josephine was left to console herself as best she might, with the knowledge that at least she had rescued from her downfall a life-income of three million francs a year, on which she could still play the rôle of empress at the elysée, malmaison, and navarre, the sumptuous homes with which napoleon's generosity had dowered the wife who failed. chapter xiii the enslaver of a king more than fifty years have gone since the penitent soul of lola montez took flight to its creator; but there must be some still living whose pulses quicken at the very mention of a name which recalls so much mystery and romance and bewildering fascination of the days when, for them, as for her, "all the world was young." who was she, this woman whose beauty dazzled the eyes and whose witchery turned the heads of men in the forties and fifties of last century? a dozen countries, from spain to india, were credited with her birth. some said she was the daughter of a noble house, kidnapped by gipsies in her infancy; others were equally confident that she had for father the coroneted rake, lord byron, and for mother a charwoman. her early years were wrapped in a mystery which she mischievously helped to intensify by declaring that her father was a famous spanish toreador. her origin, however, was prosaic enough. she was the daughter of an obscure army captain, gilbert, who hailed from limerick; her mother was an oliver, from whom she received her strain of spanish blood; and the names given to her at a limerick font, one day in , two months after her parents had made their runaway match, were marie dolores eliza rosanna. when captain gilbert returned, after his furlough-romance, to india, he took his wife and child with him. seven years later cholera removed him; his widow found speedy solace in the arms of a second husband, one captain craigie; and dolores was packed off to scotland to the care of her stepfather's people until her schooldays were ended. in the next few years she alternated between the scottish household, with its chilly atmosphere of calvinism, and schools in paris and london, until, her education completed, she escaped the husband, a mummified indian judge, whom her mother had chosen for her, by eloping with a young army officer, a captain james, and with him made the return voyage to india. a few months later her romance came to a tragic end, when her lothario husband fell under the spell of a brother-officer's wife and ran away with her to the seclusion of the neilgherry hills, leaving his wife stranded and desolate. and thus it was that dolores gilbert wiped the dust of india finally off her feet, and with a cheque for a thousand pounds, which her good-hearted stepfather slipped into her hand, started once more for england, to commence that career of adventure which has scarcely a parallel even in fiction. she had had more than enough of wedded life, of scottish calvinism, and of a mother's selfish indifference. she would be henceforth the mistress of her own fate. she had beauty such as few women could boast--she had talents and a stout heart; and these should be her fortune. her first ambition was to be a great actress; and when she found that acting was not her forte she determined to dance her way to fame and fortune, and after a year's training in london and spain she was ready to conquer the world with her twinkling feet and supple body. of her first appearance as a danseuse, before a private gathering of pressmen, we have the following account by one who was there: "her figure was even more attractive than her face, lovely as the latter was. lithe and graceful as a young fawn, every movement that she made seemed instinct with melody. her dark eyes were blazing and flashing with excitement. in her pose grace seemed involuntarily to preside over her limbs and dispose their attitude. her foot and ankle were almost faultless." such was the enthusiastic description of lola montez (as she now chose to call herself) on the eve of her bid for fame as a dancer who should perhaps rival the glories of a taglioni. a few days later the world of rank and fashion flocked to see the début of the danseuse whose fame had been trumpeted abroad; and as lola pirouetted on to the stage--the focus of a thousand pairs of eyes--she felt that the crowning moment of her life had come. almost before her twinkling feet had carried her to the centre of the stage an ominous sound broke the silence of expectation. a hiss came from one of the boxes; it was repeated from another, and another. the sibilant sound spread round the house; it swelled into a sinister storm of hisses and boos. the light faded out of the dancer's eyes, the smile from her lips; and as the tumult of disapprobation rose to a deafening climax the curtain was rung down, and lola rushed weeping from the stage. her career as a dancer, in england, had ended at its birth. but lola montez was not the woman to sit down calmly under defeat. a few weeks later we find her tripping it on the stage at dresden, and at berlin, where the king of prussia himself was among her applauders. but such success as the continent brought her was too small to keep her now deplenished purse supplied. she fell on evil days, and for two years led a precarious life--now, we are told, singing in brussels streets to keep starvation from her side, now playing the political spy in russia, and again, by a capricious turn of fortune's wheel, being fêted and courted in the exalted circles of vienna and paris. from the french capital she made her way to warsaw, where stirring adventures awaited her, for before she had been there many days the polish viceroy, general paskevitch, cast his aged but lascivious eyes on her young beauty and sent an equerry to desire her presence at the palace. "he offered her" (so runs the story as told by her own lips) "the gift of a splendid country estate, and would load her with diamonds besides. the poor old man was a comic sight to look upon--unusually short in stature; and every time he spoke he threw his head back and opened his mouth so wide as to expose the artificial gold roof of his palate. a death's head making love to a lady could not have been a more horrible or disgusting sight. these generous gifts were most respectfully and very decidedly declined." but general paskevitch was not disposed to be spurned with impunity. the contemptuous beauty must be punished for her scorn of his wooing; and, when she made her appearance on the stage the same night it was to a greeting of hisses by the viceroy's hirelings. the next night brought the same experience; but when on the third night the storm arose, "lola, in a rage, rushed down to the footlights and declared that those hisses had been set at her by the director, because she had refused certain gifts from the old prince, his master. then came a tremendous shower of applause from the audience, and the old princess, who was present, both nodded her head and clapped her hands to the enraged and fiery little lola." a tumultuous crowd of poles escorted her to her lodgings that night. she was the heroine of the hour, who had dared to give open defiance to the hated viceroy. the next morning warsaw was "bubbling and raging with the signs of an incipient revolution. when lola montez was apprised of the fact that her arrest was ordered she barricaded her door; and when the police arrived she sat behind it with a pistol in her hand, declaring that she would certainly shoot the first man who should dare to break in." fortunately for lola, her pistol was not used. the french consul came to her rescue, claiming her as a subject of france, and thus protecting her from arrest. but the order that she should quit warsaw was peremptory, and warsaw saw her no more. back again in paris, lola found that even her new halo of romance was powerless to win favour for her dancing. again she was to hear the storm of hisses; and this time in her rage "she retaliated by making faces at her audience," and flinging parts of her clothing in their faces. but if paris was not to be charmed by her dainty feet it was ready to yield an unstinted homage to her rare beauty and charm. she found a flattering welcome in the most exclusive of _salons_; the cleverest men in the capital confessed the charm of her wit and surrounded her with their flatteries. m. dujarrier, the most brilliant of them all, young, rich, and handsome, fell head over ears in love with her and asked her to be his wife. but the cup of happiness was scarcely at her lips before it was dashed away. dujarrier was challenged to a duel by beauvallon, a political enemy; and when lola was on her way to stop the meeting she met a mournful procession bringing back her dead lover's body, on which she flung herself in an agony of grief and covered it with kisses. at the subsequent trial of beauvallon she electrified the court by declaring with streaming eyes, "if beauvallon wanted satisfaction i would have fought him myself, for i am a better shot than poor dujarrier ever was." and she was probably only speaking the truth, for her courage was as great as the love she bore for the victim of the duel. as a child lola had shocked her puritanical scottish hosts by declaring that "she meant to marry a prince," and unkindly as fate had treated her, she had by no means relinquished this childish ambition. it may be that it was in her mind when, a year and a half after the tragedy that had so clouded her life in paris, she drifted to munich in search of more conquests. now in the full bloom of her radiant loveliness--"the most beautiful woman in europe" many declared--mingling the vivacity of an irish beauty with the voluptuous charms of a spaniard--she was splendidly equipped for the conquest of any man, be he king or subject; and ludwig i., king of bavaria, had as keen an eye for female beauty as for the objects of art on which he squandered his millions. it was this ludwig who made munich the fairest city in all germany, and who enriched his palace with the finest private collection of pictures and statues that europe can boast. but among all his treasures of art he valued none more than his gallery of portraits of fair women, each of whom had, at one time or another, visited his capital. such was ludwig, bavaria's king, to whom lola montez now brought a new revelation of female loveliness, to which his gallery could furnish no rival. at first sight of her, as she danced in the opera ballet, he was undone. the next day and the next his eyes were feasting on her charms and her supple grace; and within a week she was installed at the court and was being introduced by his majesty as "my best friend." and not only the king, but all munich was at the feet of the lovely "spaniard"; her drives through the streets were royal progresses; her receptions in the palace which ludwig presented to her were thronged by all the greatest in bavaria; on prince and peasant alike she cast the spell of her witchery. as for ludwig, connoisseur of the beautiful, he was her shadow and her slave, showering on her gifts an empress might well have envied. fortune had relented at last and was now smiling her sweetest on the adventuress; and if lola had been content with such triumphs as these the story of her later life might have been very different. but she craved power to add to her trophies, and aspired to take the sceptre from the weak hand of her royal lover. never did woman make a more fatal mistake. on the one hand was arrayed the might of austria and of rome, whose puppet ludwig was; on the other hand was a nation clamouring for reforms. revolution was already in the air, and it was reserved to this too daring woman to precipitate the storm. her first ambition was to persuade ludwig to dismiss his ministry, to shake himself free from foreign influence, and to inaugurate the era of reform for which his subjects were clamouring. in vain did austria try to win her to its side by bribes of gold (no less than a million florins) and the offer of a noble husband. to all its seductions lola turned as deaf an ear as to the offers of poland's viceroy. and so strenuous was her championship of the people that the cabinet was compelled to resign in favour of the "lola ministry" of reformers. so far she had succeeded, but the price was still to pay. the reactionaries, supported by austria and the romish church, were quick to retaliate by waging remorseless war against the king's mistress; and, among their most powerful weapons, used the students' clubs of munich, who, from being lola's most enthusiastic admirers, became her bitterest enemies. to counteract this move lola enrolled a students' corps of her own--a small army of young stalwarts, whose cry was "lola and liberty," and who were sworn to fight her battles, if need be, to the death. thus was the fire of revolution kindled by a woman's vanity and lust of power. students' fights became everyday incidents in the streets of munich, and on one occasion when lola, pistol in hand, intervened to prevent bloodshed, she was rescued with difficulty by ludwig himself and a detachment of soldiers. the climax came when she induced the king to close the university for a year--an autocratic step which aroused the anger not only of every student but of the whole country. the streets were paraded by mobs crying, "down with the concubine!" and "long live the republic!" barricades were erected and an influential deputation waited on the king to demand the expulsion of the worker of so much mischief. in vain did ludwig declare that he would part with his crown rather than with the countess of landsfeld--for this was one of the titles he had conferred on his favourite. the forces arrayed against him were too strong, and the order of expulsion was at last conceded. it was only, however, when her palace was in flames and surrounded by a howling mob that the dauntless woman deigned to seek refuge in flight, and, disguised as a boy, suffered herself to be escorted to the frontier. two weeks later ludwig lost his crown. the remainder of this strange story may be told in a few words. thrown once more on the world, with a few hastily rescued jewels for all her fortune, lola montez resumed her stage life, appearing in london in a drama entitled "lola montez: or a countess for an hour." here she made a conquest of a young life guardsman, called heald, who had recently succeeded to an estate worth £ a year; and with him she spent a few years, made wretched by continual quarrels, in one of which she stabbed him. when he was "found drowned" at lisbon she drifted to paris, and later to the united states, which she toured with a drama entitled "lola montez in bavaria." there she made her third appearance at the altar, with a bridegroom named hull, whom she divorced as soon as the honeymoon had waned. thus she carried her restless spirit through a few more years of wandering and growing poverty, until a chance visit to spurgeon's tabernacle revolutionised her life. she decided to abandon the stage and to devote the remainder of her days to penitence and good works. but the end was already near. in new york, where she had gone to lecture, she was struck down by paralysis, and a few weeks before she had seen her forty-second birthday she died in a charitable institution, joining fervently in the prayers of the clergyman who was summoned to her death-bed. "when she was near the end, and could not speak," the clergyman says, "i asked her to let me know by a sign whether she was at peace. she fixed her eyes on mine and nodded affirmatively. i do not think i ever saw deeper penitence and humility than in this poor woman." chapter xiv an empress and her favourites when sophie augusta frederica of anhalt-zerbst was romping on the ramparts or in the streets of stettin with burghers' children for playmates, he would have been a bold prophet who would have predicted that one day she would be the most splendid figure among europe's sovereigns, "the only great man in europe," according to voltaire, "an angel before whom all men should be silent"; and that, while dazzling europe by her statesmanship and learning, she would afford more material for scandal than any woman, except perhaps christina of sweden, who ever wore a crown. there is much, it is true, to be said in extenuation of the weakness that has left such a stain on the memory of catherine ii. of russia. equipped far beyond most women with the beauty and charms that fascinate men, and craving more than most of her sex the love of man, she was mated when little more than a child to the most degenerate prince in all europe. the grand duke peter, heir to the russian throne, who at sixteen took to wife the girl-princess of anhalt-zerbst, was already an expert in almost every vice. imbecile in mind, he found his chief pleasure in the company of the most degraded. he rarely went to bed sober--in fact, his bride's first sight of him was when he was drunk, at the age of ten. he was, too, "a liar and a coward, vicious and violent; pale, sickly, and uncomely--a crooked soul in a prematurely ravaged body." such was the grand duke peter, to whom the high-spirited, beautiful princess sophie (thenceforth to be known as "catherine") was tied for life one day in the year --a youth the very sight of whom repelled her, while his vices filled her with loathing. add to this revolting union the fact that she found herself under the despotic rule of the empress elizabeth, who made no concealment of her hatred and jealousy of the fair young princess, surrounded her with spies, and treated her as a rebellious child, to be checked and bullied at every turn--and it is not difficult to understand the spirit of recklessness and defiance that was soon roused in catherine's breast. there was at the russian court no lack of temptation to indulge this spirit of revolt to the full. the young german beauty, mated to worse than a clown, soon had her court of admirers to pour flatteries into her dainty ears, and she would perhaps have been less than a woman if she had not eagerly drunk them in. she had no need of anyone to tell her that she was fair. "i know i am beautiful as the day," she once exclaimed, as she looked at her mirrored reflection in her first ball finery at st petersburg, with a red rose in her glorious hair; and the mirror told no flattering tale. see the picture poniatowski, one of her earliest and most ardent slaves, paints of the young grand duchess. "with her black hair she had a dazzling whiteness of skin, a vivid colour, large blue eyes prominent and eloquent, black and long eyebrows, a greek nose, a mouth that looked made for kissing, a slight, rather tall figure, a carriage that was lively, yet full of nobility, a pleasing voice, and a laugh as merry as the humour through which she could pass with ease from the most playful and childish amusements to the most fatiguing mathematical calculations." with the brain, even in those early years, of a clever man, she was essentially a woman, with all a woman's passion for the admiration and love of men; and one cannot wonder, however much one may deplore, that while her imbecile husband was guzzling with common soldiers, or playing with his toys and tin cannon in bed, vacuous smiles on his face, his beautiful bride should find her own pleasures in the homage of a soltykoff, a poniatowski, an orloff, or any other of the legion of lovers who in quick succession took her fancy. the first among her admirers to capture her fancy was sergius soltykoff, her chamberlain, high-born, "beautiful as the day," polished courtier, supple-tongued wooer, to whom the grand duchess gave the heart her husband spurned. but soltykoff's reign was short; the fickle princess, ever seeking fresh conquests, wearied of him as of all her lovers in turn, and his place was taken within a year by stanislas poniatowski, a fascinating young pole, who returned to st petersburg with a reputation of gallantry won in almost every court of europe. poniatowski had not perhaps the physical perfections of his dethroned predecessor, but he had the well-stored brain that made an even more potent appeal to catherine. he could talk "like an angel" on every subject that appealed to her, from art to philosophy; and he had, moreover, a magnetic charm of manner which few women could resist. such a lover was, indeed, after her heart, for he brought romance and adventure to his wooing; and whether he found his way to her boudoir disguised as a ladies' tailor or as one of the grand duke's musicians, or made open love to her under the very nose of her courtiers, he played his rôle of lover to admiration. once peter, in jealous mood, threatened to run his rival through with his sword, and, in his rage, "went into his wife's bedroom and pulled her out of bed without leaving her time to dress." an hour later his anger had changed to an amused complaisance, and he was supping with the culprits, and with boisterous laughter was drinking their healths. when at last a political storm drove poniatowski from russia, catherine, who never forgot a banished lover, secured for him the crown of poland. thus the favourites come and go, each supreme for a time, each inevitably packed off to give place to a successor. with poniatowski away in poland, catherine cast her eyes round her court to find a third favourite, and her choice was soon made, for of all her army of admirers there was one who fully satisfied her ideal of handsome manhood. of the five orloff brothers, each a goliath in stature and a hercules in strength, the handsomest was gregory, "the giant with the face of an angel." towering head and shoulders over most of his fellow-courtiers, with knotted muscles which could fell an ox or crush a horse-shoe with the closing of a hand, gregory orloff was reputed the bravest man in russia, as he was the idol of his soldiers. he was also a notorious gambler and drinker and the hero of countless love adventures. no greater contrast could be possible than between this dare-devil son of anak and the cultured, almost feminine poniatowski; but catherine loved, above all things, variety, and here it was in startling abundance. nor was her new lover any the less desirable because he was some years younger than herself, or that his grandfather had been a common soldier in the army of peter the great. and gregory orloff proved himself as bold in wooing as he was brave in war. for him there was no stealing up back stairs, no masquerading in disguises. he was the elect favourite of the future empress of russia, and all the world should know it. he was inseparable from his mistress, and paid his court to her under the eyes of her husband; while catherine, thus emboldened, made as little concealment of her partiality. but troublous days were coming to break the idyll of their love. the empress elizabeth, as was inevitable, at last drank herself to death, and her nephew peter, now a besotted imbecile of thirty-four, put on the imperial robes, and was free to indulge his madness without restraint. the first use he made of his freedom was to subject his wife to every insult and humiliation his debased brain could suggest. he flaunted his amours and vices before her, taunted her in public with her own indiscretions, and shouted in his cups that he would divorce her. not content with these outrages on his empress, he lost no opportunity of disgusting his subjects and driving his soldiers to the verge of mutiny. such an intolerable state of things could only have one issue. the emperor was undoubtedly mad; the emperor must go. over the _coup d'état_ which followed we must pass hurriedly--the conspiracy of catherine and the orloffs, the eager response of the army which flocked to the empress, "kissing me, embracing my hands, my feet, my dress, and calling me their saviour"; the marching of the insurgent troops to oranienbaum, with catherine, astride on horseback, at their head; and peter's craven submission, when he crawled on his knees to his wife, with whimpering and tears, begging her to allow him to keep "his mistress, his dog, his negro, and his violin." the emperor was safe behind barred doors at mopsa; catherine was now empress in fact as well as name. three weeks later peter was dead; was he done to death by catherine's orders? to this day none can say with certainty. the story of this tragedy as told by castèra makes gruesome reading. one day alexis orloff and teplof appeared at mopsa to announce to the deposed sovereign his approaching deliverance and to ask a dinner of him. glasses and brandy were ordered, and while teplof was amusing the tsar, orloff filled the glasses, adding poison to one of them. "the tsar, suspecting no harm, took the poison and swallowed it. he was soon seized with agonising pains. he screamed aloud for milk, but the two monsters again presented poison to him and forced him to take it. when the tsar's valet bravely interposed he was hurled from the room. in the midst of the tumult there entered prince baratinski, who commanded the guard. orloff, who had already thrown down the tsar, pressed upon his chest with his own knees, holding him fast at the same time by the throat. baratinski and teplof then passed a table-napkin with a sliding knot round his neck, and the murderers accomplished the work of death by strangling him." such is the story as it has come down to us, and as it was believed in russia at the time. that gregory orloff was innocent of a crime in which his own brother played a leading part is as little to be credited as that catherine herself was in ignorance of the design on her husband's life. but, however this may be, we are told that when the news of her husband's death was brought to the empress at a banquet, she was to all appearance overcome with horror and grief. she left the table with streaming eyes and spent the next few days in unapproachable solitude in her rooms. thus at last catherine was free both from the tyranny of elizabeth and from the brutality of her bestial husband. she was sole sovereign of all the russias, at liberty to indulge any caprice that entered her versatile brain. that her subjects, almost to a man, regarded her with horror as her husband's murderer, that this detestation was shared by the army that had put her on the throne, and by the nobles who had been her slaves, troubled her little. she was mistress of her fate, and strong enough (as indeed she proved) to hold, with a firm grasp, the sceptre she had won. high as gregory orloff had stood in her favour before she came to her crown, his position was now more splendid and secure. she showered her favours on him with prodigal hand. lands and jewels and gold were squandered on her "first favourite"--the official designation she invented for him; and he wore on his broad chest her miniature in a blazing oval of diamonds, the crowning mark of her approval. and to his brothers she was almost equally generous, for in a few years of her ascendancy the orloffs were enriched by vast estates on which forty-five thousand serfs toiled, by palaces, and by gold to the amount of seventeen million roubles. such it was to be in the good books of catherine ii., empress of russia. with riches and power, gregory's ambition grew until he dreamt of sitting on the throne itself by catherine's side; and in her foolish infatuation even this prize might have been his, had not wiser counsels come to her rescue. "the empress," said panine to her, "can do what she likes; but madame orloff can never be empress of russia." and thus gregory's greatest ambition was happily nipped in the bud. the man who had played his cards with such skill and discretion in the early days of his love-making had now, his head swollen by pride and power, grown reckless. if he could not be emperor in name, he would at least wield the sceptre. the woman to whom he owed all was, he thought, but a puppet in his hands, as ready to do his bidding as any of his minions. but through all her dallying catherine's smiles masked an iron will. in heart she was a woman; in brain and will-power, a man. and orloff, like many another favourite, was to learn the lesson to his cost. the time came when she could no longer tolerate his airs and assumptions. there was only one empress, but lovers were plentiful, and she already had an eye on his successor. and thus it was that one day the swollen orloff was sent on a diplomatic mission to arrange peace between russia and turkey. when she bade him good-bye she called him her "angel of peace," but she knew that it was her angel's farewell to his paradise. how the ambassador, instead of making peace, stirred up the embers of war into fresh flame is a matter of history. but he was not long left to work such mad mischief. while he was swaggering at a jassy fête, in a costume ablaze with diamonds worth a million roubles, news came to him of a good-looking young lieutenant who was not only installed in his place by catherine's side, but was actually occupying his own apartments. within an hour he was racing back to st petersburg, resting neither night nor day until he had covered the thousand leagues that separated him from the capital. before, however, his sweating horses could enter it, he was stopped by catherine's emissaries and ordered to repair to the imperial palace at gatshina. and then he realised that his sun had indeed come to its setting. his honours were soon stripped from him, and although he was allowed to keep his lands, his gold and jewels, the spoils of cupid, the diamond-framed miniature, was taken away to adorn the breast of his successor, the lieutenant. under this cloud of disfavour orloff conducted himself with such resignation--none knew better than he how futile it was to fight--that catherine, before many months had passed, not only recalled him to court, but secured for him a princedom of the holy empire. "as for prince gregory," she said amiably, "he is free to go or stay, to hunt, to drink, or to gamble. i intend to live according to my own pleasure, and in entire independence." after a tragically brief wedded life with a beautiful girl-cousin, who died of consumption, orloff returned to st petersburg to spend the last few months of his life, "broken-hearted and mad." and to his last hour his clouded brain was tortured with visions of the "avenging shade of the murdered peter." chapter xv a seventeenth-century cinderella it was to all seeming a strange whim that caused cardinal mazarin, one day in the year , to summon his nieces, daughters of his sister, hieronyme mancini, from their obscurity in italy to bask in the sunshine of his splendours in paris. at the time of this odd caprice, richelieu's crafty successor had reached the zenith of his power. his was the most potent and splendid figure in all europe that did not wear a crown. he was the avowed favourite and lover of anne of austria, queen of france, to whose vanity he had paid such skilful court--indeed it was common rumour that she had actually given him her hand in secret marriage. the boy-king, louis xiv., was a puppet in his strong hands. he was, in fact, the dictator of france, whose smiles the greatest courtiers tried to win, and before whose frowns they trembled. in contrast to such magnificence, his sister, madame mancini, was the wife of a petty italian baron, who was struggling to bring up her five daughters on a pathetically scanty purse--as far removed from her magnificent brother as a moth from a star. there was, on the face of things, every reason why the great and all-powerful cardinal should leave his nieces to their genteel poverty; and we can imagine both the astonishment and delight with which madame mancini received the summons to paris which meant such a revolution in life for her and her daughters. if the mancini girls had no heritage of money, they had at least the dower of beauty. each of the five gave promise of a rare loveliness--with the solitary exception of marie, madame's third daughter, who at fourteen was singularly unattractive even for that awkward age. tall, thin, and angular, without a vestige of grace either of figure or movement, she had a sallow face out of which two great black eyes looked gloomily, and a mouth wide and thin-lipped. she was, in addition, shy and slow-witted to the verge of stupidity. marie, in fact, was quite hopeless, the "ugly duckling" of a good-looking family, and for this reason an object of dislike and resentment to her mother. certainly, said madame, marie must be left behind. her other daughters would be a source of pride to their uncle; he could secure great matches for them, but marie--pah! she would bring discredit on the whole family. and so it was decided in conclave that the "ugly duckling" should be left in a nunnery--the only fit place for her. but marie happily had a spirit of her own. she would not be left behind, she declared; and if she must go to a nunnery, why there were nunneries in plenty in france to which they could send her. and marie had her way. she was not, however, to escape the cloister after all, for to a paris nunnery she was consigned when her cardinal uncle had set eyes on her. "let her have a year or two there," was his verdict, "and, who knows, she may blossom into a beauty yet. at any rate she can put on flesh and not be the scarecrow she is." and thus, while her more favoured sisters were revelling in the gaieties of court life, marie was sent to tell her beads and to spend spartan days among the nuns. nearly two years passed before mazarin expressed a wish to see his ugly niece again; and it was indeed a very different marie who now made her curtsy to him. gone were the angular figure, the awkward movements, the sallow face, the slow wits. time and the healthy life of the cloisters had done their work well. what the cardinal now saw was a girl of seventeen, of exquisitely modelled figure, graceful and self-possessed; a face piquant and full of animation, illuminated by a pair of glorious dark eyes, and with a dazzling smile which revealed the prettiest teeth in france. above all, and what delighted the cardinal most, she had now a sprightly wit, and a quite brilliant gift of conversation. it was thus a smiling and gratified cardinal who gave greeting to his niece, now as fair as her sisters and more fascinating than any of them. there was no doubt that he could find a high-placed husband for her, and thus--for this was, in fact, his motive for rescuing his pretty nieces from their obscurity--make his position secure by powerful family alliances. it was not long before mazarin fixed on a suitor in the person of armande de la porte, son of the marquis de la meilleraye, one of the most powerful nobles in france. but alas for his scheming! armande's heart had already been caught while marie was reciting her matins and vespers: he had lost it utterly to her beautiful sister, hortense; he vowed that he would marry no other, and that if hortense could not be his wife he would prefer to die. thus marie was rescued from a union which brought her sister so much misery in later years, and for a time she was condemned to spend unhappy months with her mother at the louvre. to this period of her life marie mancini could never look back without a shudder. "my mother," she says, "who, i think, had always hated me, was more unbearable than ever. she treated me, although i was no longer ugly, with the utmost aversion and cruelty. my sisters went to court and were fussed and fêted. i was kept always at home, in our miserable lodgings, an unhappy cinderella." but fortune did not long hide his face from cinderella. her "prince charming" was coming--in the guise of the handsome young king, louis xiv. himself. it was one day while visiting madame mancini in her lodgings at the louvre that louis first saw the girl who was to play such havoc with his heart; and at the first sight of those melting dark eyes and that intoxicating smile he was undone. he came again and again--always under the pretext of visiting madame, and happy beyond expression if he could exchange a few words with her daughter, marie; until he soon counted a day worse than lost that did not bring him the stolen sweetness of a meeting. when, a few weeks later, madame mancini died, and marie was recalled to court by her uncle, her life was completely changed for her. louis had now abundant opportunities of seeking her side; and excellent use he made of them. the two young people were inseparable, much to the alarm of the cardinal and madame mère, the queen. the young king was never happy out of her sight; he danced with her (and none could dance more divinely than marie); he listened as she sang to him with a voice whose sweetness thrilled him; they read the same books together in blissful solitude; she taught him her native italian, and entranced him by the brilliance of her wit; and when, after a slight illness, he heard of her anxious inquiries and her tears of sympathy, his conquest was complete. he vowed that she and no other should be his wife and queen of france. but these halcyon days were not to last long. it was no part of mazarin's scheming that a niece of his should sit on the throne. the prospect was dazzling, it is true, but it would inevitably mean his own downfall, so strongly would such an alliance be resented by friends as well as enemies; and anne of austria was as little in the mood to be deposed by such an obscure person as the "mancini girl." thus it was that queen and cardinal joined hands to nip the young romance in the bud. a royal bride must be found for louis, and that quickly; and negotiations were soon on foot to secure as his wife margaret, princess of savoy. in vain did the boy-king storm and protest; equally futile were marie's tearful pleadings to her uncle. the fiat had gone forth. louis must have a royal bride; and she was already about to leave italy on her bridal progress to france. it was, we may be sure, with a heavy heart that marie joined the cavalcade which, with its gorgeous procession of equipages, its gaily mounted courtiers, and its brave escort of soldiery, swept out of paris on its stately progress to lyons, to meet the queen-to-be. but there was no escape from the humiliation, for she must accompany anne of austria, as one of her retinue of maids-of-honour. arrived too soon at lyons, louis rides on to give first greeting to his bride, who is now within a day's journey; and returns with a smiling face to announce to his mother that he finds the princess pleasing to his eye, and to describe, with boyish enthusiasm, her grace and graciousness, her magnificent eyes, her beautiful hair, and the delicate olive of her complexion, while marie's heart sinks at the recital. could this be the lover who, but a few days ago, had been at her feet, vowing that she was the only bride in all the world for him? when he seeks her side and shamefacedly makes excuses for his seeming recreancy, she bids him marry his "ugly bride" in accents of scorn, and then bursts into tears, which she only consents to wipe away when he declares that his heart will always be hers and that he will never marry the italian princess. but margaret of savoy was not after all to be queen of france. she was, as it proved, merely a pawn in the cardinal's deep game. it was a spanish alliance that he sought for his young king; and when, at the eleventh hour, an ambassador came hurriedly to lyons to offer the infanta's hand, the savoy duke and his sister, the princess, had perforce to return to italy "empty-handed." there was at least a time of respite now for louis and marie, and as they rode back to paris, side by side, chatting gaily and exchanging sweet confidences, the sun once more shone on the happiest young people in all france. then followed a period of blissful days, of dances and fêtes, in brilliant succession, in which the lovers were inseparable; above all, of long rambles together, when, "the world forgetting," they could live in the happy present, whatever the future might have in store for them. meanwhile the negotiations for the spanish marriage were ripening fast. louis and marie again appeal, first to the cardinal, then to the queen, to sanction their union, but to no purpose; both are inflexible. their foolish romance must come to an end. as a last resource marie flies to the king, with tender pleadings and tears, begging him not to desert her; to which he answers that no power on earth shall make him wed the infanta. "you alone," he swears, "shall wear the crown of queen"; and in token of his love he buys for her the pearls that were the most treasured belongings of the exiled stuart queen, henrietta maria. the lovers part in tears, and the following day marie receives orders to leave paris and to retire to la rochelle. at every stage of her journey she was overtaken by messengers bearing letters from louis, full of love and protestations of unflinching loyalty; and when louis moved with his court to bayonne, the lovers met once more to mingle their tears. but louis, ever fickle, was already wavering again. "if i must marry the infanta," he said, "i suppose i must. but i shall never love any but you." marie now realised that this was to be the end. in face of a lover so weak, and a fate so inflexible, what could she do but submit? and it was with a proud but breaking heart that she wrote a few days later to tell louis that she wished him not to write to her again and that she would not answer his letters. one june day news came to her that her lover was married and that "he was very much in love with the infanta"; and even her pride, crushed as it was, could not restrain her from writing to her sister, hortense, "say everything you can that is horrid about him. point out all his faults to me, that i may find relief for my aching heart." when, a few months later, marie saw the king again, he received her almost as a stranger, and had the bad taste to sing the praises of his queen. but marie mancini was the last girl in all france to wed herself long to grief or an outraged vanity. there were other lovers by the score among whom she could pick and choose. she was more lovely now than when the recreant louis first succumbed to her charms--with a ripened witchery of black eyes, red lips, the flash of pearly teeth revealed by every dazzling smile, with glorious black hair, the grace of a fawn, and a "voluptuous fascination" which no man could resist. prince charles of lorraine was her veriest slave, but mazarin would have none of him. prince colonna, grand constable of naples, was more fortunate when he in turn came a-wooing. he bore the proudest name in italy, and he had wealth, good-looks, and high connections to lend a glamour to his birth. the cardinal smiled on his suit, and marie, since she had no heart to give, willingly gave her hand. louis himself graced the wedding with his presence; and we are told, as the white-faced bride "said the 'yes' which was to bind her to a stranger, her eyes, with an indescribable expression, sought those of the king, who turned pale as he met them." over the rest of marie mancini's chequered life we must hasten. after a few years of wedded life with her italian prince, "colonna's early passion for his beautiful wife was succeeded by a distaste amounting to hatred. he disgusted her with his amours; and when she ventured to protest against his infidelity, he tried to poison her." this crowning outrage determined marie to fly, and, in company with her sister, hortense, who had fled to her from the brutality of her own husband, she made her escape one dark night to civita vecchia, where a boat was awaiting the runaways. hotly pursued on land and sea, narrowly escaping shipwreck, braving hardships, hunger, and hourly danger of capture, the fugitives at last reached marseilles where marie (hortense now seeking a refuge in savoy) began those years of wandering and adventure, the story of which outstrips fiction. now we find her seeking asylum at convents from aix to madrid; now queening it at the court of savoy, with duke charles emmanuel for lover; now she is dazzling madrid with the almirante of castille and many another high-placed worshipper dancing attendance on her; and now she is in rome, turning the heads of grave cardinals with her witcheries. sometimes penniless and friendless, at others lapped in luxury; but carrying everywhere in her bosom the english pearls, the last gift of her false and frail louis. thus, through the long, troubled years, until old-age crept on her, the cardinal's niece wandered, a fugitive, over the face of europe, alternately caressed and buffeted by fortune, until "at long last" the end came and brought peace with it. as she lay dying in the house of a good samaritan at pisa, with no other hand to minister to her, she called for pen and paper, and with failing hand wrote her own epitaph, surely the most tragic ever penned--"marie mancini colonna--dust and ashes." chapter xvi bianca, grand duchess of tuscany more than three centuries have gone since florence made merry over the death of her grand duchess, bianca. it was an occasion for rejoicing; her name was bandied from lips to lips--"la pessima bianca"; jeers and laughter followed her to her unmarked grave in the church of san lorenzo. but through the ages her picture has come down to us as she strutted on the world's stage in all her pride and beauty, with a vividness which few better women of her time retain. it was in the year , when our boy-king, the sixth edward, was fresh to his crown, that bianca capello was cradled in the palace of her father, one of the greatest men of venice, senator and privy councillor. as a child she was as beautiful as she was wilful; the pride of her father, the despair of his wife, her stepmother--her little head full of romance, her heart full of rebellion against any kind of discipline or restraint. before she had left the schoolroom capello's daughter was, by common consent, the fairest girl in her native city, with a beauty riper than her years. tall, and with a well-developed figure of singular grace, she carried her head as proudly as any queen. her fair hair fell in a rippling cascade far below her waist; her face, hands, and throat, we are told, were "white as lilies," save for the delicate rose-colour that tinted her cheeks. her eyes were large and dark, and of an almost dazzling brilliance; and her full, pouting lips were red and fragrant as a rose. such was bianca capello on the threshold of womanhood, as you may see her pictured to-day in bronzino's miniature at the british museum, with a loveliness which set the hearts of the venetian gallants a-flutter before our shakespeare was in his cradle. she might, if she would, have mated with almost any noble in tuscany, had not her foolish, wayward fancy fallen on pietro bonaventuri, a handsome young clerk in salviati's bank, whose eyes had often strayed from his ledgers to follow her as, in the company of her maid, the senator's daughter took her daily walk past his office window. at sight of so fair a vision pietro was undone; he fell violently in love with her long before he exchanged a word with her, and although no one knew better than he the gulf that separated the daughter of a nobleman and a senator from the drudge of the quill, he determined to win her. youth and good-looks such as his, with plenty of assurance to support them, had done as much for others, and they should do it for him. how they first met we know not, but we know that shortly after this momentous meeting bianca had completely lost her heart to the knight of the quill, with the handsome face, the dark, flashing eyes, and the courtly manner. other meetings followed--secret rendezvous arranged by the duenna herself in return for liberal bribes--to keep which bianca would steal out of her father's palace at dead of night, leaving the door open behind her to ensure safe return before dawn. on one such occasion, so the story runs, bianca returned to find the door closed against her by a too officious hand. she dared not wake the sleepers to gain admittance--that would be to expose her secret and to cover herself with disgrace--and in her fears and alarm she fled back to her lover. however this may be, we know that, for some urgent reason or other, the young lovers disappeared one night together from venice and made their way to florence to find a refuge under the roof of pietro's parents. here a terrible disillusion met bianca at the threshold. her husband--for, on the runaway journey, pietro had secured the friendly services of a village priest to marry them--had told her that he was the son of noble parents, kin to his employers, the salviatis. the home to which he now introduced her was little better than a hovel, with poverty looking out of its windows. here indeed was a sorry home-coming for the new-made bride, daughter of the great capello! there was not even a drudge to do the housework, which bianca was compelled to share with her bucolic mother-in-law. it is even said that she was compelled to do laundry-work in order to keep the domestic purse supplied. her husband had forfeited his meagre salary; she had equally sacrificed the fortune left to her by her mother. sordid, grinding poverty stared both in the face. to return to her own home in venice was impossible. so furious were her father and stepmother at her escapade that a large reward was advertised for the capture of her husband, "alive or dead," and a sentence of death had been procured from the council of ten in the event of his arrest. more than this, a sentence of banishment was pronounced against pietro and bianca; the maid who had connived at their illicit wooing and flight paid for her treachery with her life; and pietro's uncle ended his days in a loathsome dungeon. such was the vengeance taken by bartolomeo capello. as for the runaways, they spent a long honeymoon in concealment and hourly dread of the fate that hung over them. it was well known, however, in florence where they were in hiding; and curious crowds were drawn to the bonaventuri hovel to catch a glimpse of the heroes of a scandal with which all italy was ringing. thus it was that francesco de medici first set eyes on the woman who was to play so great a part in his life. there could be no greater contrast than that between francesco de medici, heir to the tuscan grand dukedom, and the beautiful young wife of the bank-clerk, now playing the rôle of maid-of-all-work and charwoman. it is said that francesco was a madman; and indeed what we know of him makes this description quite plausible. he was a man of black brow and violent temper, repelling alike in appearance and manner. he was, we are told, "more of a savage than a civilised human being." his food was deluged with ginger and pepper; his favourite fare was raw eggs filled with red pepper, and raw onions, of which he ate enormous quantities. he drank iced water by the gallon, and slept between frozen sheets. he was a man, moreover, of evil life, familiar with every form of vicious indulgence. his only redeeming feature was a love of art, which enriched the galleries of florence. such was the medici--half-ogre, half-madman, who, riding one day through a florence slum, saw at the window of a mean dwelling the beautiful face of bianca bonaventuri, and rode on leaving his heart behind. here indeed was a dainty dish to set before his jaded appetite. the owner of that fair face, with the crimson lips and the black, flashing eyes, must be his. on the following day a great court lady, the marchesa mondragone, presents herself at the bonaventuri door, with smiles and gracious words, bearing an invitation to court for the lady of the window. "impossible," bluntly answers signora bonaventuri; her daughter-in-law has no clothes fit to be seen at court. "but," persists the marchesa, "that is a matter that can easily be arranged. it will be a pleasure to me to supply the necessary outfit, if the signora and her daughter-in-law will but come to-morrow to the mondragone palace." the bride, when consulted, is not unwilling; and the following day, in company with her mother-in-law, she is effusively received by the marchesa, and is feasting her eyes on exquisite robes and the glitter of rare gems, among which she is invited to make her choice. a moment later francesco enters, and with courtly grace is kissing the hand of his new divinity.... then followed secret meetings such as marked bianca's first unhappy wooing in venice--hours of rapture for the tuscan duke, of flattered submission by the runaway bride; and within a few weeks we find bianca installed in a palace of her own with francesco's guards and equipage ever at its door, while his newly made bride, giovanna, archduchess of austria, kept her lonely vigil in the apartments which so seldom saw her husband. francesco, indeed, had no eyes or thought for any but the lovely woman who had so completely enslaved him. as for her, condemn her as we must, much can be pleaded in extenuation of her conduct. she had been basely deceived and betrayed. on the one side was a life of sordid poverty and drudgery, with a husband for whom she had now nothing but dislike and contempt; on the other was the ardent homage of the future ruler of tuscany, with its accompaniment of splendour, luxury, and power. a fig for love! ambition should now rule her life. she would drain the cup of pleasure, though the dregs might be bitter to the taste. she was now in the very prime of her beauty, and a queen in all but the name. between her and her full queendom were but two obstacles--her lover's plain, unattractive wife, and her own worthless husband; and of these obstacles one was soon to be removed from her path. pietro, who had been made chamberlain to the tuscan court, was more than content that his wife should go her own way, so long as he was allowed to go his. he was kept very agreeably occupied with love affairs of his own. the richest widow in florence, cassandra borgianni, was eager to lavish her smiles and favours on him; and the knowledge that two of his predecessors in her affection had fallen under the assassin's knife only lent zest to a love adventure which was after his heart. warnings of the fate that might await him in turn fell on deaf ears. when his wife ventured to point out the danger he retorted, "if you say another word i will cut your throat." the following night as he was returning from a visit to the widow, a dagger was sheathed in his heart, and pietro's amorous race was run. such was the end of the bank-clerk and his eleventh-hour glories and love adventures. now only giovanna remained to block the way to the pinnacle of bianca's ambition; and her health was so frail that the waiting might not be long. giovanna had provided no successor to her husband (who had now succeeded to his grand dukedom); if bianca could succeed where the grand duchess had failed, she could at least ensure that a son of hers would one day rule over tuscany. thus one august day in the news flashed round florence that a male child had been born in the palace on the via maggiore. francesco was in the "seventh heaven" of delight. here at last was the long-looked-for inheritor of his honours--the son who was to perpetuate the glories of the medici and to thwart his brother, the cardinal, who had so confidently counted on the succession for himself. and madame bianca professed herself equally delighted, although her pleasure was qualified by fear. she had played her part with consummate cleverness; but there were two women who knew the true story of the birth of the child, which had been smuggled into the palace from a florence slum. one was the changeling's mother, a woman of the people, whom a substantial bribe had induced to part with her new-born infant; the other was bianca's waiting woman. these witnesses to the imposture must be silenced effectually. hired assassins made short work of the mother. the waiting-maid was "left for dead" in a mountain-pass, to which she had been lured; but she survived long enough at least to communicate her secret to the grand duke's brother, the cardinal ferdinand de medici. bianca was now in a parlous plight. at any moment her enemy, the cardinal, might betray her to her lover, and bring the carefully planned edifice of her fortunes tumbling about her ears. but she proved equal even to this emergency. taking her courage in both hands, she herself confessed the fraud to the grand duke, who not only forgave her (so completely was he under the spell of her beauty) but insisted on calling the gutter-child his son. the tables, however, were soon to be turned on her, for giovanna, who had long despaired of providing an heir to her husband, gave birth a few months later to a male child. florence was jubilant, for the grand duchess was as beloved as her rival was detested; and the christening of the heir was made the occasion of festivities and rejoicing. bianca's day of triumph seemed at last to be over. for a time she left florence to hide her humiliation; but within a year she was back again, to be received with open arms of welcome by the duke. during her absence she had made peace with her family, and when her father and brother came to florence to visit her, they were received by francesco with regal entertainments, and sent away loaded with presents and honours. bianca had now reached the zenith of her power and splendour. before she had been back many months the grand duchess died, to the undisguised relief of her husband, who hastened from her funeral to the arms of her rival. her position was now secure, unassailable; and before giovanna had been two months in the family vault, bianca was secretly married to her grand ducal lover. florence was furious. but what mattered that? the venetian senate had recognised bianca as a true daughter of the republic. she was the legal wife of the ruler of tuscany. she was grand duchess at last, and she meant all the world to know it. that she was cordially hated by her husband's subjects, that the air was full of stories of her extravagance, her intemperance, and her cruelty, gave her no moment's unhappiness. for eight years she reigned as queen, wielding the sceptre her husband's hands were too weak or indifferent to hold. giovanna's son had followed his mother to the grave; and the child of the slums, who had been so fruitlessly smuggled into her palace, had been legitimated. the only thorn now left in her bed of roses was the enmity of the grand duke's brother, the cardinal; and her greatest ambition was to win him to her side. in the autumn of he was invited to florence, and as the culmination of a series of festivities, a grand banquet was given, at which he had the place of honour, at her right hand. the feast was drawing near to its end. bianca, with sparkling eyes and flushed face, looking lovelier than she had ever looked before, was at her happiest, for the cardinal had at last succumbed to her bright eyes and honeyed words. it was the crowning moment of her many triumphs, when life left nothing more to desire. then it was, at the supreme moment, that tragedy in its most terrible form fell on the scene of festivity and mirth. while bianca was smiling her sweetest on the cardinal she was seized by violent pains, "her mouth foams, her face is distorted by agony; she shrieks aloud that she is dying. francesco tries to go to her aid, but his steps are suddenly arrested. he too is seized by the same terrible anguish. a few hours later both she and he breathe their last breath." "poison" was the word which ran through the palace and soon through florence from blanched lips to blanched lips. some said it was the cardinal who had done the deed; others whispered stories of a poisoned tart designed by bianca for the cardinal, who refused to be tempted. whereupon the grand duke had eaten of it, and bianca, "seeing that her plot had so tragically miscarried, seized the tart from her husband's hand and ate what was left of it." the truth will never be known. what we do know is that within a few hours of the last joke and the last drained glass of that fatal banquet the bodies of francesco and bianca were lying in death side by side in an adjacent room, the door of which was locked against the eyes of the curious--even against the physicians. in the solemn lying-in-state that followed bianca had no place. francesco alone, by his brother's orders, wore his crown in death. as for bianca, her body was hurried away and flung into the common vault of san lorenzo, with the light of two yellow wax torches to bear it company, and the jibes and jeers of florence for its only requiem. chapter xvii richelieu, the rouÉ in the drama of the french court many a fine-feathered villain "struts his brief hour" on the stage, dazzling eyes by his splendour, and shocking a world none too easily shocked in those days of easy morals by his profligacy; but it would be difficult among all these gilded rakes to find a match for the duc de richelieu, who carried his villainies through little less than a century of life. born in , when louis xiv. had still nearly twenty years of his long reign before him, louis françois armand duplessis, duc de richelieu, survived to hear the rumblings which heralded the french revolution ninety-two years later; and for three-quarters of a century to be known as the most accomplished and heartless roué in all france. bearer of a great name, and inheritor of the splendours and riches of his great-uncle, the cardinal, who was louis xii.'s right-hand man, and, in his day, the most powerful subject in europe, the duc was born with the football of fortune at his feet; and probably no man who has ever lived so shamefully prostituted such magnificent opportunities and gifts. as a boy, still in his teens, he had begun to play the rôle of don juan at the court of the child-king, louis xv. the most beautiful women at the court, we are told, went crazy over the handsome boy, who bore the most splendid name in france; and thus early his head was turned by flatteries and attentions which followed him almost to the grave. the young duchesse de bourgogne, the king's mother, made love to him, to the scandal of the court; and from princesses of the blood royal to the humblest serving-maid, there was scarcely a woman at court who would not have given her eyes for a smile from the duc de fronsac, as he was then known. how he revelled in his conquests he makes abundantly clear in the memoirs he left behind him--surely the most scandalous ever written--in which he recounts his love affairs, in long sequence, with a cold-blooded heartlessness which shocks the reader to-day, so long after lover and victims have been dust. he revels in describing the artifices by which he got the most unassailable of women into his power--such as the young and beautiful madame michelin, whose religious scruples proved such a frail barrier against the assaults of the young lothario. he chuckles with a diabolical pride as he tells us how he played off one mistress against another; how he made one liaison pave the way to its successor; and how he abandoned each in turn when it had served its purpose, and betrayed, one after another, the women who had trusted to his nebulous sense of honour. a profligate so tempted as the duc de richelieu was from his earliest years, one can understand, however much we may condemn; but for the man who conducted his love affairs with such heartlessness and dishonour no language has words of execration and contempt to describe him. from his earliest youth there was no "game" too high for our don juan to fly at. long before he had reached manhood he counted his lady-loves by the score; and among them were at least three royal princesses, mademoiselle de charolais, and two of the regent's own daughters, the duchesse de berry and mademoiselle de valois, later duchess of modena, who, in their jealousy, were ready to "tear each other's eyes out" for love of the duc. quarrels between the rival ladies were of everyday occurrence; and even duels were by no means unknown. when, for instance, the duc wearied of the lovely madame de polignac, this lady was so inflamed by hatred of her successor in his affections, the marquise de nesle, that she challenged her to a duel to the death in the bois de boulogne. when madame de polignac, after a fierce exchange of shots, saw her rival stretched at her feet, she turned furiously on the wounded woman. "go!" she shrieked. "i will teach you to walk in the footsteps of a woman like me! if i had the traitor here, i would blow his brains out!" whereupon, madame de nesle, fainting as she was from loss of blood, retorted that her lover was worthy that even more noble blood than hers should be shed for him. "he is," she said to the few onlookers who had hurried to the scene on hearing the shots, "the most amiable _seigneur_ of the court. i am ready to shed for him the last drop of blood in my veins. all these ladies try to catch him, but i hope that the proofs i have given of my devotion will win him for myself without sharing with anyone. why should i hide his name? he is the duc de richelieu--yes, the duc de richelieu, the eldest son of venus and mars!" such was the devotion which this heartless profligate won from some of the most beautiful and highly placed ladies of france. what was the secret of the spell he cast over them it is difficult to say. it is true that he was a handsome man, as his portraits show, but there were men quite as handsome at the french court; he was courtly and accomplished, but he had many rivals as clever and as skilled in courtly arts as himself. his power must, one thinks, have lain in that strange magnetism which women seem so powerless to resist in men, and which outweighs all graces of mind and physical perfections. the duc's career, however, was not one unbroken dallying with love. thrice, at least, he was sent to cool his ardour within the walls of the bastille--on one occasion as the result of a duel with the comte de gacé. his lady-loves were desolate at the cruel fate which had overtaken their idol. they fell on their knees at the regent's feet, and, with tears streaming down their pretty cheeks, pleaded for his freedom. two of the royal princesses, both disguised as sisters of charity, visited the prisoner daily in his dungeon, carrying with them delicacies to tempt his appetite, and consolation to cheer his captivity. in vain did duc and comte both declare that they had never fought a duel; and when, in the absence of proof, the regent insisted that their bodies should be examined for the convicting wounds, the impish richelieu came triumphantly through the ordeal as the result of having his wounds covered with pink taffeta and skilfully painted! it was a more serious matter that sent him again to the bastille in . false to his country as to the victims of his fascinations, he had been plotting with spain, france's bitterest enemy, for the seizure of the regent and the carrying him off across the pyrenees; and certain incriminating letters sent to him by cardinal alberoni had been intercepted, and were in the regent's hands. the regent's daughter, mademoiselle de valois, warned her lover of his danger, but too late. before he could escape, he was arrested, and with an escort of archers was safely lodged in the bastille. our lothario was now indeed in a parlous plight. lodged in the deepest and most loathsome dungeon of the bastille--a dungeon so damp that within a few hours his clothes were saturated--without even a chair to sit on or a bed to lie on, with legions of hungry rats for company, he was now face to face with almost certain death. the regent, whose love affairs he had thwarted a score of times, and who thus had no reason to love the profligate duc, vowed that his head should pay the price of his treason. once more the court ladies were reduced to hysterics and despair, and forgot their jealousies in a common appeal to the regent for clemency. mademoiselle de valois was driven to distraction; and when tears and pleadings failed to soften her father's heart, she declared in the hearing of the court that she would commit suicide unless her lover was restored to liberty. in company with her rival, mademoiselle de charolais, she visited the dungeon in the dark night hours, taking flint and steel, candles and bonbons, to weep with the captive. she squandered two hundred thousand livres in attempts to bribe his guards, but all to no purpose: and it was not until after six months of durance that the regent at last yielded--moved partly by his daughter's tears and threats and partly by the pleadings of the cardinal-archbishop of paris--and the prisoner was released, on condition that the cardinal and the duchesse de richelieu would be responsible for his custody and good behaviour. a few days later we find the irresponsible richelieu climbing over the garden-walls of his new "prison" at conflans, racing through the darkness to paris behind swift horses, and making love to the regent's own mistresses and his daughter! but such facilities for dalliance with the regent's daughter were soon to be brought to an end. mademoiselle de valois, in order to ensure her lover's freedom, had at last consented to accept the hand of the duke of modena, an alliance which she had long fought against; and before the duc had been a free man again many weeks she paid this part of his ransom by going into exile, and to an odious wedded life, in a far corner of italy--much, it may be imagined, to the regent's relief, for his daughters and their love affairs were ever a thorn in his side. it was not long, however, before the new duchess of modena began to sigh for her distant lover, and to bombard him with letters begging him to come to her. "i cannot live without your love," she wrote. "come to me--only, come in disguise, so that no one can recognise you." this was indeed an adventure after the lothario duc's heart--an adventure with love as its reward and danger as its spur. and thus it was that, a few weeks after the duchess had sent her invitation, two travel-stained pedlars, with packs on their backs, entered the city of modena to find customers for their books and phamphlets. at the small hostelry whose hospitality they sought the hawkers gave their names as gasparini and romano, names which masked the identities of the knight-errant duc and his friend, la fosse, respectively. the following morning behold the itinerant hawkers in the palace grounds, their wares spread out to tempt the court ladies on their way to mass, when the duchess herself passed their way and deigned to stop to converse graciously with the strangers. to her inquiries they answered that they came from piedmont; and their curious jargon of french and italian lent support to the story. after inspecting their wares she asked for a certain book. "alas! madame," gasparini answered, "i have not a copy here, but i have one at my inn." and bidding him bring the volume to her at the palace, the great lady resumed her devout journey to mass. a few hours later gasparini presented himself at the palace with the required volume, and was ushered into the august presence of the duchess. a moment later, on the closing of the door, the royal lady was in the "hawker's" arms, her own flung around his neck, as with tears of joy she welcomed the lover who had come to her in such strange guise and at such risk. a few stolen moments of happiness was all the lovers dared now to allow themselves. the duke of modena was in the palace, and the situation was full of danger. but on the morrow he was going away on a hunting expedition, and then--well, then they might meet without fear. on the following day, the coast now clear, behold our "hawker" once more at the palace door, with a bundle of books under his arm for the inspection of her highness, and being ushered into the duchess's reading-room, full of souvenirs of the happy days they had spent together in distant paris and versailles. among them, most prized of all, was a lock of his own hair, enshrined on a small altar, and surmounted by a crown of interlocked hearts. this lock, the duchess told him, she had kissed and wept over every day since they had parted. each day now brought its hours of blissful meeting, so seemingly short that the princess would throw her arms around her "hawker's" neck and implore him to stay a little longer. one day, however, he tarried too long; the duke returned unexpectedly from his hunting, and before the lovers could part, he had entered the room--just in time to see the pedlar bowing humbly in farewell to his duchess, and to hear him assure her that he would call again with the further books she wished to see. certainly it was a strange spectacle to greet the eyes of a home-coming duke--that of his lady closeted with a shabby pedlar of books; but at least there was nothing suspicious in it, and, getting into conversation with the "hawker," the duke found him quite an entertaining fellow, full of news of what was going on in the world outside his small duchy. in his curious jargon of french and italian, gasparini had much to tell his highness apart from book-talk. he entertained him with the latest scandals of the french court; with gossip about well-known personages, from the regent to dubois. "and what about that rascal, the duc de richelieu?" asked the great man. "what tricks has he been up to lately?" "oh," answered gasparini, with a wink at the duchess, who was crimson with suppressed laughter, "he is one of my best customers. ah, monsieur le duc, he is a gay dog. i hear that all the women at the court are madly in love with him; that the princesses adore him, and that he is driving all the husbands to distraction." "is it as bad as that?" asked the duke, with a laugh. "he is a more dangerous fellow even than i thought. and what is his latest game?" "oh," answered the hawker, "i am told that he has made a wager that he will come to modena, in spite of you; and i shouldn't be at all surprised if he does!" "as for that," said the duke, with a chuckle, "i am not afraid. i defy him to do his worst; and i am willing to wager that i shall be a match for him. however," he added, "you're an entertaining fellow; so come and see me again whenever you please." and thus, by the wish of the duchess's husband himself, the ducal "hawker" became a daily visitor at the palace, entertaining his highness with his chatter, and, when his back was turned, making love to his wife, and joining her in shrieks of laughter at his easy gullibility. thus many happy weeks passed, gasparini, the pedlar, selling few volumes, but reaping a rich harvest of stolen pleasure, and revelling in an adventure which added such a new zest to a life sated with more humdrum love-making. but even the duchess's charms began to pall; the ladies he had left so disconsolate in paris were inundating him with letters, begging him to return to them--letters, all forwarded to him from his château at richelieu, where he was supposed to be in retreat. the lure was too strong for him; and, taking leave of the duchess in floods of tears, he returned to his beloved paris to fresh conquests. and thus it was with the gay duc until the century that followed that of his birth was drawing to its close; until its sun was beginning to set in the blood of that revolution, which, if he had lived but one year longer, would surely have claimed him as one of its first victims. three wives he led to the altar--the last when he had passed into the eighties--but no marital duty was allowed to interfere with the amours which filled his life; and to the last no pity ever gave a pang to the "conscience" which allowed him to pick and fling away his flowers at will, and to trample, one after another, on the hearts that yielded to his love and trusted to his honour. chapter xviii the indiscretions of a princess it was an ill fate that brought caroline, princess of brunswick-wolfenbüttel to england to be the bride of george, prince of wales, one april day in the year ; although probably no woman has ever set forth on her bridal journey with a lighter or prouder heart, for, as she said, "am i not going to be the wife of the handsomest prince in the world?" if she had any momentary doubt of this, a glance at the miniature she carried in her bosom reassured her; for the pictured face that smiled at her was handsome as that of an apollo. no wonder the princess's heart beat high with pride and pleasure during that last triumphal stage of her journey to her husband's arms; for he was not only the handsomest man, with "the best shaped leg in europe," he was by common consent the "greatest gentleman" any court could show. picture him as he made his first appearance at a court ball. "his coat," we are told, "was of pink silk, with white cuffs; his waistcoat of white silk, embroidered with various-coloured foil and adorned with a profusion of french paste. and his hat was ornamented with two rows of steel beads, five thousand in number, with a button and a loop of the same metal, and cocked in a new military style." see young "florizel" as he makes his smiling and gracious progress through the avenues of courtiers; note the winsomeness of his smiles, the inimitable grace of his bows, his pleasant, courtly words of recognition, and say if ever royalty assumed a form more agreeable to the eye and captivating to the senses. "florizel" was indeed the most splendid prince in the world, and the most "perfect gentleman." he was also, though his bride-to-be little knew it, the most dissolute man in europe, the greatest gambler and voluptuary--a man who was as false to his friends as he was traitor to every woman who crossed his path, a man whom no appeal of honour or mercy could check in his selfish pursuit of pleasure. "i look through all his life," thackeray says, "and recognise but a bow and a grin. i try and take him to pieces, and find silk stockings, padding, stays, a coat with frogs and a fur collar, a star and blue ribbon, a pocket handkerchief prodigiously scented, one of truefitt's best nutty brown wigs reeking with oil, a set of teeth and a huge black stock, under-waistcoats, more under-waistcoats, and then--nothing. french ballet-dancers, french cooks, horse-jockeys, buffoons, procuresses, tailors, boxers, fencing-masters, china, jewel and gimcrack-merchants--these were his real companions." such was the husband princess caroline came so light-heartedly, with laughter on her lips, from brunswick to wed, little dreaming of the disillusion and tears that were to await her on the very threshold of the life to which she had looked forward with such high hopes. we get the first glimpse of caroline some twelve years earlier, when sir john stanley, who was making the grand tour, spent a few weeks at her father's court. he speaks of her as a "beautiful girl of fourteen," and adds, "i did think and dream of her day and night at brunswick, and for a year afterwards i saw her for hours three or fours times a week, but as a star out of my reach." years later he met her again under sadly changed conditions. "one day only," he writes, "when dining with her and her mother at blackheath, she smiled at something which had pleased her, and for an instant only i could have fancied she had been the caroline of fourteen years old--the lovely, pretty caroline, the girl my eyes had so often rested on, with light and powdered hair hanging in curls on her neck, the lips from which only sweet words seemed as if they would flow, with looks animated, and always simply and modestly dressed." lady charlotte campbell, too, gives us a glimpse of her in these early and happier years, before sorrow had laid its defacing hand on her. "the princess was in her early youth a pretty girl," lady charlotte says, "with fine light hair--very delicately formed features, and a fine complexion--quick, glancing, penetrating eyes, long cut and rather small in the head, which gave them much expression; and a remarkably delicately formed mouth." it was in no happy home that the princess had been cradled one may day in . her father, charles william, duke of brunswick, was an austere soldier, too much absorbed in his military life and his mistress, to give much thought to his daughters. her mother, the duchess augusta, sister of our own george iii., was weak and small-minded, too much occupied in self-indulgence and scandal-talking to trouble about the training of her children. princess caroline herself draws an unattractive picture of her home-life, in answer to lady charlotte campbell's question, "were you sorry to leave brunswick?" "not at all," was the answer; "i was sick tired of it, though i was sorry to leave my fader. i loved my fader dearly, better than any oder person. but dere were some unlucky tings in our court which made my position difficult. my fader was most entirely attached to a lady for thirty years, who was in fact his mistress. she was the beautifullest creature and the cleverest, but, though my fader continued to pay my moder all possible respect, my poor moder could not suffer this attachment. and de consequence was, i did not know what to do between them; when i was civil to one, i was scolded by the other, and was very tired of being shuttlecock between them." but in spite of these unfortunate home conditions caroline appears to have spent a fairly happy girlhood, thanks to her exuberant spirits; and such faults as she developed were largely due to the lack of parental care, which left her training to servants. thus she grew up with quite a shocking disregard of conventions, running wild like a young filly, and finding her pleasure and her companions in undesirable directions. strange stories are told of her girlish love affairs, which seem to have been indiscreet if nothing worse, while her beauty drew to her many a high-placed wooer, including the prince of orange and prince george of darmstadt, to all of whom she seems to have turned a cold shoulder. but the wilful princess was not to be left mistress of her own destiny. one november day, in , lord malmesbury arrived at the brunswick court to demand her hand for the prince of wales, whom his burden of debts and the necessity of providing an heir to the throne of england were at last driving reluctantly to the altar. and thus a new and dazzling future opened for her. to her parents nothing could have been more welcome than this prospect of a crown for their daughter; while to her it offered a release from a life that had become odious. "the princess caroline much embarrassed on my first being presented to her," malmesbury enters in his diary--"pretty face, not expressive of softness--her figure not graceful, fine eyes, good hands, tolerable teeth, fair hair and light eyebrows, good bust, short, with what the french call 'des épaules impertinentes,' vastly happy with her future expectations." such were malmesbury's first impressions of the future queen of england, whom it was his duty to prepare for her exalted station--a duty which he seems to have taken very seriously, even to the regulating of her toilette and her manners. thus, a few days after setting eyes on her, his diary records: "she _will_ call ladies whom she meets for the first time 'mon coeur, ma chère, ma petite,' and i am obliged to rebuke and correct her." he lectures her on her undignified habit of whispering and giggling, and impresses on her the necessity of greater care in her attire, on more constant and thorough ablution, more frequent changes of linen, the care of her teeth, and so on--all of which admonitions she seems to have taken in excellent part, with demure promises of amendment, until he is impelled to write, "princess caroline improves very much on a closer acquaintance--cheerful and loves laughing. if she can get rid of her gossiping habit she will do very well." thus a few months passed at the brunswick court. the ceremonial of betrothal took place in december--"princess caroline much affected, but replies distinctly and well"; the marriage-contract was signed, and finally on th march the princess embarked for england on her journey to the unseen husband whose good-looks and splendour have filled her with such high expectations. that she had not yet learnt discretion, in spite of all malmesbury's homilies, is proved by the fact that she spent the night on board in walking up and down the deck in the company of a handsome young naval officer, conduct which naturally gave cause for observation and suspicion in the affianced bride of the future king of england. it was well, perhaps, that she had snatched these few hours of innocent pleasure: for her first meeting with her future husband was well calculated to scatter all her rosy dreams. arrived at last at st james's palace, "i immediately notified the arrival to the king and prince of wales," says malmesbury; "the last came immediately. i accordingly introduced the princess caroline to him. she very properly attempted to kneel to him. he raised her gracefully enough, and embraced her, said barely one word, turned round and retired to a distant part of the apartment, and calling to me said: 'harris, i am not well; pray get me a glass of brandy.' i said, 'sir, had you not better have a glass of water?' upon which he, much out of humour, said with an oath: 'no; i will go directly to the queen,' and away he went. the princess, left during this short moment alone, was in a state of astonishment; and, on my joining her, said, '_mon dieu_, is the prince always like that? i find him very fat, and not at all as handsome as his portrait.'" such was the princess's welcome to the arms of her handsome husband and to the court over which she hoped to reign as queen; nor did she receive much warmer hospitality from the prince's family. the queen, who had designed a very different bride for her eldest son, received her with scarcely disguised enmity, while the king, although, as he afterwards proved, kindly disposed towards her, treated her at first with an amiable indifference. and certainly her attitude seems to have been calculated to create an unfavourable impression on her new relatives and on the court generally. at the banquet which followed her reception, malmesbury says, "i was far from satisfied with the princess's behaviour. it was flippant, rattling, affecting raillery and wit, and throwing out coarse, vulgar hints about lady----, who was present. the prince was evidently disgusted, and this unfortunate dinner fixed his dislike, which, when left to herself, the princess had not the talent to remove; but by still observing the same giddy manners and attempts at cleverness and coarse sarcasm, increased it till it became positive hatred." "what," as thackeray asks, "could be expected from a wedding which had such a beginning--from such a bridegroom and such a bride? malmesbury tells us how the prince reeled into the chapel royal to be married on the evening of wednesday, the th of april; and how he hiccuped out his vows of fidelity." "my brother," john, duke of bedford, records, "was one of the two unmarried dukes who supported the prince at the ceremony, and he had need of his support; for my brother told me the prince was so drunk that he could scarcely support himself from falling. he told my brother that he had drunk several glasses of brandy to enable him to go through the ceremony. there is no doubt that it was a _compulsory_ marriage." with such an overture, we are not surprised to learn that the royal bridegroom spent his wedding-night in a state of stupor on the floor of his bedroom; or that at dawn, when he had slept off the effects of his debauch, "pages heard cries proceeding from the nuptial chamber, and shortly afterwards saw the bridegroom rush out violently." nor, we may be sure, was the prince's undisguised hatred of his bride in any way mitigated by the stories which lady jersey and others of hex rivals poured into his willing ears--stories of her attachment to a young german prince whom she was not allowed to marry; of a mysterious illness, followed by a few weeks' retreat; of that midnight promenade with the young naval officer; of assignations with major toebingen, the handsomest soldier in europe, who so proudly wore the amethyst tie-pin she had presented to him--these and many another story which reflected none too well on her reputation before he had set eyes on her. but it needed no such whispered scandal to strengthen his hatred of a bride who personally repelled him, and who had been forced on him at a time when his heart was fully engaged with his lawful wedded wife, mrs fitzherbert, when it was not straying to lady jersey, to "perdita" or others of his legion of lights-o'-love. from the first day the ill-fated union was doomed. one violent scene succeeded another, until, before she had been two months a wife, the prince declared that he would no longer live with her. he would only wait until her child was born; then he would formally and finally leave her. thus, three months after the birth of the princess charlotte, the deed of separation was signed, and caroline was at last free to escape from a court which she had grown to detest, with good reason, and from a husband whose brutalities and infidelities filled her with loathing. she carried with her, however, this consolation, that the "great, hearty people of england loved and pitied her." "god bless you! we will bring your husband back to you," was among the many cries that greeted her as she left the palace on her way to exile. but, to quote thackeray again, "they could not bring that husband back; they could not cleanse that selfish heart. was hers the only one he had wounded? steeped in selfishness, impotent for faithful attachment and manly enduring love--had it not survived remorse, was it not accustomed to desertion?" for a time the outcast princess, with her infant daughter, led a retired life amid the peace and beauty of blackheath, where she lived as simply as any bourgeoise, playing the "lady bountiful" to the poor among her neighbours. her chief pleasure seems to have been to surround herself with cottage babies, converting montague house into a "positive nursery, littered up with cradles, swaddling-bands, feeding bottles, and other things of the kind." but even to this rustic retirement watchful eyes and slanderous tongues followed her; and it was not long before stories were passing from mouth to mouth in the court of strange doings at blackheath. the princess, it was said, had become very intimate with sir john douglas and his lady, her near neighbours, and more especially with sydney smith, a good-looking naval captain, who shared the douglas home, a man, moreover, with whom she had had suspicious relations at her father's court many years earlier. it was rumoured that captain smith was a frequent and too welcome guest at montague house, at hours when discreet ladies are not in the habit of receiving their male friends. nor was the handsome captain the only friend thus unconventionally entertained. there was another good-looking naval officer, a captain manby, and also sir thomas lawrence, the famous painter, both of whom were admitted to a suspicious intimacy with the princess of wales. these rumours, sufficiently disquieting in themselves, were followed by stories of the concealed birth of a child, who had come mysteriously to swell the numbers of the princess's protégés of the crèche. even king george, whose sympathy with his heir's ill-used wife was a matter of common knowledge, could not overlook a charge so grave as this. it must be investigated in the interests of the state, as well as of his family's honour; and, by his orders, a commission of peers was appointed to examine into the matter and ascertain the truth. the inquiry--the "delicate investigation" as it was appropriately called--opened in june, , and witness after witness, from the douglases to robert bidgood, a groom, gave evidence which more or less supported the charges of infidelity and concealment. the result of the investigation, however, was a verdict of acquittal, the commissioners reporting that the princess, although innocent, had been guilty of very indiscreet conduct--and this verdict the privy council confirmed. for the princess it was a triumphant vindication, which was hailed with acclamation throughout the country. even the royal family showed their satisfaction by formal visits of congratulation to the princess, from the king himself to the duke of cumberland who conducted his sister-in-law on a visit to the court. but the days of blackheath and the amateur nursery were at an end. the princess returned to london, and found a more suitable home in kensington palace for some years, where she held her court in rivalry of that of her husband at carlton house. here she was subjected to every affront and slight by the prince and his set that the ingenuity of hatred could devise, and to crown her humiliation and isolation, her daughter charlotte was taken from her and forbidden even to recognise her when their carriages passed in the street or park. can we wonder that, under such remorseless persecutions, the princess became more and more defiant; that she gave herself up to a life of recklessness and extravagance; that, more and more isolated from her own world, she sought her pleasure and her companions in undesirable quarters, finding her chief intimates in a family of italian musicians; or that finally, heart-broken and despairing, she determined once for all to shake off the dust of a land that had treated her so cruelly? in august, , with the approval of king and parliament, the princess left england to begin a career of amazing adventures and indiscrétions, the story of which is one of the most remarkable in history. chapter xix the indiscretions of a princess--_continued_ when caroline, princess of wales, shook the dust of england off her feet one august day in the year , it was only natural that her steps should first turn towards the brunswick home which held for her at least a few happy memories, and where she hoped to find in sympathy and old associations some salve for her wounded heart. but the fever of restlessness was in her blood--the restlessness which was to make her a wanderer over the face of the earth for half a dozen years. the peace and solace she had looked for in brunswick eluded her; and before many days had passed she was on her way through switzerland to the sunny skies of italy, where she could perhaps find in distraction and pleasure the anodyne which a life of retirement denied her. she was full of rebellion against fate, of hatred against her husband and his country which had treated her with such unmerited cruelty. she would defy fate; she would put a whole continent between herself and the nightmare life she had left behind, she hoped for ever. she would pursue and find pleasure at whatever cost. in september, within five weeks of leaving england, we find her at geneva, installed in a suite of rooms next to those occupied by marie louise, late empress of france, a fugitive and exile like herself, and animated by the same spirit of reckless revolt against destiny--marie louise, we read, "making excursions like a lunatic on foot and on horseback, never even seeming to dream of making people remember that, before she became mixed up with a corsican adventurer, she was an archduchess"; the princess of wales, equally careless of her dignity and position, finding her pleasure in questionable company. "from the inn where she was stopping she heard music, and, quite unaccompanied, immediately entered a neighbouring house and disappeared in the medley of dancers." a few days later, at lausanne, "she learned that a little ball was in progress at a house opposite the 'golden lion,' and she asked for an invitation. after dancing with everybody and anybody, she finished up by dancing a savoyard dance, called a _fricassée_, with a nobody. madame de corsal, who blushed and wept for the rest of the company, declares that it has made her ill, and that she feels that the honour of england has been compromised." thus early did caroline begin that career of indiscretion, to call it by no worse name, which made of her six years' exile "a long suicide of her reputation." in october we find the princess entering milan, with her retinue of ladies-in-waiting, chamberlains, equerry, page, courier, and coachman, and with william austin for companion--a boy, now about thirteen, whom she treated as her son, and who was believed by many to be the child of her imprudence at blackheath, although the commission of the "delicate investigation" had pronounced that he was son of a poor woman at deptford. at milan, as indeed wherever she wandered in italy, the "vagabond princess" was received as a queen. count di bellegarde, the austrian governor, was the first to pay homage to her; at the scala theatre, the same evening, her entry was greeted with thunders of applause, and whenever she appeared in the milan streets it was to an accompaniment of doffed hats and cheers. one of her first visits was to the studio of giuseppe bossi, the famous and handsome artist, whom she requested to paint her portrait. "on thursday," bossi records, "i sketched her successfully in the character of a muse; then on friday she came to show me her arms, of which she was, not without reason, decidedly vain--she is a gay and whimsical woman, she seems to have a good heart; at times she is ennuyée through lack of occupation." on one occasion when she met in the studio some french ladies, two of whom had been mistresses of the king of westphalia, the poor artist was driven to distraction by the chatter, the singing, and dancing, in which the princess especially displayed her agility, until, as he pathetically says, "the house seemed possessed of the devil, and you can imagine with what kind of ease it was possible for me to work." before leaving milan the princess gave a grand banquet to bellegarde and a number of the principal men of the city--a feast which was to have very important and serious consequences, for it was at this banquet that general pino, one of her guests, introduced to caroline a new courier, a man who, though she little dreamt it at the time, was destined to play a very baleful part in her life. this new courier was a tall and strikingly handsome man, who had seen service in the italian army, until a duel, in which he killed a superior officer, compelled him to leave it in disgrace. at the time he entered the princess's service he was a needy adventurer, whose scheming brain and utter lack of principle were in the market for the highest bidder. "he is," said baron ompteda, "a sort of apollo, of a superb and commanding appearance, more than six feet high; his physical beauty attracts all eyes. this man is called pergami; he belongs to milan, and has entered the princess's service. the princess," he significantly adds, "is shunned by all the english people of rank; her behaviour has created the most marked scandal." such was the man with whose life that of the princess of wales was to be so intimately and disastrously linked, and whose relations with her were to be displayed to a shocked world but a few years later. it was indeed an evil fate that brought this "superb apollo" of the crafty brain and conscienceless ambition into the life of the princess at the high tide of her revolt against the world and its conventions. when caroline and her retinue set out from milan for tuscany it was in the wake of pergami, who had ridden ahead to discharge his duties as _avant courier_; but before rome was reached his intimacy and familiarity with his mistress were already the subject of whispered comments and shrugged shoulders. at a ball given in her honour at rome by the banker tortonia, the princess shocked even the least prudish by the abandon of her dancing and the tenuity of her costume, which, we are told, consisted of "a single embroidered garment, fastened beneath the bosom, without the shadow of a corset and without sleeves." and at naples, where king joachim murat gave her a regal reception, with a sequel of fêtes and gala-performances in honour of the wife of the regent of england, she attended a rout, at the teatro san carlo, so lightly attired "that many who saw her at her first entrance looked her up and down, and, not recognising her, or pretending not to recognise her, began to mutter disapprobation to such an extent that she was compelled to withdraw.... the english residents soon let her understand, by ceasing to frequent her palace, that even at naples there were certain laws of dress which could not be trampled underfoot in this hoydenish manner." while caroline was thus defying convention and even decency, watchful eyes were following her everywhere. a body of secret police, whose headquarters were at milan, was noting every indiscretion; and every week brought fresh and damaging reports to england, where they were eagerly welcomed by the regent and his satellites. and while the princess was thus playing unconsciously, or recklessly, into the hands of the enemy, pergami was daily making his footing in her favour more secure. before caroline left naples he had been promoted from courier to equerry, and in this more exalted and privileged rôle was always at her side. so marked, in fact, was the intimacy even at this early stage, that the princess's retinue, one after another, and on one flimsy pretext or another, deserted her in disgust, each vacancy, as it occurred, being filled by one of pergami's relatives--his brother, his daughter, his sister-in-law (the countess oidi), and others, until caroline was soon surrounded by members of the ex-courier's family. from naples she wandered to genoa, and from genoa to milan and venice, received regally everywhere by the italians and shunned by the english residents. from venice she drifted to lake como, with whose beauties she was so charmed that she decided to make her home there, purchasing the villa del garrovo for one hundred and fifty thousand francs, and setting the builders to work to make it a still more splendid home for a future queen of england. but even to the lonely isolation of the italian lakes the eyes of her husband's secret agents pursued her, spying on her every movement--"uncertain shadows gliding in the twilight along the paths and between the hedges, and even in the cellars and attics of the villa"--until the shadowy presences filled her with such terror and unrest that she sought to escape them by a long tour in the east. thus it was that in november, , the princess and her pergami household set forth on their journey to sicily, tunis, athens, the cities of the east and jerusalem, the strange story of which was to be unfolded to the world five years later. how intimate the princess and her handsome, stalwart courier had by this time become was illustrated by the attorney-general in his opening speech at her memorable trial. "one day, after dinner, when the princess's servants had withdrawn, a waiter at the hotel, gran brettagna, saw the princess put a golden necklace round pergami's neck. pergami took it off again and put it jestingly on the neck of the princess, who in her turn once more removed it and put it again round pergami's neck." as early as august in this year pergami had his appointed place at the princess's table, and his room communicating with hers, and on the various voyages of the eastern tour there was abundant evidence to prove "the habit which the princess had of sleeping under one and the same awning with pergami." but it is as impossible in the limits of space to follow caroline and her handsome cavalier through every stage of these eastern wanderings, as it is unnecessary to describe in detail the evidence of intimacy so lavishly provided by the witnesses for the prosecution at the trial--evidence much of which was doubtless as false as it was venal. that the princess, however, was infatuated by her cavalier, and that she was in the highest degree indiscreet in her relations with him, seems abundantly clear, whatever the precise degree of actual guilt may have been. pergami had now been promoted from equerry to grand chamberlain to her royal highness, and as further evidence of her favour, she bought for him in sicily an estate which conferred on its owner the title of baron della francina. at malta she procured for him a knighthood of that island's famous order; at jerusalem she secured his nomination as knight of the holy sepulchre; and, to crown her favours, she herself instituted the order of st caroline, with pergami for grand master. behold now our ex-courier and adventurer in all his new glory as grand chamberlain and lover of a future queen of england, as baron della francina, knight of two orders and grand master of a third, while every post of profit in that vagrant court was held by some member of his family! the eastern tour ended, which had ranged from algiers and egypt to constantinople and jerusalem, and throughout which she had progressed and been received as a queen, caroline settled down for a time in her now restored villa on lake como, celebrating her return by lavish charities to her poor neighbours, and by popular fêtes and balls, in one of which "she danced as columbine, wearing her lover's ear-rings, whilst pergami, dressed as harlequin and wearing her ear-rings, supported her." but even here she was to find no peace from her husband's spies, whose evidence, confirmed on oath by a score of witnesses, was being accumulated in london against the longed-for day of reckoning. and it was not long before caroline and her grand chamberlain were on their wanderings again--this time to the tyrol, to austria, and through northern italy, always inseparable and everywhere setting the tongue of scandal wagging by their indiscreet intimacy. even the tragic death in childbirth of her only daughter, the princess charlotte, which put all england in mourning, seemed powerless to check her career of folly. it is true that, on hearing of it, she fell into a faint and afterwards into a kind of protracted lethargy, but within a few weeks she had flung herself again into her life of pleasure-chasing and reckless disregard of convention. but matters were now hurrying fast to their tragic climax. for some time the life of george iii. had been flickering to its close. any day might bring news that the end had come, and that the princess was a queen. and for some time caroline had been bracing herself to face this crisis in her life and to pit herself against her enemies in a grim struggle for a crown, the title to which her years of folly (for such at the best they had been) had so gravely endangered. over the remainder of her vagrant life, with its restless flittings, and its indiscretions, marked by spying eyes, we must pass to that february morning in when, to quote a historian, "the princess had scarcely reached her hotel (at florence) when her faithful major-domo, john jacob sicard, appeared before her, accompanied by two noblemen, and in a voice full of emotion announced, 'you are queen.'" the fateful hour had at last arrived when caroline must either renounce her new queendom or present a bold front to her enemies and claim the crown that was hers. after a few indecisive days, spent in rome, where news reached her that the king had given orders that her name should be excluded from the prayer book, her wavering resolution took a definite and determined shape. she would go to london and face the storm which she knew her coming would bring on her head. at paris she was met by lord hutchinson with a promise of an increase of her yearly allowance to fifty thousand pounds, on condition that she renounced her claim to the title of queen, and consented never to put foot again in england--an offer to which she gave a prompt and scornful refusal; and on the afternoon of th june she reached dover, greeted by enthusiastic cheers and shouts of "god save queen caroline!" by the fluttering of flags, and the jubilant clanging of church-bells. the wanderer had come back to the land of her sorrow, to find herself welcomed with open arms by the subjects of the king whose brutality had driven her to exile and to shame. the story of the trial which so soon followed her arrival has too enduring a place in our history to call for a detailed description--the trial in which all the weight of the crown and the testimony of a small army of suborned witnesses--"a troupe of comedians in the pay of malevolence," to quote brougham--were arrayed against her; and in which she had so doughty a champion in brougham, and such solace and support in the sympathy of all england. we know the fate of that bill of pains and penalties, which charged her with having permitted a shameful intimacy with one bartolomeo pergami, and provided as penalty that she should be deprived of the title and privilege of queen, and that her marriage to king george iv. should be for ever dissolved and annulled--how it was forced through the house of lords with a diminishing majority, and finally withdrawn. and we know, too, the outburst of almost delirious delight that swept from end to end of england at the virtual acquittal of the persecuted caroline. "the generous exultation of the people was," to quote a contemporary, "beyond all description. it was a conflagration of hearts." we also recall that pathetic scene when caroline presented herself at the door of westminster abbey to demand admission, on the day of her husband's coronation, to be received by the frigid words, "we have no instructions to allow you to pass"; and we can see her as, "humiliated, confounded, and with tears in her eyes," she returned sadly to her carriage, the heart crushed within her. less than three weeks later, seized by a grave and mysterious illness, she laid down for ever the burden of her sorrows, leaving instructions that her tomb should bear the words: caroline the injured queen of england. as for pergami, the idol with the feet of clay, who had clouded her last years in tragedy, he survived for twenty years more to enjoy his honours and his ill-gotten gold; while william austin, who had masqueraded as a prince and called caroline "mother," ended his days, while still a young man, in a madhouse. chapter xx the love-affairs of a regent when louis xiv. laid down, one september day in the year , the crown which he had worn with such splendour for more than seventy years, his sceptre fell into the hands of his nephew philippe, duc d'orléans, who for eight years ruled france as regent, and as guardian of the child-king, the fifteenth louis. seldom in the world's history has a reign, so splendid as that of the sun-king, closed in such darkness and tragedy. the disastrous war of the spanish succession had drained france of her strength and her gold. she lay crushed under a mountain of debt--ten thousand million francs; she was reduced to the lowest depths of wretchedness, ruin, and disorder, and it was at this crisis in her life as a nation that fate placed a child of four on her throne, and gave the reins of power into the hands of the most dissolute man in europe. not that philippe of orleans lacked many of the qualities that go to the making of a ruler and a man. he had proved himself, in italy and in spain, one of the bravest of his country's soldiers, and an able, far-seeing leader of armies; and he had, as his regency proved, no mean gifts of statesmanship. but his kingly qualities were marred by the taint of birth and early environment. such good qualities as he had he no doubt drew from his mother, the capable, austere, high-minded elizabeth of bavaria, who to her last day was the one good influence in his life. to his father, louis xiv.'s younger brother, who is said to have been son of cardinal mazarin, anne of austria's lover, and who was the most debased man of his time in all france, he just as surely owed the bias of sensuality to which he chiefly owes his place in memory. and not only was he thus handicapped by his birth; he had for tutor that arch-scoundrel dubois--the "grovelling insect" who rarely opened his mouth without uttering a blasphemy or indecency, and who initiated his charge, while still a boy, into every base form of so-called pleasure. such was the man who, amid the ruins of his country, inaugurated in france an era of licentiousness such as she had never known--an incomprehensible mass of contradictions--a kingly presence with the soul of a caliban, statesman and sinner, high-minded and low-living, spending his days as a sovereign, a rôle which he played to perfection, and his nights as a sot and a sensualist. it was doubtless dubois who was mostly responsible for the baseness in the regent's character--dubois who had taught him a contempt for religion and morality, the cynical view of life which makes the pleasure of the moment the only thing worth pursuing, at whatever cost; and who had impressed indelibly on his mind that no woman is virtuous and that men are knaves. and there was never any lack of men to continue dubois' teaching. he gathered round him the most dissolute gallants in france, in whose company he gave the rein to his most vicious appetites. his "roués" he dubbed them, a title which aptly described them; although they affected to give it a very different interpretation. they were the regent's roués, they said, no doubt with the tongue in the cheek, because they were so devoted to him that they were ready, in his defence, to be broken on the wheel (_la roue_)! each of these boon-comrades was a past-master in the arts of dissipation, and each was also among the most brilliant men of his day. the chevalier de simiane was famous alike for his drinking powers and his gift of graceful verse; de fargy was a polished wit, and the handsomest man in france, with an unrivalled reputation for gallantry; the comte de nocé was the regent's most intimate friend from boyhood--brother-in-law he called him, since they had not only tastes but even mistresses in common. then there were the marquis de la fare, captain of guards and _bon enfant_; the marquis de broglio, the biggest debauchee in france, the marquis de canillac, the duc de brancas, and many another--all famous (or infamous) for some pet vice, and all the best of boon-companions for the pleasure-loving regent. strange tales are told of the orgies of this select band which the regent gathered around him--orgies which shocked even the france of the eighteenth century, when she was the acknowledged leader in licence. at six o'clock every evening philippe's kingship ended for the day. he had had enough--more than enough--of state and ceremonial, of interviewing ambassadors, and of the flatteries of princes and the obsequious homage of courtiers. pleasure called him away from the boredom of empire; and at the stroke of six we find him retiring to the company of his mistresses and his roués to feast and drink and gamble until dawn broke on the revelry--his laugh the loudest, his wit the most dazzling, his stories the most piquant, keeping the table in a roar with his infectious gaiety. he was regent no longer; he was simply a _bon camarade_, as ready to exchange familiarities with a "lady of the ballet" as to lead the laughter at a joke at his own expense. at nine o'clock, when the fun had waxed furious and wine had set the slowest tongue wagging and every eye a-sparkle, other guests streamed in to join the orgy--the most beautiful ladies of the court, from the duchesse de gesores and madame de mouchy to the regent's own daughter, the duchesse de berry, who, young as she was, had little to learn of the arts of dissipation. and in the wake of these high-born women would follow laughing, bright-eyed troupes of dancing and chorus-girls from the theatres with an escort of the cleverest actors of paris, to join the regent's merry throng. the champagne now flowed in rivers; the servants were sent away; the doors were locked and the fun grew riotous; ceremony had no place there; rank and social distinctions were forgotten. countesses flirted with comedians; princes made love to ballet-girls and duchesses alike. the leader of the moment was the man or woman who could sing the most daring song, tell the most piquant story, or play the most audacious practical joke, even on the regent himself. sometimes, we are told, the lights would be extinguished, and the orgy continued under the cover of darkness, until the regent suddenly opened a cupboard, in which lights were concealed--to an outburst of shrieks of laughter at the scenes revealed. thus the mad night hours passed until dawn came to bring the revels to a close; or until the regent would sally forth with a few chosen comrades on a midnight ramble to other haunts of pleasure in the capital--the lower the better. such was the way in which philippe of orleans, regent of france, spent his nights. a few hours after the carouse had ended he would resume his sceptre, as austere and dignified a ruler as you would find in europe. it must not be imagined that philippe was the only royal personage who thus set a scandalous example to france. there was, in fact, scarcely a prince or princess of the blood royal whose love affairs were not conducted flagrantly in the eyes of the world, from the dowager duchesse de bourbon, who lavished her favours on the scotch financier, john law, of lauriston, to the princesse de conte, who mingled her piety with a marked partiality for her nephew, le kallière. as for the regent's own daughters, from the duchesse de berry, to louise, queen of spain, each has left behind her a record almost as scandalous as that of her father. it was, in fact, an era of corruption in high places, when, in the reaction that followed the dismal and decorous last years of louis xiv.'s reign, pleasure rose phoenix-like from the ashes of ruin and flaunted herself unashamed in every guise with which vice could deck her. it must be said for the regent, corrupt as he was, that he never abused his position and his power in the pursuit of beauty. his mistresses flocked to him from every rank of life, from the stage to the highest court circles, but remained no longer than inclination dictated. and the fascination is not far to seek, for philippe d'orléans was of the men who find easy conquests in the field of love. he was one of the handsomest men in all france; and to his good-looks and his reputation for bravery he added a manner of rare grace and courtliness, a supple tongue, and that strange magnetic power which few women could resist. no king ever boasted a greater or more varied list of favourites, in which actresses and duchesses vied with each other for his smiles, in a rivalry which seems to have been singularly free from petty jealousy. among the beauties of the court we find the duchesse de fedari, the duchesse de gesores, the comtesse de sabran at one extreme; and actresses like emilie, desmarre, and la souris at the other, pretty butterflies of the footlights who appealed to the regent no more than madame d'averne, the gifted pet of france's wits and literary men, the most charming "blue-stocking" of her day. and all, without exception--duchesses, countesses, and actresses--were as ready to give their love to philippe, the man, as to the duc d'orléans, regent of france. even in his relations with these ministers of pleasure, the regent's better qualities often exhibit themselves agreeably. to the pretty actress, emilie, whose heart was so completely his, he always acted with a characteristic generosity and forbearance; and her conduct is by no means less pleasing than his. once, we are told, when he expressed a wish to give her a pair of diamond ear-rings at a cost of fifteen thousand francs, she demurred at accepting so valuable a present. "if you must be so generous," she pleaded, "please don't give me the ear-rings, which are much too grand for such as me. give me, instead, ten thousand francs, so that i may buy a small house to which i can retire when you no longer love me as you now do." emilie had scarcely returned home, however, when a court official appeared with a package containing, not ten thousand, but twenty-five thousand francs, which her lover insisted on her keeping; and when she returned fifteen thousand francs, he promptly sent them back again, declaring that he would be very angry if she refused again to accept them. his love, indeed, for emilie seems to have been as pure and deep as any of which he was capable. it was no fleeting passion, but an affection based on a sincere respect for her character and mental gifts. so highly, indeed, did he think of her judgment that she became his most trusted counsellor. she sat by his side when he received ambassadors; he consulted her on difficult problems of state; and it was her advice that he often followed in preference to the wisdom of all his ministers; for, as he said to dubois, "emilie has an excellent brain; she always gives me the best counsel." when at last he had to part from the modest and accomplished actress it was under circumstances which speak well for his generosity. a former lover, the marquis de fimarcon, on his return from fighting in spain, sought emilie out, and, blazing with jealousy, insisted that she should leave the regent and return to his protection. he vowed that, if she refused, he would murder her; and when, in her alarm, she sought refuge in a convent at charenton, he threatened to burn the nuns alive in their cells unless they restored her to him. thus it was that, rather than allow emilie to run any risks from her revengeful and brutal lover, the regent relinquished his claim to her; and only when fimarcon's continued brutality at last made intervention necessary, did he order the bully to be arrested and consigned to the prison of fort l'Évêque. it is, however, in the story of mademoiselle aissé, the circassian slave, that we find the best illustration of the chivalry which underlay the regent's passion for women, and which he never forgot in his wildest excesses. this story, one of the most touching in french history, opens in the year , when a band of turkish soldiers returned to constantinople from a raid in the caucasus, bringing with them, among many other captives, a beautiful child of four years, said to be the daughter of a king. so lovely was the little circassian fairy that when the comte de feriol, france's ambassador to turkey, set eyes on her, he decided to purchase her; and she became his property in exchange for fifteen hundred livres. that she might have every advantage of training to fit her for his seraglio in later years, the child was sent to paris, to the home of the ambassador's brother, president de feriol, where she grew to beautiful girlhood as a member of the family, as fair a flower as ever was transplanted to french soil. thus she passed the next thirteen years of her young life, charming all by her sweetness of disposition, as she won the homage of all by her remarkable beauty and grace. such was ayesha, or aissé, the circassian maid, when at last her "owner" returned to paris to fall under the spell of her radiant beauty and to claim her as his chattel, bought with good gold and trained at his cost to adorn his harem. in vain did aissé weep and plead to be spared a fate from which every fibre of her being shrank in horror. her "master" was inexorable. "when i bought you," he said, "it was my intention to make you my daughter or my mistress. i now intend that you shall become both the one and the other." friendless and helpless, she was obliged to yield; and for six years she had to submit to the endearments of her protector, a man more than old enough to be her father, until his death brought her release. at twenty-four, more lovely than ever, combining the beauty of the circassian with the graces of france, aissé had now every right to look forward at least to such happiness as was possible to a stranger in a strange land. but no sooner was one danger to her peace removed than another sprang up to take its place. the rumour of her beauty and her sweetness had come to the ears of the regent, and strong forces were at work to bring her to his arms. madame de tencin was the leader in this base conspiracy, with the power of the romish church at her back; for with the fair circassian high in the regent's favour and a pliant tool in their hands, the jesuits' influence at court would be greatly strengthened. dubois was won over to the unholy alliance; and the due's _maîtresse en titre_ was bribed, not only to withdraw all opposition to her proposed rival, but to arrange a meeting between the regent and the victim. success seemed to be assured. mademoiselle aissé was to exchange slavery to her late owner for an equally odious place in the harem of the ruler of france. her tears and entreaties were all in vain; when she begged on her knees to be allowed to retire to a convent madame de feriol turned her back on her. her only hope of rescue now lay in the regent himself; and to him she pleaded her cause with such pathetic eloquence that he not only allowed her to depart in peace, but with words of sympathy and promises of his protection in the pure and noble sense of the word. thus by the chivalry of the most dissolute man of his age the circassian slave-girl was rescued from a life which to her would have been worse than death--to spend her remaining years, happy in the love of an honest man, the chevalier d'aydie, until death claimed her while she still possessed the beauty which had been at once her glory and her inevitable shame. * * * * * the close of the regent's mis-spent life came with tragic suddenness. worn out with excesses, while still young in years, his doctors had warned him that death might come to him any day; but with the light-heartedness that was his to the last, he laughed at their gloomy forebodings and refused to take the least precautions to safeguard his health. two days before the end came he declined point-blank to be bled in order to avert a threatened attack of apoplexy. "let it come if it will," he said, with a laugh. "i do not fear death; and if it comes quickly, so much the better!" on the evening of nd december, , he was chatting gaily to the young duchesse de falari, when he suddenly turned to her and asked: "do you think there is any hell--or paradise?" "of course i do," answered the duchesse. "then are you not afraid to lead the life you do?" "well," replied madame, "i think god will have pity on me." scarcely had the words left her lips when the regent's head fell heavily on her shoulder, and he began to slip to the floor. a glance showed her that he was unconscious; and, rushing out of the room, the terrified duchesse raced through the dark, deserted corridors of the palace shrieking for help. when at last help arrived, it came too late. the regent had gone to find for himself an answer to the question his lips had framed a few minutes earlier--"is there any hell--or paradise?" chapter xxi a delilah of the court of france it was a cruel fate that snatched gabrielle d'estrées from the arms of henri iv., king of france and navarre, at the moment when her long devotion to her hero-lover was on the eve of being crowned by the bridal veil; and for many a week there was no more stricken man in europe than the disconsolate king as he wailed in his black-draped chamber, "the root of my love is dead, and will never blossom again." no doubt henri's grief was as sincere as it was deep, for he had loved his golden-haired gabrielle of the blue eyes and dimpled baby-cheeks as he had never loved woman before. it was the passion of a lifetime, the passion of a strong man in his prime, that fate had thus nipped in the fullness of its bloom; and its loss plunged him into an abyss of sorrow and despair such as few men have known. but with the hero of ivry no emotion of grief or pleasure ever endured long. he was a man of erratic, widely contrasted moods--now on the peaks of happiness, now in the gulf of dejection; one mood succeeding another as inevitably and widely as the pendulum swings. thus when he had spent three seemingly endless months of gloom and solitude, reaction seized him, and he flung aside his grief with his black raiment. he was still in the prime of his strength, with many years before him. he would drink the cup of life, even to its dregs. he had long been weary of the matrimonial chains that fettered him to marguerite of valois. he would strike them off, and in another wife and other loves find a new lease of pleasure. thus it was with no heavy heart that he turned his back on fontainebleau and his darkened room, and fared to paris to find a new vista of pleasure opening to him at his palace doors, and his ears full of the praises of a new divinity who had come, during his absence, to grace his court--a girl of such beauty, sprightliness, and wit as his capital had not seen for many a year. henriette d'entragues--for this was the divinity's name--was equipped by fate as few women were ever equipped, for the conquest of a king. her mother, marie touchet, had been "light-o'-love" to charles ix.; her father was the seigneur d'entragues, member of one of the most blue-blooded families of france, a soldier and statesman of fame; and their daughter had inherited, with her mother's beauty and grace, the clever brain and diplomatic skill of her father. a strange mixture of the bewitching and bewildering, this daughter of a king's mistress seems to have been. tall and dark, voluptuous of figure, with ripe red lips, and bold and dazzling black eyes, she was, in her full-blooded, sensuous charms, the very "antipodes" to the childish, fairy-like gabrielle who had so long been enshrined in the king's heart. and to this physical appeal--irresistible to a man of such strong passion as henri, she added gifts of mind which "baby gabrielle" could never claim. she had a wit as brilliant as the tongue which was its vehicle; her well-stored brain was more than a match for the most learned men at court, and she would leave an archbishop discomfited in a theological argument, to cross swords with sully himself on some abstruse problem of statesmanship. when sully had been brought to his knees, she would rush away, with mischief in her eyes, to take the lead in some merry escapade or practical joke, her silvery laughter echoing in some remote palace corridor. a bewildering, alluring bundle of inconsistencies--beauty, savant, wit, and madcap--such was henriette d'entragues when henri, fresh from his woes, came under the spell of her magnetism. here, indeed, was an escape from his grief such as the king had never dared to hope for. before he had been many hours in his palace, henri was caught hopelessly in the toils of the new siren, and was intoxicated by her smiles and witcheries. never was conquest so speedy, so dramatic. before a week had flown he was at henrietta's feet, as lovesick a swain as ever sighed for a lady, pouring love into her ears and writing her passionate letters between the frequent meetings, in which he would send her a "good night, my dearest heart," with "a million kisses." in the days of his lusty youth the idol and hero of france had never known passion such as this which consumed him within sight of his fiftieth birthday, and which was inspired by a woman of much less than half his years; for at the time henri was forty-six, and henriette was barely twenty. he quickly found, however, that his wooing was not to be all "plain sailing." when henriette's parents heard of it, they affected to be horrified at the danger in which their beloved daughter was placed. they summoned her home from the perils of court and a king's passion; and when henri sent an envoy to bring them to reason they sent him back with a rebuff. their daughter was to be no man's--not even a king's--plaything. if henri's passion was sincere, he must prove it by a definite promise of marriage; and only on this condition would their opposition be removed. even to such a stipulation henri, such was his infatuation, made no demur. with his own hand he wrote an agreement pledging himself to make demoiselle henriette his lawful wife in case, within a certain period, she became the mother of a son; and undertaking to dissolve his marriage with his wife, marguerite of france, for this purpose. and this agreement, signed with his own hand, he sent to the seigneur d'entragues and his wife, accompanied by a _douceur_ of a hundred thousand crowns. but before it was dispatched a more formidable obstacle than even the lady's natural guardians remained to be faced--none other than the duc de sully, the man who had shared all the perils of a hundred fights with henri and was at once his chief counsellor and his _fidus achates_. when at last he summoned up courage to place the document in sully's hands, he awaited the verdict as nervously as any schoolboy in the presence of a dreaded master. sully read through the paper, was silent for a few moments, and then spoke. "sire," he said, "am i to give you my candid opinion on this document, without fear of anger or giving offence?" "certainly," answered the king. "well then, this is what i think of it," was sully's reply, as he tore the document in two pieces and flung them on the floor. "sully, you are mad!" exclaimed henri, flaring into anger at such an outrage. "you are right, sire, i am a weak fool, and would gladly know myself still more a fool--if i might be the only one in france!" it was in vain, however, that sully pointed out the follies and dangers of such a step as was proposed. henri's mind was made up, and leaving his friend, in high dudgeon, he went to his study and re-wrote his promise of marriage. the way was at last clear to the gratification of his passion. henriette was more than willing, her parents' scruples and greed were appeased, and as for sully--well, he must be left to get over his tantrums. even to please such an old and trusted friend he could not sacrifice such an opportunity for pleasure and a new lease of life as now presented itself! halcyon months followed for henri--months in which even gabrielle was forgotten in the intoxication of a new passion, compared with which the memory of her gentle charms was but as water to rich, red wine. that henriette proved wilful, capricious, and extravagant--that her vanity drained his exchequer of hundreds of thousands of crowns for costly jewellery and dresses, was a mere bagatelle, compared with his delight in her manifold allurements. but sully had by no means said his last word. the decree for annulling henri's marriage with marguerite de valois was pronounced; and it was of the highest importance that she should have a worthy successor as queen of france--a successor whom he found in marie de medicis. the marriage-contract was actually sealed before the king had any suspicion that his hand was being disposed of, and it was only when sully one day entered his study with the startling words, "sire, we have been marrying you," that the awakening came. for a few moments henri sat as a man stunned, his head buried in his hands; then, with a deep sigh, he spoke: "if god orders it so, so let it be. there seems to be no escape; since you say that it is necessary for my kingdom and my subjects, why, marry i must." it was a strange predicament in which henri now found himself. still more infatuated than ever with henriette, he was to be tied for life to a princess whom he had never even seen. to add to the embarrassment of his position, the condition of his marriage promise to henriette was already on the way to fulfilment; and he was thus pledged to wed her as strongly as any state compact could bind him to stand at the altar with marie de medicis. one thing was clear, he must at any cost recover that fatal document; and, while he was giving orders for the suitable reception of his new queen, and arranging for her triumphal progress to paris, he was writing to henriette and her parents demanding the return of his promise of marriage agreement--to her, a pleading letter in which he prays her "to return the promise you have by you and not to compel me to have recourse to other means in order to obtain it"; to her father, a more imperious demand to which he expects instant obedience. as some consolation to his mistress, whose alternate tears, rage, and reproaches drove him to distraction, he creates her marquise de verneuil and promises that, if he should be unable to marry her, he will at least give her a husband of royal rank, the due de nevers, who was eager to make her his wife. but pleadings and threats alike fail to secure the return of the fatal document, and henri is reduced to despair, until henriette gives birth to a dead child and his promise thus becomes of as little value as the paper it was written on. the condition has failed, and he is a free man to marry his tuscan princess, while henriette, thus foiled in her great ambition, is in danger not only of losing her coveted crown, but her place in the king's favour. the days of her wilful autocracy are ended; and, though her heart is full of anger and disappointment, she writes to him a pitiful letter imploring him still to love her and not to cast her "from the heaven to which he has raised her, down to the earth where he found her." "do not let your wedding festivities be the funeral of my hopes," she writes. "do not banish me from your royal presence and your heart. i speak in sighs to you, my king, my lover, my all--i, who have been loved by the earth's greatest monarch, and am willing to be his mistress and his servant." to such humility was the proud, arrogant beauty now reduced. she was an abject suppliant where she had reigned a queen. nor did her pleadings fall on deaf ears. her royal lover's hand was given, against his will, to his new queen, but his heart, he vowed, was all henriette's--so much so that he soon installed her in sumptuous rooms in his palace adjoining those of the queen herself. was ever man placed in a more delicate position than this king of france, between the rival claims of his wife and mistress, who were occupying adjacent apartments, and who, moreover, were both about to become mothers? it speaks well for henri's tactfulness that for a time at least this _ménage à trois_ appears to have been quite amiably conducted. when queen marie gave birth to a son it was to henriette that the infant's father first confided the good news, seasoning it with "a million kisses" for herself. and when henriette, in turn, became a mother for the second time, the double royal event was celebrated by fêtes and rejoicings in which each lady took an equally proud and conspicuous part. it was inevitable, however, that a woman so favoured by the king, and of so imperious a nature, should have enemies at court; and it was not long before she became the object of a conspiracy of which the duchesse de villars and the queen were the arch-leaders. one day a bundle of letters was sent anonymously to henri, letters full of tenderness and passion, addressed by his beloved marquise, henriette, to the prince de joinville. the king was furious at such evidence of his mistress's disloyalty, and vowed he would never see her again. but all his storming and reproaches left the marquise unmoved. she declared, with scorn in her voice, that the letters were forgeries; that she had never written to joinville in her life, nor spoken a word to him that his majesty might not have heard. she even pointed out the forger, the duc de guise's secretary, and was at last able to convince the king of her innocence. the duchesse de villars and joinville were banished from the court in disgrace; the queen had a severe lecture from her husband; and henriette was not only restored to full favour, but was consoled by a welcome present of six thousand pounds. but the days of peace in the king's household were now gone for ever. queen marie, thus humiliated by her rival, became her bitter enemy and also a thorn in the side of her unfaithful husband. every day brought its fierce quarrels which only stopped on the verge of violence. more than once in fact henri had to beat a retreat before his queen's clenched fist, while she lost no opportunity of insulting and humiliating the marquise. it is impossible altogether to withhold sympathy from a man thus distracted between two jealous women--a shrewish wife, who in her most amiable mood repelled his advances with coldness and cutting words, and a mistress who vented on him all the resentment which the queen's insults and snubs roused in her. even all sully's diplomacy was powerless to pour oil on such vexed waters as these. the queen, however, had not long to wait for her revenge, which came with the disclosure of a conspiracy, at the head of which were henriette's father and her half-brother, the comte d'auvergne, and in which, it was proved, she herself had played no insignificant part. punishment came, swift and terrible. her father and brother were sentenced to death, herself to perpetual confinement in a monastery. but even at this crisis in her life, henriette's stout heart did not fail her for a moment. "the king may take my life, if he pleases," she said. "everybody will say that he killed his wife; for i was queen before the tuscan woman came on the scene at all." none knew better than she that she could afford thus to put on a bold front. henri was still her slave, to whom her little finger was more than his crown; and she knew that in his hands both her liberty and her life were safe. and thus it proved; for before she had spent many weeks in the monastery of beaumont-les-tours, its doors were flung open for her, and the first news she heard was that her father was a free man, while her brother's death-sentence had been commuted to a few years in the bastille. thus henriette returned to the turbulent life of the palace--the daily routine of quarrels and peacemaking with the king, and undisguised hostility from the queen, through all of which henri's heart still remained hers. "how i long to have you in my arms again," he writes, when on a hunting excursion, which had led him to the scene of their early romance. "as my letter brings back the memory of the past, i know you will feel that nothing in the present is worth anything in comparison. this, at least, was my feeling as i walked along the roads i so often traversed in the old days on my journey to your side. when i sleep i dream of you; when i wake my thoughts are all of you." he sends her a million kisses, and vows that all he asks of life is that she shall always love him entirely and him alone. one would have thought that such a conquest of a king and such triumph over a queen would have gratified the ambition of the most exacting of women. but the marquise de verneuil seems to have found small satisfaction in her victories. when she was not provoking quarrels with henri, which roused him to such a pitch of anger that at times he threatened to strike her, she received his advances with a coldness or a sullen acquiescence calculated to chill the most ardent lover. in other moods she would drive him to despair by declaring that she had long ceased to love him, and that all she wanted from him was a dowry to carry in marriage to one or other of several suitors who were dying for her hand. but madame's day of triumph was drawing much nearer to an end than she imagined. the end, in fact, came with dramatic suddenness when henri first set eyes on the radiantly lovely charlotte de montmorency. weary at heart of the tempers and exactions of henriette, it needed but such a lure as this to draw him finally from her side; and from the first flash of charlotte's beautiful eyes this most susceptible of kings was undone. madame de verneuil's reign was ended; the next quarrel was made the occasion for a complete rupture, and the court saw her no more. already she had lost the bloom of her beauty; she had grown stout and coarse through her excessive fondness for the pleasures of the table, and the rest of her days, which were passed in friendless isolation, she spent in indulging appetites, which added to her mountain of flesh while robbing her of the last trace of good-looks. when the knife of ravaillac brought henri's life and his new romance to a tragic end, the marquise was among those who were suspected of inspiring the assassin's blow; and although her guilt was never proved, the taint of suspicion clung to her to her last day. after fruitless angling for a husband--the duc de guise, the prince de joinville, and many another who, with one consent, fled from her advances, she resigned herself to a life of obscurity and gluttony, until death came, one day in the year , to release her from a world of vanity and disillusionment. chapter xxii the "sun-king" and the widow search where you will in the record of kings, you will find nowhere a figure more splendid and more impressive than that of the fourteenth louis, who for more then seventy years ruled over france, and for more than fifty eclipsed in glory his fellow-sovereigns as the sun pales the stars. nearly two centuries have gone since he closed his weary and disillusioned eyes on the world he had so long dominated; but to-day he shines in history in the galaxy of monarchs with a lustre almost as great as when he was hailed throughout the world as the "sun-king," and in his pride exclaimed, "_i_ am the state." placed, like his successor, on the greatest throne in europe, a child of five, fortune exhausted itself in lavishing gifts on him. the world was at his feet almost before he had learned to walk. he grew to manhood amid the adulation and flatteries of the greatest men and the fairest of women. and that he might lack no great gift, he was dowered with every physical perfection that should go to the making of a king. there was no more goodly youth in france than louis when he first practised the arts of love-making, in which he later became such an adept, on mazarin's lovely niece, marie mancini. tall, with a well-knit, supple figure, with dark, beautiful eyes illuminating a singularly handsome face, with a bearing of rare grace and distinction, this son of anne of austria was a lover whom few women could resist. such conquests came to him with fatal ease, and for thirty years at least, until satiety killed passion, there was no lack of beautiful women to minister to his pleasure and to console him for the lack of charms in the spanish wife whom mazarin thrust into his reluctant arms when he was little more than a boy, and when his heart was in marie mancini's keeping. among all the fair and frail women who succeeded one another in his affection three stand out from the rest with a prominence which his special favour assigned to each in turn. for ten early years it was louise de la baume-leblanc (better known to fame as the duchesse de lavallière) who reigned as his uncrowned queen, and who gave her life to his pleasure and to the care of the children she bore to him. but such constancy could not last for ever in a man so constitutionally inconstant as louis. when the marquise de montespan, in all her radiant and sensuous loveliness, came on the scene, she drew the king to her arms as a flame lures the moth. her voluptuous charms, her abounding vitality and witty tongue, made the more refined beauty and the gentleness of the duchesse flavourless in comparison; and louise, realising that her sun had set, retired to spend the rest of her life in the prayers and piety of a convent, leaving her brilliant rival in undisputed possession of the field. for many years madame de montespan, the most consummate courtesan who ever enslaved a king, queened it over louis in her magnificent apartments at versailles and in the tuileries. he was never weary of showering rich gifts and favours on her; and, in return, she became the mother of his children and ministered to his every whim, little dreaming of the day when she in turn was to be dethroned by an insignificant widow whom she regarded as the creature of her bounty, and who so often awaited her pleasure in her ante-room. * * * * * when françoise d'aubigné was cradled, one november day in the year , within the walls of a fortress-prison in poitou, the prospect of a queendom seemed as remote as a palace in the moon. she had good blood in her veins, it is true. her ancestors had been noblemen of normandy before the conqueror ever thought of crossing the english channel, and her grandfather, general theodore d'aubigné, had won distinction as a soldier on many a battlefield. it was to her father, profligate and spendthrift, who, after squandering his patrimony, had found himself lodged in jail, that françoise owed the ignominy of her birthplace, for her mother had insisted on sharing the captivity of her ne'er-do-well husband. when at last constant d'aubigné found his prison doors opened, he shook the dust of france off his feet and took his wife and young children away to martinique, where at least, he hoped, his record would not be known. on the voyage, we are told, the child was brought so near to death's door by an illness that her body was actually on the point of being flung overboard when her mother detected signs of life, and rescued her from a watery grave. a little later, in martinique, she had an equally narrow escape from death as the result of a snakebite. a child thus twice miraculously preserved was evidently destined for better things than an early tomb, more than one declared; and so indeed it proved. when the father ended his mis-spent days in the west indian island, the widow took her poverty and her fledgelings back to france, where françoise was placed under the charge of a madame de villette, to pick up such education as she could in exchange for such menial work as looking after madame's poultry and scrubbing her floors. when her mother in turn died, the child (she was only fifteen at the time) was taken to paris by an aunt, whose miserliness or poverty often sent her hungry to bed. such was françoise's condition when she was taken one day to the house of paul scarron, the crippled poet, whose satires and burlesques kept paris in a ripple of merriment, and to whom the child's poverty and friendless position made as powerful an appeal as her budding beauty and her modesty. it was a very tender heart that beat in the pain-racked, paralysed body of the "father of french burlesque"; and within a few days of first setting eyes on his "little indian girl," as he called her, he asked her to marry him. "it is a sorry offer to make you, my dear child," he said, "but it is either this or a convent." and, to escape the convent, françoise consented to become the wife of the "bundle of pains and deformities" old enough to be her father. in the marriage-contract scarron, with characteristic buffoonery, recognises her as bringing a dower of "four louis, two large and very expressive eyes, a fine bosom, a pair of lovely hands, and a good intellect"; while to the attorney, when asked what his contribution was, he answered, "i give her my name, and that means immortality." for eight years françoise was the dutiful wife of her crippled husband, nursing him tenderly, managing his home and his purse, redeeming his writing from its coarseness, and generally proving her gratitude by a ceaseless devotion. then came the day when scarron bade her farewell on his death-bed, begging her with his last breath to remember him sometimes, and bidding her to be "always virtuous." thus françoise d'aubigné was thrown once more on a cold world, with nothing between her and starvation but scarron's small pension, which the queen-mother continued to his widow, and compelled to seek a cheap refuge within convent walls. she had however good-looks which might stand her in good stead. she was tall, with an imposing figure and a natural dignity of carriage. she had a wealth of light-brown hair, eyes dark and brilliant, full of fire and intelligence, a well-shaped nose, and an exquisitely modelled mouth. beautiful she was beyond doubt, in these days of her prime; but there were thousands of more beautiful women in france. and for ten years madame scarron was left to languish within the convent walls with never a lover to offer her release. when the queen-mother died, and with her the pitiful pension, her plight was indeed pitiful. her petitions to the king fell on deaf ears, until montespan, moved by her tears and entreaties, pleaded for her; and louis at last gave a reluctant consent to continue the allowance. it was a happy inspiration that led scarron's widow to the king's favourite, for madame de montespan's heart, ever better than her life, went out to the gentle woman whom fate was treating so scurvily. not content with procuring the pension, she placed her in charge of her nursery, an office of great trust and delicacy; and thus madame scarron found herself comfortably installed in the king's palace with a salary of two thousand crowns a year. her day of poverty and independence was at last ended. she had, in fact, though she little knew it, placed her foot on the ladder, at the summit of which was the dazzling prize of the king's hand. those were happy years which followed. high in the favour of the king's mistress, loving the little ones given into her charge as if they were her own children, especially the eldest born, the delicate and warm-hearted duc de maine, who was also his father's darling, madame had nothing left to wish for in life. her days were full of duty, of peace, and contentment. even louis, as he watched the loving care she lavished on his children, began to thaw and to smile on her, and to find pleasure in his visits to the nursery, which grew more and more frequent. there was a charm in this sweet-eyed, gentle-voiced widow, whose tongue was so skilful in wise and pleasant words. her patient devotion deserved recognition. he gave orders that more fitting apartments should be assigned to madame--a suite little less sumptuous than that of montespan herself; and that money should not be lacking, he made her a gift of two hundred thousand francs, which the provident widow promptly invested in the purchase of the castle and estate of maintenon. such marked favours as these not unnaturally set jealous tongues wagging. even montespan began to grow uneasy, and to wonder what was coming next. when she ventured to refer sarcastically to the use "scarron's widow" had made of his present, louis silenced her by answering, "in my opinion, _madame de maintenon_ has acted very wisely"; thus by a word conferring noble rank on the woman his favourite was already beginning to fear as a rival. and indeed there were soon to be sufficient grounds for montespan's jealously and alarm. every day saw louis more and more under the spell of his children's governess--the middle-aged woman whose musical voice, gentle eyes, and wise words of counsel were opening a new and better world to him. she knew, as well as himself, how sated and weary he was of the cup of pleasure he had now drained to its last dregs of disillusionment; and he listened with eager ears to the words which pointed to him a surer path of happiness. even reproof from her lips became more grateful to him than the sweetest flatteries from those of the most beautiful woman who counted but half of her years. the growing influence of the widow scarron over the "sun-king" had already become the chief gossip of the court. from the allurements of montespan, of mademoiselle de fontanges, and of de ludre he loved to escape to the apartments of the soft-voiced woman who cared so much more for his soul than for his smiles. "his majesty's interviews with madame de maintenon," madame de sevigné writes, "become more and more frequent, and they last from six in the morning to ten at night, she sitting in one arm-chair, he in another." in vain montespan stormed and wept in her fits of jealous rage; in vain did the beautiful de fontanges seek to lure him to her arms, until death claimed her so tragically before she had well passed her twentieth birthday. the king had had more than enough of such delilahs. pleasure had palled; peace was what he craved now--salve for his seared conscience. when madame de maintenon was appointed principal lady-in-waiting to the dauphine and when, a little later, louis' unhappy queen drew her last breath in her arms, montespan at last realised that her day of power was over. she wrote letters to the king begging him not to withdraw his affection from her, but to these appeals louis was silent; he handed the letters to madame de maintenon to answer as she willed. the court was quick to realise that a new star had risen; ministers and ambassadors now flocked to the new divinity to consult her and to win her favour. the governess was hailed as the new queen of louis and of france. the climax came when the king was thrown one day from his horse while hunting, and broke his arm. it was madame de maintenon alone who was allowed to nurse him, and who was by his side night and day. before the arm was well again she was standing, thickly veiled, before an improvised altar in the king's study, with louis by her side, while the words that made them man and wife were pronounced by archbishop de harlay. the prison-child had now reached the loftiest pinnacle in the land of her birth. though she wore no crown, she was queen of france, wielding a power which few throned ladies have ever known. princes and princesses rose to greet her entry with bows and curtsies; the mother of the coming king called her "aunt"; her rooms, splendid as the king's, adjoined his; she had the place of honour in the king's council room; the state's secrets were in her keeping; she guided and controlled the destinies of the nation. and all this greatness came to her when she had passed her fiftieth year, and when all the grace and bloom of youth were but a distant memory. the king himself, two years her junior, and still in the prime of his manhood, was her shadow, paying to the plain, middle-aged woman such deference and courtesy as he had never shown to the youth and beauty of her predecessors in his affection. and she--thus translated to dizzy heights--kept a head as cool and a demeanour as modest as when she was "scarron's widow," the convent protégée. for power and splendour she cared no whit. her ambition now, as always, was to be loved for herself, to "play a beautiful part in the world," and to deserve the respect of all good men. her chief pleasure was found away from the pomp and glitter of the court, among "her children" of the saint cyr convent, which she had founded for the education of the daughters of poor noblemen, over whom she watched with loving and unflagging care. and yet she was not happy--not nearly as happy as in the days of her obscure widowhood. "i am dying of sorrow in the midst of luxury," she wrote. and again. "i cannot bear it. i wish i were dead." why she was so unhappy, with her queendom and her environment of love and esteem, and her life of good works, it is impossible to say. the fact remains, inscrutable, but still fact. twenty-five years of such life of splendid sadness, and louis, his last days clouded by loss and suffering, died with her prayers in his ears, his coverlet moistened by her tears. two years later--years spent in prayers and masses and charitable work--the "queen dowager" drew the last breath of her long life at st cyr, shortly after hearing that her beloved due de maine, her pet nursling of other days, had been arrested and flung into prison. chapter xxiii a throned barbarian the dawn of the eighteenth century saw the thrones of france and russia occupied by two of the most remarkable sovereigns who ever wore a crown--louis xiv., the "sun-king," whose splendours dazzled europe, and whose power held it in awe; and peter i. of russia, whose destructive sword swept europe from sweden to the dardenelles, and whose clever brain laid sure the foundation of his country's greatness. each of these royal rivals dwarfed all other fellow-monarchs as the sun pales the stars; and yet it would scarcely have been possible to find two men more widely different in all save their passion for power and their love of woman, which alone they had in common. of the two, peter is unquestionably to-day the more arresting, dominating figure. although nearly two centuries have gone since he made his exit from the world, we can still picture him in his pride, towering a head higher than the tallest of his courtiers, swart of face, "as if he had been born in africa," with his black, close-curling hair, his bold, imperious eyes, his powerful, well-knit frame--"the muscles and stature of a goliath"--a kingly figure, with majesty in every movement. we see him, too, wilfully discarding the kingliness with which nature had so liberally dowered him--now receiving ambassadors "in a short dressing-gown, below which his bare legs were exposed, a thick nightcap, lined with linen, on his head, his stockings dropped down over his slippers"--now walking through the copenhagen streets grotesque in a green cap, a brown overcoat with horn buttons, worsted stockings full of darns, and dirty, cobbled shoes; and again carousing, red of face and loud of voice, with his meanest subjects in some low tavern. as the mood seizes him he plays the rôle of fireman for hours together; goes carol-singing in his sledge, and reaps his harvest of coppers from the houses of his subjects; rides a hobby-horse at a village fair, and shrieks with laughter until he falls off; or plies saw and plane in a shipbuilding yard, sharing the meals and drinking bouts of his fellow-workmen. the french ambassador, campredon, wrote of him in :--"it is utterly impossible at the present moment to approach the tsar on serious subjects; he is altogether given up to his amusements, which consist in going every day to the principal houses in the town with a suite of persons, musicians and so forth, who sing songs on every sort of subject, and amuse themselves by eating and drinking at the expense of the persons they visit." "he never passed a single day without being the worse for drink," baron pöllnitz tells us; and his drinking companions were usually chosen from the most degraded of his subjects, of both sexes, with whom he consorted on the most familiar terms. when his muddled brain occasionally awoke to the knowledge that he was a king, he would bully and hector his boon-comrades like any drunken trooper. on one occasion, when a young jewess refused to drain a goblet of neat brandy which he thrust into her hand, he promptly administered two resounding boxes on her ears, shouting, "vile hebrew spawn! i'll teach thee to obey." there was in him, too, a vein of savage cruelty which took remarkable forms. a favourite pastime was to visit the torture-chamber and gloat over the sufferings of the victims of the knout and the strappado; or to attend (and frequently to officiate at) public executions. once, we are told, at a banquet, he "amused himself by decapitating twenty streltsy, emptying as many glasses of brandy between successive strokes, and challenging the prussian envoy to repeat the feat." mad? there can be little doubt that peter had madness in his veins. he was a degenerate and an epileptic, subject to brain storms which terrified all who witnessed them. "a sort of convulsion seized him, which often for hours threw him into a most distressing condition. his body was violently contorted; his face distorted into horrible grimaces; and he was further subject to paroxysms of rage, during which it was almost certain death to approach him." even in his saner moods, as waliszewski tells us, he "joined to the roughness of a russian _barin_ all the coarseness of a dutch sailor." such in brief suggestion was peter i. of russia, half-savage, half-sovereign, the strangest jumble of contradictions who has ever worn the imperial purple--"a huge mastodon, whose moral perceptions were all colossal and monstrous." it was, perhaps, inevitable that a man so primitive, so little removed from the animal, should find his chief pleasures in low pursuits and companionships. during his historic visit to london, after a hard day's work with adze and saw in the shipbuilding yard, the tsar would adjourn with his fellow-workmen to a public-house in great tower street, and "smoke and drink ale and brandy, almost enough to float the vessel he had been helping to construct." and in his own kingdom the favourite companions of his debauches were common soldiers and servants. "he chose his friends among the common herd; looked after his household like any shopkeeper; thrashed his wife like a peasant; and sought his pleasure where the lower populace generally finds it." his female companions were chosen rather for their coarseness than their charms, and pleased him most when they were drunk. it was thus fitting that he should make an empress of a scullery-maid, who, as we have seen in an earlier chapter, had no vestige of beauty to commend her to his favour, and whose chief attractions in his eyes were that she had a coarse tongue and was a "first-rate toper." it was thus a strange and unhappy caprice of fate that united peter, while still a youth, to his first empress, the refined and sensitive eudoxia, a woman as remote from her husband as the stars. never was there a more incongruous bride than this delicately nurtured girl provided by the empress nathalie for her coarse-grained son. from the hour at which they stood together at the altar the union was doomed to tragic failure; before the honeymoon waned peter had terrified his bride by his brutality and disgusted her by the open attentions he paid to his favourites of the hour, the daughters of botticher, the goldsmith, and mons, the wine-merchant. for five years husband and wife saw little of each other; and when, in , nathalie's death removed the one influence which gave the union at least the outward form of substance, peter lost no time in exhibiting his true colours. he dismissed all eudoxia's relatives from the court, and sent her father into exile. one brother he caused to be whipped in public; another was put to the torture, which had its horrible climax when peter himself saturated his victim's clothes with spirits of wine, and then set them on fire. for eudoxia a different fate was reserved. not only had he long grown weary of her insipid beauty and of her refinement and gentleness, which were a constant mute reproach to his own low tastes and hectoring manners--he had grown to hate the very sight of her, and determined that she should no longer stand between him and the unbridled indulgence of his pleasure. during his visit to england he never once wrote to her, and on his return to moscow his first words were a brutal announcement of his intention to be rid of her. in vain she pleaded and wept. to her tearful inquiries, "what have i done to offend you? what fault have you to find with me?" he turned a deaf ear. "i never want to see you again," were his last inexorable words. a few days later a hackney coach drove up to the palace doors; the unhappy tsarina was bundled unceremoniously into it, and she was carried away to the nunnery of the "intercession of the blessed virgin," whose doors were closed on her for a score of years. pitiful years they were for the young empress, consigned by her husband to a life that was worse than death--robbed of her rank, her splendours, and luxuries, her very name--she was now only helen, the nun, faring worse than the meanest of her sister-nuns; for while they at least had plenty to eat, the tsarina seems many a time to have known the pangs of hunger. the letters she wrote to one of her brothers are pathetic evidence of the straits to which she was reduced. "for pity's sake," she wrote, "give me food and drink. give clothes to the beggar. there is nothing here. i do not need a great deal; still i must eat." it is not to be wondered at, that, in her misery, she should turn anywhere for succour and sympathy; and both came to her at last in the guise of major glebof, an officer in the district, whose heart was touched by the sadness of her fate. he sent her food and wine to restore her strength, and warm furs to protect her from the iciness of her cell. in response to her letters of thanks, he visited her again and again, bringing sunshine into her darkened life with his presence, and soothing her with words of sympathy and encouragement, until gratitude to the "good samaritan" grew into love for the man. when she learned that the man who had so befriended her was himself poor, actually in money difficulties, she insisted on giving him every rouble she could wring, by any abject appeal, out of her friends and relatives. she became his very slave, grovelling at his feet. "where thy heart is, dearest one," she wrote to him, "there is mine also; where thy tongue is, there is my head; thy will is also mine." she loved him with a passion which broke down all barriers of modesty and prudence, reckless of the fact that he had a wife, as she had a husband. when major glebof's visits and letters grew more and more infrequent, she suffered tortures of anxiety and despair. "my light, my soul, my joy," she wrote in one distracted letter, "has the cruel hour of separation come already? o, my light! how can i live apart from thee? how can i endure existence? rather would i see my soul parted from my body. god alone knows how dear thou art to me. why do i love thee so much, my adored one, that without thee life is so worthless? why art thou angry with me? why, my _batioushka_, dost thou not come to see me? have pity on me, o my lord, and come to see me to-morrow. o, my world, my dearest and best, answer me; do not let me die of grief." thus one distracted, incoherent letter followed another, heart-breaking in their grief, pitiful in their appeal. "come to me," she cried; "without thee i shall die. why dost thou cause me such anguish? have i been guilty without knowing it? better far to have struck me, to have punished me in any way, for this fault i have innocently committed." and again: "why am i not dead? oh, that thou hadst buried me with thy own hands! forgive me, o my soul! do not let me die.... send me but a crust of bread thou hast bitten with thy teeth, or the waistcoat thou hast often worn, that i may have something to bring thee near to me." what answers, if any, the major vouchsafed to these pathetic letters we know not. the probability is that they received no answer--that the "good samaritan" had either wearied of or grown alarmed at a passion which he could not return, and which was fraught with danger. it was accident only that revealed to the world the story of this strange and tragic infatuation. when the tsarevitch, alexis, was brought to trial in on a charge of conspiracy against his father, peter, suspecting that eudoxia had had a hand in the rebellion, ordered a descent on the nunnery and an inquiry. nothing was found to connect her with her son's ill-fated venture; but the inquiry revealed the whole story of her relations with the too friendly officer. the evidence of the nuns and servants alone--evidence of frequent and long meetings by day and night, of embraces exchanged--was sufficiently conclusive, without the incriminating letters which were discovered in the major's bureau, labelled "letters from the tsarina," or eudoxia's confession which was extorted from her. this was an opportunity of vengeance such as exceeded all the tsar's hopes. glebof was arrested and put on his trial. evidence was forced from the nuns by the lashing of the knout, so severe that some of them died under it. glebof, subjected to such frightful tortures that in his agony he confessed much more than the truth, was sentenced to death by impalement. in order to prolong his suffering to the last possible moment, he was warmly wrapped in furs, to protect him from the bitter cold, and for twenty-eight hours he suffered indescribable agony, until at last death came to his release. as for eudoxia, her punishment was a public flogging and consignment to a nunnery still more isolated and miserable than that in which she had dragged out twenty years of her broken life. here she remained for seven years, until, on the tsar's death, an even worse fate befell her. she was then, by catherine's orders, taken from the convent, and flung into the most loathsome, rat-infested dungeon of the fortress of schlussenberg, where she remained for two years of unspeakable horror. then at last, after nearly thirty years of life that was worse than death, the sun shone again for her. one day her dungeon door flew open, and to the bowing of obsequious courtiers, the prisoner was conducted to a sumptuous apartment. "the walls were hung with splendid stuffs; the table was covered with gold-plate; ten thousand roubles awaited her in a casket. courtiers stood in her ante-chamber; carriages and horses were at her orders." catherine, the "scullery-empress," was dead; eudoxia's grandson, peter ii., now wore the crown of russia; and eudoxia found herself transported, as by the touch of a magic wand, from her loathsome prison-cell to the old-time splendours of palaces--the greatest lady in all russia, to whom princesses, ambassadors, and courtiers were all proud to pay respectful homage. but the transformation had come too late; her life was crushed beyond restoration; and after a few months of her new glory she was glad to find an asylum once more within convent walls, until death, the great healer of broken hearts, took her to where, "beyond these voices, there is peace." * * * * * while eudoxia was eating her heart out in her convent cell, her husband was finding ample compensation for her absence in bacchanalian orgies and the company of his galaxies of favourites, from tradesmen's daughters to servant-maids of buxom charms, such as the livonian peasant-girl, in whom he found his second empress. of the almost countless women who thus fell under his baneful influence one stands out from the rest by reason of the tragedy which surrounds her memory. mary hamilton was no low-born maid, such as peter especially chose to honour with his attentions. she had in her veins the blood of the ducal hamiltons of scotland, and of many a noble family of russia, from which her more immediate ancestors had taken their wives; and it was an ill fate that took her, when little more than a child, to the most debased court of europe to play the part of maid-of-honour, and thus to cross the path of the most unprincipled lover in europe. peter's infatuation for the pretty young "scotswoman," however, was but short-lived. she had none of the vulgar attractions that could win him to any kind of constancy; and he quickly abandoned her for the more agreeable company of his _dienshtchiks_, leaving her to find consolation in the affection of more courtly, if less exalted, lovers--notably the young count orloff, who proved as faithless as his master. such was mary's infatuation for the worthless count that, under his influence, she stooped to various kinds of crime, from stealing the tsarina's jewels to fill her lover's purse, to infanticide. the climax came when an important document was missing from the tsar's cabinet. suspicion pointed to orloff as the thief; he was arrested, and, when brought into peter's presence, not only confessed to the thefts and to his share in making away with the undesirable infants, but betrayed the partner of his guilt. there was short shrift for poor mary hamilton when she was put on her trial on these grave charges. she made full confession of her crimes; but no torture could wring from her the name of the man for love of whom she had committed them, and of whose treachery to her she was ignorant. she was sentenced to death; and one march day, in the year , she was led to the scaffold "in a white silk gown trimmed with black ribbons." then followed one of the grimmest scenes recorded in history. peter, the man who had been the first to betray her, and who had refused her pardon even when her cause was pleaded by his wife, was a keenly interested spectator of her execution. at the foot of the scaffold he embraced her, and exhorted her to pray, before stepping aside to give place to the headsman. when the axe had done its deadly work, he again stepped forward, picked up the lifeless and still beautiful head which had rolled into the mud, and calmly proceeded to give a lecture on anatomy to the assembled crowd, "drawing attention to the number and nature of the organs severed by the axe." his lecture concluded, he kissed the pale, dead lips, crossed himself, and walked away with a smile of satisfaction on his face. chapter xxiv a friend of marie antoinette there is scarcely a spectacle in the whole drama of history more pathetic than that of marie antoinette, dancing her light-hearted way through life to the guillotine, seemingly unconscious of the eyes of jealousy and hate that watched her every step; or, if she noticed at all, returning a gay smile for a frown. wedded when but a child, full of the joy of youth, with laughter bubbling on her pretty lips and gaiety dancing in her eyes, to a dull-witted clown to whom her fresh young beauty made no appeal; surrounded by court ladies jealous of her charms; feared for her foreign sympathies, and hated by a sullen, starving populace for her extravagance and her pursuit of pleasure, the austrian princess with all her young loveliness and the sweetness of her nature could please no one in the land of her exile. her very amiability was an offence; her unaffected simplicity a subject of scorn; and her love of pleasure a crime. had she realised the danger of her position, and adapted herself to its demands, her story might have been written very differently; but her tragedy was that she saw or heeded none of the danger-signals that marked her path until it was too late to retrace a step; and that her most innocent pleasures were made to pave the way to her doom. nothing, for instance, could have been more harmless to the seeming than marie antoinette's friendship for yolande de polignac; but this friendship had, beyond doubt, a greater part in her undoing than any other incident in her life, from the affair of the "diamond necklace" to her innocent infatuation for count fersen; and it would have been well for the queen of france if madame de polignac had been content to remain in her rustic obscurity, and had never crossed her path. when yolande gabrielle de polastron was led to the altar, one day in the year , by comte jules de polignac, she never dreamt, we may be sure, of the dazzling rôle she was destined to play at the court of france. like her husband, she was a member of the smaller _noblesse_, as proud as they were poor. her husband, it is true, boasted a long pedigree, with its roots in the dark ages; but his family had given to france only one man of note, that cardinal de polignac, accomplished scholar, courtier, and man of affairs, who was able to twist louis xiv. round his dexterous thumb; and comte jules was the cardinal's great-nephew, and, through his mother, had mazarin blood in his veins. but the young couple had a purse as short as their descent was long; and the early years of their wedded life were spent in comte jules' dilapidated château, on an income less than the equivalent of a pound a day--in a rustic retirement which was varied by an occasional jaunt to paris to "see the sights," and enjoy a little cheap gaiety. comte jules, however, had a sister, diane, a clever-tongued, ambitious young woman, who had found a footing at court as lady-in-waiting to the comtesse d'artois, and whom her brother and his wife were proud to visit on their rare journeys to the capital. and it was during one of these visits that marie antoinette, who had struck up an informal friendship with the sprightly, laughter-loving diane, first met the woman who was to play such an important and dangerous part in her life. it was, perhaps, little wonder that the french queen, craving for friendship and sympathy, fell under the charm of yolande de polignac--a girl still, but a few years older than herself, with a singular sweetness and winsomeness, and "beautiful as a dream." the beauty of the young comtesse was, indeed, a revelation even in a court of fair women. in the extravagant words of chroniclers of the time, "she had the most heavenly face that was ever seen. her glance, her smile, every feature was angelic." no picture could, it was said, do any justice to this lovely creature of the glorious brown hair and blue eyes, who seemed so utterly unconscious of her beauty. such was the woman who came into the life of marie antoinette, and at once took possession of her heart. at last the queen of france, in her isolation, had found the ideal friend she had sought so long in vain; a woman young and beautiful like herself, with kindred tastes, eager as she was to enjoy life, and with all the qualities to make a charming and sympathetic companion. it was a case of love at first sight, on marie antoinette's part at least; and each subsequent meeting only served to strengthen the link that bound these two women so strangely brought together. the comtesse must come oftener to court, the queen pleaded, so that they might have more opportunities of meeting and of learning to know each other; and when the comtesse pleaded poverty, marie antoinette brushed the difficulty aside. that could easily be arranged; the queen had a vacancy in the ranks of her equerries. m. le comte would accept the post, and then madame would have her apartments at the court itself. thus it was that comte jules' wife was transported from her poor country château to the splendours of versailles, installed as _chère amie_ of the queen in place of the princesse de lamballe, and with the ball of fortune at her pretty feet. and never did woman adapt herself more easily to such a change of environment. it was, indeed, a great part of the charm of this remarkable woman that, amid success which would have turned the head of almost any other of her sex, she remained to her last day as simple and unaffected as when she won the queen's heart in diane de polignac's apartment. so absolutely indifferent did she seem to her new splendours, that, when jealousy sought to undermine the queen's friendship, she implored marie antoinette to allow her to go back to her old, obscure life; and it was only when the queen begged her to stay, with arms around her neck and with streaming tears, that she consented to remain by her side. if the queen ever had any doubt that she had at last found a friend who loved her for herself, the doubt was now finally dissipated. such an unselfish love as this was a treasure to be prized; and from this moment queen and waiting-woman were inseparable. when they were not strolling arm-in-arm in the corridors or gardens of versailles, her majesty was spending her days in madame's apartments, where, as she said, "we are no longer queen and subject, but just dear friends." so unhappy was marie antoinette apart from her new friend that, when madame de polignac gave birth to a child at passy, the court itself was moved to la muette, so that the queen could play the part of nurse by her friend's bedside. such, now, was the queen's devotion that there was no favour she would not have gladly showered on the comtesse; but to all such offers madame turned a deaf ear. she wanted nothing but marie antoinette's love and friendship for herself; but if the queen, in her goodness, chose to extend her favour to madame's relatives--well, that was another matter. thus it was that comte jules soon blossomed into a duke, and madame perforce became a duchess, with a coveted tabouret at court. but they were still poor, in spite of an equerry's pay, and heavily in debt, a matter which must be seen to. the queen's purse satisfied every creditor, to the tune of four hundred thousand livres, and duc jules found himself lord of an estate which added seventy thousand livres yearly to his exchequer, with another annual eighty thousand livres as revenue for his office of director-general of posts. of course, if the queen _would_ be so foolishly generous, it was not the duchesse's fault, and when marie antoinette next proposed to give a dowry of eight hundred thousand livres to the duchesse's daughter on her marriage to the comte de guiche, and to raise the bridegroom to a dukedom--well, it was "very sweet of her majesty," and it was not for her to oppose such a lavish autocrat. thus the shower of royal favours grew; and it is perhaps little wonder that each new evidence of the queen's prodigality was greeted with curses by the mob clamouring for bread outside the palace gates; while even her father's minister, kaunitz, in far vienna, brutally dubbed the duchesse and her family, "a gang of thieves." diane de polignac, the duchesse's sister-in-law, had long been made a countess and placed in charge of a royal household; and the grateful shower fell on all who had any connection with the favourite. her father-in-law, cardinal de polignac's nephew, was rescued from his rustic poverty to play the exalted rôle of ambassador; an uncle was raised _per saltum_ from _curé_ to bishop. the duchesse's widowed aunt was made happy by a pension of six thousand livres a year; and her son-in-law, de guiche, in addition to his dukedom, was rewarded further for his fortunate nuptials by valuable sinecure offices at court. so the tide of benefactions flowed until it was calculated that the polignac family were drawing half a million livres every year as the fruits of the queen's partiality for her favourite. little wonder that, at a time when france was groaning under dire poverty, the volume of curses should swell against the "austrian panther," who could thus squander gold while her subjects were starving; or that the court should be inflamed by jealousy at such favours shown to a family so obscure as the polignacs. to the warnings of her own family marie antoinette was deaf. what cared she for such exhibitions of spite and jealousy? she was queen; and if she wished to be generous to her favourite's family, none should say her nay. and thus, with a smile half-careless, half-defiant, she went to meet the doom which, though she little dreamt it, awaited her. the duchesse was now promoted to the office of governess of the queen's children, a position which was the prerogative of royalty itself, or, at least, of the very highest nobility. with her usual modesty, she had fought long against the promotion; but the queen's will was law, and she had to submit to the inevitable as gracefully as she could. and now we see her installed in the most splendid apartments at versailles, holding a _salon_ almost as regal as that of marie antoinette herself. she was surrounded by sycophants and place-seekers, eager to capture the queen's favour through her. and such was her influence that a word from her was powerful enough to make or mar a minister. she held, in fact, the reins of power and was now more potent than the weak-kneed king himself. it was at this stage in her brilliant career that the duchesse came under the spell of the comte de vaudreuil--handsome, courtly, an intriguer to his finger-tips, a man of many accomplishments, of a supple tongue, and with great wealth to lend a glamour to his gifts. a man of rare fascination, and as dangerous as he was fascinating. the woman who had carried a level head through so much unaccustomed splendour and power became the veriest slave of this handsome, honey-tongued comte, who ruled her, as she in turn ruled the queen. at his bidding she made and unmade ministers; she obtained for him pensions and high offices, and robbed the treasury of nearly two million livres to fill his pockets. when marie antoinette at last ventured to thwart the comte in his ambition to become the dauphin's governor, he retaliated by poisoning the duchesse's mind against her, and bringing about the first estrangement between the friends. torn between her infatuation for vaudreuil and her love of the queen, the duchesse was in an awkward dilemma. it became necessary to choose between the two rivals; and that vaudreuil's spell proved the stronger, her increasing coldness to marie antoinette soon proved. it was the "rift within the lute" which was to make the music of their friendship mute. the queen gradually withdrew herself from the duchesse's _salon_, where she was sure to meet the insolent vaudreuil; and thus the gulf gradually widened until the severance was complete. * * * * * evil days were now coming for marie antoinette. the affair of the diamond necklace had made powerful enemies; the polignac family, taking the side of vaudreuil and their protectress, were arrayed against her; france was rising on the tide of hate to sweep the austrian and her husband from the throne. the horrors of the revolution were being loosed, and all who could were flying for safety to other lands. at this terrible crisis the queen's thoughts were less for herself than for her friend of happier days. she sought the duchesse and begged her to fly while there was still time. then it was that, touched by such unselfish love, the duchesse's pride broke down, and all her old love for her sovereign lady returned in full flood. bursting into tears, she flung herself at marie antoinette's feet, and begged forgiveness from the woman whose friendship she had spurned, and whose life she had, however innocently, done so much to ruin. a few hours later the duchesse, disguised as a chambermaid and sitting by the coachman's side, was making her escape from france in company with her husband and other members of her family, while the queen who had loved her so well was left to take the last tragic steps that had the guillotine for goal. just before the carriage started on its long and perilous journey, a note was thrust into the "chambermaid's" hand--"adieu, most tender of friends. how terrible is this word! but it is necessary. adieu! i have only strength left to embrace you. your heart-broken marie." then ensued for the duchesse a time of perilous journeying to safety. at sens her carriage was surrounded by a fierce mob, clamouring for the blood of the "aristos." "are the polignacs still with the queen?" demanded one man, thrusting his head into the carriage. "the polignacs?" answered the abbé de baliviere, with marvellous presence of mind. "oh! they have left versailles long ago. those vile persons have been got rid of." and with a howl of baffled rage the mob allowed the carriage to continue its journey, taking with it the most hated of all the polignacs, the chambermaid, whose heart, we may be sure, was in her mouth! thus the duchesse made her way through switzerland, to turin, and to rome, and to venice, where news came to her of the fall ot the monarchy and louis' execution. by the time she reached vienna on her restless wanderings, her health, shattered by hardships and by her anxiety for her friend, broke down completely. she was a dying woman; and when, a few months later, she learned that marie antoinette was also dead--"a natural death," they mercifully told her--"thank god!" she exclaimed; "now, at last, she is free from those bloodthirsty monsters! now i can die in peace." seven weeks later the duchesse drew her last breath, with the name she still loved best in all the world on her lips. in death she and her beloved queen were not divided. chapter xxv the rival sisters it was an unkind fate that linked the lives of the fifteenth louis of france and marie leczinska, princess of lorraine, and daughter of stanislas, the dethroned king of poland; for there was probably no princess in europe less equipped by nature to hold the fickle allegiance of the young french king, and no royal husband less likely to bring happiness into the life of such a consort. when princess marie was called to the throne of france, she found herself transported from one of the most penurious and obscure to the most splendid of the courts of europe--"frightened and overwhelmed," as de goncourt tells us, "by the grandeur of the king, bringing to her husband nothing but obedience, to marriage only duty; trembling and faltering in her queenly rôle like some escaped nun lost in versailles." although by no means devoid of good-looks, as nattier's portrait of her at this time proves, her attractions were shy ones, as her virtues were modest, almost ashamed. she shrank alike from the embraces of her husband and the gaieties of his court, finding her chief pleasure in music and painting, in long talks with the most serious-minded of her ladies, in masses and prayers--spending gloomy hours in her oratory with its death's head, which she always carried with her on her journeys. such was the nun-like wife whom louis xv. led to the altar shortly after he had entered his sixteenth year, and had already had his initiation into that career of vice which he pursued with few intervals to the end of his life. already, at fifteen, the king, who has been mockingly dubbed "_le bien aimé_" was breaking away from the austere hands of his boyhood's mentor, cardinal fleury, and was beginning to snatch a few "fearful joys" in the company of his mignons, such as the duc de la tremouille, and the duc de gesvres, and a few gay women of whom the sprightly and beautiful princesse de charolois was the ringleader. but he was still nothing more than "a big and gloomy child," whose ill-balanced nature gravitated between fits of profound gloom and the wild abandonment of debauch; one hour, torn and shaken by religious terrors, fears of hell and of death; the next, the very soul of hysterical gaiety, with words of blasphemy on his lips, the gayest member of a band of bacchanals in some midnight orgy. to such a youth, feverishly seeking distraction from his own black moods, the demure, devout princess, ignorant of the caresses and coquetry of her sex, moving like a spectre among the brilliant, light-hearted ladies of his court, was the most unsuitable, the most impossible of brides. he quickly wearied of her company, and fled from her sighs and her homilies to seek forgetfulness of her and of himself in the society of such sirens of the court as mademoiselle de beaujolais, madame de lauraguais, and mademoiselle de charolois, whose coquetries and high spirits never failed to charm away his gloomy humours. but although one lady after another, from that most bewitching of madcaps, mademoiselle de charolois, to the dark-eyed, buxom comtesse de toulouse, practised on him all their allurements, strove to awake his senses "by a thousand coquetries, a thousand assaults, the king's timidity eluded these advances, which amused and alarmed, but did not tempt his heart; that young monarch's heart was still so full of the aged fleury's terrifying tales of the women of the regency." such coyness, however, was not long to stand in the way of the king's appetite for pleasure which every day strengthened. one day it began to be whispered that at last louis had been vanquished--that, at a supper at la muette, he had proposed the health of an "unknown fair," which had been drunk with acclamation by his boon-companions; and the court was full of excited speculation as to who his mysterious charmer could be. that some new and powerful influence had come into the young sovereign's life was abundantly clear, from the new light that shone in his eyes, the laughter that was now always on his lips. he had said "good-bye" to melancholy; he astonished all by his new vivacity, and became the leader in one dissipation after another, "whose noisy merriment he led and prolonged far into the night." it was not long before the identity of the worker of this miracle was revealed to the world. she had been recognised more than once when making her stealthy way to the king's apartments; she was his chosen companion on his journey to compiègne; and it was soon public knowledge that madame de mailly was the woman who had captured the king's elusive heart. and indeed there was little occasion for surprise; for madame de mailly, although she would never see her thirtieth birthday again, was one of the most seductive women in all france. black-eyed, crimson-lipped, oval-faced, madame de mailly was one of those women who "with cheeks on fire, and blood astir, eyes large and lustrous as the eyes of juno, with bold carriage and in free toilettes, step forward out of the past with the proud and insolent graces of the divinities of some bacchanalia." with the provocative and sensual charm which is so powerful in its appeal, she had a rare skill in displaying her beauty to its fullest advantage. her cult of the toilette, the duc de luynes tells us, went with her even by night. she never went to bed without decking herself with all her diamonds; and her most seductive hour was in the morning, when, in her bed, with her glorious dishevelled hair veiling her pillow, a-glitter with her jewels, she gave audience to her friends. such was the ravishing, ardent, passionate woman who was the first of many to carry louis' heart by storm, and to be established in his palace as his mistress--to inaugurate for him a new life of pleasure, and to estrange him still more from his unhappy queen, shut up with her prayers and her tears in her own room, with her tapestry, her books of history, and her music for sole relaxation. "the most innocent pleasures," queen marie wrote sadly at this time, "are not for me." under madame de mailly's rule the court of versailles awoke to a new life. "the little apartments grow animated, gay to the point of licence. noise, merriment, an even gayer and livelier clash of glasses, madder nights." fête succeeded fête in brilliant sequence. each night saw its royal debauch, with the king and his mistress for arch-spirits of the revels. there were nightly banquets, with the rarest wines and the most costly viands, supplemented by salads prepared by the dainty hands of mademoiselle de charolois, and ragouts cooked by louis himself in silver saucepans. and these were followed by orgies which left the celebrants, in the last excesses of intoxication, to be gathered up at break of day and carried helpless to bed. such wild excesses could not fail sooner or later to bring satiety to a lover so unstable as louis; and it was not long before he grew a little weary of his mistress, who, too assured of her conquest, began to exhibit sudden whims and caprices, and fits of obstinacy. her jealous eyes followed him everywhere, her reproaches, if he so much as smiled on a rival beauty, provoked daily quarrels. he was drawn, much against his will, into her family disputes, and into the disgraceful affairs of her father, the dissolute marquis de nesle. meanwhile madame de mailly's supremacy was being threatened in a most unexpected quarter. among the pupils of the convent school at port royal was a young girl, in whose ambitious brain the project was forming of supplanting the king's favourite, and of ruling france and louis at the same time. the idle dream of a schoolgirl, of course! but to félicité de nesle it was no vain dream, but the ambition of a lifetime, which dominated her more and more as the months passed in her convent seclusion. if her sister, madame de mailly, had so easily made a conquest of the king, why should she, with less beauty, it is true, but with a much cleverer brain, despair? and thus it was that every letter madame received from her "little sister" pleaded for an invitation to court, until at last mademoiselle de nesle found herself the guest of louis' mistress in his palace. thus the first important step was taken. the rest would be easy; for mademoiselle never doubted for a moment her ability to carry out her programme to its splendid climax. it was certainly a bold, almost impudent design; for the girl of the convent had few attractions to appeal to a monarch so surrounded by beauty as the king of france. what the courtiers saw, says the duc de richelieu, was "a long neck clumsily set on the shoulders, a masculine figure and carriage, features not unlike those of madame de mailly, but thinner and harder, which exhibited none of her flashes of kindness, her tenderness of passion." even her manners seemed calculated to repel, rather than attract the man she meant to conquer; for she treated him, from the first, with a familiarity amounting almost to rudeness, and a wilfulness to which he was by no means accustomed. there was, at any rate, something novel and piquant in an attitude so different from that of all other court ladies. resentment was soon replaced by interest, and interest by attraction; until louis, before he was aware of it, began to find the society of the impish, mocking, defiant maid from the convent more to his taste than that of the most fascinating women of his court. the more he saw of her, the more effectually he came under her spell. each day found her in some new and tantalising mood; and as she drew him more and more into her toils, she kept him there by her ingenuity in devising novel pleasures and entertainments for him, until, within a month of setting eyes on her, he was telling madame de mailly, he "loved her sister more than herself." one of the first evidences of his favour was to provide her with a husband in the comte de vintimille, and a dower of two hundred thousand livres. he promised her a post as lady-in-waiting to madame la dauphine and gave her a sumptuous suite of rooms at versailles. he even conferred on her husband the honour of handing him his shirt on the wedding-night, an evidence of high favour such as no other bridegroom had enjoyed. it was thus little surprise to anyone to find the comtesse-bride not only her sister's most formidable rival, but actually usurping her place and privileges. nor was it long before this place, on which she had set her heart first within the walls of the port royal convent, was unassailably hers; and madame de mailly, in tears and sadness, saw an unbridgeable gulf widen between her and the man she undoubtedly had grown to love. that félicité de nesle had not over-estimated her powers of conquest was soon apparent. louis became her abject slave, humouring her caprices and submitting to her will. and this will, let it be said to her credit, she exercised largely for his good. she weaned him from his vicious ways; she stimulated whatever good remained in him; she tried, and in a measure succeeded in making a man of him. under her influence he began to realise that he was a king, and to play his exalted part more worthily. he asserted himself in a variety of directions, from looking personally after the ordering of his household to taking the reins of state into his own hands. nor did she curtail his pleasures. she merely gave them a saner direction. orgies and midnight revelry became things of the past, but their place was taken by delightful days spent at the château of choisy, that regal little pleasure-house between the waters of the seine and the forest of sénart, with all its marvels of costly and artistic furnishing. here one entertainment succeeded another, from the hunting which opened, to the card-games which closed the day. a time of innocent delights which came sweet to the jaded palate of the king. thus the halcyon months passed, until, one august day in , the comtesse was seized with a slight fever; louis, consumed by anxiety, spending the anxious hours by her bedside or pacing the corridor outside. two days later he was stooping to kiss an infant presented to him on a cushion of cramoisi velvet. his happiness was crowned at last, and life spread before him a prospect of many such years. but tragedy was already brooding over this scene of pleasure, although none, least of all the king, seemed to see the shadow of her wings. one early day in december, madame de vintimille was seized with a severe illness, as sudden as it was mysterious. physicians were hastily summoned from paris, only, to louis' despair, to declare that they could do nothing to save the life of the comtesse. "tortured by excruciating pain," says de goncourt, "struggling against a death which was full of terror, and which seemed to point to the violence of poison, the dying woman sent for a confessor. she died almost instantly in his arms before the sacraments could be administered. and as the confessor, charged with the dead woman's last penitent message to her sister, entered madame de mailly's _salon_, he dropped dead." here, indeed, was tragedy in its most sudden and terrible form! the king was stunned, incredulous. he refused to believe that the woman he had so lately clasped in his arms, so warm, so full of life, was dead. and when at last the truth broke on him with crushing force, he was as a man distraught. "he shut himself up in his room, and listened half-dead to a mass from his bed." he would not allow any but the priest to come near him; he repulsed all efforts at consolation. and whilst louis was thus alone with his demented grief, "thrust away in a stable of the palace, lay the body of the dead woman, which had been kept for a cast to be taken; that distorted countenance, that mouth which had breathed out its soul in a convulsion, so that the efforts of two men were required to close it for moulding, the already decomposing remains of madame de vintimille served as a plaything and a laughing-stock to the children and lackeys." when the storm of his grief at last began to abate, the king retired to his remote country-seat of saint leger, carrying his broken heart with him--and also madame de mailly, as sharer of his sorrow; for it was to the woman whom he had so lightly discarded that he first turned for solace. at saint leger he passed his days in reading and re-reading the two thousand letters the dead comtesse had written to him, sprinkling their perfumed pages with his tears. and when he was not thus burying himself in the past, he was a prey to the terrors that had obsessed his childhood--the fear of death and of hell. at supper--the only meal which he shared with others, he refused to touch meat, "in order that he might not commit sin on every side"; if a light word was spoken he would rebuke the speaker by talk of death and judgment; and if his eyes met those of madame de mailly, he burst into tears and was led sobbing from the room. the communion of grief gradually awoke in him his old affection for madame de mailly; and for a time it seemed not unlikely that she might regain her lost supremacy. but the discarded mistress had many enemies at court, who were by no means willing to see her re-established in favour--the chief of them, the duc de richelieu, the handsomest man and the "hero" of more scandalous amours than any other in france--a man, moreover, of crafty brain, who had already acquired an ascendancy over the king's mind. with madame de tencin, a woman as scheming and with as evil a reputation as himself, for chief ally, the due determined to find another mistress who should finally oust madame de mailly from louis' favour; and her he found in a woman, devoted to himself and his interests, and of such surpassing loveliness that, when the king first saw her at petit bourg, he exclaimed, "heavens! how beautiful she is!" such was the involuntary tribute louis paid at first sight to the charms of madame de la tournelle, who was now fated to take the place of her dead sister, madame de vintimille, just as the comtesse had supplanted another sister, madame de mailly. chapter xxvi the rival sisters--_continued_ louis xv.'s involuntary exclamation when he first set eyes on the loveliness of madame de la tournelle, "heavens! how beautiful she is!" becomes intelligible when we look on nattier's picture of this fairest of the de nesle sisters in his "allegory of the daybreak," and read the contemporary descriptions of her charms. "she ravished the eye," we are told, "with her skin of dazzling whiteness, her elegant carriage, her free gestures, the enchanting glance of her big blue eyes--a gaze of which the cunning was veiled by sentiment--by the smile of a child, moist lips, a bosom surging, heaving, ever agitated by the flux and reflux of life, by a physiognomy at once passionate and mutinous." and to these seductions were added a sunny temperament, an infectious gaiety of spirit, and a playful wit which made her infinitely attractive to men much less susceptible that the amorous louis. it is little wonder then that in the reaction which followed his stormy grief for his dead love, the comtesse de vintimille, he should turn from the lachrymose companionship of madame de mailly to bask in the sunshine of this third of the beautiful sisters, madame de la tournelle, and that the wish to possess her should fire his blood. but madame de la tournelle was not to prove such an easy conquest as her two sisters, who had come almost unasked to his arms. at the time when she came thus dramatically into his life she was living with madame de mazarin, a strong-minded woman who had no cause to love louis, who had thwarted and opposed him more than once, and who was determined at any cost to keep her protégée and pet out of his clutches. and his desires had also two other stout opponents in cardinal fleury, his old mentor, and maurepas, the most subtle and clever of his ministers, each of whom for different reasons was strongly averse to this new and dangerous liaison, which would make him the tool of richelieu's favourite and richelieu's party. thus, for months, louis found himself baffled in all his efforts to win the prize on which he had set his heart until, in september, , one formidable obstacle was removed from his path by the death of madame de mazarin. to madame de la tournelle the loss of her protectress was little short of a calamity, for it left her not only homeless, but practically penniless; and, in her extremity, she naturally turned hopeful eyes to the king, of whose passion she was well aware. at least, she hoped, he might give her some position at his court which would rescue her from poverty. when she begged maurepas, madame de mazarin's kinsman and heir, to appeal to the king on her behalf, his answer was to order her and her sister, madame de flavacourt, to leave the hotel mazarin, thus making her plight still more desperate. but, fortunately, in this hour of her greatest need she found an unexpected friend in louis' ill-used queen, who, ignorant of her husband's infatuation for the beautiful madame de la tournelle, sent for her, spoke gracious words of sympathy to her, and announced her intention of installing her in madame de mazarin's place as a lady of the palace. thus did fortune smile on madame just when her future seemed darkest. but her troubles were by no means at an end. fleury and maurepas were more determined than ever that the king should not come into the power of a woman so alluring and so dangerous; and they exhausted every expedient to put obstacles in her path and to discover and support rival claimants to the post. for once, however, louis was adamant. he had not waited so long and feverishly for his prize to be baulked when it seemed almost in his grasp. madame de la tournelle should have her place at his court, and it would not be his fault if she did not soon fill one more exalted and intimate. thus it was that when fleury submitted to him the list of applicants, with la tournelle's name at the bottom, he promptly re-wrote it at the head of the list, and handed it back to the cardinal with the words, "the queen is decided, and wishes to give her the place." we can picture madame de mailly's distress and suspense while these negotiations were proceeding. she had, as we have seen in the previous chapter, been supplanted by one sister in the king's affection; and just as she was recovering some of her old position in his favour, she was threatened with a second dethronement by another sister. in her alarm she flew to madame de la tournelle, to set her fears at rest one way or the other. "can it be possible that you are going to take my place?" she asked, the tears streaming down her cheeks. "quite impossible, my sister," answered madame, with a smile; and madame de mailly, thus reassured, returned to versailles the happiest woman in france--to learn, a few days later, that it was not only possible, it was an accomplished fact. for the second time, and now, as she knew well, finally, she was ousted from the affection of the king she loved so sincerely; and again it was a sister who had done her this grievous wrong. she was determined, however, that she would not quit the field without a last fight, and she knew she had doughty champions in fleury and maurepas, who still refused to acknowledge defeat. although madame de la tournelle was now installed in the palace, the day of louis' conquest had not arrived. the gratification of his passion was still thwarted in several directions. not only was madame de mailly's presence a difficulty and a reproach to him; his new favourite was by no means willing to respond to his advances. her heart was still engaged to the due d'agenois, and was not hers to dispose of. richelieu, however, was quick to dispose of this difficulty. he sent the handsome duc to languedoc, exposed him to the attractions of a pretty woman, and before many weeks had passed, was able to show madame de la tournelle passionate letters addressed to her rival by her lover, as evidence of the worthlessness of his vows; thus arming her pride against him and disposing her at last to lend a more favourable ear to the king. as for madame de mailly, her shrift was short. in spite of her tears, her pleadings, her caresses, louis made no concealment of his intention to be rid of her. "no sorrow, no humiliation was lacking in the death-struggle of love. the king spared her nothing. he did not even spare her those harsh words which snap the bonds of the most vulgar liaisons." and the climax came when he told the heart-broken woman, as she cringed pitifully at his feet, "you must go away this very day." "my sacrifices are finished," she sobbed, a little later to the "judas," richelieu, when, with friendly words, he urged her to humour the king and go away at least for a time; "it will be my death, but i will be in paris to-night." and while madame de mailly was carrying her crushed heart through the darkness to her exile, the king and richelieu, disguised in large perukes and black coats, were stealing across the great courtyards to the rooms of madame de la tournelle, where the king's long waiting was to have its reward. and, the following day, the usurper was callously writing to a friend, "doubtless meuse will have informed you of the trouble i had in ousting madame de mailly; at last i obtained a mandate to the effect that she was not to return until she was sent for." "no portrait," says de goncourt, referring to this letter, "is to be compared with such a confession. it is the woman herself with the cynicism of her hardness, her shameless and cold-blooded ingratitude.... it is as though she drives her sister out by the two shoulders with those words which have the coarse energy of the lower orders." louis, at last happy in the achievement of his desire, was not long in discovering that in the third of the nesle sisters he had his hands more full than with either of her predecessors. madame de mailly and the comtesse de vintimille had been content to play the rôle of mistress, and to receive the king's none too lavish largesse with gratitude. madame de la tournelle was not so complaisant, so easily satisfied. she intended--and she lost no time in making the king aware of her intention--to have her position recognised by the world at large, to reign as montespan had reigned, to have the treasury placed at her disposal, and her children, if she had any, made legitimate. her last stipulation was that she should be made a duchess before the end of the year. and to all these proposals louis gave a meek assent. to show further her independence, she soon began to drive her lover to distraction by her caprices and her temper: "she tantalised, at once rebuffed and excited the king by the most adroit comedies and those coquetries which are the strength of her sex, assuring him that she would be delighted if he would transfer his affection to other ladies." and while the favourite was thus revelling in the insolence of her conquest, her supplanted sister was eating out her heart in paris. "her despair was terrible; the trouble of her heart refused consolation, begged for solitude, found vent every moment in cries for louis. those who were around her trembled for her reason, for her life.... again and again she made up her mind to start for the court, to make a final appeal to the king, but each time, when the carriage was ready, she burst into tears and fell back upon her bed." as for louis, chilled by the coldness of his mistress, distracted by her whims and rages, his heart often yearned for the woman he had so cruelly discarded; and separation did more than all her tears and caresses could have done, to awake again the love he fancied was dead. when madame de la tournelle paid her first visit as _maîtresse en titre_ to choisy, nothing would satisfy her but an escort of the noblest ladies in france, including a princess of the blood. her progress was that of a queen; and in return for this honour, wrung out of the king's weakness, she repaid him with weeks of coldness and ill-humour. she refused to play at _cavagnol_ with him; she barricaded herself in her room, refusing to open to all her lover's knocking; and vented her vapours on him with, or without, provocation, until, as she considered, she had reduced him to a becoming submission. then she used her power and her coquetries to wheedle out of him one concession after another, including a promise by the king to return unopened any letters madame de mailly might send to him. nor was she content until her sister was finally disposed of by the grant of a small pension and a modest lodging in the luxembourg. before the year closed madame de la tournelle was installed in the most luxurious apartments at versailles, and louis, now completely caught in her toils, was the slave of her and his senses, flinging himself into all the licence of passion, and reviving the nightly debauches from which the dead comtesse had weaned him. and while her lover was thus steeped in sensuality, his mistress was, with infinite tact, pursuing her ambition. affecting an indifference to affairs of state, she was gradually, and with seeming reluctance, worming herself into the position of chief counsellor, and while professing to despise money she was draining the exchequer to feed her extravagance. never was king so hopelessly in the toils of a woman as louis, the well-beloved, in those of madame de la tournelle. he accepted as meekly as a child all her coldness and caprices, her jealousies and her rages; and was ideally happy when, in a gracious mood, she would allow him to assist at her toilette as the reward for some regal present of diamonds, horses, or gowns. it was after one such privileged hour that louis, with childish pleasure, handed to his favourite the patent, creating her duchesse de chateauroux, enclosed in a casket of gold; and with it a rapturous letter in which he promised her a pension of eighty-thousand livres, the better to maintain her new dignity! having thus achieved her greatest ambition, the duchesse (as we must now call her) aspired to play a leading part in the affairs of europe. france and prussia were leagued in war against the forces of england, austria, and holland. this was a seductive game in which to take a hand, and thus we find her stimulating the sluggard kingliness in her lover, urging him to leave his debauches and to lead his armies to victory, assuring him of the gratitude and admiration of his subjects. nothing less, she told him, would save his country from disaster. to this appeal and temptation louis was not slow to respond; and in may, , we find him, to the delight of his soldiers and all france, at the seat of war, reviewing his troops, speaking words of high courage to them, visiting hospitals and canteens, and actually sending back a haughty message to the dutch: "i will give you your answer in flanders." no wonder the army was roused to enthusiasm, or that it exclaimed with one voice, "at last we have found a king!" so strong was louis in his new martial resolve that he actually refused madame de chateauroux permission to accompany him. france was delighted that at last her king had emancipated himself from petticoat influence, but the delight was short-lived, for before he had been many days in camp the duchesse made her stately appearance, and saws and hammers were at work making a covered way between the house assigned to her and that occupied by the king. a fortnight later ypres had fallen, and she was writing to richelieu, "this is mighty pleasant news and gives me huge pleasure. i am overwhelmed with joy, to take ypres in nine days. you can think of nothing more glorious, more flattering to the king; and his great-grandfather, great as he was, never did the like!" but grief was coming quickly on the heels of joy. the king was seized with a sudden and serious illness, after a banquet shared with his ally, the king of prussia; and in a few days a malignant fever had brought him face to face with death. madame de chateauroux watched his sufferings with the eyes of despair. "leaning over the pillow of the dying man, aghast and trembling, she fights for him with sickness and death, terror and remorse." with locked door she keeps her jealous watch by his bedside, allowing none to enter but richelieu, the doctors, and nurses, whilst outside are gathered the princes of the blood and the great officers of the court, clamouring for admittance. it was a grim environment for the death-bed of a king, this struggle for supremacy, in which a frail woman defied the powers of france for the monopoly of his last hours. and chief of all the terrors that assailed her was the dread of that climax to it all, when her lover would have to make his last confession, the price of his absolution being, as she well knew, a final severance from herself. over this protracted and unseemly duel, in which blows were exchanged, entrance was forced, and princes and ministers crowded indecently around the king's bed; over the duchesse's tearful pleadings with the confessor to spare her the disgrace of dismissal, we must hasten to the crowning moment when louis, feeling that he was dying, hastily summoned a confessor, who, a few moments later, flung open the door of the closet in which the duchesse was waiting and weeping, and pronounced the fatal words, "the king commands you to leave his presence immediately." then followed that secret flight to paris, "amidst a torrent of maledictions," the duchesse hiding herself from view as best she could, and at each town and village where horses were changed, slinking back and taking refuge in some by-road until she could resume her journey. then it was that in her grief and despair she wrote to richelieu, "oh, my god! what a thing it all is! i give you my word, it is all over with me! one would need to be a poor fool to start it all over again." but louis was by no means a dead man. from the day on which he received absolution from his manifold sins he made such haste to recover that, within a month, he was well again and eager to fly to the arms of the woman he had so abruptly abandoned with all other earthly vanities. it was one thing, however, to dismiss the duchesse, and quite another to call her back. for a time she refused point-blank to look again on the king who had spurned her from fear of hell; and when at last she consented to receive the penitent at versailles she let him know, in no vague terms, that "it would cost france too many heads if she were to return to his court." vengeance on her enemies was the only price she would accept for forgiveness, and this price louis promised to pay in liberal measure. one after the other, those who had brought about her humiliation were sent to disgrace or exile--from the duc de chatillon to la rochefoucauld and perusseau. maurepas, the most virulent of them all, the king declined to exile, but he consented to a compromise. he should be made to offer madame an abject apology, to grovel at her feet, a punishment with which she was content. and when the great minister presented himself by her bedside, in fear and trembling, to express his profound penitence and to beg her to return to court, all she answered was, "give me the king's letters and go!" the following saturday she fixed on as the day of her triumphant return--"but it was death that was to raise her from the bed on which she had received the king's submission at the hands of his prime minister." within twenty-four hours she was seized with violent convulsions and delirium. in her intervals of consciousness she shrieked aloud that she had been poisoned, and called down curses on her murderer--maurepas. for eleven days she passed from one delirious attack to another, and as many times she was bled. but all the skill of the court physicians was powerless to save her, and at five o'clock in the morning of the th december the duchesse drew her last tortured breath in the arms of madame de mailly, the sister she had so cruelly wronged. two days later, de goncourt tells us, she was buried at saint sulpice, an hour before the customary time for interments, her coffin guarded by soldiers, to protect it from the fury of the mob. as for madame de mailly, she spent the last years of her troubled life in the odour of a tardy sanctity--washing the feet of the poor, ministering to the sick, bringing consolation to those in prison; and she was laid to rest amongst the poorest in the cimetière des innocents, wearing the hair-shirt which had been part of her penance during life, and with a simple cross of wood for all monument. chapter xxvii a mistress of intrigue "on th september," madame de motteville says, "we saw arrive from italy three nieces of cardinal mazarin and a nephew. two mancini sisters and the nephew were the children of the youngest sister of his eminence; and of the sisters laure, the elder, was a pleasing brunette with a handsome face, about twelve or thirteen years of age; the second (olympe), also a brunette, had a long face and pointed chin. her eyes were small, but lively; and it might be expected that, when fifteen years of age, she would have some charm. according to the rules of beauty, it was impossible to grant her any, save that of having dimples in her cheeks." such, at the age of nine or ten, was olympe mancini, who, in spite of her childish lack of beauty, was destined to enslave the handsomest king in europe; and, after a life of discreditable intrigues, in which she incurred the stigma of witchcraft and murder, to end her career in obscurity, shunned by all who had known her in her day of splendour. it was a singular freak of fortune which translated the mancini girls from their modest home in italy to the magnificence of the french court, as the adopted children of their uncle, cardinal mazarin, the virtual ruler of france, and the avowed lover (if not, as some say, the husband) of anne of austria, the queen-mother. "see those little girls," said the wife of maréchal de villeroi to gaston d'orléans, pointing to the mancini children, the centre of an admiring crowd of courtiers. "they are not rich now; but some day they will have fine châteaux, large incomes, splendid jewels, beautiful silver, and perhaps great dignities." and how true this prophecy proved, we know; for, of the cardinal's five mancini nieces (for three others came, later, as their uncle's protégées), laure found a husband in the duc de mercoeur, grandson of henri iv.; two others lived to wear the coronet of duchess; olympe, as we shall see, became comtesse de soissons; and marie, after narrowly missing the queendom of france, became the wife of the constable colonna, one of the greatest nobles of italy. nor is there anything in such high alliances to cause surprise; for their future was in the hands of the most powerful, ambitious, and wealthy man in france. from their first appearance as his guests they were received with open arms by louis' court. they were speedily transferred to the palais royal, to be brought up with the boy-king, louis xiv., and his brother, the prince of anjou; while the queen herself not only paid them the most flattering attentions and treated them as her own children, but herself undertook part of their education. it was under such enviable conditions that the young daughters of a poor roman baron grew up to girlhood--the pets of the queen and the court, the playfellows of the king, and the acknowledged heiresses of their uncle's millions; and of them all, not one had a keener eye to the future than olympe of the long face, pointed chin, and dimples. it was she who entered with the greatest zest into the romps and games of her playmate, louis xiv., who surrounded him with the most delicate flatteries and attentions, and practised all her childish arts and coquetries to win his favour. and she succeeded to such an extent that it was always the company of olympe, and not of her more beautiful sisters, hortense, laure, or marie, that louis most sought. not that olympe was always to remain the plain, unattractive child madame de motteville describes in . each year, as it passed, added some touch of beauty, developed some latent charm, until at eighteen she was very fair to look upon. "her eyes now" says madame de motteville, "were full of fire, her complexion had become beautiful, her face less thin, her cheeks took dimples which gave her a fresh charm, and she had fine arms and beautiful hands. she certainly seemed charming in the eyes of the king, and sufficiently pretty to indifferent spectators." that she had wooers in plenty, even before she was so far advanced in the teens, was inevitable; but her personal preferences counted for little in face of the cardinal's determination to find for her, as for all his nieces, a splendid alliance which should shed lustre on himself. and thus it was that, without any consultation of her heart, olympe's hand was formally given to prince eugene de savoie, comte de soissons, a man in whose veins flowed the royal strains of savoy and france. it was a brilliant match indeed for the daughter of a petty italian baron; and mazarin saw that it was celebrated with becoming magnificence. on the th february, , we see a brilliant company repairing to the queen's apartments, "the comte de soissons escorting his betrothed, dressed in a gown of silver cloth, with a bouquet of pearls on her head, valued at more than , livres, and so many jewels that their splendour, joined to the natural éclat of her beauty, caused her to be admired by everyone. immediately afterwards, the nuptials were celebrated in the queen's chapel. then the illustrious pair, after dining with the princesse de carignan-savoie, ascended to the apartments of his eminence, the cardinal, where they were entertained to a magnificent supper, at which the king and monsieur did the company the honour of joining them." then followed two days of regal receptions; a visit to notre dame to hear mass, with the queen herself as escort; and a stately journey to the hôtel de soissons, where the comtesse's mother-in-law "testified to her, by her joy and the rich presents which she made her, how great was the satisfaction with which she regarded this marriage." thus raised to the rank of a princess of the blood, olympe was by no means the proud and happy woman she ought to have been. she had, in fact, aspired much higher; she had had dreams of sharing the throne of france with her handsome young playmate, the king; and to louis, wife though she now was, she had lost none of the attraction she possessed when he called her his "little sweetheart" in their childish games together. "he continued to visit her with the greatest regularity," to quote mr noel williams; "indeed, scarcely a day went by on which his majesty's coach did not stop at the gate of the hôtel de soissons; and olympe, basking in the rays of the royal favour, rapidly took her place as the brilliant, intriguing great lady nature intended her to be." it is little wonder, perhaps, that olympe's foolish head was turned by such flattering attentions from her sovereign, or that she began to give herself airs and to treat members of the royal family with a haughty patronage. even la grande mademoiselle did not escape her insolence; for, as she herself records, "when i paid her a thousand compliments and told her that her marriage had given me the greatest joy and that i hoped we should always be good friends, she answered me not a word." but olympe's supremacy was not to remain much longer unchallenged. the king's vagrant fancy was already turning to her younger sister, marie, whose childish plainness had now ripened to a beauty more dazzling than her own--the witchery of large and brilliant black eyes, a complexion of pure olive, luxuriant, jet-black hair, a figure of singular suppleness and grace, and a sprightliness of wit and a _gaieté de coeur_ which the comtesse could not hope to rival. it soon began to be rumoured in court that louis spent hours daily in the company of mazarin's beautiful niece; a rumour which hortense mancini supports in her "memoirs." "the presence of the king, who seldom stirred from our lodging, often interrupted us," she says; "my sister, marie, alone was undisturbed; and you can easily understand that his assiduity had charms for her, who was the cause of it, because it had none for others." and as louis' visits to the mancini lodging became more and more frequent, each adding a fresh link to the chain that was binding him to her young sister, madame de soissons saw less and less of him, until an amused tolerance gave place to a genuine alarm. it was nothing less than an outrage that she, who had so long held first place in the king's favour, should be ousted by a "mere child," the last person in the world whom she could have thought of as a rival. but the comtesse was no woman to be easily dethroned. although at every court ball, fête, or ballet, louis was now inseparable from her sister, she affected to ignore these open slights and lost no opportunity in public of vaunting her intimacy with his majesty, even to the extent on one occasion, as mademoiselle records, of taking louis' seat at a ball supper and compelling him to share it with her. but such shameless arrogance only served to estrange the king still further, and to make him seek still more the company of the young sister, who had already captured his heart as the comtesse had never captured it. when louis made his memorable journey to lyons to meet the princess margaret of savoy, it was to marie that he paid the most courtly and tender attentions. "during the journey," says mademoiselle, "he did not address a word to the comtesse de soissons"; and, indeed, on more than one occasion he showed a marked aversion to her. at st jean d'angely, louis not only himself escorted marie to her lodging; he stayed with her until two o'clock in the morning. "nothing," her sister hortense records, "could equal the passion which the king showed, and the tenderness with which he asked of marie her pardon for all she had suffered for his sake." it was, indeed, no secret at court that he had offered her marriage, and had taken a solemn vow that neither margaret of savoy nor the infanta of spain should be his wife. but, as we have seen in a previous chapter, both the queen and mazarin were determined that the infanta should be queen of france; and that his foolish romance with the mancini girl should be nipped in the bud. there was also another powerful influence at work to thwart his passion for marie. the indifference of the comtesse de soissons had given place to a fury of resentment; and she needed no instigation of her uncle to determine at any cost to recover the place she had lost in louis' favour. she brought all her armoury of coquetry and flatteries to bear on him, and so far succeeded that, we read, "the king has resumed his relations with the comtesse; he has recommenced to talk and laugh with her; and three days since he entertained m. and madame de soissons with a ball and a play, and afterwards they partook of _medianoche_ (a midnight banquet) together, passing more than three hours in conversation with them." meanwhile marie, realising the hopelessness of her passion in face of the opposition of her uncle and the queen, and of louis' approaching marriage to the spanish princess, had given him unequivocally to understand that their relations must cease, and the rupture was complete when the comtesse told the king of her sister's dallying with prince charles of lorraine, of their assignations in the tuileries, of their mutual infatuation, and of the rumours of an arranged marriage. "_cela est bien_" was all louis remarked, but the dark flush of anger that flooded his face was a sweet reward to the comtesse for her treachery. a few days later her revenge was complete when, in the king's presence, she rallied her sister on her low spirits. "you find the time pass slowly when you are away from paris," she said; "nor am i surprised, since you have left your lover there"; to which marie answered with a haughty toss of the head, "that is possible, madame." one formidable rival thus removed from her path, madame de soissons was not long left to enjoy her triumph; for another was quick to take the place abandoned by the broken-hearted marie--the beautiful and gentle la vallière, who was the next to acquire an ascendancy over the king's susceptible heart. once more the comtesse, to her undisguised chagrin, found herself relegated to the background, to look impotently on while louis made love to her successor, and to meditate new schemes of vengeance. it was in vain that louis, by way of amende, found for her a lover in the marquis de vardes, the most handsome and dissolute of his courtiers, for whom she soon developed a veritable passion. her vanity might be appeased, but her bitterness--the _spretoe injuria formoe_--remained; and she lost no time in plotting further mischief. with the help of m. de vardes and the comte de guiche, she sent an anonymous letter to the queen, containing a full and intimate account of her husband's amour with la vallière--the letter enclosed in an envelope addressed in the handwriting of the queen of spain. fortunately for maria theresa's peace of mind the letter fell into the hands of louis himself, who was naturally furious at such treachery and determined to make those responsible for it suffer--when he should discover them. as, however, the investigation of the matter was entrusted to de vardes, it is needless to say that the culprits escaped detection. madame de soissons' next attempt to bring about a rupture between the king and la vallière, by bringing forward a rival in the person of the seductive mlle de la motte-houdancourt, proved equally futile, when louis discovered by accident that she was but a tool in madame's designing hands; and for a time the comtesse was sent in disgrace from the court to nurse her jealousy and to devise more effectual plans of vengeance. what form these took seems clear from an investigation held at the close of into a supposed plot to poison the king and the dauphin--a plot of which la voisin, one of the greatest criminals in history, was suspected of being the ringleader. during this inquiry la voisin confessed that the comtesse de soissons had come to her house one day "and demanded the means of getting rid of mile de la vallière"; and, further, that the comtesse had avowed her intention to destroy not only louis' mistress, but the king himself. such a confession was well calculated to rouse a storm of indignation in france, where madame de soissons had made many powerful enemies. the chambre unanimously demanded her arrest; but before it could be effected, madame, stoutly declaring her innocence, had shaken the dust of paris off her feet, and was on her way to brussels. during her flight to safety, we are told, "the principal inns in the towns and villages through which she passed refused to receive her"; and more than once she was compelled to sleep on straw and suffer the insults of the populace, which reviled her as sorceress and poisoner. "we are assured," madame de sevigné writes, "that the gates of namur, antwerp, and other towns have been closed against the countess, the people crying out, 'we want no poisoner here'!" even at brussels, whenever she ventured into the streets she was assailed by a storm of insults; and on one occasion, when she entered a church, "a number of people rushed out, collected all the black cats they could find, tied their tails together, and brought them howling and spitting into the porch, crying out that they were devils who were following the comtesse." in the face of such chilling hospitality madame de soissons was not tempted to make a long stay in brussels; and after a few months of restless wandering in flanders and germany, she drifted to spain where she succeeded in ingratiating herself with the queen. she found little welcome however from the king, who, as the french ambassador to madrid wrote, "was warned against her. he accused her of sorcery, and i learn that, some days ago, he conceived the idea that, had it not been for a spell she had cast over him, he would have had children.... the life of the comtesse de soissons consists in receiving at her house all persons who desire to come there, from four o'clock in the evening up to two or three hours after midnight. there is, sire, everything that can convey an air of familiarity and contempt for the house of a woman of quality." that carlos' suspicions were not without reason was proved when one day his queen, after, it is said, drinking a glass of milk handed to her by the comtesse, was taken suddenly ill and expired after three days of terrible suffering. that she died of poison, like her mother, the ill-fated sister of our second charles, seems probable; but that the poison was administered by the comtesse, whose friend and protectress she was and who had every reason to wish her well, is less to be believed, in spite of saint-simon's unequivocal accusation. certainly the crime was not proved against her; for we find her still in spain in the following spring, when carlos, his patience exhausted, ordered her to leave the country. after a short stay in portugal and germany, madame de soissons was back in brussels, where she spent the brief remainder of her days--"all the french of distinction who visited the city" (to quote saint-simon) "being strictly forbidden to visit her." here, on the th october, , her beauty but a memory, bankrupt in reputation, friendless and poor, the curtain fell on the life so full of mis-used gifts and baffled ambitions. chapter xxviii an ill-fated marriage few kings have come to their thrones under such brilliant auspices as milan i. of servia; few have abandoned their crowns to the greater relief of their subjects, or have been followed to their exile by so much hatred. but a fortnight before milan's accession, his cousin and predecessor, prince michael, had been foully done to death by hired assassins as he was walking in the park of topfschider, with three ladies of his court; and the murdered man had been placed in a carriage, sitting upright as in life, and had been driven back to his palace through the respectful greetings of his subjects, who little knew that they were saluting a corpse. there was good reason for this mockery of death, for prince alexander karageorgevitch had long set ambitious eyes on the crown of servia, and resolved to wrest it by fair means or foul from the boy-heir to the throne; and it was of the highest importance that michael's death, which he had so brutally planned, should be concealed from him until the succession had been secured to his young rival, milan. and thus it was that, before karageorgevitch could bring his plotting to the head of achievement, milan was hailed with acclamation as servia's new prince, and, on the rd june, , made his triumphal entry into belgrade to the jubilant ringing of bells and the thunderous cheers of the people. twelve days later, belgrade was _en fête_ for his crowning, her streets ablaze with bunting and floral decorations, as the handsome boy made his way through the tumults of cheers and avenues of fluttering handkerchiefs to the metropolitan church. the men, we are told, "took off their cloaks and placed them under his feet, that he might walk on them; they clustered round him, kissing his garments, and blessing him as their very own; they worshipped his handsome face and loved his boyish smile." and when his young voice rang clearly out in the words, "i promise you that i shall, to my dying day, preserve faithfully the honour and integrity of servia, and shall be ready to shed the last drop of my blood to defend its rights," there was scarcely one of the enthusiastic thousands that heard him who would not have been willing to lay down his life for the idolised prince. it was by strange paths that the fourteen-year-old milan had thus come to his principality. the son of jefrenn obrenovitch, uncle of the reigning michael, he was cradled one august day in , his mother being marie catargo, of the powerful race of roumanian "hospodars," a woman of strong passions and dissolute life. when her temper and infidelities had driven her husband to the drinking that put a premature end to his days, marie transferred her affection, without the sanction of a wedding-ring, to prince kusa, a man of as evil repute as herself. in such a home and with such guardians her only child, milan, the future ruler of servia, spent the early years of his life--ill-fed, neglected, and supremely wretched. thus it was that, when prince michael summoned the boy to belgrade, in order to make the acquaintance of his successor, he was horrified to see an uncouth lad, as devoid of manners and of education as any in the slums of his capital. the heir to the throne could neither read nor write; the only language he spoke was a debased roumanian, picked up from the servants who had been his only associates, while of the land over which he was to rule one day he knew absolutely nothing. the only hope for him was his extreme youth--he was at the time only twelve years old--and michael lost no time in having him trained for the high station he was destined to fill. the progress the boy made was amazing. within two years he was unrecognisable as the half-savage who had so shocked the court of belgrade. he could speak the servian tongue with fluency and grace; he had acquired elegance of manners and speech, and a winning courtesy of manner which to his last day was his most marked characteristic; he had mastered many accomplishments, and he excelled in most manly exercises, from riding to swimming. and to all this remarkable promise the finishing touches were put by a visit to paris under the tutorship of a courtly and learned professor. thus when, within two years of his emancipation, he came to his crown, the uncouth lad from roumania had blossomed into a prince as goodly to look on as any europe could show--a handsome boy of courtly graces and accomplishments, able to converse in several languages, and singularly equipped in all ways to win the homage of the simple people over whom he had been so early called to rule. as mrs gerard says, "they idolised their boy-prince. every day they stood in long, closely packed lines watching to see him come out of the castle to ride or drive; as he passed along, smiling affectionately on his people, blessings were showered on him. there was, however, another side to this picture of devotion. there were those who hated the boy because he had thwarted their plans." and this hatred, as persistent as it was malignant, was to follow him throughout his reign, and through his years of unhappy exile, to his grave. but these days were happily still remote. after four years of minority and regency, when he was able to take the reins of government into his own hands, his empire over the hearts of his subjects was more firmly based than ever. his youth, his modesty, and his compelling charm of manner made friends for him wherever his wanderings took him, from paris to constantinople. he was the "prince charming" of europe, as popular abroad as he was idolised at home; and when the time arrived to find a consort for him he might, one would have thought, have been able to pick and choose among the fairest princesses of the continent. but handsome and gallant and popular as he was, the overtures of his ministers were coldly received by one royal house after another. milan might be a reigning prince and a charming one to boot, but it was not forgotten that the first of his line had been a common herdsman, and the blood of hapsburgs and hohenzollerns could not be allowed to mingle with so base a strain. even a mere hungarian count, whose fair daughter had caught milan's fancy, frowned on the suit of the swineherd's successor. but fate had already chosen a bride for the young prince, who was more than equal in birth to any count's daughter; who would bring beauty and riches as her portion; and who, after many unhappy years, was to crown her dower with tragedy. it was at nice, where prince milan was spending the winter months of , that he first set eyes on the woman whose life was to be so tragically linked with his own. among the visitors there was the family of a russian colonel, nathaniel ketschko, a man of high lineage and great wealth. he claimed, in fact, descent from the royal race of comnenus, which had given many a king to the thrones of europe, and whose sons for long centuries had won fame as generals, statesmen, and ambassadors. and to this exalted strain was allied enormous wealth, of which the colonel's share was represented by a regal revenue of four hundred thousand roubles a year. but proud as he was of his birth and his riches, colonel nathaniel was still prouder of his two lovely daughters, each of whom had inherited in liberal measure the beauty of their mother, a daughter of the princely house of stourza; and of the two the more beautiful, by common consent, was natalie, whose charms won this spontaneous tribute from tsar nicholas, when first he saw her, "i would i were a beggar that i might every day ask your alms, and have the happiness of kissing your hand." she had, says one who knew her in her radiant youth, "an irresistible charm that permeated her whole being with such a harmony of grace, sweetness, and overpowering attraction that one felt drawn to her with magnetic force; and to adore her seemed the most natural and indeed the only position." such was the high tribute paid to servia's future queen at the first dawning of that beauty which was to make her also queen of all the fair women of europe, and which at its zenith was thus described by one who saw her at wiesbaden ten years or so later: "she walked along the promenade with a light, graceful movement; her feet hardly seemed to touch the ground, her figure was elegant, her finely cut face was lit up by those wonderful eyes, once seen never forgotten--brilliant, tender, loving; her luxuriant hair of raven black was loosely coiled round the well-set head, or fell in curls on the beautifully arched neck. for each one she had a pleasant smile, a gracious bow, or a few words, spoken in a musical voice." no wonder the germans, who looked at this apparition of grace and beauty, "simply fell down and adored her." such was the vision of beauty of which prince milan caught his first glimpse on the promenade at nice in the winter of , and which haunted him, day and night, until chance brought their paths together again, and he won her consent to share his throne. that such a high destiny awaited her, natalie had already been told by a gipsy whom she met one day in the woods of her father's estate near moscow--a meeting of which the following story is told. at sight of the beautiful young girl the gipsy stooped in homage and kissed the hem of her dress. "why do you do that?" asked natalie, half in alarm and half in pleasure. "because," the woman answered, "i salute you as the chosen bride of a great prince. over your head i see a crown floating in the air. it descends lower and lower until it rests on your head. a dazzling brilliance adorns the crown; it is a royal diadem." "what else?" asked natalie eagerly, her face flushed with excitement and delight. "oh! do tell me more, please!" "what more shall i say," continued the gipsy, "except that you will be a queen, and the mother of a king; but then--" "but then, what?" exclaimed the eager and impatient girl; "do go on, please. what then?" and she held out a gold coin temptingly. "i see a large house; you will be there, but--take care; you will be turned out by force.... and now give me the coin and let me go. more i must not tell you." such were the dazzling and mysterious words spoken by the gipsy woman in the russian forest, a year or more before natalie first saw the prince who was destined to make them true. but it was not at nice that opportunity came to milan. it was an accidental meeting in paris, some months later, that made his path clear. during a visit to the french capital he met a young servian officer, a distant kinsman, one alexander konstantinovitch, who confided to him, over their wine and cigarettes, the story of his infatuation for the daughter of a russian colonel, who at the time was staying with her aunt, the princess murussi. he raved of her beauty and her charm, and concluded by asking the prince to accompany him that he might make the acquaintance of the lieutenant's bride-to-be. arrived at their destination, the prince and his companion were graciously received by the princess murussi, but milan had no eyes for the dignified lady who gave him such a flattering reception; they were drawn as by a magnet to the girl by her side--"a child with a woman's grace and an angel's soul smiling in her eyes"; the incarnation of his dreams, the very girl whose beauty, though he had caught but one passing glimpse of it, had so intoxicated his brain a few months earlier at nice. "allow me," said the lieutenant, "to introduce to your highness natalie ketschko, my affianced wife." milan's face flushed with surprise and anger at the words. what was this trick that had been played on him? had konstantinovitch then brought him here only to humiliate him? but before he could recover from his indignation and astonishment, the princess said chillingly, "pardon me, monsieur konstantinovitch, you are not speaking the truth. my niece, colonel ketschko's daughter, is not your affianced wife. you are too premature." thus rebuffed, the lieutenant was not encouraged to prolong his stay; and milan was left, reassured, to bask in the smiles of the princess and her lovely niece, and to pursue his wooing under the most favourable auspices. this first visit was quickly followed by others; and before a week had passed the prince had won the prize on which his heart was set, and with it a dower of five million roubles. now followed halcyon days for the young lovers--long hours of sweet communion, of anticipation of the happy years that stretched in such a golden vista before them. it was a love-idyll such as delighted the romantic heart of paris; and congratulations and presents poured on the young couple; "the very beggars in the streets," we are told, "blessing them as they drove by." "happy is the wooing that is not long a-doing," and milan's wooing was as brief as it was blissful. he was all impatience to possess fully the prize he had won; preparations for the nuptials were hastened, but, before the crowning day dawned, once more the voice of warning spoke. a few days before the wedding, as milan was leaving the murussi palace, he was accosted by a woman, who craved permission to speak to him, a favour which was smilingly accorded. "i know you," said the woman, thus permitted to speak, "although you do not know me. you are the prince of servia; i am a servant in the household of the princess murussi. your highness, listen! i love natalie. i have known and loved her since she was a child; and i beg of you not to marry her. such a union is doomed to unhappiness. you love to rule, to command. so does natalie; and it is _she_ who will be the ruler. you are utterly unsuited for each other, and nothing but great unhappiness can possibly come from your union." to this warning milan turned a smiling face and a deaf ear, as natalie had done to the voice of the gipsy. a fig for such gloomy prophecy! they were ideally happy in the present, and the future should be equally bright, however ravens might croak. thus, one october day in , vienna held high holiday for the nuptials of the handsome prince and his beautiful bride; and it was through avenues densely packed with cheering onlookers that natalie made her triumphal progress to the altar, in her flower-garlanded dress of white satin, a tiara of diamonds flashing from the blackness of her hair, no brighter than the brilliance of her eyes, her face irradiated with happiness. that no royalty graced their wedding was a matter of no moment to milan and natalie, whose happiness was thus crowned; and when at the subsequent banquet milan said, "i wish from my very heart that every one of my subjects, as well as everybody i know, could be always as happy as i am this moment," none who heard him could doubt the sincerity of his words, or see any but a golden future for so ideal a union of hearts. by servia her young princess was received with open arms of welcome. "her reception," we are told, "was beyond description. the festivities lasted three days, and during that time the love of the people for their prince, and their admiration of the beauty and charm of his bride, were beyond words to describe." never did royal wedded life open more full of bright promise, and never did consort make more immediate conquest of the affections of her husband's subjects. "no one could have believed that this marriage, which was contracted from love and love alone, would have ended in so tragic a manner, or that hate could so quickly have taken the place of love." but the serpent was quick to show his head in natalie's new paradise. before she had been many weeks a wife, stories came to her ears of her husband's many infidelities. now the story was of one lady of her court, now of another, until the horrified princess knew not whom to trust or to respect. strange tales, too, came to her (mostly anonymously) of milan's amours in paris, in vienna, and half a dozen of his other haunts of pleasure, until her love, poisoned at its very springing, turned to suspicion and distrust of the man to whom she had given her heart. other disillusions were quick to follow. she discovered that her husband was a hopeless gambler and spendthrift, spending long hours daily at the card-tables, watching with pale face and trembling lips his pile of gold dwindle (as it usually did) to its last coin; and often losing at a single sitting a month's revenue from the civil list. her own dowry of five million roubles, she knew, was safe from his clutches. her father had taken care to make that secure, but milan's private fortune, large as it had been, had already been squandered in this and other forms of dissipation; and even the expenses of his wedding, she learned, had been met by a loan raised at ruinous interest. such discoveries as these were well calculated to shatter the dreams of the most infatuated of brides, and less was sufficient to rouse natalie's proud spirit to rebellion. when affectionate pleadings proved useless, reproaches took their place. heated words were exchanged, and the records tell of many violent scenes before natalie had been six months princess of servia. "you love to rule," the warning voice had told milan--"to command. so does natalie"; and already the clashing of strong wills and imperious tempers, which must end in the yielding of one or the other, had begun to be heard. if more fuel had been needed to feed the flames of dissension, it was quickly supplied by two unfortunate incidents. the first was milan's open dallying with fräulein s----, one of natalie's maids-of-honour, a girl almost as beautiful as herself, but with the _beauté de diable_. the second was the appearance in belgrade of dimitri wasseljevitchca, who was suspected of plotting to assassinate the tsar. russia demanded that the fugitive should be given up to justice, and enlisted natalie's co-operation with this object. milan, however, was resolute not to surrender the plotter, and turned a deaf ear to all the princess's pleadings and cajoleries. "the most exciting scene followed. natalie, abandoning entreaties, threatened and even commanded her husband to obey her"; and when threats and commands equally failed, she gave way to a paroxysm of rage in which she heaped the most unbridled scorn and contempt on her husband. thus jealousy, a thwarted will, and milan's low pleasures combined to widen the breach between the royal couple, so recently plighted to each other in the sacred name of love, and to prepare the way for the troubled and tragic years to come. chapter xxix an ill-fated marriage--_continued_ if anything could have restored happiness to milan of servia and his princess, natalie, it should surely have been the birth of the baby-prince, alexander, whom both equally adored and equally spoiled. but, instead of linking his parents in a new bond of affection "sacha" was from his cradle the innocent cause of widening the breach that severed them. for a time, fortunately, milan had little opportunity of continuing the feud of recrimination with his high-spirited and hot-tempered spouse. more serious matters claimed him. servia was plunged into war with turkey, and his days were spent in camp and on the battlefield, until the intervention of russia put an end to the long and hopeless struggle, and milan found himself one february day in , thanks to the berlin conference, hailed the first king of his country, under the title of milan i. then followed a disastrous war with bulgaria into which the headstrong king rushed in spite of natalie's warning--"draw back, milan, and have no share in what will prove a bloody drama. you have no chance of conquering, for alexander is made of the stuff of the hohenzollerns." and indeed the struggle was doomed to failure from the first; for milan was no man to lead an army to victory. read his method of conducting a campaign, as described by one of his aides-de-camp-- "our troops continue to retreat--i never imagined a campaign could be so jolly. we do nothing but dance and sing and fiddle. yesterday the king had some guests and the champagne literally flowed. we had the belgrade singers, who used to delight us in the theatre-café. they sang and danced delightfully. the last two days we have had plenty of fun, and yesterday a lot of jolly girls came to enliven us." such was milan's method of conducting a great war, on which the very existence of his kingdom hung. wine and women and song were more to his taste than forced marches, strategy, and hard-fought battles. but once again foreign intervention came to his rescue; and his armies were saved from annihilation. when his sword was finally sheathed, if not with honour, he returned to belgrade to resume his gambling, his dallyings with fair women--and his daily quarrels with his queen, whose bitterness absence had done nothing to assuage. so far from natalie's spirit being crushed, it was higher and prouder than ever. she would die before she would yield; but she was in no mood to die, this autocratic, fiery-tempered, strong-willed daughter of russia. she gave literally a "striking" proof of the spirit that was in her at the easter reception of , when the wife of a greek diplomat--a beautiful woman, to whom her husband had been more than kind--presented herself smilingly to receive the "salute courteous" from her majesty. with a look of scorn natalie coolly surveyed her rival from head to foot; and then, in the presence of the court, gave her a resounding slap on the cheek. but the grecian lady was only one of many fair women who basked successively (or together) in milan's favour. a much more formidable rival was artemesia christich, a woman as designing as she was lovely, who was quick to envelop the weak king in the toils of her witchery. not content with his smiles and favours she aspired to take natalie's place as queen of servia; and, it is said, had extorted from him a promise that he would make her his queen as soon as his existing marriage tie could be dissolved. and to this infamous compact artemesia's husband, a man as crafty and unscrupulous as herself, consented, in return for his promotion to certain high and profitable offices in the state. in vain did the emperor and the crown prince of austria, with many another high-placed friend, plead with milan not to commit such a folly. he was driven to distraction between such powerful appeals and the allurement of the siren who had him so effectually under her spell, until in his despair he entertained serious thoughts of suicide as escape from his dilemma. meanwhile, we are told, "a perfect hell" raged in the castle; each day brought its scandalous scene between his outraged queen and himself. his unpopularity with his subjects became so acute that he was hissed whenever he made his appearance in the streets of his capital; and artemesia was obliged to have police protection to shield her from the vengeance of the mob. as for natalie, this crowning injury decided her to bear her purgatory no longer. she would force her husband to abdicate and secure her own appointment as regent for her son; or, failing that, she would leave her husband and seek an asylum out of servia. and with the object of still further embittering his subjects against the king she made the full story of her injuries public, and enlisted the sympathy, not only of milan's most powerful ministers, but of the entire country. "the castle is in utter confusion," wrote an officer of the belgrade garrison, in october, . "the king looks ill, and as if he never slept. poor fellow! he flies for refuge to us in the guard-house, and plays cards with the officers. card-playing is his worst enemy. he loves it passionately, and plays excitedly and for high points--and he always loses." matters were now hastening to a crisis. hopelessly in debt, scorned by his subjects, and hated by his wife, milan's plight was pitiful. the scenes between the king and the queen were becoming more violent and disgraceful every day. "there was no peace anywhere, nor did anyone belonging to the court enjoy a moment of tranquillity." so intolerable had life become that, early in , milan decided to dissolve his marriage; and it was only at the pleading of the austrian emperor that he consented to abandon this design, on condition that his wife left servia; and thus it was that one day in april queen natalie left belgrade, accompanied by her son "sacha," ostensibly that he might continue his education in germany. but, although husband and wife were thus at last separated, milan's resolve to divorce her remained firm. "i have to inform you," he wrote shortly after her departure, "that i have this day sent in my application to our holy national church for permission to dissolve our marriage." and that nothing might be lacking to natalie's suffering and humiliation, he sent general protitsch to wiesbaden with a peremptory demand that his son, "sacha," should return to servia. in vain did natalie protest against both indignities. milan might divorce her; but at least he should not rob her of her son, the only solace left to her in life. and when general protitsch, seeing that milder measures were futile, gave orders for the prince to be removed by force, the distracted mother flung one protecting arm round her boy; and, pointing a loaded pistol with the other, threatened to shoot dead the man who dared approach her. opposition, however, was futile; the following evening the boy-prince was in his father's arms, and the weeping mother was left disconsolate. thus robbed of her darling "sacha," it was not long before the second blow fell. the divorce proceedings were rushed through the synod. a deaf ear was turned to natalie's petition to be allowed, at least, to defend herself in person; and on the th october, , the "marriage between king milan i. and natalie, born ketschko," was formally dissolved. well might this most unhappy of queens write, "the position is embittered by my conscience assuring me that i have neglected no duty, and that there is not a single action of my life which could be cited against me as a grave offence, or could put me to shame were it brought before the whole world. my fate should draw tears from the very stones; but i do not ask for pity; i demand justice." if anything could have increased milan's unpopularity it was this brutal treatment of his queen. the very men who, at his coronation, had taken off their cloaks that he might walk on them, and the women who had kissed his garments, now hissed him in the streets of his capital. in his own court he had no friend except the infamous christitch; the general hatred even took the form of repeated attempts on his life. if he would save it, he realised he must abandon his crown; and one march morning in , after informing his ministers of his intention to abdicate, he awoke his twelve-year-old son with the greeting, "good morning, your majesty!" milan was no longer king of servia; his son, alexander, reigned in his stead. probably no king ever laid down his crown more willingly. he had put aside for ever his royal trappings, with all their unhappy memories, and their present discomforts and danger; but in distant paris he knew a life of new pleasure awaited him, remote from the wranglings of courts and the assassin's knife. and within a week of greeting his successor as king, he was gaily riding in the bois, attending the theatres, supping hilariously with ladies of the ballet, or dining with his friends at verrey's "where his somewhat rough manner and coarse jokes (the legacy of his swineherd ancestry) caused him sometimes to be mistaken for a parvenu," until a waiter would correct the impression by a whispered, "that gentleman with the dark moustache is milan, ex-king of servia." while her husband was thus drinking the cup of paris pleasure, his wife was still doomed to exile from her kingdom and her son, with permission only to pay two brief visits each year. but natalie, who had so long defied a king, was not the woman to be daunted by mere regents. she would return to belgrade, and at least make her home where she could catch an occasional glimpse of her boy. and to belgrade she went, to make her entry over flower-strewn streets, and through a tornado of cheers and shouts of "zivela rufe!" it was a truly royal welcome to the great warm heart of the servian people; but no official of the court was there to greet her coming, and as she drove past the castle which held all she counted dear in life, not even the flutter of a handkerchief marked the passing of servia's former queen. had she but played her cards now with the least discretion, she might have been allowed to remain in belgrade in peace. but natalie seems fated to have been the harbinger of storm. for a time, it is true, she was content to lie _perdue_, entertaining her friends at her house in prince michael street, driving through the streets of her capital behind her pair of white ponies, or walking with her pet goat for companion, greeted everywhere with respect and affection. but her restless, vengeful spirit, still burning from the indignities she had suffered, would not allow her to remain long in the background. she threw herself into political agitation, and thus brought herself into open conflict with the regents; she inaugurated a campaign of abuse against her husband, whom she still pursued with a relentless hatred; and generally made herself so objectionable to the authorities that the skupshtina was at last compelled to order her banishment. when the deputies presented themselves before her with the decree of expulsion, she laughed in their very faces, declaring that she would only submit to force. "i refuse to go," she said defiantly, "unless i am expelled by the hands of the police." a few hours later she was forcibly removed from her weeping and protesting ladies, hurried into a carriage, and driven off, with a strong escort of soldiers, on her journey to exile. but the good people of belgrade, who had got wind of the proposed abduction, were by no means disposed to look on while their beloved queen was thus brutally taken from them. when the cortège reached the cathedral square, it was stopped by a formidable and menacing mob; the escort, furiously assailed with sticks and showers of stones, was beaten off; the horses were taken from the carriage, and the queen was drawn back in triumph by scores of willing hands, to her residence. natalie's victory, however, was short-lived. at midnight, when her stalwart champions were sleeping in their beds, the police, crawling over the roofs of the houses in prince michael street, and descending into the queen's courtyard, found it a very simple matter to complete their dastardly work. the queen was again bundled unceremoniously into a carriage, and before belgrade was well awake, she was far on her way to her new exile in hungary. a few days later a formal decree of banishment was pronounced against her, forbidding her, under any pretext whatever, to enter servia again without the regent's permission. only once more did natalie and milan set eyes on each other--when the ex-king presented himself at biarritz, to bring her news of their son's projected _coup d'état_, by which he designed to depose the regents and to take the reins of government into his own hands. taken by surprise, the queen received milan, but when she saw him standing before her, an aged, broken man, her composure gave way. she could not speak; she trembled like a leaf. with alexander's dramatic accession to his full kingship a new, if brief, era of happiness opened to natalie. the regents were no longer able to exclude her from servia, and by her son's invitation she returned to belgrade to resume her old position of queen. still beautiful, in spite of all her suffering, she played for a time the rôle of queen-mother to perfection, holding her courts, presiding at balls and soirées, taking a prominent part in affairs of state, and gradually acquiring more power than her easy-going son himself enjoyed. at last, after long years of unrest and unhappiness, she seemed assured of peaceful years, secure in the affection of her son and her people, and far removed from the husband who had brought so much misery into her life. but natalie was fated never to be happy long, and once more her evil destiny was to snatch the cup from her lips, assuming this time the form of draga maschin, one of her own ladies-in-waiting, under the spell of whose black eyes and voluptuous charms her son quickly fell, after that first dramatic incident at biarritz, when she plunged into the sea to his rescue and saved him from drowning. many months earlier a clairvoyante at paris had told natalie, "your majesty is cherishing in your bosom a poisonous snake, which one day will give you a mortal wound." she had smiled incredulously at the warning, but she was soon to learn what truth it held. certainly draga maschin was the last person she would have suspected of being a source of danger--a woman many years older than her son, the penniless widow of a drunken engineer--a woman, moreover, of whose life, before natalie had taken pity on her poverty, many strange stories were told--how, for instance, she had often been seen in low resorts, "with the arm of a forester or a tradesman round her, singing the old servian songs." but she had not taken into account draga's sensuous beauty, before which her son was powerless. each meeting left him more and more involved in her toils, until, to the consternation of servia and the horror of his mother, he announced his intention of making her his queen. even milan, degraded as he was, was horror-struck when the news came to him in paris. "and this," he exclaimed, "is the act of 'sacha'--my own son. he is a monster, a thing of evil in the eyes of all men! the maschin will be queen of servia. what a reproach! what an evil! a creature like her! a sordid creature! could he not have put aside his love for this low-born woman? but i could never make the fool understand that a king has duties; he has something else to think of but love-making." when taking leave of the friend who had brought him this evil news milan said, "i shall never see servia again. my experience has been a bitter one--everywhere treachery and deceit. and now my own son--_that_ has broken my heart." a few months later, worn out by his excesses, prematurely old and broken-hearted, the man who had prostituted life's best gifts drew his last breath at vienna at the age of forty-six. as for natalie, this crowning calamity of her son's disgrace did more than all her past sufferings to crush her proud spirit. but fate had not yet dealt the last and most cruel blow of all. that fell on that fatal june day of when her beloved "sacha's" mutilated body was flung by his assassins out of his palace window, to be greeted with shouts of derisive laughter and cries of "long live king peter," from the dense crowds who had come to gloat over this last scene in the tragedy of the house of the obrenvoie. index agenois, duc, d', , aissé, mlle, - albany, count of, - " countess of, - alberoni, cardinal, alexander, king of servia, - alexander iii., of russia, alexis, tsarevitch, , alfieri, vittorio, - anjou, duc d', anna, empress, anne of austria, , , arcimbaldo, aubigné, constant d', , " françoise d', - audouins, diane d', augustus, of saxony, - austin, william, , auvergne, comte d', babou, françoise, baireuth, margravine of, baratinski, prince, barry, guillaume du, " jean du, " madame du, - bavaria, elizabeth of, beaufort, duchesse de, - beauharnais, eugène, " hortense, " josephine, - beauvallon, bécu, jeanne, - bellegarde, count di, - " duc de, - berry, duc de, - " duchesse de, - , , bestyouzhev, , beuchling, blanguini, blois, mlle de, bonaparte, elisa, " letizia, , " napoleon, - , - bonaparte, pauline, - bonaventuri, pietro, - "bonnie prince," - borghese, prince camillo, borghese, princess pauline, - bossi, giuseppe, bourgogne, duc de, " duchesse de, brissac, duc de, - bristol, lord, , brougham, brunswick, augusta, duchess of, brunswick, charles wm., duke of, byron, lord, campbell, lady charlotte, , campredon, capello, bartolomeo, " bianca, - carlos, king of spain, , . caroline, princess of wales, - caroline, queen of naples, catargo, marie, catherine i., of russia, - , catherine ii., of russia, , , , , , , , - charles v., emperor, charles vii., emperor, charles ix., king of france, charles, monsieur, , charlotte, princess, , , charlotte, queen, chartres, duc de, chateauroux, duchesse de, - christian ii, of denmark, - christich, artemesia, , clary, desirée, , colonna, prince, , " princess, , , cosse, louis, duc de, - domanski, - , , , douglas, lady, " sir john, dubois, cardinal, , dujarrier, m., dyveke, - elizabeth i., of russia, - , , , "elizabeth ii." of russia, , , embs, baron von, emilie, , encke, charlotte, , " wilhelmine, - entragues, henriette d', , - entragues, seigneur d', , esterle, countess, estrées, antoine d', " gabrielle d', - , estrées, jean d', eudoxia, empress, - faaborg, hans, - fabre, françois x., falari, duchesse de, feriol, comte de, " madame de, fersen, count, fimarcon, marquis de, fitzherbert, mrs, flavacourt, madame de, fleury, cardinal, , , , , fontanges, mlle de, forbin, françois i, frederick the great, - frederick william ii, of prussia, - frederick william iii., of prussia, frèron, gacé, comte de, galitzin, prince, george iii., , , george iv., - giovanna, grand duchess of tuscany, - glebof, major, - goncourt, de, , , guiche, comte de, , guise, duc de, gustav, adolf, hamilton, mary, - " sir william, , haye, la, henri iv., of france (and navarre), - , - holbein, francis, hornstein, hutchinson, lord, isabella, princess, ivan, jersey, lady, , joachim murat, king, joinville, prince de, , josephine, empress, - , - junot, karageorgevitch, alex., ketschko, natalie, - " nathaniel, königsmarck, aurora von, - königsmarck, conrad von, " philip von, - konstantinovitch, alex., kristenef, kusa, prince, lamballe, princesse de, landsfeld, countess of, - languet, abbé, lauzun, duc de, lavallière, duchesse de, lawrence, sir thomas, leclerc, general, , lichtenau, countess, - limburg, duke of, , lorraine, prince charles of, , louis xiv., , - , - , , louis xv., , - , - louise, countess of albany, - löwenhaupt, count axel, " countess, , - ludwig i., of bavaria, - luynes, duc de, mailly, madame de, - maine, duc de, , maintenon, madame de, , - malmesbury, lord, - manby, captain, mancini, hortense, , , mancini, laure, " madame, - " marie, - , , - mancini, olympe, - maria theresa, queen of spain, , marie antoinette, - marie leczinska, marie louise, empress, , , marine, monsieur de, marke, count de la, marmont, general, maschin, draga, , masson, , maurepas, - , mazarin, cardinal, - , , , mazarin, madame de, , medici, cardinal de, - " francesco de, - " marie de, - menshikoff, , , mercoeur, duc de, mexent, marquis de saint, michael, prince, of servia, , michelin, madame, milan i., of servia, - modena, duke of, - " duchess of, , - monceaux, marquise de, mons, william, montespan, madame de, , , , , - montez, lola, - montmorency, charlotte de, , mortemart, duchesse de, motte-houdancourt, mlle de la, motteville, madame de, , mouchy, madame de, - , murussi, princess, , napoleon i., - , - natalie, queen of servia, - nathalie, empress, nesle, félicité de, - " marquise de, nevers, duc de, noailles, cardinal, obrenovitch jefrenn, ompteda, baron, orleans, philippe, duc de, - , - , , - orloff, alexis, , - , " count, " gregory, , , , - palatine, princess, elizabeth, , , , panine, paskevitch, general, , patiomkin, perdita, pergami, - permon, albert, " madame, peter the great, - , , - peter ii., of russia, , peter iii., of russia, - pinneberg, countess of, platen, countess, polignac, cardinal de, " diane de, , " jules, comte de, - polignac, madame de, " yolande, de, - pöllnitz, von, poniatowski, , porte, armande de la, protitsch, general, pugatchef, radziwill, prince charles, , ravaillac, razoum, alexis, - , " cyril, - " gregory, richelieu, duc de, - , , , , , richelieu, duchesse de, rietz, herr, " wilhelmine, - ringlet, father, riom, comte de, - saint-simon, duc de, , , , saint-simon, madame de, savoie, chevalier de, savoy, charles emmanuel, duke of, savoy, margaret, princess of, , , , scarron, paul, , schenk, baron von, sevigné, madame de, , seymour, henry, shouvalov, sigbrit, frau, - skovronski, i, smith, sydney, captain, soissons, comte de, " comtesse de, , - soltykoff, sergius, sophia dorothea, of celle, spencer, lord henry, stanley, sir john, stendhal, stuart, charles, - sully, duc de, , , - tencin, madame de, , teplof, thackeray, , , toebingen, major, torbern, oxe, - touchet, marie, tourel-alégre, marquess, tournelle, mme de la, - tuscany, bianca, grand duchess of, - tuscany, francesco, grand duke of, - valkendorf, chancellor, - , vallière, la, - valois, marguerite de, queen of france, , , valois, mlle de, , , vardes, marquis de, vaudreuil, comte de, , verneuil, marquise de, - villars, duchesse de, , vintimille, comtesse de, - vishnevsky, colonel, vlodimir, princess aly de, - voisin, la, voltaire, , , vorontsov, , walewska, madame, waliszewski, , , wasseljevitchca, dimitri, the prince of graustark by george barr mccutcheon author of "graustark", "beverly of graustark," etc. with illustrations by a.i. keller contents chapter i mr. and mrs. blithers discuss matrimony ii two countries discuss marriage iii mr. blithers goes visiting iv protecting the blood v prince robin is asked to stand up vi the prince and mr. blithers vii a letter from maud viii on board the jupiter ix the prince meets miss guile x an hour on deck xi the lieutenant receives orders xii the lieutenant reports xiii the red letter b xiv the cat is away xv the mice in a trap xvi three messages xvii the prodigal daughter xviii a word of encouragement xix "what will my people do" xx love in abeyance xxi mr. blithers arrives in graustark xxii a visit to the castle xxiii pingari's xiv just what might have been expected illustrations her eyes were starry bright, her red lips were parted. _frontispiece_ "you will be her choice," said the other, without the quiver of an eye-lash. "i shall pray for continuous rough weather." the dignified ministry of graustark sat agape. chapter i mr. and mrs. blithers discuss matrimony "my dear," said mr. blithers, with decision, "you can't tell me." "i know i can't," said his wife, quite as positively. she knew when she could tell him a thing and when she couldn't. it was quite impossible to impart information to mr. blithers when he had the tips of two resolute fingers embedded in his ears. that happened to be his customary and rather unfair method of conquering her when an argument was going against him, not for want of logic on his part, but because it was easier to express himself with his ears closed than with them open. by this means he effectually shut out the voice of opposition and had the discussion all to himself. of course, it would have been more convincing if he had been permitted to hear the sound of his own eloquence; still, it was effective. she was sure to go on talking for two or three minutes and then subside in despair. a woman will not talk to a stone wall. nor will she wantonly allow an argument to die while there remains the slightest chance of its survival. given the same situation, a man would get up and leave his wife sitting there with her fingers in her ears; and, as he bolted from the room in high dudgeon, he would be mean enough to call attention to her pig-headedness. in most cases, a woman is content to listen to a silly argument rather than to leave the room just because her husband elects to be childish about a perfectly simple elucidation of the truth. mrs. blithers had lived with mr. blithers, more or less, for twenty-five years and she knew him like a book. he was a forceful person who would have his own way, even though he had to put his fingers in his ears to get it. at one period of their joint connubial agreement, when he had succeeded in accumulating a pitiful hoard amounting to but little more than ten millions of dollars, she concluded to live abroad for the purpose of educating their daughter, allowing him in the meantime to increase his fortune to something like fifty millions without having to worry about household affairs. but she had sojourned with him long enough, at odd times, to realise that, so long as he lived, he would never run away from an argument--unless, by some dreadful hook or crook, he should be so unfortunate as to be deprived of the use of both hands. she found room to gloat, of course, in the fact that he was obliged to stop up his ears in order to shut out the incontrovertible. moreover, when he called her "my dear" instead of the customary lou, it was a sign of supreme obstinacy on his part and could not, by any stretch of the imagination, be regarded as an indication of placid affection. he always said "my dear" at the top of his voice and with a great deal of irascibility. mr. william w. blithers was a self-made man who had begun his career by shouting lustily at a team of mules in a railway construction camp. other drivers had tried to improve on his vocabulary but even the mules were able to appreciate the futility of such an ambition, and later on, when he came to own two or three railroads, to say nothing of a few mines and a steam yacht, his ability to drive men was even more noteworthy than his power over the jackasses had been. but driving mules and men was one thing, driving a wife another. what incentive has a man, said he, when after he gets through bullying a creature that very creature turns in and caresses him? no self-respecting mule ever did such a thing as that, and no man would think of it except with horror. there is absolutely no defence against a creature who will rub your head with loving, gentle fingers after she has worked you up to the point where you could kill her with pleasure--or at least so said mr. blithers with rueful frequency. mr. and mrs. blithers had been discussing royalty. up to the previous week they had restricted themselves to the nobility, but as an event of unexampled importance had transpired in the interim, they now felt that it would be the rankest stupidity to consider any one short of a prince royal in picking out a suitable husband--or, more properly speaking, consort--for their only daughter, maud applegate blithers, aged twenty. mrs. blithers long ago had convinced her husband that no ordinary human being of the male persuasion was worthy of their daughter's hand, and had set her heart on having nothing meaner than a duke on the family roll,--(blithers alluded to it for a while as the pay-roll)--, with the choice lying between england and italy. at first, blithers, being an honest soul, insisted that a good american gentleman was all that anybody could ask for in the way of a son-in-law, and that when it came to a grandchild it would be perfectly proper to christen him duke--lots of people did!--and that was about all that a title amounted to anyway. she met this with the retort that maud might marry a man named jones, and how would duke jones sound? he weakly suggested that they could christen him marmaduke and--but she reminded him of his oft-repeated boast that there was nothing in the world too good for maud and instituted a pictorial campaign against his prejudices by painting in the most alluring colours the picture of a ducal palace in which the name of jones would never be uttered except when employed in directing the fifth footman or the third stable-boy--or perhaps a scullery maid--to do this, that or the other thing at the behest of her grace, the daughter of william w. blithers. this eventually worked on his imagination to such an extent that he forgot his natural pride and admitted that perhaps she was right. but now, just as they were on the point of accepting, in lieu of a duke, an exceptionally promising count, the aforesaid event conspired to completely upset all of their plans--or notions, so to speak. it was nothing less than the arrival in america of an eligible prince of the royal blood, a ruling prince at that. as a matter of fact he had not only arrived in america but upon the vast estate adjoining their own in the catskills. fortunately nothing definite had been arranged with the count. mrs. blithers now advised waiting a while before giving a definite answer to his somewhat eager proposal, especially as he was reputed to have sufficient means of his own to defend the chateau against any immediate peril of profligacy. she counselled mr. blithers to notify him that he deemed it wise to take the matter under advisement for a couple of weeks at least, but not to commit himself to anything positively negative. mr. blithers said that he had never heard anything so beautifully adroit as "positively negative," and directed his secretary to submit to him without delay the draft of a tactful letter to the anxious nobleman. they were agreed that a prince was more to be desired than a count and, as long as they were actually about it, they might as well aim high. somewhat hazily mr. blithers had inquired if it wouldn't be worth while to consider a king, but his wife set him straight in short order. peculiarly promising their hopes was the indisputable fact that the prince's mother had married an american, thereby establishing a precedent behind which no constitutional obstacle could thrive, and had lived very happily with the gentleman in spite of the critics. moreover, she had met him while sojourning on american soil, and that was certainly an excellent augury for the success of the present enterprise. what could be more fitting than that the son should follow in the footsteps of an illustrious mother? if an american gentleman was worthy of a princess, why not the other way about? certainly maud blithers was as full of attributes as any man in america. it appears that the prince, after leisurely crossing the continent on his way around the world, had come to the truxton kings for a long-promised and much-desired visit, the duration of which depended to some extent on his own inclinations, and not a little on the outcome of the war-talk that affected two great european nations--russia and austria. ever since the historic war between the balkan allies and the turks, in and , there had been mutterings, and now the situation had come to be admittedly precarious. mr. blithers was in a position to know that the little principality over which the young man reigned was bound to be drawn into the cataclysm, not as a belligerent or an ally, but in the matter of a loan that inconveniently expired within the year and which would hardly be renewed by russia with the prospect of vast expenditures of war threatening her treasury. the loan undoubtedly would be called and graustark was not in a position to pay out of her own slender resources, two years of famine having fallen upon the people at a time when prosperity was most to be desired. he was in touch with the great financial movements in all the world's capitals, and he knew that retrenchment was the watchword. it would be no easy matter for the little principality to negotiate a loan at this particular time, nor was there even a slender chance that russia would be benevolently disposed toward her debtors, no matter how small their obligations. they who owed would be called upon to pay, they who petitioned would be turned away with scant courtesy. it was the private opinion of mr. blithers that the young prince and the trusted agents who accompanied him on his journey, were in the united states solely for the purpose of arranging a loan through sources that could only be reached by personal appeal. but, naturally, mr. blithers couldn't breathe this to a soul. under the circumstances he couldn't even breathe it to his wife who, he firmly believed, was soulless. but all this is beside the question. the young prince of graustark was enjoying american hospitality, and no matter what he owed to russia, america owed to him its most punctillious consideration. if mr. blithers was to have anything to say about the matter, it would be for the ear of the prince alone and not for the busybodies. the main point is that the prince was now rusticating within what you might call a stone's throw of the capacious and lordly country residence of mr. blithers; moreover, he was an uncommonly attractive chap, with a laugh that was so charged with heartiness that it didn't seem possible that he could have a drop of royal blood in his vigorous young body. and the perfectly ridiculous part of the whole situation was that mr. and mrs. king lived in a modest, vine-covered little house that could have been lost in the servants' quarters at blitherwood. especially aggravating, too, was the attitude of the kings. they were really nobodies, so to speak, and yet they blithely called their royal guest "bobby" and allowed him to fetch and carry for their women-folk quite as if he were an ordinary whipper-snapper up from the city to spend the week-end. the remark with which mr. blithers introduces this chapter was in response to an oft-repeated declaration made by his wife in the shade of the red, white and blue awning of the terrace overlooking, from its despotic heights, the modest red roof of the king villa in the valley below. mrs. blithers merely had stated--but over and over again--that money couldn't buy everything in the world, referring directly to social eminence and indirectly to their secret ambition to capture a prince of the royal blood for their daughter maud. she had prefaced this opinion, however, with the exceedingly irritating insinuation that mr. blithers was not in his right mind when he proposed inviting the prince to spend a few weeks at blitherwood, provided the young man could cut short his visit in the home of mr. and mrs. king, who, he had asseverated, were not in a position to entertain royalty as royalty was in the habit of being entertained. long experience had taught mr. blithers to read the lip and eye language with some degree of certainty, so by watching his wife's indignant face closely he was able to tell when she was succumbing to reason. he was a burly, domineering person who reasoned for every one within range of his voice, and it was only when his wife became coldly sarcastic that he closed his ears and boomed his opinions into her very teeth, so to say, joyfully overwhelming her with facts which it were futile for her to attempt to deny. he was aware, quite as much so as if he had heard the words, that she was now saying: "well, there is absolutely no use arguing with you, will. have it your way if it pleases you." eying her with some uneasiness, he cautiously inserted his thumbs in the armholes of his brocaded waistcoat, and proclaimed: "as i said before, lou, there isn't a foreign nobleman, from the emperor down, who is above grabbing a few million dollars. they're all hard up, and what do they gain by marrying ladies of noble birth if said ladies are the daughters of noblemen who are as hard up as all the rest of 'em? besides, hasn't maud been presented at court? didn't you see to that? how about that pearl necklace i gave her when she was presented? wasn't it the talk of the season? there wasn't a duke in england who didn't figure the cost of that necklace to within a guinea or two. no girl ever had better advertising than--" "we were speaking of prince robin," remarked his wife, with a slight shudder. mrs. blithers came of better stock than her husband. his gaucheries frequently set her teeth on edge. she was born in providence and sometimes mentioned the occurrence when particularly desirous of squelching him, not unkindly perhaps but by way of making him realise that their daughter had good blood in her veins. mr. blithers had heard, in a round-about way, that he first saw the light of day in jersey city, although after he became famous newark claimed him. he did not bother about the matter. "well, he's like all the rest of them," said he, after a moment of indecision. something told him that he really ought to refrain from talking about the cost of things, even in the bosom of his family. he had heard that only vulgarians speak of their possessions. "now, there's no reason in the world why we shouldn't consider his offer. he--" "offer?" she cried, aghast. "he has made no offer, will. he doesn't even know that maud is in existence. how can you say such a thing?" "i was merely looking ahead, that's all. my motto is 'look ahead.' you know it as well as i do. where would i be to-day if i hadn't looked ahead and seen what was going to happen before the other fellow had his eyes open? will you tell me that? where, i say? what's more, where would i be now if i hadn't looked ahead and seen what a marriage with the daughter of judge morton would mean to me in the long run?" he felt that he had uttered a very pretty and convincing compliment. "i never made a bad bargain in my life, lou, and it wasn't guess-work when i married you. you, my dear old girl, you were the solid foundation on which i--" "i know," she said wearily; "you've said it a thousand times: 'the foundation on which i built my temple of posterity'--yes, i know, will. but i am still unalterably opposed to making ourselves ridiculous in the eyes of mr. and mrs. king." "ridiculous? i don't understand you." "well, you will after you think it over," she said quietly, and he scowled in positive perplexity. "don't you think he'd be a good match for maud?" he asked, after many minutes. he felt that he had thought it over. "are you thinking of kidnapping him, will?" she demanded. "certainly not! but all you've got to do is to say that he's the man for maud and i'll--i'll do the rest. that's the kind of a man i am, lou. you say you don't want count what's-his-name,--that is, you don't want him as much as you did,--and you do say that it would be the grandest thing in the world if maud could be the princess of grosstick--" "graustark, will." "that's what i said. well, if you want her to be the princess of _that_, i'll see that she is, providing this fellow is a gentleman and worthy of _her_. the only prince i ever knew was a damned rascal, and i'm going to be careful about this one. you remember that measly--" "there is no question about prince robin," said she sharply. "i suppose the only question is, how much will he want?" "you mean--settlement?" "sure." "have you no romance in your soul, william blithers?" "i never believed in fairy stories," said he grimly. "and what's more, i don't take any stock in cheap novels in which american heroes go about marrying into royal families and all that sort of rot. it isn't done, lou. if you want to marry into a royal family you've got to put up the coin." "prince robin's mother, the poor princess yetive, married an american for love, let me remind you." "umph! where is this groostock anyway?" "'somewhere east of the setting sun,'" she quoted. "you _must_ learn how to pronounce it." "i never was good at foreign languages. by the way, where is maud this afternoon?" "motoring." he waited for additional information. it was not vouchsafed, so he demanded somewhat fearfully: "who with?" "young scoville." he scowled. "he's a loafer, lou. no good in the world. i don't like the way you let--" "he is of a very good family, my dear. i--" "is he--er--in love with her?" "certainly." "good lord!" "and why not? isn't every one she meets in love with her?" "i--i suppose so," he admitted sheepishly. his face brightened. "and there's no reason why this prince shouldn't fall heels over head, is there? well, there you are! that will make a difference in the settlement, believe me--a difference of a couple of millions at least, if--" she arose abruptly. "you are positively disgusting, will. can't you think of anything but--" "say, ain't that maudie coming up the drive now? sure it is! by gracious, did you ever see anything to beat her? she's got 'em all beat a mile when it comes to looks and style and--oh, by the way," lowering his voice to a hoarse, confidential whisper, "--i wouldn't say anything to her about the marriage just yet if i were you. i want to look him over first." chapter ii two countries discuss marriage prince robin of graustark was as good-looking a chap as one would see in a week's journey. little would one suspect him of being the descendant of a long and distinguished line of princes, save for the unmistakeable though indefinable something in his eye that exacted rather than invited the homage of his fellow man. his laugh was a free and merry one, his spirits as effervescent as wine, his manner blithe and boyish; yet beneath all this fair and guileless exposition of carelessness lay the sober integrity of caste. it looked out through the steady, unswerving eyes, even when they twinkled with mirth; it met the gaze of the world with a serene imperiousness that gave way before no mortal influence; it told without boastfulness a story of centuries. for he was the son of a princess royal, and the blood of ten score rulers of men had come down to him as a heritage of strength. his mother, the beautiful, gracious and lamented yetive, set all royal circles by the ears when she married the american, lorry, back in the nineties. a special act of the ministry had legalised this union and the son of the american was not deprived of his right to succeed to the throne which his forebears had occupied for centuries. from his mother he had inherited the right of kings, from his father the spirit of freedom; from his mother the power of majesty, from his father the power to see beyond that majesty. when little more than a babe in arms he was orphaned and the affairs of state fell upon the shoulders of three loyal and devoted men who served as regents until he became of age. wisely they served both him and the people through the years that intervened between the death of the princess and her consort and the day when he reached his majority. that day was a glorious one in graustark. the people worshipped the little prince when he was in knickerbockers and played with toys; they saw him grow to manhood with hearts that were full of hope and contentment; they made him their real ruler with the same joyous spirit that had attended him in the days when he sat in the great throne and "made believe" that he was one of the mighty, despite the fact that his little legs barely reached to the edge of the gold and silver seat,--and slept soundly through all the befuddling sessions of the cabinet. he was seven when the great revolt headed by count marlanx came so near to overthrowing the government, and he behaved like the prince that he was. it was during those perilous times that he came to know the gallant truxton king in whose home he was now a happy guest. but before truxton king he knew the lovely girl who became the wife of that devoted adventurer, and who, to him, was always to be "aunt loraine." as a very small boy he had paid two visits to the homeland of his father, but after the death of his parents his valuable little person was guarded so jealously by his subjects that not once had he set foot beyond the borders of graustark, except on two widely separated occasions of great pomp and ceremony at the courts of vienna and st. petersburgh, and a secret journey to london when he was seventeen. (it appears that he was determined to see a great football match.) on each of these occasions he was attended by watchful members of the cabinet and certain military units in the now far from insignificant standing army. as a matter of fact, he witnessed the football match from the ordinary stands, surrounded by thousands of unsuspecting britons, but carefully wedged in between two generals of his own army and flanked by a minister of police, a minister of the treasury and a minister of war, all of whom were excessively bored by the contest and more or less appalled by his unregal enthusiasm. he had insisted on going to the match incog, to enjoy it for all it was worth to the real spectators--those who sit or stand where the compression is not unlike that applied to a box of sardines. the regency expired when he was twenty years of age, and he became ruler in fact, of himself as well as of the half-million subjects who had waited patiently for the great day that was to see him crowned and glorified. not one was there in that goodly half million who stood out against him on that triumphant day; not one who possessed a sullen or resentful heart. he was their prince, and they loved him well. after that wonderful coronation day he would never forget that he was a prince or that the hearts of a half million were to throb with love for him so long as he was man as well as prince. mr. blithers was very close to the truth when he said (to himself, if you remember) that the financial situation in the far-off principality was not all that could be desired. it is true that graustark was in russia's debt to the extent of some twenty million gavvos,--about thirty millions of dollars, in other words,--and that the day of reckoning was very near at hand. the loan was for a period of twelve years, and had been arranged contrary to the advice of john tullis, an american financier who long had been interested in the welfare of the principality through friendship for the lamented prince consort, lorry. he had been farsighted enough to realise that russia would prove a hard creditor, even though she may have been sincere in her protestations of friendship for the modest borrower. a stubborn element in the cabinet overcame his opposition, however, and the debt was contracted, taxation increased by popular vote and a period of governmental thriftiness inaugurated. railroads, highways, bridges and aqueducts were built, owned and controlled by the state, and the city of edelweiss rebuilt after the devastation created during the revolt of count marlanx and his minions. there seemed to be some prospect of vindication for the ministry and tullis, who lived in edelweiss, was fair-minded enough to admit that their action appeared to have been for the best. the people had prospered and taxes were paid in full and without complaint. the reserve fund grew steadily and surely and there was every prospect that when the huge debt came due it would be paid in cash. but on the very crest of their prosperity came adversity. for two years the crops failed and a pestilence swept through the herds. the flood of gavvos that had been pouring into the treasury dwindled into a pitiful rivulet; the little that came in was applied, of necessity, to administration purposes and the maintenance of the army, and there was not so much as a penny left over for the so-called sinking fund. a year of grace remained. the minister of finance had long since recovered from the delusion that it would be easy to borrow from england or france to pay the russians, there being small prospect of a renewal by the czar even for a short period at a higher rate of interest. the great nations of europe made it plain to the little principality that they would not put a finger in russia's pie at this stage of the game. russia was ready to go to war with her great neighbour, austria. diplomacy--caution, if you will,--made it imperative that other nations should sit tight and look to their own knitting, so to say. not one could afford to be charged with befriending, even in a round-about way, either of the angry grumblers. it was only too well known in diplomatic circles that russia coveted the railroads of graustark, as a means of throwing troops into a remote and almost impregnable portion of austria. if the debt were paid promptly, it would be impossible, according to international law, for the great white bear to take over these roads and at least a portion of the western border of the principality. obviously, austria would be benefitted by the prompt lifting of the debt, but her own relations with russia were so strained that an offer to come to the rescue of graustark would be taken at once as an open affront and vigorously resented. her hands were tied. the northern and western parts of graustark were rich with productive mines. the government had built railroads throughout these sections so that the yield of coal and copper might be given an outlet to the world at large. in making the loan, russia had demanded these prosperous sections as security for the vast sum advanced, and graustark in an evil hour had submitted, little suspecting the trick that dame nature was to play in the end. private banking institutions in europe refused to make loans under the rather exasperating circumstances, preferring to take no chances. money was not cheap in these bitter days, neither in europe nor america. caution was the watchword. a vast european war was not improbable, despite the sincere efforts on the part of the various nations to keep out of the controversy. nor was mr. blithers far from right in his shrewd surmise that prince robin and his agents were not without hope in coming to america at this particular time. graustark had laid by barely half the amount required to lift the debt to russia. it was not beyond the bounds of reason to expect her prince to secure the remaining fifteen millions through private sources in new york city. six weeks prior to his arrival in new york, the young prince landed in san francisco. he had come by way of the orient, accompanied by the chief of staff of the graustark army, count quinnox,--hereditary watch-dog to the royal family!--and a young lieutenant of the guard, boske dank. two men were they who would have given a thousand lives in the service of their prince. no less loyal was the body-servant who looked after the personal wants of the eager young traveller, an englishman of the name of hobbs. a very poor valet was he, but an exceptionally capable person when it came to the checking of luggage and the divining of railway time-tables. he had been an agent for cook's. it was quite impossible to miss a train that hobbs suspected of being the right one. prince robin came unheralded and traversed the breadth of the continent without attracting more than the attention that is bestowed upon good-looking young men. like his mother, nearly a quarter of a century before, he travelled incognito. but where she had used the somewhat emphatic name of guggenslocker, he was known to the hotel registers as "mr. r. schmidt and servant." there was romance in the eager young soul of prince robin. he revelled in the love story of his parents. the beautiful princess yetive first saw grenfell lorry in an express train going eastward from denver. their wonderful romance was born, so to speak, in a pullman compartment car, and it thrived so splendidly that it almost upset a dynasty, for never--in all of nine centuries--had a ruler of graustark stooped to marriage with a commoner. and so when the far-sighted ministry and house of nobles in graustark set about to select a wife for their young ruler, they made overtures to the prince of dawsbergen whose domain adjoined graustark on the south. the crown princess of dawsbergen, then but fifteen, was the unanimous choice of the amiable match-makers in secret conclave. this was when robin was seventeen and just over being fatuously in love with his middle-aged instructress in french. the prince of dawsbergen despatched an embassy of noblemen to assure his neighbour that the match would be highly acceptable to him and that in proper season the betrothal might be announced. but alack! both courts overlooked the fact that there was independent american blood in the two young people. neither the prince of graustark nor the crown princess of dawsbergen,--whose mother was a miss beverly calhoun of virginia,--was disposed to listen to the voice of expediency; in fact, at a safe distance of three or four hundred miles, the youngsters figuratively turned up their noses at each other and frankly confessed that they hated each other and wouldn't be bullied into getting married, no matter what _anybody_ said, or something of the sort. "s'pose i'm going to say i'll marry a girl i've never seen?" demanded seventeen-year-old robin, full of wrath. "not i, my lords. i'm going to look about a bit, if you don't mind. the world is full of girls. i'll marry the one i happen to want or i'll not marry at all." "but, highness," they protested, "you must listen to reason. there must be a successor to the throne of graustark. you would not have the name die with you. the young princess is--" "is fifteen you say," he interrupted loftily. "come around in ten years and we'll talk it over again. but i'm not going to pledge myself to marry a child in short frocks, name or no name. is she pretty?" the lords did not know. they had not seen the young lady. "if she is pretty you'd be sure to know it, my lords, so we'll assume she isn't. i saw her when she was three years old, and she certainly was a fright when she cried, and, my lords, she cried all the time. no, i'll not marry her. be good enough to say to the prince of dawsbergen that i'm very much obliged to him, but it's quite out of the question." and the fifteen-year-old crown princess, four hundred miles away, coolly informed her doting parents that she was tired of being a princess anyway and very much preferred marrying some one who lived in a cottage. in fine, she stamped her little foot and said she'd jump into the river before she'd marry the prince of graustark. "but he's a very handsome, adorable boy," began her mother. "and half-american just as you are, my child," put in her father encouragingly. "nothing could be more suitable than--" "i don't intend to marry anybody until i'm thirty at least, so that ends it, daddy,--i mean, your poor old highness." "naturally we do not expect you to be married before you are out of short frocks, my dear," said prince dantan stiffly. "but a betrothal is quite another thing. it is customary to arrange these marriages years before--" "is prince robin in love with me?" "i--ahem!--that's a very silly question. he hasn't seen you since you were a baby. but he _will_ be in love with you, never fear." "he may be in love with some one else, for all we know, so where do i come in?" "come in?" gasped her father. "she's part american, dear," explained the mother, with her prettiest smile. "besides," said the crown princess, with finality, "i'm not even going to be engaged to a man i've never seen. and if you insist, i'll run away as sure as anything." and so the matter rested. five years have passed since the initial overtures were made by the two courts, and although several sly attempts were made to bring the young people to a proper understanding of their case, they aroused nothing more than scornful laughter on the part of the belligerents, as the venerable baron dangloss was wont to call them, not without pride in his sharp old voice. "it all comes from mixing the blood," said the prime minister gloomily. "or improving it," said the baron, and was frowned upon. and no one saw the portentous shadow cast by the slim daughter of william w. blithers, for the simple reason that neither graustark nor dawsbergen knew that it existed. they lived in serene ignorance of the fact that god, while he was about it, put maud applegate blithers into the world on precisely the same day that the crown princess of dawsbergen first saw the light of day. on the twenty-second anniversary of his birth, prince robin fared forth in quest of love and romance, not without hope of adventure, for he was a valorous chap with the heritage of warriors in his veins. said he to himself in dreamy contemplation of the long journey ahead of him: "i will traverse the great highways that my mother trod and i will look for the golden girl sitting by the wayside. she must be there, and though it is a wide world, i am young and my eyes are sharp. i will find her sitting at the roadside eager for me to come, not housed in a gloomy; castle surrounded by the spooks of a hundred ancestors. they who live in castles wed to hate and they who wed at the roadside live to love. fortune attend me! if love lies at the roadside waiting, do not let me pass it by. all the princesses are not inside the castles. some sit outside the gates and laugh with glee, for love is their companion. so away i go, la, la! looking for the princess with the happy heart and the smiling lips! it is a wide world but my eyes are sharp. i shall find my princess." but, alas, for his fine young dream, he found no golden girl at the roadside nor anything that suggested romance. there were happy hearts and smiling lips--and all for him, it would appear--but he passed them by, for his eyes were _sharp_ and his wits awake. and so, at last, he came to gotham, his heart as free as the air he breathed, confessing that his quest had been in vain. history failed to repeat itself. his mother's romance would stand alone and shine without a flicker to the end of time. there could be no counterpart. "well, i had the fun of looking," he philosophised (to himself, for no man knew of his secret project) and grinned with a sort of amused tolerance for the sentimental side of his nature. "i'm a silly ass to have even dreamed of finding her as i passed along, and if i had found her what the deuce could i have done about it anyway? this isn't the day for mediaeval lady-snatching. i dare say i'm just as well off for not having found her. i still have the zest for hunting farther, and there's a lot in that." then aloud: "hobbs, are we on time?" "we are, sir," said hobbs, without even glancing at his watch. the train was passing th street. "to the minute, sir. we will be in in ten minutes, if nothing happens. mr. king will be at the station to meet you, sir. any orders, sir?" "yes, pinch me, hobbs." "pinch your highness?" in amazement. "my word, sir, wot--" "i just want to be sure that the dream is over, hobbs. never mind. you needn't pinch me. i'm awake," and to prove it he stretched his fine young body in the ecstasy of realisation. that night he slept soundly in the catskills. chapter iii mr. blithers goes visiting i repeat: prince robin was as handsome a chap as you'll see in a week's journey. he was just under six feet, slender, erect and strong in the way that a fine blade is strong. his hair was dark and straight, his eyes blue-black, his cheek brown and ruddy with the health of a life well-ordered. nose, mouth and chin were clean-cut and indicative of power, while his brow was broad and smooth, with a surface so serene that it might have belonged to a woman. at first glance you would have taken him for a healthy, eager american athlete, just out of college, but that aforementioned seriousness in his deep-set, thoughtful eyes would have caused you to think twice before pronouncing him a fledgling. he had enjoyed life, he had made the most of his play-days, but always there had hung over his young head the shadow of the cross that would have to be supported to the end of his reign, through thick and thin, through joy and sorrow, through peace and strife. he saw the shadow when he was little more than a baby; it was like a figure striding beside him always; it never left him. he could not be like other boys, for he was a prince, and it was a serious business being a prince! a thousand times, as a lad, he had wished that he could have a few "weeks off" from being what he was and be just a common, ordinary, harum scarum boy, like the "kids" of petrove, the head stableman. he would even have put up with the thrashings they got from their father, just for the sake of enjoying the mischief that purchased the punishment. but alas! no one would ever dream of giving him the lovely "tannings" that other boys got when they were naughty. such joys were not for him; he was mildly reproved and that was all. but his valiant spirit found release in many a glorious though secret encounter with boys both large and small, and not infrequently he sustained severe pummelings at the hands of plebeians who never were quite sure that they wouldn't be beheaded for obliging him in the matter of a "scrap," but who fought like little wild-cats while they were about it. they were always fair fights, for he fought as a boy and not as a prince. he took his lickings like a prince, however, and his victories like a boy. the one thing he wanted to do above all others was to play foot-ball. but they taught him fencing, riding, shooting and tennis instead, for, said they, foot-ball is only to be looked-at, not played,--fine argument, said robin! be that as it may, he was physically intact and bodily perfect. he had no broken nose, smashed ribs, stiff shoulder joints or weak ankles, nor was he toothless. in all his ambitious young life he had never achieved anything more enduring than a bloody nose, a cracked lip or a purple eye, and he had been compelled to struggle pretty hard for even those blessings. and to him the pity of it all was that he was as hard as nails and as strong as a bullock--a sad waste, if one were to believe him in his bitter lamentations. toward the end of his first week at red roof, the summer home of the truxton kings, he might have been found on the broad lawn late one afternoon, playing tennis with his hostess, the lovely and vivacious "aunt loraine." to him, mrs. king would always be "aunt loraine," even as he would never be anything but bobby to her. she was several years under forty and as light and active as a young girl. her smooth cheek glowed with the happiness and thrill of the sport, and he was hard put to hold his own against her, even though she insisted that he play his level best. truxton king, stalwart and lazy, lounged on the turf, umpiring the game, attended by two pretty young girls, a lieutenant in flannels and the ceremonious count quinnox, iron grey and gaunt-faced battleman with the sabre scars on his cheek and the bullet wound in his side. "good work, rainie," shouted the umpire as his wife safely placed the ball far out of her opponent's reach. "hi!" shouted robin, turning on him with a scowl. "you're not supposed to cheer anybody, d' you understand? you're only an umpire." "outburst of excitement, kid," apologised the umpire complacently. "couldn't help it. forty thirty. get busy." "he called him 'kid,'" whispered one of the young girls to the other. "well i heard the prince call mr. king 'truck' a little while ago," whispered the other. "isn't he good-looking?" sighed the first one. they were sisters, very young, and lived in the cottage across the road with their widowed mother. their existence was quite unknown to mr. and mrs. blithers, although the amiable maud was rather nice to them. she had once picked them up in her automobile when she encountered them walking to the station. after that she called them by their christian names and generously asked them to call her maud. it might appear from this that maud suffered somewhat from loneliness in the great house on the hill. the felton girls had known robin a scant three-quarters of an hour and were deeply in love with him. fannie was eighteen and nellie but little more than sixteen. he was their first prince. "whee-ee!" shrilled mrs. king, going madly after a return that her opponent had lobbed over the net. she missed. "deuce," said her husband laconically. a servant was crossing the lawn with a tray of iced drinks. as he neared the recumbent group he paused irresolutely and allowed his gaze to shift toward the road below. then he came on and as he drew alongside the interested umpire he leaned over and spoke in a low tone of voice. "what?" demanded king, squinting. "just coming in the gate, sir," said the footman. king shot a glance over his shoulder and then sat up in astonishment. "good lord! blithers! what the deuce can he be doing here? i say, loraine! hi!" "vantage in," cried his pretty wife, dashing a stray lock from her eyes. mr. king's astonishment was genuine. it might better have been pronounced bewilderment. mr. blithers was paying his first visit to red roof. up to this minute it is doubtful if he ever had accorded it so much as a glance of interest in passing. he bowed to king occasionally at the station, but that was all. but now his manner was exceedingly friendly as he advanced upon the group. one might have been pardoned for believing him to be a most intimate friend of the family and given to constantly dropping in at any and all hours of the day. the game was promptly interrupted. it would not be far from wrong to say that mrs. king's pretty mouth was open not entirely as an aid to breathing. she couldn't believe her eyes as she slowly abandoned her court and came forward to meet their advancing visitor. "take my racket, dear," she said to one of the peltons, it happened to be fannie and the poor child almost fainted with joy. the prince remained in the far court, idly twirling his racket. "afternoon, king," said mr. blithers, doffing his panama--to fan a heated brow. "been watching the game from the road for a spell. out for a stroll. couldn't resist running in for a minute. you play a beautiful game, mrs. king. how do you do! pretty hot work though, isn't it?" he was shaking hands with king and smiling genially upon the trim, panting figure of the prince's adversary. "good afternoon, mr. blithers," said king, still staring. "you--you know my wife?" mr. blithers ignored what might have been regarded as an introduction, and blandly announced that tennis wasn't a game for fat people, patting his somewhat aggressive extension in mock dolefulness as he spoke. "you should see my daughter play," he went on, scarcely heeding mrs. king's tactless remark that she affected the game because she had a horror of getting fat. "corking, she is, and as quick as a cat. got a medal at lakewood last spring. i'll fix up a match soon, mrs. king, between you and maud. ought to be worth going miles to see, eh, king?" "oh, i am afraid, mr. blithers, that i am not in your daughter's class," said loraine king, much too innocently. "we've got a pretty fair tennis court up at blitherwood," said mr. blithers calmly. "i have a professional instructor up every week to play with maud. she can trim most of the amateurs so--" "may i offer you a drink of some kind, mr. blithers?" asked king, recovering his poise to some extent. "we are having lemonades, but perhaps you'd prefer something--" "lemonade will do for me, thanks," said the visitor affably. "we ought to run in on each other a little more often than--thanks! by jove, it looks refreshing. your health, mrs. king. too bad to drink a lady's health in lemonade but--the sentiment's the same." he was looking over her shoulder at the bounding prince in the far court as he spoke, and it seemed that he held his glass a trifle too high in proposing the toast. "i beg your pardon, mr. blithers," mumbled king. "permit me to introduce count quinnox and lieutenant dank." both of the foreigners had arisen and were standing very erect and soldierly a few yards away. "you know miss felton, of course." "delighted to meet you, count," said mr. blithers, advancing with outstretched hand. he shook the hand of the lieutenant with a shade less energy. "enjoying the game?" "immensely," said the count. "it is rarely played so well." mr. blithers affected a most degage manner, squinting carelessly at the prince. "that young chap plays a nice game. who is he?" the two graustarkians stiffened perceptibly, and waited for king to make the revelation to his visitor. "that's prince robin of--" he began but mr. blithers cut him short with a genial wave of the hand. "of course," he exclaimed, as if annoyed by his own stupidity. "i did hear that you were entertaining a prince. slipped my mind, however. well, well, we're coming up in the world, eh?--having a real nabob among us." he hesitated for a moment. "but don't let me interrupt the game," he went on, as if expecting king to end the contest in order to present the prince to him. "won't you sit down, mr. blithers?" said mrs. king. "or would you prefer a more comfortable chair on the porch? we--" "no, thanks, i'll stay here if you don't mind," said he hastily, and dragged up the camp chair that lieutenant dank had been occupying. "fetch another chair, lucas," said king to the servant. "and another glass of lemonade for miss felton." "felton?" queried mr. blithers, sitting down very carefully on the rather fragile chair, and hitching up his white flannel trousers at the knees to reveal a pair of purple socks, somewhat elementary in tone. "we know your daughter, mr. blithers," said little miss nellie eagerly. "i was just trying to remember--" "we live across the road--over there in the little white house with the ivy--" "--where i'd heard the name," proceeded mr. blithers, still looking at the prince. "by jove, i should think my daughter and the prince would make a rattling good match. i mean," he added, with a boisterous laugh, "a good match at tennis. we'll have to get 'em together some day, eh, up at blitherwood. how long is the prince to be with you, mrs. king?" "it's rather uncertain, mr. blithers," said she, and no more. mr. blithers fanned himself in patience for a moment or two. then he looked at his watch. "getting along toward dinner-time up our way," he ventured. everybody seemed rather intent on the game, which was extremely one-sided. "good work!" shouted king as fannie felton managed to return an easy service. lieutenant dank applauded vigorously. "splendid!" he cried out. "capitally placed!" "they speak remarkably good english, don't they?" said mr. blithers in an audible aside to mrs. king. "beats the deuce how quickly they pick it up." she smiled. "officers in the graustark army are required to speak english, french and german, mr. blithers." "it's a good idea," said he. "maud speaks french and italian like a native. she was educated in paris and rome, you know. fact is, she's lived abroad a great deal." "is she at home now, mr. blithers?" "depends on what you'd call home, mrs. king. we've got so many i don't know just which is the real one. if you mean blitherwood, yes, she's there. course, there's our town house in madison avenue, the place at newport, one at nice and one at pasadena--california, you know--and a little shack in london. by the way, my wife says you live quite near our place in new york." "we live in madison avenue, but it's a rather long street, mr. blithers. just where is your house?" she inquired, rather spitefully. he looked astonished. "you surely must know where the blithers house is at--" "game!" shrieked fannie felton, tossing her racket in the air, a victor. "they're through," said mr. blithers in a tone of relief. he shifted his legs and put his hands on his knees, suggesting a readiness to arise on an instant's notice. "shall we try another set?" called out the prince. "make it doubles," put in lieutenant dank, and turned to nellie. "shall we take them on?" and doubles it was, much to the disgust of mr. blithers. he sat through the nine games, manifesting an interest he was far from feeling, and then--as dusk fell across the valley--arose expectantly with the cry of "game and set." he had discoursed freely on the relative merits of various motor cars, stoutly maintaining that the one he drove was without question the best in the market (in fact, there wasn't another "make" that he would have as a gift); the clubs he belonged to in new york were the only ones that were worth belonging to (he wouldn't be caught dead in any of the others); his tailor was the only tailor in the country who knew how to make a decent looking suit of clothes (the rest of them were "the limit"); the pomeranian that he had given his daughter was the best dog of its breed in the world (he was looking at mrs. king's pomeranian as he made the remark); the tennis court at blitherwood was pronounced by experts to be the finest they'd, ever seen--and so on and so on, until the long-drawn-out set was ended. to his utter amazement, at the conclusion of the game, the four players made a dash for the house without even so much as a glance in his direction. it was the prince who shouted something that sounded like "now for a shower!" as he raced up the terrace, followed by the other participants. mr. blithers said something violent under his breath, but resolutely retained his seat. it was king who glanced slyly at his watch this time, and subsequently shot a questioning look at his wife. she was frowning in considerable perplexity, and biting her firm red lips. count quinnox coolly arose and excused himself with the remark that he was off to dress for dinner. he also looked at his watch, which certainly was an act that one would hardly have expected of a diplomat. "well, well," said mr. blithers profoundly. then he looked at his own watch--and settled back in his chair, a somewhat dogged compression about his jaws. he was not the man to be thwarted. "you certainly have a cosy little place here. king," he remarked after a moment or two. "we like it," said king, twiddling his fingers behind his back. "humble but homelike." "mrs. blithers has been planning to come over for some time, mrs. king. i told her she oughtn't to put it off--be neighbourly, don't you know. that's me. i'm for being neighbourly with my neighbours. but women, they--well, you know how it is, mrs. king. always something turning up to keep 'em from doing the things they want to do most. and mrs. blithers has so many sociable obli--i beg pardon?" "i was just wondering if you would stay and have dinner with us, mr. blithers," said she, utterly helpless. she wouldn't look her husband in the eye--and it was quite fortunate that she was unable to do so, for it would have resulted in a laughing duet that could never have been explained. "why," said mr. blithers, arising and looking at his watch again, "bless my soul, it is _past_ dinner time, isn't it? i had no idea it was so late. 'pon my soul, it's good of you, mrs. king. you see, we have dinner at seven up at blitherwood and--i declare it's half-past now. i don't see where the time has gone. thanks, i _will_ stay if you really mean to be kind to a poor old beggar. don't do anything extra on my account, though, just your regular dinner, you know. no frills, if you please." he looked himself over in some uncertainty. "will this rag of mine do?" "we shan't notice it, mr. blithers," said she, and he turned the remark over in his mind several times as he walked beside her toward the house. somehow it didn't sound just right to him, but for the life of him he couldn't tell why. "we are quite simple folk, you see," she went on desperately, making note of the fact that her husband lagged behind like the coward he was. "red roof is as nothing compared to blitherwood, with its army of servants and--" mr. blithers magnanimously said "pooh!" and, continuing, remarked that he wouldn't say exactly how many they employed but he was sure there were not more than forty, including the gardeners. "besides," he added gallantly, "what is an army of servants compared to the army of grasstock? you've got the real article, mrs. king, so don't you worry. but, i say, if necessary, i can telephone up to the house and have a dress suit sent down. it won't take fifteen minutes, lou--er--mrs. blithers always has 'em laid out for me, in case of an emergency, and--" "pray do not think of it," she cried. "the men change, of course, after they've been playing tennis, but we--we--well, you see, you haven't been playing," she concluded, quite breathlessly. at that instant the sprightly feltons dashed pell mell down the steps and across the lawn homeward, shrieking something unintelligible to mrs. king as they passed. "rather skittish," observed mr. blithers, glaring after them disapprovingly. "they are dears," said mrs. king. "the--er--prince attracted by either one of 'em?" he queried. "he barely knows them, mr. blithers." "i see. shouldn't think they'd appeal to him. rather light, i should say--i mean up here," and he tapped his forehead so that she wouldn't think that he referred to pounds and ounces. "i don't believe maud knows 'em, as the little one said. maud is rather--" "it is possible they have mistaken some one else for your daughter," said she very gently. "impossible," said he with force. "they are coming back here to dinner," she said, and her eyes sparkled with mischief. "i shall put you between them, mr. blithers. you will find that they are very bright, attractive girls." "we'll see," said he succinctly. king caught them up at the top of the steps. he seemed to be slightly out of breath. "make yourself at home, mr. blithers. i must get into something besides these duds i'm wearing," he said. "would you like to--er--wash up while we're--" "no, thanks," interposed mr. blithers. "i'm as clean as a whistle. don't mind me, please. run along and dress, both of you. i'll sit out here and--count the minutes," the last with a very elaborate bow to mrs. king. "dinner's at half-past eight," said she, and disappeared. mr. blithers recalled his last glance at his watch, and calculated that he would have at least fifty minutes to count, provided dinner was served promptly on the dot. "you will excuse me if i leave you--" "don't mention it, old man," said the new guest, rather more curtly than he intended. "i'll take it easy." "shall i have the butler telephone to blitherwood to say that you won't be home to dinner?" "it would be better if he were to say that i wasn't home to dinner," said mr. blithers. "it's over by this time." "something to drink while you're--" "no, thanks. i can wait," and he sat down. "you don't mind my--" "not at all." mr. blithers settled himself in the big porch chair and glowered at the shadowy hills on the opposite side of the valley. the little cottage of the feltons came directly in his line of vision. he scowled more deeply than before. at the end of fifteen minutes he started up suddenly and, after a quick uneasy glance about him, started off across the lawn, walking more rapidly than was his wont. he had remembered that his chauffeur was waiting for him with the car just around a bend in the road--and had been waiting for two hours or more. "go home," he said to the man. "come back at twelve. and don't use the cut-out going up that hill, either." later on, he met the prince. very warmly he shook the tall young man's hand,--he even gave it a prophetic second squeeze,--and said: "i am happy to welcome you to the catskills, prince." "thank you," said prince robin. chapter iv protecting the blood "a most extraordinary person," said count quinnox to king, after mr. blithers had taken his departure, close upon the heels of the feltons who were being escorted home by the prince and dank. the venerable graustarkian's heroic face was a study. he had just concluded a confidential hour in a remote corner of the library with the millionaire while the younger people were engaged in a noisy though temperate encounter with the roulette wheel at the opposite end of the room. "i've never met any one like him, mr. king." he mopped his brow, and still looked a trifle dazed. king laughed. "there isn't any one like him, count. he is the one and only blithers." "he is very rich?" "millions and millions," said mrs. king. "didn't he tell you how many?" "i am not quite sure. this daughter of his--is she attractive?" "rather. why?" "he informed me that her dot would be twenty millions if she married the right man. moreover, she is his only heir. 'pon my soul, mrs. king, he quite took my breath away when he announced that he knew all about our predicament in relation to the russian loan. it really sounded quite--you might say significant. does--does he imagine that--good heaven, it's almost stupefying!" king smoked in silence for many seconds. there was a pucker of annoyance on his wife's fair brow as she stared reflectively through the window at the distant lights of blitherwood, far up the mountain side. "sounds ominous to me," said king drily. "is bobby for sale?" the count favoured him with a look of horror. "my dear mr. king!" then as comprehension came, he smiled. "i see. no, he isn't for sale. he is a prince, not a pawn. mr. blithers may be willing to buy but--" he proudly shook his head. "he was feeling you out, however," said king, ruminating. "planting the seed, so to speak." "there is a rumour that she is to marry count lannet," said his wife. "a horrid creature. there was talk in the newspapers last winter of an italian duke. poor girl! from what i hear of her, she is rather a good sort, sensible and more genuinely american in her tastes than might be, expected after her bringing-up. and she _is_ pretty." "how about this young scoville, rainie?" "he's a nice boy but--he'll never get her. she is marked up too high for him. he doesn't possess so much as the title to an acre of land." "extraordinary, the way you americans go after our titles," said the count good-naturedly. "no more extraordinary than the way you europeans go after our money," was her retort. "i don't know which is the cheaper, titles or money in these days," said king. "i understand one can get a most acceptable duke for three or four millions, a nice marquis or count for half as much, and a sir on tick." he eyed the count speculatively. "of course a prince of the royal blood comes pretty high." "pretty high," said the count grimly. he seemed to be turning something over in his mind. "your amazing mr. blithers further confided to me that he might be willing to take care of the russian obligation for us if no one else turns up in time. as a matter of fact, without waiting for my reply, he said that he would have his lawyers look into the matter of security at once. i was somewhat dazed, but i think he said that it would be no trouble at all for him to provide the money himself and he would be glad to accommodate us if we had no other plan in mind. amazing, amazing!" "of course, you told him it was not to be considered," said king sharply. "i endeavoured to do so, but i fear he did not grasp what i was saying. moreover, i tried to tell him that it was a matter i was not at liberty to discuss. he didn't hear that, either." "he is not in the habit of hearing any one but himself, i fear," said king. "i am afraid poor robin is in jeopardy," said his wife, ruefully. "the bogieman is after him." "does the incomprehensible creature imagine--" began the count loudly, and then found it necessary to pull his collar away from his throat as if to save himself from immediate strangulation. "mr. blithers is not blessed with an imagination, count," said she. "he doesn't imagine anything." "if he should presume to insult our prince by--" grated the old soldier, very red in the face and erect--"if he should presume to--" words failed him and an instant later he was laughing, but somewhat uncertainly, with his amused host and hostess. mr. blithers reached home in high spirits. his wife was asleep, but he awoke her without ceremony. "i say, lou, wake up. got some news for you. we'll have a prince in the family before you can say jack robinson." she sat up in bed, blinking with dismay. "in heaven's name, will, what have you been doing? what--_have_ you been--" "cutting bait," said he jovially. "in a day or two i'll throw the hook in, and you'll see what i land. he's as good as caught right now, but we'll let him nibble a while before we jerk. and say, he's a corker, lou. finest young fellow i've seen in many a day. he--" "you don't mean to say that you--you actually said anything to him about--about--oh, my god, will, don't tell me that you were crazy enough to--" cried the poor woman, almost in tears. "now cool down, cool down," he broke in soothingly. "i'm no fool, lou. trust me to do the fine work in a case like this. sow the right kind of seeds and you'll get results every time. i merely dropped a few hints, that's all,--and in the right direction, believe me. count equinox will do the rest. i'll bet my head we'll have this prince running after maud so--" "what _did_ you say?" she demanded. there was a fine moisture on her upper lip. he sat down on the edge of the bed and talked for half an hour without interruption. when he came to the end of his oration, she turned over with her face to the wall and fairly sobbed: "what will the kings think of us? what will they think?" "who the dickens cares what the kings think?" he roared, perfectly aghast at the way she took it. "who are the kings? tell me that! who are they?" "i--i can't bear to talk about it. go to bed." he wiped his brow helplessly. "you beat anything i've ever seen. what's the matter with you? don't you want this prince for maud? well, then, what the deuce are you crying about? you said you wanted him, didn't you? well, i'm going to get him. if i say i'll do a thing, you can bet your last dollar i'll do it. that's the kind of a man william w. blithers is. you leave it to me. there's only one way to land these foreign noblemen, and i'm--" she faced him once more, and angrily. "listen to me," she said. "i've had a talk with maud. she has gone to bed with a splitting headache and i'm not surprised. don't you suppose the poor child has a particle of pride? she guessed at once just what you had gone over there for and she cried her eyes out. now she declares she will never be able to look the prince in the face, and as for the kings--oh, it's sickening. why can't you leave these things to me? you go about like a bull in a china shop. you might at least have waited until the poor child had an opportunity to see the man before rushing in with your talk about money. she--" "confound it, lou, don't blame me for everything. we all three agreed at lunch that he was a better bargain than this measly count we've been considering. maud says she won't marry the count, anyhow, and she _did_ say that if this prince was all that he's cracked up to be, she wouldn't mind being the princess of groostock. you can't deny that, lou. you heard her say it. you--" "she didn't say groostock," said his wife shortly. "and you forget that she said she wouldn't promise anything until she'd met him and decided whether she liked him." "she'll like him all right," said he confidently. "she will refuse to even meet him, if she hears of your silly blunder to-night." "refuse to meet him?" gasped mr. blithers. "i may be able to reason with her, will, but--but she's stubborn, as well you know. i'm afraid you've spoiled everything." his face brightened. lowering his voice to a half-whisper, he said: "we needn't tell her what i said to that old chap, lou. just let her think i sat around like a gump and never said a word to anybody. we can--" "but she'll pin you down, will, and you know you can't lie with a straight face." "maybe--maybe i'd better run down to new york for a few days," he muttered unhappily. "you can square it better than i can." "in other words, i can lie with a straight face," she said ironically. "i never thought she'd balk like this," said he, ignoring the remark. "i fancy you'd better go to new york," she said mercilessly. "i've got business there anyhow," muttered he. "i--i think i'll go before she's up in the morning." "you can save yourself a bad hour or two if you leave before breakfast," said she levelly. "get around her some way, lou," he pleaded. "tell her i'm sorry i had to leave so early, and--and that i love her better than anything on earth, and that i'll be back the end of the week. if--if she wants anything in new york, just have her wire me. you say she cried?" "she did, and i don't blame her." mr. blithers scowled. "well--well, you see if you can do any better than i did. arrange it somehow for them to meet. she'll--she'll like him and then--by george, she'll thank us both for the interest we take in her future. it wouldn't surprise me if she fell in love with him right off the reel. and you may be sure he'll fall in love with her. he can't help it. the knowledge that she'll have fifty millions some day won't have anything to do with his feeling for her, once he--" "don't mention the word millions again. will blithers." "all right," said he, more humbly than he knew, "but listen to this, old girl; i'm going to get this prince for her if it's the last act of my life. i never failed in anything and i won't fail in this." "well, go to bed, dear, and don't worry. i may be able to undo the mischief. it--it isn't hopeless, of course." "i'll trust you, lou, to do your part. count on me to do mine when the time comes. and i still insist that i have sowed the right sort of seed to-night. you'll see. just wait." sure enough, mr. blithers was off for new york soon after daybreak the next morning, and with him went a mighty determination to justify himself before the week was over. his wily brain was working as it had never worked before. two days later, count quinnox received a message from new york bearing the distressing information that the two private banking institutions on which he had been depending for aid in the hour of trouble had decided that it would be impossible for them to make the loan under consideration. the financial agents who had been operating in behalf of the graustark government confessed that they were unable to explain the sudden change of heart on the part of the bankers, inasmuch as the negotiations practically had been closed with them. the decision of the directors was utterly incomprehensible under the circumstances. vastly disturbed, count quinnox took the first train to new york, accompanied by truxton king, who was confident that outside influences had been brought to bear upon the situation, influences inimical to graustark. both were of the opinion that russia had something to do with it, although the negotiations had been conducted with all the secrecy permissible in such cases. "we may be able to get to the banks through blithers," said king. "how could he possibly be of assistance to us?" the count inquired. "he happens to be a director in both concerns, besides being such a power in the financial world that his word is almost law when it comes to the big deals." all the way down to the city count quinnox was thoughtful, even pre-occupied. they were nearing the terminal when he leaned over and, laying his hand on king's knee, said, after a long interval of silence between them: "i suppose you know that graustark has not given up hope that prince robin may soon espouse the daughter of our neighbour, dawsbergen." king gave him a queer look. "by jove, that's odd. i was thinking of that very thing when you spoke." "the union would be of no profit to us in a pecuniary way, my friend," explained the count. "still it is most desirable for other reasons. dawsbergen is not a rich country, nor are its people progressive. the reigning house, however, is an old one and rich in traditions. money, my dear king, is not everything in this world. there are some things it cannot buy. it is singularly ineffective when opposed to an honest sentiment. even though the young princess were to come to graustark without a farthing, she would still be hailed with the wildest acclaim. we are a race of blood worshippers, if i may put it in that way. she represents a force that has dominated our instincts for a great many centuries, and we are bound hand and foot, heart and soul, by the so-called fetters of imperialism. we are fierce men, but we bend the knee and we wear the yoke because the sword of destiny is in the hand that drives us. to-day we are ruled by a prince whose sire was not of the royal blood. i do not say that we deplore this infusion, but it behooves us to protect the original strain. we must conserve our royal blood. our prince assumes an attitude of independence that we find difficult to overcome. he is prepared to defy an old precedent in support of a new one. in other words, he points out the unmistakably happy union of his own mother, the late princess yetive, and the american lorry, and it is something we cannot go behind. he declares that his mother set an example that he may emulate without prejudice to his country if he is allowed a free hand in choosing his mate. "but we people of graustark cannot look with complaisance on the possible result of his search for a sharer of the throne. traditions must be upheld--or we die. true, the crown princess of dawsbergen has american blood in her veins but her sire is a prince royal. her mother, as you know, was an american girl. she who sits on the throne with robin must be a princess by birth or the grip on the sword of destiny is weakened and the dynasty falters. i know what is in your mind. you are wondering why our prince should not wed one of your fabulously rich american girls--" "my dear count," said king warmly, "i am not thinking anything of the sort. naturally i am opposed to your pre-arranged marriages and all that sort of thing, but still i appreciate what it means as a safe-guard to the crown you support. i sincerely hope that robin may find his love-mate in the small circle you draw for him, but i fear it isn't likely. he is young, romantic, impressionable, and he abhors the thought of marriage without love. he refuses to even consider the princess you have picked out for him. time may prove to him that his ideals are false and he may resign himself to the--i was about to say the inevitable." "inevitable is the word, mr. king," said count quinnox grimly. "'pon my word, sir, i don't know what our princes and princesses are coming to in these days. there seems to be a perfect epidemic of independence among them. they marry whom they please in spite of royal command, and the courts of europe are being shorn of half their glory. it wouldn't surprise me to see an american woman on the throne of england one of these days. 'gad, sir, you know what happened in axphain two years ago. her crown prince renounced the throne and married a french singer." "and they say he is a very happy young beggar," said king drily. "it is the prerogative of fools to be happy," said count quinnox. "not so with princes, eh?" "it is a duty with princes, mr. king." they had not been in new york city an hour before they discovered that william w. blithers was the man to whom they would have to appeal if they expected to gain a fresh hearing with the banks. the agents were in a dismal state of mind. the deal had been blocked no later than the afternoon of the day before and at a time when everything appeared to be going along most swimmingly. blithers was the man to see; he and he alone could bring pressure to bear on the directorates that might result in a reconsideration of the surprising verdict. something had happened during the day to alter the friendly attitude of the banks; they were now politely reluctant, as one of the agents expressed it, which really meant that opposition to the loan had appeared from some unexpected source, as a sort of eleventh hour obstacle. the heads of the two banks had as much as said that negotiations were at an end, that was the long and short of it; it really didn't matter what was back of their sudden change of front, the fact still remained that the transaction was as "dead as a door nail" unless it could be revived by the magnetic touch of a man like blithers. "what can have happened to cause them to change their minds so abruptly?" cried the perplexed count. "surely our prime minister and the cabinet have left nothing undone to convince them of graustark's integrity and--" "pardon me. count," interrupted one of the brokers, "shall i try to make an appointment for you with mr. blithers? i hear he is in town for a few days." count quinnox looked to truxton king for inspiration and that gentleman favoured him with a singularly dis-spiriting nod of the head. the old graustarkian cleared his throat and rather stiffly announced that he would receive mr. blithers if he would call on him at the ritz that afternoon. "what!" exclaimed both agents, half-starting from their chairs in amazement. the count stared hard at them. "you may say to him that i will be in at four." "he'll tell you to go to--ahem!" the speaker coughed just in time. "blithers isn't in the habit of going out of his way to--to oblige anybody. he wouldn't do it for the emperor of germany." "but," said the count with a frosty smile, "i am not the emperor of germany." "better let me make an appointment for you to see him at his office. it's just around the corner." there was a pleading note in the speaker's voice. "you might save your face, calvert, by saying that the count will be pleased to have him take tea with him at the ritz," suggested king. "tea!" exclaimed calvert scornfully. "blithers, doesn't drink the stuff." "it's a figure of speech," said king patiently. "all right, i'll telephone," said the other dubiously. he came back a few minutes later with a triumphant look in his eye. "blithers says to tell count quinnox he'll see him to-morrow morning at half-past eight at his office. sorry he's engaged this afternoon." "but did you say i wanted him to have tea with us!" demanded the count, an angry flush leaping to his cheek. "i did. i'm merely repeating what he said in reply. half-past eight, at his office, count. those were his words." "it is the most brazen exhibition of insolence i've ever--" began the count furiously, but checked himself with an effort. "i--i hope you did not say that i would come, sir!" "yes. it's the only way--" "well, be good enough to call him up again and say to him that i'll--i'll see him damned before i'll come to his office to-morrow at eight-thirty or at any other hour." and with that the count got up and stalked out of the office, putting on his hat as he did so. "count," said king, as they descended in the elevator, "i've got an idea in my head that blithers will be at the ritz at four." "do you imagine, sir, that i will receive him?" "certainly. are you not a diplomat?" "i am a minister of war," said the count, and his scowl was an indication of absolute proficiency in the science. "and what's more," went on king, reflectively, "it wouldn't in the least surprise me if blithers is the man behind the directors in this sudden move of the banks." "my dear king, he displayed the keenest interest and sympathy the other night at your house. he--" "of course i may be wrong," admitted king, but his brow was clouded. shortly after luncheon that day, mrs. blithers received a telegram from her husband. it merely stated that he was going up to have tea with the count at four o'clock, and not to worry as "things were shaping themselves nicely." chapter v prince robin is asked to stand up late the same evening. prince robin, at red roof, received a long distance telephone communication from new york city. the count was on the wire. he imparted the rather startling news that william w. blithers had volunteered to take care of the loan out of his own private means! quinnox was cabling the prime minister for advice and would remain in new york for further conference with the capitalist, who, it was to be assumed, would want time to satisfy himself as to the stability of graustark's resources. robin was jubilant. the thought had not entered his mind that there could be anything sinister in this amazing proposition of the great financier. if count quinnox himself suspected mr. blithers of an ulterior motive, the suspicion was rendered doubtful by the evidence of sincerity on the part of the capitalist who professed no sentiment in the matter but insisted on the most complete indemnification by the graustark government. even king was impressed by the absolute fairness of the proposition. mr. blithers demanded no more than the banks were asking for in the shape of indemnity; a first lien mortgage for years on all properties owned and controlled by the government and the deposit of all bonds held by the people with the understanding that the interest would be paid to them regularly, less a small per cent as commission. his protection would be complete,--for the people of graustark owned fully four-fifths of the bonds issued by the government for the construction of public service institutions; these by consent of mr. blithers were to be limited to three utilities: railroads, telegraph and canals. these properties, as mr. blithers was by way of knowing, were absolutely sound and self-supporting. according to his investigators in london and berlin, they were as solid as gibraltar and not in need of one-tenth the protection required by the famous rock. robin inquired whether he was to come to new york at once in relation to the matter, and was informed that it would not be necessary at present. in fact, mr. blithers preferred to let the situation remain in statu quo (as he expressed it to the count), until it was determined whether the people were willing to deposit their bonds, a condition which was hardly worth while worrying about in view of the fact that they had already signified their readiness to present them for security in the original proposition to the banks. mr. blithers, however, would give himself the pleasure of calling upon the prince at red roof later in the week, when the situation could be discussed over a dish of tea or a cup of lemonade. that is precisely the way mr. blithers put it. the next afternoon mrs. blithers left cards at red roof--or rather, the foot-man left them--and on the day following the kings and their guests received invitations to a ball at blitherwood on the ensuing friday, but four days off. while mrs. king and the two young men were discussing the invitation the former was called to the telephone. mrs. blithers herself was speaking. "i hope you will pardon me for calling you up, mrs. king, but i wanted to be sure that you can come on the seventeenth. we want so much to have the prince and his friends with us. mr. blithers has taken a great fancy to prince robin and count quinnox, and he declares the whole affair will be a fiasco if they are not to be here." "it is good of you to ask us, mrs. blithers. the prince is planning to leave for washington within the next few days and i fear--" "oh, you must prevail upon him to remain over, my dear mrs. king. we are to have a lot of people up from newport and tuxedo--you know the crowd--it's the _real_ crowd--and i'm sure he will enjoy meeting them. mr. blithers has arranged for a special train to bring them up--a train de luxe, you may be sure, both as to equipment and occupant. zabo's orchestra, too. a notion seized us last night to give the ball, which accounts for the short notice. it's the way we do everything--on a minute's notice. i think they're jollier if one doesn't go through the agony of a month's preparation, don't you? nearly every one has wired acceptance, so we're sure to have a lot of nice people. loads of girls,--you know the ones i mean,--and mr. blithers is trying to arrange a sparring match between those two great prizefighters,--you know the ones, mrs. king,--just to give us poor women a chance to see what a real man looks like in--i mean to say, what marvellous specimens they are, don't you know. now please tell the prince that he positively cannot afford to miss a real sparring match. every one is terribly excited over it, and naturally we are keeping it very quiet. won't it be a lark? my daughter thinks it's terrible, but she is finicky. one of them is a negro, isn't he?" "i'm sure i don't know." "you can imagine how splendid they must be when i tell you that mr. blithers is afraid they won't come up for less than fifteen thousand dollars. isn't it ridiculous?" "perfectly," said mrs. king. "of course, we shall insist on the prince receiving with us. he is our _piece de resistance_. you--" "i'm sure it will be awfully jolly, mrs. blithers. what did you say?" "i beg pardon?" "i'm sorry. i was speaking to the prince. he just called up stairs to me." "what does he say?" "it was really nothing. he was asking about hobbs." "hobbs? tell him, please, that if he has any friends he would like to have invited we shall be only too proud to--" "oh, thank you! i'll tell him." "you must not let him go away before--" "i shall try my best, mrs. blithers. it is awfully kind of you to ask us to--" "you must all come up to dinner either to-morrow night or the night after. i shall be so glad if you will suggest anything that can help us to make the ball a success. you see, i know how terribly clever you are, mrs. king." "i am dreadfully stupid." "nonsense!" "i'm sorry to say we're dining out to-morrow night and on thursday we are having some people here for--" "can't you bring them all up to blitherwood? we'd be delighted to have them, i'm sure." "i'm afraid i couldn't manage it. they--well, you see, they are in mourning." "oh, i see. well, perhaps maud and i could run in and see you for a few minutes to-morrow or next day, just to talk things over a little--what's that, maud? i beg your pardon, mrs. king. ahem! well, i'll call you up to-morrow, if you don't mind being bothered about a silly old ball. good-bye. thank you so much." mrs. king confronted robin in the lower hall a few seconds later and roundly berated him for shouting up the steps that hobbs ought to be invited to the ball. prince robin rolled on a couch and roared with delight. lieutenant dank, as became an officer of the royal guard, stood at attention--in the bow window with his back to the room, very red about the ears and rigid to the bursting point. "i suppose, however, we'll have to keep on the good side of the blithers syndicate," said robin soberly, after his mirth and subsided before her wrath. "good lord, aunt loraine, i simply cannot go up there and stand in line like a freak in a side show for all the ladies and girls to gape at i'll get sick the day of the party, that's what i'll do, and you can tell 'em how desolated i am over my misfortune." "they've got their eyes on you, bobby," she said flatly. "you can't escape so easily as all that. if you're not very, very careful they'll have you married to the charming miss maud before you can say jack rabbit." "think that's their idea?" "unquestionably." he stretched himself lazily. "well, it may be that she's the very one i'm looking for, auntie. who knows?" "you silly boy!" "she may be the golden girl in every sense of the term," said he lightly. "you say she's pretty?" "my notion of beauty and yours may not agree at all." "that's not an answer." "well, i consider her to be a very good-looking girl." "blonde?" "mixed. light brown hair and very dark eyes and lashes. a little taller than i, more graceful and a splendid horse-woman. i've seen her riding." "astride?" "no. i've seen her in a ball gown, too. most men think she's stunning." "well, let's have a game of billiards," said he, dismissing maud in a way that would have caused the proud mr. blithers to reel with indignation. a little later on, at the billiard table, mrs. king remarked, apropos of nothing and quite out of a clear sky, so to speak: "and she'll do anything her parents command her to do, that's the worst of it." "what are you talking about? it's your shot." "if they order her to marry a title, she'll do it. that's the way she's been brought up, i'm afraid." "meaning maud?" "certainly. who else? poor thing, she hasn't a chance in the world, with that mother of hers." "shoot, please. mark up six for me, dank." "wait till you see her, bobby." "all right. i'll wait," said he cheerfully. the next day count quinnox and king returned from the city, coming up in a private car with mr. blithers himself. "i'll have maud drive me over this afternoon," said mr. blithers, as they parted at the station. but maud did not drive him over that afternoon. the pride, joy and hope of the blithers family flatly refused to be a party of any such arrangement, and set out for a horse-back ride in a direction that took her as far away from red roof as possible. "what's come over the girl?" demanded mr. blithers, completely non-plused. "she's never acted like this before, lou." "some silly notion about being made a laughingstock, i gather," said his wife. "heaven knows i've talked to her till i'm utterly worn out. she says she won't be bullied into even meeting the prince, much less marrying him. i've never known her to be so pig-headed. usually i can make her see things in a sensible way. she would have married the duke, i'm sure, if--if you hadn't put a stop to it on account of his so-called habits. she--" "well, it's turned out for the best, hasn't it? isn't a prince better than a duke?" "you've said all that before, will. i wanted her to run down with me this morning to talk the ball over with mrs. king, and what do you think happened?" "she wouldn't go?" "worse than that. she wouldn't let _me_ go. now, things are coming to a pretty pass when--" "never mind. i'll talk to her," said mr. blithers, somewhat bleakly despite his confident front. "she loves her old dad. i can do _anything_ with her." "she's on a frightfully high horse lately," sighed mrs. blithers fretfully. "it--it can't be that young scoville, can it?" "if i thought it was, i'd--i'd--" there is no telling what mr. blithers would have done to young scoville, at the moment, for he couldn't think of anything dire enough to inflict upon the suspected meddler. "in any event, it's dreadfully upsetting to me, will. she--she won't listen to anything. and here's something else: she declares she won't stay here for the ball on friday night." mr. blithers had her repeat it, and then almost missed the chair in sitting down, he was so precipitous about it. "won't stay for her own ball?" he bellowed. "she says it isn't her ball," lamented his wife. "if it isn't hers, in the name of god whose is it?" "ask her, not me," flared mrs. blithers. "and don't glare at me like that. i've had nothing but glares since you went away. i thought i was doing the very nicest thing in the world when i suggested the ball. it would bring them together--" "the only two it will actually bring together, it seems, are those damned prize-fighters. they'll get together all right, but what good is it going to do us, if maud's going to act like this? see here, lou, i've got things fixed so that the prince of groostuck can't very well do anything but ask maud to--" "that's just it!" she exclaimed. "maud sees through the whole arrangement, will. she said last night that she wouldn't be at all surprised if you offered to assume graustark's debt to russia in order to--" "that's just what i've done, old girl," said he in triumph. "i'll have 'em sewed up so tight by next week that they can't move without asking me to loosen the strings. and you can tell maud once more for me that i'll get this prince for her if--" "but she doesn't want him!" "she doesn't know what she wants!" he roared. "where is she going?" "you saw her start off on katydid, so why--" "i mean on the day of the ball." "to new york." "by gad, i'll--i'll see about _that_," he grated. "i'll see that she doesn't leave the grounds if i have to put guards at every gate. she's got to be reasonable. what does she think i'm putting sixteen millions into the grasstork treasury for? she's got to stay here for the ball. why, it would be a crime for her to--but what's the use talking about it? she'll be here and she'll lead the grand march with the prince. i've got it all--" "well, you'll have to talk to her. i've done all that i can do. she swears she won't marry a man she's never seen." "ain't we trying to show him to her?" he snorted. "she won't have to marry him till she's seen him, and when she does see him she'll apologise to me for all the nasty things she's been saying about me." for a moment it looked as though mr. blithers would dissolve into tears, so suddenly was he afflicted by self-pity. "by the way, didn't she like the necklace i sent up to her from tiffany's?" "i suppose so. she said you were a dear old foozler." "foozler? what's that mean?" he wasn't quite sure, but somehow it sounded like a term of opprobrium. "i haven't the faintest idea," she said shortly. "well, why didn't you ask her? you've had charge of her bringing up. if she uses a word that you don't know the meaning of, you ought to--" "are you actually going to lend all that money to graustark?" she cut in. he glared at her uncertainly for a moment and then nodded his head. the words wouldn't come. "are you not a trifle premature about it?" she demanded with deep significance in her manner. this time he did not nod his head, nor did he shake it. he simply got up and walked out of the room. half way across the terrace he stopped short and said it with a great fervour and instantly felt very much relieved. in fact, the sensation of relief was so pleasant that he repeated it two or three times and then had to explain to a near by gardener that he didn't mean him at all. then he went down to the stables. all the grooms and stableboys came tumbling into the stable yard in response to his thunderous shout. "saddle red rover, and be quick about it," he commanded. "going out, sir?" asked the head groom, touching his fore-lock. "i am," said mr. blithers succinctly and with a withering glare. red rover must have been surprised by the unusual celerity with which he was saddled and bridled. if there could be such a thing as a horse looking shocked, that beast certainly betrayed himself as he was yanked away from his full manger and hustled out to the mounting block. "which way did miss blithers go?" demanded mr. blithers, in the saddle. two grooms were clumsily trying to insert his toes into the stirrups, at the same time pulling down his trousers legs, which had a tendency to hitch up in what seemed to them a most exasperating disregard for form. to their certain knowledge, mr. blithers had never started out before without boot and spur; therefore, the suddenness of his present sortie sank into their intellects with overwhelming impressiveness. "down the cutler road, sir, three quarters of an hour ago. she refused to have a groom go along, sir." "get ap!" said mr. blithers, and almost ran down a groom in his rush for the gate. for the information of the curious, it may be added that he did not overtake his daughter until she had been at home for half an hour, but he was gracious enough to admit to himself that he had been a fool to pursue a stern chase rather than to intercept her on the back road home, which _any_ fool might have known she would take. his wife came upon him a few minutes later while he was feverishly engaged in getting into his white flannels. "tell maud i'm going over to have tea with the prince," he grunted, without looking up from the shoe lace he was tying in a hard knot. "i want her to go with me in fifteen minutes. told 'em i would bring her over to play tennis. tell her to put on tennis clothes. hurry up, lou. where's my watch? what time is it? for god's sake, look at the watch, not at me! i'm not a clock! what?" "mrs. king called up half an hour ago to say that they were all motoring over to the grandby tavern for tea and wouldn't be back till half-past seven--" he managed to look up at that. for a moment he was speechless. no one had ever treated him like this before. "well, i'll be--hanged! positive engagement. but's it's all right," he concluded resolutely. "i can motor to grandby tavern, too, can't i? tell maud not to mind tennis clothes, but to hurry. want to go along?" "no, i don't," she said emphatically. "and maud isn't going, either." "she isn't, eh?" "no, she isn't. can't you leave this affair to me?" "i'm pretty hot under the collar," he warned her, and it was easy to believe that he was. "don't rush in where angels fear to tread, will dear," she pleaded. it was so unusual for her to adopt a pleading tone that he overlooked the implication. besides he had just got through calling himself a fool, so perhaps she was more or less justified. moreover, at that particular moment she undertook to assist him with his necktie. her soft, cool fingers touched his double chin and seemed to caress it lovingly. he lifted his head very much as a dog does when he is being tickled on that velvety spot under the lower jaw. "stuff and nonsense," he murmured throatily. "i thought you would see it that way," she said so calmly that he blinked a couple of times in sheer perplexity and then diminished his double chin perceptibly by a very helpful screwing up of his lower lip. he said nothing, preferring to let her think that the most important thing in the world just then was the proper adjustment of the wings of his necktie. "there!" she said, and patted him on the cheek, to show that the task had been successfully accomplished. "better come along for a little spin," he said, readjusting the tie with man-like ingenuousness. "do you good, lou." "very well," she said. "can you wait a few minutes?" "long as you like," said he graciously. "ask maud if she wants to come, too." "i am sure she will enjoy it," said his wife, and then mr. blithers descended to the verandah to think. somehow he felt if he did a little more thinking perhaps matters wouldn't be so bad. among other things, he thought it would be a good idea not to motor in the direction of grandby tavern. and he also thought it was not worth while resenting the fact that his wife and daughter took something over an hour to prepare for the little spin. in the meantime, prince robin was racing over the mountain roads in a high-power car, attended by a merry company of conspirators whose sole object was to keep him out of the clutches of that far-reaching octopus, william w. blithers. chapter vi the prince and mr. blithers in order to get on with the narrative, i shall be as brief as possible in the matter of the blitherwood ball. in the first place, mere words would prove to be not only feeble but actually out of place. any attempt to define the sensation of awe by recourse to a dictionary would put one in the ridiculous position of seeking the unattainable. the word has its meaning, of course, but the sensation itself is quite another thing. as every one who attended the ball was filled with awe, which he tried to put forward as admiration, the attitude of the guest was no more limp than that of the chronicler. in the second place, i am not qualified by experience or imagination to describe a ball that stood its promoter not a penny short of one hundred thousand dollars. i believe i could go as high as a fifteen or even twenty thousand dollar affair with some sort of intelligence, but anything beyond those figures renders me void and useless. mr. blithers not only ran a special train de luxe from new york city, but another from washington and still another from newport, for it appears that the newporters at the last minute couldn't bear the idea of going to the metropolis out of season. he actually had to take them around the city in such a way that they were not even obliged to submit to a glimpse of the remotest outskirts of the bronx. from washington came an amazing company of foreign ladies and gentlemen, ranging from the most exalted europeans to the lowliest of the yellow races. they came with gold all over them; they tinkled with the clash of a million cymbals. the president of the united states almost came. having no spangles of his own, he delegated a major-general and a rear-admiral to represent old glory, and no doubt sulked in the white house because a parsimonious nation refuses to buy braid and buttons for its chief executive. any one who has seen a gentleman in braid, buttons and spangles will understand how impossible it is to describe him. one might enumerate the buttons and the spangles and even locate them precisely upon his person, but no mortal intellect can expand sufficiently to cope with an undertaking that would try even the powers of him who created the contents of those wellstuffed uniforms. a car load of orchids and gardenias came up, fairly depleting the florists' shops on manhattan island, and with them came a small army of skilled decorators. in order to deliver his guests at the doors of blitherwood, so to speak, the incomprehensible mr. blithers had a temporary spur of track laid from the station two miles away, employing no fewer than a thousand men to do the work in forty-eight hours. (work on a terminal extension in new york was delayed for a week or more in order that he might borrow the rails, ties and worktrains!) two hundred and fifty precious and skillfully selected guests ate two hundred and fifty gargantuan dinners and twice as many suppers; drank barrels of the rarest of wines; smoked countless two dollar perfectos and stuffed their pockets with enough to last them for days to come; burnt up five thousand cigarettes and ate at least two dozen eggs for breakfast, and then flitted away with a thousand complaints in two hundred and fifty pullman drawing-rooms, nothing could have been more accurately pulled-off than the wonderful blitherwood ball. (the sparring match on the lawn, under the glare of a stupendous cluster of lights, resulted in favour of mr. bullhead brown, who successfully--if accidentally--landed with considerably energy on the left lower corner of mr. sledge-hammer smith's diaphragm, completely dividing the purse with him in four scientifically satisfactory rounds, although they came to blows over it afterwards when mr. smith told mr. brown what he thought of him for hitting with such fervour just after they had eaten a hearty meal.) a great many mothers inspected prince robin with interest and confessed to a really genuine enthusiasm: something they had not experienced since one of the german princes got close enough to newport to see it quite clearly through his marine glasses from the bridge of a battleship. the ruler of graustark--(four-fifths of the guests asked where in the world it was!)--was the lion of the day. mr. blithers was annoyed because he did not wear his crown, but was somewhat mollified by the information that he had neglected to bring it along with him in his travels. he was also considerably put out by the discovery that the prince had left his white and gold uniform at home and had to appear in an ordinary dress-suit, which, to be sure, fitted him perfectly but did not achieve distinction. he did wear a black and silver ribbon across his shirt front, however, and a tiny gold button in the lapel of his coat; otherwise he might have been mistaken for a "regular guest," to borrow an expression from mr. blithers. the prince's host manoeuvred until nearly one o'clock in the morning before he succeeded in getting a close look at the little gold button, and then found that the inscription thereon was in some sort of hieroglyphics that afforded no enlightenment whatsoever. exercising a potentate's prerogative, prince robin left the scene of festivity somewhat earlier than was expected. as a matter of fact, he departed shortly after one. moreover, being a prince, it did not occur to him to offer any excuse for leaving so early, but gracefully thanked his host and hostess and took himself off without the customary assertion that he had had a splendid time. strange to say, he did not offer a single comment on the sumptuousness of the affair that had been given in his honor. mr. blithers couldn't get over that. he couldn't help thinking that the fellow had not been properly brought-up, or was it possible that he was not in the habit of going out in good society? except for one heart-rending incident, the blitherwood ball was the most satisfying event in the lives of mr. and mrs. william w. blithers. that incident, however, happened to be the hasty and well-managed flight of maud applegate blithers at an hour indefinitely placed somewhere between four and seven o'clock on the morning of the great day. miss blithers was not at the ball. she was in new york city serenely enjoying one of the big summer shows, accompanied by young scoville and her onetime governess, a middle-aged gentlewoman who had seen even better days than those spent in the employ of william w. blithers. the resolute young lady had done precisely what she said she would do, and for the first time in his life mr. blithers realised that his daughter was a creation and not a mere condition. he wilted like a famished water-lily and went about the place in a state of bewilderment so bleak that even his wife felt sorry for him and refrained from the "i told you so" that might have been expected under the circumstances. maud's telegram, which came at three o'clock in the afternoon, was meant to be reassuring but it failed of its purpose. it said: "have a good time and don't lose any sleep over me. i shall sleep very soundly myself at the ritz to-night and hope you will be doing the same when i return home to-morrow afternoon, for i know you will be dreadfully tired after all the excitement. convey my congratulations to the guest of honor and believe me to be your devoted and obedient daughter." the co-incidental absence of young mr. scoville from the ball was a cause of considerable uneasiness on the part of the agitated mr. blithers, who commented upon it quite expansively in the seclusion of his own bed-chamber after the last guest had sought repose. some of the things that mr. blithers said about mr. scoville will never be forgotten by the four walls of that room, if, as commonly reported, they possess auricular attachments. any one who imagines that mr. blithers accepted maud's defection as a final disposition of the cause he had set his heart upon is very much mistaken in his man. far from receding so much as an inch from his position, he at once set about to strengthen it in such a way that maud would have to come to the conclusion that it was useless to combat the inevitable, and ultimately would heap praises upon his devoted head for the great blessing he was determined to bestow upon her in spite of herself. the last of the special coaches was barely moving on its jiggly way to the main line, carrying the tag end of the revellers, when he set forth in his car for a mid-day visit to red roof. already the huge camp of slavs and italians was beginning to jerk up the borrowed rails and ties; the work trains were rumbling and snorting in the meadows above blitherwood, tottering about on the uncertain road-bed. he gave a few concise and imperative orders to obsequious superintendents and foremen, who subsequently repeated them with even greater freedom to the perspiring foreigners, and left the scene of confusion without so much as a glance behind. wagons, carts, motortrucks and all manner of wheeled things were scuttling about blitherwood as he shot down the long, winding avenue toward the lodge gates, but he paid no attention to them. they were removing the remnants of a glory that had passed at five in the morning. he was not interested in the well-plucked skeleton. it was a nuisance getting rid of it, that was all, and he wanted it to be completely out of sight when he returned from red roof. if a vestige of the ruins remained, some one would hear from him! that was understood. and when maud came home on the five-fourteen she would not find him asleep--not by a long shot! half-way to red roof, he espied a man walking briskly along the road ahead of him. to be perfectly accurate, he was walking in the middle of the road and his back was toward the swift-moving, almost noiseless packard. "blow the horn for the dam' fool," said mr. blithers to the chauffeur. a moment later the pedestrian leaped nimbly aside and the car shot past, the dying wail of the siren dwindling away in the whirr of the wheels. "look where you're going!" shouted mr. blithers from the tonneau, as if the walker had come near to running him down instead of the other way around. "whoa! stop 'er, jackson!" he called to the driver. he had recognised the pedestrian. the car came to a stop with grinding brakes, and at the same time the pedestrian halted a hundred yards away. "back up," commanded mr. blithers in some haste, for the prince seemed to be on the point of deserting the highway for the wood that lined it. "morning, prince!" he shouted, waving his hat vigorously. "want a lift?" the car shot backward with almost the same speed that it had gone forward, and the prince exercised prudence when he stepped quickly up the sloping bank at the roadside. "were you addressing me," he demanded curtly, as the car came to a stop. "yes, your highness. get in. i'm going your way," said mr. blithers beamingly. "i mean a moment ago, when you shouted 'look where you are going,'" said robin, an angry gleam in his eye. mr. blithers looked positively dumbfounded. "good heavens, no!" he cried. "i was speaking to the chauffeur." (jackson's back seemed to stiffen a little.) "i've told him a thousand times to be careful about running up on people like that. now this is the last time i'll warn you, jackson. the next time you go. understand? just because you happen to be driving for me doesn't signify that you can run over people who--" "it's all right, mr. blithers," interrupted robin, with his fine smile. "no harm done. i'll walk if you don't mind. out for a bit of exercise, you know. thank you just the same." "where are you bound for?" asked mr. blithers. "i don't know. i ramble where my fancy leads me." "i guess i'll get out and stroll along with you. god knows i need more exercise than i get. is it agreeable?" he was on the ground by this time. without waiting for an answer, he directed jackson to run on to red roof and wait for him. "i shall be charmed," said robin, a twinkle in the tail of his eye. "an eight or ten mile jaunt will do you a world of good, i'm sure. shall we explore this little road up the mountain and then drop down to red roof? i don't believe it can be more than five or six miles." "capital," said mr. blithers with enthusiasm. he happened to know that it was a "short cut" to red roof and less than a mile as the crow flies. true, there was something of an ascent ahead of them, but there was also a corresponding descent at the other end. besides, he was confident he could keep up with the long-legged youngster by the paradoxical process of holding back. the prince, having suggested the route, couldn't very well be arbitrary in traversing it. mr. blithers regarded the suggestion as an invitation. they struck off into the narrow woodland road, not precisely side by side, but somewhat after the fashion of a horseback rider and his groom, or, more strictly speaking, as a knight and his vassal. robin started off so briskly that mr. blithers fell behind a few paces and had to exert himself considerably to keep from losing more ground as they took the first steep rise. the road was full of ruts and cross ruts and littered with boulders that had ambled down the mountain-side in the spring moving. to save his life, mr. blithers couldn't keep to a straight course. he went from rut to rut and from rock to rock with the fidelity of a magnetised atom, seldom putting his foot where he meant to put it, and never by any chance achieving a steady stride. he would take one long, purposeful step and then a couple of short "feelers," progressing very much as a man tramps over a newly ploughed field. at the top of the rise, robin considerately slackened his pace and the chubby gentleman drew alongside, somewhat out of breath but as cheerful as a cricket. "going too fast for you, mr. blithers?" inquired robin. "not at all," said mr. blithers. "by the way, prince," he went on, cunningly seizing the young man's arm and thereby putting a check on his speed for the time being at least, "i want to explain my daughter's unfortunate absence last night. you must have thought it very strange. naturally it was unavoidable. the poor girl is really quite heart-broken. i beg pardon!" he stepped into a rut and came perilously near to going over on his nose. "beastly road! thanks. good thing i took hold of you. yes, as i was saying, it was really a most unfortunate thing; missed the train, don't you see. went down for the day--just like a girl, you know--and missed the train." "ah, i see. she missed it twice." "eh? oh! ha ha! very good! she might just as well have missed it a dozen times as once, eh? well, she could have arranged for a special to bring her up, but she's got a confounded streak of thriftiness in her. couldn't think of spending the money. silly idea of--i beg your pardon, did i hurt you? i'm pretty heavy, you know, no light weight when i come down on a fellow's toe like that. what say to sitting down on this log for a while? give your foot a chance to rest a bit. deucedly awkward of me. ought to look out where i'm stepping, eh?" "it really doesn't matter, mr. blithers," said robin hastily. "we'll keep right on if it's all the same to you. i'm due at home in--in half an hour. we lunch very punctually." "i was particularly anxious for you and maud to meet under the conditions that obtained last night," went on mr. blithers, with a regretful look at the log they were passing. "nothing could have been more--er--ripping." "i hear from every one that your daughter is most attractive," said robin. "sorry not to have met her, mr. blithers." "oh, you'll meet her all right. prince. she's coming home to-day. i believe mrs. blithers is expecting you to dinner to-night. she--" "i'm sure there must be some mistake," began robin, but was cut short. "i was on my way to red roof to ask you and count quiddux to give us this evening in connection with that little affair we are arranging. it is most imperative that it should be to-night, as my attorney is coming up for the conference." "i fear that mrs. king has planned something--" mr. blithers waved his hand deprecatingly. "i am sure mrs. king will let you off when she knows how important it is. as a matter of fact, it has to be tonight or not at all." there was a note in his voice that robin did not like. it savoured of arrogance. "i daresay count quinnox can attend to all the details, mr. blithers. i have the power of veto, of course, but i shall be guided by the counsel of my ministers. you need have no hesitancy in dealing with--" "that's not the point, prince. i am a business man,--as perhaps you know. i make it a point never to deal with any one except the head of a concern, if you'll pardon my way of putting it. it isn't right to speak of growstock as a concern, but you'll understand, of course. figure of speech." "i can only assure you, sir, that graustark is in a position to indemnify you against any possible chance of loss. you will be amply secured. i take it that you are not coming to our assistance through any desire to be philanthropic, but as a business proposition, pure and simple. at least, that is how we regard the matter. am i not right?" "perfectly," said mr. blithers. "i haven't got sixteen millions to throw away. still i don't see that that has anything to do with my request that you be present at the conference to-night. to be perfectly frank with you, i don't like working in the dark. you have the power of veto, as you say. well, if i am to lend groostork a good many millions of hard-earned dollars, i certainly don't relish the idea that you may take it into your head to upset the whole transaction merely because you have not had the matter presented to you by me instead of by your cabinet, competent as its members may be. first hand information on any subject is my notion of simplicity." "the integrity of the cabinet is not to be questioned, mr. blithers. its members have never failed graustark in any--" "i beg your pardon, prince," said mr. blithers firmly, "but i certainly suspect that they failed her when they contracted this debt to russia. you will forgive me for saying it, but it was the most asinine bit of short-sightedness i've ever heard of. my office boys could have seen farther than your honourable ministers." to his utter amazement, robin turned a pair of beaming, excited eyes upon him. "do you really mean that, mr. blithers?" he cried eagerly. "i certainly do!" "by jove, i--i can't tell you how happy i am to hear you say it. you see it is exactly what john tullis said from the first. he was bitterly opposed to the loan. he tried his best to convince the prime minister that it was inadvisable. i granted him the special privilege of addressing the full house of nobles on the question, an honour that no alien had known up to that time. of course i was a boy when all this happened, mr. blithers, or i might have put a stop to the--but i'll not go into that. the house of nobles went against his judgment and voted in favour of accepting russia's loan. now they realise that dear old john tullis was right. somehow it gratifies me to hear you say that they were--ahem!--shortsighted." "what you need in groostock is a little more good american blood," announced mr. blithers, pointedly. "if you are going to cope with the world, you've got to tackle the job with brains and not with that idiotic thing called faith. there's no such thing in these days as charity among men, good will, and all that nonsense. now, you've got a splendid start in the right direction, prince. you've got american blood in your veins and that means a good deal. take my advice and increase the proportion. in a couple of generations you'll have something to brag about. take tullis as your example. beget sons that will think and act as he is capable of doing. weed out the thin blood and give the crown of grasstick something that is thick and red. it will be the making of your--" "i suppose you are advising me to marry an american woman, mr. blithers," said robin drily. mr. blithers directed a calculating squint into the tree-tops. "i am simply looking ahead for my own protection, prince," said he. "in what respect?" "well i am putting a lot of money into the hands of your people. isn't it natural that i should look ahead to some extent?" "but my people are honest. they will pay." "i understand all that, but at the same time i do not relish the idea of some day being obliged to squeeze blood from a turnip. now is the time for you to think for the future. your people are honest, i'll grant. but they also are poor. and why? because no one has been able to act for them as your friend tullis is capable of acting. the day will come when they will have to settle with me, and will it be any easier to pay william w. blithers than it is to pay russia? not a bit of it. as you have said, i am not a philanthropist. i shall exact full and prompt payment. i prefer to collect from the prosperous, however, and not from the poor. it goes against the grain. that's why i want to see you rich and powerful--as well as honest." "i grant you it is splendid philosophy," said robin. "but are you not forgetting that even the best of americans are sometimes failures when it comes to laying up treasure?" "as individuals, yes; but not as a class. you will not deny that we are the richest people in the world. on the other hand i do not pretend to say that we are a people of one strain of blood. we represent a mixture of many strains, but underneath them all runs the full stream that makes us what we are: americans. you can't get away from that. yes, i _do_ advise you to marry an american girl." "in other words, i am to make a business of it," said robin, tolerantly. "it isn't beyond the range of possibility that you should fall in love with an american girl, is it? you wouldn't call that making a business of it, would you?" "you may rest assured, mr. blithers, that i shall marry to please myself and no one else," said robin, regarding him with a coldness that for an instant affected the millionaire uncomfortably. "well," said mr. blithers, after a moment of hard thinking, "it may interest you to know that i married for love." "it _does_ interest me," said robin. "i am glad that you did." "i was a comparatively poor man when i married. the girl i married was well-off in her own right. she had brains as well. we worked together to lay the foundation for a--well, for the fortune we now possess. a fortune, i may add, that is to go, every dollar of it, to my daughter. it represents nearly five hundred million dollars. the greatest king in the world to-day is poor in comparison to that vast estate. my daughter will one day be the richest woman in the world." "why are you taking the pains to enlighten me as to your daughter's future, mr. blithers?" "because i regard you as a sensible young man, prince." "thank you. and i suppose you regard your daughter as a sensible young woman?" "certainly!" exploded mr. blithers. "well, it seems to me, she will be capable of taking care of her fortune a great deal more successfully than you imagine, mr. blithers. she will doubtless marry an excellent chap who has the capacity to increase her fortune, rather than to let it stand at a figure that some day may be surpassed by the possessions of an ambitious king." there was fine irony in the prince's tone but no trace of offensiveness. nevertheless, mr. blithers turned a shade more purple than before, and not from the violence of exercise. he was having some difficulty in controlling his temper. what manner of fool was this fellow who could sneer at five hundred million dollars? he managed to choke back something that rose to his lips and very politely remarked: "i am sure you will like her, prince. if i do say it myself, she is as handsome as they grow." "so i have been told." "you will see her to-night." "really, mr. blithers, i cannot--" "i'll fix it with mrs. king. don't you worry." "may i be pardoned for observing that mrs. king, greatly as i love her, is not invested with the power to govern my actions?" said robin haughtily. "and may i be pardoned for suggesting that it is your duty to your people to completely understand this loan of mine before you agree to accept it?" said mr. blithers, compressing his lips. "forgive me, mr. blithers, but it is not altogether improbable that graustark may secure the money elsewhere." "it is not only improbable but impossible," said mr. blithers flatly. "impossible?" "absolutely," said the millionaire so significantly that robin would have been a dolt not to grasp the situation. nothing could have been clearer than the fact that mr. blithers believed it to be in his power to block any effort graustark might make in other directions to secure the much-needed money. "will you come to the point, mr. blithers?" said the young prince, stopping abruptly in the middle of the road and facing his companion. "what are you trying to get at?" mr. blithers was not long in getting to the point. in the first place, he was hot and tired and his shoes were hurting; in the second place, he felt that he knew precisely how to handle these money-seeking scions of nobility. he planted himself squarely in front of the prince and jammed his hands deep into his coat pockets. "the day my daughter is married to the man of my choice, i will hand over to that man exactly twenty million dollars," he said slowly, impressively. "yes, go on." "the sole object i have in life is to see my girl happy and at the same time at the top of the heap. she is worthy of any man's love. she is as good as gold. she--" "the point is this, then: you would like to have me for a son-in-law." "yes," said mr. blithers. robin grinned. he was amused in spite of himself. "you take it for granted that i can be bought?" "i have not made any such statement." "and how much will you hand over to the man of _her_ choice when she marries him?" enquired the young man. "you will be her choice," said the other, without the quiver of an eye-lash. "how can you be sure of that? has she no mind of her own?" "it isn't incomprehensible that she should fall in love with you, is it?" "it might be possible, of course, provided she is not already in love with some one else." mr. blithers started. "have you heard any one say that--but, that's nonsense! she's not in love with any one, take it from me. and just to show you how fair i am to her--and to you--i'll stake my head you fall in love with each other before you've been together a week." "but we're not going to be together for a week." "i should have said before you've known each other a week. you will find--" "just a moment, please. we can cut all this very short, and go about our business. i've never seen your daughter, nor, to my knowledge, has she ever laid eyes on me. from what i've heard of her, she _has_ a mind of her own. you will not be able to force her into a marriage that doesn't appeal to her, and you may be quite sure, mr. blithers, that you can't force me into one. i do not want you to feel that i have a single disparaging thought concerning miss blithers. it is possible that i could fall in love with her inside of a week, or even sooner. but i don't intend to, mr. blithers, any more than she intends to fall in love with me. you say that twenty millions will go to the man she marries, if he is your choice. well, i don't give a hang, sir, if you make it fifty millions. the chap who gets it will not be me, so what's the odds? you--" "wait a minute, young man," said mr. blithers coolly. (he was never anything but cool when under fire.) "why not wait until you have met my daughter before making a statement like that? after all, am i not the one who is taking chances? well, i'm willing to risk my girl's happiness with you and that's saying everything when you come right down to it. she will make you happy in--" [illustration: "you will be her choice," said the other, without the quiver of an eye-lash ] "i am not for sale. mr. blithers," said robin abruptly. "good morning." he turned into the wood and was sauntering away with his chin high in the air when mr. blithers called out to him from behind. "i shall expect you to-night, just the same." robin halted, amazed by the man's assurance. he retraced his steps to the roadside. "will you pardon a slight feeling of curiosity on my part, mr. blithers, if i ask whether your daughter consents to the arrangement you propose. does she approve of the scheme?" mr. blithers was honest. "no, she doesn't," he said succinctly. "at least, not at present. i'll be honest with you. she stayed away from the ball last night simply because she did not want to meet you. that's the kind of a girl _she_ is." "by jove, i take off my hat to her," cried robin. "she is a brick, after all. take it from me, mr. blithers, you will not be able to hand over twenty millions without her consent. i believe that i should enjoy meeting her, now that i come to think of it. it would be a pleasure to exchange confidences with a girl of that sort." mr. blithers betrayed agitation. "see here, prince, i don't want her to know that i've said anything to you about this matter," he said, unconsciously lowering his voice as if fearing that maud might be somewhere within hearing distance. "this is between you and me. don't breathe a word of it to her. 'gad, she'd--she'd skin me alive!" at the very thought of it, he wiped his forehead with unusual vigour. robin laughed heartily. "rest easy, mr. blithers. i shall not even think of your proposition again, much less speak of it." "come now, prince; wait until you've seen her. i know you'll get on famously--" "i should like her to know that i consider her a brick, mr. blithers. is it too much to ask of you? just tell her that i think she's a brick." "tell her yourself," growled mr. blithers, looking very black. "you will see her this evening," he added levelly. "shall i instruct your chauffeur to come for you up here or will you walk back to--" "i'll walk to red roof," said mr. blithers doggedly. "i'm going to ask mrs. king to let you off for to-night." chapter vii a letter from maud mr. blithers, triumphant, left red roof shortly after luncheon; mr. blithers, dismayed, arrived at blitherwood a quarter of an hour later. he had had his way with robin, who, after all, was coming to dinner that evening with count quinnox. the prince, after a few words in private with the count, changed his mind and accepted mr. blithers' invitation with a liveliness that was mistaken for eagerness by that gentleman, who had made very short work of subduing mrs. king when she tried to tell him that her own dinner-party would be ruined if the principal guest defaulted. he was gloating over his victory up to the instant he reached his own lodge gates. there dismay sat patiently waiting for him in the shape of a messenger from the local telegraph office in the village below. he had seen mr. blithers approaching in the distance, and, with an astuteness that argued well for his future success in life, calmly sat down to wait instead of pedaling his decrepit bicycle up the long slope to the villa. he delivered a telegram and kindly vouchsafed the information that it was from new york. mr. blithers experienced a queer sinking of the heart as he gazed at the envelope. something warned him that if he opened it in the presence of the messenger he would say something that a young boy ought not to hear. "it's from maud," said the obliging boy, beaming good-nature. it cost him a quarter, that bit of gentility, for mr. blithers at once said something that a messenger boy ought to hear, and ordered jackson to go ahead. it was from maud and it said: "i shall stay in town a few days longer. it is delightfully cool here. dear old miranda is at the ritz with me and we are having a fine spree. don't worry about money. i find i have a staggering balance in the bank. the cashier showed me where i had made a mistake in subtraction of an even ten thousand. i was amazed to find what a big difference a little figure makes. have made no definite plans but will write mother to-night. please give my love to the prince. have you seen to-day's _town truth_? or worse, has he seen it? your loving daughter, maud." the butler was sure it was apoplexy, but the chauffeur, out of a wide experience, announced, behind his hand, that he would be all right the instant the words ceased to stick in his throat. and he was right. mr. blithers _was_ all right. not even the chauffeur had seen him when he was more so. a little later on, after he had cooled off to a quite considerable extent, mr. blithers lighted a cigar and sat down in the hall outside his wife's bed-chamber door. she was having her beauty nap. not even he possessed the temerity to break in upon that. he sat and listened for the first sound that would indicate the appeasement of beauty, occasionally hitching his chair a trifle nearer to the door in the agony of impatience. by the time jackson returned from the village with word that a copy of _town truth_ was not to be had until the next day, he was so close to the door that if any one had happened to stick a hat pin through the keyhole at precisely the right instant it would have punctured his left ear with appalling results. "what are we going to do about it?" he demanded three minutes after entering the chamber. his wife was prostrate on the luxurious couch from which she had failed to arise when he burst in upon her with the telegram in his hand. "oh, the foolish child," she moaned. "if she only knew how adorable he is she wouldn't be acting in this perfectly absurd manner. every girl who was here last night is madly in love with him. why must maud be so obstinate?" mr. blithers was very careful not to mention his roadside experience with the prince, and you may be sure that he said nothing about his proposition to the young man. he merely declared, with a vast bitterness in his soul, that the prince was coming to dinner, but what the deuce was the use? "she ought to be soundly--spoken to," said he, breaking the sentence with a hasty gulp. "now, lou, there's just one thing to do. i must go to new york on the midnight train and get her. that woman was all right as a tutor, but hanged if i like to see a daughter of mine traipsing around new york with a school teacher. she--" "you forget that she has retired on a competence. she is not in active employment. will. you forget that she is one of the van valkens." "there you go, talking about good old families again. why is it that so blamed many of your fine old blue stockings are hunting jobs--" "now don't be vulgar, will," she cut in. "maud is quite safe with miranda, and you know it perfectly well, so don't talk like that. i think it would be a fearful mistake for you to go to new york. she would never forgive you and, what is more to the point, she wouldn't budge a step if you tried to bully her into coming home with you. you know it quite as well as i do." he groaned. "give me a chance to think, lou. just half a chance, that's all i ask. i'll work out some--" "wait until her letter comes. we'll see what she has to say. perhaps she intends coming home tomorrow, who can tell? this may be a pose on her part. give her free rein and she will not pull against the bit. it may surprise her into doing the sensible thing if we calmly ignore her altogether. i've been thinking it over, and i've come to the conclusion that we'll be doing the wisest thing in the world if we pay absolutely no attention to her." "by george, i believe you've hit it, lou! she'll be looking for a letter or telegram from me and she'll not receive a word, eh? she'll be expecting us to beg her to come back and all the while we just sit tight and say not a word. we'll fool her, by thunder. by to-morrow afternoon she'll be so curious to know what's got into us that she'll come home on a run. you're right. it takes a thief to catch a thief,--which is another way of saying that it takes a woman to understand a woman. we'll sit tight and let maud worry for a day or two. it will do her good." maud's continued absence was explained to prince robin that evening, not by the volcanic mr. blithers but by his practised and adroit better-half who had no compunction in ascribing it to the alarming condition of a very dear friend in new york,--one of the van valkens, you know. "maud is so tender-hearted, so loyal, so really sweet about her friends, that nothing in the world could have induced her to leave this dear friend, don't you know." "i am extremely sorry not to have met your daughter," said robin very politely. "oh, but she will be here in a day or two, prince." "unfortunately, we are leaving to-morrow, mrs. blithers." "to-morrow?" murmured mrs. blithers, aghast. "i received a cablegram to-day advising me to return to edelweiss at once. we are obliged to cut short a very charming visit with mr. and mrs. king and to give up the trip to washington. lieutenant dank left for new york this afternoon to exchange our reservations for the first ship that we can--" "what's this?" demanded mr. blithers, abruptly withdrawing his attention from count quinnox who was in the middle of a sentence when the interruption came. they were on the point of going out to dinner. "what's this?" "the prince says that he is leaving to-morrow--" "nonsense!" exploded mr. blithers, with no effort toward geniality. "he doesn't mean it. why,--why, we haven't signed a single agreement--" "fortunately it isn't necessary for me to sign anything, mr. blithers," broke in robin hastily. "the papers are to be signed by the minister of finance, and afterwards my signature is attached in approval. isn't that true, count quinnox?" "i daresay mr. blithers understands the situation perfectly," said the count. mr. blithers looked blank. he _did_ understand the situation, that was the worst of it. he knew that although the cabinet had sanctioned the loan by cable, completing the transaction so far as it could be completed at this time, it was still necessary for the minister of finance to sign the agreement under the royal seal of graustark. "of course i understand it," he said bluntly. "still i had it in mind to ask the prince to put his signature to a sort of preliminary document which would at least assure me that he would sign the final agreement when the time comes. that's only fair, isn't it?" "quite fair, mr. blithers. the prince will sign such an article to-morrow or the next day at your office in the city. pray have no uneasiness, sir. it shall be as you wish. by the way, i understood that your solicitor--your lawyer, i should say,--was to be here this evening. it had occurred to me that he might draw up the statement,--if mrs. blithers will forgive us in our haste--" "he couldn't get here," said mr. blithers, and no more. he was thinking too intently of something more important. "what's turned up?" "turned up, mr. blithers?" "yes--in groostock. what's taking you off in such a hurry?" "the prince has been away for nearly six months," said the count, as if that explained everything. "was it necessary to cable for him to come home?" persisted the financier. "graustark and dawsbergen are endeavouring to form an alliance, mr. blithers, and prince robin's presence at the capitol is very much to be desired in connection with the project." "what kind of an alliance?" the count looked bored. "an alliance prescribed for the general improvement of the two races, i should say, mr. blithers." he smiled. "it would in no way impair the credit of graustark, however. it is what you might really describe as a family secret, if you will pardon my flippancy." the butler announced dinner. "wait for a couple of days. prince, and i'll send you down to new york by special train," said mr. blithers. "thank you. it is splendid of you. i daresay everything will depend on dank's success in--" "crawford," said mr. blithers to the butler, "ask mr. davis to look up the sailings for next week and let me know at once, will you?" turning to the prince, he went on: "we can wire down to-night and engage passage for next week. davis is my secretary. i'll have him attend to everything. and now let's forget our troubles." a great deal was said by her parents about maud's unfortunate detention in the city. both of them were decidedly upset by the sudden change in the prince's plans. once under pretext of whispering to crawford about the wine, mr. blithers succeeded in transmitting a question to his wife. she shook her head in reply, and he sighed audibly. he had asked if she thought he'd better take the midnight train. mr. davis found that there were a dozen ships sailing the next week, but nothing came of it, for the prince resolutely declared he would be obliged to take the first available steamer. "we shall go down to-morrow," he said, and even mr. blithers subsided. he looked to his wife in desperation. she failed him for the first time in her life. her eyes were absolutely messageless. "i'll go down with you," he said, and then gave his wife a look of defiance. the next morning brought maud's letter to her mother. it said: "dearest mother: i enclose the cutting from _town truth_. you may see for yourself what a sickening thing it is. the whole world knows by this time that the ball was a joke--a horrible joke. everybody knows that you are trying to hand me over to prince robin neatly wrapped up in bank notes. and everybody knows that he is laughing at us, and he isn't alone in his mirth either. what must the truxton kings think of us? i can't bear the thought of meeting that pretty, clever woman face to face. i know i should die of mortification, for, of course, she must believe that i am dying to marry anything on earth that has a title and a pair of legs. somehow i don't blame you and dad. you really love me, i know, and you want to give me the best that the world affords. but why, oh why, can't you let me choose for myself? i don't object to having a title, but i do object to having a husband that i don't want and who certainly could not, by any chance, want me. you think that i am in love with channie scoville. well, i'm not. i am very fond of him, that's all, and if it came to a pinch i would marry him in preference to any prince on the globe. to-day i met a couple of girls who were at the ball. they told me that the prince is adorable. they are really quite mad about him, and one of them had the nerve to ask what it was going to cost dad to land him. _town truth_ says he is to cost ten millions! well, you may just tell dad that i'll help him to practice economy. he needn't pay a nickle for my husband--when i get him. the world is small. it may be that i shall come upon this same prince charming some place before it is too late, and fall in love with him all of a heap. loads of silly girls do fall in love with fairy princes, and i'm just as silly as the rest of them. ever since i was a little kiddie i've dreamed of marrying a real, lace-and-gold prince, the kind miranda used to read about in the story books. but i also dreamed that he loved me. there's the rub, you see. how could any prince love a girl who set out to buy him with a lot of silly millions? it's not to be expected. i know it is done in the best society, but i should want my prince to be happy instead of merely comfortable. i should want both of us to live happy ever afterwards. "so, dearest mother, i am going abroad to forget. miranda is going with me and we sail next saturday on the _jupiter_ i think. we haven't got our suite, but mr. bliss says he is sure he can arrange it for me. if we can't get one on the _jupiter_, we'll take some other boat that is just as inconspicuous. you see, i want to go on a ship that isn't likely to be packed with people i know, for it is my intention to travel incog, as they say in the books. no one shall stare at me and say: 'there is that maud blithers we were reading about in _town truth_--and all the other papers this week. her father is going to buy a prince for her.' "i know dad will be perfectly furious, but i'm going or die, one or the other. now it won't do a bit of good to try to stop me, dearest. the best thing for you and dad to do is to come down at once and say goodbye to me--but you are not to go to the steamer! never! please, please come, for i love you both and i do so want you to love me. come to-morrow and kiss your horrid, horrid, disappointing, loathsome daughter--and forgive her, too." mr. blithers was equal to the occasion. his varying emotions manifested themselves with peculiar vividness during the reading of the letter by his tearful wife. at the outset he was frankly humble and contrite; he felt bitterly aggrieved over the unhappy position in which they innocently had placed their cherished idol. then came the deep breath of relief over the apparent casting away of young scoville, followed by an angry snort when maud repeated the remark of her girl friend. his dismay was pathetic while mrs. blithers was fairly gasping out maud's determination to go abroad, but before she reached the concluding sentences of the extraordinary missive, he was himself again. as a matter of fact, he was almost jubilant. he slapped his knee with resounding force and uttered an ejaculation that caused his wife to stare at him as if the very worst had happened: he was a chuckling lunatic! "immense!" he exclaimed. "immense!" "oh, will!" she sobbed. "nothing could be better! luck is with me, lou. it always is." "in heaven's name, what are you saying, will?" "great scott, can't you see? he goes abroad, she goes abroad. see? same ship. see what i mean? nothing could be finer. they--" "but i do not want my child to go abroad," wailed the unhappy mother. "i cannot bear--" "stuff and nonsense! brace up! grasp the romance. both of 'em sailing under assumed names. they see each other on deck. mutual attraction. love at first sight. both of 'em. money no object. there you are. leave it to me." "maud is not the kind of girl to take up with a stranger on board--" "don't glare at me like that! love finds the way, it doesn't matter what kind of a girl she is. but listen to me, lou; we've got to be mighty careful that maud doesn't suspect that we're putting up a job on her. she'd balk at the gang-plank and that would be the end of it. she must not know that he is on board. now, here's the idea," and he talked on in a strangely subdued voice for fifteen minutes, his enthusiasm mounting to such heights that she was fairly lifted to the seventh heaven he produced, and, for once in her life, she actually submitted to his bumptious argument without so much as a single protesting word. the down train at two-seventeen had on board a most distinguished group of passengers, according to the pullman conductor whose skilful conniving resulted in the banishment of a few unimportant creatures who had paid for chairs in the observation coach but who had to get out, whether or no, when mr. blithers loudly said it was a nuisance having everything on the shady side of the car taken "on a hot day like this." he surreptitiously informed the conductor that there was a prince in his party, and that highly impressed official at once informed ten other passengers that they had no business in a private car and would have to move up to the car ahead--and rather quickly at that. the prince announced that lieutenant dank had secured comfortable cabins on a steamer sailing saturday, but he did not feel at liberty to mention the name of the boat owing to his determination to avoid newspaper men, who no doubt would move heaven and earth for an interview, now that he had become a person of so much importance in the social world. indeed, his indentity was to be more completely obscured than at any time since he landed on american soil. he thanked mr. blithers for his offer to command the "royal suite" on the _jupiter_, but declined, volunteering the somewhat curt remark that it was his earnest desire to keep as far away from royalty as possible on the voyage over. (a remark that mr. blithers couldn't quite fathom, then or afterward.) mrs. blithers' retort to her husband's shocked comment on the un-princely appearance of the young man and the wofully ordinary suit of clothes worn by the count, was sufficiently caustic, and he was silenced--and convinced. neither of the distinguished foreigners looked the part of a nobleman. "i wouldn't talk about clothes if i were you," mrs. blithers had said on the station platform. "who would suspect you of being one of the richest men in america?" she sent a disdainful glance at his baggy knees and bulging coat pockets, and for the moment he shrank into the state of being one of the poorest men in america. they were surprised and not a little perplexed by the fact that the prince and his companion arrived at the station quite alone. neither of the kings accompanied them. there was, mrs. blithers admitted, food for thought in this peculiar omission on the part of the prince's late host and hostess, and she would have given a great deal to know what was back of it. the "luggage" was attended to by the admirable hobbs, there being no sign of a red roof servant about the place. moreover, there seemed to be considerable uneasiness noticeable in the manner of the two foreigners. they appeared to be unnecessarily impatient for the train to arrive, looking at their watches now and again, and frequently sending sharp glances down the village street in the direction of red roof. blithers afterwards remarked that they made him think of a couple of absconding cashiers. the mystery, however, was never explained. arriving at the grand central terminal, prince robin and the count made off in a taxi-cab, smilingly declining to reveal their hotel destination. "but where am i to send my attorney with the agreement you are to sign, prince?" asked mr. blithers, plainly irritated by the young man's obstinacy in declining to be "dropped" at his hotel by the blithers motor. "i shall come to your office at eleven to-morrow morning, mr. blithers," said robin, his hat in his hand. he had bowed very deeply to mrs. blithers. "but that's not right," blustered the financier. "a prince of royal blood hadn't ought to visit a money-grubber's office. it's not--" "_noblesse oblige_," said robin, with his hand on his heart. "it has been a pleasure to know you, mrs. blithers. i trust we may meet again. if you should ever come to graustark, please consider that the castle is yours--as you hospitable americans would say." "we surely will," said mrs. blithers. both the prince and count quinnox bowed very profoundly, and did not smile. "and it will be ours," added mr. blithers, more to himself than to his wife as the two tall figures moved off with the throng. then to his wife: "now to find out what ship they're sailing on. i'll fix it so they'll _have_ to take the _jupiter_, whether they want to or not." "wouldn't it be wisdom to find out what ship maud is sailing on, will? it seems to me that she is the real problem." "right you are!" said he instantly. "i must be getting dotty in my old age, lou." they were nearing the ritz when she broke a prolonged period of abstraction by suddenly inquiring: "what did you mean when you said to him on the train: 'better think it over, prince,' and what did he mean by the insolent grin he gave you in reply?" mr. blithers looked straight ahead. "business," said he, answering the first question but not the last. chapter viii on board the "jupiter" a grey day at sea. the _jupiter_ seemed to be slinking through the mist and drizzle, so still was the world of waters. the ocean was as smooth as a mill pond; the reflected sky came down bleak and drab and no wind was stirring. the rush of the ship through the glassy, sullen sea produced a fictitious gale across the decks; aside from that there was dead calm ahead and behind. a threat seemed to lurk in the smooth, oily face of the atlantic. far ahead stretched the grey barricade that seemed to mark the spot where the voyage was to end. there was no going beyond that clear-cut line. when the ship came up to it, there would be no more water beyond; naught but a vast space into which the vessel must topple and go on falling to the end of time. the great sirens were silent, for the fog of the night before had lifted, laying bare a desolate plain. the ship was sliding into oblivion, magnificently indifferent to the catastrophe that awaited its arrival at the edge of the universe. and she was sailing the sea alone. all other ships had passed over that sinister line and were plunging toward a bottom that would never be reached, so long is eternity. the decks of the _jupiter_ were wet with the almost invisible drizzle that filled the air, yet they were swarming with the busy pedestrians who never lose an opportunity to let every one know that they are on board. no ship's company is complete without its leg-stretchers. they who never walk a block on dry land without complaining, right manfully lop off miles when walking on the water, and get to be known--at least visually--to the entire first cabin before they have paraded half way across the atlantic. (there was once a man who had the strutting disease so badly that he literally walked from sandy hook to gaunt's rock, but, who, on getting to london, refused to walk from the savoy to the cecil because of a weak heart.) the worst feature about these inveterate water-walkers is that they tread quite as proudly upon other people's feet as they do upon their own, and as often as not they appear to do it from choice. still, that is another story. it has nothing to do with the one we are trying to tell. to resume, the decks of the _jupiter_ were wet and the sky was drab. new york was twenty-four hours astern and the brief sunday service had come to a peaceful end. it died just in time to escape the horrors of a popular programme by the band amidships. the echo of the last amen was a resounding thump on the big bass drum. three tall, interesting looking men stood leaning against the starboard rail of the promenade deck, unmindful of the mist, watching the scurrying throng of exercise fiends. two were young, the third was old, and of the three there was one who merited the second glance that invariably was bestowed upon him by the circling passers-by. each succeeding revolution increased the interest and admiration and people soon began to favour him with frankly unabashed stares and smiles that could not have been mistaken for anything but tribute to his extreme good looks. he stood between the gaunt, soldierly old man with the fierce moustache, and the trim, military young man with one that was close cropped and smart. each wore a blue serge suit and affected a short visored cap of the same material, and each lazily puffed at a very commonplace briar pipe. they in turn were watching the sprightly parade with an interest that was calmly impersonal. they saw no one person who deserved more than a casual glance, and yet the motley crowd passed before them, apparently without end, as if expecting a responsive smile of recognition from the tall young fellow to whom it paid the honest tribute of curiosity. the customary he-gossip and perennial snooper who is always making the voyage no matter what ship one takes or the direction one goes, nosed out the purser and discovered that the young man was r. schmidt of vienna. he was busy thereafter mixing with the throng, volunteering information that had not been solicited but which appeared to be welcome. especially were the young women on board grateful to the he-gossip, when he accosted them as a perfect stranger to tell them the name of another and even more perfect stranger. "evidently an austrian army officer," he always proclaimed, and that seemed to settle it. luckily he did not overhear r. schmidt's impassive estimate of the first cabin parade, or he might have had something to repeat that would not have pleased those who took part in it. "queer looking lot of people," said r. schmidt, and his two companions moodily nodded their heads. "i am sorry we lost those rooms on the _salammbo_," said the younger of his two companions. "i had them positively engaged, money paid down." "some one else came along with more money, dank," observed r. schmidt. "we ought to be thankful that we received anything at all. has it occurred to you that this boat isn't crowded?" "not more than half full," said the older man. "all of the others appeared to be packed from hold to funnel. this must be an unpopular boat." "i don't know where we'd be, however, if mr. blithers hadn't thought of the _jupiter_ almost at the last minute," said r. schmidt. "nine day boat, though," growled the old man. "i don't mind that in the least. she's a steady old tub and that's something." "hobbs tells me that it is most extraordinary to find the east bound steamers crowded at this season of the year," said dank. "he can't understand it at all. the crowds go over in june and july and by this time they should be starting for home. i thought we'd have no difficulty in getting on any one of the big boats, but, by jove, everywhere i went they said they were full up." "it was uncommonly decent of blithers not coming down to see us off," said the elderly man, who was down on the passenger list as totten. "i was apprehensive, 'pon my soul. he stuck like a leech up to the last minute." r. schmidt was reflecting. "it struck me as queer that he had not heard of the transfer of our securities in london." "i cannot understand bernstein & sons selling out at a time when the price of our bonds is considerably below their actual value," said totten, frowning. "a million pounds sterling is what their holdings really represented; according to the despatches they must have sold at a loss of nearly fifty thousand pounds. it is unbelievable that the house can be hard-pressed for money. there isn't a sounder concern in europe than bernstein's." "we should have a marconi-gram to-night or tomorrow in regard to the bid made in paris for the bonds held by the french syndicate," said dank, pulling at his short moustache. "mr. blithers is investigating." "there is something sinister in all this," said r. schmidt. "who is buying up all of the out-standing bonds and what is behind the movement? london has sold all that were held there and paris is approached on the same day. if paris and berlin should sell, nearly four million pounds in graustark bonds will be in the hands of people whose identity and motives appear to be shrouded in the deepest mystery." "and four million pounds represents the entire amount of our bonds held by outside parties," said totten, with a significant shake of his grizzled head. "the remainder are in the possession of our own institutions and the people themselves. we should hear from edelweiss, too, in response to my cablegram. perhaps romano may be able to throw light on the situation. i confess that i am troubled." "russia would have no object in buying up our general bonds, would she?" inquired r. schmidt. "none whatever. she would have nothing to gain. mr. blithers assured me that he was not in the least apprehensive. in fact, he declared that russia would not be buying bonds that do not mature for twelve years to come. there must be some private--eh?" a steward was politely accosting the trio. "i beg pardon, is this mr. totten?" "yes." "message for you, sir, at the purser's." "bring it to my stateroom, totten," said r. schmidt briefly, and the old man hurried away on the heels of the messenger. the two young men sauntered carelessly in an opposite direction and soon disappeared from the deck. a few minutes later, totten entered the luxurious parlour of r. schmidt and laid an unopened wireless message on the table at the young man's elbow. "open it, totten." the old man slit the envelope and glanced at the contents. he nodded his head in answer to an unspoken question. "sold?" asked r. schmidt. "paris and berlin, both of them, prince. every bond has been gobbled up." "does he mention the name of the buyer?" "only by the use of the personal pronoun. he says--'i have taken over the paris and berlin holdings. all is well.' it is signed 'b.' so! now we know." "by jove!" fell from the lips of both men, and then the three graustarkians stared in speechless amazement at each other for the space of a minute before another word was spoken. "blithers!" exclaimed dank, sinking back into his chair. "blithers," repeated totten, but with an entirely different inflection. the word was conviction itself as he pronounced it. r. schmidt indulged in a wry little smile. "it amounts to nearly twenty million dollars, count. that's a great deal of money to spend in the pursuit of an idle whim." "humph!" grunted the old count, and then favoured the sunny-faced prince with a singularly sharp glance. "of course, you understand his game?" "perfectly. it's as clear as day. he intends to be the crown father-in-law. i suppose he will expect graustark to establish an order of royal grandfathers." "it may prove to be no jest, robin," said the count seriously. "my dear quinnox, don't look so sad," cried the prince. "he may have money enough to buy graustark but he hasn't enough to buy grandchildren that won't grow, you know. he is counting chickens before they're hatched, which isn't a good business principle, i'd have you to know." "what was it he said to you at red roof?" "that was nothing. pure bluster." "he said he had never set his heart on anything that he didn't get in the end, wasn't that it?" "i think so. something of the sort. i took it as a joke." "well, i took it as a threat." "a threat?" "a pleasant, agreeable threat, of course. he has set his heart on having the crown of graustark worn by a blithers. that is the long and short of it." "i believe he did say to me in the woods that day that he could put his daughter on any throne in europe if he set his mind to the job," said the prince carelessly. "but you see, the old gentleman is not counting on two very serious sources of opposition when it comes to this particular case. there is maud, you see,--and me." "i am not so sure of the young lady," said the count sententiously. "the opposition may falter a bit there, and half of his battle is won." "you seem to forget, quinnox, that such a marriage is utterly impossible," said the prince coldly, "do you imagine that i would marry--" "pardon me, highness, i said _half_ the battle would be won. i do contemplate a surrender on your part. you are a very pig-headed young man. the most pig-headed i've ever known, if you will forgive me for expressing myself so--" "you've said it a hundred times," laughed the prince, good-naturedly. "don't apologise. not only you but the entire house of nobles have characterised me as pig-headed and i have never even thought of resenting it, so it must be that i believe it to be true." "we have never voiced the opinion, highness, except in reference to our own great desire to bring about the union between our beloved ruler and the crown princess of--" "so," interrupted r. schmidt, "it ought to be very clear to you that if i will not marry to please my loyal, devoted cabinet i certainly shall not marry to please william w. blithers. no doubt the excellent maud is a most desirable person. in any event, she has a mind of her own. i confess that i am sorry to have missed seeing her. we might have got on famously together, seeing that our point of view is apparently unique in this day and age of the world, no, my good friends, mr. blithers is making a poor investment. he will not get the return for his money that he is expecting. if it pleases him to buy our securities, all well and good. he shall lose nothing in the end. but he will find that graustark is not a toy, nor the people puppets. more than all that, i am not a bargain sale prince with christmas tree aspirations, but a very unamiable devil who cultivates an ambition to throw stones at the conventions. not only do i intend to choose my wife but also the court grandfather. and now let us forget the folly of mr. blithers and discuss his methods of business. what does he expect to gain by this extraordinary investment?" count quinnox looked at him rather pityingly. "it appears to be his way of pulling the strings, my boy. he has loaned us something like sixteen millions of dollars. we have agreed to deposit our public service bonds as security against the loan, so that practically equalises the situation. it becomes a purely business transaction. but he sees far ahead. this loan of his matures at practically the same time that our first series of government bonds are due for payment. it will be extremely difficult for a small country, such as graustark, to raise nearly forty millions of dollars in, say ten years. the european syndicates undoubtedly would be willing to renew the loan under a new issue--i think it is called refunding, or something of the sort. but mr. blithers will be in a position to say no to any such arrangement. he holds the whip hand and--" "but, my dear count," interrupted the prince, "what if he does hold it? does he expect to wait ten years before exercising his power? you forget that marriage is his ambition. isn't he taking a desperate risk in assuming that i will not marry before the ten years are up? and, for that matter, his daughter may decide to wed some other chap who--" "that's just the point," said quinnox. "he is arranging it so that you _can't_ marry without his consent." "the deuce you say!" "i am not saying that he can carry out his design, my dear boy, but it is his secret hope, just the same. so far as graustark is concerned, she will stand by you no matter what betides. as you know, there is nothing so dear to our hearts as the proposed union of dawsbergen's crown princess and--" "that's utterly out of the question, count," said the prince, setting his jaws. the count sighed patiently. "so you say, my boy, so you say. but you are not reasonable. how can you know that the crown princess of dawsbergen is not the very mate your soul has been craving--" "that's not the point. i am opposed to this miserable custom of giving in marriage without the consent of the people most vitally concerned, and i shall never recede from my position." "you are very young, my dear prince." "and i intend to remain young, my dear count. loveless marriages make old men and women of youths and maidens. i remember thinking that remark out for myself after a great deal of effort, and you may remember that i sprung it with considerable effect on the cabinet when the matter was formally discussed a year or two ago. you heard about it, didn't you, dank?" "i did, highness." "and every newspaper in the world printed it as coming from me, didn't they? well, there you are. i can't go behind my publicly avowed principles." the young fellow stretched his long body in a sort of luxurious defiance, and eyed his companions somewhat combatively. "sounds very well," growled the count, with scant reverence for royalty, being a privileged person. "now, dank here can marry any one he likes--if she'll have him--and he is only a lieutenant of the guard. why should i,--prince royal and master of all he surveys, so to speak,--why should i be denied a privilege enjoyed by every good-looking soldier who carries a sword in my army--_my_ army, do you understand? i leave it to you, dank, is it fair? who are you that you should presume to think of a happy marriage while i, your prince, am obliged to twiddle my thumbs and say 'all right, bring any old thing along and i'll marry her'? who are you, dank, that's what i'd like to know." his humour was so high-handed that the two soldiers laughed and dank ruefully admitted that he was a lucky dog. "you shall not marry into the blithers family, my lad, if we can help it," said the count, pulling at his moustaches. "i should say not!" said dank, feeling for his. "i should as soon marry a daughter of hobbs," said r. schmidt, getting up from his chair with restored sprightliness. "if he had one, i mean." "the bonds of matrimony and the bonds of government are by no means synonymous," said dank, and felt rather proud of himself when his companions favoured him with a stare of amazement. the excellent lieutenant was not given to persiflage. he felt that for a moment he had scintillated. "shall we send a wireless to blithers congratulating him on his coup?" enquired the prince gaily. "no," said the count. "congratulating ourselves on his coup is better." "good! and you might add that we also are trusting to luck. it may give him something to think about. and now where is hobbs?" said royalty. "here, sir," said hobbs, appearing in the bed-room door, but not unexpectedly. "i heard wot you said about my daughter, sir. it may set your mind at rest, sir, to hear that i am childless." "thank you, hobbs. you are always thinking of my comfort. you may order luncheon for us in the ritz restaurant. the head steward has been instructed to reserve the corner table for the whole voyage." "the 'ead waiter, sir," corrected hobbs politely, and was gone. in three minutes he was back with the information that two ladies had taken the table and refused to be dislodged, although the head waiter had vainly tried to convince them that it was reserved for the passage by r. schmidt and party. "i am quite sure, sir, he put it to them very hagreeably and politely, but the young lady gave 'im the 'aughtiest look i've ever seen on mortal fice, sir, and he came back to me so 'umble that i could 'ardly believe he was an 'ead waiter." "i hope he was not unnecessarily persistent," said the prince, annoyed. "it really is of no consequence where we sit." "ladies first, world without end," said dank. "especially at sea." "he was not persistent, sir. in fact he was hextraordinary subdued all the time he was hexplaining the situation to them. i could tell by the way his back looked, sir." "never mind, hobbs. you ordered luncheon?" "yes, your 'ighness. chops and sweet potatoes and--" "but that's what we had yesterday, hobbs." a vivid red overspread the suddenly dismayed face of hobbs. "'pon my soul, sir, i--i clean forgot that it was yesterday i was thinking of. the young lady gave me such a sharp look, sir, when the 'ead waiter pointed at me that i clean forgot wot i was there for. i will 'urry back and--" "do, hobbs, that's a good fellow. i'm as hungry as a bear. but no chops!" "thank you, sir. no chops. absolutely, sir." he stopped in the doorway. "i daresay it was 'er beauty, sir, that did it. no chops. quite so, sir." "if blithers were only here," sighed dank. "he would make short work of the female invasion. he would have them chucked overboard." "i beg pardon, sir," further adventured hobbs, "but i fancy not even mr. blithers could move that young woman, sir, if she didn't 'appen to want to be moved. never in my life, sir, have i seen--" "run along, hobbs," said the prince. "boiled guinea hen." "and cantaloupe, sir. yes, sir, i quite remember everything now, sir." twenty minutes later, r. schmidt, seated in the ritz restaurant, happened to look fairly into the eyes of the loveliest girl he had ever seen, and on the instant forgave the extraordinary delinquency of the hitherto infallible hobbs. chapter ix the prince meets miss guile later on r. schmidt sat alone in a sheltered corner of the promenade deck, where chairs had been secured by the forehanded hobbs. the thin drizzle now aspired to something more definite in the shape of a steady downpour, and the decks were almost deserted, save for the few who huddled in the unexposed nooks where the sweep and swish of the rain failed to penetrate. there was a faraway look in the young man's eyes, as of one who dreams pleasantly, with little effort but excellent effect. his pipe had gone out, so his dream must have been long and uninterrupted. eight bells sounded, but what is time to a dreamer? then came one bell and two, and now his eyes were closed. two women came and stood over him, but little did they suspect that his dream was of one of them: the one with the lovely eyes and the soft brown hair. they surveyed him, whispering, the one with a little perplexed frown on her brow, the other with distinct signs of annoyance in her face. the girl was not more than twenty, her companion quite old enough to be her mother: a considerate if not complimentary estimate, for a girl's mother may be either forty, fifty or even fifty-five, when you come to think of it. they were looking for something. that was quite clear. and it was deplorably clear that whatever it was, r. schmidt was sitting upon it. they saw that he was asleep, which made the search if not the actual recovery quite out of the question. the older woman was on the point of poking the sleeper with the toe of her shoe, being a matter-of-fact sort of person, when the girl imperatively shook her head and frowned upon the lady in a way to prove that even though she was old enough to be the mother of a girl of twenty she was by no means the mother of this one. at that very instant, r. schmidt opened his eyes. it must have been a kindly poke by the god of sleep that aroused him so opportunely, but even so, the toe of a shoe could not have created a graver catastrophe than that which immediately befell him. he completely lost his head. if one had suddenly asked what had become of it, he couldn't have told, not for the life of him. for that matter, he couldn't have put his finger, so to speak, on any part of his person and proclaimed with confidence that it belonged to r. schmidt of vienna. he was looking directly up into a pair of dark, startled eyes, in which there was a very pretty confusion and a far from impervious blink. "i beg your pardon," said the older woman, without the faintest trace of embarrassment,--indeed, with some asperity,--"i think you are occupying one of our chairs." he scrambled out of the steamer rug and came to his feet, blushing to the roots of his hair. "i beg your pardon," he stammered, and found his awkwardness rewarded by an extremely sweet smile--in the eyes of the one he addressed. "we were looking for a letter that i am quite sure was left in my chair," said she. "a letter?" he murmured vaguely, and at once began to search with his eyes. "from her father," volunteered the elderly one, as if it were a necessary bit of information. then she jerked the rug away and three pairs of eyes examined the place where r. schmidt had been reclining. "that's odd. did you happen to see it when you sat down, sir?" "i am confident that there was no letter--" began he, and then allowed his gaze to rest on the name-card at the top of the chair. "this happens to be _my_ chair, madam," he went on, pointing to the card. "'r. schmidt.' i am very sorry." "the steward must have put that card there while you were at luncheon, dear. what right has he to sell our chairs over again? i shall report this to the captain--" "i am quite positive that this is my chair, sir," said the girl, a spot of red in each cheek. "it was engaged two days ago. i have been occupying it since--but it really doesn't matter. it has your name on it now, so i suppose i shall have to--" "not at all," he made haste to say. "it's yours. there has been some miserable mistake. these deck stewards are always messing things up. still, it is rather a mystery about the letter. i assure you i saw no--" "no doubt the steward who changed the cards had sufficient intelligence to remove all incriminating evidence," said she coolly. "we shall find it among the lost, strayed and stolen articles, no doubt. pray retain the chair, mr.--" she peered at the name-card--"mr. schmidt." her cool insolence succeeded in nettling a nature that was usually most gentle. he spoke with characteristic directness. "thank you, i shall do so. we thereby manage to strike a fair average. i seize your deck chair, you seize my table. we are quits." she smiled faintly. "r. schmidt did not sound young and gentle, but old and hateful. that is why i seized the table. i expected to find r. schmidt a fat, old german with very bad manners. instead, you are neither fat, old, nor disagreeable. you took it very nicely, mr. schmidt, and i am undone. won't you permit me to restore your table to you?" the elderly lady was tapping the deck with a most impatient foot. "really my dear, we were quite within our rights in approaching the head waiter. he--" "he said it was engaged," interrupted the young lady. "r. schmidt was the name he gave and i informed him it meant nothing to me. i am very sorry, mr. schmidt. i suppose it was all because i am so accustomed to having my own way." "in that case, it is all very easy to understand," said he, "for i have always longed to be in a position where i could have my own way. i am sure that if i could have it, i would be a most overbearing, selfish person." "we must enquire at the office for the letter, my dear, before--" "it may have dropped behind the chair," said the girl. "right!" cried r. schmidt, dragging the chair away and pointing in triumph at the missing letter. he stooped to recover the missive, but she was quick to forestall him. with a little gasp she pounced upon it and, like a child proceeded to hold it behind her back. he stiffened. "i remember that you said it was from your father." she hesitated an instant and then held it forth for his inspection, rather adroitly concealing the postmark with her thumb. it was addressed to "miss b. guile, s. s. _jupiter_, new york city, n. y.," and type-written. "it is only fair that we should be quits in every particular," she said, with a frank smile. he bowed. "a letter of introduction," he said, "in the strictest sense of the word. you have already had my card thrust upon you, so everything is quite regular. and now it is only right and proper that i should see what has become of your chairs. permit me--" "really, miss guile," interposed her companion, "this is quite irregular. i may say it is unusual. pray allow me to suggest--" "i think it is only right that mr. schmidt should return good for evil," interrupted the girl gaily. "please enquire, mr. schmidt. no doubt the deck steward will know." again the prince bowed, but this time there was amusement instead of uncertainty in his eyes. it was the first time that any one had ever urged him, even by inference, to "fetch and carry." moreover, she was extremely cool about it, as one who exacts much of young men in serge suits and outing-caps. he found himself wondering what she would say if he were to suddenly announce that he was the prince of graustark. the thought tickled his fancy, accounting, no doubt, for the even deeper bow that he gave her. "they can't be very far away," he observed quite meekly. "oh, i say, steward! one moment, here." a deck steward approached with alacrity. "what has become of miss guile's chair?" the man touched his cap and beamed joyously upon the fair young lady. "ach! see how i have forgot! it is here! the best place on the deck--on any deck. see! two--side by side,--above the door, away from the draft--see, in the corner, ha, ha! yes! two by side. the very best. miss guile complains of the draft from the door. i exchanged the chairs. see! but i forgot to speak. yes! see!" and, sure enough, there were the chairs of miss guile and her companion snugly stowed away in the corner, standing at right angles to the long row that lined the deck, the foot rests pointed directly at the chair r. schmidt had just vacated, not more than a yard and a half away. "how stupid!" exclaimed miss guile. "thank you, steward. this is much better. so sorry, mr. schmidt, to have disturbed you. i abhor drafts, don't you?" "not to the extent that i shall move out of this one," he replied gallantly, "now that i've got an undisputed claim to it. i intend to stand up for my rights, miss guile, even though you find me at your feet." "how perfectly love--" began miss guile, a gleam of real enthusiasm in her eyes. a sharp, horrified look from her companion served as a check, and she became at once the coolly indifferent creature who exacts everything. "thank you, mr. schmidt, for being so nice when we were trying so hard to be horrid." "but you don't know how nice you are when you are trying to be horrid," he remarked. "are you not going to sit down, now that we've captured the disappearing chair?" "no," she said, and he fancied he saw regret in her eyes. "i am going to my room,--if i can find it. no doubt it also is lost. this seems to be a day for misplacing things." "at any rate, permit me to thank you for discovering me, miss guile." "oh, i daresay i shall misplace you, too, mr. schmidt." she said it so insolently that he flushed as he drew himself up and stepped aside to allow her to pass. for an instant their eyes met, and the sign of the humble was not to be found in the expression of either. "even _that_ will be something for me to look forward to, miss guile," said he. far from being vexed, she favoured him with a faint smile of--was it wonder or admiration? then she moved away, followed by the uneasy lady--who was old enough to be her mother and wasn't. robin remained standing for a moment, looking after her, and somehow he felt that his dream was not yet ended. she turned the corner of the deck building and was lost to sight. he sat down, only to arise almost instantly, moved by a livelier curiosity than he ever had felt before. conscious of a certain feeling of stealth, he scrutinised the cards in the backs of the two chairs. the steward was collecting the discarded steamer-rugs farther down the deck, and the few passengers who occupied chairs, appeared to be snoozing,--all of which he took in with his first appraising glance. "miss guile" and "mrs. gaston" were the names he read. "americans," he mused. "young lady and chaperone, that's it. a real american beauty! and blithers loudly boasts that his daughter is the prettiest girl in america! shades of venus! can there be such a thing on earth as a prettier girl than this one? can nature have performed the impossible? is america so full of lovely girls that this one must take second place to a daughter of blithers? i wonder if she knows the imperial maud. i'll make it a point to inquire." moved by a sudden restlessness, he decided that he was in need of exercise. a walk would do him good. the same spirit of restlessness, no doubt, urged him to walk rather rapidly in the direction opposite to that taken by the lovely miss guile. after completely circling the deck once he decided that he did not need the exercise after all. his walk had not benefitted him in the least. she _had_ gone to her room. he returned to his chair, conscious of having been defeated but without really knowing why or how. as he turned into the dry, snug corner, he came to an abrupt stop and stared. miss guile was sitting in her chair, neatly encased in a mummy-like sheath of grey that covered her slim body to the waist. she was quite alone in her nook, and reading. evidently the book interested her, for she failed to look up when he clumsily slid into his chair and threw the rug over his legs--dreadfully long, uninteresting legs, he thought, as he stretched them out and found that his feet protruded like a pair of white obelisks. naturally he looked seaward, but in his mind's eye he saw her as he had seen her not more than ten minutes before: a slim, tall girl in a smart buff coat, with a limp white hat drawn down over her hair by means of a bright green veil; he had had a glimpse of staunch tan walking-shoes. he found himself wondering how he had missed her in the turn about the deck, and how she could have ensconced herself so snugly during his brief evacuation of the spot. suddenly it occurred to him that she had returned to the chair only after discovering that his was vacant. it wasn't a very gratifying conclusion. an astonishing intrepidity induced him to speak to her after a lapse of five or six minutes, and so surprising was the impulse that he blurted out his question without preamble. "how did you manage to get back so quickly?" he inquired. she looked up, and for an instant there was something like alarm in her lovely eyes, as of one caught in the perpetration of a guilty act. "i beg your pardon," she said, rather indistinctly. "i was away less than eight minutes," he declared, and she was confronted by the wonderfully frank smile that never failed to work its charm. to his surprise, a shy smile grew in her eyes, and her warm red lips twitched uncertainly. he had expected a cold rebuff. "you must have dropped through the awning." "your imagination is superior to that employed by the author of this book," she said, "and that is saying a good deal, mr.--mr.--" "schmidt," he supplied cheerfully. "may i inquire what book you are reading?" "you would not be interested. it is by an american." "i have read a great many american novels," said he stiffly. "my father was an american. awfully jolly books, most of them." "i looked you up in the passenger list a moment ago," she said coolly. "your home is in vienna. i like vienna." he was looking rather intently at the book, now partly lowered. "isn't that the passenger list you have concealed in that book?" he demanded. "it is," she replied promptly. "you will pardon a natural curiosity? i wanted to see whether you were from new york." "may i look at it, please?" she closed the book. "it isn't necessary. i _am_ from new york." "by the way, do you happen to know a miss blithers,--maud blithers?" miss guile frowned reflectively. "blithers? the name is a familiar one. maud blithers? what is she like?" "she's supposed to be very good-looking. i've never seen her." "how queer to be asking me if i know her, then. why _do_ you ask?" "i've heard so much about her lately. she is the daughter of william blithers, the great capitalist." "oh, i know who he is," she exclaimed. "perfect roodles of money, hasn't he?" "roodles?" "loads, if it means more to you. i forgot that you are a foreigner. he gave that wonderful ball last week for the prince of--of--oh, some insignificant little place over in europe. there are such a lot of queer little duchies and principalities, don't you know; it is quite impossible to tell one from the other. they don't even appear on the maps." he took it with a perfectly straight face, though secretly annoyed. "it was the talk of the town, that ball. it must have cost roodles of money. is that right?" "yes, but it doesn't sound right when you say it. naturally one doesn't say roodles in vienna." "we say noodles," said he. "i am very fond of them. but to resume; i supposed every one in new york knew miss blithers. she's quite the rage, i'm told." "indeed? i should think she might be, mr. schmidt, with all those lovely millions behind her." he smiled introspectively. "yes; and i am told that, in spite of them, she is the prettiest girl in new york." she appeared to lose interest in the topic. "oh, indeed?" "but," he supplemented gracefully, "it isn't true." "what isn't true?" "the statement that she is the prettiest girl in new york." "how can you say that, when you admit you've never seen her?" "i can say it with a perfectly clear conscience, miss guile," said he, and was filled with delight when she bit her lip as a sign of acknowledgment. "oh, here comes the tea," she cried, with a strange eagerness in her voice. "i am so glad." she scrambled gracefully out of her rug and arose to her feet. "aren't you going to have some?" he cried. "yes," she said, quite pointedly. "in my room, mr. schmidt," and before he could get to his feet she was moving away without so much as a nod or smile for him. indeed, she appeared to have dismissed him from her thoughts quite as completely as from her vision. he experienced a queer sensation of shrivelling. at dinner that night, she failed to look in his direction, a circumstance that may not appear extraordinary when it is stated that she purposely or inadvertently exchanged seats with mrs. gaston and sat with her back to the table occupied by r. schmidt and his friends. he had to be content with a view of the most exquisite back and shoulders that good fortune had ever allowed him to gaze upon. and then there was the way that her soft brown hair grew above the slender neck, to say nothing of--but mrs. gaston was watching him with most unfriendly eyes, so the feast was spoiled. the following day was as unlike its predecessor as black is like white. during the night the smooth grey pond had been transformed into a turbulent, storm-threshed ocean; the once gentle wind was now a howling gale that swept the decks with a merciless lash in its grip and whipped into submission all who vaingloriously sought to defy its chill dominion. not rain, but spray from huge, swashing billows, clouded the decks, biting and cutting like countless needles, each drop with the sting of a hornet behind it. now the end of the world seemed far away, and the jumping off place was a rickety wall of white and black, leaning against a cold, drear sky. only the hardiest of the passengers ventured on deck; the exhilaration they professed was but another name for bravado. they shivered and gasped for breath as they forged their bitter way into the gale, and few were they who took more than a single turn of the deck. like beaten cowards they soon slunk into the sheltered spots, or sought even less heroic means of surrender by tumbling into bed with the considerate help of unsmiling stewards. the great ship went up and the great ship came down: when up so high that the sky seemed to be startlingly near and down so horribly low that the bottom of the ocean was even nearer. and it creaked and groaned and sighed even above the wild monody of the wind, like a thing in misery, yet all the while holding its sides to keep from bursting with laughter over the plight of the little creature whom god made after his own image but not until after all of the big things of the universe had been designed. r. schmidt, being a good sailor and a hardy young chap, albeit a prince of royal blood, was abroad early, after a breakfast that staggered the few who remained unstaggered up to that particular crisis. a genial sailor-man and an equally ungenial deck swabber advised him, in totally different styles of address, to stay below if he knew what was good for him, only to be thanked with all the blitheness of a man who jolly well knows what is good for him, or who doesn't care whether it is good for him or not so long as he is doing the thing that he wants to do. he took two turns about the deck, and each time as he passed the spot he sent a covert glance into the corner where miss guile's chair was standing. of course he did not expect to find her there in weather like this, but--well, he looked and that is the end to the argument. the going was extremely treacherous and unpleasant he was free to confess to the genial sailor-man after the second breathless turn, and gave that worthy a bright silver dollar upon receiving a further bit of advice: to sit down somewhere out of the wind, sir. quinnox and dank were hopelessly bed-ridden, so to speak. they were very disagreeable, cross and unpleasant, and somehow he felt that they hated their cheerful, happy-faced prince. never before had count quinnox scowled at him, no matter how mad his pranks as a child or how silly his actions as a youth. never before had any one told him to go to the devil. he rather liked it. and he rather admired poor dank for ordering him out of his cabin, with a perfectly astounding oath as a climax to the command. moreover, he thought considerably better of the faithful hobbs for an amazing exposition of human equality in the matter of a pair of boots that he desired to wear that morning but which happened to be stowed away in a cabin trunk. he told hobbs to go to the devil and hobbs repeated the injunction, with especial heat, to the boots, when he bumped his head in hauling them out of the trunk. whereupon r. schmidt said to hobbs: "good for you. hobbs. go on, please. don't mind me. it was quite a thump, wasn't it?" and hobbs managed, between other words, to say that it was a whacking thump, and one he would not forget to his dying day--(if he lived through this one!). "and you'd do well to sit in the smoke-room, sir," further advised the sailor-man, clinging to the rail with one hand and pocketing the coin with the other. "no," said r. schmidt resolutely. "i don't like the air in the smoke-room." "there's quite a bit of air out 'ere, sir." "i need quite a bit." "i should think you might, sir, being a 'ealthy, strappin' sort of a chap, sir. 'elp yourself. all the chairs is yours if you'll unpile 'em." the young man battled his way down the deck and soon found himself in the well-protected corner. a half-dozen unoccupied chairs were cluttered about, having been abandoned by persons who over-estimated their hardiness. one of the stewards was engaged in stacking them up and making them fast. miss guile's chair and that of mrs. gaston were staunchly fastened down and their rugs were in place. r. schmidt experienced an exquisite sensation of pleasure. here was a perfect exemplification of that much-abused thing known as circumstantial evidence. she contemplated coming on deck. so he had his chair put in place, called for his rug, shrugged his chin down into the collar of his thick ulster, and sat down to wait. chapter x an hour on deck she literally was blown into his presence. he sprang to his feet to check her swift approach before she could be dashed against the wall or upon the heap of chairs in the corner. the deep roll of the vessel had ended so suddenly that she was thrown off her balance, at best precariously maintained in the hurricane that swept her along the deck. she was projected with considerable violence against the waiting figure of r. schmidt, who had hastily braced himself for the impact of the slender body in the thick sea-ulster. she uttered an excited little shriek as she came bang up against him and found his ready arms closing about her shoulders. "oh, goodness!" she gasped, with what little breath she had left, and then began to laugh as she freed herself in confusion--a very pretty confusion he recalled later on, after he had recovered to some extent from the effects of an exceedingly severe bump on the back of his head. "how awkward!" "not at all," he proclaimed, retaining a grip on one of her arms until the ship showed some signs of resuming its way eastward instead of downward. "i am sure it must have hurt dreadfully," she cried. "nothing hurts worse than a bump. it seemed as though you must have splintered the wall." "i have a singularly hard head," said he, and forthwith felt of the back of it. "will you please stand ready to receive boarders? my maid is following me, poor thing, and i can't afford to have her smashed to pieces. here she is!" quite a pretty maid, with wide, horrified eyes and a pale green complexion came hustling around the corner. r. schmidt, albeit a prince, received her with open arms. "merci, m'sieur!" she squealed and added something in muffled french that strangely reminded him of what hobbs had said in english. then she deposited an armful of rugs and magazines at robin's feet, and clutched wildly at a post actually some ten feet away but which appeared to be coming toward her with obliging swiftness, so nicely was the deck rotating for her. "mon dieu! mon dieu!" "you may go back to bed, marie," cried her mistress in some haste. "but ze rug, i feex it--" groaned the unhappy maid, and then once more: "merci, m'sieur!" she clung to the arm he extended, and tried bravely to smile her thanks. "here! go in through this door," he said, bracing the door open with his elbow. "you'll be all right in a little while. keep your nerve." he closed the door after her and turned to the amused miss guile. "well, it's an ill wind that blows no good," he said enigmatically, and she flushed under the steady smile in his eyes. "allow me to arrange your rug for you. miss guile." "thank you, no. i think i would better go inside. it is really too windy--" "the wind can't get at you back here in this cubbyhole," he protested. "do sit down. i'll have you as snug as a bug in a rug before you can say jack robinson. see! now stick 'em out and i'll wrap it around them. there! you're as neatly done up as a mummy and a good deal better off, because you are a long way short of being two thousand years old." "how is your head, mr. schmidt?" she inquired with grave concern. "you seem to be quite crazy. i hope--" "every one is a little bit mad, don't you think? especially in moments of great excitement. i daresay my head _has_ been turned quite appreciably, and i'm glad that you've been kind enough to notice it. where is mrs. gaston?" he was vastly exhilarated. she regarded him with eyes that sparkled and belied the unamiable nature of her reply. "the poor lady is where she is not at all likely to be annoyed, mr. schmidt." then she took up a magazine and coolly began to run through the pages. he waited for a moment, considerably dashed, and then said "oh," in a very unfriendly manner. she found her place in the magazine, assumed a more comfortable position, and, with noteworthy resolution, set about reading as if her life depended upon it. he sat down, pulled the rug up to his chin, and stared out at the great, heaving billows. suddenly remembering another injury, he felt once more of the back of his head. "by jove!" he exclaimed. "there _is_ a lump there." "i can't hear you," she said, allowing the magazine to drop into her lap, but keeping her place carefully marked with one of her fingers. "i can hear you perfectly," he said. "it's the way the wind blows," she explained. "easily remedied," said he. "i'll move into mrs. gaston's chair if you think it will help any." "do!" she said promptly. "you will not disturb me in the least,--unless you talk." she resumed her reading, half a page above the finger tip. he moved over and arranged himself comfortably, snugly in mrs. gaston's chair. their elbows almost met. he was prepared to be very patient. for a long time she continued to read, her warm, rosy cheek half-averted, her eyes applied to their task with irritating constancy. he did not despair. some wise person once had told him that it was only necessary to give a woman sufficient time and she would be the one to despair. a few passengers possessed of proud sea-legs, staggered past the snug couple on their ridiculous rounds of the ship. if they thought of miss guile and r. schmidt at all it was with the scorn that is usually devoted to youth at its very best. there could be no doubt in the passing mind that these two were sweethearts who managed to thrive on the smallest of comforts. at last his patience was rewarded. she lowered the magazine and stifled a yawn--but not a real one. "have you read it?" she inquired composedly. "a part of it," he said. "over your shoulder." "is that considered polite in vienna?" "if you only knew what a bump i've got on the back of my head you wouldn't be so ungracious." he said. "i couldn't possibly know, could i?" he leaned forward and indicated the spot on the back of his head, first removing his cap. she laughed nervously, and then gently rubbed her fingers over the thick hair. "there is a dreadful lump!" she exclaimed. "oh, how sorry i am. do--do you feel faint or--or--i mean, is it very painful?" "not now," he replied, replacing his cap and favouring her with his most engaging smile. she smiled in response, betraying not the slightest sign of embarrassment. as a matter of fact, she was, if anything, somewhat too self-possessed. "i remember falling down stairs once," she said, "and getting a stupendous bump on my forehead. but that was a great many years ago and i cried. how was i to know that it hurt you, mr. schmidt, when you neglected to cry?" "heroes never cry," said he. "it isn't considered first-class fiction, you know." "am i to regard you as a hero?" "if you will be so kind, please." she laughed outright at this. "i think i rather like you, mr. schmidt," she said, with unexpected candour. "oh, i fancy i'm not at all bad," said he, after a momentary stare of astonishment. "i am especially good in rough weather," he went on, trying to forget that he was a prince of the royal blood, a rather difficult matter when one stops to consider he was not in the habit of hearing people say that they rather liked him. "do your friends come from vienna?" she inquired abruptly. "yes," he said, and then saved his face as usual by adding under his breath: "but they don't live there." it was not in him to lie outright, hence the handy way of appeasing his conscience. "they are very interesting looking men, especially the younger. i cannot remember when i have seen a more attractive man." "he is a splendid chap," exclaimed robin, with genuine enthusiasm. "i am very fond of dank." she was silent for a moment. something had failed, and she was rather glad of it. "do you like new york?" she asked. "immensely. i met a great many delightful people there. miss guile. you say you do not know the blithers family? mr. blithers is a rare old bird." "isn't there some talk of his daughter being engaged to the prince of graustark?" he felt that his ears were red. "the newspapers hinted at something of the sort, i believe." he was suddenly possessed by the curious notion that he was being "pumped" by his fair companion. indeed, a certain insistent note had crept into her voice and her eyes were searching his with an intentness that had not appeared in them until now. "have you seen him?" "the prince?" "yes. what is he like?" "i've seen pictures of him," he equivocated. "rather nice looking, i should say." "of course he is like all foreign noblemen and will leap at the blithers millions if he gets the chance. i sometimes feel sorry for the poor wretches." there was more scorn than pity in the way she said it, however, and her velvety eyes were suddenly hard and uncompromising. he longed to defend himself, in the third person, but could not do so for very strong and obvious reasons. he allowed himself the privilege, however, of declaring that foreign noblemen are not always as black as they are painted. and then, for a very excellent reason, he contrived to change the subject by asking where she was going on the continent. "i may go to vienna," she said, with a smile that served to puzzle rather than to delight him. he was more than ever convinced that she was playing with him. "but pray do not look so gloomy, mr. schmidt, i shall not make any demands upon your time while i am there. you may--" "i am quite sure of that," he interrupted, with his ready smile. "you see, i am a person of no consequence in vienna, while you--ah, well, as an american girl you will be hobnobbing with the nobility while the humble schmidt sits afar off and marvels at the kindness of a fate that befell him in the middle of the atlantic ocean, and yet curses the fate that makes him unworthy of the slightest notice from the aforesaid american girl. for, i daresay, miss guile, you, like all american girls, are ready to leap at titles." "that really isn't fair, mr. schmidt," she protested, flushing. "why should you and i quarrel over a condition that cannot apply to either of us? you are not a nobleman, and i am not a title-seeking american girl. so, why all this beautiful irony?" "it only remains for me to humbly beg your pardon and to add that if you come to vienna my every waking hour shall be devoted to the pleasure of--" "i am sorry i mentioned it, mr. schmidt," she interrupted coldly. "you may rest easy, for i shall not keep you awake for a single hour. besides, i may not go to vienna at all." "i am sure you would like vienna," he said, somewhat chilled by her manner. "i have been there, with my parents, but it was a long time ago. i once saw the emperor and often have i seen the wonderful prince liechtenstein." "have you travelled extensively in europe?" she was smiling once more. "i don't know what you would consider extensively," she said. "i was educated in paris, i have spent innumerable winters in rome and quite as many summers in scotland, england, switzerland, germ--" "i know who you are!" he cried out enthusiastically. to his amazement, a startled expression leaped into her eyes. "you are travelling under an assumed name." she remained perfectly still, watching him with an anxious smile on her lips. "you are no other than miss baedeker, the well-known authoress." it seemed to him that she breathed deeply. at any rate, her brow cleared and her smile was positively enchanting. never, in all his life, had he gazed upon a lovelier face. his heart began to beat with a rapidity that startled him, and a queer little sensation, as of smothering, made it difficult for him to speak naturally in his next attempt. "in that case, my pseudonym should be guide, not guile," she cried merrily. the dimples played in her cheeks and her eyes were dancing. "b. stands for baedeker, i'm sure. baedeker guide. if the b. isn't for baedeker, what is it for?" "are you asking what the b. really stands for, mr. schmidt?" "in a round-about way, miss guile," he admitted. "my name is bedelia," she said, with absolute sincerity. "me mither is irish, d'ye see?" "by jove, it's worth a lot of trouble to get you to smile like that," he cried admiringly. "it is the first really honest smile you've displayed. if you knew how it improves you, you'd be doing it all of the time." "smiles are sometimes expensive." "it depends on the market." "i never take them to a cheap market. they are not classed as necessities." "you couldn't offer them to any one who loves luxuries more than i do." "you pay for them only with compliments, i see, and there is nothing so cheap." "am i to take that as a rebuke?" "if possible," she said sweetly. at this juncture, the miserable hobbs hove into sight, not figuratively but literally. he came surging across the deck in a mad dash from one haven to another, or, more accurately, from post to post. "i beg pardon, sir," he gasped, finally steadying himself on wide-spread legs within easy reach of robin's sustaining person. "there is a wireless for mr. totten, sir, but when i took it to 'im he said to fetch it to you, being unable to hold up 'is head, wot with the wretched meal he had yesterday and the--" "i see, hobbs. well, where is it?" hobbs looked embarrassed. "well, you see, sir, i 'esitated about giving it to you when you appear to be so--" "never mind. you may give it to me. miss guile will surely pardon me if i devote a second or two to an occupation she followed so earnestly up to a very short time ago." "pray forget that i am present, mr. schmidt," she said, and smiled upon the bewildered hobbs, who after an instant delivered the message to his master. robin read it through and at the end whistled softly. "take it to mr. totten, hobbs, and see if it will not serve to make him hold up his head a little." "very good, sir. i hope it will. wouldn't it be wise for me to hannounce who it is from, sir, to sort of prepare him for--" "he knows who it is from, hobbs, so you needn't worry. it is from home, if it will interest you, hobbs." "thank you, sir, it does interest me. i thought it might be from mr. blithers." robin's scowl sent him scuttling away a great deal more rigidly than when he came. "idiot!" muttered the young man, still scowling. there was silence between the two for a few seconds. then she spoke disinterestedly: "is it from the mr. blithers who has the millions and the daughter who wants to marry a prince?" "merely a business transaction, miss guile," he said absently. he was thinking of romano's message. "so it would appear." "i beg pardon? i was--er--thinking--" "it was of no consequence, mr. schmidt," she said airily. he picked up the thread once more. "as a matter of fact, i've heard it said that miss blithers refused to marry the prince." "is it possible?" with fine irony. "is he such a dreadful person as all that?" "i'm sure i don't know," murmured robin uncomfortably. "he may be no more dreadful than she." "i cannot hear you, mr. schmidt," she persisted, with unmistakeable malice in her lovely eyes. "i'm rather glad that you didn't," he confessed. "silly remark, you know." "well, i hope she doesn't marry him," said miss guile. "so do i," said r. schmidt, and their eyes met. after a moment, she looked away, her first surrender to the mysterious something that lay deep in his. "it would prove that all american girls are not so black as they're painted, wouldn't it?" she said, striving to regain the ground she had lost by that momentary lapse. "pray do not overlook the fact that i am half american," he said. "you must not expect me to say that they paint at all." "schmidt is a fine old american name," she mused, the mischief back in her eyes. "and so is bedelia," said he. "will you pardon me, mr. schmidt, if i express surprise that you speak english without the tiniest suggestion of an accent?" "i will pardon you for everything and anything, miss guile," said he, quite too distinctly. she drew back in her chair and the light of raillery died in her eyes. "what an imperial sound it has!" "and why not? the r stands for rex." "ah, that accounts for the king's english!" "certainly," he grinned. "the king can do no wrong, don't you see?" "your servant who was here speaks nothing but the king's english, i perceive. perhaps that accounts for a great deal." "hobbs? i mean to say,'obbs? i confess that he has taught me many tricks of the tongue. he is one of the crown jewels." suddenly, and without reason, she appeared to be bored. as a matter of fact, she hid an incipient yawn behind her small gloved hand. "i think i shall go to my room. will you kindly unwrap me, mr. schmidt?" he promptly obeyed, and then assisted her to her feet, steadying her against the roll of the vessel. "i shall pray for continuous rough weather," he announced, with as gallant a bow as could be made under the circumstances. "thank you," she said, and he was pleased to take it that she was not thanking him for a physical service. a few minutes later he was in his own room, and she was in hers, and the promenade deck was as barren as the desert of sahara. he found count quinnox stretched out upon his bed, attended not only by hobbs but also the reanimated dank. the crumpled message lay on the floor. "i'm glad you waited awhile," said the young lieutenant, getting up from the trunk on which he had been sitting. "if you had come any sooner you would have heard words fit only for a soldier to hear. it really was quite appalling." "he's better now," said hobbs, more respectfully than was his wont. it was evident that he had sustained quite a shock. "well, what do you think of it?" demanded the prince, pointing to the message. "of all the confounded impudence--" began the count healthily, and then uttered a mighty groan of impotence. it was clear that he could not do justice to the occasion a second time. robin picked up the marconigram, and calmly smoothed out the crinkles. then he read it aloud, very slowly and with extreme disgust in his fine young face. it was a lengthy communication from baron romano, the prime minister in edelweiss. "'preliminary agreement signed before hearing blithers had bought london, paris, berlin. he cables his immediate visit to g. object now appears clear. all newspapers in europe print despatches from america that marriage is practically arranged between r. and m. interviews with blithers corroborate reported engagement. europe is amused. editorials sarcastic. price on our securities advance two points on confirmation of report. we are bewildered. also vague rumour they have eloped, but denied by b. dawsbergen silent. what does it all mean? wire truth to me. people are uneasy. gourou will meet you in paris.'" [illustration: "i shall pray for continuous rough weather"] in the adjoining suite, miss guile was shaking mrs. gaston out of a long-courted and much needed sleep. the poor lady sat up and blinked feebly at the excited, starry-eyed girl. "wake up!" cried bedelia impatiently. "what do you think? i have a perfectly wonderful suspicion--perfectly wonderful." "how can you be so unfeeling?" moaned the limp lady. "this r. schmidt is prince robin of graustark!" cried the girl excitedly. "i am sure of it--just as sure as can be." mrs. gaston's eyes were popping, not with amazement but alarm. "do lie down, child," she whimpered. "marie! the sleeping powders at once! do--" "oh, i'm not mad," cried the girl. "now listen to me and i'll tell you why i believe--yes, actually believe him to be the--" "marie, do you hear me?" miss guile shook her vigorously. "wake up! it isn't a nightmare. now listen!" chapter xi the lieutenant receives orders the next day brought not only an agreeable change in the weather but a most surprising alteration in the manner of mrs. gaston, whose attitude toward r. schmidt and his friends had been anything but amicable up to the hour of miss guile's discovery. the excellent lady, recovering very quickly from her indisposition became positively polite to the hitherto repugnant mr. schmidt. she melted so abruptly and so completely that the young man was vaguely troubled. he began to wonder if his incognito had been pierced, so to speak. it was not reasonable to suppose that miss guile was personally responsible for this startling transition from the inimical to the gracious on the part of her companion; the indifference of miss guile herself was sufficient proof to the contrary. therefore, when mrs. gaston nosed him out shortly after breakfast and began to talk about the beautiful day in a manner so thoroughly respectful that it savoured of servility, he was taken-aback, flabbergasted. she seemed to be on the point of dropping her knee every time she spoke to him, and there was an unmistakable tremor of excitement in her voice even when she confided to him that she adored the ocean when it was calm. he forbore asking when miss guile might be expected to appear on deck for her constitutional but she volunteered the information, which was neither vague nor yet definite. in fact, she said that miss guile would be up soon, and soon is a word that has a double meaning when applied to the movements of capricious womanhood. it may mean ten minutes and it may mean an hour and a half. mrs. gaston's severely critical eyes were no longer severe, albeit they were critical. she took him in from head to foot with the eye of an appraiser, and the more she took him in the more she melted, until at last in order to keep from completely dissolving, she said good-bye to him and hurried off to find miss guile. now it is necessary to relate that miss guile had been particularly firm in her commands to mrs. gaston. she literally had stood the excellent lady up in a corner and lectured her for an hour on the wisdom of silence. in the first place, mrs. gaston was given to understand that she was not to breathe it to a soul that r. schmidt was not r. schmidt, and she was not to betray to him by word or sign that he was suspected of being the prince of graustark. moreover, the exacting miss guile laid great stress upon another command: r. schmidt was never to know that she was _not_ miss guile, but some one else altogether. "you're right, my dear," exclaimed mrs. gaston in an excited whisper as she burst in upon her fair companion, who was having coffee and toast in her parlour. the more or less resuscitated marie was waiting to do up her mistress's hair, and the young lady herself was alluringly charming in spite of the fact that it was not already "done up." "he is the--er--he is just what you think." "good heavens, you haven't gone and done it, have you," cried the girl, a slim hand halting with a piece of toast half way to her lips. "gone and done it?" "you haven't been blabbing, have you?" "how can you say that to me? am i not to be trusted? am i so weak and--" "don't cry, you old dear! forgive me. but now tell me--absolutely--just what you've been up to. don't mind marie. she is french. she can always hold her tongue." "well, i've been talking with him, that's all. i'm sure he is the prince. no ordinary male could be as sweet and agreeable and sunny as--" "stop!" cried miss guile, with a pretty moue, putting the tips of her fingers to her ears after putting the piece of toast into her mouth. "one would think you were a sentimental old maid instead of a cold-blooded, experienced, man-hating married woman." "you forget that i am a widow, my dear. besides, it is disgusting for one to speak with one's mouth full of buttered toast. it--" "oh, how i used to loathe you when you kept forever ding-donging at me about the way i ate when i was almost starving. were you never a hungry little kid? did you never lick jam and honey off your fingers and--" "many and many a time," confessed mrs. gaston, beaming once more and laying a gentle, loving hand on the girl's shoulder. miss guile dropped her head over until her cheek rested on the caressing hand, and munched toast with blissful abandon. "now tell me what you've been up to," she said, and mrs. gaston repeated every word of the conversation she had had with r. schmidt, proving absolutely nothing but stoutly maintaining that her intuition was completely to be depended upon. "and, oh," she whispered in conclusion, "wouldn't it be perfectly wonderful if you two should fall in love with each other--" "don't be silly!" "but you have said that if he should fall in love with you for yourself and not because--" "i have also said that i will not marry any man, prince, duke, king, count or anything else unless i am in love with him. don't overlook that, please." "but he is really very nice. i should think you _could_ fall in love with him. just think how it would please your father and mother. just think--" "i won't be bullied!" "am i bullying you?" in amazement. "no; but father tries to bully me, and you know it." "you must admit that the--this mr. schmidt is handsome, charming, bright--" "i admit nothing," said miss guile resolutely, and ordered marie to dress her hair as carefully as possible. "take as long as you like, marie. i shall not go on deck for hours." "i--i told him you would be up soon," stammered the poor, man-hating ex-governess. "you did?" said miss guile, with what was supposed to be a deadly look in her eyes. "well, he enquired," said the other. "anything else?" domineered the beauty. "i forgot to mention one thing. he _did_ ask me if your name was really bedelia." "and what did you tell him?" cried the girl, in sudden agitation. "i managed to tell him that it was," said mrs. gaston stiffly. "good!" cried miss guile, vastly relieved, and not at all troubled over the blight that had been put upon a very worthy lady's conscience. when she appeared on deck long afterward, she found every chair occupied. a warm sun, a far from turbulent sea, and a refreshing breeze had brought about a marvellous transformation. every one was happy, every one had come back from the grave to gloat over the grim reaper's failure to do his worst, although in certain cases he had been importuned to do it without hesitation. she made several brisk rounds of the deck; then, feeling that people were following her with their eyes,--admiringly, to be sure, but what of that?--she abandoned the pleasant exercise and sought the seclusion of the sunless corner where her chair was stationed. the ship's daily newspaper was just off the press and many of the loungers were reading the brief telegraphic news from the capitals of the world. during her stroll she passed several groups of men and women who were lightly, even scornfully employed in discussing an article of news which had to do with mr. blithers and the prince of graustark. filled with an acute curiosity, she procured a copy of the paper from a steward, and was glancing at the head lines as she made her way into her corner. double-leaded type appeared over the rumoured engagment of miss maud applegate blithers, the beautiful and accomplished daughter of the great capitalist, and robin, prince of graustark. a queer little smile played about her lips as she folded the paper for future perusal. turning the earner of the deck-building she almost collided with r. schmidt, who stood leaning against the wall, scanning the little newspaper with eyes that were blind to everything else. "oh!" she gasped. "i'm sorry," he exclaimed, crumpling the paper in his hand as he backed away, flushing. "stupid of me. good morning." "good morning, mr. schmidt. it wasn't your fault. i should have looked where i was going. 'stop, look and listen,' as they say at the railway crossing." "'danger' is one of the commonest signs, miss guile. it lurks everywhere, especially around corners. i see you have a paper. it appears that miss blithers and the prince are to be married after all." "yes; it is quite apparent that the blithers family intends to have a title at any cost," she said, and her eyes flashed. "would you like to take a few turns, miss guile?" he inquired, a trace of nervousness in his manner. "i think i can take you safely over the hurdles and around the bunkers." he indicated the outstretched legs along the promenade deck and the immovable groups of chatterers along the rail. before deciding, she shot an investigating glance into the corner. mrs. gaston was not only there but was engaged in conversation with the grey-moustached gentleman in a near-by chair. it required but half a glance to show that mr. totten was unmistakably interested in something the voluble lady had just said to him. "no, thank you, mr. schmidt," said miss guile hastily, and then hurried over to her chair, a distinct cloud on her smooth brow. robin, considering himself dismissed, whirled and went his way, a dark flush spreading over his face. never, in all his life, had he been quite so out of patience with the world as on this bright, sunny morning. miss guile's frown deepened when her abrupt appearance at mrs. gaston's side caused that lady to look up with a guilty start and to break off in the middle of a sentence that had begun with: "international marriages, as a rule, are--oh!" mr. totten arose and bowed with courtly grace to the new arrival on the scene. he appeared to be immensely relieved. "a lovely morning, miss guile," he said as he stooped to arrange her rug. "i hear that you were not at all disturbed by yesterday's blow." "i was just telling mr. totten that you are a wonderful sailor," said mrs. gaston, a note of appeal in her voice. "he says his friend, mr. schmidt, is also a good sailor. isn't it perfectly wonderful?" "i can't see anything wonderful about it," said miss guile, fixing the ex-governess with a look that seared. "we were speaking of this rumoured engagement of the prince of graustark and--er--what's the name?" he glanced at his newspaper. "miss blithers, of course. i enquired of mrs.--er--gaston if she happens to know the young lady. she remembers seeing her frequently as a very small child." "in paris," said mrs. gaston. "one couldn't very well help seeing her, you know. she was the only child of the great mr. blithers, whose name was on every one's lips at the--" miss guile interrupted. "it would be like the great mr. blithers to buy this toy prince for his daughter--as a family plaything or human lap-dog, or something of the sort, wouldn't it?" mr. totten betrayed no emotion save amusement. miss guile was watching through half-closed eyes. there was a noticeable stiffening of the prim figure of mrs. gaston. "i've no doubt mr. blithers can afford to buy the most expensive of toys for his only child. you americans go in for the luxuries of life. what could be more extravagant than the purchase of a royal lap-dog? the only drawback i can suggest is that the prince might turn out to be a cur, and then where would mr. blithers be?" "it is more to the point to ask where miss blithers would be, mr. totten," said miss guile, with a smile that caused the fierce old warrior to afterwards declare to dank that he never had seen a lovelier girl in all his life. "ah, but we spoke of the prince as a lap-dog or a cur, miss guile, not as a watch-dog," said he. "i see," said miss guile, after a moment. "he wouldn't sleep with one eye open. i see." "the lap of luxury is an enviable resting-place. i know of no prince who would despise it." "but a wife is sometimes a thing to be despised," said she. "quite true," said mr. totten. "i've no doubt that the prince of graustark will despise his wife, and for that reason will be quite content to close both eyes and let her go on searching for her heart's desire." "she would be his princess. could he afford to allow his love of luxury to go as far as that?" "quite as justifiably, i should say, as mr. blithers when he delivers his only child into--into bondage." "you were about to use another term." "i was, but i thought in time, miss guile." r. schmidt sauntered briskly past at this juncture, looking neither to the right nor left. they watched him until he disappeared down the deck. "i think mr. schmidt is a perfectly delightful young man," said mrs. gaston, simply because she couldn't help it. "you really think he will marry miss blithers, mr. totten?" ventured miss guile. "he? oh, i see--the prince?" mr. totten came near to being no diplomat. "how should i know, miss guile?" "of course! how _should_ you know?" she cried. mr. totten found something to interest him in the printed sheet and proceeded to read it with considerable avidity. miss guile smiled to herself and purposely avoided the shocked look in mrs. gaston's eyes. "bouillon at last," cried the agitated duenna, and peremptorily summoned one of the tray-bearing stewards. "i am famished." evidently mr. totten did not care for his mid-morning refreshment, for, with the most courtly of smiles, he arose and left them to their bouillon. "here comes mr. schmidt," whispered mrs. gaston excitedly, a few moments later, and at once made a movement indicative of hasty departure. "sit still," said miss guile peremptorily. r. schmidt again passed them by without so much as a glance in their direction. there was a very sweet smile on miss guile's lips as she closed her eyes and lay back in her chair. once, twice, thrice, even as many as six times r. schmidt strode rapidly by their corner, his head high and his face aglow. at last a queer little pucker appeared on the serene brow of the far from drowsy young lady whose eyes peeped through half closed lids. suddenly she threw off her rug and with a brief remark to her companion arose and went to her cabin. mrs. gaston followed, not from choice but because the brief remark was in the form of a command. soon afterward, r. schmidt who had been joined by dank, threw himself into his chair with a great sigh of fatigue and said: "'gad, i've walked a hundred miles since breakfast. have you a match?" "hobbs has made a very curious discovery," said the young lieutenant, producing his match-box. there was a perturbed look in his eyes. "if hobbs isn't careful he'll discover a new continent one of these days. he is always discovering something," said robin, puffing away at his pipe. "but this is really interesting. it seems that he was in the hold when miss guile's maid came down to get into one of her mistress's trunks. now, the first letter in guile is g, isn't it? well, hobbs says there are at least half-a-dozen trunks there belonging to the young lady and that all of them are marked with a large red b. what do you make of it?" the prince had stopped puffing at his pipe. "hobbs may be mistaken in the maid. dank. it is likely that they are not miss guile's trunks, at all." "he appears to be absolutely sure of his ground. he heard the maid mention miss guile's name when she directed the men to get one of the trunks out of the pile. that's what attracted his attention. he confided to me that you are interested in the young lady, and therefore it was quite natural for him to be similarly affected. 'like master, like man,' d'ye see?" "really, you know, dank, i ought to dismiss hobbs," said robin irritably. "he is getting to be a dreadful nuisance. always nosing around, trying to--" "but after all, sir, you'll have to admit that he has made a puzzling discovery. why should her luggage be marked with a b?" "i should say because her name begins with a b," said robin shortly. "in that case, it isn't guile." "obviously." the young man was thinking very hard. "and if it isn't guile, there must be an excellent reason for her sailing under a false name. she doesn't look like an adventuress." r. schmidt rewarded this remark with a cold stare. "would you mind telling me what she does look like, dank?" he enquired severely. the lieutenant flushed. "i have not had the same opportunity for observation that you've enjoyed, sir, but i should say, off-hand, that she looks like a very dangerous young person." "do you mean to imply that she is--er--not altogether what one would call right?" dank grinned. "don't you regard her as rather perilously beautiful?" "oh, i see. that's what you mean. i suppose you got _that_ from hobbs, too." "not at all. i have an excellent pair of eyes." "what are you trying to get at, dank?" demanded robin abruptly. "i'm trying to get to the bottom of miss guile's guile, if it please your royal highness," said the lieutenant coolly. "it is hard to connect the b and the g, you know." "but why should we deny her a privilege that we are enjoying, all three of us? are we not in the same boat?" "literally and figuratively. that explains nothing, however." "have you a theory?" "there are many that we could advance, but, of course, only one of them could be the right one, even if we were acute enough to include it in our list of guesses. she may have an imperative reason for not disclosing her identity. for instance, she may be running away to get married." "that's possible," agreed robin. "but not probable. she may be a popular music-hall favourite, or one of those peculiarly clever creatures known as the american newspaper woman, against whom we have been warned. don't you regard it as rather significant that of all the people on this ship she should be one to attach herself to the unrecognised prince of graustark? put two and two together, sir, and--" "i find it singularly difficult to put one and one together, dank," said the prince ruefully. "no; you are wrong in both of your guesses. i've encountered music-hall favourites and i can assure you she isn't one of them. and as for your statement that she attached herself to me, you were never so mistaken in your life. i give you my word, she doesn't care a hang whether i'm on the ship or clinging to a life preserver out there in the middle of the atlantic. i have reason to know, dank." "so be it," said dank, but with doubt in his eyes. "you ought to know. i've never spoken to her, so--" "she thinks you are a dreadfully attractive chap, dank," said robin mischievously. "she said so only yesterday." dank gave his prince a disgusted look, and smoked on in silence. his dignity was ruffled. "her christian name is bedelia," ventured robin, after a pause. "that doesn't get us anywhere," said dank sourly. "and her mother is irish." "which accounts for those wonderful irish blue eyes that--" "so you've noticed them, eh?" "naturally." "i consider them a very dark grey." "i think we'd better get back to the luggage," said dank hastily. "hobbs thinks that she--" "oh, lord, dank, don't tell me what hobbs thinks," growled robin. "let her make use of all the letters in the alphabet if it pleases her. what is it to us? moreover, she may be utilising a lot of borrowed trunks, who knows? or b may have been her initial before she was divorced and--" "divorced?" "--her maiden name restored," concluded robin airily. "simple deduction, dank. don't bother your head about her any longer. what we know isn't going to hurt us, and what we don't know isn't--" "has it occurred to you that russia may have set spies upon you--" "nonsense!" "it isn't as preposterous as you--" "come, old fellow, let's forget miss guile," cried robin, slapping the lieutenant on the shoulder. "let's think of the real peril,--maud applegate blithers." he held up the ship's paper for dank to see and then sat back to enjoy his companion's rage. an hour later dank and count quinnox might have been seen seated side by side on the edge of a skylight at the tip-top of the ship's structure, engaged in the closest conversation. there was a troubled look in the old man's eyes and the light of adventure in those of his junior. the sum and substance of their discussion may be given in a brief sentence: something would have to be done to prevent robin from falling in love with the fascinating miss guile. "he is young enough and stubborn enough to make a fool of himself over her," the count had said. "i wouldn't blame him, 'pon my soul i wouldn't. she is very attractive--ahem! you must be his safeguard, dank. go in and do as i suggest. you are a good looking chap and you've nothing to lose. so far as she is concerned, you are quite as well worth while as the fellow known as r. schmidt. there's no reason why you shouldn't make the remainder of the passage pleasant for her, and at the same time enjoy yourself at nobody's expense." "they know by instinct, confound 'em," lamented dank; "they know the real article, and you can't fool 'em. she knows that he is the high muck-a-muck in this party and she won't even look at me, you take my word for it." "at any rate, you can try, can't you?" said the count impatiently. "is it a command, sir?" "it is." "very well, sir. i shall do my best." "we can't afford to have him losing his head over a pretty--er--a nobody, perhaps an adventuress,--at this stage of the game. i much prefer the impossible miss blithers, dank, to this captivating unknown. at least we know who and what she is, and what she represents. but we owe it to our country and to dawsbergen to see that he doesn't do anything--er--foolish. we have five days left of this voyage, dank. they may be fatal days for him, if you do not come to the rescue." "they may be fatal days for me," said dank, looking out over the ocean. chapter xii the lieutenant reports five days later as the _jupiter_ was discharging passengers at plymouth, count quinnox and lieutenant dank stood well forward on the promenade deck watching the operations. the younger man was moody and distrait, an unusual condition for him but one that had been noticeably recurrent during the past two or three days. he pulled at his smart little moustache and looked out upon the world through singularly lack-lustre eyes. something had gone wrong with him, and it was something that he felt in duty bound to lay before his superior, the grim old minister of war and hereditary chief of the castle guard. occasionally his sombre gaze shifted to a spot farther down the deck, where a young man and woman leaned upon the rail and surveyed the scene of activity below. "what is on your mind, dank?" asked the count abruptly. "out with it." dank started. "it's true, then? i _do_ look as much of a fool as i feel, eh?" there was bitterness in his usually cheery voice. "feel like a fool, eh?" growled the old soldier. "pretty mess i've made of the business," lamented dank surlily. "putting myself up as a contender against a fellow like robin, and dreaming that i could win out, even for a minute! good lord, what an ass i am! why we've only made it worse, count. we've touched him with the spur of rivalry, and what could be more calamitous than that? from being a rather matter-of-fact, indifferent observer, he becomes a bewildering cavalier bent on conquest at any cost. i am swept aside as if i were a parcel of rags. for two days i stood between him and the incomparable miss guile. then he suddenly arouses himself. my cake is dough. i am nobody. my feet get cold, as they say in america,--although i don't know why they say it. what has the temperature of one's feet to do with it? see! there they are. they are constantly together, walking, sitting, standing, eating, drinking, reading--_eh bien!_ you have seen with your own eyes. the beautiful miss guile has bewitched our prince, and my labour is not only lost but i myself am lost. _mon dieu!_" the count stared at him in perplexity for a moment. then a look of surprise came into his eyes,--surprise not unmingled with scorn. "you don't mean to say, dank, that you've fallen in love with her? oh, you absurd fledgelings. will you--" "forgive my insolence, count, but it is forty years since you were a fledgeling. you don't see things as you saw them forty years ago. permit me to remind you that you are a grandfather." "your point is well taken, my lad," said the count, with a twinkle in his eye. "you can't help being young any more than i can help being old. youth is perennial, old age a winding-sheet. i am to take it, then, that you've lost your heart to the fair--" "why not?" broke in dank fiercely. "why should it appear incredible to you? is she not the most entrancing creature in all the world? is she not the most appealing, the most adorable, the most feminine of all her sex? is it possible that one can be so old that it is impossible for him to feel the charm, the loveliness, the--" "for heaven's sake, dank," said the old man in alarm, "don't gesticulate so wildly. people will think we are quarrelling. calm yourself, my boy." "you set a task for me and i obey. you urge me to do my duty by graustark. you tell me i am a handsome dog and irresistible. she will be overwhelmed by my manly beauty, my valour, my soldierly bearing,--so say you! and what is the outcome? i--i, the vain-glorious,--i am wrapped around her little finger so tightly that all the king's horses and all the king's men--" "halt!" commanded his general softly. "you are turning tail like the veriest coward. right about, face! would you surrender to a slip of a girl whose only weapons are a pair of innocent blue eyes and a roguish smile? be a man! stand by your guns. outwardly you are the equal of r. schmidt, whose sole--" "that sounds very well, sir, but how can i take up arms against my prince? he stands by _his_ guns--as you may see, sir,--and, dammit all, i'm no traitor. i've just got to stand by 'em with him. that rot about all being fair in love and war is the silliest--oh, well, there's no use whining about it. i'm mad about her, and so is he. you can't--" the count stopped him with a sharp gesture. a look of real concern appeared in his eyes. "do you believe that he is actually in love with this girl?" "heels over head," barked the unhappy lieutenant. "i've never seen a worse case." "this is serious--more serious than i thought." "it's horrible," declared dank, but not thinking of the situation from the count's point of view. "we do not know who or what she is. she may be--" "i beg your pardon, sir, but we do know what she is," said the other firmly. "you will not pretend to say that she is not a gentlewoman. she is cultured, refined--" "i grant all of that," said the count. "i am not blind, dank, but it seems fairly certain that her name is not guile. we--" "nor is his name schmidt. that's no argument, sir." "still we cannot take the chance, my lad. we must put an end to this fond adventure. robin is our most precious possession. we must not--why do you shake your head?" "we are powerless, sir. if he makes up his mind to marry miss guile, he'll do it in spite of anything we can do. that is, provided she is of the same mind." "god defend us, i fear you are right," groaned the old count. "he has declared himself a hundred times, and he is a wilful lad. i recall the uselessness of the opposition that was set up against his lamented mother when she decided to marry grenfell lorry. 'gad, sir, it was like butting into a stone wall. she said she _would_ and she did. i fear me that robin has much of his mother in him." "behold in me the first sacrifice," declaimed dank, lifting his eyes heavenward. "oh, you will recover," was the unsympathetic rejoinder. "it is for him that i fear, not for you." "recover, sir?" in despair. "i fear you misjudge my humble heart--" "bosh! your heart has been through a dozen accidents of this character, dank, and it is good for a hundred more. i'll rejoice when this voyage is ended and we have him safe on his way to edelweiss." "that will not make the slightest difference, sir. if he sets his head to marry her he'll do it if we take him to the north pole. all graustark can't stop him,--nor old man blithers either. besides, he says he isn't going to edelweiss immediately." "that is news to me." "i thought it would be. he came to the decision not more than two hours ago. he is determined to spend a couple of weeks at interlaken." "interlaken?" "yes. miss guile expects to stop there for a fortnight after leaving paris." "i must remonstrate with robin--at once," declared the old man. "he is needed in graustark. he must be made to realise the importance of--" "and what are you going to do if he declines to realise anything but the importance of a fortnight in the shadow of the jungfrau?" "god help me, i don't know, dank." the count's brow was moist, and he looked anything but an unconquerable soldier. "i told him we were expected to reach home by the end of next week, and he said that a quiet fortnight in the alps would make new men of all of us." "do you mean to say he expects me to dawdle--" "more than that, sir. he also expects me to dawdle too. i shall probably shoot myself before the two weeks are over." "i have it! i shall take mrs. gaston into my confidence. it is the only hope, i fear. i shall tell her that he is--" "no hope there," said dank mournfully. "haven't you noticed how keen she is to have them together all the time? she's as wily as a fox. never misses a chance. hasn't it occurred to you to wonder why she drags you off on the slightest pretext when you happen to be in the way? she's done it a hundred times. always leaving them alone together. my god, how i despise that woman! not once but twenty times a day she finds an excuse to interfere when i am trying to get in a few words with miss guile. she's forever wanting me to show her the engine-room or the captain's bridge or the wireless office or--why, by jove, sir, it was only yesterday that she asked me to come and look at the waves. said she'd found a splendid place to see them from, just as if the whole damned atlantic wasn't full of 'em. and isn't she always looking for porpoises on the opposite side of the ship? and how many whales and ice-bergs do you think she's been trying to find in the last five days? no, sir! there's no hope there!" "'pon my soul!" was all that the poor minister of war, an adept in strategy, was able to exclaim. the _jupiter_ disgorged most of her passengers at cherbourg and the descent upon paris had scarcely begun when the good ship steamed away for antwerp, bremen and hamburg. she was one of the older vessels in the vast fleet of ships controlled by the american all-seas and all-ports company, and she called wherever there was a port open to trans-atlantic navigation. she was a single factor in the great monopoly described as the "billion dollar boast." the united states had been slow to recognise the profits of seas that were free, but when she did wake up she proceeded to act as if she owned them and all that therein lay. her people spoke of the gulf stream as "ours"; of the banks of newfoundland as "ours"--or in some instances as "ourn"; of liverpool, hamburg, london, bremen and other such places as "our european terminals"; and of the various oceans, seas and navigable waters as "a part of the system." where once the stars and stripes were as rare as hummingbirds in baffin's bay, the flags were now so thick that they resembled fourth of july decorations on fifth avenue, and it was almost impossible to cross the atlantic without dodging a hundred vessels on which dixie was being played, coming and going. a man from new hampshire declared, after one of his trips over and back, that he cheered the good old tune so incessantly that his voice failed on the third day out, both ways, and he had to voice his patriotism with a tin horn. ships of the all-seas and all-ports company fairly stuffed the harbours of the world. america was awake at last--wide awake!--and the necessity for prodding her was now limited to the task of putting her to sleep long enough to allow other nations a chance to scrape together enough able bodied seamen to man the ships. william w. blithers was one of the directors of the all-seas and all-ports company. he was the first american to awake. for some unaccountable reason miss guile and her companion preferred to travel alone to paris. they had a private compartment, over which a respectful but adamantine conductor exercised an authority that irritated r. schmidt beyond expression. the rest of the train was crowded to its capacity, and here was desirable space going to waste in the section occupied by the selfish miss guile. he couldn't understand it in her. was it, after all, to be put down as a simple steamer encounter? was she deliberately snubbing him, now that they were on land? was he, a prince of the royal blood, to be tossed aside by this purse-proud american as if he were the simplest of simpletons? and what did she mean by stationing an officious hireling before her door to order him away when he undertook to pay her a friendly visit?--to offer his own and hobbs' services in case they were needed in paris. why should she lock her confounded door anyway,--and draw the curtains? there were other whys too numerous to mention, and there wasn't an answer to a single one of them. the whole proceeding was incomprehensible. to begin with, she certainly made no effort to conceal the fact that she was trying to avoid him from the instant the tender drew alongside to take off the passengers. as a matter of fact, she seemed to be making a point of it. and yet, the evening before, she had appeared rather enchanted with the prospect of seeing him at interlaken. it was not until the boat-train was nearing the environs of paris that hobbs threw some light over the situation, with the result that it instantly became darker than ever before. it appears that miss guile was met at the landing by a very good-looking young man who not only escorted her to the train but actually entered it with her, and was even now enjoying the luxury of a private compartment as well as the contents of a large luncheon hamper, to say nothing of an uninterrupted view of something far more inspiring than the scenery. "frenchman?" inquired dank listlessly. "american, i should say, sir," said hobbs, balancing himself in the corridor outside the door and sticking his head inside with more confidence than a traveller usually feels when travelling from cherbourg to paris. "but i wouldn't swear to it, sir. i didn't 'ear a word he said, being quite some distance away at the time. happearances are deceptive, as i've said a great many times. a man may look like an american and still be almost anything else, see wot i mean? on the other hand, a man may look like almost nothing and still be american to his toes. i remember once saying to--" "that's all right, hobbs," broke in r. schmidt sternly. "we also remember what you said, so don't repeat it. how soon do we get in?" hobbs cheerfully looked at his watch. "i couldn't say positive, sir, but i should think in about fourteen and a 'alf minutes, or maybe a shade under--between fourteen and fourteen and a 'alf, sir. as i was saying, he was a most intelligent looking chap, sir, and very 'andsome of face and figger. between twenty-four and twenty-five, i dare say. light haired, smooth-faced, quite tall and dressed in dark blue with a cravat, sir, that looked like cerise but may have been--" "for heaven's sake, hobbs, let up!" cried robin, throwing up his hands. "yes, sir; certainly, sir. did i mention that he wears a straw 'at with a crimson band on it? well, if i didn't, he does. hincidentally, they seemed greatly pleased to see each other. he kissed her hand, and looked as though he might have gone even farther than that if it 'adn't been for the crowd--" "that will do!" said robin sharply, a sudden flush mounting to his cheek. "very good, sir. shall i get the bags down for the porters, sir? i beg pardon, sir,--" to one of the three surly gentlemen who sat facing the travellers from graustark,--"my fault entirely. i don't believe it is damaged, sir. allow me to--" "thank you," growled the stranger. "i can put it on myself," and he jerked his hat out of hobbs' hand and set it at a rather forbidding angle above a lowering brow. "look what you're doing after this, will you?" "certainly, sir," said hobbs agreeably. "it's almost impossible to see without eyes in the back of one's head, don't you know. i 'ope--" "all right, _all_ right!" snapped the man, glaring balefully. "and let me tell you something else, my man. don't go about knocking americans without first taking a look. just bear that in mind, will you?" "the surest way is to listen," began hobbs loftily, but, catching a look from his royal master, desisted. he proceeded to get down the hand luggage. at the gare st. lazare, robin had a brief glimpse of miss guile as she hurried with the crowd down to the cab enclosure, where her escort, the alert young stranger, put her into a waiting limousine, bundled mrs. gaston and marie in after her, and then dashed away, obviously to see their luggage through the _douane_. she espied the tall figure of her fellow voyager near the steps and leaned forward to wave a perfunctory farewell to him. the car was creeping out toward the packed thoroughfare. it is possible that she expected him to dash among the chortling machines, at risk of life or limb, for a word or two at parting. if so, she was disappointed. he remained perfectly still, with uplifted hat, a faint smile on his lips and not the slightest sign of annoyance in his face. she smiled securely to herself as she leaned back in the seat, and was satisfied! curiosity set its demand upon her an instant later, however, and she peered slyly through the little window in the back. he lifted his hat once more and she flushed to her throat as she quickly drew back into the corner. how in the world could he have seen her through that abominable slit in the limousine? and why was he now grinning so broadly? count quinnox found him standing there a few minutes later, twirling his stick and smiling with his eyes. accompanying the old soldier was a slight, sharp-featured man with keen black eyes and a thin, pointed moustache of grey. this man was gourou, chief of police and commander of the tower in edelweiss, successor to the celebrated baron dangloss. after he had greeted his prince, the quiet little man announced that he had reserved for him an apartment at the bristol. "i am instructed by the prime minister, your highness, to urge your immediate return to edelweiss," he went on, lowering his voice. "the people are disturbed by the reports that have reached us during the past week or two, and baron romano is convinced that nothing will serve to subdue the feeling of uneasiness that prevails except your own declaration--in person--that these reports arc untrue." "i shall telegraph at once to baron romano that it is all poppy-cock," said robin easily. "i refer, of course, to the reported engagement. i am not going to marry miss blithers and that's all there is to be said. you may see to it, baron, that a statement is issued to all of the paris newspapers to-day, and to the correspondents for all the great papers in europe and america. i have prepared this statement, under my own signature, and it is to be the last word in the matter. it is in my pocket at this instant. you shall have it when we reach the hotel--and that reminds me of another thing. i'm sorry that i shall have to ask you to countermand the reservation for rooms at the hotel you mention. i have already reserved rooms at the ritz,--by wireless. we shall stop there. where is dank?" "the ritz is hardly the place for--" but robin clapped him on the back and favoured him with the good-natured, boyish smile that mastered even the fiercest of his counsellors, and the minister of police, being an astute man, heaved a deep sigh of resignation. "dank is looking after the trunks, highness, and hobbs is coming along with the hand luggage," he said. "the ritz, you say? then i shall have to instruct lieutenant dank to send the luggage there instead of to the bristol. pardon, your highness." he was off like a flash. count quinnox was gnawing his moustache. "see here, robin," he said, laying his hand on the young man's shoulder, "you are in paris now and not on board a ship at sea. miss guile is a beautiful, charming, highly estimable young woman, and, i might as well say it straight out to your face, you ought not to subject her to the notoriety that is bound to follow if the newspapers learn that she is playing around paris, no matter how innocently, with a prince whom--" "just a moment, count," interrupted robin, a cold light in his now unsmiling eyes. "you are getting a little ahead of the game. miss guile is not going to the ritz, nor do i expect her to play around paris with me. as a matter of fact, she refused to tell me where she is to stop while here, and i am uncomfortably certain that i shall not see her unless by chance. on the other hand, i may as well be perfectly frank with you and say it straight out to _your_ face that i am going to try to find her if possible, but i am not mean enough to employ the methods common to such enterprises. i could have followed her car in another when she left here a few minutes ago; i could manage in a dozen ways to run her to earth, as the detectives do in the books, but i'd be ashamed to look her in the face if i did any of these things. i shall take a gentleman's chance, my dear count, and trust to luck and the generosity of fate. you may be sure that i shall not annoy miss guile, and you may be equally sure that she--" "i beg your pardon, robin, but i did not employ the word annoy," protested the count. "--that she takes me for a gentleman if not for a prince," went on robin, deliberately completing the sentence before he smiled his forgiveness upon the old man. "i selected the ritz because all rich americans go there, i'm told. i'm taking a chance." quinnox had an obstinate strain in his make-up. he continued: "there is another side to the case, my boy. as a gentleman, you cannot allow this lovely girl to--er--well, to fall in love with you. that would be cruel, wantonly cruel. and it is just the thing that is bound to happen if you go on with--" "my dear count, you forget that i am only r. schmidt to her and but one of perhaps a hundred young men who have placed her in the same perilous position. moreover, it's the other way 'round, sir. it is i who take the risk, not miss guile. i regret to say, sir, that if there is to be any falling in love, i am the one who is most likely to fall, and to fall hard. you assume that miss guile is heart-whole and fancy free. 'gad, i wish that i could be sure of it!" he spoke with such fervour that the count was indeed dismayed. "robin, my lad, i beg of you to consider the consequences that--" "there's no use discussing it, old friend. trust to luck. there is a bully good chance that she will send me about my business when the time comes and then the salvation of graustark will be assured." he said it lightly but there was a dark look in his eyes that belied the jaunty words. "am i to understand that you intend to--to ask her to marry you?" demanded the count, profoundly troubled. "remember, boy, that you are the prince of graustark, that you--" "but i'm not going to ask her to marry the prince of graustark. i'm going to ask her to marry r. schmidt," said robin composedly. "god defend us, robin, i--i--" "god has all he can do to defend us from william w. blithers, count. don't ask too much of him. what kind of a nation are we if we can't get along without asking god to defend us every time we see trouble ahead? and do you suppose he is going to defend us against a slip of a girl--" "enough! enough!" cried the count, compressing his lips and glaring straight ahead. "that's the way to talk," cried robin enthusiastically. "by the way, i hope dank is clever enough to find out who that young fellow is while they are clearing the luggage in there. i had a good look at him just now. he is all that hobbs describes and a little more. he is a hustler." chapter xiii the red letter b in the baron's room at the ritz late that night there was held a secret conference. two shadowy figures stole down the corridor at midnight and were admitted to the room, while prince robin slept soundly in his remote four-poster and dreamed of something that brought a gentle smile to his lips. the three conspirators were of the same mind: it was clear that something must be done. but what? that was the question. gourou declared that the people were very much disturbed over the trick the great capitalist had played upon the cabinet; there were sullen threats of a revolt if the government insisted on the deposit of bonds as required by the agreement. more than that, there were open declarations that the daughter of mr. blithers would never be permitted to occupy the throne of graustark. deeply as his subjects loved the young prince, they would force him to abdicate rather than submit to the desecration of a throne that had never been dishonoured. they would accept william w. blithers' money, but they would have none of william w. blithers' daughter. that was more than could be expected of any self-respecting people! according to the minister of police, the name of blithers was already a common synonym for affliction--and frequently employed in supposing a malediction. it signified all that was mean, treacherous, scurrilous. he was spoken of through clenched teeth as "the blood sucker." children were ominously reproved by the threatening use of the word blithers. "blithers will get you if you don't wash your face," and all that sort of thing. there was talk in some circles of demanding the resignation of the cabinet, but even the pessimistic gourou admitted that it was idle talk and would come to nothing if the menacing shadow of maud applegate blithers could be banished from the vicinity of the throne. graustarkians would abide by the compact made by their leading men and would be content to regard mr. blithers as a bona fide creditor. they would pay him in full when the loan matured, even though they were compelled to sacrifice their houses in order to accomplish that end. but, like all the rest of the world, they saw through the rich american's scheme. the world knew, and graustark knew, just what mr. blithers was after, and the worst of it all was that mr. blithers also knew, which was more to the point. but, said baron gourou, graustark knew something that neither the world nor mr. blithers knew, and that was its own mind. never, said he, would maud applegate be recognised as the princess of graustark, not if she lived for a thousand years and married robin as many times as she had hairs on her head. at least, he amended, that was the way every one felt about it at present. the afternoon papers had published the brief statement prepared by robin in the seclusion of his stateroom on board the _jupiter_ immediately after a most enjoyable hour with miss guile. it was a curt and extremely positive denial of the rumoured engagement, with the additional information that he never had seen miss blithers and was more or less certain that she never had set eyes on him. a rather staggering co-incidence appeared with the published report that miss blithers herself was supposed to be somewhere in europe, word having been received that day from sources in london that she had sailed from new york under an assumed name. the imaginative french journals put two and two together and dwelt upon the possibility that the two young people who had never seen each other might have crossed the atlantic on the same steamer, seeing each other frequently and yet remaining entirely in the dark, so to speak. inspired writers began to weave a romance out of the probabilities. on one point robin was adamantine. he refused positively to have his identity disclosed at this time, and gourou had to say to the newspapers that the prince was even then on his way to vienna, hurrying homeward as fast as steel cars could carry him. he admitted that the young man had arrived on the _jupiter_ that morning, having remained in the closest seclusion all the way across the atlantic. this equivocation necessitated the most cautious rearrangement of plans on the part of the baron. he was required to act as though he had no acquaintance with either of the three travellers stopping at the ritz, although for obvious reasons he took up a temporary abode there himself. moreover, he had to telegraph the prime minister in edelweiss that the prince was not to be budged, and would in all likelihood postpone his return to the capitol. all of which stamped the honest baron as a most prodigious liar, if one stops to think of what he said to the reporters. the newspapers also printed a definite bit of news in the shape of a despatch from new york to the effect that mr. and mrs. william w. blithers were sailing for europe on the ensuing day, bound for graustark! however, the chief and present concern of the three loyal gentlemen in midnight conclave was not centred in the trouble that mr. blithers had started, but in the more desperate situation created by miss guile. she was the peril that now confronted them, and she was indeed a peril. quinnox and dank explained the situation to the minister of police, and the minister of police admitted that the deuce was to pay. "there is but one way out of it," said he, speaking officially, "and that is the simplest one i know of." "assassination, i suppose," said dank scornfully. "it rests with me, gentlemen," said the baron, ignoring the lieutenant's remark, "to find miss guile and take her into my confidence in respect--" "no use," said dank, and, to his surprise, the count repeated the words after him. "miss guile is a lady. baron," said the latter gloomily. "you cannot go to her with a command to clear out, keep her hands off, or any such thing. she would be justified in having you kicked out of the house. we must not annoy miss guile. that is quite out of the question." "by jove!" exclaimed dank, so loudly that his companions actually jumped in their seats. they looked at him in amazement,--the count with something akin to apprehension in his eyes. had the fellow lost his mind over the girl? before they could ask what he meant by shouting at the top of his voice, he repeated the ejaculation, but less explosively. his eyes were bulging and his mouth remained agape. "what ails you, dank?" demanded the baron, removing his eyes from the young man's face long enough to glance fearfully at the transom. "i've--i've got it!" cried the soldier, and then sank back in his chair, quite out of breath. the baron got up and took a peep into the hallway, and then carefully locked the door. "what are you locking the door for?" demanded dank, sitting up suddenly. "it's only a theory that i've got--but it is wonderful. absolutely staggering." "oh!" said gourou, but he did not unlock the door. "a theory, eh?" he came back and stood facing the young man. "count," began dank excitedly, "you remember the big red letter b on all of her trunks, don't you? hobbs is positive he--" count quinnox sprang to his feet and banged the table with his fist. "by jove!" he shouted, suddenly comprehending. "the letter b?" queried gourou, perplexed. "the newspapers say that she sailed from new york under an assumed name," went on dank, thrilled by his own amazing cleverness. "there you are! plain as day. the letter b explains everything. now we know who miss guile really is. she's--" "maud" exclaimed quinnox, sinking back into his chair. "miss blithers!" cried gourou, divining at last. "by jove!" and thus was the jovian circle completed. it was two o'clock before the three gentlemen separated and retired to rest, each fully convinced that the situation was even more complicated than before, for in view of this new and most convincing revelation there now could be no adequate defence against the alluring miss guile. robin was informed bright and early the next morning. in fact, he was still in his pajamas when the news was carried to him by the exhausted dank, who had spent five hours in bed but none in slumber. never in all his ardent career had the smart lieutenant been so bitterly afflicted with love-sickness as now. "i don't believe a word of it," said the prince, promptly. "you've been dreaming, old chap." "that letter b isn't a dream, is it?" "no, it isn't," said robin, and instantly sat up in bed, his face very serious. "if she should turn out to be miss blithers, i've cooked my goose to a crisp. good lord, when i think of some of the things i said to her about the blithers family! but wait! if she is miss blithers do you suppose she'd sit calmly by and hear the family ridiculed? no, sir! she would have taken my head off like a flash. she--" "i've no doubt she regarded the situation as extremely humorous," said dank, "and laughed herself almost sick over the way she was fooling you." "that might sound reasonable enough, dank, if she had known who i was. but where was the fun in fooling an utter outsider like r. schmidt? it doesn't hold together." "americans have an amazing notion of humour, i am reliably informed. they appear to be able to see a joke under the most distressing circumstances. i'll stake my head that she is miss blithers." "i can't imagine anything more terrible," groaned robin, lying down flat again and staring at the ceiling. "i shouldn't call her terrible," protested dank, rather stiffly. "i refer to the situation, dank,--the mess, in other words. it _is_ a mess, isn't it?" "i suppose you'll see nothing more of her, your highness," remarked dank, a sly hope struggling in his breast. "you'd better put it the other way. she'll see nothing more of me," lugubriously. "i mean to say, sir, you can't go on with it, can you?" "go on with what?" "the--er--you know," floundered dank. "if there is really anything to go on with, dank, i'll go on with it, believe me." the lieutenant stared. "but if she _should_ be miss blithers, what then?" "it might simplify matters tremendously," said robin, but not at all confidently. "i think i'll get up, dank, if you don't mind. call hobbs, will you? and, i say, won't you have breakfast up here with me?" "i had quite overlooked breakfast, 'pon my soul, i had," said dank, a look of pain in his face. "no wonder i have a headache, going without my coffee so long." later on, while they were breakfasting in robin's sitting room, hobbs brought in the morning newspapers. he laid one of them before the prince, and jabbed his forefinger upon a glaring headline. "i beg pardon, sir; i didn't mean to get it into the butter. very awkward, i'm sure. hi, _garcon!_ fresh butter 'ere, and lively about it, too. _buerre!_ that's the word--buttah." robin and dank were staring at the headline as if fascinated. having successfully managed the butter, hobbs at once restored his attention to the headline, reading it aloud, albeit both of the young men were capable of reading french at sight. he translated with great profundity. "'miss blithers denies report. signed statement mysteriously received. american heiress not to wed prince of graustark.' shall i read the harticle, sir?" robin snatched up the paper and read aloud for himself. hobbs merely wiped a bit of butter from his finger and listened attentively. the following card appeared at the head of the column, and was supplemented by a complete resume of the blithers-graustark muddle: "miss blithers desires to correct an erroneous report that has appeared in the newspapers. she is not engaged to be married to the prince of graustark, nor is there even the remotest probability that such will ever be the case. miss blithers regrets that she has not the honour of prince robin's acquaintance, and the prince has specifically stated in the public prints that he does not know her by sight. the statements of the two persons most vitally affected by this disturbing rumour should be taken as final. sufficient pain and annoyance already has been caused by the malicious and utterly groundless report." the name of maud applegate blithers was appended to the statement, and it was dated paris, august . thereafter followed a lengthy description of the futile search for the young lady in paris, and an interview with the local representatives of mr. blithers, all of whom declared that the signature was genuine, but refused to commit themselves further without consulting their employer. they could throw no light upon the situation, even going so far as to declare that they were unaware of the presence of miss blithers in paris. it appears that the signed statement was left in the counting-rooms of the various newspapers by a heavily veiled lady at an hour agreed upon as "about ten o'clock." there was absolutely no clue to the identity of this woman. instead of following the suggestion of miss blithers that "sufficient pain and annoyance already had been caused," the journalists proceeded to increase the agony by venturing the hope that fresh developments would materialise before the day was done. "well, she appears to be here," said robin, as he laid down the last of the three journals and stared at dank as if expecting hope from that most unreliable source. "i suppose you will now admit that i am right about the letter b," said dank sullenly. "when i see miss guile i shall ask point blank if she is maud applegate, dank, and if she says she isn't, i'll take her word for it," said robin. "and if she says she is?" "well," said the prince, ruefully, "i'll still take her word for it." "and then?" "then i shall be equally frank and tell her that i am robin of graustark. that will put us all square again, and we'll see what comes of it in the end." "you don't mean to say you'll--you'll continue as you were?" gasped dank. "that depends entirely on miss guile, boske." "but you wouldn't dare to marry maud applegate blithers, sir. you would be driven out of graustark and--" "i think that would depend a good deal on miss guile, too, old chap," said robin coolly. dank swallowed very hard. "i want to be loyal to you, your highness," he said as if he did not think it would be possible to remain so. "i shall count on you, dank," said robin earnestly. "but--" began the lieutenant, and then stopped short. "let me finish it for you. you don't feel as though you could be loyal to miss blithers, is that it?" "i think that would depend on miss blithers," said dank, and then begged to be excused. he went out of the room rather hurriedly. "well, hobbs," said robin, after his astonishment had abated, "what do _you_ think of it?" "i think he's in love with her, sir," said hobbs promptly. "good lord! with--with miss guile?" "precisely so, sir." "well, i'll be _darned!_" said the american half of prince robin with great fervour. "tut, tut, sir," reproved hobbs, who, as has been said before, was a privileged character by virtue of long service and his previous calling as a cook's interpreter. "are you going out, sir?" "yes. i'm going out to search the highways and by-ways for bedelia," said robin, a gay light in his eyes. "by the way, did you, by any chance, learn the name of the 'andsome young gent as went away with 'er, 'obbs?" "i did not, sir. i stood at his helbow for quite some time at the gare st. lazare and the only words he spoke that i could hear distinctly was 'wot the devil do you mean, me man? ain't there room enough for you here without standing on my toes like that? move hover.' only, of course, sir, he used the haspirates after a fashion of his own. the haitches are mine, sir." "is he an american?" "it's difficult to say, sir. he may be from boston, but you never can tell, sir." "do you know boston, hobbs?" inquired the prince, adjusting his tie before the mirror. "not to speak it, sir," said hobbs. the day was warm and clear, and paris was gleaming. robin stretched his long legs in a brisk walk across the place vendome and up the rue de la paix to the boulevard. here he hesitated and then retraced his steps slowly down the street of diamonds, for he suspected miss guile of being interested in things that were costly. suddenly inspired, he made his way to the place de la concorde and settled himself on one of the seats near the entrance to the champs elysees. it was his shrewd argument that if she planned a ride on that exquisite morning it naturally would be along the great avenue, and in that event he might reasonably hope to catch her coming or going. a man came up and took a seat beside him. "good morning, mr. schmidt," said the newcomer, and robin somewhat gruffly demanded what the deuce he meant by following him. "i have some interesting news," said baron gourou quietly, removing his hat to wipe a damp brow. he also took the time to recover his breath after some rather sharp dodging of automobiles in order to attain his present position of security. even a minister of police has to step lively in paris. "from home?" asked robin carelessly. "indirectly. it comes through berlin. our special agent there wires me that the offices of mr. blithers in that city have received instructions from him to send engineers to edelweiss for the purpose of estimating the cost of remodelling and rebuilding the castle,--in other words to restore it to its condition prior to the marlanx rebellion fifteen years ago." there was a tantalising smile on the baron's face as he watched the changing expressions in that of his prince. "are you in earnest?" demanded robin, a bright red spot appearing in each cheek. the baron nodded his head. "well, he's got a lot of nerve!" "i shudder when i think of what is likely to happen to those architects when they begin snooping around the castle," said gourou drily. "by the way, have you seen miss guile this morning?" robin's cheeks were now completely suffused. "certainly not." "she was in the rue de la paix half an hour ago. i thought you might--" "you saw her, baron?" "yes, highness, and it may interest you to know that she saw you." "the deuce you say! but how do you know that it was miss guile. you've no means of knowing." "it is a part of my profession to recognise people from given descriptions. in this case, however, the identification was rendered quite simple by the actions of the young lady herself. she happened to emerge from a shop just as you were passing and i've never seen any one, criminal or otherwise, seek cover as quickly as she did. she darted back into the shop like one pursued by the devil. naturally i hung around for a few minutes to see the rest of the play. presently she peered forth, looked stealthily up and down the street, and then dashed across the pavement to a waiting taxi-metre. it affords me pleasure to inform your highness that i took the number of the machine." he glanced at his cuff-band. "where did she go from the rue de la paix?" asked robin impatiently. "to the ritz. i was there almost as soon as she. she handed an envelope--containing a letter, i fancy--to the carriage man and drove away in the direction of the place de l'opera. i have a sly notion, my prince, that you will find a note awaiting you on your return to the hotel. ah, you appear to be in haste, my young hunter." "i am in haste. if you expect to keep alongside, baron, you'll have to run i'm afraid," cried the prince, and was instantly in his seven-league boots. there was a note in robin's rooms when he reached the hotel. it was not the delicately perfumed article that usually is despatched by fictional heroines but a rather business-like envelope bearing the well-known words "the new york herald" in one corner and the name "r. schmidt, hotel ritz," in firm but angular scrawl across its face. as robin ripped it open with his finger, baron gourou entered the room, but not without giving vent to a slight cough in the way of an announcement. "you forget, highness, that i am a short man and not possessed of legs that travel by yards instead of feet," he panted. "forgive me for lagging behind. i did my best to keep up with you." robin stared at his visitor haughtily for a moment and then broke into a good-humoured laugh. "won't you sit down, baron? i'll be at liberty in a minute or two," he said, and coolly proceeded to scan the brief message from miss guile. "well," said gourou, as the young man replaced the letter in the envelope and stuck it into his pocket. chapter xiv the cat is away robins's face was glowing with excitement. he put his hands in his trousers pockets and nervously jingled the coins therein, all the while regarding his minister of police with speculative eyes. then he turned to the window and continued to stare down into the place vendome for several minutes, obviously turning something over in his mind before coming to a decision. the baron waited. none knew better than he how to wait. he realised that a great deal hung upon the next few sentences to be uttered in that room, and yet he could be patient. at last robin faced him, but without speaking. an instant later he impulsively withdrew the letter from his pocket and held it out to the baron, who strode across the room and took it from his hand. without a word, he extracted the single sheet of paper and read what was written thereon. "i gather from the nature of the invitation that you are expected to enjoy stolen fruit, if i may be so bold as to put it in just that way," said he grimly. "apparently miss guile finds the presence of a duenna unnecessarily wise." "there's no harm in a quiet little excursion such as she suggests, baron," said robin, defensively. "you forget that i have seen the beautiful miss guile," said gourou drily. "i take it, then, that you approve of the young lady's scheme." "scheme sounds rather sinister, doesn't it?" "trick, if it please you more than the other. moreover, i cannot say that she _suggests_ the quiet little excursion. it occurs to me that she commands, your highness." he held the missive to the light and read, a tender irony in his voice: "'my motor will call for you at three this afternoon, and we will run out to st. cloud for tea; at the pavilion bleu. mrs. gaston is spending the day with relatives at champigny, and we may as well be mice under the circumstances. if you have another engagement, pray do not let it interfere with the pleasure i am seeking.' nothing could be more exacting, my dear prince. she signs herself 'b. guile,' and i am sure she is magnificently beguiling, if you will pardon the play on words." "you wouldn't adopt that tone of suspicion if you knew miss guile," said robin stiffly. "i am sure nothing could be more frank and above-board than her manner of treating the--" "and nothing so cock-sure and confident," put in the baron. "it would serve her right if you ignored the letter altogether." "if i were as old as you, baron, i haven't the least doubt that i should do so," said robin coolly. "and by the same token, if you were as young as i, you'd do precisely the thing that i intend to do. i'm going to st. cloud with her." "oh, i haven't been in doubt about that for an instant," said gourou. "at your age i greatly favoured the clandestine. you will not pretend to assume that this is not a clandestine excursion." "it's a jolly little adventure," was all that robin could say, in his youthfulness. the baron was thoughtful. "there is something behind this extraordinary behaviour on the part of a lady generally accredited with sense and refinement," said he after a moment. "i think i have it, too. she is deliberately putting you to a rather severe test." "test? what do you mean?" "she is trying you out, sir. miss guile,--or possibly miss blithers,--is taking a genuine risk in order to determine whether you are a real gentleman or only a make-believe. she is taking a chance with you. you may call it a jolly little adventure, but i call it the acid test. young women of good breeding and refinement do not plan such adventures with casual, ship-board acquaintances. she intends to find out _what_, not _who_, you are. i must say she's exceedingly clever and courageous." robin laughed. "thank you, baron. forewarned is forearmed. i shall remain a gentleman at any cost." "she is so shrewd and resourceful that i am almost convinced she can be no other than the daughter of the amazing mr. blithers. i believe he achieved most of his success through sheer impudence, though it is commonly described as daring." "in any case. baron, i shall make it a point to find out whether she is the lady who defies the amazing mr. blithers, and goes into print about it." "she has merely denied that she is engaged to the prince of graustark. pray do not come back to us with the news that she is engaged to r. schmidt," said gourou significantly. robin smiled reflectively. "that _would_ make a jolly adventure of it, wouldn't it?" at three o'clock, a big limousine swung under the porte cochere at the ritz and a nimble footman hopped down and entered the hotel. robin was waiting just inside the doors. he recognised the car as the one that had taken miss guile away from the gare st. lazare, and stepped forward instantly to intercept the man. "for mr. schmidt?" he inquired. "oui, m'sieur." thrilled by a pleasurable sense of excitement, the prince of graustark entered the car. he was quick to observe that the curtains in the side windows were partially drawn across the glass. the fact that she elected to journey to the country in a limousine on this hot day did not strike him as odd, for he knew that the comfort loving french people prefer the closed vehicle to the wind-inviting, dust-gathering touring body of the americans and british. he observed the single letter l in gold in the panel of the door, and made mental note of the smart livery of the two men on the front seat. a delicate perfume lingered in the car, convincing proof that miss guile had left it but a few minutes before its arrival at the ritz. as a matter of fact, she was nearer than he thought, for the car whirled into the rue de la paix and stopped at the curb not more than a hundred yards from the place vendome. once more the nimble footman hopped down and threw open the door. a slender, swift-moving figure in a blue linen gown and a wide hat from which sprung two gorgeous blue plumes, emerged from the door of a diamond merchant's shop, and, before robin could move from his corner, popped into the car and sat down beside him with a nervous little laugh on her lips--red lips that showed rose-like and tempting behind a thick chiffon veil, obviously donned for an excellent reason. the exquisite features of miss guile were barely distinguishable beneath the surface of this filmy barrier. the door closed sharply and, almost before the prince had recovered from his surprise, the car glided off in the direction of the place de l'opera. "isn't it just like an elopement?" cried miss guile, and it was quite plain to him that she was vastly pleased with the sprightly introduction to the adventure. her voice trembled slightly and she sat up very straight in the wide, comfortable seat. "is it really you?" cried robin, and he was surprised to find that his own voice trembled. "oh," she said, with a sudden diffidence, "how do you do? what must you think of me, bouncing in like that and never once speaking to you?" "if i were to tell you what i think of you, you'd bounce right out again without speaking to me," said he, smiling. "how do you do?" he extended his hand, but it was ignored. she sank back into the corner and looked at him for a moment as if uncertain what to say or do next. the shadowy red lips were smiling and the big dark eyes were eloquent, even through the screen. "i may as well tell you at the outset, mr. schmidt, that i've never--_never_--done a thing like this before," she said, an uneasy note in her voice. "i am quite sure of that," said he, "and therefore confess to a vast wealth of satisfaction." "what _do_ you think of me?" "i think that you are frightened almost out of your boots," said he boldly. "no, i'm not," said she resolutely. "i am only conscious of feeling extremely foolish." "i shouldn't feel that way about stealing off for a cup of tea," said he. "it's all quite regular, you know, and is frequently done in the very best circles when the cat's away." "you see, i couldn't quite scrape up the courage to go directly to the hotel for you," she said. "i know several people who are stopping there and i--i--well, you won't think i'm a dreadful person, will you?" "not at all," he declared promptly. then he resolved to put one of the questions he had made up his mind to ask at the first opportunity. "do you mind telling me why you abandoned me so completely, so heartlessly on the day we landed?" "because there was no reason why i should act otherwise, mr. schmidt," she said, the tremor gone from her voice. "and yet you take me to st. cloud for tea," he said pointedly. "ah, but no one is to know of this," she cried warmly. "this is a secret, a very secret adventure." he could not help staring. "and that is just why i am mystified. why is to-day so different from yesterday?" "it isn't," she said. "doesn't all this prove it?" his face fell. "don't you want to be seen with me, miss guile? am i not--" "wait! will you not be satisfied with things as they are and refrain from asking unnecessary questions?" "i shall have to be satisfied," said he ruefully. "i am sorry i said that, mr. schmidt," she cried, contrite at once. "there is absolutely no reason why i should not be seen with you. but won't you be appeased when i say that i wanted to be with you alone to-day?" he suddenly remembered the baron's shrewd conjecture and let the opportunity to say something banal go by without a word. perhaps it was a test, after all. he merely replied that she was paying him a greater compliment than he deserved. "there are many things i want to speak about, mr. schmidt, and--and you know how impossible it is to--to get a moment to one's self when one is being watched like a child, as i am being watched over by dear mrs. gaston. she is my shield and armour, my lovely one-headed dragon. i placed myself in her care and--well, she is a very dependable person. you _will_ understand, won't you?" "pray do not distress yourself, miss guile," he protested. "the last word is spoken. i am too happy to spoil the day by doubting its integrity. besides, i believe i know you better than you think i do." he expected her to reveal some sign of dismay, but she was suddenly on guard. "then you will not mind my eccentricities," she said calmly, "and we shall have a very nice drive, some tea and a--lark in place of the more delectable birds prescribed by the chef at the pavilion bleu." as the car turned into the boulevard des capucines robin suppressed an exclamation of annoyance on beholding baron gourou and dank standing on the curb almost within arm's length of the car as it passed. the former was peering rather intently at the two men on the front seat, and evinced little or no interest in the occupants of the tonneau. "wasn't that your friend mr. dank?" inquired miss guile with interest. he felt that she was chiding him. "yes," said he, and then turned for another look at his compatriots. gourou was jotting something down on his cuff-band. the prince mentally promised him something for his pains. "but let us leave dull care behind," he went on gaily. "he isn't at all dull," said she. "but he _is_ a care," said he. "he is always losing his heart, miss guile." "and picking up some one else's, i fancy," said she. "by the way, who was the good-looking chap that came to cherbourg to meet you?" "a very old friend, mr. schmidt. i've known him since i was that high." (that high was on a line with her knee.) "attractive fellow," was his comment. "do you think so?" she inquired innocently, and he thought she over-played it a little. he was conscious of an odd sense of disappointment in her. "have you never been out to st. cloud? no? i never go there without feeling a terrible pity for those poor prodigals who stood beside its funeral pyre and saw their folly stripped down to the starkest of skeletons while they waited. the day of glory is short, mr. schmidt, and the night that follows is bitterly long. they say possession is nine points of the law, but what do nine points mean to the lawless? the rich man of to-day may be the beggar of to-morrow, and the rich man's sons and daughters may be serving the beggars of yesterday. i have been told that in the lower east side of new york city there are men and women who were once princes and princesses, counts and countesses, dukes and duchesses. why doesn't some one write a novel about the royalty that hides its beggary in the slums of that great city?" "what's this? epigrams and philosophy, miss guile?" he exclaimed wonderingly. "you amaze me. what are you trying to convey? that some day you may be serving yesterday's beggar?" "who knows!" she said cryptically. "i am not a philosopher, and i'm sorry about the epigrams. i loathe people who make use of them. they are a cheap substitution for wisdom. do you take sugar in your tea?" it was her way of abandoning the topic, but he looked his perplexity. "i thought i'd ask now, just for the sake of testing my memory later on." she was laughing. "two lumps and cream," he said. "won't you be good enough to take off that veil? it seriously obstructs the view." she complacently shook her head. "it doesn't obstruct mine," she said. "have you been reading what the papers are saying about your friend mr. blithers and his obstreperous maud?" robin caught his breath. in a flash he suspected an excellent reason for keeping the veil in place. it gave her a distinct advantage over him. "yes. i see that she positively denies the whole business." "likewise the prospective spouse," she added. "isn't it sickening?" "i wonder what mr. blithers is saying to-day," said he audaciously. "poor old cock, he must be as sore as a crab. by the way, it is reported that she crossed on the steamer with us." "i am quite certain that she did, mr. schmidt," said she. "you really think so?" he cried, regarding her keenly. "the man who came to meet me knows her quite well. he is confident that he saw her at cherbourg." "i see," said he, and was thoroughly convinced. "i may as well confess to you. miss guile, that i also know her when i see her." "but you told me positively that you had never seen her, mr. schmidt," she said quickly. "i had not seen her up to the second day out on the _jupiter_," he explained, enjoying himself immensely. "it was after that that you--" "i know," he said, as she hesitated; "but you see i didn't know she was miss blithers until sometime after i had met you." there was a challenge in his manner amounting almost to a declaration. she leaned forward to regard him more intently. "is it possible, mr. schmidt, that you suspect _me_ of being that horrid, vulgar creature?" robin was not to be trapped. there was something in the shadowy eyes that warned him. "at least, i may say that i do not suspect you of being a horrid, vulgar creature," he said evasively. "what else can this miss blithers be if not that?" "would you say that she is vulgar because she refuses to acknowledge a condition that doesn't exist? i think she did perfectly right in denying the engagement." "you haven't answered my question, mr. schmidt." "well," he began slowly, "i don't suspect you of being miss blithers." "but you did suspect it." "i was pleasantly engaged in speculation, that's all. it is generally believed that miss blithers sailed under an assumed name--literally, not figuratively." "is there any reason why you should imagine that my name is not guile?" "yes. your luggage is resplendently marked with the second letter in the alphabet--a gory, crimson b." "i see," she said reflectively. "you examined my luggage, as they say in the customs office. and you couldn't put b and g together, is that it?" "obviously." "if you had taken the trouble to look, you would have found an equally resplendent g on the opposite end of each and every trunk, mr. schmidt," she said quietly. "i did not examine your luggage, miss guile," said he stiffly. she hadn't left much for him to stand upon. "rather unique way to put one's initials on a trunk, isn't it?" "it possesses the virtue of originality," she admitted, "and it never fails to excite curiosity. i am sorry you were misled. nothing could be more distressing than to be mistaken for the heroine of a story and then turn out to be a mere nobody in the end. i've no doubt that if the amiable miss blithers were to hear of it, she'd rush into print and belabour me with the largest type that money could buy." "oh, come now, miss guile," he protested, "it really isn't fair to miss blithers. she was justified in following an illustrious example. you forget that the prince of graustark was the first to rush into print with a flat denial. what else could the poor girl do?" "oh, i am not defending the prince of graustark. he behaved abominably, rushing into print as you say. extremely bad taste, i should call it." robin's ears burned. he could not defend himself. there was nothing left for him to do but to say that it "served him jolly well right, the way miss blithers came back at him." "still," she said, "i would be willing to make a small wager that the well-advertised match comes off in spite of all the denials. given a determined father, an ambitious mother, a purse-filled daughter and an empty-pursed nobleman, and i don't see how the inevitable can be avoided." his face was flaming. it was with difficulty that he restrained the impulse to put her right in the matter without further ado. "are you sure that the prince is so empty of purse as all that?" he managed to say, without betraying himself irretrievably. "there doesn't seem to be any doubt that he borrowed extensively of mr. blithers," she said scornfully. "he is under some obligations to his would-be-father-in-law, i submit, now isn't he?" "i suppose so, miss guile," he admitted uncomfortably. "and therefore owes him something more than a card in the newspapers, don't you think?" "really, miss guile, i--i--" "i beg your pardon. the prince's affairs are of no importance to you, so why should i expect you to stand up for him?" "i confess that i am a great deal more interested in miss blithers than i am in the prince. by the way, what would you have done had you been placed in her position?" "i think i should have acted quite as independently as she." "if your father were to pick out a husband for you, whether or no, you would refuse to obey the paternal command?" "most assuredly. as a matter of fact, mr. schmidt, my father has expressed a wish that i should marry a man who doesn't appeal to me at all." "and you refuse?" "absolutely." "more or less as miss blithers has done," he said pointedly. "miss blithers, i understand, has the advantage of me in one respect. i am told that she wants to marry another man and is very much in love with him." "a chap named scoville," said robin, unguardedly. "you know him, mr. schmidt?" "no. i've merely heard of him. i take it from your remark that you don't want to marry anybody--at present." "quite right. not at present. now let us talk of something else. _a bas_ blithers! down with the plutocrats! stamp out the vulgarians! is there anything else you can suggest?" she cried gaily. "long live the princess maud!" said he, and doffed his hat. the satirical note in his voice was not lost on her. she started perceptibly, and caught her breath. then she sank back into the corner with a nervous, strained little laugh. "you think she will marry him?" "i think as you do about it, miss guile," said he, and she was silenced. chapter xv the mice in a trap they had a table in a cool, shady corner of the broad porch overlooking the place d'armes and the seine and its vociferous ferries. to the right runs the gleaming roadway that leads to the hills and glades through which pomp and pride once strode with such fatal arrogance. blue coated servitors attended them on their arrival, and watched over them during their stay. it was as if miss guile were the fairy princess who had but to wish and her slightest desire was gratified. her guest, a real prince, marvelled not a little at the complete sway she exercised over this somewhat autocratic army of menials. they bowed and scraped, and fetched, and carried, and were not swiss but slaves in bagdad during the reign of its most illustrious caliph, al-haroun raschid the great. the magic of araby could have been no more potent than the spell this beautiful girl cast over the house of mammon. she laid her finger upon a purse of gold and wished, and lo! the wonders of the magic carpet were repeated. robin remembered that maud applegate blithers had spent the greater part of her life in paris, and it was therefore not unreasonable to suppose that she had spent something else as well. at any rate, the pavilion bleu was a place where it _had_ to be spent if one wanted the attention accorded the few. she had removed her veil, but he was not slow to perceive that she sat with her back to the long stretch of porch. "do you prefer this place to armenonville or the paillard at pre catelan, miss guile?" he inquired, quite casually, but with a secret purpose. "no, it is stupid here, as a rule, and common. still every one goes to the other places in the afternoon and i particularly wanted to be as naughty as possible, so i came here to-day." "it doesn't strike me as especially naughty," he remarked. "but it was very, very naughty before you and i were born, mr. schmidt. the atmosphere still remains, if one possesses a comprehensive imagination." "i daresay," said he, "but the imagination doesn't thrive on tea. those were the days of burgundy and a lot of other red things." "one doesn't need to be in shackles, to expatiate on the terrors of the bridge of sighs," she said. "are you going to take me up to the park?" "yes. into the shadows." "oh, that's good! i'm sure my imagination will work beautifully when it isn't subdued by all these blue devils. i--_que voulez vous?_" the question was directed rather sharply to a particularly deferential "blue devil" who stood at his elbow. "monsieur schmidt?" "yes. what's this? a letter! 'pon my soul, how the deuce could any one--" he got no farther, for miss guile's action in pulling down her veil and the subsequent spasmodic glance over her shoulder betrayed such an agitated state of mind on her part that his own sensations were checked at the outset. "there must be some one here who knows you, mr. schmidt," she said nervously. "see what it says, please,--at once. i--perhaps we should be starting home immediately." robin tore open the envelope. a glance showed him that the brief note was from gourou. a characteristic g served as a signature. as he read, a hard line appeared between his eyes and his expression grew serious. "it is really nothing, miss guile," he said and prepared to tear the sheet into many pieces. "a stupid, alleged joke of a fellow who happens to know me, that's all." "don't tear it up!" she cried sharply. "what does it say? i have a right to know, mr. schmidt, even though it is only a joke. what has this friend of yours to say about me? what coarse, uncalled-for comment has he to make about--" "let me think for a moment, miss guile," he interrupted, suddenly realising that it was time for reflection. after a moment he said soberly: "i think it would be wise if we were to leave instantly. there is nothing to be alarmed about, i assure you, but--well, we'd better go." "will you allow me to see that letter?" she asked, extending her hand. "i'd rather not, if you don't mind." "but i insist, sir! i'll not go a step from this place until i know what all this is about." "as it happens to concern you even more than it does me, i suppose you'd better see what it says." he passed the letter over to her and watched her narrowly as she read. again the veil served as a competent mask. "who wrote this letter, mr. schmidt?" she demanded. even through the veil he could see that her eyes were wide with--was it alarm or anger? "a man named gourou. he is a detective engaged on a piece of work for mr. totten." "is it a part of his duty to watch your movements?" she asked, leaning forward. "no. he is my friend, however," said robin steadily. "according to this epistle, it would appear that it is a part of his duty to keep track of you, not me. may i ask why you should be shadowed by two of his kind?" she did not answer at once. when she spoke, it was with a determined effort to maintain her composure. "i am sorry to have subjected you to all this, mr. schmidt. we will depart at once. i find that the cat is never away, so we can't be mice. what a fool i've been." there was something suspiciously suggestive of tears in her soft voice. he laid a hand upon the small fingers that clutched the crumpled sheet of paper. to have saved his life, he could not keep the choked, husky tremor out of his voice. "the day is spoiled for you. that is my only regret. as for me, miss guile, i am not without sin, so i may cast no stones. pray regard me as a fellow culprit, and rest assured that i have no bone to pick with you. i too am watched and yet i am no more of a criminal than you. will you allow me to say that i am a friend whose devotion cannot be shaken by all the tempests in the world?" "thank you," she said, and turned her hand under his to give it a quick, convulsive clasp. her spirits seemed to revive under the responsive grip. "you might have said all the tempests in a tea pot, for that is really what it amounts to. my father is a very foolish man. will you send for the car?" he called an attendant and ordered him to find miss guile's footman at once. when he returned to the table, she was reading the note once more. "it is really quite thrilling, isn't it?" she said, and there was still a quaver of indignation in her voice. "are you not mystified?" "not in the least," said he promptly, and drew a chair up close beside hers. "it's as plain as day. your father has found you out, that's all. let's read it again," and they read it together. "a word to the wise," it began. "two men from a private detective concern have been employed since yesterday in watching the movements of your companion, for the purpose of safe-guarding her against good-looking young men, i suspect. i have it from the most reliable of sources that her father engaged the services of these men almost simultaneously with the date of our sailing from new york. it may interest you to know that they followed you to st. cloud in a high-power car and no doubt are watching you as you read this message from your faithful friend, who likewise is not far away." "i should have anticipated this, mr. schmidt," she said ruefully. "it is just the sort of thing my father would do." "you seem to take it calmly enough." "i am quite used to it. i would be worth a great deal to any enterprising person who made it his business to steal me. there is no limit to the ransom he could demand." "you alarm me," he declared. "no doubt these worthy guardians look upon me as a kidnapper. i am inclined to shiver." "'all's well that ends well,'" quoth she, pulling on her gloves, "i shall restore you safely to the bosom of the ritz and that will be the end of it." "i almost wish that some one would kidnap you, miss guile. it would afford me the greatest pleasure in the world to snatch you from their clutches. your father would be saved paying the ransom but i should have to be adequately rewarded. i fancy, however, that he wouldn't mind paying the reward i should hold out for." "i am quite sure he would give you anything you were to ask for, mr. schmidt," said she gaily. "you would be reasonable, of course." "i might ask for the most precious of his possessions," said he, leaning forward to look directly into eyes that wavered and refused to meet his. "curiosity almost makes me wish that i might be kidnapped. i should then find out what you consider to be his most precious possession," she said, and her voice was perilously low. "i think i could tell you in advance," said he, his eyes shining. "i--i prefer to find out in my own way, mr. schmidt," she stammered hurriedly. her confusion was immensely gratifying to him. there is no telling what might have happened to the prince of graustark at that moment if an obsequious attendant had not intervened with the earthly information that the car was waiting. "good lord," robin was saying to himself as he followed her to the steps, "was i about to go directly against the sage advice of old gourou? was i so near to it as that? in another minute--gee, but it was a close shave. she is adorable, she is the most adorable creature in the world, even though she is the daughter of old man blithers, and i--'gad i wonder what will come of it in the end? keep a tight grip on yourself, bobby, or you're a goner, sure as fate." they were painfully aware of the fact that their progress down the long verandah was made under the surveillance of two, perhaps three pairs of unwavering eyes, and because of it they looked neither to right nor left but as those who walk tight-ropes over dangerous places. there was something positively uncanny in the feeling that their every movement was being watched by secret observers. once inside the car, miss guile sank back with a long sigh of relief. "did you feel it, too?" she asked, with a nervous little catch in her voice. "i did," said he, passing his hand over his brow. "it was like being alone in the dark with eyes staring at one from all sides of the room." the car shot across the bridge and was speeding on its way toward the bois when robin ventured a glance behind. through the little window in the back of the car he saw a big, swift-moving automobile not more than a quarter of a mile in their rear. "would you like to verify the report of my friend gourou?" he asked, his voice quick with exhilaration. she knelt with one knee upon the seat and peered back along the road. "there they are!" she cried. she threw the veil back over her hat as she resumed her seat in the corner. her eyes were fairly dancing with excitement. the warm red lips were parted and she was breathing quickly. suddenly she laid her hand over her heart as if to check its lively thumping. "isn't it splendid? we are being pursued--actually chased by the man-hunters of paris! oh, i was never so happy in my life. isn't it great?" "it is glorious!" he cried exultantly. "shall i tell the chauffeur to hit it up a bit? let's make it a real chase." "yes, do! we'll see if we can foil them, as they say in the books. oh, wouldn't it be wonderful if we were to--to--what do you call it? give them the slip, isn't that it?" "i'm game," said he, with enthusiasm. for a second or two they looked straight into each other's eyes and a message was exchanged that never could have been put into words. no doubt it was the flush of eager excitement that darkened their cheeks. in any case, it came swiftly and went as quickly, leaving them paler than before and vastly self-conscious. and after that brief, searching look they knew that they could never be as they were before the exchange. they were no longer strangers to each other, but shy comrades and filled with a delicious sense of wonder. robin gave hurried directions through the speaking tube to the attentive footman, and so explicit were these directions that the greatest excitement prevailed upon the decorous front seat of the car--first the footman looked back along the road, then the chauffeur, after which a thrill of excitement seemed to fairly race up and down their liveried backs. the car itself took a notion to quiver with the promise of joy unrestrained. in less than a minute they were going more than a mile a minute over a short stretch of the avenue de longchamp. at the porte de hippodrome they slowed down and ran into the bois, taking the first road to the left. in a few minutes they were scudding past longchamp at a "fair clip" to quote r. schmidt. instead of diverging into the allee de longchamp, the car took a sharp turn into the avenue de l'hippodrome and, at the intersection, doubled back over the allee de la heine marguerite, going almost to the boulogne gate, where again it was sent parisward over the avenue de st. cloud. miss guile was in command of the flight. she called out the instructions to the driver and her knowledge of the intricate routes through the park stood them well in hand. purposely she evaded the cascades, circling the little pools by narrow, unfrequented roads, coming out at last to the porte de la muette, where they left the park and took to the avenue henri martin. it was her design to avoid the customary routes to the heart of the city, and all would have gone well with them had not fate in the shape of two burly _sergents de ville_ intervened at a time when success seemed most certain. it was quite clear to the pursued that the car containing their followers had been successfully eluded and was no doubt in the champs elysees by this time. for some time there had been a worried look in the prince's eyes. once he undertook to remonstrate with his fair companion. "my dear miss guile, we'll land in jail if we keep up this hair-raising speed. there wouldn't be any fun in that, you know." she gave him a scornful look. "are you afraid, mr. schmidt?" "not on my own account," said he, "but yours. i've heard that the new regulations are extremely rigid." "pooh! i'm not afraid of the police. they--why, what's the matter? oh, goodness!" the car had come to a somewhat abrupt stop. two policemen, dismounted from their bicycles, formed an insurmountable obstruction. they were almost in the shade of the trocadero. "do not be alarmed," whispered robin to the fast paling girl, into whose eyes the most abject misery had leaped at the sight of the two officers. "leave it to me. i can fix them all right. there's nothing to be worried about--well, _sergent_, what is it?" the polite officers came up to the window with their little note-books. "i regret, m'sieur, that we shall be obliged to conduct yourself and mademoiselle to the office of a magistrate. under the new regulations set forth in the order of last may, motorists may be given a hearing at once. i regret to add that m'sieur has been exceeding the speed limit. a complaint came in but a few minutes ago from the porte de la muette and we have been ordered to intercept the car. you may follow us to the office of the magistrate, m'sieur. it will soon be over, mademoiselle." "but we can explain--" she began nervously. the _sergent_ held up his hand. "it is not necessary to explain, mademoiselle. too many motorists have explained in the past but that does not restore to life the people they have killed in the pursuit of pleasure. paris is enforcing her laws." "but, _sergent_, i alone am to blame for any violation of the law," said robin suavely. "surely it is only necessary that i should accompany you to the magistrate. the young lady is in no way responsible--" "alas, m'sieur," said the man firmly but as if he were quite broken-hearted, "it is not for me to disobey the law, even though you may do so. it is necessary for the lady to appear before the judge, and it is our duty to convey her there. the new law explicitly says that all occupants of said car shall be subject to penalty under the law without reprieve or pardon!" "where are your witnesses?" demanded robin. the two men produced their watches and their notebooks, tapping them significantly. "m'sieur will not think of denying that he has been running more rapidly than the law allows," said the second officer. "it will go harder with him if he should do so." "i shall insist upon having an advocate to represent me before--" "as you like, m'sieur," said the first officer curtly. "proceed!" he uttered as a command to the chauffeur, and forthwith mounted his wheel. a score of people had gathered round them by this time, and miss guile was crouching back in her corner. her veil was down. in single file, so to speak, they started off for the office of the nearest magistrate appointed under the new law governing automobiles. a policeman pedaled ahead of the car and another followed. "isn't it dreadful?" whispered miss guile. "what do you think they will do to us? oh, i am so sorry, mr. schmidt, to have dragged you into this horrid--" "i wouldn't have missed it for anything in the world," said he so earnestly that she sat up a little straighter and caught her breath. "after all, they will do no more than assess a fine against us. a hundred francs, perhaps. that is nothing." "i am not so sure of that," said she gloomily. "my friends were saying only yesterday that the new law provides for imprisonment as well. paris has constructed special prisons for motorists, and people are compelled to remain in them for days and weeks at a time. oh, i hope--" "i'll inquire of the footman," said robin. "he will know." the footman, whose face was very long and serious, replied through the tube that very few violators escaped confinement in the "little prisons." he also said "mon dieu" a half dozen times, and there was a movement of the driver's pallid lips that seemed to indicate a fervent echo. "i shall telephone at once--to my friends," said miss guile, a note of anger in her voice. "they are very powerful in paris. we shall put those miserable wretches in their proper places. they--" "we must not forget. miss guile, that we _were_ breaking the law," said robin, who was beginning to enjoy the discomfiture of this spoiled beauty, this girl whose word was a sort of law unto itself. "it is perfect nonsense," she declared. "we did no harm. goodness! what is this?" four or five policemen on wheels passed by the car, each with a forbidding glance through the windows. "they are the boys we left behind us," paraphrased robin soberly. "the park policemen. they've just caught us up, and, believe me, they look serious, too. i dare say we are in for it." in a very few minutes the procession arrived at a low, formidable looking building on a narrow side street. the cavalcade of policemen dismounted and stood at attention while mademoiselle and monsieur got down from the car and followed a polite person in uniform through the doors. whereupon the group of _sergents de ville_ trooped in behind, bringing with them the neatly liveried servants with the golden letter l on their cuffs. "i believe there is a jail back there," whispered the slim culprit, a quaver in her voice. she pointed down the long, narrow corridor at the end of which loomed a rather sinister looking door with thick bolt-heads studding its surface. an instant later they were ushered into a fair-sized room on the left of the hall, where they were commanded to sit down. a lot of chairs stood about the room, filling it to the farthest corners, while at the extreme end was the judge's bench. "i insist on being permitted to telephone to friends--to my legal advisors,--" began miss guile, with praiseworthy firmness, only to be silenced by the attendant, who whispered shrilly that a trial was in progress, couldn't she see? two dejected young men were standing before the judge, flanked by three _sergents de ville_. robin and miss guile stared wide-eyed at their fellow criminals and tried to catch the low words spoken by the fat magistrate. once more they were ordered to sit down, this time not quite so politely, and they took seats in the darkest corner of the room, as far removed from justice as possible under the circumstances. presently a young man approached them. he was very nice looking and astonishingly cheerful. the hopes of the twain went up with a bound. his expression was so benign, so bland that they at once jumped to the conclusion that he was coming to tell them that they were free to go, that it had all been a stupid mistake. but they were wrong. he smilingly introduced himself as an advocate connected with the court by appointment and that he would be eternally grateful to them if they would tell him what he could do for them. "i'd like to have a word in private with the magistrate," said the prince of graustark eagerly. "impossible!" said the advocate, lifting his eyebrows and his smart little mustachios in an expression of extreme amazement. "it is imposs--" a sharp rapping on the judge's desk reduced the remainder of the sentence to a delicate whisper--"ible. m'sieur." "will you conduct me to a telephone booth?" whispered miss guile, tearfully. "pray do not weep, mademoiselle," implored the advocate, profoundly moved, but at the same time casting a calculating eye over the luckless pair. "well, what's to be done?" demanded robin. "we insist on having our own legal advisors here." "the court will not delay the hearing, m'sieur," explained the young man. "besides, the best legal advisor in paris could do no more than to advise you to plead guilty. i at least can do that quite as ably as the best of them. no one ever pretends to defend a case in the automobile courts, m'sieur. it is a waste of time, and the court does not approve of wasting time. perhaps you will feel more content if i introduce the assistant public prosecutor, who will explain the law. that is his only duty. he does not prosecute. there is no need. the _sergents_ testify and that is all there is to the case." "may i inquire what service you can be to us if the whole business is cut and dried like that?" asked robin. "not so loud, m'sieur. as i said before, i can advise you in respect to your plea, and i can tell you how to present your statement to the court. i can caution you in many ways. sometimes a prisoner, who is well-rehearsed, succeeds in affecting the honourable magistrate nicely, and the punishment is not so severe." "so you advise us to plead guilty as delicately as possible?" "i shall not advise you, m'sieur, unless it pleases you to retain me as your counsellor. the fee is small. ten francs. inasmuch as the amount is charged against you in the supplemental costs, it seems foolish not to take advantage of what you are obliged to pay for in any event. you will have to pay my fee, so you may as well permit me to be of service to you." "my only concern is over mademoiselle," said the prince. "you may send me to jail if you like, if you'll only--" "mon dieu! i am not the one who enjoys the distinguished honour of being permitted to send people to jail, but the judge, m'sieur." "it is ridiculous to submit this innocent young lady to the humiliation of--" "it is not only ridiculous but criminal," said the advocate, with a magnificent bow. "but what is one to do when it is the law? of late, the law is peculiarly sexless. and now here is where i come in. it is i who shall instruct you--both of you, mademoiselle--how to conduct yourselves before the magistrate. above all things, do not attempt to contradict a single statement of the police. admit that all they say is true, even though they say that you have run over a child or an old woman with mortal results. it will go much easier with you. exercise the gravest politeness and deference toward the honourable magistrate and to every officer of the court. you are americans, no doubt. the courts are prone to be severe with the americans because they sometimes undertake to tell them how easy it is to get the right kind of justice in your wonderfully progressive united states. be humble, contrite, submissive, for that is only justice to the court. if you have killed some one in your diversions, pray do not try to tell the magistrate that the idiot ought to have kept his eyes open. another thing: do not inform the court that you require a lawyer. that is evidence of extreme culpability and he will consider you to be inexcusably guilty. are you attending? pray do not feel sorry for the two young men who are now being led away. see! they are weeping. it is as i thought. they are going to prison for--but that is their affair, not ours. i advised them as i am advising you, but they insisted on making a statement of their case. that was fatal, for it failed in many respects to corroborate the information supplied by the police. it-" "what was the charge against them?" whispered miss guile, quaking. she had watched the exit of the tearful young men, one of whom was sobbing bitterly, and a great fear possessed her. "of that, mademoiselle, i am entirely ignorant, but they were unmistakably guilty of denying it, whatever it was." "are they going to prison?" she gasped. "it is not that which causes them to weep so bitterly, but the knowledge that their names are to be posted on the bulletin boards in the place de l'opera, the place de l'concorde, the--" "good lord!" gasped robin. "is _that_ being done?" "it is m'sieur, and the effect is marvellous. three months ago the boards were filled with illustrious names; to-day there are but few to be found upon them. the people have discovered that the courts are in earnest. the law is obeyed as it never was before. the prisons were crowded to suffocation at one time; now they are almost empty. it is a good law. to-day a mother can wheel her baby carriage in the thickest of the traffic and run no risk of--ah, but here is the assistant prosecutor coming. permit me to further warn you that you will be placed under oath to tell the absolute truth. the prosecutor will ask but three questions of you: your age, your name and your place of residence. all of them you must answer truthfully, especially as to your names. if it is discovered that you have falsely given a name not your own, the lowest penalty is sixty days in prison, imposed afterwards in addition to the sentence you will receive for violating the traffic laws. i have performed my duty as required by the commissioner. my fee is a fixed one, so you need not put your hand into your pocket, m'sieur. good day. mademoiselle--good day, m'sieur." he bowed profoundly and gave way to the impatient prosecutor, who had considerately held himself aloof while the final words were being uttered, albeit he glanced at his watch a couple of times. "come," he said, and he did not whisper; "let us be as expeditious as possible. approach the court. it is--" "see here," said robin savagely, "this is too damned high-handed. are we to have no chance to defend ourselves? we--" "just as you please, m'sieur," interrupted the prosecutor patiently. "it is nothing to me. i receive my fee in any event. if you care to defy the law in addition to what you have already done, it is not for me to object." "well, i insist on having--" a thunderous pounding on the bench interrupted his hot-headed speech. "attend!" came in a sharp, uncompromising voice from the bench. "what is the delay? this is no time to think. all that should have been done before. step forward! _sergent_, see that the prisoners step forward." robin slipped his arm through miss guile's, expecting her to droop heavily upon it for support. to his surprise she drew herself up, dis-engaged herself, and walked straight up to the bench, without fear or hesitation. it was robin who needed an example of courage and fortitude, not she. the chauffeur and footman, shivering in their elegance, already stood before the bench. "will you be so kind as to raise your veil, madam?" spake the court. she promptly obeyed. he leaned forward with sudden interest. the prosecutor blinked and abruptly overcame the habitual inclination to appear bored. such ravishing beauty had never before found its way into that little court-room. adjacent moustaches were fingered somewhat convulsively by several _sergents de ville._ "ahem!" said the court, managing with some difficulty to regain his judicial form. "i am compelled by law, mademoiselle, to warn you before you are placed under oath that the lowest penalty for giving a false name in answer to the charge to be brought against you is imprisonment for not less than sixty days. i repeat this warning to you, young man. be sworn, if you please." robin experienced a queer sense of exultation, not at all lessened by the knowledge that he would be forced to reveal his own identity. "would she call herself bedelia guile or would she--" "state your name, mademoiselle," said the prosecutor. chapter xvi three messages miss guile lowered her head for an instant. robin could see that her lip was quivering. a vast pity for her took possession of him and he was ashamed of what he now regarded as unexampled meanness of spirit on his own part. she lifted her shamed, pleading eyes to search his, as if expecting to find succour in their fearless depths. she found them gleaming with indignation, suddenly aroused, and was instantly apprehensive. there was a look in those eyes of his that seemed prophetic of dire results unless she checked the words that were rising to his lips. she shook her head quickly and, laying a hand upon his arm, turned to the waiting magistrate. "my name is--oh, is there no way to avoid the publicity--" she sighed miserably--"the publicity that--" "i regret, mademoiselle, that there is no alternative--" began the judge, to be interrupted by the banging of the court-room door. he looked up, glaring at the offender with ominous eyes. the polite attendant from the outer corridor was advancing in great haste. he was not only in haste but vastly perturbed. despite the profound whack of the magistrate's paper weight on the hollow top of the desk and the withering scowl that went with it, the attendant rushed forward, forgetting his manners, his habits and his power of speech in one complete surrender to nature. he thrust into the hand of the judge a slip of paper, at the same time gasping something that might have been mistaken for an appeal for pardon but which more than likely was nothing of the sort. "what is this?" demanded the judge ferociously. "mon dieu!" replied the attendant, rolling his eyes heavenward. the magistrate was impressed. he took up the slip of paper and read what was written thereon. then he was guilty of a start. the next instant he had the prosecutor up beside him and then the advocate. together they read the message from the outside and together they lifted three pairs of incredulous eyes to stare at the culprits below. there was a hurried consultation in excited whisperings, intermittent stares and far from magisterial blinkings. robin bent close to bedelia's ear and whispered: "we must have killed some one, the way they are acting." her face was glowing with triumph. "no. luck is with us, mr. schmidt. you'll see!" the magistrate cleared his throat and beamed upon them in a most friendly fashion. robin grasped the situation in a flash. his own identity had been revealed to the judge. it was not likely that the daughter of william blithers could create such lively interest in a french court of justice, so it _must_ be that gourou or quinnox had come to the rescue. the court would not think of fining a prince of the royal blood, law or no law! "m'sieur, mademoiselle, will you be so good as to resume your seats? an extraordinary condition has arisen. i shall be obliged to investigate. the trial must be interrupted for a few minutes. pardon the delay. i shall return as quickly as possible. _sergent!_ see that mademoiselle and m'sieur are made comfortable." he descended from the bench and hurried into the corridor, followed closely by the prosecutor and the advocate, both of whom almost trod on his heels. this may have been due to the fact that they were slighter men and more sprightly, but more than likely it was because they were unable to see where they were going for the excellent reason that they were not looking in that direction at all. policemen and attendants, mystified but impressed, set about to make the culprits comfortable. they hustled at least a half dozen roomy chairs out of an adjoining chamber; they procured palm-leaf fans and even proffered the improbable--ice-water!--after which they betook themselves to a remote corner and whispered excitedly at each other, all the while regarding the two prisoners with intense interest. even the despairing footman and chauffeur exhibited unmistakable signs of life. "i fancy my friends have heard of our plight, mr. schmidt," she said, quite composedly. "we will be released in a very few minutes." he smiled complacently. he could afford to let her believe that her friends and not his were performing a miracle. "your friends must be very powerful," he said. "they are," said she, with considerable directness. "still, we are not out of the scrape yet, miss guile," he remarked, shaking his head. "it may be a flash in the pan." "oh, please don't say that," she cried in quick alarm. "i--i should die if--if we were to be sent to--" "listen to me," he broke in eagerly, for an inspiration had come to him. "there's no reason why you should suffer, in any event. apparently i am a suspected person. i may just as well be a kidnapper as not. you must allow me to inform the judge that i was abducting you, so that he--" "how absurd!" "i don't in the least mind. besides, i too have powerful friends who will see that i am released in a day or two. you--" "you cannot hope to convince the judge that you were abducting me in my own automobile--or at least in one belonging to my friends, who are irreproachable. i am very much obliged to you for thinking of it, mr. schmidt, but it is out of the question. i couldn't allow you to do it in the first place, and in the second i'm sure the court wouldn't believe you." "it was i who suggested running away from those detectives," he protested. "but i jumped at the chance, didn't i?" she whispered triumphantly. "i am even guiltier than thou. can you ever forgive me for--" "hush!" he said, in a very low voice. his hand fell upon hers as it rested on the arm of the chair. they were in the shadows. she looked up quickly and their eyes met. after a moment hers fell, and she gently withdrew her hand from its place of bondage. "we are pals, bedelia," he went on softly. "pals never go back on each other. they sink or swim together, and they never stop to inquire the reason why. when it comes to a pinch, one or the other will sacrifice himself that his pal may be saved. i--" "please do not say anything more," she said, her eyes strangely serious and her voice vibrant with emotion. "please!" "i have a confession to make to you," he began, leaning still closer. "you have taken me on faith. you do not know who or what i am. i--" she held up her hand, an engaging frown in her eyes. "stop! this is no place for confessions. i will not listen to you. save your confessions for the magistrate. tell him the truth, mr. schmidt. i am content to wait." he stared for an instant, perplexed. "see here, miss guile,--bedelia,--i've just got to tell you something that--" "you may tell me at interlaken," she interrupted, and she was now quite visibly agitated. "at interlaken? then you mean to carry out your plan to spend--" "sh! here they come. now we shall see." the magistrate and his companions re-entered the room at that instant, more noticeably excited than when they left it. the former, rubbing his hands together and smiling as he had never smiled before, approached the pair. it did not occur to him to resent the fact that they remained seated in his august presence. "a lamentable mistake has been made," he said. "i regret that m'sieur and mademoiselle have been subjected to so grave an indignity. permit me to apologise for the misguided energy of our excellent _sergents_. they--" "but we were exceeding the speed limit," said robin comfortably, now that the danger was past. "the officers were acting within their rights." "i know, i know," exclaimed the magistrate. "they are splendid fellows, all of them, and i beg of you to overlook their unfortunate--er--zealousness. permit me to add that you are not guilty--i should say, that you are honourably discharged by this humble court. but wait! the _sergents_ shall also apologise. here! attend. it devolves upon you--" "oh, i beg of you--" began robin, but already the policemen, who had been listening open-mouthed to the agitated prosecutor, were bowing and scraping and muttering their apologies for enforcing a cruel and unjust law. "and we are not obliged to give our names, _m'sieur le judge?_" cried miss guile gladly. "mademoiselle," said he, with a profound bow, "it is not necessary to acquaint me with something i already know. permit me to again express the most unbounded regret that--" "oh, thank you," she cried. "we have had a really delightful experience. you owe us no apology, m'sieur. and now, may we depart?" "instantly! lachance, conduct m'sieur and mademoiselle into the fresh, sweet, open air and discover their car for them without delay. _sergents_, remain behind. let there be nothing to indicate that there has been detention. mademoiselle, you have been merely making a philanthropic visit to our prison. there has been no arrest." robin and miss guile emerged from the low, forbidding door and stood side by side on the pavement looking up and down the street in search of the car. it was nowhere in sight. the chauffeur gasped with amazement--and alarm. he had left it standing directly in front of the door, and now it was gone. "it is suggested, m'sieur," said the polite lachance, "that you walk to the corner beyond, turn to the left and there you will find the car in plain view. it was removed by two gentlemen soon after you condescended to honour us with a visit of inspection, and thereby you have escaped much unnecessary attention from the curious who always infest the vicinity of police offices." he saluted them gravely and returned at once to the corridor. following leisurely in the wake of the hurrying servants, robin and bedelia proceeded down the narrow street to the corner indicated. they were silent and preoccupied. after all, _who_ was to be thanked for the timely escape, his god or hers? and here it may be said that neither of them was ever to know who sent that brief effective message to the magistrate, nor were they ever to know the nature of its contents. the men were examining the car when they came up. no one was near. there was no one to tell how it came to be there nor whither its unknown driver had gone. it stood close to the curb and the engine was throbbing, proof in itself that some one had but recently deserted his post as guardian. "the obliging man-hunters," suggested robin in reply to a low-voiced question. "or your guardian angel, the great gourou!" she said, frowning slightly. "by the way, mr. schmidt, do you expect to be under surveillance during your stay at interlaken?" there was irony in her voice. "not if i can help it," he said. "and you, miss guile? is it possible that two of the best detectives in paris are to continue treading on your heels all the time you are in europe? must we go about with the uncomfortable feeling that some one is staring at us from behind, no matter where we are? are we to be perpetually attended by the invisible? if so, i am afraid we will find it very embarrassing." they were in the car now and proceeding at a snail's pace toward the arc de triomphe. her eyes narrowed. he was sure that she clutched her slim fingers tightly although, for an excellent reason, he was not by way of knowing. he was rapturously watching those expressive eyes. "i shall put a stop to this ridiculous espionage at once, mr. schmidt. these men shall be sent kiting--i mean, about their business before this day is over. i do not intend to be spied upon an instant longer." "still they may have been instruments of providence to-day," he reminded her. "without them, we might now be languishing in jail and our spotless names posted in the place de l'opera. bedelia guile and rex schmidt, malefactors. what would your father say to that?" she smiled--a ravishing smile, it was. his heart gave a stupendous jump. "he would say that it served me right," said she, and then: "but what difference can it possibly make to you, mr. schmidt, if the detectives continue to watch over me?" "none," said he promptly. "i suppose they are used to almost anything in the way of human nature, so if they don't mind, i'm sure i sha'n't. i haven't the slightest objection to being watched by detectives, if we can only keep other people from seeing us." "don't be silly," she cried. "and let me remind you while i think of it: you are not to call me bedelia." "bedelia," he said deliberately. she sighed. "i am afraid i have been mistaken in you," she said. he recalled gourou's advice. had he failed in the test? "but don't do it again." "now that i think of it," he said soberly, "you are not to call me mr. schmidt. please bear that in mind, bedelia." "thank you. i don't like the name. i'll call you--" just then the footman turned on the seat and excitedly pointed to a car that had swung into the boulevard from a side street. "the man-hunters!" exclaimed robin. "by jove, we didn't lose them after all." "to the ritz, pierre," she cried out sharply. once more she seemed perturbed and anxious. "what are you going to call me?" he demanded, insistently. "i haven't quite decided," she replied, and lapsed into moody silence. her nervousness increased as they sped down the champs elysees and across the place de la concorde. he thought that he understood the cause and presently sought to relieve her anxiety by suggesting that she set him down somewhere along the rue de rivoli. she flushed painfully. "thank you, mr. schmidt, i--are you sure you will not mind?" "may i ask what it is that you are afraid of, miss guile?" he inquired seriously. she was lowering her veil. "i am not afraid, mr. schmidt," she said. "i am a very, very guilty person, that's all. i've done something i ought not to have done, and i'm--i'm ashamed. you don't consider me a bold, silly--" "good lord, no!" he cried fervently. "then why do you call me bedelia?" she asked, shaking her head. "if you feel that way about it, i--i humbly implore you to overlook my freshness," he cried in despair. "will you get out here, mr. schmidt?" she pressed a button and the car swung alongside the curb. "when am i to see you again?" he asked, holding out his hand. she gave it a firm, friendly grip and said: "i am going to switzerland the day after tomorrow. good-bye." in a sort of daze, he walked up the rue castiliogne to the place vendome. his heart was light and his eyes were shining with a flame that could have but one origin. he was no longer in doubt. he was in love. he had found the golden girl almost at the end of his journey, and what cared he if she did turn out to be the daughter of old man blithers? what cared he for _anything_ but bedelia? there would be a pretty howdy-do when he announced to his people that their princess had been selected for them, whether or no, and there might be such a thing as banishment for himself. even at that, he would be content, for bedelia was proof against titles. if she loved him, it would be for himself. she would scorn the crown and mock the throne, and they would go away together and live happily ever afterward, as provided by the most exacting form of romance. and blithers? what a joke it would be on blithers if he gave up the throne! as he approached the ritz, a tall young man emerged from the entrance, stared at him for an instant, and then swung off at a rapid pace in the direction of the rue de la paix. the look he gave robin was one of combined amazement and concern, and the tail end of it betrayed unmistakable annoyance,--or it might have been hatred. he looked over his shoulder once and found robin staring after him. this time there could be no mistake. he was furious, but whether with robin or himself there was no means of deciding from the standpoint of an observer. at any rate, he quickened his pace and soon disappeared. he was the good-looking young fellow who had met her at the steamship landing, and it was quite obvious that he had been making investigations on his own account. robin permitted himself a sly grin as he sauntered into the hotel. he had given _that_ fellow something to worry about, if he had accomplished nothing else. then he found himself wondering if, by any chance, it could be the scoville fellow. that would be a facer! he found quinnox and dank awaiting him in the lobby. they were visibly excited. "did you observe the fellow who just went out?" inquired robin, assuming a most casual manner. "yes," said both men in unison. "i think we've got some interesting news concerning that very chap," added the count, glancing around uneasily. "perhaps i may be able to anticipate it, count," ventured robin. "i've an idea he is young scoville, the chap who is supposed to be in love with miss blithers--and _vice versa_," he concluded, with a chuckle. "what have you heard?" demanded the count in astonishment. "let's sit down," said robin, at once convinced that he had stumbled upon an unwelcome truth. they repaired to the garden and were lucky enough to find a table somewhat removed from the crowd of tea-drinkers. robin began fanning himself with his broad straw-hat. he felt uncomfortably warm. quinnox gravely extracted two or three bits of paper from his pocket, and spread them out in order before his sovereign. "read this one first," said he grimly. it was a cablegram from their financial agents in new york city, and it said: "mr. b. making a hurried trip to paris. just learned scoville preceded miss b. to europe by fast steamer and has been seen with her in paris. b. fears an elopement. make sure papers are signed at once as such contingency might cause b. to change mind and withdraw if possible." robin looked up. "i think this may account for the two man-hunters," said he. his companions stared. "you will hear all about them from gourou. we were followed this afternoon." "followed?" gasped quinnox. "beautifully," said the prince, with his brightest smile. "detectives, you know. it was ripping." "my god!" groaned the count. "i fancy you'll now agree with me that she is miss blithers," said dank forlornly. "cheer up, boske," cried robin, slapping him on the shoulder. "you'll meet another fate before you're a month older. the world is absolutely crowded with girls." "you can't crowd the world with one girl," said dank, and it was quite evident from his expression that he believed the world contained no more than one. "i had the feeling that evil would be the result of this foolish trip to-day," groaned quinnox. "i should not have permitted you to--" "the result is still in doubt," said robin enigmatically. "and now, what comes next?" "read this one. it is from mr. blithers. i'll guarantee that you do not take this one so complacently." he was right in his surmise. robin ran his eye swiftly over the cablegram and then started up from his chair with a muttered imprecation. "sh!" cautioned the count,--and just in time, for the young man was on the point of enlarging upon his original effort. "calm yourself, bobby, my lad. try taking six or seven full, deep inhalations, and you'll find that it helps wonderfully as a preventive. it saves many a harsh word. i've--" "you needn't caution me," murmured the prince. "if i had the tongue of a pirate i couldn't begin to do justice to _this_," and he slapped his hand resoundingly upon the crumpled message from william w. blithers. the message had been sent by mr. blithers that morning, evidently just before the sailing of the fast french steamer on which he and his wife were crossing to havre. it was directed to august totten and read as follows: "tell our young friend to qualify statement to press at once. announce reconsideration of hasty denial and admit engagement. this is imperative. i am not in mood for trifling. have wired paris papers that engagement is settled. have also wired daughter. the sooner we get together on this the better. wait for my arrival in paris." it was signed "w. b." "there's blitherskite methods for you," said dank. "speaking of pirates, he's the king of them all. did you ever hear of such confounded insolence? the damned--" "wait a second, dank," interrupted the count. "there is still another delectable communication for you, robin. it was directed to r. schmidt and i took the liberty of opening it, as authorised. read it." this was one of the ordinary "_petits bleu_," dropped into the pneumatic tube letter-box at half-past two that afternoon, shortly before robin ventured forth on his interesting expedition in quest of tea, and its contents were very crisp and to the point: "pay no attention to any word you may have received from my father. he cables a ridiculous command to me which i shall ignore. if you have received a similar message i implore you to disregard it altogether. let's give each other a fighting chance." it was signed "maud blithers." chapter xvii the prodigal daughter mr. blithers received a marconigram from the _jupiter_ when the ship was three days out from new york. it was terse but sufficient. "have just had a glimpse of prince charming. he is very good-looking. love to mother. maud." he had barely settled into a state of complete satisfaction with himself over the successful inauguration of a shrewd campaign to get the better of the recalcitrant maud and the incomprehensible robin, when he was thrown into a panic by the discovery that young chandler scoville had sailed for europe two days ahead of maud and her elderly companion. the gratification of knowing that the two young people had sailed away on the same vessel was not in the least minimised by maud's declaration that she intended to remain in her cabin all the way across in order to avoid recognition, for he knew her too well to believe it possible that she could stay out of sight for any length of time, fair weather or foul. he even made a definite wager with his wife that the two would become acquainted before they were half-way across the atlantic, and he made a bet with himself that nature would do the rest. and now here came the staggering suspicion that scoville's hasty departure was the result of a pre-arranged plan between him and maud, and that, after all, the silly girl might spoil everything by marrying the confounded rascal before he could do anything to prevent the catastrophe. he even tried to engineer a scheme whereby young scoville might be arrested on landing and detained on one pretext or another until he could reach europe and put an end to the fellow's vain-glorious conniving. but after consulting with his lawyers he abandoned the plan because they succeeded in proving to him that maud certainly would marry the fellow if she had the least ground for believing that he was being oppressed on her account. the cables were kept very busy, however, for the next twenty-four hours, and it is certain that scoville was a marked man from the moment he landed. newspaper reporters camped on the trail of mr. blithers. he very obligingly admitted that there was something in the report that his daughter was to marry the prince of graustark, although he couldn't say anything definite at the time. it wouldn't be fair to the parties concerned, he explained. he gave away a great many boxes of cigars, and not a few of the more sagacious reporters succeeded in getting at least three boxes by interviewing him on as many separate occasions without being detected in the act of repeating. then came the disgusting denials in paris by his daughter and the ungrateful prince. this was too much. he couldn't understand such unfilial behaviour on the part of one, and he certainly couldn't forgive the ingratitude of the other. instead of waiting until saturday to sail, he changed ships and left new york on friday, thereby gaining nothing by the move except relief from the newspapers, for it appears that he gave up a five day boat for one that could not do it under six. still he was in active pursuit, which was a great deal better than sitting in new york twiddling his thumbs or looking at his watch and berating the pernicious hours that stood between him and saturday noon. "there will be something doing in europe the day i land there, lou," he said to his wife as they stood on deck and watched the statue of liberty glide swiftly back toward manhattan island. "i've got all the strings working smoothly. we've got groostock where it can't peep any louder than a freshly hatched chicken, and we'll soon bring maud to her senses. i tell you, lou, there is nothing that makes a girl forget her lofty ideals so quickly as the chance to go shopping for princess gowns. she's seen the prince and i'll bet she won't be so stubborn as she was before. and if he has had a good, square look at her,--if he's had a chance to gaze into those eyes of hers,--why, i--well, i leave it to you. he can't help getting off his high horse, can he?" mrs. blithers favoured him with a smile. it was acknowledged that maud was the living image of what her mother had been at the age of twenty. "i hope the child hasn't made any silly promise to channie scoville," she sighed. "i've been thinking of that, lou," said he, wiping his brow, "and i've come to one conclusion: scoville can be bought off. he's as poor as job and half a million will look like the bank of england to him. i'll--" "you are not to attempt anything of the kind, will," she cried emphatically. "he would laugh in your face, poor as he is. he comes from one of the best families in new york and--" "and i don't know where the best families need money any more than they do in new york," he interrupted irritably. "'gad, if the worst families need it as badly as they do, what must be the needs of the best? you leave it to me. it may be possible to insult him with a half million, so if he feels that way about it i'll apologise to him again with another half million. you'll see that he won't be capable of resenting two insults in succession. he'll--" "he isn't a fool," said she significantly. "he'd be a fool if he refused to take--" "are you losing your senses, will?" she cried impatiently. "why should he accept a million to give up maud, when he can be sure of fifty times that much if he marries her?" "but i'll cut maud off with a dollar if she marries him, so help me moses!" exclaimed mr. blithers, but he went a little pale just the same. "that will fix him!" "you are talking nonsense," said she sharply. he put his fingers to his ears somewhat earlier than usual, and she turned away with a tantalising laugh. "i'm going inside," and inside she went. when he followed a few minutes later he was uncommonly meek. "at any rate," he said, seating himself on the edge of a chair in her parlour, "i guess those cablegrams this morning will make 'em think twice before they go on denying things in the newspapers." "maud will pay no attention to your cablegram, and, if i am any judge of human nature, the prince will laugh himself sick over the one you sent to count quinnox. i told you not to send them. you are not dealing with wall street. you are dealing with a girl and a boy who appear to have minds of their own." he ventured a superior sniff. "i guess you don't know as much about wall street as you think you do." "i only know that it puts its tail between its legs and howls every time some one points a finger at it," she observed scornfully. "now let's be sensible, lou," he said, sitting back a little further in the chair, relieved to find that she was at least willing to tolerate his presence,--a matter on which he was in some doubt when he entered the room. there were times when he was not quite certain whether he or she was the brains of the family. "we'll probably have a wireless from maud before long. then we'll have something tangible to discuss. by the way, did i tell you that i've ordered some dutch architects from berlin to go--" "the dutch are from holland," she said wearily. "--to go over to growstock and give me a complete estimate on repairing and remodelling the royal castle? i dare say we'll have to do a good deal to the place. it's several hundred years old and must require a lot of conveniences. such as bath-rooms, electric lights, steam heating appar--" "better make haste slowly, will," she said, and he ought to have been warned by the light in her eye. "you are taking a great deal for granted, aren't you?" "it's got to be fixed up some time, so we might just as well do it in the beginning," said he, failing utterly to grasp her meaning. "probably needs refurnishing from top to bottom, too, and a new roof. i never saw a ruin yet that didn't leak. remember those castles on the rhine? will you ever forget how wet we got the day we went through the one at--" "they were abandoned, tumble-down castles," she reminded him. "there isn't a castle in europe that's any good in a rain-storm," he proclaimed. "a mortgage can't keep out the rain and that's what every one of 'em is covered with. why old man quiddox himself told me that their castle had been shot to pieces in one of the revolutions and--" "it is time you informed yourself about the country you are trying to annex to the blithers estate," she said sarcastically. "i can assist you to some extent if you will be good enough to listen. in the first place, the royal castle at edelweiss is one of the most substantial in the world. it has not been allowed to fall into decay. in fact, it is inhabitated from top to bottom by members of the royal household and the court, and i fancy they are not the sort of people who take kindly to a wetting. it is not a ruin, will, such as you have been permitted to visit, but a magnificent building with all of the modern improvements. the only wettings that the inmates sustain are of a daily character and due entirely to voluntary association with porcelain bath-tubs and nickle-plated showers, and they never get anything wet but their skins. as for the furnishings, i can assure you that the entire blithers fortune could not replace them if they were to be destroyed by fire or pillage. they are priceless and they are unique. i have read that the hangings in the bed-chamber of the late princess yetive are the most wonderful in the whole world. the throne chair in the great audience chamber is of solid gold and weighs nearly three thousand pounds. it is studded with diamonds, rubies--" "great scott, lou, where did you learn all this?" he gasped, his eyes bulging. "--emeralds and other precious stones. there is one huge carpet in the royal drawing-room that the czar of russia is said to have offered one hundred thousand pounds for and the offer was scorned. the park surrounding the castle is said to be beautiful beyond the power of description. the--" "i asked you where you got all this information. can't you answer me?" "i obtained all this and a great deal more from a lady who spent a year or two inside the castle walls. i refer to mrs. truxton king, who might have told you as much if you had possessed the intelligence to inquire." "gee whiz!" exclaimed mr. blithers, going back to his buoyant boyhood days for an adequate expression. "what a wonder you are, lou. but that's the woman of it, always getting at the inside of a thing while a man is standing around looking at the outside. say, but won't it make a wonderful home for you and me to spend a peaceful old age in when we get ready to lay aside the--" he stopped short, for she had arisen and was standing over him with a quivering forefinger levelled at his nose,--and not more than six inches away from it,--her handsome eyes flashing with fury. "you may walk in where angels fear to tread, but you will walk alone, will blithers. i shall not be with you, and you may as well understand it now. i've told you a hundred times that money isn't everything, and it is as cheap as dirt when you put it alongside of tradition, honour, pride and loyalty. those graustarkians would take you by the nape of the neck and march you out of their castle so quick that your head would swim. you may be able to buy their prince for maudie to exhibit around the country, but you can't buy the intelligence of the people. they won't have you at any price and they won't have me, so there is the situation in a nutshell. they will hate maudie, of course, but they will endure her for obvious reasons. they may even come to love and respect her in the end, for she is worthy. but as for you and me, william,--with all our money,--we will find every hand against us--even the hand of our daughter, i prophesy. i am not saying that i would regret seeing maud the princess of graustark--far from it. but i do say that you and i will be expected to know our places. if you attempt to spend your declining years in the castle at edelweiss you will find them reduced to days, and short ones at that. the people of graustark will see to it that you die before your time." "bosh!" said mr. blithers. "mind if i smoke?" he took out a cigar and began searching for matches. "no," she said, "i don't mind. it is a sign that you need something to steady your nerves. i know you, will blithers. you don't want to smoke. you want to gain a few minutes of time, that's all." he lit a cigar. "right you are," was his unexpected admission. "i wonder if you really have the right idea about this business. what objection could any one have to a poor, tired old man sitting in front of his daughter's fireside and--and playing with her kiddies? it seems to me that--" "you will never be a tired old man, that's the trouble," she said, instantly touched. "oh, yes, i will," said he slowly. "i'm rather looking forward to it, too." "it will be much nicer to have the kiddies come to your own fireside, will. i used to enjoy nothing better than going to spend a few days with my grandfather." "but what's the use of going to all this trouble and expense if we are not to enjoy some of the fruits?" he protested, making a determined stand. "if these people can't be grateful to the man who helps 'em out in their time of trouble,--and who goes out of his way to present 'em with a bright, capable posterity,--i'd like to know what in thunder gratitude really means." "oh, there isn't such a thing as gratitude," she said. "obligation, yes,--and ingratitude most certainly, but gratitude,--no. you are in a position to know that gratitude doesn't exist. are you forgetting the private advices we already have had from graustark? does it indicate that the people are grateful? there are moments when i fear that we are actually placing maud's life in peril, and i have had some wretched dreams. they do not want her. they speak of exile for the prince if he marries her. and now i repeat what i have said before:--the people of graustark must have an opportunity to see and become acquainted with maud before the marriage is definitely arranged. i will not have my daughter cast into a den of lions. will,--for that is what it may amount to. the people will adore her, they will welcome her with open arms if they are given the chance. but they will have none of her if she is forced upon them in the way you propose." "i'll--i'll think it over," said mr. blithers, and then discovered that his cigar had gone out. "i think i'll go on deck and smoke, lou. makes it stuffy in here. we'll lunch in the restaurant at half-past one, eh?" "think hard, will," she recommended, with a smile. "i'll do that," he said, "but there's nothing on earth that can alter my determination to make maud the princess of groostork. _that's_ settled." "graustark, will." "well, whatever it is," said he, and departed. he did think hard, but not so much about a regal home for aged people as about channie scoville who had now become a positive menace to all of his well-ordered and costly plans. the principal subject for thought just now was not graustark but this conniving young gentleman who stood ready to make a terrible mess of posterity. mr. blithers was sufficiently fair-minded to concede that the fellow was good-looking, well-bred and clever, just the sort of chap that any girl might fall in love with like a shot. as a matter of fact, he once had admired scoville, but that was before he came to look upon him as a menace. he would make a capital husband for any girl in the world, except maud. he could say that much for him, without reserve. he thought hard until half-past one and then went to the wireless office, where he wrote out a message in cipher and directed the operator to waste no time in relaying it to his offices in paris. his wife was right. it would be the height of folly to offer scoville money and it would be even worse to inspire the temporary imprisonment of the young man. but there was a splendid alternative. he could manage to have his own daughter abducted,--chaperon included,--and held for ransom! the more he thought of it the better it seemed to him, and so he sent a cipher message that was destined to throw his paris managers into a state of agitation that cannot possibly be measured by words. in brief, he instructed them to engage a few peaceable, trustworthy and positively respectable gentlemen,--he was particularly exacting on the score of gentility,--with orders to abduct the young lady and hold her in restraint until he arrived and arranged for her liberation! they were to do the deed without making any fuss about it, but at the same time they were to do it effectually. he had the foresight to suggest that the job should be undertaken by the very detective agency he had employed to shadow young scoville and also to keep an eye on maud. naturally, she was never to know the truth about the matter. she was to believe that her father came up with a huge sum in the shape of ransom, no questions asked. he also remembered in time and added the imperative command that she was to be confined in clean, comfortable quarters and given the best of nourishment. but, above all else, it was to be managed in a decidedly realistic way, for maud was a keen-witted creature who would see through the smallest crack in the conspiracy if there was a single false movement on the part of the plotters. it is also worthy of mention that mrs. blithers was never--_decidedly never_--to know the truth about the matter. he went in to luncheon in a very amiable, even docile frame of mind. "i've thought the matter over, lou," he said, "and i guess you are right, after all. we will make all the repairs necessary, but we won't consider living in it ourselves. we'll return good for evil and live in a hotel when we go to visit the royal family. as for--" "i meant that you were to think hard before attempting to force maud upon prince robin's subjects without preparing them for the--" "i thought of that, too," he interrupted cheerfully. "i'm not going to cast my only child into the den of lions, so that's the end of it. have you given the order, my dear?" "no," she said; "for i knew you would change it when you came in." late that evening he had a reply from his paris managers. they inquired if he was responsible for the message they had received. it was a ticklish job and they wanted to be sure that the message was genuine. he wired back that he was the sender and to go ahead. the next morning they notified him that his instructions would be carried out as expeditiously as possible. he displayed such a beaming countenance all that day that his wife finally demanded an explanation. it wasn't like him to beam when he was worried about anything, and she wanted to know what had come over him. "it's the sea-air, lou," he exclaimed glibly. "it always makes me feel like a fighting-cock. i--" "rubbish! you detest the sea-air. it makes you feel like fighting, i grant, but not like a fighting-cock." "there you go, trying to tell me how i feel. i've never known any one like you, lou. i can't say a word that--" "have you had any news from maud?" she broke in suspiciously. "not a word," said he. "what have you done to channie scoville?" she questioned, fixing him with an accusing eye. "not a thing," said he. "then, what is it?" "you won't believe me if i tell you," said he warily. "yes, i will." "no, you won't." "tell me this instant why you've been grinning like a cheshire cat all day." "it's the sea-air," said he, and then: "i said you wouldn't believe me, didn't i?" "do you think i'm a fool, will blithers?" she flashed, and did not wait for an answer. he chuckled to himself as she swept imperiously out of sight around a corner of the deck-building. he was up bright and early the next morning, tingling with anticipation. there ought to be word from paris before noon, and it might come earlier. he kept pretty close to the wireless operator's office, and was particularly attentive to the spitting crackle of the instrument. about eleven o'clock an incomprehensibly long message began to rattle out of the air. he contained himself in patience for the matter of half an hour or longer, and then, as the clatter continued without cessation, he got up and made his way to the door of the operator's office. "what is it? the history of england?" he demanded sarcastically. "message for you, mr. blithers. it's a long one and i'm having a hard time picking it up. everybody seems to be talking at once. do you want the baseball scores, mr. blithers?" "not unless they come in cipher," said mr. blithers acidly. "some of 'em do. six to nothing in favor of the giants, two to nothing--here we are at last. i've picked up the _mauretania_ again. she's relaying." mr. blithers sat down on the steps and looked at his watch. it would be five o'clock in paris. he wondered if they were giving maud her afternoon tea, and then choked up with a sudden pity for the terrified captive. it was all he could do to keep from jumping up and ordering the operator to drop everything and take a message countermanding his inhuman instructions to those asses in paris. tears gushed from his eyes. he brushed them away angrily and tried to convince himself that it served maud right for being so obstinate. still the tears came. the corners of his mouth drooped and his chin began to quiver. it was too much! the poor child was-- but just then the operator sat back with a sigh of relief, mopped his brow, and said: "good thing you're a rich man, mr. blithers. it came collect and--" "never mind," blurted mr. blithers. "hand it over." there were four sheets of writing at some outlandish price per word, but what cared he? he wanted to get back to his stateroom and his cipher code as quickly--but his eyes almost started from his head as he took in the name at the bottom of the message. it was "maud." he did not require the cipher book. a fourth reader child could have read the message without a halt. maud had taken his request literally. he had asked her to send him a nice long message, but he did not expect her to make a four-page letter of it. she was paying him out with a vengeance! he took the precaution to read it before handing it over to his wife, to whom it was addressed in conjunction with himself: "dear father and mother," it began--(and he looked at the date line again to make sure it was from paris)--"in reply to your esteemed favour of the nineteenth, or possibly the twentieth, i beg to inform you that i arrived safely in paris as per schedule. regarding the voyage, it was delightful. we had one or two rough days. the rest of the time it was perfectly heavenly. i met two or three interesting and amusing people on board and they made the time pass most agreeably. i think i wired you that i had a glimpse of a certain person. on my arrival in paris i was met at the station by friends and taken at once to the small, exclusive hotel where they are stopping for the summer. it is so small and exclusive that i'm sure you have never heard of it. i may as well tell you that i have seen channie,--you know who i mean,--chandler scoville, and he has been very nice to me. concerning your suggestion that i reconsider the statement issued to the press, i beg to state that i don't see any sense in taking the world into my confidence any farther than it has been taken already, if that is grammatically correct. i have also sent word to a certain person that he is not to pay any attention to the report that we are likely to change our minds in order to help out the greedy newspapers who don't appear to know when they have had enough. i hope that the voyage will benefit both of you as much as it did me. if i felt any better than i do now i'd call for the police as a precaution. let me suggest that you try the chicken a la bombardier in the ritz restaurant. i found it delicious. i daresay they serve it as nicely on your ship as they do on the _jupiter_. as the management is the same. of course one never can tell about chefs. my plans are a trifle indefinite. i may leave here at any moment. it is very hot and muggy and nearly every one is skipping off to the mountains or seashore. if i should happen to be away from paris when you arrive don't worry about me. i shall be all right and in safe hands. i will let you know where i am just as soon as i get settled somewhere. i must go where it is quiet and peaceful. i am so distressed over what has occurred that i don't feel as though i could ever be seen in public again without a thick veil and a pair of goggles. i have plenty of money for immediate use, but you might deposit something to my credit at the credit lyonnais as i haven't the least idea how long i shall stay over here. miranda is well and is taking good care of me. she seldom lets me out of her sight if that is any comfort to you. i hope you will forgive the brevity of this communication and believe me when i say that it is not lack of love for you both that curtails its length but the abominably hot weather. with endless love from your devoted daughter--maud." the tears had dried in mr. blithers' eyes but he wiped them time and again as he read this amazing letter,--this staggering exhibition of prodigality. he swore a little at first, but toward the end even that prerogative failed him. he set out in quest of his wife. not that he expected her to say any more than he had said, but that he wanted her to see at a glance what kind of a child she had brought into the world and to forever hold her peace in future when he undertook to speak his mind. he could not understand why his wife laughed softly to herself as she read, and he looked on in simple amazement when she deliberately undertook to count the words. she counted them in a whisper and he couldn't stand it. he went down where the children were shrieking over a game of quoits and felt singularly peaceful and undisturbed. it was nearly bed-time before word came from his managers in paris. bed-time had no meaning for him after he had worked out the message by the code. it is true that he observed a life-long custom and went to bed, but he did not do it for the purpose of going to sleep. "your daughter has disappeared from paris. all efforts to locate her have failed. friends say she left ostensibly for the pyrenees but inquiries at stations and along line fail to reveal trace of her. scoville still here and apparently in the dark. he is being watched. her companion and maid left with her last night. prince of graustark and party left for edelweiss to-day." so read the message from paris. chapter xviii a word of encouragement one usually has breakfast on the porch of the hotel schweizerhof at interlaken. it is not the most fashionable hostelry in the quaint little town at the head of the lake of thun, but it is of an excellent character, and the rolls and honey to be had with one's breakfast can not be surpassed in the bernese oberland. straight ahead lies one of the most magnificent prospects in all the world: an unobstructed view of the snow-thatched jungfrau, miles away, gleaming white and jagged against an azure sky, suggesting warmth instead of chill, grandeur instead of terror. looking up the valley one might be led to say that an hour's ramble would take him to the crest of that shining peak, and yet some men have made a life's journey of it. others have turned back in time. one has a whiff of fragrant woodlands and serene hay-cocks, a breath of cool air from the jungfrau's snows, a sniff of delectable bacon and toast--and a zest for breakfast. and one sets about it with interest, with the breakfast of the next day as a thing to look forward to. r. schmidt sat facing the dejected boske dank. his eyes were dancing with the joy of living, and nothing better can be said of a man's character than that he is gay and happy at breakfast-time. he who wakes up, refreshed and buoyant, and eager for the day's adventure, is indeed a child of nature. he will never grow old and crabbed; he will grip the hand of death when the time comes with the unconquered zeal that makes the grim reaper despise himself for the advantage he takes of youth. "well, here we are and in spite of that, where are we?" said dank, who saw nothing beautiful in the smile of any early morn. "i mean to say, what have we to show for our pains? we sneak into this godforsaken hamlet, surrounded on all sides by abominations in the shape of tourists, and at the end of twenty-four hours we discover that the fair miss guile has played us a shabby trick. i daresay she is laughing herself sick over the whole business." "which is more than you can say for yourself, boske," said robin blithely. "brace up! all is not lost. we'll wait here a day or two longer and then--well, i don't know what we'll do then." "she never intended to come here at all," said dank, filled with resentment. "it was a trick to get rid of us. she--" "be honest, old chap and say that it was a trick to get rid of _me_. us is entirely too plural. but i haven't lost heart. she'll turn up yet." "count quinnox is in despair over this extraordinary whim of yours, highness. he is really ill in bed this morning. i--" "i'll run up and see him after breakfast," cried the prince, genuinely concerned. "i'm sorry he is taking it so seriously." "he feels that we should be at home instead of dawdling about the--" "that reminds me. dank," broke in the prince, fresh happiness in his smile; "i've decided that home is the place for you and the count--and gourou too. i'm perfectly able to take care of myself,--with some assistance from hobbs,--and i don't see any necessity for you three to remain with me any longer. i'll tell the count that you all may start for vienna tonight. you connect with the orient express at--" "are you mad, highness?" cried dank, startled out of his dejection. "what you speak of is impossible--utterly impossible. we cannot leave you. we were delegated to escort you--" "i understand all of that perfectly, dank," interrupted robin, suddenly embarrassed, "but don't you see how infernally awkward it will be for me if miss guile does appear, according to plan? she will find me body-guarded, so to speak, by three surly, scowling individuals whose presence i cannot explain to save my soul, unless i tell the truth, and i'm not yet ready to do that. can't you see what i mean? how am i to explain the three of you? a hawk-eyed triumvirate that camps on my trail from morn till night and refuses to budge! she'll suspect something, old fellow, and--well, i certainly will feel more comfortable if i'm not watched for the next few days." "that's the point, highness. you've just got to be watched for the next few days. we would never dare to show our faces in graustark again if we allowed anything to happen to you while you are under our care. you are a sacred charge. we must return you to graustark as--er--inviolate as when you departed. we--we couldn't think of subjecting you to the peril of a--that is to say, it might prove fatal. graustark, in that event, would be justified in hanging two of her foremost citizens and yours truly from gibbets designed especially for the blackest of traitors." "i see, dank. if i find happiness, you are almost sure to find disgrace and death, eh? it doesn't seem a fair division, does it? i suppose you all feel that the worst thing that can possibly happen is for me to find happiness." "if i were the prince of graustark i should first think of the happiness of my subjects. i would not offend." "well put, boske, but fortunately you are not the prince. i sometimes wish that you were. it would relieve me of a tremendous responsibility. i am not mean enough, however, to wish a crown upon you, old fellow. you are lucky to be who and what you are. no one cares what you do, so long as you are honourable about it. with me it is different. i have to be watched day and night in order to be kept from doing what all the rest of the world looks upon as honourable." "i implore you, highness, to give up this mad enterprise and return to your people as--" "there is only one person in the world who can stop me now, dank." "and she isn't likely to do so, worse luck," was the other's complaint. "when she tells me to go about my business, i'll go, but not until then. don't you like honey, dank?" "no," said dank savagely. "i hate it." he leaned back in his chair and glowered upon the innocent, placid jungfrau. the prince ate in silence. "may i be permitted a question, highness?" "all you like, boske. you are my best friend. go ahead." "did you see miss guile after that visit to st. cloud--and to the police station?" "no. evidently she was frightened out of her boots by the hawkshaws. i don't blame her, do you?" "and you've had no word from her?" "none. now you are going to ask what reason i have for believing that she will come to interlaken. well, i can't answer that question. i think she'll come, that's all." "do you think she is in love with you?" "ah, my dear fellow, you are asking me to answer my own prayer," said robin, without a sign of resentment in his manner. "i'm praying that she isn't altogether indifferent. by the way, it is my turn to ask questions. are you still in love with her?" "i am proud to say that you are more in my prayers that she," said dank, with a profound sigh. "nothing could please me more than to be the one to save my prince from disaster, even if it meant the sacrifice of self. my only prayer is that you may be spared, sir, and i taken in your place." "that was a neat answer, 'pon my soul," cried the prince admiringly. "you--hello, who is this approaching? it is no other than the great gourou himself, the king of sleuths, as they say in the books i used to read. good morning, baron." the sharp-visaged little minister of police came up to the table and fixed an accusing eye upon his sovereign,--the literal truth, for he had the other eye closed in a protracted wink. "i regret to inform your majesty that the enemy is upon us," he said. "i fear that our retreat is cut off. nothing remains save--" "she has arrived?" cried the prince eagerly. "she has," said the baron. "bag and baggage, and armed to the eyes. each eye is a gatling-gun, each lip a lunette behind which lies an unconquerable legion of smiles and rows of ivory bayonets, each ear a hardy spy, and every nut-brown strand a covetous dastard on the warpath not for a scalp but for a crown. napoleon was never so well prepared for battle as she, nor troy so firmly fortified. yes, highness, the foe is at our gates. we must to arms!" "where is she?" demanded robin, unimpressed by this glowing panegyric. "at this instant, sir, i fancy she is rallying her forces in the very face of a helpless mirror. in other words, she is preparing for the fray. she is dressing." "the devil! how dare you pry into the secret--" "abhorrent thought! i deduce, nothing more. her maid loses herself in the halls while attempting to respond to the call for re-inforcements. she accosts a gentleman of whom she inquires the way. the gentleman informs her she is on the third, not the second _etage_, and she scurries away simpering, but not before confiding to me--the aforesaid gentleman--that her mistress will give her fits for being late with her hair, whatever that may signify. so, you see, i do not stoop to keyholes but put my wits to work instead." "when did she arrive?" "she came last night via milan." "from milan?" cried robin, astonished. "a roundabout way, i'll admit," said the baron, drily, "and tortuous in these hot days, but admirably suited to a purpose. i should say that she was bent on throwing some one off the track." "and yet she came!" cried the prince, in exultation. "she wanted to come, after all, now didn't she, dank?" he gave the lieutenant a look of triumph. "she is more dangerous than i thought," said the guardsman mournfully. "sit down, baron," commanded the prince. "i want to lay down the law to all of you. you three will have to move on to graustark and leave me to look out for myself. i will not have miss guile--" "no!" exclaimed the baron, with unusual vehemence. "i expected you to propose something of the kind, and i am obliged to confess to you that we have discussed the contingency in advance. we will not leave you. that is final. you may depose us, exile us, curse us or anything you like, but still we shall remain true to the duty we owe to our country. we stay here, prince robin, just so long as you are content to remain." robin's face was very red. "you shame me, baron," he said simply. "i am sorry that i spoke as i did. you are my friends, my loyal friends, and i would have humbled you in the eyes of my people. i beg your pardon, and yours, boske. after all, i am only a prince and a prince is dependent on the loyalty of such as you. i take back all that i said." the baron laid a kindly hand on the young man's shoulder. "i was rough, highness, in my speech just now, but you will understand that i was moved to--" "i know, baron. it was the only way to fetch me up sharp. no apology is required. god bless you." "now i have a suggestion of my own to offer," said the baron, taking a seat at the end of the table. "i confess that miss guile may not be favourably impressed by the constant attendance of three able-bodied nurses, and, as she happens to be no fool, it is reasonably certain that she will grasp the significance of our assiduity. now i propose that the count, dank and myself efface ourselves as completely as possible during the rest of our enforced stay in interlaken. i propose that we take quarters in another hotel and leave you and hobbs to the tender mercies of the enemy. it seems to me that--" "good!" cried robin. "that's the ticket! i quite agree to that, baron." dank was prepared to object but a dark look from gourou silenced him. "i've talked it over with the count and he acquiesces," went on the baron. "we recognise the futility of trying to induce you to leave at once for graustark, and we are now content to trust providence to watch over and protect you against a foe whose motives may in time become transparent, even to the blind." the irony in the remark was not lost on robin. he flushed angrily but held his tongue. ten o'clock found the three gentlemen,--so classified by hobbs,--out of the schweizerhof and arranging for accommodations at the regina hotel jungfraublick, perched on an eminence overlooking the valley and some distance removed from the temporary abode of the prince. their departure from the hotel in the hoheweg was accomplished without detection by miss guile or her friends, and, to all intents and purposes, robin was alone and unattended when he sat down on the porch near the telescope to await the first appearance of the enchanting foe. he was somewhat puzzled by the strange submissiveness of his companions. deep down in his mind lurked the disquieting suspicion that they were conniving to get the better of the lovely temptress by some sly and secret bit of strategy. what was back of the wily baron's motive? why were they now content to let him take the bit in his teeth and run wherever he would? what had become of their anxiety, their eagerness to drag him off to graustark by the first train? there was food for reflection in the tranquil capitulation of the defenders. were they acting under fresh instructions from edelweiss? had the prime minister directed them to put no further obstacle in front of the great blithers invasion? or--and he scowled darkly at the thought--was there a plan afoot to overcome the dangerous miss guile by means more sinister than subtle? enlightenment came unexpectedly and with a shock to his composure. he had observed the three spirited saddlehorses near the entrance of the hotel, in charge of two stable-boys, but had regarded them only as splendid specimens of equine aristocracy. it had not entered his mind to look upon them as agents of despair. two people emerged from the door and, passing by without so much as a glance in his direction, made their way to the mounting block. robin's heart went down to his boots. bedelia, a graceful figure in a smart riding habit, was laughing blithely over a soft-spoken remark that her companion had made as they were crossing the porch. and that companion was no other than the tall, good-looking fellow who had met her at cherbourg! the prince, stunned and incredulous, watched them mount their horses and canter away, followed by a groom who seemed to have sprung up from nowhere. "good morning, mr. schmidt," spoke a voice, and, still bewildered, he whirled, hat in hand, to confront mrs. gaston. "did i startle you?" he bowed stiffly over the hand she held out for him to clasp, and murmured something about being proof against any surprise. the colour was slowly returning to his face, and his smile was as engaging as ever despite the bitterness that filled his soul. here was a pretty trick to play on a fellow! here was a slap in the face! "isn't it a glorious morning? and how wonderful she is in this gorgeous sunlight," went on mrs. gaston, in what may be described as a hurried, nervous manner. "i had the briefest glimpse of her," mumbled robin. "when did she come?" "centuries and centuries ago, mr. schmidt," said she, with a smile. "i was speaking of the jungfrau." "oh!" he exclaimed, flushing. "i thought you--er--yes, of course! really quite wonderful. i have heard it said that she never removes her night-cap, but always greets the dawn in spotless--ahem! of course you understand that i am speaking of the jungfrau," he floundered. "naturally, mr. schmidt. and so you came, after all. we were afraid you might have concluded to alter your plans. miss guile will be delighted." he appeared grateful for the promise. "i have been here for three days, mrs. gaston. you were delayed in leaving paris?" "yes," she said, and changed the subject. "the riding is quite good, i understand. they are off for lauterbrunnen." "i see," said he. "there is a splendid inn there, i am told." "they will return here for luncheon, of course," she said, raising her eyebrows slightly. his heart became a trifle lighter at this. "mr. white is a lifelong friend and acquaintance of the family," she volunteered, apropos of nothing. "oh, his name is white?" with a quiet laugh. "if you have nothing better to do, mr. schmidt, why not come with me to the kursaal? the morning concert will begin shortly, and i--" "i think you will find that the band plays in the square across the way, mrs. gaston, and not in the casino. at least, that has been the programme for the last two mornings." "nevertheless, there is a concert at the casino today," she informed him. "will you come?" "gladly," he replied, and they set off for the kursaal. he found seats in the half-empty pavillion and prepared to listen to the music, although his real interest was following the narrow highway to lauterbrunnen--and the staubbach. "this is to be a special concert given at the request of the grand duke who, i hear, is leaving this afternoon for berne." "the grand duke? i was not aware of the presence of royalty," said he in surprise. "no? he has been here for three days, but at another hotel. the grand duke paulus and his family, you know." robin shot a swift, apprehensive glance about the big enclosure, sweeping the raised circle from end to end. on the opposite side of the pavillion he discovered the space reserved for the distinguished party. although he was far removed from that section he sank deeper into his chair and found one pretext after another to screen his face from view. he did know the grand duke paulus and the grand duke knew him, which was even more to the point. the prince of graustark had been a prime favourite of the great man since his knickerbocker days. twice as a boy he had visited in the ducal palace, far distant from graustark, and at the time of his own coronation the grand duke and his sons had come to the castle in edelweiss for a full month's stay. they knew him well and they would recognise him at a glance. at this particular time the last thing on earth that he desired was to be hailed as a royal prince. never, in all his life, had he known the sun to penetrate so brightly into shadows as it did to-day. he felt that he was sitting in a perfect glare of light and that every feature of his face was clear to the most distant observer. he was on the point of making an excuse to leave the place when the ducal party came sauntering down the aisle on their way to the reserved section. every one stood up, the band played, the grand duke bowed to the right and to the left, and escape was cut off. robin could only stand with averted face and direct mild execrations at the sunlight that had seemed so glorious at breakfast-time. "he is a splendid-looking man, isn't he?" mrs. gaston was saying. she was gazing in rapt admiration upon the royal group. "he is, indeed," said robin, resolutely scanning a programme, which he continued to hold before his face. when he sat down again, it was with his back to the band. "i don't like to watch the conductors," he explained. "they do such foolish things, you know." mrs. gaston was eyeing him curiously. he was bitterly conscious of a crimson cheek. in silence they listened to the first number. while the applause was at its height, mrs. gaston leaned forward and said to him: "i am afraid you are not enjoying the music, mr. schmidt. what is on your mind?" he started. "i--i--really, mrs. gaston, i am enjoying it. i--" "your mind has gone horse-back riding, i fear. at present it is between here and lauterbrunnen, jogging beside that roaring little torrent that--" "i don't mind confessing that you are quite right," said he frankly. "and i may add that the music makes me so blue that i'd like to jump into that roaring torrent and--and swim out again, i suppose," he concluded, with a sheepish grin. "you are in love." "i am," he confessed. she laid her hand upon his. her eyes were wide with eagerness. "would it drive away the blues if i were to tell you that you have a chance to win her?" he felt his head spinning. "if--if i could believe that--that-" he began, and choked up with the rush of emotion that swept through him. "she is a strange girl. she will marry for love alone. her father is determined that she shall marry a royal prince. that much i may confess to you. she has defied her father, mr. schmidt. she will marry for love, and i believe it is in your power to awaken love in that adorable heart of hers. you--" "for god's sake, mrs. gaston, tell me--tell me, has she breathed a word to you that--" "not a single word. but i know her well. i have known her since she was a baby, and i can read the soul that looks out through those lovely eyes. knowing her so well, i may say to you--oh, it must be in the strictest confidence!--that you have a chance. and if you win her love, you will _have_ the greatest treasure in all the world. she--but, look! the grand duke is leaving. he--" "i don't care what becomes of the grand duke," he burst out. "tell me more. tell me how you look into her soul, and tell me what you see--" "not now, sir. i have said enough. i have given you the sign of hope. it remains with you to make the most of it." "but you--you don't know anything about me. i may be the veriest adventurer, the most unworthy of all--" "i think, mr. schmidt, that i know you pretty well. i do not require the aid of diogenes' lantern to see an honest man. i am responsible for her welfare. she has been placed under my protection. for twenty years i have adored her. i am not likely to encourage an adventurer." "i must be honest with you, mrs. gaston," he said suddenly. "i am not--" she held up her hand. "mr. totten has informed me that you are a life-long friend of mrs. truxton king. i cabled to her from paris. there is no more to be said." his face fell. "did she tell you--everything?" "she said no more than that r. schmidt is the finest boy in all the world." suddenly her face paled. "you are never--_never_ to breathe a word of this to--to bedelia," she whispered. "but her father? what will he say to--" "her father has said all that can be said," she broke in quietly. "he cannot force her to marry the man he has selected. she will marry the man she loves. come now! let us go. i am tired of the music." "thank you, thank you, mrs. gaston," he cried, with shining eyes. "god bless you!" she gave him a queer look. "you must not think that your task is an easy one," she said meaningly. "there are other men in the world, you know." chapter xix "what will my people do!" the grand duke and his party left interlaken by special train early in the afternoon, and great was robin's relief when hobbs returned with the word that they were safely on their way to the capital of switzerland. he emerged from the seclusion of his room, where he had been in hiding since noon, and set out for a walk through the town. his head was high and his stride jaunty, for his heart was like a cork. people stared after him with smiles of admiration, and never a _cocher'_ passed him by without a genial, inviting tilt of the eyebrow and a tentative pull at the reins, only to meet with a pleasant shake of the head or the negative flourish of a bamboo cane. night came and with it the silvery glow of moonlight across the hoary headed queen of the oberland. when robin came out from dinner he seated himself on the porch, expectant, eager--and vastly lonesome. an unaccountable shyness afflicted him, rendering him quite incapable of sending his card up to the one who could have dispelled the gathering gloom with a single glance of the eye. would she come stealing out ostensibly to look at the night-capped peak, but with furtive glances into the shadows of the porch in quest of--but no! she would not do that! she would come attended by the exasperating mr. white and the friendly duenna. her starry eyes, directed elsewhere, would only serve to increase the depth of the shadows in which he lurked impatient. she came at last--and alone. stopping at the rail not more than an arm's length from where he sat, she gazed pensively up at the solemn mistress of the valley, one slim hand at her bosom, the other hanging limp at her side. he could have touched that slender hand by merely stretching forth his own. breathless, enthralled, he sat as one deprived of the power or even the wish to move. the spell was upon him; he was in thralldom. she wore a rose-coloured gown, soft, slinky, seductive. a light egyptian scarf lay across her bare shoulders. the slim, white neck and the soft dark hair--but she sighed! he heard that faint, quick-drawn sigh and started to his feet. "bedelia!" he whispered softly. she turned quickly, to find him standing beside her, his face aglow with rapture. a quick catch of the breath, a sudden movement of the hand that lay upon her breast, and then she smiled,--a wavering, uncertain smile that went straight to his heart and shamed him for startling her. "i beg your pardon," he began lamely. "i--i startled you." she held out her hand to him, still smiling. "i fear i shall never become accustomed to being pursued," she said, striving for command of her voice. "it is dreadful to feel that some one is forever watching you from behind. i am glad it is you, however. you at least are not 'the secret eye that never sleeps'!" she gently withdrew her hand from his ardent clasp. "mrs. gaston told me that she had seen you. i feared that you might have gone on your way rejoicing." "rejoicing?" he cried. "why do you say that?" "after our experience in paris, i should think that you had had enough of me and my faithful watchdogs." "rubbish!" he exclaimed. "i shall never have enough of you," he went on, with sudden boldness. "as for the watch-dogs, they are not likely to bite us, so what is there to be afraid of?" "have you succeeded in evading the watchful eye of mr. totten's friend?" she enquired, sending an apprehensive glance along the porch. "completely," he declared. "i am quite alone in this hotel and, i believe, unsuspected. and you? are you still being--" "sh! who knows? i think we have thrown them off the track, but one cannot be sure. i raised a dreadful rumpus about it in paris, and--well, they said they were sorry and advised me not to be worried, for the surveillance would cease at once. still, i am quite sure that they lied to me." "then you _are_ being followed." she smiled again, and there was mischief in her eyes. "if so, i have led them a merry chase. we have been travelling for two days and nights, mr. schmidt, by train and motor, getting off at stations unexpectedly, hopping into trains going in any direction but the right one, sleeping in strange beds and doing all manner of queer things. and here we are at last. i am sure you must look upon me as a very silly, flibberty-gibbet creature." "i see that your retinue has been substantially augmented," he remarked, a trace of jealousy in his voice. "the good-looking mr. white has not been eluded." "mr. white? oh, yes, i see. but he is to be trusted, mr. schmidt," she said mysteriously--and tantalisingly. "he will not betray me to my cruel monster of a father. i have his solemn promise not to reveal my whereabouts to any one. my father is the last person in the world to whom he would go with reports of my misdoings." "i saw you this morning, riding with him," said he glumly. "through the telescope?" she inquired softly, laying a hand upon the stationary instrument. he flushed hotly. "it was when you were starting out, miss guile. i am not one of the spies, you should remember." "you are my partner in guilt," she said lightly. "by the way, have you forgiven me for leading you into temptation?" "certainly. i am still in the garden of eden, you see, and as i don't take any stock in the book of genesis, i hope to prove to myself at least, that the conduct of an illustrious forebear of mine was not due to the frailties of eve but to his own tremendous anxiety to get out of a place that was filled with snakes. i hope and pray that you will continue to put temptation in my path so that i may have the frequent pleasure of falling." she turned her face away and for a moment was silent. "shall we take those chairs over there, mr. schmidt? they appear to be as abandoned as we." she indicated two chairs near the broad portals. he shook his head. "if we are looking for the most utterly abandoned, allow me to call your attention to the two in yonder corner." "it is quite dark over there," she said with a frown. "quite," he agreed. "which accounts, no doubt, for your failure to see them." "mrs. gaston will be looking for me before--" she began hesitatingly. "or mr. white, perhaps. let me remind you that they have exceedingly sharp eyes." "mr. white is no longer here," she announced. his heart leaped. "then i, at least, have nothing to fear," he said quickly. she ignored the banality. "he left this afternoon. very well, let us take the seats over there. i rather like the--shall i say shadows?" "i too object to the limelight,--bedelia," he said, offering her his arm. "you are not to call me bedelia," she said, holding back. "then 'forgive us our transgressions' is to be applied in the usual order, i presume." "are you sorry you called me bedelia?" she insisted, frowning ominously. "no. i'm sorry you object, that's all." they made their way through a maze of chairs and seated themselves in the dim corner. their view of the jungfrau from this vine-screened corner was not as perfect as it might have been, but the jungfrau had no present power of allurement for them. "i cannot stay very long," she said as she sank back in the comfortable chair. he turned his back not only upon the occupants of the porch but the lustrous jungfrau, drawing his chair up quite close to hers. as he leaned forward, with his elbows on the arms of the chair, she seemed to slink farther back in the depths of hers, as if suddenly afraid of him. "now, tell me everything," he said. "from beginning to end. what became of you after that day at st. cloud, whither have you journeyed, and wherefore were you so bent on coming to this now blessed interlaken?" "easily answered. nothing at all became of me. i journeyed thither, and i came because i had set my heart on seeing the jungfrau." "but you had seen it many times." "and i hoped that i might find peace and quiet here," she added quite distinctly. "you expected to find me here, didn't you?" "yes, but i did not regard you as a disturber of the peace." "you knew i would come, but you didn't know why, did you, bedelia?" he leaned a little closer. "yes, i knew why," she said calmly, emotionlessly. he drew back instantly, chilled by her directness. "you came because there was promise of an interesting adventure, which you now are on the point of making impossible by a rather rash exhibition of haste." he stared at her shadowy face in utter confusion. for a moment he was speechless. then a rush of protesting sincerity surged up within him and he cried out in low, intense tones: "i cannot allow you to think that of me, miss guile. if i have done or said anything to lead you to believe that i am--" "oh, i beg of you, mr. schmidt, do not enlarge upon the matter by trying to apologise," she cried. "i am not trying to apologise," he protested. "i am trying to justify what you are pleased to call an exhibition of haste. you see, it's just this way: i am obliged to make hay while the sun shines, for soon i may be cast into utter darkness. my days are numbered. in a fortnight i shall be where i cannot call my soul my own. i--" "you alarm me. are you to be sent to prison?" "you wouldn't look upon it as a prison, but it seems like one to me. do not laugh. i cannot explain to you now. another day i shall tell you everything, so pray take me for what i am to-day, and ask no questions. i have asked no more of you, so do you be equally generous with me." "true," she said, "you have asked no questions of me. you take me for what i am to-day, and yet you know nothing of my yesterdays or my to-morrows. it is only fair that i should be equally confiding. let there be no more questions. are we, however, to take each other seriously?" "by all means," he cried. "there will come a day when you may appreciate the full extent of my seriousness." "you speak in riddles." "is the time ripe for me to speak in sober earnest?" he questioned softly. she drew back again in swift alarm. "no, no! not now--not yet. do not say anything now, mr. schmidt, that may put an end to our--to our adventure." she was so serious, so plaintive, and yet so shyly prophetic of comfort yet to be attained, that his heart warmed with a mighty glow of exaltation. a sweet feeling of tenderness swept over him. "if god is good, there can be but one end to our adventure," he said, and then, for some mysterious reason, silence fell between them. long afterward--it seemed hours to him!--she spoke, and her voice was low and troubled. "can you guess why i am being watched so carefully, why i am being followed so doggedly by men who serve not me but another?" "yes. it is because you are the greatest jewel in the possession of a great man, and he would preserve you against all varlets,--such as i." she did not reveal surprise at his shrewd conjecture. she nodded her head and sighed. "you are right. i am his greatest jewel, and yet he would give me into the keeping of an utter stranger. i am being protected against that conscienceless varlet--love! if love lays hands upon me--ah, my friend, you cannot possibly guess what a calamity that would be!" "and love _will_ lay hands upon you, bedelia,--" "i am sure of that," she said, once more serene mistress of herself after a peculiarly dangerous lapse. "that is why i shudder. what could be more dreadful than to fall into the clutches of that merciless foe to peace? he rends one's heart into shreds; he stabs in the dark; he thrusts, cuts and slashes and the wounds never heal; he blinds without pity; he is overbearing, domineering, ruthless and his victims are powerless to retaliate. love is the greatest tyrant in all the world, mr. schmidt, and we poor wretches can never hope to conquer him. we are his prey, and he is rapacious. do you not shudder also?" "bless you, no! i'd rather enjoy meeting him in mortal combat. my notion of bliss would be a fight to the death with love, for then the conflict would not be one-sided. what could be more glorious than to stand face to face with love, hand to hand, breast to breast, lip to lip until the end of time? let him cut and slash and stab if you will, there would still be recompense for the vanquished. even those who have suffered most in the conflict with love must admit that they have had a share in the spoils. one can't ignore the sweet hours when counting up the bitter ones, after love has withdrawn from the tender encounter. the cuts and slashes are cherished and memory is a store-house for the spoils that must be shared with vanity." "it sounds like a book. who is your favourite author?" she inquired lightly. "baedeker," he replied, with promptness. "without my baedeker, i should never have chanced upon the route travelled by love, nor the hotel where i now lodge in close proximity to--" "will you please be sensible?" "you invite something to the contrary, bedelia," he ventured. "haven't i requested you to--" "i think of you only as bedelia," he made haste to explain. "bedelia will stick to you forever, you see, while miss guile is almost ephemeral. it cannot live long, you know, with so many other names eager to take its place. but bedelia--ah, bedelia is everlasting." she laughed joyously, naturally. "you really are quite wonderful, mr. schmidt. still i must change the subject. i trust the change will not affect your glibness, for it is quite exhilarating. how long do you purpose remaining in interlaken?" "that isn't changing the subject," said he. "i shall be here for a week or ten days--or perhaps longer." he put it in the form of a question, after all. "indeed? how i envy you. i am sorry to say i shall have to leave in a day or two." his face fell. "why?" he demanded, almost indignantly. "because i am enjoying myself," she replied. "i don't quite get your meaning." "i am having such a good time disobeying my father, mr. schmidt, and eluding pursuers. it is only a matter of a day or two before i am discovered here, so i mean to keep on dodging. it is splendid fun." "do you think it is quite fair to me?" "did i induce you to come here, good sir?" "you did," said he, with conviction. "heaven is my witness. i would not have come but for you. i am due at home by this time." "are you under any obligations to remain in interlaken for a week or ten days?" "not now," he replied. "do you mind telling me where you are going to, miss guile?" "first to vienna, then--well, you cannot guess where. i have decided to go to edelweiss." "edelweiss!" he exclaimed in astonishment. he could hardly believe his ears. "it is the very last place in the world that my father would think of looking for me. besides i am curious to see the place. i understand that the great mr. blithers is to be there soon, and the stupid prince who will not be tempted by millions, and it is even possible that the extraordinary miss blithers may take it into her head to look the place over before definitely refusing to be its princess. i may find some amusement--or entertainment as an on-looker when the riots begin." he was staring at her wide-eyed and incredulous. "do you really mean to say you are going to graustark?" "i have thought of doing so. don't you think it will be amusing to be on the scene when the grand climax occurs? of course, the prince will come off his high horse, and the girl will see the folly of her ways, and old mr. blithers will run 'rough shod over everybody, and--but, goodness, i can't even speculate on the possibilities." he was silent. so this was the way the wind blew, eh? there was but one construction to be put upon her decision to visit the capital of graustark. she _had_ taken it into her head "to look the place over before definitely refusing to be its princess!" his first thrill of exultation gave way to a sickening sense of disappointment. all this time she was regarding him through amused, half-closed eyes. she had a distinct advantage over him. she knew that he was the prince of graustark; she had known it for many days. perhaps if she had known all the things that were in his cunning brain, she would not have ventured so far into the comedy she was constructing. she would have hesitated--aye, she might have changed her methods completely. but she was in the mood to do and say daring things. she considered her position absolutely secure, and so she could afford to enjoy herself for the time being. there would be an hour of reckoning, no doubt, but she was not troubled by its promise of castigation. "poor prince!" she sighed pityingly. he started. the remark was so unexpected that he almost betrayed himself. it seemed profoundly personal. "he will be in very hot water, i fear." he regarded her coldly. "and you want to be on hand to see him squirm, i suppose." she took instant alarm. was she going too far? his query was somewhat disconcerting. "to be perfectly frank with you, mr. schmidt, i am going to graustark because no one will ever think of looking for me in such an out-of-the-way place. i am serious now, so you must not laugh at me. circumstances are such that i prefer to seek happiness after a fashion of my own. my parents love me, but they will not understand me. they wish me to marry a man they have picked out for me. i intend to pick out my own man, mr. schmidt. you may suspect, from all that you have seen, that i am running away from home, from those who are dearest in all the world to me. you knew that i was carefully watched in paris. you know that my father fears that i may marry a man distasteful to him, and i suppose to my mother, although she is not so--" "are his fears well-founded?" he asked, rudely interrupting her. "is there a man that he has cause to fear? are--are you in love with some one, bedelia?" "do not interrupt me. i want you to know that i am not running away from home, that i shall return to it when i see fit, and that i am not in love with the man they suspect. i want you to be just with me. you are not to blame my father for anything, no matter how absurd his actions may appear to you in the light of the past few days. it is right that he should try to safeguard me. i am wayward but i am not foolish. i shall commit no silly blunder, you may be sure of that. now do you understand me better?" she was very serious, very intense. he laid his hand on hers, and she did not withdraw it. emboldened, his hand closed upon the dainty fingers and an instant later they were borne to his hot lips. "you have said that i came here in search of a light adventure," he whispered, holding her hand close to his cheek as he bent nearer to her. "you imply that i am a trifler, a light-o'-love. i want you to understand me better. i came here because i--" "stop!" she pleaded. "you must not say it. i am serious--yes, i know that you are serious too. but you must wait. if you were to say it to me now i should have to send you away and--oh, believe me, i do not want to do that. i--i--" "you love no one else?" he cried, rapturously. she swayed slightly, as if incapable of resisting the appeal that called her to his heart. her lips were parted, her eyes glowed luminously even in the shadows, and she scarcely breathed the words: "i love no one else." a less noble nature than his would have seized upon the advantage offered by her sudden weakness. instead, he drew a long, deep breath, straightened his figure and as he gently released the imprisoned hand, the prince in him spoke. "you have asked me to wait. i am sure that you know what is in my heart. it will always be there. it will not cut and slash and stab, for it is the most tender thing that has ever come into my life--or yours. it must never be accused of giving pain to you, so i shall obey you--and wait. you are right to avoid the risk of entrusting a single word of hope to me. i am a passer-by. my sincerity, my honesty of purpose remain to be proved. time will serve my cause. i can only ask you to believe in me--to trust me a little more each day--and to let your heart be my judge." she spoke softly. "i believe in you, i trust you even now, or i would not be here. you are kind to me. few would have been so generous. we both are passers-by. it is too soon for us to judge each other in the full. i must be sure--oh, i must be sure of myself. can you understand? i must be sure of myself, and i am not sure now. you do not know how much there is at stake, you can not possibly know what it would mean to me if i were to discover that our adventure had no real significance in the end. i know it sounds strange and mysterious, or you would not look so puzzled. but unless i can be sure of one thing--one vital thing--our adventure has failed in every respect. now, i must go in. no; do not ask me to stay--and let me go alone. i prefer it so. good night, my comrade." he stood up and let her pass. "good night, my princess," he said, clearly and distinctly. she shot a swift glance into his eyes, smiled faintly, and moved away. his rapt gaze followed her. she entered the door without so much as a glance over her shoulder. "my princess," he repeated wonderingly, to himself. "have i kissed the hand of my princess? god in heaven, is there on earth a princess more perfect than she? can there be in all this world another so deserving of worship as she?" late at night she sat in her window looking up at the peaceful jungfrau. a dreamy, ineffably sweet smile lay in her dark eyes. the hand he kissed had lain long against her lips. to herself she had repeated, over and over again, the inward whisper: "what will my dear, simple old dad say if i marry this man after all?" in a window not ten feet away, he was staring out into the night, with lowering eyes and troubled heart, and in his mind he was saying: "what will my people do if i marry this woman after all?" chapter xx love in abeyance two days went by. they were fraught with an ever-increasing joy for the two who were learning to understand each other through the mute, though irresistible teachings of a common tutor. each succeeding hour had its exquisite compensation; each presented the cup of knowledge to lips that were parched with the fever of impotence, and each time it was returned empty by the seekers after wisdom. there were days in which love went harvesting and prospered amazingly in the fields, for each moment that he stored away against the future was ripe with promise. he was laying by the store on which he was to subsist to the end of his days; he allowed no moment to go to waste, for he is a miser and full of greed. not one word of love passed between these two who waited for the fruit to ripen. they were never alone together. always they were attended by the calm, keen-eyed mrs. gaston, who, though she may have been in sympathy with their secret enterprise, was nevertheless a dependable barrier to its hasty consummation. she had received her instructions from the one now most likely to be in need of a deterring influence; the girl herself. after that evening on the porch, bedelia had gone straight to her duenna with the truth. then she made it clear to the good lady that she was not to be left alone for an instant to confront the welcome besieger. and so it was that when robin and bedelia walked or rode together, they were attended by prevention. in the casino, at the gaming tables, at the concert, or even in the street he was never free to express a thought or emotion that, under less guarded conditions, might have exposed her to the risk she was so carefully avoiding. he understood the situation perfectly and was not resentful. he appreciated the caution with which she was carrying on her own campaign, and he was not unmindful of the benefits that might also accrue to him through this proscribed period of reflection. while he was sure of himself by this time, and fully determined to risk even his crown for the girl who so calmly held him at bay, he was also sensible of the wisdom of her course. she was not willing to subject herself or him to the dangers of temptation. as she had said, there was a great deal at stake; the rest of their lives, in truth. there was one little excursion to grindelwald and its glacier, and later an ascent of the schynige platte. even a desperate horror of the rack and pinion railway up and down the steep mountain did not daunt the incomparable chaperone. (true, she closed her eyes and shrank as far away from the edge of eternity as possible, but she stuck manfully to her post.) he dined with them on the two evenings, and with them heard the concerts. there were times when he was perplexed, and uncertain of her. at no time did she relax into what might have been considered a receptive or even an encouraging mood. he watched eagerly for the love-light that he hoped to surprise in her eyes, but it never appeared. she was serene, self-contained, natural. that momentary dissolving on her part when she sat with him in the shadows was the only circumstance he had to base his hopes upon. she had betrayed herself then by word and manner, but now she had her emotions well in hand. her lovely eyes met his frankly and without the faintest sign of diffidence or self-consciousness. her soft laugh was free and unconstrained, her smile gay and remotely suggestive of mischief. at times he thought she was playing the game too well for one who professed to be concerned about the future. on the third day he was convicted of duplicity. she went off for a walk alone, leaving him safely anchored in what he afterwards came to look upon as a pre-arranged game of auction-bridge. when she came in after an absence of at least two hours, the game was just breaking up. he noted the questioning look that mrs. gaston bestowed upon her fair charge, and also remarked that it contained no sign of reproof. the girl went up to her room without so much as a word with him. her face was flushed and she carried her head disdainfully. he was greatly puzzled. the puzzle was soon explained. he waited for her on the stairway as she came down alone to dinner. "you told me that your friends were not in interlaken, mr. schmidt," she said coldly. "why did you feel called upon to deceive me?" he bit his lip. for an instant he reflected, and then gave an evasive answer. "i think i told you that i was alone in this hotel. miss guile. my friends are at another hotel. i am not aware that--" "i have seen and talked with that charming old man, mr. totten," she interrupted. "he has been here for days, and mr. dank as well. do you think that you have been quite fair with me?" he lowered his eyes. "i think i have been most fair to both of us," he replied. "will you believe me when i say that in a way i personally requested them to leave this hotel and seek another? and will it decrease your respect for me if i add that i wanted to have you all to myself, so to speak, and not to feel that these good friends of mine were--" "why don't you look me in the face, mr. schmidt?" she broke in. he looked up at once prepared to meet a look of disdain. to his surprise, she was smiling. "i have talked it all over with mrs. gaston, and she advised me to forgive you if you were in the least penitent and--honest. well, you have made an honest confession, i am satisfied. now, i have a confession to make. i have suspected all along that mr. totten and mr. dank and the shadowy mr. gourou were in the town." "you suspected?" he cried in amazement and chagrin. "i was morally certain that they were here. today my suspicions were justified. i encountered mr. totten in the park beyond the jungfraublick. he was very much upset, i can assure you, but he recovered with amazing swiftness. we sat on one of the benches in a nice little nook and had a long, long talk. he is a charming man. i have asked him to come to luncheon with us to-morrow, and to bring mr. dank." "good lord, will wonders never--" "but i did not include the still invisible mr. gourou. i was afraid that you would be too uncomfortable under the hawk-like eye of the gentleman who so kindly warned us at the pavilion bleu." there was gentle raillery in her manner. "i shall expect you to join us, mr. schmidt. you have no other engagement?" "i--i shall be delighted," he stammered. she laid her hand gently upon his arm and a serious sweetness came into her eyes. "come," she said; "let us go in ahead of mrs. gaston. let us have just one little minute to ourselves, mr. schmidt." it was true that she came upon the count in one of the paths of the kleine rugen. he was walking slowly toward her, his eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the ground. when she accosted him, he was plainly confused, as she had said. after the first few passages in polite though stilted conversation, his keen, grey eyes resumed their thoughtful--it was even a calculating look. "will you sit here with me for a while, miss guile?" he asked gently. "i have something of the gravest importance to say to you." she sat beside him on the sequestered bench, and when she arose to leave him an hour later, her cheek was warm with colour and her eyes were filled with tenderness toward this grim, staunch old man who was the friend of _her_ friend. she laid her hand in his and suffered him to raise it to his lips. "i hope, my dear young lady," said he with simple directness, "that you will not regard me as a stupid, interfering old meddler. god is my witness, i have your best interests at heart. you are too good and beautiful to--" "i shall always look upon you as the kindest of men!" she cried impulsively, and left him. he stood watching her slender, graceful figure as she moved down the sloping path and turned into the broad avenue. a smallish man with a lean face came up from the opposite direction and stopped beside him. "could you resist her, quinnox, if you were twenty-two?" asked this man in his quiet voice. quinnox did not look around, but shook his head slowly. "i cannot resist her at sixty-two, my friend. she is adorable." "i do not blame him. it is fate. _she_ is fate. our work is done, my friend. we have served our country well, but fate has taken the matter out of our hands. there is nothing left for us to do but to fold our arms and wait." gourou revealed his inscrutable smile as he pulled at his thin, scraggly moustache. he was shaking his head, as one who resigns himself to the inevitable. after a long silence quinnox spoke. "our people will come to love their princess, gourou." "even as you and i, my friend," said the baron. and then they held their heads erect and walked confidently down the road their future sovereign had traversed before them. when mrs. gaston joined robin and bedelia at the table which had been set for them in the _salle a manger_, she laid several letters before the girl who picked them up instantly and glanced at the superscription on each. "i think that all of them are important," said mrs. gaston significantly. the smile on the girl's face had given way to a clouded brow. she was visibly perturbed. "you will forgive me, mr. schmidt," she said nervously. "i must look at them at once." he tried not to watch her face as she read what appeared to be a brief and yet evidently important letter, but his rapt gaze was not to be so easily managed. an exclamation of annoyance fell from her lips. "this is from a friend in paris, mr. schmidt," she said, hesitatingly. then, as if coming to a quick decision: "my father has heard that i am carrying on atrociously with a strange young man. it seems that it is a _new_ young man. he is beside himself with rage. my friends have already come in for severe criticism. he blames them for permitting his daughter to run at large and to pick up with every tom, dick and harry. dear me, i shudder when i think of what he will do to you, mrs. gaston. he will take off your head completely. but never fear, you old dear, i will see that it is put on again as neatly as ever. so, you see, mr. schmidt, you now belong to that frightful order of nobodies, the toms and the dicks and the harrys." "i see that there is a newspaper clipping attached," he remarked. "perhaps your father has been saying something to the newspapers." it was a mean speech and he regretted it instantly. she was not offended, however. indeed, she may not have heard what he said, for she was reading the little slip of printed matter. suddenly she tore it into tiny bits and scattered them under the table. her cheeks were red and her eyes glistened unmistakably with mortification. he was never to know what was in that newspaper cutting, but he was conscious of a sharp sensation of anger and pity combined. whatever it was, it was offensive to her, and his blood boiled. he noted the expression of alarm and apprehension deepen in mrs. gaston's face. bedelia slashed open another envelope and glanced at its contents. her eyes flew open with surprise. for an instant she stared, a frown of perplexity on her brow. "we are discovered!" she cried a moment later, clapping her hands together in an ecstasy of delight. "the pursuers are upon our heels. even now they may be watching me from behind some convenient post or through some handy window pane. isn't it fine? don't look so horrified, you old dear. they can't eat us, you know, even though we are in a dining-room. i love it all! followed by man-hunters! what could be more thrilling? the chase is on again. quick! we must prepare for flight!" "flight?" gasped robin. her eyes were dancing. his were filled with dismay. "it is as i feared," she cried. "they have found me out. hurry! let us finish this wretched dinner. i must leave here to-night." "impossible!" cried mrs. gaston. "don't be silly. to-morrow will be time enough. calm yourself, my dear." "to-morrow at sunrise," cried bedelia enthusiastically. "it is already planned, mr. schmidt. i have engaged an automobile in anticipation of this very emergency. the trains are not safe. to-morrow i fly again. this letter is from the little stenographer in paris. i bribed her--yes, i bribed her with many francs. she is in the offices of the great detective agency-'the eye that never sleeps!' i shall give her a great many more of those excellent francs, my friends. she is an honest girl. she did not fail me." "i don't see how you can say she is honest if she accepted a bribe," said mrs. gaston severely. "pooh!" was miss guile's sufficient answer to this. "we cross the brunig pass by motor. that really is like flying, isn't it?" "to lucerne?" demanded robin, still hazily. "no, no! that would be madness. we shall avoid lucerne. miles and miles to the north we will find a safe retreat for a day or two. then there will be a journey by rail to--to your own city of vienna, mr. schmidt. you--" "see here," said robin flatly, "i don't understand the necessity for all this rushing about by motor and--" "of course you don't," she cried. "you are not being sought by a cruel, inhuman monster of a father who would consign you to a most shudderable fate! you don't have to marry a man whose very name you have hated. you can pick and choose for yourself. and so shall i, for that matter. you--" "you _adore_ your father," cut in mrs. gaston sharply. "i don't think you should speak of him in that--" "of course i adore him! he is a dear old bear. but he is a monster, an ogre, a tyrant, a--oh, well, he is everything that's dreadful! you look dreadfully serious, mr. schmidt. do you think that i should submit to my father's demands and marry the man he has chosen for me?" "i do," said robin, abruptly and so emphatically that both of his hearers jumped in their seats. he made haste to dissemble. "of course, i'd much rather have you do that than to break your neck rolling over a precipice or something of the sort in a crazy automobile dash." miss guile recovered her poise with admirable promptness. her smile was a trifle uncertain, but she had a dependable wit. "if that is all that you are afraid of, i'll promise to save my neck at all costs," she said. "i could have many husbands but only one poor little neck." "you can have only one husband," said he, almost savagely. "by the way, why don't you read the other letter?" he was regarding it with jealous eyes, for she had slipped it, face downward, under the edge of her plate. "it isn't important," she said, with a quick look into his eyes. she convicted herself in that glance, and knew it on the instant. angry with herself, she snatched up the letter and tore it open. her cheeks were flushed. she read however without betraying any additional evidence of uneasiness or embarrassment. when she had finished, she deliberately folded the sheets and stuck them back into the envelope without comment. one looking over her shoulder as she read, however, might have caught snatches of sentences here and there on the heavily scrawled page. they were such as these: "you had led me to hope," ... "for years i have been your faithful admirer," ... "nor have i wavered for an instant despite your whimsical attitude," ... "therefore i felt justified in believing that you were sincere in your determination to defy your father." and others of an even more caustic nature: "you are going to marry this prince after all," ... "not that you have ever by word or deed bound yourself to me, yet i had every reason to hope," ... "your father will be pleased to find that you are obedient," ... "i am not mean enough to wish you anything but happiness, although i know you will never achieve it through this sickening surrender to vanity," ... "if i were a prince with a crown and a debt that i couldn't pay," ... "admit that i have had no real chance to win out against such odds," etc. she faced robin coolly. "it will be necessary to abandon our little luncheon for to-morrow. i am sorry. still mr. totten informs me that he will be in vienna shortly. the pleasure is merely postponed." "are you in earnest about this trip by motor to-morrow morning?" demanded robin darkly. "you surely cannot be--" "i am very much in earnest," she said decisively. he looked to mrs. gaston for help. that lady placidly shook her head. in fact, she appeared to be rather in favour of the preposterous plan, if one were to judge by the rapt expression on her countenance. "i had the supposedly honest word of these crafty gentlemen that i was not to be interfered with again. they gave me their promise. i shall now give them all the trouble possible." "but it will be a simple matter for them to find out how and when you left this hotel and to trace you perfectly." "don't be too sure of that," she said, exultantly. "i have a trick or two up my sleeve that will baffle them properly, mr. schmidt." "my dear," interposed mrs. gaston severely, "do not forget yourself. it isn't necessary to resort to slang in order--" "slang is always necessary," avowed bedelia, undisturbed. "goodness, i know i shall not sleep a wink to-night." "nor i," said robin gloomily. suddenly his face lightened. a wild, reckless gleam shot into his eyes and, to their amazement, he banged the table with his fist. "by jove, i know what i shall do. i'll go with you!" "no!" cried bedelia, aghast. "i--i cannot permit it, mr. schmidt. can't you understand? you--_you_ are the man with whom i am supposed to be carrying on atrociously. what could be more convicting than to be discovered racing over a mountain-pass--oh, it is not to be considered--not for an instant." "well, i can tell you flatly just what i intend to do," said he, setting his jaws. "i shall hire another car and keep you in sight every foot of the way. you may be able to elude the greatest detective agency in europe, but you can't get away from me. i intend to keep you now that i've got you, bedelia. you can't shake me off. where you go, i go." "do you mean it?" she cried, a new thrill in her voice. he looked deep into her eyes and read there a message that invited him to perform vast though fool-hardy deeds. her eyes were suddenly sweet with the love she had never expected to know; her lips trembled with the longing for kisses. "i shall travel far," she murmured. "you may find the task an arduous one--keeping up with me, i mean." "i am young and strong," he said, "and, if god is good to me, i shall live for fifty years to come, or even longer. i tingle with joy, bedelia, when i think of being near you for fifty years or more. have--have you thought of it in that light? have you looked ahead and said to yourself: fifty years have i to live and all of them with--" "hush! i was speaking of a week's journey, not of a life's voyage, mr. schmidt," she said, her face suffused. "i was speaking of a honeymoon," said he, and then remembered mrs. gaston. she was leaning back in her chair, smiling benignly. he had an uncomfortable thought: was he walking into a trap set for him by this clever woman? had she an ulterior motive in advancing his cause? "but it would be perfectly silly of you to follow me in a car," said bedelia, trying to regain her lost composure. "perfectly silly, wouldn't it, mrs. gas-ton?" "perfectly," said mrs. gaston. "i will promise to see you in vienna--" "i intend to see you every day," he declared, "from now till the end of time." "really, mr. schmidt, you--" "if there is one thing i despise beyond all reason, bedelia, it is the name of 'schmidt'! i wish you wouldn't call me by that name." "i can't just call you 'mister,'" she demurred. "call me rex for the present," said he. "i will supply you with a better one later on." "may i call him rex?" she inquired of her companion. "in moderation," said mrs. gaston. "very well, then, rex, i have changed my mind. i shall not cross the brunig by motor since you insist upon risking your neck in pursuit of me. i shall go by train in the morning,--calmly, complacently, stupidly by train. instead of a thrilling dash for liberty over rocky heights and through perilous gorges, i shall travel like any bourgeoise in a second--or third class carriage, and the only thrill i shall have will be when we stop for baker's chocolate at the top of the pass. by that time i expect to be sufficiently hungry to be thrilled even by the sight of a cake of chocolate. will you travel in the carriage behind me? i fancy it will be safe and convenient and you can't possibly be far from my heels." "that's a sensible idea," he cried. "and we may be able to accommodate your other pursuers on the same train. what's the sense of leaving them behind? they'd only catch us up in the end, so we might just as well take them along with us." "no. we will keep well ahead of them. i insist on that. they can't get here before to-morrow afternoon, so we will be far in the lead. we will be in vienna in two days. there i shall say good-bye to you, for i am going on beyond. i am going to graustark, the new blithers estate. surely you will not follow me there." "you are very much mistaken. i shall be there as soon as you and i shall stay just as long, provided mr. blithers has no objections," said robin, with more calmness than he had hoped to display in the face of her sudden thrust. "we are forgetting our dinner," said mrs. gaston quietly. "i think the waiter is annoyed." chapter xxi mr. blithers arrives in graustark mr. william w. blithers arrived in edelweiss, the capital of graustark, on the same day that the prince returned from his tour of the world. as a matter of fact, he travelled by special train and beat the prince home by the matter of three hours. the procession of troops, headed by the royal castle guard, it was announced would pass the historic hotel regengetz at five in the afternoon, so mr. blithers had front seats on the extension porch facing the platz. he did not know it, but if he had waited for the regular train in vienna, he would have had the honour of travelling in the same railway carriage with the royal young man. ("would" is used advisedly in the place of "might," for he _would_ have travelled in it, you may be sure.) moreover, he erred in another particular, for arriving at the same instant and virtually arm-in-arm with the country's sovereign, he could hardly have been kept out of the procession itself. when you stop to think that next to the prince he was the most important personage in the realm on this day of celebration, it ought not to be considered at all unreasonable for him to have expected some notable attention, such as being placed in the first carriage immediately behind the country's sovereign, or possibly on the seat facing him. missing an opportunity like this, wasn't at all mr. blithers' idea of success. he was very sorry about the special train. if it hadn't been for that train he might now be preparing to ride castlewards behind a royal band instead of sitting with his wife in the front row of seats on a hotel porch, just like a regular guest, waiting for the parade to come along. it certainly was a wasted opportunity. he had lost no time in his dash across the continent. in the first place, his agents in paris made it quite clear to him that there was likely to be "ructions" in graustark over the loan and the prospect of a plebeian princess being seated on the throne whether the people liked it or not; and in the second place, maud applegate had left a note on his desk in the paris offices, coolly informing him that she was likely to turn up in edelweiss almost as soon as he. she added an annoying postscript. she said she was curious to see what sort of a place it was that he had been wasting his money on! to say that he was put out by maud's aggravating behaviour would be stating the case with excessive gentleness. he was furious. he sent for the head of the detective agency and gave him a blowing up that he was never to forget. it appears that the detectives had followed a false lead and had been fooled by the wary maud in a most humiliating manner. they hadn't the remotest notion where she was, and evinced great surprise when informed in a voice loud enough to be heard a half-block away that she was on her way to graustark. they said it couldn't be possible, and he said they didn't know what they were talking about. he was done with them. they could step out and ask the cashier to give them a check for their services, and so on and so forth. he did not forget to notify them that they were a gang of loafers. then he dragged mrs. blithers off to the gare de l'este and took the express to vienna. he would see to the loan first and to maud afterward. he had no means of knowing that a certain miss guile was doing more to shape the destiny of the principality of graustark than all the millions he had poured into its treasury. nor had he the faintest suspicion that she was even then on graustark soil and waiting as eagerly as he for the procession to pass a given point. going back a day or two, it becomes necessary to report that while in vienna the perverse bedelia played a shabby trick on the infatuated robin. she stole away from the bristol in the middle of the night and was half-way to the graustark frontier before he was aware of her flight. she left a note for him, the contents of which sufficed to ease his mind in the presence of what otherwise might have been looked upon as a calamity. instead of relapsing into despondency over her defection, he became astonishingly exuberant. it was relief and not despair that followed the receipt of the brief letter. she had played directly into his hand, after all. in other words, she had removed a difficulty that had been troubling him for days: the impossibility of entering his own domain without betraying his identity to her. naturally his entrance to the capital would be attended by the most incriminating manifestation on the part of the populace. the character of r. schmidt would be effaced in an instant, and, according to his own notion, quite a bit too soon to suit his plans. he preferred to remain schmidt until she placed her hand in his and signified a readiness to become plain mrs. r. schmidt of vienna. that would be his hour of triumph. in her note she said: "forgive me for running away like this. it is for the best. i must have a few days to myself, dear friend,--days for sober reflection uninfluenced by the presence of a natural enemy to composure. and so i am leaving you in this cowardly, graceless fashion. do not think ill of me. i give you my solemn promise that in a few days i shall let you know where i may be found if you choose to come to me. even then i may not be fully convinced in my own mind that our adventure has reached its climax. you have said that you would accompany me to graustark. i am leaving to-night for that country, where i shall remain in seclusion for a few days before acquainting you with my future plans. it is not my intention to stop in edelweiss at present. the newspapers proclaim a state of unrest there over the coming visit of mr. blithers and the return of the prince, both of whom are very much in the public eye just now. i prefer the quiet of the country to the excitement of the city, so i shall seek some remote village and give myself up to--shall i say prayerful meditation? believe me, dear rex, to be your most devoted, though whimsical, bedelia." he was content with this. deep down in his heart he thanked her for running away at such an opportune time! the situation was immeasurably simplified. he had laid awake nights wondering how he could steal into his own domain with her as a companion and still put off the revelation that he was not yet ready to make. now the way was comparatively easy. once the demonstration was safely over, he could carry on his adventure with something of the same security that made the prowlings of the bagdad caliphs such happy enterprises, for he could with impunity traverse the night in the mantle of r. schmidt. immediately upon receiving her letter, he sent for quinnox and gourou, who were stopping at a hotel nearby. "i am ready to proceed to edelweiss, my friends," said he. "miss guile has departed. will you book accommodations on the earliest train leaving for home?" "i have already seen to that, highness," said gourou calmly. "we leave at six this evening. count quinnox has wired the prime minister that you will arrive in edelweiss at three to-morrow afternoon, god willing." "you knew that she had gone?" "i happened to be in the nordbahnhof when she boarded the train at midnight," replied the baron, unmoved. "do you never sleep?" demanded robin hotly. "not while i am on duty," said gourou. the prince was thoughtful, his brow clouding with a troubled frown. "i suppose i shall now have to face my people with the confession that will confirm their worst fears. i may as well say to you, my friends, that i mean to make her my wife even though it costs me my kingdom. am i asking too much of you, gentlemen, when i solicit your support in my fight against the prejudice that is certain to--" quinnox stopped him with a profound gesture of resignation and a single word: "kismet!" and gourou, with his most ironic smile, added: "you may count on us to support the crown, highness, even though we lose our heads." "thank you," said robin, flushing. "just because i appear to have lost my head is no reason for your doing the same, baron gourou." the baron's smile was unfaltering. "true," he said. "but we may be able to avoid all that by inducing the people of graustark to lose their hearts." "do you think they will accept her as--as their princess?" cried robin, hopefully. "i submit that it will first be necessary for you to induce miss guile to accept you as her prince," said gourou mildly. "that doesn't appear to be settled at present." he took alarm. "what do you mean? your remark has a sinister sound. has anything transpired to--" "she has disappeared, highness, quite effectually. that is all that i can say," said gourou, and robin was conscious of a sudden chill and the rush of cold moisture to his brow. "but let us prepare to confront an even more substantial condition. a prospective father-in-law is descending upon our land. he is groping in the dark and he is angry. he has lost a daughter somewhere in the wilds of europe, and he realises that he cannot hope to become the grandfather of princes unless he can produce a mother for them. at present he seems to be desperate. he doesn't know where to find her, as little bo-peep might have said. we may expect to catch him in a very ugly and obstreperous mood. have i told you that he was in this city last night? he arrived at the bristol a few hours prior to the significant departure of miss guile. moreover, he has chartered a special train and is leaving to-day for edelweiss. count quinnox has taken the precaution to advise the prime minister of his approach and has impressed upon him the importance of decrying any sort of popular demonstration against him on his arrival. romano reports that the people are in an angry mood. i would suggest that you prepare, in a way, to placate them, now that miss guile has more or less dropped out of sight. it behooves you to--" "see here," broke in robin harshly, "have you had the effrontery to make a personal appeal to miss guile in your confounded efforts to prevent the--" "just a moment, robin," exclaimed count quinnox, his face hardening. "i am sorry to hear words of anger on your lips, and directed toward your most loyal friends. you ask us to support you and in the next breath imply that we are unworthy. it is beneath the dignity of either baron gourou or myself to reply to your ungenerous charge." "i beg your pardon," said robin, but without lowering his head. he was not convinced. the barb of suspicion had entered his brain. were they, after all, responsible for bedelia's flight? had they revealed his identity to the girl and afterward created such alarm in her breast that she preferred to slink away in the night rather than to court the humiliation that might follow if she presumed to wed graustark's prince in opposition to his country's wish? "you must admit that the circumstance of her secret flight last night is calculated to--but, no matter. we will drop the subject. i warn you, however, that my mind is fixed. i shall not rest until i have found her." "i fancy that the state of unrest will be general," said gourou, with perfect good-nature. "it will go very hard with graustark if we fail to find her. and now, to return to our original sin: what are we to do about the ambitious mr. blithers? he is on my conscience and i tremble." it must not be supposed for an instant that the city of edelweiss and the court of graustark was unimpressed by the swift approach and abrupt arrival of mr. blithers. his coming had been heralded for days in advance. the city was rudely expectant, the court uneasy. the man who had announced his determination to manage the public and private affairs of the principality was coming to town. he was coming in state, there could be no doubt about that. more than that, he was coming to propitiate the people whether they chose to be mollified or not. he was bringing with him a vast store of business acumen, an unexampled confidence and the self-assurance of one who has never encountered failure. shylock's mantle rested on his hated shoulders, and judas iscariot was spoken of with less abhorrence than william w. blithers by the christian country of graustark. he was coming to get better acquainted with his daughter's future subjects. earlier in the week certain polite and competent gentlemen from berlin had appeared at the castle gates, carrying authority from the dauntless millionaire. they calmly announced that they had come to see what repairs were needed in and about the castle and to put the place in shape. a most regrettable incident followed. they were chased out of town by an angry mob and serious complications with the german empire were likely to be the result of the outrage. moreover, the citizens of graustark were openly reluctant to deposit their state bonds as security for the unpopular loan, and there was a lively sentiment in favour of renouncing the agreement entered into by the cabinet. the prime minister, in the absence of the prince, called mass meetings in all the towns and villages and emissaries of the crown addressed the sullen crowds. they sought to clarify the atmosphere. so eloquent were their pleadings and so sincere their promises that no evil would befall the state, that the more enlightened of the people began to deposit their bonds in the crown treasury. others, impressed by the confidence of their more prosperous neighbours, showed signs of weakening. the situation was made clear to them. there could be no possible chance of loss from a financial point of view. their bonds were safe, for the loan itself was a perfectly legitimate transaction, a conclusion which could not be gainsaid by the most pessimistic of the objectors. mr. blithers would be paid in full when the time came for settlement, the bonds would be restored to their owners, and all would be well with graustark. as for the huge transactions mr. blithers had made in london, paris and berlin, there could be but one conclusion: he had the right to invest his money as he pleased. that was his look-out. the bonds of graustark were open to purchase in any market. any investor in the world was entitled to buy all that he could obtain if he felt inclined to put his money to that use. the earnest agents of the government succeeded in convincing the people that mr. blithers had made a good investment because he was a good business man. what did it matter to graustark who owned the outstanding bonds? it might as well be blithers as bernstein or any one else. as for miss blithers becoming the princess of graustark, that was simple poppy-cock, declared the speakers. the crown could take oath that prince robin would not allow _that_ to happen. had he not declared in so many words that he would never wed the daughter of william blithers, and, for that matter, hadn't the young woman also announced that she would have none of him? there was one thing that mr. blithers couldn't do, and that was to marry his daughter to the prince of graustark. and so, by the time that mr. blithers arrived in edelweiss, the people were in a less antagonistic frame of mind,--though sullenly suspicious,--and were even prepared to grin in their sleeves, for, after all, it was quite clear that the joke was not on them but on mr. blithers. when the special train pulled into the station mr. blithers turned to his wife and said: "cheer up, lou. this isn't a funeral." "but there is quite a mob out there," she said, peering through the car window. "how can we be sure that they are friendly?" "don't you worry," said mr. blithers confidently. "they are not likely to throw rocks at the goose that lays the golden egg." if he had paused to think, he would not have uttered such a careless indictment. the time would come when she was to remind him of his thoughtless admission, omitting, however, any reference to the golden egg. the crowd was big, immobile, surly. it lined the sidewalks in the vicinity of the station and stared with curious, half-closed eyes at the portly capitalist and his party, which, by the way, was rendered somewhat imposing in size by augmentation in the shape of lawyers from paris and london, clerks and stenographers from the paris office, and four plain clothes men who were to see to it that midas wasn't blown to smithereens by envious anarchists; to say nothing of a lady's maid, a valet, a private secretary and a doctor. (mr. blithers always went prepared for the worst.) he was somewhat amazed and disgruntled by the absence of silk-hat ambassadors from the castle, with words of welcome for him on his arrival. there was a plentiful supply of policemen but no cabinet ministers. he was on the point of censuring his secretary for not making it clear to the government that he was due to arrive at such and such an hour and minute, when a dapper young man in uniform--he couldn't tell whether he was a patrolman or a captain--came up and saluted. "i am william w. blithers," said he sharply. "i am an official guide and interpreter, sir," announced the young man suavely. "may i have the honour--" "not necessary--not necessary at all," exploded mr. blithers. "i can get about without a guide." "you will require an interpreter, sir," began the other, only to be waved aside. "any one desiring to speak to me will have to do it in english," said mr. blithers, and marched out to the carriages. he was in some doubt at first, but as his carriage passed swiftly between the staring ranks on the sidewalks, he began to doff his hat and bow to the right and the left. his smiles were returned by the multitude, and so his progress was more or less of a triumph after all. at the regengetz he found additional cause for irritation. the lords and nobles who should have met him at the railway station were as conspicuously absent in the rotunda of the hotel. no one was there to receive him except the ingratiating manager of the establishment, who hoped that he had had a pleasant trip and who assured him that it would not be more than a couple of hours before his rooms would be vacated by the people who now had them but were going away as soon as the procession had passed. "get 'em out at once," stormed mr. blithers. "do you think i want to hang around this infernal lobby until--" "pardon me," said the manager blandly, "but your rooms will not be ready for you before four or five o'clock. they are occupied. we can put you temporarily in rooms at the rear if your lady desires to rest and refresh herself after the journey." "well, i'll be--" began mr. blithers, purple in the face, and then leaned suddenly against the counter, incapable of finishing the sentence. the manager rubbed his hands and smiled. "this is one of our gala days, mr. blithers. you could not have arrived at a time more opportune. i have taken the precaution to reserve chairs for you on the verandah. the procession will pass directly in front of the hotel on its way to castle avenue." "what procession?" demanded mr. blithers. he was beginning to recall the presence of uniformed bands and mounted troops in the side streets near the station. "the prince is returning to-day from his trip around the world," said the manager. "he ought to have been back long ago," said mr. blithers wrathfully, and mopped his brow with a hand rendered unsteady by a mental convulsion. he was thinking of his hat-lifting experience. true to schedule, the procession passed the hotel at five. bands were playing, people were shouting, banners were waving, and legions of mounted and foot soldiers in brilliant array clogged the thoroughfare. the royal equipage rolled slowly by, followed by less gorgeous carriages in which were seated the men who failed to make the advent of mr. blithers a conspicuous success. prince robin sat in the royal coach, faced by two unbending officers of the royal guard. he was alone on the rear seat, and his brown, handsome face was aglow with smiles. instead of a hat of silk, he lifted a gay and far from immaculate conception in straw; instead of a glittering uniform, he wore a suit of blue serge and a peculiarly american tie of crimson hue. he looked more like a popular athlete returning from conquests abroad than a prince of ancient lineage. but the crowd cheered itself hoarse over this bright-faced youngster who rode by in a coach of gold and brandished a singularly unregal chapeau. his alert eyes were searching the crowd along the street, in the balconies and windows with an eager intensity. he was looking for the sweet familiar face of the loveliest girl on earth, and knew that he looked in vain, for even though she were one among the many her features would be obscured by an impenetrable veil. if she were there, he wondered what her thoughts might be on beholding the humble r. schmidt in the role of a royal prince receiving the laudations of the loving multitude! passing the regengetz, his eyes swept the rows of cheering people banked upon its wide terrace and verandahs. he saw mr. and mrs. blithers well down in front, and for a second his heart seemed to stand still. would she be with them? it was with a distinct sensation of relief that he realised that she was not with the smiling americans. mr. blithers waved his hat and, instead of shouting the incomprehensible greeting of the native spectators, called out in vociferous tones: "welcome home! welcome! hurrah!" as the coach swerved into the circle and entered the great, tree-lined avenue, followed by the clattering chorus of four thousand horse-shoes, mrs. blithers after a final glimpse of the disappearing coach, sighed profoundly, shook out her handkerchief from the crumpled ball she had made of it with her nervously clenched fingers, touched her lips with it and said: "oh, what a remarkably handsome, manly boy he is, will." mr. blithers nodded his head proudly. "he certainly is. i'll bet my head that maud is crazy about him already. she can't help it, lou. that trip on the _jupiter_ was a god-send." "i wish we could hear something from her," said mrs. blithers, anxiously. "don't you worry," said he. "she'll turn up safe and sound and enthusiastic before she's a week older. we'll have plain sailing from now on, lou." chapter xxii a visit to the castle mr. blithers indeed experienced plain sailing for the ensuing twenty hours. it was not until just before he set forth at two the next afternoon to attend, by special appointment, a meeting of the cabinet in the council chamber at the castle that he encountered the first symptom of squalls ahead. he had sent his secretary to the castle with a brief note suggesting an early conference. it naturally would be of an informal character, as there was no present business before them. the contracts had already been signed by the government and by his authorised agents. so far as the loan was concerned there was nothing more to be said. everything was settled. true, it was still necessary to conform to a certain custom by having the prince affix his signature to the contract over the great seal of state, but as he previously had signed an agreement in new york this brief act was of a more or less perfunctory nature. the deposit of bonds by the state and its people would follow in course of time, as prescribed by contract, and mr. blithers was required to place in the bank of graustark, on such and such a date, the sum of three million pounds sterling. everybody was satisfied with the terms of the contract. mr. blithers was to get what really amounted to nearly nine percent on a gilt-edged investment, and graustark was to preserve its integrity and retain its possessions. there was a distant cloud on the financial horizon, however, a vague shadow at present,--but prophetic of storm. it was perfectly clear to the nobles that when these bonds matured, mr. blithers would be in a position to exact payment, and as they matured in twelve years from date he was likely to be pretty much alive and kicking when the hour of reckoning arrived. mr. blithers was in the mood to be amiable. he anticipated considerable pleasure in visiting the ancient halls of his prospective grandchildren. during the forenoon he had taken a motor ride about the city with mrs. blithers, accompanied by a guide who created history for them with commendable glibness and some veracity, and pointed out the homes of great personages as well as the churches, monuments and museums. he also told them in a confidential undertone that the prince was expected to marry a beautiful american girl and that the people were enchanted with the prospect! that sly bit of information realised ten dollars for him at the end of the trip, aside from his customary fee. the first shock to the placidity of mr. blithers came with the brief note in reply to his request for an informal conference. the lord chamberlain curtly informed him that the cabinet would be in session at two and would be pleased to grant him an audience of half an hour, depending on his promptness in appearing. mr. blithers was not accustomed to being granted audiences. he had got into the habit of having them thrust upon him. it irritated him tremendously to have any one measure time for him. why, even the president of the united states, the senate, or the district attorney in new york couldn't do _that_ for him. and here was a whipper-snapper lord chamberlain telling him that the cabinet would grant him half-an-hour! he managed to console himself, however, with the thought that matters would not always be as they were at present. there would be a decided change of tune later on. it would be folly to undertake the depiction of mr. blithers' first impressions of the castle and its glories, both inside out. to begin with, he lost no small amount of his assurance when he discovered that the great gates in the wall surrounding the park were guarded by resplendent dragoons who politely demanded his "pass." after the officer in charge had inspected the lord chamberlain's card as if he had never seen one before, he ceremoniously indicated to a warden that the gates were to be opened. there was a great clanking of chains, the drawing of iron bolts, the whirl of a windlass, and the ponderous gates swung slowly ajar. mr. blithers caught his breath--and from that instant until he found himself crossing the great hall in the wake of an attendant delegated to conduct him to the council chamber his sensations are not to be described. it is only necessary to say that he was in a reverential condition, and that is saying a great deal for mr. blithers. a certain bombastic confidence in himself gave way to mellow timidity. he was in a new world. he was cognisant of a distinct sensation of awe. his ruthless wall street tread became a mincing, uncertain shuffle; he could not conquer the absurd notion that he ought to tip-toe his way about these ancient halls with their thick, velvety rugs and whispering shadows. everywhere about him was pomp, visible and invisible. it was in the great stairway, the vaulted ceilings, the haughty pillars, over all of which was the sheen of an age that surpassed his comprehension. rigid servitors watched his progress through the vast spaces--men with grim, unsmiling faces. he knew, without seeing, that this huge pile was alive with noble lords and ladies: the court! gallantry and beauty to mock him with their serene indifference! somewhere in this great house beautiful women were idling, or feasting, or dreaming. he was conscious of their presence all about him, and shrank slightly as he wondered if they were scrutinising his ungainly person. he was suddenly ashamed of his tight-fitting cut-a-way coat and striped trousers. really he ought to get a new suit! these garments were much too small for him. were ironic eyes taking in the fresh creases in those new york trousers? were they regarding his shimmering patent leather shoes with an intelligence that told them that he was in pain? were they wondering how much he weighed and why he didn't unbutton his coat when he must have known that it would look better if it didn't pinch him so tightly across the chest? above all things, were they smiling at the corpulent part of him that preceded the rest of his body, clad in an immaculate waistcoat? he never had felt so conspicuous in his life, nor so certain that he was out of place. coming in due time--and with a grateful heart--to a small ante-chamber, he was told to sit down and wait. he sat down very promptly. in any other house he would have sauntered around, looking at the emblems, crests and shields that hung upon the walls. but now he sat and wondered. he wondered whether this could be william w. blithers. was this one of the richest men in the world--this fellow sitting here with his hands folded tightly across his waistcoat? he was forced to admit that it was and at the same time it wasn't. the attendant returned and he was ushered into a second chamber, at the opposite end of which was a large, imposing door--closed. beside this door stood a slim, erect figure in the red, blue and gold uniform of an officer of the castle guard. as mr. blithers approached this rigid figure, he recognised a friend and a warm glow pervaded his heart. there could be no mistaking the smart moustache and supercilious eye-brows. it was lieutenant dank. "how do you do?" said mr. blithers. "glad to see you again." his voice sounded unnatural. he extended his hand. dank gave him a ceremonious salute, bowed slightly but without a smile, and then threw open the door. "mr. blithers, my lords," he announced, and stood aside to let the stranger in a strange land pass within. a number of men were seated about a long table in the centre of this imposing chamber. no one arose as mr. blithers entered the room and stopped just inside the door. he heard it close gently behind him. he was at a loss for the first time in his life. he didn't know whether he was to stop just inside the door fingering his hat like a messenger boy, or go forward and join the group. his gaze fell upon a huge oaken chair at the far end of the table. it was the only unoccupied seat that came within the scope of his rather limited vision. he could not see anything beyond the table and the impassive group that surrounded it. was it possible that the big chair was intended for him? if so, how small and insignificant he would look upon it. he had a ghastly notion that his feet would not touch the floor, and he went so far as to venture the hope that there would be a substantial round somewhere about midway from the bottom. he had appeared before the inquisitorial committees in the united states senate, and had not been oppressed by the ponderous gravity of the investigation. he had faced the senators without a tremor of awe. he had even regarded them with a confidence, equal if not superior to their own. but now he faced a calm, impassive group of men who seemed to strip him down to the flesh with a cool, piercing interest, and who were in no sense impressed by what they saw. despite his nervousness he responded to the life long habit of calculation. he counted the units in the group in a single, rapid glance, and found that there were eleven. eleven lords of the realm! eleven stern, dignified, unsmiling strangers to the arrogance of william w. blithers! something told him at once that he could not spend an informal half-hour with them. grim, striking, serious visages, all of them! the last hope for his well-fed american humour flickered and died. he knew that it would never do to regale them in an informal off-hand way--as he had planned--with examples of native wit. reverting to the precise moment of his entrance to the castle, we find mr. blithers saying to himself that there wasn't the slightest use in even hoping that he might be invited to transfer his lodgings from the regengetz to the royal bed-chambers. the chance of being invited to dine there seemed to dwindle as well. while he sat and waited in the first antechamber he even experienced strange misgivings in respect to parental privileges later on. after what appeared to him to be an interminable length of time, but in reality no more than a few seconds, a tall man arose from his seat and advanced with outstretched hand. mr. blithers recognised count quinnox, the minister of war. he shook that friendly hand with a fervour that must have surprised the count. never in all his life had he been so glad to see any one. "how are you, my lord," said the king of finance, fairly meek with gratefulness. "excellently well, mr. blithers," returned the count. "and you?" "never better, never better," said mr. blithers, again pumping the count's hand up and down--with even greater heartiness than before. "glad to see you. isn't it a pleasant day? i was telling mrs. blithers this morning that i'd never seen a pleasanter day. we--" "let me introduce you to my colleagues, mr. blithers," interrupted the count. "happy, i'm sure," mumbled mr. blithers. to save his life, he couldn't tell what had got into him. he had never acted like this before. the count was mentioning the names of dukes, counts and barons, and mr. blithers was bowing profoundly to each in turn. no one offered to shake hands with him, although each rose politely, even graciously. they even smiled. he remembered that very well afterwards. they smiled kindly, almost benignly. he suddenly realised what had got into him. it was respect. "a chair, franz," said the white haired, gaunt man who was called baron romano. "will you sit here, mr. blithers? pray forgive our delay in admitting you. we were engaged in a rather serious discussion over--" "oh, that's all right," said mr. blithers, magnanimously. "am i interfering with any important business, gent--my lords? if so, just--" "not at all, mr. blithers. pray be seated." "sure i'm not taking any one's seat?" "a secretary's, sir. he can readily find another." mr. blithers sat down. he was rather pleased to find that the big chair was not meant for him. a swift intuition told him that it was reserved for the country's ruler. "the prince signed the contracts just before you arrived, mr. blithers," said baron romano. "the seal has been affixed to each of the documents, and your copy is ready for delivery at any time." mr. blithers recovered himself slightly. "you may send it to the hotel, baron, at any time to-morrow. my lawyers will have a look at it." then he made haste to explain: "not that it is really necessary, but just as a matter of form. besides, it gives the lawyers something to do." he sent an investigating glance around the room. "the prince has retired," said the baron, divining the thought. "he does not remain for the discussions." glancing at the huge old clock above the door, the prime minister assumed a most business-like air. "it will doubtless gratify you to know that three-fourths of the bonds have been deposited, mr. blithers, and the remainder will be gathered in during the week. holders living in remote corners of our country have not as yet been able to reach us with their securities. a week will give them sufficient time, will it not, count lazzar?" "i may safely say that all the bonds will be in our hands by next tuesday at the latest," said the minister of the treasury. he was a thin, ascetic man; his keen eyes were fixed rather steadily upon mr. blithers. after a moment's pause, he went on: "we are naturally interested in your extensive purchases of our outstanding bonds, mr. blithers. i refer to the big blocks you have acquired in london, paris and berlin." "want to know what i bought them for?" inquired mr. blithers amiably. "we have wondered not a little at your readiness to invest such a fortune in our securities." "well, there you have it. investment, that's all. your credit is sound, and your resources unquestioned, your bonds gilt-edge. i am glad of the opportunity to take a few dollars out of wall street uncertainties and put 'em into something absolutely certain. groo--gras--er--groostock bonds are pretty safe things to have lying in a safety vault in these times of financial unrest. they create a pretty solid fortune for my family,--that is to say, for my daughter and her children. a sensible business man,--and i claim to be one,--looks ahead, my lords. railroads are all right as long as you are alive and can run them yourself. it's after you are dead that they fail to do what is expected of them. new fingers get into the pie, and you never can tell what they'll pull out in their greediness. i cannot imagine anything safer in the shape of an investment than the bonds of a nation that has a debt of less than fifty million dollars. as a citizen of a republic whose national debt is nearly a billion, i confess that i can't see how you've managed so well." "we are so infinitesimal, mr. blithers, that i daresay we could be lost in the smallest of your states," said baron romano, with a smile. "rhode island is pretty small," mr. blithers informed him, without a smile. "it is most gratifying to graustark to know that you value our securities so highly as a legacy," said count lazzar, suavely. "may i venture the hope, however, that your life may be prolonged beyond the term of their existence? they expire in a very few years--a dozen, in fact." "oh, i think i can hang on that long," said mr. blithers, a little more at ease. he was saying to himself that these fellows were not so bad, after all. "still one never knows. i may be dead in a year. my daughter--but, of course, you will pardon me if i don't go into my private affairs. i fear i have already said too much." "on the contrary, sir, we are all only too willing to be edified. the workings of an intelligence such as jours cannot fail to be of interest to us who are so lacking in the power to cope with great undertakings. i confess to a selfish motive in asking you about your methods of--er--investment," said the minister of finance. mr. blithers failed to see that he was shrewdly being led up to a matter that was of more importance to graustark just then than anything along financial lines. "i am only too willing, my lords, to give you the benefit of my experience. any questions that you may care to ask, i'll be glad to answer to the best of my ability. it is only natural that i should take a great personal interest in graustock from now on. i want to see the country on the boom. i want to see it taking advantage of all the opportunities that--er--come its way. there may be a few pointers that william w. blithers can give you in respect to your railways and mines--and your general policy, perhaps. i hope you won't hesitate about asking." the prime minister tapped reflectively upon the table-top with his fingers for a moment or two. "thank you," he said. "we are at this very moment in something of a quandary in respect to the renewal of a treaty with one of our neighbours. for the past twenty years we have been in alliance with our next door neighbours, axphain on the north and dawsbergen on the south and east. the triple alliance will end this year unless renewed. up to the present our relations have been most amiable. axphain stands ready to extend our mutual protective agreement for another term of years, but dawsbergen is lukewarm and inclined to withdraw. when you become better acquainted with the politics of our country you will understand how regrettable such an action on the part of a hitherto friendly government will be." "what's the grievance?" inquired mr. blithers, bluntly. he was edging into familiar waters now. "what's the matter with dawsbergen? money controversy?" "not at all," said lazzar hastily. "why not let 'em withdraw?" said mr. blithers. "we can get along without them." there was a general uplifting of heads at the use of the pronoun, and a more fixed concentration of gaze. "i daresay you are already acquainted with the desire on the part of dawsbergen to form an alliance in which axphain can have no part," said baron romano. "in other words, it has been the desire of both dawsbergen and graustark to perfect a matrimonial alliance that may cement the fortunes of the two countries--" "count quinnox mentioned something of the sort," interrupted mr. blithers. "but suppose this matrimonial alliance doesn't come off, who would be the sufferer, you or dawsbergen? who will it benefit the most?" there was a moment's silence. doubtless it had never occurred to the ministry to speculate on the point. "dawsbergen is a rich, powerful country," said romano. "we will be the gainers by such an alliance. mr. blithers." "i don't go much on alliances," said the capitalist. "i believe in keeping out of them if possible." "i see," said the baron reflectively. there was another silence. then: "it has come to our notice in a most direct manner that the prince of dawsbergen feels that his friendly consideration of a proposal made by our government some years ago is being disregarded in a manner that can hardly be anything but humiliating to him, not only as a sovereign but as a father." "he's the one who has the marriageable daughter, eh? i had really forgotten the name." the baron leaned forward, still tapping the table-top with his long, slim fingers. "the report that prince robin is to marry your daughter, mr. blithers, has reached his ears. it is only natural that he should feel resentful. for fifteen years there has been an understanding that the crown princess of dawsbergen and the prince of graustark were one day to be wedded to each other. you will admit that the present reports are somewhat distressing to him and unquestionably so to the crown princess." mr. blithers settled back in his chair. "it seems to me that he is making a mountain out of a molehill." baron romano shrank perceptibly. "it devolves upon me, sir, as spokesman for the ministry, the court and the people of graustark, to inform you that marriage between our prince and any other than the crown princess of dawsbergen is not to be considered as possible." mr. blithers stared. "hasn't the prince any voice in the matter?" he demanded. "yes. he has already denied, somewhat publicly, that he is not contemplating marriage with your daughter. he has had a voice in that matter at least." a fine moisture started out on the purplish brow of mr. blithers. twenty-two eyes were upon him. he realised that he was not attending an informal conference. he had been brought here for a deliberate purpose. "i may be permitted the privilege of reminding you, my lords, that his denial was no more emphatic than that expressed by my daughter," he said, with real dignity. "we have accepted her statement as final, but it is our earnest desire that the minds of the people be set at rest," said the baron gravely. "i sincerely trust that you will appreciate our position, mr. blithers. it is not our desire or intention to offend in this matter, but we believe it to be only fair and just that we should understand each other at the outset. the impression is afoot that--" "my lords," said mr. blithers, rising, his face suddenly pale, "i beg leave to assure you that my daughter's happiness is of far more importance to me than all the damned principalities in the world. just a moment, please. i apologise for the oath--but i mean it, just the same. i do not resent your attitude, nor do i resent your haste in conveying to me your views on the subject. it may be diplomacy to go straight to a question and get it over with, but it isn't always diplomatic to go off half-cocked. i will say, with perfect candour, that i should like to see my daughter the princess of graustark, but--by god! i want you to understand that her own wishes in the matter are to govern mine in the end. i have had this marriage in mind, there's no use denying it. i have schemed to bring these two young people together with a single object in view. i knew that if they saw enough of each other they would fall in love, and they would want the happiness that love brings to all people. just a moment, baron! i want to say to you now, all of you, that if my girl should love your prince and he should love her in return, there isn't a power below heaven that can keep them apart. if she doesn't love him, and he should be unlucky enough to love her, i'd see him hanged before he could have her. i'll admit that i have counted on seeing all of this come to pass, and that i have bungled the thing pretty badly because i'm a loving, selfish father,--but, my lords, since you have brought me here to tell me that it is impossible for my girl to marry your prince, i will say to you, here and now, that if they ever love each other and want to get married, i'll see to it that it isn't impossible. you issue an ultimatum to me, in plain words, so i'll submit one to you, in equally plain words. i intend to leave this matter entirely to my daughter and prince robin. they are to do the deciding, so far as i am concerned. and if they decide that they love each other and want to get married, _they will get married_. do i make myself perfectly plain, my lords?" the dignified ministry of graustark sat agape. with his concluding words, mr. blithers deposited his clenched fist upon the table with a heavy thud, and, as if fascinated, every eye shifted from his face to the white knuckles of that resolute hand. baron romano also arose. "you place us in the extremely distressing position of being obliged to oppose the hand of a benefactor, mr. blithers. you have come to our assistance in a time of need. you have--" "if it is the loan you are talking about, baron, that is quite beside the question," interrupted mr. blithers. "i do not speculate. i may have had a personal motive in lending you this money, but i don't believe you will find that it enters into the contract we have signed. i don't lend money for charity's sake. i sometimes give it to charity, but when it comes to business, i am not charitable. i have made a satisfactory loan and i am not complaining. you may leave out the word benefactor, baron. it doesn't belong in the game." "as you please, sir," said romano coldly. "we were only intent upon conveying to you our desire to maintain friendly relations with you, mr. blithers, despite the unpleasant conditions that have arisen. i may at least question your right to assume that we are powerless to prevent a marriage that is manifestly unpopular with the subjects of prince robin." "i had it on excellent authority to-day that the people are not opposed to the union of my daughter and the prince," said mr. blithers. "i am compelled to say that you have been misinformed," said the baron, flatly. "i think i have not been misinformed, however, concerning the personal views of prince robin. if i am not mistaken, he openly declares that he will marry to suit himself and not the people of graustark. isn't it barely possible, my lords, that he may have something to say about who he is to marry?" "i confess that his attitude is all that you describe," said the baron. "he has announced his views quite plainly. we admit that he may have something to say about it." "then i submit that it isn't altogether an improbability that he may decide to marry according to the dictates of his heart and not for the sake of appearances," said mr. blithers scathingly. "i have an idea that he will marry the girl he loves, no matter who she may be." [illustration: the dignified ministry of graustark sat agape] count quinnox and baron gourou exchanged glances. these two men were guilty of having kept from their colleagues all information concerning a certain miss guile. they, as well as dank, were bound by a promise exacted by their sovereign prince. they alone knew that mr. blithers was supported by an incontrovertible truth. for the present, their lips were sealed, and yet they faced that anxious group with a complete understanding of the situation. they knew that mr. blithers was right. prince robin would marry the girl that he loved, and no other. they knew that their prince expected to marry the daughter of the man who now faced these proud noblemen and virtually defied them! "am i not right, count quinnox?" demanded mr. blithers, turning suddenly upon the minister of war. "you are in a position to know something about him. am i not right?" every eye was on the count. "prince robin will marry for love, my lords," he said quietly, "i am forced to agree with mr. blithers." baron romano sank into his chair. there was silence in the room for many seconds. "may i enquire, count quinnox, if you know anything of the present state of prince robin's--er--heart?" inquired the prime minister finally. a tinge of red appeared in each of count quinnox's swarthy cheeks. "i can only surmise," said he briefly. "has--has he met some one in whom he feels a--er--an interest?" "yes." "may we have the benefit of your conclusions?" said baron romano, icily. "i am not at liberty to supply information at present," said the count, visibly distressed. mr. blithers leaned forward, his hands upon the table. "some one he met after leaving new york?" he inquired eagerly. "time will reveal everything, mr. blithers," said the count, and closed his jaws resolutely. his colleagues looked at him in consternation. the worst, then, had happened! a gleam of triumph shot into the eyes of mr. blithers. his heart swelled. he felt himself stepping out upon safe, solid ground after a period of floundering. the very best, then, had happened! "my lords, i find that my half-hour is almost up," he said, pulling out his gold watch and comparing its time with that of the clock on the wall. "permit me to take my departure. i am content to let matters shape themselves as they may. shakespeare says 'there is a destiny that shapes our ends, rough hew them'--er--and so forth. allow me, however, before leaving, to assure you of my most kindly interest in the welfare of your state. you may be pleased to know that it is not from me that graustark--did i get it right that time?--will redeem her bonds when they mature, but from my only daughter. she is nearly twenty-one years of age. on her twenty-fifth birthday i shall present to her--as a gift--all of my holdings in graustark. she may do as she sees fit with them. permit me to wish you all good day, my lords. you may send the contract to my hotel, baron. i expect to remain in the city for some time." as he traversed the vast halls on his way to the outer world, he was again overcome by the uneasy conviction that ironic eyes were looking out upon him from luxurious retreats. again he felt that his coat fitted him too tightly and that his waistcoat was painfully in evidence. he hurried a bit. if he could have had his way about it, he would have run. once outside the castle doors, he lighted a big cigar, and threw the burnt-out match upon the polished flagstones of the terrace. he regretted the act on the instant. he wished he had not thrown it there. if the solemn grooms had not been watching, he would have picked it up and stuck it into his pocket for disposal on the less hallowed stones of a city thoroughfare. outside the gates he felt more at ease, more at home, in fact. he smoked in great contentment. in the broad, shady avenue he took out his watch and pried open the case. a great pride filled his eyes as he looked upon the dainty miniature portrait of his daughter maud. she _was_ lovely--she was even lovelier than he had ever thought before. at the regengetz a telegram awaited him. it was from maud. "i shall be in edelweiss this week without fail. i have something very important to tell you." so it read. chapter xxiii pingari's nine o'clock of a rainy night, on the steep, winding road that climbed the mountain-side from the walled-in city to the crest on which stood the famed monastery of st. valentine,--nine o'clock of a night fraught with pleasurable anticipation on the part of one r. schmidt, whose eager progress up the slope was all too slow notwithstanding the encouragement offered by the conscienceless jehu who frequently beat his poor steeds into a gallop over level stretches and never allowed them to pause on the cruel grades. late in the afternoon there had come to the general post-office a letter for mr. r. schmidt. he had told her that any message intended for him would reach his hands if directed to the post-office. since his arrival in the city, three days before, he had purposely avoided the main streets and avenues of edelweiss, venturing forth but seldom from the castle grounds, and all because he knew that he could not go abroad during the day-time without forfeiting the privileges to be enjoyed in emulation of the good caliphs of baghdad. his people would betray their prince because they loved him: his passage through the streets could only be attended by respectful homage on the part of every man, woman and child in the place. if bedelia were there, she could not help knowing who and what he was, with every one stupidly lifting his hat and bowing to him as he passed, and he did not want bedelia to know the truth about him until she had answered an all-important question, as has been mentioned before on more than one occasion in the course of this simple tale. her letter was brief. she merely acquainted him with the fact that she had arrived in edelweiss that day from ganlook, twenty miles away, and was stopping at the inn of the stars outside the city gates and half way up the mountain-side, preferring the quiet, ancient tavern to the stately regengetz for reasons of her own. in closing she said that she would be delighted to see him when it was convenient for him to come to her. on receipt of this singularly matter-of-fact letter, he promptly despatched a message to miss guile, inn of the stars, saying that she might expect him at nine that night. fortunately for him, the night was wet and blustering. he donned a rain-coat, whose cape and collar served to cover the lower part of his face fairly well, and completed his disguise by pulling far down over his eyes the villainous broad-brimmed hat affected by the shepherds in the hills. he had a pair of dark eye-glasses in reserve for the crucial test that would come with his entrance to the inn. stealing away from the castle at night, he entered the ram-shackle cab that hobbs had engaged for the expedition, and which awaited him not far from the private entrance to the park. warders at the gate looked askance as he passed them by, but not one presumed to question him. they winked slyly at each other, however, after he had disappeared in the shadows beyond the rays of the feeble lanterns that they carried. it was good to be young! the driver of that rattling old vehicle was no other than the versatile hobbs, who, it appears, had rented the outfit for a fixed sum, guaranteeing the owner against loss by theft, fire or dissolution. it is not even remotely probable that the owner would have covered the ground so quickly as hobbs, and it is certain that the horses never suspected that they had it in them. the mud-covered vehicle was nearing the inn of the stars when robin stuck his head out of the window and directed hobbs to drive slower. "very good, sir," said hobbs. "i thought as how we might be late after losing time at the city gates, sir, wot with that silly guard and the--" "we are in good time, hobbs. take it easy." the lights of the inn were gleaming through the drizzle not more than a block away. robin's heart was thumping furiously. little chills ran over him, delicious chills of excitement. his blood was hot and cold, his nerves were tingling. the adventure! "whoa!" said hobbs suddenly. "'ello, wot the 'ell is--" a dark figure had sprung into the road-way near the horses' heads, and was holding up a warning hand. "is this mr. schmidt's carriage?" demanded a hoarse, suppressed voice. "it is," said hobbs, "for the time being. wot of it?" robin's head came through the window. "what do you want?" "some one is coming out here to meet you, sir. do not drive up to the doors. those are the orders. you are to wait here, if you please." then the man shot away into the darkness, leaving the wayfarers mystified by his words and action. "wot am i to do, sir?" inquired hobbs. "most hextraordinary orders, and who the deuce is behind them, that's wot i'd like to know." "we'll wait here, hobbs," said robin, and then put his hand suddenly to his heart. it was acting very queerly. for a moment he thought it was in danger of pounding its way out of his body! below him lay the lighted city, a great yellow cloud almost at his feet. nearer, on the mountain-side were the misty lights in the windows of dwellers on the slope, and at points far apart the street lamps, dim splashes of light in the gloom. far above were the almost obscured lights of st. valentine, hanging in the sky. he thought of the monks up there. what a life! he would not be a monk, not he. "my word!" exclaimed hobbs, but instantly resumed his character as cabby. a woman came swiftly out of the blackness and stopped beside the cab. she was swathed in a long gossamer, and hooded. the carriage lamps gleamed strong against the dripping coat. "is it you?" cried robin, throwing open the door and leaping to the ground. "it is i, m'sieur," said the voice of marie, miss guile's french maid. bleak disappointment filled his soul. he had hoped for--but no! he might have known. she would not meet him in this manner. "what has happened?" he cried, grasping the girl's arm. "has she--" "sh! may we not speak in french?" said marie, lowering her voice after a significant look at the motionless cabman. "he may understand english, m'sieur. my mistress has sent me to say to m'sieur that she has changed her mind." "changed her mind," gasped robin. "yes, m'sieur. she will not receive you at the inn of the stars. she bids you drive to the end of this street, where there is a garden with a magyar band, and the most delicious of refreshments to be had under vine-covered--" "a public garden?" exclaimed robin in utter dismay. "pingari's, sir," said hobbs, without thinking. "i know the place well. it is a very quiet, orderly place--i beg pardon!" "so he understands french, eh?" cried marie sharply. "it doesn't matter," cried robin impatiently. "why, in heaven's name, did she select a public eating-house in which to receive me?" "if m'sieur chooses to disregard the wishes of--" began the maid, but he interrupted her. "i am not accustomed to meeting people in public gardens. i--" "nor is my mistress, m'sieur. i assure you it is the first time she has committed an indiscretion of this kind. may i put a flea in m'sieur's ear? the place is quite empty to-night, and besides there is the drive back to the inn with mademoiselle. is not that something, m'sieur?' "by jove!" exclaimed robin. "drive on,--you! but wait! let me take you to the inn, marie. it--" "no! i may not accept m'sieur's thoughtful invitation. bon soir, m'sieur." she was off like a flash. robin leaped nimbly into the cab. "pingari's, driver!" he said, his heart thumping once more. "very good, sir," and they were off at a lively rate, rattling quite gaily over the cobble-stones. pingari's is the jumping-off place. it stands at the sharp corner of an elbow in the mountain, with an almost sheer drop of a thousand feet into the quarries below. a low-roofed, rambling building, once used as a troop-house for nomadic fighting-men who came from all parts of the principality on draft by feudal barons in the days before real law obtained, it was something of a historic place. parts of the structure are said to be no less than five hundred years old, but time and avarice have relegated history to a rather uncertain background, and unless one is pretty well up in the traditions of the town, he may be taken in nicely by shameless attendants who make no distinction between the old and the new so long as it pays them to procrastinate. as a matter of fact, the walls of the ancient troop-house surround what is now considered the kitchen, and one never steps inside of them unless he happens to be connected in a somewhat menial way with the green grocer, the fish-monger, the butcher or the poultry-man. the wonderful vine-covered porches, reeking with signs of decay and tottering with age, are in truth very substantial affairs constructed by an ancestor of the present signor pingari no longer ago than the napoleonic era--which is quite recent as things go in graustark. hobbs drove bravely into the court yard, shouted orders to a couple of hostlers and descended from the box. the magyar band was playing blithely to the scattered occupants of the porches overlooking the precipice. "'ere we are, sir," said he to the prince, as he jerked open the door of the cab. "shall i wait, sir?" "certainly," said robin, climbing out. "i am a long way from home, my good man." he hurried up the steps and cast an eye about the place. there were no ladies unattached. as he was about to start on a tour of investigation, a polite person in brass buttons came up to him. "alone, sir?" he inquired pityingly. "quite," said robin, still peering into the recesses. "then come with me, if you please. i am directed to escort you to one who is also alone. this way, sir." robin followed him through a door, down a narrow hallway, up a flight of stairs and out another door upon a small portico, sheltered by a heavy canvas awning. two men were standing at the railing, looking down upon the impressionistic lights of the sunken city. the prince drew back, his face hardening. "what does this mean, sirrah? you said--" at the sound of his voice the two men turned, stared at him intently for an instant and then deliberately strode past him, entered the door and disappeared. the person in brass buttons followed them. a soft, gurgling laugh fell upon his ears--a laugh of pure delight. he whirled about and faced--one who was no longer alone. she was seated at the solitary little table in the corner; until now it had escaped his notice for the excellent reason that it was outside the path of light from the open doorway, and the faint glow from the adjacent porches did not penetrate the quiet retreat. he sprang toward her with a glad cry, expecting her to rise. she remained seated, her hand extended. this indifference on her part may have been the result of cool premeditation. in any event, it served to check the impulsive ardour of the prince, who, it is to be feared, had lost something in the way of self-restraint. it is certain--absolutely certain--that had she come forward to meet him, she would have found herself imprisoned in a pair of strong, eager arms,--and a crisis precipitated. he had to be content with a warm hand-clasp and a smile of welcome that even the gloom could not hide from his devouring eyes. "my dear, dear bedelia," he murmured. "i had almost given you up. three long days have i waited for you. you--" "i have never broken a promise, rex," she said coolly. "it is you who are to be commended, not i, for you see i was coming to graustark anyway. i should not have been surprised if you had failed me, sir. it is a long way from vienna to this out-of-the-way--" "the most distant spot in the world would not have been too far away to cause an instant's hesitation on my part," said he, dropping into the chair opposite her. "i would go to the end of the world, bedelia." "but your personal affairs--your business," she protested. "can you neglect it so--" "my business is to find happiness," said he. "i should be neglecting it indeed if i failed to pursue the only means of attaining it. you are happiness, bedelia." "what would you sacrifice for happiness?" she asked softly. "all else in the world," he replied steadily. "if i were a king, my realm should go if it stood between me and--you, bedelia." she drew back with a queer little gasp, as if suddenly breathless. "wait--wait just for a moment," she said, with difficulty steadying her voice. "this night may see the end of our adventure, rex. let us think well before we say that it is over. i know, if you do not, that a great deal depends upon what we are to say to each other to-night. you will ask me to be your wife. are you sure that you appreciate all that it means to you and to your future if i should say yes to that dear question?" he looked at her intently. "what do you know, bedelia?" "i know that you are the prince of graustark and that it is ordained that you shall wed one whose station is the equal of your own. you must think well, dear rex, before you ask bedelia guile to be your wife." "you know that i am--" he began, dully, and then burst into a mirthless laugh. "and knowing who i am, why do you not leap at the chance to become the princess of graustark? why not realise an ambition that--" "hush! you see how well i considered when i advised you to think before speaking? you are now saying things that are unworthy of you. you are forgetting that it is my privilege to say no to the am in search of happiness. i too--" he stood up, leaning far over the table, a penetrating look in his eyes. "how long have you known, bedelia?" "since the second day out on the _jupiter_," she replied serenely. he slowly resumed his seat, overwhelmed by the sickening realisation that his bubble had burst. she had known from the beginning. she had played with him. she had defied him! "i know what you are thinking, rex," she said, almost pleadingly. "you are thinking ill of me, and you are unjust. it was as fair for me as it was for you. we played a cautious game. you set about to win my love as you saw fit, my friend, and am i to be condemned if i exercised the same privilege? i was no more deliberate, no more reprehensible than you. am i more guilty of deceit than you?" he gave a great sigh of relief. "you are right," he said. "it is my turn to confess. i have known for many days that you are not bedelia guile. we are quits." she laughed softly. "i rather like bedelia. i think i shall keep it as a good-luck name. we have now arrived at the time for a profound contemplation of the results of our experiments. in the meantime, i have had no dinner. i trust that the prince of graustark has dined so lightly that he will not decline to share my repast with me. it has already been ordered--for two." "by jove, you--you amaze me!" he exclaimed. "please remove that dreadful mackintosh and touch the bell for me. you see, i am a very prosaic person, after all. even in the face of disaster i can have a craving for food and drink. that's better." in a sort of daze, he tapped the little table bell. a waiter appeared on the instant. "give us more light, waiter," was her command, "and serve dinner at once." the lights went up, and robin looked into her soft, smiling eyes. "it doesn't matter," he whispered hoarsely. "i don't care what happens to me, bedelia, i--i shall never give you up. you are worth all the kingdoms in the world. you are the loveliest, most adorable--" "hush! the eyes of your people are upon you. see! even the waiter recognises his prince. he is overcome. ah! he falters with the consomme. it is a perilous moment. there! i knew something would happen, poor fellow. he has spilled--but, all is well; he has his wits again. see! he replenishes from the steaming tureen. we are saved." her mood was so gaily satiric, so inconsequential, that he allowed a wondering, uncertain smile to banish the trouble from his eyes as he leaned back in the chair and studied the vivid, excited face of the girl who had created havoc with his senses. she was dressed as he had seen her on board the _jupiter_ during those delightful days on deck: the same trim figure in a blue serge suit and a limp white hat, drawn well down over her soft brown hair, with the smart red tie and the never-to-be-forgotten scent of a perfume that would linger in his nostrils forever and forever. "do you think it strange that i should have asked you to meet me here in this unconventional way instead of at the inn?" she inquired, suddenly serious. again the shy, pleading expression stole into her eyes. "i did think so, but no longer. i am glad that we are here." "mrs. gaston is inside," she informed him quickly. "i do not come alone. an hour ago the inn became quite impossible as a trysting place. a small party from the regengetz arrived for dinner. can you guess who is giving the dinner? the great and only william w. blithers, sir, who comes to put an obstinate daughter upon the throne of graustark, whether she will or no." "did he see you?" cried robin. "no," she answered, with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "i stole out through the back door, and sent marie out with one of the porters to head you off. then i came on here. i didn't even stop to change my gown." "hide and seek is a bully game," said he. "it can't last much longer, bedelia. i think it is only right that we should go to your father and tell him that--everything is all right. it is his due. you've solved your own problem and are satisfied, so why not reveal yourself. there is nothing to be gained by further secrecy." she was watching him closely. "are you, after all is said and done, sure that you want to marry the daughter of william blithers, in the face of all the bitter consequences that may follow such an act? think hard, my dear. she is being forced upon you, in a way. mr. blithers' money is behind her. your people are opposed to the bargain, for that is the way in which they will look upon it. they may act very harshly toward you. the name of blithers is detested in your land. his daughter is reviled. are you sure that you want to marry her, re--robin?" "are you through?" he asked, transfixing her with a determined look. "well, then, i'll answer you. i do want to marry you, and, more than that, i mean to marry you. i love--" "you may tell me, robin, as we are driving back to the inn together--not here, not now," she said softly, the lovelight in her eyes. happiness blurred his vision. he was thrilled by an enchantment so stupefying that the power of speech, almost of thought, was denied him for the time being. he could only sit and stare at her with prophetic love in his eyes, love that bided its time and trembled with anticipation. long afterward, as they were preparing to leave pingari's she said to him: "my father is at the inn, robin. i ran away from him to-night because i wanted to be sure that our adventure was closed before i revealed myself to him. i wanted to be able to say to him that love will find its way, no matter how blind it is, nor how vast the world it has to traverse in search of its own. my father is at the inn. take me to him now, robin, and make the miracle complete." his fingers caressed her warm cheek as he adjusted the collar of the long seacoat about her throat and chin. her eyes were starry bright, her red lips were parted. "my princess!" he whispered tenderly. "my princess!" "my prince," she said so softly that the words barely reached his ears. "we have proved that love is the king. he rules us all. he laughs at locksmiths--and fathers--but he does not laugh at sweethearts. come, i am ready." he handed her into the cab a moment later, and drew the long deep breath of one who goes down into deep water. then he followed after her. the attendant closed the door. "where to, sir?" called hobbs from the driver's seat. he received no answer, yet cracked his whip gaily over the horses' backs and drove out into the slanting rain. hobbs was a dependable fellow. he drove the full length of the street twice, passing the inn of the stars both times at a lively clip, and might have gone on forever in his shuttlecock enterprise, had not the excited voice of a woman hailed him from the sidewalk. "stop! _attendez_! you! man!" he pulled up with a jerk. the dripping figure of marie ran up from behind. "my mistress? where is she?" panted the girl. "in heaven," said hobbs promptly, whereupon marie pounded on the glass window of the cab. robin quickly opened the door. "wha--what is it?" "yes, marie," came in muffled tones from the depths of the cab. "madame gaston returns long ago. she is beside herself. she is like a maniac. she has lost you; she cannot explain to--to mademoiselle's father. mon dieu, when he met her unexpectedly in the hall, he shouts, 'where is my daughter?' and poor madame she has but to shiver and stammer and--run away! _oui_! she dash out into the rain! it is terrible. she--" bedelia broke in upon this jumbled recitation. "where have we been, robin? where are we now?" "where are we, hobbs?" "we are just getting back to the inn of the stars, sir,--descending, you might say, sir," said hobbs. "drive on, confound you." "to the inn, sir?" "certainly!" the door slammed and the final block was covered in so short a time that robin's final kiss was still warm on bedelia's lips when the gallant cab rolled up to the portals of the inn of the stars. "did you ever know such a night, sir?" inquired hobbs, as the prince handed his lady out. he was referring to the weather. chapter xxiv just what might have been expected even the most flamboyant of natures may suffer depression at times, and by the same token arrogance may give way to humility,--or, at the very least, conviction. mr. blithers had had a trying day of it. to begin with, his wife raked him over the coals for what she was pleased to call his senseless persistence in the face of what she regarded as unalterable opposition on the part of the cabinet and house of nobles. it appears that he had experienced a second encounter with the ministry only the day before. after sleeping over the results of his first visit to the council chamber, he awoke to the fact that matters were in such a condition that it behooved him to strike while the iron was hot. so he obtained a second hearing, principally because he had not slept as well over it as he would have liked, and secondarily because he wanted to convince himself that he could parade their ancient halls without feeling as self-conscious as a whipped spaniel. he came off even worse in his second assault upon the ministry, for this time the members openly sneered at his declarations. as for his progress through the enchanted halls he was no end worse off than before. it so happened that he arrived at the castle at the very hour when the ladies and gentlemen of the royal household were preparing to fare forth to the tennis courts. he came upon them, first on the terrace, then in the entrance, and later on was stared at with evident curiosity by white flanneled and duck-skirted persons in the lofty halls. he wished that he was back at blitherwood where simplicity was not so infernally common. he made the mistake of his life when he gave to his wife the details of this second conference with the cabinet. he did it in the hope that a sympathetic response would be forthcoming. to his surprise, she merely pitied him, but in such a disgustingly personal way that he wondered if he could ever forgive her. "can't you appreciate what i am doing for maud?" he argued, almost tearfully. "i can appreciate what you are doing _to_ her," said she, and swept out of the room. "it's bad enough to have one stubborn woman in the family," said he to himself, glaring at the closed door--which had been slammed, by the way,--"but two of 'em--good lord!" and so it was that mr. blithers, feeling in need of cheer, arranged a little dinner for that evening, at the inn of the stars. he first invited his principal london lawyer and his wife--who happened to be _his_ principal--and then sent a more or less peremptory invitation to the president of the bank of graustark, urging him to join the party at the regengetz and motor to the inn. he was to bring his wife and any friends that might be stopping with them at the time. the banker declined. his wife had been dead for twenty years; the only friends he possessed were directors in the bank, and they happened to be having a meeting that night. so mr. blithers invited his secondary london lawyer, his french lawyer and two attractive young women who it appears were related to the latter, although at quite a distance, and then concluded that it was best to speak to his own wife about the little affair. she said she couldn't even think of going. maud might arrive that very night and she certainly was not going out of the hotel with such an event as that in prospect. "but simpson's wife is coming," protested mr. blithers, "and pericault's cousins. certainly you must come. jolly little affair to liven us up a bit. now lou,--" "i am quite positive that lady simpson will change her mind when she hears that pericault's cousins are going," said mrs. blithers acidly. "anything the matter with pericault's cousins?" he demanded, inclined to the bellicose. "ask pericault," she replied briefly. he thought for a moment. "if that's the case, lou, you'll have to come, if only to save my reputation," he said. "i didn't think it of pericault. he seems less like a frenchman than any man i've ever known." mrs. blithers relented. she went to the dinner and so did lady simpson, despite pericault's cousins, and the only ones in the party who appeared to be uneasy were the cousins themselves. it is safe to say that it was not the rain that put a dampener on what otherwise might have been an excessively jovial party. stupendous was the commotion at the inn of the stars when it became known that one of the richest men in the world--and a possible father-in-law apparent to the crown,--was to honour the place with his presence that night. every one, from the manager down to the boy who pared potatoes, laid himself out to make the occasion a memorable one. the millionaire's table was placed in the very centre of the dining-room, and plates were laid for eight. at the last minute, mr. blithers ordered the number increased to nine. "my daughter may put in an appearance," he explained to lady simpson. "i have left word at the hotel for her to come up if by any chance she happens to arrive on the evening train." "haven't you heard from her, mr. blithers?" inquired the austere lady, regarding the top of his head with an illy-directed lorgnon. they were entering the long, low dining-room. mr. blithers resented the scrutiny: it was lofty and yet stooping. she seemed to be looking down upon him at right angles, due no doubt to her superior height and to the fact that she had taken his arm. "we have," said he, "but not definitely. she is likely to pop in on us at any moment, and then again she's likely not to. my daughter is a very uncertain person, lady simpson. i never seem to be able to put my finger upon her." "have you ever tried putting the whole hand upon her?" inquired her ladyship, and mr. blithers stared straight ahead, incapable of replying. he waited until they were seated at the table and then remarked: "i am sorry you got splashed, lady simpson. you'd think they might keep the approach to a place like this free of mud and water." "oh, i daresay the gown can be cleaned, mr. blithers," she said. "i am quite ready to discard it, in any event, so it really doesn't matter." "my dear," said he to his wife, raising his voice so that diners at nearby tables could not help hearing what he said, "i forgot to tell you that we are expected to dine with the prince at the castle." then he wondered if any one in the room understood english. "when?" she inquired. "very shortly," said he, and she was puzzled for a moment by the stony glare he gave her. lord simpson took this opportunity to mention that he had taken reservations for the return of himself and wife to vienna on the next day but one. "we shall catch the orient express on friday and be in london by monday," he said. "our work here is completed. everything is in ship-shape. jenkins will remain, of course, to attend to the minor details, such as going over the securities and--" "don't you like that caviare?" asked mr. blithers with some asperity. "it has a peculiar taste," said lord simpson. "best i've ever tasted," said mr. blithers, spreading a bun thickly. pericault's cousins were fingering the champagne glasses. "we've got sherry coming first," said he. "everything satisfactory, m'sieur blithers?" inquired the _maitre d'hotel_ softly, ingratiatingly, into his left ear. "absolutely," said mr. blithers with precision. "you needn't hurry things. we've got the whole evening ahead of us." lady simpson shivered slightly. the pericault cousins brightened up. there was still a chance that the "dowagers" would retire early from the scene of festivity. "by the way," said simpson, "how long do you purpose remaining in edelweiss, blithers?" for the first time, the capitalist faltered. he was almost ready to admit that his enterprise had failed in one vital respect. the morning's experience in the council chamber had shaken his confidence considerably. "i don't know, simpson," said he. "it is possible that we may leave soon." "before the prince's dinner?" inquired lady simpson, again regarding his bald spot through the lorg-non. "depends on what my daughter has to say when she gets here," said he almost gruffly. "if she wants to stay for a while, we will remain. i don't mind saying that i have a curious longing for wall street. i am at home there and--well, by george, i'm like a fish out of water here." his wife looked up quickly, but did not speak. "i am a business man, lady simpson, not a philanderer. i'd like to take this town by the neck and shake some real enterprise into it, but what can you do when everybody is willing to sit down and let tradition look after 'em? i've put a lot of money into grosstock and i'd like to see the country prosper. still i'm not worried over my investment. it is as good as gold." "perfectly safe," said lord simpson. "absolutely," said the secondary london lawyer. pericault's comment was in french and not intended to be brief, but as mr. blithers was no longer interested, the privilege of completing his remarks was not accorded him. he did say _mon dieu_ under his breath, however, in the middle of his employer's next sentence. "as i said before, everything depends on whether my daughter wants to remain. if she says she wants to stay, that settles the point so far as i am concerned. if she says she doesn't want to stay, we'll--well, that will settle it also. i say, waiter, can't you hurry the fish along?" "certainly, sir. i understood m'sieur to say that there was no hurry--" "well, pour the champagne anyway. i think we need it." two hours later, mr. blithers looked at his watch again. the party was quite gay: at least fifty percent disorderly. "that train has been in for an hour," said the host. "i guess maud didn't come. i left word for the hotel to call me up if she arrived--i say, waiter, has there been a telephone message for me?" "no, m'sieur. we have kept a boy near the telephone all evening, m'sieur. no message." "i also told 'em to send up any telegram that might come," he informed his wife, who merely lifted her eyebrows. they had been lowered perceptibly in consequence of the ebullience of pericault's cousins. the vivacious young women were attracting a great deal of attention to their table. smart diners in the immediate neighbourhood appeared to be a trifle shocked. three dignified looking gentlemen, seated near the door, got up and left the room. "we really must be going," said mrs. blithers nervously, who had been watching the three men for some time with something akin to dismay in her soul. she had the sickening notion that they were members of the cabinet--lords of the realm. "all right," said mr. blithers, "call the cars up, waiter. still raining?" "yes, m'sieur. at this season of the year--" "call the cars. let's have your bill." pericault's cousins were reluctant to go. in fact, they protested shrilly that it was silly to break up such a successful party at such an unseemly hour. "never mind," whispered pericault softly, and winked. "i'll leave 'em in your care, pericault," said mr. blithers grimly. "they are _your_ cousins, you know." "trust me implicitly. monsieur," said pericault, bowing very deeply. then he said good-night to mrs. blithers and lady simpson. the secondary london lawyer did the same. out in the wide, brilliantly lighted foyer, a few late-stayers were waiting for their conveyances to be announced. as the four departing members of the blithers party grouped themselves near the big doors, impatient to be off, a brass-buttoned boy came up and delivered a telegram to the host. he was on the point of tearing open the envelope when his eyes fell upon two people who had just entered the hall from without, a man and woman clad in raincoats. at the same instant the former saw mr. blithers. clutching his companion's arm he directed her attention to the millionaire. "now for it, bedelia," he whispered excitedly. bedelia gazed calmly at mr. blithers and mr. blithers gazed blankly at the prince of graustark. then the great financier bowed very deeply and called out: "good evening, prince!" he received no response to his polite greeting, for the prince was staring at bedelia as if stupefied. the millionaire's face was very red with mortification as he turned it away. "he--he doesn't recognise you," gasped robin in amazement. "who?" she asked, her eyes searching the room with an eager, inquiring look. "your father," he said. she gave him a ravishing, delighted smile. "oh, it is so wonderful, robin. i have fooled you completely. that man isn't my father." "that's mr. blithers or i am as blind as a bat," he exclaimed. "is it, indeed? the one reading the telegram, with his eyes sticking out of his head?" robin's head was swimming. "good heaven, bedelia, what are you--" "ah!" she cried, with a little shriek of joy. "see! there he is!" one of the three distinguished men who had been remarked by mrs. blithers now separated himself from his companions and approached the couple. he was a tall, handsome man of fifty. although his approach was swift and eager, there was in his face the signs of wrath that still struggled against joy. she turned quickly, laid her hand upon the prince's rigid arm, and said softly: "my father is the prince of dawsbergen, dear." * * * * * a crumpled telegram dropped from mr. blithers' palsied hand to the floor as he turned a white, despairing face upon his wife. the brass-buttoned boy picked it up and handed it to mrs. blithers. it was from maud. "we were married in vienna today. after all i think i shall not care to see graustark. channie is a dear. i have promised him that you will take him into the business as a partner. we are at the bristol. "maud." the end [ transcriber's notes: every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible, including inconsistencies in spelling, hyphenation, and ellipsis usage. some corrections of spelling and punctuation have been made. they are listed at the end of the text. italic text has been marked with _underscores_. ] royal highness translated from the german of thomas mann by a. cecil curtis grosset & dunlap publishers by arrangement with alfred a. knopf copyright, , s. fischer, verlag manufactured in the united states of america contents prelude vii chapter i the constriction chapter ii the country chapter iii hinnerke the shoemaker chapter iv doctor ueberbein chapter v albrecht ii chapter vi the lofty calling chapter vii imma chapter viii the fulfilment chapter ix the rose-bush prelude the scene is the albrechtstrasse, the main artery of the capital, which runs from albrechtsplatz and the old schloss to the barracks of the fusiliers of the guard. the time is noon on an ordinary week-day; the season of the year does not matter. the weather is fair to moderate. it is not raining, but the sky is not clear; it is a uniform light grey, uninteresting and sombre, and the street lies in a dull and sober light which robs it of all mystery, all individuality. there is a moderate amount of traffic, without much noise and crowd, corresponding to the not over-busy character of the town. tram-cars glide past, a cab or two rolls by, along the pavement stroll a few residents, colourless folk, passers-by, the public--"people." two officers, their hands in the slanting pockets of their grey great-coats, approach each other; a general and a lieutenant. the general is coming from the schloss, the lieutenant from the direction of the barracks. the lieutenant is quite young, a mere stripling, little more than a child. he has narrow shoulders, dark hair, and the wide cheek-bones so common in this part of the world, blue rather tired-looking eyes, and a boyish face with a kind but reserved expression. the general has snow-white hair, is tall and broad-shouldered, altogether a commanding figure. his eyebrows look like cotton-wool, and his moustache hangs right down over his mouth and chin. he walks with slow deliberation, his sword rattles on the asphalt, his plume flutters in the wind, and at every step he takes the big red lapel of his coat flaps slowly up and down. and so these two draw near each other. can this rencontre lead to any complication? impossible. every observer can foresee the course this meeting will naturally take. we have on one side and the other age and youth, authority and obedience, years of services and docile apprenticeship--a mighty hierarchical gulf, rules and prescriptions, separate the two. natural organization, take thy course! and, instead, what happens? instead, the following surprising, painful, delightful, and topsy-turvy scene occurs. the general, noticing the young lieutenant's approach, alters his bearing in a surprising manner. he draws himself up, yet at the same time seems to get smaller. he tones down with a jerk, so to speak, the splendour of his appearance, stops the clatter of his sword, and, while his face assumes a cross and embarrassed expression, he obviously cannot make up his mind where to turn his eyes, and tries to conceal the fact by staring from under his cotton-wool eyebrows at the asphalt straight in front of him. the young lieutenant too betrays to the careful observer some slight embarrassment, which however, strange to say, he seems to succeed, better than the grey-haired general, in cloaking with a certain grace and self-command. the tension of his mouth is relaxed into a smile at once modest and genial, and his eyes are directed with a quiet and self-possessed calm, seemingly without an effort, over the general's shoulder and beyond. by now they have come within three paces of each other. and, instead of the prescribed salute, the young lieutenant throws his head slightly back, at the same time draws his right hand--only his right, mark you--out of his coat-pocket and makes with this same white-gloved right hand a little encouraging and condescending movement, just opening the fingers with palm upwards, nothing more. but the general, who has awaited this sign with his arms to his sides, raises his hand to his helmet, steps aside, bows, making a half-circle as if to leave the pavement free, and deferentially greets the lieutenant with reddening cheeks and honest modest eyes. thereupon the lieutenant, his hand to his cap, answers the respectful greeting of his superior officer--answers it with a look of child-like friendliness; answers it--and goes on his way. a miracle! a freak of fancy! he goes on his way. people look at him, but he looks at nobody, looks straight ahead through the crowd, with something of the air of a woman who knows that she is being looked at. people greet him; he returns the greeting, heartily and yet distantly. he seems not to walk very easily; it looks as if he were not much accustomed to the use of his legs, or as if the general attention he excites bothers him, so irregular and hesitating is his gait; indeed, at times he seems to limp. a policeman springs to attention, a smart woman, coming out of a shop, smiles and curtseys. people turn round to look at him, nudge each other, stare at him, and softly whisper his name.... it is klaus heinrich, the younger brother of albrecht ii, and heir presumptive to the throne. there he goes, he is still in view. known and yet a stranger, he moves among the crowd--people all around him, and yet as if alone. he goes on his lonely way and carries on his narrow shoulders the burden of his highness! i the constriction artillery salvos were fired when the various new-fangled means of communication in the capital spread the news that the grand duchess dorothea had given birth to a prince for the second time at grimmburg. seventy-two rounds resounded through the town and surrounding country, fired by the military in the walls of the "citadel." directly afterwards the fire brigade also, not to be outdone, fired with the town salute-guns; but in their firing there were long pauses between each round, which caused much merriment among the populace. the grimmburg looked down from the top of a woody hill on the picturesque little town of the same name, which mirrored its grey sloping roofs in the river which flowed past it. it could be reached from the capital in half an hour by a local railway which paid no dividends. there the castle stood, the proud creation of the margrave klaus grimmbart, the founder of the reigning house in the dim mists of history, since then several times rejuvenated and repaired, fitted with the comforts of the changing times, always kept in a habitable state and held in peculiar honour as the ancestral seat of the ruling house, the cradle of the dynasty. for it was a rule and tradition of the house that all direct descendants of the margrave, every child of the reigning couple, must be born there. this tradition could not be ignored. the country had had sophisticated and unbelieving sovereigns, who had laughed at it, and yet had complied with it with a shrug of the shoulders. it was now much too late to break away from it whether it was reasonable and enlightened or not: why, without any particular necessity, break with an honoured custom, which had managed somehow to perpetuate itself? the people were convinced that there was something in it. twice in the course of fifteen generations had children of reigning sovereigns, owing to some chance or other, first seen the light in other schlosses: each had come to an unnatural and disgraceful end. but all the sovereigns of the land and their brothers and sisters, from henry the confessor and john the headstrong, with their lovely and proud sisters, down to albrecht, the father of the grand duke, and the grand duke himself, johann albrecht iii, had been brought into the world in the castle; and there, six years before, dorothea had given birth to her firstborn, the heir apparent. the castle was also a retreat as dignified as it was peaceful. the coolness of its rooms, the shady charms of its surroundings, made it preferable as a summer residence to the stiff hollerbrunn. the ascent from the town, up a rather badly paved street between shabby cottages and a scrubby wall, through massive gates to the ancient ruin at the entrance to the castle-yard, in the middle of which stood the statue of klaus grimmbart, the founder, was picturesque but tiring. but a noble park spread at the back of the castle hill, through which easy paths led up into the wooded and gently-swelling uplands, offering ideal opportunities for carriage drives and quiet strolls. as for the inside of the castle, it had been last subjected at the beginning of the reign of johann albrecht iii to a thorough clean-up and redecoration--at a cost which had evoked much comment. the furniture of the living-rooms had been completed and renewed in a style at once baronial and comfortable; the escutcheons in the "hall of justice" had been carefully restored to their original pattern. the gilding of the intricate patterns on the vaulted ceilings looked fresh and cheerful, all the rooms had been fitted with parquet, and both the larger and the smaller banqueting-halls had been adorned with huge wall-paintings from the brush of professor von lindemann, a distinguished academician, representing scenes from the history of the reigning house executed in a clear and smooth style which was far removed from and quite unaffected by the restless tendencies of modern schools. nothing was wanting. as the old chimneys of the castle and its many-coloured stoves, reaching tier upon tier right up to the ceiling, were no longer fit to use, anthracite stoves had been installed in view of the possibility of the place being used as a residence during the winter. but the day of the seventy-two salvos fell in the best time of the year, late spring, early summer, the beginning of june, soon after whitsuntide. johann albrecht, who had been early informed by telegram that the labour had begun just before dawn, reached grimmburg station by the bankrupt local railway at eight o'clock, where he was greeted with congratulations by three or four dignitaries, the mayor, the judge, the rector, and the town physician. he at once drove to the castle. the grand duke was accompanied by minister of state, dr. baron knobelsdorff, and adjutant-general of infantry, count schmettern. shortly afterwards two or three more ministers arrived at the royal residence, the court chaplin dom wislezenus, president of the high consistory, one or two court officials, and a still younger adjutant, captain von lichterloh. although the grand duke's physician-in-ordinary, surgeon-general dr. eschrich, was attending the mother, johann albrecht had been seized with the whim of requiring the young local doctor, a doctor sammet, who was of jewish extraction into the bargain, to accompany him to the castle. the unassuming, hard-working, and earnest man, who had as much as he could do and was not in the least expecting any such distinction, stammered "quite delighted ... quite delighted" several times over, thus provoking some amusement. the grand duchess's bedroom was the "bride-chamber," a five-cornered, brightly painted room on the first floor, through whose window a fine view could be obtained of woods, hills, and the windings of the river. it was decorated with a frieze of medallion-shaped portraits, likenesses of royal brides who had slept there in the olden days of the family history. there lay dorothea; a broad piece of webbing was tied round the foot of her bed, to which she clung like a child playing at horses, while convulsions shook her lovely frame. doctor gnadebusch, the midwife, a gentle and learned woman with small fine hands and brown eyes, which wore a look of mystery behind her round, thick spectacles, was supporting the duchess, while she said: "steady, steady, your royal highness.... it will soon be over. it's quite easy.... just once more ... that's nothing.... rest a bit: knees apart.... keep your chin down...." a nurse, dressed like her in white linen, helped too, and moved lightly about with phials and bandages during the pauses. the physician-in-ordinary, a gloomy man with a greyish beard, whose left eyelid seemed to droop, superintended the birth. he wore his operating-coat over his surgeon-general's uniform. from time to time there peeped into the room, to ascertain the progress of the confinement, dorothea's trusty mistress of the robes, baroness von schulenburg-tressen, a corpulent and asthmatic woman of distinctly dragoon-like appearance, who nevertheless liked to display a generous expanse of neck and shoulders at the court balls. she kissed her mistress's hand and went back to an adjoining room, in which a couple of thin ladies-in-waiting were chatting with the grand duchess's chamberlain-in-waiting, a count windisch. dr. sammet, who had thrown his linen coat like a domino over his dress-coat, was waiting modestly and attentively by the washstand. johann albrecht sat in a neighbouring room used as a study, which was separated from the "bride-chamber" only by a so-called powder closet and a passage-room. it was called the library, in view of several manuscript folios, which lay slanting in the massive book-shelves and contained the history of the castle. the room was furnished as a writing-room. globes adorned the walls. the strong wind from the hills blew through the open bow-window. the grand duke had ordered tea, and the groom of the chamber, prahl, had himself brought the tray; but it was standing forgotten on the leaf of the desk, and johann albrecht was pacing the room from one corner to the other in a restless, uncomfortable frame of mind. his top-boots kept creaking as he walked. his aide-de-camp, von lichterloh, listened to the noise, as he waited patiently in the almost bare passage-room. the minister, the adjutant-general, the court chaplain, and the court officials, nine or ten in all, were waiting in the state-room on the ground floor. they wandered through the larger and the smaller banqueting-halls, where trophies of banners and weapons hung between lindemann's pictures. they leaned against the slender pillars, which spread into brightly coloured vaulting above their heads. they stood before the narrow, ceiling-high windows, and looked out through the leaded panes over river and town; they sat on the stone benches which ran round the walls, or on seats before the stoves, whose gothic tops were supported by ridiculous little stooping imps of stone. the bright sunlight made the gold lace on the uniforms, the orders on the padded chests, the broad gold stripes on the trousers of the dignitaries glisten. the conversation flagged. three-cornered hats and white-gloved hands were constantly being raised to mouths which opened convulsively. nearly everybody had tears in his eyes. several had not had time to get any breakfast. some sought entertainment in a timid examination of the operating-instruments and the round leather-cased chloroform jar, which surgeon-general eschrich had left there in case of emergency. after von bühl zu bühl, the lord marshal, a powerful man with mincing manners, brown toupée, gold-rimmed pince-nez, and long, yellow fingernails, had told several anecdotes in his quick, jerky way, he dropped into an armchair, in which he made use of his gift of being able to sleep with his eyes open--of losing consciousness of time and place while retaining a steady gaze and alert attitude, and in no way imperilling the dignity of the situation. dr. von schröder, minister of finance and agriculture, had had a conversation earlier in the day with the minister of state, dr. baron knobelsdorff, minister of home affairs, foreign affairs, and the grand ducal household. it was a spasmodic chat, which began with a discussion on art, went on to financial and economic questions, alluded, somewhat disapprovingly, to a high court official, and did not leave even the most exalted personages out of account. it began with the two men standing, with their hats in their hands behind their backs, in front of one of the pictures in the larger banqueting-hall, each of them thinking more than he said. the finance minister said: "and this? what's this? what's happening? your excellency is so well informed." "merely superficially. it is the investiture of two grand princes of the blood by their uncle, the emperor. as your excellency can see, the two young men are kneeling and taking the oath with great solemnity on the emperor's sword." "fine, extraordinarily fine! what colouring! dazzling. what lovely golden hair the princes have! and the emperor ... exactly as he is described in the books! yes, that lindemann well deserves all the distinctions which have been given him." "absolutely. those which have been given him; those he quite deserves." dr. von schröder, a tall man with a white beard, a pair of thin gold spectacles on his white nose, a belly protruding slightly underneath his stomach, and a bull-neck, which lapped over the stiff collar of his coat, looked, without taking his eyes off the picture, somewhat doubtfully at it, under the influence of a diffidence which seized him from time to time during conversations with the baron. this knobelsdorff, this favourite and exalted functionary, was so enigmatical. at times his remarks, his retorts, had an indefinable tinge of irony about them. he was a widely travelled man, he had been all over the world, he had so much general knowledge, and interests of such a strange and exotic kind. and yet he was a model of correctness. herr von schröder could not quite understand him. however much one agreed with him, it was impossible to feel that one really understood him. his opinions were full of a mysterious reserve, his judgments of a tolerance which left one wondering whether they implied approval or contempt. but the most suspicious thing about him was his laugh, a laugh of the eyes in which the mouth took no part, a laugh which seemed to be produced by the wrinkles radiating from the corners of his eyes, or vice versa to have produced those same wrinkles in the course of years. baron knobelsdorff was younger than the finance minister; he was then in the prime of life, although his close-trimmed moustache and hair smoothly parted in the middle were already beginning to turn grey--for the rest a squat, short-necked man, obviously pinched by the collar of his heavily-laced court dress. he left herr von schröder to his perplexity for a minute, and then went on: "only perhaps it might be to the interests of a prudent administration of the privy purse if the distinguished professor had rested content with stars and titles ... to speak bluntly, what may all these delightful works of art have cost?" herr von schröder recovered his animation. the desire, the hope of understanding the baron, of getting on to intimate and confidential terms with him, excited him. "just what i was thinking!" said he, turning round to resume his walk through the galleries. "your excellency has taken the question out of my mouth. i wonder what this 'investiture' cost, and all the rest of these wall-pictures. for the restoration of the castle six years ago cost a million altogether." "at least that." "a solid million! and that amount was audited and approved by lord marshal von bühl zu bühl, who is sitting yonder in a state of comfortable catalepsy--audited, approved, and disbursed by the keeper of the privy purse, count trümmerhauff." "disbursed, or owing!" "one of the two!... this total, i say, debited to a fund, a fund ..." "in a word, the fund of the grand ducal settled estates." "your excellency knows as well as i what that means. no, it makes me run cold.... i swear i am neither a skin-flint nor a hypochondriac, but it makes me run cold when i think of a man, with present conditions staring him in the face, coolly throwing a million away--on what? on a nothing, a pretty whim, on the beautification of the family schloss in which his babies have to be born...." herr von knobelsdorff laughed. "yes, heaven knows romance is a luxury, and a mighty expensive one too! excellency, i agree with you--of course. but consider, after all the whole trouble in the grand ducal finances is due to this same romantic luxury. the root of the evil lies in the fact that the ruling dynasty are farmers; their capital consists in land and soil, their income in agricultural profits. at the present day.... they have not been able up to the present to make up their minds to turn into industrialists and financiers. they allow themselves with regrettable obstinacy to be swayed by certain obsolete and idealistic conceptions, such as, for instance, the conceptions of trust and dignity. the royal property is hampered by a trust entailed in fact. advantageous alienations are barred. mortgages, the raising of capital on credit for commercial improvements, seem to them improper. the administration is seriously hindered in the free exploitation of business opportunities--by ideas of dignity. you'll forgive me, won't you? i'm telling you the absolute truth. people who pay so much attention to propriety as these of course cannot and will not keep pace with the freer and less hampered initiative of less obstinate and unpractical business people. now then, what, in comparison with this negative luxury, does the positive million signify, which has been sacrificed to a pretty whim, to borrow your excellency's expression? if it only stopped there! but we have the regular expenses of a fairly dignified court to meet. there are the schlosses and their parks to keep up, hollerbrunn, monbrillant, jägerpreis, aren't there? the hermitage, delphinenort, the pheasantry, and the others.... i had forgotten schloss zegenhaus and the haderstein ruins ... not to mention the old schloss.... they are not well kept up, but they all cost money.... there are the court theatre, the picture gallery, the library, to maintain. there are a hundred pensions to pay,--no legal compulsion to pay them, but motives of trust and dignity. and look at the princely way in which the grand duke behaved at the time of the last floods.... but i'm preaching you a regular sermon!" "a sermon," said the minister of finance, "which your excellency thought would shock me, while you really only confirmed my own view. dear baron"--here herr von schröder laid his hand on his heart,--"i am convinced that there is no longer room for any misunderstanding as to my opinion, my loyal opinion, between you and me. the king can do no wrong.... the sovereign is beyond the reach of reproaches. but here we have to do with a default ... in both senses of the word!... a default which i have no hesitation in laying at the door of count trümmerhauff. his predecessors may be pardoned for having concealed from their sovereigns the true state of the court finances; in those days nothing else was expected of them. but count trümmerhauff's attitude now is not pardonable. in his position as keeper of the privy purse he ought to have felt it incumbent on him to put a brake on his highness's thoughtlessness, to feel it incumbent on him now to open his royal highness's eyes relentlessly to the facts ..." herr knobelsdorff knitted his brows and laughed. "really?" said he. "so your excellency is of the opinion that that is what the count was appointed for! i can picture to myself the justifiable astonishment of his lordship, if you lay before him your view of the position. no, no ... your excellency need be under no delusion; that appointment was a quite deliberate expression of his wishes on the part of his royal highness, which the count must be the first to respect. it expressed not only an 'i don't know,' but also an 'i won't know.' a man may be an exclusively decorative personality and yet be acute enough to grasp this.... besides ... honestly ... we've all of us grasped it. and the only grain of comfort for all of us is this: that there isn't a prince alive to whom it would be more fatal to mention his debts than to his royal highness. our prince has a something about him which would stop any tactless remarks of that sort before they were spoken ..." "quite true, quite true," said herr von schröder. he sighed and stroked thoughtfully the swansdown trimming of his hat. the two men were sitting, half turned towards each other, on a raised window seat in a roomy niche, past which a narrow stone corridor ran outside, a kind of gallery, through the pointed arches of which peeps of the town could be seen. herr von schröder went on: "you answer me, baron; one would think you were contradicting me, and yet your words show more incredulity and bitterness than my own." herr von knobelsdorff said nothing, but made a vague gesture of assent. "it may be so," said the finance minister, and nodded gloomily at his hat. "your excellency may be quite right. perhaps we are all blameworthy, we and our forefathers too. but it ought to have been stopped. for consider, baron; ten years ago an opportunity offered itself of putting the finances of the court on a sound footing, on a better footing anyhow, if you like. it was lost. we understand each other. the grand duke, attractive man that he is, had it then in his power to clear things up by a marriage which from a sound point of view might have been called dazzling. instead of that ... speaking not for myself, of course, but i shall never forget the disgust on everybody's faces when they mentioned the amount of the dowry..." "the grand duchess," said herr von knobelsdorff, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes disappeared almost entirely, "is one of the handsomest women i have ever seen." "that is an answer one would expect of your excellency. it's an æsthetic answer, an answer which would have held quite as good if his royal highness's choice, like his brother lambert's, had fallen on a member of the royal ballet." "oh, there was no danger of that. the prince's taste is a fastidious one, as he has shown. he has always shown in his wants the antithesis to that want of taste which prince lambert has shown all his life. it was a long time before he made up his mind to marry. everybody had given up all hope of a direct heir to the throne. they were resigned for better or worse to prince lambert, whose ... unsuitability to be heir to the throne we need not discuss. then, a few weeks after he had succeeded, johann albrecht met princess dorothea, cried, "this one or none!" and the grand duchy had its sovereign lady. your excellency mentioned the thoughtful looks which were exchanged when the figures of the dowry were published,--you did not mention the jubilation which at the same time prevailed. a poor princess, to be sure. but is beauty, such beauty, a power of happiness or not? never shall i forget her entry! her first smile, as it lighted on the gazing crowds, won their love. your excellency must allow me to profess once more my belief in the idealism of the people. the people want to see their best, their highest, their dream, what stands for their soul, represented in their princes--not their money bags. there are others to represent those...." "that's just what there are not; just what we have not got." "the more's the pity, then. the main point is, dorothea has presented us with an heir apparent." "to whom may heaven grant some idea of figures!" "i agree." at this point the conversation between the two ministers ceased. it was broken off by the announcement by aide-de-camp von lichterloh, of the happy issue of the confinement. the smaller banqueting-hall was soon filled with officials. one of the great carved doors was quickly thrown open, and the aide-de-camp appeared in the hall. he had a red face, blue soldier's eyes, a bristling flaxen moustache, and silver lace on his collar. he looked somewhat excited, like a man who had been released from deadly boredom and was primed with good news. conscious of the unusualness of the occasion, he boldly ignored the rules of decorum and etiquette. he saluted the company gaily, and, spreading his elbows, raised the hilt of his sword almost to his breast crying: "beg leave to announce: a prince!" "good!" said adjutant-general count schmettern. "delightful, quite delightful, i call that perfectly delightful!" said lord marshal von bühl zu bühl in his jerky way; he had recovered consciousness at once. the president of the high consistory, dom wislezenus--a clean-shaven, well-built man, who, as a son of a general, and thanks to his personal distinction, had attained to his high dignity at a comparatively early age, and on whose black silk gown hung the star of an order--folded his white hands on his breast, and said in a melodious voice, "god bless his grand ducal highness!" "you forget, captain," said herr von knobelsdorff, laughing, "that in making your announcement you are encroaching on my privileges and province. until i have made the most searching investigations into the state of affairs, the question whether it is a prince or a princess remains undecided." the others laughed, and herr von lichterloh replied: "as you wish, your excellency! then i have the honour to beg your excellency to assume this most important charge...." this dialogue referred to the attributes of the minister of state, as registrar of the grand ducal house, in which capacity he was required to satisfy himself with his own eyes of the sex of the princely offspring and to make an official declaration on the subject. herr von knobelsdorff complied with this formality in the so-called powder-closet in which the new-born babe was bathed. he stayed longer there, however, than he had intended to, as he was puzzled and arrested by a painful sight, which at first he mentioned to nobody except the midwife. doctor gnadebusch showed him the child, and her eyes, gleaming mysteriously behind her thick spectacles, travelled between the minister of state and the little copper-coloured creature, as it groped about with one--only one--little hand, as if she was saying: "is it all right?" it was all right. herr von knobelsdorff was satisfied, and the wise woman wrapped the child up again. but even then she continued to look down at the prince and then up at the baron, until she had drawn his eyes to the point to which she wished to attract them. the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes disappeared, he knit his brows, tried, compared, felt, examined for two or three minutes, and at last asked: "has the grand duke yet seen it?" "no, excellency." "when the grand duke sees it," said herr von knobelsdorff, "tell him that he will grow out of it." and to the others on the ground-floor he reported--"a splendid prince!" but ten or fifteen minutes after him the grand duke also made the disagreeable discovery,--that was unavoidable, and resulted for surgeon-general eschrich in a short, extremely unpleasant scene, but for the grimmburg doctor sammet in an interview with the grand duke which raised him considerably in the latter's estimation and was useful to him in his subsequent career. what happened was briefly as follows: after the birth johann albrecht had again retired to the library, and then returned to sit for some time at the bedside with his wife's hand in his. thereupon he went into the "powder-closet," where the infant now lay in his high, richly gilded cradle, half covered with a blue silk curtain, and sat down in an armchair by the side of his little son. but while he sat and watched the sleeping infant it happened that he noticed what it was hoped that he would not notice yet. he drew the counterpane back, his face clouded over, and then he did exactly what herr von knobelsdorff had done before him, looked from doctor gnadebusch to the nurse and back again, both of whom said nothing, cast one glance at the half-open door into the bride-chamber, and stalked excitedly back into the library. here he at once rang the silver eagle-topped bell which stood on the writing-table, and said to herr von lichterloh, who came in, very curtly and coldly: "i require herr eschrich." when the grand duke was angry with any member of his suite, he was wont to strip the culprit for the moment of all his titles and dignities, and to leave him nothing but his bare name. the aide-de-camp again clapped his spurs and heels together and withdrew. johann albrecht strode once or twice in a rage up and down the room, and then, hearing herr von lichterloh bring the person he had summoned into the ante-room, adopted an audience attitude at his writing-table. as he stood there, his head turned imperiously in half-profile, his left hand planted on his hip, drawing back his satin-fronted frock coat from his white waistcoat, he exactly resembled his portrait by professor von lindemann, which hung beside the big looking-glass over the mantelpiece in the "hall of the twelve months" in the town schloss, opposite the portrait of dorothea, and of which countless engravings, photographs, and picture postcards had been published. the only difference was that johann albrecht in the portrait seemed to be of heroic stature, while he really was scarcely of medium height. his forehead was high where his hair had receded, and from under his grey eyebrows, his blue eyes looked out, with dark rings round them, giving them an expression of tired haughtiness. he had the broad, rather too high cheek-bones which were a characteristic of his people. his whiskers and the soft tuft on his chin were grey, his moustache almost white. from the distended nostrils of his small but well-arched nose, two unusually deep furrows ran down to his chin. the lemon-coloured ribbon of the family order always showed in the opening of his waistcoat. in his buttonhole the grand duke wore a carnation. surgeon-general eschrich entered with a low bow. he had taken off his operating-coat. his eyelid drooped more heavily than usual over his eye. he looked apprehensive and uncomfortable. the grand duke, his left hand on his hip, threw his head back, stretched out his right hand and waved it, palm upwards, several times up and down impatiently. "i am awaiting an explanation, a justification, surgeon-general," said he, with a voice trembling with irritation. "you will have the goodness to answer my questions. what is the matter with the child's arm?" the physician-in-ordinary raised his hand a little--a feeble gesture of impotence and blamelessness. he said: "an it please your royal highness.... an unfortunate occurrence. unfavourable circumstances during the pregnancy of her royal highness...." "that's all nonsense!" the grand duke was so much excited that he did not wish for any justification, in fact he would not allow one. "i would remind you, sir, that i am beside myself. unfortunate occurrence! it was your business to take precautions against unfortunate occurrences...." the surgeon-general stood with half-bowed head and, sinking his voice to a submissive tone, addressed the ground at his feet. "i humbly beg to be allowed to remind you that i, at least, am not alone responsible. privy councillor grasanger--an authority on gynæcology--examined her royal highness. but nobody can be held responsible in this case...." "nobody ... really! i permit myself to make you responsible.... you are answerable to me.... you were in charge during the pregnancy, you superintended the confinement. i have relied on the knowledge to be expected from your rank, surgeon-general, i have trusted to your experience. i am bitterly disappointed, bitterly disappointed. all that your skill can boast of is ... that a crippled child has been born...." "would your royal highness graciously weigh ..." "i have weighed. i have weighed and found wanting. thank you!" surgeon-general eschrich retired backwards, bowing. in the ante-room he shrugged his shoulders, while his cheeks glowed. the grand duke again fell to pacing the library in his princely wrath, unreasonable, misinformed, and foolish in his loneliness. however, whether it was that he wished to humiliate the physician-in-ordinary still further, or that he regretted having robbed himself of any explanations--ten minutes later the unexpected happened, and the grand duke sent herr von lichterloh to summon young doctor sammet to the library. the doctor, when he received the message, again said: "quite delighted ... quite delighted, ..." and at first changed colour a little, then composed himself admirably. it is true that he was not a complete master of the prescribed etiquette, and bowed too soon, while he was still in the door, so that the aide-de-camp could not close it behind him, and had to ask him in a whisper to move forward; but afterwards he stood in an easy and unconstrained attitude, and gave reassuring answers, although he showed that he was naturally rather slow of speech, beginning his sentences with hesitating noises and frequently interspersing them with a "yes," as if to confirm what he was saying. he wore his dark yellow hair cut _en brosse_ and his moustache untrimmed. his chin and cheeks were clean-shaved, and rather sore from it. he carried his head a little on one side, and the gaze of his grey eyes told of shrewdness and practical goodness. his nose, which was too broad at the bottom, pointed to his origin. he wore a black tie, and his shiny boots were of a country cut. he kept his elbows close to his side, with one hand on his silver watch-chain. his whole appearance suggested candour and professional skill; it inspired confidence. the grand duke addressed him unusually graciously, rather in the manner of a teacher who has been scolding a naughty boy, and turns to another with a sudden assumption of mildness. "i have sent for you, doctor.... i want information from you about this peculiarity in the body of the new-born prince.... i assume that it has not escaped your notice.... i am confronted with a riddle ... an extremely painful riddle.... in a word, i desire your opinion." and the grand duke, changing his position, ended with a gracious motion of the hand, which encouraged the doctor to speak. dr. sammet looked at him silently and attentively, as if waiting till the grand duke had completely regained his princely composure. then he said: "yes; we have here to do with a case which is not of very common occurrence, but which is well known and familiar to us. yes. it is actually a case of atrophy ..." "excuse me ... atrophy ...?" "forgive me, royal highness. i mean stunted growth. yes." "i see, stunted growth. stunting. that's it. the left hand is stunted. but it's unheard of! i cannot understand it! such a thing has never happened in my family! people talk nowadays about heredity." again the doctor looked silently and attentively at the lonely and domineering man, to whom the news had only just penetrated that people were talking lately about heredity. he answered simply: "pardon me, royal highness, but in this case there can be no question of heredity." "really! you're quite sure!" said the grand duke rather mockingly. "that is one satisfaction. but will you be so kind as to tell me what there can be a question of, then." "with pleasure, royal highness. the cause of the malformation is entirely a mechanical one. it has been caused through a mechanical constriction during the development of the embryo. we call such malformations constriction-formations, yes." the grand duke listened with anxious disgust; he obviously feared the effect of each succeeding word on his sensitiveness. he kept his brows knit and his mouth open: the two furrows running down to his beard seemed deeper than ever. he said: "constriction-formations, ... but how in the world ... i am quite sure every precaution must have been taken ..." "constriction-formations," answered dr. sammet, "can occur in various ways. but we can say with comparative certainty that in our case ... in this case it is the amnion which is to blame." "i beg your pardon.... the amnion?" "that is one of the foetal membranes, royal highness. yes. and in certain circumstances the removal of this membrane from the embryo may be retarded and proceed so slowly that threads and cords are left stretching from one to the other ... amniotic threads as we call them, yes. these threads may be dangerous, for they can bind and knot themselves round the whole of a child's limb; they can entirely intercept, for instance, the life-ducts of a hand and even amputate it. yes." "great heavens ... amputate it. so we must be thankful that it has not come to an amputation of the hand?" "that might have happened. yes. but all that has happened is an unfastening, resulting in an atrophy." "and that could not be discovered, foreseen, prevented?" "no, royal highness. absolutely not. it is quite certain that no blame whatever attaches to anybody. such constrictions do their work in secret. we are powerless against them. yes." "and the malformation is incurable? the hand will remain stunted?" dr. sammet hesitated; he looked kindly at the grand duke. "it will never be quite normal, certainly not," he said cautiously. "but the stunted hand will grow a little larger than it is at present, oh yes, it assuredly will ..." "will he be able to use it? for instance ... to hold his reins or to make gestures, like any one else?..." "use it ... a little.... perhaps not much. and he's got his right hand, that's all right." "will it be very obvious?" asked the grand duke, and scanned dr. sammet's face earnestly. "very noticeable? will it detract much from his general appearance, think you?" "many people," answered dr. sammet evasively, "live and work under greater disadvantages. yes." the grand duke turned away, and walked once up and down the room. dr. sammet deferentially made way for him, and withdrew towards the door. at last the grand duke resumed his position at the writing-table and said: "i have now heard what i wanted to know, doctor; i thank you for your report. you understand your business, no doubt about that. why do you live in grimmburg? why do you not practise in the capital?" "i am still young, royal highness, and before i devote myself to practising as a specialist in the capital i should like a few years of really varied practice, of general experience and research. a country town like grimmburg affords the best opportunity of that. yes." "very sound, very admirable of you. in what do you propose to specialise later on?" "in the diseases of children, royal highness. i intend to be a children's doctor, yes." "you are a jew?" asked the grand duke, throwing back his head and screwing up his eyes. "yes, royal highness." "ah--will you answer me one more question? have you ever found your origin to stand in your way, a drawback in your professional career? i ask as a ruler, who is especially concerned that the principle of 'equal chances for all' shall hold good unconditionally and privately, not only officially." "everybody in the grand duchy," answered dr. sammet, "has the right to work." but he did not stop there: moving his elbows like a pair of short wings, in an awkward, impassioned way, he made a few hesitating noises, and then added in a restrained but eager voice: "no principle of equalization, if i may be allowed to remark, will ever prevent the incidence in the life of the community of exceptional and abnormal men who are distinguished from the bourgeois by their nobleness or infamy. it is the duty of the individual not to concern himself as to the precise nature of the distinction between him and the common herd, but to see what is the essential in that distinction and to recognize that it imposes on him an exceptional obligation towards society. a man is at an advantage, not at a disadvantage, compared with the regular and therefore complacent majority, if he has one motive more than they to extraordinary exertions. yes, yes," repeated dr. sammet. the double affirmative was meant to confirm his answer. "good ... not bad; very remarkable, anyhow," said the grand duke judicially. he found dr. sammet's words suggestive, though somewhat off the point. he dismissed the young man with the words: "well, doctor, my time is limited. i thank you. this interview--apart from its painful occasion--has much reassured me. i have the pleasure of bestowing on you the albrecht cross of the third class with crown. i shall remember you. thank you." this was what passed between the grimmburg doctor and the grand duke. shortly after johann albrecht left the castle and returned by special train to the capital, chiefly to show himself to the rejoicing populace, but also in order to give several audiences in the palace. it was arranged that he should return in the evening to the castle, and take up his residence there for the next few weeks. all those present at the confinement at grimmburg who did not belong to the grand duchess's suite were also accommodated in the special train of the bankrupt local railway, some of them travelling in the sovereign's own saloon. but the grand duke drove from the castle to the station alone with von knobelsdorff, the minister of state, in an open landau, one of the brown court carriages with the little golden crown on the door. the white feathers in the hats of the chasseurs in front fluttered in the summer breeze. johann albrecht was grave and silent on the journey; he seemed to be worried and morose. and although herr von knobelsdorff knew that the grand duke, even in private, disliked anybody addressing him unasked and uninvited, yet at last he made up his mind to break the silence. "your royal highness," he said deprecatingly, "seems to take so much to heart the little anomaly which has been discovered in the prince's body, ... and yet one would think that on a day like this the reasons for joy and proud thankfulness so far outweigh ..." "my dear knobelsdorff," replied johann albrecht, with some irritation and almost in tears, "you must forgive my ill-humour; you surely do not wish me to be in good spirits. i can see no reason for being so. the grand duchess is going on well--true enough, and the child is a boy--that's a blessing too. but he has come into the world with an atrophy, a constriction, caused by amniotic threads. nobody is to blame, it is a misfortune; but misfortunes for which nobody is to blame are the most terrible of all misfortunes, and the sight of their sovereign ought to awaken in his people other feelings than those of sympathy. the heir apparent is delicate, needs constant care. it was a miracle that he survived that attack of pleurisy two years ago, and it will be nothing less than a miracle if he lives to attain his majority. now heaven grants me a second son--he seems strong, but he comes into the world with only one hand. the other is stunted, useless, a deformity, he will have to hide it. what a drawback! what an impediment! he will have to brave it out before the world all his life. we must let it gradually leak out, so that it may not cause too much of a shock on his first appearance in public. no, i cannot yet get over it. a prince with one hand ..." "'with one hand,'" said herr von knobelsdorff. "did your royal highness use that expression twice deliberately?" "deliberately?" "you did not, then?... for the prince has two hands, yet as one is stunted, one might if one liked also describe him as a prince with one hand." "what then?" "and one must almost wish, not that your royal highness's second son, but that the heir to the throne were the victim of this small malformation." "what do you mean by that?" "why, your royal highness will laugh at me; but i am thinking of the gipsy woman." "the gipsy woman? please go on, my dear baron!" "of the gipsy woman--forgive me!--who a hundred years ago prophesied the birth of a prince to your royal highness's house--a prince 'with one hand'--that is how tradition puts it--and attached to the birth of that prince a certain promise, couched in peculiar terms." the grand duke turned on his seat and stared, without saying a word, at herr von knobelsdorff, at the outer corner of whose eyes the radiating wrinkles were playing. then, "mighty entertaining!" he said, and resumed his former attitude. "prophecies," continued herr von knobelsdorff, "generally come true to this extent, that circumstances arise which one can interpret, if one has a mind to, in their sense. and the broadness of the terms in which every proper prophecy is couched makes this all the more easy. 'with one hand'--that is regular oracle-style. what has actually happened is a moderate case of atrophy. but that much counts for a good deal, for what is there to prevent me, what is there to prevent the people, from assuming the whole by this partial fulfilment, and declaring that the conditional part of the prophecy has been fulfilled? the people will do so; if not at once, at any rate if the rest of the prophecy, the actual promise, is in any way realised, it will put two and two together, as it always has done, in its wish to see what is written turn out true. i don't see how it is going to come about--the prince is a younger son, he will not come to the throne, the intentions of fate are obscure. but the one-handed prince is there--and so may he bestow on us as much as he can." the grand duke did not answer, secretly thrilled by dreams of the future of his dynasty. "well, knobelsdorff, i will not be angry with you. you want to comfort me, and you have not done it badly. but i must do what is expected of me...." the air resounded with the distant cheers of many voices. the people of grimmburg were crowded in black masses behind the cordon at the station. officials were standing apart in front, waiting for the carriages. there was the mayor, raising his top-hat, wiping his forehead with a crumpled handkerchief, and poring over a paper whose contents he was committing to memory. johann albrecht assumed the expression appropriate to listening to the smoothly worded address and to answering concisely and graciously: "most excellent mr. mayor...." the town was dressed with flags, and the bells were ringing. in the capital all the bells were ringing. and in the evening there were illuminations; not by formal request of the authorities, but spontaneous--the whole city was a blaze of light. ii the country the country measured eight thousand square kilometres, and numbered one million inhabitants. a pretty, quiet, leisurely country. the tops of the trees in its forests rustled dreamily; its broad acres showed signs of honest care; its industries were undeveloped to the point of indigence. it possessed some brick-kilns, a few salt and silver-mines--that was almost all. a certain amount of tourist-traffic must also be mentioned, but he would be a bold man who described it as a flourishing industry. the alkali springs, which rose from the ground in the immediate neighbourhood of the capital and formed the centre of an attractive bathing-establishment, constituted the claims of the city to be considered a health resort. but while the baths at the end of the middle ages had been frequented by visitors from afar, they had later lost their repute, and been put in the shade by other baths and forgotten. the most valuable of the springs, that called the ditlinde spring, which was exceptionally rich in lithium salts, had been opened up quite recently, in the reign of johann albrecht iii, and as energetic business and advertising methods were not employed, its water had not yet succeeded in winning world-recognition. a hundred thousand bottles of it were sent away in the year--rather less than more. and but few strangers came to drink it on the spot.... the diet was the scene all the year round of speeches about the "barely" satisfactory results of the trade returns, by which was really meant the entirely unsatisfactory results, which nobody could dispute, that the local railways did not cover their expenses and the main lines did not pay any dividends--distressing but unalterable and inveterate facts, which the minister for trade in luminous but monotonous declarations explained by the peaceful commercial and industrial circumstances of the country, as well as by the inaccessibility of the home coal-deposits. critics added something about defective organization of the state industrial administration. but the spirit of contradiction and negation was not strong in the diet; the prevailing frame of mind among the representatives of the people was one of dull and true-hearted loyalty. so the railway revenues did not by any means rank first among the public revenues of a private-investment nature; the forest revenues had ranked first for years in this land of woods and plough. the fall in them, their startling depreciation, however sufficient reasons there were for it, was a much more difficult matter to mend. the people loved their woods. they were a fair and compact type, with searching blue eyes and broad, rather high cheek-bones, a sensible and honest, solid and backward stamp of men. they clung to their country's forest with all the strength of their nature; it lived in their bones, it was to the artists which it bred the source and home of their inspirations, and it was quite properly the object of popular gratitude, not only in regard to the gifts of soul and intellect of which it was the donor. the poor gathered their firewood in the forest; it gave to them freely, they had it for nothing. they went stooping and gathering all kinds of berries and mushrooms among its trunks, and earned a little something by doing so. that was not all. the people recognized that their forest had a very distinctly favourable influence on the weather and the healthy condition of the country; they were well aware that without the lovely woods in the neighbourhood of the capital the spa-garden outside would not attract foreigners with money to spend; in short, this not over-industrious and up-to-date people could not help knowing that the forest stood for the most important asset, the most profitable heritage of the country. and yet the forest had been sinned against, outraged for ages and ages. the grand ducal department of woods and forests deserved all the reproaches that were laid against it. that department had not political insight enough to see that the wood must be maintained and kept as inalienable common property, if it was to be useful not only to the present generation, but also to those to come; and that it would surely avenge itself if it were exploited recklessly and short-sightedly, without regard to the future, for the benefit of the present. that was what happened, and was still happening. in the first place great stretches of the floor of the forest had been impoverished by reckless and excessive spoliation of its litter. matters had repeatedly gone so far that not only the most recent carpet of needles and leaves, but the greatest part of the fall of years past had been removed and used in the fields partly as litter, partly as mould. there were many forests which had been completely stripped of mould; some had been crippled by the raking away of the litter: instances of this were to be found in the public woodlands as well as in the state woodlands. if the woods had been put to these uses in order to tide over a sudden agricultural crisis, there would have been no reason to complain. but although there were not wanting those who declared that an agricultural system founded on the appropriation of wood-litter was inexpedient, indeed dangerous, the trade in litter went on without any particular reason, on purely fiscal grounds, so it was put--that is to say, on grounds which, examined closely, proved to be only one ground and object, namely, the making of money. for it was money which was wanted. but to get this money, ceaseless inroads were made on the capital, until one fine day it was realised with dismay that an unsuspected depreciation in that capital had ensued. the people were a peasant race, and thought that the way to be up-to-date was to display a perverted, artificial, and improper zeal and to employ reckless business methods. a characteristic instance was the dairy-farming ... one word about that. loud complaints were heard, principally in the official medical annual, that a deterioration was noticeable in the nourishment, and consequently in the development, of the country people. what was the reason? the owners of cows were bent on turning all the full-milk at their disposal into money. the spread of the dairy industry, the development and productiveness of the milk trade, tempted them to disregard the claims of their own establishments. a strength-giving milk diet became a rarity in the country, and in its stead recourse was had to unsubstantial skimmed milk, inferior substitutes, vegetable oils, and, unfortunately, alcoholic drinks as well. the critics talked about under-feeding, they even called it physical and moral debilitation of the population; they brought the facts to the notice of the diet, and the government promised to give the matter their earnest attention. but it was only too clear that the government was at bottom infected with the same perversity as the mistaken dairy-farmers. timber continued to be cut to excess in the state forests; once cut it was gone, and meant a continual shrinkage of public property. the clearings might have been necessary occasionally, when the forests had been damaged in one way or another, but often enough they had been due simply to the fiscal reasons referred to: and instead of the proceeds of the clearings being used for the purchase of new tracts, instead of the cleared tracts being replanted as quickly as possible--instead, in a word, of the damage to the capital value of the state forests being balanced by an addition to their capital value, the quickly earned profits had been devoted to the payment of current expenses and the redemption of bonds. of course there could be no doubt that a reduction of the national debt was only too desirable; but the critics expressed the opinion that that was not the time to devote extraordinary revenues to the building up of the sinking-fund. anybody who had no interest in mincing matters must have described the state finances as in a hopeless muddle. the country carried a debt of thirty million pounds--it struggled along under it with patience and devotion, but with secret groans. for the burden, much too heavy in itself, was made trebly heavy through a rise in the rate of interest and through conditions of repayment such as are usually imposed on a country whose credit is shaken, whose exchange is low, and which has already almost come to be reckoned as "interesting" in the world of financiers. the succession of financial crises appeared to be never-ending. the list of failures seemed without beginning or end. and a maladministration, which was made no better by frequent changes in its personnel, regarded borrowing as the only cure for the creeping sickness in the state finances. even the chancellor of the exchequer, von schröder, whose probity and singleness of purpose were beyond all doubt, had been given a peerage by the grand duke, because he had succeeded in placing a loan at a high rate of interest in the most difficult circumstances. his heart was set on an improvement in the credit of the state: but as his resource was to contract new debts while he paid off the old, his policy proved to be no better than a well-meant but costly blind. for a simultaneous sale and purchase of bonds meant a higher purchase than selling price, involving the loss of thousands of pounds. it seemed as if the country were incapable of producing a man of any adequate financial gifts. improper practices and a policy of "hushing-up" were the fashion. the budget was so drawn up that it was impossible to distinguish between ordinary and extraordinary state requirements. ordinary and extraordinary items were jumbled up together, and those responsible for the budgets deceived themselves, and everybody else, as to the real state of affairs, by appropriating loans, which were supposed to be raised for extraordinary purposes, to cover a deficit in the ordinary exchequer.... the holder of the finance portfolio at one time was actually an ex-court marshal. dr. krippenreuther, who took the helm towards the end of johann albrecht iii's reign, was the minister who, convinced like herr von schröder of the necessity for a strenuous reduction in the debt, induced the diet to consent to a final and extreme addition to the burden of taxation. but the country, naturally poor as it was, was on the verge of insolvency, and all krippenreuther got was unpopularity. his policy really meant merely a transfer from one hand to the other, a transfer which itself involved a loss; for the increase in taxation laid a burden on the national economy which pressed more heavily and more directly than that which was removed by the sinking of the national debt. where, then, were help and a remedy to be found? a miracle, so it seemed, was needed--and meanwhile the sternest economy. the people were pious and loyal, they loved their princes as themselves, they were permeated with the sublimity of the monarchical idea, they saw in it a reflexion of the deity. but the economical pressure was too painful, too generally felt. the most ignorant could read in the thinned and crippled forests a tale of woe. the consequence was that repeated appeals had been made in the diet for a curtailment of the civil list, a cutting down of the appanages and crown endowments. the civil list amounted to twenty-five thousand pounds, the revenues of the crown demesnes to thirty-seven thousand pounds. that was all. and the crown was in debt--to what extent was perhaps known to count trümmerhauff, the keeper of the grand ducal purse, a regular stickler, but a man of absolutely no business instincts. it was not known to johann albrecht; at any rate he seemed not to know it, and therein followed the example of his forefathers, who had rarely deigned to give more than a passing thought to their debts. the people's attitude of veneration was reflected in their princes' extraordinary sense of their own dignity, which had sometimes assumed fanciful and even extravagant forms, and had found its most obvious and most serious expression in every period in a tendency to extravagance and to a reckless ostentation as exaggerated as the dignity it represented. one grimmburger had been christened "the luxurious" in so many words,--they had almost all deserved the nickname. so that the state of indebtedness of the house was an historical and hereditary state, reaching back to the times when all loans were a private concern of the sovereign, and when john the headstrong, wishing to raise a loan, pledged the liberty of the most prominent of his subjects to do so. those times were past; and johann albrecht iii, a true-born grimmburger in his instincts, was unfortunately no longer in a position to give free rein to his instincts. his fathers had played ducks and drakes with the family funds, which were reduced to nothing or little better than nothing. they had been spent on the building of country-seats with french names and marble colonnades, on parks with fountains, on splendid operas and all kinds of glittering shows. figures were figures, and, much against the inclination of the grand duke, in fact without his consent, the court was gradually cut down. the princess catherine, the sister of the grand duke, was never spoken of in the capital without a touch of sympathy. she had been married to a member of a neighbouring ruling house, had been left a widow, and had come back to her brother's capital, where she lived with her red-headed children in what used to be the heir apparent's palace on the albrechtstrasse, before whose gates a gigantic doorkeeper stood all day long in a pompous attitude with staff and shoulder-belt complete, while life went on with peculiar moderation inside. prince lambert, the grand duke's brother, did not come in for much attention. there was a coolness between him and his relations, who could not forgive him his _mésalliance_, and he hardly ever came to court. he lived in his villa overlooking the public gardens with his wife, an ex-dancer from the court theatre who bore the title of baroness von rohrdorf, after one of the prince's properties; and there he divided his time between sport and theatre-going, and struggling with his debts. he had dropped his dignities and lived just like a private citizen; and if he was generally supposed to have a struggle to make two ends meet, nobody gave him much sympathy for it. but alterations had been made in the old castle itself--reductions of expenses, which were discussed in the city and the country, and discussed usually in an apprehensive and regretful sense, because the people at bottom wished to see themselves represented with due pride and magnificence. several high posts at the court had been amalgamated for economy's sake, and for years past herr von bühl zu bühl had been lord marshal, chief master of the ceremonies, and marshal of the household at once. there had been many discharges in the board of green cloth and the servants' hall, among the pike-staffs, yeomen of the guard, and grooms, the master cooks and chief confectioners, the court and chamber lackeys. the establishment of the royal stable had been reduced to the barest minimum.... and what was the good of it all? the grand duke's contempt for money showed itself in sudden outbursts against the squeeze; and while the catering at the court functions reached the extreme limits of permissible simplicity, while at the supper at the close of the thursday concerts in the marble hall nothing but continual roast beef with sauce remoulade and ice-pudding were served on the red velvet coverings of the gilt-legged tables, while the daily fare at the grand duke's own candle-decked table was no better than that of an ordinary middle-class family, he defiantly threw away a whole year's income on the repair of the grimmburg. but meanwhile the rest of his seats were falling to pieces. herr von bühl simply had not the means at his disposal for their upkeep. and yet it was a pity in the case of many of them. those which lay at some little distance from the capital, or right out in the country, those luxurious asylums cradled in natural beauties whose dainty names spoke of rest, solitude, content, pastime, and freedom from care, or recalled a flower or a jewel, served as holiday resorts for the citizens and strangers, and brought in a certain amount in entrance-money which sometimes--not always--was devoted to their upkeep. this was not the case, however, with those in the immediate neighbourhood of the capital. there was the little schloss in the empire style, the hermitage, standing silent and graceful on the edge of the northern suburbs, but long uninhabited and deserted in the middle of its over-grown park, which joined on to the public gardens, and looked out on its little, mud-stiff pond. there was schloss delphinenort which, only a quarter of an hour's walk from the other, in the northern part of the public gardens themselves, all of which had once belonged to the crown, mirrored its untidiness in a huge square fountain-basin; both were in a sad state. that delphinenort in particular--that noble structure in the early baroque style, with its stately entrance-colonnade, its high windows divided into little white-framed panes, its carved festoons, its roman busts in the niches, its splendid approach-stairs, its general magnificence--should be abandoned to decay for ever, as it seemed, was the sorrow of all lovers of architectural beauty; and when one day, as the result of unforeseen, really strange circumstances, it was restored to honour and youth, among them at any rate the satisfaction was general.... for the rest, delphinenort could be reached in fifteen or twenty minutes from the spa-garden, which lay a little to the north-west of the city, and was connected with its centre by a direct line of trams. the only residences used by the grand ducal family were schloss hollerbrunn, the summer residence, an expanse of white buildings with chinese roofs, on the farther side of the chain of hills which surrounded the capital, coolly and pleasantly situated on the river and famed for the elder-hedges in its park; farther, schloss jägerpreis, the ivy-covered hunting-box in the middle of the woods to westward; and lastly, the town castle itself, called the "old" castle, although no new one existed. it was called thus, with no idea of comparison, simply because of its age, and the critics declared that its redecoration was more a matter of urgency than that of the grimmburg. even the inner rooms, which were in daily use by the family, were faded and cracked, not to mention the many uninhabited and unused rooms in the oldest parts of the many-styled building, which were all choked and flyblown. for some time past the public had been refused admission to them,--a measure which was obviously due to the shocking state of the castle. but people who could get a peep, the tradesmen and the staff, declared that there was stuffing peeping out of more than one stiff, imposing piece of furniture. the castle and the court church together made up a grey, irregular, and commanding mass of turrets, galleries, and gateways, half fortress, half palace. various epochs had contributed to its erection, and large parts of it were decaying, weather-beaten, spoilt, and ready to fall into pieces. to the west it dropped steeply down to the lower-lying city, and was connected with it by battered steps clamped together with rusty iron bars. but the huge main gate, guarded by lions couchant, and surmounted by the pious, haughty motto: "turris fortissima nomen domini," in almost illegible carving, faced the albrechtsplatz. it had its sentries and sentry boxes; it was the scene of the changing of the guard, with drums and martial display; it was the playground of all the urchins of the town. the old castle had three courtyards, in the corners of which rose graceful stair-turrets and between whose paving stones an unnecessary amount of weeds was generally growing. but in the middle of one of the courtyards stood the rose-bush,--it had stood there for ages in a bed, although there was no other attempt at a garden to be seen. it was just like any other rose-bush; it had a porter to tend it, it stood there in snow, rain, and sunshine, and in due season it bore roses. these were exceptionally fine roses, nobly formed, with dark-red velvet petals, a pleasure to look at, and real masterpieces of nature. but those roses had one strange and dreadful peculiarity: they had no scent! or rather, they had a scent, but for some unknown reason it was not the scent of roses, but of decay--a slight, but plainly perceptible scent of decay. everybody knew it; it was in the guide-books, and strangers visited the courtyard to convince themselves of it with their own noses. there was also a popular idea that it was written somewhere that at some time or other, on a day of rejoicings and public felicity, the blossoms of the rose-bush would begin to give forth a natural and lovely odour. after all, it was only to be expected that the popular imagination would be exercised by the wonderful rose-bush. it was exercised in precisely the same way by the "owl-chamber" in the old castle, which was used as a lumber room. its position was such that it could not be ignored, not far from the "gala rooms," and the "hall of the knights," where the court officers used to assemble on court days, and thus in a comparatively modern part of the building. but there was certainly something uncanny about it, especially as from time to time noises and cries occurred there, which could not be heard outside the room and whose origin was unascertainable. people swore that it came from ghosts, and many asserted that it was especially noticeable when important and decisive events in the grand ducal family were impending,--a more or less gratuitous rumour, which deserved no more serious attention than other national products of an historical and dynastic frame of mind, as for instance a certain dark prophecy which had been handed down for hundreds of years and may be mentioned in this connexion. it came from an old gipsy-woman, and was to the effect that a prince "with one hand" would bring the greatest good fortune to the country. the old hag had said: "he will give to the country with one hand more than all the rest could give it with two." that is how the prophecy was recorded, and how it was quoted from time to time. round the old castle lay the capital, consisting of the old town and the new town, with their public buildings, monuments, fountains, and parks, their streets and squares, named after princes, artists, deserving statesmen, and distinguished citizens, divided into two very unequal halves by the many-bridged river, which flowed in a great loop round the southern end of the public garden, and was lost in the surrounding hills. the city was a university town, it possessed an academy which was not in much request and whose curricula were unpractical and rather old-fashioned; the professor of mathematics, privy councillor klinghammer, was the only one of any particular repute in the scientific world. the court theatre, though poorly endowed, maintained a decent level of performances. there was a little musical, literary, and artistic life; a certain number of foreigners came to the capital, wishing to share in its well-regulated life and such intellectual attractions as it offered, among them wealthy invalids who settled down in the villas round the spa-gardens and were held in honour by the state and the community as doughty payers of taxes. and now you know what the town was like, what the country was like, and how matters stood. iii hinnerke the shoemaker the grand duke's second son made his first public appearance on the occasion of his christening. this festivity aroused the same interest in the country as always attached to happenings within the royal family circle. it took place after weeks of discussion and research as to the manner of its arrangement, was held in the court church by the president of the high consistory, dom wislezenus, with all the due ceremonial, and in public, to the extent that the lord marshal's office, by the prince's orders, had issued invitations to it to every class of society. herr von bühl zu bühl, a courtly ritualist of the greatest circumspection and accuracy, in his full-dress uniform superintended, with the help of two masters of the ceremonies, the whole of the intricate proceedings: the gathering of the princely guests in the gala rooms, the solemn procession in which they, attended by pages and squires, walked up the staircase of heinrich the luxurious and through a covered passage into the church, the entry of the spectators from the highest to the lowest, the distribution of the seats, the observance of due decorum during the religious service itself, the order of precedence at the congratulations which took place directly after the service was ended.... he panted and puffed, smiled ingratiatingly, brandished his staff, laughed in nervous bursts, and kept executing retreating bows. the court church was decorated with plants and draperies. in addition to the representatives of the nobility, of the court and country, and of the higher and lower civil service, tradesmen, country folk, and common artisans, in high good humour, filled the seats. but in a half-circle of red-velvet arm-chairs in front of the altar sat the relations of the infant, foreign princes as sponsors and the trusty representatives of such as had not come in person. the assemblage at the christening of the heir apparent six years before had not been more distinguished. for in view of albrecht's delicacy, the advanced age of the grand duke, and the dearth of grimmburg relations, the person of the second-born prince was at once recognized as an important guarantee for the future of the dynasty. little albrecht took no part in the ceremony; he was kept to his bed with an indisposition which surgeon-general eschrich declared to be of a nervous character. dom wislezenus preached from a text of the grand duke's own choosing. the _courier_, a gossiping city newspaper, had given a full account of how the grand duke had one day fetched with his very own hands the large metal-clasped family bible out of the rarely visited library, had shut himself up with it in his study, searched in it for a whole hour, at last copied the text he had chosen on to a piece of paper with his pocket-pencil, signed it "johann albrecht," and sent it to the court preacher. dom wislezenus treated it in a musical style, so as to speak, like a _leit motif_. he turned it inside and out, dressed it in different shapes and squeezed it dry; he announced it in a whisper, then with the whole power of his lungs; and whereas, delivered lightly and reflectively at the beginning of his discourse, it seemed a thin, almost unsubstantial subject; at the close, when he for the last time thundered it at the congregation, it appeared richly orchestrated, heavily scored, and pregnant with emotion. then he passed on to the actual baptism, and carried it out at full length so that all could see it, with due stress on every detail. this, then, was the day of the prince's first public appearance, and that he was the chief actor in the drama was clearly shown by the fact that he was the last to come on the stage, and that his entry was distinct from that of the rest of the company. preceded by herr von bühl, he entered slowly, in the arms of the mistress of the robes, baroness von schulenburg-tressen, and all eyes were fixed on him. he was asleep in his laces, his veils, and his white silk robe. one of his little hands happened to be hidden. his appearance evoked unusual delight and emotion. the cynosure and centre of attraction, he lay quietly there, bearing it all, as may be supposed, patiently and unassumingly. it was to his credit that he did not make any disturbance, did not clutch or struggle; but, doubtless from innate trustfulness, quietly resigned himself to the state which surrounded him, bore it patiently, and even at that early date sank his own emotions in it.... the arms in which he reposed were frequently changed at fixed points in the ceremony. baroness schulenburg handed him with a curtsey to his aunt, catherine, who, with a stern look on her face, was dressed in a newly remade lilac silk dress, and wore crown jewels in her hair. she laid him, when the moment came, solemnly in his mother dorothea's arms, who, in all her stately beauty, with a smile on her proud and lovely mouth, held him out a while to be blessed, and then passed him on. a cousin held him for a minute or two, a child of eleven or twelve years with fair hair, thin sticks of legs, cold bare arms, and a broad red silk sash which stuck out in a huge knot behind her white dress. her peaked face was anxiously fixed on the master of the ceremonies.... once the prince woke up, but the flickering flames of the altar-candles and a many-coloured shaft of sunlight dust blinded him, and made him close his eyes again. and as there were no thoughts, but only soft unsubstantial dreams in his head, as moreover he was feeling no pain at the moment, he at once fell asleep again. he received a number of names while he slept; but the chief names were klaus heinrich. and he slept on in his cot with its gilded cornice and blue silk curtains, while the royal family feasted in the marble hall, and the rest of the guests in the hall of the knights, in his honour. the newspapers reported his first appearance; they described his looks and his dress, and emphasized his truly princely behaviour, couching the moving and inspiring account in words which had often done duty on similar occasions. after that, the public for a long time heard little of him, and he nothing of them. he knew nothing as yet, understood nothing as yet, guessed nothing as to the difficulty, danger, and sternness of the life prescribed for him; nothing in his conduct suggested that he felt any contrast between himself and the great public. his little existence was an irresponsible, carefully supervised dream, played on a stage remote from the public stage; and this stage was peopled with countless tinted phantoms, both stationary and active, some emerging but transiently, some permanently at hand. of the permanent ones, the parents were far in the back-ground, and not altogether distinguishable. they were his parents, that was certain, and they were exalted, and friendly too. when they approached there was a feeling as if everything else slipped away to each side, and left a respectable passage along which they advanced towards him to show him a moment's tenderness. the nearest and clearest things to him were two women with white caps and aprons, two beings who were obviously all goodness, purity, and loving-kindness, who tended his little body in every way, and were much distressed when he cried.... a close partner in his life, too, was albrecht, his brother; but he was grave, distant, and much more advanced. when klaus heinrich was two years old, another birth took place in the grimmburg, and a princess came into the world. thirty-six guns were allotted to her, because she was of the female sex, and she was given the name of ditlinde at the font. she was klaus heinrich's sister, and it was a good thing for him that she appeared. she was at first surprisingly small and weak, but she soon grew like him, caught him up, and the two became inseparable. they shared each other's lives, each other's views, feelings, and ideas: they communicated to each other their impressions of the world outside them. it was a world, they were impressions, calculated to produce a reflective frame of mind. in winter they lived in the old castle. in summer they lived in hollerbrunn, the summer schloss, on the river, in the cool, in the scent of the violet hedges with white statues between them. on the way thither, or if at any other time father or mother took them with them in one of the brown carriages with the little golden crown on the door, all the passers-by stopped, cheered, and took their hats off; for father was prince and ruler of the country, consequently they themselves were prince and princess--undoubtedly in precisely the same sense as were the princes and princesses in the french stories which their swiss governess told them. that was worth consideration, it was at any rate a peculiar occurrence. when other children heard the stories, they necessarily regarded the princes which figured in them from a great distance, and as solemn beings whose rank was a glorification of reality and with whom to concern themselves was undoubtedly a chastening of their thoughts, and an escape from the ordinary existence. but klaus heinrich and ditlinde regarded the heroes of the stories as their own equals and fellows, they breathed the same air as them, they lived in a schloss like them, they stood on a fraternal footing with them, and were justified in identifying themselves with them. was it their lot, then, to live always and continually on the height to which others only climbed when stories were being told to them? the swiss governess, true to her general principles, would have found it impossible to deny it, if the children had asked the question in so many words. the swiss governess was the widow of a calvinistic minister and was in charge of both children, each of whom had two lady's maids as well. she was black and white throughout: her cap was white and her dress black, her face was white, with white warts on one cheek, and her smooth hair had a mixed black-and-white metallic sheen. she was very precise and easily put out. when things happened which, though quite without danger, could not be allowed, she clasped her white hands and turned her eyes up to heaven. but her quietest and severest mode of punishment for serious occasions was to "look sadly" at the children--implying that they had lost their self-respect. on a fixed day she began, on a hint from higher quarters, to address klaus heinrich and ditlinde as "grand ducal highness," and from that day she was more easily put out than before.... but albrecht was called "royal highness." aunt catherine's children were members of the family only on the distaff side, and so were of less importance. but albrecht was crown prince and heir apparent, so that it was not at all unfitting that he should look so pale and distant and keep so much to his bed. he wore austrian coats with flap pockets and cut long behind. his head had a big bump at the back and narrow temples, and he had a long face. while still quite young he had come through a serious illness, which, in the opinion of surgeon-general eschrich, was the reason for his heart having "shifted over to the right." however that might be, he had seen death face to face, a fact which had probably intensified the shy dignity which was natural to him. he seemed to be extremely standoffish, cold from embarrassment, and proud from lack of graciousness. he lisped a little and then blushed at doing so, because he was always criticizing himself. his shoulder-blades were a little uneven. one of his eyes had some weakness or other, so that he used glasses for writing his exercises, which helped to make him look old and wise.... albrecht's tutor, doctor veit, a man with hanging mud-coloured moustaches, hollow cheeks, and wan eyes unnaturally far apart, was always at his left hand. doctor veit was always dressed in black, and carried a book dangling down his thigh, with his index-finger thrust between its leaves. klaus heinrich felt that albrecht did not care much for him, and he saw that it was not only because of his inferiority in years. he himself was tender-hearted and prone to tears, that was his nature. he cried, when anybody "looked sadly" at him, and when he knocked his forehead against a corner of the nursery table, so that it bled, he howled from sympathy with his forehead. but albrecht had faced death, yet never cried on any condition. he stuck his short, rounded underlip a little forward, and sucked it lightly against the upper one--that was all. he was most superior. the swiss governess referred in so many words to him in matters of _comme il faut_ as a model. he had never allowed himself to converse with the gorgeous creatures who belonged to the court, not exactly men and human beings, but lackeys--as klaus heinrich had sometimes done in unguarded moments. for albrecht was not curious. the look in his eyes was that of a lonely boy, who had no wish to let the world intrude upon him. klaus heinrich, on the contrary, chatted with the lackeys from that same wish, and from an urgent though perhaps dangerous and improper desire to feel some contact with what lay outside the charmed circle. but the lackeys, young and old, at the doors, in the corridors and the passage-rooms, with their sand-coloured gaiters and brown coats, on the red-gold lace of which the same little crown as on the carriage doors was repeated again and again--they straightened their knees when klaus heinrich chatted to them, laid their great hands on the seams of the thick velvet breeches, bent a little forward towards him, so that the aiguillettes dangled from their shoulders, and returned various, highly proper answers, the most important part of which was the address "grand ducal highness," and smiled as they did so with an expression of cautious sympathy, which recalled the words of the old song, "the lad that is born to be king." sometimes when he got the chance, klaus heinrich went on voyages of discovery in uninhabited parts of the schloss, with ditlinde, his sister, when she was old enough. at that time he was having lessons from schulrat dröge, rector of the city schools, who was chosen to be his first tutor. schulrat dröge was a born pedagogue. his index-finger, with its folds of dry skin and gold stoneless signet-ring, followed the line of print when klaus heinrich read, waiting before going on to the next word until the preceding one had been read. he came in a frock-coat and white waistcoat, with the ribbon of some inferior order in his button-hole, and in broad shiny boots with brown upper-leathers. he wore a pointed grey beard, and bushy grey hair grew out of his big, broad ears. his brown hair was brushed up into points on his temples, and so precisely parted as to show clearly his yellow dry scalp, which was full of holes like canvas. but thin grey hair was visible under the strong brown hair behind and at the sides. he bowed slightly to the lackeys who opened the door for him to the big schoolroom at whose table klaus heinrich sat waiting for him. but to klaus heinrich he did not confine himself to a superficial bow as he entered the room, but made a pronounced and deliberate bow before he came up to him, and waited for his exalted pupil to offer him his hand. this klaus heinrich did; and the fact that he did so twice, not only when he greeted him, but also when he took his departure, just in the graceful and winning way in which he had seen his father give his hand to those who expected it, seemed to him far more important and essential than all the instruction which came between the two ceremonies. after schulrat dröge had come and gone any number of times, klaus heinrich had imperceptibly gained a knowledge of all sorts of practical things: to everybody's surprise he was quite at home in every kind of reading, writing, and arithmetic, and could reel off to order the names of the towns in the grand duchy pretty well without an omission. but, as has been said, this was not what was in his opinion really necessary and essential for him. from time to time, when he was inattentive at his lessons, the schulrat rebuked him with a reference to his exalted calling. "your exalted calling requires you ..." he would say or: "you owe it to your exalted calling...." what was his calling, and how was it exalted? why did the lackeys smile as if to say, "the lad that is born to be king," and why was his governess so much put out when he let himself go a little in speech or action? he looked round him, and at times, when he looked steadily and long and forced himself to probe the essence of the phenomena around him, a dim apprehension arose in him of the "aloofness" of his position. he was standing in one of the "gala rooms," the silver hall, in which, as he knew, his father the grand duke received solemn deputations--he happened to have wandered into it by himself and he took stock of his surroundings. it was winter-time and cold, his little shoes were reflected in the glass-clear yellow squares of the parquet which spread like a sheet of ice before him. the ceiling, covered with silvered arabesque-work, was so high that a long metal shaft was necessary to allow the many-armed silver chandelier with its forest of tall white candles to swing in the middle of the great space. below the ceiling came silver-framed coats-of-arms in faded colours. the walls were edged with silver, and hung with white silk with yellow spots, not to mention a split here and there. a sort of monumental baldachin, resting on two strong silver columns and decorated in front with a silver garland, broken in two places, from the top of which looked down a portrait of a deceased, powdered ancestress draped in imitation ermine, formed the chimney-piece. on each side of the fireplace were broad silvered arm-chairs upholstered in torn white silk. on the side walls opposite each other towered enormous silver-framed mirrors, whose glass was covered with blind spots, and on each side of whose broad white marble ledges stood two candelabra which carried big white candles like the sconces on the walls all round, and like the four silver candlesticks which stood in the corners. before the high windows to the right, looking over the albrechtsplatz, whose outer ledges were covered with snow, white silk curtains, yellow spotted, with silver cords and trimmed with lace, fell in rich, and heavy folds to the floor. in the middle of the room, under the chandelier, a moderate-sized table, with a pedestal made like a knobby silver tree-stump and a top made of eight triangles of opaque mother-of-pearl, stood useless, as there were no chairs round it, and it could only serve, and be meant to serve, at the very best, as a support for your highness, when the lackeys opened the doors and ushered in the solemn figures in court dress who came to present their respects to you.... klaus heinrich looked round the hall, and clearly saw that there was nothing here which reminded him of the realities which schulrat dröge, for all his bows, was always impressing upon him. here all was sunday and solemnity, just as in church, where also he would have felt the calls made on him by his tutor out of place. everything here was severe and empty show and a formal symmetry, self-sufficient, pointless, and uncomfortable--whose functions were obviously to create an atmosphere of awe and tension, not of freedom and ease, to inculcate an attitude of decorum and discreet self-obliteration towards an unnamed object. and it was cold in the silver hall--cold as in the halls of the snow-king, where the children's hearts froze stiff. klaus heinrich walked over the glassy floor and stood at the table in the middle. he laid his right hand lightly on the mother-of-pearl table, and placed the left hand on his hip, so far behind that it rested almost in the small of his back, and was not visible from in front, for it was an ugly sight, brown and wrinkled, and had not kept pace with the right in its growth. he stood resting on one leg, with the other a little advanced, and kept his eyes fixed on the silver ornaments of the door. it was not the place nor the attitude for dreaming, and yet he dreamed. he saw his father, and looked at him as he looked at the hall, to try to grasp his meaning. he saw the dull haughtiness of his blue eyes, the furrows which, proudly and morosely, ran from nostril down to his beard, and were often deepened or accentuated by weariness and boredom.... nobody dared to address him or to go freely up to him and speak to him unasked--not even the children: it was forbidden, it was dangerous. he answered, it is true: but he answered distantly and coldly, a look of helplessness, of _gêne_, passed over his face, which klaus heinrich was quite able to understand. papa made a speech and sent his petitioners away; that is what always happened. he gave an audience at the beginning of the court ball, and at the end of the dinner with which the winter began. he went with mamma through the rooms and halls, in which the members of the court were gathered, went through the marble hall and the gala rooms, through the picture gallery, the hall of the knights, the hall of the twelve months, the audience chamber, and the ball-room--went not only in a fixed direction, but along a fixed path which bustling herr von bühl kept free for him, and addressed a few words to the assembled throng. whoever was addressed by him bowed low, left a space of parquet between himself and papa, and answered soberly and with signs of gratification. thereupon papa greeted them over the intervening space, from the stronghold of precise regulations which prescribed the others' movements and warranted his own attitude, greeted them smilingly and lightly and passed on. smilingly and lightly.... of course, of course, klaus heinrich quite understood it, the look of helplessness which passed for one moment over papa's face when anybody was impetuous enough to address him unasked--understood it, and shared his feeling of _gêne_! it wounded something, some soft, virgin envelope of our existence which was so essential to it that we stood helpless when anybody roughly broke through it. and yet it was this same something which made our eyes so dull, and gave us those deep furrows of boredom.... klaus heinrich stood and saw--he saw his mother and her beauty, which was famed and extolled far and wide. he saw her standing _en robe de ceremonie_, in front of her great candle-lighted glass, for sometimes, on solemn occasions, he was allowed to be present when the court hairdresser and the bed-chamber women put the last touches to her toilette. herr von knobelsdorff also was present when mamma put on jewels from the crown regalia, watched and noted down the stones which she decided to use. with all the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes showing, he would make mamma laugh with his droll remarks, so that her soft cheeks filled with lovely little dimples. but her laugh was full of art and grace, and she looked in the glass as she laughed, as if she were practising it. people said that slav blood flowed in her veins, and that it was that which gave the sweet radiance to her deep-blue eyes and the night of her raven hair. klaus heinrich was like her, so he heard people say, in that he too had steel-blue eyes with dark hair, while albrecht and ditlinde were fair, just as papa had been before his hair turned grey. but he was far from handsome, owing to the breadth of his cheek-bones, and especially to his left hand, which mamma was always reminding him to hide adroitly, in the side-pocket of his coat, behind his back, or under the breast of his jacket--especially when his affectionate impulses prompted him to throw both his arms round her. her look was cold when she bade him mind his hand. he saw her as she was in the picture in the marble hall: in a short silk dress with lace flounces and long gloves, which showed only a glimpse of her ivory arm under her puffed sleeves, a diadem in the night of her hair, her stately form erect, a smile of cool perfection on her strangely hard lips--and behind her the metallic-blue wheel of a peacock's tail. her face was soft, but its beauty made it stern, and it was easy to see that her heart too was stern and absorbed in her beauty. she slept far into the day when a ball or party was in prospect, and ate only yolks of eggs, so as not to overload herself. then in the evening she was radiant as she walked on papa's arm along the prescribed path through the halls--grey-haired dignitaries blushed when they were addressed by her, and the _courier_ reported that it was not only because of her exalted rank that her royal highness had been the queen of the ball. yes, people felt happier for the sight of her, whether it was at the court or outside in the streets, or in the afternoon driving or riding in the park--and their cheeks kindled. flowers and cheers met her, all hearts went out to her, and it was clear that the people in cheering her were cheering themselves, and that their glad cries meant that they were cheered and elevated by the sight of her. but klaus heinrich knew well that mamma had spent long, anxious hours on her beauty, that there was practice and method in her smiles and greetings, and that her own pulse beat never the quicker for anything or anyone. did she love anyone--himself, klaus heinrich, for instance, for all his likeness to her? why, of course she did, when she had time to, even when she coldly reminded him of his hand. but it seemed as if she reserved any expression or sign of her tender feelings for occasions when lookers-on were present who were likely to be edified by them. klaus heinrich and ditlinde did not often come into contact with their mother, chiefly because they, unlike albrecht, the heir apparent, for some time past, did not have their meals at their parents' table, but apart with the swiss governess; and when they were summoned to mamma's boudoir, which happened once a week, the interview consisted in a few casual questions and polite answers--giving no scope for displays of feeling, while its whole drift seemed to be the proper way to sit in an arm-chair with a teacup full of milk. but at the concerts which took place in the marble hall every other thursday under the name of "the grand duchess's thursdays," and were so arranged that the court sat at little gilt-legged velvet-covered tables, while the leading tenor schramm from the court theatre, accompanied by an orchestra, sang so lustily that the veins swelled on his bald temples--at the concerts klaus heinrich and ditlinde, in their best clothes, were sometimes allowed in the hall for one song and the succeeding pause, when mamma showed how fond she was of them, showed it to them and to everybody else in so heartfelt and expressive a way that nobody could have any doubt about it. she summoned them to the table at which she sat, and told them with a happy smile to sit beside her, laid their cheeks on her shoulders or bosom, looked at them with a soft, soulful look in her eyes and kissed them both on forehead and mouth. then the ladies bent their heads and their eyelids quivered, while the men slowly nodded and bit their lips in order, in manly wise, to restrain their emotions.... yes, it was beautiful, and the children felt they had their share in the effect, which was greater than anything schramm the singer could procure with his most inspired notes, and nestled close to mamma. for klaus heinrich at last realized that it was in the nature of things, no business of ours, to have a simple feeling and to be made happy by it, but that it was our duty to make our tenderness visible to the hall and to exhibit it, that the hearts of our guests might swell. occasionally the people outside in the town and park also were allowed to see that mamma loved us. for while albrecht drove or rode--bad rider though he was--with the grand duke early in the morning, klaus heinrich and ditlinde had from time to time to take turns at accompanying mamma on her drives, which took place in the spring and autumn at the time of the afternoon promenade, with baroness von schulenburg-tressen in attendance. klaus heinrich was a little excited and feverish before these drives, to which unfortunately no enjoyment, but on the contrary a great deal of trouble and effort attached. for, directly the open carriage came out through the lions gate on to the albrechtsplatz, past the grenadiers at the "present," there were a lot of people collected, waiting for it--men, women, and children, who shouted and stared full of curiosity; and that meant pulling oneself together, sitting up erect, smiling, hiding the left hand, and saluting in such a way as to make the people happy. and so it went on right through the city and the fields. other vehicles were obliged to keep away from ours; the police looked to that. but the foot-passengers stood on the kerb, the women curtseyed, the men took off their hats and looked with eyes full of devotion and importunate curiosity,--and this was the impression klaus heinrich got: that they all were there just to be there and to stare, while he was there to show himself and to be stared at; and his was far the harder part. he kept his left hand in his coat-pocket and smiled as mamma wished him to, while he felt that his cheeks were aglow. but the _courier_ reported that the rosy redness of our little duke's cheeks showed what a healthy boy he was. klaus heinrich was thirteen years old when he stood at the solitary mother-of-pearl table in the middle of the cold silver hall, and tried to probe the reality of things around him. and as he scrutinized the various phenomena: the empty, torn pride of the room, aimless and uncomfortable, the symmetry of the white candles, which seemed to express awe and tension and discreet self-obliteration, the passing shadow on his father's face when anybody addressed him unasked, the cool and calculated beauty of his mother, whose one object was admiration, the devoted and importunately curious gaze of the people outside--then a suspicion seized him, a vague and approximate conception of his situation. but simultaneously horror seized him, terror at such a destiny, a dread of his "exalted calling," so strong that he turned round and covered his eyes with both his hands--both, the little wrinkled left one too--and sank down at the lonely table and cried, cried from sympathy with himself and his heart--till they came, and wrung their hands and turned their eyes up to heaven and questioned him, and led him away.... he gave out that he had been frightened, and that was quite true. he had known nothing, understood nothing, suspected nothing of the difficulty and sternness of the life prescribed for him; he had been merry and careless, and had given his guardians many a scare. but there was no resisting the impressions which soon came thronging upon him and forcing him to open his eyes to the real state of things. in the northern suburbs, not far from the spa-gardens, a new road had been opened: people told him that the city council had decided to call it "klaus heinrich strasse." once when driving out with his mother and he called at a picture-dealer's, they wanted to buy something. the footman waited at the carriage door, the public gathered round, the picture-dealer bustled about--there was nothing new in all that. but klaus heinrich for the first time noticed his photograph in the shop window. it was hanging next those of artists and great men, men with lofty brows, with a look of the loneliness of fame in their eyes. people were satisfied with him on the whole. he gained dignity with years, and self-possession under the pressure of his exalted calling. but the strange thing was that his longing increased at the same time: that roving inquisitiveness which schulrat dröge was not the man to satisfy, and which had impelled him to chat with the lackeys. he had given up doing that; it did not lead to anything. they smiled at him, confirming him by that very laugh in the suspicion that his world of the symmetrically marshalled candles presented an unconscious antithesis to the world outside, but they were no manner of help to him. he looked round about him on the expeditions, in the walks he took through the town gardens with ditlinde and the swiss governess, followed by a lackey. he felt that if they were all of one mind to stare at him, while he was all alone and made conspicuous just to be stared at, he also had no share in their being and doing. he realized that they presumably were not always as he saw them, when they stood and greeted him with deferential looks; that it must be his birth and upbringing which made their looks deferential, and that it was with them as with the children when they heard about fairy princes, and were thereby refined and elevated above their work-a-day selves. but he did not know what they looked like and were when they were not refined and elevated above their work-a-day selves--his "exalted calling" concealed this from him, and it was a dangerous and improper wish to allow his heart to be moved by things which his exaltedness concealed from him. and yet he wished it, he wished it from a jealousy and that roving inquisitiveness which sometimes drove him to undertake voyages of exploration into unknown regions of the old schloss, with ditlinde his sister, when the opportunity offered. they called it "rummaging," and great was the charm of "rummaging"; for it was difficult to acquire familiarity with the ground-plan and structure of the old schloss, and every time they penetrated far enough into the remoter parts they found rooms, closets, and empty halls which they had not yet trodden, or strange round-about ways to already-known rooms. but once when thus wandering about they had a rencontre, an adventure befell them, which made a great impression on klaus heinrich, though he did not show it, and opened his eyes. the opportunity came. while the swiss governess was absent on leave to attend the evening service, they had drunk their milk from tea-cups with the grand duchess, accompanied by the two ladies-in-waiting, had been dismissed and directed to go back hand-in-hand to their ordinary occupations in the nursery, which lay not far off. it was thought that they needed nobody to go with them; klaus heinrich was old enough to take care of ditlinde, of course. he was; and in the corridor he said: "yes, ditlinde, we will certainly go back to the nursery, but we need not go, you know, the shortest, dullest way. we'll rummage a bit first. if you go up one step and follow the corridor as far as where the arches begin, you'll find a hall with pillars behind them, and if you go out of one of the doors of the hall with pillars--clamber up the corkscrew staircase, you come to a room with a wooden roof; and there are lots of funny things lying about there. but i don't know what comes after the room, and that's what we've got to find out. so let's go." "yes, let's," said ditlinde, "but not too far, klaus heinrich, and not where it's too dusty, for this dress shows everything." she was wearing a dress of dark-red velvet, trimmed with satin of the same colour. she had at that time dimples in her elbows, and light golden hair, that curled round her ears like ram's horns. in after years she was pale and thin. she too had the broad, rather over-prominent cheek-bones of her father and nation, but they were not accentuated, so that they did not spoil the lines of her face. but with klaus heinrich they were strong and emphatic, so that they seemed somewhat to encroach upon, to narrow and to lengthen his steel-coloured eyes. his dark hair was smoothly parted, cut in a careful rectangle on the temples, and brushed straight back from the forehead. he wore an open jacket with a waistcoat buttoning at the throat and a white turn-down collar. in his right hand he held ditlinde's little hand, but his left arm hung down, with its brown, wrinkled, and undeveloped hand, thin and short from the shoulder. he was glad that he could let it hang without bothering to conceal it; for there was nobody there to stare and to require to be elevated and inspired, and he himself might stare and examine to his heart's content. so they went and rummaged as they liked. quiet reigned in the corridors, and they saw hardly a lackey in the distance. they climbed up a staircase and followed the passage till they came to the arches, showing that they were in the part of the schloss which dated from the time of john the headstrong and heinrich the confessor, as klaus heinrich knew and explained. they came to the hall of the pillars, and klaus heinrich there whistled several notes close after each other, for the first were still sounding when the last came, and so a clear chord rang under the vaulted ceiling. they scrambled groping and often on hands and knees up the stone winding staircase which opened behind one of the heavy doors, and reached the room with the wooden ceiling, in which there were several strange objects. there were some broken muskets of clumsy size with thickly rusted locks, which had been too bad for the museum, and a discarded throne with torn red velvet cushions, short wide-splayed lion-legs, and cupids hovering over the chair-back, bearing a crown. then there was a wicked-looking, dusty, cage-like, and horribly interesting thing, which intrigued them much and long. if they were not quite mistaken, it was a rat-trap, for they could see the iron spike to put the bacon on, and it was dreadful to think how the trap-door must fall down behind the great beast.... yes, this took time, and when they stood up after examining the rat-trap their faces were hot, and their clothes stiff with rust and dust. klaus heinrich brushed them both down, but that did not do much good, for his hands were as filthy as his clothes. and suddenly they saw that dusk had begun to fall. they must return quickly, ditlinde insisted anxiously on that; it was too late to go any farther. "that's an awful pity," said klaus heinrich. "who knows what else we mightn't have found, and when we shall get another chance of rummaging, ditlinde!" but he followed his sister and they hurried back down the turret-stairs, crossed the hall of the pillars, and came out into the arcade, intending to hurry home hand-in-hand. thus they wandered on for a time; but klaus heinrich shook his head, for it seemed to him that this was not the way he had come. they went still farther; but several signs told them that they had mistaken their direction. this stone seat with the griffin-heads was not standing here before. that pointed window looked to the west over the low-lying quarter of the town and not over the inner courtyard with the rose-bush. they were going wrong, it was no use denying it; perhaps they had left the hall of the pillars by a wrong exit--anyhow they had absolutely lost their way. they went back a little, but their disquietude would not allow them to go very far back, so they turned right about again, and decided to push on the way they had already come, and to trust to luck. their way lay through a damp, stuffy atmosphere, and great undisturbed cobwebs stretched across the corners; they went with heavy hearts, and ditlinde especially was full of repentance and on the brink of tears. people would notice her absence, would "look sadly" at her, perhaps even tell the grand duke; they would never find the way, would be forgotten and die of hunger. and where there was a rat-trap, klaus heinrich, there were also rats.... klaus heinrich comforted her. they only had to find the place where the armour and crossed standards hung; from that point he was quite sure of the direction. and suddenly--they had just passed a bend in the winding passage--suddenly something happened. it startled them dreadfully. what they had heard was more than the echo of their own steps, they were other, strange steps, heavier than theirs; they came towards them now quickly, now hesitatingly, and were accompanied by a snorting and grumbling which made their blood run cold. ditlinde made as if to run away from fright: but klaus heinrich would not let go her hand, and they stood with starting eyes waiting for what was coming. it was a man who was just visible in the half-darkness, and, calmly considered, his appearance was not horrifying. he was squat in figure, and dressed like a veteran soldier. he wore a frock-coat of old-fashioned cut, a woollen comforter round his neck and a medal on his breast. he held in one hand a curly top-hat and in the other the bone handle of his clumsily rolled-up umbrella, which he tapped on the flags in time with his steps. his thin grey hair was plastered up from one ear in wisps over his skull. he had bow-shaped black eyebrows, and a yellow-white beard, which grew like the grand duke's, heavy upper-lids, and watery blue eyes with pouches of withered skin under them; he had the usual high cheek-bones, and the furrows of his sun-burnt face were like crevasses. when he had come quite close he seemed to recognize the children, for he placed himself against the outer wall of the passage, at once fronted round and began to make a number of bows, consisting of several short forward jerks of his whole body from the feet upwards, while he imparted a look of honesty to his mouth and held his top-hat crown-downwards in front of him. klaus heinrich meant to pass him by with a nod, but was surprised into halting, for the veteran began to speak. "i beg pardon!" he suddenly grunted; then went on in a more natural voice: "i earnestly beg your young highnesses' pardon! but would your young highnesses take it amiss if i addressed to them the request that they would very kindly acquaint me with the nearest way to the nearest exit? it need not actually be the albrechtstor--not in the least necessary that it should be the albrechtstor. but any exit from the schloss, if i dare be so free as to address this inquiry to your young highnesses...." klaus heinrich had laid his left hand on his hip, right behind, so that it lay almost in his back, and looked at the ground. the man had simply spoken to him, had engaged him directly and unavoidably in conversation; he thought of his father and knitted his brows. he pondered feverishly over the question how he ought to behave in this topsy-turvy and incorrect situation. albrecht would have pursed up his mouth, sucked with his short, rounded under-lip lightly against the upper, and passed on in silence--so much was certain. but what was the use of rummaging if at the first serious adventure one intended to pass on in dignity and dudgeon? and the man was honest, and had nothing wicked about him: that klaus heinrich could see when he forced himself to raise his eyes. he simply said: "you come with us, that's the best way. i will willingly show you where you must turn off to get to an exit." and they went on. "thanks!" said the man. "ever so many thanks for your kindness! heaven knows i should never have thought that i should live to walk about the old schloss one day with your young highnesses. but there it is, and after all my annoyance--for i have been annoyed, terribly annoyed, that's true and certain--after all my annoyance i have at any rate this honour and this satisfaction." klaus heinrich longed to ask what might have been the reason for so much annoyance; but the veteran went straight on (and tapped his umbrella in regular time on the flags as he went). "... and i recognized your young highnesses at once, although it is a bit dark here in the passage, for i have seen you many a time in the carriage, and was always delighted, for i myself have just such a couple of brats at home--i mean to say, mine are brats, mine are ... and the boy is called klaus heinrich too." "just like me?" said klaus heinrich, overjoyed.... "what luck!" "there's no luck about it," said the man, "considering he was named expressly after you, for he is a couple of months younger than you, and there are lots of children in the town and country who are called that, and all of them after you. no, one can hardly call it luck...." klaus heinrich concealed his hand and remained silent. "yes, recognized you at once," said the man. "and i thought, thank heaven, thought i, that's what i call fortune in misfortune, and they'll help you out of the trap into which you have stuck your nose, you old blockhead, and you've good reason to laugh, thought i, for there's many a one has trudged about here and been guyed by those popinjays, and hasn't got out of it so well...." popinjays? thought klaus heinrich ... and guyed? he looked straight in front of him, he did not dare to ask. a fear, a hope struck him.... he said quite simply: "they ... they guyed you?" "not half!" said the man. "i should think they did, the ogres, and no mistake! but i don't mind telling your young highnesses, young though you are, but it'll do you good to hear it, that these people here are a set of wasters. a man comes and delivers his work as respectfully as possible.... yes, bless my soul!" he cried suddenly, and tapped his forehead with his hat. "i haven't yet introduced myself to your young highnesses and told you who i am, have i?--hinnerke!" he said, "master-cobbler hinnerke, royal warrant-holder, pensioner and medallist." and he pointed with the index-finger of his great, rough, yellow-spotted hand to the medal on his breast. "the fact is, that his royal highness, your father, has been graciously pleased to order a pair of boots from me, top-boots, riding-boots, with spurs, and made of the best quality patent-leather. they're my speciality, and i made them myself and took a lot of trouble about them, and they were ready to-day and ever so smart. 'you must go yourself,' says i to myself.... i have a boy who delivers, but i says to myself: 'you must go yourself, they are for the grand duke.' so i rig myself out and take my boots and go to the schloss. 'all right,' say the lackeys down below, and want to take them from me, 'no!' say i, for i don't trust them. it's my reputation gets me my orders and my warrant, let me tell your highnesses, not because i tip the lackeys. but the fellows are spoilt by tips from the warrant-holders, and want to get something out of me for their trouble. 'no,' say i, for i'm not a one for bribing and underhand dealings, 'i'll deliver them myself, and if i can't give them to the grand duke himself, i'll give them to valet prahl.' they looked daggers, but they say: 'then you must go up there!' and i go up there. there are some more of them up there, and they say 'all right!' and want to take charge of the boots, but i ask for prahl and stick to it. they say: 'he's having his tea,' but i'm determined and say, 'then i'll wait till he's finished.' and just as i say it, who comes by in his buckled shoes but valet prahl. and he sees me, and i give him the boots with a few modest words, and he says 'all right!' and actually adds: 'they're fine!' and nods and takes them off. now i'm satisfied, for prahl, he's safe, so off i go. 'hi!' cries somebody. 'mr. hinnerke! you're going wrong!' 'damn!' says i, and right about, and go off in the other direction. but that was the stupidest thing i could do, for they had sent me to jericho, and that's just where i don't want to go. i walk on a bit and meet another one, and ask him the way to the albrechtstor. but he spots at once what's up, and says: 'go up the stairs, and then keep to the left and then down again, and you'll cut off a large corner!' and i believe he means it kindly and do what he says, and get more and more muddled and altogether lose my bearings. then i see that it's not my fault, but the rogues', and it strikes me that i have heard that they often play that trick on court tradesmen who don't tip them, and let them wander about till they sweat. and my fury makes me blind and stupid, and i get to places where there's not a living soul, and don't know where i am and get properly put about. and at last i meet your young highnesses. yes, that's how it is with me and my boots!" ended shoemaker hinnerke, and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. klaus heinrich squeezed ditlinde's hand. his heart beat so loud that he absolutely forgot to hide his left hand. that was it. that was a touch of it, an outline! no doubt about it, that was the sort of thing his "exalted calling" shielded him from, the sort of thing people did when they were in the ordinary, work-a-day frame of mind. the lackeys.... he said nothing, words failed him. "i see that your young highnesses don't answer," said the shoemaker. and his honest voice was filled with emotion. "i oughtn't to have told you, because it isn't your business to get to know all the wickedness that goes on. but yet i don't know," he said, laid his head on one side and snapped his fingers, "that it can do any harm, that it can do you any harm for the future and later on...." "the lackeys ..." said klaus heinrich, and took a plunge ... "are they wicked? i can quite well fancy ..." "wicked?" said the cobbler. "good-for-nothings they are. that's the name for them. do you know what they're good for? they keep the goods back when no tip's forthcoming, keep them back when the tradesman delivers them punctually at the time ordered, and only hand them over days late, so that the tradesman gets blamed, and is considered by the grand duke to have failed in his duty and he loses his orders. that's what they do without scruple, and the whole town knows it...." "that's most annoying!" said klaus heinrich. he listened, listened. he hardly realized how much shocked he was. "do they do anything else?" he said. "i'm quite sure they must do other things of the same kind." "you bet!" said the man, and laughed. "no, they don't miss a chance, let me tell your highnesses, they have all sorts of dodges. there's the door-opening joke, for instance.... that's like this. your father, our gracious grand duke, grants an audience to somebody, let's suppose he's a new hand and it's his first time at court. and he comes in a frock coat all sweat and shivers, for it is of course no trifle to stand before his royal highness for the first time. and the lackeys laugh at him, because they're quite at home here, and tow him into the ante-room, and he doesn't know where he is, and absolutely forgets to tip the lackeys. but then comes his moment, and the adjutant says his name, and the lackeys throw open the double-doors and let him into the room in which the grand duke is waiting. then the new hand stands there and bows and says what he has to say, and the grand duke graciously gives him his hand, and so he is dismissed and walks backwards, and thinks the folding-doors are going to open behind him, as he has been definitely promised. but they don't open, i tell your highnesses, for the lackeys have got their knife into him, because they haven't been tipped, and don't stir a finger for him outside there. but he daren't turn round, absolutely daren't, because he daren't show the grand duke his back, that would be grossly bad manners and an insult to his highness. and then he feels behind him for the door-handle and can't find it, and gets the jumps and scrabbles around on the door, and when at last by the mercy of providence he finds the knob it's an old-fashioned lock, and he doesn't understand it and fiddles and dislocates his arm and tires himself out and keeps bowing all the time in his agitation, until at last his highness graciously lets him out with his own hand. yes, that's the door-opening joke! but that's nothing to what i'm going to tell your highness...." they had been so deep in conversation that they had scarcely noticed where they were going, had gone down the stairs and reached the ground-floor, close to the albrechtstor. eiermann, one of the grand duchess's grooms-of-the-chamber, came towards them. he wore a violet coat and side-whiskers. he had been sent out to look for their grand ducal highnesses. he shook his head while still at a distance, in lively concern, and pursed his mouth up like a funnel. but when he noticed shoemaker hinnerke walking with the children and tapping with his umbrella, all the muscles of his face relaxed and his jaw dropped. there was scarcely time for thanks and farewells, eiermann was in such a hurry to part the children from the shoemaker. and with many a gloomy prophecy he led their grand ducal highnesses up to their room to the swiss governess. eyes were turned to heaven, hands were wrung about their absence and the state of their clothes. the worst of all happened, they were "looked at sadly." but klaus heinrich confined his contrition to the bare minimum. he thought: "so the lackeys took money and let the tradesmen wander about the corridors if they did not get any, kept the goods back, that the tradesmen might get blamed, and did not open the folding-doors, so that the suitor had to scrabble. that's what happened in the schloss, and what must it be outside? outside among the people who stared at him so respectfully and so strangely, when he drove by with his hand to his hat ...? but how had the man dared to tell it him? not one single time had he called him grand ducal highness; he had forced himself on him and offended his birth and upbringing. and yet, why was it so extraordinarily pleasant to hear all that about the lackeys? why did his heart beat with such rapt pleasure, when moved by some of the wild and bold things in which his highness bore no part?" iv doctor ueberbein klaus heinrich spent three of his boyhood's years in the company of boys of his own age of the court and country nobility of the monarchy in an institution, a kind of aristocratic seminary, which von knobelsdorff, the house minister, had founded and set in order on his behalf in the "pheasantry" hunting-schloss. a crown property for centuries past, schloss "pheasantry" gave its name to the first stopping-place of a state railway running north-west from the capital, and itself took it from a "tame" pheasant preserve, situated not far off among the meadows and woods, which had been the hobby of a former ruler. the schloss, a one-storied box-like country house with a shingle roof topped by lightning conductors, stood with stables and coach-house on the skirts of extensive fir plantations. with a row of aged lime trees in front, it looked out over a broad expanse of meadowland fringed by a distant bluish circle of woods and intersected by paths, with many a bare patch of play-ground and hurdles for obstacle riding. opposite the corner of the schloss was a refreshment pavilion, a beer and coffee garden planted with high trees, which a prudent man called stavenüter had rented and which was thronged on sundays in summer by excursionists, especially bicyclists, from the capital. the pupils of the "pheasantry" were only allowed to visit the pavilion in charge of a tutor. there were five of them, not counting klaus heinrich: trümmerhauff, gumplach, platow, prenzlau, and wehrzahn. they were called "the pheasants" in the country round. they had a landau from the court stables which had seen its best days, a dog-cart, a sledge, and a few hacks, and when in winter some of the meadows were flooded and frozen over, they had an opportunity of skating. there was one cook, two chamber-maids, one coachman, and two lackeys at the "pheasantry," one of whom could drive at a pinch. professor kürtchen, a little suspicious and irritable bachelor with the airs of a comic actor and the manners of an old french chevalier, was head of the seminary. he wore a stubby grey moustache, a pair of gold spectacles in front of his restless brown eyes, and always out-of-doors a top hat on the back of his head. he stuck his belly out as he walked and held his little fists on each side of his stomach like a long-distance runner. he treated klaus heinrich with self-satisfied tact, but was full of suspicion of the noble arrogance of his other pupils and fired up like a tom-cat when he scented any signs of contempt for him as a commoner. he loved when out for a walk, if there were people close by, to stop and gather his pupils in a knot around him and explain something to them, drawing diagrams in the sand with his stick. he addressed frau amelung, the housekeeper, a captain's widow who smelt strongly of drugs, as "my lady" and showed thus that he knew what was what in the best circles. professor kürtchen was helped by a yet younger assistant teacher with a doctor's degree--a good-humoured, energetic man, bumptious but enthusiastic, who influenced klaus heinrich's views and conscience perhaps more than was good for him. a gymnastic instructor called zotte had also been appointed. the assistant teacher, it may be remarked in passing, was called ueberbein, raoul ueberbein. the rest of the staff came every day by railway from the capital. klaus heinrich remarked with appreciation that the demands made on him from the point of view of learning quickly abated. schulrat dröge's wrinkled fore-finger no longer paused on the lines, he had done his work; and during the lessons as well as while correcting his written work professor kürtchen seized every opportunity of showing his tact. one day, quite soon after the institution had started--it was after luncheon in the high-windowed dining-room--he summoned klaus heinrich into his study, and said in so many words: "it is contrary to the public interest that your grand ducal highness, during our scientific studies together, should be compelled to answer questions which are at the moment unwelcome to you. on the other hand, it is desirable that your grand ducal highness should continually announce your readiness to answer by holding up your hand. i beg your grand ducal highness accordingly, for my own information, in the case of unwelcome questions, to stretch out your arm to its full length, but in the case of those an invitation to answer which would be agreeable to you, to raise it only half way and in a right angle." as for doctor ueberbein, he filled the schoolroom with a noisy flow of words, whose cheerfulness disguised the teacher's object without losing sight of it altogether. he had come to no sort of understanding with klaus heinrich, but questioned him when it occurred to him to do so, in a free and friendly way without causing him any embarrassment. and klaus heinrich's by no means apropos answers seemed to enchant doctor ueberbein, to inspire him with warm enthusiasm. "ha, ha," he would cry and throw his head back laughing. "oh, klaus heinrich! oh, scion of princes! oh, your innocency! the crude problems of life have caught you unprepared! now then, it is for me with my experience to put you straight." and he gave the answer himself, asked nobody else, when klaus heinrich had answered wrong. the mode of instruction of the other teachers bore the character of an unassuming lecture. and gymnastic-instructor zotte had received orders from high quarters to conduct the physical exercises with every regard to klaus heinrich's left hand--so strictly that the attention of the prince himself or of his companions should never be drawn unnecessarily to his little failing. so the exercises were limited to running games, and during the riding lessons, which herr zotte also gave, all feats of daring were rigorously excluded. klaus heinrich's relations with his comrades were not what one might call intimate, they did not extend to actual familiarity. he stood for himself, was never one of them, by no means counted amongst their number. they were five and he was one; the prince, the five, and the teachers, that was the establishment. several things stood in the way of a free friendship. the five were there on klaus heinrich's account, they were ordered to associate with him; when during the lessons he answered wrong they were not asked to correct him, they had to adjust themselves to his capacity when riding or playing. they were too often reminded of the advantages they gained by being allowed to share his life. some of them, the young von gumplach, von platow, and von wehrzahn, sons of country squires of moderate means, were oppressed the whole time by the gratified pride their parents had shown when the invitation from the house minister reached them, by the congratulations which had poured in from every side. count prenzlau on the other hand, that thick-set, red-haired, freckled youth with the breathless way of speaking and the christian name bogumil, was a sprig of the richest and noblest family of landowners in the land, spoilt and self-conscious. he was well aware that his parents had not been able to refuse baron von knobelsdorff's invitation, but that it had not seemed to them by any means a blessing from the clouds, and that he, count bogumil, could have lived much better and more in accordance with his position on his father's property than at the "pheasantry." he found the hacks bad, the landau shabby, and the dog-cart old-fashioned; he grumbled privately over the food. dagobert count trümmerhauff, a spare, greyhound-looking youth, who spoke in a whisper, was inseparable from him. they had a word among themselves which fully expressed their critical and aristocratic bent, and which they constantly uttered in a biting tone of voice: "hog-wash." it was hog-wash to have loose collars buttoning on to one's shirt. it was hog-wash to play lawn-tennis in one's ordinary clothes. but klaus heinrich felt himself unequal to using the word. he had not hitherto been aware that there were such things as shirts with collars sewed on to them and that people could possess so many changes of clothes at one time as bogumil prenzlau. he would have liked to say "hog-wash," but it occurred to him that he was wearing at that very time darned socks. he felt inelegant by the side of prenzlau and coarse compared with trümmerhauff. trümmerhauff had the nobility of a wild beast. he had a long pointed nose with a sharp bridge and broad, quivering, thin-walled nostrils, blue veins on his delicate temples and small ears without lobes. he wore broad coloured cuffs fastened with gold links, and his hands were like those of a dainty woman, with filbert nails; a gold bracelet adorned one of his wrists. he half closed his eyes as he whispered.... no, it was obvious that klaus heinrich could not compete with trümmerhauff in elegance. his right hand was rather broad, he had cheek-bones like the men in the street, and he looked quite stumpy by dagobert's side. it was quite possible that albrecht might have been better qualified to join the "pheasants" in their use of "hog-wash." klaus heinrich for his part was no aristocrat, absolutely none, unmistakable facts showed that. for consider his name, klaus heinrich, that's what the shoemaker's sons were called all over the place. herr stavenüter's children over the road too, who blew their noses with their fingers, bore the same names as himself, his parents, and his brother. but the lordlings were called bogumil and dagobert--klaus heinrich stood solitary and alone among the five. however, he formed one friendship at the "pheasantry," and it was with doctor ueberbein. the usher raoul ueberbein was not a handsome man. he had a red beard and a greenish-white complexion with watery blue eyes, thin red hair, and unusually ugly, protruding, sharp-pointed ears. but his hands were small and delicate. he wore white ties exclusively, which gave him rather a distinguished appearance, although his wardrobe was scanty. he wore a long great-coat out-of-doors, and when riding--for dr. ueberbein rode, and excellently well too--a worn-out frock-coat whose skirts he fastened up with safety-pins, tight buttoned breeches, and a high hat. where lay the attraction he exercised on klaus heinrich? that attraction was very composite. the "pheasants" had not been long together before a report went about that the usher had dragged a child a long time ago, in circumstances of extreme peril, out of a swamp or bog, and was the possessor of a medal for saving life. that was one impression. later other details of doctor ueberbein's life came to be known, and klaus heinrich too heard of them. it was said that his origin was obscure, that he had no father, his mother had been an actress who had paid some poor people to adopt him, and that he had once been starved, which accounted for the greenish tint of his complexion. these were things which did not bear being brought into the light or even being thought of, wild, remote things, to which, however, doctor ueberbein himself sometimes alluded--when, for instance, the lordlings, who could not forget his obscure origin, behaved impudently or unbecomingly towards him. "suck-a-thumbs and mammy's darlings!" he would say then in loud dudgeon. "i've knocked about long enough to deserve some respect from you young gentlemen!" this fact too, that doctor ueberbein had "knocked about," did not fail of effect on klaus heinrich. but the especial charm of the doctor's person lay in the directness of his attitude towards klaus heinrich, the tone in which he addressed him from the very beginning, and which distinguished him clearly from everybody else. there was nothing about him which reminded one of the stiff reticence of the lackeys, of the governess's pale horror, of schulrat dröge's professional bows, or of professor kürtchen's self-satisfied deference. there was nothing about him to recall the strange, loyal, and yet impertinent way in which people outside stared at klaus heinrich. during the first few days after the seminary assembled, he kept silence and confined himself to observation, but then he approached the prince with a jovial and cheery frankness, a fresh fatherly camaraderie such as klaus heinrich had never before experienced. it disturbed him at first, he looked in terror at the doctor's green face; but his confusion found no echo in the doctor, and in no way discouraged him, it confirmed him in his hearty bumptious ingenuousness, and it was not long before klaus heinrich was warmed and won, for there was nothing vulgar, nothing degrading, not even anything designed and school-masterish in doctor ueberbein's methods--all they showed was the superiority of a man who had knocked about the world, and, at the same time, his tender and open respect for klaus heinrich's different birth and position; they showed affection and recognition, at the same time as the cheerful offer of a league between their two different kinds of existence. he called him "highness" once or twice, then simply "prince," then quite simply "klaus heinrich." and he stuck to the last. when the "pheasants" went out for a ride, these two rode at the head, the doctor on his stout piebald to the left of klaus heinrich on his docile chestnut--trotted when snow or leaves were falling, through springtime thaws or summer heat, along the edge of the woodlands across country, or through the villages, while doctor ueberbein related anecdotes of his life. raoul ueberbein sounds funny, doesn't it? the very reverse of _chic_. yes, ueberbein had been the name of his adoptive parents, a poor, oldish couple of the inferior bank-clerk class, and he had a quite legal right to it. but that he should be called raoul had been the decision and mandate of his mother, when she handed over the sum agreed on, together with his fateful little person, to the others--a sentimental decision obviously, a decision prompted by piety. at least it was quite possible that his legal and real father had been called raoul, and it was to be hoped that his surname had been something which harmonized with it. for the rest, it had been rather a wild undertaking on the part of his adoptive parents to adopt a child, for "barmecide had been cook" in the ueberbein establishment, and it was obvious that it had been only the most urgent necessity which had made them jump at the money. the boy had been given only the scantiest of school educations, but he had taken the liberty of showing what he was made of, had distinguished himself to some extent, and as he was keen to become a teacher, he had been granted out of a public fund the means of obtaining a college education. well, he had finished his college course not without distinction, as indeed it was expected of him that he should, and he had then been appointed a teacher in a public elementary school, with a good salary, out of which he had managed to give occasional doles by way of gratitude to his honest adoptive parents, until they died almost simultaneously. and a happy release it was for them! and so he had been left alone in the world, his very birth a misfortune, as poor as a sparrow and endowed by providence with a green face and dog's ears by way of personal recommendations. attractive qualifications, were they not? but such qualifications were really favourable ones--once for all, so they proved. a miserable boyhood, loneliness and exclusion from good fortune and all that good fortune brings, a never-ceasing, imperious call to be up and doing, no fear of getting fat and lazy, one's moral fibre was braced, one could never rest on one's oars, but must be always overhauling and passing others. could anything be more stimulating, when the hard facts were brought home to one? what a handicap over others who "were not obliged to" to the same extent! people who could smoke cigars in the morning.... at that time, by the bedside of one of his unwashed little pupils, in a room which did not smell exactly of spring blossoms, raoul ueberbein had made friends with a young man--some years older than he, but in a similar position and like him ill-fated by birth in so far as he was a jew. klaus heinrich knew him--indeed, he might be said to have got to know him on a very intimate occasion. sammet was his name, a doctor of medicine; he happened by chance to have been in the grimmburg when klaus heinrich was born, and had set up a couple of years later in the capital as a children's doctor. well, he had been a friend of ueberbein's, still was one, and they had had many a good talk about fate and duty. what is more, they had both knocked about the world. ueberbein, for his part, looked back with sincere pleasure to the time when he had been an elementary teacher. his activities had not been entirely confined to the class-room, he had amused himself by showing also some personal and human concern for his charges' welfare, by visiting them at home, by sharing at times their not too idyllic family life, and in doing so he did not fail to bring away impressions of a most varied kind. in truth, if he had not already tasted the bitterness of the cup of life, he would have had plenty of opportunity then to do so. for the rest, he had not ceased to work by himself, had given private lessons to plump tradesmen's sons, and tightened his waist belt so as to save enough to buy books with--had spent the long, still, and free nights in study. and one day he had passed the state examination with exceptional distinction, had soon received his promotion, had been transferred to a grammar school. as a matter of fact, it had been a sore grief to him to leave his little charges, but so the fates willed. and then it had so happened that he had been chosen to be usher at the "pheasantry," for all that his very birth had been a misfortune. * * * * * that was doctor ueberbein's story, and klaus heinrich, as he listened to it, was filled with friendly feelings. he shared his contempt for those who "weren't obliged to" and smoked cigars in the morning, he felt a fearful joy when ueberbein talked in his jolly blustering way about "knocking about," "impressions," and the bitterness of the cup of life, and he felt as if he had been personally an actor in the scenes as he followed his luckless and gallant career from his adoption up to his appointment as grammar-schoolmaster. he felt as if he were in some general sort of way qualified to take part in a conversation about fate and duty. his attitude of reserve relaxed, the experiences of his own fifteen years of life came crowding in upon him, he felt a longing himself to retail confidences, and he tried to tell doctor ueberbein all about himself. but the funny thing was that doctor ueberbein himself checked him, opposed any such intention most decidedly. "no, no, klaus heinrich," he said; "full stop there! no confidences, if you please! not but that i know that you have all sorts of things to tell me.... i need only watch you for half a day to see that, but you quite misunderstand me if you think i'm likely to encourage you to weep round my neck. in the first place, sooner or later you'd repent it. but in the second, the pleasures of a confidential intimacy are not for the likes of you. you see, there's no harm in my chattering. what am i? an usher. not a common or garden one, in my own opinion, but still no better than such. just a categorical unit. but you? what are you? that's harder to say.... let's say a conception, a kind of ideal. a frame. an emblematical existence, klaus heinrich, and at the same time a formal existence. but formality and intimacy--haven't you yet learnt that the two are mutually exclusive? absolutely exclusive. you have no right to intimate confidences, and if you attempted them you yourself would discover that they did not suit you, would find them inadequate and insipid. i must remind you of your duty, klaus heinrich." klaus heinrich laughed and saluted with his crop, and on they rode. on another occasion doctor ueberbein said casually: "popularity is a not very profound, but a grand and comprehensive kind of familiarity." and that was all he said on the subject. sometimes in summer, during the long intervals between the morning lessons, they would sit together in the empty pavilion, or stroll about the "pheasants" playground, discussing various topics, and breaking off to drink lemonade provided by herr stavenüter. herr stavenüter beamed as he wiped the rough table and brought the lemonade with his own hands. the glass ball in the bottle-neck had to be pushed in. "sound stuff!" said herr stavenüter. "the best that can be got. no muck, grand ducal highness, and you, doctor, but just sweetened fruit-juice. i can honestly recommend it!" then he made his children sing in honour of the visit. there were three of them, two girls and a boy, and they could sing trios. they stood some way off with the green leaves of the chestnut trees for roof, and sang folk-songs while they blew their noses with their fingers. once they sang a song beginning: "we are all but mortal men," and doctor ueberbein took advantage of the pauses to express his disapproval of this number on the programme. "a paltry song," he said, and leaned over towards klaus heinrich. "a really commonplace song, a lazy song, klaus heinrich; you must not let it appeal to you." later, when the children had stopped singing, he returned to the song and described it as "sloppy." "we are all but mortal men," he repeated. "god bless us, yes, no doubt we are. but on the other hand we ought perhaps to remember that it is those of us who count for most who may be the occasion for especially emphasizing this truth.... look you," he said, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other, while he stroked his beard up from underneath his chin, "look you, klaus heinrich, a man who has my intellectual aspirations will not be able to help searching for and clinging to whatever is out of the ordinary in this drab world of ours, wherever and however it appears--he cannot help being put out by such a slovenly song, by such a sheepish abjuration of the exceptional, of the lofty and of the miserable, and of that which is both at once. you may well say: 'that's talking for effect.' i'm only an usher, but there's something in my blood, heaven knows what--i can't find any pleasure in emphasizing the fact that we are all ushers at bottom. i love the extraordinary in every form and in every sense. i love those who are conscious of the dignity of their exceptional station, the marked men, those one can see are not as other men, all those whom the people stare at open-mouthed--i hope they'll appreciate their destiny, and i do not wish them to make themselves comfortable with the slip-shod and luke-warm truth which we have just heard set to music for three voices. why have i become your tutor, klaus heinrich? i am a gipsy, a hard-working one, maybe, but still a born gipsy. my predestination to the rôle of squire of princes is not particularly obvious. why did i gladly obey the call when it came to me, in view of my energy, and although my very birth was a misfortune? because, klaus heinrich, i see in your existence the clearest, most express, and best-preserved form of the extraordinary in the world. i have become your tutor that i might keep your destiny alive in you. reserve, etiquette, obligation, duty, demeanour, formality--has the man whose life is surrounded by these no right to despise others? ought he to allow himself to be reminded of humanity and good nature? no, come along, let's go, klaus heinrich, if you don't mind. they're tactless brats, these little stavenüters." klaus heinrich laughed, he gave the children some of his pocket-money, and they went. "yes, yes," said doctor ueberbein in the course of an ordinary walk in the woods to klaus heinrich--they had drifted a little distance away from the five "pheasants"--"nowadays the soul's thirst for veneration has to be satisfied with what it can get. where will you find greatness? i only hope you may! but quite apart from all actual greatness and high-calling, there is always what i call highness, select and sadly isolated forms of life, towards which an attitude of the tenderest sympathy should be adopted. for the rest, greatness is strong, it wears jack-boots, it has no need of the knight-services of the mind. but highness is affecting--damme if it isn't the most affecting thing on earth." once or twice a year the "pheasantry" journeyed to the capital to attend performances of classical operas and dramas in the grand ducal court theatre; klaus heinrich's birthday in particular was the signal for a visit to the theatre. he would then sit quietly in his carved arm-chair, leaning against the red plush ledge of the court box, whose roof rested on the heads of two female figures with crossed hands and empty stern faces, and watched his colleagues, the princes, whose destinies were played out on the stage, while he stood the fire of the opera-glasses which from time to time, even during the play, were directed at him from the audience. professor kürtchen sat on his left hand and doctor ueberbein with the "pheasants" in an adjoining box. once they heard the "magic flute," and on the way home to "pheasantry" station, in the first-class carriage, doctor ueberbein made the whole collection of them laugh by imitating the way in which singers talk when their rôles oblige them to talk in prose. "he is a prince!" he said with pathos, and answered himself in a drawly, sing-song parsonical voice. "he is more than that, he is a man!" even professor kürtchen was so much amused that he bleated. but next day, in the course of a private lesson in klaus heinrich's study, with the round mahogany table, whitened ceiling, and greek bust on the stove, doctor ueberbein repeated his parody, and said then: "great heavens, that was something new in its time, it was a piece of news, a startling truth! there are paradoxes which have stood so long on their heads that one has to put them on their feet to make anything even moderately daring out of them, 'he is a man. he is more than that'--that is getting gradually bolder, prettier, even truer. the converse is mere humanity, but i have no hearty love for humanity, i'm quite content to leave it out of account. one must, in a certain sense, be one of those of whom the people say: 'they are, after all, mortal men too'--or one is as deadly dull as an usher. i cannot honestly wish for the general comfortable obliteration of conflicts and gulfs, that's the way i am made, for better or worse, and the idea of the _principe uomo_ is to me, to speak plainly, an abomination. i am not anxious that it should particularly appeal to you.... look you, there have always been princes and exceptional persons who live their life of exception with a light heart, simply unconscious of their dignity or denying it outright, and capable of playing skittles with the townsfolk in their shirt-sleeves, without the slightest attempt at an inward qualm. but they are not very important, just as nothing is important which lacks mind. for mind, klaus heinrich, mind is the tutor which insists inexorably on dignity, indeed actually creates dignity, it is the arch-enemy and chief antagonist of all human good nature. 'more than that?' no! to be a representative, to stand for a number when one appears to be the exalted and refined expression of a multitude. representing is naturally something more and higher than simply being, klaus heinrich--and that's why people call you highness." so argued doctor ueberbein, in loud, hearty, and fluent terms, and what he said influenced klaus heinrich's mind and susceptibilities more, perhaps, than was desirable. the prince was then about fifteen years old, and therefore quite competent, if not properly to understand, yet to imbibe the essence of ideas of that sort. the main point was that doctor ueberbein's doctrines and apophthegms were so exceptionally supported by his personality. when schulrat dröge, the man who used to bow to the lackeys, reminded klaus heinrich of his "exalted calling," that was nothing more than an exaggerated form of speech, devoid of inner meaning and calculated mainly to add emphasis to his professional claims. but when doctor ueberbein, whose very birth had been a misfortune, as he said, and who had a green complexion because he had been half starved; when this man who had dragged a child out of a bog, who had received "impressions" and "knocked about" in all sorts of ways; when he who not only did not bow to the lackeys, but who bawled at them in strident tones when the fancy took him, and who had called klaus heinrich himself straight out by his christian names when he had known him only three days, without asking leave to do so,--when he with a paternal laugh declared that klaus heinrich's "path lay among the heights of mankind" (a favourite expression of his), the effect was a feeling of freedom and originality which awoke an echo deep down in the prince's soul. when klaus heinrich listened to the doctor's loud and jolly anecdotes of his life, of the "bitterness of the cup of life," he felt as he used to when he went rummaging with ditlinde his sister, and that the man who could tell such anecdotes, that this "rolling stone," as he called himself, did not, like the others, adopt a reserved and deferential attitude towards him, but, without prejudice to a free and cheerful homage, treated him as a comrade in fate and destiny, warmed klaus heinrich's heart to inexpressible gratitude and completed the charm which bound him to the usher for ever.... shortly after his sixteenth birthday (albrecht, the heir apparent, was at the time in the south for his health) the prince was confirmed, together with the five "pheasants," in the court church. the _courier_ reported the fact without making any sensation of it. dom wislezenus, the president of the high consistory, treated a bible text in counterpoint, this time to the choice of the grand duke, and klaus heinrich was on this occasion gazetted a lieutenant, although he had not the foggiest notion of things military.... his existence was becoming more and more barren of _expertise_. the ceremonial of the confirmation also lacked incisive significance, and the prince returned immediately afterwards quietly back to the "pheasantry" to continue his life amongst his tutors and schoolfellows without any alteration. * * * * * it was not till one year later that he left his old-fashioned homely schoolroom with the torso on the stove; the seminary was broken up, and while his five noble comrades were transferred to the corps of cadets, klaus heinrich again took up his abode in the old schloss, intending, in accordance with an agreement which herr von knobelsdorff had come to with the grand duke, to spend a year at the upper gymnasium classes in the capital. this was a well-calculated and popular step, which however did not make much difference from the point of view of _expertise_. professor kürtchen had gone back to his post at the public academy, he instructed klaus heinrich as before in several branches of knowledge, and showed even greater zeal than he had at the seminary, being determined to let everybody see how tactful he was. it also appeared that he had told the rest of the staff of the agreement reached with regard to the two ways in which the prince should announce his feelings with regard to answering a question. as to doctor ueberbein, who had also returned to the academy, he had not yet advanced so far in his unusual career as to teach the highest class. but at klaus heinrich's lively, even insistent request, preferred by him to the grand duke, not by word of mouth but by official channels, so to speak, through the benevolent herr von knobelsdorff, the usher was appointed tutor and superintendent of home studies, came daily to the schloss, bawled at the lackeys, and had every opportunity of working on the prince with his intellectual and enthusiastic talk. perhaps it was partly the fault of this influence that klaus heinrich's relations with the young people with whom he shared the much-hacked school-benches continued even looser and more distant than his connexion with the five at the "pheasantry"; and if thus the popularity which this year was intended to secure was not attained, the intervals, which both in summer and in winter were spent by all the scholars in the roomy paved courtyard, offered opportunities for camaraderie. but these intervals, intended to refresh the ordinary scholars, brought with them for klaus heinrich the first actual effort of the kind of which his life was to be full. he was naturally, at least during the first term, the cynosure of every eye in the play-ground--no easy matter for him, in view of the fact that here the surroundings deprived him of every external support and attribute of dignity, and he was obliged to play on the same pavement as those whose common idea was to stare at him. the little boys, full of childlike irresponsibility, hung about close to him and gaped, while the bigger ones hovered around with wide-open eyes and looked at him out of the corners of them or from under their eyelids.... the excitement dwindled in course of time, but even then--whether the fault was klaus heinrich's or the others'--even later the camaraderie somehow did not make much progress. one might see the prince, on the right of the head master or the usher-in-charge, followed and surrounded by the curious, strolling up and down the courtyard. one could see him, too, chatting with his schoolfellows. what a charming sight it was! there he leaned, half-sitting on the slope of the glazed-brick wall, with his feet crossed, and his left hand thrust far behind on his hips, with the fifteen members of the first class in a half-circle round him. there were only fifteen this year, for the last promotions had been made with the object in view that the select should contain no elements which were unfitted by origin or personality to be for a year on christian-name terms with klaus heinrich. for the use of christian names was ordered. klaus heinrich conversed with one of them, who had advanced a little towards him out of the semicircle, and answered him with little short bows. both laughed, everybody laughed directly they began to talk to klaus heinrich. he asked him for instance: "have you yet done your german essay for next tuesday?" "no, prince klaus heinrich, not quite yet; i haven't yet done the last part." "it's a difficult subject. i haven't any idea yet what to write." "oh, your highness will.... you'll soon think of something!" "no, it's difficult.... you got an alpha in arithmetic, didn't you?" "yes, prince klaus heinrich, i was lucky." "no, you deserved it. i shall never be able to make anything of it!" murmurs of amusement and gratification in the semicircle. klaus heinrich turned to another schoolfellow, and the first stepped quickly back. everybody felt that the really important point was not the essay nor the arithmetic, but the conversation as an event and an undertaking, one's attitude and tone, the way one advanced or retired, the success with which one assumed a sympathetic, self-collected, and refined demeanour. perhaps it was the consciousness of this which brought the smile to everybody's lips. sometimes, when he had the semicircle in front of him, klaus heinrich would say some such words as "professor nicolovius looks an owl." great then was the merriment among the others. such a remark was the signal for general unbending, they kicked over the traces, "ho, ho, ho!" 'd in chorus in their newly cracked voices, and one would declare klaus heinrich to be a "ripping chap." but klaus heinrich did not often say such things, he only said them when he saw the smile on the others' faces grow faint and wan, and signs of boredom or even of impatience showing themselves; he said them by way of cheering them up, and at the extravagant laughter by which they were followed he wore a look half of curiosity, half of dismay. it was not anselm schickedanz who called him a "ripping chap," and yet it was directly on his account that klaus heinrich had compared professor nicolovius to an owl. anselm schickedanz had laughed like the others at the joke, but not in quite the same approving way, but with an intonation which implied, "gracious heavens!" he was a dark boy, with narrow hips, who enjoyed the reputation throughout the school of being a devil of a chap. the tone of the top class this year was admirable. the obligations which membership of klaus heinrich's class entailed had been impressed on every boy from various quarters, and klaus heinrich was not the boy to tempt them to forget these obligations. but that anselm schickedanz was a devil of a chap had often come to his ears, and klaus heinrich, when he looked at him, felt a kind of satisfaction in believing what he heard, although it was an obscure problem to him how he could have come by his reputation. he made several inquiries privately, broached the subject apparently by chance, and tried to find out from one or other of his comrades something about schickedanz's devilry. he discovered nothing definite. but the answers, whether disparaging or complimentary, filled him with the suspicion of a mad amiability, an unlawful glorious humanity, which was there for the eyes of all, save his own, to see--and this suspicion was almost a sorrow. everybody said at once, with reference to anselm schickedanz, and in saying it dropped into the forbidden form of address: "yes, highness, you ought to see him when you are not there!" klaus heinrich would never see him when he was not there, would never get near him, never get to know him. he stole peeps at him when he stood with the others in a semicircle before him, laughing and braced up like all the rest. everybody braced himself up in klaus heinrich's presence, his very existence was accountable for that, as he well knew, and he would never see what schickedanz was like, how he behaved when he let himself go. at the thought he felt a twinge of envy, a tiny spark of regret. * * * * * at this juncture something painful, in fact revolting, occurred, of which nothing came to the ears of the grand ducal couple, because doctor ueberbein kept his mouth closed and about which scarcely any rumour spread in the capital because everybody who had had a share or any responsibility in the matter, obviously from a kind of feeling of shame, preserved strict silence about it. i refer to the improprieties which occurred in connexion with prince klaus heinrich's presence at that year's citizens' ball, and in which a fräulein unschlitt, daughter of the wealthy soap-boiler, was especially concerned. the citizens' ball was a chronic fixture in the social life of the capital, an official and at the same time informal festivity, which was given by the city every winter in the "townpark hotel," a big, recently enlarged and renovated establishment in the southern suburbs, and provided the bourgeois circles with an opportunity of establishing friendly relations with the court. it was known that johann albrecht iii had never cultivated a taste for this civil and rather free-and-easy entertainment, at which he appeared in a black frock-coat in order to lead off the polonaise with the lady mayoress, and that he was wont to withdraw from it at the earliest possible moment. this only heightened the general satisfaction when his second son, although not yet bound to do so, already made his appearance at the ball that year--indeed, it became known that he did so at his own express request. it was said that the prince had employed excellency von knobelsdorff to transmit his earnest wish to the grand duchess, who in her turn had contrived to obtain her husband's consent. outwardly the festivity pursued its wonted course. the most distinguished guests, princess catherine, in a coloured silk dress and cap, accompanied by her red-haired children, prince lambert with his pretty wife, and last of all johann albrecht and dorothea with prince klaus heinrich, made their appearance in the "townpark hotel," greeted by city officials, with long-ribboned rosettes pinned on their coats. several ministers, aides-de-camp in mufti, numbers of men and women of the court, the leaders of society, as well as landowners from the surrounding country, were present. in the big white hall the grand ducal pairs first received a string of presentations, and then, to the strains of the band which sat in the curved gallery up above, johann albrecht with the lady mayoress, dorothea with the lord mayor, opened the ball by a procession round the room. then, while the polonaise gave place to a round dance, contentment spread, cheeks glowed, the heat of the throng kindled feelings of fondness, faintness, and foreboding among the dancers, the distinguished guests stood as distinguished guests are wont to stand on such occasions--apart and smiling graciously on the platform, at the top of the hall under the gallery. from time to time johann albrecht engaged a distinguished man, and dorothea engaged his wife, in conversation. those addressed stepped quickly and smartly forward and back, kept their distance half-bowing with their heads bent, nodded, shook their heads, laughed in this attitude at the questions and remarks addressed to them--answered eagerly on the spur of the moment, with sudden and anticipatory changes from hearty amusement to the deepest earnestness, with a passionateness which was doubtless unusual to them, and obviously in a state of tension. curious guests, still panting from the dance, stood in a semicircle round and stared at these purposely trivial conversations with a peculiarly tense expression on their faces. klaus heinrich was the object of much attention. together with two red-headed cousins who were already in the army, but were wearing mufti that evening, he kept a little behind his parents, resting on one leg, his left hand placed far back on his hip, his face turned with his right half-profile to the public. a reporter of the _courier_ who had been bidden to the ball made notes upon him in a corner. the prince could be seen to greet with his white-gloved right hand his tutor, doctor ueberbein, who with his red beard and greenish tint came along the fence of spectators; he was seen even to advance some way into the hall to meet him. the doctor, with big enamel studs in his shirt front, began by bowing when klaus heinrich stretched out his hand to him, but then at once spoke to him in his free and fatherly way. the prince seemed to be rejecting a proposal, and laughed uneasily as he did so, but then a number of people distinctly heard doctor ueberbein say: "no--nonsense, klaus heinrich, what was the good of learning? why did the swiss governess teach you your steps in your tenderest years? i can't understand why you go to balls if you won't dance? one, two, three, we'll soon find you a partner!" and with a continual shower of witticisms he presented to the prince four or five young maidens, whom he dropped on without ceremony and dragged forward. they ducked and shot up again, one after the other, in the trailing fluctuations of the court curtsey, set their teeth and did their best. klaus heinrich stood with his heels together and murmured, "delighted, quite delighted." to one he went so far as to say: "it's a jolly ball, isn't it?" "yes, grand ducal highness, we are having great fun," answered she in a high chirping voice. she was a tall, rather bony bourgeoise maiden, dressed in white muslin, with fair wavy hair dressed over a pad, and a pretty face, a gold chain round her bare neck, the collar-bones of which showed prominently, and big white hands in mittens. she added: "the quadrille is coming next. will your grand ducal highness dance it with me?" "i don't know ..." he said. "i really don't know ..." he looked round. the machinery of the ball was already falling into geometrical order. lines were being drawn, squares were forming, couples came forward and called to _vis-à-vis_. the music had not yet started. klaus heinrich asked his cousins. yes, they were taking part in the lancers, they already had their lucky partners on their arms. klaus heinrich was seen to go up behind his mother's red damask chair and whisper something excitedly to her, whereupon she turned her lovely neck and passed on the question to her husband, and the grand duke nodded. and then some laughter was caused by the youthful impetuosity with which the prince ran down, so as not to miss the beginning of the square dance. the reporter of the _courier_, notebook in one hand and pencil in the other, peered with neck thrust forward over the hall out of his corner, so as to make sure whom the prince was going to engage. it was the fair, tall girl, with the collar-bones and the big white hands, fräulein unschlitt, the soap-boiler's daughter. she was still standing where klaus heinrich had left her. "are you still there?" he said breathlessly.... "may i have the pleasure? come along!" the sets were complete. they wandered about for a while without finding a place. a man with a ribbon rosette hurried up, seized a pair of young people by the shoulders and induced them to leave their stand under the chandelier, that his grand ducal highness might occupy it with fräulein unschlitt. the band had been hesitating, it now struck up, the prescribed compliments were exchanged, and klaus heinrich danced like the rest of the world. the doors into the next room stood open. in one of them was a buffet with flower vases, punch bowls, and dishes of many-coloured cakes. the dance extended right into this room, two sets were dancing in it. in the other room some white-covered tables were arrayed, which were still standing empty. klaus heinrich stepped forwards and backwards, laughed to the others, stretched out his hand and grasped theirs, and then again seized his partner's big white hand, put his right arm round the maiden's muslin-clad waist and revolved with her on their particular patch, while he kept his left hand, which also wore a little white glove, on his hip. they laughed and talked as they danced. the prince made mistakes, forgot himself, upset figures, and lost his place. "you must keep me straight!" he said in the confusion. "i'm upsetting everything! nudge me in the ribs!" and the others gradually plucked up courage and set him right, ordered him laughingly hither and thither, even laid their hands on him and pushed him a little when necessary. the fair damsel with the collar-bones was particularly zealous in pushing him about. the spirits of the dancers rose with every figure. their movements became freer, their calls bolder, they began to stamp their feet and to prance as they advanced and retired, while they held each other's hands and balanced themselves with their arms. klaus heinrich too stamped, at first only by way of signal, but soon more loudly; and as far as the balancing with the arms was concerned, the fair maiden looked after that when they advanced together. also every time she danced facing him she made an exaggerated scrape before him which much increased the merriment. the refreshment room was full of chatter and babble, which attracted everybody's envious glances. some one had left his set in the middle of the dance, purloined a sandwich from the buffet, and was now chewing away proudly as he swerved and stamped, to the amusement of the rest. "what cheek!" said the fair maiden. "they don't stand on ceremony!" and the idea gave her no peace. before you could look round, she was off, had dashed lightly and nimbly between the lines of dancers, had seized a sandwich from the buffet and was back in her place. klaus heinrich was the one who applauded her most heartily. his left hand was a difficulty, and so he managed without it, while with his right he beat on the top of his head and doubled up with laughter. then he became quieter and rather pale. he was struggling with himself.... the quadrille was nearing its end. what he meant to do he must do quickly. they had already got to the grand chain. and as he was already almost too late, he did what he had been struggling with himself about. he broke away, ran swiftly through the dancers, with muttered apologies when he collided with anybody, reached the buffet, seized a sandwich, rushed back, and came sliding into his set; that was not all, he put the sandwich--it was an egg and sardine one--to the lips of his partner, the damsel with the big white hands; she curtseyed a little, bit into it, bit almost half off without using her hands, and throwing back his head he stuffed the rest into his mouth! the high spirits of the set found a vent in the grand chain, which was just beginning. right round the hall went the dancers, winding zig-zag in and out and stretching out their hands. then it stopped, the tide turned, and once more the stream went round, laughing and chattering, with mistakes and entanglements and hurriedly rectified complications. klaus heinrich pressed the hands he grasped without knowing to whom they belonged. he laughed and his chest heaved. his smoothly parted hair was ruffled, and a bit fell over his forehead, his shirt-front bulged a little out of his waistcoat, and in his face and sparkling eyes was that look of tender emotion which is sometimes the expression of happiness. he said several times during the chain, "what awful fun! what glorious fun!" he met his cousins, and to them too he said, "we have had such fun--in our set over there!" then came the clapping and au revoirs; the dance was over. klaus heinrich again stood facing the fair maiden with the collar-bones, and when the music changed time he once more put his arm round her tender waist, and away they danced. klaus heinrich did not steer well and often knocked into other couples, because he kept his left hand planted on his hip, but he brought his partner somehow or other to the entrance to the refreshment room, where they called a halt and refreshed themselves with pineappleade which was handed to them by the waiters. they sat just at the entrance on two velvet stools, drank and chatted about the quadrille, the citizens' ball, and other social functions in which the fair maiden had already taken part that winter.... it was then that one of the suite, major von platow, the grand duke's aide-de-camp, came up to klaus heinrich, bowed and begged leave to announce that their royal highnesses were now going. he had been charged ... but klaus heinrich gave him to understand that he wished to remain, in so emphatic a fashion that the aide-de-camp did not like to insist upon his errand. the prince uttered exclamations of an almost rebellious regret and was obviously bitterly grieved at the idea of going home at once. "we are having such fun!" he said, stood up and gripped the major's arm gently. "dear major von platow, please do intercede for me! talk to excellency von knobelsdorff, do anything you like--but to go now, when we are all having such fun together! i'm sure my cousins are going to stay...." the major looked at the fair maiden with the big white hands, who smiled at him; he too smiled and promised to do his best. this little scene was enacted while the grand duke and the grand duchess were already taking leave of the city dignitaries at the entrance into the town park. immediately afterwards the dancing on the first floor began again. the ball was at its height. everything official had gone, and the king of revelry came into his own. the white-covered tables in the adjoining rooms were occupied by families drinking punch and eating supper. youth streamed to and fro, sitting excitedly and impatiently on the edges of the chairs to eat a mouthful, drink a glass, and again plunge into the merry throng. on the ground-floor there was an old-german beer-cellar, which was crowded with the more sedate men. the big dancing-hall and the buffet-room were by now monopolized by the dancers. the buffet-room was filled with fifteen or sixteen young people, sons and daughters of the city, among them klaus heinrich. it was a kind of private ball in there. they danced to the music which floated in from the main hall. doctor ueberbein, the prince's tutor, was seen there for a minute or two, having a short talk with his pupil. he was heard to mention, watch in hand, herr von knobelsdorff's name, and to say that he was down in the beer-cellar and was coming back to take the prince away. then he went. the time was half-past ten. and while he sat below and conversed with his friends over a tankard of beer, only for an hour or perhaps an hour and a half, not more, those dreadful things, that simply incredible scandal, happened in the buffet-room, to which it fell to him to put a stop, though unfortunately too late. the punch provided was weak, it contained more soda-water than champagne, and if the young people lost their equilibrium it was more the intoxication of the dance than of the wine. but in view of the prince's character and the solid bourgeois origin of the rest of the company, that was not enough to explain what happened. another, a peculiar intoxication, was a factor here on both sides. the peculiar thing was that klaus heinrich was fully conscious of each separate stage in this intoxication, and yet had not the power or the will to shake it off. he was happy. he felt on his cheeks the same glow burning as he saw in the faces of the others, and as his eyes, dazed by a soft mist, travelled about the room, and rested admiringly on one fair form after another, his look seemed to say: "we!" his mouth too said it--said, for the pure joy of saying them, sentences in which a "we" occurred. "shall _we_ sit down? shall _we_ have another turn? shall _we_ have a drink? shall _we_ make up two sets?" it was especially to the maiden with the collar-bones that klaus heinrich made remarks with a "we" in them. he had quite forgotten his left hand, it hung down, he felt so happy that it did not worry him and he never thought of hiding it. many saw now for the first time what really was the matter with it, and looked curiously on with an unconscious grimace at the thin, short arm in the sleeve, the little, by now rather dirty white kid glove which covered the hand. but as klaus heinrich was so careless about it, the others plucked up courage, the result being that everybody took hold of the malformed hand quite unconcernedly in the round or square dances. he did not keep it back. he felt himself borne along, nay rather whirled around by a feeling, a strong, wild feeling of contentment, that grew, gathered heat from itself, possessed itself of him more and more recklessly, overpowered him even more vehemently and breathlessly, seemed to lift him triumphantly from the floor. what was happening? it was difficult to say, difficult to be quite sure. the air was full of words, detached cries, not spoken but expressed on the dancers' faces, in their attitudes, in all they were doing and saying. "he must just once! bring him along, bring him along ...! caught, caught!" a young damsel with a turned-up nose, who asked him for a gallop when the "leap-year" dance came, said quite clearly without any obvious connexion, "chucker up!" as she got ready to start off with him. he saw pleasure in every eye, and saw that their pleasure lay in drawing him out, in having him amongst them. in his happiness, his dream, to be with them, amongst them, one of them, there obtruded itself from time to time a cold, uncomfortable feeling that he was deluding himself, that the warm, glorious "we" was deceiving him, that he did not really blend in with them, that he was all the time the centre and object of the show, but in a different and more unsatisfactory way than before. they were his enemies to a certain extent, he saw it in the malice of their eyes. he heard as if at a distance, with a peculiar dismay, how the fair damsel with the big white hands called him simply by his names--and he felt that she did so in quite a different spirit to that of doctor ueberbein when he did the same. she had the right and the permission to do so, in a certain manner, but was nobody here then jealous for his dignity, if he himself was not? it seemed to him that they plucked at his coat, and sometimes in their excitement made wild, sneering remarks about him. a tall, fair young man with pince-nez, with whom he collided while dancing, said quite loud so that everybody could hear it: "now then, clumsy!" and there was malice in the way in which the fair young maiden, her arm in his and a grin on her lips, whirled round with him till he was ready to drop with giddiness. while they whirled he gazed with swimming eyes at the collar-bones showing under the white, rather rough skin on her neck. they fell; they had gone too hard at it and tumbled when they tried to stop revolving, and over them stumbled a second pair, not entirely by themselves, but rather at a push from the tall young man with pince-nez. there was a scrimmage on the floor, and klaus heinrich heard above him in the room the chorus which came back to him from the school-playground when he had ventured on a rather daring joke by way of amusing his fellows--a "ho, ho, ho!" only it sounded more wicked and bolder here.... when shortly after midnight, unfortunately a little behind time, doctor ueberbein appeared on the threshold of the buffet-room, this is what he saw: his young pupil was sitting alone on the green plush sofa by the left-hand wall, his clothes all disarranged and himself decorated in an extraordinary way. a quantity of flowers, which had previously adorned the buffet in two chinese vases, were stuck in the opening of his waistcoat, between the studs of his shirtfront, even in his collar; round his neck lay the gold chain which belonged to the maiden with the collar-bones, and on his head the flat metal cover of a punch-bowl was balanced like a hat. he kept saying, "what are you doing? what are you doing ...?" while the dancers, hand-in-hand in a semicircle, danced a round dance backwards and forwards in front of him with half-suppressed giggles, whispers, smirks, and ho, ho, ho's. an unusual and unnatural flush mantled in doctor ueberbein's face. "stop it! stop it!" he cried in his resonant voice, and, in the silence, consternation, and dismay which at once ensued, he walked with long strides up to the prince, tore away the flowers in two or three grasps, threw the chain and the cover away, then bowed and said with a stern look, "may i beg your grand ducal highness ... "i've been an ass, an ass!" he repeated when he got outside. klaus heinrich left the citizens' ball in his company. that was the painful event which happened during klaus heinrich's year at school. as i have said, none of the participators talked about it; even to the prince, doctor ueberbein did not mention the subject for years afterwards, and, as nobody crystallized the event in words, it remained incorporeal and promptly faded away, at least apparently, into oblivion. * * * * * the citizens' ball had taken place in january. shrove tuesday, with the court ball and the big court in the old schloss, which wound up the social year--regulation festivities, to which klaus heinrich was not yet admitted--were past and over. then came easter, and with it the close of the school year. klaus heinrich's diploma examination, that edifying formality, in the course of which the question, "you agree, do you not, grand ducal highness?" was constantly recurring on the lips of the professor, and at which the prince acquitted himself admirably in his very conspicuous position. this was not a very important phase in his life. klaus heinrich continued to live in the capital, but after whitsuntide his eighteenth birthday drew near, and with it a complex of festivities which marked a serious turning-point in his life, and which taxed him severely for days together. he had attained his majority, had been pronounced to be of age. for the first time again since his baptism, he was the centre of attention and chief actor in a great ceremony, but while he had then quietly, irresponsibly, and patiently resigned himself to the formalities which surrounded and protected him, it was incumbent on him on this day, in the midst of binding prescriptions and stern regulations, hemmed in by the drapery of weighty precedent, to inspire the spectators and to please them by maintaining an attitude of dignity and good-breeding, and at the same time to appear light-hearted. it may be added that i use the word "drapery" not only as a figure of speech. the prince wore a crimson mantle on this occasion, a sumptuous and theatrical article of raiment, which his father and grandfather before him had worn at their coming-of-age, and which notwithstanding days of airing, still smelt of camphor. the crimson mantle had originally belonged to the robes of the knights of the grimmburg griffin, but was now nothing more than a ceremonial garb for the use of princes attaining their majority. albrecht, the heir apparent, had never worn the family one. as his birthday fell in the winter, he always spent it in the south, in a place with a warm and dry climate, whither he was thinking of returning this autumn too, and as at the time of his eighteenth birthday his health had not permitted him to travel home, it had been decided to declare him officially of age in his absence, and to dispense with the court ceremony. as to klaus heinrich, there was only one opinion, especially among the representatives of the public, that the mantle suited him admirably, and he himself, notwithstanding the way in which it hampered his movements, found it a blessing, as it made it easy for him to hide his left hand. between the canopied bed and the bellying chest of drawers in his bedroom, that was situated on the second floor looking out on the yard with the rose-bush, he made himself ready for the show, carefully and precisely, with the help of his valet, neumann, a quiet and precise man who had been recently attached to him as keeper of his wardrobe and personal servant. neumann was an ex-barber, and was filled, especially in the direction of his original calling, with that passionate conscientiousness, that insatiable knowledge of the ideal, which gives rise to the highest skill. he did not shave like any ordinary shaver, he was not content to leave no stubble behind, he shaved in such a way that every shadow of a beard, every recollection of one, was removed, and without hurting the skin he managed to restore to it all its softness and smoothness. he cut klaus heinrich's hair exactly square above the ears, and arranged it with all the assiduity required, in his opinion, by this preparation for the prince's ceremonial appearance. he managed that the parting should come over the left eye and run slanting back over the crown of the head, so that no tufts or wisps should stick up on it; he brushed the hair on the right side up from the forehead into a prim crest on which no hat or helmet could make an impression. then klaus heinrich, with his help, squeezed himself carefully into his uniform of lieutenant in the grenadier guards, whose high-braided collar and tight fit favoured a dignified bearing, put on the lemon-coloured silk band and the flat gold chain of the house order, and went down to the picture gallery where the members of the family and the foreign relations of the grand ducal pair were waiting. the court was waiting in the adjoining hall of the knights, and it was there that johann albrecht himself invested his son with the crimson mantle. herr von bühl zu bühl had marshalled a procession, the ceremonial procession from the hall of the knights to the throne-room. it had cost him no little worry. the composition of the court made it difficult to contrive an impressive arrangement, and herr von bühl especially lamented the lack of upper court officials, which on such occasions made itself most severely felt. the royal mews had recently been put under herr von bühl, and he felt himself quite up to his various functions, but he asked everybody how he could be expected to make a good impression, when the most important posts were filled simply by the master of the buck-hounds, von stieglitz, and the director of the grand ducal theatre, a gouty general. while he, in his capacity as lord marshal, chief master of the ceremonies, and house marshal, in his embroidered clothes and brown toupée, covered with orders and with his golden pince-nez on his nose, came waddling and planting his long staff in front of him behind the cadets, who, dressed as pages, and their hair parted over the left eye, opened the procession, he pondered deeply over what came behind him. a few chamberlains--not many, for some were wanted for the end of the procession--their plumed hats under their arms and the key on their coat-tails, followed close at his heels, in silk stockings. next came herr von stieglitz, and the limping theatre-director in front of klaus heinrich, who, in his mantle between the exalted couple, and followed by his brother and sister, albrecht and ditlinde, formed the actual nucleus of the procession. behind their highnesses came von knobelsdorff, the house minister and president of council, his eye-wrinkles all at work; a little knot of aides-de-camp and palace ladies came next: general count schmettern and major von platow, a count trümmerhauff, cousin of the keeper of the privy purse, as military aide-de-camp of the heir apparent, and the grand duchess's women led by the short-winded baroness von schulenburg-tressen. then followed, attended and followed by aides-de-camp, chamberlains, and court ladies, princess catherine, with her red-haired progeny, prince lambert with his lovely wife, and the foreign relations or their representatives. pages brought up the rear. thus they went at a measured pace from the hall of the knights through the gala halls, the hall of the twelve months, and the marble hall into the throne-room. lackeys, with red-gold aiguillettes on their brown coats, stood theatrically in couples at the open double doors. through the broad windows the june morning sun streamed gaily and recklessly in. klaus heinrich looked round him as he processed between his parents through the dreary arabesques, the dilapidated decorations of the show-rooms, now not favoured by kindly artificial light. the bright daylight cheerfully and soberly showed up their decay. from the big lustres with their stiff-bound stems, stripped of their coverings in honour of the day, rose thick forests of flameless candles, but everywhere there were prisms missing, crystal festoons torn, so that they gave a canker-bit and toothless impression. the silk damask upholstery of the state furniture, which was arranged stiffly and monotonously round the walls, was thread-bare, the gilt of the frames chipped off, big blind patches marred the surfaces of the tall candle-decked mirrors, and daylight shone through the moth-holes in the faded and discoloured curtains. the gold and silver borders of the tapestry hangings had torn away in several places, and were hanging disconsolately from the walls. even in the silver hall of the gala rooms, where the grand duke was wont to receive solemn deputations, and in the centre of which stood a mother-of-pearl table with stumpy silver feet, a piece of the silver work had fallen from the ceiling leaving a gaping patch of white plaster. but why was it that it somehow seemed as if these rooms defied the sober, mocking daylight, and proudly answered its challenge? klaus heinrich looked sideways at his father.... the condition of the rooms did not seem to worry him. never of more than medium height, the grand duke had become almost small in the course of years, but he strode majestically on with head thrown back, the lemon-coloured ribbon of the order over his general's uniform, which he had donned to-day, though he had no military leanings. from under his high and bald forehead and grey eyebrows, his blue eyes, with dull rings round them, were fixed with weary dignity on the distance, and from his pointed white moustaches the two deep furrows ran down his yellowish skin to his beard, imparting to his face a look of contempt. no, the bright daylight could not do any harm to the rooms; the dilapidations did not in the least impair their dignity, they rather increased it. they stood in their discomfort, their theatrical symmetry, their strange musty play-house or church atmosphere, cold and indifferent to the merry and sun-bathed world outside--stern background of a pompous cult, at which klaus heinrich this day for the first time officiated. the procession passed through the pairs of lackeys, who, with an expression of relentlessness, pressed their lips together and closed their eyes, into the white and gold expanse of the throne-room. a wave of acts of homage, scrapings, bows, curtseys and salutes, swept through the hall as the procession passed in front of the assembled guests. there were diplomats with their wives, nobility of the court and the country, the corps of officers of the capital, the ministers, amongst whom could be descried the affected, confident face of the new finance minister, dr. krippenreuther, the knights of the great order of the grimmburg griffin, the presidents of the diet, dignitaries of all kinds. high up in the little box above the big looking-glass by the entrance door could be descried the press representatives peering over each other's shoulders and busily writing in their notebooks.... in front of the throne-baldachin, itself a torn velvet arrangement, crowned with ostrich feathers and framed with gold fillets which would have been all the better for a touch-up, the procession divided as in a polonaise, and went through carefully prescribed evolutions. the pages and chamberlains fell aside to right and left. herr von bühl, his face turned to the throne and his staff uplifted, stepped backwards and stood still in the middle of the hall. the grand ducal pair and their children walked up the rounded, red-carpeted steps to the capacious gilded chairs which stood at the top. the remaining members of the house, with the foreign princes, ranged themselves on both sides of the throne; behind them stood the suite, the maids of honour and the grooms of the chambers, and the pages stood on the steps. at a gesture from johann albrecht, herr von knobelsdorff, who had previously taken up his stand over against the throne, advanced straight to the velvet-covered table, which stood by the side of the steps, and began at once to read from various documents the official formalities. klaus heinrich was declared to be of age and fit and entitled to wear the crown, should necessity require it--every eye was turned on him at this place, and at his royal highness albrecht, his elder brother, who stood close to him. the heir apparent was wearing the uniform of a captain in the hussar regiment which was called by his name. from his silver-laced collar stretched an unmilitary width of civil stand-up collar, and on it rested his fine, shrewd, and delicate head, with its long skull and narrow temples, the straw-coloured moustache on the upper lip, and the blue, lonely-looking eyes which had seen death. he looked not in the least like a cavalry officer, yet so slender and unapproachably aristocratic that klaus heinrich, with his national cheek-bones, looked almost coarse beside him. the heir apparent pursed up his lips when everybody looked at him, protruded his short rounded underlip, and sucked it lightly against the upper one. several of the country's orders were bestowed on the prince who had just come of age, including the albrecht cross and the great order of the grimmburg griffin, not to mention that he was confirmed in the house order whose insignia he had possessed since his tenth birthday. afterwards came the congratulations in the form of a processional court, led by the fawning herr von bühl, after which the gala-breakfast began in the marble hall and in the hall of the twelve months. the foreign princes were entertained for the next few days. a garden-party was given in hollerbrunn, with fireworks and dancing for the young people of the court in the park. festive excursions with pages in attendance were made through the sunny country-side to monbrillant, jägerpreis, and haderstein ruins, and the people, that inferior order of creation with the searching eyes and the high cheek-bones, stood on the kerb and cheered themselves and their representatives. in the capital klaus heinrich's photograph hung in the windows of the art-dealers, and the _courier_ actually published a printed likeness of him, a popular and strangely idealized representation, showing the prince in the crimson mantle. but then came yet another great day--klaus heinrich's formal entry into the army, into the regiment of grenadier guards. this is what happened. the regiment to which fell the honour of having klaus heinrich as one of its officers was drawn up on the albrechtsplatz in open square. many a plume waved in the middle. the princes of the house and the generals were all present. the public, a black mass against the gay background, crowded behind the barriers. cameras were levelled in several places at the scene of action. the grand duchess, with the princesses and their ladies, watched the show from the windows of the old schloss. first of all, klaus heinrich, dressed as a lieutenant, reported himself formally to the grand duke. he advanced sternly, without the shadow of a smile, towards his father, clapped his heels together and humbly acquainted him with his presence. the grand duke thanked him briefly, also without a smile, and then in his turn, followed by his aides-de-camp, advanced in his dress uniform and plumed hat into the square. klaus heinrich stood before the lowered colours, an embroidered, golden, and half-tattered piece of silk cloth, and took the oath. the grand duke made a speech in detached sentences and the sharp voice of command which he reserved for such occasions, in which he called his son "your grand ducal highness" and publicly clasped the prince's hand. the colonel of the grenadier guards, with crimson cheeks, led a cheer for the grand duke in which the guests, the regiment, and the public joined. a march past followed, and the whole ended with a military luncheon in the castle. this picturesque ceremony in the albrechtsplatz was without practical significance; its effect began and ended there. klaus heinrich never dreamed of going into garrison, but went the very same day with his parents and brother and sister to hollerbrunn, to pass the summer there in the cool old french rooms on the river, between the wall-like hedges of the park, and then, in the autumn, to go up to the university. for so it was ordained in the programme of his life; in the autumn he went up to the university for a year, not that of the capital, but the second one of the country, accompanied by doctor ueberbein, his tutor. the appointment of this young savant as mentor was once more attributable to an express, ardent wish of the prince, and indeed, as far as the choice of tutor and older companions was concerned, whom klaus heinrich was to have at his side during this year of student freedom, it was considered necessary to give a reasonable amount of consideration to his expressed wishes. yet there was much to be said against this choice; it was unpopular, or at least criticized aloud or in whispers in many quarters. raoul ueberbein was not loved in the capital. due respect was paid to his medal for life-saving and to all his feverish energy, but the man was no genial fellow-citizen, no jolly comrade, no blameless official. the most charitable saw in him an oddity with a determined and uncomfortably reckless disposition, who recognized no sunday, no holiday, no relaxation, and did not understand being a man amongst men after work was done. this natural son of an adventuress had worked his way up from the depths of society, from an obscure and prospectless youth without means, by dint of sheer strength of will, to being, first school teacher, then academic professor, then university lecturer, had lived to see his appointment--had "engineered" it, as many said--to the "pheasantry" as teacher of a grand ducal prince, and yet he knew no rest, no contentment, no comfortable enjoyment of life.... but life, as every decent man, thinking of doctor ueberbein, truly observed, life does not consist only of profession and performance, it has its purely human claims and duties, the neglect of which is a greater sin than the display of some measure of joviality towards oneself and one's fellows in the sphere of one's work, and only that personality can be considered a harmonious one which succeeds in giving its due to each part, profession and human feelings, life and performance. ueberbein's lack of any sense of camaraderie was bound to tell against him. he avoided all social intercourse with his colleagues, and his circle of friends was confined to the person of one man of another scientific sphere, a surgeon and children's specialist with the unsympathetic name of sammet, a very popular surgeon to boot, who shared certain characteristics with ueberbein. but it was only very rarely--and then only as a sort of favour--that he turned up at the club where the teachers gathered after the day's work and worry, for a glass of beer, a rubber, or a free exchange of views on public and personal questions--but he passed his evenings, and, as his landlady reported, also a great part of the night, working at science in his study, while his complexion grew greener and greener, and his eyes showed more and more clearly signs of overstrain. the authorities had been moved, shortly after his return from the "pheasantry," to promote him to head master. where was he going to stop? at director? high-school professor? minister for education? everybody agreed that his immoderate and restless energy concealed imprudence and defiance of public opinion--or rather did not conceal them. his demeanour, his loud, blustering mode of speaking annoyed, irritated, and exasperated people. his tone towards members of the teaching profession who were older and in higher positions than himself was not what it should be. he treated everybody, from the director down to the humblest usher, in a fatherly way, and his habit of talking of himself as of a man who had "knocked about," of gassing about "fate and duty," and thereby displaying his benevolent contempt for all those who "weren't obliged to" and "smoked cigars in the morning," showed conceit pure and simple. his pupils adored him; he achieved remarkable results with them, that was agreed. but on the whole the doctor had many enemies in the town, more than he ever guessed, and the misgiving that his influence on the prince might be an undesirable one was put into words in at least one portion of the daily press.... anyhow ueberbein obtained leave from the latin school, and went first of all alone, in the capacity of billeter, on a visit to the famous student town, within whose walls klaus heinrich was destined to pass the year of his apprenticeship, and on his return he was received in audience by excellency von knobelsdorff, the minister of the grand ducal house, to receive the usual instructions. their tenour was that almost the most important object of this year was to establish traditions of comradeship on the common ground of academic freedom between the prince and the student corps, especially in the interests of the dynasty--the regulation phrases, which herr von knobelsdorff rattled off almost casually, and which doctor ueberbein listened to with a silent bow, while he drew his mouth, and with it his red beard, a little to one side. then followed klaus heinrich's departure with his mentor, a dogcart and a servant or two, for the university. a glorious year, full of the charm of artistic freedom, in the public eye and in the mirror of public report--yet without technical importance of any kind. misgivings which had been felt in some quarters that doctor ueberbein, through mistaking and misunderstanding the position, might worry the prince with excessive demands in the direction of objective science, proved unfounded. on the contrary, it was obvious that the doctor quite realized the difference between his own earnest, and his pupil's exalted, sphere of existence. on the other hand (whether it was the mentor's or the prince's own fault does not matter) the freedom and the unconstrained camaraderie, like the instruction, were interpreted in a very relative and symbolical sense so that neither the one nor the other, neither the knowledge nor the freedom, could be said to be the essence and peculiarity of the year. its essence and peculiarity were rather, as it appeared, the year in itself, as the embodiment of custom and impressive ceremoniousness, to which klaus heinrich deferred, just as he had deferred to the theatrical rites on his last birthday--only now not with a purple cloak, but occasionally wearing a coloured student's cap, the so-called "stürmer," in which he was portrayed in a photograph issued at once by the _courier_ to its readers. as to his studies, his matriculation was not marked by any particular festivities, though some reference was made to the honour which klaus heinrich's admission bestowed on the university, and the lectures he attended began with the address: "grand ducal highness!" he drove in his dogcart with a groom from the pretty green-clad villa, which the marshal of his father's household had leased for him in a select and not too expensive square, amid the remarks and greetings of the passers-by, to the lectures, and there he sat with the consciousness that the whole thing was unessential and unnecessary for his exalted calling, yet with a show of courteous attention. charming anecdotes of the signs the prince gave of interest in the lectures went about and had their due effect. towards the end of one course on nature study (for klaus heinrich attended these courses also "for general information") the professor, by way of illustration, had filled a metal shell with water and announced that the water, when frozen, would burst the shell by expansion; he promised to show the class the pieces next lecture. now he had not kept his word on this point at the next lecture, probably out of forgetfulness: the broken shell had not been forthcoming--klaus heinrich had therefore inquired as to the result of the experiment. he had joined in asking questions of the professor at the end of the lecture, just like any ordinary student, and had modestly asked him: "has the bomb burst?"--whereupon the professor, full of embarrassment at first, had then expressed his thanks with glad surprise, and indeed emotion, for the kind interest the prince had expressed in his lectures. klaus heinrich was honorary member of a student's club--only honorary, because he was not allowed to fight duels--and once or twice attended their wines, his stürmer on his head. but since his guardians were well aware that the results the influence of strong drink had on his highly strung and delicate temperament were absolutely irreconcilable with his exalted calling, he did not dare to drink seriously, and his comrades were obliged on this point too to bear his highness in mind. their rude customs were judiciously limited to a casual one or two, the general tone was as exemplary as it used to be in the upper form at school, the songs they sang were old ones of real poetry, and the meetings were, as a whole, gala and parade nights, refined editions of the ordinary ones. the use of christian names was the bond of union between klaus heinrich and his corps brothers, as the expression and basis of spontaneous comradeship. but it was generally observed that this use sounded false and artificial, however great the efforts to make it otherwise, and that the students were always falling back unintentionally into the form of address which took due notice of the prince's highness. such was the effect of his presence, of his friendly, alert, and always uncompromising attitude which sometimes produced strange, even comical phenomena in the demeanour of the persons with whom the prince came into contact. one evening, at a soirée which one of his professors gave, he engaged a guest in conversation--a fat man of some age, a king's counsel by his title, who, despite his social importance, enjoyed the reputation of a great roué and a regular old sinner. the conversation, whose subject is a matter of no consequence and indeed would be difficult to specify, lasted for a considerable time because no opportunity of breaking it off presented itself. and suddenly, in the middle of his talk with the prince, the barrister whistled--whistled with his thick lips one of those pointless sequences of notes which one utters when one is embarrassed and wants to appear at one's ease, and then tried to cover his comic breach of manners by clearing his throat and coughing. klaus heinrich was accustomed to experiences of that kind, and tactfully passed on. if at any time he wanted to make a purchase himself and went into a shop, his entrance caused a kind of panic. he would ask for what he wanted, a button perhaps, but the girl would not understand him, would look dazed, and unable to fix her attention on the button, but obviously absorbed by something else--something outside and above her duties as a shop-assistant--she would drop a few things, turn the boxes upside down in obvious helplessness, and it was all klaus heinrich could do to restore her composure by his friendly manner. such, as i have said, was the effect of his attitude, and in the city it was often described as arrogance and blameworthy contempt for fellow-creatures--others roundly denied the arrogance, and doctor ueberbein, when the subject was broached to him at a social gathering, would put the question, whether "every inducement to contempt for his fellow-creatures being readily conceded," any such contempt really was possible in a case like the present of complete detachment from all the activities of ordinary men. indeed, any remark of that kind he met in his unanswerable blustering way by the assertion that the prince not only did not despise his fellow-creatures, but respected even the most worthless of them, only considered them all the more sound, serious, and good for the way in which the poor over-taxed and over-strained man in the street earned his living by the sweat of his brow.... the society of the university town had no time to reach a definite verdict on the question. the year of student life was over before one could turn round, and klaus heinrich returned, as prescribed by the programme of his life, to his father's palace, there, despite his left arm, to pass a full year in serious military service. he was attached to the dragoons of the guard for six months, and directed the taking up of intervals of eight paces for lance-exercises as well as the forming of squares, as if he were a serious soldier; then changed his weapon and transferred to the grenadier guards, so as to get an insight into infantry work also. it fell to him to march to the schloss and change the guard--an evolution which attracted large crowds. he came swiftly out of the guard-room, his star on his breast, placed himself with drawn sword on the flank of the company and gave not quite correct orders, which, however, did not matter, as his stout soldiers executed the right movements all the same. on guest-nights, too, at head-quarters, he sat on the colonel's right hand, and by his presence prevented the officers from unhooking their uniform collars and playing cards after dinner. after this, being now twenty years old, he started on an "educational tour"--no longer in the company of doctor ueberbein, but in that of a military attendant and courier, captain von braunbart-schellendorf of the guards, a fair-haired officer who was destined to be klaus heinrich's aide-de-camp, and to whom the tour gave an opportunity of establishing himself on a footing of intimacy and influence with him. klaus heinrich did not see much in his educational tour, which took him far afield, and was keenly followed by the _courier_. he visited the courts, introduced himself to the sovereigns, attended gala dinners with captain von braunbart, and on his departure received one of the country's superior orders. he took a look at such sights as captain von braunbart (who also received several orders) chose for him, and the _courier_ reported from time to time that the prince had expressed his admiration of a picture, a museum, or a building to the director or curator who happened to be his cicerone. he travelled apart, protected and supported by the chivalrous precautions of captain von braunbart, who kept the purse, and to whose devoted zeal was due the fact that not one of klaus heinrich's trunks was missing at the end of the journey. a couple of words, no more, may be devoted to an interlude, which had for scene a big city in a neighbouring kingdom, and was brought about by captain von braunbart with all due circumspection. the captain had a friend in this city, a bachelor nobleman and a cavalry captain, who was on terms of intimacy with a young lady member of the theatrical world, an accommodating and at the same time trustworthy young person. in pursuance of an agreement by letter between captain von braunbart and his friend, klaus heinrich was thrown in contact with the damsel at her home--suitably arranged for the purpose--and the acquaintance allowed to develop _à deux_. thus an expressly foreseen item in the educational tour was conscientiously realized, without klaus heinrich being involved in more than a casual acquaintance. the damsel received a memento for her services, and captain von braunbart's friend a decoration. so the incident closed. klaus heinrich also visited the fair southern lands, incognito, under a romantic-sounding title. there he would sit, alone, perhaps for a quarter of an hour, dressed in a suit of irreproachable cut, among other foreigners on a white restaurant terrace looking over a dark-blue sea, and it might happen that somebody at another table would notice him, and try, in the manner of tourists, to engage him in conversation. what could he be, that quiet and self-possessed-looking young man? people ran over the various spheres of life, tried to fit him into the merchant, the military, the student class. but they never felt that they had got it quite right--they felt his highness, but nobody guessed it. v albrecht ii grand duke johann albrecht died of a terrible illness, which had something naked and abstract about it, and to which no other name but just that of death could be given. it seemed as if death, sure of its prey, in this case disdained any mask or gloss, and came on the scene as its very self, as dissolution by and for itself. what actually happened was a decomposition of the blood, caused by internal hæmorrhages; and an exploratory operation, which was conducted by the director of the university hospital, a famous surgeon, could not arrest the corroding progress of the gangrene. the end soon came, all the sooner that johann albrecht made little resistance to the approach of death. he showed signs of an unutterable weariness, and often remarked to his attendants, as well as to the surgeons attending him, that he was "dead sick of the whole thing"--meaning, of course, his princely existence, his exalted life in the glare of publicity. his cheek-furrows, those two lines of arrogance and boredom, resolved in his last days into an exaggerated, grotesque grimace, and continued thus until death smoothed them out. the grand duke's illness fell in the winter. albrecht, the heir apparent, called away from his warm dry resort, arrived in snowy wet weather, which was as bad for his health as it could be. his brother, klaus heinrich, interrupted his educational tour, which was anyhow nearing its close, and returned with captain von braunbart-schellendorf in all haste from the fair land of the south to the capital. besides the two prince-sons, the grand duchess dorothea, the princesses catherine and ditlinde, prince lambert without his lovely wife--the surgeons in attendance and prahl the valet-de-chambre waited at the bedside, while the court officials and ministers on duty were collected in the adjoining room. if credence might be given to the assertions of the servants, the ghostly noise in the "owl chamber" had been exceptionally loud in the last weeks and days. according to them it was a rattling and a shaking noise, which recurred periodically, and whose meaning could not be distinguished outside the room. johann albrecht's last act of highness consisted in giving with his own hand to the professor, who had performed the useless operation with the greatest skill, his patent of nomination to the privy council. he was terribly exhausted, "sick of the whole thing," and his consciousness even in his more lucid moments was not at all clear; but he carried out the act with scrupulous care and made a ceremony of it. he had himself propped up, made a few alterations, shading his eyes with his wax-coloured hands, in the chance disposition of those present, ordered his sons to place themselves on both sides of his canopied bed--and while his soul was already tugging at her moorings, and floating here and there on unknown currents, he composed his features with mechanical skill into his smile of graciousness for the handing of the diploma to the professor, who had left the room for a short time. quite towards the end, when the dissolution had already attacked the brain, the grand duke made one wish clear, which, though scarcely understood, was hastily complied with, although its fulfilment could not do the slightest good to the grand duke. certain words, apparently disconnected, kept recurring in the murmurings of the sick man. he named several stuffs, silk, satin, and brocade, mentioned prince klaus heinrich, used a technical expression in medicine, and said something about an order, the albrecht cross of the third class with crown. between whiles one caught quite ordinary remarks, which apparently referred to the dying man's princely calling, and sounded like "extraordinary obligation" and "comfortable majority"; then the descriptions of the stuffs began again, to which was appended in a louder voice the word "sammet."( ) at last it was realized that the grand duke wanted doctor sammet to be called in, the doctor who had happened to be present at the grimmburg at the time of klaus heinrich's birth, twenty years before, and had, for a long time now, been practising in the capital. ( ) _i.e._, velvet. the doctor was really a children's doctor, but he was summoned and came: already nearly grey on the temples, with a drooping moustache, surmounted by a nose which was rather too flat at the bottom, clean-shaven otherwise and with cheeks rather sore from shaving. with head on one side, his hand on his watch-chain, and elbows close to his sides, he examined the situation, and began at once to busy himself in a practical, gentle way about his exalted patient, whereat the latter expressed his satisfaction in no uncertain fashion. thus it was that it fell to doctor sammet to administer the last injections to the grand duke, with his supporting hand to ease the final spasms, and to be, more than any of the other doctors, his helper in death--a distinction which indeed provoked some secret irritation amongst the others, but on the other hand resulted in the doctor's appointment shortly afterwards to the vacancy in the important post of director and chief physician of the "dorothea," a children's hospital, in which capacity he was destined later to play some part in certain developments. so died johann albrecht the third, uttering his last sigh on a winter's night. the old castle was brightly illuminated while he was passing away. the stern furrows of boredom were smoothed out in his face, and, relieved of any exertion on his own part, he was subjected to formalities which surrounded him for the last time, carried him along, and made his wax-like shell just once more the focus and object of theatrical rites.... herr von bühl zu bühl showed his usual energy in organizing the funeral, which was attended by many princely guests. the gloomy ceremonies, the different exposures and identifications, corpse-parades, blessings, and memorial services at the catafalque took days to complete, and johann albrecht's corpse was for eight hours exposed to public view, surrounded by a guard of honour consisting of two colonels, two first lieutenants, two cavalry sergeants, two infantry sergeants, two corporals, and two chamberlains. then at last came the moment when the zinc shell was brought by eight lackeys from the altar recess of the court church, where it had been on show between crape-covered candelabra and six-foot candles, to the entry-hall, placed by eight foresters in the mahogany coffin, carried by eight grenadier guardsmen to the six-horsed and black-draped hearse, which set off for the mausoleum amidst cannon salvos and the tolling of bells. the flags hung heavy with rain from the middle of their poles. although it was early morning, the gas-lamps were burning in the streets along which the funeral was to pass. johann albrecht's bust was displayed amongst mourning decorations in the shop-windows, and postcards with the portrait of the deceased ruler, which were everywhere for sale, were in great demand. behind the rows of troops, the gymnastic clubs, and veteran associations which kept the road, stood the people on tiptoe in the snow-brash and gazed with bowed heads at the slowly passing coffin, preceded by the wreath-bearing lackeys, the court officials, the bearers of the insignia and dom wislezenus, the court preacher, and covered with a silver-worked pall, whose corners were held by lord marshal von bühl, master of the royal hunt von stieglitz, adjutant-general count schmettern, and minister of the household von knobelsdorff. by the side of his brother klaus heinrich, immediately behind the charger which was led in rear of the hearse, and at the head of the other mourners, walked grand duke albrecht ii. his clothes, the tall stiff plume in the front of his busby, the long boots under his gaudy, ample hussar's pelisse, with the crape band, did not become him. he walked as if embarrassed by the eyes of the crowd, and his shoulder-blades, naturally rather crooked, were twisted in an awkward nervous way as he walked. repugnance at having to be chief actor in this funeral pomp was clearly written on his pale face. he did not raise his eyes as he walked, and he sucked his short rounded lower lip against the upper.... his demeanour remained the same during the curialia accompanying his accession, which were so arranged as to spare him as much as possible. the grand duke signed the oath in the silver hall of the gala rooms before the assembled ministers, and read aloud in the throne-room, standing in front of the rounded chair under the baldachin, the speech from the throne, which herr von knobelsdorff had drawn up. the economic condition of the country was touched upon in it with earnestness and delicacy, while appreciative mention was made of the unanimity which despite all troubles existed between the princes and the country--at which place a prominent functionary, who was apparently discontented about promotion, was said to have whispered to his neighbour that the unanimity consisted in the prince being as deeply in debt as the country--a caustic remark which was much repeated, and ended by getting into hostile newspapers.... to end up, the president of the landtag called for a cheer for the grand duke, a service was held in the court chapel, and that was all. further, albrecht signed an edict, by virtue of which a number of sentences of fines and imprisonment, which had been imposed for the less serious misdemeanours, chiefly infringement of the forest laws, were remitted. the solemn procession through the city and the acclamation in the town hall were omitted altogether, as the grand duke felt too tired for them. having been a captain hitherto, he was promoted on the occasion of his accession at once to the colonelcy _à la suite_ of his hussar regiment, but scarcely ever put the uniform on, and kept as far away as possible from his sphere as a soldier. he made no change whatever in his staff, perhaps out of respect to his father's memory, either among the court appointments or in the ministry. the public saw him but rarely. his proud and bashful disinclination to show himself, to put himself forward, to allow others to acclaim him, was so clearly shown from the very beginning as to shock public opinion. he never appeared in the large box at the court theatre. he never took part in the park parade. when in residence at the old schloss, he had himself driven in a closed carriage to a remote and empty part of the suburbs, where he got out to take a little exercise; and in the summer at hollerbrunn he only left the hedged walks of the parks on exceptional occasions. did the people catch a glimpse of him--at the albrechtstor it might be, when wrapped in his heavy fur coat, which his father had worn before him, and on whose thick collar his delicate head now rested, he stepped into his carriage--timid glances were levelled at him, and the cheering was faint and hesitating. for the lower classes felt that with a prince like this there could be no question of cheering him and thereby cheering themselves at the same time. they looked at him, and did not recognize themselves in him; his refined superiority made it clear that they were of different clay from his. and they were not accustomed to that. was there not a commissionaire posted in the albrechtsplatz that very day, who with his high cheek-bones and grey whiskers looked a coarse and homely replica of the late grand duke? and did one not similarly meet with prince klaus heinrich's features in the lower classes? it was not so with his brother. the people could not see in him an idealized version of themselves, whom it could make them happy to cheer--as it meant cheering themselves too! the grand duke's highness--his undoubted highness!--was a nobility of the usual kind, undomestic, and without the stamp of the graciousness which inspires confidence. he too knew that; and the consciousness of his highness, together with that of his want of popular graciousness, were quite enough to account for his shyness and haughtiness. he began already to delegate as far as possible his duties to prince klaus heinrich. he sent him to open the new spring at immenstadt and to the historical town-pageant at butterburg. indeed, his contempt for any exhibition of his princely person went so far that herr von knobelsdorff had the greatest difficulty in persuading him to receive the presidents of the two chambers in the throne-room himself, and not, "for reasons of health," as he was minded, to give place to his brother on this solemn occasion. albrecht ii lived a lonely life in the old schloss; that was unavoidable in the nature of things. in the first place, prince klaus heinrich, since johann albrecht's death, kept a court of his own. that was demanded by etiquette, and he had been given the "hermitage" as a residence, that empire schloss on the fringe of the northern suburbs, which, reposeful and charming, but long uninhabited and neglected, in the middle of its overgrown park next the town gardens, looked down on its little mud-thick pond. some time ago, when albrecht came of age, the "hermitage" had been freshened up and for form's sake destined to be the heir apparent's palace; but as albrecht had always come in summer straight from his warm, dry foreign resort to hollerbrunn, he had never used his palace.... klaus heinrich lived there without unnecessary expense, with one major-domo, who superintended the household, a baron von schulenburg-tressen, nephew of the mistress of the robes. besides his valet, neumann, he had two other lackeys for his daily needs; he borrowed the game-keeper when necessary for ceremonial shoots, from the grand duke's court. one coachman and a couple of grooms in red waistcoats looked after the carriages and horses, which consisted of one pony-cart, one brougham, one dog-cart, two riding and two carriage horses. one gardener, helped by two boys, looked after the park and the garden; and one cook with her kitchen-maid, as well as two chambermaids, made up the female staff of the "hermitage." it was court marshal von schulenburg's business to keep his young master's establishment going on the apanage which the landtag, after albrecht's accession, had voted the grand duke's brother after a serious debate. it amounted to two thousand five hundred pounds. for the sum of four thousand pounds, which had been the original demand, had never had any prospect of recommending itself to the landtag, and so a wise and magnanimous act of self-denial had been credited to klaus heinrich, which had made an excellent impression in the country. every winter herr von schulenburg sold the ice from the pond. he had the hay in the park mowed twice every summer and sold. after the harvests the surface of the fields looked almost like english turf. further, dorothea, the dowager grand duchess, no longer lived in the old schloss, and the causes of her retirement were both sad and uncomfortable. for she too, the princess whom the much-travelled herr von knobelsdorff had described more than once as one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, the princess whose radiant smiles had evoked joy, enthusiasm, and cheers whenever she had shown herself to the longing gaze of the toil-worn masses, she too had had to pay her tribute to time. dorothea had aged, her calm perfection, the admiration and joy of everybody, had during recent years withered so fast and steadily that the woman in her had been unable to keep pace with the transformation. nothing, no art, no measures, even the painful and repulsive ones, with which she tried to stave off decay, had availed to prevent the sweet brightness of her deep blue eyes from fading, rings of loose yellow skin from forming under them, the wonderful little dimples in her cheeks from turning into furrows, and her proud and hard mouth from looking drawn and bitter. but since her heart had been hard as her beauty, and had been absorbed in that beauty, since her beauty had been her very soul and she had had no wish, no love, beyond the effect of that beauty on the hearts of others, while her own heart never beat the faster for anything or anyone, she was now disconsolate and lost, could not accommodate herself to the change and rebelled against it. surgeon-general eschrich said something about mental disturbance resulting from an unusually quick climacteric, and his opinion was undoubtedly correct in a sense. the sad truth at any rate was that dorothea during the last years of her husband's life had already shown signs of profound mental disturbance and trouble. she became light-shy, gave orders that at the thursday concerts in the marble hall all the lights should be shaded red, and flew into a passion because she could not have the same thing done at all other festivities, the court ball, the private ball, the dinner party, and the great court, as the kind of twilight feeling in the marble hall had been enough by itself to call forth many cutting remarks. she spent whole days before her looking-glasses, and it was noticed that she fondled with her hands those which for some reason or other reflected her image in a more favourable light. then again she had all the looking-glasses removed from her rooms, and those fixed in the wall draped, went to bed and prayed for death. one day baroness von schulenburg found her quite distracted and feverish with weeping in the hall of the twelve months before the big portrait which represented her at the height of her beauty.... at the same time a diseased misanthropy began to take possession of her, and both court and people were distressed to notice how the bearing of this erstwhile goddess began to lose its assurance, her deportment became strangely awkward, and a pitiful look came into her eyes. at last she shut herself up altogether, and, at the last court ball he attended, johann albrecht had escorted his sister catherine instead of his "indisposed consort." his death was from one point of view a release for dorothea, as it relieved her from all her duties as a sovereign. she chose as dower-house schloss segenhaus, a monastic-looking old hunting-seat, which lay in a solemn park about one and a half hour's drive from the capital, and had been decorated by some pious old sportsman with religious and sporting emblems curiously intermixed. there she lived, eclipsed and odd, and excursionists could often watch her from afar, walking in the park with baroness von schulenburg-tressen, and bowing graciously to the trees on each side of the path. lastly, princess ditlinde had married at the age of twenty, one year after her father's death. she bestowed her hand on a prince of a mediatised house, prince philipp zu ried-hohenried, a no longer young, but well-preserved, cultured little man of advanced views, who paid her flattering attentions for some considerable time, did all his courting at first-hand, and offered the princess his heart and hand in an honest bourgeois way at a charity function. it would be wrong to say that this alliance evoked wild enthusiasm in the country. it was received with indifference; it disappointed. it is true, more ambitious hopes had been secretly entertained for johann albrecht's daughter, and all the critics could say was that the marriage could not be called a _mésalliance_ in so many words. it was a fact that ditlinde, in giving her hand to the prince--which she did of her own free will, and quite uninfluenced by others--had undoubtedly descended out of her sphere of highness into a more free and human atmosphere. her noble spouse was not only a lover and collector of oil paintings, but also a business man and tradesman on a large scale. the dynasty had ceased to exercise any sovereign right hundreds of years ago, but philipp was the first of his house to make up his mind to exploit his private means in a natural way. after spending his youth in travelling, he had looked around for a sphere of activity which would keep him busy and contented, and at the same time (a matter of necessity) would increase his income. so he launched out into various enterprises, started farms, a brewery, a sugar factory, several saw-mills on his property, and began to exploit his extensive peat deposits in a methodical way. as he brought expert knowledge and sound business instincts to all his enterprises, they soon began to pay, and returned profits which, if their origin was not very princely, at any rate provided him with the means of leading a princely existence which he would otherwise not have had. on the other hand the critics might have been asked what sort of a match they could expect for their princess, if they viewed the matter soberly. ditlinde, who brought her husband scarcely anything except an inexhaustible store of linen, including dozens of out-of-date and useless articles such as night-caps and neckerchiefs, which however by hallowed tradition formed part of her trousseau--she by this marriage acquired a measure of riches and comfort such as she had never been accustomed to at home: and no sacrifice of her affections was necessary to pay for them. she took the step into private life with obvious contentment and determination, and retained, of the trappings of highness, nothing but her title. she remained on friendly terms with her ladies-in-waiting, but divested her relations with them of everything which suggested service, and avoided giving her household the character of a court. that might evoke surprise, especially in a grimmburg and in ditlinde in particular, but there was no doubt that it was her own choice. the couple spent the summer on the princely estates, the winter in the capital in the stately palace in the albrechtstrasse, which philipp zu ried had inherited; and it was here, not in the old schloss, that the grand ducal family--klaus heinrich and ditlinde, occasionally albrecht as well--met now and again for a confidential talk. so it happened that one day at the beginning of autumn, not quite two years after the death of johann albrecht, the _courier_, well-informed as usual, published in its evening edition the news that this afternoon his royal highness the grand duke and his grand ducal highness prince klaus heinrich had been to tea with her grand ducal highness the princess zu ried-hohenried. that was all. but on that afternoon several topics of importance for the future were discussed between the brothers and sister. klaus heinrich left the hermitage shortly before five o'clock. as the weather was sunny, he had ordered the dogcart, and the open brown-varnished vehicle, clean and shining, if not over-new or smart to look at, came slowly up the broad drive of the schloss, at a quarter to five, from the stables, which with their asphalt yard lay in the right wing of the home farm. the home farm, yellow-painted, old-fashioned buildings of one story, made one long line with, though at some distance from, the plain white mansion, the front of which, adorned with laurels at regular intervals, faced the muddy pond and the public part of the park. for the front portion of the estate, that which marched with the town gardens, was open to pedestrians and light traffic, and all that was enclosed was the gently rising flower-garden, at the top of which lay the schloss and the very unkempt park behind, which was divided by hedges and fences from the rubbish-encumbered waste ground at the edge of the town suburbs. so the cart came up the drive between the pond and the home farm, turned through the high garden gates, adorned with lamps which had once been gilt, passed on up the drive and waited in front of the stiff little laurel-planted terrace which led to the garden-room. klaus heinrich came out a few minutes before five. he wore as usual the tight-fitting uniform of a lieutenant of the grenadier guards, and his sword-hilt hung on his arm. neumann, in a violet coat whose arms were too short, ran in front of him down the steps and with his red barber's hands packed his master's folded grey over-coat into the cart. then, while the coachman, his hand to his cockaded hat, inclined a little sideways on the box, the valet arranged the light carriage rug over klaus heinrich's knees and stepped back with a silent bow. the horses started off. outside the garden gates a few promenaders had collected. they greeted klaus heinrich, smiling with knitted brows and hats lifted, and klaus heinrich thanked them by raising his white-gloved right hand to the peak of his cap and making a succession of lively nods. they skirted a piece of waste ground along a birch avenue, whose leaves were already turning, and then drove through the suburb, between poverty-stricken houses, over unpaved streets, where the ragged children left their hoops and tops for a moment to gaze at the carriage with curious eyes. some cried, hurrah! and ran for a while by the side of the carriage, with heads turned towards klaus heinrich. the carriage might have taken the road by the spa-gardens; but that through the suburb was shorter, and time pressed. ditlinde was particular on points of regularity, and easily put out if anybody disturbed her household arrangements by unpunctuality. yonder was the dorothea children's hospital of which doctor sammet, ueberbein's friend, was the director; klaus heinrich drove by it. and then the carriage left the squalid neighbourhood and reached the gartenstrasse, a stately tree-planted avenue, in which lay the houses and villas of wealthy citizens, and along which ran the tram-line from the spa gardens to the centre of the city. the traffic here was fairly heavy, and klaus heinrich was kept busy answering the greetings which met him. civilians took off their hats and looked from under their eyebrows at him, officers on horse and on foot saluted, policemen front-turned, and klaus heinrich in his corner raised his hand to the peak of his cap and thanked on both sides with the well-trained bow and smile which were calculated to confirm the people in their feeling of participation in his splendid personality.... his way of sitting in his carriage was quite peculiar--he did not lean back indolently and comfortably in the cushions, but he took just as active a part in the motions of the carriage when driving as in those of his horse when riding; with hands crossed on his sword hilt and one foot a little advanced, he as it were "took" the unevennesses of the ground, and accommodated himself to the motion of the badly hung carriage. the carriage crossed the albrechtsplatz, left the old schloss, with the two sentries presenting arms, to the right, followed the albrechtstrasse in the direction of the barracks of the grenadier guards and rolled to the left into the courtyard of the palace of the princess of ried. it was a building of regular proportions in the pedantic style, with a soaring gable over the main door, festooned _oeils-de-boeuf_ in the mezzanine story, high french windows in the first story, and an elegant _cour d'honneur_, which was formed by the two one-storied wings and was separated from the street by a circular railing, on whose pillars stone babies played. but the internal arrangements of the schloss were, in contradistinction to the historical style of its exterior, conceived throughout in an up-to-date and comfortable bourgeois taste. ditlinde received her brother in a large drawing-room on the first floor with several curved sofas in pale green silk; the back part of the room was separated from the front by slender pillars, and filled with palms, plants in metal bowls, and tables covered with brilliant flowers. "good afternoon, klaus heinrich," said the princess. she was delicate and thin, and the only luxuriant thing about her was her fair hair, which used to lie like ram's horns round her ears and now was dressed in thick plaits above her face with its high grimmburg cheek-bones. she wore an indoor dress of soft blue-grey stuff with a white lace collar, cut in a point like a breast-plate and fastened at the waist with an old-fashioned oval brooch. blue veins and shadows showed here and there through the delicate skin of her face, in the temples, the forehead, at the corners of her soft and calm blue eyes. signs of approaching maternity were beginning to show themselves. "good afternoon, ditlinde, you and your flowers!" answered klaus heinrich, as, clapping his heels together, he bent over her little, white, rather over-broad hand. "how they do smell! and the garden's full of them, i see." "yes," she said, "i love flowers. i have always longed to be able to live among quantities of flowers, living, smelling flowers, which i could watch growing--it was a kind of secret wish of mine, klaus heinrich, and i might almost say that i married for flowers, for in the old schloss, as you know, there were no flowers.... the old schloss and flowers! we should have had to rummage a lot to find them, i'm sure. rat-traps and such things, plenty of them. and really, when one comes to think, the whole thing was like a disused rat-trap, so dusty and horrid ... ugh!..." "but the rose-bush, ditlinde." "yes, my goodness--one rose-bush. and that's in the guide-books, because its roses smell of decay. and the books say that it will one day smell quite natural and nice, just like any other rose. but i can't believe it." "you will soon," he said, and looked at her laughingly, "have something better than your flowers to tend, little ditlinde." "yes," she said and blushed lightly and quickly, "yes, klaus heinrich, i can hardly believe it. and yet it will be so, if god pleases. but come over here. we'll have a chat together once more...." the room, on whose threshold they had been talking, was small in comparison with its height, with a grey-blue carpet, and furnished with cheery-looking silver-grey furniture, the chairs of which were upholstered in blue silk. a milk-white china chandelier hung from the white-festooned centre of the ceiling, and the walls were adorned with oil paintings of various sizes, acquisitions of prince philipp's, light studies in the new style, representing white goats in the sun, poultry in the sun, sun-bathed meadows and peasants with blinking, sun-sprinkled faces. the spindle-legged secretaire in the white-curtained window was covered with a hundred carefully arranged articles, knick-knacks, writing materials, and several dainty note-blocks--for the princess was accustomed to make careful and comprehensive notes about all her duties and plans. in front of the inkstand a housekeeper's book, in which ditlinde had apparently just been working, lay open, and by the table there hung on the wall a little silk-trimmed block-calendar, under the printed date of which could be seen the pencil note: " o'clock: my brothers." between the sofa and a semicircle of chairs over against the white swing doors into the reception room stood an oval table with a damask cloth and blue-silk border; the flowered tea-service, a jam-pot, long dishes of sweet cakes, and tiny pieces of bread and butter were arranged in ordered disorder on it, and to one side steamed the silver tea-kettle over its spirit-flame on a glass table. but there were flowers everywhere--flowers in the vases on the writing-table, on the tea-table, on the glass table, on the china-cabinet, on the table next the white sofa, and a flower-table full of flower-pots stood in the window. this room, situated at the side and in a corner of the suite of reception rooms, was ditlinde's cabinet, her boudoir, the room in which she used to entertain quite intimate friends and to make tea with her own hands. klaus heinrich watched her as she washed out the tea-pot with hot water and put the tea in with a silver spoon. "and albrecht ... is he coming?" he asked with an involuntarily restrained voice. "i hope so," she said, bending attentively over the crystal tea-caddy, as if to avoid spilling any tea (and he too avoided looking at her). "i have of course asked him, klaus heinrich, but you know he cannot bind himself. it depends on his health whether he comes. i'm making our tea at once, for albrecht will drink his milk.... possibly too jettchen may look in for a bit to-day. you will enjoy seeing her again. she's so lively, and has always got such a lot to tell us." "jettchen" meant fräulein von isenschnibbe, the princess's friend and confidant. they had been on christian-name terms since they were children. "in armour, too, as usual?" said ditlinde, placing the filled tea-pot on its stand and examining her brother. "in uniform as usual, klaus heinrich?" he stood with heels together and rubbed his left hand, which was cold, on his chest with his right. "yes, ditlinde, i like it, i'd rather. it fits so tight, you see, and it braces me up. besides, it is cheaper, for a proper civil wardrobe runs into a terrible lot of money, i believe, and schulenburg is always going on about how dear things are, without that. so i manage with two or three coats, and yet can show myself in my rich relations' houses." "rich relations!" laughed ditlinde. "still some way off that, klaus heinrich!" they sat down at the tea-table, ditlinde on a sofa, klaus heinrich on a chair opposite the window. "rich relations!" she repeated, and the subject obviously excited her. "no, far from it; how can we expect to be rich, where cash is so short and everything is sunk in various enterprises, klaus heinrich? and they are young and in the making, they're all in the development stage, as dear philipp says, and won't bear full fruit till others have succeeded us. but things are improving, that much is true, and i keep the household straight...." "yes, ditlinde, you do keep it straight and no mistake!" "keep it straight, and write everything down and look after the servants, and after all the payments which one's duty to the world demands have been made, there is a nice little sum to put by every year for the children. and dear philipp.... he sends his greetings, klaus heinrich--i forgot, he's very sorry not to be able to be here to-day.... we've only just got back from hohenried, and there he is already under way, at his office, on his properties--he's small and delicate naturally, but when his peat or his saw-mills are in question he gets red cheeks, and he says himself that he has been much better since he has had so much to do." "does he say so?" asked klaus heinrich, and a sad look came into his eyes, as he looked straight beyond the flower-table at the bright window.... "yes, i can quite believe that it must be very stimulating to be so really splendidly busy. in my park too the meadows have been mowed a second time this year already, and i love seeing the hay built up in steep heaps with a stick through the middle of each, looking for all the world like a camp of little indians' huts, and then schulenburg intends to sell it. but of course that cannot be compared ..." "oh, you!" said ditlinde, and drew her chin in. "with you it's quite different, klaus heinrich! the next to the throne! you are called to other things, i imagine. my goodness, yes! you enjoy your popularity with the people...." they were silent for a while. then he said: "and you, ditlinde, if i'm not mistaken you're as happy as, even happier than, before. i don't say that you have got red cheeks, like philipp from his peat; you always were a bit transparent, and you are still. but you look flourishing. i haven't yet asked, since you married, but i think there's nothing to worry about in connexion with you." she sat in an easy position, with her arm lightly folded across her lap. "yes," she said, "i'm all right, klaus heinrich, your eyes don't deceive you, and it would be ungrateful of me not to acknowledge my good fortune. you see, i know quite well that many people in the country are disappointed by my marriage and say that i have ruined myself, and demeaned myself, and so on. and such people are not far to seek, for brother albrecht, as you know as well as i do, in his heart despises my dear philipp and me into the bargain, and can't abide him, and calls him privately a tradesman and shopkeeper. but that doesn't bother me, for i meant it when i accepted philipp's hand--seized it, i would say, if it didn't sound so wild--accepted it because it was warm and honest, and offered to take me away from the old schloss. for when i look back and think of the old schloss and life in it as i should have gone on living if it had not been for dear philipp, i shudder, klaus heinrich, and i feel that i could not have borne it and should have become strange and queer like poor mamma. i am a bit delicate naturally, as you know, i should have simply gone under in so much desolation and sadness, and when dear philipp came, i thought: now's your chance. and when people say that i am a bad princess, because i have in a way abdicated, and fled here where it is rather warmer and more friendly, and when they say that i lack dignity or consciousness of highness, or whatever they call it, they are stupid and ignorant, klaus heinrich, because i have too much, i have on the contrary too much of it, that's a fact, otherwise the old schloss would not have had such an effect upon me, and albrecht ought to see that, for he too, in his way, has too much of it--all we grimmburgers have too much of it, and that's why it sometimes looks as if we had too little of it. and sometimes, when philipp is under way, as he is now, and i sit here among my flowers and philipp's pictures with all their sun--it's lucky that it's painted sun, for bless me! otherwise we should have to get sun-blinds--and everything is tidy and clean, and i think of the blessing, as you call it, in store for me, then i seem to myself like the little mermaid in the fairy-tale which the swiss governess read to us, if you remember--who married a mortal and got legs instead of her fish's tail.... i don't know if you understand me...." "oh yes, ditlinde, of course, i understand you perfectly. and i am really glad that everything has turned out so well and happily for you. for it is dangerous, i may tell you, in my experience it is difficult for us to be suitably happy. it's so easy to go wrong and be misunderstood, for the nuisance is that nobody protects our dignity for us if we don't do it ourselves, and then blame and scandal so readily follow.... but which is the right way? you have found it. they have quite recently announced my engagement with cousin griseldis in the newspapers. that was a _ballon d'essai_, as they call it, and they think it was a very happy one. but griseldis is a silly girl, and half-dead with anæmia, and never says anything but 'yes,' so far as i know. i've never given her a thought, nor has knobelsdorff, thank goodness. the news was at once announced to be unfounded.... here comes albrecht!" he said, and stood up. a cough was heard outside. a footman in olive-green livery threw open the swing doors with a quick, firm, and noiseless movement of both arms, and announced in a subdued voice: "his royal highness the grand duke." then he stepped aside with a bow. albrecht advanced through the room. he had traversed the hundred yards from the old schloss hither in a closed carriage, with his huntsman on the box. he was in mufti, as almost always, wore a buttoned-up frock-coat with little satin lapels, and patent-leather boots on his small feet. since his accession he had grown an imperial. his short fair hair was brushed back on each of his narrow, sunk temples. his gait was an awkward and yet indescribably distinguished strut, which gave his shoulder-blades a peculiar twist. he carried his head well back and stuck his short round underlip out, sucking gently with it against the upper one. the princess went to the threshold to meet him. he disliked hand-kissing, so he simply held out his hand with a soft almost whispered greeting--his thin, cold hand which looked so sensitive and which he stretched out from his chest while keeping his forearm close to his body. then he greeted his brother klaus heinrich in the same way, who had waited for him standing with heels close together in front of his chair--and said nothing further. ditlinde talked. "it's very nice of you to come, albrecht. so you're feeling well? you look splendid. philipp wishes me to tell you how sorry he is to have to be out this afternoon. sit down, won't you, anywhere you like--here, for instance, opposite me. that chair's a pretty comfortable one, you sat in it last time. i've made tea for us in the meantime. you'll have your milk directly...." "thanks," he said quietly. "i must beg pardon ... i'm late. you know, the shorter the road ... and then i have to lie down in the afternoon.... there's no one else coming?" "no one else, albrecht. at the most, jettchen isenschnibbe may look in for a bit, if you don't object...." "oh?" "but i can just as well say 'not at home.'" "oh no, pray don't." hot milk was brought. albrecht clasped the tall, thick, studded glass in both hands. "ah, something warm," he said. "how cold it is already in these parts! and i've been frozen the whole summer in hollerbrunn. haven't you started fires yet? i have. but then again the smell of the stoves upsets me. all stoves smell. von bühl promises me central heating for the old schloss every autumn. but it seems not to be feasible." "poor albrecht," said ditlinde, "at this time of year you used to be already in the south, so long as father was alive. you must long for it." "your sympathy does you credit, dear ditlinde," answered he, still in a low and slightly lisping voice. "but we must show that i am on the spot. i must rule the country, as you know, that's what i'm here for. to-day i have been graciously pleased to allow some worthy citizen--i'm sorry i can't remember his name--to accept and wear a foreign order. further, i have had a telegram sent to the annual meeting of the horticultural society, in which i assumed the honorary presidency of the society and pledged my word to further its efforts in every way--without really knowing what furthering i could do beyond sending the telegram, for the members are quite well able to take care of themselves. further, i have deigned to confirm the choice of a certain worthy fellow to be mayor of my fair city of siebenberge--in connection with which i should like to know whether this my subject will be a better mayor for my confirmation than he would have been without it...." "well, well, albrecht, those are trifles!" said ditlinde. "i'm convinced that you've had more serious business to do...." "oh, of course. i've had a talk with my minister of finance and agriculture. it was time i did. doctor krippenreuther would have been bitterly disappointed with me if i had not summoned him once more. he went ahead in summary fashion and laid before me a conspectus of several mutually related topics at once--the harvest, the new principles for the drawing up of the budget, the reform of taxation, on which he is busy. the harvest has been a bad one, it seems. the peasants have been hit by blight and bad weather; not only they, but krippenreuther too, are much concerned about it, because the tax-paying resources of the land, he says, have once more suffered contraction. besides, there have unfortunately been disasters in more than one of the silver-mines. the gear is at a standstill, says krippenreuther, it is damaged and will cost a lot of money to repair. i listened to the whole recital with an appropriate expression on my face, and did what i could to express my grief for such a series of misfortunes. next, i was consulted as to whether the cost of the necessary new buildings for the treasury and for the woods and customs and inland revenue offices ought to be debited to the ordinary or the extraordinary estimates; i learnt a lot about sliding scales, and income tax, and tax on tourist traffic, and the removal of burdens from oppressed agriculture and the imposition of burdens on the towns; and on the whole i got the impression that krippenreuther was well up in his subject. i, of course, know practically nothing about it--which krippenreuther knows and approves; so i just said 'yes, yes,' and 'of course,' and 'many thanks,' and let him run on." "you speak so bitterly, albrecht." "no; i'll just tell you what struck me while krippenreuther was holding forth to me to-day. there's a man living in this town, a man with small private means and a warty nose. every child knows him and shouts 'hi!' when he sees him; he is called 'the hatter,' for he is not quite all there; his surname he has lost long ago. he is always on the spot when there is anything going on, although his half-wittedness keeps him from playing any serious part in anything; he wears a rose in his buttonhole, and carries his hat about on the end of his walking-stick. twice a day, about the time when a train starts, he goes to the station, taps the wheels, examines the luggage, and fusses about. then when the guard blows his whistle, 'the hatter' waves to the engine-driver, and the train starts. but 'the hatter' deludes himself into thinking that his waving sends the train off. that's like me. i wave, and the train starts. but it would start without me, and my waving makes no difference, it's mere silly show. i'm sick of it...." the brother and sister were silent. ditlinde looked at her lap in an embarrassed way, and klaus heinrich gazed, as he tugged at his little bow-shaped moustache, between her and the grand duke at the bright window. "i can quite follow you, albrecht," said he after a while, "though it is rather cruel of you to compare yourself and us with 'the hatter.' you see, i too understand nothing about sliding scales and taxation of tourist traffic and peat-cutting, and there is such a lot about which i know nothing--everything which is covered by the expression 'the misery in the world'--hunger and want, and the struggle for existence, as it is called, and war and hospital horrors, and all that. i have seen and studied not one of these, except death itself, when father died, and that too was not death as it can be, but rather it was edifying, and the whole schloss was illuminated. and at times i feel ashamed of myself because i have not knocked about the world. but then i tell myself that mine is not a comfortable life, not at all comfortable, although i 'wander on the heights of mankind,' as people express it, or perhaps just because i do, and that i perhaps in my own way know more about the strenuousness of life, its 'tight-lipped countenance,' if you will allow me the expression, than many a one who knows all about the sliding scales or any other single department of life. and the upshot of that is, albrecht, that my life is not a comfortable one--that's the upshot of everything--if you will allow me this retort, and that is how we justify ourselves. and if people cry 'hi!' when they see me, they must know why they do so, and my life must have some _raison d'être_, although i am prevented from playing any serious part in anything, as you so admirably express it. and you're quite justified too. you wave to order, because the people wish you to wave, and if you do not really control their wishes and aspirations, yet you express them and give them substance, and may be that's no slight matter." albrecht sat upright at the table. he held his thin, strangely sensitive-looking hands crossed on the table-edge in front of the tall, half-empty glass of milk, and his eyelids dropped, and he sucked his underlip against his upper. he answered quietly: "i'm not surprised that so popular a prince as you should be contented with his lot. i for my part decline to express somebody else in my own person--i decline to, say, and you may think it's a case of sour grapes as much as you like. the truth is that i care for the 'hi!' of the people just as little as any living soul possibly could care. i say soul, not body. the flesh is weak--there's something in one which expands at applause and contracts at cold silence. but my reason rises superior to all considerations of popularity or unpopularity. if i _did_ succeed in being a true national representative, i know what that would amount to. a misconception of my personality. besides, a few hand-claps from people one does not know are not worth a shrug of the shoulders. others--you--may be inspired by the feeling of the people behind you. you must forgive me for being too matter-of-fact to feel any such mysterious feeling of happiness--and too keen on cleanliness also, if you will allow me to put it thus. that kind of happiness stinks, to my thinking. anyhow, i'm a stranger to the people. i give them nothing--what can they give me? with you ... oh, that's quite different. hundreds of thousands, who are like you, are grateful to you because they can recognize themselves in you. you may laugh if you like. the chief danger you run is that you submerge yourself in your popularity too readily; and yet after all you feel no apprehensions, although you are aware at this very moment ..." "no, albrecht, i don't think so. i don't think i run any such danger." "then we shall understand each other all the better. i have no penchant for strong expressions as a rule. but popularity is hog-wash." "it's funny, albrecht. funny that you should use that word. the 'pheasants' were always using it--my schoolmates, the young sprigs, you know, at the 'pheasantry.' i know what you are. you're an aristocrat, that's what's the matter." "do you think so? you're wrong. i'm no aristocrat, i'm the opposite, by taste and reason. you must allow that i do not despise the 'hi's' of the crowd from arrogance, but from a propensity to humanity and goodness. human highness is a pitiable thing, and i'm convinced that mankind ought to see that everyone behaves like a man, and a good man, to his neighbour and does not humiliate him or cause him shame. a man must have a thick skin to be able to carry off all the flummery of highness without any feeling of shame. i am naturally rather sensitive, i cannot cope with the absurdity of my situation. every lackey who plants himself at the door, and expects me to pass him without noticing, without heeding him more than the door posts, fills me with embarrassment, that's the way i feel towards the people...." "yes, albrecht, quite true. it's often by no means easy to keep one's countenance when one passes by a fellow like that. the lackeys! if one only did not know what frauds they are! one hears fine stories about them...." "what stories?" "oh, one keeps one's ears open...." "come, come!" said ditlinde. "don't let's worry about that. here you are talking about ordinary things, and i had two topics noted down which i thought we might discuss this afternoon.... would you be so kind, klaus heinrich, as to reach me that notebook there in blue leather on the writing-table? many thanks. i note down in this everything i have to remember, both household matters and other things. what a blessing it is to be able to see everything down in black and white! my head is terribly weak, it can't remember things, and if i weren't tidy and didn't jot everything down, i should be done for. first of all, albrecht, before i forget it, i wanted to remind you that you must escort aunt catherine at the first court on november st--you can't get out of it. i withdraw; the honour fell to me at the last court ball, and aunt catherine was terribly put out.... do you consent? good, then i cross out item . secondly, klaus heinrich, i wanted to ask you to make a short appearance at the orphan children's bazaar on the th in the town hall. i am patroness, and i take my duties seriously, as you see. you needn't buy anything--a pocket comb.... in short, all you need do is to show yourself for ten minutes. it's for the orphans.... will you come? you see, now i can cross another off. thirdly ..." but the princess was interrupted. fräulein von isenschnibbe, the court lady, was announced and tripped in at once through the big drawing-room, her feather boa waving in the draught, and the brim of her huge feather hat flapping up and down. the smell of the fresh air from outside seemed to cling to her clothes. she was small, very fair, with a pointed nose, and so short-sighted that she could not see the stars. on clear evenings she would stand on her balcony and gaze at the starry heavens through opera-glasses, and rave about them. she wore two strong pairs of glasses, one behind the other, and screwed up her eyes and stuck her head forward as she curtseyed. "heavens, grand ducal highness," she said, "i didn't know; i'm disturbing you, i'm intruding. i most humbly beg pardon!" the brothers had risen, and the visitor, as she curtseyed to them, was filled with confusion. as albrecht extended his hand from his chest, keeping his forearm close to his body, her arm was stretched out almost perpendicularly, when the curtsey which she made him had reached its lowest point. "dear jettchen," said ditlinde, "what nonsense! you are expected and welcome, and my brothers know that we call each other by our christian names, so none of that grand ducal highness, if you please. we are not in the old schloss. sit down and make yourself comfortable. will you have some tea? it's still hot, and here are some candied fruits, i know you like them." "yes, a thousand thanks, ditlinde, i adore them!" and fräulein von isenschnibbe took a chair on the narrow side of the tea-table opposite klaus heinrich, with her back to the window, drew a glove off and began peering forward, to lay sweetmeats on her plate with the silver tongs. her little bosom heaved quickly and nervously with pleasurable excitement. "i've got some news," she said, unable any longer to contain herself. "news.... more than any reticule will hold! that is to say it is really only one piece of news, only one--but it's so weighty that it counts for dozens, and it is quite certain, i have it on the best authority--you know that i am reliable, ditlinde; this very evening it will be in the _courier_ and to-morrow the whole town will be talking about it." "yes, jettchen," said the princess, "it must be confessed you never come with empty hands; but now we're excited, do tell us your news." "very well. let me get my breath. do you know, ditlinde, does your royal highness know, does your grand ducal highness know who's coming, who is coming to the spa, who is coming for six or eight weeks to the spa hotel to drink the waters?" "no," said ditlinde, "but do you know, dear jettchen?" "spoelmann," said fräulein von isenschnibbe. "spoelmann," she said, leaned back and made as if to draw with her fingers on the table-edge, but checked the movement of her hand just over the blue silk border. the brothers and sister looked doubtfully at each other. "spoelmann?" asked ditlinde.... "think a moment, jettchen, the real spoelmann?" "the real one!" her voice cracked with suppressed jubilation. "the real one, ditlinde! for there's only one, or rather only one whom everybody knows, and he it is whom they are expecting at the spa hotel--the great spoelmann, the giant spoelmann, the colossus samuel n. spoelmann from america!" "but, child, what's bringing him here?" "really, forgive me for saying so, ditlinde, but what a question! his yacht or some big steamer is bringing him over the sea of course, he's on his holidays making a tour of europe and has expressed his intention of drinking the spa waters." "but is he ill, then?" "of course, ditlinde; all people of his kind are ill, that's part of the business." "strange," said klaus heinrich. "yes, grand ducal highness, it is remarkable. his kind of existence must bring that with it. for there's no doubt it's a trying existence, and not at all a comfortable one, and must wear the body out quicker than an ordinary man's life would. most suffer in the stomach, but spoelmann suffers from stone as everybody knows." "stone, does he?" "of course, ditlinde, you must have heard it and forgotten it. he has stone in the kidneys, if you will forgive me the horrid expression--a serious, trying illness, and i'm sure he can't get the slightest pleasure from his frantic wealth." "but how in the world has he pitched upon our waters?" "why, ditlinde, that's simple. the waters are good, they're excellent; especially the ditlinde spring, with its lithium or whatever they call it, is admirable against gout and stone, and only waiting to be properly known and valued throughout the world. but a man like spoelmann, you can imagine, a man like that is above names and trade-puffs, and follows his own kind. and so he has discovered our waters--or his physician has recommended them to him, it may be that, and bought it in the bottle, and it has done him good, and now he may think that it must do him still more good if he drinks it on the spot." they all kept silence. "great heavens, albrecht," said ditlinde at last, "whatever one thinks of spoelmann and his kind--and i'm not going to commit myself to an opinion, of that you may be sure--but don't you think that the man's visit to the spa may be very useful?" the grand duke turned his head with his stiff and refined smile. "ask fräulein von isenschnibbe," he answered. "she has doubtless already considered the question from that point of view." "if your royal highness asks me ... enormously useful! immeasurably, incalculably useful--that's obvious! the directors are in the seventh heaven, they're getting ready to decorate and illuminate the spa hotel! what a recommendation, what an attraction for strangers! will your royal highness just consider--the man is a curiosity! your grand ducal highness spoke just now of 'his kind'--but there are none of 'his kind'--at most, only a couple. he's a leviathan, a croesus! people will come from miles away to see a being who has about half a million a day to spend!" "gracious!" said ditlinde, taken aback. "and there's dear philipp worrying about his peat beds." "the first scene," the fräulein went on, "begins with two americans hanging about the exchange for the last couple of days. who are they? they are said to be journalists, reporters, for two big new york papers. they have preceded the leviathan, and are telegraphing to their papers preliminary descriptions of the scenery. when he has got here they will telegraph every step he takes--just as the _courier_ and the _advertiser_ report about your royal highness...." albrecht bowed his thanks with eyes downcast and underlip protruded. "he has appropriated the prince's suite in the spa hotel," said jettchen, "as provisional lodgings." "for himself alone?" asked ditlinde. "oh no, ditlinde, do you suppose he'd be coming alone? there isn't any precise information about his suite and staff, but it's quite certain that his daughter and his physician-in-ordinary are coming with him." "it annoys me, jettchen, to hear you talking about a 'physician-in-ordinary' and the journalists, too, and the prince's suite to boot. he's not a king, after all." "a railway king, so far as i know," remarked albrecht quietly with eyes downcast. "not only, nor even particularly, a railway king, royal highness, according to what i hear. over in america they have those great business concerns called trusts, as your royal highness knows--the steel trust for instance, the sugar trust, the petroleum trust, the coal, meat, and tobacco trusts, and goodness knows how many more, and samuel n. spoelmann has a finger in nearly all these trusts, and is chief shareholder in them, and managing director--that's what i believe they call them--so his business must be what is called over here a 'mixed goods business.'" "a nice sort of business," said ditlinde, "it must be a nice sort of business! for you can't persuade me, dear jettchen, that honest work can make a man into a leviathan and a croesus. i am convinced that his riches are steeped in the blood of widows and orphans. what do you think, albrecht?" "i hope so, ditlinde, i hope so, for your own and your husband's comfort." "may be so," explained jettchen, "yet spoelmann--our samuel n. spoelmann--is hardly responsible for it, for he is really nothing but an heir, and may quite well not have had any particular taste for his business. it was his father who really made the pile, i've read all about it, and may say that i really know the general facts. his father was a german--simply an adventurer who crossed the seas and became gold-digger. and he was lucky and made a little money through gold-finds--or rather quite a decent amount of money--and began to speculate in petroleum and steel and railways, and then in every sort of thing, and kept growing richer and richer, and when he died everything was already in full swing, and his son samuel, who inherited the croesus' firm, really had nothing to do but to collect the princely dividends and keep growing richer and richer till he beat all records. that's the way things have gone." "and he has a daughter, has he, jettchen? what's she like?" "yes, ditlinde, his wife is dead, but he has a daughter, miss spoelmann, and he's bringing her with him. she's a wonderful girl from all i've read about her. he himself is a bit of a mixture, for his father married a wife from the south--creole blood, the daughter of a german father and native mother. but samuel in his turn married a german-american of half-english blood, and their daughter is now miss spoelmann." "gracious, jettchen, she's a creature of many colours!" "you may well say so, ditlinde, and she's clever, so i've heard; she studies like a man--algebra, and puzzling things of that sort." "hm, that too doesn't attract me much." "but now comes the cream of the business, ditlinde, for miss spoelmann has a lady-companion, and that lady-companion is a countess, a real genuine countess, who dances attendance on her." "gracious!" said ditlinde, "she ought to be ashamed of herself. no, jettchen, my mind is made up. i'm not going to bother myself about spoelmann. i'm going to let him drink his waters and go, with his countess and his algebraical daughter, and am not going so much as to turn my head to look at him. he and his riches make no impression on me. what do you think, klaus heinrich?" klaus heinrich looked past jettchen's head at the bright window. "impression?" he said.... "no, riches make no impression on me, i think--i mean, riches in the ordinary way. but it seems to me that it depends ... it depends, i think, on the standard. we too have one or two rich people in the town here--soap-boiler unschlitt must be a millionaire.... i often see him in his carriage. he's dreadfully fat and common. but when a man is quite ill and lonely from mere riches ... maybe ..." "an uncomfortable sort of man anyhow," said ditlinde, and the subject of the spoelmanns gradually dropped. the conversation turned on family matters, the "hohenried" property, and the approaching season. shortly before seven o'clock the grand duke sent for his carriage. prince klaus heinrich was going too, so they all got up and said good-bye. but while the brothers were being helped into their coats in the hall, albrecht said: "i should be obliged, klaus heinrich, if you would send your coachman home and would give me the pleasure of your company for a quarter of an hour longer. i've got a matter of some importance to discuss with you--i might come with you to the hermitage, but i can't bear the evening air." klaus heinrich clapped his heels together as he answered: "no, albrecht, you mustn't think of it! i'll drive to the schloss with you if you like. i am of course at your disposal." this was the prelude to a remarkable conversation between the young princes, the upshot of which was published a few days later in the _advertiser_ and received with general approval. the prince accompanied the grand duke to the schloss, through the albrechtstor, up broad stone steps, through corridors where naked gas lamps were burning, and silent ante-rooms, between lackeys into albrecht's "closet," where old prahl had lighted the two bronze oil-lamps on the mantelpiece. albrecht had taken over his father's work-room--it had always been the work-room of the reigning sovereigns, and lay on the first floor between an aide-de-camp's room and the dining-room in daily use facing the albrechtsplatz, which the princes had always overlooked and watched from their writing-table. it was an exceptionally unhomely and repellent room, small, with cracked ceiling-paintings, red silk and gold-bordered carpet, and three windows reaching to the ground, through which the draught blew keenly and before which the claret-coloured curtains with their elaborate fringes were drawn. it had a false chimney-piece in french empire taste, in front of which a semicircle of little modern quilted plush chairs without arms were arranged, and a hideously decorated white stove, which gave out a great heat. two big quilted sofas stood opposite each other by the walls, and in front of one stood a square book-table with a red plush cover. between the windows two narrow gold-framed mirrors with marble ledges reached up to the ceiling, the right hand one of which bore a fairly cheerful alabaster group, the other a water bottle and medicine glasses. the writing-desk, an old piece made of rose-wood with a roll-top and metal clasps, stood clear in the middle of the room on the red carpet. an antique stared down with its dead eyes from a pedestal in one corner of the room. "what i have to suggest to you," said albrecht--he was standing at the writing-table, unconsciously toying with a paper-knife, a silly thing like a cavalry-sabre with a grotesque handle, "is directly connected with our conversation this afternoon. i may begin by saying that i discussed the matter thoroughly with knobelsdorff this summer at hollerbrunn. he agrees, and if you do too, as i don't doubt you will, i can carry out my intention at once." "please let's hear it, albrecht," said klaus heinrich, who was standing at attention in a military attitude by the sofa table. "my health," continued the grand duke, "has been getting worse and worse lately." "i'm very sorry, albrecht--hollerbrunn didn't agree with you, then?" "thanks, no, i'm in a bad way, and my health is showing itself increasingly unequal to the demands made upon it. when i say 'demands,' i mean chiefly the duties of a ceremonial and representative nature which are inseparable from my position--and that's the bond of connexion with the conversation we had just now at ditlinde's. the performance of these duties may be a happiness when a contact with the people, a relationship, a beating of hearts in unison exists. to me it is a torture, and the falseness of my rôle wearies me to such a degree that i must consider what measures i can take to counteract it. in this--so far as the bodily part of me is concerned--i am at one with my doctors, who entirely agree with my proposal--so listen to me. i'm unmarried. i have no idea, i can assure you, of ever marrying; i shall have no children. you are heir to the throne by right of birth, you are still more so in the consciousness of the people, who love you...." "there you are, albrecht, always talking about my being beloved. i simply don't believe it. at a distance, perhaps--that's the way with us. it's always at a distance that we are beloved." "you're too modest. wait a bit. you've already been kind enough to relieve me of some of my representative duties now and then. i should like you to relieve me of all of them absolutely, for always." "you're not thinking of abdicating, albrecht?" asked klaus heinrich, aghast. "i daren't think of it. believe me, i gladly would, but i shouldn't be allowed to. what i'm thinking of is not a regency, but only a substitution--perhaps you have some recollection of the distinction in public law from your student's days--a permanent and officially established substitution in all representative functions, warranted by the need of indulgence required by my state of health. what is your opinion?" "i'm at your orders, albrecht. but i'm not quite clear yet. how far does the substitution extend?" "oh, as far as possible. i should like it to extend to all occasions on which a personal appearance in public is expected of me. knobelsdorff stipulates that i should only devolve the opening and closure of parliament on you when i'm bedridden, only now and again. let's grant that. but otherwise you would be my substitute on all ceremonial occasions, on journeys, visits to cities, opening of public festivities, opening of the citizens' ball...." "that too?" "why not? we have also the weekly free audiences here--a sensible custom without a doubt, but it tires me out. you would hold the audiences in my place. i needn't go on. do you accept my proposal?" "i am at your orders." "then listen to me while i finish. for every occasion on which you act as my representative, i lend you my aides-de-camp. it is further necessary that your military promotion should be hastened--are you first lieutenant? you'll be made a captain or a major straight away _à la suite_ of your regiment--i'll see to that; but in the third place, i wish duly to emphasize our arrangement, to make your position at my side properly clear, by lending you the title of 'royal highness.' there were some formalities to attend to. knobelsdorff has already seen to them. i'm going to express my intentions in the form of two missives to you and to my minister of state. knobelsdorff has already drafted them. do you accept?" "what am i to say, albrecht? you are father's eldest son, and i've always looked up to you because i've always felt and known that you are the superior and higher of us two and that i am only a plebeian compared with you. but if you think me worthy to stand at your side and to bear your title and to represent you before the people, although i don't think myself anything like so presentable, and have this deformity here, with my left hand, which i've always got to keep covered--then i thank you and put myself at your orders." "then i'll ask you to leave me now, please; i want to rest." they advanced towards each other, the one from the writing-table, the other from the book-table, over the carpet into the middle of the room. the grand duke extended his hand to his brother--his thin, cold hand which he stretched out from his chest without moving his forearm away from his body. klaus heinrich clapped his heels together and bowed as he took the hand, and albrecht nodded his narrow head with its fair beard as a token of dismissal, while he sucked his short, rounded lower lip against the upper. klaus heinrich went back to the schloss "hermitage." both the _advertiser_ and the _courier_ published eight days later the two missives, which contained decisions of the highest importance, the one addressed to "my dear minister of state, baron von knobelsdorff," and the other beginning with "most serene highness and well-beloved brother," and signed "your royal highness's most devoted brother albrecht." vi the lofty calling here follows a description of klaus heinrich's mode of life and profession and their peculiarities. on a typical occasion he stepped out of his carriage, walked with cloak thrown back down a short passage through cheering crowds over a pavement which was covered with red carpet, through a laurel-decked house-door, over which an awning had been erected, up a staircase flanked by pairs of candle-bearing footmen.... he was on his way to a festival dinner, covered to his hips with orders, the fringed epaulettes of a major on his narrow shoulders, and was followed by his suite along the gothic corridor of the town hall. two servants hurried in front of him and quickly opened an old window which rattled in its lead fastenings; for down below in the market-place stood the people, wedged together head to head, an oblique tract of upturned faces, dimly illuminated by smoky torchlight. they cheered and sang, and he stood at the open window and bowed, displayed himself to the general enthusiasm for a while and nodded his thanks. there was nothing really everyday, nor was there anything really actual, about his life; it consisted of a succession of moments of enthusiasm. wherever he went there was holiday, there the people were transfigured and glorified, there the grey work-a-day world cleared up and became poetry. the starveling became a sleek man, the hovel a homely cottage, dirty gutter-children changed into chaste little maidens and boys in sunday clothes, their hair plastered with water, a poem on their lips, and the perspiring citizen in frock-coat and top-hat was moved to emotion by the consciousness of his own worth. but not only he, klaus heinrich, saw the world in this light, but it saw itself too, as long as his presence lasted. a strange unreality and speciousness prevailed in places where he exercised his calling; a symmetrical, transitory window-dressing, an artificial and inspiring disguising of the reality by pasteboard and gilded wood, by garlands, lamps, draperies, and bunting, was conjured up for one fair hour, and he himself stood in the centre of the show on a carpet, which covered the bare ground, between masts painted in two colours, round which garlands twined--stood with heels together in the odour of varnish and fir-branches, and smiled with his left hand planted on his hip. he laid the foundation stone of a new town hall. the citizens had, after juggling with the figures, got together the necessary sum, and a learned architect from the capital had been entrusted with the building. but klaus heinrich undertook the laying of the foundation stone. amid the cheers of the population he drove up to the noble pavilion which had been built on the site, stepped lightly and collectedly out of the open carriage on to the ground, which had been rolled and sprinkled with yellow sand, and walked all alone towards the official personages in frock-coats and white ties who were waiting for him at the entrance. he asked for the architect to be presented to him, and, in full view of the public and with the officials standing with fixed smiles round him, he conducted a conversation with him for five full minutes, a conversation of weighty commonplaces about the advantages of the different styles of architecture, after which he made a decided movement, which he had meditated to himself beforehand during the conversation, and allowed himself to be conducted over the carpet and plank steps to his seat on the edge of the middle platform. there, in his chain and stars, one foot advanced, his white-gloved hands crossed on his sword hilt, his helmet on the ground beside him, visible to the holiday crowd on every side, he sat and listened with calm demeanour to the lord mayor's speech. thereupon, when they came to the request, he rose, walked, without noticeable precaution and without looking at his feet, down the steps to where the foundation stone lay, and with a little hammer gave three slow taps to the block of sandstone, at the same time repeating in the deep hush, with his rather sharp voice, a sentence which herr von knobelsdorff had previously impressed upon him. school children sang in shrill chorus, and klaus heinrich drove away. on the anniversary of the war of independence he marched in front of the veterans. a grey-haired officer shouted in a voice which seemed hoarse with the smoke of gunpowder: "halt! off hats! eyes right!" and they stood, with medals and crosses on their coats, the rough beavers in their hands, and looked up at him with blood-shot eyes like those of a hound as he walked by with a friendly look, and paused by one or two to ask where they had served, where they had been under fire.... he attended the gymnastic display, graced the sports with his presence, and had the victors presented to him for a short conversation. the lithe athletic youths stood awkwardly before him, just after they had done the most astonishing feats, and klaus heinrich quickly strung together a few technical remarks, which he remembered from herr zotte, and which he uttered with great fluency, the while he hid his left hand. he attended the five houses' fishing festival, he was present in his red-covered seat of honour at the grimmburg horse-races and distributed the prizes. he accepted, too, the honorary presidency and patronage of the associated rifle competition; he attended the prize-meeting of the privileged grand ducal rifle club. he "responded cordially to the toast of welcome," in the words of the _courier_, by holding the silver cup for one moment to his lips, and then with heels clapped together, raising it towards the marksmen. thereupon he fired several shots at the target of honour, concerning which there was nothing said in the reports as to where they hit; next ploughed through one and the same dialogue with three successive men, about the advantages of rifle-firing, which in the _courier_ was described as a "general conversation," and at last took leave with a hearty "good luck!" which evoked indescribable enthusiasm. this formula had been whispered to him at the last moment by adjutant-general von hühnemann, who had made inquiries on the subject; for of course it would have had a bad effect, would have shattered the fair illusion of technical knowledge and serious enthusiasm, if klaus heinrich had wished the marksmen "excelsior" and the alpine club "bull's-eyes every time!" as a general rule he needed in the exercise of his calling a certain amount of technical knowledge, which he acquired for each succeeding occasion, with a view to applying it at the right moment and in suitable form. it consisted preponderatingly of the technical terms current in the different departments of human activity as well as of historical dates, and before setting out on an official expedition klaus heinrich used to work up the necessary information at home in the hermitage with the help of pamphlets and oral instructions. when he in the name of the grand duke, "my most gracious brother," unveiled the statue of johann albrecht at knüppelsdorf, he delivered on the scene of festivities, directly after a performance by the massed choirs of the "wreath of harmony," a speech in which everything he had noted down about knüppelsdorf was dragged in, and which produced the delightful impression everywhere that he had busied himself all his life with nothing so much as the historical vicissitudes of that hub of civilization. in the first place, knüppelsdorf was a city, and klaus heinrich alluded to that three times, to the pride of the inhabitants. he went on to say that the city of knüppelsdorf, as her historical past witnessed, had been connected by bonds of loyalty to the house of grimmburg for several centuries. as long ago as the fourteenth century, he said, langrave heinrich xv, the rutensteiner, had signalled out knüppelsdorf for special favour. he, the rutensteiner, had lived in the schloss built on the neighbouring rutensteine, whose girdle of proud towers and strong walls had sent its greeting to the country for miles round. then he reminded his hearers how through inheritance and marriage knüppelsdorf had at last come into the branch of the family to which his brother and he himself belonged. heavy storms had in the course of years burst over knüppelsdorf. years of war, conflagration, and pestilence had visited it, yet it had always risen again and had always remained loyal to the house of its hereditary princes. and this characteristic the knüppelsdorf of to-day proved that it possessed by raising a memorial to his, klaus heinrich's, beloved father, and it would be with unusual pleasure that he would report to his gracious brother the dazzling and hearty reception which he, as his representative, had here experienced.... the veil fell, the massed choirs of the "wreath of harmony" again did their best. and klaus heinrich stood smiling, under his theatrical tent, with a feeling of having exhausted his store of knowledge, happy in the certainty that nobody dare question him further. for he couldn't have said one blessed word more about knüppelsdorf! how tiring his life was, how strenuous! sometimes he felt as if he had constantly to keep upright, at a great strain to his elasticity, something which it was quite impossible, or possible only in favourable conditions, to keep upright. sometimes his calling seemed to him a wretched and paltry one, although he liked it and gladly undertook every expedition required of him in his representative capacity. he travelled miles to an agricultural exhibition, travelled in a badly hung cart from schloss "hermitage" to the station, where the premier, the chief of police, and the directors of the railway company awaited him at the saloon carriage. he travelled for an hour and a half, the while carrying on, not without difficulty, a conversation with the grand ducal adjutants, who had been attached to him, and the agricultural commissioner, assistant secretary heckepfeng, a severe and respectful man who also accompanied him. then he reached the station of the city which had organized the agricultural exhibition. the mayor, with a chain over his shoulders, was awaiting him at the head of six or seven other official persons. the station was decorated with a quantity of fir-branches and festoons. in the back-ground stood the plaster busts of albrecht and klaus heinrich in a frame of greenery. the public behind the barriers gave three cheers, and the bells pealed. the mayor read an address of welcome to klaus heinrich. he thanked him, he said, brandishing his top-hat in his hand, he thanked him on behalf of the city for all the favour which klaus heinrich's brother and he himself showed them, and heartily wished him a long and blessed reign. he also begged the prince twice over graciously to crown the work which had prospered so famously under his patronage, and to open the agricultural exhibition. this mayor bore the title of agricultural councillor, a fact of which klaus heinrich had been apprised, and on account of which he addressed him thus three times in his answer. he said that he was delighted that the work of the agricultural exhibition had prospered so famously under his patronage. (as a matter of fact he had forgotten that he was patron of this exhibition.) he had come to put the finishing touch that day to the great work, by opening the exhibition. then he inquired as to four things: as to the economical circumstances of the city, the increase in the population in recent years, as to the labour-market (although he had no very clear idea what the labour-market was), and as to the price of victuals. when he heard that the price of victuals was high, he "viewed the matter in a serious light," and that of course was all he could do. nobody expected anything more of him, and it came as a comfort to everybody that he had viewed the high prices in a serious light. then the mayor presented the city dignitaries to him: the higher district judge, a noble landed proprietor from the neighbourhood, the rector, the two doctors, and a forwarding agent, and klaus heinrich addressed a question to each, thinking over, while the answer came, what he should say to the next. the local veterinary surgeon and the local inspector of stock-breeding were also present. finally they climbed into carriages, and drove, amid the cheers of the inhabitants, between fences of school-children, firemen, the patriotic societies, through the gaily decked city to the exhibition ground--not without being stopped once more at the gate by white-robed maidens with wreaths on their heads, one of whom, the mayor's daughter, handed to the prince in his carriage a bouquet with white satin streamers, and in lasting memory of the moment received one of those pretty and valuable gew-gaws which klaus heinrich took with him on his journeys, a breast-pin embedded, for a reason she could not guess, in _velvet_ (sammet), which figured in the _courier_ as a jewel mounted in gold. tents, pavilions, and stands had been erected on the ground. gaudy pennons fluttered on long rows of poles strung together with festoons. on a wooden platform hung with bunting, between drapings, festoons, and parti-coloured flagstaffs, klaus heinrich read the short opening speech. and then began the tour of inspection. there were cattle tethered to low crossbars, prize beasts of the best blood with smooth round particoloured bodies and numbered shields on their broad foreheads. there were horses stamping and snuffing, heavy farm-horses with roman noses and bushes of hair round their pasterns, as well as slender, restless saddle horses. there were naked short-legged pigs, and a large selection of both ordinary and prize pigs. with dangling bellies they grubbed up the ground with their snouts, while great blocks of woolly sheep filled the air with a confused chorus of bass and treble. there were ear-splitting exhibits of poultry, cocks and hens of every kind, from the big brahmaputra to the copper-coloured bantam; ducks and pigeons of all sorts, eggs and fodder, both fresh and artificially preserved. there were exhibits of agricultural produce, grain of all sorts, beets and clover, potatoes, peas, and flax; vegetables, too, both fresh and dried; raw and preserved fruit; berries, marmalade, and syrups. lastly there were exhibits of agricultural implements and machines, displayed by several technical firms, provided with everything of service to agriculture, from the hand-plough to the great black-funnelled motors, looking like elephants in their stall, from the simplest and most intelligible objects to those which consisted of a maze of wheels, chains, rods, cylinders, arms, and teeth--a world, an entire overpowering world of ingenious utility. klaus heinrich looked at everything; he walked, with his sword-hilt on his forearm, down the rows of animals, cages, sacks, tubs, glasses, and implements. the dignitary at his side pointed with his white-gloved hand to this and that, venturing on a remark from time to time, and klaus heinrich acted up to his calling. he expressed in words his appreciation of all he saw, stopped from time to time and engaged the exhibitors of the animals in conversation, inquired in an affable way into their circumstances, and put questions to the country people whose answers entailed a scratching behind their ears. and as he walked he bowed his thanks on both sides for the homage of the population which lined his path. the people had collected most thickly at the exit, where the carriages were waiting, in order to watch him drive off. a way was kept free for him, a straight passage to the step of his landau, and he walked quickly down it, bowing continuously with his hand to his helmet--alone and formally separated from all those men who, in honouring him, were cheering their own archetype, their standard, and of whose lives, work, and ability he was the splendid representative, though not participator. with a light and free step he mounted the carriage, settled himself artistically so that he at once assumed a perfectly graceful and self-possessed pose, and drove, saluting as he went, to the clubhouse, where luncheon was prepared. during luncheon--indeed, directly after the second course--the district judge proposed the health of the grand duke and the prince, whereupon klaus heinrich at once rose to drink to the welfare of the county, and city. after the luncheon, however, he retired to the room which the mayor had put at his disposal in his official residence and lay down on the bed for an hour, for the exercise of his calling exhausted him in a strange degree, and that afternoon he was due not only to visit in that city the church, the school, and various factories, especially behnke brothers' cheese factory, and to express high satisfaction with everything, but also to extend his journey and visit a scene of disaster, a burnt-out village, in order to express to the villagers his brother's and his own sympathy, and to cheer the afflicted by his exalted presence. when he got back to the "hermitage," to his soberly furnished empire room, he read the newspaper accounts of his expeditions. then privy councillor schustermann of the press bureau, which was under the home secretary, appeared in the "hermitage," and brought the extracts from the papers, cleanly pasted on white sheets, dated and labelled with the name of the paper. and klaus heinrich read about the impression he had produced, read about his personal graciousness and highness, read that he had acquitted himself nobly and taken the hearts of young and old by storm--that he had raised the minds of the people out of the ruck of everyday and filled them with gladness and affection. and then he gave free audiences in the old schloss, as it had been arranged. the custom of free audiences had been introduced by a well-meaning ancestor of albrecht ii, and the people clung to it. once every week albrecht, or klaus in his place, was accessible to everybody. whether the petitioner was a man of rank or not, whether the subject of his petitions were of a public or personal nature--he had only to give in his name to herr von bühl, or even the aide-de-camp on duty, and he was given an opportunity of bringing his matter to notice in the highest quarters. indeed an admirable custom! for it meant that the petitioner did not have to go round by way of a written application, with the dismal prospect of his petition disappearing for ever into a pigeon-hole, but had the happy assurance that his application would go straight to the most exalted quarters. it must be admitted that the most exalted quarters--klaus heinrich at this time--naturally were not in a position to go into the matter, to scrutinize it seriously and to come to a decision upon it, but that they handed the matter on to the pigeon-holes, in which it "disappeared." but the custom was none the less helpful, though not in the sense of matter-of-fact utility. the citizen, the petitioner, came to herr von bühl with the request to be received, and a day and hour were fixed for him. with glad embarrassment he saw the day draw near, worked up in his own mind the sentences in which he intended to explain his business, had his frock-coat and his hat ironed, put on his best shirt, and generally made himself ready. but in reality these solemn interviews were well calculated to turn the petitioner's thoughts away from the gross material end in view, and to make the reception itself seem to him the main point, the essential object of his excited anticipation. the hour came, and the citizen took, what he never otherwise took, a cab, in order not to dirty his clean boots. he drove between the lions at the albrechtstor, and the sentries as well as the stalwart doorkeeper gave him free passage. he landed in the courtyard at the colonnade in front of the weather-beaten entrance, and was at once admitted by a lackey in a brown coat and sand-coloured gaiters to an ante-room on the ground floor to the left, in one corner of which was a stand of colours, and where a number of other supplicants, talking in low whispers, waited in a state of thoughtful tension for their reception. the aide-de-camp, holding a list of those with appointments, went backwards and forwards and took the next on the list to one side, to instruct him in a low voice how to behave. in a neighbouring room, called the "free audience room," klaus heinrich, in his tunic with silver collar and several stars, stood at a round table with three golden legs, and received. major von platow gave him some superficial information about the identity of each petitioner, called the man in, and came back in the pauses, to prompt the prince in a few words about the next comer. and the citizen walked in; with the blood in his head and perspiring slightly he stood before klaus heinrich. it had been impressed on him that he was not to go too near his royal highness, but must keep at a certain distance, that he must not speak without being spoken to, and even then must not gabble off all he had to say, but answer concisely, so as to leave the prince material for his questions; that he must at the conclusion withdraw backwards and without showing the prince his backside. the result was that the citizen's whole attention was centred on not breaking any of the rules given him, but for his part contributing to the smooth and harmonious progress of the interview. klaus heinrich questioned him in the same way as he was wont to question the veterans, the marksmen, the gymnasts, the countrymen, and the victims of the fire, smiling, and with his left hand planted well back on his hip; and the citizen too smiled involuntarily--and was imbued with a feeling as if that smile lifted him far above the troubles which had held him prisoner. that common man, whose spirit otherwise cleaved to the dust, who gave a thought to nothing, not even to everyday politeness, beyond what was purely utilitarian, and had come here too with a definite object in view--he felt in his heart that there was something higher than business and his business in particular, and he left the schloss elevated, purified, with eyes dim with emotion and the smile still on his flushed face. that was the way in which klaus heinrich gave free audiences, that the way in which he exercised his exalted calling. he lived at the "hermitage" in his little refuge, the empire room, which was furnished so stiffly and meagrely, with cool indifference to comfort and intimacy. faded silk covered the walls above the white wainscot, glass chandeliers hung from the ugly ceiling, straight-lined sofas, mostly without tables, and thin-legged stands supporting marble clocks, stood along the walls, pairs of white-lacquered chairs, with oval backs and thin silk upholstery, flanked the white-lacquered folding-doors, and in the corner stood white-lacquered loo-tables, bearing vase-like candelabra. that was how klaus heinrich's room looked, and its master harmonized well with it. he lived a detached and quiet life, feeling no enthusiasm or zeal for questions on which the public differed. as representative of his brother, he opened parliament, but he took no personal part in its proceedings and avoided the yeas and nays of party divisions--with the disinterestedness and want of convictions proper to one whose position was above all parties. everybody recognized that his station imposed reserve upon him, but many were of opinion that want of interest was rather repellently and insultingly visible in his whole bearing. many who came in contact with him described him as "cold"; and when doctor ueberbein loudly refuted this "coldness," people wondered whether the one-sided and morose man was qualified to form an opinion on the point. of course there were occasions when klaus heinrich's glance met looks which refused to recognize him--bold, scornful, invidious looks, which showed contempt for and ignorance of all his actions and exertions. but even in the well-disposed, loyal people, who showed themselves ready to esteem and honour his life, he remarked at times after a short while a certain exhaustion, indeed irritation, as if they could no longer breathe in the atmosphere of his existence; and that worried klaus heinrich, though he did not know how he could prevent it. he had no place in the everyday world; a greeting from him, a gracious word, a winning and yet dignified wave of the hand, were all weighty and decisive incidents. once he was returning in cap and greatcoat from a ride, was riding slowly on his brown horse florian, down the birch avenue which skirted the waste-land and led to the park and the "hermitage," and in front of him there walked a shabbily dressed young man with a fur cap and a ridiculous tuft of hair on his neck, sleeves and trousers that were too short for him, and unusually large feet which he turned inwards as he walked. he looked like the student of a technical institute or something of that sort, for he carried a drawing-board under his arm, on which was pinned a big drawing, a symmetrical maze of lines in red and black ink, a projection or something of the sort. klaus heinrich held his horse back behind the young man for a good while, and examined the red and black projection on the drawing-board. sometimes he thought how nice it must be to have a proper surname, to be called doctor smith, and to have a serious calling. he played his part at court functions, the big and small balls, the dinner, the concerts, and the great court. he joined in autumn in the court's shoots with his red-haired cousins and his suite, for custom's sake and although his left arm made shooting difficult for him. he was often seen in the evening in the court theatre, in his red-ledged proscenium-box between the two female sculptures with the crossed hands and the stern, empty faces. for the theatre attracted him, he loved it, loved to look at the players, to watch how they behaved, walked off and on, and went through with their parts. as a rule he thought them bad, rough in the means they employed to please, and unpractised in the more subtle dissembling of the natural and artless. for the rest, he was disposed to prefer humble and popular scenes to the exalted and ceremonious. a soubrette called mizzi meyer was engaged at the "vaudeville" theatre in the capital, who in the newspapers and on the lips of the public was never called anything but "our" meyer, because of her boundless popularity with high and low. she was not beautiful, hardly pretty, her voice was a screech, and, strictly speaking, she could lay claim to no special gifts. and yet she had only to come on to the stage to evoke storms of approbation, applause, and encouragement. for this fair and compact person with her blue eyes, her broad, high cheek-bones, her healthy, jolly, even a little uproarious manner, was flesh of the people's flesh, and blood of their blood. so long as she, dressed up, painted, and lighted up from every side, faced the crowd from the boards, she was in very deed the glorification of the people itself--indeed, the people clapped itself when it clapped her, and in that alone lay mizzi meyer's power over men's souls. klaus heinrich was very fond of going with herr von braunbart-schellendorf to the "vaudeville" when mizzi meyer was playing, and joined heartily in the applause. * * * * * one day he had a rencontre which on the one hand gave him food for thought, on the other disillusioned him. it was with martini, axel martini, the compiler of the two books of poetry which had been so much praised by the experts, "evoë!" and "the holy life." the meeting came about in the following way. in the capital lived a wealthy old man, a privy councillor, who, since his retirement from the state service, had devoted his life to the advancement of the fine arts, especially poetry. he was founder of what was known as the "may-combat"--a poetical tournament which recurred every year in springtime, to which the privy councillor invited poets and poetesses by circulars and posters. prizes were offered for the tenderest love-song, the most fervent religious poem, the most ardent patriotic song, for the happiest lyrical effusions in praise of music, the forest, the spring, the joy of life--and these prizes consisted of sums of money, supplemented by judicious and valuable souvenirs, such as golden pens, golden breast-pins in the form of lyres or flowers, and more of the same kind. the city authorities also had founded a prize, and the grand duke gave a silver cup as a reward for the most absolutely admirable of all poems sent in. the founder of the "may-combat" himself, who was responsible for the first look-through the always numerous entries, shared with two university professors and the editors of the literary supplements of the _courier_ and the _people_ the duties of prize-judges. the prize-winners and the highly commended entries were printed and published regularly in the form of an annual at the expense of the privy councillor. now axel martini had taken part in the "may-combat" this year, and had come off victorious. the poem which he had sent in, an inspired hymn of praise to the joy of life, or rather a highly tempestuous outbreak of the joy of life itself, a ravishing hymn to the beauty and awfulness of life, was conceived in the style of both his books and had given rise to discord in the board of judges. the privy councillor himself and the professor of philology had been for dismissing it with a notice of commendation; for they considered it exaggerated in expression, coarse in its passion, and in places frankly repulsive. but the professor of literary history together with the editors had out-voted them, not only in view of the fact that martini's contribution represented the best poem to the joy of life, but also in consideration of its undeniable pre-eminence, and in the end their two opponents too had not been able to resist the appeal of its foaming and stunning flow of words. so axel martini had been awarded fifteen pounds, a gold breast-pin in the form of a lyre, and the grand duke's silver cup as well, and his poem had been printed first in the annual, surrounded with an artistic frame from the hand of professor von lindemann. what was more, the custom was for the victor (or victrix) in the "may-combat" to be received in audience by the grand duke; and as albrecht was unwell, this task fell to his brother. klaus heinrich was a little afraid of herr martini. "oh dear, doctor ueberbein," he said when he met his tutor one day, "what subject am i to tackle him on? he's sure to be a wild, brazen-faced fellow." but doctor ueberbein answered: "anything; but, klaus heinrich, you need not worry! he's a very decent fellow. i know him, i'm rather in with his set. you'll get on splendidly with him." so klaus heinrich received the poet of the "joy of life," received him at the "hermitage," so as to give the business as private a character as possible. "in the yellow room, braunbart if you please," he said, "that's the most presentable one for occasions like this." there were three handsome chairs in this room, which indeed were the only valuable pieces of furniture in the schloss, heavy empire arm-chairs of mahogany, with spiral arms and yellow upholstery on which blue-green lyres were embroidered. klaus heinrich on this occasion did not dispose himself ready for an audience, but waited in some anxiety near by, until axel martini on his side had waited for seven or eight minutes in the yellow room. then he walked in hastily, almost hurriedly, and advanced towards the poet, who made a low bow. "i am very much pleased to make your acquaintance," he said, "dear sir ... dear doctor, i believe?" "no, royal highness," answered axel martini in an asthmatic voice, "not doctor, i've no title." "oh, forgive me ... i assumed ... let's sit down, dear herr martini. i am, as i have said, delighted to be able to congratulate you on your great success...." herr martini drew down the corners of his mouth. he sat down on the edge of one of the mahogany arm-chairs, at the uncovered table, round whose edge ran a gold border, and crossed his feet, which were cased in cracked patent-leather boots. he was in frock-coat and wore yellow gloves. his collar was frayed at the edges. he had rather staring eyes, thin cheeks and a dark yellow moustache, which was clipped like a hedge. his hair was already quite grey on the temples, although according to the "may-combat" annual he was not more than thirty years old, and under his eyes glowed patches of red which did not suggest robust health. he answered to klaus heinrich's congratulations: "your royal highness is very kind. it was not a difficult victory. perhaps it was hardly tactful of me to compete." klaus heinrich did not understand this; but he said: "i have read your poem repeatedly with great pleasure. it seems to me a complete success, as regards both metre and rhyme. and it entirely expresses the 'joy of life.'" herr martini bowed in his chair. "your skill," continued klaus heinrich, "must be a source of great pleasure to you--an ideal recreation. what is your calling, herr martini?" herr martini showed that he did not understand, by describing a note of interrogation with the upper half of his body. "i mean your main calling. are you in the civil service?" "no, royal highness, i have no calling; i occupy myself exclusively with poetry...." "none at all.... oh, i understand. so unusual a gift deserves that a man's whole powers be devoted to it." "i don't know about that, royal highness. whether it deserves it or not, i don't know. i must own that i had no choice. i have always felt myself entirely unsuited to every other branch of human activity. it seems to me that this undoubted and unconditional unsuitability for everything else is the sole proof and touchstone of the poetical calling--indeed, that a man must not see in poetry any calling, but only the expression and refuge of that unsuitability." it was a peculiarity with herr martini that when he talked tears came into his eyes just like a man who comes out of the cold into a warm room and lets the heat stream through and melt his limbs. "that's a singular idea," said klaus heinrich. "not at all, royal highness. i beg your pardon, no, not singular at all. it's an idea which is very generally accepted. what i say is nothing new." "and for how long have you been living only for poetry? i suppose you were once a student?" "not exactly, royal highness; no, the unsuitability to which i alluded before began to show itself in me at an early age. i couldn't get on at school. i left it without passing my 'final.' i went up to the university with the full intention of taking it later, but i never did. and when my first volume of poems attracted a good deal of attention, it no longer suited my dignity to do so, if i may say so." "of course not.... but did your parents then agree to your choice of a career?" "oh no, royal highness! i must say to my parents' credit that they by no means agreed to it. i come of a good stock: my father was solicitor to the treasury. he's dead now, but he was solicitor to the treasury. he naturally disliked my choice of a career so much that till his death he would never give me a farthing. i lived at daggers drawn with him, although i had the greatest respect for him because of his strictness." "oh, so you've had a hard time of it, herr martini, you've had to struggle through. i can well believe that you must have knocked about a good deal!" "not so, royal highness! no, that would have been horrid, i couldn't have stood it. my health is delicate--i dare not say 'unfortunately,' for i am convinced that my talent is inseparably connected with my bodily infirmity. neither my body nor my talent could have survived hunger and harsh winds, and they have not had to survive them. my mother was weak enough to provide me behind my father's back with the means of life, modest but adequate means. i owe it to her that my talent has been able to develop under fairly favourable conditions." "the result has shown, herr martini, that they were the right conditions.... although it is difficult to say now what actually are good conditions. permit me to suppose that if your mother had shown herself as strict as your father, and you had been alone in the world, and left entirely to your own resources ... don't you think that it might have been to a certain extent a good thing for you? that you might have got a peep at things, so to speak, which have escaped you as it is?" "people like me, royal highness, get peeps enough without having actually to know what hunger is; and the idea is fairly generally accepted that it is not actual hunger, but rather hunger for the actual ... ha, ha!... which talent requires." herr martini had been obliged to laugh a little at his play upon words. he now quickly raised one yellow-gloved hand to his mouth with the hedge-like moustache, and improved his laugh into a cough. klaus heinrich watched him with a look of princely expectancy. "if your royal highness will allow me.... it is a well-known fact that the want of actuality for such as me is the seed-ground of all talent, the fountain of inspiration, indeed our suggestive genius. enjoyment of life is forbidden to us, strictly forbidden, we have no illusions as to that--and by enjoyment of life i mean not only happiness, but also sorrow, passion, in short every serious tie with life. the representation of life claims all our forces, especially when those forces are not allotted to us in overabundant measure"--and herr martini coughed, drawing his shoulders repeatedly forward as he did so. "renunciation," he added, "is our compact with the muse, in it reposes our strength, our value; and life is our forbidden garden, our great temptation, to which we yield sometimes, but never to our profit." the flow of words had again brought tears to herr martini's eyes. he tried to blink them away. "every one of us," he went on, "knows what it is to make mistakes, to run off the rails in that way, to make greedy excursions of that kind into the festival halls of life. but we return thence into our isolation humbled and sick at heart." herr martini stopped. his look, from under his knotted brows, became fixed for a moment and lost in vacancy, while his mouth assumed a sour expression and his cheeks, on which the unhealthy redness glowed, seemed even thinner than before. it was only for a second; then he changed his position, and his eyes recovered their vivacity. "but your poem," said klaus heinrich, with some _empressement_. "your prize poem to the 'joy of life,' herr martini.... i am really grateful to you for your achievement. but will you please tell me ... your poem--i've read it attentively. it deals on the one hand with misery and horrors, with the wickedness and cruelty of life, if i remember rightly, and on the other hand with the enjoyment of wine and fair women, does it not?..." herr martini laughed; then rubbed the corners of his mouth with his thumb and forefinger, so as to wipe the laugh out. "and it's all," said klaus heinrich, "conceived in the form of 'i,' in the first person, isn't it? and yet it is not founded on personal knowledge? you have not really experienced any of it yourself?" "very little, royal highness. only quite trifling suggestions of it. no, the fact is the other way round--that, if i were the man to experience all that, i should not only not write such poems, but should also feel entire contempt for my present existence. i have a friend, his name is weber; he's a rich young man; he lives, he enjoys his life. his favourite amusement consists in scorching in his motor car at a mad pace over the country and picking up village girls from the roads and fields on the way, with whom he----but that's another story. in short, that young man laughs when he catches sight of me, he finds something so comic in me and my activities. but as for me, i can quite understand his amusement, and envy him it. i dare say that i too despise him a little, but not so much as i envy and admire him...." "you admire him?" "certainly, royal highness. i cannot help doing so. he spends, he squanders, he lets himself go in a most unconcerned and light-hearted way--while it is my lot to save, anxiously and greedily, to keep together, and indeed to do so on hygienic grounds. for hygiene is what i and such as i most need--it is our whole ethics. but nothing is more unhygienic than life...." "that means that you will never empty the grand duke's cup, then, herr martini?" "drink wine out of it? no, royal highness. although it would be fine to do so. but i never touch wine. and i go to bed at ten, and generally take care of myself. if i didn't, i should never have won the cup." "i can well believe it, herr martini. people who are not behind the scenes get strange ideas of what a poet's life must be like." "quite conceivably, royal highness. but it is, taken all round, by no means a very glorious life, i can assure you, especially as we aren't poets every hour of the twenty-four. in order that a poem of that sort may come into existence from time to time--who would believe how much idleness and boredom and peevish laziness is necessary? the motto on a picture postcard is often a whole day's work. we sleep a lot, we idle about with heads feeling like lead. yes, it's too often a dog's life." some one knocked lightly on the white-lacquered door. it was neumann's signal that it was high time for klaus heinrich to change his clothes and have himself freshened up. for there was to be a club concert that evening in the old schloss. klaus heinrich rose. "i've been gossiping," he said; for that was the expression he used at such moments. and then he dismissed herr martini, wished him success in his poetical career, and accompanied the poet's respectful withdrawal with a laugh and that rather theatrical up and down movement of the hand which was not always equally effective, but which he had brought to a high pitch of perfection. such was the prince's conversation with axel martini, the author of "evoë!" and "the holy life." it gave him food for thought, it continued to occupy his mind after it had ended. he continued to think over it while neumann was reparting his hair and helping him on with the dazzling full-dress coat with the stars, during the club concert at court, and for several days afterwards, and he tried to reconcile the poet's statements with the rest of the experiences which life had vouchsafed to him. this herr martini, who, while the unhealthy flush glowed under his eyes, kept crying: "how beautiful, how strong is life!" yet was careful to go to bed at ten, shut himself off from life on hygienic grounds, as he said, and avoided every serious tie with it--this poet with his frayed collar, his watery eyes, and his envy of the young weber who scorched over the country with village girls: he left a mixed impression, it was difficult to come to any certain conclusion about him. klaus heinrich expressed it, when he told his sister of the meeting, by saying: "things are none too comfortable and easy for him, that's quite obvious, and that certainly entitles him to our sympathy. but somehow, i'm not sure if i'm glad to have met him, for he has something deterrent about him, ditlinde--yes, after all, he's certainly a little repulsive." vii imma fräulein von isenschnibbe had been well informed. on the very evening of the day on which she had brought the princess zu reid the great news, the _courier_ published the announcement of samuel spoelmann's, the world-renowned spoelmann's, impending arrival, and ten days later, at the beginning of october (it was the october of the year in which grand duke albrecht had entered his thirty-second and prince klaus heinrich his twenty-sixth year), thus barely giving time for public curiosity to reach a really high point, his arrival became a fact, a plain actuality on an autumn-tinged, entirely ordinary week-day, which was destined to impress itself on the future as a date to be remembered for ever. the spoelmanns arrived by special train--that was the only distinction about their debut to start with, for everybody knew that the "prince's suite" in the "spa court" hotel was by no means dazzlingly magnificent. a few idlers, guarded by a small detachment of policemen, had gathered behind the platform barriers; some representatives of the press were present. but whoever expected anything out of the ordinary was disappointed. spoelmann would almost have passed unrecognized, he was so unimposing. for a long time people took his family physician for him (doctor watercloose, people said he was called), a tall american, who wore his hat on the back of his head and kept his mouth distended in a perpetual smile between his close-trimmed white whiskers, the while he half-closed his eyes. it was not till the last moment that people learned that it was the little clean-shaven man in the faded overcoat, he who wore his hat pulled down over his eyes, who was the actual spoelmann, and the spectators were agreed that there was nothing striking about him. all sorts of stories had been in circulation about him; some witty fellow had spread the report that spoelmann had front teeth of solid gold and a diamond set in the middle of each. but although the truth or untruth of this report could not be tested at once--for spoelmann did not show his teeth, he did not laugh, but rather seemed angry and irritated by his infirmity--yet when they saw him nobody was any longer inclined to believe it. as for miss spoelmann, his daughter, she had turned up the collar of her fur coat, and stuffed her hands in the pockets, so that there was hardly anything to be seen of her except a pair of disproportionately big brown-black eyes, which swept the crowd with a serious look whose meaning it was hard to interpret. by her side stood the person whom the onlookers identified as her companion, the countess löwenjoul, a woman of thirty-five, plainly dressed and taller than either of the spoelmanns, who carried her little head with its thin smooth hair pensively on one side, and kept her eyes fixed in front of her with a kind of rigid meekness. what without question attracted most attention was a scottish sheep-dog which was led on a cord by a stolid-looking servant--an exceptionally handsome, but, as it appeared, terribly excitable beast, that leaped and danced and filled the station with its frenzied barking. people said that a few of spoelmann's servants, male and female, had already arrived at the "spa court" some hours before. at any rate it was left to the servant with the dog to look after the luggage by himself; and while he was doing so his masters drove in two ordinary flies--mr. spoelmann with doctor watercloose, miss spoelmann with the countess--to the spa-garden. there they got out, and there for six weeks they led a life the cost of which it did not need all their money to meet. they were lucky; the weather was fine, it was a blue autumn, a long succession of sunny days from october into november, and miss spoelmann rode daily--that was her only luxury--with her companion, on horses which she hired by the week from the livery stables. mr. spoelmann did not ride, although the _courier_, with obvious reference to him, published a note by its medical colleague according to which riding had a soothing effect in cases of stone, owing to its jolting, and helped to disperse the stone. but the hotel staff knew that the famous man practised artificial riding within the four walls of his room, with the help of a machine, a stationary velocipede to whose saddle a jolting motion was imparted by the working of the pedals. he was a zealous drinker of the healing waters, the ditlinde spring, by which he seemed to set great store. he appeared first thing every morning in the füllhaus, accompanied by his daughter, who for her part was quite healthy, and only drank with him for company's sake, and then, in his faded coat and with his hat pulled over his eyes, took his exercise in the spa-garden and wandelhalle, drinking the water the while through a glass tube out of a blue tumbler--watched at a distance by the two american newspaper correspondents, whose duty it was to telegraph to their papers a thousand words daily about spoelmann's holiday resort, and who were therefore bound to try to get something to telegraph about. otherwise he was rarely visible. his illness--kidney colic, so people said, extremely painful attacks--seemed to confine him often to his room, if not to his bed, and while miss spoelmann with countess löwenjoul appeared two or three times at the court theatre (when, in a black velvet dress with an indian silk scarf of a wonderful gold-yellow colour round her fresh young shoulders, she looked quite bewitching with her pearl-white complexion and great black pleading eyes), her father was never seen in the box with her. he took, it is true, in her company one or two drives through the capital, to do some shopping, get some idea of the town, and see a few select sights; he went for a walk with her too, through the park and twice inspected there the schloss delphinenort--the second time alone, when he was so much interested as to take measurements of the walls with an ordinary yellow rule, which he took out of his faded coat.... but he was never seen in the dining-room of the "spa court," for whether because he was on an almost meatless diet, or for some other reason, he took his meals exclusively with his own party in his own rooms, and the curiosity of the public had on the whole remarkably little to feed on. the result was that spoelmann's arrival at the spa at first did not prove so beneficial as fräulein von isenschnibbe and many others beside her had expected. the export of bottles increased, that was certain; it quickly rose to half as many again as its previous figure, and remained at that. but the influx of foreigners did not increase noticeably; the guests who came to feast their eyes on so abnormal an existence soon went away again, satisfied or disappointed, besides it was for the most part not the most desirable elements of society that were attracted by the millionaire's presence. strange creatures appeared in the streets, unkempt and wild-eyed creatures--inventors, projectors, would-be benefactors of mankind, who hoped to enlist spoelmann's sympathies for their hobbies. but the millionaire made himself absolutely inaccessible to these people; indeed, purple with rage, he howled at one of them who made advances towards him in the park, in such a way that the busybody quickly skedaddled, and it was often said that the torrent of begging letters which daily flowed in to him--letters which often bore stamps which the officials of the grand ducal post-office had never seen before--was at once discharged into a paper-basket of quite unusual capacity. spoelmann seemed to have forbidden all business letters to be sent him, seemed determined to enjoy his holiday to the utmost, and during his travels in europe to live exclusively for his health--or ill-health. the _courier_, whose reporter had lost no time in making friends with his american colleagues, was in a position to announce that a reliable man, a so-called chief manager, was mr. spoelmann's representative in america. he went on to say that his yacht, a gorgeously decorated vessel, was awaiting the great man at venice, and that as soon as he had finished his cure he intended to travel south with his party. it told also, in answer to importunate requests from its readers--of the romantic origin of the spoelmann millions, from their beginning in victoria, whither his father had drifted from some german office stool or other, young, poor, and armed only with a pick, a shovel, and a tin plate. there he had begun by working as help to a gold-digger, as a day labourer, in the sweat of his brow. and then luck had come to him. a man, a claim-owner on a small scale, had fared so badly that he could no longer buy himself his tomatoes and dry bread for dinner, and in his extremity had been obliged to dispose of his claim. spoelmann senior had bought it, had staked his one card, and, with his whole savings, amounting to £ sterling, had bought this piece of alluvial land called "paradise field," not more than forty feet square. and the next day he had turned up, a foot under the surface, a nugget of pure gold, the tenth biggest nugget in the world, the "paradise nugget," weighing ounces and worth £ , . that, related the _courier_, had been the beginning. spoelmann's father had emigrated to south america with the proceeds of his find, to bolivia, and as gold-washer, amalgam-mill-owner, and mine-owner had continued to extract the yellow metal direct from the rivers and the womb of the mountains. then and there spoelmann senior had married--and the _courier_ went so far as to hint in this connexion that he had done so defiantly and without regard to the prejudices generally felt in those parts. however, he had doubled his capital and succeeded in investing his money most profitably. he had moved on northwards to philadelphia, pa. that was in the fifties, the time of a great boom in railway construction, and spoelmann had begun with one investment in the baltimore and ohio railway. he had also leased a coal-mine in the west of the state, the profits from which had been enormous. finally he had joined that group of fortunate young men which bought the famous blockhead farm for a few thousand pounds--the property which, with its petroleum wells, in a short time increased in value to a hundred times its purchase price.... this enterprise had made a rich man of spoelmann senior, but he had by no means rested on his oars, but unceasingly practised the art of making money into more money, and finally into superabundant money. he had started steel works, had floated companies for the turning of iron into steel on a large scale, and for building railway bridges. he had bought up the major part of the shares of four or five big railway companies, and had been elected in the later years of his life president, vice-president, manager, or director of the companies. when the steel trust was formed, so the _courier_ said, he had joined it, with a holding of shares which guaranteed him an income of $ , , . but at the same time he had been chief shareholder and expert adviser of the petroleum combine, and in virtue of his holding had dominated three or four of the other trust companies. and at his death his fortune, reckoned in german currency, had amounted to a round thousand million marks. samuel, his only son, the offspring of that early marriage, contracted in defiance of public opinion, had been his sole heir--and the _courier_, with its usual delicacy, interpolated a remark to the effect that there was something almost sad in the idea of any one, without himself contributing, and through no fault of his own, being born to such a situation. samuel had inherited the palace on fifth avenue at new york, the country mansions, and all the shares, trust bonds, and profits of his father; he inherited also the strange position to which his father had risen, his world-fame and the hatred directed by his out-distanced competitors against the power of his gold--all the hatred to allay which he yearly distributed his huge donations to colleges, conservatories, libraries, benevolent institutions, and that university which his father had founded and which bore his name. samuel spoelmann did not deserve the hatred of the out-distanced competitors; that the _courier_ was sure of. he had gone early into the business, and had controlled the bewildering possessions of his house all by himself during his father's last years. but everybody knew that his heart had never been really in the business. his real inclinations had been, strange to say, all along much more towards music and especially organ music--and the truth of this information on the part of the _courier_ was certain, for mr. spoelmann actually kept a small organ in the "spa court," whose bellows he got a hotel servant to blow, and he could be heard from the spa-garden playing it for an hour every day. he had married for love and not at all from social considerations, according to the _courier_--a poor and pretty girl, half german, half anglo-saxon by descent. she had died, but she had left him a daughter, that wonderful blood-mixture of a girl, whom we now had as guest within our walls and who was at the time nineteen years old. her name was imma--a real german name, as the _courier_ added, nothing more than an old form of "emma," and it might be remarked that the daily conversation in the spoelmann household, though interlarded with scraps of english, had remained german. and how devoted father and daughter seemed to be to each other! every morning, by going to the spa-garden at the right time, one could watch fräulein spoelmann, who usually entered the füllhause a little later than her father, take his head between her hands and give him his morning kiss on mouth and cheeks, while he patted her tenderly on the back. then they went arm-in-arm through the wandelhalle and sucked their glass tubes as they went.... that is how the well-informed journal gossiped and fed the public curiosity. it also reported carefully the visits which miss imma kindly paid with her companion to several of the charitable institutions of the town. yesterday she had made a detailed inspection of the public kitchens. to-day she had made a prolonged tour of the trinity almhouses for old women, and she had recently twice attended privy councillor klinghammer's lectures on the theory of numbers at the university--had sat on the bench, a student among students, and scribbled away with her fountain-pen, for everybody knew that she was a learned girl and devoted to the study of algebra. yes, all that was absorbing reading, and furnished ample food for conversation. but the topics which made themselves talked about without any help from the _courier_ were, firstly, the dog, that noble black-and-white collie which the spoelmanns had brought with them, and secondly, in a different way, the companion, countess löwenjoul. as for the dog, whose name was percival, generally shortened to percy, he was an animal of so excitable and emotional a disposition as beggared description. inside the hotel he afforded no grounds for complaint, but lay in a dignified attitude on a small carpet outside the spoelmanns' suite. but every time he went out he had an attack of light-headedness, which caused general interest and surprise, indeed more than once actual obstruction of traffic. followed at a distance by a swarm of native dogs, common curs which, incited by his demeanour, assailed him with censorious yaps, and which caused him no concern whatever, he flew through the streets, his nose spattered with foam and barking wildly, pirouetted madly in front of the tramcars, made the cab-horses stumble, and twice knocked widow klaaszen's cake stall at the town hall down so violently that the sugar cakes rolled half over the market-place. but as mr. spoelmann or his daughter at once met such catastrophes with more than adequate compensation, as too it was discovered that percival's attacks were really quite free from danger, that he was anything but inclined to bite and steal, but on the contrary kept to himself and would let nobody come near him, public opinion quickly turned in his favour, and to the children in particular his excursions were a constant source of pleasure. countess löwenjoul on her side supplied food for conversation in a quieter but no less strange way. at first, when her personality and position were not yet known in the city, she had attracted the gibes of the street urchins, because, while out walking alone, she talked to herself softly and deliberately, and accompanied her words with lively and at the same time graceful and elegant gestures. but she had shown such mildness and goodness to the children who shouted after her and tugged at her dress, she had spoken to them with such affection and dignity, that her persecutors had slunk away abashed and confused, and later, when she became known, respect for her relations with the famous guests secured her from molestation. however, some unintelligible anecdotes were secretly circulated about her. one man told how the countess had given him a gold piece with instructions that he should box the ears of a certain old woman who was understood to have made some unseemly proposal or other to her. the man had pocketed the gold piece, without, however, discharging his commission. further, it was declared as a fact that the countess had accosted the sentry in front of the fusiliers' barracks and had told him at once to arrest the wife of the sergeant of one of the companies because of her moral shortcomings. she had written too a letter to the colonel of the regiment to the effect that all sorts of secret and unspeakable abominations went on inside the barracks. whether she was right in her facts, heaven only knew. but many people at once concluded that she was wrong in her head. at any rate, there was no time to investigate the matter, for six weeks were soon past, and samuel n. spoelmann, the millionaire, went away. he went away after having had his portrait painted by professor von lindemann--an expensive portrait too, which he gave to the proprietor of the "spa court" as a memento; he went away with his daughter, the countess, and doctor watercloose, with percival, the chamber-velocipede, and his servants; went by special train to the south, with the view of spending the winter on the riviera, whither the two new york journalists had hastened ahead of him, and of then crossing back home again. it was all over. the _courier_ wished mr. spoelmann a hearty farewell and expressed the hope that the cure would be found to have done him good. and with that the notable interlude seemed to be closed and done with. everyday life claimed its due, and mr. spoelmann began to fade into oblivion. the winter passed. it was the winter in which her grand ducal highness the princess zu ried-hohenried was confined of a daughter. spring came, and his royal highness grand duke albrecht repaired as usual to hollerbrunn. but then a rumour cropped up amongst the people and in the press, which was received at first with a shrug by the sober-minded, but became more concrete, crystallized, took to itself quite precise details, and finally won itself a dominant place in the solid and pithy news of the day. what was toward? a grand ducal schloss was about to be sold? nonsense! which schloss?--delphinenort. schloss delphinenort in the north park? twaddle! sold? to whom?--to spoelmann. ridiculous! what could he do with it?--restore it, and live in it. that's all very well. but perhaps our parliament might have something to say to that.--they don't care twopence. had the state any responsibility for keeping up schloss delphinenort?--if they had, it's a pity they hadn't recognized it, dear old place. no, parliament had no say in the matter. have the negotiations advanced at all far?--rather, they're completed. goodness gracious, then of course the exact price is known?--naturally. sold for two millions, not a farthing less. impossible! a royal palace! royal palace be blowed! we're not talking of the grimmburg or of the old schloss. we're talking of a country house, an unused country house which is falling in pieces for lack of funds to keep it up. so spoelmann intended to come back every year and spend several weeks in delphinenort?--no. for he intended rather to come and settle among us altogether. he was sick of america, wanted to turn his back on it, and his first stay amongst us was merely to spy out the land. he was ill, he wanted to retire from business. he had always remained a german at heart. the father had emigrated, and the son wanted to come back home. he wished to take his part in the modest life and intellectual resources of our country, and to spend the rest of his days in the immediate neighbourhood of the ditlinde spa. all was confusion and bustle, and discussions without end. but public opinion, with the exception of the voices of a few grumblers, trended after a short hesitation in favour of the idea of sale; indeed without this general approval the matter could never have gone very far. it was house minister von knobelsdorff who first ventured on a cautious announcement of spoelmann's offer in the daily press. he had waited and allowed the popular feeling to come to a decision. and after the first confusion, solid reasons in favour of the project had made themselves felt. the business world was enchanted at the idea of having so doughty a consumer at its doors. the æsthetes showed themselves delighted at the prospect of seeing schloss delphinenort restored and kept up--at seeing the noble old building restored to honour and youth in so unforeseen, indeed so romantic a way. but the economically-minded brought forward figures which were calculated to cause grave misgivings as to the financial position of the country. if samuel n. spoelmann settled among us, he would become a tax-payer--he would have to pay us his income-tax. perhaps it was worth while showing what that meant. mr. spoelmann would be left to declare his own income, but, from what one knew--and knew fairly accurately--his residence would mean a yearly revenue of two and a half millions, in taxes alone, not to mention what he paid in rates. worth thinking about, wasn't it? the question was put straight to the finance minister, dr. krippenreuther. he would be wanting in his duty if he did not do all he could to recommend the sale in the highest quarters. for patriotism demanded that spoelmann's offer should be accepted, and patriotism was paramount above all other considerations. so excellency von knobelsdorff had had an interview with the grand duke. he had informed his master of the public opinion, had added that the price offered, two millions, considerably exceeded the real value of the schloss in its present condition, had remarked that such a sum meant a real windfall for the treasury, and had ended by slipping in a hint about the central heating of the old schloss, which, if the sale was carried through, would no longer be an impossibility. in short, the single-minded old gentleman had brought his whole influence to bear in favour of the sale, and had recommended the grand duke to bring the matter before a family moot. albrecht had sucked his lower lip softly against the upper, and summoned the family moot. it had met in the hall of the knights over tea and biscuits. only two feminine members, the princess catherine and ditlinde, had opposed the sale, on the ground of loss of dignity. "you will be misunderstood, albrecht!" said ditlinde. "they will charge you with want of respect to your high station, and that is not right, for you have on the contrary too much; you are so proud, albrecht, that everything is all the same to you. but i say no. i do not wish to see a croesus living in one of your schlosses, it is not right, and it was bad enough that he should have a family physician and take the prince's suite in the spa court. the _courier_ harps on the fact that he is a tax-paying subject, but in my eyes he is simply a subject and nothing else. what do you think, klaus heinrich?" but klaus heinrich voted for the sale. in the first place, albrecht got his central heating; secondly, spoelmann was not one of the common herd, he was not soap-boiler unschlitt--he was an exception, and there was no disgrace in letting him have delphinenort. finally albrecht had, with downcast eyes, pronounced the whole family moot to be a farce. the people had long ago made up their minds, his ministers urged the sale, and there was nothing left for him to do but to "wave to the engine-driver and start the train." the family moot had taken place in spring. from that time onwards the negotiations for sale, which were carried on between spoelmann on the one hand and the lord marshal von bühl zu bühl on the other, had proceeded apace, and the summer was not far advanced before schloss delphinenort with its park and out-buildings had become the lawful property of mr. spoelmann. then began a scene of bustle and confusion round and in the schloss, which daily attracted crowds to the northern side of the park. delphinenort was improved and partly reconstructed inside by a swarm of workmen. for quick, quick, was the order of the day, that was spoelmann's wish, and he had only allowed five months' respite for everything to be ready for him to enter into possession. so a wooden scaffold with ladders and platforms shot up at lightning speed round the dilapidated old building, foreign workmen swarmed all over it, and an architect came with carte blanche over the seas to superintend the work. but the greater part of the work fell to our native manual workers to perform, and the stone-masons and tilers, the joiners, gilders, upholsterers, glaziers, and parquet-layers of the city, the landscape gardeners and heating and lighting experts, had plenty of remunerative work all through the summer and autumn. when his royal highness klaus heinrich left his window in the "hermitage" open, the noise of the work at delphinenort penetrated right through to the empire room, and he often drove past the schloss amid the respectful greetings of the public, in order to satisfy himself of the progress of the restoration. the gardener's cottage was painted up, the sheds and stables, which were destined to accommodate spoelmann's fleet of motors and carriages, were enlarged; and by october, furniture and carpets, chests and cases full of stuffs and household utensils had been delivered at schloss delphinenort, while it was whispered among the bystanders that inside the walls skilled hands were at work fitting spoelmann's costly organ, which had been sent from over the sea, with electric action. there was much excitement to know whether the park belonging to the schloss, which had been so splendidly cleaned up and trimmed, was to be fenced off from the public by a wall or hedge. but nothing of the sort was done. it was spoelmann's wish that the property should continue to be accessible, that no restraint should be placed on the citizens' enjoyment of the park. the sunday promenaders should have access right up to the schloss, up to the clipped hedge which surrounded the big square pond--and this did not fail to make an excellent impression on the population; indeed, the _courier_ published a special article on the subject, in which it praised mr. spoelmann for his philanthropy. and behold! when the leaves again began to fall, exactly one year after his first appearance, samuel spoelmann landed a second time at our railway station. this time the general interest in the event was much greater than in the preceding year, and it is on record that, when mr. spoelmann, in his well-known faded coat and with his hat over his eyes, left his saloon, loud cheers were raised by the crowd of spectators--an expression of feelings which mr. spoelmann seemed rather inclined to resent, and which not he but doctor watercloose acknowledged with blinking eyes and a broad smile. when miss spoelmann too alighted, a cheer was raised, and one or two urchins even shouted when percy, the collie, appeared springing, leaping, and altogether beside himself, on the platform. in addition to the doctor and countess löwenjoul there were two unknown persons in attendance, two clean-shaven and decided-looking men in strangely roomy coats. they were mr. spoelmann's secretaries, messrs. phlebs and slippers, as the _courier_ announced in its report. at that time delphinenort was far from ready, and the spoelmanns at once took possession of the first floor of the chief hotel, where a big, haughty, paunch-bellied man in black, the steward or butler of the spoelmann establishment, who had preceded them, had made preparations for them, and put the chamber-velocipede together with his own hands. every day, while miss imma with her countess and percy went for a ride or a visit to some charitable institution, mr. spoelmann hung about his house, superintending the work and giving orders, and when the end of the year approached, just after the first snow had fallen, prospect became fact, and the spoelmanns took up their abode in schloss delphinenort. two motor cars (their arrival had been watched with interest--splendid cars they were) bore the six members of the party--messrs. phlebs and slippers sat in the hinder one--driven by the leather-clad chauffeurs, with servants in snow-white fur coats and crossed arms beside them, in a few minutes from the hotel through the city gardens; and as the cars dashed along the noble chestnut avenue which led to the drive, the urchins climbed up the high lamp-posts which stood at all four corners of the big spa-basin, and waved their caps and cheered.... so spoelmann and his belongings settled down among us, and we basked in the light of his presence. his white-and-gold livery was seen and known in the city, just as the brown-and-gold grand ducal livery was seen and known; the negro in scarlet plush who was doorkeeper at delphinenort soon became a popular figure, and when passers-by heard the subdued rumble of mr. spoelmann's organ from the interior of the schloss they lifted a finger and said: "hark, he's playing. that means that he's not got colic for the moment." miss imma was to be seen daily by the side of countess löwenjoul, followed by a groom and with percy capering round, riding, or driving a smart four-in-hand through the city gardens--while the servant who sat on the back seat stood up from time to time, drew a long silver horn from a leather sheath and wound a shrill warning of their approach; and by getting up early one could see father and daughter every morning go in a dark-red brougham, or, in fine weather, on foot through the park of schloss "hermitage" to the spa-garden, in order to drink the waters. imma for her part, as already mentioned, again began a course of visits to the benevolent institutions of the city, though she appeared not to give up her studies for all that; for from the beginning of the half-term she regularly attended the lectures of the councillor klinghammer at the university--sat daily in a black dress with white collar and cuffs among the young students in the lecture-theatre, and drove her fountain-pen--with her fore-finger raised in the air, a trick of hers when writing--over the pages of her notebook. the spoelmanns lived in retirement, they did not mix in the life of the town, as was natural in view both of mr. spoelmann's ill-health and of his social loneliness. what social group could he have attached himself to? nobody even suggested to him that he should consort with soap-boiler unschlitt or bank-director wolfsmilch on confidential terms. yet he was soon approached with appeals to his generosity, and the appeals were not in vain. for mr. spoelmann, who, it was well known, before his departure from america had given a large sum in dollars to the board of education in the united states, and had also stated in so many words that he had no intention of withdrawing his yearly contributions to the spoelmann university and his other educational foundations--he, shortly after his arrival at "delphinenort," put his name down for a subscription of ten thousand marks to the dorothea children's hospital, for which a collection was just being made; an action the nobleness of which was immediately recognized in fitting terms by the _courier_ and the rest of the press. in fact, although the spoelmanns lived in seclusion in a social sense, a certain amount of publicity attached to their life among us from the earliest moments, and in the local section of the daily newspapers at least their movements were followed with as much particularity as those of the members of the grand ducal house. the public were informed when miss imma had played a game of lawn tennis with the countess and messrs. phlebs and slippers in the "delphinenort" park; it was noted when she had been at the court theatre, and whether her father had gone with her for an act or two of the opera; and if mr. spoelmann shrank from curiosity, never leaving his box during the intervals and scarcely ever showing himself on foot in the streets, yet he was obviously not insensible to the duties of a spectacular kind which were inherent in an extraordinary existence like his own, and he gave the love of gazing its due. it has been said that the "delphinenort" park was not divided from the town gardens. no walls separated the schloss from the outer world. from the back one could walk over the turf right up to the foot of the broad covered terrace which had been built on that side, and, if bold enough, look through the big glass door straight into the high white-and-gold garden-room in which mr. spoelmann and his family had five-o'clock tea. indeed, when summer came, tea was laid on the terrace outside, and mr. and miss spoelmann, the countess and doctor watercloose sat in basket chairs of a new-fangled shape, and took their tea as if on a public platform. for on sunday, at any rate, there was never wanting a public to enjoy the spectacle at a respectful distance. they called each other's attention to the silver tea-kettle, which was heated by electricity--a quite novel idea--and to the wonderful liveries of the two footmen who handed the tea and cakes, white, high-buttoned, gold-laced coats with swan's-down on the collars, cuffs, and seams. they listened to the english-german conversation and followed with open mouths every movement of the notable family on the terrace. they then went round past the front door, in order to shout a few witticisms in the local dialect to the red-plush negro, which he answered with a dental grin. klaus heinrich saw imma spoelmann for the first time on a bright winter's day at noon. that does not mean that he had not already caught sight of her often at the theatre, in the street, and in the town park. but that's quite a different thing. he saw her for the first time at this midday hour in exciting circumstances. he had been giving "free audiences" in the old schloss till half-past eleven, and after they were finished had not returned at once to schloss "hermitage," but had ordered his coachman to keep the carriage waiting in one of the courts, as he wished to smoke a cigarette with the guards officers on duty. as he wore the uniform of that regiment, to which his personal aide-de-camp also belonged, he made an effort to maintain the semblance of some sort of camaraderie with the officers; he dined from time to time in their mess and occasionally gave them half an hour of his company on guard, although he had a dim suspicion that he was rather a nuisance as he kept them from their cards and smoking-room stories. so there he stood, the convex silver star of the noble order of the grimmburg griffin on his breast, his left hand planted well back on his hip, with herr von braunbart-schellendorf, who had given due notice of the visit in the officers' mess, which was situated on the ground floor of the schloss near the albrechts gate--engaged in a trivial conversation with two or three officers in the middle of the room, while a further group of officers chatted at the deep-set window. owing to the warmth of sun outside the window stood open, and from the barracks along the albrechtstrasse came the strains of the drum and fife band of the approaching relief guard. twelve o'clock struck from the court chapel tower. the loud "fall in!" of the non-commissioned officer was heard outside, and the rattle of grenadiers standing to arms. the public collected on the square. the lieutenant on duty hastily buckled on his sword belt, clapped his heels together in a salute to klaus heinrich and went out. then suddenly lieutenant von sturmhahn, who had been looking out of the window, cried with that rather poor imitation of familiarity which was proper to the relations between klaus heinrich and the officers: "great heavens, here's something for you to look at, royal highness! there goes miss spoelmann, with her algebra under her arm...." klaus heinrich walked to the window. miss imma was walking by herself along the pavement. with both hands thrust into her big flat muff, which was trimmed with pendent tails, she carried her notebook pressed to her side with her elbow. she was wearing a long coat of shiny black fox, and a toque of the same fur on her dark foreign-looking hair. she was obviously coming from "delphinenort" and hurrying towards the university. she reached the main guard-house at the moment at which the relief guard marched up the gutter, over against the guard on duty, which standing at attention in two ranks occupied the pavement. she was absolutely compelled to go round, outside the band and the crowd of spectators--indeed, if she wished to avoid the open square with its tram-lines, to make a fairly wide detour on the footpath running round it--or to wait for the end of the military ceremony. she showed no intention of doing either. she made as if to walk along the pavement in front of the schloss right down between the two ranks of soldiers. the sergeant with the harsh voice stepped forward quickly. "not this way!" he cried and held the butt of his rifle in front of her. "not this way! right about! wait!" but miss spoelmann fired up. "what d'you mean?" she cried. "i'm in a hurry!" but her words were not so impressive as the expression of honest, passionate, irresistible anger with which they were uttered. how slight and lonely she was! the fair-haired soldiers round her towered head and shoulders above her. her face was as pale as wax at this moment, her black eyebrows were knitted in a hard and expressive wrinkle, her nostrils distended, and her eyes, black with excitement and wide-opened, spoke so expressive and bewitching a language that no protest seemed possible. "what d'you mean?" she cried. "i'm in a hurry!" and as she said it she pushed the rifle-butt, and the stupefied sergeant with it, aside, and walked down between the lines, went straight on her way, turned to the left into universitätsstrasse and vanished. "i'm dammed!" cried lieutenant von sturmhahn. "that's one for us!" the officers at the window laughed. the spectators outside, too, were much amused, and not unsympathetic. klaus heinrich joined in the general hilarity. the changing of the guard proceeded with loud words of command and snatches of march tunes. klaus heinrich returned to the "hermitage." he lunched all alone, went for a ride in the afternoon on his brown horse florian, and spent the evening at a big party at dr. krippenreuther, the finance minister's house. he related to several people with great animation the episode of the guard, although the story had already gone the round and become common property. next day he had to go away, for he had been told by his brother to represent him at the inauguration of the new town hall in a neighbouring town. for some reason or other, he went reluctantly, he disliked leaving the capital. he had a feeling that he was missing an important, pleasant, though rather disquieting opportunity, which imperatively demanded his presence. and yet his exalted calling must be more important. but while he sat serene and gorgeously dressed on his seat of honour in the town hall, and read his speech to the mayor, klaus heinrich's thoughts were not concentrated on the figure he presented to the eyes of the crowd, but rather were busied with this new and important topic. he also gave a passing thought to a person whose casual acquaintance he had made long years before, to fräulein unschlitt, the soap-boiler's daughter--a memory which had a certain connexion with the importunate topic.... imma spoelmann pushed the harsh-voiced sergeant aside in her anger--walked all alone, her algebra under her arm, down the ranks of the big fair-haired grenadiers. how pearly-white her face was against her black hair under her fur toque, and how her eyes spoke! there was nobody like her. her father was rich, surfeited with riches, and had bought one of the grand ducal schlosses. what was it that the _courier_ had said about his undeserved reputation and the "romantic isolation of his life"? he was the object of the hatred of aggrieved rivals--that was the effect of the article. and her nostrils had distended with anger. there was nobody like her, nobody near or far. she was an exception. and suppose she had been at the citizens' ball on that occasion? he would then have had a companion, would not have made a fool of himself, and would not have ended the evening in despair. "down, down, down with him!" phew! just think of how she looked as she walked, dark and pale and wonderful, down the ranks of fair-haired soldiers. these were the thoughts which occupied klaus heinrich during the next few days--just these three or four mental pictures. and the strange thing is that they were amply sufficient for him, and that he did not want any more. but all things considered, it seemed to him more than desirable that he should get another glimpse of the pearly-white face soon, to-day if possible. in the evening he went to the court theatre, where _the magic flute_ was being played. and when from his box he descried miss spoelmann next to countess löwenjoul in the front of the circle, a tremor went right through him. during the opera he could watch her out of the darkness through his opera-glasses, for the light from the stage fell on her. she laid her head on her small, ringless hand, while she rested her bare arm on the velvet braid, and she did not look angry now. she wore a dress of glistening sea-green silk with a light scarf on which bright flowers were embroidered, and round her neck a long chain of sparkling diamonds. she really was not so small as she looked, klaus heinrich decided, when she stood up at the end of the act. no, the childish shape of her head and the narrowness of her shoulders accounted for her looking such a little thing. her arms were well developed, and one could see that she played games and rode. but at the wrist her arm looked like a child's. when the passage came: "he is a prince. he is more than that," klaus heinrich conceived the wish to have a talk with doctor ueberbein. doctor ueberbein called by chance next day at the "hermitage" in a black frock-coat and white tie, as usual when he paid klaus heinrich a visit. klaus heinrich asked him whether he had already heard the story of the changing of the guard. yes, answered doctor ueberbein, several times. but would klaus heinrich like to relate it to him again?... "no, not if you know it," said klaus heinrich, disappointed. then doctor ueberbein jumped to quite another topic. he began to talk about opera-glasses, and remarked that opera-glasses were a wonderful invention. they brought close what was unfortunately a long way off, did they not? they formed a bridge to a longed-for goal. what did klaus heinrich think? klaus heinrich was inclined to agree to a certain extent. and it seemed that yesterday evening, so people said, he had made a free use of this grand invention, said the doctor. klaus heinrich could not see the point of this remark. then doctor ueberbein said: "no, look here, klaus heinrich, that won't do. you are stared at, and little imma is stared at, and that's enough. if you add to it by staring at little imma, that's too much. you must see that, surely?" "oh dear, doctor ueberbein, i never thought of that." "but in other cases you generally do think of that sort of thing." "i've felt so funny for the last few days," said klaus heinrich. doctor ueberbein leaned back, pulled at his red beard near his throat, and nodded slowly with his head and neck. "really? have you?" he asked. and then went on nodding. klaus heinrich said: "you can't think how reluctant i was to go the other day to the inauguration of the town hall. and to-morrow i have to superintend the swearing-in of the grenadier recruits. and then comes the chapter of the family order. i don't feel a bit in the mood for that. i find no pleasure in doing my duty as the representative of my people. i've no inclination for my so-called lofty calling." "i'm sorry to hear it!" said doctor ueberbein sharply. "yes, i might have known that you would be angry, doctor ueberbein. of course you'll call it sloppiness, and will read me a sermon about 'destiny and discipline,' if i know you. but at the opera yesterday i thought of you at one point, and asked myself whether you really were so right in several particulars...." "look here, klaus heinrich, once already, if i'm not mistaken, i've dragged your royal highness out of the mud, so to speak...." "that was quite different, doctor ueberbein! how i wish you could see that was absolutely different! that was at the citizens' ball, but it was years ago, and i don't feel a twinge in that direction. for she is ... look you, you have often explained to me what you understand by 'highness,' and that it is something affecting, and something to be approached with tender sympathy. don't you think that she of whom we are speaking, that she is affecting and that one must feel sympathy with her?" "perhaps," said doctor ueberbein. "perhaps." "you often said that one must not disavow exceptions, that to do so was sloppiness and slovenly and good-nature. don't you think that she too of whom we are speaking is an exception?" doctor ueberbein was silent. then he said suddenly and decidedly, "and now i, if possible, am to help to make two exceptions into a rule?" thereupon he went out. he said that he must get back to his work, emphasizing the word "work," and begged leave to withdraw. he took his departure in a strangely ceremonious and unfatherly way. klaus heinrich did not see him for ten or twelve days. he asked him to lunch once, but doctor ueberbein begged to be excused, his work at the moment was too pressing. at last he came spontaneously. he was in high spirits and looked greener than ever. he blustered about this and that, and at last came to the subject of the spoelmanns, looking at the ceiling and pulling at his throat when he did so. to be quite fair, he said, there was a striking amount of sympathy felt with samuel spoelmann, one could see all over the town how much beloved he was. chiefly of course as an object of taxation, but in other respects too. there was simply a penchant for him, in every class, for his organ-playing and his faded coat and his kidney-colic. every errand boy was proud of him, and if he were not so unapproachable and morose he would already have been made to feel it. the ten-thousand marks donation for the dorothea hospital had naturally made an excellent impression. his friend sammet had told him (ueberbein) that with the help of this donation far-reaching improvements had been undertaken in the hospital. and for the rest, it had just occurred to him! little imma was going to inspect the improvements to-morrow morning, sammet had told him. she had sent one of her swan's-down flunkeys and asked whether she would be welcome to-morrow. she and sick children were a devilish funny mixture, opined ueberbein, but perhaps she might learn something. to-morrow morning at eleven, if his memory did not mislead him. then he talked about other things. on leaving he added: "the grand duke ought to take some interest in the dorothea hospital, klaus heinrich, it's expected of him. it's a blessed institution. in short, somebody ought to show the way, give signs of an interest in high quarters. no wish to intrude.... and so good-bye." but he came back once more, and in his green face a flush had appeared under the eyes which looked entirely out of place there. "if," he said deliberately, "i ever caught you again with a soup tureen on your head, klaus heinrich, i should leave it there." then he pressed his lips together and went out. next morning shortly before eleven klaus heinrich walked with herr von braunbart-schellendorf, his aide-de-camp, from schloss "hermitage" through the snow-covered birch avenue over rough suburban streets between humble cottages, and stopped before the neat white house over whose entrance "dorothea children's hospital" was painted in broad black letters. his visit had been announced. the senior surgeon of the institution, in a frock-coat with the albrechts cross of the third class, was awaiting him with two younger surgeons and the nursing staff in the hall. the prince and his companion were wearing helmets and fur coats. klaus heinrich said: "this is the renewal of an old acquaintance, my dear doctor. you were present when i came into the world. you are also a friend of my tutor ueberbein's. i am delighted to meet you." doctor sammet, who had grown grey in his life of active philanthropy, bowed to one side, with one hand on his watch-chain and his elbows close to his ribs. he presented the two junior surgeons and the sister to the prince, and then said: "i must explain to your royal highness that your royal highness's gracious visit coincides with another visit. yes. we are expecting miss spoelmann. her father has done such a lot for our institution.... we could not very well upset the arrangements. the sister will take miss spoelmann round." klaus heinrich received the news of this rencontre without displeasure. he first expressed his opinion of the nurses' uniform, which he called becoming, and then his curiosity to inspect the philanthropic institution. the tour began. the sister and three nurses waited behind in the hall. all the walls in the building were whitewashed and washable. yes. the water taps were huge, they were meant to be worked with the elbows for reasons of cleanliness. and rinsing apparatus had been installed for washing the milk-bottles. one passed first through the reception room, which was empty save for a couple of disused beds and the surgeons' bicycles. in the adjoining preparation room there were, besides the writing-table and the stand with the students' white coats, a kind of folding table with oil-cloth cushions, an operating-table, a cupboard of provisions, and a trough-shaped perambulator. klaus heinrich paused at the provisions and asked for the recipes for the preparations to be explained to him. doctor sammet thought to himself that if the whole tour was going to be made with such attention to details, a terrible lot of time would be wasted. suddenly a noise was heard in the street. an automobile drove up tooting and stopped in front of the building. cheers were heard distinctly in the preparation room, for all that it was only children that were shouting. klaus heinrich did not pay any particular attention to the incident. he was looking at a box of sugar of milk, which, by the way, had nothing striking about it. "a visitor apparently," he said. "oh, of course, you said somebody was coming. let's go on." the party proceeded to the kitchen, the milk-kitchen, the big boiler-fitted room for the preparing of milk, the place where full milk, boiled milk, and buttermilk were kept. the daily rations were set on clean white tables in little bottles side by side. the place smelt sourish and sickly. klaus heinrich gave his undivided attention to this room also. he went so far as to taste the buttermilk, and pronounced it excellent. how the children must thrive, he considered, on buttermilk like that. during this inspection the door opened and miss spoelmann entered between the sister and countess löwenjoul, followed by the three nurses. the coat, toque, and muff which she was wearing to-day were made of the costliest sable, and her muff was suspended on a golden chain set with coloured stones. her black hair showed a tendency to fall in smooth locks over her forehead. she took in the room at a glance; her eyes were really almost unbecomingly big for her little face, they dominated it like a cat's, save that they were black as anthracite and spoke a pleading language of their own.... countess löwenjoul, with a feather hat and dressed neatly and not without distinction, as usual, smiled in a detached sort of way. "the milk-kitchen," said the sister; "this is where the milk is cooked for the children." "so one would have supposed," answered miss spoelmann. she said it quickly and lightly, with a pout of her lips and a little haughty wag of her head. her voice was a double one; it consisted of a lower and a higher register, with a break in the middle. the sister was quite disconcerted. "yes," she said, "it's obvious." and a little pained look of bewilderment was visible in her face. the position was a complicated one. doctor sammet looked in klaus heinrich's face for orders, but as klaus heinrich was accustomed to do what was put before him according to prescribed forms, but not to grapple with novel and complex situations, no solution of the difficulty was forthcoming. herr von braunbart was on the point of intervening, and miss spoelmann on the other side was making ready to leave the milk-kitchen, when the prince made a gesture with his right hand which established a connexion between himself and the young girl. this was the signal for doctor sammet to advance towards imma spoelmann. "doctor sammet. yes." he desired the honour of presenting miss spoelmann to his royal highness.... "miss spoelmann, royal highness, the daughter of mr. spoelmann to whom this hospital is so much indebted." klaus heinrich clapped his heels together and held out his hand in its white gauntlet, and, laying her small brown-gloved hand in it, she gave him a horizontal hand-shake, english fashion, at the same time making a sort of shy curtsey, without taking her big eyes off klaus heinrich's face. he could think of nothing more original to say than: "so you too are paying a visit to the hospital, miss spoelmann?" and she answered as quickly as before, with a pout and the little haughty wag of her head. "nobody can deny that everything points in that direction." herr braunbart involuntarily raised his hand, doctor sammet looked down at his watch-chain in silence, and a short snigger escaped through the nose of one of the young surgeons, which was hardly opportune. the little pained look of bewilderment now showed on klaus heinrich's face. he said: "of course.... as you are here.... so i shall be able to visit the institution in your company, miss spoelmann.... captain von braunbart, my aide-de-camp ..." he added quickly, recognizing that his remark laid him open to a similar answer to the last. she responded by: "countess löwenjoul." the countess made a dignified bow--with an enigmatic smile, a side glance into the unknown, which had something seductive about it. when, however, she let her strangely evasive gaze again dwell on klaus heinrich, who stood before her in a composed and military attitude, the laugh vanished from her face, an expression of sadness settled on her features, and for a second a look of something like hatred for klaus heinrich shone in her slightly swollen grey eyes. it was only a passing look. klaus heinrich had no time to notice it, and forgot it immediately. the two young surgeons were presented to imma spoelmann, and then klaus heinrich suggested that they should continue the tour all together. they went upstairs to the first story; klaus heinrich and imma spoelmann in front, conducted by doctor sammet, then countess löwenjoul with herr von braunbart, and the young surgeons in the rear. yes, the older children were here, up to fourteen years of age. an ante-room with wash-basins divided the girls' and the boys' rooms. in white bedsteads, with a name-plate at the head and a frame at the foot enclosing the temperature- and weight-charts--tended by nurses in white caps, and surrounded by cleanliness and tidiness--lay the sick children, and coughs filled the room while klaus heinrich and imma spoelmann walked down between the rows. he walked at her left hand, out of courtesy, with the same smile as when he visited exhibitions or inspected veterans, gymnastic associations, or guards of honour. but every time he turned his head to the right he found that imma spoelmann was watching him--he met her great black eyes, which were directed at him in a searching, questioning way. it was so peculiar, he never remembered experiencing anything so peculiar before, her way of looking at him with her great eyes, without any respect for him or anyone else, absolutely unembarrassed and free, quite unconcerned whether anybody noticed it or not. when doctor sammet stopped at a bed to describe the case--the little girl's, for instance, whose broken white-bandaged leg stuck straight out along the bed--miss spoelmann listened attentively to him, that was quite clear; but while she listened she did not look at the speaker, but her eyes rested in turn on klaus heinrich and the pinched, quiet child who, her hands folded on her breast, gazed up at them from her back-rest--rested in turn on the prince and the little victim, the history of whose case she shared with the prince, as if she were watching klaus heinrich's sympathy, or were trying to read in his face the effect of dr. sammet's words; or maybe for some other reason. yes, this was especially noticeable in the case of the boy with the bullet through his arm and the boy who had been picked out of the water--two sad cases, as dr. sammet remarked. "a severed artery, sister," he said, and showed them the double wound in the boy's upper arm, the entry and exit of the revolver bullet. "the wound," said doctor sammet in an undertone to his guests, turning his back to the bed, "the wound was caused by his own father. this one was the lucky one. the man shot his wife, three of his children, and himself with a revolver. he made a bad shot at this boy." klaus heinrich looked at the double wound. "what did the man do it for?" he asked hesitatingly, and doctor sammet answered: "in desperation, royal highness. it was shame and want which brought him to it. yes." he said no more, just this commonplace--just as in the case of the boy, a ten-year-old, who had been picked out of the water. "he's wheezing," said doctor sammet, "he's still got some water in his lung. he was picked out of the river early this morning--yes. i may say that it is improbable that he _fell_ into the water. there are many indications to the contrary. he had run away from home. yes." he stopped. and klaus heinrich again felt miss spoelmann looking at him with her big, black, serious eyes--with her glance which sought his own and seemed to challenge him insistently to ponder with her the "sad cases," to grasp the essential meaning of doctor sammet's remarks, to penetrate to the hideous truths which were incorporated and crystallized in these two little invalid frames.... a little girl wept bitterly when the steaming and hissing inhaler, together with a scrapbook full of brightly coloured pictures, was planted at her bedside. miss spoelmann bent over the little one. "it doesn't hurt," she said, "not a tiny bit. don't cry." and as she straightened herself again she added quickly, pursing up her lips, "i guess it's not so much the apparatus as the pictures she's crying at." everybody laughed. one of the young assistants picked up the scrapbook and laughed still louder when he looked at the pictures. the party passed on into the laboratory. klaus heinrich thought, as he went, how dry miss spoelmann's humour was. "i guess," she had said, and "not so much." she had seemed to find amusement not only in the pictures, but also in the neat and incisive mode of expression she had used. and that was indeed the very refinement of humour.... the laboratory was the biggest room in the building. glasses, retorts, funnels, and chemicals stood on the tables, as well as specimens in spirits which doctor sammet explained to his guests in few quiet words. a child had choked in a mysterious way: here was his larynx with mushroom-like growths instead of the vocal chords. yes. this, here in the glass, was a case of pernicious enlargement of the kidney in a child, and there were dislocated joints. klaus heinrich and miss spoelmann looked at everything, they looked together into the bottles which doctor sammet held up to the window, and their eyes looked thoughtful while the same look of repulsion hovered round their mouths. they took turns too at the microscope, examined, with one eye placed to the lens, a malignant secretion, a piece of blue-stained tissue stuck on a slide, with tiny spots showing near the big patch. the spots were bacilli. klaus heinrich wanted miss spoelmann to take the first turn at the microscope, but she declined, knitting her brows and pouting, as much as to say: "on no account whatever." so he took the precedence, for it seemed to him that it really did not matter who got the first look at such serious and fearful things as bacilli. and after this they were conducted up to the second story, to the infants. they both laughed at the chorus of squalls which reached their ears while they were still on the stairs. and then they went with their party through the ward between the beds, bent, side by side over the bald-headed little creatures, sleeping with closed fists or screaming with all their might and showing their naked gums--they stopped their ears and laughed again. in a kind of oven, warmed to a moderate heat lay a new-born baby. and doctor sammet showed his distinguished guests a pauper baby with the grey look of a corpse and hideous big hands, the sign of a miscarriage.... he lifted a squealing baby out of its cot, and it at once stopped screaming. with the touch of an expert he rested the limp head in the hollow of his hand and showed the little red creature blinking and twitching spasmodically to the two--klaus heinrich and miss spoelmann, who stood side by side and looked down at the infant. klaus heinrich stood watching with his heels together as doctor sammet laid the baby back in its cot, and when he turned round he met miss spoelmann's searching gaze, as he had expected. finally they walked to one of the three windows of the ward and looked out over the squalid suburb, down into the street where, surrounded by children, the brown court carriage and imma's smart dark-red motor car stood one behind the other. the spoelmanns' chauffeur, shapeless in his fur coat, was leaning back in his seat with one hand on the steering-wheel of the powerful car, and watched his companion, the footman in white, trying to start a conversation, by the carriage in front, with klaus heinrich's coachman. "our neighbours," said doctor sammet, holding back the white net curtain with one hand, "are the parents of our patients. late in the evening the tipsy fathers roll shouting by. yes." they stood and listened, but doctor sammet said nothing further about the fathers and so they broke off, as they had now seen everything. the procession, with klaus heinrich and imma at the head, proceeded down the staircase and found the nurses again assembled in the front hall. leave was taken with compliments and clapping together of heels, curtseys, and bows. klaus heinrich, standing stiffly in front of doctor sammet, who listened to him with his head on one side and his hand on his watch-chain, expressed himself, in his wonted form of words, highly satisfied with what he had seen, while he felt that imma spoelmann's great eyes were resting upon him. he, with herr von braunbart, accompanied miss spoelmann to her car when the leave-taking from the surgeons and nurses was over. klaus heinrich and miss spoelmann, while they crossed the pavement between children and women with children in their arms, and for a short time by the broad step of the motor car, exchanged the following remarks: "it has been a great pleasure to meet you," he said. she answered nothing to this, but pouted and wagged her head a little from side to side. "it was an absorbing inspection," he went on. "a regular eye-opener." she looked at him with her big black eyes, then said quickly and lightly in her broken voice: "yes, to a certain extent...." he ventured on the question: "i hope you are pleased with schloss delphinenort?" to which she answered with a pout: "oh, why not? it's quite a convenient house...." "do you like being there better than at new york?" he asked. and she answered: "just as much. it's much the same. much the same everywhere." that was all. klaus heinrich, and one pace behind him herr von braunbart, stood with their hands to their helmets as the chauffeur slipped his gear in and the motor car shivered and started. it may be imagined that this meeting did not long remain the private property of the dorothea hospital; on the contrary, it was the general topic of conversation before the day was out. the _courier_ published, under a sentimental poetical heading, a detailed description of the rencontre, which, without too violent a departure from the exact truth, yet succeeded in making such a powerful impression on the public mind, and evoked symptoms of such lively interest, that the vigilant newspaper was induced to keep a watchful eye for the future on any further rapprochements between the spoelmann and grimmburg houses. it could not report much. it remarked a couple of times that his royal highness prince klaus heinrich, when walking through the promenade after a performance at the court theatre, had stopped for a moment at the spoelmanns' box to greet the ladies. and in its report of the fancy-dress charity bazaar, which took place in the middle of january in the town hall--a smart function, in which miss spoelmann, at the urgent request of the committee, acted as seller--no small space was devoted to describing how prince klaus heinrich, when the court was making a round of the bazaar, had stopped before miss spoelmann's stall, how he had bought a piece or two of fancy glass (for miss spoelmann was selling porcelain and glass), and had lingered a good eight or ten minutes at her stall. it said nothing about the topic of the conversation. and yet it had not been without importance. the court (with the exception of albrecht) had appeared in the town hall about noon. when klaus heinrich, with his newly bought pieces of glass in tissue paper on his knee, drove back to the "hermitage," he had announced his intention of visiting delphinenort and inspecting the schloss in its renovated state, on the same occasion viewing mr. spoelmann's collection of glass. for three or four old pieces of glass had been included in miss spoelmann's stock which her father himself had given to the bazaar out of his collection, and one of them klaus heinrich had bought. he saw himself again in a semicircle of people, stared at, alone, in front of miss spoelmann, and separated from her by the stall-counter, with its vases, jugs, its white and coloured groups of porcelain. he saw her in her red fancy dress, which, made in one piece, clung close to her neat though childish figure, while it exposed dark shoulders and arms, which were round and firm and yet like those of a child just by the wrist. he saw the gold ornament, half garland and half diadem, in the jet of her billowy hair, that showed a tendency to fall in smooth wisps on her forehead, her big, black, inquiring eyes in the pearly-white face, her full and tender mouth, pouting with habitual scorn when she spoke--and round about her in the great vaulted hall had been the scent of firs and a babel of noise, music, the clash of gongs, laughter, and the cries of sellers. he had admired the piece of glass, the fine old beaker with its ornament of silver foliage, which she proffered to him, and she had said that it came from her father's collection. "has your father, then, got many fine pieces like this?"--of course. and presumably her father had not given the best items to the bazaar. she could guarantee that he had much finer pieces of glass. klaus heinrich would very much like to see them! well, that might easily be managed, miss spoelmann had answered in her broken voice, while she pouted and wagged her head slightly from side to side. her father, she meant, would certainly have no objection to showing the fruits of his zeal as a collector to one more of a long succession of intelligent visitors. the spoelmanns were always at home at tea-time. she had gone straight to the point, taking the hint for a definite offer, and speaking in an entirely off-hand way. in conclusion, to klaus heinrich's question, what day would suit best, she had answered: "whichever you like, prince, we shall be inexpressibly delighted." "we shall be inexpressibly delighted"--those were her words, so mocking and pointed in the exaggeration that they almost hurt, and were difficult to listen to without wincing. how she had rattled and hurt the poor sister in the hospital the other day! but all through there was something childish in her manner of speech; indeed, some sounds she made were just like those children make--not only on the occasion when she was comforting the little girl about the inhaler. and how large her eyes had seemed when they told her about the children's fathers and the rest of the sad story! next day klaus heinrich went to tea at schloss delphinenort, the very next. miss spoelmann had said he might come when it suited him. but it suited him the very next day, and as the matter seemed to him urgent, he saw no point in putting it off. shortly before five o'clock--it was already dark--he drove over the smooth roads of the town garden--bare and empty, for this part of it belonged to mr. spoelmann. arc-lamps lit up the park, the big square spa-basin shimmered between the trees; behind it rose the white schloss with its pillared porch, its spacious double staircase which led by gentle degrees between the wings up to the first floor, its high leaded windows, its roman busts in the niches--and klaus heinrich, as he drove along the approach avenue of mighty chestnuts, saw the red-plush negro with his staff standing on guard at the foot of the staircase. klaus heinrich crossed a brightly lighted stone hall, with a floor of gilt mosaic and with white statues of gods round it, passed straight over to the broad red-carpeted marble staircase, down which the spoelmanns' major-domo, clean shaven, with shoulders squared and arms stiff, pot-bellied and haughty, advanced to receive the guest. he escorted him up into the tapestried and marble-chimneyed ante-room, where a couple of white-and-gold swan's-down footmen took the prince's cap and cloak, while the steward went in person to announce him to his master.... the footman held aside one of the tapestries for klaus heinrich, who descended two or three steps. the scent of flowers met him, and he heard the soft splash of falling water; but just as the tapestry closed behind him, so wild and harsh a barking was heard that klaus heinrich, half deafened for a moment, stopped at the foot of the steps. percival, the collie, had dashed at him in a fury. he pranced, he capered in uncontrollable passion, he pirouetted, beat his sides with his tail, planted his forefeet on the floor, and turned wildly round and round, and seemed like to burst with noise. a voice--not imma's--called him off, and klaus heinrich found himself in a winter garden, a glass conservatory with white marble columns and a floor of big square marble flags. palms of all kinds filled it, whose trunks and tops often reached close up to the glass ceiling. a flower-bed, consisting of countless pots arranged like the stones of a mosaic, lay in the strong moonlight of the arc-lamp and filled the air with its scent. out of a beautifully carved fountain, silver streams flowed into a marble pool, and ducks with strange and fantastic plumage swam about on the illuminated water. the background was filled by a stone walk with columns and niches. it was countess löwenjoul who advanced towards the guest, and curtseyed with a smile. "your royal highness will not mind," she said, "our percy is so uproarious. besides, he's so unaccustomed to visitors. but he never touches anybody. your royal highness must excuse miss spoelmann.... she'll be back soon. she was here just now. she was called away, her father sent for her. mr. spoelmann will be delighted...." and she conducted klaus heinrich to an arrangement of basket chairs with embroidered linen cushions which stood in front of a group of palms. she spoke in a brisk and emphatic tone, with her little head with its thin iron-grey hair bent on one side and her white teeth showing as she laughed. her figure was distinctly graceful in the close-fitting brown dress she was wearing, and she moved as freshly and elegantly as an officer's wife. only in her eyes, whose lids she kept blinking, there was something of mistrust or spite, something unintelligible. they sat down facing each other at the round garden-table, on which lay a few books. percival, exhausted by his outburst, curled himself up on the narrow pearl-grey carpet on which the furniture stood. his black coat was like silk, with white paws, chest, and muzzle. he had a white collar, yellow eyes, and a parting along his back. klaus heinrich began a conversation for conversation's sake, a formal dialogue about nothing in particular, which was all he could do. "i hope, countess, that i have not come at an inconvenient time. luckily i need not feel myself an unauthorized intruder. i do not know whether miss spoelmann has told you.... she was so kind as to suggest my calling. it was about those lovely pieces of glass which mr. spoelmann so generously gave to yesterday's bazaar. miss spoelmann thought that her father would have no objection to letting me see the rest of his collection. that's why i'm here ..." the countess ignored the question whether imma had told her of the arrangement. she said: "this is tea-time, royal highness. of course your visit is not inconvenient. even if, as i hope will not be the case, mr. spoelmann were too unwell to appear...." "oh, is he ill?" in reality klaus heinrich wished just a little that mr. spoelmann might be too unwell. he anticipated his meeting with him with vague anxiety. "he was feeling ill to-day, royal highness. he had a touch of fever, shivering, and a little faintness. dr. watercloose was with him for a long time this morning. he was given an injection of morphia. there's some question of an operation being necessary." "i am very sorry," said klaus heinrich quite honestly. "an operation? how dreadful!" to which the countess answered, letting her eyes wander: "oh yes. but there are worse things in life--many much worse things than that." "undoubtedly," said klaus heinrich. "i can quite believe it." he felt his imagination stirred in a vague and general way by the countess's allusion. she looked at him with her head inclined to one side, and an expression of contempt on her face. then her slightly distended grey eyes shifted, while she smiled the mysterious smile which klaus heinrich already knew and which had something seductive about it. he felt it was necessary to resume the conversation. "have you lived long with the spoelmanns, countess?" he asked. "a fairly long time," she answered, and appeared to calculate. "fairly long. i have lived through so much, have had so many experiences, that i naturally cannot reckon to a day. but it was shortly after the blessing--soon after the blessing was vouchsafed to me." "the blessing?" asked klaus heinrich. "of course," she said decidedly with some agitation. "for the blessing happened to me when the number of my experiences had become too great, and the bow had reached breaking point, to use a metaphor. you are so young," she continued, forgetting to address him by his title, "so ignorant of all that makes the world so miserable and so depraved, that you can form no conception of what i have had to suffer. i brought an action in america which involved the appearance of several generals. things came to light which were more than my temper could stand. i had to clear out several barracks without succeeding in bringing to light every loose woman. they hid themselves in the cupboards, some even under the floors, and that's why they continue torturing me beyond measure at nights. i should at once go back to my schloss in burgundy if the rain did not come through the roofs. the spoelmanns knew that, and that is why it was so obliging of them to let me live with them indefinitely, my only duty being to put the innocent imma on her guard against the world. only of course my health suffers from my having the women sitting at nights on my chest and forcing me to look at their disgusting faces. and that is why i ask you to call me simply frau meier," she said in a whisper, leaning forward and touching klaus heinrich's arm with her hand. "the walls have ears, and it is absolutely necessary for me to keep up the incognito i was forced to assume in order to protect myself against the persecution of the odious creatures. you will do what i ask, will you not? look on it as a joke ... a fad which hurts nobody.... why not?" she stopped. klaus heinrich sat upright and braced up in his wicker chair opposite her and looked at her. before leaving his rectilineal room, he had dressed himself with his valet neumann's help with all possible care, as his life in the public eye required. his parting ran from over his left eye, straight up to the crown of his head, without a hair sticking up, and his hair was brushed up into a crest off the right side of his forehead. there he sat in his undress uniform, whose high collar and close fit helped him to maintain a composed attitude, the silver epaulettes of a major on his narrow shoulders, leaning slightly but not comfortably forward, collected, calm, with one foot slightly advanced, and with his right hand above his left on his sword-hilt. his young face looked slightly weary from the unreality, the loneliness, strictness, and difficulty of his life; he sat looking at the countess with a friendly, clear, but composed expression in his eyes. she stopped. disenchantment and disgust showed themselves in her features, and, while something like hate towards klaus heinrich flamed up in her tired grey eyes, she blushed in the strangest of ways, for one half of her face turned red, the other white. dropping her eyelids she answered: "i have been living with the spoelmanns for three years, royal highness." percival darted forward. dancing, springing, and wagging his tail he trotted towards his mistress--for imma spoelmann had come in--raised himself in a dignified way on his hind legs and laid his fore paws in greeting on her breast. his jaws were wide open, and his red tongue hung out between his ivory-white teeth. he looked like a heraldic supporter as he stood there before her. she wore a wonderful dress of brick-red silk with loose hanging sleeves, and the breast covered with heavy gold embroidery. a big egg-shaped jewel on a pearl necklace lay on her bare neck, the skin of which was the colour of smoked meerschaum. her blue-black hair was parted on one side and coiled, though a few smooth wisps tended to fall on her forehead. holding percival's head in her two narrow, ringless little hands, she looked into his face, saying, "well, well, my friend. what a welcome! we are glad to see each other--we hated being parted, didn't we? now go back and lie down." and she put his paws off the gold embroidery on her breast, and set him on his four paws again. "oh, prince," she said. "welcome to delphinenort. you hate breaking your promise, i can see. i'm coming to sit next you. they'll tell us when tea is ready.... it's against all the rules, i know, for me to have kept you waiting. but my father sent for me--and besides you had somebody to entertain you." her bright eyes passed from klaus heinrich to the countess and back in a rather hesitating way. "that's quite true," he said. and then he asked how mr. spoelmann was, and received a fairly reassuring answer. mr. spoelmann would have the pleasure of making klaus heinrich's acquaintance at tea-time, he begged to be excused till then.... what a lovely pair of horses klaus heinrich had in his brougham! and then they talked about their horses, about klaus heinrich's good-tempered brown florian from the hollerbrunn stud, about miss spoelmann's arabian cream, the mare fatma which had been given to mr. spoelmann by an oriental prince, about her fast hungarian chestnuts, which she drove four-in-hand. "do you know the country round?" asked klaus heinrich. "have you hunted with the royal pack? have you been to the 'pheasantry'? there are lots of lovely excursions." no, miss spoelmann was not at all clever in finding out new roads, and the countess--well, her whole nature was unenterprising, so they always chose the same road, in the town gardens, for their ride. it was boring, perhaps, but miss spoelmann was not on the whole so blasé as to need constant change and adventures. then he said that they must go together some time to a meet of the hounds or to the "pheasantry," whereupon she pursed her lips and said that that was an idea which might be discussed some time in the future. then the major-domo came in and gravely announced that tea was ready. they went through the tapestry hall with the marble fireplace, conducted by the strutting butler, accompanied by the dancing percy, and followed by countess löwenjoul. "has the countess been letting her tongue run away with her?" asked imma _en route_, without any particular lowering of her voice. klaus heinrich started and looked at the floor. "but she can hear us!" he said softly. "no, she doesn't hear us," answered imma. "i can read her face. when she holds her head crooked like that and blinks her eyes it means that she is wandering and deep in her thoughts. did she let her tongue run away with her?" "for a minute or two," said klaus heinrich. "i got the impression that the countess 'let herself go' every now and then." "she has had a lot of trouble." and imma looked at him with the same big searching dark eyes with which she had scanned him in the dorothea hospital. "i'll tell you all about it another time. it's a long story." "yes," he said. "some other time. next time. on our ride perhaps." "on our ride?" "yes, on our ride to the meet, or to the 'pheasantry.'" "oh, i forgot your preciseness, prince, in the matter of appointments. very well, on our ride. we go down here." they found themselves at the back of the schloss. carpeted steps led from a gallery hung with big pictures, down into the white-and-gold garden room, behind the glass door of which lay the terrace. everything--the big crystal lustres, which hung from the centre of the high, white-festooned ceiling, the regularly arranged arm-chairs with gilt frames and fancy upholstering, the heavy white silk curtains, the elaborate clock and the vases and gilt lamps on the white marble chimneypiece in front of the tall looking-glass, the massive, lion-footed gilt candelabra which towered on either side of the entrance--everything reminded klaus heinrich of the old schloss, of the representation chamber, in which he had played his part from his youth up; only that the candles here were shams, with yellow electric bulbs instead of wicks, and that everything of the spoelmanns' was new and smart in schloss delphinenort. a swan's-down footman was putting the last touch to the tea-table in a corner of the room; klaus heinrich noticed the electric kettle about which he had read in the _courier_. "has mr. spoelmann been told?" asked the daughter of the house.... the butler bowed. "then there's nothing," she said quickly and half mockingly, "to prevent us from taking our places and beginning without him. come, countess! i advise you, prince, to unbuckle your sword, unless there are reasons unknown to me for your not doing so...." "thanks," said klaus heinrich, "no, there is no reason why i shouldn't." and he was angry with himself for not being smart enough to think of a more adroit answer. the footman took his sword, and carried it off. they took their seats at the tea-table with the help of the butler, who held the backs and pushed the chairs under them. then he retired to the top of the steps, where he remained in an elegant attitude. "i must tell you, prince," said miss spoelmann, pouring the water into the pot, "that my father won't drink any tea which i have not made with my own hands. he distrusts all tea which is handed round ready-made in cups. that is barred with us. you'll have to put up with it." "oh, i like it much better like this," said klaus heinrich, "it's much more comfortable and free-and-easy at a family tea like this...." he broke off, and wondered why as he spoke these words a side-glance of hatred lighted on him from the eyes of countess löwenjoul. "and your course of study?" he asked. "may i ask about it? it's mathematics, i know. don't you find it too much? isn't it terribly brain-racking?" "absolutely not," she said. "it's just splendid; it's like playing in the breezes, so to speak, or rather out of the breezes, in a dust-free atmosphere. it's as cool there as in the adirondacks." "the what?" "the adirondacks. that's geography, prince. mountains over in the states, with lovely snowfields. we have a country cottage there, where we go in may. in summer we used to go to the sea-side." "at any rate," he said, "i can testify to your zeal in your studies. you do not like being prevented from arriving punctually at your lectures. i haven't yet asked you whether you reached that one the other day up to time." "the other day?" "yes, a week or two ago. after the contretemps with the change of guard." "dear, dear, prince, now you are beginning that too. that story seems to have reached from hut to palace. had i known what a bother was going to come of it, i would rather have gone three times round the whole schlossplatz. it even got into the newspapers, i'm told. and now of course the whole town thinks i am a regular fiend for temper and rudeness. but i am the most peaceful creature in the world, and only don't like being ordered about. am i a fiend, countess? i demand a truthful answer." "no, you're an angel," said countess löwenjoul. "h'm--angel, that's too much, that's too far the other way, countess...." "no," said klaus heinrich, "no, not too far. i entirely believe the countess...." "i'm much honoured. but how did your highness hear about the adventure? through the newspapers?" "i was an eye-witness of it," said klaus heinrich. "an eye-witness?" "yes. i happened to be standing at the window of the officers' mess, and saw the whole thing from beginning to end." miss spoelmann blushed. there was no doubt about it, the pale skin of her face deepened in colour. "well, prince," she said, "i assume that you had nothing better to do at the moment." "better?" he cried. "but it was a splendid sight. i give you my word that never in my life ..." percival, who was lying with his forepaws crossed, by miss spoelmann, raised his head with a look of tense expectancy and beat the carpet with his tail. at the same moment the butler began to run, as fast as his ponderous frame would let him, down the steps to the lofty side-door over against the tea-table, and swiftly pulled aside the whole silk portière, sticking his double chin the while into the air with a majestic expression. samuel spoelmann, the millionaire, walked in. he was a man of neat build with a strange face. he was clean shaven, with red cheeks and a prominent nose, his little eyes were of a metallic blue-black, like those of little children and animals, and had an absent and peevish look. the upper part of his head was bald, but behind and on his temples mr. spoelmann had a quantity of grey hair, dressed in a fashion not often seen among us. he wore it neither short nor long, but brushed up, sticking out, though cropped on the nape and round his ears. his mouth was small and finely chiselled. dressed in a black frock-coat with a velvet waistcoat on which lay a long, thin, old-fashioned watch-chain, and soft slippers on his feet, he advanced quickly to the tea-table with a cross and pre-occupied expression on his face; but his face cleared up, it regained composure and tenderness when he caught sight of his daughter. imma had gone to meet him. "greeting, most excellent father," she said, and throwing her brown little arms, in their loose brick-coloured hanging sleeves, round his neck, she kissed him on the bald spot which he offered her as he inclined his head. "of course you knew," she continued, "that prince klaus heinrich was coming to tea with us to-day?" "no; i'm delighted, delighted," said mr. spoelmann no less readily and in a grating voice. "please don't move!" he said at once. and while he shook hands (mr. spoelmann's hand was thin and half-covered by his unstarched white cuff) with the prince, who was standing modestly by the table, he nodded repeatedly to one side or the other. that was his way of greeting klaus heinrich. he was an alien, an invalid, and a man apart as regards wealth. he was forgiven and nothing further was expected of him--klaus heinrich recognized the fact, and took pains to recover his self-control. "you are at home here in a sense," added mr. spoelmann, cutting the conversation short, and a passing gleam of malice played round his clean-shaven mouth. then he gave the others an example by sitting down. it was the chair between imma and klaus heinrich, opposite the countess and the veranda door, which the butler pushed under him. as mr. spoelmann showed no intention of apologizing for his unpunctuality, klaus heinrich said: "i am sorry to hear that you are unwell this morning, mr. spoelmann. i hope you are better." "thanks, better, not but all right," answered mr. spoelmann crossly. "how many spoonfuls did you put in?" he asked his daughter. he was alluding to the tea. she had filled his cup, and she handed it to him. "four," said she. "one for each person. nobody shall say that i stint my grey-haired father." "what's that?" answered mr. spoelmann. "i'm not grey-haired. you ought to have your tongue clipped." and he took from a silver box a kind of rusk which seemed to be his own special dainty, broke it and dipped it peevishly in the golden tea, which he, like his daughter, drank without milk or sugar. klaus heinrich began over again: "i am much excited at the prospect of seeing your collection, mr. spoelmann." "all right," answered mr. spoelmann. "so you want to see my glass? are you an amateur? a collector perhaps?" "no," said klaus heinrich, "my love for glass has not extended to my becoming a collector." "no time?" asked mr. spoelmann. "do your military duties take so much time?" klaus heinrich answered: "i'm no longer on the active list, mr. spoelmann. i am _à la suite_ of my regiment. i wear the uniform, that's all." "i see, make believe," said mr. spoelmann harshly. "what do you do all day, then?" klaus heinrich had stopped drinking tea, had pushed his things away in the course of the conversation which demanded his undivided attention. he sat upright and defended himself, feeling the while that imma spoelmann's big, black, searching eyes were resting on him. "i have duties at court, with the ceremonies and big occasions. i have also to represent the state in a military capacity, at the swearing-in of recruits and the presentation of colours. then i have to hold levées as deputy for my brother, the grand duke. and then there are little journeys on duty to the provincial centres for unveilings and dedications and other public solemnities." "i see," said mr. spoelmann. "ceremonies, solemnities, food for spectators. no, that sort of thing's beyond me. i tell you once for all, that i wouldn't give a farthing for your calling. that's my standpoint, sir." "i entirely understand," said klaus heinrich. he sat up stiffly in his uniform and smiled uneasily. "of course it needs practice like everything else," mr. spoelmann went on in a little less bitter tone of voice--"practice and training, i can see. for myself i shall never as long as i live cease feeling angry when i am obliged to play the prodigy." "i only hope," said klaus heinrich, "that our people are not wanting in respect...." "thanks, not so bad," answered mr. spoelmann. "the people are at least friendly here; one doesn't see murder written in their eyes." "i hope, mr. spoelmann," and klaus heinrich felt more at his ease, now that the conversation had turned, and the questioning lay with him, "that, notwithstanding the unusual circumstances, you continue to enjoy your stay amongst us." "thanks," said mr. spoelmann, "i'm quite comfortable, and the water is the only thing which really does do me some good." "you did not find it a wrench to leave america?" klaus heinrich felt a look, a quick, suspicious, shy look, which he could not interpret. "no," said mr. spoelmann, sharply and crossly. that was all his answer to the question whether he felt it a wrench to leave america. a pause ensued. countess löwenjoul held her smooth little head inclined to one side, and smiled a distant madonna-like smile. miss spoelmann watched klaus heinrich fixedly with her big black eyes, as if testing the effect of her father's extraordinary boorishness on the guest,--indeed, klaus heinrich felt that she was waiting with resignation and sympathy for him to get up and take his departure for good and all. he met her eyes, and remained. mr. spoelmann, for his part, drew out a gold case and took out a fat cigarette, which, when lighted, diffused a delicious fragrance. "smoke?" he asked.... and as klaus heinrich found that there was no objection, he helped himself, after mr. spoelmann, out of the proffered case. they then discussed various topics before proceeding to an inspection of the glass--chiefly klaus heinrich and miss spoelmann, for the countess's thoughts were wandering, and mr. spoelmann only interpolated a cross remark now and then: the local theatre, the huge ship in which the spoelmanns had crossed to europe. no, they had not used their yacht for the purpose. its primary object was to take mr. spoelmann to sea in the evening in the heat of summer, when he was tied to his business and imma and the countess were in newport; he used to pass the night on deck. she was now lying at venice. but they had crossed in a huge steamer, a floating hotel with concert rooms and gymnasia. "she had five storeys," said miss spoelmann. "counting from below?" asked klaus heinrich. and she answered at once: "of course. six, counting from above." he got muddled and lost his bearings and it was a long time before he realized that she was making fun of him. then he tried to explain himself and to make his simple question clear, explaining that he meant to ask whether she included the under-water holds, the cellars so to speak, in the five--in short, to prove that he was not lacking in common sense, and at last he joined heartily in the merriment which was the result of his efforts. as for the court theatre, miss spoelmann gave it as her opinion, with a pout and a wag of the head, that the actress who played the _ingénue_ should be strongly recommended to go through the cure at marienbad, coupled with a course of lessons in dancing and deportment, while the hero should be warned that a voice as resonant as his should be used most sparingly, even in private life.... all the same, miss spoelmann expressed her warm admiration for the theatre in question. klaus heinrich laughed and wondered, a little oppressed by so much smartness. how well she spoke, how pointed and incisive were her words! they discussed the operas also and the plays which had been produced during the winter, and imma spoelmann contradicted klaus heinrich's judgments, contradicted him in every case, just as if she thought that not to contradict would show a mean spirit; the superior wit of her tongue left him dazed, and the great black eyes in her pearl-white face glittered from sheer joy in her dialectic skill, while mr. spoelmann leaned back in his chair, holding the fat cigarette between his lips and blinking through its smoke, and gazed at his daughter with fond satisfaction. more than once klaus heinrich showed in his face the look of pained bewilderment which he had noticed on a previous occasion on the face of the good sister, and yet he felt convinced that it was not imma spoelmann's intention to wound his feelings, that she did not consider him humbled because he was not successful in standing up to her, that she rather let his poor answers pass, as if she considered that he had no need of a sharp wit to defend him--it was only she who had. but how was that, and why? he thought involuntarily of ueberbein at many of her sallies, of the nimble-tongued blusterer ueberbein, who was a natural misfortune, and had grown up in conditions which he described as favourable. a youth of misery, loneliness, and misfortune, shut out from the blessings of fortune--such a man knew no luxury, no comfort, he saw himself clearly and cruelly thrown on his own resources, which assuredly gave him an advantage over those who "knew not necessity." but imma spoelmann sat there in her red-gold dress at the table, reclining indolently, with the mocking look of a spoiled child; there she sat in confident ease, while her tongue ran on sharply and freely, as befitted an atmosphere of refinement and lively wit. but why did she give it play? klaus heinrich pondered the question, the while they discussed atlantic steamers and plays. he sat bolt upright at the table, in a dignified and uncomfortable attitude, while he concealed his left hand, and more than once he felt a sidelong glance of hatred from the eyes of countess löwenjoul. a servant came in and handed mr. spoelmann a telegram on a silver salver. mr. spoelmann tore it open crossly, glanced through it, blinking and with the remains of his cigarette in the corner of his mouth, and threw it back on the salver, with the curt order: "mr. phlebs." thereupon he lighted a new cigarette. miss spoelmann said: "in spite of distinct medical orders, that's the fifth cigarette you've had to-day. let me tell you that the unbridled passion with which you abandon yourself to the vice little beseems your grey hairs." mr. spoelmann obviously tried to laugh, and as obviously failed; the acid tone of his daughter's words was not to his liking, and he flushed up. "silence!" he snarled. "you think you can say anything in fun, but please spare me your saucy jokes, chatterbox!" klaus heinrich, appalled, looked at imma, who turned her big eyes on her father's angry face, and then sadly dropped her head. of course she had not meant any offence, she had simply amused herself with the strange, swelling words which she used to poke her fun; she had expected to raise a laugh, and had failed dismally. "father, darling father!" she said beseechingly, and crossed over to stroke mr. spoelmann's flushed cheeks. "surely," he grumbled on, "you've grown out of that sort of thing by now." but then he yielded to her blandishments, let her kiss the top of his head, and swallowed his anger. klaus heinrich, when peace was restored, alluded to the collection of glass, whereupon the party left the tea-table and went into the adjoining museum, with the exception of countess löwenjoul, who withdrew with a deep curtsey. mr. spoelmann himself switched on the electric light in the chandeliers. handsome cabinets in the style of the whole schloss, with swelling curves and rounded glass doors, alternated with rich silk chairs all round the room. in these cabinets mr. spoelmann's collection of glass was displayed. yes, there could be no doubt that it was the most complete collection in either hemisphere, and the glass which klaus heinrich had acquired was merely a most modest sample of it. it began in one corner of the room with the earliest artistic productions of the industry, with finds of heathenish designs from the culture of the earliest times; then came the products of the east and west of every epoch; next, wreathed, flourished, and imposing vases and beakers from venetian blow-pipes and costly pieces from bohemian huts, german tankards, picturesque guild and electorate bowls, mixed with grotesque animals and comic figures, huge crystal cups, which reminded one of the luck of edenhall in the song, and in whose facets the light broke and sparkled; ruby-coloured glasses like the holy grail; and finally the best samples of the latest development of the art, fragile blossoms on impossibly brittle stems, and fancy glasses in the latest fashionable shape, made iridescent with the vapours of precious metals. the three, followed by percival, who also examined the collection, walked slowly round the hall; and mr. spoelmann related in his harsh voice the origin of particular pieces, taking them carefully off their velvet stands with his thin, soft-cuffed hand, and holding them up to the electric light. klaus heinrich had had plenty of practice in visits of inspection, in putting questions and making adroit remarks, so that he was well able at the same time to ponder over imma spoelmann's mode of expressing herself, that peculiar mode which worried him not a little. what amazing freedom she allowed herself! what extraordinary remarks she allowed herself to make! "passion," "vice," where did she get the words from? where did she learn to use them so glibly? had not countess löwenjoul, who herself dealt with the same topics in a confused sort of way, and had obviously seen the seamy side of life, described her as quite innocent! and the description was undoubtedly correct, for was she not an exception by birth like himself, brought up like a girl "born to be queen," kept apart from the busy strife of men and from all the turmoil to which those sinister words corresponded in the life of reality? but she had uttered the words glibly, and had treated them as a joke. yes, that was it, this dainty creature in her red-gold gown was merely a wielder of words; she knew no more of life than those words, she played with the most serious and most awful of them as with coloured stones, and was puzzled when she made people angry by their use. klaus heinrich's heart, as he thought of this, filled with sympathy. it was nearly seven o'clock when he asked for his carriage to be called--slightly uneasy about his long stay, in view of the court and the public. his departure evoked a fresh and terrifying demonstration on the part of percival, the collie. every alteration or interruption in a situation seemed to throw the noble animal off his moral balance. quivering, yelping, and deaf to all blandishments, he stormed through the rooms and the hall and up and down the steps, drowning the words of leave-taking in his hubbub. the butler did the prince the honours as far as the floor with the statues of gods. mr. spoelmann did not accompany him any distance. miss spoelmann made the position clear: "i am convinced that your sojourn in the bosom of our family has charmed you, prince." and he was left wondering whether the joke lay in the expression "the bosom of our family" or in the actual fact. anyhow, klaus heinrich was at a loss for a reply. leaning back in the corner of his brougham, rather sore and battered, and yet stimulated by the unusual treatment he had experienced, he drove home, through the dark town gardens to the hermitage, returned to his sober empire room, where he dined with von schulenburg-tressen and braunbart-schellendorf. next day he read the comments of the _courier_. they amounted only to a statement that yesterday his royal highness prince klaus heinrich went to schloss delphinenort for tea, and inspected mr. spoelmann's renowned collection of fancy glass. and klaus heinrich continued to live his unreal life, and to carry out his exalted calling. he uttered his gracious speeches, made his gestures, represented his people at the court and at the president of the council's great ball, gave free audiences, lunched in the officers' mess of the grenadier guards, showed himself at the court theatre, and bestowed on this and that district of the country the privilege of his presence. with a smile, and with heels together, he carried out all due formalities and did his irksome duty with complete self-possession, albeit he had at this time so much to think of--about the peppery mr. spoelmann, the muddle-headed countess löwenjoul, the harum-scarum percy, and especially about imma, the daughter of the house. many a question to which his first visit to delphinenort had given rise he was not yet in a position to answer, but only succeeded in solving as the result of further intercourse with the spoelmanns, which he maintained to the eager and at last feverish interest of the public, and which advanced a step further when the prince in the early morning one day, to the astonishment of his suite, his servants, and himself--indeed, partly involuntarily, and as if carried along by destiny--appeared alone and on horseback at delphinenort, for the purpose of taking miss spoelmann, whom he disturbed in her mathematical studies at the top of the schloss, for a ride. the grip of winter had relaxed early in this ever-to-be-remembered year. after a mild january, the middle of february had seen the coming of a preliminary spring with birds and sunshine and balmy breezes, and as klaus heinrich lay on the first of these mornings at the hermitage in his roomy old mahogany bed, from one of whose posts the spherical crown was missing, he felt himself, as it were, impelled by a strange hand and irresistibly inspired to deeds of boldness. he rang the bell-pull for neumann (they only had draw-bells at the hermitage), and ordered florian to be ready saddled in an hour's time. should a horse be got ready for the groom too? no, it was not necessary. klaus heinrich said that he wanted to ride alone. then he gave himself into neumann's skilful hands for his morning toilette, breakfasted impatiently below in the garden room, and mounted his horse at the foot of the terrace. with his spurred top-boots in the stirrups, the yellow reins in his brown-gloved right hand, and the left planted on his hip under his open cloak, he rode at a walking pace through the soft morning, scanning the still bare branches for the birds whose twittering he heard. he rode through the public part of his park, through the town gardens and the grounds of delphinenort. he reached it at half-past nine. great was the general surprise. at the main gate he gave florian over to an english groom. the butler, who was crossing the mosaic hall busy on his household duties, stood still, taken aback at the sight of klaus heinrich. to the inquiry which the prince addressed to him, in a clear and almost haughty voice, about the ladies, he did not even reply, but turned helplessly towards the marble staircase, gazing dumbly at the top step, for there stood mr. spoelmann. it seemed that he had just finished breakfast, and was in the best of tempers. his hands were plunged deep in his pockets, his lounge coat drawn back from his velvet waistcoat, and the blue smoke of his cigarette was making him blink. "well, young prince?" he said, and stared down at him.... klaus heinrich saluted and hurried up the red stair-carpet. he felt that the situation could only be saved by swiftness and, so to speak, by an attack by storm. "you will be astounded, mr. spoelmann," he said, "at this early hour ..." he was out of breath, and the fact disturbed him greatly, he was so little used to it. mr. spoelmann answered him by a look and a shrug of the shoulders, as much as to say that he could control himself, but desired an explanation. "the fact is, we have an appointment ..." said klaus heinrich. he was standing two steps below the millionaire and was speaking up at him. "an appointment for a ride between miss imma and myself.... i have promised to show the ladies the 'pheasantry' and the court kennels.... miss imma told me that she knew nothing about the surrounding country. it was agreed that on the first fine day ... it's such a lovely day to-day.... it is of course subject to your approval...." mr. spoelmann shrugged his shoulders, and made a face as if to say: "approval--why so?" "my daughter is grown up," he said. "i don't interfere. if she rides, she rides. but i don't think she has time. you must find that out for yourself. she's in there." and mr. spoelmann pointed his chin towards the tapestry door, through which klaus heinrich had already once passed. "thanks," said klaus heinrich. "i'll go and see for myself." and he ran up the remaining steps, pushed the tapestry hanging aside with a determined gesture, and went down the steps into the sunlit, flower-scented winter garden. in front of the splashing fountain and the basin with fancy-feathered ducks sat imma spoelmann leaning over a table, her back turned to the incomer. her hair was down. it hung black and glossy on each side of her head, covered her shoulders, and allowed nothing to be seen but a shadow of the childlike quarter profile of her face, which showed white as ivory against the darkness of her hair. there she sat absorbed in her studies, working at the figures in the notebook before her, her lips pressed on the back of her left hand, and her right grasping the pen. the countess too was there, also busy writing. she sat some way off under the palms, where klaus heinrich had first conversed with her, and wrote sitting upright with her head on one side, a pile of closely scribbled note-paper lying at her side. the clank of klaus heinrich's spurs made her look up. she looked at him with half-closed eyes for two seconds, the long pen poised in her hand, then rose and curtseyed. "imma," she said, "his royal highness prince klaus heinrich is here." miss spoelmann turned quickly round in her basket chair, shook her hair back and gazed without speaking at the intruder with big, startled eyes, until klaus heinrich had bid the ladies good-morning with a military salute. then she said in her broken voice: "good-morning to you too, prince. but you are too late for breakfast. we've finished long ago." klaus heinrich laughed. "well, it's lucky," he said, "that both parties have had breakfast, for now we can start at once for a ride." "a ride?" "yes, as we agreed." "we agreed?" "no, don't say that you've forgotten!" he said pleadingly. "didn't i promise to show you the country round? weren't we going for a ride together when it was fine? well, to-day it's glorious. just look out ..." "it's not a bad day," she said, "but you go too fast, prince. i remember that there was some suggestion of a ride at some future time--but surely not so soon as this? might i not at least have expected some sort of notification, if your highness will allow the word? you must allow that i can't ride like this about here." and she stood up to show her morning dress, which consisted of a loose gown of many-coloured silk and an open green-velvet jacket. "no," he said, "unfortunately you cannot. but i'll wait here while you both change. it's quite early...." "uncommonly early. but in the second place i am rather busy with my innocent studies, as you saw. i've got a lecture at eleven o'clock." "no," he cried, "to-day you must not grind at algebra, miss imma; you must not play in the vacuum, as you put it! look at the sun!... may i?..." and he went to the table and took up the notebook. what he saw made his head swim. a fantastic hocus-pocus, a witches' sabbath of abbreviated symbols, written in a childish round hand which was the obvious result of miss spoelmann's peculiar way of holding her pen, covered the pages. there were greek and latin letters of various heights, crossed and cancelled, arranged above and below cross lines, covered by other lines, enclosed in round brackets, formulated in square brackets. single letters, pushed forward like sentries, kept guard above the main bodies. cabalistic signs, quite unintelligible to the lay mind, cast their arms round letters and ciphers, while fractions stood in front of them and ciphers and letters hovered round their tops and bottoms. strange syllables, abbreviations of mysterious words, were scattered everywhere, and between the columns were written sentences and remarks in ordinary language, whose sense was equally beyond the normal intelligence, and conveyed no more to the reader than an incantation. klaus heinrich looked at the slight form, which stood by him in the shimmering frock, becurtained by her dark hair, and in whose little head all this lived and meant something. he said, "can you really waste a lovely morning over all this god-forsaken stuff?" a glance of anger met him from her big eyes. then she answered with a pout: "your highness seems to wish to excuse yourself for the want of intelligence you recently displayed with regard to your own exalted calling." "no," he said, "not so! i give you my word that i respect your studies most highly. i grant that they bother me, i could never understand anything of that sort. i also grant that to-day i feel some resentment against them, as they seem likely to prevent us from going for a ride." "oh, i'm not the only one to interfere with your wish for exercise, prince. there's the countess too. she was writing--chronicling the experiences of her life, not for the world, but for private circulation, and i guarantee that the result will be a work which will teach you as well as me a good deal." "i am quite sure of it. but i am equally sure that the countess is incapable of refusing a request from you." "and my father? there's the next stumbling-block. you know his temper. will he consent?" "he has consented. if you ride, you ride. those were his words...." "you have made sure of him beforehand, then? i'm really beginning to admire your circumspection. you have assumed the rôle of a field marshal, although you are not really a soldier, only a make-believe one, as you told us long ago. but there's yet one more obstacle, and that is decisive. it's going to rain." "no, that's a very weak one. the sun is shining...." "it's going to rain. the air is much too soft. i made sure of it when we were in the spa-gardens before breakfast. come and look at the barometer if you don't believe me. it's hanging in the hall...." they went out into the tapestry hall, where a big weather-glass hung near the marble fireplace. the countess went with them. klaus heinrich said: "it's gone up." "your highness is pleased to deceive yourself," answered miss spoelmann. "the refraction misleads you." "that's beyond me." "the refraction misleads you." "i don't know what that is, miss spoelmann. it's the same as with the adirondacks. i've not had much schooling, that's a necessary result of my kind of existence. you must make allowances for me." "oh, i humbly beg pardon. i ought to have remembered that one must use ordinary words when talking to your highness. you are standing crooked to the hand and that makes it look to you as if it had risen. if you would bring yourself to stand straight in front of the glass, you would see that the black has not risen above the gold hand, but has actually dropped a little below it." "i really believe you are right," said klaus heinrich sadly. "the atmospheric pressure there is higher than i thought!" "it is lower than you thought." "but how about the falling quicksilver?" "the quicksilver falls at low pressure, not at high, royal highness." "now i'm absolutely lost." "i think, prince, that you're exaggerating your ignorance by way of a joke, so as to hide what its extent really is. but as the atmospheric pressure is so high that the quicksilver drops, thus showing an absolute disregard for the laws of nature, let's go for a ride, countess--shall we? i cannot assume the responsibility of sending the prince back home again now that he has once come. he can wait in there till we're ready...." when imma spoelmann and the countess came back to the winter garden they were dressed for riding, imma in a close-fitting black habit with breast-pockets and a three-cornered felt hat, the countess in black cloth with a man's starched shirt and high hat. they went together down the steps, through the mosaic hall, and out into the open air, where between the colonnade and the big basin two grooms were waiting with the horses. but they had not yet mounted when with a loud barking, which was the expression of his wild excitement, percival, the collie, prancing and leaping about, tore out of the schloss and began a frenzied dance round the horses, who tossed their heads uneasily.... "i thought so," said imma, patting her favourite fatma's head, "there was no hiding it from him. he found it all out at the last moment. now he intends to come with us and make a fine to-do about it too. shall we drop the whole thing, prince?" but although klaus heinrich understood that he might just as well have allowed the groom to ride in front with the silver trumpet, so far as calling public attention to their expedition was concerned, yet he said cheerfully that percival must come too; he was a member of the family and must learn the neighbourhood like the rest. "well, where shall we go?" asked imma as they rode at a walk down the chestnut avenue. she rode between klaus heinrich and the countess. percival barked in the van. the english groom, in cockaded hat and yellow boot-tops, rode at a respectful distance behind. "the court kennels are fine," answered klaus heinrich, "but it is a bit farther to the 'pheasantry,' and we have time before lunch. i should like to show you the schloss. i spent three years there as a boy. it was a seminary, you know, with tutors and other boys of my age. that's where i got to know my friend ueberbein, doctor ueberbein, my favourite tutor." "you have a friend?" asked miss spoelmann, with some surprise, and gazed at him. "you must tell me about him some time. and you were educated at the 'pheasantry,' were you? then we must see it, because you're obviously set on it. trot!" she said as they turned into a loose riding-path. "there lies your hermitage, prince. there's plenty for the ducks to eat in your pond. let's give a wide berth to the spa-gardens, if that does not take us far out of our way." klaus heinrich agreed, so they left the park and trotted across country to reach the high-road which led to their goal to the north-west. in the town gardens they were greeted with surprise by a few promenaders, whose greetings klaus heinrich acknowledged by raising his hand to his cap, imma spoelmann with a grave and rather embarrassed inclination of her dark head in the three-cornered hat. by now they had reached the open country, and were no longer likely to meet people. now and then a peasant's cart rolled along the road, or a crouching bicyclist ploughed his way along it. but they turned aside from the road when they reached the meadow-land, which provided better going for their horses. percival danced backwards in front of them, feverish and restless as ever, turning, springing, and wagging his tail--his breath came fast, his tongue hung far out of his foaming jaws, and he vented his nervous exaltation in a succession of short, sobbing yelps. farther on he dashed off, following some scent with pricked ears and short springs, while his wild barking echoed through the air. they discussed fatma, which klaus heinrich had not yet seen close, and which he admired immensely. fatma had a long, muscular neck and small, nodding head with fiery eyes; she had the slender legs of the arab type, and a bushy tail. she was white as the moonlight, and saddled, girt, and bridled with white leather. florian, a rather sleepy brown, with a short back, hogged mane, and yellow stockings, looked as homely as a donkey by the side of the distinguished foreigner, although he was carefully groomed. countess löwenjoul rode a big cream called isabeau. she had an excellent seat, with her tall, straight figure, but she held her small head in its huge hat on one side, and her lids were half closed and twitched. klaus heinrich addressed some remarks to her behind miss spoelmann's back, but she did not answer, and went riding on with half-shut eyes, gazing in front of her with a madonna-like expression, and imma said: "don't let's bother the countess, prince, her thoughts are wandering." "i hope," he said, "that the countess was not annoyed at having to come with us." and he was distinctly taken aback when imma spoelmann answered casually: "to tell the truth, she very likely was." "because of your sums?" he asked. "oh, the sums? they're not so urgent, only a way of passing the time--although i hope to get a good lot of useful information out of them. but i don't mind telling you, prince, that the countess is not enthusiastic on the subject of yourself. she has expressed herself to that effect to me. she said you were hard and stern and affected her like a cold douche." klaus heinrich reddened. "i know well," he said quietly, looking down at his reins, "that i don't act as a cordial, miss spoelmann, or, at any rate, only at a distance.... that, too, is inseparable from my kind of existence, as i said. but i am not conscious of having shown myself hard and stern to the countess." "probably not in words," she replied, "but you did not allow her to let herself go, you did not do her the kindness of letting her tongue run a little, that's why she's vexed with you--and i know quite well what you did, how you embarrassed the poor thing and gave her a cold douche--quite well," she repeated, and turned her head away. klaus heinrich did not answer. he kept his left hand planted on his hip, and his eyes were tired. then he said: "you know quite well? so i act like a cold douche on you too, miss spoelmann, do i?" "i warn you," she answered at once in her broken voice, and wagging her head from side to side, "on no account to overrate the effect you have upon me, prince." and she suddenly set fatma off at a gallop and flew at such a pace over the fields towards the dark mass of the distant pine-woods that neither the countess nor klaus heinrich could keep up with her. not till she reached the edge of the wood through which the high-road ran did she halt and turn her horse to look mockingly at her followers. countess löwenjoul on her cream was the first to come up with the runaway. then came florian, foaming and much exhausted by his unusual exertion. they all laughed and their breath came fast as they entered the echoing wood. the countess had awakened and chatted merrily, making lively, graceful gestures and showing her white teeth. she poked fun at percival, whose temper had again been excited by the gallop, and who was careering wildly among the trunks in front of the horses. "royal highness," she said, "you ought to see him jump and turn somersaults. he can take a ditch six yards broad, and does it so lightly and gracefully, you'd be delighted. but only of his own accord, mind you, of his free will, for i believe he'd rather let himself be whipped to death than submit to any training or teaching of tricks. he is, one might say, his own trainer by nature, and though sometimes unruly he is never rough. he is a gentleman, an aristocrat, and full of character. he's as proud as you like, and though he seems mad he's quite able to control himself. nobody has ever heard him cry for pain when punished and hurt. he only eats, too, when he is hungry, and at other times won't look at the most tempting dainties. in the morning he has cream ... he must be fed. he wears himself out, he's quite thin under his glossy coat, you can feel all his ribs. for i'm afraid he'll never grow to be old, but will fall an early victim to consumption. the street curs persecute him, they go for him in every street, but he jumps clear of them, and if they succeed in joining issue with him, he distributes a few bites with his splendid teeth which the rabble don't forget in a hurry. one must love such a compound of chivalry and virtue." imma agreed, in words which were the most serious and grave which klaus heinrich had ever heard from her mouth. "yes," she said, "you're a good friend to me, percy, i shall always love you. a veterinary surgeon said you were half mad and advised us to have you put away, as you were impossible and a constant danger to us. but they shan't take my percy from me. he is impossible, i know, and often an incumbrance, but he's always appealing and noble, and i love him dearly." the countess continued to talk about the collie's nature, but her remarks soon became disconnected and confused, and lapsed into a monologue accompanied by lively and elegant gestures. at last, after an acid look at klaus heinrich, her thoughts again began to wander. klaus heinrich felt happy and cheered, whether as the result of the canter--for which he had had to brace himself up, for, though a decent figure on a horse, his left hand prevented him from being a strong rider--or for some other reason. after leaving the pine-wood they rode along the quiet high-road between meadows and furrowed fields, with a peasant's hut or a country inn here and there. as they drew near the next wood, he asked in a low voice: "won't you fulfil your promise and tell me about the countess? what is your companion's history?" "she is my friend," she answered, "and in a sense my governess too, although she did not come to us till i was grown up. that was three years ago, in new york, and the countess was then in a terrible state. she was on the brink of starvation," said miss spoelmann, and as she said it she fastened her big black eyes with a searching, startled look on klaus heinrich. "really starvation?" he asked, and returned her look.... "do please go on." "yes, i said that too when she came to us, and although i, of course, saw quite well that her mind was slightly affected, she made such an impression upon me that i persuaded my father to let her be my companion." "what took her to america? is she a countess by birth?" asked klaus heinrich. "not a countess, but of noble birth, brought up in refined and luxurious surroundings, sheltered and protected, as she expressed it to me, from every wind, because from childhood she had been impressionable and sensitive. but then she married a count löwenjoul, a cavalry captain--a strange specimen of the aristocracy, according to her account--not quite up to the mark, to put it mildly." "what was wrong with him?" asked klaus heinrich. "i can't exactly tell you, prince. you must take into consideration the rather obscure way in which the countess puts what she has to say. but, to judge from what she has told me, he must have been just about as arrant a scamp as one could well imagine--a regular blackguard." "i see," said klaus heinrich, "what's called a hard case, or a tough proposition." "exactly; we'll say man of the world--but in the most comprehensive and unlimited sense, for, to judge by the countess's remarks, there were no limits in his case." "no, that's what i too gathered," said klaus heinrich. "i've met several people of that sort--regular devils, so to speak. i heard of one such, who used to make love in his motor car, even when it was going at full speed." "did your friend ueberbein tell you of him?" "no, somebody else. ueberbein would not think it proper to mention anything of that sort to me." "then he must be a useless sort of friend, prince." "you'll think better of him when i tell you more about him, miss spoelmann. but please go on!" "well, i don't know whether löwenjoul behaved like your roué. anyhow he behaved disgracefully." "i expect he gambled and drank." "i guess so. and besides that of course he made love, neglected the countess and carried on with the loose women that are always to be found everywhere--at first behind her back, and later no longer behind her back but impudently and openly without any regard for her feelings." "but tell me, why did she ever marry him?" "she married him against her parents' will, because, as she has told me, she was in love with him. for in the first place, he was a handsome man when she first met him--he fell off in his looks later. in the second place, his reputation as a man of the world had gone before him, and that, according to her, constituted a sort of irresistible attraction for her, for, though she had been so well sheltered and protected, nothing would shake her in her resolve to share her life with him. if one thinks it over, one can quite understand it." "yes," he said, "i can quite understand it. she wanted to have her fling, as it were, to get her eyes opened. and she saw the world with a vengeance." "you may put it like that if you like: though the expression seems to me rather too flippant to describe her experiences. her husband ill-treated her." "do you mean that he beat her?" "yes, he ill-treated her physically. but now comes something, prince, which you too will not have heard about before. she gave me to understand that he ill-treated her not only in a temper, not only in anger and rage, but also without being exasperated, simply for his own satisfaction. i mean, that his caresses were so revolting as to amount to ill-treatment." klaus heinrich was silent. both looked very grave. at last he asked: "did the countess have any children?" "yes, two. they died quite young, both only a few weeks old, and that's the greatest sorrow the countess has had to bear. it would seem from her hints that it was the fault of the loose women for whom her husband betrayed her that the children died directly after birth." both remained silent, and their eyes clouded over. "add to that," continued imma spoelmann, "that he dissipated his wife's dowry, at cards and with women--a respectable dowry it was too--and after her parents' death her whole fortune also. relations of hers too helped him once, when he was near having to leave the service on account of his debts. but then came a scandal, an altogether revolting one, in which he was involved and which did for him once and for all." "what was it?" asked klaus heinrich. "i can't exactly tell you, prince. but, according to what the countess has let slip about it, it was a scandal of the very grossest description--we agreed just now that there are generally no limits in that direction." "and then he went to america?" "you're right there, prince. i can't help admiring your 'cuteness." "please go on, miss spoelmann. i've never heard anything like the countess's story." "no more had i; so you can imagine what an impression it made on me when she came to us. well, then, count löwenjoul bolted to america with the police at his heels, leaving pretty considerable debts behind of course. and the countess went with him." "she went with him? why?" "because she still loved him, in spite of everything--she loves him still--and because she was determined to share his life whatever happened. he took her with him, though, because he had a better chance of getting help from her relations as long as she was with him. the relations sent him one further instalment of money from home, and then stopped--they finally buttoned up their pockets; and when count löwenjoul saw that his wife was no more use to him, he just left her--left her in absolute destitution and cleared out." "i knew it," said klaus heinrich, "i expected as much. just what does happen." but imma spoelmann went on: "so there she was, destitute and helpless, and, since she had never learned to earn her own living, she was left alone to face want and hunger. and you must remember that life in the states is much harder and meaner than here in your country; also that the countess has always been a gentle, sensitive creature, and has been cruelly treated for years. in a word, she was no fit subject for the impressions of life to which she was unceasingly exposed. and then the blessing fell to her." "what blessing? she told me about that too. what was the blessing, miss spoelmann?" "the blessing consisted in a mental disturbance. at the crisis of her troubles something in her cracked--that's the expression she used to me--so that she no longer needed to face life and to bring a clear, sober mind to bear upon it, but was permitted, so to speak, to let herself go, to relax the tension of her nerves and to drivel when she liked. in a word, the blessing was that she went wrong in her head." "certainly i was under the impression," said klaus heinrich, "that the countess was letting herself go when she drivelled." "that's how it is, prince. she is quite conscious of drivelling, and often laughs as she does so, or lets her hearers understand that she doesn't mean any harm by it. her strangeness is a beneficent disorder, which she can control to a certain extent, and which she allows herself to indulge in. it is, if you prefer it, a want of----" "of self-restraint," said klaus heinrich, and looked down at his reins. "right, of self-restraint," she repeated, and looked at him. "you don't seem to approve of that want, prince." "i consider as a general rule," he answered quietly, "that it is not right to let oneself go and to make oneself at home, but that self-restraint should always be exercised, whatever the circumstances." "your highness's doctrine," she answered, "is a praiseworthy austerity." then she pouted, and, wagging her dark head in its three-cornered hat, she added in her broken voice: "i'll tell you something, highness, and please note it well. if your eminence is not inclined to show a little sympathy and indulgence and mildness, i shall have to decline the pleasure of your distinguished company once and for all." he dropped his head, and they rode a while in silence. "won't you go on to tell me how the countess came to you?" he asked at last. "no, i won't," she said, and looked straight in front of her. but he pressed her so pleadingly that she finished her story and said: "and although fifty other companions applied, my choice--for the choice rested with me--fell at once on her, i was so much taken with her at my first interview. she was odd, i could see that: but she was odd only from too rich an experience of misery and wickedness, that was clear in every word she said; and as for me, i had always been a little lonely and cut off, and absolutely without experience, except what i got at my university lectures." "of course, you had always been a little lonely and cut off!" repeated klaus heinrich, with a ring of joy in his voice. "that's what i said. it was a dull, simple life in some ways that i led, and still lead, because it has not altered much, and is all much the same. there were parties with 'lions' and balls, and often a dash in a closed motor to the opera house, where i sat in one of the little boxes above the stalls, so as to be well observed by everybody, for show, as we say. that was a necessary part of my position." "for show?" "yes, for show; i mean the duty of showing oneself off, of not raising walls against the public, but letting them come into the garden and walk on the lawn and gaze at the terrace, watching us at tea. my father, mr. spoelmann, disliked it intensely. but it was a necessary consequence of our position." "what did you usually do besides, miss spoelmann?" "in the spring we went to our house in the adirondacks and in the summer to our house at newport-on-sea. there were garden-parties of course, and battles of flowers and lawn-tennis tournaments, and we went for rides and drove four-in-hand or motored, and the people stood and gaped, because i was samuel spoelmann's daughter. and many shouted rude remarks after me." "rude remarks?" "yes, and they probably had reason to. at any rate it was something of a life in the limelight that we led, and one that invited discussion." "and between whiles," he said, "you played in the breezes, didn't you, or rather in a vacuum, where no dust came----" "that's right. your highness is pleased to mock my excess of candour. but in view of all this you can guess how extraordinarily welcome the countess was to me, when she came to see me in fifth avenue. she does not express herself very clearly, but rather in a mysterious sort of way, and the boundary line at which she begins to drivel is not always quite clearly apparent. but that only strikes me as right and instructive, as it gives a good idea of the boundlessness of misery and wickedness in the world. you envy me the countess, don't you?" "envy? h'm. you seem to assume, miss spoelmann, that i have never had my eyes opened." "have you?" "once or twice, maybe. for instance, things have come to my ears about our lackeys, which you would scarcely dream of." "are your lackeys so bad?" "bad? good-for-nothing, that's what they are. for one thing they play into each other's hands, and scheme, and take bribes from the tradesmen----" "but, prince, that's comparatively harmless." "yes, true, it's nothing to compare with the way the countess has had her eyes opened." they broke into a trot, and, leaving at the sign-post the gently rising and falling high-road, which they had followed through the pine-woods, turned into the sandy short cut, between high blackberry-covered banks, which led into the tufted meadow-land round the "pheasantry." klaus heinrich was at home in these parts: he stretched out his arm (the right one) to point out everything to his companions, though there was not much worth seeing. yonder lay the schloss, closed and silent, with its shingle-roof and its lightning-conductors on the edge of the wood. on one side was the pheasants' enclosure, which gave the place its name, and on the other stavenüter's tea-garden, where he had sometimes sat with raoul ueberbein. the spring sun shone mildly over the damp meadow-land and shed a soft haze over the distant woods. they reined in their horses in front of the tea-garden, and imma spoelmann took stock of the prosaic country-house which rejoiced in the name of the "pheasantry." "your childhood," she said with a pout, "does not seem to have been surrounded by much giddy splendour." "no," he laughed, "there's nothing to see in the schloss. it's the same inside as out. no comparison with delphinenort, even before you restored it----" "let's put our horses up," she said. "one must put one's horses up on an expedition, mustn't one, countess? dismount, prince. i'm thirsty, and want to see what your friend stavenüter has got to drink." there stood herr stavenüter in green apron and stockings, bowing and pressing his knitted cap to his chest with both hands, while he laughed till his gums showed. "royal highness!" he said, with joy in his voice, "does your royal highness mean to honour me once again? and the young lady!" he added, with a tinge of deference in his voice; for he knew samuel spoelmann's daughter quite well, and there had been in the whole grand duchy no more eager reader of the newspaper articles which coupled prince klaus heinrich's and imma's names together. he helped the countess to dismount, while klaus heinrich, who was the first to the ground, devoted himself to miss spoelmann, and he called to a lad, who, with the spoelmanns' groom, took charge of the horses. then followed the reception and welcome to which klaus heinrich was accustomed. he addressed a few formal questions in a reserved tone of voice to herr stavenüter, graciously asked how he was and how his business prospered, and received the answers with nods and a show of real interest. imma spoelmann watched his artificial, cold demeanour with serious, searching eyes, while she swung her riding-whip backwards and forwards. "may i be so bold as to remind you that i am thirsty?" she said at last sharply and decisively, whereupon they walked into the garden and discussed whether they need go in to the coffee-room. klaus heinrich urged that it was still so damp under the trees; but imma insisted on sitting outside, and herself chose one of the long narrow tables with benches on each side, which herr stavenüter hastened to cover with a white cloth. "lemonade!" he said. "that's best for a thirst, and it's sound stuff! no trash, royal highness, and you, ladies, but natural juice sweetened--there's no better!" followed the driving-in of the glass balls in the necks of the bottles; and, while his distinguished guests tasted the drink, herr stavenüter dawdled a little longer at the table, meaning to serve them up a little gossip. he had long been a widower, and his three children, who in days gone by had sung here under the trees the song about common humanity, the while blowing their noses with their fingers, had now left him. the son was a soldier in the capital, one of the daughters had married a neighbouring farmer, the other, with a soul for higher things, had gone into service in the capital. so herr stavenüter was in solitary control in this remote spot, in the three-fold capacity of farmer of the schloss lands, caretaker of the schloss, and head keeper of the "pheasantry," and was well content with his lot. soon, if the weather permitted, the season for bicyclists and walkers would come round, when the garden was filled on sundays. then business hummed. would not his highness and the ladies like to take a peep at the "pheasantry"? yes, they would, later; so herr stavenüter withdrew for the present, after placing a saucer of milk for percival by the table. the collie had been in some muddy water on the way, and looked horrible. his legs were thin with wet, and the white parts of his ragged coat covered with dirt. his gaping mouth was black to the throat from nuzzling for field-mice, and his dark red tongue hung dripping out of his mouth. he quickly lapped up his milk, and then lay with panting sides by his mistress's feet, flat on his side, his head thrown back in an attitude of repose. klaus heinrich declared it to be inexcusable for imma to expose herself after her ride to the invidious springtime air without any wrap. "take my cloak," he said. "i really do not want it, i'm quite warm, and my coat is padded on the chest!" she would not hear of it; but he went on asking her so insistently that she consented, and let him lay his grey military coat with a major's shoulder-straps round her shoulders. then, resting her dark head in its three-cornered hat in the hollow of her hand, she watched him as, with arm outstretched towards the schloss, he described to her the life he had once led there. there, where the tall window opened on to the ground, had been the mess-room, then the school-room, and up above klaus heinrich's room with the plaster torso on the stove. he told her too about professor kürtchen and his tactful way of instructing his pupils, about captain amelung's widow, and the aristocratic "pheasants," who called everything "hog-wash," and especially about raoul ueberbein, his friend, of whom imma spoelmann more than once asked him to tell her some more. he told her about the doctor's obscure origin, and about the money his parents paid to be quit of him; about the child in the marsh or bog, and the medal for saving life; about ueberbein's plucky and ambitious career, pursued in circumstances calling for resolution and action, which he used to call favourable circumstances, and about his friendship with doctor sammet, whom imma knew. he described his by no means attractive appearance and readily owned to the attraction which he had exercised on him from the very beginning. he described his behaviour towards himself, klaus heinrich--that fatherly and jolly, blustering camaraderie which had distinguished him so sharply from everybody else--and gave imma to the best of his ability an insight into his tutor's views of life. finally he expressed his concern that the doctor seemed not to enjoy any sort of popularity among his fellow-citizens. "i can quite believe that," said imma. he was surprised, and asked why. "because i'm convinced," she said, wagging her head, "that your ueberbein, for all his sparkling conversation, is an unhappy sort of creature. he may swagger about the place; but he lacks reserve, prince, and that means that he will come to a bad end." her words startled klaus heinrich, and made him thoughtful. then turning to the countess, who awoke with a smile out of a brown study, he said something complimentary about her riding, for which she thanked him gracefully. he said that anybody could see that she had learnt to ride as a child, and she confessed that riding lessons had formed a considerable part of her education. she spoke clearly and cheerfully; but gradually, almost imperceptibly, she began to wander into a strange story about a gallant ride which she had made as a lieutenant in the last manoeuvres, and suddenly started talking about the dreadful wife of a sergeant in the grenadiers, who had come into her room the previous night and scratched her breasts all over, meanwhile using language which she could not bring herself to repeat. klaus heinrich asked quietly whether she had not shut her door and windows. "of course, but anyone could break the glass!" she answered hastily, and turned pale in one cheek and red in the other. klaus heinrich nodded acquiescence, and, dropping his eyes, asked her quietly to let him call her "frau meier" now and then, a proposal which she gladly accepted, with a confidential smile and a far-away look which had something strangely attractive about it. they got up to visit the "pheasantry," after klaus heinrich had taken back his cloak; and as they left the garden, imma spoelmann said: "well done, prince. you're getting on," a commendation which made him blush, indeed gave him far more pleasure than the most fulsome newspaper report of the valuable effect of his appearance at a ceremony which councillor schustermann could ever show him. herr stavenüter escorted his guests into the palisaded enclosure in which six or seven families of pheasants led a comfortable, petted life. they watched the greedy, red-eyed, and stiff-tailed birds, inspected the hatching house, and looked on while herr stavenüter fed the pheasants under a big solitary fig-tree for their benefit. klaus heinrich thanked him warmly for all that he had shown them, imma spoelmann regarding him the while with her big, searching eyes. then they mounted at the gate of the tea-garden and rode off homewards with percival barking and pirouetting under the horses' noses. but their ride home was destined to give klaus heinrich, in the course of his conversation with imma spoelmann, yet another significant indication of her real nature and character, a direct revelation of certain sides of her personality which gave him food for much thought. for soon after they had left the bramble-hedged by-way and joined the high-road, klaus heinrich reverted to a subject which had been just touched on at his first visit to delphinenort during the conversation at tea, and had not ceased to exercise him ever since. "may i," he said, "ask you one question, miss spoelmann? you need not answer it if you don't want to." "i'll see about that," she answered. "four weeks ago," he began, "when i first had the pleasure of a talk with your father, mr. spoelmann, i asked him a question which he answered so curtly and abruptly that i could not help feeling that my question had been indiscreet or a false step." "what was it?" "i asked him whether he had not found it hard to leave america." "there you are, prince, there's another question which is worthy of you, a typical prince-question. if you had had a little more training in the use of your reasoning powers you would have known without asking that if my father had not been ready and glad to leave america, he most assuredly would not have left it." "very probably you are right; forgive me, i don't think enough. but if my question was nothing worse than a want of thought, i shall be quite content. can you assure me that that is the case?" "no, prince, i'm afraid i cannot," she said, and looked at him suddenly with her big black eyes. "then what has want of thought to do with it? do please explain. i ask you in the name of our friendship." "are we friends?" "i hoped so," he said pleadingly. "well, well, patience! i didn't know it, but i'm quite ready to learn it. but to return to my father, he really did lose his temper at your question--he has a quick temper, and has plenty of occasion to practise losing it. the fact is that public opinion and sentiment were not over-friendly to us in america. there's such a lot of scheming over there--i may mention that i am not posted in the details, but there was a strong political movement towards setting the crowd, the common people, you know, against us. the result was legislation and restrictions which made my father's life over there a burden to him. you know of course, prince, that it was not he who made us what we are, but my redoubtable grandfather with his paradise nugget and blockhead farm. my father could not help it, he was born to his destiny, and it was no gratification to him, because he is naturally shy and sensitive, and would much have preferred to have lived for playing the organ and collecting glass. i really believe that the hatred which was the result of the scheming against us, so that sometimes the people hurled abuse after me when i motored past them--that the hatred quite probably brought on his stone in the kidneys; it's more than possible." "i am cordially attached to your father," said klaus heinrich with emphasis. "i should have made that, prince, a condition of our becoming friends. but there was another point which made things worse, and made our position over there still more difficult, and that was our origin." "your origin?" "yes, prince; we are no aristocratic pheasants, unfortunately we are not descended from washington or from the pilgrim fathers." "no, for you are german." "oh yes, but there's something besides to get over. please look at me closely. does it strike you that there is anything to be proud of in having blue-black wispy hair like mine, that's always falling where it's not wanted?" "goodness knows, miss spoelmann, you've got glorious hair!" said klaus heinrich. "i know that you are partly of southern extraction, for i've read somewhere that your grandfather married in bolivia or thereabouts." "he did. but that's where the trouble lies, prince. i'm a quintroon." "a what?" "a quintroon." "that goes with the adirondacks and the refraction, miss spoelmann. i don't know what it is. i've already told you that i don't know much." "well, it's a fact. my grandfather, thoughtless as he always was, married a woman of indian blood down south." "indian blood!" "yes. she was of indian stock at the third remove, daughter of a white and a half-indian, and so a terceroon as it is called. she must have been wonderfully beautiful. and she was my grandmother. the grandchildren of a terceroon are called quintroons. that's how things are." "most interesting. but didn't you say that it had affected people's attitude towards you?" "you don't understand, prince. i must tell you that indian blood over there means a heavy blot--such a blot, that friendships and affections are transformed into hatred and abuse if proof of half-blood descent comes to light. of course things are not so serious with us, for with quadroons--why, of course, the taint is nothing like so great, and a quintroon is to all intents and purposes untainted. but in our case, exposed to gossip as we were, it was naturally different, and several times when the people shouted abuse after us i heard them say that i was a coloured girl. in short, my descent was made an excuse for insults and annoyances, and raised a barrier between us and the few who were in the same position of life as ourselves--there was always something which we had to hide or to brazen out. my grandfather had brazened it out, he was that sort of man, and knew what he was doing; besides, his blood was pure, it was only his beautiful wife who had the taint. but my father was her son, and, sensitive and quick-tempered as he is, he has always, ever since he was a boy, resented being stared at, and hated and despised at the same time; half a world's wonder and half a monument of iniquity, as he used to say. he was fed up with america. that's the whole history, prince," said imma spoelmann, "and now you know why my father lost his temper over your pointed question." klaus heinrich thanked her for the explanation; indeed, as he saluted and took leave (it was lunch time) of the ladies in front of the delphinenort gate, he repeated his thanks for what he had been told, and then rode at foot's pace home, pondering over the events of the morning. he saw imma spoelmann sitting in a languid pose in her red-gold dress at the table, with a look as of a spoilt child on her face; sitting in comfortable assurance, and uttering remarks with a sting in them, such as were good coin in the united states, where clearness, hardness, and a ready wit were essentials of life. and why? klaus heinrich could understand now, and never a day passed that he did not try to realize it better. stared at, hated and despised at the same time, half a world's wonder and half a monument of iniquity, that's what her life had been, and that had instilled the poison into her remarks, that acidity and mocking directness, which looked like offence but really were defence, and which evoked a look of bewilderment on the faces of those who had never had any occasion for the weapons of wit. she had demanded of him sympathy and tenderness towards the poor countess, when she let herself go; but she herself had a claim to sympathy and tenderness, for she was lonely and her life, like his, was a hard one. at the same time a memory haunted him, a long-ago, painful memory, whose scene was the refreshment room of the "citizen garden," and which ended in a tureen lid----"little sister!" he said to himself, as he quickly dismissed the scene from his thoughts. "little sister!" but most of all his thoughts were busy with planning how soonest to enjoy miss spoelmann's society again. he enjoyed it soon and often, in all sorts of circumstances. february gave place to threatening march, fickle april and soft may. and all these months klaus heinrich visited schloss delphinenort at least once a week, in the morning or in the afternoon, and always in the irresponsible mood in which he had presented himself at the spoelmanns' that february morning, as if led by fate without any action of his own will. the proximity of the schlosses made the visits easy, the short distance through the park from the "hermitage" to delphinenort was easily crossed on horseback or in a dogcart, without exciting much attention; and when the advancing season brought more people to the neighbourhood and made it harder and harder for them to go for rides without attracting public attention, the prince had by this time reached a state of mind which can only be described as complete indifference and blind recklessness towards the world, the court, the capital, and the countryside. it was not till later that the public interest began to play a really important--and encouraging--part in his thoughts and actions. he had not taken leave of the ladies after the first ride without suggesting another expedition, a suggestion to which imma spoelmann, pouting and wagging her head from side to side, had failed to bring any serious objection. so he came again; and they rode to the royal kennels, on the north side of the town gardens; on the third occasion they chose a third place to ride to, which also they could reach without going near the town. then, when spring enticed the townspeople into the open air and the tea-gardens filled up, they preferred an out-of-the-way path, which really was no path, but a richly wooded dyke, which stretched far away to the north along a swift-running stream. the quietest way of reaching it was by riding out at the back of the "hermitage" park, and past the river meadows on the edge of the northern town garden up to the royal kennels; then not crossing the river by the wooden bridge at the weir, but keeping along this side. the kennels farm was left behind on the right, and the ride went on through the fir-plantations. on the left lay spreading meadows, white and gaily coloured with hemlock and anemones, buttercups and bluebells, clover, daisies, and forget-me-nots; a village church tower rose in front of them beyond the plough-lands, and the busy high-road lay far away at a safe distance from the riders. farther on, the meadows with their nut-hedges came close up to the plantations on the left, shutting out the view, and enabling them to ride in complete seclusion, generally side by side with the countess behind, as the path was narrow. they talked or rode in silence, while percival jumped over the stream and back again, or plunged into it for a bath or a hurried drink. they came back the same way as they went. when, however, the quicksilver fell owing to the lowness of the atmospheric pressure, when rain followed, and klaus heinrich nevertheless felt another peep at imma spoelmann to be a necessity, he presented himself in his dogcart at delphinenort at tea time, and they stayed indoors. mr. spoelmann joined them at tea not more than two or three times. his malady got worse about this time, and on several days he was obliged to stay in bed with hot poultices. when he did come, he used to say: "hullo, young prince," with his thin, white-cuffed hand dip a rusk in his tea, throw in a cross word here and there into the conversation, and end by offering his guest his gold cigarette-case, whereupon he left the garden room with dr. watercloose, who had sat silent and smiling at the table. in fine weather too they sometimes preferred not to go outside the park, but to play lawn tennis on the trim lawn below the terrace. on one occasion they went for a rapid drive in mr. spoelmann's motor far out beyond the "pheasantry." one day klaus heinrich asked: "is what i have read true, miss spoelmann, that your father gets such a tremendous lot of letters and appeals every day?" then she described to him subscription lists which kept pouring in to delphinenort, and which were dealt with as thoroughly as was practicable; of the piles of begging letters by every post from europe and america which messrs. phlebs and slippers ran through and weeded out for submission to mr. spoelmann. sometimes, she said, she amused herself by glancing through the heaps, and reading the addresses; for these were often quite fantastic. for the needy or speculative senders tried to outdo each other in the deference and servility of their address on the envelopes, and every conceivable title and distinction could be found mixed up in the strangest way on the letters. but one begging-letter writer had quite recently carried off the prize by addressing his envelope to: "his royal highness mr. samuel spoelmann." but it did not get him any more than the others. on other occasions the prince fell to talking mysteriously about the "owl chamber" in the old schloss, and confided to her that recently noises had again been heard in it, pointing to events of moment in his, klaus heinrich's, family. then imma spoelmann laughed, and, pouting and wagging her head from side to side, gave him a scientific explanation of the noises, just as she had done in connexion with the secrets of the barometer. nonsense, she said; it must be that that part of the lumber-room was ellipsoidal, and a second ellipsoidal surface with the same curvature and with a sound-source at the focus existed somewhere outside, the result being that inside the haunted room noises were audible which could not be distinguished in the immediate neighbourhood. klaus heinrich was rather crestfallen over this explanation, and loath to give up the common belief in the connexion between the lumber-room and the fortunes of his house. thus they conversed, and the countess too took part, now sensible, now confused; klaus heinrich took considerable pains not to rebuff or chill her by his manner, and addressed her as "frau meier" whenever she appeared to think it necessary for her protection against the plots of the wicked women. he recounted to the ladies his unreal life, the gala suppers at the students' clubs, the military banquets, and his educational tour; he told them about his relations, about his once-beautiful mother, whom he visited now and then in the "segenhaus," where she kept dismal court, and about albrecht and ditlinde. imma spoelmann in her turn related some incidents in her luxurious and singular youth, and the countess often slipped in a few dark sayings about the horrors and secrets of life, to which the others listened with serious and thoughtful faces. they took special delight in one kind of game--guessing existences, making estimates to the best of their knowledge of the people they happened to see in the citizen world--a strange and curious study of the passers-by from a distant standpoint, from the terrace or from horseback. what kind of young people might these be? what did they do? where did they come from? they were certainly not apprentices, perhaps technical students or budding foresters, to judge by certain signs; maybe they belonged to the agricultural college; at any rate stout fellows enough, though rather rough, with sound careers before them. but that little untidy thing who strolled past looked like a factory hand or dressmaker's assistant. girls like her always had a young man in their own class, who took them out to tea in the parks on sundays. and they exchanged what they knew about people in general, discussed them like connoisseurs, and felt that this pastime brought them closer together than any amount of riding or lawn tennis. as for the motor drive, imma spoelmann in the course of it explained that she had only invited klaus heinrich to it so as to let him see the chauffeur, a young american in brown leather, who, she declared, resembled the prince. klaus heinrich objected with a smile that the back of the driver's neck did not enable him to express an opinion on the matter, and asked the countess to say what she thought. she, after long denying the likeness in polite embarrassment, at last, on imma's insistence, with a side glance at klaus heinrich, agreed to it. then miss spoelmann said that the grave, sober, and skilful youth had originally been in her father's personal service, driving him daily from fifth avenue to broadway and back. mr. spoelmann, however, had insisted on extraordinary speed, like that of an express train, and the intense strain put upon a driver by such speed in the crowded streets of new york had proved at last too much for the youth. as a matter of fact no accident had happened; the young man had stuck to it and done his deadly duty with amazing care. but in the end it had often happened that he had to be lifted down in a faint from his seat at the end of a run--a proof of the inordinate strain to which he had been daily subjected. to avoid having to dismiss him, mr. spoelmann had made him his daughter's special chauffeur, and he had continued to act in that capacity in their new abode. imma had noticed the likeness between klaus heinrich and him the first time she saw the prince. it was of course a similarity not of features, but of expression. the countess had agreed with her. klaus heinrich said that he did not in the least object to the likeness, as the heroic young man had all his sympathy. they then discussed further the difficult and anxious life of a chauffeur, without countess löwenjoul taking any further part in the conversation. she did not prattle during this drive, though later she made a few sensible and pointed remarks. for the rest, mr. spoelmann's craze for speed seemed to have descended in some measure to his daughter, for she never lost an opportunity of repeating the wild gallop she had started on their first ride; and as klaus heinrich, stimulated by her gibes, urged the amazed and disapproving florian to the top of his speed, so as not to be left behind, the gallop always degenerated into a race, which imma spoelmann always started at unexpected and arbitrary moments. several of these struggles took place on the lonely river-edged causeway, and one in particular was long and bitter. it happened after a short talk about klaus heinrich's popularity, which was begun brusquely, and broken off as brusquely, by imma spoelmann. she asked suddenly: "is it true what i hear, prince, that you are so tremendously popular with the people? that you have won all their hearts?" he answered: "so they say. it must be some characteristics, not necessarily good ones. what's more, i'm not sure whether i believe it, or even ought to be glad of it. i doubt whether it speaks for me. my brother, the grand duke, declares in so many words that popularity is hog-wash." "h'm, the grand duke must be a fine man: i've got a great respect for him. so we see you in an atmosphere of adulation, and everybody loves you ... go on!" she cried suddenly, and gave fatma a cut with her white switch. the mare started, and the race began. it lasted a long time. never before had they followed the stream so far. the view on the left had long become shut in. lumps of earth and grass flew from under the horses' hoofs. the countess had soon dropped behind. when at last they reined in their horses, florian was trembling with exhaustion, and the riders themselves were pale and panting. they rode back in silence. klaus heinrich received a visit at the "hermitage" from raoul ueberbein the afternoon before his birthday this year. the doctor came to wish him many happy returns, as he expected to be prevented by his work from doing so on the morrow. they strolled round the gravel path at the back of the park, the tutor in his frock-coat and white tie, klaus heinrich in his summer coat. the grass stood ready for cutting under the perpendicular rays of the midday sun, and the limes were in flower. in one corner, close by the hedge which divided the park from the unlovely suburbs, stood a little rustic temple. klaus heinrich was telling of his visits to "delphinenort," as this topic lay nearest his heart. he spoke quite clearly about them, but did not tell the doctor any actual news, for the latter showed that he knew all about them. how was that? oh, from various sources. ueberbein had never started the subject. so people in the town concern themselves about it? "heaven forbid, klaus heinrich, that anybody should give a thought to it, either to the rides, or to the teas, or to the motor drive. you don't suppose that that sort of thing is expected to set tongues wagging!" "but we're so careful!" "'we' is rich, klaus heinrich, and so is the carefulness. all the same, his excellency von knobelsdorff keeps himself accurately posted in all your goings-on." "knobelsdorff?" "knobelsdorff." klaus heinrich was silent; then asked: "and what is baron knobelsdorff's attitude towards what he learns?" "well, the old gentleman hasn't yet had a chance of interfering in the developments." "but the public opinion?--the people?" "the people of course hold their breath." "and you, you yourself, my dear doctor ueberbein?" "i'm waiting for the tureen-lid," answered the doctor. "no!" cried klaus heinrich joyfully. "no, there'll be no tureen-lid this time, doctor ueberbein, for i am happy, oh so happy, whatever happens--can you understand? you taught me that happiness was no concern of mine, and you pulled me up short when i tried to come by it; and right thankful i was to you for doing so, for it was horrible, and i shall never forget it. but this is no case of high jinks at a citizens' dance, which leave one humiliated and heavy at heart; this is no breaking out and running off the rails and humiliation! for can't you see that she of whom we are speaking belongs neither to the citizens' dance, nor to the aristocratic 'pheasants,' nor to anything in the world but to me--that she is a princess, doctor ueberbein, and as good as me, and there can be no question here of a tureen-lid? you have taught me that it is silly to maintain that we're all only ordinary men, and hopeless for me to act as if we were, and that the happiness i would gain by doing so is forbidden to me and must bring me to shame in the end. but this is not that silly and forbidden happiness. it is my first taste of the happiness which is allowed me, and which i may hope for, doctor ueberbein, and yield myself to without misgiving, whatever comes of it...." "good-bye, prince klaus heinrich," said doctor ueberbein, though he did not at once leave him, but continued walking at his side with his hands clasped behind him and his red beard sunk on his breast. "no," said klaus heinrich. "no, not good-bye, doctor ueberbein. that's just it. i mean to remain your friend, you who have had such a hard time, and have shown such pride in your duty and destiny, and have made me proud too in treating me as a companion. i have no intention of resting on my oars, now that i have found happiness, but will remain true to you and to myself and to my exalted calling...." "it cannot be," said doctor ueberbein in latin, and shook his ugly head with its protruding, pointed ears. "it can be, doctor. i'm sure it can, they're not incompatible. and you, you ought not to show yourself so cold and distant at my side, when i am so happy, and, what's more, it's the eve of my birthday. tell me--you've had so many experiences and seen so much of the world in all its aspects--have you never had any experiences in this direction? you know what i mean--have you never had an attack like this of mine?" "h'm," said doctor ueberbein, and pressed his lips together, till his red beard rose, and the muscles knotted in his cheeks. "no doubt i may have had one once, _sub rosa_." "i thought so! tell me about it, doctor ueberbein. you must tell me about it!" the hour was one of quiet sunshine, and the air full of the scent of limes. so doctor ueberbein related an incident in his career on which he had never touched in previous accounts, though it had perhaps a decisive influence on his whole life. it had occurred in those early days when the doctor was teacher of the young idea and at the same time working on his own account, when he used to draw in his waist-belt and give private lessons to sleek tradesmen's children, so as to get money to buy books with. with his hands still behind him and his beard sunk on his breast, the doctor related the incident in a sharp and incisive tone of voice, pressing his lips close together between each sentence. at that date fate had forged the closest ties between him and a woman, a lovely, fair lady who was the wife of an honourable and respected man and the mother of three children. he had entered the family as tutor to the children, but had subsequently been a constant guest and visitor, and with the husband too had reached a footing of mutual confidences. the feelings of the young tutor and the fair wife for each other had been long unsuspected, and longer still unexpressed in words; but they grew stronger in the silence, and more overpowering, till one evening hour when the husband had stayed late at his office, a warm, sweet, dangerous hour, they burst into flames and were near to overwhelm them. in that hour their longing had cried aloud for the happiness, the tremendous happiness, of their union; but, said doctor ueberbein, the world could sometimes show a noble action. they felt ashamed, he said, to tread the mean and ridiculous path of treachery, and to "clap horns," as the phrase goes, on the honest husband; while to spoil his life by demanding release from him as the right of passion was equally not to their taste. in short, for the children's sake and for that of the good, honest husband, whom they both respected, they denied themselves. yes, that's what happened, but of course it needed a good deal of stern resolution. ueberbein continued to visit the fair lady's house occasionally. he would sup there, when he had time, play a game of cards with his two friends, kiss his hostess's hand, and say good night. but when he had told the prince this much, he concluded in a still shorter and sharper tone than he had begun, and the balls of muscle at the corners of his mouth showed more prominently than before. for the hour which saw their act of renunciation, in that hour ueberbein had said a final farewell to all happiness--"dalliance with happiness," as he had since called it. as he failed, or refused, to win the fair lady, he swore to himself that he would honour her, and the bonds which bound him to her, by achieving something and making himself felt in the field of hard work. to this he had dedicated his life, to this alone, and it had brought him to what he was. that was the secret, or at least a contribution of the riddle of ueberbein's unsociability, unapproachableness, and earnest endeavour. klaus heinrich was quite frightened to see how unusually green his face was when he took his leave with a deep bow, saying: "my greetings to little imma, klaus heinrich." next day the prince received the congratulations of the staff at the schloss, and later those of herr von braunbart-schellendorf and von schulenburg-tressen in the yellow room. in the course of the morning the members of the grand ducal house came to the "hermitage" to pay their respects, and at one o'clock klaus heinrich drove to luncheon with prince and princess zu ried-hohenried, meeting with an unusually warm reception from the public on the way. the grimmburgers were mustered in full force in the pretty palace in the albrechtstrasse. the grand duke too came, in a frock-coat, nodded his small head to each member of the party, sucking his lower lip against his upper the while, and drank milk-and-soda during lunch. almost immediately after lunch was finished he withdrew. prince lambert had come without his wife. the old habitué of the ballet was painted, hollow-cheeked, and slovenly, and his voice sounded sepulchral. he was to some extent ignored by his relations. during luncheon the conversation turned for a while on court matters, then on little princess philippine's progress, and later almost exclusively on prince philipp's commercial schemes. the quiet little man talked about his breweries, factories, and mills, and in particular about his peat-cuttings. he described various improvements in the machinery, quoted figures of capital invested and returns, and his cheeks glowed, while his wife's relations listened to him with looks of curiosity, approval, or mockery. when coffee had been served in the big flower-room, the princess, holding her gilded cup, went up to her brother and said: "you have quite deserted us lately, klaus heinrich." ditlinde's face with the grimmburg cheek-bones was not so transparent as it had once been. it had gained more colour since the birth of her daughter, and her head seemed to be less oppressed by the weight of her fair hair. "have i deserted you?" he said. "forgive me, ditlinde, perhaps i have. but there were so many calls on my time, and i knew that there were on yours too; for you are no longer confined to flowers." "true, the flowers have had to take a less prominent place, they don't get much thought from me now. a fairer life and flowering now occupies all my time. i believe that's where i have got my red cheeks from, like dear philipp from his peat (he ought not to have talked about it the whole of luncheon, as he did; but it's his hobby), and it is because i was so busy and rushed that i was not cross with you for never showing yourself and for going your own way, even though that way seemed to me rather a surprising one." "do you know what it is, ditlinde?" "yes, though unfortunately not from you. but jettchen isenschnibbe has kept me well posted--you know she is always a fund of news--and at first i was horribly shocked, i don't deny it. but after all they live in delphinenort, he has a private physician, and philipp thinks they are in their way of equal birth with ourselves. i believe i once spoke disparagingly about them, klaus heinrich; i said something about a croesus, if i remember rightly, and made a pun on the word 'taxpayer.' but if you consider them worthy of your friendship, i've been wrong and of course withdraw my remarks, and will try to think differently about them in future. i promise you. you always loved rummaging," she went on, after he had laughed and kissed her hand, "and i had to do it with you, and my dress (do you remember it--the red velvet?) suffered for it. now you have to rummage alone, and god grant, klaus heinrich, that it won't bring you any horrible experience." "i really believe, ditlinde, that every experience is fine, whether it be good or bad. but my present experience is splendid." at half-past five the prince left the "hermitage" again, in his dogcart, which he drove himself, with a groom at his back. it was warm, and klaus heinrich was wearing white trousers with a double-breasted coat. bowing, he again drove to the town, or more precisely to the old schloss. he did not enter the albrechtstor, however, but drove in through a side door, and across two courtyards till he reached that in which the rose-bush grew. here all was still and stony; the stair-turrets with their oblique windows, forged-iron balustrades, and fine carvings towered in the corners; the many-styled building stood there in light and shadow, partly grey and weather-worn, partly more modern-looking, with gables and box-like projections, with open porticoes and peeps through broad bow-windows into vaulted halls and narrow galleries. but in the middle, in its unfenced bed, stood the rose-bush, blooming gloriously after a favourable season. klaus heinrich threw the reins to a servant, and went up and looked at the dark-red roses. they were exceptionally fine--full and velvety, grandly formed, and a real masterwork of nature. several were already full-blown. "call ezekiel, please," said klaus heinrich to a moustachioed door-keeper, who came forward with his hand to his hat. ezekiel, the custodian of the rose-bush, came. he was a greybeard of seventy years of age, in a gardener's apron, with watery eyes and a bent back. "have you any shears by you, ezekiel?" said klaus heinrich, "i should like a rose." and ezekiel drew some shears out of the pocket of his apron. "that one there," said klaus heinrich, "that's the finest." and the old man cut the thorny branch with trembling hands. "i'll water it, royal highness," he said, and shuffled off to the water-tap in a corner of the court. when he came back, glittering drops were clinging to the petals of the rose, as if to the feathers of waterfowl. "thanks, ezekiel," said klaus heinrich, and took the rose. "still going strong? here!" he gave the old man a gold piece, and climbing into the dogcart drove with the rose on the seat beside him through the courtyards. everybody who saw him thought that he was driving back to the "hermitage" from the old schloss, where presumably he had an interview with the grand duke. but he drove through the town gardens to delphinenort. the sky had clouded over, big drops were already falling on the leaves, and thunder rolled in the distance. the ladies were at tea when klaus heinrich, conducted by the corpulent butler, appeared in the gallery and walked down the steps into the garden room. mr. spoelmann, as usual recently, was not present. he was in bed with poultices on. percival, who lay curled up like a snail close by imma's chair, beat the carpet with his tail by way of greeting. the gilding of the furniture looked dull, as the park beyond the glass door lay in a damp mist. klaus heinrich exchanged a handshake with the daughter of the house, and kissed the countess's hand, while he gently raised her from the courtly curtsey she had begun, as usual, to make. "you see, summer has come," he said to imma spoelmann, offering her the rose. it was the first time he had brought her flowers. "how courtly of you!" she said. "thanks, prince. and what a beauty!" she went on in honest admiration (a thing she hardly ever showed), and held out her small, ringless hands for the glorious flower, whose dewy petals curled exquisitely at the edges. "are there such fine roses here? where did you get it?" and she bent her dark head eagerly over it. her eyes were full of horror when she looked up again. "it doesn't smell!" she said, and a look of disgust showed round her mouth. "wait, though--it smells of decay!" she said. "what's this you have brought me, prince?" and her big black eyes in her pale face seemed to glow with questioning horror. "yes," he said, "i'm sorry; that's a way our roses have. it's from the bush in one of the courts of the old schloss. have you never heard of it? there's something hangs by that. people say that one day it will begin to smell exquisite." she seemed not to be listening to him. "it seems as if it had no soul," she said, and looked at the rose. "but it's perfectly beautiful, that one must allow. well, that's a doubtful joke on nature's part, prince. all the same, prince, thanks for your attention. and as it comes from your ancestral schloss, one must regard it with due reverence." she put the rose in a glass by her plate. a swan's-down flunkey brought the prince a cup and plate. they discussed at tea the bewitched rose-bush, and then commonplace subjects, such as the court theatre, their horses, and all sorts of trivial topics. imma spoelmann time after time contradicted him, interposing polished quotations--to her own enjoyment, and his despair at the range of her reading--quotations which she uttered in her broken voice, with whimsical motions of her head. after a time a heavy, white-paper parcel was brought in, sent by the book-binders to miss spoelmann, containing a number of works which she had had bound in smart and durable bindings. she opened the parcel, and they all three examined the books to see if the binder had done his work well. they were nearly all learned works whose contents were either as mysterious-looking as imma spoelmann's notebook, or dealt with scientific psychology, acute analyses of internal impulses. they were got up in the most sumptuous way, with parchment and crushed leather, gold letters, fine paper, and silk markers. imma spoelmann did not display much enthusiasm over the consignment, but klaus heinrich, who had never seen such handsome volumes, was full of admiration. "shall you put them all into the bookcase?" he asked. "with the others upstairs? i suppose you have quantities of books? are they all as fine as these? do let me see how you arrange them. i can't go yet, the weather's still bad and would ruin my white trousers. besides, i've no idea how you live in delphinenort, i've never seen your study. will you show me your books?" "that depends on the countess," she said, busying herself with piling the volumes one on the other. "countess, the prince wants to see my books. would you be so kind as to say what you think?" countess löwenjoul was in a brown study. with her small head bent, she was watching klaus heinrich with a sharp, almost hostile look, and then let her eyes wander to imma spoelmann, when her expression altered and became gentle, sympathetic, and anxious. she came to herself with a smile, and drew a little watch out of her brown, close-fitting dress. "at seven o'clock," she said brightly, "mr. spoelmann expects you to read to him, imma. you have half an hour in which to do what his royal highness wants." "good; come along, prince, and inspect my study," said imma. "and so far as your highness permits it, please lend a hand in carrying up these books; i'll take half." but klaus heinrich took them all. he clasped them in both arms, though the left was not much use to him, and the pile reached to his chin. then, bending backwards and going carefully, so as to drop nothing, he followed imma over into the wing towards the drive, on the main floor of which lay countess löwenjoul's and miss spoelmann's quarters. in the big, comfortable room which they entered through a heavy door he laid his burden down on the top of a hexagonal ebony table, which stood in front of a big gold-chintzed sofa. imma spoelmann's study was not furnished in the style proper to the schloss, but in more modern taste, without any show, but with massive, masculine, serviceable luxury. it was panelled with rare woods right up to the top, and adorned with old porcelain, which glittered on the brackets all round under the ceiling. the carpets were persian, the mantelpiece black marble, on which stood shapely vases and a gilt clock. the chairs were broad and velvet-covered, and the curtains of the same golden stuff as the sofa-cover. a capacious desk stood in front of the bow-window, which allowed a view of the big basin in front of the schloss. one wall was covered with books, but the main library was in the adjacent room, which was smaller, and carpeted like the big one. a glass door opened into it, and its walls were completely covered with bookshelves right up to the ceiling. "well, prince, there's my hermitage," said imma spoelmann. "i hope you like it." "why, it's glorious," he said. but he did not look round him, but gazed unintermittently at her, as she reclined against the sofa cushions by the hexagonal table. she was wearing one of her beautiful indoor dresses, a summer one this time, made of white accordion-pleated stuff, with open sleeves and gold embroidery on the yoke. the skin of her arms and neck seemed brown as meerschaum against the white of the dress; her big, bright, earnest eyes in the strangely childlike face seemed to speak a language of their own unceasingly, and a smooth wisp of black hair hung across her forehead. she had klaus heinrich's rose in her hand. "how lovely!" he said, standing before her, and not conscious of what he meant. his blue eyes, above the national cheek-bones, were heavy as with grief. "you have as many books," he added, "as my sister ditlinde has flowers." "has the princess so many flowers?" "yes, but of late she has not set so much store by them." "let's clear these away," she said and took up some books. "no, wait," he said anxiously. "i've such a lot to say to you, and our time is so short. you must know that to-day is my birthday--that's why i came and brought you the rose." "oh," she said, "that is an event. your birthday to-day? well, i'm sure that you received all your congratulations with the dignity you always show. you may have mine as well! it was sweet of you to bring me the rose, although it has its doubtful side." and she tried the mouldy smell once more with an expression of fear on her face. "how old are you to-day, prince?" "twenty-seven," he answered. "i was born twenty-seven years ago in the grimmburg. ever since then i've had a strenuous and lonely time of it." she did not answer. and suddenly he saw her eyes, under her slightly frowning eye-brows, move to his side. yes, although he was standing sideways to her with his right shoulder towards her, as he had trained himself to do, he could not prevent her eyes fastening on his left arm, on the hand which he had planted right back on his hip. "were you born with that?" she asked softly. he grew pale. but with a cry, which rang like a cry of redemption, he sank down before her, and clasped her wondrous form in both his arms. there he lay, in his white trousers and his blue and red coat with the major's shoulder-straps. "little sister," he said, "little sister----" she answered with a pout: "think of appearances, prince. i consider that one should not let oneself go, but should keep up appearances on all occasions." but he was too far gone, and raising his face to her, his eyes in a mist, he only said, "imma--little imma----" then she took his hand, the left, atrophied one, the deformity, the hindrance in his lofty calling, which he had been wont from boyhood to hide artfully and carefully--she took it and kissed it. viii the fulfilment grave reports were flying around concerning the state of health of the finance minister, doctor krippenreuther. people hinted at nervous break-down, at a progressive stomach-trouble, which indeed herr krippenreuther's flabby yellow complexion was calculated to suggest.... what is greatness? the daily-breader, the journeyman, might envy this tortured dignitary his title, his chain, his rank at court, his important office, to which he had climbed so pertinaciously, only to wear himself out in it: but not when these all meant the concomitant of his illness. his retirement was repeatedly announced to be impending. it was said to be due simply and solely to the grand duke's dislike of new faces, as well as to the consideration that matters could not be improved by a change of personnel, that his resignation had not already become a fact. dr. krippenreuther had spent his summer leave in a health-resort in the hills. perhaps he might have improved somewhat up there. but anyhow after his return his recouped strength ebbed away quickly again. for at the very beginning of the parliamentary session a rift had come between him and the budget commission--serious dissensions, which were certainly not from any want of industry on his part, but from the circumstances, from the incurable position of affairs. in the middle of september albrecht ii opened the landtag in the old schloss with the traditional ceremonies. they began with an invocation to god by the court chaplain, dom wislezenus, in the schloss chapel. then the grand duke, accompanied by prince klaus heinrich, went in solemn procession to the throne-room. here the members of both chambers, the ministers, court officials, and many others in uniform and civil dress greeted the royal brothers with three cheers, led by the president of the first chamber, a count prenzlau. albrecht had earnestly wished to transfer to his brother his duties in the formal ceremony. it was only owing to the urgent objections of herr von knobelsdorff that he walked in the procession behind the pages. he was so much ashamed of his braided hussar's coat, his gaudy trousers, and the whole to-do, that he showed clearly in his face his anger and his embarrassment. his shoulder-blades were twisted in his nervousness as he mounted the steps to the throne. then he took his stand in front of the theatrical chair under the faded baldachin, and sucked at his upper lip. his small, bearded, unmilitary head rested on the white collar, which stuck out far above the silver hussar-collar, and his blue, lonely-looking eyes gazed vacantly in front of him. the jangle of the spurs of the aide-de-camp who handed him the manuscript of his speech from the throne rang through the hall, in which silence now reigned. and quietly, with a slight lisp, and more than one sudden burst of coughing, the grand duke read what had been written for him. the speech was the most palliatory that had ever been heard, each humiliating fact from outside being counter-balanced by some virtuous trait or other in the people. he began by praising the industrious spirit of the whole country; then admitted that there was no actual increase to show in any branch of manufacture, so that the sources of revenue failed to show under any head the fertility that could be desired. he remarked with satisfaction how the feeling for the public good and economical self-sacrifice were spreading more and more through the population; and then declared without mincing matters that "notwithstanding a general most acceptable increase in the taxation returns as the result of the influx of wealthy foreigners" (meaning mr. spoelmann) "any relaxation of the calls on the said noble self-sacrifice was not to be thought of." even without this, he continued, it had been impossible to budget for all the objects of the financial policy, and should it prove that sufficient reduction in the public debt had not been successfully provided for, the government considered that the continuation of policy of moderate loans would prove the best way out of the financial complications. in any event it--the government--felt itself supported in these most unfavourable circumstances by the confidence of the nation, that faith in the future which was so fair a heritage of our stock.... and the speech from the throne left the sinister topic of public economy as soon as possible, to apply itself to less disputatious subjects, such as ecclesiastical, educational, and legal matters. minister of state von knobelsdorff declared in the monarch's name the landtag to be open. and the cheers which accompanied albrecht when he left the hall sounded somewhat ironical and dubious. as the weather was still summery, he went straight back to hollerbrunn, from which necessity alone had driven him to the capital. he had done his part, and the rest was the concern of herr krippenreuther and the landtag. quarrels began, as has been said, immediately, and about several topics at once: the property tax, the meat tax, and the civil service estimates. for, when the deputies proved adamant against attempts to persuade them to sanction fresh taxes, doctor krippenreuther's meditative mind had hit on the idea of converting the income tax which had been usual hitherto into a property tax, which on the basis of ½ per cent. would produce an increment of about a million. how direly needed, indeed how inadequate such an increment was, was clear from the main budget for the new financial year, which, leaving out of account the imposition of new burdens on the treasury, concluded with an adverse balance, which was calculated to damp the courage of any economical expert. but when it was realized that practically only the towns would be hit by the property tax, the combined indignation of the urban deputies turned against the assessment of ½ per cent., and they demanded as compensation at least the abolition of the meat tax, which they called undemocratic and antediluvian. add to this that the commission adhered resolutely to the long promised and always postponed improvement of civil servants' pay--for it could not be denied that the salaries of the government officials, clergy, and teachers of the grand duchy were miserable. but doctor krippenreuther could not make gold--he said in so many words, "i've never learnt to make gold," and he found himself equally unable to abolish the meat tax and to ameliorate the conditions in the civil service. his only resource was to anchor himself to his ½ per cent., although no one knew better than he that its sanction would not really bring things any nearer their solution. for the position was serious, and despondent spirits painted it in gloomy colours. the "almanac of the grand ducal statistical bureau" contained alarming returns of the harvest for the last year. agriculture had a succession of bad years to show; storms, hail, droughts, and inordinate rain had been the lot of the peasants; an exceptionally cold and snowless winter had resulted in the seed freezing; and the critics maintained, though with little proof to show for it, that the timber-cutting had already influenced the climate. at any rate figures proved that the total yield of corn had decreased in a most disquieting degree. the straw, besides being deficient in quantity, left much to be wished from the point of view of quality, in the opinion of the compilers of the report. the figures of the potato harvest fell far below the average of the preceding decade, not to mention that no less than per cent. of the potatoes were diseased. as to artificial feeding-stuffs, these showed for the last two years results both in quality and quantity which, for clover and manure, were as bad as the worst of the years under review, and things were no better with the rapeseed harvest or with the first and second hay crops. the decline in agriculture was baldly shown in the increase of forced sales, whose figures in the year under review had advanced in a striking way. but the failure of crops entailed a falling off in the produce of taxation which would have been regrettable in any country, but in ours could not help having a fatal effect. as to the forests, nothing had been made out of them. one disaster had followed another; blight and moths had attacked the woods more than once. and it will be remembered that owing to over-cutting the woods had lost seriously in capital value. the silver-mines? they had for a long time proved barren. the work had been interrupted by convulsions of nature, and as the repairs would have cost large sums, and the results had never showed signs of coming up to expectations, it had been found necessary provisionally to suspend the workings, though this threw a number of labourers out of work and caused distress in whole districts. enough has been said to explain how matters stood with the ordinary state revenues in this time of trial. the slowly advancing crisis, the deficit carried forward from one year to another, had become burning owing to the straits of the people and the unfavourableness of the elements. it had begun to cry aloud for remedy, and, when one looked around despairingly for the remedy, or even for means of alleviation, the most purblind could not fail to see the whole hideousness of our financial condition. there could be no thought of voting for new expenditure, the country was naturally incapable of bearing much taxation. it was now exhausted, its tax-paying powers adversely affected, and the critics declared that the sight of insufficiently nourished human beings was becoming more and more common in the country. they attributed this firstly to the shocking taxes on provisions and secondly to the direct taxation which was known to oblige stock-owners to turn all their full-milk into cash. as to the other less respectable though enticingly easy remedy for dearth of money, of which the financial authorities were well aware, namely the raising of a loan, the time was come when an improper and inconsiderate use of this means must begin to bring its own bitter punishment. the liquidation of the national debt had been taken in hand for a time in a clumsy and harmful way. then under albrecht ii it had stopped altogether. the yawning rifts in the state had received an emergency stuffing of new loans and paper issues, and subsequent finance ministers had grown pale to find themselves faced with a floating consolidated debt redeemable at an early date, whose total was scandalously large for the total number of heads of the population. dr. krippenreuther had not shrunk from the practical steps open to the state in such a predicament. he had steered clear of big capital obligations, had demanded compulsory redemption of bonds, and, while reducing the rate of interest, had converted short-dated debts over the heads of the creditors into perpetual rent-charges. but these rent-charges had to be paid; and while this incumbrance was an unbearable burden on the national economy, the lowness of the rate of exchange caused every fresh issue of bonds to bring in less capital proceeds to the treasury. still more: the economic crisis in the grand duchy had the effect of making foreign creditors demand payments at an exceptionally early date. this again lowered the rate of exchange and resulted in an increased flow of gold out of the country, and bank-smashes were daily occurrences in the business world. in a word: our credit was shattered, our paper stood far below its nominal value; and though the landtag might perhaps have preferred to vote a new loan to voting new taxes, the conditions which would have been imposed upon the country were such that the negotiation seemed difficult, if not impossible. for on the top of everything else came this unpleasant factor, that the people were at that moment suffering from the burden of that general economical disorder, that appreciation in the price of gold, which is still vivid in everybody's memory. what was to be done to get safe to land? whither turn to appease the hunger for gold which was devouring us? the disposal of the then unproductive silver-mines and the application of the proceeds to the payment of the debts at high interest was discussed at length. yet, as matters stood, the sale could not help turning out disadvantageously. further, not only would the state lose altogether the capital sunk in the mines, but would relinquish its prospect of a return which might perhaps sooner or later materialize. finally, buyers did not grow on every bush. for one moment--a moment of psychical despondency--the sale of the national forests even was mooted. but it must be said that there was still sense enough in the country to prevent our woods being surrendered to private industry. to complete the picture: still further rumours of sales were current, rumours which suggested that the financial embarrassment penetrated even to quarters which the loyal people had always hoped were far removed from all the rubs of the time. the _courier_, which was never used to sacrifice a piece of news to its sympathetic feelings, was the first to publish the news that two of the grand duke's schlosses, "pastime" and "favourite," in the open country, had been put up for sale. considering that neither property was of any further use as a residence for the royal family, and that both demanded yearly increasing outlay, the administrators of the crown trust property had given notice in the proper quarter for steps to be taken to sell them: what did that imply? it was obviously quite a different case from that of the sale of delphinenort, which had been the result of a quite exceptional and favourable offer, as well as a smart stroke of business on behalf of the state. people who were brutal enough to give a name to things which finer feeling shrinks from specifying, declared right out that the treasury had been mercilessly set on by disquieted creditors, and that their consent to such sales showed that they were exposed to relentless pressure. how far had matters gone? into whose hands would the schlosses fall? the more benevolent who asked this question were inclined to find comfort in and to believe a further report, which was spread by the wiseacres; namely, that on this occasion too the buyer was no one else but samuel spoelmann--an entirely groundless and fantastic report, which, however, proves what a rôle in the world of popular imagination was played by the lonely, suffering little man who had settled down in such princely style in their midst. yonder he lived, with his physician, his electric organ, and his collection of glass, behind the pillars, the bow windows, and the chiselled festoons of the schloss which had risen from its ruins at a nod from him. he was hardly ever seen: he was always in bed with poultices. but people saw his daughter, that curious creature with the whimsical features who lived like a princess, had a countess for a companion, studied algebra, and had walked in a temper unimpeded right through the guard. people saw her, and they sometimes saw prince klaus heinrich at her side. raoul ueberbein had used a strong expression when he declared that the public "held their breath" at the sight. but he really was right, and it can be truly said that the population of our town as a whole never followed a social or public proceeding with such passionate, such surpassing eagerness as klaus heinrich's visits to delphinenort. the prince himself acted up to a certain point--namely up to a certain conversation with his excellency the minister of state, knobelsdorff--blindly, without regard to the outside world and in obedience only to an inner impulse. but his tutor was justified in deriding in his fatherly way his idea that his proceedings could be kept hid from the world. for whether it was that the servants on both sides did not hold their tongues, or that the public had the opportunity of direct observation, at any rate klaus heinrich had not met miss spoelmann once since that first meeting in the dorothea hospital, without its being remarked and discussed. remarked? no, spied on, glared at, and greedily jumped at! discussed? rather smothered in floods of talk. the intercourse of the two was the topic of conversation in court circles, salons, sitting- and bedrooms, barbers' shops, public-houses, workrooms, and servants' halls, by cabmen on the ranks and girls at the gates. it occupied the minds of men no less than women, of course with the variations which are inherent in the different ways the sexes have of looking at things. the always sympathetic interest in it had a uniting, levelling effect: it bridged over the social gaps, and one might hear the tram conductor turn to the smart passenger on the platform with the question whether he knew that yesterday afternoon the prince had again spent an hour at delphinenort. but what was at once remarkable in itself and at the same time decisive for the future was that throughout there never seemed for one moment to be any feeling of scandal in the air, nor did all the tongue-wagging seem merely the vulgar pleasure in startling events in high quarters. from the very beginning, before any _arrière pensée_ had had time to form, the thousand-voiced discussion of the subject, however animated, was always pitched in a key of approval and agreement. indeed, the prince, if it had occurred to him at an earlier stage to adapt his conduct to public opinion, would have realized at once to his delight how entirely popular that conduct was. for when he called miss spoelmann a "princess" to his tutor, he had, quite properly, accurately expressed his people's mind--that people which always surrounds the uncommon and visionary with a cloud of poetry. yes, to the people the pale, dark, precious, and strangely lovely creature of mixed blood, who had come to us from the antipodes to live her lonely and unprecedented life amongst us--to the people she was a princess--or fairy-child from fableland, a princess in the world's most wonderful meaning. but everything, her own behaviour as much as the attitude of the world towards her, contributed to make her appear a princess in the ordinary sense of the word also. did she not live with her companion countess in a schloss, as was meet and right? did she not drive in her gorgeous motor or her four-in-hand to the benevolent institutions, the homes for the blind, for orphans, and for deaconesses, the public kitchens and the milk-kitchens, to teach herself and to stimulate them by her inspection, like a complete princess? had she not subscribed to support the victims of flood and fire out of her "privy purse," as the _courier_ was precise enough to declare, subscriptions which nearly equalled those of the grand duke (did not exceed them, as was noticed with general satisfaction)? did not the newspapers publish almost daily, immediately under the court news, reports of mr. spoelmann's varying health--whether the colic kept him in bed or whether he had resumed his morning visits to the spa-gardens? were not the white liveries of his servants as much a part of the picture in the streets of the capital as the brown of the grand ducal lackeys? did not foreigners with guide-books ask to be taken out to delphinenort, there to gloat over the sight of spoelmann's house--many of them before they had seen the old schloss? were not both schlosses, the old and delphinenort, about equally centres and foci of the city? to what circle of society belonged that human being who had been born samuel spoelmann's daughter, that creature without counterpart, without analogy? to whom should she attach herself, with whom have intercourse? nothing could be less surprising, nothing more obvious and natural than to see klaus heinrich at her side. and even those who had never enjoyed that sight enjoyed it in the spirit and gloated over it: the slim, solemnly familiar figure of the prince by the side of the daughter and heiress of the prodigious little foreigner, who, ill and peevish as he was, disposed of a fortune which amounted to nearly twice as much as our national debt! then one day a memory, a wonderful disposition of words, took hold of the public conscience; nobody can say who first pointed to it, recalled it--that is quite uncertain. perhaps it was a woman, perhaps a child with credulous eyes, whom somebody was sending to sleep with stories--heaven only knows. but a ghostly form began to show liveliness in the popular imagination: the shadow of an old gipsy-woman, grey and bent, with an inward squint, who drew her stick through the sand, and whose mumbling had been written down and handed down from generation to generation.... "the greatest happiness?" it should come to the land through a prince "with one hand." he would give the country, the prophecy ran, more with his one hand than others could with two.... with one? but was everything all right with klaus heinrich's slim figure? when one thought of it, was there not a weakness, a defect in his person, which one always avoided seeing when addressing him, partly from shyness, and partly because with charming skill he made it so easy not to notice it? when one saw him in his carriage, he kept his left hand on his sword-hilt covered with his right. one could see him under a baldachin, on a flag-bedecked platform, take up a position slightly turned to the left, with his left hand planted somehow on his hip. his left arm was too short, the hand was stunted, everybody knew that, and knew various explanations of the origin of the defect, although respect and distance had not allowed a clear view of it or even its recognition in so many words. but now everybody saw it. it could never be ascertained who first whispered and quoted the prophecy in this connexion--whether it was a child, or a girl, or a greybeard on the threshold of the beyond. but what is certain is, that it was the people who started it, the people who imposed certain thoughts and hopes--and quite soon their conception of miss spoelmann's personality--on the cultured classes right up to the highest quarters, and exercised a powerful influence on them from below: that the impartial, unprejudiced belief of the people afforded the broad and firm foundation for all that came later. "with one hand?" people asked, and "the greatest happiness?" they saw klaus heinrich in the spirit by imma spoelmann's side with his left hand on his hip, and, still incompetent to think their thought out to its conclusion, they quivered at their half-thought. at that time everything was still in the clouds, and nobody thought anything out to its conclusion--not even the persons most immediately concerned. for the relations between klaus heinrich and imma spoelmann were wondrous strange, and their minds--his as well--could not be brought to centre on any immediate, palpable goal. as a matter of fact, that laconic conversation on the afternoon of the prince's birthday (when miss spoelmann had showed him her books) had made but the slightest, if any, alteration in their relations. klaus heinrich may have gone back to the "hermitage" in that condition of heated enthusiasm proper to young people on such occasions, convinced that something decisive had happened: but he soon learned that his wooing of what he had recognized to be his only happiness was only now really beginning. but, as has been said, this wooing could not aim at any objective result, a bourgeois promise or such-like--such an idea was almost inconceivable, and besides the prince lived in too great seclusion from the practical world for such an end to present itself to him. in fact the object of klaus heinrich's pleadings with looks and words from that time onward was not that miss spoelmann should reciprocate the feelings he entertained towards her, but that she might feel impelled to believe in the reality and liveliness of those feelings. for that was what she did not do. he let two weeks pass before he sent in his name at delphinenort again, and during these he feasted spiritually on what had already occurred. he was in no hurry to supersede that happening with a new one. besides, his time just now was occupied by several representative functions, including the annual festival of the miniature range rifle club, whose well-informed patron he was and in whose anniversary festival he annually took part. here he was received in his green uniform, as if his sole interest in life was rifle-shooting, by the united members of the association with an enthusiastic welcome, was conducted to the butts, and, after an unappetizing luncheon with the distinguished members of the committee, fired several shots in a gracefully expert attitude in the direction of various targets. when he proceeded--it was the middle of june--to pay another afternoon visit to the spoelmanns, he found imma in a very mocking mood, and her mode of expression was unusually scriptural and solemn. mr. spoelmann also was present this time, and although his presence robbed klaus heinrich of the _tête-à-tête_ he so much desired with the daughter, yet it helped him in a quite unexpected way to bear up against the wounds which imma's sharpness gave him; for samuel spoelmann was friendly, and almost affectionate towards him. they had tea on the terrace, sitting in basket-chairs of an ultra-modern shape, with the breezes from the flower-garden softly fanning them. the master of the house lay under a green-silk, fur-lined, and parrot-embroidered coverlet, stretched by the table on a cane couch fitted with silk cushions. he had left his bed for the sake of the mild air, but his cheeks to-day were not inflamed, but of a sallow paleness, and his eyes were muddy; his chin protruded sharply, his prominent nose looked longer than ever, and his tone was not cross, as usual, but sad--a bad sign. by his head sat doctor watercloose with his continual soft smile. "hullo, young prince ..." said mr. spoelmann in a tired tone, and answered the other's inquiry as to his health merely with half a grunt. imma, in a shimmering dress with a high waist and green-velvet bolero, poured water into the pot out of the electric kettle. she congratulated the prince with a pout on his personal prowess at the rifle festival. she had, she said, as she wagged her head backwards and forwards, "read an account of it in the daily press with deep satisfaction," and had read aloud the description of his exploits as marksman to the countess. the latter was sitting bolt upright in her tight brown dress at the table, and handling her spoon gracefully, without in any way letting herself go. it was mr. spoelmann who did the talking this time. he did it, as has been said, in a soft, sad way, the result of all his suffering. he recounted an occurrence, an experience of years gone by, which was obviously still fresh to him, and which always brought him new suffering on the days when his health was bad. he recounted the short and simple story twice, with even greater self-torture the second time than the first. he had wished to make one of his endowments--not one of the first rank, but a pretty considerable one--he had given a big philanthropic institute in the united states to understand in writing that he wished to devote a million in railway bonds to the furtherance of their noble work--safe paper of the south pacific railway, said mr. spoelmann, and slapped the palm of his hand, as if to show the paper. but what had the philanthropic institute done? it had refused the gift, rejected it--adding in so many words that it preferred to go without the support of questionable and ill-gotten plunder. they had actually done that. mr. spoelmann's lips quivered as he recounted it, the first time no less than the second, and, longing for comfort and expressions of disapproval, he looked round the table with his little, close-set, metallic eyes. "that was not philanthropic of the philanthropic institute," said klaus heinrich. "no, it certainly was not." and the shake of his head was so decided, his disgust and sympathy so obvious, that mr. spoelmann cheered up a little and declared that it was lovely outside to-day and the trees down yonder smelt nice. indeed, he took the first opportunity of showing his young guest his appreciation and satisfaction in the clearest manner. for klaus heinrich had caught a chill with this summer's constant alternations between warm weather and cooling showers and hailstorms. his neck was swollen, his throat felt sore when he swallowed; and as his lofty calling and a certain amount of molly-coddling of his person, in request as it was for exhibition, had necessarily made him rather delicate, he could not help alluding to it and complaining of the pain in his neck. "you must have wet compresses," said mr. spoelmann. "have you any oil-silk?" klaus heinrich had none. then mr. spoelmann threw off the parrot coverlet, stood up, and went inside the schloss. he would not answer any questions, insisted on going, and went. when he had gone, the others asked each other what he intended to do, and doctor watercloose, fearing lest an attack of pain had seized his patient, hurried after him. but when mr. spoelmann returned he had in his hand a piece of oil-silk, whose existence in some drawer he had remembered: a rather creased piece, which he handed to the prince with precise directions how to use it, so as to get the most good out of it. klaus heinrich thanked him delightedly, and mr. spoelmann got contentedly back on to his couch. this time he stayed there till the end of tea, when he proposed a general walk round the park, in the following order: mr. spoelmann in his soft slippers between imma and klaus heinrich, while countess löwenjoul followed at a short distance with dr. watercloose. when the prince took leave for the day, imma spoelmann made some sharp remark about his neck and the wet compresses, adjured him half-mockingly to nurse himself and to take the utmost care of his sacred person. but although klaus heinrich had no adequate repartee ready for her--she did not expect or want one--yet it was in a fairly cheerful frame of mind that he mounted his dog-cart; for the piece of creased oil-silk in the back pocket of his uniform coat seemed to him, though unconsciously, a pledge of a happy future. however that might be, for the present his struggle was only beginning. it was the struggle for imma spoelmann's faith, the struggle to make her so far trust him as to be capable of deciding to leave the clear and frosty sphere wherein she had been wont to play, to descend from the realms of algebra and conversational ridicule, and to venture with him into the untrodden zone, that warmer, more fragrant, more fruitful zone to which he showed her the way. for she was overpoweringly shy of making any such decision. next time he was alone with her, or as good as alone, because countess löwenjoul was the third, it was a cool, over-cast morning, after a break in the weather the night before. they rode along the meadow-woods, klaus heinrich in high boots, with the crook of his crop suspended between the buttons of his grey cloak. the sluices at the wooden bridge up stream were shut, the bed of the stream lay empty and stony. percival, whose first outburst had died down, jumped here and there or trotted sideways, dog-fashion, in front of the horses. the countess, on isabeau, kept her head on one side and smiled. klaus heinrich was saying: "i'm always thinking, night and day, about something which must have been a dream. i lie at night and can hear florian over in the stall snuffling, it's so quiet. and then i think, for certain it was no dream. but when i see you as i do to-day, and did the other day at tea, i cannot possibly think it anything more substantial." she replied: "i must ask you to explain yourself, sire." "did you show me your books nineteen days ago, miss spoelmann--or not?" "nineteen days ago! i must count up. no; let's see, it's eighteen and a half days, unless i'm quite out." "you did show me your books, then?" "that is undoubtedly correct, prince. and i delude myself with the hope that you liked them." "oh, imma, you mustn't talk like that, not now and not to me! my heart is so heavy, and i have such lots still to say to you, which i couldn't get out nineteen days ago, when you showed me your books ... your masses of books. how i should love to carry on where we broke off then, and to forget all that lies in between...." "for heaven's sake, prince, rather forget the other. why go back to it? why remind yourself and me? i thought you had good reason to observe the strictest silence on such subjects. fancy letting yourself go like that! losing your self-possession to such a degree!" "if you only knew, imma, how unutterably pleasant it is for me to lose my self-possession!" "no, thanks. that's insulting, do you know that? i insist on your showing the same self-possession towards me as towards the rest of the world. i'm not here to provide you with relaxation from your princely existence." "how entirely you misunderstand me, imma! but i am well aware that you do so deliberately and only in fun, and that shows me that you don't believe me and don't take what i say seriously...." "no, prince, you really ask too much. haven't you told me about your life? you went to school for show, to the university for show, you served as a soldier for show, and still wear the uniform for show, you hold audiences for show, and play at rifle-shooting and heaven knows what else for show; you came into the world for show, and am i suddenly to believe that there is anything serious about you?" tears came to his eyes while she said this: her words hurt him so much. he answered gently: "you are right, imma, there is a lot of fiction in my life. but i didn't make it or choose it, you must remember, but have done my duty precisely and sternly as it was prescribed to me for the edification of the people. and it is not enough that it has been a hard one, and full of prohibitions and privations; it must now take revenge on me, by causing you not to believe me." "you are proud," she said, "of your calling and your life, prince, i know well, and i cannot wish you to break faith with yourself." "oh," he cried, "leave that to me, that about being true to myself, and don't give it a thought! i have had experiences, i have been untrue to myself and have tried to get round the prohibitions, and it ended in my disgrace. but since i have known you, i know, i know for the first time, that i may for the first time, without remorse or harm to what is described as my lofty calling, let myself go like anybody else, although doctor ueberbein says, and says in latin, that that must never be." "there, you see what your friend said." "didn't you yourself call him a poor wretch, who would come to a sad end? he's a fine character; i esteem him greatly, and owe him many hints about myself and things in general. but i've often thought about him recently, and as you expressed so unfavourable a verdict upon him then, i have spent hours considering your verdict, and was forced to own you right. for i'll tell you, imma, how things stand with doctor ueberbein. his whole life is hostile to happiness, that's what it is." "that seems to me a very proper hostility," said imma spoelmann. "proper," he answered, "but wretched, as you yourself said, and what's more, sinful, for it is a sin against something nobler than his severe propriety, as i now see, and it's this sin in which he wished to educate me in his fatherly fashion. but i've now grown out of his education, at this point i have, i'm now independent and know better; and though i may not have convinced ueberbein, i'll convince you, imma, sooner or later." "yes, prince, i must grant you that! you have the powers of conviction, your zeal carries one along irresistibly with it! nineteen days, didn't you say? i maintain that eighteen and a half is right, but it comes to much the same thing. in that time you have condescended to appear at delphinenort once--four days ago." he threw a startled look at her. "but, imma, you must have patience with me, and some indulgence. consider, i'm still awkward ... this is strange ground. i don't know how it was.... i believe i wanted to let us have time. and then there came several calls upon me." "of course, you had to fire at the targets for show. i read all about it. as usual, you had a rousing success to show for it. you stood there in your fancy dress, and let a whole meadowful of people love you." "halt, imma, i beg you, don't gallop.... one can't get a word out.... love, you say. but what sort of love is it? a meadow-love, a casual, superficial love, a love at a distance, which means nothing--a love in full dress with no familiarity about it. no, you've absolutely no reason to be angry because i express myself pleased with it, for i get no good from it; only the people do, who are elevated by it, and that's their desire. but i too have my desire, imma, and it's to you that i turn." "how can i help you, prince?" "oh, you know well! it's confidence, imma; couldn't you have a little confidence in me?" she looked at him, and the scrutiny of her big eyes had never before been so dark and piercing. but for all the urgency of his dumb pleading, she turned away, and said with a look which betrayed no secrets: "no, prince klaus heinrich, i cannot." he uttered a cry of grief, and his voice shook, as he asked: "and why can't you?" she replied: "because you prevent me." "how do i prevent you? please tell me, i beg." and, with the reserved expression still on her face, her eyes dropped on her white reins, and rocking lightly to her horse's walk, she replied: "through everything, through your conduct, through the way and manner of your being, through your highly distinguished personality. you know well enough how you prevented the poor countess from letting herself go, and forced her to be clear-brained and reasonable, although it is expressly on the ground of her excessive experiences that the blessing of craziness and oddness has been vouchsafed to her, and that i told you that i was well aware how you had set out to sober her. yes, i know it well, for you prevent me too from letting myself go, you sober me too, continually, in every way, through your words, through your look, through your way of sitting and standing, and it is quite impossible to have confidence in you. i've had the opportunity of watching you in your intercourse with other people; but whether it was doctor sammet in the dorothea hospital or herr stavenüter in the 'pheasantry' tea-garden, it was always the same, and it always made me shiver. you hold yourself erect, and ask questions, but you don't do so out of sympathy, you don't care what the questions are about--no, you don't care about anything, and you lay nothing to heart. i've often seen it--you speak, you express an opinion, but you might just as well express a quite different one, for in reality you have no opinion and no belief, and the only thing you care about is your princely self-possession. you say sometimes that your calling is not an easy one, but as you have challenged me, i'll ask you to notice that it would be easier to you if you had an opinion and a belief, prince, that's my opinion and belief. how could anyone have confidence in you! no, it's not confidence that you inspire, but coldness and embarrassment; and if i put myself out to get closer to you, that kind of embarrassment and awkwardness would prevent me from doing so,--there's my answer for you." he had listened to her with painful tension, had looked more than once at her pale face while she was speaking, and then again, like her, dropped his eyes on the reins. "i must indeed thank you, imma," he answered, "for speaking so earnestly, for you know that you don't always do so, but generally speak only derisively, and in your way take things as little seriously as i in mine." "how else but derisively can i speak to you, prince?" "and sometimes you are so hard and cruel, as for instance towards the head sister in the dorothea hospital, whom you threw into such confusion." "oh, i'm well aware that i too have my faults, and need somebody to help me to give them up." "i'll be that somebody, imma; we'll help each other." "i don't think we can help each other, prince." "yes, we can. didn't you speak just now quite seriously and unsatirically? but as for me, you are not right when you say that i care about nothing at all and lay nothing to heart, for i care about you, imma--about you, i have laid you to heart; and as this matter is one of such inexpressible seriousness to me, i cannot fail finally to win your confidence. were you aware of my joy when i heard you talk of putting yourself out and coming nearer to me? yes, put yourself out a little, and do not let yourself ever again be confused with that sort of awkwardness, or whatever it is, which you are so liable to feel in my presence. ah, i know it, i know only too well, how much to blame i am for that! but laugh at yourself and at me when i make you feel like that, and attach yourself to me. will you promise me to put yourself out a little?" but imma spoelmann promised nothing, but insisted now on her gallop; and many a subsequent conversation remained, like this, without result. sometimes, when klaus heinrich had come to tea, the prince, miss spoelmann, the countess, and percival went into the park. the splendid collie kept decorously at imma's side, and countess löwenjoul walked two or three yards behind the young people; for soon after they had started she had stopped for a second, to twine her bent and bony fingers round a blossom, and she had never made good the distance she had then lost. so klaus heinrich and imma walked in front of her, and talked. but when they had covered a certain distance, they turned round, thus getting the countess two or three yards in front of them. then klaus heinrich followed up his conversational efforts, and, carefully and without looking up, took imma spoelmann's small, ringless hand from her side and clasped it in both his, the while he imploringly asked whether she was taking pains, and had made any progress in her confidence in him. it displeased him to hear that she had been working, poring over algebra and playing in the lofty spheres since they had last met. he would beg her to lay her books aside now, as they might distract her and divert her from the matter to which all her thinking powers must now be devoted. he talked also about himself, about that sobering effect and awkwardness which, according to her, his existence inspired; he tried to explain it, and in doing so to weaken it. he spoke about the cold, stern, and barren existence which had been his hitherto, he described to her how everybody had always flocked to gaze at him, while it had been his lofty calling to show himself and to be gazed at, a much more difficult task. he did his best to make her recognize that the remedy for that which caused him to prevent the poor countess from drivelling and to estrange her to his own sorrow, that this remedy could be found in her, only in her, and was given over absolutely into her hands. she looked at him, her big eyes sparkled in dark scrutiny, and it was clear that she, she too, was struggling. but then she would shake her head or break off the conversation, introducing with a pout some topic over which she made merry, incapable of bringing herself to take the responsibility of the "yes" for which he begged her, that undefined and, as matters stood, absolutely non-committal surrender. she did not prevent him from coming once or twice a week; she did not prevent him from speaking, from assailing her with prayers and asseverations and from taking her hand now and then between his own. but she was only patient, she remained unmoved, her dread of taking the decisive step, that aversion from leaving her cool and derisive kingdom and confessing herself his, seemed unconquerable; and she could not help, in her anguish and exhaustion, breaking out with the words: "oh, prince, we ought never to have met--it would have been best if we hadn't. then you would have pursued your lofty calling as calmly as ever, and i should have preserved my peace of mind, and neither would have harassed the other!" the prince had much difficulty in inducing her to recant, and in extorting from her the confession that she did not entirely regret having made his acquaintance. but all this took time. the summer came to an end, early night-frosts loosened the still-green leaves from the trees, fatma's, florian's, and isabeau's hoofs rustled in the red-and-gold leafage when they went for a ride. autumn came with its mists and sharp smells--and nobody could have prophesied an end, or indeed any decisive turn in the course of the strangely fluctuating affair. the credit of having placed things on the foundation of actuality, of having given events the lead in the direction of a happy issue, must for ever be ascribed to the distinguished gentleman who had up till now wisely kept in the background, but at the right moment intervened carefully but firmly. i refer to excellency von knobelsdorff, minister of the interior, foreign affairs, and the grand ducal household. dr. ueberbein had been correct in his assertion that the president of the council had kept himself posted in the stages of klaus heinrich's love affair. what is more, well served by intelligent and sagacious assistants, he had kept himself well in touch with the state of public opinion, with the rôle which samuel spoelmann and his daughter played in the imaginative powers of the people, with the royal rank with which the popular idea invested them, with the great and superstitious tension with which the population followed the intercourse between the schlosses "hermitage" and delphinenort, with the popularity of that intercourse: in a word, he was well aware how the spoelmanns, for everyone who did not deliberately shut his eyes, were the general topic of conversation and rumour, not only in the capital, but in the whole country. a characteristic incident was enough to make herr knobelsdorff sure of his ground. at the beginning of october--the landtag had been opened a fortnight before, and the disputes with the budget commission were in full swing--imma spoelmann fell ill, very seriously ill, so it was said at first. it seemed that the imprudent girl, for some whim or mood, while out with her countess, had ventured on a gallop of nearly half an hour's duration on her white fatma in the teeth of a strong north-east wind, and had come home with an attack of congestion of the lungs, which threatened to end her altogether. the news soon got about. people said the girl was hovering between life and death, which, as luckily soon emerged, was a great exaggeration. but the consternation, the general sympathy, could not have been greater if a serious accident had happened to a member of the house of grimmburg, even to the grand duke himself. it was the sole topic of conversation. in the humbler parts of the city, near the dorothea hospital for instance, the women stood in the evening outside their front doors, pressed the palms of their hands against their breasts, and coughed, as if to show each other what it meant to be short of breath. the evening papers published searching and expert news of the condition of miss spoelmann, which passed from hand to hand, were read at family gatherings and cafés, and were discussed in the tram-cars. the _courier's_ reporter had been seen to drive in a cab to delphinenort, where, in the hall with the mosaic floor, he had been snubbed by the spoelmanns' butler, and had talked english to him--though he found that no easy task. the press, moreover, could not escape the reproach of having magnified the whole business, and made a quite unnecessary fuss about it. there was absolutely no question of any danger. six days in bed under the care of the spoelmanns' private physician sufficed to relieve the congestion, and to make miss spoelmann's lungs quite well again. but these six days sufficed also to make clear the importance which the spoelmanns, and miss imma's personality in particular, had achieved in our public opinion. every morning found the envoys of the newspapers, commissioners of the general curiosity, gathered in the mosaic hall at delphinenort to hear the butler's curt bulletins, which they then reproduced in their papers at the inordinate length which the public desired. one read of greetings and wishes for recovery sent to delphinenort by various benevolent institutions which imma spoelmann had visited and richly subscribed to (and the wits remarked that the grand ducal treasury might have taken the opportunity of offering their homage in a similar way). the public read also--and dropped the paper to exchange a significant look--of a "beautiful floral tribute," which prince klaus heinrich had sent with his card (the truth being that the prince, so long as miss spoelmann kept to her bed, sent flowers not once, but daily, to delphinenort, a fact which was not mentioned by those in the know, so as not to make too great a sensation). the public read further that the popular young patient had left her bed for the first time, and finally the news came that she was soon to go out for the first time. but this going out, which took place on a sunny autumn morning, eight days after the patient had been taken ill, was calculated to give rise to such an expression of feeling on the part of the population as people of stern self-possession labelled immoderate. for round the spoelmanns' huge olive-varnished, red-cushioned motor, which, with a pale young chauffeur of an anglo-saxon type on the box, waited in front of the main door at delphinenort, a big crowd had gathered; and when miss spoelmann and countess löwenjoul, followed by a lackey with a rug, came out, cheers broke out, hats and handkerchiefs were waved, until the motor had forced a way through the crowd and had left the demonstrators behind in a cloud of vapour. it must be confessed that these consisted of those rather doubtful elements who usually collect on such occasions: half-grown youths, a few women with market-baskets, one or two schoolboys, gapers, loafers, and out-of-works of various descriptions. but what is the public and what should its composition be to make it an average public? one further assertion must not be passed over entirely in silence which was later disseminated by the cynics. it was to the effect that among the crowd round the motor there was an agent in herr von knobelsdorff's pay, a member of the secret police, who had started the cheers and vigorously kept them going. we can leave that in doubt, and not grudge the belittlers of important events their satisfaction. at least, in the case of this particular crowd, it only amounts to saying that the agent's task was the mechanical release of feelings which must have been there and must have been vivid. at any rate this scene, which of course was described at length in the daily press, did not fail to impress everybody, and persons with any acumen for the connexion of things felt no doubt that a further piece of news, which busied men's minds a few days later, stood in hidden relation to all these phenomena and symptoms. the news ran that his royal highness prince klaus heinrich had received his excellency the minister of state von knobelsdorff in audience at the schloss "hermitage," and had been closeted with him from three o'clock in the afternoon till seven o'clock in the evening. a whole four hours! what had they discussed? surely not the next court ball? as a matter of fact, the court ball had been one among several topics of conversation. herr von knobelsdorff had preferred his request for a confidential talk with the prince in connexion with the court hunt, which had taken place on october th in the woods to the west near schloss "jägerpreis," and in which klaus heinrich and his red-haired cousins, dressed in green uniforms, soft felt hats, and top-boots, and hung with field-glasses, hangers, hunting-knives, bandoliers, and pistol cases, had taken part. herr von braunbart-schellendorf had been consulted, and three o'clock on october th decided on. klaus heinrich himself had offered to visit the old gentleman at his official residence, but herr von knobelsdorff had preferred coming to the "hermitage." he came punctually, and was received with all the affection and warmth which klaus heinrich thought that propriety demanded in the case of the aged counsellor of his father and his brother. the sober little room, in which stood the three fine mahogany empire arm-chairs, with the blue lyre-embroidery on the yellow ground, was the scene of the interview. though close on seventy, excellency von knobelsdorff was vigorous both in body and mind. his frock-coat showed not one senile wrinkle, but was tightly and well filled with the compact and comfortable form of a man of happy disposition. his well-preserved hair was pure white, like his short moustache, and parted smoothly in the middle; his chin had a sympathetic pit in it, which might pass for a dimple. the fan-shaped wrinkles at the corners of his eyes played as livelily as ever--indeed, they had gained with the years some little branches and additional lines, so that the whole complication of ever-shifting wrinkles imparted to his blue eyes an expression of humorous subtlety. klaus heinrich was attached to herr von knobelsdorff, though no closer relations had been established between them. the minister of state had actually superintended and organized the prince's life. he had begun by fixing on dröge to be his first tutor; had then called the "pheasantry" into life for him; had sent him later to the university with dr. ueberbein; had also arranged his military service for show, and had put schloss "hermitage" at his disposal to live in. but all this he had done at second-hand, and had rarely interviewed him in person. indeed, when herr von knobelsdorff had met klaus heinrich during those years of education, he had inquired most respectfully as to the prince's resolves and plans for the future, as if he were in complete ignorance of them; and perhaps it was just this fiction, which was firmly bolstered up on both sides, which had kept their intercourse throughout within the bounds of formality. herr von knobelsdorff began the conversation in an easy though respectful tone, while klaus heinrich tried to discover the objects of his visit. the former then chatted about the hunt of the day before yesterday, made some pleasant reference to the amount of ground they had covered, and then mentioned casually his admirable colleague at the treasury, dr. krippenreuther, who had also taken part in the hunt, and whose invalid appearance he regretted. herr krippenreuther had really not hit a thing. "yes, worry makes the hand unsteady," remarked herr von knobelsdorff, and so gave the prince the cue for a direct reference to this worry. he spoke about the "by no means trifling" shortage in the estimates, about the minister's discussions with the budget commission, the new property-tax, the rate of ½ per cent., and the bitter opposition of the urban deputies, of the antediluvian meat tax, and the civil service's cries of hunger; and klaus heinrich, who had been surprised at first by so many dry facts, listened to him intently and nodded his head repeatedly. the two men, the old and young, sat side by side on a slender, hardish sofa with yellow upholstery and wreath-like brass mountings, which stood behind the round table opposite the narrow glass door. the latter opened on to the terrace, and through it one could see the half-bare park and the duck pond floating in the autumn mist. the low, white, smooth stove, in which a fire was crackling, diffused a gentle warmth through the severely and scantily furnished room. klaus heinrich, though not quite able to follow the political proceedings, yet proud and happy at being so seriously talked to by the experienced dignitary, felt his mood growing more and more grateful and confidential. herr von knobelsdorff spoke pleasantly about the most unpleasant subjects. his voice was comforting, his remarks ably strung together and insinuating--and suddenly klaus heinrich became aware that he had dropped the subject of the state finances, and had passed on from doctor krippenreuther's worries to his, klaus heinrich's, own condition. was herr von knobelsdorff mistaken? his eyes were beginning occasionally to play him tricks. but he wished he could think that his royal highness looked a little better, fresher, brighter--a look of tiredness, of worry, was unmistakable.... herr von knobelsdorff feared to seem importunate; but he must hope that these symptoms did not arise from any malady, bodily or mental? klaus heinrich looked out at the mist. his look was still sealed: but though he sat on the hard sofa in his usual stiff, upright attitude, his feet crossed, his right hand over his left, and the upper part of his body turned towards herr von knobelsdorff, yet inwardly his stiffness relaxed at this juncture, and, worn out as he was by his strangely ineffectual struggle, it did not want much more to make his eyes fill with tears. he was so lonely, so destitute of counsellors. dr. ueberbein had recently kept far away from the "hermitage." ... klaus heinrich merely said: "ah, excellency, that would take us too far." but herr von knobelsdorff answered: "too far? no, your royal highness need not be afraid of being too prolix. i confess that my knowledge of your royal highness's experiences is greater than i allowed to appear just now. your royal highness can scarcely have anything new to tell me, apart from those refinements and details which rumour can never collect. but if it might comfort your royal highness to open his heart to an old servant, who carried you in his arms ... perhaps i might not be quite incapable of standing by your royal highness in word and deed." and then it happened that something gave way in klaus heinrich's bosom, and poured out in a stream of confession: he told herr von knobelsdorff the whole story. he told it as one tells when the heart is full and everything comes tumbling out all at once through the lips; according to no plan, no chronological order, and with undue emphasis on unessentials, but with a burst of passion, and with that concreteness which is the product of passionate observation. he began in the middle, jumped unexpectedly to the beginning, hurried on to the conclusion (which did not exist), tumbled over himself, and more than once hesitated and stuck fast. but herr von knobelsdorff's fore-knowledge made the review easier for him, enabled him by slipping in suggestive questions to float the ship again. and at last the picture of klaus heinrich's experiences with all their characters and leading actors, with the figures of samuel spoelmann, of the crazy countess löwenjoul, even of the collie, percival, and especially that of imma spoelmann, with all its contrariness, lay there complete and full, ready to be discussed. the piece of oil-silk was referred to in full detail, for herr von knobelsdorff seemed to attach importance to it. nothing was omitted, from the impressive incident at the changing of the guard to the last intimate and distressing struggles on horseback and on foot. klaus heinrich was much wrought up when he finished, and his steel-blue eyes in the national cheek-bones were full of tears. he had left the sofa, thereby forcing herr von knobelsdorff also to get up, and wished on account of the heat to open the glass door into the little veranda, but herr von knobelsdorff stopped this by calling attention to the risk of a chill. he begged the prince humbly to sit down again, as his royal highness could not conceal from himself the need for a calm discussion of the state of affairs. and both sat down again on the thinly cushioned sofa. herr von knobelsdorff meditated awhile, and his face was as serious as it ever could be with his dimpled chin and the play of his eye-wrinkles. then, breaking silence, he thanked the prince with emotion for the great honour he had shown him by confiding in him. and in direct connexion with this herr von knobelsdorff, emphasizing each word, announced that whatever attitude the prince had expected him, herr von knobelsdorff, to assume at this juncture, he, herr von knobelsdorff, was certainly not the man to oppose the wishes and hopes of the prince, but much rather to show his royal highness the way to the longed-for goal to the best of his power. long silence ensued. klaus heinrich looked rapturously at herr von knobelsdorff's eyes with the fan-like wrinkles. had he these wishes and hopes? was there a goal? he was not sure of his ears. he said: "your excellency is kind enough ..." then herr von knobelsdorff added to his declaration a condition, and said: frankly, on one condition only did he, as first official of the state, dare to exercise his modest influence on behalf of his royal highness. "on one condition?" "on condition that your royal highness does not take account only of your own happiness in a selfish and frivolous way, but, as your lofty calling demands, regards your personal destiny from the point of view of the mass, the whole." klaus heinrich was silent, and his eyes were heavy in thought. "perhaps your royal highness," continued herr von knobelsdorff after a pause, "will allow me to leave this delicate and yet quite unavoidable topic for a while, and to turn to more general matters! this is the hour of confidence and mutual understanding ... i respectfully beg to be allowed to take advantage of it. your royal highness is through your exalted position cut off from rude actuality, severed from it by delicate precautions. i shall not forget that this actuality is not--or only at second-hand--a matter for your royal highness. and yet the moment seems to me to have come for bringing at least a certain portion of this rude world to the immediate notice of your royal highness, entirely for your own sake. i plead beforehand for forgiveness, if i chance to stir up your royal highness's emotions too harshly by what i tell you." "please speak on, excellency," said klaus heinrich hastily. involuntarily he sat upright, just as one sits up straight in a dentist's chair and collects one's natural powers to withstand an attack of pain. "i must ask for your undivided attention," said herr von knobelsdorff almost sternly. and then, as a corollary to the discussions with the budget commission, followed the statement, the clear, exhaustive, unembroidered lesson, well primed with figures and explanations of the fundamental facts and technical expressions, which showed the economical position of the country, the state, and brought our whole miserable plight with relentless clearness before the prince's eyes. naturally these things were not entirely new and strange to him. indeed, ever since he had assumed his representative rôle, they had served as a motive and subject for those formal questions which he used to address to burgomasters, agriculturists, and high officials, and to which he received answers which were merely answers and nothing more, and which were often accompanied by the smile which he had known all his life and which reminded him that he was born to be king. but all this had not yet forced itself upon him in its naked actuality, nor made serious claims on his thinking powers. herr von knobelsdorff was by no means satisfied to get a few of klaus heinrich's usual encouraging words; he pressed the matter home, he cross-examined the young man, made him repeat whole sentences; he kept him relentlessly to the point, and reminded the prince of a dry and skinny index-finger which stopped at each separate place and would not go on until convinced that the pupil really understood the lesson. herr von knobelsdorff began at the rudiments, and talked about the country and its lack of development from a commercial and industrial point of view: he talked about the people, klaus heinrich's people, that shrewd and honest, sound and reliable stock. he spoke about the deficiency in the state reserves, the poor dividends paid by the railways, the insufficient coal supply. he touched on the administration of the forests, game preserves and stock-raising; he talked about the woods, the excessive felling, the immoderate stripping of litter, the crippling of the industry, the falling revenues from the forests. then he went more closely into our stock of gold, discussed the natural inability of the people to pay heavy taxes, described the reckless finance of earlier periods. thereupon he added up the figures of the state debt, which herr von knobelsdorff forced the prince to repeat several times. they reached six hundred millions. the lesson extended further to the debentures, conditions for interest and repayment. it came back to doctor krippenreuther's present anxiety, and described the seriousness of the situation. suddenly pulling the "annual of the statistical bureau" out of his pocket, herr von knobelsdorff instructed his pupil in the harvest returns for the previous years, summed up the untoward events which had caused their decline, pointed to the deficiencies in the taxes, the figures of which he had brought with him, and referred to the underfed adults and children whom one might see throughout the country-side. then he turned to the general condition of the gold market, discoursed on the rise in the value of gold and the general economic unsoundness. klaus heinrich learned also about the lowness of the exchange, the restlessness of the creditors, the leakage of gold, and the bank smashes; he saw our credit shaken, our paper valueless, and grasped to the full that the raising of a new loan was almost impossible. the night was closing in, it was long past five, when herr von knobelsdorff ended his statement of the national economics. at this time klaus heinrich usually had his tea, but this time he only gave a passing thought to it, and nobody outside dared to disturb a conversation whose importance was shown by its duration. klaus heinrich listened and listened. he scarcely realized how much affected he was. but how could the other bring himself to say all that to him? he had not called him "royal highness" one single time during the interview, he had to some extent forced him, and grossly ignored the fact that he was "born to be king." and yet it was good and stimulating to hear all that and to have to bury oneself in it for reality's sake. he forgot to have the lights brought, his attention was so much occupied. "it was these circumstances," concluded herr von knobelsdorff, "which i had in mind when i begged your royal highness to regard your personal wishes and plans continually in the light of the general good. i have no doubt that your royal highness will profit by this talk and by the facts i have been bold enough to put before you. and in this connexion i beg your royal highness to allow me to revert to your more personal case." herr von knobelsdorff waited till klaus heinrich had made a sign of consent with his hand, and then went on: "if this affair is to have any future, it is desirable that it should now advance a step in its development. it is stagnating, it remains as formless and prospectless as the mist outside. that's intolerable. we must give it form, must thicken it out, must mark its outlines more clearly before the eyes of the world." "quite so! quite so! give it form ... thicken it out.... that's it. that's absolutely necessary," agreed klaus heinrich, so much excited that he left the sofa and began to walk up and down the room. "but how? for heaven's sake, excellency, tell me how?" "the next external step," said herr von knobelsdorff, and remained sitting--so unusual was the occasion--"must be this, that the spoelmanns be seen at court." klaus heinrich stopped still. "no," he said, "never, if i know mr. spoelmann, will he let himself be persuaded to go to court." "which," answered herr von knobelsdorff, "doesn't prevent his daughter from doing us this pleasure. the court ball's not so very far off; it rests with you, royal highness, to induce miss spoelmann to take part in it. her companion is a countess ... a peculiar one, perhaps, but a countess, and that helps things. when i assure your royal highness that the court will not fail to make things easy, i am speaking with the approbation of the chief master of the ceremonies, herr von bühl zu bühl." the conversation now turned for three-quarters of an hour on questions of precedence, and the ceremonial conditions under which the presentation must be carried out. the distribution of cards was always left to princess catherine's mistress of the robes, a widowed countess trümmerhauff, who led the ladies' world at the festivities in the old castle. but as to the act of presentation itself, herr von knobelsdorff had managed to secure some concessions of a deliberate, in fact definite character. there was no american consul in the place--no reason on that account, explained herr von knobelsdorff, for letting the ladies be presented by any casual chamberlain; no, the master of the ceremonies himself requested the honour of presenting them to the grand duke. when? at what point of the prescribed procession? why, undoubtedly, unusual circumstances demand exceptions. in the first place, then, in front of all the débutantes of the various ranks--klaus heinrich might assure miss spoelmann that this would be arranged. it would give rise to talk and sensation at court and in the city. but never mind, so much the better. sensation was by no means undesirable, sensation was useful, even necessary.... herr von knobelsdorff went. it had become so dark when he took his leave that the prince and he could scarcely see each other. klaus heinrich, who now first became aware of it, excused himself in some confusion, but herr von knobelsdorff declared it to be a matter of no importance in what sort of light a conversation like that was carried on. he took the hand which klaus heinrich offered him, and grasped it in both his. "never," he said warmly, and these were his last words before he went, "never was the happiness of a prince more inseparable from that of his people. no, whatever your royal highness ponders and does, you will bear in mind that the happiness of your royal highness by the disposition of destiny has become a condition of the public weal, but that your royal highness on your side must recognize in the weal of your country the indispensable condition and justification of your own happiness." much moved, and not yet in a condition to arrange the thoughts which poured in on him in thousands, klaus heinrich remained behind in his homely empire room. he passed a restless night and went next morning, despite misty and damp weather, for a long and lonely ride. herr von knobelsdorff had talked clearly and voluminously, had given and accepted facts; but, for the fusion, modelling, and working up of these multifarious raw products he had given only curt, aphoristic instructions, and klaus heinrich found himself doomed to some heavy thinking while he lay awake at night, and later when he went for a ride on florian. when he got back to the "hermitage" he did a remarkable thing. he wrote with a pencil on a piece of paper an order, a certain commission, and sent neumann, the valet, with it to the academy bookshop in the university strasse: neumann came back with a package of books, which klaus heinrich had set out in his room, and which he began at once to read. they were works of a sober and school-bookish appearance, with glazed paper backs, ugly leather sides, and coarse paper, and the contents were divided up minutely into sections, main divisions, sub-divisions, and paragraphs. their titles were not stimulating. they were manuals and hand-hooks of economy, abstracts and outlines of state finance, systematic treatises on political economy. the prince shut himself up in his study with these books, and gave instructions that he wished on no account to be disturbed. the autumn was damp, and klaus heinrich felt little tempted to leave the "hermitage." on saturday he drove to the old schloss to give free audiences: otherwise his time was his own all this week, and he knew how to make use of it. wrapped in his dressing-gown, he sat in the warmth of the low stove at his small, old-fashioned, little-used desk, and pored over his books on finance, with his temples resting in his hands. he read about the state expenditure and what it always consisted of, about the receipts and whence they flowed in when things were going well; he ploughed through the whole subject of taxation in all its branches; he buried himself in the doctrine of the budget, of the balance, of the surplus, and particularly of the deficit; he lingered longest over, and went deepest into, the public debt and its varieties, into loans, and relation between interest and capital and liquidation, and from time to time he raised his head from the book and dreamed with a smile about what he had read, as if it had been the gayest poetry. for the rest, he found that it was not hard to grasp it all, when one set one's mind to it. no, this really serious actuality, in which he now played a part, this simple and rude texture of interests, this system of down-right logical needs and necessities, which countless young men of ordinary birth had to stuff into their heads, to be able to pass examinations in it, it was by no means so difficult to get hold of as he in his highness had thought. the rôle of representation, in his opinion, was harder. and much, much more ticklish and difficult were his gentle struggles with imma spoelmann on horseback and on foot. his studies made him warm and happy, he felt that his zeal was making his cheeks hot, like those of his brother-in-law zu ried-hohenried over his peat. after thus giving the facts which he had learnt from herr von knobelsdorff a general academic basis, and also accomplishing a feat of hard thinking in bringing together inward connexions and weighing possibilities, he again presented himself at delphinenort at tea-time. the lights in the candelabra with the lions' feet and the big crystal lustres were burning in the garden room. the ladies were alone. klaus heinrich first asked after mr. spoelmann's health and imma's indisposition. he upbraided her freely for her strange impetuosity, to which she answered with a pout that as far as she knew she was her own mistress, and could do as she liked with her health. the conversation then turned to the autumn, to the damp weather which forbade rides, to the advanced time of year, and the proximity of winter, and klaus heinrich suddenly mentioned the court ball in connexion with which it occurred to him to ask whether the ladies--if unfortunately mr. spoelmann were prevented by the state of his health--would not care to take part in one this time. but when imma answered, "no, really, she had no wish to be rude, but she had absolutely not the faintest desire to go to a court ball," he did not press the point, but postponed the question for the time. what had he done these last few days?--oh, he'd been very busy, he might say that he'd been chock-a-block with work.--work? doubtless he meant the court hunt at "jägerpreis."--the court hunt? no. he had gone in for real study which he had by no means got to the bottom of yet; on the contrary he was sticking deep in the literature on the subject.... and klaus heinrich began to talk about his ugly books, his peeps into financial science, and he spoke with such pleasure and respect of this discipline that imma spoelmann looked at him with her big eyes. but when--almost timidly--she questioned him as to the motive and impulse for this activity, he answered that it was living, only too burning, questions of the day which had brought him to it: circumstances and conditions which were certainly not well suited for a cheerful talk at tea. this remark obviously offended imma spoelmann. "on what observations," she asked sharply, wagging her head from side to side, "did he base his conviction that she was approachable only or preferably by way of cheerful conversation?" and she commanded him rather than asked him to be kind enough to explain about the burning questions of the day. then klaus heinrich explained what he had learnt from herr von knobelsdorff, and talked about the land and its state. he was well posted on every point at which the skinny index-finger had paused: he talked about the natural and the indebted, the general and the particular, the inherited and the intensifying misfortunes; he emphasized particularly the figures of the state debt, and the burden they laid on our national economy--they were six hundred millions--and he did not forget to mention the underfed peasants in the country-side. he did not speak connectedly; imma spoelmann interrupted him with questions and helped him on with questions. she listened carefully, and asked for explanations of what she did not at once understand. dressed in her loose-sleeved, red-silk dress with the broad embroidery on the yoke, an old-spanish chain round her child-like neck, she sat leaning on one elbow over the table, her chin buried in her ringless hand, and listened with her whole soul, while her big, dark eyes scrutinized the prince's face. but while he spoke, in answer to imma's verbal and ocular questions, worked at his subject, grew excited and entirely absorbed in it, countess löwenjoul no longer felt herself restricted to sober clarity by his presence, but let herself go and indulged in the luxury of drivelling. all the misery, she explained with dignified gestures, even the bad harvest, the burden of debt and the rise in the price of gold, were due to the shameless women who swarmed everywhere, and unfortunately had discovered the way through the floor, as last night the wife of a sergeant from the grenadiers' barracks had scratched her breasts and pommelled her in a horrible way. then she alluded to her schlosses in burgundy, through the roofs of which the rain came, and went so far as to relate that she had gone as lieutenant in an expedition against the turks, on which she had been the only one who "had not lost her head." imma spoelmann and klaus heinrich threw her a kind word now and then, readily promised to call her frau meier in future, and for the rest took no notice of her. the cheeks of both were burning when klaus heinrich had said all he knew--even on miss spoelmann's usually pearl-white cheeks there was a shade of red to be seen. they then stopped, the countess too kept quiet, with her little head inclined on her shoulder, and staring into vacancy. klaus heinrich played on the white and sharply folded table-cloth with the stem of an orchid, which had stood in a glass by his plate; but as soon as he raised his head he met imma spoelmann's large, flaming eyes, which spoke a message of secret entreaty across the table, a darkly eloquent language. "it has been nice to-day," she said in her broken voice, when she said good-bye this time, and he felt her small, soft hands clasp his with a firm squeeze. "next time your highness honours our unworthy house, do bring me one or two of those excellent books you have bought." she could not entirely resist mocking him, but she asked him for his finance books, and he brought them to her. he brought her two of them, which he considered the most informative and comprehensive; he brought them some days later in his carriage through the damp town garden, and she thanked him for doing so. as soon as tea was over, they retired to a corner of the room, and there, while the countess absently continued sitting at the tea-table, they began their common studies in throne-like chairs at a gilt table, bending over the first page of a manual called "the science of finance." they even read the headings to the sections, each reading a sentence softly in turn; for imma spoelmann insisted on going methodically to work and beginning at the beginning. klaus heinrich, well prepared as he was, acted as guide through the paragraphs, and nobody could have followed more smartly or clear-headedly than imma. "it's quite easy!" she said and looked up with a laugh. "i'm surprised that it is at bottom so simple. algebra is much harder, prince." but as they went so deeply into things, they did not get far in one afternoon, so made a mark in the book at which to start next time. and so they went on, and the prince's visits to delphinenort were devoted to dull realities. whenever mr. spoelmann did not come to tea, or, with dr. watercloose, left them, after eating his rusk, imma and klaus heinrich sat down at the gilt table with their books, and plunged heads together into the science of economics. but as they progressed, they compared what they learned with the reality, applied what they read to the circumstances of the country, as klaus heinrich conceived them to be, and made their studies profitable, though it happened not seldom that their investigations were interrupted by considerations of a personal kind. "it seems, then," said imma, "that the issue may be effected either directly or indirectly--yes, that's obvious. either the state turns directly to the capitalists and opens a subscription list ... your hand is twice as broad as mine," she said; "look, prince." and they looked laughingly at their hands, his right and her left, as they lay next each other on the gilt table. "or," went on imma, "the loan is procured by negotiation, and it is some big bank, or group of banks, to which the state ..." "wait!" he said softly. "wait, imma, and answer me one question. aren't you missing the main point? are you making progress? what about the disenchantment and embarrassment, dear little imma? have you now just one spark of confidence in me?" his lips asked the question close to her hair, from which a delicate fragrance arose, and she held her dark head still and bent over the book, though she did not answer his question frankly. "but must it be a bank or group of banks?" she pondered. "there's nothing about it there; i can't think it would be necessary in practice." she spoke gravely and deliberately on these occasions, for she too for her part had to grapple with the mental exercises which klaus heinrich had successfully managed after the conversation with herr von knobelsdorff. and when some weeks later he repeated his question, whether she would not like to go to the court ball, and told her of the ceremonial conditions which had been sanctioned for this occasion, behold, she replied that she would like to, and would go next day with countess löwenjoul and leave cards on the widowed countess trümmerhauff. this year the court ball took place earlier than usual; at the end of november--an arrangement which was said to be due to the wishes of the grand ducal party. herr von bühl zu bühl bitterly bewailed this precipitation, which obliged him and his subordinates to cancel the arrangements for the most important court function, especially the improvements which the gala rooms in the old schloss so much needed. but the wish of the particular member of the grand ducal family had had the support of herr von knobelsdorff, and the court marshal had to give way. but it happened thus that people's minds scarcely had time to prepare themselves sufficiently for what really was the event of the evening, in comparison with which the unusual date seemed as nothing. indeed, when the _courier_ published in leaded type the news of the leaving of cards and the invitation--not without expressing in rather smaller type and in glowing words its satisfaction thereat, and welcoming spoelmann's daughter to the court--the important evening was already close at hand, and before tongues could get fairly wagging the whole thing was a completed reality. never had more envy attached to the five hundred favoured ones whose names stood on the court ball list, never had the bourgeois more eagerly devoured the account in the _courier_--those dazzling columns which were written every year by a nobleman who had degenerated through drink, and which were such glorious reading that one felt they gave one a peep into fairyland, while as a matter of fact the ball in the old schloss went off quite modestly and soberly. but the report only extended to the supper, including the french menu, and everything that came later, especially all the delicate significance of the great occasion, were necessarily left to be reported by word of mouth. the ladies, in a huge olive-coloured motor, had pulled up in front of the albrechtstor at the old schloss fairly punctually, though not so punctually that herr von bühl zu bühl had not had time to get anxious. from a quarter-past seven onwards he had waited in full uniform, covered with orders down to his waist, with a bright brown toupée and his gold pince-nez on his nose, in the middle of the armour-hung knights' hall where the grand ducal family and the chief officials were collected; standing now on one foot, then on the other, and every now and then dispatching a footman to the ballroom to find out whether miss spoelmann had not yet come. he thought of all sorts of unheard-of possibilities. if this queen of sheba came too late--and what might one not expect of a girl who had walked right through the guard?--the entry of the grand ducal cortège would have to be delayed, and the court would have to wait for her, for she simply must be introduced first, and it was out of the question that she should enter the ballroom after the grand duke. but thank heaven! a bare minute before half-past seven she arrived with her countess; and it made a great sensation when the chamberlains who received them arranged them next the diplomats, and so in front of the nobility, the court ladies, the ministers, the generals, the presidents of chambers, and all the court world. aide-de-camp von platow had fetched the grand duke from his rooms. albrecht, in hussar uniform, had greeted the members of his house with down-cast eyes in the knights' hall, had offered his arm to aunt catherine, and then, after herr von bühl had tapped three times with his staff on the parquet in the open doors, the procession of the court into the ballroom had begun. eye-witnesses asserted later that the general inattention had verged on the scandalous during the perambulation of the grand duke. as albrecht reached successive spots with his dignified aunt, a hasty bowing and billowing without the fitting composure ensued, but otherwise all faces were turned to one point only in the ball, all eyes directed with burning curiosity on this point alone.... she who stood yonder had had enemies in the hall, at least among the women, the female trümmerhauffs, prenzlaus, wehrzahns, and platows, who were plying their fans here, and sharp and cold female glances had scrutinized her. but whether her position was now too well established for criticism to venture to assail her, or her personality itself had conquered the secret opposition--all had declared with one voice that imma spoelmann was as fine as the daughter of the king of the mountains. the whole town, the clerk in the government office, the messenger at the street corner, knew her toilette by heart next morning. it had been a gown of pale-green crêpe de chine, with silver embroidery and priceless old silver lace on the bodice. a tiara of diamonds had glittered in her dark hair, which showed a tendency to fall in smooth wisps across her forehead, and a long hanging chain of the same stones was wound two or three times round her brown throat. small and child-like, yet strangely earnest and sensible-looking, with her pale face and big, strangely speaking eyes, she had stood in her place of honour by the side of countess löwenjoul, who had been dressed in brown as usual, though this time in satin. when the cortège reached her, she had, with a kind of coy pertness, made a suggestion of a curtsey, without completing it; but when prince klaus heinrich, with the yellow ribbon and the flat chain of the family order "for constancy" over his tunic, the silver star of the grimmburg griffin on his chest, and his anæmic cousin on his arm whose conversation was limited to "yes," passed by her directly after the grand duke, she had smiled with closed lips and nodded to him like a comrade--which sent something like a quiver through the company. then, after the diplomats had been received by the grand ducal party, the presentations had begun--begun with imma spoelmann, although there had been two countess hundskeels and one baroness von schulenburg-tressen among the débutantes. with an ingratiating smile, which showed his false teeth, herr von bühl had presented spoelmann's daughter to his master. and albrecht, sucking his lower lip against his upper, had looked down on her coy semi-curtsey, from which she had raised herself to scrutinize with her speaking eyes the suffering hussar colonel in his silent pride. the grand duke had addressed several questions to her, an exception to an otherwise strict rule; he had asked her how her father was, what effect the ditlinde spa had, and how she liked on the whole being with us--questions which she had answered in her broken voice with a pout and a wag of her dark head. then, after a pause, a pause perhaps of internal struggle, albrecht had expressed his pleasure at seeing her at court; whereupon countess löwenjoul had executed her curtsey, with an evasive glance from her eyes. this scene, imma spoelmann in the presence of albrecht, long remained the favourite topic of conversation, and although it had passed, as it was bound to pass, without anything unusual happening, yet its charm and importance must not be overlooked. it was not indeed the climax of the evening. that, in the eyes of many, was the quadrille d'honneur; in the eyes of others, the supper,--in reality, however, it was a secret duologue between the two chief actors in the piece, a short, unnoticed exchange of words, whose contents and actual result the public could only guess--the settlement of certain tender struggles on horseback and on foot. as to the quadrille d'honneur, there were people who declared next day that miss spoelmann had danced in it, with prince klaus heinrich as her partner. only the first part of this story was correct. miss spoelmann had taken part in the solemn dance, but as the british consul's partner and prince klaus heinrich's _vis-à-vis_. this was fairly strong, but what was still stronger was that the majority of the guests did not consider it an unheard-of thing, but on the contrary almost a matter of course. yes, imma spoelmann's position was established; the popular conception of her personality--as the public learned next day--had prevailed in the court ballroom, and, what is more, herr von knobelsdorff had taken care that this conception should be expressed with all the publicity he thought desirable. not with distinctive or aggressive respect; no, imma spoelmann had been treated ceremoniously, and at the same time with systematic, intentional emphasis. the two masters of the ceremonies on duty--chamberlains in rank--had introduced selected dancers to her; and when she had left her place, close by the low red platform where the grand ducal family sat on damask chairs, to dance with her partners, they had busied themselves, just as when the princesses danced, in clearing her a space under the chandelier in the middle and protecting her from collisions--an easy task in any case, for a protective circle of curiosity had formed round her when she danced. it was reported that when prince klaus heinrich asked miss spoelmann for the first time, a deep drawing of breath, a formal "sh" of excitement had been heard in the ballroom, and the masters of the ceremonies had found it difficult to keep the ball going and to prevent the whole company standing round the dancers in gaping curiosity. the women especially had watched the pair with an excited delight, which, had miss spoelmann's position been only a little weaker, would undoubtedly have taken on the form of rage and malice. but the pressure and influence of public feeling, that powerful inspiration from below, had worked too powerfully on every one of the five hundred guests for them to be able to regard this spectacle through any eyes other than those of the people. it did not seem to have occurred to the prince to impose any restraint upon himself. his name--shortened to "k. h."--appeared twice on miss spoelmann's programme, and besides he had sat out several other dances with her. they had danced yonder. her brown arm had rested on the yellow-silk ribbon that crossed his shoulder, and his right arm had encircled her light and child-like figure, while, as usual when he danced, he had placed the left on his hip and guided his partner with one hand only. with one hand!... when supper-time came, a further article in the ceremonial conditions which herr von knobelsdorff had contrived for imma spoelmann's visit to court came into staggering force. it was the article which dealt with the order of seating at the table. for while the majority of the guests supped at long tables in the picture gallery and in the hall of the twelve months, supper was laid in the silver hall for the grand ducal family, diplomats, and leading court officials. in solemn procession, as when they entered the ballroom, albrecht and his party entered the supper-room punctually at eleven o'clock. and imma spoelmann passed by the lackeys, who kept the doors and repelled the uninvited, on the arm of the british consul, and entered the silver hall to take her place at the grand ducal table. that was unheard of--and at the same time, after all that had gone before, so logically consequential, that any surprise or disgust would have been idiotic. the motto for the day was to be prepared for anything in the way of omens and phenomena. but after supper, when the grand duke had withdrawn and princess griseldis had opened the cotillon with a chamberlain, expectation was again raised to fever point, for the general question was, had the prince been allowed to present miss spoelmann with a bouquet? his instructions had obviously been not to give her the first. he had first given one each to his aunt catherine and a red-haired cousin; but he had then advanced towards imma spoelmann with a bouquet of lilac from the court gardens. as she was about to raise the lovely bunch to her nose, she had hesitated for some unknown reason with a look of apprehension, and it was not till he had encouraged her with a laugh and a nod that she decided to test the fragrance of the bouquet. then they had danced and chatted quietly together for a long time. and yet it was during this dance that that unnoticed duologue, that conversation of a palpably bourgeois tenor and practical result, had taken place--and this is what it was. "are you satisfied this time, imma, with the flowers i bring you?" "of course, prince, your lilac is lovely and smells quite as it should. i love it." "really, imma? but i'm sorry for the poor rose-bush down in the court, because its roses disgust you with their mouldy smell." "i won't say that they disgust me, prince." "but they disenchant and chill you, don't they?" "yes, perhaps." "but have i ever told you of the popular belief that the rose-bush will one day be redeemed, on a day of general happiness, and will bear roses which will add to their great beauty the gift of a lovely natural scent?" "well, prince, we'll have to wait for that." "no, imma, we must help and act! we must decide, and have done with all hesitation, little imma! tell me--tell me to-day--have you confidence in me?" "yes, prince. i have gained confidence in you latterly." "there you are! thank heaven! didn't i say that i must succeed in the long run? and so you think now that i am in earnest, real, serious earnest about you and about us?" "yes, prince; latterly i have thought that i can think so." "at last, at last, irresolute little imma! oh, how i thank you, i thank you! but in that case you're not afraid, and will let the whole world know that you belong to me?" "let them know that you belong to me, royal highness, if it's all the same to you." "that i will, imma, loudly and surely. but only on one condition, namely, that we don't only think of our own happiness in a selfish and frivolous way, but regard it all from the point of view of the mass, the whole. for the public weal and our happiness, you see, are interdependent." "well said, prince. for without our studies of the public weal i should have found it difficult to decide to have confidence in you." "and without you, imma, to warm my heart, i should have found it difficult to tackle such practical problems." "right; then we'll see what we can do, each in our own place. you with your folk and i--with my father." "little sister," he answered quietly, and pressed her more closely to him in the dance. "little bride." undoubtedly a peculiar plighting of troth. to be frank, everything was not yet settled, or nearly settled. looking back, one must say that, if one factor in the whole had been altered or removed, the whole would have been in imminent danger of coming to nothing. what a blessing, the chronicler feels tempted to cry, what a blessing that there was a man at the head of affairs who faced the music firmly and undaunted, indeed not without a dash of rashness, and did not judge a thing to be impossible just because it had never happened before. the conversation which excellency von knobelsdorff had about eight days after the memorable court ball with grand duke albrecht ii in the old schloss belongs to the history of the times. the day before, the president of council had presided over a session of the cabinet, about which the _courier_ had been in the position to report that questions of finance and the private affairs of the grand ducal family had been discussed, and further--added the newspaper in spaced type--that complete unanimity of opinion had been reached among the ministers. so herr von knobelsdorff found himself in a strong position towards his young monarch at the audience; for he had not only the swarming mass of the people, but also the unanimous will of the government at his back. the conversation in albrecht's draughty study took scarcely less time than that in the little yellow room at schloss "hermitage." a pause was made while the grand duke had a lemonade and herr von knobelsdorff a glass of port and biscuits. the long duration of the conversation was due only to the importance of the material to be discussed, not to the monarch's opposition; for albrecht raised none. in his close frock-coat, with his thin, sensitive hands crossed on his lap, his proud, refined head with its pointed beard and narrow temples raised and his eyelids sunk, he sucked gently with his lower lip against his upper, and accompanied herr von knobelsdorff's remarks with an occasional slight nod, which expressed agreement and disagreement at the same time, an uninterested formal agreement without prejudice to his unassailable personal dignity. herr von knobelsdorff plunged straight into the middle of things, and spoke about prince klaus heinrich's visits to schloss delphinenort. albrecht knew of them. a subdued echo of the events which kept the city and the country on tip-toe had penetrated even into his loneliness; he knew, too, his brother klaus heinrich, who had "rummaged" and gossiped with the lackeys, and, then he knocked his forehead against the big table, had wept for sympathy with his forehead--and in effect he needed no coaching. lisping and reddening slightly, he gave herr von knobelsdorff to understand this, and added that, seeing that the other had not intervened, but had caused the millionaire's daughter to be introduced to him, he concluded that herr von knobelsdorff approved of the prince's behaviour, although he, the grand duke, could not clearly see what it would lead to. "the government," answered herr von knobelsdorff, "would set itself in prejudicial and estranging opposition to the will of the people if it thwarted the prince's projects." "has my brother, then, definite projects?" "for a long time," corrected herr von knobelsdorff, "he acted without any plan and merely as his heart dictated; but since he has found himself with the people on terms of reality, his wishes have taken a practical form." "all of which means that the public approves the steps taken by the prince?" "that it acclaims them, royal highness--that its dearest hopes are fixed on them." and now herr von knobelsdorff unrolled once more the dark picture of the state of the country, of its distress, of the serious embarrassment. where was a remedy to be found? yonder, only yonder, in the town park, in the second centre of the city, in the house of the invalid money-prince, our guest and resident, round whose person the people wove their dreams, and for whom it would be a small matter to put an end to all our difficulties. it he could be induced to take upon himself our national finances, their recovery would be assured. would he be induced? but fate had ordained an exchange of sympathy between the mighty man's only daughter and prince klaus heinrich. and was this wise and gracious ordinance to be flouted? ought one for the sake of mulish, out-of-date traditions to prevent a union which embraced so immeasurable a blessing for the country and its people? for that it did was a necessary hypothesis, from which the union must draw its justification and validity. but if this condition were fulfilled, if samuel spoelmann were ready, not to mince words, to finance the state, then this union was not only admissible, it was necessary, it was salvation, the welfare of the state demanded it, and prayers rose to heaven for it, far beyond the frontiers, wherever any interest was felt in the restoration of our finances and the avoidance of an economic panic. at this point the grand duke asked a question quietly, with a mocking smile and without looking up. "and the succession to the throne?" he asked. "the law," answered herr von knobelsdorff, unshaken, "places it in your royal highness's hand to put aside dynastic scruples. with us the grant of an advance in rank and even of equal birth belongs to the prerogatives of the monarch, and when could history show a more potent motive for the exercise of these privileges? this union bears the mark of its own genuineness, preparations have been long in making for its reception in the heart of the people, and your entire princely and state approval would signify to the people nothing more than an outward satisfaction of their inmost convictions." and herr von knobelsdorff went on to speak of imma spoelmann's popularity, of the significant demonstration in connexion with her recovery from a slight indisposition, of the position of equal birth which this exceptional person assumed in popular fancy--and the wrinkles played round his eyes as he reminded albrecht of the old prophecy current among the people, which told of a prince who would give the country more with one hand than others had given it with two, and eloquently demonstrated how the union between klaus heinrich and spoelmann's daughter must seem to the people the fulfilment of the oracle, and thus god's will and right and proper. herr von knobelsdorff said a great deal more which was clever, honest, and good. he alluded to the fourfold mixture of blood in imma spoelmann--for besides the anglo-saxon, portuguese and german, some drops of ancient indian blood were said to flow in her veins--and emphasized the fact that he expected the dynasty to benefit greatly by the quickening effect of the mixture of races on ancient stocks. but the artless old gentleman made his greatest effect when he talked about the huge and beneficial alterations which would be caused in the economical state of the court itself, our debt-laden and sore-pressed court, through the heir to the throne's bold marriage. it was at this point that albrecht sucked most proudly at his upper lip. the value of gold was falling, the out-goings were increasing--increasing in pursuance of an economic law which held for the court finances just as much as for every private household; and there was no possibility of increasing the revenues. but it was not right that the monarch's means should be inferior to those of many of his subjects; it was from the monarch's point of view intolerable that soap-boiler unschlitt's house should have had central heating a long time ago, but that the old schloss should not have got it yet. a remedy was necessary, in more than one way, and lucky was the princely house to which so grand a remedy as this offered itself. it was noteworthy in our times that all the old-time modesty as to busying oneself in the financial concerns of the court had vanished. that self-renunciation with which princely families used formerly to make the heaviest sacrifices, so as to keep the public from disenchanting glimpses into their financial affairs, was no longer to be found, and law-suits and questionable sales were the order of the day. but was not an alliance with sovereign riches preferable to this petty and bourgeois kind of device--a union which would exalt the monarch for ever high above all economic worries and place him in a position to reveal himself to the people with all those outward signs for which they longed? so ran herr von knobelsdorff's questions, which he himself answered with an unqualified yes! in short, his speech was so clever and so irresistible that he did not leave the old schloss without taking with him consents and authorizations, delivered to him with a proud lisp, which were quite comprehensive enough to warrant unprecedented conclusions, if only miss spoelmann had done her share. and so things ran their memorable course to a happy conclusion. even before the end of december names were mentioned of people who had seen (not only heard tell of) lord marshal von bühl zu bühl in a fur coat, a top-hat on his brown head, and his gold pince-nez on his nose, get out of a court carriage at delphinenort, at o'clock on a snow-dark morning, and disappear waddling into the schloss. at the beginning of january there were individuals going about the town who swore that the man who, this time also in the morning and in fur coat and top-hat, had passed by the grinning negro in plush, through the door of delphinenort, and, with feverish haste, had flung himself into a cab which was waiting for him, was undoubtedly our finance minister, dr. krippenreuther. and at the same time there appeared in the semi-official _courier_ the first preparatory notices of rumours touching an impending betrothal in the grand ducal house--tentative notifications which, becoming carefully clearer and clearer, at last exhibited the two names, klaus heinrich and imma spoelmann, in clear print next each other.... it was no new collocation, but to see it in black on white had the same effect as strong wine. it was most absorbing to notice what attitude, in the journalistic discussions which ensued, our enlightened and open-minded press took up towards the popular aspect of the affair, namely, the prophecy, which had won too great political significance not to demand education and intelligence to deal satisfactorily with it. sooth-saying, chiromancy, and similar magic, explained the _courier_, were, so far as the destiny of individuals was concerned, to be relegated to the murky regions of superstition. they belonged to the grey middle ages, and no ridicule was too severe for the idiots who (very rarely in the cities nowadays) let experienced pick-pockets empty their purses in return for reading, from their hands, the cards, or coffee-grounds, their insignificant fortunes, or for invoking sound health, for a homoeopathic cure, or for freeing their sick cattle from invading demons--as if the apostle had not already asked: "doth god take care for oxen?" but, surveyed as a whole and restricted to decisive turns in the destiny of whole nations or dynasties, the proposition did not necessarily repel a well-trained and scientific mind, that, as time is only an illusion and, truly viewed, all happenings are stationary in eternity, such revolutions while still in the lap of the future might give the human brain a premonitory shock and reveal themselves palpably to it. and in proof of this the zealous newspaper published an exhaustive composition, kindly put at its disposal by one of our high-school professors, which gave a conspectus of all the cases in the history of mankind in which oracle and horoscope, somnambulism, clairvoyance, dreams, sleep-walking, second-sight, and inspiration had played a rôle, a most meritorious production, which produced the due effect in cultured circles. so press, government, court, and public closed their ranks in complete understanding, and assuredly the _courier_ would have held its tongue had its philosophical contributions been premature and politically dangerous at that time--in a word, had not the negotiations at delphinenort already advanced far in a favourable direction. it is pretty accurately known by now how these negotiations developed, and what a difficult, indeed painful, task our counsel had in them: the counsel, to whom as proxy of the court the delicate mission had fallen of preparing the way for prince klaus heinrich's courtship, as well as the chief financial assessor, who, notwithstanding his infirm state of health, insisted on nursing his country's interests by a personal interview with samuel spoelmann. in this connexion account must be taken firstly of mr. spoelmann's fiery and excitable disposition, and secondly of the fact that to the prodigious little man a favourable termination to the business from our point of view seemed far less important than it did to us. apart from mr. spoelmann's love for his daughter, who had opened her heart to him and told him of her pretty wish to make herself useful in her love, our proxies had not one trump to play against him, and he was the last man to whom dr. krippenreuther could dictate conditions in virtue of what herr von bühl had to offer. mr. spoelmann always spoke of prince klaus heinrich as "the young man," and expressed so little pleasure at the prospect of giving his daughter to a royal highness to wife, that dr. krippenreuther, as well as herr von bühl, were more than once plunged into deadly embarrassment. "if he'd only learnt something, had some respectable business," he snarled peevishly. "but a young man who only knows how to get cheered ..." he was really furious, the first time a remark was dropped about morganatic marriage. his daughter, he declared once for all, was no concubine, and would be no left-handed wife. who marries her, marries her.... but the interests of the dynasty and the country coincided at this point with his own. the obtaining of issue entitled to succeed was a necessity, and herr von bühl was equipped with all the powers which herr von knobelsdorff had succeeded in extracting from the grand duke. as for dr. krippenreuther's mission, however, it owed its success not to the envoy's eloquence, but simply to mr. spoelmann's paternal affection, the complaisance of a suffering, weary father, whose abnormal existence had long ago made him a paradox, towards his only daughter and heiress, whom he allowed to choose for herself the public funds in which she wished to invest her fortune. and so came into existence the agreements, which were at first shrouded in deep secrecy and only came to light bit by bit, as events developed themselves, though here they can be summarized in a few plain words. the betrothal of klaus heinrich with imma spoelmann was approved and recognized by samuel spoelmann and by the house of grimmburg. simultaneously with the publication of the betrothal in the _gazette_ appeared the announcement of the elevation of the bride to the rank of countess--under a fancy name of romantic sound, like that which klaus heinrich had borne during his educational tour in the fair southern lands; and on the day of their wedding the wife of the heir-presumptive was to be given the dignity of a princess. the two rises in rank, which might have cost four thousand eight hundred marks, were to be free of duty. the wedding was to be only preliminarily a left-handed one, till the world had got used to it: for on the day on which it appeared that the bride was to be blessed with offspring, albrecht ii, in view of the unparalleled circumstances, would declare his brother's morganatic wife to be of equal birth, and would give her the rank of a princess of the grand ducal house with the title of royal highness. the new member of the ruling house would waive all claim to an appanage. as for the court ceremony, only a semi-court was appointed for the celebration of the left-handed marriage, but a processional court, that highest and completest form of showing allegiance, was fixed for the celebration of the declaration of equal birth. samuel spoelmann, for his part, granted the state a loan of three hundred and fifty million marks, and on such fatherly conditions that the loan showed all the symptoms of being a gift. it was the grand duke albrecht who acquainted the heir presumptive with these conclusions. once more klaus heinrich stood in the great, draughty study under the battered ceiling-paintings, in front of his brother, as once before when albrecht had delegated to him his representative duties, and standing in an official attitude received the great news. he had put on the tunic of a major in the fusiliers of the guard for this audience, while the grand duke had lately added to his black frock-coat a pair of dark-red wool mittens, which his aunt had made him to protect him from the draught through the high windows of the old schloss. when albrecht had finished, klaus heinrich stepped one pace sideways, closed his heels with a fresh salute, and said: "i beg, dear albrecht, to offer my heart-felt and respectful thanks, in my own name and that of the whole country. for it is you in the long run who make all these blessings possible, and the redoubled love of the people will be your reward for your magnanimous resolutions." he pressed his brother's thin, sensitive hand, which he kept close to his chest, and extended to him only to the extent of moving his forearm. the grand duke had thrust forward his short, round underlip, and his eyelids were half-closed. he answered softly with a lisp: "i am the less inclined to entertain illusions about the people's love, as i can, as you know, dispense with such questionable love without a pang. so question whether i deserve it is scarcely worth notice. when it's time to start, i go to the station and give the signal to the engine-driver, which is silly rather than dutiful, but it's my duty. but you're in a different position. you're a sunday child. everything turns out trumps for you.... i wish you luck," he said, raising the lids from his lonely-looking, blue eyes. and it was clear at this moment that he loved klaus heinrich. "i wish you happiness, klaus heinrich--but not too much, and that you may not repose too comfortably in the love of the people. i have already said that everything turns out trumps for you. the girl of your choice is very strange, very undomesticated, and, most important of all, very original. she has a mixture of blood, i've been told that indian blood flows in her veins. that's perhaps a good thing. with a wife like that, there's less danger, perhaps, of your having too easy a time." "neither happiness," said klaus heinrich, "nor the people's love will have the effect of making me cease to be your brother." he left to face a difficult interview, a _tête-à-tête_ with mr. spoelmann, his personal proposal for imma's hand. he found he had to swallow what his negotiators had swallowed, for samuel spoelmann showed not the smallest pleasure and snarled several refreshing truths at him. but it was over at last, and the morning came when the betrothal appeared in the _gazette_. the long tensions resolved into endless jubilation. dignified men waved pocket-handkerchiefs at one another, and embraced in the open square: bunting flew from every flag-staff. but the same day the news reached schloss "hermitage," that raoul ueberbein had committed suicide. the story was a vile as well as stupid one, and would not be worth relating had not its end been so horrible. no attempt will be made here to apportion the blame. the doctor's death gave rise to two opposing factions. one affirmed that he had been driven to take his life owing to the misgivings which his desperate act had evoked: the others declared with a shrug that his conduct was impossible and crazy, and that he had shown all his life a total lack of self-control. the point need not be decided. at any rate nothing justified so tragic an end; indeed, a man with the gifts of raoul ueberbein deserved something better than ruin.... here is the story. at easter the year before the professor in charge of the top class but one at our grammar school, who suffered from heart-weakness, had been temporarily retired on the ground of his illness, and doctor ueberbein, notwithstanding his comparative youth, had been given the first vacant chair simply in view of his professional zeal and his undeniably remarkable success in a lower class. it was a happy experiment, as events proved; the class had never done so well as this year. the professor on leave, a popular man with his colleagues, had become a peevish as well as careless and indolent man as the result of his infirmity, with which was combined a sociable but immoderate inclination for beer. he had shut his eyes to details and had sent up every year an extremely badly prepared batch of pupils into the select. a new spirit had come into the class with the temporary professor, and nobody was surprised at it. people knew his uncomfortable professional zeal, his single-minded and never-resting energy. they foresaw that he would not miss such an opportunity for self-advancement, round which he had doubtless built ambitious hopes. so an end had soon been put to laziness and boredom in the second class. dr. ueberbein had pitched his expectations high, and his skill in inspiring even the most recalcitrant had proved irresistible. the boys worshipped him. his superior, fatherly, and jolly, swaggering way kept them on the alert, shook them up, and made them feel it a point of honour to follow their teacher through thick and thin. he won their hearts by going for sunday excursions with them, when they were allowed to smoke, while he bewitched their imaginations by boyishly conceived rodomontades about the greatness and severity of public life. and on monday the members of yesterday's expedition would meet for work in a cheerful and eager frame of mind. three-quarters of the school year had thus passed, when the news went round, before christmas, that the professor on leave, now fairly strong again, would resume his duties after the holidays, and would again act as professor of the second class. and now it came out what sort of man doctor ueberbein was, with his green complexion and superior manner. he objected and remonstrated; he lodged a vigorous and, in form, not incontestable protest against the class with which he had spent three-quarters of the year, and whose work and recreation he had shared up to the very mouth of the goal, being taken from its professor for the last quarter and restored to the official who had spent three-quarters of the year on leave. his action was intelligible and comprehensible, and one must sympathize with it. he had undoubtedly hoped to send up a model class to the head master, who taught the select, a class whose forwardness would put his skill in the best light and would hasten his promotion; and it must grieve him to look forward to another's reaping the fruits of his devotion. but though his disgust might be excusable, his frenzy was not: and it is an unfortunate fact that, when the head master proved deaf to his representations, he became simply frenzied. he lost his head, he lost all balance, he set heaven and hell to work to prevent this loafer, this alcohol-heart, this blankety-blank, as he did not hesitate to describe the professor on leave, from taking his class from him. and when he found no support among his colleagues, as was natural in the case of so unsociable a man, the poor wretch had so far forgotten himself as to incite the pupils entrusted to him to rebel. he had put the question to them from his desk--whom do you want for your master for the last quarter, me or that other fellow? and, wound up by his stirring appeal, they had shouted that they wanted him. then, he said, they must take matters into their own hands, show their colours, and act as one boy--though goodness knows what in his excitement he meant by that. but when after the holidays the returned professor entered the class-room, they screamed doctor ueberbein's name at him for minutes on end--and there was a fine scandal. it was kept as quiet as possible. the revolutionaries got off almost unpunished, as doctor ueberbein himself put on record, at the inquiry which was at once initiated, his appeal to them. as to the doctor himself, too, the authorities seemed generally inclined to close their eyes to what had happened. his zeal and skill were highly valued, certain learned works, the fruits of his mighty industry, had made his name known, he was popular in high quarters--quarters, be it noticed, with which he personally did not come into contact, and which therefore he could not incense by his patronizing bearing. further, his record as tutor of prince klaus heinrich weighed in the scales. in short, he was not simply dismissed, as one might have expected him to be. the president of the grand ducal council of education, before whom the matter came, administered a grave reprimand to him, and doctor ueberbein, who had stopped teaching directly after the scandal, was provisionally retired. but people who knew declared later that nothing was intended beyond the professor's transfer to another grammar school; that in high quarters the only wish was to hush up the whole business, and that the promise of a brilliant future had been actually extended to the doctor. everything would have turned out all right. but the milder the authorities showed themselves towards the doctor, the more hostile was the attitude of his colleagues towards him. the "teachers' union" at once established a court of honour, whose object was to secure satisfaction for their beloved member, the alcohol-hearted professor rejected of his pupils. the written statement laid before ueberbein in his retirement in his lodgings ran as follows: whereas ueberbein had resisted the return of the colleague for whom he acted to the professorship of the second class; whereas further he had agitated against him and in the end had actually incited the pupils to insubordination against him, he had been guilty of disloyal conduct to his colleague of such a kind as must be considered dishonourable not only in a professional, but also in a general sense. that was the verdict. the expected result was that doctor ueberbein, who had only been a nominal member of the "teachers' union," withdrew his membership--and there, so many thought, he might well have let the matter rest. but whether it was that in his seclusion he did not know the goodwill he inspired in higher quarters; that he thought his prospects more hopeless than they were; that he could not stand idleness, unreconciled as he was to the premature loss of his beloved class; that the expression "dishonourable" poisoned his blood, or that his mind was not strong enough to stand all the shocks it received at this time: five weeks after the new year his landlady found him on the thread-bare carpet of his room, no greener than usual, but with a bullet through his heart. such was the end of raoul ueberbein, such his false step, such the cause of his fall. "i told you so," was the burden of all the discussions of his pitiful break-down. the quarrelsome and uncongenial man, who had never been a man amongst men at his club, who had haughtily resisted familiarity, and had ordered his life cold-bloodedly with a view to results alone, and had supposed that that gave him the right to patronize the whole world--there he lay now: the first hitch, the first obstacle in the field of accomplishment, had brought him to a miserable end. few of the bourgeois regretted, none of them mourned him--with one single exception, the chief surgeon at the dorothea hospital, ueberbein's congenial friend, and perhaps a fair lady with whom he used once to play casino. but klaus heinrich always cherished an honourable and cordial memory of his ill-fated tutor. ix the rose-bush and spoelmann financed the state. the outlines of the transaction were bold and clear; a child could have understood them--and as a fact beaming fathers explained it to their children, as they dangled them on their knees. samuel spoelmann nodded, messrs. phlebs and slippers got to work, and his mighty orders flashed under the waves of the atlantic to the continent of the western hemisphere. he withdrew a third of his share from the sugar trust, a quarter from the petroleum trust, and half from the steel trust; he had his floating capital paid in to accounts in his name in several banks over here; and he bought from herr krippenreuther at par , , new ½ per cent. consols at one stroke. that is what spoelmann did. he who knows by experience the influence of the state of mind on the human organs will believe that dr. krippenreuther cheered up and in a short time was unrecognizable. he carried himself upright and free, his walk was springy, the yellow look faded from his face, which became red and white, his eyes flashed, and his stomach regained its powers in a few months to such an extent that his friends were delighted to observe that the minister could give himself up to the enjoyment of blue cabbage and gherkin salad with impunity. that was one pleasant though purely personal result of spoelmann's interference in our finances, which was of but slight account in comparison with the effects which that interference had on our public and economic life. a part of the loan was devoted to the sinking fund, and troublesome public debts were paid off. but this was scarcely needed to secure us breathing space and credit on every side; for no sooner was it known, for all the secrecy with which the matter was treated officially, that samuel spoelmann had become the state banker, in fact if not in name, than the skies cleared up above us and all our need was changed into joy and rapture. there was an end to the scare-selling of active debts, the customary rate of interest dropped, our written promises were eagerly sought after as investments, and each twenty-four hours saw a rise in the quotation of our high-interest loan from a deplorably low figure up to above par. the pressure, the nightmare which for decades had weighed down our national finances, was removed; doctor krippenreuther puffed out his chest and spoke in the landtag in favour of all-round reduction in taxation. this was adopted unanimously, and the antediluvian meat tax was finally buried amid the rejoicings of all those who cared for their fellow-men. a distinct improvement in the pay of the civil service, and in the salaries of teachers, clergymen, and all state functionaries was readily voted. means were now available for restarting the closed-down silver-mines; several hundred workmen were given work, and productive veins were unexpectedly struck. money, money was forthcoming, the standard of economic morality rose; the forests were replanted, the litter was left in the woods, the stock-owners no longer were compelled to sell their milk, they drank it themselves, and the critics would have sought in vain for ill-nourished peasants in the fields. the nation showed gratitude towards their rulers, who had brought so boundless a blessing to land and people. herr von knobelsdorff needed but few words to induce parliament to increase the crown subsidy. the orders for the putting up for sale of the schlosses "pastime" and "favourite" were cancelled. skilled workmen invaded the old schloss, to instal central heating from top to bottom. our agents in the negotiations with spoelmann, von bühl and dr. krippenreuther, received the grand cross of the albrechts order in brilliants; the finance minister was also ennobled, and herr von knobelsdorff was made happy with a life-size portrait of the exalted couple--painted by the skilful hand of old professor von lindemann and exquisitely framed. after the betrothal the people gave rein to their fancy in calculating the dowry which imma spoelmann was to receive from her father. it made them giddy; they were possessed by a mad desire to scatter figures of truly astronomical dimensions about. but the dowry did not exceed an earthly figure, comfortably big though it was. it amounted to a hundred million. "gracious!" said ditlinde zu ried-hohenried, when she first heard it. "and my dear philipp with his peat." many another had the same thought; but spoelmann's daughter allayed the nervous anger which might arise in simple hearts in face of such monstrous wealth, for she did not forget to do good and share her good fortune, and on the very day of the public betrothal she gave a sum of , marks, the yearly interest on which was to be divided among the four county councils for charitable and generally useful purposes. klaus heinrich and imma drove in one of spoelmann's olive-coloured, red-cushioned motors on a round of visits to the members of the house of grimmburg. a young chauffeur drove the sumptuous car--the one in which imma had found a likeness to klaus heinrich. but his nervous tension was but small on this trip, for he had to restrain the motor's giant strength so far as possible and go slowly--so closely were they surrounded by admiring crowds; for as the more remote authors of our happiness, grand duke albrecht and samuel spoelmann, each in his own fashion, concealed themselves from the crowd, the latter heaped all its love and gratitude on the heads of the exalted couple. boys could be seen through the plate glass of the motor throwing their caps in the air, the shouts of men and women came surging in, clear and shrill, and klaus heinrich, his hand to his helmet, said admonishingly: "you must respond too, imma, to your side, otherwise they'll think you cold." they drove to princess katharine's, and were received with dignity. in the time of grand duke johann albrecht, her brother, said the aunt to her nephew, it would never have been allowed. but the times moved fast, and she prayed heaven that his betrothed would accustom herself to the court. they proceeded to princess zu ried-hohenried's, and there it was love she met with. ditlinde's grimmburg pride found comfort in the assurance that leviathan's daughter might become princess of the grand ducal house and royal highness, but could never be grand ducal princess like herself; for the rest, she was overjoyed that klaus heinrich had rummaged out for himself anything so sweet and precious. as the wife of philipp with his peat, she had the best reasons for knowing how to value the advantages of the match, and cordially welcomed her sister-in-law to her arms. they drove too to prince lambert's villa, and while the countess-bride struggled to keep up a conversation with the dazzling but very uneducated baroness von rohrdorf, the old petticoat-hunter congratulated his nephew in his sepulchral voice on the unprejudiced choice he had made, and on so boldly snapping his fingers at court and highness. "i am not snapping my fingers at my highness, uncle; not only have i had an eye to my own happiness in no inconsiderable measure, but i have acted throughout with the mass, the whole, in view," said klaus heinrich rather rudely; whereupon they broke off, and drove to schloss "segenhaus," where dorothea, the poor dowager, held her dreary court. she cried as she kissed the young bride on the forehead, without knowing why she did so. meanwhile samuel spoelmann sat at delphinenort surrounded with plans and sketches of furniture and silk carpet-patterns, and drawings of gold plate. he left his organ untouched, and forgot the stone in his kidney, and got quite red cheeks from merely having so much to do; for however small the opinion he had formed of "the young man," or the hope he held out of his ever being seen at court, yet his daughter was going to be married, and he wanted the arrangements to be worthy of his means. the plans had to do with the new schloss "hermitage," for klaus heinrich's bachelor quarters were to be razed to the ground, and a new schloss built on its site, roomy and bright and decorated, by klaus heinrich's wish, in a mixture of empire and modern styles, combining cool severity with homely comfort. mr. spoelmann appeared one morning in person, after drinking the waters in the spa-garden, in his faded great-coat at the "hermitage," in order to find out whether this or that piece of furniture could be used for the new schloss. "let's see, young prince, what you've got," he snarled, and klaus heinrich showed him everything in his sober room--the thin sofas, the stiff-legged tables, the white-enamelled tables in the corners. "gimcrack," said mr. spoelmann, "no use for anything." three arm-chairs only in the little yellow room, of heavy mahogany, with snail-shaped convolute arms and the yellow covers embroidered with blue lyres, found favour in his eyes. "we can put those in an ante-room," he said, and klaus heinrich was relieved that these arm-chairs should be contributed to the furnishing by the grimmburg side; for of course it would have been rather painful to him if mr. spoelmann had had to find every single thing. but the ragged park and flower-garden at the "hermitage" had to be cleared and restocked; the flower-garden in particular was honoured with a special ornament which klaus heinrich had asked his brother to give him as a wedding-present. for it was arranged that the rose-bush from the old schloss should be transplanted to the big middle bed in front of the approach; and then, no longer surrounded by mouldy walls, but in the air and sunshine and the stiffest clay obtainable, it should be seen what sort of roses it could bear in future--and give the lie to the popular report, if it were obstinate and arrogant enough. and when march and april had passed, may came, bringing the great event of klaus heinrich's and imma's marriage. it was a glorious day, with golden clouds in the sky, and its dawn was greeted by a choir from the town-hall tower. the people streamed in on foot and in carts, that fair, thick-set, healthy, reliable stock with blue, meditative eyes and broad, high cheek-bones, dressed in the handsome national dress--the men in red jackets, top-boots, and broad-brimmed black-velvet hats, the women in brightly embroidered bodices, thick, wide skirts, and big black veils as a head-dress. they joined the throng of town-folk in the streets between the spa-garden and the old schloss, which had been transformed into a processional route with garlands and wreathed stands and white-enamelled poles covered with flowers. banners of the trades unions, rifle-corps, and gymnastic associations began early in the morning to be carried through the streets. the fire brigade turned out in gleaming helmets. the officers of the corps of students drove round in open landaus in full state with banners flying. maids of honour in white, with rose-twined staves, stood about in groups. the offices and factories were deserted, the schools closed, festival services were held in the churches. and the morning editions of the _courier_ and _gazette_ contained, in addition to cordial leading articles, the announcement of a comprehensive amnesty, in pursuance of which cancellation or remission of sentence was granted to several prisoners by the grace of the grand duke. even the murderer gudebus, who had been condemned to death, and then to penal servitude for life, was released on ticket of leave. but he soon had to be put back into prison again. two o'clock was the hour fixed for the city council's luncheon in the hall of the museum, with an orchestra and telegrams of respectful congratulations. but the public made merry outside the gates, with fried chips and currant-loaf, a fair, lucky-booths and shooting galleries, sack-races, and men's climbing competitions for treacle cakes. and then came the moment when imma spoelmann drove from delphinenort to the old schloss. she did so in processional pomp. the banners fluttered in the spring breeze, the thick garlands, interwoven with red roses, stretched from one pole to another, the crowd was packed in a black mass on the balconies, roofs, and steps; and between the fences of rifle-corps and firemen, guilds, unions, students, and school-children, the bridal procession advanced slowly amid tumultuous uproar along the sand-strewn road. two out-riders in laced hats and shoulder-knots, preceded by a moustachioed equerry in a three-cornered hat, came first. then came a four-horsed carriage, in which the grand ducal commissary, an official of the board of green cloth, who had been deputed to fetch the bride, rode with a chamberlain. next a second four-horsed carriage, in which sat the countess löwenjoul, looking askance at the two maids of honour in the carriage with her, whose morals she mistrusted. then came ten postilions on horseback, in yellow breeches and blue coats, who played: "we wind for thee the maiden's wreath." then twelve girls in white, who strewed roses and sprigs of arbor vitæ on the road. and lastly, followed by fifty master-mechanics on powerful horses, the six-horsed transparent bridal coach. the red-faced coachman in the laced hat proudly extended his gaitered legs on the high white-velvet box, holding the reins with arms similarly extended; grooms in top-boots walked at the head of each pair of horses, and two lackeys stood behind the creaking carriage in great state, showing in their impenetrable faces no signs that plotting and underhand dealing were part of their daily life. behind the glass and gilded window-frames sat imma spoelmann in veil and wreath, with an old court lady as lady of honour at her side. her dress of shimmering silk glittered like snow in the sunshine, and on her lap she held the white bouquet which prince klaus heinrich had sent her an hour before. her strangely childlike face was as pale as an ocean-pearl, and a smooth wisp of dark hair fell across her forehead under the veil, while her big black eyes threw glances of pleading eloquence over the close-packed throng. and what was that din, that barking close by the coach-door? it was percival, the collie, more beside himself than anyone had ever seen him. the confusion and the slow pace at which the procession went excited him beyond measure, robbed him of all self-restraint, and convulsed him almost beyond bearance. he raged, he danced, he leaped, he circled blindly round and round in the intoxication of his nerves, and the shouts redoubled in the balconies and street and on the roofs on both sides as the people recognized him. that is how imma spoelmann drove to the old schloss, and the boom and buzz of the bells mingled with the cheers of the people and percival's mad bark. the procession crossed the albrechtsplatz at a walk and went through the albrechtstor. in the courtyard of the schloss the mounted corps of the guilds rode to one side, and took up their position as a guard of honour, and in the corridor, in front of the weather-beaten front door, grand duke albrecht, dressed as a colonel of hussars, received the bride with his brother and the rest of his house, offered her his arm and conducted her up the grey stone steps into the state-rooms, at whose doors guards of honour were posted and in which the court was assembled. the princesses of the house stayed in the hall of the knights, and it was there that herr von knobelsdorff, surrounded by the grand ducal family, executed the civil marriage. never, it was said later, had the wrinkles played round his eyes more lively than whilst he joined klaus heinrich and imma spoelmann in civil wedlock. when this was over, albrecht ii commanded that the church festivities should begin. herr von bühl zu bühl had done his best to get together an imposing procession--the bridal procession, which passed up heinrich the luxurious's staircase and along a covered way into the court chapel. stooping under the weight of years, yet in a brown toupée and with a youthful waddle, he marched, covered with orders down to his waist and planting his long staff in front of him, in front of the chamberlains, who walked along in silk stockings with their feather hats under their arms and a key embroidered on their coat-tails. the young pair drew near; the foreign-looking bride in a shimmer of white and klaus heinrich, the heir presumptive, in a grenadier uniform with the yellow ribbon across his chest and back. four maidens belonging to the nobility of the land, with demure looks, carried imma spoelmann's train, accompanied by countess löwenjoul, who looked suspiciously out of the corners of her eyes. behind the bridegroom walked herr von schulenburg-tressen and herr von braunbart-schellendorf. the master of the royal hunt, von stieglitz, and the ballet-loving grand duke walked in front of the young monarch, who sucked quietly at his upper lip. at his side came aunt catherine, followed by the minister of the household, von knobelsdorff, the adjutant, the princely zu ried-hohenried couple, and the remaining members of the house. the rear of the procession was brought up by more chamberlains. inside the court chapel, which was decorated with plants and draperies, the invited guests had awaited the procession. there were diplomats with their wives, the court and county nobility, the corps of officers in the capital, the ministers, amongst them the beaming face of herr von krippenreuther, the knights of the grand order of the grimmburg griffin, the presidents of the landtag, and all sorts of dignitaries. and as the lord marshal had ordered invitations to be sent to every class of society, the seats were filled with tradesmen, countrymen, and simple artisans with hearts attuned to the event. in front of the altar the relations of the bridegroom took their places in a semicircle in red-velvet arm-chairs. the voices of the choir rang pure and sweet under the vaulted ceiling, and then the whole congregation sang a hymn of thanksgiving with full organ accompaniment. when it died away, the musical voice of the president of the high consistory, dom wislezenus, was heard, as with his silver hair, and a convex star on his silk gown, he stood before the exalted pair and preached an eloquent sermon. he built it on a theme, to borrow a musical expression. and the theme was the passage from the psalms which runs: "he shall live, and unto him shall be given of the gold of arabia." there was not a dry eye left in the chapel. then dom wislezenus completed the marriage, and at the moment when the bridal pair exchanged rings, fanfares of trumpets blared forth, and a salvo of three times twelve guns began to roll over city and country-side, fired by the soldiers on the wall of the "citadel." directly afterwards the fire brigade let off the town guns by way of salute; but long pauses occurred between each detonation, giving rise to inexhaustible laughter among the people. after the blessing had been pronounced, the procession re-formed and returned to the hall of the knights, where the house of grimmburg congratulated the newly married pair. then came the court, and klaus heinrich and imma spoelmann walked arm-in-arm through the gala rooms, where the court was drawn up, and spoke to various members of the company, smiling across an interval of shining parquet; and imma pouted and wagged her head as she spoke to anyone who curtsied low and answered deferentially. after the court there was a state supper in the marble hall, and a marshal's supper in that of the twelve months, and everything was of the best that money could buy, out of regard to what klaus heinrich's wife had been accustomed to. even percival, now restored to his senses, was among the guests, and was given some roast meat. after supper the students and the populace had arranged in honour of the young couple a demonstration with serenades and a torchlight procession on the albrechtsplatz. the square outside was a blaze of light, and resounded with shouts. lackeys drew aside the curtains from one of the windows in the silver hall, and klaus heinrich and imma advanced to the open window. they threw it open, and stood in the opening just as they were, for outside it was a warm spring night. next them, in a dignified attitude and looking most imposing, sat percival, the collie, and looked down like his mistress. several of the town bands played in the illuminated square, which was packed tight with human beings, and the upturned faces of the people were lighted to a smoky dark red by the students' torches as they marched past the schloss. cheers broke forth when the newly married couple appeared at the window. they bowed their thanks, and then stayed there awhile, looking and letting themselves be looked at. the people, looking up, could see their lips moving in conversation. this is what they said: "listen, imma, how thankful they are that we have not forgotten their need and affliction. what crowds there are, standing there and shouting up to us! of course many of them are scoundrels, and take each other in, and sadly need to be elevated above the work-day and its reality. but they are really grateful when one shows oneself conscious of their need and affliction." "but we are so stupid and so lonely, prince--on the peaks of humanity, as doctor ueberbein used always to say--and we know absolutely nothing of life." "nothing, little imma? what was it, then, which at last gave you confidence in me, and brought us to study so practically the public weal? knows he nothing of life who knows of love? that shall be our business in future: highness and love--an austere happiness." [ transcriber's note: the following is a list of corrections made to the original. the first line is the original line, the second the corrected one. the swiss governess was the widow of a calvanistic minister and was in the swiss governess was the widow of a calvinistic minister and was in the opportunity came. while the swiss governness was absent on leave to the opportunity came. while the swiss governess was absent on leave to where it's too dusty, for this dress shows everything. where it's too dusty, for this dress shows everything." compared with trümmerhauff. trümmerhauf had the nobility of a wild compared with trümmerhauff. trümmerhauff had the nobility of a wild rather broad, he had cheek bones like the men in the street, and he rather broad, he had cheek-bones like the men in the street, and he annouce that their royal highnesses were now going. he had been charged announce that their royal highnesses were now going. he had been charged exploratory operation, whch was conducted by the director of the exploratory operation, which was conducted by the director of the lastly, princess ditlande had married at the age of twenty, one year lastly, princess ditlinde had married at the age of twenty, one year albrecht bowed his thanks with eyes downcast and underlip protuded. albrecht bowed his thanks with eyes downcast and underlip protruded. jettchen, as provisional lodgings." jettchen, "as provisional lodgings." architect from the captital had been entrusted with the building. but architect from the capital had been entrusted with the building. but suite" in the "spa court" hotel was by no means dazzingly magnificent. suite" in the "spa court" hotel was by no means dazzlingly magnificent. temperature-and weight-charts--tended by nurses in white caps, and temperature- and weight-charts--tended by nurses in white caps, and his tail, at the same moment the butler began to run, as fast as his his tail. at the same moment the butler began to run, as fast as his upon me, prince." and she suddenly sat fatma off at a gallop and flew at upon me, prince." and she suddenly set fatma off at a gallop and flew at spoelman took stock of the prosaic country-house which rejoiced in the spoelmann took stock of the prosaic country-house which rejoiced in the "yes, though unfortunately not from you. but jettchen isenschnibble has "yes, though unfortunately not from you. but jettchen isenschnibbe has had withdrawn and princes griseldis had opened the cotillon with a had withdrawn and princess griseldis had opened the cotillon with a ] images of public domain material from the google print project.) transcriber's notes: the author's incorrect spellings of danish and other foreign names and words have been retained. an incorrect reference to the danish king christian iv. has been corrected in "as all the children of king christian iv.[ix.] were". ten years near the german frontier ten years near the german frontier a retrospect and a warning by maurice francis egan former united states minister to denmark hodder and stoughton london · new york · toronto _copyright, , by george h. doran company_ preface the purpose of this book is to show the reflections of prussian policy and activity in a little country which was indispensable to prussia in the founding of the german empire, and which, in spite of its heroic struggle in , was forced to serve as the very foundation of that power; for, if prussia had not unrighteously seized slesvig, the kiel canal and the formation of the great german fleet would have been almost impossible. the rape of slesvig and the acquisition of heligoland--that despised 'trouser button' which kept up the 'indispensables' of the german navy--are facts that ought to illuminate, for those who would be wise, the past as a warning to the future. there is no doubt that the assimilation of slesvig by prussia led to the franco-prussian war, and liberated modern germany from the difficulties that would have hampered her intention to become the dominant power in the world. the further acquisition of denmark would have been only a question of time, had not the march of the despot through belgium aroused the civilised world to the reality of the german imperial aggression--until then, unhappily, not taken seriously. had germany followed the policy which induced her to hold slesvig, in spite of the promise that the slesvigers, passionately danish, might by vote decide their own fate--and seize denmark, the virgin islands, not american, would have been german possessions. the change of policy which sent the german army into belgium and northern france, instead of into denmark, was, in a measure, due to the belief in germany, that the war would be short; and, with france helpless, russia terrorised and england torn by political factions, she could control the danish belts that lead from the north sea to the baltic and treat these waters as german lakes. she reckoned as erroneously on that as she reckoned on controlling the mediterranean and on smashing the monroe doctrine by practically possessing argentine and brazil. she built well, however, when she made kiel the pride of the emperor and the empire. europe watched the process, and hardly gave a thought to the outrage on humanity and liberty it involved. the world is suffering for this indifference. the retention of danish slesvig created the german sea power and the constant threat to denmark concerns us all. it is a world question; and it must be answered in the interest of democracy. denmark is geographically part of germany. in normal times you reached berlin from copenhagen in a night. in a few short hours you may see german sentinels on the slesvig frontier, and hear the field practice of german guns. a zeppelin might have reached copenhagen from berlin in eight hours, and an army corps might land in jutland in about double that time. copenhagen is so near what was that centre of world politics--the german court--its royal family is so closely allied with all the reigning and non-reigning royal families of europe, and its diplomatic life so tense and comprehensive,--that it has been well named the whispering gallery of europe. i have not attempted to keep out of this sketch of my diplomatic experiences and deductions all traces of amusement; but, as to the terrible seriousness of the greater part of this record, i may appropriately quote the answer of bismarck's tailor, when that genius of blood and iron accused him of asking an enormous price for a fur coat, of 'joking.' 'no,' answered the tailor, 'never in business!' and, in spite of the fact that there are lights and even laughs in the diplomatic career, it is a serious business; and the sooner my fellow countrymen recognise this, the fewer international errors they will have to regret. maurice francis egan. contents page chapter i a scrap of paper and the danes chapter ii the menace of 'our neighbour to the south' chapter iii the kaiser and the king of england chapter iv some details the germans knew chapter v glimpses of the german point of view in relation to the united states chapter vi german designs in sweden and norway chapter vii the religious propaganda chapter viii the prussian holy ghost chapter ix , , chapter x a portent in the air chapter xi the preliminaries to the purchase of the danish antilles chapter xii the beginning of and the end chapter i a scrap of paper and the danes let us trace deliberately, with as much calmness as possible, the beginning of that policy, of 'blood and iron' which made the german empire, as we knew it yesterday, possible. it began with the tearing up of 'a scrap of paper' in . it began in perfidy, treachery, and the forcible suppression of the rights of a free people. it began in denmark; and nothing could make a normal american more in love with freedom, as we know it, than to live under the shadow of a tyrannical power, cynically opposed to the legitimate desire of a little nation to develop its own capabilities in its own way. the hanoverian on the throne of england in ' ,--that 'snuffy old drone from a german hive'--never dared to suggest that the colonies should be crushed out of all semblance of freedom; but, suppose our language had been different from that which his environment compelled him to speak, and that he had resolved to force his tongue on our own english-speaking people; suppose that he and his counsellors had resolved that german should be the language spoken in sermons and prayers from washington's old church in alexandria to faneuil hall; suppose that all the colleges and schools of the country, as well as the law courts, were forced to use this alien tongue; that a german-speaking empire existed to the south of us, and the minority in this german domain, arrogant, closely connected with the hanoverian régime, ruled us with the mailed fist, would we submit without constant efforts to obtain justice? and yet denmark, in the province of slesvig, has endured these things since . she alone of all the world resisted the beginning of german tyranny, of german arrogant evolution; and her resistance was useless because the rest of europe saw in the future neither the german empire nor the kiel canal. denmark is, as every schoolboy knows, geographically part of germany; and the pan-germans spoke of it benevolently as 'our northern province.' it might long ago have been their northern province if england and russia had not been powers in the world and if the great queen louise of denmark, a beautiful and fragile little woman, with a heart of gold and a will of steel, had not used all her wits to keep her country free by the only means of diplomacy she knew--the ties of family. queen louise, the wife of christian ix., new king of an old line, was not born in the purple, though her blood was the bluest in europe. the beautiful princesses, her three daughters, later the empress of russia, dagmar, the queen of england, alexandra, and the duchess of cumberland, thyra, made their frocks and were taught all the household arts--for their father, royal by blood as he was, was a poor officer. these princesses hold lovingly in remembrance the time of their poverty; these princesses love the old times. there is a villa on the strandvej (the beach way) called hvidhöre, white as befits the name, with sculptured sea-nymphs and pretty gardens and a path under the strand to the sound. here, until , the empress dowager of russia and the queen of england regularly spent part of the summer and autumn. the russian yacht, _the polar star_, and the english _victoria and albert_ appeared regularly in the sound, the officers added to the gaiety of copenhagen and the royal ladies went to hvidhöre, 'where,' as the widow queen of england said to my wife, smiling, 'we can make our own beds, as we did when we were girls.' the servants might drop a plate or two during luncheon or stumble over a chair; but the empresses of russia and of india made no objections--'the dear old people were a little blind, perhaps, but then they had served our father, king christian.' and anything that relates to their father is sacred to these ladies; and everything concerning denmark very dear. in the small parties at hvidhöre went on as usual, though the great royal gatherings at the palace of fredensborg had ceased. here, in the time of the old queen louise, from sixty to eighty scions of royalty, young and old, had often gathered under the high blue ceiling, from which looked down beautiful white gods and goddesses. in - king frederick viii. gave occasionally a dinner on sunday night at the country house not far from copenhagen, charlottenlund, when it was hard to keep from turning one's back to a royalty,--there were so many crowned heads present. there, if queen alexandra made it plain that she wanted to speak to you, you, approaching her, found yourself with your back to the king of greece or to king haakon of norway, or to the queen of denmark herself! times have changed; the circumstances which made the late mother of king frederick so powerful in keeping 'the family' together can never occur again. of the four daughters of the late king frederick, two married, one in sweden and the other in germany. the danish princess, louise, who became the wife of his serene highness, prince friedrich georg wilhelm bruno of lippe-schaumbourg, is to the danes a lovely and pathetic memory. they say that he treated her badly, that the bride fled from him to the protection of her parents, whom they censured for not taking her home before her death. the criticism--which even found expression in public disapproval--was unreasonable, but the mass of the danes is always more generous than just in the treatment of its children. in - , to mention the name of prince friedrich was to commit a social error; he was taboo; every mother in denmark was furious at the stories told of his injuries to their dead princess louise. princess ingeborg, born in , married the 'blue prince,' charles of sweden, duke of westgothia. king frederick viii., after the failure of the german marriage, kept his two other daughters, thyra and dagmar, in the background. he was a very sympathetic king, and he liked to talk of ordinary affairs; he was truly much interested in the life immediately around him. 'i do not encourage princes in search of wives,' he said; 'i shall keep my daughters with me.' princess thyra--one cannot conceal the age of princesses, while there is an _almanach de gotha_--was born on march th, , and princess dagmar on may rd, . the princess thyra is of the type of her beautiful aunt, the queen mother of england; like her aunt, she looks much younger than her age; the princess dagmar has the quality of this royal family, of always seeming to be ten years, in appearance, younger than they are. they were our near neighbours for ten years, and my wife often threatened to marry them to nice 'americans';--king frederick, considering this impossible, gave his consent at once! he often brought them in to tea, and they met 'nice americans,' and seemed to like them very much. the emperor william--who wanted to be called the emperor of germany rather than the german, or prussian emperor, as we always called him--showed no affection for his danish relatives; but, nevertheless, he did not underrate the value of denmark as the 'whispering gallery' of europe. in the old palace of rosenborg, in copenhagen, there is a room so arranged that, by means of a narrow tunnel in the wall, christian iv., a contemporary of queen elizabeth, could hear what his guards said, in their cabinet, at all hours of the day and night. 'there is a similar room at potsdam,' a dane said to me; 'william always listens when he is not speaking!' william knew what the danes said of the german marriage; his plans did not lie in the way of annexing either of the danish princesses, whose sympathies were not with the despoilers of the country; he had his eyes on the son of their aunt, the duchess of cumberland, who was later to marry his daughter. but royal marriages had ceased to strengthen or weaken denmark; the archduke michael of russia 'hung around' for a time; others came; but king frederick walked out with his daughter, princess thyra, both evidently content. princesses are expected to make marriages of 'convenience,' but princess thyra, like her aunt, princess victoria of england, does not seem inclined to make a marriage of that kind. princess dagmar was too young to be permitted to expect suitors, when her father lived; and the princess margaret, daughter of prince valdemar, brother of king frederick, for whom, it was said, overtures had already been made on behalf of the growing prince of the house of saxony, was younger still. denmark had ceased to be a marriage market of kings; the futility of attempting to cement international relations by royal alliances was becoming only too evident. prince valdemar, brother of king frederick, had refused more than once a balkan kingdom, and, when consulted by very great personages as to a marriage of his oldest son to the grand duchess of luxembourg, had answered, like his brother frederick, that he preferred 'to keep his children at home.' nevertheless, the previous royal marriages and the fact that nearly every diplomat at copenhagen was a favourite with his sovereign, sent by a relative of the court at home to please the court at copenhagen, gave the post unusual prestige, and made 'conversations' possible there which could not have taken place elsewhere. the court circle, when one had the entrance, but not until then, was like that of an agreeable family. nearly every minister at copenhagen was destined for an embassy. when my predecessor, mr. o'brien, was translated to tokyo, our prestige was enhanced; the danes believed that our country but followed the usual precedent, according to which their french m. jusserand had been made ambassador at washington. even the united states had begun to understand the importance of the post; and it was in the line of diplomatic usage when it was rumoured that i had been offered vienna. i met, too, ministers to copenhagen who considered themselves, because of royal patronage, ambassadors by brevet, and who exacted 'excellency,' not as a courtesy but a right! mr. whitelaw reid wrote to me, speaking of my post as a 'delightful, little dresden china court'; the epithet was pretty, and there were times, when the young princesses and their friends thronged the rococo rooms of the amalieborg palace, that it seemed appropriate. when the processions of guests moved up the white stairs between the line of liveried servants, some of them with quaint artificial flowers in their caps, the sight was very like a bit out of watteau. bismarck had not looked on denmark as a negligible country; he knew its importance; there was a legend that one of the few persons he really respected and feared in europe was the old queen louise. besides, he knew the history of denmark so well, that he chose to correct the supposed taint in the blood of the hohenzollerns by choosing an empress for william ii. of 'the blood of struense.' this struense, the german physician who, through the degeneracy of christian vii., had in become the guide, the philosopher, and--it was said--the more than friend of his queen, caroline matilda, tried to be the bismarck of denmark; but he was of too soft a mould,--the disciple of rousseau and voltaire rather than of machiavelli and cæsar borgia. he was drawn and quartered, after having confessed, in the most ungentlemanly way, his relations with the queen, sister of king george iii. of england. it is probable that part of the emperor's dislike to bismarck was due to that '_mot_' of the iron chancellor about the royal marriage he had helped to make. it was the kind of '_mot_' that william would not be likely to forget. it is an axiom of courts that the child of a queen cannot be illegitimate. even the duke de morny, son of queen hortense of holland, bore proudly 'hortensias' in the panels of his carriage during the third empire in france. nevertheless, though queen caroline matilda had died, in her exile at celle, protesting her innocence, it was understood that struense was the father of the supposed daughter of christian vii., the daughter who married into the house of slesvig-holstein-sonderburg-augustenburg. her descendant, the princess augusta victoria frederika-louisa-feodora-jenny married the emperor william ii., on february th, , at berlin. it was a love match--at least on the side of the empress. one of the ladies in waiting at the german court once told my wife that the famous augusta victoria rose--the magnolia rose of our youth--was always cherished by her imperial majesty because of its association with her courtship--'the emperor knew how to make love!' the empress said. the appearance of struense among the ancestors of the empress, to which bismarck is said to have so brutally alluded, was not agreeable to the proudest monarch in europe. queen caroline matilda, sister of the second george of england, was only fifteen years of age when she came to denmark to become the wife of christian vii. in . and, if anything could have excused her later relations with struense (her son, frederick vii., was undoubtedly legitimate)--it was the attitude of her degenerate husband and her mother-in-law, julianna maria. having been dragged one bitter cold morning to the castle of elsinore, she confessed her guilt; but under such circumstances of cruel oppression that the confession goes for little; circumstances, however, were against her, and the courts of europe only remember that she was the daughter of a king, of blood sufficiently royal, to make up for her declension. in copenhagen, in , the echoes of public opinion in london, among the higher classes at least, showed that the momentary insecurity caused by the reverses in the boer war had passed. people had forgotten the emperor's telegram to oom paul. nobody wanted war; therefore, there would be no war. 'if we have no property,' st. francis of assisi, pleading for his order to the pope, said, 'we shall need no soldiers to protect it.' it was forgotten that, reversely, if we have property, we must always have armies and fleets to protect it. it was not war that anybody wanted; but there was property to be had, which could only be had by the use of armies and fleets. in paris (for reasons which secret history will one day disclose, and for other reasons only too plain), the german designs were apparently not understood by high officials who directed the course of france. france made the mistake, as we are always likely to do, of reading its own psychology into the minds of its opponents. paris believed, to use voltaire's opinion of the prophet habakkuk, that germany was capable of everything, except the very thing that germany was preparing without rest, without haste, and without shame to do--to bleed her white! from echoes in copenhagen, we learned, too, that in petrograd, germany was better understood because the russian spies were real spies; they knew what they were about, and, being half oriental, they understood how to use the scimitar of saladin. there were other spies who knew only the use of the battle-axe of coeur-de-lion; but they were often deceived though very well paid; in fact, the ordinary paid spy is a bad investment. in belgium the internationals talked universal peace; indeed, among others than the internationals, the army was disliked. as in holland, german commercial aggression was feared. the most amazing thing is that internationalism did not weaken the _morale_ of the heroic belgians when the test came. in copenhagen, the idea of a permanent peace seemed untenable, and war meant ruin to denmark. this was not a pleasant state of mind; but it did not induce subserviency. in the vaults of hamlet's castle of elsinore on the delectable sound, holger dansker sits, waiting to save denmark from the ruthless invader. there are brave danes to-day who would follow holger, the dane, to the death, who believe that their country never can be enslaved; but, though the conquering germans spared denmark, they did not need the knowledge of the fate of belgium to convince them of what they might expect as soon as it pleased the kaiser to act against them. the fate of belgium had confirmed the fears they had inherited. there is no doubt where their hearts were, but a movement--a slight movement--against germany would have meant for the king of denmark the fate of the king of belgium or the king of serbia. that he is married to a princess half german by blood would not shield him. belgium was not spared because its queen was of german birth. copenhagen, as i have said, was not only a city of rumours, but a city of news. the pulse of europe could be felt there because europeans of distinction were passing and repassing continually, and the danes, like the athenians of st. paul's time, love to hear new things. but there was and is one old query which all denmark never forgets to ask: will danish slesvig come back to its motherland? slesvig-holstein is the alsace-lorraine question in denmark. for slesvig denmark would dare much. she could not court certain destruction but, in her heart, 'slesvig' is written as indelibly as 'calais' was written in the heart of the dying queen, mary tudor. she had forgiven and forgotten the loss of her fleet and the bombardment of copenhagen by the english in and . she then stood for france and new ideas, and tory england made her suffer for it. she lost norway in ; she was reduced almost to bankruptcy; and, until , she could only devote her attention to the revival of her economic life. holstein was german; slesvig, danish. they could not be united unless the language of one was made dominant over the language of the other. the imperial law of germany governed holstein; all slesvig legislation had since been based upon the laws of the danish king valdemar. to force the german law and language on slesvig was to wipe out all danish ideas and ideals in the most danish of the provinces of denmark. the attempt to germanise slesvig took concrete form in . desiring to bring it under german domination, uve lornsen, a frisian lawyer, proposed to make the duchies of slesvig and holstein self-governing states, separated from denmark, and entirely under german influence. as, according to him, only royal persons of the male lineage could govern the united duchies, the king of denmark might have the title of duke until the male line should become extinct. uve lornsen met remonstrances based on the laws and traditions of the danes with the arrogant assertion, uttered in german: 'ancient history is not to be considered; we will have it our own way now.' kristian poulsen, a dane, who knew both the german and the danish views, opposed the beginning of a process which meant the imposition of autocratic methods on a people who were resolved to develop their own national spirit in freedom. in slesvig there are square miles. in the greater part of this territory, consisting of square miles, danish was the vernacular, while square miles were populated by speakers of german. german power had secured german teaching for , people in churches and schools. the injustice of this will be seen when it is understood that only , were given opportunities, religious and educational, of hearing danish. danish could not be used in the courts of law. it was required that the clergy should be educated at the university of kiel, and other officials of the state could have no chance of advancement unless they used german constantly and fluently. the teachers in the communal schools were all trained in germany. the danish speech was not used in a single college. in a word, the german influence, under the eyes of a danish king and government, was driving out all the safeguards of danish national life in slesvig. king christian viii., partly awakened to the wrongs of the slesvigers, issued in a rescript insisting on the introduction of danish into the law courts. the german partisans were outraged by this insult to german kultur; no tongue but the german should be used even in danish slesvig. the king, the danish court, for over two hundred years had been germanised; the king did not dare to announce himself as a nationalist; but, against the german partisans, he decided that the danish kings had always possessed the right of succession in denmark, that the succession was not confined to the male line in slesvig. in holstein the position was different. if the danish line should become extinct, the succession might fall to the russian emperor; but slesvig must be danish. on the death of king christian viii. in , feeling ran high in denmark and in slesvig-holstein. in truth, all europe was in a ferment. the results of the french revolt in were still leavening europe. the assembly of holstein and slesvig was divided in opinion. the desire of the germans in the provinces to control the majority became more and more apparent. danish interests must disappear, the beginning of the german 'kultur,' not yet developed by bismarck, must take its place. five deputies were sent to copenhagen, with, among other demands, a demand that the danish part of the country be incorporated into the german confederation. the citizens of copenhagen had reason to believe that the holstein counts, moltke and reventlow-criminel, potent ministers and men of strong wills, might influence king frederick vii. to give way to the germans. the king determined to dismiss these ministers; the demands of the town council of copenhagen and the people of denmark were answered before they were made. his majesty had 'neither the will nor the power to allow slesvig to be incorporated in the german confederation; holstein could pursue her own course.'[ ] [ ] h. rosendal, _the problem of danish slesvig_. but the german opposition in the provinces had not been idle. berlin had shown itself favourable to the duke of augustenburg, and the prince of noer had headed a band of rebels against denmark and instigated the garrison of rendsborg to mutiny on the plea that the danes had imprisoned their king. a contest of arms took place between the two parties. prussia interfered; but prussia was not then what it is now. at the conclusion of a three years' war, the rebels were defeated and the king of denmark decreed that slesvig should be a separate duchy, governed by its own assembly. the german party so juggled the election--'fatherland over all' governed their point of view, the end justified the means--that the assembly shamefully misrepresented the danes. it was prussianised. the danes did not lose heart--slesvig must be danish; but if they allowed their language to disappear, there could be no hope for their nationality. on the other hand, the germans held, as they hold to-day, that all languages must yield to theirs. the german press would have extirpated the danish language; it was seditious; the danes were rebels. from the danish side to tönder-flensborg, the official speech and that of the people was danish. between the two belts--the space can easily be traced on the map--danish was spoken in the churches every second sunday. in the schools both danish and german was permitted; in the courts of law both languages were used. you made your choice! the world was deceived by an unscrupulous assembly and the german press into the belief that slesvig was german, lovingly german, and that the danes were merely restless malcontents, hating the beneficent prussian rule simply from a perverted sense of their own importance. the crucial moment came in . denmark had no real friends in europe. the united states, if her people had understood the matter, would have been sympathetic; but, at the moment, she was fighting for her own existence as a nation. the european powers, in spite of all their statecraft, allowed themselves to be blinded. austria, apparently proud and noble, allowed herself, as usual, to be made the tool of prussia. the two powers, on the false pretence that the right of christian ix. to the succession to the duchies was involved, forced denmark, which stood alone, to surrender slesvig-holstein and lauenburg. this was the beginning of the mighty german empire; it made the kiel canal possible, and laid the foundation of the german navy. slesvig, too, supplied the best sailors in the world. bismarck, when he cynically treated slesvig as a pawn in his game, had his eye on a future navy--a navy which would one day force the british from the dominion of the sea. he had his way. he became master of the baltic and the north sea. prussia, in forcing the danish king to cede slesvig, admitted his right to the duchies; yet the pretext for war on denmark had been that no such right existed. prussia soon threw off her ally, austria. she did not want a half owner in the holstein canal or in the coming fleet at kiel. it must be remembered that, when christian ix. had ascended the throne of denmark, it had been with the consent of all the great european powers. they had practically guaranteed him the right to rule slesvig-holstein, and yet england and france and russia stood by and allowed the outrage to take place. france made an attempt to satisfy her conscience. in the treaty of peace france had this clause inserted: 'h.m. the emperor of austria hereby transfers to h.m. the king of prussia all the right which according to the treaty of peace of vienna of october , , he had acquired in respect to the duchies of slesvig and holstein, provided that the northern districts of slesvig shall be united to denmark, if the inhabitants by a free vote declare their desire to that effect.' this was a 'scrap of paper'--nothing more! nevertheless a scrap of paper may be inconvenient. austria, never scrupulous when the acquisition of new territory was expedient, was willing to help prussia to tear it up. bosnia and herzogovina raised their heads. austria wanted help from prussia. here was the prussian chance to induce her to abrogate her part in clause fifty of the peace treaty. what matter? denmark, in time, must be german, as slesvig was german, in spite of all right. austria would play the same game with the slavs as prussia had played with the danes. individuals might have consciences, but nations had no system of ethics, and therefore no canons (except those of expediency), to rule such consciences as they had. prussia treated the right of the danes in slesvig, guaranteed by a 'scrap of paper,' to a free vote as to their fate, with contempt. it had amused bismarck to deceive france, the exponent of the new democracy in europe, but that was all. slesvig was to be crushed until it became quiescently prussian. prussia needed it, therefore it must be prussian. fiat! this is a plain, unvarnished tale. few of my fellow-countrymen have known it. some who knew it hazily concluded that slesvig had become german of its own free will that it might belong to a prosperous and great empire. others, who remembered that, even in their struggle for freedom in , the danes paused for a moment to give us their aid at the request of president lincoln, had a vague idea that wrong had been done somehow; but how great the wrong, and how terrible the effect of the wrong was to be on the history of the world, none of them even dreamed; and yet it was plain enough to those who watched the policy of blood and iron of this, the new germany. people who believed that prussia had any respect for an engagement that might seem to work against her own designs ought to have been warned by the experience of denmark. but there were those who believed that the acquisition of heligoland from the british was a mere trifle, in which germany had the worse of the bargain, as there are people who held that the danish west indies were of no manner of importance to us. they classed these acquisitions with that of alaska--'seward's folly!' and, in , the old powers of europe were so satisfied with their own methods, or so engaged with internal questions, that they let the monstrous tyranny of the conquest of slesvig pass almost in silence. prussia alone kept her eyes on one thing--the increase of her military power. in she induced austria to abrogate her part in the treaty of vienna of october , . austria agreed to give up any rights acquired by her in slesvig-holstein under the fifth clause of that treaty. this withdrawal (not to be irreverent, it was like the washing of the hands of pontius pilate) left slesvig naked to her enemy. the prussian autocrats chuckled when they found themselves bound by a 'scrap of paper' to the restoration of the northern districts of slesvig to denmark, 'if the inhabitants by a free vote declare their desire to that effect.' the imperial german statesmen, astute and unscrupulous, have always taken religion into consideration in making their propaganda. the german crown prince's sympathy with the same methods as used by napoleon bonaparte was perhaps inherited from his ancestors, as napoleon, too, knew the political value of religion. the church, an enslaved church in a despotic state,--the reverse of cavour's famous maxim--has always been one of statesmen's tools. they have never hesitated to use religion as the means of accomplishing the ends of the state. in fact, the catholic church in germany was in great danger of being enslaved. the old wars of the popes and the emperors--so little understood in modern times--would be very possible, had the victory of germany been a probability. let us see what happened in slesvig. since ' , prussia has governed slesvig. this rule has been a prolonged and constant attempt to force the danes from their homes. a very distinguished and rather liberal german diplomatist, count brockdorff-rantzau, once asked me, 'as an american, tell me frankly what is wrong with our position in slesvig?' 'everything,' i said. 'you seem even to assume that the religion of the people should be the religion of the state.' 'the state religion in slesvig is as the state religion in denmark, lutheranism.' 'but not germanised lutheranism. i have the testimony of a lutheran pastor himself, the reverend d. troensegaard-hansen, to the effect that the authorities in slesvig prefer german materialistic teaching to danish christianity, and that all kinds of influence is brought to bear on the clergy to make them german in their point of view. if, in the philippines, we attempted to do the things you do in slesvig, there would be no end of trouble.' he laughed. 'but democrats as you are, you will never keep your promise to grant those people self-government.' 'we will.' 'your democracy is not statesmanlike. it would be fatal for us to let the slesvigers defy our power. they must be part of germany; there is no way out.' 'either you want difficulties with them or you are worrying them just as a great mastiff worries a small dog.' 'but suddenly a gymnast raises the danish flag, or somebody utters a seditious speech in danish, or school books are circulated in which ultra-danish views of history are given. if a country is to be ruled by us, it must be a german country. we can tolerate no difference that tends to denationalise our population. it is a dream--the danish idea that we shall give up what we have taken or, rather, what has been ceded to us.' 'without the consent of the people?' 'who are the people? when you answer that i will tell what is truth. come, you are a democrat; by and by, when you americans are older, you will see democracy from a more practical point of view.' * * * * * the practical point of view in slesvig was squeezing out gradually the independence of the slesvigers. the dane loves passionately his home, his language, his literature. he may be sceptical about many things, but it would be difficult to persuade him to deny that the red and white flag, the danish flag, did not come down from heaven borne by angels! his culture is danish, and part of his life. he keeps it up wistfully even when he swears allegiance to another nation. the danes in denmark will never cease to regard slesvig as their own. it is one flesh with them; but prussia has torn this one body asunder. fancy a 'free election' being permitted in a country ruled by prussian autocrats or a 'free election' in alsace-lorraine under german rule! the geographical position of denmark is unfortunate. there are imperialists of all countries who hold that the little countries have no right to live; junkerism is not confined to germany. the geographical position of most of the little countries is unfortunate, but none is so unfortunate as that of denmark. when the war broke out, it seemed to her people that the road to german conquest lay through her borders. the powers that were in germany decided to attack belgium, and for the moment denmark escaped. do you think that it was an easy thing for a proud people to be in the position of old king canute before the advancing ocean? the waves came on, but nobody in his wildest imaginings ever dreamed that the modern danish canute could stem the tide. the danes have their army and their navy; officers and men expected to die defending denmark. what else could they do? death would be preferable to slavery. the dane does his best to forget; but always the echo of the words of the sentinel in _hamlet_ recurs: ''tis bitter cold, and i am sick at heart.' no number of royal alliances counts as against a bad geographical place in the world and the evil disposition of a strong neighbour. a change of heart has come over the world since germany induced austria to be her catspaw in . the example of a country which deliberately asserted that might makes right, and followed this assertion with deeds that make the angels weep, has shocked the world, and forced other nations to examine their consciences. after all, we are a long time after machiavelli. after the great breakdown in russia there was a feeling among some of the conservatives in denmark that the cousin of the tsar of russia, king george of england, might have laid a restraining hand on the russian parties that forced the tsar to abdicate. but the very mention of this seemed utterly futile. the king of spain, though married to an english princess, could expect little help in any difficulty, were the interests of the english ministry not entirely his. the contemplation of these alliances offers much material for the man who thinks in the terms of history. when president fallières visited copenhagen in , there was a gala concert given at the palace of amalieborg in his honour. the president was accompanied by a 'bloc' of black-coated gentlemen, some of them journalists of distinction. there was no display of gold lace, and the representatives of the french republic were really republican in their simplicity. the danish court and the diplomatic corps were splendid, decorations glittered, and the white and gold rococo setting of the concert room was worthy of it all. the queen of denmark--now the dowager queen--was magnificent, as she always is at gala entertainments, possessing, as she does in her own right, some of the finest jewels in europe. fallières represented the new order. his hostess, the queen, is the daughter of charles xv., a descendant of bernadotte. representing the lines of both st. louis and louis philippe was the princess valdemar, now dead, who, as marie of orleans, came of the royal blood of the families of bourbon and orleans. it was interesting to watch this gracious princess, whose father, the duc de chartres, had been with general mclellan during our civil war. she adapted herself to the circumstances, as she always did, and seemed very proud of the honours shown to france. the countess moltke-huitfeldt, louise bonaparte, was not in denmark at the time. it would have added interest to the occasion, had this descendant of the youngest brother of the emperor napoleon bonaparte been there. count moltke-huitfeldt, married to louise eugénie bonaparte, is almost as french in his sentiments as his wife, and, for her, when the united states joined hands with france, it was a very happy day. one of the events that made the fine castle of glorup, the seat of the moltke-huitfeldts, interesting was the visit of the ex-empress eugénie. the empress eugénie, like all the bonapartes, acknowledged the validity of the patterson-bonaparte marriage. she has always shown a special affection and esteem for the countess moltke-huitfeldt. the estate of glorup, with its artificial lake and garden, in which hans christian andersen often walked, was copied by an ancestor of the present count's from a part of versailles. it was at its best during the visit of the empress, who was the most considerate of guests. the american bonapartes were not ranked as royal highnesses for fear, on the part of napoleon iii. and prince napoleon, 'plon-plon,' of raising unpleasant questions as to the succession. jerome himself, for a short time king of westphalia, never pretended that his american marriage was not valid. meeting madame patterson-bonaparte by accident in the pitti palace, he whispered to the princess of würtemburg--she had then ceased to be queen of westphalia--'there is my american wife.' mr. jerome bonaparte was offered the title of 'duke of sartine' by napoleon iii. if he would give up the name of his family, which, of course, he declined to do. under the french laws, as well as the american, he was the legitimate son of jerome bonaparte. the presence of the countess moltke-huitfeldt would have added another interesting touch to the assemblage in amalieborg palace, a touch which would have served for a footnote to history. in spite of the name 'moltke,' count adam and his wife are as french as the french themselves. names in denmark are very deceptive. the question of war was even then, in , in the air. the german diplomatists were polite to fallières, but they considered him heavy and _bourgeois_, and believed that he represented the undying dislike for germany which the french system of education was inculcating. 'if the french schools teach the rising generation to hate germany, what is the attitude of the german educators?' i asked. 'we know that we are hated, and we teach our young to be ready for an attack from wherever it comes; but we love peace, of course.' in , it was generally thought that the kaiser himself was inclined to keep the peace. now and then an isolated englishman would declare that he had his doubts, when a german traveller seemed to know _too_ much about his country, or when amiable german guests asked too many intimate questions. it was the custom for the older colleagues to offer the newer ones a history of the slesvig-holstein dispute, which dated from the fifteenth century. on my arrival, sir alan johnston had presented me with a volume on the subject by herr neergaard, considered the 'last word' on the subject. the pages, i noticed, were uncut, so i felt justified in passing it on to the newest colleagues, taking care, in order to give him perfect freedom, not to autograph it! it was, as a french secretary often said, 'a complication most complicated'; but one fact was clear--the deplorable position of a liberty-loving people, deprived of the essentials that make life worth living! the great barrier to the entire domination of prussian ideals in this area between the baltic and the north sea is the existence of the danish national spirit in slesvig. 'if the other nations of europe had looked ahead, the power of prussia might have been held within reasonable bounds; the war in would have been impossible; this last awful world-conflict would not have occurred. germany would have been taught her place long ago.' how often was this repeated! the relations between the emperor william and the emperor of russia were supposed to be unusually friendly then, after the practical defeat of russia by japan. in older days, queen louise of denmark thought she had laid the foundation for a certain friendliness; but, nevertheless, the tsar, though closely related to the kaiser and dominated largely by his very beautiful german wife, was never free to ignore the slavic genius of his people. kings and emperors--all royal folk--made up a family society of their own until this war. we have changed all that, as the man in molière's comedy said; and yet, as a rule, german royal princesses remained prussian in spite of all temptation, while other women seemed naturally to adopt the nationalities of their husbands. the princesses connected with the prussian royal house seem immutably prussian. the tsar, then, like the kaiser, cousin of the king of england, the son of a mother who remembered slesvig-holstein and never liked the prussians, had second thoughts. (they were nearly always wrong when his wife influenced them.) it was one thing to call the mighty prussian 'willie'--all royalties have little domestic names--another to break with france and to bow the slavic head to german benevolent assimilation. the tsar might call the emperor by any endearing epithet, but that did not imply political friendship; king george of greece and queen alexandra were very fond of each other, but the queen would never have attempted to give her brotherly majesty the island of crete which he badly wanted. with the death of the queen of christian ix., assemblies of royalties ceased in denmark; the old order had changed. there was no neutral ground where the royalties and their scions could meet and soften asperities by the simplicity of family contact. the point of view in europe had become more democratic and more keen. even if there had been a queen louise to try to make her family, even to the remotest grandchild, a unit, it could not have been done. reverence for royalty had passed out with queen victoria; the idols were dissolving, and restless ideals became visible in their places. prussia had drawn her states into a united empire; tributary kings were at the chariot wheel of the prussian emperor, not because the kings so willed, but because the subjects of the kings--the commercial people, the landowners, the military caste, the capitalists, the increasingly prosperous farmers--discovered it to be to their advantage. bismarck's policy of blood and iron meant more money and more worldly success for the germans. although the smaller teutonic states had lost their freedom, bismarck began to pay each of them its price in good gold with the stamp of the empire upon it. to take and to hold was the motto of the empire:--'we take our own wherever we find it!' the old germans disappeared; the germans who were frugal and philosophical, poor and poetical, were emerging from the simplicity of the past to the luxury of the present. as a rule, i found the russian diplomatists very well informed and clever. their foreign office seemed to have no confidants outside the bureaucratic circle. the russian journalist, like most other journalists, was not better or earlier informed of events than the diplomatists. as copenhagen was the place where every diplomat in the world went at some time or other, one was sure to discover interesting rumours or real news without much trouble. while the newspapers or magazines of nearly every other nation gave indications in advance of the public opinion that might govern the cabinets or the foreign offices, the russian periodicals gave no such clues. there was no use in keeping a russian translator; real russian opinion was seldom evident, except when a royalty or a diplomatist might, being bored by his silence, or with a patriotic object, tell the truth. 'what prevents war?' i asked in of one of my colleagues. 'lack of money,' he answered promptly, repeating the words of prince koudacheff. 'germany and russia will fly at each other's throats as soon as the financiers approve of it. you will not report this to your foreign office,' he said, laughing, 'because america looks on war, a general european war, as unthinkable. it would seem absurd! nobody in america and only ten per cent. of the thinking people in england will believe it! as for france, she is wise to make friends with my country, but she would be wiser if she did not believe that germany will wait until she is ready to make her _revanche_. there are those in her government who hold that the _revanche_ is a dream--that france would do well to accept solid gains for the national dream. they are fools!' 'iswolsky is of the same opinion, i hear,' i said, for we had all a great respect for iswolsky. but when the london _national review_ repeated the same sentiments over and over again, it seemed unbelievable that the kaiser's professions of peace were not honest. yet individual pan-germans were extremely frank. 'we must have our place in the east,' they said; 'we must cut the heart out of slavic ambitions, and deal with english arrogance.' in a general way, we were always waiting for war. in , count aehrenthal, then a very great austrian, told a celebrated financial promoter who visited our legation, that war was inevitable. the austrians and the russians feared it and believed it--feared it so much that when i was enabled to contradict the rumour, there was a happy sigh as the news was well documented. austria did not want war; russia did not want war. 'but the emperor of germany?' i asked of one of the most honourable and keenest diplomatists in berlin. 'he is surrounded by a military clique; he desires to preserve the rights and prerogatives of the german empire, above all, the hereditary and absolute principle without a long war. a war will do it for him--if it is short. he himself would prefer to avoid it. yet he must justify the army and the navy; but the war must be short.' 'but does he _want_ war?' 'he is not bloodthirsty; he knows what war means, but he will want what his _clique_ wants.' these two diplomatists are both alive--one in exile--but i shall not mention their names. my colleagues were sometimes very frank. it would not be fair to tell secrets which would embarrass them--for a harmless phrase over a glass of tokai is a different thing read over a glass of cold water! and, in the old days, before , good dinners and good wines were very useful in diplomatic 'conversations.' things began to change somewhat when after-dinner bridge came in. but, dinner or no dinner, bridge or no bridge, the diplomatic view was always serious. in denmark the thoughtful citizen often said, 'we are doomed; germany can absorb us.' count holstein-ledreborg once said, 'but providence may save us yet.' 'by a miracle.' it seemed absurd in that any great power should be allowed to think of conquering a smaller nation, simply because it was small. 'you don't reckon with public opinion--in the united states, for instance,--or the view of the hague conference,' i said. 'public opinion in your country or anywhere else will count little against krupp and his cannon. public opinion will not save denmark, for even russia might have reason to look the other way. that would depend on england.' it seemed impossible, for, like most americans, i was almost an idealist. the world was being made a vestibule of heaven, and the pessimist was anathema! was not science doing wonderful things? it had made life longer; it had put luxuries in the hands of the poor. the bad old days, when madame du barry could blind the eyes of louis xv. to the horrors of the partition of poland, and when the proud maria theresa could, in the same cause, subordinate her private conscience to the temptations of national expediency, were over. no man could be enslaved since lincoln had lived! the hague conference would save poland in due time, the democratic majority in great britain and ireland was undoing the wrongs of centuries by granting home rule for ireland, and, as for the little nations, public opinion would take care of them! 'what beautiful language you use, mr. minister,' said count holstein-ledreborg; 'but you americans live in a world of your own. nobody knows what the military party in germany will do. go to germany yourself. it is no longer the germany of canon schmid, of auerbach, of heyse, of the lorelei and the simple musical concert and the happy family life. why, as many cannons as candles are hung on the christmas trees!' i repeated this speech to one of the most kindly of my colleagues, count henckel-donnersmarck, who was really a sane human creature, too bored with artificiality to wear his honours with comfort. 'oh, for your dress coat,' he would say. 'look at my gold lace; i am loaded down like a camel. the old germany, _cher collègue_, it is gone. i long for it; i am not of blood and iron; the old germany, you will not find it, though you search even bavaria and silesia. and i believe, with the great frederick, that your great country and mine may possess the future, if we are friends; therefore,' he smiled, 'i will not deceive you. the germany of the american imagination, our old germany, is gone.' he hated court ceremonies, whereas i rather like them; they were beautiful and stately symbols, sanctified by tradition. he ought to have danced at the court balls, but he never would. he was lazy. he was grateful to my wife, because she ordered me to dance the cotillions with countess henckel, who must dance with somebody who 'ranked,' or sit for five or six hours on a crimson bench. the danes had no belief that we could or would help them in a conflict for salvation, but they liked us. in , when dr. cook suddenly came, they declared that they would take 'the word of an american gentleman' for his story of the north pole. sweden accepted him at once, england was divided--king edward against cook; queen alexandra for him! when admiral peary made his claim, the queen of england said,--'thank heaven! it is american against american, and not englishman against american.' we were all glad of that; and i was very grateful to the danes for showing respect for the honour of an american, in whom none of us had any reason to disbelieve. there was no warning from the scientists in the united states. the german savants accepted dr. cook at once. in fact, until admiral peary sent his message, there seemed to be no doubt as to cook's claims, except on the part of the royal british geographical society. i joined the danish royal geographical society at his reception; it was not my duty to cast aspersions on the honour of an american, of whom i only knew that he had written _the voyage of the belgic_, had been the associate of admiral peary, and was a member of very good clubs. even if i had been scientific enough to have doubts, i should have been polite to him all the same. as it was, denmark was delighted to welcome cook because he was an american; he had apparently accomplished a great thing, and besides, he directed attention from politics at a tremendous public crisis. the great question for the danish government was as usual: shall we defend ourselves? shall we build ships and keep a large army and erect fortresses, or simply say 'kismet' when germany comes? the conservatives were for defence; the radicals and socialists against it. mr. j. c. christensen, one of the most powerful of danish politicians, of the moderate school, holding the balance of power, was in a tight place. alberti, the clever radical, had been supported by christensen, who had been innocently involved in his fall. alberti languished in jail, and christensen was being horribly assailed when dr. cook came and denmark forgot christensen and went wild with delight! in - , denmark trembled for fear that she would lose her freedom. when would the germans attack? the disorder in slesvig was perennial. a bill for a reasonable defence had been proposed to the danish parliament. king frederick had had great difficulty in forming a ministry. count morgen friis, capable, distinguished, experienced, but with some of the indolence of the old grand seigneur, had refused. richelieu could not see his way clear; nobody wanted the responsibility. the socialists and the radicals, practical, if you like, did not believe in building forts in the hope of saving the national honour. king frederick viii. was at his wit's end for a premier, for, as i have said, even count morgen friis, a man of undoubted ability and great influence, failed him. king frederick, because of his desire to stand well with his people, was never popular. his glove was too velvety, and he treated his political enemies as well as he did his friends. count friis was known to lean towards england, and he was very popular; he would have stood for a strong defence. admiral de richelieu was a man of great influence, a devoted slesviger, and the greatest 'industrial,' with the exception of state-councillor andersen, in denmark; he was not keen for the premiership, and his friends did not care that he should compromise their business interests; for, in denmark, business and politics do not mix well. finally, king frederick called on count holstein-ledreborg, without doubt, with perhaps the exception of--but i must not mention living men--the cleverest man in denmark. count holstein-ledreborg was a recluse; he had been practically exiled by the scornful attitude taken by the aristocracy on account of his radicalism, but had returned to his renascence castle near the old dwelling-place of beowulf. count holstein-ledreborg was the last resource, he had been out of politics for many years. although he was a pessimist, he was a furious patriot. he had a great respect for the abilities of the radicals, like edward brandès, but very little for those--'if they existed,' he said--of his own class in the aristocracy. he was one of the few catholics among the aristocracy, and he had a burning grievance against the existing order of churchly things. the state church in denmark is, like that of sweden and norway, lutheran. until , except in one or two commercial towns where there was a constant influx of merchants, no catholic church was permitted. the chapel of count holstein in his castle of ledreborg, was still lutheran. he was not permitted to have mass said in it, as it was a church of the commune. this made the lord of ledreborg furious. there must be lutheran worship in his own chapel, or no worship; this was the law! there was something else that added to his indignation. one day, very silently, he opened the doors that concealed a panel in the wall. there was a very lutheran picture indeed! it was done in glaring colours, even realistic colours. it represented various devils, horned and tailed and pitch-forked, poking into the fire in the lower regions a pope and several cardinals, who were turning to crimson like lobsters, while some pious lutheran prelates gave great thanks for this agreeable proceeding. 'in my own chapel,' said count holstein, 'almost facing the altar; and the law will not permit me to remove it!' being an american, i smiled; thereby, i almost lost a really valued friendship. 'i shall arrange with the king to give a substitute for the chapel to the commune--a school-house or a library--and have the chapel consecrated,' he said. 'i think i see my way.' '"all things come to him who knows how to wait,"' i quoted. in , at the time of the crisis, he accepted the task of forming a cabinet to get the defence bill through parliament, but he made one condition with the king--that he should have his own chapel to do as he liked with. he carried the defence bill through triumphantly and then, having made his point, and finding parliament unreasonable, from his point of view, on some question or other, he told its members to go where orpheus sought eurydice, and retired! he died too soon; he would have been a great help to us in the troubled days when we were trying to buy the virgin islands. he was my mentor in european politics, and a most distinguished man; and what is better, a good friend. at times he was sardonic. 'i would make,' he said, 'if i had the power, edward brandès (brandès is of the famous brandès family) minister of public worship!' (as brandès is a jew and a greek pagan both at once, it would have been one of those ironies of statecraft like that which made the duke of norfolk patron of some anglican livings.) count holstein disliked state churches. he was a strange mixture of the wit of voltaire with the faith of pascal, and one of the most inflexible of radicals. the party for the defence and for the integrity of the army and navy had its way; but, owing to the attitude of the socialists, a very moderate way. 'if germany comes, she will take us,' the radicals said with the socialists; 'why waste public money on soldiers and military bands and submarines?' but there are enough stalwarts, including the king, christian, to believe that a country worth living in is worth fighting for! chapter ii the menace of 'our neighbour to the south' in , russia seemed to me to be, for americans, the most important country in europe. our department of state was no doubt informed as to what the other countries would do in certain contingencies, for none of our diplomatic representatives, although always working under disadvantages not experienced by their european colleagues, had been idle persons. but all of us who had even cursorily studied european conditions knew that the actions of germany would depend largely on the attitude of russia. it was to the interest of emperor william to keep nicholas ii. and the romanoffs on the throne. he saw no other way of dividing and conquering a country which he at once hated and longed to control. the balkan situation was always burning; it was the etna and vesuvius of the diplomatic world; wise men might predict eruptions, but they were always unexpected. to most people in the united states the balkans seemed very far off; bulgaria with her eyes on macedonia, the tsar ferdinand and his attempt to put his son, boris, under the greater tsar, him of russia; rumania and her ambitions for more freedom and more territory; serbia, with her fears and aspirations, appeared to be of no importance--of less interest, perhaps, than other petty kingdoms. but at one fatal moment austria refused to allow serbia to export her pigs, and we came to pay about two million dollars an hour and to sacrifice most precious lives, much greater things, because of the ferocious growth of this little germ of tyranny and avarice. most of us have fixed ideas; if they are the result of prejudice, they are generally bad; if they are the result of principle, that is another question. when i went to denmark at the request of president roosevelt, i had several fixed ideas, whether of prejudice or principle i could not always distinguish. i had been brought up in a sentiment of gratitude to russia--she had behaved well to us in the civil war--and in a firm belief that her people only needed a fair chance to become our firm friends. we must seek european markets for our capital and our investments, and russia offered us a free way. towards the end of the year , the signs in russia were more ominous than usual. it had always seemed to me--and the impression had come probably from long and intimate association with some very clever diplomatists--that russian problems, industrially and economically, were very similar to our own, and that, in the future, her interests would be our interests. she was in evil hands--that was evident; nicholas ii., after the peace of portsmouth, was not so pleased with the action of president roosevelt as he ought to have been, and the arrogant clique, the bureaucrats who controlled the tsar, regarded us with suspicion and dislike. at the same time, it was plain that a great part of the landed nobility looked with hope to the united states as a nation which ought to understand their problems and assist, with technical advice and capital, in the solving of them. the baltic barons, many with german names and not of the orthodox faith, preferred that the united states, by the investments of her citizens in russia, should hold a balance between the french and the german financial influences, for germany was slowly beginning to control russia financially, and french capital meant a competition with the german interests which might eventually mean a conflict and war. the well instructed among the russian people, including the estate owners whose interests were not bureaucratic, feared war above all things. the japanese war had given them reason for their fears. to my mind there were three questions of great importance for us: how could we, with self-respect, keep on good terms with russia? how could we discover what germany's intentions were? and how could we strengthen the force of the monroe doctrine by acquiring, through legitimate means, certain islands on our coasts, especially the gallapagos, the danish west indies and others which, perhaps, it might not be discreet to mention. while the united states seemed fixed in her policy of keeping out of foreign entanglements, it seemed to me that the rule of conduct of a nation, like that of an individual, cannot always be consistent with its theories, since all intentions put into action by the party of the first part must depend on the action and point of view of the party of the second part. i had been largely influenced in my views of the value of the monroe doctrine by the speeches and writings of ex-president roosevelt and senator lodge. it was a self-evident truth, too, that, for the sake of democracy, for the sake of the future of our country, the autonomy of the small nations must be preserved. this attitude i made plain during my ten years in denmark; perhaps i over-accentuated it, but to this attitude i owe the regard of the majority of the danish people and of some of the folk of the other scandinavian nations. the position taken by germany, under prussian influence, in brazil and argentine, certain indications in our own country, which i shall emphasise later, the intrigues as to the bagdad railway, and the threats as to what germany might do in scandinavia in case russia attempted to interfere with german plans in the east, were alarming. then again was the hint that denmark might be seized if germany found russia in an alliance against england. from my earliest youth, i knew many germans whom i esteemed and admired; but they were generally descendants of the men of , that year which saw the hungarians defeated and the german lovers of liberty exiled. there were others of a later time who believed, with the kaiser, that a german emigrant was simply a german colonist--waiting! these people were so naïve in their prussianism, in their disdain for everything american, that they scarcely seemed real! when a german waiter looked out of the hotel window in trafalgar square and said, waving his napkin at the spectacle of the congested traffic, 'when the day comes, we shall change all this,' we americans laughed. this was in the eighties. yet he meant it; and 'we' have not changed all this even for the day! the alarm was sounded in south america, but few north americans took it seriously, and we knew how the english accepted the german invasions to the very doors of their homes. however, when i went to denmark in august , deeply honoured by president roosevelt's outspoken confidence in me, i became aware that prussianised germany might at any moment seize that little country, and that, in that case, the danish west indies would be german. a pleasant prospect when we knew that germany regarded the monroe doctrine as the silly figment of a democratic brain unversed in the real meaning of world politics. again, i saw exemplified the fact that _in the eyes of the kaiser, a german emigrant was a german colonist_. once a german always a german; the ideas of the fatherland must follow the blood, and these ideas are one and indivisible. consequently, no place could have been more interesting than the capital of denmark. here diplomatists were taught, made, or unmade. until we were forced to join in the european concert by the acquirement of the philippines, the post did not seem to be important. 'you always send your diplomatists here to learn their art,' the clever queen of christian ix. had said to an american. it may not have been intended as a compliment! in the second place, copenhagen was the centre of those new social and political movements that are affecting the world; denmark was rapidly becoming socialistic. she, one of the oldest kingdoms in the world, presented the paradox of being the spot in which all tendencies supposed to be anti-monarchical were working out. she had already solved problems incidental to the evolution of democratic ideals, which in our own country we have only begun timidly to consider. in the third place, copenhagen was near the most potent country in the world--germany under prussian domination. i make the distinction between 'potency' and 'greatness.' and, in the fourth place, it gave anybody who wanted to be 'on his job' a good opportunity of studying the effect of german propinquity on a small nation. unfortunately, in - - - - , no experience in watching german methods seemed of much value to our own people or to the english. the english who watched them critically, like maxse, the editor of the _national review_ of london, were not listened to. perhaps these persons were too radical and intemperate. the english foreign office had, after the vatican, the reputation of having the best system for obtaining information in europe, but both the english foreign office and the vatican secretariat seemed to have suddenly become deaf. we americans were too much taken up with the german _gemütlichkeit_, or scientific efficiency, to treat the prussian movements with anything but tolerance. the germans had won the hearts of some of our best men of science, who believed in them until belief was impossible; and, with most of my countrymen, i held that a breach of the peace in europe seemed improbable. there was always the hague! the only thing left for me was to let the germans be as _gemütlich_ as they liked, and to watch their attitude in denmark, for on this depended the ownership of the west indies. my german colleagues, henckel-donnersmarck, von waldhausen, and brockdorff-rantzau, were able men; and, i think, they looked on me as a madman with a fixed idea. count rantzau, if he lives, will be heard of later; he is one of the well-balanced among diplomatists. i realised early in the game that my work must be limited to watching germany in her relations with denmark. i knew what was expected of me. i had no doubt that the united states was the greatest country in the world in its potentialities, but i had no belief, then, in its power to enforce its high ideals on the politics of the european world. in fact, it never occurred to me that our country would be called upon to enforce them, for, unless the imperial german government should take it into its head to lay hands on a country or two in south america, it seemed to me that we might keep entirely out of such foreign entanglements as concerned western europe and constantinople and the balkans. if, however, there should be such interference by france and england with the interests of germany as would warrant her and her active ally in attacking these countries, denmark and, automatically, her islands would be german. then, we, in self-defence, must have something to say. secret diplomacy was flourishing in europe, and nothing was really clear. after the event it is very easy to take up the rôle of the prophet, but that is not in my line. if a man is not a genius, he cannot have the intuition of a genius, and, while i accepted the opinions of my more experienced colleagues, i imagined that their fears of a probable war were exaggerated. besides, i had been impressed by the constantly emphasised opinion--part of the german propaganda, i now believe--that our great enemy was japan. since the year , when i had been well introduced into diplomatic circles in washington, i had known many representatives of foreign powers. since those days, so well described in madame de hegermann-lindencrone's _sunny side of diplomatic life_, the german point of view had greatly changed. it was a far cry from the days of the easy-going herr von schlözer to speck von sternberg and efficient count bernstorff, a far cry from the amicable point of view of mr. poultney bigelow taken of the young kaiser in the eighties, and his revised point of view in . mr. poultney bigelow's change from a certain attitude of admiration, in his case with no taint of snobbishness, was typical of that of many of my own people. i must confess that no instructions from the state department had prepared me for the german echoes i heard in denmark; but even if treitschke had come to the united states to air his views at the university of chicago, i should probably have considered them merely academic, and have treated them as cavalierly as i had treated the speech of the waiter in the trafalgar square hotel about 'changing all that.' nietzsche's philosophy seemed so atrocious as to be ineffective. but we americans, as a rule, take no system of philosophy as having any real connection with the conduct of life, and, except in very learned circles, his was looked on as no more part of the national life of germany than william james is of ours. in a little while, i discovered that the kaiser had imposed on the prussians, at least, a most practical system of philosophy, which our universities had come to admire. i had not been long in denmark when i realised that germany, in the three scandinavian countries, was looked on either as a powerful enemy or as a potential friend, and that she tried, above all, to control the learned classes. the united states hardly counted; she was too far off and seemed to be hopelessly ignorant of the essential conditions of foreign affairs. her diplomacy, if it existed at all, was determined by existing political conditions at home. i visited holland and belgium; germany loomed larger. she was bent on commercial supremacy everywhere. one could not avoid admitting that fact. as to denmark, it was piteous to see how the danes feared the power that never ceased to threaten them. prussia has made her empire possible by establishing the beginnings, in , of her naval power at the expense of denmark. the longer i lived in denmark the more strongly i felt that germany was getting ready for a short, sharp war in which the united states of america, it seemed to me (as i was no prophet), was not to be a factor, but russia was. the members of the german legation were very sympathetic, especially the minister, count henckel-donnersmarck. he loved weimar; he loved the old germany. it was a delight to hear him talk of the real glories of his country. his family, in the opinion of the germans, was so great that he could afford to do as he pleased; i rather think he looked on the hohenzollerns as rather _parvenus_. he was of the school of frederick the noble rather than of william the conqueror. 'do you mind talking politics?' i asked him one day. 'it bores me,' he said, 'because there is nothing stable. my country feels that it is being isolated. since algeria, in , she stands against europe, with austria.' 'stands against the united states?' 'no, no; we shall always be at peace,' he said. 'our interests are not dissimilar; our military organisation is almost perfect. yes, we learned some lessons even from your civil war, though you are not a military people. your country is full of our citizens.' '_your_ citizens, count!' 'ah, yes,--in brazil and argentine, everywhere, a german citizen is like a roman citizen, proud and unchanging, that is the german citizen who understands the aims of modern germany. _civis romanus sum!_ the older ones are different; it is a question of sentiment and memories with them. your great german population will always keep you out of conflict with us, though even you, who know our literature, are at heart english--i mean politically. you cannot help it. your irish blood may count, but the point of view is made by literature. it gets into the blood. see what homer has done for those old savages of his. our bankers can always manage the finances of new york, as they manage those of london. it would be a sad day for germany if we should break with you; some of us know that frederick the great saw your future, and believed that we always ought to be friends. but do not imagine that your nation, great as it is, can do anything your people wills to do. great power, i understand, is hidden in your country; but, as the actors say, you cannot get it across the footlights. it is not, as gambetta spoke of the catholic religion in france, a matter for export.' 'our education,' count henckel-donnersmarck resumed, 'is practical; goethe and schiller mean little now to us. bismarck has made new men of us. i shall not live long, and i cannot say i regret it,' he said; 'and, as the lust of power becomes the rule of the world, my son must be a new german or suffer.' 'count henckel,' as he preferred to be called, did not remain long in copenhagen; he was recalled because, it was reported, he did not provide the kaiser, who carefully read his ministers' reports, with a sufficient number of details of life in denmark. when i took his hint and went to germany, at christmas--christmas was a divine time in the old germany!--i found that count henckel was right. berlin was hygienic, ugly, and more offensively immoral than paris was once said to be. there was an artificial rule of life. even the lives of the boys and girls seemed to be ordered by some unseen law. you could breathe, but it was necessary not to consume too much oxygen at a time. that was _verboten_; and there were cannons on the christmas trees! chapter iii the kaiser and the king of england it was pleasant to renew old memories among diplomatists and ex-diplomatists in copenhagen. i remembered the old days in washington, when sir edward thornton's house was far up-town, when the rows between the chileans and peruvians--i forget to which party the amiable ibañez belonged--convulsed the coteries that gathered at mrs. dahlgren's, when bodisco and aristarchi bey and baron de santa ana were more than names, and the hegermann-lindencrones[ ] were the handsomest couple in washington. so it was agreeable to find some colleagues with whom one had reminiscences in common. then there were the americans married to members of the corps. lady johnston, wife of sir alan; madame de riaño, married to one of the most well-balanced and efficient diplomatists in europe. these ladies made the way of my wife and my daughters very easy. [ ] madame hegermann-lindencrone is the author of _in the court of memory_ and _the sunny side of diplomacy_. an envoy arriving at a new post has one consolation, not an unmitigatedly agreeable one. he is sure of knowing what his colleagues think of him. and for a while they weigh him very carefully. the american can seldom shirk the direct question: 'is this your first post?' it required great strength of mind not to say: 'i had a special mission to the indian reservations, and i have always been, more or less, you know----' 'ah, i see! calcutta, bombay----!' 'not exactly--red lake, you know--the reservations, wards of our government.' 'oh, red indians! i was not aware that you had diplomatic relations with the old red indian princes. but this is your first post in europe?' you cannot avoid that. however, the longer one is at a post, the more he enjoys it. in the course of nearly eleven years, i never knew one of my colleagues who did not show _esprit de corps_. they become more and more kindly. you know that they know your faults and your virtues. in the diplomatic service you are like wolsey, naked, not to your enemies, but to your colleagues. they can help you greatly if they will. after the peace of portsmouth, which in the opinion of certain russians gave all the advantages to japan, the emperor of germany spoke of president roosevelt with added respect, we were told. the attitude toward americans on the part of germans seemed always the reflection of the point of view of the kaiser. from their point of view, it was only the president who counted; our nation, from the pan-german point of view seemed not to be of importance. it was rather hard to find out exactly what the kaiser's attitude towards us was. some of the court circle--there were always visitors from berlin--announced that the kaiser was greatly pleased by the result of the portsmouth conference. he knew the weakness of russia, and though he believed that german interests required that she should not be strong, he feared, above all things, the preponderance of the yellow races. i discovered one thing early, that the pan-german party propagated the idea that the japanese alliance with england could be used against the united states. it was vain to argue about this. 'japan is your enemy; the philippines will be japanese, unless you strengthen yourselves by a quasi-alliance with us; then england, tied to japan, can not oppose you.' one could discover very little from the kaiser's public utterances; but he indemnified himself for his conventionality in public by his frankness in private. he described the danish as the most 'indiscreet of courts.' he forgot that his own indiscretions had become proverbial in copenhagen. whether this 'indiscretion' was first submitted to the foreign office is a question. his diplomatists were usually miracles of discretion; but the city was full of 'echoes' from berlin which did not come from the diplomatists or the court. the truth was, the kaiser looked on the courts of denmark and stockholm as dependencies, and he was 'hurt' when any of the court circle seemed to forget this. in his eyes, a german princess, no matter whom she married, was to remain a german. the present queen of denmark, the most discreet of princesses, never forgot that she was a danish princess and would be in time a danish queen. every german princess was looked upon as a propagator of the views of the kaiser;--the queen of the belgians was a sore disappointment to him; but, then, she was not a prussian princess. when one of the princesses joined the catholic church, there was an explosion of rage on his part. as far as i could gather, in - - , he was _chambré_, as liberal germany said, surrounded by people who echoed his opinions, or who, while pretending to accept them, coloured them with their own. it was surmised that he despised his uncle, king edward. evidences of this would leak out. he admired our material progress, and he was determined to imitate our methods. the loquacity of some of our compatriots amused him. he understood president roosevelt so little as to imagine that he could influence him. there was one american he especially disliked, and that was archbishop ireland; but the reason for that will form almost a chapter by itself. as i have said, it seemed to me most important that good feeling in the little countries of europe should be founded on respect for us. somebody, a cynic, once said that the only mortal sin among americans is to be poor. that may or may not be so. it was, however, the impression in europe. it was difficult in denmark to make it understood that we were interested in literature and art, or had any desire to do anything but make money. the attempt to buy the danish west indies, made in , was looked on by many of the danes as the manifestation of a desire on the part of an arrogant and imperial-minded people to take advantage of the poverty of a little country. 'you did not dare to propose to buy an island near your coast from england or france, or even holland,' they said. this prejudice was encouraged by the german press whenever an opportunity arose. and against this prejudice it was my business to fight. until after the war with spain--unfortunate as it was in some aspects--we were disdained; after that we were supposed to have crude possibilities. german propagandists took advantage of our seeming 'newness,' forgetting that the new germany was a _parvenu_ among the nations. our people _en tour_ in europe spent money freely and gave opinions with an infallible air almost as freely. they too frequently assumed the air of folk who had 'come abroad' to complete an education never begun at home; or, if they were persons who had 'advantages,' they were too anxious for a court _entrée_, asking their representative for it as a right, and then acting at court as if it were a divine privilege. it was necessary in denmark to accentuate the little things. the danes love elegant simplicity; they are, above all, aesthetic. my predecessor, who did not remain long enough in denmark to please his danish admirers, called the danes 'the most civilised of peoples.' i found that he was right; but they were full of misconceptions concerning us. we used toothpicks constantly! we did not know how to give a dinner! the values of the wine list (before the war, most important) would always remain a mystery to us. in a word, we were 'yankees!' to make propaganda--the first duty of a diplomatist--requires thought, time and money. the germans used all three intelligently. one cannot travel in the provinces without money. one cannot reach the minds of the people without the distribution of literature. unhappily, governments before the war, with the exception of the german government, took little account of this. one of the best examples of an effective propaganda, of the most practicable and far-sighted methods, was that of the french ambassador to the united states, jusserand. he did not wait to be taught anything by the germans. we have two bad habits: we read our psychology as well as our temperament--the result of a unique kind of experience and education--into the minds of other people, and we despise the opinion of nations which are small. the first defect we have suffered from, and the latter we shall suffer from if we are not careful. who cares whether bulgaria respects us or not? and yet a diplomatist soon learns that it counts. it is a grave question whether the little countries look with hope towards democracy, or with helpless respect towards autocracy. we see that bulgaria counted; we shall see that denmark counted, too, when the moment came for our buying the virgin islands. the german propaganda was incessant. denmark was in close business relations with england. denmark furnished the english breakfast table--the inevitable butter, bacon and eggs. but the trade relations between england and denmark were not cultivated as were those between denmark and germany. the german 'drummer' was the rule, the english commercial traveller the exception. as to the american, he seldom appeared, and when he came he spoke no language but his own. in literature the germans did all they could to cultivate the interest of the danish author. he was petted and praised when he went to berlin--that is, after his books had been translated. berlin never allowed herself to praise any scandinavian books in the original. as to music, the best german musicians came to denmark. richard strauss led the _rosenkavalier_ in person; the berlin symphony and rheinhart's plays were announced. every opportunity was taken to show denmark germany's best in music, art and science. 'if you speak the word culture, you must add the word german.' this was a berlin proverb. 'all good american singers must have my stamp before america will hear them,' the kaiser said. danish scientists were always sure of recognition in germany, but they must be read in german or speak in german when they visited berlin. in king edward came to copenhagen. he was regarded principally as the husband of the beloved princess alexandra. he did not conceal the fact that copenhagen bored him, and the copenhageners knew it. however, they received him with an appearance of amiability they had not shown to the kaiser on the occasion of his visit. no dane who remembered bismarck and slesvig and who saw at kiel the growing german fleet could admire the emperor william ii. even the most ferocious propagandists demanded too much when they asked that. they looked on the visits of king frederick viii. to germany with suspicion. when the crown prince, the present christian x., married the daughter of the grand duke of mecklenburg-schwerin, they were not altogether pleased. they were reconciled, however, by the fact that the crown princess was the daughter of a russian mother. besides, the crown princess, now queen alexandrina, was chosen by prince christian because he loved her. 'she is the only woman i will marry,' he had said. and when she married him, she became danish, unlike her sister-in-law, the princess harald, who has always remained german, much to the embarrassment of her husband, and the rumoured annoyance of the present king, who holds that a danish princess must be a dane and nothing else. the danish queen's mother is the clever grand duchess anastasia michaelovna,[ ] who was russian and parisian, who loved the riviera, above all cannes, and who was the most brilliant of widows. when the sister of queen alexandrina married the german crown prince in , the danes were relieved, but not altogether pleased. those of them who believed that royal alliance counted, hoped that a future german empress, so nearly akin to their queen, might ward off the ever-threatening danger of prussian conquest. [ ] on the outbreak of the war, the grand duchess threw off her allegiance to germany, and resumed her russian citizenship. the crown princess cecilia became a favourite in germany; it was rumoured that she was not sufficient of a german housewife to suit the kaiser. 'the crown princess cecilia is adorable, but she will not permit her august father-in-law to choose her hats,' said a visiting lady of the german autocratic circle; 'she might, at least, follow the example of her mother-in-law, for the emperor's taste is unimpeachable!' my wife remembered that this serene, well-born lady wore a hat of mustard yellow, then a favourite colour in berlin! in april , king edward vii. and queen alexandra made a visit to copenhagen. it was the custom in denmark that, when a reigning sovereign came on a gala visit, the court and the diplomatists were expected to go to the station to meet him. the waiting-room of the station was decorated with palms which had not felt the patter of rain for years, and with rugs evidently trodden to shabbiness by many royal feet. amid these splendours a _cercle_ was held. the visiting monarch, fresh from his journey, spoke to each of the diplomatists in turn. he dropped pearls of thought for which one gave equally valuable gems. 'the american minister, your majesty,' said the chamberlain. 'glad to see you; where are you from?' 'washington, the capital.' 'there are more washingtons?' 'many, sir.' 'how do you like copenhagen?' 'greatly--almost as well as london' (insert stockholm, christiania, the hague, to suit the occasion). and then came the voice of the chamberlain--'the austrian minister, your majesty.' 'how do you like copenhagen?' the same formula was used until the _chargés d'affaires_, who always ended the list, were reached: 'how long have you been in copenhagen?' king edward was accompanied by a staff of the handsomest and most soldierly courtiers imaginable; they were the veritable splendid captains of kipling's _recessional_. queen alexandra was attended by the hon. charlotte knollys and miss vivian. it was a great pleasure to see miss knollys again. to those who knew her all the tiresome waiting was worth while; she seemed like an old friend. the police surveillance was not so strict when the king and queen of england were in copenhagen; but when any of the russian royalties arrived, the police had a time of anxiety though they were reinforced by hundreds of detectives. in copenhagen it was always said that the empress dowager, the grand duke michael, the archduchess olga, and others of the romanoff family, were only safe when in the company of some of the english royal people. the empress dowager of russia, formerly the princess dagmar of denmark, never went out without her sister. they were inseparable, devoted to each other, as all the children of king christian ix. were. it was not the beauty and charm of queen alexandra that saved her from attack; it was the fact that england was tolerant of all kinds of political exiles, as a visit to soho, in london, will show. at the station, just as the king and queen of england entered, there was an explosion. 'a bomb,' whispered one of the uninitiated. it happened to be the result of the sudden opening of a _chapeau claque_ in the unaccustomed hands of a radical member of the cabinet who, against his principles, had been obliged to come in evening dress. we, of the legation, always wore evening dress in daylight on gala occasions. one soon became used to it. our american citizens of danish descent always deplored this, and some of our secretaries would have worn the uniform of a captain of militia or the court dress of the danish chamberlains, which, they said, under the regulations we were permitted to wear. not being english, i found evening dress in the morning not more uncomfortable than the regulation frock coat. i permitted a white waistcoat, which the danes never wore in the morning, but refused to allow a velvet collar and golden buttons because this was too much like the _petit uniforme_ of other legations. there was one inconvenience, however--the same as irked james russell lowell in spain--the officers on grand occasions could not recognise a minister without gold lace, and so our country did not get the proper salute. on the occasion of the arrival of the king of england, i remedied this by putting on the coachmen rather large red, white and blue cockades. arthur and hans were really resplendent! later, when my younger daughter appeared in society after the marriage of the elder, there was no difficulty. all the officers who loved parties recognised the father of the most indefatigable dancer in court circles. a cotillion or two at the legation amply made up for the absence of uniforms. our country, in the person of its representative, after that had tremendously resounding salutes. prince hans, the brother of the late king christian ix., who has since died, was especially friendly with us. he was beloved of the whole royal family. his kindliness and politeness were proverbial. when he was regent in greece, he had been warned that the greeks would soon hate him if he continued to be so courteous. his equerry, chamberlain de rothe, told me that he answered: 'i cannot change; i _must_ be courteous.' he is the only man on record who seems to have entirely pleased a people who have the reputation of being the most difficult in europe. prince hans came in to call, at a reasonable time, after the arrival of the king and queen of england; we were always glad to see him; he was so really kind, so full of pleasant reminiscences; he had had a very long and full life; he was the 'uncle' of all the royalties in europe. he especially loved the king of england. having lived through the invasion of slesvig, he was most patriotically danish; he looked on the prussians as an 'uneasy' people. 'the king of england is much interested in the condition of your ex-president, grover cleveland,' he said. 'if you will have him, he will come to tea with you; i will bring him. he is engaged to dine with the count raben-levitzau and, i think, to go to the zoological gardens and to dine with the count friis; but he will make you a visit, to ask personally for ex-president cleveland and to talk of him after, of course, he has lunched at the british legation.' i said that the legation would be deeply honoured. informal as the visit would be, it would be a great compliment to my country. 'the german legation will be surprised; but it can give no offence; i am _sure_ that it can give no offence. king edward is not pleased altogether with his nephew. when the emperor came to copenhagen in he was not so friendly to us as he is now. poor little denmark. it has escaped a great danger through bertie's cleverness,' prince hans murmured. from this i gathered that prince hans felt that the king's coming to the american legation would be noticed by all the legations as unusual, but especially by the german legation. from this i judged that some danger to denmark might have been threatening. 'the kaiser dined in this room,' prince hans said, 'when he was here in --no, no, he took coffee in this room, and not in the dining-room. however, as madame hegermann-lindencrone has told, the german minister, von schoen, who gave so many parties that all the young danish people loved him, and his wife could not decide where coffee was to be taken; the kaiser settled it himself. it is an amusing story; it has made king frederick laugh. if the king of england comes to tea, you will not be expected to have boiled eggs, as we have for the empress dowager of russia and queen alexandra and king george of greece, some champagne, perhaps, and the big cigars, of course.' 'and, as to guests?' 'only the americans of your staff, i think, who have been already presented to the king.' the announcement that the king of england would take tea with us did not cause a ripple in the household; the servants were used to kings. king frederick had a pleasant way of dropping in to tea without ceremony, and the princesses liked our cakes. besides, hans, the indispensable hans, had waited on king edward frequently, so he knew his tastes. but the king did not come; prince hans said that he was tired. he sent an equerry, with a most gracious message for grover cleveland, and another inquiry as to his health. the royal cigars lasted a long time as few guests were brave enough to smoke them. the king at the _cercle_ at court was most gracious. 'i hope to see you in london,' he said. my colleagues seemed to think that his word was law, and that i would be the next ambassador at the court of st. james's. i knew very well that his politeness was only to show that he was in a special mood to manifest his regard for the country i represented. the king of england was failing at the time as far as his bodily health was concerned, but he had what a german observer called 'a good head' in more senses than one. he still took his favourite champagne; his cigars were too big and strong for most men, but not too big and strong for him. he showed symptoms of asthma, but he was alert, and firmly resolved to keep the peace in europe, and, it was evident--he made it very evident--he was determined to keep on the best terms with the united states. during the pause between the parts of the performance at the royal opera house, where we witnessed queen alexandra's favourite ballet, _napoli_, and heard excerpts from _i poliacci_ and _cavalleria_, the king renewed the questions about grover cleveland's health. prince hans suddenly announced that he was dead. as every minister is quite accustomed to having all kinds of news announced before he receives it, i could only conclude that it was true. several ladies of american birth came and asked me; i could only say, 'prince hans says so.' countess raben-levitzau, whose husband was then minister of foreign affairs, seemed to be much amused that i should receive a bit of information of that kind through prince hans. late that night, after the gala was over, a cable came telling me that the ex-president was well. i was glad that i was not obliged to put out the flag at half-mast for the loss of a president whom the whole country honoured, and who had shown great confidence in me at one time. prince hans was full of the sayings and doings of the king of england after his departure. he called him 'bertie' when absent-minded, recovering to the 'king of england' when he remembered that he was speaking to a stranger. once, quoting the german emperor, he said 'uncle albert.' 'denmark will not become part of germany in the kaiser's time--"uncle albert" will see to that. england will not fight germany in his time on any question; therefore russia will not go against us.' 'but the crown prince. what of him?' '"uncle albert" will see to that if the kaiser should die--but life is long. the king of england will cease to smoke so much, and, after that, his health will be good; he has saved us, i will tell you, by defeating at berlin the designs of the pan-germans against denmark.' the late king of england had new issues to face, and he knew it. the cause of sane democracy would have been better served had he lived longer. perhaps he had been, like his brother-in-law, king frederick of denmark, crown prince too long. nevertheless, he had observed, and he was wise. he may have been too tolerant, but he was not weak. in denmark, one might easily get a fair view of the characters of the royal people. the danes are keen judges of persons--perhaps too keen, and the members of their aristocracy had been constantly on intimate terms with european kings and princes. 'as for queen alexandra,' miss knollys once said, 'she will go down in history as the most beautiful of england's queens, but also as the most devoted of wives and mothers. the king makes us all work, but she works most cheerfully and is never bored.' the visit of the king of england caused more conjectures. what did it mean? a pledge on the part of england that denmark would be protected both against germany and russia? notwithstanding the opinion that the foreign office in england did all the work, the diplomatists held that kings, especially king edward and the kaiser, had much to do with it. chapter iv some details the germans knew i gathered that germany, in , , , was growing more and more furiously jealous of england. to make a financial wilderness of london and reconstruct the money centre of the world in berlin was the ambition of some of her great financiers. our time had not come yet; we might grow in peace. it depended on our attitude whether we should be plucked when ripe or not. if we could be led, i gathered, into an attitude inimical to england, all would be well; but that might safely be left 'to the irish and the great german population of the middle west.' it was 'known that english money prevented the development of our merchant marine'; but this, after all, was not to the disadvantage of germany since, if we developed our marine, it might mean state subsidies to american ocean steamer lines. this would not have pleased herr ballin. count henckel-donnersmarck held no such opinions, but the members of the berlin _haute bourgeoisie_, who occasionally came to copenhagen, were firmly convinced that english money was largely distributed in the united states to prejudice our people against the beneficent german kultur, which, as yet, we were too crude to receive. i gathered, too, that many of the important, the rich business representatives of germany in our country reported that we were 'only fit to be bled.' we were unmusical, unliterary, unintellectual. we knew not what a gentleman should eat or drink. our cooking was vile, our taste in amusement only a reflection of the english music halls. we bluffed. we were not virile. the aristocrat did not express these opinions; but the middle class, or higher middle class, sojourners in our land did. 'good heavens!' exclaimed one american at one of our receptions to a german-american guest; 'you eat that grouse from your fists like an animal.' 'i am a male,' answered fritz proudly; 'we must devour our food--we of the virile race!' the pretensions of this kind of german were intolerable. he was the most brutal of snobs. he arrogated to himself a rank, when one met him, that he was not allowed to assume in his own country. it was often amusing to receive a call from a spurious 'von,' representing german interests in milwaukee, chicago, or cincinnati, who patronised us until he discovered that we knew that he would be in the seventh heaven if he could, by any chance, marry his half-american daughter to the most shop-worn little lieutenant in the german army! to see him shrivel when a veritable junker came in, was humiliating. i often wondered whether the well-to-do german burghers of st. louis or cincinnati were really imposed upon by men of this kind. the nobles' club in copenhagen is not a club as we know clubs. there are chairs, newspapers from all parts of the world, and bridge tables, if you wish to use them. you may even play the honoured game of _l'ombre_--after the manner of christian iv., or, perhaps, his lordship, the high chamberlain polonius, of the court of his late majesty, king claudius. people seldom go there. it is the one place in denmark where the members of the club are never found. the country gentlemen have rooms there when they come to town. it is in an annex of the hotel phoenix. a few of the best bridge players in copenhagen meet there occasionally; the rest is silence; therefore it is a safe place for diplomatic conversations. a very distinguished german came to me with a letter of introduction from munich, in --late in the year. his position was settled. he was not in the class of the spurious 'vons.' he was, however, high in the confidence of the kings of saxony and bavaria, both of whom, he confessed, were displeased because the united states had no diplomatic representatives at their courts. he had been _persona non grata_ with bismarck because of his father's liberalism; he had been friendly with windthorst, the centre leader, and he had been in some remote way connected with the german legation at the vatican. we talked of washington in the older days, of speck von sternberg[ ] and of his charming wife, then a widow in berlin; of the cleverness of secretary radowitz, who had been at the german embassy at washington; of the point of view of von schoen, who had been minister to copenhagen. he spoke of the kaiser's having dined in our apartment, which von schoen had then occupied; and then he came to the point. [ ] baron speck von sternberg died on may rd, . 'is the united states serious about the monroe doctrine--really?' he asked. 'it is an integral part of our policy of defence.' 'we, in germany, do not take it seriously. i understand from my friends you have lived in washington a long time. we are familiar with your relations with president cleveland and of your attitude towards president mckinley. we know,' he said, 'that president mckinley offered you a secret mission to rome. we know other things; therefore, we are inclined to take you more seriously than most of the political appointees who are here to-day and gone to-morrow. your position in the affair of the philippines is well known to us. it would be well for you to ask your ambassador at berlin to introduce you to the emperor; he was much pleased with your predecessor, mr. o'brien. there is, no doubt, some information you could give his imperial majesty. you have friends in munich, too, and in dresden there is the count von seebach whom you admire, i know.' 'i admire count von seebach, but i am paid not to talk,' i said; 'but about the secret mission to rome in the philippine matter--you knew of that?' it was more than i knew, though president mckinley, through senator carter, had suggested, when the friars' difficulty had been seething in the philippines, a solution which had seemed to me out of the question. but how did this man know of it? i had not spoken of it to the count von seebach, or to anybody in germany. no word of politics had ever escaped my lips to the count von seebach, who was his excellency the director of the royal opera at dresden. 'yes; we know all the secrets of the philippine affair, even that domingo merry del val came to washington to confer with mr. taft. i want to know two facts,--facts, not guesses. your ministers who come from provincial places, after a few months' instruction in washington, cannot know much except local politics. they are like pomeranian squires or jutland farmers. we know that henckel-donnersmarck and you are on good terms, and we are prepared to treat you from a confidential point of view.' this was interesting; it showed how closely even unimportant persons like myself were observed; it was flattering, too; for one grows tired of the foreign assumption that every american envoy has come abroad because, as de tocqueville says in _democracy in america_ he has failed at home. 'mr. poultney bigelow, whom you doubtless know, once said in conversation with the kaiser, that his father would rather see him dead than a member of your diplomatic corps, and he was unusually well equipped for work of that kind. with few exceptions, as i have remarked, your service is _pour rire_. what can a man from one of your provincial towns know of anything but local politics and business?' i laughed: 'but you are businesslike, too; i hear that, when the kaiser speaks to americans--at least they have told me so--it is generally on commercial subjects. he likes to know even how many vessels pass the locks every year at sault sainte marie, and the amount of grain that can be stored in the chicago elevators.' 'it is useful to us,' my acquaintance said. 'you would scarcely expect him to talk about things that do not exist in your country--music, art, literature, high diplomacy----' my reply shall be buried in oblivion; it might sound too much like _éloquence de l'escalier_. after an interval, not without words, i said: 'it is not necessary for a man to have lived in washington or new york in order to have a grasp on american politics in relation to the foreign problem at the moment occupying the attention of the american people or the department of state. every country boy at home is a potential statesman and a politician. i recall the impression made on two visiting foreigners some years ago by the interest of our very young folk in politics. "good heavens!" said the marquis moustier de merinville, "these children of ten and twelve are monsters! they argue about bryan and free silver! such will make revolutions." "i cannot understand it," said prince adam saphia. "children ask one whether one is a republican or democrat."' 'that may be so,' he said. 'your presidents are not as a rule chosen from men who live in the great cities.' 'you forget that, while paris is france, berlin, germany----' 'no, berlin is prussia,' he said, smiling; 'but london is england; paris, france; and vienna would be austria if it were not for budapest.' 'new york or washington is not, as you seem to think, the united states.' 'that may be,' he said, 'nevertheless it is difficult for a european to understand. it may be,' he added thoughtfully, 'there are some things about your country we shall never come to understand thoroughly.' 'you will have to die first--like the man of your own country who, crossing a crowded street, was injured mortally and cried: "now i shall know it _all_." you will never understand us in this world.' 'that is _blague_,' he said. 'we germans know all countries. besides, you know the german language.' 'who told you that? it's nonsense!' i asked, aghast. 'the other day, i have heard that the austrians were talking in german to the first secretary of the german legation at the foreign office, when you suddenly forgot yourself and asked a question in good german!' he said triumphantly. this was true. count zichy, secretary of the austrian-hungarian legation, had dropped from french into german. now, i had read heine and goethe when i was young, and i had written the german script; but that was long ago. there were great arid spaces in my knowledge of the german language, but something that count zichy had said about an arbitration treaty had vaguely caught my attention, and i had blundered out, 'was ist das, herr graf?' or something equally elegant and scholarly. this was really amusing. my friends had always accused me of turning all german conversation toward _wilhelm meister_ and _der erlkönig_, since i could quote from both! 'you can _finesse_,' continued the great nobleman. 'you are not usual. your government has sent you here for a special mission; it is well to pose as a poet and a man of letters, but you have been reported to our government as having a _mission secrète_. you are allied with the russians; we know that you are not rich.' this very charming person, who always laid himself at 'the feet of the ladies' and clicked his heels like castanets, did not apologise for discussing my private affairs without permission, and for insinuating that i was paid by the russian government. 'do you mean----?' 'nothing,' he said hastily, 'nothing; but the russians use money freely; they would not dare to approach _you_. nevertheless, i warn you that their marked regard for you must have some motive, and yours for them may excite suspicions.' 'surely my friend henckel-donnersmarck has not reported me to the kaiser?' 'our ministers are expected to report everything to the kaiser, especially from copenhagen; but henckel-donnersmarck does not report enough. he is either too haughty or too lazy. my master will send him to weimar, if he is not more alert; but we have others!' 'i like him.' 'it is evident. why?' asked the count, with great interest. 'i sent him a case of lemp's beer. he says it is better than anything of the kind made in germany--polite but unpatriotic.' 'you jest,' said the count. 'you have the reputation of being apparently never in earnest, but----' 'you shall have a case too,' i said, 'and then you can judge whether his truthfulness got the better of his politeness, or his politeness of his truthfulness.' he rose and bowed, he seated himself again. 'remember, we shall always be interested in you,' he said; 'but there is one thing i should like to ask--are you interested in potash?' 'i have no business interests. if you wish to talk business, count, you must go to the consul general.' that was the beginning. henckel and i continued to be friends. he seldom spoke of diplomatic matters. he assured me (over and over again) that, if the ideas of frederick the great were to be followed, germany and the united states must remain friends. i told him that count von x. had said that 'if the united states could arrange to oust england from control of the atlantic and make an alliance with germany, these two countries would rule the world.' 'you will never do that,' he said. 'you are safer with england on the atlantic than you would be with any other nation. i am not sure what our ultra pan-germans mean by "ruling the world." you may be sure that your monroe doctrine would go to splinters if our pan-germans ruled the world. as for me, i am sick of diplomacy. why do you enter it? it either bores or degrades one. i am not curious or unscrupulous enough to be a spy. as to slesvig, i have little concern with it. if germany should find it to her interest, she might return northern slesvig; but there would be danger in that for denmark. she must live in peace with us, or take the consequences.' 'the consequences!' 'dear colleague, you know as well as i do that all the nations of the earth want territory or a new adjustment of territory. in the middle ages, nations had many other questions, and there was a universal christendom; but, since the renascence, the great questions are land and commerce. germany must look, in self-defence, on slesvig and denmark as pawns in her game. she is not alone in this. you know how tired i am of it all. no man is more loyal to his country than i am; but i should like to see germany on entirely sympathetic terms with the kingdoms that compose it and reasonably friendly to the rest of the world; but we could not give up slesvig, even if the danish government would take it, except for a _quid pro quo_.' 'what?' 'well, let us say a place in the pacific, on friendly terms with you. your country can hardly police the philippines against japan. germany is great in what i fear is the new materialism. as to slesvig, in which you seem particularly interested, ask prince koudacheff, the russian minister; write to iswolsky, the russian minister, or talk to michel bibikoff, who is a russian patriot never bored in the pursuit of information. these russians may not exaggerate the consequences as they know what absolute power means. 'there is one thing, germany will not tolerate sedition in any of her provinces, and, since we took slesvig from denmark in , she is one of our provinces. the danes may tolerate a hint of secession on the part of iceland, which is amusing, but the beginning of sedition in slesvig would mean an attitude on our part such as you took towards secession in the south. but it is unthinkable. the demonstrations against us in slesvig have no importance.' * * * * * michel bibikoff, secretary of the russian legation, was most intelligent and most alert. wherever he is now, he deserves well of his country. as a diplomatist he had only one fault--he underrated the experience and the knowledge of his opponents; but this was the error of his youth. i say 'opponents,' because at one time or other bibikoff's opponents were everybody who was not russian. a truer patriot never lived. he was devoted to my predecessor, mr. o'brien, who was, in his opinion, the only american gentleman he had ever met. he compared me very unfavourably with my courteous predecessor, who has filled two embassies with satisfaction to his own country and to those to whom he was accredited. at first bibikoff distrusted me; and i was delighted. if he thought that you were concealing things he would tell you something in order to find out what he wanted to know. for me, i was especially interested in discovering what the tsar's state of mind was concerning the portsmouth peace arrangements. bibikoff had means of knowing. indeed, he found means of knowing much that might have been useful to all of us, his colleagues. a long stay in the united states would have 'made' bibikoff. he was one of the few men in europe who understood what germany was aiming at. he predicted the present war--but of that later. he had been in washington only a few months. i suffered as to prestige in the beginning only, as every american minister and ambassador suffers from our present system of appointing envoys. no representative of the united states is at first taken seriously by a foreign country. he must earn his spurs, and, by the time he earns them, they are, as a rule, ruthlessly hacked off! each ambassador is supposed by the foreign offices to be appointed for the same reason that so many peerages have been conferred by the british government. every minister, it is presumed, has given a _quid pro quo_ for being distinguished from the millions of his countrymen. 'if you have the price, you can choose your embassy,' is a speech often quoted in europe. i cannot imagine who made it--possibly the famous flannigan, of texas. it is notorious that peerages are sold for contributions to the campaign fund in england; but places in the diplomatic service, though governed sometimes by political influence, cannot be said to be sold. i had one advantage; nobody suspected me of paying anything for my place; and, then, i had come from washington, the capital of the country. as i said, my eyes were fixed on russia. i found, however, that the main business of my colleagues seemed to be to watch germany, and that attitude for a time left me cold. denmark had reason to fear germany; but then, at that time, every other european nation was on its guard against possible aggressions on the part of its neighbours. i had hope that a scandinavian confederacy or the swelling rise of the social democracy in germany would put an end to the fears of all the little countries. there seemed to be no hope that the attitude of the german nation towards the world could change unless the social democrats and the moderate liberals should gain power. but why should we watch germany, the powerful, the self-satisfied, the splendid country whose kaiser professed the greatest devotion to our president, and had sent his brother, prince henry, over to show his regard for our nation? i was most anxious to find the reason. in my time, good americans--say in --when they died, went to paris, never to berlin. the emperor of germany had determined to change this. he tried to make his capital a glittering imitation of paris; he received americans with every show of cordiality. berlin was to be made a paradise for americans and for the world; but nearly every american is half french at heart. nevertheless, i do not think that we took the french attitude of revenge against germany seriously; we thought that the french were beginning to forget the _revanche_; their government had apparently become so 'international.' many of us had been brought up with the germans and the sons of germans. we read german literature; we began with grimm and went on to goethe and, to descend somewhat, heyse and auerbach. without asking too many questions, we even accepted frederick the great as a hero. he was easier to swallow than cromwell, and more amusing. in fact, most of us did not think much of foreign complications, the charm of the deutscher club in milwaukee, the warmth of the singing of german _lieder_ by returned students from freiburg or bonn or heidelberg; the lavish hospitality of the opulent german in this country, the german love for family life, and, for me personally, the survival of the robust virtues, seemingly of german origin, among the descendants of the germans in pennsylvania, impressed me. as far as education was concerned, i had hated to see the german methods and ideas _servilely_ applied. i belonged to the alliance française and preferred the french system as more efficient in the training of the mind than the german. besides, the importation of the german basis for the doctorate of philosophy into our universities seemed to me to be dangerous. it led young men to waste time, since there was no governmental stamp on their work and no concrete recognition of the results of their studies as there was in germany; and, this being so, it meant that the dignified degree, from the old-fashioned point of view, would become degraded, or, at its best, merely a degree for the decoration of teachers. it would be sought for only as a means of earning a living, not as a preparation for research. 'of course i know spain,' said a flippant attaché in copenhagen. 'i have seen _carmen_, eaten _olla podrida_, and adored the russian ballet in the _cachuca_!' none of my friends who thought they knew germany was as bad as this. some of the professors of my acquaintance, who had seen only one side of german life, loved the fatherland for its support to civilisation. _nous avons changé--tout cela!_ other gentlemen, who had started out to love germany, hated everything german because they had been compelled to stand up in an exclusive club when anybody of superior rank entered its sacred precincts or when something of the kind happened. the man with whom i had read heine and worked out jokes in _kladdertasch_ was devoted to everything german because he had once lived in a small german town where there was good opera! personally, i had hated bismarck and all his works and pomps for several reasons:--one was because of busch's glorifying book about him; another for the kulturkampf; another for his attitude toward hanover, and because one of my closest german friends was a hanoverian. brought up, as most philadelphians of my generation were, in admiration for karl schurz and the men of ' , i could not tolerate anything that was prussian or bismarckian; but, as windthorst, the creator of the centrum party in the reichstag, was one of my heroes, i counted myself as the admirer of the best in germany. the position of the great power, evident by its attitude to us in the beginning of the spanish-american war, was disquieting; but germany had shown a similar sensitiveness under similar circumstances many times without affecting international relations. and german world dominion? what, in the twentieth century?--the best of all possible centuries? civilised public opinion would not tolerate it! in the balkans, of course, there would always be rows. the german propaganda? it existed everywhere, naturally. one could see signs of that; these signs were not even concealed. it seemed to be reasonable enough that any country should not depend entirely on the press or diplomatic notes to avoid misunderstanding; and a certain attention to propaganda was the duty of all diplomatists. still, my observations in my own country, even before the chicago exposition--when the kaiser had done his best to impress us with the mental and material value of everything german--had made me more than suspicious. i had reason to be suspicious, as you will presently see. but war? never! it was cardinal falconio who, i think, made me feel a little chilly, when he wrote: 'war is not improbable in europe; you are too optimistic. let us pray that it may not come; but, as a diplomatist you must not be misled into believing it impossible.' it seemed to me that such talk was pessimistic. other voices, from the diplomatists of the vatican--even the ex-diplomatists--confirmed this. 'if the kaiser says he wants peace, it is true--but only on his own terms. believe me, if the kaiser can control russia, and draw a straight line to the persian gulf, he will close his fist on england.' the people at the vatican, if you can get them to talk, are more valuable to an inquiring mind than any other class of men; but they are so wretchedly discreet just when their indiscretions might be most useful. some of them are like king james i., who 'never said a foolish thing and never did a wise one.' those who helped me with counsel were both wise in speech and prudent action but, unhappily, hampered by circumstances. among the wise and the prudent i do not include the diplomatic representative of the vatican in paris just before the break with rome! the russians in copenhagen kept their eyes well on germany; and it was evident that, while the position of france gave the germans no uneasiness--they seemed to look on france with a certain contempt--any move of russia was regarded as important. prince koudacheff, late the russian ambassador at madrid, in minister at copenhagen, who seldom talked politics, again returned to the great question. 'my brother, who is in washington, and an admirer of your country, says that you americans believe that war is unthinkable. is this your opinion?' 'it is--almost.' 'well, i will say that as soon as the bankers feel that there is enough money, there will be a war in europe.' 'i wonder if your husband meant that?' i asked the princess koudacheff; it was well to have corroboration occasionally, and she was a sister-in-law of iswolsky's; iswolsky was a synonym for diplomatic knowledge. 'if he did not mean it he would not have said it. when he does not mean to say a thing he remains silent. as soon as there is money enough, there will be war. germany will go into no war that will impoverish her,' she said. her opinion was worth much; she was a woman who knew well the inside of european politics. 'and who will fight, the slavs and teutons?' 'you have said it! it will come.' i knew a russian who, while a nobleman, was not an official. in fact, he hated bureaucrats. he could endure no one in the russian court circle except the empress dowager, marie, because she was sympathetic, and the late grand duke constantine, because he had translated shakespeare. 'if prince valdemar of denmark had been the son instead of the brother of the dowager empress, russia would have a future. as it is, i will quote from father gapon for you. you know his _life_?' 'no,' i said. 'well, he has attempted to give the working-men in russia a chance; he has tried to gain for them one-tenth of the place which working-men in your country have, and, in , he was answered by the massacre of the narva gate. the tsar is a fool, with an imperialistic _hausfrau_ for a wife. if you will read the last words of father gapon's _life_, you will find these words: '"i may say, with certainty, that the struggle is quickly approaching its inevitable climax: that nicholas ii. is preparing for himself the fate which befell a certain english king and a certain french king long ago, and that such members of his dynasty as escape unhurt from the throes of the revolution, will some day, in a not very distant future, find themselves exiles upon some western shore." i may live to see this; but i hope that the empress marie may not. she knows where the policy of her daughter-in-law, who has all the stupidity of marie antoinette, without her charm, would lead; she says of her son,--"he was on the right road before he married that narrow-minded woman!"' this, remember, was in . it was whispered even then in copenhagen that russia was beginning to break up. the dean of the diplomatic corps was count calvi di bergolo, honest, brave, opinionated, who would teach you everything, from how to jump a hurdle to the gaseous compositions in the moon. he was of the _haute école_ at the riding school and of the _vielle école_ of diplomacy. he was very frank. he had a great social vogue because of a charming wife and a most exquisite daughter, now the princess aage. he would never speak english; french was the diplomatic language; it gave a diplomatist too much of an advantage, if one spoke in his native tongue. he believed in the protocol to the letter; he was a martinet of a dean. 'public opinion,' he said scornfully, 'public opinion in the united states is for peace. in europe, if we could all have what we want, we should all keep the peace; but what chance of peace can there be until italy has the trentino or france alsace-lorraine, or until germany gets to her place by controlling the slavs. you are of a new country, where they believe things because they are impossible.' he was a wise gentleman and he, too, watched germany. it was plain that he disliked the triple alliance. suddenly it dawned on me 'like thunder' that we had an interest in watching germany, too. it seemed to be a foregone conclusion that germany would one day absorb denmark. 'and then the danish west indies would automatically become german!' this was my one thought. the 'fixed idea'! it is pleasanter to be dean of the diplomatic corps than a new-comer. it must be extremely difficult for a diplomatic representative to be comfortable at once, coming from american localities where etiquette is a matter of gentlemanly feeling only, and where artificial conventionalities hardly count. in a monarchical country, the outward relations are changed. socially, rank counts for much, and the rules of precedence are as necessary as the use of a napkin. to have lived in washington--not the changed washington of - --was a great help. after long observation of the niceties of official etiquette in the official society of our own capital, copenhagen had no terrors. chapter v glimpses of the german point of view in relation to the united states time passed. there were alarms, and rumours that german money was corrupting france, that the distrust aroused by the morocco incident was growing, that the french patriot believed that his opponent, the french pacifist, was using religious differences to weaken the _morale_ of the french army and navy, to convince germany that the 'revenge' for was forgotten. one day, a very clever english attaché came to luncheon; he always kept his eyes open, and he was allowed by me to take liberties in conversation which his chief would never have permitted; it is a great mistake to bottle up the young, or to try to do it. 'you are determined to be friends with germany,' he said, 'and germany seems to be determined to be friends with you. your foreign office has evidently instructed you to be very sympathetic with the german minister. he seldom sees anybody but you; but, at the same time you have recalled mr. tower, whom the kaiser likes, to give him mr. hill, whom he seems not to want.' 'it is not a question as to whom the kaiser wants exactly; we ostensibly sent an ambassador to the german emperor, but really to the german people. mr. hill is one of the most experienced of our diplomatists.' 'the kaiser does not want that. mr. tower habituated him to splendour, and he likes americans to be splendid. rich people ought to spend their money in berlin. besides, he had been accustomed to mr. tower, who, he thinks, will oil the wheels of diplomatic intercourse. just at this moment, when the kaiser has lost prestige because of his double-dealing with the boers and his apparent deceit on the morocco question, he does not want a man of such devotion to the principles of the hague convention and so constitutional as mr. hill, who may acknowledge the charm of the emperor, but who, even in spite of himself, will not be influenced by it.' 'how do you know this?' 'everybody about the court in berlin knows it, but i hear it from munich. but speck von sternberg would have balanced hill, if he had lived. they think he would have influenced president roosevelt. tell us the secrets of the white house--you ought to know--it was an awful competition between speck and jusserand, i hear.' 'president roosevelt is not easily influenced,' i said. persons whom i knew in berlin wrote to me, informing me how charmed the kaiser was with the new ambassador; but, in copenhagen, we learned that what the kaiser wanted was not a great international lawyer, but a rich american of less intensity. * * * * * it was worth while to get russian opinions. 'the kaiser is having a bad time,' i remarked to a russian of my acquaintance--a most brilliant man, now almost, as he said himself, _homme sans patrie_. 'temporarily,' he answered; 'those indiscreet pronouncements of his on the boers and the reversion of his attitude against england in the affair of morocco have shown him that he cannot clothe inconsistency in the robes of infallibility. he is a personal monarch and he sinks all his personality in his character as a monarch. he is made to the likeness of god, and there is an almost hypostatic union between god and him! our tsar is by no means so absolute, though you americans all persist in thinking so. i have given you some documents on that point; i trust that you have sent them to your president. i am sure, however, that he knew _that_. do not imagine that the emperor will be deposed, because he has made a row in germany. he has only discovered how far he can go by personal methods, that is all; he has learned his lesson--_reculer pour mieux sauter_. he has played a clever game with you. bernstorff, his new ambassador, will offset hill. your investments in russia will now come through german hands, and you will get a bad blow in the matter of potash.' 'what do you mean?' i asked. i had regarded count bernstorff as a liberal. his english experience seemed to have singled him out as one of the diplomatists of the central powers--there were several--inclined to admit that other nations had rights which germany was bound to respect. in private conversations, he had shown himself very favourable to the united states, and had even disapproved of german attacks on the monroe doctrine in brazil. 'count bernstorff is not likely to offend washington, or to reopen the wound that was made at manila.' 'you talk as if diplomatists were not, first of all, instructed to look after the business interests of their countries. do you think bernstorff has been chosen to dance cotillions with your 'cave dwellers' in washington or to compliment senators' wives? first, his appointment is meant to flatter you. second, he will easily flatter you because he really likes america and it is his business to flatter you. third, he will do his best to induce you to assist england in strangling russia in favour of turkey. fourth, he will grip hard, without offending you, the german monopoly of potash. he doesn't want trouble between the united states and germany. he knows that any difficulty of that kind would be disastrous; he is as anxious to avoid that as is ballin. under the glimmer of rank, of which you think so much in america, commercialism is the secret of germany's spirit to-day. in berlin, i heard an american, one of your denaturalised, trying to curry favour with prince von bülow by saying that the national genius of germany demanded that alsace-lorraine should be kept by germany to avenge the insolence of louis xiv. and napoleon. prince von bülow smiled. he knew that your compatriot was working for an invitation to an exclusive something or other for his wife. bernstorff is just the man to neutralise hill. it's iron ore and potash in alsace-lorraine that the emperor cares about.' 'and yet i know, at first hand, that the pan-german hates bernstorff. if anything approaching to a liberal government came in germany, bernstorff will be minister of foreign affairs.' my russian friend smiled sardonically. 'we russians feel that our one salvation is to oust the turk and get to the mediterranean. my party would provoke a war with germany to-morrow, if we could afford it, and germany knows it. count bernstorff, the most sympathetic of all german diplomatists, knows this, too, and you may be sure that he will persuade your government that he loves you, give the russian programme a nasty stroke when he can, and keep the price of potash high. i, desirous as i am of being an excellency, would refuse to go to berlin to-morrow, if i had bernstorff against me on the other side. see what will happen to hill! germany may offend you, but bernstorff will persuade you that it is the simple _gaucherie_ of a rustic youth who assumes the antics of a playful bear[ ]--a hug or two; it may hurt, but the jovial bear means well! if hill should leave berlin, you will need a clever man who has political power with your government. bernstorff will contrive to put any other kind of man in the wrong--i tell you that.' [ ] 'we can say without hesitation that during the last century the united states have nowhere found better understanding or juster recognition than in this country. more than any one else the emperor william ii. manifested this understanding and appreciation of the united states of america.'--von bülow's _imperial germany_, p. . the russian who predicted this is in exile, penniless, a man _sans patrie_, as he says himself. when i took these notes he seemed to be above the blows of fate! if the hand of germany was everywhere, everybody was watching the movements of the fingers. among the english there were two parties: one that could tolerate nothing german, the other that hated everything russian, but both united in one belief, that the alliance with japan would not hold under the influence of german intrigue and that italy could not long remain a member of the triple alliance. the gossip from berlin was always full of pleasant things for an american to hear. the kaiser treated our compatriots with unusual courtesy. in copenhagen we were deluged with letters announcing that count bernstorff's coming meant a new era; he even excelled 'speck' in his charm, sympathy, and everything that ought to endear him to us; in him showed that true desire for peace of which his august master was, of all the world, the best representative. it was even rumoured that the german foreign office had begun to coquette with the danish social democrats. the exchange of professors between the united states and germany was becoming an institution. sometimes the american professors found themselves in awkward positions; they did not 'rank'; they had no fixed position from the german point of view. as mere american commoners, unrecognised by their government, undecorated, they could not expect attentions from the court as a right. however, the germans studied them and rather liked some of them, but, not being _raths_, they were poor creatures without standing. even if they should make reputations approved by the great german universities, they had no future. how green were the lawns and how pleasant the sweet waters in the enclosed gardens of autocracy, of which the emperor, fountain of honours, kept the key! it was amusing to note the german attitude toward democracy, in spite of all the pleasant things said by the high, well-born citizens of the fatherland in favour of the american brand. at the same time, one could not help seeing that the children of the kaiser were wiser than the children of--let us say modestly--light. 'if the president asked me,' said one of the most distinguished of lawyers and the most loyal of philadelphians to me, 'i should be willing to live all my life in germany.' this was the result of the impression the charm of the kaiser made on the best of us. he has changed his opinion now; he swears by the works of his compatriot, mr. beck. even then, in - , my distinguished philadelphia friend could not have endured life in germany. he forgot that even the emperor could not give him rank, and that no matter how cosmopolitan, how learned, how tactful he was, he would at once be a commoner, and very much of a commoner on the day he settled there as a resident. a prussian serene highness, who came with letters from an irish relative in hungary dropped in; he was mostly bavarian in blood; he had cousins in england and italy. he liked a good luncheon, and, as miss knollys always said (i quote this without shame), 'the best food in europe is at the american legation!' he smoked, too, and rafael estrada, of havana, had chosen the cigars. 'france is difficult,' said my acquaintance, his serene highness. 'it is not really democratic; and england will go to pieces before it becomes democratic. 'you americans have freedom with order, and you respect rank and titles, though you do not covet them. that is why the kaiser would not send any ambassador not of a great family to you. all americans who come to berlin desire to be presented at court. it is a sign that you will come to our way of thinking some day. we are not so far apart. you who write must tell your people that we are calumniated, we are not despots. that woman, the author of _elizabeth and her german garden_, married to a friend of mine, does us harm. but most americans see germany in a mellow light. we are akin in our aspirations--frederick the great understood that. 'bismarck, great as he was, became ambitious only for his family. his son, the coming chancellor, would have used our young emperor as a puppet, if our emperor had not put him into his place. this is the truth, and i am telling it to you confidentially. the british government will come to anarchy if it weakens the house of lords. the house of commons is already weak. there is no barrier between honest rule and the demagogues. with your magnificent senate there will always be a wall between the will of the _canaille_ and good government. we germans understand you!' 'but suppose,' it was mr. alexander weddell, then connected with the legation, now consul general at athens, who broke in, 'you should differ from us on the monroe doctrine. i have recently read an article by mr. frederick wile in an english magazine on your management of your people in brazil.' '"our people!" the serene highness seemed startled. 'a german is always a german. it is the call of the blood.' 'and something more,' mr. weddell said, 'a german citizen is always a german citizen; you never admit that a german can become a brazilian. suppose you should want to join your germans in brazil with your germans at home. what would become of our monroe doctrine?' 'there are germans in your country who have ceased to be germans, and your upper classes are anglicised, except when they marry into one of our great families; nevertheless, our own people would still see that you don't go too far with your monroe doctrine. it has not yet been drastically interpreted. the monroe doctrine is a method of defence. to interfere with the call of the german blood from one country to another would be offensive to us, and i cannot conceive of your country so far forgetting itself!' his serene highness was of a mediatised house--a gentleman who had much experience in diplomacy. he had, i think, visited newport, and been almost engaged to an american girl. the legend ran that, when this lady saw him without his uniform, she broke the engagement. he was splendid in his uniform. he thought he knew the united states; he even quoted bryce and de tocqueville; he had the impression that the kaiser's propaganda of education was germanising us for our good. 'the most eminent professors at your most important universities are germans. your newest university, that of chicago, would have no reputation in europe if it were not for the germans. wundt has revolutionised your conception of psychology; your scientific and historical methods are borrowed from us. even your orthodox protestants quote harnack. virchow long ago put out the lights of huxley and spencer. and the catholic german in america, whom bismarck almost alienated from us, revolts against the false americanism of cardinal gibbons and archbishop ireland, whom the kaiser rates as a son of the revolution. your catholic university has begun to be moulded in the german way. mgr. schroeder, highly considered, was one of the most energetic of the professors----' 'was,' i said. 'i happen to know that he was relieved of his professorship because of those very dominating qualities you value so much.' 'that is regrettable; but, you see, in germany we follow the train of events in your country. who has a larger audience than münsterberg? in the things of the mind we germans must lead.' in my opinion, it is best for a diplomatist--at least for a man who is in the avocation of diplomacy--to be satisfied with _l'eloquence de l'éscalier_. if he writes memoirs he can always put in the repartee he intended to make; and, if he does not, he can always think, too, with satisfaction of what he was almost clever enough to say! it was enough to have discovered one thing--that, with a large number of the ruling classes in the fatherland, the monroe doctrine was looked on as an iridescent bubble. many times afterwards this fact was emphasised. the austrians were not always so careful as the germans to save, when it came to democracy, american susceptibilities. they were always easy to get on with, provided one remembered that even to the most discerning among them, the united states, 'america' as they always called it, was an unknown land. as for count dionys szechenyi, the minister of austria-hungary, he was the most genial of colleagues, and he had no sympathy with tyranny of any kind; he had no illusions as to america. his wife is a belgian born, countess madeleine chimay de caraman. he was always careful not to touch on 'prussianism,' as the danes called the principle of german domination. he had many subjects of conversation, from portrait buying to transactions in american steel and, what had its importance in those days, a good dinner. at his house one met occasionally men who liked to be frank, and then these austro-hungarians were a delightful group. 'if we should be involved in a war with england--which is unthinkable, since king edward and our ambassador, count mensdorff would never allow it--i could not buy my clothes in london,' said one very regretfully. this austrian magnate heard with unconcealed amusement the german talk of 'democracy.' 'max harden is sincere, but a puppet; he helps the malcontents to let off steam; the german government will never allow another _émeute_ like that of . bismarck taught the government how to be really imperial. in austria we are frankly autocratic, but not so new as the prussian. we wear feudalism like an old glove. there are holes in it, of course, and hungary is making the holes larger. if the hungarians should have their way, there would be no more _majorats_, no more estates that can be kept in families; and that will be the end of our feudalism. 'as it is, things are uncomfortable enough, but a war would mean a break-up. what do you americans expect for max harden and his _zukunft_--exile and suppression as soon as he reaches the limit. all the influences of the centre could not keep the jesuits from being exiled! why? they would not admit the superiority of the state. harden will never have the real power of the jesuits, for the reason that he founds his appeal on principles that vary with the occasion. but he will go! as for the social democrats, they can be played with as a cat plays with a mouse. democracy! if the kaiser gets into a tight place he can always declare war! 'is the imperial chancellor responsible to the german people? no. he is imperial because he wears the imperial livery. can the reichstag appoint a chancellor? the idea is _pour rire_! my dear mr. minister, you and your countrymen do not understand prussian rule in germany! and the federal council, what chance has it against the will of our emperor? and what have the people to do with the federal council? the members are appointed by the rulers by right divine. there is the duke of mecklenburg-schwerin. he rules his little duchy with a firm hand. there is the duke of brunswick, the prince of lippe-schaumbourg--not to speak of the grand duke of baden and a whole nest of rulers responsible only to the head of the house.' 'but the people _must_ count,' i said. 'prince von bülow has shown himself to be nervous about the growing power of the social democrats.' 'oh, yes, they are very amusing. they may caterwaul in the reichstag; they may wrangle over the credits and the budget; but the emperor can prorogue them at any time. the pan-germans could easily, if the reichstag were too independent, counsel the kaiser to prorogue that debating club altogether. 'who can prevent his forcing despotic military rule on the nation, for the nation's good, of course? everything in germany must come from the top--you know that. again, the power of the rich, as far as suffrage is concerned, is unlimited. the members of the reichstag are elected by open ballot. woe be to the working man who defies his emperor. fortunately the rich german is not socially powerful until he ranks. you may be as rich as krupp, but if the fountain of honour has not dashed a spray of the sacred water on you, you are as nobody. 'the greatest american plutocrat may visit germany and spend money like water, and he remains a mere commoner. the kaiser may invite him on his yacht and say polite things, but, until he _ranks_, he is nobody. his wife may manage to be presented at court under the wing of the american ambassadress, but that is nothing! the poorest and most unimportant of the little provincial baronesses outranks her. she will always be an outsider, no matter how long she may live in germany. 'with us, in austria, an american woman, no matter whom she marries, is never received at court. she is never "born,"' and he laughed. 'americans can have no heraldic quarterings; but, then, we do not pretend to be democratic. if i loved an american girl, i would marry her, of course; but if i went to court, i should go alone. it is the rule, and going to court is not such a rare treat to people who are used to it. it becomes a bore.' to do my german diplomatic colleagues justice, they never attempted masquerades in the guise of democrats. there were other germans, whom one met in society. these people were always loyal to the fatherland. their attitude was that the german world was the best of all possible worlds. if my own countrymen and countrywomen abroad were as solidly american as these people were german, our politeness would not be so frequently stretched to the breaking point. the most loyal of germans were american people of leisure who had lived long in germany with titled relatives. they enjoyed themselves; they lived for a time in the glory of rank. with those who had to earn their own living in germany, it was another story. they did not 'rank'; they were ordinary mortals; they had not the _entrée_ to some little provincial court, and so they saw the prussian point of view as it really was. the american women, strangely enough, who had married ranking germans loved everything german. 'but how do you endure the interference with your daily life?' my wife asked an american girl married to a baron. 'i like it; it makes one so safe, so protected; your servants are under the law, and give you no trouble. order is not an idea, but a method. i know just how my children shall be educated. that is the province of my husband. i have no fault to find.' she laughed. 'i do not have to explain myself; i do not have to say, "i am a daughter of the revolution, my uncle was senator so-and-so"--my place is fixed, and i like it!' it was a distinguished german professor who assumed the task of convincing american university men that the german army was democratic, and the conclusion of his syllogism was: 'no officer is ever admitted to a club of officers who has not been voted for by the members.' would you believe it? it seems incredible that democracy should seem to depend on the votes of an aristocracy and not on principles. but later, just at the beginning of the war, this professor and a half dozen others signed a circular in which the same argument was used. in - - - , the propaganda for convincing americans that germany--that is that the kaiser--loved us was part of the daily life in the best society in the neutral countries. the norwegians openly laughed at it. they knew only too well what the kaiser's opinion of them and their king, haakon, was. amazed by the frequent allusions of the admirers of the kaiser to his love for democracy, especially the american kind, i had a talk one day with one of the most frank and sincere of germans, the late baron von der quettenburg, the father of the present vicar of the church of st. ansgar's in copenhagen. he was a hanoverian. he was at least seventy years of age when i knew him, but he walked miles; he rode; he liked a good dinner; he enjoyed life in a reasonable way; but he was frequently depressed. hanover, his proud, his noble, his beautiful hanover, was a vassal to the arrogant prussian! 'but, if there were a war you would fight for the kaiser?' i asked, after a little dinner of which any man might be proud. 'fight? naturally. (i did not know that you knew so well how to eat in america.) fight! yes! it would be our duty. russia or france or the yellow nations might threaten us;--yes, all my family, except the priest, would fight. but, because one is loyal to the kaiser through duty, it does not mean that we hanoverians are prussians through pleasure. we shall never be content until we are hanoverians again--nor will bavaria.' 'a break up of the empire by force?' 'oh, no!' he said. 'not by force; but if the government does not distract public attention, hanover will demand more freedom; so will bavaria. none of us would embarrass the kaiser by raising the question of--let us say--greater autonomy for our countries, if there were question of a foreign war; but we must raise them soon.' 'do you think the emperor would make war to avoid the raising of these questions, which might mean a tendency toward the disintegration of the german monarchy?' 'the emperor would be incapable of that; he is for peace, but the raising of the question of a certain independence among the states that form the german empire can only be prevented now by a war or some affliction equally great. hanover can never remain the abject vassal of prussia.' 'you would, then, like to see the german emperor more democratic--a president, like ours, only hereditary, governing quasi-independent states?' 'that would not suit us at all,' he laughed. 'we are quite willing that the reichstag should be in the power of the emperor, as it is a mere association for talk; but we want the tributary kings to have more power in their own states. hanover a republic! how absurd! republics may be good on your continent, but, then, you know no better; you began that way. whoever tells us that we are democratic in germany, deceives you. we hanoverians want more power for hanover, all the reasonable rights of our kings restored and less power for prussia; but that we want republicanism, oh, no! a liberal constitution--yes; but no republic!' * * * * * an old friend, a swedish social democrat, brought in to tea a german social democrat; they came to meet an icelandic composer, in whom i was interested. the icelander was a good composer, but filled with curious ideas about icelandic independence. he was not content that iceland should have the power of a state in the federal union. a separate flag meant to him complete independence of denmark. he wanted to know the german social democrat's opinion of government. 'it is,' said the german, 'that hohenzollerns shall go, and people have equality.' 'with us it is,' said the swede, 'that the king of sweden shall go, and the people have equality.' 'but, if germany goes to war?' i asked. 'for a short war, we will be as one people; but after----' and he shook his head gravely. in the meantime, we were told constantly of the kaiser's charm. 'you once said,' remarked a débutante at the german court, who had been presented under the wing of our ambassadress, 'that if one wanted to dislike mr. roosevelt, one must keep away from him! i assure you, it is the same with the kaiser. he is charming. for instance, notice this: he presented a lovely cigarette case, with imperial monogram in diamonds or something of that kind, to madame hegermann-lindencrone, the wife of the danish minister, when her husband was leaving. "but my husband does not smoke," said madame hegermann-lindencrone, later in the day. "that is the reason i gave it to him," said the kaiser; "i knew that you like a cigarette, madame!" _isn't_ he charming?' we were told that the kaiser loved mark twain. to love mark twain was to be american. to be sure he turned his back very pointedly on mark on one occasion because mark had dared to criticise the pension system of the united states. pensions for the army should not be criticised, even if their administration were defective. all soldiers must be taken care of. this was the first duty of a nation, and mark twain forgot himself when he censured any system that put money into the pockets of the old soldiers, even of the wives of the soldiers of ! and this to the war lord, the emperor of more than a prætorian guard! and as for president roosevelt, if the kaiser could only see this first of republicans! this meeting had been the great joy of his brother prince henry of prussia's life. the kaiser had learned much from americans--our great capitalists, for example. no american who was doing things was alien to him. other monarchs might pretend to have an interest in the united states; his was genuine, for germany, youngest among the nations, had so much to learn from the giant republic of the west which possessed everything, except potash, the science of making use of by-products, and german kultur! president roosevelt had just gone out of office, and president taft was in. he wrote to me: 'you shall remain in your post as long as i remain in mine.' i was pleased and grateful. the chance that president roosevelt had given me, president taft continued to give me. i was the slave of a fixed idea, that the validity not the legality, of the monroe doctrine was somewhat dependent on our acquiring by fair bargains all the territory we needed to interpret it! as to denmark in , it was much more french than anything else. and, whatever might be done in the way of propaganda by germany, france always remained beloved; while the english way of living might be imitated, nobody ever thought of imitating germany's ways. besides, the danes are not good at keeping secrets, and the whisperings of german intentions, desires, likes, and dislikes disseminated in that city were generally supposed to be heart-to-heart talks with the world and received by the danes with shrewd annotations. this the kaiser did not approve of. it was curious that neither he nor his uncle, the king of england, liked copenhagen--for different reasons! it was understood that the king of england disliked it because he found it dull--the simplicity of hvidhöre had no charms for him. he could not join in the liking of his queen for everything danish, from the ballets of de bournonville to the red-coloured herring salad. _napoli_, a ballet which queen alexandra especially recommended to my wife and myself, frankly bored him, and the _mise-en-scène_ of the royal theatre was not equal to covent garden. the kaiser disliked copenhagen because he had no regard for his danish relatives, who took no trouble to bring out those charming boyish qualities he could display at times: the influence of the princess valdemar in denmark displeased him; she was too french, too democratic, and too popular, and she had something of the quality for command of her late mother-in-law, queen louise. altogether, the danes were not amenable to german kultur, or subservient to the continual threat of being absorbed in it, as the good buddhist is absorbed in the golden lotus! chapter vi german designs in sweden and norway as far as insinuating, mental propaganda was concerned, germany, as i have said, had the advantage over 'die dumme schweden,' as the prussians always called them. 'the stupid swedes' were the easiest pupils of german world politics, but even the most german of the swedes never realised, until lately, what the prussian dream of world politics meant. before , the swedes had been led to believe that any general european difficulty would throw them into the hands of russia. the constantly recurring difficulty of the aaland islands was before their eyes. look at the map of northern europe and observe what the fortifying of the aaland islands by a foreign power means to sweden. we americans do not realise that the small nations of europe have neither a monroe doctrine nor the power of enforcing one. and, so far as sweden was concerned, her only refuge against the power of russia seemed to be germany. when austria made her ultimatum to serbia, sweden believed that her moment for sacrifice or triumph had come. in august , all scandinavia felt that the fate of the northern nations was at stake. for sweden the defeat of germany meant the conquest of sweden by the russians, for, sad to say, no little nation believed absolutely in the good faith of a great one. the united states, where so many scandinavians had found a home, what of her? too far off, and the swedish leaders of public opinion knew too well what had been the fate of the attempts at the hague conference to abrogate the machiavellian doctrines that have been the basis of diplomacy almost since diplomacy became a recognised science and art. as for diplomacy, what had it to do with the fate of the little nations? scandinavia, among the rest of europe, looked on it as a purely commercial machine dominated essentially by local political issues. our state department had a few fixed principles, but all europe believed that we were too ignorant of european conditions and, more than that, too indifferent to them to be effective. the slightest political whisper in russia or the smallest hint from court circles in germany was enough to upset the equilibrium of scandinavian statesmen. american opinion really never counted, because american opinion was looked on as insular. a diplomacy labelled as 'shirt sleeve' or 'dollar' might delight those members of congress who had come to washington to complete an education not yet begun at home, but, from the european point of view, it was beneath notice. it cannot be said that the united states was not looked on, because of her riches and her size, with respect; but her apparent indifference to the problem on which the peace of the world seemed, to europe, to depend, and her policy of changing her diplomatic ministers or keeping them in such a condition of doubt that they kept their eyes on home political conditions, had combined to deprive her of importance in matters most vital to every european. this is not written in the spirit of censure, but simply as a statement of fact. the swedes, the norwegians, the danes had flocked to our country. in parts of the west, during some of the political campaigns, my old and witty friend, senator carter, chuckling, used to quote: 'the irish and the dutch, they don't amount to much, but give me the scan-di-na-vi-an.' these people are a power in our political life; but they knew in minnesota, in nebraska, wherever they lived in the united states, that our country would not forcibly interfere with the designs either of russia or of germany. and, in sweden, while king gustav and the conservatives saw with alarm the constant depletion of the agricultural element in the nation by emigration to the united states, their feeling towards our country was one of amiable indulgence for the follies of youth. king oscar showed this constantly, and king gustav went out of his way to show attentions to our present minister, mr. ira nelson morris. nevertheless, until lately, american diplomacy was not taken seriously, and, when the war opened, it was taken less seriously than ever. sweden, then, fearing russia, doubtful of england, full of german propagandists, her ruling classes looking on france as an unhappy country governed by _roturiers_ and pedagogues, and, except in a commercial way, where we never made the most of our opportunities, regarding our country as negligible, sweden, divided violently between almost autocratic ideas and exceedingly radical ones, was in a perilous position from to . frankly, there are no people more delightful than the swedes of the upper classes whom one meets at their country houses. kronoval, the seat of the count and countess sparre, is one of the places where the voices of both parties may be heard. and, when one thinks of the swedish aristocrat, one almost says, as talleyrand said of the _talons rouges_, 'when the old order changes, much of the charm of life will disappear.' under a monarchy, life is very delightful--for the upper classes. it is no wonder that they do not want to let go of it. it must be remembered, in dealing with european questions, that the swede and the spaniard are probably the proudest people on the earth. another thing must not be forgotten: the educated classes are imperial-minded. and of this quality german intrigue makes the most. a scandinavian confederacy, like the grecian one, of which king george of greece dreamed, was not looked on with yearning by the pan-germans. it must be remembered to the credit of king gustav, that, overcoming the rancour born of the separation, he made the first move towards the meeting of the three kings at malmö,[ ] in the beginning of the war. [ ] malmö is a town on the swedish side of the sound, an hour and a half by steamboat from copenhagen. lord bothwell was imprisoned there. when finland was annexed by germany, the terror of russia in sweden became less intense. before that sven hedin, suspected of being a tool of germany, did his best to raise the threatening phantom of the russian terror whenever he could. the hatred and fear of russia revived. it was not in vain that sane-minded persons urged that russia would have enough to do to manage the eastern question, to watch japan, to keep her designs fixed on constantinople. the german propaganda constantly raised the question of the fortification of the aaland islands. denmark and norway were intensely interested in it; it gave count raben-levitzau much thought when he was minister of foreign affairs in denmark, especially after the separation of norway from sweden; and since then, it has been a burning question, and the foreign office in christiania was not untroubled. on the question of the aaland islands neither the russian nor the swedish diplomatists would ever speak except in conventional terms; but, when i wanted light, i went to the cleverest man in denmark, count holstein-ledreborg. 'de l'esprit?' he said, laughing, 'mais oui, j'ai de l'esprit. tout le monde le dit; but other things are said, too. fortunately, a bad temper does not drive out l'esprit. you are wrong; the cleverest man in denmark is edward brandès.' but this is a digression. 'the swedes,' count holstein-ledreborg said, 'are at heart individualists. they would no more bear the german rule of living than they would commit national suicide by throwing themselves into the arms of germany. england met with no success in sweden in spite of the tact of her envoys, because her ideas of sweden are insular. she scorns effective propaganda; she has never even attempted to understand the swedes. the bulk of the swedes do not vote ( ). the destinies of sweden are in the hands of the court. a king is still a king in sweden; but that will pass, and the movement of the swedish nation will be further and further away from the political ideas of germany.' in modified liberal suffrage became a swedish institution. still, the state and church remain united. religion is not free; nobody can hold office but a lutheran. the 'young sweden' party is governed very largely by the ideas of the german historian, treitschke. the philosophy of his history is reflected in the pages of harald von hjarne. he is patriotic to the core, but, whether consciously or not, he played into the hands of the prussian propagandist. his history, a chronicle of the lives of kings charles xii. and gustavus adolphus, displayed in apotheosis; and the imperialistic idea, which carries with it militarist tendencies, is illuminated with all the radiance of hjarne's magic pen. sweden must have an adequate army. when norway threatened to secede, its attitude very largely due to the bad management of the very charming and indolent king oscar, the swedish army began to mobilise. the swedes--that is the minority of swedes, the governing body--would not brook the thought that norway might become a real nation. 'we must fight!' young sweden said. the young sweden, intolerant and imperious, did not realise that it had old and young norwegians to contend with. now, if the spaniard and the swede are the proudest folk in europe, the norwegian and the icelandic are the most stiff-necked. the swedish pride and the norwegian firmness, which contains a great proportion of obstinacy, met, and norway became a separate monarchy with such democratic tendencies as make american democracy seem almost despotism. after the success of the liberals in , there was a reaction. the german propaganda fanned the excited patriotism of the swedish people; 'their army was too small, their navy inefficient'; the force of arms must be used against russia. in fact, russia had her eastern problems; the best-informed of the swedish diplomatists admitted this; but the propaganda was successful; the people were tricked; nearly forty thousand farming folk and labourers marched to the palace of king gustav. they had made great contributions in money for the increase of the fleet. 'that cruiser,' said a cynical naval attaché, 'will one day fight for germany--when the yellow peoples attack us,' he added to ward off further questions. nevertheless the german influence made no points against the 'yellow peoples.' it was against russia all their bullets were aimed. the russians understood secret diplomacy well; but, either because they despised the common people too much or because the writers on russia were too self-centred, nothing was done to meet this propaganda effectively. the swede was taught to believe that germany was the best-governed nation on the face of the earth, and russia the worst; that germany would benevolently protect, while russia was ready to pounce malignantly. russian literature gave no glimpse of light. it was grey or black, and the language in which the russian papers were printed was an effectual barrier to the understanding of the swedes, who, as a matter of course, nearly all read german. young sweden believed that the first step on the road to greatness was a declaration of war with russia. nothing could have suited the plans of the pan-germans better than this, for it meant for sweden an alliance with germany. the swedish literary man and university professors voiced, as a rule, the pro-german opinions of young sweden. there were some exceptions; but there were not many. and the worst of all this was that these men were sincere. they were not bribed with money. they were flattered, if you like, by german commendations. every historical work, every scientific treatise, every volume of poetry of any value, found publishers and even kindly critics in germany. russia was the enemy, and, from the point of view of the intellectual swede, illiterate. russia had nothing to offer except commercial opportunities at great risks. swedish capital might easily be invested at home or, if necessary, there was the united states or germany for their surplus. the pictures of russian life given out by the great writers who ought to know it, were not inspiring of hope in the future of russia. there was no special need for the swedish scholar to complain of the german influence in his country since it was all in his favour. the government honoured him--following the german examples--and made him part of the state. even the english intellectuals, who, as every scandinavian knew, ought to have distrusted germany, acknowledged the superiority of german 'kultur' without understanding that it meant, not culture, but the worship of a prussian apotheosis. one of the most agreeable of swedish professors whom i met in christiania at the centennial of the christiania university, went over the situation with me. i had come in contact with him especially as i had been honoured by being asked to represent georgetown university and further honoured by being elected dean of all the american representatives, including the mexican and south american. this was in . 'frankly,' i said, 'are not you swedes putting all your eggs into one basket? what have you to do with the teuton and slavic quarrel? do you believe for a moment that the ultra-bismarckian policy which controls germany will consider you anything but a pawn in the diplomatic game? i think that, as swedes, you ought to help to consolidate scandinavia, and your diplomatists, instead of playing into germany's hands, ought to make it worth her while to support her, as far as you choose. you are selling yourself too cheap.' his eyes flashed. 'you do not talk like an american,' he said. then he remembered himself and became polite, even 'mannered.' 'i mean that you talk too much like diplomatists of the old school of secret diplomacy.' 'i believe that there are secrets in diplomacy which no diplomatist ever tells.' 'but you would have us attempt to disintegrate russia, and, at the same time, play with germany in order to make ourselves stronger.' 'i did not say so. for some reason or other, the germans call you "stupid swedes."' 'not now. that has passed. the germans recognise our qualities,' he added proudly. 'the english do not. the russians look on us only as their prey. you, being an american, are pro-russian. i have heard that you were particularly pro-russian. not,' he added hastily, 'that you are anti-german. the german vote counts greatly in the united states, and you could not afford to be; you might lose your "job," as one of your ministers at stockholm called it; but you, confess it!--have a regard for the russians.' 'they are interesting. we of the north owe them gratitude for their conduct during our civil war. anti-german? i love the old germany; i love weimar and the tyrol; but, speaking personally, i do not love the prussianisation of germany. i have written against the _kulturkampf_. i dislike the "prussian holy ghost" who tried to rule us back in the ' 's, but my german colleagues recognise the fact that i see good in the german people, and love many of their qualities.' 'still,' laughed the professor, who knows one of my best friends in rome, 'they say that you came abroad to live down your attacks in the _freeman's journal_ on the german holy ghost.' i changed the subject; that was not one of the things i had to live down. 'germany is our only friend, our only equal intellectually, our only sympathetic relative by blood. the norwegians hate us, the danes dislike us. we have the same ideas as the germans, namely, that the elect, not the merely elected, must govern. it was martin luther's idea, and his idea has made germany great.' 'but there is nothing contrary to that idea in the northern league, which count carl carlson bonde and other swedes dreamed about, is there? you swedes seem to believe that martin luther was infallible in everything but religion. he would probably like to see most of you burned, although you are all "confirmed."' the professor laughed: 'paris vaut une messe,' he quoted. 'i admit that luther would not approve of the religious point of view of our educated classes; but, at least, we have a semblance of unity, while you, like the english, have a hundred religions and only one sauce. our lutheranism is a great bond with germany, as well as our love of science and our belief in authority. as to the northern league, count bonde was a dreamer.' 'everybody is a dreamer in sweden who is not affected by the pan-german idea. is that it?' 'you are badly informed,' he said. 'your danish environment has affected you. as long as we can control our people, we shall be great. we have only to fear the socialist. the decision in essential matters must always rest with the king and the governing classes. our army and navy will be supported by popular vote, as in germany; they are the guarantees of our greatness.' this was the opinion of most of the autocratic and military--and to be military was to be autocratic--classes in . later i spoke with one of the most distinguished of the norwegians, professor morgenstjern. he seemed to be an exception to the general idolatry of german kultur. it was impossible to get the swede of traditions to see that germany's policy was to keep the three northern nations apart--not only the northern nations but the other small nations. when, just before the war, christian x. and queen alexandrina visited belgium on their accession the german propagandists in scandinavia were shocked; it was _infra dig_. it was 'french.' 'the king and queen of denmark will be visiting alsace-lorraine and wearing the tricolour!' a disappointed hanger-on in the german legation said. it was my business to find out what various foreign offices meant, not what they said they meant. 'of open diplomacy in the full sun, there are few modern examples. secrecy in diplomacy has become gradually greater than it was a quarter of a century ago, not from mere reticence on the part of ministers, but to a large extent from the decline of interest in foreign affairs.' the writer of this sentence in the _contemporary review_ alluded to england. this lack of interest existed even more in the united states. and then as militarism grew in europe, one's business was to discover what the admiralty thought, for in germany and austria, even in france, after the dreyfus scandal, one must be able to know what the military dictators were about. the newspapers had a way of discovering certain facts that foreign offices preferred to hide. but the most astute newspaper owing to the necessity of having a fixed political policy and the difficulty of finding men foolish enough or courageous enough to risk life for money, could rarely predict with certainty what foreign offices really intended to do. besides foreign offices, outside of germany, were generally 'opportunists.' few diplomatists of my acquaintance were deceived by the kaiser's professions of peace. that he wanted war seemed incredible, for he had the reputation of counting the cost. he was indiscreet at times, but his 'indiscretions' never led him to the extent of giving away the intentions of the general staff. that he wanted to turn the baltic into a german sea was evident. the swedish 'activist' would calmly inform you that, if this were true, germany would treat sweden, and perhaps the other scandinavian countries, as great britain treated the united states--the atlantic, as everybody knew, being a 'british lake' and yet free to the united states! there was no missing link in the german propaganda in sweden. prussia used the lutheran church as she had tried to use the german jesuits and failed. the good commonsense of the swedish common people alone saved them from making german kultur an integral part of their religion. when it filtered out that, notwithstanding the close relationship of the tsaritza of russia with the german emperor, the prussian camorra had determined to control russia, to humiliate her, to control her, there were those among the leaders who saw what this meant. they saw finland and the aaland islands germanised, and their resources, the product of their mines and of their factories, as much germany's as krupp's output. the bourgeoisie and the common people saw no future glory or profit in this. the knowledge of it filtered through; the lutheran pastor, with his dislike of democracy, his love for the autocratic monarchy, 'all power comes from god,' i heard him quote, without adding that st. paul did not say that 'all rulers come from god,'--could not convince the hard-thinking, hard-working swede that religion meant subjugation to a foreign power. the lutheran church, which, like all national churches, was hampered by the state, could give no intelligent answer to his doubts, so he turned to the social democrats. the governing class in sweden seemed to take no cognisance of the growth of democracy in the hearts of the people. germany was alive to it and feared it; but, in sweden, rather than admit it and its practical effects, the rulers ignored it, were shocked by the great tide of emigration to the united states, yet careless of its effects on swedish popular opinion. on one occasion in copenhagen, king gustav asked me why so many of his people emigrated to my country. the king of sweden is a very serious man, not easily influenced or distracted from any subject that interests him, and the good of his people interested him very much. it was a difficult question to answer, for comparisons were always odious. 'i can better tell you, sir, why your subjects prefer to remain at home:--when they get good land cheap, and when they see the chance of rising beyond their fathers' position in the social scale.' he began to speak, but etiquette demanded a move. when i met him again he returned to the subject. it was better that he should talk, and he talked well. it became evident to me that there was little good agricultural land in sweden to give away, and the division between the classes was not so impassable as i had believed. he made that clear. the social democrat in sweden wants an equal opportunity, no wars to be declared by the governing classes, and the abolition of the monarchy. he is not concerned greatly with the central powers or the entente. he was glad to see the hohenzollerns displaced, but he is german in the sense that he is affiliated with the german social democrats who, he believes, were forced to deny their principles temporarily or they would have been thrown to the lions; and as, above all things, he prizes a moderate amount of material comfort for himself and his family, he will not go out of his way to be martyred; but even he was the victim of modified german propaganda; he was too patriotic to accept it all. of late, as we know, the liberal party has gained strength, and the designs of a small activist military coterie were frustrated by a series of circumstances, of which the luxburg revelations were not the least; but the main reason was the coquetting of the government with germany, one of the signs of which was that the allied blockade was not treated as a fact, while the mythical blockade by germany was accepted as really existing. personally, i had respect for dr. hammarskjold, the premier of the conservative cabinet that ruled sweden in the beginning of the war. he was formerly a colleague in copenhagen, and, with the exception of francis hagerup, now norwegian minister at stockholm, he is the greatest jurist in northern europe. he is a swede of swedes, with all the traditions of the over-educated swede. neutrality he desired above all things--that is, as long as it could be preserved with honour; but he evidently believed that, for the preservation of this neutrality, it was most necessary to keep on very good terms with germany. hammarskjold's point of view was more complicated, more technical than that of herr branting, and it is to herr branting's raising of the voice of the swedish nation that a serious difficulty with the entente was avoided. nevertheless, it would be wrong to put down hammarskjold as pro-german, for he is, first of all, pro-swedish. edwin bjorkman, an expert in swedish affairs, says, after he has paid the compliments of an honest man to the wretched prussian conspiracies in sweden:-- 'for this german intriguing against supposedly friendly nations there can be no defence. for the more constructive side of germany's effort to win sweden, there is a good deal to be said, not only in defence, but in praise. it was not wholly selfish or hypocritical, and it was directed with an intelligence worthy of emulation. all the best german qualities played a conspicuous and successful part in that effort,--enthusiasm, thoroughness, systematic thinking and acting, intellectual curiosity, adaptability, and a constant linking of national and personal interests.'[ ] [ ] _scribner's magazine._ men, like hammarskjold, were naturally affected by an influence which no other nation condescended to counteract. besides, as a good swede, hammarskjold knew that, in a possible conflict with germany, sweden had nothing to expect, in the way of help, from the allies. the german propaganda had convinced many swedes that it was england that deprived king oscar of norway with the view of isolating sweden and assisting russia's move to the sea. the late minister of foreign affairs, herr wallenberg, was regarded as a friend of the entente, and was less criticised than any other member of the government. many of his financial interests were supposed to be in france, and he has many warm friends in all social circles in that country. he is a man of cosmopolitan experience. he has the reputation of being the best-informed man in europe on european affairs. dr. e. f. dillon, in one of his very valuable articles said: 'as far back as march , he gave it as his opinion that the friction in the near east would in a brief space of time culminate in a european war.' to dr. dillon the english-speaking world owes the knowledge of the points of view of certain activists, entirely under german influence, as expressed in _schwedische stimmen zum weltkrieg--uebersetzt mit einem vorwart verschen von dr. friedrich steve_. the real title is best translated _sweden's foreign policy in the light of the world war_. it was a plea for war in the interests of germany, representing those of germany and sweden as one. they were anonymous--now that some of them have had a change of mind it is well that their names were withheld. they were evidently pro-germans of all swedish political parties. it may not be out of place to say that the papers of dr. dillon, such as those printed in the _contemporary review_, are documents of inestimable diplomatic-social value. it was the leader of the socialists, herr branting, who helped to make evident that a change had been slowly taking place among the swedish people. herr branting is of a very different type from the generally received idea of what a socialist is. he would not do on the stage. in fact, like many of the constructive socialists in scandinavia, he is rather more like a modern disciple of thomas jefferson than of marx or bakounine. he knows europe, and he brings to the cause of democracy in europe great power, well-digested knowledge, and a tolerance not common in sweden, where religious sectarianism among the bulk of the people was as great an enemy to political progress as the prussian propaganda. the most influential man in sweden, herr branting, was obliged to renew his formal adhesion to the lutheran church, which he had renounced, to hold office. the strength of herr branting's position, which has lately immensely increased, may be surmised from the fact that, in , the radicals gave , votes as against , . the government would have been wise to have heeded this warning in time; but the men who had engineered the activist movement, who had worked the swedish folk up to their demand for stronger defences and a greater army and navy, seemed to think that sweden was still to be governed from the top. the swedes are not the kind of people who can be led hither and thither by bread and the circus. they know how to amuse themselves without the assistance of their government and to earn their bread, too; but when the government, through its presumably pro-german policy, seemed to be responsible for the curtailment of the necessities of life, they turned on their leaders and read the riot act to them. sweden boldly defied pan-germanism. a great day in sweden was april st, . it was a turning point in the nation's destiny. the people took matters in their own hands. hjalmar branting had forced the swartz-lindman cabinet into a corner; no more secret understandings, no more disregard of the feelings of the voters who felt that, to help their nation intelligently, they must know what was going on. appeals to charles xii. or the shade of gustavus adolphus no longer counted. what germany liked or disliked was of no moment to branting. on the first of may we were all anxious in denmark. our minister at stockholm, mr. ira nelson morris, understood the situation; he expected no great outbreak as a result of branting's action in the rigstag, revealing the existence of a secret intrigue to raise, on the part of the government, a guard of civilians to protect the 'privileged classes,' as the socialists called them, against disturbances on the part of the proletariat. branting gave a guarantee that no tumult among the people should take place. nevertheless, the german propaganda kept at work; the people were not to be trusted. on may st, the party in power protected the palace with machine guns and packed its environs with troops. it was a rather indiscreet thing to do, since branting had given his word for peace, providing that the pro-german protectorate did not make war. on may st at least fifty thousand of the working classes, 'the unprivileged classes,' made their demonstration in procession quietly and solemnly. in the provinces, on the same day, half a million swedes sympathetically joined in this protest against the pro-german attitude of the government. when we entered the war the ruling classes declared, either privately or publicly, that we had made a 'mistake'; they hinted that germany would make us see this mistake--this out of no malevolence to america as america, but simply from a complete lack of sympathy with our ideals. it must be remembered that an aristocracy, a bureaucracy without privileges is as anomalous as a british duke without estate. the french revolution was a protest, as we all know, against vested privileges. when madame roland, the intellectual representative of a great class, was expected to dine with the servants at a noble woman's house, a long nail was driven into the coffin of privilege. in sweden the fight is on against the privileges which the higher classes in sweden have expected germany to help them conserve. on october th a new cabinet was formed; the people demanded a government which would be neutral. this was the result of the election in september. on this result--the first real step in the swedish nation toward political democracy--they stand to-day. unrestrained or uninfluenced by prussia, the classes of sweden who love their privileges, will accept the situation. the death-blow to the landed aristocracy will doubtless be the suppression of the majorats and the conversion of the entailed estates into cash. this seems to be one of the fundamental intentions of the new order. the classes who look to germany as their model and mentor are now non-existent--naturally! germany allowed to the upper classes in sweden no intellectual contact with the democracies of the world. the world news dripped into sweden carefully expurgated. her suspicions of russia were kept alive as we have seen; the good feeling which existed in denmark towards sweden (due to the help the swedish troops had given when they were quartered at glorup, near odense, in readiness to meet the prussian attack in ) had been gradually undermined. while sweden owed much of her suspicions of the other two countries to german influence as well as her fears of russia, denmark was confronted with a real danger. whatever progress sweden has made towards democracy is not due to intelligent propaganda on the part of america or england. it needed a war to teach the foreign offices that diplomatic representatives have greater duties than to be merely 'correct' and obey technical orders. german propaganda had little influence in norway, but german methods have been used to an almost unbelievable extent in the attempt to lower the morale of this self-respecting and independent people. the german propaganda could get little hold on a nation that cared only to be sufficient for itself in an entirely legitimate way. the norwegian can neither be laughed, argued, nor coerced out of an opinion that he believes to be founded on a principle, and he looks on all questions from the point of view of a free man thinking his own thoughts. german propaganda, during the war, took the form of coercion. the ordinary influences brought to bear on sweden would not be effective in norway. socialism seemed to be less destructive to the existing order of things in norway than it was in sweden, because it had fewer obstacles to overcome. it was against the pan-german idea that the three scandinavian countries should form the northern confederation dreamed of by baron carlson bonde and others. when the late king oscar of sweden came under german influence--through all the traditions of his family he should have been french--he began to give the norwegian causes of offence, and his attitude intensified their growing hatred of all privileges founded on birth, hereditary office, or assumption of superiority founded on extraneous circumstances. as we know, the form of lutheranism accepted in norway has little effect on the political life of the people, who, as a rule, are attached to their special form of protestantism because of traditions (part of this tradition is hatred of rome, as it is supposed to represent imperial principles) and because it leaves them free to choose from the bible what suits them best. it is a mistake to imagine, as some sociologists have, that the lutheran church in norway inclined the norwegians to sympathy with german ideas. i have never, as yet, met a norwegian who seemed to associate his religion with germany or to imagine that he owed any regard to that country because 'the light,' as he sometimes calls it, came to him through that german of germans, martin luther. in his mind, as far as i could see, there seemed to be two kinds of lutheranism--the german kind and the norwegian kind. i am speaking now of the people of average education--who would dare to use the phrase 'lower classes' in speaking of the norwegians as we use it of the swedes or the english? an 'average education' means in norway a high degree of knowledge of what the norwegian considers essential. this shows that racial differences are much more potent than religious beliefs; and yet, in considering the problems of the world to-day, it would be vain to leave religious affairs out of the question, worse than vain--foolish. the crown prince of germany, having studied the life of napoleon bonaparte, knew this; the kaiser, knowing machiavelli, understood it too well. lutheranism in norway is not a political factor owing to the peculiar temperament of the people; therefore, germany could not make use of it. with the intellectual classes, the independent thinkers, it has ceased to be a factor at all. ibsen, who was in soul a mystic, is accused of leaning towards german philosophies even by some of his own countrymen; but there was never a more individualistic man than he. in my conversation with learned and intellectual norwegians, i discovered no leaning whatever to autocratic ideals. they were only aristocrats in the intellectual sense. 'even our upper classes,' said a swede, an ardent admirer of the ideas of the liberal swede, count hamilton, 'are changing. you ought to know our people as you know the danes. a nation as plastic as ours, capable of breaking its traditions by making a king of marshal bernadotte, a person not "born" has great capacities for adaptation; and this is the reason why my country will not be divided between germanised aristocrats and a socialistic proletariat.' this, after all, represents the essential attitude of the best in sweden. that german ideals were propagated and well received by the ruling classes is true, but, to generalise about any country, simply because of the attitude of the persons one meets in society, is a mistake that would lead a diplomatic representative into all manner of difficulties. to assume that sweden could have been governed as germany was governed, because german is the fashionable language among the aristocracy and the intellectuals, or because sweden is lutheran, or because the university and military education is founded on german methods, is too misleading. the swedish folk are not the kind that would tamely submit to the drastic rule of the autocratic hohenzollern. the german attitude toward norway was frankly antagonistic. there was no power there to persuade the citizens of that country that all kultur should come from above. the norwegian is a democrat at heart. he believes, with reason, in the industrial future of his country; he understands what may be done with his inexhaustible supply of 'white coal'; he knows the value of the process for seizing the nitrates from the air. when he heard that supplies of potash had been discovered in spain, a distinguished norwegian said: 'poor spain! the prussians will seize it now; but we should be willing to meet all the prussian fury if we could discover potash in norway!' it is an open secret that norway, at the time of her separation from sweden, would have preferred a republican form of government. the powers, england and russia and germany, would not hear of this, and the norwegians consented to a very limited monarchy. german or russian princes were out of the question, and prince charles of denmark, now king haakon, who had married the princess maud of great britain and ireland, was chosen. king edward vii. was pleased with this arrangement; he had no special objection to the cutting down of monarchical prerogatives, provided the hereditary principle was maintained, and the marriage strengthened the english influence in norway. as king haakon and queen maud have a son--prince olav--the norwegians are content, especially as king haakon knows well how to hold his place with tact, sympathy, and discretion. norway is naturally friendly to the united states and england, and, in spite of the kaiser's regular summer visits, it was never at all friendly to him. the treatment of norway, when the germans found that the norwegians were openly against their methods, was ruthless. the plot of the german military party against the capital of norway, which meant the blowing up of a part of the city, has been hinted at, but not yet fully revealed. the reports of the attempt to introduce bombs in the shape of coals into the holds of norwegian ships bound to america were well founded, and the misery and wretchedness inflicted on the families of norwegian sailors by the u-boat 'horribleness' has made the german name detested in norway. after the crime of the _lusitania_, the german minister was publicly hissed in christiania. remaining neutral, norwegian business men kept up such trade with the belligerents as the u-boat on one side and the embargo on the other permitted. war and business seem to have no scruples, and the norwegian merchant, like most of ours, before we joined the allies, felt it his duty to try to send what he could into germany. the british minister at christiania, the british admiralty, and a patriotic group of norwegians did their utmost in limiting this, and, when the united states entered the war, they were ably seconded by the american minister, mr. schmedeman. the norwegians, in spite of all dangers, kept their boats running, and they were shocked when the united states tightened the embargo, with a strangle grip. the norwegian press openly said that we, the friend of the little nations, had proved faithless, and pointed to their record as friends of democracy. the american minister, in the midst of the storm, did an unusual thing; he published the text of the prepared agreement, which nansen had sent to washington to negotiate. there was a time, before this, when the name of our country, formerly so beloved and revered, was execrated among the norwegians. mr. schmedeman's quick insight calmed a storm which arose from disappointment at the stringent demands of a nation they had hitherto considered as their best friend. this constant friendship for us was shown on all occasions in copenhagen by dr. francis hagerup and dr. john irgens, two of the most respected diplomatists in europe. dr. hagerup's reputation is widely spread in this country. no human being could be imagined as a greater antithesis to the prussians than the norwegians; the norwegian is in love with liberty; he is an idealistic individual; it is difficult, too, to believe that the norwegian, the swede and the dane are of the same race. the norwegian is as obstinate as a lowland scot and as practical; he is a born politician; he calls a spade a spade, and he is not noted for that great exterior polish which distinguishes the swede and the dane of the educated classes. a norwegian gentleman will have good manners, but he is never 'mannered.' for frankness, which sometimes passes for honesty, the norwegian of the lower classes is unequalled. this has given the norwegian a reputation for rudeness which he really does not deserve. he is no more rude than a child who looks you in the eye and gives his opinion of your personal appearance without fear or favour; it does not imply that he is unkind. there is a story of a norwegian shipowner, who, asked to dine with king haakon, found that a business engagement was more attractive, so he telephoned: 'hello, mr. king, i can't come to dinner!' a norwegian told me, with withering scorn, the 'stupid comment' of an 'ignorant swede' on the norwegian character: 'you have no niagara falls in sweden, no great city like chicago, no red indians!' he had said, 'we have finer cataracts than your niagara falls, a magnificent city, stockholm, the paris of scandinavia, and many red indians, but _we_ call them norwegians!' one summer day, two well-mounted german officers, probably attending the kaiser or making arrangements for his usual yachting trip to norway, came along a country road. they were splendid looking creatures, voluminously cloaked--a wind was blowing--helmets glittering. our car had stopped on a side road; something was wrong. a peasant, manipulating two great pine stems on a low, two-wheeled cart, had barred the main road, and, as the noontide had come, sat down to eat his breakfast. one of the officers haughtily commanded him to clear the way, expecting evidently a frightened obedience. the peasant put his hands in his pockets and said,--'mr. man, i will move my logs when i can. first, i must eat my breakfast, you can jump your horses over my logs; why not? jump!' the officer made a movement to draw his revolver; the norwegian only laughed. 'besides,' he said, 'there is a wheel half off my cart; i cannot move it quickly.' the language of the officers was terrifying. finally, they were compelled to jump. neither the sun glittering on the fierce eagles nor the curses of the officers moved this amiable man; he drank peacefully from his bottle of schnapps and munched his black bread and sausage as if their great persons had never crossed his path, or, rather, he theirs. neither art, literature nor music has been germanised in norway. art, of later years, has been touched by the french ultra-impressionists. there is no humble home in the mountains that does not know grieg. and why? when you know grieg and know norway, you know that grieg is norway. norway is the land of the free and the home of the brave. there was no fear that german ideas would control it, and the prussians knew this. what is good in german methods of education the norwegians adopt, but they first make them norwegian. chapter vii the religious propaganda machiavelli, in _the prince_, instructs rulers in the use of religion as a means of obtaining absolute power; and from the point of view of monarchs of the renaissance and after, he would have been a fool, if he had neglected this important bond in uniting the nations he governed. it was not a question as to the internal faith of the ruler; that was a personal matter; but outwardly he must conform to the creed which gave him the greatest political advantages. there is a pretty picture of napoleon's teaching the rudiments of christianity to a little child at saint helena; but who imagines that he would have hesitated to make the sacred pilgrimage to mecca or to prostrate himself before the idols of any powerful pagan nation, if he could have fulfilled his plans in the east? 'paris vaut une messe,' said henry iv. of navarre and france with the cynicism of his tribe. queen catherine di medici and queen elizabeth had their superstitions. they probably believed that all clever people have the same religion, but never tell what it is--the religion to which lord beaconsfield thought he belonged. it is against the subversion of religion, of spirituality, to the state that democracy protests. frankly, it is as much against the despotism of socialism as it is against the machiavellianism of his late imperial majesty, the german emperor. he hoped to become emperor of germany and the world, and to speak from berlin _urbi et ubi_. to be german emperor did not content him. the kaiser's use of religion as an adjunct to the possession of absolute power began very early in his reign. bismarck could teach him nothing, though bismarck was as decided a hegelian as he was a prussian in his idea of the function of the ruler. hegel, the learned author of the _philosophy of right_, was prussian to the core. he was on the side of the rulers, and he hated reforms, or rather, feared reformers, because they might disturb the divinely ordered authority. there must be a dot to the 'i' or it meant nothing in the alphabet. this dot was the king. he was the darling of the prussian government and the spokesman of frederick william iii. he loathed the movement in germany towards democratic reforms, and watched england with distrustful eyes. the teaching of most hegelians in the universities of the united states--and the hegelian idea of the state had made much progress here--was to minimise somewhat the arbitrary and despotic ideas of their favourite prussian philosopher. no man living has yet understood the full meaning of all parts of his philosophical teachings, but one thing was clear to all men who, like myself, watched the application of hegelianism to prussia and to germany. the state must be supreme. the catholics in germany saw the errors of hegelianism as applied to the state, but they were not sufficiently enlightened or clever, and they neglected to oppose its progress efficiently. there are various opinions about the activities of the fathers of the congregation of jesus (founded by saint ignatius loyola as a _corps d'élite_ of the counter-reformation) in germany and in the world in general. bismarck heartily disapproved of them for the same reasons as hegel disapproved of them. they taught that cæsar is not omnipotent, that the human creature has rights which must be respected, and are above the claims of the state. in a word, in germany, they stood for the one thing that the prussian monarchs detested--dissent on the part of any subject to their growing assertion of the divine right of kings. windthorst formed the centrum, and opposed bismarck valiantly, but political considerations prussianised the centre, or catholic party, as they moved 'the enemies of prussianism,' the socialists, when the crucial moment arrived, and burned incense to absolute cæsar. it was not a question of lutheranism against catholicism in germany in , not a question of an enlightened philosophy, founded on modern research against obscurantism, as most of my compatriots have until lately thought, but a clean-cut issue between the doctrine of the entire supremacy of the state and the inherent rights of the citizen to the pursuit of happiness, provided he rendered what he owed to cæsar legitimately. that the victims of the oppression were jesuits blinded many of us to the motive of the attack. the educational system of the jesuits had enemies among the catholics of germany, too, so that they lost sight of the principle underneath the falk laws, so dear to bismarck. frederick the great and catherine of russia protected the jesuits, it is true, but they were too absolute to fear them. besides, as intellectuals, they were bound to approve of a society, which in the eighteenth century had not lost its reputation for being the most scientific of religious bodies. the falk laws were, in the opinion of bismarck and the disciples of the _kulturkampf_, the beginning of the moulding of the catholic church in germany as a subordinate part of the autocratic scheme of government. they had nothing to fear from the lutherans--they were already under control--and nothing to fear from the unbelieving intellectuals, of the universities, for they had already accepted hegel and his corollaries. the main enemies of the ultra-kaiserism were the catholic church and socialism--socialism gradually drawing within its circle those men who, under the name of social democrats, believed that the hohenzollern rule meant obscurantist autocracy. the socialists, pure and simple, are as great an enemy to democracy as the pan-germans. the varying shades of opinion among the social democrats,--there are liberals among them of the school of asquith, and even of the school of lloyd george, constitutional monarchists with jeffersonian leanings, lutherans, catholics, non-believers, men of various shades of religious opinion are all bent on one thing,--the destruction of the ideals of government advocated by hegel and put into practice by the emperor and his coterie. both the socialist and the social democrat came to copenhagen. they talked; they argued. they were on neutral soil. it was impossible to believe, on their own evidence, that the socialism of marx, of bebel, of the real socialists in germany, could remedy any of the evils which existed under imperialistic régime in that country. the socialist or the social democrat was feared in germany, until he applied the razor to his throat, or, rather, attempted hari-kari when he voted for war. the socialists can never explain this away. his prestige, as the apostle of peace and good-will, is gone; he is no longer international; he is out of count as an altruist. the social democrat is in a better position; he never claimed all the attributes of universal benignity; he was still feared in germany, but in that harmless debating society, the reichstag, with the flower of the german manhood made dumb in the trenches, he could only threaten in vain. in our country, pure socialism is misunderstood. it is either cursed with ignorant fury or looked on as merely democracy, a little advanced, and perhaps too individualistic. it ought to be better understood. socialism means the negation of the individual will; the deprivations of the individual of all the rights our countrymen are fighting for. it is a false christianity with christian precepts of good-will, of love of the poor, of equality, fraternity, liberty,--phrases which have, on the lips of the pure socialist, the value of the same phrases uttered by robespierre and marat. 'i find,' said a berlin socialist, whom i had invited to meet ben tillett, the english labour agitator, 'that danish socialism is merely social democracy. given a fair amount of good food and comfort, schools, and cheap admittance to the theatres, the copenhagen socialists seem to be contented. you may call it "constructive socialism," but i call it social degeneracy. we, following the sacred principles of marx and bakounine, different as they were, must destroy before we can construct. in the future, every honest man will drive in his own car, and the best hospitals will not be for those that pay, but for those who cannot pay. cagliostro said we must crush the lily, meaning the bourbons; we must crush all that stands in the way of the perfect rule which will make all men equal. we must destroy all governments as they are conducted at present; we have suffered; all restrictive laws must go!' ben tillett could not come to luncheon that day, so we missed a tilt and much instruction. the european socialist's only excuse for existence is that he has suffered, and he has suffered so much that his sufferings must cry to god for justice. as to his methods, they are not detestable. they are so reasonable, so christian, that some of us lose sight of his principles in admiring them. the kaiser has borrowed some of the best of the socialistic methods in the organisation of his superbly organised empire, and that makes germany strong. but sympathy with the socialists anywhere is misplaced. their principles are as destructive as their methods are admirable. their essential article of faith is that the state, named the socialistic aggregation, shall be supreme and absolute. as to the other enemies of despotism in germany, the jesuits, they were downed simply because bismarck and the hegelian ideal would not tolerate them. they exalted, as hegel said, the virtue of resignation, of continency, of obedience, above the great old pagan virtues, which ought to distinguish a teuton. the jesuits, german citizens, few in number, apparently having no powerful friends in europe or the world, were cast out, as the war lord would have cast out the socialist if he had dared. but the socialists were a growing power; they had shown that they, like the unjust steward in the parable, know how to make friends of the mammon of unrighteousness. the jesuits went; the catholic party, the centre was placated by the request of germany to have the pope arbitrate the affair of the caroline islands and by the colonial policy of bismarck in in supporting the work of cardinal lavigerie in africa. the catholic population of germany, more than one-third of the whole, accepted the dictum that the state had the right to exile german citizens because they disagreed with the government as to the freedom of the human conscience. however, as the catholic germans were divided in sentiment as to the value of the jesuit system of education, which in this country seems to be very plastic, they were at last fooled by the centrum, their party, into the acceptance of a compromise. to copenhagen, there came, after the opening of the war, an old priest, who had been caught in the net in belgium; 'that christians should forgive such horrors as the germans commit! why do not the christian germans protest? i confessed a german colonel, a catholic, who had lain a day and a night in a field outside a belgian town. he was dying when some of your americans found him, and brought him to me. "i suffered horrors during the night," he said, "horrors almost unbearable. i groaned many times; i heard the voices of men passing; these men heard me." "there is a wounded man," one said, and they came to me. "he's a german," the other said, "qu'il crève" (let him die). and they passed on. "this," i thought, in my agony, "this, in a christian land where the story of the good samaritan is read from the pulpits; yet they leave me to die. but when i remembered, father, the atrocities for which i had been obliged to shoot ten of my own soldiers, i understood why they had passed me by."' the good priest, who had many friends in germany, repeated over and over again: 'whom the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad; the catholics in germany must be mad!' bismarck had used falk and the liberals to divide and control. he later found it necessary to placate windthorst and the centrum, then a 'confessional,' or religious party. it has changed since that time; it is now, like the social democratic block, made up of persons of various shades of religious opinion, but having similar political ideas. it represents a determination not to allow the state to be absolute, and, no doubt, if the united states had realised its position, it might have been strengthened by intelligent propaganda to be of use in breaking the prussian autocracy. but hitherto even travelled americans have regarded it as a remnant of the middle ages, and hopelessly reactionary. it was part of the kaiser's policy to make the rest of the world think so, for he had adopted and adapted this bismarckian chart while throwing the pilot of many stormy seas overboard. bismarck lived to see the heritage of despotism, which he had destined for his oldest son, seized by a young monarch, whose capabilities he had underrated. then, the danes say, he uttered the sneer, 'i will freshen the hohenzollern blood with that of struense!' the german propaganda for controlling the church in the united states had been well thought out in . the emigrants from germany, just after , were not open to the influence of prussian ideas; they had had more than sufficient of them, but when the great crowd of germans came in later, it was time to inject the proper spirit of prussianism into their veins. it is well known that the emperor william had his eyes on the vatican. he was wise enough to see that if the catholic church lost in one place, she was certain to gain in another; it was not necessary for him to read macaulay's eloquent passage on the papacy, as most statesmen who speak english do. but his indiscretions in speech and writing, whether premeditated or not, for the _zeitgeist_ and the orthodox lutherans must be propitiated--were constantly nullifying his plans. as to the spiritual essence of the catholic church, the emperor did not recognise it. papal rome was dangerous to him as long as it remained independent; he coquetted with harnack and with the most advanced of the higher critics who whittled the bible into a pipestem. how he squared himself with the orthodox lutherans, apparently nearly two-thirds of the population, can only be shown by his constant allusions to the prussian god. as a state church, yielding obedience almost entirely to the governing power of the country, he had little fear of lutheranism in its varying shades of opinion. the jews he evidently always distrusted. he regarded them as internationalists and not to be recognised until they became of the state church; then they might aspire, for certain considerations, to be _rath_ and even to wear the precious _von_. the emperor wanted control of the vatican. he knows history (at least we thought so in copenhagen), and he was sympathetic with his ancestors in all their quarrels with the holy see on the subject of the investitures; the emperor had wisely foreseen that difficulties of the same kind between the vatican and himself might easily break out, were not the vatican modernised or controlled. he knew that the claims of the popes to dethrone rulers could never be revived since they were not inherent in the papacy, but only admitted by the consent of christendom, which had ceased to exist as a political entity; but the question of the right of a lay emperor to control the policy of the holy father in matters of the religious education, marriage, church discipline of catholics might at any time arise. he knew the _non possumus_ of rome too well to believe that in a spiritual crisis she could be moved by the threats of any ruler. if his imperial majesty could have forced the principle of some of his ancestors that the religion of a sovereign must be that of his subjects, the question might be settled. if he could have arranged the religion of his subjects as easily as he settled the question as to the authenticity of the flora of lucas in berlin in favour of director bode, how clear the way would have been! as it was, he knew too well what he might expect from rome in a crisis where he, following the prussian _zeitgeist_, might wish to infringe on the spiritual prerogatives. to understand the world every european diplomatist of experience knows the vatican must not be ignored, and, while the war lord, the future emperor of the world, hated to acknowledge this, he was compelled to do it. the vatican, that had nullified the may laws and defeated falk, their sponsor, might give the emperor trouble at any time. catholics of the higher classes all over europe were ceasing to be royalists. the pope, leo xiii., had even accepted the french republic, and for the part of cardinal rampolla and of archbishop ireland in this the kaiser hid his rancour. he must be absolute as far as the right of his family and those of the hereditary succession went, and quite as absolute in his control over such laws as were for the increase of the kultur of his people. at one time, since the present war opened, it was rumoured at copenhagen that plural marriages were to be allowed, to increase the population of a nation so rapidly being depleted. i was astonished to hear a german lutheran pastor--he was speaking personally, and not for his church--say that there was nothing against this in the teachings of luther or melanchthon. he quoted the affair of a landgraf of hesse in the sixteenth century. 'but the kaiser would not consent to this,' i said. 'why not?' responded the pastor. 'he knows his old testament; he has the right of private interpretation especially when the good of the state is to be considered.' 'over a third of the germans are catholics; the pope would never consent to that.' 'there would be an obstacle,' he admitted; 'but the kaiser, in the interests of the nation, would have his way. our nation must have soldiers. you americans,' he added, bitterly, 'are killing our prospective fathers in the name of bethlehem. we must make up the deficit by turning to the hebraic practice.' 'you cannot bring the catholics to that, and i doubt whether any decent people would consent to it, in spite of your quotation from luther's precedent. no pope could allow it.' 'a pope can do anything--whom you shall forgive,' he laughed, 'is forgiven.' 'a pope cannot do anything; the moment he approved of plural marriages in the interest of any nation, he would cease to be pope. he cannot abrogate a law both divine and natural, and i doubt----' 'do not doubt the power of the head of the german people, the shepherd of his church. the german people are the religious, the spiritual counterparts of the true israelites, were begotten by the spirit, mystical jehovah who made israel the prophet-nation; mystically he has designated the german tribes as their successors. he lives in us. this war is his doing; our kultur, which is saturated with our religion, is inspired by him. he must destroy that the elect may live.' 'again, i repeat, germany can no more accept such debasing of the moral currency than she can encourage the production of illegitimate children at the present moment. i do not believe that there is a hospital in berlin, especially arranged for the caring for the offspring of army nurses and soldiers. it is a calumny.' 'we must have boy children,' said the pastor, 'but that is going too far. still, _deutschland über alles_. we may one day have a german pope with modern ideas.' my friend of st. peter's lutheran german church was out of town. i asked another friend to report the conversation to him. our mutual friend said that pastor lampe smiled and said, 'there are extremists in every country. tell the american minister to read dr. preuss in the _allgemeine evangelische_, _lutherische kirchenzeitung_.' but i am out of due time; dr. preuss's famous _passion of germany_, in full, appeared later, in . it is true that austria's vote at the conclave had defeated cardinal rampolla as a candidate for the papacy. the emperor of austria had permitted himself to be used as a tool of the german emperor, not willingly, perhaps, for rampolla stood for many things political which the absolutists hated. nevertheless, he had done it, to the disgust of the college of cardinals, who thus saw a forgotten weapon of the lay power used against themselves. they abolished the right of veto, which austria as a catholic power had retained. but the conclave elected a pope who did not please the kaiser. he was a kindly man of great religious fervour, impossible to be moved by german cajoling or threats. the knowledge of the crime of germany killed him. nevertheless, the emperor william had curbed the power of rampolla, as he hoped to destroy that of archbishop ireland in the great republic of the west. a powerful church with a tendency to democracy was what he feared, and archbishop ireland, a frankly democratic prelate, the friend of france, the admirer of lafayette, had dared to raise his powerful hand against the religious propaganda of the all highest in the united states of america, where one day german kultur was to have a home. the great napoleon had thought of his sister, the princess pauline, as empress of the western hemisphere. why not one of our imperial sons for the crude republic which had helped mexico in the old, blind days to eject maximilian? napoleon had made his son, later the duke of reichstadt, king of rome. why should not one of the sons of our napoleonic crown prince be even greater, a german pope--at least a german prince of the church expounding harnack with references to strauss's _life of jesus_? why not? the vicegerent of the teutonic god? from many sources it leaked out that the kaiser looked on the most reverend john ireland as an enemy of his projects both in europe and the united states. the archbishop of st. paul was known to be the friend of cardinal rampolla. all who knew the inside of recent history were aware that he had been consulted by leo xiii. on vital matters pertaining to france, in which country the ultra-royalists, who had managed to wrap a large part of the mantle of the church around them, were making every possible mistake and opposing the pope's determination to recognise the republic. archbishop ireland had been educated in france; he had served in the civil war as chaplain; he knew his own country as few ecclesiastics knew it. he, growing up with the west, in the most american part of the west, had brought all the resources of european culture, of an unusual experience in world affairs, to a country at that time not rich in men of his type. in the east, the catholic church had had prelates like cardinal cheverus, archbishop of boston, a number of them, but st. paul was little better than a trading station when john ireland finished the first part of his education in france. the tide of emigration had not yet begun to raise questions on the answers to which the future of the country depended. it required far-sighted men to consider them sanely. from the beginning archbishop ireland reflected on them. he saw the danger of rooting in new soil the bad, old weeds, the seeds of which were poisoning europe. he was familiar with the _coulisses du vatican_, knew that rome ecclesiastically would try to do the right thing. but rome ecclesiastically depends very largely on the information it receives from the countries under consideration. the attitude of the opponents of the catholic church is due, as a rule, to their ignorance of anything worth knowing about the church and their utter disregard of its real history. their narrow attitude is illustrated by the story that president roosevelt, in a cabinet meeting was once considering the form of a document which official etiquette required, should be addressed to the pope. 'your holiness,' said the president. a member of the cabinet objected. this title from a protestant president! 'do you want me to call the pope the son of the scarlet lady?' asked the president. the objection was as valid as that of the puritan who objected to sign a letter 'yours faithfully' because he was not _his_ faithfully! in the celebrated _century_ article of , the handling of which showed that the editors of the _century_ held their honour higher than any other possession, an allusion to archbishop ireland appeared. i have been informed that it showed the animus of the kaiser against the archbishop, who with cardinal gibbons, the bishops keane, spalding, o'gorman, and archbishop riordan seconded by the present bishop of richmond, denis o'connell, had defeated, after a frightful struggle, the attempt of kaiserism to govern the catholic church in this country. its beginnings seemed harmless enough. a merchant named peter paul cahensly of limburg, prussia, suggested at the catholic congress of trier, the establishment of a society for protecting german emigrants to the united states, both at the port of leaving and the port of arriving. another catholic congress met in bamburg, bavaria, three years later. connection was made with the central verein, which at its convention took up the matter zealously. but the zeal waned, and in , herr cahensly came to new york in the steerage so that he could know how the german emigrant lived at sea. he arranged that the german emigrants should be looked after in new york and then left for home. it was reasonable enough that cahensly should interest himself in the welfare of the germans at the point of departure, but entirely out of order that he should attempt any control of the methods for taking care of the emigrants on this side. it was suspected that cahensly had talked over a plan for retaining the catholic germans, especially in the west, where they formed large groups, as still part of their native country. this had already been tried among the lutherans, and had for a time succeeded. the swedish lutherans, segregated under the direction of german-educated pastors, were considered to have been well taken care of. the war has shown that the americans of swedish birth in the west showed independence. the suspicions entertained by the watchful were corroborated when, in , cahensly presented a memorial to the papal secretary of state, cardinal rampolla, making the plea that the 'losses' to the church were so great, owing to the lack of teaching and preaching in german, that a measure ought to be taken to remedy this evil by appointing foreign bishops and priests, imported naturally, so that each nationality would use the language of its own country. the object aimed at was to put the english language in the background, to have the most tender relations, those between god and little children, between the growing youths and christianity, dominated by a mode of thought and expression which would alienate them from their fellows. in business, a man might speak such english as he could; but english was not good enough for him in the higher relations of life. he might earn money in 'this crude america,' but all the finenesses of life must be german. i think i pointed out in the new york _freeman's journal_ at the time, that, if there were a special german holy ghost, as some of these germanophiles seemed to believe, he had failed to observe that there was little in the 'heretical' english language so devoid of all morality as the dogmas proposed to govern the conduct of life in some of the wisconsin papers, printed in german. some clear-sighted americans, cardinal gibbons and archbishop ireland at their head, saw what this meant. kaiserism was concealed in the glow of piety. the proceedings of the priester verein convention, in newark, september , , is on record. the ordinary of the diocese, bishop wigger, had protested against the stand the german priests' society proposed to take; he had announced his disapproval in advance of 'cahenslyism'; he was stolidly against the appointment of 'national,' that is, trans-atlantic bishops selected because they spoke no language but their own. the choice of the 'germanisers' was the reverend dr. p. j. schroeder--monseigneur schroeder, rather; he had been imported by bishop keane, afterwards archbishop, to lecture at the catholic university. bishop keane, like most americans before the war, believed that germany held many persons of genius who honoured us by coming over. when dr. schroeder's name was mentioned, a caustic english prelate had remarked: 'i thought the americans had enough mediocrities in their own country without going abroad for them.' but mgr. schroeder had a very high opinion of himself. american catholics were heretical persons, of no metaphysical knowledge; they could not count accurately the number of angels who could dance on the point of a needle! he arrogantly upheld the german idea. english-speaking priests were neither willing nor capable. the emigrants in the united states would be germans or nothing--_aut kaiser aut nullus_. the german priests in the west claimed the right to exclude from the sacraments all children and their parents who did not attend their schools, no matter how inefficient they were. the controversy became international. in germany, to deny the premises of mgr. schroeder was to be heretical, worthy of excommunication; in this country there was a camp of kaiserites who held the same opinion. it is true that bismarck had opened the _kulturkampf_ in the name of the unity of the fatherland. it is true that the kaiser would gladly have claimed the right his ancestors had struggled for--of investing bishops with the badges of authority--and that he gave his hearty approbation to the exile of the jesuits. nevertheless, he was the kaiser! compared with him, the president of the united states was an upstart, and cardinal gibbons was to the ultra-germans almost an anathema as cardinal mercier is! there was a fierce struggle for several years. bombs, more or less ecclesiastical, were dropped on archbishop ireland's diocese. to hear some of these bigots talk, we would have thought that this brave american was talleyrand, bishop of autun. but the right won. cahenslyism was stamped out, and here was another reason why the kaiser did not love archbishop ireland, and another reason why bavaria and austria, backed up by prussia, protested against every attempt on the part of rome to give him the cardinal's hat. this would have meant the highest approval of a prelate who stood for everything the kaiser and the bavarian and austrian courts detested. the _curia_ is made up of the councillors of the pope; a layman might be created cardinal--it is not a sacerdotal office in itself--and while the pope would reject with scorn the request that a temporal government should nominate a bishop, he might accept graciously a request that a certain prelate be made a cardinal from the ruler of any nation. if president roosevelt had been willing to make such a request to leo xiii.--he was urged to do it by many influential protestants who saw what archbishop ireland had done in the interest of this country--there is no doubt that his request would have been granted. the cardinals are 'created' for distinguished learning. one might quote the comparatively modern example of cardinals newman and gasquet; for traditional reasons, because of the importance of their countries in the life of the church; and they might be created, in older days, for political reasons. but the wide-spread belief that a cardinal was necessarily a priest leads to misconceptions of the quality of the office. if the french republic were to follow the example of england and china, send an envoy to the holy see, and make a 'diplomatic' _rapprochement_, neither rome nor any nation in europe would be shocked if his holiness should consent to a suggestion from the president of the french republic and 'create,' let us say, abbé klein a cardinal. archbishop ireland with his group of americans saved us from the insults of the propaganda of kaiserism. this name was synonymous with all things political and much that is social, loathed by the absolutes in austria, bavaria and, of course, germany. the creation of archbishop ireland as a cardinal would have been looked on by these powers as a deadly insult to them, on the part of the pope. they made this plain. the failure of the cahensly plan caused much disappointment in germany. the kaiser, in spite of his flings at the catholic church--witness a part of the suppressed _century_ article and the letter to an aunt 'who went over to rome'--was quite willing to appear as her benefactor. much has been made of his interest in the restoration of the cathedral of cologne. this, after all, was simply a national duty. a monarch with over one-third of his subjects catholics, taking his revenues from the taxes levied on them, could scarcely do less than assist in the preservation of this most precious historical monument. he seemed to have become regardless of the opinion of his subjects. he had heart-to-heart talks with the world; one of these talks was with mr. william bayard hale; the _century magazine_ bought it for $ , . . it was to appear in december . that its value as a 'sensation' was not its main value may be inferred from the character of the editors, richard watson gilder, robert underwood johnson and clarence clough buel--a group of scrupulously honourable gentlemen. this conversation with mr. hale took place on the kaiser's yacht. it was evidently intended for publication, for the most indiscreet of sovereigns do not talk to professional writers without one eye on the public. speaking of his _impressions of the kaiser_, the hon. david jayne hill says: 'it seemed like a real personal contact, frank, sincere, earnest and honest. one could not question that, and it was the beginning of other contacts more intimate and prolonged; especially at kiel, where the sportsman put aside all forms of court etiquette, lying flat on the deck of the _meteor_ as she scudded under heavy sail with one rail under water; at eckernforde, where the old tars came into the ancient inn in the evening to meet their kaiser and drink to his majesty's health a glass of beer.' 'did you ever see anything more democratic in america?' the kaiser asked, gleefully, one time. 'what would roosevelt think of this?' he inquired at another. 'hating him, as many millions no doubt do,' mr. hill continues, 'it would soften their hearts to hear him laugh like a child at a good story, or tell one himself. can it be? yes, it can be. there is such a wide difference between the gentler impulses of a man and the rude part ambition causes him to play in life! a rôle partly self-chosen, it is true, and not wholly thrust upon him. a soul accursed by one, great, wrong idea, and the purposes, passions, and resolutions generated by it. a mind distorted, led into captivity, and condemned to crime by the obsession that god has but one people, and they are his people; that the people have but one will, and that is his will; that god has but one purpose, and that is his purpose; and being responsible only to the god of his own imagination, a purely tribal divinity, the reflection of his own power-loving nature, that he has no definite responsibility to men.' nevertheless, in copenhagen, we understood from those who knew him well that he was a capital actor, that he never forgot the footlights except in the bosom of his family, and even there, as the young princes grew older, there were times when he had to hide his real feelings and assume a part. in , he was determined that the united states should be with him; he never lost an opportunity of praising president roosevelt or of expressing his pleasure in the conversation of americans. i think i have said that he boasted that he knew russia better than any other man in germany, and it seemed as if he wanted to know the united states to the minutest particular. it is a maxim among diplomatists that kings have no friends, and that the only safe rule in conducting one's self towards them are the rules prescribed by court etiquette. it is likewise a rule that politeness and all social courtesies shall be the more regarded by their representatives as relations are on the point of becoming strained between two countries. how little the kaiser regarded this rule is obvious in the case of judge gerard, who however frank he was at the foreign office--and the outspoken methods he used in treating with the german bureaucrats were the despair of the lovers of protocol--was always most discreet in meetings with the kaiser. i was asked quietly from berlin to interpret some of his american 'parables,' which were supposed to have an occult meaning. there was a tale of a one-armed man, with an inimitable broadway flavour, that 'intrigued' a high german official. i did my best to interpret it diplomatically. but, though our ambassador, the most 'american' of ambassadors, as my german friends called him, gave out stories at the foreign office that seemed irreverent to the great, there was no assertion that he was not most correct in his relations with the german emperor. yet, one had only to hear the rumours current in copenhagen from the berlin court just after the war began, to know that the emperor had dared to show his claws in a manner that revealed his real character. judge gerard's book has corroborated these rumours. the fact that i had served under three administrations gave me an unusual position in the diplomatic corps, irrespective entirely of any personal qualities, and--this is a digression--i was supposed to be able to find in ambassador gerard's parables in slang their real menace. a very severe bavarian count, who deplored the war principally because it prevented him from writing to his relations in france, from paying his tailor's bill in london, and from going for the winter to rome, where he had once been chamberlain at the vatican, said that he had heard a story repeated by an attaché of the foreign office and attributed to ambassador gerard, a story which contained a disparaging allusion to the holy father. as a catholic, i would perhaps protest to ambassador gerard against this irreverence which he understood had given the foreign minister great pain, as, i must know, the german government is most desirous of respecting the feelings of catholics. 'impossible,' i said. 'our ambassador is a special friend of cardinal farley's and he has just sent several thousand prayer-books to the english catholic prisoners in germany.' thus the story was told.[ ] [ ] i regret that i cannot give the story in the rhyme, which was bavarian french. it seemed that among the evil new yorkers with whom the ambassador consorted, there was an american, named michael, whose wife went to the priest and complained that michael had acquired the habits of drinking and paying attention to other ladies. 'very well,' said the priest, 'i will call on thursday night, if he is at home, and i'll take the first chance of remonstrating with him.' the evening came; the priest presented himself, and entered into a learned conversation on the topics of the hour, while michael hid himself behind his paper, giving no opportunity for the pastor to address him. however, he knew that his time would come if he did not make a move into the enemy's country. 'father,' he said, lowering his paper, 'you seem to know the reason for everything that's goin' on to-day; maybe you'll tell me the meanin' of the word "diabetes"?' 'it is the name of a frightful disease that attacks men who beat their wives and spend their money on other women, mike.' 'i'm surprised, father,' said michael, 'because i'm readin' here that the pope has it.' it was necessary for me to explain that this was one of our folklore stories, and could be traced back to _gesta romanorum_--merely one of the merry jests of which the german literature itself of the middle ages was so full, of the character, perhaps, of rheinhard the fox! this is an example of the way our ambassador played on the germans' sense of humour, as rosencrantz and guildenstern tried to play on hamlet's pipe! * * * * * the german propaganda went on in the united states. look at france, look at italy, in comparison with germany's respect for religion! the falk laws were no longer of importance; catholics were to be encouraged to go into the political service, having hitherto been 'rather discouraged' and even under suspicion, as von bülow admitted. the german was obsessed by the one idea--the preponderance of the fatherland.[ ] he was conscientious, he had for years cultivated a false conscience which judged everything by one standard: is this good for the spread of german kultur? [ ] the army bill of 'met with such a willing reception from all parties as has never before been accorded to any requisition for armaments on land or at sea.'--von bülow's _imperial germany_, p. . 'what do you think of all this?' i asked one of the most distinguished diplomatists in europe, now resident in berlin, the representative of a neutral country. 'there will be no peace in europe until germany gets what she wants. she knows what she wants, and since she has used every possible method to attain it.' to return to the indiscretions of the kaiser--indiscretions that were not always uncalculated. mr. clarence clough buel, one of the editors of _the century_, felt obliged, in justice, to give an authoritative explanation of dr. hale's suppressed 'interview.' his account was printed in _the new york world_ for december , : 'the proof of this interview had been passed by the german foreign office, with not more than half a dozen simple verbal changes. they were made in a bold, ready hand, but as there was no letter, we could not be sure that the proofs had been revised by the emperor. the usual hair-splitting of great men and officialdom had been anticipated, so with considerable glee, the trifling plate changes were rushed, and the big "sixty-four" press was started to toss off , copies.' the london _daily telegraph_ 'interview' of october , , was a thunderbolt, and the editors of _the century_, at the urgent request of the german government, suppressed the edition. i had been informed by mr. gilder of the facts. i was very glad of it, as i was enabled to explain this very interesting episode at the danish foreign office. mr. clarence buel writes (it was his duty to read the last galley proofs):--'but in the last cold reading i had grave suspicion that the kaiser's reference to the virgin mary might be construed by devout catholics as a slur on an important tenet of their faith. so the sacred name was deleted, and the kaiser's diction slightly assisted in the kindly spirit for which editors are not so often thanked by the writing fraternity as they should be. this incident is mentioned to show the protective attitude of the magazine, and also to indicate that the original "leak" as to the contents of the interview came from an employee of the printing office. only some one familiar with the galley proofs could have known that the virgin mary had figured in the manuscript, for the name did not appear in the printed pages and consequently could not have reached the public except for the killing of the interview. let it be said, with emphasis, that there was nothing in the kaiser's references to the part taken by the vatican in looking out for the interests of the church in world politics which could have caused serious irritation in any part of europe. as a student at the berlin university, i had attended some of the debates in the landtag during the famous _kulturkampf_ over the clerical laws devised by bold bismarck to loosen the catholic grip on the cultural life of prussian poland. knowing the nature of that controversy, and the usual, familiar attitude of (protestant) europeans toward religious topics, i could believe that everything in the article bearing on church and state, from the over-lord of most lutherans, was offered in a respectful spirit, and would hardly make a ripple across the sea.' mr. buel admits that the kaiser criticised the action of the pope and spoke slurringly of the virgin mary. mr. buel evidently means that the foreign offices of the world would not have been stirred by the censure of the kaiser or by even some frivolous comments on the blessed virgin. mr. buel, who is discretion itself, having been one of those who practically gave his word of honour that the 'interview' should be suppressed, was evidently desirous that public curiosity should not be too greatly excited as to its tenor. he does not excuse the kaiser, but as he is a very liberal protestant himself, speeches coming from a ruler, that would excite indignation even among catholics in europe, naturally do not strike him as insulting. it leaked out long ago that in the 'interview' his imperial majesty alluded to archbishop ireland in rather disrespectful terms. only the staunch americanism of the catholics of this country saved them from this insidious propaganda. if this spirit did not exist among them, they would have been led to believe that the central powers were the only european countries in the world where a catholic was free to practise his religion. we know what the german propaganda working on politicians did in canada among the french-speaking population. we saw, in the beginning of the war, how the protestants of ulster were used. there is a passage in mr. wells's _mr. britling sees it through_ which illuminates this. 'england will grant home rule,' said a prussian closely connected with the berlin foreign office, 'and then sir edward carson and his ulsterites will, with his mutineering british army, keep england too busy to fight us.' they believed this in very high quarters in germany. but when the british government did not put the home rule bill in force, the propagandists turned to certain irish intellectuals. 'you had better be governed by germany than england,' said the followers of sir roger casement, and the sentiment, whether uttered academically or not, found a hundred echoes. but first had been heard the german-inspired cry of the ulsterites, 'we had rather be governed by germany than the irish, by the kaiser rather than the irish roman catholic bishops.' most of us knew that there was no such danger, for home rule would have naturally cut into the political power of the irish bishops by strengthening the secular element forced into the background by the unfortunate conditions in ireland, which had prevented the catholic laymen from acquiring higher education, and obliging the clergy to become political leaders. it made no difference. the fermenters of religious dissension in ireland played into the hands of the prussians; there was laughter in hell. we knew that the slogan, 'better be governed by germany than by ulster,' was not echoed in our own country among men of irish blood. but when germany, through her agents, began to suggest an irish republic, protected by the imperial eagle, a small party formed in the united states, not pro-german, but anti-english. this was before we went into the war. 'every defeat of the english is a gain for ireland,' the german propagandist repeated over and over again. it sank in; the ulsterites thundered, and sinn fein, which had been non-political, became suddenly revolutionary. in our country the effect of all this was marked. every sentiment of religion and patriotism was played upon. only those who received the confidences of some of those deceived revolutionists of the unhappy easter day know how bitter was the feeling against england generated by the conspiracies in the interest of prussian domination. then we gloriously took our stand and went in. the practical answer came. the swedish lutherans and the sinn fein catholics took up their arms without waiting to be drafted; ireland must look after herself until the invaders were driven out of france and belgium! if the secret service is ever permitted to take the american public and the world into its confidence, the strength, the cleverness, and the permeativeness of the propaganda, especially religious, in the united states, will be shown to be astounding. 'what, son of luther, strikes at the german breast of your forefathers!' to use a phrase that would not be understood at the berlin foreign office, the prussian propagandist had us 'coming and going.' one could not help admiring the skill of these people. we, in our honest shirt sleeves were left gaping. shirt sleeves and dollar diplomacy were beautiful things in the opinion of people who believed that the little red schoolhouse and the international hague conference were all that were needed to keep us free and make the world safe for democracy! there are no such beautiful things now. if we are to fight the devil with fire, we ought to know previously what kind of fire the devil uses. that requires the use of chemical experts, and the german experts, before this war, were not employed on the side of the angels. we have won; but do not let us imagine that we have killed the devil. the propaganda still went on, and honest people were influenced by it. 'the pope belongs to us,' the german propagandists said. 'he has not reprimanded cardinal mercier,' replies some logical person, 'and cardinal mercier has done more harm to german claims even in germany than any other living man.' 'the pope sympathises with our claims; he is the friend of law and order, consequently, he is with us.' easily impressed folk among the allies accepted this. they believed the tale that the italian rout in the autumn of was due to catholic officers, who were paraded through every city in europe with 'traitor' placarded on each back! a foolish story to direct attention from the efforts of the paid conspirators who did the mischief. they saw only the surface of things. they seemed to think that the theorem of euclid that a straight line is the shortest distance from one point to another holds in the political underworld. the pope was attacked, which pleased the propagandists. 'o holy father, see how i, head of the german lutheran church, love you, and see! your wicked enemies are my enemies.' and so the german propagandist divided and discouraged! chapter viii the prussian holy ghost the prussic acid had permeated every vein and artery of the lutheran church in germany. whatever religious influence that could be brought to bear on the danes was used; but they look with suspicion on any mixture of religion and politics. besides, their kind of lutheranism is more liberal than the german. with the proper apologies i must admit that they are not, at present, easily accessible to any religious considerations that will interfere with their individual comfort. the union between the lutherans in denmark and the lutherans in germany is not close. the danes will not accept the doctrine, preached in germany, that martin luther was the glorious author of the war, and that victory for germany must be in his name! i had many friends in germany. one, a lutheran pastor, wrote in : 'your country, though pretending to be neutral, is against us, and you, once dear friend, are against us. you are no longer a child of light.' the effect of the religious propaganda has been too greatly underrated for the simple and illogical reason that religion, in the opinion of the people of the outside world, moulded for long years by the german school of philosophy, had concluded that religion had ceased to be an influence in men's lives. the pope, because he had lost his temporal power, was effete, reduced to the position of john bunyan's impotent giant! lutheranism, in fact, all protestant sects, were giving up the ghost, under the blows of hæckel, virchow, rudolf harnack and the rest of the school of higher critics! these men laid the foundation stones for the acceptance of nietzsche--schopenhauer being outworn--and the learned as well as the more ignorant of the cultured seemed to think that, as german scholars had settled the matter, faith in christianity was only the prejudice of the weak. the kaiser knew human nature better than this. while he believed in his prussian holy ghost--napoleon had his star--he was not averse to seeing the spiritual foundations of the world, especially the dogmatic part, which supported christianity, disintegrated. discussing the effect of this, i was forced, in march of , to say publicly, 'the kaiser is the greatest enemy to christianity in europe.' the reception of many protests from apparently sincere persons confirmed me in my belief that the propaganda had been more insidious than most of us believed. let us turn now to the effect of the ruthless propaganda in germany itself. note this letter: 'you, i can almost forgive, because, as i have told you often, you dwell religiously in darkness; but your protestant country, which owes its best to us, i cannot forgive. in the name of bethlehem, you kill our sons, and corrupt our cousins, karl and bernhard, whom you know in america. karl, when he was in my house last week, was insolent; he dared to say that the germans in america were americans, that, if martin luther sympathised with our glorious struggle, he was in hell! this is wild american talk; but i fear that too many of our good people in america have been "yankeefied" and lost their religion. however, our glorious kaiser has not been idle all these years; the good germans in your misled country, not bought by english gold, will arise shortly and demand that no more ammunition shall be sent to be used against their relatives. i saw your relation, lagos, in fiume; he cares nothing for luther or the prussian cause, but he is only a hungarian, with irish blood, and he will only speak of his emperor respectfully, and say nothing against our enemies in america; his son has been killed in russia; it is a judgment upon a man who is so lukewarm. the austrian emperor is forced to help us; he, too, is tainted with the blood of anti-christ. i have heard that, when the war broke out, and they told him, he said: "i suppose we shall fight those damned prussians again!" was this jocose? lagos laughed; it is no time to laugh; karl and bernhard will go back to where they belong, in pennsylvania, accursed for their treachery,--vipers we have cherished, false to the principles of luther.' an honest man, sincere enough, with no sense of humour, and a very good friend until one contradicted his pan-germanism. one might differ from him, with impunity, on any other question! 'our pulpits are thundering for the lord, luther, and a german victory!' there had been a movement in england for a union of the anglican church with the lutheran branch of protestantism in denmark. it may have been extended to norway and sweden as well, but i do not know. there was much opposition on the part of the germanised lutherans: 'it would be giving up the central principle of lutheranism to submit to re-consecration and reordination by the anglican bishops. it would be as bad as going to rome or russia or abyssinia for holy orders. in denmark, especially, luther, through bergenhagen, had cut off the falsely-claimed apostolical succession. how could a national church remain national and become english?' if i remember rightly, pastor storm, a clergyman greatly distinguished for his character, learning, and breadth of view, was in favour of such a union; he did not think it meant the anglicanising of the lutheran church. men like pastor storm were placed in the minority. the germans were against it. bishop rördam, the primate, bishop of zeeland, told me that german influence could have had nothing to do with the decision; he said, 'it is true that, if we wanted the apostolical succession we could go either to rome or russia. we are well enough as we are.' when the attempt at the union failed, those pastors in germany who had watched the progress of the undertaking, rejoiced greatly. my former friend, the lutheran pastor, wrote: 'the anglican church is a great enemy to our german kultur, though german influence among its divines is becoming greater and greater. i am obliged to you for the american books on st. paul. i read them slowly. i observe with joy that all the authorities quoted are from german sources; surely such good men as the authors of these books must see that your country is recreant to the memories of the great liberator, martin luther, in not preaching against the export of arms from your country to the entente and the starving of our children! i thank you for the books, and also for the one by the french priest, which is, of course, worthless, as he sneers at harnack. later, these french will know our kultur with a vengeance! i gather from the volumes of canon sheehan, as you call him, that the influence on clerical education in ireland is german. we have driven the french influence from your universities, too, and the theological schools of harvard and yale, thanks to the great dr. münsterberg, who is opposed by a creature called schofield, are german. the power of our cultural lutheranism is spreading against the errors of calvin in the college of princeton, and the roman catholic colleges in the states are becoming more enlightened by the presence of men like the late magistrate schroeder, who may be tolerated by us as the entering wedge of our kultur. you have been frank; i am frank with you. i have received your translation of goethe's _knowest thou the land_ and _the parish priest's work_. as your ancient preceptor, i will say that both are bad.' he is, after all, an honest man. of course, i do not hear from him. his two sons are dead, in russia; he probably talks less of 'judgments' now, poor soul! he was only part of the machine of which the kaiser was the god! the perverted state of mind of these honest men in whom a false conscience has been carefully cultivated was amazing. on december rd, , a danish bishop wrote a letter of good-will to a colleague of his in germany, saying, among other things, 'even the victor must now bear so many burdens that for a generation he must lament and sigh under them.' the german pastor answered on december th: 'do you remember, at the beginning of the war, you answered, to my well-grounded words, "we must, we will, and we shall win," "how can that ever be?" the question has been answered; from vilna to salonica, from antwerp to the euphrates, in courland and poland, our armies are triumphant; we take our own wherever we find it, and we hold it! i pity you,' the amiable pastor continued; 'i have the deepest commiseration for you neutrals, that you should remain outside of this wonderfully great experience of god's glory, you, above all, who call yourselves scandinavians and are of the stock of the german martin luther. you hold nought of the mighty things that god has now for a year and a half been bestowing on the fatherland. he who has little, from him shall be taken away what he has. this war is not a _kaffeeklarch_, and the work of a soldier is not embroidery. our lord god, who let his son die on the cross is not the chairman of a tea party, and he who came to bring, not peace, but a sword, is not a town messenger. he lives, he reigns, he triumphs! the chant of the bethlehem angels, "peace on earth" is as veritable as when it was for the first time heard. there lay on the manger the infant who as a man was to conquer, that he might give peace to earth. our germans, who in bled, died and conquered, won for their own country and scandinavia and central europe forty-four years of peace. for these nations and for a more permanent peace in this world our country is battling to-day. gloria! victoria! we will throw down our arms only when we have conquered, that this peace may reign.' bishop koch, of ribe--jacob riis's old town in denmark--was the writer of the first letter. it is not necessary to name the writer of the second; his name is legion! it is not for the right, for the defence of the poor, the helpless, the forsaken, for the old woman, pitifully weeping, in the hands of the bloody supermen, to whom, according to this pious pastor, christ sent the sword, that germany may rule, and force her dyes, and her 'by-products,' and her ruthless, selfish brutality on the world. if john the baptist lived to-day, and had asked these good pastors to follow him in the real spirit of christianity, one may be sure that they would have found some excuses for the energetic salome, who gloated over the precursor's head. frequently the german pastors made flying visits to copenhagen--after the war began--not in the old way, when in the summer they came, with hundreds of their countrymen, bearing frugal meals, and wearing long cloaks and cocks' feathers in their hats. the day of the very cheap excursion had passed. now, they came to 'talk over' things, to assure their danish brethren of the stock 'of luther' that it was a crime to be neutral. i had gone to the house of a very distinguished lutheran clergyman, professor valdemar ammundsen, to listen to a 'talk' by pasteur soulnier, of the lutheran church in paris: mr. cyril brown, the keen observer and clever writer, accompanied me. we were struck with the evidences of christian charity and breadth of kindness shown by pasteur soulnier. he had only words of praise for his catholic brethren in france; there was no word of bitterness or hatred in his discourse; but his voice broke a little when he spoke of rheims, and he seemed like old canon luçon, the guardian of that beloved cathedral, who cannot understand that men can be such demons as the destroyers have shown themselves to be. we were late for dinner, and mr. brown and i stepped into a restaurant of a position sufficiently proper for diplomatic patronage, to dine. the day after, as i was taking my walk, accompanied by my private secretary, a man took off his hat and addressed me. he spoke english with an accent. 'pardon me; i do not know your name; but i know your friend, pastor lampe, one of the most learned of our young divines; i have seen you talking to him; i likewise recognised your companion at dinner last night, mr. cyril brown; he is an american well known in berlin. my name is pastor x. i was formerly of bremen. may i have a few words with you?' 'certainly,' i said, interested, 'if you will walk to friedericksberg.' 'part of the way, sir,' he said. my secretary whispered,--'another spy? shall i pump him?' we had been frequently followed. only a short time before, when i had escorted my wife and frau frederika hagerup, lady-in-waiting to queen maud of norway, for a short walk, we had been closely followed, by eavesdroppers. at the corner of the amaliegade and saint anna's place, just opposite the hotel king of denmark, men had crawled up within earshot, and one had accompanied us the whole distance. was this a similar case? 'spy?' i said in french. 'well let him talk!' my young secretary shook his head; his way of dealing with suspected spies was to wring their necks, if possible. from a long experience with spies, it is my conclusion that much money is wasted on them. some are very agreeable, and give the party of the second part much amusement. the german pastor, in his rusty black, looked so respectable, too! he took the right, which showed that he did not understand that i was a minister. a well brought up german, who knew my rank, would have taken my left side even if he were about to strangle me! 'bitte,' i said, 'but speak english!' 'i must beg pardon,' he answered; 'i could not forbear to tell you what i thought of your conversation at the restaurant last night. i should have interrupted you, but i was in the middle of my dinner.' _his_ sacred dinner; ours did not count. 'i heard you say to mr. cyril brown that the german nation at present is the greatest enemy to christianity in the world.' 'no, no, herr pastor,' i interrupted; 'i said that the emperor william is the worst enemy of christianity in the world.' 'ah, it is the same thing. you americans call yourselves christians,' he broke out, 'and yet your bombs from bethlehem have shattered my son's leg and they killed thousands of our children. your nation is protestant. you ought to be with us against impious france and idolatrous italy--i spit on italy--the _cocotte_ of the nations, the handmaid of the papish prostitute of rome! and yet you say that our most christian nation is not christian! how can you say it? we are not at war, yet you treat us as enemies!' 'we shall soon be at war. the ambassador of the united states at berlin is sending americans out of that city. he feels, evidently, that, in spite of his influence with the chancellor, you will begin your u-boat outrages, and then we must be at war! that is plain. but i think you have said enough. herr pastor, good-bye!' 'no, no,' he said. 'answer me one question: why do you say that we germans are un-christian? our christianity is the most beautiful, the most learned, the most cultured!' the young are relentless critics; i knew that my secretary was calling me names for 'picking up' this strange german clergyman in the street. moreover, the secretary was beautifully attired; his morning coat was perfect; his tall hat tilted back at the right degree, and the triple white carnation in his buttonhole was a sight to see. (dear chap! he is in the greasy automobile service in flanders now!) and his cane! (if you walk out without a cane in polite copenhagen, you are looked on as worse than nude.) fancy! to be seen walking with a threadbare german pastor with a bulbous umbrella! he groaned; he knew that i would pause on the brink of an abyss for a little refreshing theological conversation! 'you cannot deny, herr pastor,' i said, 'that you people in germany swear by harnack, that strauss's _life of jesus_ is a book that you look on with great admiration, that much of the foolish "higher criticism" like the attacks on saint luke,[ ] which sir william ramsay has so carefully refuted, and all the sneering at the fundamentals of christianity have come from germany, with the approval of the emperor.' [ ] _the bearing of recent discovery on the trustworthiness of the new testament_, by sir william m. ramsay. hodder and stoughton. 'there are no english scientific theologians. i do not know your ramsay. we are learned; we study; we see many of the christian myths in an allegorical sense, but yet we adore the german god, who is with us, and we believe in christ, though our learned ones may dissipate much that the populace hold. there must be a broad law for the christian divine; a narrow one for the humble believer. we may not accept miracles, we of the learned, but we may not disturb the belief of the people in them. culture must come from the top. the catholics among us still accept the miracles, but they are most retrograde of the germans. we are gaining upon them. it is the _zeitgeist_; when we have conquered, with their help, we shall teach them the real lesson of christianity! the german god will not brook idolatry. our scientists disprove myths, but we work in the line of luther still. he disproved myths!' 'i do not hold a brief for martin luther,' i said, 'but i think that he would have cursed any man who denied the divinity of christ. you talk of a german god. he is not a christian god, and i repeat to you what you heard me say to my friend in the restaurant.' 'it is well, sir,' he said, 'to hear this coming from an american who defends the starving of our children and the supplying of arms to slaughter us. we have god on our side--the german god. we only!' 'good day, sir,' i said; 'you corroborate my impression about your christianity!' i took off my hat, and crossed the street. he stood still; 'these americans are rude!' my secretary heard him say. this would seem impossible to me--if i had not been a part of the episode; if it seems impossible to you--the result probably of some misunderstanding on my part--let me quote a few examples of the result of the prussian propaganda among a people whom we considered, at least, honest and not un-christian. but, first: on the long line for my usual walk with mr. myron hofer, one of the first americans to rush from his post at the legation and join the aviation corps, i saw the pastor again. mr. hofer saw him coming towards us, and said: 'you ought not to stand in the wind, if that man speaks to you; let us go on.' 'go on,' i said, 'but come back to rescue me in a minute or two.' 'excellency,' the pastor said, 'i have heard from pastor lampe who you are. forgive me for addressing you!' and he passed on, hat in hand. what can one make of this bigotry and phariseeism? have these qualities developed only since the war? will they disappear after the war? 'and the devils besought him, saying: if thou cast us out hence, send us unto the herd of swine. and he said to them: go. but they going out went into the swine, and behold the whole herd ran violently down a steep place into the sea: and they perished in the waters.' we all know that london was an unfortified city. read this, from the _evangelische-lutherische kirchenzeitung_, written in . it is an answer to the truthful charge that children, helpless women, old men, civilians going quietly about their business, had been slaughtered by the pitiless rain of death from the skies. the danish lutherans, among whom this pious sheet had been circulated with a view to exciting their sympathies, did not accept this. 'london has ceased to be a city without the defence of fortifications; it is filled with such numbers of aeroplanes and anti-aircraft guns, that, as we are all aware, the zeppelins can attack it at night only. to attack london is to make an offensive on a den of murderers.' 'if you ask me,' says the _protestenblatt_, number , 'how shall i build up the kingdom of god,' my answer is: 'be a good german! stand fast by the fatherland. do your duty and fill your mission. _seek to submerge yourself in german spirit, in german mind._ be german in piety and will, which simply means, be true, faithful, and valiant. help as best you can towards our victory; help to make our fatherland grow and wax mighty.'[ ] [ ] dr. j. p. bang's translation. doctor bang deserves well of all lovers of freedom for his translation into danish of typical sermons from german pastors possessed of the spirit of hatred. dr. bang is a professor of theology in the university of copenhagen. it ought to be remembered that the university of copenhagen, in a neutral country geographically part of germany, made no protest against the audacious volume. it is true that there are protestants in germany who will not accept the 'fatherland' as god and eternal life or as a life continued in the memories of later generations, as a hessian peasant put it in a letter written from the front. his attitude shows how barren all this rhetoric seems to the unhappy soldier who must obey. those who knew the lives of truly religious germans before the war must believe that these arrogant, feverish, diabolical utterances do not represent them. the lutheran households where the fear of god and the love of one's neighbour reigned cannot have entirely disappeared; the old christian spirit must fill some hearts. but here is a man, a lutheran divine, whose pious books have 'circulated in the army in millions of copies.' he is a very great clergyman; if you saw him in the streets of lübeck, or hamburg, or berlin, many hats would be raised; even officers in the army would greet him with respect. he is geheimkonsistorialrath! 'likewise,' he writes, in his book, _strong in the lord_--'the blessings of the reformation are at stake. shall french ungodliness, shall russian superstition, shall english hypocrisy rule the world? never! for the blessing of our faith, for the freedom of our conscience, for our germanism and for our gospel, we shall fight and struggle and make every sacrifice. _ein' feste burg ist unser gott._ and, if the world were full of devils, we shall maintain our empire!' according to dr. conrad, germany is a great surgeon. she must cut; she must even kill, if necessary, the nation that stands in the way of her beneficient kultur! so strenuously has the name of martin luther been made use of by these fanatics, that the fact is lost sight of in germany, that the question is not one of religion. there is scarcely a war even in modern times with which religion had so little to do as this; but to hear these shriekers from the pulpit, one would think that martin luther was the instigator of the war and that the kaiser is his prophet! what the catholic population in germany--in bavaria, in silesia--what the jews in berlin and munich think of all this, we have not yet discovered. a cardinal holding the standard of luther, with two rabbis gracefully toying with its gilded tassels is a sight the preachers offer to us when they appeal to luther as the representative of germany. luther was no democrat; he would scarcely have approved of president wilson's speeches; but yet he would not have worshipped the trinity of the kaiser, the crown prince and the prussian holy ghost as the godhead! think of the tremendous force that must have perverted these 'men of god!' who can help believing in the miracle of the swine driven into the sea after this, or in the old latin adage, 'whom the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad,' or in shakespeare's 'lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds?' religion is made a mark to cover avarice and arrogant ambition, christianity, to veil a god more material than the golden calf. the learned danes answered the shrieks of the preachers, and the specious reasonings of such scientists as wilhelm von bode, wundt, richard dehmel, wilhelm röntgen, ernest haeckel, sudermann, etc., with dead silence, erudition and art had been corrupted. 'in italy,' christopher nyrop,[ ] the dane, says, 'which, when the manifesto of the german learned appeared, was not among the belligerent states, the amazement and the disappointment were so great that the ninety-three signers, "representatives of german kultur," were named _verräter der deutschen kultur_, traitors to german kultur.' it was only necessary to change 'vertreter' to 'verräter.' and among them were max reinhart, harnack, gerhard hauptmann, siegfried wagner! [ ] devoted to france, the friend of m. jusserand; a great romance philologer. the wonder and amazement were even greater when there was no protest from the catholics or the lutherans of germany against the inexcusable outrage on louvain or rheims. the remonstrances of the pope were unheeded. it was the policy of the german government to suppress them as far as possible. it wanted to give the impression that the holy father was theirs, and too many thoughtless persons fell in with this idea. that the german catholics were misinformed by bethmann-hollweg and the war office makes their position worse. the proofs offered by the dean of the cathedral of rheims proved that this horror, the destruction of the sacred symbol of the french nation, was not 'a military necessity.' chapter ix - - the visits of mr. john r. mott to the scandinavian countries were events; his was a name to conjure with. when an intimation of his coming appeared in the papers, our legation was bombarded with requests for the opportunity of meeting him. 'we must,' my wife often said, 'make it understood that every american of good repute shall be welcome in our house; and it is our mission to give our danish friends an opportunity to meet him.' the danes came to know this and, whenever there was an american in copenhagen worth while--i do not mean merely having what is called 'social position'--we were always glad to arrange that the right persons should meet. we were not socially indiscriminate, but we were certainly eclectic. we wanted mr. mott for three meals a day, but he was always, like martha, so busy about many things, that we could only secure him for a short breakfast or something like that, with one of his warmest admirers, count joachim moltke, who is devoted to the moral improvement of young men, and chamberlain and madame oscar o'neill oxholm. the only rift in the lute of the affection of certain danish ladies for my wife was that she allowed mr. mott to leave copenhagen on various occasions without 'making an occasion' for them to meet him. among these ladies were mademoiselle wedel-hainan, one of the ladies in-waiting to the queen dowager, and others interested in the cultivation of reverence for christianity among their compatriots. the result of mr. mott's masterly work was shown when the war broke out. the 'red-blooded' who formerly looked at the young men's christian association as rather effeminate and effete must, in view of what it has done in europe, forever close their lips. at this time, in , we had expectations of another visitor. cardinal gibbons almost promised to make the northern trip; he would come to copenhagen, it was intimated in a baltimore newspaper. great interest was shown among these agreeable athenians, the cosmopolitan danes. the question of etiquette bothered me; sweden had still remote relations with the holy see, though the catholic religion is still practically proscribed in that country. at least, the king of sweden writes, i think, a letter once a year to his 'cousin,' the pope, or is it to his 'cousins,' the cardinals; but denmark, though very liberal since in its religious attitude, has not such vaguely official relations. i was informed that no cardinal had visited denmark since the reformation. i made inquiries in the proper quarters at once. of course, i might give cardinal gibbons his rank as a prince of the church, and even the most exalted who should go in after him at our dinner would be pleased. he could not come. his one hasty trip to europe, after his friends had raised my hopes of his visiting us, was to be present at the conclave that elected benedict xv. pius x. had died of a broken heart, and the heart of the cardinal was sore and troubled at the horrors thrust upon the world. what he has done to fill our army and navy with courageous men contemporaneous history shows. but the great visit, the epoch, which dulled even the glories of the coming of the atlantic squadron, was that of ex-president roosevelt. to the danes it was almost as if holger dansker, who, as everybody knows, is waiting in the vaults of hamlet's castle at elsinore to protect denmark, had burst into the light. from the european point of view, which took no account of our home politics, ex-president roosevelt was not only the most important figure in america, but in the world, and the most picturesque. even under the new democracy, men will probably count more than nations in the minds of our brethren across the sea. however large collectiveness may loom in the future, there will be some man or other who will show above it, who will be a part greater than the whole. mr. roosevelt had made the panama canal possible; he had succeeded when de lesseps had failed; he had forced, more than any other president before him, the respect of europe; the radicals wanted to greet him because he had curbed the power of the capitalists; kings and prime ministers welcomed him because they--even the kaiser--feared his potentialities. that he would be the next president of the united states nobody in europe doubted. these people were not welcoming, as they thought, a man like general grant, who had merely done a great thing. the american who was coming was not only a man of splendid past, but one with a future that was rising up like thunder. you can imagine the excitement in copenhagen when it was announced that he would pay that city a short visit. from copenhagen he was to go to christiania to make a nobel prize speech. the death of björnson occurred just at this time; it was mourned in both norway and denmark as a national loss; but even this did not affect the reception of the ex-president. 'we would have rejoiced in our sorrow for nobody else,' the norwegian minister said. king frederick viii. had made all his arrangements to go to the riviera; his health was not good. he sent for me; he was doubtful whether the rumours of mr. roosevelt's visit were well founded or not. 'if he comes, this most distinguished citizen of yours, i will see that he is received with the greatest courtesy; i will do as much for him as if he were an emperor. he and his family shall be given the palace of christian vii. during their stay. my son, the crown prince, will go to greet him; i regret, above all things, that i cannot be here.' mr. and mrs. roosevelt came; he saw; he conquered, but mrs. roosevelt won all hearts. the young folks, kermit and ethel, fled from all gaieties and ceremonies and explored the town; if i remember they courted not the smiles of kings and princes; but they searched intensively for specimens of old pewter. mr. roosevelt's trunks did not arrive in time; he and mrs. roosevelt were obliged to wear their travelling clothes. in the long history of court life in denmark this had occurred only once on a gala occasion, and the guest had been her majesty the queen of england, when she was princess of wales. she had accepted the result with the utmost simplicity. mrs. roosevelt, the ladies of the court said, was 'royal' in the charming way in which she accepted this unpleasant accident; she has contradicted practically the stories that american ladies have the plebeian habit of 'fussiness.' the crown princess declared that mrs. roosevelt was 'adorable,' and the crown prince referred to the pleasure of this visit nearly every time, during the last eight years, i met him. 'he is a man,' he said. the marshal of the court arranged the etiquette admirably, and there was not the slightest hitch. some of my colleagues who knew that mr. roosevelt, as an ex-president, had no official rank, wondered how the technical details of the reception of a 'commoner' had been arranged. the court and the foreign office offered all the courtesies usually bestowed on royal highnesses. the legation and the consulate were particularly proud of the decorations of the railway station, and grateful to the minister of commerce who was responsible for them. as usual, admiral de richelieu was both thoughtful and generous. the best part of the programme, the voyage and breakfast on the _queen maud_--we went to elsinore--and a hundred other agreeable details were arranged perfectly by him and commander cold, director of the scandinavian-american line. a great dinner, such as only danes can manage to perfect at short notice, was offered to him by the mayor and the municipality of copenhagen. his speech was eagerly looked for. it charmed the moderates; the extreme socialists, who had claimed him for their own, were disappointed. 'your radicalism is our conservatism,' said chamberlain carl o'neill oxholm. later, we heard that the kaiser was disappointed in mr. roosevelt. this was from one of the berlin court circles. mr. roosevelt (this was said _sub rosa_) had not been too radical, but too frank. after all, there was no reason why a man who had represented the people of one of the greatest nations on earth should be too reverential to the all highest! when mr. roosevelt left denmark, he left an impression of force, of virility, of dignity, of honesty that became part of the history of the country. in loubet, the french ex-president, came with his son paul and a staff of delegates to the international congress of public and private charities. he was very genial and frank--qualities inherited by his son. his conversation was directed to the rapid reconstruction of france after . 'a country that can do that has little to fear,' he said, 'if we can avoid the pitfalls of professional politicians. that may be our difficulty. our enemies are glad that there should be dissensions among us, vital dissensions, not the healthy differences of opinion you have in your country.' 'et "la revanche?"' 'ah, monsieur le ministre,' answered one of his staff, 'how can he speak of that, with the german minister, mr. waldhausen, so near us? he is beckoning to you now. it is not "revanche" we want, but the return of our territory. if that could be done without war! paul, his son, will talk international politics with you, if you like. as to local politics, the royalists do wrong in mixing religion and politics; it forces the hand of the opposition, and makes the attitude of us republicans misunderstood. in spite of all dissensions, france is one at heart; but the voice of the country is not for war. of course, we may have to fight in our colonies.' 'tripoli?' i asked. 'no,' he answered smiling. 'that's the leading question. we must fight as you fought the red indians. we have no fear of war at present--our ways are the ways of peace.' 'naturally,' i answered, 'since the german minister tells me that germany will never fight france unless attacked, and he sees no signs of that.' 'the belgians are growing restless because hamburg is taking all the brazilian coffee trade,' he said, absent-mindedly. 'which means, interpreted,' i answered, 'that we might well look after our interests in brazil.' 'like all frenchmen,' he said, 'i am ignorant of foreign geography, but our ambassador in washington is different; he knows the world, and the united states.' i thanked him; i was always glad to hear frenchmen speak well of mr. jusserand. he deserved all the praise they could give him. 'my friend,' said paul loubet, 'says the world and the united states, which means, i suppose, that europe is one world and the united states another.' 'it almost seems so in europe; but your acquisition of the philippines will probably make you more and more a part of the european world.' 'i am afraid that george washington and lafayette would not have liked this,' said the ex-president. one of the french delegates asked me whether it was true that the germans would try to make terms with us for a cession of some foreign territory for one of the philippine islands. waldhausen was at my elbow; i, smiling, put the question to him. 'it is arcadian,' he said. 'germany never gives up what she holds,' said the frenchman, also smiling. 'otherwise, you might induce her to surrender heligoland to england, for a consideration, with the understanding that england should give it back to denmark.' waldhausen laughed. 'such generosity is too far in advance of our time. i am afraid admiral von tirpitz might object.' von tirpitz, for those behind the scenes in german politics, was much in the public eye. it was well understood that as far as the naval programme was concerned, he was germany. if the seizing of slesvig and the completion of the kiel canal made the german fleet possible, with the acquiring of heligoland, the efforts of admiral von tirpitz had made it a navy. through all the financial difficulties of the german government, difficulties that alone prevented it from attacking france, von tirpitz had held fast to the axiom that germany's future was on the ocean. he was not the kind of marine minister who sticks fast to his desk and 'never goes to sea.' he had become the 'captain of the king's navee' by knowing his business, and, more than that, by studying the caprices of his imperial master's mind, as well as its fixed determination. many times i had been told by candid friends in the diplomatic corps that the german emperor had no respect for our navy, that he knew every ship by heart, that nevertheless, he examined as far as possible any new inventions adopted by our naval experts who were most kind in permitting german naval attachés and experts to examine them. in the coming of the atlantic squadron had excited interest in the naval position of our country. one scarcely ever saw an american flag on the ocean. whatever columbia did or wanted to do, she did not rule the seas; so our flag on the ships of the atlantic squadron was a delight to all americans and somewhat of a surprise to foreigners. at kiel the general impression seemed to be that the atlantic squadron represented our whole navy! the kaiser and von tirpitz knew better, of course. privately the kaiser expressed his amusement at our attempt to build warships--he and von tirpitz had secrets of their own. however, america was important enough to be given a sedative until his designs on france and russia were completed. one might suspect this, then; but who could believe it! my correspondents in germany--people who know are wonderful helps to a man in the diplomatic service--concerned themselves largely with von tirpitz and general von freytag-loringhoven. von tirpitz was the german navy and the very intelligent writings of general the baron von freytag-loringhoven made us almost think that he was the army. 'is he related to freytag?' i had asked. 'what, the novelist?' 'the author of _debit and credit_?' i added. 'certainly not; he is one of the greatest of the baltic baronial families.' if i had asked a bourbon, in the reign of louis xiv., whether he was related to crébillon, he could not have been more shocked. von freytag-loringhoven cut a great figure in berlin. he had russian affiliations, being of a baltic family; his father had been well known in diplomacy. he knew russia as well as he knew germany; he was technical and experienced, and his writings were supposed to give indications of the ideas of the general staff. the russians in copenhagen talked much of von freytag-loringhoven. i must repeat that, in interesting myself in german personalities, i was not considering them in relation to the future of my own country. there were some among my friends, like james brown scott--men of foresight--who seemed to have a wider vision. i was interested because i feared that the autonomy of a little nation was at stake, and because the absorption of that little nation would mean the assumption of the danish antilles. that germany had consulted russia about a question to make war with england a pretext for seizing denmark, we suspected. the end of the japanese war had curbed russia's eastern ambition for a time. how were we to be sure that the baltic and the north sea might not, under german tutelage, attract her? if von freytag-loringhoven's utterances were to be taken seriously, it was evident that war was in the air; and why was von tirpitz building up the german navy? the distributors of rumours in denmark said that all hopes of a scandinavian confederacy were to be ended by a quarrel with england, a move on france, and the division of scandinavia into two parts, one nominally russian, the other, denmark, to be actually german, while norway should gradually be terrorised into submission. this shows how excited public opinion was. the german propaganda spread pleasant reports of the peaceful intentions of the kaiser, the crown prince, and the personages in power in germany. above all, we were told how charming the crown princess cecilia was, and how potent her influence would be in warding off any attempts of the pan-germans on denmark, even if germany and england should fly at each other's throats. people in the court circle, who knew how little royal family alliances count to-day in actual politics, admitted that the crown princess was most charming and sympathetic; she is the sister of the queen of denmark, and she had become as german as it was possible for the daughter of a russian mother to be. her sister, queen alexandrina, had become thoroughly danish, but then her tendencies had always been towards democracy and the simplicities of life. the german news vendors alternately praised the crown prince and depreciated him. if he were violent, it was against the wishes of his father--he was a second prince hal trying on the imperial crown. as a rule, however, he was brought out of the background to show his virtues. on several occasions he had evinced more knowledge of what was going on than his father. this was notable in the eulenberg scandal, when he fearlessly laid bare a horrible ulcer which was beginning to eat into the heart of the army. on this subject he and max harden, of the _zukunft_, were in amazing alliance. whatever may be said of the crown prince's political ambitions--and we believed and do believe that they meant world conquest--he is very much of a man. in , it was understood that he would not condescend to wear the peace-mask that seemed to conceal his father's face. dr. von bethmann-hollweg, the chancellor, was temporising as usual. the moroccan affair led to nothing because germany's financial backers were not ready for war. the chancellor was attacked by von heydebrand; the danish press gave graphic accounts of the scene when the crown prince, from the royal box, applauded every insult that the powerful junker heaped on the chancellor, who was merely the tool of the kaiser. it was the time of the emperor to temporise; the time had not come to strike; germany was not rich enough. russia was still doubtful. france, in the imperial opinion, was not sufficiently corrupted, and the dissensions between ulster and the rest of ireland had not yet reached that poisonous growth which, in that opinion, would force mutiny and sedition to poison the english. the crown prince probably, in his frankness, voiced more than his own inner sentiments. at any rate, to us near the frontier, it seemed so. however, the incident was used to the credit of the crown prince. fair and open dealing for him! england might interfere in morocco and other places to prevent his country from taking a place 'in the sun'; but let us have it out! in the secret councils of the social democrats was the hope that, if a hohenzollern must succeed the kaiser, it would not be the crown prince. in spite of his amiabilities and his apparently youthful point of view of life--though there were fewer indiscretions to his credit than are generally attributed to crown princes--it was known that he was military to the core, and that in his time the soldier of the world would never lack employment. while the kaiser was constantly insisting that more soldiers and more sailors and krupp von bohlen's newest instruments of destruction were pawns in the game of peace, his son made no pretence of agreeing with him. clever or not, he had held that a straight line was the shortest way from one given point to another. and the zabern incident and several others showed that the crown prince meant, when his chance came, to make war after the napoleonic method and to exalt the sword above the pen and the ploughshare. the social democrats in denmark were not flattered when he said that 'one day the social democrats would go to court!' but he was right; they went to court as their old emperor went to carrossa, when they accepted the war! the german writers said, too, that in france his admiration for napoleon endeared him to the french. if he appeared in paris, he would be as popular as king edward of england was when he was prince of wales! 'who knows,' one of their writers said, 'he may make the hopes of the duke de reichstadt his own, and live to see them fulfilled'? i called the attention of an austrian friend to this. this gentleman, high in favour in , but somewhat gloomed in , owing to a _bon mot_, said: 'but the french remember that the heir of napoleon, who might have completed his father's conquests, was the son of an austrian mother.' he was _gemütlich_, like his grandfather, they said, and how sweetly amiable to the american ladies who had married into the superior race! more than one titled american hoped to be saved from the position of morganaticism in the future through the kindness of his imperial highness. but the fixity of will has been underrated. napoleon tried to conquer europe; his eyes were on the kingdoms of solomon and of the jewelled monarchs of the east. why he failed, the crown prince believed he had discovered. there was no reason, therefore, why a prussian napoleon might not succeed, and no necessity to repeat the defeats of moscow and waterloo. the prince would begin by fighting waterloo first and then putting russia out of commission! in mr. frederick wile, then correspondent of the london _daily mail_, wrote: 'he is the idol of the german army almost to a greater degree than his father. his _hunting diary_ is amusing. he writes of his sympathy with his 'sainted' ancestor frederick the great, in the dictum that everybody should be allowed to pursue happiness and salvation in his own sweet way.' holy moses! * * * * * it was not difficult to get near to the characters of the important men in power in germany. a night's run took one to berlin, and at flensberg, a few hours from our legation, one could see the german war vessels. there were constant visits of germans of distinction; prince eitel friedrich often came in his yacht, and the waldhausens--madame waldhausen was a belgian--were constantly entertaining guests of all countries. princess harald, the wife of prince harold, brother of the king of denmark, attracted many germans, with whom she was in sympathy. at court very few germans appeared, unless they were of high official rank. both king christian x. and the queen seemed to prefer to speak english, and nothing irritated the king, who speaks english and french and german well, more than any attempt on the part of a diplomatist to speak to him in danish. it is best, i think, for diplomatists at court to use french. one is always more guarded in speaking a foreign language, but every member of the danish court spoke english and seemed to like it. prince valdemar and the princess marie always spoke english in their family. prince valdemar's french was not so good as his english, and, in the beginning, the princess marie found the learning of danish slow work, and she had, during the exile of her family in england, become entirely at home in the english language. prince axel, their son, who recently visited america as the guest of the american navy, spoke english admirably. like all his family, he is in love with freedom. nevertheless, german was much spoken in denmark, and the intercourse between the two countries close. the point of view of germany, or, rather, the germans, was better understood in denmark than perhaps in any other country, the more so because the danes, naturally satirical and entirely disillusioned as to the altruism of great european nations, looked with clear eyes at the progress, or, rather, the evolution of germany. whatever progress germany had made, many of them, like the learned dr. gudmund schütte, who reluctantly agreed that the reconquest of slesvig would be 'to commit suicide in order to escape death,' never seemed to utter a word of german without remembering the loss of their provinces. the most astonishing things were the intellectual greatness and exact training of the german thinkers and doers, and, at the same time, their lack of independence. with the outside world, as far as one could gather from the press and conversations with the english, french and americans--though my fellow countrymen, as a rule, showed little interest in foreign affairs--it was plain that the german political parties were supposed to be static: the conservatives junkerish, the centrists intensely catholic, following the slightest signal of the pope, the socialists devoted to the ideas of bebel, and the liberal-nationalists fixed in their opinion that a moderate constitutional monarchy was to be, in germany, the solution of all problems. we knew better than that in denmark. through the whole catholic world the german propagandists spread the opinion that the centre party was strictly 'denominational.' nothing could be more untrue. the traditions of windthorst, who had boldly defined to bismarck the difference between what was due to christ and what to cæsar, were rapidly disappearing. the fiction remained that the centre was constantly opposing the policy of the emperor, when at every session of the reichstag, the centre became more and more 'political' and more subservient to the designs of the government. one could see the changing policy in the pages of the _social democrat_, the socialist organ in denmark. the danish socialists were always influenced by their german brethren; but destructive socialism finds, up to the present time, no place in the social democratic scheme, and this is due, not only to the danish temperament, but to the dislike on the part of social democrats to the growing power of syndicalism. the leaders of the socialists and of the centrists are not great men. of the centre, which had rightfully boasted of windthorst and mallinkrot as the opponents of ultra-imperialism, hertling and erzberger were the most important. all germany recognised the intellectual ability of hertling. baron von hertling, professor of the university of munich, represented apparently everything that the fashionable prussian philosophical system did not. 'glory is the only religion of great men' is a doctrine he abhors; philosophically, he is the direct enemy of kant and hegel, above all, of nietzsche and schopenhauer. nobody denies those qualities of mind that had made his name as well known philosophically in learned circles as that of cardinal mercier. he had been prime minister of bavaria, and he, of all men, might have been expected to see the abyss to which imperialism was tending. it was easy, in denmark, to perceive that, in the reichstag, all parties--there were some individual exceptions, like liebknecht--had begun to be slaves of the emperor as represented by his subservient grand-viziers, the chancellors. both the centre, from which much was expected, and the mixed party, called the social democrats, from which stronger resistance to imperialism had been hoped, gradually became the upholders of the doctrine of conquest. erzberger, of the centre, is a later development of the change that took place in the attitude of hertling. with lieber and spahn, veteran politicians, the centre position became one of compromise. the centre had managed to grow stronger and stronger after the _kulturkampf_, against which it had started as a party of defence. matthias erzberger, who had begun as a school teacher, wisely chose the centre party as a road to power. he has gained step by step by his unconquerable audacity. in even the chancellor seemed to fear him. he is a bold speculator, and his rivals, even in his own party, predicted that he would come to grief through his napoleonic idea of finance. from the parties in the reichstag became more and more imperialistic, the prussian tone more and more insolent as regards foreign countries. the _cameraderie_ of the kaiser at times, his fits of arrogant indiscretion--checked suddenly after the 'interviews' of --continued to give us 'lookers-on in vienna' grave concern. in spite of the encomiums made by nearly all my best european friends--many of them english--and all my compatriots who had been received at court, we in denmark distrusted the kaiser. i must say that my danish friends, except the chamberlain and madame de hegermann-lindencrone, seldom praised him. to them he had been most courteous. i remembered that the most chivalrous of men, hegermann-lindencrone, never would speak ill of a sovereign to whose court he had been accredited. count carl moltke, a good dane, never, even in confidence, allowed a word of censure to pass his lips when the kaiser was mentioned by his critics; i often wondered what he thought! as to the emperor francis joseph, i had reason to have a great respect and affection for him--even of gratitude. it is the fashion to tear his reputation to pieces now, a fashion that will pass. at any rate, even his detractors will be glad to hear the story that, when the war broke out and he was ill and very drowsy, one of his chamberlains said, 'our army is in the field, sire!' 'fighting those damned prussians again!' he said, contentedly; and went to sleep again! he liked france, but he disliked the french government. 'your president,' he said to a distinguished french sailor, with a touch of contempt, 'is a bourgeois!' he did not mean a 'commoner'--with him 'bourgeois' implied a man who was not a soldier; and the emperor could not understand that a european country should be well ruled by a man who could not himself take the field; at any time, the emperor would have gladly taken it against these 'prussian parvenus,' i am sure. more and more, the representatives of the stolen provinces, like slesvig and alsace-lorraine, became disheartened by their weakness in the reichstag. the representatives of poland received no political support from the centre; yet these poles were ardent catholics, and their representative, prince radziwell, made eloquent speeches. the delegates from alsace-lorraine, the abbé wetterlé being the most audacious, were as little regarded as 'hans peter,' h. p. hanssen, the one danish representative in the reichstag. if the centre had not posed as catholic, which implied, if not an unusual regard for the liberties of the oppressed, at least a certain christian charity for the persecuted, censure might have been silent. if the socialists had not been the open and apparently unrelenting opponents of political oppression, the good samaritan might have tried to succour their victims, while reflecting that the robbers who had inflicted the wound were at least not hypocrites; but here were von hertling and martin spahn and groeber and the rest of the centre, who knew what the tyranny of bismarck had meant; here were the followers of the later bebel--willing to join the centrists on many political questions, the friends of the imperial autocracy! here were two groups, antagonistic and irreconcilable in principle, but both united when it was expedient to support plans of world conquest! the centre still used religion as a tool to uphold the government. the pope and the kaiser were as antagonistic on many questions as popes and kaisers have ever been since christianity was imperfectly accepted by the teutons. windthorst, a great man of the type of o'connell, but greater, had forced bismarck to revoke some of the infamous may laws in . still, certain german citizens, the members of the congregation of the redemptionists, were exiled. the centre protested--for effect. the jesuits were at last admitted on condition that they were not allowed to speak in the churches, and that under no circumstances should they be permitted to speak in public on religious subjects. prince von bülow publicly admitted that there was a lack of toleration shown to catholics, and there were certain parts of germany in which professors of the catholic faith were still under disabilities. the question of the admission of the jesuits and the other religious congregations ought to have been considered as justly as it would have been in the united states. the centrists' representatives gave the impression of being violently interested in the preservation of the rights of german citizens to preach and teach any doctrines that were not immoral or seditious, and then, at a breath from the government, allowed these priests to be treated as the danish lutheran pastors were treated in slesvig.[ ] [ ] 'my old commander, the late general field-marshal freiheer von loë, a good prussian and a good catholic, once said to me that, in this respect, matters would not improve until the well-known principle of french law "_que la recherche de la paternité était interdite_" is changed to "_la recherche du confessional était interdite_."'--von bülow: _imperial germany_, p. . i am not writing from the point of view of any creed at this moment, but only from that of a democracy which encourages reasonable freedom of speech, the use of equal opportunities, and preserves to everybody alike the free exercise of his religion. the centre has shown as little sympathy with democracy of this kind as the socialists. the latter party deserve no sympathy from any class of americans. their methods are, as worked out in denmark and germany, admirable. religious bodies, interested in actively loving their neighbours as themselves, have much to learn from them, but the german socialists played a worse part during the war than benedict arnold in our revolution. they did not act the part of judas only because they never acknowledged christ. the bane of every civilised country seems to be party politics. after theological hatreds, the ordinary variety of political hatreds and compromises is the worst. the centre has become corrupt and time-serving, the socialists expedient and slavish, all because the imperial head, the chancellor, could scatter the spoils! chapter x a portent in the air 'this is the first page of my diary and the last,' wrote william h. seward. 'one day's record satisfies me that, if i should every day set down my hasty impressions, based on half information, i should do injustice to everybody around me and to none more than my intimate friends.' this is true; and, when suspicion seemed to reign everywhere, after august , and one's private papers were never safe, in spite of the fidelity of our servants--and no strangers were ever blessed with better servants than my wife and i--it became all the more necessary not to put down explicitly the day's talk. and the colleagues were very frank--except when their foreign officers instructed them to say something for export. if we were at the end of the world, i might give daily conversations that would have a certain interest, but probably some persons whom i have the honour to call friends, and even intimate friends, might be misunderstood. a diplomatic corps in a city like copenhagen is one large family, and in copenhagen the court treats its members, who are sympathetic, with unusual courtesy, and, at every fitting opportunity, makes them of the royal circle, which is a very cosy and cheerful one. the years , , and were eventful ones, not because things happened, but because things were about to happen. it was a period of unrest. the diplomatic conversations at this time occupied themselves with the position of germany. henckel-donnersmarck had gone to weimar, much to my regret. he was supposed to have retired to private life because the kaiser did not find his reports minute enough, but, knowing him, it seemed to me that he was glad to be out of a position which bored him thoroughly, and which exacted of him duties that he did not care to fulfil. denmark was becoming more and more socialistic, and even the conservatives were so extremely 'advanced,' that count henckel found himself rather out of place. he made no country-house visits in the summer, and gave dinners in the winter only when he could not help it. beyond certain conversations with me on political subjects already mentioned, he did not go. literature and the simpler aspects of life interested him--children especially. we amused ourselves by mapping out the career of his son, leo, a very young person of marked individualistic qualities. for impressions of germany and austria, one had to go to other sources. the upheaval in germany caused by the kaiser's disregard of public opinion in had caused most of my colleagues some concern. nobody wanted war. the austrians and the russians alike were horrified at the thought of it. in there had been rumours of grave events; count ehrenthal had announced privately to some bankers that 'war was evitable.' count szechenyi, the austrian-hungarian, a lover of peace, if there ever was one, met me one day on the steps of the foreign office, in a state of trepidation. mr. michel bibikoff, of the russian legation, had seen me several times on the subject of the possible conflict, academically and personally, of course, as our government was supposed to have no great interest in war in europe. a speech made by mr. alexander konta, whose son, geoffrey, was one of the best private secretaries i ever had, put me on the track (mr. konta, an american of hungarian birth, had been conducting some financial affairs in his native country). i suspected there would be no war since count ehrenthal had announced to the financiers that there would be war. in my opinion, it was a question of the fall or rise of stocks. count de beaucaire, the french minister, was intensely interested; a flame lit in the balkans might involve france. the english minister, sir alan johnstone, seemed to take matters more calmly; we all expected his foreign office to send him to vienna, and his calmness was a sedative. he, a prospective ambassador, was supposed to know something of conditions, but count szechenyi discovered that he was nervous, too. it struck me that it was rather absurd for me not to know something definite. there was an old friend, deep in the diplomatic secrets of the vatican, who knew the balkans well, who disliked russia as much as he suspected germany. it was easy to get an opinion from him because he knew i would use it with discretion. there was a clever old hanoverian noble, much in the secrets of the court at berlin, and there was frederick wile in berlin, who knew many things. when count szechenyi, rather pale, came up the stairs of the foreign office, and said, 'my god! there will be war!' 'no,' i answered, 'it is settled--there will be no war. i give you my word of honour.' 'you are sure?' 'i have just told bibikoff, and he is delighted.' i have been grateful many times to frederick wile, who was once a student of mine, but that day i was more grateful than ever, for war _is_ hell and i was glad to relieve my friends' minds. that night there was a _cercle_ at court. king frederick viii., the most affable of kings, greatly interested in the danes in america, had been praising count carl moltke, who had shown a great interest in the americans of danish blood; it was an interesting subject. to speak well of count moltke, who had the good taste to marry an american, is always a genuine pleasure, though, i believe, he would have left washington if the sale of the danish west indies had been mooted in his time. then the king said, 'your country is fortunate not to be entangled in european affairs. there is talk of war. as the american minister, you have no interest, except a humanitarian one, in a european war; you do not trouble yourself about the question seriously.' i bowed, being discreet, i hope. suddenly a deep voice, audible everywhere, called out: 'but egan told szechenyi that the propositions had been accepted, and there will be no war.' the king turned to me; i was not especially desirous of admitting that i had been making investigations, and still less desirous of revealing my sources of information. before the king could ask a question, sir alan johnstone cut in, just behind me, 'from whom did you hear it?' 'from a journalist,' i answered, remembering frederick wile. 'it will be in the papers to-morrow, then,' said the king. i was relieved. i should have hesitated to appear to have shown such interest to the king as my mention of the other authorities might have revealed. it was announced later, but not in the next day's papers. however, the apprehension still remained. the kaiser was for peace--yes!--but on his own terms. the one objection to mr. seward's dictum on the exact keeping of journals is that the writer, after the facts--unrelated and distorted as they are each day--are seen in the light of experience, the diarist finds it only too easy to prophesy for the public, because now he _knows_. this is a temptation; but, as i look back, i must confess that in , in spite of the anxiety of my colleagues, germany seemed mainly important as regards her attitude to the sale of the danish east indies to us. lord salisbury's trade of zanzibar for heligoland was always in my mind. the correspondence of mr. john hay and other investigations had led me to believe that the failure of the proposed sale in - had been caused by german opposition. i was, i must confess, glad to see the friendliness between germany and the united states. i knew rather well that it could never grow very deep; the german point of view of the monroe doctrine was too fixed for that. i knew, too, that if the very radical and socialistic parties in denmark continued to grow, the island must be sold, and likewise that, if the united states and germany were unfriendly, the social democrats, who were too near their german brethren not to be in sympathy with their brethren, might turn the scale in favour of retaining the islands. the eyes of my colleagues were on germany; mine were also, but for different reasons. while they feared that germany might want some of their territory--we knew that, in spite of the triple alliance germany and austria were one, italy always being an 'outsider'--i was anxious to save from germany islands that might be hers if she should absorb denmark. i confess, with repentant tears, if you will, i had not the slightest belief in the disinterestedness, when it came to a question of territory, of any nation, except our own--and that might have its limitations! in august , i was very glad to go to visit the raben-levitzaus. one reason was that the count and countess raben-levitzau are among the most cosmopolitan and interesting people in europe; another was, that chamberlain and madame hegermann-lindencrone were to be at the castle of aalholm. raben-levitzau had been minister of foreign affairs. he had married miss moulton, one of the most beautiful ladies in europe and the daughter of madame hegermann-lindencrone by her first marriage. hegermann-lindencrone had been minister to washington when i was at georgetown college doing some philosophical work under father guida and father carroll; but i had been permitted to go into society occasionally and the fame of hegermann-lindencrone was just beginning. mutual acquaintances and memories established a friendship, and i came to know him as one of the cleverest, most farseeing and kind of diplomatists. if he has an enemy in the world, that enemy must be one of the few human beings worthy of eternal damnation! the conversation is always good at aalholm. raben-levitzau was rather depressed; he was out of public life, which he loved. he had gone out in with the j. c. christensen ministry, owing to the fact that alberti, the minister of justice, had been found guilty of some inexcusable manipulation of the public money. alberti, with the rest of the reigning ministry had been invited to the wedding of my daughter patricia, in september . he very courteously declined, giving as a reason that he was 'engaged'; he went to jail on that day. he was a polite man. raben-levitzau resigned through the most delicate sentiment of honour, in spite of the remonstrances of his friends. i found him not against the sale, though he seemed to regards it as very improbable. he felt that the danes had ceased to practise the art--if they ever had it--of ruling colonies, and, i think, that the tremendous expenses of the socialistic régime in denmark, where the poor are practically supported in all difficulties by state funds, would render improvements in distant possessions almost impossible. sentimentally he would hate to see the red and the white of the dannebrog cease to fly amid the flags of holland, of england, of france, on the other side of the atlantic. hegermann-lindencrone was frankly for the sale, though it was not then in question. i asked about germany's design on denmark, rumours of which were in everybody's mouth. he--he was still danish minister in berlin--said that, since the completion of the kiel canal, germany had no reason for assuming denmark. this was reassuring. nevertheless, when one caught the reflections of german opinion in denmark, one became surer than ever that the new empire was not inclined to accept the isolation which european politicians were apparently forcing on her. hegermann-lindencrone and his wife were favourites at the german court; the kaiser made a point of signalising his regard for them. madame hegermann was by birth an american, a greenough of cambridge, massachusetts, and never for a moment does she forget it, though she has borrowed from the best european society all the cultivation it could give her, in addition to her natural talent and charm. the kaiser showed his best side to the hegermann-lindencrones, and they believed that personally he had no evil designs on the peace of the world. as a dane, hegermann-lindencrone's task at berlin had not been easy, with discontent in slesvig always threatening to break out, although for a time he had, as secretary of legation, eric de scavenius, who knew germany as well as denmark, who was as patriotically firm as he was humanly genial. he seemed to think that the sale of the islands in had failed because the sum offered was comparatively small, others because of the governmental scandals, and of the opposition of the princess marie and the east asiatic company. this was interesting; he did not believe that either the german government of that time or the industrials, like herr ballin, were against it--in fact, german interests on the islands, especially those of the hamburg-american line, were deemed as safe in the hands of the americans as those of the danes. the time was, however, not ripe for taking up the question; national opinion was against it, and the great danish industrials, like etatsraad andersen, admiral de richelieu, commander cold, holger petersen and others had not yet had their opportunity of testing the national feeling. as far as i could see in , england and france gave the matter no consideration, though, to his horror, i occasionally informed the count de beaucaire that an attempt on our part might be made to buy martinique and jamaica and curaçoa, unless the danish islands could be linked into our belt. 'if i thought you were serious, i should oppose you with all my might!' he said. the south american representatives showed indifference when i mentioned the gallapagos islands. the buying of islands was a fixed idea with me, and i liked to talk about it. diplomatic opinion was inclined to treat the prospect as chimerical, but it was evident that neither sweden nor norway liked it. however, as i have said, the time had not come. i discovered that, when it came to the matter of patent laws, etc., denmark could not act without the example of germany, and i gathered from this, that, when the time should come, germany might expect to have something to say. in the meantime, there were other questions to study, but somehow or other all of them seemed to hinge on germany's attitude. she was the sphinx of europe. it was in june, , that the atlantic squadron stopped at denmark on its way to germany. admiral badger, suave and sympathetic, was in command. the four war vessels made a great effect, but the officers and sailors a greater. before they left for kiel--it was a visit of courtesy to the german navy--the officers gave various dances on board, and the decorum, the elegance, and, above all, the good manners and good dancing of these gentlemen were praised even by those who had been led to believe that most 'yankees' were crude and unpolished. king frederick expressed to me most cordially the honour done his nation by the visit, and was very much amused by the flattering attentions paid by the american sailors at tivoli to the danish girls. 'i saw them myself!' he said. he was delighted by the 'tenue' of the officers, and complimented by the enthusiasm of the sailors, who had apparently taken a great fancy to him. after one of the receptions given by the american officers, the equerry who had been appointed to look after the admiral and his immediate suite, came to me in great perplexity. he held in his hand a little box. 'i am in difficulty,' he said, 'and i have come to ask you to help me out of it. his majesty has received several letters from the american sailors, and there is one which especially amused him. it seems that he pleased the men by asking for the scandinavians in your navy. a sailor thanks him for this, addressing him as 'dear king,' declaring that the men like copenhagen so much that they beg his majesty to induce the admiral to stay a few days longer. of course, his majesty cannot do that, but he has asked me to give the little medal in this box to the sailor. i am told that is against the rules, which seem to be very strict. i really cannot tell the king that i have not given the medal to the worthy sailor; you know the king's kindness of heart. i am at my wit's end, so i appeal to you. it seems so difficult to arrange without infringing upon the discipline.' 'it is easy enough,' i said. 'when in a quandary of this kind, call in the church.' we found the chaplain, and the amiable frederick viii. received a note of gratitude, addressed 'dear king.' the french and the russians were especially interested in the coming of the squadron, but it was made rather evident that the germans would have preferred that the warships might have gone directly to kiel. to stop at copenhagen and stockholm was looked on as rather tarnishing the compliment to the imperial master. there were several private intimations that i had arranged it with a view to making the danes feel that the united states admired their qualities and desired to stimulate their national ambition. 'it was as if the magi had concluded to visit a lesser monarch on their way to bethlehem,' said a sarcastic dane i met at oxholm's château of rosenfeldt; 'the ultra-imperialists hold you responsible for it.' i replied that it was a great honour to be mistaken for providence! the few pro-german writers on the danish press rejoiced at the compliment the united states was showing germany; the press itself was delighted. there were always some sarcastic paragraphs in the danish papers, the result of a german propaganda which allowed nothing good in any other nation. these took the form of slight sneers at the gaiety of our sailors and their open-handedness. the response was indignantly made that american sailors were the only sailors in the world who had too much to spend--and they spent this largely in racing about in taxi-cabs, the cheapness of which amazed them. there were rumours of depredation made by our men among the beautiful flower beds in the kongens nytor. i investigated them. there was not one valid case. what did the visit of the squadron to kiel mean? germany again! were we afraid of the kaiser? was an alliance to be made between the two great nations? where did england come in? it was an arrangement, offensive and defensive, against japan? the united states would cede the philippines to germany, to save those islands from the yellow peril? 'germany and the united states would drive the english from the atlantic, control the pacific, and rule the world'--this was part of a toast drunk by some enthusiastic german-americans at a dinner in the hotel bristol, which, fortunately, i had refused to attend. from a diplomatic point of view, when in doubt, one always ought to refuse a public dinner. dinners are more dangerous to diplomatists than bombs! my son, gerald, now in france, arranged a glorious game of baseball between two of the crews of the squadron. some of the american colony said it was 'educational.' the danes, although mr. cavling, editor of _politiken_, gave a valuable silver vase to the winner, seemed to look on it that way rather than as an amusement. the visit of the _north carolina_, the _louisiana_, the _kansas_ and the _new hampshire_ made an epoch, to which americans could always allude with justifiable pride. prince hans, the 'uncle of europe,' the elder brother of frederick viii., our neighbour, was very ill at the time of the visit. the dances put on the programme of a cotillion, to be directed by mr. william kay wallace, then secretary of legation, were, of course, cancelled. prince hans, dying as he was, sent an attendant to the legation, to thank my wife for her courtesy. there was great fear that his highness would die, and thus force us to cancel our own gala dinner, and naturally put an end to all festivities on the part of the court and the navy. 'my uncle will not die until everything is over,' said prince gustav; 'he is too polite!' he was. he died just before the dinner given by king frederick and queen louise, but the news of his death was kept back by his own request, until the dinner was over and the 'cercle' had begun; then the sad news began to be whispered. in the english and russian squadrons appeared in the sound. this occasioned uneasiness. some of the danes asked 'did it mean a protest against the presumed alliance between the united states and germany? or was it an intimation to germany that england and russia had their eyes on germany? as to the second question, i had no answer; as to the first, i laughed, and translated into my best danish that such an alliance would come when 'the sea gives up its dead.' it was a curious allusion to make, in the light of horrible events that had not yet occurred; i think i got it out of one of jean ingelow's poems. by comparison with the glitter and gaiety of the americans, both the english and russians seemed sad, and their officers rather bored, too. tea and cakes and conversation were no compensation in the eyes of the danes, who love to dance, for the american naval bands and the claret punch of admiral badger's men--the navy was 'wet' then! i have no doubt, however, that the english chargé d'affaires and the russian minister, were not obliged to see so many lovelorn damsels, asking for the addresses or for news of various sailor men, to whom they were engaged or expected to be. _calypso ne pouvait pas consoler_--for a time; but one or two marriages did actually occur! the dancing of the american officers, and the weather had been so 'marvellous'! how these enterprising sailor men managed to engage themselves to young persons who spoke no english and understood no language but danish it was difficult to understand. they had lost no time, however, but i left the problem to the consulate. the officers had been more discreet. many times before the english and russian ships left the sound, the question, what will the germans do now? was asked. the copenhageners, as i have said, like the old athenians, are much given to the repeating of new things. 'now all the athenians and strangers that were there' (the danes call diplomatists 'strangers') 'employed themselves in nothing else but either in telling or in hearing some new things,' says st. luke. this makes copenhagen a most amusing place, though, unlike the athenians, the danes only talk of new things in their moments of leisure. one day just before the english and russian vessels left, the question as to what germany would do was answered. a zeppelin from berlin sailed over the masts of the english and russian ships. copenhagen was indignant, but amused. we were invited to take the trip back to berlin in the zeppelin--the fare was one hundred kroner, or rather marks. what could be more pacific? but the zeppelin continued to float majestically, by preference over that space in the sound occupied by the english and russians. was it a threat? was it a notice served to these possible enemies that germany had more powerful instruments, more insidious, more deadly, than even the great gun of the _lion_ which we had admired so much? it was a portent in the sky! i reported it to my government. it seemed significant enough. chapter xi the preliminaries to the purchase of the danish antilles the more i studied the relations of germany to denmark, the more important it seemed to me that a great nation like ours, bound by the most solemn oaths to the vindication of the cause of liberty and even to the protection of the little nations, should have a special interest in a country which deserved our respect and sympathy. as i have said, the danes never for a moment forgot the loss of slesvig, and never ceased to fear the mightily growing power of which that loss had been the foundation. if germany, whose future was on the sea, had not acquired slesvig, would kiel and the good danish sailors she acquired with slesvig, have been possible as a means of her aggrandisement? danish diplomatists seemed to think that germany, now that she had created the kiel canal, had no further designs on denmark, whom the pan-germans continued, however, to call, 'our northern province.' this was the opinion of hegermann-lindencrone, of raben-levitzau, and i have heard a similar opinion credited to the present danish minister at berlin, count carl moltke, though he did not express it to me. my old friend, count holstein-ledreborg, was not altogether of that opinion. 'in case of war with england, denmark would be seized by our neighbour, naturally,' he said; 'unless we go carefully we are doomed to absorption.' count holstein-ledreborg knew germany well. he had lived in that country for many years, having shaken the dust of his native land from his soles because many of his friends and relatives--in fact, nearly all the aristocratic class in denmark--had practically turned their backs on him on account of his political liberalism. this he told me. he had returned, with his family, to his beautiful estate at ledreborg, and, for a short time, became prime minister, in order to do what seemed impossible--to unite the factions in parliament in favour of a bill for the defence of the kingdom. against england? england had no designs. against russia? russia was allied to france, and she could hardly join hands with germany. the intentions of the kaiser? but the kaiser seemed to be a peaceful opportunist. even the acute lord morley had more than once, in conversation, put him down as a lover of peace; but--there was always a 'but' and the general staff of the german army! study the personality of the important personages as one might, there were always these things to be considered as obstacles to clear vision:--the growing corruption of principle in the reichstag and among the german people, if hamburg represented them, and the point of view of the military caste. in the increasing riches--the thirst for money had become a veritable passion--of the german people seemed to indicate that one of the principal obstacles to aggression which would involve war was being rapidly removed. the difference between the american desire for money and the german was, as i was often compelled to point out, that, while the german desired great possessions to have and to hold, the american wanted them in order to use them; and, in spite of the industrious 'muck rakers,' it was evident that our enormously rich men were not hoarding their wealth for the sake of greed and selfish power as the german rich were doing. possibly, as our government does nothing for art or for music or for the people in need, there is a greater necessity for private benevolence than in countries where the government subsidises even the opera. nevertheless, the fact remains; the european rich man hoarded more than the american. and germany, in spite of the extravagance of berlin and the great cities, was hoarding. it was a bad sign for the world. of slesvig, prince bismarck said in , 'dat möt wi hebben.' he was terribly in earnest, and he spoke in his own low german. at any moment, the kaiser might say of denmark, 'her must we have.' but how foolish this statement must seem to the pacifists and all the more foolish in the mind of a minister who ought not to be carried away by rumour or guesses or to be determined by anything but the exact truth! it would have been foolish if, in , a serious man behind the scenes could have trusted any country in the european concert to act in any way that was not for its own national ends. a damaging confession this, but the truth is the truth. we all know how amazed some statesmen were when president roosevelt refused the chinese spoil, when cuba was restored, and promises to the filipinos began to be kept. if denmark should be 'assumed,' the danish antilles would be the property of the nation that 'assumed' it. as it was apparently to the interest of the pan-germans to keep the danes in suspense, and, as most of the danes distrusted the intentions of their neighbours, it was not well to assume that there was smoke and no fire. besides, were there not other powers who might find it to their advantage to prevent the danish west indies from falling into our hands? we were not, from to , in such a state of security as we imagined, in spite of our system of peace treaties. _dans les coulisses_ of all countries, there was a certain amount of cynicism as to the effect of these peace treaties, and very little belief, except among the international lawyers, that anything binding or serious had been accomplished by them. after all, my business was to hoe my own row, but i listened with great respect to such men as my colleague, now the norwegian minister at stockholm, mr. francis hagerup, and other legal-minded men. however, i determined to make the task of saving the islands from 'assimilation' as easy as possible for my successor or his successor. i hoped, of course, for the chance of doing something worth while for the country seemed to be mine, and president wilson--i shall always be most grateful to him--gave me the happiness of doing humbly what i could. in i found that the irritation caused by the attitude of our government in the matter of the islands had not worn away. the majority of the danes had really never wanted to sell the islands. 'why should a great country like yours want to force us to sell the danish antilles? you pretend to be democratic, but you are really imperialists. it is not a question of money with us; it is a question of honour. your country has approached us only on the side of money--and when you knew that our poverty consented.' this was the substance of conservative opinion. there was a widespread distrust, especially among the upper classes in denmark, as to our intentions. the title of a brochure written by james parton in was often quoted against us, for the danes have long memories. it was entitled _the danish west indies: are we bound in honour to pay for them?_ 'an arrogant nation, no longer democratic' because we had seized the philippines! it must be said that a minister desiring to make a good impression on the people had little help from the press at home. foreign affairs were treated as of no real importance in the organs of what is called our popular opinion. the american point of view, as so well understood over all the world now, was not explained; but sensational stories describing the exaggerated splendours of our millionaires, frightful tales of lynching in the south, the creation of an american versailles on staten island, which would make the sun king in the shades grow pale with envy, the luxuries of american ladies, were invariably reproduced in the danish papers. president roosevelt was looked upon as the one idealist in a nation mad for money, and even he had a tremendous fall in the estimation of the radicals when he spoke of a conservative democracy in copenhagen. it was necessary to overcome a number of prejudices which were constantly being fostered, partly by our own estimate of ourselves as presented by the scandinavian papers in extracts from our own. then, again, the real wealth of our people, our art and literature--which count greatly in denmark--were practically unknown. everything seemed to be against us. the press was either contemptuous or condescending; we were not understood. it is true that nearly every family in denmark had some representative in the united states, but their representatives were, as a rule, hard-working people, who had no time to give to the study of the things of the mind among us. in spite of all their misconceptions, which i proposed to dissipate to the best of my ability, i found the danes the most interesting people i had ever come in contact with, except the french, and, i think the most civilised. there was one thing certain:--if the danish west india islands were so dear to denmark that it would be a wound to her national pride to suggest the sale of them to us, no such suggestion ought to be made by an american minister. first, national pride is a precious thing to a nation, and the more precious when that nation has been great in power, and remains great in heart in spite of its apparently dwindling importance. it was necessary, then, to discover whether the danes could, in deference to their natural desire to see their flag still floating in the atlantic ocean, retain the islands, and rule them in accordance with their ideals. their ideals were very high. they hoped that they could so govern them that the inhabitants of the islands might be fairly prosperous and happy under their rule. they were not averse to expending large sums annually to make up the deficit occasioned by the possession of them. the colonial lottery was depended upon to assist in making up this budget. the danes have no moral objections to lotteries, and the most important have governmental sanction. under the administrations of presidents roosevelt and taft it was useless to attempt to reopen the question. all negotiations, since the first in , had failed. that of , and the accompanying scandals, the danes preferred to forget. president roosevelt's opinion as to the necessity of our possessing the islands was well known. in the project for the sale had been defeated in the danish upper house by one vote. mr. john hay attributed this to german influence, though the princess marie, wife of prince valdemar, a remarkably clever woman, had much to do with it, and she could not be reasonably accused of being under german domination. the east-asiatic company was against the sale and likewise a great number of danes whose association with the islands had been traditional. herr ballin denied that the german opposition existed; he seemed to think that both france and england looked on the proposition coldly. at any rate, he said that denmark gave no concessions to german maritime trade that the united states would not give, and that the property of the hamburg-american line would be quite as safe in the hands of the united states as in those of denmark. in denmark had declined to sell the islands for $ , , , but offered to accept $ , , for st. john and st. thomas, or $ , , for the three. secretary seward raised the price to $ , , in gold for st. thomas, st. john and santa cruz. denmark was willing to accept $ , , for st. thomas and st. john; santa cruz, in which the french had some rights, might be had for $ , , additional. secretary seward, after some delay, agreed to give $ , , for the two islands, st. thomas and st. john. the people of st. john and st. thomas voted in favour of the cession. in $ , , was offered by the united states. diligent inquiries into the failure of the sale, although the hon. henry white, well and favourably known in denmark, was sent over in its interest, received the answer from those who had been behind the scenes, '$ , , was not enough, unaccompanied by a concession that might have deprived the transaction of a merely mercenary character.' at that time germany might have preferred to see the islands in the hands of the united states rather than in those of any other european power. it was apparently to the interest of the united states to encourage the activities of that great artery of emigration, the hamburg-american line. she did not believe that the united states would fail to raise the spectre of the monroe doctrine against either of the nations who owned bermuda or mauritius, if one of them proposed to place her flag over st. thomas. in the question of spain's buying st. thomas, in order to defend puerto rico, thrown out by an obscure journalist, was a theory to laugh at. germany was practically indifferent to our acquisition of islands on the atlantic coast that might possibly bring us one day in collision with either england or france. as to the pacific, her point of view was different. her politicians even then cherished the sweet hope that the irish in the united states and canada might force the hand of our government against 'perfidious albion' if the slightest provocation was given. besides, in , germany had done her worst to the danes. she had taken slesvig, and had ruined denmark financially; she had made kiel the centre of her naval hopes; she could neither assume denmark nor borrow the $ , , --then a much greater sum than now--for her own purposes. i have never had reason to believe that germany prevented the sale of the danish antilles in . the congressional examination of the scandalous rumours that might have reflected on the honour of certain danish gentlemen and of some of our own congressmen are a matter of record, and show no traces of any such domination. curiously enough, there was a persistent rumour of a secret treaty with denmark which gave the united states an option on the islands. no such treaty existed, and no danish minister of foreign affairs of my acquaintance would have dreamed of proposing such an arrangement. it is hardly necessary to dwell here on the value of these islands to the united states. president roosevelt, president wilson, senator lodge, most persistently, made the necessity of possessing these islands, through legitimate purchase, very plain. the completion of the panama canal increased their already great importance. if such men as seward, foster, olney, root, hay, and our foremost naval experts considered them worth buying before the issues raised by the creation of the panama canal were practical, how much more valuable had they become when that marvellous work was completed! many interests contributed to the desirability of our acquiring islands in the west indies--every additional island being of value to us--but the great public seemed to see this as through a glass--darkly. puerto rico was of little value in a strategic way without the danish antilles. a cursory examination of the map will show that puerto rico, with no harbours for large vessels and its long coast line, would offer no defences against alien forces. naval experts had clearly seen the hopelessness of defending san juan. major glassford, of the signal corps, in a report often quoted and carefully studied by people intelligently interested in the active enforcement of the monroe doctrine rather than its mere statement as a method of defence on paper, said that 'st. thomas might be converted into a second gibraltar.' he was right. the frightful menace of the cession of heligoland to germany was an example of what might happen if we failed to look carefully to the future. besides, even those advocates of peace, right or wrong, who infested our country before the war, who were not sympathetic with the acquisition of territory, ought to have remembered that one of the best guarantees of peace was to leave nothing to fight about as far as these islands of value in our relations 'to the region of the orinoco and the amazon' and the windward passages were concerned. the german occupation of brazil--increasing so greatly that the brazilians were alarmed, the european prejudices, made evident during the spanish-american war as existing in south and central america--were all occasions for thought. 'the harbour of charlotte amalie,' wrote major glassford, writing of st. thomas, 'and the numerous sheltered places about the island offer six and seven fathoms of water. besides, this harbour and the roadsteads are on the southern side of the island, completely protected from the prevailing strong winds. if this place were strongly fortified and provisioned'--the number of inhabitants are small compared with puerto rico--'it would be necessary for an enemy contemplating a descent upon puerto rico to take it into account first. the location on the north-east side of the antilles is in close proximity to many of the passages into the caribbean sea, and affords an excellent point of observation near the european possessions in the archipelago. it is also a centre of the west indian submarine cable systems, being about midway between the windward passage and the trinidad entrance into the caribbean sea.' other interests distracted attention from the essential value of these islands for local reasons, party reasons, which are the curse of all modern systems of government. the failure to purchase the islands in did not discourage senator lodge. on march st, , the committee on foreign affairs reported a bill authorising the president to buy the danish west india islands for a naval and coal station. on this bill, senator lodge made a most interesting and valuable report, in which he said, after stating that the fine harbour of st. thomas possessed all the required naval and military conditions--'it has been pointed out by captain mahan, as one of the great strategic points in the west indies.' 'the danish islands,' he concluded, 'could easily be governed as a territory, could be readily defended from attack, occupy a commanding strategic position, and are of incalculable value to the united states, not only as part of the national defences, but as removing by their possession a very probable cause of foreign complications.' my predecessors in denmark, messrs. risley, carr, svendsen, were of this opinion. the arguments of mr. carr, expressed in his despatches, are invincible. mr. o'brien, who was minister plenipotentiary to denmark until he was sent as ambassador to japan, saw, as i did, in , that the danes and their government were in no mood to accept any suggestions on the subject. however, i discussed the matter academically with each minister of foreign affairs, saying that the united states would make no proposition at any time which might offend the national self-respect of the danes, that in fact, as valuable as the islands would be to us and as expedient as it might be for the danes to sell them to us, their government must give some unequivocal sign that it was willing to part with them before we should seriously take up the question again. neither count raben-levitzau nor count william ahlefeldt-laurvig gave me any official encouragement, though i hardly expected it as i had taken means to sound public opinion on my own account. both count raben-levitzau and count ahlefeldt were liberal ministers of foreign affairs, and i knew that, if there was any hope that a sale might be made, they would give me reasonable encouragement. besides, i was doubtful whether the price--which might probably be asked--reasonable enough in my eyes and in the eyes of those european diplomatists who knew what heligoland and gibraltar meant to germany and to england--would not have raised such an outcry among voters at home, who had not yet learned to weigh any transaction with a foreign government--except commercially, in terms of dollars and cents, that another failure might have followed. it was out of the question to risk that. many of my friends among the more conservative of the danes scorned the idea of the sale on any terms. among these was admiral de richelieu, whose father is buried in st. thomas, and who is the most intense of danish patriots. if objections to the sale on the part of my best friends in denmark had governed me, i should have despaired of it. however, my friends, like de richelieu, felt that our government would be glad to see the danish west india islands improved as far as the danes could improve them. de richelieu, etatsraad andersen--etatsraad meaning councillor of state--holger petersen, director cold, formerly governor of the islands, hegemann, who bore the high title of _geheimekonferensraad_, were among those most interested in the islands. hegemann, since dead, was the only one of the group who thought that the danish government could never either improve the islands socially or make them pay commercially. 'the danes are bad colonisers,' he said. he was a man of great common-sense, of wide experience, and a philanthropist who never let his head run away with his heart. he did a great deal for technical education in denmark. in fact, there was scarcely any movement for the betterment of the country economically in which he was not interested. he had great properties in the island of santa cruz; but he looked on the danish possession of the islands as bad for the reputation of his native country and worse for the progress of the islands and the islanders. 'the present government is too mild in its treatment of the blacks,' he said; 'equality, liberty and fraternity, the motto of the ruling party, is excellent, but it will not work in the islands.' besides, the construction of the panama canal was drawing the best labourers from them. he was interested in sugar and even in sea cotton; he thought that, the tariff restrictions being removed and a market for labour made, something might be done by us towards making the islands a profitable investment. i was entirely indifferent as to that--our great need of the islands was not for commercial uses. the prevailing opinion in court circles was against the sale, based on no antagonism to the united states, but on the desire that denmark should not lose more of its territory. the faroe islands, greenland and iceland were still appendages; but iceland was always restive, and greenland seemed, in the eyes of the danes, to have only the value of remotely useful territory. they had been shorn of territory by england, by sweden, and, last of all, by germany. our government, knowing well how strong the national pride was, and how reasonable, permitted me to show it the greatest consideration. when the east-asiatic company, which had important holdings in st. thomas, proposed that the national sentiment should be tested, and each danish citizen asked to make a pecuniary sacrifice for the retention of the islands, i was permitted to express sympathy with the movement, and to assist it in every way compatible with my position. the attempt failed. it was evident that the majority of the people, whatever were their sentiments, knew that it was impracticable to attempt to govern the islands from such a distance. if it had been possible to retain them with honour, with justice to the inhabitants, who for a long time had been desirous of union with the united states, no amount of money would have induced denmark to part with the last of her colonial possessions. as it was, the prospect was not at all clear. in modern times, a man who aspires to do his duty in diplomacy must be honest and reasonably frank. to pretend to admire the institutions of a nation, to affect a sympathy one does not feel, with a view to obtaining something of advantage to one's own country, was no doubt possible when foxes were preternaturally cunning and crows unbelievingly vain, but not now. the whole question of the islands was a matter which must be settled by the commonsense of the danes at the expense of their sentiment; no pressure on our part could be used, short of such arguments as might point to the forcible possession of the islands temporarily in case of war; but the fact that the united states preferred to give what seemed to be an enormous sum--(though $ , , have to-day scarcely the purchasing power of the $ , , demanded for the three islands from secretary seward in )--rather than run the risk of future unpleasant complications with a small and friendly state, showed that the intentions of our government were on a par with its professions. when the proposed sale of the islands stopped, largely because senator sumner disliked president johnson, and the treaty lapsed in in spite of the support of secretary fish, king christian ix. wrote, in a proclamation to the people of the danish islands--a majority of whom had consented to the proposed sale,--'the american senate has not shown itself willing to maintain the treaty made, although the initiative came from the united states themselves.' the king had only consented to the sale to lighten the terrible financial burdens imposed on his country by the unjust war which germany and austria had forced upon denmark with a view to the theft of slesvig; and his consent would never have been given had not secretary seward, the predecessor of secretary fish, reluctantly agreed that the vote of the inhabitants should be taken. he was more democratic than mr. seward. king christian would not sign the treaty, which gave $ , , to denmark for the two islands of st. thomas and st. john, until mr. seward consented to 'concede the vote.' the danes were frank in admitting that their 'poverty, but not their will,' consented. 'ready as we were to subdue the feelings of our heart, when we thought that duty bade us so to do,' continued the king in his proclamation, 'yet we cannot otherwise than feel a satisfaction that circumstances have relieved us from making a sacrifice which, notwithstanding the advantages held out, would always have been painful to us. we are convinced that you share these sentiments, and that it is with a lightened heart you are relieved from the consent which only at our request you gave for a separation from the danish crown.' the king added that he entertained the firm belief that his government, supported by the islanders, would succeed in making real progress, and end by effacing all remembrances of the disasters that had come upon them, his overseas dominions. affairs in the mother country did look up; the danes developed their country, in spite of the worst climatic conditions, into a land famous for its scientific farming. a wit has said that denmark, after the loss of slesvig, was divided like old gaul, itself, into three parts,--butter, eggs and bacon. the danes, cast into a condition of moral despondency and temporal poverty, with their national pride stricken, and their soil outworn, seized the things of the spirit and made material things subservient. religion and patriotism, developed by bishop grundtvig, saved the mother country; but the islands continued to go through various stages of hope and fear. the united states was too near and denmark too far off. home politics were generally paramount, and each new governor was always obliged to consider the sensitiveness of his government to the amount of expenditure allowed. there were persons in power at home who seemed to see the islands from the point of view of bernardin de saint pierre--sentimentally. the happy black men were to dance under spreading palms, gently guided by danish pauls and virginias! the black men were only too willing to dance under palms, whether spreading or not, and to be guided by any idyllic persons who, leaving them the pleasures of existence, would take the trials. all the governors suffered more or less from the rousseau-like point of view taken by the government. mr. helvig larsen was the last who was expected to be 'idyllic.' one of the fears often expressed to me was that 'the americans would treat the blacks badly--we have all read _uncle tom's cabin_, you know.' even her majesty, the dowager queen louise, one of the best-informed women in europe, had her doubts about our attitude to the negroes. 'you have black nurses,' her majesty said to me; 'why are your people, especially in the south, not more kind to their race?' queen louise, who was sincerely interested in the welfare of her coloured subjects, would listen to reason. i sent her the _soul of the black_, which shows unconsciously why social equality in this case would be undesirable, but not until booker washington's visit did her majesty understand the attitude that sensible americans, who know the south, take on the subject of the social equality of our coloured fellow-citizens. during my stay in europe this matter was frequently discussed. some of my german colleagues politely insinuated that 'democracy' was little practised in a country where a president could be severely censured for inviting a coloured man of distinction to lunch. and nearly all the danes of the modern school took this point of view. the naval officers, who are always better informed as to foreign conditions than most other men, readily understood that social equality assumes a meaning in the united states which would imply the probability of what is known as 'amalgamation.' while the german critic of our conditions might very well understand the impossible barrier of caste in his own country and object to 'permanent marriages' with women of the inferior 'yellow' races, he seemed to think that the laws in some of the united states against the marriages of blacks and whites were un-christian and illogical. 'but you would not encourage such marriages?' i asked of one of the most distinguished danes at the copenhagen university. 'why not?' he asked. from my point of view, the case was hopeless. and every now and then an extract from an american paper, containing the account of a lynching with all the gruesome details described, would be translated into danish. i never believed in censoring the press until i came to occupy a responsible position in denmark. i confess, _mea culpa_!--that i wanted many times to have the right to say what should or should not be reprinted for foreign consumption! the newspapers seemed to have no regard for the plans of the diplomatists, believing news is news! there will always be the irrepressible conflict! one of my wife's friends in denmark, the late countess rantzau, born of the famous theatrical family of the poulsens, who was well-read, and who knew her europe well, produced one day an old embroidered screen for my benefit. there were the palms; there was an ancient african with a turban on his very woolly head; there was a complacent young person in stiff skirts seated at his feet, looking up to him with adoring eyes. 'antique?' i asked, preparing to admire the work of art; the tropical foliage of acanthus leaves was so flourishing in the tapestry, and the luncheon had been so good! 'it is not as a work of art that i show it to the american minister, but to let him know that we danes love the virtues of the blacks. this is uncle tom and little eva!' it was intended to soften a hard heart! in october mr. andrew carnegie telegraphed that mr. booker washington would pay a visit to denmark. i had met mr. booker washington with mr. richard watson gilder in new york, and i admired him very greatly. however, i felt that i should be embarrassed by his visit, as i knew both king frederick and queen louise were interested in him and would not only expect me to present him, but likewise--they were the fine flowers of courtesy--wish my wife and myself to dine at amalieborg palace with him. when admiral bardenfleth, the queen's chamberlain, came to inquire as to when mr. booker washington should arrive, i suggested that her majesty, who had often shown her high appreciation of mr. washington's work, might like to talk with him informally, as i knew that she had many questions to ask, and that he himself would be more at his ease if i were not present. the admiral thanked me. i said the same thing to the master of ceremonies of the court when he came on behalf of the king. for charm of manner, ease, the simplicity that conceals the perfection of social art, and at least apparent sympathy with one's difficulties, let the high officials of the court of denmark be commended! the master of ceremonies was delighted. their majesties would miss me from the introduction and regret that mrs. egan and i would not be present at the dinner, which, however, would be earlier than usual, as i had said that mr. booker washington must catch a train; it would also be very unceremonious. his majesty would ask only his immediate _entourage_. i was pleased with myself (a fatal sign by the way!); mr. washington would have all the honour due him. i arranged to attend his lecture, with all the americans i could collect. i sent the landau with two men on the box, including the magnificent arthur and the largest cockades, to meet mr. washington. in , king frederick used only carriages and the diplomatists followed his example, though some of a more advanced temperament had taken to motor cars. mr. washington was pleased. he loved the landau and the cockades, and arthur, our first man, who had been 'in diplomacy twenty-five years,' treated him with distinction. 'you have honoured my people and my work most delicately,' he said to me. 'i thank you for sending me the king's invitation to dinner to the hôtel d'angleterre. too much public talk of this honour in the united states would do my people and myself much harm. i will make, in print, an acknowledgment of your courtesy, so effective and so agreeable. to have my work recognised in this manner by the most advanced court in europe is indeed worth while, and to have this honour without too much publicity is indeed agreeable.' mr. washington's lecture had been a great success. it had helped, too, to do away with the impression that lynching is to the americans of north america what bull fights are to those of south america. the most awkward question constantly put to me at court and in society was, 'but why do you lynch the black men?' filled with satisfaction at the result of my machinations (a bad state of mind, as i have said), i was bending over my desk one morning when two correspondents of american newspapers were announced. they came from london; i had met them both before. 'cigars?' 'yes. we do not want to give you trouble, mr. minister; you were very decent to us all in the cook affair, but we shall make a good story out of this booker washington visit, and we think it is only fair to say that we are going to 'feature' you. there is nothing much doing now, and we've been asked to work this thing up. we know on the best authority that the king will give a dinner to booker washington; you will respond with a reception; mrs. egan will be taken in to dinner by mr. washington; there will be lots of ladies there--in a word, we'll get as big a sensation out of it as the newspapers did out of the roosevelt-booker washington incident. it will do you good in the north, and, as you're a philadelphian, you need not care what the south thinks.' these gentlemen meant to be kind; they were dropping me into a hole kindly, but they _were_ letting me into a hole! 'it is not a question as to _how_ i feel,' i said; 'it is a question of raising unpleasant discussions, of injuring the coloured people by holding out false hopes, which, hurried into action, excite new prejudices against them. president roosevelt, when he invited booker washington to lunch, acted as i should like to act now, but i would regret the ill-feeling raised by discussions of such an incident as greatly as he regretted it; but,' i added, 'you have your duty to your papers, which must have news, although the heavens fall. if my wife is taken in to dinner by mr. booker washington at court, if i give the reception you speak of----' 'you will,' said the elder newspaper man, joyously; 'it is a matter of rigid etiquette. we have a private tip!' 'very well, when i do these things, i shall not complain if you headline them.' 'sensation in denmark,' he read, from a slip. 'wife of american minister is taken in to dinner by representative coloured man. perfect social equality exemplified by reception to mr. booker washington at american legation! london will like you all the better for that,' he said, laughing. 'as "tout paris" liked president roosevelt,' i answered. i shivered a little. 'come to lunch to-morrow, but do not let us talk on this subject. if i am compelled by etiquette, as you insist i shall, i'll swallow the headlines. i shall ask mr. hartvig of some london papers and the _new york world_ to meet you.' and off they went! if i were a spartan person and really loved to perform my duties in the most idealistic way, i should have treated the situation greatly, nobly, and unselfishly; i should not have been pleased at the prospect of cheating my journalistic friends out of a good story; but, not being spartan and really not loving difficult duties, i felt that i had done enough in giving them a luncheon worthy of the reputation of our legation, with _sole à la bernaise_ and the best sauterne. mr. washington called before he went to the king's dinner; he was all smiles, and his evening suit was perfect. he said 'good-bye,' and i was thankful that the event of his visit was over; he was not only satisfied, but radiant and grateful. consul-general bond and his wife, dr. brochardt, of the library of congress, and several other interesting people were to come in, to dine and to play bridge this evening. i fancied the disappointment of the newspaper men when they should arrive, to find no reception in progress and no booker washington. i think i told my guests of the remarkably clever way--i hope i did not use that phrase--by which they had been outwitted. we were about to go into the drawing-room for coffee when a card was brought in. 'mr. booker washington.' some of the guests, those from the south especially, wanted to see him; but i trembled when i imagined the scene that would meet the reporters, who were, i knew, sure to come about nine o'clock. the drawing-room would be brilliantly lighted, half a dozen charming ladies in evening gowns would be there, surrounding the eminent apostle! enter the writers, and then would follow an elaborate sketch of the social function to be described as a new step in social evolution, the dawn of a new day, a symbol of entire social equality. i knew that the elder newspaper man, a friend of stead's, was quite capable of all this! 'coffee will be served in my study,' i said, not waiting to consult my wife. 'i will see mr. washington, at least for a moment, _alone_.' the group of guests moved off reluctantly. mr. washington waited in the back drawing-room, where both the kaiser and colonel roosevelt had once stood, though at different times. his train would be late; he came in the fulness of his heart, to tell me that king frederick and queen louise had been most sympathetic. he was enthusiastic about the discernment and commonsense of queen louise, who had read his book and followed every step of his work with great interest. 'i was glad to have her majesty know that the best men of my race are with me, that the opposition to me comes, not from the whites, but from that element in my own race which wants to enjoy the luxuries of life and its leisure without working! i thank you again, mr. minister, for arranging this affair in such a way as to preserve my dignity and to prevent me from appearing as if i were vain; yet i am legitimately proud of the great honour i have received. i shall now go to my hotel, and arrange for my departure.' 'i have ordered the carriage,' i said. just then, the footman threw the doors open, and in came the two newspaper men, resplendent as a starry night, one wearing a russian decoration. 'alone?' he said. 'with dr. booker washington.' 'the reception?' 'dr. booker washington has just come to describe his dinner at the court. let me present you two gentlemen. dr. washington has little time; if you will accompany him to the hotel, he will, i am sure, give you an interview. mr. hartvig of the _new york world_ will be present, too.' 'stung!' said the younger newspaper man. 'lunch with me to-morrow,' i said; 'i have some white bordeaux.' dr. washington gave a prudent interview and the incident was closed. may he rest in peace. he was a great man, a modest, intelligent and humble man, and no calumny can lessen his greatness. this is a digression to show that the social question in the united states, much as it might have seemed to people who looked on denmark as entirely out of our orbit, had its importance in the affair of the purchase of the islands, which then interested me more than anything else in the world. pastor bast was the only methodist clergyman in copenhagen. his good works are proverbial and not confined to his own denomination. the methodists were few; indeed, i think that even pastor bast's children were lutherans. having recommended one of his charities, i was asked by a very benevolent dane: 'are the methodists really christians in america?' 'why do you ask that question?' 'i have read that there is a division in their ranks because most of them refuse to admit black people on equal terms. if that is so, i cannot help pastor bast's project, although i can see that it has value.' it was in vain to explain the difference of opinion on the 'afro-american question' which separated the northern and southern methodists; he could not understand it. i hope, however, that pastor bast received his donation. * * * * * in august , the unrest in europe, reflected in denmark, was becoming more and more evident. the diplomatic correspondents during the succeeding years--some of it has been made public--showed this. japan, it was understood, would, with the mexican difficulty, keep the united states out of any entanglements in europe. so sure were some of the distinguished danes of our neutrality in case of war--a contingency in which nobody in the united states seemed to believe--that i was asked to submit to my government, not officially, a proposal to denmark for the surrender of greenland to us, we to give, in return, the most important island in the philippines--mindanao. denmark was to have the right to transfer to germany this island for northern slesvig. the danish government had no knowledge of this plan, which was, however, presented in detail to me. against it was urged the necessity of denmark's remaining on good terms with germany. 'we could never be on good terms with our southern neighbour, if we possessed slesvig; besides, the younger danes in slesvig are so tied up with germany economically that their position would be more complicated. 'in fact,' this slesviger said, 'though i hate the prussian tyranny, i fear that our last state would be worse than our first. germany might accept the philippine island, and retake slesvig afterwards. unless we could be protected by the powers, we should regard the bargain as a bad one. besides, england would never allow you to take greenland.' it was an interesting discussion _in camera_. these discussions were always informal--generally after luncheon--and very enlightening. admiral de richelieu, who will never die content until slesvig is returned to denmark, looked on the arrangement as possible. 'germany wants peace with you; she could help you to police the philippines; greenland would be more valuable to you than to us,--and slesvig would be again danish.' 'but suppose we should propose to take the danish antilles for mindanao?' i asked. 'out of the question,' he said, firmly. 'you will never induce us to part with the west indies. we can make them an honourable appendage to our nation; but greenland, with your resources, might become another alaska.' de richelieu is one of the best friends i have in the world; but, when it came to the sale of the islands, he saw, not only red, but scarlet, vermilion, crimson and all the tints and shades of red! in , it seemed to me that my time had come to make an attempt to do what nearly every american statesman of discernment had, since seward's time, wanted done. it must be remembered that, if i seem egoistical, i am telling the story from the point of view of a minister who had no arbitrary instructions from his government, and very little information as to what was going on in the minds of his countrymen as to the expediency of the purchase. it is seldom possible to explain exactly the daily varying aspect of foreign politics in a european country to the state department; if one keeps one's ear to the ground, one often discovers the beginning of social and political vibrations in the evening which have quite vanished when one makes a report to one's government in the morning. again, mails are slow; we had no pouch; any document, even when closed by the august seal of the united states might be opened 'by mistake.' long cables, filled with minutiæ, were too expensive to be encouraged. besides, they might be deciphered and filed by under-clerks, who probably thought that 'dr. cook had put denmark on the map,'--only that, and nothing more! i knew one thing--that my colleague, constantin brun, was for the sale; another, that erik de scavenius, the youngest minister of foreign affairs in europe, was as clever as he was patriotic and honourable, and as resourceful as audacious. he had an irish grandfather. that explained much. another thing i assumed--that my government trusted me, and had given me, without explicitly stating the fact, _carte blanche_. however, i prepared myself to be disavowed by the state department if i went too far. i knew that, provided i was strictly honourable, such a disavowal would mean a promotion on the part of the president. i had done my best to accentuate the good reasons given by my predecessors, especially carr and risley, for they were beyond denial, for our buying the islands. one despatch i had sent off in may or june , almost in despair, a despatch in which i repeated the fear of german aggression and quoted heligoland, which had become as much a part of my thoughts and talk in private as the appearance of the head of charles i. in that of dickens's eccentric character. in june , no nation had the time or the leisure or the means of interfering with the project, for war means concentration, and i had found means of knowing that germany would not coerce denmark in the matter. i hoped and prayed that our government would take action. i knew, not directly, but through trusted friends like robert underwood johnson, lately editor of _the century magazine_, what point of view nearly every important journal in the united states would take. senator lodge's views were well known; in fact, he had first inflamed my zeal. president wilson had put himself on record in this momentous matter. unless public opinion should balk at the price--$ , , would not have been too much--the purchase would be approved of by the senate and the house. this seemed sure. against these arguments was the insinuation made and widely but insidiously spread, that germany approved the sale because she expected to borrow the amount of money paid! in june , it was plain to all who read the signs of the times, that we could not long keep out of the war. 'i did not raise my boy to be a soldier' was neither really popular in the united states nor convincing, for, sad as it may seem, disheartening as it is to those who believe in that universal peace which christ never promised, the american of the united states is a born fighter! if the islands were to be ours, now was the acceptable time. in denmark, the prospect looked like a landscape set for a forlorn hope. erik de scavenius, democrat, even radical, though of one of the most aristocratic families in denmark, would consider only the good of his own country. he was neither pro-german, pro-english nor pro-american. young as he was, his diplomatic experience had led him to look with a certain cynicism on the altruistic professions of any great european nation. he relied, i think, as little as i did on the academic results of the hague conferences. denmark needed money; the government, pledged to the betterment of the poor, to the advancement of funds to small farmers, to the support of a co-operative banking system in the interest of the agriculturists, to old-age pensions, to the insurance of the working man and his support when involuntarily idle, to all those socialistic plans that aim at the material benefit of the proletariat,[ ] and in addition to this, to the keeping up of a standing army as large as our regular army before the war, now 'quasi-mobilised,'--could ill afford to sink the state's income in making up the deficit caused by the expenses of the islands. [ ] in rome, 'the proletariat' meant the people who had children. the radicals, like edward brandès, despaired of righteously ruling their islands on the broad, humanitarian principles they had established in denmark. the position of the government was so precarious that to raise the question might have serious consequences. this we all knew, and none better than erik de scavenius. it will be seen that the difficulties on the danish side were greater than on ours. the price, which, reasonably enough, would be greater than that offered in previous times, would hardly be a very grave objection from the american point of view, since the war had made us more clear-minded, for our people are most generous in spending money when they see good reasons for it. it would take much time to unravel the intricacies of danish politics. 'happy,' said my friend, mr. thomas p. gill,[ ] visiting denmark in , 'is that land which is ruled by farmers!' i have sometimes doubted this. the conservatives naturally hated the social democrats, and the government was kept in power by the help of the social democrats. the conservatives would have gladly pitched the government to hades, if they had not had a great fear that erik de scavenius and perhaps edward brandès, the minister of justice, were too useful to lose during the war when the position of denmark was so delicate. the recent elections have shown how weak the present government is. [ ] mr. thomas p. gill is the permanent secretary of the irish agricultural and technical board. the danes, as i have said, are probably the most civilised people in europe, but an average american high school boy thinks more logically on political questions. a union of such intellectual clearness with such a paralysis of the logical, political qualities of the mind as one finds in denmark, is almost incredible. they seem to feel in matters of politics but not to think. after a large acquaintance among the best of the young minds in denmark, i could only conclude that this was the result of unhappy circumstances: the pessimism engendered by the nearness to germany, the fact that the dane was not allowed to vote until he became almost middle-aged, and the absence, in the higher schools, of any education that would cultivate self-analysis, and which would force the production of mental initiative. sentiment was against the sale of the islands,--therefore, the cause already seemed lost! the press, as a rule, would be against it, but the press in denmark, though everybody reads, has not a very potent influence. i was sure of _politiken_, a journal which most persons said was 'yellow,' but which appealed to people who liked cleverness. the press, i was sure, would be against the sale largely for reasons of internal politics. the farmers would not oppose the sale as a sale--in itself--the possession of a great sum of money, even while it remained in the united states, meant increased facilities for the import of fodder, etc., but j. c. christensen, their leader, must be reckoned with. there were local questions. politics is everywhere a slippery game, but in denmark it is more slippery than anywhere else in the world, not even excepting in, let us say, kansas. j. c. christensen had stubbed his toe over alberti, who had, until , been a power in denmark, and who, in , was still in the copenhagen jail. he had been prime minister from until alberti's manipulation of funds had been discovered in . under the short administration of holstein-ledreborg, he had been minister of worship, but he smarted over the accident which had driven him undeservedly out of office. socialism, curious as it may seem to americans, is not confined to the cities in denmark. it thrives in the farmlands. in the country, the socialists are more moderate than in the cities. in the country, socialism is a method of securing to the peasant population the privileges which it thinks it ought to have. it is a pale pink compared with the intense red of the extreme urban internationalists. j. c. christensen represented the moderates as against the various shades of left, radical and socialistic opinions. besides j. c. christensen, though his reputation was beyond reproach, needed, perhaps, a certain rehabilitation, and he had a great following. a further complication was the sudden rise of violent opposition to the government because of the decision made by the secular authorities in favour of retaining in his pulpit arboe rasmussen, a clergyman who had gone even further towards modernism in his preaching than harnack. however, as the bishops of the danish lutheran church had accepted this decision, it seemed remarkable that an opposition of this kind should have developed so unexpectedly. in june , my wife and i were at aalholm, the principal castle of count raben-levitzau. i was hoping for a favourable answer to my latest despatch as to the purchase of the islands. a visit to aalholm was an event. the count and countess raben-levitzau know how to make their house thoroughly agreeable. talleyrand said that 'no one knew the real delights of social intercourse who had not lived before the french revolution.' one might easily imitate this, and say, that if one has never paid a visit to aalholm, one knows little of the delights of good conversation. count raben's guests were always chosen for their special qualities. with mr. and mrs. francis hagerup, señor and señora de riaño, count and countess szchenyi,[ ] chamberlain and madame hegermann-lindencrone, mrs. ripka, and the necessary additional element of young folk, one must forget the cares of life. during this visit, there was one care that rode behind me in all the pleasant exclusions about the estate. it constantly asked me: what is your government thinking about? will the president's preoccupations prevent him from considering the question of the purchase? does mr. brun, the danish minister, fear a political crisis in his own country? it is difficult to an american at home to realise how much in the dark a man feels away from the centre of diplomacy, washington, especially when he has once lived there for years and been in touch with all the tremulous movements of the wires. [ ] dr. francis hagerup, norwegian minister to copenhagen, now at stockholm. count szchenyi, austro-hungarian minister, señor de riaño, now spanish minister at washington. one day at aalholm, the telephone rang; it was a message from the clerk of the legation, mr. joseph g. groeninger of baltimore. i put clerk with a capital letter because mr. groeninger deserved diplomatically a much higher title. during all my anxieties on the question of the purchase, he had been my confidant and encourager; the secretaries had other things to do. the message, discreetly voiced in symbols we had agreed upon, told me that the way was clear. our government was willing,--secrecy and discretion were paramount necessities in the transaction. returning to copenhagen, i saw the foreign minister. the most direct way was the best. i said, 'excellency, will you sell your west indian islands?' 'you know i am for the sale, mr. minister,' he said, 'but--' he paused, 'it will require some courage.' 'nobody doubts your courage.' 'the susceptibilities of our neighbour to the south----' 'let us risk offending any susceptibilities. france had rights.' 'france gave up her rights in santa cruz long ago; but i was not thinking of france. besides the price would have to be dazzling. otherwise the project could never be carried.' 'not only dazzling,' i said, 'but you should have more than money--our rights in greenland; his majesty might hesitate if it were made a mere question of money. he is like his grandfather, christian ix. you know how he hated, crippled as denmark was in , to sell the islands.' 'you would never pay the price.' 'excellency,' i said, 'this is not a commercial transaction. if it were a commercial transaction, a matter of material profit, my government would not have entrusted the matter to me, nor would i have accepted the task, without the counsel of men of business. besides, commercially, at present, the islands are of comparatively small value. i know that my country is as rich as it is generous. it is dealing with a small nation of similar principles to its own, and with an equal pride. unless the price is preposterous, as there is no ordinary way of gauging the military value of these islands to us, i shall not object. my government does not wish me to haggle. and i am sure that you will not force me to do so by demanding an absurd price. you would not wish to shock a people prepared to be generous.' he will ask $ , , , i thought; he knows better than anybody that we shall be at war with germany in less than a year. i felt dizzy at the thought of losing the gibraltar of the caribbean! however, i consoled myself, while mr. de scavenius looked thoughtfully, pencil in hand, at a slip of paper. after all, _i_ thought, the president, knowing what the islands mean to us, will not balk at even $ , , . while mr. de scavenius wrote, i tried to feel like a man to whom a billion was of no importance. he pushed the slip towards me, and i read: '$ , , dollars, expressed in danish crowns.' the crown was then equal to about twenty-six cents. i said, 'there will be little difficulty about that; i consider it not unreasonable; but naturally, it may frighten some of my compatriots, who have not felt the necessity of considering international questions. you will give me a day or two?' 'the price is dazzling, i know,' he said. 'my country is more generous even than she is rich. the transaction must be completed before----' mr. de scavenius understood. my country was neutral _then_; it was never necessary to over-explain to him; he knew that i understood the difficulties in the way. it was agreed that there should be no intermediaries; denmark had learned the necessity of dealing without them by the experience in . i was doubtful as to the possibility of complete secrecy. what the newspapers cannot find out does not exist. 'there are very many persons connected with the foreign office,' he said thoughtfully. 'i may say a similar thing of our state department. i wish the necessity for complete secrecy did not exist,' i said. 'the press _will_ have news.' a short time after this i was empowered to offer $ , , with our rights in greenland. as far as the foreign office and our legation were concerned, the utmost secrecy was preserved. there were no formal calls; after dinners, a word or two, an apparently chance meeting on the promenade (the long line) by the sound. rumours, however, leaked out on the bourse. the newspapers became alert. _politiken_, the government organ, was bound to be discreet, even if its editor had his suspicions. there were no evidences from the united states that the secret was out. in fact, the growing war excitement left what in ordinary times would have been an event for the 'spot' light in a secondary place. in denmark, as the whispers of a possible 'deal' increased in number, the opponents of the government were principally occupied in thinking out a way by which it could be used for the extinction of the council--president (prime minister) zahle, the utter crushing of the minister of war, peter munch, who hated war and looked on the army as an unnecessary excrescence, and the driving out of the whole ministry, with the exception of erik de scavenius and, perhaps, edward brandès, the minister of finance, into a sea worthy to engulf the devil-possessed swine of the new testament. there are, by the way, two zahles--one the minister, theodore, a bluff and robust man of the people, and herluf zahle, of the foreign office, chamberlain, and a diplomatist of great tact, polish and experience. mr. edward brandès and mr. erik de scavenius, interviewed, denied that there was any question of the sale. 'had i ever spoken to edward brandès on the subject of the sale?' i was asked point-blank. as i had while in copenhagen, only formal relations with the members of the government, except those connected with the foreign office, i was enabled to say no quite honestly. it was unnecessary for me to deny the possession of a secret not my own, too, because, when asked if i had spoken to the foreign minister on the subject of the sale, i always said that i was always hoping for such an event, i had spoken on the subject to count raben-levitzau, count ahlefeldt-laurvig and erik de scavenius whenever i had a chance. i felt like the boy who avoided sunday school because his father was a presbyterian and his mother a jewess; this left me out. i trembled for the fate of mr. de scavenius and mr. edward brandès when their political opponents (some of them the most imaginative folk in denmark) should learn the facts. a lie, in my opinion, is the denying of the truth to those who have a moral right to know it. the press had no right whatever to know the truth, but even the direct diplomatic denial of a fact to persons who have no right to know it is bound to be--uncomfortable! i was astonished that both mr. brandès and mr. scavenius had been so direct; political opponents are so easily shocked and so loud in their pious appeals to providence! for myself, i was sorry that i could not give mr. albert thorup, of the associated press, a 'tip.' he is such a decent man, and i shall always be grateful to him, but i was forced to connive at his losing a great 'scoop.' the breakers began to roar; anybody but the foreign minister would have lost his nerve. two visiting american journalists, who had an inkling of possibilities of the truth, behaved like gentlemen and patriots, as they are, and agreed to keep silent until the state department should give them permission to release it. these were mr. william c. bullitt, of the philadelphia _ledger_, and mr. montgomery schuyler, of the new york _times_. the newspaper, _copenhagen_, was the first to hint at the secret, which, by this time, had become a _secret de polichinelle_. various persons were blamed; the parliament afterwards appointed a committee of examination. on august st, , i find in my diary,--'thank heaven! the secret is out in the united states, but not through us.' 'secret diplomacy' is difficult in this era of newspapers. if we are to have a secretary of education in the cabinet of the future, why not a secretary of the press? a happy interlude in the summer of was the visit of henry van dyke and his wife and daughter. it was a red letter night when he came to dinner. we forgot politics, and talked of stedman, gilder and the elder days. the first inkling that the _secret de polichinelle_ was out came from a cable in _le temps_ of paris. mr. bapst, the french minister, who had very unjustly been accused of being against the sale, came to tell me he knew that the treaty had been signed by secretary lansing and mr. brun in washington. i was not at liberty to commit myself yet, so i denied that the treaty had been signed in washington. mr. bapst sighed; i knew what he thought of me; but i had told the truth; the treaty had been signed in new york. sir henry lowther, the british minister, was frankly delighted that the question of the islands was about to be opened. irgens, formerly minister of foreign affairs in norway, and a good friend to the united states, shook his head. 'if norway owned islands, we would never give them up,' he said; but he was glad that they were going to us. the other colleagues, including count brockdorff-rantzau, the german minister, were occupied with other things. count rantzau was desirous of keeping peace with the united states. i think that he regarded war with us as so dangerous as to be almost unthinkable. i found count rantzau a very clever man; he played his game fairly. it was a game, and he was a colleague worth any man's respect. he is one of the most cynical, brilliant, forcible diplomatists in europe, with liberal tendencies in politics. if he lives, he ought to go far, as he is plastic and sees the signs of the times. i found him delightful; but he infuriated other people. one day, when he is utterly tired of life, he will consciously exasperate somebody to fury, in order to escape the trouble of committing suicide himself. the plot thickened. the ideas of the foreign office were, as a rule, mine--but here there was sometimes an honest difference. i was willing to work with the foreign office, but not under it. de scavenius never expected this, but i think it was sometimes hard for him to see that i could not, in all details, follow his plans. nothing is so agreeable as to have men of talent to deal with; and i never came from an interview with de scavenius or chamberlain clan, even when, perhaps, de scavenius did not see my difficulties clearly, without an added respect for these gentlemen. the air was full of a rumour that the united states, suspected in europe, in spite of the fair treatment of cuba and the philippines, of imperialism, had made threats against denmark, involving what was called 'pressure.' whether it was due to enemy propaganda or not, the insinuation that the danish west indies would be taken by force, because denmark was helpless, underlay many polite conversations. 'the united states would not dare to oblige france or england or a south american republic to give up an island. she does not attempt to coerce holland; but in spite of the pretensions to altruism, she threatens denmark.' this was an assertion constantly heard. the charges of imperialism made in our newspapers against some of the 'stalwart' politicians who were supposed to have influenced president mckinley in older days, were not forgotten. letters poured in, asking if it were possible that i had used threats to the danish government. the danish politicians were turning their ploughshares into swords. on august th the rigstag went into 'executive session.' chamberlain hegermann-lindencrone still heartily approved of the sale. he had, he said, tried to arrange it, under president mckinley's administration, through a hint from major cortelyon when he was in paris. the attitude of the press became more and more evident. mr. holger angelo, one of the best 'interviewers' in the danish press, and very loyal to his paper, the _national news_ (_national tidende_), came to see me. personally, he was desirous not to wound me or to criticise the conduct of my government; but he was strongly against the sale, yet he could find no valid arguments against it. he was obliged to admit reluctantly that the only ground on which his paper could make an attack was the denial of the cabinet ministers that any negotiations had existed. this was the line all the opposition papers would follow. nobody would say that the purchase had been negotiated on any grounds unfavourable to the national sensibilities of the danes. even admiral de richelieu admitted that neither my government nor myself had failed to give what help could be given to his plans for improving the economic conditions of the islands. on august th the debate in the rigstag showed, as had been expected, that mr. j. c. christensen, who held the balance of power, would demand a new election under the new constitution. a furious attack was made on messrs. brandès and de scavenius for having denied the existence of negotiations. all this was expected. nobody really wanted a new election. it was too risky under war conditions. suddenly the rumour was revived that the british fleet would break the neutrality of denmark by moving through the great belt, and that the united states was secretly preparing to send its fleet through the belt to help the british. the reason of this was apparent: every rumour that corroborated the impression that the united states would become a belligerent injured the chances of the sale. such delay, to my knowledge, was an evil, since the continued u-boat horror made a war imminent. in spite of all optimism, advice from the american embassy at berlin, direct and indirect, pointed that way. the crisis would no doubt be delayed--this was our impression--but it must come. count brockdorff-rantzau hoped to the last that it might be avoided, and prince wittgenstein of his legation, who knew all sides, seemed to believe that a conflict with the united states might yet be avoided. and there was still a dim hope, but it became dimmer every day, so that my desire to expedite matters became an obsession. on august th, j. c. christensen seemed to hold the folkerting (the lower house) in the hollow of his hand. he moved to appeal to the country, and to leave the question of a sale to a new rigstag. this meant more complications, more delay, and perhaps defeat through the threatening of the war clouds. j. c. christensen's motion was defeated by eleven votes. on august th it was concluded that the quickest and least dangerous way of securing assent to the sale was by an appeal to the people, not through a general election, but through a plebiscite, in which every man and woman of twenty-nine would vote, under the provisions of the new constitution. the landsting (the upper house) held a secret meeting. if a coalition ministry should not be arranged and the motion for a plebiscite should fail, there would certainly be a general election. this would, i thought, be fatal, as it would probably mean a postponement of the sale until after the close of the war. in the meantime, we heard the german representatives of the hamburg-american line at st. thomas were carrying on 'some unusual improvements.' these activities, begun without the knowledge of the governor, who was then in denmark, were stopped by the minister of justice, mr. edward brandès, when the knowledge of them was brought to the danish government. on august th i was convinced that one of the most important men in denmark, indeed in europe, etatsraad h. n. andersen, of the east asiatic company, approved of the sale. this i had believed, but i was delighted to hear it from his own lips. political confusion became worse. in some circumstances the danes are as excitable as the french used to be. it looked, towards the end of august, as if the project of the sale was to be a means of making of denmark, then placid and smiling under a summer sun, a veritable seething cauldron. the gentlemen of the press enjoyed themselves. i, who had the reputation of having on all occasions a _bonne presse_, fell from grace. i had not, it is true, concealed the truth by diplomatic means, as had mr. edward brandès and mr. erik de scavenius, but i had talked 'so much and so ingenuously' to the newspaper men, as one of them angrily remarked, that they were sure a man, hitherto so frank, had nothing to conceal; and yet there had been much concealed. the opposition, which would have been pleasantly horrified to discover any evidence of bribery, or, indeed, any evidence of the methods by which our legation had managed its side of the affair (they hoped for the worst), could discover very little; when they called on de scavenius to show all the incriminating documents in the case, they found there was nothing incriminating, and the documents were the slightest scraps of paper. knowing how far away our department of state was, how busy and how undermanned, owing to the attitude which congress has hitherto assumed towards it, i acted as i thought best as each delicate situation arose, always arranging as well as i could not to compromise my government, and to give it a chance to disavow any action of mine should it be necessary. i had found this a wise course in the cook affair. i had resolved to take no notice of dr. cook, until the royal danish geographical society determined to recognise him as a scientist of reputation. when commander hovgaard, who had been captain of the king's yacht, asked me to go with the crown prince, president of the geographical society, to meet the american explorer, i went; but my government was in no way committed. in fact, president taft understood the situation well; receiving no approval of dr. cook from me, he merely answered dr. cook's telegram, congratulating him on 'his statement.' i must say that, when the royal geographical society received cook, no word of disapproval from any american expert had reached our legation or the geographical society itself. the society, with no knowledge of the mount mckinley incident, behaved most courteously to an american citizen who appeared to have accomplished a great thing. the only indication that made me suspect that dr. cook was not scientific was that he spoke most kindly of all his--may i say it?--step-brother scientists! but, as i had accompanied the crown prince, in gratitude for his kind attention to a compatriot, i felt sure that a wise department would only, at the most, reprimand me for exceeding the bounds of courtesy. suddenly a crashing blow struck us; edward brandès, in the midst of a hot debate, in which he and de scavenius were fiercely attacked, announced that the united states was prepared to exert 'friendly pressure.' brandès is too clever a man to be driven into such a statement through inadvertence; he must have had some object in making it. what the object was i did not know--nobody seemed to know. even de scavenius seemed to think he had gone too far, for whatever were the contents of minister brun's despatches, it was quite certain that neither he nor our government would have allowed a threat made to denmark involving the possession of her legitimately held territory to become public. something had to be done to avoid the assumption that we were no more democratic than germany. 'we wanted the territory from a weaker nation; we were prepared to seize it, if we could not buy it! we americans were all talking of the rights of the little nations. germany wanted to bleed france, and she took belgium after having insolently demanded that she should give up her freedom. we, the most democratic of nations, prepared to pay for certain islands; but if it was not convenient for a friendly power to sell her territory, we would take it.' this was the inference drawn from mr. edward brandès' words in parliament. i could not contradict a member of the government, and yet i was called on, especially by danes who had lived in the united states, to explain what this 'pressure' meant. many danish women who approved of the social freedom of american women, but mistrusted our government's refusing them the suffrage, took the question up with me. 'pressure _et tu brute_!' the women were to vote in the plebiscite. some of their leaders balked at the word 'pressure,' but a country which had hitherto refused the suffrage to american women was capable of anything. mr. edward brandès had performed a great service to his country in letting out some of the horrors of our secret diplomacy. mr. constantin brun, whose loyalty to his own country i invoked in these interviews, was, they said, 'corrupted' in the united states; he was more american than the americans! i should have much preferred to be put in the 'ananias society' so suddenly formed of mr. brandès and mr. de scavenius than to have myself set down as an imperialist of a country as arrogant as it was grasping, which not only threatened to seize danish territory, but which, while pretending to hold the banner of democracy in the war of nations, deprived the best educated women in the world (mrs. chapman catt had said so) of their inalienable right to vote! fortunately, i had once lectured at the request of some of the leading suffragists. bread cast upon the waters is often returned, toasted and buttered, by grateful hands. madame de münter--wife of the chamberlain--and madame gad, wife of the admiral, were great lights in the feminist movement. madame gad is a most active, distinguished and benevolent woman of letters. there were others, too, who felt that there must be some redeeming features in a condition of society which produced a minister who was so devoted to woman suffrage as i was (as my wife gave some of the best dinners in denmark, nobody expected _her_ to go beyond that!). to madame de münter i owed much good counsel and a circle of defenders; to madame gad (if we had an order of valiant women, i should ask that she be decorated), i am told i owe the chance that helped to turn the women's vote in our favour, and induced many ladies, who were patriotic traditionalists, to abstain from voting. the general opinion, as far as i could gauge it--and i tried to get expert testimony--was that the women's vote would be against us. the _national news_ (_national tidende_) had never been favourable to the united states, though personally i had no reason to complain of it. it was moderate in politics, not brilliant, but very well written. the virtue of its editor was outraged by the denial of the two ministers that negotiations for the sale of the islands had been in process. this position in defence of the truth edified the community. 'truth, though the heavens fall!' was his motto; he kept up a fusillade against the sale. except that one of my interviews had been unintentionally misquoted, i had hitherto been out of the newspapers--though i was no longer, in the opinion of the whole press, the sweet and promising young poet of sixty-five who had written sonnets--now i was forced in. an interview appeared triumphantly in the _national news_. it was attributed to one of the most discreet officials of the state department. it denied 'pressure,' which would have pleased me, if it had not also contradicted my repeated statement that the senate of the united states would not adjourn without ratifying the treaty. it was a blow. i questioned at once the authenticity of the interview. the senate, i had said, would ratify the treaty before the end of the session. the danish foreign office and the public took my word for it. unless i could get a disavowal of the interview by cable, it would seem that the department of state was not supporting me. the foreign office itself, with the problem of our entering the war before it, was beginning to be disheartened. the authenticity of the interview meant failure, the triumph of the enemies of the sale! after a brief interval, a denial of the interview, which had been fabricated in london, came to our legation. there was joy in nazareth, but it did not last long. with the permission of the foreign office, i prepared to give this very definite denial from our state department to the press. it was a busy evening. the staff of the legation was small, and the necessity of sending men to the rigstag to watch the debate in the landsting, where the treaty was being considered, of gathering information, and of translating and copying important documents relating to the islands for transmission to the united states, strained our energies. moreover, the secretary of legation, mr. alexander richardson magruder, had just been transferred to stockholm. mr. joseph g. groeninger, the clerk, who knew all the details relating to the affair of the islands, was up to his eyes in work. mr. cleveland perkins, the honorary attaché, was struggling heroically with danish reports, and i was at the telephone receiving information, seeing people, and endeavouring to discover just where we stood. a most trustworthy--but inexperienced--young man was in charge of the downstairs office, where mr. groeninger, the omniscient, usually reigned. i telephoned to him a memorandum on the subject of 'pressure' which the bogus interview had denied. it was a quotation from the 'interview,' to be made the subject of comment, and then the denial. both of these were sent up on the same piece of typewritten paper, and o.k.ed by me, as a matter of routine. it was not until late in the night that the young man discovered that a mistake had been made. he was most contrite, though the mistake was my fault and due to thoughtlessly following the usual routine. he telephoned at once to the _national news_ and to the other newspapers explaining that he had made a mistake. the _national news_ preferred to ignore his explanation. the opportunity of accusing the ministry of further duplicity was too tempting. de scavenius had lied again, and i had connived at it. the denial of the washington telegram was 'faked' by the american minister in collusion with the minister of foreign affairs! it must be admitted that _politiken_, edited by the terribly clever cavling, had driven the slower-witted _national tidende_ to desperation. i had a bad morning; then i resolved to draw the full fire of the _national news_ on myself. i owed it to de scavenius, who had become rather tired of being called a liar in all the varieties of rhetoric of which copenhagen slang is capable. from the american point of view, after i had made my plan, it was amusing--all the more amusing, since, after the first regret that i had unwittingly added to the _opera bouffe_ colour of the occasion, i saw that the _national tidende_ would become so abusive against me, that i should soon be an interesting victim of vituperative persecution. i repeated calmly the truth that the 'interview' was a fabrication, adding that i had no intention to attack the honour of the _national tidende_; it had been deceived; i merely wanted it understood that my government was not in the habit of contradicting its responsible representatives (_politiken_ kindly added that the _national tidende_ had received its information from the 'coloured door-keeper at the white house'). more fire and fury signifying nothing! the most elaborate frightfulness in print missed its mark, as nobody at the legation had time to translate the rhetoric of the furies, and besides, the _national tidende_ had no case. as i hoped, the diplomatic sins of the foreign office in keeping the secret were forgotten in the flood of invective directed against me. the result was expressed in my diary:--'the row has proved a help to the treaty; i did not know i had so many friends in denmark. my hour of desolation was when i feared that somebody in the state department had permitted himself to be interviewed. it was a dark hour!' after this tempest in a tea-pot, all talk about 'pressure' ceased; the air was, at least, clear of that--and i thanked heaven. september came in; the debates in the rigstag continued. various papers were accused of having prematurely divulged the secret--especially _copenhagen_. it was amusing--the secret among business men had long before the revelation of _copenhagen_ become an open secret. in fact, one of these gentlemen had come to me and informed me of the various attitudes of people on the bourse; at the legation, we never lacked secret information. the debate, as everybody knew, and the threat of an investigation of the responsibility for letting out the secret was a bit of comedy, probably invented for the provinces, for a copenhagener is about as easily fooled as a parisian. on september th, i had one of the greatest pleasures i have ever experienced. i announced to the foreign office that the treaty had been ratified, without change, by the senate. still the opposition made delays. the foreign minister did all in his power to expedite matters. it was hoped that charges of 'graft' could be developed against the ministers. 'if you had had a _bonne presse_, as usual,' a candid friend said to me, 'you might have been accused of bribing. as it is, the _national tidende_ attitude showed that you never offered that paper any money!' 'as much as i regret the attitude of the _national tidende_,' i said, 'i could as soon imagine myself taking a bribe as of the editor's accepting one. the attack was a great advantage to me.' 'you yankees turn everything to your advantage,' the candid friend said. on september th, ambassador and mrs. gerard arrived. it was a red letter day. mr. gerard showed the strain of his work, but, like all good new yorkers, was disposed 'to take the goods the gods provided' him--one of them was a dinner at the legation of which he approved. praise from brillat-savarin would not have delighted us more than this. the legation, to use the diplomatic phrase, threw themselves at the feet of mrs. gerard. gerard deserved the title, given him by the germans, of 'the most american of american ambassadors.' mrs. gerard was cosmopolitan, with an american charm, but also with a touch of the older world that always adds to the social value of an ambassadress. i had arranged, in advance of judge gerard's coming, a luncheon with my colleague across the street, count brockdorff-rantzau. it was interesting. mr. and mrs. swope were present, their serene highnesses the prince and princess sayn wittgenstein-sayn, count wedel, and, i think, dr. toepffer. judge gerard told me that he spoke little french, but he got on immensely well with count rantzau, who spoke no english. count wedel, with his love for old germany, of the weimar of goethe, of the best in literature, will, i trust, live to see a happier new order of things in his native country. the wittgensteins were charming young people. the prince was connected with almost every great russian, french and italian family. if ambassadors are not put out of fashion by the new order of things, the princess, closely connected with important families of england, would be a fortunate ambassadress to an english-speaking country. peace ought to come to men of good-will, and i am persuaded that there are men of good-will in germany. september, october, even december came in, and the political factions still fought, ostensibly about the sale, but really for control, copenhageners said, of the $ , , ! every chance was taken to delay the matter until after the war. german propaganda and bribing was talked of, but there was no evidence of it. in my opinion, it was largely a question as to who should spend the $ , , . in a monarchy such a horror was to be expected naturally! in a republic like ours, the patriotic republicans would cheerfully see the equally patriotic democrats control the funds, but, then, republics are all utopias, the lands of the hope fulfilled! all this was amusing to many observers--embarrassing and humiliating to danes who respected reasonable public opinion and the dignity of their country. it was terrible to me who saw the war coming, for mr. gerard and my private informants in germany left me in no doubt about that. even count szchenyi, always for peace, and with us in sympathy, declared that 'the u-boat war would go on, not to crush england, but as part of the germanic league to enforce peace.' and the use of the u-boat meant war for us! on all sides, i was told that the women's votes would be against the sale. it was not unreasonable to believe that ladies, just emancipated, would vote against their late lords and masters, at least for the first time. besides, as mrs. chapman catt had made very clear during her fateful visit to denmark, the liveliest, the most reasonable, the most intellectual women in the world were deprived by the unjust laws of the country that wanted the islands of the right to vote. even the fact that mr. edward brandès, a noted ladies' man, was on the side of the angels, might have no effect. he began to be tired of the whole thing. he hoped, i really believe, that the islands would settle the question and sink into the sea! we _must_ have the women's vote. madame gad helped to save the day. 'you will, in your annual _conférence_,' she said to me, 'explain the position of the american women, and your words will be reprinted, not only all over denmark, but throughout sweden and norway. the editor of _politiken_ will give you his famous "_politiken hus_," and your words will make good feeling.' 'i can honestly say,' i answered, 'that i want the women to vote. in fact, in my country, they have only to want the suffrage badly enough to have it! it is the fault of their own sex, not of ours, if they do not get it!' it was agreed that i should speak on 'the american woman and her aspirations,' at _politiken hus_, on the evening of december th. the proceeds were to go to charity. and i never knew, until i began to prepare my lecture, how firmly i believed that woman suffrage was to be the salvation of the world. without exaggeration, i believe it will be, since men have made such an almost irremediable mess of worldly affairs. my friend, the late archbishop spalding, once said that women had, since the deluge, been engaged in spoiling the stomach of man, and now they prepared to spoil his politics! i have some reason to believe that a report of my lecture might have converted him to higher ideals. i was told by some ladies that it had a great effect on their husbands. in the meantime, the tardy delegates, summoned from st. thomas and santa cruz, arrived. they were called simply to delay action. the foreign minister was heartily ashamed of the transaction on the part of his opponents; it was palpably childish. the plebiscite must be delayed as long as possible. the united states had done its part in a most prompt and generous manner. the press could give only sentimental reasons against the sale; denmark found the islands a burden; she wanted our rights in greenland; she needed the $ , , , but her politicians were willing to risk anything rather than give the control of the money to a ministry they were afraid to turn out. a coalition ministry, that is, the addition of new members without portfolios to the present ministry, was agreed to, j. c. christensen representing the moderate left, theodore stauning, a socialist, and two others. nobody really wanted a general election until after the war. on the evening of december th, i drove to _politiken hus_. there was a red light over the door. this meant _alt udsolgt_, 'standing room only.' what balm for long anxieties this! mr. william jennings bryan looking at the crowded seats of a chautauqua meeting could not have felt prouder. i recalled the night on which king christian x. had asked me if i always delivered the same lecture during a season's tour in the provinces. i said, 'yes, sir.' 'but if people come a second time?' 'oh, they never come a second time, sir.' at least, for the first time, the red light was lit,--who cared for a second time? the hall was crowded. sir ralph paget, who seldom went out, had come, and, at some distance--sir ralph was of all men the most anti-prussian--were the prince and princess wittgenstein. 'all copenhagen,' madame gad said, which was equivalent to 'tout paris.' i did my best. at the reception afterwards at admiral urban gad's, the ladies--some of them of great influence in politics--told me i had said the right things. i had the next day a _bonne presse_. the provincial papers all over scandinavia reprinted the most important parts of the discourse with approval, and letters of commendation from all parts of denmark--from ladies--came pouring in. one from a constant correspondent in falster, a 'demoiselle,' which is a much better word than 'old maid,' who was sometimes in very bad humour with 'america,' wrote that, after what i said of the american women's position, she would like to marry an american, and that, though opposed to the sale, she and her club would refrain from voting. her offer to marry an american has not been withdrawn. a few days after this, an american paper containing an account of a lynching in the south, with the most terrible details graphically described, reached copenhagen. the newspaper man who brought it to me consented, after some argument, for old friendship's sake, not to release it at this inauspicious moment. time dragged; but the news from the provinces was consoling. the foreign office seemed still to be discouraged, and i am sure that edward brandès again wished that the danish antilles had suffered extinction. even the enamelled surface of de scavenius began to crack a little. dilatory motions of all kinds were in order. the examination by the parliamentary committees at which the delegates from the west indies were present, had ceased to be even amusing. it was a farce without fun. the plebiscite could be put off no longer; on december th, the vote was taken. for the sale, , ; against the sale, , . a comparatively small vote was cast. many voters abstained. these were mostly conservatives and moderates. at last, it had come, but after what anxiety, doubts, fears, efforts,--but always hopes! the opposition proposed to continue objections to the sale of all the islands. this would mean more appalling delays, and, with the u-boat menace increasing, failure. on december th, i entered the foreign office just as djeved bey, the turkish minister, was taking his leave; he had not been very sympathetic with the turkish-german alliance; he was very french. after a few minutes' talk, i saw the minister of foreign affairs. he looked unhappy and harassed, which was unusual. in the midst of alarms, he had always retained a certain calm, which gave everybody confidence. when the petrels flew about his head and the storms dashed, he was astonishingly courageous. to-day, he sighed. in spite of the plebiscite, he seemed to think that we were beaten. i was astonished. i had always thought that we had one quality, at least, in common--we liked embarrassing situations. i soon discovered the reason for this apparent loss of nerve. 'would our government agree to take less than the three islands?' it was plain that the opposition, not always fair, was tiring him and brandès out; i could understand their position, and sympathise with their discouragement, but not feel it. 'to admit a new proposition on our part would be to interfere in the interior politics of denmark,' i said. 'the plebiscite was arranged on the question of the treaty; it meant the cession of all the danish islands or nothing.' the rigstag should not prepare such a change without making a new appeal to the country. i knew it was in the power of the rigstag to refuse to ratify the vote of the people. it would simply mean a delay of the decision if it did so. i would make no proposition to my government for a change in the treaty; if such a proposition was seriously made, i must step down and out at once. de scavenius approved of what i said. i believed that we would win, in spite of dire prophecies. on wednesday, december th, , the vote in the folkstag was taken; it stood,-- for the sale; against it. on december st, it stood, in the landstag, votes for the sale, and against it. ambassador gerard who had come to copenhagen again, was among the first to offer his congratulations. he was most cordial. the sale was a fact. 'just in time,' de scavenius said. just in time! the war cloud was about to burst, and the legation must prepare for it. the islands had hitherto cut off my view; i now saw a new world. chapter xii the beginning of and the end at the end of , the affair of the islands was practically settled. every now and then a newspaper put forth a rumour that brought up the question again. _copenhagen_, a journal which was very well written, announced as a secret just discovered, that the united states, even after congress had appropriated the $ , , for the sale of the islands, would not agree to accept them at once. this excited much discussion which, however, was soon stopped. it was remarkable how the fury and fire of the controversy disappeared. people seemed to forget all the hard names they had called one another. i forgave the _national news_, and later even attempted to get printing material for the paper from the united states. the need of printing material had become so great, that an attempt was made to print one edition in coal tar! the embargo was drastic. if the _national news_ had had a good case against me and interfered with the sale, perhaps i might not have been so forgiving; one's motives are always mixed. new difficulties were coming upon us, and i think that most of our diplomatic representatives knew that we were unprepared for them. since the opening of the war, we had been adjured to be neutral. that was sometimes hard enough. but, as it seemed inevitable that our country must be drawn into the war (though we were told that the popular air at home was 'i did not raise my boy to be a soldier') it seemed necessary to be prepared. captain totten--now colonel--our military attaché, urged 'preparedness' in season and out of season. the position of a minister who wants to be prepared for a coming conflict, but is obliged to act as if no contest were possible, is not an easy one. besides, through the departure of mr. francis hagerup, the norwegian minister, to stockholm, i had become dean of the diplomatic corps. i represented, when i went to court officially, the central powers as well as their enemies. 'you are atlas,' the king said, when i presented myself as dean for the first time; 'you bear all the powers of the world on your shoulders!' he regretted that the foreign ministers could not meet at a neutral court on occasions of ceremony. i think his majesty believed that the members of the diplomatic corps were in the position of the heralds of the elder time--exempt, at least outwardly, from all the hatreds developed by the war, and ready to look on the enemy of to-day as their friend of to-morrow. this is good diplomacy; i agreed with his majesty, but wondered whether, if his majesty's country was in the position of belgium, he would have instructed his minister to be polite to the representative of the invader. i had my doubts, for if there were ever a king passionately devoted to his country, it is king christian x. after the sinking of the _lusitania_, my position would have been terribly difficult, if my german and austrian colleagues had not acted in a way that made it possible for me to forget that i had said, on hearing of bernstorff's warning, 'the day after an american is killed without warning at sea, we will declare war!' it was undiplomatic; but i had said it to count rantzau, to prince wittgenstein, to count raben-levitzau, to prince waldemar, to the princes, to other persons, and, i think, at the foreign office. a very distinguished german had replied, in the true junker spirit, 'but your great government would not bring a war on itself for the sake of the lives of a few hundred _bourgeoisie_.' and, when i stood, foolish and confounded, recognising that the time had not come for our government to act, he said: 'you see you were wrong. your government is not so altruistic as you thought, nor so ready to bring new disasters on the world.' count rantzau always took a moderate tone. when in difficulty he could switch the conversation to a passage in the _memoirs_ of st. simon, or some other chronicle--a little frivolous--of the past. count szchenyi was hard hit--his brother-in-law, mr. vanderbilt, had perished among the _bourgeoisie_ on the _lusitania_; it was a subject to be avoided. prince von wittgenstein simply said that it was a pity that the _lusitania_ carried munitions of war, though they were not high explosives, but he made no excuses. it was evident that these gentlemen regretted the horrible crime. the few germans one met in society were inclined to blame what they called the stupidity of the captain of the steamship; they had the testimony of the hearing taken from the london _times_, at their finger ends, and they knew 'the name of the firm in lowell, massachusetts, whose ammunition had been exported on the _lusitania_.' their opinions i always heard at second-hand. a great danish lady, whose family the king of prussia and the present emperor had honoured, sent me from the country all the signed portraits of the kaiser, torn to pieces. 'i could not write,' she said afterwards at dinner, 'i could not say what i thought,--i had promised my husband to be silent,--but you know what i meant,' and she added in danish, 'damn little willie!' the only place in which representatives of the warring nations saw one another was in church, that is, in the church of st. ansgar; but count szchenyi and prince von wittgenstein were always so deeply engaged in prayer that they could not see the french minister or the belgian. the english church--one of the most beautiful in copenhagen--was frequented only by the english and a few americans, so the rector, the rev. dr. kennedy, was never troubled about the position of his pews, nor was the russian pope across the street from st. ansgar's. mr. francis hagerup had been a model dean. everybody trusted and respected him; it seemed a pity that he should go away from copenhagen, after such good service, without the usual testimonial from the diplomatic corps; but there were difficulties in the way. would sir henry lowther, the english, and baron de buxhoevenden, the russian minister, permit their names to go on a piece of plate with those of count brockdorff-rantzau and count szchenyi? count szchenyi, always kindness itself, had his eye on two silver vegetable dishes of the true danish-rosenborg type. he consulted me as the dean. i wanted mr. hagerup to have these beautiful things, and szchenyi seemed to think that the matter could be arranged. i agreed to get the signatures to the proposition, expressed in french, that the dishes should be bought from the court jeweller, the famous carl michelsen, who had designed them. i doubt whether any of the tiffanys have more foreign decorations than michelsen; it is worth while being a jeweller and an artist in denmark. the gift was to show the unusual honour to an unusual dean, offered by all the diplomatic corps in time of war. i had the opinion of the ladies sounded; they were all against it, especially one of the most intellectual ladies of the diplomatic corps, madame de buxhoevenden. she warned me that my attempt would be a failure. however, i sent the paper out, done in the most diplomatic french. hans, our messenger, asked for the ladies first. if they were at home, he waited for another day. after i had all the signatures and they were engraved on the dishes, the baroness de buxhoevenden bore down on me, warlike. 'quelle horreur,' she said. 'how did you get my husband's name?' 'when you were out!' i said. 'i think it disgraceful all the same, that my husband's name should appear on the same plate with those of the enemies of my country.' 'on the second plate, madame, the enemies' appear,' i answered,--'there are two!' hagerup was so touched when i took the plates to him that i saw tears in his eyes. the baroness de buxhoevenden remained very friendly to me, 'because,' she said, 'she loved my wife so much.' not long after, she died in russia, heartbroken. she had faced the inclemencies of the weather and the first outbreak of the revolution (she was a sane woman, an imperialist, but one who would have had imperialism reform itself, well-read and deeply religious) to see her daughter, the young baroness sophie, who was one of the maids of honour to the late czarina. this young lady was ill and imprisoned with the imperial family. she was the only child of the buxhoevendens--their son, a brave soldier, having died some years before. you can imagine the anxiety of the buxhoevendens when the unrestrained ferocity of the mob in petrograd broke out. madame de buxhoevenden could not see her daughter, though, thanks to the american ambassador, who never failed to do a kind thing for us in copenhagen, she managed to have a message from her. a lover of russia, like her husband, of order, of reason in government, she died. with all the russians i knew, love of country was a passion. they might differ among themselves. meyendorff might look on bibikoff as a 'clever boy' and smile amicably at his vagaries; bibikoff might declare that 'baron meyendorff had, as st. simon said of the regent d'orleans, all the talents, but the talent of using them'; but they were fervently devoted to russia. they were in a labyrinth, and, as at the time of the french revolution, everybody differed in opinion as to the best way out. it was from the russians i first heard of prince karl lichnowsky. i think it was meyendorff, who once said: 'the austrian ambassador to london and prince lichnowsky are such honest men that the prussians find it easy to deceive them into deceiving the english as to the designs of germany!' one great difficulty would have stood in the way, had i, as dean, been willing to accept the kindly hint of the king and attempt to arrange that all the corps should go as usual together at new years and on birthdays to court. there was the conduct of the german government to the french ambassador at the opening of the war. it was frightfully rude, even savage, and unprecedented. it shocked everybody. it will be difficult to explain it when relations between the belligerents are resumed again. it seems to be a minor matter, but it corroborated the variation of the old proverb,--'scratch a prussian and you find a hun.' the tale of the insults heaped on the french ambassador is a matter of record for all time. judge gerard has told his own story. the russian ladies coming out of berlin were treated no better than a group of cocottes driven from a city might have been. the condition of the russian ladies when they reached copenhagen was deplorable. they all possessed the inevitable string of pearls, which every russian young girl of the higher class receives before her marriage. these and the clothes they wore were all they were allowed to bring out of the super-civilised city of berlin. it did not prevent them from smiling a little at the plight of the old princess de ----, one of the haughtiest and richest of the noble ladies, who loved the baths of germany more than her compatriots approved of. her carefully dressed wig--never touched before except by the tender fingers of her two maids--was lifted off her head, while the german soldiers looked underneath it for secret documents! from all this it will be seen that, notwithstanding the politeness of the representatives of the central powers in copenhagen, it would have been impossible for the diplomatic corps to unite itself in the same room, even for a moment. everybody went to see mr. francis hagerup off; but this was at the railway station, where people were not obliged to seem conscious of one another's presence. this would have been impossible at court. social life in copenhagen has fixed traditions (very fixed, in spite of the democracy of the people); they make it delightful. society is all the better for fixed, artificial rules. they enable everybody to know his place and produce that ease that cannot exist where there is a constant expectancy of the unexpected; but they were not proof against the savagery which germany's action had indicated. when count szchenyi's mother died, his colleagues, disliking the action of his country as they did, sent messages of condolence privately, through me, then a 'neutral.' when madame de buxhoevenden died, deep sympathy was expressed by the diplomatists on the other side, but the utter disregard, on the part of the germans in berlin for the ordinary decencies of social life caused society in copenhagen to become resentful and cold and suspicious whenever a german appeared in a 'neutral' house. it seemed incredible that hatred should have so carried away those around the german emperor, who had formerly seemed only too anxious to observe the smallest social decencies, that the civilised world was willing to retort in kind. even in the convents, the german sisters were 'suspect,' and it took all the tact of the superiors to emphasise the fact that these ladies by their vows were bound to look on all with the eyes of christ. 'yes,' a belgian sister had answered, 'with the eyes he turned to the impenitent thief!' however, religious discipline is strong, and it is the business of those set apart from the world to overcome even their righteous anger. still, when i saw the expression on the face of the abbé de noë, who had been a papal zouave and was still at heart a french soldier, on a great festival, as he gave the kiss of peace to two german priests on the altar steps, i felt that the grace of god is compelled sometimes to run uphill! commercial transactions formed a great part of the work of the legation when great britain began seriously to restrain alien foreign trade and to put a firm hand on such neutrals as adopted the motto of some of the english merchants, before they were awakened, 'business as usual.' i am afraid that i gave little satisfaction; our instructions were not precise. that some of our great business people should have fallen into a panic after august ,--men of the highest ability, of the most scientific imagination, who foresaw contingencies to the verge of the impossible--seemed amazing. in conversation with some of these gentlemen as late as the spring of , when i had come home to deliver some lectures at harvard university, i was convinced that they knew what germany's aims were in the east. they were aware of the negotiations regarding the bagdad railway and the opposition which existed between german and russian claims. how long would germany be satisfied with the english and russian predominance? they discussed this. some of them had travelled much in germany; they were willing to admit that the balkan question could be settled only by war. in , secretary bryan seemed to be sure that no war cloud threatened. when i saw him early in that year, he was entirely absorbed in the mexican question and in extending the knowledge of the minutiæ of the sacred scriptures among american travellers in palestine. i had just opened my lips (having silently listened to the most delectable eloquence i have ever heard) to say that russia had begun to mobilise and that germany would be ready to pounce by september, when mr. john lind came in, and the secretary had attention for no other man. the affairs of europe faded. the germans, as far as i could see, had great hopes of a breakdown of the allies through treachery in the french government itself. from such private information as we could get, it seemed that they relied on treachery among the italians--especially among the 'reds.' there is a french lady who wore the pearls of the deutsche bank, whose husband they had bought, and there were others it was said. our means of getting private information was not great. we had no money for secret service or for organisation. when we went into the war, our legation had neither the offices nor the staff to meet the event. this was not the fault of the state department, but of the system on which it rests. it was necessary to have a decent official place in which to receive people, a place which was elegant and simple at the same time. this we had, but barely room enough for ordinary work. if a distinguished visitor came, he was ushered into the salon or the dining-room. if sir ralph paget, the british minister, came hurriedly on business a moment after count szchenyi arrived, he was shown into the dining-room, as the three offices were always full of people. after the war opened, the legation--a very elegant apartment, which i secured through the foresight of my predecessor, mr. t. i. o'brien--was often like a bit of scenery in a modern french farce, where people disappear behind all kinds of screens and curtains in order to avoid embarrassments. mr. allard, the belgian, to whom we were devoted, came one day by appointment, and almost met prince wittgenstein in the salon, while the turkish minister held the dining-room, confronted by lady paget, who was led off to mrs. egan's rooms on pretence of hearing a victrola which happened to have been lent to somebody a few days before. the state department would have permitted me to rent, on urgent request, a satisfactory place, but the coal bill would have amounted to three thousand dollars a year. as i had not recovered from the expenses of the entertainment of the atlantic squadron (they were small enough considering the pleasure the gentlemen of that squadron gave us) and other outlays, i felt that the coal bill would be too great, and even with the war cloud on the horizon, the state department was not in a position to give us a reasonable amount of money or the necessary rooms for a staff such as the british had been obliged to collect. the british government owned its own house, which answered the demands made on it. the fiery captain totten gave the legation no peace. we were not prepared; we knew it. it would have absorbed twenty thousand dollars to put us on an efficient basis. and our staff for the very delicate work must be specialists; one cannot pick up specialists for the salary paid to a secretary of legation or even to a minister. it is different to-day; the old system has broken down now. money is supplied, even to that most starved of all the branches of the service, the state department, where men, like ten i could name, work for salaries which a third rate bank clerk in new york would refuse--and poor men too! as things were, the legation did the best it could. the greatest difficulty was to get trustworthy information. what were the german military plans? what were the social conditions in germany? as to financial conditions, it was comparatively easy to secure information. the german financiers would never have consented to the war had they not scientifically analysed the situation. industrials, like herr ballin, counted on a short war; they had provided. we knew, too, that the military authorities, which overrode the civil, believed that the foreign office could manage to ameliorate the consequences of their insolence and arrogance. it was strange that these very military authorities thought that the united states would not fight under any circumstances, for they had voluminous reports in their archives on the details of our military position. our government had always been generous in giving information to foreign military attachés. in fact, a german officer once boasted to me that his war office had filed the secrets of every military establishment in the world, except the japanese. that we were despised for our inaction was plain; americans were treated with contempt by certain austrian officials, until some enterprising newspaper announced that a great army of american students had made a hostile demonstration in new york against germany! a change took place at once; even in france, it was believed that the united states would make only a commercial war. i remember that the vicomte de faramond, who deserves the credit of having unveiled prussian schemes before many of his brother diplomatists even guessed at them, asked me anxiously, 'you _must_ fight, but is it true that it will be only a commercial war? i think, if i know america, that you will fight with bayonets.' he has an american wife. ambassador gerard was quietly warning americans to leave berlin; and yet we were 'neutral,' and the german government believed that we would remain neutral at least in appearance. no german seemed to believe that we were neutral at heart, though there were those among the expatriated who held that we ought to be, in spite of the _lusitania_ and our traditions. one of the puzzles of this was (every american in copenhagen tried to solve it) the effect that a long residence in germany had on americans. 'i sometimes read the english papers,' said one of these; 'i try to be fair, but i am shocked by their calumnies. the kaiser loves the united states; he has said it over and over again to americans, and yet you will not believe it.' 'belgium!' 'oh, the germans have made a fruitful and orderly country out of belgium.' this kind of american helped to deceive the germans into the belief that our patience would endure all the insults of cataline. there was very little opportunity to compare notes with my colleagues in sweden and norway. they were busy men. i fancy mr. morris's real martyrdom did not begin in sweden until after easter sunday, . mr. schmedeman doubtless had his when the rigours of the embargo struck norway; but for me, the worst time was when we were 'neutral'! as to the german foreign office, why should it listen to the warnings of our ambassador, in november, who might be recalled by a change of administration in march? six months before election, no american envoy has any real influence at the foreign office with which he deals. the chances are that the policy of the last four years will be reversed by the election in november. up to the last moment, as far as i could see, the foreign office in berlin believed that the growing warlike democratic attitude would be softened by the new administration, which, it was informed, would not dare to make colonel roosevelt secretary of state. 'secretary of state,' an austrian said, 'how could an ex-president condescend to become secretary of state. one might as well expect a deposed pope to become grand electeur!' previous to november th, , the day of the presidential election, our situation was looked on by all the diplomatists and all the foreign offices as fluid. it might run one way or the other. there was a widely diffused opinion in denmark that, as president wilson had been elected on a peace platform for his first term, germany might go as far as she liked without drawing the united states into the conflict. in berlin, in high circles, the election of mr. hughes was considered certain. he was supposed to represent capital, and capital would think twice before burning up values. the kaiser had given colonel roosevelt up; 'sa conduite est une grande illusion pour notre empereur,' count brockdorff-rantzau had said. i learned from berlin that the ex-president had been approached by a representative of the kaiser of sufficient rank, who had reminded colonel roosevelt of the honours the kaiser had showered upon him during his european tour. 'i was also well received by the king of the belgians,' colonel roosevelt answered. 'c'est une grande illusion,' count brockdorff-rantzau repeated, more in sorrow than in anger. 'the emperor did not think that the ex-president would turn against him!' until election day, every american diplomatist in europe merely marked time. he represented a government which was without power for the time being. an expatriated irish-american came in to sound us as to the prospects. 'president wilson will have a second term,' i said; 'the west is with him, and mr. hughes's speeches are not striking at the heart of the people.' 'he is pro-english, god forbid!' he said. 'wilson means war!' 'we may have, on the other hand, colonel roosevelt as secretary of state for war.' 'god forbid!' he said. he had stepped between two stools; he still lives in germany--a man without a country. we were still 'neutral,' and the election was some months off. count rantzau saw the danger which the military party was courting. he was too discreet to make confidential remarks which i would at once repeat to my government; he knew, of course, that i would not repeat them to my colleagues, who never, however, asked me what he said to me. he was equally tactful, but we saw that he was exceedingly nervous about the outcome of the u-boat aggression. it was worth while to know his attitude, for he represented much that was really important in germany. he began to be more nervous, and many things he said, which i cannot repeat, indicated that the military party was running amuck. he was always decent to americans, and he was shocked when he found that his _laissez passer_, which i obtained from him for the hon. d. i. murphy and his wife to pursue their journey to holland, was treated as 'a scrap of paper.' mr. murphy had not received the corroborative military pass, which one of my secretaries had obtained at the proper office, consequently mrs. murphy was treated shamefully at the german frontier. i remonstrated, of course, but it was evident that the military authorities had orders to treat all civil officials as inferiors. miss boyle o'reilly had a much worse experience at the frontier. her papers had been taken from her boxes at a hotel in copenhagen, carefully examined, and put back. miss o'reilly had had many thrilling experiences (people imitated desdemona--and loved her for the dangers she had passed through) but like most of her compatriots she could not be induced to disguise her opinions or to really believe that there were spies everywhere. being a bostonian, she could not say 'damn,' but she never used the name of the kaiser without attaching to it, with an air of perfect neutrality, the back bay equivalent for that dreadful adjective. she made a great success in copenhagen. her magnificent lace, presented to her by an uncle who had been a chamberlain to cardinal rampolla, was extravagantly admired at the dinner mrs. egan gave for her. miss o'reilly, according to some of the experts present, had reason to be proud of it. after the adventure of the note books at the hotel, it was almost hopeless to imagine that miss boyle o'reilly would be allowed to cross the frontier, in spite of her passport and the courtesy of the german legation. she was undaunted as any other daughter of the gods. she tried it, and came back, not very gently propelled, but with the calm contentment of one who had said what she thought to various official persons on the frontier. we were glad to get her back on any terms. people asked for invitations to meet her; we were compelled to adopt her as a daughter of the house to retain her. the experts in lace were horrified to find that the vulgar creatures at the frontier--smelling of sausage and beer--had injured the precious texture. they seemed to have thought that its threads were barbed wire. we protested; miss boyle o'reilly demanded damages. ambassador gerard seemed to be impressed by the fact that the lace had been part of a surplice of the late cardinal rampolla's. we made this very plain, but the german authorities took it very lightly; they were so frivolous, so lacking in tact and justice, that miss boyle o'reilly became more 'neutral' than ever. in spite of count rantzau's courtesy, we were having constant trouble at the frontier. every dane who had relatives in the united states expected us to protest against the rigidity of the search. 'i did not mind when they took all my letters; but when they rubbed me with lemon juice to bring out secret writing, i said it was too much'; said one of these ladies, who had to be escorted to her own foreign office. mrs. william c. bullitt, just married, had to be coached into 'neutrality.' 'good gracious! i always say what i think,' she remarked, declaring that, of course, the german, his serene highness she was to go into dinner with, must see how wrong the belgian business was! mr. and mrs. bullitt had some trouble at the frontier, but her diary, uncensored, came over safe for our delight. the spanish minister, aguera, who had lately been superseded by his brother, had his own troubles, which, however, he wore very lightly. he was as neutral as his temperament, which was rather positive, allowed him to be. when he left to be promoted, the pro-germans enthusiastically announced that the german government had complained of him to madrid. the cause of the war, it was generally conceded, was the question of the way to the near east and the control of the east. now that germany had practically all of the bagdad railway and more than that, a clear way to the persian gulf, would she cut short the war, if she could? count rantzau, without explicitly admitting that his country's chief aim had been accomplished, said yes. the great desire of his nation was for peace. the u-boat war was only a means of forcing peace. 'we do not want to crush england! heaven forbid!' said count szchenyi, 'but we tolerate the u-boat war only as an instrument for obliging england to make peace. peace,' he said, 'we must have peace or all the world will be in anarchy,' i do not think he 'accepted' the u-boat war, except diplomatically. another distinguished representative of one of the central powers, making a flying visit, said, first assuming that the 'north american' and english interests were identical--'peace may bring germany and england close together. we are too powerful to be kept apart. with germany ruler of the land of the world, and england of the sea,--what glory might we not expect!' 'if the allies do not accept the chancellor's peace note, i give them up!' cried szchenyi. 'people talk democracy and the need of it among us! why, hungary is verging on a democracy of which you americans, with your growing social distinctions, have no conception of. what we want is peace, to save the world!' when the new emperor karl ascended the austro-hungarian throne, szchenyi, whose ideas were more liberal than some of the old régime liked, became a prime favourite at court, and was removed to the foreign office. before the fall of russia, it was generally conceded that germany, in holding turkey and bulgaria, had gained her main purpose. both of these countries hated her in their hearts. we had proof of this. what more did she want? only peace on her own terms, perhaps slightly modified, owing to the hardness of the hearts of the english; if she could gain england, she could deal with france and easily with russia. before the czar abdicated, it was understood in diplomatic circles that germany believed it was time to stop. while there was no immediate danger of starvation in germany, there was great inconvenience. moreover, the great commercial position of germany was each day that prolonged the war melting like ice on summer seas; and a short war had been promised to the german nation. parties in germany were divided as to indemnities and the retention of belgium. antwerp was as a cannon levelled at the breast of england (hamburg had good reason for not wanting antwerp retained as a rival city in german territory); but the way to the persian gulf, the submission of bulgaria and turkey, the possession of the key to the balkans, the near east, meant the confusion of the english in india. the germans were ready to oust the english from their place in the sun! it was plain that the diplomatists, at least, looked on the alsace-lorraine question as of small importance in comparison. alsace-lorraine, as bismarck admitted, had nothing to do with national glory. it was a proposition of iron and potash. as to italy, 'we must always live on good terms with such a dangerous neighbour,' said the austrians. 'prussia would throw us over to-morrow for any advantage in the east. if she could hamstring the slavs, we might appeal in vain against her destroying our scraps of paper!' we knew that the austrian distrust of prussia never slept. but austria and germany were absolute monarchies--against the world. it was the general belief that rumania would not be drawn into the war. the swedish legation at rome seemed to be of a different opinion. it was noted for the accuracy of its information, but this time we doubted. as observers, it seemed incredible to us in copenhagen, that she should be allowed to sacrifice herself; but the rumours from rome persisted. one well-known british diplomatist, sir henry lowther, formerly the british minister at copenhagen, had never wavered in his doubts as to the solidarity of russia. at the beginning of the war, he had said, to my astonishment, 'our great weakness is russia; if you do not come in and offset it, i fear greatly.' events proved that he was right. for those of the diplomatic corps who came in contact with people from the near east, or with the turkish diplomatists, the great question was--the designs of germany in the east. one of the advantages of diplomatic life is that one comes in contact with the most interesting people. in spite of a determination to follow all the rules of the protocol as closely as possible terence's announcement, through the lips of chremes, was good enough for me,--'homo sum; humani nil a me alienum puto,' and consequently, i made profit out of good talk wherever i found it. i saw too little of dr. morris jastrow, of the university of pennsylvania, in , when he came to copenhagen with a group of distinguished orientalists; but one of his sentences remained in my mind (i quote from memory), 'the crucial question, and a terrible answer it may be when germany gives it to the world, is, who shall control bulgaria and serbia and constantinople. settle the matter of the road to the east, so that germany and austria may not join in monopolising it, and then, we can begin to talk of a tranquil europe.' much later, i had a long talk with rudolph slatin, who had been a close friend of king edward's, and who knew the east. he had had too many favours from england to be willing to take arms against her; he was austrian, but not pro-prussian. his views were not exactly those of dr. jastrow's, as dr. jastrow afterwards expressed them,[ ] but one could read between the lines. the eastern route was the real core of the war. russia knew this when she began to make preparations for mobilisation in the early spring of . all the turks i met, including the two ministers, confirmed this. [ ] in _the war and the bagdad railway_. j. b. lippincott & co. lady paget, the wife of the british minister, who came to copenhagen in , knew more of the inside history of the war in the balkans than the _soi-disant_ experts who talked. she seldom talked; but the serbians, who adored her, did not hesitate to sing the praises of her knowledge and of her efforts to save them. to her very few intimates it was plain that she, as well as her husband, looked on the balkans as the key to the cause of the war. the serbians that i knew, men of all classes, said that, if lady paget had been listened to, serbia would have been saved to herself and the allies. whether this was true or not, the serbians believed it. the missionaries driven out of turkey who came to the legation were full of the eastern situation, and the wrongs of the armenians. the stories of the missionaries, driven out, made one feel that germany was paying--even from the point of view of her longed-for conquest--too high a price for the possession of turkey. the turkish ministers were more french than german in their sympathies, but to them the armenians were deadly parasites. they looked on them as the russian yunker looked on the lower class of jews. miss patrick of roberts college, passed our way. she was ardent, sincere, naturally diplomatic,--discreet is a better word. but one could see that the turks and the balkan peoples, whatever might be their difference of opinion, or their own desire for territory, felt that the german control meant the closing of the steel fist upon them. the young turks believed that they could hold the dardanelles, when they once turned the germans out, and that turkey might be the land of the turks. to attain this, they did not fail to appeal to all the bigotry of the moslem. one could see that serbia despaired of the allies, that the bulgarians believed that their untenable position was due to the intrigues of czar ferdinand and to the blundering of these same allies. america was a land of promise, the hope of freedom; but america seemed too far off. the balkans peoples felt that even america, had, while conserving her democracy at home, cared little for the rights of the people abroad. this feeling existed in all the neutral nations. a graduate of roberts college with whom i had talked of our interest in the small nations, smiled. 'the attitude of your country to the smaller nations reminds me of a famous speech of the author of _utopia_ when one of his household congratulated him on henry viii.'s putting his arms about the chancellor's neck. 'if the king's grace could gain a castle in france by giving up my head, off it would go.' i did not dream, in january , how soon we should begin to 'make the world safe for democracy.' mr. vopika, our minister to rumania, came on the way home from bucharest about this time. he was full of interesting information, and very cheerful, though practically imprisoned in copenhagen, as no boats were running. more and more it became plain that russia was breaking, and that germany would soon be lifted from that doubt which had begun to worry her statesmen. there was talk of the grand rabbi going to washington as ambassador, which seemed to infuriate the young turkish party. aaronshon, the expert for the jewish agricultural society in palestine, came; a wonderful man, capable of great things, and shrewd beyond the power of words to express. he did not deny that the turkish crown prince had been shot, having first fired at enver pasha. harold al raschid is a novice to him in his knowledge of eastern things that western diplomatists ought to know. from all sources came the corroboration of the fact that, once sure of russia, with the slavs in her grasp, germany held, in her own opinion, the keys to the world. opinions differed as to whether she was starving or not. rumania had helped her with oil and perhaps coal. the chinese minister at berlin said that she could hold out longer than china could in similar circumstances, as his citizens would be compelled to reduce themselves to less than two meals, and the germans were coming down from four! we know on the authority of the actor in the episode that he had paid twenty marks in a restaurant in berlin for a portion of roast fowl; it was tough, and he laid down his knife and fork in despair, when two ladies, at a table near him, politely asked if they might take it! rumours, very disturbing, as to the conditions of russia, came to us from all sides. our neighbour, prince valdemar, looked disturbed when one asked as to the health of the empress dowager, who had been most kind to my daughter, carmel. he seemed to think that she would be safe, though i heard him say that a revolution seemed inevitable. the forcible and insolent 'conversations' on the part of germany with norway--shortly before october th, , she had actually threatened war--had ceased for the moment. mr. angel carot, the french journalist, who was correspondent of the petrograd press, had reported on good authority that the germans were preparing a descent on jutland. vicomte de faramond seemed to think that the rumour was well founded. 'we know the point of view that the berlin foreign office has; count rantzau represents it,' said mr. de scavenius, 'but who can not tell from day to day what the general staff will do?' the general staff kept its secrets. poland was in a frightful condition. the germans were not only impoverishing the landed proprietors, but seizing their cattle and forcing their farm people into the army. a pole fighting for german autocracy was in as pitiable position as a slesviger fighting for the enslaving of his own land. the poles were not inclined toward a republic, but there was not one of their noble families from whom they would draw a constitutional king. a son of the austrian grand duke stefan, who was popular in poland, was much spoken of. i felt that i ought to be flattered when a polish prince and princess came, well introduced, to lay the plan before me, as a diplomatist who might assist in making a royal marriage! i concealed my surprise; but it was delightful to hear of my 'relations avec des grandes personnes dans toutes les chancelleries du monde.' and what a pleasure to hear, 'we know that even the quirinal and the vatican, etc. you who are three times minister of the united states.' the 'three times minister of the united states' puzzled me at first; then i remembered that one of the german papers, i think it was _die woche_, had said the same thing, meaning that i had served under three presidents. our polish guests were willing, under the circumstances, to approve of the marriage with archduke stefan's son, provided a catholic princess, of liberal political views, could be found. to have a german princess forced on them would mean new disturbances,--revolts, dissatisfaction. there was perhaps the princess margaret of denmark, who had every quality, they understood, to make an ideal queen of poland. 'every quality,' i agreed, 'to make a man happy--but it must be the right man.' i knew that prince valdemar, who had refused balkan thrones, was not desirous of marrying his daughter to a prince 'simply because he was a prince.' would i sound his royal highness? 'i know,' i answered, 'that prince valdemar believes in happy marriages, not in brilliant ones. in fact, i had heard him say that he did not want denmark to be looked on only as an arsenal for the making of crowns.' the prince and princess went on their way, to consult more influential persons. they would not have welcomed a republic; in february the german grip was strong in poland, and a danish princess, the daughter of a french mother, seemed to offer them hope in the gloom. the fears of the austrians, of the russians, of the poles, of the bulgarians that, if the war continued, anarchy must ensue, were not concealed. the polish prince and princess believed that russia would have a change of government, but this change, they thought, would be brought about by a 'palace revolution,' for petrograd was the centre of intrigues. the british minister was accused of working in the interests of the grand duke nicholas; the german propaganda, as far as we could discover, was for the practical application of 'divide and conquer.' baron de meyendorff, whose cheerfulness was as proverbial as his discretion, was uneasy; but as, unlike his chief, baron de buxhoevenden, he belonged to the more liberal party, this was taken as a sign that he was uncertain whether the new elements in russian political life would develop in an orderly way or not. baron de buxhoevenden, the most calm, the most self-controlled of all my colleagues, was unusually silent; his wife, than whom russia had no more intelligent and patriotic woman in her borders, had said that the war would either break or make russia. 'the russian people,' she said, 'since the beginning of the war, are better fed than they ever were. the suppression of _vodka_ has enabled them to pay their taxes and to begin to get rid of the parasites who prey on thoughtless drunkards. their prosperity will either induce them to rebel against their rulers, or to accept the government because of their improved conditions.' 'but why are they better fed?' i had asked. 'we are exporting nothing. the russian peasant eats the food he raises. butter is no longer a luxury. i have hopes for russia--and fears.' her fears were justified. the murder of rasputin called attention to the dissensions in the russian court. admiring the empress dowager, as everybody in the court circle did, it seemed amazing that her son, of whom we knew little, should have permitted this peasant to acquire such influence over his wife. there were fashionable ladies who knelt to this strange apostle of the occult, who kissed his hands with fervour. but murder was murder, and coming not so long after the killing of the crown prince of turkey, it gave the impression that the oriental point of view as to the value of human life existed in both countries. as time went on, russia occupied our vision more and more. in spite of the revelations that have been made, revelations which show that the only secrets are those buried with men who have found it to their honour or interest to keep them--the details of the reasons which caused russia to mobilise in july are not fully known. how the russians gained their information of the intentions of germany in their regard is very well known. the most clever of russian spies was always in the confidence of the kaiser; he paid for his knowledge with his life. as days passed, it became evident that the royal couple in russia were being gradually isolated. calumnies almost as evil and quite as baseless against the tsarina as those published about marie antoinette were freely circulated. to review here this campaign of malice is not necessary. there were no chivalrous swords ready to leap from the scabbards for her. the age of chivalry seemed indeed dead. the poor lady was not even picturesque, whereas her brilliant mother-in-law, dagmar of denmark, was still beautiful and picturesque; she was imperial, but then she understood what democracy meant. it is said that she believed that, if her son had appeared in his uniform on horseback, surrounded by a staff of men who represented traditions, the revolution would not have begun. neither the tsar not the tsarina understood what tradition meant to the russian mind. the empress was a german at heart,--an overfond and superstitious mother. good women have never made successful rulers, as a rather cynical russian said to me, _à propos_ of the empress catherine. the nobility disliked her because she kept aloof from them. the glitter and the pomp of court life which the russian aristocracy loved, the consideration which monarchs are expected to show for the social predilections of their subjects were disregarded by her. living in perpetual fear, her nerves were shattered. all her interests centred in her family and in the unbending conviction of a german princess that the divine right of kings is a dogma. she was as incapable of understanding that there were powers in the nation which could destroy as was marie antoinette before she met destruction. we understood at copenhagen that she looked on all the acts of the emperor that were not autocratic as weak; members of the duma must be subservient and grateful; otherwise, it was the duty of the tsar to treat them with the severity they deserved. the concessions, which, if granted earlier would have saved the emperor, were very moderate--merely a responsible ministry and a constitution. the tsar, under the influence of the empress, the reactionary protopopoff and the little clique of exclusives, who had forgotten everything valuable and learned nothing new, refused to grasp these ropes of salvation. the strength of the grand duke nicholas-michailovitch amazed and disconcerted this clique. 'if,' said one of the elderly russian gentlemen we knew, 'he is not exiled, he will try to be president of all the russias one day!' the emperess dowager was distrusted by the party around the empress. the empress dowager believed in prosecuting the war, for she knew that russia could only follow her destiny happily freed from german control. from february until march, , russia continued to be the one subject of discussion in diplomatic circles. it was the general opinion that the empress was the great obstacle to the emperor's giving a liberal constitution to his people. the danish court, though the emperor william had accused it of indiscretion, was silent. prince valdemar, who was, like all the sons and daughters of king christian ix., devoted to the dowager empress, was plainly uneasy. we all knew that his sympathies were with the liberal party and against the pro-german and absolutist clique. 'the russian people have endured much,' he said on march th, the day on which the news of the tsar's abdication arrived; and, afterwards,--'thank god--so far it has been almost a bloodless revolution.' 'why,' asked the devout danish conservative, who believed that kings were still all-powerful, 'why does not king george of england help his cousin?' it was only too plain that in spite of all warnings, 'his cousin' had put himself beyond all human help. the russian soldiers calmly doffed their caps and said 'i will go home for my part of the land!' the condition of petrograd was such that chaos had come again. to save the lives of the tsar and tsarina, kerensky insisted that capital punishment should be abolished. count christian holstein-ledreborg, fresh from russia, reported that at the soldiers' meeting in the banquet room of the winter palace, speakers imposed silence by shooting at the ceiling! there was an attempt on the part of the new democrats to have prostitution, hitherto the luxury of the rich, put within the reach of all. russia had gone out of the war; it was surely time for us to go in. on april , , i informed the foreign office that the president at congress had declared us in a state of war with germany. further patience would have been a crime. from that day the legation took on a new aspect. our decks were cleared for observation and action. mr. cleveland perkins, who had courageously assumed the duties of the secretary of legation although relieved by a secretary, had new and difficult duties thrust upon him, to which he was fully equal. mr. seymour beach conger and mr. john covington knapp were invaluable. no words of mine can express my sense of their self-sacrificing patriotism. mr. groeninger did three men's work and captain totten kept us all up to the mark by his fiery and persistent enthusiasm. no great dinners now! even if we had been in the mood, fire and food had become too scarce. mr. conger did a most important service; he looked after the crowds of late comers from germany, and discovered what light they could throw on german conditions. the state department came to the rescue of our staff, which was few but fit; mr. grant-smith was sent from washington, with instructions to spend all the money that was necessary. he made a complete organisation, and i, struck heavily in health, laid down my task regretfully, leaving it in hands more competent under the changed circumstances. there is no use in hiding the fact that, even before russia broke, we who feared the triumph of germany had many dark days; but there was never a time when my colleagues of the allies despaired. how mr. allart, our belgian colleague, lived through it, i do not know! the danes stood by him manfully, and he never lacked the sympathy of his colleagues; but he suffered. 'the moment that england is seriously inconvenienced,' a german professor of psychology had said, 'she will give in.' we know how false this was. the race, pronounced degenerate, whose fibre was supposed to be eaten up with an inordinate love of sport, showed bravery to the backbone when it awakened to the real issues of the war. the upper classes of the english were splendid beyond words. their sacrifices were terrible in the beginning, but their example told; and long before the crash of russia came, there was no question of 'business as usual.' the british nation had realised that it was fighting, not only for its life, but for the principle on which its life is based. yet the victory was by no means sure. 'the empire may go down under the assaults of the huns--let it go rather than that we should make a single compromise,' said sir ralph paget. mr. gurney, colonel wade, and all the staunch men connected with his legation, echoed his words. mr. wells, the novelist preacher, may say what he will of the failure of english education, but it has produced men of a quality which all the men can understand and admire.[ ] as to the french, they, too, had their sober hours, and the saddest was caused, perhaps, by the dread that we had forgotten what the war was for; such soldiers as they were!--captain de courcel and baron taylor, suffering from wounds, and yet counting every hour with pain that kept them from their duty. but we came in none too soon; from my point of view, it is unreasonable to believe that the apparent disintegration of germany and austria was the cause of our victory. the cause of it was the increase of man power on the western front. in copenhagen, our best military experts said, 'if the united states can be ready in time to supply the losses of the french and english; if your aviators can get to work, victory is assured.' these experts feared that we would be too slow, and there were dark, very dark, days in and . [ ] of all the many young men i knew in england and ireland, most of them the sons or grandsons of old friends, there are only three alive; two of them, the sons of mr. thomas p. gill, of the irish technical and agricultural board, have been made invalids in the war. president wilson's ideals were, in the beginning, looked on as doctrinaire--breezes from the groves of the academies. some of the elders and scribes of europe, adept in the methods that nullified the good intentions of the hague conferences, looked on his explanation of the aims of the conflict as the courtiers of louis xiv. might have contemplated the pages of chateaubriand's _genius of christianity_, if chateaubriand had lived at port royal in the time of those cynics; but the people in all the scandinavian countries took to them as the expression of their aspirations. the chancelleries of europe heard a new voice with a new note, but the people did not find it new. president wilson found himself, when he gave the reasons of our country for entering the war, interpreting the meaning of the people. until he spoke the war seemed to mean the saving of the territory of one nation, or the regaining it for another, or the existence of a nation's life. standing out of the european miasma, with nothing to gain except the fulfilment of our ideals, and all to lose if there were to be losses of life and material, we gave a meaning to the war,--a new meaning which had been obscured. nevertheless, let us not forget that germany has not changed her ideals; all the forces of the civilised world have not succeeded in changing them. of democracy, in the american sense of the word, she has no more understanding than russia--nor at present does she really want to have. to a certain extent she conquered us. she obliged us to adopt her methods of warfare; to imitate her system of espionage; to co-ordinate, for the moment at least, all the functions of national life under a system as centralised as her own. if she gave temperance to russia, an army to england, religion to france, she almost succeeded in depriving our western hemisphere of its faith in god. her efficiency was so expensive that it was making her bankrupt; she was paying too much for her perfection of method. to justify it in the eyes of her own people she went to war. france was to pay her debts and russia to be the way of an inexpensive road to the east. her methods in peace cost her too much; a short war would save her credit. to our regret, perhaps remorse, we have been forced by her to fight her devil with his own fire; and now we hope for a process of reconstruction in this great and populous country based on our own ideals; but we cannot change the aspirations or the hearts of the germans. we can only take care that they keep the laws made by nations who have well-directed consciences,--this lesson i have learned near to their border. the end printed by t. and a. constable, printers to his majesty at the edinburgh university press ariadne in mantua a romance in five acts by vernon lee portland, maine thomas b. mosher mdccccxii to ethel smyth thanking, and begging, her for music preface ariadne _in mantua_, _a romance in five acts, by vernon lee. oxford: b.h. blackwell and broad street. london: simpkin, marshall, hamilton, kent & company. a.d. mcmiii. octavo. pp. x: - _. like almost everything else written by vernon lee there is to be found that insistent little touch which is her sign-manual when dealing with italy or its makers of forgotten melodies. in other words, the music of her rhythmic prose is summed up in one poignant vocable--_forlorn_. as for her vanished world of dear dead women and their lovers who are dust, we may indeed for a brief hour enter that enchanted atmosphere. then a vapour arises as out of long lost lagoons, and, be it venice or mantua, we come to feel "how deep an abyss separates us--and how many faint and nameless ghosts crowd round the few enduring things bequeathed to us by the past." t.b.m. preface _"alles vergängliche ist nur ein gleichniss"_ _it is in order to give others the pleasure of reading or re-reading a small masterpiece, that i mention the likelihood of the catastrophe of my_ ariadne _having been suggested by the late mr. shorthouse's_ little schoolmaster mark; _but i must ask forgiveness of my dear old friend, madame emile duclaux_ (mary robinson), _for unwarranted use of one of the songs of her_ italian garden. _readers of my own little volume_ genius loci _may meanwhile recognise that i have been guilty of plagiarism towards myself also_.[ ] _for a couple of years after writing those pages, the image of the palace of mantua and the lakes it steeps in, haunted my fancy with that peculiar insistency, as of the half-lapsed recollection of a name or date, which tells us that we know (if we could only remember!)_ what happened in a place. _i let the matter rest. but, looking into my mind one day, i found that a certain song of the early seventeenth century_--(not _monteverde's_ lamento d'arianna _but an air_, amarilli, _by caccini, printed alongside in parisotti's collection_)--_had entered that palace of mantua, and was, in some manner not easy to define, the musical shape of what must have happened there. and that, translated back into human personages, was the story i have set forth in the following little drama_. _so much for the origin of_ ariadne in mantua, _supposing any friend to be curious about it. what seems more interesting is my feeling, which grew upon me as i worked over and over the piece and its french translation, that these personages had an importance greater than that of their life and adventures, a meaning, if i may say so, a little_ sub specie aeternitatis. _for, besides the real figures, there appeared to me vague shadows cast by them, as it were, on the vast spaces of life, and magnified far beyond those little puppets that i twitched. and i seem to feel here the struggle, eternal, necessary, between mere impulse, unreasoning and violent, but absolutely true to its aim; and all the moderating, the weighing and restraining influences of civilisation, with their idealism, their vacillation, but their final triumph over the mere forces of nature. these well-born people of mantua, privileged beings wanting little because they have much, and able therefore to spend themselves in quite harmonious effort, must necessarily get the better of the poor gutter-born creature without whom, after all, one of them would have been dead and the others would have had no opening in life. poor_ diego _acts magnanimously, being cornered; but he (or she) has not the delicacy, the dignity to melt into thin air with a mere lyric metastasian "piangendo partè", and leave them to their untroubled conscience. he must needs assert himself, violently wrench at their heart-strings, give them a final stab, hand them over to endless remorse; briefly, commit that public and theatrical deed of suicide, splashing the murderous waters into the eyes of well-behaved wedding guests_. _certainly neither the_ duke, _nor the_ duchess dowager, _nor_ hippolyta _would have done this. but, on the other hand, they could calmly, coldly, kindly accept the self-sacrifice culminating in that suicide: well-bred people, faithful to their standards and forcing others, however unwilling, into their own conformity. of course without them the world would be a den of thieves, a wilderness of wolves; for they are,--if i may call them by their less personal names,--tradition, discipline, civilisation_. _on the other hand, but for such as_ diego _the world would come to an end within twenty years: mere sense of duty and fitness not being sufficient for the killing and cooking of victuals, let alone the begetting and suckling of children. the descendants of_ ferdinand _and_ hippolyta, _unless they intermarried with some bastard of_ diego's _family, would dwindle, die out; who knows, perhaps supplement the impulses they lacked by silly newfangled evil_. _these are the contending forces of history and life: impulse and discipline, creating and keeping; love such as_ diego's, _blind, selfish, magnanimous; and detachment, noble, a little bloodless and cruel, like that of the_ duke of mantua. _and it seems to me that the conflicts which i set forth on my improbable little stage, are but the trifling realities shadowing those great abstractions which we seek all through the history of man, and everywhere in man's own heart_. vernon lee. maiano, near florence, june, . [ ] see appendix where the article referred to is given entire. ariadne in mantua viola. _....i'll serve this duke: ....for i can sing and speak to him in many sorts of music._ twelfth night, , . dramatis personae ferdinand, duke of mantua. the cardinal, his uncle. the duchess dowager. hippolyta, princess of mirandola. magdalen, known as diego. the marchioness of guastalla. the bishop of cremona. the doge's wife. the venetian ambassador. the duke of ferrara's poet. the viceroy of naples' jester. a tenor as bacchus. the cardinal's chaplain. the duchess's gentlewoman. the princess's tutor. singers as maenads and satyrs; courtiers, pages, wedding guests and musicians. * * * * * the action takes place in the palace of mantua through a period of a year, during the reign of prospero i, of milan, and shortly before the venetian expedition to cyprus under othello. ariadne in mantua act i _the_ cardinal's _study in the palace at mantua. the_ cardinal _is seated at a table covered with persian embroidery, rose-colour picked out with blue, on which lies open a volume of machiavelli's works, and in it a manuscript of catullus; alongside thereof are a bell and a magnifying-glass. under his feet a red cushion with long tassels, and an oriental carpet of pale lavender and crimson_. _the_ cardinal _is dressed in scarlet, a crimson fur-lined cape upon his shoulders. he is old, but beautiful and majestic, his face furrowed like the marble bust of seneca among the books opposite_. _through the open renaissance window, with candelabra and birds carved on the copings, one sees the lake, pale blue, faintly rippled, with a rose-coloured brick bridge and bridge-tower at its narrowest point_. diego (_in reality_ magdalen) _has just been admitted into the_ cardinal's _presence, and after kissing his ring, has remained standing, awaiting his pleasure_. diego _is fantastically habited as a youth in russet and violet tunic reaching below the knees in moorish fashion, as we see it in the frescoes of pinturicchio; with silver buttons down the seams, and plaited linen at the throat and in the unbuttoned purfles of the sleeves. his hair, dark but red where it catches the light, is cut over the forehead and touches his shoulders. he is not very tall in his boy's clothes, and very sparely built. he is pale, almost sallow; the face, dogged, sullen, rather expressive than beautiful, save for the perfection of the brows and of the flower-like singer's mouth. he stands ceremoniously before the_ cardinal, _one hand on his dagger, nervously, while the other holds a large travelling hat, looped up, with a long drooping plume_. _the_ cardinal _raises his eyes, slightly bows his head, closes the manuscript and the volume, and puts both aside deliberately. he is, meanwhile, examining the appearance of_ diego. cardinal we are glad to see you at mantua, signor diego. and from what our worthy venetian friend informs us in the letter which he gave you for our hands, we shall without a doubt be wholly satisfied with your singing, which is said to be both sweet and learned. prythee, brother matthias (_turning to his_ chaplain), bid them bring hither my virginal,--that with the judgment of paris painted on the lid by giulio romano; its tone is admirably suited to the human voice. and, brother matthias, hasten to the duke's own theorb player, and bid him come straightways. nay, go thyself, good brother matthias, and seek till thou hast found him. we are impatient to judge of this good youth's skill. _the_ chaplain _bows and retires_. diego (_in reality_ magdalen) _remains alone in the_ cardinal's _presence. the_ cardinal _remains for a second turning over a letter, and then reads through the magnifying-glass out loud_. cardinal ah, here is the sentence: "diego, a spaniard of moorish descent, and a most expert singer and player on the virginal, whom i commend to your eminence's favour as entirely fitted for such services as your revered letter makes mention of----" good, good. _the_ cardinal _folds the letter and beckons_ diego _to approach, then speaks in a manner suddenly altered to abruptness, but with no enquiry in his tone_. signor diego, you are a woman---- diego _starts, flushes and exclaims huskily_, "my lord----." _but the_ cardinal _makes a deprecatory movement and continues his sentence_. and, as my honoured venetian correspondent assures me, a courtesan of some experience and of more than usual tact. i trust this favourable judgment may be justified. the situation is delicate; and the work for which you have been selected is dangerous as well as difficult. have you been given any knowledge of this case? diego _has by this time recovered his composure, and answers with respectful reserve_. diego i asked no questions, your eminence. but the senator gratiano vouchsafed to tell me that my work at mantua would be to soothe and cheer with music your noble nephew duke ferdinand, who, as is rumoured, has been a prey to a certain languor and moodiness ever since his return from many years' captivity among the infidels. moreover (such were the senator gratiano's words), that if the fates proved favourable to my music, i might gain access to his highness's confidence, and thus enable your eminence to understand and compass his strange malady. cardinal even so. you speak discreetly, diego; and your manner gives hope of more good sense than is usual in your sex and in your trade. but this matter is of more difficulty than such as you can realise. your being a woman will be of use should our scheme prove practicable. in the outset it may wreck us beyond recovery. for all his gloomy apathy, my nephew is quick to suspicion, and extremely subtle. he will delight in flouting us, should the thought cross his brain that we are practising some coarse and foolish stratagem. and it so happens, that his strange moodiness is marked by abhorrence of all womankind. for months he has refused the visits of his virtuous mother. and the mere name of his young cousin and affianced bride, princess hippolyta, has thrown him into paroxysms of anger. yet duke ferdinand possesses all his faculties. he is aware of being the last of our house, and must know full well that, should he die without an heir, this noble dukedom will become the battlefield of rapacious alien claimants. he denies none of this, but nevertheless looks on marriage with unseemly horror. diego is it so?----and----is there any reason his highness's melancholy should take this shape? i crave your eminence's pardon if there is any indiscretion in this question; but i feel it may be well that i should know some more upon this point. has duke ferdinand suffered some wrong at the hands of women? or is it the case of some passion, hopeless, unfitting to his rank, perhaps? cardinal your imagination, good madam magdalen, runs too easily along the tracks familiar to your sex; and such inquisitiveness smacks too much of the courtesan. and beware, my lad, of touching on such subjects with the duke: women and love, and so forth. for i fear, that while endeavouring to elicit the duke's secret, thy eyes, thy altered voice, might betray thy own. diego betray me? my secret? what do you mean, my lord? i fail to grasp your meaning. cardinal have you so soon forgotten that the duke must not suspect your being a woman? for if a woman may gradually melt his torpor, and bring him under the control of reason and duty, this can only come about by her growing familiar and necessary to him without alarming his moody virtue. diego i crave your eminence's indulgence for that one question, which i repeat because, as a musician, it may affect my treatment of his highness. has the duke ever loved? cardinal too little or too much,--which of the two it will be for you to find out. my nephew was ever, since his boyhood, a pious and joyless youth; and such are apt to love once, and, as the poets say, to die for love. be this as it may, keep to your part of singer; and even if you suspect that he suspects you, let him not see your suspicion, and still less justify his own. be merely a singer: a sexless creature, having seen passion but never felt it; yet capable, by the miracle of art, of rousing and soothing it in others. go warily, and mark my words: there is, i notice, even in your speaking voice, a certain quality such as folk say melts hearts; a trifle hoarseness, a something of a break, which mars it as mere sound, but gives it more power than that of sound. employ that quality when the fit moment comes; but most times restrain it. you have understood? diego i think i have, my lord. cardinal then only one word more. women, and women such as you, are often ill advised and foolishly ambitious. let not success, should you have any in this enterprise, endanger it and you. your safety lies in being my tool. my spies are everywhere; but i require none; i seem to know the folly which poor mortals think and feel. and see! this palace is surrounded on three sides by lakes; a rare and beautiful circumstance, which has done good service on occasion. even close to this pavilion these blue waters are less shallow than they seem. diego i had noted it. such an enterprise as mine requires courage, my lord; and your palace, built into the lake, as life,--saving all thought of heresy,--is built out into death, your palace may give courage as well as prudence. cardinal your words, diego, are irrelevant, but do not displease me. diego _bows. the_ chaplain _enters with_ pages _carrying a harpsichord, which they place upon the table; also two_ musicians _with theorb and viol_. brother matthias, thou hast been a skilful organist, and hast often delighted me with thy fugues and canons.--sit to the instrument, and play a prelude, while this good youth collects his memory and his voice preparatory to displaying his skill. _the_ chaplain, _not unlike the monk in titian's "concert" begins to play_, diego _standing by him at the harpsichord. while the cunningly interlaced themes, with wide, unclosed cadences, tinkle metallically from the instrument, the_ cardinal _watches, very deliberately, the face of_ diego, _seeking to penetrate through its sullen sedateness. but_ diego _remains with his eyes fixed on the view framed by the window: the pale blue lake, of the colour of periwinkle, under a sky barely bluer than itself, and the lines on the horizon--piled up clouds or perhaps alps. only, as the_ chaplain _is about to finish his prelude, the face of_ diego _undergoes a change: a sudden fervour and tenderness transfigure the features; while the eyes, from very dark turn to the colour of carnelian. this illumination dies out as quickly as it came, and_ diego _becomes very self-contained and very listless as before_. diego will it please your eminence that i should sing the lament of ariadne on naxos? act ii _a few months later. another part of the ducal palace of mantua. the_ duchess's _closet: a small irregular chamber; the vaulted ceiling painted with giottesque patterns in blue and russet, much blackened, and among which there is visible only a coronation of the virgin, white and vision-like. shelves with a few books and phials and jars of medicine; a small movable organ in a corner; and, in front of the ogival window, a praying-chair and large crucifix. the crucifix is black against the landscape, against the grey and misty waters of the lake; and framed by the nearly leafless branches of a willow growing below_. _the_ duchess dowager _is tall and straight, but almost bodiless in her black nun-like dress. her face is so white, its lips and eyebrows so colourless, and eyes so pale a blue, that one might at first think it insignificant, and only gradually notice the strength and beauty of the features. the_ duchess _has laid aside her sewing on the entrance of_ diego, _in reality_ magdalen; _and, forgetful of all state, been on the point of rising to meet him. but_ diego _has ceremoniously let himself down on one knee, expecting to kiss her hand_. duchess nay, signor diego, do not kneel. such forms have long since left my life, nor are they, as it seems to me, very fitting between god's creatures. let me grasp your hand, and look into the face of him whom heaven has chosen to work a miracle. you have cured my son! diego it is indeed a miracle of heaven, most gracious madam; and one in which, alas, my poor self has been as nothing. for sounds, subtly linked, take wondrous powers from the soul of him who frames their patterns; and we, who sing, are merely as the string or keys he presses, or as the reed through which he blows. the virtue is not ours, though coming out of us. diego _has made this speech as if learned by rote, with listless courtesy. the_ duchess _has at first been frozen by his manner, but at the end she answers very simply_. duchess you speak too learnedly, good signor diego, and your words pass my poor understanding. the virtue in any of us is but god's finger-touch or breath; but those he chooses as his instruments are, methinks, angels or saints; and whatsoever you be, i look upon you with loving awe. you smile? you are a courtier, while i, although i have not left this palace for twenty years, have long forgotten the words and ways of courts. i am but a simpleton: a foolish old woman who has unlearned all ceremony through many years of many sorts of sorrow; and now, dear youth, unlearned it more than ever from sheer joy at what it has pleased god to do through you. for, thanks to you, i have seen my son again, my dear, wise, tender son again. i would fain thank you. if i had worldly goods which you have not in plenty, or honours to give, they should be yours. you shall have my prayers. for even you, so favoured of heaven, will some day want them. diego give them me now, most gracious madam. i have no faith in prayers; but i need them. duchess great joy has made me heartless as well as foolish. i have hurt you, somehow. forgive me, signor diego. diego as you said, i am a courtier, madam, and i know it is enough if we can serve our princes. we have no business with troubles of our own; but having them, we keep them to ourselves. his highness awaits me at this hour for the usual song which happily unclouds his spirit. has your grace any message for him? duchess stay. my son will wait a little while. i require you, diego, for i have hurt you. your words are terrible, but just. we princes are brought up--but many of us, alas, are princes in this matter!--to think that when we say "i thank you" we have done our duty; though our very satisfaction, our joy, may merely bring out by comparison the emptiness of heart, the secret soreness, of those we thank. we are not allowed to see the burdens of others, and merely load them with our own. diego is this not wisdom? princes should not see those burdens which they cannot, which they must not, try to carry. and after all, princes or slaves, can others ever help us, save with their purse, with advice, with a concrete favour, or, say, with a song? our troubles smart because they are _our_ troubles; our burdens weigh because on _our_ shoulders; they are part of us, and cannot be shifted. but god doubtless loves such kind thoughts as you have, even if, with your grace's indulgence, they are useless. duchess if it were so, god would be no better than an earthly prince. but believe me, diego, if he prefer what you call kindness--bare sense of brotherhood in suffering--'tis for its usefulness. we cannot carry each other's burden for a minute; true, and rightly so; but we can give each other added strength to bear it. diego by what means, please your grace? duchess by love, diego. diego love! but that was surely never a source of strength, craving your grace's pardon? duchess the love which i am speaking of--and it may surely bear the name, since 'tis the only sort of love that cannot turn to hatred. love for who requires it because it is required--say love of any woman who has been a mother for any child left motherless. nay, forgive my boldness: my gratitude gives me rights on you, diego. you are unhappy; you are still a child; and i imagine that you have no mother. diego i am told i had one, gracious madam. she was, saving your grace's presence, only a light woman, and sold for a ducat to the infidels. i cannot say i ever missed her. forgive me, madam. although a courtier, the stock i come from is extremely base. i have no understanding of the words of noble women and saints like you. my vileness thinks them hollow; and my pretty manners are only, as your grace has unluckily had occasion to see, a very thin and bad veneer. i thank your grace, and once more crave permission to attend the duke. duchess nay. that is not true. your soul is nowise base-born. i owe you everything, and, by some inadvertence, i have done nothing save stir up pain in you. i want--the words may seem presumptuous, yet carry a meaning which is humble--i want to be your friend; and to help you to a greater, better friend. i will pray for you, diego. diego no, no. you are a pious and virtuous woman, and your pity and prayers must keep fit company. duchess the only fitting company for pity and prayers, for love, dear lad, is the company of those who need them. am i over bold? _the_ duchess _has risen, and shyly laid her hand on_ diego's _shoulder_. diego _breaks loose and covers his face, exclaiming in a dry and husky voice_. diego oh the cruelty of loneliness, madam! save for two years which taught me by comparison its misery, i have lived in loneliness always in this lonely world; though never, alas, alone. would it had always continued! but as the wayfarer from out of the snow and wind feels his limbs numb and frozen in the hearth's warmth, so, having learned that one might speak, be understood, be comforted, that one might love and be beloved,--the misery of loneliness was revealed to me. and then to be driven back into it once more, shut in to it for ever! oh, madam, when one can no longer claim understanding and comfort; no longer say "i suffer: help me!"--because the creature one would say it to is the very same who hurts and spurns one! duchess how can a child like you already know such things? we women may, indeed. i was as young as you, years ago, when i too learned it. and since i learned it, let my knowledge, my poor child, help you to bear it. i know how silence galls and wearies. if silence hurts you, speak,--not for me to answer, but understand and sorrow for you. i am old and simple and unlearned; but, god willing, i shall understand. diego if anything could help me, 'tis the sense of kindness such as yours. i thank you for your gift; but acceptance of it would be theft; for it is not meant for what i really am. and though a living lie in many things; i am still, oddly enough, honest. therefore, i pray you, madam, farewell. duchess do not believe it, diego. where it is needed, our poor loving kindness can never be stolen. diego do not tempt me, madam! oh god, i do not want your pity, your loving kindness! what are such things to me? and as to understanding my sorrows, no one can, save the very one who is inflicting them. besides, you and i call different things by the same names. what you call _love_, to me means nothing: nonsense taught to children, priest's metaphysics. what _i_ mean, you do not know. (_a pause_, diego _walks up and down in agitation_.) but woe's me! you have awakened the power of breaking through this silence,--this silence which is starvation and deathly thirst and suffocation. and it so happens that if i speak to you all will be wrecked. (_a pause_.) but there remains nothing to wreck! understand me, madam, i care not who you are. i know that once i have spoken, you _must_ become my enemy. but i am grateful to you; you have shown me the way to speaking; and, no matter now to whom, i now _must_ speak. duchess you shall speak to god, my friend, though you speak seemingly to me. diego to god! to god! these are the icy generalities we strike upon under all pious warmth. no, gracious madam, i will not speak to god; for god knows it already, and, knowing, looks on indifferent. i will speak to you. not because you are kind and pitiful; for you will cease to be so. not because you will understand; for you never will. i will speak to you because, although you are a saint, you are _his_ mother, have kept somewhat of his eyes and mien; because it will hurt you if i speak, as i would it might hurt _him_. i am a woman, madam; a harlot; and i was the duke your son's mistress while among the infidels. _a long silence. the_ duchess _remains seated. she barely starts, exclaiming_ "ah!--" _and becomes suddenly absorbed in thought_. diego _stands looking listlessly through the window at the lake and the willow_. diego i await your grace's orders. will it please you that i call your maid-of-honour, or summon the gentleman outside? if it so please you, there need be no scandal. i shall give myself up to any one your grace prefers. _the_ duchess _pays no attention to_ diego's _last words, and remains reflecting_. duchess then, it is he who, as you call it, spurns you? how so? for you are admitted to his close familiarity; nay, you have worked the miracle of curing him. i do not understand the situation. for, diego,--i know not by what other name to call you--i feel your sorrow is a deep one. you are not the----woman who would despair and call god cruel for a mere lover's quarrel. you love my son; you have cured him,--cured him, do i guess rightly, through your love? but if it be so, what can my son have done to break your heart? diego (_after listening astonished at the_ duchess's _unaltered tone of kindness_) your grace will understand the matter as much as i can; and i cannot. he does not recognise me, madam. duchess not recognise you? what do you mean? diego what the words signify: not recognise. duchess then----he does not know----he still believes you to be----a stranger? diego so it seems, madam. duchess and yet you have cured his melancholy by your presence. and in the past----tell me: had you ever sung to him? diego (_weeping silently_) daily, madam. duchess (_slowly_) they say that ferdinand is, thanks to you, once more in full possession of his mind. it cannot be. something still lacks; he is not fully cured. diego alas, he is. the duke remembers everything, save me. duchess there is some mystery in this. i do not understand such matters. but i know that ferdinand could never be base towards you knowingly. and you, methinks, would never be base towards him. diego, time will bring light into this darkness. let us pray god together that he may make our eyes and souls able to bear it. diego i cannot pray for light, most gracious madam, because i fear it. indeed i cannot pray at all, there remains nought to pray for. but, among the vain and worldly songs i have had to get by heart, there is, by chance, a kind of little hymn, a childish little verse, but a sincere one. and while you pray for me--for you promised to pray for me, madam--i should like to sing it, with your grace's leave. diego _opens a little movable organ in a corner, and strikes a few chords, remaining standing the while. the_ duchess _kneels down before the crucifix, turning her back upon him. while she is silently praying_, diego, _still on his feet, sings very low to a kind of lullaby tune_. mother of god, we are thy weary children; teach us, thou weeping mother, to cry ourselves to sleep. act iii _three months later. another part of the palace of mantua: the hanging gardens in the_ duke's _apartments. it is the first warm night of spring. the lemon trees have been brought out that day, and fill the air with fragrance. terraces and flights of steps; in the background the dark mass of the palace, with its cupolas and fortified towers; here and there a lit window picking out the dark; and from above the principal yards, the flare of torches rising into the deep blue of the sky. in the course of the scene, the moon gradually emerges from behind a group of poplars on the opposite side of the lake into which the palace is built. during the earlier part of the act, darkness. great stillness, with, only occasionally, the plash of a fisherman's oar, or a very distant thrum of mandolines.--the_ duke _and_ diego _are walking up and down the terrace_. duke thou askedst me once, dear diego, the meaning of that labyrinth which i have had carved, a shapeless pattern enough, but well suited, methinks, to blue and gold, upon the ceiling of my new music room. and wouldst have asked, i fancy, as many have done, the hidden meaning of the device surrounding it.--i left thee in the dark, dear lad, and treated thy curiosity in a peevish manner. thou hast long forgiven and perhaps forgotten, deeming my lack of courtesy but another ailment of thy poor sick master; another of those odd ungracious moods with which, kindest of healing creatures, thou hast had such wise and cheerful patience. i have often wished to tell thee; but i could not. 'tis only now, in some mysterious fashion, i seem myself once more,--able to do my judgment's bidding, and to dispose, in memory and words, of my own past. my strange sickness, which thou hast cured, melting its mists away with thy beneficent music even as the sun penetrates and sucks away the fogs of dawn from our lakes--my sickness, diego, the sufferings of my flight from barbary; the horror, perhaps, of that shipwreck which cast me (so they say, for i remember nothing) senseless on the illyrian coast----these things, or heaven's judgment on but a lukewarm crusader,--had somehow played strange havoc with my will and recollections. i could not think; or thinking, not speak; or recollecting, feel that he whom i thought of in the past was this same man, myself. _the_ duke _pauses, and leaning on the parapet, watches the long reflections of the big stars in the water_. but now, and thanks to thee, diego, i am another; i am myself. diego's _face, invisible in the darkness, has undergone dreadful convulsions. his breast heaves, and he stops for breath before answering; but when he does so, controls his voice into its usual rather artificially cadenced tone_. diego and now, dear master, you can recollect----all? duke recollect, sweet friend, and tell thee. for it is seemly that i should break through this churlish silence with thee. thou didst cure the weltering distress of my poor darkened mind; i would have thee, now, know somewhat of the past of thy grateful patient. the maze, diego, carved and gilded on that ceiling is but a symbol of my former life; and the device which, being interpreted, means "i seek straight ways," the expression of my wish and duty. diego you loathed the maze, my lord? duke not so. i loved it then. and i still love it now. but i have issued from it--issued to recognise that the maze was good. though it is good i left it. when i entered it, i was a raw youth, although in years a man; full of easy theory, and thinking all practice simple; unconscious of passion; ready to govern the world with a few learned notions; moreover never having known either happiness or grief, never loved and wondered at a creature different from myself; acquainted, not with the straight roads which i now seek, but only with the rectangular walls of schoolrooms. the maze, and all the maze implied, made me a man. diego (_who has listened with conflicting feelings, and now unable to conceal his joy_) a man, dear master; and the gentlest, most just of men. then, that maze----but idle stories, interpreting all spiritual meaning as prosy fact, would have it, that this symbol was a reality. the legend of your captivity, my lord, has turned the pattern on that ceiling into a real labyrinth, some cunningly built fortress or prison, where the infidels kept you, and whose clue----you found, and with the clue, freedom, after five weary years. duke whose clue, dear diego, was given into my hands,--the clue meaning freedom, but also eternal parting--by the most faithful, intrepid, magnanimous, the most loving----and the most beloved of women! _the_ duke _has raised his arms from the parapet, and drawn himself erect, folding them on his breast, and seeking for_ diego's _face in the darkness. but_ diego, _unseen by the_ duke, _has clutched the parapet and sunk on to a bench_. duke (_walking up and down, slowly and meditatively, after a pause_) the poets have fabled many things concerning virtuous women. the roman arria, who stabbed herself to make honourable suicide easier for her husband; antigone, who buried her brother at the risk of death; and the thracian alkestis, who descended into the kingdom of death in place of admetus. but none, to my mind, comes up to _her_. for fancy is but thin and simple, a web of few bright threads; whereas reality is closely knitted out of the numberless fibres of life, of pain and joy. for note it, diego--those antique women whom we read of were daughters of kings, or of romans more than kings; bred of a race of heroes, and trained, while still playing with dolls, to pride themselves on austere duty, and look upon the wounds and maimings of their soul as their brothers and husbands looked upon the mutilations of battle. whereas here; here was a creature infinitely humble; a waif, a poor spurned toy of brutal mankind's pleasure; accustomed only to bear contumely, or to snatch, unthinking, what scanty happiness lay along her difficult and despised path,--a wild creature, who had never heard such words as duty or virtue; and yet whose acts first taught me what they truly meant. diego (_who has recovered himself, and is now leaning in his turn on the parapet_) ah----a light woman, bought and sold many times over, my lord; but who loved, at last. duke that is the shallow and contemptuous way in which men think, diego,--and boys like thee pretend to; those to whom life is but a chess-board, a neatly painted surface alternate black and white, most suitable for skilful games, with a soul clean lost or gained at the end! i thought like that. but i grew to understand life as a solid world: rock, fertile earth, veins of pure metal, mere mud, all strangely mixed and overlaid; and eternal fire at the core! i learned it, knowing magdalen. diego her name was magdalen? duke so she bade me call her. diego and the name explained the trade? duke (_after a pause_) i cannot understand thee diego,--cannot understand thy lack of understanding----well yes! her trade. all in this universe is trade, trade of prince, pope, philosopher or harlot; and once the badge put on, the licence signed--the badge a crown or a hot iron's brand, as the case may be,--why then we ply it according to prescription, and that's all! yes, diego,--since thou obligest me to say it in its harshness, i do so, and i glory for her in every contemptuous word i use!--the woman i speak of was but a poor venetian courtesan; some drab's child, sold to the infidels as to the christians; and my cruel pirate master's--shall we say?--mistress. there! for the first time, diego, thou dost not understand me; or is it----that i misjudged thee, thinking thee, dear boy----(_breaks off hurriedly_). diego (_very slowly_) thinking me what, my lord? duke (_lightly, but with effort_) less of a little sir paragon of virtue than a dear child, who is only a child, must be. diego it is better, perhaps, that your highness should be certain of my limitations----but i crave your highness's pardon. i had meant to say that being a waif myself, pure gutter-bred, i have known, though young, more magdalens than you, my lord. they are, in a way, my sisters; and had i been a woman, i should, likely enough, have been one myself. duke you mean, diego? diego i mean, that knowing them well, i also know that women such as your highness has described, occasionally learn to love most truly. nay, let me finish, my lord; i was not going to repeat a mere sentimental commonplace. briefly then, that such women, being expert in love, sometimes understand, quicker than virtuous dames brought up to heroism, when love for them is cloyed. they can walk out of a man's house or life with due alacrity, being trained to such flittings. or, recognising the first signs of weariness before 'tis known to him who feels it, they can open the door for the other--hand him the clue of the labyrinth with a fine theatric gesture!--but i crave your highness's pardon for enlarging on this theme. duke thou speakest diego, as if thou hadst a mind to wound thy master. is this, my friend, the reward of my confiding in thee, even if tardily? diego i stand rebuked, my lord. but, in my own defence----how shall i say it?----your highness has a manner to-night which disconcerts me by its novelty; a saying things and then unsaying them; suggesting and then, somehow, treading down the suggestion like a spark of your lightning. lovers, i have been told, use such a manner to revive their flagging feeling by playing on the other one's. even in so plain and solid a thing as friendship, such ways--i say it subject to your highness's displeasure--are dangerous. but in love, i have known cases where, carried to certain lengths, such ways of speaking undermined a woman's faith and led her to desperate things. women, despite their strength, which often surprises us, are brittle creatures. did you never, perhaps, make trial of this----magdalen, with---- duke with what? good god, diego, 'tis i who ask thy pardon; and thou sheddest a dreadful light upon the past. but it is not possible. i am not such a cur that, after all she did, after all she was,--my life saved by her audacity a hundred times, made rich and lovely by her love, her wit, her power,--that i could ever have whimpered for my freedom, or made her suspect i wanted it more than i wanted her? is it possible, diego? diego (_slowly_) why more than you wanted her? she may have thought the two compatible. duke never. first, because my escape could not be compassed save by her staying behind; and then because---she knew, in fact, what thing i was, or must become, once set at liberty. diego (_after a pause_) i see. you mean, my lord, that you being duke of mantua, while she----if she knew that; knew it not merely as a fact, but as one knows the full savour of grief,--well, she was indeed the paragon you think; one might indeed say, bating one point, a virtuous woman. duke thou hast understood, dear diego, and i thank thee for it. diego but i fear, my lord, she did not know these things. such as she, as yourself remarked, are not trained to conceive of duty, even in others. passion moves them; and they believe in passion. you loved her; good. why then, at mantua as in barbary. no, my dear master, believe me; she had seen your love was turning stale, and set you free, rather than taste its staleness. passion, like duty, has its pride; and even we waifs, as gypsies, have our point of honour. duke stale! my love grown stale! you make me laugh, boy, instead of angering. stale! you never knew her. she was not like a song--even your sweetest song--which, heard too often, cloys, its phrases dropping to senseless notes. she was like music,--the whole art: new modes, new melodies, new rhythms, with every day and hour, passionate or sad, or gay, or very quiet; more wondrous notes than in thy voice; and more strangely sweet, even when they grated, than the tone of those newfangled fiddles, which wound the ear and pour balm in, they make now at cremona. diego you loved her then, sincerely? duke methinks it may be diego now, tormenting his master with needless questions. loved her, boy! i love her. _a long pause_. diego _has covered his face, with a gesture as if about to speak. but the moon has suddenly risen from behind the poplars, and put scales of silver light upon the ripples of the lake, and a pale luminous mist around the palace. as the light invades the terrace, a sort of chill has come upon both speakers; they walk up and down further from one another_. diego a marvellous story, dear master. and i thank you from my heart for having told it me. i always loved you, and i thought i knew you. i know you better still, now. you are--a most magnanimous prince. duke alas, dear lad, i am but a poor prisoner of my duties; a poorer prisoner, and a sadder far, than there in barbary----o diego, how i have longed for her! how deeply i still long, sometimes! but i open my eyes, force myself to stare reality in the face, whenever her image comes behind closed lids, driving her from me----and to end my confession. at the beginning, diego, there seemed in thy voice and manner something of _her_; i saw her sometimes in thee, as children see the elves they fear and hope for in stains on walls and flickers on the path. and all thy wondrous power, thy miraculous cure--nay, forgive what seems ingratitude--was due, diego, to my sick fancy making me see glances of her in thy eyes and hear her voice in thine. not music but love, love's delusion, was what worked my cure. diego do you speak truly, master? was it so? and now? duke now, dear lad, i am cured--completely; i know bushes from ghosts; and i know thee, dearest friend, to be diego. diego when these imaginations still held you, my lord, did it ever happen that you wondered: what if the bush had been a ghost; if diego had turned into--what was she called?---- duke magdalen. my fancy never went so far, good diego. there was a grain of reason left. but if it had----well, i should have taken magdalen's hand, and said, "welcome, dear sister. this is a world of spells; let us repeat some. become henceforth my brother; be the duke of mantua's best and truest friend; turn into diego, magdalen." _the_ duke _presses_ diego's _arm, and, letting it go, walks away into the moonlight with an enigmatic air. a long pause_. hark, they are singing within; the idle pages making songs to their ladies' eyebrows. shall we go and listen? (_they walk in the direction of the palace_.) and (_with a little hesitation_) that makes me say, diego, before we close this past of mine, and bury it for ever in our silence, that there is a little moorish song, plaintive and quaint, she used to sing, which some day i will write down, and thou shalt sing it to me--on my deathbed. diego why not before? speaking of songs, that mandolin, though out of tune, and vilely played, has got hold of a ditty i like well enough. hark, the words are tuscan, well known in the mountains. (_sings_.) i'd like to die, but die a little death only, i'd like to die, but look down from the window; i'd like to die, but stand upon the doorstep; i'd like to die, but follow the procession; i'd like to die, but see who smiles and weepeth; i'd like to die, but die a little death only. (_while_ diego _sings very loud, the mandolin inside the palace thrums faster and faster. as he ends, with a long defiant leap into a high note, a burst of applause from the palace_.) diego (_clapping his hands_) well sung, diego! act iv _a few weeks later. the new music room in the palace of mantua. windows on both sides admitting a view of the lake, so that the hall looks like a galley surrounded by water. outside, morning: the lake, the sky, and the lines of poplars on the banks, are all made of various textures of luminous blue. from the gardens below, bay trees raise their flowering branches against the windows. in every window an antique statue: the mantuan muse, the mantuan apollo, etc. in the walls between the windows are framed panels representing allegorical triumphs: those nearest the spectator are the triumphs of chastity and of fortitude. at the end of the room, steps and a balustrade, with a harpsichord and double basses on a dais. the roof of the room is blue and gold; a deep blue ground, constellated with a gold labyrinth in relief. round the cornice, blue and gold also, the inscription_: "rectas peto," _and the name_ ferdinandus mantuae dux. _the_ princess hippolyta _of mirandola, cousin to the_ duke; _and_ diego. hippolyta _is very young, but with the strength and grace, and the candour, rather of a beautiful boy than of a woman. she is dazzlingly fair; and her hair, arranged in waves like an antique amazon's, is stiff and lustrous, as if made of threads of gold. the brows are wide and straight, like a man's; the glance fearless, but virginal and almost childlike_. hippolyta _is dressed in black and gold, particoloured, like mantegna's duchess. an old man, in scholar's gown, the_ princess's greek tutor, _has just introduced_ diego _and retired_. diego the duke your cousin's greeting and service, illustrious damsel. his highness bids me ask how you are rested after your journey hither. princess tell my cousin, good signor diego, that i am touched at his concern for me. and tell him, such is the virtuous air of his abode, that a whole night's rest sufficed to right me from the fatigue of two hours' journey in a litter; for i am new to that exercise, being accustomed to follow my poor father's hounds and falcons only on horseback. you shall thank the duke my cousin for his civility. (princess _laughs_.) diego (_bowing, and keeping his eyes on the_ princess _as he speaks_) his highness wished to make his fair cousin smile. he has told me often how your illustrious father, the late lord of mirandola, brought his only daughter up in such a wise as scarcely to lack a son, with manly disciplines of mind and body; and that he named you fittingly after hippolyta, who was queen of the amazons, virgins unlike their vain and weakly sex. princess she was; and wife of theseus. but it seems that the poets care but little for the like of her; they tell us nothing of her, compared with her poor predecessor, cretan ariadne, she who had given theseus the clue of the labyrinth. methinks that maze must have been mazier than this blue and gold one overhead. what say you, signor diego? diego (_who has started slightly_) ariadne? was she the predecessor of hippolyta? i did not know it. i am but a poor scholar, madam; knowing the names and stories of gods and heroes only from songs and masques. the duke should have selected some fitter messenger to hold converse with his fair learned cousin. princess (_gravely_) speak not like that, signor diego. you may not be a scholar, as you say; but surely you are a philosopher. nay, conceive my meaning: the fame of your virtuous equanimity has spread further than from this city to my small dominions. your precocious wisdom--for you seem younger than i, and youths do not delight in being very wise--your moderation in the use of sudden greatness, your magnanimous treatment of enemies and detractors; and the manner in which, disdainful of all personal advantage, you have surrounded the duke my cousin with wisest counsellors and men expert in office--such are the results men seek from the study of philosophy. diego (_at first astonished, then amused, a little sadly_) you are mistaken, noble maiden. 'tis not philosophy to refrain from things that do not tempt one. riches or power are useless to me. as for the rest, you are mistaken also. the duke is wise and valiant, and chooses therefore wise and valiant counsellors. princess (_impetuously_) you are eloquent, signor diego, even as you are wise! but your words do not deceive me. ambition lurks in every one; and power intoxicates all save those who have schooled themselves to use it as a means to virtue. diego the thought had never struck me; but men have told me what you tell me now. princess even antiquity, which surpasses us so vastly in all manner of wisdom and heroism, can boast of very few like you. the noblest souls have grown tyrannical and rapacious and foolhardy in sudden elevation. remember alcibiades, the beloved pupil of the wisest of all mortals. signor diego, you may have read but little; but you have meditated to much profit, and must have wrestled like some great athlete with all that baser self which the divine plato has told us how to master. diego (_shaking his head_) alas, madam, your words make me ashamed, and yet they make me smile, being so far of the mark! i have wrestled with nothing; followed only my soul's blind impulses. princess (_gravely_) it must be, then, dear signor diego, as the pythagoreans held: the discipline of music is virtuous for the soul. there is a power in numbered and measured sound very akin to wisdom; mysterious and excellent; as indeed the ancients fabled in the tales of orpheus and amphion, musicians and great sages and legislators of states. i have long desired your conversation, admirable diego. diego (_with secret contempt_) noble maiden, such words exceed my poor unscholarly appreciation. the antique worthies whom you name are for me merely figures in tapestries and frescoes, quaint greybeards in laurel wreaths and helmets; and i can scarcely tell whether the ladies fortitude and rhetoric with whom they hold converse, are real daughters of kings, or mere arts and virtues. but the duke, a learned and judicious prince, will set due store by his youthful cousin's learning. as for me, simpleton and ignoramus that i am, all i see is that princess hippolyta is very beautiful and very young. princess (_sighing a little, but with great simplicity_) i know it. i am young, and perhaps crude; although i study hard to learn the rules of wisdom. you, diego, seem to know them without study. diego i know somewhat of the world and of men, gracious princess, but that can scarce be called knowing wisdom. say rather knowing blindness, envy, cruelty, endless nameless folly in others and oneself. but why should you seek to be wise? you who are fair, young, a princess, and betrothed from your cradle to a great prince? be beautiful, be young, be what you are, a woman. diego _has said this last word with emphasis, but the_ princess _has not noticed the sarcasm in his voice_. princess (_shaking her head_) that is not my lot. i was destined, as you said, to be the wife of a great prince; and my dear father trained me to fill that office. diego well, and to be beautiful, young, radiant; to be a woman; is not that the office of a wife? princess i have not much experience. but my father told me, and i have gathered from books, that in the wives of princes, such gifts are often thrown away; that other women, supplying them, seem to supply them better. look at my cousin's mother. i can remember her still beautiful, young, and most tenderly loving. yet the duke, my uncle, disdained her, and all she got was loneliness and heartbreak. an honourable woman, a princess, cannot compete with those who study to please and to please only. she must either submit to being ousted from her husband's love, or soar above it into other regions. diego (_interested_) other regions? princess higher ones. she must be fit to be her husband's help, and to nurse his sons to valour and wisdom. diego i see. the prince must know that besides all the knights that he summons to battle, and all the wise men whom he hears in council, there is another knight, in rather lighter armour and quicker tired, another counsellor, less experienced and of less steady temper, ready for use. is this great gain? princess it is strange that being a man, you should conceive of women from---- diego from a man's standpoint? princess nay; methinks a woman's. for i observe that women, when they wish to help men, think first of all of some transparent masquerade, donning men's clothes, at all events in metaphor, in order to be near their lovers when not wanted. diego (_hastily_) donning men's clothes? a masquerade? i fail to follow your meaning, gracious maiden. princess (_simply_) so i have learned at least from our poets. angelica, and bradamante and fiordispina, scouring the country after their lovers, who were busy enough without them. i prefer penelope, staying at home to save the lands and goods of ulysses, and bringing up his son to rescue and avenge him. diego (_reassured and indifferent_) did ulysses love penelope any better for it, madam? better than poor besotted menelaus, after all his injuries, loved helen back in sparta? princess that is not the question. a woman born to be a prince's wife and prince's mother, does her work not for the sake of something greater than love, whether much or little. diego for what then? princess does a well-bred horse or excellent falcon do its duty to please its master? no; but because such is its nature. similarly, methinks, a woman bred to be a princess works with her husband, for her husband, not for any reward, but because he and she are of the same breed, and obey the same instincts. diego ah!----then happiness, love,--all that a woman craves for? princess are accidents. are they not so in the life of a prince? love he may snatch; and she, being in woman's fashion not allowed to snatch, may receive as a gift, or not. but received or snatched, it is not either's business; not their nature's true fulfilment. diego you think so, lady? princess i am bound to think so. i was born to it and taught it. you know the duke, my cousin,--well, i am his bride, not being born his sister. diego and you are satisfied? o beautiful princess, you are of illustrious lineage and mind, and learned. your father brought you up on plutarch instead of amadis; you know many things; but there is one, methinks, no one can know the nature of it until he has it. princess what is that, pray? diego a heart. because you have not got one yet, you make your plans without it,--a negligible item in your life. princess i am not a child. diego but not yet a woman. princess (_meditatively_) you think, then---- diego i do not _think_; i _know_. and _you_ will know, some day. and then---- princess then i shall suffer. why, we must all suffer. say that, having a heart, a heart for husband or child, means certain grief,--well, does not riding, walking down your stairs, mean the chance of broken bones? does not living mean old age, disease, possible blindness or paralysis, and quite inevitable aches? if, as you say, i must needs grow a heart, and if a heart must needs give agony, why, i shall live through heartbreak as through pain in any other limb. diego yes,--were your heart a limb like all the rest,--but 'tis the very centre and fountain of all life. princess you think so? 'tis, methinks, pushing analogy too far, and metaphor. this necessary organ, diffusing life throughout us, and, as physicians say, removing with its vigorous floods all that has ceased to live, replacing it with new and living tissue,--this great literal heart cannot be the seat of only one small passion. diego yet i have known more women than one die of that small passion's frustrating. princess but you have known also, i reckon, many a man in whom life, what he had to live for, was stronger than all love. they say the duke my cousin's melancholy sickness was due to love which he had outlived. diego they say so, madam. princess (_thoughtfully_) i think it possible, from what i know of him. he was much with my father when a lad; and i, a child, would listen to their converse, not understanding its items, but seeming to understand the general drift. my father often said my cousin was romantic, favoured overmuch his tender mother, and would suffer greatly, learning to live for valour and for wisdom. diego think you he has, madam? princess if 'tis true that occasion has already come. diego and--if that occasion came, for the first time or for the second, perhaps, after your marriage? what would you do, madam? princess i cannot tell as yet. help him, i trust, when help could come, by the sympathy of a soul's strength and serenity. stand aside, most likely, waiting to be wanted. or else---- diego or else, illustrious maiden? princess or else----i know not----perhaps, growing a heart, get some use from it. diego your highness surely does not mean use it to love with? princess why not? it might be one way of help. and if i saw him struggling with grief, seeking to live the life and think the thought fit for his station; why, methinks i could love him. he seems lovable. only love could have taught fidelity like yours. diego you forget, gracious princess, that you attributed great power of virtue to a habit of conduct, which is like the nature of high-bred horses, needing no spur. but in truth you are right. i am no high-bred creature. quite the contrary. like curs, i love; love, and only love. for curs are known to love their masters. princess speak not thus, virtuous diego. i have indeed talked in magnanimous fashion, and believed, sincerely, that i felt high resolves. but you have acted, lived, and done magnanimously. what you have been and are to the duke is better schooling for me than all the lives of plutarch. diego. you could not learn from me, lady. princess but i would try, diego. diego be not grasping, madam. the generous coursers whom your father taught you to break and harness have their set of virtues. those of curs are different. do not grudge them those. your noble horses kick them enough, without even seeing their presence. but i feel i am beyond my depth, not being philosophical by nature or schooling. and i had forgotten to give you part of his highnesses message. knowing your love of music, and the attention you have given it, the duke imagined it might divert you, till he was at leisure to pay you homage, to make trial of my poor powers. will it please you to order the other musicians, madam? princess nay, good diego, humour me in this. i have studied music, and would fain make trial of accompanying your voice. have you notes by you? diego here are some, madam, left for the use of his highness's band this evening. here is the pastoral of phyllis by ludovic of the lute; a hymn in four parts to the virgin by orlandus lassus; a madrigal by the pope's master, signor pierluigi of praeneste. ah! here is a dramatic scene between medea and creusa, rivals in love, by the florentine octavio. have you knowledge of it, madam? princess i have sung it with my master for exercise. but, good diego, find a song for yourself. diego you shall humour me, now, gracious lady. think i am your master. i desire to hear your voice. and who knows? in this small matter i may really teach you something. _the_ princess _sits to the harpsichord_, diego _standing beside her on the dais. they sing, the_ princess _taking the treble_, diego _the contralto part. the_ princess _enters first--with a full-toned voice clear and high, singing very carefully_. diego _follows, singing in a whisper. his voice is a little husky, and here and there broken, but ineffably delicious and penetrating, and, as he sings, becomes, without quitting the whisper, dominating and disquieting. the_ princess _plays a wrong chord, and breaks off suddenly._ diego (_having finished a cadence, rudely_) what is it, madam? princess i know not. i have lost my place----i----i feel bewildered. when your voice rose up against mine, diego, i lost my head. and--i do not know how to express it--when our voices met in that held dissonance, it seemed as if you hurt me----horribly. diego (_smiling, with hypocritical apology_) forgive me, madam. i sang too loud, perhaps. we theatre singers are apt to strain things. i trust some day to hear you sing alone. you have a lovely voice: more like a boy's than like a maiden's still. princess and yours----'tis strange that at your age we should reverse the parts,--yours, though deeper than mine, is like a woman's. diego (_laughing_) i have grown a heart, madam; 'tis an organ grows quicker where the breed is mixed and lowly, no nobler limbs retarding its development by theirs. princess speak not thus, excellent diego. why cause me pain by disrespectful treatment of a person--your own admirable self--whom i respect? you have experience, diego, and shall teach me many things, for i desire learning. _the_ princess _takes his hand in both hers, very kindly and simply_. diego, _disengaging his, bows very ceremoniously_. diego shall i teach you to sing as i do, gracious madam? princess (_after a moment_) i think not, diego. act v _two months later. the wedding day of the_ duke. _another part of the palace of mantua. a long terrace still to be seen, with roof supported by columns. it looks on one side on to the jousting ground, a green meadow surrounded by clipped hedges and set all round with mulberry trees. on the other side it overlooks the lake, against which, as a fact, it acts as dyke. the court of mantua and envoys of foreign princes, together with many prelates, are assembled on the terrace, surrounding the seats of the_ duke, _the young_ duchess hippolyta, _the_ duchess dowager _and the_ cardinal. _facing this gallery, and separated from it by a line of sedge and willows, and a few yards of pure green water, starred with white lilies, is a stage in the shape of a grecian temple, apparently rising out of the lake. its pediment and columns are slung with garlands of bay and cypress. in the gable, the_ duke's _device of a labyrinth in gold on a blue ground and the motto:_ "rectas peto." _on the stage, but this side of the curtain, which is down, are a number of_ musicians _with violins, viols, theorbs, a hautboy, a flute, a bassoon, viola d'amore and bass viols, grouped round two men with double basses and a man at a harpsichord, in dress like the musicians in veronese's paintings. they are preluding gently, playing elaborately fugued variations on a dance tune in three-eighth time, rendered singularly plaintive by the absence of perfect closes_. cardinal (_to_ venetian ambassador) what say you to our diego's masque, my lord? does not his skill as a composer vie almost with his sublety as a singer? marchioness of guastalla (_to the_ duchess dowager) a most excellent masque, methinks, madam. and of so new a kind. we have had masques in palaces and also in gardens, and some, i own it, beautiful; for our palace on the hill affords fine vistas of cypress avenues and the distant plain. but, until the duke your son, no one has had a masque on the water, it would seem. 'tis doubtless his invention? duchess (_with evident preoccupation_) i think not, madam. 'tis our foolish diego's freak. and i confess i like it not. it makes me anxious for the players. bishop of cremona (_to the_ cardinal) a wondrous singer, your signor diego. they say the spaniards have subtle exercises for keeping the voice thus youthful. his holiness has several such who sing divinely under pierluigi's guidance. but your diego seems really but a child, yet has a mode of singing like one who knows a world of joys and sorrows. cardinal he has. indeed, i sometimes think he pushes the pathetic quality too far. i am all for the olympic serenity of the wise ancients. young duchess (_laughing_) my uncle would, i almost think, exile our divine diego, as plato did the poets, for moving us too much. prince of massa (_whispering_) he has moved your noble husband strangely. or is it, gracious bride, that too much happiness overwhelms our friend? young duchess (_turning round and noticing the_ duke, _a few seats off_) 'tis true. ferdinand is very sensitive to music, and is greatly concerned for our diego's play. still----i wonder----. marchioness (_to the_ duke of ferrara's poet, _who is standing near her_) i really never could have recognised signor diego in his disguise. he looks for all the world exactly like a woman. poet a woman! say a goddess, madam! upon my soul (_whispering_), the bride is scarce as beautiful as he, although as fair as one of the noble swans who sail on those clear waters. jester after the play we shall see admiring dames trooping behind the scenes to learn the secret of the paints which can change a scrubby boy into a beauteous nymph; a metamorphosis worth twenty of sir ovid's. doge's wife (_to the_ duke) they all tell me--but 'tis a secret naturally--that the words of this ingenious masque are from your highness's own pen; and that you helped--such are your varied gifts--your singing-page to set them to music. duke (_impatiently_) it may be that your serenity is rightly informed, or not. knight of malta (_to_ young duchess) one recognises, at least, the mark of duke ferdinand's genius in the suiting of the play to the surroundings. given these lakes, what fitter argument than ariadne abandoned on her little island? and the labyrinth in the story is a pretty allusion to your lord's personal device and the magnificent ceiling he lately designed for our admiration. young duchess (_with her eyes fixed on the curtain, which begins to move_) nay, 'tis all diego's thought. hush, they begin to play. oh, my heart beats with curiosity to know how our dear diego will carry his invention through, and to hear the last song which he has never let me hear him sing. _the curtain is drawn aside, displaying the stage, set with orange and myrtle trees in jars, and a big flowering oleander. there is no painted background; but instead, the lake, with distant shore, and the sky with the sun slowly descending into clouds, which light up purple and crimson, and send rosy streamers into the high blue air. on the stage a rout of_ bacchanals, _dressed like mantegna's hours, but with vine-garlands; also_ satyrs _quaintly dressed in goatskins, but with top-knots of ribbons, all singing a latin ode in praise of_ bacchus _and wine; while girls dressed as nymphs, with ribboned thyrsi in their hands, dance a pavana before a throne of moss overhung by ribboned garlands. on this throne are seated a_ tenor _as_ bacchus, _dressed in russet and leopard skins, a garland of vine leaves round his waist and round his wide-brimmed hat; and_ diego, _as_ ariadne. diego, _no longer habited as a man, but in woman's garments, like those of guercino's sibyls: a floating robe and vest of orange and violet, open at the throat; with particoloured scarves hanging, and a particoloured scarf wound like a turban round the head, the locks of dark hair escaping from beneath. she is extremely beautiful_. magdalen (_sometime known as_ diego, _now representing_ ariadne) _rises from the throne and speaks, turning to_ bacchus. _her voice is a contralto, but not deep, and with upper notes like a hautboy's. she speaks in an irregular recitative, sustained by chords on the viols and harpsichord_. ariadne tempt me not, gentle bacchus, sunburnt god of ruddy vines and rustic revelry. the gifts you bring, the queenship of the world of wine-inspired fancies, cannot quell my grief at theseus' loss. bacchus (_tenor_) princess, i do beseech you, give me leave to try and soothe your anguish. daughter of cretan minos, stern judge of the departed, your rearing has been too sad for youth and beauty, and the shade of orcus has ever lain across your path. but i am god of gladness; i can take your soul, suspend it in mirth's sun, even as the grapes, translucent amber or rosy, hang from the tendril in the ripening sun of the crisp autumn day. i can unwind your soul, and string it in the serene sky of evening, smiling in the deep blue like to the stars, encircled, i offer you as crown. listen, fair nymph: 'tis a god woos you. ariadne alas, radiant divinity of a time of year gentler than spring and fruitfuller than summer, there is no autumn for hapless ariadne. only winter's nights and frosts wrap my soul. when theseus went, my youth went also. i pray you leave me to my poor tears and the thoughts of him. bacchus lady, even a god, and even a lover, must respect your grief. farewell. comrades, along; the pine trees on the hills, the ivy-wreaths upon the rocks, await your company; and the red-stained vat, the heady-scented oak-wood, demand your presence. _the_ bacchantes _and_ satyrs _sing a latin ode in praise of wine, in four parts, with accompaniment of bass viols and lutes, and exeunt with_ bacchus. young duchess (_to_ duke of ferrara's poet) now, now, master torquato, now we shall hear poetry's own self sing with our diego's voice. diego, _as_ ariadne, _walks slowly up and down the stage, while the viola plays a prelude in the minor. then she speaks, recitative with chords only by strings and harpsichord_. ariadne they are gone at last. kind creatures, how their kindness fretted my weary soul i to be alone with grief is almost pleasure, since grief means thought of theseus. yet that thought is killing me. o theseus, why didst thou ever come into my life? why did not the cruel minotaur gore and trample thee like all the others? hapless ariadne! the clue was in my keeping, and i reached it to him. and now his ship has long since neared his native shores, and he stands on the prow, watching for his new love. but the past belongs to me. _a flute rises in the orchestra, with viols accompanying, pizzicati, and plays three or four bars of intricate mazy passages, very sweet and poignant, stopping on a high note, with imperfect close_. ariadne (_continuing_) and in the past he loved me, and he loves me still. nothing can alter that. nay, theseus, thou canst never never love another like me. _arioso. the declamation becomes more melodic, though still unrhythmical, and is accompanied by a rapid and passionate tremolo of violins and viols_. and thy love for her will be but the thin ghost of the reality that lived for me. but theseus----do not leave me yet. another hour, another minute. i have so much to tell thee, dearest, ere thou goest. _accompaniment more and more agitated. a hautboy echoes_ ariadne's _last phrase with poignant reedy tone_. thou knowest, i have not yet sung thee that little song thou lovest to hear of evenings; the little song made by the aeolian poetess whom apollo loved when in her teens. and thou canst not go away till i have sung it. see! my lute. but i must tune it. all is out of tune in my poor jangled life. _lute solo in the orchestra. a siciliana or slow dance, very delicate and simple_. ariadne _sings_. song let us forget we loved each other much; let us forget we ever have to part; let us forget that any look or touch once let in either to the other's heart. only we'll sit upon the daisied grass, and hear the larks and see the swallows pass; only we live awhile, as children play, without to-morrow, without yesterday. _during the ritornello, between the two verses._ poet (_to the_ young duchess, _whispering_) madam, methinks his highness is unwell. turn round, i pray you. young duchess (_without turning_). he feels the play's charm. hush. duchess dowager (_whispering_) come ferdinand, you are faint. come with me. duke (_whispering_) nay, mother. it will pass. only a certain oppression at the heart, i was once subject to. let us be still. song (_repeats_) only we'll live awhile, as children play, without to-morrow, without yesterday. _a few bars of ritornello after the song_. duchess dowager (_whispering_) courage, my son, i know all. ariadne (_recitative with accompaniment of violins, flute and harp_) theseus, i've sung my song. alas, alas for our poor songs we sing to the beloved, and vainly try to vary into newness! _a few notes of the harp well up, slow and liquid_. now i can go to rest, and darkness lap my weary heart. theseus, my love, good night! _violins tremolo. the hautboy suddenly enters with a long wailing phrase_. ariadne _quickly mounts on to the back of the stage, turns round for one second, waving a kiss to an imaginary person, and then flings herself down into the lake_. _a great burst of applause. enter immediately, and during the cries and clapping, a chorus of_ water-nymphs _in transparent veils and garlands of willows and lilies, which sings to a solemn counterpoint, the dirge of_ ariadne. _but their singing is barely audible through the applause of the whole court, and the shouts of_ "diego! diego! ariadne! ariadne!" _the young_ duchess _rises excitedly, wiping her eyes_. young duchess dear friend! diego! diego! our orpheus, come forth! crowd diego! diego! poet (_to the_ pope's legate) he is a real artist, and scorns to spoil the play's impression by truckling to this foolish habit of applause. marchioness still, a mere singer, a page----when his betters call----. but see! the duke has left our midst. cardinal he has gone to bring back diego in triumph, doubtless. venetian ambassador and, i note, his venerable mother has also left us. i doubt whether this play has not offended her strict widow's austerity. young duchess but where is diego, meanwhile? _the chorus and orchestra continue the dirge for_ ariadne. a gentleman-in-waiting _elbows through the crowd to the_ cardinal. gentleman (_whispering_) most eminent, a word---- cardinal (_whispering_) the duke has had a return of his malady? gentleman (_whispering_) no, most eminent. but diego is nowhere to be found. and they have brought up behind the stage the body of a woman in ariadne's weeds. cardinal (whispering) ah, is that all? discretion, pray. i knew it. but 'tis a most distressing accident. discretion above all. _the chorus suddenly breaks off. for on to the stage comes the_ duke. _he is dripping, and bears in his arms the dead body, drowned, of_ diego, _in the garb of_ ariadne. _a shout from the crowd_. young duchess (_with a cry, clutching the_ poet's _arm_) diego! duke (_stooping over the body, which he has laid upon the stage, and speaking very low_) magdalen! (_the curtain is hastily closed_.) the end appendix the lakes of mantua it was the lakes, the deliciousness of water and sedge seen from the railway on a blazing june day, that made me stop at mantua for the first time; and the thought of them that drew me back to mantua this summer. they surround the city on three sides, being formed by the mincio on its way from lake garda to the po, shallow lakes spilt on the great lombard plain. they are clear, rippled, fringed with reed, islanded with water lilies, and in them wave the longest, greenest weeds. here and there a tawny sail of a boat comes up from venice; children are bathing under the castle towers; at a narrow point is a long covered stone bridge where the water rushes through mills and one has glimpses into cool, dark places smelling of grist. the city itself has many traces of magnificence, although it has been stripped of pictures more than any other, furnishing out every gallery in europe since the splendid gonzagas forfeited the duchy to austria. there are a good many delicate late renaissance houses, carried on fine columns; also some charming open terra-cotta work in windows and belfries. the piazza erbe has, above its fruit stalls and market of wooden pails and earthenware, and fishing-tackle and nets (reminding one of the lakes), a very picturesque clock with a seated madonna; and in the piazza virgilio there are two very noble battlemented palaces with beautiful bold ghibelline swallow-tails. all the buildings are faintly whitened by damp, and the roofs and towers are of very pale, almost faded rose colour, against the always moist blue sky. but what goes to the brain at mantua is the unlikely combination, the fantastic duet, of the palace and the lake. one naturally goes first into the oldest part, the red-brick castle of the older marquises, in one of whose great square towers are mantegna's really delightful frescoes: charming cupids, like fleecy clouds turned to babies, playing in a sky of the most marvellous blue, among garlands of green and of orange and lemon trees cut into triumphal arches, with the marquis of mantua and all the young swashbuckler gonzagas underneath. the whole decoration, with its predominant blue, and enamel white and green, is delicate and cool in its magnificence, and more thoroughly enjoyable than most of mantegna's work. but the tower windows frame in something more wonderful and delectable--one of the lakes! the pale blue water, edged with green reeds, the poplars and willows of the green plain beyond; a blue vagueness of alps, and, connecting it all, the long castle bridge with its towers of pale geranium-coloured bricks. one has to pass through colossal yards to get from this fortified portion to the rest of the palace, corte nuova, as it is called. they have now become public squares, and the last time i saw them, it being market day, they were crowded with carts unloading baskets of silk; and everywhere the porticoes were heaped with pale yellow and greenish cocoons; the palace filled with the sickly smell of the silkworm, which seemed, by coincidence, to express its sæcular decay. for of all the decaying palaces i have ever seen in italy this palace of mantua is the most utterly decayed. at first you have no other impression. but little by little, as you tramp through what seem miles of solemn emptiness, you find that more than any similar place it has gone to your brain. for these endless rooms and cabinets--some, like those of isabella d'este (which held the mantegna and perugino and costa allegories, triumph of chastity and so forth, now in the louvre), quite delicate and exquisite; or scantily modernised under maria theresa for a night's ball or assembly; or actually crumbling, defaced, filled with musty archives; or recently used as fodder stores and barracks--all this colossal labyrinth, oddly symbolised by the gold and blue labyrinth on one of the ceilings, is, on the whole, the most magnificent and fantastic thing left behind by the italy of shakespeare. the art that remains (by the way, in one dismantled hall i found the empty stucco frames of our triumph of julius cæsar!) is, indeed, often clumsy and cheap--elaborate medallions and ceilings by giulio romano and primaticcio; but one feels that it once appealed to an ariosto-tasso mythological romance which was perfectly genuine, and another sort of romance now comes with its being so forlorn. forlorn, forlorn! and everywhere, from the halls with mouldering zodiacs and loves of the gods and dances of the muses; and across hanging gardens choked with weeds and fallen in to a lower level, appear the blue waters of the lake, and its green distant banks, to make it all into fairyland. there is, more particularly, a certain long, long portico, not far from isabella d'este's writing closet, dividing a great green field planted with mulberry trees, within the palace walls, from a fringe of silvery willows growing in the pure, lilied water. here the dukes and their courtiers took the air when the alps slowly revealed themselves above the plain after sunset; and watched, no doubt, either elaborate quadrilles and joustings in the riding-school, on the one hand, or boat-races and all manner of water pageants on the other. we know it all from the books of the noble art of horsemanship: plumes and curls waving above curvetting spanish horses; and from the rarer books of sixteenth and seventeenth century masques and early operas, where arion appears on his colossal dolphin packed with _tiorbos_ and _violas d'amore_, singing some mazy _aria_ by caccini or monteverde, full of plaintive flourishes and unexpected minors. we know it all, the classical pastoral still coloured with mediæval romance, from tasso and guarini--nay, from fletcher and milton. moreover, some chivalrous gonzaga duke, perhaps that same vincenzo who had the blue and gold ceiling made after the pattern of the labyrinth in which he had been kept by the turks, not too unlike, let us hope, orsino of illyria, and by his side a not yet mournful lady olivia; and perhaps, directing the concert at the virginal, some singing page cesario.... fancy a water pastoral, like the sabrina part of "comus," watched from that portico! the nymph manto, founder of mantua, rising from the lake; cardboard shell or real one? or the shepherds of father virgil, trying to catch hold of proteus; but all in ruffs and ribbons, spouting verses like "amyntas" or "the faithful shepherdess." and now only the song of the frogs rises up from among the sedge and willows, where the battlemented castle steeps its buttresses in the lake. there is another side to this shakespearean palace, not of romance but of grotesqueness verging on to horror. there are the dwarfs' apartments! imagine a whole piece of the building, set aside for their dreadful living, a rabbit warren of tiny rooms, including a chapel against whose vault you knock your head, and a grand staircase quite sickeningly low to descend. strange human or half-human kennels, one trusts never really put to use, and built as a mere brutal jest by a duke of mantua smarting under the sway of some saturnine little monster, like the ones who stand at the knee of mantegna's frescoed gonzagas. after seeing the castello and the corte nuova one naturally thinks it one's duty to go and see the little palazzo del te, just outside the town. inconceivable frescoes, colossal, sprawling gods and goddesses, all chalk and brick dust, enough to make rafael, who was responsible for them through his abominable pupils, turn for ever in his coffin. damp-stained stuccoes and grass-grown courtyards, and no sound save the noisy cicalas sawing on the plane-trees. how utterly forsaken of gods and men is all this gonzaga splendour! but all round, luxuriant green grass, and english-looking streams winding flush among great willows. we left the palazzo del te very speedily behind us, and set out toward pietola, the birthplace of virgil. but the magic of one of the lakes bewitched us. we sat on the wonderful green embankments, former fortifications of the austrians, with trees steeping in the water, and a delicious, ripe, fresh smell of leaves and sun-baked flowers, and watched quantities of large fish in the green shadow of the railway bridge. in front of us, under the reddish town walls, spread an immense field of white water lilies; and farther off, across the blue rippled water, rose the towers and cupolas and bastions of the gonzaga's palace--palest pink, unsubstantial, utterly unreal, in the trembling heat of the noontide. transcriber's notes: . page scan source: http://www.archive.org/details/historicalromanc weymiala . the diphthong oe is represented by [oe]. historical romances _under the red robe_ _count hannibal_ _a gentleman of france_ _by the same author_ the house of the wolf a gentleman of france under the red robe shrewsbury sophia count hannibal in kings' byways starvecrow farm laid up in lavender ovington's bank the traveller in the fur cloak queen's folly the _lively peggy_ historical romances _under the red robe_ _count hannibal_ _a gentleman of france_ by stanley j. weyman longmans, green and co. fifth avenue new york historical romances under the red robe * count hannibal a gentleman of france copyright * * * * * by stanley j. weyman printed in the united states of america under the red robe contents i. at zaton's. ii. at the green pillar. iii. the house in the wood. iv. madam and mademoiselle. v. revenge. vi. under the pic du midi. vii. a master stroke. viii. the question. ix. clon. x. the arrest. xi. the road to paris. xii. at the finger-post xiii. st. martin's eve. xiv. st. martin's summer. under the red robe chapter i. at zaton's "marked cards!" there were a score round us when the fool, little knowing the man with whom he had to deal, and as little how to lose like a gentleman, flung the words in my teeth. he thought, i'll be sworn, that i should storm and swear and ruffle it like any common cock of the hackle. but that was never gil de berault's way. for a few seconds after he had spoken i did not even look at him. i passed my eye instead--smiling, _bien entendu_--round the ring of waiting faces, saw that there was no one except de pombal i had cause to fear; and then at last i rose and looked at the fool with the grim face i have known impose on older and wiser men. "marked cards, m. l'anglais?" i said, with a chilling sneer. "they are used, i am told, to trap players--not unbirched schoolboys." "yet i say that they are marked!" he replied hotly, in his queer foreign jargon. "in my last hand i had nothing. you doubled the stakes. bah, sir, you knew! you have swindled me!" "monsieur is easy to swindle--when he plays with a mirror behind him," i answered tartly. and at that there was a great roar of laughter, which might have been heard in the street, and which brought to the table every one in the eating-house whom his violence had not already attracted. but i did not relax my face. i waited until all was quiet again, and then waving aside two or three who stood between us and the entrance, i pointed gravely to the door. "there is a little space behind the church of st. jacques, m. l'etranger," i said, putting on my hat and taking my cloak on my arm. "doubtless you will accompany me thither?" he snatched up his hat, his face burning with shame and rage. "with pleasure!" he blurted out. "to the devil, if you like!" i thought the matter arranged, when the marquis laid his hand on the young fellow's arm and checked him. "this must not be," he said, turning from him to me with his grand fine-gentleman's air. "you know me, m. de berault. this matter has gone far enough." "too far, m. de pombal!" i answered bitterly. "still, if you wish to take the gentleman's place, i shall raise no objection." "chut, man!" he retorted, shrugging his shoulders negligently. "i know you, and i do not fight with men of your stamp. nor need this gentleman." "undoubtedly," i replied, bowing low, "if he prefers to be caned in the streets." that stung the marquis. "have a care! have a care!" he cried hotly. "you go too far, m. berault." "de berault, if you please," i objected, eyeing him sternly. "my family has borne the _de_ as long as yours, m. de pombal." he could not deny that, and he answered, "as you please"; at the same time restraining his friend by a gesture. "but none the less, take my advice," he continued. "the cardinal has forbidden duelling, and this time he means it! you have been in trouble once and gone free. a second time it may fare worse with you. let this gentleman go, therefore, m. de berault. besides--why, shame upon you, man!" he exclaimed hotly; "he is but a lad!" two or three who stood behind me applauded that. but i turned and they met my eye; and they were as mum as mice. "his age is his own concern," i said grimly. "he was old enough a while ago to insult me." "and i will prove my words!" the lad cried, exploding at last. he had spirit enough, and the marquis had had hard work to restrain him so long. "you do me no service, m. de pombal," he continued, pettishly shaking off his friend's hand. "by your leave, this gentleman and i will settle this matter." "that is better," i said, nodding drily, while the marquis stood aside, frowning and baffled. "permit me to lead the way." zaton's eating-house stands scarcely a hundred paces from st. jacques la boucherie, and half the company went thither with us. the evening was wet, the light in the streets was waning, the streets themselves were dirty and slippery. there were few passers in the rue st. antoine; and our party, which earlier in the day must have attracted notice and a crowd, crossed unmarked, and entered without interruption the paved triangle which lies immediately behind the church. i saw in the distance one of the cardinal's guard loitering in front of the scaffolding round the new hôtel richelieu; and the sight of the uniform gave me pause for a moment. but it was too late to repent. the englishman began at once to strip off his clothes. i closed mine to the throat, for the air was chilly. at that moment, while we stood preparing and most of the company seemed a little inclined to stand off from me, i felt a hand on my arm, and, turning, saw the dwarfish tailor at whose house in the rue savonnerie i lodged at the time. the fellow's presence was unwelcome, to say the least of it; and though for want of better company i had sometimes encouraged him to be free with me at home, i took that to be no reason why i should be plagued with him before gentlemen. i shook him off, therefore, hoping by a frown to silence him. he was not to be so easily put down, however. and perforce i had to speak to him. "afterwards, afterwards," i said. "i am engaged now." "for god's sake, don't, sir!" was the poor fool's answer. "don't do it! you will bring a curse on the house. he is but a lad, and--" "you, too!" i exclaimed, losing patience. "be silent, you scum! what do you know about gentlemen's quarrels? leave me; do you hear?" "but the cardinal!" he cried in a quavering voice. "the cardinal, m. de berault? the last man you killed is not forgotten yet. this time he will be sure to--" "do you hear?" i hissed. the fellow's impudence passed all bounds. it was as bad as his croaking. "begone!" i said. "i suppose you are afraid he will kill me, and you will lose your money?" frison fell back at that almost as if i had struck him, and i turned to my adversary, who had been awaiting my motions with impatience. god knows he did look young; as he stood with his head bare and his fair hair drooping over his smooth woman's forehead--a mere lad fresh from the college of burgundy, if they have such a thing in england. i felt a sudden chill as i looked at him: a qualm, a tremor, a presentiment. what was it the little tailor had said? that i should--but there, he did not know. what did he know of such things? if i let this pass i must kill a man a day, or leave paris and the eating-house, and starve. "a thousand pardons," i said gravely, as i drew and took my place. "a dun. i am sorry that the poor devil caught me so inopportunely. now, however, i am at your service." he saluted, and we crossed swords and began. but from the first i had no doubt what the result would be. the slippery stones and fading light gave him, it is true, some chance, some advantage, more than he deserved; but i had no sooner felt his blade than i knew that he was no swordsman. possibly he had taken half-a-dozen lessons in rapier art, and practised what he learned with an englishman as heavy and awkward as himself. but that was all. he made a few wild, clumsy rushes, parrying widely. when i had foiled these, the danger was over, and i held him at my mercy. i played with him a little while, watching the sweat gather on his brow, and the shadow of the church-tower fall deeper and darker, like the shadow of doom, on his face. not out of cruelty--god knows i have never erred in that direction!--but because, for the first time in my life, i felt a strange reluctance to strike the blow. the curls clung to his forehead; his breath came and went in gasps; i heard the men behind me murmur, and one or two of them drop an oath; and then i slipped--slipped, and was down in a moment on my right side, my elbow striking the pavement so sharply that the arm grew numb to the wrist. he held off! i heard a dozen voices cry, "now! now you have him!" but he held off. he stood back and waited with his breast heaving and his point lowered, until i had risen and stood again on my guard. "enough! enough!" a rough voice behind me cried. "don't hurt the man after that." "on guard, sir!" i answered coldly--for he seemed to waver. "it was an accident. it shall not avail you again." several voices cried "shame!" and one, "you coward!" but the englishman stepped forward, a fixed look in his blue eyes. he took his place without a word. i read in his drawn white face that he had made up his mind to the worst, and his courage won my admiration. i would gladly and thankfully have set one of the lookers-on--any of the lookers-on--in his place; but that could not be. so i thought of zaton's closed to me, of pombal's insult, of the sneers and slights i had long kept at the sword's point; and, pressing him suddenly in a heat of affected anger, i thrust strongly over his guard, which had grown feeble, and ran him through the chest. when i saw him lying, laid out on the stones with his eyes half shut, and his face glimmering white in the dusk--not that i saw him thus long, for there were a dozen kneeling round him in a twinkling--i felt an unwonted pang. it passed, however, in a moment. for i found myself confronted by a ring of angry faces--of men who, keeping at a distance, hissed and threatened me. they were mostly canaille, who had gathered during the fight, and had viewed all that passed from the farther side of the railings. while some snarled and raged at me like wolves, calling me "butcher!" and "cut-throat!" and the like, or cried out that berault was at his trade again, others threatened me with the vengeance of the cardinal, flung the edict in my teeth, and said with glee that the guard were coming--they would see me hanged yet. "his blood is on your head!" one cried furiously. "he will be dead in an hour. and you will swing for him! hurrah!" "begone to your kennel!" i answered, with a look which sent him a yard backwards, though the railings were between us. and i wiped my blade carefully, standing a little apart. for--well, i could understand it--it was one of those moments when a man is not popular. those who had come with me from the eating-house eyed me askance, and turned their backs when i drew nearer; and those who had joined us and obtained admission were scarcely more polite. but i was not to be outdone in _sangfroid_. i cocked my hat, and drawing my cloak over my shoulders, went out with a swagger which drove the curs from the gate before i came within a dozen paces of it. the rascals outside fell back as quickly, and in a moment i was in the street. another moment and i should have been clear of the place and free to lie by for a while, when a sudden scurry took place round me. the crowd fled every way into the gloom, and in a hand-turn a dozen of the cardinal's guard closed round me. i had some acquaintance with the officer in command, and he saluted me civilly. "this is a bad business, m. de berault," he said. "the man is dead they tell me." "neither dying nor dead," i answered lightly. "if that be all, you may go home again." "with you," he replied, with a grin, "certainly. and as it rains, the sooner the better. i must ask you for your sword, i am afraid." "take it," i said, with the philosophy which never deserts me. "but the man will not die." "i hope that may avail you," he answered in a tone i did not like. "left wheel, my friends! to the châtelet! march!" "there are worse places," i said, and resigned myself to fate. after all, i had been in prison before, and learned that only one jail lets no prisoner escape. but when i found that my friend's orders were to hand me over to the watch, and that i was to be confined like any common jail-bird caught cutting a purse or slitting a throat, i confess my heart sank. if i could get speech with the cardinal, all would probably be well; but if i failed in this, or if the case came before him in strange guise, or he were in a hard mood himself, then it might go ill with me. the edict said, death! and the lieutenant at the châtelet did not put himself to much trouble to hearten me. "what! again, m. de berault?" he said, raising his eyebrows as he received me at the gate, and recognized me by the light of the brazier which his men were just kindling outside. "you are a very bold man, sir, or a very foolhardy one, to come here again. the old business, i suppose?" "yes, but he is not dead," i answered coolly. "he has a trifle--a mere scratch. it was behind the church of st. jacques." "he looked dead enough," my friend the guardsman interposed. he had not yet gone. "bah!" i answered scornfully. "have you ever known me make a mistake? when i kill a man, i kill him. i put myself to pains, i tell you, not to kill this englishman. therefore he will live." "i hope so," the lieutenant said, with a dry smile. "and you had better hope so, too, m. de berault. for if not--" "well?" i said, somewhat troubled. "if not, what, my friend?" "i fear he will be the last man you will fight," he answered. "and even if he lives, i would not be too sure, my friend. this time the cardinal is determined to put it down." "he and i are old friends," i said confidently. "so i have heard," he answered, with a short laugh. "i think the same was said of chalais. i do not remember that it saved his head." this was not reassuring. but worse was to come. early in the morning orders were received that i should be treated with especial strictness, and i was given the choice between irons and one of the cells below the level. choosing the latter, i was left to reflect upon many things; among others, on the queer and uncertain nature of the cardinal, who loved, i knew, to play with a man as a cat with a mouse; and on the ill effects which sometimes attend a high chest-thrust, however carefully delivered. i only rescued myself at last from these and other unpleasant reflections by obtaining the loan of a pair of dice; and the light being just enough to enable me to reckon the throws, i amused myself for hours by casting them on certain principles of my own. but a long run again and again upset my calculations; and at last brought me to the conclusion that a run of bad luck may be so persistent as to see out the most sagacious player. this was not a reflection very welcome to me at the moment. nevertheless, for three days it was all the company i had. at the end of that time the knave of a jailer who attended me, and who had never grown tired of telling me, after the fashion of his kind, that i should be hanged, came to me with a less assured air. "perhaps you would like a little water?" he said civilly. "why, rascal?" i asked. "to wash with," he answered. "i asked for some yesterday, and you would not bring it," i grumbled. "however, better late than never. bring it now. if i must hang, i will hang like a gentleman. but, depend upon it, the cardinal will not serve an old friend so scurvy a trick." "you are to go to him," he answered, when he came back with the water. "what? to the cardinal?" i cried. "yes," he answered. "good!" i exclaimed; and in my joy i sprang up at once, and began to refresh my dress. "so all this time i have been doing him an injustice. _vive monseigneur!_ i might have known it." "don't make too sure!" the man answered spitefully. then he went on: "i have something else for you. a friend of yours left it at the gate," he added. and he handed me a packet. "quite so!" i said, reading his rascally face aright. "and you kept it as long as you dared--as long as you thought i should hang, you knave! was not that so? but there, do not lie to me. tell me instead which of my friends left it." for, to confess the truth, i had not so many friends at this time; and ten good crowns--the packet contained no less a sum--argued a pretty staunch friend, and one of whom a man might be proud. the knave sniggered maliciously. "a crooked, dwarfish man left it," he said. "i doubt i might call him a tailor and not be far out." "chut!" i answered; but i was a little out of countenance. "i understand. an honest fellow enough, and in debt to me! i am glad he remembered. but when am i to go, friend?" "in an hour," he answered sullenly. doubtless he had looked to get one of the crowns; but i was too old a hand for that. if i came back i could buy his services; and if i did not i should have wasted my money. nevertheless, a little later, when i found myself on my way to the hôtel richelieu under so close a guard that i could see nothing except the figures that immediately surrounded me, i wished i had given him the money. at such times, when all hangs in the balance and the sky is overcast, the mind runs on luck and old superstitions, and is prone to think a crown given here may avail there--though there be a hundred leagues away. the palais richelieu was at this time in building, and we were required to wait in a long, bare gallery, where the masons were at work. i was kept a full hour here, pondering uncomfortably on the strange whims and fancies of the great man who then ruled france as the king's lieutenant-general, with all the king's powers; and whose life i had once been the means of saving by a little timely information. on occasion he had done something to wipe out the debt; and at other times he had permitted me to be free with him. we were not unknown to one another, therefore. nevertheless, when the doors were at last thrown open, and i was led into his presence, my confidence underwent a shock. his cold glance, that, roving over me, regarded me not as a man but an item, the steely glitter of his southern eyes, chilled me to the bone. the room was bare, the floor without carpet or covering. some of the woodwork lay about, unfinished and in pieces. but the man--this man, needed no surroundings. his keen, pale face, his brilliant eyes, even his presence--though he was of no great height and began already to stoop at the shoulders--were enough to awe the boldest. i recalled as i looked at him a hundred tales of his iron will, his cold heart, his unerring craft. he had humbled the king's brother, the splendid duke of orleans, in the dust. he had curbed the queen-mother. a dozen heads, the noblest in france, had come to the block through him. only two years before he had quelled rochelle; only a few months before he had crushed the great insurrection in languedoc: and though the south, stripped of its old privileges, still seethed with discontent, no one in this year dared lift a hand against him--openly, at any rate. under the surface a hundred plots, a thousand intrigues, sought his life or his power; but these, i suppose, are the hap of every great man. no wonder, then, that the courage on which i plumed myself sank low at sight of him; or that it was as much as i could do to mingle with the humility of my salute some touch of the _sangfroid_ of old acquaintanceship. and perhaps that had been better left out. for this man was without bowels. for a moment, while he stood looking at me and before he spoke to me, i gave myself up for lost. there was a glint of cruel satisfaction in his eyes that warned me, before he spoke, what he was going to say to me. "i could not have made a better catch, m. de berault," he said, smiling villainously, while he gently smoothed the fur of a cat that had sprung on the table beside him. "an old offender and an excellent example. i doubt it will not stop with you. but later, we will make you the warrant for flying at higher game." "monseigneur has handled a sword himself," i blurted out. the very room seemed to be growing darker, the air colder. i was never nearer fear in my life. "yes?" he said, smiling delicately. "and so?" "will not be too hard on the failings of a poor gentleman." "he shall suffer no more than a rich one," he replied suavely, as he stroked the cat. "enjoy that satisfaction, m. de berault. is that all?" "once i was of service to your eminence," i said desperately. "payment has been made," he answered, "more than once. but for that i should not have seen you, m. de berault." "the king's face!" i cried, snatching at the straw he seemed to hold out. he laughed cynically, smoothly. his thin face, his dark moustache, and whitening hair, gave him an air of indescribable keenness. "i am not the king," he said. "besides, i am told you have killed as many as six men in duels. you owe the king, therefore, one life at least. you must pay it. there is no more to be said, m. de berault," he continued coldly, turning away and beginning to collect some papers. "the law must take its course." i thought he was about to nod to the lieutenant to withdraw me, and a chilling sweat broke out down my back. i saw the scaffold, i felt the cords. a moment, and it would be too late! "i have a favour to ask," i stammered desperately, "if your eminence would give me a moment alone." "to what end?" he answered, turning and eyeing me with cold disfavour. "i know you--your past--all. it can do no good, my friend." "nor harm!" i cried. "and i am a dying man, monseigneur!" "that is true," he said thoughtfully. still he seemed to hesitate; and my heart beat fast. at last he looked at the lieutenant. "you may leave us," he said shortly. "now," when the officer had withdrawn and left us alone, "what is it? say what you have to say quickly. and above all, do not try to fool me, m. de berault." but his piercing eyes so disconcerted me that now i had my chance i could not find a word to say, and stood before him mute. i think this pleased him, for his face relaxed. "well?" he said at last. "is that all?" "the man is not dead," i muttered. he shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. "what of that?" he said. "that was not what you wanted to say to me." "once i saved your eminence's life," i faltered miserably. "admitted," he answered, in his thin, incisive voice. "you mentioned the fact before. on the other hand, you have taken six to my knowledge, m. de berault. you have lived the life of a bully, a common bravo, a gamester. you, a man of family! for shame! and it has brought you to this. yet on that one point i am willing to hear more," he added abruptly. "i might save your eminence's life again," i cried. it was a sudden inspiration. "you know something," he said quickly, fixing me with his eyes. "but no," he continued, shaking his head gently. "pshaw! the trick is old. i have better spies than you, m. de berault." "but no better sword," i cried hoarsely. "no, not in all your guard!" "that is true," he said. "that is true." to my surprise, he spoke in a tone of consideration; and he looked down at the floor. "let me think, my friend," he continued. he walked two or three times up and down the room, while i stood trembling. i confess it trembling. the man whose pulses danger has no power to quicken, is seldom proof against suspense; and the sudden hope his words awakened in me so shook me that his figure, as he trod lightly to and fro, with the cat rubbing against his robe and turning time for time with him, wavered before my eyes. i grasped the table to steady myself. i had not admitted even in my own mind how darkly the shadow of montfaucon and the gallows had fallen across me. i had leisure to recover myself, for it was some time before he spoke. when he did, it was in a voice harsh, changed, imperative. "you have the reputation of a man faithful, at least, to his employer," he said. "do not answer me. i say it is so. well, i will trust you. i will give you one more chance--though it is a desperate one. woe to you if you fail me! do you know cocheforêt in béarn? it is not far from auch." "no, your eminence." "nor m. de cocheforêt?" "no, your eminence." "so much the better," he retorted. "but you have heard of him. he has been engaged in every gascon plot since the late king's death, and gave me more trouble last year in the vivarais than any man twice his years. at present he is at bosost in spain, with other refugees, but i have learned that at frequent intervals he visits his wife at cocheforêt, which is six leagues within the border. on one of these visits he must be arrested." "that should be easy," i said. the cardinal looked at me. "tush, man! what do you know about it?" he answered bluntly. "it is whispered at cocheforêt if a soldier crosses the street at auch. in the house are only two or three servants, but they have the country-side with them to a man, and they are a dangerous breed. a spark might kindle a fresh rising. the arrest, therefore, must be made secretly." i bowed. "one resolute man inside the house, with the help of two or three servants whom he could summon to his aid at will, might effect it," the cardinal continued, glancing at a paper which lay on the table. "the question is, will you be the man, my friend?" i hesitated; then i bowed. what choice had i? "nay, nay, speak out!" he said sharply. "yes or no, m. de berault?" "yes, your eminence," i said reluctantly. again, i say, what choice had i? "you will bring him to paris, and alive. he knows things, and that is why i want him. you understand?" "i understand, monseigneur," i answered. "you will get into the house as you can," he continued. "for that you will need strategy, and good strategy. they suspect everybody. you must deceive them. if you fail to deceive them, or, deceiving them, are found out later, m. de berault--i do not think you will trouble me again, or break the edict a second time. on the other hand, should you deceive _me_"--he smiled still more subtly, but his voice sank to a purring note--"i will break you on the wheel like the ruined gamester you are!" i met his look without quailing. "so be it!" i said recklessly. "if i do not bring m. de cocheforêt to paris, you may do that to me, and more also!" "it is a bargain!" he answered slowly. "i think you will be faithful. for money, here are a hundred crowns. that sum should suffice; but if you succeed you shall have twice as much more. well, that is all, i think. you understand?" "yes, monseigneur." "then why do you wait?" "the lieutenant?" i said modestly. monseigneur laughed to himself, and sitting down wrote a word or two on a slip of paper. "give him that," he said, in high good-humour. "i fear, m. de berault, you will never get your deserts--in this world!" chapter ii. at the green pillar. cocheforêt lies in a billowy land of oak and beech and chestnut--a land of deep, leafy bottoms, and hills clothed with forest. ridge and valley, glen and knoll, the woodland, sparsely peopled and more sparsely tilled, stretches away to the great snow mountains that here limit france. it swarms with game--with wolves and bears, deer and boars. to the end of his life i have heard that the great king loved this district, and would sigh, when years and state fell heavily on him, for the beech-groves and box-covered hills of south béarn. from the terraced steps of auch you can see the forest roll away in light and shadow, vale and upland, to the base of the snow-peaks; and, though i come from brittany and love the smell of the salt wind, i have seen few sights that outdo this. it was the second week in october when i came to cocheforêt, and, dropping down from the last wooded brow, rode quietly into the place at evening. i was alone, and had ridden all day in a glory of ruddy beech-leaves, through the silence of forest roads, across clear brooks and glades still green. i had seen more of the quiet and peace of the country than had been my share since boyhood, and i felt a little melancholy; it might be for that reason, or because i had no great taste for the task before me--the task now so imminent. in good faith, it was not a gentleman's work, look at it how you might. but beggars must not be choosers, and i knew that this feeling would pass away. at the inn, in the presence of others, under the spur of necessity, or in the excitement of the chase, were that once begun, i should lose the feeling. when a man is young, he seeks solitude: when he is middle-aged he flies it and his thoughts. i made without ado for the green pillar, a little inn in the village street, to which i had been directed at auch, and, thundering on the door with the knob of my riding-switch, railed at the man for keeping me waiting. here and there at hovel doors in the street--which was a mean, poor place, not worthy of the name--men and women looked out at me suspiciously. but i affected to ignore them; and at last the host came. he was a fair-haired man, half basque, half frenchman, and had scanned me well, i was sure, through some window or peephole; for, when he came out, he betrayed no surprise at the sight of a well-dressed stranger--a portent in that out-of-the-way village--but eyed me with a kind of sullen reserve. "i can lie here to-night, i suppose?" i said, dropping the reins on the sorrel's neck. the horse hung its head. "i don't know," he answered stupidly. i pointed to the green bough which topped a post that stood opposite the door. "this is an inn, is it not?" i said. "yes," he answered slowly; "it is an inn. but--" "but you are full, or you are out of food, or your wife is ill, or something else is amiss," i answered peevishly. "all the same, i am going to lie here. so you must make the best of it, and your wife, too--if you have one." he scratched his head, looking at me with an ugly glitter in his eyes. but he said nothing, and i dismounted. "where can i stable my horse?" i asked. "i'll put it up," he answered sullenly, stepping forward and taking the reins in his hands. "very well," i said; "but i go with you. a merciful man is merciful to his beast, and where-ever i go i see my horse fed." "it will be fed," he said shortly. and then he waited for me to go into the house. "the wife is in there," he continued, looking at me stubbornly. "_imprimis_--if you understand latin, my friend," i answered, "the horse in the stall." as if he saw it was no good, he turned the sorrel slowly round, and began to lead it across the village street. there was a shed behind the inn, which i had already marked and taken for the stable, and i was surprised when i found he was not going there. but i made no remark, and in a few minutes saw the horse well stabled in a hovel which seemed to belong to a neighbour. this done, the man led the way back to the inn, carrying my valise. "you have no other guests?" i said, with a casual air. i knew he was watching me closely. "no," he answered. "this is not much in the way to anywhere, i suppose?" "no." that was evident; a more retired place i never saw. the hanging woods, rising steeply to a great height, so shut the valley in that i was puzzled to think how a man could leave it save by the road i had come. the cottages, which were no more than mean, small huts, ran in a straggling double line, with many gaps--through fallen trees and ill-cleared meadows. among them a noisy brook ran in and out. and the inhabitants--charcoal-burners, or swineherds, or poor people of the like class, were no better than their dwellings. i looked in vain for the château. it was not to be seen, and i dared not ask for it. the man led me into the common room of the tavern--a low-roofed, poor place, lacking a chimney or glazed windows, and grimy with smoke and use. the fire--a great half-burned tree--smouldered on a stone hearth, raised a foot from the floor. a huge black pot simmered over it, and beside one window lounged a country fellow talking with the goodwife. in the dusk i could not see his face, but i gave the woman a word, and sat down to wait for my supper. she seemed more silent than the common run of women; but this might be because her husband was present. while she moved about, getting my meal, he took his place against the doorpost and fell to staring at me so persistently that i felt by no means at my ease. he was a tall, strong fellow, with a rough moustache and brown beard, cut in the mode henri quatre; and on the subject of that king--a safe one, i knew, with a béarnais--and on that alone, i found it possible to make him talk. even then there was a suspicious gleam in his eyes that bade me abstain from questions; and as the darkness deepened behind him, and the firelight played more and more strongly on his features, and i thought of the leagues of woodland that lay between this remote valley and auch. i recalled the cardinal's warning that if i failed in my attempt i should be little likely to trouble paris again. the lout by the window paid no attention to me; nor i to him, when i had once satisfied myself that he was really what he seemed to be. but by and by two or three men--rough, uncouth fellows--dropped in to reinforce the landlord, and they, too, seemed to have no other business than to sit in silence looking at me, or now and again to exchange a word in a _patois_ of their own. by the time my supper was ready, the knaves numbered six in all; and, as they were armed to a man with huge spanish knives, and evidently resented my presence in their dull rustic fashion--every rustic is suspicious--i began to think that, unwittingly, i had put my head into a wasp's nest. nevertheless, i ate and drank with apparent appetite; but little that passed within the circle of light cast by the smoky lamp escaped me. i watched the men's looks and gestures at least as sharply as they watched mine; and all the time i was racking my wits for some mode of disarming their suspicions--or failing that, of learning something more of the position, which, it was clear, far exceeded in difficulty and danger anything i had expected. the whole valley, it would seem, was on the lookout to protect my man! i had purposely brought with me from auch a couple of bottles of choice armagnac; and these had been carried into the house with my saddlebags. i took one out now and opened it, and carelessly offered a dram of the spirit to the landlord. he took it. as he drank it, i saw his face flush; he handed back the cup reluctantly, and on that hint i offered him another. the strong spirit was already beginning to work. he accepted, and in a few minutes began to talk more freely and with less of the constraint which had marked us. still, his tongue ran chiefly on questions--he would know this, he would learn that; but even this was a welcome change. i told him openly whence i had come, by what road, how long i had stayed in auch, and where; and so far i satisfied his curiosity. only when i came to the subject of my visit to cocheforêt i kept a mysterious silence, hinting darkly at business in spain and friends across the border, and this and that, and giving the peasants to understand, if they pleased, that i was in the same interest as their exiled master. they took the bait, winked at one another, and began to look at me in a more friendly way--the landlord foremost. but when i had led them so far, i dared go no farther, lest i should commit myself and be found out. i stopped, therefore, and, harking back to general subjects, chanced to compare my province with theirs. the landlord, now become almost talkative, was not slow to take up this challenge; and it presently led to my acquiring a curious piece of knowledge. he was boasting of his great snow mountains, the forests that propped them, the bears that roamed in them, the izards that loved the ice, and the boars that fed on the oak mast. "well," i said, quite by chance, "we have not these things, it is true. but we have things in the north you have not. we have tens of thousands of good horses--not such ponies as you breed here. at the horse fair at fécamp my sorrel would be lost in the crowd. here in the south you will not meet his match in a long day's journey." "do not make too sure of that!" the man replied, his eyes bright with triumph and the dram. "what would you say if i showed you a better--in my own stable?" i saw that his words sent a kind of thrill through his other hearers, and that such of them as understood--for two or three of them talked their _patois_ only--looked at him angrily; and in a twinkling i began to comprehend. but i affected dulness, and laughed scornfully. "seeing is believing," i said. "i doubt if you know a good horse here when you see one, my friend." "oh, don't i?" he said, winking. "indeed!" "i doubt it," i answered stubbornly. "then come with me, and i will show you one," he retorted, discretion giving way to vainglory. his wife and the others, i saw, looked at him dumbfounded; but, without paying any heed to them, he took up a lanthorn, and, assuming an air of peculiar wisdom, opened the door. "come with me," he continued. "i don't know a good horse when i see one, don't i? i know a better than yours, at any rate!" i should not have been surprised if the other men had interfered; but--i suppose he was a leader among them, and they did not, and in a moment we were outside. three paces through the darkness took us to the stable, an offset at the back of the inn. my man twirled the pin, and, leading the way in, raised his lanthorn. a horse whinnied softly, and turned its bright, soft eyes on us--a baldfaced chestnut, with white hairs in its tail and one white stocking. "there!" my guide exclaimed, waving the lanthorn to and fro boastfully, that i might see its points. "what do you say to that? is that an undersized pony?" "no," i answered, purposely stinting my praise. "it is pretty fair--for this country." "or any country," he answered wrathfully. "any country, i say--i don't care where it is! and i have reason to know! why, man, that horse is-- but there, that is a good horse, if ever you saw one!" and with that he ended abruptly and lamely, lowering the lanthorn with a sudden gesture, and turning to the door. he was on the instant in such hurry, that he almost shouldered me out. but i understood. i knew that he had nearly betrayed all--that he had been on the point of blurting out that that was m. de cocheforêt's horse! m. de cocheforêt's, _comprenez bien!_ and while i turned away my face in the darkness, that he might not see me smile, i was not surprised to find the man in a moment changed, and become, in the closing of the door, as sober and suspicious as before, ashamed of himself and enraged with me, and in a mood to cut my throat for a trifle. it was not my cue to quarrel, however--anything but that. i made, therefore, as if i had seen nothing, and when we were back in the inn praised the horse grudgingly, and like a man but half convinced. the ugly looks and ugly weapons i saw around me were fine incentives to caution; and no italian, i flatter myself, could have played his part more nicely than i did. but i was heartily glad when it was over, and i found myself, at last, left alone for the night in a little garret--a mere fowl-house--upstairs, formed by the roof and gable walls, and hung with strings of apples and chestnuts. it was a poor sleeping-place--rough, chilly, and unclean. i ascended to it by a ladder; my cloak and a little fern formed my only bed. but i was glad to accept it. it enabled me to be alone and to think out the position unwatched. of course m. de cocheforêt was at the château. he had left his horse here, and gone up on foot: probably that was his usual plan. he was therefore within my reach, in one sense--i could not have come at a better time--but in another he was as much beyond it as if i were still in paris. so far was i from being able to seize him that i dared not ask a question or let fall a rash word, or even look about me freely. i saw i dared not. the slightest hint of my mission, the faintest breath of distrust, would lead to throat-cutting--and the throat would be mine; while the longer i lay in the village, the greater suspicion i should incur, and the closer would be the watch kept over me. in such a position some men might have given up the attempt and saved themselves across the border. but i have always valued myself on my fidelity, and i did not shrink. if not to-day, to-morrow; if not this time, next time. the dice do not always turn up aces. bracing myself, therefore, to the occasion, i crept, as soon as the house was quiet, to the window, a small, square, open lattice, much cobwebbed, and partly stuffed with hay. i looked out. the village seemed to be asleep. the dark branches of trees hung a few feet away, and almost obscured a grey, cloudy sky, through which a wet moon sailed drearily. looking downwards, i could at first see nothing; but as my eyes grew used to the darkness--i had only just put out my rushlight--i made out the stable-door and the shadowy outlines of the lean-to roof. i had hoped for this. i could now keep watch, and learn at least whether cocheforêt left before morning. if he did not i should know he was still here. if he did, i should be the better for seeing his features, and learning, perhaps, other things that might be of use. making up my mind to be uncomfortable, i sat down on the floor by the lattice, and began a vigil that might last, i knew, until morning. it did last about an hour. at the end of that time i heard whispering below, then footsteps; then, as some persons turned a corner, a voice speaking aloud and carelessly. i could not catch the words spoken; but the voice was a gentleman's, and its bold accents and masterful tone left me in no doubt that the speaker was m. de cocheforêt himself. hoping to learn more, i pressed my face nearer to the opening, and i had just made out through the gloom two figures--one that of a tall, slight man, wearing a cloak, the other, i thought, a woman's, in a sheeny white dress--when a thundering rap on the door of my garret made me spring back a yard from the lattice, and lie down hurriedly on my couch. the noise was repeated. "well?" i cried, cursing the untimely interruption. i was burning with anxiety to see more. "what is it? what is the matter?" the trapdoor was lifted a foot or more. the landlord thrust up his head. "you called, did you not?" he asked. he held up a rushlight, which illumined half the room and lit up his grinning face. "called--at this hour of the night, you fool?" i answered angrily. "no! i did not call. go to bed, man!" but he remained on the ladder, gaping stupidly. "i heard you," he said. "go to bed! you are drunk!" i answered, sitting up. "i tell you i did not call." "oh, very well," he answered slowly. "and you do not want anything?" "nothing--except to be left alone!" i replied sourly. "umph!" he said. "good-night!" "good-night! good-night!" i answered, with what patience i might. the tramp of the horse's hoofs as it was led out of the stable was in my ear at the moment. "good-night!" i continued feverishly, hoping he would still retire in time, and i have a chance to look out. "i want to sleep." "good," he said, with a broad grin. "but it is early yet, and you have plenty of time." and then, at last, he slowly let down the trapdoor, and i heard him chuckle as he went down the ladder. before he reached the bottom i was at the window. the woman whom i had seen still stood below, in the same place; and beside her a man in a peasant's dress, holding a lanthorn, but the man, the man i wanted to see was no longer there. and it was evident that he was gone; it was evident that the others no longer feared me, for while i gazed the landlord came out to them with another lanthorn, and said something to the lady, and she looked up at my window and laughed. it was a warm night, and she wore nothing over her white dress. i could see her tall, shapely figure and shining eyes, and the firm contour of her beautiful face; which, if any fault might be found with it, erred in being too regular. she looked like a woman formed by nature to meet dangers and difficulties; and even here, at midnight, in the midst of these desperate men, she seemed in place. it was possible that under her queenly exterior, and behind the contemptuous laugh with which she heard the land lord's story, there lurked a woman's soul capable of folly and tenderness. but no outward sign betrayed its presence. i scanned her very carefully; and secretly, if the truth be told, i was glad to find madame de cocheforêt such a woman. i was glad that she had laughed as she had--that she was not a little, tender, child-like woman, to be crushed by the first pinch of trouble. for if i succeeded in my task, if i--but, pish! women, i said, were all alike. she would find consolation quickly enough. i watched until the group broke up, and madame, with one of the men, went her way round the corner of the inn, and out of my sight. then i retired to bed again, feeling more than ever perplexed what course i should adopt. it was clear that, to succeed, i must obtain admission to the house. this was garrisoned, unless my instructions erred, by two or three old men-servants only, and as many women; since madame, to disguise her husband's visits the more easily, lived, and gave out that she lived, in great retirement. to seize her husband at home, therefore, might be no impossible task; though here, in the heart of the village, a troop of horse might make the attempt, and fail. but how was i to gain admission to the house--a house guarded by quick-witted women, and hedged in with all the precautions love could devise? that was the question; and dawn found me still debating it, still as far as ever from an answer. with the first light i was glad to get up. i thought that the fresh air might inspire me, and i was tired, besides, of my stuffy closet. i crept stealthily down the ladder, and managed to pass unseen through the lower room, in which several persons were snoring heavily. the outer door was not fastened, and in a hand-turn i stood in the street. it was still so early that the trees stood up black against the reddening sky, but the bough upon the post before the door was growing green, and in a few minutes the grey light would be everywhere. already even in the road way there was a glimmering of it; and as i stood at the corner of the house--where i could command both the front and the side on which the stable opened--looking greedily for any trace of the midnight departure, my eyes detected something light-coloured lying on the ground. it was not more than two or three paces from me, and i stepped to it and picked it up curiously, hoping it might be a note. it was not a note, however, but a tiny orange-coloured sachet, such as women carry in the bosom. it was full of some faintly scented powder, and bore on one side the initial "e," worked in white silk; and was altogether a dainty little toy, such as women love. doubtless madame de cocheforêt had dropped it in the night. i turned it over and over; and then i put it away with a smile, thinking it might be useful some time, and in some way. i had scarcely done this, and turned with the intention of exploring the street, when the door behind me creaked on its leather hinges, and in a moment my host stood at my elbow. evidently his suspicions were again aroused, for from that time he managed to be with me, on one pretence or another, until noon. moreover, his manner grew each moment more churlish, his hints plainer; until i could scarcely avoid noticing the one or the other. about midday, having followed me for the twentieth time into the street, he came at last to the point, by asking me rudely if i did not need my horse. "no," i said. "why do you ask?" "because," he answered, with an ugly smile, "this is not a very healthy place for strangers." "ah!" i retorted. "but the border air suits me, you see." it was a lucky answer; for, taken with my talk of the night before, it puzzled him, by again suggesting that i was on the losing side, and had my reasons for lying near spain. before he had done scratching his head over it, the clatter of hoofs broke the sleepy quiet of the village street, and the lady i had seen the night before rode quickly round the corner, and drew her horse on to its haunches. without looking at me, she called to the innkeeper to come to her stirrup. he went. the moment his back was turned, i slipped away, and in a twinkling was hidden by a house. two or three glum-looking fellows stared at me as i passed, but no one moved; and in two minutes i was clear of the village, and in a half-worn track which ran through the wood, and led--if my ideas were right--to the château. to discover the house and learn all that was to be learned about its situation was my most pressing need: even at the risk of a knife-thrust, i was determined to satisfy it. i had not gone two hundred paces along the path before i heard the tread of a horse behind me, and i had just time to hide myself before madame came up and rode by me, sitting her horse gracefully, and with all the courage of a northern woman. i watched her pass, and then, assured by her presence that i was in the right road, i hurried after her. two minutes' walking at speed brought me to a light wooden bridge spanning a stream. i crossed this, and, the wood opening, saw before me first a wide, pleasant meadow, and beyond this a terrace. on the terrace, pressed upon on three sides by thick woods, stood a grey mansion, with the corner tourelles, steep, high roofs, and round balconies that men loved and built in the days of the first francis. it was of good size, but wore, i fancied, a gloomy aspect. a great yew hedge, which seemed to enclose a walk or bowling-green, hid the ground floor of the east wing from view, while a formal rose garden, stiff even in neglect, lay in front of the main building. the west wing, whose lower roofs fell gradually away to the woods, probably contained the stables and granaries. i stood a moment only, but i marked all, and noted how the road reached the house, and which windows were open to attack; then i turned and hastened back. fortunately, i met no one between the house and the village, and was able to enter the inn with an air of the most complete innocence. short as had been my absence, i found things altered there. round the door loitered and chattered three strangers--stout, well-armed fellows, whose bearing suggested a curious mixture of smugness and independence. half-a-dozen pack-horses stood tethered to the post in front of the house; and the landlord's manner, from being rude and churlish only, had grown perplexed and almost timid. one of the strangers, i soon found, supplied him with wine; the others were travelling merchants, who rode in the first one's company for the sake of safety. all were substantial men from tarbes--solid burgesses; and i was not long in guessing that my host, fearing what might leak out before them, and particularly that i might refer to the previous night's disturbance, was on tenterhooks while they remained. for a time this did not suggest anything to me. but when we had all taken our seats for supper there came an addition to the party. the door opened, and the fellow whom i had seen the night before with madame de cocheforêt entered, and took a stool by the fire. i felt sure that he was one of the servants at the château; and in a flash his presence inspired me with the most feasible plan for obtaining admission which i had yet hit upon. i felt myself growing hot at the thought--it seemed so full of promise and of danger--and on the instant, without giving myself time to think too much, i began to carry it into effect. i called for two or three bottles of better wine, and, assuming a jovial air, passed it round the table. when we had drunk a few glasses, i fell to talking, and, choosing politics, took the side of the languedoc party and the malcontents, in so reckless a fashion that the innkeeper was beside himself at my imprudence. the merchants, who belonged to the class with whom the cardinal was always most popular, looked first astonished and then enraged. but i was not to be checked. hints and sour looks were lost upon me. i grew more outspoken with every glass, i drank to the rochellois, i swore it would not be long before they raised their heads again; and at last, while the innkeeper and his wife were engaged lighting the lamp, i passed round the bottle and called on all for a toast. "i'll give you one to begin," i bragged noisily. "a gentleman's toast! a southern toast! here is confusion to the cardinal, and a health to all who hate him!" "mon dieu!" one of the strangers cried, springing from his seat in a rage. "i am not going to stomach that! is your house a common treason-hole," he continued, turning furiously on the landlord, "that you suffer this?" "hoity-toity!" i answered, coolly keeping my seat. "what is all this? don't you relish my toast, little man?" "no--nor you!" he retorted hotly, "whoever you may be!" "then i will give you another," i answered, with a hiccough. "perhaps it will be more to your taste. here is the duke of orleans, and may he soon be king!" chapter iii. the house in the wood. my words fairly startled the three men out of their anger. for a moment they glared at me as if they had seen a ghost. then the wine-merchant clapped his hand on the table. "that is enough!" he said, with a look at his companions. "i think there can be no mistake about that. as damnable treason as ever i heard whispered! i congratulate you, sir, on your boldness. as for you," he continued, turning with an ugly sneer to the landlord, "i shall know now the company you keep! i was not aware that my wine wet whistles to such a tune!" but if he was startled, the innkeeper was furious, seeing his character thus taken away; and, being at no time a man of many words, he vented his rage exactly in the way i wished. in a twinkling he raised such an uproar as can scarcely be conceived. with a roar like a bull's he ran headlong at the table, and overturned it on the top of me. the woman saved the lamp and fled with it into a corner, whence she and the man from the château watched the skirmish in silence; but the pewter cups and platters flew spinning across the floor, while the table pinned me to the ground among the ruins of my stool. having me at this disadvantage--for at first i made no resistance--the landlord began to belabour me with the first thing he snatched up, and when i tried to defend myself cursed me with each blow for a treacherous rogue and a vagrant. meanwhile, the three merchants, delighted with the turn things had taken, skipped round us laughing; and now hounded him on, now bantered me with "how is that for the duke of orleans?" and "how now, traitor?" when i thought this had lasted long enough--or, to speak more plainly, when i could stand the innkeeper's drubbing no longer--i threw him off by a great effort, and struggled to my feet. but still, though the blood was trickling down my face, i refrained from drawing my sword. i caught up instead a leg of the stool which lay handy, and, watching my opportunity, dealt the landlord a shrewd blow under the ear, which laid him out in a moment on the wreck of his own table. "now!" i cried, brandishing my new weapon, which fitted the hand to a nicety, "come on! come on, if you dare to strike a blow, you peddling, truckling, huckstering knaves! a fig for you and your shaveling cardinal!" the red-faced wine-merchant drew his sword in a one-two. "why, you drunken fool," he said wrathfully, "put that stick down, or i will spit you like a lark!" "lark in your teeth!" i cried, staggering as if the wine were in my head. "another word, and i--" he made a couple of savage passes at me, but in a twinkling his sword flew across the room. "_voilà!_" i shouted, lurching forward, as if i had luck and not skill to thank for it. "now the next! come on, come on--you white-livered knaves!" and, pretending a drunken frenzy, i flung my weapon bodily amongst them, and seizing the nearest, began to wrestle with him. in a moment they all threw themselves upon me, and, swearing copiously, bore me back to the door. the wine-merchant cried breathlessly to the woman to open it, and in a twinkling they had me through it and half way across the road. the one thing i feared was a knife-thrust in the mêlée; but i had to run that risk, and the men were honest enough and, thinking me drunk, indulgent. in a trice i found myself on my back in the dirt, with my head humming; and heard the bars of the door fall noisily into their places. i got up and went to the door, and, to play out my part, hammered on it frantically, crying out to them to let me in. but the three travellers only jeered at me, and the landlord, coming to the window, with his head bleeding, shook his fist at me and cursed me for a mischief-maker. baffled in this i retired to a log which lay in the road a few paces from the house, and sat down on it to await events. with torn clothes and bleeding face, hatless and covered with dirt, i was in scarcely better case than my opponent. it was raining, too, and the dripping branches swayed over my head. the wind was in the south--the coldest quarter. i began to feel chilled and dispirited. if my scheme failed, i had forfeited roof and bed to no purpose, and placed future progress out of the question. it was a critical moment. but at last that happened for which i had been looking. the door swung open a few inches, and a man came noiselessly out; the door was quickly barred behind him. he stood a moment, waiting on the threshold and peering into the gloom; and seemed to expect to be attacked. finding himself unmolested, however, and all quiet, he went off steadily down the street--towards the château. i let a couple of minutes go by and then i followed. i had no difficulty in hitting on the track at the end of the street, but when i had once plunged into the wood, i found myself in darkness so intense that i soon strayed from the path, and fell over roots, and tore my clothes with thorns, and lost my temper twenty times before i found the path again. however, i gained the bridge at last, and caught sight of a light twinkling before me. to make for it across the meadow and terrace was an easy task; yet when i had reached the door and had hammered upon it, i was in so sorry a plight that i sank down, and had no need to play a part or pretend to be worse than i was. for a long time no one answered. the dark house towering above me remained silent. i could hear, mingled with the throbbings of my heart, the steady croaking of the frogs in a pond near the stables; but no other sound. in a frenzy of impatience and disgust i stood up again and hammered, kicking with my heels on the nail-studded door, and crying out desperately, "_a moi_! _a moi!_" then, or a moment later, i heard a remote door opened; footsteps as of more than one person drew near. i raised my voice and cried again, "_a moi!_" "who is there?" a voice asked. "a gentleman in distress," i answered piteously, moving my hands across the door. "for god's sake open and let me in. i am hurt, and dying of cold." "what brings you here?" the voice asked sharply. despite its tartness, i fancied it was a woman's. "heaven knows!" i answered desperately. "i cannot tell. they maltreated me at the inn, and threw me into the street. i crawled away, and have been wandering in the wood for hours. then i saw a light here." thereon, some muttering took place on the other side of the door, to which i had my ear. it ended in the bars being lowered. the door swung partly open and a light shone out, dazzling me. i tried to shade my eyes with my fingers, and as i did so fancied i heard a murmur of pity. but when i looked in under screen of my hand i saw only one person--the man who held the light, and his aspect was so strange, so terrifying, that, shaken as i was by fatigue, i recoiled a step. he was a tall and very thin man, meanly dressed in a short scanty jacket and well-darned hose. unable, for some reason, to bend his neck, he carried his head with a strange stiffness. and that head! never did living man show a face so like death. his forehead was bald and white, his cheek-bones stood out under the strained skin, all the lower part of his face fell in, his jaws receded, his cheeks were hollow, his lips and chin were thin and fleshless. he seemed to have only one expression--a fixed grin. while i stood looking at this formidable creature he made a quick motion to shut the door again, smiling more widely. i had the presence of mind to thrust in my foot, and, before he could resent the act, a voice in the background cried: "for shame, clon! stand back. stand back, do you hear? i am afraid, monsieur, that you are hurt." the last words were my welcome to that house; and, spoken at an hour and in circumstances so gloomy, they made a lasting impression. round the hall ran a gallery, and this, the height of the apartment, and the dark panelling seemed to swallow up the light. i stood within the entrance (as it seemed to me) of a huge cave; the skull-headed porter had the air of an ogre. only the voice which greeted me dispelled the illusion. i turned trembling towards the quarter whence it came, and, shading my eyes, made out a woman's form standing in a doorway under the gallery. a second figure, which i took to be that of the servant i had seen at the inn, loomed uncertainly beside her. i bowed in silence. my teeth were chattering i was faint without feigning, and felt a kind of terror, hard to explain, at the sound of this woman's voice. "one of our people has told me about you," she continued, speaking out of the darkness. "i am sorry that this has happened to you here, but i am afraid that you were indiscreet." "i take all the blame, madame," i answered humbly. "i ask only shelter for the night." "the time has not yet come when we cannot give our friends that!" she answered, with noble courtesy. "when it does, monsieur, we shall be homeless ourselves." i shivered, looking anywhere but at her; for i had not sufficiently pictured this scene of my arrival--i had not foreseen its details; and now i took part in it i felt a miserable meanness weigh me down. i had never from the first liked the work! but, i had had no choice. and i had no choice now. luckily, the guise in which i came, my fatigue, and wound were a sufficient mark, or i should have incurred suspicion at once. for i am sure that if ever in this world a brave man wore a hang-dog air, or gil de berault fell below himself, it was then and there--on madame de cocheforêt's threshold, with her welcome sounding in my ears. one, i think, did suspect me. clon, the porter, continued to hold the door obstinately ajar and to eye me with grinning spite, until his mistress, with some sharpness, bade him drop the bars, and conduct me to a room. "do you go also, louis," she continued, speaking to the man beside her, "and see this gentleman comfortably disposed. i am sorry," she added, addressing me in the graceful tone she had before used, and i thought i could see her head bend in the darkness, "that our present circumstances do not permit us to welcome you more fitly, monsieur. but the troubles of the times--however, you will excuse what is lacking. until to-morrow, i have the honour to bid you goodnight." "good-night, madame," i stammered, trembling. i had not been able to distinguish her face in the gloom of the doorway, but her voice, her greeting, her presence, unmanned me. i was troubled and perplexed; i had not spirit to kick a dog. i followed the two servants from the hall without heeding how we went; nor was it until we came to a full stop at a door in a whitewashed corridor, and it was forced upon me that something was in question between my two conductors, that i began to take notice. then i saw that one of them, louis, wished to lodge me here where we stood. the porter, on the other hand, who held the keys, would not. he did not speak a word, nor did the other--and this gave a queer ominous character to the debate; but he continued to jerk his head towards the farther end of the corridor, and, at last, he carried his point. louis shrugged his shoulders, and moved on, glancing askance at me; and i, not understanding the matter in debate, followed the pair in silence. we reached the end of the corridor, and there, for an instant, the monster with the keys paused and grinned at me. then he turned into a narrow passage on the left, and after following it for some paces, halted before a small, strong door. his key jarred in the lock, but he forced it shrieking round, and with a savage flourish threw the door open. i walked in and saw a mean, bare chamber with barred windows. the floor was indifferently clean, there was no furniture. the yellow light of the lanthorn falling on the stained walls gave the place the look of a dungeon. i turned to the two men. "this is not a very good room," i said. "and it feels damp. have you no other?" louis looked doubtfully at his companion. but the porter shook his head stubbornly. "why does he not speak?" i asked with impatience. "he is dumb," louis answered. "dumb!" i exclaimed. "but he hears." "he has ears," the servant answered drily. "but he has no tongue, monsieur." i shuddered. "how did he lose it?" i asked. "at rochelle. he was a spy, and the king's people took him the day the town surrendered. they spared his life, but cut out his tongue." "ah!" i said. i wished to say more, to be natural, to show myself at my ease. but the porter's eyes seemed to burn into me, and my own tongue clove to the roof of my mouth. he opened his lips and pointed to his throat with a horrid gesture, and i shook my head and turned from him-- "you can let me have some bedding?" i murmured hastily, for the sake of saying something, and to escape. "of course, monsieur," louis answered. "i will fetch some." he went away, thinking doubtless that clon would stay with me. but after waiting a minute the porter strode off also with the lanthorn, leaving me to stand in the middle of the damp, dark room, and reflect on the position. it was plain that clon suspected me. this prison-like room, with its barred window at the back of the house, and in the wing farthest from the stables, proved so much. clearly, he was a dangerous fellow, of whom i must beware. i had just begun to wonder how madame could keep such a monster in her house, when i heard his step returning. he came in, lighting louis, who carried a small pallet and a bundle of coverings. the dumb man had, besides the lanthorn, a bowl of water and a piece of rag in his hand. he set them down, and going out again, fetched in a stool. then he hung up the lanthorn on a nail, took the bowl and rag, and invited me to sit down. i was loth to let him touch me; but he continued to stand over me, pointing and grinning with dark persistence, and, rather than stand on a trifle, i sat down at last, and gave him his way. he bathed my head carefully enough, and i dare say did it good; but i understood. i knew that his only desire was to learn whether the cut was real or a pretence. i began to fear him more and more, and, until he was gone from the room, dared scarcely lift my face, lest he should read too much in it. alone, even, i felt uncomfortable. this seemed so sinister a business, and so ill begun. i was in the house. but madame's frank voice haunted me, and the dumb man's eyes, full of suspicion and menace. when i presently got up and tried my door, i found it locked. the room smelled dank and close--like a vault. i could not see through the barred window; but i could hear the boughs sweep it in ghostly fashion; and i guessed that it looked out where the wood grew close to the walls of the house; and that even in the day the sun never peeped through it. nevertheless, tired and worn out, i slept at last. when i awoke the room was full of grey light, the door stood open, and louis, looking ashamed of himself, waited by my pallet with a cup of wine in his hand, and some bread and fruit on a platter. "will monsieur be good enough to rise?" he said. "it is eight o'clock." "willingly," i answered tartly. "now that the door is unlocked." he turned red. "it was an oversight," he stammered. "clon is accustomed to lock the door, and he did it inadvertently, forgetting that there was any one--" "inside!" i said drily. "precisely, monsieur." "ah!" i replied. "well, i do not think the oversight would please madame de cocheforêt, if she heard of it?" "if monsieur would have the kindness not to--" "mention it, my good fellow?" i answered, looking at him with meaning, as i rose. "no; but it must not occur again." i saw that this man was not like clon. he had the instincts of the family servant, and freed from the influences of darkness, felt ashamed of his conduct. while he arranged my clothes, he looked round the room with an air of distaste, and muttered once or twice that the furniture of the principal chambers was packed away. "m. de cocheforêt is abroad, i think?" i said, as i dressed. "and likely to remain there," the man answered carelessly, shrugging his shoulders. "monsieur will doubtless have heard that he is in trouble. in the meantime, the house is triste, and monsieur must overlook much, if he stays. madame lives retired, and the roads are ill-made and visitors few." "when the lion was ill the jackals left him," i said. louis nodded. "it is true," he answered simply. he made no boast or brag on his own account, i noticed; and it came home to me that he was a faithful fellow, such as i love. i questioned him discreetly, and learned that he and clon and an older man who lived over the stables were the only male servants left of a great household. madame, her sister-in-law, and three women completed the family. it took me some time to repair my wardrobe, so that i dare say it was nearly ten when i left my dismal little room. i found louis waiting in the corridor, and he told me that madame de cocheforêt and mademoiselle were in the rose-garden, and would be pleased to receive me. i nodded, and he guided me through several dim passages to a parlour with an open door, through which the sun shone in gaily. cheered by the morning air and this sudden change to pleasantness and life, i stepped lightly out. the two ladies were walking up and down a wide path which bisected the garden. the weeds grew rankly in the gravel underfoot, the rose-bushes which bordered the walk thrust their branches here and there in untrained freedom, a dark yew hedge which formed the background bristled with rough shoots and sadly needed trimming. but i did not see any of these things then. the grace, the noble air, the distinction of the two women who paced slowly to meet me--and who shared all these qualities greatly as they differed in others--left me no power to notice trifles. mademoiselle was a head shorter than her _belle s[oe]ur_--a slender woman and petite, with a beautiful face and a fair complexion. she walked with dignity, but beside madame's stately figure she seemed almost childish. and it was characteristic of the two that mademoiselle as they drew near to me regarded me with sorrowful attention, madame with a grave smile. i bowed low. they returned the salute. "this is my sister," madame de cocheforêt said, with a slight, a very slight air of condescension. "will you please to tell me your name, monsieur?" "i am m. de barthe, a gentleman of normandy," i said, taking the name of my mother. my own, by a possibility, might be known. madame's face wore a puzzled look. "i do not know your name, i think," she said thoughtfully. doubtless she was going over in her mind all the names with which conspiracy had made her familiar. "that is my misfortune, madame," i said humbly. "nevertheless i am going to scold you," she rejoined, still eyeing me with some keenness. "i am glad to see that you are none the worse for your adventure--but others may be. and you should have borne that in mind." "i do not think that i hurt the man seriously," i stammered. "i do not refer to that," she answered coldly. "you know, or should know, that we are in disgrace here; that the government regards us already with an evil eye, and that a very small thing would lead them to garrison the village and perhaps oust us from the little the wars have left us. you should have known this and considered it," she continued. "whereas--i do not say that you are a braggart, m. de barthe. but on this one occasion you seem to have played the part of one." "madame, i did not think," i stammered. "want of thought causes much evil," she answered, smiling. "however, i have spoken, and we trust that while you stay with us you will be more careful. for the rest, monsieur," she continued graciously, raising her hand to prevent me speaking, "we do not know why you are here, or what plans you are pursuing. and we do not wish to know. it is enough that you are of our side. this house is at your service as long as you please to use it. and if we can aid you in any other way we will do so." "madame!" i exclaimed; and there i stopped. i could not say any more. the rose-garden, with its air of neglect, the shadow of the quiet house that fell across it, the great yew hedge which backed it, and was the pattern of one under which i had played in childhood--all had points that pricked me. but the women's kindness, their unquestioning confidence, the noble air of hospitality which moved them! against these and their placid beauty in its peaceful frame i had no shield. i turned away, and feigned to be overcome by gratitude. "i have no words--to thank you!" i muttered presently. "i am a little shaken this morning. i--pardon me." "we will leave you for a while," mademoiselle de cocheforêt said, in gentle, pitying tones. "the air will revive you. louis shall call you when we go to dinner, m. de barthe. come, elise." i bowed low to hide my face, and they nodded pleasantly--not looking closely at me--as they walked by me to the house. i watched the two gracious, pale-robed figures until the doorway swallowed them, and then i walked away to a quiet corner where the shrubs grew highest and the yew hedge threw its deepest shadow, and i stood to think. they were strange thoughts, i remember. if the oak can think at the moment the wind uproots it, or the gnarled thorn-bush when the landslip tears it from the slope, they may have such thoughts. i stared at the leaves, at the rotting blossoms, into the dark cavities of the hedge; i stared mechanically, dazed and wondering. what was the purpose for which i was here? what was the work i had come to do? above all, how--my god! how was i to do it in the face of these helpless women, who trusted me--who opened their house to me? clon had not frightened me, nor the loneliness of the leagued village, nor the remoteness of this corner where the dread cardinal seemed a name, and the king's writ ran slowly, and the rebellion, long quenched elsewhere, still smouldered. but madame's pure faith, the younger woman's tenderness--how was i to face these? i cursed the cardinal, i cursed the english fool who had brought me to this, i cursed the years of plenty and scarceness and the quartier marais, and zaton's, where i had lived like a pig, and-- a touch fell on my arm. i turned. it was clon. how he had stolen up so quietly, how long he had been at my elbow, i could not tell. but his eyes gleamed spitefully in their deep sockets, and he laughed with his fleshless lips; and i hated him. in the daylight the man looked more like a death's-head than ever. i fancied i read in his face that he knew my secret, and i flashed into rage at sight of him. "what is it?" i cried, with another oath. "don't lay your corpse-claws on me!" he mowed at me, and, bowing with ironical politeness, pointed to the house. "is madame served?" i said impatiently, crushing down my anger. "is that what you mean, fool?" he nodded. "very well," i retorted. "i can find my way, then. you may go!" he fell behind, and i strode back through the sunshine and flowers, and along the grass-grown paths, to the door by which i had come. i walked fast, but his shadow kept pace with me, driving out the strange thoughts in which i had been indulging. slowly but surely it darkened my mood. after all, this was a little, little place; the people who lived here--i shrugged my shoulders. france, power, pleasure, life lay yonder in the great city. a boy might wreck himself here for a fancy; a man of the world, never. when i entered the room, where the two ladies stood waiting for me by the table, i was myself again. "clon made you understand, then?" the younger woman said kindly. "yes, mademoiselle," i answered. on which i saw the two smile at one another, and i added: "he is a strange creature. i wonder you can bear to have him near you." "poor man! you do not know his story?" madame said. "i have heard something of it," i answered. "louis told me." "well, i do shudder at him, sometimes," she replied, in a low voice. "he has suffered--and horribly, and for us. but i wish it had been on any other service. spies are necessary things, but one does not wish to have to do with them! anything in the nature of treachery is so horrible." "quick, louis! the cognac, if you have any there!" mademoiselle exclaimed. "i am sure you are--still feeling ill, monsieur." "no, i thank you," i muttered hoarsely, making an effort to recover myself. "i am quite well. it was an old wound that sometimes touches me." chapter iv. madame and mademoiselle. to be frank, however, it was not the old wound that touched me so nearly, but madame's words; which, finishing what clon's sudden appearance in the garden had begun, went a long way towards hardening me and throwing me back into myself. i saw with bitterness--what i had perhaps forgotten for a moment--how great was the chasm which separated me from these women; how impossible it was we could long think alike; how far apart in views, in experience, in aims we were. and while i made a mock in my heart of their high-flown sentiments--or thought i did--i laughed no less at the folly which had led me to dream, even for a moment, that i could, at my age, go back--go back and risk all for a whim, a scruple, the fancy of a lonely hour. i dare say something of this showed in my face: for madame's eyes mirrored a dim reflection of trouble as she looked at me, and mademoiselle ate nervously and at random. at any rate, i fancied so, and i hastened to compose myself; and the two, in pressing upon me the simple dainties of the table, soon forgot, or appeared to forget, the incident. yet in spite of this _contretemps_, that first meal had a strange charm for me. the round table whereat we dined was spread inside the open door which led to the garden, so that the october sunshine fell full on the spotless linen and quaint old plate, and the fresh balmy air filled the room with the scent of sweet herbs. louis served us with the mien of major-domo, and set on each dish as though it had been a peacock or a mess of ortolans. the woods provided the larger portion of our meal; the garden did its part; the confections mademoiselle had cooked with her own hand. by-and-bye, as the meal went on, as louis trod to and fro across the polished floor, and the last insects of summer hummed sleepily outside, and the two gracious faces continued to smile at me out of the gloom--for the ladies sat with their backs to the door--i began to dream again. i began to sink again into folly--that was half pleasure, half pain. the fury of the gaming-house and the riot of zaton's seemed far away. the triumphs of the fencing-room--even they grew cheap and tawdry. i thought of existence as one outside it. i balanced this against that, and wondered whether, after all, the red soutane were so much better than the homely jerkin, or the fame of a day than ease and safety. and life at cocheforêt was all after the pattern of this dinner. each day, i might almost say each meal, gave rise to the same sequence of thoughts. in clon's presence, or when some word of madame's, unconsciously harsh, reminded me of the distance between us, i was myself. at other times, in face of this peaceful and intimate life, which was only rendered possible by the remoteness of the place and the peculiar circumstances in which the ladies stood, i felt a strange weakness. the loneliness of the woods that encircled the house, and here and there afforded a distant glimpse of snow-clad peaks; the absence of any link to bind me to the old life, so that at intervals it seemed unreal; the remoteness of the great world, all tended to sap my will and weaken the purpose which had brought me to this place. on the fourth day after my coming, however, something happened to break the spell. it chanced that i came late to dinner, and entered the room hastily and without ceremony, expecting to find madame and her sister already seated. instead, i found them talking in a low tone by the open door, with every mark of disorder in their appearance; while clon and louis stood at a little distance with downcast faces and perplexed looks. i had tune to see all this, and then my entrance wrought a sudden change. clon and louis sprang to attention; madame and her sister came to the table and sat down, and made a shallow pretence of being at their ease. but mademoiselle's face was pale, her hand trembled; and though madame's greater self-command enabled her to carry off the matter better, i saw that she was not herself. once or twice she spoke harshly to louis; she fell at other times into a brown study; and when she thought i was not watching her, her face wore a look of deep anxiety. i wondered what all this meant; and i wondered more when, after the meal, the two walked in the garden for an hour with clon. mademoiselle came from this interview alone, and i was sure that she had been weeping. madame and the dark porter stayed outside some time longer; then she, too, came in, and disappeared. clon did not return with her, and when i went into the garden five minutes later louis also had vanished. save for two women who sat sewing at an upper window, the house seemed to be deserted. not a sound broke the afternoon stillness of room or garden, and yet i felt that more was happening in this silence than appeared on the surface. i began to grow curious--suspicious; and presently slipped out myself by way of the stables, and, skirting the wood at the back of the house, gained with a little trouble the bridge which crossed the stream and led to the village. turning round at this point, i could see the house, and i moved a little aside into the underwood, and stood gazing at the windows, trying to unriddle the matter. it was not likely that m. de cocheforêt would repeat his visit so soon; and, besides, the women's emotions had been those of pure dismay and grief, unmixed with any of the satisfaction to which such a meeting, though snatched by stealth, would give rise. i discarded my first thought, therefore--that he had returned unexpectedly--and i sought for another solution. but none was on the instant forthcoming. the windows remained obstinately blind, no figures appeared on the terrace, the garden lay deserted, and without life. my departure had not, as i half expected it would, drawn the secret into light. i watched a while, at times cursing my own meanness; but the excitement of the moment and the quest tided me over that. then i determined to go down into the village and see whether anything was moving there. i had been down to the inn once, and had been received half sulkily, half courteously, as a person privileged at the great house, and therefore to be accepted. it would not be thought odd if i went again; and after a moment's thought, i started down the track. this, where it ran through the wood, was so densely shaded that the sun penetrated to it little, and in patches only. a squirrel stirred at times, sliding round a trunk, or scampering across the dry leaves. occasionally a pig grunted and moved farther into the wood. but the place was very quiet, and i do not know how it was that i surprised clon instead of being surprised by him. he was walking along the path before me with his eyes on the ground--walking so slowly, and with his lean frame so bent that i might have supposed him ill if i had not remarked the steady movement of his head from right to left, and the alert touch with which he now and again displaced a clod of earth or a cluster of leaves. by-and-bye he rose stiffly, and looked round him suspiciously; but by that time i had slipped behind a trunk, and was not to be seen; and after a brief interval he went back to his task, stooping over it more closely, if possible, than before, and applying himself with even greater care. by that time i had made up my mind that he was tracking some one. but whom? i could not make a guess at that. i only knew that the plot was thickening, and began to feel the eagerness of the chase. of course, if the matter had not to do with cocheforêt, it was no affair of mine; but though it seemed unlikely that anything could bring him back so soon, he might still be at the bottom of this. and, besides, i felt a natural curiosity. when clon at last improved his pace, and went on to the village, i took up his task. i called to mind all the wood-lore i had ever known, and scanned trodden mould and crushed leaves with eager eyes. but in vain. i could make nothing of it at all, and rose at last with an aching back and no advantage. i did not go on to the village after that, but returned to the house, where i found madame pacing the garden. she looked up eagerly on hearing my step; and i was mistaken if she was not disappointed--if she had not been expecting some one else. she hid the feeling bravely, however, and met me with a careless word; but she turned to the house more than once while we talked, and she seemed to be all the while on the watch, and uneasy. i was not surprised when clon's figure presently appeared in the doorway, and she left me abruptly, and went to him. i only felt more certain than before that there was something strange on foot. what it was, and whether it had to do with m. de cocheforêt, i could not tell. but there it was, and i grew more curious the longer i remained alone. she came back to me presently, looking thoughtful and a trifle downcast. "that was clon, was it not?" i said, studying her face. "yes," she answered. she spoke absently, and did not look at me. "how does he talk to you?" i asked, speaking a trifle curtly. as i intended, my tone roused her. "by signs," she said. "is he--is he not a little mad?" i ventured. i wanted to make her talk and forget herself. she looked at me with sudden keenness, then dropped her eyes. "you do not like him?" she said, a note of challenge in her voice. "i have noticed that, monsieur." "i think he does not like me," i replied. "he is less trustful than we are," she answered naïvely. "it is natural that he should be. he has seen more of the world." that silenced me for a moment, but she did not seem to notice it. "i was looking for him a little while ago, and i could not find him," i said, after a pause. "he has been into the village," she answered. i longed to pursue the matter farther; but though she seemed to entertain no suspicion of me, i dared not run the risk. i tried her, instead, on another tack. "mademoiselle de cocheforêt does not seem very well to-day?" i said. "no?" she answered carelessly. "well, now you speak of it, i do not think she is. she is often anxious about--my husband." she uttered the last two words with a little hesitation, and looked at me quickly when she had spoken them. we were sitting at the moment on a stone seat which had the wall of the house for a back; and, fortunately, i was toying with the branch of a creeping plant that hung over it, so that she could not see more than the side of my face. for i knew that it altered. over my voice, however, i had more control, and i hastened to answer, "yes, i suppose so," as innocently as possible. "he is at bosost--in spain. you knew that, i conclude?" she said, with a certain sharpness. and she looked me in the face again very directly. "yes," i answered, beginning to tremble. "i suppose you have heard, too, that he--that he sometimes crosses the border?" she continued, in a low voice, but with a certain ring of insistence in her tone. "or, if you have not heard it, you guess it?" i was in a quandary, and grew, in one second, hot all over. uncertain what amount of knowledge i ought to admit, i took refuge in gallantry. "i should be surprised if he did not," i answered, with a bow, "being, as he is, so close, and having such an inducement to return, madame." she drew a long, shivering sigh--at the thought of his peril, i fancied, and sat back against the wall. nor did she say any more, though i heard her sigh again. in a moment she rose. "the afternoons are growing chilly," she said; "i will go in and see how mademoiselle is. sometimes she does not come to supper. if she cannot descend this evening, i am afraid you must excuse me too, monsieur." i said what was right, and watched her go in; and, as i did so, i loathed my errand, and the mean contemptible curiosity which it had planted in my mind, more than at any former time. these women--i could find it in my heart to hate them for their frankness, for their foolish confidence, and the silly trustfulness that made them so easy a prey! _nom de dieu!_ what did the woman mean by telling me all this? to meet me in such a way, to disarm one by such methods, was to take an unfair advantage. it put a vile--ay, the vilest--aspect, on the work i had to do. yet it was very odd! what could m. de cocheforêt mean by returning so soon, if m. de cocheforêt was here? and, on the other hand, if it was not his unexpected presence that had so upset the house, what was the secret? whom had clon been tracking? and what was the cause of madame's anxiety? in a few minutes i began to grow curious again; and, as the ladies did not appear at supper, i had leisure to give my brain full license, and in the course of an hour thought of a hundred keys to the mystery. but none exactly fitted the lock, or laid open the secret. a false alarm that evening helped to puzzle me still more. i was sitting, about an hour after supper, on the same seat in the garden--i had my cloak and was smoking--when madame came out like a ghost, and, without seeing me, flitted away through the darkness toward the stables. for a moment i hesitated, then i followed her. she went down the path and round the stables, and so far i understood; but when she had in this way gained the rear of the west wing, she took a track through the thicket to the east of the house again, and so came back to the garden. this gained, she came up the path and went in through the parlour door, and disappeared--after making a clear circuit of the house, and not once pausing or looking to right or left! i confess i was fairly baffled. i sank back on the seat i had left, and said to myself that this was the lamest of all conclusions. i was sure that she had exchanged no word with any one. i was equally sure that she had not detected my presence behind her. why, then, had she made this strange promenade, alone, unprotected, an hour after nightfall? no dog had bayed, no one had moved, she had not once paused, or listened, like a person expecting a rencontre. i could not make it out. and i came no nearer to solving it, though i lay awake an hour beyond my usual time. in the morning neither of the ladies descended to dinner, and i heard that mademoiselle was not so well. after a lonely meal, therefore--i missed them more than i should have supposed--i retired to my favourite seat, and fell to meditating. the day was fine, and the garden pleasant. sitting there with my eyes on the old-fashioned herb-beds, with the old-fashioned scents in the air, and the dark belt of trees bounding the view on either side, i could believe that i had been out of paris not three weeks, but three months. the quiet lapped me round. i could fancy that i had never loved anything else. the wood-doves cooed in the stillness; occasionally the harsh cry of a jay jarred the silence. it was an hour after noon, and hot. i think i nodded. on a sudden, as if in a dream, i saw clon's face peering at me round the angle of the parlour door. he looked, and in a moment withdrew, and i heard whispering. the door was gently closed. then all was still again. but i was wide awake now, and thinking hard. clearly the people of the house wished to assure themselves that i was asleep and safely out of the way. as clearly, it was to my interest to know what was passing. giving way to the temptation, i rose quietly, and, stooping below the level of the windows, slipped round the east end of the house, passing between it and the great yew hedge. here i found all still, and no one stirring. so, keeping a wary eye about me, i went on round the house--reversing the route which madame had taken the night before--until i gained the rear of the stables. here i had scarcely paused a second to scan the ground before two persons came out of the stable-court they were madame and the porter. they stood a brief while outside, and looked up and down. then madame said something to the man, and he nodded. leaving him standing where he was, she crossed the grass with a quick, light step, and vanished among the trees. in a moment my mind was made up to follow; and, as clon turned at once and went in, i was able to do so before it was too late. bending low among the shrubs, i ran hot-foot to the point where madame had entered the wood. here i found a narrow path, and ran nimbly along it, and presently saw her grey robe fluttering among the trees before me. it only remained to keep out of her sight and give her no chance of discovering that she was followed; and this i set myself to do. once or twice she glanced round, but the wood was of beech, the light which passed between the leaves was mere twilight, and my clothes were dark-coloured. i had every advantage, therefore, and little to fear as long as i could keep her in view and still remain myself at such a distance that the rustle of my tread would not disturb her. assured that she was on her way to meet her husband, whom my presence kept from the house, i felt that the crisis had come at last; and i grew more excited with each step i took. true, i detested the task of watching her: it filled me with peevish disgust. but in proportion as i hated it i was eager to have it done and be done with it, and succeed, and stuff my ears and begone from the scene. when she presently came to the verge of the beech wood, and, entering a little open clearing, seemed to loiter, i went cautiously. this, i thought, must be the rendezvous; and i held back warily, looking to see him step out of the thicket. but he did not, and by-and-bye she quickened her pace. she crossed the open and entered a wide ride cut through a low, dense wood of alder and dwarf oak--a wood so closely planted, and so intertwined with hazel and elder and box that the branches rose like a solid wall, twelve feet high, on either side of the track. down this she passed, and i stood and watched her go; for i dared not follow. the ride stretched away as straight as a line for four or five hundred yards, a green path between green walls. to enter it was to be immediately detected, if she turned; while the thicket itself permitted no passage. i stood baffled and raging, and watched her pass along. it seemed an age before she at last reached the end, and, turning sharply to the right, was in an instant gone from sight. i waited then no longer. i started off, and, running as lightly and quietly as i could, i sped down the green alley. the sun shone into it, the trees kept off the wind, and between heat and haste, i sweated finely. but the turf was soft, and the ground fell slightly, and in little more than a minute i gained the end. fifty yards short of the turning i stayed myself, and, stealing on, looked cautiously the way she had gone. i saw before me a second ride, the twin of the other, and a hundred and fifty paces down it her grey figure tripping on between the green hedges. i stood and took breath, and cursed the wood and the heat and madame's wariness. we must have come a league or two-thirds of a league, at least. how far did the man expect her to plod to meet him? i began to grow angry. there is moderation even in the cooking of eggs, and this wood might stretch into spain, for all i knew! presently she turned the corner and was gone again, and i had to repeat my man[oe]uvre. this time, surely, i should find a change. but no! another green ride stretched away into the depths of the forest, with hedges of varying shades--here light and there dark, as hazel and elder, or thorn, and yew and box prevailed--but always high and stiff and impervious. half-way down the ride madame's figure tripped steadily on, the only moving thing in sight. i wondered, stood, and, when she vanished, followed--only to find that she had entered another track, a little narrower, but in every other respect alike. and so it went on for quite half an hour. sometimes madame turned to the right, sometimes to the left. the maze seemed to be endless. once or twice i wondered whether she had lost her way, and was merely seeking to return. but her steady, purposeful gait, her measured pace, forbade the idea. i noticed, too, that she seldom looked behind her--rarely to right or left. once the ride down which she passed was carpeted not with green, but with the silvery, sheeny leaves of some creeping plant that in the distance had a shimmer like that of water at evening. as she trod this, with her face to the low sun, her tall grey figure had a pure air that for the moment startled me--she looked unearthly. then i swore in scorn of myself, and at the next corner i had my reward. she was no longer walking on. she had stopped, i found, and seated herself on a fallen tree that lay in the ride. for some time i stood in ambush watching her, and with each minute i grew more impatient. at last i began to doubt--to have strange thoughts. the green walls were growing dark. the sun was sinking; a sharp, white peak, miles and miles away, which closed the vista of the ride began to flush and colour rosily. finally, but not before i had had leisure to grow uneasy, she stood up and walked on more slowly. i waited, as usual, until the next turning hid her. then i hastened after her, and, warily passing round the corner--came face to face with her! i knew all in a moment--that she had fooled me, tricked me, lured me away. her face was white with scorn, her eyes blazed; her figure, as she confronted me, trembled with anger and infinite contempt. "you spy!" she cried. "you hound! you--gentleman! oh, _mon dieu!_ if you are one of us--if you are really not _canaille_--we shall pay for this some day! we shall pay a heavy reckoning in the time to come! i did not think," she continued--her every syllable like the lash of a whip--"that there was anything so vile as you in this world!" i stammered something--i do not know what. her words burned into me--into my heart! had she been a man, i would have struck her dead! "you thought you deceived me yesterday," she continued, lowering her tone, but with no lessening of the passion and contempt which curled her lip and gave fulness to her voice. "you plotter! you surface trickster! you thought it an easy task to delude a woman--you find yourself deluded. god give you shame that you may suffer!" she continued mercilessly. "you talked of clon, but clon beside you is the most honourable of men!" "madame," i said hoarsely--and i know my face was grey as ashes--"let us understand one another." "god forbid!" she cried, on the instant. "i would not soil myself!" "fie! madame," i said, trembling. "but then, you are a woman. that should cost a man his life!" she laughed bitterly. "you say well," she retorted. "i am not a man. neither am i madame. madame de cocheforêt has spent this afternoon--thanks to your absence and your imbecility--with her husband. yes, i hope that hurts you!" she went on, savagely snapping her little white teeth together. "to spy and do vile work, and do it ill, monsieur mouchard--monsieur de mouchard, i should say--i congratulate you!" "you are not madame de cocheforêt!" i cried, stunned--even in the midst of my shame and rage--by this blow. "no, monsieur!" she answered grimly. "i am not! and permit me to point out--for we do not all lie easily--that i never said i was. you deceived yourself so skilfully that we had no need to trick you." "mademoiselle, then?" i muttered. "is madame!" she cried. "yes, and i am mademoiselle de cocheforêt. and in that character, and in all others, i beg from this moment to close our acquaintance, sir. when we meet again--if we ever do meet--which god forbid!" she cried, her eyes sparkling, "do not presume to speak to me, or i will have you flogged by the grooms. and do not stain our roof by sleeping under it again. you may lie to-night in the inn. it shall not be said that cocheforêt," she continued proudly, "returned even treachery with inhospitality; and i will give orders to that end. to-morrow begone back to your master, like the whipped cur you are! spy and coward!" with the last fierce words she moved away. i would have said something, i could almost have found it in my heart to stop her and make her hear. nay, i had dreadful thoughts; for i was the stronger, and i might have done with her as i pleased. but she swept by me so fearlessly--as i might pass some loathsome cripple in the road--that i stood turned to stone. without looking at me--without turning her head to see whether i followed or remained, or what i did--she went steadily down the track until the trees and the shadow and the growing darkness hid her grey figure from me; and i found myself alone. chapter v. revenge. and full of black rage! had she only reproached me, or, turning on me in the hour of _my_ victory, said all she had now said in the moment of her own, i could have borne it. she might have shamed me then, and i might have taken the shame to myself, and forgiven her. but, as it was, i stood there in the gathering dusk, between the darkening hedges, baffled, tricked, defeated! and by a woman! she had pitted her wits against mine, her woman's will against my experience, and she had come off the victor. and then she had reviled me. as i took it all in, and began to comprehend, also, the more remote results, and how completely her move had made further progress on my part impossible, i hated her. she had tricked me with her gracious ways and her slow-coming smile. and, after all--for what she had said--it was this man's life or mine. what had i done that another man would not do? _mon dieu!_ in the future there was nothing i would not do. i would make her smart for those words of hers! i would bring her to her knees! still, hot as i was, an hour might have restored me to coolness. but when i started to return, i fell into a fresh rage, for i remembered that i did not know my way out of the maze of rides and paths into which she had drawn me; and this and the mishaps which followed kept my rage hot. for a full hour i wandered in the wood, unable, though i knew where the village lay, to find any track which led continuously in one direction. whenever, at the end of each attempt, the thicket brought me up short, i fancied i heard her laughing on the farther side of the brake; and the ignominy of this chance punishment, the check which the confinement placed on my rage, almost maddened me. in the darkness, i fell, and rose cursing; i tore my hands with thorns; i stained my suit, which had suffered sadly once before. at length, when i had almost resigned myself to lie in the wood, i caught sight of the lights of the village, and trembling between haste and anger, pressed towards them. in a few minutes i stood in the little street. the lights of the inn shone only fifty yards away; but before i could show myself even there pride suggested that i should do something to repair my clothes. i stopped, and scraped and brushed them; and, at the same time, did what i could to compose my features. then i advanced to the door and knocked. almost on the instant the landlord's voice cried from the inside, "enter, monsieur!" i raised the latch and went in. the man was alone, squatting over the fire, warming his hands a black pot simmered on the ashes: as i entered, he raised the lid and peeped inside. then he glanced over his shoulder. "you expected me?" i said defiantly, walking to the hearth, and setting one of my damp boots on the logs. "yes," he answered, nodding curtly. "your supper is just ready. i thought you would be in about this time." he grinned as he spoke, and it was with difficulty i suppressed my wrath "mademoiselle de cocheforêt told you," i said, affecting indifference, "where i was?" "ay, mademoiselle--or madame," he replied, grinning afresh. so she had told him where she had left me, and how she had tricked me! she had made me the village laughing-stock! my rage flashed out afresh at the thought, and, at the sight of his mocking face, i raised my fist. but he read the threat in my eyes, and was up in a moment, snarling, with his hand on his knife. "not again, monsieur!" he cried, in his vile _patois_, "my head is sore still. raise your hand, and i will rip you up as i would a pig!" "sit down, fool," i said. "i am not going to harm you. where is your wife?" "about her business." "which should be getting my supper," i retorted sharply. he rose sullenly, and, fetching a platter, poured the mess of broth and vegetables into it. then he went to a cupboard and brought out a loaf of black bread and a measure of wine, and set them also on the table. "you see it," he said laconically. "and a poor welcome!" i exclaimed. he flamed into sudden passion at that. leaning with both his hands on the table, he thrust his rugged face and blood-shot eyes close to mine. his mustachios bristled; his beard trembled. "hark ye, sirrah!" he muttered, with sullen emphasis--"be content! i have my suspicions. and if it were not for my lady's orders i would put a knife into you, fair or foul, this very night. you would lie snug outside, instead of inside, and i do not think any one would be the worse. but, as it is, be content. keep a still tongue; and when you turn your back on cocheforêt to-morrow keep it turned." "tut! tut!" i said--but i confess i was a little out of countenance. "threatened men live long, you rascal!" "in paris!" he answered significantly. "not here, monsieur." he straightened himself with that, nodded once, and went back to the fire, and i shrugged my shoulders and began to eat, affecting to forget his presence. the logs on the hearth burned sullenly, and gave no light. the poor oil-lump, casting weird shadows from wall to wall, served only to discover the darkness. the room, with its low roof and earthen floor, and foul clothes flung here and there, reeked of stale meals and garlic and vile cooking. i thought of the parlour at cocheforêt, and the dainty table, and the stillness, and the scented pot-herbs; and, though i was too old a soldier to eat the worse because my spoon lacked washing, i felt the change, and laid it savagely at mademoiselle's door. the landlord, watching me stealthily from his place by the hearth, read my thoughts, and chuckled aloud. "palace fare, palace manners!" he muttered scornfully. "set a beggar on horseback, and he will ride--back to the inn!" "keep a civil tongue, will you!" i answered, scowling at him. "have you finished?" he retorted. i rose, without deigning to reply, and, going to the fire, drew off my boots, which were wet through. he, on the instant, swept off the wine and loaf to the cupboard, and then, coming back for the platter i had used, took it, opened the back door, and went out, leaving the door ajar. the draught which came in beat the flame of the lamp this way and that, and gave the dingy, gloomy room an air still more miserable. i rose angrily from the fire, and went to the door, intending to close it with a bang. but when i reached it, i saw something, between door and jamb, which stayed my hand. the door led to a shed in which the housewife washed pots and the like. i felt some surprise, therefore, when i found a light there at this time of night; still more surprise when i saw what she was doing. she was seated on the mud floor, with a rushlight before her, and on either side of her a high-piled heap of refuse and rubbish. from one of these, at the moment i caught sight of her, she was sorting things--horrible, filthy sweepings of road or floor--to the other; shaking and sifting each article as she passed it across, and then taking up another and repeating the action with it, and so on: all minutely, warily, with an air of so much patience and persistence that i stood wondering. some things--rags--she held up between her eyes and the light, some she passed through her fingers, some she fairly tore in pieces. and all the time her husband stood watching her greedily, my platter still in his hand, as if her strange occupation fascinated him. i stood looking, also, for half a minute, perhaps; then the man's eye, raised for a single second to the doorway, met mine. he started, muttered something to his wife, and, quick as thought, kicked the light out, leaving the shed in darkness. cursing him for an ill-conditioned fellow, i walked back to the fire, laughing. in a twinkling he followed me, his face dark with rage. "_ventre saint gris!_" he exclaimed, thrusting it close to mine. "is not a man's house his own?" "it is, for me," i answered coolly, shrugging my shoulders. "and his wife: if she likes to pick dirty rags at this hour, that is your affair." "pig of a spy!" he cried, foaming with rage. i was angry enough at bottom, but i had nothing to gain by quarrelling with the fellow; and i curtly bade him remember himself. "your mistress gave you your orders," i said contemptuously. "obey them!" he spat on the floor, but at the same time he grew calmer. "you are right there," he answered spitefully. "what matter, after all, since you leave to-morrow at six? your horse has been sent down, and your baggage is above." "i will go to it," i retorted. "i want none of your company. give me a light, fellow!" he obeyed reluctantly, and, glad to turn my back on him, i went up the ladder, still wondering faintly, in the midst of my annoyance, what his wife was about that my chance detection of her had so enraged him. even now he was not quite himself. he followed me with abuse, and, deprived by my departure of any other means of showing his spite, fell to shouting through the floor, bidding me remember six o'clock, and be stirring; with other taunts, which did not cease until he had tired himself out. the sight of my belongings--which i had left a few hours before at the château--strewn about the floor of this garret, went some way towards firing me again. but i was worn out. the indignities and mishaps of the evening had, for once, crushed my spirit, and after swearing an oath or two i began to pack my bags. vengeance i would have; but the time and manner i left for daylight thought. beyond six o'clock in the morning i did not look forward; and if i longed for anything it was for a little of the good armagnac i had wasted on those louts of merchants in the kitchen below. it might have done me good now. i had wearily strapped up one bag, and nearly filled the other, when i came upon something which did, for the moment, rouse the devil in me. this was the tiny orange-coloured sachet which mademoiselle had dropped the night i first saw her at the inn, and which, it will be remembered, i picked up. since that night i had not seen it, and had as good as forgotten it. now, as i folded up my other doublet, the one i had then been wearing, it dropped from the pocket. the sight of it recalled all--that night, and mademoiselle's face in the lanthorn light, and my fine plans, and the end of them; and, in a fit of childish fury, the outcome of long suppressed passion, i snatched up the sachet from the floor and tore it across and across, and flung the pieces down. as they fell, a cloud of fine pungent dust burst from them, and with the dust something heavier, which tinkled sharply on the boards. i looked down to see what this was--perhaps i already repented of my act--but for the moment i could see nothing. the floor was grimy and uninviting, and the light bad. in certain moods, however, a man is obstinate about small things, and i moved the taper nearer. as i did so, a point of light, a flashing sparkle that shone for a second among the dirt and refuse on the floor, caught my eye. it was gone in a moment, but i had seen it. i stared, and moved the light again, and the spark flashed out afresh, this time in a different place. much puzzled, i knelt, and, in a twinkling, found a tiny crystal. hard by lay another--and another; each as large as a fair-sized pea. i took up the three, and rose to my feet again, the light in one hand, the crystals in the palm of the other. they were diamonds!--diamonds of price! i knew it in a moment. as i moved the taper to and fro above them, and watched the fire glow and tremble in their depths, i knew that i held that which would buy the crazy inn and all its contents a dozen times over. they were diamonds! gems so fine, and of so rare a water--or i had never seen gems--that my hand trembled as i held them, and my head grew hot, and my heart beat furiously. for a moment i thought i dreamed, that my fancy played me some trick; and i closed my eyes and did not open them again for a minute. but when i did, there they were, hard, real, and angular. convinced at last, in a maze of joy and fear, i closed my hand upon them, and, stealing on tip-toe to the trapdoor, laid first my saddle on it, and then my bags, and over all my cloak, breathing fast the while. then i stole back; and, taking up the light again, began to search the floor, patiently, inch by inch, with naked feet, every sound making me tremble as i crept hither and thither over the creaking boards. and never was search more successful or better paid. in the fragments of the sachet i found six smaller diamonds and a pair of rubies. eight large diamonds i found on the floor. one, the largest and last-found, had bounded away, and lay against the wall in the farthest corner. it took me an hour to run that one to earth; but afterwards i spent another hour on my hands and knees before i gave up the search, and, satisfied at last that i had collected all, sat down on my saddle on the trap-door, and, by the last flickering light of a candle which i had taken from my bag, gloated over my treasure--a treasure worthy of fabled golconda. hardly could i believe in its reality, even now. recalling the jewels which the english duke of buckingham wore on the occasion of his visit to paris in , and of which there was so much talk, i took these to be as fine, though less in number. they should be worth fifteen thousand crowns, more or less. fifteen thousand crowns! and i held them in the hollow of my hand--i who was scarcely worth ten thousand sous. the candle going out cut short my admiration. left in the dark with these precious atoms, my first thought was how i might dispose of them safely; which i did, for the time, by secreting them in the lining of my boot. my second thought turned on the question how they had come where i had found them, among the powdered spice and perfumes in mademoiselle de cocheforêt's sachet. a minute's reflection enabled me to come very near the secret, and at the same time shed a flood of light on several dark places. what clon had been seeking on the path between the house and the village, what the goodwife of the inn had sought among the sweepings of yard and floor, i knew now,--the sachet. i knew, too, what had caused the marked and sudden anxiety i had noticed at the château--the loss of this sachet. and there for a while i came to a check. but one step more up the ladder of thought brought all in view. in a flash i guessed how the jewels had come to be in the sachet; and that it was not mademoiselle but m. de cocheforêt who had mislaid them. and i thought the discovery so important that i began to pace the room softly, unable, in my excitement, to remain still. doubtless he had dropped the jewels in the hurry of his start from the inn that night! doubtless, too, he had carried them in that bizarre hiding-place for the sake of safety, considering it unlikely that robbers, if he fell into their hands, would take the sachet from him; as still less likely that they would suspect it to contain anything of value. everywhere it would pass for a love-gift, the work of his mistress. nor did my penetration stop there. ten to one the gems were family property, the last treasure of the house; and m. de cocheforêt, when i saw him at the inn, was on his way to convey them out of the country; either to secure them from seizure by the government, or to raise money by selling them--money to be spent in some last desperate enterprise. for a day or two, perhaps, after leaving cocheforêt, while the mountain road and its chances occupied his thoughts, he had not discovered his loss. then he had searched for the precious sachet, missed it, and returned hot-foot on his tracks. i was certain that i had hit on the true solution; and all that night i sat wakeful in the darkness, pondering what i should do. the stones, unset as they were, could never be identified, never be claimed. the channel by which they had come to my hands could never be traced. to all intents they were mine--mine, to do with as i pleased! fifteen thousand crowns!--perhaps twenty thousand crowns!--and i to leave at six in the morning, whether i would or no! i might leave for spain with the jewels in my pocket. i confess i was tempted. the gems were so fine that i doubt not some indifferently honest men would have sold salvation for them. but a berault his honour? no! i was tempted, but not for long. thank god, a man may be reduced to living by the fortunes of the dice, and may even be called by a woman spy and coward without becoming a thief. the temptation soon left me--i take credit for it--and i fell to thinking of this and that plan for making use of them. once it occurred to me to take the jewels to the cardinal and buy my pardon with them; again, to use them as a trap to capture cocheforêt; again to--and then about five in the morning, as i sat up on my wretched pallet, while the first light stole slowly in through the cobwebbed, hay-stuffed lattice, there came to me the real plan, the plan of plans, on which i acted. it charmed me. i smacked my lips over it, and hugged myself, and felt my eyes dilate in the darkness, as i conned it. it seemed cruel, it seemed mean; i cared nothing. mademoiselle had boasted of her victory over me, of her woman's wits and her acuteness; and of my dulness. she had said her grooms should flog me, she had rated me as if i had been a dog. very well; we would see now whose brains were the better, whose was the master mind, whose should be the whipping. the one thing required by my plan was that i should get speech with her; that done, i could trust myself, and my new-found weapon, for the rest. but that was absolutely necessary; and seeing that there might be some difficulty about it, i determined to descend as if my mind were made up to go; then, on pretence of saddling my horse, i would slip away on foot, and lie in wait near the château until i saw her come out. or if i could not effect my purpose in that way--either by reason of the landlord's vigilance, or for any other cause--my course was still easy. i would ride away, and when i had proceeded a mile or so, tie up my horse in the forest and return to the wooden bridge. thence i could watch the garden and front of the château until time and chance gave me the opportunity i sought. so i saw my way quite clearly; and when the fellow below called me, reminding me rudely that i must be going, and that it was six o'clock, i was ready with my answer. i shouted sulkily that i was coming, and, after a decent delay, i took up my saddle and bags and went down. viewed by the cold morning light, the inn room looked more smoky, more grimy, more wretched than when i had last seen it. the goodwife was not visible. the fire was not lighted. no provision, not so much as a stirrup-cup or bowl of porridge cheered the heart. i looked round, sniffing the stale smell of last night's lamp, and grunted. "are you going to send me out fasting?" i said, affecting a worse humour than i felt. the landlord was standing by the window, stooping over a great pair of frayed and furrowed thigh-boots, which he was labouring to soften with copious grease. "mademoiselle ordered no breakfast," he answered, with a malicious grin. "well, it does not much matter," i replied grandly. "i shall be at auch by noon." "that is as may be," he answered, with another grin. i did not understand him, but i had something else to think about, and i opened the door and stepped out, intending to go to the stable. then in a second i comprehended. the cold air laden with woodland moisture met me and went to my bones; but it was not that which made me shiver. outside the door, in the road, sitting on horseback in silence, were two men. one was clon. the other, who held a spare horse by the rein--my horse--was a man i had seen at the inn, a rough, shock-headed, hard-bitten fellow. both were armed, and clon was booted. his mate rode barefoot, with a rusty spur strapped to one heel. the moment i saw them a sure and certain fear crept into my mind: it was that made me shiver. but i did not speak to them. i went in again, and closed the door behind me. the landlord was putting on the boots. "what does this mean?" i said hoarsely. i had a clear prescience of what was coming. "why are these men here?" "orders," he answered laconically. "whose orders?" i retorted. "whose?" he answered bluntly. "well, monsieur, that is my business. enough that we mean to see you out of the country, and out of harm's way." "but if i will not go?" i cried. "monsieur will go," he answered coolly. "there are no strangers in the village to-day," he added, with a significant smile. "do you mean to kidnap me?" i replied, in a rage. behind the rage was something--i will not call it terror, for the brave feel no terror--but it was near akin to it. i had had to do with rough men all my life, but there was a grimness and truculence in the aspect of these three that shook me. when i thought of the dark paths and narrow lanes and cliff-sides we must traverse, whichever road we took, i trembled. "kidnap you, monsieur?" he answered, with an everyday air. "that is as you please to call it. one thing is certain, however," he continued, maliciously touching an arquebuss which he had produced and set upright against a chair while i was at the door; "if you attempt the slightest resistance, we shall know how to put an end to it, either here or on the road." i drew a deep breath. the very imminence of the danger restored me to the use of my faculties i changed my tone and laughed aloud. "so that is your plan, is it?" i said. "the sooner we start the better, then. and the sooner i see auch and your back turned, the more i shall be pleased." he rose. "after you, monsieur," he said. i could not restrain a slight shiver. his newborn politeness alarmed me more than his threats. i knew the man and his ways, and i was sure that it boded ill for me. but i had no pistols, and only my sword and knife, and i knew that resistance at this point must be worse than vain. i went out jauntily, therefore, the landlord coming after me with my saddle and bags. the street was empty, save for the two waiting horsemen who sat in their saddles looking doggedly before them. the sun had not yet risen, the air was raw. the sky was grey, cloudy, and cold. my thoughts flew back to the morning on which i had found the sachet--at that very spot, almost at that very hour; and for a moment i grew warm again at the thought of the little packet i carried in my boot. but the landlord's dry manner, the sullen silence of his two companions, whose eyes steadily refused to meet mine, chilled me again. for an instant the impulse to refuse to mount, to refuse to go, was almost irresistible; then, knowing the madness of such a course, which might, and probably would, give the men the chance they desired, i crushed it down and went slowly to my stirrup. "i wonder you do not want my sword," i said by way of sarcasm, as i swung myself up. "we are not afraid of it," the innkeeper answered gravely. "you may keep it--for the present." i made no answer--what answer had i to make?--and we rode at a foot-pace down the street; he and i leading, clon and the shock-headed man bringing up the rear. the leisurely mode of our departure, the absence of hurry or even haste, the men's indifference whether they were seen, or what was thought, all served to sink my spirits, and deepen my sense of peril. i felt that they suspected me, that they more than half guessed the nature of my errand at cocheforêt, and that they were not minded to be bound by mademoiselle's orders. in particular i augured the worst from clon's appearance. his lean malevolent face and sunken eyes, his very dumbness chilled me. mercy had no place there. we rode soberly, so that nearly half an hour elapsed before we gained the brow from which i had taken my first look at cocheforêt. among the dwarf oaks whence i had viewed the valley we paused to breathe our horses, and the strange feelings with which i looked back on the scene may be imagined. but i had short time for indulging in sentiment or recollections. a curt word, and we were moving again. a quarter of a mile farther on the road to auch dipped into the valley. when we were already half-way down this descent the innkeeper suddenly stretched out his hand and caught my rein. "this way!" he said. i saw he would have me turn into a by-path leading south-westwards--a mere track, faint and little trodden and encroached on by trees, which led i knew not whither. i checked my horse. "why?" i said rebelliously. "do you think i do not know the road? this is the way to auch." "to auch--yes," he answered bluntly. "but we are not going to auch." "whither then?" i said angrily. "you will see presently," he replied, with an ugly smile. "yes, but i will know now!" i retorted, passion getting the better of me. "i have come so far with you. you will find it more easy to take me farther, if you tell me your plans." "you are a fool!" he cried, with a snarl. "not so," i answered. "i ask only to know whither i am going." "into spain," he said. "will that satisfy you?" "and what will you do with me there?" i asked, my heart giving a great bound. "hand you over to some friends of ours," he answered curtly, "if you behave yourself. if not, there is a shorter way, and one that will save us some travelling. make up your mind. monsieur. which shall it be?" chapter vi. under the pic du midi. so that was their plan. two or three hours to the southward, the long white glittering wall stretched east and west above the brown woods. beyond that lay spain. once across the border, i might be detained, if no worse happened to me, as a prisoner of war; for we were then at war with spain on the italian side. or i might be handed over to one of the savage bands, half smugglers, half brigands, that held the passes; or be delivered--worst fate of all--into the power of the french exiles, of whom some would be likely to recognize me and cut my throat. "it is a long way into spain," i muttered, watching in a kind of fascination clon handling his pistols. "i think you will find the other road longer still!" the landlord answered grimly. "but choose, and be quick about it." they were three to one, and they had firearms. in effect i had no choice. "well, if i must i must!" i cried, making up my mind with seeming recklessness. "_vogue la galère!_ spain be it. it will not be the first time i have heard the dons talk." the men nodded, as much as to say that they had known what the end would be; the landlord released my rein; and in a trice we were riding down the narrow track, with our faces set towards the mountains. on one point my mind was now more easy. the men meant fairly by me; and i had no longer to fear, as i had feared, a pistol shot in the back at the first convenient ravine. as far as that went, i might ride in peace. on the other hand, if i let them carry me across the border my fate was sealed. a man set down without credentials or guards among the wild desperadoes who swarmed in war time in the asturian passes might consider himself fortunate if an easy death fell to his lot. in my case i could make a shrewd guess what would happen. a single nod of meaning, one muttered word, dropped among the savage men with whom i should be left, and the diamonds hidden in my boot would go neither to the cardinal nor back to mademoiselle--nor would it matter to me whither they went. so while the others talked in their taciturn fashion, or sometimes grinned at my gloomy face, i looked out over the brown woods with eyes that saw, yet did not see. the red squirrel swarming up the trunk, the startled pigs that rushed away grunting from their feast of mast, the solitary rider who met us, armed to the teeth, and passed northwards after whispering with the landlord--all these i saw. but my mind was not with them. it was groping and feeling about like a hunted mole for some way of escape. for time pressed. the slope we were on was growing steeper. by-and-bye we fell into a southward valley, and began to follow it steadily upwards, crossing and recrossing a swiftly rushing stream. the snow-peaks began to be hidden behind the rising bulk of hills that overhung us; and sometimes we could see nothing before or behind but the wooded walls of our valley rising sheer and green a thousand paces on either hand, with grey rocks half masked by fern and ivy getting here and there through the firs and alders. it was a wild and sombre scene even at that hour, with the midday sun shining on the rushing water and drawing the scent out of the pines; but i knew that there was worse to come, and sought desperately for some ruse by which i might at least separate the men. three were too many; with one i might deal. at last, when i had cudgelled my brain for an hour, and almost resigned myself to a sudden charge on the men single-handed--a last desperate resort--i thought of a plan, dangerous, too, and almost desperate, but which still seemed to promise something. it came of my fingers resting in my pocket on the fragments of the orange sachet, which, without having any particular design in my mind, i had taken care to bring with me. i had torn the sachet into four pieces--four corners. as i played mechanically with them, one of my fingers fitted into one, as into a glove; a second finger into another. and the plan came. still, before i could move in it, i had to wait until we stopped to bait the flagging horses, which we did about noon at the head of the valley. then, pretending to drink from the stream, i managed to secure unseen a handful of pebbles, slipping them into the same pocket with the morsels of stuff. on getting to horse again, i carefully fitted a pebble, not too tightly, into the largest scrap, and made ready for the attempt. the landlord rode on my left, abreast of me; the other two knaves behind. the road at this stage favoured me, for the valley, which drained the bare uplands that lay between the lower spurs and the base of the real mountains, had become wide and shallow. here were no trees, and the path was a mere sheep-track covered with short crisp grass, and running sometimes on this bank of the stream and sometimes on that. i waited until the ruffian beside me turned to speak to the men behind. the moment he did so and his eyes were averted, i slipped out the scrap of satin in which i had placed the pebble, and balancing it carefully on my right thigh as i rode, i flipped it forward with all the strength of my thumb and finger. i meant it to fall a few paces before us in the path, where it could be seen. but alas for my hopes! at the critical moment my horse started, my finger struck the scrap aslant, the pebble flew out, and the bit of stuff fluttered into a whin-bush close to my stirrup--and was lost! i was bitterly disappointed, for the same thing might happen again, and i had now only three scraps left. but fortune favoured me, by putting it into my neighbour's head to plunge into a hot debate with the shock-headed man on the nature of some animals seen on a distant brow; which he said were izards, while the other maintained that they were common goats. he continued, on this account, to ride with his face turned the other way. i had time to fit another pebble into the second piece of stuff, and sliding it on to my thigh, poised it, and flipped it. this time my finger struck the tiny missile fairly in the middle, and shot it so far and so truly that it dropped exactly in the path ten paces in front of us. the moment i saw it fall i kicked my neighbour's nag in the ribs; it started, and he, turning in a rage, hit it. the next instant he pulled it almost on to its haunches. "saint gris!" he cried; and sat glaring at the bit of yellow satin, with his face turned purple and his jaw fallen. "what is it?" i said, staring at him in turn. "what is the matter, fool?" "matter?" he blurted out. "_mon dieu!_" but clon's excitement surpassed even his. the dumb man no sooner saw what had attracted his comrade's attention, than he uttered an inarticulate and horrible noise, and tumbling off his horse, more like a beast than a man, threw himself bodily on the precious morsel. the innkeeper was not far behind him. an instant and he was down, too, peering at the thing; and for an instant i thought that they would fight over it. however, though their jealousy was evident, their excitement cooled a little when they discovered that the scrap of stuff was empty; for, fortunately, the pebble had fallen out of it. still, it threw them into such a fever of eagerness as it was wonderful to witness. they nosed the ground where it had lain, they plucked up the grass and turf, and passed it through their fingers, they ran to and fro like dogs on a trail; and, glancing askance at one another, came back always together to the point of departure. neither in his jealousy would suffer the other to be there alone. the shock-headed man and i sat our horses and looked on; he marvelling, and i pretending to marvel. as the two searched up and down the path, we moved a little out of it to give them space; and presently, when all their heads were turned from me, i let a second morsel drop under a gorse-bush. the shock-headed man, by-and-bye, found this, and gave it to clon; and, as from the circumstances of the first discovery no suspicion attached to me, i ventured to find the third and last scrap myself. i did not pick it up, but i called the innkeeper, and he pounced on it as i have seen a hawk pounce on a chicken. they hunted for the fourth morsel, but, of course, in vain, and in the end they desisted, and fitted the three they had together; but neither would let his own portion out of his hands, and each looked at the other across the spoil with eyes of suspicion. it was strange to see them in that wide-stretching valley, whence grey boar-backs of hills swelled up into the silence of the snow--it was strange, i say, in that vast solitude to see these two, mere dots on its bosom, circling round one another in fierce forgetfulness of the outside world, glaring and shifting their ground like cocks about to engage, and wholly engrossed--by three scraps of orange-colour, invisible at fifty paces! at last the innkeeper cried with an oath: "i am going back. this must be known down yonder. give me your pieces, man, and do you go with antoine. it will be all right." but clon, waving a scrap in either hand and thrusting his ghastly mask into the other's face, shook his head in passionate denial. he could not speak, but he made it clear that if any one went back with the news he was the man to go. "nonsense!" the landlord retorted fiercely. "we cannot leave antoine to go on alone with him. give me the stuff." but clon would not. he had no thought of resigning the credit of the discovery, and i began to think that the two would really come to blows. but there was an alternative, and first one and then the other looked at me. it was a moment of peril, and i knew it. my stratagem might react on myself, and the two, to put an end to this difficulty, agree to put an end to me. but i faced them so coolly and showed so bold a front, and the ground was so open, that the idea took no root. they fell to wrangling again more viciously than before. one tapped his gun and the other his pistols. the landlord scolded, the dumb man gurgled. at last their difference ended as i had hoped it would. "very well then, we will both go back!" the innkeeper cried in a rage. "and antoine must see him on. but the blame be on your head. do you give the lad your pistols." clon took one pistol and gave it to the shock-headed man. "the other!" the innkeeper said impatiently. but clon shook his head with a grim smile, and pointed to the arquebuss. by a sudden movement the landlord snatched the pistol, and averted clon's vengeance by placing both it and the gun in the shock-headed man's hands. "there!" he said, addressing the latter, "now can you do? if monsieur tries to escape or turn back, shoot him! but four hours' riding should bring you to the roca blanca. you will find the men there, and will have no more to do with it." antoine did not see things quite in that light, however. he looked at me, and then at the wild track in front of us; and he muttered an oath and said he would die if he would. but the landlord, who was in a frenzy of impatience, drew him aside and talked to him, and in the end seemed to persuade him; for in a few minutes the matter was settled. antoine came back and said sullenly, "forward, monsieur," the two others stood on one side, i shrugged my shoulders and kicked up my horse, and in a twinkling we two were riding on together--man to man. i turned once or twice to see what those we had left behind were doing, and always found them standing in apparent debate; but my guard showed so much jealousy of these movements that i presently shrugged my shoulders again and desisted. i had racked my brains to bring about this state of things. but, strange to say, now i had succeeded, i found it less satisfactory than i had hoped. i had reduced the odds and got rid of my most dangerous antagonists; but antoine, left to himself, proved to be as full of suspicion as an egg of meat. he rode a little behind me with his gun across his saddle-bow, and a pistol near his hand, and at the slightest pause on my part, or if i turned to look at him, he muttered his constant "forward, monsieur!" in a tone that warned me that his finger was on the trigger. at such a distance he could not miss; and i saw nothing for it but to go on meekly before him--to the roca blanca and my fate. what was to be done? the road presently reached the end of the valley and entered a narrow pine-clad defile, strewn with rocks and boulders, over which the torrent plunged and eddied with a deafening roar. in front the white gleam of waterfalls broke the sombre ranks of climbing trunks. the snow-line lay less than half a mile away on either hand; and crowning all--at the end of the pass, as it seemed to the eye--rose the pure white pillar of the pic du midi shooting up six thousand feet into the blue of heaven. such a scene, so suddenly disclosed, was enough to drive the sense of danger from my mind; and for a moment i reined in my horse. but "forward, monsieur!" came the grating order. i fell to earth again, and went on. what was to be done? i was at my wit's end to know. the man refused to talk, refused to ride abreast of me, would have no dismounting, no halting, no communication; at all. he would have nothing but this silent, lonely procession of two, with the muzzle of his gun at my back. and meanwhile we were fast climbing the pass. we had left the others an hour--nearly two. the sun was declining; the time, i supposed, about half-past three. if he would only let me come within reach of him! or if anything would fall out to take his attention! when the pass presently widened into a bare and dreary valley, strewn with huge boulders, and with snow lying here and there in the hollows, i looked desperately before me, and scanned even the vast snow-fields that overhung us and stretched away to the base of the ice-peak. but i saw nothing. no bear swung across the path, no izard showed itself on the cliffs. the keen sharp air cut our cheeks and warned me that we were approaching the summit of the ridge. on all sides were silence and desolation. _mon dieu!_ and the ruffians on whose tender mercies i was to be thrown might come to meet us! they might appear at any moment. in my despair i loosened my hat on my head, and let the first gust carry it to the ground, and then with an oath of annoyance tossed my feet loose to go after it. but the rascal roared to me to keep my seat. "forward, monsieur!" he shouted brutally. "go on!" "but my hat!" i cried. "_mille tonnerres_, man! i must--" "forward, monsieur, or i shoot!" he replied inexorably, raising his gun. "one--two--" and i went on. but, oh, i was wrathful! that i, gil de berault, should be outwitted and led by the nose, like a ringed bull, by this gascon lout! that i, whom all paris knew and feared--if it did not love--the terror of zaton's, should come to my end in this dismal waste of snow and rock, done to death by some pitiful smuggler or thief! it must not be! surely in the last resort i could give an account of one man, though his belt were stuffed with pistols! but how? only, it seemed, by open force. my heart began to flutter as i planned it; and then grew steady again. a hundred paces before us a gully or ravine on the left ran up into the snow-field. opposite its mouth a jumble of stones and broken rocks covered the path. i marked this for the place. the knave would need both his hands to hold up his nag over the stones, and, if i turned on him suddenly enough, he might either drop his gun, or fire it harmlessly. but, in the meantime, something happened; as, at the last moment, things do happen. while we were still fifty yards short of the place, i found his horse's nose creeping forward on a level with my crupper; and, still advancing, until i could see it out of the tail of my eye, and my heart gave a great bound. he was coming abreast of me: he was going to deliver himself into my hands! to cover my excitement, i began to whistle. "hush!" he muttered fiercely: his voice sounding strange and unnatural. my first thought was that he was ill, and i turned to him. but he only said again, "hush! pass by here quietly, monsieur." "why?" i asked mutinously, curiosity getting the better of me. for had i been wise i had taken no notice; every second his horse was coming up with mine. its nose was level with my stirrup already. "hush, man!" he said again. this time there was no mistake about the panic in his voice. "they call this the devil's chapel. god send us safe by it! it is late to be here. look at those!" he continued, pointing with a finger which visibly shook. i looked. at the mouth of the gully, in a small space partly cleared of stones stood three broken shafts, raised on rude pedestals. "well?" i said in a low voice. the sun which was near setting flushed the great peak above to the colour of blood; but the valley was growing grey and each moment more dreary. "well, what of those?" i said. in spite of my peril and the excitement of the coming struggle i felt the chill of his fear. never had i seen so grim, so desolate, so godforsaken a place! involuntarily i shivered. "they were crosses," he muttered, in a voice little above a whisper, while his eyes roved this way and that in terror. "the curé of gabas blessed the place, and set them up. but next morning they were as you see them now. come on, monsieur, come on!" he continued, plucking at my arm. "it is not safe here after sunset. pray god, satan be not at home!" he had completely forgotten in his panic that he had anything to fear from me. his gun dropped loosely across his saddle, his leg rubbed mine. i saw this, and i changed my plan of action. as our horses reached the stones i stooped, as if to encourage mine, and by a sudden clutch snatched the gun bodily from his hand; at the same time i backed my horse with all my strength. it was done in a moment! a second and i had him at the end of the gun, and my finger was on the trigger. never was victory more easily gained. he looked at me between rage and terror, his jaw fallen. "are you mad?" he cried, his teeth chattering as he spoke. even in this strait his eyes left me and wandered round in alarm. "no, sane!" i retorted fiercely. "but i do not like this place any better than you do!" which was true enough, if not quite true. "so, by your right, quick march!" i continued imperatively. "turn your horse, my friend, or take the consequences." he turned like a lamb, and headed down the valley again, without giving a thought to his pistols. i kept close to him, and in less than a minute we had left the devil's chapel well behind us, and were moving down again as we had come up. only now i held the gun. when we had gone half a mile or so--until then i did not feel comfortable myself, and though i thanked heaven the place existed, thanked heaven also that i was out of it--i bade him halt. "take off your belt!" i said curtly, "and throw it down. but, mark me, if you turn, i fire!" the spirit was quite gone out of him. he obeyed mechanically. i jumped down, still covering him with the gun, and picked up the belt, pistols and all. then i remounted, and we went on. by-and-bye he asked me sullenly what i was going to do. "go back," i said, "and take the road to auch when i come to it." "it will be dark in an hour," he answered sulkily. "i know that," i retorted. "we must camp and do the best we can." and as i said, we did. the daylight held until we gained the skirts of the pine-wood at the head of the pass. here i chose a corner a little off the track, and well-sheltered from the wind, and bade him light a fire. i tethered the horses near this and within sight. it remained only to sup. i had a piece of bread; he had another and an onion. we ate in silence, sitting on opposite sides of the fire. but after supper i found myself in a dilemma; i did not see how i was to sleep. the ruddy light which gleamed on the knave's swart face and sinewy hands showed also his eyes, black, sullen, and watchful. i knew that the man was plotting revenge; that he would not hesitate to plant his knife between my ribs should i give him a chance. i could find only one alternative to remaining awake. had i been bloody-minded, i should have chosen it and solved the question at once and in my favour by shooting him as he sat. but i have never been a cruel man, and i could not find it in my heart to do this. the silence of the mountain and the sky--which seemed a thing apart from the roar of the torrent and not to be broken by it--awed me. the vastness of the solitude in which we sat, the dark void above through which the stars kept shooting, the black gulf below in which the unseen waters boiled and surged, the absence of other human company or other signs of human existence put such a face upon the deed that i gave up the thought of it with a shudder, and resigned myself, instead, to watch through the night--the long, cold, pyrenean night. presently he curled himself up like a dog and slept in the blaze, and then for a couple of hours i sat opposite him, thinking. it seemed years since i had seen zaton's or thrown the dice. the old life, the old employments--should i ever go back to them?--seemed dim and distant. would cocheforêt, the forest and the mountain, the grey château and its mistresses, seem one day as dim! and if one bit of life could fade so quickly at the unrolling of another, and seem in a moment pale and colourless, would all life some day and somewhere, and all the things we--but faugh! i was growing foolish. i sprang up and kicked the wood together, and, taking up the gun, began to pace to and fro under the cliff. strange that a little moonlight, a few stars, a breath of solitude should carry a man back to childhood and childish things! * * * * * it was three in the afternoon of the next day, and the sun lay hot on the oak groves, and the air was full of warmth as we began to climb the slope, on which the road to auch shoots out of the track. the yellow bracken and the fallen leaves underfoot seemed to throw up light of themselves, and here and there a patch of ruddy beech lay like a bloodstain on the hillside. in front a herd of pigs routed among the mast, and grunted lazily; and high above us a boy lay watching them. "we part here," i said to my companion. it was my plan to ride a little way on the road to auch so as to blind his eyes; then, leaving my horse in the forest, i would go on foot to the château. "the sooner the better!" he answered, with a snarl. "and i hope i may never see your face again, monsieur!" but when we came to the wooden cross at the fork of the roads, and were about to part, the boy we had seen leapt out of the fern and came to meet us. "hollo!" he cried, in a sing-song tone. "well!" my companion answered, drawing rein impatiently. "what is it?" "there are soldiers in the village." "soldiers?" antoine cried incredulously. "ay, devils on horseback!" the lad answered, spitting on the ground. "three score of them! from auch!" antoine turned to me, his face transformed with fury. "curse you!" he cried. "this is some of your work! now we are all undone! and my mistresses! _sacré!_ if i had that gun i would shoot you like a rat!" "steady, fool!" i answered roughly. "i know no more of this than you do!" this was so true that my surprise was as great as his. the cardinal, who rarely made a change of front, had sent me hither that he might not be forced to send soldiers, and run the risk of all that might arise from such a movement. what of this invasion, then, than which nothing could be less consistent with his plans? i wondered. it was possible, of course, that the travelling merchants, before whom i had played at treason, had reported the facts; and that on this the commandant at auch had acted. but it seemed unlikely. he had had his orders, too; and, under the cardinal's rule, there was small place for individual enterprise. i could not understand it. one thing was clear, however. i might now enter the village as i pleased. "i am going on to look into this," i said to antoine. "come, my man." he shrugged his shoulders, and stood still. "not i!" he answered, with an oath. "no soldiers for me! i have lain out one night, and i can lie out another!" i nodded indifferently, for i no longer wanted him; and we parted. after this, twenty minutes' riding brought me to the entrance of the village; and here the change was great indeed. not one of the ordinary dwellers in the place was to be seen: either they had shut themselves up in their hovels, or, like antoine, they had fled to the woods. their doors were closed, their windows shuttered. but lounging about the street were a score of dragoons, in boots and breastplates, whose short-barrelled muskets, with pouches and bandoliers attached, were piled near the inn door. in an open space where there was a gap in the street, a long row of horses, linked head to head, stood bending their muzzles over bundles of rough forage, and on all sides the cheerful jingle of chains and bridles and the sound of coarse jokes and laughter filled the air. as i rode up to the inn door an old sergeant, with squinting eyes and his tongue in his cheeks, eyed me inquisitively, and started to cross the street to challenge me. fortunately, at that moment the two knaves whom i had brought from paris with me, and whom i had left at auch to await my orders, came up. i made them a sign not to speak to me, and they passed on; but i suppose that they told the sergeant that i was not the man he wanted, for i saw no more of him. after picketing my horse behind the inn--i could find no better stable, every place being full--i pushed my way through the group at the door, and entered. the old room, with the low grimy roof and the reeking floor, was half full of strange figures, and for a few minutes i stood unseen in the smoke and confusion. then the landlord came my way, and as he passed me i caught his eye. he uttered a low curse, dropped the pitcher he was carrying, and stood glaring at me, like a man possessed. the soldier whose wine he was carrying flung a crust in his face, with, "now, greasy fingers! what are you staring at?" "the devil!" the landlord muttered, beginning to tremble. "then let me look at him!" the man retorted and he turned on his stool. he started, finding me standing over him. "at your service!" i said grimly. "a little time and it will be the other way, my friend." chapter vii. a master stroke. i have a way with me which commonly commands respect; and when the landlord's first terror was over and he would serve me, i managed to get my supper--the first good meal i had had in two days--pretty comfortably in spite of the soldiers' presence. the crowd, too, which filled the room, soon began to melt. the men strayed off in groups to water their horses, or went to hunt up their quarters, until only two or three were left. dusk had fallen outside; the noise in the street grew less. the firelight began to glow and flicker on the walls, and the wretched room to look as homely as it was in its nature to look. i was pondering for the twentieth time what step i should take next--under these new circumstances--and why the soldiers were here, and whether i should let the night pass before i moved, when the door, which had been turning on its hinges almost without pause for an hour, opened again, and a woman came in. she paused a moment on the threshold looking round, and i saw that she had a shawl on her head and a milk-pitcher in her hand, and that her feet and ankles were bare. there was a great rent in her coarse stuff petticoat, and the hand which held the shawl together was brown and dirty. more i did not see; supposing her to be a neighbour stolen in now that the house was quiet to get some milk for her child or the like, i took no further heed of her. i turned to the fire again and plunged into my thoughts. but to get to the hearth where the goodwife was fidgeting, the woman had to pass in front of me; and as she passed i suppose she stole a look at me from under her shawl. for just when she came between me and the blaze she uttered a low cry and shrank aside--so quickly that she almost stepped on the hearth. the next moment she turned her back to me and was stooping, whispering in the housewife's ear. a stranger might have thought that she had merely trodden on a hot ember. but another idea, and a very sharp one, came into my mind; and i stood up silently. the woman's back was towards me, but something in her height, her shape, the pose of her head, hidden as it was by her shawl, seemed familiar. i waited while she hung over the fire whispering, and while the goodwife slowly filled her pitcher out of the great black pot. but when she turned to go, i took a step forward so as to bar her way. and our eyes met. i could not see her features; they were lost in the shadow of the hood. but i saw a shiver run through her from head to foot. and i knew then that i had made no mistake. "that is too heavy for you, my girl," i said familiarly, as i might have spoken to a village wench. "i will carry it for you." one of the men, who remained lolling at the table, laughed, and the other began to sing a low song. the woman trembled in rage or fear, but she kept silence and let me take the jug from her hands. and when i went to the door and opened it, she followed mechanically. an instant, and the door fell to behind us, shutting off the light and glow, and we two stood together in the growing dusk. "it is late for you to be out, mademoiselle," i said politely. "you might meet with some rudeness, dressed as you are. permit me to see you home." she shuddered, and i thought i heard her sob, but she did not answer. instead, she turned and walked quickly through the village in the direction of the château, keeping in the shadow of the houses. i carried the pitcher and walked beside her; and in the dark i smiled. i knew how shame and impotent rage were working in her. this was something like revenge! presently i spoke. "well, mademoiselle," i said. "where are your grooms?" she gave me one look, her eyes blazing with anger, her face like hate itself; and after that i said no more, but left her in peace, and contented myself with walking at her shoulder until we came to the end of the village, where the track to the great house plunged into the wood. there she stopped, and turned on me like a wild creature at bay. "what do you want?" she cried hoarsely, breathing as if she had been running. "to see you safe to the house," i answered coolly. "and if i will not?" she retorted. "the choice does not lie with you, mademoiselle," i answered sternly. "you will go to the house with me, and on the way you will give me an interview; but not here. here we are not private enough. we may be interrupted at any moment, and i wish to speak to you at length." i saw her shiver. "what if i will not?" she said again. "i might call to the nearest soldiers and tell them who you are," i answered coolly. "i might, but i should not. that were a clumsy way of punishing you, and i know a better way. i should go to the captain, mademoiselle, and tell him whose horse is locked up in the inn stable. a trooper told me--as some one had told him--that it belonged to one of his officers; but i looked through the crack, and i knew the horse again." she could not repress a groan. i waited. still she did not speak. "shall i go to the captain?" i said ruthlessly. she shook the hood back from her face, and looked at me. "oh, you coward! you coward!" she hissed through her teeth. "if i had a knife!" "but you have not, mademoiselle," i answered, unmoved. "be good enough, therefore, to make up your mind which it is to be. am i to go with my news to the captain, or am i to come with you?" "give me the pitcher!" she said harshly. i did so, wondering. in a moment she flung it with a savage gesture far into the bushes. "come!" she said, "if you will. but some day god will punish you!" without another word she turned and entered the path through the trees, and i followed her. i suppose every turn in its course, every hollow and broken place in it had been known to her from childhood, for she followed it swiftly and unerringly, barefoot as she was. i had to walk fast through the darkness to keep up with her. the wood was quiet, but the frogs were beginning to croak in the pool, and their persistent chorus reminded me of the night when i had come to the house-door hurt and worn out, and clon had admitted me, and she had stood under the gallery in the hall. things had looked dark then. i had seen but a very little way ahead. now all was plain. the commandant might be here with all his soldiers, but it was i who held the strings. we came to the little wooden bridge and saw beyond the dark meadows the lights of the house. all the windows were bright. doubtless the troopers were making merry. "now, mademoiselle," i said quietly. "i must trouble you to stop here, and give me your attention for a few minutes. afterwards you may go your way." "speak!" she said defiantly. "and be quick! i cannot breathe the air where you are! it poisons me!" "ah!" i said slowly. "do you think you make things better by such speeches as those?" "oh!" she cried--and i heard her teeth click together. "would you have me fawn on you?" "perhaps not," i answered. "still you make one mistake." "what is it?" she panted. "you forget that i am to be feared as well as--loathed!" i answered grimly. "ay, mademoiselle, to be feared!" i continued. "do you think that i do not know why you are here in this guise? do you think that i do not know for whom that pitcher of broth was intended? or who will now have to fast to-night? i tell you i know all these things. your house is full of soldiers; your servants were watched and could not leave. you had to come yourself and get food for him!" she clutched at the hand-rail of the bridge, and for an instant clung to it for support. her face, from which the shawl had fallen, glimmered white in the shadow of the trees. at last i had shaken her pride. at last! "what is your price?" she murmured faintly. "i am going to tell you," i replied, speaking so that every word might fall distinctly on her ears, and sating my eyes on her proud face. i had never dreamed of such revenge as this! "about a fortnight ago, m. de cocheforêt left here at night with a little orange-coloured sachet in his possession." she uttered a stifled cry, and drew herself stiffly erect. "it contained--but there, mademoiselle, you know its contents," i went on. "whatever they were, m. de cocheforêt lost it and them at starting. a week ago he came back--unfortunately for himself--to seek them." she was looking full in my face now. she seemed scarcely to breathe in the intensity of her surprise and expectation. "you had a search made, mademoiselle," i continued quietly. "your servants left no place unexplored. the paths, the roads, the very woods were ransacked. but in vain, because all the while the orange sachet lay whole and unopened in my pocket." "no!" she cried impetuously. "you lie, sir! the sachet was found, torn open, many leagues from this place!" "where i threw it, mademoiselle," i replied, "that i might mislead your rascals and be free to return. oh! believe me," i continued, letting something of myself, something of my triumph, appear at last in my voice. "you have made a mistake! you would have done better had you trusted me. i am no bundle of sawdust, mademoiselle, but a man: a man with an arm to shield and a brain to serve, and--as i am going to teach you--a heart also!" she shivered. "in the orange-coloured sachet that you lost i believe there were eighteen stones of great value?" she made no answer, but she looked at me as if i fascinated her. her very breath seemed to pause and wait on my words. she was so little conscious of anything else, of anything outside ourselves, that a score of men might have come up behind her unseen and unnoticed. i took from my breast a little packet wrapped in soft leather, and held it towards her. "will you open this?" i said. "i believe it contains what you lost. that it contains all i will not answer, mademoiselle, because i spilled the stones on the floor of my room, and i may have failed to find some. but the others can be recovered--i know where they are." she took the packet slowly and began to unroll it, her fingers shaking. a few turns and the mild lustre of the stones made a kind of moonlight in her hands--such a shimmering glory of imprisoned light as has ruined many a woman and robbed many a man of his honour. _morbleu!_ as i looked at them--and as she stood looking at them in dull, entranced perplexity--i wondered how i had come to resist the temptation. while i gazed her hands began to waver. "i cannot count," she muttered helplessly. "how many are there?" "in all, eighteen.' "they should be eighteen," she said. she closed her hand on them with that, and opened it again, and did so twice, as if to reassure herself that the stones were real and that she was not dreaming. then she turned to me with sudden fierceness, and i saw that her beautiful face, sharpened by the greed of possession, was grown as keen and vicious as before. "well?" she muttered between her teeth. "your price, man? your price?" "i am coming to it now, mademoiselle," i said gravely. "it is a simple matter. you remember the afternoon when i followed you--clumsily and thoughtlessly perhaps--through the wood to restore these things? it seems about a month ago. i believe it happened the day before yesterday. you called me then some very harsh names, which i will not hurt you by repeating. the only price i ask for restoring your jewels is that you recall those names. "how?" she muttered. "i do not understand." i repeated my words very slowly. "the only price or reward i ask, mademoiselle, is that you take back those names, and say that they were not deserved." "and the jewels?" she exclaimed hoarsely. "they are yours. they are nothing to me. take them, and say that you do not think of me-- nay, i cannot say the words, mademoiselle." "but there is something--else! what else?" she cried, her head thrown back, her eyes, bright as any wild animal's, searching mine. "ha! my brother? what of him? what of him, sir?" "for him, mademoiselle--i would prefer that you should tell me no more than i know already," i answered in a low voice. "i do not wish to be in that affair. but yes, there is one thing i have not mentioned. you are right." she sighed so deeply that i caught the sound. "it is," i continued slowly, "that you will permit me to remain at cocheforêt for a few days, while the soldiers are here. i am told that there are twenty men and two officers quartered in your house. your brother is away. i ask to be permitted, mademoiselle, to take his place for the time, and to be privileged to protect your sister and yourself from insult. that is all." she raised her hand to her head. after a long pause: "the frogs!" she muttered, "they croak! i cannot hear." and then, to my surprise, she turned suddenly on her heel, and walked over the bridge, leaving me there. for a moment i stood aghast, peering after her shadowy figure, and wondering what had taken her. then, in a minute or less, she came quickly back to me, and i understood. she was crying. "m. de barthe," she said, in a trembling voice, which told me that the victory was won. "is there nothing else? have you no other penance for me?" "none, mademoiselle." she had drawn the shawl over her head, and i no longer saw her face. "that is all you ask?" she murmured. "that is all i ask--now," i answered. "it is granted," she said slowly and firmly. "forgive me if i seem to speak lightly--if i seem to make little of your generosity or my shame; but i can say no more now. i am so deep in trouble and so gnawed by terror that--i cannot feel anything much to-night, either shame or gratitude. i am in a dream; god grant it may pass as a dream! we are sunk in trouble. but for you and what you have done, m. de barthe--i--" she paused and i heard her fighting with the sobs which choked her--"forgive me.... i am overwrought. and my--my feet are cold," she added suddenly and irrelevantly. "will you take me home?" "ah, mademoiselle," i cried remorsefully, "i have been a beast! you are barefoot, and i have kept you here." "it is nothing," she said in a voice which thrilled me. "my heart is warm, monsieur--thanks to you. it is many hours since it has been as warm." she stepped out of the shadow as she spoke--and there, the thing was done. as i had planned, so it had come about. once more i was crossing the meadow in the dark to be received at cocheforêt a welcome guest. the frogs croaked in the pool and a bat swooped round us in circles; and surely never--never, i thought, with a kind of exultation in my breast--had man been placed in a stranger position. somewhere in the black wood behind us--probably in the outskirts of the village--lurked m. de cocheforêt. in the great house before us, outlined by a score of lighted windows, were the soldiers come from auch to take him. between the two, moving side by side in the darkness, in a silence which each found to be eloquent, were mademoiselle and i: she who knew so much, i who knew all--all but one little thing! we reached the house, and i suggested that she should steal in first by the way she had come out, and that i should wait a little and knock at the door when she had had time to explain matters to clon. "they do not let me see clon," she answered slowly. "then your woman must tell him," i rejoined. "or he may say something and betray me." "they will not let our woman come to us." "what?" i cried, astonished. "but this is infamous. you are not prisoners!" mademoiselle laughed harshly. "are we not? well, i suppose not; for if we wanted company, captain larolle said he would be delighted to see us--in the parlour." "he has taken your parlour?" i said. "he and his lieutenant sit there. but i suppose we should be thankful," she added bitterly. "we have still our bed-rooms left to us." "very well," i said. "then i must deal with clon as i can. but i have still a favour to ask, mademoiselle. it is only that you and your sister will descend to-morrow at your usual time. i shall be in the parlour." "i would rather not," she said, pausing and speaking in a troubled voice. "are you afraid?" "no, monsieur; i am not afraid," she answered proudly. "but--" "you will come?" i said. she sighed before she spoke. at length, "yes, i will come--if you wish it," she answered; and the next moment she was gone round the corner of the house, while i laughed to think of the excellent watch these gallant gentlemen were keeping. m. de cocheforêt might have been with her in the garden, might have talked with her as i had talked, might have entered the house even, and passed under their noses scot-free. but that is the way of soldiers. they are always ready for the enemy, with drums beating and flags flying--at ten o'clock in the morning. but he does not always come at that hour. i waited a little, and then i groped my way to the door, and knocked on it with the hilt of my sword. the dogs began to bark at the back, and the chorus of a drinking-song, which came fitfully from the east wing, ceased altogether. an inner door opened, and an angry voice, apparently an officer's, began to rate some one for not coming. another moment, and a clamour of voices and footsteps seemed to pour into the hall, and fill it. i heard the bar jerked away, the door was flung open, and in a twinkling a lanthorn, behind which a dozen flushed visages were dimly seen, was thrust into my face. "why, who the fiend is this?" cried one, glaring at me in astonishment. "_morbleu!_ it is the man!" another shrieked. "seize him!" in a moment half a dozen hands were laid on my shoulders, but i only bowed politely. "the officer, my friends," i said, "m. le capitaine larolle. where is he?" "_diable!_ but who are you, first?" the lanthorn-bearer retorted bluntly. he was a tall, lanky sergeant, with a sinister face. "well, i am not m. de cocheforêt," i replied; "and that must satisfy you, my man. for the rest, if you do not fetch captain larolle at once and admit me, you will find the consequences inconvenient." "ho! ho!" he said, with a sneer. "you can crow, it seems. well, come in." they made way, and i walked into the hall, keeping my hat on. on the great hearth a fire had been kindled, but it had gone out. three or four carbines stood against one wall, and beside them lay a heap of haversacks and some straw. a shattered stool, broken in a frolic, and half a dozen empty wine-skins strewed the floor, and helped to give the place an air of untidiness and disorder. i looked round with eyes of disgust, and my gorge rose. they had spilled oil, and the place reeked foully. "_ventre bleu!_" i said. "is this conduct in a gentleman's house, you rascals? _ma vie!_ if i had you, i would send half of you to the wooden horse!" they gazed at me open-mouthed. my arrogance startled them. the sergeant alone scowled. when he could find his voice for rage-- "this way!" he said. "we did not know a general officer was coming, or we would have been better prepared!" and muttering oaths under his breath, he led me down the well-known passage. at the door of the parlour he stopped. "introduce yourself!" he said rudely. "and if you find the air warm, don't blame me!" i raised the latch and went in. at a table in front of the hearth, half covered with glasses and bottles, sat two men playing hazard. the dice rang sharply as i entered, and he who had just thrown kept the box over them while he turned, scowling, to see who came in. he was a fair-haired, blonde man, large-framed and florid. he had put off his cuirass and boots, and his doublet showed frayed and stained where the armour had pressed on it. but otherwise he was in the extreme of last year's fashion. his deep cravat, folded over so that the laced ends drooped a little in front, was of the finest; his great sash of blue and silver was a foot wide. he had a little jewel in one ear, and his tiny beard was peaked _à l'espagnole_. probably when he turned he expected to see the sergeant, for at sight of me he rose slowly, leaving the dice still covered. "what folly is this?" he cried wrathfully. "here, sergeant! sergeant!--without there! what the--! who are you, sir?" "captain larolle," i said, uncovering politely, "i believe?" "yes, i am captain larolle," he retorted. "but who, in the fiend's name, are you? you are not the man we are after!" "i am not m. cocheforêt," i said coolly. "i am merely a guest in the house, m. le capitaine. i have been enjoying madame de cocheforêt's hospitality for some time, but by an evil chance i was away when you arrived." and with that i walked to the hearth, and, gently pushing aside his great boots which stood there drying, kicked the logs into a blaze. "_mille diables!_" he whispered. and never did i see a man more confounded. but i affected to be taken up with his companion, a sturdy, white-mustachioed old veteran, who sat back in his chair, eyeing me, with swollen cheeks and eyes surcharged with surprise. "good evening, m. le lieutenant," i said, bowing gravely. "it is a fine night." then the storm burst. "fine night!" the captain shrieked, finding his voice again. "_mille diables!_ are you aware, sir, that i am in possession of this house, and that no one harbours here without my permission? guest! hospitality! lieutenant--call the guard! call the guard!" he continued passionately. "where is that ape of a sergeant?" the lieutenant rose to obey, but i lifted my hand. "gently, gently, captain," i said. "not so fast! you seem surprised to see me here. believe me, i am much more surprised to see you." "_sacré!_" he cried, recoiling at this fresh impertinence, while the lieutenant's eyes almost jumped out of his head. but nothing moved me. "is the door closed?" i said sweetly. "thank you; it is, i see. then permit me to say again, gentlemen, that i am much more surprised to see you than you can be to see me. when monseigneur the cardinal honoured me by sending me from paris to conduct this matter, he gave me the fullest--the fullest powers, m. le capitaine--to see the affair to an end. i was not led to expect that my plans would be spoiled on the eve of success by the intrusion of half the garrison from auch!" "o ho!" the captain said softly--in a very different tone and with a very different face. "so you are the gentleman i heard of at auch?" "very likely," i said drily. "but i am from paris, not auch." "to be sure," he answered thoughtfully. "eh, lieutenant?" "yes, m. le capitaine, no doubt," the inferior replied. and they both looked at one another, and then at me, in a way i did not understand. "i think," said i, to clinch the matter, "that you have made a mistake, captain; or the commandant has. and it occurs to me that the cardinal will not be best pleased." "i hold the king's commission," he answered rather stiffly. "to be sure," i replied. "but you see the cardinal--" "ah, but the cardinal--" he rejoined quickly; and then he stopped and shrugged his shoulders. and they both looked at me. "well?" i said. "the king," he answered slowly. "tut-tut!" i exclaimed, spreading out my hands. "the cardinal. let us stick to him. you were saying?" "well, the cardinal, you see--" and then again, after the same words, he stopped--stopped abruptly and shrugged his shoulders. i began to suspect something. "if you have anything to say against monseigneur," i answered, watching him narrowly, "say it. but take a word of advice. don't let it go beyond the door of this room, my friend, and it will do you no harm." "neither here nor outside," he retorted, looking for a moment at his comrade. "only i hold the king's commission. that is all. and i think enough. for the rest, will you throw a main? good! lieutenant, find a glass, and the gentleman a seat. and here, for my part, i will give you a toast. the cardinal--whatever betide!" i drank it, and sat down to play with him; i had not heard the music of the dice for a month, and the temptation was irresistible. but i was not satisfied. i called the mains and won his crowns,--he was a mere baby at the game,--but half my mind was elsewhere. there was something here i did not understand; some influence at work on which i had not counted; something moving under the surface as unintelligible to me as the soldiers' presence. had the captain repudiated my commission altogether, and put me to the door or sent me to the guard-house, i could have followed that. but these dubious hints, this passive resistance, puzzled me. had they news from paris, i wondered. was the king dead? or the cardinal ill? i asked them. but they said no, no, no to all, and gave me guarded answers. and midnight found us still playing; and still fencing. chapter viii. the question. "sweep the room, monsieur? and remove this medley? but, m. le capitaine--" "the captain is at the village," i replied sternly. "and do you move! move, man, and the thing will be done while you are talking about it. set the door into the garden open--so!" "certainly, it is a fine morning. and the tobacco of m. le lieutenant--but m. le capitaine did not--" "give orders? well, i give them!" i answered. "first of all, remove these beds. and bustle, man, bustle, or i will find something to quicken you." in a moment-- "and m. le capitaine's riding-boots?" "place them in the passage," i replied. "_ohé!_ in the passage?" he paused, looking at them in doubt. "yes, booby; in the passage." "and the cloaks, monsieur?" "there is a bush handy outside the window. let them air." "_ohé_, the bush? well, to be sure they are damp. but--yes, yes, monsieur, it is done. and the holsters?" "there also!" i said harshly. "throw them out. faugh! the place reeks of leather. now, a clean hearth. and set the table before the open door, so that we may see the garden. so. and tell the cook that we shall dine at eleven, and that madame and mademoiselle will descend." "_ohé!_ but m. le capitaine ordered the dinner for half past eleven?" "it must be advanced, then; and, mark you, my friend, if it is not ready when madame comes down, you will suffer, and the cook too." when he was gone on his errand, i looked round. what else was lacking? the sun shone cheerily on the polished floor; the air, freshened by the rain which had fallen in the night, entered freely through the open doorway. a few bees lingering with the summer hummed outside. the fire crackled bravely; an old hound, blind and past work, lay warming its hide on the hearth. i could think of nothing more, and i stood and watched the man set out the table and spread the cloth. "for how many, monsieur?" he asked, in a scared tone. "for five," i answered; and i could not help smiling at myself. what would zaton's say could it see berault turned housewife? there was a white glazed cup--an old-fashioned piece of the second henry's time--standing on a shelf. i took it down and put some late flowers in it, and set it in the middle of the table, and stood off myself to look at it. but a moment later, thinking i heard them coming, i hurried it away in a kind of panic, feeling on a sudden ashamed of the thing. the alarm proved to be false, however; and then again, taking another turn, i set the piece back. i had done nothing so foolish for--for more years than i liked to count. but when madame and mademoiselle came, they had eyes neither for the flowers nor the room. they had heard that the captain was out beating the village and the woods for the fugitive, and where i had looked for a comedy i found a tragedy. madame's face was so red with weeping that all her beauty was gone. she started and shook at the slightest sound, and, unable to find any words to answer my greeting, could only sink into a chair and sit crying silently. mademoiselle was in a mood scarcely more cheerful. she did not weep, but her manner was hard and fierce. she spoke absently and answered fretfully. her eyes glittered, and she had the air of straining her ears continually to catch some dreaded sound. "there is no news, monsieur?" she said, as she took her seat. and she shot a swift look at me. "none, mademoiselle." "they are searching the village?" "i believe so." "where is clon?" this in a lower voice, and with a kind of shrinking in her face. i shook my head. "i believe they have him confined somewhere. and louis, too," i said, "but i have not seen either of them." "and where are--? i thought these people would be here," she muttered. and she glanced askance at the two vacant places. the servant had brought in the meal. "they will be here presently," i said coolly. "let us make the most of the time. a little wine and food will do madame good." she smiled rather sadly. "i think we have changed places," she said; "and that you have turned host, and we guests." "let it be so," i said cheerfully. "i recommend some of this ragoût. come, mademoiselle; fasting can aid no one. a full meal has saved many a man's life." it was clumsily said perhaps, for she shuddered and looked at me with a ghastly smile. but she persuaded her sister to taste something; and she took something on her own plate and raised her fork to her lips. but in a moment she laid it down again. "i cannot," she murmured. "i cannot swallow. oh, my god, at this moment they may be taking him!" i thought that she was about to burst into a passion of tears, and i repented that i had induced her to descend. but her self-control was not yet exhausted. by an effort painful to see, she recovered her composure. she took up her fork, and ate a few mouthfuls. then she looked at me with a fierce under-look. "i want to see clon," she whispered feverishly. the man who waited on us had left the room. "he knows?" i said. she nodded, her beautiful face strangely disfigured. her closed teeth showed between her lips. two red spots burned in her white cheeks, and she breathed quickly. i felt, as i looked at her, a sudden pain at my heart; and a shuddering fear, such as a man awaking to find himself falling over a precipice, might feel. how these women loved the man! for a moment i could not speak. when i found my voice it sounded dry and husky. "he is a safe confidant," i muttered. "he can neither speak nor write, mademoiselle." "no, but--" and then her face became fixed. "they are coming," she whispered. "hush!" she rose stiffly, and stood supporting herself by the table. "have they--have they--found him?" she muttered. the woman by her side wept on, unconscious what was impending. i heard the captain stumble far down the passage, and swear loudly; and i touched mademoiselle's hand. "they have not!" i whispered. "all is well, mademoiselle. pray, pray calm yourself. sit down, and meet them as if nothing were the matter. and your sister! madame, madame," i cried, almost harshly, "compose yourself. remember that you have a part to play." my appeal did something. madame stifled her sobs. mademoiselle drew a deep breath and sat down; and though she was still pale and still trembled, the worst was past. and just in time. the door flew open with a crash. the captain stumbled into the room, swearing afresh. "_sacré nom du diable!_" he cried, his face crimson with rage. "what fool placed these things here? my boots? my--" his jaw fell. he stopped on the word, stricken silent by the new aspect of the room, by the sight of the little party at the table, by all the changes i had worked. "_saint siêge!_" i he muttered. "what is this?" the lieutenant's grizzled face peering over his shoulder completed the picture. "you are rather late, m. le capitaine," i said cheerfully. "madame's hour is eleven. but come, here are your seats waiting for you." "_mille tonnerres!_" he muttered, advancing into the room, and glaring at us. "i am afraid the ragoût is cold," i continued, peering into the dish and affecting to see nothing. "the soup, however, has been kept hot by the fire. but i think you do not see madame." he opened his mouth to swear, but for the moment thought better of it. "who--who put my boots in the passage?" he asked, his voice thick with rage. he did not bow to the ladies, or take any notice of their presence. "one of the men, i suppose," i said indifferently. "is anything missing?" he glared at me. then his cloak, spread outside, caught his eye. he strode through the door, saw his holsters lying on the grass, and other things strewn about. he came back. "whose monkey game is this?" he snarled, and his face was very ugly. "who is at the bottom of this? speak, sir, or i--" "tut-tut! the ladies!" i said. "you forget yourself, monsieur." "forget myself?" he hissed, and this time he did not check his oath. "don't talk to me of the ladies! madame? bah! do you think, fool, that we are put into rebels' houses to bow and smile and take dancing lessons?" "in this case a lesson in politeness were more to the point, monsieur," i said sternly. and i rose. "was it by your orders that this was done?" he retorted, his brow black with passion. "answer, will you?" "it was!" i replied outright. "then take that!" he cried, dashing his hat violently in my face. "and come outside." "with pleasure, monsieur," i answered, bowing. "in one moment. permit me to find my sword. i think it is in the passage." i went thither to get it. when i returned i found that the two men were waiting for me in the garden, while the ladies had risen from the table and were standing near it with blanched faces. "you had better take your sister upstairs, mademoiselle," i said gently, pausing a moment beside them. "have no fear. all will be well." "but what is it?" she answered, looking troubled. "it was so sudden. i am--i did not understand. you quarrelled so quickly." "it is very simple," i answered, smiling. "m. le capitaine insulted you yesterday; he will pay for it to-day. that is all. or, not quite all," i continued, dropping my voice and speaking in a different tone. "his removal may help you, mademoiselle. do you understand? i think that there will be no more searching to-day." she uttered an exclamation, grasping my arm and peering into my face. "you will kill him?" she muttered. i nodded. "why not?" i said. she caught her breath and stood with one hand clasped to her bosom, gazing at me with parted lips, the blood mounting to her cheeks. gradually the flush melted into a fierce smile. "yes, yes, why not?" she repeated, between her teeth. "why not?" she had her hand on my arm, and i felt her fingers tighten until i could have winced. "why not? so you planned this--for us, monsieur?" i nodded. "but can you?" "safely," i said; then, muttering to her to take her sister upstairs, i turned towards the garden. my foot was already on the threshold, and i was composing my face to meet the enemy, when i heard a movement behind me. the next moment her hand was on my arm. "wait! wait a moment! come back!" she panted. i turned. the smile and flush had vanished; her face was pale. "no!" she said abruptly. "i was wrong! i will not have it. i will have no part in it! you planned it last night, m. de barthe. it is murder." "mademoiselle!" i exclaimed, wondering. "murder? why? it is a duel." "it is murder," she answered persistently. "you planned it last night. you said so." "but i risk my own life," i replied sharply. "nevertheless--i will have no part in it," she answered more faintly. "it will bring no good." she was trembling with agitation. her eyes avoided mine. "on my shoulders be it then!" i replied stoutly. "it is too late, mademoiselle, to go back. they are waiting for me. only, before i go, let me beg of you to retire." and i turned from her, and went out, wondering and thinking. first, that women were strange things. secondly--_murder?_ merely because i had planned the duel and provoked the quarrel! never had i heard anything so preposterous. grant it, and dub every man who kept his honour with his hands a cain--and a good many branded faces would be seen in some streets. i laughed at the fancy, as i strode down the garden walk. and yet, perhaps, i was going to do a foolish thing. the lieutenant would still be here: a hard, bitter man, of stiffer stuff than his captain. and the troopers. what if, when i had killed their leader, they made the place too hot for me, monseigneur's commission notwithstanding? i should look silly, indeed, if on the eve of success i were driven from the place by a parcel of jack-boots. i liked the thought so little that i hesitated yet it seemed too late to retreat. the captain and the lieutenant were waiting in a little open space fifty yards from the house, where a narrower path crossed the broad walk, down which i had first seen mademoiselle and her sister pacing. the captain had removed his doublet, and stood in his shirt leaning against the sundial, his head bare and his sinewy throat uncovered. he had drawn his rapier and stood pricking the ground impatiently. i marked his strong and nervous frame and his sanguine air: and twenty years earlier the sight might have damped me. but no thought of the kind entered my head now, and though i felt with each moment greater reluctance to engage, doubt of the issue had no place in my calculations. i made ready slowly, and would gladly, to gain time, have found some fault with the place. but the sun was sufficiently high to give no advantage to either. the ground was good, the spot well chosen. i could find no excuse to put off the man, and i was about to salute him and fall to work, when a thought crossed my mind. "one moment!" i said. "supposing i kill you, m. le capitaine, what becomes of your errand here?" "don't trouble yourself," he answered, with a sneer--he had misread my slowness and hesitation. "it will not happen, monsieur. and in any case the thought need not harass you. i have a lieutenant." "yes, but what of my mission?" i replied bluntly. "i have no lieutenant." "you should have thought of that before you interfered with my boots," he retorted, with contempt. "true," i said, overlooking his manner. "but better late than never. i am not sure, now i think of it, that my duty to monseigneur will let me fight." "you will swallow the blow?" he cried, spitting on the ground offensively. "_diable!_" and the lieutenant, standing on one side with his hands behind him and his shoulders squared, laughed grimly. "i have not made up my mind," i answered irresolutely. "well, _nom de dieu!_ make it up," the captain replied, with an ugly sneer. he took a swaggering step this way and that, playing his weapon. "i am afraid, lieutenant, there will be no sport to-day," he continued, in a loud aside. "our cock has but a chicken heart." "well!" i said coolly, "i do not know what to do. certainly it is a fine day, and a fair piece of ground. and the sun stands well. but i have not much to gain by killing you, m. le capitaine, and it might get me into an awkward fix. on the other hand, it would not hurt me to let you go." "indeed?" he said contemptuously, looking at me as i should look at a lacquey. "no!" i replied. "for if you were to say that you had struck gil de berault, and left the ground with a whole skin, no one would believe you." "gil de berault!" he exclaimed, frowning. "yes, monsieur," i replied suavely. "at your service. you did not know my name?" "i thought your name was de barthe," he said. his voice sounded queerly; and he waited for the answer with parted lips, and a shadow in his eyes which i had seen in men's eyes before. "no," i said. "that was my mother's name, i took it for this occasion only." his florid cheek lost a shade of its colour, and he bit his lips as he glanced at the lieutenant, trouble in his eyes. i had seen these signs before, and knew them, and i might have cried "chicken-heart!" in my turn; but i had not made a way of escape for him--before i declared myself--for nothing, and i held to my purpose. "i think you will allow now," i said grimly, "that it will not harm me even if i put up with a blow!" "m. de berault's courage is known," he muttered. "and with reason," i said. "that being so, suppose we say this day three months, m. le capitaine? the postponement to be for my convenience." he caught the lieutenant's eye, and looked down sullenly, the conflict in his mind as plain as daylight. he had only to insist, and i must fight; and if by luck or skill he could master me, his fame as a duellist would run, like a ripple over water, through every garrison town in france and make him a name even in paris. on the other side were the imminent peril of death, the gleam of cold steel already in fancy at his breast, the loss of life and sunshine, and the possibility of a retreat with honour, if without glory. i read his face, and knew before he spoke what he would do. "it appears to me that the burden is with you," he said huskily; "but for my part, i am satisfied." "very well," i said, "i take the burden. permit me to apologize for having caused you to strip unnecessarily. fortunately the sun is shining." "yes," he said gloomily. and he took his clothes from the sundial, and began to put them on. he had expressed himself satisfied; but i knew that he was feeling very ill-satisfied with himself, and i was not surprised when he presently said abruptly and almost rudely, "there is one thing i think we must settle here." "what is that?" i asked. "our positions," he blurted out. "or we shall cross one another again within the hour." "umph! i am not quite sure that i understand," i said. "that is precisely what i don't do--understand!" he retorted, in a tone of surly triumph. "before i came on this duty, i was told that there was a gentleman here, bearing sealed orders from the cardinal to arrest m. de cocheforêt; and i was instructed to avoid collision with him so far as might be possible. at first i took you for the gentleman. but the plague take me if i understand the matter now." "why not?" i said coldly. "because--well, the matter is in a nutshell!" he answered impetuously. "are you here on behalf of madame de cocheforêt to shield her husband? or are you here to arrest him? that is what i don't understand, m. de berault." "if you mean, am i the cardinal's agent--i am!" i answered sternly. "to arrest m. de cocheforêt?" "to arrest m. de cocheforêt." "well--you surprise me," he said. only that; but he spoke so drily that i felt the blood rush to my face. "take care, monsieur," i said severely. "do not presume too far on the inconvenience to which your death might put me." he shrugged his shoulders. "no offence!" he said. "but you do not seem, m. de berault, to comprehend the difficulty. if we do not settle things now, we shall be bickering twenty times a day!" "well, what do you want?" i asked impatiently. "simply to know how you are going to proceed. so that our plans may not clash." "but surely, m. le capitaine, that is my affair!" i replied. "the clashing?" he answered bitterly. then he waved aside my wrath. "pardon," he said, "the point is simply this: how do you propose to find him if he is here?" "that again is my affair," i answered. he threw up his hands in despair; but in a moment his place was taken by an unexpected disputant. the lieutenant, who had stood by all the time, listening and tugging at his grey moustache, suddenly spoke. "look here, m. de berault," he said, confronting me roughly, "i do not fight duels. i am from the ranks. i proved my courage at montauban in ' , and my honour is good enough to take care of itself. so i say what i like, and i ask you plainly what m. le capitaine doubtless has in his mind but does not ask: are you running with the hare and hunting with the hounds in this matter? in other words, have you thrown up monseigneur's commission in all but name and become madame's ally; or--it is the only other alternative--are you getting at the man through the women?" "you villain!" i cried, glaring at him in such a rage and fury i could scarcely get the words out. this was plain speaking with a vengeance! "how dare you! how dare you say that i am false to the hand that pays me?" i thought he would blench, but he did not. he stood up stiff as a poker. "i do not say; i ask!" he replied, facing me squarely, and slapping his fist into his open hand to drive home his words the better. "i ask you whether you are playing the traitor to the cardinal? or to these two women? it is a simple question." i fairly choked. "you impudent scoundrel," i said. "steady, steady!" he replied. "pitch sticks where it belongs. but that is enough. i see which it is, m. le capitaine; this way a moment, by your leave." and in a very cavalier way he took his officer by the arm, and drew him into a side-walk, leaving me to stand in the sun, bursting with anger and spleen. the gutter-bred rascal! that such a man should insult me, and with impunity! in paris i might have made him fight, but here it was impossible. i was still foaming with rage when they returned. "we have come to a determination," the lieutenant said, tugging his grey mustachios and standing like a ramrod. "we shall leave you the house and madame, and you can take your line to find the man. for ourselves, we shall draw off our men to the village, and we shall take our line. that is all, m. le capitaine, is it not?" "i think so," the captain muttered, looking anywhere but at me. "then we bid you good-day, monsieur," the lieutenant added. and in a moment he turned his companion round, and the two retired up the walk to the house, leaving me to look after them in a black fit of rage and incredulity. at the first flush there was something so offensive in the manner of their going that anger had the upper hand. i thought of the lieutenant's words, and i cursed him to hell with a sickening consciousness that i should not forget them in a hurry: "was i playing the traitor to the cardinal or to these women--which?" _mon dieu!_ if ever question--but there! some day i would punish him. and the captain? i could put an end to his amusement, at any rate; and i would. doubtless among the country bucks of auch he lorded it as a chief provincial bully, but i would cut his comb for him some fine morning behind the barracks. and then, as i grew cooler i began to wonder why they were going, and what they were going to do. they might be already on the track, or have the information they required under hand; in that case i could understand the movement. but if they were still searching vaguely, uncertain whether their quarry were in the neighbourhood or not, and uncertain how long they might have to stay, it seemed incredible that soldiers should move from good quarters to bad without motive. i wandered down the garden thinking sullenly of this, and pettishly cutting off the heads of the flowers with my sheathed sword. after all, if they found and arrested the man, what then? i should have to make my peace with the cardinal as i best might. he would have gained his point, but not through me, and i should have to look to myself. on the other hand, if i anticipated them--and, as a fact, i felt that i could lay my hand on the fugitive within a few hours--there would come a time when i must face mademoiselle. a little while back that had not seemed so difficult a thing. from the day of our first meeting--and in a higher degree since that afternoon when she had lashed me with her scorn--my views of her, and my feelings towards her, had been strangely made up of antagonism and sympathy; of repulsion, because in her past and present she was so different from me; of yearning, because she was a woman and friendless. then i had duped her and bought her confidence by returning the jewels, and in a measure i had sated my vengeance; and then, as a consequence, sympathy had again begun to get the better, until now i hardly knew my own mind or what i intended. _i did not know_, in fact, what i intended. i stood there in the garden with that conviction suddenly new-born in my mind; and then, in a moment, i heard her step and turned to find her behind me. her face was like april, smiles breaking through her tears. as she stood with a tall hedge of sunflowers behind her, i started to see how beautiful she was. "i am here in search of you, m. de barthe," she said, colouring slightly, perhaps because my eyes betrayed my thought, "to thank you. you have not fought, and yet you have conquered. my woman has just been with me, and she tells me that they are going!" "going?" i said. "yes, mademoiselle, they are leaving the house." she did not understand my reservation. "what magic have you used?" she said, almost gaily--it was wonderful how hope had changed her. "moreover, i am curious to learn how you managed to avoid fighting." "after taking a blow?" i said bitterly. "monsieur, i did not mean that," she said reproachfully. but her face clouded. i saw that, viewed in this light--in which i suppose she had not seen it--the matter perplexed her still more. i took a sudden resolution. "have you ever heard, mademoiselle," i said gravely, plucking off while i spoke the dead leaves from a plant beside me, "of a gentleman by name de berault? known in paris, so i have heard, by the sobriquet of the black death?" "the duellist?" she answered, in wonder. "yes, i have heard of him. he killed a young gentleman of this province at nancy two years back. it was a sad story," she continued, shuddering, "of a dreadful man. god keep our friends from such!" "amen!" i said quietly. but, in spite of myself, i could not meet her eyes. "why?" she answered, quickly taking alarm at my silence. "what of him, m. de barthe? why have you mentioned him?" "because he is here, mademoiselle." "here?" she exclaimed. "yes, mademoiselle," i answered soberly. "i am he." chapter ix. clon. "you!" she cried, in a voice which pierced me, "you--m. de berault? impossible!" but, glancing askance at her.--i could not face her,--i saw that the blood had left her cheeks. "yes, mademoiselle," i answered, in a low voice. "de barthe was my mother's name. when i came here, a stranger, i took it that i might not be known; that i might again speak to a good woman and not see her shrink. that--but why trouble you with all this?" i continued proudly, rebelling against her silence, her turned shoulder, her averted face. "you asked me, mademoiselle, how i could take a blow and let the striker go. i have answered. it is the one privilege m. de berault possesses." "then," she replied quickly, but almost in a whisper, "if i were m. de berault, i would use it, and never fight again." "in that event, mademoiselle," i answered cynically, "i should lose my men friends as well as my women friends. like monseigneur, the cardinal, i rule by fear." she shuddered, either at the name or at the idea my words called up, and, for a moment, we stood awkwardly silent. the shadow of the sundial fell between us; the garden was still; here and there a leaf fluttered slowly down, or a seed fell. with each instant of silence i felt the gulf between us growing wider, i felt myself growing harder; i mocked at her past, which was so unlike mine; i mocked at mine, and called it fate. i was on the point of turning from her with a bow--and a furnace in my breast--when she spoke. "there is a late rose lingering there," she said, a slight tremor in her voice. "i cannot reach it. will you pluck it for me, m. de berault?" i obeyed her, my hand trembling, my face on fire. she took the rose from me, and placed it in the bosom of her dress. and i saw that her hand trembled too, and that her cheek was dark with blushes. she turned at once, and began to walk towards the house. presently she spoke. "heaven forbid that i should misjudge you a second time!" she said, in a low voice. "and, after all, who am i that i should judge you at all? an hour ago, i would have killed that man had i possessed the power." "you repented, mademoiselle," i said huskily. i could scarcely speak. "do you never repent?" "yes. but too late, mademoiselle." "perhaps it is never too late," she answered softly. "alas, when a man is dead--" "you may rob a man of more than life!" she replied with energy, stopping me by a gesture. "if you have never robbed a man--or a woman--of honour! if you have never ruined boy or girl, m. de berault! if you have never pushed another into the pit and gone by it yourself! if--but for murder? listen. you may be a romanist, but i am a huguenot, and have read. 'thou shalt not kill!' it is written; and the penalty, 'by man shall thy blood be shed!' but, 'if you cause one of these little ones to offend, it were _better_ for you that a mill-stone were hanged about your neck, and that you were cast into the depths of the sea." "mademoiselle, you are too merciful," i muttered. "i need mercy myself," she answered, sighing. "and i have had few temptations. how do i know what you have suffered?" "or done!" i said, almost rudely. "where a man has not lied, nor betrayed, nor sold himself or others," she answered firmly, but in a low tone, "i think i can forgive all else. i can better put up with force," she added, smiling sadly, "than with fraud." ah, dieu! i turned away my face that she might not see how it paled, how i winced; that she might not guess how her words, meant in mercy, stabbed me to the heart. and yet, then, for the first time, while viewing in all its depth and width the gulf which separated us, i was not hardened; i was not cast back on myself. her gentleness, her pity, her humility, softened me, while they convicted me. my god! how could i do that which i had come to do? how could i stab her in the tenderest part, how could i inflict on her that rending pang, how could i meet her eyes, and stand before her, a caliban, a judas, the vilest, lowest, basest thing she could conceive? i stood, a moment, speechless and disordered; stunned by her words, by my thoughts--as i have seen a man stand when he has lost his all, his last, at the tables. then i turned to her; and for an instant i thought that my tale was told already. i thought that she had pierced my disguise, for her face was aghast, stricken with sudden fear. then i saw that she was not looking at me, but beyond me, and i turned quickly and saw a servant hurrying from the house to us. it was louis. his face, it was, had frightened her. his eyes were staring, his hair waved, his cheeks were flabby with dismay. he breathed as if he had been running. "what is it?" mademoiselle cried, while he was still some way off. "speak, man. my sister? is she--" "clon," he gasped. the name changed her to stone. "clon?" she muttered. "what of him?" "in the village!" louis panted, his tongue stuttering with terror. "they are flogging him! they are killing him, mademoiselle! to make him tell!" mademoiselle grasped the sundial and leant against it, her face colourless, and, for an instant, i thought that she was fainting. "tell?" i said mechanically. "but he cannot tell. he is dumb, man." "they will make him guide them," louis groaned, covering his ears with his shaking hands, his face like paper. "and his cries! oh, monsieur, go!" he continued, suddenly appealing to me, in a thrilling tone. "save him. all through the wood i heard them. it was horrible! horrible!" mademoiselle uttered a low moan, and i turned to support her, thinking each second to see her fall. but with a sudden movement she straightened herself, and, slipping by me, with eyes which seemed to see nothing, she started swiftly down the walk towards the meadow gate. i ran after her, but, taken by surprise as i was, it was only by a great effort i reached the gate before her, and, thrusting myself in the road, barred the way. "let me pass!" she panted fiercely, striving to thrust me on one side. "out of my way, sir! i am going to the village." "you are not going to the village," i said sternly. "go back to the house, mademoiselle, and at once." "my servant!" she wailed. "let me go! oh, let me go! do you think i can rest here while they torture him? he cannot speak, and they--they--" "go back, mademoiselle," i said, cutting her short, with decision. "you would only make matters worse! i will go myself, and what one man can do against many, i will! louis, give your mistress your arm and take her to the house. take her to madame." "but you will go?" she cried. before i could stay her--i swear i would have done so if i could--she raised my hand and carried it to her trembling lips. "you will go! go and stop them! stop them," she continued, in a tone which stirred my heart, "and heaven reward you, monsieur!" i did not answer; nor did i once look back, as i crossed the meadow; but i did not look forward either. doubtless it was grass i trod; doubtless the wood was before me with the sun shining aslant on it, and behind me the house with a flame here and there on the windows. but i went in a dream, among shadows; with a racing pulse, in a glow from head to heel; conscious of nothing but the touch of mademoiselle's warm lips, seeing neither meadows nor house, nor even the dark fringe of wood before me, but only mademoiselle's passionate face. for the moment i was drunk: drunk with that to which i had been so long a stranger, with that which a man may scorn for years, to find it at last beyond his reach--drunk with the touch of a good woman's lips. i passed the bridge in this state; and my feet were among the brushwood before the heat and fervour in which i moved found on a sudden their direction. something began to penetrate to my veiled senses--a hoarse inarticulate cry, now deep, now shrilling horribly, which seemed to fill the wood. it came at intervals of half a minute or so, and made the flesh creep, it was so full of dumb pain, of impotent wrestling, of unspeakable agony. i am a man and have seen things. i saw the concini beheaded, and chalais ten years later--they gave him thirty-four blows; and when i was a boy i escaped from the college and viewed from a great distance ravaillac torn by horses--that was in the year ten. but the horrible cries i now heard filled me, perhaps because i was alone and fresh from the sight of mademoiselle, with loathing that was intense. the very wood, though the sun wanted an hour of setting, seemed to grow dark. i ran on through it, cursing, until the hovels of the village at length came in sight. again the shriek rose, a pulsing horror, and this time i could hear the lash fall on the sodden flesh, i could see in fancy the strong man, trembling, quivering, straining against his bonds. and then, in a moment, i was in the street, and, as the scream once more tore the air, i dashed round the corner by the inn, and came upon them. i did not look at _him_. i saw captain larolle and the lieutenant, and a ring of troopers, and one man, bare-armed, teasing out with his fingers the thongs of a whip. the thongs dripped blood, and the sight fired the mine. the rage i had suppressed when the lieutenant bearded me earlier in the afternoon, the passion with which mademoiselle's distress had filled my breast, at last found vent. i sprang through the line of soldiers, and striking the man with the whip a buffet between the shoulders, which hurled him breathless to the ground, i turned on the leaders. "you devils!" i cried. "shame on you! the man is dumb! i tell you, if i had ten men with me, i would sweep you and your scum out of the village with broomsticks. lay on another lash," i continued recklessly, "and i will see if you or the cardinal be the stronger." the lieutenant glared at me, his grey moustache bristling, his eyes almost starting from his head. some of the troopers laid their hands on their swords, but no one moved, and only the captain spoke. "_mille diables!_" he swore. "what is all this about? are you mad, sir?" "mad or sane!" i cried, still in a fury. "lay on another lash, and you shall repent it." "i?" "yes, you!" for an instant there was a pause of astonishment. then to my surprise the captain laughed--laughed loudly. "very heroic!" he said. "quite magnificent, m. le chevalier-errant. but you see, unfortunately, you come too late!" "too late!" i said incredulously. "yes, too late," he replied, with a mocking smile. and the lieutenant grinned too. "you see the man has just confessed. we have only been giving him an extra touch or two, to impress his memory, and save us the trouble of tying him up again." "i don't believe it," i said bluntly--but i felt the check, and fell to earth. "the man cannot speak." "no, but he has managed to tell us that he will guide us to the place we want," the captain answered drily. "the whip, if it cannot find a man a tongue, can find him wits. what is more, i think, he will keep his word," he continued, with a hideous smile. "for i warn him that if he does not, all your heroics shall not save him! he is a rebel dog, and known to us of old, and i will flay his back to the bones--ay, until we can see his heart beating through his ribs--but i will have what i want--in your teeth, too, you d--d meddler." "steady, steady!" i said, somewhat sobered. i saw that he was telling me the truth. "he is going to take you to m. de cocheforêt's hiding-place, is he?" "yes, he is!" the captain retorted offensively. "have you any objection to make to that, master spy?" "none," i replied. "but i shall go with you. and if you live three months, i shall kill you for that name--behind the barracks at auch, m. le capitaine." he changed colour, but he answered me boldly enough. "i don't know that you will go with us. that is as we please," he continued, with a snarl. "i have the cardinal's orders," i said sternly. "the cardinal?" he exclaimed, stung to fury by this repetition of the name. "the cardinal be--" but the lieutenant laid his hands on his lips, and stopped him. "hush!" he said. then more quietly, "your pardon, m. le capitaine. shall i give orders to the men to fall in?" the captain nodded sullenly. "take him down!" the lieutenant ordered, in his harsh, monotonous voice. "throw his blouse over him, and tie his hands. and do you two, paul and lebrun, guard him. michel, bring the whip, or he may forget how it tastes. sergeant, choose four good men and dismiss the rest to their quarters." "shall we need the horses?" the sergeant asked. "i don't know," the captain answered peevishly. "what does the rogue say?" the lieutenant stepped up to him. "listen!" he said grimly. "nod if you mean yes, and shake your head if you mean no. and have a care you answer truly. is it more than a mile to this place? the place you know of?" they had loosened the poor wretch's fastenings, and covered his back. he stood leaning against the wall, his mouth still panting, the sweat running down his hollow cheeks; his sunken eyes were closed; a quiver now and again ran through his frame. the lieutenant repeated his question, and, getting no answer, looked round for orders. the captain met the look, and crying savagely, "answer, will you, you mute!" struck the half-swooning miserable across the back with his switch. the effect was magical. covered, as his shoulders were, the man sprang erect with a shriek of pain, raising his chin, and hollowing his back; and in that attitude stood an instant with starting eyes, gasping for breath. then he sank back against the wall, moving his mouth spasmodically. his face was the colour of lead. "_diable!_ i think we have gone too far with him!" the captain muttered. "bring some wine!" the lieutenant replied. "quick with it!" i looked on, burning with indignation, and wondering besides what would come of this. if the man took them to the place, and they succeeded in seizing, cocheforêt, there was an end of the matter as far as i was concerned. it was off my shoulders, and i might leave the village when i pleased; nor was it likely--since he would have his man, though not through me--that the cardinal would refuse me an amnesty. on the whole, i thought that i would prefer that things should take that course; and assuming the issue, i began to wonder whether in that event it would be necessary that madame should know the truth. i had a kind of a vision of a reformed berault, dead to play and purging himself at a distance from zaton's, winning, perhaps, a name in the italian war, and finally--but, pshaw! i was a fool. however, be that as it might, it was essential that i should see the arrest made; and i waited patiently while they revived the tortured man, and made their dispositions. these took some time; so that the sun was down, and it was growing dusk, when we marched out, clon going first, supported by his two guards, the captain and i following,--abreast, and eyeing one another suspiciously,--the lieutenant, with the sergeant and five troopers, bringing up the rear. clon moved slowly, moaning from time to time, and but for the aid given him by the two men with him, must have sunk down again and again. he went out between two houses close to the inn, and struck a narrow track, scarcely discernible, which ran behind other houses, and then plunged into the thickest part of the wood. a single person, traversing the covert, might have made such a track; or pigs, or children. but it was the first idea that occurred to us, and it put us all on the alert. the captain carried a cocked pistol, i held my sword drawn, and kept a watchful eye on him; and the deeper the dusk fell in the wood, the more cautiously we went, until at last we came out with a sort of jump into a wider and lighter path. i looked up and down it, and saw before me a wooden bridge, and an open meadow, lying cold and grey in the twilight; and i stood in astonishment. it was the old path to the château! i shivered at the thought that he was going to take us there, to the house--to mademoiselle! the captain also recognised the place, and swore aloud. but the dumb man went on unheeding, until he reached the wooden bridge. there he paused as if in doubt, and looked towards the dark outline of the building, which was just visible, one faint light twinkling sadly in the west wing. as the captain and i pressed up behind him, he raised his hands and seemed to wring them towards the house. "have a care!" the captain growled. "play me no tricks, or--" but he did not finish the sentence; for clon turned back from the bridge, and, entering the wood on the left hand, began to ascend the bank of the stream. we had not gone a hundred yards before the ground grew rough, and the undergrowth thick; and yet through all ran a kind of path which enabled us to advance, dark as it was growing. very soon the bank on which we moved began to rise above the water, and grew steep and rugged. we turned a shoulder, where the stream swept round a curve, and saw we were in the mouth of a small ravine, dark and steep-walled. the water brawled along the bottom, over boulders and through chasms. in front, the slope on which we stood shaped itself into a low cliff; but half-way between its summit and the water, a ledge, or narrow terrace, running along the face, was dimly visible. "ten to one, a cave!" the captain muttered. "it is a likely place." "and an ugly one!" i sneered. "which one to ten might safely hold for hours!" "if the ten had no pistols--yes!" he answered viciously. "but you see we have. is he going that way?" he was. "lieutenant," larolle said, turning and speaking in a low voice, though the chafing of the stream below us covered ordinary sounds, "shall we light the lanthorns, or press on while there is still a glimmering of day?" "on, i should say, m. le capitaine," the lieutenant answered. "prick him in the back if he falters. i will warrant he has a tender place or two!" the brute added, with a chuckle. the captain gave the word, and we moved forward; it being very evident now that the cliff-path was our destination. it was possible for the eye to follow the track all the way to it through rough stones and brushwood; and though clon climbed feebly and with many groans, two minutes saw us step on to it. it did not turn out to be the perilous place it looked at a distance. the ledge, grassy and terrace-like, sloped slightly downwards and outwards, and in parts was slippery; but it was as wide as a highway, and the fall to the water did not exceed thirty feet. even in such a dim light as now displayed it to us, and by increasing the depth and unseen dangers of the gorge, gave a kind of impressiveness to our movements, a nervous woman need not have feared to breast it. i wondered how often mademoiselle had passed along it with her milk-pitcher. "i think we have him now!" captain larolle muttered, twisting his mustachios, and looking round to make his last dispositions. "paul and lebrun, see that your man makes no noise. sergeant, come forward with your carbine, but do not fire without orders. now, silence, all, and close up, lieutenant. forward!" we advanced about a hundred paces, keeping the cliff on our left, then turned a shoulder, and saw, a few paces in front of us, a black blotch standing out from the grey duskiness of the cliff-side. the prisoner stopped, and raising his bound hands pointed to it. "there?" the captain whispered, pressing forward. "is that the place?" clon nodded. the captain's voice shook with excitement. "you two remain here with him!" he muttered, in a low tone. "sergeant, come forward with me. now, are you ready? forward!" he and the sergeant passed quickly, one on either side of clon and his guards. the path was narrow here, and the captain passed outside. the eyes of all but one were on the black blotch, the hollow in the cliff-side, and no one saw exactly what happened. but somehow, as the captain passed abreast of him, the prisoner thrust back his guards, and springing sideways, flung his unbound arms round larolle's body, and in an instant swept him, shouting, to the verge of the precipice. it was done in a moment. by the time the lieutenant's startled wits and eyes were back, the two were already tottering on the edge, looking in the gloom like one dark form. the sergeant, who was the first to find his head, levelled his carbine; but as the wrestlers twirled and twisted, the captain shrieking out oaths and threats, the mute silent as death, it was impossible to see which was which; and the sergeant lowered his gun again, while the men held back nervously. the ledge sloped steeply there; the edge was vague; already the two seemed to be wrestling in mid-air,--and the mute was a man beyond hope or fear. that moment of hesitation was fatal. clon's long arms were round the other's arms, crushing them into his ribs; clon's skull-like face grinned hate into the other's eyes; his long limbs curled round him like the folds of a snake. suddenly larolle's strength gave way. "damn you all! why don't you--mercy! mercy!" came in a last scream from his lips; and then, as the lieutenant, taken aback before, sprang forward to his aid, the two toppled over the edge, and in a second hurtled out of sight. "_mon dieu!_" the lieutenant cried, in horror. the answer was a dull splash in the depths below. he flung up his arms. "water!" he said. "quick, men, get down! we may save him yet! they have fallen into water!" but there was no path, and night was come, and the men's nerves were shaken. the lanthorns had to be lit, and the way to be retraced; and by the time we reached the dark pool which lay below, the last bubbles were gone from the surface, the last ripples had beaten themselves out against the banks. true, the pool still rocked sullenly, and the yellow light showed a man's hat floating, and near it a glove three parts submerged. but that was all. the mute's dying grip had known no loosening, nor his hate any fear. later, i heard that when they dragged the two out next day, his fingers were in the other's eye-sockets, his teeth in his throat. if ever man found death sweet, it was he. as we turned slowly from the black water, some shuddering, some crossing themselves, the lieutenant looked vengefully at me. "curse you!" he said, in sudden fury. "i believe you are glad!" "he deserved his fate," i answered coldly. "why should i pretend to be sorry? it was now or in three months. and for the other poor devil's sake i am glad." he glared at me a moment, in speechless anger. at last, "i should like to have you tied up!" he said, between his teeth. "i should have thought that you had had enough of tying up for one day!" i retorted. "but there; it comes of making officers out of the canaille. dogs love blood. the teamster must still lash something, if he can no longer lash his horses." we were back, a sombre little procession, at the wooden bridge, when i said this. he stopped suddenly. "very well," he replied, nodding viciously, "that decides me. sergeant, light me this way with a lanthorn. the rest of you to the village. now, master spy," he continued, glancing at me with gloomy spite, "your road is my road. i think i know how to cook your goose." i shrugged my shoulders in disdain, and together, the sergeant leading the way with the light, we crossed the meadow, and passed through the gate where mademoiselle had kissed my hand, and up the ghostly walk between the rosebushes. i wondered uneasily what the lieutenant would be at, and what he intended; but the lanthorn light which now fell on the ground at our feet, and now showed one of us to the other, high-lit in a frame of blackness, discovered nothing in his grizzled face but settled hostility. he wheeled at the end of the walk to go to the main door; but as he did so, i saw the flutter of a white skirt by the stone seat against the house, and i stepped that way. "mademoiselle," i said softly, "is it you?" "clon?" she muttered, her voice quivering. "what of him?" "he is past pain," i answered gently. "he is dead, but in his own way. take comfort, mademoiselle." and then before i could say more, the lieutenant with his sergeant and light were at my elbow. he saluted mademoiselle roughly. she looked at him with shuddering abhorrence. "are you come to flog me, sir?" she said icily. "is it not enough that you have murdered my servant?" "on the contrary, it was he killed my captain," the lieutenant answered, in another tone than i had expected. "if your servant is dead, so is my comrade." she looked with startled eyes, not at him, but at me. "what! captain larolle?" she muttered. i nodded. "how?" she asked. "clon flung the captain and himself into the river-pool," i explained, in a low voice. "the pool above the bridge." she uttered an exclamation of awe, and stood silent. but her lips moved; i think she was praying for clon, though she was a huguenot. meanwhile i had a fright. the lanthorn, swinging in the sergeant's hand, and now throwing its smoky light on the stone seat, now on the rough wall above it, showed me something else. on the seat, doubtless where mademoiselle's hand had lain, as she sat in the dark, listening and watching, stood a pitcher of food. beside her, in that place, it was damning evidence. i trembled lest the lieutenant's eye should fall upon it, lest the sergeant should see it; i thought what i could do to hide it; and then in a moment i forgot all about it. the lieutenant was speaking, and his voice was like doom. my throat grew dry as i listened. my tongue stuck to my mouth; i tried to look at mademoiselle, but i could not. "it is true, the captain is gone," he said stiffly. "but others are alive, and about one of them, a word with you,--by your leave, mademoiselle. i have listened to a good deal of talk from this fine gentleman friend of yours. he has spent the last twenty-four hours saying, 'you shall!' and 'you shall not!' he came from you, and took a very high tone because we laid a little whip-lash about that dumb devil of yours. he called us brutes and beasts, and but for him i am not sure that my friend would not be alive. but when he said a few minutes ago that he was glad,--glad of it, damn him!--then i fixed it in my mind that i would be even with him. and i am going to be!" "what do you mean?" mademoiselle asked, wearily interrupting him. "if you think you can prejudice me against that gentleman--" "that is precisely what i do think! and i am going to do it. and a little more than that!" "you will be only wasting your breath!" she answered proudly. "wait! wait, mademoiselle, until you have heard!" he said. "if ever a black-hearted scoundrel, a dastardly, sneaking spy, trod the earth, it is this fellow! this friend of yours! and i am going to expose him. your own eyes and your own ears shall persuade you. why, i would not eat, i would not drink, i would not sit down with him! i would not! i would rather be beholden to the meanest trooper in my squadron than to him! ay, i would, so help me heaven!" and the lieutenant, turning squarely on his heels, spat on the ground. chapter x. the arrest. so it had come! and come in such a fashion that i saw no way of escape. the sergeant was between us, and i could not strike him. and i found no words. a score of times i had thought with shrinking how i should reveal my secret to mademoiselle, what i should say, and how she would take it. but in my mind it had always been a voluntary act, this disclosure. it had been always i who had unmasked myself, and she who listened--alone; and in this voluntariness and this privacy there had been something which seemed to take from the shame of anticipation. but here--here was no voluntary act on my part, no privacy, nothing but shame. i stood mute, convicted, speechless--like the thing i was. yet if anything could have braced me, it was mademoiselle's voice, when she answered him. "go on, monsieur," she said, with the perfect calmness of scorn. "you will have done the sooner." "you do not believe me?" he replied hotly. "then, i say, look at him! look at him! if ever shame--" "monsieur!" she said abruptly--she did not look at me. "i am ashamed myself!" "why, his very name is not his own!" the lieutenant rejoined jerkily. "he is no barthe at all. he is berault the gambler, the duellist, the bully--" again she interrupted him. "i know it," she said coldly. "i know it all. and if you have nothing more to tell me, go, monsieur. go!" she continued, in a tone of infinite scorn. "enough that you have earned my contempt as well as my abhorrence!" he looked for a moment taken aback. then, "ay, but i _have_ more!" he cried, his voice stubbornly triumphant. "i forgot that you would think little of that! i forgot that a swordsman has always the ladies' hearts. but i have more. do you know, too, that he is in the cardinal's pay? do you know that he is here on the same errand which brings us here,--to arrest m. de cocheforêt? do you know that while we go about the business openly and in soldier fashion, it is his part to worm himself into your confidence, to sneak into madame's intimacy, to listen at your door, to follow your footsteps, to hang on your lips, to track you--track you until you betray yourselves and the man? do you know this, and that all his sympathy is a lie, mademoiselle? his help, so much bait to catch the secret? his aim, blood-money--blood-money? why, _morbleu!_" the lieutenant continued, pointing his finger at me, and so carried away by passion, so lifted out of himself by wrath and indignation, that in spite of myself i shrank before him,--"you talk, lady, of contempt and abhorrence in the same breath with me! but what have you for him? what have you for him, the spy, the informer, the hired traitor? and if you doubt, if you want evidence, look at him. only look at him, i say!" and he might well say it! for i stood silent still; cowering and despairing, white with rage and hate. but mademoiselle did not look. she gazed straight at the lieutenant. "have you done?" she said. "done?" he stammered. her words, her air, brought him to earth again. "done? yes, if you believe me." "i do not," she answered proudly. "if that be all, be satisfied, monsieur. i do not believe you." "then tell me," he retorted, after a moment of stunned surprise, "why, if he was not on our side, do you think we let him remain here? why did we suffer him to stay in a suspected house bullying us, and taking your part from hour to hour?" "he has a sword, monsieur," she answered, with fine contempt. "_mille diables!_" he cried, snapping his fingers in a rage. "that for his sword! no. it was because he held the cardinal's commission; because he had equal authority with us; because we had no choice." "and that being so, monsieur, why are you now betraying him?" she asked keenly. he swore at that, feeling the stroke go home. "you must be mad," he said, glaring at her. "mad, if you cannot see that the man is what i tell you he is. look at him! listen to him! has he a word to say for himself?" still she did not look. "it is late," she replied, coldly and irrelevantly. "and i am not very well. if you have quite done, perhaps you will leave me, monsieur." "_mon dieu!_" he exclaimed, shrugging his shoulders; "you are mad! i have told you the truth, and you will not believe it. well, on your head be it then, mademoiselle. i have no more to say. but you will see." he looked at her for a moment as if he thought that she might still give way; then he saluted her roughly, gave the word to the sergeant, turned, and went down the path. the sergeant went after him, the lanthorn swaying in his hand. we two were left alone in the gloom. the frogs were croaking in the pool; the house, the garden, the wood,--all lay quiet under the darkness, as on the night when i first came to the château. and would to heaven i had never come! that was the cry in my heart. would to heaven i had never seen this woman, whose nobility and faith and singleness were a continual shame to me; a reproach, branding me every hour i stood in her presence, with all vile and hateful names. the man just gone, coarse, low-bred, brutal soldier as he was, man-flogger, and drilling-block, had yet found heart to feel my baseness, and words in which to denounce it. what, then, would she say when the truth some day came home to her? what shape should i take in her eyes then? how should i be remembered through all the years--then? then? but now? what was she thinking, now, as she stood, silent and absorbed, by the stone seat, a shadowy figure with face turned from me? was she recalling the man's words, fitting them to the facts and the past, adding this and that circumstance? was she, though she had rebuffed him in the body, collating, now he was gone, all he had said, and out of these scraps piecing together the damning truth? the thought tortured me. i could brook uncertainty no longer. i went nearer to her and touched her sleeve. "mademoiselle," i said, in a voice which sounded hoarse and forced even in my own ears, "do you believe this of me?" she started violently and turned. "pardon, monsieur," she answered. "i had forgotten that you were here. do i believe--what?" "what that man said of me," i muttered. "that!" she exclaimed; and she stood a moment gazing at me in a strange fashion. "do i believe what he said, monsieur! but come, come," she continued, "and i will show you if i believe it. but not here." she led the way on the instant into the house, going in through the parlour door, which stood half open. the room inside was pitch dark, but she took me fearlessly by the hand, and led me quickly through it, and along the passage, until we came to the cheerful lighted hall, where a great fire burned on the hearth. all traces of the soldiers' occupation had been swept away. but the room was empty. she led me to the fire, and there, in the full light, no longer a shadowy creature, but red-lipped, brilliant, throbbing with life, she stood opposite me, her eyes shining, her colour high, her breast heaving. "do i believe it?" she said. "i will tell you. m. de cocheforêt's hiding-place is in the hut behind the fern-stack, two furlongs beyond the village, on the road to auch. you know now what no one else knows, he and i and madame excepted. you hold in your hands his life and my honour; and you know also, m. de berault, whether i believed that tale." "my god!" i cried. and i stood looking at her, until something of the horror in my eyes crept into hers, and she shuddered and stepped back. "what is it? what is it?" she whispered, clasping her hands. and with all the colour gone from her cheeks she peered trembling into the corners and towards the door. "there is no one here. is there any one--listening?" i forced myself to speak, though i shook all over, like a man in an ague. "no, mademoiselle, there is no one here," i muttered. and then i let my head fall on my breast, and i stood before her, the statue of despair. had she felt a grain of suspicion, a grain of doubt, my bearing must have opened her eyes. but her mind was cast in so noble a mould, that having once thought ill of me and been converted, she could feel no doubt again. it was her nature to trust all in all. so, a little recovered from her fright, she stood looking at me in great wonder; and at last she had a thought. "you are not well?" she said suddenly. "it is your old wound, monsieur." "yes, mademoiselle," i muttered faintly. "it is my old wound." "i will call clon!" she cried impetuously. and then, with a sob, "ah! poor clon! he is gone. but there is louis. i will call him, and he will get you something." she was gone from the room before i could stop her; and i was left leaning against the table, possessor at last of the great secret which i had come so far to win. possessor of that secret, and able in a moment to open the door, and go out into the night, and make use of it--and yet the most unhappy of men. the sweat stood on my brow, my eyes wandered round the room; i even turned towards the door, with some mad thought of flight--flight from her, from the house, from everything. and god knows if i might not have chosen that course; for i still stood doubting, when on the door, that door, there came a sudden hurried knocking which jarred every nerve in my body. i started. i stood in the middle of the floor, gazing at the door, as at a ghost. then glad of action, glad of anything that might relieve the tension of my feelings, i strode to it, and pulled it sharply open. on the threshold, his flushed face lit up by the light behind me, stood one of the knaves i had brought with me to auch. he had been running, and panted heavily, but he had kept his wits. he grasped my sleeve instantly. "ah! monsieur, the very man!" he cried, tugging at me. "quick! come this instant, and you may yet be first. they have the secret. they have found monsieur." "found whom?" i echoed. "m. de cocheforêt?" "no; but the place where he lies. it was found by accident. the lieutenant was gathering his men to go to it when i came away. if we are quick, we may be there first." "but the place?" i said. "i could not hear where it was," he answered bluntly. "we can hang on their skirts, and at the last moment strike in." the pair of pistols i had taken from the shock-headed man lay on a chest by the door. i snatched them up, and my hat, and joined him without another word; and in a moment we were running down the garden. i looked back once before we passed the gate, and i saw the light streaming out through the door which i had left open; and i fancied that for an instant a figure darkened the gap. but the fancy only strengthened the one single iron purpose which had taken possession of me and all my thoughts. i must be first. i must anticipate the lieutenant, and make the arrest myself. i ran on only the faster. we seemed to be across the meadow and in the wood in a moment. there, instead of keeping along the common path, i boldly singled out--my senses seemed preternaturally keen--the smaller track by which clon had brought us, and ran unfaltering along it, avoiding logs and pitfalls as by instinct, and following all its turns and twists, until it brought us to the back of the inn, and we could hear the murmur of subdued voices in the village street, the sharp low words of command, and even the clink of weapons; and could see, above and between the houses, the dull glare of lanthorns and torches. i grasped my man's arm and crouched down, listening. "where is your mate?" i said, in his ear. "with them," he muttered. "then come," i whispered, rising. "i have seen enough. let us go." but he caught me by the arm and detained me. "you don't know the way!" he hissed. "steady, steady, monsieur. you go too fast. they are just moving. let us join them, and strike in when the time comes. we must let them guide us." "fool!" i said, shaking off his hand. "i tell you, i know where he is! i know where they are going. come; lose not a moment, and we will pluck the fruit while they are on the road to it." his only answer was an exclamation of surprise; at that moment the lights began to move. the lieutenant was starting. the moon was not yet up; the sky was grey and cloudy; to advance where we were was to step into a wall of blackness. but we had lost too much time already, and i did not hesitate. bidding my companion follow me, and use his legs, i sprang through a low fence which rose before us, and stumbling blindly over some broken ground in the rear of the houses, came, with a fall or two, to a little watercourse with steep sides. through this i plunged recklessly, and up the farther side, and, breathless and panting, gained the road just beyond the village, and fifty yards in advance of the lieutenant's troop. they had only two lanthorns burning now, and we were beyond the circle of light these cast; while the steady tramp of so many footsteps covered the noise we made. we were unnoticed. in a twinkling we turned our backs, and as fast as we could ran down the road. fortunately, they were thinking more of secrecy than speed, and in a minute we had doubled the distance between us; in two minutes their lights were mere sparks shining in the gloom behind us. we lost, at last, even the tramp of their feet. then i began to look out and go more slowly; peering into the shadows on either side for the fern-stack. on one hand the hill rose steeply; on the other it fell away to the stream. on neither side was close wood,--or my difficulties had been immensely increased,--but scattered oak-trees stood here and there among gorse and bracken. this helped me, and in a moment, on the upper side, i came upon the dense substance of the stack looming black against the lighter hill. my heart beat fast, but it was no time for thought. bidding the man in a whisper to follow me and be ready to back me up, i climbed the bank softly, and with a pistol in my hand, felt my way to the rear of the stack; thinking to find a hut there, set against the fern, and m. de cocheforêt in it. but i found no hut. there was none; and all was so dark that it came upon me suddenly as i stood between the hill and the stack that i had undertaken a very difficult thing. the hut behind the fern-stack? but how far behind? how far from it? the dark slope stretched above us, infinite, immeasurable, shrouded in night. to begin to climb it in search of a tiny hut, probably well-hidden and hard to find in daylight, seemed a task as impossible as to meet with the needle in the hay! and now, while i stood, chilled and doubting, the steps of the troop in the road began to grow audible, began to come nearer. "well, m. le capitaine?" the man beside me muttered--in wonder why i stood. "which way? or they will be before us yet." i tried to think, to reason it out; to consider where the hut would be; while the wind sighed through the oaks, and here and there i could hear an acorn fall. but the thing pressed too close on me: my thoughts would not be hurried, and at last i said at a venture, "up the hill! straight from the stack." he did not demur, and we plunged at the ascent, knee deep in bracken and furze, sweating at every pore with our exertions, and hearing the troop come every moment nearer on the road below. doubtless _they_ knew exactly whither to go! forced to stop and take breath when we had scrambled up fifty yards or so, i saw their lanthorns shining like moving glow-worms; and could even hear the clink of steel. for all i could tell, the hut might be down there, and we two be moving from it! but it was too late to go back now; they were close to the fern-stack: and in despair i turned to the hill again. a dozen steps, and i stumbled. i rose and plunged on again; again i stumbled. then i found that i was no longer ascending. i was treading level earth. and--was it water i saw before me, below me, a little in front of my feet, or some mirage of the sky? neither; and i gripped my fellow's arm, as he came abreast of me, and stopped him sharply. below us, in the centre of a steep hollow, a pit in the hill-side, a light shone out through some aperture and quivered on the mist, like the pale lamp of a moorland hobgoblin. it made itself visible, displaying nothing else; a wisp of light in the bottom of a black bowl. yet my spirits rose with a great bound at sight of it, for i knew that i had stumbled on the place i sought. in the common run of things i should have weighed my next step carefully, and gone about it slowly. but here was no place for thought, nor room for delay, and i slid down the side of the hollow, and the moment my feet touched the bottom, sprang to the door of the little hut whence the light issued. a stone turned under my foot in my rush, and i fell on my knees on the threshold; but the fall only brought my face to a level with the startled eyes of the man who lay inside on a bed of fern. he had been reading. at the sound i made he dropped his book, and stretched out his hand for a weapon. but the muzzle of my pistol covered him before he could reach his; he was not in a posture from which he could spring, and at a sharp word from me he dropped his hand. the tigerish glare which had flickered for an instant in his eyes, gave place to a languid smile; and he shrugged his shoulders. "_eh, bien?_" he said, with marvellous composure. "taken at last! well, i was tired of it." "you are my prisoner, m. de cocheforêt," i answered. "it seems so," he said. "move a hand, and i kill you," i answered. "but you have still a choice." "truly?" he said, raising his eyebrows. "yes. my orders are to take you to paris alive or dead. give me your parole that you will make no attempt to escape, and you shall go thither at your ease and as a gentleman. refuse, and i shall disarm and bind you, and you will go as a prisoner." "what force have you?" he asked curtly. he had not moved. he still lay on his elbow, his cloak covering him, the little marot in which he had been reading close to his hand. but his quick, black eyes, which looked the keener for the pallor and thinness of his face, roved ceaselessly over me, probed the darkness behind me, took note of everything. "enough to compel you, monsieur," i replied sternly. "but that is not all. there are thirty dragoons coming up the hill to secure you, and they will make you no such offer. surrender to me before they come and give me your parole, and i will do all for your comfort. delay, and you will fall into their hands. there can be no escape." "you will take my word," he said slowly. "give it, and you may keep your pistols, m. de cocheforêt," i replied. "tell me at least that you are not alone." "i am not alone." "then i give it," he said, with a sigh. "and for heaven's sake get me something to eat and a bed. i am tired of this pig-sty--and this life _arnidieu!_ it is a fortnight since i slept between sheets." "you shall sleep to-night in your own house if you please," i answered hurriedly. "but here they come. be good enough to stay where you are a moment, and i will meet them." i stepped out into the darkness, in the nick of time. the lieutenant, after posting his men round the hollow, had just slid down with a couple of sergeants to make the arrest. the place round the open door was pitch dark. he had not espied my knave, who had lodged himself in the deepest shadow of the hut; and when he saw me come out across the light, he took me for cocheforêt. in a twinkling he thrust a pistol into my face, and cried triumphantly, "you are my prisoner!" at the same instant one of the sergeants raised a lanthorn and threw its light into my eyes. "what folly is this?" i said savagely. the lieutenant's jaw fell, and he stood for half a minute, paralyzed with astonishment. less than an hour before he had left me at the château. thence he had come hither with the briefest delay; and yet he found me here before him! he swore fearfully, his face dark, his mustachios stiff with rage. "what is this? what is it?" he cried at last. "where is the man?" "what man?" i said. "this cocheforêt!" he roared, carried away by his passion. "don't lie to me! he is here, and i will have him!" "you will not. you are too late!" i said, watching him heedfully. "m. de cocheforêt is here, but he has already surrendered to me, and he is my prisoner." "your prisoner?" "yes, my prisoner!" i answered facing the man with all the harshness i could muster. "i have arrested him by virtue of the cardinal's special commission granted to me. and by virtue of the same i shall keep him!" he glared at me for a moment in utter rage and perplexity. then on a sudden i saw his face lighten. "it is a d--d ruse!" he shouted, brandishing his pistol like a madman. "it is a cheat and a fraud! and by g--d you have no commission! i see through it! i see through it all! you have come here, and you have hocussed us! you are of their side, and this is your last shift to save him!" "what folly is this?" i exclaimed. "no folly at all!" he answered, conviction in his tone. "you have played upon us! you have fooled us! but i see through it now! an hour ago i exposed you to that fine madame at the house there, and i thought it a marvel that she did not believe me. i thought it a marvel that she did not see through you, when you stood there before her, confounded, tongue-tied, a rogue convicted! but i understand it now. she knew you! by----, she knew you! she was in the plot, and you were in the plot; and i, who thought i was opening her eyes, was the only one fooled! but it is my turn now. you have played a bold part, and a clever one, and i congratulate you! but," he continued, a sinister light in his little eyes, "it is at an end now, monsieur! you took us in finely with your tale of monseigneur, and his commission, and your commission, and the rest. but i am not to be blinded any longer, or bullied! you have arrested him, have you? _you_ have arrested him! well, by g--d, i shall arrest him, and i shall arrest you too!" "you are mad!" i said, staggered as much by this new view of the matter as by his perfect conviction of its truth. "mad, lieutenant!" "i was!" he snarled drily. "but i am sane now. i was mad when you imposed upon us; when you persuaded me that you were fooling the women to get the secret out of them, while all the time you were sheltering them, protecting them, aiding them, and hiding him--then i was mad! but not now. however, i ask your pardon, m. de barthe, or m. de berault, or whatever your name really is. i ask your pardon. i thought you the cleverest sneak and the dirtiest hound heaven ever made, or hell refused! i find that you were cleverer than i thought, and an honest traitor. your pardon." one of the men who stood about the rim of the bowl above us laughed. i looked at the lieutenant, and could willingly have killed him. "_mon dieu!_" i said, so furious in my turn that i could scarcely speak. "do you say that i am an impostor--that i do not hold the cardinal's commission?" "i do say that!" he answered coolly. "and shall abide by it." "and that i belong to the rebel party?" "i do," he replied, in the same tone. "in fact," with a grin, "i say that you are an honest man on the wrong side, m. de berault. and you say that you are a scoundrel on the right. the advantage, however, is with me, and i shall back my opinion by arresting you." a ripple of coarse laughter ran round the hollow. the sergeant who held the lanthorn grinned, and a trooper at a distance called out of the darkness, "_a bon chat bon rat!_" this brought a fresh burst of laughter, while i stood speechless, confounded by the stubbornness, the crassness, the insolence, of the man. "you fool!" i cried at last, "you fool!" and then m. de cocheforêt, who had come out of the hut, and taken his stand at my elbow, interrupted me. "pardon me one moment," he said airily, looking at the lieutenant, with raised eyebrows, and pointing to me with his thumb. "but i am puzzled between you. this gentleman's name? is it de berault or de barthe?" "i am m. de berault," i said brusquely, answering for myself. "of paris?" "yes, monsieur, of paris." "you are not then the gentleman who has been honouring my poor house with his presence?" "oh, yes!" the lieutenant struck in, grinning. "he is that gentleman, too!" "but i thought--i understood that that was m. de barthe." "i am m. de barthe, also," i retorted impatiently. "what of that, monsieur? it was my mother's name. i took it when i came down here." "to--er, to arrest me, may i ask?" "yes," i answered doggedly. "to arrest you. what of that?" "nothing," he replied slowly and with a steady look at me, a look i could not meet. "except that, had i known this before, m. de berault, i should have thought long before i surrendered to you." the lieutenant laughed, and i felt my cheek burn. but i affected to see nothing, and turned to him again. "now, monsieur," i said sternly, "are you satisfied?" "no!" he answered point blank. "i am not. you two gentlemen may have rehearsed this pretty scene a dozen times. the only word it seems to me, is, quick march, back to quarters." i found myself driven to play my last card--much against my will. "not so," i said; "i have my commission." "produce it!" he replied brusquely. "do you think that i carry it with me?" i said, in scorn. "do you think that when i came here, alone, and not with fifty dragoons at my back, i carried the cardinal's seal in my pocket for the first lackey to find? but you shall have it. where is that knave of mine?" the words were scarcely out of my mouth before his ready hand thrust a paper into my fingers. i opened it slowly, glanced at it, and amid a pause of surprise gave it to the lieutenant. he looked for a moment confounded. he stared at it, with his jaw fallen. then with a last instinct of suspicion he bade the sergeant hold up the lanthorn, and by its light proceeded to spell out the document. "umph!" he ejaculated, after a moment's silence; and he cast an ugly look at me. "i see." and he read it aloud. "_by these presents i command and empower gilles de berault, sieur de berault, to seek for, hold, arrest, and deliver to the governor of the bastile the body of henri de cocheforêt, and to do all such acts and things as shall be necessary to effect such arrest and delivery, for which these shall be his warrant_. "(_signed_) _richelieu, lieut.-gen_." when he had done,--and he read the signature with a peculiar intonation,--some one said softly, "_vive le roi!_" and there was a moment's silence. the sergeant lowered his lanthorn. "is it enough?" i said hoarsely, glaring from face to face. the lieutenant bowed stiffly. "for me?" he said. "quite, monsieur. i beg your pardon again. i find that my first impressions were the-correct ones. sergeant, give the gentleman his paper." and turning his shoulder rudely, he tossed the commission towards the sergeant, who picked it up, and gave it to me, grinning. i knew that the clown would not fight, and he had his men round him; and i had no choice but to swallow the insult. as i put the paper in my breast, with as much indifference as i could assume, he gave a sharp order. the troopers began to form on the edge above, the men who had descended, to climb the bank. as the group behind him began to open and melt away, i caught sight of a white robe in the middle of it. the next moment, appearing with a suddenness which was like a blow on the cheek to me, mademoiselle de cocheforêt glided forward, and came towards me. she had a hood on her head, drawn low; and for a moment i could not see her face. i forgot her brother's presence at my elbow; from habit and impulse rather than calculation, i took a step forward to meet her---though my tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth, and i was dumb and trembling. but she recoiled with such a look of white hate, of staring, frozen-eyed loathing, that i stepped back as if she had indeed struck me. it did not need the words which accompanied the look, the "_do not touch me!_" which she hissed at me as she drew her skirts together, to drive me to the farther edge of the hollow; there to stand with clenched teeth and nails driven into the flesh while she hung, sobbing tearless sobs, on her brother's neck. chapter xi. the road to paris. i remember hearing marshal bassompierre, who, of all men within my knowledge, had the widest experience, say that not dangers, but discomforts, prove a man, and show what he is; and that the worst sores in life are caused by crumpled rose-leaves and not by thorns. i am inclined to agree with this. for i remember that when i came from my room on the morning after the arrest, and found hall and parlour and passage empty, and all the common rooms of the house deserted, and no meal laid, and when i divined anew from this discovery the feeling of the house towards me,--however natural and to be expected,--i felt as sharp a pang as when, the night before, i had had to face discovery and open rage and scorn. i stood in the silent, empty parlour, and looked round me with a sense of desolation; of something lost and gone, which i could not replace. the morning was grey and cloudy, the air sharp; a shower was falling. the rose-bushes at the window swayed in the wind, and where i could remember the hot sunshine lying on floor and table, the rain beat in and stained the boards. the main door flapped and creaked to and fro. i thought of other days and meals i had taken there, and of the scent of flowers, and i fled to the hall in despair. but here, too, was no sign of life or company, no comfort, no attendance. the ashes of the logs, by whose blaze mademoiselle had told me the secret, lay on the hearth white and cold; and now and then a drop of moisture, sliding down the great chimney, pattered among them. the great door stood open as if the house had no longer anything to guard. the only living thing to be seen was a hound which roamed about restlessly, now gazing at the empty hearth, now lying down with pricked ears and watchful eyes. some leaves which had been blown in rustled in a corner. i went out moodily into the garden, and wandered down one path, and up another, looking at the dripping woods and remembering things, until i came to the stone seat. on it, against the wall, trickling with rain-drops, and with a dead leaf half filling its narrow neck, stood the pitcher of food. i thought how much had happened since mademoiselle took her hand off it and the sergeant's lanthorn disclosed it to me. and sighing grimly, i went in again through the parlour door. a woman was on her knees, kindling the belated fire. i stood a moment, looking at her doubtfully, wondering how she would bear herself, and what she would say to me: and then she turned, and i cried out her name in horror; for it was madame! she was very plainly dressed; her childish face was wan, and piteous with weeping. but either the night had worn out her passion and drained her tears, or this great exigency gave her temporary calmness; for she was perfectly composed. she shivered as her eyes met mine, and she blinked as if a light had been suddenly thrust before her. but she turned again to her task, without speaking. "madame! madame!" i cried, in a frenzy of distress. "what is this?" "the servants would not do it," she answered, in a low but steady voice. "you are still our guest, monsieur, and it must be done." "but--i cannot suffer it!" i cried, in misery. "madame de cocheforêt, i will--i would rather do it myself!" she raised her hand, with a strange, patient expression on her face. "hush, please," she said. "hush! you trouble me." the fire took light and blazed up as she spoke, and she rose slowly from it, and, with a lingering look at it, went out; leaving me to stand and stare and listen in the middle of the floor. presently i heard her coming back along the passage, and she entered, bearing a tray with wine and meat and bread. she set it down on the table, and with the same wan face, trembling always on the verge of tears, she began to lay out the things. the glasses clinked pitifully against the plates as she handled them; the knives jarred with one another; and i stood by, trembling myself, and endured this strange, this awful penance. she signed to me at last to sit down and eat; and she went herself, and stood in the garden doorway, with her back to me. i obeyed. i sat down; but though i had eaten nothing since the afternoon of the day before, and a little earlier had had appetite enough, i could not swallow. i fumbled with my knife, and munched and drank; and grew hot and angry at this farce; and then looked through the window at the dripping bushes, and the rain, and the distant sundial, and grew cold again. suddenly she turned round and came to my side. "you do not eat," she said. i threw down my knife, and sprang up in a frenzy of passion. "_mon dieu!_ madame!" i cried. "do you think i have _no_ heart?" and then in a moment i knew what i had done. in a moment she was on her knees on the floor, clasping my knees, pressing her wet cheeks to my rough clothes, crying to me for mercy--for life! life! life! his life! oh, it was horrible! it was horrible to see her fair hair falling over my mud-stained boots, to see her slender little form convulsed with sobs, to feel that this was a woman, a gentlewoman, who thus abased herself at my feet. "oh, madame! madame!" i cried, in my agony. "i beg you to rise. rise, or i must go! you will drive me out!" "grant me his life!" she moaned passionately. "only his life! what had he done to you, that you should hunt him down? what had we done to you, that you should slay us? ah, sir, have mercy! let him go, and we will pray for you; i and my sister will pray for you every morning and night of our lives." i was in terror lest some one should come and see her lying there, and i stooped and tried to raise her. but she would not rise; she only sank the lower until her tender hands clasped my spurs, and i dared not move. then i took a sudden resolution. "listen then, madame," i said, almost sternly, "if you will not rise. when you ask what you do, you forget how i stand, and how small my power is! you forget that were i to release your husband to-day, he would be seized within the hour by those who are still in the village, and who are watching every road--who have not ceased to suspect my movements and my intentions. you forget, i say, my circumstances--" she cut me short on that word. she sprang abruptly to her feet and faced me. one moment, and i should have said something to the purpose. but at that word she was before me, white, breathless, dishevelled, struggling for speech. "oh yes, yes," she panted eagerly, "i know! i understand!" and she thrust her hand into her bosom and plucked something out and gave it to me--forced it upon me into my hands. "i know! i know!" she said again. "take it, and god reward you, monsieur! we give it freely--freely and thankfully! and may god bless you!" i stood and looked at her, and looked at it, and slowly froze. she had given me the packet--the packet i had restored to mademoiselle, the parcel of jewels. i weighed it in my hands, and my heart grew hard again, for i knew that this was mademoiselle's doing; that it was she who, mistrusting the effect of madame's tears and prayers, had armed her with this last weapon--this dirty bribe, i flung it down on the table among the plates, all my pity changed to anger. "madame," i cried ruthlessly, "you mistake me altogether. i have heard hard words enough in the last twenty-four hours, and i know what you think of me! but you have yet to learn that i have never turned traitor to the hand that employed me, nor sold my own side! when i do so for a treasure ten times the worth of that, may my hand rot off!" she sank into a seat, with a moan of despair, and at that moment the door opened, and m. de cocheforêt came in. over his shoulder i had a glimpse of mademoiselle's proud face, a little whiter to-day, with dark marks under the eyes, but still firm and cold. "what is this?" he said, frowning and stopping short as his eyes lighted on madame. "it is--that we start at eleven o'clock, monsieur," i answered, bowing curtly. "those, i fancy, are your property." and pointing to the jewels, i went out by the other door. * * * * * that i might not be present at their parting, i remained in the garden until the hour i had appointed was well passed; then without entering the house i went to the stable entrance. here i found all ready, the two troopers (whose company i had requisitioned as far as auch) already in the saddle, my own two knaves waiting with my sorrel and m. de cocheforêt's chestnut. another horse was being led up and down by louis, and, alas, my heart winced at the sight. for it bore a lady's saddle, and i saw that we were to have company. was it madame who meant to come with us? or mademoiselle? and how far? to auch? or farther? i suppose that they had set some kind of a watch on me; for, as i walked up, m. de cocheforêt and his sister came out of the house,--he looking white, with bright eyes and a twitching in his cheek, though through all he affected a jaunty bearing; she wearing a black mask. "mademoiselle accompanies us?" i said formally. "with your permission, monsieur," he answered, with grim politeness. but i saw that he was choking with emotion. i guessed that he had just parted from his wife, and i turned away. when we were all mounted, he looked at me. "perhaps, as you have my parole, you will permit me to ride alone," he said, with a little hesitation, "and--" "without me!" i rejoined keenly. "assuredly, so far as is possible." i directed the troopers to ride in front and keep out of ear-shot; my two men followed the prisoner at a like distance, with their carbines on their knees. last of all i rode myself, with my eyes open and a pistol loose in my holster. m. de cocheforêt, i saw, was inclined to sneer at so many precautions, and the mountain made of his request; but i had not done so much and come so far, i had not faced scorn and insults, to be cheated of my prize at last. aware that until we were beyond auch there must be hourly and pressing danger of a rescue, i was determined that he who would wrest my prisoner from me should pay dearly for it. only pride, and, perhaps, in a degree also, appetite for a fight, had prevented me borrowing ten troopers instead of two. we started, and i looked with a lingering eye and many memories at the little bridge, the narrow woodland path, the first roofs of the village; all now familiar, all seen for the last time. up the brook a party of soldiers were dragging for the captain's body. a furlong farther on, a cottage, burned by some carelessness in the night, lay a heap of black ashes. louis ran beside us, weeping; the last brown leaves fluttered down in showers. and between my eyes and all, the slow, steady rain fell and fell and fell. and so i left cocheforêt. louis went with us to a point a mile beyond the village, and there stood and saw us go, cursing me furiously as i passed. looking back when we had ridden on, i still saw him standing; and after a moment's hesitation i rode back to him. "listen, fool," i said, cutting him short in the midst of his mowing and snarling, "and give this message to your mistress. tell her from me that it will be with her husband as it was with m. de regnier, when he fell into the hands of his enemy--no better and no worse." "you want to kill her, too, i suppose?" he answered, glowering at me. "no, fool! i want to save her!" i retorted wrathfully. "tell her that, just that and no more, and you will see the result." "i shall not," he said sullenly. "i shall not tell her. a message from you, indeed!" and he spat on the ground. "then on your head be it!" i answered solemnly. and i turned my horse's head and galloped fast after the others. for, in spite of his refusal, i felt sure that he would report what i had said--if it were only out of curiosity; and it would be strange if madame did not understand the reference. and so we began our journey; sadly, under dripping trees and a leaden sky. the country we had to traverse was the same i had trodden on the last day of my march southwards, but the passage of a month had changed the face of everything. green dells, where springs welling out of the chalk had made of the leafy bottom a fairies' home, strewn with delicate ferns and hung with mosses--these were now swamps into which our horses sank to the fetlock. sunny brows, whence i had viewed the champaign and traced my forward path, had become bare, windswept ridges. the beech woods, which had glowed with ruddy light, were naked now; mere black trunks and rigid arms pointing to heaven. an earthy smell filled the air; a hundred paces away a wall of mist closed the view. we plodded on sadly, up hill and down hill; now fording brooks already stained with flood-water, now crossing barren heaths. but up hill or down hill, whatever the outlook, i was never permitted to forget that i was the jailer, the ogre, the villain; that i, riding behind in my loneliness, was the blight on all, the death-spot. true, i was behind the others; i escaped their eyes. but there was not a line of mademoiselle's drooping figure that did not speak scorn to me, not a turn of her head that did not seem to say, "oh god, that such a thing should breathe!" i had only speech with her once during the day, and that was on the last ridge before we went down into the valley to climb up again to auch. the rain had ceased; the sun, near its setting, shone faintly; and for a few moments we stood on the brow and looked southwards while we breathed the horses. the mist lay like a pall on all the country we had traversed; but beyond it and above it, gleaming pearl-like in the level rays, the line of the mountains stood up like a land of enchantment, soft, radiant, wonderful, or like one of those castles on the hill of glass of which the old romances tell us. i forgot, for an instant, how we were placed, and i cried to my neighbour that it was the fairest pageant i had ever seen. she--it was mademoiselle, and she had taken off her mask--cast one look at me; only one, but it conveyed disgust and loathing so unspeakable that scorn beside them would have been a gift. i reined in my horse as if she had struck me, and felt myself go first hot and then cold under her eyes. then she looked another way. i did not forget the lesson; after that i avoided her more sedulously than before. we lay that night at auch, and i gave m. de cocheforêt the utmost liberty; even permitting him to go out and return at his will. in the morning, believing that on the farther side of auch we ran less risk of attack, i dismissed the two dragoons, and an hour after sunrise we set out again. the day was dry and cold, the weather more promising. i planned to go by way of lectoure, crossing the garonne at agen; and i thought with roads continually improving as we moved northwards, we should be able to make good progress before night. my two men rode first; i came last by myself. our way lay for some hours down the valley of the gers, under poplars and by long rows of willows; and presently the sun came out and warmed us. unfortunately, the rain of the day before had swollen the brooks which crossed our path, and we more than once had a difficulty in fording them. noon, therefore, found us little more than half-way to lectoure, and i was growing each minute more impatient, when our road, which had for a little while left the river bank, dropped down to it again, and i saw before us another crossing, half ford, half slough. my men tried it gingerly, and gave back, and tried it again in another place and finally, just as mademoiselle and monsieur came up to them, floundered through and sprang slantwise up the farther bank. the delay had been long enough to bring me, with no good will of my own, close up to the cocheforêts. mademoiselle's horse made a little business of the place; this delayed them still longer, and in the result, we entered the water almost together, and i crossed close on her heels. the bank on either side was steep; while crossing we could see neither before nor behind. at the moment, however, i thought nothing of this, nor of her delay, and i was following her quite at my leisure, when the sudden report of a carbine, a second report, and a yell of alarm in front, thrilled me through. on the instant, while the sound was still in my ears, i saw it all. like a hot iron piercing my brain, the truth flashed into my mind. we were attacked! we were attacked, and i was here helpless in this pit, this trap! the loss of a second while i fumbled here, mademoiselle's horse barring the way, might be fatal. there was but one way. i turned my horse straight at the steep bank, and he breasted it. one moment he hung as if he must fall back. then, with a snort of terror and a desperate bound, he topped it, and gained the level, trembling and snorting. it was as i had guessed. seventy paces away on the road lay one of my men. he had fallen, horse and man, and lay still. near him, with his back against a bank, stood his fellow, on foot, pressed by four horsemen, and shouting. as my eye lighted on the scene, he let fly with a carbine and dropped one. i snatched a pistol from my holster, cocked it, and seized my horse by the head--i might save the man yet. i shouted to encourage him, and in another second should have charged into the fight, when a sudden vicious blow, swift and unexpected, struck the pistol from my hand. i made a snatch at it as it fell, but missed it; and before i could recover myself, mademoiselle thrust her horse furiously against mine, and with her riding-whip, lashed the sorrel across the ears. as my horse reared madly up, i had a glimpse of her eyes flashing hate through her mask; of her hand again uplifted; the next moment, i was down in the road, ingloriously unhorsed, the sorrel was galloping away, and her horse, scared in its turn, was plunging unmanageably a score of paces from me. i don't doubt that but for that she would have trampled on me. as it was, i was free to draw; and in a twinkling i was running towards the fighters. all i have described had happened in a few seconds. my man was still defending himself; the smoke of the carbine had scarcely risen. i sprang with a shout across a fallen tree that intervened; at the same moment, two of the men detached themselves, and rode to meet me. one, whom i took to be the leader, was masked. he came furiously at me, trying to ride me down; but i leaped aside nimbly, and evading him, rushed at the other, and scaring his horse, so that he dropped his point, cut him across the shoulder before he could guard himself. he plunged away, cursing, and trying to hold in his horse, and i turned to meet the masked man. "you double-dyed villain!" he cried, riding al. me again. and this time he man[oe]uvred his horse so skilfully that i was hard put to it to prevent him knocking me down; and could not with all my efforts reach him to hurt him. "surrender, will you!" he continued, "you bloodhound!" i wounded him slightly in the knee for answer; but before i could do more his companion came back, and the two set upon me with a will, slashing at my head so furiously and towering above me with so great an advantage that it was all i could do to guard myself. i was soon glad to fall back against the bank--as my man had done before me. in such a conflict my rapier would have been of little use, but fortunately i had armed myself before i left paris with a cut-and-thrust sword for the road; and though my mastery of the weapon was not on a par with my rapier-play, i was able to fend off their cuts, and by an occasional prick keep the horses at a distance. still they swore and cut at me, trying to wear me out; and it was trying work. a little delay, the least accident, might enable the other man to come to their help, or mademoiselle, for all i knew, might shoot me with my own pistol; and i confess, i was unfeignedly glad when a lucky parade sent the masked man's sword flying across the road. he was no coward; for unarmed as he was, he pushed his horse at me, spurring it recklessly; but the animal, which i had several times touched, reared up instead and threw him at the very moment that i wounded his companion a second time in the arm, and made him give back. this quite changed the scene. the man in the mask staggered to his feet, and felt stupidly for a pistol. but he could not find one, and was, i saw, in no state to use it if he had. he reeled helplessly to the bank, and leaned against it. he would give no further trouble. the man i had wounded was in scarcely better condition. he retreated before me for some paces, but then losing courage, he dropped his sword, and, wheeling round, cantered off down the road, clinging to his pommel. there remained only the fellow engaged with my man, and i turned to see how they were getting on. they were standing to take breath, so i ran towards them; but, seeing me coming, this rascal, too, whipped round his horse, and disappeared in the wood, and left us masters of the field. the first thing i did--and i remember it to this day with pleasure--was to plunge my hand into my pocket, take out half the money i had in the world, and press it on the man who had fought for me so stoutly, and who had certainly saved me from disaster. in my joy i could have kissed him! it was not only that i had escaped defeat by the skin of my teeth,--and his good sword,--but i knew, and thrilled with the knowledge, that the fight had altered the whole position. he was wounded in two places, and i had a scratch or two, and had lost my horse; and my other poor fellow was dead as a herring. but speaking for myself, i would have spent half the blood in my body to purchase the feeling with which i turned back to speak to m. de cocheforêt and his sister. _i had fought before them_. mademoiselle had dismounted, and with her face averted and her mask pushed on one side, was openly weeping. her brother, who had scrupulously kept his place by the ford from the beginning of the fight to the end, met me with raised eyebrows and a peculiar smile. "acknowledge my virtue," he said airily. "i am here, m. de berault--which is more than can be said of the two gentlemen who have just ridden off." "yes," i answered, with a touch of bitterness. "i wish they had not shot my poor man before they went." he shrugged his shoulders. "they were my friends," he said. "you must not expect me to blame them. but that is not all." "no," i said, wiping my sword. "there is this gentleman in the mask." and i turned to go towards him. "m. de berault!" there was something abrupt in the way in which cocheforêt called my name after me. i stood. "pardon?" i said, turning. "that gentleman?" he answered, hesitating, and looking at me doubtfully. "have you considered--what will happen to him, if you give him up to the authorities?" "who is he?" i said sharply. "that is rather a delicate question," he answered, frowning, and still looking at me fixedly. "not from me," i replied brutally, "since he is in my power. if he will take off his mask, i shall know better what i intend to do with him." the stranger had lost his hat in his fall, and his fair hair, stained with dust, hung in curls on his shoulders. he was a tall man, of a slender, handsome presence, and though his dress was plain and almost rough, i espied a splendid jewel on his hand, and fancied i detected other signs of high quality. he still lay against the bank in a half-swooning condition, and seemed unconscious of my scrutiny. "should i know him if he unmasked?" i said suddenly, a new idea in my head. "you would," m. de cocheforêt answered simply. "and?" "it would be bad for every one." "ho, ho!" i said softly, looking hard, first at my old prisoner, and then at my new one. "then, what do you wish me to do?" "leave him here," m. de cocheforêt answered glibly, his face flushed, the pulse in his cheek beating. i had known him for a man of perfect honour before, and trusted him. but this evident earnest anxiety on behalf of his friend touched me. besides, i knew that i was treading on slippery ground; that it behoved me to be careful. "i will do it," i said, after a moment's reflection. "he will play me no tricks, i suppose? a letter of--" "_mon dieu_, no! he will understand," cocheforêt answered eagerly. "you will not repent it, i swear. let us be going." "well,--but my horse?" i said, somewhat taken aback by this extreme haste. "we shall overtake it," he replied urgently. "it will have kept to the road. lectoure is no more than a league from here, and we can give orders there to have these two fetched in and buried." i had nothing to gain by demurring, and so it was arranged. after that we did not linger. we picked up what we had dropped, m. de cocheforêt mounted his sister, and within five minutes we were gone. casting a glance back from the skirts of the wood, as we entered it, i fancied that i saw the masked man straighten himself and turn to look after us; but the leaves were beginning to intervene, the distance was great and perhaps cheated me. and yet i was not disinclined to think the unknown a little less severely injured and a trifle more observant than he seemed. chapter xii. at the finger-post. through all, it will have been noticed, mademoiselle had not spoken to me, nor said one word, good or bad. she had played her part grimly; had taken her defeat in silence, if with tears; had tried neither prayer, nor defence, nor apology. and the fact that the fight was now over, the scene left behind, made no difference in her conduct--to my surprise and discomfiture. she kept her face averted from me; she rode as before; she affected to ignore my presence. i caught my horse feeding by the road-side, a furlong forward, and mounted, and fell into place behind the two, as in the morning. and just as we had plodded on then in silence, we plodded on now, while i wondered at the unfathomable ways of women, and knowing that i had borne myself well, marvelled that she could take part in such an incident and remain unchanged. yet it had made a change in her. though her mask screened her well, it could not entirely hide her emotions, and by-and-bye i marked that her head drooped, that she rode sadly and listlessly, that the lines of her figure were altered. i noticed that she had flung away, or furtively dropped, her riding-whip, and i understood that to the old hatred of me were now added shame and vexation; shame that she had so lowered herself, even to save her brother, vexation that defeat had been her only reward. of this i saw a sign at lectoure, where the inn had but one common room, and we must all dine in company. i secured for them a table by the fire, and leaving them standing by it, retired myself to a smaller one, near the door. there were no other guests, and this made the separation between us more marked. m. de cocheforêt seemed to feel this. he shrugged his shoulders and looked at me with a smile half sad, half comical. but mademoiselle was implacable. she had taken off her mask, and her face was like stone. once, only once, during the meal i saw a change come over her. she coloured, i suppose at her thoughts, until her face flamed from brow to chin. i watched the blush spread and spread, and then she slowly and proudly turned her shoulder to me, and looked through the window at the shabby street. i suppose that she and her brother had both built on this attempt, which must have been arranged at auch. for when we went on in the afternoon, i saw a more marked change. they rode now like people resigned to the worst. the grey realities of the brother's position, the dreary, hopeless future, began to hang like a mist before their eyes; began to tinge the landscape with sadness; robbed even the sunset of its colours. with each hour their spirits flagged and their speech became less frequent, until presently, when the light was nearly gone and the dusk was round us, the brother and sister rode hand in hand, silent, gloomy, one at least of them weeping. the cold shadow of the cardinal, of paris, of the scaffold, was beginning to make itself felt; was beginning to chill them. as the mountains which they had known all their lives sank and faded behind us, and we entered on the wide, low valley of the garonne, their hopes sank and faded also--sank to the dead-level of despair. surrounded by guards, a mark for curious glances, with pride for a companion, m. de cocheforêt could doubtless have borne himself bravely; doubtless he would bear himself bravely still when the end came. but almost alone, moving forward through the grey evening to a prison, with so many measured days before him, and nothing to exhilarate or anger,--in this condition it was little wonder if he felt, and betrayed that he felt, the blood run slow in his veins; if he thought more of the weeping wife and ruined home, which he left behind him, than of the cause in which he had spent himself. but god knows, they had no monopoly of gloom. i felt almost as sad myself. long before sunset the flush of triumph, the heat of the battle, which had warmed my heart at noon, were gone; giving place to a chill dissatisfaction, a nausea, a despondency, such as i have known follow a long night at the tables. hitherto there had been difficulties to be overcome, risks to be run, doubts about the end. now the end was certain, and very near; so near that it filled all the prospect. one hour of triumph i might still have; i hugged the thought of it as a gambler hugs his last stake. i planned the place and time and mode, and tried to occupy myself wholly with it. but the price? alas, that would intrude too, and more as the evening waned; so that as i passed this or that thing by the road, which i could recall passing on my journey south,--with thoughts so different, with plans that now seemed so very, very old,--i asked myself grimly if this were really i, if this were gil de berault, known as zaton's _premier joueur_; or some don quichotte from castile, tilting at windmills, and taking barbers' bowls for gold. we reached agen very late in the evening, after groping through a by-way near the river, set with holes and willow-stools and frog-spawns--a place no better than a slough. after it the great fire and the lights at the blue maid seemed like a glimpse of a new world, and in a twinkling put something of life and spirits into two at least of us. there was queer talk round the hearth here of doings in paris,--of a stir against the cardinal, with the queen-mother at bottom, and of grounded expectations that something might this time come of it. but the landlord pooh-poohed the idea, and i more than agreed with him. even m. de cocheforêt, who was for a moment inclined to build on it, gave up hope when he heard that it came only by way of montauban; whence, since its reduction the year before, all sorts of _canards_ against the cardinal were always on the wing. "they kill him about once a month," our host said, with a grin. "sometimes it is _monsieur_ who is to prove a match for him, sometimes _césar monsieur_--the duke of vendôme, you understand,--and sometimes the queen-mother. but since m. de chalais and the marshal made a mess of it, and paid forfeit, i pin my faith to his eminence--that is his new title, they tell me." "things are quiet round here?" i asked. "perfectly. since the languedoc business came to an end, all goes well," he answered. mademoiselle had retired on our arrival, so that her brother and i were for an hour or two thrown together. i left him at liberty to separate himself if he pleased, but he did not use the opportunity. a kind of comradeship, rendered piquant by our peculiar relations, had begun to spring up between us. he seemed to take pleasure in my company, more than once rallied me on my post of jailer, would ask humorously if he might do this or that, and once even inquired what i should do if he broke his parole. "or take it this way," he continued flippantly "suppose i had stuck you in the back this evening, in that cursed swamp by the river, m. de berault? what then? _pardieu!_ i am astonished at myself that i did not do it. i could have been in montauban within twenty-four hours, and found fifty hiding-places, and no one the wiser." "except your sister," i said quietly. he laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "yes," he said, "i am afraid i must have put her out of the way too, to preserve my self-respect. you are right." and on that he fell into a reverie which held him for a few minutes. then i found him looking at me with a kind of frank perplexity that invited question. "what is it?" i said. "you have fought a great many duels?" "yes," i said. "did you never strike a foul blow in one of them?" "never. why do you ask?" "well,--i wanted to confirm an impression," he said. "to be frank, m. de berault, i seem to see in you two men." "two men?" "yes, two men," he answered. "one, the man who captured me; the other, the man who let my friend go free to-day." "it surprised you that i let him go? that was prudence, m. de cocheforêt," i replied, "nothing more. i am an old gambler--i know when the stakes are too high for me. the man who caught a lion in his wolf-pit had no great catch." "no, that is true," he answered, smiling. "and yet--i find two men in your skin." "i dare say that there are two in most men's skins," i answered, with a sigh, "but not always together. sometimes one is there, and sometimes the other." "how does the one like taking up the other's work?" he asked keenly. i shrugged my shoulders. "that is as may be," i said. "you do not take an estate without the debts." he did not answer for a moment, and i fancied that his thoughts had reverted to his own case. but on a sudden he looked at me again. "will you answer me a question, m. de berault?" he said, with a winning smile. "perhaps," i said. "then tell me--it is a tale that is, i am sure, worth the telling. what was it that, in a very evil hour for me, sent you in search of me?" "the cardinal," i answered. "i did not ask who," he replied drily. "i asked, what. you had no grudge against me?" "no." "no knowledge of me?" "no." "then what on earth induced you to do it? heavens, man," he continued bluntly, rising and speaking with greater freedom than he had before used, "nature never intended you for a tip staff! what was it, then?" i rose too. it was very late, and the room was empty, the fire low. "i will tell you--tomorrow!" i said. "i shall have something to say to you then, of which that will be part." he looked at me in great astonishment; with a little suspicion, too. but i put him off, and called for a light, and by going at once to bed, cut short his questions. those who know the great south road to agen, and how the vineyards rise in terraces north of the town, one level of red earth above another, green in summer, but in late autumn bare and stony, will remember a particular place where the road two leagues from the town runs up a long hill. at the top of the hill four ways meet; and there, plain to be seen against the sky is a finger-post, indicating which way leads to bordeaux, and which to montauban, and which to perigueux. this hill had impressed me on my journey down; perhaps, because i had from it my first view of the garonne valley, and there felt myself on the verge of the south country where my mission lay. it had taken root in my memory; i had come to look upon its bare, bleak brow, with the finger-post and the four roads, as the first outpost of paris, as the first sign of return to the old life. now for two days i had been looking forward to seeing it again. that long stretch of road would do admirably for something i had in my mind. that sign-post, with the roads pointing north, south, east, and west, could there be a better place for meetings and partings? we came to the bottom of the ascent about an hour before noon--m. de cocheforêt, mademoiselle, and i. we had reversed the order of yesterday, and i rode ahead. they came after me at their leisure. at the foot of the hill, however, i stopped and, letting mademoiselle pass on, detained m. de cocheforêt by a gesture. "pardon me, one moment," i said. "i want to ask a favour." he looked at me somewhat fretfully, with a gleam of wildness in his eyes that betrayed how the iron was eating into his heart. he had started after breakfast as gaily as a bridegroom, but gradually he had sunk below himself; and now he had much ado to curb his impatience. the _bonhomie_ of last night was quite gone. "of me?" he said. "what is it?" "i wish to have a few words with mademoiselle--alone," i explained. "alone?" he answered, frowning. "yes," i replied, without blenching, though his face grew dark. "for the matter of that, you can be within call all the time, if you please. but i have a reason for wishing to ride a little way with her." "to tell her something?" "yes." "then you can tell it to me," he retorted suspiciously. "mademoiselle, i will answer for it, has no desire to--" "see me, or speak to me!" i said, taking him up. "i can understand that. yet i want to speak to her." "very well, you can speak to her before me," he answered rudely. "let us ride on and join her." and he made a movement as if to do so. "that will not do, m. de cocheforêt," i said firmly, stopping him with my hand. "let me beg you to be more complaisant. it is a small thing i ask; but i swear to you, if mademoiselle does not grant it, she will repent it all her life." he looked at me, his face growing darker and darker. "fine words!" he said presently, with a sneer. "yet i fancy i understand them." then with a passionate oath he broke out in a fresh tone. "but i will not have it. i have not been blind, m. de berault, and i understand. but i will not have it! i will have no such judas bargain made. _pardieu!_ do you think i could suffer it and show my face again?" "i don't know what you mean!" i said, restraining myself with difficulty. i could have struck the fool. "but i know what you mean," he replied, in a tone of repressed rage. "you would have her sell herself: sell herself body and soul to you to save me! and you would have me stand by and see the thing done! well, my answer is--never! though i go to the wheel! i will die a gentleman, if i have lived a fool!" "i think you will do the one as certainly as you have done the other," i retorted, in my exasperation. and yet i admired him. "oh, i am not such a fool," he cried, scowling at me, "as you have perhaps thought. i have used my eyes." "then be good enough now to favour me with your ears," i answered drily. "and listen when i say that no such bargain has ever crossed my mind. you were kind enough to think well of me last night, m. de cocheforêt. why should the mention of mademoiselle in a moment change your opinion? i wish simply to speak to her. i have nothing to ask from her; neither favour nor anything else. and what i say she will doubtless tell you afterwards. _ciel_, man!" i continued angrily, "what harm can i do to her, in the road, in your sight?" he looked at me sullenly, his face still flushed, his eyes suspicious. "what do you want to say to her?" he asked jealously. he was quite unlike himself. his airy nonchalance, his careless gaiety, were gone. "you know what i do _not_ want to say to her, m. de cocheforêt," i answered. "that should be enough." he glowered at me for a moment, still ill content. then, without a word, he made me a gesture to go to her. she had halted a score of paces away, wondering doubtless what was on foot. i rode towards her. she wore her mask, so that i lost the expression of her face as i approached, but the manner in which she turned her horse's head uncompromisingly towards her brother, and looked past me--as if i were merely a log in the road--was full of meaning. i felt the ground suddenly cut from under me. i saluted her, trembling. "mademoiselle," i said, "will you grant me the privilege of your company for a few minutes, as we ride." "to what purpose, sir?" she answered, in the coldest voice in which i think a woman ever spoke to a man. "that i may explain to you a great many things you do not understand," i murmured. "i prefer to be in the dark," she replied. and her manner said more than her words. "but, mademoiselle," i pleaded,--i would not be discouraged,--"you told me one day that you would never judge me hastily again." "facts judge you, not i, sir," she answered icily. "i am not sufficiently on a level with you to be able to judge you--i thank god." i shivered though the sun was on me, and the hollow where we stood was warm. "still--once before you thought the same!" i exclaimed. "afterwards you found that you had been wrong. it may be so again, mademoiselle." "impossible," she said. that stung me. "no!" i said fiercely. "it is not impossible. it is you who are impossible! it is you who are heartless, mademoiselle. i have done much, very much, in the last three days to make things lighter for you. i ask you now to do something for me which can cost you nothing." "nothing?" she answered slowly; and her scornful voice cut me as if it had been a knife. "do you think, monsieur, it costs me nothing to lose my self-respect, as i do with every word i speak to you? do you think it costs me nothing to be here, where i feel every look you cast on me an insult, every breath i take in your presence a contamination. nothing, monsieur?" she laughed in bitter irony. "oh, be sure, something! but something which i despair of making clear to you." i sat for a moment in my saddle, shaken and quivering with pain. it had been one thing to feel that she hated and scorned me, to know that the trust and confidence which she had begun to place in me were changed to loathing. it was another to listen to her hard, pitiless words, to change colour under the lash of her gibing tongue. for a moment i could not find voice to answer her. then i pointed to m. de cocheforêt. "do you love him?" i said, hoarsely, roughly. the gibing tone had passed from her voice to mine. she did not answer. "because, if you do," i continued, "you will let me tell my tale. say no but once more, mademoiselle,--i am only human,--and i go. and you will repent it all your life." i had done better had i taken that tone from the beginning. she winced, her head drooped, she seemed to grow smaller. all in a moment, as it were, her pride collapsed. "i will hear you," she answered feebly. "then we will ride on, if you please," i said, keeping the advantage i had gained. "you need not fear. your brother will follow." i caught hold of her rein and turned her horse, and she suffered it without demur. in a moment we were pacing side by side, the long, straight road before us. at the end where it topped the hill, i could see the finger-post,--two faint black lines against the sky. when we reached that, involuntarily i checked my horse and made it move more slowly. "well, sir," she said impatiently. and her figure shook as if with cold. "it is a tale i desire to tell you, mademoiselle," i answered, speaking with effort. "perhaps i may seem to begin a long way off, but before i end, i promise to interest you. two months ago there was living in paris a man, perhaps a bad man, at any rate, by common report, a hard man." she turned to me suddenly, her eyes gleaming through her mask. "oh, monsieur, spare me this!" she said, quietly scornful. "i will take it for granted." "very well," i replied steadfastly. "good or bad, this man, one day, in defiance of the cardinal's edict against duelling, fought with a young englishman behind st. jacques church. the englishman had influence, the person of whom i speak had none, and an indifferent name; he was arrested, thrown into the châtelet, cast for death, left for days to face death. at the last an offer was made to him. if he would seek out and deliver up another man, an outlaw with a price upon his head, he should himself go free." i paused and drew a deep breath. then i continued, looking not at her, but into the distance: "mademoiselle, it seems easy now to say what course he should have chosen. it seems hard now to find excuses for him. but there was one thing which i plead for him. the task he was asked to undertake was a dangerous one. he risked, he knew he must risk, and the event proved him right, his life against the life of this unknown man. and--one thing more--there was time before him. the outlaw might be taken by another, might be killed, might die, might--. but there, mademoiselle, we know what answer this person made. he took the baser course, and on his honour, on his parole, with money supplied to him, went free,--free on the condition that he delivered up this other man." i paused again, but i did not dare to look at her, and after a moment of silence i resumed. "some portion of the second half of this story you know, mademoiselle; but not all. suffice it that this man came down to a remote village, and there at a risk, but heaven knows, basely enough, found his way into his victim's home. once there, his heart began to fail him. had he found the house garrisoned by men, he might have pressed on to his end with little remorse. but he found there only two helpless, loyal women; and i say again that from the first hour of his entrance he sickened of the work he had in hand. still he pursued it. he had given his word, and if there was one tradition of his race which this man had never broken, it was that of fidelity to his side; to the man that paid him. but he pursued it with only half his mind, in great misery sometimes, if you will believe me, in agonies of shame. gradually, however, almost against his will, the drama worked itself out before him, until he needed only one thing." i looked at mademoiselle. but her head was averted; i could gather nothing from the outlines of her form. and i went on. "do not misunderstand me," i said, in a lower voice. "do not misunderstand what i am going to say next. this is no love story, and can have no ending such as romancers love to set to their tales. but i am bound to mention, mademoiselle, that this man, who had lived about inns and eating-houses, and at the gaming-tables almost all his days, met here for the first time for years a good woman; and learned by the light of her loyalty and devotion to see what his life had been, and what was the real nature of the work he was doing. i think,--nay, i know--that it added a hundredfold to his misery, that when he learned at last the secret he had come to surprise, he learned it from her lips, and in such a way that had he felt no shame, hell could have been no place for him. but in one thing she misjudged him. she thought, and had reason to think, that the moment he knew her secret he went out, not even closing the door, and used it. but the truth was that, while her words were still in his ears, news came to him that others had the secret; and had he not gone out on the instant, and done what he did, and forestalled them, m. de cocheforêt would have been taken, but by others." mademoiselle broke her long silence so suddenly that her horse sprang forward. "would to heaven he had!" she wailed. "been taken by others?" i exclaimed, startled out of my false composure. "oh, yes, yes!" she answered passionately. "why did you not tell me? why did you not confess to me even then? i--oh, no more! no more!" she continued, in a piteous voice. "i have heard enough. you are racking my heart, m. de berault. some day i will ask god to give me strength to forgive you." "but you have not heard me out," i replied. "i want to hear no more," she answered, in a voice she vainly strove to render steady. "to what end? can i say more than i have said? did you think i could forgive you now--with him behind us going to his death? oh, no, no!" she continued. "leave me! i implore you to leave me. i am not well." she drooped over her horse's neck as she spoke and began to weep so passionately that the tears ran down her cheeks under her mask, and fell and sparkled like dew on the mane before her; while her sobs shook her so painfully that i thought she must fall. i stretched out my hand instinctively to give her help; but she shrank from me. "no!" she gasped, between her sobs. "do not touch me. there is too much between us." "yet there must be one thing more between us," i answered firmly. "you must listen to me a little longer, whether you will or no, mademoiselle, for the love you bear to your brother. there is one course still open to me by which i may redeem my honour; it has been in my mind for some time back to take that course. to-day, i am thankful to say, i can take it cheerfully, if not without regret; with a steadfast heart, if with no light one. mademoiselle," i continued earnestly, feeling none of the triumph, none of the vanity, i had foreseen, but only joy in the joy i could give her, "i thank god that it is still in my power to undo what i have done; that it is still in my power to go back to him who sent me, and telling him that i have changed my mind and will bear my own burdens, to pay the penalty." we were within a hundred paces of the brow of the hill and the finger-post now. she cried out wildly that she did not understand. "what is it you have just said?" she murmured. "i cannot hear." and she began to fumble with the ribbon of her mask. "only this, mademoiselle," i answered gently. "i give back to your brother his word and his parole. from this moment he is free to go whither he pleases. you shall tell him so from me. here, where we stand, four roads meet. that to the right goes to montauban, where you have doubtless friends, and can lie hid for a time; or that to the left leads to bordeaux, where you can take ship if you please. and in a word mademoiselle," i continued, ending a little feebly, "i hope that your troubles are now over." she turned her face to me--we had both come to a standstill--and plucked at the fastenings of her mask. but her trembling fingers had knotted the string, and in a moment she dropped her hands with a cry of despair. "and you? you?" she said, in a voice so changed i should not have known it for hers. "what will you do? i do not understand. this mask! i cannot hear." "there is a third road," i answered. "it leads to paris. that is my road, mademoiselle. we part here." "but why? why?" she cried wildly. "because from to-day i would fain begin to be honourable," i answered, in a low voice. "because i dare not be generous at another's cost i must go back to the châtelet." she tried feverishly to raise her mask with her hand. "i am--not well," she stammered. "i cannot breathe." she swayed so violently in her saddle as she spoke, that i sprang down, and running round her horse's head, was just in time to catch her as she fell. she was not quite unconscious then, for, as i supported her, she murmured, "leave me! leave me! i am not worthy that you should touch me." those words made me happy. i carried her to the bank, my heart on fire, and laid her against it just as m. de cocheforêt rode up. he sprang from his horse, his eyes blazing with anger. "what is this?" he cried harshly. "what have you been saying to her, man?" "she will tell you," i answered drily, my composure returning under his eye,--"amongst other things, that you are free. from this moment, m. de cocheforêt, i give you back your parole, and i take my own honour. farewell." he cried out something as i mounted, but i did not stay to hear or answer. i dashed the spurs into my horse, and rode away past the crossroads, past the finger-post; away with the level upland stretching before me, dry, bare, almost treeless--and behind me all i loved. once, when i had gone a hundred yards, i looked back and saw him standing upright against the sky, staring after me across her body. and again i looked back. this time i saw only the slender wooden cross, and below it a dark blurred mass. chapter xiii. st. martin's eve. it was late evening on the last day but one of november, when i rode into paris through the orleans gate. the wind was in the northeast, and a great cloud of vapour hung in the eye of an angry sunset. the air seemed to be full of wood smoke, the kennels reeked, my gorge rose at the city's smell; and with all my heart i envied the man who had gone out of it by the same gate nearly two months before, with his face to the south, and the prospect of riding day after day across heath and moor and pasture. at least he had had some weeks of life before him, and freedom, and the open air, and hope and uncertainty, while i came back under doom; and in the pall of smoke that hung over the huddle of innumerable roofs, saw a gloomy shadowing of my own fate. for make no mistake. a man in middle life does not strip himself of the worldly habit with which experience has clothed him, does not run counter to all the cynical saws and instances by which he has governed his course so long, without shiverings and doubts and horrible misgivings and struggles of heart. at least a dozen times between the loire and paris, i asked myself what honour was; and what good it would do me when i lay rotting and forgotten; if i was not a fool following a jack-o'-lanthorn; and whether, of all the men in the world, the relentless man to whom i was returning, would not be the first to gibe at my folly. however, shame kept me straight; shame and the memory of mademoiselle's looks and words. i dared not be false to her again; i could not, after speaking so loftily, fall so low. and therefore--though not without many a secret struggle and quaking--i came, on this last evening but one of november, to the orleans gate, and rode slowly and sadly through the streets by the luxembourg, on my way to the pont au change. the struggle had sapped my last strength, however; and with the first whiff of the gutters, the first rush of barefooted _gamins_ under my horse's hoofs, the first babel of street cries, the first breath, in a word, of paris, there came a new temptation--to go for one last night to zaton's to see the tables again and the faces of surprise; to be, for an hour or two, the old berault. that could be no breach of honour; for in any case i could not reach the cardinal before tomorrow. and it could do no harm. it could make no change in anything. it would not have been a thing worth struggling about--only i had in my inmost heart suspicions that the stoutest resolutions might lose their force in that atmosphere; that even such a talisman as the memory of a woman's looks and words might lose its virtue there. still i think i should have succumbed in the end, if i had not received at the corner of the luxembourg a shock which sobered me effectually. as i passed the gates, a coach followed by two outriders swept out of the palace courtyard; it was going at a great pace, and i reined my jaded horse on one side to give it room. as it whirled by me, one of the leather curtains flapped back, and i saw for a second, by the waning light,--the nearer wheels were no more than two feet from my boot,--a face inside. a face, and no more, and that only for a second! but it froze me. it was richelieu's, the cardinal's; but not as i had been wont to see it, keen, cold, acute, with intellect and indomitable will in every feature. this face was distorted with rage and impatience; with the fever of haste and the fear of death. the eyes burned under the pale brow, the mustachios bristled, the teeth showed through the beard; i could fancy the man crying "faster! faster!" and gnawing his nails in the impatience of passion; and i shrank back as if i had been struck. the next moment the galloping outriders splashed me, the coach was a hundred paces ahead, and i was left chilled and wondering, foreseeing the worst, and no longer in any mood for the gaming-table. such a revelation of such a man was enough to appall me. conscience cried out that he must have heard that cocheforêt had escaped, and through me! but i dismissed the idea as soon as formed. in the vast meshes of the cardinal's schemes, cocheforêt could be only a small fish; and to account for the face in the coach i needed a cataclysm, a catastrophe, a misfortune, as far above ordinary mishaps, as this man's intellect rose above the common run of minds. it was almost dark when i crossed the bridges, and crept despondently to the rue savonnerie. after stabling my horse, i took my bag and holsters, and climbing the stairs to my old landlord's,--the place seemed to have grown strangely mean and small and ill-smelling in my absence,--i knocked at the door. it was opened by the little tailor himself, who threw up his arms at the sight of me. "by st. genevieve!" he said. "if it is not m. de berault!" "no other," i said. it touched me a little, after my lonely journey, to find him so glad to see me--though i had never done him a greater benefit than sometimes to unbend with him and borrow his money. "you look surprised, little man!" i continued, as he made way for me to enter. "i'll be sworn you have been pawning my goods and letting my room, you knave!" "never, your excellency!" he answered, beaming on me. "on the contrary, i have been expecting you." "how?" i said. "to-day?" "to-day or to-morrow," he answered, following me in and closing the door. "the first thing i said, when i heard the news this morning, was, now we shall have m. de berault back again. your excellency will pardon the children," he continued, as i took the old seat on the three-legged stool before the hearth. "the night is cold, and there is no fire in your room." while he ran to and fro with my cloak and bags, little gil, to whom i had stood at st. sulpice's--borrowing ten crowns the same day, i remember--came shyly to play with my sword-hilt "so you expected me back when you heard the news, frison, did you?" i said, taking the lad on my knee. "to be sure, your excellency," he answered, peeping into the black pot before he lifted it to the hook. "very good. then, now, let us hear what the news was," i said drily. "of the cardinal, m. de berault." "ah? and what?" he looked at me, holding the heavy pot suspended in his hands. "you have not heard?" he exclaimed, his jaw falling. "not a tittle. tell it me, my good fellow." "you have not heard that his eminence is disgraced?" i stared at him. "not a word," i said. he set down the pot. "your excellency must have made a very long journey indeed, then," he said, with conviction. "for it has been in the air a week or more, and i thought it had brought you back. a week? a month, i dare say. they whisper that it is the old queen's doing. at any rate, it is certain that they have cancelled his commissions and displaced his officers. there are rumours of immediate peace with spain. his enemies are lifting up their heads, and i hear that he has relays of horses set all the way to the coast, that he may fly at any moment for what i know he may be gone already." "but, man," i said--"the king! you forget the king. let the cardinal once pipe to him, and he will dance. and they will dance, too!" i added grimly. "yes," frison answered eagerly. "true, your excellency, but the king will not see him. three times to-day, as i am told, the cardinal has driven to the luxembourg, and stood like any common man in the ante-chamber, so that i hear it was pitiful to see him. but his majesty would not admit him. and when he went away the last time, i am told that his face was like death! well, he was a great man, and we may be worse ruled, m. de berault, saving your presence. if the nobles did not like him, he was good to the traders, and the _bourgeoisie_, and equal to all." "silence, man! silence, and let me think," i said, much excited. and while he bustled to and fro, getting my supper, and the firelight played about the snug, sorry little room, and the child toyed with his plaything, i fell to digesting this great news, and pondering how i stood now and what i ought to do. at first sight, i know, it seemed that i had nothing to do but sit still. in a few hours the man who held my bond would be powerless, and i should be free. in a few hours i might smile at him. to all appearance, the dice had fallen well for me. i had done a great thing, run a great risk, won a woman's love, and after all was not to pay the penalty! but a word which fell from frison as he fluttered round me, pouring out the broth, and cutting the bread, dropped into my mind and spoiled my satisfaction. "yes, your excellency," he exclaimed, confirming something he had said before, and which i had missed, "and i am told that the last time he came into the gallery, there was not a man of all the scores who attended his _levée_ last monday would speak to him. they fell off like rats,--just like rats,--until he was left standing all alone. and i have seen him!" frison lifted up his eyes and his hands and drew in his breath. "ah, i have seen the king look shabby beside him! and his eye! i would not like to meet it now." "pish!" i growled. "some one has fooled you. men are wiser than that." "so? well, your excellency understands. but--there are no cats on a cold hearth." i told him again that he was a fool. but withal i felt uncomfortable. this was a great man if ever a great man lived, and they were all leaving him; and i--well, i had no cause to love him. but i had taken his money, i had accepted his commission, and i had betrayed him. those three things being so, if he fell before i could--with the best will in the world--set myself right with him, so much the better for me. that was my gain, the fortune of war. but if i lay hid, and took time for my ally, and being here while he stood still,--though tottering,--waited until he fell, what of my honour then? what of the grand words i had said to mademoiselle at agen? i should be like the recreant in the old romance, who, lying in the ditch while the battle raged, came out afterwards and boasted of his courage. and yet the flesh was weak. a day, twenty-four hours, two days, might make the difference between life and death. at last i settled what i would do. at noon the next day, the time at which i should have presented myself, if i had not heard this news, at that time i would still present myself. not earlier; i owed myself the chance. not later; that was due to him. having so settled it, i thought to rest in peace. but with the first light i was awake; and it was all i could do to keep myself quiet until i heard frison stirring. i called to him then to know if there was any news, and lay waiting and listening while he went down to the street to learn. it seemed an endless time before he came back; an age, after he came back, before he spoke. "well, he has not set off?" i cried at last, unable to control my eagerness. of course he had not. at nine o'clock i sent frison out again; and at ten, and at eleven--always with the same result. i was like a man waiting, and looking, and, above all, listening for a reprieve, and as sick as any craven. but when he came back at eleven, i gave up hope, and dressed myself carefully. i suppose i still had an odd look, however; for frison stopped me at the door and asked me, with evident alarm, whither i was going. i put the little man aside gently. "to the tables," i said. "to make a big throw, my friend." it was a fine morning; sunny, keen, pleasant. even the streets smelled fresh. but i scarcely noticed it. all my thoughts were where i was going. it seemed but a step from my threshold to the hotel richelieu. i was no sooner gone from the one than i found myself at the other. as on the memorable evening, when i had crossed the street in a drizzling rain, and looked that way with foreboding, there were two or three guards in the cardinal's livery, loitering before the gates. but this was not all. coming nearer, i found the opposite pavement under the louvre thronged with people; not moving about their business, but standing all silent, all looking across furtively, all with the air of persons who wished to be thought passing by. their silence and their keen looks had in some way an air of menace. looking back after i had turned in towards the gates, i found them devouring me with their eyes. certainly they had little else to look at. in the courtyard, where some mornings when the court was in paris i had seen a score of coaches waiting and thrice as many servants, were now emptiness and sunshine and stillness. the officer, who stood twisting his mustachios, on guard, looked at me in wonder as i passed. the lackeys lounging in the portico, and all too much taken up with whispering to make a pretence of being of service, grinned at my appearance. but that which happened when i had mounted the stairs, and come to the door of the ante-chamber, outdid all. the man on guard there would have opened the door; but when i went to take advantage of the offer, and enter, a major-domo, who was standing near, muttering with two or three of his kind, hastened forward and stopped me. "your business, monsieur, if you please?" he said inquisitively. and i wondered why the others looked at me so strangely. "i am m. de berault," i answered sharply. "i have the _entrée_." he bowed politely enough. "yes, m. de berault, i have the honour to know your face," he said. "but pardon me. have you business with his eminence?" "i have the common business," i answered bluntly, "by which many of us live, sirrah!--to wait on him." "but--by appointment, monsieur?" he persisted. "no," i said, astonished. "it is the usual hour. for the matter of that, however, i have business with him." the man looked at me for a moment, in apparent embarrassment. then he stood reluctantly aside, and signed to the door-keeper to open the door. i passed in, uncovering, with an assured face, ready to meet all eyes. then in a moment, on the threshold, the mystery was explained. the room was empty. chapter xiv. st. martin's summer. yes, at the great cardinal's _levée_ i was the only client. i stared round the room, a long narrow gallery, through which it was his custom to walk every morning, after receiving his more important visitors. i stared, i say, round this room, in a state of stupefaction. the seats against either wall were empty, the recesses of the windows empty too. the hat, sculptured and painted here and there, the staring r, the blazoned arms, looked down on a vacant floor. only, on a little stool by the main door, sat a quiet-faced man in black, who read, or pretended to read, in a little book, and never looked up. one of those men, blind, deaf, secretive, who fatten in the shadow of the great. at length, while i stood confounded and full of shamed thought,--for i had seen the ante-chamber of richelieu's old hotel so crowded that he could not walk through it,--this man closed his book, rose, and came noiselessly towards me. "m. de berault?" he said. "yes," i answered. "his eminence awaits you. be good enough to follow me." i did so, in a deeper stupor than before. for how could the cardinal know that i was here? how could he have known when he gave the order? but i had short time to think of these things. we passed through two rooms, in one of which some secretaries were writing; we stopped at a third door. over all brooded a silence which could be felt. the usher knocked, opened, and with his finger on his lip, pushed aside a curtain, and signed to me to enter. i did so, and found myself standing behind a screen. "is that m. de berault?" asked a thin, high-pitched voice. "yes, monseigneur," i answered, trembling. "then come, my friend, and talk to me." i went round the screen; and i know not how it was, the watching crowd outside, the vacant antechamber in which i had stood, the stillness,--all seemed concentrated here, and gave to the man i saw before me, a dignity which he had never possessed for me when the world passed through his doors, and the proudest fawned on him for a smile. he sat in a great chair on the farther side of the hearth, a little red skull-cap on his head, his fine hands lying motionless in his lap. the collar of lawn which fell over his red cape was quite plain, but the skirts of his red robe were covered with rich lace, and the order of the holy ghost shone on his breast. among the multitudinous papers on the great table near him i saw a sword and pistols lying; and some tapestry that covered a little table behind him failed to hide a pair of spurred riding-boots. but he--in spite of these signs of trouble--looked towards me as i advanced, with a face mild and almost benign; a face in which i strove in vain to find traces of last night's passion. so that it flashed across me that if this man really stood--and afterwards i knew he did--on the thin razor-edge between life and death, between the supreme of earthly power, lord of france, and arbiter of europe, and the nothingness of the clod, he justified his fame. he gave weaker natures no room for triumph. the thought was no sooner entertained than it was gone. "and so you are back at last, m. de berault?" he said, gently. "i have been expecting to see you since nine this morning." "your eminence knew then--" i muttered. "that you returned to paris by the orleans gate last evening, alone?" he fitted together the ends of his fingers, and looked at me over them with inscrutable eyes. "yes, i knew all that last night. and now of your mission? you have been faithful, and diligent, i am sure. where is he?" i stared at him, and was dumb. somehow the strange things i had seen since i left my lodging, the surprises i had found awaiting me here, had driven my own fortunes, my own peril, out of my head, until this moment. now, at his question, all returned with a rush. my heart heaved suddenly in my breast. i strove for a savour of the old hardihood; but for the moment i could not find a word. "well?" he said lightly, a faint smile lifting his mustache. "you do not speak. you left auch with him on the twenty-fourth, m. de berault. so much i know. and you reached paris without him last night. he has not given you the slip?" with sudden animation. "no, monseigneur," i muttered. "ha! that is good," he answered, sinking back again in his chair. "for the moment--but i knew i could depend on you. and now where is he?" he continued. "what have you done with him? he knows much, and the sooner i know it, the better. are your people bringing him, m. de berault?" "no, monseigneur," i stammered, with dry lips. his very good humour, his benignity, appalled me. i knew how terrible would be the change, how fearful his rage, when i should tell him the truth. and yet that i, gil de berault, should tremble before any man! i spurred myself, as it were, to the task. "no, your eminence," i said, with the courage of despair. "i have not brought him, because i have set him free." "because you have--_what?_" he exclaimed. he leaned forward, his hands on the arm of his chair; and his glittering eyes, growing each instant smaller, seemed to read my soul. "because i have let him go," i repeated. "and why?" he said, in a voice like the rasping of a file. "because i took him unfairly," i answered desperately. "because, monseigneur, i am a gentleman, and this task should have been given to one who was not. i took him, if you must know," i continued impatiently,--the fence once crossed, i was growing bolder,--"by dogging a woman's steps, and winning her confidence, and betraying it. and, whatever i have done ill in my life,--of which you were good enough to throw something in my teeth when i was last here,--i have never done that, and i will not!" "and so you set him free?" "yes." "after you had brought him to auch?" "yes." "and in point of fact saved him from falling into the hands of the commandant at auch?" "yes," i answered desperately. "then what of the trust i placed in you, sirrah?" he rejoined, in a terrible voice; and stooping still farther forward, he probed me with his eyes. "you who prate of trust and confidence, who received your life on parole, and but for your promise to me would have been carrion this month past, answer me that! what of the trust i placed in you?" "the answer is simple," i said, shrugging my shoulders with a touch of my old self. "i am here to pay the penalty." "and do you think that i do not know why?" he retorted, striking his one hand on the arm of the chair with a force which startled me. "because you have heard, sir, that my power is gone! that i, who was yesterday the king's right hand, am to-day dried up, withered, and paralyzed! because--but have a care! have a care!" he continued not loudly, but in a voice like a dog's snarl. "you, and those others! have a care i say, or you may find yourselves mistaken yet!" "as heaven shall judge me," i answered solemnly, "that is not true. until i reached paris last night i knew nothing of this report. i came here with a single mind, to redeem my honour by placing again in your eminence's hands that which you gave me on trust." for a moment he remained in the same attitude, staring at me fixedly. then his face somewhat relaxed. "be good enough to ring that bell," he said. it stood on a table near me. i rang it, and a velvet-footed man in black came in, and gliding up to the cardinal placed a paper in his hand. the cardinal looked at it while the man stood with his head obsequiously bent; my heart beat furiously. "very good," the cardinal said, after a pause, which seemed to me to be endless. "let the doors be thrown open." the man bowed low, and retired behind the screen. i heard a little bell ring, somewhere in the silence, and in a moment the cardinal stood up. "follow me!" he said, with a strange flash of his keen eyes. astonished, i stood aside while he passed to the screen; then i followed him. outside the first door, which stood open, we found eight or nine persons,--pages, a monk, the major-domo, and several guards waiting like mutes. these signed to me to precede them, and fell in behind us, and in that order we passed through the first room and the second, where the clerks stood with bent heads to receive us. the last door, the door of the ante-chamber, flew open as we approached; a score of voices cried, "place! place for his eminence!" we passed without pause through two lines of bowing lackeys, and entered--an empty room! the ushers did not know how to look at one another. the lackeys trembled in their shoes. but the cardinal walked on, apparently unmoved, until he had passed slowly half the length of the chamber. then he turned himself about, looking first to one side; and then to another, with a low laugh of derision. "father," he said, in his thin voice, "what does the psalmist say? 'i am become like a pelican in the wilderness, and like an owl that is in the desert!'" the monk mumbled assent. "and later, in the same psalm is it not written, 'they shall perish, but thou shalt endure!'" "it is so," the father answered. "amen." "doubtless that refers to another life," the cardinal continued, with his slow, wintry smile. "in the meantime we will go back to our book? and our prayers, and serve god and the king in small things, if not in great. come, father, this is no longer a place for us. _vanitas vanitatum; omnia vanitas!_ we will retire." so, as solemnly as we had come, we marched back through the first and second and third doors, until we stood again in the silence of the cardinal's chamber; he and i and the velvet-footed man in black. for a while richelieu seemed to forget me. he stood brooding on the hearth, with his eye's on the embers. once i heard him laugh; and twice he uttered in a tone of bitter mockery, the words, "fools! fools! fools!" at last he looked up, saw me, and started. "ah!" he said. "i had forgotten you. well, you are fortunate, m. de berault. yesterday i had a hundred clients. to-day i have only one, and i cannot afford to hang him. but for your liberty--that is another matter." i would have said something, but he turned abruptly to the table, and sitting down wrote a few lines on a piece of paper. then he rang his bell, while i stood waiting and confounded. the man in black came from behind the screen. "take that letter and this gentleman to the upper guard-room," his eminence said sharply. "i can hear no more," he continued wearily, raising his hand to forbid interruption. "the matter is ended, m. de berault. be thankful." and in a moment i was outside the door, my head in a whirl, my heart divided between gratitude and resentment. along several passages i followed my guide; everywhere finding the same silence, the same monastic stillness. at length, when i had begun to consider whether the bastile or the châtelet would be my fate, he stopped at a door, gave me the letter, and, lifting the latch, signed to me to enter. i went in in amazement, and stopped in confusion. before me, alone, just risen from a chair, with her face one moment pale, the next red with blushes, stood mademoiselle de cocheforêt. i cried out her name. "m. de berault!" she said, visibly trembling. "you did not expect to see me?" "i expected to see no one so little, mademoiselle," i answered, striving to recover my composure. "yet you might have thought that we should not utterly desert you," she replied, with a reproachful humility which went to my heart. "we should have been base indeed, if we had not made some attempt to save you. i thank heaven that it has so far succeeded that that strange man has promised me your life. you have seen him?" she continued eagerly, and in another tone, while her eyes grew suddenly large with fear. "yes, mademoiselle, i have seen him," i said. "and he has given me my life." "and?" "and sent me to imprisonment." "for how long?" she whispered. "i do not know," i answered. "i expect, during the king's pleasure." she shuddered. "i may have done more harm than good," she murmured, looking at me piteously. "but i did it for the best. i told him all, and--yes, perhaps i did harm." but to hear her accuse herself thus, when she had made this long and lonely journey to save me; when she had forced herself into her enemy's presence, and had, as i was sure she had, abased herself for me, was more than i could bear. "hush, mademoiselle, hush!" i said, almost roughly. "you hurt me. you have made me happy: and yet i wish that you were not here, where i fear you have few friends, but back at cocheforêt. you have done more than i expected, and a hundred times more than i deserved. but i was a ruined man before this happened. i am no more now, but i am still that; and i would not have your name pinned to mine on paris lips. therefore, good-bye. god forbid i should say more to you, or let you stay where foul tongues would soon malign you." she looked at me in a kind of wonder; then with a growing smile, "it is too late," she said gently. "too late?" i exclaimed. "how, mademoiselle?" "because--do you remember, m. de berault, what you told me of your love story, by agen? that it could have no happy ending? for the same reason i was not ashamed to tell mine to the cardinal. by this time it is common property." i looked at her as she stood facing me. her eyes shone, but they were downcast. her figure drooped, and yet a smile trembled on her lips. "what did you tell him, mademoiselle?" i whispered, my breath coming quickly. "that i loved," she answered boldly, raising her clear eyes to mine. "and therefore that i was not ashamed to beg, even on my knees. nor ashamed to be with my lover, even in prison." i fell on my knees, and caught her hand before the last word passed her lips. for the moment i forgot king and cardinal, prison and the future, all--all except that this woman, so pure and so beautiful, so far above me in all things, loved me. for the moment, i say. then i remembered myself. i stood up and thrust her from me, in a sudden revulsion of feeling. "you do not know me," i said. "you do not know me. you do not know what i have done." "that is what i do know," she answered, looking at me with a wondrous smile. "ah, but you do not," i cried. "and besides, there is this--this between us." and i picked up the cardinal's letter. it had fallen on the floor. she turned a shade paler. then she said, "open it! open it! it is not sealed, nor closed." i obeyed mechanically, dreading what i might see. even when i had it open i looked at the finely scrawled characters with eyes askance. but at last i made it out. it ran thus:-- "the king's pleasure is, that m. de berault, having mixed himself up with affairs of state, retire forthwith to the manor of cocheforêt, and confine himself within its limits, until the king's pleasure be further known. "richelieu." on the next day we were married. the same evening we left paris, and i retraced, in her company, the road which i had twice traversed alone and in heaviness. a fortnight later we were at cocheforêt, in the brown woods under the southern mountains; and the great cardinal, once more triumphant over his enemies, saw, with cold, smiling eyes, the world pass through his chamber. the flood-tide, which then set in, lasted thirteen years; in brief, until his death. for the world had learned its lesson, and was not to be deceived a second time. to this hour they call that day, which saw me stand for all his friends, "the day of dupes." the end count hannibal sorori su causs carae pio erga matrem amore etiam cariori hoc frater contents chapter i. crimson favours. ii. hannibal de saulx, comte de tavannes. iii. the house next the golden maid. iv. the eve of the feast. v. a rough wooing. vi. "who touches tavannes?" vii. in the amphitheatre. viii. two hens and an egg. ix. unstable. x. madame st. lo. xi. a bargain. xii. in the hall of the louvre. xiii. diplomacy. xiv. too short a spoon. xv. the brother of st. magloire. xvi. at close quarters. xvii. the duel. xviii. andromeda, perseus being absent. xix. in the orlÉannais. xx. on the castle hill. xxi. she would, and would not. xxii. playing with fire. xxiii. a mind, and not a mind. xxiv. at the king's inn. xxv. the company of the bleeding heart. xxvi. temper. xxvii. the black town. xxviii. in the little chapter house. xxix. the escape. xxx. sacrilege! xxxi. the flight from angers. xxxii. the ordeal by steel. xxxiii. the ambush. xxxiv. "which will you, madame?" xxxv. against the wall. xxxvi. his kingdom. count hannibal. chapter i. crimson favours. m. de tavannes smiled. mademoiselle averted her eyes, and shivered; as if the air, even of that close summer night, entering by the door at her elbow, chilled her. and then came a welcome interruption. "tavannes!" "sire!" count hannibal rose slowly. the king had called, and he had no choice but to obey and go. yet he hung a last moment over his companion, his hateful breath stirring her hair. "our pleasure is cut short too soon, mademoiselle," he said, in the tone and with the look she loathed. "but for a few hours only. we shall meet to-morrow. or, it may be--earlier." she did not answer, and "tavannes!" the king repeated with violence. "tavannes! mordieu!" his majesty continued, looking round furiously. "will no one fetch him? sacré nom, am i king, or a dog of a----" "i come, sire!" count hannibal cried in haste. for charles, king of france, ninth of the name, was none of the most patient; and scarce another in the court would have ventured to keep him waiting so long. "i come, sire; i come!" tavannes repeated, as he moved from her side. he shouldered his way through the circle of courtiers, who barred the road to the presence, and in part hid mademoiselle from observation. he pushed past the table at which charles and the comte de rochefoucauld had been playing primero, and at which the latter still sat, trifling idly with the cards. three more paces, and he reached the king, who stood in the _ruelle_ with rambouillet and the italian marshal. it was the latter who, a moment before, had summoned his majesty from his game. mademoiselle, watching him go, saw so much; so much, and the king's roving eyes and haggard face, and the four figures, posed apart in the fuller light of the upper half of the chamber. then the circle of courtiers came together before her, and she sat back on her stool. a fluttering, long-drawn sigh escaped her. now, if she could slip out and make her escape! now--she looked round. she was not far from the door; to withdraw seemed easy. but a staring, whispering knot of gentlemen and pages blocked the way; and the girl, ignorant of the etiquette of the court and with no more than a week's experience of paris, had not the courage to rise and pass alone through the group. she had come to the louvre this saturday evening under the wing of madame d'yverne, her _fiancé's_ cousin. by ill hap madame had been summoned to the princess dowager's closet, and perforce had left her. still, mademoiselle had her betrothed, and in his charge had sat herself down to wait, nothing loth, in the great gallery, where all was bustle and gaiety and entertainment. for this, the seventh day of the fêtes, held to celebrate the marriage of the king of navarre and charles's sister--a marriage which was to reconcile the two factions of the huguenots and the catholics, so long at war--saw the louvre as gay, as full, and as lively as the first of the fête days had found it; and in the humours of the throng, in the ceaseless passage of masks and maids of honour, guards and bishops, swiss in the black, white and green of anjou, and huguenot nobles in more sombre habits, the country-bred girl had found recreation and to spare. until gradually the evening had worn away and she had begun to feel nervous; and m. de tignonville, her betrothed, placing her in the embrasure of a window, had gone to seek madame. she had waited for a time without much misgiving; expecting each moment to see him return. he would be back before she could count a hundred; he would be back before she could number the leagues that separated her from her beloved province, and the home by the biscay sea, to which even in that brilliant scene her thoughts turned fondly. but the minutes had passed, and passed, and he had not returned. worse, in his place tavannes--not the marshal, but his brother count hannibal--had found her; he, whose odious court, at once a menace and an insult, had subtly enveloped her for a week past. he had sat down beside her, he had taken possession of her, and, profiting by her inexperience, had played on her fears and smiled at her dislike. finally, whether she would or no, he had swept her with him into the chamber. the rest had been an obsession, a nightmare, from which only the king's voice summoning tavannes to his side had relieved her. her aim now was to escape before he returned, and before another, seeing her alone, adopted his _rôle_ and was rude to her. already the courtiers about her were beginning to stare, the pages to turn and titter and whisper. direct her gaze as she might, she met some eye watching her, some couple enjoying her confusion. to make matters worse, she presently discovered that she was the only woman in the chamber; and she conceived the notion that she had no right to be there at that hour. at the thought her cheeks burned, her eyes dropped; the room seemed to buzz with her name, with gross words and jests, and gibes at her expense. at last, when the situation had grown nearly unbearable, the group before the door parted, and tignonville appeared. the girl rose with a cry of relief, and he came to her. the courtiers glanced at the two and smiled. he did not conceal his astonishment at finding her there. "but, mademoiselle, how is this?" he asked in a low voice. he was as conscious of the attention they attracted as she was, and as uncertain on the point of her right to be there. "i left you in the gallery. i came back, missed you, and----" she stopped him by a gesture. "not here!" she muttered, with suppressed impatience. "i will tell you outside. take me--take me out, if you please, monsieur, at once!" he was as glad to be gone as she was to go. the group by the doorway parted; she passed through it, he followed. in a moment the two stood in the great gallery, above the salle des caryatides. the crowd which had paraded here an hour before was gone, and the vast echoing apartment, used at that date as a guard-room, was well-nigh empty. only at rare intervals, in the embrasure of a window or the recess of a door, a couple talked softly. at the farther end, near the head of the staircase which led to the hall below, and the courtyard, a group of armed swiss lounged on guard. mademoiselle shot a keen glance up and down, then she turned to her lover, her face hot with indignation. "why did you leave me?" she asked. "why did you leave me, if you could not come back at once? do you understand, sir," she continued, "that it was at your instance i came to paris, that i came to this court, and that i look to you for protection?" "surely," he said. "and----" "and do you think carlat and his wife fit guardians for me? should i have come or thought of coming to this wedding, but for your promise, and madame your cousin's? if i had not deemed myself almost your wife," she continued warmly, "and secure of your protection, should i have come within a hundred miles of this dreadful city? to which, had i my will, none of our people should have come." "dreadful? pardieu, not so dreadful," he answered, smiling, and striving to give the dispute a playful turn. "you have seen more in a week than you would have seen at vrillac in a lifetime, mademoiselle." "and i choke!" she retorted; "i choke! do you not see how they look at us, at us huguenots, in the street? how they, who live here, point at us and curse us? how the very dogs scent us out and snarl at our heels, and the babes cross themselves when we go by? can you see the place des gastines and not think what stood there? can you pass the grève at night and not fill the air above the river with screams and wailings and horrible cries--the cries of our people murdered on that spot?" she paused for breath, recovered herself a little, and in a lower tone, "for me," she said, "i think of philippine de luns by day and by night! the eaves are a threat to me; the tiles would fall on us had they their will; the houses nod to--to----" "to what, mademoiselle?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders and assuming a tone of cynicism. "to crush us! yes, monsieur, to crush us!" "and all this because i left you for a moment?" "for an hour--or well-nigh an hour," she answered more soberly. "but if i could not help it?" "you should have thought of that--before you brought me to paris, monsieur. in these troublous times." he coloured warmly. "you are unjust, mademoiselle," he said. "there are things you forget; in a court one is not always master of oneself." "i know it," she answered drily, thinking of that through which she had gone. "but you do not know what happened!" he returned with impatience. "you do not understand that i am not to blame. madame d'yverne, when i reached the princess dowager's closet, had left to go to the queen of navarre. i hurried after her, and found a score of gentlemen in the king of navarre's chamber. they were holding a council, and they begged, nay, they compelled me to remain." "and it was that which detained you so long?" "to be sure, mademoiselle." "and not--madame st. lo?" m. de tignonville's face turned scarlet. the thrust in tierce was unexpected. this then was the key to mademoiselle's spirt of temper. "i do not understand you," he stammered. "how long were you in the king of navarre's chamber, and how long with madame st. lo?" she asked with fine irony. "or no, i will not tempt you," she went on quickly, seeing him hesitate. "i heard you talking to madame st. lo in the gallery while i sat within. and i know how long you were with her." "i met madame as i returned," he stammered, his face still hot, "and i asked her where you were. i did not know, mademoiselle, that i was, not to speak to ladies of my acquaintance." "i was alone, and i was waiting." "i could not know that--for certain," he answered, making the best of it. "you were not where i left you. i thought, i confess--that you had gone. that you had gone home." "with whom? with whom?" she repeated pitilessly. "was it likely? with whom was i to go? and yet it is true, i might have gone home had i pleased--with m. de tavannes! yes," she continued, in a tone of keen reproach and with the blood mounting to her forehead, "it is to that, monsieur, you expose me! to be pursued, molested, harassed by a man whose look terrifies me, and whose touch i--i detest! to be addressed wherever i go by a man whose every word proves that he thinks me game for the hunter, and you a thing he may neglect. you are a man and you do not know, you cannot know what i suffer! what i have suffered this week past whenever you have left my side!" tignonville looked gloomy. "what has he said to you?" he asked, between his teeth. "nothing i can tell you," she answered with a shudder. "it was he who took me into the chamber." "why did you go?" "wait until he bids you do something," she answered. "his manner, his smile, his tone, all frighten me. and to-night, in all these there was a something worse, a hundred times worse than when i saw him last--on thursday! he seemed to--to gloat on me," the girl stammered, with a flush of shame, "as if i were his! oh, monsieur, i wish we had not left our poitou! shall we ever see vrillac again, and the fishers' huts about the port, and the sea beating blue against the long brown causeway?" he had listened darkly, almost sullenly; but at this, seeing the tears gather in her eyes, he forced a laugh. "why, you are as bad as m. de rosny and the vidame!" he said. "and they are as full of fears as an egg is of meat! since the admiral was wounded by that scoundrel on friday, they think all paris is in a league against us." "and why not!" she asked, her cheek grown pale, her eyes reading his eyes. "why not? why, because it is a monstrous thing even to think of!" tignonville answered, with the confidence of one who did not use the argument for the first time. "could they insult the king more deeply than by such a suspicion? a borgia may kill his guests, but it was never a practice of the kings of france! pardieu, i have no patience with them! they may lodge where they please, across the river, or without the walls if they choose, the rue de l'arbre sec is good enough for me, and the king's name sufficient surety!" "i know you are not apt to be fearful," she answered, smiling; and she looked at him with a woman's pride in her lover. "all the same, you will not desert me again, sir, will you?" he vowed he would not, kissed her hand, looked into her eyes; then melting to her, stammering, blundering, he named madame st. lo. she stopped him. "there is no need," she said, answering his look with kind eyes, and refusing to hear his protestations. "in a fortnight will you not be my husband? how should i distrust you? it was only that while she talked, i waited--i waited; and--and that madame st. lo is count hannibal's cousin. for a moment i was mad enough to dream that she held you on purpose. you do not think it was so?" "she!" he cried sharply; and he winced, as if the thought hurt him. "absurd! the truth is, mademoiselle," he continued with a little heat, "you are like so many of our people! you think a catholic capable of the worst." "we have long thought so at vrillac," she answered gravely. "that's over now, if people would only understand. this wedding has put an end to all that. but i'm harking back," he continued awkwardly; and he stopped. "instead, let me take you home." "if you please. carlat and the servants should be below." he took her left hand in his right after the wont of the day, and with his other hand touching his sword-hilt, he led her down the staircase, that by a single turn reached the courtyard of the palace. here a mob of armed servants, of lacqueys, and foot-boys, some bearing torches, and some carrying their masters' cloaks and _galoshes_, loitered to and fro. had m. de tignonville been a little more observant, or a trifle less occupied with his own importance, he might have noted more than one face which looked darkly on him; he might have caught more than one overt sneer at his expense. but in the business of summoning carlat--mademoiselle de vrillac's steward and major-domo--he lost the contemptuous "christaudins!" that hissed from a footboy's lips, and the "southern dogs!" that died in the moustachios of a bully in the livery of the king's brother. he was engaged in finding the steward, and in aiding him to cloak his mistress; then with a ruffling air, a new acquirement, which he had picked up since he came to paris, he made a way for her through the crowd. a moment, and the three, followed by half a dozen armed servants, bearing pikes and torches, detached themselves from the throng, and crossing the courtyard, with its rows of lighted windows, passed out by the gate between the tennis courts, and so into the rue des fosses de st. germain. before them, against a sky in which the last faint glow of evening still contended with the stars, the spire and pointed arches of the church of st. germain rose darkly graceful. it was something after nine; the heat of the august day brooded over the crowded city, and dulled the faint distant ring of arms and armour that yet would make itself heard above the hush; a hush which was not silence so much as a subdued hum. as mademoiselle passed the closed house beside the cloister of st. germain where only the day before admiral coligny, the leader of the huguenots, had been wounded, she pressed her escort's hand, and involuntarily drew nearer to him. but he laughed at her. "it was a private blow," he said, answering her unspoken thought. "it is like enough the guises sped it. but they know now what is the king's will, and they have taken the hint and withdrawn themselves. it will not happen again, mademoiselle. for proof, see the guards"--they were passing the end of the rue bethizy, in the corner house of which, abutting on the rue de l'arbre sec, coligny had his lodgings--"whom the king has placed for his security. fifty pikes under cosseins." "cosseins?" she repeated. "but i thought cosseins----" "was not wont to love us!" tignonville answered with a confident chuckle. "he was not. but the dogs lick where the master wills, mademoiselle. he was not, but he does. this marriage has altered all." "i hope it may not prove an unlucky one!" she murmured. she felt impelled to say it. "not it!" he answered confidently. "why should it?" they stopped, as he spoke, before the last house, at the corner of the rue st. honoré opposite the croix du tiroir; which rose shadowy in the middle of the four ways. he hammered on the door. "but," she said softly, looking in his face, "the change is sudden, is it not? the king was not wont to be so good to us!" "the king was not king until now," he answered "that is what i am trying to persuade our people. believe me, mademoiselle, you may sleep without fear; and early in the morning i will be with you. carlat, have a care of your mistress until morning, and let madame lie in her chamber. she is nervous to-night. there, sweet, until morning! god keep you, and pleasant dreams!" he uncovered, and bowing over her hand, kissed it; and the door being open he would have turned away. but she lingered as if unwilling to enter. "there is--do you hear it--a stir in _that_ quarter?" she said, pointing across the rue st. honoré. "what lies there?" "northward? the markets," he answered. "'tis nothing. they say, you know, that paris never sleeps. good-night, sweet, and a fair awakening!" she shivered as she had shivered under tavannes' eye. and still she lingered, keeping him. "are you going to your lodging at once?" she asked--for the sake, it seemed, of saying something. "i?" he answered a little hurriedly. "no, i was thinking of paying rochefoucauld the compliment of seeing him home. he has taken a new lodging to be near the admiral; a horrid bare place in the rue bethizy, without furniture, but he would go into it to-day. and he has a sort of claim on my family, you know." "yes," she said simply. "of course. then i must not detain you. god keep you safe," she continued, with a faint quiver in her tone; and her lip trembled. "good-night, and fair dreams, monsieur." he echoed the words gallantly. "of you, sweet!" he cried; and turning away with a gesture of farewell, he set off on his return. he walked briskly, nor did he look back, though she stood awhile gazing after him. she was not aware that she gave thought to this; nor that it hurt her. yet when bolt and bar had shot behind her, and she had mounted the cold, bare staircase of that day--when she had heard the dull echoing footsteps of her attendants as they withdrew to their lairs and sleeping-places, and still more when she had crossed the threshold of her chamber, and signed to madame carlat and her woman to listen--it is certain she felt a lack of something. perhaps the chill that possessed her came of that lack, which she neither defined nor acknowledged. or possibly it came of the night air, august though it was; or of sheer nervousness, or of the remembrance of count hannibal's smile. whatever its origin, she took it to bed with her; and long after the house slept round her, long after the crowded quarter of the halles had begun to heave and the sorbonne to vomit a black-frocked band, long after the tall houses in the gabled streets, from st. antoine to montmartre and from st. denis on the north to st. jacques on the south, had burst into rows of twinkling lights--nay, long after the quarter of the louvre alone remained dark, girdled by this strange midnight brightness--she lay awake. at length she too slept, and dreamed of home and the wide skies of poitou, and her castle of vrillac washed day and night by the biscay tides. chapter ii. hannibal de saulx, comte de tavannes. "tavannes!" "sire." tavannes, we know, had been slow to obey the summons. emerging from the crowd he found that the king, with retz and rambouillet, his marshal des logis, had retired to the farther end of the chamber; apparently charles had forgotten that he had called. his head a little bent--he was tall and had a natural stoop--the king seemed to be listening to a low but continuous murmur of voices which proceeded from the door of his closet. one voice frequently raised was beyond doubt a woman's; a foreign accent, smooth and silky, marked another; a third, that from time to time broke in, wilful and impetuous, was the voice of monsieur, the king's brother, catherine de médicis' favourite son. tavannes, waiting respectfully two paces behind the king, could catch little that was said; but charles, something more, it seemed, for on a sudden he laughed, a violent, mirthless laugh. and he clapped rambouillet on the shoulder. "there!" he said, with one of his horrible oaths, "'tis settled! 'tis settled! go, man, and take your orders! and you, m. de retz," he continued, in a tone of savage mockery, "go, my lord, and give them!" "i, sire?" the italian marshal answered in accents of deprecation. there were times when the young king would show his impatience of the italian ring, the retzs and biragues, the strozzis and gondys, with whom his mother surrounded him. "yes, you!" charles answered. "you and my lady mother! and in god's name answer for it at the day!" he continued vehemently. "you will have it! you will not let me rest till you have it! then have it, only see to it, it be done thoroughly! there shall not be one left to cast it in the king's teeth and cry, 'et tu, carole!' swim, swim in blood if you will," he continued with growing wildness. "oh, 'twill be a merry night! and it's true so far, you may kill fleas all day, but burn the coat, and there's an end. so burn it, burn it, and----" he broke off with a start as he discovered tavannes at his elbow. "god's death, man!" he cried roughly, "who sent for you?" "your majesty called me," tavannes answered; while, partly urged by the king's hand, and partly anxious to escape, the others slipped into the closet and left them together. "i sent for you? i called your brother, the marshal!" "he is within, sire," tavannes answered, indicating the closet. "a moment ago i heard his voice." charles passed his shaking hand across his eyes. "is he?" he muttered. "so he is! i heard it too. and--and a man cannot be in two places at once!" then while his haggard gaze, passing by tavannes, roved round the chamber, he laid his hand on count hannibal's breast. "they give me no peace, madame and the guises," he whispered, his face hectic with excitement. "they will have it. they say that coligny--they say that he beards me in my own palace. and--and, _mordieu_," with sudden violence, "it's true! it's true enough! it was but to-day he was for making terms with me! with me, the king! making terms! so it shall be, by god and devil, it shall! but not six or seven! no, no. all! all! there shall not be one left to say to me, 'you did it!'" "softly, sire," tavannes answered; for charles had gradually raised his voice. "you will be observed." for the first time the young king--he was but twenty-two years old, god pity him!--looked at his companion. "to be sure," he whispered; and his eyes grew cunning. "besides, and after all, there's another way, if i choose. oh, i've thought and thought, i'd have you know." and shrugging his shoulders, almost to his ears, he raised and lowered his open hands alternately, while his back hid the movement from the chamber. "see-saw! see-saw!" he muttered. "and the king between the two, you see. that's madame's king-craft. she's shown me that a hundred times. but look you, it is as easy to lower the one as the other," with a cunning glance at tavannes' face, "or to cut off the right as the left. and--and the admiral's an old man and will pass; and for the matter of that i like to hear him talk. he talks well. while the others, guise and his kind, are young, and i've thought, oh, yes, i've thought--but there," with a sudden harsh laugh, "my lady mother will have it her own way. and for this time she shall, but, all! all! even foucauld, there! do you mark him? he's sorting the cards. do you see him--as he will be to-morrow, with the slit in his throat and his teeth showing? why, god!" his voice rising almost to a scream, "the candles by him are burning blue!" and with a shaking hand, his face convulsed, the young king clutched his companion's arm, and pinched it. count hannibal shrugged his shoulders, but answered nothing. "d'you think we shall see them afterwards?" charles resumed, in a sharp, eager whisper. "in our dreams, man? or when the watchman cries, and we awake, and the monks are singing lauds at st. germain, and--and the taper is low?" tavannes' lip curled. "i don't dream, sire," he answered coldly, "and i seldom wake. for the rest, i fear my enemies neither alive nor dead." "don't you? by g--d, i wish i didn't," the young man exclaimed. his brow was wet with sweat. "i wish i didn't. but there, it's settled. they've settled it, and i would it were done! what do you think of--of it, man? what do you think of it, yourself?" count hannibal's face was inscrutable. "i think nothing, sire," he said drily. "it is for your majesty and your council to think. it is enough for me that it is the king's will." "but you'll not flinch?" charles muttered, with a quick look of suspicion. "but there," with a monstrous oath, "i know you'll not! i believe you'd as soon kill a monk--though, thank god," and he crossed himself devoutly, "there is no question of that--as a man. and sooner than a maiden." "much sooner, sire," tavannes answered grimly. "if you have any orders in the monkish direction--no? then your majesty must not talk to me longer. m. de rochefoucauld is beginning to wonder what is keeping your majesty from your game. and others are marking you, sire." "by the lord!" charles exclaimed, a ring of wonder mingled with horror in his tone, "if they knew what was in our minds they'd mark us more! yet, see nançay there beside the door? he is unmoved. he looks to-day as he looked yesterday. yet he has charge of the work in the palace----" for the first time tavannes allowed a movement of surprise to escape him. "in the palace?" he muttered. "is it to be done here, too, sire?" "would you let some escape, to return by-and-by and cut our throats?" the king retorted with a strange spirt of fury; an incapacity to maintain the same attitude of mind for two minutes together was the most fatal weakness of his ill-balanced nature. "no. all! all!" he repeated with vehemence. "didn't noah people the earth with eight? but i'll not leave eight! my cousins, for they are blood-royal, shall live if they will recant. and my old nurse whether or no. and paré, for no one else understands my complexion. and----" "and rochefoucauld, doubtless, sire?" the king, whose eye had sought his favourite companion, withdrew it. he darted a glance at tavannes. "foucauld? who said so?" he muttered jealously. "not i! but we shall see. we shall see! and do you see that you spare no one, m. le comte, without an order. that is your business." "i understand, sire," tavannes answered coolly. and after a moment's silence, seeing that the king had done with him, he bowed low and withdrew; watched by the circle, as all about a king were watched in the days when a king's breath meant life or death, and his smile made the fortunes of men. as he passed rochefoucauld, the latter looked up and nodded. "what keeps brother charles?" he muttered. "he's madder than ever to-night. is it a masque or a murder he is planning?" "the vapours," tavannes answered with a sneer. "old tales his old nurse has stuffed him withal. he'll come by-and-by, and 'twill be well if you can divert him." "i will if he come," rochefoucauld answered, shuffling the cards. "if not 'tis chicot's business and he should attend to it. i'm tired and shall to bed." "he will come," tavannes answered, and moved, as if to go on. then he paused for a last word. "he will come," he muttered, stooping and speaking under his breath, his eyes on the other's face. "but play him lightly. he is in an ugly mood. please him, if you can, and it may serve." the eyes of the two met an instant, and those of foucauld--so the king called his huguenot favourite--betrayed some surprise; for count hannibal and he were not intimate. but seeing that the other was in earnest, he raised his brows in acknowledgment. tavannes nodded carelessly in return, looked an instant at the cards on the table, and passed on, pushed his way through the circle, and reached the door. he was lifting the curtain to go out, when nauçay, the captain of the guard, plucked his sleeve. "what have you been saying to foucauld, m. de tavannes?" he muttered. "i?" "yes," with a jealous glance, "you, m. le comte." count hannibal looked at him with the sudden ferocity that made the man a proverb at court. "what i chose, m. le capitaine des suisses!" he hissed. and his hand closed like a vice on the other's wrist. "what i chose, look you! and remember, another time, that i am not a huguenot, and say what i please." "but there is great need of care," nançay protested, stammering and flinching. "and--and i have orders, m. le comte." "your orders are not for me," tavannes answered, releasing his arm with a contemptuous gesture. "and look you, man, do not cross my path to-night. you know our motto? who touches my brother, touches tavannes! be warned by it." nançay scowled. "but the priests say, 'if your hand offend you, cut it off!'" he muttered. tavannes laughed, a sinister laugh. "if you offend me i'll cut your throat," he said; and with no ceremony he went out, and dropped the curtain behind him. nançay looked after him, his face pale with rage. "curse him!" he whispered, rubbing his wrist. "if he were anyone else i would teach him! but he would as soon run you through in the presence as in the pré aux clercs! and his brother, the marshal, has the king's ear! and madame catherine's too, which is worse!" he was still fuming when an officer in the colours of monsieur, the king's brother, entered hurriedly, and keeping his hand on the curtain, looked anxiously round the chamber. as soon as his eye found nançay, his face cleared. "have you the reckoning?" he muttered. "there are seventeen huguenots in the palace besides their highnesses," nançay replied, in the same cautious tone. "not counting two or three who are neither the one thing nor the other. in addition, there are the two montmorencies; but they are to go safe for fear of their brother, who is not in the trap. he is too like his father, the old bench-burner, to be lightly wronged! and besides, there is paré, who is to go to his majesty's closet as soon as the gates are shut. if the king decides to save anyone else, he will send him to his closet. so 'tis all clear and arranged here. if you are as forward outside, it will be well! who deals with the gentleman with the toothpick?" "the admiral? monsieur, guise, and the grand prior; cosseins and besme have charge. 'tis to be done first. then the provost will raise the town. he will have a body of stout fellows ready at three or four rendezvous, so that the fire may blaze up everywhere at once. marcel, the ex-provost, has the same commission south of the river. orders to light the town as for a frolic have been given, and the halles will be ready." nançay nodded, reflected a moment, and then with an involuntary shudder, "god!" he exclaimed, "it will shake the world!" "you think so?" "ay, will it not!" his next words showed that he bore tavannes' warning in mind. "for me, my friend, i go in mail to-night," he said. "there will be many a score paid before morning, besides his majesty's. and many a left-handed blow will be struck in the _mêlée!_" the other crossed himself. "grant none light here!" he said devoutly. and with a last look he nodded and went out. in the doorway he jostled a person who was in the act of entering. it was m. de tignonville, who, seeing nançay at his elbow, saluted him, and stood looking round. the young man's face was flushed, his eyes were bright with unwonted excitement. "m. de rochefoucauld?" he asked eagerly. "he has not left yet?" nançay caught the thrill in his voice, and marked the young man's flushed face, and altered bearing. he noted, too, the crumpled paper he carried half-hidden in his hand; and the captain's countenance grew dark. he drew a step nearer and his hand reached softly for his dagger. but his voice when he spoke was smooth as the surface of the pleasure-loving court, smooth as the externals of all things in paris that summer evening. "he is here still," he said. "have you news, m. de tignonville?" "news?" "for m. de rochefoucauld?" tignonville laughed. "no," he said. "i am here to see him to his lodging, that is all. news, captain? what made you think so?" "that which you have in your hand," nançay answered, his fears relieved. the young man blushed to the roots of his hail "it is not for him," he said. "i can see that, monsieur," nançay answered politely. "he has his successes, but all the billets-doux do not go one way." the young man laughed, a conscious, flattered laugh. he was handsome, with such a face as women love, but there was a lack of ease in the way he wore his court suit. it was a trifle finer, too, than accorded with huguenot taste; or it looked the finer for the way he wore it, even as teliguy's and foucauld's velvet capes and stiff brocades lost their richness and became but the adjuncts, fitting and graceful, of the men. odder still, as tignonville laughed, half hiding and half revealing the dainty, scented paper in his hand, his clothes seemed smarter and he more awkward than usual. "it is from a lady," he admitted. "but a bit of badinage, i assure you, nothing more." "understood!" m. de nançay murmured politely. "i congratulate you." "but----" "i say i congratulate you!" "but it is nothing." "oh, i understand. and see, the king is about to rise. go forward, monsieur," he continued benevolently. "a young man should show himself. besides his majesty likes you well," he added with a leer. he had an unpleasant sense of humour, had his majesty's captain of the guard; and this evening somewhat more than ordinary on which to exercise it. tignonville held too good an opinion of himself to suspect the other of badinage; and thus encouraged he pushed his way to the front of the circle. during his absence with his betrothed, the crowd in the chamber had grown thin, the candles had burned an inch shorter in the sconces. but though many who had been there, had left, the more select remained, and the king's return to his seat had given the company a fillip. an air of feverish gaiety, common in the unhealthy life of the court, prevailed. at a table abreast of the king, montpensier and marshal cossé were dicing and disputing, with now a yell of glee, and now an oath, that betrayed which way fortune inclined. at the back of the king's chair, chicot, his gentleman-jester, hung over charles's shoulder, now scanning his cards, and now making hideous faces that threw the onlookers into fits of laughter. farther up the chamber, at the end of the alcove, marshal tavannes--our hannibal's brother--occupied a low stool, which was set opposite the open door of the closet. through this doorway a slender foot, silk-clad, shot now and again into sight; it came, it vanished, it came again, the gallant marshal striving at each appearance to rob it of its slipper, a dainty jewelled thing of crimson velvet. he failed thrice, a peal of laughter greeting each failure. at the fourth essay, he upset his stool and fell to the floor, but held the slipper. and not the slipper only, but the foot. amid a flutter of silken skirts and dainty laces--while the hidden beauty shrilly protested--he dragged first the ankle, and then a shapely leg into sight. the circle applauded; the lady, feeling herself still drawn on, screamed loudly and more loudly. all save the king and his opponent turned to look. and then the sport came to a sudden end. a sinewy hand appeared, interposed, released; for an instant the dark, handsome face of guise looked through the doorway. it was gone as soon as seen; it was there a second only. but more than one recognised it, and wondered. for was not the young duke in evil odour with the king by reason of the attack on the admiral? and had he not been chased from paris only that morning and forbidden to return? they were still wondering, still gazing, when abruptly--as he did all things--charles thrust back his chair. "foucauld, you owe me ten pieces!" he cried with glee, and he slapped the table. "pay, my friend; pay!" "to-morrow, little master; to-morrow!" rochefoucauld answered in the same tone. and he rose to his feet. "to-morrow!" charles repeated. "to-morrow?" and on the word his jaw fell. he looked wildly round. his face was ghastly. "well, sire, and why not?" rochefoucauld answered in astonishment. and in his turn he looked round, wondering; and a chill fell on him. "why not?" he repeated. for a moment no one answered him: the silence in the chamber was intense. where he looked, wherever he looked, he met solemn, wondering eyes, such eyes as gaze on men in their coffins. "what has come to you all?" he cried with an effort. "what is the jest, for faith, sire, i don't see it?" the king seemed incapable of speech, and it was chicot who filled the gap. "it is pretty apparent," he said with a rude laugh. "the cock will lay and foucauld will pay--to-morrow!" the young nobleman's colour rose; between him and the gascon gentleman was no love lost. "there are some debts i pay to-day," he cried haughtily. "for the rest, farewell my little master! when one does not understand the jest it is time to be gone." he was half-way to the door, watched by all, when the king spoke. "foucauld!" he cried in an odd, strangled voice. "foucauld!" and the huguenot favourite turned back, wondering. "one minute!" the king continued in the same forced voice. "stay till morning--in my closet. it is late now. we'll play away the rest of the night!" "your majesty must excuse me," rochefoucauld answered frankly. "i am dead asleep." "you can sleep in the garde-robe," the king persisted. "thank you for nothing, sire!" was the gay answer. "i know that bed! i shall sleep longer and better in my own." the king shuddered, but strove to hide the movement under a shrug of his shoulders. he turned away. "it is god's will!" he muttered. he was white to the lips. rochefoucauld did not catch the words. "good night, sire," he cried. "farewell, little master." and with a nod here and there, he passed to the door, followed by mergey and chamont, two gentlemen of his suite. nançay raised the curtain with an obsequious gesture. "pardon me, m. le comte," he said, "do you go to his highness's?" "for a few minutes, nançay." "permit me to go with you. the guards may be set." "do so, my friend," rochefoucauld answered. "ah, tignonville, is it you!" "i am come to attend you to your lodging," the young man said. and he ranged up beside the other, as, the curtain fallen behind them, they walked along the gallery. rochefoucauld stopped and laid his hand on tignonville's sleeve. "thanks, dear lad," he said, "but i am going to the princess dowager's. afterwards to his highness's. i may be detained an hour or more. you will not like to wait so long." m. de tignonville's face fell ludicrously. "well, no," he said. "i--i don't think i could wait so long--to-night." "then come to-morrow night," rochefoucauld answered with good nature. "with pleasure," the other cried heartily, his relief evident. "certainly. with pleasure." and, nodding good-night, they parted. while rochefoucauld, with nançay at his side and his gentlemen attending him, passed along the echoing and now empty gallery, the younger man bounded down the stairs to the great hall of the caryatides, his face radiant. he for one was not sleepy. chapter iii. the house next the "golden maid." we have it on record that before the comte de la rochefoucauld left the louvre that night he received the strongest hints of the peril which threatened him; and at least one written warning was handed to him by a stranger in black, and by him in turn was communicated to the king of navarre. we are told further that when he took his final leave, about the hour of eleven, he found the courtyard brilliantly lighted, and the three companies of guards--swiss, scotch, and french--drawn up in ranked array from the door of the great hall to the gate which opened on the street. but, the chronicler adds, neither this precaution, sinister as it appeared to some of his suite, nor the grave farewell which rambouillet, from his post at the gate, took of one of his gentlemen, shook that chivalrous soul or sapped its generous confidence. m. de tignonville was young and less versed in danger than the governor of rochelle; with him, had he seen so much, it might have been different. but he left the louvre an hour earlier--at a time when the precincts of the palace, gloomy-seeming to us in the light cast by coming events, wore their wonted aspect. his thoughts, moreover, as he crossed the courtyard, were otherwise employed. so much so, indeed, that though he signed to his two servants to follow him, he seemed barely conscious what he was doing; nor did he shake off his reverie until he reached the corner of the rue baillet. here the voices of the swiss who stood on guard opposite coligny's lodgings, at the end of the rue bethizy, could be plainly heard. they had kindled a fire in an iron basket set in the middle of the road, and knots of them were visible in the distance, moving to and fro about their piled arms. tignonville paused before he came within the radius of the firelight, and turning, bade his servants take their way home. "i shall follow, but i have business first," he added curtly. the elder of the two demurred. "the streets are not too safe," he said. "in two hours or less, my lord, it will be midnight. and then----" "go, booby; do you think i am a child?" his master retorted angrily. "i've my sword and can use it. i shall not be long. and do you hear, men, keep a still tongue, will you?" the men, country fellows, obeyed reluctantly, and with a full intention of sneaking after him the moment he had turned his back. but he suspected them of this, and stood where he was until they had passed the fire, and could no longer detect his movements. then he plunged quickly into the rue baillet, gained through it the rue du roule, and traversing that also turned to the right into the rue ferronerie, the main thoroughfare, east and west, of paris. here he halted in front of the long, dark outer wall of the cemetery of the innocents, in which, across the tombstones and among the sepulchres of dead paris, the living paris of that day, bought and sold, walked, gossiped, and made love. about him things were to be seen that would have seemed stranger to him had he been less strange to the city. from the quarter of the markets north of him, a quarter which fenced in the cemetery on two sides, the same dull murmur proceeded, which mademoiselle de vrillac had remarked an hour earlier. the sky above the cemetery glowed with reflected light, the cause of which was not far to seek, for every window of the tall houses that overlooked it, and the huddle of booths about it, contributed a share of the illumination. at an hour late even for paris, an hour when honest men should have been sunk in slumber, this strange brilliance did for a moment perplex him; but the past week had been so full of fêtes, of masques and frolics, often devised on the moment and dependent on the king's whim, that he set this also down to such a cause, and wondered and no more. the lights in the houses flung their radiance high, and did not serve his purpose; but beside the closed gate of the cemetery, between two stalls, was a votive lamp burning before an image of the mother and child. he crossed to this, and assuring himself by a glance to right and left that he stood in no danger from prowlers, he drew a note from his breast. it had been slipped into his hand in the gallery before he saw mademoiselle to her lodging; it had been in his possession barely an hour. but brief as its contents were, and easily committed to memory, he had perused it thrice already. "at the house next the 'golden maid,' rue cinq diamants, an hour before midnight, you may find the door open should you desire to talk farther with c. st. l." as he read it for the fourth time the light of the lamp fell athwart his face; and even as his fine clothes had never seemed to fit him worse than when he faintly denied the imputations of gallantry launched at him by nançay, so his features had never looked less handsome than they did now. the glow of vanity which warmed his cheek as he read the message, the smile of conceit which wreathed his lips, bespoke a nature not of the most noble; or the lamp did him less than justice. presently he kissed the note, and hid it. he waited until the clock of st. jacques struck the hour before midnight; and then moving forward he turned to the right by way of the narrow neck leading to the rue lombard. he walked in the kennel here, his sword in his hand and his eyes looking to right and left; for the place was notorious for robberies. but though he saw more than one figure lurking in a doorway or under the arch that led to a passage, it vanished on his nearer approach. in less than a minute he reached the southern end of the street that bore the odd title of the five diamonds. situate in the crowded quarter of the butchers, and almost in the shadow of their famous church, this street--which farther north was continued in the rue quimcampoix--presented in those days a not uncommon mingling of poverty and wealth. on one side of the street a row of lofty gabled houses built under francis the first, sheltered persons of good condition; on the other, divided from these by the width of the road and a reeking kennel, a row of pent-houses, the hovels of cobblers and sausage-makers, leaned against shapeless timber houses which tottered upwards in a medley of sagging roofs and bulging gutters. tignonville was strange to the place, and nine nights out of ten he would have been at a disadvantage. but, thanks to the tapers that to-night shone in many windows, he made out enough to see that he need search only the one side; and with a beating heart he passed along the row of newer houses, looking eagerly for the sign of the "golden maid." he found it at last; and then for a moment he stood puzzled. the note said, next door to the "golden maid," but it did not say on which side. he scrutinised the nearer house, but he saw nothing to determine him; and he was proceeding to the farther, when he caught sight of two men, who, ambushed behind a horse-block on the opposite side of the roadway, seemed to be watching his movements. their presence flurried him; but much to his relief his next glance at the houses showed him that the door of the farther one was unlatched. it stood slightly ajar, permitting a beam of light to escape into the street. he stepped quickly to it--the sooner he was within the house the better--pushed the door open and entered. as soon as he was inside he tried to close the entrance behind him, but he found he could not; the door would not shut. after a brief trial he abandoned the attempt and passed quickly on, through a bare lighted passage which led to the foot of a staircase, equally bare. he stood at this point an instant and listened, in the hope that madame's maid would come to him. at first he heard nothing save his own breathing; then a gruff voice from above startled him, "this way, monsieur," it said. "you are early, but not too soon!" so madame trusted her footman! m. de tignonville shrugged his shoulders; but after all, it was no affair of his, and he went up. half-way to the top, however, he stood, an oath on his lips. two men had entered by the open door below--even as he had entered! and as quietly! the imprudence of it! the imprudence of leaving the door so that it could not be closed! he turned and descended to meet them, his teeth set, his hand on his sword, one conjecture after another whirling in his brain. was he beset? was it a trap? was it a rival? was it chance? two steps he descended; and then the voice he had heard before cried again, but more imperatively, "no, monsieur, this way! did you not hear me? this way and be quick, if you please. by-and-by there will be a crowd, and then the more we have dealt with the better!" he knew now that he had made a mistake, that he had entered the wrong house; and naturally his impulse was to continue his descent and secure his retreat. but the pause had brought the two men who had entered face to face with him, and they showed no signs of giving way. on the contrary. "the room is above, monsieur," the foremost said, in a matter-of-fact tone, and with a slight salutation. "after you, if you please," and he signed to him to return. he was a burly man, grim and truculent in appearance, and his follower was like him. tignonville hesitated, then turned and ascended. but as soon as he had reached the landing where they could pass him, he turned again. "i have made a mistake, i think," he said. "i have entered the wrong house." "are you for the house next the 'golden maid,' monsieur?" "yes." "rue cinq diamants, quarter of the boucherie?" "yes." "no mistake then," the stout man replied firmly. "you are early, that is all. you have arms, i see. maillard!"--to the person whose voice tignonville had heard at the head of the stairs--"a white sleeve, and a cross for monsieur's hat, and his name on the register. come, make a beginning! make a beginning, man." "to be sure, monsieur. all is ready." "then lose no time, i say. here are others, also early in the good cause. gentlemen, welcome! welcome all who are for the true faith! death to the heretics! 'kill, and no quarter!' is the word to-night!" "death to the heretics!" the last comers cried in chorus. "kill and no quarter! at what hour, m. le prévot?" "at day-break," the provost answered importantly. "but have no fear, the tocsin will sound. the king and our good man m. de guise have all in hand. a white sleeve, a white cross, and a sharp knife shall rid paris of the vermin! gentlemen of the quarter, the word of the night is 'kill, and no quarter! death to the huguenots!'" "death! death to the huguenots! kill, and no quarter!" a dozen--the room was beginning to fill--waved their weapons and echoed the cry. tignonville had been fortunate enough to apprehend the position--and the peril in which he stood--before maillard advanced to him bearing a white linen sleeve. in the instant of discovery his heart had stood a moment, the blood had left his cheeks; but with some faults, he was no coward, and he managed to hide his emotion. he held out his left arm, and suffered the beadle to pass the sleeve over it and to secure the white linen above the elbow. then at a gesture he gave up his velvet cap, and saw it decorated with a white cross of the same material. "now the register, monsieur," maillard continued briskly; and waving him in the direction of a clerk, who sat at the end of the long table, having a book and an ink-horn before him, he turned to the next comer. tignonville would fain have avoided the ordeal of the register, but the clerk's eye was on him. he had been fortunate so far, but he knew that the least breath of suspicion would destroy him, and summoning his wits together he gave his name in a steady voice. "anne desmartins." it was his mother's maiden name, and the first that came into his mind. "of paris?" "recently; by birth, of the limousin." "good, monsieur," the clerk answered, writing in the name. and he turned to the next. "and you, my friend?" chapter iv. the eve of the feast. it was tignonville's salvation that the men who crowded the long white-walled room, and exchanged vile boasts under the naked flaring lights, were of all classes. there were butchers, natives of the surrounding quarter whom the scent of blood had drawn from their lairs; and there were priests with hatchet faces, who whispered in the butchers' ears. there were gentlemen of the robe, and plain mechanics, rich merchants in their gowns, and bare-armed ragpickers, sleek choristers, and shabby led-captains; but differ as they might in other points, in one thing all were alike. from all, gentle or simple, rose the same cry for blood, the same aspiration to be first equipped for the fray. in one corner a man of rank stood silent and apart, his hand on his sword, the working of his face alone betraying the storm that reigned within. in another, a norman horse-dealer talked in low whispers with two thieves. in a third, a gold-wire drawer addressed an admiring group from the sorbonne; and meantime the middle of the floor grew into a seething mass of muttering, scowling men, through whom the last comers, thrust as they might, had much ado to force their way. and from all under the low ceiling rose a ceaseless hum, though none spoke loud. "kill! kill! kill!" was the burden; the accompaniment such profanities and blasphemies as had long disgraced the paris pulpits, and day by day had fanned the bigotry--already at a white heat--of the parisian populace. tignonville turned sick as he listened, and would fain have closed his ears. but for his life he dared not. and presently a cripple in a beggar's garb, a dwarfish, filthy creature with matted hair, twitched his sleeve, and offered him a whetstone. "are you sharp, noble sir?" he asked with a leer. "are you sharp? it's surprising how the edge goes on the bone. a cut and thrust? well, every man to his taste. but give me a broad butcher's knife and i'll ask no help, be it man, woman, or child!" a bystander, a lean man in rusty black, chuckled as he listened. "but the woman or the child for choice, eh, jehan?" he said. and he looked to tignonville to join in the jest. "ay, give me a white throat for choice!" the cripple answered, with horrible zest. "and there'll be delicate necks to prick to-night! lord, i think i hear them squeal! you don't need it, sir?" he continued, again proffering the whetstone. "no? then i'll give my blade another whet, in the name of our lady, the saints, and good father pezelay!" "ay, and give me a turn!" the lean man cried, proffering his weapon. "may i die if i do not kill one of the accursed for every finger of my hands!" "and toe of my feet!" the cripple answered, not to be outdone. "and toe of my feet! a full score!" "'tis according to your sins!" the other, who had something of the air of a churchman, answered. "the more heretics killed, the more sins forgiven. remember that, brother, and spare not if your soul be burdened! they blaspheme god and call him paste! in the paste of their own blood," he continued ferociously, "i will knead them and roll them out, saith the good father pezelay, my master!" the cripple crossed himself. "whom god keep," he said. "he is a good man. but you are looking ill, noble sir?" he continued, peering curiously at the young huguenot. "'tis the heat," tignonville muttered. "the night is stifling, and the lights make it worse. i will go nearer the door." he hoped to escape them; he had some hope even of escaping from the room and giving the alarm. but when he had forced his way to the threshold, he found it guarded by two pikemen; and glancing back to see if his movements were observed--for he knew that his agitation might have awakened suspicion--he found that the taller of the two whom he had left, the black-garbed man with the hungry face, was watching him a-tiptoe, over the shoulders of the crowd. with that, and the sense of his impotence, the lights began to swim before his eyes. the catastrophe that overhung his party, the fate so treacherously prepared for all whom he loved and all with whom his fortunes were bound up, confused his brain almost to delirium. he strove to think, to calculate chances, to imagine some way in which he might escape from the room, or from a window might cry the alarm. but he could not bring his mind to a point. instead, in lightning flashes he foresaw what must happen: his betrothed in the hands of the murderers, the fair face that had smiled on him frozen with terror; brave men, the fighters of montauban, the defenders of angely, strewn dead through the dark lanes of the city. and now a gust of passion, and now a shudder of fear, seized him; and in any other assembly his agitation must have led to detection. but in that room were many twitching faces and trembling hands. murder, cruel, midnight, and most foul, wrung even from the murderers her toll of horror. while some, to hide the nervousness they felt, babbled of what they would do, others betrayed by the intentness with which they awaited the signal, the dreadful anticipations that possessed their souls. before he had formed any plan, a movement took place near the door. the stairs shook beneath the sudden trampling of feet, a voice cried "de par le roi! de par le roi!" and the babel of the room died down. the throng swayed and fell back on either hand, and marshal tavannes entered, wearing half armour, with a white sash; he was followed by six or eight gentlemen in like guise. amid cries of "jarnac! jarnac!"--for to him the credit of that famous fight, nominally won by the king's brother, was popularly given--he advanced up the room, met the provost of the merchants, and began to confer with him. apparently he asked the latter to select some men who could be trusted on a special mission, for the provost looked round and beckoned to his side one or two of higher rank than the herd, and then one or two of the most truculent aspect. tignonville trembled lest he should be singled out. he had hidden himself as well as he could at the rear of the crowd by the door; but his dress, so much above the common, rendered him conspicuous. he fancied that the provost's eye ranged the crowd for him; and to avoid it and efface himself he moved a pace to his left. the step was fatal. it saved him from the provost, but it brought him face to face and eye to eye with count hannibal, who stood in the first rank at his brother's elbow. tavannes stared an instant as if he doubted his eyesight. then, as doubt gave slow place to certainty, and surprise to amazement, he smiled. and after a moment he looked another way. tignonville's heart gave a great bump and seemed to stand still. the lights whirled before his eyes, there was a roaring in his ears. he waited for the word that should denounce him. it did not come. and still it did not come; and marshal tavannes was turning. yes, turning, and going; the provost, bowing low, was attending him to the door; his suite were opening on either side to let him pass. and count hannibal? count hannibal was following also, as if nothing had occurred. as if he had seen nothing! the young man caught his breath. was it possible that he had imagined the start of recognition, the steady scrutiny, the sinister smile? no; for as tavannes followed the others, he hung an instant on his heel, their eyes met again, and once more he smiled. in the next breath he was gone through the doorway, his spurs rang on the stairs; and the babel of the crowd, unchecked by the great man's presence, broke out anew, and louder. tignonville shuddered. he was saved as by a miracle, saved he did not know how. but the respite, though its strangeness diverted his thoughts for a while, brought short relief. the horrors which impended over others surged afresh into his mind, and filled him with a maddening sense of impotence. to be one hour, only one short half-hour without! to run through the sleeping streets, and scream in the dull ears which a king's flatteries had stopped as with wool! to go up and down and shake into life the guests whose royal lodgings daybreak would turn to a shambles reeking with their blood! they slept, the gentle teligny, the brave pardaillan, the gallant rochefoucauld, piles the hero of st. jean, while the cruel city stirred rustling about them, and doom crept whispering to the door. they slept, they and a thousand others, gentle and simple, young and old; while the half-mad valois shifted between two opinions, and the italian woman, accursed daughter of an accursed race, cried "hark!" at her window, and looked eastwards for the dawn. and the women? the woman he was to marry? and the others? in an access of passion he thrust aside those who stood between, he pushed his way, disregarding complaints, disregarding opposition, to the door. but the pikes lay across it, and he could not utter a syllable to save his life. he would have flung himself on the door-keepers, for he was losing control of himself; but as he drew back for the spring, a hand clutched his sleeve, and a voice he loathed hummed in his ear. "no, fair play, noble sir; fair play!" the cripple jehan muttered, forcibly drawing him aside. "all start together, and it's no man's loss. but if there is any little business," he continued, lowering his tone and peering with a cunning look into the other's face, "of your own, noble sir, or your friends', anything or anybody you want despatched, count on me. it were better, perhaps, you didn't appear in it yourself, and a man you can trust----" "what do you mean?" the young man cried, recoiling from him. "no need to look surprised, noble sir," the lean man, who had joined them, answered in a soothing tone. "who kills to-night does god service, and who serves god much may serve himself a little. 'thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn,' says good father pezelay." "hear, hear!" the cripple chimed in eagerly, his impatience such that he danced on his toes. "he preaches as well as the good father his master! so frankly, noble sir, what is it? what is it? a woman grown ugly? a rich man grown old, with perchance a will in his chest? or a young heir that stands in my lord's way? whichever it be, or whatever it be, trust me and our friend here, and my butcher's gully shall cut the knot." tignonville shook his head. "but something there is," the lean man persisted obstinately; and he cast a suspicious glance at tignonville's clothes. it was evident that the two had discussed him, and the motives of his presence there. "have the dice proved fickle, my lord, and are you for the jewellers' shops on the bridge to fill your purse again? if so, take my word, it were better to go three than one, and we'll enlist." "ay, we know shops on the bridge where you can plunge your arm elbow-deep in gold," the cripple muttered, his eyes sparkling greedily. "there's baillet's, noble sir! there's a shop for you! and there's the man's shop who works for the king. he's lame like me. and i know the way to all. oh, it will be a merry night if they ring before the dawn. it must be near daybreak now. and what's that?" ay, what was it? a score of voices called for silence; a breathless hush fell on the crowd. a moment the fiercest listened, with parted lips and starting eyes. then, "it was the bell!" cried one, "let us out!" "it was not!" cried, another. "it was a pistol shot!" "anyhow let us out!" the crowd roared in chorus; "let us out!" and they pressed in a furious mass towards the door, as if they would force it, signal or no signal. but the pikemen stood fast, and the throng, checked in their first rush, turned on one another, and broke into wrangling and disputing; boasting, and calling heaven and the saints to witness how thoroughly, how pitilessly, how remorselessly they would purge paris of this leprosy when the signal did sound. until again above the babel a man cried "silence!" and again they listened. and this time, dulled by walls and distance, but unmistakable by the ears of fear or hate, the heavy note of a bell came to them on the hot night-air. it was the boom, sullen and menacing, of the death signal. the door-keepers lowered their pikes, and with a wild rush as of wolves swarming on their prey, the band stormed the door, and thrust and struggled and battled a way down the narrow staircase, and along the narrow passage. "a bas les huguenots! mort aux huguenots!" they shouted; and shrieking, sweating, spurning with vile hands viler faces, they poured pell-mell into the street, and added their clamour to the boom of the tocsin that, as by magic and in a moment, turned the streets of paris into a hell of blood and cruelty. for as it was here, so it was in a dozen other quarters. quickly as they streamed out--and to have issued more quickly would have been impossible--fiercely as they pushed and fought and clove their way, tignonville was of the foremost. and for a moment, seeing the street clear before him and almost empty, the huguenot thought that he might do something. he might outstrip the stream of rapine, he might carry the alarm; at worst he might reach his betrothed before harm befel her. but when he had sped fifty yards, his heart sank. true, none passed him; but under the spell of the alarm-bell the stones themselves seemed to turn to men. houses, courts, alleys, the very churches vomited men. in a twinkling the street was alive with men, roared with them as with a rushing tide, gleamed with their lights and weapons, thundered with the volume of their thousand voices. he was no longer ahead, men were running before him, behind him, on his right hand and on his left. in every side-street, every passage, men were running; and not men only, but women, children, furious creatures without age or sex. and all the time the bell tolled overhead, tolled faster and faster, and louder and louder; and shots and screams, and the clash of arms, and the fall of strong doors began to swell the maelstrom of sound. he was in the rue st. honoré now, and speeding westward. but the flood still rose with him, and roared abreast of him. nay, it outstripped him. when he came, panting, within sight of his goal, and lacked but a hundred paces of it, he found his passage barred by a dense mass of people moving slowly to meet him. in the heart of the press the light of a dozen torches shone on half as many riders mailed and armed; whose eyes, as they moved on, and the furious gleaming eyes of the rabble about them, never left the gabled roofs on their right. on these from time to time a white-clad figure showed itself, and passed from chimney-stack to chimney-stack, or, stooping low, ran along the parapet. every time that this happened, the men on horseback pointed upwards and the mob foamed with rage. tignonville groaned, but he could not help. unable to go forward, he turned, and with others hurrying, shouting, and brandishing weapons, he pressed into the rue du roule, passed through it, and gained the bethizy. but here, as he might have foreseen, all passage was barred at the hôtel pouthieu by a horde of savages, who danced and yelled and sang songs round the admiral's body, which lay in the middle of the way; while to right and left men were bursting into houses and forcing new victims into the street. the worst had happened there, and he turned panting, regained the rue st. honoré and, crossing it and turning left-handed, darted through side streets until he came again into the main thoroughfare a little beyond the croix du tiroir, that marked the corner of mademoiselle's house. here his last hope left him. the street swarmed with bands of men hurrying to and fro as in a sacked city. the scum of the halles, the rabble of the quarter poured this way and that, here at random, there swayed and directed by a few knots of men-at-arms, whose corselets reflected the glare of a hundred torches. at one time and within sight, three or four houses were being stormed. on every side rose heartrending cries, mingled with brutal laughter, with savage jests, with cries of "to the river!" the most cruel of cities had burst its bounds and was not to be stayed; nor would be stayed until the seine ran red to the sea, and leagues below, in pleasant normandy hamlets, men, for fear of the pestilence, pushed the corpses from the bridges with poles and boat-hooks. all this tignonville saw, though his eyes, leaping the turmoil, looked only to the door at which he had left mademoiselle a few hours earlier. there a crowd of men pressed and struggled; but from the spot where he stood he could see no more. that was enough, however. rage nerved him, and despair; his world was dying round him. if he could not save her he would avenge her. recklessly he plunged into the tumult; blade in hand, with vigorous blows he thrust his way through, his white sleeve and the white cross in his hat gaining him passage until he reached the fringe of the band who beset the door. here his first attempt to pass failed; and he might have remained hampered by the crowd if a squad of archers had not ridden up. as they spurred to the spot, heedless over whom they rode, he clutched a stirrup, and was borne with them into the heart of the crowd. in a twinkling he stood on the threshold of the house, face to face and foot to foot with count hannibal, who stood also on the threshold, but with his back to the door, which, unbarred and unbolted, gaped open behind him. chapter v. a rough wooing. the young man had caught the delirium that was abroad that night. the rage of the trapped beast was in his heart, his hand held a sword. to strike blindly, to strike without question the first who withstood him was the wild-beast instinct; and if count hannibal had not spoken on the instant, the marshal's brother had said his last word in the world. yet as he stood there, a head above the crowd, he seemed unconscious alike of tignonville and the point that all but pricked his breast. swart and grim-visaged, his harsh features distorted by the glare which shone upon him, he looked beyond the huguenot to the sea of tossing arms and raging faces that surged about the saddles of the horsemen. it was to these he spoke. "begone, dogs!" he cried, in a voice that startled the nearest, "or i will whip you away with my stirrup-leathers! do you hear? begone! this house is not for you! burn, kill, plunder where you will, but go hence!" "but 'tis on the list!" one of the wretches yelled. "'tis on the list!" and he pushed forward until he stood at tignonville's elbow. "and has no cross!" shrieked another, thrusting himself forward in his turn. "see you, let us by, whoever you are! in the king's name, kill! it has no cross!" "then," tavannes thundered, "will i nail you for a cross to the front of it! no cross, say you? i will make one of you, foul crow!" and as he spoke, his arm shot out; the man recoiled, his fellow likewise. but one of the mounted archers took up the matter. "nay, but, my lord," he said--he knew tavannes--"it is the king's will there be no favour shown to-night to any, small or great. and this house is registered, and is full of heretics." "and has no cross!" the rabble urged in chorus. and they leapt up and down in their impatience, and to see the better. "and has no cross!" they persisted. they could understand that. of what use crosses, if they were not to kill where there was no cross? daylight was not plainer. tavannes' face grew dark, and he shook his finger at the archer who had spoken. "rogue," he cried, "does the king's will run here only? are there no other houses to sack or men to kill, that you must beard me? and favour? you will have little of mine, if you do not budge and take your vile tail with you! off! or must i cry 'tavannes!' and bid my people sweep you from the streets?" the foremost rank hesitated, awed by his manner and his name; while the rearmost, attracted by the prospect of easier pillage, had gone off already. the rest wavered; and another and another broke away. the archer who had put himself forward saw which way the wind was blowing, and he shrugged his shoulders. "well, my lord, as you will," he said sullenly. "all the same i would advise you to close the door and bolt and bar. we shall not be the last to call to-day." and he turned his horse in ill-humour, and forced it, snorting and plunging, through the crowd. "bolt and bar?" tavannes cried after him in fury. "see you my answer to that!" and turning on the threshold, "within there!" he cried. "open the shutters and set lights, and the table! light, i say; light! and lay on quickly, if you value your lives! and throw open, for i sup with your mistress tonight, if it rain blood without! do you hear me, rogues? set on!" he flung the last word at the quaking servants; then he turned again to the street. he saw that the crowd was melting, and, looking in tignonville's face, he laughed aloud. "does monsieur sup with us?" he said. "to complete the party? or will he choose to sup with our friends yonder? it is for him to say. i confess, for my part," with an awful smile, "their hospitality seems a trifle crude, and boisterous." tignonville looked behind him and shuddered. the same horde which had so lately pressed about the door had found a victim lower down the street, and, as tavannes spoke, came driving back along the roadway, a mass of tossing lights and leaping, running figures, from the heart of which rose the screams of a creature in torture. so terrible were the sounds that tignonville leant half swooning against the door-post; and even the iron heart of tavannes seemed moved for a moment. for a moment only: then he looked at his companion, and his lip curled. "you'll join us, i think?" he said with an undisguised sneer. "then, after you, monsieur. they are opening the shutters. doubtless the table is laid, and mademoiselle is expecting us. after you, monsieur, if you please. a few hours ago i should have gone first, for you, in this house"--with a sinister smile--"were at home! now, we have changed places." whatever he meant by the gibe--and some smack of an evil jest lurked in his tone--he played the host so far as to urge his bewildered companion along the passage and into the living-chamber on the left, where he had seen from without that his orders to light and lay were being executed. a dozen candles shone on the board, and lit up the apartment. what the house contained of food and wine had been got together and set on the table; from the low, wide window, beetle-browed and diamond-paned, which extended the whole length of the room and looked on the street at the height of a man's head above the roadway, the shutters had been removed--doubtless by trembling and reluctant fingers. to such eyes of passers-by as looked in, from the inferno of driving crowds and gleaming weapons which prevailed outside--and not outside only, but throughout paris--the brilliant room and the laid table must have seemed strange indeed! to tignonville, all that had happened, all that was happening, seemed a dream: a dream his entrance under the gentle impulsion of this man who dominated him; a dream mademoiselle standing behind the table with blanched face and stony eyes; a dream the cowering servants huddled in a corner beyond her; a dream his silence, her silence, the moment of waiting before count hannibal spoke. when he did speak it was to count the servants. "one, two, three, four, five," he said. "and two of them women. mademoiselle is but poorly attended. are there not"--and he turned to her--"some lacking?" the girl opened her lips twice, but no sound issued. the third time, "two went out," she muttered in a hoarse, strangled voice, "and have not returned." "and have not returned?" he answered, raising his eyebrows. "then i fear we must not wait for them. we might wait long!" and turning sharply to the panic-stricken servants, "go you to your places! do you not see that mademoiselle waits to be served?" the girl shuddered and spoke. "do you wish me," she muttered, in the same strangled tone, "to play this farce--to the end?" "the end may be better, mademoiselle, than you think," he answered, bowing. and then to the miserable servants, who hung back afraid to leave the shelter of their mistress's skirts, "to your places!" he cried. "set mademoiselle's chair. are you so remiss on other days? if so," with a look of terrible meaning, "you will be the less loss! now, mademoiselle, may i have the honour? and when we are at table we can talk." he extended his hand, and, obedient to his gesture, she moved to the place at the head of the table, but without letting her fingers come into contact with his. he gave no sign that he noticed this, but he strode to the place on her right, and signed to tignonville to take that on her left. "will you not be seated?" he continued. for she kept her feet. she turned her head stiffly, until for the first time her eyes looked into his. a shudder more violent than the last shook her. "had you not better--kill us at once?" she whispered. the blood had forsaken even her lips. her face was the face of a statue--white, beautiful, lifeless. "i think not," he said gravely. "be seated, and let us hope for the best. and you, sir," he continued, turning to carlat, "serve your mistress with wine. she needs it." the steward filled for her, and then for each of the men, his shaking hand spilling as much as it poured. nor was this strange. above the din and uproar of the street, above the crash of distant doors, above the tocsin that still rang from the reeling steeple of st. germain's, the great bell of the palais on the island had just begun to hurl its note of doom upon the town. a woman crouching at the end of the chamber burst into hysterical weeping, but, at a glance from tavannes' terrible eye, was mute again. tignonville found voice at last. "have they--killed the admiral?" he muttered, his eyes on the table. "m. coligny! an hour ago." "and teligny?" "him also." "m. de rochefoucauld?" "they are dealing with m. le comte now, i believe," tavannes answered. "he had his chance, and cast it away." and he began to eat. the man at the table shuddered. the woman continued to look before her, but her lips moved as if she prayed. suddenly a rush of feet, a roar of voices surged past the window; for a moment the glare of the torches which danced ruddily on the walls of the room, showed a severed head borne above the multitude on a pike. mademoiselle, with a low cry, made an effort to rise, but count hannibal grasped her wrist and she sank back half fainting. then the nearer clamour sank a little, and the bells, unchallenged, flung their iron tongues above the maddened city. in the east the dawn was growing; soon its grey light would fall on cold hearths, on battered doors and shattered weapons, on hordes of wretches drunk with greed and hate. when he could be heard, "what are you going to do with us?" the man asked hoarsely. "that depends," count hannibal replied after a moment's thought. "on what?" "on mademoiselle de vrillac." the other's eyes gleamed with passion. he leaned forward. "what has she to do with it?" he cried. and he stood up and sat down again in a breath. tavannes raised his eyebrows with a blandness that seemed at odds with his harsh visage. "i will answer that question by another question," he replied. "how many are there in the house, my friend?" "you can count." tavannes counted again. "seven?" he said. tignonville nodded impatiently. "seven lives?" "well?" "well, monsieur, you know the king's will?" "i can guess it," the other replied furiously. and he cursed the king, and the king's mother, calling her jezebel. "you can guess it?" tavannes answered; and then with sudden heat, as if that which he had to say could not be said even by him in cold blood, "nay, you know it! you heard it from the archer at the door. you heard him say, 'no favour, no quarter for man, for woman, or for child. so says the king.' you heard it, but you fence with me. foucauld, with whom his majesty played to-night, hand to hand and face to face--foucauld is dead! and you think to live? you?" he continued, lashing himself into passion. "i know not by what chance you came where i saw you an hour gone, nor by what chance you came by that and that"--pointing with accusing finger to the badges the huguenot wore. "but this i know! i have but to cry your name from yonder casement, nay, monsieur, i have but to stand aside when the mob go their rounds from house to house, as they will go presently, and you will perish as certainly as you have hitherto escaped!" for the second time mademoiselle turned and looked at him. "then," she whispered, with white lips, "to what end this--mockery?" "to the end that seven lives may be saved, mademoiselle," he answered, bowing. "at a price?" she muttered. "at a price," he answered. "a price which women do not find it hard to pay--at court. 'tis paid every day for pleasure or a whim, for rank or the _entrée_, for robes and gewgaws. few, mademoiselle, are privileged to buy a life; still fewer, seven!" she began to tremble. "i would rather die--seven times!" she cried, her voice quivering. and she tried to rise, but sat down again. "and these?" he said, indicating the servants. "far, far rather!" she repeated passionately. "and monsieur? and monsieur!" he urged with stern persistence, while his eyes passed lightly from her to tignonville and back to her again, their depths inscrutable. "if you love monsieur, mademoiselle, and i believe you do----" "i can die with him!" she cried. "and he with you!" she writhed in her chair. "and he with you?" count hannibal repeated, with emphasis; and he thrust forward his head. "for that is the question. think, think, mademoiselle. it is in my power to save from death him whom you love; to save you; to save this _canaille_, if it so please you. it is in my power to save him, to save you, to save all; and i will save all--at a price! if, on the other hand, you deny me that price, i will as certainly leave all to perish, as perish they will, before the sun that is now rising sets to-night!" mademoiselle looked straight before her, the flicker of a dreadful prescience in her eyes. "and the price?" she muttered. "the price?" "you, mademoiselle." "yes, you! nay, why fence with me?" he continued gently. "you knew it, you have said it. you have read it in my eyes these seven days." she did not speak, move, or seem to breathe. as he said, she had foreseen, she had known the answer. but tignonville, it seemed, had not. he sprang to his feet. "m. de tavannes," he cried, "you are a villain!" "monsieur?" "you are a villain! but you shall pay for this!" the young man continued vehemently. "you shall not leave this room alive! you shall pay for this insult!" "insult?" tavannes answered in apparent surprise; and then, as if comprehension broke upon him, "ah! monsieur mistakes me," he said, with a generous sweep of his hand. "and mademoiselle also, perhaps? oh! be content, she shall have bell, book, and candle; she shall be tied as tight as holy church can tie her! or, if she please, and one survive, she shall have a priest of her own church--you call it a church? she shall have whichever of the two will serve her better. 'tis one to me! but for paying me, monsieur," he continued with irony in voice and manner; "when, i pray you? in eternity! for if you refuse my offer, you have done with time. now? i have but to sound this whistle"--he touched a silver whistle which hung at his breast--"and there are those within hearing will do your business before you make two passes. dismiss the notion, sir, and understand. you are in my power. paris runs with blood, as noble as yours, as innocent as hers. if you would not perish with the rest, decide! and quickly! for what you have seen are but the forerunners, what you have heard are but the gentle whispers that predict the gale. do not parley too long; so long that even i may no longer save you." "i would rather die!" mademoiselle moaned, her face covered. "i would rather die!" "and see him die?" he answered quietly. "and see these die? think, think, child!" "you will not do it!" she gasped. she shook from head to foot. "i shall do nothing," he answered firmly. "i shall but leave you to your fate, and these to theirs. in the king's teeth i dare save my wife and her people; but no others. you must choose--and quickly." one of the frightened women--it was mademoiselle's tiring-maid, a girl called javette--made a movement, as if to throw herself at her mistress's feet. tignonville drove her to her place with a word. he turned to count hannibal. "but, m. le comte," he said, "you must be mad! mad, to wish to marry her in this way! you do not love her. you do not want her. what is she to you more than other women?" "what is she to you more than other women?" tavannes retorted in a tone so sharp and incisive that tignonville started, and a faint touch of colour crept into the wan cheek of the girl, who sat between them, the prize of the contest. "what is she more to you than other women? is she more? and yet--you want her!" "she is more to me," tignonville answered. "is she?" the other retorted, with a ring of keen meaning. "is she? but we bandy words and the storm is rising, as i warned you it would rise. enough for you that i _do_ want her. enough for you that i will have her. she shall be the wife, the willing wife, of hannibal de tavannes--or i leave her to her fate, and you to yours!" "ah, god!" she moaned. "the willing wife!" "ay, mademoiselle, the willing wife," he answered sternly. "or no man's wife!" chapter vi. who touches tavannes? in saying that the storm was rising count hannibal had said no more than the truth. a new mob had a minute before burst from the eastward into the rue st. honoré; and the roar of its thousand voices swelled louder than the importunate clangour of the bells. behind its moving masses the dawn of a new day--sunday, the th of august, the feast of st. bartholomew--was breaking over the bastille, as if to aid the crowd in its cruel work. the gabled streets, the lanes, and gothic courts, the stifling wynds, where the work awaited the workers, still lay in twilight; still the gleam of the torches, falling on the house-fronts, heralded the coming of the crowd. but the dawn was growing, the sun was about to rise. soon the day would be here, giving up the lurking fugitive whom darkness, more pitiful, had spared, and stamping with legality the horrors that night had striven to hide. and with day, with the full light, killing would grow more easy, escape more hard. already they were killing on the bridge where the rich goldsmiths lived, on the wharves, on the river. they were killing at the louvre, in the courtyard under the king's eyes, and below the windows of the médicis. they were killing in st. martin and st. denis and st. antoine; wherever hate, or bigotry, or private malice impelled the hand. from the whole city went up a din of lamentation, and wrath, and foreboding. from the cour des miracles, from the markets, from the boucherie, from every haunt of crime and misery, hordes of wretched creatures poured forth; some to rob on their own account, and where they listed, none gainsaying; more to join themselves to one of the armed bands whose business it was to go from street to street, and house to house, quelling resistance, and executing through paris the high justice of the king. it was one of these swollen bands which had entered the street while tavannes spoke; nor could he have called to his aid a more powerful advocate. as the deep "a bas! a bas!" rolled like thunder along the fronts of the houses, as the more strident "tuez! tuez!" drew nearer and nearer, and the lights of the oncoming multitude began to flicker on the shuttered gables, the fortitude of the servants gave way. madame carlat, shivering in every limb, burst into moaning; the tiring-maid, javette, flung herself in terror at mademoiselle's knees, and, writhing herself about them, shrieked to her to save her, only to save her! one of the men moved forward on impulse, as if he would close the shutters; and only old carlat remained silent, praying mutely with moving lips and a stern, set face. and count hannibal? as the glare of the links in the street grew brighter, and ousted the sickly daylight, his form seemed to dilate. he stilled the shrieking woman by a glance. "choose! mademoiselle, and quickly!" he said. "for i can only save my wife and her people! quick, for the pinch is coming, and 'twill be no boy's play." a shot, a scream from the street, a rush of racing feet before the window seconded his words. "quick, mademoiselle!" he cried. and his breath came a little faster. "quick, before it be too late! will you save life, or will you kill!" she looked at her lover with eyes of agony, dumbly questioning him. but he made no sign, and only tavannes marked the look. "monsieur has done what he can to save himself," he said with a sneer. "he has donned the livery of the king's servants; he has said, 'whoever perishes, i will live!' but--" "curse you!" the young man cried, and, stung to madness, he tore the cross from his cap and flung it on the ground. he seized his white sleeve and ripped it from shoulder to elbow. then, when it hung by the string only, he held his hand. "curse you!" he cried furiously. "i will not at your bidding! i may save her yet! i will save her!" "fool!" tavannes answered--but his words were barely audible above the deafening uproar. "can you fight a thousand? look! look!" and seizing the other's wrist he pointed to the window. the street glowed like a furnace in the red light of torches, raised on poles above a sea of heads; an endless sea of heads, and gaping faces, and tossing arms which swept on and on, and on and by. for a while it seemed that the torrent would flow past them and would leave them safe. then came a check, a confused outcry, a surging this way and that; the torches reeled to and fro, and finally with a dull roar of "open! open!" the mob faced about to the house and the lighted window. for a second it seemed that even count hannibal's iron nerves shook a little. he stood between the sullen group that surrounded the disordered table and the maddened rabble, that gloated on the victims before they tore them to pieces. "open! open!" the mob howled: and a man dashed in the window with his pike. in that crisis mademoiselle's eyes met tavannes' for the fraction of a second. she did not speak; nor, had she retained the power to frame the words, would they have been audible. but something she must have looked, and something of import, though no other than he marked or understood it. for in a flash he was at the window and his hand was raised for silence. "back!" he thundered. "back, knaves!" and he whistled shrilly. "do what you will," he continued in the same tone, "but not here! pass on! pass on!--do you hear?" but the crowd were not to be lightly diverted. with a persistence brutal and unquestioning they continued to howl "open! open!" while the man who had broken the window the moment before, jehan, the cripple with the hideous face, seized the lead-work, and tore away a great piece of it. then laying hold of a bar, he tried to drag it out, setting one foot against the wall below. tavannes saw what he did, and his frame seemed to dilate with the fury and violence of his character. "dogs!" he shouted, "must i call out my riders and scatter you? must i flog you through the streets with stirrup-leathers? i am tavannes, beware of me! i have claws and teeth and i bite!" he continued, the scorn in his words exceeding even the rage of the crowd, at which he flung them. "kill where you please, rob where you please, but not where i am! or i will hang you by the heels on montfaucon, man by man! i will flay your backs. go! go! i am tavannes!" but the mob, cowed for a moment by the thunder of his voice, by his arrogance and recklessness, showed at this that their patience was exhausted. with a yell which drowned his tones they swayed forward; a dozen thundered on the door, crying, "in the king's name!" as many more tore out the remainder of the casement, seized the bars of the window, and strove to pull them out or to climb between them. jehan, the cripple, with whom tignonville had rubbed elbows at the rendezvous, led the way. count hannibal watched them a moment, his harsh face bent down to them, his features plain in the glare of the torches. but when the cripple, raised on the others' shoulders, and emboldened by his adversary's inactivity, began to squeeze himself through the bars, tavannes raised a pistol, which he had held unseen behind him, cocked it at leisure, and levelled it at the foul face which leered close to his. the dwarf saw the weapon and tried to retreat; but it was too late. a flash, a scream, and the wretch, shot through the throat, flung up his hands, and fell back into the arms of a lean man in black who had lent him his shoulder to ascend. for a few seconds the smoke of the pistol filled the window and the room. there was a cry that the huguenots were escaping, that the huguenots were resisting, that it was a plot; and some shouted to guard the back and some to watch the roof, and some to be gone. but when the fumes cleared away, the mob saw, with stupor, that all was as it had been. count hannibal stood where he had stood before, a grim smile on his lips. "who comes next!" he cried in a tone of mockery. "i have more pistols!" and then with a sudden change to ferocity, "you dogs!" he went on. "you scum of a filthy city, sweepings of the halles! do you think to beard me? do you think to frighten me or murder me? i am tavannes, and this is my house, and were there a score of huguenots in it, you should not touch one, nor harm a hair of his head! begone, i say again, while you may! seek women and children, and kill them. but not here!" for an instant the mingled scorn and brutality of his words silenced them. then from the rear of the crowd came an answer--the roar of an arquebuse. the ball whizzed past count hannibal's head, and, splashing the plaster from the wall within a pace of tignonville, dropped to the ground. tavannes laughed. "bungler!" he cried. "were you in my troop i would dip your trigger-finger in boiling oil to teach you to shoot! but you weary me, dogs. i must teach you a lesson, must i?" and he lifted a pistol and levelled it. the crowd did not know whether it was the one he had discharged or another, but they gave back with a sharp gasp. "i must teach you, must i?" he continued with scorn. "here bigot, badelon, drive me these blusterers! rid the street of them! a tavannes! a tavannes!" not by word or look had he before this betrayed that he had supports. but as he cried the name, a dozen men armed to the teeth, who had stood motionless under the croix du tiroir, fell in a line on the right flank of the crowd. the surprise for those nearest them was complete. with the flash of the pikes before their eyes, with the cold steel in fancy between their ribs, they fled every way, uncertain how many pursued, or if any pursuit there was. for a moment the mob, which a few minutes before had seemed so formidable that a regiment might have quailed before it, bade fair to be routed by a dozen pikes. and so, had all in the crowd been what he termed them, the rabble and sweepings of the streets, it would have been. but in the heart of it, and felt rather than seen, were a handful of another kidney; sorbonne students and fierce-eyed priests, with three or four mounted archers, the nucleus that, moving through the streets, had drawn together this concourse. and these with threats and curses and gleaming eyes stood fast, even tavannes' dare-devils recoiling before the tonsure. the check thus caused allowed those who had budged a breathing space. they rallied behind the black robes, and began to stone the pikes; who in their turn withdrew until they formed two groups, standing on their defence, the one before the window the other before the door. count hannibal had watched the attack and the check, as a man watches a play; with smiling interest. in the panic, the torches had been dropped or extinguished, and now between the house and the sullen crowd which hung back, yet grew moment by moment more dangerous, the daylight fell cold on the littered street and the cripple's huddled form prone in the gutter. a priest raised on the shoulders of the lean man in black began to harangue the mob, and the dull roar of assent, the brandished arms which greeted his appeal, had their effect on tavannes' men. they looked to the window, and muttered among themselves. it was plain that they had no stomach for a fight with the church, and were anxious for the order to withdraw. but count hannibal gave no order, and, much as his people feared the cowls, they feared him more. meanwhile the speaker's eloquence rose higher; he pointed with frenzied gestures to the house. the mob groaned, and suddenly a volley of stones fell among the pikemen, whose corselets rattled under the shower. the priest seized that moment. he sprang to the ground, and to the front. he caught up his robe and waved his hand, and the rabble, as if impelled by a single will, rolled forward in a huge one-fronted thundering wave, before which the two handfuls of pikemen--afraid to strike, yet afraid to fly--were swept away like straws upon the tide. but against the solid walls and oak-barred door of the house the wave beat, only to fall back again, a broken, seething mass of brandished arms and ravening faces. one point alone was vulnerable, the window, and there in the gap stood tavannes. quick as thought he fired two pistols into the crowd; then, while the smoke for a moment hid all, he whistled. whether the signal was a summons to his men to fight their way back--as they were doing to the best of their power--or he had resources still unseen, was not to be known. for as the smoke began to rise, and while the rabble before the window, cowed by the fall of two of their number, were still pushing backward instead of forward, there rose behind them strange sounds--yells, and the clatter of hoofs, mingled with screams of alarm. a second, and into the loose skirts of the crowd came charging helter-skelter, pell-mell, a score of galloping, shrieking, cursing horsemen, attended by twice as many footmen, who clung to their stirrups or to the tails of the horses, and yelled and whooped, and struck in unison with the maddened riders. "on! on!" the foremost shrieked, rolling in his saddle, and foaming at the mouth. "bleed in august, bleed in may! kill!" and he fired a pistol among the rabble, who fled every way to escape his rearing, plunging charger. "kill! kill!" cried his followers, cutting the air with their swords, and rolling to and fro on their horses in drunken emulation. "bleed in august, bleed in may!" "on! on!" cried the leader, as the crowd which beset the house fled every way before his reckless onset. "bleed in august, bleed in may!" the rabble fled, but not so quickly but that one or two were ridden down, and this for an instant checked the riders. before they could pass on, "ohé!" cried count hannibal from his window. "ohé!" with a shout of laughter, "ride over them, dear brother! make me a clean street for my wedding!" marshal tavannes--for he, the hero of jarnac, was the leader of this wild orgy--turned that way, and strove to rein in his horse. "what ails them?" he cried, as the maddened animal reared upright, its iron hoofs striking fire from the slippery pavement. "they are rearing like thy bayard!" count hannibal answered. "whip them, whip them for me! tavannes! tavannes!" "what? this canaille!" "ay, that canaille!" "who touches my brother, touches tavannes!" the marshal replied, and spurred his horse among the rabble, who had fled to the sides of the street and now strove hard to efface themselves against the walls. "begone, dogs; begone!" he cried, still hunting them. and then, "you would bite, would you?" and snatching another pistol from his boot, he fired it among them, careless whom he hit. "ha! ha! that stirs you, does it!" he continued as the wretches fled headlong. "who touches my brother, touches tavannes! on! on!" suddenly, from a doorway near at hand, a sombre figure darted into the roadway, caught the marshal's rein, and for a second checked his course. the priest--for a priest it was, father pezelay, the same who had addressed the mob--held up a warning hand. "halt!" he cried, with burning eyes. "halt, my lord! it is written, thou shalt not spare the canaanitish woman. 'tis not to spare the king has given command and a sword, but to kill! 'tis not to harbour, but to smite! to smite!" "then smite i will!" the marshal retorted, and with the butt of his pistol struck the zealot down. then, with as much indifference as he would have treated a huguenot, he spurred his horse over him, with a mad laugh at his jest. "who touches my brother, touches tavannes!" he yelled. "touches tavannes! on! on! bleed in august, bleed in may!" "on!" shouted his followers, striking about them in the same desperate fashion. they were young nobles who had spent the night feasting at the palace, and, drunk with wine and mad with excitement, had left the louvre at daybreak to rouse the city. "a jarnac! a jarnac!" they cried, and some saluted count hannibal as they passed. and so, shouting and spurring and following their leader, they swept away down the now empty street, carrying terror and a flame wherever their horses bore them that morning. tavannes, his hands on the ledge of the shattered window, leaned out laughing, and followed them with his eyes. a moment, and the mob was gone, the street was empty; and one by one, with sheepish faces, his pikemen emerged from the doorways and alleys in which they had taken refuge. they gathered about the three huddled forms which lay prone and still in the gutter: or, not three--two. for even as they approached them, one, the priest, rose slowly and giddily to his feet. he turned a face bleeding, lean, and relentless towards the window at which tavannes stood. solemnly, with the sign of the cross, and with uplifted hands, he cursed him in bed and at board, by day and by night, in walking, in riding, in standing, in the day of battle, and at the hour of death. the pikemen fell back appalled, and hid their eyes; and those who were of the north crossed themselves, and those who came from the south bent two fingers horse-shoe fashion. but hannibal de tavannes laughed; laughed in his moustache, his teeth showing, and bade them move that carrion to a distance, for it would smell when the sun was high. then he turned his back on the street, and looked into the room. chapter vii. in the amphitheatre. the movements of the women had overturned two of the candles; a third had guttered out. the three which still burned, contending pallidly with the daylight that each moment grew stronger, imparted to the scene the air of a debauch too long sustained. the disordered board, the wan faces of the servants cowering in their corner, mademoiselle's frozen look of misery, all increased the likeness; which a common exhaustion so far strengthened that when tavannes turned from the window, and, flushed with his triumph, met the others' eyes, his seemed the only vigour, and he the only man in the company. true, beneath the exhaustion, beneath the collapse of his victims, there burned passions, hatreds, repulsions, as fierce as the hidden fires of the volcano; but for the time they smouldered ash-choked and inert. he flung the discharged pistols on the table. "if yonder raven speak truth," he said, "i am like to pay dearly for my wife, and have short time to call her wife. the more need, mademoiselle, for speed, therefore. you know the old saying, 'short signing, long seisin? shall it be my priest, or your minister?" m. de tignonville started forward. "she promised nothing!" he cried. and he struck his hand on the table. count hannibal smiled, his lip curling. "that," he replied, "is for mademoiselle to say." "but if she says it? if she says it, monsieur? what then?" tavannes drew forth a comfit-box, such as it was the fashion of the day to carry, as men of a later time carried a snuff-box. he slowly chose a prune. "if she says it?" he answered. "then m. de tignonville has regained his sweetheart. and m. de tavannes has lost his bride." "you say so!" "yes. but----" "but what?" "but she will not say it," tavannes replied coolly. "why not?" "why not?" "yes, monsieur, why not?" the younger man repeated trembling. "because, m. de tignonville, it is not true." "but she did not speak!" tignonville retorted, with passion--the futile passion of the bird which beats its wings against a cage. "she did not speak. she could not promise, therefore." tavannes ate the prune slowly, seemed to give a little thought to its flavour, approved it a true agen plum, and at last spoke. "it is not for you to say whether she promised," he returned drily, "nor for me. it is for mademoiselle." "you leave it to her?" "i leave it to her to say whether she promised." "then she must say no!" tignonville cried in a tone of triumph and relief. "for she did not speak. mademoiselle, listen!" he continued, turning with outstretched hands and appealing to her with passion. "do you hear? do you understand? you have but to speak to be free! you have but to say the word, and monsieur lets you go! in god's name, speak! speak then, clotilde! oh!" with a gesture of despair, as she did not answer, but continued to sit stony and hopeless, looking straight before her, her hands picking convulsively at the fringe of her girdle. "she does not understand! fright has stunned her! be merciful, monsieur. give her time to recover, to know what she does. fright has turned her brain." count hannibal smiled. "i knew her father and her uncle," he said, "and in their time the vrillacs were not wont to be cowards. monsieur forgets, too," he continued with fine irony, "that he speaks of my betrothed." "it is a lie!" tavannes raised his eyebrows. "you are in my power," he said. "for the rest, if it be a lie, mademoiselle has but to say so." "you hear him?" tignonville cried. "then speak, mademoiselle! clotilde, speak! say you never spoke, you never promised him!" the young man's voice quivered with indignation, with rage, with pain; but most, if the truth be told, with shame--the shame of a position strange and unparalleled. for in proportion as the fear of death instant and violent was lifted from him, reflection awoke, and the situation in which he stood took uglier shape. it was not so much love that cried to her, love that suffered, anguished by the prospect of love lost; as in the highest natures it might have been. rather it was the man's pride which suffered; the pride of a high spirit which found itself helpless between the hammer and the anvil, in a position so false that hereafter men might say of the unfortunate that he had bartered his mistress for his life. he had not! but he had perforce to stand by; he had to be passive under stress of circumstances, and by the sacrifice, if she consummated it, he would in fact be saved. there was the pinch. no wonder that he cried to her in a voice which roused even the servants from their lethargy of fear. "say it!" he cried. "say it, before it be too late. say you did not promise!" slowly she turned her face to him. "i cannot," she whispered; "i cannot. go," she continued, a spasm distorting her features. "go, monsieur. leave me. it is over." "what?" he exclaimed. "you promised him?" she bowed her head. "then," the young man cried, in a transport of resentment, "i will be no part of the price. see! there! and there!" he tore the white sleeve wholly from his arm, and, rending it in twain, flung it on the floor and trampled on it. "it shall never be said that i stood by and let you buy my life! i go into the street and i take my chance." and he turned to the door. but tavannes was before him. "no!" he said; "you will stay here, m. de tignonville!" and he set his back against the door. the young man looked at him, his face convulsed with passion. "i shall stay here?" he cried. "and why, monsieur? what is it to you if i choose to perish?" "only this," tavannes retorted. "i am answerable to mademoiselle now, in an hour i shall be answerable to my wife--for your life. live, then, monsieur; you have no choice. in a month you will thank me--and her." "i am your prisoner?" "precisely." "and i must stay here--to be tortured?" tignonville cried. count hannibal's eyes sparkled. sudden stormy changes, from indifference to ferocity, from irony to invective, were characteristic of the man. "tortured!" he repeated grimly. "you talk of torture while piles and pardaillan, teligny and rochefoucauld lie dead in the street! while your cause sinks withered in a night, like a gourd! while your servants fall butchered, and france rises round you in a tide of blood! bah!"--with a gesture of disdain--"you make me also talk, and i have no love for talk, and small time. mademoiselle, you at least act and do not talk. by your leave i return in an hour, and i bring with me--shall it be my priest, or your minister?" she looked at him with the face of one who awakes slowly to the full horror, the full dread, of her position. for a moment she did not answer. then, "a minister," she murmured, her voice scarcely audible. he nodded. "a minister?" he said lightly. "very well, if i can find one." and walking to the shattered, gaping casement--through which the cool morning air blew into the room and gently stirred the hair of the unhappy girl--he said some words to the man on guard outside. then he turned to the door, but on the threshold he paused, looked with a strange expression at the pair, and signed to carlat and the servants to go out before him. "up, and lie close above!" he growled. "open a window or look out, and you will pay dearly for it! do you hear? up! up! you, too, old crop-ears. what! would you?"--with a sudden glare as carlat hesitated--"that is better! mademoiselle, until my return." he saw them all out, followed them, and closed the door on the two; who, left together, alone with the gaping window and the disordered feast, maintained a strange silence. the girl, gripping one hand in the other as if to quell her rising horror, sat looking before her, and seemed barely to breathe. the man, leaning against the wall at a little distance, bent his eyes not on her, but on the floor, his face gloomy and distorted. his first thought should have been of her and for her; his first impulse to console, if he could not save her. his it should have been to soften, were that possible, the fate before her; to prove to her by words of farewell, the purest and most sacred, that the sacrifice she was making, not to save her own life but the lives of others, was appreciated by him who paid with her the price. and all these things, and more, may have been in m. de tignonville's mind; they may even have been uppermost in it, but they found no expression. the man remained sunk in a sombre reverie. he had the appearance of thinking of himself, not of her; of his own position, not of hers. otherwise he must have looked at her, he must have turned to her; he must have owned the subtle attraction of her unspoken appeal when she drew a deep breath and slowly turned her eyes on him, mute, asking, waiting what he should offer. surely he should have! yet it was long before he responded. he sat buried in thought of himself, and his position, the vile, the unworthy position in which her act had placed him. at length the constraint of her gaze wrought on him, or his thoughts became unbearable, and he looked up and met her eyes, and with an oath he sprang to his feet. "it shall not be!" he cried, in a tone low, but full of fury. "you shall not do it! i will kill him first! i will kill him with this hand! or----" a step took him to the window, a step brought him back--ay, brought him back exultant, and with a changed face. "or better, we will thwart him yet. see, mademoiselle, do you see? heaven is merciful! for a moment the cage is open!" his eyes shone with excitement, the sweat of sudden hope stood on his brow as he pointed to the unguarded casement. "come! it is our one chance!" and he caught her by her arm, and strove to draw her to the window. but she hung back, staring at him. "oh, no, no!" she cried. "yes, yes! i say!" he responded. "you do not understand. the way is open! we can escape, clotilde, we can escape!" "i cannot! i cannot!" she wailed, still resisting him. "you are afraid?" "afraid?" she repeated the word in a tone of wonder. "no, but i cannot. i promised him. i cannot. and, o god!" she continued, in a sudden outburst of grief, as the sense of general loss, of the great common tragedy broke on her and whelmed for the moment her private misery. "why should we think of ourselves? they are dead, they are dying, who were ours, whom we loved! why should we think to live? what does it matter how it fares with us? we cannot be happy. happy?" she continued wildly. "are any happy now? or is the world all changed in a night? no, we could not be happy. and at least you will live, tignonville. i have that to console me." "live!" he responded vehemently. "i live? i would rather die a thousand times. a thousand times rather than live shamed! than see you sacrificed to that devil! than go out with a brand on my brow, for every man to point at me! i would rather die a thousand times!" "and do you think that i would not?" she answered, shivering. "better, far better die than--than live with him!" "then why not die?" she stared at him, wide-eyed, and a sudden stillness possessed her. "how?" she whispered. "what do you mean?" "that!" he said. as he spoke, he raised his hand and signed to her to listen. a sullen murmur, distant as yet, but borne to the ear on the fresh morning air, foretold the rising of another storm. the sound grew in intensity, even while she listened; and yet for a moment she misunderstood him. "o god!" she cried, out of the agony of nerves overwrought, "will that bell never stop? will it never stop? will no one stop it?" "'tis not the bell!" he cried, seizing her hand as if to focus her attention. "it is the mob you hear. they are returning. we have but to stand a moment at this open window, we have but to show ourselves to them, and we need live no longer! mademoiselle! clotilde!--if you mean what you say, if you are in earnest, the way is open!" "and we shall die--together!" "yes, together. but have you the courage?" "the courage!" she cried, a brave smile lighting the whiteness of her face. "the courage were needed to live. the courage were needed to do that. i am ready, quite ready. it can be no sin! to live with that in front of me were the sin! come!" for the moment she had forgotten her people, her promise, all! it seemed to her that death would absolve her from all. "come!" he moved with her under the impulse of her hand until they stood at the gaping window. the murmur, which he had heard indistinctly a moment before, had grown to a roar of voices. the mob, on its return eastward along the rue st. honoré, was nearing the house. he stood, his arm supporting her, and they waited, a little within the window. suddenly he stooped, his face hardly less white than hers; their eyes met, and he would have kissed her. she did not withdraw from his arm, but she drew back her face, her eyes half shut. "no!" she murmured. "no! while i live i am his. but we die together, tignonville! we die together. it will not last long, will it? and afterwards----" she did not finish the sentence, but her lips moved in prayer, and over her features came a far-away look; such a look as that which on the face of another huguenot lady, philippine de luns--vilely done to death in the place maubert fourteen years before--silenced the ribald jests of the lowest rabble in the world. an hour or two earlier, awed by the abruptness of the outburst, mademoiselle had shrunk from her fate; she had known fear. now that she stood out voluntarily to meet it, she, like many a woman before and since, feared no longer. she was lifted out of and above herself. but death was long in coming. some cause beyond their knowledge stayed the onrush of the mob along the street. the din, indeed, persisted, deafened, shook them; but the crowd seemed to be at a stand a few doors down the rue st. honoré. for a half-minute, a long half-minute, which appeared an age, it drew no nearer. would it draw nearer? would it come on? or would it turn again? the doubt, so much worse than despair, began to sap that courage of the man which is always better fitted to do than to suffer. the sweat rose on tignonville's brow as he stood listening, his arm round the girl--as he stood listening and waiting. it is possible that when he had said a minute or two earlier that he would rather die a thousand times than live thus shamed, he had spoken beyond the mark. or it is possible that he had meant his words to the full. but in this case he had not pictured what was to come, he had not gauged correctly his power of passive endurance. he was as brave as the ordinary man, as the ordinary soldier; but martyrdom, the apotheosis of resignation, comes more naturally to women than to men, more hardly to men than to women. yet had the crisis come quickly he might have met it. but he had to wait, and to wait with that howling of wild beasts in his ears; and for this he was not prepared. a woman might be content to die after this fashion; but a man? his colour went and came, his eyes began to rove hither and thither. was it even now too late to escape? too late to avoid the consequences of the girl's silly persistence? too late to----? her eyes were closed, she hung half lifeless on his arm. she would not know, she need not know until afterwards. and afterwards she would thank him! afterwards--meantime the window was open, the street was empty, and still the crowd hung back and did not come. he remembered that two doors away was a narrow passage, which leaving the rue st. honoré turned at right angles under a beetling archway, to emerge in the rue du roule. if he could gain that passage unseen by the mob! he would gain it. with a swift movement, his mind made up, he took a step forward. he tightened his grasp of the girl's waist, and, seizing with his left hand the end of the bar which the assailants had torn from its setting in the window jamb, he turned to lower himself. one long step would land him in the street. at that moment she awoke from the stupor of exaltation. she opened her eyes with a startled movement; and her eyes met his. he was in the act of stepping backwards and downwards, dragging her after him. but it was not this betrayed him. it was his face, which in an instant told her all, and that he sought not death, but life! she struggled upright and strove to free herself. but he had the purchase of the bar, and by this time he was furious as well as determined. whether she would or no, he would save her, he would drag her out. then, as consciousness fully returned, she, too, took fire. "no!" she cried, "i will not!" and she struggled more violently. "you shall!" he retorted between his teeth. "you shall not perish here." but she had her hands free, and as he spoke she thrust him from her passionately, desperately, with all her strength. he had his one foot in the air at the moment, and in a flash it was done. with a cry of rage he lost his balance, and, still holding the bar, reeled backwards through the window; while mademoiselle, panting and half fainting, recoiled--recoiled into the arms of hannibal de tavannes, who, unseen by either, had entered the room a long minute before. from the threshold, and with a smile, all his own, he had watched the contest and the result. chapter viii. two hens and an egg. m. de tignonville was shaken by the fall, and in the usual course of things he would have lain where he was, and groaned. but when a man has once turned his back on death he is apt to fancy it at his shoulder. he has small stomach for surprises, and is in haste to set as great a distance as possible between the ugly thing and himself. so it was with the huguenot. shot suddenly into the full publicity of the street, he knew that at any instant danger might take him by the nape; and he was on his legs and glancing up and down before the clatter of his fall had travelled the length of three houses. the rabble were still a hundred paces away, piled up and pressed about a house where men were being hunted as men hunt rats. he saw that he was unnoted, and apprehension gave place to rage. his thoughts turned back hissing hot to the thing that had happened, and in a paroxysm of shame he shook his fist at the gaping casement and the sneering face of his rival, dimly seen in the background. if a look would have killed tavannes--and her--it had not been wanting. for it was not only the man m. de tignonville hated at this moment; he hated mademoiselle also, the unwitting agent of the other's triumph. she had thrust him from her; she had refused to be guided by him; she had resisted, thwarted, shamed him. then let her take the consequences. she willed to perish: let her perish! he did not acknowledge even to himself the real cause of offence, the proof to which she had put his courage, and the failure of that courage to stand the test. yet it was this, though he had himself provoked the trial, which burned up his chivalry, as the smuggler's fire burns up the dwarf heath upon the landes. it was the discovery that in an heroic hour he was no hero that gave force to his passionate gesture, and next moment sent him storming down the beetling passage to the rue du roule, his heart a maelstrom of fierce vows and fiercer menaces. he had reached the further end of the alley and was on the point of entering the street before he remembered that he had nowhere to go. his lodgings were no longer his, since his landlord knew him to be a huguenot, and would doubtless betray him. to approach those of his faith whom he had frequented was to expose them to danger; and, beyond the religion, he had few acquaintances and those of the newest. yet the streets were impossible. he walked them on the utmost edge of peril; he lurked in them under the blade of an impending axe. and, whether he walked or lurked, he went at the mercy of the first comers bold enough to take his life. the sweat stood on his brow as he paused under the low arch of the alley-end, tasting the bitter forlornness of the dog banned and set for death in that sunlit city. in every window of the gable end which faced his hiding-place he fancied an eye watching his movements; in every distant step he heard the footfall of doom coming that way to his discovery. and while he trembled, he had to reflect, to think, to form some plan. in the town was no place for him, and short of the open country no safety. and how could he gain the open country? if he succeeded in reaching one of the gates--st. antoine, or st. denis, in itself a task of difficulty--it would only be to find the gate closed, and the guard on the alert. at last it flashed on him that he might cross the river; and at the notion hope awoke. it was possible that the massacre had not extended to the southern suburb; possible, that if it had, the huguenots who lay there--frontenay, and montgomery, and chartres, with the men of the north--might be strong enough to check it, and even to turn the tables on the parisians. his colour returned. he was no coward, as soldiers go; if it came to fighting he had courage enough. he could not hope to cross the river by the bridge, for there, where the goldsmiths lived, the mob were like to be most busy. but if he could reach the bank he might procure a boat at some deserted point, or, at the worst, he might swim across. from the louvre at his back came the sound of gun-shots; from every quarter the murmur of distant crowds, or the faint lamentable cries of victims. but the empty street before him promised an easy passage, and he ventured into it and passed quickly through it. he met no one, and no one molested him; but as he went he had glimpses of pale faces that from behind the casements watched him come and turned to watch him go; and so heavy on his nerves was the pressure of this silent ominous attention, that he blundered at the end of the street. he should have taken the southerly turning; instead he held on, found himself in the rue ferronerie, and a moment later was all but in the arms of a band of city guards, who were making a house-to-house visitation. he owed his safety rather to the condition of the street than to his presence of mind. the rue ferronerie, narrow in itself, was so choked at this date by stalls and bulkheads, that an edict directing the removal of those which abutted on the cemetery had been issued a little before. nothing had been done on it, however, and this neck of paris, this main thoroughfare between the east and the west, between the fashionable quarter of the marais and the fashionable quarter of the louvre, was still a devious huddle of sheds and pent-houses. tignonville slid behind one of these, found that it masked the mouth of an alley, and, heedless whither the passage led, ran hurriedly along it. every instant he expected to hear the hue and cry behind him, and he did not halt or draw breath until he had left the soldiers far in the rear, and found himself astray at the junction of four noisome lanes, over two of which the projecting gables fairly met. above the two others a scrap of sky appeared, but this was too small to indicate in which direction the river lay. tignonville hesitated, but not for long; a burst of voices heralded a new danger, and he shrank into a doorway. along one of the lanes a troop of children, the biggest not twelve years old, came dancing and leaping round something which they dragged by a string. now one of the hindmost would hurl it onward with a kick, now another, amid screams of childish laughter, tripped headlong over the cord; now at the crossways they stopped to wrangle and question which way they should go, or whose turn it was to pull and whose to follow. at last they started afresh with a whoop, the leader singing and all plucking the string to the cadence of the air. their plaything leapt and dropped, sprang forward, and lingered like a thing of life. but it was no thing of life, as tignonville saw with a shudder when they passed him. the object of their sport was the naked body of a child, an infant! his gorge rose at the sight. fear such as he had not before experienced chilled his marrow. this was hate indeed, a hate before which the strong man quailed; the hate of which mademoiselle had spoken when she said that the babes crossed themselves, at her passing, and the houses tottered to fall upon her! he paused a minute to recover himself, so deeply had the sight moved him; and as he stood, he wondered if that hate already had its cold eye fixed on him. instinctively his gaze searched the opposite wall, but save for two small double-grated windows it was blind; time-stained and stone-built, dark with the ordure of the city lane, it seemed but the back of a house, which looked another way. the outer gates of an arched doorway were open, and a loaded hay-cart, touching either side and brushing the arch above, blocked the passage. his gaze, leaving the windows, dropped to this, he scanned it a moment; and on a sudden he stiffened. between the hay and the arch a hand flickered an instant, then vanished. tignonville stared. at first he thought his eyes had tricked him. then the hand appeared again, and this time it conveyed an unmistakable invitation. it is not from the unknown or the hidden that the fugitive has aught to fear, and tignonville, after casting a glance down the lane--which revealed a single man standing with his face the other way--slipped across and pushed between the hay and the wall. he coughed. a voice whispered to him to climb up; a friendly hand clutched him in the act, and aided him. in a second he was lying on his face, tight squeezed between the hay and the roof of the arch. beside him lay a man whose features his eyes, unaccustomed to the gloom, could not discern. but the man knew him and whispered his name. "you know me?" tignonville muttered in astonishment. "i marked you, m. de tignonville, at the preaching last sunday," the stranger answered placidly. "you were there?" "i preached." "then you are m. la tribe!" "i am," the clergyman answered quietly. "they seized me on my threshold, but i left my cloak in their hands and fled. one tore my stocking with his point, another my doublet, but not a hair of my head was injured. they hunted me to the end of the next street, but i lived and still live, and shall live to lift up my voice against this wicked city." the sympathy between the huguenot by faith and the huguenot by politics was imperfect. tignonville, like most men of rank of the younger generation, was a huguenot by politics; and he was in a bitter humour. he felt, perhaps, that it was men such as this who had driven the other side to excesses such as these; and he hardly repressed a sneer. "i wish i felt as sure!" he muttered bluntly. "you know that all our people are dead?" "he can save by few or by many," the preacher answered devoutly. "we are of the few, blessed be god, and shall see israel victorious, and our people as a flock of sheep!" "i see small chance of it," tignonville answered contemptuously. "i know it as certainly as i knew before you came, m. de tignonville, that you would come!" "that i should come?" "that some one would come," la tribe answered, correcting himself. "i knew not who it would be until you appeared and placed yourself in the doorway over against me, even as obadiah in the holy book passed before the hiding-place of elijah." the two lay on their faces side by side, the rafters of the archway low on their heads. tignonville lifted himself a little, and peered anew at the other. he fancied that la tribe's mind, shaken by the horrors of the morning and his narrow escape, had given way. "you rave, man," he said. "this is no time for visions." "i said naught of visions," the other answered. "then why so sure that we shall escape?" "i am certified of it," la tribe replied. "and more than that, i know that we shall lie here some days. the time has not been revealed to me, but it will be days and a day. then we shall leave this place unharmed, as we entered it, and, whatever betide others, we shall live." tignonville shrugged his shoulders. "i tell you, you rave, m. la tribe," he said petulantly. "at any moment we may be discovered. even now i hear footsteps." "they tracked me well-nigh to this place," the minister answered placidly. "the deuce they did!" tignonville muttered, with irritation. he dared not raise his voice. "i would you had told me that before i joined you, monsieur, and i had found some safer hiding-place! when we are discovered----" "then," the other continued calmly, "you will see." "in any case we shall be better farther back," tignonville retorted. "here, we are within an ace of being seen from the lane." and he began to wriggle himself backwards. the minister laid his hand on him. "have a care!" he muttered. "and do not move, but listen. and you will understand. when i reached this place--it would be about five o'clock this morning--breathless, and expecting each minute to be dragged forth to make my confession before men, i despaired as you despair now. like elijah under the juniper tree, i said 'it is enough, o lord! take my soul also, for i am no better than my fellows!' all the sky was black before my eyes, and my ears were filled with the wailings of the little ones and the lamentations of women. 'o lord, it is enough,' i prayed. 'take my soul, or, if it be thy will, then, as the angel was sent to take the cakes to elijah, give me also a sign that i shall live.'" for a moment he paused, struggling with overpowering emotion. even his impatient listener, hitherto incredulous, caught the infection, and in a tone of awe murmured, "yes? and then, m. la tribe!" "the sign was given me. the words were scarcely out of my mouth when a hen flew up, and, scratching a nest in the hay at my feet, presently laid an egg." tignonville stared. "it was timely, i admit," he said. "but it is no uncommon thing. probably it has its nest here and lays daily." "young man, this is new-mown hay," the minister answered solemnly. "this cart was brought here no further back than yesterday. it smells of the meadow, and the flowers hold their colour. no, the fowl was sent. to-morrow it will return, and the next, and the next, until the plague be stayed and i go hence. but that is not all. a while later a second hen appeared, and i thought it would lay in the same nest. but it made a new one, on the side on which you lie and not far from your foot. then i knew that i was to have a companion, and that god had laid also for him a table in the wilderness." "it did lay, then?" "it is still on the nest, beside your foot." tignonville was about to reply when the preacher grasped his arm and by a sign enjoined silence. he did so not a moment too soon. preoccupied by the story, narrator and listener had paid no heed to what was passing in the lane, and the voices of men speaking close at hand took them by surprise. from the first words which reached them, it was clear that the speakers were the same who had chased la tribe as far as the meeting of the four ways, and, losing him there, had spent the morning in other business. now they had returned to hunt him down, and but for a wrangle which arose among them and detained them, they had stolen on their quarry before their coming was suspected. "'twas this way he ran!" "no, 'twas the other!" they contended; and their words, winged with vile threats and oaths, grew noisy and hot. the two listeners dared scarcely to breathe. the danger was so near, it was so certain that if the men came three paces farther, they would observe and search the hay-cart, that tignonville fancied the steel already at his throat. he felt the hay rustle under his slightest movement, and gripped one hand with the other to restrain the tremor of overpowering excitement. yet when he glanced at the minister he found him unmoved, a smile on his face. and m. de tignonville could have cursed him for his folly. for the men were coming on! an instant, and they perceived the cart, and the ruffian who had advised this route pounced on it in triumph. "there! did i not say so?" he cried. "he is curled up in that hay, for the satan's grub he is! that is where he is, see you!" "maybe," another answered grudgingly, as they gathered before it. "and maybe not, simon!" "to hell with your maybe not!" the first replied. and he drove his pike deep into the hay and turned it viciously. the two on the top controlled themselves. tignonville's face was livid; of himself he would have slid down amongst them and taken his chance, preferring to die fighting, to die in the open, rather than to perish like a rat in a stack. but la tribe had gripped his arm and held him fast. the man whom the others called simon thrust again, but too low and without result. he was for trying a third time, when one of his comrades who had gone to the other side of the lane announced that the men were on the top of the hay. "can you see them!" "no, but there's room and to spare." "oh, a curse on your room!" simon retorted. "well, you can look." "if that's all, i'll soon look!" was the answer. and the rogue, forcing himself between the hay and the side of the gateway, found the wheel of the cart, and began to raise himself on it. tignonville, who lay on that hand, heard, though he could not see his movements. he knew what they meant, he knew that in a twinkling he must be discovered; and with a last prayer he gathered himself for a spring. it seemed an age before the intruder's head appeared on a level with the hay; and then the alarm came from another quarter. the hen which had made its nest at tignonville's feet, disturbed by the movement or by the newcomer's hand, flew out with a rush and flutter as of a great firework. upsetting the startled simon, who slipped swearing to the ground, it swooped scolding and clucking over the heads of the other men, and reaching the street in safety scuttled off at speed, its outspread wings sweeping the earth in its rage. they laughed uproariously as simon emerged, rubbing his elbow. "there's for you! there's your preacher!" his opponent jeered. "d----n her! she gives tongue as fast as any of them!" gibed a second. "will you try again, simon? you may find another love-letter there!" "have done!" a third cried impatiently. "he'll not be where the hen is! let's back! let's back! i said before that it wasn't this way he turned! he's made for the river." "the plague in his vitals!" simon replied furiously. "wherever he is, i'll find him!" and reluctant to confess himself wrong, he lingered, casting vengeful glances at the hay. but one of the other men cursed him for a fool; and presently, forced to accept his defeat or be left alone, he rejoined his fellows. slowly the footsteps and voices receded along the lane; slowly, until silence swallowed them, and on the quivering strained senses of the two who remained behind, descended the gentle influence of twilight and the sweet scent of the new-mown hay on which they lay. la tribe turned to his companion, his eyes shining. "our soul is escaped," he murmured, "even as a bird out of the snare of the fowler. the snare is broken and we are delivered!" his voice shook as he whispered the ancient words of triumph. but when they came to look in the nest at tignonville's feet there was no egg! chapter ix. unstable. and that troubled m. la tribe no little, although he did not impart his thoughts to his companion. instead they talked in whispers of the things which had happened; of the admiral, of teligny, whom all loved, of rochefoucauld the accomplished, the king's friend; of the princes in the louvre whom they gave up for lost, and of the huguenot nobles on the farther side of the river, of whose safety there seemed some hope. tignonville--he best knew why--said nothing of the fate of his betrothed, or of his own adventures in that connection. but each told the other how the alarm had reached him, and painted in broken words his reluctance to believe in treachery so black. thence they passed to the future of the cause, and of that took views as opposite as light and darkness, as papegot and huguenot. the one was confident, the other in despair. and some time in the afternoon, worn out by the awful experiences of the last twelve hours, they fell asleep, their heads on their arms, the hay tickling their faces; and, with death stalking the lane beside them, slept soundly until after sundown. when they awoke hunger awoke with them, and urged on la tribe's mind the question of the missing egg. it was not altogether the prick of appetite which troubled him, but regarding the hiding-place in which they lay as an ark of refuge providentially supplied, protected and victualled, he could not refrain from asking reverently what the deficiency meant. it was not as if one hen only had appeared; as if no farther prospect had been extended. but up to a certain point the message was clear. then when the hand of providence had shown itself most plainly, and in a manner to melt the heart with awe and thankfulness, the message had been blurred. seriously the huguenot asked himself what it portended. to tignonville, if he thought of it at all, the matter was the matter of an egg, and stopped there. an egg might alleviate the growing pangs of hunger; its non-appearance was a disappointment, but he traced the matter no farther. it must be confessed that the hay-cart was to him only a hay-cart--and not an ark; and the sooner he was safely away from it the better he would be pleased. while la tribe, lying snug and warm beside him, thanked god for a lot so different from that of such of his fellows as had escaped--whom he pictured crouching in dank cellars, or on roof-trees exposed to the heat by day and the dews by night--the young man grew more and more restive. hunger pricked him, and the meanness of the part he had played moved him to action. about midnight, resisting the dissuasions of his companion, he would have sallied out in search of food if the passage of a turbulent crowd had not warned him that the work of murder was still proceeding. he curbed himself after that and lay until daylight. but, ill content with his own conduct, on fire when he thought of his betrothed, he was in no temper to bear hardship cheerfully or long; and gradually there rose before his mind the picture of madame st. lo's smiling face, and the fair hair which curled low on the white of her neck. he would, and he would not. death that had stalked so near him preached its solemn sermon. but death and pleasure are never far apart; and at no time and nowhere have they jostled one another more familiarly than in that age, wherever the influence of italy and italian art and italian hopelessness extended. again, on the one side, la tribe's example went for something with his comrade in misfortune; but in the other scale hung relief from discomfort, with the prospect of a woman's smiles and a woman's flatteries, of dainty dishes, luxury, and passion. if he went now, he went to her from the jaws of death, with the glamour of adventure and peril about him; and the very going into her presence was a lure. moreover, if he had been willing while his betrothed was still his, why not now when he had lost her? it was this last reflection--and one other thing which came on a sudden into his mind--which turned the scale. about noon he sat up in the hay, and, abruptly and sullenly, "i'll lie here no longer," he said; and he dropped his legs over the side. "i shall go." the movement was so unexpected that la tribe stared at him in silence. then, "you will run a great risk, m. de tignonville," he said gravely, "if you do. you may go as far under cover of night as the river, or you may reach one of the gates. but as to crossing the one or passing the other, i reckon it a thing impossible." "i shall not wait until night," tignonville answered curtly, a ring of defiance in his tone. "i shall go now! i'll lie here no longer!" "now?" "yes, now." "you will be mad if you do," the other replied. he thought it the petulant outcry of youth tired of inaction; a protest, and nothing more. he was speedily undeceived. "mad or not, i am going!" tignonville retorted. and he slid to the ground, and from the covert of the hanging fringe of hay looked warily up and down the lane. "it is clear, i think," he said. "good-bye." and with no more, without one upward glance or a gesture of the hand, with no further adieu or word of gratitude, he walked out into the lane, turned briskly to the left, and vanished. the minister uttered a cry of astonishment, and made as if he would descend also. "come back, sir!" he called, as loudly as he dared. "m. de tignonville, come back! this is folly or worse!" but m. de tignonville was gone. la tribe listened a while, unable to believe it, and still expecting his return. at last, hearing nothing, he slid, greatly excited, to the ground and looked out. it was not until he had peered up and down the lane and made sure that it was empty that he could persuade himself that the other had gone for good. then he climbed slowly and seriously to his place again, and sighed as he settled himself. "unstable as water thou shalt not excel!" he muttered. "now i know why there was only one egg." meanwhile tignonville, after putting a hundred yards between himself and his bedfellow, plunged into the first dark entry which presented itself. hurriedly, and with a frowning face, he cut off his left sleeve from shoulder to wrist; and this act, by disclosing his linen, put him in possession of the white sleeve which he had once involuntarily donned, and once discarded. the white cross on the cap he could not assume, for he was bareheaded. but he had little doubt that the sleeve would suffice, and with a bold demeanour he made his way northward until he reached again the rue ferronerie. excited groups were wandering up and down the street, and, fearing to traverse its crowded narrows, he went by lanes parallel with it as far as the rue st. denis, which he crossed. everywhere he saw houses gutted and doors burst in, and traces of a cruelty and a fanaticism almost incredible. near the rue des lombards he saw a dead child, stripped stark and hanged on the hook of a cobbler's shutter. a little further on in the same street he stepped over the body of a handsome young woman, distinguished by the length and beauty of her hair. to obtain her bracelets, her captors had cut off her hands; afterwards--but god knows how long afterwards--a passer-by, more pitiful than his fellows, had put her out of her misery with a spit, which still remained plunged in her body. m. de tignonville shuddered at the sight, and at others like it. he loathed the symbol he wore, and himself for wearing it; and more than once his better nature bade him return and play the nobler part. once he did turn with that intention. but he had set his mind on comfort and pleasure, and the value of these things is raised, not lowered, by danger and uncertainty. quickly his stoicism oozed away; he turned again. barely avoiding the rush of a crowd of wretches who were bearing a swooning victim to the river, he hurried through the rue des lombards and reached in safety the house beside the "golden maid." he had no doubt now on which side of the "maid" madame st. lo lived; the house was plain before him. he had only to knock. but in proportion as he approached his haven, his anxiety grew. to lose all, with all in his grasp, to fail upon the threshold, was a thing which bore no looking at; and it was with a nervous hand and eyes cast fearfully behind him that he plied the heavy iron knocker which adorned the door. he could not turn his gaze from a knot of ruffians, who were gathered under one of the tottering gables on the farther side of the street. they seemed to be watching him, and he fancied--though the distance rendered this impossible--that he could see suspicion growing in their eyes. at any moment they might cross the roadway, they might approach, they might challenge him. and at the thought he knocked and knocked again. why did not the porter come? ay, why? for now a score of contingencies came into the young man's mind and tortured him. had madame st. lo withdrawn to safer quarters and closed the house? or, good catholic as she was, had she given way to panic, and determined to open to no one? or was she ill? or had she perished in the general disorder? or---- and then, even as the men began to slink towards him, his heart leapt. he heard a footstep heavy and slow move through the house. it came nearer and nearer. a moment, and an iron-grated judas-hole in the door slid open, and a servant, an elderly man, sleek and respectable, looked out at him. tignonville could scarcely speak for excitement. "madame st. lo?" he muttered tremulously. "i come to her from her cousin the comte de tavannes. quick! quick! if you please. open to me!" "monsieur is alone?" "yes! yes!" the man nodded gravely and slid back the bolts. he allowed m. de tignonville to enter, then with care he secured the door, and led the way across a small square court, paved with red tiles and enclosed by the house, but open above to the sunshine and the blue sky. a gallery which ran round the upper floor looked on this court, in which a great quiet reigned, broken only by the music of a fountain. a vine climbed on the wooden pillars which supported the gallery, and, aspiring higher, embraced the wide carved eaves, and even tapestried with green the three gables that on each side of the court broke the sky-line. the grapes hung nearly ripe, and amid their clusters and the green lattice of their foliage tignonville's gaze sought eagerly but in vain the laughing eyes and piquant face of his new mistress. for with the closing of the door, and the passing from him of the horrors of the streets, he had entered, as by magic, a new and smiling world; a world of tennis and roses, of tinkling voices and women's wiles, a world which smacked of florence and the south, and love and life; a world which his late experiences had set so far away from him, his memory of it seemed a dream. now, as he drank in its stillness and its fragrance, as he felt its safety and its luxury lap him round once more, he sighed. and with that breath he rid himself of much. the servant led him to a parlour, a cool shady room on the farther side of the tiny quadrangle, and, muttering something inaudible, withdrew. a moment later a frolicsome laugh, and the light flutter of a woman's skirt as she tripped across the court, brought the blood to his cheeks. he went a step nearer to the door, and his eyes grew bright. chapter x. madame st. lo. so far excitement had supported tignonville in his escape. it was only when he knew himself safe, when he heard madame st. lo's footstep in the courtyard and knew that in a moment he would see her, that he knew also that he was failing for want of food. the room seemed to go round with him; the window to shift, the light to flicker. and then again, with equal abruptness, he grew strong and steady and perfectly master of himself. nay, never had he felt a confidence in himself so overwhelming or a capacity so complete. the triumph of that which he had done, the knowledge that of so many he, almost alone, had escaped, filled his brain with a delicious and intoxicating vanity. when the door opened, and madame st. lo appeared on the threshold, he advanced holding out his arms. he expected that she would fall into them. but madame only backed and curtseyed, a mischievous light in her eyes. "a thousand thanks, monsieur!" she said, "but you are more ready than i!" and she remained by the door. "i have come to you through all!" he cried, speaking loudly because of a humming in his ears. "they are lying in the streets! they are dying, are dead, are hunted, are pursued, are perishing! but i have come through all to you!" she curtseyed anew. "so i see, monsieur!" she answered. "i am nattered!" but she did not advance, and gradually, light-headed as he was, he began to see that she looked at him with an odd closeness. and he took offence. "i say, madame, i have come to you!" he repeated. "and you do not seem pleased!" she came forward a step and looked at him still more oddly. "oh, yes," she said. "i am pleased, m. de tignonville. it is what i intended. but tell me how you have fared. you are not hurt?" "not a hair!" he cried boastfully. and he told her in a dozen windy sentences of the adventure of the hay-cart and his narrow escape. he wound up with a foolish meaningless laugh. "then you have not eaten for thirty-six hours?" she said. and when he did not answer, "i understand," she continued, nodding and speaking as to a child. and she rang a silver handbell and gave an order. she addressed the servant in her usual tone, but to tignonville's ear her voice seemed to fall to a whisper. her figure--she was small and fairy-like--began to sway before him; and then in a moment, as it seemed to him, she was gone, and he was seated at a table, his trembling fingers grasping a cup of wine which the elderly servant who had admitted him was holding to his lips. on the table before him were a spit of partridges and a cake of white bread. when he had swallowed a second mouthful of wine--which cleared his eyes as by magic--the man urged him to eat. and he fell to with an appetite that grew as he ate. by and by, feeling himself again, he became aware that two of madame's women were peering at him through the open doorway. he looked that way and they fled giggling into the court; but in a moment they were back again, and the sound of their tittering drew his eyes anew to the door. it was the custom of the day for ladies of rank to wait on their favourites at table; and he wondered if madame were with them, and why she did not come and serve him herself. but for a while longer the savour of the roasted game took up the major part of his thoughts; and when prudence warned him to desist, and he sat back, satisfied after his long fast, he was in no mood to be critical. perhaps--for somewhere in the house he heard a lute--madame was entertaining those whom she could not leave? or deluding some who might betray him if they discovered him? from that his mind turned back to the streets and the horrors through which he had passed; but for a moment and no more. a shudder, an emotion of prayerful pity, and he recalled his thoughts. in the quiet of the cool room, looking on the sunny, vine-clad court, with the tinkle of the lute and the murmurous sound of women's voices in his ears, it was hard to believe that the things from which he had emerged were real. it was still more unpleasant, and as futile, to dwell on them. a day of reckoning would come, and, if la tribe were right, the cause would rally, bristling with pikes and snorting with war-horses, and the blood spilled in this wicked city would cry aloud for vengeance. but the hour was not yet. he had lost his mistress, and for that atonement must be exacted. but in the present another mistress awaited him, and as a man could only die once, and might die at any minute, so he could only live once and in the present. then _vogue la galère!_ as he roused himself from this brief reverie and fell to wondering how long he was to be left to himself, a rosebud tossed by an unseen hand struck him on the breast and dropped to his knees. to seize it and kiss it gallantly, to spring to his feet and look about him were instinctive movements. but he could see no one; and, in the hope of surprising the giver, he stole to the window. the sound of the lute and the distant tinkle of laughter persisted. the court, save for a page, who lay asleep on a bench in the gallery, was empty. tignonville scanned the boy suspiciously; a male disguise was often adopted by the court ladies, and if madame would play a prank on him, this was a thing to be reckoned with. but a boy it seemed to be, and after a while the young man went back to his seat. even as he sat down, a second flower struck him more sharply in the face, and this time he darted not to the window but to the door. he opened it quickly and looked out, but again he was too late. "i shall catch you presently, _ma reine!_" he murmured tenderly, with intent to be heard. and he closed the door. but, wiser this time, he waited with his hand on the latch until he heard the rustling of a skirt, and saw the line of light at the foot of the door darkened by a shadow. that moment he flung the door wide, and, clasping the wearer of the skirt in his arms, kissed her lips before she had time to resist. then he fell back as if he had been shot! for the wearer of the skirt, she whom he had kissed, was madame st. lo's woman, and behind her stood madame herself, laughing, laughing, laughing with all the gay abandonment of her light little heart. "oh, the gallant gentleman!" she cried, and clapped her hands effusively. "was ever recovery so rapid? or triumph so speedy? suzanne, my child, you surpass venus. your charms conquer before they are seen!" m. de tignonville had put poor suzanne from him as if she burned; and hot and embarrassed, cursing his haste, he stood looking awkwardly at them. "madame," he stammered at last, "you know quite well that i----" "seeing is believing!" "that i thought it was you!" "oh, what i have lost!" she replied. and she looked archly at suzanne, who giggled and tossed her head. he was growing angry. "but, madame," he protested, "you know----" "i know what i know, and i have seen what i have seen!" madame answered merrily. and she hummed, "ce fut le plus grand jour d'este que m'embrassa la belle suzanne! "oh, yes, i know what i know!" she repeated. and she fell again to laughing immoderately; while the pretty piece of mischief beside her hung her head, and, putting a finger in her mouth, mocked him with an affectation of modesty. the young man glowered at them between rage and embarrassment. this was not the reception, nor this the hero's return to which he had looked forward. and a doubt began to take form in his mind. the mistress he had pictured would not laugh at kisses given to another; nor forget in a twinkling the straits through which he had come to her, the hell from which he had plucked himself! possibly the court ladies held love as cheap as this, and lovers but as playthings, butts for their wit, and pegs on which to hang their laughter. but--but he began to doubt, and, perplexed and irritated, he showed his feelings. "madame," he said stiffly, "a jest is an excellent thing. but pardon me if i say that it is ill played on a fasting man." madame desisted from laughter that she might speak. "a fasting man?" she cried. "and he has eaten two partridges!" "fasting from love, madame." madame st. lo held up her hands. "and it's not two minutes since he took a kiss!" he winced, was silent a moment, and then seeing that he got nothing by the tone he had adopted he cried for quarter. "a little mercy, madame, as you are beautiful," he said, wooing her with his eyes. "do not plague me beyond what a man can bear. dismiss, i pray you, this good creature--whose charms do but set off yours as the star leads the eye to the moon--and make me the happiest man in the world by so much of your company as you will vouchsafe to give me." "that may be but a very little," she answered, letting her eyes fall coyly, and affecting to handle the tucker of her low ruff. but he saw that her lip twitched; and he could have sworn that she mocked him to suzanne, for the girl giggled. still by an effort he controlled his feelings. "why so cruel?" he murmured, in a tone meant for her alone, and with a look to match. "you were not so hard when i spoke with you in the gallery, two evenings ago, madame." "was i not?" she asked. "did i look like this? and this?" and, languishing, she looked at him very sweetly after two fashions. "something." "oh, then i meant nothing!" she retorted with sudden vivacity. and she made a face at him, laughing under his nose. "i do that when i mean nothing, monsieur! do you see? but you are gascon, and given, i fear, to flatter yourself." then he saw clearly that she played with him: and resentment, chagrin, pique got the better of his courtesy. "i flatter myself?" he cried, his voice choked with rage. "it may be i do now, madame, but did i flatter myself when you wrote me this note?" and he drew it out and flourished it in her face. "did i imagine when i read this? or is it not in your hand? it is a forgery, perhaps," he continued bitterly. "or it means nothing? nothing, this note bidding me be at madame st. lo's at an hour before midnight--it means nothing? at an hour before midnight, madame!" "on saturday night? the night before last night?" "on saturday night, the night before last night! but madame knows nothing of it? nothing, i suppose?" she shrugged her shoulders and smiled cheerfully on him. "oh, yes, i wrote it," she said. "but what of that, m. de tignonville?" "what of that?" "yes, monsieur, what of that? did you think it was written out of love for you?" he was staggered for the moment by her coolness. "out of what, then?" he cried hoarsely. "out of what, then, if not out of love?" "why, out of pity, my little gentleman!" she answered sharply. "and trouble thrown away it seems. love!" and she laughed so merrily and spontaneously it cut him to the heart. "no; but you said a dainty thing or two, and smiled a smile; and like a fool, and like a woman, i was sorry for the innocent calf that bleated so prettily on its way to the butcher's! and i would lock you up and save your life, i thought, until the blood-letting was over. now you have it, m. de tignonville, and i hope you like it." like it, when every word she uttered stripped him of the selfish illusions in which he had wrapped himself against the blasts of ill-fortune? like it, when the prospect of her charms had bribed him from the path of fortitude, when for her sake he had been false to his mistress, to his friends, to his faith, to his cause? like it, when he knew as he listened that all was lost, and nothing gained--not even this poor, unworthy, shameful compensation? like it? no wonder that words failed him, and he glared at her in rage, in misery, in shame. "oh, if you don't like it," she continued, tossing her head after a momentary pause, "then you should not have come! it is of no profit to glower at me, monsieur. you do not frighten me." "i would--i would to god i had not come!" he groaned. "and, i dare say, that you had never seen me--since you cannot win me!" "that too," he exclaimed. she was of an extraordinary levity, and at that after staring at him a moment she broke into shrill laughter. "a little more, and i'll send you to my cousin hannibal!" she said. "you do not know how anxious he is to see you. have you a mind," with a waggish look, "to play bride's man, m. de tignonville? or will you give away the bride? it is not too late, though soon it will be!" he winced, and from red grew pale. "what do you mean?" he stammered. and, averting his eyes in shame, seeing now all the littleness, all the baseness of his position, "has he--married her?" he continued. "ho, ho!" she cried in triumph. "i've hit you now, have i, monsieur? i've hit you!" and mocking him, "has he--married her?" she lisped. "no; but he will marry her, have no fear of that! he will marry her. he waits but to get a priest. would you like to see what he says?" she continued, playing with him as a cat plays with a mouse. "i had a note from him yesterday. would you like to see how welcome you'll be at the wedding?" and she flaunted a piece of paper before his eyes. "give it me," he said. she let him seize it the while she shrugged her shoulders. "it's your affair, not mine," she said. "see it if you like, and keep it if you like. cousin hannibal wastes few words." that was true, for the paper contained but a dozen or fifteen words, and an initial by way of signature. "i may need your shoveling to-morrow afternoon. send him, and tignonville in safeguard if he come.--h." "i can guess what use he has for a priest," she said. "it is not to confess him, i warrant. it's long, i fear, since hannibal told his beads." m. de tignonville swore. "i would i had the confessing of him!" he said between his teeth. she clapped her hands in glee. "why should you not?" she cried. "why should you not? 'tis time yet, since i am to send to-day and have not sent. will you be the shaveling to go confess or marry him?" and she laughed recklessly. "will you, m. de tignonville? the cowl will mask you as well as another, and pass you through the streets better than a cut sleeve. he will have both his wishes, lover and clerk in one then. and it will be pull monk, pull hannibal with a vengeance." tignonville gazed at her, and as he gazed courage and hope awoke in his eyes. what if, after all, he could undo the past? what if, after all, he could retrace the false step he had taken, and place himself again where he had been--by her side? "if you meant it!" he exclaimed, his breath coming fast. "if you only meant what you say, madame." "if?" she answered, opening her eyes. "and why should i not mean it?" "because," he replied slowly, "cowl or no cowl, when i meet your cousin----" "'twill go hard with him?" she cried, with a mocking laugh. "and you think i fear for him. that is it, is it?" he nodded. "i fear just _so much_ for him!" she retorted with contempt. "just so much!" and coming a step nearer to tignonville she snapped her small white fingers under his nose. "do you see? no, m. de tignonville," she continued, "you do not know count hannibal if you think that he fears, or that any fear for him. if you will beard the lion in his den, the risk will be yours, not his!" the young man's face glowed. "i take the risk!" he cried. "and i thank you for the chance; that, madame, whatever betide. but----" "but what?" she asked, seeing that he hesitated and that his face fell. "if he afterwards learn that you have played him a trick," he said, "will he not punish you?" "punish me?" he nodded. madame laughed her high disdain. "you do not yet know hannibal de tavannes," she said. "he does not war with women." chapter xi. a bargain. it is the wont of the sex to snatch at an ell where an inch is offered, and to press an advantage in circumstances in which a man, acknowledging the claims of generosity, scruples to ask for more. the habit, now ingrained, may have sprung from long dependence on the male, and is one which a hundred instances, from the time of judith downward, prove to be at its strongest where the need is greatest. when mademoiselle de vrillac came out of the hour-long swoon into which her lover's defection had cast her, the expectation of the worst was so strong upon her that she could not at once credit the respite which madame carlat hastened to announce. she could not believe that she still lay safe, in her own room above stairs; that she was in the care of her own servants, and that the chamber held no presence more hateful than that of the good woman who sat weeping beside her. as was to be expected, she came to herself sighing and shuddering, trembling with nervous exhaustion. she looked for _him_, as soon as she looked for any; and even when she had seen the door locked and double-locked, she doubted--doubted, and shook and hid herself in the hangings of the bed. the noise of the riot and rapine which prevailed in the city, and which reached the ear even in that locked room--and although the window, of paper, with an upper pane of glass, looked into a courtyard--was enough to drive the blood from a woman's cheeks. but it was fear of the house, not of the street, fear from within, not from without, which impelled the girl into the darkest corner and shook her wits. she could not believe that even this short respite was hers, until she had repeatedly heard the fact confirmed at madame carlat's mouth. "you are deceiving me!" she cried more than once. and each time she started up in fresh terror. "he never said that he would not return until to-morrow!" "he did, my lamb, he did!" the old woman answered with tears. "would i deceive you?" "he said he would not return?" "he said he would not return until to-morrow. you had until to-morrow, he said." "and then?" "he would come and bring the priest with him," madame carlat replied sorrowfully. "the priest? to-morrow!" mademoiselle cried. "the priest!" and she crouched anew with hot eyes behind the hangings of the bed, and, shivering, hid her face. but this for a time only. as soon as she had made certain of the respite, and that she had until the morrow, her courage rose, and with it the instinct of which mention has been made. count hannibal had granted a respite; short as it was, and no more than the barest humanity required, to grant one at all was not the act of the mere butcher who holds the trembling lamb, unresisting, in his hands. it was an act--no more, again be it said, than humanity required--and yet an act which bespoke an expectation of some return, of some correlative advantage. it was not in the part of the mere brigand. something had been granted. something short of the utmost in the captor's power had been exacted. he had shown that there were things he would not do. then might not something more be won from him? a further delay, another point; something, no matter what, which could be turned to advantage. with the brigand it is not possible to bargain. but who gives a little may give more; who gives a day may give a week; who gives a week may give a month. and a month? her heart leapt up. a month seemed a lifetime, an eternity, to her who had but until to-morrow! yet there was one consideration which might have daunted a spirit less brave. to obtain aught from tavannes it was needful to ask him, and to ask him it was needful to see him; and to see him _before_ that to-morrow which meant so much to her. it was necessary, in a word, to run some risk; but without risk the card could not be played, and she did not hesitate. it might turn out that she was wrong, that the man was not only pitiless and without bowels of mercy, but lacked also the shred of decency for which she gave him credit, and on which she counted. in that case, if she sent for him--but she would not consider that case. the position of the window, while it increased the women's safety, debarred them from all knowledge of what was going forward, except that which their ears afforded them. they had no means of judging whether tavannes remained in the house or had sallied forth to play his part in the work of murder. madame carlat, indeed, had no desire to know anything. in that room above stairs, with the door double-locked, lay a hope of safety in the present, and of ultimate deliverance; there she had a respite from terror, as long as she kept the world outside. to her, therefore, the notion of sending for tavannes, or communicating with him, came as a thunderbolt. was her mistress mad? did she wish to court her fate? to reach tavannes they must apply to his riders, for carlat and the men-servants were confined above. those riders were grim, brutal men, who might resort to rudeness on their own account. and madame, clinging in a paroxysm of terror to her mistress, suggested all manner of horrors, one on top of the other, until she increased her own terror tenfold. and yet, to do her justice, nothing that even her frenzied imagination suggested exceeded the things which the streets of paris, fruitful mother of horrors, were witnessing at that very hour. as we now know. for it was noon--or a little more--of sunday, august the twenty-fourth, "a holiday, and therefore the people could more conveniently find leisure to kill and plunder." from the bridges, and particularly from the stone bridge of notre dame--while they lay safe in that locked room, and tignonville crouched in his haymow--huguenots less fortunate were being cast, bound hand and foot, into the seine. on the river bank spire niquet, the bookman, was being burnt over a slow fire, fed with his own books. in their houses, ramus the scholar and goujon the sculptor--than whom paris has neither seen nor deserved a greater--were being butchered like sheep; and in the valley of misery, now the quai de la megisserie, seven hundred persons who had sought refuge in the prisons were being beaten to death with bludgeons. nay, at this hour--a little sooner or a little later, what matters it?--m. tignonville's own cousin, madame d'yverne, the darling of the louvre the day before, perished in the hands of the mob; and the sister of m. de taverny, equally ill-fated, died in the same fashion, after being dragged through the streets. madame carlat, then, went not a whit beyond the mark in her argument. but mademoiselle had made up her mind, and was not to be dissuaded. "if i am to be monsieur's wife," she said with quivering nostrils, "shall i fear his servants?" and opening the door herself, for the others would not, she called. the man who answered was a norman; and short of stature, and wrinkled and low-browed of feature, with a thatch of hair and a full beard, he seemed the embodiment of the women's apprehensions. moreover, his _patois_ of the cider-land was little better than german to them; their southern, softer tongue was sheer italian to him. but he seemed not ill-disposed, or mademoiselle's air overawed him; and presently she made him understand, and with a nod he descended to carry her message. then mademoiselle's heart began to beat; and beat more quickly when she heard _his_ step--alas! she knew it already, knew it from all others--on the stairs. the table was set, the card must be played, to win or lose. it might be that with the low, opinion he held of women he would think her reconciled to her lot; he would think this an overture, a step towards kinder treatment, one more proof of the inconstancy of the lower and the weaker sex, made to be men's playthings. and at that thought her eyes grew hot with rage. but if it were so, she must still put up with it. she must still put up with it! she had sent for him, and he was coming--he was at the door! he entered, and she breathed more freely. for once his face lacked the sneer, the look of smiling possession, which she had come to know and hate. it was grave, expectant, even suspicious; still harsh and dark, akin, as she now observed, to the low-browed, furrowed face of the rider who had summoned him. but the offensive look was gone, and she could breathe. he closed the door behind him, but he did not advance into the room. "at your pleasure, mademoiselle?" he said simply. "you sent for me, i think." she was on her feet, standing before him with something of the submissiveness of roxana before her conqueror. "i did," she said; and stopped at that, her hand to her side as if she could not continue. but presently in a low voice, "i have heard," she went on, "what you said, monsieur, after i lost consciousness." "yes?" he said; and was silent. nor did he lose his watchful look. "i am obliged to you for your thought of me," she continued in a faint voice, "and i shall be still further obliged--i speak to you thus quickly and thus early--if you will grant me a somewhat longer time." "do you mean--if i will postpone our marriage?" "yes, monsieur." "it is impossible!" "do not say that," she cried, raising her voice impulsively. "i appeal to your generosity. and for a short, a very short, time only." "it is impossible," he answered quietly. "and for reasons, mademoiselle. in the first place i can more easily protect my wife. in the second, i am even now summoned to the louvre, and should be on my way thither. by to-morrow evening, unless i am mistaken in the business on which i am required, i shall be on my way to a distant province with royal letters. it is essential that our marriage take place before i go." "why?" she asked stubbornly. he shrugged his shoulders. "why?" he repeated. "can you ask, mademoiselle, after the events of last night? because, if you please, i do not wish to share the fate of m. de tignonville. because in these days life is uncertain, and death too certain. because it was our turn last night, and it may be the turn of your friends--to-morrow night!" "then some have escaped?" she cried. he smiled. "i am glad to find you so shrewd," he replied. "in an honest wife it is an excellent quality. yes, mademoiselle; one or two." "who? who? i pray you tell me." "m. de montgomery, who slept beyond the river, for one; and the vidame, and some with him. m. de biron, whom i count a huguenot, and who holds the arsenal in the king's teeth, for another. and a few more. enough, in a word, mademoiselle, to keep us wakeful. it is impossible, therefore, for me to postpone the fulfilment of your promise." "a promise on conditions!" she retorted, in rage that she could win no more. and every line of her splendid figure, every tone of her voice flamed sudden, hot rebellion. "i do not go for nothing! you gave me the lives of all in the house, monsieur! of all!" she repeated with passion. "and all are not here! before i marry you, you must show me m. de tignonville alive and safe!" he shrugged his shoulders. "he has taken himself off," he said. "it is naught to me what happens to him now." "it is all to me!" she retorted. at that he glared at her, the veins of his forehead swelling suddenly. but after a seeming struggle with himself he put the insult by, perhaps for future reckoning and account. "i did what i could," he said sullenly. "had i willed it he had died there and then in the room below. i gave him his life. if he has risked it anew and lost it, it is naught to me." "it was his life you gave me," she repeated stubbornly. "his life--and the others. but that is not all," she continued; "you promised me a minister." he nodded, smiling sourly to himself, as if this confirmed a suspicion he had entertained. "or a priest," he said. "no, a minister." "if one could be obtained. if not, a priest." "no, it was to be at my will; and i will a minister! i will a minister!" she cried passionately. "show me m. tignonville alive, and bring me a minister of my faith, and i will keep my promise, m. de tavannes. have no fear of that. but otherwise, i will not." "you will not?" he cried. "you will not?" "no!" "you will not marry me?" "no!" the moment she had said it fear seized her, and she could have fled from him, screaming. the flash of his eyes, the sudden passion of his face, burned themselves into her memory. she thought for a second that he would spring on her and strike her down. yet though the women behind her held their breath, she faced him, and did not quail; and to that, she fancied, she owed it that he controlled himself. "you will not?" he repeated, as if he could not understand such resistance to his will--as if he could not credit his ears. "you will not?" but after that, when he had said it three times, he laughed; a laugh, however, with a snarl in it that chilled her blood. "you bargain, do you?" he said. "you will have the last tittle of the price, will you? and have thought of this and that to put me off, and to gain time until your lover, who is all to you, come to save you? oh, clever girl! clever! but have you thought where you stand--woman? do you know that if i gave the word to my people they would treat you as the commonest baggage that tramps the froidmantel? do you know that it rests with me to save you, or to throw you to the wolves whose ravening you hear?" and he pointed to the window. "minister? priest?" he continued. "_mon dieu_, mademoiselle, i stand astonished at my moderation. you chatter to me of ministers and priests, and the one or the other, when it might be neither! when you are as much and as hopelessly in my power to-day as the wench in my kitchen! you! you flout me, and make terms with me! you!" and he came so near her with his dark harsh face, his tone rose so menacing on the last word, that her nerves, shattered before, gave way, and, unable to control herself, she flinched with a low cry, thinking he would strike her. he did not follow, nor move to follow; but he laughed a low laugh of content. and his eyes devoured her. "ho! ho!" he said. "we are not so brave as we pretend to be, it seems. and yet you dared to chaffer with me? you thought to thwart me--tavannes! _mon dieu_, mademoiselle, to what did you trust? to what did you trust? ay, and to what do you trust?" she knew that by the movement, which fear had forced from her, she had jeopardised everything. that she stood to lose all and more than all which she had thought to win by a bold front. a woman less brave, of a spirit less firm, would have given up the contest, and have been glad to escape so. but this woman, though her bloodless face showed that she knew what cause she had for fear, and though her heart was, indeed, sick with sheer terror, held her ground at the point to which she had retreated. she played her last card. "to what do i trust?" she muttered with trembling lips. "yes, mademoiselle," he answered, between his teeth. "to what do you trust--that you play with tavannes?" "to his honour, monsieur," she answered faintly. "and to your promise." he looked at her with his mocking smile. "and yet," he sneered, "you thought a moment ago that i was going to strike you. you thought that i should beat you! and now it is my honour and my promise! oh, clever, clever, mademoiselle! 'tis so that women make fools of men. i knew that something of this kind was on foot when you sent for me, for i know women and their ways. but, let me tell you, it is an ill time to speak of honour when the streets are red! and of promises when the king's word is 'no faith with a heretic!'" "yet you will keep yours," she said bravely. he did not answer at once, and hope which was almost dead in her breast began to recover; nay, presently sprang up erect. for the man hesitated, it was evident; he brooded with a puckered brow and gloomy eyes; an observer might have fancied that he traced pain as well as doubt in his face. at last: "there is a thing," he said slowly and with a sort of glare at her, "which, it may be, you have not reckoned. you press me now, and will stand on your terms and your conditions, your _ifs_ and your _unlesses!_ you will have the most from me, and the bargain and a little beside the bargain! but i would have you think if you are wise. bethink you how it will be between us when you are my wife--if you press me so now, mademoiselle. how will it sweeten things then? how will it soften them? and to what, i pray you, will you trust for fair treatment then, if you will be so against me now?" she shuddered. "to the mercy of my husband," she said in a low voice. and her chin sank on her breast. "you will be content to trust to that?" he answered grimly. and his tone and the lifting of his brow promised little clemency. "bethink you! 'tis your rights now, and your terms, mademoiselle! and then it will be only my mercy--madame." "i am content," she muttered faintly. "and the lord have mercy on my soul, is what you would add," he retorted, "so much trust have you in my mercy! and you are right! you are right, since you have played this trick on me. but as you will. if you will have it so, have it so! you shall stand on your conditions now; you shall have your pennyweight and full advantage, and the rigour of the pact. but afterwards--afterwards, madame de tavannes----" he did not finish his sentence, for at the first word which granted her petition, mademoiselle had sunk down on the low wooden window-seat beside which she stood, and, cowering into its farthest corner, her face hidden on her arms, had burst into violent weeping. her hair, hastily knotted up in the hurry of the previous night, hung in a thick plait to the curve of her waist; the nape of her neck showed beside it milk-white. the man stood awhile contemplating her in silence, his gloomy eyes watching the pitiful movement of her shoulders, the convulsive heaving of her figure. but he did not offer to touch her, and at length he turned about. first one and then the other of her women quailed and shrank under his gaze; he seemed about to add something. but he did not speak. the sentence he had left unfinished, the long look he bent on the weeping girl as he turned from her, spoke more eloquently of the future than a score of orations. "_afterwards, madame de tavannes!_" chapter xii. in the hall of the louvre. it is a strange thing that love--or passion, if the sudden fancy for mademoiselle which had seized count hannibal be deemed unworthy of the higher name--should so entirely possess the souls of those who harbour it that the greatest events and the most astounding catastrophes, even measures which set their mark for all time on a nation, are to them of importance only so far as they affect the pursuit of the fair one. as tavannes, after leaving mademoiselle, rode through the paved lanes, beneath the gabled houses, and under the shadow of the gothic spires of his day, he saw a score of sights, moving to pity, or wrath, or wonder. he saw paris as a city sacked; a slaughterhouse, where for a week a masque had moved to stately music; blood on the nailed doors and the close-set window bars; and at the corners of the ways strewn garments, broken weapons, the livid dead in heaps. but he saw all with eyes which in all and everywhere, among living and dead, sought only tignonville; tignonville first, and next a heretic minister, with enough of life in him to do his office. probably it was to this that one man hunted through paris owed his escape that day. he sprang from a narrow passage full in tavannes' view, and, hair on end, his eyes starting from his head, ran blindly--as a hare will run when chased--along the street to meet count hannibal's company. the man's face was wet with the dews of death, his lungs seemed cracking, his breath hissed from him as he ran. his pursuers were hard on him, and, seeing him headed by count hannibal's party, yelled in triumph, holding him for dead. and dead he would have been within thirty seconds had tavannes played his part. but his thoughts were elsewhere. either he took the poor wretch for tignonville, or for the minister on whom his mind was running; at any rate he suffered him to slip under the belly of his horse; then, to make matters worse, he wheeled to follow him in so untimely and clumsy a fashion that his horse blocked the way and stopped the pursuers in their tracks. the quarry slipped into an alley and vanished. the hunters stood and blasphemed, and even for a moment seemed inclined to resent the mistake. but tavannes smiled; a broader smile lightened the faces of the six iron-clad men behind him; and for some reason the gang of ruffians thought better of it and slunk aside. there are hard men, who feel scorn of the things which in the breasts of others excite pity. tavannes' lip curled as he rode on through the streets, looking this way and that, and seeing what a king twenty-two years old had made of his capital. his lip curled most of all when he came, passing between the two tennis-courts, to the east gate of the louvre, and found the entrance locked and guarded, and all communication between city and palace cut off. such a proof of unkingly panic, in a crisis wrought by the king himself, astonished him less a few minutes later, when, the keys having been brought and the door opened, he entered the courtyard of the fortress. within and about the door of the gatehouse some three-score archers and arquebusiers stood to their arms; not in array, but in disorderly groups, from which the babble of voices, of feverish laughter, and strained jests rose without ceasing. the westering sun, of which the beams just topped the farther side of the quadrangle, fell slantwise on their armour, and heightened their exaggerated and restless movements. to a calm eye they seemed like men acting in a nightmare. their fitful talk and disjointed gestures, their sweating brows and damp hair, no less than the sullen, brooding silence of one here and there, bespoke the abnormal and the terrible. there were livid faces among them, and twitching cheeks, and some who swallowed much; and some again who bared their crimson arms and bragged insanely of the part they had played. but perhaps the most striking thing was the thirst, the desire, the demand for news, and for fresh excitement. in the space of time it took him to pass through them, count hannibal heard a dozen rumours of what was passing in the city; that montgomery and the gentlemen who had slept beyond the river had escaped on horseback in their shirts; that guise had been shot in the pursuit; that he had captured the vidame de chartres and all the fugitives; that he had never left the city; that he was even then entering by the porte de bucy. again that biron had surrendered the arsenal, that he had threatened to fire on the city, that he was dead, that with the huguenots who had escaped he was marching on the louvre, that---- and then tavannes passed out of the blinding sunshine, and out of earshot of their babble, and had plain in his sight across the quadrangle, the new façade, italian, graceful, of the renaissance; which rose in smiling contrast with the three dark gothic sides that now, the central tower removed, frowned unimpeded at one another. but what was this which lay along the foot of the new italian wall? this, round which some stood, gazing curiously, while others strewed fresh sand about it, or after long downward-looking glanced up to answer the question of a person at a window? death; and over death--death in its most cruel aspect--a cloud of buzzing, whirling flies, and the smell, never to be forgotten, of much spilled blood. from a doorway hard by came shrill bursts of hysterical laughter; and with the laughter plumped out, even as tavannes crossed the court, a young girl, thrust forth it seemed by her fellows, for she turned about and struggled as she came. once outside she hung back, giggling and protesting, half willing, half unwilling; and meeting tavannes' eye thrust her way in again with a whirl of her petticoats, and a shriek. but before he had taken four paces she was out again. he paused to see who she was, and his thoughts involuntarily went back to the woman he had left weeping in the upper room. then he turned about again and stood to count the dead. he identified piles, identified pardaillan, identified soubise--whose corpse the murderers had robbed of the last rag--and touchet and st. galais. he made his reckoning with an unmoved face, and with the same face stopped and stared, and moved from one to another; had he not seen the slaughter about "_le petit home_" at jarnac, and the dead of three pitched fields? but when a bystander, smirking obsequiously, passed him a jest on soubise, and with his finger pointed the jest, he had the same hard unmoved face for the gibe as for the dead. and the jester shrank away, abashed and perplexed by his stare and his reticence. half way up the staircase to the great gallery or guardroom above, count hannibal found his brother, the marshal, huddled together in drunken slumber on a seat in a recess. in the gallery to which he passed on without awakening him, a crowd of courtiers and ladies, with arquebusiers and captains of the quarters, walked to and fro, talking in whispers; or peeped over shoulders towards the inner end of the hall, where the querulous voice of the king rose now and again above the hum. as tavannes moved that way, nançay, in the act of passing out, booted and armed for the road, met him and almost jostled him. "ah, well met, m. le comte," he sneered, with as much hostility as he dared betray. "the king has asked for you twice." "i am going to him. and you? whither in such a hurry, m. nançay?" "to chatillon." "on pleasant business?" "enough that it is on the king's!" nançay replied with unexpected temper. "i hope that you may find yours as pleasant!" he added with a grin. and he went on. the gleam of malice in the man's eye warned tavannes to pause. he looked round for someone who might be in the secret, saw the provost of the merchants and approached him. "what's amiss, m. le charron?" he asked. "is not the affair going as it should?" "'tis about the arsenal, m. le comte," the provost answered busily. "m. de biron is harbouring the vermin there. he has lowered the portcullis and pointed his culverins over the gate and will not yield it or listen to reason. the king would bring him to terms, but no one will venture himself inside with the message. rats in a trap, you know, bite hard, and care little whom they bite." "i begin to understand." "precisely, m. le comte. his majesty would have sent m. de nançay. but he elected to go to chatillon, to seize the young brood there. the admiral's children, you comprehend." "whose teeth are not yet grown! he was wise." "to be sure, m. de tavannes, to be sure. but the king was annoyed, and on top of that came a priest with complaints, and if i may make so bold as to advise you, you will not----" but tavannes fancied that he had caught the gist of the difficulty, and with a nod he moved on; and so he missed the point of the warning which the other had it in his mind to give. a moment and he reached the inner circle, and there halted, disconcerted, nay, taken aback. for as soon as he showed his face, the king, who was pacing to and fro like a caged beast, before a table at which three clerks knelt on cushions, espied him and stood still. with a glare of something like madness in his eyes, charles raised his hand with a shaking finger and singled him out. "so, by g--d, you are there!" he cried, with a volley of blasphemy. and he signed to those about count hannibal to stand away from him. "you are there, are you? and you are not afraid to show your face? i tell you, it's you and such as you bring us into contempt! so that it is said everywhere guise does all and serves god, and we follow because we must! it's you, and such as you, are stumbling-blocks to our good folk of paris! are you traitor, sirrah?" he continued with passion, "or are you of our brother alençon's opinions, that you traverse our orders to the damnation of your soul and our discredit? are you traitor? or are you heretic? or what are you? god in heaven, will you answer me, man, or shall i send you where you will find your tongue?" "i know not of what your majesty accuses me," count hannibal answered, with a scarcely perceptible shrug of the shoulders. "i? 'tis not i," the king retorted. his hair hung damp on his brow, and he dried his hands continually; while his gestures had the ill-measured and eccentric violence of an epileptic. "here, you! speak, father, and confound him!" then tavannes discovered on the farther side of the circle the priest whom his brother had ridden down that morning. father pezelay's pale hatchet-face gleamed paler than ordinary; and a great bandage hid one temple and part of his face. but, below the bandage, the flame of his eyes was not lessened, nor the venom of his tongue. to the king he had come--for no other would deal with his violent opponent; to the king's presence! and, as he prepared to blast his adversary, now his chance was come, his long lean frame, in its narrow black cassock, seemed to grow longer, leaner, more baleful, more snake-like. he stood there a fitting representative of the dark fanaticism of paris, which charles and his successor--the last of a doomed line--alternately used as tool or feared as master; and to which the most debased and the most immoral of courts paid, in its sober hours, a vile and slavish homage. even in the midst of the drunken, shameless courtiers--who stood, if they stood for anything, for that other influence of the day, the renaissance--he was to be reckoned with; and count hannibal knew it. he knew that in the eyes not of charles only, but of nine out of ten who listened to him, a priest was more sacred than a virgin, and a tonsure than all the virtues of spotless innocence. "shall the king give with one hand and withdraw with the other?" the priest began, in a voice hoarse yet strident, a voice borne high above the crowd on the wings of passion. "shall he spare of the best of the men and the maidens whom god hath doomed, whom the church hath devoted, whom the king hath given? is the king's hand shortened or his word annulled that a man does as he forbiddeth and leaves undone what he commandeth? is god mocked? woe, woe unto you," he continued, turning swiftly, arms uplifted, towards tavannes, "who please yourself with the red and white of their maidens and take of the best of the spoil, sparing where the king's word is 'spare not!' who strike at holy church with the sword! who----" "answer, sirrah!" charles cried, spurning the floor in his fury. he could not listen long to any man. "is it so? is it so? do you do these things?" count hannibal shrugged his shoulders and was about to answer, when a thick, drunken voice rose from the crowd behind him. "is it what? eh! is it what?" it droned. and a figure with bloodshot eyes, disordered beard, and rich clothes awry, forced its way through the obsequious circle. it was marshal tavannes. "eh, what? you'd beard the king, would you?" he hiccoughed truculently, his eyes on father pezelay, his hand on his sword. "were you a priest ten times-- "silence!" charles cried, almost foaming with rage at this fresh interruption. "it's not he, fool! 'tis your pestilent brother." "who touches my brother touches tavannes!" the marshal answered with a menacing gesture. he was sober enough, it appeared, to hear what was said, but not to comprehend its drift; and this caused a titter, which immediately excited his rage. he turned and seized the nearest laugher by the ear. "insolent!" he cried. "i will teach you to laugh when the king speaks! puppy! who laughs at his majesty or touches my brother has to do with tavannes!" the king, in a rage that almost deprived him of speech, stamped the floor twice. "idiot!" he cried. "imbecile! let the man go! 'tis not he! 'tis your heretic brother, i tell you! by all the saints! by the body of----" and he poured forth a flood of oaths. "will you listen to me and be silent! will you--your brother----" "if he be not your majesty's servant, i will kill him with this sword!" the irrepressible marshal struck in. "as i have killed ten to-day! ten!" and, staggering back, he only saved himself from falling by clutching chicot about the neck. "steady, my pretty maréchale!" the jester cried, chucking him under the chin with one hand, while with some difficulty he supported him with the other--for he, too, was far from sober-- "pretty margot, toy with me, maiden bashful----" "silence!" charles cried, darting forth his long arms in a fury of impatience. "god, have i killed every man of sense? are you all gone mad? silence! do you hear? silence! and let me hear what he has to say," with a movement towards count hannibal. "and look you, sirrah," he continued with a curse, "see that it be to the purpose!" "if it be a question of your majesty's service," tavannes answered. "and obedience to your majesty's orders, i am deeper in it than he who stands there!" with a sign towards the priest. "i give my word for that. and i will prove it." "how, sir?" charles cried. "how, how, how? how will you prove it?" "by doing for you, sire, what he will not do!" tavannes answered scornfully. "let him stand out, and if he will serve his church as i will serve my king---- "blaspheme not!" cried the priest. "chatter not!" tavannes retorted hardily, "but do! better is he," he continued, "who takes a city than he who slays women! nay, sire," he went on hurriedly, seeing the king start, "be not angry, but hear me! you would send to biron, to the arsenal? you seek a messenger, sire? then let the good father be the man. let him take your majesty's will to biron, and let him see the grand master face to face, and bring him to reason. or, if he will not, i will! let that be the test!" "ay, ay!" cried marshal de tavannes, "you say well, brother! let him!" "and if he will not, i will!" tavannes repeated. "let that be the test, sire." the king wheeled suddenly to father pezelay. "you hear, father?" he said. "what say you!" the priest's face grew sallow, and more sallow. he knew that the walls of the arsenal sheltered men whose hands no convention and no order of biron's would keep from his throat, were the grim gate and frowning culverins once passed; men who had seen their women and children, their wives and sisters immolated at his word, and now asked naught but to stand face to face and eye to eye with him and tear him limb from limb before they died! the challenge, therefore, was one-sided and unfair; but for that very reason it shook him. the astuteness of the man who, taken by surprise, had conceived this snare filled him with dread. he dared not accept, and he scarcely dared to refuse the offer. and meantime the eyes of the courtiers, who grinned in their beards, were on him. at length he spoke, but it was in a voice which had lost its boldness and assurance. "it is not for me to clear myself," he cried, shrill and violent, "but for those who are accused, for those who have belied the king's word, and set at naught his christian orders. for you, count hannibal, heretic, or no better than heretic, it is easy to say 'i go.' for you go but to your own, and your own will receive you!" "then you will not go?" with a jeer. "at your command? no!" the priest shrieked with passion. "his majesty knows whether i serve him." "i know," charles cried, stamping his foot in a fury, "that you all serve me when it pleases you! that you are all sticks of the same faggot, wood of the same bundle, hell-babes in your own business, and sluggards in mine! you kill to-day and you'll lay it to me to-morrow! ay, you will! you will!" he repeated frantically, and drove home the asseveration with a fearful oath. "the dead are as good servants as you! foucauld was better! foucauld? foucauld? ah, my god!" and abruptly in presence of them all, with the sacred name, which he so often defiled, on his lips, charles turned, and covering his face burst into childish weeping; while a great silence fell on all--on bussy with the blood of his cousin resnel on his point, on fervacques, the betrayer of his friend, on chicot, the slayer of his rival, on cocconnas the cruel--on men with hands unwashed from the slaughter, and on the shameless women who lined the walls; on all who used this sobbing man for their stepping-stone, and, to attain their ends and gain their purposes, trampled his dull soul in blood and mire. one looked at another in consternation. fear grew in eyes that a moment before were bold; cheeks turned pale that a moment before were hectic. if he changed as rapidly as this, if so little dependence could be placed on his moods or his resolutions, who was safe? whose turn might it not be to-morrow? or who might not be held accountable for the deeds done this day? many, from whom remorse had seemed far distant a while before, shuddered and glanced behind them. it was as if the dead who lay stark without the doors, ay, and the countless dead of paris, with whose shrieks the air was laden, had flocked in shadowy shape into the hall; and there, standing beside their murderers, had whispered with their cold breath in the living ears, "a reckoning! a reckoning! as i am, thou shalt be!" it was count hannibal who broke the spell and the silence, and with his hand on his brother's shoulder stood forward. "nay, sire," he cried, in a voice which rang defiant in the roof, and seemed to challenge alike the living and the dead, "if all deny the deed, yet will not i! what we have done we have done! so be it! the dead are dead! so be it! for the rest, your majesty has still one servant who will do your will, one soldier whose life is at your disposition! i have said i will go, and i go, sire. and you, churchman," he continued, turning in bitter scorn to the priest, "do you go too--to church! to church, shaveling! go, watch and pray for us! fast and flog for us! whip those shoulders, whip them till the blood runs down! for it is all, it seems, you will do for your king!" charles turned. "silence, railer!" he said in a broken voice. "sow no more troubles! already," a shudder shook his tall ungainly form, "i see blood, blood, blood everywhere! blood! ah, god, shall i from this time see anything else? but there is no turning back. there is no undoing. so, do you go to biron. and do you," he went on, sullenly addressing marshal tavannes, "take him and tell him what it is needful he should know." "'tis done, sire!" the marshal cried with a hiccough. "come, brother!" but when the two, the courtiers making quick way for them, had passed down the hall to the door, the marshal tapped hannibal's sleeve. "it was touch and go," he muttered; it was plain he had been more sober than he seemed. "mind you, it does not do to thwart our little master in his fits! remember that another time, or worse will come of it, brother. as it is, you came out of it finely and tripped that black devil's heels to a marvel! but you won't be so mad as to go to biron?" "yes," count hannibal answered coldly. "i shall go." "better not! better not!" the marshal answered. "'twill be easier to go in than to come out--with a whole throat! have you taken wild cats in the hollow of a tree? the young first, and then the she-cat? well, it will be that! take my advice, brother. have after montgomery, if you please, ride with nançay to chatillon--he is mounting now--go where you please out of paris, but don't go there! biron hates us, hates me. and for the king, if he do not see you for a few days, 'twill blow over in a week." count hannibal shrugged his shoulders. "no," he said, "i shall go." the marshal stared a moment. "morbleu!" he said, "why? 'tis not to please the king, i know. what do you think to find there, brother?" "a minister," hannibal answered gently. "i want one with life in him, and they are scarce in the open. so i must to covert after him." and, twitching his sword-belt a little nearer to his hand, he passed across the court to the gate, and to his horses. the marshal went back laughing, and, slapping his thigh as he entered the hall, jostled by accident a gentleman who was passing out. "what is it?" the gascon cried hotly; for it was chicot he had jostled. "who touches my brother touches tavannes!" the marshal hiccoughed. and, smiting his thigh anew, he went off into another fit of laughter. chapter xiii. diplomacy. where the old wall of paris, of which no vestige remains, ran down on the east to the north bank of the river, the space in the angle between the seine and the ramparts beyond the rue st. pol wore at this date an aspect typical of the troubles of the time. along the waterside the gloomy old palace of st. pol, once the residence of the mad king charles the sixth--and his wife, the abandoned isabeau de bavière--sprawled its maze of mouldering courts and ruined galleries, a dreary monument of the gothic days which were passing from france. its spacious curtilage and dark pleasaunces covered all the ground between the river and the rue st. antoine; and north of this, under the shadow of the eight great towers of the bastille, which looked, four outward to check the stranger, four inward to bridle the town, a second palace, beginning where st. pol ended, carried the realm of decay to the city wall. this second palace was the hôtel des tournelles, a fantastic medley of turrets, spires, and gables, that equally with its neighbour recalled the days of the english domination; it had been the abode of the regent bedford. from his time it had remained for a hundred years the town residence of the kings of france; but the death of henry ii., slain in its lists by the lance of the same montgomery who was this day fleeing for his life before guise, had given his widow a distaste for it. catherine de médicis, her sons, and the court had abandoned it; already its gardens lay a tangled wilderness, its roofs let in the rain, rats played where kings had slept; and in "our palace of the tournelles" reigned only silence and decay. unless, indeed, as was whispered abroad, the grim shade of the eleventh louis sometimes walked in its desolate precincts. in the innermost angle between the ramparts and the river, shut off from the rest of paris by the decaying courts and enceintes of these forsaken palaces, stood the arsenal. destroyed in great part by the explosion of a powder-mill a few years earlier, it was in the main new; and by reason of its river frontage, which terminated at the ruined tower of billy, and its proximity to the bastille, it was esteemed one of the keys of paris. it was the appanage of the master of the ordnance, and within its walls m. de biron, a huguenot in politics, if not in creed, who held the office at this time, had secured himself on the first alarm. during the day he had admitted a number of refugees, whose courage or good luck had led them to his gate; and as night fell--on such a carnage as the hapless city had not beheld since the great slaughter of the armagnacs, one hundred and fifty-four years earlier--the glow of his matches through the dusk, and the sullen tramp of his watchmen as they paced the walls, indicated that there was still one place in paris where the king's will did not run. in comparison of the disorder which prevailed in the city, a deadly quiet reigned here; a stillness so chill that a timid man must have stood and hesitated to approach. but a stranger who about nightfall rode down the street towards the entrance, a single footman running at his stirrup, only nodded a stern approval of the preparations. as he drew nearer he cast an attentive eye this way and that; nor stayed until a hoarse challenge brought him up when he had come within six horses' lengths of the arsenal gate. he reined up then, and raising his voice, asked in clear tones for m. de biron. "go," he continued boldly, "tell the grand master that one from the king is here, and would speak with him." "from the king of france?" the officer on the gate asked. "surely! is there more than one king in france?" a curse and a bitter cry of "king? king herod!" were followed by a muttered discussion that, in the ears of one of the two who waited in the gloom below, boded little good. the two could descry figures moving to and fro before the faint red light of the smouldering matches; and presently a man on the gate kindled a torch, and held it so as to fling its light downward. the stranger's attendant cowered behind the horse. "have a care, my lord!" he whispered. "they are aiming at us!" if so the rider's bold front and unmoved demeanour gave them pause. presently, "i will send for the grand master" the man who had spoken before announced. "in whose name, monsieur?" "no matter," the stranger answered. "say, one from the king." "you are alone?" "i shall enter alone." the assurance seemed to be satisfactory, for the man answered "good!" and after a brief delay a wicket in the gate was opened, the portcullis creaked upward, and a plank was thrust across the ditch. the horseman waited until the preparations were complete; then he slid to the ground, threw his rein to the servant, and boldly walked across. in an instant he left behind him the dark street, the river, and the sounds of outrage, which the night breeze bore from the farther bank, and found himself within the vaulted gateway, in a bright glare of light, the centre of a ring of gleaming eyes and angry faces. the light blinded him for a few seconds; but the guards, on their side, were in no better case. for the stranger was masked; and in their ignorance who it was looked at them through the slits in the black velvet they stared, disconcerted, and at a loss. there were some there with naked weapons in their hands who would have struck him through had they known who he was; and more who would have stood aside while the deed was done. but the uncertainty--that and the masked man's tone paralysed them. for they reflected that he might be any one. condé, indeed, stood too small, but navarre, if he lived, might fill that cloak; or guise, or anjou, or the king himself. and while some would not have scrupled to strike the blood royal, more would have been quick to protect and avenge it. and so before the dark uncertainty of the mask, before the riddle of the smiling eyes which glittered through the slits, they stared irresolute; until a hand, the hand of one bolder than his fellows, was raised to pluck away the screen. the unknown dealt the fellow a buffet with his fist. "down, rascal!" he said hoarsely. "and you"--to the officer--"show me instantly to m. de biron!" but the lieutenant, who stood in fear of his men, looked at him doubtfully. "nay," he said, "not so fast!" and one of the others, taking the lead, cried, "no! we may have no need of m. de biron. your name, monsieur, first." with a quick movement the stranger gripped the officer's wrist. "tell your master," he said, "that he who clasped his wrist _thus_ on the night of pentecost is here, and would speak with him! and say, mark you, that i will come to him, not he to me!" the sign and the tone imposed upon the boldest. two-thirds of the watch were huguenots, who burned to avenge the blood of their fellows; and these, overriding their officer, had agreed to deal with the intruder, if a papegot, without recourse to the grand master, whose moderation they dreaded. a knife-thrust in the ribs, and another body in the ditch--why not, when such things were done outside? but even these doubted now; and m. peridol, the lieutenant, reading in the eyes of his men the suspicions which he had himself conceived, was only anxious to obey, if they would let him. so gravely was he impressed, indeed, by the bearing of the unknown that he turned when he had withdrawn, and came back to assure himself that the men meditated no harm in his absence; nor until he had exchanged a whisper with one of them would he leave them and go. while he was gone on his errand the envoy leaned against the wall of the gateway, and, with his chin sunk on his breast and his mind fallen into reverie, seemed unconscious of the dark glances of which he was the target. he remained in this position until the officer came back, followed by a man with a lantern. their coming roused the unknown, who, invited to follow peridol, traversed two courts without remark, and in the same silence entered a building in the extreme eastern corner of the enceinte abutting on the ruined tour de billy. here, in an upper floor, the governor of the arsenal had established his temporary lodging. the chamber into which the stranger was introduced betrayed the haste in which it had been prepared for its occupant. two silver lamps which hung from the beams of the unceiled roof shed light on a medley of arms and inlaid armour, of parchments, books, and steel caskets, which encumbered not the tables only, but the stools and chests that, after the fashion of that day, stood formally along the arras. in the midst of the disorder, on the bare floor, walked the man who, more than any other, had been instrumental in drawing the huguenots to paris--and to their doom. it was not wonderful that the events of the day, the surprise and horror still rode his mind; nor that even he who passed for a model of stiffness and reticence betrayed for once the indignation which filled his breast. until the officer had withdrawn and closed the door he did, indeed, keep silence; standing beside the table and eyeing his visitor with a lofty port and a stern glance. but the moment he was assured that they were alone he spoke. "your highness may unmask now," he said, making no effort to hide his contempt. "yet were you well advised to take the precaution, since you had hardly come at me in safety without it. had those who keep the gate seen you, i would not have answered for your highness's life! the more shame," he continued vehemently, "on the deeds of this day which have compelled the brother of a king of france to hide his face in his own capital and in his own fortress. for i dare to say, monsieur, what no other will say, now the admiral is dead. you have brought back the days of the armagnacs. you have brought bloody days and an evil name on france, and i pray god that you may not pay in your turn what you have exacted. but if you continue to be advised by m. de guise, this i will say, monsieur"--and his voice fell low and stern. "burgundy slew orleans, indeed; but he came in his turn to the bridge of montereau." "you take me for monsieur?" the unknown asked. and it was plain that he smiled under his mask. biron's face altered. "i take you," he answered sharply, "for him whose sign you sent me." "the wisest are sometimes astray," the other answered with a low laugh. and he took off his mask. the grand master started back, his eyes sparkling with anger. "m. de tavannes?" he cried, and for a moment he was silent in sheer astonishment. then, striking his hand on the table, "what means this trickery!" he asked. "it is of the simplest," tavannes answered coolly. "and yet, as you just now said, i had hardly come at you without it. and i had to come at you. no, m. de biron," he added quickly, as biron in a rage laid his hand on a bell which stood beside him on the table, "you cannot that way undo what is done." "i can at least deliver you," the grand master answered, in heat, "to those who will deal with you as you have dealt with us and ours." "it will avail you nothing," count hannibal replied soberly. "for see here, grand master, i come from the king. if you are at war with him, and hold his fortress in his teeth, i am his ambassador and sacrosanct. if you are at peace with him and hold it at his will, i am his servant, and safe also." "at peace and safe?" biron cried, his voice trembling with indignation. "and are those safe or at peace who came here trusting to _his_ word, who lay in his palace and slept in his beds? where are they, and how have they fared, that you dare appeal to the law of nations, or he to the loyalty of biron? and for you to beard me, whose brother to-day hounded the dogs of this vile city on the noblest in france, who have leagued yourself with a crew of foreigners to do a deed which will make our country stink in the nostrils of the world when we are dust! you, to come here and talk of peace and safety! m. de tavannes"--and he struck his hand on the table--"you are a bold man. i know why the king had a will to send you, but i know not why you had the will to come." "that i will tell you later," count hannibal answered coolly. "for the king, first. my message is brief, m. de biron. have you a mind to hold the scales in france?" "between?" biron asked contemptuously. "between the lorrainers and the huguenots." the grand master scowled fiercely. "i have played the go-between once too often," he growled. "it is no question of going between, it is a question of holding between," tavannes answered coolly. "it is a question--but, in a word, have you a mind, m. de biron, to be governor of rochelle? the king, having dealt the blow that has been struck to-day, looks to follow up severity, as a wise ruler should, with indulgence. and to quiet the minds of the rochellois he would set over them a ruler at once acceptable to them--or war must come of it--and faithful to his majesty. such a man, m. de biron, will in such a post be master of the kingdom; for he will hold the doors of janus, and as he bridles his sea-dogs, or unchains them, there will be peace or war in france." "is all that from the king's mouth?" biron asked with sarcasm. but his passion had died down. he was grown thoughtful, suspicious; he eyed the other intently as if he would read his heart. "the offer is his, and the reflections are mine," tavannes answered drily. "let me add one more. the admiral is dead. the king of navarre and the prince of condé are prisoners. who is now to balance the italians and the guises? the grand master--if he be wise and content to give the law to france from the citadel of rochelle." biron stared at the speaker in astonishment at his frankness. "you are a bold man," he cried at last. "but _timeo danaos et dona ferentes_," he continued bitterly. "you offer, sir, too much." "the offer is the king's." "and the conditions? the price?" "that you remain quiet, m. de biron." "in the arsenal?" "in the arsenal. and do not too openly counteract the king's will. that is all." the grand master looked puzzled. "i will give up no one," he said. "no one! let that be understood." "the king requires no one." a pause. then, "does m. de guise know of the offer?" biron inquired; and his eye grew bright. he hated the guises and was hated by them. it was _there_ he was a huguenot. "he has gone far to-day," count hannibal answered drily. "and if no worse come of it should be content. madame catherine knows of it." the grand master was aware that marshal tavannes depended on the queen-mother; and he shrugged his shoulders. "ay, 'tis like her policy," he muttered. "'tis like her!" and pointing his guest to a cushioned chest which stood against the wall, he sat down in a chair beside the table and thought awhile, his brow wrinkled, his eyes dreaming. by-and-by he laughed sourly. "you have lighted the fire," he said, "and would fain i put it out." "we would have you hinder it spreading." "you have done the deed and are loth to pay the blood-money. that is it, is it?" "we prefer to pay it to m. de biron," count hannibal answered civilly. again the grand master was silent awhile. at length he looked up and fixed tavannes with eyes keen as steel. "what is behind?" he growled. "say, man, what is it? what is behind?" "if there be aught behind, i do not know it," tavannes answered steadfastly. m. de biron relaxed the fixity of his gaze. "but you said that you had an object?" he returned. "i had--in being the bearer of the message." "what was it?" "my object? to learn two things." "the first, if it please you?" the grand master's chin stuck out a little, as he spoke. "have you in the arsenal a m. de tignonville, a gentleman of poitou?" "i have not," biron answered curtly. "the second?" "have you here a huguenot minister?" "i have not. and if i had i should not give him up," he added firmly. tavannes shrugged his shoulders. "i have a use for one," he said carelessly. "but it need not harm him." "for what, then, do you need him?" "to marry me." the other stared. "but you are a catholic," he said. "but she is a huguenot," tavannes answered. the grand master did not attempt to hide his astonishment. "and she sticks on that?" he exclaimed. "to-day?" "she sticks on that. to-day." "to-day? _nom de dieu!_ to-day! well," brushing the matter aside after a pause of bewilderment, "any way, i cannot help her. i have no minister here. if there be aught else i can do for her----" "nothing, i thank you," tavannes answered. "then it only remains for me to take your answer to the king?" and he rose politely, and taking his mask from the table prepared to assume it. m. de biron gazed at him a moment without speaking, as if he pondered on the answer he should give. at length he nodded, and rang the bell which stood beside him. "the mask!" he muttered in a low voice as footsteps sounded without. and, obedient to the hint, tavannes disguised himself. a second later the officer who had introduced him opened the door and entered. "peridol," m. de biron said--he had risen to his feet--"i have received a message which needs confirmation; and to obtain this i must leave the arsenal. i am going to the house--you will remember this--of marshal tavannes, who will be responsible for my person; in the meantime this gentleman will remain under strict guard in the south chamber upstairs. you will treat him as a hostage, with all respect, and will allow him to preserve his _incognito_. but if i do not return by noon to-morrow, you will deliver him to the men below, who will know how to deal with him." count hannibal made no attempt to interrupt him, nor did he betray the discomfiture which he undoubtedly felt. but as the grand master paused, "m. de biron," he said, in a voice harsh and low, "you will answer to me for this!" and his eyes glittered through the slits in the mask. "possibly, but not to-day or to-morrow!" biron replied, shrugging his shoulders contemptuously. "peridol! see the gentleman bestowed as i have ordered, and then return to me. monsieur," with a bow, half courteous, half ironical, "let me commend to you the advantages of silence and your mask." and he waved his hand in the direction of the door. a moment count hannibal hesitated. he was in the heart of a hostile fortress where the resistance of a single man armed to the teeth must have been futile; and he was unarmed, save for a poniard. nevertheless, for a moment the impulse to spring on biron, and with the dagger at his throat to make his life the price of a safe passage, was strong. then--for with the warp of a harsh and passionate character were interwrought an odd shrewdness and some things little suspected--he resigned himself. bowing gravely, he turned with dignity, and in silence followed the officer from the room. peridol had two men with lanterns in waiting at the door. from one of these the lieutenant took the light, and, with an air at once sullen and deferential, led the way up the stone staircase to the floor over that in which m. de biron had his lodging. tavannes followed; the two guards came last, carrying the second lantern. at the head of the staircase, whence a bare passage ran north and south, the procession turned right-handed, and, passing two doors, halted before the third and last, which faced them at the end of the passage. the lieutenant unlocked it with a key which he took from a hook beside the doorpost. then, holding up his light, he invited his charge to enter. the room was not small, but it was low in the roof, and prison-like, it had bare walls and smoke-marks on the ceiling. the window, set in a deep recess, the floor of which rose a foot above that of the room, was unglazed; and through the gloomy orifice the night wind blew in, laden even on that august evening with the dank mist of the river flats. a table, two stools, and a truckle bed without straw or covering made up the furniture; but peridol, after glancing round, ordered one of the men to fetch a truss of straw and the other to bring up a pitcher of wine. while they were gone tavannes and he stood silently waiting, until, observing that the captive's eyes sought the window, the lieutenant laughed. "no bars?" he said. "no, monsieur, and no need of them. you will not go by that road, bars or no bars." "what is below?" count hannibal asked carelessly. "the river?" "yes, monsieur," with a grin, "but not water. mud, and six feet of it, soft as christmas porridge, but not so sweet. i've known two puppies thrown in under this window that did not weigh more than a fat pullet apiece. one was gone before you could count fifty, and the other did not live thrice as long--nor would have lasted that time, but that it fell on the first and clung to it." tavannes dismissed the matter with a shrug, and, drawing his cloak about him, set a stool against the wall and sat down. the men who brought in the wine and the bundle of straw were inquisitive, and would have loitered, scanning him stealthily; but peridol hurried them away. the lieutenant himself stayed only to cast a glance round the room and to mutter that he would return when his lord returned; then, with a "good night" which said more for his manners than his good will, he followed them out. a moment later the grating of the key in the lock and the sound of the bolts as they sped home told tavannes that he was a prisoner. chapter xiv. too short a spoon. count hannibal remained seated, his chin sunk on his breast, until his ear assured him that the three men had descended the stairs to the floor below. then he rose, and, taking the lantern from the table, on which peridol had placed it, he went softly to the door, which, like the window, stood in a recess--in this case the prolongation of the passage. a brief scrutiny satisfied him that escape that way was impossible, and he turned, after a cursory glance at the floor and ceiling, to the dark, windy aperture which yawned at the end of the apartment. placing the lantern on the table, and covering it with his cloak, he mounted the window recess, and, stepping to the unguarded edge, looked out. he knew, rather than saw, that peridol had told the truth. the smell of the aguish flats which fringed that part of paris rose strong in his nostrils. he guessed that the sluggish arm of the seine which divided the arsenal from the Île des louviers crawled below; but the night was dark, and it was impossible to discern land from water. he fancied that he could trace the outline of the island--an uninhabited place, given up to wood piles; but the lights of the college quarter beyond it, which rose feebly twinkling, to the crown of st. geneviève, confused his sight and rendered the nearer gloom more opaque. from that direction and from the cité to his right came sounds which told of a city still heaving in its blood-stained sleep, and even in its dreams planning further excesses. now a distant shot, and now a faint murmur on one of the bridges, or a far-off cry, raucous, sudden, curdled the blood. but even of what was passing under cover of the darkness, he could learn little; and after standing awhile with a hand on either side of the window he found the night air chill. he stepped back, and, descending to the floor, uncovered the lantern and set it on the table. his thoughts travelled back to the preparations he had made the night before with a view to securing mademoiselle's person, and he considered, with a grim smile, how little he had foreseen that within twenty-four hours he would himself be a prisoner. presently, finding his mask oppressive, he removed it, and, laying it on the table before him, sat scowling at the light. biron had jockeyed him cleverly. well, the worse for armand de gontaut de biron if after this adventure the luck went against him! but in the meantime? in the meantime his fate was sealed if harm befell biron. and what the king's real mind in biron's case was, and what the queen-mother's, he could not say; just as it was impossible to predict how far, when they had the grand master at their mercy, they would resist the temptation to add him to the victims. if biron placed himself at once in marshal tavannes' hands, all might be well. but if he ventured within the long arm of the guises, or went directly to the louvre, the fact that with the grand master's fate count hannibal's was bound up, would not weigh a straw. in such crises the great sacrificed the less great, the less great the small, without a scruple. and the guises did not love count hannibal; he was not loved by many. even the strength of his brother the marshal stood rather in the favour of the king's heir, for whom he had won the battle of jarnac, than intrinsically; and, durable in ordinary times, might snap in the clash of forces and interests which the desperate madness of this day had let loose on paris. it was not the peril in which he stood, however--though, with the cold clear eye of the man who had often faced peril, he appreciated it to a nicety--that count hannibal found least bearable, but his enforced inactivity. he had thought to ride the whirlwind and direct the storm, and out of the danger of others to compact his own success. instead he lay here, not only powerless to guide his destiny, which hung on the discretion of another, but unable to stretch forth a finger to further his plans. as he sat looking darkly at the lantern, his mind followed biron and his riders through the midnight streets: along st. antoine and la verrerie, through the gloomy narrows of the rue la ferronerie, and so past the house in the rue st. honoré where mademoiselle sat awaiting the morrow--sat awaiting tignonville, the minister, the marriage! doubtless there were still bands of plunderers roaming to and fro; at the barriers troops of archers stopping the suspected; at the windows pale faces gazing down; at the gates of the temple, and of the walled enclosures which largely made up the city, strong guards set to prevent invasion. biron would go with sufficient to secure himself; and unless he encountered with the bodyguard of guise his passage would quiet the town. but was it so certain that _she_ was safe? he knew his men, and while he had been free he had not hesitated to leave her in their care. but now that he could not go, now that he could not raise a hand to help, the confidence which had not failed him in straits more dangerous grew weak. he pictured the things which might happen, at which, in his normal frame of mind, he would have laughed. now they troubled him so that he started at a shadow, so that he quailed at a thought. he, who last night, when free to act, had timed his coming and her rescue to a minute! who had rejoiced in the peril, since with the glamour of such things foolish women were taken! who had not flinched when the crowd roared most fiercely for her blood! why had he suffered himself to be trapped! why indeed? and thrice in passion he paced the room. long ago the famous nostradamus had told him that he would live to be a king, but of the smallest kingdom in the world. "every man is a king in his coffin," he had answered. "the grave is cold and your kingdom shall be warm," the wizard had rejoined. on which the courtiers had laughed, promising him a moorish island and a black queen. and he had gibed with the rest, but secretly had taken note of the sovereign counties of france, their rulers and their heirs. now he held the thought in horror, foreseeing no county, but the cage under the stifling tiles at loches, in which cardinal balue and many another had worn out their hearts. he came to that thought not by way of his own peril, but of mademoiselle's; which affected him in so novel a fashion that he wondered at his folly. at last, tired of watching the shadows which the draught set dancing on the wall, he drew his cloak about him and lay down on the straw. he had kept vigil the previous night, and in a few minutes, with a campaigner's ease, he was asleep. midnight had struck. about two the light in the lantern burned low in the socket, and with a soft sputtering went out. for an hour after that the room lay still, silent, dark; then slowly the grey dawn, the greyer for the river mist which wrapped the neighbourhood in a clammy shroud, began to creep into the room and discover the vague shapes of things. again an hour passed, and the sun was rising above montreuil, and here and there the river began to shimmer through the fog. but in the room it was barely daylight when the sleeper awoke, and sat up, his face expectant. something had roused him. he listened. his ear, and the habit of vigilance which a life of danger instils, had not deceived him. there were men moving in the passage; men who shuffled their feet impatiently. had biron returned! or had aught happened to him, and were these men come to avenge him? count hannibal rose and stole across the boards to the door, and, setting his ear to it, listened. he listened while a man might count a hundred and fifty, counting slowly. then, for the third part of a second, he turned his head, and his eyes travelled the room. he stooped again and listened more closely, scarcely breathing. there were voices as well as feet to be heard now; one voice--he thought it was peridol's--which held on long, now low, now rising into violence. others were audible at intervals, but only in a growl or a bitter exclamation, that told of minds made up and hands which would not be restrained. he caught his own name, tavannes--the mask was useless then! and once a noisy movement which came to nothing, foiled, he fancied, by peridol. he knew enough. he rose to his full height, and his eyes seemed a little closer together; an ugly smile curved his lips. his gaze travelled over the objects in the room, the bare stools and table, the lantern, the wine pitcher; beyond these, in a corner, the cloak and straw on the low bed. the light, cold and grey, fell cheerlessly on the dull chamber, and showed it in harmony with the ominous whisper which grew in the gallery; with the stern-faced listener who stood, his one hand on the door. he looked, but he found nothing to his purpose, nothing to serve his end, whatever his end was; and with a quick light step he left the door, mounted the window recess, and, poised on the very edge, looked down. if he thought to escape that way his hope was desperate. the depth to the water-level was not, he judged, twelve feet. but peridol had told the truth. below lay not water, but a smooth surface of viscid slime, here luminous with the florescence of rottenness, there furrowed by a tiny runnel of moisture which sluggishly crept across it to the slow stream beyond. this quicksand, vile and treacherous, lapped the wall below the window, and more than accounted for the absence of bars or fastenings. but, leaning far out, he saw that it ended at the angle of the building, at a point twenty feet or so to the right of his position. he sprang to the floor again, and listened an instant; then, with guarded movements--for there was fear in the air, fear in the silent room, and at any moment the rush might be made, the door burst in--he set the lantern and wine pitcher on the floor, and took up the table in his arms. he began to carry it to the window, but, halfway thither, his eye told him that it would not pass through the opening, and he set it down again and glided to the bed. again he was thwarted; the bed was screwed to the floor. another might have despaired at that, but he rose with no sign of dismay, and listening, always listening, he spread his cloak on the floor, and deftly, with as little noise and rustling as might be, he piled the straw in it, compressed the bundle, and, cutting the bed-cords with his dagger, bound all together with them. in three steps he was in the embrasure of the window, and, even as the men in the passage thrust the lieutenant aside and with a sudden uproar came down to the door, he flung the bundle lightly and carefully to the right--so lightly and carefully, and with so nice and deliberate a calculation, that it seemed odd it fell beyond the reach of an ordinary leap. an instant and he was on the floor again. the men had to unlock, to draw back the bolts, to draw back the door which opened outwards; their numbers, as well as their savage haste, impeded them. when they burst in at last, with a roar of "to the river! to the river!"--burst in a rush of struggling shoulders and lowered pikes, they found him standing, a solitary figure, on the further side of the table, his arms folded. and the sight of the passive figure for a moment stayed them. "say your prayers, child of satan!" cried the leader, waving his weapon. "we give you one minute!" "ay, one minute!" his followers chimed in. "be ready!" "you would murder me?" he said with dignity. and when they shouted assent, "good!" he answered. "it is between you and m. de biron, whose guest i am. but"--with a glance which passed round the ring of glaring eyes and working features--"i would leave a last word for some one. is there any one here who values a safe-conduct from the king? 'tis for two men coming and going for a fortnight." and he held up a slip of paper. the leader cried "to hell with his safe-conduct! say your prayers!" but all were not of his mind; on one or two of the crimson savage faces--the faces, for the most part, of honest men maddened by their wrongs--flashed an avaricious gleam. a safe-conduct? to avenge, to slay, to kill--and to go safe! for some minds such a thing has an invincible fascination. a man thrust himself forward. "ay, i'll have it!" he cried. "give it here!" "it is yours," count hannibal answered, "if you will carry ten words to marshal tavannes--when i am gone." the man's neighbour laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. "and marshal tavannes will pay you finely," he said. but maudron, the man who had offered, shook off the hand. "if i take the message!" he muttered in a grim aside. "do you think me mad?" and then aloud he cried, "ay, i'll take your message! give me the paper." "you swear you will take it?" the man had no intention of taking it, but he perjured himself and went forward. the others would have pressed round too, half in envy, half in scorn; but tavannes by a gesture stayed them. "gentlemen, i ask a minute only," he said. "a minute for a dying man is not much. your friends had as much." and the fellows, acknowledging the claim and assured that their victim could not escape, let maudron go round the table to him. the man was in haste and ill at ease, conscious of his evil intentions and the fraud he was practising; and at once greedy to have, yet ashamed of the bargain he was making. his attention was divided between the slip of paper, on which his eyes fixed themselves, and the attitude of his comrades; he paid little heed to count hannibal, whom he knew to be unarmed. only when tavannes seemed to ponder on his message, and to be fain to delay, "go on," he muttered with brutal frankness; "your time is up!" tavannes started, the paper slipped from his fingers. maudron saw a chance of getting it without committing himself, and quick as the thought leapt up in his mind he stooped, and grasped the paper, and would have leapt back with it! but quick as he, and quicker, tavannes too stooped, gripped him by the waist, and with a prodigious effort, and a yell in which all the man's stormy nature, restrained to a part during the last few minutes, broke forth, he flung the ill-fated wretch head first through the window. the movement carried tavannes himself--even while his victim's scream rang through the chamber--into the embrasure. an instant he hung on the verge; then, as the men, a moment thunderstruck, sprang forward to avenge their comrade, he leapt out, jumping for the struggling body that had struck the mud, and now lay in it face downwards. he alighted on it, and drove it deep into the quaking slime; but he himself bounded off right-handed. the peril was appalling, the possibility untried, the chance one which only a doomed man would have taken. but he reached the straw-bale, and it gave him a momentary, a precarious footing. he could not regain his balance, he could not even for an instant stand upright on it. but from its support he leapt on convulsively, and as a pike, flung from above, wounded him in the shoulder, he fell his length in the slough--but forward, with his outstretched hands resting on soil of a harder nature. they sank, it is true, to the elbow, but he dragged his body forward on them, and forward, and freeing one by a last effort of strength--he could not free both, and, as it was, half his face was submerged--he reached out another yard, and gripped a balk of wood, which projected from the corner of the building for the purpose of fending off the stream in flood-time. the men at the window shrieked with rage as he slowly drew himself from the slough, and stood from head to foot a pillar of mud. shout as they might, they had no firearms, and, crowded together in the narrow embrasure, they could take no aim with their pikes. they could only look on in furious impotence, flinging curses at him until he passed from their view, behind the angle of the building. here for a score of yards a strip of hard foreshore ran between mud and wall. he struggled along it until he reached the end of the wall; then with a shuddering glance at the black heaving pit from which he had escaped, and which yet gurgled above the body of the hapless maudron--a tribute to horror which even his fierce nature could not withhold--he turned and painfully climbed the river-bank. the pike-wound in his shoulder was slight, but the effort had been supreme; the sweat poured from his brow, his visage was grey and drawn. nevertheless, when he had put fifty paces between himself and the buildings of the arsenal he paused, and turned. he saw that the men had run to other windows which looked that way; and his face lightened and his form dilated with triumph. he shook his fist at them. "ho, fools!" he cried, "you kill not tavannes so! till our next meeting at montfaucon, fare you well!" chapter xv. the brother of st. magloire. as the exertion of power is for the most part pleasing, so the exercise of that which a woman possesses over a man is especially pleasant. when in addition a risk of no ordinary kind has been run, and the happy issue has been barely expected--above all when the momentary gain seems an augury of final victory--it is impossible that a feeling akin to exultation should not arise in the mind, however black the horizon, and however distant the fair haven. the situation in which count hannibal left mademoiselle de vrillac will be remembered. she had prevailed on him; but in return he had bowed her to the earth, partly by subtle threats, and partly by sheer savagery. he had left her weeping, with the words "madame de tavannes" ringing doom in her ears, and the dark phantom of his will pointing onward to an inevitable future. had she abandoned hope, it would have been natural. but the girl was of a spirit not long nor easily cowed; and tavannes had not left her half an hour before the reflection, that so far the honours of the day were hers, rose up to console her. in spite of his power and her impotence, she had imposed her will upon his; she had established an influence over him, she had discovered a scruple which stayed him, and a limit beyond which he would not pass. in the result she might escape; for the conditions which he had accepted with an ill grace, might prove beyond his fulfilling. she might escape! true, many in her place would have feared a worse fate and harsher handling. but there lay half the merit of her victory. it had left her not only in a better position, but with a new confidence in her power over her adversary. he would insist on the bargain struck between them; within its four corners she could look for no indulgence. but if the conditions proved to be beyond his power, she believed that he would spare her: with an ill grace, indeed, with such ferocity and coarse reviling as her woman's pride might scarcely support. but he would spare her. and if the worst befell her? she would still have the consolation of knowing that from the cataclysm which had overwhelmed her friends she had ransomed those most dear to her. owing to the position of her chamber, she saw nothing of the excesses to which paris gave itself up during the remainder of that day, and to which it returned with unabated zest on the following morning. but the carlats and her women learned from the guards below what was passing; and quaking and cowering in their corners fixed frightened eyes on her, who was their stay and hope. how could she prove false to them? how doom them to perish, had there been no question of her lover? of him she sat thinking by the hour together. she recalled with solemn tenderness the moment in which he had devoted himself to the death which came but halfway to seize them; nor was she slow to forgive his subsequent withdrawal, and his attempt to rescue her in spite of herself. she found the impulse to die glorious; the withdrawal--for the actor was her lover--a thing done for her, which he would not have done for himself, and which she quickly forgave him. the revulsion of feeling which had conquered her at the time, and led her to tear herself from him, no longer moved her much; while all in his action that might have seemed in other eyes less than heroic, all in his conduct--in a crisis demanding the highest--that smacked of common or mean, vanished, for she still clung to him. clung to him, not so much with the passion of the mature woman, as with the maiden and sentimental affection of one who has now no hope of possessing, and for whom love no longer spells life but sacrifice. she had leisure for these musings, for she was left to herself all that day, and until late on the following day. her own servants waited on her, and it was known that below stairs count hannibal's riders kept sullen ward behind barred doors and shuttered windows, refusing admission to all who came. now and again echoes of the riot which filled the streets with bloodshed reached her ears: or word of the more striking occurrences was brought to her by madame carlat. and early on this second day, monday, it was whispered that m. de tavannes had not returned, and that the men below were growing uneasy. at last, when the suspense below and above was growing tense, it was broken. footsteps and voices were heard ascending the stairs, the trampling and hubbub were followed by a heavy knock; perforce the door was opened. while mademoiselle, who had risen, awaited with a beating heart she knew not what, a cowled father, in the dress of the monks of st. magloire, stood on the threshold, and, crossing himself, muttered the words of benediction. he entered slowly. no sight could have been more dreadful to mademoiselle; for it set at naught the conditions which she had so hardly exacted. what if count hannibal were behind, were even now mounting the stairs, prepared to force her to a marriage before this shaveling? or ready to proceed, if she refused, to the last extremity? sudden terror taking her by the throat choked her; her colour fled, her hand flew to her breast. yet, before the door had closed on bigot, she had recovered herself. "this intrusion is not by m. de tavannes' orders!" she cried, stepping forward haughtily. "this person has no business here. how dare you admit him?" the norman showed his bearded visage a moment at the door. "my lord's orders," he muttered sullenly. and he closed the door on them. she had a huguenot's hatred of a cowl; and, in this crisis, her reasons for fearing it. her eyes blazed with indignation. "enough!" she cried, pointing with a gesture of dismissal to the door. "go back to him who sent you! if he will insult me, let him do it to my face! if he will perjure himself, let him forswear himself in person. or, if you come on your own account," she continued, flinging prudence to the winds, "as your brethren came to philippa de luns, to offer me the choice you offered her, i give you her answer! if i had thought of myself only, i had not lived so long! and rather than bear your presence or hear your arguments----" she came to a sudden, odd, quavering pause on the word; her lips remained parted, she swayed an instant on her feet. the next moment madame carlat, to whom the visitor had turned his shoulder, doubted her eyes, for mademoiselle was in the monk's arms! "clotilde! clotilde!" he cried, and held her to him. for the monk was m. de tignonville! under the cowl was the lover with whom mademoiselle's thoughts had been engaged. in this disguise, and armed with tavannes' note to madame st. lo--which the guards below knew for count hannibal's hand, though they were unable to decipher the contents--he had found no difficulty in making his way to her. he had learned before he entered that tavannes was abroad, and was aware therefore that he ran little risk. his betrothed, on the other hand, who knew nothing of his adventures in the interval, saw in him one who came to her at the greatest risk, across unnumbered perils, through streets swimming with blood. and though she had never embraced him save in the crisis of the massacre, though she had never called him by his christian name, in the joy of this meeting she abandoned herself to him, she clung to him weeping, she forgot for the time his defection, and thought only of him who had returned to her so gallantly, who brought into the room a breath of poitou, and the sea, and the old days, and the old life; and at the sight of whom the horrors of the last two days fell from her--for the moment. and madame carlat wept also, and in the room was a sound of weeping. the least moved was, for a certainty, m. de tignonville himself, who, as we know, had gone through much that day. but even his heart swelled, partly with pride, partly with thankfulness that he had returned to one who loved him so well. fate had been kinder to him than he deserved; but he need not confess that now. when he had brought off the _coup_ which he had in his mind, he would hasten to forget that he had entertained other ideas. mademoiselle had been the first to be carried away; she was also the first to recover herself. "i had forgotten," she cried suddenly. "i had forgotten," and she wrested herself from his embrace with violence, and stood panting, her face white, her eyes affrighted. "i must not! and you--i had forgotten that too! to be here, monsieur, is the worst office you can do me. you must go! go, monsieur, in mercy i beg of you, while it is possible. every moment you are here, every moment you spend in this house, i shudder." "you need not fear for me," he said, in a tone of bravado. he did not understand. "i fear for myself!" she answered. and then, wringing her hands, divided between her love for him and her fear for herself, "oh, forgive me!" she said. "you do not know that he has promised to spare me, if he cannot produce you, and--and--a minister! he has granted me that; but i thought when you entered that he had gone back on his word, and sent a priest, and it maddened me! i could not bear to think that i had gained nothing. now you understand, and you will pardon me, monsieur? if he cannot produce you i am saved. go then, leave me, i beg, without a moment's delay." he laughed derisively as he turned back his cowl and squared his shoulders. "all that is over!" he said, "over and done with, sweet! m. de tavannes is at this moment a prisoner in the arsenal. on my way hither i fell in with m. de biron, and he told me. the grand master, who would have had me join his company, had been all night at marshal tavannes' hotel, where he had been detained longer than he expected. he stood pledged to release count hannibal on his return, but at my request he consented to hold him one hour, and to do also a little thing for me." the glow of hope which had transfigured her face faded slowly. "it will not help," she said, "if he find you here." "he will not! nor you!" "how, monsieur?" "in a few minutes," he explained--he could not hide his exultation, "a message will come from the arsenal in the name of tavannes, bidding the monk he sent to you bring you to him. a spoken message, corroborated by my presence, should suffice: '_bid the monk who is now with mademoiselle_,' it will run, '_bring her to me at the arsenal, and let four pikes guard them hither_.' when i begged m. de biron to do this, he laughed. 'i can do better,' he said. 'they shall bring one of count hannibal's gloves, which he left on my table. always supposing my rascals have done him no harm, which god forbid, for i am answerable.'" tignonville, delighted with the stratagem which the meeting with biron had suggested, could see no flaw in it. she could, and though she heard him to the end, no second glow of hope softened the lines of her features. with a gesture full of dignity, which took in not only madame carlat and the waiting-woman who stood at the door but the absent servants, "and what of these?" she said. "what of these? you forgot them, monsieur. you do not think, you cannot have thought, that i would abandon them? that i would leave them to such mercy as he, defeated, might extend to them? no, you forgot them." he did not know what to answer, for the jealous eyes of the frightened waiting-woman, fierce with the fierceness of a hunted animal, were on him. the carlat and she had heard, could hear. at last, "better one than none!" he muttered, in a voice so low that if the servants caught his meaning it was but indistinctly. "i have to think of you." "and i of them," she answered firmly. "nor is that all. were they not here, it could not be. my word is passed--though a moment ago, monsieur, in the joy of seeing you i forgot it. and how," she continued, "if i keep not my word, can i expect him to keep his? or how, if i am ready to break the bond, on this happening which i never expected, can i hold him to conditions which he loves as little--as little as i love him?" her voice dropped piteously on the last words; her eyes, craving her lover's pardon, sought his. but rage, not pity or admiration, was the feeling roused in tignonville's breast. he stood staring at her, struck dumb by folly so immense. at last, "you cannot mean this," he blurted out. "you cannot mean, mademoiselle, that you intend to stand on that! to keep a promise wrung from you by force, by treachery, in the midst of such horrors as he and his have brought upon us! it is inconceivable!" she shook her head. "i promised," she said. "you were forced to it." "but the promise saved our lives." "from murderers! from assassins!" he protested. she shook her head. "i cannot go back," she said firmly; "i cannot." "then you are willing to marry him," he cried in ignoble anger. "that is it! nay, you must wish to marry him! for, as for his conditions, mademoiselle," the young man continued, with an insulting laugh, "you cannot think seriously of them. _he_ keep conditions and you in his power! he, count hannibal! but for the matter of that, and were he in the mind to keep them, what are they? there are plenty of ministers. i left one only this morning. i could lay my hand on one in five minutes. he has only to find one therefore--and to find me!" "yes, monsieur," she cried, trembling with wounded pride, "it is for that reason i implore you to go. the sooner you leave me, the sooner you place yourself in a position of security, the happier for me! every moment that you spend here, you endanger both yourself and me!" "if you will not be persuaded----" "i shall not be persuaded," she answered firmly, "and you do but"--alas! her pride began to break down, her voice to quiver, she looked piteously at him--"by staying here make it harder for me to--to----" "hush!" cried madame carlat, "hush!" and as they started and turned towards her--she was at the end of the chamber by the door, almost out of earshot--she raised a warning hand. "listen!" she muttered, "some one has entered the house." "'tis my messenger from biron," tignonville answered sullenly. and he drew his cowl over his face, and, hiding his hands in his sleeves, moved towards the door. but on the threshold he turned and held out his arms. he could not go thus. "mademoiselle! clotilde!" he cried with passion, "for the last time, listen to me, come with me. be persuaded!" "hush!" madame carlat interposed again, and turned a scared face on them. "it is no messenger! it is tavannes himself: i know his voice." and she wrung her hands. "_oh, mon dieu, mon dieu_, what are we to do?" she continued, panic-stricken. and she looked all ways about the room. chapter xvi. at close quarters. fear leapt into mademoiselle's eyes, but she commanded herself. she signed to madame carlat to be silent, and they listened, gazing at one another, hoping against hope that the woman was mistaken. a long moment they waited, and some were beginning to breathe again, when the strident tones of count hannibal's voice rolled up the staircase, and put an end to doubt. mademoiselle grasped the table and stood supporting herself by it. "what are we to do?" she muttered. "what are we to do?" and she turned distractedly towards the women. the courage which had supported her in her lover's absence had abandoned her now. "if he finds him here i am lost! i am lost!" "he will not know me," tignonville muttered. but he spoke uncertainly; and his gaze, shifting hither and thither, belied the boldness of his words. madame carlat's eyes flew round the room; on her for once the burden seemed to rest. alas! the room had no second door, and the windows looked on a courtyard guarded by tavannes' people. and even now count hannibal's step rang on the stair! his hand was almost on the latch. the woman wrung her hands; then, a thought striking her, she darted to a corner where mademoiselle's robes hung on pegs against the wall. "here!" she cried, raising them. "behind these! he may not be seen here! quick, monsieur, quick! hide yourself!" it was a forlorn hope--the suggestion of one who had not thought out the position; and, whatever its promise, mademoiselle's pride revolted against it. "no," she cried. "not there!" while tignonville, who knew that the step was useless, since count hannibal must have learned that a monk had entered, held his ground. "you could not deny yourself!" he muttered hurriedly. "and a priest with me?" she answered; and she shook her head. there was no time for more, and even as mademoiselle spoke count hannibal's knuckles tapped the door. she cast a last look at her lover. he had turned his back on the window; the light no longer fell on his face. it was possible that he might pass unrecognised, if tavannes' stay was brief; at any rate the risk must be run. in a half-stifled voice she bade her woman, javette, open the door. count hannibal bowed low as he entered; and he deceived the others. but he did not deceive her. he had not crossed the threshold before she repented that she had not acted on tignonville's suggestion, and denied herself. for what could escape those hard keen eyes, which swept the room, saw all, and seemed to see nothing--those eyes in which there dwelt even now a glint of cruel humour? he might deceive others, but she who panted within his grasp, as the wild bird palpitates in the hand of the fowler, was not deceived! he saw, he knew! although, as he bowed, and smiling, stood upright, he looked only at her. "i expected to be with you before this," he said courteously, "but i have been detained. first, mademoiselle, by some of your friends, who were reluctant to part with me; then by some of your enemies, who, finding me in no handsome case, took me for a huguenot escaped from the river, and drove me to shifts to get clear of them. however, now i am come, i have news." "news?" she muttered with dry lips. it could hardly be good news. "yes, mademoiselle, of m. de tignonville," he answered. "i have little doubt that i shall be able to produce him this evening, and so to satisfy one of your scruples. and as i trust that this good father," he went on, turning to the ecclesiastic, and speaking with the sneer from which he seldom refrained, catholic as he was, when he mentioned a priest, "has by this time succeeded in removing the other, and persuading you to accept his ministrations----" "no!" she cried impulsively. "no?" with a dubious smile, and a glance from one to the other. "oh, i had hoped better things. but he still may? he still may. i am sure he may. in which case, mademoiselle, your modesty must pardon me if i plead urgency, and fix the hour after supper this evening for the fulfilment of your promise." she turned white to the lips. "after supper?" she gasped. "yes, mademoiselle, this evening. shall i say--at eight o'clock?" in horror of the thing which menaced her, of the thing from which only two hours separated her, she could find no words but those which she had already used. the worst was upon her; worse than the worst could not befall her. "but he has not persuaded me!" she cried, clenching her hands in passion. "he has not persuaded me!" "still he may, mademoiselle." "he will not!" she cried wildly. "he will not!" the room was going round with her. the precipice yawned at her feet; its naked terrors turned her brain. she had been pushed nearer, and nearer, and nearer; struggle as she might she was on the verge. a mist rose before her eyes, and though they thought she listened she understood nothing of what was passing. when she came to herself after the lapse of a minute, count hannibal was speaking. "permit him another trial," he was saying in a tone of bland irony. "a short time longer, mademoiselle! one more assault, father! the weapons of the church could not be better directed or to a more worthy object; and, successful, shall not fail of due recognition and an earthly reward." and while she listened, half fainting, with a humming in her ears, he was gone. the door closed on him, and the three--mademoiselle's woman had withdrawn when she opened to him--looked at one another. the girl parted her lips to speak, but she only smiled piteously; and it was m. de tignonville who broke the silence, in a tone which betrayed rather relief than any other feeling. "come, all is not lost yet," he said briskly. "if i can escape from the house----" "he knows you," she answered. "what?" "he knows you," mademoiselle repeated in a tone almost apathetic. "i read it in his eyes. he knew you at once: and knew, too," she added bitterly, "that he had here under his hand one of the two things he required." "then why did he hide his knowledge?" the young man retorted sharply. "why?" she answered. "to induce me to waive the other condition in the hope of saving you. oh!" she continued in a tone of bitter raillery, "he has the cunning of hell, of the priests! you are no match for him, monsieur. nor i; nor any of us. and"--with a gesture of despair--"he will be my master! he will break me to his will and to his hand! i shall be his! his, body and soul, body and soul!" she continued drearily, as she sank into a chair and, rocking herself to and fro, covered her face. "i shall be his! his till i die!" the man's eyes burned, and the pulse in his temples beat wildly. "but you shall not," he exclaimed. "i may be no match for him in cunning, you say well. but i can kill him. and i will!" he paced up and down. "i will!" "you should have done it when he was here," she answered, half in scorn, half in earnest. "it is not too late," he cried; and then he stopped, silenced by the opening door. it was javette who entered. they looked at her, and before she spoke were on their feet. her face, white and eager, marking something besides fear, announced that she brought news. she closed the door behind her, and in a moment it was told. "monsieur can escape, if he is quick," she cried in a low tone; and they saw that she trembled with excitement. "they are at supper. but he must be quick! he must be quick!" "is not the door guarded!" "it is, but----" "and he knows! your mistress says that he knows that i am here." for a moment javette looked startled. "it is possible," she muttered. "but he has gone out." madame carlat clapped her hands. "i heard the door close," she said, "three minutes ago." "and if monsieur can reach the room in which he supped last night, the window that was broken is only blocked"--she swallowed once or twice in her excitement--"with something he can move. and then monsieur is in the street, where his cowl will protect him." "but count hannibal's men?" he asked eagerly. "they are eating in the lodge by the door." "ha! and they cannot see the other room from there?" javette nodded. her tale told, she seemed to be unable to add a word. mademoiselle, who knew her for a craven, wondered that she had found courage either to note what she had or to bring the news. but as providence had been so good to them as to put it into this woman's head to act as she had, it behoved them to use the opportunity--the last, the very last opportunity they might have. she turned to tignonville. "oh, go!" she cried feverishly. "go, i beg! go now, monsieur! the greatest kindness you can do me is to place yourself as quickly as possible beyond his reach." a faint colour, the flush of hope, had returned to her cheeks. her eyes glittered. "right, mademoiselle!" he cried, obedient for once. "i go! and do you be of good courage." he held her hand an instant, then, moving to the door, he opened it and listened. they all pressed behind him to hear. a murmur of voices, low and distant, mounted the staircase and bore out the girl's tale; apart from this the house was silent. tignonville cast a last look at mademoiselle, and, with a gesture of farewell, glided a-tiptoe to the stairs and began to descend, his face hidden in his cowl. they watched him reach the angle of the staircase, they watched him vanish beyond it; and still they listened, looking at one another when a board creaked or the voices below were hushed for a moment. chapter xvii. the duel. at the foot of the staircase tignonville paused. the droning norman voices of the men on guard issued from an open door a few paces before him on the left. he caught a jest, the coarse chuckling laughter which attended it, and the gurgle of applause which followed; and he knew that at any moment one of the men might step out and discover him. fortunately the door of the room with the shattered window was almost within reach of his hand on the right side of the passage, and he stepped softly to it. he stood an instant hesitating, his hand on the latch; then, alarmed by a movement in the guard-room, as if some were rising, he pushed the door in a panic, slid into the room, and shut the door behind him. he was safe, and he had made no noise; but at the table, at supper, with his back to him and his face to the partly closed window, sat count hannibal! the young man's heart stood still. for a long minute he gazed at the count's back, spellbound and unable to stir. then, as tavannes ate on without looking round, he began to take courage. possibly he had entered so quietly that he had not been heard, or possibly his entrance was taken for that of a servant. in either case, there was a chance that he might retire after the same fashion; and he had actually raised the latch, and was drawing the door to him with infinite precaution, when tavannes' voice struck him, as it were, in the face. "pray do not admit the draught, m. de tignonville," he said, without looking round. "in your cowl you do not feel it, but it is otherwise with me." the unfortunate tignonville stood transfixed, glaring at the back of the other's head. for an instant he could not find his voice. at last "curse you!" he hissed in a transport of rage. "curse you! you did know, then? and she was right." "if you mean that i expected you, to be sure, monsieur," count hannibal answered. "see, your place is laid. you will not feel the air from without there. the very becoming dress which you have adopted secures you from cold. but--do you not find it somewhat oppressive this summer weather?" "curse you!" the young man cried, trembling. tavannes turned and looked at him with a dark smile. "the curse may fall," he said, "but i fancy it will not be in consequence of your petitions, monsieur. and now, were it not better you played the man?" "if i were armed," the other cried passionately, "you would not insult me!" "sit down, sir, sit down," count hannibal answered sternly. "we will talk of that presently. in the meantime i have something to say to you. will you not eat?" but tignonville would not. "very well," count hannibal answered; and he went on with his supper, "i am indifferent whether you eat or not. it is enough for me that you are one of the two things i lacked an hour ago; and that i have you, m. de tignonville. and through you i look to obtain the other." "what other?" tignonville cried. "a minister," tavannes answered, smiling. "a minister. there are not many left in paris--of your faith. but you met one this morning, i know!" "i? i met one?" "yes, monsieur, you! and can lay your hand on him in five minutes, you know." m. de tignonville gasped. his face turned a shade paler. "you have a spy," he cried. "you have a spy upstairs!" tavannes raised his cup to his lips, and drank. when he had set it down, "it may be," he said, and he shrugged his shoulders. "i know, it boots not how i know. it is my business to make the most of my knowledge--and of yours!" m. de tignonville laughed rudely. "make the most of your own," he said; "you will have none of mine." "that remains to be seen," count hannibal answered. "carry your mind back two days, m. de tignonville. had i gone to mademoiselle de vrillac last saturday and said to her 'marry me, or promise to marry me,' what answer would she have given?" "she would have called you an insolent!" the young man replied hotly. "and i----" "no matter what you would have done!" tavannes said. "suffice it that she would have answered as you suggest. yet to-day she has given me her promise." "yes," the young man retorted, "in circumstances in which no man of honour----" "let us say in peculiar circumstances." "well?" "which still exist! mark me, m. de tignonville," count hannibal continued, leaning forward and eyeing the young man with meaning, "_which still exist!_ and may have the same effect on another's will as on hers! listen! do you hear?" and rising from his seat with a darkening face, he pointed to the partly shuttered window, through which the measured tramp of a body of men came heavily to the ear. "do you hear, monsieur? do you understand? as it was yesterday it is to-day! they killed the president la place this morning! and they are searching! they are still searching! the river is not yet full, nor the gibbet glutted! i have but to open that window and denounce you, and your life would hang by no stronger thread than the life of a mad dog which they chase through the streets!" the younger man had risen also. he stood confronting tavannes, the cowl fallen back from his face, his eyes dilated. "you think to frighten me!" he cried. "you think that i am craven enough to sacrifice her to save myself. you----" "you were craven enough to draw back yesterday, when you stood at this window and waited for death!" count hannibal answered brutally. "you flinched then, and may flinch again!" "try me!" tignonville retorted, trembling with passion. "try me!" and then, as the other stared at him and made no movement, "but you dare not!" he cried. "you dare not!" "no?" "no! for if i die you lose her!" tignonville replied in a voice of triumph. "ha, ha! i touch you there!" he continued. "you dare not, for my safety is part of the price, and is more to you than it is to myself! you may threaten, m. de tavannes, you may bluster, and shout and point to the window"--and he mocked, with a disdainful mimicry, the other's gesture--"but my safety is more to you than to me! and 'twill end there!" "you believe that?" "i know it!" in two strides count hannibal was at the window. he seized a great piece of the boarding which closed one half of the opening; he wrenched it away. a flood of evening light burst in through the aperture, and fell on and heightened the flushed passion of his features, as he turned again to his opponent. "then if you know it," he cried vehemently, "in god's name act upon it!" and he pointed to the window. "act upon it?" "ay, act upon it!" tavannes repeated, with a glance of flame. "the road is open! if you would save your mistress, behold the way! if you would save her from the embrace she abhors, from the eyes under which she trembles, from the hand of a master, there lies the way! and it is not her glove only you will save, but herself, her soul, her body! so," he continued with a certain wildness and in a tone wherein contempt and bitterness were mingled, "to the lions, brave lover! will you your life for her honour? will you death that she may live a maid? will you your head to save her finger? then, leap down! leap down! the lists are open, the sand is strewed! out of your own mouth i have it that if you perish she is saved! then out, monsieur! cry 'i am a huguenot!' and god's will be done!" tignonville was livid. "rather, your will!" he panted. "your will, you devil! nevertheless----" "you will go! ha! ha! you will go!" for an instant it seemed that he would go. stung by the challenge, wrought on by the contempt in which tavannes held him, he shot a look of hate at the tempter; he caught his breath, and laid his hand on the edge of the shuttering as if he would leap out. but it goes hard with him who has once turned back from the foe. the evening light, glancing cold on the burnished pike-points of a group of archers who stood near, caught his eye and went chill to his heart. death, not in the arena, not in the sight of shouting thousands, but in this darkening street, with an enemy laughing from the window, death with no revenge to follow, with no certainty that after all she would be safe, such a death could be compassed only by pure love--the love of a child for a parent, of a parent for a child, of a man for the one woman in the world! he recoiled. "you would not spare her!" he cried, his face damp with sweat--for he knew now that he would not go. "you want to be rid of me! you would fool me, and then----" "out of your own mouth you are convict!" count hannibal retorted gravely. "it was you who said it! but still i swear it! shall i swear it to you?" but tignonville recoiled another step and was silent. "no? o _preux chevalier_, o gallant knight! i knew it! do you think that i did not know with whom i had to deal?" and count hannibal burst into harsh laughter, turning his back on the other, as if he no longer counted. "you will neither die with her nor for her! you were better in her petticoats and she in your breeches! or no, you are best as you are, good father! take my advice, m. de tignonville, have done with arms; and with a string of beads, and soft words, and talk of holy mother church, you will fool the women as surely as the best of them! they are not all like my cousin, a flouting, gibing, jeering woman--you had poor fortune there, i fear?" "if i had a sword!" tignonville hissed, his face livid with rage. "you call me coward, because i will not die to please you. but give me a sword, and i will show you if i am a coward!" tavannes stood still. "you are there, are you?" he said in an altered tone. "i----" "give me a sword," tignonville repeated, holding out his open trembling hands. "a sword! a sword! 'tis easy taunting an unarmed man, but----" "you wish to fight?" "i ask no more! no more! give me a sword," he urged, his voice quivering with eagerness. "it is you who are the coward!" count hannibal stared at him. "and what am i to get by fighting you?" he reasoned slowly. "you are in my power. i can do with you as i please. i can call from this window and denounce you, or i can summon my men----" "coward! coward!" "ay? well, i will tell you what i will do," with a subtle smile. "i will give you a sword, m. de tignonville, and i will meet you foot to foot here, in this room, on a condition." "what is it? what is it?" the young man cried with incredible eagerness. "name your condition!" "that if i get the better of you, you find me a minister." "i find you a----" "a minister. yes, that is it. or tell me where i can find one." the young man recoiled. "never!" he said. "you know where to find one." "never! never!" "you can lay your hand on one in five minutes, you know." "i will not." "then i shall not fight you!" count hannibal answered coolly; and he turned from him, and back again. "you will pardon me if i say, m. de tignonville, that you are in as many minds about fighting as about dying! i do not think that you would have made your fortune at court. moreover, there is a thing which i fancy you have not considered. if we fight you may kill me, in which case the condition will not help me much. or i--which is more likely--" he added with a harsh smile, "may kill you, and again i am no better placed." the young man's, pallid features betrayed the conflict in his breast. to do him justice, his hand itched for the sword-hilt--he was brave enough for that; he hated, and only so could he avenge himself. but the penalty if he had the worse! and yet what of it? he was in hell now, in a hell of humiliation, shame, defeat, tormented by this fiend! 'twas only to risk a lower hell. at last, "i will do it!" he cried hoarsely. "give me a sword and look to yourself." "you promise?" "yes, yes, i promise!" "good," count hannibal answered suavely; "but we cannot fight so, we must have more light," and striding to the door he opened it, and calling the norman bade him move the table and bring caudles--a dozen candles; for in the narrow streets the light was waning, and in the half-shuttered room it was growing dusk. tignonville, listening with a throbbing brain, wondered that the attendant expressed no surprise and said no word--until tavannes added to his orders one for a pair of swords. then, "monsieur's sword is here," bigot answered in his half-intelligible patois. "he left it here yester morning." "you are a good fellow, bigot," tavannes answered, with a gaiety and good-humour which astonished tignonville. "and one of these days you shall marry suzanne." the norman smiled sourly and went in search of the weapon. "you have a poniard?" count hannibal continued in the same tone of unusual good temper, which had already struck tignonville. "excellent! will you strip, then, or--as we are? very good, monsieur; in the unlikely event of fortune declaring for you, you will be in a better condition to take care of yourself. a man running through the streets in his shirt is exposed to inconveniences!" and he laughed gaily. while he laughed the other listened; and his rage began to give place to wonder. a man who regarded as a pastime a sword and dagger conflict between four walls, who, having his adversary in his power, was ready to discard the advantage, to descend into the lists, and to risk life for a whim, a fancy--such a man was outside his experience, though in poitou in those days of war were men reckoned brave. for what, he asked himself as he waited, had tavannes to gain by fighting? the possession of mademoiselle? but mademoiselle, if his passion for her overwhelmed him, was in his power; and if his promise were a barrier--which seemed inconceivable in the light of his reputation--he had only to wait, and to-morrow, or the next day, or the next, a minister would be found, and without risk he could gain that for which he was now risking all. tignonville did not know that it was in the other's nature to find pleasure in such utmost ventures. nevertheless the recklessness to which tavannes' action bore witness had its effect upon him. by the time the young man's sword arrived something of his passion for the conflict had evaporated; and though the touch of the hilt restored his determination, the locked door, the confined space, and the unaccustomed light went a certain distance towards substituting despair for courage. the use of the dagger in the duels of that day, however, rendered despair itself formidable. and tignonville, when he took his place, appeared anything but a mean antagonist. he had removed his robe and cowl, and lithe and active as a cat he stood as it were on springs, throwing his weight now on this foot and now on that, and was continually in motion. the table bearing the candles had been pushed against the window, the boarding of which had been replaced by bigot before he left the room. tignonville had this, and consequently the lights, on his dagger hand; and he plumed himself on the advantage, considering his point the more difficult to follow. count hannibal did not seem to notice this, however. "are you ready?" he asked. and then, "on guard!" he cried, and he stamped the echo to the word. but, that done, instead of bearing the other down with a headlong rush characteristic of the man--as tignonville feared--he held off warily, stooping low; and when his slow opening was met by one as cautious, he began to taunt his antagonist. "come!" he cried, and feinted half-heartedly. "come, monsieur, are we going to fight, or play at fighting?" "fight yourself, then!" tignonville answered, his breath quickened by excitement and growing hope. "'tis not i hold back!" and he lunged, but was put aside. "Ça! ça!" tavannes retorted; and he lunged and parried in his turn, but loosely and at a distance. after which the two moved nearer the door, their eyes glittering as they watched one another, their knees bent, the sinews of their backs straining for the leap. suddenly tavannes thrust, and leapt away, and as his antagonist thrust in return the count swept the blade aside with a strong parry, and for a moment seemed to be on the point of falling on tignonville with the poniard. but tignonville retired his right foot nimbly, which brought them front to front again. and the younger man laughed. "try again, m. le comte!" he said. and, with the word, he dashed in himself quick as light; for a second the blades ground on one another, the daggers hovered, the two suffused faces glared into one another; then the pair disengaged again. the blood trickled from a scratch on count hannibal's neck; half an inch to the right and the point had found his throat. and tignonville, elated, laughed anew, and swaying from side to side on his hips, watched with growing confidence for a second chance. lithe as one of the leopards charles kept at the louvre, he stooped lower and lower, and more and more with each moment took the attitude of the assailant, watching for an opening; while count hannibal, his face dark and his eyes vigilant, stood increasingly on the defence. the light was waning a little, the wicks of the caudles were burning long; but neither noticed it or dared to remove his eyes from the other's. their laboured breathing found an echo on the farther side of the door, but this again neither observed. "well?" count hannibal said at last. "are you coming?" "when i please," tignonville answered; and he feinted but drew back. the other did the same, and again they watched one another, their eyes seeming to grow smaller and smaller. gradually a smile had birth on tignonville's lips. he thrust! it was parried! he thrust again--parried! tavannes, grown still more cautious, gave a yard. tignonville pushed on, but did not allow confidence to master caution. he began, indeed, to taunt his adversary; to flout and jeer him. but it was with a motive. for suddenly, in the middle of a sentence, he repeated the peculiar thrust which had been successful before. this time, however, tavannes was ready. he put aside the blade with a quick parade, and instead of making a riposte sprang within the other's guard. the two came face to face and breast to shoulder, and struck furiously with their daggers. count hannibal was outside his opponent's sword and had the advantage. tignonville's dagger fell, but glanced off the metalwork of the other's hilt; tavannes' fell swift and hard between the young man's eyes. the huguenot flung up his hands and staggered back, falling his length on the floor. in an instant count hannibal was on his breast, and had knocked away his dagger. then, "you own yourself vanquished?" he cried. the young man, blinded by the blood which trickled down his face, made a sign with his hands. count hannibal rose to his feet again, and stood a moment looking at his foe without speaking. presently he seemed to be satisfied. he nodded, and going to the table dipped a napkin in water. he brought it, and carefully supporting tignonville's head, laved his brow. "it is as i thought," he said, when he had stanched the blood. "you are not hurt, man. you are stunned. it is no more than a bruise." the young man was coming to himself. "but i thought----" he muttered, and broke off to pass his hand over his face. then he got up slowly, reeling a little, "i thought it was the point," he muttered. "no, it was the pommel," tavannes answered drily. "it would not have served me to kill you. i could have done that ten times." tignonville groaned, and, sitting down at the table, held the napkin to his aching head. one of the candles had been overturned in the struggle and lay on the floor, flaring in a little pool of grease. tavannes set his heel upon it; then, striding to the farther end of the room, he picked up tignonville's dagger and placed it beside his sword on the table. he looked about to see if aught else remained to do, and, finding nothing, he returned to tignonville's side. "now, monsieur," he said in a voice hard and constrained, "i must ask you to perform your part of the bargain." a groan of anguish broke from the unhappy man. and yet he had set his life on the cast; what more could he have done? "you will not harm him?" he muttered. "he shall go safe," count hannibal replied gravely. "and----" he fought a moment with his pride, then blurted out the words, "you will not tell her--that it was through me--you found him?" "i will not," tavannes answered in the same tone. he stooped and picked up the other's robe and cowl, which had fallen from a chair--so that as he spoke his eyes were averted. "she shall never know through me," he said. and tignonville, his face hidden in his hands, told him. chapter xviii. andromeda, perseus being absent. little by little--while they fought below--the gloom had thickened, and night had fallen in the room above. but mademoiselle would not have candles brought. seated in the darkness, on the uppermost step of the stairs, her hands clasped about her knees, she listened and listened, as if by that action she could avert misfortune; or as if, by going so far forward to meet it, she could turn aside the worst. the women shivering in the darkness about her would fain have struck a light and drawn her back into the room, for they felt safer there. but she was not to be moved. the laughter and chatter of the men in the guard-room, the coming and going of bigot as he passed, below but out of sight, had no terrors for her; nay, she breathed more freely on the bare open landing of the staircase than in the close confines of a room which her fears made hateful to her. here at least she could listen, her face unseen; and listening she bore the suspense more easily. a turn in the staircase, with the noise which proceeded from the guard-room, rendered it difficult to hear what happened in the closed room below. but she thought that if an alarm were raised there she must hear it; and as the moments passed and nothing happened, she began to feel confident that her lover had made good his escape by the window. presently she got a fright. three or four men came from the guard-room and went, as it seemed to her, to the door of the room with the shattered casement. she told herself that she had rejoiced too soon, and her heart stood still. she waited for a rush of feet, a cry, a struggle. but except an uncertain muffled sound which lasted for some minutes, and was followed by a dull shock, she heard nothing more. and presently the men went back whispering, the noise in the guard-room which had been partially hushed broke forth anew, and perplexed but relieved she breathed again. surely he had escaped by this time. surely by this time he was far away, in the arsenal, or in some place of refuge! and she might take courage, and feel that for this day the peril was overpast. "mademoiselle will have the lights now?" one of the women ventured. "no! no!" she answered feverishly, and she continued to crouch where she was on the stairs, bathing herself and her burning face in the darkness and coolness of the stairway. the air entered freely through a window at her elbow and the place was fresher, were that all, than the room she had left. javette began to whimper, but she paid no heed to her; a man came and went along the passage below, and she heard the outer door unbarred, and the jarring tread of three or four men who passed through it. but all without disturbance; and afterwards the house was quiet again. and as on this monday evening the prime virulence of the massacre had begun to abate--though it held after a fashion to the end of the week--paris without was quiet also. the sounds which had chilled her heart at intervals during two days were no longer heard. a feeling almost of peace, almost of comfort--a drowsy feeling, that was three parts a reaction from excitement--took possession of her. in the darkness her head sank lower and lower on her knees. and half an hour passed, while javette whimpered, and madame carlat slumbered, her broad back propped against the wall. suddenly mademoiselle opened her eyes, and saw, three steps below her, a strange man whose upward way she barred. behind him came carlat, and behind him bigot, lighting both; and in the confusion of her thoughts as she rose to her feet the three, all staring at her in a common amazement, seemed a company. the air entering through the open window beside her blew the flame of the candle this way and that, and added to the nightmare character of the scene; for by the shifting light the men seemed to laugh one moment and scowl the next, and their shadows were now high and now low on the wall. in truth they were as much amazed at coming on her in that place as she at their appearance; but they were awake, and she newly roused from sleep; and the advantage was with them. "what is it?" she cried in a panic. "what is it?" "if mademoiselle will return to her room?" one of the men said courteously. "but--what is it?" she was frightened. "if mademoiselle----" then she turned without more and went back into the room, and the three followed, and her woman and madame carlat. she stood resting one hand on the table while javette with shaking fingers lighted the candles. then, "now, monsieur," she said in a hard voice, "if you will tell me your business?" "you do not know me?" the stranger's eyes dwelt kindly and pitifully on her. she looked at him steadily, crushing down the fears which knocked at her heart. "no," she said. "and yet i think i have seen you." "you saw me a week last sunday," the stranger answered sorrowfully. "my name is la tribe. i preached that day, mademoiselle, before the king of navarre. i believe that you were there." for a moment she stared at him in silence, her lips parted. then she laughed, a laugh which set the teeth on edge. "oh, he is clever!" she cried. "he has the wit of the priests! or the devil! but you come too late, monsieur! you come too late! the bird has flown." "mademoiselle----" "i tell you the bird has flown!" she repeated vehemently. and her laugh of joyless triumph rang through the room. "he is clever, but i have outwitted him! i have----" she paused and stared about her wildly, struck by the silence; struck, too, by something solemn, something pitiful in the faces that were turned on her. and her lip began to quiver. "what?" she muttered. "why do you look at me so? he has not"--she turned from one to another--"he has not been taken?" "m. tignonville?" she nodded. "he is below." "ah!" she said. they expected to see her break down, perhaps to see her fall. but she only groped blindly for a chair and sat. and for a moment there was silence in the room. it was the huguenot minister who broke it in a tone formal and solemn. "listen, all present!" he said slowly. "the ways of god are past finding out. for two days in the midst of great perils i have been preserved by his hand and fed by his bounty, and i am told that i shall live if, in this matter, i do the will of those who hold me in their power. but be assured--and hearken all," he continued, lowering his voice to a sterner note. "rather than marry this woman to this man against her will--if indeed in his sight such marriage can be--rather than save my life by such base compliance, i will die not once but ten times! see. i am ready! i will make no defence!" and he opened his arms as if to welcome the stroke. "if there be trickery here, if there has been practising below, where they told me this and that, it shall not avail! until i hear from mademoiselle's own lips that she is willing, i will not say over her so much as yea, yea, or nay, nay!" "she is willing!" la tribe turned sharply, and beheld the speaker. it was count hannibal, who had entered a few seconds earlier, and had taken his stand within the door. "she is willing!" tavannes repeated quietly. and if, in this moment of the fruition of his schemes, he felt his triumph, he masked it under a face of sombre purpose. "do you doubt me, man?" "from her own lips!" the other replied, undaunted--and few could say as much--by that harsh presence. "from no other's!" "sirrah, you----" "i can die. and you can no more, my lord!" the minister answered bravely. "you have no threat can move me." "i am not sure of that," tavannes answered, more blandly. "but had you listened to me and been less anxious to be brave, m. la tribe, where no danger is, you had learned that here is no call for heroics! mademoiselle is willing, and will tell you so." "with her own lips?" count hannibal raised his eyebrows. "with her own lips, if you will," he said. and then, advancing a step and addressing her, with unusual gravity, "mademoiselle de vrillac," he said, "you hear what this gentleman requires. will you be pleased to confirm what i have said?" she did not answer, and in the intense silence which held the room in its freezing grasp a woman choked, another broke into weeping. the colour ebbed from the cheeks of more than one; the men fidgeted on their feet. count hannibal looked round, his head high. "there is no call for tears," he said; and whether he spoke in irony or in a strange obtuseness was known only to himself. "mademoiselle is in no hurry--and rightly--to answer a question so momentous. under the pressure of utmost peril, she passed her word; the more reason that, now the time has come to redeem it, she should do so at leisure and after thought. since she gave her promise, monsieur, she has had more than one opportunity of evading its fulfilment. but she is a vrillac, and i know that nothing is farther from her thoughts." he was silent a moment; and then "mademoiselle," he said, "i would not hurry you." her eyes were closed, but at that her lips moved. "i am--willing," she whispered. and a fluttering sigh, of relief, of pity, of god knows what, filled the room. "you are satisfied, m. la tribe?" "i do not----" "man!" with a growl as of a tiger, count hannibal dropped the mask. in two strides he was at the minister's side, his hand gripped his shoulder; his face, flushed with passion, glared into his. "will you play with lives!" he hissed. "if you do not value your own, have you no thought of others? of these? look and count! have you no bowels? if she will save them, will not you?" "my own i do not value." "curse your own!" tavannes cried in furious scorn. and he shook the other to and fro. "who thought of your life? will you doom these? will you give them to the butcher?" "my lord," la tribe answered, shaken in spite of himself, "if she be willing----" "she is willing." "i have nought to say. but i caught her words indistinctly. and without her consent---- "she shall speak more plainly. mademoiselle----" she anticipated him. she had risen, and stood looking straight before her, seeing nothing. "i am willing," she muttered with a strange gesture, "if it must be." he did not answer. "if it must be," she repeated slowly, and with a heavy sigh. and her chin dropped on her breast. then, abruptly, suddenly--it was a strange thing to see--she looked up. a change as complete as the change which had come over count hannibal a minute before came over her. she sprang to his side; she clutched his arm and devoured his face with her eyes. "you are not deceiving me?" she cried. "you have tignonville below? you--oh, no, no!" and she fell back from him, her eyes distended, her voice grown suddenly shrill and defiant, "you have not! you are deceiving me! he has escaped, and you have lied to me!" "i?" "yes, you have lied to me!" it was the last fierce flicker of hope when hope seemed dead: the last clutch of the drowning at the straw that floated before the eyes. he laughed harshly. "you will be my wife in five minutes," he said, "and you give me the lie? a week, and you will know me better! a month, and--but we will talk of that another time. for the present," he continued, turning to la tribe, "do you, sir, tell her that the gentleman is below. perhaps she will believe you. for you know him." la tribe looked at her sorrowfully; his heart bled for her. "i have seen m. de tignonville," he said. "and m. le comte says truly. he is in the same case with ourselves, a prisoner." "you have seen him?" she wailed. "i left him in the room below, when i mounted the stairs." count hannibal laughed, the grim mocking laugh which seemed to revel in the pain it inflicted. "will you have him for a witness?" he cried. "there could not be a better, for he will not forget. shall i fetch him?" she bowed her head, shivering. "spare me that," she said. and she pressed her hands to her eyes while an uncontrollable shudder passed over her frame. then she stepped forward: "i am ready," she whispered. "do with me as you will!" * * * * * when they had all gone out and closed the door behind them, and the two whom the minister had joined were left together, count hannibal continued for a time to pace the room, his hands clasped at his back, and his head sunk somewhat on his chest. his thoughts appeared to run in a new channel, and one, strange to say, widely diverted from his bride and from that which he had just done. for he did not look her way, or, for a time, speak to her. he stood once to snuff a candle, doing it with an absent face; and once to look, but still absently, as if he read no word of it, at the marriage writing which lay, the ink still wet, upon the table. after each of these interruptions he resumed his steady pacing to and fro, to and fro, nor did his eye wander once in the direction of her chair. and she waited. the conflict of emotions, the strife between hope and fear, the final defeat had stunned her; had left her exhausted, almost apathetic. yet not quite, nor wholly. for when in his walk he came a little nearer to her, a chill perspiration broke out on her brow, and shudderings crept over her; and when he passed farther from her--and then only, it seemed--she breathed again. but the change lay beneath the surface, and cheated the eye. into her attitude, as she sat, her hands clasped on her lap, her eyes fixed, came no apparent change or shadow of movement. suddenly, with a dull shock, she became aware that he was speaking. "there was need of haste," he said, his tone strangely low and free from emotion, "for i am under bond to leave paris to-morrow for angers, whither i bear letters from the king. and as matters stood, there was no one with whom i could leave you. i trust bigot; he is faithful, and you may trust him, madame, fair or foul! but he is not quick-witted. badelon also you may trust. bear it in mind. your woman javette is not faithful; but as her life is guaranteed she must stay with us until she can be securely placed. indeed, i must take all with me--with one exception--for the priests and monks rule paris, and they do not love me, nor would spare aught at my word." he was silent a few moments. then he resumed in the same tone, "you ought to know how we, tavannes, stand. it is by monsieur and the queen-mother; and _contra_ the guises. we have all been in this matter; but the latter push and we are pushed, and the old crack will reopen. as it is, i cannot answer for much beyond the reach of my arm. therefore, we take all with us except m. tignonville, who desires to be conducted to the arsenal." she had begun to listen with averted eyes. but as he continued to speak surprise awoke in her, and something stronger than surprise--amazement, stupefaction. slowly her eyes came to him, and when he ceased to speak, "why do you tell me these things!" she muttered, her dry lips framing the words with difficulty. "because it behoves you to know them," he answered, thoughtfully tapping the table. "i have no one, save my brother, whom i can trust." she would not ask him why he trusted her, nor why he thought he could trust her. for a moment or two she watched him, while he, with his eyes lowered, stood in deep thought. at last he looked up and his eyes met hers. "come!" he said abruptly and in a different tone, "we must end this! is it to be a kiss or a blow between us?" she rose, though her knees shook under her; and they stood face to face, her face white as paper. "what--do you mean?" she whispered. "is it to be a kiss or a blow?" he repeated. "a husband must be a lover, madame, or a master, or both! i am content to be the one or the other, or both, as it shall please you. but the one i will be." "then, a thousand times, a blow," she cried, her eyes flaming, "from you!" he wondered at her courage, but he hid his wonder. "so be it!" he answered. and before she knew what he would be at, he struck her sharply across the cheek with the glove which he held in his hand. she recoiled with a low cry, and her cheek blazed scarlet where he had struck it. "so be it!" he continued sombrely. "the choice shall be yours, but you will come to me daily for the one or the other. if i cannot be lover, madame, i will be master. and by this sign i will have you know it, daily, and daily remember it." she stared at him, her bosom rising and falling, in an astonishment too deep for words. but he did not heed her. he did not look at her again. he had already turned to the door, and while she looked he passed through it, he closed it behind him. and she was alone. chapter xix. in the orlÉannais. "but you fear him?" "fear him?" madame st. lo answered; and, to the surprise of the countess, she made a little face of contempt. "no; why should i fear him? i fear him no more than the puppy leaping at old sancho's bridle fears his tall playfellow! or than the cloud you see above us fears the wind before which it flies!" she pointed to a white patch, the size of a man's hand, which hung above the hill on their left hand and formed the only speck in the blue summer sky. "fear him! not i!" and, laughing gaily, she put her horse at a narrow rivulet which crossed the grassy track on which they rode. "but he is hard!" the countess murmured in a low voice, as she regained her companion's side. "hard!" madame st. lo rejoined with a gesture of pride. "ay, hard as the stones in my jewelled ring! hard as flint, or the nether millstone--to his enemies! but to women! bah! who ever heard that he hurt a woman!" "why then is he so feared!" the countess asked, her eyes on the subject of their discussion; a solitary figure, riding some fifty paces in front of them. "because he counts no cost!" her companion answered. "because he killed savillon in the court of the louvre, though he knew his life the forfeit. he would have paid the forfeit too, or lost his right hand, if monsieur, for his brother the marshal's sake, had not intervened. but savillon had whipped his dog, you see. then he killed the chevalier de millaud, but 'twas in fair fight, in the snow, in their shirts. for that, millaud's son lay in wait for him with two, in the passage under the châtelet; but hannibal wounded one, and the others saved themselves. undoubtedly he is feared!" she added with the same note of pride in her voice. the two, who talked, rode at the rear of the little company which had left paris at daybreak two days before, by the porte st. jacques. moving steadily south-westward by the lesser roads and bridle-tracks--for count hannibal seemed averse from the great road--they had lain the second night in a village three leagues from bonneval. a journey of two days on fresh horses is apt to change scenery and eye alike; but seldom has an alteration--in themselves and all about them--as great as that which blessed this little company, been wrought in so short a time. from the stifling wynds and evil-smelling lanes of paris, they had passed to the green uplands, the breezy woods and babbling streams of the upper orléannais; from sights and sounds the most appalling, to the solitude of the sandy heath, haunt of the great bustard, or the sunshine of the hillside, vibrating with the songs of larks; from an atmosphere of terror and gloom to the freedom of god's earth and sky. numerous enough--they numbered a score of armed men--to defy the lawless bands which had their lairs in the huge forest of orleans, they halted where they pleased: at mid-day under a grove of chestnut-trees, or among the willows beside a brook; at night, if they willed it, under god's heaven. far, not only from paris, but from the great road, with its gibbets and pillories--the great road which at that date ran through a waste, no peasant living willingly within sight of it--they rode in the morning and in the evening, resting in the heat of the day. and though they had left paris with much talk of haste, they rode more at leisure with every league. for whatever tavannes' motive, it was plain that he was in no hurry to reach his destination. nor for that matter were any of his company. madame st. lo, who had seized the opportunity of escaping from the capital under her cousin's escort, was in an ill-humour with cities, and declaimed much on the joys of a cell in the woods. for the time the coarsest nature and the dullest rider had had enough of alarums and conflicts. the whole company, indeed, though it moved in some fashion of array with an avant and a rearguard, the ladies riding together, and count hannibal proceeding solitary in the midst, formed as peaceful a band, and one as innocently diverted, as if no man of them had ever grasped pike or blown a match. there was an old rider among them who had seen the sack of rome, and the dead face of the great constable, the idol of the free companies. but he had a taste for simples and much skill in them; and when madame had once seen badelon on his knees in the grass searching for plants, she lost her fear of him. bigot, with his low brow and matted hair, was the abject slave of suzanne, madame st. lo's woman, who twitted him mercilessly on his norman _patois_, and poured the vials of her scorn on him a dozen times a day. in all, with la tribe and the carlats, madame st. lo's servants, and the countess's following, they numbered not far short of two score; and when they halted at noon, and under the shadow of some leafy tree, ate their mid-day meal, or drowsed to the tinkle of madame st. lo's lute, it was difficult to believe that paris existed, or that these same people had so lately left its blood-stained pavements. they halted this morning a little earlier than usual. madame st. lo had barely answered her companion's question before the subject of their discussion swung himself from old sancho's back, and stood waiting to assist them to dismount. behind him, where the green valley through which the road passed narrowed to a rocky gate, an old mill stood among willows at the foot of a mound. on the mound behind it a ruined castle which had stood siege in the hundred years' war raised its grey walls; and beyond this the stream which turned the mill poured over rocks with a cool rushing sound that proved irresistible. the men, their horses watered and hobbled, went off, shouting like boys, to bathe below the falls; and after a moment's hesitation count hannibal rose from the grass on which he had flung himself. "guard that for me, madame," he said. and he dropped a packet, bravely sealed and tied with a silk thread, into the countess's lap. "'twill be safer than leaving it in my clothes. ohe!" and he turned to madame st. lo. "would you fancy a life that was all gipsying, cousin?" and if there was irony in his voice, there was desire in his eyes. "there is only one happy man in the world," she answered, with conviction. "by name?" "the hermit of compiégne." "and in a week you would be wild for a masque!" he said cynically. and turning on his heel he followed the men. madame st. lo sighed complacently. "heigho!" she said. "he's right! we are never content, _ma mie!_ when i am trifling in the gallery my heart is in the greenwood. and when i have eaten black bread and drunk spring water for a fortnight i do nothing but dream of zamet's, and white mulberry tarts! and you are in the same case. you have saved your round white neck, or it has been saved for you, by not so much as the thickness of zamet's pie-crust--i declare my mouth is beginning to water for it!--and instead of being thankful and making the best of things, you are thinking of poor madame d'yverne, or dreaming of your calf-love!" the girl's face--for a girl she was, though they called her madame--began to work. she struggled a moment with her emotion, and then broke down, and fell to weeping silently. for two days she had sat in public and not given way. but the reference to her lover was too much for her strength. madame st. lo looked at her with eyes which were not unkindly. "sits the wind in that quarter!" she murmured. "i thought so! but there, my dear, if you don't put that packet in your gown you'll wash out the address! moreover, if you ask me, i don't think the young man is worth it. it is only that which we have not got--we want!" but the young countess had borne to the limit of her powers. with an incoherent word she rose to her feet, and walked hurriedly away. the thought of what was and of what might have been, the thought of the lover who still--though he no longer seemed, even to her, the perfect hero--held a place in her heart, filled her breast to overflowing. she longed for some spot where she could weep unseen, where the sunshine and the blue sky would not mock her grief; and seeing in front of her a little clump of alders, which grew beside the stream, in a bend that in winter was marshy, she hastened towards it. madame st. lo saw her figure blend with the shadow of the trees--"quite _à la_ ronsard, i give my word!" she murmured. "and now she is out of sight! _la, la!_ i could play at the game myself, and carve sweet sorrow on the barks of trees, if it were not so lonesome! and if i had a man!" and gazing pensively at the stream and the willows, my lady tried to work herself into a proper frame of mind; now murmuring the name of one gallant, and now, finding it unsuited, the name of another. but the soft inflection would break into a giggle, and finally into a yawn; and, tired of the attempt, she began to pluck grass and throw it from her. by-and-by she discovered that madame carlat and the women, who had their place a little apart, had disappeared; and affrighted by the solitude and silence--for neither of which she was made--she sprang up and stared about her, hoping to discern them. right and left, however, the sweep of hillside curved upward to the skyline, lonely and untenanted; behind her the castled rock frowned down on the rugged gorge and filled it with dispiriting shadow. madame st. lo stamped her foot on the turf. "the little fool!" she murmured, pettishly. "does she think that i am to be murdered that she may fatten on sighs? oh, come up, madame, you must be dragged out of this!" and she started briskly towards the alders, intent on gaining company as quickly as possible. she had gone about fifty yards, and had as many more to traverse when she halted. a man, bent double, was moving stealthily along the farther side of the brook a little in front of him. now she saw him, now she lost him; now she caught a glimpse of him again, through a screen of willow branches. he moved with the utmost caution, as a man moves who is pursued or in danger; and for a moment she deemed him a peasant whom the bathers had disturbed and who was bent on escaping. but when he came opposite to the alder-bed she saw that that was his point, for he crouched down, sheltered by a willow, and gazed eagerly among the trees, always with his back to her; and then he waved his hand to someone in the wood. madame st. lo drew in her breath. as if he had heard the sound--which was impossible--the man dropped down where he stood, crawled a yard or two on his face, and disappeared. madame stared a moment, expecting to see him or hear him. then, as nothing happened, she screamed. she was a woman of quick impulses, essentially feminine; and she screamed three or four times, standing where she was, her eyes on the edge of the wood. "if that does not bring her out, nothing will!" she thought. it brought her. an instant, and the countess appeared, and hurried in dismay to her side. "what is it?" the younger woman asked, glancing over her shoulder; for all the valley, all the hills were peaceful, and behind madame st. lo--but the lady had not discovered it--the servants who had returned were laying the meal. "what is it?" she repeated anxiously. "who was it?" madame st. lo asked curtly. she was quite calm now. "who was--who?" "the man in the wood?" the countess stared a moment, then laughed. "only the old soldier they call badelon, gathering simples. did you think that he would harm me?" "it was not old badelon whom i saw!" madame st. lo retorted. "it was a younger man, who crept along the other side of the brook, keeping under cover. when i first saw him he was there," she continued, pointing to the place. "and he crept on and on until he came opposite to you. then he waved his hand." "to me!" madame nodded. "but if you saw him, who was he?" the countess asked. "i did not see his face," madame st. lo answered. "but he waved to you. that i saw." the countess had a thought which slowly flooded her face with crimson. madame st. lo saw the change, saw the tender light which on a sudden softened the other's eyes; and the same thought occurred to her. and having a mind to punish her companion for her reticence--for she did not doubt that the girl knew more than she acknowledged--she proposed that they should return and find badelon, and learn if he had seen the man. "why?" madame tavannes asked. and she stood stubbornly, her head high. "why should we?" "to clear it up," the elder woman answered mischievously. "but perhaps, it were better to tell your husband and let his men search the coppice." the colour left the countess's face as quickly as it had come. for a moment she was tongue-tied. then, "have we not had enough of seeking and being sought?" she cried; more bitterly than befitted the occasion. "why should we hunt him? i am not timid, and he did me no harm. i beg, madame, that you will do me the favour of being silent on the matter." "oh, if you insist? but what a pother--" "i did not see him, and he did not see me," madame de tavannes answered vehemently. "i fail, therefore, to understand why we should harass him, whoever he be. besides, m. de tavannes is waiting for us." "and m. de tignonville--is following us!" madame st. lo muttered--under her breath. and she made a face at the other's back. she was silent, however; they returned to the others; and nothing of import, it would seem, had happened. the soft summer air played on the meal laid under the willows as it had played on the meal of yesterday laid under the chestnut-trees. the horses grazed within sight, moving now and again, with a jingle of trappings or a jealous neigh; the women's chatter vied with the unceasing sound of the mill-stream. after dinner, madame st. lo touched the lute, and badelon--badelon who had seen the sack of the colonna's palace, and been served by cardinals on the knee--fed a water-rat, which had its home in one of the willow-stumps, with carrot-parings. one by one the men laid themselves to sleep with their faces on their arms; and to the eyes all was as all had been yesterday in this camp of armed men living peacefully. but not to the countess! she had accepted her life, she had resigned herself, she had marvelled that it was no worse. after the horrors of paris the calm of the last two days had fallen on her as balm on a wound. worn out in body and mind, she had rested, and only rested; without thought, almost without emotion, save for the feeling, half fear, half curiosity, which stirred her in regard to the strange man, her husband. who on his side left her alone. but the last hour had wrought a change. her eyes were grown restless, her colour came and went. the past stirred in its shallow--ah, so shallow--grave; and dead hopes and dead forebodings, strive as she might, thrust out hands to plague and torment her. if the man who sought to speak with her by stealth, who dogged her footsteps and hung on the skirts of her party, were tignonville--her lover, who at his own request had been escorted to the arsenal before their departure from paris--then her plight was a sorry one. for what woman, wedded as she had been wedded, could think otherwise than indulgently of his persistence? and yet, lover and husband! what peril, what shame the words had often spelled! at the thought only she trembled and her colour ebbed. she saw, as one who stands on the brink of a precipice, the depth which yawned before her. she asked herself, shivering, if she would ever sink to that. all the loyalty of a strong nature, all the virtue of a good woman revolted against the thought. true, her husband--husband she must call him--had not deserved her love; but his bizarre magnanimity, the gloomy, disdainful kindness with which he had crowned possession, even the unity of their interests, which he had impressed upon her in so strange a fashion, claimed a return in honour. to be paid--how? how? that was the crux which perplexed, which frightened, which harassed her. for, if she told her suspicions, she exposed her lover to capture by one who had no longer a reason to be merciful. and if she sought occasion to see tignonville and so to dissuade him, she did it at deadly risk to herself. yet what other course lay open to her if she would not stand by? if she would not play the traitor? if she---- "madame,"--it was her husband, and he spoke to her suddenly,--"are you not well?" and, looking up guiltily, she found his eyes fixed curiously on hers. her face turned red and white and red again, and she faltered something and looked from him, but only to meet madame st. lo's eyes. my lady laughed softly in sheer mischief. "what is it?" count hannibal asked sharply. but madame st. lo's answer was a line of ronsard. chapter xx. on the castle hill. thrice she hummed it, bland and smiling. then from the neighbouring group came an interruption. the wine he had drunk had put it into bigot's head to snatch a kiss from suzanne; and suzanne's modesty, which was very nice in company, obliged her to squeal. the uproar which ensued, the men backing the man and the women the woman, brought tavannes to his feet. he did not speak, but a glance from his eyes was enough. there was not one who failed to see that something was amiss with him, and a sudden silence fell on the party. he turned to the countess. "you wished to see the castle?" he said. "you had better go now, but not alone." he cast his eyes over the company, and summoned la tribe, who was seated with the carlats. "go with madame," he said curtly. "she has a mind to climb the hill. bear in mind, we start at three, and do not venture out of hearing." "i understand, m. le comte," the minister answered. he spoke quietly, but there was a strange light in his face as he turned to go with her. none the less he was silent until madame's lagging feet--for all her interest in the expedition was gone--had borne her a hundred paces from the company. then, "who knoweth our thoughts and forerunneth all our desires," he murmured. and when she turned to him, astonished, "madame," he continued, "i have prayed, ah, how i have prayed, for this opportunity of speaking to you! and it has come. i would it had come this morning, but it has come. do not start or look round; many eyes are on us, and alas! i have that to say to you which it will move you to hear, and that to ask of you which it must task your courage to perform." she began to tremble, and stood, looking up the green slope to the broken grey wall which crowned its summit. "what is it?" she whispered, commanding herself with an effort. "what is it? if it have aught to do with m. tignonville----" "it has not!" in her surprise--for although she had put the question she had felt no doubt of the answer--she started and turned to him. "it has not?" she exclaimed almost incredulously. "no." "then what is it, monsieur?" she replied, a little haughtily. "what can there be that should move me so?" "life or death, madame," he answered solemnly. "nay, more; for since providence has given me this chance of speaking to you, a thing of which, i despaired, i know that the burden is laid on us, and that it is guilt or it is innocence, according as we refuse the burden or bear it." "what is it then?" she cried impatiently. "what is it?" "i tried to speak to you this morning." "was it you then, whom madame st. lo saw stalking me before dinner?" "it was." she clasped her hands and heaved a sigh of relief. "thank god, monsieur!" she replied. "you have lifted a weight from me. i fear nothing in comparison of that. nothing!" "alas," he answered sombrely, "there is much to fear, for others if not for ourselves! do you know what that is which m. de tavannes bears always in his belt? what it is he carries with such care? what it was he handed to you to keep while he bathed to-day?" "letters from the king." "yes, but the import of those letters?" "no." "and yet should they be written in letters of blood!" the minister exclaimed, his face kindling. "they should scorch the hands that hold them and blister the eyes that read them. they are the fire and the sword! they are the king's order to do at angers as they have done in paris. to slay all of the religion who are found there--and they are many! to spare none, to have mercy neither on the old man nor the unborn child! see yonder hawk!" he continued, pointing with a shaking hand to a falcon which hung light and graceful above the valley, the movement of its wings invisible. "how it disports itself in the face of the sun! how easy its way, how smooth its flight! but see, it drops upon its prey in the rushes beside the brook, and the end of its beauty is slaughter! so is it with yonder company!" his finger sank until it indicated the little camp seated toy-like in the green meadow four hundred feet below them, with every man and horse, and the very camp-kettle, clear-cut and visible, though diminished by distance to fairy-like proportions. "so it is with yonder company!" he repeated sternly. "they play and are merry, and one fishes and another sleeps! but at the end of the journey is death. death for their victims, and for them the judgment!" she stood, as he spoke, in the ruined gateway, a walled grass-plot behind her and at her feet the stream, the smiling valley, the alders, and the little camp. the sky was cloudless, the scene drowsy with the stillness of an august afternoon. but his words went home so truly that the sunlit landscape before the eyes added one more horror to the picture he called up before the mind. the countess turned white and sick. "are you sure?" she whispered at last. "quite sure." "ah, god!" she cried, "are we never to have peace?" and turning from the valley, she walked some distance into the grass court, and stood. after a time, she turned to him; he had followed her doggedly, pace for pace. "what do you want me to do?" she cried, despair in her voice. "what can i do?" "were the letters he bears destroyed----" "the letters?" "yes, were the letters destroyed," la tribe answered relentlessly, "he could do nothing! nothing! without that authority the magistrates of angers would not move. he could do nothing. and men and women and children--men and women and children whose blood will otherwise cry for vengeance, perhaps for vengeance on us who might have saved them--will live! will live!" he repeated with a softening eye. and with an all-embracing gesture he seemed to call to witness the open heavens, the sunshine and the summer breeze which wrapped them round. "will live!" she drew a deep breath. "and you have brought me here," she said, "to ask me to do this?" "i was sent here to ask you to do this." "why me? why me!" she wailed, and she held out her open hands to him, her face wan and colourless. "you come to me, a woman! why to me?" "you are his wife!" "and he is my husband!" "therefore he trusts you," was the unyielding, the pitiless answer. "you, and you alone, have the opportunity of doing this." she gazed at him in astonishment. "and it is you who say that?" she faltered, after a pause. "you who made us one, who now bid me betray him, whom i have sworn to love? to ruin him whom i have sworn to honour?" "i do!" he answered solemnly. "on my head be the guilt, and on yours the merit." "nay, but--" she cried quickly, and her eyes glittered with passion--"do you take both guilt and merit! you are a man," she continued, her words coming quickly in her excitement, "he is but a man! why do you not call him aside, trick him apart on some pretence or other, and when there are but you two, man to man, wrench the warrant from him? staking your life against his, with all those lives for prize? and save them or perish? why i, even i, a woman, could find it in my heart to do that, were he not my husband! surely you, you who are a man, and young----" "am no match for him in strength or arms," the minister answered sadly. "else would i do it." "else would i stake my life, heaven knows, as gladly to save their lives as i sit down to meat! but i should fail, and if i failed all were lost. moreover," he continued solemnly, "i am certified that this task has been set for you. it was not for nothing, madame, nor to save one poor household that you were joined to this man; but to ransom all these lives and this great city. to be the judith of our faith, the saviour of angers, the----" "fool! fool!" she cried. "will you be silent?" and she stamped the turf passionately, while her eyes blazed in her white face. "i am no judith, and no madwoman as you are fain to make me. mad?" she continued, overwhelmed with agitation. "my god, i would i were, and i should be free from this!" and, turning, she walked a little way from him with the gesture of one under a crushing burden. he waited a minute, two minutes, three minutes, and still she did not return. at length she came back, her bearing more composed; she looked at him and her eyes seized his and seemed as if they would read his soul. "are you sure," she said, "of what you have told me? will you swear that the contents of these letters are as you say?" "as i live," he answered gravely. "as god lives." "and you know--of no other way, monsieur? of no other way?" she repeated slowly and piteously. "of none, madame, of none, i swear." she sighed deeply, and stood sunk in thought. then, "when do we reach angers?" she asked heavily. "the day after to-morrow." "i have--until the day after to-morrow?" "yes. to-night we lie near vendôme." "and to-morrow night?" "near a place called la flèche. it is possible," he went on with hesitation--for he did not understand her--"that he may bathe to-morrow, and may hand the packet to you, as he did to-day when i vainly sought speech with you. if he does that----" "yes?" she said, her eyes on his face. "the taking will be easy. but when he finds you have it not--" he faltered anew--"it may go hard with you." she did not speak. "and there, i think, i can help you. if you will stray from the party, i will meet you and destroy the letter. that done--and would god it were done already--i will take to flight as best i can, and you will raise the alarm and say that i robbed you of it! and if you tear your dress----" "no," she said. he looked a question. "no!" she repeated in a low voice. "if i betray him i will not lie to him! and no other shall pay the price! if i ruin him it shall be between him and me, and no other shall have part in it!" he shook his head. "i do not know," he murmured, "what he may do to you!" "nor i," she said proudly. "that will be for him." * * * * * curious eyes had watched the two as they climbed the hill. for the path ran up the slope to the gap which served for gate, much as the path leads up to the castle beautiful in old prints of the pilgrim's journey; and madame st. lo had marked the first halt and the second, and, noting every gesture, had lost nothing of the interview save the words. but until the two, after pausing a moment, passed out of sight she made no sign. then she laughed. and as count hannibal, at whom the laugh was aimed, did not heed her, she laughed again. and she hummed the line of ronsard. still he would not be roused, and, piqued, she had recourse to words. "i wonder what you would do," she said, "if the old lover followed us, and she went off with him!" "she would not go," he answered coldly, and without looking up. "but if he rode off with her?" "she would come back on her feet!" madame st. lo's prudence was not proof against that. she had the woman's inclination to hide a woman's secret; and she had not intended, when she laughed, to do more than play with the formidable man with whom so few dared to play. now, stung by his tone and his assurance, she must needs show him that his trustfulness had no base. and, as so often happens in the circumstances, she went a little farther than the facts bore her. "any way, he has followed us so far!" she cried viciously. "m. de tignonville?" "yes. i saw him this morning while you were bathing. she left me and went into the little coppice. he came down the other side of the brook, stooping and running, and went to join her." "how did he cross the brook?" madame st. lo blushed. "old badelon was there, gathering simples," she said. "he scared him. and he crawled away." "then he did not cross?" "no. i did not say he did!" "nor speak to her?" "no. but if you think it will pass so next time--you do not know much of women!" "of women generally, not much," he answered, grimly polite. "of this woman a great deal!" "you looked in her big eyes, i suppose!" madame st. lo cried with heat. "and straightway fell down and worshipped her!" she liked rather than disliked the countess; but she was of the lightest, and the least opposition drove her out of her course. "and you think you know her! and she, if she could save you from death by opening an eye, would go with a patch on it till her dying day! take my word for it, monsieur, between her and her lover you will come to harm." count hannibal's swarthy face darkened a tone, and his eyes grew a very little smaller. "i fancy that he runs the greater risk," he muttered. "you may deal with him, but, for her----" "i can deal with her. you deal with some women with a whip" "you would whip me, i suppose?" "yes," he said quietly. "it would do you good, madame. and with other women otherwise. there are women who, if they are well frightened, will not deceive you. and there are others who will not deceive you though they are frightened. madame de tavannes is of the latter kind." "wait! wait and see!" madame cried in scorn. "i am waiting." "yes! and whereas if you had come to me i could have told her that about m. tignonville which would have surprised her, you will go on waiting and waiting and waiting until one fine day you'll wake up and find madame gone, and----" "then i'll take a wife i can whip!" he answered, with a look which apprised her how far she had carried it. "but it will not be you, sweet cousin. for i have no whip heavy enough for your case." chapter xxi. she would, and would not. we noted some way back the ease with which women use one concession as a stepping-stone to a second; and the lack of magnanimity, amounting almost to unscrupulousness, which the best display in their dealings with a retiring foe. but there are concessions which touch even a good woman's conscience; and madame de tavannes, free by the tenure of a blow, and with that exception treated from hour to hour with rugged courtesy, shrank appalled before the task which confronted her. to ignore what la tribe had told her, to remain passive when a movement on her part might save men, women, and children from death, and a whole city from massacre--this was a line of conduct so craven, so selfish that from the first she knew herself incapable of it. but to take the only other course open to her, to betray her husband and rob him of that, the loss of which might ruin him, this needed not courage only, not devotion only, but a hardness proof against reproaches as well as against punishment. and the countess was no fanatic. no haze of bigotry glorified the thing she contemplated, or dressed it in colours other than its own. even while she acknowledged the necessity of the act and its ultimate righteousness, even while she owned the obligation which lay upon her to perform it, she saw it as he would see it, and saw herself as he would see her. true, he had done her a great wrong; and this in the eyes of some might pass for punishment. but he had saved her life where many had perished; and, the wrong done, he had behaved to her with fantastic generosity. in return for which she was to ruin him! it was not hard to imagine what he would say of her, and of the reward with which she had requited him. she pondered over it as they rode that evening, with the westering sun in their eyes and the lengthening shadows of the oaks falling athwart the bracken which fringed the track. across breezy heaths and over downs, through green bottoms and by hamlets, from which every human creature fled at their approach, they ambled on by twos and threes; riding in a world of their own, so remote, so different from the real world--from which they came and to which they must return--that she could have wept in anguish, cursing god for the wickedness of man which lay so heavy on creation. the gaunt troopers riding at ease with swinging legs and swaying stirrups--and singing now a refrain from ronsard, and now one of those verses of marot's psalms which all the world had sung three decades before--wore their most lamblike aspect. behind them madame st. lo chattered to suzanne of a riding mask which had not been brought, or planned expedients, if nothing sufficiently in the mode could be found at angers. and the other women talked and giggled, screamed when they came to fords, and made much of steep places, where the men must help them. in time of war death's shadow covers but a day, and sorrow out of sight is out of mind. of all the troop whom the sinking sun left within sight of the lofty towers and vine-clad hills of vendôme, three only wore faces attuned to the cruel august week just ending; three only, like dark beads strung far apart on a gay nun's rosary, rode, brooding and silent, in their places. the countess was one; the others were the two men whose thoughts she filled, and whose eyes now and again sought her, la tribe's with sombre fire in their depths, count hannibal's fraught with a gloomy speculation, which belied his brave words to madame st. lo. he, moreover, as he rode, had other thoughts; dark ones, which did not touch her. and she, too, had other thoughts at times, dreams of her young lover, spasms of regret, a wild revolt of heart, a cry out of the darkness which had suddenly whelmed her. so that of the three only la tribe was single-minded. this day they rode a long league after sunset, through a scattered oak-wood, where the rabbits sprang up under their horses' heads and the squirrels made angry faces at them from the lower branches. night was hard upon them when they reached the southern edge of the forest, and looked across the dusky open slopes to a distant light or two which marked where vendôme stood. "another league," count hannibal muttered; and he bade the men light fires where they were, and unload the packhorses. "'tis pure and dry here," he said. "set a watch, bigot, and let two men go down for water. i hear frogs below. you do not fear to be moonstruck, madame!" "i prefer this," she answered in a low voice. "houses are for monks and nuns!" he rejoined heartily. "give me god's heaven." "the earth is his, but we deface it," she murmured, reverting to her thoughts, and unconscious that it was to him she spoke. he looked at her sharply, but the fire was not yet kindled; and in the gloaming her face was a pale blot undecipherable. he stood a moment, but she did not speak again; and madame st. lo bustling up, he moved away to give an order. by-and-by the fires burned up, and showed the pillared aisle in which, they sat, small groups dotted here and there on the floor of nature's cathedral. through the shadowy gothic vaulting, the groining of many boughs which met overhead, a rare star twinkled, as through some clerestory window; and from the dell below rose in the night, now the monotonous chanting of the frogs, and now, as some great bull-frog took the note, a diapason worthy of a brescian organ. the darkness walled all in; the night was still; a falling caterpillar sounded. even the rude men at the farthest fire stilled their voices at times; awed, they knew not why, by the silence and vastness of the night. the countess long remembered that vigil--for she lay late awake; the cool gloom, the faint wood-rustlings, the distant cry of fox or wolf, the soft glow of the expiring fires that at last left the world to darkness and the stars; above all, the silent wheeling of the planets, which spoke indeed of a supreme ruler, but crushed the heart under a sense of its insignificance, and of the insignificance of all human revolutions. "yet, i believe!" she cried, wrestling upwards, wrestling with herself. "though i have seen what i have seen, yet i believe!" and though she had to bear what she had to bear, and do that from which her soul shrank! the woman, indeed, within her continued to cry out against this tragedy ever renewed in her path, against this necessity for choosing evil or good, ease for herself or life for others. but the moving heavens, pointing onward to a time when good and evil alike should be past, strengthened a nature essentially noble; and before she slept no shame and no suffering seemed--for the moment at least--too great a price to pay for the lives of little children. love had been taken from her life; the pride which would fain answer generosity with generosity--that must go, too! she felt no otherwise when the day came, and the bustle of the start and the common round of the journey put to flight the ideals of the night. but things fell out in a manner she had not pictured. they halted before noon on the north bank of the loir, in a level meadow with lines of poplars running this way and that, and filling all the place with the soft shimmer of leaves. blue succory, tiny mirrors of the summer sky, flecked the long grass, and the women picked bunches of them, or, italian fashion, twined the blossoms in their hair. a road ran across the meadow to a ferry, but the ferryman, alarmed by the aspect of the party, had conveyed his boat to the other side and hidden himself. presently madame st. lo espied the boat, clapped her hands and must have it. the poplars threw no shade, the flies teased her, the life of a hermit--in a meadow--was no longer to her taste. "let us go on the water!" she cried. "presently you will go to bathe, monsieur, and leave us to grill!" "two livres to the man who will fetch the boat!" count hannibal cried. in less than half a minute three men had thrown off their boots, and were swimming across, amid the laughter and shouts of their fellows. in five minutes the boat was brought. it was not large and would hold no more than four. tavannes' eye fell on carlat. "you understand a boat," he said. "go with madame st. lo. and you, m. la tribe." "but you are coming?" madame st. lo cried, turning to the countess. "oh, madame," with a curtsey, "you are not? you----" "yes, i will come," the countess answered. "i shall bathe a short distance up the stream," count hannibal said. he took from his belt the packet of letters, and as carlat held the boat for madame st. lo to enter, he gave it to the countess, as he had given it to her yesterday. "have a care of it, madame," he said in a low voice, "and do not let it pass out of your hands. to lose it may be to lose my head." the colour ebbed from her cheeks. in spite of herself her shaking hand put back the packet. "had you not better then--give it to bigot?" she faltered. "he is bathing." "let him bathe afterwards." "no," he answered almost harshly; he found a species of pleasure in showing her that, strange as their relations were, he trusted her. "no; take it, madame. only have a care of it." she took it then, hid it in her dress, and he turned away; and she turned towards the boat. la tribe stood beside the stern, holding it for her to enter, and as her fingers rested an instant on his arm their eyes met. his were alight, his arm even quivered; and she shuddered. she avoided looking at him a second time, and this was easy, since he took his seat in the bows beyond carlat, who handled the oars. silently the boat glided out on the surface of the stream, and floated downwards, carlat now and again touching an oar, and madame st. lo chattering gaily in a voice which carried far on the water. now it was a flowering rush she must have, now a green bough to shield her face from the sun's reflection; and now they must lie in some cool, shadowy pool under fern-clad banks, where the fish rose heavily, and the trickle of a rivulet fell down over stones. it was idyllic. but not to the countess. her face burned, her temples throbbed, her fingers gripped the side of the boat in the vain attempt to steady her pulses. the packet within her dress scorched her. the great city and its danger, tavannes and his faith in her, the need of action, the irrevocableness of action hurried through her brain. the knowledge that she must act now--or never--pressed upon her with distracting force. her hand felt the packet, and fell again nerveless. "the sun has caught you, _ma mie_," madame st. lo said. "you should ride in a mask as i do." "i have not one with me," she muttered, her eyes on the water. "and i but an old one. but at angers----" the countess heard no more; on that word she caught la tribe's eye. he was beckoning to her behind carlat's back, pointing imperiously to the water, making signs to her to drop the packet over the side. when she did not obey--she felt sick and faint--she saw through a mist his brow grow dark. he menaced her secretly. and still the packet scorched her; and twice her hand went to it, and dropped again empty. on a sudden madame st. lo cried out. the bank on one side of the stream was beginning to rise more boldly above the water, and at the head of the steep thus formed she had espied a late rose-bush in bloom; nothing would now serve but she must land at once and plunder it. the boat was put in therefore, she jumped ashore, and began to scale the bank. "go with madame!" la tribe cried, roughly nudging carlat in the back. "do you not see that she cannot climb the bank! up, man, up!" the countess opened her mouth to cry "no!" but the word died half-born on her lips; and when the steward looked at her, uncertain what she had said, she nodded. "yes, go!" she muttered. she was pale. "yes, man, go!" cried the minister, his eyes burning. and he almost pushed the other out of the boat. the next second the craft floated from the bank, and began to drift downwards. la tribe waited until a tree interposed and hid them from the two whom they had left; then he leaned forward. "now, madame!" he cried imperiously. "in god's name, now!" "oh!" she cried. "wait! wait! i want to think." "to think?" "he trusted me!" she wailed. "he trusted me! how can i do it?" nevertheless, and even while she spoke, she drew forth the packet. "heaven has given you the opportunity!" "if i could have stolen it!" she answered. "fool!" he returned rocking himself to and fro and fairly beside himself with impatience. "why steal it? it is in your hands! you have it! it is heaven's own opportunity, it is god's opportunity given to you!" for he could not read her mind nor comprehend the scruple which held her hand. he was single-minded. he had but one aim, one object. he saw the haggard faces of brave men hopeless; he heard the dying cries of women and children. such an opportunity of saving god's elect, of redeeming the innocent, was in his eyes a gift from heaven. and having these thoughts and seeing her hesitate--hesitate when every movement caused him agony, so imperative was haste, so precious the opportunity--he could bear the suspense no longer. when she did not answer he stooped forward, until his knees touched the thwart on which carlat had sat; then without a word he flung himself forward, and, with one hand far extended, grasped the packet. had he not moved, she would have done his will; almost certainly she would have done it. but, thus attacked, she resisted instinctively; she clung to the letters. "no!" she cried. "no! let go, monsieur!" and she tried to drag the packet from him. "give it me!" "let go, monsieur! do you hear!" she repeated. and with a vigorous jerk she forced it from him--he had caught it by the edge only--and held it behind her. "go back, and----" "give it me!" he panted. "i will not!" "then throw it overboard!" "i will not!" she cried again, though his face, dark with passion, glared into hers, and it was clear that the man, possessed by one idea only, was no longer master of himself. "go back to your place!" "give it me," he gasped, "or i will upset the boat!" and seizing her by the shoulder he reached over her, striving to take hold of the packet which she held behind her. the boat rocked; and as much in rage as fear she screamed. a cry uttered wholly in rage answered hers; it came from carlat. la tribe, however, whose whole mind was fixed on the packet, did not heed, nor would have heeded, the steward. but the next moment a second cry, fierce as that of a wild beast, clove the air from the lower and farther bank; and the huguenot, recognising count hannibal's voice, involuntarily desisted and stood erect. a moment the boat rocked perilously under him; then--for unheeded it had been drifting that way--it softly touched the bank on which carlat stood staring and aghast. la tribe's chance was gone; he saw that the steward must reach him before he could succeed in a second attempt. on the other hand, the undergrowth on the bank was thick, he could touch it with his hand, and if he fled at once he might escape. he hung an instant irresolute; then, with a look which went to the countess's heart, he sprang ashore, plunged among the alders, and in a moment was gone. "after him! after him!" thundered count hannibal. "after him, man!" and carlat, stumbling down the steep slope and through the rough briars, did his best to obey. but in vain. before he reached the water's edge, the noise of the fugitive's retreat had grown faint. a few seconds and it died away. chapter xxii. playing with fire. the impulse of la tribe's foot as he landed had driven the boat into the stream. it drifted slowly downward, and if naught intervened would take the ground on count hannibal's side, a hundred and fifty yards below him. he saw this, and walked along the bank, keeping pace with it, while the countess sat motionless, crouching in the stern of the craft, her fingers strained about the fatal packet. the slow glide of the boat, as almost imperceptibly it approached the low bank; the stillness of the mirror-like surface on which it moved, leaving only the faintest ripple behind it; the silence--for under the influence of emotion count hannibal too was mute--all were in tremendous contrast with the storm which raged in her breast. should she--should she even now, with his eyes on her, drop the letters over the side? it needed but a movement. she had only to extend her hand, to relax the tension of her fingers, and the deed was done. it needed only that; but the golden sands of opportunity were running out--were running out fast. slowly and more slowly, silently and more silently, the boat slid in towards the bank on which he stood, and still she hesitated. the stillness, and the waiting figure, and the watching eyes now but a few feet distant, weighed on her and seemed to paralyse her will. a foot, another foot! a moment and it would be too late, the last of the sands would have run out. the bow of the boat rustled softly through the rushes; it kissed the bank. and her hand still held the letters. "you are not hurt?" he asked curtly. "no." "the scoundrel might have drowned you. was he mad?" she was silent. he held out his hand, and she gave him the packet. "i owe you much," he said, a ring of gaiety, almost of triumph, in his tone. "more than you guess, madame. god made you for a soldier's wife, and a mother of soldiers. what? you are not well, i am afraid?" "if i could sit down a minute," she faltered. she was swaying on her feet. he supported her across the belt of meadow which fringed the bank, and made her recline against a tree. then as his men began to come up--for the alarm had reached them--he would have sent two of them in the boat to fetch madame st. lo to her. but she would not let him. "your maid, then?" he said. "no, monsieur, i need only to be alone a little! only to be alone," she repeated, her face averted; and believing this he sent the men away, and, taking the boat himself, he crossed over, took in madame st. lo and carlat, and rowed them to the ferry. here the wildest rumours were current. one held that the huguenot had gone out of his senses; another, that he had watched for this opportunity of avenging his brethren; a third, that his intention had been to carry off the countess and hold her to ransom. only tavannes himself, from his position on the farther bank, had seen the packet of letters, and the hand which withheld them; and he said nothing. nay, when some of the men would have crossed to search for the fugitive, he forbade them, he scarcely knew why, save that it might please her; and when the women would have hurried to join her and hear the tale from her lips he forbade them also. "she wishes to be alone," he said curtly. "alone?" madame st. lo cried, in a fever of curiosity. "you'll find her dead, or worse! what? leave a woman alone after such a fright as that!" "she wishes it." madame laughed cynically; and the laugh brought a tinge of colour to his brow. "oh, does she?" she sneered. "then i understand! have a care, have a care, or one of these days, monsieur, when you leave her alone, you'll find them together!" "be silent!" "with pleasure," she returned. "only when it happens don't say that you were not warned. you think that she does not hear from him----" "how can she hear?" the words were wrung from him. madame st. lo's contempt passed all limits. "how can she!" she retorted. "you trail a woman across france, and let her sit by herself, and lie by herself, and all but drown by herself, and you ask how she hears from her lover? you leave her old servants about her, and you ask how she communicates with him?" "you know nothing!" he snarled. "i know this," she retorted. "i saw her sitting this morning, and smiling and weeping at the same time! was she thinking of you, monsieur? or of him? she was looking at the hills through tears; a blue mist hung over them, and i'll wager she saw some one's eyes gazing and some one's hand beckoning out of the blue!" "curse you!" he cried, tormented in spite of himself. "you love to make mischief!" "no!" she answered swiftly. "for 'twas not i made the match. but go your way, go your way, monsieur, and see what kind of a welcome you'll get!" "i will," count hannibal growled. and he started along the bank to rejoin his wife. the light in his eyes had died down. yet would they have been more sombre, and his face more harsh, had he known the mind of the woman to whom he was hastening. the countess had begged to be left alone; alone, she found the solitude she had craved a cruel gift. she had saved the packet. she had fulfilled her trust. but only to experience, the moment it was too late, the full poignancy of remorse. before the act, while the choice had lain with her, the betrayal of her husband had loomed large; now she saw that to treat him as she had treated him was the true betrayal, and that even for his own sake, and to save him from a fearful sin, it had become her to destroy the letters. now, it was no longer her duty to him which loomed large, but her duty to the innocent, to the victims of the massacre which she might have stayed, to the people of her faith whom she had abandoned, to the women and children whose death-warrant she had preserved. now, she perceived that a part more divine had never fallen to woman, nor a responsibility so heavy been laid upon woman. nor guilt more dread! she writhed in misery, thinking of it. what had she done? she could hear afar off the sounds of the camp; an occasional outcry, a snatch of laughter. and the cry and the laughter rang in her ears, a bitter mockery. this summer camp, to what was it the prelude? this forbearance on her husband's part, in what would it end? were not the one and the other cruel make-believes? two days, and the men who laughed beside the water would slay and torture with equal zest. a little, and the husband who now chose to be generous would show himself in his true colours. and it was for the sake of such as these that she had played the coward. that she had laid up for herself endless remorse. that henceforth the cries of the innocent would haunt her dreams. racked by such thoughts she did not hear his step, and it was his shadow falling across her feet which first warned her of his presence. she looked up, saw him, and involuntarily recoiled. then, seeing the change in his face, "oh! monsieur," she stammered affrighted, her hand pressed to her side, "i ask your pardon! you startled me!" "so it seems," he answered. and he stood over her regarding her drily. "i am not quite--myself yet," she murmured. his look told her that her start had betrayed her feelings. alas, the plan of taking a woman by force has drawbacks, and among others this one: that he must be a sanguine husband who deems her heart his, and a husband without jealousy, whose suspicions are not aroused by the faintest flush or the lightest word. he knows that she is his unwillingly, a victim, not a mistress; and behind every bush beside the road and behind every mask in the crowd be espies a rival. moreover, where women are in question, who is always strong? or who can say how long he will pursue this plan or that? a man of sternest temper, count hannibal had set out on a path of conduct carefully and deliberately chosen; knowing--and he still knew--that if he abandoned it he had little to hope, if the less to fear. but the proof of fidelity which the countess had just given him had blown to a white heat the smouldering flame in his heart, and madame st. lo's gibes, which should have fallen as cold water alike on his hopes and his passion, had but fed the desire to know the best. for all that, he might not have spoken now, if he had not caught her look of affright; strange as it sounds, that look, which of all things should have silenced him and warned him that the time was not yet, stung him out of patience. suddenly the man in him carried him away. "you still fear me, then!" he said, in a voice hoarse and unnatural. "is it for what i do or for what i leave undone that you hate me, madame? tell me, i beg, for----" "for neither!" she said, trembling. his eyes, hot and passionate, were on her, and the blood had mounted to his brow. "for neither! i do not hate you, monsieur!" "you fear me then! i am right in that." "i fear--that which you carry with you," she stammered, speaking on impulse and scarcely knowing what she said. he started, and his expression changed. "so?" he exclaimed. "so? you know what i carry, do you? and from whom? from whom?" he continued in a tone of menace, "if you please, did you get that knowledge?" "from m. la tribe," she muttered. she had not meant to tell him. why had she told him? he nodded. "i might have known it," he said. "i more than suspected it. therefore i should be the more beholden to you for saving the letters. but"--he paused and laughed harshly--"it was out of no love for me you saved them. that, too, i know." she did not answer or protest; and when he had waited a moment in vain expectation of her protest, a cruel look crept into his eyes. "madame," he said slowly, "do you never reflect that you may push the part you play too far? that the patience, even of the worst of men, does not endure for ever?" "i have your word!" she answered. "and you do not fear?" "i have your word," she repeated. and now she looked him bravely in the face, her eyes full of the courage of her race. the lines of his mouth hardened as he met her look. "and what have i of yours?" he said in a low voice. "what have i of yours?" her face began to burn at that, her eyes fell and she faltered. "my gratitude," she murmured, with an upward look that craved for pity. "god knows, monsieur, you have that!" "god knows i do not want it!" he answered. and he laughed derisively. "your gratitude!" and he mocked her tone rudely and coarsely. "your gratitude?" then for a minute--for so long a time that she began to wonder and to quake--he was silent. at last, "a fig for your gratitude," he said. "i want your love! i suppose--cold as you are, and a huguenot--you can love like other women!" it was the first, the very first time he had used the word to her; and though it fell from his lips like a threat, though he used it as a man presents a pistol, she flushed anew from throat to brow. but she did not quail. "it is not mine to give," she said. "it is his!" "yes, monsieur," she answered, wondering at her courage, at her audacity, her madness. "it is his." "and it cannot be mine--at any time?" she shook her head, trembling. "never?" and, suddenly reaching forward, he gripped her wrist in an iron grasp. there was passion in his tone. his eyes burned her. whether it was that set her on another track, or pure despair, or the cry in her ears of little children and of helpless women, something in a moment inspired her, flashed in her eyes and altered her voice. she raised her head and looked him firmly in the face. "what," she said, "do you mean by love?" "you!" he answered brutally. "then--it may be, monsieur," she returned. "there is a way if you will." "away!" "if you will!" as she spoke she rose slowly to her feet; for in his surprise he had released her wrist. he rose with her, and they stood confronting one another on the strip of grass between the river and the poplars. "if i will?" his form seemed to dilate, his eyes devoured her. "if i will?" "yes," she replied. "if you will give me the letters that are in your belt, the packet which i saved to-day--that i may destroy them--i will be yours freely and willingly." he drew a deep breath, still devouring her with his eyes. "you mean it?" he said at last. "i do." she looked him in the face as she spoke, and her cheeks were white, not red. "only--the letters! give me the letters." "and for them you will give me your love?" her eyes flickered, and involuntarily she shivered. a faint blush rose and dyed her cheeks. "only god can give love," she said, her tone lower. "and yours is given?" "yes." "to another?" "i have said it." "it is his. and yet for these letters----" "for these lives!" she cried proudly. "you will give yourself?" "i swear it," she answered, "if you will give them to me! if you will give them to me," she repeated. and she held out her hands; her face, full of passion, was bright with a strange light. a close observer might have thought her distraught; still excited by the struggle in the boat, and barely mistress of herself. but the man whom she tempted, the man who held her price at his belt, after one searching look at her turned from her; perhaps because he could not trust himself to gaze on her. count hannibal walked a dozen paces from her and returned, and again a dozen paces and returned; and again a third time, with something fierce and passionate in his gait. at last he stopped before her. "you have nothing to offer for them," he said, in a cold, hard tone. "nothing that is not mine already, nothing that is not my right, nothing that i cannot take at my will. my word?" he continued, seeing her about to interrupt him. "true, madame, you have it, you had it. but why need i keep my word to you, who tempt me to break my word to the king?" she made a weak gesture with her hands. her head had sunk on her breast--she seemed dazed by the shock of his contempt, dazed by his reception of her offer. "you saved the letters?" he continued, interpreting her action. "true, but the letters are mine, and that which you offer for them is mine also. you have nothing to offer. for the rest, madame," he went on, eyeing her cynically, "you surprise me! you, whose modesty and virtue are so great, would corrupt your husband, would sell yourself, would dishonour the love of which you boast so loudly, the love that only god gives!" he laughed derisively as he quoted her words. "ay, and, after showing at how low a price you hold yourself, you still look, i doubt not, to me to respect you, and to keep my word. madame!" in a terrible voice, "do not play with fire! you saved my letters, it is true! and for that, for this time, you shall go free, if god will help me to let you go! but tempt me not! tempt me not!" he repeated, turning from her and turning back again with a gesture of despair, as if he mistrusted the strength of the restraint which he put upon himself. "i am no more than other men! perhaps i am less. and you--you who prate of love, and know not what love is--could love! could love!" he stopped on that word as if the word choked him--stopped, struggling with his passion. at last, with a half-stifled oath, he flung away from her, halted and hung a moment, then, with a swing of rage, went off again violently. his feet as he strode along the river-bank trampled the flowers, and slew the pale water forget-me-not, which grew among the grasses. chapter xxiii. a mind, and not a mind. la tribe tore through the thicket, imagining carlat and count hannibal hot on his heels. he dared not pause even to listen. the underwood tripped him, the lissom branches of the alders whipped his face and blinded him; once he fell headlong over a moss-grown stone, and picked himself up groaning. but the hare hard-pushed takes no account of the briars, nor does the fox heed the mud through which it draws itself into covert. and for the time he was naught but a hunted beast. with elbows pinned to his sides, or with hands extended to ward off the boughs, with bursting lungs and crimson face, he plunged through the tangle, now slipping downwards, now leaping upwards, now all but prostrate, now breasting a mass of thorns. on and on he ran, until he came to the verge of the wood, saw before him an open meadow devoid of shelter or hiding-place, and with a groan of despair cast himself flat. he listened. how far were they behind him? he heard nothing. nothing, save the common noises of the wood, the angry chatter of a disturbed blackbird as it flew low into hiding, or the harsh notes of a flock of starlings as they rose from the meadow. the hum of bees filled the air, and the august flies buzzed about his sweating brow, for he had lost his cap. but behind him--nothing. already the stillness of the wood had closed upon his track. he was not the less panic-stricken. he supposed that tavannes' people were getting to horse, and calculated that if they surrounded and beat the wood, he must be taken. at the thought, though he had barely got his breath, he rose, and keeping within the coppice crawled down the slope towards the river. gently, when he reached it, he slipped into the water, and stooping below the level of the bank, his head and shoulders hidden by the bushes, he waded down stream until he had put another hundred and fifty yards between himself and pursuit. then he paused and listened. still he heard nothing, and he waded on again, until the water grew deep. at this point he marked a little below him a clump of trees on the farther side; and reflecting that that side--if he could reach it unseen--would be less suspect, he swam across, aiming for a thorn bush which grew low to the water. under its shelter he crawled out, and, worming himself like a snake across the few yards of grass which intervened, he stood at length within the shadow of the trees. a moment he paused to shake himself, and then, remembering that he was still within a mile of the camp, he set off, now walking, and now running in the direction of the hills which his party had crossed that morning. for a time he hurried on, thinking only of escape. but when he had covered a mile or two, and escape seemed probable, there began to mingle with his thankfulness a bitter--a something which grew more bitter with each moment. why had he fled and left the work undone? why had he given way to unworthy fear, when the letters were within his grasp? true, if he had lingered a few seconds longer, he would have failed to make good his escape; but what of that if in those seconds he had destroyed the letters, he had saved angers, he had saved his brethren? alas! he had played the coward. the terror of tavannes' voice had unmanned him. he had saved himself and left the flock to perish; he, whom god had set apart by many and great signs for this work! he had commonly courage enough. he could have died at the stake for his convictions. but he had not the presence of mind which is proof against a shock, nor the cool judgment which, in the face of death, sees to the end of two roads. he was no coward, but now he deemed himself one, and in an agony of remorse he flung himself on his face in the long grass. he had known trials and temptations, but hitherto he had held himself erect; now, like peter, he had betrayed his lord. he lay an hour groaning in the misery of his heart, and then he fell on the text "thou art peter, and on this rock----" and he sat up. peter had betrayed his trust through cowardice--as he had. but peter had not been held unworthy. might it not be so with him? he rose to his feet, a new light in his eyes. he would return! he would return, and at all costs, even at the cost of surrendering himself, he would obtain access to the letters. and then--not the fear of count hannibal, not the fear of instant death, should turn him from his duty. he had cast himself down in a woodland glade which lay near the path along which he had ridden that morning. but the mental conflict from which he rose had shaken him so violently that he could not recall the side on which he had entered the clearing, and he turned himself about, endeavouring to remember. at that moment the light jingle of a bridle struck his ear; he caught through the green bushes the flash and sparkle of harness. they had tracked him then, they were here! so had he clear proof that this second chance was to be his. in a happy fervour he stood forward where the pursuers could not fail to see him. or so he thought. yet the first horseman, riding carelessly with his face averted and his feet dangling, would have gone by and seen nothing if his horse, more watchful, had not shied. the man turned then; and for a moment the two stared at one another between the pricked ears of the horse. at last, "m. de tignonville!" the minister ejaculated. "la tribe!" "it is truly you?" "well--i think so," the young man answered. the minister lifted up his eyes and seemed to call the trees and the clouds and the birds to witness. "now," he cried, "i know that i am chosen! and that we were instruments to do this thing from the day when the hen saved us in the hay-cart in paris! now i know that all is forgiven and all is ordained, and that the faithful of angers shall to-morrow live and not die!" and with a face radiant, yet solemn, he walked to the young man's stirrup. an instant tignonville looked sharply before him. "how far ahead are they?" he asked. his tone, hard and matter-of-fact, was little in harmony with the other's enthusiasm. "they are resting a league before you, at the ferry. you are in pursuit of them?" "yes." "not alone?" "no." the young man's look as he spoke was grim. "i have five behind me--of your kidney, m. la tribe. they are from the arsenal. they have lost one his wife, and one his son. the three others----" "yes?" "sweethearts," tignonville answered drily. and he cast a singular look at the minister. but la tribe's mind was so full of one matter, he could think only of that. "how did you hear of the letters?" he asked. "the letters?" "yes." "i do not know what you mean." la tribe stared. "then why are you following him?" he asked. "why?" tignonville echoed, a look of hate darkening his face. "do you ask why we follow----" but on the name he seemed to choke and was silent. by this time his men had come up, and one answered for him. "why are we following hannibal de tavannes?" he said sternly. "to do to him as he has done to us! to rob him as he has robbed us--of more than gold! to kill him as he has killed ours, foully and by surprise! in his bed if we can! in the arms of his wife if god wills it!" the speaker's face was haggard from brooding and lack of sleep, but his eyes glowed and burned, as his fellows growled assent. "'tis simple why we follow," a second put in. "is there a man of our faith who will not, when he hears the tale, rise up and stab the nearest of this black brood--though it be his brother? if so, god's curse on him!" "amen! amen!" "so, and so only," cried the first, "shall there be faith in our land! and our children, our little maids, shall lie safe in their beds!" "amen! amen!" the speaker's chin sank on his breast, and with his last word the light died out of his eyes. la tribe looked at him curiously, then at the others. last of all at tignonville, on whose face he fancied that he surprised a faint smile. yet tignonville's tone when he spoke was grave enough. "you have heard," he said. "do you blame us?" "i cannot," the minister answered, shivering. "i can not." he had been for a while beyond the range of these feelings; and in the greenwood, under god's heaven, with the sunshine about him, they jarred on him. yet he could not blame men who had suffered as these had suffered; who were maddened, as these were maddened, by the gravest wrongs which it is possible for one man to inflict on another. "i dare not," he continued sorrowfully. "but in god's name i offer you a higher and a nobler errand." "we need none," tignonville muttered impatiently. "yet may others need you," la tribe answered in a tone of rebuke. "you are not aware that the man you follow bears a packet from the king for the hands of the magistrates of angers?" "ha! does he?" "bidding them do at angers as his majesty has done in paris?" the men broke into cries of execration. "but he shall not see angers!" they swore. "the blood that he has shed shall choke him by the way! and as he would do to others it shall be done to him." la tribe shuddered as he listened, as he looked. try as he would, the thirst of these men for vengeance appalled him. "how?" he said. "he has a score and more with him: and you are only six." "seven now," tignonville answered with a smile. "true, but----" "and he lies to-night at la flèche? that is so!" "it was his intention this morning." "at the old king's inn at the meeting of the great roads?" "it was mentioned," la tribe admitted, with a reluctance he did not comprehend. "but if the night be fair he is as like as not to lie in the fields." one of the men pointed to the sky. a dark bank of cloud fresh risen from the ocean, and big with tempest, hung low in the west. "see! god will deliver him into our hands!" he cried. tignonville nodded. "if he lie there," he said, "he will." and then to one of his followers, as he dismounted, "do you ride on," he said, "and stand guard that we be not surprised. and do you, perrot, tell monsieur. perrot here, as god wills it," he added with a faint smile which did not escape the minister's eye, "married his wife from the great inn at la flèche, and he knows the place." "none better," the man growled. he was a sullen, brooding knave, whose eyes when he looked up surprised by their savage fire. la tribe shook his head. "i know it, too," he said. "'tis strong as a fortress, with a walled court, and all the windows look inwards. the gates are closed an hour after sunset, no matter who is without. if you think, m. de tignonville, to take him there----" "patience, monsieur, you have not heard me," perrot interposed. "i know it after another fashion. do you remember a rill of water which runs through the great yard and the stables?" la tribe nodded. "grated with iron at either end, and no passage for so much as a dog? you do? well, monsieur, i have hunted rats there, and where the water passes under the wall is a culvert, a man's height in length. in it is a stone, one of those which frame the grating at the entrance, which a strong man can remove--and the man is in!" "ay, in! but where!" la tribe asked, his eyebrows drawn together. "well said, monsieur, where?" perrot rejoined in a tone of triumph. "there lies the point. in the stables, where will be sleeping men, and a snorer on every truss? no, but in a fairway between two stables where the water at its entrance runs clear in a stone channel; a channel deepened in one place that they may draw for the chambers above with a rope and a bucket. the rooms above are the best in the house, four in one row, opening all on the gallery; which was uncovered, in the common fashion, until queen-mother jezebel, passing that way to nantes, two years back, found the chambers draughty; and that end of the gallery was closed in against her return. now, monsieur, he and his madame will lie there; and he will feel safe, for there is but one way to those four rooms---through the door which shuts off the covered gallery from the open part. but----" he glanced up an instant and la tribe caught the smouldering fire in his eyes--"we shall not go in by the door." "the bucket rises through a trap?" "in the gallery? to be sure, monsieur. in the corner beyond the fourth door. there shall he fall into the pit which he dug for others, and the evil that he planned rebound on his own head!" la tribe was silent. "what think you of it?" tignonville asked. "that it is cleverly planned," the minister answered. "no more than that!" "no more until i have eaten." "get him something!" tignonville replied in a surly tone. "and we may as well eat, ourselves. lead the horses into the wood. and do you, perrot, call tuez-les-moines, who is forward. two hours' riding should bring us to la flèche. we need not leave here, therefore, until the sun is low. to dinner! to dinner!" probably he did not feel the indifference he affected, for his face as he ate grew darker, and from time to time he shot a glance, barbed with suspicion, at the minister. la tribe on his side remained silent, although the men ate apart. he was in doubt, indeed, as to his own feelings. his instinct and his reason were at odds. through all, however, a single purpose, the rescue of angers, held good, and gradually other things fell into their places. when the meal was at an end, and tignonville challenged him, he was ready. "your enthusiasm seems to have waned," the younger man said with a sneer, "since we met, monsieur! may i ask now if you find any fault with the plan?" "with the plan, none." "if it was providence brought us together, was it not providence furnished me with perrot who knows la flèche? if it was providence brought the danger of the faithful in angers to your knowledge, was it not providence set us on the road--without whom you had been powerless?" "i believe it!" "then, in his name, what is the matter?" tignonville rejoined with a passion of which the other's manner seemed an inadequate cause. "what will you? what is it?" "i would take your place," la tribe answered quietly. "my place?" "yes." "what, are we too many?" "we are enough without you, m. tignonville," the minister answered. "these men, who have wrongs to avenge, god will justify them." tignonville's eyes sparkled with anger. "and have i no wrongs to avenge?" he cried. "is it nothing to lose my mistress, to be robbed of my wife, to see the woman i love dragged off to be a slave and a toy? are these no wrongs?" "he spared your life, if he did not save it," the minister said solemnly. "and hers. and her servants." "to suit himself." la tribe spread out his hands. "to suit himself! and for that you wish him to go free?" tignonville cried in a voice half-choked with rage. "do you know that this man, and this man alone, stood forth in the great hall of the louvre, and when even the king flinched, justified the murder of our people? after that is he to go free?" "at your hands," la tribe answered quietly. "you alone of our people must not pursue him." he would have added more, but tignonville would not listen. brooding on his wrongs behind the wall of the arsenal, he had let hatred eat away his more generous instincts. vain and conceited, he fancied that the world laughed at the poor figure he had cut; and the wound in his vanity festered until nothing would serve but to see the downfall of his enemy. instant pursuit, instant vengeance--only these, he fancied, could restore him in his fellows' eyes. in his heart he knew what would become him better. but vanity is a potent motive: and his conscience, even when supported by la tribe, struggled but weakly. from neither would he hear more. "you have travelled with him, until you side with him!" he cried violently. "have a care, monsieur, have a care lest we think you papist!" and walking over to the men he bade them saddle; adding a sour word which turned their eyes, in no friendly gaze, on the minister. after that la tribe said no more. of what use would it have been? but as darkness came on and cloaked the little troop, and the storm which the men had foreseen began to rumble in the west, his distaste for the business waxed. the summer lightning which presently began to play across the sky revealed not only the broad gleaming stream, between which and a wooded hill their road ran, but the faces of his companions; and these in their turn shed a grisly light on the bloody enterprise towards which they were set. nervous and ill at ease, the minister's mind dwelt on the stages of that enterprise; the stealthy entrance through the waterway, the ascent through the trap, the surprise, the slaughter in the sleeping-chamber. and either because he had lived for days in the victim's company, or was swayed by the arguments he had addressed to another, the prospect shook his soul. in vain he told himself that this was the oppressor; he saw only the man, fresh roused from sleep, with the horror of impending dissolution in his eyes. and when the rider, behind whom he sat, pointed to a faint spark of light, at no great distance before them, and whispered that it was st. agnes 's chapel, hard by the inn, he could have cried with the best catholic of them all, "inter pontem et fontem, domine!" nay, some such words did pass his lips. for the man before him turned half-way in his saddle. "what?" he asked. but the huguenot did not explain. chapter xxiv. at the king's inn. the countess sat up in the darkness of the chamber. she had writhed since noon under the stings of remorse; she could bear them no longer. the slow declension of the day, the evening light, the signs of coming tempest which had driven her company to the shelter of the inn at the cross-roads, all had racked her, by reminding her that the hours were flying, and that soon the fault she had committed would be irreparable. one impulsive attempt to redeem it she had made, we know; but it had failed, and, by rendering her suspect, had made reparation more difficult. still, by daylight it had seemed possible to rest content with the trial made; not so now, when night had fallen, and the cries of little children and the haggard eyes of mothers peopled the darkness of her chamber. she sat up, and listened with throbbing temples. to shut out the lightning which played at intervals across the heavens, madame st. lo, who shared the room, had covered the window with a cloak; and the place was dark. to exclude the dull roll of the thunder was less easy, for the night was oppressively hot, and behind the cloak the casement was open. gradually, too, another sound, the hissing fall of heavy rain, began to make itself heard, and to mingle with the regular breathing which proved that madame st. lo slept. assured of this fact, the countess presently heaved a sigh, and slipped from the bed. she groped in the darkness for her cloak, found it, and donned it over her night-gear. then, taking her bearings by her bed, which stood with its head to the window and its foot to the entrance, she felt her way across the floor to the door, and after passing her hands a dozen times over every part of it, she found the latch, and raised it. the door creaked, as she pulled it open, and she stood arrested; but the sound went no farther, for the roofed gallery outside, which looked by two windows on the courtyard, was full of outdoor noises, the rushing of rain and the running of spouts and eaves. one of the windows stood wide, admitting the rain and wind, and as she paused, holding the door open, the draught blew the cloak from her. she stepped out quickly and shut the door behind her. on her left was the blind end of the passage; she turned to the right. she took one step into the darkness and stood motionless. beside her, within a few feet of her, some one had moved, with a dull sound as of a boot on wood; a sound so near her that she held her breath, and pressed herself against the wall. she listened. perhaps some of the servants--it was a common usage--had made their beds on the floor. perhaps one of the women had stirred in the room against the wall of which she crouched. perhaps--but, even while she reassured herself, the sound rose anew at her feet. fortunately at the same instant the glare of the lightning flooded all, and showed the passage, and showed it empty. it lit up the row of doors on her right and the small windows on her left; and discovered facing her, the door which shut off the rest of the house. she could have thanked--nay, she did thank god for that light. if the sound she had heard recurred she did not hear it; for, as the thunder which followed hard on the flash, crashed overhead and rolled heavily eastwards, she felt her way boldly along the passage, touching first one door, and then a second, and then a third. she groped for the latch of the last, and found it, but, with her hand on it, paused. in order to summon up her courage, she strove to hear again the cries of misery and to see again the haggard eyes which had driven her hither. and if she did not wholly succeed, other reflections came to her aid. this storm, which covered all smaller noises, and opened, now and again, god's lantern for her use, did it not prove that he was on her side, and that she might count on his protection? the thought at least was timely, and with a better heart she gathered her wits. waiting until the thunder burst over her head, she opened the door, slid within it, and closed it. she would fain have left it ajar, that in case of need she might escape the more easily. but the wind, which beat into the passage through the open window, rendered the precaution too perilous. she went forward two paces into the room, and as the roll of the thunder died away she stooped forward and listened with painful intensity for the sound of count hannibal's breathing. but the window was open, and the hiss of the rain persisted; she could hear nothing through it, and fearfully she took another step forward. the window should be before her; the bed in the corner to the left. but nothing of either could she make out. she must wait for the lightning. it came, and for a second or more the room shone. the window, the low truckle-bed, the sleeper, she saw all with dazzling clearness, and before the flash had well passed she was crouching low, with the hood of her cloak dragged about her face. for the glare had revealed count hannibal; but not asleep! he lay on his side, his face towards her; lay with open eyes, staring at her. or had the light tricked her? the light must have tricked her, for in the interval between the flash and the thunder, while she crouched quaking, he did not move or call. the light must have deceived her. she felt so certain of it that she found courage to remain where she was until another flash came and showed him sleeping with closed eyes. she drew a breath of relief at that, and rose slowly to her feet. but she dared not go forward until a third flash had confirmed the second. then, while the thunder burst overhead and rolled away, she crept on until she stood beside the pillow, and stooping, could hear the sleeper's breathing. alas! the worst remained to be done. the packet, she was sure of it, lay under his pillow. how was she to find it, how remove it without rousing him? a touch might awaken him. and yet, if she would not return empty-handed, if she would not go back to the harrowing thoughts which had tortured her through the long hours of the day, it must be done, and done now. she knew this, yet she hung irresolute a while, blenching before the manual act, listening to the persistent rush and downpour of the rain. then a second time she drew courage from the storm. how timely had it broken! how signally had it aided her! how slight had been her chance without it! and so at last, resolutely but with a deft touch, she slid her fingers between the pillow and the bed, slightly pressing down the latter with her other hand. for an instant she fancied that the sleeper's breathing stopped, and her heart gave a great bound. but the breathing went on the next instant--if it had stopped--and dreading the return of the lightning, shrinking from being revealed so near him, and in that act--for which the darkness seemed more fitting--she groped farther, and touched something. and then, as her fingers closed upon it and grasped it, and his breath rose hot to her burning cheek, she knew that the real danger lay in the withdrawal. at the first attempt he uttered a kind of grunt and moved, throwing out his hand. she thought that he was going to awake, and had hard work to keep herself where she was; but he did not move, and she began again with so infinite a precaution that the perspiration ran down her face and her hair within the hood hung dank on her neck. slowly, oh so slowly, she drew back the hand, and with it the packet; so slowly, and yet so resolutely, being put to it, that when the dreaded flash surprised her, and she saw his harsh swarthy face, steeped in the mysterious aloofness of sleep, within a hand's breadth of hers, not a muscle of her arm moved, nor did her hand quiver. it was done--at last! with a burst of gratitude, of triumph, of exultation, she stood erect. she realised that it was done, and that here in her hand she held the packet. a deep gasp of relief, of joy, of thankfulness, and she glided towards the door. she groped for the latch, and in the act fancied his breathing was changed. she paused and bent her head to listen. but the patter of the rain, drowning all sounds save those of the nearest origin, persuaded her that she was mistaken, and, finding the latch, she raised it, slipped like a shadow into the passage, and closed the door behind her. that done she stood arrested, all the blood in her body running to her heart. she must be dreaming! the passage in which she stood--the passage which she had left in black darkness--was alight; was so far lighted, at least, that to eyes fresh from the night, the figures of three men, grouped at the farther end, stood out against the glow of the lantern which they appeared to be trimming--for the two nearest were stooping over it. these two had their backs to her, the third his face; and it was the sight of this third man which had driven the blood to her heart. he ended at the waist! it was only after a few seconds, it was only when she had gazed at him awhile in speechless horror, that he rose another foot from the floor, and she saw that he had paused in the act of ascending through a trapdoor. what the scene meant, who these men were, or what their entrance portended, with these questions her brain refused at the moment to grapple. it was much that--still remembering who might hear her, and what she held--she did not shriek aloud. instead, she stood in the gloom at her end of the passage, gazing with all her eyes until she had seen the third man step clear of the trap. she could see him; but the light intervened and blurred his view of her. he stooped, almost as soon as he had cleared himself, to help up a fourth man, who rose with a naked knife between his teeth. she saw then that all were armed, and something stealthy in their bearing, something cruel in their eyes as the light of the lantern fell now on one dark face and now on another, went to her heart and chilled it. who were they, and why were they here? what was their purpose? as her reason awoke, as she asked herself these questions, the fourth man stooped in his turn, and gave his hand to a fifth. and on that she lost her self-control and cried out. for the last man to ascend was la tribe! la tribe, from whom she had parted that morning! the sound she uttered was low, but it reached the men's ears, and the two whose backs were towards her turned as if they had been pricked. he who held the lantern raised it, and the five glared at her and she at them. then a second cry, louder and more full of surprise, burst from her lips. the nearest man, he who held the lantern high that he might view her, was tignonville, was her lover! "_mon dieu!_" she whispered. "what is it? what is it?" then, not till then, did he know her. until then the light of the lantern had revealed only a cloaked and cowled figure, a gloomy phantom which shook the heart of more than one with superstitious terror. but they knew her now--two of them; and slowly, as in a dream, tignonville came forward. the mind has its moments of crisis, in which it acts upon instinct rather than upon reason. the girl never knew why she acted as she did; why she asked no questions, why she uttered no exclamations, no remonstrances. why, with a finger on her lips and her eyes on his, she put the packet into his hands. he took it from her, too, as mechanically as she gave it--with the hand which held his bare blade. that done, silent as she, with his eyes set hard, he would have gone by her. the sight of her there, guarding the door of him who had stolen her from him, exasperated his worst passions. but she moved to hinder him, and barred the way. with her hand raised she pointed to the trapdoor. "go now!" she whispered, her tone stern and low, "you have what you want! go!" "no!" and he tried to pass her. "go!" she repeated in the same tone. "you have what you need." and still she held her hand extended; still without faltering she faced the five men, while the thunder, growing more distant, rolled sullenly eastward, and the midnight rain, pouring from every spout and dripping eave about the house, wrapped the passage in its sibilant hush. gradually her eyes dominated his, gradually her nobler nature and nobler aim subdued his weaker parts. for she understood now; and he saw that she did, and had he been alone he would have slunk away, and said no word in his defence. but one of the men, savage and out of patience, thrust himself between them. "where is he?" he muttered. "what is the use of this? where is he?" and his bloodshot eyes--it was tuez-les-moines--questioned the doors, while his hand, trembling and shaking on the haft of his knife, bespoke his eagerness. "where is he? where is he, woman? quick, or----" "i shall not tell you," she answered. "you lie," he cried, grinning like a dog. "you will tell us! or we will kill you, too! where is he? where is he?" "i shall not tell you," she repeated, standing before him in the fearlessness of scorn. "another step and i rouse the house! m. de tignonville, to you who know me, i swear that if this man does not retire----" "he is in one of these rooms?" was tignonville's answer. "in which? in which?" "search them!" she answered, her voice low, but biting in its contempt. "try them. rouse my women, alarm the house! and when you have his people at your throats--five as they will be to one of you--thank your own mad folly!" tuez-les-moines' eyes glittered. "you will not tell us?" he cried. "no!" "then----" but as the fanatic sprang on her, la tribe flung his arms round him and dragged him back. "it would be madness," he cried. "are you mad, fool? have done!" he panted, struggling with him. "if madame gives the alarm--and he may be in any one of these four rooms, you cannot be sure which--we are undone." he looked for support to tignonville, whose movement to protect the girl he had anticipated, and who had since listened sullenly. "we have obtained what we need. will you requite madame, who has gained it for us at her own risk----" "it is monsieur i would requite," tignonville muttered grimly. "by using violence to her?" the minister retorted passionately. he and tuez were still gripping one another. "i tell you, to go on is to risk what we have got! and i for one----" "am chicken-hearted!" the young man sneered. "madame--" he seemed to choke on the word. "will you swear that he is not here?" "i swear that if you do not go i will raise the alarm!" she hissed--all their words were sunk to that stealthy note. "go! if you have not stayed too long already. go! or see!" and she pointed to the trapdoor, from which the face and arms of a sixth man had that moment risen--the face dark with perturbation, so that her woman's wit told her at once that something was amiss. "see what has come of your delay already!" "the water is rising," the man muttered earnestly. "in god's name come, whether you have done it or not, or we cannot pass out again. it is within a foot of the crown of the culvert now, and it is rising." "curse on the water!" tuez-les-moines answered in a frenzied whisper. "and on this jezebel. let us kill her and him! what matter afterwards?" and he tried to shake off la tribe's grasp. but the minister held him desperately. "are you mad? are you mad?" he answered. "what can we do against thirty? let us be gone while we can. let us be gone! come." "ay, come," perrot cried, assenting reluctantly. he had taken no side hitherto. "the luck is against us! 'tis no use to-night, man!" and he turned with an air of sullen resignation. letting his legs drop through the trap he followed the bearer of the tidings out of sight. another made up his mind to go, and went. then only tignonville holding the lantern, and la tribe, who feared to release tuez-les-moines, remained with the fanatic. the countess's eyes met her old lover's, and whether old memories overcame her, or, now that the danger was nearly past, she began to give way, she swayed a little on her feet. but he did not notice it. he was sunk in black rage: rage against her, rage against himself. "take the light," she muttered unsteadily. "and--and he must follow!" "and you?" but she could bear it no longer. "oh, go," she wailed. "go! will you never go? if you love me, if you ever loved me, i implore you to go." he had betrayed little of a lover's feeling. but he could not resist that appeal, and he turned silently. seizing tuez-les-moines by the other arm, he drew him by force to the trap. "quiet, fool," he muttered savagely when the man would have resisted, "and go down! if we stay to kill him, we shall have no way of escape, and his life will be dearly bought. down, man, down!" and between them, in a struggling silence, with now and then an audible rap, or a ring of metal, the two forced the desperado to descend. la tribe followed hastily. tignonville was the last to go. in the act of disappearing he raised his lantern for a last glimpse of the countess. to his astonishment the passage was empty; she was gone. hard by him a door stood an inch or two ajar, and he guessed that it was hers, and swore under his breath, hating her at that moment. but he did not guess how nicely she had calculated her strength; how nearly exhaustion had overcome her; or that even while he paused--a fatal pause had he known it--eyeing the dark opening of the door, she lay as one dead, on the bed within. she had fallen in a swoon, from which she did not recover until the sun had risen, and marched across one quarter of the heavens. nor did he see another thing, or he might have hastened his steps. before the yellow light of his lantern faded from the ceiling of the passage, the door of the room farthest from the trap slid open. a man, whose eyes, until darkness swallowed him, shone strangely in a face extraordinarily softened, came out on tip-toe. this man stood awhile, listening. at length, hearing those below utter a cry of dismay, he awoke to sudden activity. he opened with a turn of the key the door which stood at his elbow, the door which led to the other part of the house. he vanished through it. a second later a sharp whistle pierced the darkness of the courtyard and brought a dozen sleepers to their senses and their feet. a moment, and the courtyard hummed with voices, above which one voice rang clear and insistent. with a startled cry the inn awoke. chapter xxv. the company of the bleeding heart. "but why," madame. st. lo asked, sticking her arms akimbo, "why stay in this forsaken place a day and a night, when six hours in the saddle would set us in angers?" "because," tavannes replied coldly--he and his cousin were walking before the gateway of the inn--"the countess is not well, and will be the better, i think, for staying a day." "she slept soundly enough! i'll answer for that!" he shrugged his shoulders. "she never raised her head this morning, though my women were shrieking 'murder!' next door, and----name of heaven!" madame resumed, after breaking off abruptly, and shading her eyes with her hand, "what comes here? is it a funeral? or a pilgrimage? if all the priests about here are as black, no wonder m. rabelais fell out with them!" the inn stood without the walls for the convenience of those who wished to take the road early: a little also, perhaps, because food and forage were cheaper, and the wine paid no town-dues. four great roads met before the house, along the most easterly of which the sombre company which had caught madame st. lo's attention could be seen approaching. at first count hannibal supposed with his companion that the travellers were conveying to the grave the corpse of some person of distinction; for the _cortége_ consisted mainly of priests and the like mounted on mules, and clothed for the most part in black. black also was the small banner which waved above them, and bore in place of arms the emblem of the bleeding heart. but a second glance failed to discover either litter or bier; and a nearer approach showed that the travellers, whether they wore the tonsure or not, bore weapons of one kind or another about them. suddenly madame st. lo clapped her hands, and proclaimed in great astonishment that she knew them. "why, there is father boucher, the curé of st.-benoist!" she said, "and father pezelay of st. magloire. and there is another i know, though i cannot remember his name! they are preachers from paris! that is who they are! but what can they be doing here? is it a pilgrimage, think you?" "ay, a pilgrimage of blood!" count hannibal answered between his teeth. and, turning to him to learn what moved him, she saw the look in his eyes which portended a storm. before she could ask a question, however, the gloomy company, which had first appeared in the distance, moving, an inky blot, through the hot sunshine of the summer morning, had drawn near and was almost abreast of them. stepping from her side, he raised his hand and arrested the march. "who is master here?" he asked haughtily. "i am the leader," answered a stout pompous churchman, whose small malevolent eyes belied the sallow fatuity of his face. "i, m. de tavannes, by your leave." "and you, by your leave," tavannes sneered, "are----" "archdeacon and vicar of the bishop of angers and prior of the lesser brethren of st. germain, m. le comte. visitor also of the diocese of angers," the dignitary continued, puffing out his cheeks, "and chaplain to the lieutenant-governor of saumur, whose unworthy brother i am." "a handsome glove, and well embroidered!" tavannes retorted in a tone of disdain. "the hand i see yonder!" he pointed to the lean parchment mask of father pezelay, who coloured ever so faintly, but held his peace under the sneer. "you are bound for angers!" count hannibal continued. "for what purpose, sir prior!" "his grace the bishop is absent, and in his absence----" "you go to fill his city with strife! i know you! not you!" he continued, contemptuously turning from the prior, and regarding the third of the principal figures of the party. "but you! you were the curé who got the mob together last all souls'." "i speak the words of him who sent me!" answered the third churchman, whose brooding face and dull curtained eyes gave no promise of the fits of frenzied eloquence which had made his pulpit famous in paris. "then kill and burn are his alphabet!" tavannes retorted, and heedless of the start of horror which a saying so near blasphemy excited among the churchmen, he turned to father pezelay. "and you! you, too, i know!" he continued. "and you know me! and take this from me. turn, father! turn! or worse than a broken head--you bear the scar i see--will befall you. these good persons, whom you have moved, unless i am in error, to take this journey, may not know me; but you do, and can tell them. if they will to angers, they must to angers. but if i find trouble in angers when i come, i will hang some one high. don't scowl at me, man!"--in truth, the look of hate in father pezelay's eyes was enough to provoke the exclamation. "some one, and it shall not be a bare patch on the crown will save his windpipe from squeezing!" a murmur of indignation broke from the preachers' attendants; one or two made a show of drawing their weapons. but count hannibal paid no heed to them, and had already turned on his heel when father pezelay spurred his mule a pace or two forward. snatching a heavy brass cross from one of the acolytes, he raised it aloft, and in the voice which had often thrilled the heated congregation of st. magloire, he called on tavannes to pause. "stand, my lord!" he cried. "and take warning! stand, reckless and profane, whose face is set hard as a stone, and his heart as a flint, against high heaven and holy church! stand and hear! behold the word of the lord is gone out against this city, even against angers, for the unbelief thereof! her place shall be left unto her desolate, and her children shall be dashed against the stones! woe unto you, therefore, if you gainsay it, or fall short of that which is commanded! you shall perish as achan, the son of charmi, and as saul! the curse that has gone out against you shall not tarry, nor your days continue! for the canaanitish woman that is in your house, and for the thought that is in your heart, the place that was yours is given to another! yea, the sword is even now drawn that shall pierce your side!" "you are more like to split my ears!" count hannibal answered sternly. "and now mark me! preach as you please here. but a word in angers, and though you be shaven twice over, i will have you silenced after a fashion which will not please you! if you value your tongue therefore, father----oh, you shake off the dust, do you? well, pass on! 'tis wise, perhaps." and undismayed by the scowling brows, and the cross ostentatiously lifted to heaven, he gazed after the procession as it moved on under its swaying banner, now one and now another of the acolytes looking back and raising his hands to invoke the bolt of heaven on the blasphemer. as the _cortége_ passed the huge watering-troughs, and the open gateway of the inn, the knot of persons congregated there fell on their knees. in answer the churchmen raised their banner higher, and began to sing the _eripe me, domine!_ and to its strains, now vengeful, now despairing, now rising on a wave of menace, they passed slowly into the distance, slowly towards angers and the loire. suddenly madame st. lo twitched his sleeve. "enough for me!" she cried passionately. "i go no farther with you!" "ah?" "no farther!" she repeated. she was pale, she shivered. "many thanks, my cousin, but we part company here. i do not go to angers. i have seen horrors enough. i will take my people, and go to my aunt by tours and the east road. for you, i foresee what will happen. you will perish between the hammer and the anvil." "ah?" "you play too fine a game," she continued, her face quivering. "give over the girl to her lover, and send away her people with her. and wash your hands of her and hers. or you will see her fall, and fall beside her! give her to him, i say--give her to him!" "my wife?" "wife?" she echoed, for, fickle, and at all times swept away by the emotions of the moment, she was in earnest now. "is there a tie," and she pointed after the vanishing procession, "that they cannot unloose? that they will not unloose? is there a life which escapes if they doom it? did the admiral escape? or rochefoucauld? or madame de luns in old days? i tell you they go to rouse angers against you, and i see beforehand what will happen. she will perish, and you with her. wife? a pretty wife, at whose door you took her lover last night." "and at your door!" he answered quietly, unmoved by the gibe. but she did not heed. "i warned you of that!" she cried. "and you would not believe me. i told you he was following. and i warn you of this. you are between the hammer and the anvil, m. le comte! if tignonville does not murder you in your bed----" "'tis not likely while i hold him in my power." "then holy church will fall on you and crush you. for me, i have seen enough and more than enough. i go to tours by the east road." he shrugged his shoulders. "as you please," he said. she flung away in disgust with him. she could not understand a man who played fast and loose at such a time. the game was too fine for her, its danger too apparent, the gain too small. she had, too, a woman's dread of the church, a woman's belief in the power of the dead hand to punish. and in half an hour her orders were given. in two hours her people were gathered, and she departed by the eastward road, three of tavannes' riders reinforcing her servants for a part of the way. count hannibal stood to watch them start, and noticed bigot riding by the side of suzanne's mule. he smiled; and presently, as he turned away, he did a thing rare with him--he laughed outright. a laugh which reflected a mood rare as itself. few had seen count hannibal's eye sparkle as it sparkled now; few had seen him laugh as he laughed, walking to and fro in the sunshine before the inn. his men watched him, and wondered, and liked it little, for one or two who had overheard his altercation with the churchmen had reported it, and there was shaking of heads over it. the man who had singed the pope's beard and chucked cardinals under the chin was growing old, and the most daring of the others had no mind to fight with foes whose weapons were not of this world. count hannibal's gaiety, however, was well grounded, had they known it. he was gay, not because he foresaw peril, and it was his nature to love peril; nor--in the main, though a little, perhaps--because he knew that the woman whose heart he desired to win had that night stood between him and death; nor, though again a little, perhaps, because she had confirmed his choice by conduct which a small man might have deprecated, but which a great man loved; but chiefly, because the events of the night had placed in his grasp two weapons by the aid of which he looked to recover all the ground he had lost--lost by his impulsive departure from the path of conduct on which he had started. those weapons were tignonville, taken like a rat in a trap by the rising of the water; and the knowledge that the countess had stolen the precious packet from his pillow. the knowledge--for he had lain and felt her breath upon his cheek, he had lain and felt her hand beneath his pillow, he had lain while the impulse to fling his arms about her had been almost more than he could tame! he had lain and suffered her to go, to pass out safely as she had passed in. and then he had received his reward in the knowledge that, if she robbed him, she robbed him not for herself; and that where it was a question of his life she did not fear to risk her own. when he came, indeed, to that point, he trembled. how narrowly had he been saved from misjudging her! had he not lain and waited, had he not possessed himself in patience, he might have been led to think her in collusion with the old lover whom he found at her door, and with those who came to slay him. either he might have perished unwarned; or escaping that danger, he might have detected her with tignonville and lost for all time the ideal of a noble woman. he had escaped that peril. more, he had gained the weapons we have indicated; and the sense of power, in regard to her, almost intoxicated him. surely if he wielded those weapons to the best advantage, if he strained generosity to the uttermost, the citadel of her heart must yield at last. he had the defect of his courage and his nature, a tendency to do things after a flamboyant fashion. he knew that her act would plunge him in perils which he had not foreseen. if the preachers roused the papists of angers, if he arrived to find men's swords whetted for the massacre and the men themselves awaiting the signal, then if he did not give that signal there would be trouble. there would be trouble of the kind in which the soul of hannibal de tavannes revelled, trouble about the ancient cathedral and under the black walls of the angevin castle, trouble amid which the hearts of common men would be as water. then, when things seemed at their worst, he would reveal his knowledge. then, when forgiveness must seem impossible, he would forgive. with the flood of peril which she had unloosed rising round them, he would say, "go!" to the man who had aimed at his life; he would say to her, "i know, and i forgive!" that, that only, would fitly crown the policy on which he had decided from the first, though he had not hoped to conduct it on lines so splendid as those which now dazzled him. chapter xxvi. temper. it was his gaiety, that strange unusual gaiety, still continuing, which on the following day began by perplexing and ended by terrifying the countess. she could not doubt that he had missed the packet on which so much hung and of which he had indicated the importance. but if he had missed it, why, she asked herself, did he not speak? why did he not cry the alarm, search and question and pursue? why did he not give her the opening to tell the truth, without which even her courage failed, her resolution died within her? above all, what was the secret of his strange merriment? of the snatches of song which broke from him, only to be hushed by her look of astonishment? of the parades which his horse, catching the infection, made under him, as he tossed his riding-cane high in the air and caught it? ay, what? why, when he had suffered so great a loss, when he had been robbed of that of which he must give account--why did he cast off his melancholy and ride like the youngest? she wondered what the men thought, and looking, saw them stare, saw that they watched him stealthily, saw that they laid their heads together. what were they thinking of it? she could not tell; and slowly a terror, more insistent than any to which the extremity of violence would have reduced her, began to grip her heart. twenty hours of rest had lifted her from the state of collapse into which the events of the night had cast her; still her limbs at starting had shaken under her. but the cool freshness of the early summer morning, and the sight of the green landscape and the winding loir, beside which their road ran, had not failed to revive her spirits; and if he had shown himself merely gloomy, merely sunk in revengeful thoughts, or darting hither and thither the glance of suspicion, she felt that she could have faced him, and on the first opportunity could have told him the truth. but this strange mood veiled she knew not what. it seemed, if she comprehended it at all, the herald of some bizarre, some dreadful vengeance, in harmony with his fierce and mocking spirit. before it her heart became as water. even her colour little by little left her cheeks. she knew that he had only to look at her now to read the truth; that it was written in her face, in her shrinking figure, in the eyes which now guiltily sought and now avoided his. and feeling sure that he did read it and know it, she fancied that he licked his lips, as the cat which plays with the mouse; she fancied that he gloated on her terror and her perplexity. this, though the day and the road were warrants for all cheerful thoughts. on one side vineyards clothed the warm red slopes, and rose in steps from the river to the white buildings of a convent. on the other the stream wound through green flats where the black cattle stood knee-deep in grass, watched by wild-eyed and half-naked youths. again the travellers lost sight of the loir, and crossing a shoulder, rode through the dim aisles of a beech-forest, through deep rustling drifts of last year's leaves. and out again and down again they passed, and turning aside from the gateway, trailed along beneath the brown machicolated wall of an old town, from the crumbling battlements of which faces half-sleepy, half-suspicious, watched them as they moved below through the glare and heat. down to the river-level again, where a squalid anchorite, seated at the mouth of a cave dug in the bank, begged of them, and the bell of a monastery on the farther bank tolled slumberously the hour of nones. and still he said nothing, and she, cowed by his mysterious gaiety, yet spurning herself for her cowardice, was silent also. he hoped to arrive at angers before nightfall. what, she wondered, shivering, would happen there? what was he planning to do to her? how would he punish her? brave as she was, she was a woman, with a woman's nerves; and fear and anticipation got upon them; and his silence--his silence which must mean a thing worse than words! and then on a sudden, piercing all, a new thought. was it possible that he had other letters? if his bearing were consistent with anything, it was consistent with that. had he other genuine letters, or had he duplicate letters, so that he had lost nothing, but instead had gained the right to rack and torture her, to taunt and despise her? that thought stung her into sudden self-betrayal. they were riding along a broad dusty track which bordered a stone causey raised above the level of winter floods; impulsively she turned to him. "you have other letters!" she cried. "you have other letters!" and freed for the moment from her terror, she fixed her eyes on his and strove to read his face. he looked at her, his mouth grown hard. "what do you mean, madame?" he asked. "you have other letters?" "for whom?" "from the king, for angers!" he saw that she was going to confess, that she was going to derange his cherished plan; and unreasonable anger awoke in the man who had been more than willing to forgive a real injury. "will you explain?" he said between his teeth. and his eyes glittered unpleasantly. "what do you mean?" "you have other letters," she persisted, "besides those which i stole." "which you stole?" he repeated the words without passion. enraged by this unexpected turn, he hardly knew how to take it. "yes, i!" she cried. "i! i took them from under your pillow!" he was silent a minute. then he laughed and shook his head. "it will not do, madame," he said, his lip curling. "you are clever, but you do not deceive me." "deceive you?" "yes." "you do not believe that i took the letters?" she cried in great amazement. "no," he answered; "and for a good reason." he had hardened his heart now. he had chosen his line, and he would not spare her. "why, then?" she cried. "why?" "for the best of all reasons," he answered. "because the person who stole the letters was seized in the act of making his escape, and is now in my power." "the person--who stole the letters?" she faltered. "yes, madame." "do you mean m. de tignonville?" "you have said it." she turned white to the lips, and trembling could with difficulty sit her horse. with an effort she pulled it up, and he stopped also. their attendants were some way ahead. "and you have the letters?" she whispered, her eyes meeting his. "you have the letters?" "no, but i have the thief!" count hannibal answered with sinister meaning. "as i think you knew, madame," he continued ironically, "a while back before you spoke." "i? oh, no, no!" and she swayed in her saddle. "what--what are you--going to do?" she muttered after a moment's stricken silence. "to him?" "yes." "the magistrates will decide, at angers." "but he did not do it! i swear he did not." count hannibal shook his head coldly. "i swear, monsieur, i took the letters!" she repeated piteously. "punish me!" her figure, bowed like an old woman's over the neck of her horse, seemed to crave his mercy. count hannibal smiled. "you do not believe me?" "no," he said. and then, in a tone which chilled her, "if i did believe you," he continued, "i should still punish him!" she was broken; but he would see if he could not break her further. he would try if there were no weak spot in her armour. he would rack her now, since in the end she must go free. "understand, madame," he continued in his harshest tone, "i have had enough of your lover. he has crossed my path too often. you are my wife, i am your husband. in a day or two there shall be an end of this farce and of him." "he did not take them!" she wailed, her face sinking lower on her breast. "he did not take them! have mercy!" "any way, madame, they are gone!" tavannes answered. "you have taken them between you; and as i do not choose that you should pay, he will pay the price." if the discovery that tignonville had fallen into her husband's hands had not sufficed to crush her, count hannibal's tone must have done so. the shoot of new life which had raised its head after those dreadful days in paris, and--for she was young--had supported her under the weight which the peril of angers had cast on her shoulders, died, bruised under the heel of his brutality. the pride which had supported her, which had won tavannes' admiration and exacted his respect, sank, as she sank herself, bowed to her horse's neck, weeping bitter tears before him. she abandoned herself to her misery, as she had once abandoned herself in the upper room in paris. and he looked at her. he had willed to crush her; he had his will, and he was not satisfied. he had bowed her so low that his magnanimity would now have its full effect, would shine as the sun into a dark world; and yet he was not happy. he could look forward to the morrow, and say, "she will understand me, she will know me!" and lo, the thought that she wept for her lover stabbed him, and stabbed him anew; and he thought, "rather would she death from him, than life from me! though i give her creation, it will not alter her! though i strike the stars with my head, it is he who fills her world." the thought spurred him to farther cruelty, impelled him to try if, prostrate as she was, he could not draw a prayer from her? "you don't ask after him?" he scoffed. "he may be before or behind? or wounded or well? would you not know, madame? and what message he sent you? and what he fears, and what hope he has? and his last wishes? and--for while there is life there is hope--would you not learn where the key of his prison lies to-night? how much for the key to-night, madame?" each question fell on her like the lash of a whip; but as one who has been flogged into insensibility, she did not wince. that drove him on: he felt a mad desire to hear her prayers, to force her lower, to bring her to her knees. and he sought about for a keener taunt. their attendants were almost out of sight before them; the sun, declining apace, was in their eyes. "in two hours we shall be in angers," he said. "mon dieu, madame, it was a pity, when you two were taking letters, you did not go a step farther. you were surprised, or i doubt if i should be alive to-day!" then she did look up. she raised her head and met his gaze with such wonder in her eyes, such reproach in her tear-stained face, that his voice sank on the last word. "you mean--that i would have murdered you?" she said. "i would have cut off my hand first. what i did"--and now her voice was as firm as it was low--"what i did, i did to save my people. and if it were to be done again, i would do it again!" "you dare to tell me that to my face?" he cried, hiding feelings which almost choked him. "you would do it again, would you? mon dieu, madame, you need to be taught a lesson!" and by chance, meaning only to make the horses move on again, he raised his whip. she thought that he was going to strike her, and she flinched at last. the whip fell smartly on her horse's quarters, and it sprang forward. count hannibal swore between his teeth. he had turned pale, she red as fire. "get on! get on!" he cried harshly. "we are falling behind!" and riding at her heels, flipping her horse now and then, he forced her to trot on until they overtook the servants. chapter xxvii. the black town. it was late evening when, riding wearily on jaded horses, they came to the outskirts of angers, and saw before them the term of their journey. the glow of sunset had faded, but the sky was still warm with the last hues of day; and against its opal light the huge mass of the angevin castle, which even in sunshine rises dark and forbidding above the mayenne, stood up black and sharply defined. below it, on both banks of the river, the towers and spires of the city soared up from a sombre huddle of ridge-roofs, broken here by a round-headed gateway, crumbling and pigeon-haunted, that dated from st. louis, and there by the gaunt arms of a windmill. the city lay dark under a light sky, keeping well its secrets. thousands were out of doors enjoying the evening coolness in alley and court, yet it betrayed the life which pulsed in its arteries only by the low murmur which rose from it. nevertheless, the countess at sight of its roofs tasted the first moment of happiness which had been hers that day. she might suffer, but she had saved. those roofs would thank her! in that murmur were the voices of women and children she had redeemed! at the sight and at the thought a wave of love and tenderness swept all bitterness from her breast. a profound humility, a boundless thankfulness took possession of her. her head sank lower above her horse's mane; but it sank in reverence, not in shame. could she have known what was passing beneath those roofs which night was blending in a common gloom--could she have read the thoughts which at that moment paled the cheeks of many a stout burgher, whose gabled house looked on the great square, she had been still more thankful. for in attics and back rooms women were on their knees at that hour, praying with feverish eyes; and in the streets men--on whom their fellows, seeing the winding-sheet already at the chin, gazed askance--smiled, and showed brave looks abroad, while their hearts were sick with fear. for darkly, no man knew how, the news had come to angers. it had been known, more or less, for three days. men had read it in other men's eyes. the tongue of a scold, the sneer of an injured woman had spread it, the birds of the air had carried it. from garret window to garret window across the narrow lanes of the old town it had been whispered at dead of night; at convent grilles, and in the timber-yards beside the river. ten thousand, fifty thousand, a hundred thousand, it was rumoured, had perished in paris. in orleans, all. in tours this man's sister; at saumur that man's son. through france the word had gone forth that the huguenots must die; and in the busy town the same roof-tree sheltered fear and hate, rage and cupidity. on one side of the party-wall murder lurked fierce-eyed; on the other, the victim lay watching the latch, and shaking at a step. strong men tasted the bitterness of death, and women clasping their babes to their breasts smiled sickly into children's eyes. the signal only was lacking. it would come, said some, from saumur, where montsoreau, the duke of anjou's lieutenant-governor and a papist, had his quarters. from paris, said others, directly from the king. it might come at any hour now, in the day or in the night; the magistrates, it was whispered, were in continuous session, awaiting its coming. no wonder that from, lofty gable windows, and from dormers set high above the tiles, haggard faces looked northward and eastward, and ears sharpened by fear imagined above the noises of the city the ring of the iron shoes that carried doom. doubtless the majority desired--as the majority in france have always desired--peace. but in the purlieus about the cathedral and in the lanes where the sacristans lived, in convent parlours and college courts, among all whose livelihood the new faith threatened, was a stir as of a hive deranged. here was grumbling against the magistrates--why wait? there, stealthy plannings and arrangements; everywhere a grinding of weapons and casting of slugs. old grudges, new rivalries, a scholar's venom, a priest's dislike, here was final vent for all. none need leave this feast unsated! it was a man of this class, sent out for the purpose, who first espied count hannibal's company approaching. he bore the news into the town, and by the time the travellers reached the city gate, the dusky street within, on which lights were beginning to twinkle from booths and casements, was alive with figures running to meet them and crying the news as they ran. the travellers, weary and road-stained, had no sooner passed under the arch than they found themselves the core of a great crowd which moved with them and pressed about them; now unbonneting, and now calling out questions, and now shouting "vive le roi! vive le roi!" above the press, windows burst into light; and over all, the quaint leaning gables of the old timbered houses looked down on the hurry and tumult. they passed along a narrow street in which the rabble, hurrying at count hannibal's bridle, and often looking back to read his face, had much ado to escape harm; along this street and before the yawning doors of a great church, whence a hot breath heavy with incense and burning wax issued to meet them. a portion of the congregation had heard the tumult and struggled out, and now stood close-packed on the steps under the double vault of the portal. among them the countess's eyes, as she rode by, a sturdy man-at-arms on either hand, caught and held one face. it was the face of a tall, lean man in dusty black; and though she did not know him she seemed to have an equal attraction for him; for as their eyes met he seized the shoulder of the man next him and pointed her out. and something in the energy of the gesture, or in the thin lips and malevolent eyes of the man who pointed, chilled the countess's blood and shook her, she knew not why. until then, she had known no fear save of her husband. but at that a sense of the force and pressure of the crowd--as well as of the fierce passions, straining about her, which a word might unloose--broke upon her; and looking to the stern men on either side she fancied that she read anxiety in their faces. she glanced behind. bridle to bridle the count's men came on, pressing round her women and shielding them from the exuberance of the throng. in their faces too she thought that she traced uneasiness. what wonder if the scenes through which she had passed in paris began to recur to her mind, and shook nerves already overwrought? she began to tremble. "is there--danger?" she muttered, speaking in a low voice to bigot, who rode on her right hand. "will they do anything?" the norman snorted. "not while he is in the saddle," he said, nodding towards his master, who rode a pace in front of them, his reins loose. "there be some here know him!" bigot continued, in his drawling tone. "and more will know him if they break line. have no fear, madame, he will bring you safe to the inn. down with the huguenots?" he continued, turning from her and addressing a rogue who, holding his stirrup, was shouting the cry till he was crimson. "then why not away, and----" "the king! the king's word and leave!" the man answered. "ay, tell us!" shrieked another, looking upward, while he waved his cap; "have we the king's leave?" "you'll bide _his_ leave!" the norman retorted, indicating the count with his thumb. "or 'twill be up with you--on the three-legged horse!" "but he comes from the king!" the man panted. "to be sure. to be sure!" "then----" "you'll bide his time! that's all!" bigot answered, rather it seemed for his own satisfaction than the other's enlightenment. "you'll all bide it, you dogs!" he continued in his beard, as he cast his eye over the weltering crowd. "ha! so we are here, are we? and not too soon, either." he fell silent as they entered an open space, overlooked on one side by the dark façade of the cathedral, on the other three sides by houses more or less illumined. the rabble swept into this open space with them and before them, filled much of it in an instant, and for a while eddied and swirled this way and that, thrust onward by the worshippers who had issued from the church and backwards by those who had been first in the square, and had no mind to be hustled out of hearing. a stranger, confused by the sea of excited faces, and deafened by the clamour of "vive le roi!" "vive anjou!" mingled with cries against the huguenots, might have fancied that the whole city was arrayed before him. but he would have been wide of the mark. the scum, indeed--and a dangerous scum--frothed and foamed and spat under tavannes' bridle-hand; and here and there among them, but not of them, the dark-robed figure of a priest moved to and fro; or a benedictine, or some smooth-faced acolyte egged on to the work he dared not do. but the decent burghers were not there. they lay bolted in their houses; while the magistrates, with little heart to do aught except bow to the mob--or other their masters for the time being--shook in their council chamber. there is not a city of france which has not seen it; which has not known the moment when the mass impended, and it lay with one man to start it or stay its course. angers within its houses heard the clamour, and from the child, clinging to its mother's skirt, and wondering why she wept, to the provost, trembled, believing that the hour had come. the countess heard it too, and understood it. she caught the savage note in the voice of the mob--that note which means danger--and her heart beating wildly she looked to her husband. then, fortunately for her, fortunately for angers, it was given to all to see that in count hannibal's saddle sat a man. he raised his hand for silence, and in a minute or two--not at once, for the square was dusky--it was obtained. he rose in his stirrups, and bared his head. "i am from the king!" he cried, throwing his voice to all parts of the crowd. "and this is his majesty's pleasure and good will! that every man hold his hand until to-morrow on pain of death, or worse! and at noon his further pleasure will be known! vive le roi!" and he covered his head again. "vive le roi!" cried a number of the foremost. but their shouts were feeble and half-hearted, and were quickly drowned in a rising murmur of discontent and ill-humour, which, mingled with cries of "is that all? is there no more? down with the huguenots!" rose from all parts. presently these cries became merged in a persistent call, which had its origin, as far as could be discovered, in the darkest corner of the square. a call for "montsoreau! montsoreau! give us montsoreau!" with another man, or had tavannes turned or withdrawn, or betrayed the least anxiety, words had become actions, disorder a riot; and that in the twinkling of an eye. but count hannibal, sitting his horse, with his handful of riders behind him, watched the crowd, as little moved by it as the armed knight of notre dame. only once did he say a word. then, raising his hand as before to gain a hearing, "you ask for montsoreau?" he thundered. "you will have montfaucon if you do not quickly go to your homes!" at which, and at the glare of his eye, the more timid took fright. feeling his gaze upon them, seeing that he had no intention of withdrawing, they began to sneak away by ones and twos. soon others missed them and took the alarm, and followed. a moment and scores were streaming away through lanes and alleys and along the main street. at last the bolder and more turbulent found themselves a remnant. they glanced uneasily at one another and at tavannes, took fright in their turn, and plunging into the current hastened away, raising now and then as they passed through the streets a cry of "vive montsoreau! montsoreau!"--which was not without its menace for the morrow. count hannibal waited motionless until no more than half a dozen groups remained in the open. then he gave the word to dismount; so far, even the countess and her women had kept their saddles, lest the movement which their retreat into the inn must have caused should be misread by the mob. last of all he dismounted himself, and with lights going before him and behind, and preceded by bigot, bearing his cloak and pistols, he escorted the countess into the house. not many minutes had elapsed since he called for silence; but long before he reached the chamber looking over the square from the first floor, in which supper was being set for them, the news had flown through the length and breadth of angers that for this night the danger was past. the hawk had come to angers, and lo! it was a dove. count hannibal strode to one of the open windows and looked out. in the room, which was well lighted, were people of the house, going to and fro, setting out the table; to madame, standing beside the hearth--which held its summer dressing of green boughs--while her woman held water for her to wash, the scene recalled with painful vividness the meal at which she had been present on the morning of the st. bartholomew--the meal which had ushered in her troubles. naturally her eyes went to her husband, her mind to the horror in which she had held him then; and with a kind of shock, perhaps because the last few minutes had shown him in a new light, she compared her old opinion of him with that which, much as she feared him, she now entertained. this afternoon, if ever, within the last few hours, if at all, he had acted in a way to justify that horror and that opinion. he had treated her--brutally; he had insulted and threatened her, had almost struck her. and yet--and yet madame felt that she had moved so far from the point which she had once occupied that the old attitude was hard to understand. hardly could she believe that it was on this man, much as she still dreaded him, that she had looked with those feelings of repulsion. she was still gazing at him with eyes which strove to see two men in one, when he turned from the window. absorbed in thought she had forgotten her occupation, and stood, the towel suspended in her half-dried hands. before she knew what he was doing he was at her side; he bade the woman hold the bowl, and he rinsed his hands. then he turned, and without looking at the countess, he dried his hands on the farther end of the towel which she was still using. she blushed faintly. a something in the act, more intimate and more familiar than had ever marked their intercourse, set her blood running strangely. when he turned away and bade bigot unbuckle his spur-leathers, she stepped forward. "i will do it!" she murmured, acting on a sudden and unaccountable impulse. and as she knelt, she shook her hair about her face to hide its colour. "nay, madame, but you will soil your fingers!" he said coldly. "permit me," she muttered half coherently. and though her fingers shook, she pursued and performed her task. when she rose he thanked her; and then the devil in the man, or the nemesis he had provoked when he took her by force from another--the nemesis of jealousy, drove him to spoil all. "and for whose sake, madame?" he added with a jeer--"mine or m. de tignonville's?" and with a glance between jest and earnest, he tried to read her thoughts. she winced as if he had indeed struck her, and the hot colour fled her cheeks. "for his sake!" she said, with a shiver of pain. "that his life may be spared!" and she stood back humbly, like a beaten dog. though, indeed, it was for the sake of angers, in thankfulness for the past rather than in any desperate hope of propitiating her husband, that she had done it! perhaps he would have withdrawn his words. but before he could answer, the host, bowing to the floor, came to announce that all was ready, and that the provost of the city, for whom m. le comte had sent, was in waiting below. "let him come up!" tavannes answered, grave and frowning. "and see you, close the room, sirrah! my people will wait on us. ah!" as the provost, a burly man with a face framed for jollity, but now pale and long, entered and approached him with many salutations. "how comes it, m. le prévôt--you are the prévôt, are you not?" "yes, m. le comte." "how comes it that so great a crowd is permitted to meet in the streets? and that at my entrance, though i come unannounced, i find half of the city gathered together?" the provost stared. "respect, m. le comte," he said, "for his majesty's letters, of which you are the bearer, no doubt induced some to come together----" "who said i brought letters?" "who----" "who said i brought letters?" count hannibal repeated in a strenuous voice. and he ground his chair half about and faced the astonished magistrate. "who said i brought letters?" "why, my lord," the provost stammered, "it was everywhere yesterday----" "yesterday?" "last night, at latest--that letters were coming from the king." "by my hand?" "by your lordship's hand--whose name is so well known here," the magistrate added, in the hope of clearing the great man's brow. count hannibal laughed darkly. "my hand will be better known by-and-by," he said. "see you, sirrah, there is some practice here. what is this cry of montsoreau that i hear?" "your lordship knows that he is his grace's lieutenant-governor in saumur." "i know that, man. but is he here?" "he was at saumur yesterday, and 'twas rumoured three days back that he was coming here to extirpate the huguenots. then word came of your lordship and of his majesty's letters, and 'twas thought that m. de montsoreau would not come, his authority being superseded." "i see. and now your rabble think that they would prefer m. montsoreau. that is it, is it?" the magistrate shrugged his shoulders and opened his hands. "pigs!" he said. and having spat on the floor he looked apologetically at the lady. "true pigs!" "what connections has he here?" tavannes asked. "he is a brother of my lord the bishop's vicar, who arrived yesterday." "with a rout of shaven heads who have been preaching and stirring up the town!" count hannibal cried, his face growing red. "speak, man, is it so? but i'll be sworn it is!" "there has been preaching," the provost answered reluctantly. "montsoreau may count his brother, then, for one. he is a fool, but with a knave behind him, and a knave who has no cause to love us! and the castle? 'tis held by one of m. de montsoreau's creatures, i take it?" "yes, my lord." "with what force?" the magistrate shrugged his shoulders, and looked doubtfully at badelon, who was keeping the door. tavannes followed the glance with his usual impatience. "mon dieu, you need not look at him!" he cried. "he has sacked st. peter's and singed the pope's beard with a holy candle! he has been served on the knee by cardinals; and is turk or jew, or monk or huguenot as i please. and madame"--for the provost's astonished eyes, after resting awhile on the old soldier's iron visage, had passed to her--"is huguenot, so you need have no fear of her! there, speak, man," with impatience, "and cease to think of your own skin!" the provost drew a deep breath, and fixed his small eyes on count hannibal. "if i knew, my lord, what you--why, my own sister's son"--he paused, his face began to work, his voice shook--"is a huguenot! ay, my lord, a huguenot! and they know it!" he continued, a flush of rage augmenting the emotion which his countenance betrayed. "ay, they know it! and they push me on at the council, and grin behind my back; lescot, who was provost two years back and would match his son with my daughter; and thuriot who prints for the university! they nudge one another, and egg me on, till half the city thinks it is i who would kill the huguenots! i!" again his voice broke. "and my own sister's son a huguenot! and my girl at home white-faced for--for his sake." tavannes scanned the man shrewdly. "perhaps she is of the same way of thinking?" he said. the provost started, and lost one-half of his colour. "god forbid!" he cried, "saving madame's presence! who says so, my lord, lies!" "ay, lies not far from the truth." "my lord!" "pish, man, lescot has said it and will act on it. and thuriot, who prints for the university! would you 'scape them? you would? then listen to me. i want but two things. first, how many men has montsoreau's fellow in the castle? few, i know, for he is a niggard, and if he spends, he spends the duke's pay." "twelve. but five can hold it." "ay, but twelve dare not leave it! let them stew in their own broth! and now for the other matter. see, man, that before daybreak three gibbets, with a ladder and two ropes apiece, are set up in the square. and let one be before this door. you understand? then let it be done! the rest," he added with a ferocious smile, "you may leave to me." the magistrate nodded rather feebly. "doubtless," he said, his eye wandering here and there, "there are rogues in angers. and for rogues the gibbet! but saving your presence, my lord, it is a question whether----" but m. de tavannes' patience was exhausted. "will you do it?" he roared. "that is the question. and the only question." the provost jumped, he was so startled. "certainly, my lord, certainly!" he muttered humbly. "certainly, i will!" and bowing frequently, but saying no more, he backed himself out of the room. count hannibal laughed grimly after his fashion, and doubtless thought that he had seen the last of the magistrate for that night. great was his wrath therefore, when, less than a minute later--and before bigot had carved for him--the door opened and the provost appeared again. he slid in, and without giving the courage he had gained on the stairs time to cool, plunged into his trouble. "it stands this way, m. le comte," he bleated. "if i put up the gibbets and a man is hanged, and you have letters from the king, 'tis a rogue the less and no harm done. but if you have no letters from his majesty, then it is on my shoulders they will put it, and 'twill be odd if they do not find a way to hang me to right him." count hannibal smiled grimly. "and your sister's son?" he sneered. "and your girl who is white-faced for his sake, and may burn on the same bonfire with him? and----" "mercy! mercy!" the wretched provost cried. and he wrung his hands. "lescot and thuriot----" "perhaps we may hang lescot and thuriot----" "but i see no way out," the provost babbled. "no way! no way!" "i am going to show you one," tavannes retorted. "if the gibbets are not in place by sunrise, i shall hang you from this window. that is one way out; and you'll be wise to take the other! for the rest and for your comfort, if i have no letters, it is not always to paper that the king commits his inmost heart." the magistrate bowed. he quaked, he doubted, but he had no choice. "my lord," he said, "i put myself in your hands. it shall be done, certainly it shall be done. but, but----" and shaking his head in foreboding he turned to the door. at the last moment, when he was within a pace of it, the countess rose impulsively to her feet. she called to him. "m. le prévôt, a minute, if you please," she said. "there may be trouble to morrow; your daughter may be in some peril. you will do well to send her to me. my lord"--and on the word her voice, timid before, grew full and steady--"will see that i am safe. and she will be safe with me." the provost saw before him only a gracious lady, moved by a thoughtfulness unusual in persons of her rank. he was at no pains to explain the flame in her cheek, or the soft light which glowed in her eyes, as she looked at him, across her formidable husband. he was only profoundly grateful--moved even to tears. humbly thanking her he accepted her offer for his child, and withdrew wiping his eyes. when he was gone, and the door had closed behind him, tavannes turned to the countess, who still kept her feet. "you are very confident this evening," he sneered. "gibbets do not frighten you, it seems, madame. perhaps if you knew for whom the one before the door is intended?" she met his look with a searching gaze, and spoke with a ring of defiance in her tone. "i do not believe it!" she said. "i do not believe it! you who save angers will not destroy him!" and then her woman's mood changing, with courage and colour ebbing together, "oh, no, you will not! you will not!" she wailed. and she dropped on her knees before him, and holding up her clasped hands, "god will put it in your heart to spare him--and me!" he rose with a stifled oath, took two steps from her, and in a tone hoarse and constrained, "go!" he said. "go, or sit! do you hear, madame? you try my patience too far!" but when she had gone his face was radiant. he had brought her, he had brought all, to the point at which he aimed. to-morrow his triumph awaited him. to-morrow he who had cast her down would raise her up. he did not foresee what a day would bring forth. chapter xxviii. in the little chapter-house. the sun was an hour high, and in angers the shops and booths, after the early fashion of the day, were open or opening. through all the gates country folk were pressing into the gloomy streets of the black town with milk and fruit; and at doors and windows housewives cheapened fish, or chaffered over the fowl for the pot. for men must eat, though there be gibbets in the place ste.-croix: gaunt gibbets, high and black and twofold, each, with its dangling ropes, like a double note of interrogation. but gibbets must eat also; and between ground and noose was so small a space in those days that a man dangled almost before he knew it. the sooner, then, the paniers were empty, and the clown, who pays for all, was beyond the gates, the better he, for one, would be pleased. in the market, therefore, was hurrying. men cried their wares in lowered voices, and tarried but a little for the oldest customer. the bargain struck, the more timid among the buyers hastened to shut themselves into their houses again; the bolder, who ventured to the place to confirm the rumour with their eyes, talked in corners and in lanes, avoided the open, and eyed the sinister preparations from afar. the shadow of the things which stood before the cathedral affronting the sunlight with their gaunt black shapes lay across the length and breadth of angers. even in the corners where men whispered, even in the cloisters where men bit their nails in impotent auger, the stillness of fear ruled all. whatever count hannibal had it in his mind to tell the city, it seemed unlikely--and hour by hour it seemed less likely--that any would contradict him. he knew this as he walked in the sunlight before the inn, his spurs ringing on the stones as he made each turn, his movements watched by a hundred peering eyes. after all, it was not hard to rule, nor to have one's way in this world. but then, he went on to remember, not everyone had his self-control, or that contempt for the weak and unsuccessful which lightly took the form of mercy. he held angers safe, curbed by his gibbets. with m. de montsoreau he might have trouble; but the trouble would be slight, for he knew montsoreau, and what it was the lieutenant-governor valued above profitless bloodshed. he might have felt less confident had he known what was passing at that moment in a room off the small cloister of the abbey of st. aubin, a room known at angers as the little chapter-house. it was a long chamber with a groined roof and stone walls, panelled as high as a tall man might reach with dark chestnut wood. gloomily lighted by three grated windows, which looked on a small inner green, the last resting-place of the benedictines, the room itself seemed at first sight no more than the last resting-place of worn-out odds and ends. piles of thin sheepskin folios, dog's-eared and dirty, the rejected of the choir, stood against the walls; here and there among them lay a large brass-bound tome on which the chains that had fettered it to desk or lectern still rusted. a broken altar cumbered one corner: a stand bearing a curious--and rotting--map filled another. in the other two corners a medley of faded scutcheons and banners, which had seen their last toussaint procession, mouldered slowly into dust--into much dust. the air of the room was full of it. in spite of which the long oak table that filled the middle of the chamber shone with use: so did the great metal standish which it bore. and though the seven men who sat about the table seemed, at a first glance and in that gloomy light, as rusty and faded as the rubbish behind them, it needed but a second look at their lean jaws and hungry eyes to be sure of their vitality. he who sat in the great chair at the end of the table was indeed rather plump than thin. his white hands, gay with rings, were well cared for; his peevish chin rested on a falling-collar of lace worthy of a cardinal. but though the bishop's vicar was heard with deference, it was noticeable that when he had ceased to speak his hearers looked to the priest on his left, to father pezelay, and waited to hear his opinion before they gave their own. the father's energy, indeed, had dominated the angevins, clerks and townsfolk alike, as it had dominated the parisian _dévotes_ who knew him well. the vigour which hate inspires passes often for solid strength; and he who had seen with his own eyes the things done in paris spoke with an authority to which the more timid quickly and easily succumbed. yet gibbets are ugly things; and thuriot, the printer, whose pride had been tickled by a summons to the conclave, began to wonder if he had done wisely in coming. lescot, too, who presently ventured a word. "but if m. de tavannes' order be to do nothing," he began doubtfully, "you would not, reverend father, have us resist his majesty's will?" "god forbid, my friend!" father pezelay answered with unction. "but his majesty's will is to do--to do for the glory of god and the saints and his holy church! how? is that which was lawful at saumur unlawful here? is that which was lawful at tours unlawful here? is that which the king did in paris--to the utter extermination of the unbelieving and the purging of that sacred city--against his will here? nay, his will is to do--to do as they have done in paris and in tours and in saumur! but his minister is unfaithful! the woman whom he has taken to his bosom has bewildered him with her charms and her sorceries, and put it in his mind to deny the mission he bears." "you are sure, beyond chance of error, that he bears letters to that effect, good father?" the printer ventured. "ask my lord's vicar! he knows the letters and the import of them!" "they are to that effect," the archdeacon answered, drumming on the table with his fingers and speaking somewhat sullenly. "i was in the chancellery and i saw them. they are duplicates of those sent to bordeaux." "then the preparations he has made must be against the huguenots," lescot, the ex-provost, said with a sigh of relief. and thuriot's face lightened also. "he must intend to hang one or two of the ringleaders, before he deals with the herd." "think it not!" father pezelay cried in his high shrill voice. "i tell you the woman has bewitched him, and he will deny his letters!" for a moment there was silence. then, "but dare he do that, reverend father?" lescot asked slowly and incredulously. "what? suppress the king's letters?" "there is nothing he will not dare! there is nothing he has not dared!" the priest answered vehemently; the recollection of the scene in the great guard-room of the louvre, when tavannes had so skilfully turned the tables on him, instilling venom into his tone. "she who lives with him is the devil's. she has bewitched him with her spells and her sabbaths! she bears the mark of the beast on her bosom, and for her the fire is even now kindling!" the laymen who were present shuddered. the two canons who faced them crossed themselves, muttering "avaunt, satan!" "it is for you to decide," the priest continued, gazing on them passionately, "whether you will side with him or with the angel of god! for i tell you it was none other executed the divine judgments at paris! it was none other but the angel of god held the sword at tours! it is none other holds the sword here! are you for him or against him? are you for him, or for the woman with the mark of the beast? are you for god or against god? for the hour draws near! the time is at hand! you must choose! you must choose!" and, striking the table with his hand, he leaned forward, and with glittering eyes fixed each of them in turn, as he cried, "you must choose! you must choose!" he came to the archdeacon last. the bishop's vicar fidgeted in his chair, his face a shade more sallow, his cheeks hanging a trifle more loosely, than ordinary. "if my brother were here!" he muttered. "if m. de montsoreau had arrived!" but father pezelay knew whose will would prevail if montsoreau met tavannes at his leisure. to force montsoreau's hand, to surround him on his first entrance with a howling mob already committed to violence, to set him at their head and pledge him before he knew with whom he had to do--this had been, this still was, the priest's design. but how was he to pursue it while those gibbets stood? while their shadows lay even on the chapter table, and darkened the faces of his most forward associates? that for a moment staggered the priest; and had not private hatred, ever renewed by the touch of the scar on his brow, fed the fire of bigotry he had yielded, as the rabble of angers were yielding, reluctant and scowling, to the hand which held the city in its grip. but to have come so far on the wings of hate, and to do nothing! to have come avowedly to preach a crusade, and to sneak away cowed! to have dragged the bishop's vicar hither, and fawned and cajoled and threatened by turns--and for nothing! these things were passing bitter--passing bitter, when the morsel of vengeance he had foreseen smacked so sweet on the tongue. for it was no common vengeance, no layman's vengeance, coarse and clumsy, which the priest had imagined in the dark hours of the night, when his feverish brain kept him wakeful. to see count hannibal roll in the dust had gone but a little way towards satisfying him. no! but to drag from his arms the woman for whom he had sinned, to subject her to shame and torture in the depths of some convent, and finally to burn her as a witch--it was that which had seemed to the priest in the night hours a vengeance sweet in the mouth. but the thing seemed unattainable in the circumstances. the city was cowed; the priest knew that no dependence was to be placed on montsoreau, whose vice was avarice and whose object was plunder. to the archdeacon's feeble words, therefore, "we must look," the priest retorted sternly, "not to m. de montsoreau, reverend father, but to the pious of angers! we must cry in the streets, 'they do violence to god! they wound god and his mother!' and so, and so only, shall the unholy thing be rooted out!" "amen!" the cure of st.-benoist muttered, lifting his head; and his dull eyes glowed awhile. "amen! amen!" then his chin sank again upon his breast. but the canons of angers looked doubtfully at one another, and timidly at the speakers; the meat was too strong for them. and lescot and thuriot shuffled in their seats. at length, "i do not know," lescot muttered timidly. "you do not know?" "what can be done!" "the people will know!" father pezelay retorted. "trust them!" "but the people will not rise without a leader." "then will i lead them!" "even so, reverend father--i doubt," lescot faltered. and thuriot nodded assent. gibbets were erected in those days rather for laymen than for the church. "you doubt!" the priest cried. "you doubt!" his baleful eyes passed from one to the other; from them to the rest of the company. he saw that with the exception of the curé of st.-benoist all were of a mind. "you doubt! nay, but i see what it is! it is this," he continued slowly and in a different tone, "the king's will goes for nothing in angers! his writ runs not here. and holy church cries in vain for help against the oppressor. i tell you, the sorceress who has bewitched him has bewitched you also. beware! beware, therefore, lest it be with you as with him! and the fire that shall consume her, spare not your houses!" the two citizens crossed themselves, grew pale and shuddered. the fear of witchcraft was great in angers, the peril, if accused of it, enormous. even the canons looked startled. "if--if my brother were here," the archdeacon repeated feebly, "something might be done!" "vain is the help of man!" the priest retorted sternly, and with a gesture of sublime dismissal. "i turn from you to a mightier than you!" and, leaning his head on his hands, he covered his face. the archdeacon and the churchmen looked at him, and from him their scared eyes passed to one another. their one desire now was to be quit of the matter, to have done with it, to escape; and one by one with the air of whipped curs they rose to their feet, and in a hurry to be gone muttered a word of excuse shamefacedly and got themselves out of the room. lescot and the printer were not slow to follow, and in less than a minute the two strange preachers, the men from paris, remained the only occupants of the chamber; save, to be precise, a lean official in rusty black, who throughout the conference had sat by the door. until the last shuffling footstep had ceased to sound in the still cloister no one spoke. then father pezelay looked up, and the eyes of the two priests met in a long gaze. "what think you?" pezelay muttered at last. "wet hay," the other answered dreamily, "is slow to kindle, yet burns if the fire be big enough. at what hour does he state his will?" "at noon." "in the council chamber!" "it is so given out." "it is three hundred yards from the place ste.-croix and he must go guarded," the curé of st.-benoist continued in the same dull fashion. "he cannot leave many in the house with the woman. if it were attacked in his absence----" "he would return, and----" father pezelay shook his head, his cheek turned a shade paler. clearly, he saw with his mind's eye more than he expressed. "_hoc est corpus_," the other muttered, his dreamy gaze on the table. "if he met us then, on his way to the house, and we had bell, book, and candle, would he stop?" "he would not stop!" father pezelay rejoined. "he would not?" "i know the man!" "then----" but the rest st.-beuoist whispered, his head drooping forward; whispered so low that even the lean man behind him, listening with greedy ears, failed to follow the meaning of his superior's words. but that he spoke plainly enough for his hearer father pezelay's face was witness. astonishment, fear, hope, triumph, the lean pale face reflected all in turn; and, underlying all, a subtle malignant mischief, as if a devil's eyes peeped through the holes in an opera mask. when the other was at last silent pezelay drew a deep breath. "'tis bold! bold! bold!" he muttered. "but have you thought? he who bears the----" "brunt?" the other whispered with a chuckle. "he may suffer? yes, but it will not be you or i! no, he who was last here shall be first there! the archdeacon-vicar--if we can persuade him--who knows but that even for him the crown of martyrdom is reserved?" the dull eyes flickered with unholy amusement. "and the alarm that brings him from the council chamber?" "need not of necessity be real. the pinch will be to make use of it. make use of it--and the hay will burn!" "you think it will?" "what can one man do against a thousand? his own people dare not support him." father pezelay turned to the lean man who kept the door, and, beckoning to him, conferred a while with him in a low voice. "a score or so i might get," the man answered presently after some debate. "and well posted, something might be done. but we are not in paris, good father, where the quarter of the butchers is to be counted on, and men know that to kill huguenots is to do god service! here"--he shrugged his shoulders contemptuously--"they are sheep." "it is the king's will," the priest answered, frowning on him darkly. "ay, but it is not tavannes," the man in black answered with a grimace. "and he rules here today." "fool!" pezelay retorted. "he has not twenty with him. do you do as i say, and leave the rest to heaven!" "and to you, good master?" the other answered. "for it is not all you are going to do," he continued with a grin, "that you have told me. well, so be it! i'll do my part, but i wish we were in paris. ste. genevieve is ever kind to her servants." chapter xxix. the escape. in a small back room on the second floor of the inn at angers, a mean, dingy room which looked into a narrow lane, and commanded no prospect more informing than a blind wall, two men sat, fretting; or, rather, one man sat, his chin resting on his hand, while his companion, less patient or more sanguine, strode ceaselessly to and fro. in the first despair of capture--for they were prisoners--they had made up their minds to the worst, and the slow hours of two days had passed over their heads without kindling more than a faint spark of hope in their breasts. but when they had been taken out and forced to mount and ride--at first with feet tied to the horses' girths--they had let the change, the movement, and the open air fan the flame. they had muttered a word to one another, they had wondered, they had reasoned. and though the silence of their guards--from whose sour vigilance the keenest question drew no response--seemed of ill-omen, and, taken with their knowledge of the man into whose hands they had fallen, should have quenched the spark, these two, having special reasons, the one the buoyancy of youth, the other the faith of an enthusiast, cherished the flame. in the breast of one indeed it had blazed into a confidence so arrogant that he now took all for granted, and was not content. "it is easy for you to say, 'patience!'" he cried, as he walked the floor in a fever. "you stand to lose no more than your life, and if you escape go free at all points! but he has robbed me of more than life! of my love, and my self-respect, curse him! he has worsted me not once, but twice and thrice! and if he lets me go now, dismissing me with my life, i shall--i shall kill him!" he concluded, through his teeth. "you are hard to please!" "i shall kill him!" "that were to fall still lower!" the minister answered, gravely regarding him. "i would, m. de tignonville, you remembered that you are not yet out of jeopardy. such a frame of mind as yours is no good preparation for death, let me tell you!" "he will not kill us!" tignonville cried. "he knows better than most men how to avenge himself!" "then he is above most!" la tribe retorted. "for my part i wish i were sure of the fact, and i should sit here more at ease." "if we could escape, now, of ourselves!" tignonville cried. "then we should save not only life, but honour! man, think of it! if we could escape, not by his leave but against it! are you sure that this is angers!" "as sure as a man can be who has only seen the black town once or twice!" la tribe answered, moving to the casement--which was not glazed--and peering through the rough wooden lattice. "but if we could escape we are strangers here. we know not which way to go, nor where to find shelter. and for the matter of that," he continued, turning from the window with a shrug of resignation, "'tis no use to talk of it while yonder foot goes up and down the passage, and its owner bears the key in his pocket." "if we could get out of his power as we came into it!" tignonville cried. "ay, if! but it is not every floor has a trap!" "we could take up a board." the minister raised his eyebrows. "we could take up a board!" the younger man repeated; and he stepped the mean chamber from end to end, his eyes on the floor. "or--yes, _mon dieu!_" with a change of attitude, "we might break through the roof!" and, throwing back his head, he scanned the cobwebbed surface of laths which rested on the unceiled joists. "umph!" "well, why not, monsieur? why not break through the ceiling?" tignonville repeated, and in a fit of energy he seized his companion's shoulder and shook him. "stand on the bed, and you can reach it." "and the floor which rests on it!" "_par dieu_, there is no floor! 'tis a cockloft above us! see there! and there!" and the young man sprang on the bed, and thrust the rowel of a spur through the laths. la tribe's expression changed. he rose slowly to his feet. "try again!" he said. tignonville, his face red, drove the spur again between the laths, and worked it to and fro until he could pass his fingers into the hole he had made. then he gripped and bent down a length of one of the laths, and, passing his arm as far as the elbow through the hole, moved it this way and that. his eyes, as he looked down at his companion through the lolling rubbish, gleamed with triumph. "where is your floor now?" he asked. "you can touch nothing?" "nothing. it's open. a little more and i might touch the tiles." and he strove to reach higher. for answer la tribe gripped him. "down! down, monsieur," he muttered. "they are bringing our dinner." tignonville thrust back the lath as well as he could, and slipped to the floor; and hastily the two swept the rubbish from the bed. when badelon, attended by two men, came in with the meal he found la tribe at the window blocking much of the light, and tignonville laid sullenly on the bed. even a suspicious eye must have failed to detect what had been done; the three who looked in suspected nothing and saw nothing. they went out, the key was turned again on the prisoners, and the footsteps of two of the men were heard descending the stairs. "we have an hour, now!" tignonville cried; and leaping, with flaming eyes, on the bed, he fell to hacking and jabbing and tearing at the laths amid a rain of dust and rubbish. fortunately the stuff, falling on the bed, made little noise; and in five minutes, working half-choked and in a frenzy of impatience, he had made a hole through which he could thrust his arms, a hole which extended almost from one joist to its neighbour. by this time the air was thick with floating lime; the two could scarcely breathe, yet they dared not pause. mounting on la tribe's shoulders--who took his stand on the bed--the young man thrust his head and arms through the hole, and, resting his elbows on the joists, dragged himself up, and with a final effort of strength landed nose and knees on the timbers, which formed his supports. a moment to take breath, and press his torn and bleeding fingers to his lips; then, reaching down, he gave a hand to his companion and dragged him to the same place of vantage. they found themselves in a long narrow cockloft, not more than six feet high at the highest, and insufferably hot. between the tiles, which sloped steeply on either hand, a faint light filtered in, disclosing the giant rooftree running the length of the house, and at the farther end of the loft the main tie-beam, from which a network of knees and struts rose to the rooftree. tignonville, who seemed possessed by unnatural energy, stayed only to put off his boots. then "courage!" he panted, "all goes well!" and, carrying his boots in his hands, he led the way, stepping gingerly from joist to joist until he reached the tie-beam. he climbed on it, and, squeezing himself between the struts, entered a second loft similar to the first. at the farther end of this a rough wall of bricks in a timber-frame lowered his hopes; but as he approached it, joy! low down in the corner where the roof descended, a small door, square, and not more than two feet high, disclosed itself. the two crept to it on hands and knees and listened. "it will lead to the leads, i doubt?" la tribe whispered. they dared not raise their voices. "as well that way as another!" tignonville answered recklessly. he was the more eager, for there is a fear which transcends the fear of death. his eyes shone through the mask of dust, the sweat ran down to his chin, his breath came and went noisily. "naught matters if we can escape him!" he panted. and he pushed the door recklessly. it flew open, the two drew back their faces with a cry of alarm. they were looking, not into the sunlight, but into a grey dingy garret open to the roof, and occupying the upper part of a gable-end somewhat higher than the wing in which they had been confined. filthy truckle-beds and ragged pallets covered the floor, and, eked out by old saddles and threadbare horse-rugs, marked the sleeping quarters either of the servants or of travellers of the meaner sort. but the dinginess was naught to the two who knelt looking into it, afraid to move. was the place empty? that was the point; the question which had first stayed, and then set their pulses at the gallop. painfully their eyes searched each huddle of clothing, scanned each dubious shape. and slowly, as the silence persisted, their heads came forward until the whole floor lay within the field of sight. and still no sound! at last tignonville stirred, crept through the doorway, and rose up, peering round him. he nodded, and, satisfied that all was safe, the minister followed him. they found themselves a pace or so from the head of a narrow staircase, leading downwards. without moving they could see the door which closed it below. tignonville signed to la tribe to wait, and himself crept down the stairs. he reached the door, and, stooping, set his eye to the hole through which the string of the latch passed. a moment he looked, and then, turning on tiptoe, he stole up again, his face fallen. "you may throw the handle after the hatchet!" he muttered. "the man on guard is within four yards of the door." and in the rage of disappointment he struck the air with his hand. "is he looking this way?" "no. he is looking down the passage towards our room. but it is impossible to pass him." la tribe nodded, and moved softly to one of the lattices which lighted the room. it might be possible to escape that way, by the parapet and the tiles. but he found that the casement was set high in the roof, which sloped steeply from its sill to the eaves. he passed to the other window, in which a little wicket in the lattice stood open. he looked through it. in the giddy void white pigeons were wheeling in the dazzling sunshine, and gazing down he saw far below him, in the hot square, a row of booths, and troops of people moving to and fro like pigmies; and--and a strange thing, in the middle of all! involuntarily, as if the persons below could have seen his face at the tiny dormer, he drew back. he beckoned to m. tignonville to come to him; and when the young man complied, he bade him in a whisper look down. "see!" he muttered. "there!" the younger man saw and drew in his breath. even under the coating of dust his face turned a shade greyer. "you had no need to fear that he would let us go!" the minister muttered, with half-conscious irony. "no." "nor i! there are two ropes." and la tribe breathed a few words of prayer. the object which had fixed his gaze was a gibbet: the only one of the three which could be seen from their eyrie. tignonville, on the other hand, turned sharply away, and with haggard eyes stared about the room. "we might defend the staircase," he muttered. "two men might hold it for a time." "we have no food." "no." and then he gripped la tribe's arm. "i have it!" he cried. "and it may do! it must do!" he continued, his face working. "see!" and lifting from the floor one of the ragged pallets, from which the straw protruded in a dozen places, he set it flat on his head. it drooped at each corner--it had seen much wear--and while it almost hid his face, it revealed his grimy chin and mortar-stained shoulders. he turned to his companion. la tribe's face glowed as he looked. "it may do!" he cried. "it's a chance! but you are right! it may do!" tignonville dropped the ragged mattress, and tore off his coat; then he rent his breeches at the knee, so that they hung loose about his calves. "do you the same!" he cried. "and quick, man, quick! leave your boots! once outside we must pass through the streets under these"--he took up his burden again and set it on his head--"until we reach a quiet part, and there we----" "can hide! or swim the river!" the minister said. he had followed his companion's example, and now stood under a similar burden. with breeches rent and whitened, and his upper garments in no better case, he looked a sorry figure. tignonville eyed him with satisfaction, and turned to the staircase. "come," he cried, "there is not a moment to be lost. at any minute they may enter our room and find it empty! you are ready? then, not too softly, or it may rouse suspicion! and mumble something at the door." he began himself to scold, and, muttering incoherently, stumbled down the staircase, the pallet on his head rustling against the wall on each side. arrived at the door he fumbled clumsily with the latch, and, when the door gave way, plumped out with an oath--as if the awkward burden he bore were the only thing on his mind. badelon--he was on duty--stared at the apparition; but the next moment he sniffed the pallet, which was none of the freshest, and, turning up his nose, he retreated a pace. he had no suspicion; the men did not come from the part of the house where the prisoners lay, and he stood aside to let them pass. in a moment, staggering, and going a little unsteadily, as if they scarcely saw their way, they had passed by him, and were descending the staircase. so far well! unfortunately, when they reached the foot of that flight they came on the main passage of the first-floor. it ran right and left, and tignonville did not know which way he must turn to reach the lower staircase. yet he dared not hesitate; in the passage, waiting about the doors, were four or five servants, and in the distance he caught sight of three men belonging to tavannes' company. at any moment, too, an upper servant might meet them, ask what they were doing, and detect the fraud. he turned at random, therefore--to the left as it chanced--and marched along bravely, until the very thing happened which he had feared. a man came from a room plump upon them, saw them, and held up his hands in horror. "what are you doing!" he cried in a rage and with an oath. "who set you on this?" tignonville's tongue clave to the roof of his mouth. la tribe from behind muttered something about the stable. "and time too!" the man said. "faugh! but how come you this way! are you drunk? here!" he opened the door of a musty closet beside him, "pitch them in here, do you hear! and take them down when it is dark! faugh! i wonder you did not carry the things through her ladyship's room at once! if my lord had been in and met you! now then, do as i tell you! are you drunk!" with a sullen air tignonville threw in his mattress. la tribe did the same. fortunately the passage was ill-lighted, and there were many helpers and strange servants in the inn. the butler only thought them ill-looking fellows who knew no better. "now be off!" he continued irascibly, "this is no place for your sort. be off!" and, as they moved, "coming! coming!" he cried in answer to a distant summons; and he hurried away on the errand which their appearance had interrupted. tignonville would have gone to work to recover the pallets, for the man had left the key in the door. but as he went to do so the butler looked back, and the two were obliged to make a pretence of following him. a moment, however, and he was gone; and tignonville turned anew to regain them. a second time fortune was adverse; a door within a pace of him opened, a woman came out. she recoiled from the strange figure; her eyes met his. unluckily the light from the room behind her fell on his face, and with a shrill cry she named him. one second and all had been lost, for the crowd of idlers at the other end of the passage had caught her cry, and were looking that way. with presence of mind tignonville clapped his hand on her mouth, and, huddling her by force into the room, followed her, with la tribe at his heels. it was a large room, in which seven or eight people, who had been at prayers when the cry startled them, were rising from their knees. the first thing they saw was javette on the threshold, struggling in the grasp of a wild man, ragged and begrimed; they deemed the city risen and the massacre upon them. carlat threw himself before his mistress, the countess in her turn sheltered a young girl, who stood beside her and from whose face the last trace of colour had fled. madame carlat and a waiting-woman ran shrieking to the window; another instant and the alarm would have gone abroad. tignonville's voice stopped it. "don't you know me?" he cried. "madame! you at least! carlat! are you all mad?" the words stayed them where they stood in an astonishment scarce less than their alarm. the countess tried twice to speak; the third time, "have you escaped?" she muttered. tignonville nodded, his eyes bright with triumph. "so far," he said. "but they may be on our heels at any moment! where can we hide?" the countess, her hand pressed to her side, looked at javette. "the door, girl!" she whispered. "lock it!" "ay, lock it! and they can go by the backstairs," madame carlat answered, awaking suddenly to the situation. "through my closet! once in the yard they may pass out through the stables." "which way?" tignonville asked impatiently. "don't stand looking at me, but----" "through this door!" madame carlat answered, hurrying to it. he was following when the countess stepped forward and interposed between him and the door. "stay!" she cried; and there was not one who did not notice a new decision in her voice, a new dignity in her bearing. "stay, monsieur, we may be going too fast. to go out now and in that guise--may it not be to incur greater peril than you incur here? i feel sure that you are in no danger of your life at present. therefore, why run the risk----" "in no danger, madame!" he cried, interrupting her in astonishment. "have you seen the gibbet in the square? do you call that no danger?" "it is not erected for you." "no?" "no, monsieur," she answered firmly, "i swear it is not. and i know of reasons, urgent reasons, why you should not go. m. de tavannes"--she named her husband nervously, as conscious of the weak spot--"before he rode abroad laid strict orders on all to keep within, since the smallest matter might kindle the city. therefore, m. de tignonville, i request, nay i entreat," she continued with greater urgency, as she saw his gesture of denial, "you to stay here until he returns." "and you, madame, will answer for my life!" she faltered. for a moment, a moment only, her colour ebbed. what if she deceived herself! what if she surrendered her old lover to death? what if--but the doubt was of a moment only. her duty was plain. "i will answer for it," she said, with pale lips, "if you remain here. and i beg, i implore you--by the love you once had for me, m. tignonville," she added desperately, seeing that he was about to refuse, "to remain here." "once!" he retorted, lashing himself into ignoble rage. "by the love i once had! say, rather, the love i have, madame--for i am no woman-weathercock to wed the winner, and hold or not hold, stay or go, as he commands! you, it seems," he continued with a sneer, "have learned the wife's lesson well! you would practise on me now, as you practised on me the other night when you stood between him and me! i yielded then, i spared him. and what did i get by it? bonds and a prison! and what shall i get now! the same! no, madame," he continued bitterly, addressing himself as much to the carlats and the others as to his old mistress. "i do not change! i loved! i love! i was going and i go! if death lay beyond that door"--and he pointed to it--"and life at his will were certain here, i would pass the threshold rather than take my life of him!" and, dragging la tribe with him, with a passionate gesture he rushed by her, opened the door, and disappeared in the next room. the countess took one pace forward, as if she would have followed him, as if she would have tried farther persuasion. but as she moved a cry rooted her to the spot. a rush of feet and the babel of many voices filled the passage with a tide of sound, which drew rapidly nearer. the escape was known! would the fugitives have time to slip out below? someone knocked at the door, tried it, pushed and beat on it. but the countess and all in the room had run to the windows and were looking out. if the two had not yet made their escape they must be taken. yet no; as the countess leaned from the window, first one dusty figure and then a second darted from a door below, and made for the nearest turning out of the place ste.-croix. before they gained it, four men, of whom badelon, his grey locks flying, was first, dashed out in pursuit, and the street rang with cries of "stop him! seize him! seize him!" someone--one of the pursuers or another--to add to the alarm let off a musket, and in a moment, as if the report had been a signal, the place was in a hubbub, people flocked into it with mysterious quickness, and from a neighbouring roof--whence, precisely, it was impossible to say--the crackling fire of a dozen arquebuses alarmed the city far and wide. unfortunately, the fugitives had been baulked at the first turning. making for a second, they found it choked, and, swerving, darted across the place towards st.-maurice, seeking to lose themselves in the gathering crowd. but the pursuers clung desperately to their skirts, overturning here a man and there a child; and then in a twinkling, tignonville, as he ran round a booth, tripped over a peg and fell, and la tribe stumbled over him and fell also. the four riders flung themselves fiercely on their prey, secured them, and began to drag them with oaths and curses towards the door of the inn. the countess had seen all from her window; had held her breath while they ran, had drawn it sharply when they fell. now "they have them!" she muttered, a sob choking her, "they have them!" and she clasped her hands. if he had followed her advice! if he had only followed her advice! but the issue proved less certain than she deemed it. the crowd, which grew each moment, knew nothing of pursuers or pursued. on the contrary, a cry went up that the riders were huguenots, and that the huguenots were rising and slaying the catholics; and as no story was too improbable for those days, and this was one constantly set about, first one stone flew, and then another, and another. a man with a staff darted forward and struck badelon on the shoulder, two or three others pressed in and jostled the riders; and if three of tavannes' following had not run out on the instant and faced the mob with their pikes, and for a moment forced them to give back, the prisoners would have been rescued at the very door of the inn. as it was they were dragged in, and the gates were flung to and barred in the nick of time. another moment, almost another second, and the mob had seized them. as it was, a hail of stones poured on the front of the inn, and amid the rising yells of the rabble there presently floated heavy and slow over the city the tolling of the great bell of st. maurice. chapter xxx. sacrilege! m. de montsoreau, lieutenant-governor of saumur, almost rose from his seat in his astonishment. "what! no letters?" he cried, a hand on either arm of his chair. the magistrates stared, one and all. "no letters?" they muttered. and "no letters?" the provost chimed in more faintly. count hannibal looked smiling round the council table. he alone was unmoved. "no," he said. "i bear none." m. de montsoreau, who, travel-stained and in his corselet, had the second place of honour at the foot of the table, frowned. "but--but, m. le comte," he said, "my instructions from monsieur were to proceed to carry out his majesty's will in co-operation with you, who, i understood, would bring letters _de par le roi_." "i had letters," count hannibal answered, negligently. "but on the way i mislaid them." "mislaid them?" montsoreau cried, unable to believe his ears; while the smaller dignitaries of the city, the magistrates and churchmen, who sat on either side of the table, gaped open-mouthed. it was incredible! it was unbelievable! mislay the king's letters! who had ever heard of such a thing? "yes, i mislaid them. lost them, if you like it better." "but you jest!" the lieutenant-governor retorted, moving uneasily in his chair. he was a man more highly named for address than courage; and, like most men skilled in finesse, he was prone to suspect a trap. "you jest, surely, monsieur! men do not lose his majesty's letters, by the way." "when they contain his majesty's will, no," tavannes answered, with a peculiar smile. "you imply, then?" count hannibal shrugged his shoulders but had not answered when bigot entered and handed him his sweetmeat box; he paused to open it and select a prune. he was long in selecting; but no change of countenance led any of those at the table to suspect that inside the lid of the box was a message--a scrap of paper informing him that montsoreau had left fifty spears in the suburb without the saumur gate, besides those whom he had brought openly into the town. tavannes read the note slowly while he seemed to be choosing his fruit. and then, "imply?" he answered. "i imply nothing, m. de montsoreau." "but----" "but that sometimes his majesty finds it prudent to give orders which he does not mean to be carried out. there are things which start up before the eye," tavannes continued, negligently tapping the box on the table, "and there are things which do not; sometimes the latter are the more important. you, better than i, m. de montsoreau, know that the king in the gallery at the louvre is one, and in his closet is another." "yes." "and that being so----" "you do not mean to carry the letters into effect?" "had i the letters, certainly, my friend. i should be bound by them. but i took good care to lose them," tavannes added naïvely. "i am no fool." "umph!" "however," count hannibal continued, with an airy gesture, "that is my affair. if you, m. de montsoreau, feel inclined, in spite of the absence of my letters, to carry yours into effect, by all means do so--after midnight of to-day." m. de montsoreau breathed hard. "and why," he asked, half sulkily and half ponderously, "after midnight only, m. le comte?" "merely that i may be clear of all suspicion of having lot or part in the matter," count hannibal answered pleasantly. "after midnight of to-night by all means, do as you please. until midnight, by your leave, we will be quiet." the lieutenant-governor moved doubtfully in his chair, the fear--which tavannes had shrewdly instilled into his mind--that he might be disowned if he carried out his instructions, struggling with his avarice and his self-importance. he was rather crafty than bold; and such things had been, he knew. little by little, and while he sat gloomily debating, the notion of dealing with one or two and holding the body of the huguenots to ransom--a notion which, in spite of everything, was to bear good fruit for angers--began to form in his mind. the plan suited him: it left him free to face either way, and it would fill his pockets more genteelly than would open robbery. on the other hand, he would offend his brother and the fanatical party, with whom he commonly acted. they were looking to see him assert himself. they were looking to hear him declare himself. and---- harshly count hannibal's voice broke in on his thoughts; harshly, a something sinister in its tone. "where is your brother?" he said. and it was evident that he had not noted his absence until then. "my lord's vicar of all people should be here!" he continued, leaning forward and looking round the table. his brow was stormy. lescot squirmed under his eye, thuriot turned pale and trembled. it was one of the canons of st.-maurice who at length took on himself to answer. "his lordship requested, m. le comte," he ventured, "that you would excuse him. his duties----" "is he ill?" "he----" "is he ill, sirrah?" tavannes roared. and while all bowed before the lightning of his eye, no man at the table knew what had roused the sudden tempest. but bigot knew, who stood by the door, and whose ear, keen as his master's, had caught the distant report of a musket shot. "if he be not ill," tavannes continued, rising and looking round the table in search of signs of guilt, "and there be foul play here, and he the player, the bishop's own hand shall not save him! by heaven it shall not! nor yours!" he continued, looking fiercely at montsoreau. "nor your master's!" the lieutenant-governor sprang to his feet. "m. le comte," he stammered, "i do not understand this language! nor this heat, which may be real or not! all i say is, if there be foul play here----" "if!" tavannes retorted. "at least, if there be, there be gibbets too! and i see necks!" he added, leaning forward. "necks!" and then, with a look of flame, "let no man leave this table until i return," he cried, "or he will have to deal with me. nay," he continued, changing his tone abruptly, as the prudence which never entirely left him--and perhaps the remembrance of the other's fifty spearmen--sobered him in the midst of his rage, "i am hasty. i mean not you, m. de montsoreau! ride where you will, ride with me if you will--and i will thank you. only remember, until midnight angers is mine!" he was still speaking when he moved from the table, and, leaving all staring after him, strode down the room. an instant he paused on the threshold and looked back; then he passed out, and clattered down the stone stairs. his horse and riders were waiting, but, his foot in the stirrup, he stayed for a word with bigot. "is it so?" he growled. the norman did not speak, but pointed towards the place ste.-croix, whence an occasional shot made answer for him. in those days the streets of the black city were narrow and crooked, overhung by timber houses and hampered by booths; nor could tavannes from the old town hall--now abandoned--see the place ste.-croix. but that he could cure. he struck spurs to his horse, and, followed by his ten horsemen, he clattered noisily down the paved street. a dozen groups hurrying the same way sprang panic-stricken to the walls, or saved themselves in doorways. he was up with them, he was beyond them! another hundred yards, and he would see the place. and then, with a cry of rage, he drew rein a little, discovering what was before him. in the narrow gut of the way a great black banner, borne on two poles, was lurching towards him. it was moving in the van of a dark procession of priests, who, with their attendants and a crowd of devout, filled the street from wall to wall. they were chanting one of the penitential psalms, but not so loudly as to drown the uproar in the place beyond them. they made no way, and count hannibal swore furiously, suspecting treachery. but he was no madman, and at the moment the least reflection would have sent him about to seek another road. unfortunately, as he hesitated a man sprang with a gesture of warning to his horse's head and seized it; and tavannes, mistaking the motive of the act, lost his self-control. he struck the fellow down, and with a reckless word rode headlong into the procession, shouting to the black robes to make way, make way! a cry, nay, a very shriek of horror, answered him and rent the air. and in a minute the thing was done. too late, as the bishop's vicar, struck by his horse, fell screaming under its hoofs--too late, as the consecrated vessels which he had been bearing rolled in the mud, tavannes saw that they bore the canopy and the host! he knew what he had done, then. before his horse's iron shoes struck the ground again, his face--even his face--had lost its colour. but he knew also that to hesitate now, to pause now, was to be torn in pieces; for his riders, seeing that which the banner had veiled from him, had not followed him, and he was alone, in the middle of brandished fists and weapons. he hesitated not a moment. drawing a pistol he spurred onwards, his horse plunging wildly among the shrieking priests; and though a hundred hands, hands of acolytes, hands of shaven monks, clutched at his bridle or gripped his boot, he got clear of them. clear, carrying with him the memory of one face seen an instant amid the crowd, one face seen, to be ever remembered--the face of father pezelay, white, evil, scarred, distorted by wicked triumph. behind him, the thunder of "sacrilege! sacrilege!" rose to heaven, and men were gathering. in front the crowd which skirmished about the inn was less dense, and, ignorant of the thing that had happened in the narrow street, made ready way for him, the boldest recoiling before the look on his face. some who stood nearest to the inn, and had begun to hurl stones at the window and to beat on the doors--which had only the minute before closed on badelon and his prisoners--supposed that he had his riders behind him; and these fled apace. but he knew better even than they the value of time; he pushed his horse up to the gates, and hammered them with his boot while he kept his pistol-hand towards the place and the cathedral, watching for the transformation which he knew would come! and come it did; on a sudden, in a twinkling! a white-faced monk, frenzy in his eyes, appeared in the midst of the crowd. he stood and tore his garments before the people, and, stooping, threw dust on his head. a second and a third followed his example; then from a thousand throats the cry of "sacrilege! sacrilege!" rolled up, while clerks flew wildly hither and thither shrieking the tale, and priests denied the sacraments to angers until it should purge itself of the evil thing. by that time count hannibal had saved himself behind the great gates, by the skin of his teeth. the gates had opened to him in time. but none knew better than he that angers had no gates thick enough, nor walls of a height, to save him for many hours from the storm he had let loose! chapter xxxi. the flight from angers. but that only the more roused the devil in the man; that, and the knowledge that he had his own headstrong act to thank for the position. he looked on the panic-stricken people who, scared by the turmoil without, had come together in the courtyard, wringing their hands and chattering; and his face was so dark and forbidding that fear of him took the place of all other fear, and the nearest shrank from contact with him. on any other entering as he had entered, they would have hailed questions; they would have asked what was amiss and if the city were rising, and where were bigot and his men. but count hannibal's eye struck curiosity dumb. when he cried from his saddle, "bring me the landlord!" the trembling man was found, and brought, and thrust forward almost without a word. "you have a back gate?" tavannes said, while the crowd leaned forward to catch his words. "yes, my lord," the man faltered. "into the street which leads to the ramparts?" "ye--yes, my lord." "then"--to badelon--"saddle! you have five minutes. saddle as you never saddled before," he continued in a low tone, "or----" his tongue did not finish the threat, but his hand waved the man away. "for you," he held tignonville an instant with his lowering eye, "and the preaching fool with you, get arms and mount! you have never played aught but the woman yet; but play me false now, or look aside but a foot from the path i bid you take, and you thwart me no more, monsieur! and you, madame," he continued, turning to the countess, who stood bewildered at one of the doors, the provost's daughter clinging and weeping about her, "you have three minutes to get your women to horse! see you, if you please, that they take no longer!" she found her voice with difficulty. "and this child?" she said. "she is in my care." "bring her," he muttered with a scowl of impatience. and then, raising his voice as he turned on the terrified gang of hostlers and inn servants who stood gaping round him, "go help!" he thundered. "go help! and quickly!" he added, his face growing a shade darker as a second bell began to toll from a neighbouring tower, and the confused babel in the place ste.-croix settled into a dull roar of "_sacrilege_! _sacrilege!_"--"hasten!" fortunately it had been his first intention to go to the council attended by the whole of his troop; and eight horses stood saddled in the stalls. others were hastily pulled out and bridled, and the women were mounted. la tribe, at a look from tavannes, took behind him the provost's daughter, who was helpless with terror. between the suddenness of the alarm, the uproar without, and the panic within, none but a man whose people served him at a nod and dreaded his very gesture could have got his party mounted in time. javette would fain have swooned, but she dared not. tignonville would fain have questioned, but he shrank from the venture. the countess would fain have said something, but she forced herself to obey and no more. even so the confusion in the courtyard, the mingling of horses and men and trappings and saddle-bags, would have made another despair; but wherever count hannibal, seated in his saddle in the middle, turned his face, chaos settled into a kind of order, servants, ceasing to listen to the yells and cries outside, ran to fetch, women dropped cloaks from the gallery, and men loaded muskets and strapped on bandoliers. until at last--but none knew what those minutes of suspense cost him--he saw all mounted, and, pistol in hand, shepherded them to the back gates. as he did so he stooped for a few scowling words with badelon, whom he sent to the van of the party: then he gave the word to open. it was done; and even as montsoreau's horsemen, borne on the bosom of a second and more formidable throng, swept raging into the already crowded square, and the cry went up for "a ram! a ram!" to batter in the gates, tavannes, hurling his little party before him, dashed out at the back, and putting to flight a handful of rascals who had wandered to that side, cantered unmolested down the lane to the ramparts. turning eastward at the foot of the frowning castle, he followed the inner side of the wall in the direction of the gate by which he had entered the preceding evening. to gain this his party had to pass the end of the rue toussaint, which issues from the place ste.-croix and runs so straight that the mob seething in front of the inn had only to turn their heads to see them. the danger incurred at this point was great; for a party as small as tavannes' and encumbered with women would have had no chance if attacked within the walls. count hannibal knew it. but he knew also that the act which he had committed rendered the north bank of the loire impossible for him. neither king nor marshal, neither charles of valois nor gaspard of tavannes, would dare to shield him from an infuriated church, a church too wise to forgive certain offences. his one chance lay in reaching the southern bank of the loire--roughly speaking, the huguenot bank--and taking refuge in some town, rochelle or st. jean d'angely, where the huguenots were strong, and whence he might take steps to set himself right with his own side. but to cross the great river which divides france into two lands widely differing he must leave the city by the east gate; for the only bridge over the loire within forty miles of angers lay eastward from the town, at ponts de cé, four miles away. to this gate, therefore, past the rue toussaint, he whirled his party daringly; and though the women grew pale as the sounds of riot broke louder on the ear, and they discovered that they were approaching instead of leaving the danger--and though tignonville for an instant thought him mad, and snatched at the countess's rein--his men-at-arms, who knew him, galloped stolidly on, passed like clockwork the end of the street, and, reckless of the stream of persons hurrying in the direction of the alarm, heedless of the fright and anger their passage excited, pressed steadily on. a moment and the gate through which they had entered the previous evening appeared before them. and--a sight welcome to one of them--it was open. they were fortunate indeed, for a few seconds later they had been too late. the alarm had preceded them; as they dashed up, a man ran to the chains of the portcullis and tried to lower it. he failed to do so at the first touch, and quailing, fled from badelon's levelled pistol. a watchman on one of the bastions of the wall shouted to them to halt or he would fire: but the riders yelled in derision, and thundering through the echoing archway, emerged into the open, and saw, extended before them, in place of the gloomy vistas of the black town, the glory of the open country and the vine-clad hills, and the fields about the loire yellow with late harvest. the women gasped their relief, and one or two who were most out of breath would have pulled up their horses and let them trot, thinking the danger at an end. but a curt savage word from the rear set them flying again, and down and up and on again they galloped, driven forward by the iron hand which never relaxed its grip of them. silent and pitiless he whirled them before him until they were within a mile of the long ponts de cé--a series of bridges rather than one bridge--and the broad shallow loire lay plain before them, its sandbanks grilling in the sun, and grey lines of willows marking its eyots. by this time some of the women, white with fatigue, could only cling to their saddles with their hands; while others were red-hot, their hair unrolled, and the perspiration mingled with the dust on their faces. but he who drove them had no pity for weakness in an emergency. he looked back and saw, a half-mile behind them, the glitter of steel following hard on their heels: and "faster! faster!" he cried, regardless of their prayers: and he beat the rearmost of the horses with his scabbard. a waiting-woman shrieked that she should fall, but he answered ruthlessly, "fall then, fool!" and the instinct of self-preservation coming to her aid, she clung and bumped and toiled on with the rest until they reached the first houses of the town about the bridges, and badelon raised his hand as a signal that they might slacken speed. the bewilderment of the start had been so great that it was then only, when they found their feet on the first link of the bridge, that two of the party, the countess and tignonville, awoke to the fact that their faces were set southwards. to cross the loire in those days meant much to all: to a huguenot very much. it chanced that these two rode on to the bridge side by side, and the memory of their last crossing--the remembrance that, on their journey north a month before, they had crossed it hand-in-hand with the prospect of passing their lives together, and with no faintest thought of the events which were to ensue, flashed into the mind of each of them. it deepened the flush which exertion had brought to the woman's cheek, then left it paler than before. a minute earlier she had been wroth with her old lover; she had held him accountable for the outbreak in the town and this hasty retreat; now her anger died as she looked and she remembered. in the man, shallower of feeling and more alive to present contingencies, the uppermost emotion as he trod the bridge was one of surprise and congratulation. he could not at first believe in their good fortune. "_mon dieu!_" he cried, "we are crossing!" and then again in a lower tone, "we are crossing! we are crossing!" and he looked at her. it was impossible that she should not look back; that she who had ceased to be angry should not feel and remember; impossible that her answering glance should not speak to his heart. below them, as on that day a month earlier, when they had crossed the bridges going northward, the broad shallow river ran its course in the sunshine, its turbid currents gleaming and flashing about the sandbanks and osier-beds. to the eye, the landscape, save that the vintage was farther advanced and the harvest in part gathered in, was the same. but how changed were their relations, their prospects, their hopes, who had then crossed the river hand-in-hand, planning a life to be passed together. the young man's rage boiled up at the thought. too vividly, too sharply it showed him the wrongs which he had suffered at the hands of the man who rode behind him, the man who even now drove him on and ordered him and insulted him. he forgot that he might have perished in the general massacre if count hannibal had not intervened. he forgot that count hannibal had spared him once and twice. he laid on his enemy's shoulders the guilt of all, the blood of all: and as, quick on the thought of his wrongs and his fellows' wrongs followed the reflection that with every league they rode southwards the chance of requital grew, he cried again, and this time joyously, "we are crossing! a little, and we shall be in our own land!" the tears filled the countess's eyes as she looked westwards and southwards. "vrillac is there!" she cried; and she pointed. "i smell the sea!" "ay!" he answered, almost under his breath. "it lies there! and no more than thirty leagues from us! with fresh horses we might see it in two days!" badelon's voice broke in on them. "forward!" he cried as they reached the southern bank. "_en avant!_" and, obedient to the word, the little party, refreshed by the short respite, took the road out of ponts de cé at a steady trot. nor was the countess the only one whose face glowed, being set southwards, or whose heart pulsed to the rhythm of the horses' hoofs that beat out "home!" carlat's and madame carlat's also. javette even, hearing from her neighbour that they were over the loire, plucked up courage; while la tribe, gazing before him with moistened eyes, cried "comfort" to the scared and weeping girl who clung to his belt. it was singular to see how all sniffed the air as if already it smacked of the sea and of the south; and how they of poitou sat their horses as if they asked nothing better than to ride on and on and on until the scenes of home arose about them. for them the sky had already a deeper blue, the air a softer fragrance, the sunshine a purity long unknown! was it wonderful, when they had suffered so much on that northern bank? when their experience during the month had been comparable only with the direst nightmare? yet one among them, after the first impulse of relief and satisfaction, felt differently. tignonville's gorge rose against the sense of compulsion, of inferiority. to be driven forward after this fashion, whether he would or no, to be placed at the beck of every base-born man-at-arms, to have no clearer knowledge of what had happened or of what was passing, or of the peril from which they fled, than the women among whom he rode--these things kindled anew the sullen fire of hate. north of the loire there had been some excuse for his inaction under insult; he had been in the man's country and power. but south of the loire, within forty leagues of huguenot niort, must he still suffer, still be supine? his rage was inflamed by a disappointment he presently underwent. looking back as they rode clear of the wooden houses of ponts de cé, he missed tavannes and several of his men; and he wondered if count hannibal had remained on his own side of the river. it seemed possible; and in that event la tribe and he and carlat might deal with badelon and the four who still escorted them. but when he looked back a minute later, tavannes was within sight, following the party with a stern face; and not tavannes only. bigot, with two of the ten men who hitherto had been missing, was with him. it was clear, however, that they brought no good news, for they had scarcely ridden up before count hannibal cried "faster! faster!" in his harshest voice, and bigot urged the horses to a quicker trot. their course lay almost parallel with the loire in the direction of beaupréau; and tignonville began to fear that count hannibal intended to recross the river at nantes, where the only bridge below angers spanned the stream. with this in view it was easy to comprehend his wish to distance his pursuers before he recrossed. the countess had no such thought. "they must be close upon us!" she murmured, as she urged her horse in obedience to the order. "whoever they are!" tignonville muttered bitterly. "if we knew what had happened, or who followed, we should know more about it, madame. for that matter, i know what i wish he would do. and our heads are set for it." "what?" "make for vrillac!" he answered, a savage gleam in his eyes. "for vrillac?" "yes." "ah, if he would!" she cried, her face turning pale. "if he would. he would be safe there!" "ay, quite safe!" he answered with a peculiar intonation. and he looked at her askance. he fancied that his thought, the thought which had just flashed into his brain, was her thought; that she had the same notion in reserve, and that they were in sympathy. and tavannes, seeing them talking together, and noting her look and the fervour of her gesture, formed the same opinion, and retired more darkly into himself. the downfall of his plan for dazzling her by a magnanimity unparalleled and beyond compare, a plan dependent on the submission of angers--his disappointment in this might have roused the worst passions of a better man. but there was in this man a pride on a level at least with his other passions: and to bear himself in this hour of defeat and flight so that if she could not love him she must admire him, checked in a strange degree the current of his rage. when tignonville presently looked back he found that count hannibal and six of his riders had pulled up and were walking their horses far in the rear. on which he would have done the same himself; but badelon called over his shoulder the eternal "forward, monsieur, _en avant!_" and sullenly, hating the man and his master more deeply every hour, tignonville was forced to push on, with thoughts of vengeance in his heart. trot, trot! trot, trot! through a country which had lost its smiling wooded character and grew more sombre and less fertile the farther they left the loire behind them. trot, trot! trot, trot!--for ever, it seemed to some. javette wept with fatigue, and the other women were little better. the countess herself spoke seldom except to cheer the provost's daughter; who, poor girl, flung suddenly out of the round of her life and cast among strangers, showed a better spirit than might have been expected. at length, on the slopes of some low hills, which they had long seen before them, a cluster of houses and a church appeared; and badelon, drawing rein, cried, "beaupréau, madame! we stay an hour!" it was six o'clock. they had ridden some hours without a break. with sighs and cries of pain the women dropped from their clumsy saddles, while the men laid out such food--it was little--as had been brought, and hobbled the horses that they might feed. the hour passed rapidly, and when it had passed badelon was inexorable. there was wailing when he gave the word to mount again; and tignonville, fiercely resenting this dumb, reasonless flight, was at heart one of the mutineers. but badelon said grimly that they might go on and live, or stay and die, as it pleased them; and once more they climbed painfully to their saddles, and jogged steadily on through the sunset, through the gloaming, through the darkness, across a weird, mysterious country of low hills and narrow plains which grew more wild and less cultivated as they advanced. fortunately the horses had been well saved during the long leisurely journey to angers, and now went well and strongly. when they at last unsaddled for the night in a little dismal wood within a mile of clisson, they had placed some forty miles between themselves and angers. chapter xxxii. the ordeal by steel. the women for the most part fell like sacks and slept where they alighted, dead weary. the men, when they had cared for the horses, followed the example; for badelon would suffer no fire. in less than half an hour, a sentry who stood on guard at the edge of the wood, and tignonville and la tribe, who talked in low voices with their backs against a tree, were the only persons who remained awake, with the exception of the countess. carlat had made a couch for her, and screened it with cloaks from the wind and the eye; for the moon had risen, and where the trees stood sparsest its light flooded the soil with pools of white. but madame had not yet retired to her bed. the two men, whose voices reached her, saw her from time to time moving restlessly to and fro between the road and the little encampment. presently she came and stood over them. "he led his people out of the wilderness," la tribe was saying; "out of the trouble of paris, out of the trouble of angers, and always, always southward. if you do not in this, monsieur, see his finger----" "and angers?" tignonville struck in, with a faint sneer. "has he led that out of trouble? a day or two ago you would risk all to save it, my friend. now, with your back safely turned on it, you think all for the best." "we did our best," the minister answered humbly. "from the day we met in paris we have been but instruments." "to save angers?" "to save a remnant." on a sudden the countess raised her hand. "do you not hear horses, monsieur?" she cried. she had been listening to the noises of the night, and had paid little heed to what the two were saying. "one of ours moved," tignonville answered listlessly. "why do you not lie down, madame?" instead of answering, "whither is he going?" she asked. "do you know?" "i wish i did know," the young man answered peevishly. "to niort, it may be. or presently he will double back and recross the loire." "he would have gone by cholet to niort," la tribe said. "the direction is rather that of rochelle. god grant we be bound thither!" "or to vrillac," the countess cried, clasping her hands in the darkness. "can it be to vrillac he is going?" the minister shook his head. "ah, let it be to vrillac!" she cried, a thrill in her voice. "we should be safe there. and he would be safe." "safe?" echoed a fourth and deeper voice. and out of the darkness beside them loomed a tall figure. the minister looked and leapt to his feet. tignonville rose more slowly. the voice was tavannes' "and where am i to be safe?" he repeated slowly, a faint ring of saturnine amusement in his tone. "at vrillac," she cried. "in my house, monsieur." he was silent a moment. then, "your house, madame? in which direction is it, from here?" "westwards," she answered impulsively, her voice quivering with eagerness and emotion and hope. "westwards, monsieur--on the sea. the causeway from the land is long, and ten can hold it against ten hundred." "westwards? and how far westwards?" tignonville answered for her; in his tone throbbed the same eagerness, the same anxiety, which spoke in hers. nor was count hannibal's ear deaf to it. "through challans," he said, "thirteen leagues." "from clisson?" "yes, monsieur le comte." "and by commequiers less," the countess cried. "no, it is a worse road," tignonville answered quickly; "and longer in time." "but we came----" "at our leisure, madame. the road is by challans, if we wish to be there quickly." "ah!" count hannibal said. in the darkness it was impossible to see his face or mark how he took it. "but being there, i have few men." "i have forty will come at call," she cried with pride. "a word to them, and in four hours or a little more----" "they would outnumber mine by four to one," count hannibal answered coldly, drily, in a voice like ice-water flung in their faces. "thank you, madame; i understand. to vrillac is no long ride; but we will not ride it at present." and he turned sharply on his heel and strode from them. he had not covered thirty paces before she overtook him in the middle of a broad patch of moonlight and touched his arm. he wheeled swiftly, his hand half-way to his hilt. then he saw who it was. "ah," he said, "i had forgotten, madame. you have come----" "no!" she cried passionately; and standing before him she shook back the hood of her cloak that he might look into her eyes. "you owe me no blow to-day. you have paid me, monsieur. you have struck me already, and foully, like a coward. do you remember," she continued rapidly, "the hour after our marriage, and what you said to me? do you remember what you told me? and whom to trust and whom to suspect, where lay our interest and where our foes? you trusted me then! what have i done that you now dare--ay, dare, monsieur," she repeated fearlessly, her face pale and her eyes glittering with excitement, "to insult me? that you treat me as--javette? that you deem me capable of _that?_ of luring you into a trap, and in my own house, or the house that was mine, of----" "treating me as i have treated others." "you have said it!" she cried. she could not herself understand why his distrust had wounded her so sharply, so home, that all fear of him was gone. "you have said it, and put that between us which will not be removed. i could have forgiven blows," she continued, breathless in her excitement, "so you had thought me what i am. but now you will do well to watch me! you will do well to leave vrillac on one side. for were you there, and raised your hand against me--not that that touches me, but it will do--and there are those, i tell you, would fling you from the tower at my word." "indeed?" "ay, indeed! and indeed, monsieur!" her face was in moonlight, his was in shadow. "and this is your new tone, madame, is it?" he said, slowly and after a pregnant pause. "the crossing of a river has wrought so great a change in you?" "no!" she cried. "yes," he said. and despite herself she flinched before the grimness of his tone. "you have yet to learn one thing, however: that i do not change. that, north or south, i am the same to those who are the same to me. that what i have won on the one bank i will hold on the other, in the teeth of all, and though god's church be thundering on my heels! i go to vrillac----" "you--go?" she cried. "you go?" "i go," he repeated, "to-morrow. and among your own people i will see what language you will hold. while you were in my power i spared you. now that you are in your own land, now that you lift your hand against me, i will show you of what make i am. if blows will not tame you, i will try that will suit you less. ay, you wince, madame! you had done well had you thought twice before you threatened, and thrice before you took in hand to scare tavannes with a parcel of clowns and fisherfolk. tomorrow, to vrillac and your duty! and one word more, madame," he continued, turning back to her truculently when he had gone some paces from her. "if i find you plotting with your lover by the way i will hang not you, but him. i have spared him a score of times; but i know him, and i do not trust him." "nor me," she said, and with a white, set face she looked at him in the moonlight. "had you not better hang me now?" "why?" "lest i do you an injury!" she cried with passion; and she raised her hand and pointed northward. "lest i kill you some night, monsieur! i tell you, a thousand men on your heels are less dangerous than the woman at your side--if she hate you." "is it so?" he cried. his hand flew to his hilt; his dagger flashed out. but she did not move, did not flinch, only she set her teeth; and her eyes, fascinated by the steel, grew wider. his hand sank slowly. he held the weapon to her, hilt foremost; she took it mechanically. "you think yourself brave enough to kill me, do you?" he sneered. "then take this, and strike, if you dare. take it--strike, madame! it is sharp, and my arms are open." and he flung them wide, standing within a pace of her. "here, above the collar-bone, is the surest for a weak hand. what, afraid?" he continued, as, stiffly clutching the weapon which he had put into her hand, she glared at him, trembling and astonished. "afraid, and a vrillac! afraid, and 'tis but one blow! see, my arms are open. one blow home, and you will never lie in them. think of that. one blow home, and you may lie in his. think of that! strike, then, madame," he went on, piling taunt on taunt, "if you dare, and if you hate me. what, still afraid! how shall i give you heart? shall i strike you? it will not be the first time by ten. i keep count, you see," he continued mockingly. "or shall i kiss you? ay, that may do. and it will not be against your will, either, for you have that in your hand will save you in an instant. even"--he drew a foot nearer--"now! even----" and he stooped until his lips almost touched hers. she sprang back. "oh, do not!" she cried. "oh, do not!" and, dropping the dagger, she covered her face with her hands, and burst into weeping. he stooped coolly, and, after groping some time for the poniard, drew it from the leaves among which it had fallen. he put it into the sheath, and not until he had done that did he speak. then it was with a sneer. "i have no need to fear overmuch," he said. "you are a poor hater, madame. and poor haters make poor lovers. 'tis his loss! if you will not strike a blow for him, there is but one thing left. go, dream of him!" and shrugging his shoulders contemptuously he turned on his heel. chapter xxxiii. the ambush. the start they made at daybreak was gloomy and ill-omened, through one of those white mists which are blown from the atlantic over the flat lands of western poitou. the horses, looming gigantic through the fog, winced as the cold harness was girded on them. the men hurried to and fro with saddles on their heads, and stumbled over other saddles, and swore savagely. the women turned mutinous and would not rise; or, being dragged up by force, shrieked wild unfitting words, as they were driven to the horses. the countess looked on and listened, and shuddered, waiting for carlat to set her on her horse. she had gone during the last three weeks through much that was dreary, much that was hopeless; but the chill discomfort of this forced start, with tired horses and wailing women, would have darkened the prospect of home had there been no fear or threat to cloud it. he whose will compelled all stood a little apart and watched all, silent and gloomy. when badelon, after taking his orders and distributing some slices of black bread to be eaten in the saddle, moved off at the head of his troop, count hannibal remained behind, attended by bigot and the eight riders who had formed the rearguard so far. he had not approached the countess since rising, and she had been thankful for it. but now, as she moved away, she looked back and saw him still standing; she marked that he wore his corselet, and in one of those revulsions of feeling--which outrun man's reason--she who had tossed on her couch through half the night, in passionate revolt against the fate before her, took fire at his neglect and his silence; she resented on a sudden the distance he kept, and his scorn of her. her breast heaved, her colour came, involuntarily she checked her horse, as if she would return to him, and speak to him. then the carlats and the others closed up behind her, badelon's monotonous "forward, madame, _en avant!_" proclaimed the day's journey begun, and she saw him no more. nevertheless, the motionless figure, looming homeric through the fog, with gleams of wet light reflected from the steel about it, dwelt long in her mind. the road which badelon followed, slowly at first, and with greater speed as the horses warmed to their work, and the women, sore and battered, resigned themselves to suffering, wound across a flat expanse broken by a few hills. these were little more than mounds, and for the most part were veiled from sight by the low-lying sea-mist, through which gnarled and stunted oaks rose mysterious, to fade as strangely. weird trees they were, with branches unlike those of this world's trees, rising in a grey land without horizon or limit, through which our travellers moved, jaded phantoms in a clinging nightmare. at a walk, at a trot, more often at a weary jog, they pushed on behind badelon's humped shoulders. sometimes the fog hung so thick about them that they saw only those who rose and fell in the saddles immediately before them; sometimes the air cleared a little, the curtain rolled up a space, and for a minute or two they discerned stretches of unfertile fields, half-tilled and stony, or long tracts of gorse and broom, with here and there a thicket of dwarf shrubs or a wood of wind-swept pines. some looked and saw these things; more rode on sulky and unseeing, supporting impatiently the toils of a flight from they knew not what. to do tignonville justice, he was not of these. on the contrary, he seemed to be in a better temper on this day; and, where so many took things unheroically, he showed to advantage. avoiding the countess and riding with carlat, he talked and laughed with marked cheerfulness; nor did he ever fail, when the mist rose, to note this or that landmark, and confirm badelon in the way he was going. "we shall be at lége by noon!" he cried more than once, "and if m. le comte persists in his plan, may reach vrillac by late sunset. by way of challans!" and always carlat answered, "ay, by challans, monsieur, so be it!" he proved, too, so far right in his prediction that noon saw them drag, a weary train, into the hamlet of lége, where the road from nantes to olonne runs southward over the level of poitou. an hour later count hannibal rode in with six of his eight men, and, after a few minutes' parley with badelon, who was scanning the horses, he called carlat to him. the old man came. "can we reach vrillac to-night?" count hannibal asked curtly. "by challans, my lord," the steward answered, "i think we can. we call it seven hours' riding from here." "and that route is the shortest?" "in time, m. le comte, the road being better." count hannibal bent his brows. "and the other way?" he said. "is by commequiers, my lord. it is shorter in distance." "by how much!" "two leagues. but there are fordings and a salt marsh; and with madame and the women----" "it would be longer?" the steward hesitated. "i think so," he said slowly, his eyes wandering to the grey misty landscape, against which the poor hovels of the village stood out naked and comfortless. a low thicket of oaks sheltered the place from southwesterly gales. on the other three sides it lay open. "very good," tavannes said curtly. "be ready to start in ten minutes. you will guide us." but when the ten minutes had elapsed and the party were ready to start, to the astonishment of all the steward was not to be found. to peremptory calls for him no answer came; and a hurried search through the hamlet proved equally fruitless. the only person who had seen him since his interview with tavannes turned out to be m. de tignonville; and he had seen him mount his horse five minutes before, and move off--as he believed--by the challans road. "ahead of us!" "yes, m. le comte," tignonville answered, shading his eyes and gazing in the direction of the fringe of trees. "i did not see him take the road, but he was beside the north end of the wood when i saw him last. thereabouts!" and he pointed to a place where the challans road wound round the flank of the wood. "when we are beyond that point, i think we shall see him." count hannibal growled a word in his beard, and, turning in his saddle, looked back the way he had come. half a mile away, two or three dots could be seen approaching across the plain. he turned again. "you know the road?" he said, curtly addressing the young man. "perfectly. as well as carlat." "then lead the way, monsieur, with badelon. and spare neither whip nor spur. there will be need of both, if we would lie warm to-night." tignonville nodded assent and, wheeling his horse, rode to the head of the party, a faint smile playing about his mouth. a moment, and the main body moved off behind him, leaving count hannibal and six men to cover the rear. the mist, which at noon had risen for an hour or two, was closing down again, and they had no sooner passed clear of the wood than the trees faded out of sight behind them. it was not wonderful that they could not see carlat. objects a hundred paces from them were completely hidden. trot, trot! trot, trot! through a. grey world so featureless, so unreal that the riders, now dozing in the saddle, and now awaking, seemed to themselves to stand still, as in a nightmare. a trot and then a walk, and then a trot again; and all a dozen times repeated, while the women bumped along in their wretched saddles, and the horses stumbled, and the men swore at them. ha! la garnache at last, and a sharp turn southward to challans. the countess raised her head, and began to look about her. there, should be a church, she knew; and there, the old ruined tower built by wizards, or the carthaginians, so old tradition ran; and there, to the westward, the great salt marshes towards noirmoutier. the mist hid all, but the knowledge that they were there set her heart beating, brought tears to her eyes, and lightened the long road to challans. at challans they halted half-an-hour, and washed out the horses' mouths with water and a little _guignolet_--the spirit of the country. a dose of the cordial was administered to the women; and a little after seven they began the last stage of the journey, through a landscape which even the mist could not veil from the eyes of love. there rose the windmill of soullans! there the old dolmen, beneath which the grey wolf that ate the two children of tornic had its lair. for a mile back they had been treading my lady's land; they had only two more leagues to ride, and one of those was crumbling under each dogged footfall. the salt flavour, which is new life to the shore-born, was in the fleecy reek which floated by them, now thinner, now more opaque; and almost they could hear the dull thunder of the biscay waves falling on the rocks. tignonville looked back at her and smiled. she caught the look; she fancied that she understood it and his thoughts. but her own eyes were moist at the moment with tears, and what his said, and what there was of strangeness in his glance, half-warning, half-exultant, escaped her. for there, not a mile before them, where the low hills about the fishing village began to rise from the dull inland level--hills green on the land side, bare and scarped towards the sea and the island--she espied the wayside chapel at which the nurse of her early childhood had told her beads. where it stood, the road from commequiers and the road she travelled became one: a short mile thence, after winding among the hillocks, it ran down to the beach and the causeway--and to her home. at the sight she bethought herself of carlat, and calling to m. de tignonville she asked him what he thought of the steward's continued absence. "he must have outpaced us!" he answered with an odd laugh. "but he must have ridden hard to do that." he reined back to her. "say nothing!" he muttered under his breath. "but look ahead, madame, and see if we are expected!" "expected? how can we be expected?" she cried. the colour rushed into her face. he put his finger to his lip, and looked warningly at badelon's humped shoulders, jogging up and down in front of them. then, stooping towards her, in a lower tone, "if carlat has arrived before us, he will have told them," he said. "have told them!" she exclaimed. "he came by the other road, and it is quicker." she gazed at him in astonishment, her lips parted; and slowly she comprehended, and her eyes grew hard. "then why," she said, "did you say it was longer? had we been overtaken, monsieur, we had had you to thank for it, it seems!" he bit his lip. "but we have not been overtaken," he rejoined. "on the contrary, you have me to thank for something quite different." "as unwelcome, perhaps!" she retorted. "for what?" "softly, madame." "for what?" she repeated, refusing to lower her voice. "speak, monsieur, if you please." he had never seen her look at him in that way. "for the fact," he answered, stung by her look and tone, "that when you arrive you will find yourself mistress in your own house! is that nothing?" "you have called in my people?" "carlat has done so, or should have," he answered. "henceforth," he continued, a ring of exultation in his voice, "it will go hard with m. le comte, if he does not treat you better than he has treated you hitherto. that is all!" "you mean that it will go hard with him in any case?" she cried, her bosom rising and falling. "i mean, madame---- but there they are! good carlat! brave carlat! he has done well." "carlat?" "ay, there they are! and you are mistress in your own land! at last you are mistress, and you have me to thank for it! see!" and heedless in his exultation whether badelon understood or not, he pointed to a place before them where the road wound between two low hills. over the green shoulder of one of these, a dozen bright points caught and reflected the last evening light; while as he spoke a man rose to his feet on the hill-side above, and began to make signs to persons below. a pennon, too, showed an instant over the shoulder, fluttered, and was gone. badelon looked as they looked. the next instant he uttered a low oath, and dragged his horse across the front of the party. "pierre!" he cried to the man on his left, "ride for your life! to my lord, and tell him we are ambushed!" and as the trained soldier wheeled about and spurred away, the sacker of rome turned a dark scowling face on tignonville. "if this be your work," he hissed, "we shall thank you for it in hell! for it is where most of us will lie to-night! they are montsoreau's spears, and they have those with them are worse to deal with than themselves!" then in a different tone, and throwing off all disguise, "men to the front!" he shouted. "and you, madame, to the rear quickly, and the women with you! now, men, forward, and draw! steady! steady! they are coming!" there was an instant of confusion, disorder, panic; horses jostling one another, women screaming and clutching at men, men shaking them off and forcing their way to the van. fortunately the enemy did not fall on at once, as badelon expected, but after showing themselves in the mouth of the valley, at a distance of three hundred paces, hung for some reason irresolute. this gave badelon time to array his seven swords in front; but real resistance was out of the question, as he knew. and to none seemed less in question than to tignonville. when the truth, and what he had done, broke on the young man, he sat a moment motionless with horror. it was only when badelon had twice summoned him with opprobrious words that he awoke to the relief of action. even after that he hung an instant trying to meet the countess's eyes, despair in his own; but it was not to be. she had turned her head, and was looking back, as if thence only and not from him could help come. it was not to him she turned; and he saw it, and the justice of it. and silent, grim, more formidable even than old badelon, the veteran fighter, who knew all the tricks and shifts of the _mêlée_, he spurred to the flank of the line. "now, steady!" badelon cried again, seeing that the enemy were beginning to move. "steady! ha! thank god, my lord! my lord is coming! stand! stand!" the distant sound of galloping hoofs had reached his ear in the nick of time. he stood in his stirrups and looked back. yes, count hannibal was coming, riding a dozen paces in front of his men. the odds were still desperate--for he brought but six--the enemy were still three to one. but the thunder of his hoofs as he came up checked for a moment the enemy's onset; and before montsoreau's people got started again count hannibal had ridden up abreast of the women, and the countess, looking at him, knew that, desperate as was their strait, she had not looked behind in vain. the glow of battle, the stress of the moment, had displaced the cloud from his face; the joy of the born fighter lightened in his eye. his voice rang clear and loud above the press. "badelon! wait you and two with madame!" he cried. "follow at fifty paces' distance, and, when we have broken them, ride through! the others with me! now forward, men, and show your teeth! a tavannes! a tavannes! a tavannes! we carry it yet!" and he dashed forward, leading them on, leaving the women behind; and down the sward to meet him, thundering in double line, came montsoreau's men-at-arms, and with the men-at-arms, a dozen pale, fierce eyed men in the church's black, yelling the church's curses. madame's heart grew sick as she heard, as she waited, as she judged him by the fast-failing light a horse's length before his men--with only tignonville beside him. she held her breath--would the shock never come? if badelon had not seized her rein and forced her forward, she would not have moved. and then, even as she moved, they met! with yells and wild cries and a mare's savage scream, the two bands crashed together in a huddle of fallen or rearing horses, of flickering weapons, of thrusting men, of grapples hand-to-hand. what happened, what was happening to anyone, who it was fell, stabbed through and through by four, or who were those who still fought single combats, twisting round one another's horses, those on her right and on her left, she could not tell. for badelon dragged her on with whip and spur, and two horsemen--who obscured her view--galloped in front of her, and rode down bodily the only man who undertook to bar her passage. she had a glimpse of that man's face, as his horse, struck in the act of turning, fell sideways on him; and she knew it, in its agony of terror, though she had seen it but once. it was the face of the man whose eyes had sought hers from the steps of the church in angers; the lean man in black, who had turned soldier of the church--to his misfortune. through? yes, through, the way was clear before them! the fight with its screams and curses died away behind them. the horses swayed and all but sank under them. but badelon knew it no time for mercy; iron-shod hoofs rang on the road behind, and at any moment the pursuers might be on their heels. he flogged on until the cots of the hamlet appeared on either side of the way; on, until the road forked and the countess with strange readiness cried "the left!" on, until the beach appeared below them at the foot of a sharp pitch, and beyond the beach the slow heaving grey of the ocean. the tide was high. the causeway ran through it, a mere thread lipped by the darkling waves, and at the sight a grunt of relief broke from badelon. for at the end of the causeway, black against the western sky, rose the gateway and towers of vrillac; and he saw that, as the countess had said, it was a place ten men could hold against ten hundred! they stumbled down the beach, reached the causeway and trotted along it; more slowly now, and looking back. the other women had followed by hook or by crook, some crying hysterically, yet clinging to their horses and even urging them; and in a medley, the causeway clear behind them and no one following, they reached the drawbridge, and passed under the arch of the gate beyond. there friendly hands, carlat's foremost, welcomed them and aided them to alight, and the countess saw, as in a dream, the familiar scene, all unfamiliar: the gate, where she had played, a child, aglow with lantern-light and arms. men, whose rugged faces she had known in infancy, stood at the drawbridge chains and at the winches. others blew matches and handled primers, while old servants crowded round her, and women looked at her, scared and weeping. she saw it all at a glance--the lights, the black shadows, the sudden glow of a match on the groining of the arch above. she saw it, and turning swiftly, looked back the way she had come; along the dusky causeway to the low, dark shore, which night was stealing quickly from their eyes. she clasped her hands. "where is badelon?" she cried. "where is he? where is he?" one of the men who had ridden before her answered that he had turned back. "turned back!" she repeated. and then, shading her eyes, "who is coming?" she asked, her voice insistent. "there is someone coming. who is it? who is it?" two were coming out of the gloom, travelling slowly and painfully along the causeway. one was la tribe, limping; the other a rider, slashed across the forehead, and sobbing curses. "no more!" she muttered. "are there no more?" the minister shook his head. the rider wiped the blood from his eyes, and turned up his face that he might see the better. but he seemed to be dazed, and only babbled strange words in a strange _patois_. she stamped her foot in passion. "more lights!" she cried. "lights! how can they find their way? and let six men go down the _digue_, and meet them. will you let them be butchered between the shore and this?" but carlat, who had not been able to collect more than a dozen men, shook his head; and before she could repeat the order, sounds of battle, shrill, faint, like cries of hungry seagulls, pierced the darkness which shrouded the farther end of the causeway. the women shrank inward over the threshold, while carlat cried to the men at the chains to be ready, and to some who stood at loopholes above, to blow up their matches and let fly at his word. and then they all waited, the countess foremost, peering eagerly into the growing darkness. they could see nothing. a distant scuffle, an oath, a cry, silence! the same, a little nearer, a little louder, followed this time, not by silence, but by the slow tread of a limping horse. again a rush of feet, the clash of steel, a scream, a laugh, all weird and unreal, issuing from the night; then out of the darkness into the light, stepping slowly with hanging head, moved a horse, bearing on its back a man--or was it a man!--bending low in the saddle, his feet swinging loose. for an instant the horse and the man seemed to be alone, a ghostly pair; then at their heels came into view two figures, skirmishing this way and that; and now coming nearer, and now darting back into the gloom. one, a squat figure, stooping low, wielded a sword with two hands; the other covered him with a half-pike. and then beyond these--abruptly as it seemed--the night gave up to sight a swarm of dark figures pressing on them and after them, driving them before them. carlat had an inspiration. "fire!" he cried; and four arquebuses poured a score of slugs into the knot of pursuers. a man fell, another shrieked and stumbled, the rest gave back. only the horse came on spectrally, with hanging head and shining eyeballs, until a man ran out and seized its head, and dragged it, more by his strength than its own, over the drawbridge. after it badelon, with a gaping wound in his knee, and bigot, bleeding from a dozen hurts, walked over the bridge, and stood on either side of the saddle, smiling foolishly at the man on the horse. "leave me!" he muttered. "leave me!" he made a feeble movement with his hand, as if it held a weapon; then his head sank lower. it was count hannibal. his thigh was broken, and there was a lance-head in his arm. the countess looked at him, then beyond him, past him into the darkness. "are there no more?" she whispered tremulously. "no more? tignonville--my----" badelon shook his head. the countess covered her face and wept. chapter xxxiv. which will you, madame? it was in the grey dawning of the next day, at the hour before the sun rose, that word of m. de tignonville's fate came to them in the castle. the fog which had masked the van and coming of night hung thick on its retreating skirts, and only reluctantly and little by little gave up to sight and daylight a certain thing which night had left at the end of the causeway. the first man to see it was carlat, from the roof of the gateway; and he rubbed eyes weary with watching, and peered anew at it through the mist, fancying himself back in the place ste.-croix at angers, supposing for a wild moment the journey a dream, and the return a nightmare. but rub as he might, and stare as he might, the ugly outlines of the thing he had seen persisted--nay, grew sharper as the haze began to lift from the grey, slow-heaving floor of sea. he called another man and bade him look. "what is it?" he said. "d'you see, there? below the village?" "'tis a gibbet," the man answered, with a foolish laugh; they had watched all night. "god keep us from it." "a gibbet?" "ay!" "it is there to hang those they have taken, very like," the man answered, stupidly practical. and then other men came up, and stared at it and growled in their beards. presently there were eight or ten on the roof of the gateway looking towards the land and discussing the thing; and by-and-by a man was descried approaching along the causeway with a white flag in his hand. at that carlat bade one fetch the minister. "he understands things," he muttered, "and i misdoubt this. and see," he cried after the messenger, "that no word of it come to mademoiselle!" instinctively in the maiden home he reverted to the maiden title. the messenger went, and came again bringing la tribe, whose head rose above the staircase at the moment the envoy below came to a halt before the gate. carlat signed to the minister to come forward; and la tribe, after sniffing the salt air, and glancing at the long, low, misty shore and the stiff ugly shape which stood at the end of the causeway, looked down and met the envoy's eyes. for a moment no one spoke. only the men who had remained on the gateway, and had watched the stranger's coming, breathed hard. at last, "i bear a message," the man announced loudly and clearly, "for the lady of vrillac. is she present?" "give your message!" la tribe replied. "it is for her ears only." "do you want to enter?" "no!" the man answered so hurriedly that more than one smiled. he had the bearing of a lay clerk of some precinct, a verger or sacristan; and after a fashion the dress of one also, for he was in dusty black and wore no sword, though he was girded with a belt. "no!" he repeated, "but if madame will come to the gate, and speak to me----" "madame has other fish to fry," carlat blurted out. "do you think that she has naught to do but listen to messages from a gang of bandits?" "if she does not listen she will repent it all her life!" the fellow answered hardily. "that is part of my message." there was a pause while la tribe considered the matter. in the end, "from whom do you come?" he asked. "from his excellency the lieutenant-governor of saumur," the envoy answered glibly, "and from my lord bishop of angers, him assisting by his vicar; and from others gathered lawfully, who will as lawfully depart if their terms are accepted. also from m. de tignonville, a gentleman, i am told, of these parts, now in their hands and adjudged to die at sunset this day if the terms i bring be not accepted." there was a long silence on the gate. the men looked down fixedly; not a feature of one of them moved, for no one was surprised. "wherefore is he to die!" la tribe asked at last. "for good cause shown." "wherefore?" "he is a huguenot." the minister nodded. "and the terms!" carlat muttered. "ay, the terms!" la tribe repeated, nodding afresh. "what are they?" "they are for madame's ear only," the messenger made answer. "then they will not reach it!" carlat broke forth in wrath. "so much for that! and for yourself, see you go quickly before we make a target of you!" "very well, i go," the envoy answered sullenly. "but----" "but what?" la tribe cried, gripping carlat's shoulder to quiet him. "but what! say what you have to say, man! speak out, and have done with it!" "i will say it to her and to no other." "then you will not say it!" carlat cried again. "for you will not see her. so you may go. and the black fever in your vitals." "ay, go!" la tribe added more quietly. the man turned away with a shrug of the shoulders, and moved off a dozen paces, watched by all on the gate with the same fixed attention. but presently he paused; he returned. "very well," he said, looking up with an ill grace. "i will do my office here, if i cannot come to her. but i hold also a letter from m. de tignonville, and that i can deliver to no other hands than hers!" he held it up as he spoke, a thin scrap of greyish paper, the fly-leaf of a missal perhaps. "see!" he continued, "and take notice! if she does not get this, and learns when it is too late that it was offered----" "the terms," carlat growled impatiently. "the terms! come to them!" "you will have them?" the man answered, nervously passing his tongue over his lips. "you will not let me see her, or speak to her privately?" "no." "then hear them. his excellency is informed that one hannibal de tavannes, guilty of the detestable crime of sacrilege and of other gross crimes, has taken refuge here. he requires that the said hannibal de tavannes be handed to him for punishment, and, this being done before sunset this evening, he will yield to you free and uninjured the said m. de tignonville, and will retire from the lands of vrillac. but if you refuse"--the man passed his eye along the line of attentive faces which fringed the battlement--"he will at sunset hang the said tignonville on the gallows raised for tavannes, and will harry the demesne of vrillac to its farthest border!" there was a long silence on the gate. some, their gaze still fixed on him, moved their lips as if they chewed. others looked aside, met their fellows' eyes in a pregnant glance, and slowly returned to him. but no one spoke. at his back the flush of dawn was flooding the east, and spreading and waxing brighter. the air was growing warm; the shore below, from grey, was turning green. in a minute or two the sun, whose glowing marge already peeped above the low hills of france, would top the horizon. the man, getting no answer, shifted his feet uneasily. "well," he cried, "what answer am i to take?" still no one moved. "i've done my part. will no one give her the letter?" he cried. and he held it up. "give me my answer, for i am going." "take the letter!" the words came from the rear of the group in a voice that startled all. they turned as though some one had struck them, and saw the countess standing beside the wooden hood which covered the stairs. they guessed that she had heard all or nearly all; but the glory of the sunrise, shining full on her at that moment, lent a false warmth to her face, and life to eyes wofully and tragically set. it was not easy to say whether she had heard or not. "take the letter," she repeated. carlat looked helplessly over the parapet. "go down!" he cast a glance at la tribe, but he got none in return, and he was preparing to do her bidding when a cry of dismay broke from those who still had their eyes bent downwards. the messenger, waving the letter in a last appeal, had held it too loosely; a light air, as treacherous as unexpected, had snatched it from his hand, and bore it--even as the countess, drawn by the cry, sprang to the parapet--fifty paces from him. a moment it floated in the air, eddying, rising, falling; then, light as thistle-down, it touched the water and began to sink. the messenger uttered frantic lamentations, and stamped the causeway in his rage. the countess only looked, and looked, until the rippling crest of a baby wave broke over the tiny venture, and with its freight of tidings it sank from sight. the man, silent now, stared a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. "well, 'tis fortunate it was his," he cried brutally, "and not his excellency's, or my back had suffered! and now," he added impatiently, "by your leave, what answer?" what answer? ah, god, what answer? the men who leant on the parapet, rude and coarse as they were, felt the tragedy of the question and the dilemma, guessed what they meant to her, and looked everywhere save at her. what answer? which of the two was to live? which die--shamefully! which? which? "tell him--to come back--an hour before sunset," she muttered. they told him and he went; and one by one the men began to go too, and stole from the roof, leaving her standing alone, her face to the shore, her hands resting on the parapet. the light breeze which blew off the land stirred loose ringlets of her hair, and flattened the thin robe against her sunlit figure. so had she stood a thousand times in old days, in her youth, in her maidenhood. so in her father's time had she stood to see her lover come riding along the sands to woo her! so had she stood to welcome him on the eve of that fatal journey to paris! thence had others watched her go with him. the men remembered--remembered all; and one by one they stole shamefacedly away, fearing lest she should speak or turn tragic eyes on them. true, in their pity for her was no doubt of the end, or thought of the victim who must suffer--of tavannes. they, of poitou, who had not been with him, knew nothing of him; they cared as little. he was a northern man, a stranger, a man of the sword, who had seized her--so they heard--by the sword. but they saw that the burden of choice was laid on her; there, in her sight and in theirs, rose the gibbet; and, clowns as they were, they discerned the tragedy of her _rôle_, play it as she might, and though her act gave life to her lover. when all had retired save three or four, she turned and saw these gathered at the head of the stairs in a ring about carlat, who was addressing them in a low eager voice. she could not catch a syllable, but a look hard, and almost cruel, flashed into her eyes as she gazed; and raising her voice she called the steward to her. "the bridge is up," she said, her tone hard, "but the gates? are they locked?" "yes, madame." "the wicket?" "no, not the wicket." and carlat looked another way. "then go, lock it, and bring the keys to me!" she replied. "or stay!" her voice grew harder, her eyes spiteful as a cat's. "stay, and be warned that you play me no tricks! do you hear? do you understand? or old as you are, and long as you have served us, i will have you thrown from this tower, with as little pity as isabeau flung her gallants to the fishes. i am still mistress here, never more mistress than this day. woe to you if you forget it." he blenched and cringed before her, muttering incoherently. "i know," she said, "i read you! and now the keys. go, bring them to me! and if by chance i find the wicket unlocked when i come down, pray, carlat, pray! for you will have need of prayers." he slunk away, the men with him; and she fell to pacing the roof feverishly. now and then she extended her arms, and low cries broke from her, as from a dumb creature in pain. wherever she looked, old memories rose up to torment her and redouble her misery. a thing she could have borne in the outer world, a thing which might have seemed tolerable in the reeking air of paris or in the gloomy streets of angers, wore here its most appalling aspect. henceforth, whatever choice she made, this home, where even in those troublous times she had known naught but peace, must bear a damning stain! henceforth this day and this hour must come between her and happiness, must brand her brow, and fix her with a deed of which men and women would tell while she lived! oh, god--pray? who said, pray? "i!" and la tribe with tears in his eyes held out the keys to her. "i, madame," he continued solemnly, his voice broken with emotion. "for in man is no help. the strongest man, he who rode yesterday a master of men, a very man of war in his pride and his valour--see him now, and----" "don't!" she cried, sharp pain in her voice. "don't!" and she stopped him with her hand, her face averted. after an interval, "you come from him?" she muttered faintly. "yes." "is he--hurt to death, think you?" she spoke low, and kept her face hidden from him. "alas, no!" he answered, speaking the thought in his heart. "the men who are with him seem confident of his recovery." "do they know?" "badelon has had experience." "no, no. do they know of this?" she cried. "of this!" and she pointed with a gesture of loathing to the black gibbet on the farther strand. he shook his head. "i think not," he muttered. and after a moment, "god help you!" he added fervently. "god help and guide you, madame!" she turned on him suddenly, fiercely. "is that all you can do?" she cried. "is that all the help you can give! you are a man. go down, lead them out; drive off these cowards who drain our life's blood, who trade on a woman's heart! on them! do something, anything, rather than lie in safety here--here!" the minister shook his head sadly. "alas, madame!" he said, "to sally were to waste life. they outnumber us three to one. if count hannibal could do no more than break through last night, with scarce a man unwounded----" "he had the women!" "and we have not him!" "he would not have left us!" she cried hysterically. "i believe it." "had they taken me, do you think he would have lain behind walls? or skulked in safety here, while--while----" her voice failed her. he shook his head despondently. "and that is all you can do?" she cried, and turned from him, and to him again, extending her arms, in bitter scorn. "all you will do? do you forget that twice he spared your life? that in paris once, and once in angers, he held his hand? that always, whether he stood or whether he fled, he held himself between us and harm? ay, always? and who will now raise a hand for him? who?" "madame!" "who? who? had he died in the field," she continued, her voice shaking with grief, her hands beating the parapet--for she had turned from him--"had he fallen where he rode last night, in the front, with his face to the foe, i had viewed him tearless, i had deemed him happy! i had prayed dry-eyed for him who--who spared me all these days and weeks! whom i robbed and he forgave me! whom i tempted, and he forbore me! ay, and who spared not once or twice him for whom he must now--he must now----" and unable to finish the sentence she beat her hands again and passionately on the stones. "heaven knows, madame," the minister cried vehemently, "heaven knows, i would advise you if i could." "why did he wear his corselet?" she wailed, as if she had not heard him. "was there no spear could reach his breast, that he must come to this? no foe so gentle he would spare him this? or why did he not die with me in paris when we waited? in another minute death might have come and saved us this." with the tears running down his face he tried to comfort her. "man that is a shadow," he said, "passeth away--what matter how? a little while, a very little while, and we shall pass!" "with his curse upon us!" she cried. and, shuddering, she pressed her hands to her eyes to shut out the sight her fancy pictured. he left her for a while, hoping that in solitude she might regain control of herself. when he returned he found her seated, and outwardly more composed, her arms resting on the parapet-wall, her eyes bent steadily on the long stretch of hard sand which ran northward from the village. by that route her lover had many a time come to her; there she had ridden with him in the early days; and that way they had started for paris on such a morning and at such an hour as this, with sunshine about them, and larks singing hope above the sand-dunes, and warm wavelets creaming to the horses' hoofs! of all which, la tribe, a stranger, knew nothing. the rapt gaze, the unchanging attitude only confirmed his opinion of the course she would adopt. he was thankful to find her more composed; and in fear of such a scene as had already passed between them he stole away again. he returned by-and-by, but with the greatest reluctance, and only because carlat's urgency would take no refusal. he came this time to crave the key of the wicket, explaining that--rather to satisfy his own conscience and the men than with any hope of success--he proposed to go half-way along the causeway, and thence by signs invite a conference. "it is just possible," he added, hesitating--he feared nothing so much as to raise hopes in her--"that by the offer of a money ransom, madame----" "go," she said, without turning her head. "offer what you please. but"--bitterly--"have a care of them! montsoreau is very like montereau! beware of the bridge!" he went and came again in half-an-hour. then, indeed, though she had spoken as if hope was dead in her, she was on her feet at the first sound of his tread on the stairs; her parted lips and her white face questioned him. he shook his head. "there is a priest," he said in broken tones, "with them, whom god will judge. it is his plan, and he is without mercy or pity." "you bring nothing from--him?" "they will not suffer him to write again." "you did not see him?" "no." chapter xxxv. against the wall. in a room beside the gateway, into which, as the nearest and most convenient place, count hannibal had been carried from his saddle, a man sat sideways in the narrow embrasure of a loophole, to which his eyes seemed glued. the room, which formed part of the oldest block of the château, and was ordinarily the quarters of the carlats, possessed two other windows, deep-set indeed, yet superior to that through which bigot--for he it was--peered so persistently. but the larger windows looked southwards, across the bay--at this moment the noon-high sun was pouring his radiance through them; while the object which held bigot's gaze and fixed him to his irksome seat, lay elsewhere. the loophole commanded the causeway leading shorewards; through it the norman could see who came and went, and even the crossbeam of the ugly object which rose where the causeway touched the land. on a flat truckle-bed behind the door lay count hannibal, his injured leg protected from the coverlid by a kind of cage. his eyes were bright with fever, and his untended beard and straggling hair heightened the wildness of his aspect. but he was in possession of his senses; and as his gaze passed from bigot at the window to the old free companion, who sat on a stool beside him, engaged in shaping a piece of wood into a splint, an expression almost soft crept into his harsh face. "old fool!" he said. and his voice, though changed, had not lost all its strength and harshness. "did the constable need a splint when you laid him under the tower at gaeta?" the old man lifted his eyes from his task, and glanced through the nearest window. "it is long from noon to night," he said quietly, "and far from cup to lip, my lord!" "it would be if i had two legs," tavannes answered, with a grimace, half-snarl, half-smile. "as it is--where is that dagger? it leaves me every minute." it had slipped from the coverlid to the ground. badelon took it up, and set it on the bed within reach of his master's hand. bigot swore fiercely. "it would be farther still," he growled, "if you would be guided by me, my lord. give me leave to bar the door, and 'twill be long before these fisher clowns force it. badelon and i----" "being in your full strength," count hannibal murmured cynically. "could hold it. we have strength enough for that," the norman boasted, though his livid face and his bandages gave the lie to his words. he could not move without pain; and for badelon, his knee was as big as two with plaisters of his own placing. count hannibal stared at the ceiling. "you could not strike two blows!" he said. "don't lie to me! and badelon cannot walk two yards! fine fighters!" he continued with bitterness, not all bitter. "fine bars 'twixt a man and death! no, it is time to turn the face to the wall. and, since go i must, it shall not be said count hannibal dared not go alone! besides----" bigot stopped him with an oath that was in part a cry of pain. "d--n her!" he exclaimed in fury, "'tis she is that _besides!_ i know it. 'tis she has been our ruin from the day we saw her first, ay, to this day! 'tis she has bewitched you until your blood, my lord, has turned to water. or you would never, to save the hand that betrayed us, never to save a man----" "silence!" count hannibal cried, in a terrible voice. and rising on his elbow, he poised the dagger as if he would hurl it. "silence, or i will spit you like the vermin you are! silence, and listen! and you, old ban-dog, listen too, for i know you obstinate! it is not to save him. it is because i will die as i have lived, fearing nothing and asking nothing! it were easy to bar the door as you would have me, and die in the corner here like a wolf at bay, biting to the last. that were easy, old wolf-hound! pleasant and good sport!" "ay! that were a death!" the veteran cried, his eyes brightening. "so i would fain die!" "and i!" count hannibal returned, showing his teeth in a grim smile. "i too! yet i will not! i will not! because so to die were to die unwillingly, and give them triumph. be dragged to death? no, old dog, if die we must, we will go to death! we will die grandly, highly, as becomes tavannes! that when we are gone they may say, 'there died a man!'" "_she_ may say!" bigot muttered scowling. count hannibal heard and glared at him, but presently thought better of it, and after a pause, "ay, she too!" he said. "why not? as we have played the game--for her--so, though we lose, we will play it to the end; nor because we lose throw down the cards! besides, man, die in the corner, die biting, and he dies too!" "and why not?" bigot asked, rising in a fury. "why not? whose work is it we lie here, snared by these clowns of fisherfolk? who led us wrong and betrayed us? he die? would the devil had taken him a year ago! would he were within my reach now! i would kill him with my bare fingers! he die? and why not?" "why, because, fool, his death would not save me!" count hannibal answered coolly. "if it would, he would die! but it will not; and we must even do again as we have done. i have spared him--he's a white-livered hound!--both once and twice, and we must go to the end with it since no better can be! i have thought it out, and it must be. only see you, old dog, that i have the dagger hid in the splint where i can reach it. and then, when the exchange has been made, and my lady has her silk glove again--to put in her bosom!"--with a grimace and a sudden reddening of his harsh features--"if master priest come within reach of my arm, i'll send him before me, where i go." "ay, ay!" said badelon. "and if you fail of your stroke i will not fail of mine! i shall be there, and i will see to it he goes! i shall be there!" "you?" "ay, why not?" the old man answered quietly. "i may halt on this leg for aught i know, and come to starve on crutches like old claude boiteux who was at the taking of milan and now begs in the passage under the châtelet." "bah, man, you will get a new lord!" badelon nodded. "ay, a new lord with new ways!" he answered slowly and thoughtfully. "and i am tired. they are of another sort, lords now, than they were when i was young. it was a word and a blow then. now i am old, with most it is--'old hog, your distance! you scent my lady!' then they rode, and hunted, and tilted year in and year out, and summer or winter heard the lark sing. 'now they are curled, and paint themselves, and lie in silk and toy with ladies--who shamed to be seen at court or board when i was a boy--and love better to hear the mouse squeak than the lark sing." "still, if i give you my gold chain," count hannibal answered quietly, "'twill keep you from that." "give it to bigot," the old man answered. the splint he was fashioning had fallen on his knees, and his eyes were fixed on the distance of his youth. "for me, my lord, i am tired, and i go with you. i go with you. it is a good death to die biting before the strength be quite gone. have the dagger too, if you please, and i'll fit it within the splint right neatly. but i shall be there----" "and you'll strike home?" tavannes cried eagerly. he raised himself on his elbow, a gleam of joy in his gloomy eyes. "have no fear, my lord. see, does it tremble?" he held out his hand. "and when you are sped, i will try the spanish stroke--upwards with a turn ere you withdraw, that i learned from ruiz--on the shaven-pate. i see them about me now!" the old man continued, his face flushing, his form dilating. "it will be odd if i cannot snatch a sword and hew down three to go with tavannes! and bigot, he will see my lord the marshal by-and-by; and as i do to the priest, the marshal will do to montsoreau. ho! ho! he will teach him the _coup de jarnac_, never fear!" and the old man's moustaches curled up ferociously. count hannibal's eyes sparkled with joy. "old dog!" he cried--and he held his hand to the veteran, who brushed it reverently with his lips--"we will go together then! who touches my brother, touches tavannes!" "touches tavannes!" badelon cried, the glow of battle lighting his bloodshot eyes. he rose to his feet. "touches tavannes! you mind at jarnac----" "ah! at jarnac!" "when we charged their horse, was my boot a foot from yours, my lord?" "not a foot!" "and at dreux," the old man continued with a proud, elated gesture, "when we rode down the german pikemen--they were grass before us, leaves on the wind, thistle-down--was it not i who covered your bridle hand, and swerved not in the _mêlée?_" "it was! it was!" "and at st. quentin, when we fled before the spaniard--it was his day, you remember, and cost us dear----" "ay, i was young then," tavannes cried in turn, his eyes glistening. "st. quentin! it was the tenth of august. and you were new with me, and seized my rein----" "and we rode off together, my lord--of the last, of the last, as god sees me! and striking as we went, so that they left us for easier game." "it was so, good sword! i remember it as if it had been yesterday!" "and at cerisoles, the battle of the plain, in the old spanish wars, that was most like a joust of all the pitched fields i ever saw--at cerisoles, where i caught your horse? you mind me? it was in the shock when we broke guasto's line----" "at cerisoles?" count hannibal muttered slowly. "why, man, i----" "i caught your horse, and mounted you afresh? you remember, my lord? and at landriano, where leyva turned the tables on us again." count hannibal stared. "landriano?" he muttered bluntly. "'twas in ' , forty years ago and more! my father, indeed----" "and at rome--at rome, my lord? _mon dieu!_ in the old days at rome! when the spanish company scaled the wall--ruiz was first, i next--was it not my foot you held? and was it not i who dragged you up, while the devils of swiss pressed us hard? ah, those were days, my lord! i was young then, and you, my lord, young too, and handsome as the morning----" "you rave!" tavannes cried, finding his tongue at last. "rome? you rave, old man! why, i was not born in those days. my father even was a boy! it was in ' you sacked it--five-and-forty years ago!" the old man passed his hands over his heated face, and, as a man roused suddenly from sleep looks, he looked round the room. the light died out of his eyes--as a light blown out in a room; his form seemed to shrink, even while the others gazed at him, and he sat down. "no, i remember," he muttered slowly. "it was prince philibert of chalons, my lord of orange." "dead these forty years!" "ay, dead these forty years! all dead!" the old man whispered, gazing at his gnarled hand, and opening and shutting it by turns. "and i grow childish! 'tis time, high time, i followed them! it trembles now; but have no fear, my lord, this hand will not tremble then. all dead! ay, all dead!" he sank into a mournful silence; and tavannes, after gazing at him awhile in rough pity, fell to his own meditations, which were gloomy enough. the day was beginning to wane, and with the downward turn, though the sun still shone brightly through the southern windows, a shadow seemed to fall across his thoughts. they no longer rioted in a turmoil of defiance as in the forenoon. in its turn, sober reflection marshalled the past before his eyes. the hopes of a life, the ambitious of a life, moved in sombre procession, and things done and things left undone, the sovereignty which nostradamus had promised, the faces of men he had spared and of men he had not spared--and the face of one woman. she would not now be his. he had played highly, and he would lose highly, playing the game to the end, that to-morrow she might think of him highly. had she begun to think of him at all? in the chamber of the inn at angers he had fancied a change in her, an awakening to life and warmth, a shadow of turning to him. it had pleased him to think so, at any rate. it pleased him still to imagine--of this he was more confident--that in the time to come, when she was tignonville's, she would think of him secretly and kindly. she would remember him, and in her thoughts and in her memory he would grow to the heroic, even as the man she had chosen would shrink as she learned to know him. it pleased him, that. it was almost all that was left to please him--that, and to die proudly as he had lived. but as the day wore on, and the room grew hot and close, and the pain in his thigh became more grievous, the frame of his mind altered. a sombre rage was born and grew in him, and a passion fierce and ill-suppressed. to end thus, with nothing done, nothing accomplished of all his hopes and ambitions! to die thus, crushed in a corner by a mean priest and a rabble of spearmen, he who had seen dreux and jarnac, had defied the king, and dared to turn the st. bartholomew to his ends! to die thus, and leave her to that puppet! strong man as he was, of a strength of will surpassed by few, it taxed him to the utmost to lie and make no sign. once, indeed, he raised himself on his elbow with something between an oath and a snarl, and he seemed about to speak. so that bigot came hurriedly to him. "my lord?" "water!" he said. "water, fool!" and, having drank, he turned his face to the wall, lest he should name her or ask for her. for the desire to see her before he died, to look into her eyes, to touch her hand once, only once, assailed his mind and all but whelmed his will. she had been with him, he knew it, in the night; she had left him only at daybreak. but then, in his state of collapse, he had been hardly conscious of her presence. now to ask for her or to see her would stamp him coward, say what he might to her. the proverb, that the king's face gives grace, applied to her; and an overture on his side could mean but one thing, that he sought her grace. and that he would not do though the cold waters of death covered him more and more, and the coming of the end--in that quiet chamber, while the september sun sank to the appointed place--awoke wild longings and a wild rebellion in his breast. his thoughts were very bitter, as he lay, his loneliness of the uttermost. he turned his face to the wall. in that posture he slept after a time, watched over by bigot with looks of rage and pity. and on the room fell a long silence. the sun had lacked three hours of setting when he fell asleep. when he reopened his eyes, and, after lying for a few minutes between sleep and waking, became conscious of his position, of the day, of the things which had happened, and his helplessness--an awakening which wrung from him an involuntary groan--the light in the room was still strong, and even bright. he fancied for a moment that he had merely dozed off and awaked again; and he continued to lie with his face to the wall, courting a return of slumber. but sleep did not come, and little by little, as he lay listening and thinking and growing more restless, he got the fancy that he was alone. the light fell brightly on the wall to which his face was turned; how could that be if bigot's broad shoulders still blocked the loophole? presently, to assure himself, he called the man by name. he got no answer. "badelon!" he muttered. "badelon!" had he gone, too, the old and faithful? it seemed so, for again no answer came. he had been accustomed all his life to instant service; to see the act follow the word ere the word ceased to sound. and nothing which had gone before, nothing which he had suffered since his defeat at angers, had brought him to feel his impotence and his position--and that the end of his power was indeed come--as sharply as this. the blood rushed to his head; almost the tears to eyes which had not shed them since boyhood, and would not shed them now, weak as he was! he rose on his elbow and looked with a full heart; it was as he had fancied. badelon's stool was empty; the embrasure--that was empty too. through its narrow outlet he had a tiny view of the shore and the low rocky hill, of which the summit shone warm in the last rays of the setting sun. the setting sun! ay, for the lower part of the hill was growing cold; the shore at its foot was grey. then he had slept long, and the time was come. he drew a deep breath and listened. but on all within and without lay silence, a silence marked, rather than broken, by the dull fall of a wave on the causeway. the day had been calm, but with the sunset a light breeze was rising. he set his teeth hard, and continued to listen. an hour before sunset was the time they had named for the exchange. what did it mean? in five minutes the sun would be below the horizon; already the zone of warmth on the hillside was moving and retreating upwards. and bigot and old badelon? why had they left him while he slept? an hour before sunset! why, the room was growing grey, grey and dark in the corners, and--what was that? he started, so violently that he jarred his leg, and the pain wrung a groan from him. at the foot of the bed, overlooked until then, a woman lay prone on the floor, her face resting on her outstretched arms. she lay without motion, her head and her clasped hands towards the loophole, her thick, clubbed hair hiding her neck. a woman! count hannibal stared, and, fancying he dreamed, closed his eyes, then looked again. it was no phantasm. it was the countess; it was his wife! he drew a deep breath, but he did not speak, though the colour rose slowly to his cheek. and slowly his eyes devoured her from head to foot, from the hands lying white in the light below the window to the shod feet; unchecked he took his fill, of that which he had so much desired--the seeing her! a woman prone, with all of her hidden but her hands: a hundred acquainted with her would not have known her. but he knew her, and would have known her from a hundred, nay from a thousand, by her hands alone. what was she doing here, and in this guise? he pondered; then he looked from her for an instant and saw that while he had gazed at her the sun had set, the light had passed from the top of the hill; the world without and the room within were growing cold. was that the cause she no longer lay quiet? he saw a shudder run through her, and a second; then it seemed to him--or was he going mad?--that she moaned, and prayed in half-heard words, and, wrestling with herself, beat her forehead on her arms, and then was still again, as still as death. by the time the paroxysm had passed, the last flush of sunset had faded from the sky, and the hills were growing dark. chapter xxxvi. his kingdom. count hannibal could not have said why he did not speak to her at once. warned by an instinct vague and ill-understood, he remained silent, his eyes riveted on her, until she rose from the floor. a moment later she met his gaze, and he looked to see her start. instead she stood quiet and thoughtful, regarding him with a kind of sad solemnity, as if she saw not him only, but the dead; while first one tremor and then a second shook her frame. at length, "it is over!" she whispered. "patience, monsieur; have no fear, i will be brave. but i must give a little to him." "to him!" count hannibal muttered, his face extraordinarily pale. she smiled with an odd passionateness. "who was my lover!" she cried, her voice a-thrill. "who will ever be my lover, though i have denied him, though i have left him to die! it was just. he who has so tried me knows it was just! he whom i have sacrificed--he knows it too, now! but it is hard to be--just," with a quavering smile. "you who take all may give him a little, may pardon me a little, may have--patience!" count hannibal uttered a strangled cry, between a moan and a roar. a moment he beat the coverlid with his hands in impotence. then he sank back on the bed. "water!" he muttered. "water!" she fetched it hurriedly, and, raising his head on her arm, held it to his lips. he drank, and lay back again with closed eyes. he lay so still and so long that she thought that he had fainted; but after a pause he spoke. "you have done that?" he whispered, "you have done that?" "yes," she answered, shuddering. "god forgive me! i have done that! i had to do that, or----" "and is it too late--to undo it?" "it is too late." a sob choked her voice. tears--tears incredible, unnatural--welled from under count hannibal's closed eyelids, and rolled sluggishly down his harsh cheek to the edge of his beard. "i would have gone," he muttered. "if you had spoken, i would have spared you this." "i know," she answered unsteadily; "the men told me." "and yet----" "it was just. and you are my husband," she replied. "more, i am the captive of your sword, and as you spared me in your strength, my lord, i spared you in your weakness." "mon dieu! mon dieu, madame!" he cried, "at what a cost!" and that arrested, that touched her in the depths of her grief and her horror; even while the gibbet on the causeway, which had burned itself into her eyeballs, hung before her. for she knew that it was the cost to her he was counting. she knew that for himself he had ever held life cheap, that he could have seen tignonville suffer without a qualm. and the thoughtfulness for her, the value he placed on a thing--even on a rival's life--because it was dear to her, touched her home, moved her as few things could have moved her at that moment. she saw it of a piece with all that had gone before, with all that had passed between them, since that fatal sunday in paris. but she made no sign. more than she had said she would not say; words of love, even of reconciliation, had no place on her lips while he whom she had sacrificed awaited his burial. and meantime the man beside her lay and found it incredible. "it was just," she had said. and he knew it; tignonville's folly--that and that only had led them into the snare and caused his own capture. but what had justice to do with the things of this world? in his experience, the strong hand--that was justice, in france; and possession--that was law. by the strong hand he had taken her, and by the strong hand she might have freed herself. and she had not. there was the incredible thing. she had chosen instead to do justice! it passed belief. opening his eyes on a silence which had lasted some minutes, a silence rendered more solemn by the lapping water without, tavannes saw her kneeling in the dusk of the chamber, her head bowed over his couch, her face hidden in her hands. he knew that she prayed, and feebly he deemed the whole a dream. no scene akin to it had had place in his life; and, weakened and in pain, he prayed that the vision might last for ever, that he might never awake. but by-and-by, wrestling with the dread thought of what she had done, and the horror which would return upon her by fits and spasms, she flung out a hand, and it fell on him. he started, and the movement, jarring the broken limb, wrung from him a cry of pain. she looked up and was going to speak, when a scuffling of feet under the gateway arch, and a confused sound of several voices raised at once, arrested the words on her lips. she rose to her feet and listened. dimly he could see her face through the dusk. her eyes were on the door, and she breathed quickly. a moment or two passed in this way, and then from the hurly-burly in the gateway the footsteps of two men--one limped--detached themselves and came nearer and nearer. they stopped without. a gleam of light shone under the door, and someone knocked. she went to the door, and, withdrawing the bar, stepped quickly back to the bedside, where for an instant the light borne by those who entered blinded her. then, above the lantern, the faces of la tribe and bigot broke upon her, and their shining eyes told her that they bore good news. it was well, for the men seemed tongue-tied. the minister's fluency was gone; he was very pale, and it was bigot who in the end spoke for both. he stepped forward, and, kneeling, kissed her cold hand. "my lady," he said, "you have gained all, and lost nothing. blessed be god!" "blessed be god!" the minister wept. and from the passage without came the sound of laughter and weeping and many voices, with a flutter of lights and flying skirts, and women's feet. she stared at him wildly, doubtfully, her hand at her throat. "what?" she said, "he is not dead--m. de tignonville?" "no, he is alive," la tribe answered, "he is alive." and he lifted up his hands as if he gave thanks. "alive?" she cried. "alive! oh, heaven is merciful! you are sure! you are sure?" "sure, madame, sure. he was not in their hands. he was dismounted in the first shock, it seems, and, coming to himself after a time, crept away and reached st. gilles, and came hither in a boat. but the enemy learned that he had not entered with us, and of this the priest wove his snare. blessed be god, who put it into your heart to escape it!" the countess stood motionless and, with closed eyes, pressed her hands to her temples. once she swayed as if she would fall her length, and bigot sprang forward to support and save her. but she opened her eyes at that, sighed very deeply, and seemed to recover herself. "you are sure?" she said faintly. "it is no trick?" "no, madame, it is no trick," la tribe answered. "m. de tignonville is alive, and here." "here!" she started at the word. the colour fluttered in her cheek. "but the keys," she murmured. and she passed her hand across her brow. "i thought--that i had them." "he has not entered," the minister answered, "for that reason. he is waiting at the postern, where he landed. he came, hoping to be of use to you." she paused a moment, and when she spoke again her aspect had undergone a subtle change. her head was high, a flush had risen to her cheeks, her eyes were bright. "then," she said, addressing la tribe, "do you, monsieur, go to him, and pray him in my name to retire to st. gilles, if he can do so without peril. he has no place here--now; and if he can go safely to his home it will be well that he do so. add, if you please, that madame de tavannes thanks him for his offer of aid, but in her husband's house she needs no other protection." bigot's eyes sparkled with joy. the minister hesitated. "no more, madame?" he faltered. he was tender-hearted, and tignonville was of his people. "no more," she said gravely, bowing her head. "it is not m. de tignonville i have to thank, but heaven's mercy, that i do not stand here at this moment unhappy as i entered--a woman accursed, to be pointed at while i live. and the dead"--she pointed solemnly through the dark casement to the shore--"the dead lie there." la tribe went. she stood a moment in thought, and then took the keys from the rough stone window-ledge on which she had laid them when she entered. as the cold iron touched her fingers she shuddered. the contact awoke again the horror and misery in which she had groped, a lost thing, when she last felt that chill. "take them," she said; and she gave them to bigot. "until my lord can leave his couch they will remain in your charge, and you will answer for all to him. go, now, take the light; and in half-an-hour send madame carlat to me." a wave broke heavily on the causeway and ran down seething to the sea; and another and another, filling the room with rhythmical thunders. but the voice of the sea was no longer the same in the darkness, where the countess knelt in silence beside the bed--knelt, her head bowed on her clasped hands, as she had knelt before, but with a mind how different, with what different thoughts! count hannibal could see her head but dimly, for the light shed upwards by the spume of the sea fell only on the rafters. but he knew she was there, and he would fain, for his heart was full, have laid his hand on her hair. and yet he would not. he would not, out of pride. instead he bit on his harsh beard, and lay looking upward to the rafters, waiting what would come. he who had held her at his will now lay at hers, and waited. he who had spared her life at a price now took his own a gift at her hands, and bore it. "_afterwards, madame de tavannes_----" his mind went back by some chance to those words--the words he had neither meant nor fulfilled. it passed from them to the marriage and the blow; to the scene in the meadow beside the river; to the last ride between la flèche and angers--the ride during which he had played with her fears and hugged himself on the figure he would make on the morrow. the figure! alas! of all his plans for dazzling her had come--_this!_ angers had defeated him, a priest had worsted him. in place of releasing tignonville after the fashion of bayard and the paladins, and in the teeth of snarling thousands, he had come near to releasing him after another fashion and at his own expense. instead of dazzling her by his mastery and winning her by his magnanimity, he lay here, owing her his life, and so weak, so broken, that the tears of childhood welled up in his eyes. out of the darkness a hand, cool and firm, slid into his, clasped it tightly, drew it to warm lips, carried it to a woman's bosom. "my lord," she murmured, "i was the captive of your sword, and you spared me. him i loved you took and spared him too--not once or twice. angers, also, and my people you would have saved for my sake. and you thought i could do this! oh! shame, shame!" but her hand held his always. "you loved him," he muttered. "yes, i loved him," she answered slowly and thoughtfully. "i loved him." and she fell silent a minute. then, "and i feared you," she added, her voice low. "oh, how i feared you--and hated you!" "and now?" "i do not fear him," she answered, smiling in the darkness. "nor hate him. and for you, my lord, i am your wife and must do your bidding, whether i will or no. i have no choice." he was silent. "is that not so?" she asked. he tried weakly to withdraw his hand. but she clung to it. "i must bear your blows or your kisses. i must be as you will and do as you will, and go happy or sad, lonely or with you, as you will! as you will, my lord! for i am your chattel, your property, your own. have you not told me so?" "but your heart," he cried fiercely, "is his! your heart, which you told me in the meadow could never be mine!" "i lied," she murmured, laughing tearfully, and her hands hovered over him. "it has come back! and it is on my lips." and she leant over and kissed him. and count hannibal knew that he had entered into his kingdom, the sovereignty of a woman's heart. * * * * * an hour later there was a stir in the village on the mainland. lanterns began to flit to and fro. sulkily men were saddling and preparing for the road. it was far to challans, farther to lège--more than one day, and many a weary league to ponts de cé and the loire. the men who had ridden gaily southwards on the scent of spoil and revenge turned their backs on the castle with many a sullen oath and word. they burned a hovel or two, and stripped such as they spared, after the fashion of the day; and it had gone ill with the peasant woman who fell into their hands. fortunately, under cover of the previous night every soul had escaped from the village, some to sea, and the rest to take shelter among the sand dunes; and as the troopers rode up the path from the beach, and through the green valley, where their horses shied from the bodies of the men they had slain, there was not an eye to see them go. or to mark the man who rode last, the man of the white face--scarred on the temple--and the burning eyes, who paused on the brow of the hill, and, before he passed beyond, cursed with quivering lips the foe who had escaped him. the words were lost, as soon as spoken, in the murmur of the sea on the causeway; the sea, fit emblem of the eternal, which rolled its tide regardless of blessing or cursing, good or ill will, nor spared one jot of ebb or flow because a puny creature had spoken to the night. the end. a gentleman of france contents. chapter i. the sport of fools. ii. the king of navarre. iii. boot and saddle. iv. mademoiselle de la vire. v. the road to blois. vi. my mother's lodging. vii. simon fleix. viii. an empty room. ix. the house in the ruelle d'arcy. x. the fight on the stairs. xi. the man at the door. xii. maximilian de bethune, baron de rosny. xiii. at rosny. xiv. m. de rambouillet. xv. vilain herodes. xvi. in the king's chamber. xvii. the jacobin monk. xviii. the offer of the league. xix. men call it chance. xx. the king's face. xxi. two women. xxii. 'la femme dispose.' xxiii. the last valois. xxiv. a royal peril. xxv. terms of surrender. xxvi. meditations. xxvii. to me, my friends! xxviii. the castle on the hill. xxix. pestilence and famine. xxx. stricken. xxxi. under the greenwood. xxxii. a tavern brawl. xxxiii. at meudon. xxxiv. ''tis an ill wind.' xxxv. 'le roi est mort.' xxxvi. 'vive le roi!' a gentleman of france. chapter i. the sport of fools. the death of the prince of condé, which occurred in the spring of , by depriving me of my only patron, reduced me to such straits that the winter of that year, which saw the king of navarre come to spend his christmas at st. jean d'angely, saw also the nadir of my fortunes. i did not know at this time--i may confess it to-day without shame--whither to turn for a gold crown or a new scabbard, and neither had nor discerned any hope of employment. the peace lately patched up at blois between the king of france and the league persuaded many of the huguenots that their final ruin was at hand; but it could not fill their exhausted treasury or enable them to put fresh troops into the field. the death of the prince had left the king of navarre without a rival in the affections of the huguenots; the vicomte de turenne, whose turbulent ambition already began to make itself felt, and m. de chatillon, ranking next to him. it was my ill-fortune, however, to be equally unknown to all three leaders, and as the month of december which saw me thus miserably straitened saw me reach the age of forty, which i regard, differing in that from many, as the grand climacteric of a man's life, it will be believed that i had need of all the courage which religion and a campaigner's life could supply. i had been compelled some time before to sell all my horses except the black sardinian with the white spot on its forehead; and i now found myself obliged to part also with my valet de chambre and groom, whom i dismissed on the same day, paying them their wages with the last links of gold chain left to me. it was not without grief and dismay that i saw myself thus stripped of the appurtenances of a man of birth, and driven to groom my own horse under cover of night. but this was not the worst. my dress, which suffered inevitably from this menial employment, began in no long time to bear witness to the change in my circumstances; so that on the day of the king of navarre's entrance into st. jean i dared not face the crowd, always quick to remark the poverty of those above them, but was fain to keep within doors and wear out my patience in the garret of the cutler's house in the rue de la coutellerie, which was all the lodging i could now afford. pardieu, 'tis a strange world! strange that time seems to me; more strange compared with this. my reflections on that day, i remember, were of the most melancholy. look at it how i would, i could not but see that my life's spring was over. the crows'-feet were gathering about my eyes, and my moustachios, which seemed with each day of ill-fortune to stand out more fiercely in proportion as my face grew leaner, were already grey. i was out at elbows, with empty pockets, and a sword which peered through the sheath. the meanest ruffler who, with broken feather and tarnished lace, swaggered at the heels of turenne, was scarcely to be distinguished from me. i had still, it is true, a rock and a few barren acres in brittany, the last remains of the family property; but the small sums which the peasants could afford to pay were sent annually to paris, to my mother, who had no other dower. and this i would not touch, being minded to die a gentleman, even if i could not live in that estate. small as were my expectations of success, since i had no one at the king's side to push my business, nor any friend at court, i nevertheless did all i could, in the only way that occurred to me. i drew up a petition, and lying in wait one day for m. forget, the king of navarre's secretary, placed it in his hand, begging him to lay it before that prince. he took it, and promised to do so, smoothly, and with as much lip-civility as i had a right to expect. but the careless manner in which he doubled up and thrust away the paper on which i had spent so much labour, no less than the covert sneer of his valet, who ran after me to get the customary present--and ran, as i still blush to remember, in vain--warned me to refrain from hope. in this, however, having little save hope left, i failed so signally as to spend the next day and the day after in a fever of alternate confidence and despair, the cold fit following the hot with perfect regularity. at length, on the morning of the third day--i remember it lacked but three of christmas--i heard a step on the stairs. my landlord living in his shop, and the two intervening floors being empty, i had no doubt the message was for me, and went outside the door to receive it, my first glance at the messenger confirming me in my highest hopes, as well as in all i had ever heard of the generosity of the king of navarre. for by chance i knew the youth to be one of the royal pages; a saucy fellow who had a day or two before cried 'old clothes' after me in the street. i was very far from resenting this now, however, nor did he appear to recall it; so that i drew the happiest augury as to the contents of the note he bore from the politeness with which he presented it to me. i would not, however, run the risk of a mistake, and before holding out my hand, i asked him directly and with formality if it was for me. he answered, with the utmost respect, that it was for the sieur de marsac, and for me if i were he. 'there is an answer, perhaps?' i said, seeing that he lingered. 'the king of navarre, sir,' he replied, with a low bow, 'will receive your answer in person, i believe.' and with that, replacing the hat which he had doffed out of respect to me, he turned and went down the stairs. returning to my room, and locking the door, i hastily opened the missive, which was sealed with a large seal, and wore every appearance of importance. i found its contents to exceed all my expectations. the king of navarre desired me to wait on him at noon on the following day, and the letter concluded with such expressions of kindness and goodwill as left me in no doubt of the prince's intentions. i read it, i confess, with emotions of joy and gratitude which would better have become a younger man, and then cheerfully sat down to spend the rest of the day in making such improvements in my dress as seemed possible. with a thankful heart i concluded that i had now escaped from poverty, at any rate from such poverty as is disgraceful to a gentleman; and consoled myself for the meanness of the appearance i must make at court with the reflection that a day or two would mend both habit and fortune. accordingly, it was with a stout heart that i left my lodgings a few minutes before noon next morning, and walked towards the castle. it was some time since i had made so public an appearance in the streets, which the visit of the king of navarre's court had filled with an unusual crowd, and i could not help fancying as i passed that some of the loiterers eyed me with a covert smile; and, indeed, i was shabby enough. but finding that a frown more than sufficed to restore the gravity of these gentry, i set down the appearance to my own self-consciousness, and, stroking my moustachios, strode along boldly until i saw before me, and coming to meet me, the same page who had delivered the note. he stopped in front of me with an air of consequence, and making me a low bow--whereat i saw the bystanders stare, for he was as gay a young spark as maid-of-honour could desire--he begged me to hasten, as the king awaited me in his closet. 'he has asked for you twice, sir,' he continued importantly, the feather of his cap almost sweeping the ground. 'i think,' i answered, quickening my steps, 'that the king's letter says noon, young sir. if i am late on such an occasion, he has indeed cause to complain of me.' 'tut, tut!' he rejoined, waving his hand with a dandified air. 'it is no matter. one man may steal a horse when another may not look over the wall, you know.' a man may be gray-haired, he may be sad-complexioned, and yet he may retain some of the freshness of youth. on receiving this indication of a favour exceeding all expectation, i remember i felt the blood rise to my face, and experienced the most lively gratitude. i wondered who had spoken in my behalf, who had befriended me; and concluding at last that my part in the affair at brouage had come to the king's ears, though i could not conceive through whom, i passed through the castle gates with an air of confidence and elation which was not unnatural, i think, under the circumstances. thence, following my guide, i mounted the ramp and entered the courtyard. a number of grooms and valets were lounging here, some leading horses to and fro, others exchanging jokes with the wenches who leaned from the windows, while their fellows again stamped up and down to keep their feet warm, or played ball against the wall in imitation of their masters. such knaves are ever more insolent than their betters; but i remarked that they made way for me with respect, and with rising spirits, yet a little irony, i reminded myself as i mounted the stairs of the words, 'whom the king delighteth to honour!' reaching the head of the flight, where was a soldier on guard, the page opened the door of the ante-chamber, and standing aside bade me enter. i did so, and heard the door close behind me. for a moment i stood still, bashful and confused. it seemed to me that there were a hundred people in the room, and that half the eyes which met mine were women's. though i was not altogether a stranger to such state as the prince of condé had maintained, this crowded anteroom filled me with surprise, and even with a degree of awe, of which i was the next moment ashamed. true, the flutter of silk and gleam of jewels surpassed anything i had then seen, for my fortunes had never led me to the king's court; but an instant's reflection reminded me that my fathers had held their own in such scenes, and with a bow regulated rather by this thought than by the shabbiness of my dress, i advanced amid a sudden silence. 'm. de marsac!' the page announced, in a tone which sounded a little odd in my ears; so much so, that i turned quickly to look at him. he was gone, however, and when i turned again the eyes which met mine were full of smiles. a young girl who stood near me tittered. put out of countenance by this, i looked round in embarrassment to find someone to whom i might apply. the room was long and narrow, panelled in chestnut, with a row of windows on the one hand, and two fireplaces, now heaped with glowing logs, on the other. between the fireplaces stood a rack of arms. round the nearer hearth lounged a group of pages, the exact counterparts of the young blade who had brought me hither; and talking with these were as many young gentlewomen. two great hounds lay basking in the heat, and coiled between them, with her head on the back of the larger, was a figure so strange that at another time i should have doubted my eyes. it wore the fool's motley and cap and bells, but a second glance showed me the features were a woman's. a torrent of black hair flowed loose about her neck, her eyes shone with wild merriment, and her face, keen, thin, and hectic, glared at me from the dog's back. beyond her, round the farther fireplace, clustered more than a score of gallants and ladies, of whom one presently advanced to me. 'sir,' he said politely--and i wished i could match his bow--'you wished to see?' 'the king of navarre,' i answered, doing my best. he turned to the group behind him, and said, in a peculiarly even, placid tone, 'he wishes to see the king of navarre.' then in solemn silence he bowed to me again and went back to his fellows. upon the instant, and before i could make up my mind how to take this, a second tripped forward, and saluting me, said, 'm. de marsac, i think?' 'at your service, sir,' i rejoined. in my eagerness to escape the gaze of all those eyes, and the tittering which was audible behind me, i took a step forward to be in readiness to follow him. but he gave no sign. 'm. de marsac to see the king of navarre' was all he said, speaking as the other had done to those behind. and with that he too wheeled round and went back to the fire. i stared, a first faint suspicion of the truth aroused in my mind. before i could act upon it, however--in such a situation it was no easy task to decide how to act--a third advanced with the same measured steps. 'by appointment i think, sir?' he said, bowing lower than the others. 'yes,' i replied sharply, beginning to grow warm, 'by appointment at noon.' 'm. de marsac,' he announced in a sing-song tone to those behind him, 'to see the king of navarre by appointment at noon.' and with a second bow--while i grew scarlet with mortification--he too wheeled gravely round and returned to the fireplace. i saw another preparing to advance, but he came too late. whether my face of anger and bewilderment was too much for them, or some among them lacked patience to see the end, a sudden uncontrollable shout of laughter, in which all the room joined, cut short the farce. god knows it hurt me: i winced, i looked this way and that, hoping here or there to find sympathy and help. but it seemed to me that the place rang with gibes, that every panel framed, however i turned myself, a cruel, sneering face. one behind me cried 'old clothes,' and when i turned the other hearth whispered the taunt. it added a thousandfold to my embarrassment that there was in all a certain orderliness, so that while no one moved, and none, while i looked at them, raised their voices, i seemed the more singled out, and placed as a butt in the midst. one face amid the pyramid of countenances which hid the farther fireplace so burned itself into my recollection in that miserable moment, that i never thereafter forgot it; a small, delicate woman's face, belonging to a young girl who stood boldly in front of her companions. it was a face full of pride, and, as i saw it then, of scorn--scorn that scarcely deigned to laugh; while the girl's graceful figure, slight and maidenly, yet perfectly proportioned, seemed instinct with the same feeling of contemptuous amusement. the play, which seemed long enough to me, might have lasted longer, seeing that no one there had pity on me, had i not, in my desperation, espied a door at the farther end of the room, and concluded, seeing no other, that it was the door of the king's bedchamber. the mortification i was suffering was so great that i did not hesitate, but advanced with boldness towards it. on the instant there was a lull in the laughter round me, and half a dozen voices called on me to stop. 'i have come to see the king,' i answered, turning on them fiercely, for i was by this time in no mood for browbeating, 'and i will see him!' 'he is out hunting,' cried all with one accord; and they signed imperiously to me to go back the way i had come. but having the king's appointment safe in my pouch, i thought i had good reason to disbelieve them; and taking advantage of their surprise--for they had not expected so bold a step on my part--i was at the door before they could prevent me. i heard mathurine, the fool, who had sprung to her feet, cry 'pardieu! he will take the kingdom of heaven by force!' and those were the last words i heard; for, as i lifted the latch--there was no one on guard there--a sudden swift silence fell upon the room behind me. i pushed the door gently open and went in. there were two men sitting in one of the windows, who turned and looked angrily towards me. for the rest the room was empty. the king's walking-shoes lay by his chair, and beside them the boot-hooks and jack. a dog before the fire got up slowly and growled, and one of the men, rising from the trunk on which he had been sitting, came towards me and asked me, with every sign of irritation, what i wanted there, and who had given me leave to enter. i was beginning to explain, with some diffidence--the stillness of the room sobering me--that i wished to see the king, when he who had advanced took me up sharply with, 'the king? the king? he is not here, man. he is hunting at st. valery. did they not tell you so outside?' i thought i recognised the speaker, than whom i have seldom seen a man more grave and thoughtful for his years, which were something less than mine, more striking in presence, or more soberly dressed. and being desirous to evade his question, i asked him if i had not the honour to address m. du plessis mornay; for that wise and courtly statesman, now a pillar of henry's counsels, it was. 'the same, sir,' he replied abruptly, and without taking his eyes from me. 'i am mornay. what of that?' 'i am m. de marsac,' i explained. and there i stopped, supposing that, as he was in the king's confidence, this would make my errand clear to him. but i was disappointed. 'well, sir?' he said, and waited impatiently. so cold a reception, following such treatment as i had suffered outside, would have sufficed to have dashed my spirits utterly had i not felt the king's letter in my pocket. being pretty confident, however, that a single glance at this would alter m. du mornay's bearing for the better, i hastened, looking on it as a kind of talisman, to draw it out and present it to him. he took it, and looked at it, and opened it, but with so cold and immovable an aspect as made my heart sink more than all that had gone before. 'what is amiss?' i cried, unable to keep silence. ''tis from the king, sir.' 'a king in motley!' he answered, his lip curling. the sense of his words did not at once strike home to me, and i murmured, in great disorder, that the king had sent for me. 'the king knows nothing of it,' was his blunt answer, bluntly given. and he thrust the paper back into my hands. 'it is a trick,' he continued, speaking with the same abruptness, 'for which you have doubtless to thank some of those idle young rascals without. you had sent an application to the king, i suppose? just so. no doubt they got hold of it, and this is the result. they ought to be whipped.' it was not possible for me to doubt any longer that what he said was true. i saw in a moment all my hopes vanish, all my plans flung to the winds; and in the first shock of the discovery i could neither find voice to answer him nor strength to withdraw. in a kind of vision i seemed to see my own lean, haggard face looking at me as in a glass, and, reading despair in my eyes, could have pitied myself. my disorder was so great that m. du mornay observed it. looking more closely at me, he two or three times muttered my name, and at last said, 'm. de marsac? ha! i remember. you were in the affair of brouage, were you not?' i nodded my head in token of assent, being unable at the moment to speak, and so shaken that perforce i leaned against the wall, my head sunk on my breast. the memory of my age, my forty years, and my poverty, pressed hard upon me, filling me with despair and bitterness. i could have wept, but no tears came. m. du mornay, averting his eyes from me, took two or three short, impatient turns up and down the chamber. when he addressed me again his tone was full of respect, mingled with such petulance as one brave man might feel, seeing another so hard pressed. 'm. de marsac,' he said, 'you have my sympathy. it is a shame that men who have served the cause should be reduced to such straits. were it possible for me to increase my own train at present, i should consider it an honour to have you with me. but i am hard put to it myself, and so are we all, and the king of navarre not least among us. he has lived for a month upon a wood which m. de rosny has cut down. i will mention your name to him, but i should be cruel rather than kind were i not to warn you that nothing can come of it.' with that he offered me his hand, and, cheered as much by this mark of consideration as by the kindness of his expressions, i rallied my spirits. true, i wanted comfort more substantial, but it was not to be had. i thanked him therefore as becomingly as i could, and seeing there was no help for it, took my leave of him, and slowly and sorrowfully withdrew from the room. alas! to escape i had to face the outside world, for which his kind words were an ill preparation. i had to run the gauntlet of the ante-chamber. the moment i appeared, or rather the moment the door closed behind me, i was hailed with a shout of derision. while one cried, 'way! way for the gentleman who has seen the king!' another hailed me uproariously as governor of guyenne, and a third requested a commission in my regiment. i heard these taunts with a heart full almost to bursting. it seemed to me an unworthy thing that, merely by reason of my poverty, i should be derided by youths who had still all their battles before them; but to stop or reproach them would only, as i well knew, make matters worse, and, moreover, i was so sore stricken that i had little spirit left even to speak. accordingly, i made my way through them with what speed i might, my head bent, and my countenance heavy with shame and depression. in this way--i wonder there were not among them some generous enough to pity me--i had nearly gained the door, and was beginning to breathe, when i found my path stopped by that particular young lady of the court whom i have described above. something had for the moment diverted her attention from me, and it required a word from her companions to apprise her of my near neighbourhood. she turned then, as one taken by surprise, and finding me so close to her that my feet all but touched her gown, she stepped quickly aside, and with a glance as cruel as her act, drew her skirts away from contact with me. the insult stung me, i know not why, more than all the gibes which were being flung at me from every side, and moved by a sudden impulse i stopped, and in the bitterness of my heart spoke to her. 'mademoiselle,' i said, bowing low--for, as i have stated, she was small, and more like a fairy than a woman, though her face expressed both pride and self-will--'mademoiselle,' i said sternly, 'such as i am, i have fought for france! some day you may learn that there are viler things in the world--and have to bear them--than a poor gentleman!' the words were scarcely out of my mouth before i repented of them, for mathurine, the fool, who was at my elbow, was quick to turn them into ridicule. raising her hands above our heads, as in act to bless us, she cried out that monsieur, having gained so rich an office, desired a bride to grace it; and this, bringing down upon us a coarse shout of laughter and some coarser gibes, i saw the young girl's face flush hotly. the next moment a voice in the crowd cried roughly, 'out upon his wedding suit!' and with that a sweetmeat struck me in the face. another and another followed, covering me with flour and comfits. this was the last straw. for a moment, forgetting where i was, i turned upon them, red and furious, every hair in my moustachios bristling. the next, the full sense of my impotence and of the folly of resentment prevailed with me, and, dropping my head upon my breast, i rushed from the room. i believe that the younger among them followed me, and that the cry of 'old clothes!' pursued me even to the door of my lodgings in the rue de la coutellerie. but in the misery of the moment, and my strong desire to be within doors and alone, i barely noticed this, and am not certain whether it was so or not. chapter ii. the king of navarre. i have already referred to the danger with which the alliance between henry the third and the league menaced us, an alliance whereof the news, it was said, had blanched the king of navarre's moustache in a single night. notwithstanding this, the court had never shown itself more frolicsome or more free from care than at the time of which i am speaking; even the lack of money seemed for the moment forgotten. one amusement followed another, and though, without doubt, something was doing under the surface--for the wiser of his foes held our prince in particular dread when he seemed most deeply sunk in pleasure--to the outward eye st. jean d'angely appeared to be given over to enjoyment from one end to the other. the stir and bustle of the court reached me even in my garret, and contributed to make that christmas, which fell on a sunday, a trial almost beyond sufferance. all day long the rattle of hoofs on the pavement, and the laughter of riders bent on diversion, came up to me, making the hard stool seem harder, the bare walls more bare, and increasing a hundredfold the solitary gloom in which i sat. for as sunshine deepens the shadows which fall athwart it, and no silence is like that which follows the explosion of a mine, so sadness and poverty are never more intolerable than when hope and wealth rub elbows with them. true, the great sermon which m. d'amours preached in the market-house on the morning of christmas-day cheered me, as it cheered all the more sober spirits. i was present myself, sitting in an obscure corner of the building, and heard the famous prediction, which was so soon to be fulfilled. 'sire,' said the preacher, turning to the king, of navarre, and referring, with the boldness that ever characterised that great man and noble christian, to the attempt then being made to exclude the prince from the succession--'sire, what god at your birth gave you man cannot take away. a little while, a little patience, and you shall cause us to preach beyond the loire! with you for our joshua we shall cross the jordan, and in the promised land the church shall be set up.' words so brave, and so well adapted to encourage the huguenots in the crisis through which their affairs were then passing, charmed all hearers; save indeed, those--and they were few--who, being devoted to the vicomte de turenne, disliked, though they could not controvert, this public acknowledgment of the king of navarre as the huguenot leader. the pleasure of those present was evinced in a hundred ways, and to such an extent that even i returned to my chamber soothed and exalted, and found, in dreaming of the speedy triumph of the cause, some compensation for my own ill-fortune. as the day wore on, however, and the evening brought no change, but presented to me the same dreary prospect with which morning had made me familiar, i confess without shame that my heart sank once more, particularly as i saw that i should be forced in a day or two to sell either my remaining horse or some part of my equipment as essential; a step which i could not contemplate without feelings of the utmost despair. in this state of mind i was adding up by the light of a solitary candle the few coins i had left, when i heard footsteps ascending the stairs. i made them out to be the steps of two persons, and was still lost in conjectures who they might be, when a hand knocked gently at my door. fearing another trick, i did not at once open, the more as there was something stealthy and insinuating in the knock. thereupon my visitors held a whispered consultation; then they, knocked again. i asked loudly who was there, but to this they did not choose to give any answer, while i, on my part, determined not to open until they did. the door was strong, and i smiled grimly at the thought that this time they would have their trouble for their pains. to my surprise, however, they did not desist, and go away, as i expected, but continued to knock at intervals and whisper much between times. more than once they called me softly by name and bade me open, but as they steadily refrained from saying who they were, i sat still. occasionally i heard them laugh, but under their breath as it were; and persuaded by this that they were bent on a frolic, i might have persisted in my silence until midnight, which was not more than two hours off, had not a slight sound, as of a rat gnawing behind the wainscot, drawn my attention to the door. raising my candle and shading my eyes i espied something small and bright protruding beneath it, and sprang up, thinking they were about to prise it in. to my surprise, however, i could discover, on taking the candle to the threshold, nothing more threatening than a couple of gold livres, which had been thrust through the crevice between the door and the floor. my astonishment may be conceived. i stood for full a minute staring at the coins, the candle in my hand. then, reflecting that the young sparks at the court would be very unlikely to spend such a sum on a jest, i hesitated no longer, but putting down the candle, drew the bolt of the door, purposing to confer with my visitors outside. in this, however, i was disappointed, for the moment the door was open they pushed forcibly past me and, entering the room pell-mell, bade me by signs to close the door again. i did so suspiciously, and without averting my eyes from my visitors. great were my embarrassment and confusion, therefore, when, the door being shut, they dropped their cloaks one after the other, and i saw before me m. du mornay and the well-known figure of the king of navarre. they seemed so much diverted, looking at one another and laughing, that for a moment i thought some chance resemblance deceived me, and that here were my jokers again. hence while a man might count ten i stood staring; and the king was the first to speak. 'we have made no mistake, du mornay, have we?' he said, casting a laughing glance at me. 'no, sire,' du mornay answered. 'this is the sieur de marsac, the gentleman whom i mentioned to you.' i hastened, confused, wondering, and with a hundred apologies, to pay my respects to the king. he speedily cut me short, however, saying, with an air of much kindness, 'of marsac, in brittany, i think, sir?' 'the same, sire.' 'then you are of the family of bonne?' 'i am the last survivor of that family, sire,' i answered respectfully. 'it has played its part,' he rejoined. and therewith he took his seat on my stool with an easy grace which charmed me. 'your motto is "_bonne foi_," is it not? and marsac, if i remember rightly, is not far from rennes, on the vilaine?' i answered that it was, adding, with a full heart, that it grieved me to be compelled to receive so great a prince in so poor a lodging. 'well, i confess,' du mornay struck in, looking carelessly round him, 'you have a queer taste, m. de marsac, in the arrangement of your furniture. you--' 'mornay!' the king cried sharply. 'sire?' 'chut! your elbow is in the candle. beware of it!' but i well understood him. if my heart had been full before, it overflowed now. poverty is not so shameful as the shifts to which it drives men. i had been compelled some days before, in order to make as good a show as possible--since it is the undoubted duty of a gentleman to hide his nakedness from impertinent eyes, and especially from the eyes of the _canaille_, who are wont to judge from externals--to remove such of my furniture and equipage as remained to that side of the room, which was visible from without when the door was open. this left the farther side of the room vacant and bare. to anyone within doors the artifice was, of course, apparent, and i am bound to say that m. du mornay's words brought the blood to my brow. i rejoiced, however, a moment later that he had uttered them; for without them i might never have known, or known so early, the kindness of heart and singular quickness of apprehension which ever distinguished the king, my master. so, in my heart, i began to call him from that hour. the king of navarre was at this time thirty-five years old, his hair brown, his complexion ruddy, his moustache, on one side at least, beginning to turn grey. his features, which nature had cast in a harsh and imperious mould, were relieved by a constant sparkle and animation such as i have never seen in any other man, but in him became ever more conspicuous in gloomy and perilous times. inured to danger from his earliest youth, he had come to enjoy it as others a festival, hailing its advent with a reckless gaiety which astonished even brave men, and led others to think him the least prudent of mankind. yet such he was not: nay, he was the opposite of this. never did marshal of france make more careful dispositions for a battle--albeit once in it he bore himself like any captain of horse--nor ever did du mornay himself sit down to a conference with a more accurate knowledge of affairs. his prodigious wit and the affability of his manners, while they endeared him to his servants, again and again blinded his adversaries; who, thinking that so much brilliance could arise only from a shallow nature, found when it was too late that they had been outwitted by him whom they contemptuously styled the prince of béarn, a man a hundredfold more astute than themselves, and master alike of pen and sword. much of this, which all the world now knows, i learned afterwards. at the moment i could think of little save the king's kindness; to which he added by insisting that i should sit on the bed while we talked. 'you wonder, m. de marsac,' he said, 'what brings me here, and why i have come to you instead of sending for you? still more, perhaps, why i have come to you at night and with such precautions? i will tell you. but first, that my coming may not fill you with false hopes, let me say frankly, that though i may relieve your present necessities, whether you fall into the plan i am going to mention, or not, i cannot take you into my service; wherein, indeed, every post is doubly filled. du mornay mentioned your name to me, but in fairness to others i had to answer that i could do nothing.' i am bound to confess that this strange exordium dashed hopes which had already risen to a high pitch. recovering myself as quickly as possible, however, i murmured that the honour of a visit from the king of navarre was sufficient happiness for me. 'nay, but that honour i must take from you' he replied, smiling; 'though i see that you would make an excellent courtier--far better than du mornay here, who never in his life made so pretty a speech. for i must lay my commands on you to keep this visit a secret, m. de marsac. should but the slightest whisper of it get abroad, your usefulness, as far as i am concerned, would be gone, and gone for good!' so remarkable a statement filled me with wonder i could scarcely disguise. it was with difficulty i found words to assure the king that his commands should be faithfully obeyed. 'of that i am sure,' he answered with the utmost kindness. 'were i not, and sure, too, from what i am told of your gallantry when my cousin took brouage, that you are a man of deeds rather than words, i should not be here with the proposition i am going to lay before you. it is this. i can give you no hope of public employment, m. de marsac, but i can offer you an adventure--if adventures be to your taste--as dangerous and as thankless as any amadis ever undertook.' 'as thankless, sire?' i stammered, doubting if i had heard aright, the expression was so strange. 'as thankless,' he answered, his keen eyes seeming to read my soul. 'i am frank with you, you see, sir,' he continued, carelessly. 'i can suggest this adventure--it is for the good of the state--i can do no more. the king of navarre cannot appear in it, nor can he protect you. succeed or fail in it, you stand alone. the only promise i make is, that if it ever be safe for me to acknowledge the act, i will reward the doer.' he paused, and for a few moments i stared at him in sheer amazement. what did he mean? were he and the other real figures, or was i dreaming? 'do you understand?' he asked at length, with a touch of impatience. 'yes, sire, i think i do,' i murmured, very certain in truth and reality that i did not. 'what do you say, then--yes or no?' he rejoined. 'will you undertake the adventure, or would you hear more before you make up your mind?' i hesitated. had i been a younger man by ten years i should doubtless have cried assent there and then, having been all my life ready enough to embark on such enterprises as offered a chance of distinction. but something in the strangeness of the king's preface, although i had it in my heart to die for him, gave me check, and i answered, with an air of great humility, 'you will think me but a poor courtier now, sire, yet he is a fool who jumps into a ditch without measuring the depth. i would fain, if i may say it without disrespect, hear all that you can tell me.' 'then i fear,' he answered quickly, 'if you would have more light on the matter, my friend, you must get another candle.' i started, he spoke so abruptly; but perceiving that the candle had indeed burned down to the socket, i rose, with many apologies, and fetched another from the cupboard. it did not occur to me at the moment, though it did later, that the king had purposely sought this opportunity of consulting with his companion. i merely remarked, when i returned to my place on the bed, that they were sitting a little nearer one another, and that the king eyed me before he spoke--though he still swung one foot carelessly in the air--with close attention. 'i speak to you, of course, sir,' he presently went on, 'in confidence, believing you to be an honourable as well as a brave man. that which i wish you to do is briefly, and in a word, to carry off a lady. nay,' he added quickly, with a laughing grimace, 'have no fear! she is no sweetheart of mine, nor should i go to my grave friend here did i need assistance of that kind. henry of bourbon, i pray god, will always be able to free his own lady-love. this is a state affair, and a matter of quite another character, though we cannot at present entrust you with the meaning of it.' i bowed in silence, feeling somewhat chilled and perplexed, as who would not, having such an invitation before him? i had anticipated an affair with men only--a secret assault or a petard expedition. but seeing the bareness of my room, and the honour the king was doing me, i felt i had no choice, and i answered, 'that being the case, sire, i am wholly at your service.' 'that is well,' he answered briskly, though methought he looked at du mornay reproachfully, as doubting his commendation of me. 'but will you say the same,' he continued, removing his eyes to me, and speaking slowly, as though he would try me, 'when i tell you that the lady to be carried off is the ward of the vicomte de turenne, whose arm is well-nigh as long as my own, and who would fain make it longer; who never travels, as he told me yesterday, with less than fifty gentlemen, and has a thousand arquebusiers in his pay? is the adventure still to your liking, m. de marsac, now that you know that?' 'it is more to my liking, sire,' i answered stoutly. 'understand this too,' he rejoined. 'it is essential that this lady, who is at present confined in the vicomte's house at chizé, should be released; but it is equally essential that there should be no breach between the vicomte and myself. therefore the affair must be the work of an independent man, who has never been in my service, nor in any way connected with me. if captured, you pay the penalty without recourse to me.' 'i fully understand, sire,' i answered. 'ventre saint gris!' he cried, breaking into a low laugh. 'i swear the man is more afraid of the lady than he is of the vicomte! that is not the way of most of our court.' du mornay, who had been sitting nursing his knee in silence, pursed up his lips, though it was easy to see that he was well content with the king's approbation. he now intervened. 'with your permission, sire,' he said, 'i will let this gentleman know the details.' 'do, my friend,' the king answered. 'and be short, for if we are here much longer i shall be missed, and in a twinkling the court will have found me a new mistress.' he spoke in jest and with a laugh, but i saw du mornay start at the words, as though they were little to his liking; and i learned afterwards that the court was really much exercised at this time with the question who would be the next favourite, the king's passion for the countess de la guiche being evidently on the wane, and that which he presently evinced for madame de guercheville being as yet a matter of conjecture. du mornay took no overt notice of the king's words, however, but proceeded to give me my directions. 'chizé, which you know by name,' he said, 'is six leagues from here. mademoiselle de la vire is confined in the northwest room, on the first-floor, overlooking the park. more i cannot tell you, except that her woman's name is fanchette, and that she is to be trusted. the house is well guarded, and you will need four or five men. there are plenty of cut-throats to be hired, only see, m. de marsac, that they are such as you can manage, and that mademoiselle takes no hurt among them. have horses in waiting, and the moment you have released the lady ride north with her as fast as her strength will permit. indeed, you must not spare her, if turenne be on your heels. you should be across the loire in sixty hours after leaving chizé.' 'across the loire?' i exclaimed in astonishment. 'yes, sir, across the loire,' he replied, with some sternness. 'your task, be good enough to understand, is to convoy mademoiselle de la vire with all speed to blois. there, attracting as little notice as may be, you will inquire for the baron de rosny at the bleeding heart, in the rue de st. denys. he will take charge of the lady, or direct you how to dispose of her, and your task will then be accomplished. you follow me?' 'perfectly,' i answered, speaking in my turn with some dryness. 'but mademoiselle i understand is young. what if she will not accompany me, a stranger, entering her room at night, and by the window?' 'that has been thought of was the answer. he turned to the king of navarre, who, after a moment's search, produced a small object from his pouch. this he gave to his companion, and the latter transferred it to me. i took it with curiosity. it was the half of a gold carolus, the broken edge of the coin being rough and jagged. 'show that to mademoiselle, my friend,' du mornay continued, 'and she will accompany you. she has the other half.' 'but be careful,' henry added eagerly, 'to make no mention, even to her, of the king of navarre. you mark me, m. de marsac! if you have at any time occasion to speak of me, you may have the honour of calling me _your friend_, and referring to me always in the same manner.' this he said with so gracious an air that i was charmed, and thought myself happy indeed to be addressed in this wise by a prince whose name was already so glorious. nor was my satisfaction diminished when his companion drew out a bag containing, as he told me, three hundred crowns in gold, and placed it in my hands, bidding me defray therefrom the cost of the journey. 'be careful, however,' he added earnestly, 'to avoid, in hiring your men, any appearance of wealth, lest the adventure seem to be suggested by some outside person; instead of being dictated by the desperate state of your own fortunes. promise rather than give, so far as that will avail. and for what you must give, let each livre seem to be the last in your pouch.' henry nodded assent. 'excellent advice!' he muttered, rising and drawing on his cloak, 'such as you ever give me, mornay, and i as seldom take--more's the pity! but, after all, of little avail without this.' he lifted my sword from the table as he spoke, and weighed it in his hand. 'a pretty tool,' he continued, turning suddenly and looking me very closely in the face. 'a very pretty tool. were i in your place, m. de marsac, i would see that it hung loose in the scabbard. ay, and more, man, use it!' he added, sinking his voice and sticking out his chin, while his grey eyes, looking ever closer into mine, seemed to grow cold and hard as steel. 'use it to the last, for if you fall into turenne's hands, god help you! i cannot!' 'if i am taken, sire,' i answered, trembling, but not with fear, 'my fate be on my own head.' i saw the king's eyes soften at that, and his face change so swiftly that i scarce knew him for the same man. he let the weapon drop with a clash on the table. 'ventre saint gris!' he exclaimed with a strange thrill of yearning in his tone. 'i swear by god, i would i were in your shoes, sir. to strike a blow or two with no care what came of it. to take the road with a good horse and a good sword, and see what fortune would send. to be rid of all this statecraft and protocolling, and never to issue another declaration in this world, but just to be for once a gentleman of france, with all to win and nothing to lose save the love of my lady! ah! mornay, would it not be sweet to leave all this fret and fume, and ride away to the green woods by coarraze?' 'certainly, if you prefer them to the louvre, sire,' du mornay answered drily; while i stood, silent and amazed, before this strange man, who could so suddenly change from grave to gay, and one moment spoke so sagely, and the next like any wild lad in his teens. 'certainly,' he answered, 'if that be your choice, sire; and if you think that even there the duke of guise will leave you in peace. turenne, i am sure, will be glad to hear of your decision. doubtless he will be elected protector of the churches. nay, sire, for shame!' du mornay continued, almost with sternness. 'would you leave france, which at odd times i have heard you say you loved, to shift for herself? would you deprive her of the only man who does love her for her own sake?' 'well, well, but she is such a fickle sweetheart, my friend,' the king answered, laughing, the side glance of his eye on me. 'never was one so coy or so hard to clip! and, besides, has not the pope divorced us?' 'the pope! a fig for the pope!' du mornay rejoined with impatient heat. 'what has he to do with france? an impertinent meddler, and an italian to boot! i would he and all the brood of them were sunk a hundred fathoms deep in the sea. but, meantime, i would send him a text to digest.' '_exemplum?_' said the king. 'whom god has joined together let no man put asunder.' 'amen!' quoth henry softly. 'and france is a fair and comely bride.' after that he kept such a silence, falling as it seemed to me into a brown study, that he went away without so much as bidding me farewell, or being conscious, as far as i could tell, of my presence. du mornay exchanged a few words with me, to assure himself that i understood what i had to do, and then, with many kind expressions, which i did not fail to treasure up and con over in the times that were coming, hastened downstairs after his master. my joy when i found myself alone may be conceived. yet was it no ecstasy, but a sober exhilaration; such as stirred my pulses indeed, and bade me once more face the world with a firm eye and an assured brow, but was far from holding out before me a troubadour's palace or any dazzling prospect. the longer i dwelt on the interview, the more clearly i saw the truth. as the glamour which henry's presence and singular kindness had cast over me began to lose some of its power, i recognised more and more surely why he had come to me. it was not out of any special favour for one whom he knew by report only, if at all by name; but because he had need of a man poor, and therefore reckless, middle-aged (of which comes discretion), obscure--therefore a safe instrument; to crown all, a gentleman, seeing that both a secret and a woman were in question. withal i wondered too. looking from the bag of money on the table to the broken coin in my hand, i scarcely knew which to admire more: the confidence which entrusted the one to a man broken and beggared, or the courage of the gentlewoman who should accompany me on the faith of the other. chapter iii. boot and saddle. as was natural, i meditated deeply and far into the night on the difficulties of the task entrusted to me. i saw that it fell into two parts: the release of the lady, and her safe conduct to blois, a distance of sixty leagues. the release i thought it probable i could effect single-handed, or with one companion only; but in the troubled condition of the country at this time, more particularly on both sides of the loire, i scarcely saw how i could ensure a lady's safety on the road northwards unless i had with me at least five swords. to get these together at a few hours' notice promised to be no easy task; although the presence of the court of navarre had filled st. jean with a crowd of adventurers. yet the king's command was urgent, and at some sacrifice, even at some risk, must be obeyed. pressed by these considerations, i could think of no better man to begin with than fresnoy. his character was bad, and he had long forfeited such claim as he had ever possessed--i believe it was a misty one? on the distaff side--to gentility. but the same cause which had rendered me destitute--i mean the death of the prince of condé--had stripped him to the last rag; and this, perhaps, inclining me to serve him, i was the more quick to see his merits. i knew him already for a hardy, reckless man, very capable of striking a shrewd blow. i gave him credit for being trusty, as long as his duty jumped with his interest. accordingly, as soon as it was light, having fed and groomed the cid, which was always the first employment of my day, i set out in search of fresnoy, and was presently lucky enough to find him taking his morning draught outside the 'three pigeons,' a little inn not far from the north gate. it was more than a fortnight since i had set eyes on him, and the lapse of time had worked so great a change for the worse in him that, forgetting my own shabbiness, i looked at him askance, as doubting the wisdom of enlisting one who bore so plainly the marks of poverty and dissipation. his great face--he was a large man--had suffered recent ill-usage, and was swollen and discoloured, one eye being as good as closed. he was unshaven, his hair was ill-kempt, his doublet unfastened at the throat, and torn and stained besides. despite the cold--for the morning was sharp and frosty, though free from wind--there were half a dozen packmen drinking and squabbling before the inn, while the beasts they drove quenched their thirst at the trough. but these men seemed with one accord to leave him in possession of the bench at which he sat; nor did i wonder much at this when i saw the morose and savage glance which he shot at me as i approached. whether he read my first impressions in my face, or for some other reason felt distaste for my company, i could not determine. but, undeterred by his behaviour, i sat down beside him and called for wine. he nodded sulkily in answer to my greeting, and cast a half-shamed, half-angry look at me out of the corners of his eyes. 'you need not look at me as though i were a dog,' he muttered presently. 'you are not so very spruce yourself, my friend. but i suppose you have grown proud since you got that fat appointment at court!' and he laughed out loud, so that i confess i was in two minds whether i should not force the jest down his ugly throat. however i restrained myself, though my cheeks burned. 'you have heard about it, then,' i said, striving to speak indifferently. 'who has not?' he said, laughing with his lips, though his eyes were far from merry. 'the sieur de marsac's appointment! ha! ha! why, man----' 'enough of it now!' i exclaimed. and i dare say i writhed on my seat. 'as far as i am concerned the jest is a stale one, sir, and does not amuse me.' 'but it amuses me,' he rejoined with a grin. 'let it be, nevertheless,' i said; and i think he read a warning in my eyes. 'i have come to speak to you upon another matter.' he did not refuse to listen, but threw one leg over the other, and looking up at the inn-sign began to whistle in a rude, offensive manner. still, having an object in view, i controlled myself and continued. 'it is this, my friend: money is not very plentiful at present with either of us.' before i could say any more he turned on me savagely, and with a loud oath thrust his bloated face, flushed with passion, close to mine. 'now look here, m. de marsac! he cried violently, 'once for all, it is no good! i have not got the money, and i cannot pay it. i said a fortnight ago, when you lent it, that you should have it this week. well,' slapping his hand on the bench, 'i have not got it, and it is no good beginning upon me. you cannot have it, and that is flat!' 'damn the money!' i cried. 'what?' he exclaimed, scarcely believing his ears. 'let the money be!' i repeated fiercely. 'do you hear? i have not come about it. i am here to offer you work--good, well-paid work--if you will enlist with me and play me fair, fresnoy.' 'play fair!' he cried with an oath. 'there, there,' i said, 'i am willing to let bygones be bygones if you are. the point is, that i have an adventure on hand, and, wanting help, can pay you for it.' he looked at me cunningly, his eye travelling over each rent and darn in my doublet. 'i will help you fast enough,' he said at last. 'but i should like to see the money first.' 'you shall,' i answered. 'then i am with you, my friend. count on me till death!' he cried, rising and laying his hand in mine with a boisterous frankness which did not deceive me into trusting him far. 'and now, whose is the affair, and what is it?' 'the affair is mine,' i said coldly. 'it is to carry off a lady.' he whistled and looked me over again, an impudent leer in his eyes. 'a lady?' he exclaimed. 'umph! i could understand a young spark going in for such--but that's your affair. who is it?' 'that is my affair, too,' i answered coolly, disgusted by the man's venality and meanness, and fully persuaded that i must trust him no farther than the length of my sword. 'all i want you to do, m. fresnoy,' i continued stiffly, 'is to place yourself at my disposal and under my orders for ten days. i will find you a horse and pay you--the enterprise is a hazardous one, and i take that into account--two gold crowns a day, and ten more if we succeed in reaching a place of safety.' 'such a place as----' 'never mind that,' i replied. 'the question is, do you accept?' he looked down sullenly, and i could see he was greatly angered by my determination to keep the matter to myself. 'am i to know no more than that?' he asked, digging the point of his scabbard again and again into the ground. 'no more,' i answered firmly. 'i am bent on a desperate attempt to mend my fortunes before they fall as low as yours; and that is as much as i mean to tell living man. if you are loth to risk your life with your eyes shut, say so, and i will go to someone else.' but he was not in a position, as i well knew, to refuse such an offer, and presently he accepted it with a fresh semblance of heartiness. i told him i should want four troopers to escort us, and these he offered to procure, saying that he knew just the knaves to suit me. i bade him hire two only, however, being too wise to put myself altogether in his hands; and then, having given him money to buy himself a horse--i made it a term that the men should bring their own--and named a rendezvous for the first hour after noon, i parted from him and went rather sadly away. for i began to see that the king had not underrated the dangers of an enterprise on which none but desperate men and such as were down in the world could be expected to embark. seeing this, and also a thing which followed clearly from it--that i should have as much to fear from my own company as from the enemy--i looked forward with little hope to a journey during every day and every hour of which i must bear a growing weight of fear and responsibility. it was too late to turn back, however, and i went about my preparations, if with little cheerfulness, at least with steadfast purpose. i had my sword ground and my pistols put in order by the cutler over whom i lodged, and who performed this last office for me with the same goodwill which had characterised all his dealings with me. i sought out and hired a couple of stout fellows whom i believed to be indifferently honest, but who possessed the advantage of having horses; and besides bought two led horses myself for mademoiselle and her woman. such other equipments as were absolutely necessary i purchased, reducing my stock of money in this way to two hundred and ten crowns. how to dispose of this sum so that it might be safe and yet at my command was a question which greatly exercised me. in the end i had recourse to my friend the cutler, who suggested hiding a hundred crowns of it in my cap, and deftly contrived a place for the purpose. this, the cap being lined with steel, was a matter of no great difficulty. a second hundred i sewed up in the stuffing of my saddle, placing the remainder in my pouch for present necessities. a small rain was falling in the streets when, a little after noon, i started with my two knaves behind me and made for the north gate. so many were moving this way and the other that we passed unnoticed, and might have done so had we numbered six swords instead of three. when we reached the rendezvous, a mile beyond the gate, we found fresnoy already there, taking shelter in the lee of a big holly-tree. he had four horsemen with him, and on our appearance rode forward to meet us, crying heartily, 'welcome, m. le capitaine!' 'welcome, certainly,' i answered, pulling the cid up sharply, and holding off from him. 'but who are these, m. fresnoy?' and i pointed with my riding-cane to his four companions. he tried to pass the matter off with a laugh. 'oh! these?' he said. 'that is soon explained. the evangelists would not be divided, so i brought them all--matthew, mark, luke, and john--thinking it likely you might fail to secure your men. and i will warrant them for four as gallant boys as you will ever find behind you!' they were certainly four as arrant ruffians as i had ever seen before me, and i saw i must not hesitate. 'two or none, m. fresnoy,' i said firmly. 'i gave you a commission for two, and two i will take--matthew and mark, or luke and john, as you please.' ''tis a pity to break the party,' said he, scowling. 'if that be all,' i retorted, 'one of my men is called john. and we will dub the other luke, if that will mend the matter.' 'the prince of condé,' he muttered sullenly, 'employed these men.' 'the prince of condé employed some queer people sometimes, m. fresnoy,' i answered, looking him straight between the eyes, 'as we all must. a truce to this, if you please. we will take matthew and mark. the other two be good enough to dismiss.' he seemed to waver for a moment, as if he had a mind to disobey, but in the end, thinking better of it, he bade the men return; and as i complimented each of them with a piece of silver, they went off, after some swearing, in tolerably good humour. thereon fresnoy was for taking the road at once, but having no mind to be followed, i gave the word to wait until the two were out of sight. i think, as we sat our horses in the rain, the holly-bush not being large enough to shelter us all, we were as sorry a band as ever set out to rescue a lady; nor was it without pain that i looked round and saw myself reduced to command such people. there was scarcely one whole un-patched garment among us, and three of my squires had but a spur apiece. to make up for this deficiency we mustered two black eyes, fresnoy's included, and a broken nose. matthew's nag lacked a tail, and, more remarkable still, its rider, as i presently discovered, was stone-deaf; while mark's sword was innocent of a scabbard, and his bridle was plain rope. one thing, indeed, i observed with pleasure. the two men who had come with me looked askance at the two who had come with fresnoy, and these returned the stare with interest. on this division and on the length of my sword i based all my hopes of safety and of something more. on it i was about to stake, not my own life only--which was no great thing, seeing what my prospects were--but the life and honour of a woman, young, helpless, and as yet unknown to me. weighed down as i was by these considerations, i had to bear the additional burden of hiding my fears and suspicions under a cheerful demeanour. i made a short speech to my following, who one and all responded by swearing to stand by me to the death. i then gave the word, and we started, fresnoy and i leading the way, luke and john with the led horses following, and the other two bringing up the rear. the rain continuing to fall and the country in this part being dreary and monotonous, even in fair weather, i felt my spirits sink still lower as the day advanced. the responsibility i was going to incur assumed more serious proportions each time i scanned my following; while fresnoy, plying me with perpetual questions respecting my plans, was as uneasy a companion as my worst enemy could have wished me. 'come!' he grumbled presently, when we had covered four leagues or so, 'you have not told me yet, sieur, where we stay to-night. you are travelling so slowly that----' 'i am saving the horses,' i answered shortly. 'we shall do a long day to-morrow.' 'yours looks fit for a week of days,' he sneered, with an evil look at my sardinian, which was, indeed, in better case than its master. 'it is sleek enough, any way!' 'it is as good as it looks,' i answered, a little nettled by his tone. 'there is a better here,' he responded. 'i don't see it,' i said. i had already eyed the nags all round, and assured myself that, ugly and blemished as they were, they were up to their work. but i had discerned no special merit among them. i looked them over again now, and came to the same conclusion--that, except the led horses, which i had chosen with some care, there was nothing among them to vie with the cid, either in speed or looks. i told fresnoy so. 'would you like to try?' he said tauntingly. i laughed, adding, 'if you think i am going to tire our horses by racing them, with such work as we have before us, you are mistaken, fresnoy. i am not a boy, you know.' 'there need be no question of racing,' he answered more quietly. 'you have only to get on that rat-tailed bay of matthew's to feel its paces and say i am right.' i looked at the bay, a bald-faced, fiddle-headed horse, and saw that, with no signs of breeding, it was still a big-boned animal with good shoulders and powerful hips. i thought it possible fresnoy might be right, and if so, and the bay's manners were tolerable, it might do for mademoiselle better than the horse i had chosen. at any rate, if we had a fast horse among us, it was well to know the fact, so bidding matthew change with me, and be careful of the cid, i mounted the bay, and soon discovered that its paces were easy and promised speed, while its manners seemed as good as even a timid rider could desire. our road at the time lay across a flat desolate heath, dotted here and there with thorn-bushes; the track being broken and stony, extended more than a score of yards in width, through travellers straying to this side and that to escape the worst places. fresnoy and i, in making the change, had fallen slightly behind the other three, and were riding abreast of matthew on the cid. 'well,' he said, 'was i not right?' 'in part,' i answered. 'the horse is better than its looks.' 'like many others,' he rejoined, a spark of resentment in his tone--'men as well as horses, m. de marsac. but what do you say? shall we canter on a little and overtake the others?' thinking it well to do so, i assented readily, and we started together. we had ridden, however, no more than a hundred yards, and i was only beginning to extend the bay, when fresnoy, slightly drawing rein, turned in his saddle and looked back. the next moment he cried, 'hallo! what is this? those fellows are not following us, are they?' i turned sharply to look. at that moment, without falter or warning, the bay horse went down under me as if shot dead, throwing me half a dozen yards over its head; and that so suddenly that i had no time to raise my arms, but, falling heavily on my head and shoulder, lost consciousness. i have had many falls, but no other to vie with that in utter unexpectedness. when i recovered my senses i found myself leaning, giddy and sick, against the bole of an old thorn-tree. fresnoy and matthew supported me on either side, and asked me how i found myself; while the other three men, their forms black against the stormy evening sky, sat their horses a few paces in front of me. i was too much dazed at first to see more, and this only in a mechanical fashion; but gradually, my brain grew clearer, and i advanced from wondering who the strangers round me were to recognising them, and finally to remembering what had happened to me. 'is the horse hurt?' i muttered as soon as i could speak. 'not a whit,' fresnoy answered, chuckling, or i was much mistaken. 'i am afraid you came off the worse of the two, captain.' he exchanged a look with the men on horseback as he spoke, and in a dull fashion i fancied i saw them smile. one even laughed, and another turned in his saddle as if to hide his face. i had a vague general sense that there was some joke on foot in which i had no part. but i was too much shaken at the moment to be curious, and gratefully accepted the offer of one of the men to fetch me a little water. while he was away the rest stood round me, the same look of ill-concealed drollery on their faces. fresnoy alone talked, speaking volubly of the accident, pouring out expressions of sympathy and cursing the road, the horse, and the wintry light until the water came; when, much refreshed by the draught, i managed to climb to the cid's saddle and plod slowly onwards with them. 'a bad beginning,' fresnoy said presently, stealing a sly glance at me as we jogged along side by side, chizé half a league before us, and darkness not far off. by this time, however, i was myself again, save for a little humming in the head, and, shrugging my shoulders, i told him so. 'all's well that ends well,' i added. 'not that it was a pleasant fall, or that i wish to have such another.' 'no, i should think not,' he answered. his face was turned from me, but i fancied i heard him snigger. something, which may have been a vague suspicion, led me a moment later to put my hand into my pouch. then i understood. i understood too well. the sharp surprise of the discovery was such that involuntarily i drove my spurs into the cid, and the horse sprang forward. 'what is the matter?' fresnoy asked. 'the matter?' i echoed, my hand still at my belt, feeling--feeling hopelessly. 'yes, what is it?' he asked, a brazen smile on his rascally face. i looked at him, my brow as red as fire. 'oh! nothing--nothing,' i said. 'let us trot on.' in truth i had discovered that, taking advantage of my helplessness, the scoundrels had robbed me, while i lay insensible, of every gold crown in my purse! nor was this all, or the worst, for i saw at once that in doing so they had effected something which was a thousandfold more ominous and formidable--established against me that secret understanding which it was my especial aim to prevent, and on the absence of which i had been counting. nay, i saw that for my very life i had only my friend the cutler and my own prudence to thank, seeing that these rogues would certainly have murdered me without scruple had they succeeded in finding the bulk of my money. baffled in this, while still persuaded that i had other resources, they had stopped short of that villany--or this memoir had never been written. they had kindly permitted me to live until a more favourable opportunity of enriching themselves at my expense should put them in possession of my last crown! though i was sufficiently master of myself to refrain from complaints which i felt must be useless, and from menaces which it has never been my habit to utter unless i had also the power to put them into execution, it must not be imagined that i did not, as i rode on by fresnoy's side, feel my position acutely or see how absurd a figure i cut in my dual character of leader and dupe. indeed, the reflection that, being in this perilous position, i was about to stake another's safety as well as my own, made me feel the need of a few minutes' thought so urgent that i determined to gain them, even at the risk of leaving my men at liberty to plot further mischief. coming almost immediately afterwards within sight of the turrets of the château of chizé, i told fresnoy that we should lie the night at the village; and bade him take the men on and secure quarters at the inn. attacked instantly by suspicion and curiosity, he demurred stoutly to leaving me, and might have persisted in his refusal had i not pulled up, and clearly shown him that i would have my own way in this case or come to an open breach. he shrank, as i expected, from the latter alternative, and, bidding me a sullen adieu, trotted on with his troop. i waited until they were out of sight, and then, turning the cid's head, crossed a small brook which divided the road from the chase, and choosing a ride which seemed to pierce the wood in the direction of the château, proceeded down it, keeping a sharp look-out on either hand. it was then, my thoughts turning to the lady who was now so near, and who, noble, rich, and a stranger, seemed, as i approached her, not the least formidable of the embarrassments before me--it was then that i made a discovery which sent a cold shiver through my frame, and in a moment swept all memory of my paltry ten crowns from my head. ten crowns! alas! i had lost that which was worth all my crowns put together--the broken coin which the king of navarre had entrusted to me, and which formed my sole credential, my only means of persuading mademoiselle de la vire that i came from him. i had put it in my pouch, and of course, though the loss of it only came home to my mind now, it had disappeared with the rest. i drew rein and sat for some time motionless, the image of despair. the wind which stirred the naked boughs overhead, and whirled the dead leaves in volleys past my feet, and died away at last among the whispering bracken, met nowhere with wretchedness greater, i believe, than was mine at that moment. chapter iv. mademoiselle de la vire. my first desperate impulse on discovering the magnitude of my loss was to ride after the knaves and demand the token at the sword's point. the certainty, however, of finding them united, and the difficulty of saying which of the five possessed what i wanted, led me to reject this plan as i grew cooler; and since i did not dream, even in this dilemma, of abandoning the expedition, the only alternative seemed to be to act as if i still had the broken coin, and essay what a frank explanation might effect when the time came. after some wretched, very wretched, moments of debate, i resolved to adopt this course; and, for the present, thinking i might gain some knowledge of the surroundings while the light lasted, i pushed cautiously forward through the trees and came in less than five minutes within sight of a corner of the chateau, which i found to be a modern building of the time of henry ii., raised, like the houses of that time, for pleasure rather than defence, and decorated with many handsome casements and tourelles. despite this, it wore, as i saw it, a grey and desolate air, due in part to the loneliness of the situation and the lateness of the hour; and in part, i think, to the smallness of the household maintained, for no one was visible on the terrace or at the windows. the rain dripped from the trees, which on two sides pressed so closely on the house as almost to darken the rooms, and everything i saw encouraged me to hope that mademoiselle's wishes would second my entreaties, and incline her to lend a ready ear to my story. the appearance of the house, indeed, was a strong inducement to me to proceed, for it was impossible to believe that a young lady, a kinswoman of the gay and vivacious turenne, and already introduced to the pleasures of the court, would elect of her own free will to spend the winter in so dreary a solitude. taking advantage of the last moments of daylight, i rode cautiously round the house, and, keeping in the shadow of the trees, had no difficulty in discovering at the north-east corner the balcony of which i had been told. it was semicircular in shape, with a stone balustrade, and hung some fifteen feet above a terraced walk which ran below it, and was separated from the chase by a low sunk fence. i was surprised to observe that, notwithstanding the rain and the coldness of the evening, the window which gave upon this balcony was open. nor was this all. luck was in store for me at last. i had not gazed at the window more than a minute, calculating its height and other particulars, when, to my great joy, a female figure, closely hooded, stepped out and stood looking up at the sky. i was too far off to be able to discern by that uncertain light whether this was mademoiselle de la vire or her woman; but the attitude was so clearly one of dejection and despondency, that i felt sure it was either one or the other. determined not to let the opportunity slip, i dismounted hastily and, leaving the cid loose, advanced on foot until i stood within half-a-dozen paces of the window. at that point the watcher became aware of me. she started back, but did not withdraw. still peering down at me, she called softly to some one inside the chamber, and immediately a second figure, taller and stouter, appeared. i had already doffed my cap, and i now, in a low voice, begged to know if i had the honour of speaking to mademoiselle de la vire. in the growing darkness it was impossible to distinguish faces. 'hush!' the stouter figure muttered in a tone of warning. 'speak lower. who are you, and what do you here?' 'i am here,' i answered respectfully, 'commissioned by a friend of the lady i have named, to convey her to a place of safety.' 'mondieu!' was the sharp answer. 'now? it is impossible.' 'no,' i murmured, 'not now, but to-night. the moon rises at half-past two. my horses need rest and food. at three i will be below this window with the means of escape, if mademoiselle choose to use them.' i felt that they were staring at me through the dusk, as though they would read my breast. 'your name, sir?' the shorter figure murmured at last, after a pause which was full of suspense and excitement. 'i do not think my name of much import at present, mademoiselle,' i answered, reluctant to proclaim myself a stranger. 'when----' 'your name, your name, sir!' she repeated imperiously, and i heard her little heel rap upon the stone floor of the balcony. 'gaston de marsac,' i answered unwillingly. they both started, and cried out together. 'impossible!' the last speaker exclaimed, amazement and anger in her tone. 'this is a jest, sir. this----' what more she would have said i was left to guess, for at that moment her attendant--i had no doubt now which was mademoiselle and which fanchette--suddenly laid her hand on her mistress's mouth and pointed to the room behind them. a second's suspense, and with a warning gesture the two turned and disappeared through the window. i lost no time in regaining the shelter of the trees; and concluding, though i was far from satisfied with the interview, that i could do nothing more now, but might rather, by loitering in the neighbourhood, awaken suspicion, i remounted and made for the highway and the village, where i found my men in noisy occupation of the inn, a poor place, with unglazed windows, and a fire in the middle of the earthen floor. my first care was to stable the cid in a shed at the back, where i provided for its wants as far as i could with the aid of a half-naked boy, who seemed to be in hiding there. this done, i returned to the front of the house, having pretty well made up my mind how i would set about the task before me. as i passed one of the windows, which was partially closed by a rude curtain made of old sacks, i stopped to look in. fresnoy and his four rascals were seated on blocks of wood round the hearth, talking loudly and fiercely, and ruffling it as if the fire and the room were their own. a pedlar, seated on his goods in one corner, was eyeing them with evident fear and suspicion; in another corner two children had taken refuge under a donkey, which some fowls had chosen as a roosting-pole. the innkeeper, a sturdy fellow, with a great club in his fist, sat moodily at the foot of a ladder which led to the loft above, while a slatternly woman, who was going to and fro getting supper, seemed in equal terror of her guests and her good man. confirmed by what i saw, and assured that the villains were ripe for any mischief, and, if not checked, would speedily be beyond my control, i noisily flung the door open and entered. fresnoy looked up with a sneer as i did so, and one of the men laughed. the others became silent; but no one moved or greeted me. without a moment's hesitation i stepped to the nearest fellow and, with a sturdy kick, sent his log from under him. 'rise, you rascal, when i enter!' i cried, giving vent to the anger i had long felt. 'and you, too!' and with a second kick i sent his neighbour's stool flying also, and administered a couple of cuts with my riding-cane across the man's shoulders. 'have you no manners, sirrah? across with you, and leave this side to your betters.' the two rose, snarling and feeling for their weapons, and for a moment stood facing me, looking now at me and now askance at fresnoy. but as he gave no sign, and their comrades only laughed, the men's courage failed them at the pinch, and with a very poor grace they sneaked over to the other side of the fire and sat there scowling. i seated myself beside their leader. 'this gentleman and i will eat here,' i cried to the man at the foot of the ladder. 'bid your wife lay for us, and of the best you have; and do you give those knaves their provender where the smell of their greasy jackets will not come between us and our victuals.' the man came forward, glad enough, as i saw, to discover any one in authority, and very civilly began to draw wine and place a board for us, while his wife filled our platters from the black pot which hung over the fire. fresnoy's face meanwhile wore the amused smile of one who comprehended my motives, but felt sufficiently sure of his position and influence with his followers to be indifferent to my proceedings. i presently showed him, however, that i had not yet done with him. our table was laid in obedience to my orders at such a distance from the men that they could not overhear our talk, and by-and-by i leant over to him. 'm. fresnoy,' i said, 'you are in danger of forgetting one thing, i fancy, which it behoves you to remember.' 'what?' he muttered, scarcely deigning to look up at me. 'that you have to do with gaston de marsac,' i answered quietly. 'i am making, as i told you this morning, a last attempt to recruit my fortunes, and i will let no man--no man, do you understand, m. fresnoy?--thwart me and go harmless.' 'who wishes to thwart you?' he asked impudently. 'you,' i answered unmoved, helping myself, as i spoke, from the roll of black bread which lay beside me. 'you robbed me this afternoon; i passed it over. you encouraged those men to be insolent; i passed it over. but let me tell you this. if you fail me to-night, on the honour of a gentleman, m. fresnoy, i will run you through as i would spit a lark.' 'will you? but two can play at that game,' he cried, rising nimbly from his stool. 'still better six! don't you think, m. de marsac, you had better have waited?' 'i think you had better hear one word more,' i answered coolly, keeping my seat, 'before you appeal to your fellows there.' 'well,' he said, still standing, 'what is it?' 'nay,' i replied, after once more pointing to his stool in vain, 'if you prefer to take my orders standing, well and good.' 'your orders?' he shrieked, growing suddenly excited. 'yes, my orders!' i retorted, rising as suddenly to my feet and hitching forward my sword. 'my orders, sir,' i repeated fiercely, 'or, if you dispute my right to command as well as to pay this party, let us decide the question here and now--you and i, foot to foot, m. fresnoy.' the quarrel flashed up so suddenly, though i had been preparing it all along, that no one moved. the woman, indeed, fell back to her children, but the rest looked on open-mouthed. had they stirred, or had a moment's hurly-burly heated his blood, i doubt not fresnoy would have taken up my challenge, for he did not lack hardihood. but as it was, face to face with me in the silence, his courage failed him. he paused, glowering at me uncertainly, and did not speak. 'well,' i said, 'don't you think that if i pay i ought to give orders, sir?' 'who wishes to oppose your orders?' he muttered, drinking off a bumper, and sitting down with an air of impudent bravado, assumed to hide his discomfiture. 'if you don't, no one else does,' i answered. 'so that is settled. landlord, some more wine.' he was very sulky with me for a while, fingering his glass in silence and scowling at the table. he had enough gentility to feel the humiliation to which he had exposed himself, and a sufficiency of wit to understand that that moment's hesitation had cost him the allegiance of his fellow-ruffians. i hastened, therefore, to set him at his ease by explaining my plans for the night, and presently succeeded beyond my hopes; for when he heard who the lady was whom i proposed to carry off, and that she was lying that evening at the château de chizé, his surprise swept away the last trace of resentment. he stared at me as at a maniac. 'mon dieu!' he exclaimed. 'do you know what you are doing, sieur?' 'i think so,' i answered. 'do you know to whom the chateau belongs?' 'to the vicomte de turenne.' 'and that mademoiselle de la vire is his relation?' 'yes,' i said. 'mon dieu!' he exclaimed again. and he looked at me open-mouthed. 'what is the matter?' i asked, though i had an uneasy consciousness that i knew--that i knew very well. 'man, he will crush you as i crush this hat!' he answered in great excitement. 'as easily. who do you think will protect you from him in a private quarrel of this kind? navarre? france? our good man? not one of them. you had better steal the king's crown jewels--he is weak; or guise's last plot--he is generous at times; or navarre's last sweetheart--he is as easy as an old shoe. you had better have to do with all these together, i tell you, than touch turenne's ewe-lambs, unless your aim be to be broken on the wheel! mon dieu, yes!' 'i am much obliged to you for your advice,' i said stiffly, 'but the die is cast. my mind is made up. on the other hand, if you are afraid, m. fresnoy----' 'i am afraid; very much afraid,' he answered frankly. 'still your name need not be brought into the matter,' i replied, 'i will take the responsibility. i will let them know my name here at the inn, where, doubtless, inquiries will be made.' 'to be sure, that is something,' he answered thoughtfully. 'well, it is an ugly business, but i am in for it. you want me to go with you a little after two, do you? and the others to be in the saddle at three? is that it?' i assented, pleased to find him so far acquiescent; and in this way, talking the details over more than once, we settled our course, arranging to fly by way of poitiers and tours. of course i did not tell him why i selected blois as our refuge, nor what was my purpose there; though he pressed me more than once on the point, and grew thoughtful and somewhat gloomy when i continually evaded it. a little after eight we retired to the loft to sleep; our men remaining below round the fire and snoring so merrily as almost to shake the crazy old building. the host was charged to sit up and call us as soon as the moon rose, but, as it turned out, i might as well have taken this office on myself, for between excitement and distrust i slept little, and was wide awake when i heard his step on the ladder and knew it was time to rise. i was up in a moment, and fresnoy was little behind me; so that, losing no time in talk, we were mounted and on the road, each with a spare horse at his knee, before the moon was well above the trees. once in the chase we found it necessary to proceed on foot, but, the distance being short, we presently emerged without misadventure and stood opposite to the chateau, the upper part of which shone cold and white in the moon's rays. there was something so solemn in the aspect of the place, the night being fine and the sky without a cloud, that i stood for a minute awed and impressed, the sense of the responsibility i was here to accept strong upon me. in that short space of time all the dangers before me, as well the common risks of the road as the vengeance of turenne and the turbulence of my own men, presented themselves to my mind, and made a last appeal to me to turn back from an enterprise so foolhardy. the blood in a man's veins runs low and slow at that hour, and mine was chilled by lack of sleep and the wintry air. it needed the remembrance of my solitary condition, of my past spent in straits and failure, of the grey hairs which swept my cheek, of the sword which i had long used honourably, if with little profit to myself; it needed the thought of all these things to restore me to courage and myself. i judged at a later period that my companion was affected in somewhat the same way; for, as i stooped to press home the pegs which i had brought to tether the horses, he laid his hand on my arm. glancing up to see what he wanted, i was struck by the wild look in his face (which the moonlight invested with a peculiar mottled pallor), and particularly in his eyes, which glittered like a madman's. he tried to speak, but seemed to find a difficulty in doing so; and i had to question him roughly before he found his tongue. when he did speak, it was only to implore me in an odd, excited manner to give up the expedition and return. 'what, now?' i said, surprised. 'now we are here, fresnoy?' 'ay, give it up!' he cried, shaking me almost fiercely by the arm. 'give it up, man! it will end badly, i tell you! in god's name, give it up, and go home before worse comes of it.' 'whatever comes of it,' i answered coldly, shaking his grasp from my arm, and wondering much at this sudden fit of cowardice, 'i go on. you, m. fresnoy, may do as you please!' he started and drew back from me; but he did not reply, nor did he speak again. when i presently went off to fetch a ladder, of the position of which i had made a note during the afternoon, he accompanied me, and followed me back in the same dull silence to the walk below the balcony. i had looked more than once and eagerly at mademoiselle's window without any light or movement in that quarter rewarding my vigilance; but, undeterred by this, which might mean either that my plot was known, or that mademoiselle de la vire distrusted me, i set the ladder softly against the balcony, which was in deep shadow, and paused only to give fresnoy his last instructions. these were simply to stand on guard at the foot of the ladder and defend it in case of surprise; so that, whatever happened inside the chateau, my retreat by the window might not be cut off. then i went cautiously up the ladder, and, with my sheathed sword in my left hand, stepped over the balustrade. taking one pace forward, with fingers outstretched, i felt the leaded panes of the window and tapped softly. as softly the casement gave way, and i followed it. a hand which i could see but not feel was laid on mine. all was darkness in the room, and before me, but the hand guided me two paces forward, then by a sudden pressure bade me stand. i heard the sound of a curtain being drawn behind me, and the next moment the cover of a rushlight was removed, and a feeble but sufficient light filled the chamber. i comprehended that the drawing of that curtain over the window had cut off my retreat as effectually as if a door had been closed behind me. but distrust and suspicion gave way the next moment to the natural embarrassment of the man who finds himself in a false position and knows he can escape from it only by an awkward explanation. the room in which i found myself was long, narrow, and low in the ceiling; and being hung with some dark stuff which swallowed up the light, terminated funereally at the farther end in the still deeper gloom of an alcove. two or three huge chests, one bearing the remnants of a meal, stood against the walls. the middle of the floor was covered with a strip of coarse matting, on which a small table, a chair and foot-rest, and a couple of stools had place, with some smaller articles which lay scattered round a pair of half-filled saddle-bags. the slighter and smaller of the two figures i had seen stood beside the table, wearing a mask and riding cloak; and by her silent manner of gazing at me, as well as by a cold, disdainful bearing, which neither her mask nor cloak could hide, did more to chill and discomfit me than even my own knowledge that i had lost the pass-key which should have admitted me to her confidence. the stouter figure of the afternoon turned out to be a red-cheeked, sturdy woman of thirty, with bright black eyes and a manner which lost nothing of its fierce impatience when she came a little later to address me. all my ideas of fanchette were upset by the appearance of this woman, who, rustic in her speech and ways, seemed more like a duenna than the waiting-maid of a court beauty, and better fitted to guard a wayward damsel than to aid her in such an escapade as we had in hand. she stood slightly behind her mistress, her coarse red hand resting on the back of the chair from which mademoiselle had apparently risen on my entrance. for a few seconds, which seemed minutes to me, we stood gazing at one another in silence, mademoiselle acknowledging my bow by a slight movement of the head. then, seeing that they waited for me to speak, i did so. 'mademoiselle de la vire?' i murmured doubtfully. she bent her head again; that was all. i strove to speak with confidence. 'you will pardon me, mademoiselle,' i said, 'if i seem to be abrupt, but time is everything. the horses are standing within a hundred yards of the house, and all the preparations for your night are made. if we leave now, we can do so without opposition. the delay even of an hour may lead to discovery.' for answer she laughed behind her mask--laughed coldly and ironically. 'you go too fast, sir,' she said, her low clear voice matching the laugh and rousing a feeling almost of anger in my heart. 'i do not know you; or, rather, i know nothing of you which should entitle you to interfere in my affairs. you are too quick to presume, sir. you say you come from a friend. from whom?' 'from one whom i am proud to call by that title,' i answered with what patience i might. 'his name!' i answered firmly that i could not give it. and i eyed her steadily as i did so. this for the moment seemed to baffle and confuse her, but after a pause she continued: 'where do you propose to take me, sir?' 'to blois; to the lodging of a friend of my friend.' 'you speak bravely,' she replied with a faint sneer. 'you have made some great friends lately it seems! but you bring me some letter, no doubt; at least some sign, some token, some warranty, that you are the person you pretend to be, m. de marsac?' 'the truth is, mademoiselle,' i stammered, 'i must explain. i should tell you----' 'nay, sir,' she cried impetuously, 'there is no need of telling. if you have what i say, show it me! it is you who lose time. let us have no more words!' i had used very few words, and, god knows, was not in the mind to use many; but, being in the wrong, i had no answer to make except the truth, and that humbly. 'i had such a token as you mention, mademoiselle,' i said, 'no farther back than this afternoon, in the shape of half a gold coin, entrusted to me by my friend. but, to my shame i say it, it was stolen from me a few hours back.' 'stolen from you!' she exclaimed. 'yes, mademoiselle; and for that reason i cannot show it,' i answered. 'you cannot show it? and you dare to come to me without it!' she cried, speaking with a vehemence which fairly startled me, prepared as i was for reproaches. 'you come to me! you!' she continued. and with that, scarcely stopping to take breath, she loaded me with abuse; calling me impertinent, a meddler, and a hundred other things, which i now blush to recall, and displaying in all a passion which even in her attendant would have surprised me, but in one so slight and seemingly delicate, overwhelmed and confounded me. in fault as i was, i could not understand the peculiar bitterness she displayed, or the contemptuous force of her language, and i stared at her in silent wonder until, of her own accord, she supplied the key to her feelings. in a fresh outburst of rage she snatched off her mask, and to my astonishment i saw before me the young maid of honour whom i had encountered in the king of navarre's ante-chamber, and whom i had been so unfortunate as to expose to the raillery of mathurine. 'who has paid you, sir,' she continued, clenching her small hands and speaking with tears of anger in her eyes, 'to make me the laughing-stock of the court? it was bad enough when i thought you the proper agent of those to whom i have a right to look for aid! it was bad enough when i thought myself forced, through their inconsiderate choice, to decide between an odious imprisonment and the ridicule to which your intervention must expose me! but that you should have dared, of your own notion, to follow me, you, the butt of the court----' 'mademoiselle!' i cried. 'a needy, out-at-elbows adventurer!' she persisted, triumphing in her cruelty. 'it exceeds all bearing! it is not to be suffered! it----' 'nay, mademoiselle; you shall hear me!' i cried, with a sternness which at last stopped her. 'granted i am poor, i am still a gentleman; yes, mademoiselle,' i continued, firmly, 'a gentleman, and the last of a family which has spoken with yours on equal terms. and i claim to be heard. i swear that when i came here to-night i believed you to be a perfect stranger! i was unaware that i had ever seen you, unaware that i had ever met you before.' 'then why did you come?' she said viciously. 'i was engaged to come by those whom you have mentioned, and there, and there only am i in fault. they entrusted to me a token which i have lost. for that i crave your pardon.' 'you have need to,' she answered bitterly, yet with a changed countenance, or i was mistaken, 'if your story be true, sir.' 'ay, that you have!' the woman beside her echoed. 'hoity toity, indeed! here is a fuss about nothing. you call yourself a gentleman, and wear such a doublet as----' 'peace, fanchette!' mademoiselle said imperiously. and then for a moment she stood silent, eyeing me intently, her lips trembling with excitement and two red spots burning in her cheeks. it was clear from her dress and other things that she had made up her mind to fly had the token been forthcoming; and seeing this, and knowing how unwilling a young girl is to forego her own way, i still had some hopes that she might not persevere in her distrust and refusal. and so it turned out. her manner had changed to one of quiet scorn when she next spoke. 'you defend yourself skilfully, sir,' she said, drumming with her fingers on the table and eyeing me steadfastly. 'but can you give me any reason for the person you name making choice of such a messenger?' 'yes,' i answered, boldly. 'that he may not be suspected of conniving at your escape.' 'oh!' she cried, with a spark of her former passion. 'then it is to be put about that mademoiselle de la vire had fled from chizé with m. de marsac, is it? i thought that!' 'through the assistance of m. de marsac,' i retorted, correcting her coldly. 'it is for you, mademoiselle,' i continued, 'to weigh that disadvantage against the unpleasantness of remaining here. it only remains for me to ask you to decide quickly. time presses, and i have stayed here too long already.' the words had barely passed my lips when they received unwelcome confirmation in the shape of a distant sound--the noisy closing of a door, which, clanging through the house at such an hour--i judged it to be after three o'clock--could scarcely mean anything but mischief. this noise was followed immediately, even while we stood listening with raised fingers, by other sounds--a muffled cry, and the tramp of heavy footsteps in a distant passage. mademoiselle looked at me, and i at her woman. 'the door!' i muttered. 'is it locked?' 'and bolted!' fanchette answered; 'and a great chest set against it. let them ramp; they will do no harm for a bit.' 'then you have still time, mademoiselle,' i whispered, retreating a step and laying my hand on the curtain before the window. perhaps i affected greater coolness than i felt. 'it is not too late. if you choose to remain, well and good. i cannot help it. if, on the other hand, you decide to trust yourself to me, i swear, on the honour of a gentleman, to be worthy of the trust--to serve you truly and protect you to the last! i can say no more.' she trembled, looking from me to the door, on which some one had just begun to knock loudly. that seemed to decide her. her lips apart, her eyes full of excitement, she turned hastily to fanchette. 'ay, go if you like,' the woman answered doggedly, reading the meaning of her look. 'there cannot be a greater villain than the one we know of. but once started, heaven help us, for if he overtakes us we'll pay dearly for it!' the girl did not speak herself, but it was enough. the noise at the door increased each second, and began to be mingled with angry appeals to fanchette to open, and with threats in case she delayed. i cut the matter short by snatching up one of the saddle-bags--the other we left behind--and flung back the curtain which covered the window. at the same time the woman dashed out the light--a timely precaution--and throwing open the casement i stepped on to the balcony, the others following me closely. the moon had risen high, and flooding with light the small open space about the house enabled me to see clearly all round the foot of the ladder. to my surprise fresnoy was not at his post, nor was he to be seen anywhere; but as, at the moment i observed this, an outcry away to my left, at the rear of the chateau, came to my ears, and announced that the danger was no longer confined to the interior of the house, i concluded that he had gone that way to intercept the attack. without more, therefore, i began to descend as quickly as i could, my sword under one arm and the bag under the other. i was half-way down, and mademoiselle was already stepping on to the ladder to follow, when i heard footsteps below, and saw him run up, his sword in his hand. 'quick, fresnoy!' i cried. 'to the horses and unfasten them! quick!' i slid down the rest of the way, thinking he had gone to do my bidding. but my feet were scarcely on the ground when a tremendous blow in the side sent me staggering three paces from the ladder. the attack was so sudden, so unexpected, that but for the sight of fresnoy's scowling face, wild with rage, at my shoulder, and the sound of his fierce breathing as he strove to release his sword, which had passed through my saddle-bag, i might never have known who struck the blow, or how narrow had been my escape. fortunately the knowledge did come to me in time, and before he freed his blade; and it nerved my hand. to draw my blade at such close quarters was impossible, but, dropping the bag which had saved my life, i dashed my hilt twice in his face with such violence that he fell backwards and lay on the turf, a dark stain growing and spreading on his upturned face. it was scarcely done before the women reached the foot of the ladder and stood beside me. 'quick!' i cried to them, 'or they will be upon us.' seizing mademoiselle's hand, just as half-a-dozen men came running round the corner of the house, i jumped with her down the haha, and, urging her to her utmost speed, dashed across the open ground which lay between us and the belt of trees. once in the shelter of the latter, where our movements were hidden from view, i had still to free the horses and mount mademoiselle and her woman, and this in haste. but my companions' admirable coolness and presence of mind, and the objection which our pursuers, who did not know our numbers, felt to leaving the open ground, enabled us to do all with comparative ease. i sprang on the cid (it has always been my habit to teach my horse to stand for me, nor do i know any accomplishment more serviceable at a pinch), and giving fresnoy's grey a cut over the flanks which despatched it ahead, led the way down the ride by which i had gained the chateau in the afternoon. i knew it to be level and clear of trees, and the fact that we chose it might throw our pursuers off the track for a time, by leading them to think we had taken the south road instead of that through the village. chapter v. the road to blois. we gained the road without let or hindrance, whence a sharp burst in the moonlight soon brought us to the village. through this we swept on to the inn, almost running over the four evangelists, whom we found standing at the door ready for the saddle. i bade them, in a quick peremptory tone, to get to horse, and was overjoyed to see them obey without demur or word of fresnoy. in another minute, with a great clatter of hoofs, we sprang clear of the hamlet, and were well on the road to melle, with poitiers some thirteen leagues before us. i looked back, and thought i discerned lights moving in the direction of the chateau; but the dawn was still two hours off, and the moonlight left me in doubt whether these were real or the creatures of my own fearful fancy. i remember, three years before this time, on the occasion of the famous retreat from angers--when the prince of condé had involved his army beyond the loire, and saw himself, in the impossibility of recrossing the river, compelled to take ship for england, leaving every one to shift for himself--i well remember on that occasion riding, alone and pistol in hand, through more than thirty miles of the enemy's country without drawing rein. but my anxieties were then confined to the four shoes of my horse. the dangers to which i was exposed at every ford and cross road were such as are inseparable from a campaign, and breed in generous hearts only a fierce pleasure, rarely to be otherwise enjoyed. and though i then rode warily, and where i could not carry terror, had all to fear myself, there was nothing secret or underhand in my business. it was very different now. during the first few hours of our flight from chizé i experienced a painful excitement, an alarm, a feverish anxiety to get forward, which was new to me; which oppressed my spirits to the very ground; which led me to take every sound borne to us on the wind for the sound of pursuit, transforming the clang of a hammer on the anvil into the ring of swords, and the voices of my own men into those of the pursuers. it was in vain mademoiselle rode with a free hand, and leaping such obstacles as lay in our way, gave promise of courage and endurance beyond my expectations. i could think of nothing but the three long days before us, with twenty-four hours to every day, and each hour fraught with a hundred chances of disaster and ruin. in fact, the longer i considered our position--and as we pounded along, now splashing through a founderous hollow, now stumbling as we wound over a stony shoulder, i had ample time to reflect upon it--the greater seemed the difficulties before us. the loss of fresnoy, while it freed me from some embarrassment, meant also the loss of a good sword, and we had mustered only too few before. the country which lay between us and the loire, being the borderland between our party and the league, had been laid desolate so often as to be abandoned to pillage and disorder of every kind. the peasants had flocked into the towns. their places had been taken by bands of robbers and deserters from both parties, who haunted the ruined villages about poitiers, and preyed upon all who dared to pass. to add to our perils, the royal army under the duke of nevers was reported to be moving slowly southward, not very far to the left of our road; while a huguenot expedition against niort was also in progress within a few leagues of us. with four staunch and trustworthy comrades at my back, i might have faced even this situation with a smile and a light heart; but the knowledge that my four knaves might mutiny at any moment, or, worse still, rid themselves of me and all restraint by a single treacherous blow such as fresnoy had aimed at me, filled me with an ever-present dread; which it taxed my utmost energies to hide from them, and which i strove in vain to conceal from mademoiselle's keener vision. whether it was this had an effect upon her, giving her a meaner opinion of me than that which i had for a while hoped she entertained, or that she began, now it was too late, to regret her flight and resent my part in it, i scarcely know; but from daybreak onwards she assumed an attitude of cold suspicion towards me, which was only less unpleasant than the scornful distance of her manner when she deigned, which was seldom, to address me. not once did she allow me to forget that i was in her eyes a needy adventurer, paid by her friends to escort her to a place of safety, but without any claim to the smallest privilege of intimacy or equality. when i would have adjusted her saddle, she bade her woman come and hold up her skirt, that my hands might not touch its hem even by accident. and when i would have brought wine to her at melle, where we stayed for twenty minutes, she called fanchette to hand it to her. she rode for the most part in her mask; and with her woman. one good effect only her pride and reserve had; they impressed our men with a strong sense of her importance, and the danger to which any interference with her might expose them. the two men whom fresnoy had enlisted i directed to ride a score of paces in advance. luke and john i placed in the rear. in this manner i thought to keep them somewhat apart. for myself, i proposed to ride abreast of mademoiselle, but she made it so clear that my neighbourhood displeased her that i fell back, leaving her to ride with fanchette; and contented myself with plodding at their heels, and striving to attach the later evangelists to my interests. we were so fortunate, despite my fears, as to find the road nearly deserted--as, alas, was much of the country on either side--and to meet none but small parties travelling along it; who were glad enough, seeing the villainous looks of our outriders, to give us a wide berth, and be quit of us for the fright. we skirted lusignan, shunning the streets, but passing near enough for me to point out to mademoiselle the site of the famous tower built, according to tradition, by the fairy melusina, and rased thirteen years back by the leaguers. she received my information so frigidly, however, that i offered no more, but fell back shrugging my shoulders, and rode in silence, until, some two hours after noon, the city of poitiers came into sight, lying within its circle of walls and towers on a low hill in the middle of a country clothed in summer with rich vineyards, but now brown and bare and cheerless to the eye. fanchette turned and asked me abruptly if that were poitiers. i answered that it was, but added that for certain reasons i proposed not to halt, but to lie at a village a league beyond the city, where there was a tolerable inn. 'we shall do very well here,' the woman answered rudely. 'any way, my lady will go no farther. she is tired and cold, and wet besides, and has gone far enough.' 'still,' i answered, nettled by the woman's familiarity, 'i think mademoiselle will change her mind when she hears my reasons for going farther.' 'mademoiselle does not wish to hear them, sir,' the lady replied herself, and very sharply. 'nevertheless, i think you had better hear them,' i persisted, turning to her respectfully. 'you see, mademoiselle----' 'i see only one thing, sir,' she exclaimed, snatching off her mask and displaying a countenance beautiful indeed, but flushed for the moment with anger and impatience, 'that, whatever betides, i stay at poitiers to-night.' 'if it would content you to rest an hour?' i suggested gently. 'it will not content me!' she rejoined with spirit. 'and let me tell you, sir,' she went on impetuously, 'once for all, that you take too much upon yourself. you are here to escort me, and to give orders to these ragamuffins, for they are nothing better, with whom you have thought fit to disgrace our company; but not to give orders to me or to control my movements. confine yourself for the future, sir, to your duties, if you please.' 'i desire only to obey you,' i answered, suppressing the angry feelings which rose in my breast, and speaking as coolly as lay in my power. 'but, as the first of my duties is to provide for your safety, i am determined to omit nothing which can conduce to that end. you have not considered that, if a party in pursuit of us reaches poitiers to-night, search will be made for us in the city, and we shall be taken. if, on the other hand, we are known to have passed through, the hunt may go no farther; certainly will go no farther to-night. therefore we must not, mademoiselle,' i added firmly, 'lie in poitiers to-night.' 'sir,' she exclaimed, looking at me, her face crimson with wonder and indignation, 'do you dare to?' 'i dare do my duty, mademoiselle,' i answered, plucking up a spirit, though my heart was sore. 'i am a man old enough to be your father, and with little to lose, or i had not been here. i care nothing what you think or what you say of me, provided i can do what i have undertaken to do and place you safely in the hands of your friends. but enough, mademoiselle, we are at the gate. if you will permit me, i will ride through the streets beside you. we shall so attract less attention.' without waiting for a permission which she was very unlikely to give, i pushed my horse forward, and took my place beside her, signing to fanchette to fall back. the maid obeyed, speechless with indignation; while mademoiselle flashed a scathing glance at me and looked round in helpless anger, as though it was in her mind to appeal against me even to the passers-by. but she thought better of it, and contenting herself with muttering the word 'impertinent' put on her mask with fingers which trembled, i fancy, not a little. a small rain was falling and the afternoon was well advanced when we entered the town, but i noticed that, notwithstanding this, the streets presented a busy and animated appearance, being full of knots of people engaged in earnest talk. a bell was tolling somewhere, and near the cathedral a crowd of no little size was standing, listening to a man who seemed to be reading a placard or manifesto attached to the wall. in another place a soldier, wearing the crimson colours of the league, but splashed and stained as with recent travel, was holding forth to a breathless circle who seemed to hang upon his lips. a neighbouring corner sheltered a handful of priests who whispered together with gloomy faces. many stared at us as we passed, and some would have spoken; but i rode steadily on, inviting no converse. nevertheless at the north gate i got a rare fright; for, though it wanted a full half-hour of sunset, the porter was in the act of closing it. seeing us, he waited grumbling until we came up, and then muttered, in answer to my remonstrance, something about queer times and wilful people having their way. i took little notice of what he said, however, being anxious only to get through the gate and leave as few traces of our passage as might be. as soon as we were outside the town i fell back, permitting fanchette to take my place. for another league, a long and dreary one, we plodded on in silence, horses and men alike jaded and sullen, and the women scarcely able to keep their saddles for fatigue. at last, much to my relief, seeing that i began to fear i had taxed mademoiselle's strength too far, the long low buildings of the inn at which i proposed to stay came in sight, at the crossing of the road and river. the place looked blank and cheerless, for the dusk was thickening; but as we trailed one by one into the courtyard a stream of firelight burst on us from doors and windows, and a dozen sounds of life and comfort greeted our ears. noticing that mademoiselle was benumbed and cramped with long sitting, i would have helped her to dismount; but she fiercely rejected my aid, and i had to content myself with requesting the landlord to assign the best accommodation he had to the lady and her attendant, and secure as much privacy for them as possible. the man assented very civilly and said all should be done; but i noticed that his eyes wandered while i talked, and that he seemed to have something on his mind. when he returned, after disposing of them, it came out. 'did you ever happen to see him, sir?' he asked with a sigh; yet was there a smug air of pleasure mingled with his melancholy. 'see whom?' i answered, staring at him, for neither of us had mentioned any one. 'the duke, sir.' i stared again between wonder and suspicion. 'the duke of nevers is not in this part, is he?' i said slowly. 'i heard he was on the brittany border, away to the westward.' 'mon dieu!' my host exclaimed, raising his hands in astonishment. 'you have not heard, sir?' 'i have heard nothing,' i answered impatiently. 'you have not heard, sir, that the most puissant and illustrious lord the duke of guise is dead?' 'm. de guise dead? it is not true!' i cried astonished. he nodded, however, several times with an air of great importance, and seemed as if he would have gone on to give me some particulars. but, remembering, as i fancied, that he spoke in the hearing of half-a-dozen guests who sat about the great fire behind me, and had both eyes and ears open, he contented himself with shifting his towel to his other arm and adding only, 'yes, sir, dead as any nail. the news came through here yesterday, and made a pretty stir. it happened at blois the day but one before christmas, if all be true.' i was thunderstruck. this was news which might change the face of france. 'how did it happen?' i asked. my host covered his mouth with his hand and coughed, and, privily twitching my sleeve, gave me to understand with some shamefacedness that he could not say more in public. i was about to make some excuse to retire with him, when a harsh voice, addressed apparently to me, caused me to turn sharply. i found at my elbow a tall thin-faced monk in the habit of the jacobin order. he had risen from his seat beside the fire, and seemed to be labouring under great excitement. 'who asked how it happened?' he cried, rolling his eyes in a kind of frenzy, while still observant, or i was much mistaken, of his listeners. is there a man in france to whom the tale has not been told? is there?' 'i will answer for one,' i replied, regarding him with little favour. 'i have heard nothing.' 'then you shall! listen!' he exclaimed, raising his right hand and brandishing it as though he denounced a person then present. 'hear my accusation, made in the name of mother church and the saints against the arch hypocrite, the perjurer and assassin sitting in high places! he shall be anathema maranatha, for he has shed the blood of the holy and the pure, the chosen of heaven! he shall go down to the pit, and that soon. the blood that he has shed shall be required of him, and that before he is one year older.' 'tut-tut. all that sounds very fine, good father,' i said, waxing impatient, and a little scornful; for i saw that he was one of those wandering and often crazy monks in whom the league found their most useful emissaries. 'but i should profit more by your gentle words, if i knew whom you were cursing.' 'the man of blood!' he cried; 'through whom the last but not the least of god's saints and martyrs entered into glory on the friday before christmas.' moved by such profanity, and judging him, notwithstanding the extravagance of his words and gestures, to be less mad than he seemed, and at least as much knave as fool, i bade him sternly have done with his cursing, and proceed to his story if he had one. he glowered at me for a moment, as though he were minded to launch his spiritual weapons at my head; but as i returned his glare with an unmoved eye--and my four rascals, who were as impatient as myself to learn the news, and had scarce more reverence for a shaven crown, began to murmur--he thought better of it, and cooling as suddenly as he had flamed up, lost no more time in satisfying our curiosity. it would ill become me, however, to set down the extravagant and often blasphemous harangue in which, styling m. de guise the martyr of god, he told the story now so familiar--the story of that dark wintry morning at blois, when the king's messenger, knocking early at the duke's door, bade him hurry, for the king wanted him. the story is trite enough now. when i heard it first in the inn on the clain, it was all new and all marvellous. the monk, too, telling the story as if he had seen the events with his own eyes, omitted nothing which might impress his hearers. he told us how the duke received warning after warning, and answered in the very antechamber, 'he dare not!' how his blood, mysteriously advised of coming dissolution, grew chill, and his eye, wounded at château thierry, began to run, so that he had to send for the handkerchief he had forgotten to bring. he told us, even, how the duke drew his assassins up and down the chamber, how he cried for mercy, and how he died at last at the foot of the king's bed, and how the king, who had never dared to face him living, came and spurned him dead! there were pale faces round the fire when he ceased, and bent brows and lips hard pressed together. when he stood and cursed the king of france--cursing him openly by the name of henry of valois, a thing i had never looked to hear in france--though no one said 'amen,' and all glanced over their shoulders, and our host pattered from the room as if he had seen a ghost, it seemed to be no man's duty to gainsay him. for myself, i was full of thoughts which it would have been unsafe to utter in that company or so near the loire. i looked back sixteen years. who but henry of guise had spurned the corpse of coligny? and who but henry of valois had backed him in the act? who but henry of guise had drenched paris with blood, and who but henry of valois had ridden by his side? one rd of the month--a day never to be erased from france's annals--had purchased for him a term of greatness. a second rd saw him pay the price--saw his ashes cast secretly and by night no man knows where! moved by such thoughts, and observing that the priest was going the round of the company collecting money for masses for the duke's soul, to which object i could neither give with a good conscience nor refuse without exciting suspicion, i slipped out; and finding a man of decent appearance talking with the landlord in a small room beside the kitchen, i called for a flask of the best wine, and by means of that introduction obtained my supper in their company. the stranger was a norman horsedealer, returning home after disposing of his string. he seemed to be in a large way of business, and being of a bluff, independent spirit, as many of those norman townsmen are, was inclined at first to treat me with more familiarity than respect; the fact of my nag, for which he would have chaffered, excelling my coat in quality, leading him to set me down as a steward or intendant. the pursuit of his trade, however, had brought him into connection with all classes of men, and he quickly perceived his mistake; and as he knew the provinces between the seine and loire to perfection, and made it part of his business to foresee the chances of peace and war, i obtained a great amount of information from him, and indeed conceived no little liking for him. he believed that the assassination of m. de guise would alienate so much of france from the king that his majesty would have little left save the towns on the loire, and some other places lying within easy reach of his court at blois. 'but,' i said, 'things seem quiet now. here, for instance.' 'it is the calm before the storm,' he answered. 'there is a monk in there. have you heard him?' i nodded. 'he is only one among a hundred--a thousand,' the horsedealer continued, looking at me and nodding with meaning. he was a brown-haired man with shrewd grey eyes, such as many normans have. 'they will get their way too, you will see,' he went on. 'well, horses will go up, so i have no cause to grumble; but, if i were on my way to blois with women or gear of that kind, i should not choose this time for picking posies on the road. i should see the inside of the gates as soon as possible.' i thought there was much in what he said; and when he went on to maintain that the king would find himself between the hammer and the anvil--between the league holding all the north and the huguenots holding all the south--and must needs in time come to terms with the latter, seeing that the former would rest content with nothing short of his deposition, i began to agree with him that we should shortly see great changes and very stirring times. 'still if they depose the king,' i said, 'the king of navarre must succeed him. he is the heir of france.' 'bah!' my companion replied somewhat contemptuously. 'the league will see to that. he goes with the other.' 'then the kings are in one cry, and you are right,' i said with conviction. 'they must unite.' 'so they will. it is only a question of time,' he said. in the morning, having only one man with him, and, as i guessed, a considerable sum of money, he volunteered to join our party as far as blois. i assented gladly, and he did so, this addition to our numbers ridding me at once of the greater part of my fears. i did not expect any opposition on the part of mademoiselle, who would gain in consequence as well as in safety. nor did she offer any. she was content, i think, to welcome any addition to our party which would save her from the necessity of riding in the company of my old cloak. chapter vi. my mother's lodging. travelling by way of chatelhérault and tours, we reached the neighbourhood of blois a little after noon on the third day without misadventure or any intimation of pursuit. the norman proved himself a cheerful companion on the road, as i already knew him to be a man of sense and shrewdness; while his presence rendered the task of keeping my men in order an easy one. i began to consider the adventure as practically achieved; and regarding mademoiselle de la vire as already in effect transferred to the care of m. de rosny, i ventured to turn my thoughts to the development of my own plans and the choice of a haven in which i might rest secure from the vengeance of m. de turenne. for the moment i had evaded his pursuit, and, assisted by the confusion caused everywhere by the death of guise, had succeeded in thwarting his plans and affronting his authority with seeming ease. but i knew too much of his power and had heard too many instances of his fierce temper and resolute will to presume on short impunity or to expect the future with anything but diffidence and dismay. the exclamations of my companions on coming within sight of blois aroused me from these reflections. i joined them, and fully shared their emotion as i gazed on the stately towers which had witnessed so many royal festivities, and, alas! one royal tragedy; which had sheltered louis the well-beloved and francis the great, and rung with the laughter of diana of poitiers and the second henry. the play of fancy wreathed the sombre building with a hundred memories grave and gay. but, though the rich plain of the loire still swelled upward as of old in gentle homage at the feet of the gallant town, the shadow of crime seemed to darken all, and dim even the glories of the royal standard which hung idly in the air. we had heard so many reports of the fear and suspicion which reigned in the city and of the strict supervision which was exercised over all who entered--the king dreading a repetition of the day of the barricades--that we halted at a little inn a mile short of the gate and broke up our company. i parted from my norman friend with mutual expressions of esteem, and from my own men, whom i had paid off in the morning, complimenting each of them with a handsome present, with a feeling of relief equally sincere. i hoped--but the hope was not fated to be gratified--that i might never see the knaves again. it wanted less than an hour of sunset when i rode up to the gate, a few paces in front of mademoiselle and her woman; as if i had really been the intendant for whom the horse-dealer had mistaken me. we found the guardhouse lined with soldiers, who scanned us very narrowly as we approached, and whose stern features and ordered weapons showed that they were not there for mere effect. the fact, however, that we came from tours, a city still in the king's hands, served to allay suspicion, and we passed without accident. once in the streets, and riding in single file between the houses, to the windows of which the townsfolk seemed to be attracted by the slightest commotion, so full of terror was the air, i experienced a moment of huge relief. this was blois--blois at last. we were within a few score yards of the bleeding heart. in a few minutes i should receive a quittance, and be free to think only of myself. nor was my pleasure much lessened by the fact that i was so soon to part from mademoiselle de la vire. frankly, i was far from liking her. exposure to the air of a court had spoiled, it seemed to me, whatever graces of disposition the young lady had ever possessed. she still maintained, and had maintained throughout the journey, the cold and suspicious attitude assumed at starting; nor had she ever expressed the least solicitude on my behalf, or the slightest sense that we were incurring danger in her service. she had not scrupled constantly to prefer her whims to the common advantage, and even safety; while her sense of self-importance had come to be so great, that she seemed to hold herself exempt from the duty of thanking any human creature. i could not deny that she was beautiful--indeed, i often thought, when watching her, of the day when i had seen her in the king of navarre's ante-chamber in all the glory of her charms. but i felt none the less that i could turn my back on her--leaving her in safety--without regret; and be thankful that her path would never again cross mine. with such thoughts in my breast i turned the corner of the rue de st. denys and came at once upon the bleeding heart, a small but decent-looking hostelry situate near the end of the street and opposite a church. a bluff, grey-haired man, who was standing in the doorway, came forward as we halted, and looking curiously at mademoiselle asked what i lacked; adding civilly that the house was full and they had no sleeping room, the late events having drawn a great assemblage to blois. 'i want only an address,' i answered, leaning from the saddle and speaking in a low voice that i might not be overheard by the passers-by. 'the baron de rosny is in blois, is he not?' the man started at the name of the huguenot leader, and looked round him nervously. but, seeing that no one was very near us, he answered: 'he was, sir; but he left town a week ago and more. there have been strange doings here, and m. de rosny thought that the climate suited him ill.' he said this with so much meaning, as well as concern that he should not be overheard, that, though i was taken aback and bitterly disappointed, i succeeded in restraining all exclamations and even show of feeling. after a pause of dismay, i asked whither m. de rosny had gone. 'to rosny,' was the answer. 'and rosny?' 'is beyond chartres, pretty well all the way to mantes,' the man answered, stroking my horse's neck. 'say thirty leagues.' i turned my horse, and hurriedly communicated what he said to mademoiselle, who was waiting a few paces away. unwelcome to me, the news was still less welcome to her. her chagrin and indignation knew no bounds. for a moment words failed her, but her flashing eyes said more than her tongue as she cried to me: 'well, sir, and what now? is this the end of your fine promises? where is your rosny, if all be not a lying invention of your own?' feeling that she had some excuse i suppressed my choler, and humbly repeating that rosny was at his house, two days farther on, and that i could see nothing for it but to go to him, i asked the landlord where we could find a lodging for the night. 'indeed, sir, that is more than i can say,' he answered, looking curiously at us, and thinking, i doubt not, that with my shabby cloak and fine horse, and mademoiselle's mask and spattered riding-coat, we were an odd couple. 'there is not an inn which is not full to the garrets--nay, and the stables; and, what is more, people are chary of taking strangers in. these are strange times. they say,' he continued in a lower tone, 'that the old queen is dying up there, and will not last the night.' i nodded. 'we must go somewhere,' i said. 'i would help you if i could,' he answered, shrugging his shoulders. 'but there it is! blois is full from the tiles to the cellars.' my horse shivered under me, and mademoiselle, whose patience was gone, cried harshly to me to do something. 'we cannot spend the night in the streets,' she said fiercely. i saw that she was worn out and scarcely mistress of her-self. the light was falling, and with it some rain. the reek of the kennels and the close air from the houses seemed to stifle us. the bell at the church behind us was jangling out vespers. a few people, attracted by the sight of our horses standing before the inn, had gathered round and were watching us. something i saw must be done, and done quickly. in despair, and seeing no other resort, i broached a proposal of which i had not hitherto even dreamed. 'mademoiselle,' i said bluntly, 'i must take you to my mother's.' 'to your mother's, sir?' she cried, rousing herself. her voice rang with haughty surprise. 'yes,' i replied brusquely; 'since, as you say, we cannot spend the night in the streets, and i do not know where else i can dispose of you. from the last advices i had i believe her to have followed the court hither. my friend,' i continued, turning to the landlord, 'do you know by name a madame de bonne, who should be in blois?' 'a madame de bonne?' he muttered, reflecting. 'i have heard the name lately. wait a moment.' disappearing into the house, he returned almost immediately, followed by a lanky pale-faced youth wearing a tattered black soutane. 'yes,' he said nodding, 'there is a worthy lady of that name lodging in the next street, i am told. as it happens, this young man lives in the same house, and will guide you, if you like.' i assented, and, thanking him for his information, turned my horse and requested the youth to lead the way. we had scarcely passed the corner of the street, however, and entered one somewhat more narrow and less frequented, when mademoiselle, who was riding behind me, stopped and called to me. i drew rein, and, turning, asked what it was. 'i am not coming,' she said, her voice trembling slightly, but whether with alarm or anger i could not determine. 'i know nothing of you, and i--i demand to be taken to m. de rosny.' 'if you cry that name aloud in the streets of blois, mademoiselle,' i retorted, 'you are like enough to be taken whither you will not care to go! as for m. de rosny, i have told you that he is not here. he has gone to his seat at mantes.' 'then take me to him!' 'at this hour of the night?' i said drily. 'it is two days' journey from here.' 'then i will go to an inn,' she replied sullenly. 'you have heard that there is no room in the inns,' i rejoined with what patience i could. 'and to go from inn to inn at this hour might lead us into trouble. i can assure you that i am as much taken aback by m. de rosny's absence as you are. for the present, we are close to my mother's lodging, and----' 'i know nothing of your mother!' she exclaimed passionately, her voice raised. 'you have enticed me hither by false pretences, sir, and i will endure it no longer. i will----' 'what you will do, i do not know then, mademoiselle,' i replied, quite at my wits' end; for what with the rain and the darkness, the unknown streets--in which our tarrying might at any moment collect a crowd--and this stubborn girl's opposition, i knew not whither to turn. 'for my part i can suggest nothing else. it does not become me to speak of my mother,' i continued, 'or i might say that even mademoiselle de la vire need not be ashamed to accept the hospitality of madame de bonne. nor are my mother's circumstances,' i added proudly, 'though narrow, so mean as to deprive her of the privileges of her birth.' my last words appeared to make some impression upon my companion. she turned and spoke to her woman, who replied in a low voice, tossing her head the while and glaring at me in speechless indignation. had there been anything else for it, they would doubtless have flouted my offer still; but apparently fanchette could suggest nothing, and presently mademoiselle, with a sullen air, bade me lead on. taking this for permission, the lanky youth in the black soutane, who had remained at my bridle throughout the discussion, now listening and now staring, nodded and resumed his way; and i followed. after proceeding a little more than fifty yards he stopped before a mean-looking doorway, flanked by grated windows, and fronted by a lofty wall which i took to be the back of some nobleman's garden. the street at this point was unlighted, and little better than an alley; nor was the appearance of the house, which was narrow and ill-looking, though lofty, calculated, as far as i could make it out in the darkness, to allay mademoiselle's suspicions. knowing, however, that people of position are often obliged in towns to lodge in poor houses, i thought nothing of this, and only strove to get mademoiselle dismounted as quickly as possible. the lad groped about and found two rings beside the door, and to these i tied up the horses. then, bidding him lead the way, and begging mademoiselle to follow, i plunged into the darkness of the passage and felt my way to the foot of the staircase, which was entirely unlighted, and smelled close and unpleasant. 'which floor?' i asked my guide. 'the fourth,' he answered quietly. 'morbleu!' i muttered, as i began to ascend, my hand on the wall. 'what is the meaning of this?' for i was perplexed. the revenues of marsac, though small, should have kept my mother, whom i had last seen in paris before the nemours edict, in tolerable comfort--such modest comfort, at any rate, as could scarcely be looked for in such a house as this--obscure, ill-tended, unlighted. to my perplexity was added, before i reached the top of the stairs, disquietude--disquietude on her account as well as on mademoiselle's. i felt that something was wrong, and would have given much to recall the invitation i had pressed on the latter. what the young lady thought herself i could pretty well guess, as i listened to her hurried breathing at my shoulder. with every step i expected her to refuse to go farther. but, having once made up her mind, she followed me stubbornly, though the darkness was such that involuntarily i loosened my dagger, and prepared to defend myself should this turn out to be a trap. we reached the top, however, without accident. our guide knocked softly at a door and immediately opened it without waiting for an answer. a feeble light shone out on the stair-head, and bending my head, for the lintel was low, i stepped into the room. i advanced two paces and stood looking about me in angry bewilderment. the bareness of extreme poverty marked everything on which my eyes rested. a cracked earthenware lamp smoked and sputtered on a stool in the middle of the rotting floor. an old black cloak nailed to the wall, and flapping to and fro in the draught like some dead gallowsbird, hung in front of the unglazed window. a jar in a corner caught the drippings from a hole in the roof. an iron pot and a second stool--the latter casting a long shadow across the floor--stood beside the handful of wood ashes, which smouldered on the hearth. and that was all the furniture i saw, except a bed which filled the farther end of the long narrow room, and was curtained off so as to form a kind of miserable alcove. a glance sufficed to show me all this, and that the room was empty, or apparently empty. yet i looked again and again, stupefied. at last finding my voice, i turned to the young man who had brought us hither, and with a fierce oath demanded of him what he meant. he shrank back behind the open door, and yet answered with a kind of sullen surprise that i had asked for madame de bonne's, and this was it. 'madame de bonne's!' i muttered. 'this madame de bonne's!' he nodded. 'of course it is! and you know it!' mademoiselle hissed in my ear, her voice, as she interposed, hoarse with passion. 'don't think that you can deceive us any longer. we know all! this,' she continued, looking round, her cheeks scarlet, her eyes ablaze with scorn, 'is your mother's, is it! your mother who has followed the court hither--whose means are narrow, but not so small as to deprive her of the privileges of her rank! this is your mother's hospitality, is it? you are a cheat, sir! and a detected cheat! let us begone! let me go, sir, i say!' twice i had tried to stop the current of her words; but in vain. now with anger which surpassed hers a hundredfold--for who, being a man, would hear himself misnamed before his mother?--i succeeded. 'silence, mademoiselle!' i cried, my grasp on her wrist. 'silence, i say! this _is_ my mother!' and running forward to the bed, i fell on my knees beside it. a feeble hand had half withdrawn the curtain, and through the gap my mother's stricken face looked out, a great fear stamped upon it. chapter vii. simon fleix. for some minutes i forgot mademoiselle in paying those assiduous attentions to my mother which her state and my duty demanded; and which i offered the more anxiously that i recognised, with a sinking heart, the changes which age and illness had made in her since my last visit. the shock of mademoiselle's words had thrown her into a syncope, from which she did not recover for some time; and then rather through the assistance of our strange guide, who seemed well aware what to do, than through my efforts. anxious as i was to learn what had reduced her to such straits and such a place, this was not the time to satisfy my curiosity, and i prepared myself instead for the task of effacing the painful impression which mademoiselle's words had made on her mind. on first coming to herself she did not remember them, but, content to find me by her side--for there is something so alchemic in a mother's love that i doubt not my presence changed her garret to a palace--she spent herself in feeble caresses and broken words. presently, however, her eye falling on mademoiselle and her maid, who remained standing by the hearth, looking darkly at us from time to time, she recalled, first the shock which had prostrated her, and then its cause, and raising herself on her elbow, looked about her wildly. 'gaston!' she cried, clutching my hand with her thin fingers, 'what was it i heard? it was of you someone spoke--a woman! she called you--or did i dream it?--a cheat! you!' 'madame, madame,' i said, striving to speak carelessly, though the sight of her grey hair, straggling and dishevelled, moved me strangely, 'was it likely? would anyone dare to use such expressions of me in your presence? you must indeed have dreamed it!' the words, however, returning more and more vividly to her mind, she looked at me very pitifully, and in great agitation laid her arm on my neck, as though she would shelter me with the puny strength which just enabled her to rise in bed. 'but someone,' she muttered, her eyes on the strangers, 'said it, gaston? i heard it. what did it mean?' 'what you heard, madame,' i answered, with an attempt at gaiety, though the tears stood in my eyes, 'was, doubtless, mademoiselle here scolding our guide from tours, who demanded three times the proper _pourboire_. the impudent rascal deserved all that was said to him, i assure you.' 'was that it?' she murmured doubtfully. 'that must have been what you heard, madame,' i answered, as if i felt no doubt. she fell back with a sigh of relief, and a little colour came into her wan face. but her eyes still dwelt curiously, and with apprehension, on mademoiselle, who stood looking sullenly into the fire; and seeing this my heart misgave me sorely that i had done a foolish thing in bringing the girl there. i foresaw a hundred questions which would be asked, and a hundred complications which must ensue, and felt already the blush of shame mounting to my cheek. 'who is that?' my mother asked softly. 'i am ill. she must excuse me.' she pointed with her fragile finger to my companions. i rose, and still keeping her hand in mine, turned so as to face the hearth. 'this, madame,' i answered formally, 'is mademoiselle----, but her name i will commit to you later, and in private. suffice it to say that she is a lady of rank, who has been committed to my charge by a high personage.' 'a high personage?' my mother repeated gently, glancing at me with a smile of gratification. 'one of the highest,' i said. 'such a charge being a great honour to me, i felt that i could not better execute it, madame, since we must lie in blois one night, than by requesting your hospitality on her behalf.' i dared mademoiselle as i spoke--i dared her with my eye to contradict or interrupt me. for answer, she looked at me once, inclining her head a little, and gazing at us from under her long eyelashes. then she turned back to the fire, and her foot resumed its angry tapping on the floor. 'i regret that i cannot receive her better,' my mother answered feebly. 'i have had losses of late. i--but i will speak of that at another time. mademoiselle doubtless knows,' she continued with dignity, 'you and your position in the south too well to think ill of the momentary straits to which she finds me reduced.' i saw mademoiselle start, and i writhed under the glance of covert scorn, of amazed indignation, which she shot at me. but my mother gently patting my hand, i answered patiently, 'mademoiselle will think only what is kind, madame--of that i am assured. and lodgings are scarce to-night in blois.' 'but tell me of yourself, gaston,' my mother cried eagerly; and i had not the heart, with her touch on my hand, her eyes on my face, to tear myself away, much as i dreaded what was coming, and longed to end the scene. 'tell me of yourself. you are still in favour with the king of---- i will not name him here?' 'still, madame,' i answered, looking steadily at mademoiselle, though my face burned. 'you are still--he consults you, gaston?' 'still, madame.' my mother heaved a happy sigh, and sank lower in the bed. 'and your employments?' she murmured, her voice trembling with gratification. 'they have not been reduced? you still retain them, gaston?' 'still, madame,' i answered, the perspiration standing on my brow, my shame almost more than i could bear. 'twelve thousand livres a year, i think?' 'the same, madame.' 'and your establishment? how many do you keep now? your valet, of course? and lackeys--how many at present?' she glanced, with an eye of pride, while she waited for my answer, first at the two silent figures by the fire, then at the poverty-stricken room; as if the sight of its bareness heightened for her the joy of my prosperity. she had no suspicion of my trouble, my misery, or that the last question almost filled the cup too full. hitherto all had been easy, but this seemed to choke me. i stammered and lost my voice. mademoiselle, her head bowed, was gazing into the fire. fanchette was staring at me, her black eyes round as saucers, her mouth half-open. 'well, madame,' i muttered at length, 'to tell you the truth, at present, you must understand, i have been forced to----' 'what, gaston?' madame de bonne half rose in bed. her voice was sharp with disappointment and apprehension; the grasp of her fingers on my hand grew closer. i could not resist that appeal. i flung away the last rag of shame. 'to reduce my establishment somewhat,' i answered, looking a miserable defiance at mademoiselle's averted figure. she had called me a liar and a cheat--here in the room! i must stand before her a liar and a cheat confessed. 'i keep but three lackeys now, madame.' 'still it is creditable,' my mother muttered thoughtfully, her eyes shining. 'your dress, however, gaston--only my eyes are weak--seems to me----' 'tut, tut! it is but a disguise,' i answered quickly. 'i might have known that,' she rejoined, sinking back with a smile and a sigh of content. 'but when i first saw you i was almost afraid that something had happened to you. and i have been uneasy lately,' she went on, releasing my hand, and beginning to play with the coverlet, as though the remembrance troubled her. 'there was a man here a while ago--a friend of simon fleix there--who had been south to pau and nerac, and he said there was no m. de marsac about the court.' 'he probably knew less of the court than the wine-tavern,' i answered with a ghastly smile. 'that was just what i told him,' my mother responded quickly and eagerly. 'i warrant you i sent him away ill-satisfied.' 'of course,' i said; 'there will always be people of that kind. but now, if you will permit me, madame, i will make such arrangements for mademoiselle as are necessary.' begging her accordingly to lie down and compose herself--for even so short a conversation, following on the excitement of our arrival, had exhausted her to a painful degree--i took the youth, who had just returned from stabling our horses, a little aside, and learning that he lodged in a smaller chamber on the farther side of the landing, secured it for the use of mademoiselle and her woman. in spite of a certain excitability which marked him at times, he seemed to be a quick, ready fellow, and he willingly undertook to go out, late as it was, and procure some provisions and a few other things which were sadly needed, as well for my mother's comfort as for our own. i directed fanchette to aid him in the preparation of the other chamber, and thus for a while i was left alone with mademoiselle. she had taken one of the stools, and sat cowering over the fire, the hood of her cloak drawn about her head; in such a manner that even when she looked at me, which she did from time to time, i saw little more than her eyes, bright with contemptuous anger. 'so, sir,' she presently began, speaking in a low voice, and turning slightly towards me, 'you practise lying even here?' i felt so strongly the futility of denial or explanation that i shrugged my shoulders and remained silent under the sneer. two more days--two more days would take us to rosny, and my task would be done, and mademoiselle and i would part for good and all. what would it matter then what she thought of me? what did it matter now? for the first time in our intercourse my silence seemed to disconcert and displease her. 'have you nothing to say for yourself?' she muttered sharply, crushing a fragment of charcoal under her foot, and stooping to peer at the ashes. 'have you not another lie in your quiver, m. de marsac? de marsac!' and she repeated the title, with a scornful laugh, as if she put no faith in my claim to it. but i would answer nothing--nothing; and we remained silent until fanchette, coming in to say that the chamber was ready, held the light for her mistress to pass out. i told the woman to come back and fetch mademoiselle's supper, and then, being left alone with my mother, who had fallen asleep, with a smile on her thin, worn face, i began to wonder what had happened to reduce her to such dire poverty. i feared to agitate her by referring to it; but later in the evening, when her curtains were drawn and simon fleix and i were left together, eyeing one another across the embers like dogs of different breeds--with a certain strangeness and suspicion--my thoughts recurred to the question; and determining first to learn something about my companion, whose pale, eager face and tattered, black dress gave him a certain individuality, i asked him whether he had come from paris with madame de bonne. he nodded without speaking. i asked him if he had known her long. 'twelve months,' he answered. 'i lodged on the fifth, madame on the second, floor of the same house in paris.' i leaned forward and plucked the hem of his black robe. 'what is this?' i said, with a little contempt. 'you are not a priest, man.' 'no,' he answered, fingering the stuff himself, and gazing at me in a curious, vacant fashion. 'i am a student of the sorbonne.' i drew off from him with a muttered oath, wondering--while i looked at him with suspicious eyes--how he came to be here, and particularly how he came to be in attendance on my mother, who had been educated from childhood in the religion, and had professed it in private all her life. i could think of no one who, in old days, would have been less welcome in her house than a sorbonnist, and began to fancy that here should lie the secret of her miserable condition. 'you don't like the sorbonne?' he said, reading my thoughts; which were, indeed, plain enough. 'no more than i love the devil!' i said bluntly. he leaned forward and, stretching out a thin, nervous hand, laid it on my knee. 'what if they are right, though?' he muttered, his voice hoarse. 'what if they are right, m. de marsac?' 'who right?' i asked roughly, drawing back afresh. 'the sorbonne,' he repeated, his face red with excitement, his eyes peering uncannily into mine. 'don't you see,' he continued, pinching my knee in his earnestness, and thrusting his face nearer and nearer to mine, 'it all turns on that? it all turns on that--salvation or damnation! are they right? are you right? you say yes to this, no to that, you white-coats; and you say it lightly, but are you right? are you right? mon dieu!' he continued, drawing back abruptly and clawing the air with impatience, 'i have read, read, read! i have listened to sermons, theses, disputations, and i know nothing. i know no more than when i began.' he sprang up and began to pace the floor, while i gazed at him with a feeling of pity. a very learned person once told me that the troubles of these times bred four kinds of men, who were much to be compassionated: fanatics on the one side or the other, who lost sight of all else in the intensity of their faith; men who, like simon fleix, sought desperately after something to believe, and found it not; and lastly, scoffers, who, believing in nothing, looked on all religion as a mockery. he presently stopped walking--in his utmost excitement i remarked that he never forgot my mother, but trod more lightly when he drew near the alcove--and spoke again. 'you are a huguenot?' he said. 'yes,' i replied. 'so is she,' he rejoined, pointing towards the bed. 'but do you feel no doubts?' 'none,' i said quietly. 'nor does she,' he answered again, stopping opposite me. you made up your mind--how?' 'i was born in the religion,' i said. 'and you have never questioned it?' 'never.' 'nor thought much about it?' 'not a great deal,' i answered. 'saint gris!' he exclaimed in a low tone. 'and do you never think of hell-fire--of the worm which dieth not, and the fire which shall not be quenched? do you never think of that, m. de marsac?' 'no, my friend, never!' i answered, rising impatiently; for at that hour, and in that silent, gloomy room i found his conversation dispiriting. 'i believe what i was taught to believe, and i strive to hurt no one but the enemy. i think little; and if i were you i would think less. i would do something, man--fight, play, work, anything but think! leave that to clerks.' 'i am a clerk,' he answered. 'a poor one, it seems,' i retorted, with a little scorn in my tone. 'leave it, man. work! fight! do something!' 'fight?' he said, as if the idea were a novel one. 'fight? but there, i might be killed; and then hell-fire you see!' 'zounds, man!' i cried, out of patience with a folly which, to tell the truth, the lamp burning low, and the rain pattering on the roof, made the skin of my back feel cold and creepy. 'enough of this! keep your doubts and your fire to yourself! and answer me,' i continued, sternly. 'how came madame de bonne so poor? how did she come down to this place?' he sat down on his stool, the excitement dying quickly out of his fare. 'she gave away all her money,' he said slowly and reluctantly. it may be imagined that this answer surprised me. 'gave it away?' i exclaimed. 'to whom? and when?' he moved uneasily on his seat and avoided my eye, his altered manner filling me with suspicions which the insight i had just obtained into his character did not altogether preclude. at last he said, 'i had nothing to do with it, if you mean that; nothing. on the contrary, i have done all i could to make it up to her. i followed her here. i swear that is so, m. de marsac.' 'you have not told me yet to whom she gave it,' i said sternly. 'she gave it,' he muttered, 'to a priest.' 'to what priest?' 'i do not know his name. he is a jacobin.' 'and why?' i asked, gazing incredulously at the student. 'why did she give it to him? come, come! have a care. let me have none of your sorbonne inventions!' he hesitated a moment, looking at me timidly, and then seemed to make up his mind to tell me. 'he found out--it was when we lived in paris, you understand, last june--that she was a huguenot. it was about the time they burned the foucards, and he frightened her with that, and made her pay him money, a little at first, and then more and more, to keep her secret. when the king came to blois she followed his majesty, thinking to be safer here; but the priest came too, and got more money, and more, until he left her--this.' 'this!' i said. and i set my teeth together. simon fleix nodded. i looked round the wretched garret to which my mother had been reduced, and pictured the days and hours of fear and suspense through which she had lived; through which she must have lived with that caitiff's threat hanging over her grey head! i thought of her birth and her humiliation, of her frail form and patient, undying love for me; and solemnly, and before heaven, i swore that night to punish the man. my anger was too great for words, and for tears i was too old. i asked simon fleix no more questions, save when the priest might be looked for again--which he could not tell me--and whether he would know him again--to which he answered, 'yes.' but, wrapping myself in my cloak, i lay down by the fire and pondered long and sadly. so, while i had been pinching there, my mother had been starving here. she had deceived me, and i her. the lamp flickered, throwing uncertain shadows as the draught tossed the strange window-curtain to and fro. the leakage from the roof fell drop by drop, and now and again the wind shook the crazy building, as though it would lift it up bodily and carry it away. chapter viii. an empty room. desiring to start as early as possible, that we might reach rosny on the second evening, i roused simon fleix before it was light, and learning from him where the horses were stabled, went out to attend to them; preferring to do this myself, that i might have an opportunity of seeking out a tailor, and providing myself with clothes better suited to my rank than those to which i had been reduced of late. i found that i still had ninety crowns left of the sum which the king of navarre had given me, and twelve of these i laid out on a doublet of black cloth with russet points and ribands, a dark cloak lined with the same sober colour, and a new cap and feather. the tradesman would fain have provided me with a new scabbard also, seeing my old one was worn-out at the heel; but this i declined, having a fancy to go with my point bare until i should have punished the scoundrel who had made my mother's failing days a misery to her; a business which, the king of navarre's once done, i promised myself to pursue with energy and at all costs. the choice of my clothes, and a few alterations which it was necessary to make in them, detained me some time, so that it was later than i could have wished when i turned my face towards the house again, bent on getting my party to horse as speedily as possible. the morning, i remember, was bright, frosty, and cold; the kennels were dry, the streets comparatively clean. here and there a ray of early sunshine, darting between the overhanging eaves, gave promise of glorious travelling-weather. but the faces, i remarked in my walk, did not reflect the surrounding cheerfulness. moody looks met me everywhere and on every side; and while courier after courier galloped by me bound for the castle, the townsfolk stood aloof in doorways listless and inactive, or, gathering in groups in corners, talked what i took to be treason under the breath. the queen-mother still lived, but orleans had revolted, and sens and mans, chartres and melun. rouen was said to be wavering, lyons in arms, while paris had deposed her king, and cursed him daily from a hundred altars. in fine, the great rebellion which followed the death of guise, and lasted so many years, was already in progress; so that on this first day of the new year the king's writ scarce ran farther than he could see, peering anxiously out from the towers above my head. reaching the house, i climbed the long staircase hastily, abusing its darkness and foulness, and planning as i went how my mother might most easily and quickly be moved to a better lodging. gaining the top of the last flight, i saw that mademoiselle's door on the left of the landing was open, and concluding from this that she was up, and ready to start, i entered my mother's room with a brisk step and spirits reinforced by the crisp morning air. but on the threshold. i stopped, and stood silent and amazed. at first i thought the room was empty. then, at a second glance, i saw the student. he was on his knees beside the bed in the alcove, from which the curtain had been partially dragged away. the curtain before the window had been torn down also, and the cold light of day, pouring in on the unsightly bareness of the room, struck a chill to my heart. a stool lay overturned by the fire, and above it a grey cat, which i had not hitherto noticed, crouched on a beam and eyed me with stealthy fierceness. mademoiselle was not to be seen, nor was fanchette, and simon fleix did not hear me. he was doing something at the bed--for my mother it seemed. 'what is it, man?' i cried softly, advancing on tiptoe to the bedside. 'where are the others?' the student looked round and saw me. his face was pale and gloomy. his eyes burned, and yet there were tears in them, and on his cheeks. he did not speak, but the chilliness, the bareness, the emptiness of the room spoke for him, and my heart sank. i took him by the shoulders. 'find your tongue, man!' i said angrily. 'where are they?' he rose from his knees and stood staring at me. 'they are gone!' he said stupidly. 'gone?' i exclaimed. 'impossible! when? whither?' 'half an hour ago. whither--i do not know.' confounded and amazed, i glared at him between fear and rage. 'you do not know?' i cried. 'they are gone, and you do not know?' he turned suddenly on me and gripped my arm. 'no, i do not know! i do not know!' he cried, with a complete change of manner and in a tone of fierce excitement. 'only, may the fiend go with them! but i do know this. i know this, m. de marsac, with whom they went, these friends of yours! a fop came, a dolt, a fine spark, and gave them fine words and fine speeches and a gold token, and, hey presto! they went, and forgot you!' 'what!' i cried, beginning to understand, and snatching fiercely at the one clue in his speech. 'a gold token? they have been decoyed away then! there is no time to be lost. i must follow.' 'no, for that is not all!' he replied, interrupting me sternly, while his grasp on my arm grew tighter and his eyes flashed as they looked into mine. 'you have not heard all. they have gone with one who called you an impostor, and a thief, and a beggar, and that to your mother's face--and killed her! killed her as surely as if he had taken a sword to her, m. de marsac! will you, after that, leave her for them?' he spoke plainly. and yet, god forgive me, it was some time before i understood him: before i took in the meaning of his words, or could transfer my thoughts from the absent to my mother lying on the bed before me. when i did do so, and turned to her, and saw her still face and thin hair straggling over the coarse pillow, then, indeed, the sight overcame me. i thought no more of others--for i thought her dead; and with a great and bitter cry i fell on my knees beside her and hid my face. what, after all, was this headstrong girl to me? what were even kings and king's commissions to me beside her--beside the one human being who loved me still, the one being of my blood and name left, the one ever-patient, ever-constant heart which for years had beaten only for me? for a while, for a few moments, i was worthy of her for i forgot all others. simon fleix roused me at last from my stupor, making me understand that she was not dead, but in a deep swoon, the result of the shock she had undergone. a leech, for whom he had despatched a neighbour, came in as i rose, and taking my place, presently restored her to consciousness. but her extreme feebleness warned me not to hope for more than a temporary recovery; nor had i sat by her long before i discerned that this last blow, following on so many fears and privations, had reached a vital part, and that she was even now dying. she lay for a while with her hand in mine and her eyes closed, but about noon, the student, contriving to give her some broth, she revived, and, recognising me, lay for more than an hour gazing at me with unspeakable content and satisfaction. at the end of that time, and when i thought she was past speaking, she signed to me to bend over her, and whispered something, which at first i could not catch. presently i made it out to be, 'she is gone--the girl you brought?' much troubled, i answered yes, begging her not to think about the matter. i need not have feared, however, for when she spoke again she did so without emotion, and rather as one seeing clearly something before her. 'when you find her, gaston,' she murmured, 'do not be angry with her. it was not her fault. she--he deceived her. see!' i followed the direction rather of her eyes than her hand, and found beneath the pillow a length of gold chain. 'she left that?' i murmured, a strange tumult of emotions in my breast. 'she laid it there,' my mother whispered. 'and she would have stopped him saying what he did'--a shudder ran through my mother's frame at the remembrance of the man's words, though her eyes still gazed into mine with faith and confidence--'she would have stopped him, but she could not, gaston. and then he hurried her away.' 'he showed her a token, madame, did he not?' i could not for my life repress the question, so much seemed to turn on the point. 'a bit of gold,' my mother whispered, smiling faintly. 'now let me sleep.' and, clinging always to my hand, she closed her eyes. the student came back soon afterwards with some comforts for which i had despatched him, and we sat by her until the evening fell, and far into the night. it was a relief to me to learn from the leech that she had been ailing for some time, and that in any case the end must have come soon. she suffered no pain and felt no fears, but meeting my eyes whenever she opened her own, or came out of the drowsiness which possessed her, thanked god, i think, and was content. as for me, i remember that room became, for the time, the world. its stillness swallowed up all the tumults which filled the cities of france, and its one interest--the coming and going of a feeble breath--eclipsed the ambitions and hopes of a lifetime. before it grew light simon fleix stole out to attend to the horses. when he returned he came to me and whispered in my ear that he had something to tell me; and my mother lying in a quiet sleep at the time, i disengaged my hand, and, rising softly, went with him to the hearth. instead of speaking, he held his fist before me and suddenly unclosed the fingers. 'do you know it?' he said, glancing at me abruptly. i took what he held, and looking at it, nodded. it was a knot of velvet of a peculiar dark red colour, and had formed, as i knew the moment i set eyes on it, part of the fastening of mademoiselle's mask. 'where did you find it?' i muttered, supposing that he had picked it up on the stairs. 'look at it!' he answered impatiently. 'you have not looked.' i turned it over, and then saw something which had escaped me at first--that the wider part of the velvet was disfigured by a fantastic stitching, done very roughly and rudely with a thread of white silk. the stitches formed letters, the letters words. with a start i read, '_a moi!_' and saw in a corner, in smaller stitches, the initials 'c. d. l. v.' i looked eagerly at the student. 'where did you find this?' i said. 'i picked it up in the street,' he answered quietly, 'not three hundred paces from here.' i thought a moment. 'in the gutter, or near the wall?' i asked. 'near the wall, to be sure.' 'under a window?' 'precisely,' he said. 'you may be easy; i am not a fool. i marked the place, m. de marsac, and shall not forget it.' even the sorrow and solicitude i felt on my mother's behalf--feelings which had seemed a minute before to secure me against all other cares or anxieties whatever--were not proof against this discovery. for i found myself placed in a strait so cruel i must suffer either way. on the one hand, i could not leave my mother; i were a heartless ingrate to do that. on the other, i could not, without grievous pain, stand still and inactive while mademoiselle de la vire, whom i had sworn to protect, and who was now suffering through my laches and mischance, appealed to me for help. for i could not doubt that this was what the bow of velvet meant; still less that it was intended for me, since few save myself would be likely to recognise it, and she would naturally expect me to make some attempt at pursuit. and i could not think little of the sign. remembering mademoiselle's proud and fearless spirit, and the light in which she had always regarded me, i augured the worst from it. i felt assured that no imaginary danger and no emergency save the last would have induced her to stoop so low; and this consideration, taken with the fear i felt that she had fallen into the hands of fresnoy, whom i believed to be the person who had robbed me of the gold coin, filled me with a horrible doubt which way my duty lay. i was pulled, as it were, both ways. i felt my honour engaged both to go and to stay, and while my hand went to my hilt, and my feet trembled to be gone, my eyes sought my mother, and my ears listened for her gentle breathing. perplexed and distracted, i looked at the student, and he at me. 'you saw the man who took her away,' i muttered. hitherto, in my absorption on my mother's account, i had put few questions, and let the matter pass as though it moved me little and concerned me less. 'what was he like? was he a big, bloated man, simon, with his head bandaged, or perhaps a wound on his face?' 'the gentleman who went away with mademoiselle, do you mean?' he asked. 'yes, yes, gentleman if you like!' 'not at all,' the student answered. 'he was a tall young gallant, very gaily dressed, dark-haired, and with a rich complexion. i heard him tell her that he came from a friend of hers too high to be named in public or in blois. he added that he brought a token from him; and when mademoiselle mentioned you--she had just entered madame's room with her woman when he appeared----' 'he had watched me out, of course.' 'just so. well, when she mentioned you, he swore you were an adventurer, and a beggarly impostor, and what not, and bade her say whether she thought it likely that her friend would have entrusted such a mission, to such a man.' 'and then she went with him?' the student nodded. 'readily? of her own free-will?' 'certainly,' he answered. 'it seemed so to me. she tried to prevent him speaking before your mother, but that was all.' on the impulse of the moment i took a step towards the door; recollecting my position, i turned back with a groan. almost beside myself, and longing for any vent for my feelings, i caught the lad by the shoulder, where he stood on the hearth, and shook him to and fro. 'tell me, man, what am i to do?' i said between my teeth. 'speak! think! invent something!' but he shook his head. i let him go with a muttered oath, and sat down on a stool by the bed and took my head between my hands. at that very moment, however, relief came--came from an unexpected quarter. the door opened and the leech entered. he was a skilful man, and, though much employed about the court, a huguenot--a fact which had emboldened simon fleix to apply to him through the landlord of the 'bleeding heart,' the secret rendezvous of the religion in blois. when he had made his examination he was for leaving, being a grave and silent man, and full of business, but at the door i stopped him. 'well, sir?' i said in a low tone, my hand on his cloak. 'she has rallied, and may live three days,' he answered quietly. 'four, it may be, and as many more as god wills.' pressing two crowns into his hand, i begged him to call daily, which he promised to do; and then he went. my mother was still dozing peacefully, and i turned to simon fleix, my doubts resolved and my mind made up. 'listen,' i said, 'and answer me shortly. we cannot both leave; that is certain. yet i must go, and at once, to the place where you found the velvet knot. do you describe the spot exactly, so that i may find it, and make no mistake.' he nodded, and after a moment's reflection answered, 'you know the rue st. denys, m. de marsac? well, go down it, keeping the "bleeding heart" on your left. take the second turning on the same side after passing the inn. the third house from the corner, on the left again, consists of a gateway leading to the hospital of the holy cross. above the gateway are two windows in the lower story, and above them two more. the knot lay below the first window you come to. do you understand?' 'perfectly,' i said. 'it is something to be a clerk, simon.' he looked at me thoughtfully, but added nothing; and i was busy tightening my sword-hilt, and disposing my cloak about the lower part of my face. when i had arranged this to my satisfaction, i took out and counted over the sum of thirty-five crowns, which i gave to him, impressing on him the necessity of staying beside my mother should i not return; for though i proposed to reconnoitre only, and learn if possible whether mademoiselle was still in blois, the future was uncertain, and whereas i was known to my enemies, they were strangers to me. having enjoined this duty upon him, i bade my mother a silent farewell, and, leaving the room, went slowly down the stairs, the picture of her worn and patient face going with me, and seeming, i remember, to hallow the purpose i had in my mind. the clocks were striking the hour before noon as i stepped from the doorway, and, standing a moment in the lane, looked this way and that for any sign of espionage. i could detect none, however. the lane was deserted; and feeling assured that any attempt to mislead my opponents, who probably knew blois better than i did, must fail, i made none, but deliberately took my way towards the 'bleeding heart,' in the rue st. denys. the streets presented the same appearance of gloomy suspense which i had noticed on the previous day. the same groups stood about in the same corners, the same suspicious glances met me in common with all other strangers who showed themselves; the same listless inaction characterised the townsfolk, the same anxious hurry those who came and went with news. i saw that even here, under the walls of the palace, the bonds of law and order were strained almost to bursting, and judged that if there ever was a time in france when right counted for little, and the strong hand for much, it was this. such a state of things was not unfavourable to my present design, and caring little for suspicious looks, i went resolutely on my way. i had no difficulty in finding the gateway of which simon had spoken, or in identifying the window beneath which he had picked up the velvet knot. an alley opening almost opposite, i took advantage of this to examine the house at my leisure, and remarked at once, that whereas the lower window was guarded only by strong shutters, now open, that in the story above was heavily barred. naturally i concentrated my attention on the latter. the house, an old building of stone, seemed sufficiently reputable, nor could i discern anything about it which would have aroused my distrust had the knot been found elsewhere. it bore the arms of a religious brotherhood, and had probably at one time formed the principal entrance to the hospital, which still stood behind it, but it had now come, as i judged, to be used as a dwelling of the better class. whether the two floors were separately inhabited or not i failed to decide. after watching it for some time without seeing anyone pass in or out, or anything occurring to enlighten me one way or the other, i resolved to venture in, the street being quiet and the house giving no sign of being strongly garrisoned. the entrance lay under the archway, through a door on the right side. i judged from what i saw that the porter was probably absent, busying himself with his gossips in matters of state. and this proved to be the case, for when i had made the passage of the street with success, and slipped quietly in through the half-open door, i found only his staff and charcoal-pan there to represent him. a single look satisfied me on that point; forthwith, without hesitation, i turned to the stairs and began to mount, assured that if i would effect anything single-handed i must trust to audacity and surprise rather than to caution or forethought. the staircase was poorly lighted by loopholes looking towards the rear, but it was clean and well-kept. silence, broken only by the sound of my footsteps, prevailed throughout the house, and all seemed so regular and decent and orderly that the higher i rose the lower fell my hopes of success. still, i held resolutely on until i reached the second floor and stood before a closed door. the moment had come to put all to the touch. i listened for a few seconds, but hearing nothing, cautiously lifted the latch. somewhat to my surprise the door yielded to my hand, and i entered. a high settle stood inside, interrupting my view of the room, which seemed to be spacious and full of rich stuffs and furniture, but low in the roof, and somewhat dimly lighted by two windows rather wide than high. the warm glow of a fire shone on the woodwork of the ceiling, and as i softly closed the door a log on the hearth gave way, with a crackling of sparks, which pleasantly broke the luxurious silence. the next moment a low, sweet voice asked, 'alphonse, is that you?' i walked round the settle and came face to face with a beautiful woman reclining on a couch. on hearing the door open she had raised herself on her elbow. now, seeing a stranger before her, she sprang up with a low cry, and stood gazing at me, her face expressing both astonishment and anger. she was of middling height, her features regular though somewhat childlike, her complexion singularly fair. a profusion of golden hair hung in disorder about her neck, and matched the deep blue of her eyes, wherein it seemed to me, there lurked more spirit and fire than the general cast of her features led one to expect. after a moment's silence, during which she scanned me from head to foot with great haughtiness--and i her with curiosity and wonder--she spoke, 'sir!' she said slowly, 'to what am i to attribute this--visit?' for the moment i was so taken aback by her appearance and extraordinary beauty, as well as by the absence of any sign of those i sought, that i could not gather my thoughts to reply, but stood looking vaguely at her. i had expected, when i entered the room, something so different from this! 'well, sir?' she said again, speaking sharply, and tapping her foot on the floor. 'this visit, madame?' i stammered. 'call it intrusion, sir, if you please!' she cried imperiously. 'only explain it, or begone.' 'i crave leave to do both, madame,' i answered, collecting myself by an effort. 'i ascended these stairs and opened your door in error--that is the simple fact--hoping to find a friend of mine here. i was mistaken, it seems, and it only remains for me to withdraw, offering at the same time the humblest apologies.' and as i spoke i bowed low and prepared to retire. 'one moment, sir!' she said quickly, and in an altered tone. 'you are, perhaps, a friend of m. de bruhl--of my husband. in that case, if you desire to leave any message i will--i shall be glad to deliver it.' she looked so charming that, despite the tumult of my feelings, i could not but regard her with admiration. 'alas! madame, i cannot plead that excuse,' i answered. 'i regret that i have not the honour of his acquaintance.' she eyed me with some surprise. 'yet still, sir,' she answered, smiling a little, and toying with a gold brooch which clasped her habit, 'you must have had some ground, some reason, for supposing you would find a friend here?' 'true, madame,' i answered, 'but i was mistaken.' i saw her colour suddenly. with a smile and a faint twinkle of the eye she said, 'it is not possible, sir, i suppose--you have not come here, i mean, out of any reason connected with a--a knot of velvet, for instance?' i started, and involuntarily advanced a step towards her. 'a knot of velvet!' i exclaimed, with emotion. 'mon dieu! then i was not mistaken! i have come to the right house, and you--you know something of this! madame,' i continued impulsively, 'that knot of velvet? tell me what it means, i implore you!' she seemed alarmed by my violence, retreating a step or two, and looking at me haughtily, yet with a kind of shamefacedness. 'believe me, it means nothing,' she said hurriedly. 'i beg you to understand that, sir. it was a foolish jest.' 'a jest?' i said. 'it fell from this window.' 'it was a jest, sir,' she answered stubbornly. but i could see that, with all her pride, she was alarmed; her face was troubled, and there were tears in her eyes. and this rendered me under the circumstances only the more persistent. 'i have the velvet here, madame,' i said. 'you must tell me more about it.' she looked at me with a weightier impulse of anger than she had yet exhibited. 'i do not think you know to whom you are speaking,' she said, breathing fast. 'leave the room, sir, and at once! i have told you it was a jest. if you are a gentleman you will believe me, and go.' and she pointed to the door. but i held my ground, with an obstinate determination to pierce the mystery. 'i am a gentleman, madame,' i said, 'and yet i must know more. until i know more i cannot go.' 'oh, this is insufferable!' she cried, looking round as if for a way of escape; but; i was between her and the only door. 'this is unbearable! the knot was never intended for you, sir. and what is more, if m. de bruhl come and find you here, you will repent it bitterly.' i saw that she was at least as much concerned on her own account as on mine, and thought myself justified under the circumstances in taking advantage of her fears. i deliberately laid my cap on the table which stood beside me. 'i will go, madame,' i said, looking at her fixedly, 'when i know all that you know about this knot i hold, and not before. if you are unwilling to tell me, i must wait for m. de bruhl, and ask him.' she cried out 'insolent!' and looked at me as if in her rage and dismay she would gladly have killed me; being, i could see, a passionate woman. but i held my ground, and after a moment she spoke. 'what do you want to know?' she said, frowning darkly. 'this knot--how did it come to lie in the street below your window? i want to know that first.' 'i dropped it,' she answered sullenly. 'why?' i said. 'because----' and then she stopped and looked at me, and then again looked down, her face crimson. 'because, if you must know,' she continued hurriedly, tracing a pattern on the table with her finger, 'i saw it bore the words "_a moi_." i have been married only two months, and i thought my husband might find it--and bring it to me. it was a silly fancy.' 'but where did you get it? 'i asked, and i stared at her in growing wonder and perplexity. for the more questions i put, the further, it seemed to me, i strayed from my object. 'i picked it up in the ruelle d'arcy,' she answered, tapping her foot on the floor resentfully. 'it was the silly thing put it into my head to--to do what i did. and now, have you any more questions, sir?' 'one only,' i said, seeing it all clearly enough. 'will you tell me, please, exactly where you found it?' 'i have told you. in the ruelle d'arcy, ten paces from the rue de valois. now, sir, will you go?' 'one word, madame. did----' but she cried, 'go, sir, go! go!' so violently, that after making one more attempt to express my thanks, i thought it better to obey her. i had learned all she knew; i had solved the puzzle. but, solving it, i found myself no nearer to the end i had in view, no nearer to mademoiselle. i closed the door with a silent bow, and began to descend the stairs, my mind full of anxious doubts and calculations. the velvet knot was the only clue i possessed, but was i right in placing any dependence on it? i knew now that, wherever it had originally lain, it had been removed once. if once, why not twice? why not three times? chapter ix. the house in the ruelle d'arcy. i had not gone down half a dozen steps before i heard a man enter the staircase from the street, and begin to ascend. it struck me at once that this might be m. de bruhl; and i realised that i had not left madame's apartment a moment too soon. the last thing i desired, having so much on my hands, was to embroil myself with a stranger, and accordingly i quickened my pace, hoping to meet him so near the foot of the stairs as to leave him in doubt whether i had been visiting the upper or lower part of the house. the staircase was dark, however, and being familiar with it, he had the advantage over me. he came leaping up two steps at a time, and turning the angle abruptly, surprised me before i was clear of the upper flight. on seeing me, he stopped short and stared; thinking at first, i fancy, that he ought to recognise me. when he did not, he stood back a pace. 'umph!' he said. 'have you been--have you any message for me, sir?' 'no,' i said, 'i have not.' he frowned. 'i am m. de bruhl,' he said. 'indeed?' i muttered, not knowing what else to say. 'you have been----' 'up your stairs, sir? yes. in error,' i answered bluntly. he gave a kind of grunt at that, and stood aside, incredulous and dissatisfied, yet uncertain how to proceed. i met his black looks with a steady countenance, and passed by him, becoming aware, however, as i went on down the stairs that he had turned and was looking after me. he was a tall, handsome man, dark, and somewhat ruddy of complexion, and was dressed in the extreme of court fashion, in a suit of myrtle-green trimmed with sable. he carried also a cloak lined with the same on his arm. beyond looking back when i reached the street, to see that he did not follow me, i thought no more of him. but we were to meet again, and often. nay, had i then known all that was to be known i would have gone back and---- but of that in another place. the rue de valois, to which a tradesman, who was peering cautiously out of his shop, directed me, proved to be one of the main streets of the city, narrow and dirty, and darkened by overhanging eaves and signboards, but full of noise and bustle. one end of it opened on the _parvis_ of the cathedral; the other and quieter end appeared to abut on the west gate of the town. feeling the importance of avoiding notice in the neighbourhood of the house i sought, i strolled into the open space in front of the cathedral, and accosting two men who stood talking there, learned that the ruelle d'arcy was the third lane on the right of the rue de valois, and some little distance along it. armed with this information i left them, and with my head bent down, and my cloak drawn about the lower part of my face, as if i felt the east wind, i proceeded down the street until i reached the opening of the lane. without looking up i turned briskly into it. when i had gone ten paces past the turning, however, i stopped and, gazing about me, began to take in my surroundings as fast as i could. the lane, which seemed little frequented, was eight or nine feet wide, unpaved, and full of ruts. the high blank wall of a garden rose on one side of it, on the other the still higher wall of a house; and both were completely devoid of windows, a feature which i recognised with the utmost dismay. for it completely upset all my calculations. in vain i measured with my eye the ten paces i had come; in vain i looked up, looked this way and that. i was nonplussed. no window opened on the lane at that point, nor, indeed, throughout its length. for it was bounded to the end, as far as i could see, by dead-walls as of gardens. recognising, with a sinking heart, what this meant, i saw in a moment that all the hopes i had raised on simon fleix's discovery were baseless. mademoiselle had dropped the velvet bow, no doubt, but not from a window. it was still a clue, but one so slight and vague as to be virtually useless, proving only that she was in trouble and in need of help; perhaps that she had passed through this lane on her way from one place of confinement to another. thoroughly baffled and dispirited, i leant for awhile against the wall, brooding over the ill-luck which seemed to attend me in this, as in so many previous adventures. nor was the low voice of conscience, suggesting that such failures arose from mismanagement rather than from ill-luck, slow to make itself heard. i reflected that if i had not allowed myself to be robbed of the gold token, mademoiselle would have trusted me; that if i had not brought her to so poor an abode as my mother's, she would not have been cajoled into following a stranger; finally, that if i had remained with her, and sent simon to attend to the horses in my place, no stranger would have gained access to her. but it has never been my way to accept defeat at the first offer, and though i felt these self-reproaches to be well deserved, a moment's reflection persuaded me that in the singular and especial providence which had brought the velvet knot safe to my hands i ought to find encouragement. had madame de bruhl not picked it up it would have continued to lie in this by-path, through which neither i nor simon fleix would have been likely to pass. again, had madame not dropped it in her turn, we should have sought in vain for any, even the slightest, clue to mademoiselle de la vire's fate or position. cheered afresh by this thought, i determined to walk to the end of the lane; and forthwith did so, looking sharply about me as i went, but meeting no one. the bare upper branches of a tree rose here and there above the walls, which were pierced at intervals by low, strong doors. these doors i carefully examined, but without making any discovery; all were securely fastened, and many seemed to have been rarely opened. emerging at last and without result on the inner side of the city ramparts, i turned, and moodily retraced my steps through the lane, proceeding more slowly as i drew near to the rue de valois. this time, being a little farther from the street, i made a discovery. the corner house, which had its front on the rue valois, presented, as i have said, a dead, windowless wall to the lane; but from my present standpoint i could see the upper part of the back of this house--that part of the back, i mean, which rose above the lower garden-wall that abutted on it--and in this there were several windows. the whole of two and a part of a third were within the range of my eyes; and suddenly in one of these i discovered something which made my heart beat high with hope and expectation. the window in question was heavily grated; that which i saw was tied to one of the bars. it was a small knot of some white stuff--linen apparently--and it seemed a trifle to the eye; but it was looped, as far as i could see from a distance, after the same fashion as the scrap of velvet i had in my pouch. the conclusion was obvious, at the same time that it inspired me with the liveliest admiration of mademoiselle's wit and resources. she was confined in that room; the odds were that she was behind those bars. a bow dropped thence would fall, the wind being favourable, into the lane, not ten, but twenty paces from the street. i ought to have been prepared for a slight inaccuracy in a woman's estimate of distance. it may be imagined with what eagerness i now scanned the house, with what minuteness i sought for a weak place. the longer i looked, however, the less comfort i derived from my inspection. i saw before me a gloomy stronghold of brick, four-square, and built in the old italian manner, with battlements at the top, and a small machicolation, little more than a string-course, above each story; this serving at once to lessen the monotony of the dead-walls, and to add to the frowning weight of the upper part. the windows were few and small, and the house looked damp and mouldy; lichens clotted the bricks, and moss filled the string-courses. a low door opening from the lane into the garden naturally attracted my attention; but it proved to be of abnormal strength, and bolted both at the top and bottom. assured that nothing could be done on that side, and being unwilling to remain longer in the neighbourhood, lest i should attract attention, i returned to the street, and twice walked past the front of the house, seeing all i could with as little appearance of seeing anything as i could compass. the front retreated, somewhat from the line of the street, and was flanked on the farther side by stables. only one chimney smoked, and that sparely. three steps led up to imposing double doors, which stood half open, and afforded a glimpse of a spacious hall and a state staircase. two men, apparently servants, lounged on the steps, eating chestnuts, and jesting with one another; and above the door were three shields blazoned in colours. i saw with satisfaction, as i passed the second time, that the middle coat was that of turenne impaling one which i could not read--which thoroughly satisfied me that the bow of velvet had not lied; so that, without more ado, i turned homewards, formulating my plans as i went. i found all as i had left it; and my mother still lying in a half-conscious state, i was spared the pain of making excuses for past absence, or explaining that which i designed. i communicated the plan i had formed to simon fleix, who saw no difficulty in procuring a respectable person to stay with madame de bonne. but for some time he would come no farther into the business. he listened, his mouth open and his eyes glittering, to my plan until i came to his share in it; and then he fell into a violent fit of trembling. 'you want me to fight, monsieur,' he cried reproachfully, shaking all over like one in the palsy. 'you said so the other night. you want to get me killed! that's it.' 'nonsense!' i answered sharply. 'i want you to hold the horses!' he looked at me wildly, with a kind of resentment in his face, and yet as if he were fascinated. 'you will drag me into it!' he persisted. 'you will!' 'i won't,' i said. 'you will! you will! and the end i know. i shall have no chance. i am a clerk, and not bred to fighting. you want to be the death of me!' he cried excitedly. 'i don't want you to fight,' i answered with some contempt. 'i would rather that you kept out of it for my mother's sake. i only want you to stay in the lane and hold the horses. you will run little more risk than you do sitting by the hearth here.' and in the end i persuaded him to do what i wished; though still, whenever he thought of what was in front of him, he fell a-trembling again, and many times during the afternoon got up and walked to and fro between the window and the hearth, his face working and his hands clenched like those of a man in a fever. i put this down at first to sheer chicken-heartedness, and thought it augured ill for my enterprise; but presently remarking that he made no attempt to draw back, and that though the sweat stood on his brow he set about such preparations as were necessary--remembering also how long and kindly, and without pay or guerdon, he had served my mother, i began to see that here was something phenomenal; a man strange and beyond the ordinary, of whom it was impossible to predicate what he would do when he came to be tried. for myself, i passed the afternoon in a state almost of apathy. i thought it my duty to make this attempt to free mademoiselle, and to make it at once, since it was impossible to say what harm might come of delay, were she in such hands as fresnoy's; but i had so little hope of success that i regarded the enterprise as desperate. the certain loss of my mother, however, and the low ebb of my fortunes, with the ever-present sense of failure, contributed to render me indifferent to risks; and even when we were on our way, through by-streets known to simon, to the farther end of the ruelle d'arcy, and the red and frosty sunset shone in our faces, and gilded for a moment the dull eaves and grey towers above us, i felt no softening. whatever the end, there was but one in the world whom i should regret, or who would regret me; and she hung, herself, on the verge of eternity. so that i was able to give simon fleix his last directions with as much coolness as i ever felt in my life. i stationed him with the three horses in the lane--which seemed as quiet and little frequented as in the morning--near the end of it, and about a hundred paces or more from the house. 'turn their heads towards the ramparts,' i said, wheeling them round myself, 'and then they will be ready to start. they are all quiet enough. you can let the cid loose. and now listen to me, simon,' i continued. 'wait here until you see me return, or until you see you are going to be attacked. in the first case, stay for me, of course; in the second, save yourself as you please. lastly, if neither event occurs before half-past five--you will hear the convent-bell yonder ring at the half-hour--begone, and take the horses; they are yours. and one word more,' i added hurriedly. 'if you can only get away with one horse, simon, take the cid. it is worth more than most men, and will not fail you at a pinch.' as i turned away, i gave him one look to see if he understood. it was not without hesitation that after that look i left him. the lad's face was flushed, he was breathing hard, his eyes seemed to be almost starting from his head. he sat his horse shaking in every limb, and had all the air of a man in a fit. i expected him to call me back; but he did not, and reflecting that i must trust him, or give up the attempt, i went up the lane with my sword under my arm, and my cloak loose on my shoulders. i met a man driving a donkey laden with faggots. i saw no one else. it was already dusk between the walls, though light enough in the open country; but that was in my favour, my only regret being that as the town gates closed shortly after half-past five, i could not defer my attempt until a still later hour. pausing in the shadow of the house while a man might count ten, i impressed on my memory the position of the particular window which bore the knot; then i passed quickly into the street, which was still full of movement, and for a second, feeling myself safe from observation in the crowd, i stood looking at the front of the house. the door was shut. my heart sank when i saw this, for i had looked to find it still open. the feeling, however, that i could not wait, though time might present more than one opportunity, spurred me on. what i could do i must do now, at once. the sense that this was so being heavy upon me, i saw nothing for it but to use the knocker and gain admission, by fraud if i could, and if not, by force. accordingly i stepped briskly across the kennel, and made for the entrance. when i was within two paces of the steps, however, someone abruptly threw the door open and stepped out. the man did not notice me, and i stood quickly aside, hoping that at the last minute my chance had come. two men, who had apparently attended this first person downstairs, stood respectfully behind him, holding lights. he paused a moment on the steps to adjust his cloak, and with more than a little surprise i recognised my acquaintance of the morning, m. de bruhl. i had scarcely time to identify him before he walked down the steps swinging his cane, brushed carelessly past me, and was gone. the two men looked after him awhile, shading their lights from the wind, and one saying something, the other laughed coarsely. the next moment they threw the door to and went, as i saw by the passage of their light, into the room on the left of the hall. now was my time. i could have hoped for, prayed for, expected no better fortune than this. the door had rebounded slightly from the jamb, and stood open an inch or more. in a second i pushed it from me gently, slid into the hall, and closed it behind me. the door of the room on the left was wide open, and the light which shone through the doorway--otherwise the hall was dark--as well as the voices of the two men i had seen, warned me to be careful. i stood, scarcely daring to breathe, and looked about me. there was no matting on the floor, no fire on the hearth. the hall felt cold, damp, and uninhabited. the state staircase rose in front of me, and presently bifurcating, formed a gallery round the place. i looked up, and up, and far above me, in the dim heights of the second floor, i espied a faint light--perhaps, the reflection of a light. a movement in the room on my left warned me that i had no time to lose, if i meant to act. at any minute one of the men might come out and discover me. with the utmost care i started on my journey. i stole across the stone floor of the hall easily and quietly enough, but i found the real difficulty begin when i came to the stairs. they were of wood, and creaked and groaned under me to such an extent that, with each step i trod, i expected the men to take the alarm. fortunately all went well until i passed the first corner--i chose, of course, the left-hand flight--then a board jumped under my foot with a crack which sounded in the empty hall, and to my excited ears, as loud as a pistol-shot. i was in two minds whether i should not on the instant make a rush for it, but happily i stood still. one of the men came out and listened, and i heard the other ask, with an oath, what it was. i leant against the wall, holding my breath. 'only that wench in one of her tantrums!' the man who had come out answered, applying an epithet to her which i will not set down, but which i carried to his account in the event of our coming face to face presently. 'she is quiet now. she may hammer and hammer, but----' the rest i lost, as he passed through the doorway and went back to his place by the fire. but in one way his words were of advantage to me. i concluded that i need not be so very cautious now, seeing that they would set down anything they heard to the same cause; and i sped on more quickly. i had just gained the second floor landing when a loud noise below--the opening of the street door and the heavy tread of feet in the hall--brought me to a temporary standstill. i looked cautiously over the balustrade, and saw two men go across to the room on the left. one of them spoke as he entered, chiding the other knaves, i fancied, for leaving the door unbarred; and the tone, though not the words, echoing sullenly up the staircase, struck a familiar chord in my memory. the voice was fresnoy's! chapter x. the fight on the stairs. the certainty, which this sound gave me, that i was in the right house, and that it held also the villain to whom i owed all my misfortunes--for who but fresnoy could have furnished the broken coin which had deceived mademoiselle?--had a singularly inspiriting effect upon me. i felt every muscle in my body grow on the instant hard as steel, my eyes more keen, my ears sharper--all my senses more apt and vigorous. i stole off like a cat from the balustrade, over which i had been looking, and without a second's delay began the search for mademoiselle's room; reflecting that though the garrison now amounted to four, i had no need to despair. if i could release the prisoners without noise--which would be easy were the key in the lock--we might hope to pass through the hall by a _tour de force_ of one kind or another. and a church-clock at this moment striking five, and reminding me that we had only half an hour in which to do all and reach the horses, i was the more inclined to risk something. the light which i had seen from below hung in a flat-bottomed lantern just beyond the head of the stairs, and outside the entrance to one of two passages which appeared to lead to the back part of the house. suspecting that m. de bruhl's business had lain with mademoiselle, i guessed that the light had been placed for his convenience. with this clue and the position of the window to guide me, i fixed on a door on the right of this passage, and scarcely four paces from the head of the stairs. before i made any sign, however, i knelt down and ascertained that there was a light in the room, and also that the key was not in the lock. so far satisfied, i scratched on the door with my fingernails, at first softly, then with greater force, and presently i heard someone in the room rise. i felt sure that the person, whoever it was, had taken the alarm and was listening, and putting my lips to the keyhole i whispered mademoiselle's name. a footstep crossed the room sharply, and i heard muttering just within the door. i thought i detected two voices. but i was impatient, and, getting no answer, whispered in the same manner as before, 'mademoiselle de la vire, are you there?' still no answer. the muttering, too, had stopped, and all was still--in the room, and in the silent house. i tried again. 'it is i, gaston de marsac,' i said. 'do you hear? i am come to release you.' i spoke as loudly as i dared, but most of the sound seemed to come back on me and wander in suspicious murmurings down the staircase. this time, however, an exclamation of surprise rewarded me, and a voice, which i recognised at once as mademoiselle's, answered softly: 'what is it? who is there?' 'gaston de marsac,' i answered. 'do you need my help?' the very brevity of her reply; the joyful sob which accompanied it, and which i detected even through the door: the wild cry of thankfulness--almost an oath--of her companion--all these assured me at once that i was welcome--welcome as i had never been before--and, so assuring me, braced me to the height of any occasion which might befall. 'can you open the door?' i muttered. all the time i was on my knees, my attention divided between the inside of the room and the stray sounds which now and then came up to me from the hall below. 'have you the key?' 'no; we are locked in,' mademoiselle answered. i expected this. 'if the door is bolted inside,' i whispered, 'unfasten it, if you please.' they answered that it was not, so bidding them stand back a little from it, i rose and set my shoulder against it. i hoped to be able to burst it in with only one crash, which by itself, a single sound, might not alarm the men downstairs. but my weight made no impression upon the lock, and the opposite wall being too far distant to allow me to get any purchase for my feet, i presently desisted. the closeness of the door to the jambs warned me that an attempt to prise it open would be equally futile; and for a moment i stood gazing in perplexity at the solid planks, which bid fair to baffle me to the end. the position was, indeed, one of great difficulty, nor can i now think of any way out of it better or other than that which i adopted. against the wall near the head of the stairs i had noticed, as i came up, a stout wooden stool. i stole out and fetched this, and setting it against the opposite wall, endeavoured in this way to get sufficient purchase for my feet. the lock still held; but, as i threw my whole weight on the door, the panel against which i leaned gave way and broke inwards with a loud, crashing sound, which echoed through the empty house, and might almost have been heard in the street outside. it reached the ears, at any rate, of the men sitting below, and i heard them troop noisily out and stand in the hall, now talking loudly, and now listening. a minute of breathless suspense followed--it seemed a long minute; and then, to my relief, they tramped back again, and i was free to return to my task. another thrust, directed a little lower, would, i hoped, do the business; but to make this the more certain i knelt down and secured the stool firmly against the wall. as i rose after settling it, something else, without sound or warning, rose also, taking me completely by surprise--a man's head above the top stair, which, as it happened, faced me. his eyes met mine, and i knew i was discovered. he turned and bundled downstairs again with a scared face, going so quickly that i could not have caught him if i would, or had had the wit to try. of silence there was no longer need. in a few seconds the alarm would be raised. i had small time for thought. laying myself bodily against the door, i heaved and pressed with all my strength; but whether i was careless in my haste, or the cause was other, the lock did not give. instead the stool slipped, and i fell with a crash on the floor at the very moment the alarm reached the men below. i remember that the crash of my unlucky fall seemed to release all the prisoned noises of the house. a faint scream within the room was but a prelude, lost the next moment in the roar of dismay, the clatter of weapons, and volley of oaths and cries and curses which, rolling up from below, echoed hollowly about me, as the startled knaves rushed to their weapons, and charged across the flags and up the staircase. i had space for one desperate effort. picking myself up, i seized the stool by two of its legs and dashed it twice against the door, driving in the panel i had before splintered. but that was all. the lock held, and i had no time for a third blow. the men were already halfway up the stairs. in a breath almost they would be upon me. i flung down the useless stool and snatched up my sword, which lay unsheathed beside me. so far the matter had gone against us, but it was time for a change of weapons now, and the end was not yet. i sprang to the head of the stairs and stood there, my arm by my side and my point resting on the floor, in such an attitude of preparedness as i could compass at the moment. for i had not been in the house all this time, as may well be supposed, without deciding what i would do in case of surprise, and exactly where i could best stand on the defensive. the flat bottom of the lamp which hung outside the passage threw a deep shadow on the spot immediately below it, while the light fell brightly on the steps beyond. standing in the shadow i could reach the edge of the stairs with my point, and swing the blade freely, without fear of the balustrade; and here i posted myself with a certain grim satisfaction as fresnoy, with his three comrades behind him, came bounding up the last flight. they were four to one, but i laughed to see how, not abruptly, but shamefacedly and by degrees, they came to a stand halfway up the flight, and looked at me, measuring the steps and the advantage which the light shining in their eyes gave me. fresnoy's ugly face was rendered uglier by a great strip of plaister which marked the place where the hilt of my sword had struck him in our last encounter at chizé; and this and the hatred he bore to me gave a peculiar malevolence to his look. the deaf man, matthew, whose savage stolidity had more than once excited my anger on our journey, came next to him. the two strangers whom i had seen in the hall bringing up the rear. of the four, these last seemed the most anxious to come to blows, and had fresnoy not barred the way with his hand we should have crossed swords without parley. 'halt, will you!' he cried, with an oath, thrusting one of them back. and then to me he said, 'so, so, my friend! it is you, is it?' i looked at him in silence, with a scorn which knew no bounds, and did not so much as honour him by raising my sword, though i watched him heedfully. 'what are you doing here?' he continued, with an attempt at bluster. still i would not answer him, or move, but stood looking down at him. after a moment of this, he grew restive, his temper being churlish and impatient at the best. besides, i think he retained just so much of a gentleman's feelings as enabled him to understand my contempt and smart under it. he moved a step upward, his brow dark with passion. 'you beggarly son of a scarecrow!' he broke out on a sudden, adding a string of foul imprecations, 'will you speak, or are you going to wait to be spitted where you stand? if we once begin, my bantam, we shall not stop until we have done your business! if you have anything to say, say it, and----' but i omit the rest of his speech, which was foul beyond the ordinary. still i did not move or speak, but looked at him unwavering, though it pained me to think the women heard. he made a last attempt. 'come, old friend,' he said, swallowing his anger again, or pretending to do so, and speaking with a vile _bonhomie_ which i knew to be treacherous, 'if we come to blows we shall give you no quarter. but one chance you shall have, for the sake of old days when we followed condé. go! take the chance, and go. we will let you pass, and that broken door shall be the worst of it. that is more,' he added with a curse, 'than i would do for any other man in your place, m. de marsac.' a sudden movement and a low exclamation in the room behind me showed that his words were heard there; and these sounds being followed immediately by a noise as of riving wood, mingled with the quick breathing of someone hard at work, i judged that the women were striving with the door--enlarging the opening it might be. i dared not look round, however, to see what progress they made, nor did i answer fresnoy, save by the same silent contempt, but stood watching the men before me with the eye of a fencer about to engage. and i know nothing more keen, more vigilant, more steadfast than that. it was well i did, for without signal or warning the group wavered a moment, as though retreating, and the next instant precipitated itself upon me. fortunately, only two could engage me at once, and fresnoy, i noticed, was not of the two who dashed forward up the steps. one of the strangers forced himself to the front, and, taking the lead, pressed me briskly, matthew seconding him in appearance, while really watching for an opportunity of running in and stabbing me at close quarters, a man[oe]uvre i was not slow to detect. that first bout lasted half a minute only. a fierce exultant joy ran through me as the steel rang and grated, and i found that i had not mistaken the strength of wrist or position. the men were mine. they hampered one another on the stairs, and fought in fetters, being unable to advance or retreat, to lunge with freedom, or give back without fear. i apprehended greater danger from matthew than from my actual opponent, and presently, watching my opportunity, disarmed the latter by a strong parade, and sweeping matthew's sword aside by the same movement, slashed him across the forehead; then, drawing back a step, gave my first opponent the point. he fell in a heap on the floor, as good as dead, and matthew, dropping his sword, staggered backwards and downwards into fresnoy's arms. 'bonne foi! france et bonne foi!' it seemed to me that i had not spoken, that i had plied steel in grimmest silence; and yet the cry still rang and echoed in the roof as i lowered my point, and stood looking grimly down at them. fresnoy's face was disfigured with rage and chagrin. they were now but two to one, for matthew, though his wound was slight, was disabled by the blood which ran down into his eyes and blinded him. 'france et bonne foi!' 'bonne foi and good sword!' cried a voice behind me. and looking swiftly round, i saw mademoiselle's face thrust through the hole in the door. her eyes sparkled with a fierce light, her lips were red beyond the ordinary, and her hair, loosened and thrown into disorder by her exertions, fell in thick masses about her white cheeks, and gave her the aspect of a war-witch, such as they tell of in my country of brittany. 'good sword!' she cried again, and clapped her hands. 'but better board, mademoiselle!' i answered gaily. like most of the men of my province, i am commonly melancholic, but i have the habit of growing witty at such times as these. 'now, m. fresnoy,' i continued,' i am waiting your convenience. must i put on my cloak to keep myself warm?' he answered by a curse, and stood looking at me irresolutely. 'if you will come down,' he said. 'send your man away and i will come,' i answered briskly. 'there is space on the landing, and a moderate light. but i must be quick. mademoiselle and i are due elsewhere, and we are late already.' still he hesitated. still he looked at the man lying at his feet--who had stretched himself out and passed, quietly enough, a minute before--and stood dubious, the most pitiable picture of cowardice and malice--he being ordinarily a stout man--i ever saw. i called him poltroon and white-feather, and was considering whether i had not better go down to him, seeing that our time must be up, and simon would be quitting his post, when a cry behind me caused me to turn, and i saw that mademoiselle was no longer looking through the opening in the door. alarmed on her behalf, as i reflected that there might be other doors to the room, and the men have other accomplices in the house, i sprang to the door to see, but had barely time to send a single glance round the interior--which showed me only that the room was still occupied--before fresnoy, taking advantage of my movement and of my back being turned, dashed up the stairs, with his comrade at his heels, and succeeded in penning me into the narrow passage where i stood. i had scarcely time, indeed, to turn and put myself on guard before he thrust at me. nor was that all. the superiority in position no longer lay with me. i found myself fighting between walls close to the opening in the door, through which the light fell athwart my eyes, baffling and perplexing me. fresnoy was not slow to see the aid this gave him, and pressed me hard and desperately; so that we played for a full minute at close quarters, thrusting and parrying, neither of us having room to use the edge, or time to utter word or prayer. at this game we were so evenly matched that for a time the end was hard to tell. presently, however, there came a change. my opponent's habit of wild living suited ill with a prolonged bout, and as his strength and breath failed and he began to give ground i discerned i had only to wear him out to have him at my mercy. he felt this himself, and even by that light i saw the sweat spring in great drops to his forehead, saw the terror grow in his eyes. already i was counting him a dead man and the victory mine, when something flashed behind his blade, and his comrade's poniard, whizzing past his shoulder, struck me fairly on the chin, staggering me and hurling me back dizzy and half-stunned, uncertain what had happened to me. sped an inch lower it would have done its work and finished mine. even as it was, my hand going up as i reeled back gave fresnoy an opening, of which he was not slow to avail himself. he sprang forward, lunging at me furiously, and would have run me through there and then, and ended the matter, had not his foot, as he advanced, caught in the stool, which still lay against the wall. he stumbled, his point missed my hip by a hair's breadth, and he himself fell all his length on the floor, his rapier breaking off short at the hilt. his one remaining backer stayed to cast a look at him, and that was all. the man fled, and i chased him as far as the head of the stairs; where i left him, assured by the speed and agility he displayed in clearing flight after flight that i had nothing to fear from him. fresnoy lay, apparently stunned, and completely at my mercy. i stood an instant looking down at him, in two minds whether i should not run him through. but the memory of old days, when he had played his part in more honourable fashion and shown a coarse good-fellowship in the field, held my hand; and flinging a curse at him, i turned in anxious haste to the door, the centre of all this bloodshed and commotion. the light still shone through the breach in the panel, but for some minutes--since fresnoy's rush up the stairs, indeed--i had heard no sound from this quarter. now, looking in with apprehensions which grew with the continuing silence, i learned the reason. the room was empty! such a disappointment in the moment of triumph was hard to bear. i saw myself, after all done and won, on the point of being again outwitted, distanced, it might be fooled. in frantic haste and excitement i snatched up the stool beside me, and, dashing it twice against the lock, forced it at last to yield. the door swung open, and i rushed into the room, which, abandoned by those who had so lately occupied it, presented nothing to detain me. i cast a single glance round, saw that it was squalid, low-roofed, unfurnished, a mere prison; then swiftly crossing the floor, i made for a door at the farther end, which my eye had marked from the first. a candle stood flaring and guttering on a stool, and as i passed i took it up. somewhat to my surprise the door yielded to my touch. in trembling haste--for what might not befall the women while i fumbled with doors or wandered in passages?--i flung it wide, and passing through it, found myself at the head of a narrow, mean staircase, leading, doubtless, to the servants' offices. at this, and seeing no hindrance before me, i took heart of grace, reflecting that mademoiselle might have escaped from the house this way. though it would now be too late to quit the city, i might still overtake her, and all end well. accordingly i hurried down the stairs, shading my candle as i went from a cold draught of air which met me, and grew stronger as i descended; until reaching the bottom at last, i came abruptly upon an open door, and an old, wrinkled, shrivelled woman. the hag screamed at sight of me, and crouched down on the floor; and doubtless, with my drawn sword, and the blood dripping from my chin and staining all the front of my doublet, i looked tierce and uncanny enough. but i felt it was no time for sensibility--i was panting to be away--and i demanded of her sternly where they were. she seemed to have lost her voice--through fear, perhaps--and for answer only stared at me stupidly; but on my handling my weapon with some readiness she so far recovered her senses as to utter two loud screams, one after the other, and point to the door beside her. i doubted her; and yet i thought in her terror she must be telling the truth, the more as i saw no other door. in any case i must risk it, so, setting the candle down on the step beside her, i passed out. for a moment the darkness was so intense that i felt my way with my sword before me, in absolute ignorance where i was or on what my foot might next rest. i was at the mercy of anyone who chanced to be lying in wait for me; and i shivered as the cold damp wind struck my cheek and stirred my hair. but by-and-by, when i had taken two or three steps, my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, and i made out the naked boughs of trees between myself and the sky, and guessed that i was in a garden. my left hand, touching a shrub, confirmed me in this belief, and in another moment i distinguished something like the outline of a path stretching away before me. following it rapidly--as rapidly as i dared--i came to a corner, as it seemed to me, turned it blindly, and stopped short, peering into a curtain of solid blackness which barred my path, and overhead mingled confusedly with the dark shapes of trees. but this, too, after a brief hesitation, i made out to be a wall. advancing to it with outstretched hands, i felt the woodwork of a door, and, groping about, lit presently on a loop of cord. i pulled at this, the door yielded, and i went out. i found myself in a narrow, dark lane, and looking up and down discovered, what i might have guessed before, that it was the ruelle d'arcy. but mademoiselle? fanchette? simon? where were they? no one was to be seen. tormented by doubts, i lifted up my voice and called on them in turn; first on mademoiselle, then on simon fleix. in vain; i got no answer. high up above me i saw, as i stood back a little, lights moving in the house i had left; and the suspicion that, after all, the enemy had foiled me grew upon me. somehow they had decoyed mademoiselle to another part of the house, and then the old woman had misled me! i turned fiercely to the door, which i had left ajar, resolved to re-enter by the way i had come, and have an explanation whether or no. to my surprise--for i had not moved six paces from the door nor heard the slightest sound--i found it not only closed but bolted--bolted both at top and bottom, as i discovered on trying it. i fell on that to kicking it furiously, desperately; partly in a tempest of rage and chagrin, partly in the hope that i might frighten the old woman, if it was she who had closed it, into opening it again. in vain, of course; and presently i saw this and desisted, and, still in a whirl of haste and excitement, set off running towards the place where i had left simon fleix and the horses. it was fully six o'clock as i judged; but some faint hope that i might find him there with mademoiselle and her woman still lingered in my mind. i reached the end of the lane, i ran to the very foot of the ramparts, i looked right and left. in vain. the place was dark, silent, deserted. i called 'simon! simon! simon fleix!' but my only answer was the soughing of the wind in the eaves, and the slow tones of the convent-bell striking six. chapter xi. the man at the door. there are some things, not shameful in themselves, which it shames one to remember, and among these i count the succeeding hurry and perturbation of that night: the vain search, without hope or clue, to which passion impelled me, and the stubborn persistence with which i rushed frantically from place to place long after the soberness of reason would have had me desist. there was not, it seems to me, looking back now, one street or alley, lane or court, in blois which i did not visit again and again in my frantic wanderings; not a beggar skulking on foot that night whom i did not hunt down and question; not a wretched woman sleeping in arch or doorway whom i did not see and scrutinise. i returned to my mother's lodging again and again, always fruitlessly. i rushed to the stables and rushed away again, or stood and listened in the dark, empty stalls, wondering what had happened, and torturing myself with suggestions of this or that. and everywhere, not only at the north-gate, where i interrogated the porters and found that no party resembling that which i sought had passed out, but on the _parvis_ of the cathedral, where a guard was drawn up, and in the common streets, where i burst in on one group and another with my queries, i ran the risk of suspicion and arrest, and all that might follow thereon. it was strange indeed that i escaped arrest. the wound in my chin still bled at intervals, staining my doublet; and as i was without my cloak, which i had left in the house in the rue valois, i had nothing to cover my disordered dress. i was keenly, fiercely anxious. stray passers meeting me in the glare of a torch, or seeing me hurry by the great braziers which burned where four streets met, looked askance at me and gave me the wall; while men in authority cried to me to stay and answer their questions. i ran from the one and the other with the same savage impatience, disregarding everything in the feverish anxiety which spurred me on and impelled me to a hundred imprudences, such as at my age i should have blushed to commit. much of this feeling was due, no doubt, to the glimpse i had had of mademoiselle, and the fiery words she had spoken; more, i fancy, to chagrin and anger at the manner in which the cup of success had been dashed at the last moment from my lips. for four hours i wandered through the streets, now hot with purpose, now seeking aimlessly. it was ten o'clock when at length i gave up the search, and, worn out both in body and mind, climbed the stairs at my mother's lodgings and entered her room. an old woman sat by the fire, crooning softly to herself, while she stirred something in a black pot. my mother lay in the same heavy, deep sleep in which i had left her. i sat down opposite the nurse (who cried out at my appearance) and asked her dully for some food. when i had eaten it, sitting in a kind of stupor the while, the result partly of my late exertions, and partly of the silence which prevailed round me, i bade the woman call me if any change took place; and then going heavily across to the garret simon had occupied, i lay down on his pallet, and fell into a sound, dreamless sleep. the next day and the next night i spent beside my mother, watching the life ebb fast away, and thinking with grave sorrow of her past and my future. it pained me beyond measure to see her die thus, in a garret, without proper attendance or any but bare comforts; the existence which had once been bright and prosperous ending in penury and gloom, such as my mother's love and hope and self-sacrifice little deserved. her state grieved me sharply on my own account too, seeing that i had formed none of those familiar relations which men of my age have commonly formed, and which console them for the loss of parents and forbears; nature so ordering it, as i have taken note, that men look forward rather than backward, and find in the ties they form with the future full compensation for the parting strands behind them. i was alone, poverty-stricken, and in middle life, seeing nothing before me except danger and hardship, and these unrelieved by hope or affection. this last adventure, too, despite all my efforts, had sunk me deeper in the mire; by increasing my enemies and alienating from me some to whom i might have turned at the worst. in one other respect also it had added to my troubles not a little; for the image of mademoiselle wandering alone and unguarded through the streets, or vainly calling on me for help, persisted in thrusting itself on my imagination when i least wanted it, and came even between my mother's patient face and me. i was sitting beside madame de bonne a little after sunset on the second day, the woman who attended her being absent on an errand, when i remarked that the lamp, which had been recently lit, and stood on a stool in the middle of the room, was burning low and needed snuffing. i went to it softly, and while stooping over it, trying to improve the light, heard a slow, heavy step ascending the stairs. the house was quiet, and the sound attracted my full attention. i raised myself and stood listening, hoping that this might be the doctor, who had not been that day. the footsteps passed the landing below, but at the first stair of the next flight the person, whoever it was, stumbled, and made a considerable noise. at that, or it might be a moment later, the step still ascending, i heard a sudden rustling behind me, and, turning quickly with a start, saw my mother sitting up in bed. her eyes were open, and she seemed fully conscious; which she had not been for days, nor indeed since the last conversation i have recorded. but her face, though it was now sensible, was pinched and white, and so drawn with mortal fear that i believed her dying, and sprang to her, unable to construe otherwise the pitiful look in her straining eyes. 'madame,' i said, hastily passing my arm round her, and speaking with as much encouragement as i could infuse into my voice, 'take comfort. i am here. your son.' 'hush!' she muttered in answer, laying her feeble hand on my wrist and continuing to look, not at me, but at the door. 'listen, gaston! don't you hear? there it is again. again!' for a moment i thought her mind still wandered, and i shivered, having no fondness for hearing such things. then i saw she was listening intently to the sound which had attracted my notice. the step had reached the landing by this time. the visitor, whoever it was, paused there a moment, being in darkness, and uncertain, perhaps, of the position of the door; but in a little while i heard him move forward again, my mother's fragile form, clasped as it was in my embrace, quivering with each step he took, as though his weight stirred the house. he tapped at the door. i had thought, while i listened and wondered, of more than one whom this might be: the leech, simon fleix, madame bruhl, fresnoy even. but as the tap came, and i felt my mother tremble in my arms, enlightenment came with it, and i pondered no more. i knew as well as if she had spoken and told me. there could be only one man whose presence had such power to terrify her, only one whose mere step, sounding through the veil, could drag her back to consciousness and fear! and that was the man who had beggared her, who had traded so long on her terrors. i moved a little, intending to cross the floor softly, that when he opened the door he might find me face to face with him; but she detected the movement, and, love giving her strength, she clung to my wrist so fiercely that i had not the heart, knowing how slender was her hold on life and how near the brink she stood, to break from her. i constrained myself to stand still, though every muscle grew tense as a drawn bowstring, and i felt the strong rage rising in my throat and choking me as i waited for him to enter. a log on the hearth gave way with a dull sound startling in the silence. the man tapped again, and getting no answer, for neither of us spoke, pushed the door slowly open, uttering before he showed himself the words, 'dieu vous bénisse!' in a voice so low and smooth i shuddered at the sound. the next moment he came in and saw me, and, starting, stood at gaze, his head thrust slightly forward, his shoulders bent, his hand still on the latch, amazement and frowning spite in turn distorting his lean face. he had looked to find a weak, defenceless woman, whom he could torture and rob at his will; he saw instead a strong man armed, whose righteous anger he must have been blind indeed had he failed to read. strangest thing of all, we had met before! i knew him at once--he me. he was the same jacobin monk whom i had seen at the inn on the claine, and who had told me the news of guise's death! i uttered an exclamation of surprise on making this discovery, and my mother, freed suddenly, as it seemed, from the spell of fear, which had given her unnatural strength, sank back on the bed. her grasp relaxed, and her breath came and went with so loud a rattle that i removed my gaze from him, and bent over her, full of concern and solicitude. our eyes met. she tried to speak, and at last gasped, 'not now, gaston! let him--let him----' her lips framed the word 'go,' but she could not give it sound. i understood, however, and in impotent wrath i waved my hand to him to begone. when i looked up he had already obeyed me. he had seized the first opportunity to escape. the door was closed, the lamp burned steadily, and we were alone. i gave her a little armagnac, which stood beside the bed for such an occasion, and she revived, and presently opened her eyes. but i saw at once a great change in her. the look of fear had passed altogether from her face, and one of sorrow, yet content, had taken its place. she laid her hand in mine, and looked up at me, being too weak, as i thought, to speak. but by-and-by, when the strong spirit had done its work, she signed to me to lower my head to her mouth. 'the king of navarre,' she murmured--'you are sure, gaston--he will retain you in your--employments?' her pleading eyes were so close to mine, i felt no scruples such as some might have felt, seeing her so near death; but i answered firmly and cheerfully, 'madame, i am assured of it. there is no prince in europe so trustworthy or so good to his servants.' she sighed with infinite content, and blessed him in a feeble whisper. 'and if you live,' she went on, 'you will rebuild the old house, gaston. the walls are sound yet. and the oak in the hall was not burned. there is a chest of linen at gil's, and a chest with your father's gold lace--but that is pledged,' she added dreamily. 'i forgot.' 'madame,' i answered solemnly, 'it shall be done--it shall be done as you wish, if the power lie with me.' she lay for some time after that murmuring prayers, her head supported on my shoulder. i longed impatiently for the nurse to return, that i might despatch her for the leech; not that i thought anything could be done, but for my own comfort and greater satisfaction afterwards, and that my mother might not die without some fitting attendance. the house remained quiet, however, with that impressive quietness which sobers the heart at such times, and i could not do this. and about six o'clock my mother opened her eyes again. 'this is not marsac,' she murmured abruptly, her eyes roving from the ceiling to the wall at the foot of the bed. 'no, madame,' i answered, leaning over her, 'you are in blois. but i am here--gaston, your son.' she looked at me, a faint smile of pleasure stealing over her pinched face. 'twelve thousand livres a year,' she whispered, rather to herself than to me, 'and an establishment, reduced a little, yet creditable, very creditable.' for a moment she seemed to be dying in my arms, but again opened her eyes quickly and looked me in the face. 'gaston?' she said, suddenly and strangely. 'who said gaston? he is with the king--i have blessed him; and his days shall be long in the land!' then, raising herself in my arms with a last effort of strength, she cried loudly, 'way there! way for my son, the sieur de marsac!' they were her last words. when i laid her down on the bed a moment later, she was dead, and i was alone. madame de bonne, my mother, was seventy at the time of her death, having survived my father eighteen years. she was marie de roche de loheac, third daughter of raoul, sieur de loheac, on the vilaine, and by her great-grandmother, a daughter of jean de laval, was descended from the ducal family of rohan, a relationship which in after-times, and under greatly altered circumstances, henry duke of rohan condescended to acknowledge, honouring me with his friendship on more occasions than one. her death, which i have here recorded, took place on the fourth of january, the queen-mother of france, catherine de medicis, dying a little after noon on the following day. in blois, as in every other town, even paris itself, the huguenots possessed at this time a powerful organisation; and with the aid of the surgeon, who showed me much respect in my bereavement, and exercised in my behalf all the influence which skilful and honest men of his craft invariably possess, i was able to arrange for my mother's burial in a private ground about a league beyond the walls and near the village of chaverny. at the time of her death i had only thirty crowns in gold remaining, simon fleix, to whose fate i could obtain no clue, having carried off thirty-five with the horses. the whole of this residue, however, with the exception of a handsome gratuity to the nurse and a trifle spent on my clothes, i expended on the funeral, desiring that no stain should rest on my mother's birth or my affection. accordingly, though the ceremony was of necessity private, and indeed secret, and the mourners were few, it lacked nothing, i think, of the decency and propriety which my mother loved; and which she preferred, i have often heard her say, to the vulgar show that is equally at the command of the noble and the farmer of taxes. until she was laid in her quiet resting-place i stood in constant fear of some interruption on the part either of bruhl, whose connection with fresnoy and the abduction i did not doubt, or of the jacobin monk. but none came; and nothing happening to enlighten me as to the fate of mademoiselle de la vire, i saw my duty clear before me. i disposed of the furniture of my mother's room, and indeed of everything which was saleable, and raised in this way enough money to buy myself a new cloak--without which i could not travel in the wintry weather--and to hire a horse. sorry as the animal was, the dealer required security, and i had none to offer. it was only at the last moment i bethought me of the fragment of gold chain which mademoiselle had left behind her, and which, as well as my mother's rings and vinaigrette, i had kept back from the sale. this i was forced to lodge with him. having thus, with some pain and more humiliation, provided means for the journey, i lost not an hour in beginning it. on the eighth of january i set out for rosny, to carry the news of my ill-success and of mademoiselle's position whither i had looked a week before to carry herself. chapter xii. maximilian de bethune, baron de rosny. i looked to make the journey to rosny in two days. but the heaviness of the roads and the sorry condition of my hackney hindered me so greatly that i lay the second night at dreux, and, hearing the way was still worse between that place and my destination, began to think that i should be fortunate if i reached rosny by the following noon. the country in this part seemed devoted to the league, the feeling increasing in violence as i approached the seine. i heard nothing save abuse of the king of france and praise of the guise princes, and had much ado, keeping a still tongue and riding modestly, to pass without molestation or inquiry. drawing near to rosny, on the third morning, through a low marshy country covered with woods and alive with game of all kinds, i began to occupy myself with thoughts of the reception i was likely to encounter; which, i conjectured, would be none of the most pleasant. the daring and vigour of the baron de rosny, who had at this time the reputation of being in all parts of france at once, and the familiar terms on which he was known to live with the king of navarre, gave me small reason to hope that he would listen with indulgence to such a tale as i had to tell. the nearer i came to the hour of telling it, indeed, the more improbable seemed some of its parts, and the more glaring my own carelessness in losing the token, and in letting mademoiselle out of my sight in such a place as blois. i saw this so clearly now, and more clearly as the morning advanced, that i do not know that i ever anticipated anything with more fear than this explanation; which it yet seemed my duty to offer with all reasonable speed. the morning was warm, i remember; cloudy, yet not dark; the air near at hand full of moisture and very clear, with a circle of mist rising some way off, and filling the woods with blue distances. the road was deep and foundrous, and as i was obliged to leave it from time to time in order to pass the worst places, i presently began to fear that i had strayed into a by-road. after advancing some distance, in doubt whether i should persevere or turn back, i was glad to see before me a small house placed at the junction of several woodland paths. from the bush which hung over the door, and a water-trough which stood beside it, i judged the place to be an inn; and determining to get my horse fed before i went farther, i rode up to the door and rapped on it with my riding-switch. the position of the house was so remote that i was surprised to see three or four heads thrust immediately out of a window. for a moment i thought i should have done better to have passed by; but the landlord coming out very civilly, and leading the way to a shed beside the house, i reflected that i had little to lose, and followed him. i found, as i expected, four horses tied up in the shed, the bits hanging round their necks and their girths loosed; while my surprise was not lessened by the arrival, before i had fastened up my own horse, of a sixth rider, who, seeing us by the shed, rode up to us, and saluted me as he dismounted. he was a tall, strong man in the prime of youth, wearing a plain, almost mean suit of dust-coloured leather, and carrying no weapons except a hunting-knife, which hung in a sheath at his girdle. he rode a powerful silver-roan horse, and was splashed to the top of his high untanned boots, as if he had come by the worst of paths, if by any. he cast a shrewd glance at the landlord as he led his horse into the shed; and i judged from his brown complexion and quick eyes that he had seen much weather and lived an out-of-door life. he watched me somewhat curiously while i mixed the fodder for my horse; and when i went into the house and sat down in the first room i came to, to eat a little bread-and-cheese which i had in my pouch, he joined me almost immediately. apparently he could not stomach my poor fare, however, for after watching me for a time in silence, switching his boot with his whip the while, he called the landlord, and asked him, in a masterful way, what fresh meat he had, and particularly if he had any lean collops, or a fowl. the fellow answered that there was nothing. his honour could have some lisieux cheese, he added, or some stewed lentils. 'his honour does not want cheese,' the stranger answered peevishly, 'nor lentil porridge. and what is this i smell, my friend?' he continued, beginning suddenly to sniff with vigour. 'i swear i smell cooking.' 'it is the hind-quarter of a buck, which is cooking for the four gentlemen of the robe; with a collop or two to follow,' the landlord explained; and humbly excused himself on the ground that the gentlemen had strictly engaged it for their own eating. 'what? a whole quarter! _and_ a collop or two to follow!' the stranger retorted, smacking his lips. 'who are they?' 'two advocates and their clerks from the parliament of paris. they have been viewing a boundary near here, and are returning this afternoon,' the landlord answered. 'no reason why they should cause a famine!' ejaculated the stranger with energy. 'go to them and say a gentleman, who has ridden far, and fasted since seven this morning, requests permission to sit at their table. a quarter of venison and a collop or two among four!' he continued, in atone of extreme disgust. 'it is intolerable! and advocates! why, at that rate, the king of france should eat a whole buck, and rise hungry! don't you agree with me, sir?' he continued, turning on me and putting the question abruptly. he was so comically and yet so seriously angry, and looked so closely at me as he spoke, that i hastened to say i agreed with him perfectly. 'yet you eat cheese, sir!' he retorted irritably. i saw that, not withstanding the simplicity of his dress, he was a gentleman, and so, forbearing to take offence, i told him plainly that my purse being light i travelled rather as i could than as i would. 'is it so?' he answered hastily. 'had i known that, i would have joined you in the cheese! after all, i would rather fast with a gentleman, than feast with a churl. but it is too late now. seeing you mix the fodder, i thought your pockets were full.' 'the nag is tired, and has done its best,' i answered. he looked at me curiously, and as though he would say more. but the landlord returning at that moment, he turned to him instead. 'well!' he said briskly. 'is it all right?' 'i am sorry, your honour,' the man answered, reluctantly, and with a very downcast air, 'but the gentlemen beg to be excused.' 'zounds!' cried my companion roundly. 'they do, do they?' 'they say they have no more, sir,' the landlord continued, faltering, 'than enough for themselves and a little dog they have with them.' a shout of laughter which issued at that moment from the other room seemed to show that the quartette were making merry over my companion's request. i saw his cheek redden, and looked for an explosion of anger on his part; but instead he stood a moment in thought in the middle of the floor, and then, much to the innkeeper's relief, pushed a stool towards me, and called for a bottle of the best wine. he pleasantly begged leave to eat a little of my cheese, which he said looked better than the lisieux, and, filling my glass with wine, fell to as merrily as if he had never heard of the party in the other room. i was more than a little surprised, i remember; for i had taken him to be a passionate man, and not one to sit down under an affront. still i said nothing, and we conversed very well together. i noticed, however, that he stopped speaking more than once, as though to listen; but conceiving that he was merely reverting to the party in the other room, who grew each moment more uproarious, i said nothing, and was completely taken by surprise when he rose on a sudden, and, going to the open window, leaned out, shading his eyes with his hand. 'what is it?' i said, preparing to follow him. he answered by a quiet chuckle. 'you shall see,' he added the next instant. i rose, and going to the window looked out over his shoulder. three men were approaching the inn on horseback. the first, a great burly, dark-complexioned man with fierce black eyes and a feathered cap, had pistols in his holsters and a short sword by his side. the other two, with the air of servants, were stout fellows, wearing green doublets and leather breeches. all three rode good horses, while a footman led two hounds after them in a leash. on seeing us they cantered forward, the leader waving his bonnet. 'halt, there!' cried my companion, lifting up his voice when they were within a stone's throw of us. 'maignan!' 'my lord?' answered he of the feather, pulling up on the instant. 'you will find six horses in the shed there,' the stranger cried in a voice of command. 'turn out the four to the left as you go in. give each a cut, and send it about its business!' the man wheeled his horse before the words were well uttered, and crying obsequiously 'that it was done,' flung his reins to one of the other riders and disappeared in the shed, as if the order given him were the most commonplace one in the world. the party in the other room, however, by whom, all could be heard, were not slow to take the alarm. they broke into a shout of remonstrance, and one of their number, leaping from the window, asked with a very fierce air what the devil we meant. the others thrust out their faces, swollen and flushed with the wine they had drunk, and with many oaths backed up his question. not feeling myself called upon to interfere, i prepared to see something diverting. my companion, whose coolness surprised me, had all the air of being as little concerned as myself. he even persisted for a time in ignoring the angry lawyer, and, turning a deaf ear to all the threats and abuse with which the others assailed him, continued to look calmly at the prospect. seeing this, and that nothing could move him, the man who had jumped through the window, and who seemed the most enterprising of the party, left us at last and ran towards the stalls. the aspect of the two serving-men, however, who rode up grinning, and made as if they would ride him down, determined him to return; which he did, pale with fury, as the last of the four horses clattered out, and after a puzzled look round trotted off at its leisure into the forest. on this, the man grew more violent, as i have remarked frightened men do; so that at last the stranger condescended to notice him. 'my good sir,' he said coolly, looking at him through the window as if he had not seen him before, 'you annoy me. what is the matter?' the fellow retorted with a vast amount of bluster, asking what the devil we meant by turning out his horses. 'only to give you and the gentlemen with you a little exercise,' my companion answered, with grim humour, and in a severe tone strange in one so young--'than which, nothing is more wholesome after a full meal. that, and a lesson in good manners. maignan,' he continued, raising his voice, 'if this person has anything more to say, answer him. he is nearer your degree than mine.' and leaving the man to slink away like a whipped dog--for the mean are ever the first to cringe--my friend turned from the window. meeting my eyes as he went back to his seat, he laughed. 'well,' he said, 'what do you think?' 'that the ass in the lion's skin is very well till it meets the lion,' i answered. he laughed again, and seemed pleased, as i doubt not he was. 'pooh, pooh!' he said. 'it passed the time, and i think i am quits with my gentlemen now. but i must be riding. possibly our roads may lie for a while in the same direction, sir?' and he looked at me irresolutely. i answered cautiously that i was going to the town of rosny. 'you are not from paris?' he continued, still looking at me. 'no,' i answered. 'i am from the south.' 'from blois, perhaps?' i nodded. 'ah!' he said, making no comment, which somewhat surprised me, all men at this time desiring news, and looking to blois for it. 'i am riding towards rosny also. let us be going.' but i noticed that as we got to horse, the man he called maignan holding his stirrup with much formality, he turned and looked at me more than once with an expression in his eye which i could not interpret; so that, being in an enemy's country, where curiosity was a thing to be deprecated, i began to feel somewhat uneasy. however, as he presently gave way to a fit of laughter, and seemed to be digesting his late diversion at the inn, i thought no more of it, finding him excellent company and a man of surprising information. notwithstanding this my spirits began to flag as i approached rosny; and as on such occasions nothing is more trying than the well-meant rallying of a companion ignorant of our trouble, i felt rather relief than regret when he drew rein at four cross-roads a mile or so short of the town, and, announcing that here our paths separated, took a civil leave of me, and went his way with his servants. i dismounted at an inn at the extremity of the town, and, stopping only to arrange my dress and drink a cup of wine, asked the way to the château, which was situate, i learned, no more than a third of a mile away. i went thither on foot by way of an avenue of trees leading up to a drawbridge and gateway. the former was down, but the gates were closed, and all the formalities of a fortress in time of war were observed on my admission, though the garrison appeared to consist only of two or three serving-men and as many foresters. i had leisure after sending in my name to observe that the house was old and partly ruinous, but of great strength, covered in places with ivy, and closely surrounded by woods. a staid-looking page came presently to me, and led me up a narrow staircase to a parlour lighted by two windows, looking, one into the courtyard, the other towards the town. here a tall man was waiting to receive me, who rose on my entrance and came forward. judge of my surprise when i recognised my acquaintance of the afternoon! 'm. de rosny?' i exclaimed, standing still and looking at him in confusion. 'the same, sir,' he answered, with a quiet smile. 'you come from the king of navarre, i believe, and on an errand to me. you may speak openly. the king has no secrets from me.' there was something in the gravity of his demeanour as he waited for me to speak which strongly impressed me; notwithstanding that he was ten years younger than myself, and i had seen him so lately in a lighter mood. i felt that his reputation had not belied him--that here was a great man; and reflecting with despair on the inadequacy of the tale i had to tell him, i paused to consider in what terms i should begin. he soon put an end to this, however. 'come, sir,' he said with impatience. 'i have told you that you may speak out. you should have been here four days ago, as i take it. now you are here, where is the lady?' 'mademoiselle de la vire?' i stammered, rather to gain time than with any other object. 'tut, tut!' he rejoined, frowning. 'is there any other lady in the question? come, sir, speak out. where have you left her? this is no affair of gallantry,' he continued, the harshness of his demeanour disagreeably surprising me, i that you need beat about the bush. the king entrusted to you a lady, who, i have no hesitation in telling you now, was in possession of certain state secrets. it is known that she escaped safely from chizé and arrived safely at blois. where is she?' 'i would to heaven i knew, sir!' i exclaimed in despair, feeling the painfulness of my position increased a hundredfold by his manner. 'i wish to god i did.' 'what is this?' he cried in a raised voice. 'you do not know where she is? you jest, m. de marsac.' 'it were a sorry jest,' i answered, summoning up a rueful smile. and on that, plunging desperately into the story which i have here set down, i narrated the difficulties under which i had raised my escort, the manner in which i came to be robbed of the gold token, how mademoiselle was trepanned, the lucky chance by which i found her again, and the final disappointment. he listened, but listened throughout with no word of sympathy--rather with impatience, which grew at last into derisive incredulity. when i had done he asked me bluntly what i called myself. scarcely understanding what he meant, i repeated my name. he answered, rudely and flatly, that it was impossible. 'i do not believe it, sir!' he repeated, his brow dark. 'you are not the man. you bring neither the lady nor the token, nor anything else by which i can test your story. nay, sir, do not scowl at me,' he continued sharply. 'i am the mouthpiece of the king of navarre, to whom this matter is of the highest importance. i cannot believe that the man whom he would choose would act so. this house you prate of in blois, for instance, and the room with the two doors? what were you doing while mademoiselle was being removed?' 'i was engaged with the men of the house,' i answered, striving to swallow the anger which all but choked me. 'i did what i could. had the door given way, all would have been well.' he looked at me darkly. 'that is fine talking!' he said with a sneer. then he dropped his eyes and seemed for a time to fall into a brown study, while i stood before him, confounded by this new view of the case, furious, yet not knowing how to vent my fury, cut to the heart by his insults, yet without hope or prospect of redress. 'come!' he said harshly, after two or three minutes of gloomy reflection on his part and burning humiliation on mine, 'is there anyone here who can identify you, or in any other way confirm your story, sir? until i know how the matter stands i can do nothing.' i shook my head in sullen shame. i might protest against his brutality and this judgment of me, but to what purpose while he sheltered himself behind his master? 'stay!' he said presently, with an abrupt gesture of remembrance. 'i had nearly forgotten. i have some here who have been lately at the king of navarre's court at st. jean d'angely. if you still maintain that you are the m. de marsac to whom this commission was entrusted, you will doubtless have no objection to seeing them?' on this i felt myself placed in a most cruel dilemma. if i refused to submit my case to the proposed ordeal, i stood an impostor confessed. if i consented to see these strangers, it was probable they would not recognise me, and possible that they might deny me in terms calculated to make my position even worse, if that might be. i hesitated; but, rosny standing inexorable before me awaiting an answer, i finally consented. 'good!' he said curtly. 'this way, if you please. they are here. the latch is tricky. nay, sir, it is my house.' obeying the stern motion of his hand, i passed before him into the next room, feeling myself more humiliated than i can tell by this reference to strangers. for a moment i could see no one. the day was waning, the room i entered was long and narrow, and illuminated only by a glowing fire. besides i was myself, perhaps, in some embarrassment. i believed that my conductor had made a mistake, or that his guests had departed, and i turned towards him to ask for an explanation. he merely pointed onwards, however, and i advanced; whereupon a young and handsome lady, who had been seated in the shadow of the great fireplace, rose suddenly, as if startled, and stood looking at me, the glow of the burning wood falling on one side of her face and turning her hair to gold. 'well!' m. de rosny said, in a voice which sounded a little odd in my ears. 'you do not know madame, i think?' i saw that she was a complete stranger to me, and bowed to her without speaking. the lady saluted me in turn ceremoniously and in silence. 'is there no one else here who should know you?' m. de rosny continued, in a tone almost of persiflage, and with the same change in his voice which had struck me before; but now it was more marked. 'if not, m. de marsac, i am afraid---- but first look round, look round, sir; i would not judge any man hastily.' he laid his hand on my shoulder as he finished in a manner so familiar and so utterly at variance with his former bearing that i doubted if i heard or felt aright. yet i looked mechanically at the lady, and seeing that her eyes glistened in the firelight, and that she gazed at me very kindly, i wondered still more; falling, indeed, into a very confusion of amazement. this was not lessened but augmented a hundredfold when, turning in obedience to the pressure of de rosny's hand, i saw beside me, as if she had risen from the floor, another lady--no other than mademoiselle de la vire herself! she had that moment stepped out of the shadow of the great fireplace, which had hitherto hidden her, and stood before me curtseying prettily, with the same look on her face and in her eyes which madame's wore. 'mademoiselle!' i muttered, unable to take my eyes from her. 'mais oui, monsieur, mademoiselle,' she answered, curtseying lower, with the air of a child rather than a woman. 'here?' i stammered, my mouth open, my eyes staring. 'here, sir--thanks to the valour of a brave man,' she answered, speaking in a voice so low i scarcely heard her. and then, dropping her eyes, she stepped back into the shadow, as if either she had said too much already, or doubted her composure were she to say more. she was so radiantly dressed, she looked in the firelight more like a fairy than a woman, being of small and delicate proportions; and she seemed in my eyes so different a person, particularly in respect of the softened expression of her features, from the mademoiselle de la vire whom i had known and seen plunged in sloughs and bent to the saddle with fatigue, that i doubted still if i had seen aright, and was as far from enlightenment as before. it was m. de rosny himself who relieved me from the embarrassment i was suffering. he embraced me in the most kind and obliging manner, and this more than once; begging me to pardon the deception he had practised upon me, and to which he had been impelled partly by the odd nature of our introduction at the inn, and partly by his desire to enhance the joyful surprise he had in store for me. 'come,' he said presently, drawing me to the window, 'let me show you some more of your old friends.' i looked out, and saw below me in the courtyard my three horses drawn up in a row, the cid being bestridden by simon fleix, who, seeing me, waved a triumphant greeting. a groom stood at the head of each horse, and on either side was a man with a torch. my companion laughed gleefully. 'it was maignan's arrangement,' he said. 'he has a quaint taste in such things.' after greeting simon fleix a hundred times, i turned back into the room, and, my heart overflowing with gratitude and wonder, i begged m. de rosny to acquaint me with the details of mademoiselle's escape. 'it was the most simple thing in the world,' he said, taking me by the hand and leading me back to the hearth. 'while you were engaged with the rascals, the old woman who daily brought mademoiselle's food grew alarmed at the uproar, and came into the room to learn what it was. mademoiselle, unable to help you, and uncertain of your success, thought the opportunity too good to be lost. she forced the old woman to show her and her maid the way out through the garden. this done, they ran down a lane, as i understand, and came immediately upon the lad with the horses, who recognised them and helped them to mount. they waited some minutes for you, and then rode off.' 'but i inquired at the gate,' i said. 'at which gate?' inquired m. de rosny, smiling. 'the north-gate, of course,' i answered. 'just so,' he rejoined with a nod. 'but they went out through the west-gate and made a circuit. he is a strange lad, that of yours below there. he has a head on his shoulder, m. de marsac. well, two leagues outside the town they halted, scarcely knowing how to proceed. by good fortune, however, a horse-dealer of my acquaintance was at the inn. he knew mademoiselle de la vire, and, hearing whither she was bound, brought her hither without let or hindrance.' 'was he a norman?' i asked. m. de rosny nodded, smiling at me shrewdly. 'yes,' he said, 'he told me much about you. and now let me introduce you to my wife, madame de rosny.' he led me up to the lady who had risen at my entrance, and who now welcomed me as kindly as she had before looked on me, paying me many pleasant compliments. i gazed at her with interest, having heard much of her beauty and of the strange manner in which m. de rosny, being enamoured of two young ladies, and chancing upon both while lodging in different apartments at an inn, had decided which he should visit and make his wife. he appeared to read what was in my mind, for as i bowed before her, thanking her for the obliging things which she had uttered, and which for ever bound me to her service, he gaily pinched her ear, and said, 'when you want a good wife, m. de marsac, be sure you turn to the right.' he spoke in jest, and having his own case only in his mind. but i, looking mechanically in the direction he indicated, saw mademoiselle standing a pace or two to my right in the shadow of the great chimney-piece. i know not whether she frowned more or blushed more; but this for certain, that she answered my look with one of sharp displeasure, and, turning her back on me, swept quickly from the room, with no trace in her bearing of that late tenderness and gratitude which i had remarked. chapter xiii. at rosny. the morning brought only fresh proofs of the kindness which m. de rosny had conceived for me. awaking early i found on a stool beside my clothes, a purse of gold containing a hundred crowns; and a youth presently entering to ask me if i lacked anything, i had at first some difficulty in recognising simon fleix, so sprucely was the lad dressed, in a mode resembling maignan's. i looked at the student more than once before i addressed him by his name; and was as much surprised by the strange change i observed in him--for it was not confined to his clothes--as by anything which had happened since i entered the house. i rubbed my eyes, and asked him what he had done with his soutane. 'burned it, m. de marsac,' he answered briefly. i saw that he had burned much, metaphorically speaking, besides his soutane. he was less pale, less lank, less wo-begone than formerly, and went more briskly. he had lost the air of crack-brained disorder which had distinguished him, and was smart, sedate, and stooped less. only the odd sparkle remained in his eyes, and bore witness to the same nervous, eager spirit within. 'what are you going to do, then, simon?' i asked, noting these changes curiously. 'i am a soldier,' he answered, 'and follow m. de marsac.' i laughed. 'you have chosen a poor service, i am afraid,' i said, beginning to rise; 'and one, too, simon, in which it is possible you may be killed. i thought that would not suit you,' i continued, to see what he would say. but he answered nothing, and i looked at him in great surprise. 'you have made up your mind, then, at last?' i said. 'perfectly,' he answered. 'and solved all your doubts?' 'i have no doubts.' 'you are a huguenot?' 'that is the only true and pure religion,' he replied gravely. and with apparent sincerity and devotion he repeated beza's confession of faith. this filled me with profound astonishment, but i said no more at the time, though i had my doubts. i waited until i was alone with m. de rosny, and then i unbosomed myself on the matter; expressing my surprise at the suddenness of the conversion, and at such a man, as i had found the student to be, stating his views so firmly and steadfastly, and with so little excitement. observing that m. de rosny smiled but answered nothing, i explained myself farther. 'i am surprised,' i said, 'because i have always heard it maintained that clerkly men, becoming lost in the mazes of theology, seldom find any sure footing; that not one in a hundred returns to his old faith, or finds grace to accept a new one. i am speaking only of such, of course, as i believe this lad to be--eager, excitable brains, learning much, and without judgment to digest what they learn.' 'of such i also believe it to be true,' m. de rosny answered, still smiling. 'but even on them a little influence, applied at the right moment, has much effect, m. de marsac.' 'i allow that,' i said. 'but my mother, of whom i have spoken to you, saw much of this youth. his fidelity to her was beyond praise. yet her faith, though grounded on a rock, had no weight with him.' m. de rosny shook his head, still smiling. 'it is not our mothers who convert us,' he said. 'what!' i cried, my eyes opened. 'do you mean--do you mean that mademoiselle has done this?' 'i fancy so,' he answered, nodding. 'i think my lady cast her spell over him by the way. the lad left blois with her, if what you say be true, without faith in the world. he came to my hands two days later the stoutest of huguenots. it is not hard to read this riddle.' 'such conversions are seldom lasting,' i said. he looked at me queerly; and, the smile still hovering about his lips, answered 'tush, man! why so serious? theodore beza himself could not look dryer. the lad is in earnest, and there is no harm done.' and, heaven knows, i was in no mood to suspect harm; nor inclined just then to look at the dark side of things. it may be conceived how delightful it was to me to be received as an equal and honoured guest by a man, even then famous, and now so grown in reputation as to overshadow all frenchmen save his master; how pleasant to enjoy the comforts and amiabilities of home, from which i had been long estranged; to pour my mother's story into madame's ears and find comfort in her sympathy; to feel myself, in fine, once more a gentleman with an acknowledged place in the world. our days we spent in hunting, or excursions of some kind, our evenings in long conversations, which impressed me with an ever-growing respect for my lord's powers. for there seemed to be no end either to his knowledge of france, or to the plans for its development, which even then filled his brain, and have since turned wildernesses into fruitful lands, and squalid towns into great cities. grave and formal, he could yet unbend; the most sagacious of counsellors, he was a soldier also, and loved the seclusion in which we lived the more that it was not devoid of danger; the neighbouring towns being devoted to the league, and the general disorder alone making it possible for him to lie unsuspected in his own house. one thing only rendered my ease and comfort imperfect, and that was the attitude which mademoiselle de la vire assumed towards me. of her gratitude in the first blush of the thing i felt no doubt, for not only had she thanked me very prettily, though with reserve, on the evening of my arrival, but the warmth of m. de rosny's kindness left me no choice, save to believe that she had given him an exaggerated idea of my merits and services. i asked no more than this. such good offices left me nothing to expect or desire; my age and ill-fortune placing me at so great a disadvantage that, far from dreaming of friendship or intimacy with her, i did not even assume the equality in our daily intercourse to which my birth, taken by itself, entitled me. knowing that i must appear in her eyes old, poor, and ill-dressed, and satisfied with having asserted my conduct and honour, i was careful not to trespass on her gratitude; and while forward in such courtesies as could not weary her, i avoided with equal care every appearance of pursuing her, or inflicting my company upon her. i addressed her formally and upon formal topics only, such, i mean, as we shared with the rest of our company; and reminded myself often that though we now met in the same house and at the same table, she was still the mademoiselle de la vire who had borne herself so loftily in the king of navarre's ante-chamber. this i did, not out of pique or wounded pride, which i no more, god knows, harboured against her than against a bird; but that i might not in my new prosperity forget the light in which such a woman, young, spoiled, and beautiful, must still regard me. keeping to this inoffensive posture, i was the more hurt when i found her gratitude fade with the hour. after the first two days, during which i remarked that she was very silent, seldom speaking to me or looking at me, she resumed much of her old air of disdain. for that i cared little; but she presently went farther, and began to rake up the incidents which had happened at st. jean d'angely, and in which i had taken part. she continually adverted to my poverty while there, to the odd figure i had cut, and the many jests her friends had made at my expense. she seemed to take a pleasure positively savage in these, gibing at me sometimes so bitterly as to shame and pain me, and bring the colour to madame de rosny's cheeks. to the time we had spent together, on the other hand, she never or rarely referred. one afternoon, however, a week after my arrival at rosny, i found her sitting alone in the parlour. i had not known she was there, and i was for withdrawing at once with a bow and a muttered apology. but she stopped me with an angry gesture. 'i do not bite,' she said, rising from her stool and meeting my eyes, a red spot in each cheek. 'why do you look at me like that? do you know, m. de marsac, that i have no patience with you.' and she stamped her foot on the floor. 'but, mademoiselle,' i stammered humbly, wondering what in the world she meant, 'what have i done?' 'done?' she repeated angrily. 'done? it is not what you have done, it is what you are. i have no patience with you. why are you so dull, sir? why are you so dowdy? why do you go about with your doublet awry, and your hair lank? why do you speak to maignan as if he were a gentleman? why do you look always solemn and polite, and as if all the world were a prêche? why? why? why, i say?' she stopped from sheer lack of breath, leaving me as much astonished as ever in my life. she looked so beautiful in her fury and fierceness too, that i could only stare at her and wonder dumbly what it all meant. 'well!' she cried impatiently, after bearing this as long as she could, 'have you not a word to say for yourself? have you no tongue? have you no will of your own at all, m. de marsac?' 'but, mademoiselle,' i began, trying to explain. 'chut!' she exclaimed, cutting me short before i could get farther, as the way of women is. and then she added, in a changed tone, and very abruptly, 'you have a velvet knot of mine, sir. give it me.' 'it is in my room,' i answered, astonished beyond measure at this sudden change of subject, and equally sudden demand. 'then fetch it, sir, if you please,' she replied, her eyes flashing afresh. 'fetch it. fetch it, i say! it has served its turn, and i prefer to have it. who knows but that some day you may be showing it for a love-knot?' 'mademoiselle!' i cried, hotly. and i think that for the moment i was as angry as she was. 'still, i prefer to have it,' she answered sullenly, casting down her eyes. i was so much enraged, i went without a word and fetched it, and, bringing it to her where she stood, in the same place, put it into her hands. when she saw it some recollection, i fancy, of the day when she had traced the cry for help on it, came to her in her anger; for she took it from me with all her bearing altered. she trembled, and held it for a moment in her hands, as if she did not know what to do with it. she was thinking, doubtless, of the house in blois and the peril she had run there; and, being for my part quite willing that she should think and feel how badly she had acted, i stood looking at her, sparing her no whit of my glance. 'the gold chain you left on my mother's pillow,' i said coldly, seeing she continued silent, 'i cannot return to you at once, for i have pledged it. but i will do so as soon as i can.' 'you have pledged it?' she muttered, with her eyes averted. 'yes, mademoiselle, to procure a horse to bring me here,' i replied drily. 'however, it shall be redeemed. in return, there is something i too would ask.' 'what?' she murmured, recovering herself with an effort, and looking at me with something of her old pride and defiance. 'the broken coin you have,' i said. 'the token, i mean. it is of no use to you, for your enemies hold the other half. it might be of service to me.' 'how?' she asked curtly. 'because some day i may find its fellow, mademoiselle.' 'and then?' she cried. she looked at me, her lips parted, her eyes flashing. 'what then, when you have found its fellow, m. de marsac?' i shrugged my shoulders. 'bah!' she exclaimed, clenching her little hand, and stamping her foot on the floor in a passion i could not understand. 'that is you! that is m. de marsac all over. you say nothing, and men think nothing of you. you go with your hat in your hand, and they tread on you. they speak, and you are silent! why, if i could use a sword as you can, i would keep silence before no man, nor let any man save the king of france cock his hat in my presence! but you! there! go, leave me. here is your coin. take it and go. send me that lad of yours to keep me awake. at any rate he has brains, he is young, he is a man, he has a soul, he can feel--if he were anything but a clerk.' she waved me off in such a wind of passion as might have amused me in another, but in her smacked so strongly of ingratitude as to pain me not a little. i went, however, and sent simon to her; though i liked the errand very ill, and no better when i saw the lad's face light up at the mention of her name. but apparently she had not recovered her temper when he reached her, for he fared no better than i had done; coming away presently with the air of a whipped dog, as i saw from the yew-tree walk where i was strolling. still, after that she made it a habit to talk to him more and more; and, monsieur and madame de rosny being much taken up with one another, there was no one to check her fancy or speak a word of advice. knowing her pride, i had no fears for her; but it grieved me to think that the lad's head should be turned. a dozen times i made up my mind to speak to her on his behalf; but for one thing it was not my business, and for another i soon discovered that she was aware of my displeasure, and valued it not a jot. for venturing one morning, when she was in a pleasant humour, to hint that she treated those beneath her too inhumanly, and with an unkindness as little becoming noble blood as familiarity, she asked me scornfully if i did not think she treated simon fleix well enough. to which i had nothing to answer. i might here remark on the system of secret intelligence by means of which m. de rosny, even in this remote place, received news of all that was passing in france. but it is common fame. there was no coming or going of messengers, which would quickly have aroused suspicion in the neighbouring town, nor was it possible even for me to say exactly by what channels news came. but come it did, and at all hours of the day. in this way we heard of the danger of la ganache and of the effort contemplated by the king of navarre for its relief. m. de rosny not only communicated these matters to me without reserve, but engaged my affections by farther proofs of confidence such as might well have flattered a man of greater importance. i have said that, as a rule, there was no coming or going of messengers. but one evening, returning from the chase with one of the keepers, who had prayed my assistance in hunting down a crippled doe, i was surprised to find a strange horse, which had evidently been ridden hard and far, standing smoking in the yard. inquiring whose it was, i learned that a man believed by the grooms to be from blois had just arrived and was closeted with the baron. an event so far out of the ordinary course of things naturally aroused my wonder; but desiring to avoid any appearance of curiosity, which, if indulged, is apt to become the most vulgar of vices, i refrained from entering the house, and repaired instead to the yew-walk. i had scarcely, however, heated my blood, a little chilled with riding, before the page came to me to fetch me to his master. i found m. de rosny striding up and down his room, his manner so disordered and his face disfigured by so much grief and horror that i started on seeing him. my heart sinking in a moment, i did not need to look at madame, who sat weeping silently in a chair, to assure myself that something dreadful had happened. the light was failing, and a lamp had been brought into the room. m. de rosny pointed abruptly to a small piece of paper which lay on the table beside it, and, obeying his gesture, i took this up and read its contents, which consisted of less than a score of words. 'he is ill and like to die,' the message ran, 'twenty leagues south of la ganache. come at all costs. p. m.' 'who?' i said stupidly--stupidly, for already i began to understand. 'who is ill and like to die?' m. de rosny turned to me, and i saw that the tears were trickling unbidden down his cheeks. 'there is but one he for me,' he cried. 'may god spare that one! may he spare him to france, which needs him, to the church, which hangs on him, and to me, who love him! let him not fall in the hour of fruition. o lord, let him not fall!' and he sank on to a stool, and remained in that posture with his face in his hands, his broad shoulders shaken with grief. 'come, sir,' i said, after a pause sacred to sorrow and dismay; 'let me remind you that while there is life there is hope.' 'hope?' 'yes, m. de rosny, hope,' i replied more cheerfully. he has work to do. he is elected, called, and chosen; the joshua of his people, as m. d'amours rightly called him. god will not take him yet. you shall see him and be embraced by him, as has happened a hundred times. remember, sir, the king of navarre is strong, hardy, and young, and no doubt in good hands.' 'mornay's,' m. de rosny cried, looking up with contempt in his eye. yet from that moment he rallied, spurred, i think, by the thought that the king of navarre's recovery depended under god on m. de mornay; whom he was ever inclined to regard as his rival. he began to make instant preparations for departure from rosny, and bade me do so also, telling me, somewhat curtly and without explanation, that he had need of me. the danger of so speedy a return to the south, where the full weight of the vicomte de turenne's vengeance awaited me, occurred to me strongly; and i ventured, though with a little shame, to mention it. but m. de rosny, after gazing at me a moment in apparent doubt, put the objection aside with a degree of peevishness unusual in him, and continued to press on his arrangements as earnestly as though they did not include separation from a wife equally loving and beloved. having few things to look to myself, i was at leisure, when the hour of departure came, to observe both the courage with which madame de rosny supported her sorrow, 'for the sake of france,' and the unwonted tenderness which mademoiselle de la vire, lifted for once above herself, lavished on her. i seemed to stand--happily in one light, and yet the feeling was fraught with pain--outside their familiar relations; yet, having made my adieux as short and formal as possible, that i might not encroach on other and more sacred ones, i found at the last moment something in waiting for me. i was surprised as i rode under the gateway a little ahead of the others, by something small and light falling on the saddle-bow before me. catching it before it could slide to the ground, i saw, with infinite astonishment, that i held in my hand a tiny velvet bow. to look up at the window of the parlour, which i have said was over the archway, was my first impulse. i did so, and met mademoiselle's eyes for a second, and a second only. the next moment she was gone. m. de rosny clattered through the gate at my heels, the servants behind him. and we were on the road. chapter xiv. m. de rambouillet. for a while we were but a melancholy party. the incident i have last related--which seemed to admit of more explanations than one--left me in a state of the greatest perplexity; and this prevailed with me for a time, and was only dissipated at length by my seeing my own face, as it were, in a glass. for, chancing presently to look behind me, i observed that simon fleix was riding, notwithstanding his fine hat and feather and his new sword, in a posture and with an air of dejection difficult to exaggerate; whereon the reflection that master and man had the same object in their minds--nay, the thought that possibly he bore in his bosom a like token to that which lay warm in mine--occurring to me, i roused myself as from some degrading dream, and, shaking up the cid, cantered forward to join rosny, who, in no cheerful mood himself, was riding steadily forward, wrapped to his eyes in his cloak. the news of the king of navarre's illness had fallen on him, indeed, in the midst of his sanguine scheming with the force of a thunderbolt. he saw himself in danger of losing at once the master he loved and the brilliant future to which he looked forward; and amid the imminent crash of his hopes and the destruction of the system in which he lived, he had scarcely time to regret the wife he was leaving at rosny or the quiet from which he was so suddenly called. his heart was in the south, at la ganache, by henry's couch. his main idea was to get there quickly at all risks. the name of the king of navarre's physician was constantly on his lips. 'dortoman is a good man. if anyone can save him, dortoman will,' was his perpetual cry. and whenever he met anyone who had the least appearance of bearing news, he would have me stop and interrogate him, and by no means let the traveller go until he had given us the last rumour from blois--the channel through which all the news from the south reached us. an incident which occurred at the inn that evening cheered him somewhat; the most powerful minds being prone, i have observed, to snatch at omens in times of uncertainty. an elderly man, of strange appearance, and dressed in an affected and bizarre fashion, was seated at table when we arrived. though i entered first in my assumed capacity of leader of the party, he let me pass before him without comment, but rose and solemnly saluted m. de rosny, albeit the latter walked behind me and was much more plainly dressed. rosny returned his greeting and would have passed on; but the stranger, interposing with a still lower bow, invited him to take his seat, which was near the fire and sheltered from the draught, at the same time making as if he would himself remove to another place. 'nay,' said my companion, surprised by such an excess of courtesy, 'i do not see why i should take your place, sir.' 'not mine only,' the old man rejoined, looking at him with a particularity and speaking with an emphasis which attracted our attention, 'but those of many others, who i can assure you will very shortly yield them up to you, whether they will or not.' m. de rosny shrugged his shoulders and passed on, affecting to suppose the old man wandered. but privately he thought much of his words, and more when he learned that he was an astrologer from paris, who had the name, at any rate in this country, of having studied under nostradamus. and whether he drew fresh hopes from this, or turned his attention more particularly as we approached blois to present matters, certainly he grew more cheerful, and began again to discuss the future, as though assured of his master's recovery. 'you have never been to the king's court?' he said presently, following up, as i judged, a train of thought in his own mind. 'at blois, i mean.' 'no; nor do i feel anxious to visit it,' i answered. 'to tell you the truth, m. le baron,' i continued with some warmth, 'the sooner we are beyond blois, the better i shall be pleased. i think we run some risk there, and, besides, i do not fancy a shambles. i do not think i could see the king without thinking of the bartholomew, nor his chamber without thinking of guise.' 'tut, tut!' he said, 'you have killed a man before now.' 'many,' i answered. 'do they trouble you?' 'no, but they were killed in fair fight,' i replied. 'that makes a difference.' 'to you,' he said drily. 'but you are not the king of france, you see. should you ever come across him, he continued, flicking his horse's ears, a faint smile on his lips, 'i will give you a hint. talk to him of the battles at jarnac and moncontour, and praise your condé's father! as condé lost the fight and he won it, the compliment comes home to him. the more hopelessly a man has lost his powers, my friend, the more fondly he regards them, and the more highly he prizes the victories he can no longer gain.' 'ugh!' i muttered. 'of the two parties at court,' rosny continued, calmly overlooking my ill-humour, 'trust d'aumont and biron and the french clique. they are true to france at any rate. but whomsoever you see consort with the two retzs--the king of spain's jackals as men name them--avoid him for a spaniard and a traitor.' 'but the retzs are italians,' i objected peevishly. 'the same thing,' he answered curtly. 'they cry, "vive le roi!" but privately they are for the league, or for spain, or for whatever may most hurt us; who are better frenchmen than themselves, and whose leader will some day, if god spare his life, be king of france.' 'well, the less i have to do with the one or the other of them, save at the sword's point, the better i shall be pleased,' i rejoined. on that he looked at me with a queer smile; as was his way when he had more in his mind than appeared. and this, and something special in the tone of his conversation, as well, perhaps, as my own doubts about my future and his intentions regarding me, gave me an uneasy feeling; which lasted through the day, and left me only when more immediate peril presently rose to threaten us. it happened in this way. we had reached the outskirts of blois, and were just approaching the gate, hoping to pass through it without attracting attention, when two travellers rode slowly out of a lane, the mouth of which we were passing. they eyed us closely as they reined in to let us go by; and m. de rosny, who was riding with his horse's head at my stirrup, whispered me to press on. before i could comply, however, the strangers cantered by us, and turning in the saddle when abreast of us looked us in the face. a moment later one of them cried loudly, 'it is he! and both pulled their horses across the road, and waited for us to come up. aware that if m. de rosny were discovered he would be happy if he escaped with imprisonment, the king being too jealous of his catholic reputation to venture to protect a huguenot, however illustrious, i saw that the situation was desperate; for, though we were five to two, the neighbourhood of the city--the gate being scarcely a bow-shot off--rendered flight or resistance equally hopeless. i could think of nothing for it save to put a bold face on the matter, and, m. de rosny doing the same, we advanced in the most innocent way possible. 'halt, there!' cried one of the strangers sharply. 'and let me tell you, sir, you are known.' 'what if i am?' i answered impatiently, still pressing on. 'are you highwaymen, that you stop the way?' the speaker on the other side looked at me keenly, but in a moment retorted, 'enough trifling, sir! who you are i do not know. but the person riding at your rein is m. de rosny. him i do know, and i warn him to stop.' i thought the game was lost, but to my surprise my companion answered at once and almost in the same words i had used. 'well, sir, and what of that?' he said. 'what of that?' the stranger exclaimed, spurring his horse so as still to bar the way. 'why, only this, that you must be a madman to show yourself on this side of the loire.' 'it is long since i have seen the other,' was my companion's unmoved answer. 'you are m. de rosny? you do not deny it?' the man cried in astonishment. 'certainly i do not deny it,' m. de rosny answered bluntly. 'and more, the day has been, sir,' he continued with sudden fire, 'when few at his majesty's court would have dared to chop words with solomon de bethune, much less to stop him on the highway within a mile of the palace. but times are changed with me, sir, and it would seem with others also, if true men rallying to his majesty in his need are to be challenged by every passer on the road.' 'what! are you solomon de bethune?' the man cried incredulously. incredulously, but his countenance fell, and his voice was full of chagrin and disappointment. 'who else, sir?' m. de rosny replied haughtily. 'i am, and, as far as i know, i have as much right on this side of the loire as any other man.' 'a thousand pardons.' 'if you are not satisfied----' 'nay, m. de rosny, i am perfectly satisfied.' the stranger repeated this with a very crestfallen air, adding, 'a thousand pardons'; and fell to making other apologies, doffing his hat with great respect. 'i took you, if you will pardon me saying so, for your huguenot brother, m. maximilian,' he explained. 'the saying goes that he is at rosny.' 'i can answer for that being false,' m. de rosny answered peremptorily, 'for i have just come from there, and i will answer for it he is not within ten leagues of the place. and now, sir, as we desire to enter before the gates shut, perhaps you will excuse us.' with which he bowed, and i bowed, and they bowed, and we separated. they gave us the road, which m. de rosny took with a great air, and we trotted to the gate, and passed through it without misadventure. the first street we entered was a wide one, and my companion took advantage of this to ride up abreast of me. 'that is the kind of adventure our little prince is fond of,' he muttered. 'but for my part, m. de marsac, the sweat is running down my forehead. i have played the trick more than once before, for my brother and i are as like as two peas. and yet it would have gone ill with us if the fool had been one of his friends.' 'all's well that ends well,' i answered in a low voice, thinking it an ill time for compliments. as it was, the remark was unfortunate, for m. de rosny was still in the act of reining back when maignan called out to us to say we were being followed. i looked behind, but could see nothing except gloom and rain and overhanging eaves and a few figures cowering in doorways. the servants, however, continued to maintain that it was so, and we held, without actually stopping, a council of war. if detected, we were caught in a trap, without hope of escape; and for the moment i am sure m. de rosny regretted that he had chosen this route by blois--that he had thrust himself, in his haste and his desire to take with him the latest news, into a snare so patent. the castle--huge, dark, and grim--loomed before us at the end of the street in which we were, and, chilled as i was myself by the sight, i could imagine how much more appalling it must appear to him, the chosen counsellor of his master, and the steadfast opponent of all which it represented. our consultation came to nothing, for no better course suggested itself than to go as we had intended to the lodging commonly used by my companion. we did so, looking behind us often, and saying more than once that maignan must be mistaken. as soon as we had dismounted, however, and gone in, he showed us from the window a man loitering near; and this confirmation of our alarm sending as to our expedients again, while maignan remained watching in a room without a light, i suggested that i might pass myself off, though ten years older, for, my companion. 'alas!' he said, drumming with his fingers on the table, 'there are too many here who know me to make that possible. i thank you all the same.' 'could you escape on foot? or pass the wall anywhere, or slip through the gates early?' i suggested. 'they might tell us at the bleeding heart,' he answered. 'but i doubt it. i was a fool, sir, to put my neck into mendoza's halter, and that is a fact. but here is maignan. what is it, man?' he continued eagerly. 'the watcher is gone, my lord,' the equerry answered. 'and has left no one?' 'no one that i can see.' we both went into the next room and looked from the windows. the man was certainly not where we had seen him before. but the rain was falling heavily, the eaves were dripping, the street was a dark cavern with only here and there a spark of light, and the fellow might be lurking elsewhere. maignan, being questioned, however, believed he had gone off of set purpose. 'which may be read half a dozen ways,' i remarked. 'at any rate, we are fasting,' m. de rosny answered. 'give me a full man in a fight. let us sit down and eat. it is no good jumping in the dark, or meeting troubles half way.' we were not through our meal, however, simon fleix waiting on us with a pale face, when maignan came in again from the dark room. 'my lord,' he said quietly, 'three men have appeared. two of them remain twenty paces away. the third has come to the door.' as he spoke we heard a cautious summons below. maignan was for going down, but his master bade him stand. 'let the woman of the house go,' he said. i remarked and long remembered m. de rosny's _sangfroid_ on this occasion. his pistols he had already laid on a chair beside him, throwing his cloak over them; and now, while we waited, listening in breathless silence, i saw him hand a large slice of bread-and-meat to his equerry, who, standing behind his chair, began eating it with the same coolness. simon fleix, on the other hand, stood gazing at the door, trembling in every limb, and with so much of excitement and surprise in his attitude that i took the precaution of bidding him, in a low voice, do nothing without orders. at the same moment it occurred to me to extinguish two of the four candles which had been lighted; and i did so, m. de rosny nodding assent, just as the muttered conversation which was being carried on below ceased, and a man's tread sounded on the stairs. it was followed immediately by a knock on the outside of our door. obeying my companion's look, i cried, 'enter!' a slender man of middle height, booted and wrapped up, with his face almost entirely hidden by a fold of his cloak, came in quickly, and, closing the door behind him, advanced towards the table. 'which is m. de rosny?' he said. rosny had carefully turned his face from the light, but at the sound of the other's voice he sprang up with a cry of relief. he was about to speak, when the new-comer, raising his hand peremptorily, continued, 'no names, i beg. yours, i suppose, is known here. mine is not, nor do i desire it should be. i want speech of you, that is all.' 'i am greatly honoured,' m. de rosny replied, gazing at him eagerly. 'yet, who told you i was here?' 'i saw you pass under a lamp in the street,' the stranger answered. 'i knew your horse first, and you afterwards, and bade a groom follow you. believe me,' he added, with a gesture of the hand, 'you have nothing to fear from me.' 'i accept the assurance in the spirit in which it is offered,' my companion answered with a graceful bow, 'and think myself fortunate in being recognised'--he paused a moment and then continued--'by a frenchman and a man of honour.' the stranger shrugged his shoulders. 'your pardon, then,' he said, 'if i seem abrupt. my time is short. i want to do the best with it i can. will you favour me?' i was for withdrawing, but m. de rosny ordered maignan to place lights in the next room, and, apologising to me very graciously, retired thither with the stranger; leaving me relieved indeed by these peaceful appearances, but full of wonder and conjectures who this might be, and what the visit portended. at one moment i was inclined to identify the stranger with m. de rosny's brother; at another with the english ambassador; and then, again, a wild idea that he might be m. de bruhl occurred to me. the two remained together about a quarter of an hour and then came out, the stranger leading the way, and saluting me politely as he passed through the room. at the door he turned to say, 'at nine o'clock, then?' 'at nine o'clock,' m. de rosny replied, holding the door open. 'you will excuse me if i do not descend, marquis?' 'yes, go back, my friend,' the stranger answered. and, lighted by maignan, whose face on such occasions could assume the most stolid air in the world, he disappeared down the stairs, and i heard him go out. m. de rosny turned to me, his eyes sparkling with joy, his face and mien full of animation. 'the king of navarre is better,' he said. 'he is said to be out of danger. what do you think of that, my friend?' 'that is the best news i have heard for many a day,' i answered. and i hastened to add, that france and the religion had reason to thank god for his mercy. 'amen to that,' my patron replied reverently. 'but that is not all--that is not all.' and he began to walk up and down the room humming the th psalm a little above his breath-- la voici l'heureuse journée que dieu a faite à plein désir; par nous soit joie démenée, et prenons en elle plaisir. he continued, indeed, to walk up and down the floor so long, and with so joyful a countenance and demeanour, that i ventured at last to remind him of my presence, which he had clearly forgotten. 'ha! to be sure,' he said, stopping short and looking at me with the utmost good-humour. 'what time is it? seven. then until nine o'clock, my friend, i crave your indulgence. in fine, until that time i must keep counsel. come, i am hungry still. let us sit down, and this time i hope we may not be interrupted. simon, set us on a fresh bottle. ha! ha! _vivent le roi et le roi de navarre!_' and again he fell to humming the same psalm-- o dieu éternel, je te prie, je te prie, ton roi maintiens: o dieu, je te prie et reprie, sauve ton roi et l'entretiens! doing so with a light in his eyes and a joyous emphasis, which impressed me the more in a man ordinarily so calm and self-contained. i saw that something had occurred to gratify him beyond measure, and, believing his statement that this was not the good news from la ganache only, i waited with the utmost interest and anxiety for the hour of nine, which had no sooner struck than our former visitor appeared with the same air of mystery and disguise which had attended him before. m. de rosny, who had risen on hearing his step and had taken up his cloak, paused with it half on and half off, to cry anxiously, 'all is well, is it not?' 'perfectly,' the stranger replied, with a nod. 'and my friend?' 'yes, on condition that you answer for his discretion and fidelity.' and the stranger glanced involuntarily at me, who stood uncertain, whether to hold my ground or retire. 'good,' m. de rosny cried. then he turned to me with a mingled air of dignity and kindness, and continued: 'this is the gentleman. m. de marsac, i am honoured with permission to present you to the marquis de rambouillet, whose interest and protection i beg you to deserve, for he is a true frenchman and a patriot whom i respect.' m. de rambouillet saluted me politely. 'of a brittany family, i think?' he said. i assented; and he replied with something complimentary. but afterwards he continued to look at me in silence with a keenness and curiosity i did not understand. at last, when m. de rosny's impatience had reached a high pitch, the marquis seemed impelled to add something. 'you quite understand, m. de rosny?' he said. 'without saying anything disparaging of m. de marsac, who is, no doubt, a man of honour'--and he bowed to me very low--'this is a delicate matter, and you will introduce no one into it, i am sure, whom you cannot trust as yourself.' 'precisely,' m. de rosny replied, speaking drily, yet with a grand air which fully matched his companion's. 'i am prepared to trust this gentleman not only with my life but with my honour.' 'nothing more remains to be said then,' the marquis rejoined, bowing to me again. 'i am glad to have been the occasion of a declaration so flattering to you, sir.' i returned his salute in silence, and obeying m. de rosny's muttered direction put on my cloak and sword. m. de rosny took up his pistols. 'you will have no need of those,' the marquis said with a high glance. 'where we are going, no,' my companion answered, calmly continuing to dispose them about him. 'but the streets are dark and not too safe.' m. de rambouillet laughed. 'that is the worst of you huguenots,' he said. 'you never know when to lay suspicion aside.' a hundred retorts sprang to my lips. i thought of the bartholomew, of the french fury of antwerp, of half a dozen things which make my blood boil to this day. but m. de rosny's answer was the finest of all. 'that is true, i am afraid,' he said quietly. 'on the other hand, you catholics--take the late m. de guise for instance--have the habit of erring on the other side, i think, and sometimes trust too far.' the marquis, without making any answer to this home-thrust, led the way out, and we followed, being joined at the door of the house by a couple of armed lackeys, who fell in behind us. we went on foot. the night was dark, and the prospect out of doors was not cheering. the streets were wet and dirty, and notwithstanding all our care we fell continually into pitfalls or over unseen obstacles. crossing the _parvis_ of the cathedral, which i remembered, we plunged in silence into an obscure street near the river, and so narrow that the decrepit houses shut out almost all view of the sky. the gloom of our surroundings, no less than my ignorance of the errand on which we were bound, filled me with anxiety and foreboding. my companions keeping strict silence, however, and taking every precaution to avoid being recognised, i had no choice but to do likewise. i could think, and no more. i felt myself borne along by an irresistible current, whither and for what purpose i could not tell; an experience to an extent strange at my age the influence of the night and the weather. twice we stood aside to let a party of roisterers go by, and the excessive care m. de rambouillet evinced on these occasions to avoid recognition did not tend to reassure me or make me think more lightly of the unknown business on which i was bound. reaching at last an open space, our leader bade us in a low voice be careful and follow him closely. we did so, and crossed in this way and in single file a narrow plank or wooden bridge; but whether water ran below or a dry ditch only, i could not determine. my mind was taken up at the moment with the discovery which i had just made, that the dark building, looming huge and black before us with a single light twinkling here and there at great heights, was the castle of blois. chapter xv. vilain herodes. all the distaste and misliking i had expressed earlier in the day for the court of blois recurred with fresh force in the darkness and gloom; and though, booted and travel-stained as we were, i did not conceive it likely that we should be obtruded on the circle about the king, i felt none the less an oppressive desire to be through with our adventure, and away from the ill-omened precincts in which i found myself. the darkness prevented me seeing the faces of my companions; but on m. de rosny, who was not quite free himself, i think, from the influences of the time and place, twitching my sleeve to enforce vigilance, i noted that the lackeys had ceased to follow us, and that we three were beginning to ascend a rough staircase cut in the rock. i gathered, though the darkness limited my view behind as well as in front to a few twinkling lights, that we were mounting the scarp from the moat to the side wall of the castle; and i was not surprised when the marquis muttered to us to stop, and knocked softly on the wood of a door. m. de rosny might have spared the touch he had laid on my sleeve, for by this time i was fully and painfully sensible of the critical position in which we stood, and was very little likely to commit an indiscretion. i trusted he had not done so already! no doubt--it flashed across me while we waited--he had taken care to safeguard himself. but how often, i reflected, had all safeguards been set aside and all precautions eluded by those to whom he was committing himself! guise had thought himself secure in this very building, which we were about to enter. coligny had received the most absolute of safe-conducts from those to whom we were apparently bound. the end in either case had been the same--the confidence of the one proving of no more avail than the wisdom of the other. what if the king of france thought to make his peace with his catholic subjects--offended by the murder of guise--by a second murder of one as obnoxious to them as he was precious to their arch-enemy in the south? rosny was sagacious indeed; but then i reflected with sudden misgiving that he was young, ambitious, and bold. the opening of the door interrupted without putting an end to this train of apprehension. a faint light shone out; so feebly as to illumine little more than the stairs at our feet. the marquis entered at once, m. de rosny followed, i brought up the rear; and the door was closed by a man who stood behind it. we found ourselves crowded together at the foot of a very narrow staircase, which the doorkeeper--a stolid pikeman in a grey uniform, with a small lanthorn swinging from the crosspiece of his halberd--signed to us to ascend. i said a word to him, but he only stared in answer, and m. de rambouillet, looking back and seeing what i was about, called to me that it was useless, as the man was a swiss and spoke no french. 'this did not tend to reassure me; any more than did the chill roughness of the wall which my hand touched as i groped upwards, or the smell of bats which invaded my nostrils and suggested that the staircase was little used and belonged to a part of the castle fitted for dark and secret doings. we stumbled in the blackness up the steps, passing one door and then a second before m. de rambouillet whispered to us to stand, and knocked gently at a third. the secrecy, the darkness, and above all the strange arrangements made to receive us, filled me with the wildest conjectures. but when the door opened and we passed one by one into a bare, unfurnished, draughty gallery, immediately, as i judged, under the tiles, the reality agreed with no one of my anticipations. the place was a mere garret, without a hearth, without a single stool. three windows, of which one was roughly glazed, while the others were filled with oiled paper, were set in one wall; the others displaying the stones and mortar without disguise or ornament. beside the door through which we had entered stood a silent figure in the grey uniform i had seen below, his lanthorn on the floor at his feet. a second door at the farther end of the gallery, which was full twenty paces long, was guarded in like manner. a couple of lanthorns stood in the middle of the floor, and that was all. inside the door, m. de rambouillet with his finger on his lip stopped us, and we stood a little group of three a pace in front of the sentry, and with the empty room before us. i looked at m. de rosny, but he was looking at rambouillet. the marquis had his back towards me, the sentry was gazing into vacancy; so that baffled in my attempt to learn anything from the looks of the other actors in the scene, i fell back on my ears. the rain dripped outside and the moaning wind rattled the casements; but mingled with these melancholy sounds--which gained force, as such things always do, from the circumstances in which we were placed and our own silence--i fancied i caught the distant hum of voices and music and laughter. and that, i know not why, brought m. de guise again to my mind. the story of his death, as i had heard it from that accursed monk in the inn on the claine, rose up in all its freshness, with all its details. i started when m. de rambouillet coughed. i shivered when rosny shifted his feet. the silence grew oppressive. only the stolid men in grey seemed unmoved, unexpectant; so that i remember wondering whether it was their nightly duty to keep guard over an empty garret, the floor strewn with scraps of mortar and ends of tiles. the interruption, when it came at last, came suddenly. the sentry at the farther end of the gallery started and fell back a pace. instantly the door beside him opened and a man came in, and closing it quickly behind him, advanced up the room with an air of dignity, which even his strange appearance and attire could not wholly destroy. he was of good stature and bearing, about forty years old as i judged, his wear a dress of violet velvet with black points cut in the extreme of the fashion. he carried a sword but no ruff, and had a cup and ball of ivory--a strange toy much in vogue among the idle--suspended from his wrist by a ribbon. he was lean and somewhat narrow, but so far i found little fault with him. it was only when my eye reached his face, and saw it rouged like a woman's and surmounted by a little turban, that a feeling of scarcely understood disgust seized me, and i said to myself, 'this is the stuff of which kings' minions are made!' to my surprise, however, m. de rambouillet went to meet him with the utmost respect, sweeping the dirty floor with his bonnet, and bowing to the very ground. the newcomer acknowledged his salute with negligent kindness. remarking pleasantly 'you have brought a friend, i think?' he looked towards us with a smile. 'yes, sire, he is here,' the marquis answered, stepping aside a little. and with the word i understood that this was no minion, but the king himself: henry, the third of the name, and the last of the great house of valois, which had ruled france by the grace of god for two centuries and a half! i stared at him, and stared at him, scarcely believing what i saw. for the first time in my life i was in the presence of the king! meanwhile m. de rosny, to whom he was, of course, no marvel, had gone forward and knelt on one knee. the king raised him graciously, and with an action which, viewed apart from his woman's face and silly turban, seemed royal and fitting. 'this is good of you, rosny,' he said. 'but it is only what i expected of you.' 'sire,' my companion answered, 'your majesty has no more devoted servant than myself, unless it be the king my master.' 'by my faith,' henry answered with energy--'and if i am not a good churchman, whatever those rascally parisians say, i am nothing--by my faith, i think i believe you!' 'if your majesty would believe me in that and in some other things also,' m. de rosny answered, 'it would be very well for france.' though he spoke courteously, he threw so much weight and independence into his words that i thought of the old proverb, 'a good master, a bold servant.' 'well, that is what we are here to see,' the king replied. 'but one tells me one thing,' he went on fretfully, 'and one another, and which am i to believe?' 'i know nothing of others, sire,' rosny answered with the same spirit. 'but my master has every claim to be believed. his interest in the royalty of france is second only to your majesty's. he is also a king and a kinsman, and it irks him to see rebels beard you, as has happened of late.' 'ay, but the chief of them?' henry exclaimed, giving way to sudden excitement and stamping furiously on the floor. 'he will trouble me no more. has my brother heard of _that?_ tell me, sir, has that news reached him?' 'he has heard it, sire.' 'and he approved? he approved, of course?' 'beyond doubt the man was a traitor,' m. de rosny answered delicately. 'his life was forfeit, sire. who can question it?' 'and he has paid the forfeit,' the king rejoined, looking down at the floor and immediately falling into a moodiness as sudden as his excitement. his lips moved. he muttered something inaudible, and began to play absently with his cup and ball, his mind occupied apparently with a gloomy retrospect. 'm. de guise, m. de guise,' he murmured at last, with a sneer and an accent of hate which told of old humiliations long remembered. 'well, damn him, he is dead now. he is dead. but being dead he yet troubles us. is not that the verse, father? ha!' with a start, 'i was forgetting. but that is the worst wrong he has done me,' he continued, looking up and growing excited again. 'he has cut me off from mother church. there is hardly a priest comes near me now, and presently they will excommunicate me. and, as i hope for salvation, the church has no more faithful son than me.' i believe he was on the point, forgetting m. de rosny's presence there and his errand, of giving way to unmanly tears, when m. de rambouillet, as if by accident, let the heel of his scabbard fall heavily on the floor. the king started, and passing his hand once or twice across his brow, seemed to recover himself. 'well,' he said, 'no doubt we shall find a way out of our difficulties.' 'if your majesty,' rosny answered respectfully, 'would accept the aid my master proffers, i venture to think that they would vanish the quicker.' 'you think so,' henry rejoined. 'well, give me your shoulder. let us walk a little.' and, signing to rambouillet to leave him, he began to walk up and down with m. de rosny, talking familiarly with him in an undertone. only such scraps of the conversation as fell from them when they turned at my end of the gallery now reached me. patching these together, however, i managed to understand somewhat. at one turn i heard the king say, 'but then turenne offers----' at the next, 'trust him? well, i do not know why i should not. he promises----' then 'a republic, rosny? that his plan? pooh! he dare not. he could not. france is a kingdom by the ordinance of god in my family.' i gathered from these and other chance words, which i have since forgotten, that m. de rosny was pressing the king to accept the help of the king of navarre, and warning him against the insidious offers of the vicomte de turenne. the mention of a republic, however, seemed to excite his majesty's wrath rather against rosny for presuming to refer to such a thing than against turenne, to whom he refused to credit it. he paused near my end of the promenade. 'prove it!' he said angrily. 'but can you prove it? can you prove it? mind you, i will take no hearsay evidence, sir. now, there is turenne's agent here--you did not know, i dare say, that he had an agent here?' 'you refer, sire, to m. de bruhl,' rosny answered, without hesitation. 'i know him, sire.' 'i think you are the devil,' henry answered, looking curiously at him. 'you seem to know most things. but mind you, my friend, he speaks me fairly, and i will not take this on hearsay even from your master. though,' he added after pausing a moment, 'i love him.' 'and he, your majesty. he desires only to prove it.' 'yes, i know, i know,' the king answered fretfully. 'i believe he does. i believe he does wish me well. but there will be a devil of an outcry among my people. and turenne gives fair words too. and i do not know,' he continued, fidgeting with his cup and ball, 'that it might not suit me better to agree with him, you see.' i saw m. de rosny draw himself up. 'dare i speak openly to you, sire,' he said, with less respect and more energy than he had hitherto used. 'as i should to my master?' 'ay, say what you like,' henry answered. but he spoke sullenly, and it seemed to me that he looked less pleasantly at his companion. 'then i will venture to utter what is in your majesty's mind,' my patron answered steadfastly. 'you fear, sire, lest, having accepted my master's offer and conquered your enemies, you should not be easily rid of him.' henry looked relieved! 'do you call that diplomacy?' he said with a smile. 'however, what if it be so? what do you say to it? methinks i have heard an idle tale about a horse which would hunt a stag; and for the purpose set a man upon its back.' 'this i say, sire, first,' rosny answered very earnestly. 'that the king of navarre is popular only with one-third of the kingdom, and is only powerful when united with you. secondly, sire, it is his interest to support the royal power, to which he is heir. and, thirdly, it must be more to your majesty's honour to accept help from a near kinsman than from an ordinary subject, and one who, i still maintain, sire, has no good designs in his mind.' 'the proof?' henry said sharply. 'give me that!' 'i can give it in a week from this day.' 'it must be no idle tale, mind you,' the king continued suspiciously. 'you shall have turenne's designs, sire, from one who had them from his own mouth.' the king looked startled, but after a pause turned and resumed his walk. 'well,' he said, 'if you do that, i on my part----' the rest i lost, for the two passing to the farther end of the gallery, came to a standstill there, balking my curiosity and rambouillet's also. the marquis, indeed, began to betray his impatience, and the great clock immediately over our heads presently striking the half-hour after ten he started and made as if he would have approached the king. he checked the impulse, however, but still continued to fidget uneasily, losing his reserve by-and-by so far as to whisper to me that his majesty would be missed. i had been, up to this point, a silent and inactive spectator of a scene which appealed to my keenest interests and aroused my most ardent curiosity. surprise following surprise, i had begun to doubt my own identity; so little had i expected to find myself first in the presence of the most christian king--and that under circumstances as strange and bizarre as could well be imagined--and then an authorised witness at a negotiation upon which the future of all the great land of france stretching for so many hundred leagues on every side of us, depended. i say i could scarcely believe in my own identity; or that i was the same gaston de marsac who had slunk, shabby and out-at-elbows, about st. jean d'angely. i tasted the first sweetness of secret power, which men say is the sweetest of all and the last relinquished; and, the hum of distant voices and laughter still reaching me at intervals, i began to understand why we had been admitted with so much precaution, and to comprehend the gratification of m. de rosny when the promise of this interview first presented to him the hope of effecting so much for his master and for france. now i was to be drawn into the whirlpool itself. i was still travelling back over the different stages of the adventure which had brought me to this point, when i was rudely awakened by m. de rosny calling my name in a raised voice. seeing, somewhat late, that he was beckoning to me to approach, i went forward in a confused and hasty fashion; kneeling before the king as i had seen him kneel, and then rising to give ear to his majesty's commands. albeit, having expected nothing less than to be called upon, i was not in the clearest mood to receive them. nor was my bearing such as i could have wished it to be. 'm. de rosny tells me that you desire a commission at court, sir,' the king said quickly. 'i, sire?' i stammered, scarcely able to believe my ears. i was so completely taken aback that i could say no more, and i stopped there with my mouth open. 'there are few things i can deny m. de rosny,' henry continued, speaking very rapidly, 'and i am told that you are a gentleman of birth and ability. out of kindness to him, therefore, i grant you a commission to raise twenty men for my service. rambouillet,' he continued, raising his voice slightly, 'you will introduce this gentleman to me publicly to-morrow, that i may carry into effect my intention on his behalf. you may go now, sir. no thanks. and m. de rosny,' he added, turning to my companion and speaking with energy, 'have a care for my sake that you are not recognised as you go. rambouillet must contrive something to enable you to leave without peril. i should be desolated if anything happened to you, my friend, for i could not protect you. i give you my word if mendoza or retz found you in blois i could not save you from them unless you recanted.' 'i will not trouble either your majesty or my conscience,' m. de rosny replied, bowing low, 'if my wits can help me.' 'well, the saints keep you,' the king answered piously, going towards the door by which he had entered; 'for your master and i have both need of you. rambouillet, take care of him as you love me. and come early in the morning to my closet and tell me how it has fared with him.' we all stood bowing while he withdrew, and only turned to retire when the door closed behind him. burning with indignation and chagrin as i was at finding myself disposed of in the way i have described, and pitchforked, whether i would or no, into a service i neither fancied nor desired, i still managed for the present to restrain myself; and, permitting my companions to precede me, followed in silence, listening sullenly to their jubilations. the marquis seemed scarcely less pleased than m. de rosny; and as the latter evinced a strong desire to lessen any jealousy the former might feel, and a generous inclination to attribute to him a full share of the credit gained, i remained the only person dissatisfied with the evening's events. we retired from the château with the same precautions which had marked our entrance, and parting with m. de rambouillet at the door of our lodging--not without many protestations of esteem on his part and of gratitude on that of m. de rosny--mounted to the first-floor in single file and in silence, which i was determined not to be the first to break. doubtless m. de rosny knew my thoughts, for, speedily dismissing maignan and simon, who were in waiting, he turned to me without preface. 'come, my friend,' he said, laying his hand on my shoulder and looking me in the face in a way which all but disarmed me at once, 'do not let us misunderstand one another. you think you have cause to be angry with me. i cannot suffer that, for the king of navarre had never greater need of your services than now.' 'you have played me an unworthy trick, sir,' i answered, thinking he would cozen me with fair speeches. 'tut, tut!' he replied. 'you do not understand.' 'i understand well enough,' i answered, with bitterness, 'that, having done the king of navarre's work, he would now be rid of me.' 'have i not told you,' m. de rosny replied, betraying for the first time some irritation, 'that he has greater need of your services than ever? come, man, be reasonable, or, better still, listen to me.' and turning from me, he began to walk up and down the room, his hands behind him. 'the king of france--i want to make it as clear to you as possible--' he said, 'cannot make head against the league without help, and, willy-nilly, must look for it to the huguenots whom he has so long persecuted. the king of navarre, their acknowledged leader, has offered that help; and so, to spite my master, and prevent a combination so happy for france, has m. de turenne, who would fain raise the faction he commands to eminence, and knows well how to make his profit out of the dissensions of his country. are you clear so far, sir?' i assented. i was becoming absorbed in spite of myself. 'very well,' he resumed. 'this evening--never did anything fall out more happily than rambouillet's meeting with me--he is a good man!--i have brought the king to this: that if proof of the selfish nature of turenne's designs be laid before him he will hesitate no longer. that proof exists. a fortnight ago it was here; but it is not here now.' 'that is unlucky!' i exclaimed. i was so much interested in his story, as well as flattered by the confidence he was placing in me, that my ill-humour vanished. i went and stood with my shoulder against the mantelpiece, and he, passing to and fro between me and the light, continued his tale. 'a word about this proof,' he said. 'it came into the king of navarre's hands before its full value was known to us, for that only accrued to it on m. de guise's death. a month ago it--this piece of evidence i mean--was at chizé. a fortnight or so ago it was here in blois. it is now, m. de marsac,' he continued, facing me suddenly as he came opposite me, 'in my house at rosny.' i started. 'you mean mademoiselle de la vire?' i cried. 'i mean mademoiselle de la vire!' he answered, 'who, some month or two ago, overheard m. de turenne's plans, and contrived to communicate with the king of navarre. before the latter could arrange a private interview, however, m. de turenne got wind of her dangerous knowledge, and swept her off to chizé. the rest you know, m. de marsac, if any man knows it.' 'but what will you do?' i asked. 'she is at rosny.' 'maignan, whom i trust implicitly, as far as his lights go, will start to fetch her to-morrow. at the same hour i start southwards. you, m. de marsac, will remain here as my agent, to watch over my interests, to receive mademoiselle on her arrival, to secure for her a secret interview with the king, to guard her while she remains here. do you understand?' did i understand? i could not find words in which to thank him. my remorse and gratitude, my sense of the wrong i had done him, and of the honour he was doing me, were such that i stood mute before him as i had stood before the king. 'you accept, then?' he said, smiling. 'you do not deem the adventure beneath you, my friend?' 'i deserve your confidence so little, sir,' i answered, stricken to the ground, 'that i beg you to speak, while i listen. by attending exactly to your instructions i may prove worthy of the trust reposed in me. and only so.' he embraced me again and again, with a kindness which moved me almost to tears. 'you are a man after my own heart,' he said, 'and if god wills i will make your fortune. now listen, my friend. to-morrow at court, as a stranger and a man introduced by rambouillet, you will be the cynosure of all eyes. bear yourself bravely. pay court to the women, but attach yourself to no one in particular. keep aloof from retz and the spanish faction, but beware especially of bruhl. he alone will have your secret, and may suspect your design. mademoiselle should be here in a week; while she is with you, and until she has seen the king, trust no one, suspect everyone, fear all things. consider the battle won only when the king says, "i am satisfied."' much more he told me, which served its purpose and has been forgotten. finally he honoured me by bidding me share his pallet with him, that we might talk without restraint, and that if anything occurred to him in the night he might communicate it to me. 'but will not bruhl denounce me as a huguenot?' i asked him. 'he will not dare to do so,' m. de rosny answered, 'both as a huguenot himself, and as his master's representative; and, further, because it would displease the king. no, but whatever secret harm one man can do another, that you have to fear. maignan, when he returns with mademoiselle, will leave two men with you; until they come i should borrow a couple of stout fellows from rambouillet, do not go out alone after dark, and beware of doorways, especially your own.' a little later, when i thought him asleep, i heard him chuckle; and rising on my elbow i asked him what it was. 'oh, it is your affair,' he answered, still laughing silently, so that i felt the mattress shake under him. 'i don't envy you one part of your task, my friend.' 'what is that?' i said suspiciously. 'mademoiselle,' he answered, stilling with difficulty a burst of laughter. and after that he would not say another word, bad, good, or indifferent, though i felt the bed shake more than once, and knew that he was digesting his pleasantry. chapter xvi. in the king's chamber. m. de rosny had risen from my side and started on his journey when i opened my eyes in the morning, and awoke to the memory of the task which had been so strangely imposed upon me; and which might, according as the events of the next fortnight shaped themselves, raise me to high position or put an end to my career. he had not forgotten to leave a souvenir behind him, for i found beside my pillow a handsome silver-mounted pistol, bearing the letter 'r.' and a coronet; nor had i more than discovered this instance of his kindness before simon fleix came in to tell me that m. de rosny had left two hundred crowns in his hands for me. 'any message with it?' i asked the lad. 'only that he had taken a keepsake in exchange,' simon answered, opening the window as he spoke. in some wonder i began to search, but i could not discover that anything was missing until i came to put on my doublet, when i found that the knot of ribbon which mademoiselle had flung to me at my departure from rosny was gone from the inside of the breast, where i had pinned it for safety with a long thorn. the discovery that m. de rosny had taken this was displeasing to me on more than one account. in the first place, whether mademoiselle had merely wished to plague me (as was most probable) or not, i was loth to lose it, my day for ladies' favours being past and gone; in the second, i misdoubted the motive which had led him to purloin it, and tormented myself with thinking of the different constructions he might put upon it, and the disparaging view of my trustworthiness which it might lead him to take. i blamed myself much for my carelessness in leaving it where a chance eye might rest upon it; and more when, questioning simon further, i learned that m. de rosny had added, while mounting at the door, 'tell your master, safe bind, safe find; and a careless lover makes a loose mistress.' i felt my cheek burn in a manner unbecoming my years while simon with some touch of malice repeated this; and i made a vow on the spot, which i kept until i was tempted to break it, to have no more to do with such trifles. meanwhile, i had to make the best of it; and brisking up, and bidding simon, who seemed depressed by the baron's departure, brisk up also, i set about my preparations for making such a figure at court as became me: procuring a black velvet suit, and a cap and feather to match; item, a jewelled clasp to secure the feather; with a yard or two of lace and two changes of fine linen. simon had grown sleek at rosny, and losing something of the wildness which had marked him, presented in the dress m. de rosny had given him a very creditable appearance; being also, i fancy, the only equerry in blois who could write. a groom i engaged on the recommendation of m. de rambouillet's master of the horse; and i gave out also that i required a couple of valets. it needed only an hour under the barber's hands and a set of new trappings for the cid to enable me to make a fair show, such as might be taken to indicate a man of ten or twelve thousand livres a year. in this way i expended a hundred and fifteen crowns. reflecting that this was a large sum, and that i must keep some money for play, i was glad to learn that in the crowded state of the city even men with high rank were putting up with poor lodging; i determined, therefore, to combine economy with a scheme which i had in my head by taking the rooms in which my mother died, with one room below them. this i did, hiring such furniture as i needed, which was not a great deal. to simon fleix, whose assistance in these matters was invaluable, i passed on much of m. de rosny's advice, bidding him ruffle it with the best in his station, and inciting him to labour for my advancement by promising to make his fortune whenever my own should be assured. i hoped, indeed, to derive no little advantage from the quickness of wit which had attracted m. de rosny's attention; although i did not fail to take into account at the same time that the lad was wayward and fitful, prone at one time to depression, and at another to giddiness, and equally uncertain in either mood. m. de rambouillet being unable to attend the _levée_, had appointed me to wait upon him at six in the evening; at which hour i presented myself at his lodgings, attended by simon fleix. i found him in the midst of half a dozen gentlemen whose habit it was to attend him upon all public occasions; and these gallants, greeting me with the same curious and suspicious glances which i have seen hounds bestow on a strange dog introduced into their kennel, i was speedily made to feel that it is one thing to have business at court, and another to be well received there. m. de rambouillet, somewhat to my surprise, did nothing to remove this impression. on all ordinary occasions a man of stiff and haughty bearing, and thoroughly disliking, though he could not prevent, the intrusion of a third party into a transaction which promised an infinity of credit, he received me so coldly and with so much reserve as for the moment to dash my spirits and throw me back on myself. during the journey to the castle, however, which we performed on foot, attended by half a dozen armed servants bearing torches, i had time to recall m. de rosny's advice, and to bethink me of the intimacy which that great man had permitted me; with so much effect in the way of heartening me, that as we crossed the courtyard of the castle i advanced myself, not without some murmuring on the part of others, to rambouillet's elbow, considering that as i was attached to him by the king's command, this was my proper place. i had no desire to quarrel, however, and persisted for some time in disregarding the nudges and muttered words which were exchanged round me, and even the efforts which were made as we mounted the stairs to oust me from my position. but a young gentleman, who showed himself very forward in these attempts, presently stumbling against me, i found it necessary to look at him. 'sir,' he said, in a small and lisping voice, 'you trod on my toe.' though i had not done so, i begged his pardon very politely. but as his only acknowledgment of this courtesy consisted in an attempt to get his knee in front of mine--we were mounting very slowly, the stairs being cumbered with a multitude of servants, who stood on either hand--i did tread on his toe, with a force and directness which made him cry out. 'what is the matter?' rambouillet asked, looking back hastily. 'nothing, m. le marquis,' i answered, pressing on steadfastly. 'sir,' my young friend said again, in the same lisping voice, 'you trod on my toe.' 'i believe i did, sir,' i answered. 'you have not yet apologised,' he murmured gently in my ear. 'nay, there you are wrong,' i rejoined bluntly, 'for it is always my habit to apologise first and tread afterwards.' he smiled as at a pleasant joke; and i am bound to say that his bearing was so admirable that if he had been my son i could have hugged him. 'good!' he answered. 'no doubt your sword is as sharp as your wits, sir. i see,' he continued, glancing naïvely at my old scabbard--he was himself the very gem of a courtier, a slender youth with a pink-and-white complexion, a dark line for a moustache, and a pearl-drop in his ear--'it is longing to be out. perhaps you will take a turn in the tennis-court to-morrow?' 'with pleasure, sir,' i answered, 'if you have a father, or your elder brother is grown up.' what answer he would have made to this gibe i do not know, for at that moment we reached the door of the antechamber; and this being narrow, and a sentry in the grey uniform of the swiss guard compelling all to enter in single file, my young friend was forced to fall back, leaving me free to enter alone, and admire at my leisure a scene at once brilliant and sombre. the court being in mourning for the queen-mother, black predominated in the dresses of those present, and set off very finely the gleaming jewels and gemmed sword-hilts which were worn by the more important personages. the room was spacious and lofty, hung with arras, and lit by candles burning in silver sconces; it rang as we entered with the shrill screaming of a parrot, which was being teased by a group occupying the farther of the two hearths. near them play was going on at one table, and primero at a second. in a corner were three or four ladies, in a circle about a red-faced, plebeian-looking man, who was playing at forfeits with one of their number; while the middle of the room seemed dominated by a middle-sized man with a peculiarly inflamed and passionate countenance, who, seated on a table, was inveighing against someone or something in the most violent terms, his language being interlarded with all kinds of strange and forcible oaths. two or three gentlemen, who had the air of being his followers, stood about him, listening between submission and embarrassment; while beside the nearer fireplace, but at some distance from him, lounged a nobleman, very richly dressed, and wearing on his breast the cross of the holy ghost; who seemed to be the object of his invective, but affecting to ignore it was engaged in conversation with a companion. a bystander muttering that crillon had been drinking, i discovered with immense surprise that the declaimer on the table was that famous soldier; and i was still looking at him in wonder--for i had been accustomed all my life to associate courage with modesty---when, the door of the chamber suddenly opening, a general movement in that direction took place. crillon, disregarding all precedency, sprang from his table and hurried first to the threshold. the baron de biron, on the other hand--for the gentleman by the fire was no other--waited, in apparent ignorance of the slight which was being put upon him, until m. de rambouillet came up; then he went forward with him. keeping close to my patron's elbow, i entered the chamber immediately behind him. crillon had already seized upon the king, and, when we entered, was stating his grievance in a voice not much lower than that which he had used outside. m. de biron, seeing this, parted from the marquis, and, going aside with his former companion, sat down on a trunk against the wall; while rambouillet, followed by myself and three or four gentlemen of his train, advanced to the king, who was standing near the alcove. his majesty seeing him, and thankful, i think, for the excuse, waved crillon off. 'tut, tut! you told me all that this morning,' he said good-naturedly. 'and here is rambouillet, who has, i hope, something fresh to tell. let him speak to me. sanctus! don't look at me as if you would run me through, man. go and quarrel with someone of your own size.' crillon at this retired grumbling, and henry, who had just risen from primero with the duke of nevers, nodded to rambouillet. 'well, my friend, anything fresh?' he cried. he was more at his ease and looked more cheerful than at our former interview; yet still care and suspicion lurked about his peevish mouth, and in the hollows under his gloomy eyes. 'a new guest, a new face, or a new game--which have you brought?' 'in a sense, sire, a new face,' the marquis answered, bowing, and standing somewhat aside that i might have place. 'well, i cannot say much for the pretty baggage,' quoth the king quickly. and amid a general titter he extended his hand to me. 'i'll be sworn, though,' he continued, as i rose from my knee, 'that you want something, my friend?' 'nay, sire,' i answered, holding up my head boldly--for cillon's behaviour had been a further lesson to me--'i have, by your leave, the advantage. for your majesty has supplied me with a new jest. i see many new faces round me, and i have need only of a new game. if your majesty would be pleased to grant me----' 'there! said i not so?' cried the king, raising his hand with a laugh. 'he does want something. but he seems not undeserving. what does he pray, rambouillet?' 'a small command,' m. de rambouillet answered, readily playing his part. 'and your majesty would oblige me if you could grant the sieur de marsac's petition. i will answer for it he is a man of experience. 'chut! a small command?' henry ejaculated, sitting down suddenly in apparent ill-humour. 'it is what everyone wants--when they do not want big ones. still, i suppose,' he continued, taking up a comfit-box, which lay beside him, and opening it, 'if you do not get what you want for him you will sulk like the rest, my friend.' 'your majesty has never had cause to complain of me,' quoth the marquis, forgetting his _rôle_, or too proud to play it. 'tut, tut, tut, tut! take it, and trouble me no more,' the king rejoined. 'will pay for twenty men do for him? very well then. there, m. de marsac,' he continued, nodding at me and yawning, 'your request is granted. you will find some other pretty baggages over there. go to them. and now, rambouillet,' he went on, resuming his spirits as he turned to matters of more importance, 'here is a new sweetmeat zamet has sent me. i have made zizi sick with it. will you try it? it is flavoured with white mulberries.' thus dismissed, i fell back; and stood for a moment, at a loss whither to turn, in the absence of either friends or acquaintances. his majesty, it is true, had bidden me go to certain pretty baggages, meaning, apparently, five ladies who were seated at the farther end of the room, diverting themselves with as many cavaliers; but the compactness of this party, the beauty of the ladies, and the merry peals of laughter which proceeded from them, telling of a wit and vivacity beyond the ordinary, sapped the resolution which had borne me well hitherto. i felt that to attack such a phalanx, even with a king's good will, was beyond the daring of a crillon, and i looked round to see whether i could not amuse myself in some more modest fashion. the material was not lacking. crillon, still mouthing out his anger, strode up and down in front of the trunk on which m. de biron was seated; but the latter was, or affected to be, asleep. 'crillon is for ever going into rages now,' a courtier beside me whispered. 'yes,' his fellow answered, with a shrug of the shoulder; 'it is a pity there is no one to tame him. but he has such a long reach, morbleu!' 'it is not that so much as the fellow's fury,' the first speaker rejoined under his breath. 'he fights like a mad thing; fencing is no use against him.' the other nodded. for a moment the wild idea of winning renown by taming m. de crillon occurred to me as i stood alone in the middle of the floor; but it had not more than passed through my brain when i felt my elbow touched, and turned to find the young gentleman whom i had encountered on the stairs standing by my side. 'sir,' he lisped, in the same small voice, 'i think you trod on my toe a while ago?' i stared at him, wondering what he meant by this absurd repetition. 'well, sir,' i answered drily, 'and if i did?' 'perhaps,' he said, stroking his chin with his jewelled fingers, 'pending our meeting to-morrow, you would allow me to consider it as a kind of introduction?' 'if it please you,' i answered, bowing stiffly, and wondering what he would be at. 'thank you,' he answered. 'it does please me, under the circumstances; for there is a lady here who desires a word with you. i took up her challenge. will you follow me?' he bowed, and turned in his languid fashion. i, turning too, saw, with secret dismay, that the five ladies, referred to above, were all now gazing at me, as expecting my approach; and this with such sportive glances as told only too certainly of some plot already in progress or some trick to be presently played me. yet i could not see that i had any choice save to obey, and, following my leader with as much dignity as i could compass, i presently found myself bowing before the lady who sat nearest, and who seemed to be the leader of these nymphs. 'nay, sir,' she said, eyeing me curiously, yet with a merry face, 'i do not need you; i do not look so high!' turning in confusion to the next, i was surprised to see before me the lady whose lodging i had invaded in my search for mademoiselle de la vire--she, i mean, who, having picked up the velvet knot, had dropped it so providentially where simon fleix found it. she looked at me, blushing and laughing, and the young gentleman, who had done her errand, presenting me by name, she asked me, while the others listened, whether i had found my mistress. before i could answer, the lady to whom i had first addressed myself interposed. 'stop, sir!' she cried. 'what is this--a tale, a jest, a game, or a forfeit?' 'an adventure, madam,' i answered, bowing low. 'of gallantry, i'll be bound,' she exclaimed. 'fie, madame de bruhl, and you but six months married!' madame de bruhl protested, laughing, that she had no more to do with it than mercury. 'at the worst,' she said, 'i carried the _poulets!_ but i can assure you, duchess, this gentleman should be able to tell us a very fine story, if he would.' the duchess and all the other ladies clapping their hands at this, and crying out that the story must and should be told, i found myself in a prodigious quandary; and one wherein my wits derived as little assistance as possible from the bright eyes and saucy looks which environed me. moreover, the commotion attracting other listeners, i found my position, while i tried to extricate myself, growing each moment worse, so that i began to fear that as i had little imagination i should perforce have to tell the truth. the mere thought of this threw me into a cold perspiration, lest i should let slip something of consequence, and prove myself unworthy of the trust which m. de rosny had reposed in me. at the moment when, despairing of extricating myself, i was stooping over madame de bruhl begging her to assist me, i heard, amid the babel of laughter and raillery which surrounded me--certain of the courtiers having already formed hands in a circle and sworn i should not depart without satisfying the ladies--a voice which struck a chord in my memory. i turned to see who the speaker was, and encountered no other than m. de bruhl himself; who, with a flushed and angry face, was listening to the explanation which a friend was pouring into his ear. standing at the moment with my knee on madame de bruhl's stool, and remembering very well the meeting on the stairs, i conceived in a flash that the man was jealous; but whether he had yet heard my name, or had any clew to link me with the person who had rescued mademoiselle de la vire from his clutches, i could not tell. nevertheless his presence led my thoughts into a new channel. the determination to punish him began to take form in my mind, and very quickly i regained my composure. still i was for giving him one chance. accordingly i stooped once more to madame de bruhl's ear, and begged her to spare me the embarrassment of telling my tale. but then, finding her pitiless, as i expected, and the rest of the company growing more and more insistent, i hardened my heart to go through with the fantastic notion which had occurred to me. indicating by a gesture that i was prepared to obey, and the duchess crying for a hearing, this was presently obtained, the sudden silence adding the king himself to my audience. 'what is it?' he asked, coming up effusively, with a lap-dog in his arms. 'a new scandal, eh?' 'no, sire, a new tale-teller,' the duchess answered pertly. 'if your majesty will sit, we shall hear him the sooner.' he pinched her ear and sat down in the chair which a page presented. 'what? is it rambouillet's _grison_ again?' he said with some surprise. 'well, fire away, man. but who brought you forward as a rabelais?' there was a general cry of 'madame de bruhl!' whereat that lady shook her fair hair about her face, and cried out for someone to bring her a mask. 'ha, i see!' said the king drily, looking pointedly at m. de bruhl, who was as black as thunder. 'but go on, man.' the king's advent, by affording me a brief respite, had enabled me to collect my thoughts, and, disregarding the ribald interruptions, which at first were frequent, i began as follows: 'i am no rabelais, sire,' i said, 'but droll things happen to the most unlikely. once upon a time it was the fortune of a certain swain, whom i will call dromio, to arrive in a town not a hundred miles from blois, having in his company a nymph of great beauty, who had been entrusted to his care by her parents. he had not more than lodged her in his apartments, however, before she was decoyed away by a trick, and borne off against her will by a young gallant, who had seen her and been smitten by her charms. dromio, returning, and finding his mistress gone, gave way to the most poignant grief. he ran up and down the city, seeking her in every place, and filling all places with his lamentations; but for a time in vain, until chance led him to a certain street, where, in an almost incredible manner, he found a clew to her by discovering underfoot a knot of velvet, bearing phyllida's name wrought on it in delicate needlework, with the words, "a moi!"' 'sanctus!' cried the king, amid a general murmur of surprise, 'that is well devised! proceed, sir. go on like that, and we will make your twenty men twenty-five.' 'dromio,' i continued, 'at sight of this trifle experienced the most diverse emotions, for while he possessed in it a clew to his mistress's fate, he had still to use it so as to discover the place whither she had been hurried. it occurred to him at last to begin his search with the house before which the knot had lain. ascending accordingly to the second-floor, he found there a fair lady reclining on a couch, who started up in affright at his appearance. he hastened to reassure her, and to explain the purpose of his coming, and learned after a conversation with which i will not trouble your majesty, though it was sufficiently diverting, that the lady had found the velvet knot in another part of the town, and had herself dropped it again in front of her own house.' 'pourquoi?' the king asked, interrupting me. 'the swain, sire,' i answered, 'was too much taken up with his own troubles to bear that in mind, even if he learned it. but this delicacy did not save him from misconception, for as he descended from the lady's apartment he met her husband on the stairs.' 'good!' the king exclaimed, rubbing his hands in glee. 'the husband!' and under cover of the gibe and the courtly laugh which followed it m. de bruhl's start of surprise passed unnoticed save by me. 'the husband,' i resumed, 'seeing a stranger descending his staircase, was for stopping him and learning the reason of his presence; but dromio, whose mind was with phyllida, refused to stop, and, evading his questions, hurried to the part of the town where the lady had told him she found the velvet knot. here, sire, at the corner of a lane running between garden-walls, he found a great house, barred and gloomy, and well adapted to the abductor's purpose. moreover, scanning it on every side, he presently discovered, tied about the bars of an upper window, a knot of white linen, the very counterpart of that velvet one which he bore in his breast. thus he knew that the nymph was imprisoned in that room!' 'i will make, it twenty-five, as i am a good churchman!' his majesty exclaimed, dropping the little dog he was nursing into the duchess's lap, and taking out his comfit-box. 'rambouillet,' he added languidly, 'your friend is a treasure!' i bowed my acknowledgments, and took occasion as i did so to step a pace aside, so as to command a view of madame de bruhl, as well as her husband. hitherto madame, willing to be accounted a part in so pretty a romance, and ready enough also, unless i was mistaken, to cause her husband a little mild jealousy, had listened to the story with a certain sly demureness. but this i foresaw would not last long; and i felt something like compunction as the moment for striking the blow approached. but i had now no choice. 'the best is yet to come, sire,' i went on, 'as i think you will acknowledge in a moment. dromio, though he had discovered his mistress, was still in the depths of despair. he wandered round and round the house, seeking ingress and finding none, until at length, sunset approaching, and darkness redoubling his fears for the nymph, fortune took pity on him. as he stood in front of the house he saw the abductor come out, lighted by two servants. judge of his surprise, sire,' i continued, looking round and speaking slowly, to give full effect to my words, 'when he recognised in him no other than the husband of the lady who, by picking up and again dropping the velvet knot, had contributed so much to the success of his search!' 'ha! these husbands!' cried the king. and slapping his knee in an ecstasy at his own acuteness, he laughed in his seat till he rolled again. 'these husbands! did i not say so?' the whole court gave way to like applause, and clapped their hands as well, so that few save those who stood nearest took notice of madame de bruhl's faint cry, and still fewer understood why she rose up suddenly from her stool and stood gazing at her husband with burning cheeks and clenched hands. she took no heed of me, much less of the laughing crowd round her, but looked only at him with her soul in her eyes. he, after uttering one hoarse curse, seemed to have no thought for any but me. to have the knowledge that his own wife had baulked him brought home to him in this mocking fashion, to find how little a thing had tripped him that day, to learn how blindly he had played into the hands of fate, above all to be exposed at once to his wife's resentment and the ridicule of the court--for he could not be sure that i should not the next moment disclose his name--all so wrought on him that for a moment i thought he would strike me in the presence. his rage, indeed, did what i had not meant to do. for the king, catching sight of his face, and remembering that madame de bruhl had elicited the story, screamed suddenly, 'haro!' and pointed ruthlessly at him with his finger. after that i had no need to speak, the story leaping from eye to eye, and every eye settling on bruhl, who sought in vain to compose his features. madame, who surpassed him, as women commonly do surpass men, in self-control, was the first to recover herself, and sitting down as quickly as she had risen, confronted alike her husband and her rivals with a pale smile. for a moment curiosity and excitement kept all breathless, the eye alone busy. then the king laughed mischievously. 'come, m. de bruhl,' he cried, 'perhaps you will finish the tale for us?' and he threw himself back in his chair, a sneer on his lips. 'or why not madame de bruhl?' said the duchess, with her head on one side and her eyes glittering over her fan. 'madame would, i am sure, tell it so well.' but madame only shook her head, smiling always that forced smile. for bruhl himself, glaring from face to face like a bull about to charge, i have never seen a man more out of countenance, or more completely brought to bay. his discomposure, exposed as he was to the ridicule of all present, was such that the presence in which he stood scarcely hindered him from some violent attack; and his eyes, which had wandered from me at the king's word, presently returning to me again, he so far forgot himself as to raise his hand furiously, uttering at the same time a savage oath. the king cried out angrily, 'have a care, sir!' but bruhl only heeded this so far as to thrust aside those who stood round him and push his way hurriedly through the circle. 'arnidieu!' cried the king, when he was gone. 'this is fine conduct! i have half a mind to send after him and have him put where his hot blood would cool a little. or----' he stopped abruptly, his eyes resting on me. the relative positions of bruhl and myself as the agents of rosny and turenne occurred to him for the first time, i think, and suggested the idea, perhaps, that i had laid a trap for him, and that he had fallen into it. at any rate his face grew darker and darker, and at last, 'a nice kettle of fish this is you have prepared for us, sir!' he muttered, gazing at me gloomily. the sudden change in his humour took even courtiers by surprise. faces a moment before broad with smiles grew long again. the less important personages looked uncomfortably at one another, and with one accord frowned on me. 'if your majesty would please to hear the end of the story at another time?' i suggested humbly, beginning to wish with all my heart that i had never said a word. 'chut!' he answered, rising, his face still betraying his perturbation. 'well, be it so. for the present you may go, sir. duchess, give me zizi, and come to my closet. i want you to see my puppies. retz, my good friend, do you come too. i have something to say to you. gentlemen, you need not wait. it is likely i shall be late.' and, with the utmost abruptness, he broke up the circle. chapter xvii. the jacobin monk. had i needed any reminder of the uncertainty of court favour, or an instance whence i might learn the lesson of modesty, and so stand in less danger of presuming on my new and precarious prosperity, i had it in this episode, and in the demeanour of the company round me. on the circle breaking up in confusion, i found myself the centre of general regard, but regard of so dubious a character, the persons who would have been the first to compliment me had the king retired earlier, standing farthest aloof now, that i felt myself rather insulted than honoured by it. one or two, indeed, of the more cautious spirits did approach me; but it was with the air of men providing against a danger particularly remote, their half-hearted speeches serving only to fix them in my memory as belonging to a class, especially abhorrent to me--the class, i mean, of those who would run at once with the hare and the hounds. i was rejoiced to find that on one person, and that the one whose disposition towards me was, next to the king's, of first importance, this episode had produced a different impression. feeling, as i made for the door, a touch on my arm, i turned to find m. de rambouillet at my elbow, regarding me with a glance of mingled esteem and amusement; in fine, with a very different look from that which had been my welcome earlier in the evening. i was driven to suppose that he was too great a man, or too sure of his favour with the king, to be swayed by the petty motives which actuated the court generally, for he laid his hand familiarly on my shoulder, and walked on beside me. 'well, my friend,' he said,' you have distinguished yourself finely! i do not know that i ever remember a pretty woman making more stir in one evening. but if you are wise you will not go home alone to-night.' 'i have my sword, m. le marquis,' i answered, somewhat proudly. 'which will avail you little against a knife in the back!' he retorted drily. 'what attendance have you?' 'my equerry, simon fleix, is on the stairs.' 'good, so far, but not enough,' he replied, as we reached the head of the staircase. 'you had better come home with me now, and two or three of my fellows shall go on to your lodging with you. do you know, my friend,' he continued, looking at me keenly, 'you are either a very clever or a very foolish man?' i made answer modestly. 'neither the one, i fear, nor the other, i hope, sir,' i said. 'well, you have done a very pertinent thing,' he replied, 'for good or evil. you have let the enemy know what he has to expect, and he is not one, i warn you, to be despised. but whether you have been very wise or very foolish in declaring open war remains to be seen.' 'a week will show,' i answered. he turned and looked at me. 'you take it coolly,' he said. 'i have been knocking about the world for forty years, marquis,' i rejoined. he muttered something about rosny having a good eye, and then stopped to adjust his cloak. we were by this time in the street. making me go hand in hand with him, he requested the other gentlemen to draw their swords; and the servants being likewise armed and numbering half a score or more, with pikes and torches, we made up a very formidable party, and caused, i think, more alarm as we passed, through the streets to rambouillet's lodging than we had any reason to feel. not that we had it all to ourselves, for the attendance at court that evening being large, and the circle breaking up as i have described more abruptly than usual, the vicinity of the castle was in a ferment, and the streets leading from it were alive with the lights and laughter of parties similar to our own. at the door of the marquis's lodging i prepared to take leave of him with many expressions of gratitude, but he would have me enter and sit down with him to a light refection, which it was his habit to take before retiring. two of his gentlemen sat down with us, and a valet, who was in his confidence, waiting on us, we made very merry over the scene in the presence. i learned that m. de bruhl was far from popular at court; but being known to possess some kind of hold over the king, and enjoying besides a great reputation for recklessness and skill with the sword, he had played a high part for a length of time, and attached to himself, especially since the death of guise, a considerable number of followers. 'the truth is,' one of the marquis's gentlemen, who was a little heated with wine, observed, 'there is nothing at this moment which a bold and unscrupulous man may not win in france!' 'nor a bold and christian gentleman for france!' replied m. de rambouillet with some asperity. 'by the way,' he continued, turning abruptly to the servant, 'where is m. françois?' the valet answered that he had not returned with us from the castle. the marquis expressed himself annoyed at this, and i gathered, firstly, that the missing man was his near kinsman, and, secondly, that he was also the young spark who had been so forward to quarrel with me earlier in the evening. determining to refer the matter, should it become pressing, to rambouillet for adjustment, i took leave of him, and attended by two of his servants, whom he kindly transferred to my service for the present, i started towards my lodging a little before midnight. the moon had risen while we were at supper, and its light, which whitened the gables on one side of the street, diffused a glimmer below sufficient to enable us to avoid the kennel. seeing this, i bade the men put out our torch. frost had set in, and a keen wind was blowing, so that we were glad to hurry on at a good pace; and the streets being quite deserted at this late hour, or haunted only by those who had come to dread the town marshal, we met no one and saw no lights. i fell to thinking, for my part, of the evening i had spent searching blois for mademoiselle, and of the difference between then and now. nor did i fail while on this track to retrace it still farther to the evening of our arrival at my mother's; whence, as a source, such kindly and gentle thoughts welled up in my mind as were natural, and the unfailing affection of that gracious woman required. these, taking the place for the moment of the anxious calculations and stern purposes which had of late engrossed me, were only ousted by something which, happening under my eyes, brought me violently and abruptly to myself. this was the sudden appearance of three men, who issued one by one from an alley a score of yards in front of us, and after pausing a second to look back the way they had come, flitted on in single file along the street, disappearing, as far as the darkness permitted me to judge, round a second corner. i by no means liked their appearance, and as a scream and the clash of arms rang out next moment from the direction in which they had gone, i cried lustily to simon fleix to follow, and ran on, believing from the rascals' movements that they were after no good, but that rather some honest man was like to be sore beset. on reaching the lane down which they had plunged, however, i paused a moment, considering not so much its blackness, which was intense, the eaves nearly meeting overhead, as the small chance i had of distinguishing between attackers and attacked. but simon and the men overtaking me, and the sounds of a sharp tussle still continuing, i decided to venture, and plunged into the alley, my left arm well advanced, with the skirt of my cloak thrown over it, and my sword drawn back. i shouted as i ran, thinking that the knaves might desist on hearing me; and this was what happened, for as i arrived on the scene of action--the farther end of the alley--two men took to their heels, while of two who remained, one lay at length in the kennel, and another rose slowly from his knees. 'you are just in time, sir,' the latter said, breathing hard, but speaking with a preciseness which sounded familiar. 'i am obliged to you, sir, whoever you are. the villains had got me down, and in a few minutes more would have made my mother childless. by the way, you have no light, have you?' he continued, lisping like a woman. one of m. de rambouillet's men, who had by this time come up, cried out that it was monsieur françois. 'yes, blockhead!' the young gentleman answered with the utmost coolness. 'but i asked for a light, not for my name.' 'i trust you are not hurt, sir?' i said, putting up my sword. 'scratched only,' he answered, betraying no surprise on learning who it was had come up so opportunely; as he no doubt did learn from my voice, for he continued with a bow, 'a slight price to pay for the knowledge that m. de marsac is as forward on the field as on the stairs.' i bowed my acknowledgments. 'this fellow,' i said, 'is he much hurt?' 'tut, tut! i thought i had saved the marshal all trouble,' m. françois replied. 'is he not dead, gil?' the poor wretch made answer for himself, crying out piteously and in a choking voice, for a priest to shrive him. at that moment simon fleix returned with our torch, which he had lighted at the nearest cross-streets, where there was a brazier, and we saw by this light that the man was coughing up blood, and might live perhaps half an hour. 'mordieu! that comes of thrusting too high!' m. françois muttered, regretfully. 'an inch lower, and there would have been none of this trouble! i suppose somebody must fetch one. gil,' he continued, 'run, man, to the sacristy in the rue st. denys, and get a father. or--stay! help to lift him under the lee of the wall there. the wind cuts like a knife here.' the street being on the slope of the hill, the lower part of the house nearest us stood a few feet from the ground, on wooden piles, and the space underneath it, being enclosed at the back and sides, was used as a cart-house. the servants moved the dying man into this rude shelter, and i accompanied them, being unwilling to leave the young gentleman alone. not wishing, however, to seem to interfere, i walked to the farther end, and sat down on the shaft of a cart, whence i idly admired the strange aspect of the group i had left, as the glare of the torch brought now one and now another into prominence, and sometimes shone on m. françois' jewelled fingers toying with his tiny moustache, and sometimes on the writhing features of the man at his feet. on a sudden, and before gil had started on his errand, i saw there was a priest among them. i had not seen him enter, nor had i any idea whence he came. my first impression was only that here was a priest, and that he was looking at me--not at the man craving his assistance on the floor, or at those who stood round him, but at me, who sat away in the shadow beyond the ring of light! this was surprising; but a second glance explained it, for then i saw that he was the jacobin monk who had haunted my mother's dying hours. and, amazed as much at this strange _rencontre_, as at the man's boldness, i sprang up and strode forwards, forgetting, in an impulse of righteous anger, the office he came to do. and this the more as his face, still turned to me, seemed instinct to my eyes with triumphant malice. as i moved towards him, however, with a fierce exclamation on my lips, he suddenly dropped his eyes and knelt. immediately m. françois cried 'hush!' and the men turned to me with scandalised faces. i fell back. yet even then, whispering on his knees by the dying man, the knave was thinking, i felt sure, of me, glorying at once in his immunity and the power it gave him to tantalise me without fear. i determined, whatever the result, to intercept him when all was over; and on the man dying a few minutes later, i walked resolutely to the open side of the shed, thinking it likely he might try to slip away as mysteriously as he had come. he stood a moment speaking to m. françois, however, and then, accompanied by him, advanced boldly to meet me, a lean smile on his face. 'father antoine,' m. d'agen said politely, 'tells me that he knows you, m. de marsac, and desires to speak to you, _mal-à-propos_ as is the occasion.' 'and i to him,' i answered, trembling with rage, and only restraining by an effort the impulse which would have had me dash my hand in the priest's pale, smirking face. 'i have waited i long for this moment,' i continued, eyeing him steadily, as m. françois withdrew out of hearing, 'and had you tried to avoid me, i would have dragged you back, though all your tribe were here to protect you.' his presence so maddened me that i scarcely knew what i said. i felt my breath come quickly, i felt the blood surge to my head, and it was with difficulty i restrained myself when he answered with well-affected sanctity, 'like mother, like son, i fear,' sir. huguenots both.' i choked with rage. 'what!' i said, 'you dare to threaten me as you threatened my mother? fool! know that only to-day for the purpose of discovering and punishing you i took the rooms in which my mother died.' 'i know it,' he answered quietly. and then in a second, as by magic, he altered his demeanour completely, raising his head and looking me in the face. 'that, and so much besides, i know,' he continued, giving me, to my astonishment, frown for frown, 'that if you will listen to me for a moment, m. de marsac, and listen quietly, i will convince you that the folly is not on my side.' amazed at his new manner, in which there was none of the madness that had marked him at our first meeting, but a strange air of authority, unlike anything i had associated with him before, i signed to him to proceed. 'you think that i am in your power?' he said, smiling. 'i think,' i retorted swiftly, 'that, escaping me now, you will have at your heels henceforth a worse enemy than even your own sins.' 'just so,' he answered, nodding. 'well, i am going to show you that the reverse is the case; and that you are as completely in my hands, to spare or to break, as this straw. in the first place, you are here in blois, a huguenot!' 'chut!' i exclaimed contemptuously, affecting a confidence i was far from feeling. 'a little while back that might have availed you. but we are in blois, not paris. it is not far to the loire, and you have to deal with a man now, not with a woman. it is you who have cause to tremble, not i.' 'you think to be protected,' he answered with a sour smile, 'even on this side of the loire, i see. but one word to the pope's legate, or to the duke of nevers, and you would see the inside of a dungeon, if not worse. for the king----' 'king or no king!' i answered, interrupting him with more assurance than i felt, seeing that i remembered only too well henry's remark that rosny must not look to him for protection, 'i fear you not a whit! and that reminds me. i have heard you talk treason--rank, black treason, priest, as ever sent man to rope, and i will give you up. by heaven i will!' i cried, my rage increasing, as i discerned, more and more clearly, the dangerous hold he had over me. 'you have threatened me! one word, and i will send you to the gallows!' 'sh!' he answered, indicating m. françois by a gesture of the hand. 'for your own sake, not mine. this is fine talking, but you have not yet heard all i know. would you like to hear how you have spent the last month? two days after christmas, m. de marsac, you left chizé with a young lady--i can give you her name, if you please. four days afterwards you reached blois, and took her to your mother's lodging. next morning she left you for m. de bruhl. two days later you tracked her to a house in the ruelle d'arcy, and freed her, but lost her in the moment of victory. then you stayed in blois until your mother's death, going a day or two later to m. de rosny's house by mantes, where mademoiselle still is. yesterday you arrived in blois with m. de rosny; you went to his lodging; you----' 'proceed, sir,' i muttered, leaning forward. under cover of my cloak i drew my dagger half-way from its sheath. 'proceed, sir, i pray,' i repeated with dry lips. 'you slept there,' he continued, holding his ground, but shuddering slightly, either from cold or because he perceived my movement and read my design in my eyes. 'this morning you remained here in attendance on m. de rambouillet.' for the moment i breathed freely again, perceiving that though he knew much, the one thing on which m. de rosny's design turned had escaped him. the secret interview with the king, which compromised alike henry himself and m. de rambouillet, had apparently passed unnoticed and unsuspected. with a sigh of intense relief i slid back the dagger, which i had fully made up my mind to use had he known all, and drew my cloak round me with a shrug of feigned indifference. i sweated to think what he did know, but our interview with the king having escaped him, i breathed again. 'well, sir,' i said curtly, 'i have listened. and now, what is the purpose of all this?' 'my purpose?' he answered, his eyes glittering. 'to show you that you are in my power. you are the agent of m. de rosny. i, the agent, however humble, of the holy catholic league. of your movements i know all. what do you know of mine?' 'knowledge,' i made grim answer, 'is not everything, sir priest.' 'it is more than it was,' he said, smiling his thin-lipped smile. 'it is going to be more than it is. and i know much--about you, m. de marsac.' 'you know too much!' i retorted, feeling his covert threats close round me like the folds of some great serpent. 'but you are imprudent, i think. will you tell me what is to prevent me striking you through where you stand, and ridding myself at a blow of so much knowledge?' 'the presence of three men, m. de marsac,' he answered lightly, waving his hand towards m. françois and the others, 'every one of whom would give you up to justice. you forget that you are north of the loire, and that priests are not to be massacred here with impunity, as in your lawless south-country. however, enough. the night is cold, and m. d'agen grows suspicious as well as impatient. we have, perhaps, spoken too long already. permit me'--he bowed and drew back a step--'to resume this discussion to-morrow.' despite his politeness and the hollow civility with which he thus sought to close the interview, the light of triumph which shone in his eyes, as the glare of the torch fell athwart them, no less than the assured tone of his voice, told me clearly that he knew his power. he seemed, indeed, transformed: no longer a slinking, peaceful clerk, preying on a woman's fears, but a bold and crafty schemer, skilled and unscrupulous, possessed of hidden knowledge and hidden resources; the personification of evil intellect. for a moment, knowing all i knew, and particularly the responsibilities which lay before me, and the interests committed to my hands, i quailed, confessing myself unequal to him. i forgot the righteous vengeance i owed him; i cried out helplessly against the ill-fortune which had brought him across my path. i saw myself enmeshed and fettered beyond hope of escape, and by an effort only controlled the despair i felt. 'to-morrow?' i muttered hoarsely. 'at what time?' he shook his head with a cunning smile. 'a thousand thanks, but i will settle that myself!' he answered. 'au revoir!' and muttering a word of leave-taking to m. françois d'agen, he blessed the two servants, and went out into the night. chapter xviii. the offer of the league. when the last sound of his footsteps died away, i awoke as from an evil dream, and becoming conscious of the presence of m. françois and the servants, recollected mechanically that i owed the former an apology for my discourtesy in keeping him standing in the cold. i began to offer it; but my distress and confusion of mind were such that in the middle of a set phrase i broke off, and stood looking fixedly at him, my trouble so plain that he asked me civilly if anything ailed me. 'no,' i answered, turning from him impatiently; 'nothing, nothing, sir. or tell me,' i continued, with an abrupt change of mind, 'who is that who has just left us?' 'father antoine, do you mean?' 'ay, father antoine, father judas, call him what you like,' i rejoined bitterly. 'then if you leave the choice to me,' m. françois answered with grave politeness, 'i would rather call him something more pleasant, m. de marsac--james or john, let us say. for there is little said here which does not come back to him. if walls have ears, the walls of blois are in his pay. but i thought you knew him,' he continued. 'he is secretary, confidant, chaplain, what you will, to cardinal retz, and one of those whom--in your ear--greater men court and more powerful men lean on. if i had to choose between them, i would rather cross m. de crillon.' 'i am obliged to you,' i muttered, checked as much by his manner as his words. 'not at all,' he answered more lightly. 'any information i have is at your disposal.' however, i saw the imprudence of venturing farther, and hastened to take leave of him, persuading him to allow one of m. de rambouillet's servants to accompany him home. he said that he should call on me in the morning; and forcing myself to answer him in a suitable manner, i saw him depart one way, and myself, accompanied by simon fleix, went off another. my feet were frozen with long standing--i think the corpse we left was scarce colder--but my head was hot with feverish doubts and fears. the moon had sunk and the streets were dark. our torch had burned out, and we had no light. but where my followers saw only blackness and vacancy, i saw an evil smile and a lean visage fraught with menace and exultation. for the more closely i directed my mind to the position in which i stood, the graver it seemed. pitted against bruhl alone, amid strange surroundings and in an atmosphere of court intrigue, i had thought my task sufficiently difficult and the disadvantages under which i laboured sufficiently serious before this interview. conscious of a certain rustiness and a distaste for finesse, with resources so inferior to bruhl's that even m. de rosny's liberality had not done much to make up the difference, i had accepted the post offered me rather readily than sanguinely; with joy, seeing that it held out the hope of high reward, but with no certain expectation of success. still, matched with a man of violent and headstrong character, i had seen no reason to despair; nor any why i might not arrange the secret meeting between the king and mademoiselle with safety, and conduct to its end an intrigue simple and unsuspected, and requiring for its execution rather courage and caution than address or experience. now, however, i found that bruhl was not my only or my most dangerous antagonist. another was in the field--or, to speak more correctly, was waiting outside the arena, ready to snatch the prize when we should have disabled one another. from a dream of bruhl and myself as engaged in a competition for the king's favour, wherein neither could expose the other nor appeal even in the last resort to the joint-enemies of his majesty and ourselves, i awoke to a very different state of things; i awoke to find those enemies the masters of the situation, possessed of the clue to our plans, and permitting them only as long as they seemed to threaten no serious peril to themselves. no discovery could be more mortifying or more fraught with terror. the perspiration stood on my brow as i recalled the warning which m. de rosny had uttered against cardinal retz, or noted down the various points of knowledge which were in father antoine's possession. he knew every event of the last month, with one exception, and could tell, i verily believed, how many crowns i had in my pouch. conceding this, and the secret sources of information he must possess, what hope had i of keeping my future movements from him? mademoiselle's arrival would be known to him before she had well passed the gates; nor was it likely, or even possible, that i should again succeed in reaching the king's presence untraced and unsuspected. in fine, i saw myself, equally with bruhl, a puppet in this man's hands, my goings out and my comings in watched and reported to him, his mercy the only bar between myself and destruction. at any moment i might be arrested as a huguenot, the enterprise in which i was engaged ruined, and mademoiselle de la vire exposed to the violence of bruhl or the equally dangerous intrigues of the league. under these circumstances i fancied sleep impossible; but habit and weariness are strong persuaders, and when i reached my lodging i slept long and soundly, as became a man who had looked danger in the face more than once. the morning light too brought an accession both of courage and hope. i reflected on the misery of my condition at st. jean d'angely, without friends or resources, and driven to herd with such a man as fresnoy. and telling myself that the gold crowns which m. de rosny had lavished upon me were not for nothing, nor the more precious friendship with which he had honoured me a gift that called for no return, i rose with new spirit and a countenance which threw simon fleix--who had seen me lie down the picture of despair--into the utmost astonishment. 'you have had good dreams,' he said, eyeing me jealously and with a disturbed air. 'i had a very evil one last night,' i answered lightly, wondering a little why he looked at me so, and why he seemed to resent my return to hopefulness and courage. i might have followed this train of thought farther with advantage, since i possessed a clue to his state of mind; but at that moment a summons at the door called him away to it, and he presently ushered in m. d'agen, who, saluting me with punctilious politeness, had not said fifty words before he introduced the subject of his toe--no longer, however, in a hostile spirit, but as the happy medium which had led him to recognise the worth and sterling qualities---so he was pleased to say--of his preserver. i was delighted to find him in this frame of mind, and told him frankly that the friendship with which his kinsman, m. de rambouillet, honoured me would prevent me giving him satisfaction save in the last resort. he replied that the service i had done him was such as to render this immaterial, unless i had myself cause of offence; which i was forward to deny. we were paying one another compliments after this fashion, while i regarded him with the interest which the middle-aged bestow on the young and gallant in whom they see their own youth and hopes mirrored, when the door was again opened, and after a moment's pause admitted, equally, i think, to the disgust of m. françois and myself, the form of father antoine. seldom have two men more diverse stood, i believe, in a room together; seldom has any greater contrast been presented to a man's eyes than that opened to mine on this occasion. on the one side the gay young spark, with his short cloak, his fine suit of black-and-silver, his trim limbs and jewelled hilt and chased comfit-box; on the other, the tall, stooping monk, lean-jawed and bright-eyed, whose gown hung about him in coarse, ungainly folds. and m. françois' sentiment on first seeing the other was certainly dislike. in spite of this, however, he bestowed a greeting on the new-comer which evidenced a secret awe, and in other ways showed so plain a desire to please that i felt my fears of the priest return in force. i reflected that the talents which in such a garb could win the respect of m. françois d'agen--a brilliant star among the younger courtiers, and one of a class much given to thinking scorn of their fathers' roughness--must be both great and formidable; and, so considering, i received the monk with a distant courtesy which i had once little thought to extend to him. i put aside for the moment the private grudge i bore him with so much justice, and remembered only the burden which lay on me in my contest with him. i conjectured without difficulty that he chose to come at this time, when m. françois was with me, out of a cunning regard to his own safety; and i was not surprised when m. françois, beginning to make his adieux, father antoine begged him to wait below, adding that he had something of importance to communicate. he advanced his request in terms of politeness bordering on humility; but i could clearly see that, in assenting to it, m. d'agen bowed to a will stronger than his own, and would, had he dared to follow his own bent, have given a very different answer. as it was he retired--nominally to give an order to his lackey--with a species of impatient self-restraint which it was not difficult to construe. left alone with me, and assured that we had no listeners, the monk was not slow in coming to the point. 'you have thought over what i told you last night?' he said brusquely, dropping in a moment the suave manner which he had maintained in m. françois's presence. i replied coldly that i had. 'and you understand the position?' he continued quickly, looking at me from under his brows as he stood before me, with one clenched fist on the table. 'or shall i tell you more? shall i tell you how poor and despised you were some weeks ago, m. de marsac--you who now go in velvet, and have three men at your back? or whose gold it is has brought you here, and made you this? chut! do not let us trifle. you are here as the secret agent of the king of navarre. it is my business to learn your plans and his intentions, and i propose to do so.' 'well?' i said. 'i am prepared to buy them,' he answered; and his eyes sparkled as he spoke, with a greed which set me yet more on my guard. 'for whom?' i asked. having made up my mind that i must use the same weapons as my adversary, i reflected that to express indignation, such as might become a young man new to the world, could help me not a whit. 'for whom?' i repeated, seeing that he hesitated. 'that is my business,' he replied slowly. 'you want to know too much and tell too little,' i retorted, yawning. 'and you are playing with me,' he cried, looking at me suddenly, with so piercing a gaze and so dark a countenance that i checked a shudder with difficulty. 'so much the worse for you, so much the worse for you!' he continued fiercely. 'i am here to buy the information you hold, but if you will not sell, there is another way. at an hour's notice i can ruin your plans, and send you to a dungeon! you are like a fish caught in a net not yet drawn. it thrusts its nose this way and that, and touches the mesh, but is slow to take the alarm until the net is drawn--and then it is too late. so it is with you, and so it is,' he added, falling into the ecstatic mood which marked him at times, and left me in doubt whether he were all knave or in part enthusiast, 'with all those who set themselves against st. peter and his church!' 'i have heard you say much the same of the king of france,' i said derisively. 'you trust in him?' he retorted, his eyes gleaming. 'you have been up there, and seen his crowded chamber, and counted his forty-five gentlemen and his grey-coated swiss? i tell you the splendour you saw was a dream, and will vanish as a dream. the man's strength and his glory shall go from him, and that soon. have you no eyes to see that he is beside the question? there are but two powers in france--the holy union, which still prevails, and the accursed huguenot; and between them is the battle.' 'now you are telling me more,' i said. he grew sober in a moment, looking at me with a vicious anger hard to describe. 'tut tut,' he said, showing his yellow teeth, 'the dead tell no tales. and for henry of valois, he so loves a monk that you might better accuse his mistress. but for you, i have only to cry "ho! a huguenot and a spy!" and though he loved you more than he loved quélus or maugiron, he dare not stretch out a finger to save you!' i knew that he spoke the truth, and with difficulty maintained the air of indifference with which i had entered on the interview. 'but what if i leave blois?' i ventured, merely to see what he would say. he laughed. 'you cannot,' he answered. 'the net is round you, m. de marsac, and there are those at every gate who know you and have their instructions. i can destroy you, but i would fain have your information, and for that i will pay you five hundred crowns and let you go.' 'to fall into the hands of the king of navarre?' 'he will disown you, in any case,' he answered eagerly. 'he had that in his mind, my friend, when he selected an agent so obscure. he will disown you. ah, mon dieu! had i been an hour quicker i had caught rosny--rosny himself!' 'there is one thing lacking still,' i replied. 'how am i to be sure that, when i have told you what i know, you will pay me the money or let me go?' 'i will swear to it!' he answered earnestly, deceived into thinking i was about to surrender. 'i will give you my oath, m. de marsac!' 'i would as soon have your shoe-lace!' i exclaimed, the indignation i could not entirely repress finding vent in that phrase. 'a churchman's vow is worth a candle--or a candle and a half, is it?' i continued ironically. 'i must have some security a great deal more substantial than that, father.' 'what?' he asked, looking at me gloomily. seeing an opening, i cudgelled my brains to think of any condition which, being fulfilled, might turn the table on him and place him in my power. but his position was so strong, or my wits so weak, that nothing occurred to me at the time, and i sat looking at him, my mind gradually passing from the possibility of escape to the actual danger in which i stood, and which encompassed also simon fleix, and, in a degree, doubtless, m. de rambouillet. in four or five days, too, mademoiselle de la vire would arrive. i wondered if i could send any warning to her; and then, again, i doubted the wisdom of interfering with m. de rosny's plans, the more as maignan, who had gone to fetch mademoiselle, was of a kind to disregard any orders save his master's. 'well!' said the monk, impatiently recalling me to myself, 'what security do you want?' 'i am not quite sure at this moment,' i made answer slowly. 'i am in a difficult position. i must have some time to consider.' 'and to rid yourself of me, if it be possible,' he said with irony. 'i quite understand. but i warn you that you are watched; and that wherever you go and whatever you do, eyes which are mine are upon you.' 'i, too, understand,' i said coolly. he stood awhile uncertain, regarding me with mingled doubt and malevolence, tortured on the one hand by fear of losing the prize if he granted delay, on the other of failing as utterly if he exerted his power and did not succeed in subduing my resolution. i watched him, too, and gauging his eagerness and the value of the stake for which he was striving by the strength of his emotions, drew small comfort from the sight. more than once it had occurred to me, and now it occurred to me again, to extricate myself by a blow. but a natural reluctance to strike an unarmed man, however vile and knavish, and the belief that he had not trusted himself in my power without taking the fullest precautions, withheld me. when he grudgingly, and with many dark threats, proposed to wait three days--and not an hour more--for my answer, i accepted; for i saw no other alternative open. and on these terms, but not without some short discussion, we parted, and i heard his stealthy footstep go sneaking down the stairs. chapter xix. men call it chance. if i were telling more than the truth, or had it in my mind to embellish my adventures, i could, doubtless, by the exercise of a little ingenuity make it appear that i owed my escape from father antoine's meshes to my own craft; and tell, in fine, as pretty a story of plots and counterplots as m. de brantôme has ever woven. having no desire, however, to magnify myself, and, at this time of day, scarcely any reason, i am fain to confess that the reverse was the case; and that while no man ever did less to free himself than i did, my adversary retained his grasp to the end, and had surely, but for a strange interposition, effected my ruin. how relief came, and from what quarter, i might defy the most ingenious person, after reading my memoirs to this point, to say; and this not so much by reason of any subtle device, as because the hand of providence was for once directly manifest. the three days of grace which the priest had granted i passed in anxious but futile search for some means of escape, every plan i conceived dying stillborn, and not the least of my miseries lying in the fact that i could discern no better course than still to sit and think, and seemed doomed to perpetual inaction. m. de rambouillet being a strict catholic, though in all other respects a patriotic man, i knew better than to have recourse to him; and the priest's influence over m. d'agen i had myself witnessed. for similar reasons i rejected the idea of applying to the king; and this exhausting the list of those on whom i had any claim, i found myself thrown on my own resources, which seemed limited--my wits failing me at this pinch--to my sword and simon fleix. assured that i must break out of blois if i would save, not myself only, but others more precious because entrusted to my charge, i thought it no disgrace to appeal to simon; describing in a lively fashion the danger which threatened us, and inciting the lad by every argument which i thought likely to have weight with him to devise some way of escape. 'now is the time, my friend,' i said, 'to show your wits, and prove that m. de rosny, who said you had a cunning above the ordinary, was right. if your brain can ever save your head, now is the time! for i tell you plainly, if you cannot find some way to outman[oe]uvre this villain before to-morrow, i am spent. you can judge for yourself what chance you will have of going free.' i paused at that, waiting for him to make some suggestion. to my chagrin he remained silent, leaning his head on his hand, and studying the table with his eyes in a sullen fashion; so that i began to regret the condescension i had evinced in letting him be seated, and found it necessary to remind him that he had taken service with me, and must do my bidding. 'well,' he said morosely, and without looking up, 'i am ready to do it. but i do not like priests, and this one least of all. i know him, and i will not meddle with him!' 'you will not meddle with him?' i cried, almost beside myself with dismay. 'no, i won't,' he replied, retaining his listless attitude. 'i know him, and i am afraid of him. i am no match for him.' 'then m. de rosny was wrong, was he?' i said, giving way to my anger. 'if it please you,' he answered pertly. this was too much for me. my riding-switch lay handy, and i snatched it up. before he knew what i would be at, i fell upon him, and gave him such a sound wholesome drubbing as speedily brought him to his senses. when he cried for mercy--which he did not for a good space, being still possessed by the peevish devil which had ridden him ever since his departure from rosny--i put it to him again whether m. de rosny was not right. when he at last admitted this, but not till then, i threw the whip away and let him go, but did not cease to reproach him as he deserved. 'did you think,' i said, 'that i was going to be ruined because you would not use your lazy brains? that i was going to sit still, and let you sulk, while mademoiselle walked blindfold into the toils? not at all, my friend!' 'mademoiselle!' he exclaimed, looking at me with a sudden change of countenance, and ceasing to rub himself and scowl, as he had been doing. 'she is not here, and is in no danger.' 'she will be here to-morrow, or the next day,' i said. 'you did not tell me that!' he replied, his eyes glittering. 'does father antoine know it?' 'he will know it the moment she enters the town,' i answered. noting the change which the introduction of mademoiselle's name into the affair had wrought in him, i felt something like humiliation. but at the moment i had no choice; it was my business to use such instruments as came to my hand, and not, mademoiselle's safety being at stake, to pick and choose too nicely. in a few minutes our positions were reversed. the lad had grown as hot as i cold, as keenly excited as i critical. when he presently came to a stand in front of me, i saw a strange likeness between his face and the priest's; nor was i astonished when he presently made just such a proposal as i should have expected from father antoine himself. 'there is only one thing for it,' he muttered, trembling all over. 'he must be got rid of!' 'fine talking!' i said, contemptuously. 'if he were a soldier he might be brought to it. but he is a priest, my friend, and does not fight.' 'fight? who wants him to fight?' the lad answered, his face dark, his hands moving restlessly. 'it is the easier done. a blow in the back, and he will trouble us no more.' 'who is to strike it?' i asked drily. simon trembled and hesitated; but presently, heaving a deep sigh, he said, 'i will.' 'it might not be difficult,' i muttered, thinking it over. 'it would be easy,' he answered under his breath. his eyes shone, his lips were white, and his long dark hair hung wet over his forehead. i reflected; and the longer i did so the more feasible seemed the suggestion. a single word, and i might sweep from my path the man whose existence threatened mine; who would not meet me fairly, but, working against me darkly and treacherously, deserved no better treatment at my hands than that which a detected spy receives. he had wronged my mother; he would fain destroy my friends! and, doubtless, i shall be blamed by some and ridiculed by more for indulging in scruples at such a time. but i have all my life long been prejudiced against that form of underhand violence which i have heard old men contend came into fashion in our country in modern times, and which certainly seems to be alien from the french character. without judging others too harshly, or saying that the poniard is never excusable--for then might some wrongs done to women and the helpless go without remedy--i have set my face against its use as unworthy of a soldier. at the time, moreover, of which i am now writing the extent to which our enemies had lately resorted to it tended to fix this feeling with peculiar firmness in my mind; and, but for the very desperate dilemma in which i stood at the moment--and not i alone--i do not think that i should have entertained simon's proposal for a minute. as it was, i presently answered him in a way which left him in no doubt of my sentiments. 'simon, my friend,' i said--and i remember i was a little moved--'you have something still to learn, both as a soldier and a huguenot. neither the one nor the other strikes at the back.' 'but if he will not fight?' the lad retorted rebelliously. 'what then?' it was so clear that our adversary gained an unfair advantage in this way that i could not answer the question. i let it pass, therefore, and merely repeating my former injunction, bade simon think out another way. he promised reluctantly to do so, and, after spending some moments in thought, went out to learn whether the house was being watched. when he returned, his countenance wore so new an expression that i saw at once that something had happened. he did not meet my eye, however, and did not explain, but made as if he would go out again, with something of confusion in his manner. before finally disappearing, however, he seemed to change his mind once more; for, marching up to me where i stood eyeing him with the utmost astonishment, he stopped before me, and suddenly drawing out his hand, thrust something into mine. 'what is it, man?' i said mechanically. 'look!' he answered rudely, breaking silence for the first time. 'you should know. why ask me? what have i to do with it?' i looked then, and saw that he had given me a knot of velvet precisely similar in shape, size, and material to that well-remembered one which had aided me so opportunely in my search for mademoiselle. this differed from that a little in colour, but in nothing else, the fashion of the bow being the same, and one lappet bearing the initials 'c. d. l. v.,' while the other had the words, 'a moi.' i gazed at it in wonder. 'but, simon,' i said, 'what does it mean? where did you get it?' 'where should i get it?' he answered jealously. then, seeming to recollect himself, he changed his tone. 'a woman gave it to me in the street,' he said. i asked him what woman. 'how should i know?' he answered, his eyes gleaming with anger. 'it was a woman in a mask.' 'was it fanchette?' i said sternly. 'it might have been. i do not know,' he responded. i concluded at first that mademoiselle and her escort had arrived in the outskirts of the city, and that maignan had justified his reputation for discretion by sending in to learn from me whether the way was clear before he entered. in this notion i was partly confirmed and partly shaken by the accompanying message; which simon, from whom every scrap of information had to be dragged as blood from a stone, presently delivered. 'you are to meet the sender half an hour after sunset to-morrow evening,' he said, 'on the parvis at the north-east corner of the cathedral.' 'to-morrow evening?' 'yes, when else?' the lad answered ungraciously. 'i said to-morrow evening.' i thought this strange. i could understand why maignan should prefer to keep his charge outside the walls until he heard from me, but not why he should postpone a meeting so long. the message, too, seemed unnecessarily meagre, and i began to think simon was still withholding something. 'was that all?' i asked him. 'yes, all,' he answered, 'except----' 'except what?' i said sternly. 'except that the woman showed me the gold token mademoiselle de la vire used to carry,' he answered reluctantly, 'and said, if you wanted further assurance that would satisfy you.' 'did you see the coin?' i cried eagerly. 'to be sure,' he answered. 'then, mon dieu!' i retorted, 'either you are deceiving me, or the woman you saw deceived you. for mademoiselle has not got the token! i have it; here, in my possession! now, do you still say you saw it, man?' 'i saw one like it,' he answered, trembling, his face damp. 'that i will swear. and the woman told me what i have told you. and no more.' 'then it is clear,' i answered, 'that mademoiselle has nothing to do with this, and is doubtless many a league away. this is one of m. de bruhl's tricks. fresnoy gave him the token he stole from me. and i told him the story of the velvet knot myself. this is a trap; and had i fallen into it, and gone to the parvis to-morrow evening, i had never kept another assignation, my lad.' simon looked thoughtful. presently he said, with a crestfallen air, 'you were to go alone. the woman said that.' though i knew well why he had suppressed this item, i forbore to blame him. 'what was the woman like?' i said. 'she had very much of fanchette's figure,' he answered. he could not go beyond that. blinded by the idea that the woman was mademoiselle's attendant, and no one else, he had taken little heed of her, and could not even say for certain that she was not a man in woman's clothes. i thought the matter over and discussed it with him; and was heartily minded to punish m. de bruhl, if i could discover a way of turning his treacherous plot against himself. but the lack of any precise knowledge of his plans prevented me stirring in the matter; the more as i felt no certainty that i should be master of my actions when the time came. strange to say the discovery of this movement on the part of bruhl, who had sedulously kept himself in the background since the scene in the king's presence, far from increasing my anxieties, had the effect of administering a fillip to my spirits; which the cold and unyielding pressure of the jacobin had reduced to a low point. here was something i could understand, resist, and guard against. the feeling that i had once more to do with a man of like aims and passions with myself quickly restored me to the use of my faculties; as i have heard that a swordsman opposed to the powers of evil regains his vigour on finding himself engaged with a mortal foe. though i knew that the hours of grace were fast running to a close, and that on the morrow the priest would call for an answer, i experienced that evening an unreasonable lightness and cheerfulness. i retired to rest with confidence, and slept in comfort, supported in part, perhaps, by the assurance that in that room where my mother died her persecutor could have no power to harm me. upon simon fleix, on the other hand, the discovery that bruhl was moving, and that consequently peril threatened us from a new quarter, had a different effect. he fell into a state of extreme excitement, and spent the evening and a great part of the night in walking restlessly up and down the room, wrestling with the fears and anxieties which beset us, and now talking fast to himself, now biting his nails in an agony of impatience. in vain i adjured him not to meet troubles halfway; or, pointing to the pallet which he occupied at the foot of my couch, bade him, if he could not devise a way of escape, at least to let the matter rest until morning. he had no power to obey, but, tortured by the vivid anticipations which it was his nature to entertain, he continued to ramble to and fro in a fever of the nerves, and had no sooner lain down than he was up again. remembering, however, how well he had borne himself on the night of mademoiselle's escape from blois, i refrained from calling him a coward; and contented myself instead with the reflection that nothing sits worse on a fighting-man than too much knowledge--except, perhaps, a lively imagination. i thought it possible that mademoiselle might arrive next day before father antoine called to receive his answer. in this event i hoped to have the support of maignan's experience. but the party did not arrive. i had to rely on myself and my own resources, and, this being so, determined to refuse the priest's offer, but in all other things to be guided by circumstances. about noon he came, attended, as was his practice, by two friends, whom he left outside. he looked paler and more shadowy than before, i thought, his hands thinner, and his cheeks more transparent. i could draw no good augury, however, from these signs of frailty, for the brightness of his eyes and the unusual elation of his manner told plainly of a spirit assured of the mastery. he entered the room with an air of confidence, and addressed me in a tone of patronage which left me in no doubt of his intentions; the frankness with which he now laid bare his plans going far to prove that already he considered me no better than his tool. i did not at once undeceive him, but allowed him to proceed, and even to bring out the five hundred crowns which he had promised me, and the sight of which he doubtless supposed would clench the matter. seeing this he became still less reticent, and spoke so largely that i presently felt myself impelled to ask him if he would answer a question. 'that is as may be, m. de marsac,' he answered lightly. 'you may ask it.' 'you hint at great schemes which you have in hand, father,' i said. 'you speak of france and spain and navarre, and kings and leagues and cardinals! you talk of secret strings, and would have me believe that if i comply with your wishes i shall find you as powerful a patron as m. de rosny. but--one moment, if you please,' i continued hastily, seeing that he was about to interrupt me with such eager assurances as i had already heard; 'tell me this. with so many irons in the fire, why did you interfere with one old gentlewoman--for the sake of a few crowns?' 'i will tell you even that,' he answered, his face flushing at my tone. 'have you ever heard of an elephant? yes. well, it has a trunk, you know, with which it can either drag an oak from the earth or lift a groat from the ground. it is so with me. but again you ask,' he continued with an airy grimace, 'why i wanted a few crowns. enough that i did. there are going to be two things in the world, and two only, m. de marsac: brains and money. the former i have, and had: the latter i needed--and took.' 'money and brains?' i said, looking at him thoughtfully. 'yes,' he answered, his eyes sparkling, his thin nostrils beginning to dilate. 'give me these two, and i will rule france!' 'you will rule france?' i exclaimed, amazed beyond measure by his audacity. 'you, man?' 'yes, i,' he answered, with abominable coolness. 'i, priest, monk, churchman, clerk. you look surprised, but mark you, sir, there is a change going on. our time is coming, and yours is going. what hampers our lord the king and shuts him up in blois, while rebellions stalk through france? lack of men? no; but lack of money. who can get the money for him--you the soldier, or i the clerk? a thousand times, i! therefore, my time is coining, and before you die you will see a priest rule france.' 'god forbid it should be you,' i answered scornfully. 'as you please,' he answered, shrugging his shoulders, and assuming in a breath a mask of humility which sat as ill on his monstrous conceit as ever nun's veil on a trooper. 'yet it may even be i; by the favour of the holy catholic church, whose humble minister i am.' i sprang up with a great oath at that, having no stomach for more of the strange transformations, in which this man delighted, and whereof the last had ever the air of being the most hateful. 'you villain!' i cried, twisting my moustaches, a habit i have when enraged. 'and so you would make me a stepping-stone to your greatness. you would bribe me--a soldier and a gentleman. go, before i do you a mischief. that is all i have to say to you. go! you have your answer. i will tell you nothing--not a jot or a tittle. begone from my room!' he fell back a step in his surprise, and stood against the table biting his nails and scowling at me, fear and chagrin contending with half a dozen devils for the possession of his face. 'so you have been deceiving me,' he said slowly, and at last. 'i have let you deceive yourself,' i answered, looking at him with scorn, but with none of the fear with which he had for a while inspired me. 'begone, and do your worst.' 'you know what you are doing,' he said. 'i have that will hang you, m. de marsac--or worse.' 'go!' i cried. 'you have thought of your friends,' he continued mockingly. 'go!' i said. 'of mademoiselle de la vire, if by any chance she fall into my hands? it will not be hanging for her. you remember the two foucauds?'--and he laughed. the vile threat, which i knew he had used to my mother, so worked upon me that i strode forward unable to control myself longer. in another moment i had certainly taken him by the throat and squeezed the life out of his miserable carcase, had not providence in its goodness intervened to save me. the door, on which he had already laid his hand in terror, opened suddenly. it admitted simon, who, closing it behind him, stood looking from one to the other of us in nervous doubt; divided between that respect for the priest which a training at the sorbonne had instilled into him, and the rage which despair arouses in the weakest. his presence, while it checked me in my purpose, seemed to give father antoine courage, for the priest stood his ground, and even turned to me a second time, his face dark with spite and disappointment. 'good,' he said hoarsely. 'destroy yourself if you will! i advise you to bar your door, for in an hour the guards will be here to fetch you to the question.' simon cried out at the threat, so that i turned and looked at the lad. his knees were shaking, his hair stood on end. the priest saw his terror and his own opportunity. 'ay, in an hour,' he continued slowly, looking at him with cruel eyes. 'in an hour, lad! you must be fond of pain to court it, and out of humour with life to throw it away. or stay,' he continued abruptly, after considering simon's agony for a moment, and doubtless deducing from it a last hope, 'i will be merciful. i will give you one more chance.' 'and yourself?' i said with a sneer. 'as you please,' he answered, declining to be diverted from the trembling lad, whom his gaze seemed to fascinate. 'i will give you until half an hour after sunset this evening to reconsider the matter. if you make up your minds to accept my terms, meet me then. i leave to-night for paris, and i will give you until the last moment. but,' he continued grimly, 'if you do not meet me, or, meeting me, remain obstinate--god do so to me, and more also, if you see the sun rise thrice.' some impulse, i know not what, seeing that i had no thought of accepting his terms or meeting him, led me to ask briefly, 'where?' 'on the parvis of the cathedral,' he answered after a moment's calculation. 'at the north-east corner, half an hour after sunset. it is a quiet spot.' simon uttered a stifled exclamation. and then for a moment there was silence in the room, while the lad breathed hard and irregularly, and i stood rooted to the spot, looking so long and so strangely at the priest that father antoine laid his hand again on the door and glanced uneasily behind him. nor was he content until he had hit on, as he fancied, the cause of my strange regard. 'ha!' he said, his thin lip curling in conceit at his astuteness, 'i understand. you think to kill me to-night? let me tell you, this house is watched. if you leave here to meet me with any companion--unless it be m. d'agen, whom i can trust--i shall be warned, and be gone before you reach the rendezvous. and gone, mind you,' he added, with a grim smile, 'to sign your death-warrant.' he went out with that, closing the door behind him; and we heard his step go softly down the staircase. i gazed at simon, and he at me, with all the astonishment and awe which it was natural we should feel in presence of so remarkable a coincidence. for by a marvel the priest had named the same spot and the same time as the sender of the velvet knot! 'he will go,' simon said, his face flushed and his voice trembling, 'and they will go.' 'and in the dark they will not know him,' i muttered. 'he is about my height. they will take him for me!' 'and kill him!' simon cried hysterically. 'they will kill him! he goes to his death, monsieur. it is the finger of god.' chapter xx. the king's face. it seemed so necessary to bring home the crime to bruhl should the priest really perish in the trap laid for me, that i came near to falling into one of those mistakes to which men of action are prone. for my first impulse was to follow the priest to the parvis, closely enough, if possible, to detect the assassins in the act, and with sufficient force, if i could muster it, to arrest them. the credit of dissuading me from this course lies with simon, who pointed out its dangers in so convincing a manner that i was brought with little difficulty to relinquish it. instead, acting on his advice, i sent him to m. d'agen's lodging, to beg that young gentleman to call upon me before evening. after searching the lodging and other places in vain, simon found m. d'agen in the tennis-court at the castle, and, inventing a crafty excuse, brought him to my lodging a full hour before the time. my visitor was naturally surprised to find that i had nothing particular to say to him. i dared not tell him what occupied my thoughts, and for the rest invention failed me. but his gaiety and those pretty affectations on which he spent an infinity of pains, for the purpose, apparently, of hiding the sterling worth of a character deficient neither in courage nor backbone, were united to much good nature. believing at last that i had sent for him in a fit of the vapours, he devoted himself to amusing me and abusing bruhl--a very favourite pastime with him. and in this way he made out a call of two hours. i had not long to wait for proof of simon's wisdom in taking this precaution. we thought it prudent to keep within doors after our guest's departure, and so passed the night in ignorance whether anything had happened or not. but about seven next morning one of the marquis's servants, despatched by m. d'agen, burst in upon us with the news--which was no news from the moment his hurried footstep sounded on the stairs--that father antoine had been set upon and killed the previous evening! i heard this confirmation of my hopes with grave thankfulness; simon with so much emotion that when the messenger was gone he sat down on a stool and began to sob and tremble as if he had lost his mother, instead of a mortal foe. i took advantage of the occasion to read him a sermon on the end of crooked courses; nor could i myself recall without a shudder the man's last words to me; or the lawless and evil designs in which he had rejoiced, while standing on the very brink of the pit which was to swallow up both him and them in everlasting darkness. naturally, the uppermost feeling in my mind was relief. i was free once more. in all probability the priest had kept his knowledge to himself, and without him his agents would be powerless. simon, it is true, heard that the town was much excited by the event; and that many attributed it to the huguenots. but we did not suffer ourselves to be depressed by this, nor had i any foreboding until the sound of a second hurried footstep mounting the stairs reached our ears. i knew the step in a moment for m. d'agen's, and something ominous in its ring brought me to my feet before he opened the door. significant as was his first hasty look round the room, he recovered at sight of me all his habitual _sang-froid_. he saluted me, and spoke coolly, though rapidly. but he panted, and i noticed in a moment that he had lost his lisp. 'i am happy in finding you,' he said, closing the door carefully behind him, 'for i am the bearer of ill news, and there is not a moment to be lost. the king has signed an order for your instant consignment to prison, m. de marsac, and, once there, it is difficult to say what may not happen.' 'my consignment?' i exclaimed. i may be pardoned if the news for a moment found me unprepared. 'yes,' he replied quickly. 'the king has signed it at the instance of marshal retz.' 'but for what?' i cried in amazement. 'the murder of father antoine. you will pardon me,' he continued urgently, 'but this is no time for words. the provost-marshal is even now on his way to arrest you. your only hope is to evade him, and gain an audience of the king. i have persuaded my uncle to go with you, and he is waiting at his lodgings. there is not a moment to be lost, however, if you would reach the king's presence before you are arrested.' 'but i am innocent!' i cried. 'i know it,' m. d'agen answered, 'and can prove it. but if you cannot get speech of the king innocence will avail you nothing. you have powerful enemies. come without more ado, m. de marsac, i pray,' he added. his manner, even more than his words, impressed me with a sense of urgency; and postponing for a time my own judgment, i hurriedly thanked him for his friendly offices. snatching up my sword, which lay on a chair, i buckled it on; for simon's fingers trembled so violently he could give me no help. this done i nodded to m. d'agen to go first, and followed him from the room, simon attending us of his own motion. it would be then about eleven o'clock in the forenoon. my companion ran down the stairs without ceremony, and so quickly it was all i could do to keep up with him. at the outer door he signed me to stand, and darting himself into the street, he looked anxiously in the direction of the rue st. denys. fortunately the coast was still clear, and he beckoned to me to follow him. i did so and starting to walk in the opposite direction as fast as we could, in less than a minute we had put a corner between us and the house. our hopes of escaping unseen, however, were promptly dashed. the house, i have said, stood in a quiet by-street, which was bounded on the farther side by a garden-wall buttressed at intervals. we had scarcely gone a dozen paces from my door when a man slipped from the shelter of one of these buttresses, and after a single glance at us, set off to run towards the rue st. denys. m. d'agen looked back and nodded. 'there goes the news,' he said. 'they will try to cut us off, but i think we have the start of them.' i made no reply, feeling that i had resigned myself entirely into his hands. but as we passed through the rue de valois, in part of which a market was held at this hour, attracting a considerable concourse of peasants and others, i fancied i detected signs of unusual bustle and excitement. it seemed unlikely that news of the priest's murder should affect so many people and to such a degree, and i asked m. d'agen what it meant. 'there is a rumour abroad,' he answered, without slackening speed, 'that the king intends to move south to tours at once.' i muttered my surprise and satisfaction. 'he will come to terms with the huguenots then?' i said. 'it looks like it,' m. d'agen rejoined. 'retz's party are in an ill-humour on that account, and will wreak it on you if they get a chance. on guard!' he added abruptly. 'here are two of them!' as he spoke we emerged from the crowd, and i saw, half a dozen paces in front of us, and coming to meet us, a couple of court gallants, attended by as many servants. they espied us at the same moment, and came across the street, which was tolerably wide at that part, with the evident intention of stopping us. simultaneously, however, we crossed to take their side, and so met them face to face in the middle of the way. 'm. d'agen,' the foremost exclaimed, speaking in a haughty tone, and with a dark side glance at me, 'i am sorry to see you in such company! doubtless you are not aware that this gentleman is the subject of an order which has even now been issued to the provost-marshal.' 'and if so, sir? what of that?' my companion lisped in his silkiest tone. 'what of that?' the other cried, frowning, and pushing slightly forward. 'precisely,' m. d'agen repeated, laying his hand on his hilt and declining to give back. 'i am not aware that his majesty has appointed you provost-marshal, or that you have any warrant, m. villequier, empowering you to stop gentlemen in the public streets.' m. villequier reddened with anger. 'you are young, m. d'agen,' he said, his voice quivering, 'or i would make you pay dearly for that!' 'my friend is not young,' m. d'agen retorted, bowing. he is a gentleman of birth, m. villequier; by repute, as i learned yesterday, one of the best swordsmen in france, and no gascon. if you feel inclined to arrest him, do so, i pray. and i will have the honour of engaging your son.' as we had all by this time our hands on our swords, there needed but a blow to bring about one of those street brawls which were more common then than now. a number of market-people, drawn to the spot by our raised voices, had gathered round, and were waiting eagerly to see what would happen. but villequier, as my companion perhaps knew, was a gascon in heart as well as by birth, and seeing our determined aspects, thought better of it. shrugging his shoulders with an affectation of disdain which imposed on no one, he signalled to his servants to go on, and himself stood aside. 'i thank you for your polite offer,' he said with an evil smile, 'and will remember it. but as you say, sir, i am not the provost-marshal.' paying little heed to his words, we bowed, passed him, and hurried on. but the peril was not over. not only had the _rencontre_ cost us some precious minutes, but the gascon, after letting us proceed a little way, followed us. and word being passed by his servants, as we supposed, that one of us was the murderer of father antoine, the rumour spread through the crowd like wildfire, and in a few moments we found ourselves attended by a troop of _canaille_ who, hanging on our skirts, caused simon fleix no little apprehension. notwithstanding the contempt which m. d'agen, whose bearing throughout was admirable, expressed for them, we might have found it necessary to turn and teach them a lesson had we not reached m. de rambouillet's in the nick of time; where we found the door surrounded by half a dozen armed servants, at sight of whom our persecutors fell back with the cowardice which is usually found in that class. if i had been tempted of late to think m. de rambouillet fickle, i had no reason to complain now; whether his attitude was due to m. d'agen's representations, or to the reflection that without me the plans he had at heart must miscarry. i found him waiting within, attended by three gentlemen, all cloaked and ready for the road; while the air of purpose which sat on his brow indicated that he thought the crisis no common one. not a moment was lost, even in explanations. waving me to the door again, and exchanging a few sentences with his nephew, he gave the word to start, and we issued from the house in a body. doubtless the fact that those who sought to ruin me were his political enemies had some weight with him; for i saw his face harden as his eyes met those of m. de villequier, who passed slowly before the door as we came out. the gascon, however, was not the man to interfere with so large a party, and dropped back; while m. de rambouillet, after exchanging a cold salute with him, led the way towards the castle at a round pace. his nephew and i walked one on either side of him, and the others, to the number of ten or eleven, pressed on behind in a compact body, our cortège presenting so determined a front that the crowd, which had remained hanging about the door, fled every way. even some peaceable folk who found themselves in our road took the precaution of slipping into doorways, or stood aside to give us the full width of the street. i remarked--and i think it increased my anxiety--that our leader was dressed with more than usual care and richness, but, unlike his attendants, wore no arms. he took occasion, as we hurried along, to give me a word of advice. 'm. de marsac,' he said, looking at me suddenly, 'my nephew has given me to understand that you place yourself entirely in my hands.' i replied that i asked for no better fortune, and, whatever the event, thanked him from the bottom of my heart. 'be pleased then to keep silence until i bid you speak,' he replied sharply, for he was one of those whom a sudden stress sours and exacerbates. 'and, above all, no violence without my orders. we are about to fight a battle, and a critical one, but it must be won with our heads. if we can we will keep you out of the provost-marshal's hands.' and if not? i remembered the threats father antoine had used, and in a moment i lost sight of the street with all its light and life and movement. i felt no longer the wholesome stinging of the wind. i tasted instead a fetid air, and saw round me a narrow cell and masked figures, and in particular a swathy man in a leather apron leaning over a brazier, from whim came lurid flames. and i was bound. i experienced that utter helplessness which is the last test of courage. the man came forward, and then--then, thank god! the vision passed away. an exclamation to which m. d'agen gave vent, brought me back to the present, and to the blessed knowledge that the fight was not yet over. we were within a score of paces, i found, of the castle gates: but so were also a second party, who had just debouched from a side-street, and now hurried on, pace for pace, with us, with the evident intention of forestalling us. the race ended in both companies reaching the entrance at the same time, with the consequence of some jostling taking place amongst the servants. this must have led to blows but for the strenuous commands which m. de rambouillet had laid upon his followers. i found myself in a moment confronted by a row of scowling faces, while a dozen threatening hands were stretched out towards me, and as many voices, among which i recognised fresnoy's, cried out tumultuously, 'that is he! that is the one!' an elderly man in a quaint dress stepped forward, a paper in his hand, and, backed as he was by half a dozen halberdiers, would in a moment have laid hands on me if m. de rambouillet had not intervened with a negligent air of authority, which sat on him the more gracefully as he held nothing but a riding-switch in his hands. 'tut, tut! what is this?' he said lightly. 'i am not wont to have my people interfered with, m. provost, without my leave. you know me, i suppose?' 'perfectly, m. le marquis,' the man answered with dogged respect; 'but this is by the king's special command.' 'very good,' my patron answered, quietly eyeing the faces behind the provost-marshal, as if he were making a note of them; which caused some of the gentlemen manifest uneasiness. 'that is soon seen, for we are even now about to seek speech with his majesty.' 'not this gentleman,' the provost-marshal answered firmly, raising his hand again. 'i can not let him pass.' 'yes, this gentleman too, by your leave,' the marquis retorted, lightly putting the hand aside with his cane. 'sir,' said the other, retreating a step and speaking with some heat, 'this is no jest with all respect. i hold the king's own order, and it may not be resisted.' the nobleman tapped his silver comfit-box and smiled. 'i shall be the last to resist it--if you have it,' he said languidly. 'you may read it for yourself,' the provost-marshal answered, his patience exhausted. m. de rambouillet took the parchment with the ends of his fingers, glanced at it, and gave it back. 'as i thought,' he said, 'a manifest forgery.' 'a forgery!' cried the officer, crimson with indignation. 'and i had it from the hands of the king's own secretary!' at this those behind murmured, some 'shame,' and some one thing, and some another--all with an air so threatening that the marquis's gentlemen closed up behind him, and m. d'agen laughed rudely. but m. de rambouillet remained unmoved. 'you may have had it from whom you please, sir,' he said. 'it is a forgery, and i shall resist its execution. if you choose to await me here, i will give you my word to render this gentleman to you within an hour, should the order hold good. if you will not wait, i shall command my servants to clear the way, and if ill happen, then the responsibility will lie with you.' he spoke in so resolute a manner it was not difficult to see that something more was at stake than the arrest of a single man. this was so; the real issue was whether the king, with whose instability it was difficult to cope, should fall back into the hands of his old advisers or not. my arrest was a move in the game intended as a counterblast to the victory which m. de rambouillet had gained when he persuaded the king to move to tours; a city in the neighbourhood of the huguenots, and a place of arms whence union with them would be easy. the provost-marshal could, no doubt, make a shrewd guess at these things. he knew that the order he had would be held valid or not according as one party or the other gained the mastery; and, seeing m. de rambouillet's resolute demeanour, he gave way. rudely interrupted more than once by his attendants, among whom were some of bruhl's men, he muttered an ungracious assent to our proposal; on which, and without a moment's delay, the marquis took me by the arm and hurried me across the courtyard. and so far, well. my heart began to rise. but, for the marquis, as we mounted the staircase the anxiety he had dissembled while we faced the provost-marshal, broke out in angry mutterings; from which i gathered that the crisis was yet to come. i was not surprised, therefore, when an usher rose on our appearance in the antechamber, and, quickly crossing the floor, interposed between us and the door of the chamber, informing the marquis with a low obeisance that his majesty was engaged. 'he will see me,' m. de rambouillet cried, looking haughtily round on the sneering pages and lounging courtiers, who grew civil under his eye. 'i have particular orders, sir, to admit no one,' the man answered. 'tut, tut, they do not apply to me,' my companion retorted, nothing daunted. 'i know the business on which the king is engaged, and i am here to assist him.' and raising his hand he thrust the startled official aside, and hardily pushed the doors of the chamber open. the king, surrounded by half a dozen persons, was in the act of putting on his riding-boots. on hearing us, he turned his head with a startled air, and dropped in his confusion one of the ivory cylinders he was using; while his aspect, and that of the persons who stood round him, reminded me irresistibly of a party of schoolboys detected in a fault. he recovered himself, it is true, almost immediately; and turning his back to us, continued to talk to the persons round him on such trifling subjects as commonly engaged him. he carried on this conversation in a very free way, studiously ignoring our presence; but it was plain he remained aware of it, and even that he was uneasy under the cold and severe gaze which the marquis, who seemed in nowise affrighted by his reception, bent upon him. i, for my part, had no longer any confidence. nay, i came near to regretting that i had persevered in an attempt so useless. the warrant which awaited me at the gates seemed less formidable than his majesty's growing displeasure; which i saw i was incurring by remaining where i was. it needed not the insolent glance of marshal retz, who lounged smiling by the king's hand, or the laughter of a couple of pages who stood at the head of the chamber, to deprive me of my last hope; while some things which might have cheered me--the uneasiness of some about the king, and the disquietude which underlay marshal retz's manner--escaped my notice altogether. what i did see clearly was that the king's embarrassment was fast changing to anger. the paint which reddened his cheeks prevented any alteration in his colour being visible, but his frown and the nervous manner in which he kept taking off and putting on his jewelled cap betrayed him. at length, signing to one of his companions to follow, he moved a little aside to a window, whence, after a few moments, the gentleman came to us. 'm. de rambouillet,' he said, speaking coldly and formally, 'his majesty is displeased by this gentleman's presence, and requires him to withdraw forthwith.' 'his majesty's word is law,' my patron answered, bowing low, and speaking in a clear voice audible throughout the chamber, 'but the matter which brings this gentleman here is of the utmost importance, and touches his majesty's person.' m. de retz laughed jeeringly. the other courtiers looked grave. the king shrugged his shoulders with a peevish gesture, but after a moment's hesitation, during which he looked first at retz and then at m. de rambouillet, he signed to the marquis to approach. 'why have you brought him here?' he muttered sharply, looking askance at me. 'he should have been bestowed according to my orders.' 'he has information for your majesty's private ear,' rambouillet answered. and he looked so meaningly at the king that henry, i think, remembered on a sudden his compact with rosny, and my part in it; for he started with the air of a man suddenly awakened. 'to prevent that information reaching you, sire,' my patron continued, 'his enemies have practised on your majesty's well-known sense of justice.' 'oh, but stay, stay!' the king cried, hitching forward the scanty cloak he wore, which barely came down to his waist. 'the man has killed a priest! he has killed a priest, man!' he repeated with confidence, as if he had now got hold of the right argument. 'that is not so, sire, craving your majesty's pardon,' m. de rambouillet replied with the utmost coolness. 'tut! tut! the evidence is clear,' the king said peevishly. 'as to that, sire,' my companion rejoined, 'if it is of the murder of father antoine he is accused, i say boldly that there is none.' 'then there you are mistaken!' the king answered. 'i heard it with my own ears this morning.' 'will you deign, sire, to tell me its nature?' m. de rambouillet persisted. but on that marshal retz thought it necessary to intervene. 'need we turn his majesty's chamber into a court of justice?' he said smoothly. hitherto he had not spoken; trusting, perhaps, to the impression he had already made upon the king. m. de rambouillet took no notice of him. 'but bruhl,' said the king, 'you see, bruhl says----' 'bruhl!' my companion replied, with so much contempt that henry started. 'surely your majesty has not taken his word against this gentleman, of all people?' thus reminded, a second time, of the interests entrusted to me, and of the advantage which bruhl would gain by my disappearance, the king looked first confused, and then angry. he vented his passion in one or two profane oaths, with the childish addition that we were all a set of traitors, and that he had no one whom he could trust. but my companion had touched the right chord at last; for when the king grew more composed, he waved aside marshal retz's protestations, and sullenly bade rambouillet say what he had to say. 'the monk was killed, sire, about sunset,' he answered. 'now my nephew, m. d'agen, is without, and will tell your majesty that he was with this gentleman at his lodgings from about an hour before sunset last evening until a full hour after. consequently, m. de marsac can hardly be the assassin, and m. le marechal must look elsewhere if he wants vengeance.' 'justice, sir, not vengeance,' marshal retz said with a dark glance. his keen italian face hid his trouble well, but a little pulse of passion beating in his olive cheek betrayed the secret to those who knew him. he had a harder part to play than his opponent; for while rambouillet's hands were clean, retz knew himself a traitor, and liable at any moment to discovery and punishment. 'let m. d'agen be called,' henry said curtly. 'and if your majesty pleases,' retz added, 'm. de bruhl also. if you really intend, sire, that is, to reopen a matter which i thought had been settled.' the king nodded obstinately, his face furrowed with ill-temper. he kept his shifty eyes, which seldom met those of the person he addressed, on the floor; and this accentuated the awkward stooping carriage which was natural to him. there were seven or eight dogs of exceeding smallness in the room, and while we waited for the persons who had been summoned, he kicked, now one and now another of the baskets which held them, as if he found in this some vent for his ill-humour. the witnesses presently appeared, followed by several persons, among whom were the dukes of nevers and merc[oe]ur, who came to ride out with the king, and m. de crillon; so that the chamber grew passably full. the two dukes nodded formally to the marquis, as they passed him, but entered into a muttered conversation with retz, who appeared to be urging them to press his cause. they seemed to decline, however, shrugging their short cloaks as if the matter were too insignificant. crillon on his part cried audibly, and with an oath, to know what the matter was; and being informed, asked whether all this fuss was being made about a damned shaveling monk. henry, whose tenderness for the cowl was well known, darted an angry glance at him, but contented himself with saying sharply to m. d'agen, 'now, sir, what do you know about the matter?' 'one moment, sire,' m. rambouillet cried, interposing before françois could answer. 'craving your majesty's pardon, you have heard m. de bruhl's account. may i, as a favour to myself, beg you, sire, to permit us also to hear it?' 'what?' marshal retz exclaimed angrily, 'are we to be the judges, then, or his majesty? arnidieu!' he continued hotly, 'what, in the fiend's name, have we to do with it? i protest 'fore heaven----' 'ay, sir, and what do you protest?' my champion retorted, turning to him with stern disdain. 'silence!' cried the king, who had listened almost bewildered. 'silence! by god, gentlemen,' he continued, his eye travelling round the circle with a sparkle of royal anger in it not unworthy of his crown, 'you forget yourselves. i will have none of this quarrelling in my presence or out of it. i lost quélus and maugiron that way, and loss enough, and i will have none of it, i say! m. de bruhl,' he added, standing erect, and looking for the moment, with all his paint and frippery, a king, 'm. de bruhl, repeat your story.' the feelings with which i listened to this controversy may be imagined. devoured in turn by hope and fear as now one side and now the other seemed likely to prevail, i confronted at one moment the gloom of the dungeon, and at another tasted the air of freedom, which had never seemed so sweet before. strong as these feelings were, however, they gave way to curiosity at this point; when i heard bruhl called, and saw him come forward at the king's command. knowing this man to be himself guilty, i marvelled with what face he would present himself before all those eyes, and from what depths of impudence he could draw supplies in such an emergency. i need not have troubled myself, however, for he was fully equal to the occasion. his high colour and piercing black eyes met the gaze of friend and foe alike without flinching. dressed well and elegantly, he wore his raven hair curled in the mode, and looked alike gay, handsome, and imperturbable. if there was a suspicion of coarseness about his bulkier figure, as he stood beside m. d'agen, who was the courtier perfect and point devise, it went to the scale of sincerity, seeing that men naturally associate truth with strength. 'i know no more than this, sire,' he said easily; 'that, happening to cross the parvis at the moment of the murder, i heard father antoine scream. he uttered four words only, in the tone of a man in mortal peril. they were'--and here the speaker looked for an instant at me--'ha! marsac! a moi!' 'indeed!' m. de rambouillet said, after looking to the king for permission. 'and that was all? you saw nothing?' bruhl shook his head. 'it was too dark,' he said. 'and heard no more?' 'no.' 'do i understand, then,' the marquis continued slowly, 'that m. de marsac is arrested because the priest--god rest his soul!--cried to him for help?' 'for help?' m. de retz exclaimed fiercely. 'for help?' said the king, surprised. and at that the most ludicrous change fell upon the faces of all. the king looked puzzled, the duke of nevers smiled, the duke of merc[oe]ur laughed aloud. crillon cried boisterously, 'good hit!' and the majority, who wished no better than to divine the winning party, grinned broadly, whether they would or no. to marshal retz, however, and bruhl, that which to everyone else seemed an amusing retort had a totally different aspect; while the former turned yellow with chagrin and came near to choking, the latter looked as chapfallen and startled as if his guilt had been that moment brought home to him. assured by the tone of the monk's voice--which must, indeed, have thundered in his ears--that my name was uttered in denunciation by one who thought me his assailant, he had chosen to tell the truth without reflecting that words, so plain to him, might bear a different construction when repeated. 'certainly the words seem ambiguous,' henry muttered. 'but it was marsac killed him,' retz cried in a rage. 'it is for some evidence of that we are waiting,' my champion answered suavely. the marshal looked helplessly at nevers and merc[oe]ur, who commonly took part with him; but apparently those noblemen had not been primed for this occasion. they merely shook their heads and smiled. in the momentary silence which followed, while all looked curiously at bruhl, who could not conceal his mortification, m. d'agen stepped forward. 'if your majesty will permit me,' he said, a malicious simper crossing his handsome face--i had often remarked his extreme dislike for bruhl without understanding it--'i think i can furnish some evidence more to the point than that to which m. de bruhl has with so much fairness restricted himself.' he then went on to state that he had had the honour of being in my company at the time of the murder; and he added, besides, so many details as to exculpate me to the satisfaction of any candid person. the king nodded. 'that settles the matter,' he said, with a sigh of relief. 'you think so, merc[oe]ur, do you not? precisely. villequier, see that the order respecting m. de marsac is cancelled.' m. de retz could not control his wrath on hearing this direction given. 'at this rate,' he cried recklessly, 'we shall have few priests left here! we have got a bad name at blois, as it is!' for a moment all in the circle held their breath, while the king's eyes flashed fire at this daring allusion to the murder of the duke de guise, and his brother the cardinal. but it was henry's misfortune to be ever indulgent in the wrong place, and severe when severity was either unjust or impolitic. he recovered himself with an effort, and revenged himself only by omitting to invite the marshal, who was now trembling in his shoes, to join his riding-party. the circle broke up amid some excitement. i stood on one side with m. d'agen, while the king and his immediate following passed out, and, greatly embarrassed as i was by the civil congratulating of many who would have seen me hang with equal goodwill, i was sharp enough to see that something was brewing between bruhl and marshal retz, who stood back conversing in low tones. i was not surprised, therefore, when the former made his way towards me through the press which filled the antechamber, and with a lowering brow requested a word with me. 'certainly,' i said, watching him narrowly, for i knew him to be both treacherous and a bully. 'speak on, sir.' 'you have baulked me once and again,' he rejoined, in a voice which shook a little, as did the fingers with which he stroked his waxed moustache. 'there is no need of words between us. i, with one sword besides, will to-morrow at noon keep the bridge at chaverny, a league from here. it is an open country. possibly your pleasure may lead you to ride that way with a friend?' 'you may depend upon me, sir,' i answered, bowing low, and feeling thankful that the matter was at length to be brought to a fair and open arbitration. 'i will be there--and in person. for my deputy last night,' i added, searching his face with a steadfast eye, 'seems to have been somewhat unlucky.' chapter xxi. two women. out of compliment, and to show my gratitude, i attended m. de rambouillet home to his lodging, and found him as much pleased with himself, and consequently with me, as i was with him. for the time, indeed, i came near to loving him; and, certainly, he was a man of high and patriotic feeling, and of skill and conduct to match. but he lacked that touch of nature and that power of sympathising with others which gave to such men as m. de rosny and the king, my master, their peculiar charm; though after what i have related of him in the last chapter it does not lie in my mouth to speak ill of him. and, indeed, he was a good man. when i at last reached my lodging, i found a surprise awaiting me in the shape of a note which had just arrived no one knew how. if the manner of its delivery was mysterious, however, its contents were brief and sufficiently explicit; for it ran thus: '_sir, by meeting me three hours after noon in the square before the house of the little sisters you will do a service at once to yourself and to the undersigned, marie de bruhl_.' that was all, written in a feminine character, yet it was enough to perplex me. simon, who had manifested the liveliest joy at my escape, would have had me treat it as i had treated the invitation to the parvis of the cathedral; ignore it altogether i mean. but i was of a different mind, and this for three reasons, among others: that the request was straightforward, the time early, and the place sufficiently public to be an unlikely theatre for violence, though well fitted for an interview to which the world at large was not invited. then, too, the square lay little more than a bowshot from my lodging, though on the farther side of the rue st. denys. besides, i could conceive many grounds which madame de bruhl might have for seeing me; of which some touched me nearly. i disregarded simon's warnings, therefore, and repaired at the time appointed to the place--a clean, paved square a little off the rue st. denys, and entered from the latter by a narrow passage. it was a spot pleasantly convenient for meditation, but overlooked on one side by the house of the little sisters; in which, as i guessed afterwards, madame must have awaited me, for the square when i entered it was empty, yet in a moment, though no one came in from the street, she stood beside me. she wore a mask and long cloak. the beautiful hair and perfect complexion, which had filled me with so much admiration at our first meeting in her house, were hidden, but i saw enough of her figure and carriage to be sure that it was madame de bruhl and no other. she began by addressing me in a tone of bitterness, for which i was not altogether unprepared. 'well, sir,' she exclaimed, her voice trembling with anger, 'you are satisfied, i hope, with your work?' i expected this and had my answer ready. 'i am not aware, madame,' i said, 'that i have cause to reproach myself. but, however that may be, i trust you have summoned me for some better purpose than to chide me for another's fault; though it was my voice which brought it to light.' 'why did you shame me publicly?' she retorted, thrusting her handkerchief to her lips and withdrawing it again with a passionate gesture. 'madame,' i answered patiently--i was full of pity for her, 'consider for a moment the wrong your husband did me, and how small and inadequate was the thing i did to him in return.' 'to him!' she ejaculated so fiercely that i started. 'it was to me--to me you did it! what had i done that you should expose me to the ridicule of those who know no pity, and the anger of one as merciless? what had i done, sir?' i shook my head sorrowfully. 'so far, madame,' i answered, 'i allow i owe you reparation, and i will make it should it ever be in my power. nay, i will say more,' i continued, for the tone in which she spoke had wrung my heart. 'in one point i strained the case against your husband. to the best of my belief he abducted the lady who was in my charge, not for the love of her, but for political reasons, and as the agent of another.' she gasped. 'what?' she cried. 'say that again!' as i complied she tore off her mask and gazed into my face with straining eyes and parted lips. i saw then how much she was changed, even in these few days--how pale and worn were her cheeks, how dark the circles round her eyes. 'will you swear to it?' she said at last, speaking with uncontrollable eagerness, while she laid a hand which shook with excitement on my arm. 'will you swear to it, sir?' 'it is true,' i answered steadfastly. i might have added that after the event her husband had so treated mademoiselle as to lead her to fear the worst. but i refrained, feeling that it was no part of my duty to come between husband and wife. she clasped her hands, and for a moment looked passionately upwards, as though she were giving thanks to heaven; while the flush of health and loveliness which i had so much admired returned, and illumined her face in a wonderful manner. she seemed, in truth and for the moment, transformed. her blue eyes filled with tears, her lips moved; nor have i ever seen anything bear so near a resemblance to those pictures of the virgin mary which romans worship as madame did then. the change, however, was as evanescent as it was admirable. in an instant she seemed to collapse. she struck her hands to her face and moaned, and i saw tears, which she vainly strove to restrain, dropping through her fingers. 'too late!' she murmured, in a tone of anguish which wrung my heart. 'alas, you robbed me of one man, you give me back another. i know him now for what he is. if he did not love her then, he does now. it is too late!' she seemed so much overcome that i assisted her to reach a bench which stood against the wall a few paces away; nor, i confess, was it without difficulty and much self-reproach that i limited myself to those prudent offices only which her state and my duty required. to console her on the subject of her husband was impossible; to ignore him, and so to console her, a task which neither my discretion nor my sense of honour, though sorely tried, permitted me to undertake. she presently recovered and, putting on her mask again, said hurriedly that she had still a word to say to me. 'you have treated me honestly,' she continued, 'and, though i have no cause to do anything but hate you, i say in return, look to yourself! you escaped last night--i know all, for it was my velvet knot--which i had made thinking to send it to you to procure this meeting--that he used as a lure. but he is not yet at the end of his resources. look to yourself, therefore.' i thought of the appointment i had made with him for the morrow, but i confined myself to thanking her, merely saying, as i bowed over the hand she resigned to me in token of farewell, 'madame, i am grateful. i am obliged to you both for your warning and your forgiveness.' bending her head coldly she drew away her hand. at that moment, as i lifted my eyes, i saw something which for an instant rooted me to the spot with astonishment. in the entrance of the passage which led to the rue st. denys two people were standing, watching us. the one was simon fleix, and the other, a masked woman, a trifle below the middle height, and clad in a riding-coat, was mademoiselle de la vire! i knew her in a moment. but the relief i experienced on seeing her safe and in blois was not unmixed with annoyance that simon fleix should have been so imprudent as to parade her unnecessarily in the street. i felt something of confusion also on my own account; for i could not tell how long she and her escort had been watching me. and these two feelings were augmented when, after turning to pay a final salute to madame de bruhl, i looked again towards the passage and discovered that mademoiselle and her squire were gone. impatient as i was, i would not seem to leave madame rudely or without feeling, after the consideration she had shown me in her own sorrow; and accordingly i waited uncovered until she disappeared within the 'little sisters.' then i started eagerly towards my lodging, thinking i might yet overtake mademoiselle before she entered. i was destined to meet, however, with another though very pertinent hindrance. as i passed from the rue st. denys into the quiet of my street i heard a voice calling my name, and, looking back, saw m. de rambouillet's equerry, a man deep in his confidence, running after me. he brought a message from his master, which he begged me to consider of the first importance. 'the marquis would not trust it to writing, sir,' he continued, drawing me aside into a corner where we were conveniently retired, 'but he made me learn it by heart. "tell m. de marsac," said he, "that that which he was left in blois to do must be done quickly, or not at all. there is something afoot in the other camp, i am not sure what. but now is the time to knock in the nail. i know his zeal, and i depend upon him." an hour before i should have listened to this message with serious doubts and misgivings. now, acquainted with mademoiselle's arrival, i returned m. de rambouillet an answer in the same strain, and parting civilly from bertram, who was a man i much esteemed, i hastened on to my lodgings, exulting in the thought that the hour and the woman were come at last, and that before the dawn of another day i might hope, all being well, to accomplish with honour to myself and advantage to others the commission which m. de rosny had entrusted to me. i must not deny that, mingled with this, was some excitement at the prospect of seeing mademoiselle again. i strove to conjure up before me as i mounted the stairs the exact expression of her face as i had last seen it bending from the window at rosny; to the end that i might have some guide for my future conduct, and might be less likely to fall into the snare of a young girl's coquetry. but i could come now, as then, to no satisfactory or safe conclusion, and only felt anew the vexation i had experienced on losing the velvet knot, which she had given me on that occasion. i knocked at the door of the rooms which i had reserved for her, and which were on the floor below my own; but i got no answer. supposing that simon had taken her upstairs, i mounted quickly, not doubting i should find her there. judge of my surprise and dismay when i found that room also empty, save for the lackey, whom m. de rambouillet had lent me! 'where are they?' i asked the man, speaking sharply, and standing with my hand on the door. 'the lady and her woman, sir?' he answered, coming forward. 'yes, yes!' i cried impatiently, a sudden fear at my heart. 'she went out immediately after her arrival with simon fleix, sir, and has not yet returned,' he answered. the words were scarcely out of his mouth before i heard several persons enter the passage below and begin to ascend the stairs. i did not doubt that mademoiselle and the lad had come home another way and been somehow detained; and i turned with a sigh of relief to receive them. but when the persons whose steps i had heard appeared, they proved to be only m. de rosny's equerry, stout, burly, and bright-eyed as ever, and two armed servants. chapter xxii. 'la femme dispose.' the moment the equerry's foot touched the uppermost stair i advanced upon him. 'where is your mistress, man?' i said. 'where is mademoiselle de la vire? be quick, tell me what you have done with her.' his face fell amazingly. 'where is she?' he answered, faltering between surprise and alarm at my sudden onslaught. 'here, she should be. i left her here not an hour ago. mon dieu! is she not here now?' his alarm increased mine tenfold. 'no!' i retorted, 'she is not! she is gone! and you--what business had you, in the fiend's name, to leave her here, alone and unprotected? tell me that!' he leaned against the balustrade, making no attempt to defend himself, and seemed, in his sudden terror, anything but the bold, alert fellow who had ascended the stairs two minutes before. 'i was a fool,' he groaned. 'i saw your man simon here; and fauchette, who is as good as a man, was with her mistress. and i went to stable the horses. i thought no evil. and now--my god!' he added, suddenly straightening himself, while his face grew hard and grim, 'i am undone! my master will never forgive me!' 'did you come straight here?' i said, considering that, after all, he was no more in fault than i had been on a former occasion. 'we went first to m. de rosny's lodging,' he answered, 'where we found your message telling us to come here. we came on without dismounting.' 'mademoiselle may have gone back, and be there,' i said. 'it is possible. do you stay here and keep a good look-out, and i will go and see. let one of your men come with me.' he uttered a brief assent; being a man as ready to take as to give orders, and thankful now for any suggestion which held out a hope of mademoiselle's safety. followed by the servant he selected, i ran down the stairs, and in a moment was hurrying along the rue st. denys. the day was waning. the narrow streets and alleys were already dark, but the air of excitement which i had noticed in the morning still marked the townsfolk, of whom a great number were strolling abroad, or standing in doorways talking to their gossips. feverishly anxious as i was, i remarked the gloom which dwelt on all faces; but as i set it down to the king's approaching departure, and besides was intent on seeing that those we sought did not by any chance pass us in the crowd, i thought little of it. five minutes' walking brought us to m. de rosny's lodging. there i knocked at the door; impatiently, i confess, and with little hope of success. but, to my surprise, barely an instant elapsed before the door opened, and i saw before me simon fleix! discovering who it was, he cowered back, with a terrified face, and retreated to the wall with his arm raised. 'you scoundrel!' i exclaimed, restraining myself with difficulty. 'tell me this moment where mademoiselle de la vire is! or, by heaven, i shall forget what my mother owed to you, and do you a mischief!' for an instant he glared at me viciously, with all his teeth exposed, as though he meant to refuse--and more. then he thought better of it, and, raising his hand, pointed sulkily upwards. 'go before me and knock at the door,' i said, tapping the hilt of my dagger with meaning. cowed by my manner, he obeyed, and led the way to the room in which m. de rambouillet had surprised us on a former occasion. here he stopped at the door and knocked gently; on which a sharp voice inside bade us enter. i raised the latch and did so, closing the door behind me. mademoiselle, still wearing her riding-coat, sat in a chair before the hearth, on which a newly kindled fire sputtered and smoked. she had her back to me, and did not turn on my entrance, but continued to toy in an absent manner with the strings of the mask which lay in her lap. fanchette stood bolt upright behind her, with her elbows squared and her hands clasped; in such an attitude that i guessed the maid had been expressing her strong dissatisfaction with this latest whim of her mistress, and particularly with mademoiselle's imprudence in wantonly exposing herself, with so inadequate a guard as simon, in a place where she had already suffered so much. i was confirmed in this notion on seeing the woman's harsh countenance clear at sight of me; though the churlish nod, which was all the greeting she bestowed on me, seemed to betoken anything but favour or good-will. she touched her mistress on the shoulder, however, and said, 'm. de marsac is here.' mademoiselle turned her head and looked at me languidly, without stirring in her chair or removing the foot she was warming. 'good evening,' she said. the greeting seemed so brief and so commonplace, ignoring, as it did, both the pains and anxiety to which she had just put me and the great purpose for which we were here--to say nothing of that ambiguous parting which she must surely remember as well as i--that the words i had prepared died on my lips, and i looked at her in honest confusion. all her small face was pale except her lips. her brow was dark, her eyes were hard as well as weary. and not words only failed me as i looked at her, but anger; having mounted the stairs hot foot to chide, i felt on a sudden--despite my new cloak and scabbard, my appointment, and the name i had made at court--the same consciousness of age and shabbiness and poverty which had possessed me in her presence from the beginning. i muttered, 'good evening, mademoiselle,' and that was all i could say--i who had frightened the burly maignan a few minutes before! seeing, i have no doubt, the effect she produced on me, she maintained for some time an embarrassing silence. at length she said, frigidly, 'perhaps m. de marsac will sit, fanchette. place a chair for him. i am afraid, however, that after his successes at court he may find our reception somewhat cold. but we are only from the country,' she added, looking at me askance, with a gleam of anger in her eyes. i thanked her huskily, saying that i would not sit, as i could not stay. 'simon fleix,' i continued, finding my voice with difficulty, 'has, i am afraid, caused you some trouble by bringing you to this house instead of telling you that i had made preparation for you at my lodgings.' 'it was not simon fleix's fault,' she replied curtly. 'i prefer these rooms. they are more convenient.' 'they are, perhaps, more convenient,' i rejoined humbly, 'but i have to think of safety, mademoiselle, as you know. at my house i have a competent guard, and can answer for your being unmolested.' 'you can send your guard here,' she said with a royal air. 'but, mademoiselle----' 'is it not enough that i have said that i prefer these rooms?' she replied sharply, dropping her mask on her lap and looking round at me in undisguised displeasure. 'are you deaf, sir? let me tell you, i am in no mood for argument. i am tired with riding. i prefer these rooms, and that is enough!' nothing could exceed the determination with which she said these words, unless it were the malicious pleasure in thwarting my wishes which made itself seen through the veil of assumed indifference. i felt myself brought up with a vengeance, and in a manner the most provoking that could be conceived. but opposition so childish, so utterly wanton, by exciting my indignation, had presently the effect of banishing the peculiar bashfulness i felt in her presence, and recalling me to my duty. 'mademoiselle,' i said firmly, looking at her with a fixed countenance, 'pardon me if i speak plainly. this is no time for playing with straws. the men from whom you escaped once are as determined and more desperate now. by this time they probably know of your arrival. do, then, as i ask, i pray and beseech you. or this time i may lack the power, though never the will, to save you.' wholly ignoring my appeal, she looked into my face--for by this time i had advanced to her side--with a whimsical smile. 'you are really much improved in manner since i last saw you,' she said. 'mademoiselle!' i replied, baffled and repelled. 'what do you mean?' 'what i say,' she answered, flippantly. 'but it was to be expected.' 'for shame!' i cried, provoked almost beyond bearing by her ill-timed raillery, 'will you never be serious until you have ruined us and yourself? i tell you this house is not safe for you! it is not safe for me! i cannot bring my men to it, for there is not room for them. if you have any spark of consideration, of gratitude, therefore----' 'gratitude!' she exclaimed, swinging her mask slowly to and fro by a ribbon, while she looked up at me as though my excitement amused her. 'gratitude--'tis a very pretty phrase, and means much; but it is for those who serve us faithfully, m. de marsac, and not for others. you receive so many favours, i am told, and are so successful at court, that i should not be justified in monopolising your services.' 'but, mademoiselle--' i said in a low tone. and there i stopped. i dared not proceed. 'well, sir,' she answered, looking up at me after a moment's silence, and ceasing on a sudden to play with her toy, 'what is it?' 'you spoke of favours,' i continued, with an effort. 'i never received but one from a lady. that was at rosny, and from your hand.' 'from my hand?' she answered, with an air of cold surprise. 'it was so, mademoiselle.' 'you have fallen into some strange mistake, sir,' she replied, rousing herself, and looking at me indifferently. 'i never gave you a favour.' i bowed low. 'if you say you did not, mademoiselle, that is enough,' i answered. 'nay, but do not let me do you an injustice, m. de marsac,' she rejoined, speaking more quickly and in an altered tone. 'if you can show me the favour i gave you, i shall, of course, be convinced. seeing is believing, you know,' she added, with a light nervous laugh, and a gesture of something like shyness. if i had not sufficiently regretted my carelessness, and loss of the bow at the time, i did so now. i looked at her in silence, and saw her face, that had for a moment shown signs of feeling, almost of shame, grow slowly hard again. 'well, sir?' she said impatiently. 'the proof is easy.' 'it was taken from me; i believe, by m. de rosny,' i answered lamely, wondering what ill-luck had led her to put the question and press it to this point. 'it was taken from you!' she exclaimed, rising and confronting me with the utmost suddenness, while her eyes flashed, and her little hand crumpled the mask beyond future usefulness. 'it was taken from you, sir!' she repeated, her voice and her whole frame trembling with anger and disdain. 'then i thank you, i prefer my version. yours is impossible. for let me tell you, when mademoiselle de la vire does confer a favour, it will be on a man with the power and the wit--and the constancy, to keep it, even from m. de rosny!' her scorn hurt, though it did not anger me. i felt it to be in a measure deserved, and raged against myself rather than against her. but aware through all of the supreme importance of placing her in safety, i subjected my immediate feelings to the exigencies of the moment and stooped to an argument which would, i thought, have weight though private pleading failed. 'putting myself aside, mademoiselle,' i said, with more formality than i had yet used, 'there is one consideration which must weigh with you. the king----' 'the king!' she cried, interrupting me violently, her face hot with passion and her whole person instinct with stubborn self-will. 'i shall not see the king!' 'you will not see the king?' i repeated in amazement. 'no, i will not!' she answered, in a whirl of anger, scorn, and impetuosity. 'there! i will not! i have been made a toy and a tool long enough, m. de marsac,' she continued, 'and i will serve others' ends no more. i have made up my mind. do not talk to me; you will do no good, sir. i would to heaven,' she added bitterly, 'i had stayed at chizé and never seen this place!' 'but, mademoiselle,' i said, 'you have not thought----' 'thought!' she exclaimed, shutting her small white teeth so viciously i all but recoiled. 'i have thought enough. i am sick of thought. i am going to act now. i will be a puppet no longer. you may take me to the castle by force if you will; but you cannot make me speak.' i looked at her in the utmost dismay and astonishment; being unable at first to believe that a woman who had gone through so much, had run so many risks, and ridden so many miles for a purpose, would, when all was done and the hour come, decline to carry out her plan. i could not believe it, i say, at first; and i tried arguments and entreaties without stint, thinking that she only asked to be entreated or coaxed. but i found prayers and even threats breath wasted upon her; and beyond these i would not go. i know i have been blamed by some and ridiculed by others for not pushing the matter farther; but those who have stood face to face with a woman of spirit--a woman whose very frailty and weakness fought for her--will better understand the difficulties with which i had to contend and the manner in which conviction was at last borne in on my mind. i had never before confronted stubbornness of this kind. as mademoiselle said again and again, i might force her to court, but i could not make her speak. when i had tried every means of persuasion, and still found no way of overcoming her resolution--the while fanchette looked on with a face of wood, neither aiding me nor taking part against me--i lost, i confess, in the chagrin of the moment that sense of duty which had hitherto animated me; and though my relation to mademoiselle should have made me as careful as ever of her safety, even in her own despite, i left her at last in anger and went out without saying another word about removing her--a thing which was still in my power. i believe a very brief reflection would have recalled me to myself and my duty; but the opportunity was not given me, for i had scarcely reached the head of the stairs before fanchette came after me, and called to me in a whisper to stop. she held a taper in her hand, and this she raised to my face, smiling at the disorder which she doubtless read there. 'do you say that this house is not safe?' she asked abruptly, lowering the light as she spoke. 'you have tried a house in blois before?' i replied with the same bluntness. 'you should know as well as i, woman.' 'she must be taken from here, then,' she answered, nodding her head, cunningly. 'i can persuade her. do you send for your people, and be here in half an hour. it may take me that time to wheedle her. but i shall do it.' 'then listen,' i said eagerly, seizing the opportunity and her sleeve and drawing her farther from the door. 'if you can persuade her to that, you can persuade to all i wish. listen, my friend,' i continued, sinking my voice still lower. 'if she will see the king for only ten minutes, and tell him what she knows, i will give you----' 'what?' the woman asked suddenly and harshly, drawing at the same time her sleeve from my hand. 'fifty crowns,' i replied, naming in my desperation a sum which would seem a fortune to a person in her position. 'fifty crowns down, the moment the interview is over.' 'and for that you would have me sell her!' the woman cried with a rude intensity of passion which struck me like a blow. 'for shame! for shame, man! you persuaded her to leave her home and her friends, and the country where she was known; and now you would have me sell her! shame on you! go!' she added scornfully. 'go this instant and get your men. the king, say you? the king! i tell you i would not have her finger ache to save all your kings!' she flounced away with that, and i retired crestfallen; wondering much at the fidelity which providence, doubtless for the well-being of the gentle, possibly for the good of all, has implanted in the humble. finding simon, to whom i had scarce patience to speak, waiting on the stairs below, i despatched him to maignan, to bid him come to me with his men. meanwhile i watched the house myself until their arrival, and then, going up, found that fanchette had been as good as her word. mademoiselle, with a sullen mien, and a red spot on either cheek, consented to descend, and, preceded by a couple of links, which maignan had thoughtfully provided, was escorted safely to my lodgings; where i bestowed her in the rooms below my own, which i had designed for her. at the door she turned and bowed to me, her face on fire. 'so far, sir, you have got your way,' she said, breathing quickly. 'do not flatter yourself, however, that you will get it farther--even by bribing my woman!' chapter xxiii. the last valois. i stood for a few moments on the stairs, wondering what i should do in an emergency to which the marquis's message of the afternoon attached so pressing a character. had it not been for that i might have waited until morning, and felt tolerably certain of finding mademoiselle in a more reasonable mood then. but as it was i dared not wait. i dared not risk the delay, and i came quickly to the conclusion that the only course open to me was to go at once to m. de rambouillet, and tell him frankly how the matter stood. maignan had posted one of his men at the open doorway leading into the street, and fixed his own quarters on the landing at the top, whence he could overlook an intruder without being seen himself. satisfied with the arrangement, i left rambouillet's man to reinforce him, and took with me simon fleix, of whose conduct in regard to mademoiselle i entertained the gravest doubts. the night, i found on reaching the street, was cold, the sky where it was visible between the eaves being bright with stars. a sharp wind was blowing, too, compelling us to wrap our cloaks round us and hurry on at a pace which agreed well with the excitement of my thoughts. assured that had mademoiselle been complaisant i might have seen my mission accomplished within the hour, it was impossible i should not feel impatient with one who, to gratify a whim, played with the secrets of a kingdom as if they were counters, and risked in passing ill-humour the results of weeks of preparation. and i was impatient, and with her. but my resentment fell so far short of the occasion that i wondered uneasily at my own easiness, and felt more annoyed with myself for failing to be properly annoyed with her, than inclined to lay the blame where it was due. it was in vain i told myself contemptuously that she was a woman, and that women were not accountable. i felt that the real secret and motive of my indulgence lay, not in this, but in the suspicion, which her reference to the favour given me on my departure from rosny had converted almost into a certainty, that i was myself the cause of her sudden ill-humour. i might have followed this train of thought farther, and to very pertinent conclusions. but on reaching m. de rambouillet's lodging i was diverted from it by the abnormally quiet aspect of the house, on the steps of which half a dozen servants might commonly be seen lounging. now the doors were closed, no lights shone through the windows, and the hall sounded empty and desolate when i knocked. not a lackey hurried to receive me even then; but the slipshod tread of the old porter, as he came with a lantern to open, alone broke the silence. i waited eagerly wondering what all this could mean; and when the man at last opened, and, recognising my face, begged my pardon if he had kept me waiting i asked him impatiently what was the matter. 'and where is the marquis?' i added, stepping inside to be out of the wind, and loosening my cloak. 'have you not heard, sir?' the man asked, holding up his lantern to my face. he was an old, wizened, lean fellow. 'it is a break-up, sir, i am afraid, this time.' 'a break-up?' i rejoined, peevishly. 'speak out, man! what is the matter? i hate mysteries.' 'you have not heard the news, sir? that the duke of merc[oe]ur and marshal retz, with all their people, left blois this afternoon?' 'no?' i answered, somewhat startled. 'whither are they gone?' 'to paris, it is said, sir,--to join the league.' 'but do you mean that they have deserted the king?' i asked. 'for certain, sir!' he answered. 'not the duke of merc[oe]ur?' i exclaimed. 'why, man, he is the king's brother-in-law. he owes everything to him.' 'well, he is gone, sir,' the old man answered positively. 'the news was brought to m. le marquis about four o'clock or a little after. he got his people together, and started after them to try and persuade them to return. or, so it is said.' as quickly as i could, i reviewed the situation in my mind. if this strange news were true, and men like merc[oe]ur, who had every reason to stand by the king, as well as men like retz, who had long been suspected of disaffection, were abandoning the court, the danger must be coming close indeed. the king must feel his throne already tottering, and be eager to grasp at any means of supporting it. under such circumstances it seemed to be my paramount duty to reach him; to gain his ear if possible, and at all risks; that i and not bruhl, navarre not turenne, might profit by the first impulse of self-preservation. bidding the porter shut his door and keep close, i hurried to the castle, and was presently more than confirmed in my resolution. for to my surprise i found the court in much the same state as m. de rambouillet's house. there were double guards indeed at the gates, who let me pass after scrutinising me narrowly; but the courtyard, which should have been at this hour ablaze with torches and crowded with lackeys and grooms, was a dark wilderness, in which half a dozen links trembled mournfully. passing through the doors i found things within in the same state: the hall ill lit and desolate; the staircase manned only by a few whispering groups, who scanned me as i passed; the antechambers almost empty, or occupied by the grey uniforms of the switzer guards. where i had looked to see courtiers assembling to meet their sovereign and assure him of their fidelity, i found only gloomy faces, watchful eyes, and mouths ominously closed. an air of constraint and fore, boding rested on all. a single footstep sounded hollowly. the long corridors, which had so lately rung with laughter and the rattle of dice, seemed already devoted to the silence and desolation which awaited them when the court should depart. where any spoke i caught the name of guise; and i could have fancied that his mighty shadow lay upon the place and cursed it. entering the chamber, i found matters little better there. his majesty was not present, nor were any of the court ladies; but half a dozen gentlemen, among whom i recognised revol, one of the king's secretaries, stood near the alcove. they looked up on my entrance, as though expecting news, and then, seeing who it was, looked away again impatiently. the duke of nevers was walking moodily to and fro before one of the windows, his hands clasped behind his back: while biron and crillon, reconciled by the common peril, talked loudly on the hearth. i hesitated a moment, uncertain how to proceed, for i was not yet so old at court as to feel at home there. but, at last making up my mind, i walked boldly up to crillon and requested his good offices to procure me an immediate audience of the king. 'an audience? do you mean you want to see him alone?' he said, raising his eyebrows and looking whimsically at biron. 'that is my petition, m. de crillon,' i answered firmly, though my heart sank. 'i am here on m. de rambouillet's business, and i need to see his majesty forthwith.' 'well, that is straightforward,' he replied, clapping me on the shoulder. 'and you shall see him. in coming to crillon you have come to the right man. revol,' he continued, turning to the secretary, 'this gentleman bears a message from m. de rambouillet to the king. take him to the closet without delay, my friend, and announce him. i will be answerable for him.' but the secretary shrugged his shoulders up to his ears. 'it is quite impossible, m. de crillon,' he said gravely. 'quite impossible at present.' 'impossible! chut! i do not know the word,' crillon retorted rudely. 'come, take him at once, and blame me if ill comes of it. do you hear?' 'but his majesty----' 'well?' 'is at his devotions,' the secretary said stiffly. 'his majesty's devotions be hanged!' crillon rejoined--so loudly that there was a general titter, and m. de nevers laughed grimly. 'do you hear?' the avennais continued, his face growing redder and his voice higher, 'or must i pull your ears, my friend? take this gentleman to the closet, i say, and if his majesty be angry, tell him it was by my order. i tell you he comes from rambouillet.' i do not know whether it was the threat, or the mention of m. de rambouillet's name, which convinced the secretary. but at any rate, after a moment's hesitation, he acquiesced. he nodded sullenly to me to follow him, and led the way to a curtain which masked the door of the closet. i followed him across the chamber, after muttering a hasty word of acknowledgment to crillon; and i had as nearly as possible reached the door when the bustle of some one entering the chamber caught my ear. i had just time to turn and see that this was bruhl, just time to intercept the dark look of chagrin and surprise which he fixed on me, and then revol, holding up the curtain, signed to me to enter. i expected to pass at once into the presence of the king, and had my reverence ready. instead, i found myself to my surprise in a small chamber, or rather passage, curtained at both ends, and occupied by a couple of guardsmen--members, doubtless, of the band of the forty-five--who rose at my entrance and looked at me dubiously. their guard-room, dimly illumined by a lamp of red glass, seemed to me, in spite of its curtains and velvet bench, and the thick tapestry which kept out every breath of wholesome air, the most sombre i could imagine. and the most ill-omened. but i had no time to make any long observation; for revol, passing me brusquely, raised the curtain at the other end, and, with his finger on his lip, bade me by signs to enter. i did so as silently, the heavy scent of perfumes striking me in the face as i raised a second curtain, and stopped short a pace beyond it; partly in reverence--because kings love their subjects best at a distance--and partly in surprise. for the room, or rather that portion of it in which i stood, was in darkness; only the farther end being illumined by a cold pale flood of moonlight, which, passing through a high, straight window, lay in a silvery sheet on the floor. for an instant i thought i was alone; then i saw, resting against this window, with a hand on either mullion, a tall figure, having something strange about the head. this peculiarity presently resolved itself into the turban in which i had once before seen his majesty. the king--for he it was--was talking to himself. he had not heard me enter, and having his back to me remained unconscious of my presence. i paused in doubt, afraid to advance, anxious to withdraw; yet uncertain whether i could move again unheard. at this moment while i stood hesitating, he raised his voice, and his words, reaching my ears, riveted my attention, so strange and eerie were both they and his tone. 'they say there is ill-luck in thirteen,' he muttered. 'thirteen valois and last!' he paused to laugh a wicked, mirthless laugh. 'ay,--thirteenth! and it is thirteen years since i entered paris, a crowned king! there were quélus and maugiron and st. mégrin and i--and _he_, i remember. ah, those days, those nights! i would sell my soul to live them again; had i not sold it long ago in the living them once! we were young then, and rich, and i was king; and quélus was an apollo! he died calling on me to save him. and maugiron died, blaspheming god and the saints. and st. mégrin, he had thirty-four wounds. and _he_--he is dead too, curse him! they are all dead, all dead, and it is all over! my god! it is all over, it is all over, it is all over!' he repeated the last four words more than a dozen times, rocking himself to and fro by his hold on the mullions. i trembled as i listened, partly through fear on my own account should i be discovered, and partly by reason of the horror of despair and remorse--no, not remorse, regret--which spoke in his monotonous voice. i guessed that some impulse had led him to draw the curtain from the window and shade the lamp; and that then, as he looked down on the moonlit country, the contrast between it and the vicious, heated atmosphere, heavy with intrigue and worse, in which he had spent his strength, had forced itself upon his mind. for he presently went on. 'france! there it lies! and what will they do with it? will they cut it up into pieces, as it was before old louis xi.? will merc[oe]ur--curse him!--be the most christian duke of brittany? and mayenne, by the grace of god, prince of paris and the upper seine? or will the little prince of béarn beat them, and be henry iv., king of france and navarre, protector of the churches? curse him too! he is thirty-six. he is my age. but he is young and strong, and has all before him. while i--i--oh, my god, have mercy on me! have mercy on me, o god in heaven!' with the last word he fell on his knees on the step before the window, and burst into such an agony of unmanly tears and sobbings as i had never dreamed of or imagined, and least of all in the king of france. hardly knowing whether to be more ashamed or terrified, i turned at all risks, and stealthily lifting the curtain, crept out with infinite care; and happily with so much good fortune as to escape detection. there was space enough between the two curtains to admit my body and no more; and here i stood a short while to collect my thoughts. then, striking my scabbard against the wall, as though by accident, and coughing loudly at the same moment, i twitched the curtain aside with some violence and re-entered, thinking that by these means i had given him warning enough. but i had not reckoned on the darkness in which the room lay, or the excitable state in which i had left him. he heard me, indeed, but being able to see only a tall, indistinct figure approaching him, he took fright, and falling back against the moonlit window, as though he saw a ghost, thrust out his hand, gasping at the same time two words, which sounded to me like 'ha! guise!' the next instant, discerning that i fell on my knee where i stood, and came no nearer, he recovered himself. with an effort, which his breathing made very apparent, he asked in an unsteady voice who it was. 'one of your majesty's most faithful servants,' i answered, remaining on my knee, and affecting to see nothing. keeping his face towards me, he sidled to the lamp and strove to withdraw the shade. but his fingers trembled so violently that it was some time before he succeeded, and set free the cheerful beams, which, suddenly filling the room with radiance, disclosed to my wondering eyes, instead of darkness and the cold gleam of the moon, a profusion of riches, of red stuffs and gemmed trifles and gilded arms crowded together in reckless disorder. a monkey chained in one corner began to gibber and mow at me. a cloak of strange cut, stretched on a wooden stand, deceived me for an instant into thinking that there was a third person present; while the table, heaped with dolls and powder-puffs, dog-collars and sweet-meats, a mask, a woman's slipper, a pair of pistols, some potions, a scourge, and an immense quantity of like litter, had as melancholy an appearance in my eyes as the king himself, whose disorder the light disclosed without mercy. his turban was awry, and betrayed the premature baldness of his scalp. the paint on his cheeks was cracked and stained, and had soiled the gloves he wore. he looked fifty years old; and in his excitement he had tugged his sword to the front, whence it refused to be thrust back. 'who sent you here?' he asked, when he had so far recovered his senses as to recognise me, which he did with great surprise. 'i am here, sire,' i answered evasively, 'to place myself at your majesty's service.' 'such loyalty is rare,' he answered, with a bitter sneer. 'but stand up, sir. i suppose i must be thankful for small mercies, and, losing a merc[oe]ur, be glad to receive a marsac.' 'by your leave, sire,' i rejoined hardily, 'the exchange is not so adverse. your majesty may make another duke when you will. but honest men are not so easily come by.' 'so! so!' he answered, looking at me with a fierce light in his eyes. 'you remind me in season. i may still make and unmake! i am still king of france? that is so, sirrah, is it not?' 'god forbid that it should be otherwise!' i answered earnestly. 'it is to lay before your majesty certain means by which you may give fuller effect to your wishes that i am here. the king of navarre desires only, sire----' 'tut, tut!' he exclaimed impatiently, and with some displeasure, 'i know his will better than you, man. but you see,' he continued cunningly, forgetting my inferior position as quickly as he had remembered it, 'turenne promises well, too. and turenne--it is true he may play the lorrainer. but if i trust henry of navarre, and he prove false to me----' he did not complete the sentence, but strode to and fro a time or two, his mind, which had a natural inclination towards crooked courses, bent on some scheme by which he might play off the one party against the other. apparently he was not very successful in finding one, however; or else the ill-luck with which he had supported the league against the huguenots recurred to his mind. for he presently stopped, with a sigh, and came back to the point. 'if i knew that turenne were lying,' he muttered, 'then indeed----. but rosny promised evidence, and he has sent me none.' 'it is at hand, sire,' i answered, my heart beginning to beat. 'your majesty will remember that m. de rosny honoured me with the task of introducing it to you.' 'to be sure,' he replied, awaking as from a dream, and looking and speaking eagerly. 'matters to-day have driven everything out of my head. where is your witness, man? convince me, and we will act promptly. we will give them jarnac and moncontour over again. is he outside?' 'it is a woman, sire,' i made answer, dashed somewhat by his sudden and feverish alacrity. 'a woman, eh? you have her here?' 'no, sire,' i replied, wondering what he would say to my next piece of information. 'she is in blois, she has arrived, but the truth is--i humbly crave your majesty's indulgence--she refuses to come or speak. i cannot well bring her here by force, and i have sought you, sire, for the purpose of taking your commands in the matter.' he stared at me in the utmost astonishment. 'is she young?' he asked after a long pause. 'yes, sire,' i answered. 'she is maid of honour to the princess of navarre, and a ward also of the vicomte de turenne.' 'gad! then she is worth hearing, the little rebel!' he replied. 'a ward of turenne's is she? ho! ho! and now she will not speak? my cousin of navarre now would know how to bring her to her senses, but i have eschewed these vanities. i might send and have her brought, it is true; but a very little thing would cause a barricade to-night.' 'and besides, sire,' i ventured to add, 'she is known to turenne's people here, who have once stolen her away. were she brought to your majesty with any degree of openness, they would learn it, and know that the game was lost.' 'which would not suit me,' he answered, nodding and looking at me gloomily. 'they might anticipate our jarnac; and until we have settled matters with one or the other our person is not too secure. you must go and fetch her. she is at your lodging. she must be brought, man.' 'i will do what you command, sire,' i answered. 'but i am greatly afraid that she will not come.' he lost his temper at that. 'then why, in the devil's name, have you troubled me with the matter?' he cried savagely. 'god knows--i don't--why rosny employed such a man and such a woman. he might have seen from the cut of your cloak, sir, which is full six months behind the fashion, that you could not manage a woman! was ever such damnable folly heard of in this world? but it is navarre's loss, not mine. it is his loss. and i hope to heaven it may be yours too!' he added fiercely. there was so much in what he said that i bent before the storm, and accepted with humility blame which was as natural on his part as it was undeserved on mine. indeed i could not wonder at his majesty's anger; nor should i have wondered at it in a greater man. i knew that but for reasons, on which i did not wish to dwell, i should have shared it to the full, and spoken quite as strongly of the caprice which ruined hopes and lives for a whim. the king continued for some time to say to me all the hard things he could think of. wearied at last by my patience, he paused, and cried angrily. 'well, have you nothing to say for yourself? can you suggest nothing?' 'i dare not mention to your majesty,' i said humbly, 'what seems to me to be the only alternative.' 'you mean that i should go to the wench!' he answered--for he did not lack quickness. '"_se no va el otero a mahoma, vaya mahoma al otero_," as mendoza says. but the saucy quean, to force me to go to her! did my wife guess--but there, i will go. by god i will go!' he added abruptly and fiercely. 'i will live to ruin retz yet! where is your lodging?' i told him, wondering much at this flash of the old spirit, which twenty years before had won him a reputation his later life did nothing to sustain. 'do you know,' he asked, speaking with sustained energy and clearness, 'the door by which m. de rosny entered to talk with me? can you find it in the dark?' 'yes, sire,' i answered, my heart beating high. 'then be in waiting there two hours before midnight,' he replied. 'be well armed, but alone. i shall know how to make the girl speak. i can trust you, i suppose?' he added suddenly, stepping nearer to me and looking fixedly into my eyes. 'i will answer for your majesty's life with my own,' i replied, sinking on one knee. 'i believe you, sir,' he answered gravely, giving me his hand to kiss, and then turning away. 'so be it. now leave me. you have been here too long already. not a word to any one as you value your life.' i made fitting answer and was leaving him; but when i had my hand already on the curtain, he called me back. 'in heaven's name get a new cloak!' he said peevishly, eyeing me all over with his face puckered up. 'get a new cloak, man, the first thing in the morning. it is worse seen from the side than the front. it would ruin the cleverest courtier of them all!' chapter xxiv. a royal peril. the elation with which i had heard the king announce his resolution quickly diminished on cooler reflection. it stood in particular at a very low ebb as i waited, an hour later, at the little north postern of the castle, and, cowering within the shelter of the arch to escape the wind, debated whether his majesty's energy would sustain him to the point of action, or whether he might not, in one of those fits of treacherous vacillation which had again and again marred his plans, send those to keep the appointment who would give a final account of me. the longer i considered his character the more dubious i grew. the loneliness of the situation, the darkness, the black front, unbroken by any glimmer of light, which the castle presented on this side, and the unusual and gloomy stillness which lay upon the town, all contributed to increase my uneasiness. it was with apprehension as well as relief that i caught at last the sound of footsteps on the stone staircase, and, standing a little to one side, saw a streak of light appear at the foot of the door. on the latter being partially opened a voice cried my name. i advanced with caution and showed myself. a brief conversation ensued between two or three persons who stood within; but in the end, a masked figure, which i had no difficulty in identifying as the king, stepped briskly out. 'you are armed?' he said, pausing a second opposite me. i put back my cloak and showed him, by the light which streamed from the doorway, that i carried pistols as well as a sword. 'good!' he answered briefly; 'then let us go. do you walk on my left hand, my friend. it is a dark night, is it not?' 'very dark, sire,' i said. he made no answer to this, and we started, proceeding with caution until we had crossed the narrow bridge, and then with greater freedom and at a better pace. the slenderness of the attendance at court that evening, and the cold wind, which swept even the narrowest streets and drove roisterers indoors, rendered it unlikely that we should be stopped or molested by any except professed thieves; and for these i was prepared. the king showed no inclination to talk; and keeping silence myself out of respect, i had time to calculate the chances and to consider whether his majesty would succeed where i had failed. this calculation, which was not inconsistent with the keenest watchfulness on my part whenever we turned a corner or passed the mouth of an alley, was brought to an end by our safe arrival at the house. briefly apologising to the king for the meanness and darkness of the staircase, i begged leave to precede him, and rapidly mounted until i met maignan. whispering to him that all was well, i did not wait to hear his answer, but, bidding him be on the watch, i led the king on with as much deference as was possible until we stood at the door of mademoiselle's apartment, which i have elsewhere stated to consist of an outer and inner room. the door was opened by simon fleix, and him i promptly sent out. then, standing aside and uncovering, i begged the king to enter. he did so, still wearing his hat and mask, and i followed and secured the door. a lamp hanging from the ceiling diffused an imperfect light through the room, which was smaller but more comfortable in appearance than that which i rented overhead. i observed that fanchette, whose harsh countenance looked more forbidding than usual, occupied a stool which she had set in a strange fashion against the inner door; but i thought no more of this at the moment, my attention passing quickly to mademoiselle, who sat crouching before the fire, enveloped in a large outdoor cloak, as if she felt the cold. her back was towards us, and she was, or pretended to be, still ignorant of our presence. with a muttered word i pointed her out to the king, and went towards her with him. 'mademoiselle,' i said in a low voice, 'mademoiselle de la vire! i have the honour----' she would not turn, and i stopped. clearly she heard, but she betrayed that she did so only by drawing her cloak more closely round her. primed by my respect for the king, i touched her lightly on the shoulder. 'mademoiselle!' i said impatiently, 'you are not aware of it, but----' she shook herself free from my hand with so rude a gesture that i broke off, and stood gaping foolishly at her. the king smiled, and nodding to me to step back a pace, took the task on himself. 'mademoiselle,' he said with dignity, 'i am not accustomed----' his voice had a magical effect. before he could add another word she sprang up as if she had been struck, and faced us, a cry of alarm on her lips. simultaneously we both cried out too, for it was not mademoiselle at all. the woman who confronted us, her hand on her mask, her eyes glittering through the slits, was of a taller and fuller figure. we stared at her. then a lock of bright golden hair which had escaped from the hood of her cloak gave us the clue. 'madame!' the king cried. 'madame de bruhl!' i echoed, my astonishment greater than his. seeing herself known, she began with trembling fingers to undo the fastenings of her mask; but the king, who had hitherto displayed a trustfulness i had not expected in him, had taken alarm at sight of her, as at a thing unlocked for, and of which i had not warned him. 'how is this?' he said harshly, drawing back a pace from her and regarding me with anger and distrust. 'is this some pretty arrangement of yours, sir? am i an intruder at an assignation, or is this a trap with m. de bruhl in the background? answer, sirrah!' he continued, working himself rapidly into a passion. 'which am i to understand is the case?' 'neither, sire,' i answered with as much dignity as i could assume, utterly surprised and mystified as i was by madame's presence. 'your majesty wrongs madame de bruhl as much by the one suspicion as you injure me by the other. i am equally in the dark with you, sire, and as little expected to see madame here.' 'i came, sire,' she said proudly, addressing herself to the king, and ignoring me, 'out of no love to m. de marsac, but as any person bearing a message to him might come. nor can you, sire,' she added with spirit, 'feel half as much surprise at seeing me here, as i at seeing your majesty.' 'i can believe that,' the king answered drily. 'i would you had not seen me.' 'the king of france is seen only when he chooses,' she replied, curtseying to the ground. 'good,' he answered. 'let it be so, and you will oblige the king of france, madame. but enough,' he continued, turning from her to me; 'since this is not the lady i came to see, m. de marsac, where is she?' 'in the inner room, sire, i opine,' i said, advancing to fanchette with more misgiving at heart than my manner evinced. 'your mistress is here, is she not?' i continued, addressing the woman sharply. 'ay, and will not come out,' she rejoined, sturdily keeping her place. 'nonsense!' i said. 'tell her----' 'you may tell her what you please,' she replied, refusing to budge an inch. 'she can hear.' 'but, woman!' i cried impatiently, 'you do not understand. i _must_ speak with her. i must speak with her at once! on business of the highest importance.' 'as you please,' she said rudely, still keeping her seat. 'i have told you you can speak.' perhaps i felt as foolish on this occasion as ever in my life; and surely never was man placed in a more ridiculous position. after overcoming numberless obstacles, and escaping as many perils, i had brought the king here, a feat beyond my highest hopes--only to be baffled and defeated by a waiting-woman! i stood irresolute; witless and confused; while the king waited half angry and half amused, and madame kept her place by the entrance, to which she had retreated. i was delivered from my dilemma by the curiosity which is, providentially perhaps, a part of woman's character, and which led mademoiselle to interfere herself. keenly on the watch inside, she had heard part of what passed between us, and been rendered inquisitive by the sound of a strange man's voice, and by the deference which she could discern i paid to the visitor. at this moment, she cried out, accordingly, to know who was there; and fanchette, seeming to take this as a command, rose and dragged her stool aside, saying peevishly and without any increase of respect, 'there, i told you she could hear.' 'who is it?' mademoiselle asked again, in a raised voice. i was about to answer when the king signed to me to stand back, and, advancing himself, knocked gently on the door. 'open, i pray you, mademoiselle,' he said courteously. 'who is there?' she cried again, her voice trembling. 'it is i, the king,' he answered softly; but in that tone of majesty which belongs not to the man, but to the descendant, and seems to be the outcome of centuries of command. she uttered an exclamation and slowly, and with seeming reluctance, turned the key in the lock. it grated, and the door opened. i caught a glimpse for an instant of her pale face and bright eyes, and then his majesty, removing his hat, passed in and closed the door; and i withdrew to the farther end of the room, where madame continued to stand by the entrance. i entertained a suspicion, i remember, and not unnaturally, that she had come to my lodging as her husband's spy; but her first words when i joined her dispelled this. 'quick!' she said with an imperious gesture. 'hear me and let me go! i have waited long enough for you, and suffered enough through you. as for that woman in there, she is mad, and her servant too! now, listen to me. you spoke to me honestly to-day, and i have come to repay you. you have an appointment with my husband to-morrow at chaverny. is it not so?' she added impatiently. i replied that it was so. 'you are to go with one friend,' she went on, tearing the glove she had taken off, to strips in her excitement. 'he is to meet you with one also?' 'yes,' i assented reluctantly, 'at the bridge, madame.' 'then do not go,' she rejoined emphatically. 'shame on me that i should betray my husband; but it were worse to send an innocent man to his death. he will meet you with one sword only, according to his challenge, but there will be those under the bridge who will make certain work. there, i have betrayed him now!' she continued bitterly. 'it is done. let me go!' 'nay, but, madame,' i said, feeling more concerned for her, on whom from the first moment of meeting her i had brought nothing but misfortune, than surprised by this new treachery on his part, 'will you not run some risk in returning to him? is there nothing i can do for you--no step i can take for your protection?' 'none!' she said repellently and almost rudely, 'except to speed my going.' 'but you will not pass through the streets alone?' she laughed so bitterly my heart ached for her. 'the unhappy are always safe,' she said. remembering how short a time it was since i had surprised her in the first happiness of wedded love, i felt for her all the pity it was natural i should feel. but the responsibility under which his majesty's presence and the charge of mademoiselle laid me forbade me to indulge in the luxury of evincing my gratitude. gladly would i have escorted her back to her home--even if i could not make that home again what it had been, or restore her husband to the pinnacle from which i had dashed him--but i dared not do this. i was forced to content myself with less, and was about to offer to send one of my men with her, when a hurried knocking at the outer door arrested the words on my lips. signing to her to stand still, i listened. the knocking was repeated, and grew each moment more urgent. there was a little grille, strongly wired, in the upper part of the door, and this i was about to open in order to learn what was amiss, when simon's voice reached me from the farther side imploring me to open the door quickly. doubting the lad's prudence, yet afraid to refuse lest i should lose some warning he had to give, i paused a second, and then undid the fastenings. the moment the door gave way he fell in bodily, crying out to me to bar it behind him. i caught a glimpse through the gap of a glare as of torches, and saw by this light half a dozen flushed faces in the act of rising above the edge of the landing. the men who owned them raised a shout of triumph at sight of me, and, clearing the upper steps at a bound, made a rush for the door. but in vain. we had just time to close it and drop the two stout bars. in a moment, in a second, the fierce outcry fell to a dull roar; and safe for the time, we had leisure to look in one another's faces and learn the different aspects of alarm. madame was white to the lips, while simon's eyes seemed starting from his head, and he shook in every limb with terror. at first, on my asking him what it meant, he could not speak. but that would not do, and i was in the act of seizing him by the collar to force an answer from him when the inner door opened, and the king came out, his face wearing an air of so much cheerfulness as proved both his satisfaction with mademoiselle's story and his ignorance of all we were about. in a word he had not yet taken the least alarm; but seeing simon in my hands, and madame leaning against the wall by the door like one deprived of life, he stood and cried out in surprise to know what it was. 'i fear we are besieged, sire,' i answered desperately, feeling my anxieties increased a hundredfold by his appearance--'but by whom i cannot say. this lad knows, however,' i continued, giving simon a vicious shake, 'and he shall speak. now, trembler,' i said to him, 'tell your tale?' 'the provost-marshal!' he stammered, terrified afresh by the king's presence: for henry had removed his mask. 'i was on guard below. i had come up a few steps to be out of the cold, when i heard them enter. there are a round score of them.' i cried out a great oath, asking him why he had not gone up and warned maignan, who with his men was now cut off from us in the rooms above. 'you fool!' i continued, almost beside myself with rage, 'if you had not come to this door they would have mounted to my rooms and beset them! what is this folly about the provost-marshal?' 'he is there,' simon answered, cowering away from me, his face working. i thought he was lying, and had merely fancied this in his fright. but the assailants at this moment began to hail blows on the door, calling on us to open, and using such volleys of threats as penetrated even the thickness of the oak; driving the blood from the women's cheeks, and arresting the king's step in a manner which did not escape me. among their cries i could plainly distinguish the words, 'in the king's name!' which bore out simon's statement. at the moment i drew comfort from this; for if we had merely to deal with the law we had that on our side which was above it. and i speedily made up my mind what to do. 'i think the lad speaks the truth, sire,' i said coolly. 'this is only your majesty's provost-marshal. the worst to be feared, therefore, is that he may learn your presence here before you would have it known. it should not be a matter of great difficulty, however, to bind him to silence, and if you will please to mask, i will open the grille and speak with him.' the king, who had taken his stand in the middle of the room, and seemed dazed and confused by the suddenness of the alarm and the uproar, assented with a brief word. accordingly i was preparing to open the grille when madame de bruhl seized my arm, and forcibly pushed me back from it. 'what would you do?' she cried, her face full of terror. 'do you not hear? he is there.' 'who is there?' i said, startled more by her manner than her words. 'who?' she answered; 'who should be there? my husband! i hear his voice, i tell you! he has tracked me here! he has found me, and will kill me!' 'god forbid!' i said, doubting if she had really heard his voice. to make sure, i asked simon if he had seen him; and my heart sank when i heard from him too that bruhl was of the party. for the first time i became fully sensible of the danger which threatened us. for the first time, looking round the ill-lit room on the women's terrified faces, and the king's masked figure instinct with ill-repressed nervousness, i recognised how hopelessly we were enmeshed. fortune had served bruhl so well that, whether he knew it or not, he had us all trapped--alike the king whom he desired to compromise, and his wife whom he hated, mademoiselle who had once escaped him, and me who had twice thwarted him. it was little to be wondered at if my courage sank as i looked from one to another, and listened to the ominous creaking of the door, as the stout panels complained under the blows rained upon them. for my first duty, and that which took the _pas_ of all others, was to the king--to save him harmless. how, then, was i to be answerable for mademoiselle, how protect madame de bruhl?--how, in a word, redeem all those pledges in which my honour was concerned? it was the thought of the provost-marshal which at this moment rallied my failing spirits. i remembered that until the mystery of his presence here in alliance with bruhl was explained there was no need to despair; and turning briskly to the king i begged him to favour me by standing with the women in a corner which was not visible from the door. he complied mechanically, and in a manner which i did not like; but lacking time to weigh trifles, i turned to the grille and opened it without more ado. the appearance of my face at the trap was greeted with a savage cry of recognition, which subsided as quickly into silence. it was followed by a momentary pushing to and fro among the crowd outside, which in its turn ended in the provost-marshal coming to the front. 'in the king's name!' he said fussily. 'what is it?' i replied, eyeing rather the flushed, eager faces which scowled over his shoulders than himself. the light of two links, borne by some of the party, shone ruddily on the heads of the halberds, and, flaring up from time to time, filled all the place with wavering, smoky light. 'what do you want?' i continued, 'rousing my lodging at this time of night?' 'i hold a warrant for your arrest,' he replied bluntly. 'resistance will be vain. if you do not surrender i shall send for a ram to break in the door.' 'where is your order?' i said sharply. 'the one you held this morning was cancelled by the king himself.' 'suspended only,' he answered. 'suspended only. it was given out to me again this evening for instant execution. and i am here in pursuance of it, and call on you to surrender.' 'who delivered it to you?' i retorted. 'm. de villequier, 'he answered readily. 'and here it is. now, come, sir,' he continued, 'you are only making matters worse. open to us.' 'before i do so,' i said drily, 'i should like to know what part in the pageant my friend m. de bruhl, whom i see on the stairs yonder, proposes to play. and there is my old friend fresnoy,' i added. 'and i see one or two others whom i know, m. provost. before i surrender i must know among other things what m. de bruhl's business is here.' 'it is the business of every loyal man to execute the king's warrant,' the provost answered evasively. 'it is yours to surrender, and mine to lodge you in the castle. but i am loth to have a disturbance. i will give you until that torch goes out, if you like, to make up your mind. at the end of that time, if you do not surrender, i shall batter down the door.' 'you will give the torch fair play?' i said, noting its condition. he assented; and thanking him sternly for this indulgence, i closed the grille. chapter xxv. terms of surrender. i still had my hand on the trap when a touch on the shoulder caused me to turn, and in a moment apprised me of the imminence of a new peril; a peril of such a kind that, summoning all my resolution, i could scarcely hope to cope with it. henry was at my elbow. he had taken off his mask, and a single glance at his countenance warned me that that had happened of which i had already felt some fear. the glitter of intense excitement shone in his eyes. his face, darkly-flushed and wet with sweat, betrayed overmastering emotion, while his teeth, tight clenched in the effort to restrain the fit of trembling which possessed him, showed between his lips like those of a corpse. the novelty of the danger which menaced him, the absence of his gentlemen, and of all the familiar faces and surroundings without which he never moved, the hour, the mean house, and his isolation among strangers, had proved too much for nerves long weakened by his course of living, and for a courage, proved indeed in the field, but unequal to a sudden stress. though he still strove to preserve his dignity, it was alarmingly plain to my eyes that he was on the point of losing, if he had not already lost, all self-command. 'open!' he muttered between his teeth, pointing impatiently to the trap with the hand with which he had already touched me. 'open, i say, sir!' i stared at him, startled and confounded. 'but your majesty,' i ventured to stammer, 'forgets that i have not yet----' 'open, i say!' he repeated passionately. 'do you hear me, sir? i desire that this door be opened.' his lean hand shook as with the palsy, so that the gems on it twinkled in the light and rattled as he spoke. i looked helplessly from him to the women and back again, seeing in a flash all the dangers which might follow from the discovery of his presence there--dangers which i had not before formulated to myself, but which seemed in a moment to range themselves with the utmost clearness before my eyes. at the same time i saw what seemed to me to be a way of escape; and emboldened by the one and the other, i kept my hand on the trap and strove to parley with him. 'nay, but, sire,' i said hurriedly, yet still with as much deference as i could command, 'i beg you to permit me first to repeat what i have seen. m. de bruhl is without, and i counted six men whom i believe to be his following. they are ruffians ripe for any crime; and i implore your majesty rather to submit to a short imprisonment----' i paused struck dumb on that word, confounded by the passion which lightened in the king's face. my ill-chosen expression had indeed applied the spark to his wrath. predisposed to suspicion by a hundred treacheries, he forgot the perils outside in the one idea which on the instant possessed his mind; that i would confine his person, and had brought him hither for no other purpose. he glared round him with eyes full of rage and fear, and his trembling lips breathed rather than spoke the word 'imprison?' unluckily, a trifling occurrence added at this moment to his disorder, and converted it into frenzy. someone outside fell heavily against the door; this, causing madame to utter a low shriek, seemed to shatter the last remnant of the king's self-control. stamping his foot on the floor, he cried to me with the utmost wildness to open the door--by which i had hitherto kept my place. but, wrongly or rightly, i was still determined to put off opening it; and i raised my hands with the intention of making a last appeal to him. he misread the gesture, and retreating a step, with the greatest suddenness whipped out his sword, and in a moment had the point at my breast, and his wrist drawn back to thrust. it has always been my belief that he would not have dealt the blow, but that the mere touch of the hilt, awaking the courage which he undoubtedly possessed, and which did not desert him in his last moments, would have recalled him to himself. but the opportunity was not given him, for while the blade yet quivered, and i stood motionless, controlling myself by an effort, my knee half bent and my eyes on his, mademoiselle de la vire sprang forward at his back, and with a loud scream clutched his elbow. the king, surprised, and ignorant who held him, flung up his point wildly, and striking the lamp above his head with his blade, shattered it in an instant, bringing down the pottery with a crash and reducing the room to darkness; while the screams of the women, and the knowledge that we had a madman among us, peopled the blackness with a hundred horrors. fearing above all for mademoiselle, i made my way as soon as i could recover my wits to the embers of the fire, and regardless of the king's sword, which i had a vague idea was darting about in the darkness, i searched for and found a half-burnt stick, which i blew into a blaze. with this, still keeping my back to the room, i contrived to light a taper that i had noticed standing by the hearth; and then, and then only, i turned to see what i had to confront. mademoiselle de la vire stood in a corner, half-fierce, half-terrified, and wholly flushed. she had her hand wrapped up in a 'kerchief already stained with blood; and from this i gathered that the king in his frenzy had wounded her slightly. standing before her mistress, with her hair bristling, like a wild-cat's fur, and her arms akimbo, was fanchette, her harsh face and square form instinct with fury and defiance. madame de bruhl and simon cowered against the wall not far from them; and in a chair, into which he had apparently just thrown himself, sat the king, huddled up and collapsed, the point of his sword trailing on the ground beside him, and his nerveless hand scarce retaining force to grip the pommel. in a moment i made up my mind what to do, and going to him in silence, i laid my pistols, sword, and dagger on a stool by his side. then i knelt. 'the door, sire,' i said, 'is there. it is for your majesty to open it when you please. here, too, sire, are my weapons. i am your prisoner, the provost-marshal is outside, and you can at a word deliver me to him. only one thing i beg, sire,' i continued earnestly, 'that your majesty will treat as a delusion the idea that i meditated for a moment disrespect or violence to your person.' he looked at me dully, his face pale, his eyes fish-like. 'sanctus, man!' he muttered, 'why did you raise your hand?' 'only to implore your majesty to pause a moment,' i answered, watching the intelligence return slowly to his face. 'if you will deign to listen i can explain in half a dozen words, sire. m. de bruhl's men are six or seven, the provost has eight or nine; but the former are the wilder blades, and if m. de bruhl find your majesty in my lodging, and infer his own defeat, he will be capable of any desperate stroke. your person would hardly be safe in his company through the streets. and there is another consideration,' i went on, observing with joy that the king listened, and was gradually regaining his composure. 'that is, the secrecy you desired to preserve, sire, until this matter should be well advanced. m. de rosny laid the strictest injunctions on me in that respect, fearing an _émeute_ in blois should your majesty's plans become known.' 'you speak fairly,' the king answered with returning energy, though he avoided looking at the women. 'bruhl is likely enough to raise one. but how am i to get out, sir?' he continued, querulously. 'i cannot remain here. i shall be missed, man! i am not a hedge-captain, neither sought nor wanted!' 'if your majesty would trust me?' i said slowly and with hesitation. 'trust you!' he retorted peevishly, holding up his hands and gazing intently at his nails, of the shape and whiteness of which he was prouder than any woman. 'have i not trusted you? if i had not trusted you, should i have been here? but that you were a huguenot--god forgive me for saying it!--i would have seen you in hell before i would have come here with you!' i confess to having heard this testimony to the religion with a pride which made me forget for a moment the immediate circumstances--the peril in which we stood, the gloomy room darkly lighted by a single candle, the scared faces in the background, even the king's huddled figure, in which dejection and pride struggled for expression. for a moment only; then i hastened to reply, saying that i doubted not i could still extricate his majesty without discovery. 'in heaven's name do it, then!' he answered sharply. 'do what you like, man! only get me back into the castle, and it shall not be a huguenot will entice me out again. i am over old for these adventures!' a fresh attack on the door taking place as he said this induced me to lose no time in explaining my plan, which he was good enough to approve, after again upbraiding me for bringing him into such a dilemma. fearing lest the door should give way prematurely, notwithstanding the bars i had provided for it, and goaded on by madame de bruhl's face, which evinced the utmost terror, i took the candle and attended his majesty into the inner room; where i placed my pistols beside him, but silently resumed my sword and dagger. i then returned for the women, and indicating by signs that they were to enter, held the door open for them. mademoiselle, whose bandaged hand i could not regard without emotion, though the king's presence and the respect i owed him forbade me to utter so much as a word, advanced readily until she reached the doorway abreast of me. there, however, looking back, and seeing madame de bruhl following her, she stopped short, and darting a haughty glance at me, muttered, 'and--that lady? are we to be shut up together, sir?' 'mademoiselle,' i answered quickly in the low tone she had used herself, 'have i ever asked anything dishonourable of you?' she seemed by a slight movement of the head to answer in the negative. 'nor do i now,' i replied with earnestness. 'i entrust to your care a lady who has risked great peril for us; and the rest i leave to you.' she looked me very keenly in the face for a second, and then, without answering, she passed on, madame and fanchette following her in that order. i closed the door and turned to simon; who by my direction had blown the embers of the fire into a blaze so as to partially illumine the room, in which only he and i now remained. the lad seemed afraid to meet my eye, and owing to the scene at which he had just assisted, or to the onslaught on the door, which grew each moment more furious, betrayed greater restlessness than i had lately observed in him. i did not doubt his fidelity, however, or his devotion to mademoiselle; and the orders i had to give him were simple enough. 'this is what you have got to do,' i said, my hand already on the bars. 'the moment i am outside secure this door. after that, open to no one except maignan. when he applies, let him in with caution, and bid him, as he loves m. de rosny, take his men as soon as the coast is clear, and guard the king of france to the castle. charge him to be brave and wary, for his life will answer for the king's.' twice i repeated this; then fearing lest the provost-marshal should make good his word and apply a ram to the door, i opened the trap. a dozen angry voices hailed my appearance, and this with so much violence and impatience that it was some time before i could get a hearing; the knaves threatening me if i would not instantly open, and persisting that i should do so without more words. their leader at length quieted them, but it was plain that his patience too was worn out. 'do you surrender or do you not?' he said. 'i am not going to stay out of my bed all night for you!' 'i warn you,' i answered, 'that the order you have there has been cancelled by the king!' 'that is not my business,' he rejoined hardily. 'no, but it will be when the king sends for you to-morrow morning, 'i retorted; at which he looked somewhat moved. 'however, i will surrender to you on two conditions,' i continued, keenly observing the coarse faces of his following. 'first, that you let me keep my arms until we reach the gate-house, i giving you my parole to come with you quietly. that is number one.' 'well,' the provost-marshal said more civilly, 'i have no objection to that.' 'secondly, that you do not allow your men to break into my lodgings. i will come out quietly, and so an end. your order does not direct you to sack my goods.' ^tut, tut!' he replied; 'i want you to come out. i do not want to go in.' 'then draw your men back to the stairs,' i said. 'and if you keep terms with me, i will uphold you to-morrow. for your orders will certainly bring you into trouble. m. de retz, who procured it this morning, is away, you know. m. de villequier may be gone to-morrow. but depend upon it, m. de rambouillet will be here!' the remark was well timed and to the point. it startled the man as much as i had hoped it would. without raising any objection he ordered his men to fall back and guard the stairs; and i on my side began to undo the fastenings of the door. the matter was not to be so easily concluded, however; for bruhl's rascals, in obedience, no doubt, to a sign given by their leader, who stood with fresnoy on the upper flight of stairs, refused to withdraw; and even hustled the provost-marshal's men when the latter would have obeyed the order. the officer, already heated by delay, replied by laying about him with his staff, and in a twinkling there seemed to be every prospect of a very pretty _mêlée_, the end of which it was impossible to foresee. reflecting, however, that if bruhl's men routed their opponents our position might be made worse rather than better, i did not act on my first impulse, which was to see the matter out where i was. instead, i seized the opportunity to let myself out, while simon fastened the door behind me. the provost-marshal was engaged at the moment in a wordy dispute with fresnoy; whose villainous countenance, scarred by the wound which i had given him at chizé, and flushed with passion, looked its worst by the light of the single torch which remained. in one respect the villain had profited by his present patronage, for he was decked out in a style of tawdry magnificence. but i have always remarked this about dress, that while a shabby exterior does not entirely obscure a gentleman, the extreme of fashion is powerless to gild a knave. seeing me on a sudden at the provost's elbow, he recoiled with a change of countenance so ludicrous that that officer was himself startled, and only held his ground on my saluting him civilly and declaring myself his prisoner. i added a warning that he should look to the torch which remained; seeing that if it failed we were both like to have our throats cut in the confusion. he took the hint promptly, and calling the link-man to his side prepared to descend, bidding fresnoy and his men, who remained clumped at the head of the stairs, make way for us without ado. they seemed much inclined, however, to dispute our passage, and replying to his invectives with rough taunts, displayed so hostile a demeanour that the provost, between regard for his own importance and respect for bruhl, appeared for a moment at a loss what to do; and seemed rather relieved than annoyed when i begged leave to say a word to m. de bruhl. 'if you can bring his men to reason,' he replied testily, 'speak your fill to him!' stepping to the foot of the upper flight, on which bruhl retained his position, i saluted him formally. he returned my greeting with a surly, watchful look only, and drawing his cloak more tightly round him affected to gaze down at me with disdain; which ill concealed, however, both the triumph he felt and the hopes of vengeance he entertained. i was especially anxious to learn whether he had tracked his wife hither, or was merely here in pursuance of his general schemes against me, and to this end i asked him with as much irony as i could compass to what i was to attribute his presence. 'i am afraid i cannot stay to offer you hospitality,' i continued; 'but for that you have only your friend m. villequier to thank!' 'i am greatly obliged to you,' he answered with a devilish smile, 'but do not let that affect you. when you are gone i propose to help myself, my friend, to whatever takes my taste.' 'do you?' i retorted coolly--not that i was unaffected by the threat and the villainous hint which underlay the words, but that, fully expecting them, i was ready with my answer. 'we will see about that.' and therewith i raised my fingers to my lips, and, whistling shrilly, cried 'maignan! maignan!' in a clear voice. i had no need to cry the name a third time, for before the provost-marshal could do more than start at this unexpected action, the landing above us rang under a heavy tread, and the man i called, descending the stairs swiftly, appeared on a sudden within arm's length of m. de bruhl; who, turning with an oath, saw him, and involuntarily recoiled. at all times maignan's hardy and confident bearing was of a kind to impress the strong; but on this occasion there was an added dash of recklessness in his manner which was not without its effect on the spectators. as he stood there smiling darkly over bruhl's head, while his hand toyed carelessly with his dagger, and the torch shone ruddily on his burly figure, he was so clearly an antagonist in a thousand that, had i sought through blois, i might not have found his fellow for strength and _sang-froid_. he let his black eyes rove from one to the other, but took heed of me only, saluting me with effusion and a touch of the gascon which was in place here, if ever. i knew how m. de rosny dealt with him, and followed the pattern as far as i could. 'maignan!' i said curtly, 'i have taken a lodging for to-night elsewhere. when i am gone you will call out your men and watch this door. if anyone tries to force an entrance you will do your duty.' 'you may consider it done,' he replied. 'even if the person be m. de bruhl here,' i continued. 'precisely.' 'you will remain on guard,' i went on, 'until to-morrow morning if m. de bruhl remains here; but whenever he leaves you will take your orders from the persons inside, and follow them implicitly.' 'your excellency's mind may be easy,' he answered, handling his dagger. dismissing him with a nod, i turned with a smile to m. de bruhl, and saw that between rage at this unexpected check and chagrin at the insult put upon him, his discomfiture was as complete as i could wish. as for fresnoy, if he had seriously intended to dispute our passage, he was no longer in the mood for the attempt. yet i did not let his master off without one more prick. 'that being settled, m. de bruhl,' i said pleasantly, 'i may bid you good evening. you will doubtless honour me at chaverny tomorrow. but we will first let maignan look under the bridge!' chapter xxvi. meditations. either the small respect i had paid m. de bruhl, or the words i had let fall respecting the possible disappearance of m. villequier, had had so admirable an effect on the provost-marshal's mind that from the moment of leaving my lodgings he treated me with the utmost civility; permitting me even to retain my sword, and assigning me a sleeping-place for the night in his own apartments at the gate-house. late as it was, i could not allow so much politeness to pass unacknowledged. i begged leave, therefore, to distribute a small gratuity among his attendants, and requested him to do me the honour of drinking a bottle of wine with me. this being speedily procured, at such an expense as is usual in these places, where prisoners pay, according as they are rich or poor, in purse or person, kept us sitting for an hour, and finally sent us to our pallets perfectly satisfied with one another. the events of the day, however, and particularly one matter, on which i have not dwelt at length, proved as effectual to prevent my sleeping as if i had been placed in the dampest cell below the castle. so much had been crowded into a time so short that it seemed as if i had had until now no opportunity of considering whither i was being hurried, or what fortune awaited me at the end of this turmoil. from the first appearance of m. d'agen in the morning, with the startling news that the provost-marshal was seeking me, to my final surrender and encounter with bruhl on the stairs, the chain of events had run out so swiftly that i had scarcely had time at any particular period to consider how i stood, or the full import of the latest check or victory. now that i had leisure i lived the day over again, and, recalling its dangers and disappointments, felt thankful that all had ended so fairly. i had the most perfect confidence in maignan, and did not doubt that bruhl would soon weary, if he had not already wearied, of a profitless siege. in an hour at most--and it was not yet midnight--the king would be free to go home; and with that would end, as far as he was concerned, the mission with which m. de rosny had honoured me. the task of communicating his majesty's decision to the king of navarre would doubtless be entrusted to m. de rambouillet, or some person of similar position and influence; and in the same hands would rest the honour and responsibility of the treaty which, as we all know now, gave after a brief interval and some bloodshed, and one great providence, a lasting peace to france. but it must ever be--and i recognised this that night with a bounding heart, which told of some store of youth yet unexhausted--a matter of lasting pride to me that i, whose career but now seemed closed in failure, had proved the means of conferring so especial a benefit on my country and religion. remembering, however, the king of navarre's warning that i must not look to him for reward, i felt greatly doubtful in what direction the scene would next open to me; my main dependence being upon m. de rosny's promise that he would make my fortune his own care. tired of the court at blois, and the atmosphere of intrigue and treachery which pervaded it, and with which i hoped i had now done, i was still at a loss to see how i could recross the loire in face of the vicomte de turenne's enmity. i might have troubled myself much more with speculating upon this point had i not found--in close connection with it--other and more engrossing food for thought in the capricious behaviour of mademoiselle de la vire. to that behaviour it seemed to me that i now held the clue. i suspected with as much surprise as pleasure that only one construction could be placed upon it--a construction which had strongly occurred to me on catching sight of her face when she intervened between me and the king. tracing the matter back to the moment of our meeting in the antechamber at st. jean d'angely, i remembered the jest which mathurine had uttered at our joint expense. doubtless it had dwelt in mademoiselle's mind, and exciting her animosity against me had prepared her to treat me with contumely when, contrary to all probability, we met again, and she found herself placed in a manner in my hands. it had inspired her harsh words and harsher looks on our journey northwards, and contributed with her native pride to the low opinion i had formed of her when i contrasted her with my honoured mother. but i began to think it possible that the jest had worked in another way as well, by keeping me before her mind and impressing upon her the idea--after my re-appearance at chizé more particularly--that our fates were in some way linked. assuming this, it was not hard to understand her manner at rosny when, apprised that i was no impostor, and regretting her former treatment of me, she still recoiled from the feelings which she began to recognise in her own breast. from that time, and with this clue, i had no difficulty in tracing her motives, always supposing that this suspicion, upon which i dwelt with feelings of wonder and delight, were well founded. middle-aged and grizzled, with the best of my life behind me, i had never dared to think of her in this way before. poor and comparatively obscure, i had never raised my eyes to the wide possessions said to be hers. even now i felt myself dazzled and bewildered by the prospect so suddenly unveiled. i could scarcely, without vertigo, recall her as i had last seen her, with her hand wounded in my defence; nor, without emotions painful in their intensity, fancy myself restored to the youth of which i had taken leave, and to the rosy hopes and plannings which visit most men once only, and then in early years. hitherto i had deemed such things the lot of others. daylight found me--and no wonder--still diverting myself with these charming speculations; which had for me, be it remembered, all the force of novelty. the sun chanced to rise that morning in a clear sky, and brilliantly for the time of year; and words fail me when i look back, and try to describe how delicately this simple fact enhanced my pleasure! i sunned myself in the beams, which penetrated my barred window; and tasting the early freshness with a keen and insatiable appetite, i experienced to the full that peculiar aspiration after goodness which providence allows such moments to awaken in us in youth; but rarely when time and the camp have blunted the sensibilities. i had not yet arrived at the stage at which difficulties have to be reckoned up, and the chief drawback to the tumult of joy i felt took the shape of regret that my mother no longer lived to feel the emotions proper to the time, and to share in the prosperity which she had so often and so fondly imagined. nevertheless, i felt myself drawn closer to her. i recalled with the most tender feelings, and at greater leisure than had before been the case, her last days and words, and particularly the appeal she had uttered on mademoiselle's behalf. and i vowed, if it were possible, to pay a visit to her grave before leaving the neighbourhood, that i might there devote a few moments to the thought of the affection which had consecrated all women in my eyes. i was presently interrupted in these reflections by a circumstance which proved in the end diverting enough, though far from reassuring at the first blush. it began in a dismal rattling of chains in the passage below and on the stairs outside my room; which were paved, like the rest of the building, with stone. i waited with impatience and some uneasiness to see what would come of this; and my surprise may be imagined when, the door being unlocked, gave entrance to a man in whom i recognised on the instant deaf matthew--the villain whom i had last seen with fresnoy in the house in the rue valois. amazed at seeing him here, i sprang to my feet in fear of some treachery, and for a moment apprehended that the provost-marshal had basely given me over to bruhl's custody. but a second glance informing me that the man was in irons--hence the noise i had heard--i sat down again to see what would happen. it then appeared that he merely brought me my breakfast, and was a prisoner in less fortunate circumstances than myself; but as he pretended not to recognise me, and placed the things before me in obdurate silence, and i had no power to make him hear, i failed to learn how he came to be in durance. the provost-marshal, however, came presently to visit me, and brought me in token that the good-fellowship of the evening still existed a pouch of the queen's herb; which i accepted for politeness' sake rather than from any virtue i found in it. and from him i learned how the rascal came to be in his charge. it appeared that fresnoy, having no mind to be hampered with a wounded man, had deposited him on the night of our _mêlée_ at the door of a hospital attached to a religious house in that part or the town. the fathers had opened to him, but before taking him in put, according to their custom, certain questions. matthew had been primed with the right answers to these questions, which were commonly a form; but, unhappily for him, the superior by chance or mistake began with the wrong one. 'you are not a huguenot, my son?' he said. 'in god's name, i am!' matthew replied with simplicity, believing he was asked if he was a catholic. 'what?' the scandalised prior ejaculated, crossing himself in doubt, 'are you not a true son of the church?' 'never!' quoth our deaf friend--thinking all went well. 'a heretic!' cried the monk. 'amen to that!' replied matthew innocently; never doubting but that he was asked the third question, which was, commonly, whether he needed aid. naturally after this there was a very pretty commotion, and matthew, vainly protesting that he was deaf, was hurried off to the provost-marshal's custody. asked how he communicated with him, the provost answered that he could not, but that his little godchild, a girl only eight years old, had taken a strange fancy to the rogue, and was never so happy as when talking to him by means of signs, of which she had invented a great number. i thought this strange at the time, but i had proof before the morning was out that it was true enough, and that the two were seldom apart, the little child governing this grim cut-throat with unquestioned authority. after the provost was gone i heard the man's fetters clanking again. this time he entered to remove my cup and plate, and surprised me by speaking to me. maintaining his former sullenness, and scarcely looking at me, he said abruptly: 'you are going out again?' i nodded assent. 'do you remember a bald-faced bay horse that fell with you?' he muttered, keeping his dogged glance on the floor. i nodded again. 'i want to sell the horse,' he said. 'there is not such another in blois, no, nor in paris! touch it on the near hip with the whip and it will go down as if shot. at other times a child might ride it. it is in a stable, the third from the three pigeons, in the ruelle amancy. fresnoy does not know where it is. he sent to ask yesterday, but i would not tell him.' some spark of human feeling which appeared in his lowering, brutal visage as he spoke of the horse led me to desire further information. fortunately the little girl appeared at that moment at the door in search of her playfellow; and through her i learned that the man's motive for seeking to sell the horse was fear lest the dealer in whose charge it stood should dispose of it to repay himself for its keep, and he, matthew, lose it without return. still i did not understand why he applied to me, but i was well pleased when i learned the truth. base as the knave was, he had an affection for the bay, which had been his only property for six years. having this in his mind, he had conceived the idea that i should treat it well, and should not, because he was in prison and powerless, cheat him of the price. in the end i agreed to buy the horse for ten crowns, paying as well what was due at the stable. i had it in my head to do something also for the man, being moved to this partly by an idea that there was good in him, and partly by the confidence he had seen fit to place in me, which seemed to deserve some return. but a noise below stairs diverted my attention. i heard myself named, and for the moment forgot the matter. chapter xxvii. to me, my friends! i was impatient to learn who had come, and what was their errand with me; and being still in that state of exaltation in which we seem to hear and see more than at other times, i remarked a peculiar lagging in the ascending footsteps, and a lack of buoyancy, which was quick to communicate itself to my mind. a vague dread fell upon me as i stood listening. before the door opened i had already conceived a score of disasters. i wondered that i had not inquired earlier concerning the king's safety, and in fine i experienced in a moment that complete reaction of the spirits which is too frequently consequent upon an excessive flow of gaiety. i was prepared, therefore, for heavy looks, but not for the persons who wore them nor the strange bearing the latter displayed on entering. my visitors proved to be m. d'agen and simon fleix. and so far well. but the former, instead of coming forward to greet me with the punctilious politeness which always characterised him, and which i had thought to be proof against every kind of surprise and peril, met me with downcast eyes and a countenance so gloomy as to augment my fears a hundredfold; since it suggested all those vague and formidable pains which m. de rambouillet had hinted might await me in a prison. i thought nothing more probable than the entrance after them of a gaoler laden with gyves and handcuffs; and saluting m. françois with a face which, do what i would, fashioned itself upon his, i had scarce composure sufficient to place the poor accommodation of my room at his disposal. he thanked me; but he did it with so much gloom and so little naturalness that i grew more impatient with each laboured syllable. simon fleix had slunk to the window and turned his back on us. neither seemed to have anything to say. but a state of suspense was one which i could least endure to suffer; and impatient of the constraint which my friend's manner was fast imparting to mine, i asked him at once and abruptly if his uncle had returned. 'he rode in about midnight,' he answered, tracing a pattern on the floor with the point of his riding-switch. i felt some surprise on hearing this, since d'agen was still dressed and armed for the road, and was without all those prettinesses which commonly marked his attire. but as he volunteered no further information, and did not even refer to the place in which he found me, or question me as to the adventures which had lodged me there, i let it pass, and asked him if his party had overtaken the deserters. 'yes,' he answered, 'with no result.' 'and the king?' 'm. de rambouillet is with him now,' he rejoined, still bending over his tracing. this answer relieved the worst of my anxieties, but the manner of the speaker was so distrait and so much at variance with the studied _insouciance_ which he usually affected, that i only grew more alarmed. i glanced at simon fleix, but he kept his face averted, and i could gather nothing from it; though i observed that he, too, was dressed for the road, and wore his arms. i listened, but i could hear no sounds which indicated that the provost-marshal was approaching. then on a sudden i thought of mademoiselle de la vire. could it be that maignan had proved unequal to his task? i started impetuously from my stool under the influence of the emotion which this thought naturally aroused, and seized m. d'agen by the arm. 'what has happened?' i exclaimed. 'is it bruhl? did he break into my lodgings last night? what!' i continued, staggering back as i read the confirmation of my fears in his face. 'he did?' m. d'agen, who had risen also, pressed my hand with convulsive energy. gazing into my face, he held me a moment thus embraced, his manner a strange mixture of fierceness and emotion. 'alas, yes,' he answered, 'he did, and took away those whom he found there! those whom he found there, you understand! but m. de rambouillet is on his way here, and in a few minutes you will be free. we will follow together. if we overtake them--well. if not, it will be time to talk.' he broke off, and i stood looking at him, stunned by the blow, yet in the midst of my own horror and surprise retaining sense enough to wonder at the gloom on his brow and the passion which trembled in his words. what had this to do with him? 'but bruhl?' i said at last, recovering myself with an effort--'how did he gain access to the room? i left it guarded.' 'by a ruse, while maignan and his men were away,' was the answer. 'only this lad of yours was there. bruhl's men overpowered him.' 'which way has bruhl gone?' i muttered, my throat dry, my heart beating wildly. he shook his head. 'all we know is that he passed through the south gate with eleven horsemen, two women, and six led horses, at daybreak this morning,' he answered. 'maignan came to my uncle with the news, and m. de rambouillet went at once, early as it was, to the king to procure your release. he should be here now.' i looked at the barred window, the most horrible fears at my heart; from it to simon fleix, who stood beside it, his attitude expressing the utmost dejection. i went towards him. 'you hound!' i said in a low voice, 'how did it happen?' to my surprise he fell in a moment on his knees, and raised his arm as though to ward off a blow. 'they imitated maignan's voice,' he muttered hoarsely. 'we opened.' 'and you dare to come here and tell me!' i cried, scarcely restraining my passion. 'you, to whom i. entrusted her. you, whom i thought devoted to her. you have destroyed her, man!' he rose as suddenly as he had cowered down. his thin, nervous face underwent a startling change; growing on a sudden hard and rigid, while his eyes began to glitter with excitement. 'i--i have destroyed her? ay, mon dieu! i _have_,' he cried, speaking to my face, and no longer flinching or avoiding my eye. 'you may kill me, if you like. you do not know all. it was i who stole the favour she gave you from your doublet, and then said m. de rosny had taken it! it was i who told her you had given it away! it was i who brought her to the little sisters', that she might see you with madame de bruhl! it was i who did all, and destroyed her! now you know! do with me what you like!' he opened his arms as though to receive a blow, while i stood before him astounded beyond measure by a disclosure so unexpected; full of righteous wrath and indignation, and yet uncertain what i ought to do. 'did you also let bruhl into the room on purpose?' i cried at last. 'i?' he exclaimed, with a sudden flash of rage in his eyes. 'i would have died first!' i do not know how i might have taken this confession; but at the moment there was a trampling of horses outside, and before i could answer him i heard m. de rambouillet speaking in haughty tones, at the door below. the provost-marshal was with him, but his lower notes were lost in the ring of bridles and the stamping of impatient hoofs. i looked towards the door of my room, which stood ajar, and presently the two entered, the marquis listening with an air of contemptuous indifference to the apologies which the other, who attended at his elbow, was pouring forth. m. de rambouillet's face reflected none of the gloom and despondency which m. d'agen's exhibited in so marked a degree. he seemed, on the contrary, full of gaiety and good-humour, and, coming forward and seeing me, embraced me with the utmost kindness and condescension. 'ha! my friend,' he said cheerfully, 'so i find you here after all! but never fear. i am this moment from the king with an order for your release. his majesty has told me all, making me thereby your lasting friend and debtor. as for this gentleman,' he continued, turning with a cold smile to the provost-marshal, who seemed to be trembling in his boots, 'he may expect an immediate order also. m. de villequier has wisely gone a-hunting, and will not be back for a day or two.' racked as i was by suspense and anxiety, i could not assail him with immediate petitions. it behoved me first to thank him for his prompt intervention, and this in terms as warm as i could invent. nor could i in justice fail to commend the provost to him, representing the officer's conduct to me, and lauding his ability. all this, though my heart was sick with thought and fear and disappointment, and every minute seemed an age. 'well, well,' the marquis said with stately good-nature, we will lay the blame on villequier then. he is an old fox, however, and ten to one he will go scot-free. it is not the first time he has played this trick. but i have not yet come to the end of my commission,' he continued pleasantly. 'his majesty sends you this, m. de marsac, and bade me say that he had loaded it for you.' he drew from under his cloak as he spoke the pistol which i had left with the king, and which happened to be the same m. de rosny had given me. i took it, marvelling impatiently at the careful manner in which he handled it; but in a moment i understood, for i found it loaded to the muzzle with gold-pieces, of which two or three fell and rolled upon the floor. much moved by this substantial mark of the king's gratitude, i was nevertheless for pocketing them in haste; but the marquis, to satisfy a little curiosity on his part, would have me count them, and brought the tale to a little over two thousand livres, without counting a ring set with precious stones which i found among them. this handsome present diverted my thoughts from simon fleix, but could not relieve the anxiety i felt on mademoiselle's account. the thought of her position so tortured me that m. de rambouillet began to perceive my state of mind, and hastened to assure me that before going to the court he had already issued orders calculated to assist me. 'you desire to follow this lady, i understand?' he said. 'what with the king, who is enraged beyond the ordinary by this outrage, and françois there, who seemed beside himself when he heard the news, i have not got any very clear idea of the position.' 'she was entrusted to me by--by one, sir, well known to you,' i answered hoarsely. 'my honour is engaged to him and to her. if i follow on my feet and alone, i must follow. if i cannot save her, i can at least punish the villains who have wronged her.' 'but the man's wife is with them,' he said in some wonder. 'that goes for nothing,' i answered. he saw the strong emotion under which i laboured, and which scarcely suffered me to answer him with patience; and he looked at me curiously, but not unkindly. 'the sooner you are off, the better then,' he said, nodding. 'i gathered as much. the man maignan will have his fellows at the south gate an hour before noon, i understand. françois has two lackeys, and he is wild to go. with yourself and the lad there you will muster nine swords. i will lend you two. i can spare no more, for we may have an _émeute_ at any moment. you will take the road, therefore, eleven in all, and should overtake them some time to-night if your horses are in condition.' i thanked him warmly, without regarding his kindly statement that my conduct on the previous day had laid him under lasting obligations to me. we went down together, and he transferred two of his fellows to me there and then, bidding them change their horses for fresh ones and meet me at the south gate. he sent also a man to my stable--simon fleix having disappeared in the confusion--for the cid, and was in the act of inquiring whether i needed anything else, when a woman slipped through the knot of horsemen who surrounded us as we stood in the doorway of the house, and, throwing herself upon me, grasped me by the arm. it was fanchette. her harsh features were distorted with grief, her cheeks were mottled with the violent weeping in which such persons vent their sorrow. her hair hung in long wisps on her neck. her dress was torn and draggled, and there was a great bruise over her eye. she had the air of one frantic with despair and misery. she caught me by the cloak, and shook me so that i staggered. 'i have found you at last!' she cried joyfully. 'you will take me with you! you will take me to her!' though her words tried my composure, and my heart went out to her, i strove to answer her according to the sense of the matter. 'it is impossible,' i said sternly. 'this is a man's errand. we shall have to ride day and night, my good woman.' 'but i will ride day and night too!' she replied passionately, flinging the hair from her eyes, and looking wildly from me to m. de rambouillet. 'what would i not do for her? i am as strong as a man, and stronger. take me, take me, i say, and when i meet that villain i will tear him limb from limb!' i shuddered, listening to her; but remembering that, being country bred, she was really as strong as she said, and that likely enough some advantage might accrue to us from her perfect fidelity and devotion to her mistress, i gave a reluctant consent. i sent one of m. de rambouillet's men to the stable where the deaf man's bay was standing, bidding him pay whatever was due to the dealer, and bring the horse to the south gate; my intention being to mount one of my men on it, and furnish the woman with a less tricky steed. the briskness of these and the like preparations, which even for one of my age and in my state of anxiety were not devoid of pleasure, prevented my thoughts dwelling on the future. content to have m. françois' assistance without following up too keenly the train of ideas which his readiness suggested, i was satisfied also to make use of simon without calling him to instant account for his treachery. the bustle of the streets, which the confirmation of the king's speedy departure had filled with surly, murmuring crowds, tended still further to keep my fears at bay; while the contrast between my present circumstances, as i rode through them well-appointed and well-attended, with the marquis by my side, and the poor appearance i had exhibited on my first arrival in blois, could not fail to inspire me with hope that i might surmount this danger also, and in the event find mademoiselle safe and uninjured. i took leave of m. de rambouillet with many expressions of esteem on both sides, and a few minutes before eleven reached the rendezvous outside the south gate. m. d'agen and maignan advanced to meet me, the former still presenting an exterior so stern and grave that i wondered to see him, and could scarcely believe he was the same gay spark whose elegant affectations had more than once caused me to smile. he saluted me in silence; maignan with a sheepish air, which ill-concealed the savage temper defeat had roused in him. counting my men, i found we mustered ten only, but the equerry explained that he had despatched a rider ahead to make inquiries and leave word for us at convenient points; to the end that we might follow the trail with as few delays as possible. highly commending maignan for his forethought in this, i gave the word to start, and crossing the river by the st. gervais bridge, we took the road for selles at a smart trot. the weather had changed much in the last twenty-four hours. the sun shone brightly, with a warm west wind, and the country already showed signs of the early spring which marked that year. if, the first hurry of departure over, i had now leisure to feel the gnawing of anxiety and the tortures inflicted by an imagination which, far outstripping us, rode with those whom we pursued and shared their perils, i found two sources of comfort still open to me. no man who has seen service can look on a little band of well-appointed horsemen without pleasure. i reviewed the stalwart forms and stern faces which moved beside me, and comparing their decent order and sound equipments with the scurvy foulness of the men who had ridden north with me, thanked god, and ceased to wonder at the indignation which matthew and his fellows had aroused in mademoiselle's mind. my other source of satisfaction, the regular beat of hoofs and ring of bridles continually augmented. every step took us farther from blois--farther from the close town and reeking streets and the court; which, if it no longer seemed to me a shambles, befouled by one great deed of blood--experience had removed that impression--retained an appearance infinitely mean and miserable in my eyes. i hated and loathed its intrigues and its jealousies, the folly which trifled in a closet while rebellion mastered france, and the pettiness which recognised no wisdom save that of balancing party and party. i thanked god that my work there was done, and could have welcomed any other occasion that forced me to turn my back on it, and sent me at large over the pure heaths, through the woods, and under the wide heaven, speckled with moving clouds. but such springs of comfort soon ran dry. m. d'agen's gloomy rage and the fiery gleam in maignan's eye would have reminded me, had i been in any danger of forgetting the errand on which we were bound, and the need, exceeding all other needs, which compelled us to lose no moment that might be used. those whom we followed had five hours' start. the thought of what might happen in those five hours to the two helpless women whom i had sworn to protect burned itself into my mind; so that to refrain from putting spurs to my horse and riding recklessly forward taxed at times all my self-control. the horses seemed to crawl. the men rising and falling listlessly in their saddles maddened me. though i could not hope to come upon any trace of our quarry for many hours, perhaps for days, i scanned the long, flat heaths unceasingly, searched every marshy bottom before we descended into it, and panted for the moment when the next low ridge should expose to our view a fresh track of wood and waste. the rosy visions of the past night, and those fancies in particular which had made the dawn memorable, recurred to me, as his deeds in the body (so men say) to a hopeless drowning wretch. i grew to think of nothing but bruhl and revenge. even the absurd care with which simon avoided the neighbourhood of fanchette, riding anywhere so long as he might ride at a distance from the angry woman's tongue and hand--which provoked many a laugh from the men, and came to be the joke of the company--failed to draw a smile from me. we passed through contres, four leagues from blois, an hour after noon, and three hours later crossed the cher at selles, where we stayed awhile to bait our horses. here we had news of the party before us, and henceforth had little doubt that bruhl was making for the limousin; a district in which he might rest secure under the protection of turenne, and safely defy alike the king of france and the king of navarre. the greater the necessity, it was plain, for speed; but the roads in that neighbourhood, and forward as far as valancy, proved heavy and foundrous, and it was all we could do to reach levroux with jaded horses three hours after sunset. the probability that bruhl would lie at châteauroux, five leagues farther on--for i could not conceive that under the circumstances he would spare the women,--would have led me to push forward had it been possible; but the darkness and the difficulty of finding a guide who would venture deterred me from the hopeless attempt, and we stayed the night where we were. here we first heard of the plague; which was said to be ravaging châteauroux and all the country farther south. the landlord of the inn would have regaled us with many stories of it, and particularly of the swiftness with which men and even cattle succumbed to its attacks. but we had other things to think of, and between anxiety and weariness had clean forgotten the matter when we rose next morning. we started shortly after daybreak, and for three leagues pressed on at tolerable speed. then, for no reason stated, our guide gave us the slip as we passed through a wood, and was seen no more. we lost the road, and had to retrace our steps. we strayed into a slough, and extracted ourselves with difficulty. the man who was riding the bay i had purchased forgot the secret which i had imparted to him, and got an ugly fall. in fine, after all these mishaps it wanted little of noon, and less to exhaust our patience, when at length we came in sight of châteauroux. before entering the town we had still an adventure; for we came at a turn in the road on a scene as surprising as it was at first inexplicable. a little north of the town, in a coppice of box facing the south and west, we happed suddenly on a rude encampment, consisting of a dozen huts and booths, set back from the road and formed, some of branches of evergreen trees laid clumsily together, and some of sacking stretched aver poles. a number of men and women of decent appearance lay on the short grass before the booths, idly sunning themselves; or moved about, cooking and tending fires, while a score of children raced to and fro with noisy shouts and laughter. the appearance of our party on the scene caused an instant panic. the women and children fled screaming into the wood, spreading the sound of breaking branches farther and farther as they retreated; while the men, a miserable pale-faced set, drew together, and seeming half inclined to fly also, regarded us with glances of fear and suspicion. remarking that their appearance and dress were not those of vagrants, while the booths seemed to indicate little skill or experience in the builders, i bade my companions halt, and advanced alone. 'what is the meaning of this, my men?' i said, addressing the first group i reached. 'you seem to have come a-maying before the time. whence are you?' 'from châteauroux,' the foremost answered sullenly. his dress, now i: saw him nearer, seemed to be that of a respectable townsman. 'why?' i replied. 'have you no homes?' 'ay we have homes,' he answered with the same brevity. 'then why, in god's name, are you here?' i retorted, marking the gloomy air and downcast faces of the group. 'have you been harried?' 'ay, harried by the plague!' he answered bitterly. 'do you mean to say you have not heard? in châteauroux there is one man dead in three. take my advice, sir--you are a brave company--turn, and go home again.' 'is it as bad as that?' i exclaimed. i had forgotten the landlord's gossip, and the explanation struck me with the force of surprise. 'ay, is it! do you see the blue haze?' he continued, pointing with a sudden gesture to the lower ground before us, over which a light pall of summery vapour hung still and motionless. 'do you see it? well, under that there is death! you may find food in châteauroux, and stalls for your horses, and a man to take money; for there are still men there. but cross the indre, and you will see sights worse than a battle-field a week old! you will find no living soul in house or stable or church, but corpses plenty. the land is cursed! cursed for heresy, some say! half are dead, and half are fled to the woods! and if you do not die of the plague, you will starve.' 'god forbid!' i muttered, thinking with a shudder of those before us. this led me to ask him if a party resembling ours in number, and including two women, had passed that way. he answered, yes, after sunset the evening before; that their horses were stumbling with fatigue and the men swearing in pure weariness. he believed that they had not entered the town, but had made a rude encampment half a mile beyond it; and had again broken this up, and ridden southwards two or three hours before our arrival. 'then we may overtake them to-day?' i said. 'by your leave, sir,' he answered, with grave meaning. 'i think you are more likely to meet them.' shrugging my shoulders, i thanked him shortly and left him; the full importance of preventing my men hearing what i had heard--lest the panic which possessed these townspeople should seize on them also--being already in my mind. nevertheless the thought came too late, for on turning my horse i found one of the foremost, a long, solemn-faced man, had already found his way to maignan's stirrup; where he was dilating so eloquently upon the enemy which awaited us southwards that the countenances of half the troopers were as long as his own, and i saw nothing for it but to interrupt his oration by a smart application of my switch to his shoulders. having thus stopped him, and rated him back to his fellows, i gave the word to march. the men obeyed mechanically, we swung into a canter, and for a moment the danger was over. but i knew that it would recur again and again. stealthily marking the faces round me, and listening to the whispered talk which went on, i saw the terror spread from one to another. voices which earlier in the day had been raised in song and jest grew silent. great reckless fellows of maignan's following, who had an oath and a blow for all comers, and to whom the deepest ford seemed to be child's play, rode with drooping heads and knitted brows; or scanned with ill-concealed anxiety the strange haze before us, through which the roofs of the town, and here and there a low hill or line of poplars, rose to plainer view. maignan himself, the stoutest of the stout, looked grave, and had lost his swaggering air. only three persons preserved their _sang-froid_ entire. of these, m. d'agen rode as if he had heard nothing, and simon fleix as if he feared nothing; while fanchette, gazing eagerly forward, saw, it was plain, only one object in the mist, and that was her mistress's face. we found the gates of the town open, and this, which proved to be the herald of stranger sights, daunted the hearts of my men more than the most hostile reception. as we entered, our horses' hoofs, clattering loudly on the pavement, awoke a hundred echoes in the empty houses to right and left. the main street, flooded with sunshine, which made its desolation seem a hundred times more formidable, stretched away before us, bare and empty; or haunted only by a few slinking dogs, and prowling wretches, who fled, affrighted at the unaccustomed sounds, or stood and eyed us listlessly as we passed. a bell tolled; in the distance we heard the wailing of women. the silent ways, the black cross which marked every second door, the frightful faces which once or twice looked out from upper windows and blasted our sight, infected my men with terror so profound and so ungovernable that at last discipline was forgotten; and one shoving his horse before another in narrow places, there was a scuffle to be first. one, and then a second, began to trot. the trot grew into a shuffling canter. the gates of the inn lay open, nay seemed to invite us to enter; but no one turned or halted. moved by a single-impulse we pushed breathlessly on and on, until the open country was reached, and we who had entered the streets in silent awe, swept out and over the bridge as if the fiend were at our heels. that i shared in this flight causes me no shame even now, for my men were at the time ungovernable, as the best-trained troops are when seized by such panics; and, moreover, i could have done no good by remaining in the town, where the strength of the contagion was probably greater and the inn larder like to be as bare as the hillside. few towns are without a hostelry outside the gates for the convenience of knights of the road or those who would avoid the dues, and châteauroux proved no exception to this rule. a short half-mile from the walls we drew rein before a second encampment raised about a wayside house. it scarcely needed the sound of music mingled with brawling voices to inform us that the wilder spirits of the town had taken refuge here, and were seeking to drown in riot and debauchery, as i have seen happen in a besieged place, the remembrance of the enemy which stalked; abroad in the sunshine. our sudden appearance, while it put a stop to the mimicry of mirth, brought out a score of men and women in every stage of drunkenness and dishevelment, of whom some, with hiccoughs and loose gestures, cried to us to join them, while others swore horridly at being recalled to the present, which, with the future, they were endeavouring to forget. i cursed them in return for a pack of craven wretches, and threatening to ride down those who obstructed; us, ordered my men forward; halting eventually a quarter of a mile farther on, where a wood of groundling oaks which still wore last year's leaves afforded fair shelter. afraid to leave my men myself, lest some should stray to the inn and others desert altogether, i requested m. d'agen to return thither with maignan and simon, and bring us what forage and food we required. this he did with perfect success, though not until after a scuffle, in which maignan showed himself a match for a hundred. we watered the horses at a neighbouring brook, and assigning two hours to rest and: refreshment--a great part of which m. d'agen and i spent walking up and down in moody silence, each immersed in his own thoughts--we presently took the road again with renewed spirits. but a panic is not easily shaken off, nor is any fear so difficult to combat and defeat as the fear of the invisible. the terrors which food and drink had for a time thrust out presently returned with sevenfold force. men looked uneasily in one another's faces, and from them to the haze which veiled all distant objects. they muttered of the heat, which was sudden, strange, and abnormal at that time of the year. and by-and-by they had other things to speak of. we met a man, who ran beside us and begged of us, crying out in a dreadful voice that his wife and four children lay unburied in the house. a little farther on, beside a well, the corpse of a woman with a child at her breast lay poisoning the water; she had crawled to it to appease her thirst, and died of the draught. last of all, in a beech-wood near lotier we came upon a lady i living in her coach, with one or two panic-stricken women for her only attendants. her husband was in paris, she told me; half her servants were dead, the rest had fled. still she retained in a remarkable degree both courage and courtesy, and accepting with fortitude my reasons and excuses for perforce, leaving her in such a plight, gave me a clear account of bruhl and his party, who had passed her some hours before. the picture of this lady gazing after us with perfect good-breeding, as we rode away at speed, followed by the lamentations of her women, remains with me to this day; filling my mind at once with admiration and melancholy. for, as i learned later, she fell ill of the plague where we left her in the beech-wood, and died in a night with both her servants. the intelligence we had from her inspired us to push forward, sparing neither spur nor horseflesh, in the hope that we might overtake bruhl before night should expose his captives to fresh hardships and dangers. but the pitch to which the dismal sights and sounds i have mentioned, and a hundred like them, had raised the fears of my following did much to balk my endeavours. for a while, indeed, under the influence of momentary excitement, they spurred their horses to the gallop, as if their minds were made up to face the worst; but presently they checked them despite all my efforts, and, lagging slowly and more slowly, seemed to lose all spirit and energy. the desolation which met our eyes on every side, no less than the death-like stillness which prevailed, even the birds, as it seemed to us, being silent, chilled the most reckless to the heart. maignan's face lost its colour, his voice its ring. as for the rest, starting at a sound and wincing if a leather galled them, they glanced backwards twice for once they looked forwards, and held themselves ready to take to their heels and be gone at the least alarm. noting these signs, and doubting if i could trust even maignan, i thought it prudent to change my place, and falling to the rear, rode there with a grim face and a pistol ready to my hand. it was not the least of my annoyances that m. d'agen appeared to be ignorant of any cause for apprehension save such as lay before us, and riding on in the same gloomy fit which had possessed him from the moment of starting, neither sought my opinion nor gave his own, but seemed to have undergone so complete and mysterious a change that i could think of one thing only that could have power to effect so marvellous a transformation. i felt his presence a trial rather than a help, and reviewing the course of our short friendship, which a day or two before had been so great a delight to me--as the friendship of a young man commonly is to one growing old--i puzzled myself with much wondering whether there could be rivalry between us. sunset, which was welcome to my company, since it removed the haze, which they regarded with superstitious dread, found us still plodding through a country of low ridges and shallow valleys, both clothed in oak-woods. its short brightness died away, and with it my last hope of surprising bruhl before i slept. darkness fell upon us as we wended our way slowly down a steep hillside where the path was so narrow and difficult as to permit only one to descend at a time. a stream of some size, if we might judge from the noise it made, poured through the ravine below us, and presently, at the point where we believed the crossing to be, we espied a solitary light shining in the blackness. to proceed farther was impossible, for the ground grew more and more precipitous; and, seeing this, i bade maignan dismount, and leaving us where we were, go for a guide to the house from which the light issued. he obeyed, and plunging into the night, which in that pit between the hills was of an inky darkness, presently returned with a peasant and a lanthorn. i was about to bid the man guide us to the ford, or to some level ground where we could picket the horses, when maignan gleefully cried out that he had news. i asked what news. 'speak up, _manant!_' he said, holding up his lanthorn so that the light fell on the man's haggard face and unkempt hair. 'tell his excellency what you have told me, or i will skin you alive, little man!' 'your other party came to the ford an hour before sunset,' the peasant answered, staring dully at us. 'i saw them coming, and hid myself. they quarrelled by the ford. some were for crossing, and some not.' 'they had ladies with them?' m. d'agen said suddenly. 'ay, two, your excellency,' the clown answered, 'riding like men. in the end they did not cross for fear of the plague, but turned up the river, and rode westwards towards st. gaultier.' 'st. gaultier!' i said. 'where is that? where does the road to it go to besides?' but the peasant's knowledge was confined to his own neighbourhood. he knew no world beyond st. gaultier, and could not answer my question. i was about to bid him show us the way down, when maignan cried out that he knew more. 'what?' i asked. 'arnidieu! he heard them say where they were going to spend the night! 'ha!' i cried. 'where?' 'in an old ruined castle two leagues from this, and between here and st. gaultier,' the equerry answered, forgetting in his triumph both plague and panic. 'what do you i say to that, your excellency?' it is so, sirrah, is it not?' he continued; turning to the peasant. 'speak, master jacques, or i will roast you before a slow fire!' but i did not wait to hear the answer. leaping to the ground, i took the cid's rein on my arm, and cried impatiently to the man to lead us down. chapter xxviii. the castle on the hill. the certainty that bruhl and his captives were not far off, and the likelihood that we might be engaged within the hour, expelled from the minds of even the most, timorous among us the vapourish fears which had before haunted them. in the hurried scramble which presently landed us on the bank of the stream, men who had ridden for hours in sulky silence found their voices, and from cursing their horses' blunders soon advanced to swearing and singing after the fashion of their kind. this change, by relieving me of a great fear, left me at leisure to consider our position, and estimate more clearly than i might have done the advantages of hastening, or postponing, an attack. we numbered eleven; the enemy, to the best of my belief, twelve. of this slight superiority i should have recked little in the daytime; nor, perhaps, counting maignan as two, have allowed that it existed. but the result of a night attack is more difficult to forecast; and i had also to take into account the perils to which the two ladies would be exposed, between the darkness and tumult, in the event of the issue remaining for a time in doubt. these considerations, and particularly the last, weighed so powerfully with me, that before i reached the bottom of the gorge i had decided to postpone i the attack until morning. the answers to some questions which i put to the inhabitant of the house by the ford as soon as i reached level ground only confirmed me in this resolution. the road bruhl had taken ran for a distance by the riverside, and along the bottom of the gorge; and, difficult by day, was repotted to be impracticable for horses by night. the castle he had mentioned lay full two leagues away, and on the farther edge of a tract of rough woodland. finally, i doubted whether, in the absence of any other reason for delay, i could have marched my men, weary as they were, to the place before day break. when i came to announce this decision, however, and to inquire what accommodation the peasant could afford us, i found myself in trouble. fauchette, mademoiselle's woman, suddenly confronted me, her face scarlet with rage. thrusting herself forward into the circle of light cast by the lanthorn, she assailed me with a virulence and fierceness which said more for her devotion to her mistress than her respect for me. her wild gesticulations, her threats, and the appeals which she made now to me, and now to the men who stood in a circle round us, their faces in shadow, discomfited as much as they surprised me. 'what!' she cried violently, 'you call yourself a gentleman, and lie here and let my mistress be murdered, or worse, within a league of you! two leagues? a groat for your two leagues! i would walk them barefoot, if that would shame you. and you, you call yourselves men, and suffer it! it is god's truth you are a set of cravens and sluggards. give me as many women, and i would----' 'peace, woman!' maignan said in his deep voice. 'you had your way and came with us, and you will obey orders as well as another! be off, and see to the victuals before worse happen to you!' 'ay, see to the victuals!' she retorted. 'see to the victuals, forsooth! that is all you think of--to lie warm and eat your fill! a set of dastardly, drinking, droning guzzlers you are! you are!' she retorted, her voice rising to a shriek. 'may the plague take you!' 'silence!' maignan growled fiercely, 'or have a care to yourself! for a copper-piece i would send you to cool your heels in the water below--for that last word! begone, do you hear,' he continued, seizing her by the shoulder and thrusting her towards the house, 'or worse may happen to you. we are rough customers, as you will find if you do not lock up your tongue!' i heard her go wailing into the darkness; and heaven knows it was not without compunction i forced myself to remain inactive in the face of a devotion which seemed so much greater than mine. the men fell away one by one to look to their horses and choose sleeping-quarters for the night; and presently m. d'agen and i were left alone standing beside the lanthorn, which the man had hung on a bush before his door. the brawling of the water as it poured between the banks, a score of paces from us, and the black darkness which hid everything beyond the little ring of light in which we stood--so that for all we could see we were in a pit--had the air of isolating us from all the world. i looked at the young man, who had not once lisped that day; and i plainly read in his attitude his disapproval of my caution. though he declined to meet my eye, he stood with his arms folded and his head thrown back, making no attempt to disguise the scorn and ill-temper which his face expressed. hurt by the woman's taunts, and possibly shaken in my opinion, i grew restive under his silence, and unwisely gave way to my feelings. 'you do not appear to approve of my decision, m. d'agen?' i said. 'it is yours to command, sir,' he answered proudly. there are truisms which have more power to annoy than the veriest reproaches. i should have borne in mind the suspense and anxiety he was suffering, and which had so changed him that i scarcely knew him for the gay young spark on whose toe i had trodden. i should have remembered that he was young and i old, and that it behoved me to be patient. but on my side also there was anxiety, and responsibility as well; and, above all, a rankling soreness, to which i refrain from giving the name of jealousy, though it came as near to that feeling as the difference in our ages and personal advantages (whereof the balance was all on his side) would permit. this, no doubt, it was which impelled me to continue the argument. 'you would go on?' i said persistently. 'it is idle to say what i would do,' he answered with a flash of anger. 'i asked for your opinion, sir,' i rejoined stiffly. 'to what purpose?' he retorted, stroking his small moustache haughtily. 'we look at the thing from opposite points. you are going about your business, which appears to be the rescuing of ladies who are--may i venture to say it?--so unfortunate as to entrust themselves to your charge. i, m. de marsac, am more deeply interested. more deeply interested,' he repeated lamely. 'i--in a word, i am prepared, sir, to do what others only talk of--and if i cannot, follow otherwise, would follow on my feet!' 'whom?' i asked curtly, stung by this repetition of my own words. he laughed harshly and bitterly. 'why explain? or why quarrel?' he replied cynically. 'god knows, if i could afford to quarrel with you, i should; have done so fifty hours ago. but i need your help; and, needing it, i am prepared i to do that which must seem to a person of your calm passions and perfect judgment alike futile and incredible--pay the full price for it.' 'the full price for it!' i muttered, understanding nothing, except that i did not understand. 'ay, the full price for it!' he repeated. and as he spoke he looked at me with an expression of rage so fierce that i recoiled a step. that seemed to restore him in some degree to himself, for without giving me an opportunity of answering he turned hastily from me, and, striding away, was in a moment lost in the darkness. he left me amazed beyond measure. i stood repeating his phrase about 'the full price' a hundred times over, but still found it and his passion inexplicable. to cut the matter short, i could come to no other conclusion than that he desired to insult me, and aware of my poverty and the equivocal position in which i stood towards mademoiselle, chose his words accordingly. this seemed a thing unworthy of one of whom i had before thought highly; but calmer reflection enabling me to see something of youthful bombast in the tirade he had delivered, i smiled a little sadly, and determined to think no more of the matter for the present, but to persist firmly in that which seemed to me to be the right course. having settled this, i was about to enter the house, when maignan stopped me, telling me that the plague had killed five people in it, letting only the man we had seen; who had, indeed, been seized, but recovered. this ghastly news had scared my company to such a degree that they had gone as far from the house as the level ground permitted, and there lighted a fire, round which they were going to pass the night. fanchette had taken up her quarters in the stable, and the equerry announced that he had kept a shed full of sweet, hay for m. d'agen and myself. i assented to this arrangement, and after supping off soup and black bread, which was all we could procure, bade the peasant rouse us two hours before sunrise; and so, being too weary and old in service to remain awake thinking, i fell asleep, and slept; soundly till a little after four. my first business on rising was to see that the men before mounting made a meal, for it is ill work fighting empty. i went round also and saw that all had their arms, and that such as carried pistols had them loaded and primed. m. françois did not put in an appearance until this work was done, and then showed a very pale and gloomy countenance. i took no heed of him, however, and with the first streak of daylight we started in single file and at a snail's pace up the valley, the peasant, whom i placed in maignan's charge, going before to guide us, and m. d'agen and i riding in the rear. by the time the sun rose and warmed our chilled and shivering frames we were over the worst of the ground, and were able to advance at some speed along, a track cut through a dense forest of oak-trees. though we had now risen out of the valley, the close-set trunks and the undergrowth round them prevented our seeing in any direction. for a mile or more we rode on blindly, and presently started on finding ourselves on the brow of a hill, looking down into a valley, the nearer end of which was clothed in woods, while the farther widened into green sloping pastures. from the midst of these a hill or mount rose sharply up, until it ended in walls of grey stone scarce to be distinguished at that distance from the native rock on which they stood. 'see!' cried our guide. 'there is the castle!' bidding the men dismount in haste, that the chance of our being seen by the enemy--which was not great--might be farther lessened, i began to inspect the position at leisure; my first feeling while doing so being one of thankfulness that i had not attempted a night attack, which must inevitably have miscarried, possibly with loss to ourselves, and certainly with the result of informing the enemy of our presence. the castle, of which we had a tolerable view, was long and narrow in shape, consisting of two towers connected by walls. the nearer tower, through which lay the entrance, was roofless, and in every way seemed to be more ruinous than the inner one, which appeared to be perfect in both its stories. this defect notwithstanding, the place was so strong that my heart sank lower the longer i looked; and a glance at maignan's face assured me that his experience was also at fault. for m. d'agen, i clearly saw, when i turned to him, that he had never until this moment realised what we had to expect, but, regarding our pursuit in the light of a hunting-party, had looked to see it end in like easy fashion. his blank, surprised face, as he stood eyeing the stout grey walls, said as much as this. 'arnidieu!' maignan muttered, 'give me ten men, and i would hold it against a hundred!' 'tut, man, there is more than one way to rome!' i answered oracularly, though i was far from feeling as confident as i seemed. 'come, let us descend and view this nut a little nearer.' we began to trail downwards in silence, and as the path led us for a while out of sight of the castle, we were able to proceed with less caution. we had nearly reached without adventure the farther skirts of the wood, between which and the ruin lay an interval of open ground, when we came suddenly, at the edge of a little clearing, on an old hag; who was so intent upon tying up faggots that she did not see us until maignan's hand was on her shoulder. when she did, she screamed out, and escaping from him with an activity wonderful in a woman of her age, ran with great swiftness to the side of an old man who lay at the foot of a tree half a bowshot off; and whom we had not before seen. snatching up an axe, she put herself in a posture of defence before him with gestures and in a manner as touching in the eyes of some among us as they were ludicrous in those of others; who cried to maignan that he had met his match at last, with other gibes of the kind that pass current in camps. i called to him to let her be, and went forward myself to the old man, who lay on a rude bed of leaves, and seemed unable to rise. appealing to me with a face of agony not to hurt his wife, he bade her again and again lay down her axe; but she would not do this until i had assured her that we meant him no harm, and that my men should molest neither the one nor the other. 'we only want to know this,' i said, speaking slowly, in fear lest my language should be little more intelligible to them than their _patois_ to me. 'there are a dozen horsemen in the old castle there, are there not?' the man stilled his wife, who continued to chatter and mow at us, and answered eagerly that there were; adding, with a trembling oath, that the robbers had beaten him, robbed him of his small store of meal, and when he would have protested, thrown him out, breaking his leg. 'then how came you here?' i said. 'she brought me on her back,' he answered feebly. doubtless there were men in my train who would have done all that these others had done; but hearing the simple story told, they stamped and swore great oaths of indignation; and one, the roughest of the party, took out some black bread and gave it to the woman, whom under other circumstances he would not have hesitated to rob. maignan, who knew all arts appertaining to war, examined the man's leg and made a kind of cradle for it, while i questioned the woman. 'they are there still?' i said. 'i saw their horses tethered under the walls.' 'yes, god requite them!' she answered, trembling violently. 'tell me about the castle, my good woman,' i said. 'how many roads into it are there?' 'only one.' 'through the nearer tower?' she said yes, and finding that she understood me, and was less dull of intellect than her wretched appearance led me to expect, i put a series of questions to her which it would be tedious to detail. suffice it that i learned that it was impossible to enter or leave the ruin except through the nearer tower; that a rickety temporary, gate barred the entrance, and that from this tower, which was a mere shell of four walls, a narrow square-headed doorway without a door led into the court, beyond, which rose the habitable tower of two stories. 'do you know if they intend to stay there?' i asked. 'oh, ay, they bade me bring them faggots for their fire this morning, and i should have a handful of my own meal back,' she answered bitterly; and fell thereon into a passion of impotent rage, shaking both her clenched hands in the direction of the castle, and screaming frenzied maledictions in her cracked and quavering voice. i pondered awhile over what she had said; liking very little the thought of that narrow square-headed doorway through which we must pass before we could effect anything. and the gate, too, troubled me. it might not be a strong one, but we had neither powder, nor guns, nor any siege implements, and could not pull down stone walls with our naked hands. by seizing the horses we could indeed cut off bruhl's retreat; but he might still escape in the night; and in any case our pains would only increase the women's hardships while adding fuel to his rage. we must have some other plan. the sun was high by this time; the edge of the wood scarcely a hundred paces from us. by advancing a few yards through the trees i could see the horses feeding peacefully at the foot of the sunny slope, and even follow with my eyes the faint track which zigzagged up the hill to the closed gate. no one appeared--doubtless they were sleeping off the fatigue of the journey--and i drew no inspiration thence; but as i turned to consult maignan my eye lit on the faggots, and i saw in a flash that here was a chance of putting into practice a stratagem as old as the hills, yet ever fresh, and not seldom successful. it was no time for over-refinement. my knaves were beginning to stray forward out of curiosity, and at any moment one of our horses, scenting those of the enemy, might neigh and give the alarm. hastily calling m. d'agen and maignan to me, i laid my plan before them, and satisfied myself that it had their approval; the fact that i had reserved a special part for the former serving to thaw the reserve which had succeeded to his outbreak, of the night before. after some debate maignan persuaded me that the old woman had not sufficient nerve to play the part i proposed for her, and named fanchette; who being called into council, did not belie the opinion we had formed of her courage. in a few moments our preparations were complete: i had donned the old charcoal-burner's outer rags, fanchette had assumed those of the woman, while m. d'agen, who was for a time at a loss, and betrayed less taste for this part of the plan than for any other, ended by putting on the jerkin and hose of the man who had served us as guide. when all was ready i commended the troop to maignan's discretion, charging him in the event of anything happening to us to continue the most persistent efforts for mademoiselle's release, and on no account to abandon her. having received his promise to this effect, and being satisfied that he would keep it, we took up each of us a great faggot, which being borne on the head and shoulders served to hide the features very effectually; and thus disguised we boldly left the shelter of the trees. fanchette and i went first, tottering in a most natural fashion under the weight of our burdens, while m. d'agen followed a hundred yards behind. i had given maignan orders to make a dash for the gate the moment he saw the last named start to run. the perfect stillness of the valley, the clearness of the air, and the absence of any sign of life in the castle before us--which might have been that of the sleeping princess, so fairy-like it looked against the sky--with the suspense and excitement in our own breasts, which these peculiarities seemed to increase a hundred-fold, made the time that followed one of the strangest in my experience. it was nearly ten o'clock, and the warm sunshine flooding everything about us rendered the ascent, laden as we were, laborious in the extreme. the crisp, short turf, which had scarcely got its spring growth, was slippery and treacherous. we dared not hasten, for we knew not what eyes were upon us, and we dared as little after we had gone half-way--lay our faggots down, lest the action should disclose too much of our features. when we had reached a point within a hundred paces of the gate, which still remained obstinately closed, we stood to breathe ourselves, and balancing my bundle on my head, i turned to make sure that all was right behind us. i found that m. d'agen, intent on keeping his distance, had chosen the same moment for rest, and was sitting in a very natural manner on his faggot, mopping his face with the sleeve of his jerkin. i scanned the brown leafless wood, in which we had left maignan and our men; but i could detect no glitter among the trees nor any appearance likely to betray us. satisfied on these points, i muttered a few words of encouragement to fanchette, whose face was streaming with perspiration; and together we turned and addressed ourselves to our task, fatigue--for we had had no practice in carrying burdens on the head--enabling us to counterfeit the decrepitude of age almost to the life. the same silence prevailing as we drew nearer inspired me with not a few doubts and misgivings. even the bleat of a sheep would have been welcome in the midst of a stillness which seemed ominous. but no sheep bleated, no voice hailed us. the gate, ill-hung and full of fissures, remained closed. step by step we staggered up to it, and at length reached it. afraid to speak lest my accent should betray me, i struck the forepart of my faggot against it and waited: doubting whether our whole stratagem had not been perceived from the beginning, and a pistol-shot might not be the retort. nothing of the kind happened, however. the sound of the blow, which echoed dully through the building, died away, and the old silence resumed its sway. we knocked again, but fully two minutes elapsed before a grumbling voice, as of a man aroused from sleep, was heard drawing near, and footsteps came slowly and heavily to the gate. probably the fellow inspected us through a loophole, for he paused a moment, and my heart sank; but the next, seeing nothing suspicious, he unbarred the gate with a querulous oath, and, pushing it open, bade us enter and be quick about it. i stumbled forward into the cool, dark shadow, and the woman followed me, while the man, stepping out with a yawn, stood in the entrance, stretching himself in the sunshine. the roofless tower, which smelled dank and unwholesome, was empty, or cumbered only with rubbish and heaps of stones; but looking through the inner door i saw in the courtyard a smouldering fire and half a dozen men in the act of rousing themselves from sleep. i stood a second balancing my faggot, as if in doubt where to lay it down; and then assuring myself by a swift glance that the man who had let us in still had his back towards us, i dropped it across the inner doorway. fanchette, as she had been instructed, plumped hers upon it, and at the same moment i sprang to the door, and taking the man there by surprise, dealt him a violent blow between the shoulders, which sent him headlong down the slope. a cry behind me, followed by an oath of alarm, told me that the action was observed and that now was the pinch. in a second i was back at the faggots, and drawing a pistol from under my blouse was in time to meet the rush of the nearest man, who, comprehending all, sprang up, and made for me, with his sheathed sword. i shot him in the chest as he cleared the faggots--which, standing nearly as high as a man's waist, formed a tolerable obstacle--and he pitched forward at my feet. this balked his companions, who drew back; but unfortunately it was necessary for me to stoop to get my sword, which was hidden in the faggot i had carried. the foremost of the rascals took advantage of this. rushing at me with a long knife, he failed to stab me--for i caught his wrist--but he succeeded in bringing me to the ground. i thought i was undone. i looked to have the others swarm over upon us; and so it would doubtless have happened had not fanchette, with rare courage, dealt the first who followed a lusty blow on the body with a great stick she snatched up. the man collapsed on the faggots, and this hampered the rest. the check was enough. it enabled m. d'agen to come up, who, dashing in through the gate, shot down the first he saw before him, and running at the doorway with his sword with incredible fury and the courage which i had always known him to possess, cleared it in a twinkling. the man with whom i was engaged on the ground, seeing what had happened, wrested himself free with the strength of despair, and dashing through the outer door, narrowly escaped being ridden down by my followers as they swept up to the gate at a gallop, and dismounted amid a whirlwind of cries. in a moment they thronged in on us pell-mell, and as soon as i could lay my hand on my sword i led them through the doorway with a cheer, hoping to be able to enter the farther tower with the enemy. but the latter had taken the alarm too early and too thoroughly. the court was empty. we were barely in time to see the last man dart up a flight of outside stairs, which led to the first story, and disappear, closing a heavy door behind him. i rushed to the foot of the steps and would have ascended also, hoping against hope to find the door unsecured; but a shot which was fired through a loop hole and narrowly missed my head, and another which brought down one of my men, made me pause. discerning all the advantage to be on bruhl's side, since he could shoot us down from his cover, i cried a retreat; the issue of the matter leaving us masters of the entrance-tower, while they retained the inner and stronger tower, the narrow court between the two being neutral ground unsafe for either party. two of their men had fled outwards and were gone, and two lay dead; while the loss on our side was confined to the man who was shot, and fanchette, who had received a blow on the head in the _mêlée_, and was found, when we retreated, lying sick and dazed against the wall. it surprised me much, when i came to think upon it, that i had seen nothing of bruhl, though the skirmish had lasted two or three minutes from the first outcry, and been attended by an abundance of noise. of fresnoy, too, i now remembered that i had caught a glimpse only. these two facts seemed so strange that i was beginning to augur the worst, though i scarcely know why, when my spirits were marvellously raised and my fears relieved by a thing which maignan, who was the first to notice it, pointed out to me. this was the appearance at an upper window of a white 'kerchief, which was waved several times towards us. the window was little more than an arrow-slit, and so narrow and high besides that it was impossible to see who gave the signal; but my experience of mademoiselle's coolness and resource left me in no doubt on the point. with high hopes and a lighter heart than i had worn for some time i bestirred myself to take every precaution, and began by bidding maignan select two men and ride round the hill, to make sure that the enemy had no way of retreat open to him. chapter xxix. pestilence and famine. while maignan was away about this business i despatched two men to catch our horses, which were running loose in the valley, and to remove those of bruhl's party to a safe distance from the castle. i also blocked up the lower part of the door leading into the courtyard, and named four men to remain under arms beside it, that we might not be taken by surprise; an event of which i had the less fear, however, since the enemy were now reduced to eight swords, and could only escape, as we could only enter, through this doorway. i was still busied with these arrangements when m. d'agen joined me, and i broke off to compliment him on his courage, acknowledging in particular the service he had done me personally. the heat of the conflict had melted the young man's reserve, and flushed his face with pride; but as he listened to me he gradually froze again, and when i ended he regarded me with the same cold hostility. 'i am obliged to you,' he said, bowing. 'but may i ask what next, m. de marsac?' 'we have no choice,' i answered. 'we can only starve them out.' 'but the ladies?' he said, starting slightly. 'what of them?' 'they will suffer less than the men,' i replied. 'trust me, the latter will not bear starving long.' he seemed surprised, but i explained that with our small numbers we could not hope to storm the tower, and might think ourselves fortunate that we now had the enemy cooped up where he could not escape, and must eventually surrender. 'ay, but in the meantime how will you ensure the women against violence?' he asked, with an air which showed he was far from satisfied. 'i will see to that when maignan comes back,' i answered pretty confidently. the equerry appeared in a moment with the assurance that egress from the farther side of the tower was impossible. i bade him nevertheless keep a horseman moving round the hill, that we might have intelligence of any attempt. the order was scarcely given when a man--one of those i had left on guard at the door of the courtyard--came to tell me that fresnoy desired to speak with me on behalf of m. de bruhl. 'where is he?' i asked. 'at the inner door with a flag of truce,' was the answer. 'tell him, then,' i said, without offering to move, 'that i will communicate with no one except his leader, m. de bruhl. and add this, my friend,' i continued. 'say it aloud: that if the ladies whom he has in charge are injured by so much as a hair, i will hang every man within these walls, from m. de bruhl to the youngest lackey.' and i added a solemn oath to that effect. the man nodded, and went on his errand, while i and m. d'agen, with maignan, remained standing outside the gate, looking idly over the valley and the brown woods through which we had ridden in the early morning. my eyes rested chiefly on the latter, maignan's as it proved on the former. doubtless we all had our own thoughts. certainly i had, and for a while, in my satisfaction at the result of the attack and the manner in which we had bruhl confined, i did not remark the gravity which was gradually overspreading the equerry's countenance. when i did i took the alarm, and asked him sharply what was the matter. 'i don't like that, your excellency,' he answered, pointing into the valley. i looked anxiously, and looked, and saw nothing. 'what?' i said in astonishment. 'the blue mist,' he muttered, with a shiver. 'i have been watching it this half-hour, your excellency. it is rising fast.' i cried out on him for a maudlin fool, and m. d'agen swore impatiently; but for all that, and despite the contempt i strove to exhibit, i felt a sudden chill at my heart as i recognised in the valley below the same blue haze which had attended us through yesterday's ride, and left us only at nightfall. involuntarily we both fell to watching it as it rose slowly and more slowly, first enveloping the lower woods, and then spreading itself abroad in the sunshine. it is hard to witness a bold man's terror and remain unaffected by it; and i confess i trembled. here, in the moment of our seeming success, was something which i had not taken into account, something against which i could not guard either myself or others! 'see!' maignan whispered hoarsely, pointing again with his linger. 'it is the angel of death, your excellency! where he kills by ones and twos, he is invisible. but when he slays by hundreds and by thousands, men see the shadow of his wings!' 'chut, fool!' i retorted with, anger, which was secretly proportioned to the impression his weird saying made on me. 'you have been in battles! did you ever see him there? or at a sack? a truce to this folly,' i continued. 'and do you go and inquire what food we have with us. it may be necessary to send for some.' i watched him go doggedly off, and knowing the stout nature of the man and his devotion to his master, i had no fear that he would fail us; but there were others, almost as necessary to us, in whom i could not place the same confidence. and these had also taken the alarm. when i turned i found groups of pale-faced men, standing by twos and threes at my back; who, pointing and muttering and telling one another what maignan had told us, looked where we had looked. as one spoke and another listened, i saw the old panic revive in their eyes. men who an hour or two before had crossed the court under fire with the utmost resolution, and dared instant death without a thought, grew pale, and looking from this side of the valley to that; with faltering eyes, seemed to be seeking, like hunted animals, a place of refuge. fear, once aroused, hung is the air. men talked in whispers of the abnormal heat, and, gazing at the cloudless sky, fled from the sunshine to the shadow; or, looking over the expanse of woods, longed to be under cover and away from this lofty eyrie, which to their morbid eyes seemed a target for all the shafts of death. i was not slow to perceive the peril with which these fears and apprehensions, which rapidly became general, threatened my plans. i strove to keep the men employed, and to occupy their thoughts as far as possible with the enemy and his proceedings; but i soon found that even here a danger lurked; for maignan, coming to me by-and-by with a grave face, told me that one of bruhl's men had ventured out, and was parleying with the guard on our side of the court. i went at once and broke the matter off, threatening to shoot the fellow if he was not under cover before i counted ten. but the scared, sultry faces he left behind him told me that the mischief was done, and i could think of no better remedy for it than to give m. d'agen a hint, and station him at the outer gate with his pistols ready. the question of provisions, too, threatened to become a serious one; i dared not leave to procure them myself, nor could i trust any of my men with the mission. in fact the besiegers were rapidly becoming the besieged. intent on the rising haze and their own terrors, they forgot all else. vigilance and caution were thrown to the winds. the stillness of the valley, its isolation, the distant woods that encircled us and hung quivering in the heated air, all added to the panic. despite all my efforts and threats, the men gradually left their posts, and getting together in little parties at the gate, worked themselves up to such a pitch of dread that by two hours after noon they were fit for any folly; and at the mere cry of 'plague!' would have rushed to their horses and ridden in every direction. it was plain that i could depend for useful service on myself and three others only--of whom, to his credit be it said, simon fleix was one. seeing this, i was immensely relieved when i presently heard that fresnoy was again seeking to speak with me. i was no longer, it will be believed, for standing on formalities; but glad to waive in silence the punctilio on which i had before insisted, and anxious to afford him no opportunity of marking the slackness which prevailed among my men, i hastened to meet him at the door of the courtyard where maignan had detained him. i might have spared my pains, however. i had no more than saluted him and exchanged the merest preliminaries before i saw that he was in a state of panic far exceeding that of my following. his coarse face, which had never been prepossessing, was mottled and bedabbled with sweat; his bloodshot eyes, when they met mine, wore the fierce yet terrified expression of an animal caught in a trap. though his first word was an oath, sworn for the purpose of raising his courage, the bully's bluster was gone. he spoke in a low voice, and his hands shook; and for a penny-piece i saw he would have bolted past me and taken his chance in open flight. i needed nothing after this to assure me that he meditated something of the basest; and i took care how i answered him. 'i have known you stiff enough upon occasions,' i replied drily. 'and then, again, i have known you not so stiff, m. fresnoy.' 'only when you were in question,' he muttered with another oath. 'but flesh and blood cannot stand this. you could not yourself. between him and them i am fairly worn out. give me good terms--good terms, you understand, m. de marsac?' he whispered eagerly, sinking his voice still lower, 'and you shall have all you want.' 'your lives, and liberty to go where you please,' i answered coldly. 'the two ladies to be first given up to me uninjured. those are the terms.' 'but for me?' he said anxiously. 'for you? the same as the others,' i retorted. 'or i will make a distinction for old acquaintance sake, m. fresnoy; and if the ladies have aught to complain of, i will hang you first.' he tried to bluster and hold out for a sum of money, or at least for his horse to be given up to him. but i had made up my mind to reward my followers with a present of a horse apiece; and i was besides well aware that this was only an afterthought on his part, and that he had fully decided to yield. i stood fast, therefore. the result justified my firmness, for he presently agreed to surrender on those terms. 'ay, but m. de bruhl?' i said, desiring to learn clearly whether he had authority to treat for all. 'what of him?' he looked at me impatiently. 'come and see!' he said, with an ugly sneer. 'no, no, my friend,' i answered, shaking my head warily. 'that is not according to rule. you are the surrendering party, and it is for you to trust us. bring out the ladies, that i may have speech with them, and then i will draw off my men.' 'nom de dieu!' he cried hoarsely, with so much fear and rage in his face that i recoiled from him. 'that is just what i cannot do.' 'you cannot?' i rejoined with a sudden thrill of horror. 'why not? why not, man?' and in the excitement of the moment, conceiving the idea that the worst had happened to the women, i pushed him back with so much fury that he laid his hand on his sword. 'confound you!' he stuttered, 'stand back! it is not that, i tell you! mademoiselle is safe and sound, and madame, if she had her senses, would be sound too. it is not our fault if she is not. but i have not got the key of the rooms. it is in bruhl's pocket, i tell you!' 'oh!' i made answer drily. 'and bruhl?' 'hush, man,' fresnoy replied, wiping the perspiration from his brow, and bringing his pallid, ugly face, near to mine, 'he has got the plague!' i stared at him for a moment in silence; which he was the first to break. 'hush!' he muttered again, laying a trembling hand on my arm, 'if the men knew it--and not seeing him they are beginning to suspect it--they would rise on us. the devil himself could not keep them here. between him and them i am on a razor's edge. madame is with him, and the door is locked. mademoiselle is in a room; upstairs, and the door is locked. and he has the keys. what can i do? what can i do, man?' he cried, his voice hoarse with terror and dismay. 'get the keys,' i said instinctively. 'what? from him?' he muttered, with an irrepressible shudder, which shook his bloated cheeks. 'god forbid i should, see him! it takes stout men infallibly. i should be dead by night! by god, i should!' he continued, whining. now you are not stout, m. de marsac. if you will come with me i will draw off the men from that part; and you may go in and get the key from him.' his terror, which surpassed all feigning, and satisfied me without doubt that he was in earnest, was so intense that it could not fail to infect me. i felt my face, as i looked into his, grow to the same hue. i trembled as he did and grew sick. for if there is a word which blanches the soldier's cheek and tries his heart more than another, it is the name of the disease which travels in the hot noonday, and, tainting the strongest as he rides in his pride, leaves him in a few hours a poor mass of corruption. the stoutest and the most reckless fear it; nor could i, more than another, boast myself indifferent to it, or think of its presence without shrinking. but the respect in which a man of birth holds himself saves him from the unreasoning fear which masters the vulgar; and in a moment i recovered myself, and made up my mind what it behoved me to do. 'wait awhile,' i said sternly, 'and i will come with you.' he waited accordingly, though with manifest impatience, while i sent for m. d'agen, and communicated to him what i was about to do. i did not think it necessary to enter into details, or to mention bruhl's state, for some of the men were well in hearing. i observed that the young gentleman received my directions with a gloomy and dissatisfied air. but i had become by this time so used to his moods, and found myself so much mistaken in his character, that i scarcely gave the matter a second thought. i crossed the court with fresnoy, and in a moment had mounted the outside staircase and passed through the heavy doorway. the moment i entered, i was forced to do fresnoy the justice of admitting that he had not come to me before he was obliged. the three men who were on guard inside tossed down their weapons at sight of me, while a fourth, who was posted at a neighbouring window, hailed me with a cry of relief. from the moment i crossed the threshold the defence was practically at an end. i might, had i chosen or found it consistent with honour, have called in my following and secured the entrance. without pausing, however, i passed on to the foot of a gloomy stone staircase winding up between walls of rough masonry; and here fresnoy stood on one side and stopped. he pointed upwards with a pale face and muttered, 'the door on the left.' leaving him there watching me as i went upwards, i mounted slowly to the landing, and by the light of an arrow-slit which dimly lit the ruinous place found the door he had described, and tried it with my hand. it was locked, but i heard someone moan in the room, and a step crossed the floor, as if he or another came to the door and listened. i knocked, hearing my heart beat in the silence. at last a voice quite strange to me cried, 'who is it?' 'a friend,' i muttered, striving to dull my voice that they might not hear me below. 'a friend!' the bitter answer came. 'go! you have made a mistake! we have no friends.' 'it is i, m. de marsac,' i rejoined, knocking more imperatively. i would see m. de bruhl; i must see him.' the person inside, at whose identity i could now make a guess, uttered a low exclamation, and still seemed to hesitate. but on my repeating my demand i heard a rusty bolt withdrawn, and madame de bruhl, opening the door, a few inches, showed her face in the gap. 'what do you want?' she murmured jealously. prepared as i was to see her, i was shocked by the change in her appearance, a change which even that imperfect light failed to hide. her blue eyes had grown larger and harder, and there were dark marks under them. her face, once so brilliant, was grey and pinched; her hair had lost its golden lustre. 'what do you want?' she repeated, eyeing me fiercely. 'to see him,' i answered. 'you know?' she muttered. 'you know that he----' i nodded. 'and you still want to come in? my god! swear you will not hurt him?' 'heaven forbid!' i said; and on that she held the door open that i might enter. but i was not half-way across the room before she had passed me, and was again between me and the wretched makeshift pallet. nay, when i stood and looked down at him, as he moaned and rolled in senseless agony, with livid face and distorted features (which the cold grey light of that miserable room rendered doubly appalling), she hung over him and fenced him from me: so that looking on him and her, and remembering how he had treated her, and why he came to be in this place, i felt unmanly tears rise to my eyes. the room was still a prison, a prison with broken mortar covering the floor and loopholes for windows; but the captive was held by other chains than those of force. when she might have gone free, her woman's love surviving all that he had done to kill it, chained her to his side with fetters which old wrongs and present danger were powerless to break. it was impossible that i could view a scene so strange without feelings of admiration as well as pity; or without forgetting for a while, in my respect for madame de bruhl's devotion, the risk which had seemed so great to me on the stairs. i had come simply for a purpose of my own, and with no thought of aiding him who lay here. but so great, as i have noticed on other occasions, is the power of a noble example, that, before i knew it, i found myself wondering what i could do to help this man, and how i could relieve madame in the discharge of offices which her husband had as little right to expect at her hands as at mine. at the mere sound of the word plague i knew she would be deserted in this wilderness by all, or nearly all; a reflection which suggested to me that i should first remove mademoiselle to a distance, and then consider what help i could afford here. i was about to tell her the purpose with which i had come when a paroxysm more than ordinarily violent, and induced perhaps by the excitement of my presence--though he seemed beside himself--seized him, and threatened to tax her powers to the utmost. i could not look on and see her spend herself in vain; and almost before i knew what i was doing i had laid my hands on him and after a brief struggle thrust him back exhausted on the couch. she looked at me so strangely after that that in the half-light which the loopholes afforded i tried in vain to read her meaning. 'why did you come?' she cried at length, breathing quickly. 'you, of all men? why did you come? he was no friend of yours, heaven knows!' 'no, madame, nor i of his,' i answered bitterly, with a sudden revulsion of feeling. 'then why are you here?' she retorted. 'i could not send one of my men,' i answered. 'and i want the key of the room above.' at the mention of that--the room above--she flinched as if i had struck her, and looked as strangely at bruhl as she had before looked at me. no doubt the reference to mademoiselle de la vire recalled to her mind her husband's wild passion for the girl, which for the moment she had forgotten. nevertheless she did not speak, though her face turned very pale. she stooped over the couch, such as it was, and searching his clothes, presently stood up, and held out the key to me. 'take it, and let her out,' she said with a forced smile. 'take it up yourself, and do it. you have done so much for her it is right that you should do this.' i took the key, thanking her with more haste than thought, and turned towards the door, intending to go straight up to the floor above and release mademoiselle. my hand was already on the door, which madame, i found, had left ajar in the excitement of my entrance, when i heard her step behind me. the next instant she touched me on the shoulder. 'you fool!' she exclaimed, her eyes flashing, 'would you kill her? would you go from him to her, and take the plague to her? god forgive me, it was in my mind to send you. and men are such puppets you would have gone!' i trembled with horror, as much at my stupidity as at her craft. for she was right: in another moment i should have gone, and comprehension and remorse would have come too late. as it was, in my longing at once to reproach her for her wickedness and to thank her for her timely repentance, i found no words; but i turned away in silence and went out with a full heart. chapter xxx. stricken. outside the door, standing in the dimness of the landing, i found m. d'agen. at any other time i should have been the first to ask him why he had left the post which i had assigned to him. but at the moment i was off my balance, and his presence suggested nothing more than that here was the very person who could best execute my wishes. i held out the key to him at arms length, and bade him release mademoiselle de la vire, who was in the room above, and escort her out of the castle. 'do not let her linger here,' i continued urgently. 'take her to the place where we found the wood-cutters. you need fear no resistance.' 'but bruhl?' he said, as he took the key mechanically from me. 'he is out of the question,' i answered in a low voice. 'we have done with him. he has the plague.' he uttered a sharp exclamation. 'what of madame, then?' he muttered. 'she is with him,' i said. he cried out suddenly at that, sucking in his breath, as i have known men do in pain. and but that i drew back he would have laid his hand on my sleeve. 'with him?' he stammered. 'how is that?' 'why, man, where else should she be?' i answered, forgetting that the sight of those two together had at first surprised me also, as well as moved me. 'or who else should be with him? he is her husband.' he stared at me for a moment at that, and then he turned slowly away and began to go up; while i looked after him, gradually thinking out the clue to his conduct. could it be that it was not mademoiselle attracted him, but madame de bruhl? and with that hint i understood it all. i saw in a moment the conclusion to which he had come on hearing of the presence of madame in my room. in my room at night! the change had dated from that time; instead of a careless, light-spirited youth he had become in a moment a morose and restive churl, as difficult to manage as an unbroken colt. quite clearly i saw now the meaning of the change; why he had shrunk from me, and why all intercourse between us had been so difficult and so constrained. i laughed to think how he had deceived himself, and how nearly i had come to deceiving myself also. and what more i might have thought i do not know, for my meditations were cut short at this point by a loud outcry below, which, beginning in one or two sharp cries of alarm and warning, culminated quickly in a roar of anger and dismay. fancying i recognised maignan's voice, i ran down the stairs, seeking a loophole whence i could command the scene; but finding none, and becoming more and more alarmed, i descended to the court, which i found, to my great surprise, as empty and silent as an old battle-field. neither on the enemy's side nor on ours was a single man to be seen. with growing dismay i sprang across the court and darted through the outer tower, only to find that and the gateway equally unguarded. nor was it until i had passed through the latter, and stood on the brow of the slope, which we had had to clamber with so much toil, that i learned what was amiss. far below me a string of men, bounding and running at speed, streamed down the hill towards the horses. some were shouting, some running silently, with their elbows at their sides and their scabbards leaping against their calves. the horses stood tethered in a ring near the edge of the wood, and by some oversight had been left unguarded. the foremost runner i made out to be fresnoy; but a number of his men were close upon him, and then after an interval came maignan, waving his blade and emitting frantic threats with every stride. comprehending at once that fresnoy and his following, rendered desperate by panic and the prospective loss of their horses, had taken advantage of my absence and given maignan the slip, i saw i could do nothing save watch the result of the struggle. this was not long delayed. maignan's threats, which seemed to me mere waste of breath, were not without effect on those he followed. there is nothing which demoralises men like flight. troopers who have stood charge after charge while victory was possible will fly like sheep, and like sheep allow themselves to be butchered, when they have once turned the back. so it was here. many of fresnoy's men were stout fellows, but having started to run they had no stomach for fighting. their fears caused maignan to appear near, while the horses seemed distant; and one after another they turned aside and made like rabbits for the wood. only fresnoy, who had taken care to have the start of all, kept on, and, reaching the horses, cut the rope which tethered the nearest, and vaulted nimbly on its back. safely seated there, he tried to frighten the others into breaking loose; but not succeeding at the first attempt, and seeing maignan, breathing vengeance, coming up with him, he started his horse, a bright bay, and rode off laughing along the edge of the wood. fully content with the result--for our carelessness, might have cost us very dearly--i was about to turn away when i saw that maignan had mounted and was preparing to follow. i stayed accordingly to see the end, and from my elevated position enjoyed a first-rate view of the race which ensued. both were heavy weights, and at first maignan gained no ground. but when a couple of hundred yards had been covered fresnoy had the ill-luck to blunder into some heavy ground, and this enabling his pursuer, who had time to avoid it, to get within two-score paces of him, the race became as exciting as i could wish. slowly and surely maignan, who had chosen the cid, reduced the distance between them to a score of paces--to fifteen--to ten. then fresnoy, becoming alarmed, began to look over his shoulder and ride in earnest. he had no whip, and i saw him raise his sheathed sword, and strike his beast on the flank. it sprang forward, and appeared for a few strides to be holding its own. again he repeated the blow--but this time with a different result. while his hand was still in the air, his horse stumbled, as it seemed to me, made a desperate effort to recover itself, fell headlong and rolled over and over. something in the fashion of the fall, which reminded me of the mishap i had suffered on the way to chizé, led me to look more particularly at the horse as it rose trembling to its feet, and stood with drooping head. sure enough, a careful glance enabled me, even at that distance, to identify it as matthew's bay--the trick-horse. shading my eyes, and gazing on the scene with increased interest, i saw maignan, who had dismounted, stoop over something on the ground, and again after an interval stand upright. but fresnoy did not rise. nor was it without awe that, guessing what had happened to him, i remembered how he had used this very horse to befool me; how heartlessly he had abandoned matthew, its owner; and by what marvellous haps--which men call chances--providence had brought it to this place, and put it in his heart to choose it out of a score which stood ready to his hand! i was right. the man's neck was broken. he was quite dead. maignan passed the word to one, and he to another, and so it reached me on the hill. it did not fail to awaken memories both grave and wholesome. i thought of st. jean d'angely, of chizé, of the house in the ruelle d'arcy; then in the midst of these reflections i heard voices, and turned to find mademoiselle, with m. d'agen behind me. her hand was still bandaged, and her dress, which she had not changed since leaving blois, was torn and stained with mud. her hair was in disorder; she walked with a limp. fatigue and apprehension had stolen the colour from her cheeks, and in a word she looked, when i turned, so wan and miserable that for a moment i feared the plague had seized her. the instant, however, that she caught sight of me a wave of colour invaded, not her cheeks only, but her brow and neck. from her hair to the collar of her gown she was all crimson. for a second she stood gazing at me, and then, as i saluted her, she sprang forward. had i not stepped back she would have taken my hands. my heart so overflowed with joy at this sight, that in the certainty her blush gave me i was fain to toy with my happiness. all jealousy of m. d'agen was forgotten; only i thought it well not to alarm her by telling her what i knew of the bruhls. 'mademoiselle,' i said earnestly, bowing, but retreating from her, 'i thank god for your escape. one of your enemies lies helpless here, and another is dead yonder.' 'it is not of my enemies i am thinking,' she answered quickly, 'but of god, of whom you rightly remind me; and then of my friends.' 'nevertheless,' i answered as quickly, 'i beg you will not stay to thank them now, but go down to the wood with m. d'agen, who will do all that may be possible to make you comfortable.' 'and you, sir?' she said, with a charming air of confusion. 'i must stay here,' i answered, 'for a while.' 'why?' she asked with a slight frown. i did not know how to tell her, and i began lamely. 'someone must stop with madame,' i said without thought. 'madame?' she exclaimed. 'does she require assistance? i will stop.' 'god forbid!' i cried. i do not know how she understood the words, but her face, which had been full of softness, grew hard. she moved quickly towards me; but, mindful of the danger i carried about me, i drew farther back. 'no nearer, mademoiselle,' i murmured, 'if you please.' she looked puzzled, and finally angry, turning away with a sarcastic bow. 'so be it, then, sir,' she said proudly, 'if you desire it. m. d'agen, if you are not afraid of me, will you lead me down?' i stood and watched them go down the hill, comforting myself with the reflection that to-morrow, or the next day, or within a few days at most, all would be well. scanning her figure as she moved, i fancied that she went with less spirit as the space increased between us. and i pleased myself with the notion. a few days, a few hours, i thought, and all would be well. the sunset which blazed in the west was no more than a faint reflection of the glow which for a few minutes pervaded my mind, long accustomed to cold prospects and the chill of neglect. a term was put to these pleasant imaginings by the arrival of maignan; who, panting: from the ascent of the hill, informed me with a shamefaced air that the tale of horses was complete, but that four of our men were missing, and had doubtless gone off with the fugitives. these proved to be m. d'agen's two lackeys and the two varlets m. de rambouillet had lent us. there remained besides simon fleix only maignan's three men from rosny; but the state in which our affairs now stood enabled us to make light of this. i informed the equerry--who visibly paled at the news--that m. de bruhl lay ill of the plague, and like to die; and i bade him form a camp in the wood below, and, sending for food to the house where we had slept the night before, make mademoiselle as comfortable as circumstances permitted. he listened with surprise, and when i had done asked with concern what i intended to do myself. 'someone must remain with madame de bruhl,' i answered. 'i have already been to the bedside to procure the key of mademoiselle's room, and i run no farther risk. all i ask is that you will remain in the neighbourhood, and furnish us with supplies should it be necessary.' he looked at me with emotion, which, strongly in conflict with his fears as it was, touched me not a little. 'but morbleu! m. de marsac,' he said, 'you will take the plague and die.' 'if god wills,' i answered, very lugubriously i confess, for pale looks in one commonly so fearless could not but depress me. 'but if not, i shall escape. any way, my friend,' i continued, 'i owe you a quittance. simon fleix has an inkhorn and paper. bid him bring them to this stone and leave them, and i will write that maignan, the equerry of the baron de rosny, served me to the end as a brave soldier and an honest friend. what, _mon ami?_' i continued, for i saw that he was overcome by this, which was, indeed, a happy thought of mine. 'why not? it is true, and will aquit you with the baron. do it, and go. advise m. d'agen, and be to him what you have been to me.' he swore two or three great oaths, such as men of his kind use to hide an excess of feeling, and after some further remonstrance went away to carry out my orders; leaving me to stand on the brow in a strange kind of solitude, and watch horses and men withdraw to the wood, until the whole valley seemed left to me and stillness and the grey evening. for a time i stood in thought. then reminding myself, for a fillip to my spirits, that i had been far more alone when i walked the streets of st. jean friendless and threadbare (than i was now), i turned, and swinging my scabbard against my boots for company, stumbled through the dark, silent courtyard, and mounted as cheerfully as i could to madame's room. to detail all that passed during the next five days would be tedious and in indifferent taste, seeing that i am writing this memoir for the perusal of men of honour; for though i consider the offices which the whole can perform for the sick to be worthy of the attention of every man, however well born, who proposes to see service, they seem to be more honourable in the doing than the telling. one episode, however, which marked those days filled me then, as it does now, with the most lively pleasure; and that was the unexpected devotion displayed by simon fleix, who, coming to me, refused to leave, and showed himself at this pinch to be possessed of such sterling qualities that i freely forgave him the deceit he had formerly practised on me. the fits of moody silence into which he still fell at times and an occasional irascibility seemed to show that he had not altogether conquered his insane fancy; but the mere fact that he had come to me in a situation of hazard, and voluntarily removed himself from mademoiselle's neighbourhood, gave me good hope for the future. m. de bruhl died early on the morning of the second day, and simon and i buried him at noon. he was a man of courage and address, lacking only principles. in spite of madame's grief and prostration, which were as great as though she had lost the best husband in the world, we removed before night to a separate camp in the woods; and left with the utmost relief the grey ruin on the hill, in which, it seemed to me, we had lived an age. in our new bivouac, where, game being abundant, and the weather warm, we lacked no comfort, except the society of our friends, we remained four days longer. on the fifth morning we met the others of our company by appointment on the north road, and commenced the return journey. thankful that we had escaped contagion, we nevertheless still proposed to observe for a time such precautions in regard to the others as seemed necessary; riding in the rear and having no communication with them, though they showed by signs the pleasure they felt at seeing us. from the frequency with which mademoiselle turned and looked behind her, i judged she had overcome her pique at my strange conduct; which the others should by this time have explained to her. content, therefore, with the present, and full of confidence in the future, i rode along in a rare state of satisfaction; at one moment planning what i would do, and at another reviewing what i had done. the brightness and softness of the day, and the beauty of the woods, which in some places, i remember, were bursting into leaf, contributed much to establish me in this frame of mind. the hateful mist, which had so greatly depressed us, had disappeared; leaving the face of the country visible in all the brilliance of early spring. the men who rode before us, cheered by the happy omen, laughed and talked as they rode, or tried the paces of their horses, where the trees grew sparsely; and their jests and laughter coming pleasantly to our ears as we followed, warmed even madame's sad face to a semblance of happiness. i was riding along in this state of contentment when a feeling of fatigue, which the distance we had come did not seem to justify, led me to spur the cid into a brisker pace. the sensation of lassitude still continued, however, and indeed grew worse; so that i wondered idly whether i had over-eaten myself at my last meal. then the thing passed for a while from, my mind, which the descent of a steep hill sufficiently occupied. but a few minutes later, happening to turn in the saddle, i experienced a strange and sudden dizziness; so excessive as to force me to grasp the cantle, and cling to it, while trees and hills appeared to dance round me. a quick, hot pain in the side followed, almost before i recovered the power of thought; and this increased so rapidly, and was from the first so definite, that, with a dreadful apprehension already formed in my mind, i thrust my hand inside my clothes, and found that swelling which is the most sure and deadly symptom of the plague. the horror of that moment--in which i saw all those things on the possession of which i had just been congratulating myself, pass hopelessly from me, leaving me in dreadful gloom--i will not attempt to describe in this place. let it suffice that the world lost in a moment its joyousness, the sunshine its warmth. the greenness and beauty round me, which an instant before had filled me with pleasure, seemed on a sudden no more than a grim and cruel jest at my expense, and i an atom perishing unmarked and unnoticed. yes, an atom, a mote; the bitterness of that feeling i well remember. then, in no long time--being a soldier--i recovered my coolness, and, retaining the power to think, decided what it behoved me to do. chapter xxxi. under the greenwood. to escape from my companions on some pretext, which should enable me to ensure their safety without arousing their fears, was the one thought which possessed me on the subsidence of my first alarm. probably it answered to that instinct in animals which bids them get away alone when wounded or attacked by disease; and with me it had the fuller play as the pain prevailed rather by paroxysms than in permanence, and, coming and going, allowed intervals of ease, in which i was able to think clearly and consecutively, and even to sit firmly in the saddle. the moment one of these intervals enabled me to control myself, i used it to think where i might go without danger to others; and at once and naturally my thoughts turned to the last place we had passed; which happened to be the house in the gorge where we had received news of bruhl's divergence from the road. the man who lived there alone had had the plague; therefore he did not fear it. the place itself was solitary, and i could reach it, riding slowly, in half an hour. on the instant and without more delay i determined on this course. i would return, and, committing myself to the fellow's good offices, bid him deny me to others, and especially to my friends--should they seek me. aware that i had no time to lose if i would put this plan into execution before the pains returned to sap my courage, i drew bridle at once, and muttered some excuse to madame; if i remember rightly, that i had dropped my gauntlet. whatever the pretext--and my dread was great lest she should observe any strangeness in my manner--it passed with her; by reason, chiefly, i think, of the grief which monopolised her. she let me go, and before anyone else could mark or miss me i was a hundred yards away on the back-track, and already sheltered from observation by a turn in the road. the excitement of my evasion supported me for a while after leaving her; and then for another while, a paroxysm of pain deprived me of the power of thought. but when this last was over, leaving me weak and shaken, yet clear in my mind, the most miserable sadness and depression that can be conceived came upon me; and, accompanying me through the wood, filled its avenues (which doubtless were fair enough to others' eyes) with the blackness of despair. i saw but the charnel-house, and that everywhere. it was not only that the horrors of the first discovery returned upon me and almost unmanned me; nor only that regrets and memories, pictures of the past and plans for the future, crowded thick upon my mind, so that i could have wept at the thought of all ending here. but in my weakness mademoiselle's face shone where the wood was darkest, and, tempting and provoking me to return--were it only to tell her that, grim and dull as i seemed, i loved her--tried me with a subtle temptation almost beyond my strength to resist. all that was mean in me rose in arms, all that was selfish clamoured to know why i must die in the ditch while others rode in the sunshine; why i must go to the pit, while others loved and lived! and so hard was i pressed that i think i should have given way had the ride been longer or my horse less smooth and nimble. but in the midst of my misery, which bodily pain was beginning to augment to such a degree that i could scarcely see, and had to ride gripping the saddle with both hands, i reached the mill. my horse stopped of its own accord. the man we had seen before came out. i had just strength left to tell him what was the matter, and what i wanted; and then a fresh attack came on, with sickness, and overcome by vertigo i fell to the ground. i have but an indistinct idea what happened after that; until i found myself inside the house, clinging to the man's arm. he pointed to a box-bed in one corner of the room (which was, or seemed to my sick eyes, gloomy and darksome in the extreme), and would have had me lie down in it. but something inside me revolted against the bed, and despite the force he used, i broke away, and threw myself on a heap of straw which i saw in another corner. 'is not the bed good enough for you?' he grumbled. i strove to tell him it was not that. 'it should be good enough to die on,' he continued brutally. 'there's five have died on that bed, i'd have you know! my wife one, and my son another, and my daughter another; and then my son again, and a daughter again. five! ay, five in that bed!' brooding in the gloom of the chimney-corner, where he was busied about a black pot, he continued to mutter and glance at me askance; but after a while i swooned away with pain. when i opened my eyes again the room was darker. the man still sat where i had last seen him, but a noise, the same, perhaps, which had roused me, drew him as i looked to the unglazed window. a voice outside, the tones of which i seemed to know, inquired if he had seen me; and so carried away was i by the excitement of the moment that i rose on my elbow to hear the answer. but the man was staunch. i heard him deny all knowledge of me, and presently the sound of retreating hoofs and the echo of voices dying in the distance assured me i was left. then, at that instant, a doubt of the man on whose compassion i had thrown myself entered my mind. plague-stricken, hopeless as i was, it chilled me to the very heart; staying in a moment the feeble tears i was about to shed, and curing even the vertigo, which forced me to clutch at the straw on which i lay. whether the thought arose from a sickly sense of my own impotence, or was based on the fellow's morose air and the stealthy glances he continued to cast at me, i am as unable to say as i am to decide whether it was well-founded, or the fruit of my own fancy. possibly the gloom of the room and the man's surly words inclined me to suspicion; possibly his secret thoughts portrayed themselves in his hang-dog visage. afterwards it appeared that he had stripped me, while i lay, of everything of value; but he may have done this in the belief that i should die. all i know is that i knew nothing certain, because the fear died almost as soon as it was born. the man had scarcely seated himself again, or i conceived the thought, when a second alarm outside caused him to spring to his feet. scowling and muttering as he went, he hurried to the window. but before he reached it the door was dashed violently open, and simon fleix stood in the entrance. there came in with him so blessed a rush of light and life as in a moment dispelled the horror of the room, and stripped me at one and the same time of fear and manhood. for whether i would or no, at sight of the familiar face, which i had fled so lately, i burst into tears; and, stretching out my hands to him, as a frightened child might have done, called on him by name. i suppose the plague was by this time so plainly written on my face that all who looked might read; for he stood at gaze, staring at me, and was still so standing when a hand put him aside and a slighter, smaller figure, pale-faced and hooded, stood for a moment between me and the sunshine. it was mademoiselle! that, i thank god, restored me to myself, or i had been for ever shamed. i cried to them with all the voice i had left to take her away; and calling out frantically again and again that i had the plague and she would die, i bade the man close the door. nay, regaining something of strength in my fear for her, i rose up, half-dressed as i was, and would have fled into some corner to avoid her, still calling out to them to take her away, to take her away--if a fresh paroxysm had not seized me, so that i fell blind and helpless where i was. for a time after that i knew nothing; until someone held water to my lips, and i drank greedily, and presently awoke to the fact that the entrance was dark with faces and figures all gazing at me as i lay. but i could not see her; and i had sense enough to know and be thankful that she was no longer among them. i would fain have bidden maignan begone too, for i read the consternation in his face. but i could not muster strength or voice for the purpose, and when i turned my head to see who held me--ah me! it comes back to me still in dreams--it was mademoiselle's hair that swept my forehead and her hand that ministered to me; while tears she did not try to hide or wipe away fell on my hot cheek. i could have pushed her away even then, for she was slight and small; but the pains came upon me, and with a sob choking my voice i lost all knowledge. i am told that i lay for more than a month between life and death, now burning with fever and now in the cold fit; and that but for the tendance which never failed nor faltered, nor could have been outdone had my malady been the least infectious in the world, i must have died a hundred times, as hundreds round me did die week by week in that year. from the first they took me out of the house (where i think i should have perished quickly, so impregnated was it with the plague poison) and laid me under a screen of boughs in the forest, with a vast quantity of cloaks and horse-cloths cunningly disposed to windward. here i ran some risk from cold and exposure and the fall of heavy dews; but, on the other hand, had all the airs of heaven to clear away the humours and expel the fever from my brain. hence it was that when the first feeble beginnings of consciousness awoke in me again, they and the light stole in on me through green leaves, and overhanging boughs, and the freshness and verdure of the spring woods. the sunshine which reached my watery eyes was softened by its passage through great trees, which grew and expanded as i gazed up into them, until each became a verdant world, with all a world's diversity of life. grown tired of this, i had still long avenues of shade, carpeted with flowers, to peer into; or a little wooded bottom--where the ground fell away on one side--that blazed and burned with red-thorn. ay, and hence it was that the first sounds i heard, when the fever left me at last, and i knew morning from evening, and man from woman, were the songs of birds calling to their mates. mademoiselle and madame de bruhl, with fanchette and simon fleix, lay all this time in such shelter as could be raised for them where i lay; m. françois and three stout fellows, whom maignan left to guard us, living in a hut within hail. maignan himself, after seeing out a week of my illness, had perforce returned to his master, and no news had since been received from him. thanks to the timely move into the woods, no other of the party fell ill, and by the time i was able to stand and speak the ravages of the disease had so greatly decreased that fear was at an end. i should waste words were i to try to describe how the peace and quietude of the life we led in the forest during the time of my recovery sank into my heart; which had known, save by my mother's bedside, little of such joys. to awake in the morning to sweet sounds and scents, to eat with reviving appetite and feel the slow growth of strength, to lie all day in shade or sunshine as it pleased me, and hear women's voices and tinkling laughter, to have no thought of the world and no knowledge of it, so that we might have been, for anything we saw, in another sphere--these things might have sufficed for happiness without that which added to each and every one of them a sweeter and deeper and more lasting joy. of which next. i had not begun to take notice long before i saw that m. françois and madame had come to an understanding; such an one, at least, as permitted him to do all for her comfort and entertainment without committing her to more than was becoming at such a season. naturally this left mademoiselle much in my company; a circumstance which would have ripened into passion the affection i before entertained for her, had not gratitude and a nearer observance of her merits already elevated the feeling into the most ardent worship that even the youngest lover ever felt for his mistress. in proportion, however, as i and my love grew stronger, and mademoiselle's presence grew more necessary to my happiness--so that were she away but an hour i fell a-moping--she began to draw off from me, and absenting herself more and more on long walks in the woods, by-and-by reduced me to such a pitch of misery as bid fair to complete what the fever had left undone. if this had happened in the world i think it likely that i should have suffered in silence. but here, under the greenwood, in common enjoyment of god's air and earth, we seemed more nearly equal. she was scarce better dressed than a sutler's wife; while recollections of her wealth and station, though they assailed me nightly, lost much of their point in presence of her youth and of that fair and patient gentleness which forest life and the duties of a nurse had fostered. so it happened that one day, when she had been absent longer than usual, i took my courage in my hand and went to meet her as far as the stream which ran through the bottom by the redthorn. here, at a place where there were three stepping-stones, i waited for her; first taking away the stepping-stones, that she might have to pause, and, being at a loss, might be glad to see me. she came presently, tripping through an alley in the low wood, with her eyes on the ground, and her whole carriage full of a sweet pensiveness which it did me good to see. i turned my back on the stream before she saw me, and made a pretence of being taken up with something in another direction. doubtless she espied me soon, and before she came very near; but she made no sign until she reached the brink, and found the stepping-stones were gone. then, whether she suspected me or not, she called out to me, not once, but several times. for, partly to tantalise her, as lovers will, and partly because it charmed me to hear her use my name, i would not turn at once. when i did, and discovered her standing with one small foot dallying with the water, i cried out with well-affected concern; and in a great hurry ran towards her, paying no attention to her chiding or the pettish haughtiness with which she spoke to me. 'the stepping-stones are all on your side,' she said imperiously. 'who has moved them?' i looked about without answering, and at last pretended to find them; while she stood watching me, tapping the ground with one foot the while. despite her impatience, the stone which was nearest to her i took care to bring last--that she might not cross without my assistance. but after all she stepped over so lightly and quickly that the hand she placed in mine seemed scarcely to rest there a second. yet when she was over i managed to retain it; nor did she resist, though her cheek, which had been red before, turned crimson and her eyes fell, and bound to me by the link of her little hand, she stood beside me with her whole figure drooping. 'mademoiselle,' i said gravely, summoning all my resolution to my aid, 'do you know of what that stream with its stepping-stones reminds me?' she shook her head but did not answer. 'of the stream which has flowed between us from the day when i first saw you at st. jean,' i said in a low voice. 'it has flowed between us, and it still does--separating us.' 'what stream?' she murmured, with her eyes cast down, and her foot playing with the moss. 'you speak in riddles, sir.' 'you understand this one only too well, mademoiselle,' i answered. 'are you not young and gay and beautiful, while i am old, or almost old, and dull and grave? you are rich and well-thought-of at court, and i a soldier of fortune, not too successful. what did you think of me when you first saw me at st. jean? what when i came to rosny? that, mademoiselle,' i continued with fervour, 'is the stream which flows between us and separates us; and i know of but one stepping-stone that can bridge it.' she looked aside, toying with a piece of thorn-blossom she had picked. it was not redder than her cheeks. 'that one stepping-stone,' i said, after waiting vainly for any word or sign from her, 'is love. many weeks ago, mademoiselle, when i had little cause to like you, i loved you; i loved you whether i would or not, and without thought or hope of return. i should have been mad had i spoken to you then. mad, and worse than mad. but now, now that i owe you my life, now that i have drunk from your hand in fever, and, awaking early and late, have found you by my pillow--now that, seeing you come in and out in the midst of fear and hardship, i have learned to regard you as a woman kind and gentle as my mother--now that i love you, so that to be with you is joy, and away from you grief, is it presumption in me now, mademoiselle, to think that that stream may be bridged?' i stopped, out of breath, and saw that she was trembling. but she spoke presently. 'you said one stepping-stone?' she murmured. 'yes,' i answered hoarsely, trying in vain to look at her face, which she kept averted from me. 'there should be two,' she said, almost in a whisper. 'your love, sir, and--and mine. you have said much of the one, and nothing of the other. in that you are wrong, for i am proud still. and i would not cross the stream you speak of for any love of yours!' 'ah!' i cried in sharpest pain. 'but,' she continued, looking up at me on a sudden with eyes that told me all, 'because i love you i am willing to cross it--to cross it once for ever, and live beyond it all my life--if i may live my life with you.' i fell on my knee and kissed her hand again and again in a rapture of joy and gratitude. by-and-by she pulled it from me. 'if you will, sir,' she said, 'you may kiss my lips. if you do not, no man ever will.' after that, as may be guessed, we walked every day in the forest, making longer and longer excursions as my strength came back to me, and the nearer parts grew familiar. from early dawn, when i brought my love a posy of flowers, to late evening, when fanchette hurried her from me, our days were passed in a long round of delight; being filled full of all beautiful things--love, and sunshine, and rippling streams, and green banks, on which we sat together under scented limes, telling one another all we had ever thought, and especially all we had ever thought of one another. sometimes--when the light was low in the evening--we spoke of my mother; and once--but that was in the sunshine, when the bees were humming and my blood had begun to run strongly in my veins--i spoke of my great and distant kinsman, rohan. but mademoiselle would hear nothing of him, murmuring again and again in my ear, 'i have crossed, my love, i have crossed.' truly the sands of that hour-glass were of gold. but in time they ran out. first m. françois, spurred by the restlessness of youth, and convinced that madame would for a while yield no farther, left us, and went back to the world. then news came of great events that could not fail to move us. the king of france and the king of navarre had met at tours, and embracing in the sight of an immense multitude, had repulsed the league with slaughter in the suburb of st. symphorien. fast on this followed the tidings of their march northwards with an overwhelming army of fifty-thousand men of both religions, bent, rumour had it, on the signal punishment of paris. i grew--shame that i should say it--to think more and more of these things; until mademoiselle, reading the signs, told me one day that we must go. 'though never again,' she added with a sigh, 'shall we be so happy.' 'then why go?' i asked foolishly. 'because you are a man,' she answered with a wise smile, 'as i would have you be, and you need something besides love. to-morrow we will go.' 'whither?' i said in amazement. 'to the camp before paris,' she answered. 'we will go back in the light of day--seeing that we have done nothing of which to be ashamed--and throw ourselves on the justice of the king of navarre. you shall place me with madame catherine, who will not refuse to protect me; and so, sweet, you will have only yourself to think of. come, sir,' she continued, laying her little hand in mine, and looking into my eyes, 'you are not afraid?' 'i am more afraid than ever i used to be,' i said trembling. 'so i would have it,' she whispered, hiding her face on my shoulder. 'nevertheless we will go.' and go we did. the audacity of such a return in the face of turenne, who was doubtless in the king of navarre's suite, almost took my breath away; nevertheless, i saw that it possessed one advantage which no other course promised--that, i mean, of setting us right in the eyes of the world, and enabling me to meet in a straightforward manner such as maligned us. after some consideration i gave my assent, merely conditioning that until we reached the court we should ride masked, and shun as far as possible encounters by the road. chapter xxxii. a tavern brawl. on the following day, accordingly, we started. but the news of the two kings' successes, and particularly the certainty which these had bred in many minds that nothing short of a miracle could save paris, had moved so many gentlemen to take the road that we found the inns crowded beyond example, and were frequently forced into meetings which made the task of concealing our identity more difficult and hazardous than i had expected. sometimes shelter was not to be obtained on any terms, and then we had to lie in the fields or in any convenient shed. moreover, the passage of the army had swept the country so bare both of food and forage, that these commanded astonishing prices; and a long day's ride more than once brought us to our destination without securing for us the ample meal we had earned, and required. under these circumstances, it was with joy little short of transport that i recognised the marvellous change which had come over my mistress. bearing all without a murmur, or a frown, or so much as one complaining word, she acted on numberless occasions so as to convince me that she spoke truly--albeit i scarcely dared to believe it--when she said that she had but one trouble in the world, and that was the prospect of our coming separation. for my part, and despite some gloomy moments, when fear of the future overcame me, i rode in paradise riding by my mistress. it was her presence which glorified alike the first freshness of the morning, when we started with all the day before us, and the coolness of the late evening, when we rode hand-in-hand. nor could i believe without an effort that i was the same gaston de marsac whom she had once spurned and disdained. god knows i was thankful for her love. a thousand times, thinking of my grey hairs, i asked her if she did not repent; and a thousand times she answered no, with so much happiness in her eyes that i was fain to thank god again and believe her. notwithstanding the inconvenience of the practice, we made it a rule to wear our masks whenever we appeared in public; and this rule we kept more strictly as we approached paris. it exposed us to some comment and more curiosity, but led to no serious trouble until we reached etampes, twelve leagues from the capital; where we found the principal inn so noisy and crowded, and so much disturbed by the constant coming and going of couriers, that it required no experience to predicate the neighbourhood of the army. the great courtyard seemed to be choked with a confused mass of men and horses, through which we made our way with difficulty. the windows of the house were all open, and offered us a view of tables surrounded by men eating and drinking hastily, as the manner of travellers is. the gateway and the steps of the house were lined with troopers and servants and sturdy rogues; who scanned all who passed in or out, and not unfrequently followed them with ribald jests and nicknames. songs and oaths, brawling and laughter, with the neighing of horses and the huzzas of the beggars, who shouted whenever a fresh party arrived, rose above all, and increased the reluctance with which i assisted madame and mademoiselle to dismount. simon was no match for such an occasion as this; but the stalwart aspect of the three men whom maignan had left with me commanded respect, and attended by two of these i made a way for the ladies--not without some opposition and a few oaths--to enter the house. the landlord, whom we found crushed into a corner inside, and entirely overborne by the crowd which had invaded his dwelling, assured me that he had not the smallest garret he could place at my disposal; but i presently succeeded in finding a small room at the top, which i purchased from the four men who had taken possession of it. as it was impossible to get anything to eat there, i left a man on guard, and myself descended with madame and mademoiselle to the eating-room, a large chamber set with long boards, and filled with a rough and noisy crew. under a running fire of observations we entered, and found with difficulty three seats in an inner corner of the room. i ran my eye over the company, and noticed among them, besides a dozen travelling parties like our own, specimens of all those classes which are to be found in the rear of an army. there were some officers and more horse-dealers; half a dozen forage-agents and a few priests; with a large sprinkling of adventurers, bravos, and led-captains, and here and there two or three whose dress and the deference paid to them by their neighbours seemed to indicate a higher rank. conspicuous among these last were a party of four who occupied a small table by the door. an attempt had been made to secure some degree of privacy for them by interposing a settle between them and the room; and their attendants, who seemed to be numerous, did what they could to add to this by filling the gap with their persons. one of the four, a man of handsome dress and bearing, who sat in the place of honour, was masked, as we were. the gentleman at his right hand i could not see. the others, whom i could see, were strangers to me. some time elapsed before our people succeeded in procuring us any food, and during the interval we were exposed to an amount of comment on the part of those round us which i found very little to my liking. there were not half a dozen women present, and this and our masks rendered my companions unpleasantly conspicuous. aware, however, of the importance of avoiding an altercation which might possibly detain us, and would be certain to add to our notoriety, i remained quiet; and presently the entrance of a tall, dark-complexioned man, who carried himself with a peculiar swagger, and seemed to be famous for something or other, diverted the attention of the company from us. the new-comer was somewhat of maignan's figure. he wore a back and breast over a green doublet, and had an orange feather in his cap and an orange-lined cloak on his shoulder. on entering he stood a moment in the doorway, letting his bold black eyes rove round the room, the while he talked in a loud braggart fashion to his companions. there was a lack of breeding in the man's air, and something offensive in his look; which i noticed produced wherever it rested a momentary silence and constraint. when he moved farther into the room i saw that he wore a very long sword, the point of which trailed a foot behind him. he chose out for his first attentions the party of four whom i have mentioned; going up to them and accosting them with a ruffling air, directed especially to the gentleman in the mask. the latter lifted his head haughtily on finding himself addressed by a stranger, but did not offer to answer. someone else did, however, for a sudden bellow like that of an enraged bull proceeded from behind the settle. the words were lost in noise, the unseen speaker's anger seeming so overpowering that he could not articulate; but the tone and voice, which were in some way familiar to me, proved enough for the bully, who, covering his retreat with a profound bow, backed out rapidly, muttering what was doubtless an apology. cocking his hat more fiercely to make up for this repulse, he next proceeded to patrol the room, scowling from side to side as he went, with the evident intention of picking a quarrel with someone less formidable. by ill-chance his eye lit, as he turned, on our masks. he said something to his companions; and encouraged, no doubt, by the position of our seats at the board, which led him to think us people of small consequence, he came to a stop opposite us. 'what! more dukes here?' he cried scoffingly. 'hallo, you sir!' he continued to me, 'will you not unmask and drink a glass with me?' i thanked him civilly, but declined. his insolent eyes were busy, while i spoke, with madame's fair hair and handsome figure, which her mask failed to hide. 'perhaps the ladies will have better taste, sir,' he said rudely. 'will they not honour us with a sight of their pretty faces?' knowing the importance of keeping my temper i put constraint on myself, and answered, still with civility, that they were greatly fatigued and were about to retire. 'zounds!' he cried, 'that is not to be borne. if we are to lose them so soon, the more reason we should enjoy their _beaux yeux_ while we can. a short life and a merry one, sir. this is not a nunnery, nor, i dare swear, are your fair friends nuns.' though i longed to chastise him for this insult, i feigned deafness, and went on with my meal as if i had not heard him; and the table being between us prevented him going beyond words. after he had uttered one or two coarse jests of a similar character, which cost us less as we were masked, and our emotions could only be guessed, the crowd about us, seeing i took the thing quietly, began to applaud him; but more as it seemed to me out of fear than love. in this opinion i was presently confirmed on hearing from simon--who whispered the information in my ear as he handed a dish--that the fellow was an italian captain in the king's pay, famous for his skill with the sword and the many duels in which he had displayed it. mademoiselle, though she did not know this, bore with his insolence with a patience which astonished me; while madame appeared unconscious of it. nevertheless, i was glad when he retired and left us in peace. i seized the moment of his absence to escort the ladies through the room and upstairs to their apartment, the door of which i saw locked and secured. that done i breathed more freely; and feeling thankful that i had been able to keep my temper, took the episode to be at an end. but in this i was mistaken, as i found when i returned to the room in which we had supped, my intention being to go through it to the stables. i had not taken two paces across the floor before i found my road blocked by the italian, and read alike in his eyes and in the faces of the company--of whom many hastened to climb the tables to see what passed--that the meeting was premeditated. the man's face was flushed with wine; proud of his many victories, he eyed me with a boastful contempt my patience had perhaps given him the right to feel. 'ha! well met, sir,' he said, sweeping the floor with his cap in an exaggeration of respect, 'now, perhaps, your high-mightiness will condescend to unmask? the table is no longer between us, nor are your fair friends here to protect their _cher ami!_' 'if i still refuse, sir,' i said civilly, wavering between anger and prudence, and hoping still to avoid a quarrel which might endanger us all, 'be good enough to attribute it to private motives, and to no desire to disoblige you.' 'no, i do not think you wish to disoblige me,' he answered, laughing scornfully--and a dozen voices echoed the gibe. 'but for your private motives, the devil take them! is that plain enough, sir?' 'it is plain enough to show me that you are an ill-bred man!' i answered, choler getting the better of me. 'let me pass, sir.' 'unmask!' he retorted, moving so as still to detain me, 'or shall i call in the grooms to perform the office for you?' seeing at last that all my attempts to evade the man only fed his vanity, and encouraged him to further excesses, and that the motley crowd, who filled the room and already formed a circle round us, had made up their minds to see sport, i would no longer balk them; i could no longer do it, indeed, with honour. i looked round, therefore, for someone whom i might enlist as my second, but i saw no one with whom i had the least acquaintance. the room was lined from table to ceiling with mocking faces and scornful eyes all turned to me. my opponent saw the look, and misread it; being much accustomed, i imagine, to a one-sided battle. he laughed contemptuously. 'no, my friend, there is no way out of it,' he said. 'let me see your pretty face, or fight.' 'so be it,' i said quietly. 'if i have no other choice, i will fight.' 'in your mask?' he cried incredulously. 'yes,' i said sternly, feeling every nerve tingle with long-suppressed rage. 'i will fight as i am. off with your back and breast, if you are a man. and i will so deal with you that if you see to-morrow's sun you shall need a mask for the rest of your days!' 'ho! ho!' he answered, scowling at me in surprise, 'you sing in a different key now. but i will put a term to it. there is space enough between these tables, if you can use your weapon; and much more than you will need tomorrow.' 'to-morrow will show,' i retorted. without more ado he unfastened the buckles of his breast-piece, and relieving himself of it, stepped back a pace. those of the bystanders who occupied the part of the room he indicated--a space bounded by four tables, and not unfit for the purpose, though somewhat confined--hastened to get out of it, and seize instead upon neighbouring posts of 'vantage. the man's reputation was such, and his fame so great, that on all sides i heard naught but wagers offered against me at odds; but this circumstance, which might have flurried a younger man and numbed his arm, served only to set me on making the most of such openings as the fellow's presumption and certainty of success would be sure to afford. the news of the challenge running through the house had brought together by this time so many people as to fill the room from end to end, and even to obscure the light, which was beginning to wane. at the last moment, when we were on the point of engaging, a slight commotion marked the admission to the front of three or four persons, whose consequence or attendants gained them this advantage. i believed them to be the party of four i have mentioned, but at the time i could not be certain. in the few seconds of waiting while this went forward i examined our relative positions with the fullest intention of killing the man--whose glittering eyes and fierce smile filled me with a loathing which was very nearly hatred--if i could. the line of windows lay to my right and his left. the evening light fell across us, whitening the row of faces on my left, but leaving those on my right in shadow. it occurred to me on the instant that my mask was actually an advantage, seeing that it protected my sight from the side-light, and enabled me to watch his eyes and point with more concentration. 'you will be the twenty-third man i have killed!' he said boastfully, as we crossed swords and stood an instant on guard. 'take care!' i answered. 'you have twenty-three against you!' a swift lunge was his only answer. i parried it, and thrust, and we fell to work. we had not exchanged half a dozen blows, however, before i saw that i should need all the advantage which my mask and greater caution gave me. i had met my match, and it might be something more; but that for a time it was impossible to tell. he had the longer weapon, and i the longer reach. he preferred the point, after the new italian fashion, and i the blade. he was somewhat flushed with wine, while my arm had scarcely recovered the strength of which illness had deprived me. on the other hand, excited at the first by the cries of his backers, he played rather wildly; while i held myself prepared, and keeping up a strong guard, waited cautiously for any opening or mistake on his part. the crowd round us, which had hailed our first passes with noisy cries of derision and triumph, fell silent after a while, surprised and taken aback by their champion's failure to spit me at the first onslaught. my reluctance to engage had led them to predict a short fight and an easy victory. convinced of the contrary, they began to watch each stroke with bated breath; or now and again, muttering the name of jarnac, broke into brief exclamations as a blow more savage than usual drew sparks from our blades, and made the rafters ring with the harsh grinding of steel on steel. the surprise of the crowd, however, was a small thing compared with that of my adversary. impatience, disgust, rage, and doubt chased one another in turn across his flushed features. apprised that he had to do with a swordsman, he put forth all his power. with spite in his eyes he laboured blow on blow, he tried one form of attack after another, he found me equal, if barely equal, to all. and then at last there came a change. the perspiration gathered on his brow, the silence disconcerted him; he felt his strength failing under the strain, and suddenly, i think, the possibility of defeat and death, unthought of before, burst upon him. i heard him groan, and for a moment he fenced wildly. then he again recovered himself. but now i read terror in his eyes, and knew that the moment of retribution was at hand. with his back to the table, and my point threatening his breast, he knew at last what those others had felt! he would fain have stopped to breathe, but i would not let him though my blows also were growing feeble, and my guard weaker; for i knew that if i gave him time to recover himself he would have recourse to other tricks, and might out-man[oe]uvre me in the end. as it was, my black unchanging mask, which always confronted him, which hid all emotions and veiled even fatigue, had grown to be full of terror to him--full of blank, passionless menace. he could not tell how i fared, or what i thought, or how my strength stood. a superstitious dread was on him, and threatened to overpower him. ignorant who i was or whence i came, he feared and doubted, grappling with monstrous suspicions, which the fading light encouraged. his face broke out in blotches, his breath came and went in gasps, his eyes began to protrude. once or twice they quitted mine for a part of a second to steal a despairing glance at the rows of onlookers that ran to right and left of us. but he read no pity there. at last the end came--more suddenly than i had looked for it, but i think he was unnerved. his hand lost its grip of the hilt, and a parry which i dealt a little more briskly than usual sent the weapon flying among the crowd, as much to my astonishment as to that of the spectators. a volley of oaths and exclamations hailed the event; and for a moment i stood at gaze, eyeing him watchfully. he shrank back; then he made for a moment as if he would fling himself upon me dagger in hand. but seeing my point steady, he recoiled a second time, his face distorted with rage and fear. 'go!' i said sternly. 'begone! follow your sword! but spare the next man you conquer.' he stared at me, fingering his dagger as if he did not understand, or as if in the bitterness of his shame at being so defeated even life were unwelcome. i was about to repeat my words when a heavy hand fell on my shoulder. 'fool!' a harsh growling voice muttered in my ear. 'do you want him to serve you as achon served matas? this is the way to deal with him.' and before i knew who spoke or what to expect a man vaulted over the table beside me. seizing the italian by the neck and waist, he flung him bodily--without paying the least regard to his dagger--into the crowd. 'there!' the new-comer cried, stretching his arms as if the effort had relieved him, 'so much for him! and do you breathe yourself. breathe yourself, my friend,' he continued with a vain-glorious air of generosity. 'when you are rested and ready, you and i will have a bout. mon dieu! what a thing it is to see a man! and by my faith you are a man!' 'but, sir,' i said, staring at him in the utmost bewilderment, 'we have no quarrel.' 'quarrel?' he cried in his loud, ringing voice. 'heaven forbid! why should we? i love a man, however, and when i see one i say to him, "i am crillon! fight me!" but i see you are not yet rested. patience! there is no hurry. berthon de crillon is proud to wait your convenience. in the meantime, gentlemen,' he continued, turning with a grand air to the spectators, who viewed this sudden _bouleversement_ with unbounded surprise, 'let us do what we can. take the word from me, and cry all, "_vive le roi, et vive l'inconnu!_" like people awaking from a dream--so great was their astonishment--the company complied and with the utmost heartiness. when the shout died away, someone cried in turn, 'vive crillon!' and this was honoured with a fervour which brought the tears to the eyes of that remarkable man, in whom bombast was so strangely combined with the firmest and most reckless courage. he bowed again and again, turning himself about in the small space between the tables, while his face shone with pleasure and enthusiasm. meanwhile i viewed him with perplexity. i comprehended that it was his voice i had heard behind the settle; but i had neither the desire to fight him nor so great a reserve of strength after my illness as to be able to enter on a fresh contest with equanimity. when he turned to me, therefore, and again asked, 'well, sir, are you ready?' i could think of no better answer than that i had already made to him, 'but, sir, i have no quarrel with you.' 'tut, tut!' he answered querulously, 'if that is all, let us engage.' 'that is not all, however,' i said, resolutely putting up my sword. 'i have not only no quarrel with m. de crillon, but i received at his hands when i last saw him a considerable service.' 'then now is the time to return it,' he answered briskly, and as if that settled the matter. i could not refrain from laughing. 'nay, but i have still an excuse,' i said. 'i am barely recovered from an illness, and am weak. even so, i should be loth to decline a combat with some; but a better man than i may give the wall to m. de crillon and suffer no disgrace.' 'oh, if you put it that way--enough said,' he answered in a tone of disappointment. 'and, to be sure, the light is almost gone. that is a comfort. but you will not refuse to drink a cup of wine with me? your voice i remember, though i cannot say who you are or what service i did you. for the future, however, count on me. i love a man who is brave as well as modest, and know no better friend than a stout swordsman.' i was answering him in fitting terms--while the fickle crowd, which a few minutes earlier had been ready to tear me, viewed us from a distance with respectful homage--when the masked gentleman who had before been in his company drew near and saluted me with much stateliness. 'i congratulate you, sir,' he said, in the easy tone of a great man condescending. 'you use the sword as few use it, and fight with your head as well as your hands. should you need a friend or employment, you will honour me by remembering that you are known to the vicomte de turenne.' i bowed low to hide the start which the mention of his name caused me. for had i tried, ay, and possessed to aid me all the wit of m. de brantôme, i could have imagined nothing more fantastic than this meeting; or more entertaining than that i, masked, should talk with the vicomte de turenne masked, and hear in place of reproaches and threats of vengeance a civil offer of protection. scarcely knowing whether i should laugh or tremble, or which should occupy me more, the diverting thing that had happened or the peril we had barely escaped, i made shift to answer him, craving his indulgence if i still preserved my incognito. even while i spoke a fresh fear assailed me: lest m. de crillon, recognising my voice or figure, should cry my name on the spot, and explode in a moment the mine on which we stood. this rendered me extremely impatient to be gone. but m. le vicomte had still something to say, and i could not withdraw myself without rudeness. 'you are travelling north like everyone else?' he said, gazing at me curiously. 'may i ask whether you are for meudon, where the king of navarre lies, or for the court at st. cloud?' i muttered, moving restlessly under his keen eyes, that i was for meudon. 'then, if you care to travel with a larger company,' he rejoined, bowing with negligent courtesy, 'pray command me. i am for meudon also, and shall leave here three hours before noon.' fortunately he took my assent to his gracious invitation for granted, and turned away before i had well begun to thank him. from crillon i found it more difficult to escape. he appeared to have conceived a great fancy for me, and felt also, i imagine, some curiosity as to my identity. but i did even this at last, and, evading the obsequious offers which were made me on all sides, escaped to the stables, where i sought out the cid's stall, and lying down in the straw beside him, began to review the past, and plan the future. under cover of the darkness sleep soon came to me; my last waking thoughts being divided between thankfulness for my escape and a steady purpose to reach meudon before the vicomte, so that i might make good my tale in his absence. for that seemed to be my only chance of evading the dangers i had chosen to encounter. chapter xxxiii. at meudon. making so early a start from etampes that the inn, which had continued in an uproar till long after midnight, lay sunk in sleep when we rode out of the yard, we reached meudon about noon next day. i should be tedious were i to detail what thoughts my mistress and i had during that day's journey--the last, it might be, which we should take together; or what assurances we gave one another, or how often we repented the impatience which had impelled us to put all to the touch. madame, with kindly forethought, detached herself from us, and rode the greater part of the distance with fanchette; but the opportunities she gave us went for little; for, to be plain, the separation we dreaded seemed to overshadow us already. we uttered few words, though those few were to the purpose, but riding hand-in-hand, with full hearts, and eyes which seldom quitted one another, looked forward to meudon and its perils with such gloomy forebodings as our love and my precarious position suggested. long before we reached the town, or could see more of it than the château, over which the lilies of france and the broad white banner of the bourbons floated in company, we found ourselves swept into the whirlpool which surrounds an army. crowds stood at all the cross-roads, wagons and sumpter-mules encumbered the bridges; each moment a horseman passed us at a gallop, or a troop of disorderly rogues, soldiers only in name, reeled, shouting and singing, along the road. here and there, for a warning to the latter sort, a man dangled on a rude gallows; under which sportsmen returning from the chase and ladies who had been for an airing rode laughing on their way. amid the multitude entering the town we passed unnoticed. a little way within the walls we halted to inquire where the princess of navarre had her lodging. hearing that she occupied a house in the town, while her brother had his quarters in the château, and the king of france at st. cloud, i stayed my party in a by-road, a hundred paces farther on, and, springing from the cid, went to my mistress's knee. 'mademoiselle,' i said formally, and so loudly that all my men might hear, 'the time is come. i dare not go farther with you. i beg you, therefore, to bear me witness that as i took you so i have brought you back, and both with your good-will. i beg that you will give me this quittance, for it may serve me.' she bowed her head and laid her ungloved hand on mine, which i had placed on the pommel of her saddle. 'sir,' she answered in a broken voice, 'i will not give you this quittance, nor any quittance from me while i live.' with that she took off her mask before them all, and i saw the tears running down her white face. 'may god protect you, m. de marsac,' she continued, stooping until her face almost touched mine, 'and bring you to the thing you desire. if not, sir, and you pay too dearly for what you have done for me, i will live a maiden all my days. and, if i do not, these men may shame me!' my heart was too full for words, but i took the glove she held out to me, and kissed her hand with my knee bent. then i waved--for i could not speak--to madame to proceed; and with simon fleix and maignan's men to guard them they went on their way. mademoiselle's white face looked back to me until a bend in the road hid them, and i saw them no more. i turned when all were gone, and going heavily to where my sard stood with his head drooping, i climbed to the saddle, and rode at a foot-pace towards the château. the way was short and easy, for the next turning showed me the open gateway and a crowd about it. a vast number of people were entering and leaving, while others rested in the shade of the wall, and a dozen grooms led horses up and down. the sunshine fell hotly on the road and the courtyard, and flashed back by the cuirasses of the men on guard, seized the eye and dazzled it with gleams of infinite brightness. i was advancing alone, gazing at all this with a species of dull indifference which masked for the moment the suspense i felt at heart, when a man, coming on foot along the street, crossed quickly to me and looked me in the face. i returned his look, and seeing he was a stranger to me, was for passing on without pausing. but he wheeled beside me and uttered my name in a low voice. i checked the cid and looked down at him. 'yes,' i said mechanically, 'i am m. de marsac. but i do not know you.' 'nevertheless i have been watching for you for three days,' he replied. 'm. de rosny received your message. this is for you.' he handed me a scrap of paper. 'from whom?' i asked. 'maignan,' he answered briefly. and with that, and a stealthy look round, he left me, and went the way he had been going before. i tore open the note, and knowing that maignan could not write, was not surprised to find that it lacked any signature. the brevity of its contents vied with the curtness of its bearer. 'in heaven's name go back and wait,' it ran. 'your enemy is here, and those who wish you well are powerless.' a warning so explicit, and delivered under such circumstances, might have been expected to make me pause even then. but i read the message with the same dull indifference, the same dogged resolve with which the sight of the crowded gateway before me had inspired me. i had not come so far and baffled turenne by an hour to fail in my purpose at the last; nor given such pledges to another to prove false to myself. moreover, the distant rattle of musketry, which went to show that a skirmish was taking place on the farther side of the castle, seemed an invitation to me to proceed; for now, if ever, my sword might earn protection and a pardon. only in regard to m. de rosny, from whom i had no doubt that the message came, i resolved to act with prudence; neither making any appeal to him in public nor mentioning his name to others in private. the cid had borne me by this time into the middle of the throng about the gateway, who, wondering to see a stranger of my appearance arrive without attendants, eyed me with a mixture of civility and forwardness. i recognised more than one man whom i had seen about the court at st. jean d'angely six months before; but so great is the disguising power of handsome clothes and equipments that none of these knew me. i beckoned to the nearest, and asked him if the king of navarre was in the château. 'he has gone to see the king of france at st. cloud,' the man answered, with something of wonder that anyone should be ignorant of so important a fact. 'he is expected here in an hour.' i thanked him, and calculating that i should still have time and to spare before the arrival of m. de turenne, i dismounted, and taking the rein over my arm, began to walk up and down in the shade of the wall. meanwhile the loiterers increased in numbers as the minutes passed. men of better standing rode up, and, leaving their horses in charge of their lackeys, went into the château. officers in shining corslets, or with boots and scabbards dulled with dust, arrived and clattered in through the gates. a messenger galloped up with letters, and was instantly surrounded by a curious throng of questioners; who left him only to gather about the next comers, a knot of townsfolk, whose downcast visages and glances of apprehension seemed to betoken no pleasant or easy mission. watching many of these enter and disappear, while only the humbler sort remained to swell the crowd at the gate, i began to experience the discomfort and impatience which are the lot of the man who finds himself placed in a false position. i foresaw with clearness the injury i was about to do my cause by presenting myself to the king among the common herd; and yet i had no choice save to do this, for i dared not run the risk of entering, lest i should be required to give my name, and fail to see the king of navarre at all. as it was i came very near to being foiled in this way; for i presently recognised, and was recognised in turn, by a gentleman who rode up to the gates and, throwing his reins to a groom, dismounted with an air of immense gravity. this was m. forget, the king's secretary, and the person to whom i had on a former occasion presented a petition. he looked at me with eyes of profound astonishment, and saluting me stiffly from a distance, seemed in two minds whether he should pass in or speak to me. on second thoughts, however, he came towards me, and again saluted me with a peculiarly dry and austere aspect. 'i believe, sir, i am speaking to m. de marsac?' he said in a low voice, but not impolitely. i replied in the affirmative. 'and that, i conclude, is your horse?' he continued, raising his cane, and pointing to the cid, which i had fastened to a hook in the wall. i replied again in the affirmative. 'then take a word of advice,' he answered, screwing up his features, and speaking in a dry sort of way. 'get upon its back without an instant's delay, and put as many leagues between yourself and meudon as horse and man may.' 'i am obliged to you,' i said, though i was greatly startled by his words. 'and what if i do not take your advice?' he shrugged his shoulders. 'in that case look to yourself!' he retorted. 'but you will look in vain!' he turned on his heel as he spoke, and in a moment was gone. i watched him enter the château, and in the uncertainty which possessed me whether he was not gone--after salving his conscience by giving me warning--to order my instant arrest, i felt, and i doubt not i looked, as ill at ease for the time being as the group of trembling townsfolk who stood near me. reflecting that he should know his master's mind, i recalled with depressing clearness the repeated warnings the king of navarre had given me that i must not look to him for reward or protection. i bethought me that i was here against his express orders: presuming on those very services which he had given me notice he should repudiate. i remembered that rosny had always been in the same tale. and in fine i began to see that mademoiselle and i had together decided on a step which i should never have presumed to take on my own motion. i had barely arrived at this conclusion when the trampling of hoofs and a sudden closing in of the crowd round the gate announced the king of navarre's approach. with a sick heart i drew nearer, feeling that the crisis was at hand; and in a moment he came in sight, riding beside an elderly man, plainly dressed and mounted, with whom he was carrying on an earnest conversation. a train of nobles and gentlemen, whose martial air and equipments made up for the absence of the gewgaws and glitter, to which my eyes had become accustomed at blois, followed close on his heels. henry himself wore a suit of white velvet, frayed in places and soiled by his armour; but his quick eye and eager, almost fierce, countenance could not fail to win and keep the attention of the least observant. he kept glancing from side to side as he came on; and that with so cheerful an air and a carriage so full at once of dignity and good-humour that no one could look on him and fail to see that here was a leader and a prince of men, temperate in victory and unsurpassed in defeat. the crowd raising a cry of '_vive navarre!_' as he drew near, he bowed, with a sparkle in his eye. but when a few by the gate cried '_vivent les rois!_' he held up his hand for silence, and said in a loud, clear voice, 'not that, my friends. there is but one king in france. let us say instead, "vive le roi!"' the spokesman of the little group of townsfolk, who, i learned, were from arcueil, and had come to complain of the excessive number of troops quartered upon them, took advantage of the pause to approach him. henry received the old man with a kindly look, and bent from his saddle to hear what he had to say. while they were talking i pressed forward, the emotion i felt on my own account heightened by my recognition of the man who rode by the king of navarre--who was no other than m. de la noüe. no huguenot worthy of the name could look on the veteran who had done and suffered more for the cause than any living man without catching something of his stern enthusiasm; and the sight, while it shamed me, who a moment before had been inclined to prefer my safety to the assistance i owed my country, gave me courage to step to the king's rein, so that i heard his last words to the men of arcueil. 'patience, my friends,' he said kindly. 'the burden is heavy, but the journey is a short one. the seine is ours; the circle is complete. in a week paris must surrender. the king, my cousin, will enter, and you will be rid of us. for france's sake one week, my friends.' the men fell back with low obeisances, charmed by his good-nature, and henry, looking up, saw me before him. on the instant his jaw fell. his brow, suddenly contracting above eyes, which flashed with surprise and displeasure, altered in a moment the whole aspect of his face; which grew dark and stern as night. his first impulse was to pass by me; but seeing that i held my ground, he hesitated, so completely chagrined by my appearance that he did not know how to act, or in what way to deal with me. i seized the occasion, and bending my knee with as much respect as i had ever used to the king of france, begged to bring myself to his notice, and to crave his protection and favour. 'this is no time to trouble me, sir,' he retorted, eyeing me with an angry side-glance. 'i do not know you. you are unknown to me, sir. you must go to m. de rosny.' 'it would be useless sire,' i answered, in desperate persistence. 'then i can do nothing for you,' he rejoined peevishly. 'stand on one side, sir.' but i was desperate. i knew that i had risked all on the event, and must establish my footing before m. de turenne's return, or run the risk of certain recognition and vengeance. i cried out, caring nothing who heard, that i was m. de marsac, that i had come back to meet whatever my enemies could allege against me. '_ventre saint gris!_' henry exclaimed, starting in his saddle with well-feigned surprise. 'are you that man?' 'i am, sire,' i answered. 'then you must be mad!' he retorted, appealing to those behind him. 'stark, staring mad to show your face here! _ventre saint gris!_ are we to have all the ravishers and plunderers in the country come to us?' 'i am neither the one nor the other!' i answered, looking with indignation from him to the gaping train behind him. 'that you will have to settle with m. de turenne!' he retorted, frowning down at me with his whole face turned gloomy and fierce. 'i know you well, sir, now. complaint has been made that you abducted a lady from his castle of chizé some time back.' 'the lady, sire, is now in charge of the princess of navarre.' 'she is?' he exclaimed, quite taken aback. 'and if she has aught of complaint against me,' i continued with pride, 'i will submit to whatever punishment you order or m. de turenne demands. but if she has no complaint to make, and vows that she accompanied me of her own free-will and accord, and has suffered neither wrong nor displeasure at my hands, then, sire, i claim that this is a private matter between myself and m. de turenne.' 'even so i think you will have your hands full,' he answered grimly. at the same time he stopped by a gesture those who would have cried out upon me, and looked at me himself with an altered countenance. 'do i understand that you assert that the lady went of her own accord?' he asked. 'she went and has returned, sire,' i answered. 'strange!' he ejaculated. 'have you married her?' 'no, sire,' i answered. 'i desire leave to do so.' 'mon dieu! she is m. de turenne's ward,' he rejoined, almost dumbfounded by my audacity. 'i do not despair of obtaining his assent, sire,' i said patiently. '_saint gris!_ the man is mad!' he cried, wheeling his horse and facing his train with a gesture of the utmost wonder. 'it is the strangest story i ever heard.' 'but somewhat more to the gentleman's credit than the lady's!' one said with a smirk and a smile. 'a lie!' i cried, springing forward on the instant with a boldness which astonished myself. 'she is as pure as your highness's sister! i swear it. that man lies in his teeth, and i will maintain it.' 'sir!' the king of navarre cried, turning on me with the utmost sternness, 'you forget yourself in my presence! silence, and beware another time how you let your tongue run on those above you. you have enough trouble, let me tell you, on your hands already.' 'yet the man lies!' i answered doggedly, remembering crillon and his ways. 'and if he will do me the honour of stepping aside with me, i will convince him of it!' '_venire saint gris!_' henry replied, frowning, and dwelling on each syllable of his favourite oath. 'will you be silent, sir, and let me think? or must i order your instant arrest?' 'surely that at least, sire,' a suave voice interjected. and with that a gentleman pressed forward from the rest, and gaining a place of 'vantage by the king's side, shot at me a look of extreme malevolence. 'my lord of turenne will expect no less at your highness's hands,' he continued warmly. 'i beg you will give the order on the spot, and hold this person to answer for his misdeeds. m. de turenne returns to-day. he should be here now. i say again, sire, he will expect no less than this.' the king, gazing at me with gloomy eyes, tugged at his moustaches. someone had motioned the common herd to stand back out of hearing; at the same time the suite had moved up out of curiosity and formed a half-circle; in the midst of which i stood fronting the king, who had la noüe and the last speaker on either hand. perplexity and annoyance struggled for the mastery in his face as he looked darkly down at me, his teeth showing through his beard. profoundly angered by my appearance, which he had taken at first to be the prelude to disclosures which must detach turenne at a time when union was all-important, he had now ceased to fear for himself; and perhaps saw something in the attitude i adopted which appealed to his nature and sympathies. 'if the girl is really back,' he said at last, 'm. d'aremburg, i do not see any reason why i should interfere. at present, at any rate. 'i think, sire, m. de turenne will see reason,' the gentleman answered drily. the king coloured. 'm. de turenne,' he began, 'has made many sacrifices at your request, sire,' the other said with meaning. 'and buried some wrongs, or fancied wrongs, in connection with this very matter. this person has outraged him in the grossest manner, and in m. le vicomte's name i ask, nay i press upon you, that he be instantly arrested, and held to answer for it.' 'i am ready to answer for it now!' i retorted, looking from face to face for sympathy, and finding none save in m. de la noüe's, who appeared to regard me with grave approbation. 'to the vicomte de turenne, or the person he may appoint to represent him.' 'enough!' henry said, raising his hand and speaking in the tone of authority he knew so well how to adopt. 'for you, m. d'aremburg, i thank you. turenne is happy in his friend. but this gentleman came to me of his own free will and i do not think it consistent with my honour to detain him without warning given. i grant him an hour to remove himself from my neighbourhood. if he be found after that time has elapsed,' he continued solemnly, 'his fate be on his own head. gentlemen, we are late already. let us on.' i looked at him as he pronounced this sentence, and strove to find words in which to make a final appeal to him. but no words came; and when he bade me stand aside, i did so mechanically, remaining with my head bared to the sunshine while the troop rode by. some looked back at me with curiosity, as at a man of whom they had heard a tale, and some with a jeer on their lips; a few with dark looks of menace. when they were all gone, and the servants who followed them had disappeared also, and i was left to the inquisitive glances of the rabble who stood gaping after the sight, i turned and went to the cid, and loosed the horse with a feeling of bitter disappointment. the plan which mademoiselle had proposed and i had adopted in the forest by st. gaultier--when it seemed to us that our long absence and the great events of which we heard must have changed the world and opened a path for our return--had failed utterly. things were as they had been; the strong were still strong, and friendship under bond to fear. plainly we should have shewn ourselves wiser had we taken the lowlier course, and, obeying the warnings given us, waited the king of navarre's pleasure or the tardy recollection of rosny. i had not then stood, as i now stood, in instant jeopardy, nor felt the keen, pangs of a separation which bade fair to be lasting. she was safe, and that was much; but i, after long service and brief happiness, must go out again alone, with only memories to comfort me. it was simon fleix's voice which awakened me from this unworthy lethargy--as selfish as it was useless--and, recalling me to myself, reminded me that precious time was passing while i stood inactive. to get at me he had forced his way through the curious crowd, and his face was flushed. he plucked me by the sleeve, regarding the varlets round him with a mixture of anger and fear. 'nom de dieu! do they take you for a rope-dancer?' he muttered in my ear. 'mount, sir, and come. there is not a moment to be lost.' 'you left her at madame catherine's?' i said. 'to be sure,' he answered impatiently. 'trouble not about her. save yourself, m. de marsac. that is the thing to be done now.' i mounted mechanically, and felt my courage return as the horse moved under me. i trotted through the crowd, and without thought took the road by which we had come. when we had ridden a hundred yards, however, i pulled up. 'an hour is a short start,' i said sullenly. 'whither?' 'to st. cloud,' he answered promptly. 'the protection of the king of france may avail for a day or two. after that, there will still be the league, if paris have not fallen.' i saw there was nothing else for it, and assented, and we set off. the distance which separates meudon from st. cloud we might have ridden under the hour, but the direct road runs across the scholars' meadow, a wide plain north of meudon. this lay exposed to the enemy's fire, and was, besides, the scene of hourly conflicts between the horse of both parties, so that to cross it without an adequate force was impossible. driven to make a circuit, we took longer to reach our destination, yet did so without mishap; finding the little town, when we came in sight of it, given up to all the bustle and commotion which properly belong to the court and camp. it was, indeed, as full as it could be, for the surrender of paris being momentarily expected, st. cloud had become the rendezvous as well of the few who had long followed a principle as of the many who wait upon success. the streets, crowded in every part, shone with glancing colours, with steel and velvet, the garb of fashion and the plumes of war. long lines of flags obscured the eaves and broke the sunshine, while, above all, the bells of half a dozen churches rang merry answer to the distant crash of guns. everywhere on flag and arch and streamer i read the motto, 'vive le roi!'--words written, god knew then, and we know now, in what a mockery of doom! chapter xxxiv. ''tis an ill wind.' we had made our way slowly and with much jostling as far as the principal street, finding the press increase as we advanced, when i heard, as i turned a corner, my name called, and, looking up, saw at a window the face of which i was in search. after that half a minute sufficed to bring m. d'agen flying to my side, when nothing, as i had expected, would do but i must dismount where i was and share his lodging. he made no secret of his joy and surprise at sight of me, but pausing only to tell simon where the stable was, haled me through the crowd and up his stairs with a fervour and heartiness which brought the tears to my eyes, and served to impress the company whom i found above with a more than sufficient sense of my importance. seeing him again in the highest feather and in the full employment of all those little arts and graces which served as a foil to his real worth, i took it as a great honour that he laid them aside for the nonce; and introduced me to the seat of honour and made me known to his companions with a boyish directness and a simple thought for my comfort which infinitely pleased me. he bade his landlord, without a moment's delay, bring wine and meat and everything which could refresh a traveller, and was himself up and down a hundred times in a minute, calling to his servants for this or that, or railing at them for their failure to bring me a score of things i did not need. i hastened to make my excuses to the company for interrupting them in the midst of their talk; and these they were kind enough to accept in good part. at the same time, reading clearly in m. d'agen's excited face and shining eyes that he longed to be alone with me, they took the hint, and presently left us together. 'well,' he said, coming back from the door, to which he had conducted them, 'what have you to tell me, my friend? she is not with you?' 'she is with mademoiselle de la vire at meudon,' i answered, smiling. 'and for the rest, she is well and in better spirits.' 'she sent me some message?' he asked. i shook my head. 'she did not know i should see you,' i answered. 'but she--she has spoken of me lately?' he continued, his face falling. 'i do not think she has named your name for a fortnight,' i answered, laughing. 'there's for you! why, man,' i continued, adopting a different tone, and laying my hand on his shoulder in a manner which reassured him at least as much as my words, 'are you so young a lover as to be ignorant that a woman says least of that of which she thinks most? pluck up courage! unless i am mistaken, you have little to be afraid of except the past. only have patience.' 'you think so?' he said gratefully. i assured him that i had no doubt of it; and on that he fell into a reverie, and i to watching him. alas for the littleness of our natures! he had received me with open arms, yet at sight of the happiness which took possession of his handsome face i gave way to the pettiest feeling which can harbour in a man's breast. i looked at him with eyes of envy, bitterly comparing my lot with that which fate had reserved for him. he had fortune, good looks, and success on his side, great relations, and high hopes; i stood in instant jeopardy, my future dark, and every path which presented itself so hazardous that i knew not which to adopt. he was young, and i past my prime; he in favour, and i a fugitive. to such reflections he put an end in a way which made me blush for my churlishness. for, suddenly awaking out of his pleasant dream, he asked me about myself and my fortunes, inquiring eagerly how i came to be in st. cloud, and listening to the story of my adventures with a generous anxiety which endeared him to me more and more. when i had done--and by that time simon had joined us, and was waiting at the lower end of the room--he pronounced that i must see the king. 'there is nothing else for it,' he said. 'i have come to see him,' i answered. 'mon dieu, yes!' he continued, rising from his seat and looking at me with a face of concern. 'no one else can help you.' i nodded. 'turenne has four thousand men here. you can do nothing against so many?' 'nothing,' i said. 'the question is, will the king protect me?' 'it is he or no one,' m. d'agen answered warmly. 'you cannot see him to-night: he has a council. to-morrow at daybreak you may. you must lie here to-night, and i will set my fellows to watch, and i think you will be safe. i will away now and see if my uncle will help. can you think of anyone else who would speak for you?' i considered, and was about to answer in the negative, when simon, who had listened with a scared face, suggested m. de crillon. 'yes, if he would,' m. d'agen exclaimed, looking at the lad with approbation. 'he has weight with the king.' 'i think he might,' i replied slowly. 'i had a curious encounter with him last night.' and with that i told m. d'agen of the duel i fought at the inn. 'good!' he said, his eyes sparkling. 'i wish i had been there to see. at any rate we will try him. crillon fears no one, not even the king.' so it was settled. for that night i was to keep close in my friend's lodging, showing not even my nose at the window. when he had gone on his errand, and i found myself alone in the room, i am fain to confess that i fell very low in my spirits. m. d'agen's travelling equipment lay about the apartment, but failed to give any but an untidy air to its roomy bareness. the light was beginning to wane, the sun was gone. outside, the ringing of bells and the distant muttering of guns, with the tumult of sounds which rose from the crowded street, seemed to tell of joyous life and freedom, and all the hopes and ambitions from which i was cut off. having no other employment, i watched the street, and keeping myself well retired from the window, saw knots of gay riders pass this way and that through the crowd, their corslets shining and their voices high. monks and ladies, a cardinal and an ambassador, passed under my eyes--these and an endless procession of townsmen and beggars, soldiers and courtiers, gascons, normans and picards. never had i seen such a sight or so many people gathered together. it seemed as if half paris had come out to make submission, so that while my gorge rose against my own imprisonment, the sight gradually diverted my mind from my private distresses, by bidding me find compensation for them in the speedy and glorious triumph of the cause. even when the light failed the pageant did not cease, but, torches and lanthorns springing into life, turned night into day. from every side came sounds of revelry or strife. the crowd continued to perambulate the streets until a late hour, with cries of '_vive le roi!_' and '_vive navarre!_' while now and again the passage of a great noble with his suite called forth a fresh outburst of enthusiasm. nothing seemed more certain, more inevitable, more clearly predestinated than that twenty-four hours must see the fall of paris. yet paris did not fall. when m. d'agen returned a little before midnight, he found me still sitting in the dark looking from the window. i heard him call roughly for lights, and apprised by the sound of his voice that something was wrong, i rose to meet him. he stood silent awhile, twirling his small moustaches, and then broke into a passionate tirade, from which i was not slow to gather that m. de rambouillet declined to serve me. 'well,' i said, feeling for the young man's distress and embarrassment, 'perhaps he is right.' 'he says that word respecting you came this evening', my friend answered, his cheeks red with shame, 'and that to countenance you after that would only be to court certain humiliation. i did not let him off too easily, i assure you,' m. d'agen continued, turning away to evade my gaze; 'but i got no satisfaction. he said you had his good-will, and that to help you he would risk something, but that to do so under these circumstances would be only to injure himself.' 'there is still crillon,' i said, with as much cheerfulness as i could assume. 'pray heaven he be there early! did m. de rambouillet say anything else?' 'that your only chance was to fly as quickly and secretly as possible.' 'he thought my situation desperate, then?' my friend nodded; and scarcely less depressed on my account than ashamed on his own, evinced so much feeling that it was all i could do to comfort him; which i succeeded in doing only when i diverted the conversation to madame de bruhl. we passed the short night together, sharing the same room and the same bed, and talking more than we slept--of madame and mademoiselle, the castle on the hill, and the camp in the woods, of all old days in fine, but little of the future. soon after dawn simon, who lay on a pallet across the threshold, roused me from a fitful sleep into which i had just fallen, and a few minutes later i stood up dressed and armed, ready to try the last chance left to me. m. d'agen had dressed stage for stage with me, and i had kept silence. but when he took up his cap, and showed clearly that he had it in his mind to go with me, i withstood him. 'no,' i said, 'you can do me little good, and may do yourself much harm.' 'you shall not go without one friend,' he cried fiercely. 'tut, tut!' i said. 'i shall have simon.' but simon, when i turned to speak to him, was gone. few men are at their bravest in the early hours of the day, and it did not surprise me that the lad's courage had failed him. the defection only strengthened, however, the resolution i had formed that i would not injure m. d'agen; though it was some time before i could persuade him that i was in earnest, and would go alone or not at all. in the end he had to content himself with lending me his back and breast, which i gladly put on, thinking it likely enough that i might be set upon before i reached the castle. and then, the time being about seven, i parted from him with many embraces and kindly words, and went into the street with my sword under my cloak. the town, late in rising after its orgy, lay very still and quiet. the morning was grey and warm, with a cloudy sky. the flags, which had made so gay a show yesterday, hung close to the poles, or flapped idly and fell dead again. i walked slowly along beneath them, keeping a sharp look-out on every side; but there were few persons moving in the streets, and i reached the castle gates without misadventure. here was something of life; a bustle of officers and soldiers passing in and out, of courtiers whose office made their presence necessary, of beggars who had flocked hither in the night for company. in the middle of these i recognised on a sudden and with great surprise simon fleix walking my horse up and down. on seeing me he handed it to a boy, and came up to speak to me with a red face, muttering that four legs were better than two. i did not say much to him, my heart being full and my thoughts occupied with the presence chamber and what i should say there; but i nodded kindly to him, and he fell in behind me as the sentries challenged me. i answered them that i sought m. de crillon, and so getting by, fell into the rear of a party of three who seemed bent on the same errand as myself. one of these was a jacobin monk, whose black and white robes, by reminding me of father antoine, sent a chill to my heart. the second, whose eye i avoided, i knew to be m. la guesle, the king's solicitor-general. the third was a stranger to me. enabled by m. la guesle's presence to pass the main guards without challenge, the party proceeded through a maze of passages and corridors, conversing together in a low tone; while i, keeping in their train with my face cunningly muffled, got as far by this means as the antechamber, which i found almost empty. here i inquired of the usher for m. de crillon, and learned with the utmost consternation that he was not present. this blow, which almost stunned me, opened my eyes to the precarious nature of my position, which only the early hour and small attendance rendered possible for a moment. at any minute i might be recognised and questioned, or my name be required; while the guarded doors of the chamber shut me off as effectually from the king's face and grace as though i were in paris, or a hundred leagues away. endeavouring to the best of my power to conceal the chagrin and alarm, which possessed me as this conviction took hold of me, i walked to the window; and to hide my face more completely and at the same time gain a moment to collect my thoughts, affected to be engaged in looking through it. nothing which passed in the room, however, escaped me. i marked everything and everyone, though all my thought was how i might get to the king. the barber came out of the chamber with a silver basin, and stood a moment, and went in again with an air of vast importance. the guards yawned, and an officer entered, looked round, and retired. m. la guesle, who had gone in to the presence, came out again and stood near me talking with the jacobin, whose pale nervous face and hasty movements reminded me somehow of simon fleix. the monk held a letter or petition in his hand, and appeared to be getting it by heart, for his lips moved continually. the light which fell on his face from the window showed it to be of a peculiar sweaty pallor, and distorted besides. but supposing him to be devoted, like many of his kind, to an unwholesome life, i thought nothing of this; though i liked him little, and would have shifted my place but for the convenience of his neighbourhood. presently, while i was cudgelling my brains, a person came out and spoke to la guesle; who called in his turn to the monk, and started hastily towards the door. the jacobin followed. the third person who had entered in their company had his attention directed elsewhere at the moment; and though la guesle called to him, took no heed. on the instant i grasped the situation. taking my courage in my hands, i crossed the floor behind the monk; who, hearing me, or feeling his robe come in contact with me, presently started and looked round suspiciously, his face wearing a scowl so black and ugly that i almost recoiled from him, dreaming for a moment that i saw before me the very spirit of father antoine. but as the man said nothing, and the next instant averted his gaze, i hardened my heart and pushed on behind him, and passing the usher, found myself as by magic in the presence which had seemed a while ago as unattainable by my wits as it was necessary to my safety. it was not this success alone, however, which caused my heart to beat more hopefully. the king was speaking as i entered, and the gay tones of his voice seemed to promise a favourable reception. his majesty sat half-dressed on a stool at the farther end of the apartment, surrounded by five or six noblemen, while as many attendants, among whom i hastened to mingle, waited near the door. la guesle made as if he would advance, and then, seeing the king's attention was not on him, held back. but in a moment the king saw him and called to him. 'ha, guesle!' he said with good-temper, 'is it you? is your friend with you?' the solicitor went forward with the monk at his elbow, and i had leisure to remark the favourable change which had taken place in the king, who spoke more strongly and seemed in better health than of old. his face looked less cadaverous under the paint, his form a trifle less emaciated. that which struck me more than anything, however, was the improvement in his spirits. his eyes sparkled from time to time, and he laughed continually, so that i could scarcely believe that he was the same man whom i had seen overwhelmed with despair and tortured by his conscience. letting his attention slip from la guesle, he began to bandy words with the nobleman who stood nearest to him; looking up at him with a roguish eye, and making bets on the fall of paris. 'morbleu!' i heard him cry gaily, 'i would give a thousand pounds to see the montpensier this morning! she may keep her third crown for herself. or, _peste!_ we might put her in a convent. that would be a fine vengeance!' 'the veil for the tonsure,' the nobleman said with a smirk. 'ay. why not? she would have made a monk of me,' the king rejoined smartly. 'she must be ready to hang herself with her garters this morning, if she is not dead of spite already. or, stay, i had forgotten her golden scissors. let her open a vein with them. well, what does your friend want, la guesle?' i did not hear the answer, but it was apparently satisfactory, for in a minute all except the jacobin fell back, leaving the monk standing before the king; who, stretching out his hand, took from him a letter. the jacobin, trembling visibly, seemed scarcely able to support the honour done him, and the king, seeing this, said in a voice audible to all, 'stand up, man. you are welcome. i love a cowl as some love a lady's hood. and now, what is this?' he read a part of the letter and rose. as he did so the monk leaned forward as though to receive the paper back again, and then so swiftly, so suddenly, with so unexpected a movement that no one stirred until all was over, struck the king in the body with a knife! as the blade flashed and was hidden, and his majesty with a deep sob fell back on the stool, then, and not till then, i knew that i had missed a providential chance of earning pardon and protection. for had i only marked the jacobin as we passed the door together, and read his evil face aright, a word, one word, had done for me more than the pleading of a score of crillons! too late a dozen sprang forward to the king's assistance; but before they reached him he had himself drawn the knife from, the wound and struck the assassin with it on the head. while some, with cries of grief, ran to support henry, from whose body the blood was already flowing fast, others seized and struck down the wretched monk. as they gathered round him i saw him raise himself for a moment on his knees and look upward; the blood which ran down his face, no less than the mingled triumph and horror of his features, impressed the sight on my recollection. the next instant three swords were plunged into his breast, and his writhing body, plucked up from the floor amid a transport of curses, was forced headlong through the casement and flung down to make sport for the grooms and scullions who stood below. a scene of indescribable confusion followed, some crying that the king was dead, while others called for a doctor, and some by name for dortoman. i expected to see the doors closed and all within secured, that if the man had confederates they might be taken. but there was no one to give the order. instead, many who had neither the _entrée_ nor any business in the chamber forced their way in, and by their cries and pressure rendered the hub-bub and tumult a hundred times worse. in the midst of this, while i stood stunned and dumbfounded, my own risks and concerns forgotten, i felt my sleeve furiously plucked, and, looking round, found simon at my elbow. the lad's face was crimson, his eyes seemed starting from his head. 'come,' he muttered, seizing my arm. 'come!' and without further ceremony or explanation he dragged me towards the door, while his face and manner evinced as much heat and impatience as if he had been himself the assassin. 'come, there is not a moment to be lost,' he panted, continuing his exertions without the least intermission. 'whither?' i said, in amazement, as i reluctantly permitted him to force me along the passage and through the gaping crowd on the stairs. 'whither, man?' 'mount and ride!' was the answer he hissed in my ear. 'ride for your life to the king of navarre--to the king of france it may be! ride as you have never ridden before, and tell him the news, and bid him look to himself! be the first, and, heaven helping us, turenne may do his worst!' i felt every nerve in my body tingle as i awoke to his meaning. without a word i left his arm, and flung myself into the crowd which filled the lower passage to suffocation. as i struggled fiercely with them simon aided me by crying 'a doctor! a doctor! make way there!' and this induced many to give place to me under the idea that i was an accredited messenger. eventually i succeeded in forcing my way through and reaching the courtyard; being, as it turned out, the first person to issue from the château. a dozen people sprang towards me with anxious eyes and questions on their lips, but i ran past them and, catching the cid, which was fortunately at hand, by the rein, bounded into the saddle. as i turned the horse to the gate i heard simon cry after me, 'the scholars' meadow! go that way!' and then i heard no more. i was out of the yard and galloping bareheaded down the pitched street, while women snatched their infants up and ran aside, and men came startled to the doors, crying that the league was upon us. as the good horse flung up his head and bounded forward, hurling the gravel behind him with hoofs which slid and clattered on the pavement, as the wind began to whistle by me, and i seized the reins in a shorter grip, i felt my heart bound with exultation. i experienced such a blessed relief and elation as the prisoner long fettered and confined feels when restored to the air of heaven. down one street and through a narrow lane we thundered, until a broken gateway stopped with fascines--through which the cid blundered and stumbled--brought us at a bound into the scholars' meadow just as the tardy sun broke through the clouds and flooded the low, wide plain with brightness. half a league in front of us the towers of meudon rose to view on a hill. in the distance, to the left, lay the walls of paris, and nearer, on the same side, a dozen forts and batteries; while here and there, in that quarter, a shining clump of spears or a dense mass of infantry betrayed the enemy's presence. i heeded none of these things, however, nor anything except the towers of meudon, setting the cid's head straight for these and riding on at the top of his speed. swiftly ditch and dyke came into view before us and flashed away beneath us. men lying in pits rose up and aimed at us; or ran with cries to intercept us. a cannon-shot fired from the fort by issy tore up the earth to one side; a knot of lancers sped from the shelter of an earthwork in the same quarter, and raced us for half a mile, with frantic shouts and threats of vengeance. but all such efforts were vanity. the cid, fired by this sudden call upon his speed, and feeling himself loosed--rarest of events--to do his best, shook the foam from his bit, and opening his blood-red nostrils to the wind, crouched lower and lower: until his long neck, stretched out before him, seemed, as the sward swept by, like the point of an arrow speeding resistless to its aim. god knows, as the air rushed by me and the sun shone in my face, i cried aloud like a boy, and though i sat still and stirred neither hand nor foot, last i should break the good sard's stride, i prayed wildly that the horse which i had groomed with my own hands and fed with my last crown might hold on unfaltering to the end. for i dreamed that the fate of a nation rode in my saddle; and mindful alike of simon's words, 'bid him look to himself,' and of my own notion that the league would not be so foolish as to remove one enemy to exalt another, i thought nothing more likely than that, with all my fury, i should arrive too late, and find the king of navarre as i had left the king of france. in this strenuous haste i covered a mile as a mile has seldom been covered before; and i was growing under the influence of the breeze which whipped my temples somewhat more cool and hopeful, when i saw on a sudden right before me, and between me and meudon, a handful of men engaged in a _mêlée_. there were red and white jackets in it--leaguers and huguenots--and the red coats seemed to be having the worst of it. still, while i watched, they came off in order, and unfortunately in such a way and at such a speed that i saw they must meet me face to face whether i tried to avoid the encounter or not. i had barely time to take in the danger and its nearness, and discern beyond both parties the main-guard of the huguenots, enlivened by a score of pennons, when the leaguers were upon me. i suppose they knew that no friend would ride for meudon at that pace, for they dashed at me six abreast with a shout of triumph; and before i could count a score we met. the cid was still running strongly, and i had not thought to stay him, so that i had no time to use my pistols. my sword i had out, but the sun dazzled me and the men wore corslets, and i made but poor play with it; though i struck out savagely, as we crashed together, in my rage at this sudden crossing of my hopes when all seemed done and gained. the cid faced them bravely--i heard the distant huzza of the huguenots--and i put aside one point which threatened my throat. but the sun was in my eyes and something struck me on the head. another second, and a blow in the breast forced me fairly from the saddle. gripping furiously at the air i went down, stunned and dizzy, my last thought as i struck the ground being of mademoiselle, and the little brook with the stepping-stones. chapter xxxv. 'le roi est mort!' it was m. d'agen's breastpiece saved my life by warding off the point of the varlet's sword, so that the worst injury i got was the loss of my breath for five minutes, with a swimming in the head and a kind of syncope. these being past, i found myself on my back on the ground, with a man's knee on my breast and a dozen horsemen standing round me. the sky reeled dizzily before my eyes and the men's figures loomed gigantic; yet i had sense enough to know what had happened to me, and that matters might well be worse. resigning myself to the prospect of captivity, i prepared to ask for quarter; which i did not doubt i should receive, since they had taken me in an open skirmish, and honestly, and in the daylight. but the man whose knee already incommoded me sufficiently, seeing me about to speak, squeezed me on a sudden so fiercely, bidding me at the same time in a gruff whisper be silent, that i thought i could not do better than obey. accordingly i lay still, and as in a dream, for my brain was still clouded, heard someone say, 'dead! is he? i hoped we had come in time. well, he deserved a better fate. who is he, rosny?' 'do you know him, maignan?' said a voice which sounded strangely familiar. the man who knelt upon me answered, 'no, my lord. he is a stranger to me. he has the look of a norman.' 'like enough!' replied a high-pitched voice i had not heard before. 'for he rode a good horse. give me a hundred like it, and a hundred men to ride as straight, and i would not envy the king of france.' 'much less his poor cousin of navarre,' the first speaker rejoined in a laughing tone, 'without a whole shirt to his back or a doublet that is decently new. come, turenne, acknowledge that you are not so badly off after all!' at that word the cloud which had darkened my faculties swept on a sudden aside. i saw that the men into whose hands i had fallen wore white favours, their leader a white plume; and comprehended without more that the king of navarre had come to my rescue, and beaten off the leaguers who had dismounted me. at the same moment the remembrance of all that had gone before, and especially of the scene i had witnessed in the king's chamber, rushed upon my mind with such overwhelming force that i fell into a fury of impatience at the thought of the time i had wasted; and rising up suddenly i threw off maignan with all my force, crying out that i was alive--that i was alive, and had news. the equerry did his best to restrain me, cursing me under his breath for a fool, and almost squeezing the life out of me. but in vain, for the king of navarre, riding nearer, saw me struggling. 'hallo! hallo! 'tis a strange dead man,' he cried, interposing. 'what is the meaning of this? let him go! do you hear, sirrah? let him go!' the equerry obeyed and stood back sullenly, and i staggered to my feet, and looked round with eyes which still swam and watered. on the instant a cry of recognition greeted me, with a hundred exclamations of astonishment. while i heard my name uttered on every side in a dozen different tones, i remarked that m. de rosny, upon whom my eyes first fell, alone stood silent, regarding me with a face of sorrowful surprise. 'by heavens, sir, i knew nothing of this!' i heard the king of navarre declare, addressing himself to the vicomte de turenne. 'the man is here by no connivance of mine. interrogate him yourself, if you will. or i will. speak, sir,' he continued, turning to me with his countenance hard and forbidding. 'you heard me yesterday, what i promised you? why, in god's name, are you here to-day?' i tried to answer, but maignan had so handled me that i had not breath enough, and stood panting. 'your highness's clemency in this matter,' m. de turenne said, with a sneer, 'has been so great he trusted to its continuance. and doubtless he thought to find you alone. i fear i am in the way.' i knew him by his figure and his grand air, which in any other company would have marked him for master; and forgetting the impatience which a moment before had consumed me--doubtless i was still light-headed--i answered him. 'yet i had once the promise of your lordship's protection,' i gasped. 'my protection, sir?' he exclaimed, his eyes gleaming angrily. 'even so,' i answered. 'at the inn at etampes, where m. de crillon would have fought me.' he was visibly taken aback. 'are you that man?' he cried. 'i am. but i am not here to prate of myself,' i replied. and with that--the remembrance of my neglected errand flashing on me again--i staggered to the king of navarre's side, and, falling on my knees, seized his stirrup. 'sire, i bring you news! great news! dreadful news!' i cried, clinging to it. 'his majesty was but a quarter of an hour ago stabbed in the body in his chamber by a villain monk. and is dying, or, it may be, dead.' 'dead? the king!' turenne cried with an oath. 'impossible!' vaguely i heard others crying, some this, some that, as surprise and consternation, or anger, or incredulity moved them. but i did not answer them, for henry, remaining silent, held me spellbound and awed by the marvellous change which i saw fall on his face. his eyes became on a sudden suffused with blood, and seemed to retreat under his heavy brows; his cheeks turned of a brick-red colour; his half-open lips showed his teeth gleaming through his beard; while his great nose, which seemed to curve and curve until it well-nigh met his chin, gave to his mobile countenance an aspect as strange as it was terrifying. withal he uttered for a time no word, though i saw his hand grip the riding-whip he held in a convulsive grasp, as though his thought were ''tis mine! mine! wrest it away who dares!' 'bethink you, sir,' he said at last, fixing his piercing eyes on me, and speaking in a harsh, low tone, like the growling of a great dog, 'this is no jesting-time. nor will you save your skin by a ruse. tell me, on your peril, is this a trick?' 'heaven forbid, sire!' i answered with passion. 'i was in the chamber, and saw it with my own eyes. i mounted on the instant, and rode hither by the shortest route to warn your highness to look to yourself. monks are many, and the holy union is not apt to stop half-way.' i saw he believed me, for his face relaxed. his breath seemed to come and go again, and for the tenth part of a second his eyes sought m. de rosny's. then he looked at me again. 'i thank you, sir,' he said, bowing gravely and courteously, 'for your care for me--not for your tidings, which are of the sorriest. god grant my good cousin and king may be hurt only. now tell us exactly--for these gentlemen are equally interested with myself--had a surgeon seen him?' i replied in the negative, but added that the wound was in the groin, and bled much. 'you said a few minutes ago, "dying or already dead!"' the king of navarre rejoined. 'why?' 'his majesty's face was sunken,' i stammered. he nodded. 'you may be mistaken,' he said. 'i pray that you are. but here comes mornay. he may know more.' in a moment i was abandoned, even by m. de turenne, so great was the anxiety which possessed all to learn the truth. maignan alone, under pretence of adjusting a stirrup, remained beside me, and entreated me in a low voice to begone. 'take this horse, m. de marsac, if you will,' he urged, 'and ride back the way you came. you have done what you came to do. go back, and be thankful.' 'chut!' i said, 'there is no danger.' 'you will see,' he replied darkly, 'if you stay here. come, come, take my advice and the horse,' he persisted, 'and begone! believe me, it will be for the best.' i laughed outright at his earnestness and his face of perplexity. 'i see you have m. de rosny's orders to get rid of me,' i said. 'but i am not going, my friend. he must find some other way out of his embarrassment, for here i stay.' 'well, your blood be on your own head,' maignan retorted, swinging himself into the saddle with a gloomy face. 'i have done my best to save you!' 'and your master!' i answered, laughing. for flight was the last thing i had in my mind. i had ridden this ride with a clear perception that the one thing i needed was a footing at court. by the special kindness of providence i had now gained this; and i was not the man to resign it because it proved to be scanty and perilous. it was something that i had spoken to the great vicomte face to face and not been consumed, that i had given him look for look and still survived, that i had put in practice crillon's lessons and come to no harm. nor was this all. i had never in the worst times blamed the king of navarre for his denial of me. i had been foolish, indeed, seeing that it was in the bargain, had i done so; nor had i ever doubted his good-will or his readiness to reward me should occasion arise. now, i flattered myself, i had given him that which he needed, and had hitherto lacked--an excuse, i mean, for interference in my behalf. whether i was right or wrong in this notion i was soon to learn, for at this moment henry's cavalcade, which had left me a hundred paces behind, came to a stop, and while some of the number waved to me to come on, one spurred back to summon me to the king. i hastened to obey the order as fast as i could, but i saw on approaching that though all was at a standstill till i came up, neither the king of navarre nor m. de turenne was thinking principally of me. every face, from henry's to that of his least important courtier, wore an air of grave preoccupation; which i had no difficulty in ascribing to the doubt present in every mind, and outweighing every interest, whether the king of france was dead, or dying, or merely wounded. 'quick, sir!' henry said with impatience, as soon as i came within hearing. 'do not detain me with your affairs longer than is necessary. m. de turenne presses me to carry into effect the order i gave yesterday. but as you have placed yourself in jeopardy on my account i feel that something is due to you. you will be good enough, therefore, to present yourself at once at m. la varenne's lodging, and give me your parole to remain there without stirring abroad until your affair is concluded.' aware that i owed this respite, which at once secured my present safety and promised well for the future, to the great event that, even in m. de turenne's mind, had overshadowed all others, i bowed in silence. henry, however, was not content with this. 'come, sir,' he said sharply, and with every appearance of anger, 'do you agree to that?' i replied humbly that i thanked him for his clemency. 'there is no need of thanks,' he replied coldly. 'what i have done is without prejudice to m. de turenne's complaint. he must have justice.' i bowed again, and in a moment the troop were gone at a gallop towards meudon, whence, as i afterwards learned, the king of navarre, attended by a select body of five-and-twenty horsemen, wearing private arms, rode on at full speed to st. cloud to present himself at his majesty's bedside. a groom who had caught the cid, which had escaped into the town with no other injury than a slight wound in the shoulder, by-and-by met me with the horse; and in this way i was enabled to render myself with some decency at varenne's lodging, a small house at the foot of the hill, not far from the castle-gate. here i found myself under no greater constraint than that which my own parole laid upon me; and my room having the conveniency of a window looking upon the public street, i was enabled from hour to hour to comprehend and enter into the various alarms and surprises which made that day remarkable. the manifold reports which flew from mouth to mouth on the occasion, as well as the overmastering excitement which seized all, are so well remembered, however, that i forbear to dwell upon them, though they served to distract my mind from my own position. suffice it that at one moment we heard that his majesty was dead, at another that the wound was skin deep, and again that we might expect him at meudon before sunset. the rumour that the duchess de montpensier had taken poison was no sooner believed than we were asked to listen to the guns of paris firing _feux de joie_ in honour of the king's death. the streets were so closely packed with persons telling and hearing these tales that i seemed from my window to be looking on a fair. nor was all my amusement without doors; for a number of the gentlemen of the court, hearing that i had been at st. cloud in the morning, and in the very chamber, a thing which made me for the moment the most desirable companion in the world, remembered on a sudden that they had a slight acquaintance with me, and honoured me by calling upon me and sitting a great part of the day with me. from which circumstance i confess i derived as much hope as they diversion; knowing that courtiers are the best weather-prophets in the world, who hate nothing so much as to be discovered in the company of those on whom the sun does not shine. the return of the king of navarre, which happened about the middle of the afternoon, while it dissipated the fears of some and dashed the hopes of others, put an end to this state of uncertainty by confirming, to the surprise of many, that his majesty was in no danger. we learned with varying emotions that the first appearances, which had deceived, not myself only, but experienced leeches, had been themselves belied by subsequent conditions; and that, in a word, paris had as much to fear, and loyal men as much to hope, as before this wicked and audacious attempt. i had no more than stomached this surprising information, which was less welcome to me, i confess, than it should have been, when the arrival of m. d'agen, who greeted me with the affection which he never failed to show me, distracted my thoughts for a time. immediately on learning where i was and the strange adventures which had befallen me he had ridden off; stopping only once, when he had nearly reached me, for the purpose of waiting on madame de bruhl. i asked him how she had received him. 'like herself,' he replied with an ingenuous blush. 'more kindly than i had a right to expect, if not as warmly as i had the courage to hope.' 'that will come with time,' i said, laughing. 'and mademoiselle de la vire?' 'i did not see her,' he answered, 'but i heard she was well. and a hundred fathoms deeper in love,' he added, eyeing me roguishly, 'than when i saw her last.' it was my turn to colour now, and i did so, feeling all the pleasure and delight such a statement was calculated to afford me. picturing mademoiselle as i had seen her last, leaning from her horse with love written so plainly on her weeping face that all who ran might read, i sank into so delicious a reverie that m. la varenne, entering suddenly, surprised us both before another word passed on either side. his look and tone were as abrupt as it was in his nature, which was soft and compliant, to make them. 'm. de marsac,' he said, 'i am sorry to put any constraint upon you, but i am directed to forbid you to your friends. and i must request this gentleman to withdraw.' 'but all day my friends have come in and out,' i said with surprise. 'is this a new order?' 'a written order, which reached me no farther back than two minutes ago,' he answered plainly. 'i am also directed to remove you to a room at the back of the house, that you may not overlook the street.' 'but my parole was taken,' i cried, with a natural feeling of indignation. he shrugged his shoulders. 'i am sorry to say that i have nothing to do with that,' he answered. 'i can only obey orders. i must ask this gentleman, therefore, to withdraw.' of course m. d'agen had no option but to leave me; which he did, i could see, notwithstanding his easy and confident expressions, with a good deal of mistrust and apprehension. when he was gone, la varenne lost no time in carrying out the remainder of his orders. as a consequence i found myself confined to a small and gloomy apartment which looked, at a distance of three paces, upon the smooth face of the rock on which the castle stood. this change, from a window which commanded all the life of the town, and intercepted every breath of popular fancy, to a closet whither no sounds penetrated, and where the very transition from noon to evening scarcely made itself known, could not fail to depress my spirits sensibly; the more as i took it to be significant of a change in my fortunes fully as grave. reflecting that i must now appear to the king of navarre in the light of a bearer of false tidings, i associated the order to confine me more closely with his return from st. cloud; and comprehending that m. de turenne was once more at liberty to attend to my affairs, i began to look about me with forebodings which were none the less painful because the parole i had given debarred me from any attempt to escape. sleep and habit enabled me, nevertheless, to pass the night in comfort. very early in the morning a great firing of guns, which made itself heard even in my quarters, led me to suppose that paris had surrendered; but the servant who brought me my breakfast declined in a surly fashion to give me any information. in the end, i spent the whole day alone, my thoughts divided between my mistress and my own prospects, which seemed to grow more and more gloomy as the hours succeeded one another. no one came near me, no step broke the silence of the house; and for a while i thought my guardians had forgotten even that i needed food. this omission, it is true, was made good about sunset, but still m. la varenne did not appear, the servant seemed to be dumb, and i heard no sounds in the house. i had finished my meal an hour or more, and the room was growing dark, when the silence was at last broken by quick steps passing along the entrance. they paused, and seemed to hesitate at the foot of the stairs, but the next moment they came on again, and stopped at my door. i rose from my seat on hearing the key turned in the lock, and my astonishment may be conceived when i saw no other than m. de turenne enter, and close the door behind him. he saluted me in a haughty manner as he advanced to the table, raising his cap for an instant and then replacing it. this done he stood looking at me, and i at him, in a silence which on my side was the result of pure astonishment; on his, of contempt and a kind of wonder. the evening light, which was fast failing, lent a sombre whiteness to his face, causing it to stand out from the shadows behind him in a way which was not without its influence on me. 'well! 'he said at last, speaking slowly and with unimaginable insolence, 'i am here to look at you!' i felt my anger rise, and gave him back look for look. 'at your will,' i said, shrugging my shoulders. 'and to solve a question,' he continued in the same tone. 'to learn whether the man who was mad enough to insult and defy _me_ was the old penniless dullard some called him, or the dare-devil others painted him.' 'you are satisfied now?' i said. he eyed me for a moment closely; then with sudden heat he cried, 'curse me if i am! nor whether i have to do with a man very deep or very shallow, a fool or a knave!' 'you may say what you please to a prisoner,' i retorted coldly. 'turenne commonly does--to whom he pleases!' he answered. the next moment he made me start by saying, as he drew out a comfit-box and opened it, 'i am just from the little fool you have bewitched. if she were in my power i would have her whipped and put on bread and water till she came to her senses. as she is not, i must take another way. have you any idea, may i ask,' he continued in his cynical tone, 'what is going to become of you, m. de marsac?' i replied, my heart inexpressibly lightened by what he had said of mademoiselle, that i placed the fullest confidence in the justice of the king of navarre. he repeated the name in a tone i did not understand. 'yes, sir, the king of navarre,' i answered firmly. 'well, i daresay you have good reason to do so,' he rejoined with a sneer. 'unless i am mistaken he knew a little more of this affair than he acknowledges.' 'indeed? the king of navarre?' i said, staring stolidly at him. 'yes, indeed, indeed, the king of navarre!' he retorted, mimicking me, with a nearer approach to anger than i had yet witnessed in him. 'but let him be a moment, sirrah!' he continued, 'and do you listen to me. or first look at that. seeing is believing.' he drew out as he spoke a paper, or, to speak more correctly, a parchment, which he thrust with a kind of savage scorn into my hand. repressing for the moment the surprise i felt, i took it to the window, and reading it with difficulty, found it to be a royal patent drawn, as far as i could judge, in due form, and appointing some person unknown--for the name was left blank--to the post of lieutenant-governor of the armagnac, with a salary of twelve thousand livres a year! 'well, sir?' he said impatiently. 'well?' i answered mechanically. for my brain reeled; the exhibition of such a paper in such a way raised extraordinary thoughts in my mind. 'can you read it?' he asked. 'certainly,' i answered, telling myself that he would fain play a trick on me. 'very well,' he replied, 'then listen. i am going to condescend; to make you an offer, m. de marsac. i will procure you your freedom, and fill up the blank, which you see there, with your name--upon one condition.' i stared at him with all the astonishment it was natural for me to feel in the face of such a proposition, 'you will confer this office on me?' i muttered incredulously. 'the king having placed it at my disposal,' he answered, 'i will. but first let me remind you,' he went on proudly, 'that the affair has another side. on the one hand i offer you such employment, m. de marsac, as should satisfy your highest ambition. on the other, i warn you that my power to avenge myself is no less to-day than it was yesterday; and that if i condescend to buy you, it is because that course commends itself to me for reasons, not because it is the only one open.' i bowed, 'the condition, m. le vicomte?' i said huskily, beginning to understand him. 'that you give up all claim and suit to the hand of my kinswoman,' he answered lightly. 'that is all. it is a simple and easy condition.' i looked at him in renewed astonishment, in wonder, in stupefaction; asking myself a hundred questions. why did he stoop to bargain, who could command? why did he condescend to treat, who held me at his mercy? why did he gravely discuss my aspirations, to whom they must seem the rankest presumption? why?--but i could not follow it. i stood looking at him in silence; in perplexity as great as if he had offered me the crown of france; in amazement and doubt and suspicion that knew no bounds. 'well!' he said at last, misreading the emotion which appeared in my face. 'you consent, sir?' 'never!' i answered firmly. he started. 'i think i cannot have heard you aright,' he said, speaking slowly and almost courteously. 'i offer you a great place and my patronage, m. de marsac. do i understand that you prefer a prison and my enmity?' 'on those conditions,' i answered. 'think, think!' he said harshly. 'i have thought,' i answered. 'ay, but have you thought where you are?' he retorted. 'have you thought how many obstacles lie between you and this little fool? how many persons you must win over, how many friends you must gain? have you thought what it will be to have me against you in this, or which of us is more likely to win in the end?' 'i have thought,' i rejoined. but my voice shook, my lips were dry. the room had grown dark. the rock outside, intercepting the light, gave it already the air of a dungeon. though i did not dream of yielding to him, though i even felt that in this interview he had descended to my level, and i had had the better of him, i felt my heart sink. for i remembered how men immured in prisons drag out their lives always petitioning, always forgotten; how wearily the days go, that to free men are bright with hope and ambition. and i saw in a flash what it would be to remain here, or in some such place; never to cross horse again, or breathe the free air of heaven, never to hear the clink of sword against stirrup, or the rich tones of m. d'agen's voice calling for his friend! i expected m. de turenne to go when i had made my answer, or else to fall into such a rage as opposition is apt to cause in those who seldom encounter it. to my surprise, however, he restrained himself. 'come,' he said, with patience which fairly astonished me, and so much the more as chagrin was clearly marked in his voice, 'i know where you put your trust. you think the king of navarre will protect you. well, i pledge you the honour of turenne that he will not; that the king of navarre will do nothing to save you. now, what do you say?' 'as i said before,' i answered doggedly. he took up the parchment from the table with a grim laugh. 'so much the worse for you then!' he said, shrugging his shoulders. 'so much the worse for you! i took you for a rogue! it seems you are a fool!' chapter xxxvi. 'vive le roi!' he took his leave with those words. but his departure, which i should have hailed a few minutes before with joy, as a relief from embarrassment and humiliation, found me indifferent. the statement to which he had solemnly pledged himself in regard to the king of navarre, that i could expect no further help from him, had prostrated me; dashing my hopes and spirits so completely that i remained rooted to the spot long after his step had ceased to sound on the stairs. if what he said was true, in the gloom which darkened alike my room and my prospects i could descry no glimmer of light. i knew his majesty's weakness and vacillation too well to repose any confidence in him; if the king of navarre also abandoned me, i was indeed without hope, as without resource. i had stood some time with my mind painfully employed upon this problem, which my knowledge of m. de turenne's strict honour in private matters did not allow me to dismiss lightly, when i heard another step on the stairs, and in a moment m. la varenne opened the door. finding me in the dark he muttered an apology for the remissness of the servants; which i accepted, seeing nothing else for it, in good part. 'we have been at sixes-and-sevens all day, and you have been forgotten,' he continued. 'but you will have no reason to complain now. i am ordered to conduct you to his majesty without delay.' 'to st. cloud!' i exclaimed, greatly astonished. 'no, the king of france is here,' he answered. 'at meudon?' 'to be sure. why not?' i expressed my wonder at his majesty's rapid recovery. 'pooh!' he answered roughly. 'he is as well as he ever was. i will leave you my light. be good enough to descend as soon as you are ready, for it is ill work keeping kings waiting. oh! and i had forgotten one thing,' he continued, returning when he had already reached the door. 'my orders are to see that you do not hold converse with anyone until you have seen the king, m. de marsac. you will kindly remember this if we are kept waiting in the ante-chamber.' 'am i to be transported to--other custody?' i asked, my mind full of apprehension. he shrugged his shoulders. 'possibly,' he replied. 'i do not know.' of course there was nothing for it but to murmur that i was at the king's disposition; after which la varenne retired, leaving me to put the best face on the matter i could. naturally i augured anything but well of an interview weighted with such a condition; and this contributed still further to depress my spirits, already lowered by the long solitude in which i had passed the day. fearing nothing, however, so much as suspense, i hastened to do what i could to repair my costume, and then descended to the foot of the stairs, where i found my custodian awaiting me with a couple of servants, of whom one bore a link. we went out side by side, and having barely a hundred yards to go, seemed in a moment to be passing through the gate of the castle. i noticed that the entrance was very strongly guarded, but an instant's reflection served to remind me that this was not surprising after what had happened at st. cloud. i remarked to m. la varenne as we crossed the courtyard that i supposed paris had surrendered; but he replied in the negative so curtly, and with so little consideration, that i forebore to ask any other questions; and the château being small, we found ourselves almost at once in a long, narrow corridor, which appeared to serve as the antechamber. it was brilliantly lighted and crowded from end to end, and almost from wall to wall, with a mob of courtiers; whose silence, no less than their keen and anxious looks, took me by surprise. here and there two or three, who had seized upon the embrasure of a window, talked together in a low tone; or a couple, who thought themselves sufficiently important to pace the narrow passage between the waiting lines, conversed in whispers as they walked. but even these were swift to take alarm, and continually looked askance; while the general company stood at gaze, starting and looking up eagerly whenever the door swung open or a newcomer was announced. the strange silence which prevailed reminded me of nothing so much as of the court at blois on the night of the duke of merc[oe]ur's desertion; but that stillness had brooded over empty chambers, this gave a peculiar air of strangeness to a room thronged in every part. m. la varenne, who was received by those about the door with silent politeness, drew me into the recess of a window; whence i was able to remark, among other things, that the huguenots present almost outnumbered the king's immediate following. still, among those who were walking up and down, i noticed m. de rambouillet, to whom at another time i should have hastened to pay my respects; with marshal d'aumont, sancy, and humières. nor had i more than noted the presence of these before the door of the chamber opened and added to their number marshal biron, who came out leaning on the arm of crillon. the sight of these old enemies in combination was sufficient of itself to apprise me that some serious crisis was at hand; particularly as their progress through the crowd was watched, i observed, by a hundred curious and attentive eyes. they disappeared at last through the outer door, and the assemblage turned as with one accord to see who came next. but nearly half an hour elapsed before the chamber door, which all watched so studiously, again opened. this time it was to give passage to my late visitor, turenne, who came out smiling, and leaning, to my great surprise, on the arm of m. de rosny. as the two walked down the room, greeting here and there an obsequious friend, and followed in their progress by all eyes, i felt my heart sink indeed; both at sight of turenne's good-humour, and of the company in which i found him. aware that in proportion as he was pleased i was like to meet with displeasure, i still might have had hope left had i had rosny left. losing him, however--and i could not doubt, seeing him as i saw him, that i had lost him--and counting the king of navarre as gone already, i felt such a failure of courage as i had never known before. i told myself with shame that i was not made for courts, or for such scenes as these; and recalling with new and keen mortification the poor figure i had cut in the king of navarre's antechamber at st. jean, i experienced so strange a gush of pity for my mistress that nothing could exceed the tenderness i felt for her. i had won her under false colours, i was not worthy of her. i felt that my mere presence in her company in such a place as this, and among these people, must cover her with shame and humiliation. to my great relief, since i knew my face was on fire, neither of the two, as they walked down the passage, looked my way or seemed conscious of my neighbourhood. at the door they stood a moment talking earnestly, and it seemed as if m. de rosny would have accompanied the vicomte farther. the latter would not suffer it, however, but took his leave there; and this with so many polite gestures that my last hope based on m. de rosny vanished. nevertheless, that gentleman was not so wholly changed that on his turning to re-traverse the room i did not see a smile flicker for an instant on his features as the two lines of bowing courtiers opened before him. the next moment his look fell on me, and though his face scarcely altered, he stopped opposite me. 'm. de marsac is waiting to see his majesty?' he asked aloud, speaking to m. la varenne. my companion remaining silent, i bowed. 'in five minutes,' m. de rosny replied quietly, yet with a distant air, which made me doubt whether i had not dreamed all i remembered of this man. 'ah! m. de paul, what can i do for you?' he continued. and he bent his head to listen to the application which a gentleman who stood next me poured into his ear. 'i will see,' i heard him answer. 'in any case you shall know to-morrow.' 'but you will be my friend?' m. paul urged, detaining him by the sleeve. 'i will put only one before you,' he answered. my neighbour seemed to shrink into himself with disappointment. 'who is it?' he murmured piteously. 'the king and his service, my friend,' m. de rosny replied drily. and with that he walked away. but half a dozen times at least before he reached the upper end of the room i saw the scene repeated. i looked on at all this in the utmost astonishment, unable to guess or conceive what had happened to give m. de rosny so much importance. for it did not escape me that the few words he had stopped to speak to me had invested me with interest in the eyes of all who stood near. they gave me more room and a wider breathing-space, and looking at me askance, muttered my name in whispers. in my uncertainty, however, what this portended i drew no comfort from it; and before i had found time to weigh it thoroughly the door through which turenne and rosny had entered opened again. the pages and gentlemen who stood about it hastened to range themselves, on either side. an usher carrying a white wand came rapidly down the room, here and there requesting the courtiers to stand back where the passage was narrow. then a loud voice without cried, 'the king, gentlemen! the king!' and one in every two of us stood a-tiptoe to see him enter. but there came in only henry of navarre, wearing a violet cloak and cap. i turned to la varenne and with my head full of confusion, muttered impatiently, 'but the king, man! where is the king?' he grinned at me, with his hand before his mouth. 'hush!' he whispered. ''twas a jest we played on you! his late majesty died at daybreak this morning. this is the king.' 'this! the king of navarre?' i cried; so loudly that some round us called 'silence!' 'no, the king of france, fool!' he replied. 'your sword must be sharper than your wits, or i have been told some lies!' i let the gibe pass and the jest, for my heart was beating so fast and painfully that i could scarcely preserve my outward composure. there was a mist before my eyes, and a darkness which set the lights at defiance. it was in vain i tried to think what this might mean--to me. i could not put two thoughts together, and while i still questioned what reception i might expect, and who in this new state of things were my friends, the king stopped before me. 'ha, m. de marsac!' he cried cheerfully, signing to those who stood before me to give place. 'you are the gentleman who rode so fast to warn me the other morning. i have spoken to m. de turenne about you, and he is willing to overlook the complaint he had against you. for the rest, go to my closet, my friend. go! rosny knows my will respecting you.' i had sense enough left to kneel and kiss his hand; but it was in silence, which he knew how to interpret. he had moved on and was speaking to another before i recovered the use of my tongue, or the wits which his gracious words had scattered. when i did so, and got on my feet again i found myself the centre of so much observation and the object of so many congratulations that i was glad to act upon the hint which la varenne gave me, and hurry away to the closet. here, though i had now an inkling of what i had to expect, i found myself received with a kindness which bade fair to overwhelm me. only m. de rosny was in the room, and he took me by both hands in a manner which told me without a word that the rosny of old days was back, and that for the embarrassment i had caused him of late i was more than forgiven. when i tried to thank him for the good offices, which i knew he had done me with the king he would have none of it; reminding me with a smile that he had eaten of my cheese when the choice lay between that and lisieux. 'and besides, my friend,' he continued, his eyes twinkling, 'you have made me richer by five hundred crowns.' 'how so?' i asked, wondering more and more. 'i wagered that sum with turenne that he could not bribe you,' he answered, smiling. 'and see,' he continued, selecting from some on the table the same parchment i had seen before, 'here is the bribe. take it; it is yours. i have given a score to-day, but none with the same pleasure. let me be the first to congratulate the lieutenant-governor of the armagnac.' for a while i could not believe that he was in earnest; which pleased him mightily, i remember. when i was brought at last to see that the king had meant this for me from the first, and had merely lent the patent to turenne that the latter might make trial of me, my pleasure and gratification were such that i could no more express them then than i can now describe them. for they knew no bounds. i stood before rosny silent and confused, with long-forgotten tears welling up to my eyes, and one regret only in my heart--that my dear mother had not lived to see the fond illusions with which i had so often amused her turned to sober fact. not then, but afterwards, i remarked that the salary of my office amounted to the exact sum which i had been in the habit of naming to her; and i learned that rosny had himself fixed it on information given him by mademoiselle de la vire. as my transports grew more moderate, and i found voice to thank my benefactor, he had still an answer. 'do not deceive yourself, my friend,' he said gravely, 'or think this an idle reward. my master is king of france, but he is a king without a kingdom, and a captain without money. to-day, to gain his rights, he has parted with half his powers. before he win all back there will be blows--blows, my friend. and to that end i have bought your sword.' i told him that if no other left its scabbard for the king, mine should be drawn. 'i believe you,' he answered kindly, laying his hand on my shoulder. 'not by reason of your words--heaven knows i have heard vows enough to-day!--but because i have proved you. and now,' he continued, speaking in an altered tone and looking at me with a queer smile, 'now i suppose you are perfectly satisfied? you have nothing more to wish for, my friend?' i looked aside in a guilty fashion, not daring to prefer on the top of all his kindness a further petition. moreover, his majesty might have other views; or on this point turenne might have proved obstinate. in a word, there was nothing in what had happened, or on m. de rosny's communication, to inform me whether the wish of my heart was to be gratified or not. but i should have known that great man better than to suppose that he was one to promise without performing, or to wound a friend when he could not salve the hurt. after enjoying my confusion for a time he burst into a great shout of laughter, and taking me familiarly by the shoulders, turned me towards the door. 'there, go!' he said. 'go up the passage. you will find a door on the right, and a door on the left. you will know which to open.' forbidding me to utter a syllable, he put me out. in the passage, where i fain would have stood awhile to collect my thoughts, i was affrighted by sounds which warned me that the king was returning that way. fearing to be surprised by him in such a state of perturbation, i hurried to the end of the passage, where i discovered, as i had been told, two doors. they were both closed, and there was nothing about either of them to direct my choice. but m. de rosny was correct in supposing that i had not forgotten the advice he had offered me on the day when he gave me so fine a surprise in his own house--'when you want a good wife, m. de marsac, turn to the right!' i remembered the words, and without a moment's hesitation--for the king and his suite were already entering the passage--i knocked boldly, and scarcely waiting for an invitation, went in. fanchette was by the door, but stood aside with a grim smile, which i was at liberty to accept as a welcome or not. mademoiselle, who had been seated on the farther side of the table, rose as i entered, and we stood looking at one another. doubtless she waited for me to speak first; while i on my side was so greatly taken aback by the change wrought in her by the court dress she was wearing and the air of dignity with which she wore it, that i stood gasping. i turned coward after all that had passed between us. this was not the girl i had wooed in the greenwoods by st. gaultier; nor the pale-faced woman i had lifted to the saddle a score of times in the journey paris-wards. the sense of unworthiness which i had experienced a few minutes before in the crowded antechamber returned in full force in presence of her grace and beauty, and once more i stood tongue-tied before her, as i had stood in the lodgings at blois. all the later time, all that had passed between us was forgotten. she, for her part, looked at me wondering at my silence. her face, which had grown rosy red at my entrance, turned pale again. her eyes grew large with alarm; she began to beat her foot on the floor in a manner i knew. 'is anything the matter, sir?' she muttered at last. 'on the contrary, mademoiselle,' i answered hoarsely, looking every way, and grasping at the first thing i could think of, 'i am just from m. de rosny.' 'and he?' 'he has made me lieutenant-governor of the armagnac.' she curtseyed to me in a wonderful fashion. 'it pleases me to congratulate you, sir,' she said, in a voice between laughing and crying. 'it is not more than equal to your deserts.' i tried to thank her becomingly, feeling at the same time more foolish than i had ever felt in my life; for i knew that this was neither what i had come to tell nor she to hear. yet i could not muster up courage nor find words to go farther, and stood by the table in a state of miserable discomposure. 'is that all, sir?' she said at last, losing patience. certainly it was now or never, and i knew it. i made the effort. 'no, mademoiselle,' i said in a low voice, 'far from it. but i do not see here the lady to whom i came to address myself, and whom i have seen a hundred times in far other garb than yours, wet and weary and dishevelled, in danger and in flight. her i have served and loved; and for her i have lived, i have had no thought for months that has not been hers, nor care save for her. i and all that i have by the king's bounty are hers, and i came to lay them at her feet. but i do not see her here.' 'no, sir? i she answered in a whisper, with her face averted. 'no, mademoiselle.' with a sudden brightness and quickness which set my heart beating she turned, and looked at me. 'indeed!' she said. 'i am sorry for that. it is a pity your love should be given elsewhere, m. de marsac--since it is the king's will that you should marry me.' 'ah, mademoiselle!' i cried, kneeling before her--for she had come round the table and stood beside me--'but you?' 'it is my will too, sir,' she answered, smiling through her tears. * * * * * on the following day mademoiselle de la vire became my wife; the king's retreat from paris, which was rendered necessary by the desertion of many who were ill-affected to the huguenots, compelling the instant performance of the marriage, if we would have it read by m. d'amours. this haste notwithstanding, i was enabled by the kindness of m. d'agen to make such an appearance, in respect both of servants and equipment, as became rather my future prospects than my past distresses. it is true that his majesty, out of a desire to do nothing which might offend turenne, did not honour us with his presence; but madame catherine attended on his behalf, and herself gave me my bride. m. de sully and m. crillon, with the marquis de rambouillet and his nephew, and my distant connection, the duke de rohan, who first acknowledged me on that day, were among those who earned my gratitude by attending me upon the occasion. the marriage of m. françois d'agen with the widow of my old rival and opponent did not take place until something more than a year later, a delay which was less displeasing to me than to the bridegroom, inasmuch as it left madame at liberty to bear my wife company during my absence on the campaign of arques and ivry. in the latter battle, which added vastly to the renown of m. de rosny, who captured the enemy's standard with his own hand, i had the misfortune to be wounded in the second of the two charges led by the king; and being attacked by two foot soldiers, as i lay entangled i must inevitably have perished but for the aid afforded me by simon fleix, who flew to the rescue with the courage of a veteran. his action was observed by the king, who begged him from me, and attaching him to his own person in the capacity of clerk, started him so fairly on the road to fortune that he has since risen beyond hope or expectation. the means by which henry won for a time the support of turenne (and incidentally procured his consent to my marriage) are now too notorious to require explanation. nevertheless, it was not until the vicomte's union a year later with mademoiselle de la marck, who brought him the duchy of bouillon, that i thoroughly understood the matter; or the kindness peculiar to the king, my master, which impelled that great monarch, in the arrangement of affairs so vast, to remember the interests of the least of his servants. the end. the great court scandal, by willian le queux. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ the great court scandal, by willian le queux. preface. william le queux. william le queux, one of the most popular of present-day authors, was born in london on july , . he has followed many callings in his time. after studying art in paris, he made a tour on foot through france and germany. then he drifted into journalism, attaching himself to the paris "morning news." later, he crossed to london, where he joined the staff of the "globe" in the gallery of the house of commons. this was in , and he continued to report parliament till , when he was appointed a sub-editor on the "globe." along with his work as a journalist he developed his faculty for fiction, and in resigned his position on the press to take up novel-writing as a business. his first book was "guilty bonds" published in . since that date he has issued an average of three novels a year. one of mr. le queux's recreations is revolver practice, and that may account for the free use of the "shooting iron" which distinguishes some of his romances. prologue. "the ladybird will refuse to have anything to do with the affair, my dear fellow. it touches a woman's honour, and i know her too well." "bah! we'll compel her to help us. she must." "she wouldn't risk it," declared harry kinder, shaking his head. "risk it! well, we'll have to risk something! we're in a nice hole just now! our traps at the grand, with a bill of two thousand seven hundred francs to pay, and `the ladybird' coolly sends us from london a postal order for twenty-seven shillings and sixpence--all she has!" "she might have kept it and bought a new sunshade or a box of chocolates with it." "the little fool! fancy sending twenty-seven bob to three men stranded in paris! i can't see why old roddy thinks so much of her," remarked guy bourne to his companion. "because she's his daughter, and because after all you must admit that she's jolly clever with her fingers." "of course we know that. she's the smartest woman in london. but what makes you think that when the suggestion is made to her she will refuse?" "well, just this. she's uncommonly good-looking, dresses with exquisite taste, and when occasion demands can assume the manner of a high-born lady, which is, of course, just what we want; but of late i've noticed a very great change in her. she used to act heedless of risk, and entirely without pity or compunction. nowadays, however, she seems becoming chicken-hearted." "perhaps she's in love," remarked the other with a sarcastic grin. "that's just it. i honestly think that she really is in love," said the short, hard-faced, clean-shaven man of fifty, whose fair, rather scanty hair, reddish face, tightly-cut trousers, and check-tweed suit gave him a distinctly horsey appearance, as he seated himself upon the edge of the table in the shabby sitting-room _au troisieme_ above the noisy rue lafayette, in paris. "`the ladybird' in love! whatever next!" ejaculated guy bourne, a man some ten years his junior, and extremely well, even rather foppishly, dressed. his features were handsome, his hair dark, and outwardly he had all the appearance of a well-set-up englishman. his gold sleeve-links bore a crest and cipher in blue enamel, and his dark moustache was carefully trained, for he was essentially a man of taste and refinement. "well," he added, "i've got my own opinion, old chap, and you're quite welcome to yours. `the ladybird' may be in love, as you suspect, but she'll have to help us in this. it's a big thing, i know; but look what it means to us! if she's in love, who's the jay?" he asked, lighting a cigarette carelessly. "ah! now you ask me a question." "well," declared bourne rather anxiously, "whoever he may be, the acquaintanceship must be broken off--and that very quickly, too. for us the very worst catastrophe would be for our little `ladybird' to fall in love. she might, in one of her moments of sentimentality, be indiscreet, as all women are apt to be; and if so--well, it would be all up with us. you quite recognise the danger?" "i do, most certainly," the other replied, with a serious look, as he glanced around the poorly-furnished room, with its painted wood floor in lieu of carpet. "as soon as we're back we must keep our eyes upon her, and ascertain the identity of this secret lover." "but she's never shown any spark of affection before," bourne said, although he knew that the secret lover was actually himself. "we must ask roddy all about it. being her father, he may know something." "i only wish we were back in london again, sonny," declared kinder. "paris has never been safe for us since that wretched affair in the boulevard magenta. why roddy brought us over i can't think." "he had his eye on something big that unfortunately hasn't come off. therefore we're now landed at the grand with a big hotel bill and no money to pay it with. the johnnie in the bureau presented it to me this morning, and asked for payment. i bluffed him that i was going down to the bank and would settle it this evening." "with twenty-seven and sixpence!" remarked the clean-shaven man with sarcasm. "yes," responded his companion grimly. "i only wish we could get our traps away. i've got all my new rig-out in my trunk, and can't afford to lose it." "we must get back to london somehow," harry said decisively. "every moment we remain here increases our peril. they have our photographs at the prefecture, remember, and here the police are pretty quick at making an arrest. we're wanted, even now, for the boulevard magenta affair. a pity the doctor hit the poor old chap so hard, wasn't it?" "a thousand pities. but the doctor was always erratic--always in fear of too much noise being made. he knocked the old fellow down when there was really no necessity: a towel twisted around his mouth would have been quite as effectual, and the affair would not have assumed so ugly a phase as it afterwards did. no; you're quite right, harry, old chap; paris is no place for us nowadays." "ah!" kinder sighed regretfully. "and yet we've had jolly good times here, haven't we? and we've brought off some big things once or twice, until latour and his cadaverous crowd became jealous of us, and gave us away that morning at the st. lazare station, just when roddy was working the confidence of those two american women. by jove! we all had a narrow escape, and had to fly." "i remember. two agents pounced upon me, but i managed to give them the slip and get away that night to amiens. a good job for us," the younger man added, "that latour won't have a chance to betray his friends for another fifteen years." "what! has he been lagged?" asked the horsey man as he bit the end off a cigar. "yes, for a nasty affair down at marseilles. he was opening a banker's safe--that was his speciality, you know--and he blundered." "then i'm not sorry for him," kinder declared, crossing the room and looking out of the window into the busy thoroughfare below. it was noon, on a bright may day, and the traffic over the granite setts in the rue lafayette was deafening, the huge steam trams snorting and clanging as they ascended the hill to the gare du nord. guy bourne was endeavouring to solve a very serious financial difficulty. the three shabbily-furnished rooms in which they were was a small apartment which roddy redmayne, alias "the mute," alias ward, alias scott-martin, and alias a dozen other names beside, had taken for a month, and were, truth to tell, the temporary headquarters of "the mute's" clever and daring gang of international thieves, who moved from city to city plying their profession. they had been unlucky--as they were sometimes. harry kinder had succeeded in getting some jewellery two days before, only to discover to his chagrin that the diamonds were paste. he had seen them in a bad light, otherwise, expert that he was, he would never have touched them. he always left pearls religiously alone. there were far too many imitations, he declared. for three weeks the men had done themselves well in paris, and spent a considerable amount in ingratiating themselves with certain english and american visitors who were there for the season. kinder and bourne worked the big hotels--the grand, the continental, and the chatham, generally frequenting the american bar at the latter place each afternoon about four o'clock, on the keen lookout for english pigeons to pluck. this season, however, ill-luck seemed to constantly follow them, with the result that they had spent their money all to no purpose, and now found themselves with a large hotel bill, and without the wherewithal to discharge it. guy bourne's life had been a veritable romance. the son of a wealthy country squire, he had been at eton and at balliol, and his father had intended him to enter the church, for he had an uncle a bishop, and was sure of a decent preferment. a clerical career had, however, no attractions for guy, who loved all kinds of sport, especially racing, a pastime which eventually proved his downfall. like many other young men, he became mixed up with a very undesirable set--that unscrupulous company that frequents racecourses--and finding his father's door shut to him, gradually sank lower until he became the friend of kinder and one of the associates and accomplices of the notorious roddy redmayne-- known as "the mute"--a king among continental thieves. like the elder man who stood beside him, he was an audacious, quick-witted, and ingenious thief, very merry and easy-going. he was a man who lived an adventurous life, and generally lived well, too; unscrupulous about annexing other people's property, and therefore retaining nowadays few of the traits of the gentleman. at first he had not been altogether bad; at heart he hated and despised himself; yet he was a fatalist, and had long ago declared that the life of a thief was his destiny, and that it was no use kicking against the pricks. an excellent linguist, a well-set-up figure, a handsome countenance, his hair slightly turning grey, he was always witty, debonair and cosmopolitan, and a great favourite with women. they voted him a charming fellow, never for one moment suspecting that his polished exterior and gentlemanly bearing concealed the fact that he had designs upon their jewellery. his companion, harry kinder, was a man of entirely different stamp; rather coarse, muscular, well versed in all the trickery and subterfuge of the international criminal; a clever pickpocket, and perhaps one of the most ingenious sharpers in all europe. he had followed the profession ever since a lad; had seen the interior of a dozen different prisons in as many countries; and invariably showed fight if detected. indeed, harry kinder was a "tough customer," as many agents of police had discovered to their cost. "then you really don't think `the ladybird' will have anything to do with the affair?" guy remarked at last, standing beside him and gazing aimlessly out of the window. "i fear she won't. if you can persuade her, then it'll all be plain sailing. they'll help us, and the risk won't be very much. yet after all it's a dirty trick to play, isn't it?" his companion shrugged his shoulders, saying, "roddy sees no harm in it, and we must live the same as other people. we simply give our services for a stated sum." "well," declared kinder, "i've never drawn back from any open and straightforward bit of business where it was our wits against another's, or where the victim is a fool or inexperienced; but i tell you that i draw a line at entrapping an innocent woman, and especially an english lady." "what!" cried bourne. "you've become conscientious all at once! do you intend to back out of it altogether?" "i've not yet decided what i shall do. the only thing is that i shall not persuade `the ladybird' either way. i shall leave her entirely in roddy's hands." "then you'd better tell roddy plainly when he comes back. perhaps you're in love, just as you say `the ladybird' is!" "love! why, my dear guy--love at my age! i was only in love once--when i was seventeen. she sat in a kind of fowl-pen and sold stamps in a grocer's shop at hackney. since then i can safely say that i've never made a fool of myself over a woman. they are charming all, from seventeen to seventy, but there is not one i've singled out as better than the rest." "ah, harry!" declared guy with a smile, "you're a queer fellow. you are essentially a lady's man, and yet you never fall in love. we all thought once that you were fond of `the ladybird.'" "`the ladybird!'" laughed the elder man. "well, what next? no. `the ladybird' has got a lover in secret somewhere, depend upon it. perhaps it is yourself. we shall get at the truth when we return to town." "when? do you contemplate leaving your things at the grand, my dear fellow? we can't. we must get money from somewhere--money, and to-day. why not try some of the omnibuses, or the crowd at one of the railway stations? we might work together this afternoon and try our luck," guy suggested. "better the cafe americain, or maxim's to-night," declared kinder, who knew his paris well. "there's more money there, and we're bound to pick up a jay or two." at that moment the sharp click of a key in the lock of the outer door caused them to pause, and a moment later they were joined by an elderly, grey-haired, gentlemanly-looking man in travelling-ulster and grey felt hat, who carried a small brown kit-bag which, by its hotel labels, showed sign of long travel. "hulloa, roddy!" kinder cried excitedly in his cockney dialect. "luck, i see! what have you got?" "don't know yet," was the newcomer's reply, his intonation also that of a born londoner. "i got it from a young woman who arrived by the _rapide_ at the gare de l'est." and throwing off his travelling get-up he placed the kit-bag upon the table. then touching a spring in the lock he lifted it again, and there remained upon the table a lady's dressing-bag with a black waterproof cover. "looks like something good," declared guy, watching eagerly. the innocent-looking kit-bag was one of those specially constructed for the use of thieves. the bottom was hinged, with double flaps opening inward. the interior contained sharp iron grips, so that the bag, when placed upon any object smaller than it, would cover it entirely, the flaps forming the bottom opening inward, while the grips, descending, held the bag or other object tight. so the kit-bag, when removed, would also remove the object concealed within it. roddy, a grey-faced, cool, crafty old fellow of sixty, bore such a serious expression that one might readily have taken him for a dissenting minister or a respectable surgeon. he carefully took off the outer cover of the crocodile-skin dressing-case, examined its gilt lock, and then, taking from his pocket a piece of steel about six inches long, with a pointed end, almost a miniature of a burglar's jemmy, he quickly prised it open. the trio eagerly looked within, and saw that it was an elegantly-fitted bag, with gold-topped bottles, and below some miscellaneous articles and letters lay a small, cheap leather bag. in a moment the wily old thief had it open, and next instant there was displayed a magnificent bodice ornament in diamonds, a pair of exquisite pearl earrings, several fine bracelets, a long rope of splendid pearls, a fine ruby brooch, and a quantity of other ornaments. "excellent!" exclaimed guy. "we're on our feet once more! well done, roddy, old man! we were just thinking that we'd have to pick the pockets of some poor wretches if things didn't change, and i never like doing that." "no," remarked the leader of the gang, critically examining one after another of the articles he had stolen. "i wonder to whom these belong?" he added. "they're uncommonly good stuff, at any rate. ascertain what those letters say." guy took up the letters and glanced at the superscriptions upon the envelopes. "by heaven!" he gasped next instant, and crushing the letters in his hand stood staring at the open bag. "what infernal irony of fate is this? what curse is there upon us now? look! they are hers--hers! and we have taken them!" the three men exchanged glances, but no word was uttered. the startling truth held guy bourne speechless, staggered, stupefied. chapter one. concerns a court intrigue. the bright moon shed a white light over the great, silent courtyards of the imperial palace at vienna. a bugle had just sounded, the guards had changed with a sudden clang of arms that rang out in the clear night, followed by the sound of men marching back to the guardhouse. a sharp word of command, a second bugle note, and then all was quiet again, save for the slow, measured tread of the sentries at each angle of the ponderous palace. from without all looked grim and gloomy, in keeping with that strange fate that follows the hapless hapsbourgs; yet beyond those black walls, in the farther wing of the imperial palace were life and gaiety and music; indeed there was presented perhaps the most magnificent scene in all europe. the first court ball of the season was at its height, and the aged emperor francis-joseph was himself present--a striking figure in his uniform and orders. filled with the most brilliant patrician crowd in all the world--the women in tiaras and blazing with jewels, and the men in court dress or in gorgeous uniforms--the huge ballroom, with its enormous crystal electroliers and its gold--and--white renaissance decorations, had never been the scene of a more dazzling display. archdukes and archduchesses, princes and princesses, nobles and diplomatists, ministers of the empire and high functionaries of state danced or gossiped, intrigued or talked scandal; or those whose first ball it was worried themselves over points of etiquette that are always so puzzling to one not born in the court atmosphere. the music, the scent of the flowers, the glare and glitter, the beauty of the high-born women, the easy swagger of the bestarred and beribboned men, combined to produce a scene almost fairy-like. laughter rang from pretty lips, and men bent to whisper into the ears of their partners as they waltzed over the perfect floor, after having paid homage to their emperor--that lonely, broken man whose good wife, alas! had fallen beneath the assassin's knife. a sovereign's heart may be broken, but he must nevertheless keep up a brave show before his subjects. so he stood at the end of the room with the imperial circle about him, smiling upon them and receiving their homage, although he longed to be back in his own quiet room at the farther end of the palace, where their laughter and the strains of music could not reach his ears. one pale, sweet-faced woman in that gay, irresponsible crowd glanced at him and read his heart. her fair beauty was extremely striking, and her neat-waisted figure perfect. indeed, she had long ago been acknowledged to be the most lovely figure at the austrian court--the most brilliant court of europe--a countenance which even her wide circle of enemies could not criticise without showing their ill nature; a perfect countenance, which, though it bore the hallmark of her imperial birth as an archduchess, yet was sweet, dimpled, and innocent as a child's. the princess claire--cecille-marie-alexandrine was twenty-four. born and bred at that court, she had three years before been married to the crown prince of a german house, the royal house of marburg, and had left it for the court at treysa, over which her husband would, by reason of his father's great age, very soon be sovereign. at that moment she was back in vienna on a brief visit to her father, the archduke charles, and had taken a turn around the room with a smart, well-set-up man in cavalry uniform--her cousin prince george of anhalt. she was dressed in ivory white, wearing in her fair hair a wonderful tiara; while in the edge of her low-cut bodice there showed the crosses and ribbons of the orders of st. elizabeth and teresa--decorations bestowed only upon imperial princesses. many eyes were turned upon her, and many of the friends of her girlhood days she saluted with that charming frankness of manner which was so characteristic of her open nature. suddenly, while walking around the room, a clean-shaven, dark-haired, quick-eyed man of thirty in court dress bowed low before her, and in an instant, recognising him, she left her cousin's side, and crossing spoke to him. "i must see your imperial highness before she leaves vienna," he whispered quickly to her in english, after she had greeted him in german and inquired after his wife. "i have something private and important to tell you." the crown princess looked at him quickly, and recognised that the man was in earnest. her curiosity became aroused; but she could ask no questions, for a hundred eyes were now upon her. "make an appointment--quickly, your highness. i am here expressly to see you," he said, noticing that prince george was approaching to carry her off to the upper end of the room, where the members of the imperial family were assembled. "very well. in the stadtpark, against the caroline bridge, at eight to-morrow night. it will be dark then." "be careful that you are not followed," he whispered; and then he bowed deeply as she left him. when her cousin came up he said,-- "you are very foolish, claire! you know how greatly such a breach of etiquette annoys the emperor. why do you speak with such people?" "because i like to," she answered defiantly. "if i have the misfortune to be born an imperial archduchess and am now crown princess, it need surely not preclude me from speaking to people who are my friends?" "oh, he is a friend, is he? who is the fellow?" inquired the prince, raising his eyebrows. "steinbach. he is in our ministry of foreign affairs." "you really possess some queer friends, claire," the young man said, smiling. "they will suspect you of being a socialist if you go on in this way. you always shock them each time you come back to vienna because of your extraordinary unconventionality." "do i?" she laughed. "well, i'm sure i don't care. when i lived here before i married they were for ever being scandalised by my conduct in speaking to people. but why shouldn't i? i learn so much them. we are all too narrow-minded; we very little of the world beyond the palace walls." "i heard yesterday that you'd been seen walking in the kamthnerstrasse with two women who were not of the nobility. you really oughtn't to do that. it isn't fair to us, you know," he said, twisting his moustache. "we all know how wilful you are, and how you love to scandalise us; but you should draw the line at displaying such socialistic tendencies openly and publicly." "my dear old george," she laughed, turning her bright eyes to him, "you're only my cousin and not my husband. i shall do exactly what i like. if it amuses and interests me to see the life of the people, i shall do so; therefore it's no use talking. i have had lots of lectures from the emperor long ago, and also from my stiff old father-in-law the king. but when they lecture me i only do it all the more," she declared, with a mischievous laugh upon her sweet face. "so they've given me up." "you're incorrigible, claire--absolutely incorrigible," her cousin declared as he swung along at her side. "i only _do_ hope that your unconventionality will not be taken advantage of by your jealous enemies. remember, you are the prettiest woman at our court as well as at your own. before long, too, you will be a reigning queen; therefore reflect well whether this disregard of the first rule of court etiquette, which forbids a member of the imperial family to converse with a commoner, is wise. for my own part, i don't think it is." "oh, don't lecture me any more for goodness' sake," exclaimed the crown princess with a little musical laugh. "have this waltz with me." and next moment the handsome pair were on their way down the great room with all eyes turned upon them. when, ten minutes later, they returned to join the imperial circle about the emperor, the latter motioned his niece towards him. "come to me when this is ended," he said in a serious voice. "i wish to talk to you. you will find me in the white room at two o'clock." the crown princess bowed, and returned to the side of her father, the archduke charles, a tall, thin, grey-haired man in a brilliant uniform glittering with orders. she knew that his majesty's quick eye had detected that she had spoken with the commoner steinbach, and anticipated that she was to receive another lecture. why, she wondered, was steinbach there? truth to tell, court life bored her. she was tired to death of all that intrigue and struggle for place, power, and precedence, and of that unhealthy atmosphere of recklessness wherein she had been born and bred. she longed for the free open life in the country around wartenstein, the great old castle in the tyrol that was her home, where she could tramp for miles in the mountains and be friendly with the honest country folk. after her marriage--a marriage of convenience to unite two royal houses--she had found that she had exchanged one stiff and brilliant court for another, more dull, more stiff, and where the etiquette was even more rigid. those three years of married life had wrought a very great change in her. she had left vienna a bright, athletic girl, fond of all sports, a great walker, a splendid horsewoman, sweet, natural, and quite unaffected; yet now, after those three years of a court, smaller yet far more severe than that of austria, she had become rebellious, with one desire--to forsake it all and live the private life of an ordinary citizen. her own world, the little patrician but narrow world behind the throne, whispered and shrugged its shoulders. it was believed that her marriage was an unhappy one, but so clever was she that she never betrayed her bitterness of heart. like all her imperial family, she was a born diplomatist, and to those who sought to read her secret her face was always sphinx-like. her own court saw her as a merry, laughter-loving woman, witty, clever, a splendid dancer, and with a polished and charming manner that had already endeared her to the people over whom she was very shortly to reign. but at court her enemies looked upon her with distrust. she exhibited no sign of displeasure on any occasion, however provoking. she was equally pleasant with enemies as with friends. for that reason they suspected her. her charming ingenuousness and her entire disregard of the traditional distinction between the imperial house and the people had aroused the anger of her husband's father, the aged king, a sovereign of the old school, who declared that she was fast breaking up all the traditions of the royal house, and that her actions were a direct incentive to socialism and anarchism within the kingdom. but she only laughed. she had trained herself to laugh gleefully even when her young heart was filled with blackest sorrow; even though her husband neglected and despised her; even though she was estranged for ever from her own home and her own beloved family circle at the great mountain stronghold. next to the emperor francis-joseph, her father, the archduke charles, was the greatest and wealthiest man in austria. he had a court of his own with all its appendages and functionaries, a great palace in the parkring in vienna, another in buda-pesth, the magnificent castle of wartenstein, near innsbruck, besides four other castles in various parts of austria, and a beautiful villa at tivoli, near rome. from her birth the princess claire had always breathed the vitiated air of the courts of europe; and yet ever since a girl, walking with her english governess at wartenstein, she had longed and dreamed of freedom. her marriage, however, was arranged for her, and she awakened from the glamour of it all to find herself the wife of a peevish prince who had not finished the sowing of his wild oats, and who, moreover, seemed to have no place for her in his heart. too late she realised the tragedy of it all. when alone she would sit for hours in tears. yet to no living soul, not even to her father or to the dark-haired, middle-aged countess de trauttenberg, her lady-in-waiting and confidante, did she utter one single syllable. she kept her secret. the world envied her her marvellous beauty, her exquisite figure, her wealth, her position, her grace and ineffable charm. yet what would it have said had it known the ugly truth? surely it would have pitied her; for even an imperial archduchess, forbidden to speak with the common world, has a human heart, and is entitled to human sympathy. the crown prince was not present. he was, alas i seldom with the princess. as she stood there in the imperial circle with folded hands, laughing merrily and chatting vivaciously with the small crowd of imperial highnesses, no one would have guessed that she was a woman whose young heart was already broken. ah yes! she made a brave show to conceal her bitterness and sorrow from the world, because she knew it was her duty to do so--her duty to her princely family and to the kingdom over which she was soon to be queen. the emperor at last made his exit through the great white-and-gold doors, the imperial chamberlains bowing low as he passed out. then at two o'clock the crown princess managed to slip away from the imperial circle, and with her rich train sweeping behind her, made her way rapidly through the long, tortuous corridors to his majesty's private workroom, known as the white chamber, on the other side of the great palace. she tapped upon the door with her fan, and obtained entrance at once, finding the emperor alone, standing near the great wood fire, for it was a chilly evening, close to his big, littered writing-table. his heavy expression told her that he was both thoughtful and displeased. the chamber, in contrast to the luxury of the splendid palace, was plainly furnished, essentially the workroom of the ruler of a great empire--the room in which he gave audiences and transacted the affairs of the austria-hungarian nation. "claire," he said, in a low, hard voice, "be seated; i wish to speak to you." "ah, i know," exclaimed the brilliant woman, whose magnificent diamonds glittered beneath the electric light, "i know! i admit, sire, that i committed an unpardonable breach of etiquette in speaking with steinbach. you are going to reprove me--i know you are," she pouted. "but do forgive me. i did not reflect. it was an indiscretion." "you never reflect, claire; you are too irresponsible," the emperor said in a tone of distinct displeasure. "but it is not that. i have called you here to learn why the crown prince is not in vienna with you." he fixed his grey, deep-sunken eyes upon hers, and awaited her answer. "well--" she faltered. "there are some court dinners, and--and i believe he has some military engagements--anniversaries or something." the emperor smiled dubiously. "you are shielding him, claire," he said slowly; "i see you are. i know that ferdinand is estranged from you. of late i have learnt things concerning you--more than you imagine. you are unloved by your husband, and unhappy, and yet you are bearing your burden in silence, though you are a young and beautiful woman. now, claire," he said in a changed voice, placing his hand tenderly upon his niece's shoulder, "tell me the truth. i wish to hear the truth from your own lips. do you know what they say of you? they say," he added, lowering his voice--"they say that you have a lover!" "a lover!" she gasped hoarsely, starting from her chair, her beautiful face as white as the dress she wore; "a lover! who--who told you so?" chapter two. her imperial highness. whatever passed between the emperor and his niece, whether she confessed the truth or defied him, one fact was plain--she had been moved to bitter tears. when, half an hour later, she went back through those long corridors, her rich train sweeping over the red carpets, her white-gloved hands were clenched, her teeth set hard, her eyes red, her countenance changed. her face was changed; it was that of a woman heart-broken and desperate. she did not return to the ballroom, but descended to the courtyard, where one of the imperial servants called her carriage, and she returned alone to her father's splendid palace in the parkring. ascending straight to her room, she dismissed the countess de trauttenberg, her lady-in-waiting, and henriette, her french maid; and then locking the door, she tore off her tiara and her jewels and sank upon her knees upon the old carved prie-dieu before the ivory crucifix placed opposite her bed. her hands were clasped, her fair head bent, her sweet lips moved in fervent prayer, her eyes the while streaming with tears. plunged in grief and unhappiness, she besought the almighty to aid and counsel her in the difficult situation in which she now found herself. "help me, my father!" she sobbed aloud. "have mercy upon me--mercy upon a humble woman who craves thy protection and direction." and her clasped hands trembled in the fervency of her appeal. those who had seen her an hour ago, the gay, laughing figure, blazing with jewels, the centre of the most brilliant court of europe, would have been astounded to see her at that moment prostrated before her maker. in austria, as in germany, she was believed to be a rather giddy woman, perhaps by reason of her uncommon beauty, and perhaps because of her easy-going light-heartedness and disregard for all court etiquette. yet the truth was that the strong religious principles instilled into her by her mother, the deceased archduchess charles, had always remained, and that no day passed without one hour set apart for her devotions, in secret even from the countess, from henriette, and from the crown prince, her husband. she was a catholic, of course, like all her imperial house, but upon one point she disagreed--that of confession. her husband, though he professed catholicism, at heart scoffed at religion; and more than once when he had found her in the private chapel of the palace at treysa had jeered at her. but she bore it all in patience. she was his wife, and she had a duty to perform towards his nation--to become its queen. for nearly an hour she remained upon her knees before the crucifix, with the tiny oil-light flickering in its cup of crimson glass, kneeling in mute appeal, strong in her faith, yet humble as the humblest commoner in the land. "my god!" she cried aloud at last. "hear me! answer my prayer! give me strength and courage, and direct my footsteps in the right path. i am a weak woman, after all; a humble sinner who has repented. help me, o god! i place all my trust in thee! amen." and, crossing herself, she rose slowly with a deep-drawn breath that sounded weirdly through the fine room, and walking unsteadily towards the big cheval glass, gazed at her own reflection. she saw how pale and haggard was her face, and looked at her trembling hands. the ribbons and stars at the edge of her bodice caught her eye, and with a sudden movement she tore them off and cast them heedlessly upon the table as though the sight of them annoyed her. they had been conferred upon her on her marriage. she sighed as she looked back at them. ah, the hollow mockery of it all! she glanced out of the window, and saw in the bright moonlight the sentry pacing up and down before the palace. across the wide boulevard were the dark trees of the park. it recalled to her the appointment she had made there for the next evening. "i wonder why steinbach has followed me here?" she exclaimed to herself. "how did he obtain entrance to the court ball? probably he has some friend here. but surely his mission is urgent, or he would never have run this risk. i was, however, foolish to speak to him before them all--very foolish. yet," she added slowly to herself, "i wonder what he has to tell me? i wonder--" and, without concluding her sentence, she stood gazing out upon the dark park, deep in thought, her mind full of grave apprehensions of the future. she was a hapsbourg--and evil fate follows a hapsbourg always. she had prayed to god; for god alone could save her. she, the most brilliant and the most envied woman in the empire, was perhaps the most heart-broken, the most unhappy. casting herself into an armchair before the log fire, she covered her drawn, white face with her hands and sobbed bitterly, until at last she sat immovable, staring straight into the embers watching the spark die out, until she fell asleep where she sat. next day her sweet, fresh face bore no traces of her desperation of the night. she was as gay and merry as ever, and only henriette noticed in her eyes a slight redness, but discreetly said nothing. the countess, a rather pleasant-faced but stiff-mannered person, brought her her engagement-book, from which it appeared that she was due at a review by the emperor at eleven o'clock; therefore, accompanied by her lady-in-waiting, she drove there, and was everywhere admired by the great crowds assembled. the austrian people called her "our claire," and the warm-hearted viennese cheered when they recognised that she was back again among them. it was a brilliant scene in the bright spring sunlight, for many of the imperial court were present, and the troops made a brave show as they marched past his majesty and the assembled members of the imperial house. then she had a luncheon engagement with the archduchess gisela, the wife of prince leopold of bavaria, afterwards drove in the ringstrasse and the prater, dined early at her father's palace, after giving henriette leave of absence for the evening, and also allowing the countess de trauttenberg her freedom, saying that she intended to remain at home. then, shortly before eight o'clock, she ascended to her room, exchanged her turquoise-blue dinner-gown for a plain, stiff, tailor-made dress, put on a hat with a lace veil that concealed her features, and managed to slip across the courtyard of the domestic offices and out of the palace unseen. the night was cloudy and dark, with threatening rain, as she crossed the broad parkring, entering the park near the kursalon, and traversing the deserted walks towards the river wien. the chill wind whistled in the budding trees above, sweeping up the dust in her path, and the statuesque guard whom she passed in the shadow glanced inquisitively at her, of course not recognising her. there was no one in the stadtpark at that hour, and all was silent, gloomy, and dismal, well in keeping with her own sad thoughts. behind her, the street lamps of the parkring showed in a long, straight line, and before her were the lights on the caroline bridge, the spot appointed for the meeting. her heart beat quickly. it was always difficult for her to escape without the knowledge of de trauttenberg or henriette. the former was, as a good lady-in-waiting should be, ever at her side, made her engagements for her, and saw that she kept them. that night, however, the countess desired to visit her sister who was in vienna with her husband, therefore it had happened opportunely; and, freed of henriette, she had now little to fear. the dress she wore was one she used when in the country. she had thrown a short cape of henriette's about her shoulders, and was thus sufficiently disguised to avoid recognition by people in the streets. as she came around a sudden bend in the pathway to the foot of the bridge the dark figure of a man in a black overcoat emerged from the shadow, and was next instant at her side, holding his hat in his hand and bowing before her. "i began to fear that your imperial highness would not come," he said breathlessly in german. "or that you had been prevented." "is it so very late, then?" she inquired in her sweet, musical voice, as the man walked slowly at her side. "i had difficulty in getting away in secret." "no one has followed you, princess?" he said, glancing anxiously behind him. "are you quite sure?" "no one. i was very careful. but why have you asked me to come here? why were you at the ball last night? how did you manage to get a card?" "i came expressly to see you, princess," answered the young man in a deep earnest voice. "it was difficult to get a command to the ball, but i managed it, as i could approach you by no other way. at your highness's own court you, as crown princess, are unapproachable for a commoner like myself, and i feared to write to you, as de trauttenberg often attends to your correspondence." "but you are my friend, steinbach," she said. "i am always to be seen by my friends." "at your own risk, your highness," he said quickly. "i know quite well that last night when you stopped and spoke to me it was a great breach of etiquette. only it was imperative that i should see you to-night. to you, princess, i owe everything. i do not forget your great kindness to me; how that i was a poor clerk out of work, with my dear wife ill and starving, and how, by your letter of recommendation, i was appointed in the ministry of foreign affairs, first as french translator, and now as a secretary. were it not for you, princess, i and my family would have starved. you saved me from ruin, and i hope you are confident that in me, poor and humble though i am, you at least have a friend." "i am sure of that, steinbach," was her highness's kindly reply. "we need not cross the bridge," she said. "it is quiet along here, by the river. we shall meet no one." for a few moments a silence fell between them, and the princess began to wonder why he had asked her there to meet him. at last, when they were in a dark and narrower pathway, he turned suddenly to her and said,-- "princess, i--i hardly know how to speak, for i fear that you may take what i have to say in a wrong sense. i mean," he faltered, "i mean that i fear you may think it impertinent of me to speak to you, considering the great difference in our stations." "why?" she asked calmly, turning to him with some surprise. "have you not just told me that you are my friend?" she noticed at that moment that he still held his hat in his hand, and motioned to him to reassume it. "yes. i am your highness's friend," he declared quickly. "if i were not, i would not dare to approach you, or to warn you of what at this moment is in progress." "what is in progress?" she exclaimed in surprise. "tell me." she realised that this man had something serious to say, or surely he would never have followed her to vienna, and obtained entrance to the imperial court by subterfuge. "your highness is in peril," he declared in a low voice, halting and standing before her. "you have enemies, fierce, bitter enemies, on every side; enemies who are doing their utmost to estrange you from your husband; relentless enemies who are conspiring might and main against you and the little princess ignatia. they--" "against my child?" cried the princess, amazed. "do you really mean that there is actually a conspiracy against me?" "alas! that is so, highness," said the man, seriously and distinctly. "by mere chance i have learnt of it, and being unable to approach you at your own court, i am here to give you timely warning of what is intended." she was silent, gazing straight into her companion's face, which was, however, hardly distinguishable in the darkness. she could scarcely believe the truth of what this commoner told her. could this man, whom she had benefited by her all-powerful influence, have any ulterior motive in lying to her? "and what is intended?" she inquired in a strange, hard voice, still half dubious and half convinced. "there is a plot, a dastardly, widespread conspiracy to cause your highness's downfall and part you from the crown prince before he comes to the throne," was his answer. "but why? for what motive?" she inquired, starting at the amazing revelation. "cannot your highness discern that your jealous enemies are in fear of you?" he said. "they know that one day ere long our invalid king must die, and your husband will then ascend the throne. you will be queen, and they feel convinced that the day of your accession will be their last day at court--frankly, that having seen through their shams and intrigues, you will dismiss them all and change the entire entourage." "ah! i see," replied the crown princess claire in a hoarse, bitter voice. "they fear me because they have realised their own shortcomings. so they are conspiring against me to part me from my husband, and drive me from court! yes," she sighed heavily, "i know that i have enemies on every side. i am a hapsbourg, and that in itself is sufficient to prejudice them against me. i have never been a favourite with their majesties the king and queen because of my liberal tendencies. they look upon me as a socialist; indeed, almost as a revolutionist. their sycophants would be glad enough to see me banished from court. and yet the court bow to me with all that hateful obsequiousness." "your highness is, unfortunately, quite right," declared the man steinbach. "the crown prince is being enticed farther and farther from you, as part of the ingenious plot now afoot. the first i knew of it was by accident six months ago, when some letters from abroad fell into my hands at the ministry. the conspiracy is one that permeates the whole court. the daily talk of your enemies is the anticipation of your downfall." "my downfall! but how is that to be accomplished?" she demanded, her fine eyes flashing with indignation. "i surely have nothing to fear-- have i? i beg of you to be quite candid with me, steinbach. in this affair your information may be of greatest service, and i am deeply indebted to you. it staggers me. what have i done that these people should seek my ruin?" she cried in blank dismay. "will your highness pardon me if i tell the truth?" asked the man at her side, speaking very seriously. "you have been too free, too frank, and too open-minded. every well-meant action of yours is turned to account by those who seek to do you evil. those whom you believe to be your friends are your worst antagonists. i have longed to approach you and tell you this for months, but i always feared. how could i reach you? they are aware that the secret correspondence passed through my hands, and therefore they suspect me of an intention of betraying them." "then you are here at imminent risk to yourself, steinbach," she remarked very slowly, looking again straight into his dark face. "i am here as your highness's friend," replied the young man simply. "it is surely worth the risk to save my gracious benefactress from falling victim to their foul, dastardly conspiracy?" "and who, pray, are my worst antagonists?" she asked hoarsely. he gave her rapidly half a dozen names of court officials and persons in the immediate entourage of their majesties. "and," he added, "do not trust the countess de trauttenberg. she is playing you false. she acts as spy upon you and notes your every action." "the countess--their spy!" she gasped, utterly taken aback, for if there was one person at court in whom she had the utmost confidence it was the woman who had been in her personal service ever since her marriage. "i have documentary proof of it," the man said quietly. "i would beg of your highness to make no sign whatever that the existence of the plot is known to you, but at the same time exercise the greatest caution, both for your own sake and that of the little princess." "surely they do not mean to kill me, steinbach?" she exclaimed in alarm. "no--worse. they intend to banish your highness from court in disgrace, as a woman unworthy to reign over us as queen. they fear you because you have discovered their own intrigues, corruptions, and scandals, and they intend that, at all costs, you shall never ascend the throne." "but my husband! he should surely know this!" "princess," exclaimed the clean-shaven young man, speaking very slowly and seriously, "i regret that it is i who am compelled to reveal this to you, but the crown prince already believes ill of you. he suspects; and therefore whatever lies they, now invent concerning you he accepts as truth. princess," he added in a low, hard voice, "you are in deadly peril. there, the truth is out, for i cannot keep it from you longer. i am poor, unknown, without influence. all i can do is to give you this warning in secret, because i hope that i may call myself your friend." the unhappy daughter of the imperial house was silent. the revelation was startling and amazing. she had never realised that a plot was afoot against her in her husband's kingdom. words entirely failed her. she and her little daughter ignatia were marked down as victims. she now for the first time realised her peril, yet she was powerless to stem the tide of misfortune that, sooner or later, must overwhelm her and crush her. she stood there a defenceless woman. chapter three. the revelations of a commoner. princess and commoner walked in silence, side by side. the rough night wind blew the dust in their faces, but they bent to it heedlessly, both too full of their own thoughts for words; the man half confused in the presence of the brilliant woman who ere long would be his sovereign; the woman stupefied at the dastardly intrigue that had not only estranged her husband from her, but had for its object the expulsion from the kingdom of herself and her child. open-hearted as she was, liberal-minded, pleasant, easy-going, and a delightful companion, she had never sufficiently realised that at that stiff, narrow-minded court there were men and women who hated her. all of us are so very loth to believe that we have enemies, and more especially those who believe in the honesty and integrity of mankind. she reflected upon her interview with the emperor. she remembered his majesty's hard words. had those conspiring against her obtained his ear? even de trauttenberg, the tall, patient, middle-aged woman in whom she had reposed such confidence, was their spy! steinbach's story staggered belief. and yet--and yet was not the emperor's anger plain proof that he knew something--that a foul plot was really in progress? along those dark winding paths they strolled slowly, meeting no one, for the place was utterly deserted. it was an exciting escapade, and dangerous withal. the man at last broke the silence, saying,-- "i need not impress upon your imperial highness the necessity for discretion in this matter. to betray your knowledge of the affair would be to betray me." "trust me," was her answer. "i know how to keep a secret, and i am not likely to forget this important service you have rendered me." "my only regret is that i was unable to approach you months ago, when i first made the discovery. your highness would have then been able to avoid the pitfalls constantly set for you," the man said meaningly. the princess claire bit her lip. she knew to what he referred. she had been foolish, ah yes; very foolish. and he dare not be more explicit. "yes," she sighed. "i know--i know to what you refer. but surely we need not discuss it. even though i am crown princess, i am a woman, after all." "i beg your highness's pardon," he exclaimed quickly, fearing that she was annoyed. "there is nothing to pardon," was her reply. "you are my friend, and speak to me in my own interests. for that i thank you. only--only--" she added, "all that you've just told me is such a startling revelation. my eyes are opened now. i see the dastardly ingenuity of it all. i know why my husband--" but she checked herself instantly. no. however ill-treated she had been she would preserve her secret. she would not complain to a commoner at risk of her domestic infelicity going forth to her people. it was true that within a year of marriage he had thrown her down in her room and kicked her in one of his paroxysms of temper. he had struck her blows innumerable; but she had borne all in patience, and de trauttenberg had discovered dark marks upon her white shoulders which she had attributed to a fall upon the ice. she saw now the reason of his estrangement; how his sycophants had poisoned his mind against her because they feared her. "steinbach," she said at last, "tell me the truth. what do the people think of me? you are a commoner and live among them. i, imprisoned at court, unfortunately, know nothing. the opinions of the people never reach us." "the people, your highness, love you. they call you `their claire.' you surely know how, when you drive out, they raise their hats and shout in acclamation." "yes," she said in a low, mechanical voice, "but is it real enthusiasm? would they really love me if i were queen?" "your highness is at this moment the most popular woman in the whole kingdom of marburg. if it were known that this plot was in progress there would in all probability be a revolution. stuhlmann and his friends are hated everywhere, and their overthrow would cause universal satisfaction." "and the people do not really think ill of me?" "think ill of you, princess?" he echoed. "why, they literally worship you and the little princess ignatia." she was silent again, walking very slowly, and reflecting deeply. it was so seldom she had opportunity of speaking with one of the people unless he were a deputy or a diplomatist, who then put on all his court manners, was unnatural, and feared to speak. from the man beside her, however, she saw she might learn the truth of a matter which was ever uppermost in her mind. and yet she hesitated to approach what was, after all, a very delicate subject. suddenly, with her mind made up, she halted, and turning to him, said,-- "steinbach, i want you to answer me truthfully. do not evade the question for fear of annoying me. speak openly, as the friend you are to me. i wish to know one thing," and she lowered her voice until it almost faltered. "have you heard a--well, a scandal concerning myself?" he made no answer. she repeated her question; her veiled face turned to his. "your highness only a few moments ago expressed a desire not to discuss the matter," he replied in a low, distinct voice. "but i want to know," she urged. "i must know. tell me the truth. if you are my friend you will at least be frank with me when i command." "if you command, princess, then i must obey, even with reluctance," was his response. "yes. i have heard some gossip. it is spoken openly in court by the _dames du palais_, and is now being whispered among the people." she held her breath. fortunately, it was dark, for she knew that her countenance had gone crimson. "well?" she asked. "and what do they say of me?" "they, unfortunately, couple your highness's name with that of count leitolf, the chief of the private cabinet of his majesty," was his low answer. "yes," she said in a toneless voice. "and what more?" "they say that major scheel, attache at the embassy in paris, recognised you driving with the count in the avenue de l'opera, when you were supposed to be at aix-les-bains with the little princess ignatia." "yes. go on." "they say, too, that he follows you everywhere--and that your maid henriette helps you to leave the palace in secret to meet him." she heard his words, and her white lips trembled. "they also declare," he went on in a low voice, "that your love of the country is only because you are able to meet him without any one knowing, that your journey here to vienna is on account of him--that he has followed you here." she nodded, without uttering a word. "the count has, no doubt, followed your highness, indiscreetly if i may say so, for i recognised him last night dining alone at breying's." "he did not see you?" she exclaimed anxiously. "no. i took good care not to be seen. i had no desire that my journey here should be known, or i should be suspected. i return to-night at midnight." "and to be frank, steinbach, you believe that all this has reached my husband's ears?" she whispered in a hard, strained voice. "all that is detrimental to your highness reaches the crown prince," was his reply to the breathless woman, "and certainly not without embellishments. that is why i implore of you to be circumspect--why i am here to tell you of the plot to disgrace you in the people's eyes." "but the people themselves are now speaking of--of the count?" she said in a low, uncertain voice, quite changed from her previous musical tones when first they met. "a scandal--and especially a court one--very soon spreads among the people. the royal servants gossip outside the palace, and moreover your highness's many enemies are only too delighted to assist in spreading such reports. it gives motive for the crown prince's estrangement." her head was bent, her hands were trembling. the iron had entered her soul. the people--the people whom she so dearly loved, and who had waved their hands and shouted those glad welcomes to her as she drove out--were now whispering of leitolf. she bit her lip, and her countenance went pale as death as the truth arose before her in all its hideous ghastliness. even the man at her side, the humble man who had stood by her as her friend, knew that leitolf was there--in vienna--to be near her. even steinbach could have no further respect for her as a woman--only respect because she was one day to be his sovereign. her hands were clenched; she held her breath, and shivered as the chill wind cut through her. she longed to be back in her father's palace; to be alone in her room to think. "and nothing more?" she asked in that same blank voice which now caused her companion to wonder. "only that they say evil of you that is not worth repeating," was his brief answer. she sighed again, and then when she had sufficiently recovered from the effect of his words, she whispered in a low voice,-- "i--i can only thank you, steinbach, for giving me this warning. forgive me if--if i am somewhat upset by it--but i am a woman--and perhaps it is only natural. trust me to say nothing. leave vienna to-night and return home. if you ever wish to communicate with me write guardedly, making an appointment, and address your letter to madame emond at the poste restante in brussels. you will recollect the name?" "most certainly i shall, your highness. i can only ask pardon for speaking so openly. but it was at your request." "do not let us mention it further," she urged, her white lips again compressed. "leave me now. it is best that i should walk down yonder to the parkring alone." he halted, and bowing low, his hat in his hand, said,-- "i would ask your imperial highness to still consider me your humble servant to command in any way whatsoever, and to believe that i am ever ready to serve you and to repay the great debt of gratitude i owe to you." and, bending, he took her gloved hand and raised it to his lips in obeisance to the princess who was to be his queen. "adieu, steinbach," she said in a broken voice. "and for the service you have rendered me to-night i can only return you the thanks of an unhappy woman." then she turned from him quickly, and hurried down the path to the park entrance, where shone a single gas lamp, leaving him standing alone, bowing in silence. he watched her graceful figure out of sight, then sighed, and turned away in the opposite direction. a few seconds later the tall, dark figure of a man emerged noiselessly from the deep shadow of the tree where, unobserved, he had crept up and stood concealed. the stranger glanced quickly up and down at the two receding figures, and then at a leisurely pace strode in the direction the princess had taken. when at last she had turned and was out of sight he halted, took a cigarette from a silver case, lit it after some difficulty in the tearing wind, and muttered some words which, though inaudible, were sufficiently triumphant in tone to show that he was well pleased at his ingenious piece of espionage. chapter four. his majesty cupid. as the twilight fell on the following afternoon a fiacre drew up before the hotel imperial, one of the best and most select hotels in the kartner ring, in vienna, and from it descended a lady attired in the deep mourning of a widow. of the gold-laced concierge she inquired for count carl leitolf, and was at once shown into the lift and conducted to a private sitting-room on the second floor, where a young, fair-moustached, good-looking man, with well-cut, regular features and dark brown eyes, rose quickly as the door opened and the waiter announced her. the moment the door had closed and they were alone he took his visitor's hand and raised it reverently to his lips, bowing low, with the exquisite grace of the born courtier. in an instant she drew it from him and threw back her veil, revealing her pale, beautiful face--the face of her imperial highness the crown princess claire. "highness!" the man exclaimed, glancing anxiously at the door to reassure himself that it was closed, "i had your note this morning, but--but are you not running too great a risk by coming here? i could not reply, fearing that my letter might fall into other hands; otherwise i would on no account have allowed you to come. you may have been followed. there are, as you know, spies everywhere." "i have come, carl, because i wish to speak to you," she said, looking unflinchingly into his handsome face. "i wish to know by what right you have followed me here--to vienna?" he drew back in surprise, for her attitude was entirely unexpected. "i came here upon my own private affairs," he answered. "that is not the truth," she declared in quick resentment. "you are here because you believed that you might meet me at the reception after the state dinner to-night. you applied for a card for it in order that you could see me--and this, after what passed between us the other day! do you consider that you are treating me fairly? cannot you see that your constant attentions are compromising me and causing people to talk?" "and what, pray, does your imperial highness care for this idle court gossip?" asked the well-dressed, athletic-looking man, at the same time placing a chair for her and bowing her to it. "there has been enough of it already, and you have always expressed the utmost disregard of anything that might be said, or any stories that might be invented." "i know," she answered. "but this injudicious action of yours in following me here is utter madness. it places me in peril. you are known in vienna, remember." "then if that is your view, your highness, i can only apologise," he said most humbly. "i will admit that i came here in order to be able to get a few minutes' conversation with you to-night. at our court at home you know how very difficult it is for me to speak with you, for the sharp eye of the trauttenberg is ever upon you." the princess's arched brows contracted slightly. she recollected what steinbach had revealed to her regarding her lady-in-waiting. "and it is surely best that you should have difficulty in approaching me," she said. "i have not forgotten your foolish journey to paris, where i had gone incognito to see my old nurse, and how you compelled me to go out and see the sights in your company. we were recognised. do you know that?" she exclaimed in a hard voice. "a man who knew us both sent word to court that we were in paris together." "recognised!" he gasped, the colour fading instantly from his face. "who saw us?" "of his identity i'm not aware," she answered, for she was a clever diplomatist, and could keep a secret well. she did not reveal scheel's name. "i only know that our meeting in paris is no secret. they suspect me, and i have you to thank for whatever scandal may now be invented concerning us." the lithe, clean-limbed man was silent, his head bent before her. what could he reply? he knew, alas! too well, that in following her from germany to paris he had acted very injudiciously. she was believed to be taking the baths at aix, but a sudden caprice had seized her to run up to paris and see her old french nurse, to whom she was much attached. he had learnt her intention in confidence, and had met her in paris and shown her the city. it had been an indiscretion, he admitted. yet the recollection of those few delightful days of freedom remained like a pleasant dream. he recollected her childish delight of it all. it was out of the season, and they believed that they could go hither and thither, like the crowds of tourists do, without fear of recognition. yet fate, it seemed, had been against them, and their secret meeting was actually known! "cannot you see the foolishness of it all?" she asked in a low, serious voice. "cannot you see, carl, that your presence here lends colour to their suspicions? i have enemies--fierce, bitter enemies--as you must know too well, and yet you imperil me like this!" she cried reproachfully. "i can make no defence, princess," he said lamely. "i can only regret deeply having caused you any annoyance." "annoyance!" she echoed in anger. "your injudicious actions have placed me in the greatest peril. the people have coupled our names, and you are known to have followed me on here." her companion was silent, his eyes downcast, as though not daring to meet her reproachful gaze. "i have been foolish--very foolish, i know," she cried. "in the old days, when we knew each other at wartenstein, a boy-and-girl affection sprang up between us; and then, when you left the university, they sent you as attache to the embassy in london, and we gradually forgot each other. you grew tired of diplomacy, and returned to find me the wife of the crown prince; and in a thoughtless moment i promised, at your request, to recommend you to a post in the private cabinet of the king. since that day i have always regretted. i ought never to have allowed you to return. i am as much to blame as you are, for it was an entirely false step. yet how was i to know?" "true, my princess!" said the man in a low, choking voice. "how were you to know that i still loved you in silence, that i was aware of the secret of your domestic unhappiness, that i--" "enough!" she cried, drawing herself up. "the word love surely need not be spoken between us. i know it all, alas! yet i beg of you to remember that i am the wife of another, and a woman of honour." "ah yes," he exclaimed, his trembling hand resting on the back of the chair upon which she sat. "honour--yes. i love you, claire--you surely know that well. but we do not speak of it; it is a subject not to be discussed by us. day after day, unable to speak to you, i watch you in silence. i know your bitterness in that gilded prison they call the court, and long always to help you and rescue you from that--that man to whom you are, alas! wedded. it is all so horrible, so loathsome, that i recoil when i see him smiling upon you while at heart he hates you. for weeks, since last we spoke together, how i have lived i scarcely know-- utter despair, insane hopes alternately possess me--but at last the day came, and i followed you here to speak with you, my princess." she remained silent, somewhat embarrassed, as he took her gloved hand and again kissed it. she was nervous, but next instant determined. "alas! i have not failed to notice your strong affection for me, carl," she said with a heavy sigh, her beautiful face slightly flushed. "you must therefore control this passion that seems to have been rekindled within your heart. for my sake go, and forget me," she implored. "resign your appointment, and re-enter the diplomatic service of the emperor. i will speak to lindenau, who will give you an appointment, say, in rome or paris. but you must not remain at treysa. i--i will not allow it." "but, princess," he cried in dismay, "i cannot go and leave you there alone among your enemies. you--" "you must; for, unintentionally, because you have my interests at heart, you are my worst enemy. you are indiscreet, just as every man is who loves a woman truly." "then you really believe i love you still, claire," he cried, bending towards her. "you remember those delightfully happy days at wartenstein long ago, when--" she held up her hand to stop the flow of his words. he looked at her. for an instant her glance wavered and shrank. she was his idol, the beautiful idol with eyes like heaven. yes, she was very beautiful--beautiful with all the beauty of woman now, not with the beauty of the girl. and she, with her sad gaze fixed upon him, remembered all the past--the great old castle in the far-off tyrol, her laughter at his awkwardness; their chats in english when both were learning that language; the quarrel over the lilac blossom. at arcachon--the shore and the pine forest; the boyish kiss stolen under the mistletoe; the declaration of their young love on that lonely mountain-side with the world lying at their feet; the long, sweet, silent kisses exchanged on their homeward walk; the roses she had given him as farewell pledge when he had left for london. all had gone--gone for ever. nevertheless, though everything was past, she could not resist an impulse to recall it--oh, very briefly--in a few feeling words, as one may recall some sweet and rapturous dream. "we were very foolish," she said. he was silent. his heart was too full for words. he knew that a woman who can look back on the past--on rapture, delight, the first thrilling kiss, the first fervent vow--and say, "we were very foolish," is a woman changed beyond recall. in other days, had he heard such sacrilegious words a cry of horror would have sprung from his lips. but now, though he shuddered with anguish, he simply said,-- "i shall always remember it, princess;" adding, with a glance at her, "and you." her wonderful eyes shrank once more and her lips quivered, as though for one second touched again by the light wing of love--as if, indeed, she felt she had done something unworthy of her, something which might bring her regret hereafter. in the midst of his confusion, the man remained victorious. she would never be his, and yet she would be his for ever. no matter how she might strive, she would never entirely forget. she sighed, and rising, walked unsteadily to the window, where, below, the street lamps were just being lit. daylight had faded, and in the room it was almost dark. "to-night, carl, we meet for the last time," she said with an effort, in a hard, strained voice. "both for you and for me it is best that we should part and forget. i did wrong to recommend you to the post at court, and i ought to have foreseen the grave peril of the situation. fortunately, i have realised it in time, even though our enemies already believe ill and invent lies concerning us. you must not return to court. remember, i forbid you. to-night, at the state dinner, i will speak to lindenau and ask him to send you as attache to rome or to petersburg. it is the wisest course." "then your highness really intends to banish me?" he said hoarsely, in a low, broken voice of reproach. "yes," she faltered. "i--i must--carl--to--to save myself." "but you are cruel--very cruel--princess," he cried, his voice trembling with emotion. "you must realise my peril," she said seriously. "your presence at court increases my danger hourly, because"--and she hesitated--"because, carl, i confess to you that i do not forget--i never shall forget," she added as the tears sprang to her blue eyes. "therefore, go! let me bear my own burden as best i can alone, and let me remember you as what you have always been--chivalrous to an unhappy woman; a man of honour." slowly she moved across the room towards the door, but he arrested her progress, and took her small hand quickly in his grasp. for some moments, in the falling gloom, he looked into her sweet, tearful face without speaking; then crushing down the lump that arose in his throat, he raised to his hot, passionate lips the hand of the woman he loved, and, imprinting upon it a tender, lingering kiss, murmured,-- "adieu, claire--my princess--my first, my only love!" she drew her hand away as his passionate words fell upon her ear, sighed heavily, and in silence opened the door and passed out from his presence. and thus were two brave hearts torn asunder. chapter five. some suspicions. state dinners, those long, tedious affairs at which the conversation is always stilted and the bearing of everybody is stiff and unnatural, always bored the crown princess claire to death. whenever she could she escaped them; but as a crown princess she was compelled by court etiquette to undergo ordeals which, to a woman not educated as an imperial archduchess, would have been impossible. she had trained herself to sit for hours smiling and good-humoured, although at heart she hated all that glittering formality and rich display. there were times when at her own court at treysa, at the military anniversary dinners that were so often held, she had been compelled to sit at table with her husband and the guests for four and five hours on end, without showing any sign of fatigue beyond taking her smelling-salts from the hand of her lady-in-waiting. yet she never complained, though the eating, and more especially the drinking, disgusted her. it was a duty--one of the many wearisome, soul-killing duties which devolve upon a crown princess--of which the world at large is in utter ignorance. therefore she accepted it in silence, yet bored always by meeting and speaking with the same circle of people day after day--a small circle which was ever intriguing, ever consumed by its own jealousies, ever striving for the favour of the aged king; the narrow-minded little world within the palace who treated those outside as though of different flesh and blood to themselves. whether at a marriage, at a funeral, at the opera, at a review, or at a charity _fete_--everywhere where her court duties called her--she met the same people, she heard the same interminable chatter and the same shameful scandals, until, unhappy in her own domestic life, she had grown to loathe it all, and to long for that liberty of which she had dreamed when a girl at her father's castle at wartenstein, or at the great old residenz-schloss, or palace, at pressburg. yet what liberty could she, heiress to a throne, obtain; what, indeed, within her husband's court, a circle who dined at five o'clock and were iron-bound by etiquette? the state dinner at the imperial palace that night differed but little from any other state dinner--long, dull, and extremely uninteresting. given in honour of a swedish prince who was at the moment the guest of the emperor, there were present the usual circle of imperial archdukes and archduchesses, who after dinner were joined in the great reception room by the ministers of state, the british, french, and italian ambassadors, the swedish minister and the whole staff of the swedish embassy in the schwindgasse. every one was in uniform and wore his orders, the emperor himself standing at the end of the room, chatting with his young guest in french. the crown princess claire, a striking figure in turquoise chiffon, was standing near, discussing leoncavallo's new opera with her cousin, the princess marie of bourbon, who had arrived only a few days before from madrid. suddenly her eye caught the figure she had all the evening been in search of. count de lindenau, privy councillor, chamberlain, minister of the imperial household, and minister for foreign affairs of the austrian empire--a short, rather stout, bald-headed man, with heavy white moustache, with the crimson ribbon of the order of saint stephen of hungary across his shirt-front and the grand cross in brilliants upon his coat--stopped to bow low before the crown princess, who in an instant seized the opportunity to leave her cousin and speak with him. "it is really quite a long time since we met, count," she exclaimed pleasantly. "i met the countess at cannes in january, and was delighted to see her so much better. is she quite well again?" "i thank your imperial highness," responded the minister. "the countess has completely recovered. at present she is at como. and you? here for a long stay in vienna, i hope. we always regret that you have left us, you know," he added, smiling, for she had, ever since a girl, been friendly with him, and had often visited his wife at their castle at mauthhausen. "no; i regret that i must return to treysa in a few days," she said as she moved along and he strolled at her side down the great gilded room where the little groups were standing gossiping. then, when his excellency had asked after the health of the crown prince and of the little princess ignatia, she drew him aside to a spot where they could not be overheard, and halting, said in a lower tone,-- "i have wished to meet you, count, because i want you to do me a favour." "your imperial highness knows quite well that if i can serve you in any way i am always only too delighted." and he bowed. more than once she had asked favour of lindenau, the stern foreign minister and favourite of the emperor, and he had always acted as she wished. she had known him ever since her birth. he had, indeed, been present at her baptism. "well, it is this," she said. "i want to give my recommendation to you on behalf of count leitolf, who is at present chief of the king's private cabinet at treysa, and who is strongly desirous of returning to the austrian diplomatic service, and is anxious for a post abroad." mention of leitolf's name caused the wily old minister to glance at her quickly. the rumour had reached his ears, and in an instant he recognised the situation--the crown princess wished to rid herself of him. but the old fellow was diplomatic, and said, as though compelled to recall the name,-- "leitolf? let me see. that is count carl, whom i sent to london a few years ago? he resigned his post to take service under your father-in-law the king. ah yes, i quite recollect. and he now wishes to be appointed abroad again, eh? and you wish to recommend him?" "exactly, count," she answered. "i think that leitolf is tired of our court; he finds it too dull. he would prefer rome, he tells me." "your imperial highness is well aware that any recommendation of yours always has the most earnest attention," said the minister, with a polite bow. his quick grey eyes were watching the beautiful woman sharply. he wondered what had occurred between her and count carl. "then you will send him to rome?" she asked, unable to conceal her eagerness. "if he will present himself at the ministry, he will be at once appointed to the embassy to the quirinal," responded his excellency quietly. "but he will not present himself, i am afraid." "oh, why not?" inquired the great austrian diplomatist, regarding her in surprise. "because--" and she hesitated, as a slight flush crossed her features--"because he is rather ashamed to ask for a second appointment, having resigned from london." the old minister smiled dubiously. "ah!" he exclaimed confidentially, "i quite understand. your imperial highness wishes to get rid of him from your court, eh?" the princess started, twisting her diamond bracelet nervously round her wrist. "why do you think that, count?" she asked quickly, surprised that he should have thus divined her motive. "well, your imperial highness is rather unduly interested in the man--if you will permit me to say so," was his answer. "besides, if i may speak frankly, as i know i may, i have regarded his presence in your court as distinctly dangerous--for you. there are, you know, evil tongues ever ready to invent scandal, even against a crown princess." "i know," she said, in a low, changed voice. "but let us walk; otherwise they will all wonder why i am talking with you so long," and the two moved slowly along side by side. "i know," she went on--"i know that i have enemies; and, to confess the truth, i wish, in order to show them that they lie, to send him from me." "then he shall go. to-morrow i will send him orders to rejoin the service, and to proceed to rome immediately. and," he added in a kindly voice, "i can only congratulate your imperial highness upon your forethought. leitolf is entirely without discretion. only this evening i was actually told that he had followed you to vienna, and--" but he stopped abruptly, without concluding his sentence. "and what else?" she asked, turning pale. even the minister knew; therefore leitolf had evidently allowed himself to be seen. "shall i tell you, princess?" "certainly; you need not keep anything from me." "i was also told that he is staying at the hotel imperial, and that you had called upon him this afternoon." she started, and looked him straight in the face. "who told you that?" she demanded. "i learned it from the report of the secret agents of the ministry." "then i am spied upon here!" she exclaimed, pale with anger. "even in my own home watch is kept upon me." "not upon your imperial highness," was the great minister's calm reply, "but upon the man we have recently been discussing. it was, i venture to think, rather indiscreet of you to go to the hotel; although, of course, the knowledge of your visit is confidential, and goes no further than myself. it is a secret of the ministry." "indiscreet!" she echoed with a sigh. "in this polluted atmosphere, to breathe freely is to be indiscreet. because i am an archduchess i am fettered as a prisoner, and watched like a criminal under surveillance. my enemies, jealous of my position and power, have invented scandalous stories that have aroused suspicion, and for that reason you all believe ill of me." "pardon me, princess," said the crafty old man, bowing, "i, for one, do not. your anxiety to rid yourself of the fellow is proof to me that the scandal is a pure invention, and i am only too pleased to render you this service. your real enemies are those around your husband, who have hinted and lied regarding you in order to estrange you from court." "then you are really my friend, count?" she asked anxiously. "you do not believe what they say regarding me?" "i do not, princess," he replied frankly; "and i trust you will still regard me, as i hope i have ever been, your imperial highness's friend. i know full well how leitolf craved your favour for recommendation to your king; and you, with a woman's blindness to the grave eventualities of the future, secured him the appointment. of late you have, i suppose, realised the fatal mistake?" "yes," she said in a low voice; "i have now foreseen my own peril. i have been very foolish; but i have halted, and leitolf must go." "very wise--very wise indeed! your imperial highness cannot afford to run any further risk. in a few months, or a couple of years at most, the poor king's disease must prove fatal, and you will find yourself queen of a brilliant kingdom. once queen, your position will be assured, and you will make short work of all those who have conspired to secure your downfall. you will, perhaps, require assistance. if so, rely upon me to render you in secret whatever help lies in my power. with you, a hapsbourg, as queen, the influence of austria must be paramount, remember. therefore i beg of your imperial highness to exercise the greatest discretion not to imperil yourself. the crown prince must be allowed no loophole through which he can openly quarrel with you. remain patient and forbearing until you are queen." they were in a corner of the great hall, standing behind one of the high marble columns and unobserved. "i am always patient, count," was her rather sad response, her chest heaving beneath her chiffon. "as you well know, my marriage has not been a happy one; but i strive to do my duty to both the court and the people. i make no denial to you. you doubtless know the truth--that when a girl i loved count leitolf, and that it was an act prompted by foolish sentimentalism to have connived at his appointment at my husband's own court. betrayed, perhaps, by my own actions, my enemies have seized upon my embarrassing situation to lie about me. ah," she added bitterly, "how little they know of my own dire unhappiness!" "no, no," urged the minister, seemingly full of sympathy for her, knowing the truth as he did. "bear up; put a brave countenance always towards the world. when leitolf has gone your imperial highness will have less embarrassment, and people cannot then place any misconstructions upon your actions. you will not have the foolish young man following you wherever you go, as he now does. at noon to-morrow i will sign the decree for his immediate appointment to rome, and he will receive but little leave of absence, i can assure you. he will be as much a prisoner in the palazzo chigi as is his holiness in the vatican," he added. "thank you," she answered simply, glancing gratefully into his grey, deeply-lined face; and as he bowed to her she left him and swept up the room to where the emperor was engaged in conversation with lord powerstock, the british ambassador. the old minister's face had changed the instant he left her. the mask of the courtier had fallen from the wily old countenance, and glancing after her, he muttered some words that were inaudible. if she had but seen the evil smile that played about the old diplomatist's lips, she would have detected that his intention was to play her false, and she might then have saved herself. but, alas! in her ignorance she went on light-heartedly, her long train sweeping behind her, believing in de lindenau's well-feigned sympathy, and congratulating herself that the all-powerful personage behind the emperor was still her friend. the minister saw that she was satisfied; then turning on his heel, he gave vent to a short, hard laugh of triumph. chapter six. the house of her enemies. two days later the crown princess claire returned to marburg. in the twilight the express from vienna came to a standstill in the big, echoing station at treysa, the bright and wealthy capital, and descending from her private saloon, she walked over the red carpet laid for her, bowing pleasantly to the line of bareheaded officials waiting to receive her; then, mounting into her open landau, she drove up the fine, tree-lined klosterstrasse to the royal palace. de trauttenberg was with her--the woman whom she now knew to be a spy. around her, on every side, the crowd at her side shouted a glad welcome to "their claire," as they called her, and just before the royal carriage could move off, two or three of the less timorous ones managed to seize her hand and kiss it, though the police unceremoniously pushed them away. she smiled upon the enthusiastic crowd; but, alas! she was heavy of heart. how little, she thought, did those people who welcomed her dream of her unhappiness! she loved the people, and, looking upon them, sighed to think that she was not free like them. behind her clattered the hoofs of her cavalry escort, and beside the carriage were two agents of police on bicycles. wherever she moved in her husband's kingdom she was always under escort, because of anarchist threats and socialistic rumours. marburg was one of the most beautiful and wealthiest of the kingdoms and duchies comprised in the german empire. the fine capital of treysa was one of the show cities of germany, always bright, gay, and brilliant, with splendid streets, wide, tree-lined promenades, a great opera house, numerous theatres, gay restaurants, and an ever-increasing commerce. frequented much by english and americans, there were fine hotels, delightful public gardens, and pleasant suburbs. in no other part of the empire were the nobility so wealthy or so exclusive, and certainly no court in europe was so difficult of access as that of marburg. the kingdom, which possessed an area of nearly seven thousand square miles and a population of over fifteen millions, was rich in manufactures and in minerals, besides being a smiling country in a high state of cultivation, with beautiful mountainous and wooded districts, where in the valleys were situated many delightful summer resorts. through its length and breadth, and far beyond the frontiers, the name of the crown princess claire was synonymous of all that was good and affable, generous to the poor, and ever interested in the welfare of the people. the big electric globes were already shining white in the streets as she drove back to the beautiful royal palace that was, alas! to her a prison. her few days of liberty in vienna were over, and when presently, after traversing many great thoroughfares full of life and movement, the carriage swung out into a broader tree-lined avenue, at the end of which were the great gates of the royal gardens, her brave heart fell within her. beyond was the house of her enemies, the house in which she was compelled to live friendless, yet surrounded by those who were daily whispering of her overthrow. the great gates swung open to allow the cavalcade to pass, then closed again with a clang that, reaching her ear, caused her to shudder. the countess noticed it, and asked whether she felt cold. to this she gave a negative reply, and still remained silent, until the carriage, passing up through the beautiful park, at last drew up before the magnificent palace. descending, she allowed the gorgeously-dressed man in the royal livery to take her cloak from her shoulders; and then, without a word, hastened along the great marble hall, up the grand staircase and along corridor after corridor--those richly-carpeted corridors of her prison that she knew so well--to her own splendid suite of apartments. the servants she met at every turn bowed to her, until she opened the door of a large, airy, well-furnished room, where a middle-aged woman, in cap and apron, sat reading by a shaded lamp. in an instant, on recognising the newcomer, she sprang to her feet. but at the same moment the princess rushed to the dainty little cot in the corner and sank down beside the sleeping curly-haired child--her child-- the little princess ignatia. so passionately did she kiss the sweet chubby little face of the sleeping child that she awoke, and recognising who it was, put out her little hands around her mother's neck. "ah, my little pet!" cried the princess. "and how are you? it seems so long, so very long, since we parted." and her voice trembled, for tears stood in her eyes. the child was all she had in the world to love and cherish. she was her first thought always. the glare and glitter of the brilliant court were all hateful to her, and she spent all the time she dared in the nursery with little ignatia. the english nurse, allen, standing at her side, said, with that formality which was bound to be observed within those walls,-- "the princess is in most excellent health, your imperial highness. i have carried out your highness's instructions, and taken her each day for a walk in the park." "that's right, allen," responded the mother, also in english. "where is the crown prince?" "i have not seen him, your highness, since you left. he has not been in to see ignatia." claire sighed within herself, but made no outward sign. "ah, i expect he has been away--to berlin, perhaps. is there any function to-night, have you heard?" "a state ball, your highness. at least they said so in the servants' hall." the princess glanced at the little silver timepiece, for she feared that her presence was imperative, even though she detested all such functions, where she knew she would meet that brilliant crowd of men and women, all of them her sworn enemies. what steinbach had told her in confidence had lifted the scales from her eyes. there was a wide and cleverly-contrived conspiracy against her. she took her fair-haired child in her arms, while allen, with deft fingers, took off her hat and veil. her maids were awaiting her in her own room, but she preferred to see ignatia before it was too late to disturb the little one's sleep. with the pretty, blue-eyed little thing clinging around her neck, she paced the room with it, speaking, in german, as every fond mother will speak to the one she adores. though born to the purple, an imperial princess, claire was very human after all. she regretted always that she was not as other women were, allowed to be her own mistress, and to see and to tend to her child's wants instead of being compelled so often to leave her in the hands of others, who, though excellent servants, were never as a mother. she sent allen upon a message to the other end of the palace in order to be alone with the child, and when the door closed she kissed its soft little face fondly again and again, and then burst into tears. those court sycophants were conspiring, to drive her away--perhaps even to part her from the only one for whom she entertained a spark of affection. many of her enemies were women. could any of them really know all that was meant by a mother's heart? prince ferdinand-leopold-joseph-marie, her husband, seldom, if ever, saw the child. for weeks he never mentioned its existence, and when he did it was generally with an oath, in regret that it was not a son and an heir to the throne. in his paroxysms of anger he had cursed her and his little daughter, and declared openly that he hated the sight of them both. but she was ever patient. seldom she responded to his taunts or his sarcasm, or resented his brutal treatment. she was philosophic enough to know that she had a heavy burden to bear, and for the sake of her position as future queen of marburg she must bear it bravely. allen was absent fully a quarter of an hour, during which time she spoke continually to little ignatia, pacing up and down the room with her. the child, seeing her mother's tears, stared at her with her big, wide-open eyes. "why does mother cry?" she asked in her childish voice, stroking her cheek. "because mother is not happy, darling," was the princess's sad answer. "but," she added, brightening up, "you are happy, aren't you? allen has bought you such a beautiful doll, she tells me." "yes, mother," the child answered. "and to-morrow, allen promises, if i am very good, that we will go to buy a perambulator for my dolly to ride in. won't that be nice?" "oh, it will! but you must be very, very good--and never cry, like mother, will you?" "no," answered the little one. "i'll never cry, like mother does." and the unhappy woman, hearing the child's lisping words, swallowed the great lump that arose in her throat. it was surely pathetic, that admission of a heart-broken mother to her child. it showed that even though an imperial princess, she was still a womanly woman, just as any good woman of the people. a few moments later allen returned with the reply to the message she had sent to the aged king. "his majesty says that, though regretting your imperial highness is tired after her journey, yet your presence with the crown prince at the ball is imperative." claire sighed with a heavy heart, saying,-- "very well, allen. then we will put ignatia to bed, for i must go at once and dress," and she passed her hand across her hot, wearied brow. again and again she kissed the child, and then, having put her back into her cot, over which was the royal crown of marburg in gold, she bade the infant princess goodnight, and went along to eat a hasty dinner--for she was hungry after her eighteen-hour journey--and afterwards to put herself in the charge of her quick-handed maids, to prepare her for the brilliant function of that evening. two hours later, when she swept into the magnificent throne room, a brilliant, beautiful figure in her court gown of cream, and wearing her wonderful tiara, her face was as stern and haughty as any of those members of the royal family present. with her long train rustling behind her, and with her orders and ribbons giving the necessary touch of colour to her bodice, she took up her position beside her husband, a fair-headed, round-faced, slight-moustached man, in a dark-blue uniform, and wearing a number of orders. his face was flat and expressionless. though they had not met for a week, no word of greeting escaped him. they stood side by side, as though they were strangers. he eyed her quickly, and his countenance turned slightly pale, as though displeased at her presence. yet the whole assembly, even though hating her, could not but admire her neat waist, her splendid figure, and matchless beauty. in the whole of the courts of europe there was no prettier woman than the crown princess claire; her figure was perfect, and her gait always free--the gait of a princess. even when dressed in her maid's dresses, as she had done on occasion, her walk betrayed her. imperial blood can seldom be disguised. the hundred women, those german princesses, duchesses, countesses, baronesses, to each of whom attached their own particular scandal--the brilliant little world that circled around the throne--looked at her standing there with her husband, her hands clasped before her, and envied her looks, figure, position--everything. she was a marked woman. the proud, haughty expression upon her face as she regarded the assembly was only assumed. it was the mask she was compelled to wear at court at the old king's command. her nature was the reverse of haughty, yet the artificiality of palace life made it necessary for the crown princess to be as unapproachable as the queen herself. the guests were filing before the white-haired king, the hide-bound old martyr to etiquette, when the crown prince spoke to his wife in an undertone, saying roughly, with bitter sarcasm,-- "so you are back? couldn't stay away from us longer, i suppose?" "i remained in vienna as long as i said i should," was the sweet-faced woman's calm reply. "a pity you didn't stay there altogether," he muttered. "you are neither use nor ornament here." "you have told me that several times before. much as i regret it, ferdinand, my place is here." "yes, at my side--to annoy me," he said, frowning. "i regret to cause you any annoyance," she answered. "it is not intentional, i assure you." a foul oath escaped him, and he turned from her to speak with count graesal, grand-marechal of the court. her face, however, betrayed nothing of his insult. at court her countenance was always sphinx-like. only in her private life, in that gorgeous suite of apartments on the opposite side of the palace, did she give way to her own bitter unhappiness and blank despair. chapter seven. a shameful truth. when at last the brilliant company moved on into the great ballroom she had an opportunity of walking among those men and women who, though they bent before her, cringing and servile, were, she knew, eagerly seeking her ruin. the ministers, stuhlmann, hoepfner, and meyer, all three creatures of the king, bowed low to her, but she knew they were her worst enemies. the countess hupertz, a stout, fair-haired, masculine-looking woman, also bent before her and smiled--yet this woman had invented the foulest lies concerning her, and spread them everywhere. in all that brilliant assembly she had scarcely one single person whom she could term a friend. and for a very simple reason. friendliness with the crown princess meant disfavour with the king, and none of those place-seekers and sycophants could afford to risk that. yet, knowing that they were like a pack of hungry wolves about her, seeking to tear her reputation to shreds and cast her out of the kingdom, she walked among them, speaking with them, and smiling as though she were perfectly happy. presently, when the splendid orchestra struck up and dancing commenced, she came across hinckeldeym, the wily old president of the council of ministers, who, on many occasions, had showed that, unlike the others, he regarded her as an ill-used wife. a short, rather podgy, dark-haired man, in court dress, he bowed, welcomed her back to treysa, and inquired after her family in vienna. then, as she strolled with him to the farther end of the room, lazily fanning herself with her great ostrich-feather fan, she said in a low voice,-- "hinckeldeym, as you know, i have few friends here. i wonder whether you are one?" the flabby-faced old minister pursed his lips, and glanced at her quickly, for he was a wily man. then, after a moment's pause, he said,-- "i think that ever since your imperial highness came here as crown princess i have been your partisan. indeed, i thought i had the honour of reckoning myself among your highness's friends." "yes, yes," she exclaimed quickly. "but i have so many enemies here," and she glanced quickly around, "that it is really difficult for me to distinguish my friends." "enemies!" echoed the tactful minister in surprise. "what causes your highness to suspect such a thing?" "i do not suspect--i know," was her firm answer as she stood aside with him. "i have learnt what these people are doing. why? tell me, hinckeldeym--why is this struggling crowd plotting against me?" he looked at her for a moment in silence. he was surprised that she knew the truth. "because, your imperial highness--because they fear you. they know too well what will probably occur when you are queen." "yes," she said in a hard, determined voice. "when i am queen i will sweep clear this augean stable. there will be a change, depend upon it. this court shall be an upright and honourable one, and not, as it now is, a replica of that of king charles the second of england. they hate me, hinckeldeym--they hate me because i am a hapsbourg; because i try and live uprightly and love my child, and when i am queen i will show them that even a court may be conducted with gaiety coupled with decorum." the minister--who, though unknown to her, was, perhaps, her worst enemy, mainly through fear of the future--listened to all she said in discreet silence. it was a pity, he thought, that the conspiracy had been betrayed to her, for although posing as her friend he would have been the first to exult over her downfall. it would place him in a position of safety. he noted her threat. it only confirmed what the court had anticipated-- namely, that upon the death of the infirm old monarch, all would be changed, and that brilliant aristocratic circle would be sent forth into obscurity--and by an austrian archduchess, too! the princess claire unfortunately believed the crafty hinckeldeym to be her friend, therefore she told him all that she had learnt; of course, not betraying the informer. "from to-day," she went on in a hard voice, "my attitude is changed. i will defend myself. against those who have lied about me, and invented their vile scandals, i will stand as an enemy, and a bitter one. hitherto i have been complacent and patient, suffering in silence, as so many defenceless women suffer. but for the sake of this kingdom, over which i shall one day be queen, i will stand firm; and you, hinckeldeym, must remain my friend." "your imperial highness has but to command me," replied the false old courtier, bowing low with the lie ever ready upon his lips. "i hope to continue as your friend." "from the day i first set foot in treysa, these people have libelled me and plotted my ruin," she went on. "i know it all. i can give the names of each of my enemies, and i am kept informed of all the scandalous tales whispered into my husband's ears. depend upon it that those liars and scandalmongers will in due time reap their reward." "i know very little of it," the minister declared in a low voice, so that he could not be overheard. "perhaps, however, your highness has been indiscreet--has, i mean, allowed these people some loophole through which to cast their shafts?" "they speak of leitolf," she said quite frankly. "and they libel me, i know." "i hear to-day that leitolf is recalled to vienna, and is being sent as attache to rome," he remarked. "perhaps it is as well in the present circumstances." she looked him straight in the face as the amazing truth suddenly dawned upon her. "then you, too, hinckeldeym, believe that what is said about us is true!" she exclaimed hoarsely, suspecting, for the first time, that the man with the heavy, flabby face might play her false. and she had confessed to him, of all men, her intention of changing the whole court entourage the instant her husband ascended the throne! she saw how terribly injudicious she had been. but the cringing courtier exhibited his white palms, and with that clever exhibition of sympathy which had hitherto misled her, said,-- "surely your imperial highness knows me sufficiently well to be aware that in addition to being a faithful servant to his majesty the king, i am also a strong and staunch friend of yours. there may be a plot," he said; "a vile, dastardly plot to cast you out from marburg. yet if you are only firm and judicious, you must vanquish them, for they are all cowards--all of them." she believed him, little dreaming that the words she had spoken that night had sealed her fate. heinrich hinckeldeym was a far-seeing man, the friend of anybody who had future power in his hands--a man who was utterly unscrupulous, and who would betray his closest friend when necessity demanded. and yet, with his courtly manner, his fat yet serious face, his clever speech, and his marvellous tact, he had deceived more than one of the most eminent diplomatists in europe, including even bismarck himself. he looked at her with his bright, ferret-like eyes, debating within himself when the end of her should be. he and his friends had already decided that the blow was soon to be struck, for every day's delay increased their peril. the old king's malady might terminate fatally at any moment, and once queen, then to remove her would be impossible. she had revealed to him openly her intention, therefore he was determined to use in secret her own words as a weapon against her, for he was utterly unscrupulous. the intrigues of court had a hundred different undercurrents, but it was part of his policy to keep well versed in them all. his finger was ever upon the pulse of that circle about the throne, while he was also one of the few men in marburg who had the ear of the aristocratic old monarch with whom etiquette was as a religion. "your imperial highness is quite right in contemplating the crown prince's accession to the throne," he said ingeniously, in order to further humour her. "the doctors see the king daily, and the confidential reports made to us ministers are the reverse of reassuring. in a few months at most the end must come--suddenly in all probability. therefore the crown prince should prepare himself for the responsibilities of the throne, when your highness will be able to repay your enemies for all their ill-nature." "i shall know the way, never fear," she answered in a low, firm voice. "to-day their power is paramount, but to-morrow mine shall be. i shall then live only for my husband and my child. at present i am living for a third reason--to vindicate myself." "then your imperial highness contemplates changing everything?" he asked simply, but with the ingenuity of a great diplomatist. every word of her reply he determined to use in order to secure her overthrow. "i shall change all ministers of state, chamberlains, every one, from the chancellor of the orders down to the grand master of the ceremonies. they shall all go, and first of all the _dames du palais_--those women who have so cleverly plotted against me, but of whose conspiracy i am now quite well aware." and she mentioned one or two names--names that had been revealed to her by the obscure functionary steinbach. the minister saw that the situation was a grave, even desperate one. he was uncertain how much she knew concerning the plot, and was therefore undecided as to what line he should adopt. in order to speak in private they left the room, pacing the long, green-carpeted corridor that, enclosed in glass, ran the whole length of that wing of the palace. he tried by artful means to obtain from her further details, but she refused to satisfy him. she knew the truth, and that, she declared, was all sufficient. old hinckeldeym was a power in marburg. for eighteen years he had been the confidant of the king, and now fearing his favour on the wane, had wheedled himself into the good graces of the crown prince, who had given him to understand, by broad hints, that he would be only too pleased to rid himself of the crown princess. therefore, if he could effect this, his future was assured. and what greater weapon could he have against her than her own declaration of her intention to sweep clear the court of its present entourage? he had assuredly played his cards wonderfully well. he was a past master in deception and double-dealing. the princess, believing that he was at least her friend, had spoken frankly to him, never for one moment expecting a foul betrayal. yet, if the truth were told, it was that fat-faced, black-eyed man who had first started the wicked calumny which had coupled her name with leitolf; he who had dropped scandalous hints to the crown prince of his beautiful wife's _penchant_ for the good-looking _chef du cabinet_; he who had secretly stirred up the hostility against the daughter of the austrian archduke, and whose fertile brain had invented lies which were so ingeniously concocted that they possessed every semblance of truth. a woman of imperial birth may be a diplomatist, versed in all the intricacies of court etiquette and court usages, but she can never be at the same time a woman of the world. her education is not that of ordinary beings; therefore, as in the case of the princess claire, though shrewd and tactful, she was no match for the crafty old minister who for eighteen years had directed the destiny of that most important kingdom of the german empire. the yellow-haired countess hupertz, one of hinckeldeym's puppets, watched the princess and minister walking in the corridor, and smiled grimly. while the orchestra played those dreamy waltzes, the tragedy of a throne was being enacted, and a woman--a sweet, good, lovable woman, upright and honest--was being condemned to her fate by those fierce, relentless enemies by which she was, alas! surrounded. as she moved, her splendid diamonds flashed and glittered with a thousand fires, for no woman in all the court could compare with her, either for beauty or for figure. and yet her husband, his mind poisoned by those place-hunters--a man whose birth was but as a mushroom as compared with that of claire, who possessed an ancestry dating back a thousand years--blindly believed that which they told him to be the truth. de trauttenberg, in fear lest she might lose her own position, was in hinckeldeym's pay, and what she revealed was always exaggerated--most of it, indeed, absolutely false. the court of marburg had condemned the crown princess claire, and from their judgment there was no appeal. she was alone, defenceless--doomed as the victim of the jealousies and fears of others. returning to the ballroom, she left the minister's side; and, by reason of etiquette, returned to join that man in the dark-blue uniform who cursed her--the man who was her husband, and who ere long was to reign as sovereign. stories of his actions, many of them the reverse of creditable, had reached her ears, but she never gave credence to any of them. when people discussed him she refused to listen. he was her husband, the father of her little ignatia, therefore she would hear nothing to his discredit. yes. her disposition was quiet and sweet, and she was always loyal to him. he, however, entirely misjudged her. an hour later, when she had gone to her room, her husband burst in angrily and ordered the two maids out, telling them that they would not be wanted further that night. then, when the door was closed, he strode up to where she sat before the great mirror, lit by its waxen candles, for henriette had been arranging her hair for the night. "well, woman!" he cried, standing before her, his brows knit, his eyes full of fire, "and what is your excuse to me this time?" "excuse?" she echoed, looking at him in surprise and very calmly. "for what, ferdinand?" "for your escapade in vienna!" he said between his teeth. "the instant you had left, leitolf received a telegram calling him to wiesbaden, but instead of going there he followed you." "not with my knowledge, i assure you," she said quickly. "why do you think so ill of me--why do you always suspect me?" she asked in a low, trembling voice of reproach. "why do i suspect you? you ask me that, woman, when you wrote to the man at his hotel, made an appointment, and actually visited him there? one of our agents watched you. do you deny it?" "no," she answered boldly. "i do not deny going to the count's hotel. i had a reason for doing so." he laughed in her face. "of course you had--you, who pretend to be such a good and faithful wife, and such a model mother," he sneered. "i suppose you would not have returned to treysa so soon had he not have come back." "you insult me!" she cried, rising from her chair, her imperial blood asserting itself. "ah!" he laughed, taunting her. "you don't like to hear the truth, do you? it seems that the scandal concerning you has been discovered in vienna, for de lindenau has ordered the fellow to return to the diplomatic service, and is sending him away to rome." she was silent. she saw how every word and every action of hers was being misconstrued. "speak, woman!" he cried, advancing towards her. "confess to me that you love the fellow." "why, ferdinand, do you wish me to say what is untrue?" she asked in a low voice, quite calm again, notwithstanding his threatening attitude. "ah, you deny it! you lie to me, even when i know the truth--when all the court discuss your affection for the fellow whom you yourself introduced among us. you have been with him in paris. deny that!" "i deny nothing that is true," she answered. "i only deny your right to charge me with what is false." "oh yes," he cried. "you and your brat are a pretty pair. you believe we are all blind; but, on the contrary, everything is known. confess!" he muttered between his teeth. "confess that you love that man." she was silent, standing before him, her beautiful eyes fixed upon the carpet. he repeated his question in a harder tone than before, but still she uttered no word. she was determined not to repeat the denial she had already given, and she recognised that he had some ulterior motive in wringing from her a confession which was untrue. "you refuse to speak!" he cried in a quick paroxysm of anger. "then take that!" and he struck her with his fist a heavy blow full in the face, with such force, indeed, that she reeled, and fell backwards upon the floor. "another time perhaps you'll speak when i order you to," he said through his set teeth, as with his foot he kicked her savagely twice, the dull blows sounding through the big, gilt-ceilinged room. then with a hard laugh of scorn upon his evil lips the brute that was a crown prince, and heir to a european throne, turned and left with an oath upon his lips, as he slammed the door after him. in the big, gorgeous room, where the silence was broken by the low ticking of the ormolu clock, poor, unhappy claire lay there where she had fallen, motionless as one dead. her beautiful face was white as death, yet horribly disfigured by the cowardly blow, while from the corner of her mouth there slowly trickled a thin red stream. chapter eight. is mainly about the count. next morning, when she saw her reflection in the mirror, she sighed heavily, and hot tears sprang to her eyes. her beautiful countenance, bruised and swollen, was an ugly sight; her mouth was cut, and one of her even, pretty teeth had been broken by the cowardly blow. henriette, the faithful frenchwoman, had crept back to her mistress's room an hour after the crown prince had gone, in order to see if her highness wanted anything, when to her horror she discovered her lying insensible where she had been struck down. the woman was discreet. she had often overheard the prince's torrents of angry abuse, and in an instant grasped the situation. instead of alarming the other servants, she quickly applied restoratives, bathed her mistress's face tenderly in eau de cologne, washing away the blood from the mouth, and after half an hour succeeded in getting her comfortably to bed. she said nothing to any one, but locked the door and spent the remainder of the night upon the sofa near her princess. while claire was seated in her wrap, taking her chocolate at eight o'clock next morning, the countess de trauttenberg, her husband's spy, who probably knew all that had transpired, entered with the engagement-book. she saw what a terrible sight the unhappy woman presented, yet affected not to notice it. "well, trauttenberg?" asked the princess in a soft, weary voice, hardly looking up at her, "what are our engagements to-day?" the lady-in-waiting consulted the book, which upon its cover bore the royal crown above the cipher "c," and replied,-- "at eleven, the unveiling of the monument to schilling the sculptor in the albert-platz; at one, luncheon with the princess alexandrine, to meet the duchess of brunswick-lunebourg; at four, the drive; and to-night, `faust,' at the opera." her highness sighed. the people, the enthusiastic crowd who applauded her, little knew how wearying was that round of daily duties, how soul-killing to a woman with a broken heart. she was "their claire," the woman who was to be their queen, and they believed her to be happy! "cancel all my engagements," she said. "i shall not go out to-day. tell the court newsman that i am indisposed--a bad cold--anything." "as your imperial highness commands," responded de trauttenberg, bowing, and yet showing no sign that she observed the disfiguration of her poor face. the woman's cold formality irritated her. "you see the reason?" she asked meaningly, looking into her face. "i note that your imperial highness has--has met with a slight accident," she said. "i trust it is not painful." that reply aroused the fire of the hapsbourg blood within her veins. the woman was her bitter enemy. she had lied about her, and had poisoned her husband's mind against her. and yet she was helpless. to dismiss her from her duties would only be a confirmation of what the woman had, no doubt, alleged. it was upon the tip of her tongue to charge her openly as an enemy and a liar. it was that woman, no doubt, who had spied upon her when she had called upon count leitolf, and who on her return to treysa had gone straight to the crown prince with a story that was full of vile and scandalous inventions. "oh, dear, no," she said, managing to control her anger by dint of great effort. "it is not at all painful, i assure you. perhaps, trauttenberg, you had better go at once and tell the newsman, so that my absence at the schilling unveiling will be accounted for." thus dismissed, the woman, with her false smiles and pretended sympathy, went forth, and the journals through germany that day reported, with regret, that the crown princess claire of marburg was confined to her room, having caught a severe chill on her journey from vienna, and that she would probably remain indisposed for a week. when her maids had dressed her she passed on into her gorgeous little blue-and-gold boudoir, her own sanctum, for in it were all the little nick-nacks, odds and ends which on her marriage she had brought from her own home at wartenstein. every object reminded her of those happy days of her youth, before she was called upon to assume the shams of royal place and power; before she entered that palace that was to her but a gilded prison. the long windows of the room looked out upon the beautiful gardens and the great lake, with its playing fountains beyond, while the spring sunlight streaming in gave it an air of cheerfulness even though she was so despondent and heavy of heart. the apartment was gorgeously furnished, as indeed was the whole of the great palace. upon the backs of the chairs, embroidered in gold upon the damask, was the royal crown and cipher, while the rich carpet was of pale pastel blue. for a long time she stood at the window, looking out across the park. she saw her husband in his cavalry uniform riding out with an escort clattering behind him, and watched him sadly until he was out of sight. then she turned and glanced around the cosy room which everywhere bore traces of her artistic taste and refinement. upon the side-tables were many photographs, signed portraits of her friends, reigning sovereigns, and royal princes; upon the little centre-table a great old porcelain bowl of fresh tea-roses from the royal hot-houses. her little buhl escritoire was littered with her private correspondence--most of it being in connection with charities in various parts of the kingdom in which she was interested, or was patroness. of money, or of the value of it, she knew scarcely anything. she was very wealthy, of course, for her family were one of the richest in europe, while the royal house of marburg was noted for its great wealth; yet she had never in her life held in her possession more than a few hundred marks at a time. her bills all went to the official of the household whose duty it was to examine and pay them, and to charities she sent drafts through that same gold-spectacled official. she often wondered what it was like to be poor, to work for a daily wage like the people she saw in the street and in the theatres. they seemed bright, contented, happy, and at least they had their freedom, and loved and married whom they chose. only the previous night, when she had entered her carriage at the station, a working-man had held his little child up to her for her to pat its head. she had done so, and then sighed to compare the difference between the royal father and that proud father of the people. little ignatia, sweet and fresh, in her white frock and pale pink sash, was presently brought in by allen to salute her mother, and the latter snatched up the child gladly in her arms and smothered its chubby face with fond kisses. but the child noticed the disfigured countenance, and drew herself back to look at it. "mother is hurt," she said in english, in her childish speech. "poor mother!" "yes, i fell down, darling," she answered. "wasn't that very unfortunate? are you sorry?" "very sorry poor mother is hurt," answered the child. "and, why!--one of poor mother's tooths have gone." the princess saw that allen was looking at her very hard, therefore she turned to her and explained,-- "it is nothing--nothing; a slight accident. i struck myself." but the child stroked its mother's face tenderly with the soft, chubby little hand, saying,-- "poor mother must be more careful another time or i shall scold her. and allen will scold her too." "mother will promise to be more careful," she assured the little one, smiling. and then, seating herself, listened for half an hour to the child's amusing prattle, and her joyous anticipation of the purchase of a perambulator for her dolly. with tender hands the crown princess retied the broad pink ribbon of the sash, and presently produced some chocolates from the silver bon-bon box which she kept there on purpose for her little one. and allen, the rather plain-faced englishwoman, who was the best of nurses, stood by in silence, wondering how such an accident could have happened to her imperial mistress, but, of course, unable to put any question to her. "you may take ignatia to buy the perambulator, allen," said she at last in english. "get a good one; the best you can. and after luncheon let me see it. i shall not go out to-day, so you can bring the princess back to me at two o'clock." "very well, your highness." and both she and the child withdrew, the latter receiving the maternal kiss and caramels in each hand. again alone, claire sat for a long time in deep thought. the recollection of those cruel, bitter accusations which her husband had uttered was still uppermost in her mind. what her humble friend steinbach had told her was, alas! only too true. at court it was said that she loved leitolf, and the crown prince believed the scandalous libel. "ah, if ferdinand only knew!" she murmured to herself. "if he could only read my heart! then he would know the truth. perhaps, instead of hating me as he does, he would be as forbearing as i try to be. he might even try to love me. yet, alas!" she added bitterly, "such a thing cannot be. the court of marburg have decided that, in the interests of their own future, i must be ruined and disgraced. it is destiny, i suppose," she sighed; "my destiny!" then she was silent, staring straight before her at bronzino's beautiful portrait of the duchess eleanor on the wall opposite. the sound of a bugle reached her, followed by the roll of the drums as the palace guard was changed. the love of truth, the conscientiousness which formed so distinct a feature in claire's character, and mingled with its picturesque delicacy a certain firmness and dignity, she maintained consistently always. the trauttenberg returned, but she dismissed her for the day, and when she had left the boudoir the solitary woman murmured bitterly aloud,-- "a day's leave will perhaps allow you to plot and conspire further against the woman to whom you owe everything, and upon whose charity your family exist. go and report to my husband my appearance this morning, and laugh with your friends at my unhappiness!" she rose and paced the room, her white hands clasped before her in desperation. "carl! carl!" she cried in a hoarse, low voice. "i have only your indiscretion to thank for all this! and yet have i not been quite as indiscreet? why, therefore, should i blame you? no," she said in a whisper, after a pause, "it is more my own fault than yours. i was blind, and you loved me. i foolishly permitted you to come here, because your presence recalled all the happiness of the past--of those sweet, idyllic days at wartenstein, when we--when we loved each other, and our love was but a day-dream never to be realised. i wonder whether you still recollect those days, as i remember them--those long rambles over the mountains alone by the by-paths that i knew from my childhood days, and how we used to stand together hand in hand and watch the sinking sun flashing upon the windows of the castle far away. nine years have gone since those days of our boy-and-girl love--nine long, dark years that have, i verily believe, transformed my very soul. one by one have all my ideals been broken and swept away, and now i can only sit and weep over the dead ashes of the past. the past--ah! what that means to me--life and love and freedom. and the future?" she sighed. "alas! only black despair, ignominy, and shame." again she halted at the window, and hot tears coursed down her pale cheeks. those words, uttered almost without consciousness on her own part, contained the revelation of a life of love, and disclosed the secret burden of a heart bursting with its own unuttered grief. she was repulsed, she was forsaken, she was outraged where she had bestowed her young heart with all its hopes and wishes. she was entangled inextricably in a web of horrors which she could not even comprehend, yet the result seemed inevitable. "these people condemn me! they utter their foul calumnies, and cast me from them unjustly," she cried, pushing her wealth of fair hair from her brow in her desperation. "is there no justice for me? can a woman not retain within her heart the fond remembrance of the holy passion of her youth--the only time she has loved--without it being condemned as a sin? without--" the words died on her dry lips, for at that moment there was a tap at the door, and she gave permission to enter. one of the royal servants in gorgeous livery bowed and advanced, presenting to her a small packet upon a silver salver, saying,-- "the person who brought this desired that it should be given into your imperial highness's hands at once." she took the packet, and the man withdrew. a single glance was sufficient to show her that the gummed address label had been penned by count carl leitolf's own hand. her heart beat quickly as she cut the string and opened the packet, to find within a book--a dull, uninteresting, philosophical treatise in german. there was no note or writing of any kind. she ran through the leaves quickly, and then stood wondering. why had he sent her that? the book was one that she certainly could never read to understand. published some fifteen years before, it bore signs of not being new. she was much puzzled. that leitolf had a motive in sending it to her she had no doubt. but what could it denote? again and again she searched in it to find some words or letters underlined--some communication meant for her eye alone. presently, utterly at a loss to understand, she took up the brown-paper wrapping, and looked again at the address. yes, she was not mistaken. it was from carl. for a few moments she held the paper in her hand, when suddenly she detected that the gummed address label had only been stuck on lightly by being wetted around the edge, and a thought occurred to her to take it off and keep it, together with the book. taking up the large ivory paper-knife, she quickly slipped it beneath the label and removed it, when to her astonished eyes there were presented some written words penned across the centre, where the gum had apparently been previously removed. the words, for her eye alone, were in carl's handwriting, lightly written, so that they should not show through the label. the message--the last message from the man who loved her so fondly, and whose heart bled for her in her gilded unhappiness--read:-- "adieu, my princess. i leave at noon to-day, because you have willed it so. i have heard of what occurred last night. it is common knowledge in the palace. be brave, dear heart. may god now be your comforter. recollect, though we shall never again meet, that i shall think ever and eternally of you, my princess, the sweet-faced woman who was once my own, but who is now, alas! lost to me for ever. adieu, adieu. i kiss your hand, dear heart, adieu!" it was his last message. his gentle yet manly resignation, the deep pathos of his farewell, told her how full of agony was his own heart. how bitter for her, too, that parting, for now she would stand alone and unprotected, without a soul in whom to confide, or of whom to seek advice. as she reread those faintly-traced words slowly and aloud the light died from her face. "i kiss your hand, dear heart, adieu!" she murmured, and then, her heart overburdened by grief, she burst into a flood of emotion. chapter nine. the three strangers. by noon all treysa knew, through the papers, of the indisposition of the crown princess; and during the afternoon many smart carriages called at the gates of the royal palace to inquire after her imperial highness's health. the pompous, scarlet-liveried porters told every one that the princess had, unfortunately, caught a severe chill on her journey from vienna, and her medical advisers, although they did not consider it serious, thought, as a precaution, it was best that for a few days she should remain confined to her room. meanwhile the princess, in her silent, stunning, overwhelming sorrow, was wondering how she might call steinbach. she was unapproachable to any but the court set, therefore to call a commoner would be an unheard-of breach of etiquette. and yet she desired to see him and obtain his advice. in all that gay, scheming circle about her he was the only person whom she could trust. he was devoted to her service because of the little charitable actions she had rendered him. she knew that he would if necessary lay down his very life in order to serve her, for he was one of the very few who did not misjudge her. the long day dragged by. she wrote many letters--mostly to her family and friends in vienna. then taking a sheet of the royal notepaper from the rack, she again settled herself, after pacing the boudoir in thought for some time, and penned a long letter, which when finished she reread and carefully corrected, afterwards addressing it in german to "his imperial majesty the emperor, vienna," and sealing it with her own private seal. "he misjudges me," she said to herself very gravely; "therefore it is only right that i should defend myself." then she rang, and in answer to her summons one of the royal footmen appeared. "i want a special messenger to carry a letter for me to vienna. go at once to the ministry of foreign affairs and ask the under-secretary, fischer, whether steinbach may be placed at my service," she commanded. "yes, your imperial highness," answered the clean-shaven, grave-faced man, who bowed and then withdrew. allen soon afterwards brought in little ignatia to show the doll's perambulator, with which the child was delighted, wheeling it up and down the boudoir. with the little one her mother played for upwards of an hour. the bright little chatterbox caused her to forget the tragedy of her own young life, and allen's kindly english ways were to her so much more sympathetic than the stiff formalities of her treacherous lady-in-waiting. the little one in her pretty speeches told her mother of her adventures in the toy-shops of treysa, where she was, of course, recognised, and where the shopkeepers often presented her little royal highness with dolls and games. in the capital the tiny ignatia was a very important and popular personage everywhere; certainly more popular with the people than the parrot-faced, hard-hearted old king himself. presently, while the crown princess was carrying her little one pick-a-pack up and down the room, the child crowing with delight at its mother's romping and caresses, there came a loud summons at the door, the rap that announced a visitor, and the same grave-faced manservant opened the long white doors, saying,-- "your imperial highness. will it please you to receive herr steinbach of the department of foreign affairs?" "bring herr steinbach here," she commanded, and then, kissing the child quickly, dismissed both her and her nurse. a few moments later the clean-shaven, dark-haired man in sombre black was ushered in, and bending, kissed the crown princess's hand with reverent formality. as soon as they were alone she turned to him, and, taking up the letter, said,-- "i wish you, steinbach, to travel to vienna by the express to-night, obtain audience of the emperor, and hand this to him. into no other hand must you deliver it, remember. in order to obtain your audience you may say that i have sent you; otherwise you will probably be refused. if there is a reply, you will bring it; if not--well, it does not matter." the quick-eyed man, bowing again, took the letter, glanced at the superscription, and placing it in the inner pocket of his coat, said,-- "i will carry out your imperial highness's directions." the princess crossed to the door and opened it in order to satisfy herself that there were no eavesdroppers outside. then returning to where the man stood, she said in a low voice,-- "i see that you are puzzled by the injury to my face when the papers are saying i have a chill. i met with a slight accident last night." then in the next breath she asked, "what is the latest phase of this conspiracy against me, steinbach? tell me. you need conceal nothing for fear of hurting my feelings." the man hesitated a moment; then he replied,-- "well, your imperial highness, a great deal of chatter has been circulated regarding count leitolf. they now say that, having grown tired of him, you have contrived to have him transferred to rome." "well?" "they also say that you visited leitolf while you were in vienna. and i regret," he added, "that your enemies are now spreading evil reports of you among the people. certain journalists are being bribed to print articles which contain hints against your highness's honour." "this is outrageous!" she cried. "having ruined me in the eyes of my husband and the king, they now seek to turn the people against me! it is infamous!" "exactly. that really seems their intention. they know that your highness is the most popular person in the whole kingdom, and they intend that your popularity shall wane." "and i am helpless, steinbach, utterly helpless," she cried in desperation. "i have no friend except yourself." the man sighed, for he was full of sympathy for the beautiful but unjustly-treated woman, whose brave heart he knew was broken. he was aware of the love-story of long ago between the count and herself, but he knew her too well to believe any of those scandalous tales concerning her. he knew well how, from the very first days of her married life, she had been compelled to endure sneers, insult, and libellous report. the king and queen themselves had been so harsh and unbending that she had always held aloof from them. her every action, either in private or in public, they criticised adversely. she even wore her tiaras, her jewels, and her decorations in a manner with which they found fault; and whatever dress she assumed at the various functions, the sharp-tongued old queen, merely in order to annoy her, would declare that she looked absolutely hideous. and all this to a bride of twenty-one, and one of the most beautiful girls in europe! all, from the king himself down to the veriest palace lackey, had apparently united to crush her, to break her spirit, and drive her to despair. "i hope, as i declared when we last met, princess, that i shall ever remain your friend," said the humble employe of the foreign ministry. "i only wish that i could serve you to some good purpose--i mean, to do something that might increase your happiness. forgive me, your highness, for saying so." "the only way to give me happiness, steinbach, is to give me freedom," she said sadly, as though speaking to herself. "freedom--ah, how i long for it! how i long to escape from this accursed palace, and live as the people live! i tell you," she added in a low, half-whisper, her pale, disfigured face assuming a deadly earnest look--"i tell you that sometimes i feel--well, i feel that i can't endure it much longer, and that i'm slowly being driven insane." he started at her words, and looked her straight in the face. should he tell her the truth of an amazing discovery he had made only on the previous day; or was it really kinder to her to hold his tongue? his very heart bled for her. to her influence he owed all--everything. no; he could not tell her of that new and dastardly plot against her--at least not yet. surely it was not yet matured! when he returned from vienna would be quite time enough to warn her against her increased peril. now that leitolf had left her, life might perhaps be a trifle more happy; therefore why should he, of all men, arouse her suspicions and cause her increased anxiety? steinbach was a cautious man; his chief fault perhaps was his over-cautiousness. in this affair he might well have spoken frankly; yet his desire always was to avoid hurting the feelings of the woman with whom he so deeply sympathised--the imperial princess, to whom he acted as humble, devoted, and secret friend. "you must not allow such fears to take possession of you," he urged. "do not heed what is said regarding you. remember only that your own conscience is clear, even though your life is, alas, a martyrdom! let them see that you are heedless and defiant, and ere long they will grow tired of their efforts, and you will assume a power at court far greater than hitherto." "ah no--never!" she sighed. "they are all against me--all. if they do not crush me by force, they will do so by subterfuge," declared the unhappy woman. "but," she added quickly with an effort, "do not let us speak of it further. i can only thank you for telling me the truth. go to-night to vienna, and if there is a reply, bring it to me immediately. and stay--what can i do to give you recompense? you have no decoration! i will write at once a recommendation for you for the cross of st. michael, and whenever you wear it you will, i hope, remember the grateful woman who conferred it upon you." "i thank your highness most truly," he said. "i have coveted the high honour for many years, and i can in turn only reassure you that any mission you may entrust to me will always be carried out in secret and faithfully." "then adieu, steinbach," she said, dismissing him. "_bon voyage_, and a quick return from vienna--my own dear vienna, where once i was so very happy." the man in black bent low and again kissed the back of the soft white hand, then, backing out of the door, bowed again and withdrew. when henriette came that evening to change her dress the woman said in french,-- "i ask your imperial highness's pardon, but the prince, who returned half an hour ago, commanded me to say that he would dine with you this evening, and that there would be three men guests." "guests!" she cried. "but the prince must be mad! how can i receive guests in this state, henriette?" "i explained that your imperial highness was not in a fit state to dine in public," said the maid quietly; "but the prince replied that he commanded it." what fresh insult had her husband in store for her? did he wish to exhibit her poor bruised face publicly before her friends? it was monstrous! yet he had commanded; therefore she allowed henriette to brush her fair hair and dress her in a black net dinner-gown, one that she often wore when dining in the privacy of her own apartments. henriette cleverly contrived, by the aid of powder and a few touches of make-up, to half conceal her mistress's disfiguration; therefore at eight o'clock the princess claire entered the fine white-and-gold reception-room, lit by its hundreds of small electric lamps, and there found her husband in uniform, speaking earnestly with three elderly and rather distinguished-looking men in plain evening dress. turning, he smiled at her as though nothing had occurred between them, and then introduced his friends by name; but of their names she took no notice. they were strangers, and to her quite uninteresting. yet she bowed, smiled, and put on that air of graciousness that, on account of her court training, she could now assume at will. the men were from somewhere in north germany, she detected by their speech, and at the dinner-table the conversation was mostly upon the advance of science; therefore she concluded, from their spectacled appearance and the technical terms they used, that they were scientists from berlin to whom her husband wished to be kind, and had invited them quite without formality. their conversation did not interest her in the least; therefore she remained almost silent throughout the meal, except now and then to address a remark to one or other of her guests. she noticed that once or twice they exchanged strange glances. what could it mean? at last she rose, and after they had bowed her out they reseated themselves, and all four began conversing in a lower tone in english, lest any servant should enter unexpectedly. then ten minutes later, at a signal from the prince, they rose and passed into the _fumoir_, a pretty room panelled with cedar-wood, and with great palms and plashing fountains, where coffee was served and cigars were lit. there the conversation in an undertone in english was again resumed, the prince being apparently very interested in something which his guests were explaining. though the door was closed and they believed themselves in perfect privacy, there was a listener standing in the adjoining room, where the cedar panelling only acted as a partition. it was the princess claire. her curiosity had been aroused as to who the strangers really were. she could hear them speaking in english at first with difficulty, but presently her husband spoke. the words he uttered were clear. in an instant they revealed to her an awful, unexpected truth. she held her breath, her left hand upon her bare chest above her corsage, her mouth open, her white face drawn and haggard. scarce believing her own ears, she again listened. could it really be true? her husband again spoke. ah yes! of the words he uttered there could be not the slightest doubt. she was doomed. with uneven steps she staggered from her hiding-place along the corridor to her own room, and on opening the door she fell forward senseless upon the carpet. chapter ten. the peril of the princess. that night, six hours later, when the great palace was silent save for the tramping of the sentries, the princess sat in the big chair at her window, looking out upon the park, white beneath the bright moonbeams. the room was in darkness, save for the tiny silver lamp burning before the picture of the madonna. the trauttenberg had found her lying insensible, and with henriette's aid had restored her to consciousness and put her to bed. then the countess had gone along to the crown prince and told him that his wife had been seized with a fainting fit, and was indisposed. and the three guests, when he told them, exchanged significant glances, and were silent. in the darkness, with the moonlight falling across the room, the princess, in her white silk dressing-gown, sat staring straight before her out upon the fairy-like scene presented below. no word escaped her pale lips, yet she shuddered, and drew her laces about her as though she were chilled. she was recalling those hard words of her husband's which she had overheard--the words that revealed to her the ghastly truth. if ever she had suffered during her married life, she suffered at that moment. it was cruel, unjust, dastardly. was there no love or justice for her? the truth was a ghastly one. those three strangers whom her husband had introduced to her table as guests were doctors, two from berlin and the third from cologne--specialists in mental disease. they had come there for the purpose of adding their testimony and certificates to that of veltman, the crafty, thin-nosed court physician, to declare that she was insane! what fees were promised those men, or how that plot had been matured, she could only imagine. yet the grim fact remained that her enemies, with the old king and her husband at their head, intended to confine her in an asylum. she had heard her husband himself suggest that on the morrow they should meet veltman, a white-bearded, bald-headed old charlatan whom she detested, and add their testimony to his that she was not responsible for her actions. could anything be more cold-blooded, more absolutely outrageous? those words of her husband showed her plainly that in his heart there now remained not one single spark either of affection or of sentiment. he was anxious, at all hazards and at whatever cost, by fair means or foul, to rid himself of her. her enemies were now playing their trump card. they had no doubt bribed those three men to certify what was a direct untruth. a royal sovereign can, alas i command the services of any one; for everybody, more or less, likes to render to royalty a service in the hope of decoration or of substantial reward. most men are at heart place-seekers. men who are most honest and upright in their daily lives will not hesitate to perjure themselves, or "stretch a point" as they would doubtless put it, where royalty is concerned. gazing out into the brilliant moonlight mirrored upon the smooth surface of the lake, she calmly reviewed the situation. she was in grave peril--so grave, indeed, that she was now utterly bewildered as to what her next step should be. once certified as a lunatic and shut up in an asylum somewhere away in the heart of the country, all hope of the future would be cut off. she would be entirely at the mercy of those who so persistently and unscrupulously sought her end. having failed in their other plot against, her, they intended to consign her to a living tomb. yet by good fortune had her curiosity been aroused, and she had overheard sufficient to reveal to her the truth. her face was now hard, her teeth firmly set. whatever affection she had borne her husband was crushed within her now that she realised how ingeniously he was conspiring against her, and to what length he was actually prepared to go in order to rid himself of her. she thought of ignatia, poor, innocent little ignatia, the child whom its father had cursed from the very hour of its birth, the royal princess who one day might be crowned a reigning sovereign. what would become of her? would her own imperial family stand by and see their daughter incarcerated in a madhouse when she was as sane as they themselves--more sane, perhaps? she sat bewildered. with the emperor against her, however, she had but little to hope for in that quarter. his majesty actually believed the scandal that had been circulated concerning leitolf, and had himself declared to her face that she must be mad. was it possible that those hot words of the emperor's had been seized upon by her husband to obtain a declaration that she was really insane? insane? she laughed bitterly to herself at such a thought. "ah!" she sighed sadly, speaking hoarsely to herself. "what i have suffered and endured here in this awful place are surely sufficient to send any woman mad. yet god has been very good to me, and has allowed me still to preserve all my faculties intact. why don't they have some assassin to kill me?" she added desperately. "it would surely be more humane than what they now intend." steinbach, her faithful but secret friend, was on his way to vienna. she wondered whether, after reading the letter, the emperor would relent towards her? surely the whole world could not unite as her enemy. there must be human pity and sympathy in the hearts of some, as there was in the heart of the humble steinbach. not one of the thirty millions over whom she would shortly rule was so unhappy as she that night. beyond the park shone the myriad lights of the splendid capital, and she wondered whether any one living away there so very far from the world ever guessed how lonely and wretched was her life amid all that gorgeous pomp and regal splendour. those three grave, spectacled men who had dined at her table and talked their scientific jargon intended to denounce her. they had been quick to recognise that a future king is a friend not to be despised, while the bankers' drafts that certain persons had promised them in exchange for their signatures as experts would no doubt be very acceptable. calmly she reviewed the situation, and saw that, so clearly had her enemies estranged her from every one, she was without one single friend. for her child's sake it was imperative for her to save herself. and she could only save herself by flight. but whither? the only course open to her was to leave secretly, taking little ignatia with her, return to her father, and lay before him the dastardly plot now in progress. each hour she remained at the palace increased her peril. once pronounced insane by those three specialists there would be no hope for her. her enemies would take good care that she was consigned to an asylum, and that her actions were misconstrued into those of a person insane. her heart beat quickly as she thought out the best means of secret escape. to leave that night was quite impossible. allen was sleeping with ignatia; and besides, the guards at the palace gate, on seeing her make her exit at that hour, would chatter among themselves, in addition to which there were no express trains to vienna in the night. the best train was at seven o'clock in the evening, for upon it was a _wagon-lit_ and dining-car that went through to the austrian capital, _via_ eger. about six o'clock in the evening would be the best time to secure the child, for allen and henriette would then both be at dinner, and little ignatia would be in charge of the under-nurse, whom she could easily send away upon some pretext. besides, at that hour she could secure some of henriette's clothes, and with her veil down might pass the sentries, who would probably take her for the french maid herself. she calculated that her absence would not be noted by her servants till nearly eight; for there was a court ball on the morrow, and on nights of the balls she always dressed later. and so, determined to leave the great palace which to her was a prison, she carefully thought over all the details of her flight. on the morrow she would send to the royal treasurer for a sum of money, ostensibly to make a donation to one of her charities. presently rising, she closed the shutters, and switching on the electric light, opened the safe in the wall where her jewels were kept--mostly royal heirlooms that were worth nearly a million sterling. case after case she drew out and opened. her two magnificent tiaras, her emerald and diamond necklet, the great emerald pendant, once the property of catherine di medici, six wonderful collars of perfect pearls and some other miscellaneous jewels, all of them magnificent, she replaced in the safe, as they were heirlooms of the kingdom. those royal tiaras as crown princess she placed in their cases and put them away with a sigh, for she knew she was renouncing her crown for ever. her own jewels, quite equal in magnificence, she took from their cases and placed together upon the bed. there was her magnificent long rope of pearls, that when worn twice twisted around her neck hung to below the knees, and was declared to be one of the finest in the world; her two diamond collars, her wonderful diamond bodice ornaments, her many pairs of earrings, antique brooches, and other jewels--she took them all from their cases until they lay together, a brilliant, scintillating heap, the magnificent gems flashing with a thousand fires. at last she drew forth a leather case about six inches square, and opening it, gazed upon it in hesitancy. within was a large true-lover's knot in splendid diamonds, and attached to it was the black ribbon and the jewelled cross--her decoration as dame de la croix etoilee of austria, the order bestowed upon the imperial archduchesses. she looked at it wistfully. sight of it brought to her mind the fact that in renouncing her position she must also renounce that mark of her imperial birth. yet she was determined, and with trembling fingers detached the ribbon and cross from the diamond ornament, threw the latter on to the heap upon the bed, and replaced the former with the jewels she intended to leave behind. the beautiful cross had been bestowed upon her by her uncle the emperor upon her marriage, and would now be sent back to him. she took two large silk handkerchiefs from a drawer, and made two bundles of the precious gems. then she hid them away until the morrow, and reclosing the safe, locked it; and taking the key off the bunch, placed it in the drawer of her little escritoire. thus she had taken the first step towards her emancipation. her eye caught the madonna, with its silver lamp, and she halted before it, her head bowed, her lips moving in silent prayer as she sought help, protection, and guidance in the act of renunciation she was about to commit. then, after ten minutes or so, she again moved slowly across the room, opening the great inlaid wardrobe where hung a few of her many dresses. she looked upon them in silence. all must be left behind, she decided. she could only take what she could carry in her hand. she would leave her personal belongings to be divided up by that crowd of human wolves who hungered to destroy her. the trauttenberg might have them as her perquisites--in payment for her treachery. by that hour to-morrow she would have left treysa for ever. she would begin a new life--a life of simplicity and of freedom, with her darling child. presently she slept again, but it was a restless, fevered sleep. constantly she wondered whether it would be possible for her to pass those palace guards with little ignatia. if they recognised the child they might stop her, for only allen herself was permitted to take her outside the palace. yet she must risk it; her only means of escape was that upon which she had decided. next day passed very slowly. the hours dragged by as she tried to occupy herself in her boudoir, first with playing with the child, and afterwards attending to her correspondence. she wrote no letter of farewell, as she deemed it wiser to take her leave without a word. yet even in those last hours of her dignity as crown princess her thoughts were with the many charitable institutions of which she was patroness, and of how best she could benefit them by writing orders to the royal treasurer to give them handsome donations in her name. she saw nothing of her husband. for aught she knew, those three grave-faced doctors might have already consulted with veltman; they might have already declared her insane. the afternoon passed, and alone she took her tea in english fashion, little ignatia being brought to her for half an hour, as was the rule when she was without visitors. she had already been to henriette's room in secret, and had secured a black-stuff dress and packet, a long black travelling-coat and a felt canotte, all of which she had taken to her own room and hidden in her wardrobe. when allen took the child's hand in order to lead her out, her mother glanced anxiously at the clock, and saw that it was half-past five. "you can leave ignatia here while you go to dinner," she said in english; "she will be company for me. tell the servants that i am not to be disturbed, even by the countess de trauttenberg." "very well, your highness," was the englishwoman's answer, as bowing she left the room. for another quarter of an hour she laughed and played with the child, then said,-- "come, darling, let us go along to my room." and taking her tiny hand, led her gently along the corridor to her own chamber. once within she locked the door, and quickly throwing off her own things, assumed those of the maid which she took from the wardrobe. then upon ignatia she put a cheap dark coat of grey material and a dark-blue woollen cap which at once concealed the child's golden curls. this concluded, she assumed a thick black lace veil, which well concealed her features, and around her throat she twisted a silken scarf. the collar of her coat, turned up, hid the colour of her hair, and her appearance was in a few moments well transformed. indeed, she presented the exact prototype of her maid henriette. the jewels were in a cheap leather hand-bag, also the maid's property. this she placed in her dressing-bag, and with it in her hand she took up little ignatia, saying,-- "hush, darling! don't speak a word. you'll promise mother, won't you?" the child, surprised at all this preparation, gave her promise, but still remained inquisitive. then the crown princess claire gave a final glance around the room, the scene of so much of her bitter domestic unhappiness. sighing heavily, she crossed herself before the madonna, uttered a few low words in prayer, and unlocking the door stole out into the long, empty corridor. those were exciting moments--the most exciting in all her life. with her heart beating quickly she sped onward to the head of the great marble gilt staircase. along one of the side corridors a royal valet was approaching, and the man nodded to her familiarly, believing her to be henriette. at the head of the staircase she looked down, but saw nobody. it was the hour when all the servants were at their evening meal. therefore, descending quickly, she passed through the great winter garden, a beautiful place where, among the palms and flowers, were cunningly placed tiny electric lamps. across a large courtyard she went--as it was a short cut from that wing of the palace in which her apartments were situated--and at last she reached the main entrance, where stood the head concierge in his cocked hat and scarlet livery, and where idled an agent of police in plain clothes, reading the evening paper. at her approach they both glanced at her. she held her breath. what if they stopped her on account of the child? but summoning all her courage she went forward, compelled to pass them quite closely. then as she advanced she nodded familiarly to the gold-laced janitor, who to her relief wished her good-evening, and she passed out into the park. she had successfully passed through one peril, but there was yet a second--those carefully-guarded gilded gates which gave entrance to the royal demesne. day and night they were watched by palace servants and the agents of police entrusted with his majesty's personal safety. she sped on down the broad gravelled drive, scarce daring to breathe, and on arrival at the gatehouse passed in it, compelled to make her exit through the small iron turnstile where sat two men, the faithful white-bearded old gatekeeper, who had been fifty years in the royal service, and a dark-faced brigadier of police. recognition would mean her incarceration in an asylum as insane. both men looked up as she entered. it was the supreme moment of her peril. she saw that the detective was puzzled by her veil. but she boldly passed by them, saying in french, in a voice in imitation of henriette's,-- "_bon soir, messieurs_!" the old gatekeeper, in his low, gruff german, wished her good-night unsuspiciously, drew the lever which released the turnstile, and next moment the crown princess claire stepped out into the world beyond--a free woman. chapter eleven. doom or destiny. with quickened footsteps she clasped the child to her, and hurrying on in the falling gloom, skirted the long, high walls of the royal park, where at equal distances stood the sentries. more than one, believing her to be mademoiselle, saluted her. she was free, it is true; but she had yet to face many perils, the greatest of them all being that of recognition by the police at the station, or by any of the people, to whom her countenance was so well known. presently she gained the broad klosterstrasse, where the big electric lamps were already shining; and finding a fiacre at the stand, entered it and drove to a small outfitter's shop, where she purchased two travelling-rugs and a shawl for little ignatia. thence she went to a pastrycook's and bought some cakes, and then drove up the wide wolbeckerstrasse to the central railway station. the streets were alive with life, for most of the shops were closed, the main thoroughfares were illuminated, and all treysa was out at the cafes or restaurants, or promenading the streets, for the day was a national festival. the national colours were displayed everywhere, and the band of the th regiment was playing a selection from "la boheme" as she crossed the great domplatz. hers was indeed a strange position. unknown and unrecognised, she drove in the open cab, with the tiny, wondering princess at her side, through the great crowds of holiday-makers--those people who had they known of her unhappiness would in all probability have risen in a body and revolted. she remembered that she had been "their claire," yet after that night she would be theirs no longer. it was a sad and silent leave-taking. she had renounced her crown and imperial privileges for ever. many men and women stared at her as she passed under the bright electric street lamps, and once or twice she half feared that they might have penetrated her disguise. yet no cheer was raised; none rushed forward to kiss her hand. she gave the cabman orders to drive up and down several of the principal thoroughfares, for there was still plenty of time for the train; and, reluctant to take leave of the people of treysa whom she loved so well, and who were her only friends, she gazed upon them from behind her veil and sighed. at the busy, echoing station she arrived ten minutes before the express was due, and took her tickets; but when she went to the _wagon-lit_ office, the official, not recognising her, sharply replied that the places had all been taken by an american tourist party. therefore she was compelled to enter an ordinary first-class compartment. the train was crowded, and all the corner seats were taken. fearing to call a porter to her assistance lest she should be recognised--when the royal saloon would at once be attached to the train for her--she was compelled to elbow her way through the crowd and take an uncomfortable seat in the centre of a compartment, where all through the night she tried to sleep, but in vain. little ignatia soon closed her eyes and was asleep, but claire, full of regrets at being compelled to renounce husband, crown, everything, as she had done, and in wonder of what the future had in store for her, sat silent, nursing her child through the long night hours. her fellow-travellers, two fat germans of jewish cast, and three women, slept heavily, the men snoring. the grey dawn showed at last over the low green hills. had her absence been discovered? most certainly it had, but they had now passed the confines of the kingdom, and she was certain that the people at the palace would not telegraph news of her disappearance for fear of creating undue scandal. at last she had frustrated their dastardly plot to incarcerate her in an asylum. she sat there, a figure of sweet loveliness combined with exceeding delicacy and even fragility--one of the most refined elegance and the most exquisite modesty. at a small wayside station where they stopped about seven o'clock she bought a glass of coffee, and then they continued until the austrian frontier at voitersreuth was reached; and at eger, a few miles farther on, she was compelled to descend and change carriages, for only the _wagon-lit_ went through to the capital. it was then eleven o'clock in the morning, and feeling hungry, she took little ignatia into the buffet and had some luncheon, the child delighted at the novel experience of travelling. "we are going to see grandfather," her mother told her. "you went to see him when you were such a wee, wee thing, so you don't remember him." "no," declared the child with wide-open, wondering eyes; "i don't remember. will allen be there?" "no, darling, i don't think so," was the evasive reply to a question which struck deep into the heart of the woman fleeing from her persecutors. while ignatia had her milk, her mother ate her cutlet at the long table among the other hasty travellers, gobbling up their meal and shouting orders to waiters with their mouths full. hitherto, when she passed there in the royal saloon, the railway officials had come forward, cap in hand, to salute her as an imperial archduchess of austria; but now, unknown and unrecognised, she passed as an ordinary traveller. presently, when the vienna express drew up to the platform, she fortunately found an empty first-class compartment, and continued her journey alone, taking off her hat and settling herself for the remaining nine hours between there and the capital. little ignatia was still very sleepy, therefore she made a cushion for her with her cape and laid her full length, while she herself sat in a corner watching the picturesque landscape, and thinking--thinking deeply over all the grim tragedy of the past. after travelling for three hours, the train stopped at a small station called protovin, the junction of the line from prague, whence a train had arrived in connection with the express. here there seemed quite a number of people waiting upon the platform. she was looking out carelessly upon them when from among the crowd a man's eyes met hers. he stared open-mouthed, turned pale, and next instant was at the door. she drew back, but, alas! it was too late. she was without hat or veil, and he had recognised her. she gave vent to a low cry, half of surprise, half of despair. next second the door opened, and the man stood before her, hat in hand. "princess!" he gasped in a low, excited voice. "what does this mean? you--alone--going to vienna?" "carl!" she cried, "why are _you_ here? where have you come from?" "i have been to my estate up at rakonitz, before going to rome," was his answer. "is it destiny that again brings us together like this?" and entering the carriage, he bent and kissed her hand. was it destiny, or was it doom? "you with ignatia, and no lady-in-waiting? what does this mean?" he inquired, utterly puzzled. the porter behind him placed his bag in the carriage, while he, in his travelling-ulster and cap, begged permission to remain there. what could she say? she was very lonely, and she wanted to tell him what had occurred since her return to treysa and of the crisis of it all. so she nodded in the affirmative. then he gave the porter his tip, and the man departed. presently, before the train moved off, the sleeping child opened her eyes, shyly at first, in the presence of a stranger; but a moment later, recognising him, she got up, and rushing gladly towards him, cried in her pretty, childish way,-- "leitolf! good leitolf to come with us! we are so very tired!" "are you, little highness?" exclaimed the man laughing, and taking her upon his knee. "but you will soon be at your destination." "yes," she pouted, "but i would not mind if mother did not cry so much." the princess pressed her lips together. she was a little annoyed that her child should reveal the secret of her grief. if she did so to leitolf she might do so to others. after a little while, however, the motion of the train lulled the child off to sleep again, and the man laid her down as before. then, turning to the sorrowing woman at his side, he asked,-- "you had my message--i mean you found it?" she nodded, but made no reply. she recollected each of those finely-penned words, and knew that they came from the heart of as honest and upright a man as there was in the whole empire. "and now tell me, princess, the reason of this second journey to vienna?" he asked, looking at her with his calm, serious face. for a moment she held her breath. there were tears welling in her eyes, and she feared lest he might detect them--feared that she might break down in explaining to him the bitter truth. "i have left treysa for ever," she said simply. he started from his seat and stared at her. "left treysa!" he gasped. "left the court--left your husband! is this really true?" "it is the truth, carl," was her answer in a low, tremulous tone. "i could bear it no longer." he was silent. he recognised the extreme gravity of the step she had taken. he recognised, too, that, more serious than all, her unscrupulous enemies who had conspired to drive her from court had now triumphed. his brows were knit as he realised all that she was suffering--this pure, beautiful woman, whom he had once loved so fondly, and whose champion he still remained. he knew that the crown prince was a man of brutal instinct, and utterly unsuited as husband of a sweet, refined, gentle woman such as claire. it was, indeed, a tragedy--a dark tragedy. in a low voice he inquired what had occurred, but she made no mention of the brutal, cowardly blow which had felled her insensible, cut her lip, and broken her white teeth. she only explained very briefly the incident of the three guests at dinner, and the amazing conversation she had afterwards overheard. "it is a dastardly plot!" he cried in quick anger. "why, you are as sane as i am, and yet the crown prince, in order to get rid of you, will allow these doctors to certify you as a lunatic! the conspiracy shall be exposed in the press. i will myself expose it!" he declared, clenching his fists. "no, carl," she exclaimed quickly. "i have never done anything against my husband's interest, nor have i ever made complaint against him. i shall not do so now. remember, what i have just told you is in strict confidence. the public must not know of it." "then will you actually remain a victim and keep silence, allowing these people to thus misjudge you?" he asked in a tone of reproach. "to bring opprobrium upon my husband is to bring scandal upon the court and nation," was her answer. "i am still crown princess, and i have still my duty to perform towards the people." "you are a woman of such high ideals, princess," he said, accepting her reproof. "most other wives who have been treated as you have would have sought to retaliate." "why should i? my husband is but the weak-principled puppet of a scandalous court. it is not his own fault. he is goaded on by those who fear that i may reign as queen." "few women would regard him in such a very generous light," leitolf remarked, still stunned by the latest plot which she had revealed. if there was an ingenious conspiracy to confine her in an asylum, then surely it would be an easy matter for the very fact of her flight to be misconstrued into insanity. they would tear her child from her, and imprison her, despairing and brokenhearted. the thought of it goaded him to desperation. she told him of her intention of returning to her father, the archduke charles, and of living in future in her old home at wartenstein--that magnificent castle of which they both had such pleasant recollections. "and i shall be in rome," he sighed. "ah, princess, i shall often think of you, often and often." "never write to me, i beg of you, carl," she said apprehensively. "your letter might fall into other hands, and certainly would be misunderstood. the world at large does not believe in platonic friendship between man and woman, remember." "true," he murmured. "that is why they say that you and i are still lovers, which is a foul and abominable lie." their eyes met, and she saw a deep, earnest look in his face that told her that he was thinking still of those days long ago, and of that giddy intoxication of heart and sense which belongs to the novelty of passion which we feel once, and but once, in our lives. at that moment the train came to a standstill at the little station of gratzen, and, unnoticed by them, a man passed the carriage and peered in inquisitively. he was a thick-set, grey-bearded, hard-faced german, somewhat round-shouldered, rather badly dressed, who, leaning heavily upon his stick, walked with the air of an invalid. he afterwards turned quickly upon his heel and again limped past, gazing in, so as to satisfy himself that he was not mistaken. then entering a compartment at the rear of the train the old fellow resumed his journey, smiling to himself, and stroking his beard with his thin, bony hand, as though he had made a very valuable discovery and yet was puzzled. chapter twelve. "an open scandal!" at klosterneuberg, six miles from vienna, leitolf kissed her hand in deep reverence, taking sad leave of her, for on arrival at the capital she would probably be recognised, and they both deemed it judicious that she should be alone. "good-bye," he said earnestly, holding her hand as the train ran into the suburban station. "this meeting of ours has been a strange and unexpected one, and this is, i suppose, our last leave-taking. i have nothing to add," he sighed. "you know that i am ever your servant, ever ready to serve your imperial highness in whatsoever manner you may command. may god bless and comfort you. adieu." "good-bye, carl," she said brokenly. it was all she could say. she restrained her tears by dint of great effort. then, when he had gone and closed the carriage door, she burst into a fit of sobbing. by his absence it seemed to her that the light of her life had been extinguished. she was alone, in hopeless despair. darkness had now fallen, and as the train rushed on its final run along the precipitous slopes of the kahlenberg, little ignatia placed her arms around her mother's neck and said,-- "mother, don't cry, or i shall tell allen, and she'll scold you. poor, dear mother!" the princess kissed the child's soft arms, and at length managed to dry her own eyes, assuming her hat and veil in preparation for arrival at the capital. and none too soon, for ere she had dressed ignatia and assumed her own disguise the train slowed down and stopped, while the door was thrown open and a porter stood ready to take her wraps. she took ignatia in her arms and descended in the great station, bright beneath its electric lamps, and full of bustle and movement. she saw nothing more of leitolf, who had disappeared into the crowd. he had wished her farewell for ever. a fiacre conveyed her to her father's magnificent palace in the parkring, where on arrival the gorgeous concierge, mistaking her for a domestic, treated her with scant courtesy. "his imperial highness the archduke is not in vienna," was his answer. "what's your business with him, pray?" the princess, laughing, raised her veil, whereupon the gruff old fellow, a highly-trusted servant, stammered deep apologies, took off his hat, and bent to kiss the hand of the daughter of the imperial house. "my father is away, franz? where is he?" "at wartenstein, your imperial highness. he left yesterday," and he rang the electric bell to summon the major-domo. she resolved to remain the night, and then resume her journey to the castle. therefore, with little ignatia still in her arms, she ascended the grand staircase, preceded by the pompous servitor, until she reached the small green-and-gilt salon which she always used when she came there. two maids were quickly in attendance, electric lights were switched on everywhere, and the bustle of servants commenced as soon as the news spread that the archduchess claire had returned. several of the officials of the archducal court came to salute her, and the housekeeper came to her to receive orders, which, being simple, were quickly given. she retired to her room with little ignatia, and after putting the child to bed, removed the dust of travel and went to one of the smaller dining-rooms, where two men in the imperial livery served her dinner in stiff silence. her father being absent, many of the rooms were closed, the furniture swathed in holland, and the quiet of the great, gorgeous place was to her distinctly depressing. she was anxious to know how her father would take her flight--whether he would approve of it or blame her. she sent distinct orders to franz that no notice was to be given to the journals of her unexpected return, remarking at the same time that he need not send to the station, as she had arrived without baggage. if it were known in vienna that she had returned, the news would quickly be telegraphed back to treysa. besides, when the fact of her presence in the austrian capital was known, she would, as crown princess, be compelled by court etiquette to go at once and salute her uncle the emperor. this she had no desire to do just at present. his hard, unjust words at her last interview with him still rankled in her memory. his majesty was not her friend. that had recently been made entirely plain. so, after dining, she chatted for a short time with de bothmer, her father's private secretary, who came to pay his respects to her, and then retired to her own room--the room with the old ivory crucifix where the oil light burnt dimly in its red glass. she crossed herself before it, and her lips moved in silent prayer. a maid came to her and reported that little ignatia was sleeping soundly, but that was not sufficient. she went herself along the corridor to the child's room and saw that she was comfortable, giving certain instructions with maternal anxiety. then she returned to her room accompanied by the woman, who, inquisitive regarding her young mistress's return, began to chat to her while she brushed and plaited her hair, telling her all the latest gossip of the palace. the archduke, her father, had, it appeared, gone to wartenstein for a fortnight, and had arranged to go afterwards to vichy for the cure, and thence to paris; therefore, next morning, taking the maid with her to look after little ignatia, she left vienna again for the tyrol, travelling by linz and salsburg to rosenheim, and then changing on to the innsbruck line and alighting, about six o'clock in the evening, at the little station of rattenberg. there she took a hired carriage along the post road into the beautiful zillerthal alps, where, high up in a commanding position ten miles away, her old home was situated--one of the finest and best-preserved mediaeval castles in europe. it was already dark, and rain was falling as the four horses, with their jingling bells, toiled up the steep, winding road, the driver cracking his whip, proud to have the honour of driving her imperial highness, who until four years ago had spent the greater part of her life there. little ignatia, tired out by so much travelling, slept upon her mother's knee, and the crown princess herself dozed for a time, waking to find that they were still toiling up through the little village of fugen, which was her own property. presently, three miles farther on, she looked out of the carriage window, and there, high up in the darkness, she saw the lighted windows of the great, grim stronghold which, nearly a thousand years ago, had been the fortress of the ancient kings of carinthia, those warlike ancestors of hers whose valiant deeds are still recorded in song and story. half an hour later the horses clattered into the great courtyard of the castle, and the old castellan came forth in utter amazement to bow before her. electric bells were rung, servants came forward quickly, the archduke's chamberlain appeared in surprise, and the news spread in an instant through the servants' quarters that the archduchess claire--whom the whole household worshipped--had returned and had brought with her the tiny princess ignatia. everywhere men and women bowed low before her as, preceded by the black-coated chamberlain, she went through those great, old vaulted halls she knew so well, and up the old stone winding stairs to the room which was still reserved for her, and which had not been disturbed since she had left it to marry. on entering she glanced around, and sighed in relief. at last she was back at home again in dear old wartenstein. her dream of liberty was actually realised! little ignatia and the nurse were given an adjoining room which she had used as a dressing-room, and as she stood there alone every object in the apartment brought back to her sweet memories of her girlhood, with all its peaceful hours of bliss, happiness, and high ideals. it was not a large room, but extremely cosy. the windows in the ponderous walls allowed deep alcoves, where she loved to sit and read on summer evenings, and upon one wall was the wonderful old fourteenth-century tapestry representing a tournament, which had been a scene always before her ever since she could remember. the bed, too, was gilded, quaint and old-fashioned, with hangings of rich crimson silk brocade of three centuries ago. indeed, the only modern innovations there were the big toilet-table with its ancient silver bowl and ewer, and the two electric lights suspended above. old adelheid, her maid when she was a girl, came quickly to her, and almost shed tears of joy at her young mistress's return. adelheid, a stout, round-faced, grey-haired woman, had nursed her as a child, and it was she who had served her until the day when she had left vienna for treysa after her unfortunate marriage. "my sweet princess!" cried the old serving-woman as she entered, and, bending, kissed her hand, "only this moment i heard that you had come back to us. this is really a most delightful surprise. i heard that you were in vienna the other day, and wondered whether you would come to see us all at old wartenstein--or whether at your court so far away you had forgotten us all." "forgotten you, adelheid!" she exclaimed quickly, pushing her fair hair from her brow, for her head ached after her fatiguing journey; "why, i am always thinking of the dear old place, and of you--who used to scold me so." "when you deserved it, my princess," laughed the pleasant old woman. "ah!" she added, "those were happy times, weren't they? but you were often really incorrigible, you know, especially when you used to go down into the valley and meet young carl leitolf in secret. you remember-- eh? and how i found you out?" claire held her breath for a moment at mention of that name. "yes, adelheid," she said in a somewhat changed tone. "and you were very good. you never betrayed our secret." "no. because i believed that you both loved each other--that boy-and-girl love which is so very sweet while it lasts, but is no more durable than the thistledown. but let us talk of the present now. i'll go and order dinner for you, and see that you have everything comfortable. i hope you will stay with us a long, long time. this is your first return since your marriage, remember." "where is my father?" her highness asked, taking off her hat, and rearranging her hair before the mirror. "in the green salon. he was with the secretary, wernhardt, but i passed the latter going out as i came up the stairs. the archduke is therefore alone." "then i will go and see him before i dine," she said; so, summoning all her courage, she gave a final touch to her hair and went out, and down the winding stairs, afterwards making her way to the opposite side of the ponderous stronghold, where her father's study--called the green salon on account of the old green silk hangings and upholstery--was situated. she halted at the door, but for an instant only; then, pale-faced and determined, she entered the fine room with the groined roof, where, at a table at the farther end, her father, in plain evening dress, was writing beneath a shaded lamp. he raised his bald head and glanced round to see who was the intruder who entered there without knocking. then, recognising his daughter, he turned slowly in his writing-chair, his brows knit, exclaiming coldly the single inquiry,-- "well?" his displeasure at her appearance was apparent. he did not even welcome her, or inquire the reason of her return. the expression upon his thin, grey face showed her that he was annoyed. she rushed across to kiss him, but he put out his hand coldly, and held her at arm's length. "there is time for that later, claire," he said in a hard voice. "i understand that you have left treysa?" "yes, i have. who told you?" "the crown prince, your husband, has informed me by telegraph of your scandalous action." "scandalous action!" she cried quickly, while in self-defence she began to implore the sympathy of the hard-hearted old archduke, a man of iron will and a bigot as regarded religion. in a few quick sentences, as she stood before him in the centre of the room, she told him of all she had suffered; of her tragic life in her gilded prison at treysa; of the insults heaped upon her by the king and queen; of her husband's ill-treatment; and finally, of the ingenious plot to certify her as demented. "and i have come to you, father, for protection for myself and my child," she added earnestly. "if i remain longer at treysa my enemies will drive me really insane. i have tried to do my duty, god knows, but those who seek my downfall are, alas! too strong. i am a woman, alone and helpless. surely you, my own father, will not refuse to assist your daughter, who is the victim of a foul and dastardly plot?" she cried in tears, advancing towards him. "i have come back to live here with my child in seclusion and in peace--to obtain the freedom for which i have longed ever since i entered that scandalous and unscrupulous court of treysa. i implore of you, father, for my dear, dead mother's sake, to have pity upon me, to at least stand by me as my one friend in all the world--you--my own father!" he remained perfectly unmoved. his thin, bloodless face only relaxed into a dubious smile, and he responded in a hard voice,-- "you have another friend, claire," then he rose from his chair, his eyes suddenly aflame with anger as he asked, "why do you come here with such lies as these upon your lips? to ask my assistance is utterly useless. i have done with you. it is too late to-night for you to leave wartenstein, but recollect that you go from here before ten o'clock to-morrow morning, and that during my lifetime you never enter again beneath this roof!" "but, father--why?" she gasped, staring at him amazed. "why? why, because the whole world is scandalised by your conduct! every one knows that the reason of your unhappiness with the crown prince is because you have a lover--that low-bred fellow leitolf--a man of the people," he sneered. "your conduct at treysa was an open scandal, and in vienna you actually visited him at his hotel. the emperor called me, and told me so. he is highly indignant that you should bring such an outrageous scandal upon our house, and--" "father, i deny that count leitolf is my lover!" she cried, interrupting him. "even you, my own father, defame me," she added bitterly. "defame you!" he sneered. "bah! you cannot deceive me when you have actually eloped from treysa with the fellow. see," he cried, taking a telegram from the table and holding it before her, "do you deny what is here reported--that you and he travelled together, and that he descended from the train just before reaching vienna, in fear of recognition. no," he went on, while she stood before him utterly stunned and rendered speechless by his words, which, alas! showed the terrible misconstruction placed upon their injudicious companionship upon the journey. "no, you cannot deny it! you will leave wartenstein tomorrow, for you have grown tired of your husband; you have invented the story of the plot to declare you insane; and you have renounced your crown and position in order to elope with leitolf! from to-night i no longer regard you as my daughter. go!" and he pointed imperiously to the door. "go back to the people--the common herd of whom you are so very fond-- go back to your miserable lover if you wish. to me your future is quite immaterial, and understand perfectly that i forbid you ever to return beneath my roof. you have scandalised the whole of europe, and you and your lover may now act just as you may think proper." "but, father!" she protested, heartbroken, bursting into bitter tears. "leitolf is not my lover! i swear to you it is all untrue!" "go!" he shouted, his face red with anger. "i have said all i need say. go! leave me. i will never see you again--never--_never_!" chapter thirteen. the man with the red cravat. a secret service agent--one of the spies of the crafty old minister minckeldeym--had followed claire from treysa. her accidental meeting with leitolf had, he declared, been prearranged. it was now said that she, a crown princess of the imperial blood, had eloped with her lover! the court scandal was complete. alone in her room that night she sat for hours sobbing, while the great castle was silent. she was now both homeless and friendless. all the desperate appeals she had made to her father had been entirely unavailing. he was a hard man always. she had, he declared, brought a shameful scandal upon this imperial house, and he would have nothing further to do with her. time after time she stoutly denied the false and abominable charge, trying to explain the dastardly plot against her, and the combination of circumstances which led to her meeting with the count at protovin. but he would hear no explanation. leitolf was her lover, he declared, and all her excuses were utterly useless. he refused her his protection, and cast her out as no child of his. after long hours of tears and ceaseless sobbing, a strange thought crossed her mind. true, she was unjustly condemned as having eloped with carl; yet, after all, was not even that preferable to the fate to which her husband had conspired to relegate her? the whole of europe would say that she left the court in company with a lover, and she bit her lip when she thought of the cruel libel. yet, supposing that they had no ground for this gossip, was it not more than likely that her enemies would seek to follow her and confine her in an asylum? the strange combination of circumstances had, however, given them good ground for declaring that she had eloped, and if such report got abroad, as it apparently had done, then her husband would be compelled to sue for a divorce. she held her breath. her fingers clenched themselves into her palms at thought of it--a divorce on account of the man who had always, from her girlhood, been her true, loyal, and platonic friend! and if it was sought to prove what was untrue? should she defend herself, and establish her innocence? or would she, by refusing to make defence, obtain the freedom from court which she sought? she had been utterly dumbfounded by her father's allegations that she had eloped. until he had denounced her she had never for one moment seen the grave peril in which his presence at protovin had placed her. he had compromised her quite unintentionally. her own pure nature and open mind had never suspected for one moment that those who wished her ill would declare that she had eloped. now, as she sat there in the dead silence, she saw plainly, when too late, how injudicious she had been--how, indeed, she had played into the hands of those who sought her downfall. it was a false step to go to leitolf at the hotel in vienna, and a worse action still to ask that he should be recalled from her court and sent away as attache to rome. the very fact that she showed interest in him had, of course, lent colour to the grave scandals that were being everywhere whispered. now the report that she, an imperial archduchess, had eloped with him would set the empires of austria and germany agog. what the future was to be she did not attempt to contemplate. she was plunged in despair, utterly hopeless, broken, and without a friend except steinbach. was it destiny that she should be so utterly misjudged? even her own father had sent her forth as an outcast! early next morning, taking little ignatia and the bag containing her jewels, but leaving the maid behind, she drove from the castle, glancing back at it with heavy heart as the carriage descended into the green, fertile valley, gazing for the last time upon that old home she loved so well. it was her last sight of it. she would never again look upon it, she sadly told herself. she, an imperial archduchess of austria, crown princess of a great german kingdom, a dame of the croix etoilee, a woman who might any day become a reigning queen, had renounced her crown and her position, and was now an outcast! hers was a curious position--stranger, perhaps, than that in which any woman had before found herself. many a royalty is to-day unhappy in her domestic life, suffering in silence, yet making a brave show towards the world. she had tried to do the same. she had suffered without complaint for more than three long, dark years--until her husband had not only struck her and disfigured her, but had contemplated ridding himself of her by the foulest and most cowardly means his devilish ingenuity could devise. as she drove through those clean, prosperous villages which were on her own private property, the people came forth, cheering with enthusiasm and rushing to the carriage to kiss her hand. but she only smiled upon them sadly--not, they said, shaking their heads after she had passed, not the same smile as in the old days, before she married the german prince and went to far-off treysa. the stationmaster at rattenberg came forward to make his obeisance, and as certain military manoeuvres were in progress and some troops were drawn up before the station, both officers and men drew up and saluted. an old colonel whom she had known well before her marriage came forward, and bowing, offered to see her to her compartment, expressing delight at having met her again. "your imperial highness will never be forgotten here," declared the gallant, red-faced old fellow, who wore fierce white moustaches. "the poor are always wondering whether you are ever coming back. and at last your highness is here! and going--where?" she hesitated. truth to tell, she had never thought of her destination. "i go now to lucerne, incognito," she replied, for want of something else to say; and they both walked on to the platform, he carrying henriette's cheap little leather bag containing her jewels. "so this," he said, "is our little princess ignatia, about whom we have heard so much." and laughingly he touched the shy child's soft cheek caressingly. "and who are you?" inquired the child wonderingly, examining his bright uniform from head to foot. the princess joined in the colonel's laughter. usually the child was shy, but, strangely enough, always talkative with any one who wore a uniform, even though he might be a private soldier on sentry duty at the palace. the colonel was not alone in remarking within himself the plainness and cheapness of her imperial highness's costume. it had been remarked everywhere, but was supposed that she wore that very ordinary costume in order to pass incognito. the train took her to innsbruck, and after luncheon at the buffet she continued her journey to lucerne, arriving there late in the evening, and taking the hotel omnibus of the schweizerhof. there she gave her name as the baroness deitel, and declared that her luggage had been mis-sent--a fact which, of course, aroused some suspicion within the mind of the shrewd clerk in the bureau. visitors without luggage are never appreciated by hotel-keepers. next day, however, she purchased a trunk and a number of necessaries, _lingerie_ for herself and for the little princess, all of which was sent to the hotel--a fact that quickly re-established confidence. a good many people were staying in the place as usual, and very quickly, on account of her uncommon beauty and natural grace, people began to inquire who she was. but the reply was that she was baroness deitel of frankfort--that was all. from her funereal black they took her for a young widow, and many of the idle young men in the hotel endeavoured to make her acquaintance. but she spoke to no one. she occupied herself with her child, and if alone in the hall she always read a book or newspaper. the fact was that she was watching the newspapers eagerly, wondering if they would give currency to the false report of her elopement. but as day after day went by and nothing appeared, she grew more assured, hoping that at least the court at treysa had suppressed from the press the foul lie that had spread from mouth to mouth. one paragraph she read, however, in a vienna paper was very significant, for it stated that the crown prince ferdinand of marburg had arrived in vienna at the invitation of the emperor, who had driven to the station to meet him, and who had embraced him with marked cordiality. she read between the lines. the emperor had called him to vienna in order to hear his side of the story--in order to condemn her without giving her a chance to explain the truth. the emperor would no doubt decide whether the fact of her leaving the court should be announced to the public or not. her surmise was not far wrong, for while sitting in the big hall of the hotel after luncheon four days later, she saw in the _daily mail_ the following telegram, headed, "a german court scandal: startling revelations." holding her breath, and knowing that, two young englishmen, seated together and smoking, were watching her, she read as follows:-- "reuter's correspondent at treysa telegraphs it has just transpired that a very grave and astounding scandal has occurred at court. according to the rumour--which he gives under all reserve--late one night a week ago the crown princess ferdinand escaped from the palace, and taking with her her child, the little princess ignatia, eloped to austria with count charles-leitolf, an official of the court. a great sensation has been caused in court circles in both germany and austria. the crown princess before her marriage was, it will be remembered, the archduchess claire, only daughter of the archduke charles of austria, and notable at the court of vienna on account of her extreme beauty. it appears that for some time past at the court of treysa there have been rumours regarding the intimate friendship between the crown princess and the count, who was for some time attache at the austrian embassy in london. matters culminated a short time ago when it became known that the count had followed the princess to vienna, where she had gone to visit her father. she returned to treysa for a few days, still followed by leitolf, and then left again under his escort, and has not since been seen. "in treysa the sensation caused is enormous. it is the sole topic of conversation. the crown princess was greatly beloved by the people, but her elopement has entirely negatived her popularity, as the scandal is considered utterly unpardonable. the crown prince has left hurriedly for vienna in order to confer with the emperor, who, it is rumoured, has issued an edict withdrawing from the princess her title, and all her rights as an imperial archduchess, and her decorations, as well as forbidding her to use the imperial arms. the excitement in the city of treysa is intense, but in the court circle everything is, of course, denied, the king having forbidden the press to mention or comment upon the matter in any way. reuter's correspondent, however, has, from private sources within the palace, been able to substantiate the above report, which, vague though it may be, is no doubt true, and the details of which are already known in all the courts of europe. it is thought probable in treysa that the crown prince ferdinand will at once seek a divorce, for certain of the palace servants, notably the lady-in-waiting, the countess de trauttenberg, have come forward and made some amazing statements. a council of ministers is convened for to-morrow, at which his majesty will preside." "de trauttenberg!" exclaimed the princess bitterly between her teeth. "the spy! i wonder what lies she has invented." she saw the two englishmen with their eyes still upon her, therefore she tried to control her feelings. what she had read was surely sufficient to rouse her blood. she returned to her room. "i am no longer popular with the people!" she thought to herself. "they too believe ill of me! my enemies have, alas! triumphed." she re-read the telegram with its bold heading--the announcement which had startled europe two days before--and then with a low sigh replaced the paper upon the table. this crisis she had foreseen. the court had given those facts to the press correspondent because they intended to hound her down as an infamous and worthless woman, because they had conspired to drive her out of treysa; and victory was now theirs. but none of the tourist crowd in the schweizerhof ever dreamed that the cheaply-dressed, demure little widow was the notorious woman whom all; the world was at that moment discussing--the royal ionian who had boldly cast aside a crown. what she read caused her to bite her lips till they bled. she returned to her room, and sat for an hour plunged in bitter tears. all the world was against her, and she had no single person in whom to confide, or of whom to seek assistance. that night, acting upon a sudden impulse, she took little ignatia with her, and left by the mail by way of bale for paris, where she might the better conceal herself and the grief that was slowly consuming her brave young heart. the journey was long and tedious. there was no _wagon-lit_, and the child, tired out, grew peevish and restless. nevertheless, half an hour before noon next day the express ran at last into the gare de l'est, and an elderly, good-natured, grave-looking man in black, with a bright red tie, took her dressing-bag and gallantly assisted her to alight. she was unused to travelling with the public, for a royal saloon with bowing servants and attendants had always been at her disposal; therefore, when the courteous old fellow held out his hand for her bag, she quite mechanically gave it to him. next instant, however, even before she had realised it, the man had disappeared into the crowd of alighting passengers. the truth flashed upon her in a second. all her magnificent jewels had been stolen! chapter fourteen. in secret. realising her loss, the princess quickly informed one of the station officials, who shouted loudly to the police at the exit barrier that a theft had been committed, and next moment all was confusion. half a dozen police agents, as well as some gardes in uniform, appeared as though by magic, and while the exit was closed, preventing the weary travellers who had just arrived from leaving, an inspector of police came up and made sharp inquiry as to her loss. in a moment a knot of inquisitive travellers gathered around her. "a man wearing a bright red cravat has taken my dressing-bag, and made off with it. all my jewels are in it!" claire exclaimed excitedly. "pardon, madame," exclaimed the police official, a shrewd-looking functionary with fair, pointed beard, "what was the dressing-bag like?" "a crocodile one, covered with a black waterproof cover." "and the man wore a red tie?" "yes. he was dressed in black, and rather elderly. his red tie attracted me." for fully a quarter of an hour the iron gate was kept closed while, accompanied by the inspector and two agents, she went among the crowd trying to recognise the gallant old fellow who had assisted her to alight. but she was unable. perhaps she was too agitated, for misfortune seemed now to follow upon misfortune. she had at the first moment of setting foot in paris lost the whole of her splendid jewels! with the police agents she stood at the barrier when it was reopened, and watched each person pass out; but, alas! she saw neither the man with the red tie nor her dressing-bag. and yet the man actually passed her unrecognised. he was wearing a neat black tie and a soft black felt hat in place of the grey one he had worn when he had taken the bag from her hand. he had the precious dressing-case, but it was concealed within the serviceable pigskin kit-bag which he carried. she was looking for the grey hat, the red tie, and her own bag, but, of course, saw none of them. and so the thief, once outside the station, mounted into a fiacre and drove away entirely unsuspected. "madame," exclaimed the inspector regretfully, when the platform had at last emptied, "i fear you have been the victim of some clever international thief. it is one of the tricks of jewel-thieves to wear a bright-coloured tie by which the person robbed is naturally attracted. yet in a second, so deft are they, they can change both cravat and hat, and consequently the person robbed fails to recognise them in the excitement of the moment. this is, i fear, what has happened in your case. but if you will accompany me to the office i will take a full description of the missing property." she went with him to the police-office on the opposite side of the great station, and there gave, as far as she was able, a description of some of the stolen jewels. she, however, did not know exactly how many ornaments there were, and as for describing them all, she was utterly unable to do so. "and madame's name?" inquired the polite functionary. she hesitated. if she gave her real name the papers would at once be full of her loss. "deitel," she answered. "baroness deitel of frankfort." "and to what hotel is madame going?" she reflected a moment. if she went to ritz's or the bristol she would surely be recognised. she had heard that the terminus, at the gare st. lazare, was a large and cosmopolitan place, where tourists stayed, so she would go there. "to the terminus," was her reply. then, promising to report to her if any information were forthcoming after the circulation of the description of the thief and of the stolen property, he assisted her in obtaining her trunk, called a fiacre for her, apologised that she should have suffered such loss, and then bowed her away. she pressed the child close to her, and staring straight before her, held her breath. was it not a bad augury for the future? with the exception of a french bank-note for a thousand francs in her purse and a little loose change, she was penniless as well as friendless. at the hotel she engaged a single room, and remained in to rest after her long, tiring journey. with a mother's tender care her first thought was for little ignatia, who had stood wondering at the scene at the station, and who, when her mother afterwards explained that the thief had run away with her bag, declared that he was "a nasty, bad man." on gaining her room at the hotel the princess put her to bed, but she remained very talkative, watching her mother unpack the things she had purchased in lucerne. "go to sleep, darling," said her mother, bending down and kissing her soft little face. "if you are very good allen will come and see you soon." "will she? then i'll be ever so good," was the child's reply; and thus satisfied, she dropped off to sleep. having arranged the things in the wardrobe, the princess stood at the window gazing down upon the traffic in the busy rue saint lazare, and the cafes, crowded at the hour of the absinthe. men were crying "_la presse_" in strident voices below. paris is paris always--bright, gay, careless, with endless variety, a phantasmagoria of movement, the very cinematograph of human life. yet how heavy a heart can be, and how lonely is life, amid that busy throng, only those who have found themselves in the gay city alone can justly know. her slim figure in neat black was a tragic one. her sweet face was blanched and drawn. she leaned her elbows upon the window-ledge, and looking straight before her, reflected deeply. "is there any further misfortune to fall upon me, i wonder?" she asked herself. "the loss of my jewels means to me the loss of everything. on the money i could have raised upon them i could have lived in comfort in some quiet place for years, without any application to my own lawyers. fate, indeed, seems against me," she sighed. "because i have lived an honest, upright life, and have spoken frankly of my intention to sweep clean the scandalous court of treysa, i am now outcast by both my husband and by my father, homeless, and without money. many of the people would help me, i know, but it must never be said that a hapsbourg sought financial aid of a commoner. no, that would be breaking the family tradition; and whatever evil the future may have in store for me i will never do that." "i wonder," she continued after a pause--"i wonder if the thief who took my jewels knew of my present position, my great domestic grief and unhappiness, whether he would not regret? i believe he would. even a thief is chivalrous to a woman in distress. he evidently thinks me a wealthy foreigner, however, and by to-night all the stones will be knocked from their settings and the gold flung into the melting-pot. with some of them i would not have parted for a hundred times their worth--the small pearl necklace which my poor mother gave me when i was a child, and my husband's first gift, and the easter egg in diamonds. yet i shall never see them again. they are gone for ever. even the police agent held out but little hope. the man, he said, was no doubt an international thief, and would in an hour be on his way to the belgian or italian frontier." that was true. jewel-thieves, and especially the international gangs, are the most difficult to trace. they are past masters of their art, excellent linguists, live expensively, and always pass as gentlemen whose very title and position cause the victim to be unsuspicious. the french and italian railways are the happy hunting-ground of these wily gentry. the night expresses to the riviera, rome, and florence in winter, and the "luxe" services from paris to arcachon, vichy, lausanne, or trouville in summer, are well watched by them, and frequent hauls are made, one of the favourite tricks being that of making feint to assist a lady to descend and take her bag from her hand. "i don't suppose," she sighed, "that i shall ever see or hear of my ornaments again. yet i think that if the thief but knew the truth concerning me he would regret. perhaps he is without means, just as i am. probably he became a thief of sheer necessity, as i have heard many men have become. criminal instinct is not always responsible for an evil life. many persons try to live honestly, but fate is ever contrary. indeed, is it not so with my own self?" she turned, and her eyes fell upon the sleeping child. she was all she had now to care for in the whole wide world. recollections of her last visit to paris haunted her--that visit when carl had so very indiscreetly followed her there, and taken her about incognito in open cabs to see the sights. there had been no harm in it whatsoever, no more harm than if he had been her equerry, yet her enemies had, alas! hurled against her their bitter denunciations, and whispered their lies so glibly that they were believed as truth. major scheel, the attache at the embassy, had recognised them, and being leitolf's enemy, had spread the report. it had been a foolish caprice of hers to take train from aix-les-bains to paris to see her old french nurse marie, who had been almost as a mother to her. the poor old woman, a pensioned servant of the archducal family, had, unfortunately, died a month ago, otherwise she would have had a faithful, good friend in paris. marie, who knew count leitolf well, could have refuted their allegations had she lived; but an attack of pneumonia had proved fatal, and she had been buried with a beautiful wreath bearing the simple words "from claire" upon her coffin. as the sunset haze fell over paris she still sat beside the sleeping child. if her enemies condemned her, then she would not defend herself. god, in whom she placed her fervent trust, should judge her. she had no fear of man's prejudices or misjudgment. she placed her faith entirely in her maker. to his will she bowed, for in his sight the pauper and the princess are equal. that evening she had a little soup sent to her room, and when ignatia was again sleeping soundly she went forth upon the balcony leading from the corridor, and sitting there, amused herself by looking down upon the life and movement of the great salon below. to leave the hotel was impossible because of ignatia, and she now began to regret that she had not brought the maid with her from wartenstein. time after time the misfortune of the loss of her jewels recurred to her. it had destroyed her independence, and it had negatived all her plans. money was necessary, even though she were an imperial archduchess. she was incognito, and therefore had no credit. the gay, after-dinner scene of the hotel was presented below--the flirtations, the heated conversations, and the lazy, studied attitudes of the bloused english girl, who lolls about in cane lounge-chairs after dining, and discusses plays and literature. from her chair on the balcony above she looked down upon that strange, changeful world--the world of tourist paris. born and bred at court as she had been, it was a new sensation to her to have her freedom. the life was entirely fresh to her, and would have been pleasant if there were not behind it all that tragedy of her marriage. several days went by, and in order to kill time she took little ignatia daily in a cab and drove in the bois and around the boulevards, revisiting all the "sights" which leitolf had shown her. each morning she went out driving till the luncheon-hour, and having once lunched with old marie upstairs at the brasserie universelle in the avenue de l'opera, she went there daily. you probably know the place. downstairs it is an ordinary _brasserie_ with a few chairs out upon the pavement, but above is a smart restaurant peculiarly parisian, where the _hors d'oeuvres_ are the finest in eurorie and the _vin gris_ a speciality. the windows whereat one sits overlook the avenue, and from eleven o'clock till three it is crowded. she went there for two reasons--because it was small, and because the life amused her. little ignatia would sit at her side, and the pair generally attracted the admiration of every one on account of their remarkably good looks. the habitues began inquiring of the waiters as to who was the beautiful lady in black, but the men only elevated their shoulders and exhibited their palms. "a german," was all they could answer. "a great lady evidently." that she attracted attention everywhere she was quite well aware, yet she was not in the least annoyed. as a royalty she was used to being gazed upon. only when men smiled at her, as they did sometimes, she met them with a haughty stare. the superiority of her imperial blood would on such occasions assert itself, much to the confusion of would-be gallants. thus passed those spring days with paris at her gayest and best. the woman who had renounced a crown lived amid all that bright life, lonely, silent, and unrecognised, her one anxiety being for the future of her little one, who was ever asking when allen would return. chapter fifteen. the shy englishman. one afternoon about four o'clock, as the princess, leading little ignatia, who was daintily dressed in white, was crossing the great hall of the hotel terminus on her way out to drive in the bois, a rather slim, dark-haired man, a little under forty, well dressed in a blue-serge suit, by which it required no second glance to tell that he was an englishman, rose shyly from a chair and bowed deeply before her. at that hour there were only two or three elderly persons in the great hall, all absorbed in newspapers. she glanced at the stranger quickly and drew back. at first she did not recognise him, but an instant later his features became somehow familiar, although she was puzzled to know where she had met him before. where he had bowed to her was at a safe distance from the few other people in the hall; therefore, noticing her hesitation, the man exclaimed in english with a smile,-- "i fear that your imperial highness does not recollect me, and i trust that by paying my respects i am not intruding. may i be permitted to introduce myself? my name is bourne. we met once in treysa. do you not recollect?" in an instant the truth recurred to her, and she stood before him open-mouthed. "why, of course!" she exclaimed. "am i ever likely to forget? and yet i saw so little of your face on that occasion that i failed now to recognise you! i am most delighted to meet you again, mr. bourne, and to thank you." "thanks are quite unnecessary, princess," he declared; whereupon in a low voice she explained that she was there incognito, under the title of the baroness deitel, and urged him not to refer to her true station lest some might overhear. "i know quite well that you are here incognito," he said. "and this is little ignatia, is it?" and he patted the child's cheeks. then he added, "do you know i have had a very great difficulty in finding you. i have searched everywhere, and was only successful this morning, when i saw you driving in the rue rivoli and followed you here." was this man a secret agent from treysa, she wondered. in any case, what did he want with her? she treated him with courtesy, but was at the same time suspicious of his motive. at heart she was annoyed that she had been recognised. and yet was she not very deeply indebted to him? "well, mr. bourne," said the princess, drawing herself up, and taking the child's hand again to go out, "i am very pleased to embrace this opportunity of thanking you for the great service you rendered me. you must, however, pardon my failure to recognise you." "it was only natural," the man exclaimed quickly. "it is i who have to apologise, your highness," he whispered. "i have sought you because i have something of urgent importance to tell you. i beg of you to grant me an interview somewhere, where we are not seen and where we cannot be overheard." she looked at him in surprise. the englishman's request was a strange one, yet from his manner she saw that he was in earnest. why, she wondered, did he fear being seen with her? "cannot you speak here?" she inquired. "not in this room, among these people. are there not any smaller salons upstairs? they would be empty at this hour. if i recollect aright, there is a small writing-room at the top of the stairs yonder. i would beg of your highness to allow me to speak to you there." "but what is this secret you have to tell me?" she inquired curiously. "it surely cannot be of such a nature that you may not explain it in an undertone here?" "i must not be seen with you, princess," he exclaimed quickly. "i run great risk in speaking with you here in public. i will explain all if you will only allow me to accompany you to that room." she hesitated. so ingenious had been the plots formed against her that she had now grown suspicious of every one. yet this man was after all a mystery, and mystery always attracted her, as it always attracts both women and men equally. so with some reluctance she turned upon her heel and ascended the stairs, he following her at a respectful distance. their previous meeting had indeed been a strange one. fond of horses from her girlhood, she had in treysa made a point of driving daily in her high english dogcart, sometimes a single cob, and sometimes tandem. she was an excellent whip, one of the best in all germany, and had even driven her husband's coach on many occasions. on the summer's afternoon in question, however, she was driving a cob in one of the main thoroughfares of treysa, when of a sudden a motor car had darted past, and the animal, taking fright, had rushed away into the line of smart carriages approaching on the opposite side of the road. she saw her peril, but was helpless. the groom sprang out, but so hurriedly that he fell upon his head, severely injuring himself; while at that moment, when within an ace of disaster, a man in a grey flannel suit sprang out from nowhere and seized the bridle, without, however, at once stopping the horse, which reared, and turning, pinned the stranger against a tree with the end of one of the shafts. in an instant a dozen men, recognising who was driving, were upon the animal, and held it; but the next moment she saw that the man who had saved her had fallen terribly injured, the shaft having penetrated his chest, and he was lying unconscious. descending, she gazed upon the white face, from the mouth of which blood was oozing; and having given directions for his immediate conveyance to the hospital and for report to be made to her as soon as possible, she returned to the palace in a cab, and telephoned herself to the court surgeon, commanding him to do all in his power to aid the sufferer. next day she asked permission of the surgeon that she might see the patient, to thank him and express her sympathy. but over the telephone came back the reply that the patient was not yet fit to see any one, and, moreover, had expressed a desire that nobody should come near him until he had quite recovered. in the fortnight that went by she inquired after him time after time, but all that she was able to gather was that his name was guy bourne, and that he was an english banker's clerk from london, spending his summer holiday in treysa. she sent him beautiful flowers from the royal hothouses, and in reply received his thanks for her anxious inquiries. he told the doctor that he hoped the princess would not visit him until he had quite recovered. and this wish of his she had of course respected. his gallant action had, without a doubt, saved her from a very serious accident, or she might even have lost her life. gradually he recovered from his injuries, which were so severe that for several days his life was despaired of, and then when convalescent a curious thing happened. he one day got up, and without a word of thanks or farewell to doctors, staff, or to the crown princess herself, he went out, and from that moment all trace had been lost of him. her highness, when she heard of this, was amazed. it seemed to her as though for some unexplained reason he had no wish to receive her thanks; or else he was intent on concealing his real identity with some mysterious motive or other. she had given orders for inquiry to be made as to who the gallant englishman was; but although the secret agents of the government had made inquiry in london, their efforts had been futile. it happened over two years ago. the accident had slipped from her memory, though more than once she had wondered who might be the man who had risked his life to save hers, and had then escaped from treysa rather than be presented to her. and now at the moment when she was in sore need of a friend he had suddenly recognised her, and come forward to reveal himself! naturally she had not recognised in the dark, rather handsome face of the well-dressed englishman the white, bloodless countenance of the insensible man with a brass-tipped cart-shaft through his chest. and he wanted to speak to her in secret? what had he, a perfect stranger, to tell her? the small writing-room at the top of the stairs was fortunately empty, and a moment later he followed her into it, and closed the door. little ignatia looked with big, wondering eyes at the stranger. the princess seated herself in a chair, and invited the englishman to take one. "princess," he said in a refined voice, "i desire most humbly to apologise for making myself known to you, but it is unfortunately necessary." "unfortunately?" she echoed. "why unfortunately, mr. bourne, when you risked your life for mine? at that moment you only saw a woman in grave peril; you were not aware of my station." "that is perfectly true," he said quietly. "when they told me at the hospital who you were, and when you sent me those lovely flowers and fruit, i was filled with--well, with shame." "why with shame?" she asked. "you surely had no need to be ashamed of your action? on the contrary, the king's intention was to decorate you on account of your brave action, and had already given orders for a letter to be sent to your own king in london, asking his majesty to allow you as a british subject to receive and wear the insignia of the order of the crown and sword." "and i escaped from treysa just in time," he laughed. then he added, "to tell you the truth, princess, it is very fortunate that i left before--well, before you could see me, and before his majesty could confer the decoration." "but why?" she asked. "i must confess that your action in escaping as you did entirely mystified me." "you were annoyed that i was ungentlemanly enough to run away without thanking your highness for all your solicitude on my behalf, and for sending the surgeon of the royal household to attend to my injuries. but, believe me, i am most deeply and sincerely grateful. it was not ingratitude which caused me to leave treysa in secret as i did, but my flight was necessary." "necessary? i don't understand you." "well, i had a motive in leaving without telling any one." "ah, a private motive!" she said--"something concerning your own private affairs, i suppose?" he nodded in the affirmative. how could he tell her the truth? his disinclination to explain the reason puzzled her sorely. that he was a gallant man who had saved a woman without thought of praise or of reward was proved beyond doubt, yet there was something curiously mysterious about him which attracted her. other men would have at least been proud to receive the thanks and decoration of a reigning sovereign, while he had utterly ignored them. was he an anarchist? "princess," he said at last, rising from his chair and flushing slightly, "the reason i have sought you to-day is not because of the past, but is on account of the present." "the present! why?" "i--i hardly know what to say, princess," he said confusedly. "two years ago i fled from you because you should not know the truth--because i was in fear. and now fate brings me again in your path in a manner which condemns me." "mr. bourne, why don't you speak more plainly? these enigmas i really cannot understand. you saved my life, or at least saved me from a very serious accident, and yet you escaped before i could thank you personally. to-day you have met me, and you tell me that you escaped because you feared to meet me." "it is the truth, your highness. i feared to meet you," he said, "and, believe me, i should not have sought you to-day were it not of most urgent necessity." "but why did you fear to meet me?" "i did not wish you to discover what i really am," he said, his face flushing with shame. "are you so very timid?" she asked with a light laugh. but in an instant she grew serious. she saw that she had approached some sore subject, and regretted. the englishman was a strange person, to say the least, she thought. "i have nothing to say in self-defence, princess," he said very simply. "the trammels of our narrow world are so hypocritical, our laws so farcical and full of incongruities, and our civilisation so fraught with the snortings of mother grundy, that i can only tell you the truth and offer no defence. i know from the newspapers of your present perilous position, and of what is said against you. if you will permit me to say so, you have all my sympathy." and he paused and looked straight into her face, while little ignatia gazed at him in wonder. "i wonder if your highness will forgive me if i tell you the truth?" he went on, as though speaking to himself. "forgive you? why, of course," she laughed. "what is there to forgive?" "very much, princess," he said gravely. "i--i'm ashamed to stand here before you and confess; yet i beg of you to forgive me, and to accept my declaration that the fault is not entirely my own." "the fault of what?" she inquired, not understanding him. "i will speak plainly, because i know that your good nature and your self-avowed indebtedness to me--little as that indebtedness is--will not allow you to betray me," he said in a low, earnest tone. "you will recollect that on your highness's arrival at the gare de l'est your dressing-bag was stolen, and within it were your jewels--your most precious possession at this critical moment of your life?" "yes," she said in a hard voice of surprise, her brows contracting, for she was not yet satisfied as to the stranger's _bona fides_. "my bag was stolen." "princess," he continued, "let me, in all humility, speak the truth. the reason of my escape from treysa was because your police held a photograph of me, and i feared that i might be identified. i am a thief--one of an international gang. and--and i pray you to forgive me, and to preserve my secret," he faltered, his cheeks again colouring. "your jewels are intact, and in my possession. you can now realise quite plainly why--why i escaped from treysa!" she held her breath, staring at him utterly stupefied. this man who had saved her, and so nearly lost his own life in the attempt, was a thief! chapter sixteen. light fingers. her highness was face to face with one of those clever international criminals whose _coups_ were so constantly being reported in the continental press. she looked straight into his countenance, a long, intense look, half of reproach, half of surprise, and then, in a firm voice, said,-- "mr. bourne, i owe you a very great debt. to-day i will endeavour to repay it. your secret, and the secret of the theft, shall remain mine." "and you will give no information to the police?" he exclaimed quickly--"you promise that?" "i promise," she said. "i admire you for your frankness. but, tell me--it was not you who took my bag at the station?" "no. but it was one of us," he explained. "when the bag containing the jewels was opened i found, very fortunately, several letters addressed to you--letters which you evidently brought with you from treysa. then i knew that the jewels were yours, and determined, if i could find you, to restore them to you with our apologies." "why?" she asked. "you surely do not get possession of jewels of that value every day?" "no, princess. but the reason is, that although my companions are thieves, they are not entirely devoid of the respect due to a woman. they have read in the newspapers of your domestic unhappiness, and of your flight with the little princess, and have decided that to rob a defenceless woman, as you are at this moment, is a cowardly act. though we are thieves, we still have left some vestige of chivalry." "and your intention is really to restore them to me?" she remarked, much puzzled at this unexpected turn of fortune. "yes, had i not found those letters among them, i quite admit that, by this time, the stones would have been in amsterdam and re-cut out of all recognition," he said, rather shamefacedly. then, taking from his pocket the three letters addressed to her--letters which she had carried away from treysa with her as souvenirs--he handed them to her, saying,-- "i beg of you to accept these back again. they are better in your imperial highness's hands than my own." her countenance went a trifle pale as she took them, and a sudden serious thought flashed through her mind. "your companions have, i presume, read what is contained in these?" "no, princess; they have not. i read them, and seeing to whom they were addressed, at once took possession of them. i only showed my companions the addresses." she breathed more freely. "then, mr. bourne, i am still more deeply in your debt," she declared; "you realised that those letters contained a woman's secret, and you withheld it from the others. how can i sufficiently thank you?" "by forgiving me," he said. "remember, i am a thief, and if you wished you could call the hotel manager and have me arrested." "i could hardly treat in that way a man who has acted so nobly and gallantly as you have," she remarked, with perfect frankness. "if those letters had fallen into other hands they might, have found their way back to the court, and to the king." "i understand perfectly," he said, in a low voice. "i saw by the dates, and gathered from the tenor in which they were written that they concealed some hidden romance. to expose what was written there would have surely been a most cowardly act--meaner even than stealing a helpless, ill-judged woman's jewels. no, princess," he went on; "i beg that although i stand before you a thief, to whom the inside of a gaol is no new experience, a man who lives by his wits and his agility and ingenuity in committing theft, you will not entirely condemn me. i still, i hope, retain a sense of honour." "you speak like a gentleman," she said. "who were your parents?" "my father, princess, was a landed proprietor in norfolk. after college i went to sandhurst, and then entered the british army; but gambling proved my ruin, and i was dismissed in disgrace for the forgery of a bill in the name of a brother officer. as a consequence, my father left me nothing, as i was a second son; and for years i drifted about england, an actor in a small travelling company; but gradually i fell lower and lower, until one day in london i met a well-known card-sharper, who took me as his partner, and together we lived well in the elegant rooms to which we inveigled men and there cheated them. the inevitable came at last--arrest and imprisonment. i got three years, and after serving it, came abroad and joined roddy redmayne's gang, with whom i am at present connected." the career of the man before her was certainly a strangely adventurous one. he had not told her one tithe of the remarkable romance of his life. he had been a gentleman, and though now a jewel thief, he still adhered to the traditions of his family whenever a woman was concerned. he was acute, ingenious beyond degree, and a man of endless resource, yet he scorned to rob a woman who was poor. the princess claire, a quick reader of character, saw in him a man who was a criminal, not by choice, but by force of circumstance. he was now still suffering from that false step he had taken in imitating his brother officer's signature and raising money upon the bill. however she might view his actions, the truth remained that he had saved her from a terrible accident. "yours has been an unfortunate career, mr. bourne," she remarked. "can you not abandon this very perilous profession of yours? is there no way by which you can leave your companions and lead an honest life?" when she spoke she made others feel how completely the purely natural and the purely ideal can blend into each other, yet she was a woman breathing thoughtful breath, walking in all her natural loveliness with a heart as frail-strung, as passion-touched, as ever fluttered in a female bosom. "ah, princess!" he cried earnestly, "i beg of you not to reproach me; willingly i would leave it all. i would welcome work and an honest life; but, alas! nowadays it is too late. besides, who would take me in any position of trust, with my black record behind me? nobody." and he shook his head. "in books one reads of reformed thieves, but there are none in real life. a thief, when once a thief, must remain so till the end of his days--of liberty." "but is it not a great sacrifice to your companions to give up my jewellery?" she asked in a soft, very kindly voice. "they, of course, recognise its great value?" "yes," he smiled. "roddy, our chief, is a good judge of stones--as good, probably, as the experts at spink's or streeter's. one has to be able to tell good stuff from rubbish when one deals in diamonds, as we do. such a quantity of fake is worn now, and, as you may imagine, we don't care to risk stealing paste." "but how cleverly my bag was taken!" she said. "who took it? he was an elderly man." "roddy redmayne," was bourne's reply. "the man who, if your highness will consent to meet him, will hand it back to you intact." "you knew, i suppose, that it contained jewels?" "we knew that it contained something of value. roddy was advised of it by telegraph from lucerne." "from lucerne? then one of your companions was there?" "yes, at your hotel. an attempt was made to get it while you were on the platform awaiting the train for paris, but you kept too close a watch. therefore, roddy received a telegram to meet you upon your arrival in paris, and he met you." what he told her surprised her. she had been quite ignorant of any thief making an attempt to steal the bag at lucerne, and she now saw how cleverly she had been watched and met. "and when am i to meet mr. redmayne?" she asked. "at any place and hour your imperial highness will appoint," was his reply. "but, of course, i need not add that you will first give your pledge of absolute secrecy--that you will say nothing to the police of the way your jewels have been returned to you." "i have already given my promise. mr. redmayne may rely upon my silence. where shall we fix the meeting? here?" "no, no," he laughed--"not in the hotel. there is an agent of police always about the hall. indeed, i run great risk of being recognised, for i fear that the fact of your having reported your loss to the police at the station has set monsieur hamard and his friends to watch for us. you see, they unfortunately possess our photographs. no. it must be outside--say at some small, quiet cafe at ten o'clock to-night, if it will not disturb your highness too much." "disturb me?" she laughed. "i ought to be only too thankful to you both for restoring my jewels to me." "and we, on our part, are heartily ashamed of having stolen them from you. well, let us say at the cafe vachette, a little place on the left-hand side of the rue de seine. you cross the pont des arts, and find it immediately; or better, take a cab. remember, the vachette, in the rue de seine, at ten o'clock. you will find us both sitting at one of the little tables outside, and perhaps your highness will wear a thick veil, for a pretty woman in that quarter is so quickly noticed." she smiled at his final words, but promised to carry out his directions. surely it was a situation unheard of--an escaped princess making a rendezvous with two expert thieves in order to receive back her own property. "then we shall be there awaiting you," he said. "and now i fear that i've kept you far too long, princess. allow me to take my leave." she gave him her hand, and thanked him warmly, saying-- "though your profession is a dishonourable one, mr. bourne, you have, nevertheless, proved to me that you are at heart still a gentleman." "i am gratified that your imperial highness should think so," he replied, and bowing, withdrew, and stepped out of the hotel by the restaurant entrance at the rear. he knew that the agent of police was idling in the hall that led out into the rue st. lazare, and he had no desire to run any further risk of detection, especially while that bag with its precious contents remained in the shabby upstairs room in the rue lafayette. her highness took little ignatia and drove in a cab along the avenue des champs elysees, almost unable to realise the amazing truth of what her mysterious rescuer of two years ago had revealed to her. she now saw plainly the reason he had left treysa in secret. he was wanted by the police, and feared that they would recognise him by the photograph sent from the prefecture in paris. and now, on a second occasion, he was serving her against his own interests, and without any thought of reward! with little ignatia prattling at her side, she drove along, her mind filled with that strange interview and the curious appointment that she had made for that evening. later that day, after dining in the restaurant, she put ignatia to bed and sat with her till nine o'clock, when, leaving her asleep, she put on a jacket, hat, and thick veil--the one she had worn when she escaped from the palace--and locking the door, went out. in the rue st. lazare she entered a cab and drove across the pont des arts, alighting at the corner of the rue de seine, that long, straight thoroughfare that leads up to the arcade of the luxembourg, and walked along on the left-hand side in search of the cafe vachette. at that hour the street was almost deserted, for the night was chilly, with a boisterous wind, and the small tables outside the several uninviting cafes and _brasseries_ were mostly deserted. suddenly, however, as she approached a dingy little place where four tables stood out upon the pavement, two on either side of the doorway, a man's figure rose, and with hat in hand, came forward to meet her. she saw that it was bourne, and with scarcely a word, allowed herself to be conducted to the table where an elderly, grey-haired man had risen to meet her. "this is mr. redmayne," explained bourne, "if i may be permitted to present him to you." the princess smiled behind her veil, and extended her hand. she recognised him in an instant as the gallant old gentleman in the bright red cravat, who, on pretence of assisting her to alight, had made off with her bag. she, an imperial archduchess, seated herself there between the pair of thieves. chapter seventeen. in which "the mute" is revealed. when, in order to save appearances, bourne had ordered her a _bock_, roddy redmayne bent to her, and in a low whisper said,-- "i beg, princess, that you will first accept my most humble apologies for what i did the other day. as to your highness's secrecy, i place myself entirely in your hands." "i have already forgiven both mr. bourne and yourself," was her quiet answer, lifting her veil and sipping the _bock_, in order that her hidden face should not puzzle the waiter too much. "your friend has told me that, finding certain letters in the bag, you discovered that it belonged to me." "exactly, and we were all filled with regret," said the old thief. "we have heard from the newspapers of your flight from treysa, owing to your domestic unhappiness, and we decided that it would be a coward's action to take a woman's jewels in such circumstances. therefore we resolved to try and discover you and to hand them back intact." "i am very grateful," was her reply. "but is it not a considerable sacrifice on your part? had you disposed of them you would surely have obtained a good round sum?" the man smiled. "we will not speak of sacrifice, your highness," the old fellow said. "if you forgive us and accept back your property, it is all that we ask. i am ashamed, and yet at the same time gratified, that you, an imperial princess, should offer me your hand, knowing who and what i am." "whatever you may be, mr. redmayne," she said, "you have shown yourself my friend." "and i am your friend; i'll stand your friend, princess, in whatever service you may command me," declared the keen-eyed old man, who was acknowledged by the continental police to be one of the cleverest criminals in the length and breadth of europe. "we have discovered that you are alone here; but remember that you are not friendless. we are your friends, even though the world would call us by a very ugly name--a gang of thieves." "i can only thank you," she sighed. "you are extremely good to speak like this. it is true that misfortune has fallen upon me, and being friendless, it is reassuring to know that i have at least two persons in paris ready to perform any service i require. mr. bourne once rendered me a very great service, but refused to accept any reward." and she added, laughing, "he has already explained the reason of his hurried departure from treysa." "our departures are often hurried ones, your highness," he said. "had we not discovered that the jewels were yours, we should in an hour have dispersed, one to england, one to germany, and one to amsterdam. but in order to discover you we remained here, and risked being recognised by the police, who know me, and are aware of my profession. to-morrow we leave paris, for already hamard's agents, suspecting me of the theft, are searching everywhere to discover me." "but you must not leave before i make you some reward," she said. "where are the jewels?" "in that closed cab. can you see it away yonder?" and he pointed to the lights of a vehicle standing some distance up the street. "kinder, one of our friends, has it with him. shall we get into the cab and drive away? then i will restore the bag to you, and if i may advise your highness, i would deposit it in the credit lyonnais to-morrow. it is not safe for a woman alone to carry about such articles of great value. there are certain people in paris who would not hesitate to take your life for half the sum they represent." "thank you for your advice, mr. redmayne," she said. "i will most certainly take it." "will your highness walk to the cab with me?" bourne asked, after he had paid the waiter. "you are not afraid to trust yourself with us?" he added. "not at all," she laughed. "are you not my friends?" and she rose and walked along the street to where the cab was in waiting. within the vehicle was a man whom he introduced to her as mr. kinder, and when all four were seated within, bourne beside her and redmayne opposite her, the elder man took the precious bag from kinder's hand and gave it to her, saying,-- "we beg of your highness to accept this, with our most humble apologies. you may open it and look within. you will not, i think, find anything missing," he added. she took the dressing-bag, and opening it, found within it the cheap leather bag she had brought from treysa. a glance inside showed her that the jewels were still there, although there were so many that she, of course, did not count them. for a few moments she remained in silence; then thanking the two for their generosity, she said,-- "i cannot accept their return without giving you some reward, mr. redmayne. i am, unfortunately, without very much money, but i desire you to accept these--if they are really worth your acceptance," and taking from the bag a magnificent pair of diamond earrings she gave them into his hand. "you, no doubt, can turn them into money," she added. the old fellow, usually so cool and imperturbable, became at once confused. "really, princess," he declared, "we could not think of accepting these. you, perhaps, do not realise that they are worth at least seven hundred pounds." "no; i have no idea of their value. i only command you to accept them as a slight acknowledgment of my heartfelt gratitude." "but--" "there are no buts. place them in your pocket, and say nothing further." a silence again fell between them, while the cab rolled along the asphalte of the boulevard. suddenly bourne said,-- "princess, you cannot know what a weight of anxiety your generous gift has lifted off our minds. roddy will not tell you, but it is right that you should know. the fact is that at this moment we are all three almost penniless--without the means of escape from paris. the money we shall get for those diamonds will enable us to get away from here in safety." she turned and peered into his face, lit by the uncertain light of the street lamps. in his countenance she saw a deep, earnest look. "then the truth is that without money to provide means of escape you have even sacrificed your chances of liberty, in order to return my jewels to me!" she exclaimed, for the first time realising the true position. he made no response; his silence was an affirmative. kinder, who had spoken no word, sat looking at her, entirely absorbed by her grace and beauty. "well," she exclaimed at last, "i wonder if you would all three do me another small favour?" "we shall be only too delighted," was bourne's quick reply. "only please understand, your highness, that we accept these earrings out of pure necessity. if we were not so sorely in need of money, we should most certainly refuse." "do not let us mention them again," she said quickly. "listen. the fact is this. i have very little ready money, and do not wish at this moment to reveal my whereabouts by applying to my lawyers in vienna or in treysa. therefore it will be best to sell some of my jewellery--say one thousand pounds' worth. could you arrange this for me?" "certainly," roddy replied, "with the greatest pleasure. for that single row diamond necklet we could get from a thousand to twelve hundred pounds--if that amount is sufficient." she reopened the bag, and after searching in the fickle light shed by the street lamps she at length pulled out the necklet in question--one of the least valuable of the heap of jewels that had been restored to her in so curious and romantic a manner. the old jewel thief took it, weighed it in his hand, and examined it critically under the feeble light. he had already valued it on the day when he had secured it. it was worth in the market about four thousand pounds, but in the secret channel where he would sell it he would not obtain more than twelve hundred for it, as, whatever he said, the purchaser would still believe it to be stolen property, and would therefore have the stones recut and reset. "you might try pere perrin," guy remarked. "it would be quicker to take it to him than to send it to amsterdam or leyden." "or why not old lestocard, in brussels? he always gives decent prices, and is as safe as anybody," suggested kinder. "is time of great importance to your highness?" asked the head of the association, speaking with his decidedly cockney twang. "a week or ten days--not longer," she replied. "then we will try pere perrin to-morrow, and let you know the result. of course, i shall not tell him whose property it is. he will believe that we have obtained it in the ordinary way of our profession. perrin is an old jew who lives over at batignolles, and who asks no questions. the stuff he buys goes to russia or to italy." "very well. i leave it to you to do your best for me, mr. redmayne," was her reply. "i put my trust in you implicitly." "your imperial highness is one of the few persons--beyond our own friends here--who do. to most people roddy redmayne is a man not to be trusted, even as far as you can see him!" and he grinned, adding, "but here we are at the pont d'austerlitz. harry and i will descend, and you, bourne, will accompany the princess to her hotel." then he shouted an order to the man to stop, and after again receiving her highness's warmest thanks, the expert thief and his companion alighted, and, bowing to her, disappeared. when the cab moved on again towards the place de la bastille, she turned to the englishman beside her, saying-- "i owe all this to you, mr. bourne, and i assure you i feel most deeply grateful. one day i hope i may be of some service to you, if," and she paused and looked at him--"well, if only to secure your withdrawal from a criminal life." "ah, princess," he sighed wistfully, "if i only could see my way clear to live honestly! but to do so requires money, money--and i have none. the gentlemanly dress which you see me wearing is only an imposture and a fraud--like all my life, alas! nowadays." she realised that this man, a gentleman by birth, was eager to extricate himself from the low position into which he had, by force of adverse circumstances, fallen. he was a cosmopolitan of cosmopolitans, a quiet, slow-speaking, slightly built, high-browed, genial-souled man, with his slight, dark moustache, shrewd dark eyes, and a mouth that had humour smiling at the corners; a man of middle height, his dark hair showing the first sign of changing early to grey, and a countenance bitten and scarred by all the winds and suns of the round globe; a wise and quiet man, able to keep his own counsel, able to get his own end with few words, and yet unable to shape his own destiny; a marvellous impostor, the friend of men and women of the _haut monde_, who all thought him a gentleman, and never for one instant suspected his true occupation. such was the man who had once risked his life for hers, the man who had now returned her stolen jewels to her, and who was at that moment seated at her side escorting her to her hotel on terms of intimate friendship. she thought deeply over his bitter words of regret that he was what he was. could she assist him, she wondered. but how? "remain patient," she urged, in a calm, kindly tone. "i shall never forget my great indebtedness to you, and i will do my utmost in order that you may yet realise your wish to lead an honest life. at this moment i am, like yourself, an outcast, wondering what the future may have in store for me. but be patient and hope, for it shall be my most strenuous endeavour to assist you to realise your commendable desire." "ah! really your highness is far too kind," he answered, in a voice that seemed to her to falter in emotion. "i only hope that some way will open out to me. i would welcome any appointment, however menial, that took me out of my present shameful profession--that of a thief." "i really believe you," she said. "i can quite understand that it is against the nature of a man of honour to find himself in your position." "i assure you, princess, that i hate myself," he declared in earnest confidence. "what greater humility can befall a man than to be compelled to admit that he is a thief--as i admitted to you this afternoon? i might have concealed the fact, it is true, and have returned the jewels anonymously; yet an explanation of the reason of my sudden flight from treysa after all your kindness was surely due to you. and--well, i was forced to tell you the whole truth, and allow you to judge me as you will." "as i have already said, mr. bourne, your profession does not concern me. many a man of note and of high position and power in the ministries of europe commits far greater peculations than you do, yet is regarded as a great man, and holds the favour of his sovereign until he commits the unpardonable sin of being found out. no, a man is not always what his profession is." "i thank you for regarding me in such a lenient light, your highness, and i only look forward with hope to the day when, by some turn of fortune's wheel, i gain the liberty to be honest," he answered. "remember, mr. bourne, that i am your friend; and i hope you are still mine in return," she said, for the cab had now stopped at the corner of the rue d'amsterdam, as he had ordered it, for it was running unnecessary risk for him to drive with her up to the hotel. "thank you, princess," he said earnestly, raising his hat, his dark, serious eyes meeting hers. "let us be mutual friends, and perhaps we can help each other. who knows? when i lay in the hospital with my chest broken in i often used to wonder what you would say if you knew my real identity. you, an imperial princess, were sending flowers and fruit from the royal table to a criminal for whom half the police in europe were in active search!" "even an imperial princess is not devoid of gratitude," she said, when he was out upon the pavement and had closed the door of the cab. the vehicle moved forward to the hotel, and he was left there, bowing in silence before her, his hat in his hand. to the hall porter she gave the precious bag, with orders to send it at once to her room, and then turned to pay the cabman. but the man merely raised his white hat respectfully, saying,-- "pardon, madame, but i have already been paid." therefore she gave him a couple of francs as tip. then she ascended in the lift to her room, where a porter with the bag was awaiting her, and unlocking the door, found that little ignatia, tired out by her afternoon drive, had not stirred. locking the door and throwing off her things, she opened the bag and took out the magnificent ornaments one by one. she had not counted them before leaving the palace, therefore could not possibly tell if all were intact. in handfuls she took them out and laid them in a glittering heap upon the dressing-table, when of a sudden she found among them a small envelope containing something hard to the touch. this she opened eagerly, and took out a cheap, tiny little brooch, about half an inch long, representing a beetle, scarlet, with black spots--the innocent little insect which has so interested all of us back in our youthful days--a ladybird. the ornament was a very cheap one, costing one franc at the outside, but in the envelope with it was a letter. this she opened, scanned the few brief lines quickly, then re-read it very carefully, and stood staring at the little brooch in her hand, puzzled and mystified. the words written there revealed to her the existence of a secret. chapter eighteen. the ladybird. the note enclosed with the cheap little brooch ran,-- "if your imperial highness will wear this always in a prominent position, so that it can be seen, she will receive the assistance of unknown friends." that was all. yet it was surely a curious request, for her to wear that cheap little ornament. she turned it over in her hand, then placing it upon a black dress, saw how very prominently the scarlet insect showed. then she replaced all the jewels in her bag and retired, full of reflections upon her meeting with the friendly thieves and her curious adventure. next morning she took the bag to the credit lyonnais, as roddy redmayne had suggested, where it was sealed and a receipt for it was given her. after that she breathed more freely, for the recovery of her jewels now obviated the necessity of her applying either to her father or to treysa. the little ladybird she wore, as old roddy and his companions suggested, and at the bank and in the shops a number of people glanced at it curiously, without, of course, being aware that it was a secret symbol-- of what? claire wondered. both roddy and guy had told her that they feared to come to her at the terminus, as a detective was always lurking in the hall; therefore she was not surprised to receive, about four o'clock, a note from roddy asking her to meet him at the vachette at nine. when ignatia was asleep she took a cab to the dingy little place, where she found roddy smoking alone at the same table set out upon the pavement, and joined him there. she shook hands with him, and then was compelled to sip the _bock_ he ordered. "we will go in a moment," he whispered, so that a man seated near should not overhear. "i thought it best to meet you here rather than risk your hotel. our friend bourne asked me to present his best compliments. he left this morning for london." "for london! why?" "because--well," he added, with a mysterious smile, "there were two agents of police taking an undue interest in him, you know." "ah!" she laughed; "i understand perfectly." the old thief, who wore evening dress beneath his light black overcoat, smoked his cigar with an easy, nonchalant air. he passed with every one as an elderly englishman of comfortable means; yet if one watched closely his quick eyes and the cunning look which sometimes showed in them, they would betray to the observer that he was a sly, ingenious old fellow--a perfect past master of his craft. presently they rose, and after she had dismissed her cab, walked in company along the narrow street, at that hour almost deserted. "the reason i asked you here, your highness, was to give you the proceeds of the necklet. i sold it to-day to old perrin for twelve hundred and sixty pounds. a small price, but it was all he would give, as, of course, he believed that i could never have come by it honestly," and he grinned broadly, taking from his pocket an envelope bulky with french thousand-franc bank-notes and handing it to her. "i am really very much obliged," she answered, transferring the envelope to her pocket. "you have rendered me another very great service, mr. redmayne; for as a matter of fact i was almost at the end of my money, and to apply for any would have at once betrayed my whereabouts." "ah, your highness," replied the old thief, "you also have rendered me a service; for with what you gave us last night we shall be able to leave paris at once. and it is highly necessary, i can tell you, if we are to retain our liberty." "oh! then you also are leaving," she exclaimed, surprised, as they walked slowly side by side. she almost regretted, for he had acted with such friendliness towards her. "yes; it is imperative. i go to brussels, and kinder to ostend. are you making a long stay here?" "to-morrow i too may go; but i don't know where." "why not to london, princess?" he suggested. "my daughter leucha is there, and would be delighted to be of any service to you--act as your maid or nurse to the little princess. she's a good girl, is leucha." "is she married?" asked her highness. "no. i trained her, and she's as shrewd and clever a young woman as there is in all london. she's a lady's maid," he added, "and to tell you the truth--for you may as well know it at first as at last--she supplies us with much valuable information. she takes a place, for instance, in london or in the country, takes note of where her lady's jewels are kept, and if they are accessible, gives us all the details how best to secure them, and then, on ground of ill-health, or an afflicted mother, or some such excuse, she leaves. and after a week or two we just look in and see what we can pick up. so clever is she that never once has she been suspected," he added, with paternal pride. "of course, it isn't a nice profession for a girl," he added apologetically, "and i'd like to see her doing something honest. yet how can she? we couldn't get on without her." the princess remained silent for a few moments. surely her life now was a strange contrast to that at treysa, mixing with criminals and becoming the confidante of their secrets! "i should like to meet your daughter," she remarked simply. "if your imperial highness would accept her services, i'm sure she might be of service to you. she's a perfect maid, all the ladies have said; and besides, she knows the world, and would protect you in your present dangerous and lonely position. you want a female companion--if your highness will permit me to say so--and if you do not object to my leucha on account of her profession, you are entirely welcome to her services, which to you will be faithful and honest, if nothing else." "you are very fond of her!" the princess exclaimed. "very, your highness. she is my only child. my poor wife died when she was twelve, and ever since that she has been with us, living upon her wits--and living well too. to confess all this to you i am ashamed; yet now you know who and what i am, and you are our friend, it is only right that you should be made aware of everything," the old fellow said frankly. "quite right. i admire you for telling me the truth. in a few days i shall cross to london, and shall be extremely glad of your daughter's services if you will kindly write to her." "when do you think of leaving?" "well, probably the day after to-morrow, by the first service _via_ calais." "then leucha shall meet that train on arrival at charing cross. she will be dressed as a maid, in black, with a black straw sailor hat and a white lace cravat. she will at once enter your service. the question of salary will not be discussed. you have assisted us, and it is our duty to help you in return, especially at this most perilous moment, when you are believed to have eloped with a lover." "i'm sure you are very, very kind, mr. redmayne," she declared. "truth to tell, it is so very difficult for me to know in whom to trust; i have been betrayed so often. but i have every confidence in both you and your daughter; therefore i most gladly accept your offer, for, as you say, i am sadly in need of some one to look after the child--some one, indeed, in whom i can trust." an exalted charm seemed to invest her always. "well, your highness," exclaimed the pleasant-faced old fellow, "you have been kind and tolerant to us unfortunates, and i hope to prove to you that even a thief can show his gratitude." "you have already done so, mr. redmayne; and believe me, i am very much touched by all that you have done--your actions are those of an honest man, not those of an outlaw." "don't let us discuss the past, your highness," he said, somewhat confused by her kindly words; "let's think of the future--your own future, i mean. you can trust leucha implicitly, and as the police, fortunately, have no suspicion of her, she will be perfectly free to serve you. hitherto she has always obtained employment with an ulterior motive, but this fact, i hope, will not prejudice her in your eyes. i can only assure you that for her father's sake she will do anything, and that for his sake she will serve you both loyally and well." he halted beneath a street lamp, and tearing a leaf from a small notebook, wrote an address in granville gardens, shepherd's bush, which he gave to her, saying: "this is in case you miss her at charing cross. send her a letter, and she will at once come to you." again she thanked him, and they walked to the corner of the boulevard saint germain, where they halted to part. "remember, princess, command me in any way," said the old man, raising his hat politely. "i am always at your service. i have not concealed anything from you. take me as i am, your servant." "thank you, mr. redmayne. i assure you i deeply appreciate and am much touched by your kindness to a defenceless woman. _au revoir_." and giving him her hand again, she mounted into a fiacre and drove straight back to her hotel. her friendship with this gang of adventurers was surely giving a curious turn to the current of strange events. she, a woman of imperial birth, had at last found friends, and among the class where one would hesitate to look for them--the outcasts of society! the more she reflected upon the situation, the more utterly bewildering it was to her. she was unused as a child to the ways of the world. her life had always been spent within the narrow confines of the glittering courts of europe, and she had only known of "the people" vaguely. every hour she now lived more deeply impressed her that "the people" possessed a great and loving heart for the ill-judged and the oppressed. at the hotel she counted the notes roddy had given her, and found the sum that he had named. the calm, smiling old fellow was actually an honest thief! the following day she occupied herself in making some purchases, and in the evening a police agent called in order to inform her that up to the present nothing had been ascertained regarding her stolen jewels. they had knowledge of a gang of expert english jewel thieves being in paris, and were endeavouring to discover them. the princess heard what the man said, but, keeping her own counsel, thanked him for his endeavours and dismissed him. she congratulated herself that roddy and his two associates were already out of france. on the following afternoon, about half-past four, when the continental express drew slowly into charing cross station, where a knot of eager persons as usual awaited its arrival, the princess, leading little ignatia and wearing the ladybird as a brooch, descended from a first-class compartment and looked about her in the bustling crowd of arrivals. a porter took her wraps and placed them in a four-wheeled cab for her, and then taking her baggage ticket said,-- "you'll meet me yonder at the custom 'ouse, mum," leaving her standing by the cab, gazing around for the woman in black who was to be her maid. for fully ten minutes, while the baggage was being taken out of the train, she saw no one answering to roddy's description of his daughter; but at last from out of the crowd came a tall, slim, dark-haired, rather handsome young woman, with black eyes and refined, regular features, neatly dressed in black, wearing a sailor hat, a white lace cravat, and black kid gloves. as she approached the princess smiled at her; whereupon the girl, blushing in confusion, asked simply,-- "is it the crown princess claire? or am i mistaken?" "yes. and you are leucha redmayne," answered her highness, shaking hands with her, for from the first moment she became favourably impressed. "oh, your highness, i really hope i have not kept you waiting," she exclaimed concernedly. "but father's letter describing you was rather hurried and vague, and i've seen several ladies alone with little girls, though none of them seemed to be--well, not one of them seemed to be a princess--only yourself. besides, you are wearing the little ladybird." her highness smiled, explained that she was very friendly with her father, who had suggested that she should enter her service as maid, and expressed a hope that she was willing. "my father has entrusted to me a duty, princess," was the dark-eyed girl's serious reply. "and i hope that you will not find me wanting in the fulfilment of it." and then they went together within the customs barrier and claimed the baggage. the way in which she did this showed the princess at once that leucha redmayne was a perfectly trained maid. how many ladies, she wondered, had lost their jewels after employing her? chapter nineteen. leucha makes confession. leucha redmayne was, as her father had declared, a very clever young woman. she was known as "the ladybird" on account of her habit of flitting from place to place, constantly taking situations in likely families. most of the ladies in whose service she had been had regretted when she left, and many of them actually offered her higher wages to remain. she was quick and neat, had taken lessons in hairdressing and dressmaking in paris, could speak french fluently, and possessed that quiet, dignified demeanour so essential to the maid of an aristocratic woman. her references were excellent. a well-known duchess--whose jewels, however, had been too carefully guarded--and half a dozen other titled ladies testified to her honesty and good character, and also to their regret on account of her being compelled to leave their service; therefore, armed with such credentials, she never had difficulty in obtaining any situation that was vacant. so ingenious was she, and so cleverly did she contrive to make her excuses for leaving the service of her various mistresses, that nobody, not even the most astute officers from scotland yard, ever suspected her. the case of lady harefield's jewels, which readers of the present narrative of a royal scandal will well remember, was a typical one. leucha, who saw in the _morning post_ that lady harefield wanted a maid to travel, applied, and at once obtained the situation. she soon discovered that her ladyship possessed some extremely valuable diamonds; but they were in the bank at derby, near which town the country place was situated. she accompanied her ladyship to the riviera for the season, and then returning to england found out that her mistress intended to go to court upon a certain evening, and that she would have the diamonds brought up from derby on the preceding day. his lordship's secretary was to be sent for them. as soon as she obtained this information she was taken suddenly ill, and left lady harefield's service to go back to her fictitious home in the country. at once she called her father and bourne, with the result that on the day in question, when lord harefield's secretary arrived at st. pancras station, the bag containing the jewels disappeared, and was never again seen. more than once too, she had, by pre-arrangement with her father, left her mistress's bedroom window open and the jewel-case unlocked while the family were dining, with the result that the precious ornaments had been mysteriously abstracted. many a time, after taking a situation, and finding that her mistress's jewels were paste, she had calmly left at the end of the week, feigning to be ill-tempered and dissatisfied, and not troubling about wages. if there were no jewels she never remained. and wherever she chanced to be--in london, in the country, or up in scotland--either one or other of her father's companions was generally lurking near to receive her secret communications. hers had from childhood been a life full of strange adventures, of ingenious deceptions, and of clever subterfuge. so closely did she keep her own counsel that not a single friend was aware of her motive in so constantly changing her employment; indeed, the majority of them put it down to her own fickleness, and blamed her for not "settling down." such was the woman whom the crown princess claire had taken into her service. at the savoy, where she took up a temporary abode under the title of baroness deitel of frankfort, leucha quickly exhibited her skill as lady's maid. indeed, even henriette was not so quick or deft as was this dark-eyed young woman who was the spy of a gang of thieves. while she dressed the princess's hair, her highness explained how her valuable jewels had been stolen, and how her father had so generously restored them to her. "guy--mr. bourne, i mean--has already told me. he is back in london, and is lying low because of the police. they suspect him on account of a little affair up in edinburgh about three months ago." "where is he?" asked the princess; "i would so like to see him." "he is living in secret over at hammersmith. he dare not come here, i think." "but we might perhaps pay him a visit--eh?" from the manner in which the girl inadvertently referred to bourne by his christian name, her highness suspected that they were fond of each other. but she said nothing, resolving to remain watchful and observe for herself. that same evening, after dinner, when ignatia was sleeping, and they sat together in her highness's room overlooking the dark thames and the long lines of lights of the embankment, "the ladybird," at the princess's invitation, related one or two of her adventures, confessing openly to the part she had played as her father's spy. she would certainly have said nothing had not her highness declared that she was interested, and urged her to tell her something of her life. though trained as an assistant to these men ever since she had left the cheap boarding-school at weymouth, she hated herself for the despicable part she had played, and yet, as she had often told herself, it had been of sheer necessity. "yes," she sighed, "i have had several narrow escapes of being suspected of the thefts. once, when in lady milborne's service, down at lyme regis, i discovered that she kept the milborne heirlooms, among which were some very fine old rubies--which are just now worth more than diamonds in the market--in a secret cupboard in the wall of her bedroom, behind an old family portrait. my father, with guy, kinder, and two others, were in the vicinity of the house ready to make the _coup_; and i arranged with them that on a certain evening, while her ladyship was at dinner, i would put the best of the jewels into a wash-leather bag and lower them from the window to where guy was to be in waiting for them in the park. he was to cut the string and disappear with the bag, while i would draw up the string and put it upon the fire. her ladyship seldom went to the secret cupboard, and some days might elapse before the theft was discovered. well, on the evening in question i slipped up to the bedroom, obtained the rubies and let them out of the window. i felt the string being cut, and hauling it back again quickly burnt it, and then got away to another part of the house, hoping that her ladyship would not go to her jewels for a day or two. in the meantime i dare not leave her service, or suspicion might fall upon me. besides, the honourable george, her eldest son--a fellow with a rather bad reputation for gambling and racing--was about to be married to the daughter of a wealthy landowner in the neighbourhood; a most excellent match for him, as the milbornes had become poor owing to the depreciation in the value of land. "about two hours after i had let down the precious little bag i chanced to be looking out into the park from my own window, and saw a man in the public footway strike three matches in order to light his pipe--the signal that my friends wanted to speak to me. in surprise i slipped out, and there found guy, who, to my utter amazement, told me that they had not received the bag; they had been forestalled by a tall man in evening dress who had emerged from the hall, and who chanced to be walking up and down smoking when the bag dangled in front of him! imagine my feelings! "unfortunately i had not looked out, for fear of betraying myself; and as it was the exact hour appointed, i felt certain that my friend would be there. the presence of the man in evening dress, however, deterred them from emerging from the bushes, and they were compelled to remain concealed and watch my peril. the man looked up, and though the room was in darkness, he could see my white apron. then in surprise he cut the string, and having opened the bag in the light, saw what it contained, placed it in his pocket, and re-entered the house. guy described him, and i at once knew that it was the honourable george, my mistress's son. he would no doubt denounce me as a thief. "i saw the extreme peril of the situation. i had acted clumsily in not first ascertaining that the way was clear. to fly at once was to condemn myself. i reflected for a moment, and then, resolving upon a desperate course of action, returned to the house, in spite of bourne's counsel to get away as quickly as possible. i went straight to her ladyship's room, but from the way she spoke to me saw that up to the present her son had told her nothing. this was fortunate for me. he was keeping the secret in order, no doubt, to call the police on the morrow and accuse me in their presence. i saw that the only way was to bluff him; therefore i went very carefully to work. "just before midnight i slipped into his sitting-room, which adjoined his bedroom, and secreted myself behind the heavy plush curtains that were drawn; then when he was asleep i took the rubies from the drawer in which he had placed them, but in doing so the lock of the drawer clicked, and he awoke. he saw me, and sprang up, openly accusing me of theft. whereupon i faced him boldly, declaring that if he did not keep his mouth closed i would alarm the household, who would find me alone in his room at that hour. he would then be compromised in the eyes of the woman whom in two days he was about to marry. instantly he recognised that i held the whip-hand. he endeavoured, however, to argue; but i declared that if he did not allow me to have the rubies to replace in the cupboard and maintain silence, i would arouse the household. then he laughed, saying, `you're a fool, leucha. i'm very hard up, and you quite providentially lowered them down to me. i intend to raise money on them to-morrow.' `and to accuse me!' i said. `no, you don't. i shall put them back, and we will both remain silent. both of us have much to lose--you a wife, and i my liberty. why should either of us risk it? is it really worth while?' this argument decided him. i replaced the jewels, and next day left lady milborne's service. "that was, however, one of the narrowest escapes i ever had, and it required all my courage to extricate myself, i can tell you." "so your plots were not always successful," remarked the princess, smiling and looking at her wonderingly. she was surely a girl of great resource and ingenuity. "not always, your highness. one, which father had planned here a couple of months ago, and which was to be effected in paris, has just failed in a peculiar way. the lady went to paris, and, unknown to her husband, suddenly sold all her jewels _en masse_ in order to pay her debts at bridge." "she forestalled him!" "exactly," laughed the girl. "but it was a curious _contretemps_, was it not?" next day proved an eventful one to the crown princess, for soon after eleven o'clock, when with leucha and ignatia she went out of the hotel into the strand, a man selling the _evening news_ held a poster before her, bearing in large capitals the words:-- evening news, friday, june th. death of the king of marburg. evening news. she halted, staring at the words. then she bought a newspaper, and opening it at once upon the pavement, amid the busy throng, learnt that the aged king had died suddenly at treysa, on the previous evening, of senile decay. the news staggered her. her husband had succeeded, and she was now queen--a reigning sovereign! in the cruelly wronged woman there still remained all the fervour of youthful tenderness, all the romance of youthful fancy, all the enchantment of ideal grace--the bloom of beauty, the brightness of intellect, and the dignity of rank, taking the peculiar hue from the conjugal character which shed over all like a consecration and a holy charm. thoughts of her husband, the man who had so cruelly ill-judged her, were in her recollections, acting on her mind with the force of a habitual feeling, heightened by enthusiastic passion, and hallowed by a sense of duty. her duty to her husband and to her people was to return at once to treysa. as she walked with leucha towards trafalgar square she reflected deeply. how could she go back now that her enemies had so openly condemned her? no; she saw that for her own happiness it was far better that she still remain away from court--the court over which at last she now reigned as queen. "my worst enemies will bow to me in adulation," she thought to herself. "they fear my retaliation, and if i went back i verily believe that i should show them no mercy. and yet, after all, it would be uncharitable. one should always repay evil with good. if i do not return, i shall not be tempted to revenge." that day she remained very silent and pensive, full of an acute sense of the injustice inflicted upon her. her husband the king was no doubt trying to discover her whereabouts, but up to the present had been unsuccessful. the papers, which spoke of her almost daily, stated that it was believed she was still in germany, at one or other of the quieter spas, on account of little ignatia's health. in one journal she had read that she had been recognised in new york, and in another it was cruelly suggested that she was in hiding in rome, so as to be near her lover leitolf. the truth was that her enemies at court were actually paying the more scurrilous of the continental papers--those which will publish any libel for a hundred francs, and the present writer could name dozens of such rags on the continent--to print all sorts of cruel, unfounded scandals concerning her. during the past few days she had scarcely taken up a single foreign paper without finding the heading, "the great court scandal," and something outrageously against her; for her enemies, who had engaged as their secret agent a jew money-lender, had started a bitter campaign against her, backed with the sum of a hundred thousand marks, placed by hinckeldeym at the unscrupulous hebrew's disposal with which to bribe the press. a little money can, alas! soon ruin a woman's good name, or, on the other hand, it can whitewash the blackest record. this plot against an innocent, defenceless woman was as brutal as any conceived by the ingenuity of a corrupt court of office-seekers and sycophants, for at heart the king had loved his wife--until they had poisoned his mind against her and besmirched her good name. of all this she was well aware, conscious of her own weakness as a woman. yet she retained her woman's heart, for that was unalterable, and part of her being: but her looks, her language, her thoughts, even in those adverse circumstances, assumed the cast of the pure ideal; and to those who were in the secret of her humane and pitying nature, nothing could be more charming and consistent than the effect which she produced upon others. as the hot, fevered days went by, she recognised that it became hourly more necessary for her to leave london, and conceal her identity somewhere in the country. she noticed at the savoy, whenever she dined or lunched with leucha, people were noting her beauty and inquiring who she was. at any moment she might be recognised by some one who had visited the court at treysa, or by those annoying portraits that were now appearing everywhere in the illustrated journals. she decided to consult guy bourne, who, leucha said, usually spent half his time in hiding. therefore one evening, with "the ladybird," she took a cab to a small semi-detached villa in wolverton gardens, off the hammersmith road, where she alighted and entered, in utter ignorance, unfortunately, that another hansom had followed her closely all the way from the savoy, and that, pulling up in the hammersmith road, the fare, a tall, thin, middle-aged man, with a black overcoat concealing his evening dress, had alighted, walked quickly up the street, and noted the house wherein she and her maid had entered. the stranger muttered to himself some words in german, and with a smile of self-satisfaction lit a cigar and strolled back to the hammersmith road to wait. a fearful destiny had encompassed her. chapter twenty. the hermit of hammersmith. guy bourne, in his shirt sleeves, was sitting back in a long cane lounge-chair in the little front parlour when the princess and her companion entered. he had just finished his frugal supper. he jumped up confusedly, threw the evening paper aside, and apologised that her highness had discovered him without a coat. "please don't apologise, mr. bourne. this is rather an unusual hour for a visit, is it not? but pray forgive me," she said in english, with scarcely any trace of a german accent. "your highness is always welcome--at any hour," he laughed, struggling into his coat and ordering his landlady to clear away the remnants of the meal. "leucha was here yesterday, and she told me how you were faring. i am sorry that circumstances over which i, unfortunately, have no control have not permitted my calling at the savoy. at present i can only go out after midnight for a breath of air, and time passes rather slowly, i can assure you. as leucha has probably told you, certain persons are making rather eager inquiries about me just now." "i understand perfectly," she laughed. "it was to obtain your advice as to the best way to efface myself that i came to see you this evening. leucha tells me you are an expert in disappearing." "well, princess," he smiled, offering her a chair, "you see it's part of my profession to show myself as little as possible, though self-imprisonment is always very irksome. this house is one among many in london which afford accommodation for such as myself. the landlady is a person who knows how to keep her mouth shut, and who asks no questions. she is, as most of them are, the widow of a person who was a social outcast like myself." "and this is one of your harbours of refuge," her highness exclaimed, looking around curiously upon the cheaply furnished but comfortable room. there was linoleum in lieu of carpet, and to the londoner the cheap walnut overmantel and plush-covered drawing-room suite spoke mutely of the tottenham court road and the "easy-payment" system. the princess was shrewd enough to notice the looks which passed between leucha and the man to whom she was so much indebted. she detected that a passion of love existed between them. indeed, the girl had almost admitted as much to her, and had on several occasions begged to be allowed to visit him and ascertain whether he was in want of anything. it was an interesting and a unique study, she found, the affection between a pair of the criminal class. what would the world say had it known that she, a reigning queen, was there upon a visit to a man wanted by the police for half a dozen of the most daring jewel robberies of the past half-century? she saw a box of cheap cigarettes upon the table, and begged one, saying,-- "i hope, mr. bourne, you will not be shocked, but i dearly love a cigarette. you will join me, of course?" "most willingly, your highness," he said, springing to his feet and holding the lighted match for her. she was so charmingly unconventional that people of lower station were always fascinated by her. "you know," she exclaimed, laughing, "i used to shock them very much at court because i smoked. and sometimes," she added mischievously, "i smoked at certain functions in order purposely to shock the prudes. oh, i've had the most delightful fun very often, i assure you. my husband, when we were first married, used to enter into the spirit of the thing, and once dared me to smoke a cigarette in the throne room in the presence of the king and queen. i did so--and imagine the result!" "ah!" he cried, "that reminds me. pray pardon me for my breach of etiquette, but you have come upon me so very unexpectedly. i've seen in the _mail_ the account of his majesty's death, and that you are now queen. in future i must call you `your majesty.' you are a reigning sovereign, and i am a thief. a strange contrast, is it not?" "better call me your friend, mr. bourne," she said, in a calm, changed voice. "here is no place for titles. recollect that i am now only an ordinary citizen, one of the people--a mere woman whose only desire is peace." then continuing, she explained her daily fear lest she might be recognised at the savoy, and asked his advice as to the best means of hiding herself. "well, your majesty," said the past master of deception, after some thought, "you see you are a foreigner, and as such will be remarked in england everywhere. you speak french like a _parisienne_. why not pass as french under a french name? i should suggest that you go to some small, quiet south coast town--say to worthing. many french people go there as they cross from dieppe. there are several good hotels; or you might, if you wished to be more private, obtain apartments." "yes," she exclaimed excitedly; "apartments in an english house would be such great fun. i will go to this place worthing. is it nice?" "quiet--with good sea air." "i was once at hastings--when i was a child. is it anything like that?" "smaller, more select, and quieter." "then i will go there to-morrow and call myself madame bernard," she said decisively. "leucha will go with me in search of apartments." having gained her freedom, she now wanted to see what an english middle-class house was like. she had heard much of english home life from allen and from the english notabilities who had come to court, and she desired to see it for herself. hotel life is the same all the world over, and it already bored her. "certainly. your majesty will be much quieter and far more comfortable in apartments, and passing as an ordinary member of the public," leucha said. "i happen to know a very nice house where one can obtain furnished apartments. it faces the sea near the pier, and is kept by a mrs. blake, the widow of an army surgeon. when i was in service with lady porthkerry we stayed there for a month." "then we will most certainly go there; and perhaps you, mr. bourne, will find it possible to take the sea air at worthing instead of being cooped up here. you might come down by a night train--that is, if you know a place where you would be safe." he shook his head dubiously. "i know a place in brighton--where i've stayed several times. it is not far from worthing, certainly. but we will see afterwards. does your majesty intend to leave london to-morrow?" "yes; but please not `your majesty,'" she said, in mild reproach, and with a sweet smile. "remember, i am in future plain madame bernard, of bordeaux, shall we say? the landlady--as i think you call her in english--must not know who i am, or there will soon be paragraphs in the papers, and those seaside snap-shotters will be busy. i should quickly find myself upon picture postcards, as i've done, to my annoyance, on several previous occasions when i've wanted to be quiet and remain incognito." and so it was arranged that she should establish herself at mrs. blake's, in worthing, which she did about six o'clock on the following evening. the rooms, she found, were rather frowzy, as are those of most seaside lodgings, the furniture early victorian, and on the marble-topped whatnot was that ornament in which our grandmothers so delighted--a case of stuffed birds beneath a glass dome. the two windows of the first-floor sitting-room opened out upon a balcony before which was the promenade and the sea beyond--one of the best positions in worthing, without a doubt. mrs. blake recognised leucha at once, terms were quickly fixed, and the maid--as is usual in such cases--received a small commission for bringing her mistress there. when they were duly installed, leucha, in confidence, told the inquisitive landlady that her mistress was one of the old french aristocracy, while at the same moment "madame" was sitting out upon the balcony watching the sun disappear into the grey waters of the channel. in the promenade a few people were still passing up and down, the majority having gone in to dinner. but among them was one man, who, though unnoticed, lounged past and glanced upward--the tall, thin, grey-haired man who had on the previous night watched her enter the house in hammersmith. he wore a light grey suit, and presented the appearance of an idler from london, like most of the other promenaders, yet the quick, crafty look he darted in her direction was distinctly an evil one. yet in ignorance she sat there, in full view of him, enjoying the calm sundown, her eyes turned pensively away into the grey, distant haze of the coming night. her thoughts were away there, across the sea. she wondered how her husband fared, now that he was king. did he ever think of her save with angry recollections; or did he ever experience that remorse that sooner or later must come to every man who wrongs a faithful woman? that morning, before leaving the savoy, she had received two letters, forwarded to her in secret from brussels. one was from treysa, and the other bore the postmark "roma." the letter from treysa had been written by steinbach three days after the king's death. it was on plain paper, and without a signature. but she knew his handwriting well. it ran:-- "your majesty will have heard the news, no doubt, through the newspapers. two days ago our king george was, after luncheon, walking on the terrace with general scheibe, when he was suddenly seized by paralysis. he cried, `i am dying, scheibe. help me indoors!' and fell to the ground. he was carried into the palace, where he lingered until nine o'clock in the evening, and then, in spite of all the physicians could do, he expired. the crown prince was immediately proclaimed sovereign, and at this moment i have just returned from the funeral, whereat the greatest pomp has been displayed. all the sovereigns of europe were represented, and your majesty's absence from court was much remarked and commented upon. the general opinion is that you will return--that your difference with the king will now be settled; and i am glad to tell you that those who were your majesty's bitterest enemies a week ago are now modifying their views, possibly because they fear what may happen to them if you really do return. at this moment the court is divided into two sets--those who hope that you will take your place as queen, and those who are still exerting every effort to prevent it. the latter are still crying out that you left treysa in company with count leitolf, and urging his majesty to sue for a divorce--especially now that the emperor of austria has degraded you by withdrawing your imperial privileges and your right to bear the imperial arms of austria, and by decree striking you off the roll of the dames de la croix etoilee. from what i have gathered, a spy of hinckeldeym's must have followed your majesty to vienna and seen you meet the count. at present, however, although every effort is being made to find you, the secret agents have, it is said, been unsuccessful. i have heard that you are in italy, to be near leitolf; evidently a report spread by hinckeldeym and his friends. "the people are clamouring loudly for you. they demand that `their claire' shall be brought back to them as queen. great demonstrations have been made in the dom platz, and inflammatory speeches have been delivered against hinckeldeym, who is denounced as your arch-enemy. the mob on two occasions assumed an attitude so threatening that it had to be dispelled by the police. the situation is serious for the government, inasmuch as the socialists have resolved to champion your cause, and declare that when the time is ripe they will expose the plots of your enemies, and cause hinckeldeym's downfall. "i am in a position to know that this is no mere idle talk. one of the spies has betrayed his employers; hence the whole court is trembling. what will the king do? we are all asking. on the one hand the people declare you are innocent and ill-judged, while on the other the court still declares with dastardly motive that your friendship with leitolf was more than platonic. and, unfortunately, his majesty believes the latter. "my own opinion is that your majesty's best course is still to remain in concealment. a squadron of spies have been sent to the various capitals, and photographs are being purposely published in the illustrated press in order that you may be identified. i hope, however, that just at present you will not be discovered, for if so i fear that in order to stem the socialistic wave even your friends must appear to be against you. your majesty knows too well the thousand and one intrigues which form the undercurrent of life at our court, and my suggestion is based upon what i have been able to gather in various quarters. all tends to show that the king, now that he has taken the reins of government, is keenly alive to his responsibility towards the nation. his first speech, delivered to-day, has shown it. he appears to be a changed man, and i can only hope and pray that he has become changed towards yourself. "if you are in paris or in london, beware of secret agents, for both capitals swarm with them. remain silent, patient and watchful; but, above all, be very careful not to allow your enemies any further food for gossip. if they start another scandal at this moment, it would be fatal to all your majesty's interests; for i fear that even the people, faithful to your cause up to the present, would then turn against you. in conclusion, i beg to assure your majesty of my loyalty, and that what ever there is to report in confidence i will do so instantly through this present channel. i would also humbly express a hope that both your majesty and the princess ignatia are in perfect health." the second letter--the one bearing the rome postmark--was headed, "imperial embassy of austria-hungary, palazzo chigi," and was signed "carl." chapter twenty one. love and "the ladybird." re-entering the room she found herself alone, leucha having gone downstairs into the garden to walk with ignatia. therefore she drew the letter from her pocket and re-read it. "dearest heart," he wrote,--"to-night the journals in rome are publishing the news of the king's death, and i write to you as your majesty--my queen. you are my dear heart no longer, but my sovereign. our enemies have again libelled us. i have heard it all. they say that we left treysa in company, and that i am your lover; foul lies, because they fear your power. the _tribuna_ and the _messagero_ have declared that the king contemplates a divorce; yet surely you will defend yourself. you will not allow these cringing place-seekers to triumph, when you are entirely pure and innocent? ah, if his majesty could only be convinced of the truth--if he could only see that our friendship is platonic; that since the clay of your marriage no word of love has ever been spoken between us! you are my friend--still my little friend of those old days at dear old wartenstein. i am exiled here to a court that is brilliant though torn by internal intrigue, like your own. yet my innermost thoughts are ever of you, and i wonder where you are and how you fare. the spies of hinckeldeym have, i hope, not discovered you. remember, it is to that man's interest that you should remain an outcast. "cannot you let me know, by secret means, your whereabouts? one word to the embassy, and i shall understand. i am anxious for your sake. i want to see you back again at treysa with the scandalous court swept clean, and with honesty and uprightness ruling in place of bribery and base intrigue. do not, i beg of you, forget your duty to your people and to the state. by the king's death the situation has entirely changed. you are queen, and with a word may sweep your enemies from your path like flies. return, assert your power, show them that you are not afraid, and show the king that your place is at his side. this is my urgent advice to you as your friend--your oldest friend. "i am sad and even thoughtful as to your future. somehow i cannot help thinking that wherever you are you must be in grave peril of new scandals and fresh plots, because your enemies are so utterly unscrupulous. rome is as rome is always--full of foreigners, and the corso bright with movement. but the end of the season has come. the court moves to racconigi, and we go, i believe, to camaldoli, or some other unearthly hole in the mountains, to escape the fever. i shall, however, expect a single line at the embassy to say that my sovereign has received my letter. i pray ever for your happiness. be brave still, and may god protect you, dear heart.--carl." tears sprang to her beautiful eyes as she read the letter of the man who was assuredly her greatest friend--the man whom the cruel world so erroneously declared to be her lover. the red afterglow from over the sea streamed into the room as she sat with her eyes fixed away on the distant horizon, beyond which lay the wealthy, picturesque kingdom over which she was queen. leucha entered, and saw that she was _triste_ and thoughtful, but, like a well-trained maid, said nothing. little ignatia was already asleep after the journey, and dinner would be served in half an hour. "i hope madame will like worthing," the maid remarked presently, for want of something else to say. she had dropped the title of majesty, and now addressed her mistress as plain "madame." "delightful--as far as i have seen," was the reply. "more rural than hastings, it appears. to-morrow i shall walk on the pier, for i've heard that it is the correct thing to do at an english watering-place. you go in the morning and after dinner, don't you?" "yes, madame." "mr. bourne did well to suggest this place. i don't think we shall ever be discovered here." "i hope not," was leucha's fervent reply. "yet what would the world really say, i wonder, if it knew that you were in hiding here?" "it would say something against me, no doubt--as it always does," she answered, in a hard voice; and then she recollected steinbach's serious warning. dinner came at last, the usual big english joint and vegetables, laid in that same room. the housemaid, in well-starched cap, cuffs, and apron, was a typical seaside domestic, who had no great love for foreigners, because they were seldom lavish in the manner of tips. an english servant, no matter of what grade, reflects the same askance at the foreigner as her master exhibits. she regards all "forriners" as undesirables. "madame" endeavoured to engage the girl in conversation, but found her very loath to utter a word. her name was richards, she informed the guest, and she was a native of thrapston, in northamptonshire. the bright, sunny days that followed claire found most delightful. leucha took little ignatia down to the sea each morning, and in the afternoon, while the child slept, accompanied her mistress upon long walks, either along the sea-road or through the quiet sussex lanes inland, now bright in the spring green. the so-called season at worthing had not, of course, commenced; yet there were quite a number of people, including the "week-enders" from london, the people who came down from town "at reduced fares," as the railway company ingeniously puts it--an expression more genteel than "excursion." she hired a trap, and drove with leucha to steyning, littlehampton, shoreham, those pretty lanes about amberley, and the quaint old town of arundel, all of which highly interested her. she loved a country life, and was never so happy as when riding or driving, enjoying the complete freedom that now, for the first time in her life, was hers. weeks crept by. spring lengthened into summer, and madame bernard still remained in worthing, which every day became fuller of visitors, mostly people from london, who came down for a fortnight or three weeks to spend their summer holiday. and with leucha she became more friendly, and grew very fond of her. she had written to leitolf the single line of acknowledgment, and sent it to the austrian embassy in rome, enclosing it in the official envelope which he had sent her, in order to avoid suspicion. to steinbach too she had written, urging him to keep her well informed regarding the undercurrent of events at court. in reply he had sent her other reports which showed most plainly that, even though the king might be contemplating an adjustment of their differences in order that she might take her place as queen, her enemies were still actively at work in secret to complete her ruin. up to the present, however, the spies of hinckeldeym had entirely failed to trace her, and their cruel story that she was in rome had on investigation turned out to be incorrect. her enemies were thus discomfited. in the london papers she read telegrams from treysa--no doubt inspired by her enemies--which stated that the king had already applied to the ministry of justice for a divorce, and that the trial was to be heard _in camera_ in the course of a few weeks. should she now reveal her whereabouts? should she communicate with her husband and deny the scandalous charges before it became too late? by her husband's accession her position had been very materially altered. her duty to the country of her adoption was to be at her husband's side, and assist him as ruler. not that she regretted for one single instant leaving treysa. she had not the slightest desire to re-enter that seething world of intrigue; it was only the call of duty which caused her to contemplate it. at heart, indeed, if the truth were told, she still retained a good deal of affection for the man who had treated her so brutally. when her mind wandered back to the early days of her married life and the sweetness of her former love, she recollected that he possessed many good traits of character, and felt convinced that only the bitterness of her enemies had aroused the demon jealousy within him and made him what he had now become. if she were really able to clear herself of the stigma now upon her, there might, after all, be a reconciliation--if not for her own sake, then for the sake of the little princess ignatia. these were the vague thoughts constantly in her mind during those warm days which passed so quietly and pleasantly before the summer sea. ignatia was often very inquisitive. she asked her mother why they were there, and begged that allen might come back. from leucha she was learning to speak english, but with that cockney twang which was amusing, for the child, of course, imitated the maid's intonation and expression. one calm evening, when ignatia had gone to bed and they were sitting together in the twilight upon a seat before the softly-lapping waves up at the west end of the town, leucha said,-- "to-day i heard from father. he is in stockholm, and apparently in funds. he arrived in sweden from hamburg on the day of writing, and says he hopes in a few days to visit us here." claire guessed by what means roddy redmayne had replenished his funds, but made no remark save to express pleasure at his forthcoming visit. from stockholm to worthing was a rather far cry, but with roddy distance was no object. he had crossed the atlantic a dozen times, and was, indeed, ever on the move up and down europe. "guy has also left london," "the ladybird" said. "he is in brighton, and would like to run over and call--if madame will permit it." "to call on you--eh, leucha?" her royal mistress suggested, with a kindly smile. "now tell me quite truthfully. you love him, do you not?" the girl flushed deeply. "i--i love him!" she faltered. "whatever made you suspect that?" "well, you know, leucha, when one loves one cannot conceal it, however careful one may be. there is an indescribable look which always betrays both man and woman. therefore you may as well confess the truth to me." she was silent for a few moments. "i do confess it," she faltered at last, with downcast eyes. "we love each other very fondly; but, alas, ours is a dream that can never be realised! marriage and happiness are not for such as we," she added, with a bitter sigh. "because you have not the means by which to live honestly?" claire replied, in a voice of deep, heartfelt sympathy, for she had become much attached to the girl. "that is exactly the difficulty, madame," was the lady's maid's reply. "both guy and myself hate this life of constant scheming and of perpetual fear of discovery and arrest. he is a thief by compulsion, and i an assistant because i--well, i suppose i was trained to it so early that espionage and investigation come to me almost as second nature." "and yet you can work--and work extremely well," remarked her royal mistress, with a woman's tenderness of heart. "i have had many maids from time to time, in vienna and at treysa, but i tell you quite openly that you are the handiest and neatest of them all. it is a pity--a thousand pities--that you lead the life of an adventuress, for some day, sooner or later, you must fall into the hands of the police, and after that--ruin." "i know," sighed the girl; "i know--only too well. yet what can i do? both guy and i are forced to lead this life because we are without means. and again, i am very unworthy of him," she added, in a low, despondent tone. "guy is, after all, a gentleman by birth; while i, `the ladybird' as they call me, am merely the daughter of a thief." "and yet, leucha, you are strangely unlike other women who are adventuresses. you love this man both honestly and well, and he is assuredly one worthy a woman's love, and would, under other circumstances, make you a most excellent husband." "if we were not outlaws of society," she said. "but as matters are it is quite hopeless. when one becomes a criminal, one must, unfortunately, remain a criminal to the end. guy would willingly cut himself away from my father and the others if it were at all possible. yet it is not. how can a man live and keep up appearances when utterly without means?" "remain patient, leucha," claire said reassuringly. "one day you may be able to extricate yourselves--both of you. who knows?" but the girl with the dark eyes shook her head sadly, and spoke but little on their walk back to the house. "ah, leucha," sighed the pale, thoughtful woman whom the world so misjudged, "we all of us have our sorrows, some more bitter than others. you are unhappy because you are an outlaw, while i am unhappy because i am a queen! our stations are widely different; and yet, after all, our burden of sorrow is the same." "i know all that you suffer, madame, though you are silent," exclaimed the girl, with quick sympathy. "i have never referred to it, because you might think my interference impertinent. yet i assure you that i reflect upon your position daily, hourly, and wonder what we can do to help you." "you have done all that can be done," was the calm, kind response. "without you i should have been quite lost here in england. rest assured that i shall never forget the kindnesses shown by all of you, even though you are what you are." she longed to see the pair man and wife, and honest; yet how could she assist them? next evening, guy bourne, well-dressed in a grey flannel suit and straw hat, and presenting the appearance of a well-to-do city man on holiday, called upon her, and was shown up by the servant. the welcome he received from both mistress and maid was a warm one, and as soon as the door was closed he explained,-- "i managed to get away from london, even though i saw a detective i knew on the platform at london bridge. very fortunately he didn't recognise me. i've found a safe hiding-place in brighton, in a small public-house at the top of north street, where lodgers of our peculiar class are taken in. roddy is due to arrive at hull to-day. with harry and two others, he appears to have made a fine haul in hamburg, and we are all in funds again, for which we should be truly thankful." "to whom did the stuff belong?" leucha inquired. "to that german baroness in whose service you were about eight months ago--ackermann, wasn't the name? you recollect, you went over to hamburg with her and took observation." "yes, i remember," answered "the ladybird" mechanically; and her head dropped in shame. little ignatia came forward, and in her sweet, childish way made friends with the visitor, and later, leaving leucha to put the child to bed, "madame bernard" invited guy to stroll with her along the promenade. she wished to speak with him alone. the night was bright, balmy, and starlit, the coloured lights on the pier giving a pretty effect to the picture, and there were a good many promenaders. at first she spoke to him about roddy and about his own dull, cheerless life now that he was in such close hiding. then, presently, when they gained the seat where she had sat with "the ladybird" on the previous evening, she suddenly turned to him, saying,-- "mr. bourne, leucha has told me the truth--that you love each other. now i fully recognise the tragedy of it all, and the more so because i know it is the earnest desire of both of you to lead an honest, upright life. the world misjudges most of us. you are an outlaw and yet still a gentleman, while she, though born of criminal parents, yet has a heart of gold." "yes, that she has," he asserted quickly. "i love her very deeply. to you i do not deny it--indeed, why should i? i know that we both possess your majesty's sympathy." and he looked into her splendid eyes in deep earnestness. "you do. and more. i urge you not to be despondent, either of you. endeavour always to cheer her up. one day a means will surely be opened for you both to break these hateful trammels that bind you to this unsafe life of fraud and deception, and unite in happiness as man and wife. remember, i owe you both a deep debt of gratitude; and one day, i hope, i may be in a position to repay it, so that at least two loving hearts may be united." though crushed herself, her great, generous heart caused her to seek to assist others. "ah, your majesty!" he cried, his voice trembling with emotion as, springing up, he took her hand, raising it reverently to his lips. "how can i thank you sufficiently for those kind, generous words--for that promise?" "ah!" she sighed, "i myself, though my position may be different to your own, nevertheless know what it is to love, and, alas! know the acute bitterness of the want of love." then a silence fell between them. he had reseated himself, his manly heart too full for words. he knew well that this woman, whose unhappiness was even tenfold greater than his own, was his firm and noble friend. the world spoke ill of her, and yet she was so upright, so sweet, so true. and while they sat there--he, a thief, still holding the soft white hand that he had kissed with such reverence--a pair of shrewdly evil eyes were watching them out of the darkness and observing everything. at midnight, when he returned to brighton, the secret watcher, a hard-faced, thin-nosed woman, slight, narrow-waisted, rather elegantly dressed in deep mourning, travelled by the same train, and watched him to his hiding-place; and having done so, she strolled leisurely down to the king's road, where, upon the deserted promenade, she met a bent, wizened-faced, little old man, who was awaiting her. with him she walked up and down until nearly one o'clock in the morning, engaged in earnest conversation, sometimes accompanied by quick gesticulation. and they both laughed quietly together, the old man now and then shrugging his shoulders. chapter twenty two. shows hinckeldeym's tactics. five weeks later. a hot summer's night in treysa. it was past midnight, yet before the gay, garish cafes people still lingered at the little tables, enjoying to the full the cool breeze after the heat and burden of the day, or strolled beneath the lime avenues in the klosterstrasse, gossiping or smoking, all loth to retire. in the great palace beyond the trees at the end of the vista the state dinner had ended, and the lonely king, glad to escape to the privacy of his own workroom in the farther wing of the palace, had cast himself into a long lounge-chair and selected a cigar. he was still in his military uniform, rendered the more striking by the many glittering orders across his breast--the golden fleece, the black eagle, the saint hubert, the saint andrew, and the rest. as he lit his cigar very slowly his face assumed a heavy, thoughtful look, entirely different from the mask of careless good-humour which he had worn at the brilliant function he had just left. the reception had not ended; it would continue for a couple of hours longer. but he was tired and bored to death of it all, and the responsibility as ruler already weighed very heavily upon him. though he made no mention of it to a single soul, he thought of his absent wife often--very often. now and then a pang of remorse would cause him to knit his brows. perhaps, after all, he had not treated her quite justly. and yet, he would reassure himself, she was surely not as innocent as she pretended. no, no; she was worthless. they were therefore better apart--far better. since his accession he had, on several occasions, been conscience-stricken. once, in the empty nursery, he had noticed little ignatia's toys, her dolls and perambulator, lying where the child had left them, and tears had sprung to his eyes. allen, the kindly englishwoman, too, had been to him and resigned her appointment, as she had no further duties to perform. the crown princess's disappearance had at first been a nine-days' wonder in treysa, but now her continued absence was regarded with but little surprise. the greatest scandal in the world dies down like grass in autumn. those who had conspired against her congratulated themselves that they had triumphed, and were now busy starting fresh intrigues against the young queen's partisans. since the hour that his sweet-faced wife had left the palace in secret, the king had received no word from her. he had learned from vienna that she had been to wartenstein, and that her father had cast her out; but after that she had disappeared--to rome he had been told. as crown prince he had had his liberty, but now as king he lived apart, and was unapproachable. his was a lonely life. the duties of kingship had sobered him, and now he saw full well the lack of a clever consort as his wife was--a queen who could rule the court. those about him believed him to be blind to their defects and their intrigues, because he was silent concerning them. yet, if the truth were told, he was extremely wideawake, and saw with regret how, without the queen's aid, he must fall beneath the influence of those who were seeking place and power, to the distinct detriment of the nation. serious thoughts such as these were consuming him as he sat watching the smoke rings ascend to the dark-panelled ceiling. "where is she, i wonder?" he asked himself aloud, his voice sighing through the room. "she has never reproached me--never. i wonder if all they have told me concerning her is really true." as he uttered these words of suspicion his jaws became firmly set, and a hardness showed at the corners of his mouth. "ah, yes!" he added. "it is, alas! only too true--too true. hinckeldeym would never dare to lie to me!" and he sat with his serious eyes cast upon the floor, reflecting gloomily upon the past, as he now so very often reflected. the room was luxurious in its appointments, for since his father's death he had had it redecorated and refurnished. the stern old monarch had liked a plain, severe, business-like room in which to attend to the details of state, but his son held modern ideas, and loved to surround himself with artistic things, hence the white-and-gold decorations, the electric-light fittings, the furniture and the pale green upholstery were all in the style of the _art nouveau_, and had the effect of exquisite taste. a tiny clock ticked softly upon the big, littered writing-table, and from without, in the marble corridor, the slow, even tread of the sentry reached his ear. suddenly, while he was smoking and thinking, a low rap was heard; and giving permission to enter, he looked round, and saw hinckeldeym, who, in court dress, bowed and advanced, with his cocked hat tucked beneath his arm, saying,-- "i regret, sire, to crave audience at this hour, but it is upon a matter both imperative and confidential." "then shut the inner door," his majesty said in a hard voice, and the flabby-faced old fellow closed the second door that was placed there as precaution against eavesdroppers. "well?" asked the king, turning to him in some surprise that he should be disturbed at that hour. "after your majesty left the throne room i was called out to receive an urgent dispatch that had just arrived by imperial courier from vienna. this dispatch," and he drew it from his pocket, "shows most plainly that his majesty the emperor is seriously annoyed at your majesty's laxness and hesitation to apply for a divorce. yesterday he called our ambassador and remarked that although he had degraded the princess, taken from her all her titles, her decorations, and her privileges, yet you, her husband, had done absolutely nothing. i crave your majesty's pardon for being compelled to speak so plainly," added the wily old fellow, watching the disturbing effect his words had upon his sovereign. "that is all very well," he answered, in a mechanical voice. "the emperor's surprise and annoyance are quite natural. i have been awaiting your reports, hinckeldeym. before my wife's disappearance you seemed to be particularly well-informed--through de trauttenberg, i suppose--of all her movements and her intentions. yet since she left you have been content to remain in utter ignorance." "not in entire ignorance, sire. did i not report to you that she went to vienna in the man's company?" "and where is the man at the present moment?" "at camaldoli, a health resort in central italy. the ambassador and several of the staff are spending the summer up there." "well, what else do you know?" the king asked, fixing his eyes upon the crafty old scoundrel who was the greatest power in the kingdom. "can you tell me where my wife is--that's the question? i don't think much of your secret service which costs the country so much, if you cannot tell me that," he said frankly. "yes, your majesty, i can tell you that, and very much more," the old fellow answered, quite unperturbed. "the truth is that i have known where she has been for a long time past, and a great deal has been discovered. yet, for your majesty's peace of mind, i have not mentioned so painful a subject. had i not exerted every effort to follow the princess i should surely have been wanting in my duties as minister." "then where is she?" he asked quickly, rising from his chair. "in england--at a small watering-place on the south coast, called worthing." "well--and what else?" heinrich hinckeldeym made no reply for a few moments, as though hesitating to tell his royal master all that he knew. then at last he said, with that wily insinuation by which he had already ruined the poor princess's reputation and good name,-- "the rest will, i think, best be furnished to the counsel who appears on your majesty's behalf to apply for a divorce." "ah!" he sighed sadly. "is it so grave as that? well, hinckeldeym, you may tell me everything, only recollect i must have proof--proof. you understand?" he added hoarsely. "hitherto i have always endeavoured to give your majesty proof, and on certain occasions you have complimented me upon my success in discovering the secrets of the pair," he answered. "i know i have, but i must have more proof now. there must be no surmises--but hard, solid facts, you understand! in those days i was only crown prince. to-day i am king, and my wife is queen--whatever may be her faults." the old minister was considerably taken aback by this sudden refusal on his royal master's part to accept every word of his as truth. yet outwardly he exhibited no sign of annoyance or of disappointment. he was a perfect diplomatist. "if your majesty will deign to give them audience, i will, within half an hour, bring here the two secret service agents who have been to england, and they shall tell you with their own lips what they have discovered." "yes, do so," the king exclaimed anxiously. "let them tell me the whole truth. they will be discreet, of course, and not divulge to the people that i have given them audience--eh?" "they are two of the best agents your majesty possesses. if i may be permitted, i will go at once and send for them." and walking backwards, he bowed, and left the room. three-quarters of an hour later he returned, bringing with him a middle-aged, thin-faced woman, rather tall and thin, dressed plainly in black, and a tall, grey-haired, and rather gentlemanly looking man, whom he introduced to their sovereign, who was standing with his back to the writing-table. the woman's name was rose reinherz and the man's otto stieger. the king surveyed both of them critically. he had never seen any member of his secret service in the flesh before, and was interested in them and in their doings. "the minister hinckeldeym tells me," he said, addressing stieger, "that you are both members of our secret service, and that you have returned from england. i wish to hear your report from your own lips. tell me exactly what you have discovered without any fear of giving me personal offence. i want to hear the whole truth, remember, however disagreeable it may be." "yes," added the evil-eyed old minister. "tell his majesty all that you have discovered regarding the lady, who for the present purposes may remain nameless." the spy hesitated for a moment, confused at finding himself called so suddenly into the presence of his sovereign, and without an opportunity of putting on another suit of clothes. besides, he was at a loss how to begin. "did you go to vienna?" asked the king. "i was sent to vienna the instant it became known that the crown princess--i mean the lady--had left the palace. i discovered that she had driven to her father's palace, but finding him absent had gone to wartenstein. i followed her there, but she had left again before i arrived, and i entirely lost track of her. probably she went to paris, but of that i am not sure. i went to rome, and for a fortnight kept observation upon the count, but he wrote no letters to her, which made me suspect that she was hiding somewhere in rome." "you reported that she was actually in rome. hinckeldeym told me that." the minister's grey brows were knit, but only for a second. "i did not report that she was actually there, sire. i only reported my suspicion." "a suspicion which was turned into an actual fact before it reached my ears--eh?" he said in a hard voice. "go on." hinckeldeym now regretted that he had so readily brought his spies face to face with the king. "after losing touch with the lady for several weeks, it was discovered that she was staying under an assumed name at the savoy hotel, in london. i travelled from rome to london post haste, and took a room at the hotel, finding that she had engaged a young englishwoman named redmayne as maid, and that she was in the habit of meeting in secret a certain englishman named bourne, who seemed to be leading a curiously secluded life. i reported this to the minister hinckeldeym, who at once sent me as assistant rose reinherz, now before your majesty. together we have left no stone unturned to fully investigate the situation, and-- well, we have discovered many things." "and what are they? explain." "we have ascertained that count leitolf still writes to the lady, sending her letters to the same address in brussels as previously. a copy of one letter, which we intercepted, i placed in the minister's hands. it is couched in terms that leave no doubt that this man loves her, and that she reciprocates his affection." "you are quite certain that it is not a mere platonic friendship?" asked the king, fixing his eyes upon the spy very earnestly. "as a man of the world, your majesty, i do not think there is such a thing as platonic friendship between man and woman." "that is left to poets and dreamers," remarked the wily hinckeldeym, with a sneer. "besides," the spy continued, "we have carefully watched this man bourne, and find that when she went to live at worthing he followed her there. they meet every evening, and go long walks together." "i have watched them many times, your majesty," declared rose reinherz. "i have seen him kiss her hand." "then, to be frank, you insinuate that this man is her latest lover?" remarked the king with a dark look upon his face. "unfortunately, that is so," the woman replied. "he is with her almost always; and furthermore, after much inquiry and difficulty, we have at last succeeded in establishing who he really is." "and who is he?" "a thief in hiding from the police--one of a clever gang who have committed many robberies of jewels in various cities. this is his photograph--one supplied from london to our own prefecture of police in treysa." and he handed the king an oblong card with two portraits of guy bourne, full face and profile, side by side. his majesty held it in his hand, and beneath the light gazed upon it for a long time, as though to photograph the features in his memory. hinckeldeym watched him covertly, and glanced at the spy approvingly. "and you say that this man is at worthing, and in hiding from the police? you allege that he is an intimate friend of my wife's?" "stieger says that he is her latest lover," remarked hinckeldeym. "you have written a full and detailed report. is not that so?" he asked. the spy nodded in the affirmative, saying,-- "the fellow is in hiding, together with the leader of the association of thieves, a certain redmayne, known as `the mute,' who is wanted by the hamburg police for the theft of the baroness ackermann's jewels. the papers of late have been full of the daring theft." "oh! then the police are searching for both men?" exclaimed the king. "is there any charge in germany against this person--bourne, you called him?" "one for theft in cologne, eighteen months ago, and another for jewel robbery at eugendorf," was the spy's reply. "then, hinckeldeym, make immediate application to the british government for their arrest and extradition. stieger will return at once to worthing and point them out to the english police. it will be the quickest way of crushing out the--well, the infatuation, we will call it," he added grimly. "and your majesty will not apply for a divorce?" asked the minister in that low, insinuating voice. "i will reflect, hinckeldeym," was the king's reply. "but in the meantime see that both these agents are rewarded for their astuteness and loyalty." and, turning, he dismissed the trio impatiently, without further ceremony. chapter twenty three. secret instructions. "you did exceedingly well, stieger. i am much pleased!" declared his excellency the minister, when, outside the palace, he caused them both to enter his carriage and was driving them to his own fine house on the opposite side of the capital. "his majesty is taking a severe revenge," he laughed. "this englishman bourne will certainly regret having met the queen. besides, the fact of her having chosen a low-born criminal lover condemns her a thousandfold in the king's eyes. i, who know him well, know that nothing could cause him such anger as for her to cast her royalty into the mud, as she has done by her friendship with this gaolbird." "i am pleased to have earned your excellency's approbation," replied the man. "and i trust that his majesty's pleasure will mean advancement for me--at your excellency's discretion, of course." "to-morrow i shall sign this decree, raising you to the post of functionary of the first class, with increased emoluments. and to you," he added, turning to the thin-nosed woman, "i shall grant a gratification of five thousand marks. over an affair of this kind we cannot afford publicity. therefore say nothing, either of you. recollect that in this matter you are not only serving the king, but the whole ministry and court. the king must obtain a divorce, and we shall all be grateful to you for the collection of the necessary evidence. the latter, as i told you some time ago, need not be based on too firm a foundation, for even if she defends the action the mere fact of her alliance with this good-looking criminal will be sufficient to condemn her in the eyes of a jury of treysa. therefore return to england and collect the evidence carefully--facts that have foundation--you understand?" the spy nodded. he understood his excellency's scandalous suggestion. he was to manufacture evidence to be used against the queen. "you must show that she has lightly transferred her love from leitolf to this rascal bourne. the report you have already made is good, but it is not quite complete enough. it must contain such direct charges that her counsel will be unable to bring evidence to deny," declared the fat-faced man--the man who really ruled the kingdom. the old monarch had been a hard, level-headed if rather eccentric man, who had never allowed hinckeldeym to fully reach the height of his ambition; yet now, on the accession of his son, inexperienced in government and of a somewhat weak and vacillating disposition, the crafty president of the council had quickly risen to be a power as great, if not greater than, the king himself. he was utterly unscrupulous, as shown by his conversation with stieger. he was claire's bitterest enemy, yet so tactful was he that she had once believed him to be her friend, and had actually consulted him as to her impossible position at court. like many other men, he had commenced life as a small advocate in an obscure provincial town, but by dint of ingenious scheming and dishonest double-dealing he had wormed himself into the confidence of the old king, who regarded him as a necessity for the government of the country. his policy was self-advancement at any cost. he betrayed both enemies and friends with equal nonchalance, if they were unfortunate enough to stand in his way. heinrich hinckeldeym had never married, as he considered a wife an unnecessary burden, both socially and financially, and as far as was known, he was without a single relative. at his own splendid mansion, in a severely furnished room, he sat with his two spies, giving them further instructions as to how they were to act in england. "you will return to-morrow by way of cologne and ostend," he said, "and i will at once have the formal requisition for their arrest and extradition made to the british foreign office. if this man bourne is convicted, the prejudice against the queen will be greater, and she will lose her partisans among the people, who certainly will not uphold her when this latest development becomes known." and his excellency's fat, evil face relaxed into a grim smile. presently he dismissed them, urging them to carry out the mission entrusted to them without scruple, and in the most secret manner possible. then, when they were gone, he crossed the room to the telephone and asked the ministers stuhlmann, meyer, and hoepfner--who all lived close by--whether they could come at once, as he desired to consult them. all three responded to the president's call, and in a quarter of an hour they assembled. hinckeldeym, having locked the door and drawn the heavy _portiere_, at once gave his friends a resume of what had taken place that evening, and of the manner in which he had rearoused the king's anger and jealousy. "excellent!" declared stuhlmann, who held the portfolio of foreign affairs. "then i shall at once give crispendorf orders to receive stieger and to apply to the british foreign office for the arrest of the pair. what are their names? i did not quite catch them." hinckeldeym crossed to his writing-table and scribbled a memorandum of the names bourne and redmayne, and the offences for which they were wanted. "they will be tried in berlin, i suppose?" stuhlmann remarked. "my dear friend, it does not matter where they are tried, so long as they are convicted. all we desire to establish is the one fact which will strike the public as outrageous--the queen has a lover who is a criminal. having done that, we need no longer fear her return here to treysa." "but is not the leitolf affair quite sufficient?" asked meyer, a somewhat younger man than the others, who, by favour of hinckeldeym, now held the office of minister of justice. "the king suspects it is a mere platonic friendship." "and it really may be after all," remarked meyer. "in my opinion-- expressed privately to you here--the queen has not acted as a guilty woman would act. if the scandal were true she would have been more impatient. besides, the english nurse, allen, came to me before she left treysa, and vowed to me that the reports were utterly without foundation. they were lovers, as children--that is all." hinckeldeym turned upon him furiously. "we have nothing to do with your private misgivings. your duty as minister is to act with us," he said in a hard, angry voice. "what does it matter if the english nurse is paid by the queen to whitewash her mistress? you, my dear meyer, must be the very last person to express disbelief in facts already known. think of what would happen if this woman returned to treysa! you and i--and all of us--would be swept out of office and into obscurity. can we afford to risk that? if you can, i tell you most plainly that i can't. i intend that the king shall obtain a divorce, and that the woman shall never be permitted to cross our frontier again. the day she does, recollect, will mark our downfall." meyer, thus reproved by the man to whom he owed his present office, pursed his lips and gave his shoulders a slight shrug. he saw that hinckeldeym had made up his mind, even though he himself had all along doubted whether the queen was not an innocent victim of her enemies. allen had sought audience of him, and had fearlessly denounced, in no measured terms, the foul lies circulated by the countess de trauttenberg. the englishwoman had declared that her mistress was the victim of a plot, and that although she was well aware of her friendliness with count leitolf, yet it was nothing more than friendship. she had admitted watching them very closely in order to ascertain whether what was whispered was really true. but it was not. the queen was an ill-treated and misjudged woman, she declared, concluding with a vow that the just judgment of god would, sooner or later, fall upon her enemies. what the englishwoman had told him had impressed him. and now hinckeldeym's demeanour made it plain that what allen had said had very good foundation. he, ludwig meyer, was minister of justice, yet he was compelled to conspire with the others to do to a woman the worst injustice that man's ambition could possibly conceive. his companion hoepfner, minister of finance, was also one of hinckeldeym's creatures, and dared not dissent from his decision. "you forget, my dear meyer," said the old president, turning back to him. "you forget all that the countess hupertz discovered, and all that she told us." "i recollect everything most distinctly. but i also recollect that she gave us no proof." "ah! you, too, believe in platonic friendship!" sneered the old man. "only fools believe in that." "no," interposed stuhlmann quickly. "do not let us quarrel over this. our policy is a straightforward and decisive one. the king is to apply for a divorce, and our friend meyer will see that it is granted. the thing is quite simple." "but if she is innocent?" asked the minister of justice. "there is no question of her innocence," snapped hinckeldeym. "it is her guilt that concerns you--you understand!" then, after some further consultation, during which time meyer remained silent, the three men rose and, shaking hands with the president, departed. when they had gone hinckeldeym paced angrily up and down the room. he was furious that meyer should express the slightest doubt or compunction. his hands were clenched, his round, prominent eyes wore a fierce, determined expression, and his gross features were drawn and ashen grey. "we shall see, woman, who will win--you or i!" he muttered to himself. "you told me that when you were queen you would sweep clean the augean stable--you would change all the ministers of state, chamberlains--every one, from the chancellor of the orders down to the grand master of the ceremonies. you said that they should all go--and first of all the _dames du palais_. well, we shall see!" he laughed to himself. "if your husband is such a fool as to relent and regard your friendship with leitolf with leniency, then we must bring forward this newest lover of yours--this man who is to be arrested in your company and condemned as a criminal. the people, after that, will no longer call you `their claire' and clamour for your return, and in addition, your fool of a husband will be bound to accept the divorce which meyer will give him. and then, woman," he growled to himself, "you will perhaps regret having threatened heinrich hinckeldeym!" chapter twenty four. romance and reality. roddy redmayne, having returned safely from abroad, was living in quiet seclusion with guy in apartments in a small, pleasantly situated cottage beyond west worthing, on the dusty road to goring. immediately on his arrival from hull he had gone to brighton, but after a few days had taken apartments in the ancient little place, with its old-world garden filled with roses. both he and guy, under assumed names, of course, represented themselves as clerks down from london, spending their summer holidays, and certainly their flannel suits, white shoes, and panama hats gave them that appearance. kinder was in hiding in a house up in newcastle-on-tyne, having crossed to that port from antwerp. the baroness's jewels, which were a particularly fine lot, had been disposed of to certain agents in leyden, and therefore roddy and his friends were in funds, though they gave no sign of wealth to their landlady, the thrifty wife of a cab proprietor. it was a very pleasant little cottage, standing quite alone, and as the two men were the only lodgers they were quite free to do as they liked. the greater part of the day they smoked and read under the trees in the big, old-fashioned garden, and at evening would walk together into worthing, and generally met claire upon the pier. "madame," as they called her, went with leucha several times and lunched with them at the little place, while once or twice they had had the honour of dining at her table, when they had found her a most charming hostess. both men tried to do all they could to render her what little services lay in their power, and each day they sent her from the florist's large bunches of tea-roses, her favourite flowers. little ignatia was not forgotten, for they sent her dolls and toys. claire's life was now at last calm and peaceful, with her three strange friends. leucha was most attentive to ignatia, and took her each morning for a run with bare feet upon the sands, while the two men who seldom, if ever, went out before dusk, generally met her and walked with her after dinner beside the sea. often, when alone, she wondered how her husband fared at treysa, and how carl was enduring the broiling heat of the long, thirsty italian summer. where was that traitress, the trauttenberg, and what, she wondered, had become of those two faithful servants, allen and henriette? her past unhappiness at treysa sometimes arose before her like some hideous but half-remembered dream. in those days she lived among enemies, but now she was with friends, even though they might be outlawed from society. with all her timid flexibility and soft acquiescence claire was not weak; for the negative alone is weak, and the mere presence of goodness and affection implies in itself a species of power, power with repose-- that soul of grace. many a pleasant stroll after sundown she took with the courtly old adventurer, who looked quite a gay old dog in his flannels and rakish panama pulled down over his eyes; or with guy, who dressed a trifle more quietly. the last-named, however, preferred, of course, the society of leucha, and frequently walked behind with her. claire treated roddy's daughter more as an equal than as a dependant--indeed, treated her as her lady-in-waiting, to fetch and carry for her, to tie her veil, to button her gloves, and to perform the thousand and one little services which the trained lady-in-waiting does so deftly and without ceremony. though at first very strange to the world, claire was now beginning to realise its ways, and to enjoy and appreciate more and more the freedom which she had at last gained. she delighted in those evening walks beneath the stars, when they would rest upon a seat, listening to the soft music of the sea, and watching the flashing light of the owers and the bright beacon on selsea bill. yes, life in the obscurity of worthing was indeed far preferable to the glare and glitter of the court at treysa. the people in the town-- shopkeepers and others--soon began to know madame bernard by sight, and so many were her kindly actions that the common people on the promenade--cabmen, baggage-porters, bath-chair men, and the like-- touched their hats to her in respect, little dreaming that the beautiful, sweet-faced foreigner with the pretty child was actually queen of a german kingdom. as the summer days went by, and the two men met her each evening at the entrance to the pier, she could not close her eyes to the fact that the affection between guy and leucha had increased until it now amounted to a veritable passion. they loved each other both truly and well, yet what could be done? there was, alas! the ghastly barrier of want between them--a barrier which, in this cruel, hard world of ours, divides so many true and loving hearts. and as those peaceful summer days went by, the two strangers, a man and a woman, who lived at separate hotels, and only met on rare occasions, were ever watchful, noting and reporting the queen's every action, and keeping close observation upon the two men who were living at that rose-embowered cottage in calm ignorance of the dastardly betrayal that was being so ingeniously planned. one evening, just before she sat down to dinner, the maidservant handed her a letter with a belgian stamp, and opening it, she saw that enclosed was a communication from the faithful steinbach. she tore open the envelope with breathless eagerness, and read as follows:-- "your majesty.--in greatest haste i send you warning to acquaint you with another fresh conspiracy, the exact nature of which i am at present unaware. confidential papers have, however, to-day passed through my hands in the ministry--a report for transmission to crispendorf, in london. this report alleges that you are unduly friendly with a certain englishman named guy bourne, said to be living in the town of worthing, in the county of sussex. this is all i can at present discover, but it will, i trust, be sufficient to apprise you that your enemies have discovered your whereabouts, and are still seeking to crush you. the instant i can gather more i will report further. your majesty's most humble and obedient servant.--s." she bit her lip. then they had discovered her, and, moreover, were trying now to couple her name with bourne's! it was cruel, unjust, inhuman. in such a mind as hers the sense of a cruel injury, inflicted by one she had loved and trusted, without awakening any violent anger or any desire of vengeance, sank deep--almost incurably and lastingly deep. leucha, who entered the room at that moment, noticed her grave expression as she held the letter in her hand, but was silent. the tender and virtuous woman reread those fateful lines, and reflected deeply. steinbach was faithful to her, and had given her timely warning. yes, she had on many occasions walked alone with guy along the promenade, and he had, unseen by any one, kissed her hand in homage of her royal station. she fully recognised that, unscrupulous liars as her enemies were, they might start another scandal against her as cruel as that concerning carl leitolf. she had little appetite for dinner but afterwards, when she went out with leucha into the warm summer's night, and, as usual, they met the two men idling near the pier, she took guy aside and walked with him at some distance behind roddy and his daughter. at first their conversation was as usual, upon the doings of the day. she gave him permission to smoke, and he lit his cigar, the light of the match illuminating his face. it was a delightful august night, almost windless, and with a crescent moon and calm sea, while from the pier there came across the waters the strains of one of the latest waltzes. she was dressed all in white, and guy, glancing at her now and then, thought he had never seen her looking more graceful and beautiful. nevertheless her imperial blood betrayed itself always in her bearing, even on those occasions when she had disguised herself in her maid's gowns. presently, when father and daughter were some distance ahead, she turned to him and, looking into his countenance, said very seriously,-- "much as i regret it, mr. bourne, our very pleasant evenings here must end. this is our last walk together." "what! madame!" he exclaimed. "are you leaving?" and he halted in surprise. "i hardly know yet," she replied, just a trifle confused, for she hesitated to tell the cruel truth to this man who had once risked his life for hers. "it is not, however, because i am leaving, but our parting is imperative, because--well--for the sake of both of us." "i don't quite follow your majesty," he said, looking inquiringly at her. they were quite alone, at a spot where there were no promenaders. "no," she sighed. "i expect not. i must be more plain, although it pains me to be so. the fact is that my enemies at court have learnt that we are friends, and are now endeavouring to couple our names--you and i. is it not scandalous--when you love leucha?" "what!" he cried, starting back amazed. "they are actually endeavouring to again besmirch your good name! ah! i see! they say that i am your latest lover--eh? tell me the truth," he urged fiercely. "these liars say that you are in love with me! they don't know who i am," he laughed bitterly. "i, a thief--and you, a sovereign!" "they are enemies, and will utter any lies to create scandal concerning me," she said, with quiet resignation. "for that reason we must not be seen together. to you, mr. bourne, i owe my life--a debt that i fear i shall never be able to sufficiently repay. mr. redmayne and yourself have been very kind and generous to me, a friendless woman, and yet i am forced by circumstances to withdraw my friendship because of this latest plot conceived by the people who have so ingeniously plotted my ruin. as you know, they declared that count leitolf was my lover, but i swear before god that he was only my friend--my dear, devoted friend, just as i believe that you yourself are. and yet," she sighed, "it is so very easy to cast scandal against a woman, be she a seamstress or of the blood royal." "i am certainly your devoted friend," the man declared in a clear, earnest tone. "you are misjudged and ill-treated, therefore it is my duty as a man, who, i hope, still retains some of the chivalry of a gentleman, to stand your champion." "in this, you, alas! cannot--you would only compromise me," she declared, shaking her head sadly. "we must part. you and mr. redmayne are safe here. therefore i shall to-morrow leave worthing." "but this is dastardly!" he cried in fierce resentment. "are you to live always in this glass house, for your enemies to hound you from place to place, because a man dares to admire your beauty? what is your future to be?" she fixed her calm gaze upon him in the pale moonlight. "who can tell?" she sighed sadly. "for the present we must think only of the present. my enemies have discovered me, therefore it is imperative that we should part. yet before doing so i want to thank you very much for all the services you and mr. redmayne have rendered me. rest assured that they will never be forgotten--never." roddy and leucha had seated themselves upon a seat facing the beach, and they were now slowly approaching them. "i hardly know how to take leave of you," guy said, speaking slowly and very earnestly. "you, on your part, have been so good and generous to leucha and myself. if these scandalmongers only knew that she loved me and that i reciprocated her affection, they surely would not seek to propagate this shameful report concerning us." "it would make no difference to them," she declared in a low, hoarse voice of grief. "for their purposes--in order that i shall be condemned as worthless, and prevented from returning to treysa--they must continue to invent their vile fictions against my honour as a woman." "the fiends!" he cried fiercely. "but you shall be even with them yet! they fear you--and they shall, one day, have just cause for their fears. we will assist you--roddy and i. we will together prove your honesty and innocence before the whole world." they gained the seat whereon leucha and her father were sitting, and claire sat down to rest before the softly sighing sea, while her companion stood, she having forgotten to give him permission to be seated. she was so unconventional that she often overlooked such points, and, to her intimate friends, would suddenly laugh and apologise for her forgetfulness. while all four were chatting and laughing together--for roddy had related a droll incident he had witnessed that day out at goring--there came along the sea-path two figures of men, visitors like themselves, judging from their white linen trousers and straw hats. their approach was quite unnoticed until of a sudden they both halted before the group, and one of them, a brown-bearded man, stepping up to the younger man, said, in a stern, determined voice,-- "i identify you as guy bourne. i am inspector sinclair of the criminal investigation department, and i hold a warrant for your arrest for jewel robbery!" claire gave vent to a low cry of despair, while leucha sprang up and clung to the man she loved. but at that same instant three other men appeared out of the deep shadows, while one of them, addressing roddy, who in an instant had jumped to his feet, said,-- "i'm detective-sergeant plummer. i identify you as roddy redmayne, _alias_ scott-martin, _alias_ ward. i arrest you on a charge of jewel robbery committed within the german empire. whatever statement you may make will be used in evidence against you on your trial." both men were so utterly staggered that neither spoke a word. their arrest had been so quickly and quietly effected that they had no opportunity to offer resistance, and even if they had they would have been outnumbered. roddy uttered a fierce imprecation beneath his breath, but guy, turning sadly to claire, merely shrugged his shoulders, and remarked bitterly,-- "it is fate, i suppose!" and the two men were compelled to walk back with a detective on either side of them, while leucha, in a passion of tears, crushed and heart-broken, followed with her grave-faced mistress--a sad, mournful procession. claire spoke to them both--kind, encouraging words, urging them to take courage--whereupon one of the detectives said,-- "i really think it would be better if you left us, madam." but she refused, and walked on behind them, watched from a distance by the german agent stieger and rose reinherz, and, alas! in ignorance of the vile, despicable plot of hinckeldeym--the plot that was to ruin her for ever in the eyes of her people. chapter twenty five. some ugly truths. poor leucha was beside herself with grief, for she, alas! knew too well the many serious charges upon which her father and her lover were wanted. both would receive long terms of penal servitude. against them stood a very ugly list of previous convictions, and for jewel robbery, judges were never lenient. claire was in deadly fear that roddy's daughter might also be arrested for the part she had played in the various affairs, but it appeared that the information received by the police did not extend to "the ladybird." the blow was complete. it had fallen and crushed them all. that night leucha lay awake, reflecting upon all that might be brought against the pair--the forbes affair, when the fine pearls of mrs. stockton-forbes, the wife of the american railroad king, were stolen from the house in park lane; the matter of the countess of henham's diamonds; the theft of lady maitland's emeralds, and a dozen other clever jewel robberies that had from time to time startled readers of the newspapers. claire, on her part, also lay wondering--wondering how best to act in order to extricate the man who had so gallantly risked his life to save hers, and the easygoing old thief who had showed her such great kindness and consideration. could she extricate them? no; she saw it was quite impossible. the english police and judges could not be bribed, as she had heard they could be in some countries. the outlook was hopeless-- utterly and absolutely hopeless. somebody had betrayed them. both men had declared so, after their arrest. they had either been recognised and watched, or else some enemy had pointed them out to the police. in either case it was the same. a long term of imprisonment awaited both of them. though they were thieves, and as such culpable, yet she felt that she had now lost her only friends. next morning, rising early, she sent leucha to the police station to inquire when they would be brought before the magistrate. to her surprise, however, "the ladybird" brought back the reply that they had been taken up to london by the six o'clock train that morning, in order to be charged in the extradition court at bow street--the court reserved for prisoners whose extradition was demanded by foreign governments. post-haste, leaving little ignatia in charge of the landlady and the parlour-maid, madame bernard and leucha took the express to london, and were present in the grim, sombre police court when the chief magistrate, a pleasant-faced, white-headed old gentleman, took his seat, and the two prisoners were placed in the dock. guy's dark eyes met claire's, and he started, turning his face away with shame at his position. she was a royal sovereign, and he, after all, only a thief. he had been unworthy her regard. roddy saw her also, but made no sign. he feared lest his daughter might be recognised as the ingenious woman who had so cleverly acted as their spy and accomplice, and was annoyed that she should have risked coming there. the men were formally charged--redmayne with being concerned with two other men, not in custody, in stealing a quantity of jewellery, the property of the baroness ackermann, at uhlenhorst, outside hamburg. the charge against guy bourne was "that he did, on june th, , steal certain jewellery belonging to one joseph hirsch of eugendorf." in dry, hard tones mr. gore-palmer, barrister, who appeared on behalf of the german embassy, opened the case. "your worship," counsel said, "i do not propose to go into great length with the present case to-day. i appear on behalf of the german imperial embassy in london to apply for the extradition of these men, redmayne and bourne, for extensive thefts of jewels within the german empire. the police will furnish evidence to you that they are members of a well-known, daring, and highly ingenious international gang, who operate mainly at the large railway stations on the continent, and have, it is believed, various accomplices, who take places as domestic servants in the houses of persons known to be in possession of valuable jewellery. for the last two years active search has been made for them; but they have always succeeded in eluding the vigilance of the police until last night, when they were apprehended at worthing, and brought to this court. the first case, that against redmayne, is that one of the gang, a woman unknown, entered the service of the baroness ackermann in london, and after a few weeks accompanied her to hamburg, where, on discovering where this lady kept her jewels, she made an excuse that her mother was dying, and returned to england. eight months afterwards, however, the prisoner redmayne, _alias_ ward, _alias_ scott-martin, made a daring entry into the house while the family were at dinner, opened the safe, and escaped with the whole of its precious contents, some of which were afterwards disposed of in leyden and in amsterdam. the charge against bourne is that, on the date named, he was at the cologne railway station, awaiting the express from berlin, and on its arrival snatched the dressing-case from the countess de wallwitz's footman and made off with it. the servant saw the man, and at the police office afterwards identified a photograph which had been supplied to the german police from scotland yard as that of a dangerous criminal. against both men are a number of charges for robbery in various parts of france and germany, one against bourne being the daring theft, three years ago, of a very valuable ruby pendant from the shop of a jeweller named hirsch, in the town of eugendorf, in the kingdom of marburg. this latter offence, as your worship will see, has been added to the charge against bourne, and the imperial german government rely upon your worship granting the extradition sought for under the acts of and , and the treaty of ." mention of the town of eugendorf caused claire to start quickly. he had actually been guilty of theft in her own kingdom! for that reason, then, he had escaped from treysa the instant he was well enough to leave the hospital. "i have here," continued counsel, "a quantity of evidence taken on commission before british consuls in germany, which i will put in, and i propose also to call a servant of the baroness ackermann and the jeweller hirsch, both of whom are now in the precincts of the court. i may add that the imperial german government have, through their ambassador, made diplomatic representations to the secretary of state for foreign affairs, as they attach the greatest importance to this case. the men, if my instructions are correct, will be found to be the leaders of a very dangerous and daring gang, who operate mostly in germany, and seek refuge here, in their own country. i therefore hope that your worship, after reading the depositions and hearing the evidence, will make the order for them to be handed over to the german authorities to be dealt with." "i must have direct evidence," remarked the magistrate. "evidence on commission is not sufficient. they are both british subjects, remember." "i have direct evidence of identification against each prisoner," counsel replied. "i take it that your worship will be obliged to adjourn the case for seven days, as usual; and if further evidence is required from germany, it will be forthcoming." "very well," said the magistrate, taking the mass of documents handed to him, and proceeding to hear the formal evidence of arrest, as given by the inspector and sergeant from new scotland yard. afterwards the interpreter of the court was sworn, and following him a tall, clean-shaven, yellow-haired german entered the witness-box, and gave his name as max wolff, in the employ of the baroness ackermann, of uhlenhorst, near hamburg. the instant "the ladybird" saw him she made an excuse to claire, and rising, escaped from the court. they had been in service together, and he might recognise her! the man's evidence, being translated into english, showed that suspicion fell upon an english maid the baroness had engaged in london, and who, a few days after arriving in hamburg, suddenly returned. indeed, she had one day been seen examining the lock of the safe; and it was believed that she had taken an impression of the key, for when the robbery was committed, some months later, the safe was evidently opened by means of a duplicate key. "and do you identify either of the prisoners?" inquired the magistrate. "i identify the elder one. i came face to face with him coming down the principal staircase with a bag in his hand. i was about to give the alarm; but he drew a revolver, and threatened to blow out my brains if i uttered a word." the accused man's face relaxed into a sickly smile. "and you were silent?" "for the moment, yes. next second he was out into the road, and took to the open country. i am quite certain he is the man; i would know him among ten thousand." "and you have heard nothing of this english lady's maid since?" asked the magistrate. "no; she disappeared after, as we suppose, taking the impression of the key." the next witness was a short, stout, dark-faced man with a shiny bald head, evidently a jew. he was joseph hirsch, jeweller, of the sternstrasse, eugendorf, and he described how, on a certain evening, the prisoner bourne--whom he identified--had entered his shop. he took him to be a wealthy englishman travelling for pleasure, and showed him some of his best goods, including a ruby pendant worth about fifty thousand marks. the prisoner examined it well, but saying that the light was not good, and that he preferred to return next morning and examine it in the daylight, he put it down and went out. a quarter of an hour later, however, he had discovered, to his utter dismay, that the pendant had been cleverly palmed, and in its place in the case was left a cheap ornament, almost a replica, but of brass and pieces of red glass. he at once took train to treysa and informed the chief of police, who showed him a photograph of the prisoner--a copy of one circulated by scotland yard. "and do you see in court the man who stole the pendant?" asked the magistrate. "yes; he is there," the jew replied in german--"the younger of the two." "you have not recovered your property?" "no, sir." the court was not crowded. the london public take little or no interest in the extradition court. the magistrate glanced across at the well-dressed lady in dark grey who sat alone upon one of the benches, and wondered who she might be. afterwards one of the detectives informed him privately that she had been with the men at worthing when they were arrested. "i do not know, your worship, if you require any further evidence," exclaimed mr. gore-palmer, again rising. "perhaps you will glance at the evidence taken on commission before the british consul-general at treysa, the british consul in hamburg, and the british vice-consul at cologne. i venture to think that in face of the evidence of identification you have just heard, you will be convinced that the german government have a just right to apply for the extradition of these two persons." he then resumed his seat, while the white-headed old gentleman on the bench carefully went through folio after folio of the signed and stamped documents, each with its certified english translation and green consular stamps. presently, when about half-way through the documents, he removed his gold pince-nez, and looking across at counsel, asked,-- "mr. gore-palmer, i am not quite clear upon one point. for whom do you appear to prosecute--for the imperial german government, or for the ministry of foreign affairs of the kingdom of marburg?" "i appear for both, your worship, but i am instructed by the latter." "by the minister stuhlmann himself, on behalf of the government--not by herr hirsch?" "yes, your worship, by the minister himself, who is determined to crush out the continually increasing crimes committed by foreign criminals who enter the kingdom in the guise of tourists, as in the case of the present prisoners." claire, when counsel's explanation fell upon her ears, sat upright, pale and rigid. she recollected steinbach's warning, and in an instant the vile, dastardly plot of hinckeldeym and his creatures became revealed to her. they would condemn this man to whom she owed her life as a low-bred thief, and at the same time declare that he was her latest lover! for her it was the end of all things--the very end! chapter twenty six. place and power. the grey-faced london magistrate had remanded the prisoners in custody for seven days, and the papers that evening gave a brief account of the proceedings under the heading: "smart capture of alleged jewel thieves." during the return journey to worthing claire remained almost silent at leucha's side. the girl, whose gallant lover had thus been snatched from her so cruelly, was beside herself in utter dejection and brokenness of heart. surely they were a downcast pair, seated in the corners of an empty first-class carriage on the way back to the seaside town which possessed no further charm for them. to claire the plot was now revealed as clear as day. she had, however, never dreamed that hinckeldeym and stuhlmann would descend to such depths of villainy as this. their spies had been at work, without a doubt. she had been watched, and the watchers, whoever they were, had evidently established the identity of the two men to whom she owed so very much. and then hinckeldeym, with that brutal unscrupulousness that distinguished him, had conceived the hellish plot to create a fresh scandal regarding the jewel thief guy bourne and herself. the man who had risked his life for hers had now lost his liberty solely on her account. it was cruel, unjust, inhuman! night and day she had prayed to her maker for peace and for protection from the thousand pitfalls that beset her path in that great complex world of which she was almost as ignorant as little ignatia herself. yet it seemed as though, on the contrary, she was slowly drifting on and on to a ruin that was irreparable and complete. she felt herself doubting, but instantly her strong faith reasserted itself. yes, god would hear her; she was sure he would. she was a miserable sinner, like all other women, even though she were queen of an earthly kingdom. he would forgive her; he would also forgive those two men who stood charged with the crime of theft. god was just, and in him she still placed her implicit trust. in silence, as the train rushed southward, she again appealed to him for his comfort and his guidance. her bounden duty was to try and save the men who had been her friends, even at risk to herself. their friendliness with her had been their own betrayal. had they disappeared from paris with her jewels they would still have been at liberty. yet what could she do? how could she act? twenty years' penal servitude was the sentence which leucha declared would be given her father if tried in england, while upon bourne the sentence would not be less than fifteen years, having in view his list of previous convictions. in germany, with the present-day prejudice against the english, they would probably be given even heavier sentences, for, according to mr. gore-palmer, an attempt was to be made to make an example of them. ah! if the world only knew how kind, how generous those two criminals had been to her, a friendless, unhappy woman, who knew no more of the world than a child in her teens, would it really judge them harshly, she wondered. or would they receive from the public that deep-felt compassion which she herself had shown them? many good qualities are, alas! nowadays dead in the human heart; but happily chivalry towards a lonely woman is still, even in this twentieth century, one of the traits of the englishman's character, be he gentleman or costermonger. alone in her room that night, she knelt beside the bed where little ignatia was sleeping so peacefully, and besought the almighty to protect her and her child from this last and foulest plot of her enemies, and to comfort those who had been her friends. long and earnestly she remained in prayer, her hands clasped, her face uplifted, her white lips moving in humble, fervent appeal to god. then when she rose up she pushed back the mass of fair hair from her brow, and paced the room for a long time, pondering deeply, but discerning no way out of the difficulties and perils that now beset her. the two accused men would be condemned, while upon her would be heaped the greatest shame that could be cast upon a woman. suddenly she halted at the window, and leaning forward, looked out upon the flashing light far away across the dark, lonely sea. beyond that far-off horizon, mysterious in the obscurity of night, lay the continent, with her own kingdom within. though freedom was so delightful, without court etiquette and without court shams, yet her duty to her people was, she recollected, to be beside her husband; her duty to her child was to live that life to which she, as an imperial archduchess, had been born, no matter how irksome it might be to her. should she risk all and return to treysa? the very suggestion caused her to hold her breath. her face was pale and pensive in her silent, lofty, uncomplaining despair. would her husband receive her? or would he, at the instigation of old hinckeldeym and his creatures, hound her out of the kingdom as what the liars at court had falsely declared her to be? again she implored the direction of the almighty, sinking humbly upon her knees before the crucifix she had placed at the head of her bed, remaining there for fully a quarter of an hour. then when she rose again there was a calm, determined look on her pale, hard-set face. yes; her patience and womanhood could endure no longer. she would take leucha and go fearlessly to treysa, to face her false friends and ruthless enemies. they would start to-morrow. not a moment was to be lost. and instead of retiring to bed, she spent the greater part of the night in packing her trunks in readiness for the journey which was to decide her fate. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the summer's evening was breathless and stifling in treysa. attired in henriette's coat and skirt, and wearing her thick lace veil, claire alighted from the dusty _wagon-lit_ that had brought her from cologne, and stood upon the great, well-remembered platform unrecognised. the _douaniers_ at the frontier had overhauled her baggage; the railway officials had clipped her tickets; the _wagon-lit_ conductor had treated her with the same quiet courtesy that he had shown to her fellow-passengers, and she had passed right into the splendid capital without a single person recognising that the queen--"their claire"--had returned among them. leucha descended with ignatia, who at once became excited at hearing her native tongue again; and as they stood awaiting their hand-baggage an agent of police passed them, but even he did not recognise in the neat-waisted figure the brilliant and beautiful soft-eyed woman who was his sovereign. at first she held her breath, trembling lest she might be recognised, and premature information of her return be conveyed to hinckeldeym or to the prefect of police, who, no doubt, had his orders to refuse her admittance. yet finding her disguise so absolutely complete, she took courage, and passed out of the station to hail a closed cab. they were all three utterly tired out after thirty-six hours of rail, crossing by way of dover and ostend. when leucha and ignatia had entered the cab she said to the man sharply, in german,-- "drive to the royal palace." the man, who took her for one of the servants, settled himself upon his box and drove up the straight tree-lined avenue to the great entrance gates of the royal park, which were, as usual, closed. as they approached them, however, her majesty raised her veil, and waited; while leucha, with little ignatia upon her knee, sat wondering. she, "the ladybird," the accomplice of the cleverest gang of thieves in europe, was actually entering a royal palace as intimate friend of its queen! the cab halted, the sentries drew up at attention, and the gorgeous porter came forward and put in his head inquisitively. next instant he recognised who it was, and started back; then, raising his cocked hat and bowing low, gave orders to the cabman to drive on. afterwards, utterly amazed, he went to the telephone to apprise the porter up at the palace that her majesty the queen had actually returned. when they drew up at the great marble steps before the palace entrance, the gaudily-dressed porter stood bare-headed with three other men-servants and the two agents of police who were always on duty there. all bowed low, saluting their queen in respectful silence as she descended, and leucha followed her with the little princess toddling at her side. it was a ceremonious arrival, but not a single word was uttered until claire passed into the hall, and was about to ascend the grand staircase on her way to the royal private apartments; for she supposed, and quite rightly, that her husband had, on his accession, moved across to the fine suite occupied by his late father. bowing slightly to acknowledge the obeisance of the servants, she was about to ascend the broad stairs, when the porter came forward, and said apologetically,-- "will your majesty pardon me? i have orders from the minister hinckeldeym to say that he is waiting in the blue anteroom, and wishes to see you instantly upon your arrival." "then he knows of my return?" she exclaimed surprised. "your majesty was expected by him since yesterday." she saw that his spies had telegraphed news of her departure from london. "and the king is in the palace?" "yes, your majesty; he is in his private cabinet," responded the man, bowing. "then i will go to him. i will see hinckeldeym afterwards." "but, your majesty, i have strict orders not to allow your majesty to pass until you have seen his excellency. see, here he comes!" and as she turned she saw approaching up the long marble hall a fat man, her arch-enemy, attired in funereal, black. "your majesty!" he said, bowing, while an evil smile played upon his lips. "so you have returned to us at treysa! before seeing the king i wish to speak to you in private." deadly and inexorable malice was in his countenance. she turned upon him with a quick fire in her eyes, answering with that hauteur that is inherent in the hapsbourg blood,-- "whatever you have to say can surely be said here. you can have nothing concerning me to conceal!" she added meaningly. "i have something to say that cannot be said before the palace servants," he exclaimed quickly. "i forbid you to go to the king before i have had an opportunity of explaining certain matters." "oh! you forbid--_you_?" she cried, turning upon him in resentment at his laconic insolence. "and pray, who are you?--a mere paid puppet of the state, a political adventurer who discerns further advancement by being my enemy! and you _forbid_?" "your majesty--i--" "yes; when addressing me do not forget that i am your queen," she said firmly, "and that i know very well how to deal with those who have endeavoured to encompass my ruin. now go to your fellow-adventurers, stuhlmann, hoepfner, and the rest, and give them my message." every word of hers seemed to blister where it fell. then turning to leucha, she said in english,-- "remain here with ignatia. i will return to you presently." and while the fat-faced officer of state who had so ingeniously plotted her downfall stood abashed in silence, and confused at her defiance, she swept past him, mounted the stairs haughtily, and turning into the corridor, made her way to the royal apartments. outside the door of the king's private cabinet--that room wherein hinckeldeym had introduced his spies--she held her breath. she was helpless at once, and desperate. her hand trembled upon the door knob, and the sentry, recognising her, started, and stood at attention. with sudden resolve she turned the handle, and next second stood erect in the presence of her husband. chapter twenty seven. a woman's words. the king sprang up from his writing-table as though electrified. "you!" he gasped, turning pale and glaring at her--"you, claire! why are you here?" he demanded angrily. "to speak with you, ferdinand. that scheming reptile hinckeldeym forbade me to see you; but i have defied him--and have come to you." "forbade you! why?" he asked, in a deep voice, facing her, and at once noticing that she was disguised as henriette. "because he fears that i may expose his ingenious intrigue to you. i have discovered everything, and i have come to you, my husband, to face you, and to answer any charges that this man may bring against me. i only ask for justice," she added, in a low, earnest voice. "i appeal to you for that, for the sake of our little ignatia; for the sake of my own good name, not as queen, but as a woman!" "then hinckeldeym was aware that you were returning?" "his spies, no doubt, telegraphed information that i had left london. he was awaiting me in the blue anteroom when i arrived, ten minutes ago." "he told me nothing," her husband remarked gruffly, knitting his brows in marked displeasure. "because he fears the revelation of his dastardly plot to separate us, and to hurl me down to the lowest depths of infamy and shame." her husband was silent; his eyes were fixed upon hers. only yesterday he had called meyer, the minister of justice, and given orders for an application to the court for a divorce. hinckeldeym, by continually pointing out the imperial displeasure in vienna, had forced him to take this step. he had refrained as long as he could, but at last had been forced to yield. as far as government was concerned, hinckeldeym was, he considered, an excellent minister; yet since that night when the man had introduced his spies, he had had his shrewd suspicions aroused that all he had told him concerning claire was not the exact truth. perhaps, after all, he had harshly misjudged her. such, indeed, was the serious thought that had a thousand times of late been uppermost in his mind--ever since, indeed, he had given audience to the minister meyer on the previous morning. claire went on, shining forth all her sweet, womanly self. her intellectual powers, her elevated sense of religion, her high honourable principles, her best feelings as a woman, all were displayed. she maintained at first a calm self-command, as one sure of carrying her point in the end; and yet there was, nevertheless, a painful, heart-thrilling uncertainty. in her appeal, however, was an irresistible and solemn pathos, which, falling upon her husband's heart, caused him to wonder, and to stand open-mouthed before her. "you allege, then, that all this outrageous scandal that has been the talk of europe has been merely invented by hinckeldeym and his friends?" asked the king, folding his arms firmly and fixing his eyes upon his wife very seriously. "i only ask you, ferdinand, to hear the truth, and as sovereign to render justice where justice is due," was her calm response, her pale face turned to his. "i was too proud in my own honesty as your wife to appeal to you: indeed, i saw that it was hopeless, so utterly had you fallen beneath the influence of my enemies. so i preferred to leave the court, and to live incognito as an ordinary person." "but you left treysa with leitolf, the man who was your lover! you can't deny that, eh?" he snapped. "i deny it, totally and emphatically," was her response, facing him unflinchingly. "carl leitolf loved me when i was a child, but years before my marriage with you i had ceased to entertain any affection for him. he, however, remained my friend--and he is still my friend." "then you don't deny that to-day he is really your friend?" he said, with veiled sarcasm. "why should i? surely there is nothing disgraceful that a man should show friendliness and sympathy towards a woman who yearns for her husband's love, and is lonely and unhappy, as i have been? again, i did not leave treysa with him. he joined my train quite by accident, and we travelled to vienna together. he left me at the station, and i have not seen him since." "when you were in vienna, a few days before, you actually visited him at his hotel?" "certainly; i went to see him just as i should call upon any other friend. i recognised the plot against us, and arranged with him that he should leave the court and go to rome." "i don't approve of such friends," he snapped again quickly. "a husband should always choose his wife's male friends. i am entirely in your hands, ferdinand." "but surely you know that a thousand and one scandalous stories have been whispered about you--not only in the palace, but actually among the people. the papers, even, have hinted at your disgraceful and outrageous behaviour." "and i have nothing whatever to be ashamed of. you, my husband, i face boldly to-night, and declare to you that i have never, for one single moment, forgotten my duty either to you or to our child," she said, in a very low, firm voice, hot tears at that moment welling in her beautiful eyes. "i am here to declare my innocence--to demand of you justice, ferdinand!" his lips were pressed together. he was watching her intently, noticing how very earnestly and how very boldly she refuted those statements which, in his entire ignorance of the conspiracy, he had believed to be scandalous truths. was it really possible that she, his wife, whom all europe had admired for her grace, her sweetness, and her extraordinary beauty, was actually a victim of a deeply-laid plot of hinckeldeym's? to him it seemed utterly impossible. she was endeavouring, perhaps, to shield herself by making these counter allegations. a man, he reflected, seldom gets even with a woman's ingenuity. "hinckeldeym has recently revealed to me something else, claire," he said, speaking very slowly, his eyes still fixed upon hers--"the existence of another lover, an interesting person who, it appears, is a criminal!" "listen, ferdinand, and i will tell you the truth--the whole truth," she said very earnestly. "you will remember the narrow escape i had that day when my cob shied at a motor car and ran away, and a stranger--an englishman--stopped the animal, and was so terribly injured that he had to be conveyed to the hospital, and remained there some weeks in a very precarious state. and he afterwards disappeared, without waiting for me to thank him personally?" "yes; i remember hearing something about him." "it is that man--the criminal," she declared; and then, in quick, breathless sentences, she explained how her jewels had been stolen in paris, and how, when the thieves knew of her identity, the bag had been restored to her intact. he listened to every word in silence, wondering. the series of romantic incidents held him surprised. they were really gallant and gentlemanly thieves, if--if nothing else, he declared. "to this mr. bourne i owe my life," she said; "and to him i also owe the return of my jewels. is it, therefore, any wonder when these two men, bourne and redmayne, have showed me such consideration, that, lonely as i am, i should regard them as friends? i have redmayne's daughter with me here, as maid. she is below, with ignatia. it is this mr. bourne, who is engaged to be married to leucha redmayne, that hinckeldeym seeks to denounce as my lover!" "he says that both men are guilty of theft within the empire; indeed, bourne is, it is said, guilty of jewel robbery in eugendorf." "they have both been arrested at hinckeldeym's instigation, and are now in london, remanded before being extradited here." "oh! he has not lost very much time, it seems." "no. his intention is that mr. bourne shall stand his trial here, in treysa, and at the same time the prisoner is to be denounced by inspired articles in the press as my lover--that i, queen of marburg, have allied myself with a common criminal! cannot you see his dastardly intention? he means that this, his last blow, his master stroke, shall crush me, and break my power for ever," she cried desperately. "you, ferdinand, will give me justice--i know you will! i am still your wife!" she implored. "you will not allow their foul lies and insinuations to influence you further; will you?" she asked. "in order to debase me in your eyes and in the eyes of all europe, hinckeldeym has caused the arrest of this man to whom i owe my life--the man who saved me, not because i was crown princess, but because i was merely a woman in peril. think what betrayal and arrest means to these men. it means long terms of imprisonment to both. and why? merely in order to attack me-- because i am their friend. they may be guilty of theft--indeed they admit they are; nevertheless i ask you to give them your clemency, and to save them. you can have them brought here for trial; and there are ways, technicalities of the law, or something, by which their release can be secured. a king may act as he chooses in his own kingdom." every word she spoke was so worthy of herself, so full of sentiment and beauty, poetry and passion. too naturally frank for disguise, too modest to confess her depth of love while the issue remained in suspense, it was a conflict between love and fear and dignity. "i think you ask me rather too much, claire," he said, in a somewhat quieter tone. "you ask me to believe all that you tell me, without giving me any proof whatsoever." "and how can i give you proof when mr. bourne and his friend are in custody in london? let them be extradited to treysa, and then you may have them brought before you privately and questioned." for some moments he did not speak. what she had just alleged had placed upon the matter an entirely different aspect. indeed, within himself he was compelled to admit that the suspicions he had lately entertained regarding hinckeldeym had now been considerably increased by her surprising statements. was she speaking the truth? whenever he allowed his mind to wander back he recollected that it had been the crafty old president who had first aroused those fierce jealous thoughts within his heart. it was he who had made those allegations against leitolf; he who, from the very first weeks of his marriage, had treated claire with marked antipathy, although to her face he had shown such cordiality and deep obeisance that she had actually believed him to be her friend. yes, he now recognised that this old man, in whom his father had reposed such perfect confidence, had been the fount of all those reports that had scandalised europe. if his calm, sweet-faced wife had, after all, been a really good and faithful woman, then he had acted as an outrageous brute to her. his own cruelty pricked his conscience. it was for her to forgive, not for her to seek forgiveness. she saw his hesitation, and believed it due to a reluctance to accept her allegations as the real truth. "if you doubt me, ferdinand, call hinckeldeym at this instant. let me face this man before you, and let me categorically deny all the false charges which he and his sycophants have from time to time laid against me. here, at court, i am feared, because they know that i am aware of all my secret enemies. make a clearance of them all and commence afresh," she urged, a sweet light in her wonderful eyes. "you have clever men about you who would make honest and excellent ministers; but while you are surrounded by such conspirators as these, neither you nor the throne itself is safe. i know," she went on breathlessly, "that you have been seized by a terrible jealousy--a cruel, consuming jealousy, purposely aroused against me in order to bring about the result which was but the natural outcome--my exile from treysa and our estrangement. it is true that you did not treat me kindly--that you struck me--that you insulted me--that you have disfigured me by your blows; but recollect, i beg, that i have never once complained. i never once revealed the secret of my dire unhappiness; only to one man, the man who has been my friend ever since my childhood--carl leitolf. and if you had been in my place, ferdinand, i ask whether you would not have sought comfort in relating your unhappiness to a friend. i ask you that question," she added, in a low, intense, trembling voice. "for all your unkindness and neglect i have long ago really forgiven you. i have prayed earnestly to god that he would open your eyes and show me in my true light--a faithful wife. i leave it to him to be my judge, and to deal out to my enemies the justice they deserve." "claire!" he cried, suddenly taking her slim white hand in his and looking fiercely into her beautiful eyes, "is this the real truth that you have just told me?" "it is!" she answered firmly; "before god, i swear that it is! i am a poor sinner in his sight, but as your wife i have nothing with which to reproach myself--nothing. if you doubt me, then call leitolf from rome; call bourne. both men, instead of being my lovers, are your friends-- and mine. i can look both you and them in the face without flinching, and am ready to do so whenever it is your will." all was consummated in that one final touch of truth and nature. the consciousness of her own worth and integrity which had sustained her through all her trials of heart, and that pride of station for which she had contended through long years--which had become more dear by opposition and by the perseverance with which she had asserted it-- remained the last strong feeling upon her mind even at that moment, the most fateful crisis of her existence. her earnest, fearless frankness impressed him. was it really possible that his wife--this calm-faced woman who had been condemned by him everywhere, and against whom he had already commenced proceedings for a divorce--was really, after all, quite innocent? he remembered hinckeldeym's foul allegations, the damning evidence of his spies, the copies of certain letters. was all this a tissue of fraud, falsehood, and forgery? in a few rapid words she went on to relate how, in that moment of resentment at such scandalous gossip being propagated concerning her, she had threatened that when she became queen she would change the whole entourage, and in a brief, pointed argument she showed him the strong motive with which the evil-eyed president of the council had formed the dastardly conspiracy against her. "claire," he asked, still holding her soft hand with the wedding ring upon it, "after all that has passed--after all my harsh, inhuman cruelty to you--can you really love me still? do you really entertain one single spark of love for me?" "love you!" she cried, throwing herself into his arms in a passion of tears; "love you, ferdinand!" she sobbed. "why, you are my husband; whom else have i to love, besides our child?" "then i will break up this damnable conspiracy against you," he said determinedly. "i--the king--will seek out and punish all who have plotted against my happiness and yours. they shall be shown no mercy; they shall all be swept into obscurity and ruin. they thought," he added, in a hard, hoarse voice, "to retain their positions at court by keeping us apart, because they knew that you had discovered their despicable duplicity. leave them to me; ferdinand of marburg knows well how to redress a wrong, especially one which concerns his wife's honour," and he ran his hand over his wife's soft hair as he bent and kissed her lips. so overcome with emotion was she that at the moment she could not speak. god had at last answered those fervent appeals that she had made ever since the first year of their marriage. "i have wronged you, claire--deeply, very deeply wronged you," he went on, in a husky, apologetic voice, his arm tenderly about her waist, as he again pressed his lips to hers in reconciliation. "but it was the fault of others. they lied to me; they exaggerated facts and manufactured evidence, and i foolishly believed them. yet now that you have lifted the scales from my eyes, the whole of their devilishly clever intrigue stands plainly revealed. it utterly staggers me. i can only ask you to forgive. let us from to-night commence a new life--that sweet, calm life of trust and love which when we married we both believed was to be ours for ever, but which, alas! by the interference and malignity of our enemies, was turned from affection into hatred and unhappiness." "i am ready, ferdinand," she answered, a sweet smile lighting up her beautiful features. "we will bury the past; for you are king and i am queen, and surely none shall now come between us. my happiness tonight, knowing that you are, after all, good and generous, and that you really love me truly, no mere words of mine can reveal. yet even now i have still a serious thought, a sharp pang of conscience for those who are doomed to suffer because they acted as my friends when i was outcast and friendless." "you mean the men bourne and redmayne," the king said. "yes, they are in a very perilous position. we must press for their extradition here, and then their release will be easy. to-morrow you must find some means by which to reassure them." "and hinckeldeym?" "hinckeldeym shall this very night answer to his sovereign for the foul lies he has spoken," replied the king, in a hard, meaning tone. "but, dearest, think no more of that liar. he will never cross your path again; i shall take good care of that. and now," he said, imprinting a long, lingering caress upon her white, open brow--"and now let us call up our little ignatia and see how the child has grown. an hour ago i was the saddest man in all the kingdom, claire; now," he laughed, as he kissed her again, "i admit to you i am the very happiest!" their lips met again in a passionate, fervent caress. on her part she gazed up into his kind, loving eyes with a rapturous look which was more expressive than words--a look which told him plainly how deeply she still loved him, notwithstanding all the bitterness and injustice of the black, broken past. chapter twenty eight. conclusion. the greatest flutter of excitement was caused throughout germany--and throughout the whole of europe, for the matter of that--when it became known through the press that the queen of marburg had returned. reuter's correspondent at treysa was the first to give the astounding news to the world, and the world at first shrugged its shoulders and grinned. when, however, a few days later, it became known that the minister heinrich hinckeldeym had been summarily dismissed from office, his decorations withdrawn, and he was under arrest for serious peculation from the royal treasury, people began to wonder. their doubts were, however, quickly set at rest when the ministers stuhlmann and hoepfner were also dismissed and disgraced, and a semi-official statement was published in the government _gazette_ to the effect that the king had discovered that the charges against his wife were, from beginning to end, a tissue of false calumnies "invented by certain persons who sought to profit by her majesty's absence from court." and so, by degrees, the reconciliation between the king and queen gradually leaked out to the english public through the columns of their newspapers. but little did they guess that the extradition case pressed so very hard at bow street last august against the two jewel thieves, redmayne, _alias_ ward, and guy bourne, had any connection with the great scandal at the court of marburg. the men were extradited, redmayne to be tried in berlin and bourne at treysa; but of their sentences history, as recorded in the daily newspapers, is silent. the truth is that neither of them was sentenced, but by the private request of his majesty, a legal technicality was discovered, which placed them at liberty. both men afterwards had private audience of the king, and personally received the royal thanks for the kindness they had shown towards the queen and to little ignatia. in order to mark his appreciation, his majesty caused a lucrative appointment in the ministry of foreign affairs, where a knowledge of english was necessary, to be given to roddy redmayne, while guy bourne, through the king's recommendation, was appointed to the staff of an important german bank in new york; and it has been arranged that next month leucha--who leaves her majesty and ignatia with much regret--goes to america to marry him. to her place, as ignatia's nurse, the faithful allen has now returned, while the false de trauttenberg, who, instantly upon hinckeldeym's downfall, went to live in paris, has been succeeded by the countess de langendorf, one of claire's intimate friends of her days at the vienna court, prior to her marriage. what actually transpired between hinckeldeym and his sovereign on that fateful night will probably never be known. the people of treysa are aware, however, that a few hours after "their claire's" return the president of the council was commanded to the royal presence, and left it ruined and disgraced. on the following day he was arrested in his own mansion by three gendarmes and taken to the common police office, where he afterwards attempted suicide, but was prevented. the serious charges of peculation against him were, in due course, proved up to the hilt, and at the present moment he is undergoing a well-merited sentence of five years' imprisonment in the common gaol at eugendorf. count carl leitolf was recalled from rome to treysa a few days later, and had audience in the king's private cabinet. the outcome was, however, entirely different, for the king, upon the diplomat's return to rome, signed a decree bestowing upon him _di moto proprio_ the order of saint stephen, one of the highest of the marburg orders, as a signal mark of esteem. thus was the public opinion of europe turned in favour of the poor, misjudged woman who, although a reigning sovereign, had, by force of adverse circumstances, actually resigned her crown, and, accepting favours of the criminal class as her friends, had found them faithful and devoted. of the ministers of the kingdom of marburg only meyer retains his portfolio at the present moment, while steinbach has been promoted to a very responsible and lucrative appointment. the others are all in obscurity. ministers, chamberlains, _dames du palais_ and _dames de la cour_, all have been swept away by a single stroke of the pen, and others, less prone to intrigue, appointed. henriette--the faithful henriette--part of whose wardrobe claire had appropriated on escaping from treysa, is back again as her majesty's head maid; and though the popular idea is that little real, genuine love exists between royalties, yet the king and queen are probably the very happiest pair among the millions over whom they rule to-day. her majesty, the womanly woman whose sweet, even temperament and constant solicitude for the poor and distressed is so well known throughout the continent, is loudly acclaimed by all classes each time she leaves the palace and smiles upon them from her carriage. the people, who have universally denounced hinckeldeym and his unscrupulous methods, still worship her and call her "their claire." but, by mutual consent, mention is no longer made of that dark, dastardly conspiracy which came so very near wrecking the lives of both king and queen--that dastardly affair which the journalists termed "the great court scandal." the end. internet archive (https://archive.org) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see https://archive.org/details/myownaffairs louirich transcriber's note: text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). my own affairs [illustration] my own affairs by the princess louise of belgium with photogravure frontispiece and eight plates translated by maude m. c. ffoulkes cassell and company, limited london, new york, toronto and melbourne i dedicate this book to the great man, to the great king, who was my father contents chapter page . why i write this book . my beloved belgium; my family and myself; myself--as i know myself . the queen . the king . my country and days of my youth . my marriage and the austrian court--the day after my marriage . married . my hosts at the hofburg--the emperor francis joseph and the empress elizabeth . my sister stéphanie marries the archduke rudolph, who died at meyerling . ferdinand of coburg and the court of sofia . william ii and the court of berlin--the emperor of illusion . the holsteins . the courts of munich and old germany . queen victoria . the drama of my captivity, and my life as a prisoner--the commencement of torture . lindenhof . how i regained my liberty and at the same time was declared sane . the death of the king--intrigues and legal proceedings . my sufferings during the war . in the hope of rest index list of plates the princess louise of belgium (_photogravure_) _frontispiece_ facing page queen marie henriette of belgium king leopold ii of belgium the countess lonyay (princess stéphanie of belgium) prince philip of saxe-coburg princess victor napoleon (princess clémentine of belgium) the archduke rudolph duke gunther of schleswig-holstein the duchess gunther of schleswig-holstein my own affairs chapter i why i write this book as the eldest daughter of a great man and a great king, whose magnificent intelligence has enriched his people, i owe nothing but misfortune to my royal origin. ever since i was born i have suffered and been deceived. i have idealized life too much. in the evening of my days i do not wish to remain under the cloud of the false impression which is now prevalent concerning me. without desiring to allude too much to the past, and to retrace the road of my calvary, i should like at least to borrow a few pages from my memories and reflections, inspired by events which have destroyed thrones in whose proximity i once lived. the emperor of austria, the german emperor, the tsar of bulgaria were all familiar figures to me. driven to munich by the war, then to budapest, taken prisoner for a brief space by hungarian bolshevists, i have survived the european tempest, and i have seen all those who disowned and crushed me, beaten and punished. and i trembled every day for my poor belgium, so strong in her courage and her travail, but so unjust to me--oh no, not the _people_--the good people are naturally heroic and indefatigable. i refer to certain of their leaders, who have been misled on my account, and who are also, perhaps, too fond of money. unjust themselves, they all equally violated justice by illicit interests which had the appearance of legality, as well as by the false attitude which appeared merely to be forgetfulness, but which was actually ingratitude. my father has not yet had a monument erected to him in the country which he esteemed so highly; his government has remembered the follies of his old age rather than its privileges, and his memory has suffered accordingly. but what is past is past. my memory remains faithfully and affectionately attached to my native land; my sole thought is to love and honour her. it is of belgium that i wish to speak before passing on to the courts of vienna, berlin, munich and sofia, and to the many doings which these names recall, certain of which deserve better knowledge and consideration. i have never entertained any feelings for belgium other than those of imperishable affection. the most painful of my reflections during the horrible war was that she was more to be pitied than i was. on the day when i was being searched by hungarian bolshevists at budapest i heard one of them say to another--having proved for himself the simplicity to which i was reduced: "here is a king's daughter who is poorer than i am." i have thought of the unhappy women of ypres, of dixmude, of france, poland, servia, and elsewhere--unfortunate creatures without fire or bread through the crime of war, and i have wept for them and not for myself. more than one of them, perhaps, envied my position before ; little did they realize that i should have preferred theirs! married at seventeen, i expected to find in marriage the joys that a husband and children can give. i have had bitter proof to the contrary. rupture was inevitable where my own intimate feelings were concerned and those who surrounded me. i was too independent to make use of what was offensive to me. honours are often without honour, however high they may seem to be. save for rare exceptions, fortune and power only develop in us the appetite for pleasure and urge us to depravity. those whom la bruyère calls "the great" easily lose the knowledge of human conditions. life is to them no longer the mysterious proof of the existence of a soul which will be eventually rewarded or punished according to its deserts. religion seems to them only a mask or an instrument. led to judge their fellow-creatures through the flatteries, calculations, ambitions and treacheries by which they are surrounded, they arrive, through mistrust of human nature, at a state of indifference to god, and they accommodate his laws to their needs in the assurance of adjusting themselves with the creator as they adjust their doings with their ministers. when i review the past, and when i am reminded of the various phases of my unhappy existence, i never despair of ultimately finding a justice which i have not yet come across in this world; i have always believed that it exists _somewhere_. if it were not so, things would be inconceivable. i owe this spirit of confidence to the lessons i learnt in my infancy, chiefly from those taught me by the queen, my mother. "always endeavour to be a christian," she used to say. i could not understand the import of these words when i was a child, but the misfortunes of my life have helped to explain them. stirred into revolt by humanity in so many ways, i have now submitted myself to a superior will, and i know the happiness of not hating my enemies. pardon has always followed my rebellion. i have never doubted that those who wronged me would be punished sooner or later on earth or elsewhere, and i have been sorry for my persecutors. i have pitied them for their dislike of my frankness, because i am an enemy of all family and court hypocrisy--i have pitied them for having censured my fidelity to one affection, and, above all, i have pitied their exaggeration of my disregard for that ancient idol--money! convinced as i was, and not without foundation, that immense wealth was to come, not only to myself but to my sisters, i maintained that our duty was to make full use of our resources. was it not better to circulate money and assist trade? this opinion, however, was not shared either by a husband who was inclined to hoard or by a family who were afraid of any fresh ideas or customs, and who only saw in the aspirations of the masses an inevitable and horrible catastrophe against which they ought to protect themselves by saving as much as possible. at the same time, when i have been engaged in a struggle i have never met with anything save cruel treatment on the part of my enemies (first and foremost by the slanders intended to ruin me in the eyes of the world), but i have hurled myself at the onset against all the obstacles which violence and enmity have conceived against me. being unable to live and act normally, and compelled by force and privations to treat what i held as despicable with obedience and respect, i lacked the means of existence to which i was entitled. the trouble i took in order to assure myself of my liberty on my native soil, in the order and dignity for which i had hoped, was nullified by those who were themselves morally responsible for it. i was compelled to become a prisoner or a fugitive, taken away and kept away from my rightful position by difficulties of every description. by these methods my enemies imagined that i should be more easily deprived of all to which i had clung. what would have become of me had i not found a man who devoted himself to saving me from all kinds of snares and dangers, and who found devoted beings to second him--many of whom have sprung from the humbler ranks of life--i am unable to conjecture. if i have known the wickedness of an aristocracy devoid of nobility, i have also benefited by the most chivalrous delicacy which has been extended to me by the populace, and my recognition of this is chiefly what i wish to write about to-day. but deep in my heart i have the impelling desire not to allow the legend which has been created around me and my name to exist any longer. chapter ii my beloved belgium; my family and myself; myself--as i know myself if in an official procession the principal personage comes last, then belgium should come last in my pages, for it is about myself that i must begin. i decide to do so not without apprehension, for i remember the descriptions of themselves which celebrated writers of autobiography--saint simon, for instance--have given at the commencement of their memoirs. far be it from me to wish to paint myself in glowing colours. that would be a pretension from which the great writers who possessed the talent necessary to describe themselves preserve me. i only hope, if possible, to describe myself as i believe myself to be. i often examine my heart. the older i grow the stronger this tendency to self-analysis becomes. formerly i used to like to know my fellow-creatures; now i have discovered that one should always know oneself before attempting to decipher other human enigmas. the ancient precept of delphes, which the king my father used to quote, comes back to my memory, but i will not give it here. i do not understand modern greek, unlike queen sophie, that charming woman, who was so misguided as to learn it; she lost her throne, so they say, through trying to outwit the subtlety of ulysses! my predominant quality is a horror of all that is insincere, inaccurate, formal and commonplace. my taste for simplicity in thought and actions branded me long ago as a revolutionary in the eyes of my family. this was when i rebelled in vienna against the routine and what they called the _esprit_ of the court. my passion for sincerity has brought me unity of thought. i am a woman faithful to one vow which my heart admits freely. i have known and loved few individuals well enough to allow myself to approach them and know them thoroughly, but when once my confidence and liking have been given and found to be justified, i have become deeply attached to those on whom they were bestowed. many people would have liked to have seen me deprived of happiness, but i possess at least this one jewel--faithfulness, and i have known the sweetness thereof; not only the banal and material fidelity--always more or less a passing phase as one generally understands it--but the pure and noble fidelity which accompanies a vigilant and chivalrous mind; the ideal of noble hearts, which is revolted by injustice and attracted by misfortune. diverse fidelities, although sisters, are marvellous treasures in which one must be rich oneself to be enabled further to enrich the future with precious gifts. firm in upholding my rights, and true to my convictions when i believe them to be in accordance with honour and truth--which spring from a divine essence--and are not inspired by hypocritical conventions, i am afraid of nothing, and nothing can convince me against my will. i have inherited these traits from my father and my mother; from my mother i get the spiritual side, and from my father i get the material side of my character. it is useless, therefore, to believe that i should ever act against the dictates of my conscience. if i am compelled to give way for a moment, i do so as one would yield at the point of the bayonet. wickedness and compulsion do not create equity, they only create its reservations, and redress to justice is from god alone and not from man. this strength of resistance against evil and contempt of etiquette are, so to speak, the salient characteristics of my life. but in spite of my decided opinions i show marked nervousness in the presence of strangers. when they are introduced to me i can hardly speak to them, even though their personality appeals to me. my beloved compatriots in brussels, the friends who are always present in my thoughts, used to say, "princess louise is proud!" what a mistake! on the contrary, i should have much liked to respond to the affection they offered me, and to have entered those belgian homes that i knew to be so hospitable. ah! what happiness not to have been born a king's daughter! one could then speak freely to fellow-creatures who merited sympathy; but a princess cannot do as she pleases. with my entourage i am sometimes as open and expansive as i am silent and reserved with strangers. i mistrust fresh faces, and in no circumstances do i ever indulge in gossip. i much prefer the conversation of men who know something, to that of women who know nothing. i detest all that is unnatural in conversation; affectation is insupportable to me. idle remarks which annoy me easily suggest some repartee or sarcastic comment such as the king knew so well how to use, which always touched to the quick the person to whom it was addressed. but the influence of the queen's memory sometimes restrains me and keeps me silent out of christian charity. immovable in the convictions of my conscience and outwardly reserved, i am, nevertheless, a woman of contradictions. when i am forced to act i invariably rush to extremes. soul extremes always result from contrasts, just as the thunder of heaven results from the meeting of two storm clouds. in me the storm is suppressed. i surprise people more than anything else by my customary attitude of not being able to foresee the decision which carries me away. i do not regard existence from the ordinary standpoint; i regard it from a much higher one. this is not due to any feeling of pride. i am carried away by something within me past certain barriers and certain frontiers; i live in a world of my own in which i can take refuge. many, many times during the implacable persecution which i have endured for so long, i have stood in front of a mirror and tried to read the soul within my eyes. i was a prisoner; i was "mad" for reasons of state. i asked myself in cold blood, was i not really becoming mad--was i still mistress of my reason? "yes," replied an inner voice, "you are mistress of your reason so long as you are mistress of yourself, and you are mistress of yourself so long as you remain faithful to your ideal of honour." i will speak of this ideal later. honest women will understand. but my nature did not find in the conjugal abode the good, the pure and the true, which it had dreamed of, hoped for, and desired. as the years passed the atmosphere of my home changed, the growing children became less of a safeguard. help came in a day of chaos under an aspect which the world condemns. nothing stopped me then, and, henceforth, nothing shall separate me from my ideal. i have done away with the gilded splendour which to me is shameful. i live now with that which speaks to me in a language i can understand, something which is morally beautiful. this act of my inner self is now realized. i have not repented. i never shall. dramas, plots, intrigues, treason follow each other--i struggle against them without triumphing. it is the work of my outward self. i may appear to fail, but my inner self turns away disgusted from the mud. i was not made to conquer in the fray of human conflicts in a sphere which is, perhaps, that of creatures predestined to show that the real condition of man is not here below. the society that he extols, the civilization that he admires, are but the poor and fragile conceptions of his illusion of earthly sovereignty, and they will only bring misfortune to him if he lives for them alone. god was always present in my thoughts even when i believed myself forgotten by man. i have had, like every creature who has been crushed by false witness, my hours of doubt and despair. the grievance against me at the coburg palace and in vienna was that i would not conform to the outward practice of religion after i had seen all its double-facedness and mock devotion. i often refused to go to the chapel and accept as fitting the outward piety which to me was sacrilege. i went to seek god and the holy virgin in some solitary and humble church far from the hofburg and my palace. i have also known the time when at the bidding of my rebellious soul i turned from heaven. suffering, experience and meditation have led me back to the divine master whose love was taught me by my beloved mother. i believe i shall reach his presence by a road which resembles calvary. it is an uphill road, but he raises me; and so rugged is it, that at every turning i forget the world a little more and i stretch out my arms towards the love and justice of god. * * * * * they have said that i was beautiful. i inherit from my father my upright figure, and i have also something of his features and his expression. i inherit from my mother a certain capacity for dreaming, which enables me to take refuge in myself, and when a conversation does not interest me, or if anyone or anything troubles me, i instantly seek sanctuary in the secret chamber of my soul. but my eyes betray me, and the effort i make to return to everyday life gives me the expression of a fugitive--this is a great peculiarity of mine. the colour of my eyes is a clear brown, which reflects those of the queen and the king, but more particularly those of the king. like him, i am able to change my voice from softness to a certain hard brilliance. the golden ears of corn are not more golden than was once my golden hair; to-day it is silver. i speak like the king, but somewhat slower than he did, in the two languages i chiefly employ--which are equally familiar to me--french and german. like him i think in french or german, but when i write, i prefer to do so in french. so enamoured am i of simplicity and truth in relation to every condition of life, that i think a woman, wherever she may be, should always keep her position as a woman. of course there must be degrees in everything, and the differences among men are the outcome of their education and the rules of social life. although i am utterly indifferent to false courtesy and hollow praise, and the methods of the crafty and the claims of intriguers, i respect merit, and when it is recognized and rewarded i esteem the honour which is accorded to it. let us not look for outside honours but let us respect our own personal honour. i do not forget, i have never forgotten, even in my worst hours of misfortune, what i owe to my birth, to my dear departed ones and to the ideas which were born in me. i love art, and, like the queen, i have a preference for music. i also inherit her love of horses. sport seems to me a secondary thing in comparison with the interest of horsemanship in all its varieties. in paris i was always to be seen in the bois; in vienna i was an _habituée_ of the prater. i still take great pleasure in picking out carriages that are carriages and horsemen who are horsemen; they are both rarer than one thinks. i am a great reader and i make notes of my impressions. i read with pleasure all the newspapers worth reading, and all the reviews that make me think. politics never bore me, but to-day they astonish me and rend my heart; the frightful upheaval in europe, the universal trouble, fill me with concern for the future. hostile to any excess of monarchical power which incites its favourites to depravity, i think, nevertheless, that democrats will find it difficult to conduct matters and govern to the betterment of general interests. the etiquette of power, the name of president, consul, emperor or king signifies but one thing, and besides this the principle of authority is always regulated by the influence of woman. this influence, supreme in the history of the world, is only paramount in democracies when it exercises itself in secret, and it is generally unlucky. in monarchies it is beneficial to the development of aristocracy, except in the classic case of a drunken or perverse favourite who by taking sensual possession of the prince also takes possession of his authority. in some instances it is not wise to lead men to good fortune. those of our epoch seem to be very far from attaining it through hatred, ignorance and confusion, which the ruin of ancient europe can only aggravate. with regard to books, i re-read more than i read. but i am attracted by anything new which i hear spoken about--in which, by the way, i am so often disappointed. i have read books on the war; i commiserate with the men who cut each others throats--but i wish they would cease writing on this barbarous subject. goethe is my favourite author; he is the friend and companion whom i love at all times. i am familiar with the great french authors, but none of them, in my opinion, attains the mental serenity of goethe or gives me so much repose of mind. i have a penchant for the works of chateaubriand which dates from my youth. the character of rené will always appeal to the hearts of women. with regard to modern books.... but in speaking of literary men and artists it is always necessary to exclude those who are living, so i will say nothing about modern authors. i will only say that of all theatrical plays (shakespeare, like god in heaven, alone excepted) the french repertory, in my opinion, is the most varied and the most interesting, and through the facilities which i have had of hearing plays in the principal european languages, i think i am able to judge. i am speaking now of the dramatic theatre. the works and the representations of the lyric theatre appear generally more remarkable, and the companies are more conscientious in germany and austria and even in italy, than in france. outside paris and monte carlo it is difficult to find, even in the most charming countries, what all unimportant german towns possess--a comfortable theatre, good music, good singers. how strange are different temperaments: this one is more musical, that one is more learned, this one is more philosophical, that one is more imaginative; it seems as though providence, in creating diversities in races and characters, had wished to instil into men's hearts the necessity of amalgamating their different talents, in order to be happy in this world. but providence, whilst endowing men with genius, has neglected to make them less foolish and less wicked. chapter iii the queen the queen was the daughter of joseph antoine jean, prince royal of hungary and bohemia, archduke of austria (the last palatin, greatly venerated by the hungarians), and his third wife, marie dorothée guillemine caroline, princess of wurtemburg. affianced to prince leopold, duke of brabant, heir to the throne of belgium, marie henriette of austria married him by proxy at schönbrunn on august , , and in person, according to the _almanach de gotha_, in brussels on the nd of the same month. by this marriage the royal house of belgium, already connected with those of france, spain, england and prussia, became allied to the reigning families of austria-hungary, bavaria, wurtemburg, etc. the young queen was the daughter of a good and simple mother, herself a model of virtue. her brothers were the archduke joseph, a gallant soldier who had three horses killed under him at sadowa, and the archduke stephen, the idol of my childhood, who was banished from the court of vienna because he was too popular. he ended his days in exile at the château of schaumbourg in germany. king leopold the first, my grandfather, having died on november , , king leopold ii and queen henrietta ascended the throne. i can still see the queen as i saw her when i lay in her arms as a child, so long has my adoration for her survived, so long has my belief in another world remained sacred to her memory. the queen was of medium height and of slender build. her beauty and grace were unrivalled. the purity of her lines and her shoulders merited the expression "royal." her supple carriage was that of a sportswoman. her voice was of such pure timbre that it awakened echoes in one's soul. her eyes, a darker brown than those of the king, were not so keenly luminous, but they were far more tender; they almost spoke. but how much less her physical perfections counted in comparison with her moral qualities. a true christian, her idea of religion was to follow it rigorously in every detail, without being in the least narrow-minded. she had a philosophical and an assured conception of god, and the mysteries of the infinite. this faith enlightened her doctrine and strengthened her piety. people who cannot, or who will not, study the problem of religion, easily persuade themselves that it is absurd to subject themselves to the laws of confession and to its signs and ceremonies. the sincere christian is the woman who is _par excellence_ a wife and a mother, but to some bigots she is merely an inferior being, who has fallen into the hands of priests--but they would doubtless be very pleased all the same to have her as the guardian angel of their own home. religion did not in the least deter the queen from her obligations to the state, or from her taste for art, or from indulging in her favourite pursuit of sport. she received her guests, she presided over her circle, she attended fêtes with a natural charm peculiar to her, which i passionately admired from the moment when i was old enough to follow in her wake. the queen dressed with an inborn art which was always in harmony with her surroundings. a woman in her position has to set out to please and win the hearts of people, and she is therefore obliged more than anyone else to study her toilette. the queen excelled in this to such perfection that she was always held up as an example by the arbiters of parisian fashion. at any time fashion is peculiar, or at least it seems to be; if it were not so there would be no fashion; but _la mode_ is not so varied as one thinks. considered as novelties, her innovations are nothing more or less than little discoveries and arrangements with which the serpent, if not eve, was already familiar in the garden of eden. the queen followed _la mode_ without innovating fashions--that is the affair of other queens--queens of fashion, for which they have reasons, not dictated by reason. but the queen adopted and perfected fashions. it was miraculous to see how she wore the fairy-like lace which is the glory and charm of belgium. i have always remembered one of her gowns, a certain cerise-coloured silk, the corsage draped with a fichu of chantilly--one of the most beautiful things i have ever seen in my life. the queen would often adorn the gowns worn by her at her receptions with garlands of fresh flowers. she knew how to wear them, and what a delight it was to my sisters and myself when we were told to go into the conservatories and prepare the garlands of roses, dahlias, or asters which our beloved sovereign was going to wear. a perfect musician, the queen was equally brilliant in her execution of a _czarda_, an italian melody or an air from an opera, which she interpreted in a soprano voice, the possession of which many a professional singer would have envied her. one of her great pleasures was to sing duets with faure, the illustrious baritone, a well-bred artist who never presumed on his position. the queen and faure were wonderful in the famous duets from _hamlet_ and _rigoletto_.... i think of her singing even now with emotion. but all this belongs to the past; it is far away. the queen received the best artistic society on the same footing as the best belgian society at her private receptions. she closely followed all the doings at the théâtre de la monnaie and the théâtre du parc. she interested herself in deserving talent. she was not ignorant of the anxieties and difficulties of a career of which four hours, so to speak, are lived in the realms of illusion, and the remaining twenty face to face with reality. she frequently showed her solicitude for artists in the most delicate and opportune manner. the memory of her kindness lives in many hearts. in the theatrical world gratitude is less rare than elsewhere. one can never speak too highly of the good that exists in the souls of these people, who appear so frivolous and easy-going on the surface. corneille always had a good word for them. the queen loved horses with the appreciation of a born horsewoman; she liked to drive high-spirited animals, and i have inherited her taste. she knew how to control the wild hungarian horses which were only safe with her. refreshed with champagne, or bread dipped in red wine, they flew like the wind; one might have said that she guided them by a thread, but in reality she made them obedient to the sound of her voice. she groomed her horses herself and taught them wonderful circus tricks. i have seen one of them ascend the grand staircase of laeken, enter the queen's room and come down again as though nothing had happened. what amused her most was to drive two or four different animals at once who had never been harnessed, and who were so high-spirited that no one dared to drive them. by dint of patience and the magnetic charm of her voice the most restive animal eventually became docile. her life was so ordered that she found time for everything--maternal cares were first and foremost with her; she looked upon these as sweet duties, of which i was her first burden. i was a year old when my brother leopold was born, who, alas! only lived a few years. i was six years old when my sister stéphanie was born, and when clémentine came into the world i was already twelve years old. i was therefore the eldest bird in the queen's nest--the big sister who was taught to assist her mother equally well on the steps of the throne as in a cottage. it was i who was expected to set a good example to the brothers and sisters who might come after me; it was i who was expected to benefit the most from maternal teachings. i certainly had the priority, but i was not the favourite, though owing to my age i was, in some ways, the most privileged. our mother brought us up after the english fashion; our rooms were more like those in a convent than the rooms of the princesses one reads about in the novels of m. bourget. when i was no longer under the daily and nightly supervision of a governess or nurse, i was expected to look after myself, and when i got out of bed in the morning i had to fetch the jug of cold water from outside the door which was intended (in all seasons) for my ablutions, for neither in the palace at brussels nor at the château of laeken had the "last word" in comfort attained perfection. the queen taught me from my earliest youth how to manage servants; i learned from her very early in life that it was possible to be on a throne one day and the next to find one's self in the streets. how many of my relations or friends can contradict this to-day? but at that time my mother's cold reasoning would have disgusted the courts and the chancellors. [illustration: queen marie henriette of belgium] my mother made me think deeply. thought was my first revelation of a real existence. i began to look further than the throne and a title for the means of moral and intellectual superiority, i became a definite personality; i wished to form my own ideas so that in after life i could always be myself. the queen helped to mould my character by abundant reading, chiefly in french and english--principally memoirs. i was never, or very rarely, allowed to read a novel. the queen read deliciously, giving the smallest phrase its full value; the manner in which she read aloud was not only that of a woman who knew _how_ to read, but it also displayed a penetrating intelligence--in fact, it was more like speaking than reading, and it seemed to come from a heart which understood everything. the queen was gay and entrancingly charming with her intimate friends. she was always like this, in her excursions in the country, at croquet parties, at her own receptions, and in her box at the theatre. her good humour was in accordance with the promptings of a generous and expansive nature. on my birthday, august , , which i celebrated with her at spa, she wished to mark the auspicious occasion by improvising a small dance after _déjeuner_, which she had specially ordered to be served, not in her villa, but in a room reserved for her in an hotel, thus making _déjeuner_ a more agreeable and homely affair. there were present myself and my sisters, stéphanie's daughter, and my own, and all of us wore our smartest gowns. the queen insisted on clémentine, who was an accomplished musician, playing the piano, and having sent for gerard, her _maître d'hôtel_, who had accompanied us to supervise the service (he was one of those servants who believed in their duty towards their employers, and who knew the meaning of the name of servant), the queen said to him: "gerard, in honour of the princess's birthday you are going to waltz with us." "oh, your majesty!" "yes, yes, you are going to waltz once with me, and once with the princess." "oh, your majesty!" "what? do you not know how to waltz?" "yes, your majesty, a little." "_eh bien_, gerard, waltz! now, clémentine, play a waltz." the faithful gerard could but obey, blushing, and shy and hardly daring to glance at his royal partner. the queen then said laughingly: "don't be afraid, gerard, i am not a sylphide." gerard then waltzed with my mother and also with me, and he waltzed well! the next day he was once more the model servant--such as are loved and esteemed by their masters, whom they love and esteem in return, if those they serve only know how to merit their devotion. the queen took no part in politics except to discharge her duties as a sovereign. on a man like the king, feminine influence could not be exercised by a wife and mother. it was impossible for the queen to find in her husband the perfect union of thought, the intimacy of action and the entire confidence which, in no matter what household, are the only possible conditions for happiness, and the first deception which she experienced was followed by others which became more and more cruel. the trial which caused the queen to be inconsolable and which had such painful consequences, was the death of her son leopold. my mother could never be comforted for the loss of the heir to the throne, this child of so much promise, who had been given and retaken by heaven. this was the sorrow of her life. she even alluded to it in her admirable will. from the day of his death, her health, always so robust, gradually changed little by little. her soul began to break away from earthly things and lose itself more and more in prayer and contemplation. she lived only in the ardent hope of meeting her son in heaven. the queen was always a saint--and she soon became a martyr. she suffered immensely through the aloof greatness of the king, who existed solely for his royal duties, although he would occasionally suddenly indulge in some unbridled pleasure after his arduous work. his was a nature of extremes which a tender soul could not understand, and hence arose misunderstandings and their tragic consequences. against such a fate, which could only become more and more unhappy, there was nothing to be done. earthly life is doomed to know implacable disillusions. but however much the queen suffered she never diminished her heaven-inspired kindness. she would sometimes give way to her sorrow and allow the cries of her wounded soul to be heard! she would even attempt to defend herself by some action of which the public was cognizant but which it failed to understand. but she always returned to the feet of christ the consoler. it is there that i shall find her, and there i shall offer my veneration and love to this sublime mother who instilled in me the passion to fulfil my duties, as i define them. my idea of duty, face to face with myself, is, firstly, a rightful and complete liberty of action; that is to say, freedom of body and soul; from this comes the seeking after god here below and the ascension to him through human errors and human weaknesses. oh! well-beloved mother, i have passed through life without at all understanding the mysteries which surround us, but, following your simple faith, i have believed, _i now_ believe, in the presence of a creator. chapter iv the king my father was not only a great king--he was a great man. a king may achieve greatness through possessing the art of surrounding himself with the right entourage, and thus taking advantage of the importance which it is then so easy for him to gain. he must be superior, at least at heart, to have a taste for superiority. when he came into power leopold ii did not aim at gathering round him those wonderful intellects who would have inspired him to greatness. he had not the same chances as louis xiv, neither had he those men whom his own example later developed. belgium was still an adolescent state, the government of which required very careful and exclusive handling. she had sprung into being from twin countries, widely different in character, but united by the same laws. her national policy is like a web whose mission it is to hold them together, but such a form of constitution is not without its inconveniences. for a long time the king's secret conviction was, that in order to be able to endure and strengthen herself, belgium had urgent need of some great scheme which would produce in her an amalgamation of effort and intelligence, and allow her to take one of the highest places among the nations of the world. he had carefully studied the map of the world, and his observations resulted in the unheard-of project of endowing his little kingdom with immense colonial possessions. he had at the time neither the money nor the army; he only had the idea, but the idea obsessed him and he lived for it alone. the man whom i recall to my mind in thinking of the king is one whose silence always frightened me when i was a child. here is an instance of his taciturn character. the queen is seated, holding in her hand a book which she is no longer reading. she is folding me close to her heart, whilst her eyes follow the king. the doors of the drawing-room leading to the other rooms are open, and the sovereign paces backwards and forwards, his hands behind his back, almost like an automaton, without glancing at us and without breaking his interminable train of thought. silence lies over the palace; nobody dares enter, for the king has forbidden access to the royal apartments. the queen and i are involuntary prisoners of this prisoner of his own thoughts. the king was a fine and strong figure. his imposing personality and his characteristic physiognomy are familiar even to the new generation, who have only seen the popular pictures of him; but photographs never did justice to his expression of sceptical shrewdness. his eyes, as i have already said, were light brown; at the least opposition they assumed a fixed expression, and when it rested on my sisters and myself when we were in fault, the king's glance terrified us more than any reproaches or punishment. the king's voice was deep and somewhat muffled in _timbre_, sometimes it grew nasal; when he was angry it became, like his eyes, as hard as a stone, but if he wished to please it became soft and emotional. people still speak of the manner in which he delivered his speech from the throne after the death of leopold i, and his touching opening words: "gentlemen, belgium, like myself, has lost a father." when he was in a happy mood he became animated, although his humour, when he was pleased to show it, was always bitter and satirical--and he possessed it in abundance. i have never forgotten certain of his opinions touching his ministers and contemporaries. some of those who are still living would be very flattered to know them. others would not! the king paid little attention to me or my sisters; his fatherly caresses were rare and brief. we were always awed in his presence; he was ever to us more the king than the father. with regard to his attitude towards the queen, as far back as i can remember i always see him as the same self-centred and taciturn man in his relations with her. he was constantly away from home, so we little ones were rarely with both our parents. i alone, on account of my age and the advantage which it gave me over my sisters, enjoyed a little family life with my father and my mother before the differences between them arose. but i cannot recall a single act of kindness or tenderness on his part towards my mother that i especially noticed in my youth. i only know that at a certain epoch, when i was about eleven years old, the king, who like my mother adored flowers, never missed bringing her some every week which he had gathered himself in the royal gardens. he would arrive in my mother's apartment laden with his fragrant harvest and would say to her abruptly, "here you are, my good wife." stéphanie and i would at once begin to refill the vases--i especially, for i had been taught by the queen to love and arrange flowers, those discreet companions of our thoughts, which bring into the home perfume, colour, caresses and rest, and which are verily the quintessence of earth and heaven! one day at laeken my father offered me a gardenia. i was simply stupefied. i was then about thirteen. i hoped for a long time for a repetition of this paternal graciousness, but in vain! this prince of genius, whose political conceptions and manner of conducting negotiations useful to belgium won the admiration, if not of those to whom they were advantageous, of at least the high intelligences of other countries, was singularly thorough in small things. he clung to his ideas and his personal concerns in a most obstinate manner. i have seen him look into the management of the gardens at laeken with the greatest attention to every detail. large, juicy peaches grew on the walls of the gardens, and the king was very proud of them. i had a passion for peaches, and one day i dared eat one which was hidden away among the leaves. and that year peaches were plentiful. but the following day the king discovered the theft--what a dramatic moment! at once suspected, i confessed my crime and i was promptly punished. i did not realize that the king counted his peaches! this great realist had a realistic mind, and materialism carried him on to idealism. i will not allow myself for a moment to suppose that he did not believe in god, but certainly he had a different conception of the creator from that of the queen. she suffered greatly through this attitude of her husband, but he persisted in his way of thinking. on sundays he used to attend mass; he considered it was an example which he owed to the court and the people. sometimes he escorted the queen to divine service, taking with him "squib," a tiny terrier of which the queen was very fond and which the king always spoke of as one refers to a person. he called it "the squib." it was a sight to see the big man holding the tiny dog under his arm--the little animal too terrified to move. thus, one supporting the other, they both heard mass seated beside the queen, who assuredly did not think this a very religious procedure. when mass was over, the king, still carrying squib, would cross the reception rooms until he reached the dining-room, when he would gravely deposit the little dog on the queen's knee. with regard to the king's policy, i only knew and understood that related to the congo. i knew the alternate hopes and fears which passed through the mind of the author of this gigantic enterprise. it was the one topic of conversation around me, and it was always mentioned with bated breath; but the things which are spoken of in this way are, i think, those one hears of most. i know that the royal fortune and that of my aunt the empress charlotte, which was administered by the king, were employed at one time, not without some risk, in the acquisition and organization of the possessions that the great powers afterwards disputed with belgium. those were anxious days for the king. he manoeuvred cleverly between the powers. history knows the value of his work; she realizes what a profound politician he was. official belgium does not remember, but the people have never forgotten. i have confidence in the soul of belgium, the belgium who has shown her greatness in the years - . king leopold ii will one day receive the recognition he merits in the country which he enriched, and which he always wished to fortify against the dangers of war. the private failings of the man only harmed himself and his family; his people never suffered by reason of them. they have even benefited by the immense wealth which it pleased the king to assign to his country, regardless of the justice of reserving that portion which belonged to his daughters, who were excluded by him from the belgian family. [illustration: _photo: numa blanc_ king leopold ii of belgium] here we touch on a side of the king's character which is looked upon by psychologists as unnatural, and is similar to the legislation of which the belgian government availed itself in similar circumstances, a legislation contrary to the moral laws of justice and equity. belgium's excuse--if there can be an excuse for this illegality--was that the king himself had exceeded his rights. i have read, over the signature of a journalist, that even before his marriage the king declared that he would never accept any benefit from the royal purse, and that his income, from whatever source it was derived, should not accrue for the benefit of his descendants. this is an astounding story and is a pure invention. a king is a man like other men; the value of his position rests upon his qualifications. the king could have either ruined or enriched himself. he was a genius, and for this reason his daughters were able to be--and indeed were--deprived of a fortune which was partly theirs by right, and which was used for the development of a commercial enterprise by the colossal audacity of their father! but why should the king have wished to disinherit his daughters and deprive them of his immense accumulation of wealth? the reason must be definitely stated. the king had long wished that our fortunes (those of my sisters and myself) should be reduced to the minimum of what he considered convenient to assign to us, that is to say, much less than our needs required, because, after the death of our brother leopold, he only saw in us impediments to his own ambition and he was tortured by the fact that he had no male descendant. i alone noticed, during the years that followed the death of his son, that the king on various occasions behaved in a different manner towards the queen; he was more amiable and was more frequently in her company. having now become a woman i can understand the real reason for this! clémentine came into the world; her birth was preceded by many vain hopes, but when the longed-for child arrived it was once more a girl! the king was furious and thenceforth refused to have anything to do with his admirable wife to whom god had refused a son. what a mystery of human tribulation! as for the daughters born of the royal union, they were merely accepted and tolerated, but the king's heart never softened towards them. at the same time we were not altogether excluded from his thoughts. the feelings of our father, so far as we were concerned, varied according to circumstances, and, notably in my own case, according to the various calumnies and intrigues. my sister stéphanie also suffered in this way. both of us were married at an early age and, living as we did at a distance, we were deprived of the opportunity of constantly seeing the king, so naturally we could not pretend to be the subject of his constant remembrance. we therefore ran the risk of being easily maligned by the unscrupulous courtesans who had influence with the king and were in the pay of our enemies. clémentine was in a far better position. she received all the tenderness the king was inclined to bestow on the only one of his children who remained with him, one who showered on him a daughter's affection and who also upheld the traditions of the royal house, a duty which, in the absence of the queen, the daughter of such a mother was alone able to fulfil. chapter v my country and the days of my youth it is more than forty-five years that, since my marriage, fate has exiled me from my native country. i have never revisited belgium, except in passing through it, and then often under very painful circumstances. well! i will close my eyes and return in imagination to the château of laeken, and to a certain pathway in the park; i will go, in like manner, to one particular footpath in the forest of soignies; there are trees, stones and roofs there, which seem to me to be those which i once knew. an oak tree was planted at laeken to commemorate the birth of my brother and the birth of each of my sisters and myself. i had not seen these trees thus dedicated to us for a long time, until i happened to be in belgium for a few days after the king's death. accompanied by that old friend of my childhood, my brother's tutor, general donny, i made an excursion to laeken, and i saw once more, with what bitter-sweet memories, the little garden formerly tended by my brother and myself, which had been piously preserved in its original state. was this a mute evidence of the king's remembrance, or the fidelity of some old servants? in my grief i did not question to whom the little garden owed its preservation. my tears alone spoke. when i stood before our "birthday" oak trees i only saw three! i was told that by some extraordinary coincidence the one which marked the birth of my brother had died, like him, when it was quite young. of the others, mine was strong and vigorous; stéphanie's had had the misfortune to grow a little crooked, but the one belonging to clémentine was quite normal. i venture to say that the three oak trees are emblems of our destiny so far as our inner lives are concerned, which have been ignored and misunderstood by men, but which like nature remain confident in god. these three oak trees, and the fourth which is now dead, have always troubled me since the day when i beheld them again. whatever they may be now i envy them! they have grown, they have lived, they still flourish on the soil sacred to my lost ones, except one, whose absence is so expressive. i should love to see them again and to live, if not near them, at least under the shadow of other oak trees growing in my beloved country. would that i could end my days there, and once more find my adored mother and my vivid youth in the forests, the countryside, or the villages through which we passed so often together. she it was who taught me the secrets of nature, and it was thus that the life of nature and the life of belgium, the wonders of the universe, and the life of society were revealed to me. the queen loved and taught me to love our heroic country, whose defence of her liberty in past ages constitutes one of the most touching episodes in history. and i have inherited an ardent wish that my country should never become enslaved. i know that the good people of belgium have reproached me, as if it had been my fault, for deserting our country. those who knew me in my youth have believed that i was transplanted to a strange and brilliant world where i forgot my native land. then the dramas and scandals into which i was dragged on the hurdle of misunderstanding and calumny, have for some transformed me into a sinner, for whom it was not enough punishment to forbid her to see her dying mother by keeping her as a sane prisoner in a madhouse. such a woman deserved to be wiped off the face of the earth! ah, poor miserable humanity, so full of evil yourself that you see nothing but evil in others, what was my crime? i would not, i could not live under the conjugal roof. i endured my life, sacrificed myself, as long as i could, because i knew that i owed a duty towards my children, but after they grew up the horror of my life increased every day. my crime has consisted in listening to a unique man, the ideal knight who kept me from committing errors which i resolved to forget, and to do as many others have done. in my palace, or elsewhere, i could have been the heroine of discreet and multiple adventures. this behaviour would have conformed to the code of high propriety, and god knows that opportunities abounded. but i was not a hypocrite and very soon i found myself up against hypocrites--innumerable legions of them. i was also the recipient of their irritating and deceitful confidences. thus slander did its detestable work. an implacable persecution, masking itself behind the simulated indignation of a false morality, began to assail me. to me one of the most cruel acts was the violent attack made by my detractors on the king and queen, and on public opinion in belgium. could such a thing be possible? i found myself an exile from my country, imprisoned and branded as mad, for everyone was determined that i should become so. it is to you, my mother, martyr and saint, and to some sublime moral strength that i owe my resistance. you armed me for the struggle by never letting me forget the essential duties of life which you had taught me. i have remained faithful to them. but i have suffered horribly since the day when even you could not understand my rebellion. i was suppressed by the world. cleverly exploited, all appearances were against me. my enemies told you: "she is lost; she is mad; the doctors have said so." what doctors, _mon dieu_? the truth about these doctors came out afterwards. ah! some people envy princesses. they should rather pity them. i know of one for whom there has been no justice in this world. ordinary rights were denied her. the law of the world was not a law for her, except when it could be used against her. yes, a victim of an abominable plot of such surpassing cruelty that reason can scarcely conceive possible; i was not allowed to return to my beloved belgium at the moment when i learnt, in spite of my persecutors, that my mother was dying at spa; i could not receive her last blessing, i was not even allowed to follow her coffin ... to the tomb! if i did not become mad in my asylum it was because i was not meant to do so; i could not become mad. but i still tremble when i think of it. later, when the king was dying, i recovered my liberty, and my freedom was brought about by my friend--a friend without equal, who, having on one occasion saved me from myself, now saved me from prison and madness, after having nearly succumbed himself beneath the blows of hate and persecution. but my freedom constituted a new crime; my fidelity to an incarnate ideal in a whole-hearted devotion constituted an additional sin. when i attended my father's funeral i was kept under constant observation. i was restricted to a certain area of my native country. the eldest daughter of the great king whom belgium had just lost was received with polite formality by a police official in court attire! ah, no! i incriminate no one--not even the servants whose civility i had once known. i am aware how tempting and profitable it is to mislead princes, and what power exists in wicked advice when it is given with an air of devotion. i am only explaining how it came about that i did not remain in my much-loved country. at last the frightful war broke out, following the debates regarding the king's inheritance, and i was at once even more definitely suppressed by the belgian nation because, to my other abominations, i had added the unpardonable sin of believing that justice existed in belgium. i was a prisoner in munich, where i could do nothing. i was surprised in bavaria by hostilities and treated like a belgian princess--that is to say, very badly, as will be seen later. in brussels i became an enemy princess, and from the date of the armistice i was proclaimed a foreigner in my native country in the interests of which i had been sacrificed at the age of seventeen, and i also saw myself deprived of the inheritance which would have become mine at the death of my aunt, the empress charlotte of mexico. but it is a matter of history that my marriage with the prince of coburg was annulled in by the decision of the special tribunal of gotha, judging according to the "rights of princes," and that this annulment was transmitted to the court of vienna. the divorce was ratified by all the minute forms of the law of courts and the ancient statutes of austria. the king officially gave me back my title of princess of belgium. that meant nothing; in brussels no notice was taken of it. it is a fact that the law of hungary does not recognize the "rights of princes" and the procedure of gotha; in consequence of the possessions of the coburg family in hungary i am still a princess of coburg. i lose myself in this web in which i have been entangled, but common sense tells me that the disappearance of the austro-hungarian monarchy, and the separation of austria from hungary has put an end to the "mixed state" and the position of "mixed subject" which was that of the prince of coburg. through his ancestors, this "austrian" prince, duke philip of saxe-coburg and gotha, is of franco-german and not of hungarian origin. the princely union cancelled, the civil union dissolved, i feel i have been delivered, and that i have regained my belgian nationality, thanks to the good will of the king himself. they have wished to ignore this at brussels. they have branded me as a hungarian because the prince of coburg has entailed estates in hungary. could they not just as well have proclaimed me a turk or a chinese had he possessed estates in turkey or china? i question this; i make no reproaches whatever, especially against the principle of superior authority, for the good reason that this happened in a state whose king and queen had retreated before the invader in order to defend their country (one knows with what courage and self-denial) from the extreme frontier left them by a conquering enemy. they returned in triumph flushed with the joy of victory. they had only time to deal with general and momentous questions. i should like to think that the attitude adopted towards myself has been merely the outcome of a destiny which wills that i should become a stranger in my own country. i wept over this country, so dear to my heart, in . i believe that her errors towards me have added to her misfortunes. i know that the judgment of brussels in denying me my share of my father's property aroused bitter indignation in berlin. my son-in-law, the duke of schleswig-holstein, brother-in-law of the emperor william ii, relied on succeeding to the inheritance of his wife's grandfather. i can only say that the anger of the german sovereign against the resistance of belgium was increased by the remembrance of the deception of one of his relations, on whom he was rather severe, and this may have decided him to crush the little nation which dared oppose the violation of its neutrality. but this did not help to recall the irritable william ii back to reason and humanity, because this miserable man, whom i have known since my childhood, was absolutely convinced of his rôle as the appointed scourge of god and the invincible redresser of justice on the field of battle. * * * * * let us for a moment forget these miseries and sufferings and talk of the time when i was happy in my happy country--the days when i went for excursions with the queen and "discovered" my parents' kingdom. what joy when i could drive like my mother! i was then barely fourteen and i was her pupil. we frequently went for excursions through our dear belgium from early morning till late in the evening. two or three of the royal carriages followed. the first was driven by the queen, the second by myself, and the third by an officer, one of the ladies-in-waiting, or, later, by my sister clémentine. doctor wiemmer, a compatriot and a devoted friend of the queen who accompanied her to the belgian court, often went with us, also good general donny and general van den smissin, and certain maids-of-honour and other trusted members of our entourage. we halted as fancy dictated. the forest of soignies, the environs of spa, and the ardennes have many a time witnessed the sight of the queen sitting on the grass in some delightful glade, munching one of the famous _pistolets_ for which brussels is famous, and which came out of the royal bakeries (what delicious cakes were made there! i can taste them even yet). how beautiful belgium was then, and what pure air refreshed us. how eagerly i awaited the future. on these long excursions the queen carried a map and made out the itinerary herself with the skill of a staff officer; she also taught me and my sisters how to take our bearings. at this time the automobile had not yet ravaged the world. i have come across this stupefying remark of a frenchman, "speed is the aristocracy of movement." one might as well say, "thoughtlessness is the aristocracy of thought." the automobile is doubtless of occasional individual benefit, but i look upon it as a general scourge. side by side with the satisfaction which it procures, it upsets existence by precipitating it. at the time when horse-drawn vehicles were in constant use, we had different impressions of a day's excursion than those which we have after the end of three weeks' feverish motoring--when we halt at various palaces, drive between interminable rows of poplars, interspersed with fleeting visions of fields, houses and poultry-yards, and when we are tortured by the dread of being made untidy by the wind and splashed by the mud. it is nearly half a century since the horse was the ornament and comfort of the best european society. the example of the queen of belgium then counted for something. in france, the orleans family--which is related to ours--and the duc and duchesse de chartres led the fashion not only in cannes, but in normandy and in the delicious region of chantilly. the duchess always rode in an admirable riding habit. i well remember her black eyes, her pure features and her dazzling personality which were a mixture of natural charm and inborn distinction. the prince de joinville, so artistic, so witty, was endowed with the most exquisite and gallant spirit. he paid me marked attention, as did his brother the duc de montpensier. we were a very gay trio, and the graver members of the family were wont to cast severe glances in our direction. the mention of the orleans family recalls to me the most indulgent, the greatest nobleman of all--the duc d'aumale, a faithful friend of belgium and often our host. oh! what a loyal and noble character the french republic refused to recognize in him. his revenge was to overwhelm his ungrateful country with kindness. i have lived under his roof and i think of him with the greatest tenderness. i still see myself in a room on the ground floor overlooking the moat at chantilly, where this princely host surrounded himself with everything that counted for anything in france, and where he held wonderful receptions, frequently numbering among his guests the magnificent-looking prince de condé, whom he honoured and had almost brought back to life. the queen and the duc d'aumale were greatly attached to one another. when the bitterness of a difficult situation rendered her life first difficult, and then impossible, owing to the king's forgetfulness of what was due from the man to the prince, the duc d'aumale was one of those invaluable friends whose delicate understanding and faithful thoughts consoled her helplessness. although devoted to the duc d'aumale, i also knew the comtesse de paris intimately, with whom i have stayed at the château d'eu. she was an eccentric woman, rather odd-looking in appearance, but she possessed a joyous and lively disposition. another lady of the orleans family who became familiar to me in early life was the princess clémentine of respected memory, a daughter of king louis philippe, and the wife of prince auguste of coburg. i became her daughter-in-law by my marriage with her eldest son, and my ardent hope was that she would be a second mother to me. it did not occur to either of us that her age and my youth could not agree. gratitude also recalls to my mind my near relations the comte and comtesse de flandre, and their many kindnesses which i have not forgotten. their noble lives have known the awful sadness of the destruction of a tenderly nurtured future. but god has granted them reserves of hope and affection. i was nearly forgetting one of the chief recollections of my earliest childhood--queen marie amélie, the widow of king louis philippe. this royal lady, who bore her loss and her exile with so much dignity, was my great-grandmother and my godmother. she lived in retirement at claremont, near esher. when the queen received the news of my birth her first question was: "has she small ears?" she expressed the wish for me to be named louise marie, in memory of her daughter, my venerated grandmother, the first queen of the belgians. i can still picture my sweet old relation, with her white curls showing underneath a wide-brimmed lace cap. i can again see the early breakfast placed at the side of the deep arm-chair, and i remember the "pain à la grecque" which she gave me when i had been good. then the pony was brought round, and my cousin blanche de nemours and myself were installed in the double panniers, and taken for our daily ride in the shady avenues of the great park. the queen had as reader miss müser, a german, who was the faithful friend and constant companion of her old age. i was very young at this time, certainly not more than four, but i have religiously treasured in my remembrance the face, the voice, and the tenderness of my great-grandmother, marie amélie, queen of france. as everyone knows, my two sisters, whom i always remember in those happy times when we still ignored what is called life, are both married. stéphanie, like myself, married very early, and clémentine much later in life. stéphanie as a child, a young girl and a young woman was the more beautiful. clémentine, who was also beautiful, possessed the most charm. destiny has smiled upon her. her life with the king gave her the insight and guidance which we never enjoyed. every life has its favours and its chances in the human lottery. clémentine married prince victor napoleon and the widely varied possibilities attached to such a name. stéphanie's marriage seemed brilliant, not with eventualities but with certainties. i refer to her first husband, for she married twice. the first time she had the good luck to marry an intelligent, handsome and chivalrous man, who was perhaps the most remarkable personality of his time. he shared with her the crown of charles-quint and the thrones of austria-hungary ... crown and thrones have disappeared, as though banished by the wand of some infernal magician, and my sister remains known to history as the widow of the archduke rudolph. she was only twenty-five years of age when he died. [illustration: the countess lonyay (princess stéphanie of belgium) (her first husband was the archduke rudolph of austria)] i have said nothing about the _mise en scène_ in the midst of which the various personages moved who appealed to my intelligence and to my heart at an age when my heart and mind were alike expanding. there is nothing to tell but what is already well known. the most interesting place of all others to me in my childhood was the château of laeken. i have no agreeable memories of the palace at brussels, although i have not forgotten the gallery and the reception rooms, where the many beautiful pictures always interested me, above all that of charles i, by van dyck, dressed in black, in whose pale and noble face i seemed to read the melancholy fate which overshadows some doomed monarchs. i have seen many princely and many royal abodes. they all resemble museums, and they are equally fatiguing. better to have a cottage and a small teniers than own ten _salons_ and five hundred linen tablecloths which belong to everybody. i was happy at laeken because work became less absorbing. we had more liberty, more space. i never hesitated to run or jump in the gardens and the park from the earliest age, and i always took the lead instead of my brother, who seemed to be the girl. i was strong, lively and full of devilment. i was eager and willing to learn. my habit of asking questions gave me the name of "madame pourquoi." i always loved truth and logic. my instinctive passion for truth made me attack my governess tooth and nail one day because she wished to punish me undeservedly. i was in such a state of mind that dr. wiemmer, who was called in, decided to get to the bottom of the cause of my fury. he concluded that i was right in fact, if not in action, and he saw that my character was one that could only be led by kindness, frankness and justice. the governess was sent away. the queen recalled this incident and the doctor's words many times. this medical man who was so devoted to my family, and who disappeared all too soon, once saved my sister stéphanie's life when she was stricken with typhoid, and when she was better the king and queen took us to biarritz--a change of air being necessary for our convalescent. my sister and i shared the same room facing the sea at the villa eugénie. i was thirteen years old, stéphanie was seven. i was entrusted with the care of her, and to see that she did not catch cold. one night a tempestuous wind arose which, incidentally, produced a terrible waterspout. waking up, i rushed to the window, which was open, in my nightgown. the system of closing the window would not act, or perhaps i was clumsy; anyhow, i could not manage to shut the window. the wind now rose to such fury that every moment i was blown back into the room. i began to tremble as i feared for stéphanie. but i still continued to struggle against the force of the storm. how long this lasted i do not know. i only remember that they found me frozen, soaked and shivering, and that i was put into a warm bed. my eyes closed. i heard dr. wiemmer say to the queen: "what a child! any other would have called out or rung the bell! she did not wish for help to protect her sister, and the storm did not frighten her. she only listened to the voice of duty, and she did not flinch." alas! each of us is made according to his or her destiny. the first blow which made me realize the cruel severity of fate was the death of my brother leopold. i had for him the feelings of a devoted and "motherly" sister. he was my property, my chattel, my child. we grew up together. i had considerable authority over him as i was twelve months older than he was, and he always obeyed me. leopold, duke of brabant and comte de hainaut, loved to play with dolls. i much preferred playing with him. nevertheless my uncle, the archduke etienne, my mother's brother, one of the best and most distinguished men that the earth has produced, gave us two hungarian dolls. these were works of art of their kind. mine was christened "figaro," a souvenir of beaumarchais, the enemy of courts, who thus named it; why, and wherefore, i cannot say. my brother's doll received the much more modest and romantic name of "irma." there came a time when figaro and irma enlivened the château of laeken. they even made the king laugh. i organized performances with leopold, irma and figaro which would have made bartholo jealous. my brother and i were happy and light-hearted--as happy as it is possible to be at our age. then came death, which lacerated my whole being, and the passing of my beloved brother in his ninth year. i remember then that i dared curse god and disown him.... leopold, handsome, sweet, sincere, tender and intelligent, embodied for me, after our mother, all that was most precious in the world--i could no more conceive existence without him than the day without light. but he could not stay ... and i still weep for him, although it is more than fifty years since he left me. if he had lived how different things would have been! our house, thus struck down in the male descent of its eldest branch, never recovered from this misfortune. belgium will remember in the great works accomplished by her, that my grandfather and my father made her what she is. she will not forget that angel on earth, my grandmother, the immortal queen louise. many, many tears were shed at her death, and have still left their traces in belgium. of my grandfather, i will repeat what m. delehaye, president of the chamber of representatives, said in his address to the king during the magnificent fêtes of july - , , to celebrate the twenty-fifth anniversary of his succession to the throne. "on july , , confidence and joy burst forth at your coronation, and sire, although you were then alone on your throne with your eminent qualities and the prospect of splendid political alliances, you are not alone to-day. you present yourself to the country supported by your two sons and the remembrance of the queen beloved and regretted as a mother, you are surrounded by the royal family, by illustrious alliances, by confidence and sympathy, you are supported by foreign governments, your fame has grown greater, and you possess the love of belgium which has grown still greater than any fame. sire, we can have confidence in the future...." cannot i, must i not, also, have faith in the future? i appeal to my illustrious ancestors; i appeal to the memory of the queen; i appeal to the memory of the king, by whom, alas! i was too often denied and betrayed. i appeal to that world where everything is illuminated for the soul liberated from earth, which will alone see clearly for me. chapter vi my marriage and the austrian court--the day after my marriage i was barely fifteen when it was first decided that i was to be married. on march , , i was officially betrothed to prince philip of saxe-coburg; on february i entered my sixteenth year. my fiancé certainly showed perseverance. he had already made two proposals for me. his first was repeated after an interval of two years. the king replied to it by advising him to travel. the prince then made a tour round the world; this completed he renewed his request. again he was asked to wait. to marry me had become a fixed idea with philip of coburg. what sort of love inspired him? was he attracted by the elusive charm of my virginal youth, or did the definite knowledge of the king's position and the belief in the future of his enterprises fan the flame in the heart of a man who was absolutely engrossed with material things? the engagement being arranged, the two families interested (mine especially), the queen on the one hand, and the princess clémentine on the other, decided that my marriage was not to be celebrated until twelve months later. i was so young! my fiancé was fourteen years older than i. fourteen years' difference is not perhaps of much account between a young woman of twenty-five and a man of thirty-nine; it is a great deal, however, between an innocent girl of seventeen and a lover of thirty-one. i had only occasional glimpses of my fiancé during his rapid visits to brussels. our conversations were of no account; they were merely such as a man of his age would hold with a girl of mine. but i thought i knew him well. we were cousins. this constituted the first difficulty, as the sanction of the church of rome was necessary to the marriage. it was asked for and obtained. this is the custom in such cases. my fiancé left me to complete the studies necessary for my successful début in a strange world. and what a world! the most courtly of courts in the universe. a court haunted by the shades of charles v and maria theresa! a court in which spanish etiquette was allied to german discipline. an emperor whose greatness had been increased rather than diminished by his military reverses, so well did he bear his misfortunes. an empress who was a queen of queens owing to her undisputed perfections. and around them a host of archdukes and archduchesses, princes, dukes and gentlemen bearing the highest titles in the land. all this was very impressive for a belgian princess who did not regret her short dresses, because one never regrets them when it is the fashion to wear long gowns, but who was nevertheless very astonished to find herself dressed like a grown-up girl. however, i was not embarrassed, nor was i nervous; i looked at everything with the eyes of a girl who is only interested in her engagement and her lover. i would have married the prince, had i been asked to do so, on the same day that i received his first ring. i would have gone before the burgomaster and the cardinal with just the same eagerness as i did a year later. healthy in body and pure in spirit, brought up in an atmosphere of sincerity and morality under the care of an incomparable mother, but deprived, owing to my rank, of more or less enlightened friends who would have reposed certain womanly confidences in me, i gave my whole soul to my approaching marriage without troubling myself what marriage might mean. i was no longer a creature of this earth. i created a star where my fiancé and i would live together in a divine atmosphere of happiness. the man who was to be my companion on the enchanted road of life, seemed to me the embodiment of all that was beautiful, loyal, generous, and i deemed him as innocent as myself. my hours of martyrdom and the distressing quarrels were to come later when the inmost recesses of my heart were disclosed by the barbarians of the police court, who made scandalous use of my letters written after my engagement. these letters expressed my love. i had written to the man who was my parents' choice as i would have written to an archangel destined to marry me. i adorned him with the beauty of my most beautiful desires. i transfigured him. the savages had the effrontery to deduce from these expressions of affection that i was an unstable and deceitful creature. i put this question to women. between love as we conceive it and love as we experience it, is there not very often an abyss? i have been culpable, criminal and infamous to fall into this abyss. such is the real truth. why did my mother--who was so good--and why did the king--who was so experienced in human nature--wish for this marriage, in spite of the disproportion of our ages, and the few claims to universal admiration which my intended husband possessed, apart from his claims to worldly position? in the first place his mother, who, rightly, loved and respected him, pleaded for him. she credited him with possessing some of her own good qualities. in the second place, prince frederick of hohenzollern had expressed a wish to ask me in marriage. the king and queen, who were told of this, did not want, for various reasons, to become closer allied to the house of berlin. other suitors, more or less desirable, might also appear on the scene. therefore, to put an end to this particular scheme and any future uncertainties, i was plighted to philip of coburg. in addition to this the queen congratulated herself on sending her eldest daughter to the viennese court where she herself had shone. she still possessed influence there, and she thought that i would benefit from it. she was still more satisfied to think that owing to the entailed estates of the coburgs in hungary, i should possess material advantages in the country dear to her memory, and where she could often rejoin me, perhaps where she might even retire herself, since she foresaw a future which was gradually to become more and more difficult. my fiancé again appeared on my horizon. a year passes quickly. the date of my marriage was approaching. i knew all the flowers of rhetoric and the hot-house flowers of a daily courtship. but i asked myself, why did the queen never leave the archangel and me alone? my fiancé told me about his travels. he had, he said, brought back some wonderful collections of souvenirs. but i only knew how wonderful these were later. he also told me about his plans for the future, the numerous properties of the coburgs, etc. i gave myself up to delightful hopes, and described the magnificence of my trousseau, which was enriched with fairy-like gifts of belgian lace and intricate embroideries. finally i tried on the symbolical white robe, under a heavenly veil, a _chef d'oeuvre_ of brussels lace, and i was acknowledged fit to manage my long train and to make my curtsies equally as well as the most graceful of the famous young ladies of saint cyr. loaded with jewels, i soared higher and higher, flattered by homage, congratulations and good wishes, without perceiving that, although my fiancé was so much older than myself, i had now become a certain personality in his dreams and in his thoughts. i was praised on all sides in verse and in prose, with or without music, and it seemed that i was a "flower of radiant beauty." i was quite taken with this phrase. as for my husband--his bearing, his nobility and his prestige were also praised. i remember that he wore his hungarian military uniform when we received the burgomaster of brussels, the celebrated m. ausbach, who came on february , , to marry us by the civil code. then with great pomp we appeared before the cardinal primate of belgium. an altar was erected in the large drawing-room next the ballroom. i will say nothing about the decorations. the chants and the prayers carried me to heaven, although i by no means forgot the ritual of my marriage and that i was the cynosure of all eyes. it was not a public of kings, but of princes. in the place of sovereigns, whose greatness kept them away, their next of kin were present; the prince of wales, the crown prince frederick, the archduke joseph, the duc d'aumale, the duke of saxe-coburg, and, finally, a large crowd of those notables who figure in the pages of the _almanach de gotha_. if i once began to describe the details of a ceremony of this magnitude i should never finish. personally i was not much attracted by it. i am always surprised when, on opening a modern novel, i notice the pains which clever people take to describe the sumptuous ritual of modern marriage. i only know one appropriate description of this nature: that of the "sleeping beauty." fortunate beauty, whose court and herself were put to sleep just at the crucial moment of a marriage which might not have been a happy one. but where are the fairies now and where are the beasts who know how to talk? alas! the fairies have vanished and the beasts speak no more, except the hidden beasts in our souls, and they do not relate pretty fables and stories. they indulge rather in unpleasant realities. i have taken a long time in coming to the point, but no matter at what cost, it is necessary for me to speak about things which have as yet never been told, but which will explain how the foundations were laid for the drama of my life. there were hints as to this drama in former days, but i will not refer to the vague tittle-tattle which amused rather than saddened brussels and its court. i am not, i am sure, the first woman who after having lived in the clouds during her engagement, has been as suddenly hurled to the ground on her marriage night, and who, bruised and mangled in her soul, has fled from humanity in tears. i am not the first woman who has been the victim of false modesty and excessive reserve, attributable perhaps to the hope that the delicacy of a husband, combined with natural instincts, would arrange all for her, but who was told nothing by her mother of what happens when the lover's hour has struck. however, the fact remains that on the evening of my marriage at the château of laeken, whilst all brussels was dancing amid a blaze of lights and illuminations, i fell from my heaven of love to what was for me a bed of rock and a mattress of thorns. psyche, who was more to blame, was better treated than myself. the day was scarcely breaking when, taking advantage of a moment when i was alone in the nuptial chamber, i fled across the park with my bare feet thrust into slippers, and, wrapped in a cloak thrown over my nightgown, i went--to hide my shame in the orangery. i found sanctuary in the midst of the camellias, and i whispered my grief, my despair, and my torture, to their whiteness, their freshness, their perfume and their purity, to all that they represented of sweetness and affection, as they flowered in the greenhouse, and lit up the winter's dawn with a warmth, silence and beauty which gave me back a little of my lost paradise. a sentry had noticed a grey form scurrying past him in the direction of the orangery. he approached, and listening, recognized my voice. he hastened to the château. no one knew what had become of me. already the alarm had been discreetly raised. a messenger galloped to brussels. the telephone was not then invented. the queen came to me without any delay. my god! what a state i was in when i regained my apartment; i would not let anyone approach me except my maids. i was more dead than alive. my mother stayed with me for a long time; she was as motherly as she alone could be. there was no grief which her arms and voice could not assuage. i listened to her scolding me, coaxing me and telling me of duties which it was imperative for me to understand. i dared not object to these on the ground that they were totally different from those which i had been led to expect. i finished by promising to try and conquer my fears, to be wiser and less childish. i was scarcely seventeen years old; my husband had completed his thirty-first year. i had become of his "goods and chattels." one can see, alas! how he has treated me. chapter vii married on the morrow of such a painful episode in the life of two newly married people i witnessed with bitter grief the preparations for my departure to austria. never was belgium so dear to me; never had she appeared more beautiful. concealing my tears, i said good-bye to all those who had known me as a child and a young girl, and who had loved and served me, and to all the familiar objects in the château of laeken, where everything appealed to my affection. little did i foresee that i should be looked upon one day as a stranger there. what do i say--a stranger? no, as an "enemy," rather! we departed, according to the expression sacred to custom, on our honeymoon. but there are honeymoons and honeymoons. i should have liked to have taken certain personal maids with me. i was not allowed even to dream of such a thing. the coburg palace had its own servants. it was explained to me that the introduction of a strange element would break the domestic harmony of this high-toned abode. i had therefore to content myself with a hungarian maid, quite a proficient person, but who was not like one of my own faithful servants. and everything was the same. my tastes, my preferences only passed muster after having been approved by a family council. unfortunately the austerity which prevailed in this family council chamber did not reign in the palace at all hours and in all the rooms. this i soon discovered. but before arriving at the coburg palace we stayed at gotha, where duke ernest of saxe-coburg, the prince regent, and his wife, princess alexandrine, gave their niece a warm welcome. the duke was a true gentleman, one of the personalities of his time, who became one of my favourite uncles. he spoke, with affection, of his friend count bismarck, and then touched on less serious topics, as i was curious to know about the people and things belonging to this germany to which i found myself so closely related by marriage. i have already said that it was as natural for me to speak german as it was for me to speak french, since it was the general rule to do so at the court of brussels. has not belgium everything to gain by being bi-lingual and by serving as an intermediary between the latin and the german countries? less than alsace and luxembourg but nevertheless a little like them, should she not benefit by the two diverse cultures? on leaving gotha we went to dresden, thence to prague, and finally to budapest and glowing vienna. let us pass, however, from these princely visits and the sameness of their receptions to more intimate things. the interest in speaking of these consists in the necessity for me to lay bare my slandered life, and to relate how, having fallen from heaven, i rose to a belief in better things. but years and years were destined to pass before my existence was again embellished by a glimpse of the ideal, apart from the joys of maternity. my first recollection of something amiss in my rôle of princess of coburg is, that every evening at our formal banquets my husband took care that i should be served abundantly with good wines. i ultimately became capable of distinguishing a volney from a chambertin, a voslaver from a villanyi, and one champagne from another. the body thus trained to the practice of something more or less akin to gluttony, the soul of necessity followed its example. i extended my range of literature, and i became familiar with books which the queen and the princess clémentine would not have believed could have been given me by the person by whom they were put into my hands. in the days of my open rebellion people were scandalized by certain liberties of speech and manner which i wilfully exaggerated. but who first taught me them? and, once again, where should i have gone and what would have become of me if god had not put in my way the incomparable man who alone had the courage to say to me: "madame, you are a king's daughter. you are about to go astray. a christian woman revenges herself on infamy by rising above it and not by descending to its level." and so, stunned and intoxicated in every way, i reviewed the family of coburg and their various palaces and castles. finally i found the palace in vienna which was destined to be my principal residence. i positively turned cold on entering it. the palace certainly looks imposing from the outside, but the interior is most gloomy, especially the staircase. i only like the _salon_ in "point de beauvais" originally intended for marie antoinette and her ladies-in-waiting. my room made me shudder. what? was this really the setting which had been prepared to receive the freshness of my seventeen years! a student of bonn, where the prince had graduated, might have liked it, but a girl, who had only recently become a young woman!... impossible. try, then, to imagine a fairly large room, the walls fitted half-way up with small cupboards of dark wood with glass doors, and blue curtains behind which i never wished to look! certain pieces of furniture were gothic in style. in the centre of this paradise stood an immense glass case full of souvenirs of the prince's travels; stuffed birds with long beaks, armour, bronzes, ivories, buddhas and pagodas; my heart sickened at the sight. and, worse than all, there was no private entrance or annexe, only a narrow dark corridor, which was used by the servants. to get to my room i had to pass through that of the prince, which was approached through a kind of salon; all the rooms communicated and showed not a vestige of taste. massive old furniture upholstered in rep a century old was offered to the eyes of youth! all was old, ordinary, sombre. hardly a flower, nothing comfortable, nothing matching. as to a bathroom, there was not a sign of one. there were only two baths in the whole palace; they were far away from each other, and of positively archaic construction. and, as for the rest--it is better left unsaid! my first active objection was to this anti-hygienic organization, and the lack of necessities for my immediate use. this state of things almost broke my heart. i was told, however, that the illustrious grandparents were quite content with what had been given me. one knows that use is a second nature. princess clémentine did not notice the things which troubled me, and even the glass case with the stuffed birds charmed her. she admired her son's collection, fortunately without knowing or understanding all that it contained, as in our palace of budapest i saw some very unique pieces; souvenirs of yoshivara which a young woman could not look at without blushing, even after an expert hand had lifted the veil from her inexperienced eyes. what a school! however, thanks to the bacchic régime organized by my husband, things went on indifferently well after the storm of our début in domesticity. our fundamental incompatibility first appeared at the coburg palace in the presence of the princess clémentine, over a cup of café-au-lait. on our honeymoon the prince had told me that a well-born person should never drink black coffee. such is the german conviction. germany can no more imagine coffee without milk than she can imagine the sun without the moon. however, ever since i ceased to take nature's nourishment i have never been able to drink milk, i have never drunk it, and i never do. my husband took it into his head that he would make me drink milk, especially in coffee, as, if he failed, the traditions, the constitutions, and the foundations of all that was german would be shattered. the discussion took place before the princess clémentine, who always drank milk in her coffee. but her affectionate kindness could not overcome the stubbornness of my stomach. i could see that i was offending her. her son became furious to the extent of saying most painful and unpleasant things, and i answered him in like manner. the princess, although deaf, felt that something was the matter, and we restrained ourselves on her account, but the blow had fallen; henceforth we both had café-au-lait on the brain! i relate little episodes like this because life is a mosaic of small things which cement great desires or high sentiments, and which of themselves express the daily necessities to which we are slaves. human existence is a tragedy or a comedy in two acts which take place in the drawing-room and the bedroom. the rest is only accessory. what a bungle nearly all people of exalted rank make in fulfilling the obligations of appearing to live! we forget the words of franklin: "time is the material of which life is made." i reproach myself bitterly to-day for having led such an empty life, for having lived such an existence of anguish of mind. i have not sufficiently known the true life, which is that of the soul; if i had realized this, with what distinguished personages i might have associated, with what authors, scholars and artists have surrounded myself! but could i really have done so? my highest desires were criticized, contradicted and repulsed. the prince, my husband, from the standpoint of his superior age, instructed me in everything. people were afterwards astonished at my expenditure--at my numerous gowns.... oh, god! i nearly became mad through the force of this continual restraint. one fine day i burst my bonds! oh! this palace of coburg, this residence where the slightest frivolous fancy, the smallest evidence of parisian taste imported from brussels, provoked harsh words; this soupçon of a _décolletage_ which caused jealousy; this desire to live a little for myself, without being submissive to the rigorous routine of a barracks which aroused such storms. mon dieu! when i think of all this--the stuffed birds, the unhealthy books, the dirty jokes, and the daily miseries of my life--i am at a loss to know how i endured it. i ask myself how i could have resisted so long? it was worse in the long run than being shut up in the madhouse. the crime is sometimes less horrible than the criminal. there are moral deformities which constitute an offence at every turn, and in the end one becomes exasperated with them. i do not know to what extremes i should have gone if this life had continued. i have always looked upon the strength which permitted me, at the age of twenty, to break away from my princely cage as a direct help from heaven. even had i been able to foresee to what excess hatred and fury would reach, i would still have broken away. a palace can become a hell, and the worst hell is that where one suffocates behind gilded windows. titles count for nothing--a bad household is a bad household. two people are united, the same chain holds them irrevocably together. certain couples manage to get on, others cannot. it is a question of temper and conditions. neither the prince nor i could accustom ourselves to the differences which separated us. this permanent conflict, which was at first latent and which afterwards became open war, daily widened the abyss between us into which so much finally disappeared. but amidst all this bitterness my days had their golden hours. everything was not disagreeable. storms sometimes have a ray of sunshine. but those i experienced were of the most devastating nature! i have said that i respected princess clémentine and that i was attracted to her, but her deafness, which sadly aggravated her natural dignity, and her spirit of another age which made her always appear to be living in state and etiquette, often repulsed my natural outbursts of affection. every time when the prince and i arrived at irreparable differences, and my mother-in-law, because of her great age, submitted to the influence of her son, i still could not help feeling towards her the same sentiment of gratitude which i had for her former kindness and her superiority of mind. [illustration: prince philip of saxe-coburg] besides my husband, princess clémentine had two sons and two daughters. one of her sons, auguste of saxe-coburg, was to me what rudolph of habsburg would have been, a brother-in-law who was a brother. until his death, which took place, if i remember rightly, in at paris, where, under the name of count helpa, he lived a life of pleasure and mixed in the best society, he retained the same affection for me that i had for him. the three other coburgs, philip, auguste and ferdinand, did not resemble one another either physically or morally. auguste was like the orleans family. in him the blood of france triumphed over the blood of germany. in the veins of ferdinand, who became the adventurous tsar of bulgaria, i do not know what blood flowed. let us pass on quickly. i shall have occasion to return to him and his throne of surprises when i speak of the court of sofia. of the two daughters, clotilde and amélie, the latter lives always in my memory. a gentle victim of love for an excellent husband, she died after losing him. united to maximilian of bavaria, the cousin of louis ii, amélie was a lily of france that strayed into germany. she had the good luck to meet a being worthy of herself in the patriarchal court of munich, which prussian folly has rendered so unhappy. they loved each other and they lived for love, concealing their happiness as much as possible. maximilian died suddenly--thrown from his horse whilst riding. amélie was inconsolable and did not long survive him. the idea never struck her brother philip, her brother ferdinand, or above all her sister clotilde, that one could die--or live--for love! our double connexion with the house of france brought me a happy diversion from my troubles at the coburg palace, as well as in the country, in the shape of visits of members of the royal family whom i had more or less known in my youth. the springtime of my life was full of their marks of affection. i have seen the birth of the hopes of my niece dorothée, the daughter of the archduchess clotilde, my sister-in-law, when she became engaged to duke philip of orleans. i confess i had no faith in the future, being sceptical as to royalist france, and doubtless it was an effect of the general surroundings, but i fancied that the gold lilies embroidered on the robe of the beautiful bride would have vanished from her train long before she reached the elysée, the tuileries or the louvre. i could not, however, see without emotion the closed crown which adorned the "queen" on the day of her wedding. ah! this dream of a crown; how many heads it turns, or rather how many heads it has turned! for now one is obliged to reflect on things in general, and although i am a stranger to french politics i owe as much recognition as consideration to the republic, where i have found, together with the security of just laws, the respect due to misfortune, and the courtesy which republicans know how to extend, even to princesses. still i cannot help following the career of the "king, in anticipation"--my nephew the prince of orleans, with some degree of curiosity. for him everything happens on the banks of the seine, the garonne, the rhone, and the other watercourses of the most beautiful country on the face of the earth; but the worst that i wish philip of orleans is that he should never have to exchange his yachting cap, which becomes him so well, for the crown of saint louis. he is certainly handicapped in life. more than ever to-day when it is advisable for a king to have a queen. but fate has willed that the great marriage of philip of orleans and marie dorothée of habsburg, which was one of the joys of the coburg palace, and the occasion of the most gorgeous receptions, should turn out contrary to what it promised. on one occasion i counted the royal or princely houses wherein the wind of discontent already whispered. i arrived at a startling total. taking it all round in every kind of society, the average number of happily married people is not very high. but the nearer one gets to the people, and to their good sense and work, the better does family life become, because they tolerate each other's failings much more wisely and agree to help each other, until they finish by knowing a kind of happiness, which is only achieved by the knowledge of common imperfections. my life at coburg would have been still more painful if from time to time it had not been varied by changes of residence and travel. in order not to digress from the family circle, i will only say a few words about three towns where i had relations, and where i stayed with them, or near them, as princess of coburg--cannes, bologna and budapest. first, i will mention budapest, which was one of the most attractive cities of the world, and will be again when the reign of bolshevism is over. in the old buda the ancient east has left its traces; in pest, the modernity of the west has become apparent. i knew something of it in . i loved budapest, and i preferred the small coburg palace in the hungarian capital and its charming receptions to our home and our entertainments in the capital of austria. the atmosphere was different from that of vienna, and i was pleased to find myself in the neighbourhood of the good archduke joseph, my mother's brother, who was so warm-hearted and so dear to me. his palace was at buda, and his château was some hours' distance from the town. they had no disadvantages except as dwellings of my aunt and my sister-in-law princess clotilde, who were very different from the affectionate and sincere amélie. the archduke was a kind man who did not misjudge or censure my extravagant fancies. in the first year of our marriage my husband and i spent the anniversary of my birthday, february , with the archduke at alauth. there had been a heavy fall of snow the day before, and i said, "i do not want any presents, but please let me drive a sledge to-morrow; i have such a wild wish to drive one; it will be my first experience!" the archduchess clotilde was usually an open-hearted person, but she was nevertheless endowed with certain straight-laced characteristics, and she frowned severely. it was no use to beg or to implore. the prince forbade the sledge drive. they metaphorically relegated me to a dark cupboard with dry bread to eat; they kept me under such close observation that i could not go out at all, either on foot, on horseback, or in a sledge. the archduke arrived on the scene. i was still furious.... oh! certainly, it is evident that i did not look on the bright side of things; my character has always been one which resented foolishness and wickedness. the archduke questioned me. i told him the whole story. "louise," he cried, "you are right a hundred times; first of all because at your age and when one is pretty, as you are, one is always right. we will go out at once for a drive in the snow." he rang, and ordered two hungarian horses to be harnessed to a large sledge fit for the chariot of apollo, in which he seated me, wrapped in my furs. he took the reins and we drove off at great speed, accompanied by a confidential servant. i felt myself akin to the angels. my puritanical sister-in-law and my puritanical husband dared not say a word. society at budapest was less submissive to court ceremonial than that of vienna, and it was in consequence natural and more audacious. i remember a certain ball on the ile marguerite, the pearl of the casket of the danube, when the prince was angry and did not wish me to waltz. i was inundated with invitations, to which my husband replied by saying that at the court of brussels i had only learned to dance the quadrille and the minuet! the quadrille! the minuet! people were quite worried. they understood what it means to waltz in hungary, and a waltz on the banks of the danube to the strains of gipsy violins is a thing which cannot be surpassed. and now--now--they import from america dreary stuff, dull and epileptic in movement, and they call it by all sorts of names after trotting or galloping animals out of noah's ark. the waltz will always remain as the incomparable queen of dances to those who know how to dance. one of those who asked me to dance was bolder than the rest, and, taking no notice of the prince's excuse, he said: "but surely her highness knows how to waltz," and at these words i was swept away from the domain of authority by my audacious partner, a magyar, who thus hurled me into the whirlpool of the dance. i confess i never stopped dancing for the remainder of the night. the prince was furious, but as he was overwhelmed with compliments on my beauty and my success, he was obliged, _nolens volens_, to smile! i recall the scene which took place at our departure. fortunately we were asked to embark on a wonderfully illuminated boat which took us along the beautiful river to the nearest point to our palace, and this delightful journey was made to the sounds of the music, sometimes wild and sometimes languorous, which can only be heard to perfection in this country. had it the effect of orpheus's lute? i was not condemned to die at sunrise like poor scheherazade. but why did she not dance instead of relating stories? at bologna and cannes i saw a section of society which has now disappeared. this was to be met with at the residence of the duchesse de chartres, and at the duc de montpensier's at the caprara palace. in italy certain of the greatest italian aristocrats were surrounded by the noblest names of france; on the côte d'azur it was more of a butterfly world, in which shone some of the most resplendent parisian beauties. where should i be if i allowed myself to evoke the shades of many of those whom i have known during my lifetime? already all is silent, already forgetfulness has begun. oh, vanity of vanities! but at least i will say how much i was enchanted by cannes, and by the refined taste of french elegance. the war has transformed this town, once sought after by the élite of society. i have read that, overrun and noisy, it has lost the discreet _cachet_ which was once its particular character and charm. what a pity! there is everything and yet nothing to say about the life of worldly people who are merely worldly people and nothing more. true, i could fill a library were i to describe in detail the fashionable records of my past. but of what interest would that be? i should but pander to the social curiosity that is satisfied by the reports of the doings of society, which, knowing the necessity of polishing its lustre daily in order to retain its brightness, provides the newspapers with the names of the people it receives, and the details of the receptions it gives--merely to satisfy that commonplace curiosity which is, unhappily, the foundation of human nature, and its desires and self-esteem. it will be better perhaps for me to terminate this rough sketch of my life as princess of coburg, before coming to the events which led to the final _dénouement_, by a few facts concerning my children. i have been, i believe, a good mother. i have wished to be, and i have, at least, the feeling that i was a good mother for a very long time. i lavished much care and tenderness upon my children. this will only appear natural to women whom maternity makes true women, and to whom it represents honour and glory. they must, however, allow me to say that maternity is sometimes more difficult than one thinks, when one has to consider the difficulties which are often raised by the father of the child--there are situations when being a mother is a constant trial. happy are those whom a peaceful and normal life allows leisure to watch beside a cradle. nevertheless, i knew happiness with my first-born son leopold, who saw the light in at our château of saint antoine, in hungary. the queen was present, very delighted at being a grandmother. the arrival of this child, a boy, heir to the titles, appendages and functions of the family, temporarily appeased the quarrels between the prince and myself. there was a lull in the storm, which lasted for some little time. the influence of the queen had its effect upon my husband. i myself, absorbed by my maternal duties, made great resolutions to be patient and wise in the future. i dreamt wonderful dreams beside the cradle of my son.... oh, cruel fate, against which i was destined to be powerless. when he grew up, and as the influence of environment exerted itself, leopold became less and less my child. i wished him to be loyal and courageous. was he not to carry a sword? what a knightly soul did i not wish to forge in him! but his father claimed the right to guide him. very soon he belonged to me no longer. leopold reached the age of reason just when i had thrown off the shackles of an existence which had become atrocious. he believed that, having refused to continue to be the princess of coburg, i had thereby appropriated the hundreds of millions which one day should have come to him from his grandfather, and which i should throw to the winds by my folly. so i have known the hatred which nature cannot conceive--the hatred of a son for his mother. i have shed the tears which are shed by mothers who are struck down by their own flesh and blood. but god knows that each time my children, infatuated with the greed for money, which is indeed the root of all evils, have made me suffer, i have always forgiven them. when leopold died in such a frightful way that i cannot even mention it, he had not belonged, in my belief, for a long time to this world; but it was not i who was affected by this terrible punishment which terminated the lineage of the eldest scion of the house of saxe-coburg. he who was stricken was the father who had formed this misguided son in his own likeness! i think he has survived in order that he may have time for repentance. when my daughter dora was about to be born in , i had such a dread of the presence of her father that i did all i could to hide the imminent hour of my deliverance. i did not wish the prince to be near me at this painful moment; i wanted him to go out, in ignorance that i was in the throes of travail. it happened in this way. the birth took place in our palace at vienna, and i quite succeeded in astonishing my world. i evaded, during the time of my suffering, a presence which could only have aggravated it. the midwife who was with me had not even time to go and fetch the royal accoucheur, who arrived after it was all over. dora was my second and my last child. she promised to be a pretty girl; she was taller than myself, very fair and rather shortsighted. she had the misfortune to marry duke gunther of schleswig-holstein, brother of the empress augusta, the wife of william ii. "misfortune?" my readers will say; "that is the usual opinion of a mother-in-law." they will see later that the word misfortune is conformable to the facts which touch contemporary history. i will say nothing more. my daughter has no children. if she had, they would have been told that their grandmother was the most wicked of women, if not the maddest, because she often said to her son-in-law, as well as to the prince of coburg and certain dignitaries of vienna and elsewhere, who were the accomplices and agents of the persecution by which she was overwhelmed: "you have only one end in view, and that is to take away all that remains to me--my liberty. but there is justice and you will be punished!" they have been. ah! if instead of making me suffer martyrdom, or allowing me to be made a martyr, some of my own relations had dared come to me, openly or in secret!... i am a woman, i am a mother. i do not affirm that i was not guilty of wrong. i only affirm this: they always lied to me. they always talked to me of the honour and virtue of the family, but, above it all, i heard the cry of "_money! money! money!_" chapter viii my hosts at the hofburg--the emperor francis joseph and the empress elizabeth since defeat has overthrown in one day thrones which were the foundation of the world of germany, i sometimes pass from the ring towards the graben by the hofburg, the ancient imperial palace of this city of vienna where i am now writing. i can see from the fransenplatz (the large inner court) the windows of the rooms which formerly saw me received by the guards and chamberlains with the honours due to my rank. these windows are now closed, empty and silent. in vienna everything seems dead. the old hofburg has ceased to exist. the new hofburg, an outward symbol of vanished hopes, is an unfinished building. it bears witness to the downfall of an empire. of all the princesses and archduchesses belonging to the vanished court, i am the only one remaining in vienna, loved, i believe, by the people, and respected by those in authority. there is one city in the world in which i have lived for a long time. it has been the scene of my "crimes." this city, after it abandoned all pretence of honour, truth and virtue, has now reserved for me my right to speak, and, whilst abolishing titles, has left me mine. i stand alone in the ruins of a power which was cruel to me. i have known the "justice" of the court and that of the emperor francis joseph. i have learned that a princess has not the same legal rights as the rest of the world. for her, secret arrangements exist which are applied without the judges having anything to say, or, if they do, they only carry out certain orders. they disguise these with all kinds of pretexts. in my case the excuse was that of madness. it would be impossible to-day to tax a rebellious conscience with insanity. it would be impossible to accuse a victim of causing impossible scandals if she dared appeal for help. no one can be thrown by force into a madhouse, where the superintendent says that you are not mad and yet is obliged to keep a guard over you. he had his orders! they called these "_une affaire de cour_!" i do not think it would require many criminal attempts of this nature to obtain a sentence from a divine justice which no hypocrisy of words or deeds and no machinery of human power can deceive. but why should not those who were guilty of an immoral and cowardly policy be the only ones to expiate their faults? a whole nation is at this moment expiating the decadence and the downfall of the court of vienna. yes, the poor people, who are so good, so duped, so resigned, so industrious and so much to be pitied, are now expiating the crimes of their rulers! when i arrived at the austrian court in francis joseph was forty-five years old. he was always distinguishable at a distance by his gallant bearing in uniform. at close quarters he gave one the impression of possessing a certain amount of good humour, which was contradicted by the severity of his glance. he was a narrow-minded man, full of false and preconceived ideas, but he possessed from his upbringing and from the traditions of austrian politics certain formulas and mannerisms, which enabled him to keep afloat for a long time before he was finally engulfed in the sea of blood in which the imperial galley ultimately foundered. but, stripped of his rank and ceremonial, devoid of routine or receptions, audiences and speeches, he was nothing but a fool. at his birth, nature deprived him of a heart. he was an emperor but he was not a man. he is best described as an automaton dressed as a soldier. the emperor at first made a great impression on me when my husband presented me to him as the new princess of coburg. i listened to his amiable and polished phrases, which i found difficult to answer becomingly. they were usually so banal that almost before leaving his presence i had already forgotten what he had said. it was almost always like this, except on one memorable occasion which i will describe later. i do not know anyone who remembers a single word uttered by francis joseph that was worth repeating. his conversation in the imperial circle was disconcertingly cold and poor. he never became animated except when talking scandal, but that was generally in the apartment of madame schratt, who constituted alike his refuge and his relaxation, where he was really "at home" and where he was simply "franz" or "joseph." i have seen madame schratt at the burg theatre. her influence (if she ever had any, other than that of permitting the emperor to escape from the insufficiencies which constituted the fatalities of his life) was not injurious to any living soul. an actress at the comédie française of vienna, pretty, and honest by nature, katti schratt was a "brohan," and her gaiety of heart at least pleased the sovereign. he first gave her a peaceful and an assured position, and then one fine evening he quietly introduced her to the court, where the empress resigned herself admirably to this imperial audacity. she was quite satisfied in knowing that francis joseph was now methodical in his passions, had curtailed his excesses and had chosen a confidante who did not pretend to be anything more than a recreation for him. there was a great difference between madame schratt and madame de maintenon. there was a still greater difference between francis joseph and louis xiv. but so far as actual looks went, the emperor might easily have been taken for his _maître d'hôtel_ had it not been for his uniform and his surroundings. seen at close quarters he was a very ordinary person. two bad habits, however, were noticeable in him: at the least perplexity he pulled and massaged his side-whiskers, and at dinner he frequently looked at his reflection in the blade of his knife. as for the rest of his actions, he ate, he drank, he slept, he walked, he hunted, he spoke according to the accepted ritual laid down by the circumstances of the hour, the day, and the calendar. these mannerisms were hardly disturbed by revolutions, wars or misfortunes. he greeted his calamities with the same expression with which he noticed if it were raining when he was about to leave for ischl. when his son killed himself, when his wife was assassinated, he did not lose one ounce of flesh; his step was as firm as ever, and his hair just as faultlessly dressed. the funeral ceremonies over, nothing changed in austria. francis joseph still continued to speak in just the same tones of the love of his people towards himself, and of his love for them. and that same evening he was with madame schratt. to this man devoid of brilliance, without courage, and without justice, i owe the misfortunes of my life. at the time when he should have filled his place as sovereign and head of the house where i was concerned, he did not do so because he was afraid. on two occasions only he behaved differently _à propos_ of what concerned me; these circumstances were not, however, decisive. a man is not judged by the way he helps you out of a carriage, but by his behaviour in a big fire; he does not draw back before the flames in his effort to save you! [illustration: _photo: boute_ princess victor napoleon (princess clémentine of belgium)] francis joseph was incapable of throwing himself into the fire in order to save anyone. he could not be depended upon for any help in danger. he would have been afraid of spoiling his uniform, or of disarranging his whiskers! ah! i can easily understand the despair of his son and his wife, whose only thought in life was to escape from this nonentity. the emperor's brother, the archduke louis victor, was the instigator of the hatred of which i was the victim. this man was later to know the tortures of a dishonourable exile, and he died dishonoured. god has punished him. i have seen his might strike this guilty man, who started the persecutions from which i had to suffer. for many years he laid his devotion at my feet. all vienna knew it; the emperor included, and he better than most people, because scandal was his daily bread. to him it was almost an affair of state to know whether the archduke louis victor would succeed in vanquishing the citadel of my virtue. nevertheless, the prince could be pleasing when he chose; his was an ardent nature, the excessive inquisitiveness of which dragged him eventually into the scandal of public punishment. i resigned myself to receive his compliments and his flowers with patience. we all know the exigencies of the world. i had to endure the assiduity of an archduke, the brother of the emperor, with a smile. but the smile has been especially given by nature to woman in order to enable her occasionally to conceal her thoughts! unfortunately louis victor, jealous of the worthy sentiments with which another, who was not a "prince," had inspired me, lost his patience, and from being the object of his love i became the object of his hatred. i own that i had a taste for satirical repartee which i had inherited from the king and which made me many enemies. was the archduke offended at a little plain speaking? wounded vanity is prompt to avenge itself. i had henceforth in him an open enemy. he swore that he would force me to leave the court. i had inspired jealousy. what woman has not? my rivals ensconced themselves around my former admirer. the usual intrigues began. my freedom of life was attacked by some charitable souls whose only thought was to destroy it, aided by a rejected don juan. the archduke was not long in arranging the necessary details. people commenced to talk of the notice which i took of that honourable man, the only person who has filled my life. i have always given him my whole confidence and esteem. the archduke louis victor went to his brother and told him that he had seen me with his own eyes in a popular restaurant at night, _tête-à-tête_ with a uhlan officer. carried away by indignation at such forgetfulness of my rank, three noble furies, whom i will not mention, and who possessed exclusive rights to represent virtue on earth, made it known to his majesty that if i were allowed to attend the coming state ball they would turn their backs upon me in the presence of the imperial circle. my sister, who was told of this uproar, questioned me and warned me. i had no difficulty in discovering whence the plot emanated, and i protested my innocence to stéphanie. on the evening when the archduke louis victor had told his brother he had seen me at the restaurant, i had not quitted the palace. i may add that i have _never, never, never_ sat in a restaurant _tête-à-tête_ with anyone. when i have had occasion to appear at a dinner or supper in public i have always been accompanied by one or more persons of my entourage. and what was more, at the identical hour mentioned by my calumniator i was with the prince my husband, and we were having one of those discussions which constituted the daily storms of our existence. the prince was there to witness this, besides which, the servants could attest that i had not given any orders for my carriage and that i had not left the palace. so nothing would have been easier than to have contradicted the archduke and his virtuous friends. my sister was quite convinced, but, not wishing to place herself between the devil and the deep sea, she said that she thought it would be as well if i appealed to the emperor in person. the cabal, however, acted quickly. francis joseph forestalled my request by summoning _me_. i saw him in stéphanie's room. i was in such a state of righteous rage that, alas! i was unable to control myself in the presence of this infamous man. first of all i thanked the sovereign for his audience, and i said (mastering my temper with difficulty) that he ought to defend me and take my part; that i was the butt of the attacks of a miserable cabal, and he ought to put an end to it by punishing the slanderer. i asked him to make an inquiry, as i had a perfect right to one. the rest of my words may be left to the imagination. as the emperor knew what defence i should probably put forward, he had prepared his answer according to the formula of one of the heads of the imperial chancellery who had trained him in his youth. this is what he said: "madam, all that has nothing to do with me; you have a husband; it is his affair. i think, however, that for the present you had better take a trip somewhere, and not appear at the next state ball." "but, sire, i am a victim; you make me out a criminal." "madam, i have listened to my brother, and when victor has spoken..." he finished with a sign which was imperial and definite. i was not the kind of woman to suffer such iniquity in silence. but i managed to conceal my contempt, and replied: "the future will reveal, sire, which of us has lied, the archduke or i." i then made my regulation curtsy, and the emperor left the room. on my return to the coburg palace i went to my husband and told him that i trusted to his honour to destroy the abominable plot in which i was involved, and that he must send his seconds to the archduke victor. the prince of coburg coldly answered that if i had lost the imperial favour _he_ had no wish to lose it by fighting a duel with an archduke who was the brother of the sovereign. after the chivalrous emperor i had indeed encountered another galahad; i was furious, but i could do nothing. my fury, however, brought about unlooked-for results. the prince did not wish to remember that i was at the palace on this particular evening. he declared that he would not contradict the assertion made by my slanderer. this was the last straw. from that hour my mind was made up. i would not remain any longer with a husband who had abandoned me in this disgraceful manner. i would listen to the voice that said: "madam, you are lost in the world where you live; it is cowardly and perverse." but my family feeling proved stronger than my anger. i said to the prince: "we must separate and regain our liberty. but we have children. let us avoid a scene. let us travel for a year, and if at the end of that time we have not found a better way of living together we will part; you must go your way and i will go mine." to the mind of a man such as the prince of coburg these words were the most awful imaginable. the prospect of a separation or a divorce would be known to millions of people, to the king and others, and not only to the father of my children; such a thing was impossible. he said i should hear more about this. and i did. since i am telling the whole story from the beginning i must give the other reasons for francis joseph's inconceivable attitude towards me. these were more or less political, and i do not wish to dwell on politics, and still less on any affecting him. but at the same time i am writing for the purpose of adding a few fresh facts to the history of this time, as well as for the purpose of defending myself from false accusations. francis joseph refused to help me, and he abandoned me from the first moment because he was obliged to be cautious; he therefore left my husband complete liberty to do as he pleased. the prince of coburg knew the secret of meyerling and the termination of rudolph's despair. moreover, the prince had a brother ferdinand who was quartered at the outpost of nach oste in bulgaria. the coburgs were a power in themselves. francis joseph bowed down to them. he chose the lesser of two evils and sacrificed me. i only knew him to adopt a chivalrous attitude on two occasions. once when i asked him to change a gentleman-in-waiting attached to my person and that of my husband who made common cause with the archduke victor, he immediately granted me my request. again, when i had entered upon a new life, and was living up to a higher ideal and disregarding the most sinister proofs of an atrocious calumny, it happened that the prince of coburg found himself face to face with a man of honour who was ready to give him satisfaction. my husband put on an air of supreme disdain. the emperor then reminded him that the uniform of a soldier was intended for more than purposes of show. he advised the prince of coburg to fight; he fought. i believe this was the only military victory that francis joseph gained over anyone; and as for the prince, an austrian general, it was the only battle in which he was personally engaged. * * * * * i often think that providence was very merciful to the empress in not letting her attain old age, riveted as she was to the chain which dragged the empire into the abyss of human foolishness and ferocity. shall i say that my thoughts go out to her in prayer? she, too, was a martyr; she is only second to the queen in my daily meditations. the difference in my age and rank kept me, to my great grief, farther apart from her than i should have liked. at the time when i could have drawn nearer to her, i was torn between my yearning for the ideal, and the vanities of the world. if she was a serene empress i was a distressed princess! but i had, however, something in common with her; the love of nature and freedom and the taste for heinrich heine. without putting this writer on the same pedestal as goethe, the mind by which i have tried to vivify my own, i have enjoyed many happy hours reading heine, and the older i have grown the more i have learned to know and admire the poet who was both an inspired humorist and a philosopher. he was the de musset of prussia and judea, the wit _par excellence_ of europe--heine had taken from france and given her a unity of gifts, the blending of which promises a race of men, freed from race barriers, moved by the same love of eternal beauty. an indication of the reconciliation which the future will perhaps see. it is possible that he _was_ a jew; the apostles were also jews. but i understand and appreciate the sentiments of the empress in going to see him at hamburg, continuing to be on friendly relations with his sister after his death, and lastly in erecting a monument to him at corfu. rudolph once said of his mother: "she is a philosopher on a throne." she had truly a great mind. the day on which i had the honour of being received privately by the empress was an exciting one for me. i knew that she only wore black, white, grey or violet, so i arranged my toilette without invoking the help of a dressmaker, and if i am to believe the flattery of the rue de la paix, i knew how to dress myself; but i confess that, confident as i had now become in matters of dress, i took my time in deciding what to wear on this occasion. in the end i chose a violet gown most tastefully trimmed with grebe and a little velvet toque. i can say without boasting that my toilette was remarked upon and generally admired. the empress was delightful. she spoke of the queen in well chosen, simple terms, as of a friend dear to her. this was her way of speaking about almost everything. her conversation was of a high order, but at the same time it was absolutely natural. she scarcely ever spoke harshly, and always in low and pure tones. she possessed a soulful voice--muffled crystal, but crystal all the same. i have never seen a smile like hers; it was like a smile from heaven; it enchanted me and it affected me, it was at the same time both sweet and grave. she was beautiful, a celestial beauty with something ethereal in the purity of her features and the lines of her figure. no one walked like elizabeth of austria; the movement of her limbs was imperceptible, she glided; she seemed to float on the ground. i have often read that some celebrated and adored woman was endowed with "inimitable grace." the empress elizabeth truly possessed this inimitable grace. and her large eyes seemed to speak and express a noble language peculiarly their own, which embodied the three virtues, faith, hope and charity. bavaria, her birthplace, has retained throughout the ages the essential elements of the celtic race established as far as the danube. south germany also has this ancient european blood in abundance. the empress represented the most refined characteristics of celtic beauty. she was not a german type--at least not a type of central germany--she expressed to perfection, both morally and physically, all that separated and will continue to separate munich and vienna from berlin. * * * * * recollections crowd upon me when i return in thought to the hofburg. i must record some of the most striking. thus, i will think of the archduke john, who was afterwards known as john orth, the name of one of maria theresa's castles on the danube, the spot preferred of all others by this strange being. like rudolph, with whom he was on terms of great friendship and certain understanding, the archduke john could not breathe the air of courts. he once said to me: "you and i, louise, in many respects are not made to live here." he interested me, but i did not like his sarcastic spirit. he had none of rudolph's high ideals. when he disappeared i believed him to be living somewhere in secret, and that there was a possibility of his reappearance. i read in the papers not long ago that a person who might easily have been the archduke john had just died in rome, where he had lived for twenty years in seclusion. rome attracts the solitary and disillusioned souls of the world. if this unknown man was really john orth, he was indeed able to meditate on the grandeur and decadence of empires. i will leave this mysterious shadow and speak of two others who have passed, whose existence touches us more closely and constitutes a problem of state to minds interested in this subject. i see in imagination the ball where francis ferdinand d'este showed by his attachment to the countess chotek what would eventually come to pass between them. he loved her and she loved him; they were married. this was a great event. the countess was clever and intelligent, and she was not personally displeasing to the emperor. she knew better than to offend this narrow-minded being. but her rôle in the political events of central europe, from the day when the death of rudolph allowed her to dream of a throne (even though it was only that of hungary), was more important than one imagined. it has occurred to me more than once, that if france had known and would have put up with an austrian policy, she would have found that the countess chotek, raised to the rank of duchess of hohenberg, had far different ideas from those of berlin. unfortunately france committed the fault (and she will forgive me for daring to say so, _en passant_) of separating politics from religion, and of forgetting that religion is the first of all politics. she bound her own hands, bandaged her own eyes, and advanced on europe. there was very little chance for her to reach the danube, the most important of all the european routes. i knew how much the king of the belgians deplored the blindness of france, and what he said on this subject to more than one distinguished frenchman. it was to the effect that the disadvantage of democratic governments was that they were obliged to provide numerous schools of thought before they possessed the small number of principles which constitute the foundation and the whole secret of government. the religious principle is not the least of these. in a country in which statesmen formerly abounded, and which has ended politically through corrupt foolishness, that destroyer of characters and convictions, countess chotek, the woman of solid beliefs, came into prominence through the possession of a political brain. she made ferdinand d'este a man capable of action and energy. her chief fault and that of her husband was that through fear of showing weakness, they did not know how to show kindness. the hereditary archduke and his wife were strict in maintaining their landed possessions, and they taxed the people with great severity. it needed little to aggravate the latent hatred against the heir to the thrones in a state divided against itself, and, added to this rivalry, jealousy and general restlessness existed, and certain trifling matters due to the severity of francis ferdinand and the duchess of hohenberg were perfidiously exploited against them. the day of their death was decided, the way was prepared, and the instruments selected. but i must pass over the terrible events of yesterday, the result of which does not justify me to speak. the hereditary archduke and his wife had a powerful camarilla against them. they were not in need of partisans and they could have opposed cabal after cabal, but their adversaries, who were nearly all hidden, had plans outside the monarchy. this is not the place or the moment to discuss the conflict of influences of which vienna was the battlefield. it will be the work of some penetrating and impartial genius who will perhaps be in a position to enlighten the world as to the general worthlessness of the court of austria during the ten or fifteen years before . he will then make known to the world the history of one of the most formidable conflicts of self-interest and vanity which the world has ever known. at the court of vienna there was a camarilla consisting of a group of men, more or less filled with ambition, who gathered around the sovereign, guarding every approach to him, and they exploited the prince to the best of their hatred and avidity. as the emperor became more and more of a figure-head the old favourites saw themselves confronted with the coming power. this power, for the less important reasons which are known, and for others greater than these, recognized the morganatic marriage of francis ferdinand, and the ardent catholicism of the duchess of hohenberg, who, owing to her character and her ambitious dreams for her children, possessed both interior and exterior enemies. there resulted, therefore, a third camarilla, the most secret and the most redoubtable, for the simple reason that, in a court where individuals fight amongst themselves, they indirectly fight the whole world. they do not betray merely this one and that one--they betray their whole country. chapter ix my sister stéphanie marries the archduke rudolph, who died at meyerling my younger sister spent a happy girlhood at brussels. at the age of nineteen she was a radiant beauty. without knowing whom she was eventually to marry, she had been encouraged to look forward to making a more advantageous marriage than her eldest sister. the king had never been very enthusiastic over my marriage with the prince of coburg. he had higher ambitions for me. my mother, however, desired the marriage. i have already given her reasons. to avenge himself for his disappointed hopes, the king intended stéphanie to marry an heir to a throne. he had thought of rudolph of habsburg as a possible husband for her, and the queen agreed with him. what a daring idea! for however honourable the royal house of belgium might be, it did not rank so high as that of austria. i was not in ignorance, as i shall shortly relate, of the project of this marriage which began under the most dazzling auspices, and terminated in the most appalling tragedy. history has been more interested in the final catastrophe than in the story of the early days of the married life of rudolph of habsburg and stéphanie of belgium. i, too, will discuss the finale and describe rudolph as i knew him on the eve of his death. rudolph was then thirty years old. he might easily have called himself "the beloved of the gods." a great court was at his feet; the most beautiful town in the world, after paris, was an abode where all might have belonged to him. the people of the monarchy placed their hopes of the future in him. he had a wife whom everyone envied; a daughter whom he overwhelmed with caresses; a noble and good mother whom he worshipped; and lastly, a father whose great empire would revert to him; but rudolph, the ill-fated and unhappy, preferred to die. let us, once for all, finish with the legends of meyerling, and as far as it is possible have done with the lies connected with it. rudolph of habsburg committed suicide! it is said that there is no proof of this. this is wrong; the proof exists. i am able to give it. the history of the liaison which led rudolph of habsburg and mary vetsera to the grave has often been told. i will therefore confine myself to relating a few points which are but little known. there was in the love of the hereditary archduke for mary vetsera either a lurid fatality or a sinister influence.... when i was in vienna shortly before i decided to write these pages, i was sorting some private papers which recalled me to the period when i was the confidante and friend of rudolph. having finished my task, i went for a drive. at the turning of a crowded street my attention was attracted by the sight of a melancholy looking old woman dressed in a dark costume. my carriage was going slowly at the time, so i could not fail to notice that she seemed crushed by numerous calamities, bent to the ground under the weight of a heavy burden, and she walked close to the buildings, almost touching the walls as she passed. her face showed utter dejection and horror, and it was seared with innumerable tragic wrinkles. in this funereal apparition i recognized the mother of mary vetsera. what had happened to the smart woman of the world whom i had been accustomed to meet chaperoning her daughter, then in the full bloom of her bewitching youth? i have only to close my eyes in order to see mary vetsera--superb and glowing as she appeared at an evening entertainment given by the prince of reuss, the german ambassador--the last sensational appearance in viennese society of the girl who was about to become the heroine of the "bloody enigma" of meyerling. but the enigma is very simple. [illustration: the archduke rudolph] nevertheless, one must be behind the scenes in order to see all and know all. and this will always be difficult for journalists, who concoct distorted versions of "facts" which are the enemies of "history." every journalist continues to rely on his imagination or on his observations, which vary according to his point of view. if the truth, therefore, is long in coming to light it is not very extraordinary. the astonishing thing about the press is not so much that it abounds in lies as that it sometimes states the truth. i had just arrived at the embassy. the prince of reuss left me in order to precede my sister and her husband who were making an official entry. rudolph noticed me, and leaving stéphanie came straight up to me. "she is there," he said without any preamble; "ah, if somebody would only deliver me from her!" "she" was mary vetsera, his mistress of the ardent face. i, too, glanced at the seductress. two brilliant eyes met mine. one word will describe her: mary was an imperial sultana, one who feared no other favourite, so sure was she of the power of her full and triumphant beauty, her deep black eyes, her cameo-like profile, her throat of a goddess, and her arresting sensual grace. she had altogether taken possession of rudolph, and she longed for him to be able to marry her. their liaison had lasted for three years. mary vetsera was a member of a bourgeois family of greek origin with some pretensions to nobility. the family, which was numerous and impoverished, hoped much from the favour of the heir apparent. perhaps the only one who did not concern herself in worldly matters was a sister of the idol who, unlike her, had not the gift of beauty. her merit was of a less perishable order. when the drama of meyerling engulfed rudolph and his love, this sister of the dead mary disappeared in a convent. at the soirée i was struck by my brother-in-law's state of nervous exhaustion (this soirée took place, i may mention, during the second fortnight of january, ), but i thought it well to try and calm him by saying a word or two about mary which would please him, so i remarked quite simply: "she is very beautiful." then i looked at my perfectly gowned sister, beautiful, too, in another way, who was making a tour of the room.... my heart contracted. all three, stéphanie, rudolph and mary were unfortunate. rudolph left me without replying. an instant later he returned and murmured: "i simply cannot tear myself away from her." "leave vienna," i said; "go to egypt, to india, to australia. travel. if you are lovesick that will cure you." he shrugged his shoulders imperceptibly and spoke no more during the evening. it was not a pleasant soirée. an atmosphere of uneasiness hung over the brilliant assembly. for my own part, i was so depressed that on my return home i could not sleep. i had followed, so to speak, all the gradual developments of rudolph's passion. upon my arrival at the court of vienna i instantly liked the archduke, and he gave me his friendship. we were almost the same age. i venture to say that we resembled each other in many points. our ideas on certain matters were identical. rudolph confided in me, and i soon placed my confidence in him. it often happened that after my arrival in vienna i was not always on my guard. god knows, then, that it was praiseworthy of me to say to the prince, in the intimate manner adopted by those royal and princely families who had imbibed the patriarchal german spirit: "get married. i have a sister who is like me. marry her." he at once changed the subject by replying: "i like middzi better." middzi was a pretty girl, a perfect viennese type, a parisian of eastern europe. he had two children by her. but at last wisdom prevailed with me, perhaps my will also, and the finding in maternity the courage to support many things which later grew worse and were no longer bearable. i was not then either "mad, extravagant," or "capable of every kind of deceit," as my persecutors said later. on the contrary. for a long time my good qualities and virtues were praised by people who later covered me with opprobrium. at this period my younger sister was said to be a charming happy replica of myself, and therefore rudolph took the train for brussels. stéphanie thus became the second highest personage in austria-hungary--the future empress of the dual monarchy. the archduke had no trouble in finding favour in her eyes. he was more than handsome; he was fascinating. he had a slight figure, but it was well proportioned. notwithstanding his delicate appearance, he possessed a strong constitution. he always made me think of a thoroughbred; he had the shape, the light build and the temper of one. his nervous force equalled his sensitiveness. his pale face reflected his thoughts. his eye, the iris of which was brown and brilliant, assumed varying shades and changed in shape with his expression. he passed rapidly from love to anger, and from anger to love. he was a disconcerting individual, with a captivating, changeful and refined soul. rudolph's smile perhaps made a still greater impression. it was the smile of an angelic sphinx, a smile peculiar to the empress; he had also her manner of speaking; and these traits, added to his winning and mysterious personality, charmed all with whom rudolph came in contact. well read and always ready to welcome new ideas, he sought the society of artists and savants. he was happy in the company of such men as the distinguished painters canon and angeli, and billroth, the eminent professor. my readers must not expect a pen portrait of my sister. it would be difficult for me to write about her in laudatory phrases since i have said that she resembled me. i will only say that she was better-looking. rudolph and stéphanie made a well-matched pair. a daughter was born to them--elizabeth--now princess of windisgretz. she owes her material independence to the fortune which she inherited from her grandfather, the emperor francis joseph, and this fact added to her independence of soul has made her a very noticeable personality. after the birth of her daughter, my sister, almost on the day following her churching, decided to travel. she said that she wanted to go to the seaside and recover from the effects of her confinement. she therefore went to jersey, where she stayed some considerable time. rudolph was opposed to her going away. he negatived the idea by saying that she ought to stay with him, as he was unable to accompany her owing to his duties as heir apparent. but we are a family who, having once decided upon doing anything, are very difficult to persuade to the contrary. stéphanie was obstinate. she never thought that a young wife's duty was to remain as long as possible near her husband, especially when he happened to be the man most exposed to the temptations of the court of vienna. rudolph was greatly vexed at the length of an absence which really could only have been excused on the grounds that it was not so long as it might have been. the crown princess fell ill. when she escaped from the hands of the doctors who had lavished their attentions upon her, rudolph was told that he would have little chance in the future of again becoming the father of legitimate children. the blow was severe. from that day he tried to forget his troubles. he strove to banish them by drink, by hunting and other kinds of amusements. this desire for forgetfulness increased. at this critical moment he met mary vetsera. the first time that her beauty was brought to my notice i nearly betrayed myself, having been placed in an unexpected and awkward position, which served to show me the height which passion can attain in a nature such as rudolph's. one evening we gave a dinner at the coburg palace. the crown prince, according to his rank, sat on my right, and my sister sat opposite me. there was naturally much gossip current in vienna about the liaison which existed between rudolph and mary vetsera. stéphanie, thanks to her dignity of character, was silent, but i know that she suffered. i was not afraid of mentioning this delicate subject to rudolph, and i had expressed my hopes that the gossip was exaggerated. i wished to believe that he was merely the victim of a passing caprice. yet at my own table, with the servants present, the guests watching (especially my sister's and her husband's) our slightest movements, rudolph took it into his head to show me, sheltered by the tablecloth and the usual table decorations, the miniature of a woman, hidden in something which appeared to be a cigarette-case. "this is mary," said he; "what do you think of her?" the only thing i could do was to pretend neither to see nor to hear him, and i began to talk to my sister across the table. but after this, of what follies would rudolph not be guilty? we were not long in finding out! my brother-in-law died on january , , between a.m. and a.m. three or four days previously my sister came to see me one morning--a rare thing for her to do. i was still in bed, as i was tired. stéphanie seemed anxious and disturbed. "rudolph," said she, "is going to meyerling, and intends staying there some days. _he will not be alone._ what can we do?" i raised myself on my pillows. i felt a strange and sinister foreboding. i remembered rudolph's words at the prince of reuss's soirée. "for the love of god," i cried, "go with him!" but was this possible? alas! no. i next saw my sister when she was a widow and my brother-in-law was dead, lying in state, with his bloodless face swathed in a white bandage.... on the afternoon of january i was driving in the prater accompanied by a lady-in-waiting. it was a fine winter's day, and the sunshine was still lingering over vienna. the horses were proceeding at a walking pace in order that i could enjoy the beauty of the day, and enable me to notice the carriages and the equestrians and acknowledge their salutes. in the hauptallee i noticed with astonishment rudolph, unattended and on foot, chatting in a lively manner with countess l., who has been so much talked about and who has published so much, but whose rôle in connexion with rudolph was such that it was not agreeable for me to know her. the archduke saw my carriage. he made a sign to me to stop, and came up to me. he was then speaking to me for the last time. i have often asked myself why his trivial words caused me such indefinable anxiety. i still remember the sound of his voice, and i have not forgotten the peculiar look which accompanied his words. rudolph was pale and feverish; he seemed on the verge of a nervous breakdown. "i am going to meyerling this afternoon," he announced. "tell 'fatty' not to come to-night, but the day after to-morrow." "fatty," to speak with all due respect, was my husband. the prince of coburg was always included amongst the boon companions of rudolph's hunting and other pleasure parties. i tried to keep my brother-in-law by my side for a moment or two longer, and induce him to say something more. i asked him: "when will you come and see me? it is a long time since you have been." he replied, looking at me most strangely: "what would be the use of coming to see you?" * * * * * rudolph stayed at meyerling from the evening of january until the morning of the th, alone with his mistress. when his guests arrived for the hunt, the gathering was exactly like one of those pagan feasts in the days of nero and tiberius, when death was bidden to the banquet. but the guest condemned to die was the prince himself, and he dragged with him into the abyss the imperious mistress who had first brought him to its brink. they were found dead in their bedroom. it was a frightful sight, and it was first witnessed by count hoyoz, and then by the prince of coburg. if mary vetsera was indeed the dominating force, and as venus would not relinquish her prize, rudolph, in an access of despair and rage, did not forgive her for placing him in an impossible position; but neither did he pardon himself. on the morning after a nerve-racking orgy both lovers perished. it all happened with lightning-like rapidity. it was impossible for rudolph to continue keeping two households. impetuous but enslaved, he could not endure a liaison which paralysed his energies, but which he lacked the strength to break, so great was the hold which mary had obtained over him. novelists have often depicted the frightful situation of the thraldom of the body, and the desperate protests of the spirit which can only escape by death. rudolph at thirty years of age was utterly out of love with life. he was worn out from living in the atmosphere of a court which suffocated him. his death by his own hand was due to several causes, of which the following are the principal: first, his bitter regret of a marriage which did not give him what he expected, after his disappointment in knowing he could not have a son; the impossibility of realizing the wish to dissolve it--an impious wish in the eyes of his relatives, the holy see and the catholic church; and, finally, the certainty he had as to the chances of the longevity of the emperor, that heartless being, that living mummy, who had embalmed himself with selfish and petty cares. rudolph often remarked: "i shall never reign; he will not allow me to reign." and if he had reigned? ah, if he had reigned! i knew all his plans and his ideas. of these, i will only say, modernity did not frighten him. the most daring modern idea would have been acceptable to him. he had already destroyed, in imagination, the worn-out machinery of the austro-hungarian monarchy. but, like pieces of invisible armour held together by expanding links, the constraints, the formulas, the archaic ideas, the ignorance and the disillusions from which he was always wishing to escape, closed in on him. his life was a perpetual struggle against a feeble, worn-out, blind and corrupt court, the routine of which enslaved his body without shackling his intelligence. he was compelled either to go under or to reign for a time and then to conquer, and throw off the burning garment of nessus, open the windows, overthrow the great wall of china and chase away the camarilla. but the austro-hungarian monarchy would perish rather than change. it went to its death with a courier in advance! the sad news of rudolph's death reached vienna on the morning of january . general consternation prevailed. in the afternoon one of the emperor's aides-de-camp came to see if he could obtain more news from me. i was scarcely able to speak. i had been told that the prince of coburg had assassinated my brother-in-law! there were some charitable souls in vienna and at court who did not admit that rudolph's affection for me was merely fraternal. ah, if one only realized to what jealousy and wickedness the highest are exposed! after the death of the crown prince all kinds of stories and scandalous gossip were rife! i told the aide-de-camp that i knew nothing beyond the tragic news of the death of rudolph and mary vetsera, and that my husband, who had left that very morning at six o'clock to shoot at meyerling, had not returned. in the meantime i had seen one of stéphanie's ladies-in-waiting, who had told me about the catastrophe. mastering my emotions, i went to see my sister at the hofburg. i found her pale and silent, holding in her hand a letter whose secret must now be given to history. this letter, which had just been discovered addressed to stéphanie in rudolph's private desk, announced his death. he had already resolved on this course when he spoke to me in the prater. the letter commenced as follows: "i take leave of life." it was too much for me to read that. the words were blurred by my tears. "be happy in your own way," he said to his wife. and his last thought was of his child. "take great care of your daughter. she is most dear to me. i leave you this duty." unhappy child, who has had no father. i have often pitied her, and i pity her more than ever. she does not know what she has lost. the prince of coburg did not return to the palace until the night of the st, after having passed many hours alone with the emperor. he came at once to my room. his disturbed condition and his wild words showed how distraught he was. i pressed him to give me some of the details of the tragedy. "it is horrible, horrible," he said. "but i cannot, i must not say anything except that they are both dead." he had sworn to the emperor to keep silent, as had rudolph's other friends who had gone to shoot at meyerling. the secret was well kept. the servants who might have spoken have, for very good reasons, disclosed nothing. when i went to see the empress, at her request, i found myself in the presence of a marble statue covered with a black veil. i was so agitated that i could hardly stand. i passionately kissed the hand she extended, and in a voice broken like that of the mother at calvary she murmured: "you weep with me! yes, i know that you too loved him." oh, unfortunate mother! she adored her son. he helped her to bear that life smothered in ashes which his malicious father led beside one who was so noble. after rudolph had been snatched from her and from his imperial future, the empress fled from this court which henceforth held nothing for her, and she met death alone. it is known by what a sudden and cruel blow she died--the innocent victim of the penalty of her rank. i saw, i see in the successive dramas of the house of austria a punishment sent by heaven. a chain of bloody fatalities which recalls the tragedies of sophocles or euripides is not simply a game of chance. the justice of the gods is always that of god. the court of vienna was destined to perish horribly. it had betrayed everything; first of all its traditions, for nothing noble remained--even its intrigues were base. it was only a servants' hall for the valets from berlin. and after francis joseph appeared at the famous eucharistic congress on the eve of the war, and stood before the altar as prince of the faith, he went to finish the dull day at the house of madame schratt, and listen to the backstairs gossip of vienna and the unsavoury reports of the police news! rudolph died of sheer disgust! chapter x ferdinand of coburg and the court of sofia the glory of the coburg family reached its zenith at the time of leopold i and the prince consort. they gave to the world a series of princes who were veritably made to rule. their direct influence on belgium, and indirectly on england, created a period of peace and an "entente," of which the beneficial results are so well known. later, when my father continued the brilliant work bequeathed to him by king leopold, duke ernest, prince regent of the duchy of saxe-coburg-gotha, proved himself no less inferior to his cousin at brussels. in vienna prince auguste, who was so good and with whom unfortunately i had very little to do as a father-in-law, also proved that he was a man of valour. of the various coburgs, those of vienna who were my husband's brothers represented with him the male descendants left to carry on the name of the race. i will chiefly mention ferdinand, the ex-tsar of bulgaria. i will not expatiate again on the branch of my family to which he belonged. its rôle in contemporary history is sufficiently well known. ferdinand of coburg, who is still alive as i write this, is one of the most curious beings it is possible to imagine. to describe him adequately needs the pen of a barbey d'aurevilly or a balzac. the clearer my mind becomes as i get older, and the more i try to understand this strange person, the less i comprehend him when i consider him from the ordinary point of view of human psychology. i have read that woman is an enigma. i believe there are men who are more puzzling enigmas than any woman. one can only wonder whether this man has not created for himself, even more so than william ii, an artificial world of his own in which he wished to live. i will presently say _which_ world i think appealed to ferdinand of coburg. i realize that any princely education which tends to encourage the self-esteem of princes by outward respect and flattery must of necessity accentuate their peculiarities, unless some wholesome influence restrains the promptings of worldly vanity. a really superior mother was unable to regulate the undisputed mental gifts of ferdinand. he was born in the autumn of princess clémentine's days. he was her benjamin. she was weak as water where he was concerned. this strength, greater than all strengths--namely, a mother's love--has also its weaknesses. bad sons abuse these, and, according to the laws of that justice whose workings are often unseen, but whose judgments and punishments are sometimes visible, this son deserves a severe sentence. he was sixteen years old when i arrived at the palace of coburg. he was slight and elegant; his countenance, lit up by azure eyes, possessed all the beauty of youth allied to something of the bourbon type. the fire of intelligence and the wish to read the book of life animated him. he promised to be different in every way from his eldest brother. in his moral character he appeared to possess the good qualities of his second brother, the charming auguste of coburg, but they were only useful in helping to form the distinguished bearing which later became natural to him, and which concealed beneath a brilliant appearance a complex and stormy nature. i was a year older than he. we were the life and soul of the old palace, and at times i was able to forget its dullness and my own troubles. i was the confidante of ferdinand, and i did not hesitate to make him mine. although ferdinand later displayed hostility towards me, he devoted himself at this period to pleasing his sister-in-law and surrounded her with flowers, attentions and kindness. but it so chanced (and it remained so for a long period) that the eldest and the youngest of the coburg brothers were at enmity on my account, although this feeling was not outwardly apparent. i must relate these incidents, otherwise it would be difficult to explain the presence of the many enemies who one day overwhelmed me. this enmity proceeded from the same miserable cause which will eternally be at the bottom of so many human dramas--namely, man's jealousy and his lustful appetites thwarted by rules of morality. ferdinand of coburg, idolized by his mother, accepted as a spoiled child by society, initiated early in the most refined pleasures, allowed himself to be transported by his exalted imagination into a world of his own. i have seen, i still see in him a kind of modern necromancer, a _fin de siècle_ magician. he was a cabbalist in the same way that m. peladan was a wise man of the east, and from these adventures always proceeds something which influences destiny. if at first i only saw him making what appeared to me to be strange gestures, without explaining what these signified, i have now arrived, through my experience of men and things, at understanding why he was then so incomprehensible. he must have been possessed by a power beyond this earth. but he did not believe in god; he believed in the devil. i am only going to relate that of which i am sure. i am only going to say what i have seen. i do not wish to be more superstitious about certain things, or more troubled in soul than ferdinand of coburg. i ask myself to what fantastical sect, to what satanic brotherhood he belonged in his early days, doubtless with the idea of furthering his ambitions and his extraordinary dreams of the future. i remember that in our palace at vienna, ferdinand would sometimes ask me to play to him when we were alone in the evening. he insisted upon the room being only dimly lit. he would then come near to the piano and listen in silence. at midnight he would stand up solemnly, his features drawn and contracted. he then looked at the clock and listened for the first of the twelve strokes, and when they were nearing the end he would say: "play the march from _aida_." then, withdrawing to the middle of the room, he would strike a ceremonial attitude, and repeat incomprehensible words which frightened me. ferdinand used to articulate cabbalistic formulas, stretching out his arms with his body bent and his head thrown backwards. amongst the mysterious phrases a word which sounded like _koptor_, _kofte_ or _cophte_ was often repeated. one day i asked him to write it down. he traced letters of which i could make nothing, excepting that i seemed to recognize some kind of greek characters. after these séances i questioned him, because while they were proceeding i had to be silent and play the march from _aida_. he invariably answered: "the devil exists. i call on him and he comes!" i did not believe this; i mean to say i did not believe in the devil's actual visit, but i was nevertheless a little frightened, and when my brother-in-law once again began his incantations i would look round to see if there was anything extraordinary in the room. but there was nothing unusual excepting ferdinand and my own curiosity--and, perhaps, the unrevealed vision of both our futures! full of eccentricities, he would bury gloves and ties which he had worn. there was quite a ceremonial attached to this, at which i was sometimes obliged to assist. ferdinand dug the hole himself, and repeated strange sentences with a mysterious air. his mouth would then assume that bitter expression which age has accentuated. did he indeed juggle with the prince of evil, and did he acquire thereby the dominating spirit which became so strong in him? did he seek some kind of brain stimulant in these practices, under the action of which, i believe, auto-suggestion becomes dangerous? i leave it to physicians, to occultists and to casuists to diagnose this case. i am simply a witness, nothing more. ferdinand was not yet prince of bulgaria. he was only known as a charming lieutenant in the austrian chasseurs, who had exchanged from the hussars because he was not in sympathy with the animal from which it is possible to fall, and which is generally supposed to be the most noble conquest of man. i wish to say plainly that ferdinand of coburg was a wretched horseman. who would have thought that this officer of noble descent who had exchanged into an infantry regiment would later possess a throne, and would dream of becoming emperor of byzantium? he designed his crown and arranged his state entry and his coronation, just as did the miserable emperor william who wished to crown himself _welt kaiser_ in nôtre dame de paris, and i do not hesitate to say that he dreamed of a ceremony to which the pope would come, willing or unwilling, and that all confessions should be reconcilable in his imperial, august and sacred person. it is really impossible to-day for a man to be a king according to the ancient formula of absolute power. this kind of wine is too strong; it goes to the head. formerly, a prince, even an autocrat, did not see or understand that a small number of faithful persons guarded and restrained him equally as much as they served him. he was usually at war for three-quarters of his reign, and he shared the rough life and privations of a soldier. now he listens to a thousand voices, a thousand people and the calls of a thousand duties. he no longer fights in person, and there are, besides, long periods of peace. comfort surrounds and enervates him; wonderful inventions and discoveries have changed everything around him. but although the values and aspects of society and individuals are totally modified, everything is still at his feet. there is something in losing the knowledge of realities as the unfortunate tsar nicolas lost it, as william ii lost it, and as ferdinand of bulgaria lost it. for ferdinand grasped power and guarded it like an autocrat, and i am convinced that he will be grateful to me for not enlarging on his policy and the methods which his policy employed. he had obtained the throne through the help of princess clémentine, who was ambitious for her beloved son. what a pity she did not live longer! the more so because, in his passion for authority, ferdinand tried to overrule his mother, to whom he would sometimes say, in his domineering manner, words that fortunately owing to her deafness she did not hear. if she could have remained on earth to advise him, he might have led a better life. whether or no he would have listened to her is another matter. at the same time, it was she who procured the crown of sofia for him, and she maintained him during his perilous début of sovereignty. she gave millions to the prince's establishment and the principality. the accession of ferdinand as a prince was first opposed, and afterwards recognized; finally he adopted the title of tsar. he might have said like fouquet: "quo non ascendam?" everything succeeded with him. soon he became so self-confident that he was actually seen on horseback. i can truthfully affirm this, as i chose one of his favourite mounts; this especial one came from our stables in hungary, and was a tall, steady and strong-backed bay mare. ferdinand was a big powerful man, who needed a stolid-tempered animal that would not shy at guns, cheering, or military music. i tried the mare myself on the prater in the presence of the prince's envoy. we had really found the very thing for ferdinand, but i would have been more than sorry to have had it myself as it was altogether too dull, no noise startled it; and it was sent to sofia, where ferdinand showed off, mounted on this fine animal, on which he probably dreamt of entering constantinople. his war against the turks is not forgotten. he thought himself already at the gates of byzantium.... but i do not wish to relate what everyone knows. i prefer to show in a new light the secret drama which his diabolical contempt for god and the moral laws of christian civilization provoked, when he baptized and brought up his sons in the "orthodox" religion whence bolshevism originated--just as the european war has sprung from lutherism, and just as the more terrible trials of england will arise from her religious disputes. ferdinand of bulgaria, born in the catholic faith, first married marie louise of parma, daughter of the duke of parma, the faithful servant of the roman and apostolic faith. this marriage, celebrated when he was prince of bulgaria, had not been agreed upon without the express condition that the children should be baptized and brought up in the religion of their mother and their ancestors. this constituted a formal article of the contract. ferdinand solemnly consented to it. but when he thought that the support of russia might be useful to him in his plans regarding constantinople, he did not hesitate to break his vows; he gave his two sons to russian schism. marie louise of parma, mother of the souls of her children, betrayed, repulsed and broken in her belief in her husband, immediately fled from the konak of sofia, and came to vienna to hide her sorrow and her fear in the sympathetic arms of her mother-in-law, who was equally tortured by the blasphemy of her son. people who have some ideas on the question of conscience, especially when it touches religious convictions, will easily understand the intensity of this drama. i was then at the coburg palace. i saw the princess of bulgaria arrive there after having fled from the palace, where, in the opinion of this pious mother, her innocent children had lost their hope of salvation. it was no doubt much to endure. god is far greater than we imagine him to be. our interpretations of his justice, although inspired by revelation, will always underestimate his compassion, for we have not the words to express, still less to explain, the survival of souls. the poor princess was naturally extremely unhappy. i well remember her agonized pale face, her indignation and her desire to annul her marriage at the court of rome. fearing that ferdinand would come and take her back to sofia by force, she insisted upon remaining near princess clémentine, who had a camp bed put in a little room adjoining her own. the princess of bulgaria did not feel safe except in this refuge. reasons of state and the impossibility of living without seeing her children, who were retained as prisoners of their father's throne, proved after all stronger than the princess's rebellion and despair. some months later she consented to return to sofia. the house of parma was, like herself, astounded. the holy see had excommunicated ferdinand. this malediction threw the entire family of parma into mourning; they had been so trustful and so proud of ferdinand's love, in which they had shown their confidence by giving him one of their daughters. i next saw the poor princess of bulgaria at sofia. she had heroically returned to her conjugal duties; she had just recovered from her confinement. who knows--who will ever know--what actually passed in her mind? consumed by inward griefs, she perhaps died as a result. she was one of those sensitive souls who actually die of a broken heart. i have often thought of her. she was a martyr to the love of her children. one visit to sofia in remains indelibly impressed in my mind. my husband accompanied me, but there was always something indefinable and indefinite between himself and his brother, probably the subconscious enmity which i have previously mentioned. we could not, however, have been welcomed more warmly. the life of the sovereign was wonderfully well organized in this country which was still primitive. nothing was wanting at the palace. there east and west were happily united. ferdinand gave me as a personal guard an honest brigand of sorts, picturesquely garbed after an oriental fashion. from the time that this man was ordered to watch over me and only to obey my orders, he took up his stand before my door, and day and night he never moved therefrom. my husband himself could not have come in without my permission. i have never understood how this ferocious sentinel managed to be always on the spot. my brother-in-law showed me a most delicate and refined attention. he constituted me the queen of these days of festivity. i was overwhelmed by the homage of his entourage. each meal was a decorative and culinary marvel. sybarites would have appreciated the cuisine at the palace of sofia. i have always appreciated meals which are meals. it costs no more to eat a good dinner than to eat a bad one; it is a weakness of the body and mind, a crime against the creator, to disdain food when it is prepared with care. if we have been given the gift of taste, and if good things exist on earth, they are equally for one as for another. ferdinand at any rate held this epicurean belief. every night after supper there was a dance at the palace. the bulgarian officers were most enterprising dancers. educated at vienna or paris, they understood the art of conversation. they were distinguished by an instinctive air of nobility, as are all the sons of a virile and essentially agricultural race with a wholesome and wide outlook. during the day the prince did the honours of his capital and his kingdom. we recalled the memories of the coburg palace, and our former excursions and parties. we returned in spirit to that forest of elenthal so dear to our youth. we drove, accompanied by an escort which i have never ceased to admire. i am unaware whether the bulgarian roads have improved, but at the time of which i write they were few, and they were maintained at the expense of providence. a short distance from the capital they became tracks. but the escort followed without flinching, utterly indifferent to obstacles of every description which encumbered an already too narrow road. i have rarely seen the equal of either man or beast in crossing ridges, walls and ditches. it was witchcraft on horseback. ferdinand was superbly indifferent to everything unconnected with his sister-in-law. i gazed at him, and i thought of the devil-worship of our youth. he was always strange. i saw now, as i had seen long ago, the amulet in his buttonhole, disguised as a decoration, a button fashioned in the shape of a yellow marguerite beautifully executed in metal of the same shade as that of the heart of the flower. each time i asked him about this "gri-gri" he assumed a serious manner, and gave me to understand that it was something which he could not discuss. he had earnestly begged us to spend a short time with him. had he the same idea which he had once explained to me openly at dinner, and which he emphasized privately in another way? i cannot believe it. i think that, carried away by his thoughts, he was no longer master of himself. i do not know whether i was ever mad, as his elder brother so much wished to believe, but i am absolutely sure that ferdinand of coburg was not always in possession of his senses. yes, this spiritual scholar, this lover of art, this lover of flowers, this delightful friend of the birds in his aviary to whom he told nursery tales and charmed like a professional bird-charmer, this accomplished man of the world, this son of princess clémentine, and this grandson of queen marie often assumed a kind of demoniacal personality and gave himself up to the evil delights of sorcery. at one dinner, which i remember as if it were yesterday, he said in low tones so that my husband could not hear (my husband being opposite to me in the seat of the princess, who was absent owing to indisposition): "you see everything here. ah, well! all is my kingdom; i lay it, myself included, at your feet." i could only welcome this romantic declaration as fantastic gallantry rather than a literal statement. i tried to reply as if i treated the remark as a joke. but apart from his expression, which gave the lie to the level tone of his voice, i had more than one reason to distrust ferdinand, now that his imagination was mastered by desire. in fact, the same evening he came to me, and, taking me away from the dancers, led me to another room where a french window was open to the oriental night and the stillness of the little park, and inquired if i had understood what he had said. his tone was harsh and his look stern. there was something imperious and fascinating about him. i was much disturbed. he insisted brusquely: "it is the last time that i shall offer what i have offered. do you understand?" my eyes wandered to the salon. i saw beside me the prince of bulgaria so different from his brother, still young, handsome and full of power. but the image of princess marie louise passed before my eyes, and also the vision of the queen.... i shook my head, and murmured a frightened "no." i must have looked as pale as wax. ferdinand's countenance changed. his features took on a sinister expression; he, too, turned pale, and in a hoarse voice he threatened me, saying sneeringly: "take care. you will repent this. by 'kophte' (?)." he added those incomprehensible words which he always used when he asked me to play the march from _aida_ in the darkened salon at midnight. that evening i felt something dangerous was in store for me. it was so; from that moment ferdinand of coburg joined his brother in his enmity towards me. and his enmity was no small matter. i am quite aware that these facts will appear incredible to most people. they seem more like an old romance by anne radcliffe! but everything, both in the public and private life of ferdinand of coburg, _was_ incredible. i do not wish to refer to the judgment already meted out to him by history. my desire is not to gloat over his downfall, but to show in what inconceivable surroundings i lived. i was a member of a family where everything was perfect and at the same time execrable. unfortunately i was not then in a position to love good and shun evil. it took me twenty years to escape. ferdinand of coburg has commenced his punishment on earth. knowing him as i do, i am certain that he suffers intensely, even though he may sometimes receive consolation from the devil! i think he believes himself a superman. that fool nietzsche--in reviving a theory as old as the hills, when supermen called themselves cavaliers, warriors, heroes and demi-gods--has turned a considerable number of heads in german countries. he did them the more harm in that their superhumanity, infested by the morbid materialism of the century, became separated from the ideal which once animated these mighty persons, and elevated them to honour instead of luring them to crime. it is certain that despicable motives and methods can only end in a terrible material and moral defeat. ferdinand of coburg, who has been ambitious from his youth upwards, was a student of nietzsche at the time when his theories achieved notoriety. so nietzsche obtained as his disciple a being who is now one of the most notable victims of zarathustra. chapter xi william ii and the court of berlin--the emperor of illusion i wish to speak of william ii as of one dead. he does not belong to this world; he belongs to another. i must be excused if i am sparing of anecdotes. it would be painful to me to recall to life and movement one who has passed. my desire is to limit myself to explaining effects of which i know the cause. it was puerile to wish under high-sounding vain words such a petty thing as the arrest and trial of a government sunk in shame. society cannot recognize any divine law in crimes against civilization, since they place man below the level of the beast. william ii fell from the throne and was arrested by a more powerful hand than that of earthly justice. he has known the severest prison of all--exile; the most frightful regime--fear; the most terrible sentence--that of conscience. who will know the secret of the nights of this fugitive traitor to his people whom he fed with deceptions and lies, and whom he has led to ruin, civil war and dishonour? for not only did he dishonour himself, but he dishonoured germany in dishonouring her arms. where is the honest german who has recovered from the intoxication of war who can hear the name of louvain, of the _lusitania_, of poison gas and other horrors without shuddering? but the responsibility of all these crimes must rest on william ii. the passing of centuries will be necessary to wipe out the stain of his murderous folly. this constitutes the shadow over the unfortunate empire which makes it appear monstrous to the nations of the entente. but i wish to say at once, because i am certain of it, germany is what imperial prussia has made her, and would again make of her. the victim of her confidence and candour, she accepted as gospel all that her sovereign, the heir of victorious ancestors, declared, professed and taught her. it is harder to inherit a kingdom than people think, and i say this without irony. william ii was not human like his grandfather, who cried out when he saw the sacrifice of the cuirassiers of reisdroffen: "ah, my brave men!" william ii possessed nothing of his father, who earned the name of frederick the noble, and who died of two maladies, that of his throat and that of his feverish impatience to reign. william ii was charming as a boy. as a child he was an amiable playfellow. we have plundered the strawberry beds of laeken together--a sacrilege which was pardoned solely on his account. i have followed his career as far as it was possible. i believed him to be great. i have heard much of his power not only from his own people, but from all people. he had a wonderful part to play. he did not know how to play it; he could not; he lacked the means to do so, and perhaps, first of all, a clever and good wife. he had no depth of soul. a different wife might perhaps have supplied him with this quality. francis joseph at the beginning of his active career as an emperor was almost brilliant; he certainly appeared distinguished. thirty years after, his face assumed an expression of vulgarity of which his first portraits gave no forecast, although at a distance he still gave the impression of being "somebody." but the high _morale_ of the empress was somewhat reflected in him. less blessed in a wife, the longer william ii has lived the worse his looks, his speech and his bearing have become. two men--the late king edward vii and my father, the king of the belgians--took his exact measure and augured nothing good for his future. the intimate opinion of him expressed by my father has often recurred to me, but this would entail a separate chapter and it would lead us far. i will confine myself to stating that the king had always foreseen that germany, intoxicated with the warlike perorations of william ii, who was a preacher of the old prussian regime, would end by throwing herself upon belgium, upon france and upon the whole world. the defences of the meuse were a convincing indication of the king's forethought. but we shall never know all that the king said, what he did, and what he desired to do in this matter. unfortunately certain parties and certain influential men in belgium wrongly countered his plans instead of acting upon them. the country has suffered cruelly for this mistake. by what means did william ii arrive at those false conclusions which swept away the thrones of central europe and which have caused so many calamities? it was not, as has been thought by the entente, the result of a fatal environment created alike by the ambitions of germany and her barbaric instincts. the german emperor wielded immense power. he was in truth an absolute monarch, and in consequence the reichstag, the bundesrath, or the various state parliaments never interfered with him. the emperor's cabinet ruled the army, which in its turn ruled the nation. thus everything was centred in the person of the emperor, this magnificent fruit of prussian discipline and force. but in this fruit which made such an impression when seen on its wall, there was a hidden worm. william ii was a liar; he lied to others and to himself without knowing that he was a liar. he lived continually in a world of fiction. in short, he was an actor. but he was the worst of actors; he was the amateur, the man of the world who plays comedy--and drama--who is so taken up with his own small talent that he becomes more of an actor than an actor, and in consequence is always acting in everything and everywhere. this passion for the theatre is alike william ii's excuse and his condemnation. it is his excuse because he entered so well into the "skin" of the various characters which he played, that in each of them he was sincere. it is his condemnation, because a king and an emperor should be a reality, a will, a wisdom; but he was none of these. personally he was hollow and sonorous. he did not know much. he did not at close quarters, like francis joseph, give one the impression of being the concièrge at an embassy, but he always gave one the impression that is best illustrated by a saying which i remember having seen in the _figaro_: "have you seen me in the part of charlemagne, or as a lutheran bishop?"--(for he was _summus episcopus_)--"or as an admiral, or as the leader of an orchestra?" his many talents have been recounted. they may all be reduced to one--the art of self-deception in order to deceive others. under this veneer of self-deception there existed an empty soul, without a standard of honour, without poise, at the mercy of any kind of flattery, impressions, or circumstances. no sooner did he hear a speech than he gave his opinion, and assumed an attitude according to the rôle of the character to be represented. he may be described as the best son in the world, for he was not wicked; he was worse--he was weak. it was chamfort, if my memory serve me rightly, who wrote: "the weak are the advance guard of the army of the wicked." william ii was the scout of the advance guard; his staff was the army. he who was so afraid of thunder usurped the place of jupiter, the thunderer, but this amateur soldier was far too nervous to endure even the noise of battle. when his officers for their own advancement persuaded him that he possessed military and naval talent, he dreamt of the rôle of "welt kaiser," and prepared for the conquest of the earth. caught in their own trap, his faithful adherents were intoxicated by the intoxication which they had provoked. the emperor's cabinet was the theatre of a continuous orgy of gigantic schemes. at vienna men's imaginations were inflamed. the berlin-bagdad railway of central europe revived the earlier near-east scheme. and a whole camarilla interested in the advantages to be derived from these splendid enterprises praised them extravagantly. if in the emperor francis joseph had possessed any glimmer of reason and good sense, he would have taken notice of the formidable uncertainties of the berlin problems, and maintained peace while refusing to die at the cries of the victims of a war. left to himself, william ii let loose the worst and most barbarous powers on the nations who were dragged into the horrors of war. i have said that he lacked depth. he was in reality inconsistent. although playing a thousand parts, he had no personality. a man is only "someone" by reason of his personality. many fools and dishonest men reach their goals in life through intrigue, chance, favouritism and human folly. but they are none the less foolish and dishonest for all that, and this is why the world is so evil. william ii assumed chivalrous airs, but he still remained coarse in his outlook. this was often apparent in his jokes with the officers of the guards. he had no tact or judgment. his lack of tact was due to his bad prussian education; to his student days at bonn, which were given up to drinking bouts; and as a young man, to his taste for frequenting the berlin casinos. as for his lack of judgment, this was the result of inherent vanity, which everything tended to develop to his own injury and that of germany. the vain man is the being who is deceived by everyone, because he has begun by deceiving himself. and he is usually a hopeless idiot. william ii once said to me, under the impression that he was paying me a compliment: "you would make a fine prussian grenadier." the compliment seemed to me "pomeranian." if william ii had possessed tact and judgment he would have known how to adopt a policy other than threats and violence, and a diplomacy utterly opposed to the trickery with which germany was so affected during his reign. incapable of judging the times in which he lived, weighed down by prussian tradition, and full of zeal as titular chief of the house of prussia, descended from a suabian family which had emigrated to brandenburg, he persuaded the upper classes of germany that he had consolidated his prestige. the middle ages have had a disastrous effect on him and, through him, on all germany. in addition to battlemented railway stations and post offices fortified by machiolated galleries, the influence of mediævalism led the emperor-king and his people back to the old hates, the old struggles and the old ideas, just as if the world had not changed with the passing of centuries. the result was that science, inventions, and discoveries were first made to serve the industry of war, the continuation of conquests, the mailed fist, and all the follies which soldiers, writers and military journalists applied themselves to serve, finding therein their daily bread. however, those nations brought into closer contact by means of intercommunication and by exchange of ideas have commenced to find solutions of difficulties in pacific ways--solutions which until now have only been dragged from the path of war. by this i mean the preservation and the development of the human species, its better distribution on the earth, and its rights to greater happiness and justice. william ii lacked depth (i again mention the fact) because he lacked moral strength. not that he was immoral. without being a saint, he admirably fulfilled the rôle of husband and father. he was in everything a zealous amateur. yet he lacked moral strength because his lutheran attitude, which allowed him to play the part of a protestant preacher, was not a religious rôle. his sermons as head of the church did not teach him to be humble, charitable and just before god. contrary to what is generally believed, especially if the religious problem has not been studied, neither lutheranism nor calvinism is a religion. the beautiful souls one meets who have held, and who hold these religious beliefs would be beautiful no matter what belief they held, or even in the absence of any belief. they possess an innate beauty which touches the divine. but a phase of religious belief cannot be a religion. schisms are the accidents of the life of the church. a tear in a costume is not a costume--on the contrary! lutheranism was not originally a form of worship; it was a revolt, and this species of revolt will always make more rebels than believers. a revolt against rome--_los von rome!_ impious cry! this is not only a case of "deliver us from rome," it is also a case of "deliver us from the christian religion, from the unity of the catholic church, otherwise called the universal church, which is our only chance of peace on earth." it is a denial of latinity and of hellenism; it is the retrogression of central europe to the scandinavian valhalla; it is not a world which expands, it is a world which confines. it does not represent the free harmony of the actions and the thoughts of men; it is the enforced uniformity of the parade step, and the silence on parade, in the ranks of the prussian guard. if william ii, who is responsible for the violation of the neutrality of belgium, the burning of louvain, the massacres of dinant and so many other atrocities, were not, so far as i am concerned, dead, and if i were to see him again, i would say to him: "you miserable man! have you read goethe? can you imagine what he who wrote 'man is only great according to the heaven which is within himself' would think of you? you do not possess heaven. you have driven away god with the luther of hate and negation which was your god; you are a mere nullity." chapter xii the holsteins i first knew augusta of schleswig-holstein shortly after her marriage with prince william of prussia. i saw her later as german empress at the court of berlin. it was not easy to find favour in her sight; not that she was a malicious woman, but her narrowness of mind and her pretensions to the perfections of german virtues made her no friendly judge of women. a pessimist and a martinet, she was wholly given up to her domestic duties and her worship of the god of luther, whom she served with a zeal inimical to other gods, and with such piety that she edified germany. but she had no conception of the immense pity and the infinite splendour of the true god. always a sentimental country, germany thoroughly admired this wife and mother, her husband and their children, who, when seen at a distance, really constituted a magnificent family. but let us judge the tree by its fruits. there were in this royal ménage no intimate dramas, no moral conflicts; everything seemed to proceed decently and in order. but none of the children born of the union of william ii and augusta of schleswig-holstein has deserved any consideration at the hands of men. and in pity for them i will say no more. i was familiar with the old court of berlin, that of william i. i have often seen the old and infirm empress augusta, who always appeared to be very tightly corseted, installed on a sofa in the imperial salon close to a curtain which was drawn aside, and the court circle then formed round her. she was invariably kind to me, and spoke to me in excellent french. the emperor, william i, wandered simply and affably from one person to another. the crown prince frederick gave me the impression of being good, well read, noble and spiritual, and his wife, the daughter of queen victoria, was attractive owing to her candid and pleasant demeanour and her remarkable intelligence. count von bismarck and marshal von moltke were the two lions of this unceremonial court. being young, i examined both curiously. count bismarck was noisy; he spoke loudly, and often indulged in a certain coarse gaiety. marshal von moltke said nothing; he seemed embarrassed with it all. but his piercing eyes made up for his lack of words, and for my part i had no desire to offend this sphinx-like person. with the accession of william ii, the patriarchal court of william i and the anglo-german but ephemeral court of frederick the noble gave place to a court of another kind. the ceremonial of official presentations was increased and became more frequent. the new emperor wished to surround himself with warlike pomp, but the presence of augusta of schleswig-holstein always reduced the most solemn ceremonies of the last court of berlin to commonplace grandeur. at this period the empress had much trouble to gown herself and to dress her hair with taste. her presence on the throne sufficed to transform it into a bourgeois sofa. later, her taste in chiffons improved. when william ii came to vienna he was received with the honours due to his rank. i took especial pains with my toilette in order to do him honour. accustomed as i was to his ponderous sallies, i did not expect to hear him say to me in french, which he spoke excellently, even in its boldest gallicisms: "do you get the style of your coiffure and your gowns in paris?" "sometimes in paris, but generally in vienna," i answered. "i represent the fashion, and i design my own dresses." "you ought to choose augusta's hats and help her with her gowns. the poor dear always looks shabby." so this is the reason why the german empress patronized the same shops which i patronized, and bought dresses which i helped design. the question of hats bristled with difficulties, because she has one of those big heads which are so hard to suit. but i succeeded, it appears, in fulfilling the wish of her husband by rendering this small service to his wife. he thanked me amiably, although he was one of those who never forgive us for benefits received. the holsteins, from whom the empress was descended, had, as one knows, lost their duchy, which was in former times danish, and which had fallen into the hands of the prussians. as a wife for the prince who one day would be william ii, count von bismarck suggested augusta of schleswig-holstein, who possessed an equable temperament, and whom he judged would balance the flights of fancy peculiar to a young and ardent husband. this marriage had the merit of uniting the holsteins to the house of berlin by other means than by the sword. it regularized, in the eyes of europe, the somewhat brusque method by which prussia had annexed the duchy. the political value of this marriage was well worth the dowry which augusta certainly lacked. the tall and fair future empress was neither pretty nor ugly, but pretty rather than ugly. her piety was well advertised, but there are pieties which had better be dispensed with if they spring from a false foundation. this was the case as regards the religious zeal of augusta of holstein, who when she became empress began to regard her husband as the head of the protestant church--a man who, lacking eclecticism, talked nonsense about the roman church, the christian religion and latinity. but he should have been restrained and made to observe the outcome of his lutheran ramblings, which were mixed with invocations to wotan and the god thor. another point no less grave was that the holsteins, who were ruined or nearly so, were obliged to try and replenish their fortunes. augusta was forced to think of this, and primarily to establish her brother gunther, who led the life of a german officer of a noble family without having the means to do so. william ii arranged matters from time to time, but he did not display much enthusiasm. in no case does money play a greater part than with people who are attached to a court. without money nothing is of value, because this class of people are only measured by the money which they spend. this was not the case with gunther of schleswig-holstein. he possessed intelligence and culture. it has also been said that he was well posted in business matters. he has taken the chair at congresses in the capacity of a man of knowledge, and if during the war he did not particularly distinguish himself as a soldier, he has nevertheless shone as a financier. as a young officer these practical qualities were not apparent. it was necessary for him to make a good marriage. he failed in many attempts at matrimony. presentable enough as a young man, he did not improve with age. when i saw him at various shooting parties in thuringia, at the beginning of his career at court, he was not bad-looking. when gunther of schleswig-holstein asked for my daughter dora in marriage, and we had given our consent, he asked me to fix the date. i could not help saying: "what!... do you seriously contemplate leading my daughter to the altar without having that dreadful nose of yours attended to?" as a matter of fact he had a red nose of a many-sided, uncertain shape. everyone is not like the prince of condé or cyrano. a misshapen nose is certainly inconvenient. his sister pressed for his marriage with my daughter. the same idea had struck her at berlin as that which twenty years earlier had brought the prince of coburg to brussels. the immense fortune of the king of the belgians was by now undisputed. calculations were made as to his income, and people talked of a thousand million francs to be divided one day between three heiresses. this aroused ardent speculative ideas, because even in those days one thousand million francs counted as something. the duke of holstein, having improved the appearance of his nose, again spoke of his marriage with my daughter. dora was still young. at this time my husband and i had reached the tragic point of an almost definite rupture. i hoped that it would take place quietly. it was not i who let loose all the scandals. it so happened that we had decided to stay away from vienna for a year. we therefore left for the riviera. gunther of holstein went with us. thence we went to paris, where i brought my household. this was looked upon as a crime. people seemed to forget that my husband formed part of my household. his company, rare as it was, was only irksome to me, and doubtless mine was no more agreeable to him. when difficulties arose between us i found constant consolation in the society of my daughter. her mother was everything to her; my child was everything to me. at least dora was mine. her brother had long left me, so i kept my hold on her. i protected her; i made as much of her as i could. but having now reached the point of the story of my daughter's marriage with a relation of the hohenzollerns, and the influence which the court of berlin was destined to have on dora's future and on my own, i cannot deny myself the pleasure of portraying in these pages the ideal man of my devotion, who, having secured my moral safety, also gave me a new lease of life. i will not deny it. according to the ordinary laws of the world, his presence at that time on the riviera and afterwards in paris offended all the traditions of ordinary respectable conventions. certain situations can only be judged in a manner suitable to them. if it is true that owing to my entreaties--the entreaties of a desperate woman who found herself isolated, and at the mercy of the man who was still her husband--the count of geza mattachich was at the côte-d'azur at the same time as myself, and mixed with my entourage on the footing of a man of honour (as is the custom in the households of princesses), then i beg my readers to agree that my future son-in-law had no fault to find. this statement i think suffices. gunther of holstein showed the count both respect and friendship, and further to prove this he asked him to act as his second in an affair of honour which he was able to arrange. but what was still more unfortunate, dora, who had apparently some kind of instinct as to the troublesome times in store for her at berlin, returned her ring to her fiancé and released him from his engagement. gunther of holstein begged count mattachich to intercede with me to prevent the rupture, and i consented. for this kindness i was destined to be basely repaid. i did not wish to be separated from my daughter before her marriage, and especially to leave her in vienna at the coburg palace. when we were leaving for the riviera, i had told the assembled servants with tears in my eyes that i should never return there again, and the prince had listened without saying a word to contradict my assertion. i was afraid of the influence of vienna, where my unfortunate son finally perished, and where owing to his misconduct he was destined to end his days in a horrible manner. a fearful punishment for his faults, and the moral parricide which he committed in disowning his mother. no! at all costs dora must remain with me. however, the duke of holstein insisted that dora ought to be introduced to his family and to the hohenzollerns. he gave me his word of honour to bring her back if i would allow her to go to berlin for a few days accompanied by her governess. i made this soldier of berlin swear this, but "vanquished is he who pushes the wheel of the conqueror's chariot," and i let her go. she did not return. she was kept far away from me. this was the open avowal of the plot of which the melancholy vicissitudes were about to be precipitated. i only learnt of the marriage of my daughter to gunther of schleswig-holstein from the newspapers, when i was incarcerated in the doebling asylum at vienna. i had just been taken there. this plot--have i mentioned it?--was one of the vilest of plots--it was a plot which concerned money. i was not mad, but my enemies thought that i should most certainly become mad in the midst of lunatics. madness is contagious. my destruction had been determined. for as insane, or passing as such, i should be incapable of managing my own affairs. i should possess no civil rights, and my representatives could do as they pleased with my property. the king was old, and doubtless it would not be long before he "passed over." it was then certain that each of his children would inherit about three thousand millions. was i to be allowed to inherit such a fortune, which i was sure to surrender into inimical hands, and which would then be squandered? it is not to be wondered that my son, my daughter's husband, perhaps even my daughter herself, who was then a prisoner where william ii and his wife ruled, agreed with the wishes of the prince of coburg, who was anxious to revenge himself for the bitter feelings which he had inspired in my heart. [illustration: _photo: e. bieber_ duke gunther of schleswig-holstein] besides, his vengeance would not fall on me alone. it would overtake and crush the count, whom he hated for his presumed influence over me. and this influence, how could they possibly understand it? people see only what they want to see. it is beyond their miserable comprehension to understand superior beings with lofty souls and aspirations, and they describe as infamy what in reality is sacrifice. i will pass rapidly over the shame and the sorrow, and i will only relate as much as is necessary to make known to the world the high and pure character of the count, who, a bayard without fear and without reproach, dauntlessly confronted a military tribunal. i will confine myself to stating that in the unprecedented drama of incessant persecutions which i was forced to endure from the year until the victory of the entente, the imperial houses of berlin and vienna were the prop and support of the different attacks, pressure, outrages, defamations and calumnies which would assuredly have overwhelmed me if public opinion had not instinctively revolted thereat. and the public knew nothing of the rights and wrongs of the case. strengthened by public sympathy, i have been able to resist oppression. justice is slow but sure. the principal austrian mental specialists refused to certify me as insane, and an asylum in germany was found where i was destined to serve a life sentence. i then said to william ii: "as an accomplice of this crime, you will be eventually punished." i reflected at this time that the man who was a party to the crime of thrusting a sane being into the abyss of madness was capable of other abominations. i did not believe that god would permit him to go unpunished. he has been punished. the same blow has struck the companion of his life, the wife who was so intolerant of the faults of others, so uncompromising from the height of her unchristian-like virtue. as the enemy of her neighbour, her influence would have been enough to bring about the war, since the worst of warlike tendencies is the spirit of intolerance. it is not sufficiently well known, but it is a fact, that the awful conflict of - was simply the result of the pitiless and inhuman hate of lutheran prussia, which was devoured by the wish to dominate, to govern and to oppress. disbelief caused the war. belief only will bring about lasting peace. belgium and france must understand that, although prussia held and enriched germany, germany never liked prussia. germany can only be won by confidence and by affection. the catholic section, who are no less generous than the socialists, who although the greater part are sincere, are indifferent to divine will, should show an example of reconciliation. the bishops would then have a great rôle to perform. religious conferences and pilgrimages might afford occasions of meeting on a better footing, and before i die i should like to see germans, belgians and french united in the presence of the god of love, in the same faith and in the same hope, and through the love of his law they would then exchange the kiss of peace. chapter xiii the courts of munich and old germany each time i have stayed at the court of vienna i have regretted that i did not know louis ii personally. when i first saw him he had already taken refuge in his dreams and his dreamlike castles. like rudolph, he had been seized with a great mistrust, not of humanity, but of those who directed human affairs. he did not, like rudolph, find a way of escape in suicide. louis ii created for himself a paradise of art and beauty, where he endeavoured to lose himself, away from his people, whom he loved, and by whom he was loved in return. i once caught sight of him in the park at munich sitting alone in his state carriage, escorted by rather theatrical outriders. behind the bevelled plate-glass windows framed in gold, he sat imposing and motionless. he was an astonishing apparition, one which the crowd saluted without his seeming to take any notice. after his extravagances the court, forced to economize, easily adopted a more or less bourgeois existence. i rejoiced to see the patriarchal customs of the regent, prince luitpold. i had not then much experience of politics, and only saw the surface of things. the impatient insubordination of bavaria to prussia, from which a more intelligent and less divided europe might have derived so much advantage, escaped me. i only saw in the regent a character out of one of topfer's stories. he devoted the greater part of his time, even in his old age, to physical exercises. shooting and swimming were his favourite pastimes. he bathed every day all the year round in one of the large ponds on his estate in nymphenburg. and when he was not shooting he was walking. his outward appearance gave no indication of his rank. i met him one autumn day in vienna in one of the little streets off the prater behind the lusthaus; he was in his shirt sleeves; his coat and top hat were hanging on the point of the walking-stick which he carried over his shoulder. he seemed happier than a king. his inseparable companion, a poodle no less shaggy and hairy than his master, accompanied him. they looked exactly like one another. at a distance a nearsighted person might easily have mistaken the dog for the regent and the regent for the dog. louis iii, his son and successor, inherited his father's simple tastes, which he believed he could simplify still more. but excess in anything is a mistake. his abuse of simplicity was practically his only way of making a mark in contemporaneous history. history will not preserve the memory of this mediocre king of bavaria, but it will remember his unfashionable clothes, his concertina trousers, his square boots with rubber heels and his wrinkled socks, by which he wished to demonstrate his democratic tastes. he would have done better to have recollected that the duty of a king is to raise the man in the street to the level of the throne, and not to let the king descend to the level of the man in the street. he was not popular, owing to his bad taste. in vain he paraded his love of beer, coarse jokes, sausages and skittles. the bavarians remembered louis ii as a good king, and at the same time as a grandly spectacular king. people are flattered when a king who is a king unbends to them, but if he looks like a carter they experience no pride in seeing him drive the chariot of state as if it were a cart. the court of bavaria, which had slightly retrieved its former position before , fell between scylla and charybdis when the crown prince of bavaria and the man of berlin played with the thunderbolts of war. the wittelsbachs vanished like smoke in the defeat of prussian ambitions. they might still have been at munich if they had furthered legitimate bavarian ambitions, and judged them from the exclusive point of view of the political and religious needs of their country. it must be recollected, however, that the german thrones were threatened. neither the rigid discipline of berlin, the go-as-you-please rule of munich, nor the mixed systems which existed between these two extremes could have kept up the anachronism of worn-out forms which the people instinctively rejected by paying more attention year by year to socialism and republicanism. the german kings have vanished. it is not impossible that they may return; if not the same, others, perhaps better qualified to rule. nations are restricted in their choice as to the methods of government. monarchy is the form which pleases them, or rather which they tolerate, more often than any other. monarchy originates from the family principle, which is an eternal principle. the true king is a father. monarchy may be reborn in germany and elsewhere, but its powers will be modified and restricted by the times. as it existed in germany it has been condemned to extinction by reason of its archaism. the church alone has the privilege of not becoming obsolete, by the constant return of mankind to an immutable doctrine. monarchies become obsolete owing to men of the same blood, the same name and the same race who aspire to exist uninfluenced by the constant changes of the conditions of life. when they fall exhausted, then comes the time of the republic. but because the family principle is the foundation of social existence, and because a republic favours the individual rather than the family, the republic in its turn disappears and monarchy reappears. such is the way of the world. germany would be the first to admit this if she possessed any philosophical sense whatever. it is a popular legend that germany possesses the philosophical spirit, and nothing is more invincible than a legend. but, as a matter of fact, there is no nation on earth at once more metaphysical and less philosophical than the german nation. metaphysics alone help her people to dream and to accept these dreams for realities. in no way does it lead them to a condition of wise clear-sightedness. the german nation has fallen into the pit dug for it by imperial prussia. every court, important or otherwise, was convinced that berlin and the hohenzollerns would be masters of the hour. certain showy monarchies, feeling the pressure of a rather frock-coated socialism, have tried to accommodate themselves to social democracy as social democracy adapts itself to them. nevertheless, one saw some maintaining their traditional ceremonial undisturbed. such a monarchy was the little court of thurn and taxis at regensburg, the most picturesque and most amusing court which i have known. i have often played skittles at regensburg; but what a spectacle we presented! we played skittles wearing our tiaras and our long-trained gowns. there was etiquette in handling and bowling a large ball. more than one tiara became insecure, and more than one player groaned in her jewels, silks and embroideries, not to mention her corsets. luckily clothes were then capable of more resistance. if this had occurred nowadays, when women dress in transparencies which are as scanty as possible, what would not one have seen? it must not be thought that this was a chance game of skittles which i played dressed in full court toilette. it was the fashion. you did everything at regensburg in a procession, preceded by a master of the ceremonies. and because and for all that, as victor hugo says somewhere, it was very droll. life at regensburg was agreeable. the prince and princess entertained magnificently. the palace lent itself admirably to entertaining, as it was a superb residence, royally furnished and surrounded by gardens which were tended with love. the cooking equalled that of the cuisine dear to the heart of ferdinand of bulgaria. the charming part about it was that the antiquated ceremonial was so well ordered that certain exaggerations were quickly forgotten in the beauty of rhythm and arrangement, which recalled the dignity of bygone days. we went to the races in splendid state barouches, preceded by equally well turned out outriders. the count of stanfferberg, master of the horse, an old austrian officer, rode at the side of the prince's carriage, and the gentlemen-in-waiting were so attentive that, had there been no step to the carriage, every one of them would have supplied the place with their persons. if we went to the theatre we went in full dress, preceded by torch-bearers to the princely box. an etiquette of this description compelled one to maintain the dignity of one's station. but the prince and his wife liked this ceremonial; they only lived to prolong the pomp of past centuries. it had been said that princess marguerite of thurn and taxis somewhat resembled marie antoinette. the prince, who believed in the said resemblance, wished to give his wife a set of diamonds which had once belonged to the unfortunate queen of france. he bought them and the princess wore them. i was afraid that there might be some fatality in this, but there were no superstitions at the court of thurn and taxis. the future was seen through rose-coloured glasses, and in order to make the appearance of the princess suit the historical diamonds the famous lentheric was once sent for from paris on the occasion of a court ball, to arrange the princess's hair "à la frigate," and transform her into a quasi marie antoinette, whom one would have been very sorry to have seen starting for the scaffold. when the wind of revolution swept over germany the dethroned princes were spared this punishment. they departed for foreign countries, and not for the scaffold. germany, left to herself and no longer intoxicated by berlin, has not massacred a single one of her sovereigns of yesterday. and this fact alone should rightly afford food for reflection to all those who speak of germany without really knowing her. * * * * * in the little duchy of saxe-coburg-gotha life was quite different from that at the court of thurn and taxis. here nature and art joined hands. there were no showy processions, no studied etiquette; only a charming and distinguished simplicity which exemplified the taste of this german prince of high and human culture--my uncle, the reigning duke ernest ii, whose kindness to me i have already mentioned. he never tired of spoiling me, and he wished me to feel that whenever i was at the palace i was a queen. his affection never changed. in his society and that of my aunt the duchess, who was also very affectionate and kind to me, i have often forgotten the misery of my marriage. his stag-hunts in the beautiful country of thuringia, through forests of firs and beeches, were for me an intoxicating pleasure. i followed the duke's lead; he was a good shot and a good horseman; his years did not trouble him. often, in the mountains, i rode a white mule, and the duke remarked on the touch of colour which my mount and i made in that rustic countryside. in the evening, when the weather was fine, we dined under the big trees, which were lit up by well-arranged lanterns. i usually wore a light dress to please the duke, who also liked me to adorn myself with a garland of flowers which he himself made up every day, as an act of delicate homage from the most courteous of uncles. when i stayed with the duchess marie at rosenau, i also passed many happy hours. her daughters were lovely girls. what a radiant apparition was princess marie, now queen of rumania! once seen--she was never forgotten! coburg, the cradle of a family which has given to europe so many kings and queens, princes and princesses, royal and imperial, has witnessed numerous gatherings of the present generation. a marriage, an engagement, or a holiday invariably brought the members of the coburg family to their native country. young and old were happy to return and forget some of the duties which their position demanded; others were glad to forget the burden of their studies. each tried to be himself and to behave as an ordinary human being. the delights of a normal existence are very attractive to those who are deprived thereof by their position and their duties. the general public has a false idea of royalty. it believes them to be different from what they are, while, as a matter of fact, they really wish to be the same as anyone else. no doubt princes, like william ii, are to be met with who think that they are composed of a different clay from the rest of mankind. they have lost their heads by posing before the looking-glass and by inhaling the incense of flattery. they are merely accidents. any man who suffered similarly would be just as bad, no matter to what class he belonged. it is true that the disease would not then have the same social consequences. again, monarchism has become more and more under control and is practically limited to a symbolic function, since it depended more on one man than another. it could have been both efficacious and influential if the prince had possessed personality; but if he possessed mediocre qualities without serious influence of any sort he was merely a nonentity. after him would perhaps come a better ruler. but everything is a lottery, and universal suffrage and the elections of parliaments are no less blind than fate. at coburg i was brought into close association with the empress frederick, who died with her ambitions unfulfilled, great in her isolation. she saw with an eye which knew no illusions the royal and imperial crown of prussia and germany pass swiftly from her husband to her son. the egotism and the vanity of the "personage" aroused in her more fear than hope. and with what an expression of pity did her eyes rest on the mediocrity of her daughter-in-law! the romanoffs and their relations also remained faithful to coburg. the grand dukes the brothers of the duchess marie, her sisters-in-law the grand duchesses vladimir and serge, who were both beautiful in a different style, brought with them echoes of the stately and complex court of russia, that asiatic court which i always felt was a thousand miles and a thousand years beyond the comprehension of the present century. amongst other memorable ceremonies which i have witnessed at the cradle of the family, i have retained the remembrance of the marriage of the grand duke of hesse with princess melita, who became later the grand duchess cyril. happiness seemed to preside at the fête. love had been invited--a rare guest at princely unions. i will not say much about the betrothal of poor "nick" with alice of hesse, which was also celebrated at hesse. he who was to become the tsar nicholas ii, appeared a sad, timid, nervous and insignificant man, at any rate from a worldly point of view. his fiancée was distant in manner, absorbed and self-centred. already her entourage was concerned about her visionary and rather eccentric tendencies. she had replaced princess beatrice (who had married henry of battenberg) as queen victoria's reader and favourite companion. the queen desired the throne of russia for her granddaughter, and she brought about the marriage of which i witnessed the betrothal ceremonies. the old queen presided. but everything lacked gaiety. if joy appeared to reign for a moment it seemed nevertheless to be forced. one felt depressed by the weight of some unknown calamity. perhaps destiny wished to warn alice of hesse and nicholas of russia of their impending fate. chapter xiv queen victoria is it possible for me to mention the name of queen victoria without remembering that the prince of coburg and myself were often the guests of our aunt and cousin? one of the most hospitable of women, she revelled in the joys of domesticity, and liked nothing better than to gather her relatives around her, preferably the coburgs, the family of which the prince consort was a member. although the queen was extremely short, afflicted with a corpulency that was almost a deformity, and an excessively red face, she nevertheless possessed an air of great distinction when she entered the room, supported by one of the magnificent indian servants who were her personal attendants. she usually carried a white handkerchief so arranged that the lace border showed, and she favoured a black silk gown with a small train, the corsage cut in v shape. she wore round her neck a locket containing a miniature of prince albert, her never-to-be-forgotten husband, on her head a widow's cap of white crêpe; she very rarely wore gloves. on special occasions the koh-i-noor, that wonderful diamond, the treasure of treasures of india, sparkled with a thousand fires in the folds of the crêpe cap. the queen did not leave much impression of her personality, although she was most impressive in her movements, her tones and her look. her nose had a curious way of trembling, which was almost an index of her thoughts. and how shall i describe that amazingly cold glance which she was wont to cast over the family circle? the slightest error in dress, the slightest breach of etiquette was instantly noticed. a hint or a reprimand followed in a voice that brooked no reply. then her nose wrinkled, her lips became compressed, her face flushed a deeper scarlet, and the whole of the royal person appeared to be swept by the storm of anger. but once the storm had passed, the queen smiled her charming smile, as if she wished to efface the memory of her previous ill-humour. in arriving or departing she always bowed to those around her with a curious little protective movement. on one occasion i had the misfortune to displease her. the queen detested the curled fringes which hid the forehead and were then fashionable. this rather unbecoming mode is within the recollection of many. i admit i adopted it. fashion is fashion. this style of coiffure greatly annoyed the queen, who said to me one day: "you must dress your hair differently, and in a manner more suitable to a princess." she was right. unfortunately the prince of coburg, who equally disliked this curled coiffure, was present when our aunt made this remark. if she had given him the koh-i-noor he could not have been better pleased. i was therefore treated to a sound scolding from my husband, which resulted in making me decide not to take any notice of the queen's censure. my hair still remained in curls on my forehead. at windsor, as in the isle of wight, the queen drove out every evening about o'clock--no matter what the weather might be. we were usually honoured by accompanying her. occasionally we were obliged to wait quite a long time for the queen to make her appearance. at last, preceding the queen, a plaid on his arm, a flask of whisky slung over his shoulder, came john brown, the faithful scotsman whose doings occupied such a prominent position in the _court circular_, and who, like many others of his kind, represents an unpublished feuilleton in the history of courts. he led the way, ensconced himself in the brake drawn by two grey horses, and the drive--which lasted about two hours--began. evening fell. john brown moved about in his seat. he frequently turned his head, hopeful to receive the queen's orders to return. was this anxiety on account of his fear of rheumatism, or of some chill, which, notwithstanding the comforting properties of whisky, would have affected his health and prevented him fulfilling his duties to the queen? i really cannot say. all i know is that john brown detested twilight drives on a damp evening. they always affected his temper, and he did not attempt to conceal his feelings--but, for that matter, he never attempted to do anything contrary to his inclination. even the queen's children experienced john brown's autocracy. it happened that the prince of wales, afterwards the great king edward vii, once wanted to see his mother on urgent and unexpected business. but john brown opened the door of the queen's room and said decisively: "you cannot see the queen, sir." if in the intimacy of her daily life queen victoria allowed herself some moments of relaxation, she was, nevertheless, a great sovereign and an imposing figure. her jubilee, celebrated with a splendour which my contemporaries will easily remember, showed her real status in the world. the procession through london in the midst of a delirious and cheering populace, the cavalcade of kings, princes, rajahs, and other representatives of the dominions, resplendent in their magnificent uniforms and blazing with precious stones, was a spectacle worthy of the "arabian nights." we shall never look upon the like again. men will never honour temporal power as they did when they thus exalted a woman who so nobly represented the past, the present and the future of the united kingdom, the empire of india, and the colonies. do not say "vanity of vanities." pomp and circumstance have their reasons for existence. a society which does not possess a theocracy, an aristocracy and a pomp in proportion to its institutions is a moribund society. it will always be necessary to return to the equivalents of sovereignty, the court and divinity, without which the discrowned social edifice will be a barn or a ruin. it was on the occasion of one of the great jubilee entertainments that, owing to my annoying and incorrigible habit of unpunctuality, i arrived late to take my place in the royal cortège. i will admit that i was often purposely late, because i knew that this enraged the prince of coburg beyond anything else, and he always began the day by saying that he knew beforehand i should not be punctual. women who read this book will understand how difficult it is to be quite punctual for an engagement when one is wearing a special gown for the first time. men will never understand these feminine difficulties! i frankly acknowledge that on this occasion i ought to have arranged matters differently; i did not wish to be in fault. state ceremonial exacted that nobody should be absent at the formation of the cortège. and, as owing to my marriage, my rank and position relegated me towards the end, quite a number of kings and queens had been obliged to wait until i made my appearance. when i entered i was, naturally, in a state of extreme confusion. but at this period i was in the heyday of my beauty. i knew that i was beautiful and admired. i saw most eyes turned unsympathetically in my direction. the women looked cross, but happily the men, who at first seemed severe, were not long in softening towards me. i was dazzled by the light of these earthly suns! but to hesitate was to be lost! it behoved me to derive instant advantage from the situation. silence and impassiveness greeted the apparition of the culprit who had dared hold up the progress of the queen of england and her illustrious suite. i realized that my entrance must be of the kind which succeeds only once in a lifetime. i took my time--and i put all the grace imaginable into my curtsy to the queen, and my bow to the assembled court. i approached to kiss my mother's hand, who, overjoyed to hear the flattering murmur which followed my method of asking pardon, drew me towards her, saying as she did so: "you were made to be a queen." even now a tear rises from my heart to my eyes. what a strange nature we possess! but when one has been metaphorically born on the steps of a throne, one feels the need for success, homage and ovations. one not only preserves their memory, but one also retains the wish for them and the regret when they no longer exist. chapter xv the drama of my captivity and my life as a prisoner--the commencement of torture my misfortunes, alas! are known to the public all over the world. but it is not on me that they weigh most heavily. if calumny and persecution, assisted by the most powerful influences, have continually added blow upon blow, one truth, at least, is patent: _i was not_--_i am not_--_mad_, and those who endeavoured to affirm that i was insane, did so to their shame, and, i also hope, to their sorrow. "nevertheless," it was said, "the princess is peculiar." others, better informed, declared emphatically, "she is weak-minded." not that, thank heaven! my "expenditure," my "prodigality," my "debts," and "my relinquishing my interests and my will to my entourage" have all been objected to. let us briefly discuss these "peculiarities" and these "weaknesses." it is perfectly true that at times i have been extravagant. i have said, and i still repeat, that this extravagance was a way of revenging myself for the constraints and pettiness of an oppressive avarice. it is true, as i have also admitted, that, as in the natural order of events i thought i should inherit a considerable fortune, i have been weak in some things and i have not resisted certain temptations. people talk of the fantastic sums of money which i have spent. i calculate that i have not disbursed ten millions of francs since , the year when i made a bid for freedom. higher figures have been given, but these are represented by the exaggerations of speculators and usurers sent by my enemies to help their case, and to bear witness of "follies" after having palmed off their worthless securities on me. everyone knows the edifying story of the german creditor who appeared before the court at brussels deputed to pay my debts out of the funds accruing to me from the inheritance of the king, and put in a claim for seven million marks, which was reduced to nothing after due inquiry and verification of what he had really advanced and received. if i were to lower myself to write the story of the various manoeuvres against my independence, all with one object of placing me in such a position that i could neither live nor act, my readers would say: "it is impossible, she is romancing." but the most unlikely romances are not those which are published. life alone reveals them. reflect; i had to choose between slavery, imprisonment in a madhouse, or flight and, in consequence, an active defence of my personal rights. i fled, and i have defended myself. but, in order to capture and break me, my allowance was reduced to a mere pittance, and, later, even the means of getting my daily bread were cut off. i had lost the best of mothers; the king, deceived and irritated, but more politic than i in all that concerned me, placed appearances above the obligations of his conscience, and took no further interest in the cruel fate of his eldest daughter. from the time of my incarceration my sisters and the rest of my family sided with the king. i saw myself forgotten by my relatives, who for years never came near me in the asylum. _i was either mad or i was not mad._ to abandon me thus showed that i was not. the press at last became indignant at this neglect. then my relatives came, but oh, very rarely! it was so painful, so embarrassing for them--but it was not embarrassing for me. when i escaped, their pretended pity gave way to open anger.... it was necessary, however, for me to live and to make as much return as i could for services which had been rendered me. at last i was compelled to go to law--a new crime! my crime did not consist in my rebellion against a husband and a marriage of convenience that had become impossible.... have i been the first woman to be forced into matrimony?... my crime consisted in showing that deplorable spirit which the world rarely pardons--the fighting spirit, the spirit of resistance. the world dislikes a woman who defends herself, and i admit the mystery of procedure and the devious ways of the law have always been beyond me, but a woman who defends herself resolutely, for the sake of principle, honour and right, this woman is detestable.... she wishes to prove herself in the right against established authority; she creates a scandal; she cries: "i am not mad!" she cries: "i have been robbed!" why, such a woman is a public nuisance. as a rule, well-bred people who are imprisoned and robbed do not make much noise about it. but in the case of the daughter of a king and the wife of a prince who objects to being thought either demented or a dupe, it is unforgivable of her to create a scandal. had she done the right thing she would not have been talked about. she would still be in the shadow of the lime trees of the court; and, as she wants to dabble in literature, she could have written a book about the glory of human justice in belgium and elsewhere. many thanks! my conscience is still my own. i will not yield it up. i will die misunderstood, slandered and robbed, my last word will be a word of protest. that for which i have been reproached must be vindicated; i will make good. i have nothing to be ashamed of as regards my past "extravagances." god be thanked that my "victims" have always been paid in full, and always to their own advantage. i should consider myself dishonoured had i caused anyone to lose anything due to him, no matter how small the sum. i would rather have settled with the cheats than have disputed with them. having written so fully about my expenditure, let me now turn to the so-called surrender of my fortune and my will to my entourage. let none be deceived! touching this, slander has always attacked one person alone, he to whom i have consecrated my life as he has vowed his life to me. his enemies have credited him with their own base motives. they did not want to see, and they denied that he was, by his greatness of soul, far above all miserable calculations of self-interest. in vain he threw into the abyss all that he had, all that he was likely to possess. what sublime abnegation, stifled by hate beneath its hideous inventions! oh, noble friend, what has not the howling and monstrous beast of hatred said of you? no doubt you, like myself, were unable to struggle against fraudulent financiers, deceitful men of law and treacherous friends. but to dare to insinuate that you have ever subjugated my will, misled my steps, falsified my acts--ah! it is more absurd than infamous. i have, i always have had, a power of resistance capable of sacrificing everything to an ideal of honour and liberty, otherwise i should have been a mere doll, or a weathercock responsive to every breath. full of consciousness as regards the essentials of human dignity, i should then be unconsciousness personified for things of secondary importance. is not that foolish? but let us leave this topic and throw a new light on the subject of the incredible attempts of a hatred which nothing could disarm up to that day when another justice, not that of man, overthrew thrones so unworthily occupied and delivered me from the persecutions of which i was the object. on the eve of their fall the german and austro-hungarian monarchs still believed they could do as they liked with me. the wrongs i suffered are only one example of what they dared do. what crimes have they not committed which still lie hidden! and what corruption clings even to their memory! the commencement of the intrigues which brought about my fall is known to the world. i was at nice with my daughter. dora, who represented alike my hope and my consolation, was taken from me by her fiancé, who was in league with the prince of coburg, and who broke the solemn promise he had given me. the prince instinctively felt that i intended to make my escape, and he knew that with me would also vanish his hopes of possessing my inheritance from the king of the belgians. "she might get a divorce," he thought to himself. "she might marry again." i had thought of divorce. this might well have to come much later. but if i could not help freeing myself from a promise to a man who had destroyed the reasons which were the basis of the spoken vow, i hesitated about freeing myself from my vows to an invisible and silent god, who does not corrupt, deceive or persecute. the indissolubility of marriage is one thing; the severance of the ties of the flesh is another. the longer i live the more i have become convinced that divorce is a scourge. we must have courage to admit that individual cases ought to be considered of no account, the interest of the community must alone be considered. the higher the value that is set on marriage the better will society become. the marriage tie has become something excessively fragile, and as a result society possesses no solidity. the church is right. but who among us does not stumble, and which of us does not disregard the fact that divine law is essentially a human law? the count received at nice the seconds of the prince of coburg, to whom the court of francis joseph had relegated this duty. the duel brought the two adversaries face to face in the cavalry riding school at vienna in february, . the lieutenant fired twice in the air, and twice the general fired at the lieutenant. they were then handed swords. the lieutenant continued to treat the general with respect and touched him lightly on the right hand. he thus added to the feelings of hatred which the prince already had towards him. three weeks later he was implicated in that abominable story of the forged bills of exchange which was entirely an invention, and to which, later, the reichsrath accorded full justice. the impossible judgment which pretended to dishonour one of the most noble of men would never have been pronounced if i had been called as a witness. but my enemies hastened to have me incarcerated. my evidence was suppressed and the count was condemned. a man still lives, silent and hidden, who, if i reckon rightly, must be seventy-five years old. i write these lines hoping that he will be able to read them before he disappears finally from the world. now, when my memory invokes him, i see him standing at the threshold of the madhouse into which his hatred had caused me to be thrown, and i see him at the gate of the prison where he had caused count geza mattachich to be confined. but i should like him to know that his victims have pardoned him. they could, to-day, demand satisfaction from austrian justice, now freed from the constraints of former years. his victims will spare him. let him who will judge us all, judge this old man. i do not even know who were the instruments of his vengeance. not long since in vienna a poor creature three-parts blind and with one foot in the grave was pointed out to me, and i heard the name of the jewish lawyer, now repudiated by all that is estimable in jewry in austria, who was the agent, the instigator, and the counsellor of the implacable hatred which determined on my destruction. i looked back at him thinking that this same personage, so stubborn in his system of police severity, and in his service of the abuse of power, had also armed the hand of the woman who killed my son.... and greatly moved, i asked myself: "have they understood?" yes, perhaps. doubtless they are no longer what they were. life must also have changed them. can they, without pain, remember yesterday? to speak candidly, we fled in order to escape these enemies; i did not stop to think, and i believed that they could have ordered our arrest. i also believed the word of emissaries in the pay of the prince. we were then in france where i ran no risk. i wished to leave for england and implore the help and protection of queen victoria who had given me so many evidences of her affection. my faithful lady-in-waiting, comtesse fugger, shared my fears and accompanied me in my hasty flight. we had scarcely reached london when we received all sorts of mysterious hints from pretended friends. we must go back at once or the count and i would be lost. we therefore left london without any attempt on my part to rejoin the queen, whom we had passed on our journey, as she had just left england for the south of france. we were not of the stuff of which criminals are made. they are more callous. hemmed in by our own too-credulous imagination, we then thought of taking refuge with the count's mother at the château de lobor. no one has ever understood why, and how, i brought myself to go to croatia, to the house of countess keglevich. her second husband, the stepfather of count geza mattachich, was a member of the chamber of the hungarian magnates, a deputy and friend of the vassals of croatia. i felt convinced that nobody would dare to carry me off whilst under his roof. our adventure was by this time a public topic. the papers of every country referred to it. the duel was the culminating point of this terrible publicity. and, since calumny and its manoeuvres had not, as yet, had any effect, we were looked upon as romantic persons whose sincerity disarmed criticism and called forth feelings of sympathy. when i think that since then i have been taxed with duplicity, i cannot help smiling. few cases can be quoted of a more open existence than mine. i have never concealed from my friends what an exaction my life with my husband was to me, and when i was powerless, i never made any mystery of the help which i found in a chivalrous deliverer most providentially placed in my path. but the world does not forgive those who will not wear a mask of duplicity, and who refuse to conceal the feelings of their heart. so many people are compelled to hide their feelings. but we, but i ... truly, where is the crime? i am quite prepared to die; i have no fear of the justice of god. strong in our common loyalty we were foolishly persuaded that in france, england, germany and elsewhere we should be in danger; we had been warned that my husband's intention was to put me in an asylum--gunther of holstein had told me this, and had spoken of having me protected by his all-powerful brother-in-law.... what an unforgettable comedy! we arrived in croatia feeling sure that under the keglevich roof i should be safe. the count confided me to his relatives for so long as it would take to obtain a separation from the prince of coburg. the talk died down. public opinion was on my side, chiefly in agram where the count and his family were regarded with affection. at vienna even the inimical camarilla was disarmed. we were now only two creatures like so many others; the one bruised by her broken chains, the other willing to assist her. and this devotion perhaps, one day, would be sanctified by time. oh dreams! oh hopes! we are your playthings. the awful reality rises up and rends us. we had not foreseen the plot against us and what odious accusations would be levelled at the count. suddenly his stepfather, who was well known at court and had influence in other directions, was separated from us. apparently he had been told, in confidence, of the crime imputed to his stepson, and the accusation did its work. this explanation of his change of manner is the most indulgent i can give. the support of count keglevich thus failing us, the countess, torn between love of her son and her husband, was placed in a very delicate position, and our enemies had therefore a free field at agram. however, there were two parties; on our side were the students and the peasants, and against us were the police and the authorities. directly the count thought that we had the support of the students and the country people, he was afraid, and delivered us up. the prince's lawyer--this man whom i cannot name--was given full power. the emperor consented to let him act as he thought best, and he had a pocket full of warrants. i ought to say, on behalf of francis joseph, that he had been assured that the count wished to kill me. to which the sovereign is said to have replied: "i don't want a second meyerling. do what is necessary." the prince and his hirelings were not lacking in inventive skill. their measures were well taken and their plans well laid. a special train was kept in readiness at the station at agram for the woman who was to be declared mad for reasons of state, and a cell in the military prison was prepared for the man who was to be _made_ a criminal in the eyes of the world. all austria knew this, as well as many other things. a doctor (an official whom i had never seen), with my certificate of lunacy in readiness, was waiting for me at agram by order of the police, together with a nurse from the doebling lunatic asylum. these people and a _posse_ of detectives lay in wait for a whole week. all depended on getting us to go into the town. they would not have dared to have arrested us at the château of lobor in the open country, where our defenders would have hastened to our succour in the twinkling of an eye. the military authorities ordered the count to proceed to agram, and being an officer on leave he was forced to obey. we had a presentiment of some "coup." but our situation at the château had become awkward owing to the change of attitude of its owner, who had now left, taking countess keglevich with him. it seemed to us that nothing could be worse than this cruel estrangement. however, the count had to obey orders, so i, too, resolved to go to agram. it was impossible for me to shun any danger that threatened him. so we left. i went, with my devoted countess fugger, to the hôtel pruckner. the count went to the rooms retained for him, and i to mine. we arrived late at night. in the morning, towards nine o'clock, when i was still in bed, the door of my room was forced open. the prince's lawyer entered, followed by men dressed and gloved in black--police officers in full dress. the doctor and the nurse from doebling formed the background. the special train was waiting with steam up in the station. some hours later, without having a chance to collect myself, i was suddenly snatched from normal society and found myself in a cell at the doebling asylum on the outskirts of vienna. by means of a grating in the door i could be constantly watched. the window was barred on the outside. i heard shouts and howls in the distance. they had placed me in the part of the asylum reserved for those who were raving mad. i saw one patient who had been released for an airing running round a little sanded court, the walls of which were padded with mattresses. he was jumping and throwing himself about, uttering piercing shrieks. i started back, horrified, covering my eyes and ears. i threw myself on my narrow bed and, sobbing bitterly, i tried to hide my head under the pillow and the bedclothes so as neither to hear nor see. what might i not have become without the memory of the queen and without the help of god? my faith sustained me and gave me the courage of martyrs. meanwhile at agram, the count, also under arrest, was being told that by virtue of the austrian military code of he was accused--by whom will soon appear--of having negotiated bills bearing the signatures of princess louise of saxe-coburg and the archduchess stéphanie. i was to be declared mad, and he was to be proclaimed a forger! the worst they did to me was nothing compared with what they brought against him. ah! this justice of the court which revolution has since swept away! ah! this code of an army, a slave to a throne and not the guardian of the country! what defiance of good sense at the dawn of the twentieth century! and then we are astonished when the people rise! the count was put in prison on the accusation of the same nameless individual who had interested himself as a police agent in my affairs. the governor of agram was under his orders. he believed the word--or appeared to do so--of this petty lawyer who stated that count geza mattachich had forged my signature, and that of my sister stéphanie, on bills which had already been nine months in the hands of the bill discounters of vienna, who had suddenly (!) discovered the signatures to be forgeries. my signature was in my own writing. this was why it was not advisable to allow me to speak. my sister's signature was a forgery and added afterwards, but by whom and why? it would have been most inadvisable to have allowed me to ask this. the count knew nothing about these bills and the use of the funds which they represented. it would have been most inadvisable for me to have been on the scene. i was thoroughly well guarded. the count, according to austrian military justice, found himself in the presence of an _auditor_, a magistrate who was _accuser, defender and judge combined_. all this may be deemed incredible. but there was worse to come. on december , , the count was condemned to forfeit his rank and his title of nobility, and to undergo six years' cellular detention for having "swindled" about , florins from a "third person." but on the preceding june , when the forged bills became due, the third person mentioned ... had been wholly reimbursed by the prince of coburg, who was entitled to act for me from the day i arrived at doebling, and the count was lost. yes, lost and for ever--at least so thought his executioner. but, although, thanks to zealous friends, the count had been able to obtain a declaration signed by the bill discounters attesting that they had no claims and that no harm had been done them by count geza mattachich, this evidence was refused and held up by the _auditor_. it was not even on the register. and the abominable judgment pretended to make the count, this gentleman amongst gentlemen, a forger and a thief, although he was innocent and everyone knew his innocence. but i am dwelling on infamies which it is superfluous to recall. it is well known that the judgment was quashed four years later by the reichsrath, thanks to the indignant socialist party.[ ] the count has been avenged from the height of the parliamentary tribunal, and the sort of justice that dishonoured the austrian army has ceased to exist, and has been swallowed up in the ruins of a monarchy and a court which was too long a criminal one. [ ]: extract from the proceedings of the sitting of the reichsrath, held on april , . speech by the deputy daszynski: "gentlemen, the second judgment which has been pronounced following the demand for the revision of the first trial has admitted that monsieur mattachich has not forged any one of the signatures! "this verdict of the superior military tribunal is of great importance in the whole of this affair. for, gentlemen, if the superior military court had simply rejected the appeal we might still believe that geza mattachich had forged the two signatures. but, since mattachich has wronged no one, since the usurers have recovered the money together with a high rate of interest, totalling several hundreds of thousands of florins, on the very day the bills fell due, since out of all this money not a farthing has found its way into the pocket of mattachich, a matter which, in fact, has not been raised against him, we have the right to ask ourselves what interest mattachich-keglevich would have--apart from admitting a singular taste for perversity on his part--to corroborate by a forged signature the bills of the princess of coburg which were recognized as good? "and now, gentlemen, if we put the question _qui prodest_? we will reply certainly not mattachich-keglevich, for that would have no other result than that of sending him to the penitentiary of moellersdorf--but good for moneylenders. it was of the greatest advantage to them that a forged signature should be added to a real one, for it is a fact well known to usurers that a forged signature is worth more than an authentic one, and i will tell you why. "with an authentic signature the husband who is obliged to honour this sort of debt can say: 'i consent to pay the principal but not the excessive interest.' it is thus that the prince of coburg has paid in many instances. but this time the usurers replied: 'no; thanks to the forgery, we are in a position to cause a scene--to threaten: we have in our hands a weapon directed against the prince of coburg and against the court circles.' "gentlemen, i have sufficiently proved to you that the second judgment put the affair on a different footing, and threw quite a new light on the subject. taking advantage of this fact, mattachich appealed to the court of sovereign appeal, and that tribunal has decided, that after the examination of the procedure they had cause to confirm the second judgment and to reject the appeal of the condemned man. "at the same time, gentlemen, numerous facts have accumulated which clearly prove the innocence of mattachich. notably, a letter has been produced which was equally forged, and which indicated to the judges the line to follow. "this document was a letter written in german addressed to leopold ii, king of the belgians. it has been superabundantly proved to be fictitious. it had not been written in the interests of mattachich but in those of the moneylenders. and those who had committed this forgery were much more in the company of usurers than in that of mattachich. "for the question is not one, gentlemen, of simple moneylenders. our business is not with 'directors of a house of commission,' as they call them in the judgments, but with artful business men who lend money to various persons of the court at a totally usurious rate of interest, and to whom the signatures of these persons, notably of the widowed hereditary princess stéphanie, are perfectly well known. "very well! i tell you, gentlemen, if i cannot put before you all the elements of the _procès_, i rely here, not only on vague presumptions but on the depositions of witnesses, on absolutely incontestable affirmations which prove that mattachich-keglevich, who languished for four years in a penitentiary, is an innocent man. "eight days before his arrest they consented to recognize, by notarial deed, that they had given him every 'opportunity to flee' ('hear, hear!') on condition that he should abandon the princess louise. "gentlemen, one does not propose to assure a man like mattachich-keglevich by notarial deed of his freedom to depart to a foreign land. these people simply wished to rid themselves of him, they wished to glut the vengeance of the husband prince, and it is on this account that judicial military murder has been accomplished. and, if that did not suffice, by order of the count thun, then president of the council, princess louise was banished, like an unfortunate stranger, from the territory of kingdoms and of countries represented in the reichsrath, despite the fact that she was the wife of an austrian general. ('hear, hear!') yes, gentlemen, we are now going to make this fact public; read to-morrow in the report of the sitting, my interpellation on this subject, and you will then find the dates and all the relative details. yes, gentlemen, in the interest of certain exalted personages who possess much wealth, certain things take place that could never happen if we were a truly constitutional state. ('very true!') "and now, gentlemen, i ask you: who should be held responsible for having thrown these persons into prison solely in order that the wealthy prince of coburg might glut his vengeance? were they, by chance, officers? no, i tell you quite frankly, the officers were guiltless. they would never have pronounced such a sentence if mattachich and the witnesses had appeared before them, and if the accused had been allowed to question the witnesses, if the press had been able to give a report of the debates, if the gifted lieutenant had had liberty of speech in a public audience, if he had been able to have a lawyer to represent him. is it not truly malignant to throw people into prison and cause them to be condemned by an auditor and by judges who know nothing of the affair! gentlemen, i wish to accuse no one of forgery, i wish to charge no one. my aim is not to denounce an institution which is the fatal source of all faults and mistakes. "and, seeing that we have here the occasion of debating on such doings in open parliament, i address myself to m. the minister of national defence: does he wish, he who is a man of honour, does he wish, not only as an old man with white hair, but also as a soldier whose conscience is pure and tranquil, to take on his shoulders the responsibility of the anguish and tortures inflicted on an innocent person? will he keep silent, or will he speak? "if he is not, perhaps, in a position to make a decision to-day, he has no right to hesitate any longer to throw light on this mysterious affair." chapter xvi lindenhof can anyone adequately realize the sufferings of a woman who sees herself erased from the world and taken to a madhouse--the conscious prisoner of an odious abuse of power? at doebling, and afterwards at purkesdorf, my tortures would have been beyond human endurance if i alone had been obliged to suffer. but with the hope of divine justice, the knowledge that another was submitting to a worse punishment solely on my account gave me strength to endure. the loss of honour is as terrible as the loss of reason. i could not abandon myself to utter despair whilst the count heroically resisted his persecutors with a dignity which was afterwards admitted when the debates in the reichsrath threw a new light on my affairs. but what terrible hours i have passed! what nights of agony! what horrible nightmares! what tears, what sobs! i tried in vain to control myself. fortunately my attendants pitied me. that was some consolation. i even felt that the doctors, embarrassed by the responsibility of my case, looked at me kindly. with the exception of two or three miserable creatures, bought over by my enemies through greed or stupidity, i have hardly found any physicians who were not disgusted at the injustice meted out to me, and who asked nothing better than to shift the responsibility of keeping me in a madhouse on to someone else's shoulders. public opinion in austria being extremely hostile, my executioner and his accomplices found it advisable to transfer me to a quiet and charming asylum in saxony. i was therefore taken to lindenhof, near the little town of koswig in the midst of the forests, less than an hour's journey by rail from dresden. lindenhof! the actual meaning signifies "the lime trees of the court." calming lime trees! charming lime trees! the name recalled to me "unter den linden" (under the lime trees) at berlin, and the obligations which i owed to my son-in-law and his family, who were now reassured by the knowledge of my captivity in saxony. the inheritance of the king would not fall into my wasteful hands! no member of my entourage dear to me was allowed to remain with me. my good countess fugger was forced to leave me from morning till night to the care of my jailers. by way of compensation those at lindenhof were supposed to treat me with all the deference due to my rank. fear of public opinion is the beginning of wisdom where princes are concerned. it was impossible for anyone now to say, as in the case of my former experiences, that i was not treated as a princess and a king's daughter. i had a separate house, a carriage, maids, and a companion! i was allowed to go out when dr. pierson, the medical superintendent, thought it advisable. but my house was surrounded by the walls of a madhouse; the coachman and footman were policemen; the companion only occupied that position in order to keep me a prisoner and make voluminous reports about all that i said or did. my cage was certainly gilded, and it possessed various outlets on the country and the adjacent town. but, all the same, it was a tomb, and i realized that i was dead to all those who had once known me, beginning with the members of my own family. i have said that, ashamed of the crime to which they had tacitly consented, my relations allowed years to pass before they came to see the "invalid." it was only when public opinion censured their heartless behaviour that they decided to visit me. the indignation against the wickedness of the punishment meted out to count mattachich had become stronger than the power that desired to crush him. in mentioning him, the press remembered my existence. it was then that my daughter and my aunt, the comtesse de flandre, came to see me, and my sister stéphanie gave some sign of life. i had lost my beloved mother without seeing her again. her letters--although at the same time good and cruel--were my most cherished relics. but whenever i read them my heart was torn, as i felt that my mother had been convinced that i was really insane. as for the king--alas!--he sent me no word. doubtless his mind, like that of the queen, had been poisoned--was he, too, not certain of the count's guilt? what guile had not been employed in his case! in order to play my husband's and my son-in-law's game it was necessary to make my father believe absolutely in our "crimes." what could i do, alone in my madhouse, deprived of help and liberty? but i guessed the plots which were hatched at brussels, and what support my enemies had obtained in order to triumph over a poor tortured woman. i saw my only chance of salvation by the side of the unfortunate man who was enduring martyrdom in the penitentiary of moellersdorf, for having endeavoured to save me from an earthly hell and its dishonouring abysses. perhaps our mutual fidelity may astonish some people. few really understand that, for certain natures, suffering constitutes a common bond. our joys had been ephemeral, our sorrows had been prolonged. we had been misunderstood, misjudged, defamed and tortured. but we had reposed our trust and our hope elsewhere than in men. often the best have neither the time nor the possibility of knowing and understanding, and thus they condemn the innocent on the strength of appearances, which hatred and duplicity know so well how to exploit to their own advantage. i had been certified "insane" for four years, when the court of vienna, terrified by public outcry, was obliged to abandon one of its victims. the count was pardoned. no sooner did he regain his freedom than, fearless of consequences, he began to plan my deliverance! it was indeed a perilous enterprise, as the austrian and german police, in default of a justice which fear of the press and parliaments kept somewhat in restraint, were nevertheless at the orders of my enemies. i have said, and i again repeat, that it seems incredible that we still live. to begin with, my chivalrous defender found himself entangled in the meshes of the police net, and could not take a single step without being followed by spies of all descriptions. as for myself, i beheld koswig in a state of siege. lindenhof was surrounded by gendarmes; even the fir trees afforded them a screen! fortified by prayer and hope, i had now become if not accustomed to my chains at least able to support their weight. always a lover of nature, i revelled in the sylvan solitudes where i was allowed to walk with my sorrow, of course under the observation of my suite of jailers of both sexes. i had only one friend--my dog! shall i ever see that loyal fine face again, and those clear eyes, in which alone in a world of corruption i have seen the disinterested light of welcome? however, i did not despair. what would happen to innocent prisoners if they were deprived of the pleasures of hope? ah, i well remember that autumn day when i first saw the sun of liberty appear on my horizon, and with its advent those chances of truth, reparation and happiness which my imagination pictured all too quickly! it was delightful weather. the splendour of the sun illumined the saxon countryside. it touched with gold the sombre forests that covered the hill near which i loved to walk. this sandy desert planted with fir trees was enlivened by a little hotel called "the mill on the crest of the hill," and it was one of my favourite drives. on this particular day i was driving myself, accompanied by my companion and a groom. suddenly a cyclist appeared coming in the opposite direction, and who actually grazed the wheels of my carriage as he passed. he looked at me. i knew who he was--it was the count!... i had the presence of mind not to betray myself. he was, then, free! i believed that i, too, should regain my liberty on the morrow. three years were destined to pass before i escaped. the alarm had been raised in the enemy camp! it was known that the count had left vienna. a search for him was at once instituted at koswig. my companion, who, influenced by some kindly feelings or by some hope of gain, had allowed the count and myself to have two brief interviews in her presence, securely hidden in the forest, was not long in changing her mind and repenting her leniency. the count was obliged to desist from any further attempts to see me. the countryside swarmed with police. i was not allowed to leave lindenhof. my saviour went some distance away in order not to prevent my taking those drives which allowed me a few hours' freedom and comparative happiness away from the horrors of the madhouse. there now remained only one way to free me. this was first to proclaim, and then to establish my sanity, and to appeal to public sympathy and public meetings in order to achieve my liberation. a book appeared in which the count demonstrated his own innocence and described the cruelty of which i was the victim. the entire press re-echoed his indignant outcry. and the hoped-for help came at last from that generous land of france where my misfortunes were so keenly felt. a french journalist, a writer equally well known and respected (whose name i should like to mention with gratitude, but whose reserve and dislike of publicity i am forced to respect), had gone to germany in order to prepare some political work. at dresden he was told about my sufferings. he went at once to see the head of the police, who, greatly embarrassed, acknowledged that i was the victim of court intrigue. in order to see me personally, this gentleman visited lindenhof in the character of a neurasthenic. but either from mistrust, or the impossibility of tampering with the diagnosis, he was not accepted as a patient. he returned to paris, and through his influence _le journal_, the powerful daily paper whose independence is so well known, took up my cause. from this moment the count found the support which this paper has extended to so many other deserving cases. he was still unable to return to lindenhof. the french journalist, however, came there, and the first news which rekindled my hope came in a letter from my then unknown friend, which--together with one from the count--was thrown into my carriage by a little boy. this letter was stolen from me by my companion. the other missive remained in my possession, and in vain did my police-woman attempt to dispossess me of it. when i read it with a throbbing heart i only found one word, written in a language which i never heard in my captivity--the language of my native land. my eyes filled with tears, i read and re-read this word: "hope." chapter xvii how i regained my liberty and at the same time was declared sane as i had not been in good health it seemed advisable for me to take the waters at some cure. i really needed treatment, and as small thermal establishments abound in germany it was not difficult to find a place suitable to my state of health, where my keepers would have no fear of a cosmopolitan crowd, and where they could still guard me as an isolated prisoner. however, soon after the incident of the letters which had been thrown into my carriage, i was told that i was to stay at lindenhof. the promised cure was abandoned. fortunately the doctor who was called in consultation sided with me, and promised to intervene on my behalf. in the meantime my daily walks ceased. i even decided not to go out at all, as i was completely misled by all the stories which were told me, especially by dr. pierson. he rigorously guarded me, although he always treated me with respect. he knew perfectly well that i was not mad, but he also knew that i was a very remunerative patient; the idea of losing me was extremely unpleasant to him. he continued to watch me, but he also tried to humour me, and he easily persuaded himself that lindenhof was a really enchanting place. had it not been for his position of doctor in lunacy and my jailer, his visits would not have been disagreeable to me, as they were not lacking in courtesy. dr. pierson adopted an air of kindness and devotion. he told me, in tones of real alarm, about certain information which he declared came from a reliable source, and which he advised me to take into consideration if i did not wish to grieve him. he said he had heard that bandits had resolved to attack me suddenly in the forest and rob me of the jewels which i usually wore. dr. pierson did not deny that the count might have written to me. but he said that the letter which had been seized by my "lady-in-waiting" was not what i imagined it to be. it was spurious and very mysterious. it could not be shown me because it belonged first of all to the law. i should be well advised to give up the letter i had kept. it evidently emanated from the gang who had planned to rob and assassinate me. frightened into listening to him and being utterly depressed by my existence i allowed myself to be convinced. i did not want to go out. for several days i lived in anguish, oppression and uncertainty. i could not sleep. when i reflected, i did not know what to think and what to believe. suffering upon suffering overwhelmed me. nobody can conceive the will-power necessary to preserve a certain amount of lucidity when one lives for years among lunatics. the haunting terror is such that if you have not the strength to detach yourself from your surroundings you must inevitably succumb. but god permitted me to escape in spirit and to rejoin my hoped-for rescuer. i ended by pulling myself together and i again asked to go out. they dared not refuse. however, i was still somewhat impressed by what i had heard, and i dared not go as far into the forest as formerly. and if i saw one or more cyclists i was afraid, although i said nothing. had they come to attack me? i wondered. had they, perhaps, come to rescue me? what a power is imagination! the cyclists were only harmless people quietly going about their business. my doctor-professor had not forgotten his promise. his intervention obtained the desired effect, and it was decreed that i should go to bad-elster in bavaria. this place is in the mountains about a quarter of an hour's drive from the german frontier. if i escaped charybdis i should encounter scylla! the country is wild and the spa deserves to attract a cosmopolitan _clientèle_. but its fame, which is purely german, reassured my jailers. no one would look for me in this modest bavarian wiesbaden. and if, peradventure, my defender should arrive, he would find all the avenues to escape well guarded. in fact, the hotel at which i arrived with my suite of police officials, male and female, was immediately surrounded, according to the rules of the profession, by a cordon of sentries and inspectors. if any unknown or suspicious person approached he was followed, observed, and promptly identified. the count took care not to show himself, although, through information which he had procured at koswig, he was not slow to learn that i had left for bad-elster. the police notified nothing out of the way to my keepers. personally i was, as usual, neither impatient nor excited. my "lady-in-waiting" could not deny my affability. but within myself i felt that deliverance was at hand. this intuition was promptly confirmed. one day, when i was playing tennis, i noticed a fat man whose gait, hat and clothes pronounced him to be an austrian. his eyes met mine in a very curious manner, but he saluted me respectfully. i could have sworn that his look heralded the coming of the count. i was not deceived. a little later, when i was coming out of the dining-room of the hotel, preceded by the doctor attached to my person, and followed by my "lady-in-waiting," a fair man brushed past me and whispered: "listen! someone is working for you." i was obliged to lean against the door; i was suddenly incapable of movement. fortunately i recovered myself. my two watch-dogs noticed nothing. the following day i came down to dinner escorted by the doctor and my companion. the waiter who usually attended on us was a little late and was finishing laying the table. ordinarily he hardly dared look at me, but i now saw that his eyes were speaking to me. at the same time he passed and re-passed his hand over the tablecloth. he first made a fold, and afterwards he arranged and rearranged the linen. i seated myself and, at the same moment, i carelessly touched the spot the waiter had seemed to indicate. i heard a crackling of paper underneath the cloth.... my two keepers were discussing wagner; they talked on ordinary topics. they could see me approving their banalities with a gracious smile, and they redoubled their eloquence. i profited by this to seize and hide the letter so cleverly placed within my reach between the tablecloth and the table. i read the letter--i devoured its contents--as soon as i was alone in my room. it was from whom i guessed! it announced my approaching liberty. it gave me explanations of what had been done and what still had to be done in order to effect my escape from my long torture. i was to answer in the same way. i could rely on the waiter. this is how a daily correspondence began between the count and myself. i very soon knew what measures i should have to take, what attitude to adopt, what necessary preparations to make, whom to fear and whom to trust. the night watchman had been gained over on our side. this brave man, like the waiter, ran a grave risk. no one will ever know the extent of the devotion which the frightful persecution to which i was a victim has evoked and still evokes! at last i received the eagerly awaited note, which said: "_it will be to-morrow_." to-morrow! to-morrow! i had only another day to wait, and then i should be free.... this was in august, . for seven years i had been in captivity; i had lived among lunatics, and i had been treated as a lunatic. one thought alone froze my blood: the count would, no doubt, make his appearance. and i remembered that quite recently my "lady-in-waiting" had shown me a revolver, and coldly warned me that she had orders--from whom?--to shoot any would-be rescuer. never were my prayers more ardent. then, recovering my serenity and my confidence, i made all my preparations. i needed a few hours in which to arrange my papers, destroy letters, and to sort what i intended to take with me. how was i to do all this without arousing suspicion? i decided to say that instead of going out in the afternoon i would wash my hair. this proceeding, which i often did myself, afforded me the opportunity of being alone, without the "lady-in-waiting," that indefatigable spy, being alarmed. the chambermaid arranged everything that was necessary, and i made a great show of splashing with the water. but i took good care to keep my hair dry for fear of contracting rheumatism or neuralgia, which would have considerably diminished the good condition of health in which it was so necessary for me to be. i rolled a towel round my head, and i took the necessary measures without being disturbed. when evening came, rested and refreshed by the opportune "washing," i went to the theatre with my usual escort. of all the plays i have ever seen, none has left me with so slight remembrance as that with which the little theatre of bad-elster regaled its honest audience that evening. i was lost in thought concerning what was to follow, and i said to myself: "come what may, if life is a game let us play it to the end." when the performance was over, i returned to my hotel, without letting my secret agitation be noticed. the doctor and the other follower were amiably dismissed on the threshold of my room, and my last words added to their tranquillity: "we arranged to go to tennis a little earlier to-morrow morning," i said, "but i feel that i shall have a good night--so let us put off our party until an hour later." how could they doubt but that i was wisely going to try and have a long sleep? moreover, every evening my clothes and my shoes were taken from me, and although i was not locked in my room (they had intended this at first, as on my arrival all the locks had been renewed), the night watchman had orders not to lose sight of my room, and a cordon of sentries surrounded the hotel. but, as i have said, the watchman had been won over to my cause, and as to the sentries, i should soon see what was going to happen. i was much more afraid of my "lady-in-waiting," who slept in the room next mine. she had a keen sense of hearing, and she was always on the alert. i had in my room my favourite dog, the good and faithful kiki. what was i to do with him? how would he take my flight? he barked at a fly! the hour had indeed arrived, but i saw many harassing obstacles in the way. i ruminated on all this while the chambermaid finished her duties. at last i was alone.... i promptly dressed myself in a costume and put on a pair of boots which i had succeeded in concealing in anticipation of my flight. my packing was soon completed. all lights were extinguished, and, hardly daring to breathe, i awaited the signal. but what signal? i knew nothing. i must listen.... by degrees complete silence reigned in this tranquil corner of bavaria after the theatre, as is usual in germany, closed at o'clock. those who partook of late suppers were few. the calm night enveloped bad-elster--a beautiful night with a full moon--one more danger. but i had no choice, and my vigil was soon about to end. the twelve strokes of midnight sounded, then the half-hour, then one o'clock struck, and almost immediately i heard a scratching at my door like that of a mouse. kiki raised himself ... but with a sign i quieted him, and he understood. i opened the door softly. the shadow of the watchman could be dimly seen in the corridor. "here i am," i said, in a low whisper. "silence!... hold yourself in readiness. i will return when it is time." he went away. i remained for two hours absolutely glued to my door, my valise beside me. at last i saw a glimmer of light. it was the watchman. i turned to my dog, who was watching me uneasily. he pricked up his ears, and, sitting on the corner of a cushion in a chair, he understood that i was going away without him. i caressed him, saying as i did so: "kiki, don't make a noise. if you do, i am lost!" he did not move, he did not bark, he did not even whine. i was now beside the watchman at the threshold of the door. "you must take off your boots," he whispered. "you will be heard." he stooped down and removed my boots; then, taking charge of my small baggage, he conducted me forth, leaning on his arm. with one last look i said good-bye to the familiar things which i had left in my room, and i again enjoined my good little dog to silence. i went along the corridor into which the rooms of my "lady-in-waiting" and the doctor opened. thank god, the doors remained closed! another corridor took us to a staircase by which we gained the ground floor. there, in almost total obscurity, i perceived a shadow, with one finger on its lips. it was the count.... the night watchman would not allow us to delay; he gave me back my boots and guided us, sheltered from the light of the moon by the hotel building, as far as a small conservatory, and then to a terrace which adjoined the road. there two sentries had met and were talking peacefully in the moonlight, which, unfortunately for us, now illuminated the road to safety. we waited anxiously. luckily they soon separated, and walked away in opposite directions.... the count, taking his chance, made me cross the road in a few light bounds. he held my valise; the night watchman remained hidden on the terrace. we were now under the trees on the other side of the road. the sentries had seen and heard nothing! we had still to reach the carriage, which was waiting a little distance away. this was a landau with two horses, a local equipage, which would pass unnoticed. any other, unknown to the district, would have been signalled and reported. but a catastrophe occurred. the carriage was not where it should have been. we had a moment of despair. what a night! what suspense! all this agony of mind occurred under the trees pierced by the moon-rays, which seemed peopled with fearful phantoms. at last some of our friends who knew of my escape joined us and conducted us to the carriage. it started, but the tired horses went slowly. suddenly, in the middle of the wood the vehicle came to a standstill; the driver confessed that he had lost his way. we had reached a place known as "the three stones," the boundaries of three kingdoms, where bavaria, saxony and austria join. the driver turned his back on the right direction and returned towards bad-elster, where we hoped to get to the little station and catch a train for berlin. we had the good luck to be rescued from our anxiety by two of our partisans, who, worried by our non-arrival, came upon us unexpectedly and opportunely. we arrived at the hof without further incident, and a few hours later we were in the capital of prussia. when the news of my escape reached my son-in-law and his imperial brother-in-law they did not believe it. the fuss was tremendous. but matters had been well arranged at bad-elster. the brave people there took my part so thoroughly that the german and austrian police had actually to go to the expense of making inquiries. i had vanished into thin air like a spirit, and they could not find a trace of the count. in berlin the secret agents of the socialist deputy, doctor sudekum, who generously defended my cause, awaited us and sheltered us until a lull in the tempest enabled us to gain a hospitable soil. everything considered, we resolved to go by automobile to the station where the orient express stopped, and then to depart for france across belgium by this train _de luxe_. let us pass over an alarm at the hotel at magdeburg, where i should have been recognised and denounced had i not called doctor sudekum my husband! we seemed very devoted, and it was quite evident that a celebrated socialist could not have a king's daughter for his wife. at last i was able to get into a sleeping compartment, and luckily i had it to myself. the train rushed across germany. the count watched over me and remained outside in the corridor as much as possible. the hours rolled by. at last i heard cries of "herbesthal"! i was just entering belgium. i was about to see my country once more. without, however, daring to stop there! alas! the king was on the side of the prince of coburg! i hardly dared approach the window. i trembled. the belgian customs officials passed through the carriages. there was a knock at the door of my compartment, and the customs officials appeared behind the conductor. but i had been vouched for, and they retired unsuspiciously. oh, the irony of the banal question: "have you anything to declare?" on the contrary, what had i _not_ to declare? i was the eldest daughter of the great king of these good people who did not recognize me. i wanted to cry out, so as to be heard as far as the château of laeken, and denounce the injustice of fate, which made me a victim and an exile. i was thinking thus when an old superintendent of the belgian railways passed. he did not glance carelessly at me as the customs officials had done; he scrutinized me gravely, and i saw that he knew at once who i was. the count was watching in the corridor, and he was also certain that i had been recognized. he followed the superintendent. the man looked at him, read the anxiety in his face, and identifying him, doubtless by the photographs in the newspapers, stopped and said kindly: "it is our princess, is it not?... do not be afraid. nobody here will betray her." i never knew the name of this good and faithful compatriot. if he is still alive i hope he will learn through these lines that my gratitude has often gone out and will always go out to him. i arrived at last, safe and sound in paris. i had nothing more to fear. i was in a hospitable country, protected by just laws. it is common knowledge that shortly afterwards the most eminent french physicians recognized, after long interviews, when i was minutely interrogated and examined, the inanity of the pseudo-medical statements which had kept me in a lunatic asylum for seven years and caused me to be treated as a minor, incapable of managing my own affairs. my civil rights were restored to me; together with my liberty i had miraculously recovered my reason! but i found again, alas! during the dreadful war, evidences of the implacable hatred from which i had suffered so much. this time my enemies thought me in their power, and behaved in an odiously grasping manner. it was not now covetousness for the millions of my inheritance from my father the king, but it was greed for another fortune, that of the empress charlotte, my unfortunate aunt, whose old age is sheltered by the château of boucottes. this fresh possibility of wealth aroused the same covetousness, and, as of old, it produced the same line of conduct. but once again i was providentially saved. chapter xviii the death of the king--intrigues and legal proceedings a certain book exists of which only copies have been printed, and these have been carefully distributed among those who were unlikely to mislay them. this book, of which i deplore the fact that a greater number of copies were not printed, contains all the evidence concerning niederfullbach, and the various judgments against my claims. such as it is, and for the sake of what it contains and does not contain, i should be glad to see this book in the colleges and schools of law throughout the world. it would be both useful and suggestive. also if it were under the eyes of the general public it would doubtless be consulted with great interest. what reflections would it not inspire, not only amongst jurists, but still more amongst deep thinkers, historians and writers, to see documents which throw new light on a century, a people and a man. what would not be found hidden in high-sounding words and enormous figures! what a prodigious part is played in this book by a gifted spirit surrounded by collaborators devoted to his greatness so long as he lived, but who, enriched and satisfied, forgot his work and his name when once he was dead. "gratitude," said jules sandeau, "is like those perfumes of the east which retain their strength when kept in vessels of gold, but lose it when placed in vessels of lead." there are few golden vessels amongst men. there are vases which seem to glow with this precious metal, but which are really made of the worst kind of lead. appearances are mostly deceitful. the book which i should like to see more widely circulated, is a large volume bound in green cardboard, printed at brussels under the title, "the account of the inheritance of his majesty leopold ii--documents published by the belgian state." one of the best-known french lawyers wrote to me concerning this work: "it is a great treasure, an inexhaustible mine. some day lovers of right, the young and old of every country, will publish essays and works inspired by the documents concerning the estate of king leopold ii. they are priceless. here are to be found a glowing romance of business, of magnificent conceptions, of astonishing forms of contracts, of statutes and entails, and finally a marvellous judicial discussion where morality and immorality are at variance. the whole terminates in a fantastic judgment, preceded and followed by stupefying transactions. "it was thought that this lawsuit was finished. it will recommence and perhaps continue for a hundred years, under various forms and under certain conditions which cannot be foretold. it is impossible that the menace by belgian justice against natural rights will be accepted and remain unchallenged." if, as will be seen presently, it is indisputable that the king freely made over the congo to belgium, a possession which originally was secured by his money and under his direct superintendence, reason must admit that such a gift could not have been accepted without belgium, on her side, incurring some indebtedness to the family of the sovereign, principally to his children. that the donor may have wished to exclude his daughters from his real estate is not to be disputed, but that he could do so in justice is not presumable, and this action will never be admitted. to agree to such an iniquity would mean a conflict with that sacred principle which forms the basis of the continuity of the family. i will now quote the opinion of a lawyer. his brother lawyers who read these lines will know him. i could quote a thousand opinions. but one will suffice: that of a belgian lawyer, who was powerful enough to obtain "in the name of the state" what can only be called a sacrilegious judgment. on the evening before the judgment which settled in my person the defeat of law and justice, one of my principal lawyers at brussels was so sure of success that he telegraphed to one of my counsel, whose advice had been of great value: "congratulations in anticipation." how could this be doubted? the public prosecutor, a real lawyer, had summed up in my favour. he was an honest man. he saved the honour of belgian justice on this eventful day. my leading belgian counsel was so convinced of not being beaten that he was opposed to a compromise, which was then perhaps possible, and i agreed. for i (who had appeared so many times before the courts) had a horror of legal proceedings. here, as elsewhere, i have been seized and crushed in a fatal cogwheel. it would be easy to prove it. but the interest does not lie there; it lies in the extraordinary struggle which i have had to sustain, almost alone, in the lawsuit concerning the king's estate. my sister clémentine, who perhaps had not read hippolyte taine, yielded to dynastic illusions, and unhesitatingly sacrificed her claims. she accepted from the belgian government that which the state was pleased to offer her. she did not take into consideration the fact that she ought to join forces with her sisters. the belgian motto is "union is strength." this motto is not applicable to all belgian families! my sister stéphanie at first sided with me, then she backed out, then she came in with me, and again she backed out.... i remained firm in my mistake--if it be thought a mistake. i knew at least what i wanted. my younger sister was not so sure. that is her affair. it cannot be counted against me that my cause, being that of the right, was not always hers. i trust that i may be believed; i only struggled for justice. nobody can possibly say what i should have done had i won. as regards the congo, it was never my intention to pretend that my sisters and i could possibly dispute the wishes of the king and the laws passed in belgium for taking over the colony. but, between the conflict of certain points at issue and the acceptance of a disinheritance against nature and against legality, a space existed which could have been, and should have been, bridged by an honourable settlement. the belgian state had one proposition to make, which it timidly outlined. my leading counsel did not consider this sufficient. the belgian people, left to themselves, would have known better how to act, and how to honour the memory of leopold ii, but this duty was delegated to those who, to this day, have wilfully and lamentably failed. let us consider belgium as a human being, endowed with honour and reason, and jealous of the judgment of history and the esteem of the world; mistress of millions of congolese and of other millions of colonial treasure. as a reasoning being, would she have considered herself free from all obligations towards the unfortunate children of the giver of these gifts? most assuredly not. if she thought otherwise she would be without honour, without reason, a cruel cynic, justly mistrusted by all right-minded people. all the decrees in the world would never make her otherwise. i have reasoned this out, and i still adhere to my view i was not alone in this opinion. my belgian lawyers had other opinions besides mine, and believed them to be conclusive. if i have not succeeded in proving my case i have had, at least, the satisfaction of knowing that my lawyers have lost nothing. my case brought them luck. they eventually became ministers, men to be envied in every way, who are proud of having defended me. but let us turn to the written words; they are more eloquent than any of mine. i only wish to be sincere. here, as elsewhere, i say exactly what i think. i do not gloss over or twist things round. i only restrain myself from being too vehement. you see me as i am. i express myself as if i were standing in the presence of the king. i wish to reach my father's spirit, commune with his soul, and convince him in the invisible world that my claims were just. at the commencement of these pages i have placed his name, which has remained dear to my respect as a daughter. i was never able, and i never dared discuss matters with this father who was so deceived and misinformed about me. * * * * * on december , , the _moniteur_ published the following statement: "the belgian nation has lost its king! "the son of an illustrious sovereign, whose memory will remain for ever as a venerated symbol of constitutional monarchy, leopold ii, after a reign of forty-five years, has died in harness, having, up to his last hour, devoted the best of his life and strength to the aggrandizement and prosperity of the country. "on december , , before the reunited chambers, the king pronounced these memorable words, which since then have often been recalled: "'if i do not promise belgium either a great reign like that of the king who founded her independence, or to be a noble king like him whom we now lament, i promise at least that i will prove myself a king whose whole life will be devoted to the service of belgium.' "we know with what powerful energy he has kept and even exceeded this solemn promise. "the creation of the african state which to-day forms the belgian colony of the congo was the personal work of the king, and constitutes a unique achievement in the annals of history. "posterity will say that his was a great reign, and that he was a great king. "the country now mourning his loss must worthily honour one who has died leaving such a splendid record behind him. "the country places all its hopes in the loyal co-operation, already so happily manifested, of the prince who has been called to preside over the destiny of belgium. "he will be inspired by the illustrious examples of those who became, by the help of providence, the benefactors of the belgian people. "the council of ministers: f. schollaert, _minister of the interior and of agriculture_. leon de lantsheere, _minister of justice_. j. davignon, _minister of foreign affairs_. j. liebaert, _minister of finance_. bon descamps, _minister of science and art_. arm. hubert, _minister of industry and labour_. m. delbeke, _minister of public works_. g. hellepute,_ minister of railways, posts and telegraphs_. j. hellepute, _minister of war_. j. renkin, _colonial minister_." of the signatories of this moving proclamation some are dead, others are still living. to those who are no more, and to those who are still alive, i say: "you have written and attested that the creation of the african state was the _personal_ work of the king. in his _person_, then, you have recognized _the man_, _the head of the family_--and _therefore the family itself_; otherwise the word _personal_ is without meaning.... and, as a matter of fact, it has suddenly lost its meaning. the king, now an entity without terrestrial chains, has enriched belgium to the exclusion of his children, who are declared non-existent. "and how, with or without you, has he been honoured? "in continuing the endowment of niederfullbach and other creations of this gifted benefactor? "ah! in no way whatever! "you have liquidated, realized, destroyed and abandoned all that he conceived and ordered. i do not wish to describe in detail all that has passed, and i have no desire to touch on the sadness connected with the secrets of niederfullbach and other works of the king, from the day when they ceased to be under his direction. i will take my stand on the ground of the sin against morality which most concerns me. "eleven years have passed since the death of the 'great king.' where is the monument erected to his memory? "the people of ostend, who owe to him the prosperity and beauty of their town, have not even dared to show an example of their gratitude. they are afraid of vexing the ungrateful people of brussels, who prefer silence." his wishes with respect to the congo and his heirs are in three documents, which i append below: first: (i) an explanatory letter of the king, dated june , , in testamentary form. (attached to exhibit no. in the collection published by the belgian government.) "i undertook, more than twenty years ago, the work of the congo in the interests of civilization and for the benefit of belgium. it was in the realization of this double aim that i annexed the congo to my country in . "cognizant with all the ideas which governed the foundation of the independent state, and which inspired the act of berlin, i am anxious to specify, in the interests of the nation, the wishes expressed in my will. "the title of belgium to the possession of the congo is due to my double initiative, namely the rights which i acquired in africa, and the uses which i have made of these rights in favour of my country. "this situation imposed on me the obligation of ensuring, in accordance with my initial and dominant idea, that my legacy should prove useful in the future to civilization and to belgium. "in consequence thereof i wish to make the following points clear--points which are in perfect harmony with my immutable wish to assure to my beloved country the fruits of the work which i have pursued for long years in the continent of africa, with the general consent of most of my subjects: "upon taking possession of the sovereignty of the congo, with all the benefits, rights and advantages attached thereto, my legatee will assume, as is only just and necessary, the obligation of respecting all the engagements of the state assigned to third parties, and likewise to respect all acts which i have established touching the privileges of the natives for donations for land, for the endowment of philanthropic or religious works, for the foundation of the domain of the crown, for the establishment of the natural domain, as well as the obligation not to lessen by any measure the rights of the revenues of these various institutions without giving at the same time an equivalent compensation. i consider the observation of these rules as essential to assure to the sovereignty of the congo the resources and the power indispensable for the accomplishment of the task. "in voluntarily surrendering the congo and the benefits derived therefrom in favour of belgium, i must, without adding to the national obligation, strive to ensure to belgium the perpetuity of the benefits which i bequeath her. "i wish to state definitely that the legacy of the congo to belgium should always be maintained by her in its integrity. in consequence, the territory bequeathed will be inalienable under the same conditions as belgian territory. "i do not hesitate to specify this inalienability, for i know how great is the value of the congo, and i have, in consequence, the conviction that this possession will never cost the belgian nation any lasting sacrifice. "(signed) leopold. "_brussels, june , ._" having read this, no really right-minded person can deny that the king speaks of the congo as private property which he surrenders voluntarily to belgium, which he was quite at liberty to do, and which belgium was equally at liberty to accept as a royal gift. but there is no right without duty. i ask whether it was right of the belgian government to ruin me, an exile and a prisoner, calumniated and mistrusted; to deny me my belgian nationality, and to sequestrate the little money left me in belgium? this, i have said before, was, i believe, the fatal result of a general measure, misinterpreted perhaps by an inexpert official. but let it go!! i only ask whether the belgian government can assert to-day that it has fulfilled the conditions imposed on it by its benefactor, and especially "the obligation to respect the integrity of the revenues of the various institutions" established by the king in favour of the congo. i await an answer. i now come to the question of the will. will of the king. (document no. .) "this is my will. "i inherited from my parents fifteen millions. these fifteen millions i have scrupulously kept intact, in spite of many vicissitudes. "i possess nothing else. "after my death these fifteen millions become the property of my heirs and must be made over to them by the executor of my will, to be divided between them. "i die in the catholic religion, to which i belong; i wish no post-mortem to be made; i wish to be buried without pomp in the early morning. "except my nephew albert and the members of my household, no person is to follow my remains. "may god protect belgium, and may he in his goodness be merciful to me. "(sgd.) leopold. "_brussels, november , ._" a great deal has been written about this will. the statement "i possess nothing" except the declared fifteen millions caused the ink to flow. the statement itself was proved untrue on the death of the king, since in the abundance of wealth of all sorts which was found, the belgian government was obliged to specify as "litigious" certain shares and moneys which it could not take over, and which it left to my sisters and to myself. these shares and moneys have nearly doubled the fortune bequeathed us by our father. let no one say: "the fortune was considerable." as a statement it is true. but it must not be forgotten that everything is comparative, and that if i explain a point of succession which is unique in history it is not because i am avaricious. it is because i must insist, as a question of principle, to defend what i consider right, and to enlighten the public on a hitherto entangled and obscure discussion. the second will, reproduced below, merely states precisely the intention of the first: the other will of the king. (document no. .) "i have inherited from my mother and my father fifteen millions. "i leave those to be divided amongst my children. "owing to my position and the confidence of various people, large sums have at certain times passed through my hands without belonging to me. "i do not possess more than the fifteen millions mentioned above. "(sgd.) leopold. "_laeken, october , ._" in this document the king said no more about having "scrupulously" saved the fifteen millions. a great deal has been written about this, because elsewhere the king often declared in his most formal manner that not only had he used his own fortune, but also that of my aunt, the empress charlotte, in the congo enterprise. he might have lost all. if this had been the case, would belgium have indemnified his children at his death? certainly not! fortunately belgium has been the gainer. is it logical that the king's children should be objects of indifference to him? to finish with the question of the fifteen millions, one fact remains which i cannot pass over, and which will suffice to invalidate the characteristic declaration of the king, if the discovery had not already been made at his death. about this well-known fact everyone will guess beforehand what i could say.... it is not wise to enlarge on this subject. age is excusable in its errors, and the disposal of sixty millions will find many willing helpers. but, truly, whom does one deceive, and by whom is one deceived? virtuous airs are strangely a matter of circumstance with certain people who lend themselves to an astonishing favouritism, to the detriment of the natural heirs of the king. however, let us forget this. let us only remember the material point, which was that the king _wished_ to disinherit his daughters. was it right and moral of belgium to associate herself with this inhuman error and this illegality? ought she not to have assumed another line of conduct on behalf of myself and my sisters? i ask it of the king as if he were alive and in the entire possession of his faculties; i ask this of the king who is now enlightened by death. i ask it of my brave compatriots. i ask it of the jurists of the entire world. i ask it of history. let us put aside the millions of future generations and the hundreds of millions of the past. i have renounced expectations and the promises of fairy tales more easily than most people. i would have liked to have made many people happy, to have helped beautiful works, to have created useful institutions. god knows all my dreams. he has decided that they should not be fulfilled, and i am resigned. i have only wished to defend a principle and to obtain for myself a minimum of the possibilities of a free and honourable existence in accordance with my rank. was my action then unjustifiable? what do certain documents--which it is easy to consult--establish, but which i cannot reproduce here without giving to these pages a different character from that i wish to give? these documents prove that the _personal_ fortune of the king had attained a minimum of twenty millions at the time of his last illness. on the decease of the sovereign this fortune, or the greater portion of it, had disappeared. my sisters and i had a round figure of twelve millions. but what of the rest? it has been said to us, and to me especially: "what? you are complaining? by the terms of your father's will you should only have five millions. you have twelve millions, and you are not satisfied. you argue, you accuse, you incriminate! you are always at war with someone." i am not at war with any particular person in this affair. i have simply upheld the right, and i believe it to be my duty. the government, the judge and the party opponents have told me, in fine-sounding sentences, that i was wrong. would they agree to submit their judgments to the final verdict of a tribunal composed of jurists from countries friendly to belgium? i renounce in advance the benefit of their decision if it should be in my favour. would they agree to accept an inquiry into the subject of the _real and personal_ fortune of the king at the time of his death and what has become of it? i know beforehand. these indiscreet questions will only meet with profound silence. what consoles me in my misfortunes is the knowledge that the men in the confidence of the king have become wonderfully enriched. if my father could only leave fifteen millions i am confident that they, at any rate, will be able to leave much more. i am very pleased to think that this is so, as i find it only natural that merit, valour, conscientiousness and fidelity should be recompensed on earth. i only regret one thing, which is common to human nature. money, alas! does not tend to improve it. instead it seems to harden the hearts of those who possess it. how can the king's faithful servants and those of my family be at ease in palaces, where everything breathes comfort and luxury, when i am reduced to living as i am now obliged to live, practically from hand to mouth, uncertain to-day where to look to-morrow for sustenance, although within the grasp of two fortunes: one already mine by right of inheritance, and the other which i have every anticipation of inheriting? people may say that instead of complaining i could continue to defend my rights, and it avails nothing to abuse the injustice of men. i do not ignore the fact that i have only to attack the société des sites, and the french property which the king has given to belgium, for french justice, which is worthy of the name of justice, to condemn a fictitious society, whose so-called existence is not unwelcome to a parisian lawyer and the servants of my family who have lent their name as circumstances required. law is law for everyone in france, and when the société des sites was founded in paris, it was done with the most flagrant disregard of french legality. i do not forget that the german law would equally condemn what transpired between belgium and the administrators of niederfullbach, if i were to attack these persons before the justice of germany, as i could easily do. the two germans who are included in the list of administrators have sensed danger so strongly, owing to their properties and positions being in germany, that, in face of possible dangerous retaliations, they have sheltered themselves behind the belgium state by the "arrangement" which they have accepted, and which has robbed my sisters and myself of considerable sums. i also know that the royal gift of is open to an attack in belgium, based on the material error committed over the question of the disposable share of the king's property. but, really, it is too painful for me to think about this and to go into these details. i only give certain of them in order to show that i have resisted, and i shall still resist, assuring myself that if i have not found justice in belgium i shall find it elsewhere. to speak with perfect frankness, i have suffered cruelly, and i still suffer on account of the strife in which i have been involved. when i occasionally re-read the pleadings of the talented lawyers who defended or attacked me over the question of the king's inheritance, a sort of faintness overcomes me. before so many words, in the face of so many reasons for and against, i feel that all things except equity can be expected of mankind. it is positively stupefying for me to realize that three of my lawyers are ministers, or are on the point of becoming ministers, as i write these pages. i have only to take up their "pleadings" to hear the voice of their conscience proclaiming the justice of my cause, and accusing the state in which they are embodied to-day of collusion and fraud--in one word, of unqualified actions. do they not remember what they said, wrote and published? i listen in vain for some words from them.... nothing ... never a word. i am dead, so far as they are concerned. i am unhappy. they know it, and they keep silence. never a thought, a memory for one who confided in them. they are in power--and i am in misery; they are living in their own country--i am an exile. they are _men_, and i am a _woman_. oh, pettiness of the human soul! i think again of all that has been said and written against me in the land of my birth for which i was sacrificed. what errors, what exaggerations, what passions, what ignorance concerning my real self! nevertheless, taken as individuals, those who attack me and defame me are really good and brave men at heart. but they rend one's soul. do they not understand what they do? has belgium no conscience? she ranks so high to-day in the opinion of the world, that it seems impossible for her to expose herself to the diminution of her moral glory which will inevitably follow when history goes into the vexed question of the king's inheritance, and its results in my own case. can she rightly and peacefully enjoy that which has been unjustly obtained, or more or less greedily seized by her? history will find, as i find, certain ineffaceable words in the address to the sénat by m. de lantsheere, minister of state, touching the royal gift of , which all that was best in the belgian soul then found inacceptable. i reproduce these words for the contemplation and consideration of all honest men. m. de lantsheere spoke as follows in the belgian sénat on december , , to contest the acceptance by the chambre des représentants of the king's gift, and all that had privately enriched the king: "i intend to remain faithful to a principle which king leopold i always upheld and from which he never departed, one which i also upheld twenty-six years ago with m. malou, m. beernaert, and m. delcour, members of the cabinet of which i had the honour to be a member--which mm. hubert dolez, d'anethan and notcomb, chief of those preceding me, who, like others after me, have equally upheld. this principle, which it has been reserved for the law to abandon for the first time, can be summed up in few words. _the common law is an indispensable support of the royal patrimony._ the present project offends justice.... two of the royal princesses are married. from these marriages children have been born. therefore families have been founded. these children have married in their turn, and have founded new families. these families may very reasonably have expected that nothing detrimental could happen to the hereditary rights which the code declares unalienable from the descendants.... if, owing to some aberration of which you will give the first example ... you do not respect the laws by which families are founded, ... _one universal voice will be heard in belgium which will curse the dominions which have enriched the nation at the expense of the king's children_.... "do you not think that it will look very disgraceful for royalty to be exposed to the suspicion of wishing (under the cloak of liberality towards a country) to reserve the means, if not of disinheriting its descendants, at least of depriving them of that to which they are legally and morally entitled? i venture to believe that those persons will serve the interests of the state much more faithfully who insist that she must remain firm in her acceptance of the rights of common law, than those persons who uphold the acceptance of the disastrous gift of an unlimited authority. i wish to ignore the possibility of any of these ulterior motives having entered the mind of his majesty; you must ignore them if they have not already occurred to you; but i know that man's will is variable and certain laws are made in order to prevent possible injustice. "if at the time of the king's death a point had been made of encroaching on the disposable funds, you would not have had the courage to lay the hand upon this patrimony. why, then, do you forge weapons which, when the moment is ripe, you will blush to use? "therefore, sirs, the uselessness of the project again reveals itself, as well as its equally odious and dangerous character ... it is a juridical monstrosity.... it must never be said that in the kingdom of belgium any poor girl possesses more legal rights in her father's inheritance than the king's daughters now possess in the inheritance of their father."... chapter xix my sufferings during the war i was at vienna when war was declared, and until actual hostilities commenced i could hardly believe such a thing was possible. the idea that the emperor francis joseph, already with one foot in the grave, contemplated appearing as a combatant, after invariably suffering defeat, seemed sheer madness to me. it is true that a camarilla, acting under orders from berlin, used the weakly old man as a tool. but that berlin really wished to embark on a war which could not fail to cause a universal conflagration was incredible. it was worse than madness--it was a crime. but the desire to kill carried away those in power at berlin. i had a presentiment of a mysterious fatality which had laid its spell on berlin and vienna. i wondered what would become of me. and each possible solution became more and more difficult. if, according to the views of my belgian countrymen, i am unfortunate enough not to have regained my nationality in spite of the good sense and approval of the king my father, and once more denied the rights of justice and humanity, an action against which i protest most strongly, i was regarded from the first day of the war as an "enemy subject" by the court of vienna, which was doubtless pleased to be able to hurt me in some new way. i was asked to leave the dual monarchy as soon as possible. the chief of the police came in person to notify me of this decision. this distinguished functionary was in many respects courteous, but the order was extremely precise and formal. i left for belgium. but certain events detained me at munich. the german army barred the road, and my devoted country was soon to know the horrors of which the first responsibility rests with prussia. until august , , i was able to live in the capital of bavaria, as a belgian princess, without having to experience many of the inconveniences to which my position exposed me. the bavarian government was certainly indulgent. i was even allowed to retain a french maid who had been long in my service. the count--that devoted knight, whose proximity in my sad life had brought me consolation and unfailing support--was also allowed to be a member of my entourage. but the german victories convinced my pitiless enemies that i should soon be at their mercy. they at once arranged their new plan of campaign! i am proud to write this--proud to admit that the sufferings of belgium were my own. she was oppressed. i was also the victim of oppression. she had lost all. i had also lost everything. from day to day my resources became straitened, and the atmosphere, at first compassionate, became hostile. i tried to efface myself as much as possible, and to submit myself patiently to the exigencies of my delicate situation. it was well known with whom my heart was in sympathy! worries and harshness soon assailed me. my son-in-law, duke gunther of schleswig-holstein, did not ignore--and with good reason--the difficulties i had to overcome. he lost no time in letting it be known that he considered i ought to agree to be placed under his guardianship, and forced to receive my last morsel of bread at his hands. i do not wish to enlarge on the actions of this gentleman. if i were to publish the documents and the legal papers which i have kept, i should only add to the remorse and confusion which i should like to think have overcome my unhappy daughter. but, in duty to myself, i must relate a little of what transpired. nothing else will suffice to show the drama which has enveloped me since the day when i represented the possible loss of a fortune to my family. duke gunther of schleswig-holstein, from the very moment when germany thought herself mistress of belgium, occupied himself in ascertaining what might accrue to me from the inheritance of my father. rather more than four and a half millions had been deposited in the bank, assigned for the benefit of my creditors, by arbitration of the tribunal which had been formed on the eve of hostilities. this sum of money was the object of the touching solicitude of my son-in-law. i leave it to others to relate his efforts to obtain possession of it and divert it into a different channel from the one for which it was intended. nevertheless, these four and a half millions were only a drop in the ocean compared with the promise of the past. my dear country can therefore rejoice, and i rejoice with her, that, by the victory of the entente, she has escaped a revision of the lawsuit touching the royal inheritance, one which would have been in direct opposition to the divine and human right, at least as soon as the decree had been issued. what crime would not then have been committed in my name in favour of the final triumph of german arms if, threatened with the pangs of starvation, i had signed certain renunciations which were extorted from me at munich, and had thereby lost my personality and abandoned my rights to my children in consideration of a miserable pittance? they now saw themselves likely to be compensated in some measure for all that had previously prevented them from acquiring the king's inheritance. they had also the certainty of possessing the thirty millions which represent my share of the fortune of her majesty the empress charlotte, when my unfortunate aunt succumbs beneath the burden of her advanced age. my children--from the hour when they became aware of the frightful state of destitution to which i was reduced during the war--have only pursued one end: _without troubling to see me or to approach me directly_, they have endeavoured by the mediation of paid agents to force me to sign a renunciation of my expectations. [illustration: the duchess gunther of schleswig-holstein] in direct defiance of the law i was ordered to sign my name to a document by which i relinquished my future inheritance from the empress to my children. at last, worn out with sufferings, i was on the point of consenting for a consideration of an annual payment of a sum of _six thousand marks_, in exchange for which i was to be reduced to isolation and slavery, and to be further plundered of all that might belong to me. i will say nothing here to the duke of holstein, this soldier financier; but to my daughter dora, the fruit of my body, whom i have fed at my breast, and whom i have brought up, i say this: "you may possess all the outward appearances of respectability. you may enjoy the benefits of a fortune of which i know the source, you may experience neither shame nor remorse, you may even dare to pray. but god can never be deceived. no wickedness, no guilty complicity, no action contrary to nature will escape his justice. sooner or later he will judge all men according to their works." before i conclude my account of the machinations of these human vultures who attempted to assail my liberty and my rights, when once i had been unfortunate enough to ask help from my children, i must not forget to mention that later, when i regained the captaincy of my soul, i appealed to justice at munich. the courts there declared the renunciations extracted from me in my misery and frenzy when i was starving and homeless to be invalid. during the war i have often actually not known where i should sleep, or of what my next meal would consist. i write this frankly, without a particle of false shame--firm in the approval of my own conscience. i have never willingly injured anyone. i have suffered in silence. i am speaking to-day in my own defence, bringing as evidence a family drama which touches contemporary history. i speak with candour, but i am not actuated by feelings of hatred. wickedness has diminished. but my personal sufferings have in nowise lessened. i was born a king's daughter, i shall die a king's daughter. i have certainly pleaded for assistance, but more on behalf of my attendants than for myself. i could not bear to see these devoted creatures, my comfort and support in my misery, weep and grow pale during these dark days. the count had been obliged to leave munich. on the morning of august , , his room was suddenly invaded by the police. he was put in prison, then taken to hungary, and afterwards interned near budapest. he was by birth a croatian and therefore regarded as a subject of the entente, even before the defeat which united croatia and servia. human justice is really only a word! on the same day olga, my principal attendant, an austrian who had always shown me an invaluable and long-standing devotion, was also arrested. she was afterwards released. but i understood the significance of this--the order had come from the highest authority to alienate everyone who cared for me. i will describe what followed. my french maid, whose care of me was so disinterested, was interned. if my faithful olga had not come out of prison, and if i had not had the means to keep her, i should have been completely isolated. but, shortly after this, i really did not know how to supply my daily needs. my last jewels had been sold. i was now as poor as the poor souls who implored my charity. what should i decide to do, what should i attempt? if i appealed to my daughter i knew that i should be up against the duke of holstein. he was absolutely pitiless. all this happened in july, . providence now threw in my way an honourable man, a swiss professor, who was terribly distressed at my fate. he generously offered to help me to reach silesia, where my daughter was in residence at one of her castles. this castle is not far from breslau. i therefore left munich, with olga, in the hope of seeing my child and obtaining from her some temporary shelter. but when i reached my journey's end i tried in vain to be received, listened to, and assisted by dora. i was therefore stranded in a little village in the silesian mountains, where my last few marks soon disappeared. the count had tried to send me the wherewithal to exist. without any warning, the german postal authorities retained the money and returned his letters. the little inn where i had taken refuge was kept by kindly folk who were, however, unable to let me stop unless i could pay. i saw myself faced with the most extreme misery. the innkeeper seemed frightened of me. he told me that he had been ordered to render an account of my doings to the police, and that i was kept well under observation, although i might not be aware that this was the case. he was mistaken. i and olga had both noticed that our slightest movements were watched. even in our walks in the open country we continually met some peasant or some pedestrian who appeared not to notice us, but who actually spied on us more or less unsuccessfully. i felt the influence of an implacable force that wished to immure me in some new gaol, madhouse or prison, or which would perhaps even make me contemplate self-destruction. in this extremity heaven once again came to my rescue. on the very day which i thought would be the last i should be allowed to stay at the inn, i sat down, miserably, on a bench in front of the house. i asked myself in despair what was to become of me. suddenly a carriage appeared--a rare sight in that unfrequented region. the coachman signalled to me, and i saw, sitting in the carriage, a large, important-looking person who seemed looking for something or somebody. he was looking for me! i was soon acquainted with the fact that this gentleman had come from budapest on behalf of the count, and wished to speak to me. at these words i felt myself lifted out of the abyss of despair. but my trials were not over. the count's confidential agent had been charged with the mission of helping me to leave germany. in order to do this, it would be necessary to cross austria into hungary, where i could rely upon active sympathy being shown me. things and people had already changed in the austro-hungarian monarchy! but, what possibilities such a journey presented! first, i had no official papers. the revelation of my name and title would alone suffice to impede my progress; i should be instantly detained. but although, thanks to the count's messenger, my bill at the inn was settled, i had only very limited means at my disposal. austria, it is true, was not far away. we could go there across the mountains by way of bohemia, but the envoy declared that, owing to his shortness of breath and his troublesome legs, he could not possibly follow me over the goat tracks which we should most assuredly have to pass. he decided that our best plan was to make for dresden, and from there to choose the easiest route. when evening fell our host metaphorically closed his eyes to my departure. he waited until the next day to notify my disappearance to the authorities. by the time he did so i was in saxony. but here again it was too dangerous to go near lindenhof in a kingdom where my misfortunes had been the subject of so much publicity. at last we remembered a little village close to the frontier, on the side nearest munich, where the regime was less rigorous than in the vicinity of dresden, and we arrived there without anything untoward happening. the present difficulty was not so much in crossing germany. it chiefly consisted in solving the question of the possibility of my being able to stay in some retired spot without my identity being discovered and notified, and afterwards to cross the frontier without a passport and gain safety at budapest. this odyssey alone would make a volume. it terminated in a bavarian village where i breathed freely once more. a good woman extended the kindest hospitality towards me and my faithful olga. the count's messenger still continued to watch over my welfare, and found accommodation for himself in the vicinity. from my window i could see the church steeple of the austrian village through which i must pass in order to reach salzburg, vienna and hungary. i was now on the borders of the promised land. a little wood separated me from it, at the extremity of which flowed a brook well known to the contrabandists, since it separated bavaria from austria, and served them by night as a means of transit. i dared not risk it! it would be necessary for me to cross a bridge constantly guarded by a sentry. but once over the bridge i should have left germany behind me! when i happened to be near munich, i had regained possession of two favourite dogs. my love of dogs is well known. i did not wish to be separated from these, and i had an intuition that they would be of use to me in my flight. i thought tenderly of the clever kiki, now a prisoner at bad-elster. his successors, like himself, would surely bring me luck! one was a big sheep-dog, the other a little griffon. at first i hesitated to go near the bridge for fear lest i should be recognized. then i reflected that it would seem suspicious to a sentry on duty if i always remained some distance away. my best method would be not to hide from the sentries, but to walk constantly with my dogs in their proximity. the soldiers (the same ones were always on duty) would soon get accustomed to seeing me, and in their eyes i should only represent an inoffensive inhabitant of the village. the count's envoy begged me to hasten my departure. i refused. he advised a nocturnal flight. i did not agree with him. i said: "i shall go when i see fit, at my own time, when i _feel_ that the propitious moment has arrived." it is curious, but it is nevertheless true, that i always experience a weird kind of intuition under difficulties. it is exactly as if some inner voice advised me what course to pursue. and whenever i have obeyed this intuition i have always been right. one morning i awakened under the domination of my unseen guide. "you must leave at noon to-day." i sent at once to the count's messenger. thanks to his official papers he was able to cross the frontier with olga without any difficulty. they therefore went on in advance. i arranged to meet them at the foot of the belfry in the austrian village--so near and yet so far. if the sentry stopped me and questioned me, i should be a prisoner!... towards noon i strolled along by the side of the brook, my big dog jumping round me, the tiny griffon in my arms. the autumnal sun was quite fierce, and the sentry was standing in the shade a little distance from the bridge. i sauntered across the bridge, as if it were a matter of course. the soldier took no notice. i walked away unconcernedly, but my heart was beating furiously! i was in austria at last! upon reaching the village i rejoined my "suite." a carriage was waiting. i drove to salzburg, and put up at a small hotel where i knew i should be in temporary security. i waited three days for the arrival of my viennese counsel, m. stimmer, who had been secretly advised of my return to austria, and of my wish to proceed to budapest under his protection. m. stimmer responded to my appeal. he waived all the legal difficulties which might arise from the situation. the voice of humanity spoke more strongly than the voice of obedience to the order which had banished me from austria, and given me over to the power of germany, where i should inevitably have succumbed to misery and persecution. but in hungary i should stand a chance of knowing happier days. m. stimmer decided to accompany me thither. i had reached the limit of my endurance when my wanderings came to an end at budapest, and i found myself in a comfortable first-class hotel. the authorities saw nothing compromising in my presence. at my urgent request the count was allowed to leave the small town where he was interned, and remain near me for several days in order to discuss my affairs. unfortunately the war was hopelessly prolonged. life gradually became more and more difficult. austria and hungary were no longer the victims of illusion. enlightened by the knowledge of defeat, they cursed berlin as the author of their misfortunes. budapest was in a state of ferment. all at once everything collapsed. the wind of bolshevism swept furiously over the dual monarchy. i now became familiar with the commissaries and soldiers of the revolution. i experienced visits of inspection, perquisitions, interrogations. but suddenly my misfortunes disarmed even the savage leaders of hungarian communism. i have already mentioned how one of these men remarked when he saw to what poverty i was reduced: "here is a king's daughter who is poorer than i am." if i were to live for centuries, i should still experience in thought those poignant emotions which i underwent during the time of torment which overthrew thrones and threw crowns to the four winds of heaven. past ages have never witnessed such an upheaval. on the banks of the danube, between the east and the west, the downfall of prussian power and the prestige of monarchy was felt perhaps more keenly than elsewhere. i often wondered whether i was actually alive in the world i had formerly known, or if i was not the victim of a long-drawn-out nightmare. our troubles, our worries, our own individuality are as naught in the whirlpool of human passions. i felt myself carried away with everything which surrounded me into the unknown country of a new era. chapter xx in the hope of rest and now that i have said all that i think is indispensable, perhaps my readers will make excuses for me if i have expressed myself badly in narrating the story of my sufferings. they will, perhaps, also make excuses for my having broken the silence which i have hitherto maintained. there has been endless discussion concerning me and my affairs. i have not wished it, i have not inspired it. it has arisen solely through force of circumstances. we are powerless against circumstances. our lives seem to be influenced more by others than by ourselves, and the fatality which often orders our actions and our days is not our choice. a moment's folly can wreck a whole life. this has been my personal experience. but i think that at first i was the person deceived, because i was not old enough to judge rightly and to see clearly. can i grow old without obeying the duty to defend the truth, which has been so outraged by my enemies? can i go down to the grave, misunderstood and slandered? my life represents a succession of fatalities of which i was powerless to avert the final _dénouement_. i have already said, and i repeat, i do not hold myself guiltless of errors, faults and wrongdoings. but one must, in justice, seek their primary cause in my disastrous marriage. my parents--particularly the queen--saw nothing wrong in giving me to the prince of coburg when i was hardly more than a child. the king saw in this marriage the possibility of certain influences and a political union which would be useful to himself and to belgium. the queen was overjoyed at the thought that i was to make my home in austria and hungary, whence she had herself come, and where i should remember her, and at the same time further my country's glory and the king's ambitions. i have been sacrificed for the good of belgium, and belgium now includes belgians who reproach me for the gift of my youth and happiness essentially destined for their benefit! belgians to-day regard me as a german, a hungarian--a foreigner--and worse even than that! alas for human gratitude! be that as it may, am i guilty of having voluntarily abandoned my country or of ceasing to love it? the whole of my being protests against this vile accusation. of what then am i guilty? of having left my husband and my children? i lived for twenty years at the most corrupt court of europe. i never yielded to its temptations or its follies. i gave birth to a son and a daughter, i suckled them at my breast, and i reposed all my hopes of a mother in my children. my son's fate and how he left me is common knowledge. it is also well known how my daughter, influenced by her husband and her environment, has treated me. of what was i actually guilty? it is true that finding myself at the end of my courage, and suffocating in the atmosphere of a home which for me was detestable, i was about to succumb.... i was rescued at this crisis, and i dedicated my life to my deliverer. and, in consequence, my saviour was branded as a forger, and by dint of monetary persecutions and fines it was sought to annihilate him. both of us have escaped from the murderers who desired our destruction. am i guilty of having struggled, of having remained faithful to fidelity, and of having resisted the efforts to overthrow me? the judgments of error and hatred matter little to me. i have remained the woman that i promised my sainted mother i would become--the idealist, who has lived on the heights. am i guilty in the real meaning of morality and freedom? many women who consider themselves in a position to cast the first stone at me have far more with which to reproach themselves! what remains to be said? this.... i believed, i believed in common with the greatest legal minds, that in the ordinary course of events i should inherit a fortune from my father. my inheritance was considerably encumbered and reduced owing to fraudulent schemes and wrongful judgments, which have been universally condemned. am i guilty for having been deceived and plundered? again it is said that my family was not united. is this my fault? i always loved my flesh and blood more than myself. have i been found wanting in affection and respect towards my parents? was i not to my sisters the adoring eldest sister who loved and cherished them? am i guilty of the errors of the king and the queen, the latter convinced by my persecutors of the gravity of my "illness," the former irritated--not by my independence, but by the scandal that it created? am i guilty of the selfishness of my sisters--one the victim of narrow-mindedness, the other the victim of political schemes? i freely admit this: i have certainly rebelled against disloyalty and restraint. but for what motives? for what ends? my real crime has consisted in my effort to get my own property, in waiting for a fortune which i have not handled. the world only admires the victorious, no matter by what means they achieve victory. i have been a victim ever since my girlish feet were led into devious paths; i have always suffered defeat. when the battle was over i did not ask pardon of untruth, injury, theft, or persecution. i might have been alone, i might have fallen under the burden of infamy and violence. but i would not yield because i was not fighting for myself alone. god has visibly sustained me, by animating my heart with feelings of esteem and gratitude for a chivalrous soul whom i have never heard utter a word of complaint, no matter how atrocious the intrigues and the cruelties which encompassed him. a base world has judged his devotion and my constancy from the lowest standpoint. let such a world now realize that beings exist who are far above the sordid instincts to which humanity abandons itself, beings who, in a common aspiration to a lofty ideal, rise superior to all earthly weaknesses. the last lines of this short sketch of a life, the details of which would fill many volumes, must be a recognition of my gratitude towards count geza mattachich. i have not said a great deal about him, because he will think that even a little is too much. this silent man only appreciates silence. "silence alone is strong, all the rest is weakness." thus wrote alfred de vigny, and this line is the motto of the strong. but you know, count, that unlike you i cannot force myself to be silent. i wish to invoke the vision of the hour when you first spoke those words which penetrated my conscience and cleansed and illumined it. from that hour, this light has been my guide. i have sought in suffering the road towards spiritual beauty. but you preceded me thither, and in the dark depths of the madhouse i looked towards your prison cell, and in so doing i escaped the horrors of insanity. we have had to submit to the assaults of covetousness and hypocrisy. we have struggled in the mire; we have been separated in wild lands. the world has only seen the splashes of mud and the tattered banner of our combat. it has ignored the cause, and its malevolence has never pardoned us for emerging from the fight as victims. all this was very bitter at the time, but i never regret! my sufferings are dear to me because you, count, have shared them, after having tried so ardently to spare me. there is always a certain joy in bearing unmerited afflictions in the spirit of sacrifice. this spirit of sacrifice is peculiarly your own. i never possessed it. but you have endowed me with it. no gift has ever been so precious to my soul, and i shall be grateful to you on this side of the tomb and beyond it! i, who alone know you as you really are, and know the adoration that has given you a reason for living, i thank you, count, in the twilight of my days for the nobility which you have always shown in this adoration. shall i ever know, will you ever know, the meaning of rest otherwise than the last rest which is the lot of mankind? will earthly justice ever render unto us the hoped-for reparations? will it be possible for us to remain outlawed from the truth, and crushed by the abuse of power and human wickedness? let it be as god wills! index agram, princess louise at, , albert, king of the belgians, albert, prince consort, influence of, queen victoria and, alexandrine, princess, of saxe-coburg, alice, princess, of hesse, betrothal of, to nicholas ii, character of, amélie, princess, of saxe-coburg, marriage with maximilian of bavaria, ardennes, royal picnics in, augusta (of schleswig-holstein), german empress, , bad taste in dress of, character of, _et seq._ duke gunther's marriage and, influence on outbreak of war of, mediocrity of, princess louise and, augusta (wife of william i), german empress, princess louise and, auguste, prince, of saxe-coburg, , , as count helpa, ausbach, m., burgomaster of brussels, austria, princess louise ordered from, return of princess louise to, automobiles, princess louise on, , bad-elster, escape of princess louise from, _et seq._ princess louise taken to, beatrice, princess (of battenberg), belgian government, will of leopold ii and, _et seq._ belgium, constitution of, fortitude of, indignation in berlin against, king leopold's fortune and, , leopold's anti-german policy and, princess louise and, , , princess louise's escape through, , princess louise's loss of nationality in, "sacrifice" of princess louise to, belgium, royal house of, and its connexions, berlin-bagdad railway, berlin, court of, under william i, under william ii, , biarritz, belgian royal family at, birthday oaks at laeken, bismarck, count von, , blanche de nemours, bologna, princess louise at, , bolshevism at budapest, , boucottes, château of, empress charlotte at, brown, john, and queen victoria, , brussels, plots against princess louise in, princess louise an "enemy princess" in, , brussels, palace at, inconveniences of, portrait of charles i by van dyck, in, budapest, bolshevism at, , count mattachich interned at, princess louise at, , society at, war experiences in, cannes, princess louise at, , chantilly, princess louise at, charlotte, empress of mexico, fortune of, , , , , chartres, duc de, chartres, duchesse de, , chateaubriand, princess louise and, château d'eu, princess louise at, chotek, countess, camarilla against, , created duchess of hohenberg, influence in austrian politics of, marriage with francis ferdinand d'este, , claremont, queen marie amélie at, clémentine, princess, of belgium, accepts belgian government's offer, as horsewoman, as musician, birth of, , birthday oak at laeken of, leopold ii's attitude to, marriage of, clémentine, princess (of orleans), at coburg palace, , ferdinand of bulgaria and, , - ferdinand's wife and, princess louise and, clotilde, archduchess, of saxe-coburg, at budapest, character of, coburg, family of, coburg, prince of (_see_ philip of saxe-coburg and gotha) coburg, royal gatherings at, - coburg estates in hungary, coburg palace, princess louise at, , _et seq._ condé, prince de, congo, king leopold's policy for, , king leopold's will and, _et seq._ cyril, grand duchess (_see_ melita, princess) daszynski, deputy, on count mattachich, , d'aumale, duc, as friend of belgium, at princess louise's wedding, friendship of, with queen of belgium, delehaye, m., on king leopold i, , d'este, francis ferdinand, camarilla against, , influence of duchess of hohenberg on, marriage with countess chotek of, , doebling asylum, princess louise in, , , , , donny, general, , dora, daughter of princess louise, birth of, leaves her mother, , marriage with duke gunther of schleswig-holstein, , , , , princess louise's fruitless appeal to, "wickedness" of, towards mother, dresden, princess louise at, edward vii at princess louise's wedding, german emperor and, john brown and, elizabeth, daughter of archduke rudolph, elizabeth, empress of austria, after death of archduke rudolph, , and heinrich heine, as "martyr," as "queen of queens," character of, death of, meeting between princess louise and, , emperor of austria (_see_ francis joseph) empress frederick, character of, , empress of austria (_see_ elizabeth, empress of austria) ernest, duke, of saxe-coburg, , princess louise and, , etienne, archduke, eucharistic congress ( ), emperor francis joseph at, faure, m., duets with queen henriette, ferdinand of bulgaria, adopts title of tsar, as "emperor of byzantium," character of, , , _et seq._ downfall of, enmity of, to princess louise, excommunication of, marriage of, mother's influence on, princess louise and, - , - sons of, baptized into greek church, flandre, comte and comtesse of, visit princess louise at lindenhof, france, politics and religion in, francis joseph, emperor of austria, and princess louise's scandals, , , at eucharistic congress ( ), berlin and, character of, , death of archduke rudolph and, greatness of, "justice" of, madame schratt and, , , "madness" of, regarding war, personal appearance of, , refuses help to princess louise, frederick, crown prince, at princess louise's wedding, frederick, emperor, character of, , fugger, countess, fidelity of, , , gerard, queen henriette's _maître-d' hôtel_, german emperor (_see_ william ii) germany, evil influence of prussia on, , , legendary philosophy of, treatment of ex-kings by, william ii responsible for crimes of, , goethe, as princess louise's favourite author, gotha, princess louise at, gunther, duke of schleswig-holstein, character of, coerces princess louise at munich, count mattachich and, fortune of leopold ii and, gunther, duke of schleswig-holstein, marriage of, with princess dora, , , warns princess louise, heine, heinrich, empress elizabeth and, princess louise's estimate of, helpa, count (_see_ auguste of saxe-coburg) henriette, queen of belgium, and death of prince leopold, , as horsewoman, , beauty and character of, , , , , death of, at spa, friendship of, with duc d'aumale, influence at vienna of, influence on princess louise, , , , king leopold and, , , , , letters of, to princess louise at lindenhof, marriage of, parents of, prince louise's marriage and, , , hesse, grand duke of, marriage of, with princess melita, hofburg palace, vienna, princess louise at, hohenberg, duchess of (_see_ chotek, countess) hoyoz, count, at meyerling, hungary, coburg estates in, john, archduke (john orth), disappearance of, joinville, prince de, joseph, archduke, at princess louise's wedding, at sadowa, palace of, at buda, keglevich, count, and count mattachich, , keglevich, countess, princess louise and count mattachich take refuge with, laeken, château of, childhood of princess louise at, , , commemoration oak trees at, inconveniences of, king leopold and gardens at, , marriage of princess louise at, queen henrietta's feat of horsemanship at, royal children's gardens at, lantsheere, m. de, address to the senate by, , _le journal_, princess louise and, leopold i, death of, , , influence of, leopold ii of belgium, , accession of, administration of empress charlotte's fortune by, attitude towards daughters of, , belgian government on, , belgium and fortune of, , , _et seq._ character of, , _et seq._ colonial policy of, , death of, forethought against germany of, fortune of, , , , , , , , gardens at laeken and, , influence of death of son on, lawsuit concerning fortune of, _et seq._ love of flowers of, marriage of, marriage of princess louise and, , marriage of princess stéphanie and, on "blindness" of france, on william ii, personality of, , princess louise at funeral of, , , sarcasm of, will of, , leopold, prince, of belgium, birth of, birthday oak at laeken of, character of, childhood of, , death of, , , , leopold, son of princess louise, death of, relations of, with mother, lindenhof, princess louise in asylum of, _et seq._ lobor, château of, princess louise and count mattachich take refuge at, louis ii of bavaria, character of , louis iii of bavaria, character of, , louis philippe, king, , louis victor, archduke, as instigator of persecution of princess louise, , , , louise, princess, alleged madness of, , , , , , , appeal to munich courts by, archduke louis victor and, archduke rudolph and, - , , , arrest of, as eldest daughter, as horsewoman, as mother, , as princess of coburg, , at agram, , at biarritz, , at bologna, , at budapest, , at cannes, , at chantilly, at château d'eu, at coburg palace, , _et seq._ at father's funeral, at queen victoria's jubilee celebrations, at regensburg, , attitude of king and queen towards, , , belgium's treatment of, betrothal of, birth of daughter to, birthday oak at laeken of, bolshevists and, , , , childhood of, , , coercion of, by duke gunther, , comtesse de flandre's visit to, at lindenhof, conjugal life of, count mattachich, at nice with, , , , ; attempts release of, _et seq._ court of vienna and, daughter's desertion of, declared sane by french doctors, departure for austria of, differences with husband of, , , , , divorce of, dr. sudekum's assistance to, emperor william and, , empress augusta and, , enemies of, , enmity of ferdinand of bulgaria to, escape of, from bad-elster, _et seq._ exile of, extravagance of, , favourite authors of, feelings for belgium of, ferdinand of bulgaria and, - , - flight from silesia of, - flight with count mattachich of, heinrich heine and, hereditary qualities of, , , , ideals of, in asylum at lindenhof and purkesdorf, _et seq._ incident on wedding night of, , infancy of, , king leopold and marriage of, king leopold's fortune and, lawsuit of, concerning the king's fortune, _et seq._ _le journal_ and, life in asylums of, , , , , , , _et seq._ marriage of, , , meeting of empress elizabeth and, , misfortunes of, , mother's influence on, , , , , mother's letters to, at lindenhof, m. stimmer's assistance to, , on motor-cars, on shakespeare, , on the theatre, "peculiarities" and "weaknesses" of, predominant quality of, presentation to emperor francis joseph of, princess clémentine of coburg and, , queen marie amélie and, queen victoria and, _et seq._ receives , , francs under king's will, relations with son of, , religion and, , renunciation of rights signed by, restoration of belgian nationality to, , return to austria of, "sacrifice" to belgium of, sufferings during the war of, _et seq._ taken to bad-elster, takes refuge with count mattachich at countess keglevich's château, , vienna scandals and, - visit to duke ernest of, , visit to rosenau of, visit to sofia of, _et seq._ visit to spa of, war experiences at munich of, , _et seq._ louise, queen of belgium, luitpold, prince, regent of bavaria, lutheranism, princess louise on, - , marguerite, princess, of thurn and taxis, marie, duchess, of saxe-coburg-gotha, marie, princess, of saxe-coburg (queen of rumania), beauty of, marie amélie, queen, marie dorothée of habsburg, marriage with duke philip of orleans, , marie louise of parma, flight to vienna of, , marriage of, with ferdinand of bulgaria, return to sofia of, marriage, disillusionment of, , , , marriage, reflections on, mattachich, count geza, , ability of, arrest of, at agram, ; at munich, assists princess louise to escape from germany, , character of, charge of forgery against, , , count keglevich and, discussion in reichsrath of, , duel with prince philip and, , duke gunther and, efforts of, to release princess louise, _et seq._ emperor william and, , flight with princess louise of, follows princess louise to bad-elster, imprisonment of, internment at budapest of, "pardon" of, public indignation at treatment of, takes refuge with princess louise at château lobor, with princess louise at nice, , , , maximilian, of bavaria, marriage and death of, , melita, princess, marriage with grand duke of hesse, meyerling, tragedy at, , , , - moellersdorf penitentiary, count mattachich in, moltke, marshal von, monarchy, principles of, - _moniteur_ on king leopold, montpensier, duc de, palace of, at cannes, munich, court of, _et seq._ insubordination to prussia of, munich, princess louise's appeal to courts of, war experiences of princess louise at, , _et seq._ nice, count mattachich and princess louise at, , nicholas ii, betrothal to princess alice of hesse, character of, , niederfullbach, report of, _et seq._ nietzsche, "that fool," nymphenburg, prince luitpold at, orleans family, , , orleans, prince of (_see_ philip, duke of orleans) orth, john (_see_ john, archduke) paris, comtesse de, parma, house of, and excommunication of ferdinand, philip, duke of orleans, marriage of, , philip of saxe-coburg and gotha, as austrian prince, at meyerling, , , betrothal of, , differences with princess louise, , , divorce of, duel with count mattachich, , "madness" of princess louise and, marriage of, pierson, dr., medical superintendent at lindenhof, , , prague, princess louise at, prussia, evil influence on germany of, , , responsibility for war of, prussian royal house, descent of, purkesdorf, princess louise in asylum at, queen of belgium (_see_ henriette, queen of belgium) queen of greece (_see_ sophie, queen of greece) queen of rumania (_see_ marie, princess, of saxe-coburg) regensburg, court life at, , reichsrath, discussion on count mattachich in, , religion, princess louise on, , republic, principles of, reuss, prince of, , , right of princes, , romanoff, house of, relations with coburg of, rosenau, princess louise at, rudolph, archduke, archduke john and, characteristics of, , , , death of, , , , empress elizabeth and, marriage of, , , , mary vetsera and, , , , princess louise and, - , , , russia, court of, saint antoine, château of, saxe-coburg, duke of, at princess louise's wedding, saxe-coburg-gotha, court life of, schaumbourg, château of, archduke stephen at, schratt, madame, emperor francis joseph and, , , serge, grand duchess, shakespeare, princess louise and, , social democracy, socialists and count mattachich, , société des sites, sofia, flight of marie louise from, princess louise at, _et seq._ soignies, forest of, , sophie, queen of greece, spa, death of queen of belgium at, visit of princess louise to, stanfferberg, count of, stéphanie, princess, of belgium, birth of, birthday oak at laeken of, childhood of, , count mattachich's alleged forgery of signature of, , king leopold and marriage of, , king leopold's attitude towards, last letter of rudolph to, , lawsuit over king's fortune and, marriage of, , , , serious illness of, vienna scandals and, stephen, archduke, exile of, stimmer, m., assists princess louise on return to austria, , sudekum, dr., escape of princess louise and, , "the account of the inheritance of his majesty leopold ii," _et seq._ theatre, queen henriette on, , thoughts on, thurn and taxis, court of, , tsar of bulgaria (_see_ ferdinand of bulgaria) van den smissin, van dyck, portrait of charles i by, vetsera, mary, archduke rudolph and, , description of, vienna, after the war in, vienna, court of, camarilla against francis ferdinand at, decadence and downfall of, , etiquette at, ferdinand at, princess louise declared enemy subject by, - victor napoleon, prince, marriage of, with princess clémentine, victoria, queen, _et seq._ character of, jubilee celebrations of, , princess alice and princess beatrice as readers to, princess louise seeks aid of, villa eugénie, biarritz, belgian royal family at, , vladimir, grand duchess, wales, prince of (edward vii), at princess louise's wedding, waltz, the, as "incomparable queen of dances," wiemmer, dr., , , william i, william ii, german emperor, as "scourge of god," as _welt kaiser_, , character of, _et seq._, , count mattachich and, , duchess gunther and, empress frederick and, princess louise and, , , responsibility of, for war and german war crimes, , , visit to vienna of, windisgretz, princess of, windsor, queen victoria's life at, wittelsbach, family of, woman, influence of, in governments, , women and the war, printed by cassell & company, limited, la belle sauvage, london, e.c. f. . the vanished pomps of yesterday _by lord frederic hamilton_ the vanished pomps of yesterday the days before yesterday here, there and everywhere _george h. doran company new york_ the vanished pomps of yesterday being _some random reminiscences of a british diplomat_ by lord frederic hamilton author of "here, there and everywhere," "the days before yesterday," etc., etc. a new and revised edition new york george h. doran company copyright, by george h. doran company printed in the united states of america to emily lady ampthill my first chefesse with ever-grateful recollections of her kindness foreword to the second edition the account of the boating accident at potsdam on page , differs in several particulars from the story as given in the original edition. these alterations have been made at the special request of the lady concerned, who tells me that my recollections of her story were at fault as regards several important details. there are also a few verbal alterations in the present edition. contents chapter i special mission to rome--berlin in process of transformation--causes of prussian militarism--lord and lady ampthill--berlin society--music-lovers--evenings with wagner--aristocratic waitresses--rubinstein's rag-time--liszt's opinions--bismarck--bismarck's classification of nationalities--bismarck's sons--gustav richter--the austrian diplomat--the old emperor--his defective articulation--other royalties--beauty of berlin palace--description of interior--the luxembourg--"napoleon iii"--three court beauties--the pugnacious pages--"making the circle"--conversational difficulties--an ecclesiastical gourmet--the maharajah's mother chapter ii easy-going austria--vienna--charm of town--a little piece of history--international families--family pride--"schlüssel-geld"--excellence of vienna restaurants--the origin of "_croissants_"--good looks of viennese women--strauss's operettas--a ball in an old vienna house--court entertainments--the empress elisabeth--delightful environs of vienna--the berlin congress of --lord beaconsfield--m. de blowitz--treaty telegraphed to london--environs of berlin--potsdam and its lakes--the bow-oar of the embassy "four"--narrow escape of ex-kaiser--the potsdam palaces--transfer to petrograd--glamour of russia--an evening with the crown prince at potsdam chapter iii the russian frontier--frontier police--disappointment at aspect of petrograd--lord and lady dufferin--the british embassy--st. isaac's cathedral--beauty of russian church-music--the russian language--the delightful "blue-stockings" of petrograd--princess chateau--pleasant russian society--the secret police--the countess's hurried journey--the yacht club--russians really orientals--their limitations--the "intelligenzia"--my nihilist friends--their lack of constructive power--easter mass at st. isaac's--two comical incidents--the easter supper--the red-bearded young priest--an empire built on shifting sand chapter iv the winter palace--its interior--alexander ii--a russian court ball--the "bals des palmiers"--the empress--the blessing of the neva--some curiosities of the winter palace--the great orloff diamond--my friend the lady-in-waiting--sugared compensations--the attempt on the emperor's life of --some unexpected finds in the palace--a most hilarious funeral--sporting expeditions--night drives through the forest in mid-winter--wolves--a typical russian village--a peasant's house--"deaf and dumb people"--the inquisitive peasant youth--curiosity about strangers--an embarrassing situation--a still more awkward one--food difficulties--a bear hunt--my first bear--alcoholic consequences--my liking for the russian peasant--the beneficent india-rubber ikon--two curious sporting incidents--village habits--the great gulf between russian nobility and peasants chapter v the russian gipsies--midnight drives--gipsy singing--its fascination--the consequences of a late night--an unconventional luncheon--lord dufferin's methods--assassination of alexander ii--stürmer--pathetic incidents in connection with the murder of the emperor--the funeral procession and service--details concerning--the votive church--the order of the garter--unusual incidents at the investiture--precautions taken for emperor's safety--the imperial train--finland--exciting salmon-fishing there--harraka niska--koltesha--excellent shooting there--ski-running--"ringing the game in"--a wolf-shooting party--the obese general--some incidents--a novel form of sport--black game and capercailzie--at dawn in a finnish forest--immense charm of it--ice-hilling or "montagnes russes"--ice-boating on the gulf of finland chapter vi love of russians for children's games--peculiarities of petrograd balls--some famous beauties of petrograd society--the varying garb of hired waiters--moscow--its wonderful beauty--the forest of domes--the kremlin--the three famous "cathedrals"--the imperial treasury--the sacristy--the palace--its splendour--the terem--a gargantuan russian dinner--an unusual episode at the french ambassador's ball--bombs--tsarskoe selo--its interior--extraordinary collection of curiosities in tsarskoe park--origin of term "vauxhall" for railway station in russia--peterhof--charm of park there--two russian illusions--a young man of twenty-five delivers an ultimatum to russia--how it came about--m. de giers--other foreign ministers--paraguay--the polite japanese dentist--a visit to gatchina--description of the palace--delights of the children's playroom there chapter vii lisbon--the two kings of portugal, and of barataria--king fernando and the countess--a lisbon bull-fight--the "hat-trick"--courtship window-parade--the spurred youth of lisbon--portuguese politeness--the de reszke family--the opera--terrible personal experiences in a circus--the bounding bishop--ecclesiastical possibilities--portuguese coinage--beauty of lisbon--visits of the british fleet--misguided midshipman--the legation whale-boat--"good wine needs no bush"--a delightful orange-farm--cintra--contrast between the past and present of portugal chapter viii brazil--contrast between portuguese and spanish south america--moorish traditions--amazing beauty of rio de janeiro--yellow fever--the commercial court chamberlain--the emperor pedro--the botanical gardens of rio--the quaint diversions of petropolis--the liveried young entomologist--buenos ayres--the charm of the "camp"--water throwing--a british minister in carnival-time--some buenos ayres peculiarities--masked balls--climatic conditions--theatres--restaurants--wonderful bird-life of the "camp"--estancia negrete--duck-shooting--my one flamingo--an exploring expedition in the gran chaco--hardships--alligators and fish--currency difficulties chapter ix paraguay--journey up the river--a primitive capital--dick the australian--his polychrome garb--a paraguayan race meeting--beautiful figures of native women--the "falcon" adventurers--a quaint railway--patiño cué--an extraordinary household--the capable australian boy--wild life in the swamps--"bushed"--a literary evening--a railway record--the tigre midnight swims--canada--maddening flies--a grand salmon-river--the canadian backwoods--skunks and bears--different views as to industrial progress chapter x former colleagues who have risen to eminence--kiderlin-waechter--aehrenthal--colonel klepsch--the discomfiture of an inquisitive journalist--origin of certain russian scares--tokyo--dulness of geisha dinners--japanese culinary curiosities--"musical chairs"--lack of colour in japan--the tokugawa dynasty--japanese gardens--the transplanted suburban embassy house--cherry-blossom--japanese politeness--an unfortunate incident in rome--eastern courtesy--the country in japan--an imperial duck-catching party--an up-to-date tokyo house--a shinto temple--linguistic difficulties at a dinner-party--the economical colleague--japan defaced by advertisements chapter xi petrograd through middle-aged eyes--russians very constant friends--russia an empire of shams--over-centralisation in administration--the system hopeless--a complete change of scene--the west indies--trinidad--personal character of nicholas ii--the weak point in an autocracy--the empress--an opportunity missed--the great collapse--terrible stories--love of human beings for ceremonial--some personal apologies--conclusion index the vanished pomps of yesterday "lo, all our pomp of yesterday is one with ninevah and tyre!" --rudyard kipling { } the vanished pomps of yesterday chapter i special mission to rome--berlin in process of transformation--causes of prussian militarism--lord and lady ampthill--berlin society--music-lovers--evenings with wagner--aristocratic waitresses--rubinstein's rag-time--liszt's opinions--bismarck--bismarck's classification of nationalists--bismarck's sons--gustav richter--the austrian diplomat--the old emperor--his defective articulation--other royalties--beauty of berlin palace--description of interior--the luxembourg--"napoleon iii"--three court beauties--the pugnacious pages--"making the circle"--conversational difficulties--an ecclesiastical gourmet--the maharajah's mother. the tremendous series of events which has changed the face of europe since is so vast in its future possibilities, that certain minor consequences of the great upheaval have received but scant notice. amongst these minor consequences must be included the disappearance of the courts of the three empires of eastern europe, russia, germany, and austria, with all their glitter and pageantry, their pomp and brilliant _mise-en-scène_. i will hazard no opinion as to whether the world is the better for their loss or not; i cannot, though, help { } experiencing a feeling of regret that this prosaic, drab-coloured twentieth century should have definitely lost so strong an element of the picturesque, and should have permanently severed a link which bound it to the traditions of the mediæval days of chivalry and romance, with their glowing colour, their splendid spectacular displays, and the feeling of continuity with a vanished past which they inspired. a tweed suit and a bowler hat are doubtless more practical for everyday wear than a doublet and trunk-hose. they are, however, possibly less picturesque. since, owing to various circumstances, i happen from my very early days to have seen more of this brave show than has fallen to the lot of most people, some extracts from my diaries, and a few personal reminiscences of the three great courts of eastern europe, may prove of interest. up to my twentieth year i was familiar only with our own court. i was then sent to rome with a special mission. as king victor emmanuel had but recently died, there were naturally no court entertainments. the quirinal is a fine palace with great stately rooms, but it struck me then, no doubt erroneously, that the italian court did not yet seem quite at home in their new surroundings, and that there was a subtle feeling in the air of a lack of continuity somewhere. in the "'seventies" the house of savoy had only been established for a very few years in their new capital. the conditions in rome { } had changed radically, and somehow one felt conscious of this. some ten months later, the ordeal of a competitive examination being successfully surmounted, i was sent to berlin as attaché, at the age of twenty. the berlin of the "'seventies" was still in a state of transition. the well-built, prim, dull and somewhat provincial _residenz_ was endeavouring with feverish energy to transform itself into a world-city, a _welt-stadt_. the people were still flushed and intoxicated with victory after victory. in the seven years between and prussia had waged three successful campaigns. the first, in conjunction with austria, against unhappy little denmark in ; then followed, in , the "seven weeks' war," in which austria was speedily brought to her knees by the crushing defeat of königgrätz, or sadowa, as it is variously called, by which prussia not only wrested the hegemony of the german confederation from her hundred-year-old rival, but definitely excluded austria from the confederation itself. the hohenzollerns had at length supplanted the proud house of hapsburg. prussia had further virtually conquered france in the first six weeks of the campaign, and on the conclusion of peace found herself the richer by alsace, half of lorraine, and the gigantic war indemnity wrung from france. as a climax the king of prussia had, with the consent of the feudatory princes, been proclaimed german emperor at versailles on january , , for bismarck, with all { } his diplomacy, was unable to persuade the feudatory kings and princes to acquiesce in the title of emperor _of_ germany for the prussian king. the new emperor was nominally only _primus inter pares_; he was not to be over-lord. theoretically the crown of charlemagne was merely revived, but the result was that henceforth prussia would dominate germany. this was a sufficient rise for the little state which had started so modestly in the sandy mark of brandenburg (the "sand-box," as south germans contemptuously termed it) in the fifteenth century. to understand the mentality of prussians, one must realise that prussia is the only country _that always made war pay_. she had risen with marvellous rapidity from her humble beginnings entirely by the power of the sword. every campaign had increased her territory, her wealth, and her influence, and the entire energies of the hohenzollern dynasty had been centred on increasing the might of her army. the teutonic knights had wrested east prussia from the wends by the power of the sword only. they had converted the wends to christianity by annihilating them, and the prussians inherited the traditions of the teutonic knights. napoleon, it is true, had crushed prussia at jena, but the latter half of the nineteenth century was one uninterrupted triumphal progress for her. no wonder then that every prussian looked upon warfare as a business proposition, and an exceedingly paying one at that. everything about them had been carefully { } arranged to foster the same idea. all the monuments in the berlin streets were to military heroes. the marble groups on the schloss-brücke represented episodes in the life of a warrior. the very songs taught the children in the schools were all militarist in tone: "the good comrade," "the soldier," "the young recruit," "the prayer during battle," all familiar to every german child. when william ii, ex-emperor, found the stately "white hall" of the palace insufficiently gorgeous to accord with his megalomania, he called in the architect ihne, and gave directions for a new frieze round the hall representing "victorious warfare fostering art, science, trade and industry." i imagine that william in his dutch retreat at amerongen may occasionally reflect on the consequences of warfare when it is _not_ victorious. trained in such an atmosphere from their childhood, drinking in militarism with their earliest breath, can it be wondered at that prussians worshipped brute-force, and brute-force alone? such a nation of heroes must clearly have a capital worthy of them, a capital second to none, a capital eclipsing paris and vienna. berliners had always been jealous of vienna, the traditional "kaiser-stadt." now berlin was also a "kaiser-stadt," and by the magnificence of its buildings must throw its older rival completely into the shade. paris, too, was the acknowledged centre of european art, literature, and fashion. why? the french had proved themselves a nation of decadents, utterly { } unable to cope with german might. the sceptre of paris should be transferred to berlin. so building and renovation began at a feverish rate. the open drains which formerly ran down every street in berlin, screaming aloud to heaven during the summer months, were abolished, and an admirable system of main drainage inaugurated. the appalling rough cobble-stones, which made it painful even to cross a berlin street, were torn up and hastily replaced with asphalte. a french colleague of mine used to pretend that the cobble-stones had been designedly chosen as pavement. berliners were somewhat touchy about the very sparse traffic in their wide streets. now one solitary _droschke_, rumbling heavily over these cobble-stones, produced such a deafening din that the foreigner was deluded into thinking that the berlin traffic rivalled that of london or paris in its density. berlin is of too recent growth to have any elements of the picturesque about it. it stands on perfectly flat ground, and its long, straight streets are terribly wearisome to the eye. miles and miles of ornate stucco are apt to become monotonous, even if decorated with porcelain plaques, glass mosaics, and other incongruous details dear to the garish soul of the berliner. in their rage for modernity, the municipality destroyed the one architectural feature of the town. some remaining eighteenth century houses had a local peculiarity. the front doors were on the first floor, and were approached by two steeply inclined planes, locally known as _die { } rampe_. a carriage (with, i imagine, infinite discomfort to the horses) could just struggle up one of these _rampe_, deposit its load, and crawl down again to the street-level. these inclined planes were nearly all swept away. the _rampe_ may have been inconvenient, but they were individual, local and picturesque. i arrived at the age of twenty at this berlin in active process of ultra-modernising itself, and in one respect i was most fortunate. the then british ambassador, one of the very ablest men the english diplomatic service has ever possessed, and his wife, lady ampthill, occupied a quite exceptional position. lord ampthill was a really close and trusted friend of bismarck, who had great faith in his prescience and in his ability to gauge the probable trend of events, and he was also immensely liked by the old emperor william, who had implicit confidence in him. under a light and debonair manner the ambassador concealed a tremendous reserve of dignity. he was a man, too, of quick decisions and great strength of character. lady ampthill was a woman of exceptional charm and quick intelligence, with the social gift developed to its highest point in her. both the ambassador and his wife spoke french, german, and italian as easily and as correctly as they did english. the ambassador was the _doyen_, or senior member, of the diplomatic body, and lady ampthill was the most intimate friend of the crown princess, afterwards the empress frederick. { } from these varied circumstances, and also from sheer force of character, lady ampthill had become the unchallenged social arbitress of berlin, a position never before conceded to any foreigner. as the french phrase runs, "_elle faisait la pluie et le beau temps à berlin._" to a boy of twenty life is very pleasant, and the novel surroundings and new faces amused me. people were most kind to me, but i soon made the discovery that many others had made before me, that at the end of two years one knows prussians no better than one did at the end of the first fortnight; that there was some indefinable, intangible barrier between them and the foreigner that nothing could surmount. it was not long, too, before i became conscious of the under-current of intense hostility to my own country prevailing amongst the "court party," or what would now be termed the "junker" party. these people looked upon russia as their ideal of a monarchy. the emperor of russia was an acknowledged autocrat; the british sovereign a constitutional monarch, or, if the term be preferred, more or less a figure-head. tempering their admiration of russia was a barely-concealed dread of the potential resources of that mighty empire, whose military power was at that period absurdly overestimated. england did not claim to be a military state, and in the "'seventies" the vital importance of sea-power was not yet understood. british statesmen, too, had an unfortunate habit of indulging in sloppy sentimentalities { } in their speeches, and the convinced believers in "practical politics" (_real politik_) had a profound contempt (i guard myself from saying an unfounded one) for sloppiness as well as for sentimentality. the berliners of the "'seventies" had not acquired what the french term _l'art de vivre_. prussia, during her rapid evolution from an insignificant sandy little principality into the leading military state of europe, had to practise the most rigid economy. from the royal family downwards, everyone had perforce to live with the greatest frugality, and the traces of this remained. the "art of living" as practised in france, england, and even in austria during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries was impossible in prussia under the straitened conditions prevailing there, and it is not an art to be learnt in a day. the small dinner-party, the gathering together of a few congenial friends, was unknown in berlin. local magnates gave occasionally great dinner-parties of thirty guests or so, at the grotesque hour of p.m. it seemed almost immoral to array oneself in a white tie and swallow-tail coat at four in the afternoon. the dinners on these occasions were all sent in from the big restaurants, and there was no display of plate, and never a single flower. as a german friend (probably a fervent believer in "practical politics") said to me, "the best ornament of a dinner-table is also good food"; nor did the conversation atone by its brilliancy for the lack of the dainty trimmings which { } the taste of western europe expects on these occasions. a never-failing topic of conversation was to guess the particular restaurant which had furnished the banquet. one connoisseur would pretend to detect "hiller" in the soup; another was convinced that the fish could only have been dressed by "poppenberg." as soon as we had swallowed our coffee, we were expected to make our bows and take our leave without any post-prandial conversation whatever, and at p.m. too! thirty people were gathered together to eat, _weiter nichts_, and, to do them justice, most of them fulfilled admirably the object with which they had been invited. the houses, too, were so ugly. no _objets d'art_, no personal belongings whatever, and no flowers. the rooms might have been in an hotel, and the occupant of the rooms might have arrived overnight with one small modest suit-case as his, or her, sole baggage. there was no individuality whatever about the ordinary berlin house, or _appartement_. i can never remember having heard literature discussed in any form whatever at berlin. for some reason the novelist has never taken root in germany. the number of good german novelists could be counted on the fingers of both hands, and no one seemed interested in literary topics. it was otherwise with music. every german is a genuine music-lover, and the greatest music-lover of them all was baroness von schleinitz, wife of the minister of the royal household. hers was { } a charming house, the stately eighteenth century _haus-ministerium_, with its ornate rococo _fest-saal_. in that somewhat over-decorated hall every great musician in europe must have played at some time or other. baron von schleinitz was, i think, the handsomest old man i have ever seen, with delightful old-world manners. it was a privilege to be asked to madame de schleinitz's musical evenings. she seldom asked more than forty people, and the most rigid silence was insisted upon; still every noted musician passing through berlin went to her house as a matter of course. at the time of my arrival from england, madame de schleinitz had struck up a great alliance with wagner, and gave two musical evenings a week as a sort of propaganda, in order to familiarise berlin amateurs with the music of the "ring." at that time the stupendous tetralogy had only been given at bayreuth and in munich; indeed i am not sure that it had then been performed in its entirety in the bavarian capital. in the _fest-saal_, with its involved and tortured rococo curves, two grand pianos were placed side by side, a point wagner insisted upon, and here the master played us his gigantic work. the way wagner managed to make the piano suggest brass, strings, or wood-wind at will was really wonderful. i think that we were all a little puzzled by the music of the "ring"; possibly our ears had not then been sufficiently trained to grasp the amazing beauty of such a subtle web of harmonies. his { } playing finished, a small, very plainly-appointed supper-table was placed in the middle of the _fest-saal_, at which wagner seated himself alone in state. then the long-wished-for moment began for his feminine adorers. the great ladies of berlin would allow no one to wait on the master but themselves, and the bearers of the oldest and proudest names in prussia bustled about with prodigious fussing, carrying plates of sauerkraut, liver sausage, black puddings, and herring-salad, colliding with each other, but in spite of that managing to heap the supper-table with more teutonic delicacies than even wagner's very ample appetite could assimilate. i fear that not one of these great ladies would have found it easy to obtain a permanent engagement as waitress in a restaurant, for their skill in handling dishes and plates was hardly commensurate with their zeal. in justice it must be added that the professional waitress would not be encumbered with the long and heavy train of evening dresses in the "'seventies." these great ladies, anxious to display their intimate knowledge of the master's tastes, bickered considerably amongst themselves. "surely, dear countess, you know by now that the master never touches white bread." "dearest princess, limburger cheese is the only sort the master cares for. you had better take that gruyère cheese away"; whilst an extremely attractive little countess, the bearer of a great german name, would trip vaguely about, announcing to the world that "the master thinks that he could { } eat two more black puddings. where do you imagine that i could find them?" meanwhile from another quarter one would hear an eager "dearest princess, could you manage to get some raw ham? the master thinks that he would like some, or else some raw smoked goose-breast." "_aber, allerliebste gräfin, wissen sie nicht dass der meister trinkt nur dunkles bier?_" would come as a pathetic protest from some slighted worshipper who had been herself reproved for ignorance of the master's gastronomic tastes. it must regretfully be confessed that these tastes were rather gross. meanwhile wagner, dressed in a frock-coat and trousers of shiny black cloth, his head covered with his invariable black velvet skull-cap, would munch steadily away, taking no notice whatever of those around him. the rest of us stood at a respectful distance, watching with a certain awe this marvellous weaver of harmonies assimilating copious nourishment. for us it was a sort of barmecide's feast, for beyond the sight of wagner at supper, we had no refreshments of any sort offered to us. soon afterwards rubinstein, on his way to st. petersburg, played at madame de schleinitz's house. having learnt that wagner always made a point of having two grand pianos side by side when he played, rubinstein also insisted on having two. to my mind, rubinstein absolutely ruined the effect of all his own compositions by the tremendous pace at which he played them. it was as { } though he were longing to be through with the whole thing. his "melody in f," familiar to every school-girl, he took at such a pace that i really believe the virulent germ which forty years afterwards was to develop into rag-time, and to conquer the whole world with its maddening syncopated strains, came into being that very night, and was evoked by rubinstein himself out of his own long-suffering "melody in f." our ambassador, himself an excellent musician, was an almost lifelong friend of liszt. wagner's wife, by the way, was lizst's daughter, and had been previously married to hans von bulow, the pianist. liszt, when passing through berlin, always dined at our embassy and played to us afterwards. i remember well lord ampthill asking liszt where he placed rubinstein as a pianist. "rubinstein is, without any question whatever, the first pianist in the world," answered liszt without hesitation. "but you are forgetting yourself, abbé," suggested the ambassador. "ich," said liszt, striking his chest, "ich bin der einzige pianist der welt" ("i; i am the only pianist in the world"). there was a superb arrogance about this perfectly justifiable assertion which pleased me enormously at the time, and pleases me still after the lapse of so many years. bismarck was a frequent visitor at our embassy, and was fond of dropping in informally in the evening. apart from his liking for our ambassador, he had a great belief in his judgment and { } discretion. lady ampthill, too, was one of the few women bismarck respected and really liked. i think he had a great admiration for her intellectual powers and quick sense of intuition. it is perhaps superfluous to state that no man living now occupies the position bismarck filled in the "'seventies." the maker of modern germany was the unchallenged dictator of europe. he was always very civil to the junior members of the embassy. i think it pleased him that we all spoke german fluently, for the acknowledged supremacy of the french language as a means of communication between educated persons of different nationalities was always a very sore point with him. it must be remembered that prussia herself had only comparatively recently been released from the thraldom of the french language. frederick the great always addressed his _entourage_ in french. after - , bismarck ordered the german foreign office to reply in the german language to all communications from the french embassy. he followed the same procedure with the russian embassy; whereupon the russian ambassador countered with a long despatch written in russian to the wilhelmstrasse. he received no reply to this, and mentioned that fact to bismarck about a fortnight later. "ah!" said bismarck reflectively, "now that your excellency mentions it, i think we did receive a despatch in some unknown tongue. i ordered it to be put carefully away until we could procure the services of an expert to decipher { } it. i hope to be able to find such an expert in the course of the next three or four months, and can only trust that the matter was not a very pressing one." the ambassador took the hint, and that was the last note in russian that reached the wilhelmstrasse. we ourselves always wrote in english, receiving replies in german, written in the third person, in the curiously cumbrous prussian official style. bismarck was very fond of enlarging on his favourite theory of the male and female european nations. the germans themselves, the three scandinavian peoples, the dutch, the english proper, the scotch, the hungarians and the turks, he declared to be essentially male races. the russians, the poles, the bohemians, and indeed every slavonic people, and all celts, he maintained, just as emphatically, to be female races. a female race he ungallantly defined as one given to immense verbosity, to fickleness, and to lack of tenacity. he conceded to these feminine races some of the advantages of their sex, and acknowledged that they had great powers of attraction and charm, when they chose to exert them, and also a fluency of speech denied to the more virile nations. he maintained stoutly that it was quite useless to expect efficiency in any form from one of the female races, and he was full of contempt for the celt and the slav. he contended that the most interesting nations were the epicene ones, partaking, that is, { } of the characteristics of both sexes, and he instanced france and italy, intensely virile in the north, absolutely female in the south; maintaining that the northern french had saved their country times out of number from the follies of the "méridionaux." he attributed the efficiency of the frenchmen of the north to the fact that they had so large a proportion of frankish and norman blood in their veins, the franks being a germanic tribe, and the normans, as their name implied, northmen of scandinavian, therefore also of teutonic, origin. he declared that the fair-haired piedmontese were the driving power of italy, and that they owed their initiative to their descent from the germanic hordes who invaded italy under alaric in the fifth century. bismarck stoutly maintained that efficiency, wherever it was found, was due to teutonic blood; a statement with which i will not quarrel. as the inventor of "practical politics" (_real-politik_), bismarck had a supreme contempt for fluent talkers and for words, saying that only fools could imagine that facts could be talked away. he cynically added that words were sometimes useful for "papering over structural cracks" when they had to be concealed for a time. with his intensely overbearing disposition, bismarck could not brook the smallest contradiction, or any criticism whatever. i have often watched him in the reichstag--then housed in a very modest building--whilst being attacked, especially by liebknecht the socialist. he made no effort to { } conceal his anger, and would stab the blotting-pad before him viciously with a metal paper-cutter, his face purple with rage. bismarck himself was a very clear and forcible speaker, with a happy knack of coining felicitous phrases. his eldest son, herbert bismarck, inherited all his father's arrogance and intensely overweening disposition, without one spark of his father's genius. he was not a popular man. the second son, william, universally known as "bill," was a genial, fair-headed giant of a man, as generally popular as his elder brother was the reverse. bill bismarck (the juxtaposition of these two names always struck me as being comically incongruous) drank so much beer that his hands were always wet and clammy. he told me himself that he always had three bottles of beer placed by his bedside lest he should be thirsty in the night. he did not live long. moltke, the silent, clean-shaved, spare old man with the sphinx-like face, who had himself worked out every detail of the franco-prussian war long before it materialised, was an occasional visitor at our embassy, as was gustav richter, the fashionable jewish artist. richter's paintings, though now sneered at as _chocolade-malerei_ (chocolate-box painting), had an enormous vogue in the "'seventies," and were reproduced by the hundred thousand. his picture of queen louise of prussia, engravings of which are scattered all over the world, { } is only a fancy portrait, as queen louise had died before richter was born. he had rauch's beautiful effigy of the queen in the mausoleum at charlottenburg to guide him, but the actual model was, i believe, a member of the _corps de ballet_ at the opera. madame richter was the daughter of mendelssohn the composer, and there was much speculation in berlin as to the wonderful artistic temperament the children of such a union would inherit. as a matter of fact, i fancy that none of the young richters showed any artistic gifts whatever. our embassy was a very fine building. the german railway magnate strousberg had erected it as his own residence, but as he most tactfully went bankrupt just as the house was completed, the british government was able to buy it at a very low figure indeed, and to convert it into an embassy. though a little ornate, it was admirably adapted for this purpose, having nine reception rooms, including a huge ball-room, all communicating with each other, on the ground floor. the "chancery," as the offices of an embassy are termed, was in another building on the pariser platz. this was done to avoid the constant stream of people on business, of applicants of various sorts, including "d.b.s.'s" (distressed british subjects), continually passing through the embassy. immediately opposite our "chancery," in the same building, and only separated from it by a _porte-cochère_, was the chancery of the austro-hungarian embassy. { } count w----, the councillor of the austrian embassy, was very deaf, and had entirely lost the power of regulating his voice. he habitually shouted in a quarter-deck voice, audible several hundred yards away. i was at work in the chancery one day when i heard a stupendous din arising from the austrian chancery. "the imperial chancellor told me," thundered this megaphone voice in stentorian german tones, every word of which must have been distinctly heard in the street, "that under no circumstances whatever would germany consent to this arrangement. if the proposal is pressed, germany will resist it to the utmost, if necessary by force of arms. the chancellor, in giving me this information," went on the strident voice, "impressed upon me how absolutely secret the matter must be kept. i need hardly inform your excellency that this telegram is confidential to the highest degree." "what is that appalling noise in the austrian chancery?" i asked our white-headed old chancery servant. "that is count w---- dictating a cypher telegram to vienna," answered the old man with a twinkle in his shrewd eyes. this little episode has always seemed to me curiously typical of austro-hungarian methods. the central figure of berlin was of course the old emperor william. this splendid-looking old man may not have been an intellectual giant, but he { } certainly looked an emperor, every inch of him. there was something, too, very taking in his kindly old face and genial manner. the crown princess, afterwards the empress frederick, being a british princess, we were what is known in diplomatic parlance as "une ambassade de famille." the entire staff of the embassy was asked to dine at the palace on the birthdays both of queen victoria and of the crown princess. these dinners took place at the unholy hour of p.m., in full uniform, at the emperor's ugly palace on the linden, the old schloss being only used for more formal entertainments. on these occasions the sole table decoration consisted, quaintly enough, of rows of gigantic silver dish-covers, each surmounted by the prussian eagle, with nothing under them, running down the middle of the table. the old emperor had been but indifferently handled by his dentist. it had become necessary to supplement nature's handiwork by art, but so unskilfully had these, what are euphemistically termed, additions to the emperor's mouth been contrived, that his articulation was very defective. it was almost impossible to hear what he said, or indeed to make out in what language he was addressing you. when the emperor "made the circle," one strained one's ears to the utmost to obtain a glimmering of what he was saying. if one detected an unmistakably teutonic guttural, one drew a bow at a venture, and murmured "_zu befehl majestät_," trusting that it might fit in. should one catch, on the other hand, a slight { } suspicion of a nasal "n," one imagined that the language must be french, and interpolated a tentative "_parfaitement, sire_," trusting blindly to a kind providence. still the impression remains of a kindly and very dignified old gentleman, filling his part admirably. the empress augusta, who had been beautiful in her youth, could not resign herself to growing old gracefully. she would have made a most charming old lady, but though well over seventy then, she was ill-advised enough to attempt to rejuvenate herself with a chestnut wig and an elaborate make-up, with deplorable results. the empress, in addition, was afflicted with a slight palsy of the head. the really magnificent figure was the crown prince, afterwards the emperor frederick. immensely tall, with a full golden beard, he looked in his white cuirassier uniform the living embodiment of a german legendary hero; a lohengrin in real life. princess frederick charles of prussia was a strikingly handsome woman too, though unfortunately nearly stone deaf. though the palace on the linden may have been commonplace and ugly, the old schloss has to my mind the finest interior in europe. it may lack the endless, bare, gigantic halls of the winter palace in petrograd, and it may contain fewer rooms than the great rambling hofburg in vienna, but i maintain that, with the possible exception of the palace in madrid, no building in europe { } can compare internally with the old schloss in berlin. i think the effect the berlin palace produces on the stranger is due to the series of rooms which must be traversed before the state apartments proper are reached. these rooms, of moderate dimensions, are very richly decorated. their painted ceilings, encased in richly-gilt "coffered" work in high relief, have a venetian effect, recalling some of the rooms in the doge's palace in the sea-girt city of the adriatic. their silk-hung walls, their pictures, and the splendid pieces of old furniture they contain, redeem these rooms from the soulless, impersonal look most palaces wear. they recall the rooms in some of the finer english or french country-houses, although no private house would have them in the same number. the rooms that dwell in my memory out of the dozen or so that formed the _enfilade_ are, first, the "drap d'or kammer," with its droll hybrid appellation, the walls of which were hung, as its name implies, with cloth of gold; then the "red eagle room," with its furniture and mirrors of carved wood, covered with thin plates of beaten silver, producing an indescribably rich effect, and the "red velvet" room. this latter had its walls hung with red velvet bordered by broad bands of silver lace, and contained some splendid old gilt furniture. the throne room was one of the most sumptuous in the world. it had an arched painted ceiling, from which depended some beautiful old chandeliers of cut rock crystal, and the walls, which framed { } great panels of gobelin tapestry of the best period, were highly decorated, in florid rococo style, with pilasters and carved groups representing the four quarters of the world. the whole of the wall surface was gilded; carvings, mouldings, and pilasters forming one unbroken sheet of gold. we were always told that the musicians' gallery was of solid silver, and that it formed part of frederick the great's war-chest. as a matter of fact, frederick had himself melted the original gallery down and converted it into cash for one of his campaigns. by his orders, a facsimile gallery was carved of wood heavily silvered over. the effect produced, however, was the same, as we were hardly in a position to scrutinise the hall-mark. the room contained four semi-circular buffets, rising in diminishing tiers, loaded with the finest specimens the prussian crown possessed of old german silver-gilt drinking-cups of nuremberg and augsburg workmanship of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. when the throne room was lighted up at night the glowing colours of the gobelin tapestry and the sheen of the great expanses of gold and silver produced an effect of immense splendour. with the possible exception of the salle des fêtes in the luxembourg palace in paris, it was certainly the finest throne room in europe. the first time i saw the luxembourg hall was as a child of seven, under the second empire, when i was absolutely awe-struck by its magnificence. it then contained napoleon the third's throne, and { } was known as the "salle du trône." a relation pointed out to me that the covering and curtains of the throne, instead of being of the stereotyped crimson velvet, were of purple velvet, all spangled with the golden bees of the bonapartes. the luxembourg hall had then in the four corners of the coved ceiling an ornament very dear to the meretricious but effective taste of the second empire. four immense globes of sky-blue enamel supported four huge gilt napoleonic eagles with outspread wings. to the crude taste of a child the purple velvet of the throne, powdered with golden bees, and the gilt eagles on their turquoise globes, appeared splendidly sumptuous. of course after all traces of throne and eagles were removed, as well as the countless "n. iii's" with which the walls were plentifully besprinkled. what an astute move of louis napoleon's it was to term himself the "third," counting the poor little "aiglon," the king of rome, as the second of the line, and thus giving a look of continuity and stability to a brand-new dynasty! some people say that the assumption of this title was due to an accident, arising out of a printer's error. after his _coup d'état_, louis napoleon issued a proclamation to the french people, ending "vive napoleon!!!" the printer, mistaking the three notes of exclamation for the numeral iii, set up "vive napoleon iii." the proclamation appeared in this form, and louis napoleon, at once recognising the advantages of it, adhered to the style. { } whether this is true or not i cannot say. i was then too young to be able to judge for myself, but older people have told me that the mushroom court of the tuileries eclipsed all others in europe in splendour. the _parvenu_ dynasty needed all the aid it could derive from gorgeous ceremonial pomp to maintain its position successfully. to return to berlin, beyond the throne room lay the fine picture gallery, nearly feet long. at court entertainments all the german officers gathered in this picture gallery and made a living hedge, between the ranks of which the guests passed on their way to the famous "white hall." these long ranks of men in their resplendent _hofballanzug_ were really a magnificent sight, and whoever first devised this most effective bit of stage-management deserves great credit. the white hall as i knew it was a splendidly dignified room. as its name implies, it was entirely white, the mouldings all being silvered instead of gilt. both germans and russians are fond of substituting silvering for gilding. personally i think it most effective, but as the french with their impeccable good taste never employ silvering, there must be some sound artistic reason against its use. it must be reluctantly confessed that the show of feminine beauty at berlin was hardly on a level with the perfect _mise-en-scène_. there were three or four very beautiful women. countess karolyi, the austrian ambassadress, herself a hungarian, was a tall, graceful blonde with beautiful hair; she { } was full of infinite attraction. princess william radziwill, a russian, was, i think, the loveliest human being i have ever seen; she was, however, much dreaded on account of her mordant tongue. princess carolath-beuthen, a prussian, had first seen the light some years earlier than these two ladies. she was still a very beautiful woman, and eventually married as her second husband count herbert bismarck, the iron chancellor's eldest son. there was, unfortunately, a very wide gap between the looks of these "stars" and those of the rest of the company. the interior of the berlin schloss put buckingham palace completely in the shade. the london palace was unfortunately decorated in the "fifties," during the _époque de mauvais goût_, as the french comprehensively term the whole period between and , and it bears the date written on every unfortunate detail of its decoration. it is beyond any question whatever the product of the "period of bad taste." i missed, though, in berlin the wealth of flowers which turns buckingham palace into a garden on court ball nights. civilians too in london have to appear at court in knee-breeches and stockings; in berlin trousers were worn, thus destroying the _habillé_ look. as regards the display of jewels and the beauty of the women at the two courts, berlin was simply nowhere. german uniforms were of every colour of the rainbow; with us there is an undue predominance of scarlet, so that the kaleidoscopic effect of berlin was never { } attained in london, added to which too much scarlet and gold tends to kill the effect of the ladies' dresses. at the prussian court on these state occasions an immense number of pages made their appearance. i myself had been a court page in my youth, but whereas in england little boys were always chosen for this part, in berlin the tallest and biggest lads were selected from the cadet school at lichterfelde. a great lanky gawk six feet high, with an incipient moustache, does not show up to advantage in lace ruffles, with his thin spindle-shanks encased in silk stockings; a page's trappings being only suitable for little boys. i remember well the day when i and my fellow-novice were summoned to try on our new page's uniforms. our white satin knee-breeches and gold-embroidered white satin waistcoats left us quite cold, but we were both enchanted with the little pages' swords, in their white-enamelled scabbards, which the tailor had brought with him. we had neither of us ever possessed a real sword of our own before, and the steel blades were of the most inviting sharpness. we agreed that the opportunity was too good a one to be lost, so we determined to slip out into the garden in our new finery and there engage in a deadly duel. it was further agreed to thrust really hard with the keen little blades, "just to see what would happen." fortunately for us, we had been overheard. we reached the garden, and, having found a conveniently secluded spot, had just { } commenced to make those vague flourishes with our unaccustomed weapons which our experience, derived from pictures, led us to believe formed the orthodox preliminaries to a duel, when the combat was sternly interrupted. otherwise there would probably have been vacancies for one if not two fresh pages of honour before nightfall. what a pity there were no "movies" in those days! what a splendid film could have been made of two small boys, arrayed in all the bravery of silk stockings, white satin breeches, and lace ruffles, their red tunics heavy with bullion embroidery, engaged in a furious duel in a big garden. when the news of our escapade reached the ears of the highest quarters, preemptory orders were issued to have the steel blades removed from our swords and replaced with innocuous pieces of shaped wood. it was very ignominious; still the little swords made a brave show, and no one by looking at them could guess that the white scabbards shielded nothing more deadly than an inoffensive piece of oak. a page's sword, by the way, is not worn at the left side in the ordinary manner, but is passed through two slits in the tunic, and is carried in the small of the back, so that the boy can keep his hands entirely free. the "white hall" has a splendid inlaid parquet floor, with a crowned prussian eagle in the centre of it. this eagle was a source of immense pride to the palace attendants, who kept it in a high state of polish. as a result the eagle was as slippery as ice, and woe betide the unfortunate dancer { } who set his foot on it. he was almost certain to fall; and to fall down at a berlin state ball was an unpardonable offence. if a german officer, the delinquent had his name struck off the list of those invited for a whole year. if a member of the corps diplomatique, he received strong hints to avoid dancing again. certainly the diplomats were sumptuously entertained at supper at the berlin palace; whether the general public fared as well i do not know. urbain, the old emperor william's french chef, who was responsible for these admirable suppers, had published several cookery books in french, on the title-page of which he described himself as "urbain, premier officier de bouche de s.m. l'empereur d'allemagne." this quaint-sounding title was historically quite correct, it being the official appellation of the head cooks of the old french kings. a feature of the berlin state balls was the stirrup-cup of hot punch given to departing guests. knowing people hurried to the grand staircase at the conclusion of the entertainment; here servants proffered trays of this delectable compound. it was concocted, i believe, of equal parts of arrack and rum, with various other unknown ingredients. in the same way, at buckingham palace in queen victoria's time, wise persons always asked for hock cup. this was compounded of very old hock and curious liqueurs, from a hundred-year-old recipe. a truly admirable beverage! now, alas! since queen victoria's day, only a memory. { } the princesses of the house of prussia had one ordeal to face should they become betrothed to a member of the royal family of any other country. they took leave formally of the diplomats at the palace, "making the circle" by themselves. i have always understood that prussian princesses were trained for this from their childhood by being placed in the centre of a circle of twenty chairs, and being made to address some non-committal remark to each chair in turn, in german, french, and english. i remember well princess louise margaret of prussia, afterwards our own duchess of connaught, who was to become so extraordinarily popular not only in england but in india and canada as well, making her farewell at berlin on her betrothal. she "made the circle" of some forty people, addressing a remark or two to each, entirely alone, save for two of the great long, gawky prussian pages in attendance on her, looking in their red tunics for all the world like london-grown geraniums--all stalk and no leaves. it is a terribly trying ordeal for a girl of eighteen, and the duchess once told me that she nearly fainted from sheer nervousness at the time, although she did not show it in the least. if i may be permitted a somewhat lengthy digression, i would say that it is at times extremely difficult to find topics of conversation. years afterwards, when i was stationed at our lisbon legation, the papal nuncio was very tenacious of his dignity. in catholic countries the nuncio is _ex officio_ head { } of the diplomatic body, and the nuncio at lisbon expected every diplomat to call on him at least six times a year. on his reception days the nuncio always arrayed himself in his purple robes and a lace cotta, with his great pectoral emerald cross over it. he then seated himself in state in a huge carved chair, with a young priest as aide-de-camp, standing motionless behind him. it was always my ill-fortune to find the nuncio alone. now what possible topic of conversation could i, a protestant, find with which to fill the necessary ten minutes with an italian archbishop _in partibus_. we could not well discuss the latest fashions in copes, or any impending changes in the college of cardinals. most providentally, i learnt that this admirable ecclesiastic, so far from despising the pleasures of the table, made them his principal interest in life. i know no more of the intricacies of the italian _cuisine_ than melchizedek knew about frying sausages, but i had a friend, the wife of an italian colleague, deeply versed in the mysteries of tuscan cooking. this kindly lady wrote me out in french some of the choicest recipes in her extensive _répertoire_, and i learnt them all off by heart. after that i was the nuncio's most welcome visitor. we argued hotly over the respective merits of _risotto alia milanese_ and _risotto al salto_. we discussed _gnocchi_, _pasta asciutta_, and novel methods of preparing _minestra_, i trust without undue partisan heat, until the excellent prelate's eyes gleamed and his mouth began to water. donna maria, my italian friend, proved an { } inexhaustible mine of recipes. she always produced new ones, which i memorised, and occasionally wrote out for the nuncio, sometimes, with all the valour of ignorance, adding a fancy ingredient or two on my own account. on one occasion, after i had detailed the constituent parts of an extraordinarily succulent composition of rice, cheese, oil, mushrooms, chestnuts, and tomatoes, the nuncio nearly burst into tears with emotion, and i feel convinced that, heretic though i might be, he was fully intending to give me his apostolic benediction, had not the watchful young priest checked him. i felt rewarded for my trouble when my chief, the british minister, informed me that the nuncio considered me the most intelligent young man he knew. he added further that he enjoyed my visits, as my conversation was so interesting. the other occasion on which i experienced great conversational difficulties was in northern india at the house of a most popular and sporting maharajah. his mother, the old maharani, having just completed her seventy-first year, had emerged from the seclusion of the zenana, where she had spent fifty-five years of her life, or, in eastern parlance, had "come from behind the curtain." we paid short ceremonial visits at intervals to the old lady, who sat amid piles of cushions, a little brown, shrivelled, mummy-like figure, so swathed in brocades and gold tissue as to be almost invisible. the maharajah was most anxious that i should talk to his mother, but what possible subject of conversation { } could i find with an old lady who had spent fifty-five years in the pillared (and somewhat uncleanly) seclusions of the zenana? added to which the maharani knew no urdu, but only spoke bengali, a language of which i am ignorant. this entailed the services of an interpreter, always an embarrassing appendage. on occasions of this sort morier's delightful book _hadji baba_ is invaluable, for the author gives literal english translations of all the most flowery persian compliments. had the maharani been a mohammedan, i could have addressed her as "oh moon-faced ravisher of hearts! i trust that you are reposing under the canopy of a sound brain!" being a hindoo, however, she would not be familiar with persian forms of politeness. a few remarks on lawn tennis, or the increasing price of polo ponies, would obviously fail to interest her. you could not well discuss fashions with an old lady who had found one single garment sufficient for her needs all her days, and any questions as to details of her life in the zenana, or that of the other inmates of that retreat, would have been indecorous in the highest degree. nothing then remained but to remark that the maharajah was looking remarkably well, but that he had unquestionably put on a great deal of weight since i had last seen him. i received the startling reply from the interpreter (delivered in the clipped, staccato tones most natives of india assume when they speak english), "her highness says that, thanks to god, and to his mother's cooking, her son's belly is increasing indeed to vast size." { } bearing in mind these later conversational difficulties, i cannot but admire the ease with which royal personages, from long practice, manage to address appropriate and varied remarks to perhaps forty people of different nationalities, whilst "making the circle." { } chapter ii easy-going austria--vienna--charm of town--a little piece of history---international families--family pride--"schlüssel-geld"--excellence of vienna restaurants--the origin of "_croissants_"--good looks of viennese women--strauss's operettas--a ball in an old vienna house--court entertainments--the empress elisabeth--delightful environs of vienna--the berlin congress of --lord beaconsfield--m. de blowitz--treaty telegraphed to london--environs of berlin--potsdam and its lakes--the bow-oar of the embassy "four"--narrow escape of ex-kaiser--the potsdam palaces--transfer to petrograd--glamour of russia--an evening with the crown prince at potsdam. our embassy at vienna was greatly overworked at this time, owing to the illness of two of the staff, and some fresh developments of the perennial "eastern question." i was accordingly "lent" to the vienna embassy for as long as was necessary, and left at once for the austrian capital. at the frontier station of tetschen the transition from cast-iron, dictatorial, overbearing prussian efficiency to the good-natured, easy-going, slipshod methods of the "ramshackle empire" was immediately apparent. the change from berlin to vienna was refreshing. the straight, monotonous, well-kept streets of the northern capital lacked life and animation. it was a very fine frame enclosing no picture. the vienna { } streets were as gay as those of paris, and one was conscious of being in a city with centuries of traditions. the inner town of vienna with its narrow winding streets is extraordinarily picturesque. the demolisher has not been given the free hand he has been allowed in paris, and the fine _baroque_ houses still remaining give an air of great distinction to this part of the town, with its many highly-decorative, if somewhat florid, fountains and columns. one was no longer in the "pushful" atmosphere of prussia. these cheery, easy-going viennese loved music and dancing, eating and drinking, laughter and fun. they were quite content to drift lazily down the stream of life, with as much enjoyment and as little trouble as possible. they might be a decadent race, but they were essentially _gemüthliche leute_. the untranslatable epithet _gemüthlich_ implies something at once "comfortable," "sociable," "cosy," and "pleasant." the austrian aristocracy were most charming people. they had all intermarried for centuries, and if they did not trouble their intellect much, there may have been physical difficulties connected with the process for which they were not responsible. the degree of warmth of their reception of foreigners was largely dependent upon whether he, or she, could show the indispensable _sechzehn ahnen_ (the "sixteen quarterings"). once satisfied (or the reverse) as to this point, to which they attach immense importance, the situation became easier. as the whole of these people were interrelated, they { } were all on christian names terms, and the various "mitzis," "kitzis," "fritzis," and other characteristically austrian abbreviations were a little difficult to place at times. it was impossible not to realise that the whole nation was living on the traditions of their splendid past. it must be remembered that in the sixteenth century the hapsburgs ruled the whole of europe with the exception of france, england, russia, and the scandinavian countries. for centuries after charlemagne assumed the imperial crown there had been only one emperor in europe, the "holy roman emperor," the "heiliger römischer kaiser," the fiction being, of course, that he was the descendant of the cæsars. the word "kaiser" is only the german variant of cæsar. france and england had always consistently refused to acknowledge the overlordship of the emperor, but the prestige of the title in german-speaking lands was immense, though the holy roman empire itself was a mere simulacrum of power. in theory the emperor was elected; in practice the title came to be a hereditary appanage of the proud hapsburgs. it was, i think, talleyrand who said "l'autrice a la fächeuse habitude d'être toujours battue," and this was absolutely true. austria was defeated with unfailing regularity in almost every campaign, and the hapsburgs saw their immense dominions gradually slipping from their grasp. it was on may , , that napoleon was crowned emperor of the french in paris, and francis ii, the last of { } the holy roman emperors, was fully aware that napoleon's next move would be to supplant him and get himself elected as "roman emperor." this napoleon would have been able to achieve, as he had bribed the electors of bavaria, württemberg, and saxony by creating them kings. for once a hapsburg acted with promptitude. on august , , francis proclaimed himself hereditary emperor of austria, and two years later he abolished the title of holy roman emperor. the empire, after a thousand years of existence, flickered out ingloriously in . the pride of the hapsburgs had received a hundred years previously a rude shock. peter the great, after consolidating russia, abolished the title of tsar of muscovy, and proclaimed himself emperor of all the russias; purposely using the same term "imperator" as that employed by the roman emperor, and thus putting himself on an equality with him. i know by experience that it is impossible to din into the heads of those unfamiliar with russia that since peter the great's time there has never been a tsar. the words "tsar," "tsarina," "cesarevitch," beloved of journalists, exist only in their imagination; they are never heard in russia. the russians termed their emperor "gosudar imperator," using either or both of the words. empress is "imperatritza"; heir apparent "nadslyédnik." if you mentioned the words "tsar" or "tsarina" to any ordinary russian peasant, i doubt if he would understand you, but i am well { } aware that it is no use repeating this, the other idea is too firmly ingrained. the hapsburgs had yet another bitter pill to swallow. down to the middle of the nineteenth century the ancient prestige of the title kaiser and the glamour attached to it were maintained throughout the germanic confederation, but in a second brand-new kaiser arose on the banks of the spree, and the hapsburgs were shorn of their long monopoly. franz josef of austria must have rued the day when sigismund sold the sandy mark of brandenburg to frederick count of hohenzollern in , and regretted the acquiescence in of his direct ancestor, the emperor leopold i, in the elector of brandenburg's request that he might assume the title of king of prussia. the hohenzollerns were ever a grasping race. i think that it was louis xiv of france who, whilst officially recognising the new king of prussia, refused to speak of him as such, and always alluded to him as "monsieur le marquis de brandenbourg." no wonder that the feeling of bitterness against prussia amongst the upper classes of austria was very acute in the "'seventies." the events of were still too recent to have been forgotten. in my time the great austrian ladies affected the broadest vienna popular dialect, probably to emphasise the fact that they were not prussians. thus the sentence "ein glas wasser, bitte," became, written in phonetic english, "a' glawss vawsser beet." i myself was much rallied on my pedantic { } north-german pronunciation, and had in self-defence to adopt unfamiliar austrian equivalents for many words. the curious international families which seemed to abound in vienna always puzzled me. thus the princes d'aremberg are belgians, but there was one prince d'aremberg in the austrian service, whilst his brother was in the prussian diplomatic service, the remainder of the family being belgians. there were, in the same way, many german-speaking pourtales in berlin in the german service, and more french-speaking ones in paris in the french service. the duc de croy was both a belgian and an austrian subject. the croys are one of the oldest families in europe, and are _ebenbürtig_ ("born on an equality") with all the german royalties. they therefore show no signs of respect to archdukes and archduchesses when they meet them. although i cannot vouch personally for them, never having myself seen them, i am told that there are two pictures in the croy palace at brussels which reach the apogee of family pride. the first depicts noah embarking on his ark. although presumably anxious about the comfort of the extensive live-stock he has on board, noah finds time to give a few parting instructions to his sons. on what is technically called a "bladder" issuing from his mouth are the words, "and whatever you do, don't forget to bring with you the family papers of the croys." ("et surtout ayez soin de ne pas oublier les papiers de la maison de croy!") the { } other picture represents the madonna and child, with the then duke of croy kneeling in adoration before them. out of the virgin mary's mouth comes a "bladder" with the words "but please put on your hat, dear cousin." ("mais couvrez vous donc, cher cousin.") the whole of viennese life is regulated by one exceedingly tiresome custom. after or . p.m. the hall porter (known in vienna as the "house-master") of every house in the city has the right of levying a small toll of threepence on each person entering or leaving the house. the whole life of the vienna bourgeois is spent in trying to escape this tax, known as "schlüssel-geld." the theatres commence accordingly at p.m. or . , which entails dining about p.m. a typical viennese middle-class family will hurry out in the middle of the last act and scurry home breathlessly, as the fatal hour approaches. arrived safely in their flat, in the last stages of exhaustion, they say triumphantly to each other. "we have missed the end of the play, and we are rather out of breath, but never mind, we have escaped the 'schlüssel-geld,' and as we are four, that makes a whole shilling saved!" an equally irritating custom is the one that ordains that in restaurants three waiters must be tipped in certain fixed proportions. the "piccolo," who brings the wine and bread, receives one quarter of the tip; the "speisetrager," who brings the actual food, gets one half; the "zahlkellner," { } who brings the bill, gets one quarter. all these must be given separately, so not only does it entail a hideous amount of mental arithmetic, but it also necessitates the perpetual carrying about of pocketfuls of small change. the vienna restaurants were quite excellent, with a local cuisine of extraordinary succulence, and more extraordinary names. a universal austrian custom, not only in restaurants but in private houses as well, is to serve a glass of the delicious light vienna beer with the soup. even at state dinners at the hof-burg, a glass of beer was always offered with the soup. the red wine, voslauer, grown in the immediate vicinity of the city, is so good, and has such a distinctive flavour, that i wonder it has never been exported. the restaurants naturally suggest the matchless viennese orchestras. they were a source of never-ending delight to me. the distinction they manage to give to quite commonplace little airs is extraordinary. the popular songs, "wiener-couplets," melodious, airy nothings, little light soap-bubbles of tunes, are one of the distinctive features of vienna. played by an austrian band as only an austrian band can play them, with astonishing vim and fire, and supremely dainty execution, these little fragile melodies are quite charming and irresistibly attractive. we live in a progressive age. in the place of these austrian bands with their finished execution and consummately musicianly feeling, the twentieth century { } has invented the jazz band with its ear-splitting, chaotic din. there is a place in vienna known as the heiden-schuss, or "shooting of the heathens." the origin of this is quite interesting. in the turks invaded hungary, and, completely overrunning the country, reached vienna, to which they laid siege, for the second time in its history. incidentally, they nearly succeeded in capturing it. during the siege bakers' apprentices were at work one night in underground bakehouses, preparing the bread for next day's consumption. the lads heard a rhythmic "thump, thump, thump," and were much puzzled by it. two of the apprentices, more intelligent than the rest, guessed that the turks were driving a mine, and ran off to the commandant of vienna with their news. they saw the principal engineer officer and told him of their discovery. he accompanied them back to the underground bakehouse, and at once determined that the boys were right. having got the direction from the sound, the austrians drove a second tunnel, and exploded a powerful counter-mine. great numbers of turks were killed, and the siege was temporarily raised. on september of the same year ( ) john sobieski, king of poland, utterly routed the turks, drove them back into their own country, and vienna was saved. as a reward for the intelligence shown by the baker-boys, they were granted the privilege of making and selling a rich kind of roll (into the { } composition of which butter entered largely) in the shape of the turkish emblem, the crescent. these rolls became enormously popular amongst the viennese, who called them _kipfeln_. when marie antoinette married louis xvi of france, she missed her kipfel, and sent to vienna for an austrian baker to teach his paris _confrères_ the art of making them. these rolls, which retained their original shape, became as popular in paris as they had been in vienna, and were known as _croissants_, and that is the reason why one of the rolls which are brought you with your morning coffee in paris will be baked in the form of a crescent. the extraordinary number of good-looking women, of all classes to be seen in the streets of vienna was most striking, especially after berlin, where a lower standard of feminine beauty prevailed. particularly noticeable were the admirable figures with which most austrian women are endowed. in the far-off "'seventies" ladies did not huddle themselves into a shapeless mass of abbreviated oddments of material--they dressed, and their clothes fitted them; and a woman on whom nature (or art) had bestowed a good figure was able to display her gifts to the world. in the same way, fashion did not compel a pretty girl to smother up her features in unbecoming tangles of tortured hair. the usual fault of austrian faces is their breadth across the cheek-bones; the viennese too have a decided tendency { } to _embonpoint_, but in youth these defects are not accentuated. amongst the austrian aristocracy the great beauty of the girls was very noticeable, as was their height, in marked contrast to the short stature of most of the men. i have always heard that one of the first outward signs of the decadence of a race is that the girls grow taller, whilst the men get shorter. the vienna theatres are justly celebrated. at the hof-burg theatre may be seen the most finished acting on the german stage. the burg varied its programme almost nightly, and it was an amusing sight to see the troops of liveried footmen inquiring at the box-office, on behalf of their mistresses, whether the play to be given that night was or was not a _comtessen-stück_, _i.e._, a play fit for young girls to see. the box-keeper always gave a plain "yes" or "no" in reply. after charles garnier's super-ornate pile in paris, the vienna opera-house is the finest in europe, and the musical standard reaches the highest possible level, completely eclipsing paris in that respect. in the "'seventies" johann strauss's delightful comic operas still retained their vogue. bubbling over with merriment, full of delicious ear-tickling melodies, and with a "go" and an irresistible intoxication about them that no french composer has ever succeeded in emulating, these operettas, "die fledermaus," "prinz methusalem," and "la reine indigo," would well stand revival. when the "fledermaus" { } was revived in london some ten years ago it ran, if my memory serves me right, for nearly a year. occasionally strauss himself conducted one of his own operettas; then the orchestra, responding to his magical baton, played like very demons. strauss had one peculiarity. should he be dissatisfied with the vim the orchestra put into one of his favourite numbers, he would snatch the instrument from the first violin and play it himself. then the orchestra answered like one man, and one left the theatre with the entrancing strains still tingling in one's ears. the family houses of most of the austrian nobility were in the inner town, the old walled city, where space was very limited. these fine old houses, built for the greater part in the italian baroque style, though splendid for entertaining, were almost pitch dark and very airless in the daytime. judging, too, from the awful smells in them, they must have been singularly insanitary dwellings. the lobkowitz palace, afterwards the french embassy, was so dark by day that artificial light had always to be used. in the great seventeenth century ball-room of the lobkowitz palace there was a railed off oak-panelled alcove containing a bust of beethoven, an oak table, and three chairs. it was in that alcove, and at that table, that beethoven, when librarian to prince lobkowitz, composed some of his greatest works. our own embassy in the metternichgasse, built { } by the british government, was rather cramped and could in no way compare with the berlin house. i remember well a ball given by prince s----, head of one of the greatest austrian families, in his fine but extremely dark house in the inner town. it was prince s----'s custom on these occasions to have three hundred young peasants sent up from his country estates, and to have them all thrust into the family livery. these bucolic youths, looking very sheepish in their unfamiliar plush breeches and stockings, with their unkempt heads powdered, and with swords at their sides, stood motionless on every step of the staircase. i counted one hundred of these rustic retainers on the staircase alone. they would have looked better had their liveries occasionally fitted them. the ball-room at prince s----'s was hung with splendid brussels seventeenth century tapestry framed in mahogany panels, heavily carved and gilt. i have never seen this combination of mahogany, gilding, and tapestry anywhere else. it was wonderfully decorative, and with the elaborate painted ceiling made a fine setting for an entertainment. it was a real pleasure to see how whole-heartedly the austrians threw themselves into the dancing. i think they all managed to retain a child's power of enjoyment, and they never detracted from this by any unnecessary brainwork. still they were delightfully friendly, easy-going people. a distinctive feature of every vienna ball { } was the "comtessen-zimmer," or room reserved for girls. at the end of every dance they all trooped in there, giggling and gossiping, and remained there till the music for the next dance struck up. no married woman dared intrude into the "comtessen-zimmer," and i shudder to think of what would have befallen the rash male who ventured to cross that jealously-guarded threshold. i imagine that the charming and beautifully-dressed austrian married women welcomed this custom, for between the dances at all events they could still hold the field, free from the competition of a younger and fresher generation. at prince s----'s, at midnight, armies of rustic retainers, in their temporary disguise, brought battalions of supper tables into the ball-room, and all the guests sat down to a hot supper at the same time. as an instance of how austrians blended simplicity with a great love of externals, i see from my diary that the supper consisted of bouillon, of plain-boiled carp with horse-radish, of thick slices of hot roast beef, and a lemon ice--and nothing else whatever. a sufficiently substantial repast, but hardly in accordance with modern ideas as to what a ball-supper should consist of. the young peasants, considering that it was their first attempt at waiting, did not break an undue number of plates; they tripped at times, though, over their unaccustomed swords, and gaped vacantly, or would get hitched up with each other, when more dishes crashed to their doom. { } in vienna there was a great distinction drawn between a "court ball" (hof-ball) and a "ball at the court" (ball bei hof). to the former everyone on the palace list was invited, to the latter only a few people; and the one was just as crowded and disagreeable as the other was the reverse. the great rambling pile of the hof-burg contains some very fine rooms and a marvellous collection of works of art, and the so-called "ceremonial apartments" are of quite imperial magnificence, but the general effect was far less striking than in berlin. in spite of the beauty of the women, the _coup d'oeil_ was spoilt by the ugly austrian uniforms. after the disastrous campaign of , the traditional white of the austrian army was abolished, and the uniforms were shorn of all unnecessary trappings. the military tailors had evolved hideous garments, ugly in colour, unbecoming in cut. one can only trust that they proved very economical, but the contrast with the splendid and admirably made uniforms of the prussian army was very marked. the hungarian magnates in their traditional family costumes (from which all hussar uniforms are derived) added a note of gorgeous colour, with their gold-laced tunics and their many-hued velvet slung-jackets. i remember, on the occasion of queen victoria's jubilee in , the astonishment caused by a youthful and exceedingly good-looking hungarian who appeared at buckingham palace in skin-tight blue breeches { } lavishly embroidered with gold over the thighs, entirely gilt hessian boots to the knee, and a tight-fitting tunic cut out of a real tiger-skin, fastened with some two dozen turquoise buttons the size of five-shilling pieces. when this resplendent youth reappeared in london ten years later at the diamond jubilee, it was with a tonsured head, and he was wearing the violet robes of a prelate of the roman church. as an instance of the inflexibility of the cast-iron rules of the hapsburg court: i may mention that the beautiful countess karolyi, austrian ambassadress in berlin, was never asked to court in vienna, as she lacked the necessary "sixteen quarterings." to a non-austrian mind it seems illogical that the lovely lady representing austria in berlin should have been thought unfitted for an invitation from her own sovereign. the immense deference paid to the austrian archdukes and archduchesses was very striking after the comparatively unceremonious fashion in which minor german royalties (always excepting the emperor and the crown prince) were treated in berlin. the archduchesses especially were very tenacious of their privileges. they never could forget that they were hapsburgs, and exacted all the traditional signs of respect. the unfortunate empress elisabeth, destined years after to fall under the dagger of an assassin at geneva, made but seldom a public appearance in her husband's dominions. she had an almost { } morbid horror of fulfilling any of the duties of her position. during my stay in the austrian capital i only caught one glimpse of her, driving through the streets. she was astonishingly handsome, with coiled masses of dark hair, and a very youthful and graceful figure, but the face was so impassive that it produced the effect of a beautiful, listless mask. the empress was a superb horse-woman, and every single time she rode she was literally sewn into her habit by a tailor, in order to ensure a perfect fit. the innumerable cafés of vienna were crowded from morning to night. seeing them crammed with men in the forenoon, one naturally wondered how the business of the city was transacted. probably, in typical austrian fashion, these worthy viennese left their businesses to take care of themselves whilst they enjoyed themselves in the cafés. the super-excellence of the vienna coffee would afford a more or less legitimate excuse for this. nowhere in the world is such coffee made, and a "capuziner," or a "melange," the latter with thick whipped cream on the top of it, were indeed things of joy. few capitals are more fortunate in their environs than vienna. the beautiful gardens and park of schönbrunn palace have a sort of intimate charm which is wholly lacking at versailles. they are stately, yet do not overwhelm you with a sense of vast spaces. they are crowned by a sort of temple, known as the gloriette, { } from which a splendid view is obtained. in less than three hours from the capital, the railway climbs , feet to the semmering, where the mountain scenery is really grand. during the summer months the whole of vienna empties itself on to the semmering and the innumerable other hill-resorts within easy distance from the city. when the time came for my departure, i felt genuinely sorry at leaving this merry, careless, music and laughter-loving town, and these genial, friendly, hospitable incompetents. i feel some compunction in using this word, as people had been very good to me. i cannot help feeling, though, that it is amply warranted. a bracing climate is doubtless wholesome; but a relaxing one can be very pleasant for a time. i went back to berlin feeling like a boy returning to school after his holidays. the viennese had but little love for their upstart rival on the spree. they had invented the name "parvenupopolis" for berlin, and a little popular song, which i may be forgiven for quoting in the original german, expressed their sentiments fairly accurately: es gibt nur eine kaiserstadt, es gibt nur ein wien; es gibt nur ein raubernest, und das heisst berlin. i had a bavarian friend in berlin. we talked over the amazing difference in temperament there { } was between the austrians and the prussians, and the curious charm there was about the former, lacking in intellect though they might be, a charm wholly lacking in the pushful, practical prussians. my friend agreed, but claimed the same attractive qualities for his own beloved bavarians; "but," he added impressively, "mark my words, in twenty years from now the whole of germany will be prussianised!" ("_ganz deutschland wird verpreussert werden_") events have shown how absolutely correct my bavarian friend was in his forecast. in june, , the great congress for the settlement of the terms of peace between russia and turkey assembled in berlin. it was an extraordinarily interesting occasion, for almost every single european notability was to be seen in the german capital. the russian plenipotentiaries were the veteran prince gortchakoff and count peter schouvaloff, that most genial _faux-bonhomme_; the turks were championed by ali pasha and by katheodory pasha. great britain was represented by lords beaconsfield and salisbury; austria by count andrassy, the prime minister; france by m. waddington. in spite of the very large staff brought out from london by the british plenipotentiaries, an enormous amount of work fell upon us at the embassy. to a youngster there is something very fascinating in being regarded as so worthy of confidence that the most secret details of the great game of diplomacy were all known to him from { } day to day. a boy of twenty-one feels very proud of the trust reposed in him, and at being the repository of such weighty and important secrets. that is the traditional method of the british diplomatic service. as all the embassies gave receptions in honour of their own plenipotentiaries, we met almost nightly all the great men of europe, and had occasional opportunities for a few words with them. prince gortchakoff, who fancied himself bismarck's only rival, was a little, short, tubby man in spectacles; wholly undistinguished in appearance, and looking for all the world like an average french provincial notaire. count andrassy, the hungarian, was a tall, strikingly handsome man, with an immense head of hair. to me, he always recalled the leader of a "tzigane" orchestra. m. waddington talked english like an englishman, and was so typically british in appearance that it was almost impossible to realise that he was a frenchman. our admiration for him was increased when we learnt that he had rowed in the cambridge eight. but without any question whatever, the personality which excited the greatest interest at the berlin congress was that of lord beaconsfield, the jew who by sheer force of intellect had raised himself from nothing into his present commanding position. his peculiar, colourless, inscrutable face, with its sphinx-like impassiveness; the air of mystery which somehow clung about him; the romantic story of his career; even the remnants of { } dandyism which he still retained in his old age--all these seemed to whet the insatiable public curiosity about him. some enterprising berlin tradesmen had brought out fans, with leaves composed of plain white vellum, designed expressly for the congress. armed with one of these fans, and with pen and ink, indefatigable feminine autograph-hunters moved about at these evening receptions, securing the signatures of the plenipotentiaries on the white vellum leaves. many of those fans must still be in existence, and should prove very interesting to-day. bismarck alone invariably refused his autograph. at all these gatherings, m. de blowitz, the then paris correspondent of the _times_, was much to the fore. in the "'seventies" the prestige of the _times_ on the continent of europe was enormous. in reality the influence of the _times_ was very much overrated, since all continentals persisted in regarding it as the inspired mouthpiece of the british government. great was the _times_, but greater still was de blowitz, its prophet. this most remarkable man was a veritable prince of newspaper correspondents. there was no move on the european chess-board of which he was not cognisant, and as to which he did not keep his paper well informed, and his information was always accurate. de blowitz knew no english, and his lengthy daily telegrams to the _times_ were always written in french and were translated in london. he was really a bohemian jew of the name of { } oppen, and he had bestowed the higher-sounding name of de blowitz on himself. he was a very short, fat little man, with immensely long grey side-whiskers, and a most consequential manner. he was a very great personage indeed in official circles. de blowitz has in his memoirs given a full account of the trick by which he learnt of the daily proceedings of the congress and so transmitted them to his paper. i need not, therefore, go into details about this; it is enough to say that a daily exchange of hats, in the lining of the second of which a summary of the day's deliberations was concealed, played a great part in it. when the treaty had been drawn up in french, lord salisbury rather startled us by saying that he wished it translated into english and cyphered to london that very evening _in extenso_. this was done to obviate the possibility of the news-paper correspondents getting a version of the treaty through to london before the british government had received the actual text. as the treaty was what i, in the light of later experiences, would now describe as of fifteen thousand words length, this was a sufficiently formidable undertaking. fifteen of us sat down to the task about p.m., and by working at high pressure we got the translation finished and the last cyphered sheet sent off to the telegraph office by a.m. the translation done at such breakneck speed was possibly a little crude in places. one clause in the treaty provided that ships in ballast were to have { } free passage through the dardanelles. now the french for "ships in ballast," is "_navires en lest_." the person translating this (who was not a member of the british diplomatic service) rendered "_navires en lest_" as "ships in the east," and in this form it was cyphered to london. as, owing to the geographical position of the dardanelles, any ship approaching them would be, in one sense of the term, a "ship in the east," there was considerable perturbation in downing street over this clause, until the mistake was discovered. berlin has wonderful natural advantages, considering that it is situated in a featureless, sandy plain. in my day it was quite possible to walk from the embassy into a real, wild pine-forest, the grünewald. the grünewald, being a royal forest, was unbuilt on, and quite unspoilt. it extended for miles, enclosing many pretty little lakelets. now i understand that it has been invaded by "villa colonies," so its old charm of wildness must have vanished. the tiergarten, too, the park of berlin, retains in places the look of a real country wood. it is inadvisable to venture into the tiergarten after nightfall, should you wish to retain possession of your watch, purse, and other portable property. the sandy nature of the soil makes it excellent for riding. within quite a short distance of the city you can find tracts of heathery moor, and can get a good gallop almost anywhere. there is quite fair partridge-shooting, too, within { } a few miles of berlin, in the immense potato fields, though the entire absence of cover in this hedgeless land makes it very difficult at times to approach the birds. it is pre-eminently a country for "driving" partridges, though most germans prefer the comparatively easy shots afforded by "walking the birds up." potsdam has had but scant justice done it by foreigners. the town is almost surrounded by the river havel, which here broadens out into a series of winding, wooded lakes, surrounded by tree-clad hills. the potsdam lakes are really charmingly pretty, and afford an admirable place for rowing or sailing. neither of these pursuits seems to make the least appeal to germans. the embassy kept a small yacht at potsdam, but she was practically the only craft then on the lakes. as on all narrow waters enclosed by wooded hills, the sailing was very tricky, owing to the constant shifting of the wind. should it be blowing fresh, it was advisable to sail under very light canvas; and it was always dangerous to haul up the centre-board, even when "running," as on rounding some wooded point you would get "taken aback" to a certainty. once in the fine open stretch of water between wansee and spandau, you could hoist every stitch of canvas available, and indulge with impunity in the most complicated nautical manoeuvres. possibly my extreme fondness for the potsdam lakes may be due to their extraordinary resemblance to the lakes at my own northern country home. { } the embassy also owned a light thames-built four-oar. at times a short, thick-set young man of nineteen pulled bow in our four. the short young man had a withered arm, and the doctors hoped that the exercise of rowing might put some strength into it. he seemed quite a commonplace young man, yet this short, thick-set youth was destined less than forty years after to plunge the world into the greatest calamity it has ever known; to sacrifice millions and millions of human lives to his own inordinate ambition; and to descend to posterity as one of the most sinister characters in the pages of history. moored in the "jungfernsee," one of the potsdam lakes, lay a miniature sailing frigate, a complete model of a larger craft down to the smallest details. this toy frigate had been a present from king william iv of england to the then king of prussia. the little frigate had been built in london, and though of only -tons burden, had been sailed down the thames, across the north sea, and up the elbe and havel to potsdam, by a british naval officer. a pretty bit of seamanship! i have always heard that it was the sight of this toy frigate, lying on the placid lake at potsdam, that first inspired william of hohenzollern with the idea of building a gigantic navy. the whole history of the world might have been changed by an incident which occurred on these same potsdam lakes in . i have already said that william of hohenzollern, then only prince { } william, pulled at times in our embassy four, in the hope that it might strengthen his withered arm. he was very anxious to see if he could learn to scull, in spite of his physical defect, and asked the ambassadress, lady ampthill, whether she would herself undertake to coach him. lady ampthill consented, and met prince william next day at the landing-stage with a light thames-built skiff, belonging to the embassy. lady ampthill, with the caution of one used to light boats, got in carefully, made her way aft, and grasped the yoke-lines. she then explained to prince william that this was not a heavy boat such as he had been accustomed to, that he must exercise extreme care, and in getting in must tread exactly in the centre of the boat. william of hohenzollern, who had never taken advice from anyone in his life, and was always convinced that he himself knew best, responded by jumping into the boat from the landing-stage, capsizing it immediately, and throwing himself and lady ampthill into the water. prince william, owing to his malformation, was unable to swim one stroke, but help was at hand. two of the secretaries of the british embassy had witnessed the accident, and rushed up to aid. the so-called "naval station" was close by, where the emperor's potsdam yacht lay, a most singularly shabby old paddle-boat. some german sailors from the "naval post" heard the shouting and ran up, and a moist, and we will trust a chastened william and a dripping ambassadress were { } eventually rescued from the lake. otherwise william of hohenzollern might have ended his life in the "jungfernsee" at potsdam that day, and millions of other men would have been permitted to live out their allotted span of existence. potsdam itself is quite a pleasing town, with a half-dutch, half-italian physiognomy. both were deliberately borrowed; the first by frederick william i, who constructed the tree-lined canals which give potsdam its half-batavian aspect; the second by frederick the great, who fronted teutonic dwellings with façades copied from italy to add dignity to the town. it must in justice be added that both are quite successful, though potsdam, like most other things connected with the hohenzollerns, has only a couple of hundred years' tradition behind it. the square opposite the railway really does recall italy. the collection of palaces at potsdam is bewildering. of these, three are of the first rank: the town palace, sans-souci, and the great pile of the "new palace." either frederick the great was very fortunate in his architects, or else he chose them with great discrimination. the town palace, even in my time but seldom inhabited, is very fine in the finished details of its decoration. sans-souci is an absolute gem; its rococo style may be a little over-elaborate, but it produces the effect of a finished, complete whole, in the most admirable taste; even though the exuberant imagination of the eighteenth century has been allowed to run riot in it. the gardens of sans-souci, too, { } are most attractive. the immense red-brick building of the new palace was erected by frederick the great during the seven years' war, out of sheer bravado. he was anxious to impress on his enemies the fact that his financial resources were not yet exhausted. considering that he already possessed two stately palaces within a mile of it, the new palace may be looked upon as distinctly a work of supererogation, also as an appalling waste of money. as a piece of architecture, it is distinctly a success. this list does not, however, nearly exhaust the palatial resources of potsdam. the eighteenth century had contributed its successes; it remained for the nineteenth to add its failures. babelsberg, the old emperor william's favourite residence, was an awful example of a ginger-bread pseudo-gothic castle. the marble palace on the so-called "holy lake" was a dull, unimaginative building; and the "red prince's" house at glienicke was frankly terrible. the main features of this place was an avenue of huge cast-iron gilded lions. these golden lions were such a blot on an otherwise charming landscape that one felt relieved by recalling that the apparently ineradicable tendency of the children of israel to erect golden calves at various places in olden days had always been severely discountenanced. in spite of the carpenter-gothic of babelsberg, and of the pinchbeck golden lions of glienicke, potsdam will remain in my mind, to the end of my life, associated with memories of fresh breezes { } and bellying sails; of placid lakes and swift-gliding keels responding to the straining muscles of back and legs; a place of verdant hills dipping into clear waters; of limbs joyously cleaving those clear waters with all the exultation of the swimmer; a place of rest and peace, with every fibre in one's being rejoicing in being away, for the time being, from crowded cities and stifling streets, in the free air amidst woods, waters, and gently-swelling, tree-clad heights. a year later, i was notified that i was transferred to petrograd, then of course still known as st. petersburg. this was in accordance with the dearest wish of my heart. ever since my childhood's days i had been filled with an intense desire to go to russia. like most people unacquainted with the country, i had formed the most grotesquely incorrect mental pictures of russia. i imagined it a vast empire of undreamed of magnificence, pleasantly tempered with relics of barbarism; and all these glittering splendours were enveloped in the snow and ice of a semi-arctic climate, which gave additional piquancy to their glories. i pictured huge tractless forests, their dark expanse only broken by the shimmering golden domes of the russian churches. i fancied this glamour-land peopled by a species of transported french, full of culture, and all of them polyglot, more brilliant and infinitely more intellectual than their west european prototypes. i imagined this hyperborean paradise served by a race of super-astute { } diplomatists and officials, with whom we poor westerners could not hope to contend, and by generals whom no one could withstand. the evident awe with which germans envisaged their eastern neighbours strengthened this idea, and both in england and in france i had heard quite responsible persons gloomily predict, after contemplating the map, that the northern colossus was fatally destined at some time to absorb the whole of the rest of europe. apart then from its own intrinsic attraction, i used to gaze at the map of russia with some such feelings as, i imagine, the early christians experienced when, on their sunday walks in rome, they went to look at the lions in their dens in the circus, and speculated as to their own sensations when, as seemed but too probable, they might have to meet these interesting quadrupeds on the floor of the arena, in a brief, exciting, but definitely final encounter. everything i had seen or heard about this mysterious land had enhanced its glamour. the hair-raising rumours which reached berlin as to revolutionary plots and counter-plots; the appalling stories one heard about the terrible secret police; the atmosphere of intrigue which seemed indigenous to the place--all added to its fascinations. even the externals were attractive. i had attended weddings and funeral services at the chapel of the russian embassy. here every detail was exotic, and utterly dissimilar to anything in one's previous { } experience. the absence of seats, organ, or pulpit in the chapel itself; the elaborate byzantine decorations of the building; the exquisitely beautiful but quite unfamiliar singing; the long-bearded priests in their archaic vestments of unaccustomed golden brocades--everything struck a novel note. it all came from a world apart, centuries removed from the prosaic routine of western europe. even quite minor details, such as the curiously sumptuous russian national dresses of the ladies of the embassy at court functions, the visits to berlin of the russian ballets and troupes of russian singing gipsies, had all the same stamp of strong racial individuality, of something temperamentally different from all we had been accustomed to. i was overjoyed at the prospect of seeing for myself at last this land of mingled splendour and barbarism, this country which had retained its traditional racial characteristics in spite of the influences of nineteenth century drab uniformity of type. as the petrograd embassy was short-handed at the time, it was settled that i should postpone my leave for some months and proceed to russia without delay. the crown prince and crown princess, who had been exceedingly kind to me during my stay in berlin, were good enough to ask me to the new palace at potsdam for one night, to take leave of them. { } i had never before had an opportunity of going all over the new palace. i thought it wonderfully fine, though quite french in feeling. the rather faded appearance of some of the rooms increased their look of dignity. it was not of yesterday. the great "shell hall," or "muschel-saal," much admired of prussians, is frankly horrible; one of the unfortunate aberrations of eighteenth century taste of which several examples occur in english country-houses of the same date. my own bedroom was charming; of the purest louis xv, with apple-green polished panelling and heavily silvered mouldings and mirrors. nothing could be more delightful than the crown prince's manner on occasions such as this. the short-lived emperor frederick had the knack of blending absolute simplicity with great dignity, as had the empress frederick. for the curious in such matters, and as an instance of the traditional frugality of the prussian court, i may add that supper that evening, at which only the crown prince and princess, the equerry and lady-in-waiting, and myself were present, consisted solely of curds and whey, veal cutlets, and a rice pudding. nothing else whatever. we sat afterwards in a very stately, lofty, thoroughly french room. the crown prince, the equerry, and myself drank beer, whilst the prince smoked his long pipe. it seemed incongruous to drink beer amid such absolutely french surroundings. i noticed that the crown princess always laid down her needlework to refill { } her husband's pipe and to bring him a fresh tankard of beer. the "kronprinzliches paar," as a german would have described them, were both perfectly charming in their conversation with a dull, uninteresting youth of twenty-one. they each had marvellous memories, and recalled many trivial half-forgotten details about my own family. that evening in the friendly atmosphere of the great, dimly-lit room in the new palace at potsdam will always live in my memory. two days afterwards i drove through the trim, prosaic, well-ordered, stuccoed streets of berlin to the eastern station; for me, the gateway to the land of my desires, vast, mysterious russia. { } chapter iii the russian frontier--frontier police--disappointment at aspect of petrograd--lord and lady dufferin--the british embassy--st. isaac's cathedral--beauty of russian church-music--the russian language--the delightful "blue-stockings" of petrograd--princess chateau--pleasant russian society--the secret police--the countess's hurried journey--the yacht club--russians really orientals--their limitations--the "intelligenzia"--my nihilist friends--their lack of constructive power--easter mass at st. isaac's--two comical incidents--the easter supper--the red-bearded young priest--an empire built on shifting sand. petrograd is , miles from berlin, and forty years ago the fastest trains took forty-five hours to cover the distance between the two capitals. in later years the "nord-express" accomplishing the journey in twenty-nine hours. rolling through the flat fertile plains of east prussia, with their neat, prosperous villages and picturesque black-and-white farms, the surroundings had such a commonplace air that it was difficult to realise that one was approaching the very threshold of the great, mysterious northern empire. eydkuhnen, the last prussian station, was as other prussian stations, built of trim red brick, neat, practical, and very ugly; with crowds of red-faced, amply-paunched officials, buttoned into the tightest of uniforms, perpetually saluting each other. { } wierjbolovo, or wirballen station as the germans call it, a huge white building, was plainly visible only a third of a mile away. at wirballen the german train would stop, for whereas the german railways are built to the standard european gauge of feet ½ inches, the russian lines were laid to a gauge of feet inch. this gauge had been deliberately chosen to prevent the invasion of russia by her western neighbour. this was to prove an absolutely illusory safeguard, for, as events have shown, nothing is easier than to _narrow_ a railway track. to broaden it is often quite impossible. the cunning little japs found this out during the russo-japanese war. they narrowed the broad russian lines to their own gauge of feet inches, _and then sawed off the ends of the sleepers_ with portable circular saws, thus making it impossible for the russians to relay the rails on the broad gauge. i believe that the germans adopted the same device more recently. i think at only one other spot in the world does a short quarter of a mile result in such amazing differences in externals as does that little piece of line between eydkuhnen and wirballen; and that is at linea, the first spanish village out of gibraltar. leaving the prim and starched orderliness of gibraltar, with its thick coating of british veneer, its tidy streets and buildings enlivened with the scarlet tunics of mr. thomas atkins and his brethren, { } you traverse the "neutral ground" to an iron railing, and literally pass into spain through an iron gate. the contrast is extraordinary. it would be unfair to select linea as a typical spanish village; it is ugly, and lacks the picturesque features of the ordinary andalusian village; it is also unquestionably very dirty, and very tumble-down. between eydkuhnen and wirballen the contrast is just as marked. as the german train stopped, hosts of bearded, shaggy-headed individuals in high boots and long white aprons (surely a curious article of equipment for a railway porter) swooped down upon the hand-baggage; i handed my passport to a gendarme (a term confined in russia to frontier and railway police) and passed through an iron gate into russia. russia in this case was represented by a gigantic whitewashed hall, ambitious originally in design and decoration, but, like most things in russia, showing traces of neglect and lack of cleanliness. the first exotic note was struck by a full-length, life-size ikon of the saviour, in a solid silver frame, at the end of the hall. all my russian fellow-travellers devoutly crossed themselves before this ikon, purchased candles at an adjoining stall, and fixed them in the silver holders before the ikon. behind the line of tables serving for the customs examinations was a railed-off space, containing many desks under green-shaded lamps. here some fifteen green-coated men whispered mysteriously to each other, referring continually to huge registers. { } i felt a thrill creep down my back; here i found myself at last face to face with the omnipotent russian police. the bespectacled green-coated men scrutinised passports intently, conferred amongst themselves in whispers under the green-shaded lamps, and hunted ominously through the big registers. for the first time i became unpleasantly conscious of the existence of such places as the fortress of st. peter and st. paul, and of a country called siberia. i speculated as to whether the drawbacks of the siberian climate had not been exaggerated, should one be compelled to make a possibly prolonged sojourn in that genial land. above all, i was immensely impressed with the lynx-eyed vigilance and feverish activity of these green-coated guardians of the russian frontier. from my subsequent knowledge of the ways of russian officials, i should gather that all this feverish activity began one minute after the whistle announced the approach of the berlin train, and ceased precisely one minute after the petrograd train had pulled out, and that never, by any chance, did the frontier police succeed in stopping the entry of any really dangerous conspirator. diplomats with official passports are exempt from customs formalities, so i passed on to the platform, thick with pungent wood-smoke, where the huge blue-painted russian carriages smoked like volcanoes from their heating apparatus, and the gigantic wood-burning engine (built in germany) vomited dense clouds from its funnel, crowned with { } a spark-arrester shaped like a mammoth tea urn, or a giant's soup tureen. everything in this country seemed on a large scale. in the gaunt, bare, whitewashed restaurant (these three epithets are applicable to almost every public room in russia) with its great porcelain stove, and red lamps burning before gilded ikons, i first made the acquaintance of fresh caviar and raw herrings, of the national cabbage soup, or "shtchee," of roast ryabehiks and salted cucumbers, all destined to become very familiar. railway restaurants in russia are almost invariably quite excellent. and so the train clanked out through the night, into the depths of this mysterious glamour-land. the railway from the frontier to petrograd runs for miles through an unbroken stretch of interminable dreary swamp and forest, such as would in canada be termed "muskag," with here and there a poor attempt at cultivation in some clearing, set about with wretched little wooden huts. after a twenty-four hours' run, without any preliminary warning whatever in the shape of suburbs, the train emerges from the forest into a huge city, with tramcars rolling in all directions, and the great golden dome of st. isaac's blazing like a sun against the murky sky. i had pictured petrograd to myself as a second paris; a city glittering with light and colour, but conceived on an infinitely more grandiose scale than the french capital. we emerged from the station into an immensely { } broad street bordered by shabbily-pretentious buildings all showing signs of neglect. the atrociously uneven pavements, the general untidiness, the broad thoroughfare empty except for a lumbering cart or two, the absence of foot-passengers, and the low cotton-wool sky, all gave an effect of unutterable dreariness. and this was the golden city of my dreams! this place of leprous-fronted houses, of vast open spaces full of drifting snowflakes, and of an immense emptiness. i never was so disappointed in my life. the gilt and coloured domes of the orthodox churches, the sheepskin-clad, red-shirted moujiks, the occasional swift-trotting russian carriages, with their bearded and padded coachmen, were the only local touches that redeemed the streets from the absolute commonplace. the russian lettering over the shops, which then conveyed nothing whatever to me, suggested that the alphabet, having followed the national custom and got drunk, had hastily re-affixed itself to the houses upside down. although as the years went on i grew quite attached to petrograd, i could never rid myself of this impression of its immense dreariness. this was due to several causes. there are hardly any stone buildings in the city, everything is of brick plastered over. owing to climatic reasons the houses are not painted, but are daubed with colour-wash. the successive coats of colour-wash clog all the architectural features, and give the buildings a shabby look, added to which the wash flakes off under the winter snows. there is a natural craving { } in human nature for colour, and in a country wrapped in snow for at least four months in the year this craving finds expression in painting the roofs red, and in besmearing the houses with crude shades of red, blue, green, and yellow. the result is not a happy one. again, owing to the intense cold, the shop-windows are all very small, and there is but little display in them. streets and shops were alike very dimly lighted in my day, and as there is an entire absence of cafés in petrograd, there is none of the usual glitter and glare of these places to brighten up the streets. the theatres make no display of lights, so it is not surprising that the general effect of the city is one of intense gloom. the very low, murky winter sky added to this effect of depression. peter the great had planned his new capital on such a gigantic scale that there were not enough inhabitants to fill its vast spaces. the conceptions were magnificent; the results disappointing. nothing grander could be imagined than the design of the immense _place_ opposite the winter palace, with alexander i's great granite monolith towering in the midst of it, and the imposing semicircular sweep of government offices of uniform design enclosing it, pierced in the centre by a monumental triumphal arch crowned with a bronze quadriga. the whole effect of this was spoilt by the hideous crude shade of red with which the buildings were daubed, by the general untidiness, and by the broken, uneven pavement; added to which this huge area was usually untenanted, except by a { } lumbering cart or two, by a solitary stray "istvoschik," and an occasional muffled-up pedestrian. the petrograd of reality was indeed very different from the sumptuous city of my dreams. for the second time i was extraordinarily lucky in my chief. our relations with russia had, during the "'seventies," been strained almost to the breaking point. war had on several occasions seemed almost inevitable between the two countries. russians, naturally enough, had shown their feelings of hostility to their potential enemies by practically boycotting the entire british embassy. the english government had then made a very wise choice, and had appointed to the petrograd embassy the one man capable of smoothing these troubled relations. the late lord dufferin was not then a diplomat by profession. he had just completed his term of office as governor-general of canada, where, as in every position he had previously occupied, he had been extraordinarily successful. lord dufferin had an inexhaustible fund of patience, blended with the most perfect tact; he had a charm of manner no human being could resist; but under it all lay an inflexible will. no man ever understood better the use of the iron hand under the velvet glove, and in a twelvemonth from the date of his arrival in petrograd he had succeeded not only in gaining the confidence of official russia, but also in re-establishing the most cordial relations with russian society. in this he was very ably seconded by lady dufferin, who combined a perfectly natural manner with { } quiet dignity and a curious individual charm. both lord and lady dufferin enjoyed dancing, skating, and tobagganing as wholeheartedly as though they were children. our petrograd embassy was a fine old house, with a pleasant intimate character about it lacking in the more ornate building at berlin. it contained a really beautiful snow-white ball-room, and all the windows fronted the broad, swift-flowing neva, with the exquisitely graceful slender gilded spire of the fortress church, towering three hundred feet aloft, opposite them. we had a very fine collection of silver plate at the embassy. this plate, valued at £ , , was the property of our government, and had been sent out sixty years previously by george iv, who understood the importance attached by russians to externals. we had also a small set, just sufficient for two persons, of real gold plates. these solid gold plates were only used by the emperor and empress on the very rare occasions when they honoured the embassy with their presence. i wonder what has happened to that gold service now! owing to the constant tension of the relations between great britain and russia, our work at the petrograd embassy was very heavy indeed at that time. we were frequently kept up till a.m. in the chancery, cyphering telegrams. all important written despatches between london and petrograd either way were sent by queen's messenger open to berlin, "under flying seal," as it is termed. the berlin embassy was thus kept constantly posted as { } to russian affairs. after reading our open despatches, both to and from london, the berlin embassy would seal them up in a special way. we also got duplicates, in cypher, of all telegrams received in london the previous day from the paris, vienna, berlin, and constantinople embassies which bore in any way on russia or the eastern question. this gave us two or three hours' work decyphering every day. both cyphering and decyphering require the closest concentration, as one single mistake may make nonsense of the whole thing; it is consequently exhausting work. we were perfectly well aware that the russian government had somehow obtained possession of one of our codes. this particular "compromised code" was only used by us for transmitting intelligence which the russians were intended to know. they could hardly blame us should they derive false impressions from a telegram of ours which they had decyphered with a stolen code, nor could they well admit that they had done this. as winter came on, i understood why russians are so fond of gilding the domes and spires of their churches. it must be remembered that petrograd lies on parallel ° n. in december it only gets four hours of very uncertain daylight, and the sun is so low on the horizon that its rays do not reach the streets of the city. it is then that the gilded domes flash and glitter, as they catch the beams of the unseen sun. when the long golden needle of the fortress church blazed like a flaming torch { } or a gleaming spear of fire against the murky sky, i thought it a splendid sight, as was the great golden dome of st. isaac's scintillating like a second sun over the snow-clad roofs of the houses. soon after my arrival i went to the vast church under the gilded dome to hear the singing of the far-famed choir of st. isaac's. here were none of the accessories to which i had been accustomed; no seats; no organ; no pulpit; no side-chapels. a blue haze of incense drifted through the twilight of the vague spaces of the great building; a haze glowing rosily where the red lamps burning before the jewelled ikons gave a faint-dawnlike effect in the semi-darkness. before me the great screen of the "ikonostas" towered to the roof, with its eight malachite columns forty feet high, and its two smaller columns of precious lapis lazuli flanking the "royal doors" into the sanctuary. surely montferrand, the frenchman, had designedly steeped the cathedral he had built in perpetual twilight. in broad daylight the juxtaposition of these costly materials, with their discordant colours, would have been garish, even vulgar. now, barely visible in the shadows, they, the rich mosaics, the masses of heavily-gilt bronze work in the ikonostas, gave an impression of barbaric magnificence and immense splendour. the jasper and polychrome siberian marbles with which the cathedral was lined, the gold and silver of the jewelled ikons, gleaming faintly in the candle-light, strengthened this impression of sumptuous opulence. then the choir, standing { } before the ikonostas, burst into song. the exquisitely beautiful singing of the russian church was a perfect revelation to me. i would not have believed it possible that unaccompanied human voices could have produced so entrancing an effect. as the "cherubic hymn" died away in softest _pianissimo_, its echoes floating into the misty vastness of the dome, a deacon thundered out prayers in a ringing bass, four tones deeper than those a western european could compass. the higher clergy, with their long flowing white beards, jewelled crowns, and stiffly-archaic vestments of cloth of gold and silver, seemed to have stepped bodily out of the frame of an ikon; and the stately ritual of the eastern church gave me an impression as of something of immemorial age, something separated by the gap of countless centuries from our own prosaic epoch; and through it all rose again and again the plaintive response of the choir, "gospodi pomiloi," "lord have mercy," exquisitely sung with all the tenderness and pathos of muted strings. this was at last the real russia of my dreams. it was all as i had vaguely pictured it to myself; the densely-packed congregation, with sheepskin-clad peasant and sable-coated noble standing side by side, all alike joining in the prescribed genuflections and prostrations of the ritual; the singing-boys, with their close-cropped heads and curious long blue dressing-gowns; the rolling consonants of the old slavonic chanted by the priests; all this was really russia, and not a bastard imitation of an exotic { } western civilisation like the pseudo-classic city outside. two years later, arthur sullivan, the composer, happened to be in petrograd, and i took him to the practice of the emperor's private church choir. sullivan was passionately devoted to unaccompanied part-singing, and those familiar with his delightful light operas will remember how he introduced into almost every one of them an unaccompanied madrigal, or a sextet. sullivan told me that he would not have believed it possible for human voices to obtain the string-like effect of these russian choirs. he added that although six english singing-boys would probably evolve a greater body of sound than twelve russian boys, no english choir-boy could achieve the silvery tone these musical little muscovites produced. people ignorant of the country have a foolish idea that all russians can speak french. that may be true of one person in two thousand of the whole population. the remainder only speak their native russ. not one cabman in petrograd could understand a syllable of any foreign language, and though in shops, very occasionally, someone with a slight knowledge of german might be found, it was rare. all the waiters in petrograd restaurants were yellow-faced little mohammedan tartars, speaking only russian and their own language. i determined therefore to learn russian at once, and was fortunate in finding a very clever teacher. all men should learn a foreign language from a lady, { } for natural courtesy makes one listen to what she is saying; whereas with a male teacher one's attention is apt to wander. the patient elderly lady who taught me knew neither english nor french, so we used german as a means of communication. thanks to madame kumin's intelligence, and a considerable amount of hard work on my own part, i was able to pass an examination in russian in eleven months, and to qualify as interpreter to the embassy. the difficulties of the russian language are enormously exaggerated. the pronunciation is hard, as are the terminations; and the appalling length of russian words is disconcerting. in russian, great emphasis is laid on one syllable of a word, and the rest is slurred over. it is therefore vitally important (should you wish to be understood) to get the emphasis on the right syllable, and for some mysterious reason no foreigner, even by accident, _ever succeeds in pronouncing a russian name right_. it is schouvaloff, not schòuvaloff; brusìl-off, not brùsiloff; demìd-off, not dèmidoff. the charming dancer's name is pàv-lova, not pavlòva; her equally fascinating rival is karsàv-ina, not karsavìna. i could continue the list indefinitely. be sure of one thing; however the name is pronounced by a foreigner, it is absolutely certain to be wrong. what a wise man he was who first said that for every fresh language you learn you acquire a new pair of eyes and a new pair of ears; i felt immensely elated when i found that i could read the cabalistic signs over the shops as easily as english lettering. { } a relation of mine had given me a letter of introduction to princess b----. now this old lady, though she but seldom left her own house, was a very great power indeed in petrograd, and was universally known as the "princesse château." for some reason or another, i was lucky enough to find favour in this dignified old lady's eyes. she asked me to call on her again, and at our second meeting invited me to her sunday evenings. the princesse château's sunday evenings were a thing quite apart. they were a survival in petrograd of the french eighteenth century literary "salons," but devoid of the faintest flavour of pedantry or priggism. never in my life, before or since, have i heard such wonderfully brilliant conversation, for, with the one exception of myself, the princesse château tolerated no dull people at her sundays. she belonged to a generation that always spoke french amongst themselves, and imported their entire culture from france. peter the great had designed st. petersburg as a window through which to look on europe, and the tradition of this amongst the educated classes was long in dying out. the princess assembled some thirty people every sunday, all russians, with the exception of myself. these people discussed any and every subject--literature, art, music, and philosophy--with sparkling wit, keen critical instinct, and extraordinary felicity of phrase, usually in french, sometimes in english, and occasionally in russian. their knowledge seemed encyclopædic, and they appeared equally at home in any of the three { } languages. they greatly appreciated a neatly-turned epigram, or a novel, crisply-coined definition. any topic, however, touching directly or indirectly on the external or internal policy of russia was always tacitly avoided. my _rôle_ was perforce reduced to that of a listener, but it was a perfectly delightful society. princesse château had a very fine suite of rooms on the first floor of her house, decorated "at the period" in louis xvi style by imported french artists; these rooms still retained their original furniture and fittings, and were a museum of works of art; but her sunday evenings were always held in the charming but plainly-furnished rooms which she herself inhabited on the ground floor. we had one distinct advantage over the old french _salons_, for princesse château entertained her guests every sunday to suppers which were justly celebrated in the gastronomic world of petrograd. during supper the conversation proceeded just as brilliantly as before. there were always two or three grand duchesses present, for to attend princesse château's sundays was a sort of certificate of culture. the grand duchesses were treated quite unceremoniously, beyond receiving a perfunctory "madame" in each sentence addressed to them. how curious that, both in english and french, the highest title of respect should be plain "madame"! as the russian equivalent is "vashoe imperatorskoe vuisochestvo," a considerable expenditure of time and breath was saved by using the terser french term. and through it all moved the mistress of the house, the stately { } little smiling old lady, in her plain black woollen dress and lace cap, dropping here a quaint criticism, there an apt _bon-mot_. perfectly charming people! the relatives and friends of princesse château whom i met at her house, when they discovered that i had a genuine liking for their country, and that i did not criticise details of russian administration, were good enough to open their houses to me in their turn. though most of these people owned large and very fine houses, they opened them but rarely to foreigners. they gave, very occasionally, large entertainments to which they invited half petrograd, including the diplomatic body, but there they stopped. they did not care, as a rule, to invite foreigners to share the intimacy of their family life. i was very fortunate therefore in having an opportunity of seeing a phase of russian life which few foreigners have enjoyed. russians seldom do things by halves. i do not believe that in any other country in the world could a stranger have been made to feel himself so thoroughly at home amongst people of a different nationality, and with such totally different racial ideals; or have been treated with such constant and uniform kindness. there was no ceremony whatever on either side, and on the russian side, at times, an outspokenness approaching bluntness. as i got to know these cultivated, delightful people well, i grew very fond of them. they formed a clique, possibly a narrow clique, amongst themselves, and had that complete disregard for outside criticism which is often found associated with { } persons of established position. they met almost nightly at each others' houses, and i could not but regret that such beautiful and vast houses should be seen by so few people. one house, in particular, contained a staircase an exact replica of a grecian temple in white statuary carrara marble, a thing of exquisite beauty. in their perpetual sets of intellectual lawn tennis, if i may coin the term, the superiority of the feminine over the male intellects was very marked. this is, i believe, a characteristic of all slavonic countries, and i recalled bismarck's dictum that the slav peoples were essentially feminine, and i wondered whether there could be any connection between the two points. living so much with russians, it was impossible not to fall into the russian custom of addressing them by their christian names and patronymics; such as "maria vladimirovna" (mary daughter of vladimir) or "olga andreèvna" (olga daughter of andrew) or "pavel alexandrovitch" (paul son of alexander). i myself became feòdor yàkovlevitch, (frederic son of james, those being the nearest russian equivalents). on arriving at a house, the proper form of inquiry to the hall porter was, "ask mary daughter of vladimir if she will receive frederic son of james." in due time the answer came, "mary daughter of vladimir begs frederic son of james to go upstairs." my own servants always addressed me punctiliously as feòdor yàkovlevitch. on giving them an order they would answer in moscovite fashion, "i hear you, frederic son of james," { } the equivalent to our prosaic, "very good, sir." amongst my new friends, as at the princesse château's, no allusions whatever, direct or indirect, were made to internal conditions in russia. apart from the fact that one of these new friends was himself minister of the interior at the time, it would not have been safe. in those days the secret police, or "third section," as they were called, were very active, and their ramifications extended everywhere. one night at a supper party a certain countess b---- criticised in very open and most unflattering terms a lady to whom the emperor alexander ii was known to be devotedly attached. next morning at a.m. the countess was awakened by her terrified maid, who told her that the "third section" were there and demanded instant admittance. two men came into the countess's bedroom and informed her that their orders were that she was to take the . train to europe that morning. they would remain with her till then, and would accompany her to the frontier. as she would not be allowed to return to russia for twelve months, they begged her to order her maid to pack what was necessary; and no one knew better than countess b---- how useless any attempted resistance would be. this episode made a great stir at the time. as the words complained of had been uttered about a.m., the police action had been remarkably prompt. the informant must have driven straight from the supper party to the "third section," and { } everyone in petrograd had a very distinct idea who the informant was. is it necessary to add that she was a lady? some of my new friends volunteered to propose and second me for the imperial yacht club. this was not the club that the diplomats usually joined; it was a purely russian club, and, in spite of its name, had no connection with yachting. it had also the reputation of being extremely exclusive, but thanks to my russian sponsors, i got duly elected to it. this was, i am sure, the most delightful club in europe. it was limited to members of whom only two, besides myself, were foreigners, and the most perfect _camaraderie_ existed between the members. the atmosphere of the place was excessively friendly and intimate, and the building looked more like a private house than a club, as deceased members had bequeathed to it pictures, a fine collection of old engravings, some splendid old beauvais tapestry, and a great deal of oriental porcelain. above all, we commanded the services of the great armand, prince of french chefs. associating so much with russians, it was possible to see things from their points of view. they all had an unshakable belief in the absolute invincibility of russia, and in her complete invulnerability, for it must not be forgotten that in russia had never yet been defeated in any campaign, except partially in the crimean war of - . my friends did not hide their convictions that it was russia's manifest destiny to absorb in { } time the whole of the asiatic continent, including india, china, and turkey. there were grounds for this article of faith, for in russia's bloodless absorption of vast territories in central asia had been astounding. it was not until the russo-japanese war of - that the friable clay feet of the northern colossus were revealed to the outside world, though those with a fairly intimate knowledge of the country quite realised how insecure were the foundations on which the stupendous structure of modern russia had been erected. i am deeply thankful that the great majority of my old friends had passed away in the ordinary course of nature before the great catastrophe overwhelmed the mighty empire in which they took such deep pride; and that they were spared the sight and knowledge of the awful orgy of blood, murder, and spoliation which followed the ruin of the land they loved so well. were they not now at rest, it would be difficult for me to write of those old days. to grasp the russian mentality, it must be remembered that they are essentially orientals. russia is not the most eastern outpost of western civilisation; it is the most western outpost of the east. russians have all the qualities of the oriental, his fatalism, his inertness, and, i fear, his innate pecuniary corruption. their fatalism makes them accept their destiny blindly. what has been ordained from the beginning of things is useless to fight against; it must be accepted. the same { } inertness characterises every eastern nation, and the habit of "baksheesh" is ingrained in the oriental blood. if the truth were known, we should probably find that the real reason why cain killed abel was that the latter had refused him a commission on some transaction or other. the fatalism and lack of initiative are not the only oriental traits in the russian character. in a hundred little ways they show their origin: in their love of uncut jewels; in their lack of sense of time (the russian for "at once" is "si chas," which means "this hour"; an instructive commentary); in the reluctance south russians show in introducing strangers to the ladies of their household, the oriental peeps out everywhere. peter the great could order his boyards to abandon their fur-trimmed velvet robes, to shave off their beards, powder their heads, and array themselves in the satins and brocades of versailles. he could not alter the men and women inside the french imported finery. he could abandon his old capital, matchless, many-pinnacled moscow, vibrant with every instinct of russian nationality; he could create a new pseudo-western, sham-classical city in the frozen marshes of the neva; but even the autocrat could not change the souls of his people. easterns they were, easterns they remained, and that is the secret of russia, they are not europeans. peter himself was so fully aware of the racial limitations of his countrymen that he imported numbers of foreigners to run the country; germans as civil and military administrators; { } dutchmen as builders and town-planners; and englishmen to foster its budding commerce. to the latter he granted special privileges, and even in my time there was a very large english commercial community in petrograd; a few of them descendants of peter the great's pioneers; the majority of them with hereditary business connections with russia. their special privileges had gradually been withdrawn, but the official name of the english church in petrograd was still "british factory in st. petersburg," surely a curious title for a place of worship. the various german-russian families from the baltic provinces, the adlerbergs, the benckendorffs, and the stackelbergs, had served russia well. under their strong guidance she became a mighty power, but when under alexander iii the reins of government were confided to purely russian hands, rapid deterioration set in. this dreamy nation lacks driving power. in my time, the very able minister for foreign affairs, m. de giers, was of german origin, and his real name was hirsch. his extremely wily and astute second in command, baron jomini, was a swiss. modern russia was largely the creation of the foreigner. i saw a great deal, too, of a totally different stratum of russian society. mr. x., the head of a large exporting house, was of british origin, the descendant of one of peter's commercial pioneers. he himself, like his father and grandfather, had been born in russia, and though he retained his english speech, he had adopted all the points of { } view of the country of his birth. madame x. came of a family of the so-called "intelligenzia." most of her relatives seemed to have undertaken compulsory journeys to siberia, not as prisoners, but for a given term of exile. madame x.'s brother-in-law owned and edited a paper of advanced views, which was being continually suppressed, and had been the cause of two long trips eastward for its editor and proprietor. neither mr. nor madame x. shared their relatives' extreme views. what struck me was that behind the floods of vehement invective of madame o---- (the editor's wife) there was never the smallest practical suggestion. "you say, madame o----," i would hazard, "that the existing state of things is intolerable. what remedy do you suggest?" "i am not the government," would retort madame o---- with great heat. "it is for the government to make suggestions. i only denounce an abominable injustice." "quite so, madame o----, but how can these conditions be improved. what is your programme of reform?" "we have nothing to do with reforms. our mission is to destroy utterly. out of the ruins a better state of things must necessarily arise; as nothing could possibly be worse than present conditions." and so we travelled round and round in a circle. mr. o----, when appealed to, would blink through his spectacles with his kindly old eyes, and emit a torrent of admirable moral aphorisms, which might serve as unimpeachable copy-book headings, but had no bearing whatever { } on the subject we were discussing. never once amidst these floods of bitter invective and cataracts of fierce denunciation did i hear one single practical suggestion made or any outline traced of a scheme to better existing conditions. "we must destroy," shouted madame o----, and there her ideas stopped. i think the slavonic bent of mind, like the celtic, is purely _des_tructive, and has little or no _con_structive power in it. this may be due to the ineradicable element of the child in both races. they are "peter pans," and a child loves destruction. poor dreamy, emotional, hopelessly unpractical russia! madame o----'s theories have been put into effect now, and we all know how appalling the result has been. these conversations were always carried on in french for greater safety in order that the servants might not overhear, but when mr. and madame o---- found difficulties in expressing themselves in that language, they both broke into torrents of rapid russian, to poor madame x.'s unconcealed terror. the danger was a real one, for the o----'s were well known in police circles as revolutionists, and it must have gone hard with the x.'s had their servants reported to the police the violent opinions that had been expressed in their house. many of the diplomatic body were in the habit of attending the midnight mass at st. isaac's on easter day, on account of the wonderfully impressive character of the service. we were always { } requested to come in full uniform, with decorations and we stood inside the rails of the ikonostas, behind the choir. the time to arrive was about . p.m., when the great church, packed to its doors by a vast throng, was wrapped in almost total darkness. under the dome stood a catafalque bearing a gilt coffin. this open coffin contained a strip of silk, on which was painted an effigy of the dead christ, for it will be remembered that no carved or graven image is allowed in a church of the eastern rite. there was an arrangement by which a species of blind could be drawn over the painted figure, thus concealing it. as the eye grew accustomed to the shadows, tens of thousands of unlighted candles, outlining the arches, cornices, and other architectural features of the cathedral, were just visible. these candles each had their wick touched with kerosine and then surrounded with a thread of guncotton, which ran continuously from candle to candle right round the building. when the hanging end of the thread of gun-cotton was lighted, the flame ran swiftly round the church, kindling each candle in turn; a very fascinating sight. at half-past eleven, the only light was from the candles surrounding the bier, where black-robed priests were chanting the mournful russian office for the dead. at about twenty minutes to twelve the blind was drawn over the dead christ, and the priests, feigning surprise, advanced to the rails of the ikonostas, and announced to an archimandrite that the coffin was empty. the archimandrite ordered them { } to search round the church, and the priests perambulated the church with gilt lanterns, during which time the catafalque, bier, and its accessories were all removed. the priests announced to the archimandrite that their search had been unsuccessful, whereupon he ordered them to make a further search outside the church. they went out, and so timed their return as to arrive before the ikonostas at three minutes before midnight. they again reported that they had been unsuccessful; when, as the first stroke of midnight pealed from the great clock, the metropolitan of petrograd announced in a loud voice, "christ is risen!" at an electric signal given from the cathedral, the great guns of the fortress boomed out in a salute of one hundred and one guns; the gun-cotton was touched off, and the swift flash kindled the tens of thousands of candles running round the building; the enormous congregation lit the tapers they carried; the "royal doors" of the ikonostas were thrown open, and the clergy appeared in their festival vestments of cloth of gold, as the choir burst into the beautiful russian easter anthem, and so the easter mass began. nothing more poignantly dramatic, more magnificently impressive, could possibly be imagined than this almost instantaneous change from intense gloom to blazing light; from the plaintive dirges of the funeral service to the jubilant strains of the easter mass. i never tired of witnessing this splendid piece of symbolism. it sounds almost irreverent to talk of comical { } incidents in connection with so solemn an occasion, but there are two little episodes i must mention. about the first tentative efforts were made by france to establish a franco-russian alliance. ideas on the subject were very nebulous at first, but slowly they began to crystallise into concrete shape. a new french ambassador was appointed to petrograd in the hope of fanning the faint spark into further life. he, wishing to show his sympathy for the _nation amie_, attended the easter mass at st. isaac's, but unfortunately he was quite unversed in the ritual of the orthodox church. in every ikonostas there are two ikons on either side of the "royal doors"; the saviour on one side, the madonna and child on the other. the new ambassador was standing in front of the ikon of the saviour, and in the course of the mass the metropolitan came out, and made the three prescribed low bows before the ikon, previous to censing it. the ambassador, taking this as a personal compliment to france, as represented in his own person, acknowledged the attention with three equally low bows, laying his hand on his heart and ejaculating with all the innate politeness of his nation, "monsieur! monsieur! monsieur!" this little incident caused much amusement, as did a newly-arrived german diplomat, who when greeted by a russian friend with the customary easter salutation of "christ is risen!" ("kristos voskress!") wished to respond, but, being ignorant of the traditional answer, "he is verily risen," merely made { } a low bow and said, "ich auch," which may be vulgarly englished into "the same here." the universal easter suppers at the conclusion of the mass play an important part in russian life, for they mean the breaking of the long and rigorous lenten fast of the eastern church, during which all meat, butter, milk, and eggs are prohibited. the peasants adhere rigidly to these rules, so the easter supper assumes great importance in their eyes. the ingredients of this supper are invariable for high and low, for rich and poor--cold ham, hard-boiled eggs dyed red, a sort of light cake akin to the french _brioche_, and a sour cream-cheese shaped into a pyramid and decorated with little crosses of dried currants. i think that this cake and cream cheese (known as "paskva") are prepared only at easter-time. even at the yacht club during holy week, meat, butter, milk, and eggs were prohibited, and still armand, our incomparable french chef, managed to produce _plats_ of the most succulent description. loud praises were lavished upon his skill in preparing such excellent dishes out of oil, fish, flour, and vegetables, the only materials allowed him. i met armand in the passage one day and asked him how he managed to do it. looking round to see that no russians could overhear, armand replied with a wink, "voyez-vous monsieur, le bon dieu ne regarde pas d'aussi près." of course he had gone on using cream, butter, and eggs, just as usual, but as the members of the club did not know this, and thought { } that they were strictly obeying the rules of their church, i imagine that no blame could attach to them. on easter eve the two-mile-long nevsky perspective was lined with humble folks standing by white napkins on which the materials for their easter supper were arranged. on every napkin glimmered a lighted taper, and the long line of these twinkling lights produced a very charming effect, as of myriads of glow-worms. priests would pass swiftly down the line, each attended by an acolyte carrying a pail of holy water. the priest would mutter a rapid blessing, sprinkle the food and its owner with holy water, pocket an infinitesimally small fee, and pass on again. a friend of mine was once down in the fruit-growing districts of the crimea. passing through one of the villages of that pleasing peninsula, he found it decorated in honour of a religious festival. the village priest was going to bless the first-fruits of the orchards. the peasants stood in a row down the village street, each one with the first crop of his orchard arranged on a clean napkin before him. the red-bearded priest, quite a young man, passed down the street, sprinkling fruit and grower alike with holy water, and repeating a blessing to each one. the young priest approached, and my friend could hear quite plainly the words of his blessing. no. ---- it was quite impossible! it was incredible! and yet he could not doubt the evidence of his own ears! the young priest was speaking in good scots, { } and the words of the blessing he bestowed on each parishioner were, "here, man! tak' it. if it does ye nae guid, it canna possibly dae ye any hairm." the men addressed, probably taking this for a quotation from scripture in some unknown tongue, bowed reverently as the words were pronounced over them. that a russian village priest in a remote district of the crimea should talk broad scots was a sufficiently unusual circumstance to cause my friend to make some further inquiries. it then appeared that when the government dockyard at sebastopol was reopened, several scottish foremen from the clyde shipbuilding yards were imported to supervise the russian workmen. amongst others came a glasgow foreman with his wife and a son who was destined for the ministry of the free church of scotland. once arrived in russia, they found that facilities for training a youth for the presbyterian ministry were somewhat lacking in sebastopol. sooner than sacrifice their dearest wish, the parents, with commendable broadmindedness, decided that their offspring should enter the russian church. he was accordingly sent to a seminary and in due course was ordained a priest and appointed to a parish, but he apparently still retained his scottish speech and his characteristically scottish independence of view. after a year in petrograd i used to attempt to analyse to myself the complex russian character. "we are a 'jelly-folk,'" had said one of my friends to me. the russian term was "kiselnui { } narod," and i think there is truth in that. they _are_ an invertebrate folk. i cannot help thinking that peter the great was one of the worst enemies of his own country. instead of allowing russia to develop naturally on lines suited to the racial instincts of her people, he attempted to run the whole country into a west european mould, and to superimpose upon it a veneer imported from the france of louis quatorze. with the very few this could perhaps succeed, with the many it was a foregone failure. he tried in one short lifetime to do what it had taken other countries centuries to accomplish. he built a vast and imposing edifice on shifting sand, without any foundations. it might stand for a time; its ultimate doom was certain. from the windows of our embassy we looked upon the broad neva. when fast bound in the grip of winter, sledge-roads were made across the ice, bordered with lamp-posts and marked out with sawn-off fir trees. little wooden taverns and tea-houses were built on the river, and as soon as the ice was of sufficient thickness the tramcar lines were laid across it. a colony of laps came yearly and encamped on the river with their reindeer, for the temperature of petrograd rarely falling more than ten degrees below zero, it was looked upon as a genial winter climate for invalids from lapland. a stranger from another planet might have imagined that these buildings were permanent, that the fir trees were really growing, and that all the life { } on the frozen river would last indefinitely. everyone knew, though, with absolute certainty that by the middle of april the ice would break up, and that these little houses, if not removed in time, would be carried away and engulfed in the liberated stream. by may the river would be running again as freely as though these temporary edifices had never been built on it. i think these houses built on the ice were very typical of russia. { } chapter iv the winter palace--its interior--alexander ii--a russian court ball--the "bals des palmiers"--the empress--the blessing of the neva--some curiosities of the winter palace--the great orloff diamond--my friend the lady-in-waiting--sugared compensations--the attempt on the emperor's life of --some unexpected finds in the palace--a most hilarious funeral--sporting expeditions--night drives through the forest in mid-winter--wolves--a typical russian village--a peasant's house--"deaf and dumb people"--the inquisitive peasant youth--curiosity about strangers--an embarrassing situation--a still more awkward one--food difficulties--a bear hunt--my first bear--alcoholic consequences--my liking for the russian peasant--the beneficent india-rubber ikon--two curious sporting incidents--village habits--the great gulf fixed between russian nobility and peasants. the winter palace drags its lengthy, uninteresting façade for some five hundred feet along the quays of the neva. it presents a mere wearisome iteration of the same architectural features repeated again and again, and any effect it might produce is marred by the hideous shade of that crude red, called by the russians "raspberry colour," with which it is daubed, and for which they have so misplaced an affection. { } the interior of the winter palace was burned out in , and only a few of the original state rooms survive. these surviving rooms are the only ones of any artistic interest, as the other innumerable and stupendous halls were all reconstructed during the "period of bad taste," and bear ample witness to that fact in every detail of their ornamentation. the ambassadors' staircase, part of the original building, is very dignified and imposing with its groups of statuary, painted ceiling, and lavish decoration, as is peter the great's throne room, with jasper columns, and walls hung with red velvet worked in gold with great russian two-headed eagles. all the tables, chairs, and chandeliers in this room were of solid silver. st. george's hall, another of the old rooms, i thought splendid, with its pure white marble walls and columns and rich adornments of gilt bronze, and there was also an agreeably barbaric hall with entirely gilt columns, many banners, and gigantic effigies of ancient russian warriors. all these rooms were full of collections of the gold and silver-gilt trays on which the symbolical "bread and salt" had been offered to different emperors in the various towns of their dominions. the fifty or so other modern rooms were only remarkable for their immense size, the nicholas hall, for instance, being feet long and feet wide, though the so-called "golden hall" positively dazzled one with its acre or so of gilding. it would have been a happy idea for the emperor to { } assemble all the leading financiers of europe to dine together in the "golden hall." the sight of so much of the metal which they had spent their whole lives in amassing would have gratified the financiers, and would probably have stimulated them to fresh exertions. the emperor alexander ii always received the diplomats in peter the great's throne room, seated on peter's throne. he was a wonderfully handsome man even in his old age, with a most commanding manner, and an air of freezing hauteur. when addressing junior members of the diplomatic body there was something in his voice and a look in his eye reminiscent of the great mogul addressing an earthworm. i have only seen three sovereigns who looked their parts quite unmistakably: alexander ii of russia, william i of germany, and queen victoria. in queen victoria's case it was the more remarkable, as she was very short. yet this little old lady in her plain dress, had the most inimitable dignity, and no one could have mistaken her for anything but a queen. i remember queen victoria attending a concert at the albert hall in , two months before the jubilee celebrations. the vast building was packed to the roof, and the queen received a tremendous ovation. no one who saw it can ever forget how the little old lady advanced to the front of her box and made two very low sweeping curtsies to the right and to the left of her with incomparable dignity and grace, as she smiled { } through her tears on the audience in acknowledgment of the thunders of applause that greeted her. queen victoria was always moved to tears when she received an unusually cordial ovation from her people, for they loved her, and she loved them. the scale of everything in the winter palace was so vast that it is difficult to compare the court entertainments there with those elsewhere. certainly the russian ladies looked well in their uniform costumes. the cut, shape, and style of these dresses never varied, be the fashions what they might. the dress, once made, lasted the owner for her lifetime, though with advancing years it might possibly require to be readjusted to an expanding figure. they were enormously expensive to start with--anything from £ to £ , . there was a complete under-dress of white satin, heavily embroidered. over this was worn a velvet dress lavishly trimmed with dark fur. this velvet dress might be of dull red, dark blue, green, or brown, according to the taste of the wearer. it had to have a long train embroidered with gold or silver flowers, or both mixed, as the owner's fancy dictated. on the head was worn the "kakoshnik," the traditional russian head-dress, in the form of a crescent. in the case of married women the "kakoshnik" might be of diamonds, or any gems they fancied, or could compass; for girls the "kakoshnik" must be of white silk. girls, too, had to wear white, without the velvet over-dress. the usual fault of russian faces is their undue breadth across the cheek-bones, { } and the white "kakoshnik" worn by the unmarried girls seemed to me to emphasize this defect, whereas a blazing semicircle of diamonds made a most becoming setting for an older face, although at times, as in other cases, the setting might be more ornamental than the object it enshrined. though the russian uniforms were mostly copied from german models, the national lack of attention to detail was probably to blame for the lack of effect they produced when compared with their prussian originals. there was always something a little slovenly in the way in which the russian uniforms were worn, though an exception must be made in the case of the resplendent "chevaliers gardes," and of the "gardes à cheval." the uniforms of these two crack cavalry regiments was closely copied from that of the prussian "gardes du corps" and was akin to that of our own life guards and royal horse guards; the same leather breeches and long jack-boots, and the same cuirasses; the tunics, though were white, instead of the scarlet or blue of their english prototypes. the "chevaliers gardes" had silvered cuirasses and helmets surmounted with the russian eagle, whereas those of the "gardes à cheval" were gilt. as we know, "all that glitters is not gold," and in spite of their gilding the "gardes à cheval" were considered very inferior socially to their rivals. the emperor's fiercely-moustached circassian bodyguard struck an agreeably exotic note with their grass-green trousers and long blue kaftans, covered with rows of persian { } cartridge-holders in _niello_ of black and silver. others of the circassians wore coats of chain mail over their kaftans, and these kaftans were always sleeveless, showing the bright green, red, or blue silk shirtsleeves of their wearers. another pleasant barbaric touch. to my mind, the smartest uniforms were those of the cossack officers; baggy green knickerbockers thrust into high boots, a hooked-and-eyed green tunic without a single button or a scrap of gold lace on it, and a plain white silk belt. no one could complain of a lack of colour at a petrograd palace ball. the russian civil and court uniforms were ingeniously hideous with their white trousers and long frock-coats covered with broad transverse bars of gold lace. the wearers of these ugly garments always looked to me like walking embodiments of what are known in commercial circles as "gilt-edged securities." as at berlin, there were hosts of pages at these entertainments. these lads were all attired like miniature "chevalier gardes," in leather breeches and jack-boots, and wore gold-laced green tunics; a singularly unpractical dress, i should have thought, for a growing boy. all russians of a certain social position were expected to send their sons to be educated at the "school for imperial pages," which was housed in an immense and ornate building and counted four hundred pupils. wise parents mistrusted the education "aux pages" for their sons, knowing that, however little else they might learn there, they would be certain to acquire { } habits of gross extravagance; the prominence, too, into which these boys were thrust at court functions tended to make them unduly precocious. the smaller court balls were known as "les bals des palmiers." on these occasions, a hundred large palm trees, specially grown for the purpose at tsarskoe selo, were brought by road from there in huge vans. round the palm in its tub supper tables were built, each one accommodating fifteen people. it was really an extraordinarily pretty sight seeing these rows of broad-fronted palms down the great nicholas hall, and the knowledge that a few feet away there was an outside temperature of ° below zero added piquancy to the sight of these exiles from the tropics waving their green plumes so far away in the frozen north. at the "bals des palmiers" it was alexander ii's custom to make the round of the tables as soon as his guests were seated. the emperor would go up to a table, the occupants of which of course all rose at his approach, say a few words to one or two of them, and then eat either a small piece of bread or a little fruit, and just put his lips to a glass of champagne, in order that his guests might say that he had eaten and drank with them. a delicate and graceful attention! as electric light had not then been introduced into the palace, the entire building was lighted with wax candles. i cannot remember the number i was told was required on these occasions, but i think it was over one hundred thousand. the candles were all lighted with a thread of gun-cotton, as in st. isaac's cathedral. { } the empress appeared but very rarely. it was a matter of common knowledge that she was suffering from an incurable disease. all the rooms in which she lived were artificially impregnated with oxygen, continuously released from cylinders in which the gas had been compressed. this, though it relieved the lungs of the sufferer, proved very trying to the empress's ladies-in-waiting, as this artificial atmosphere with its excess of oxygen after an hour or so gave them all violent headaches and attacks of giddiness. in spite of the characteristic russian carelessness about details, these petrograd palace entertainments provided a splendid glittering pageant to the eye, for the stage was so vast and the number of performers so great. there was not the same blaze of diamonds as in london, but i should say that the individual jewels were far finer. a stone must be very perfect to satisfy the critical russian eye, and, true to their oriental blood, the ladies preferred unfaceted rubies, sapphires, and emeralds. occasional emirs from central asia served, as do the indian princes at buckingham palace, as a reminder that russia's responsibilities, like those of great britain, did not cease with her european frontiers. once a year the diplomats had much the best of the situation. this was at the blessing of the waters of the neva--"the jordan," as russians called it--on january , old style, or january , according to our reckoning. we saw the ceremonies through the double windows of the great steam-heated nicholas { } hall, whereas the emperor and all the grand dukes had to stand bareheaded in the snow outside. a great hole was cut in the ice of the neva, with a temporary chapel erected over it. at the conclusion of the religious service, the metropolitan of petrograd solemnly blessed the waters of the river, and dipped a great golden cross into them. a cordon of soldiers had to guard the opening in the ice until it froze over again, in order to prevent fanatical peasants from bathing in the newly-consecrated waters. many had lost their lives in this way. a friend of mine, the director of the hermitage gallery, offered to take me all over the winter palace, and the visit occupied nearly an entire day. the maze of rooms was so endless that the mind got a little bewildered and surfeited with the sight of so many splendours. a detail that amused me was a small library on the second floor, opening on to an avenue of lime trees. one of the empresses had chosen for her private library this room on the second floor, looking into a courtyard. she had selected it on account of its quiet, but expressed a wish to have an avenue of trees, under which to walk in the intervals of her studies. the room being on the second floor, and looking into a yard, the wish appeared to be difficult to execute, but in those days the word "impossible" did not exist for an empress of russia. the entire courtyard was filled in with earth, and full-grown lime trees transplanted there. when i saw this aerial grove eighty years afterwards, { } there was quite a respectable avenue of limes on the second floor of the building, with a gravel walk bordered by grass-plots beneath them. another empress wished to have a place to walk in during the winter months, so a very ingenious hanging winter-garden was contrived for her, following all the exterior angles of the building. it was not in the least like an ordinary conservatory, but really did recall an outdoor garden. there were gravel walks, and lawns of lycopodium simulating grass; there were growing orange trees, and quite large palms. for some reason the creepers on the walls of this pseudo-garden were all artificial, being very cleverly made out of painted sheet-iron. i had an opportunity later of seeing the entire winter palace collection of silver plate, and all the crown jewels, when they were arranged for the inspection of the late duke of edinburgh, who was good enough to invite me to come. there were enormous quantities of plate, of russian, french, and english make, sufficient to stock every silversmith's shop in london. some of the english plate was of william and mary's and queen anne's date, and there were some fine early georgian pieces. they, would, i confess, have appeared to greater advantage had they conveyed the idea that they had been occasionally cleaned. as it was, they looked like dull pewter that had been neglected for twenty years. of the jewels, the only things i remember were a superb "corsage" of diamonds and aquamarines--not the pale green stones we { } associate with the name, but immense stones of that bright blue tint, so highly prized in russia--and especially the great orloff diamond. the "corsage" was big enough to make a very ample cuirass for the most stalwart of lifeguardsmen, and the orloff diamond formed the head of the russian imperial sceptre. the history of the orloff, or lazareff, diamond is quite interesting. though by no means the largest, it is considered the most perfect diamond in the world, albeit it has a slight flaw in it. originally stolen from india, it came into the hands of an armenian called lazareff in some unknown manner about a.d. . lazareff, so the story goes, devised a novel hiding-place for the great stone. making a deep incision into the calf of his leg, he placed the diamond in the cavity, and lay in bed for three months till the wound was completely healed over. he then started for amsterdam, and though stripped and searched several times during his journey, for he was strongly suspected of having the stone concealed about his person, its hiding-place was never discovered. at amsterdam lazareff had the wound reopened by a surgeon, and the diamond extracted. he then sold it to count orloff for , roubles, or roughly £ , , and orloff in his turn made a present of the great stone to catherine the great. the diamond is set under a jewelled russian eagle at the extremity of the sceptre, where it probably shows to greater advantage than it did when concealed for six months in the calf of an armenian's leg. { } the accommodation provided for the suites of the imperial family is hardly on a par with the magnificence of the rest of the palace. the duchess of edinburgh, daughter of alexander ii, made a yearly visit to petrograd, as long as her mother the empress was alive. as the duchess's lady-in-waiting happened to be one of my oldest friends, during her stay i was at the palace at least three days a week, and i retain vivid recollections of the dreary, bare, whitewashed vault assigned to her as a sitting-room. the only redeeming feature of this room was a five-storied glass tray packed with some fifty varieties of the most delicious _bon-bons_ the mind of man could conceive. these were all fresh-baked every day by the palace confectioner, and the tray was renewed every morning. there were some sixty of these trays prepared daily, and their arrangement was always absolutely identical, precisely the same number of caramels and _fondants_ being placed on each shelf of the tray. everyone knew that the palace confectioner owned a fashionable sweet shop on the nevsky, where he traded under a french name, and i imagine that his shop was entirely stocked from the remains of the palace trays. in the spring of an attempt was made on alexander's ii's life by a bomb which completely wrecked the white marble private dining-room. the emperor's dinner hour was , and the bomb was timed to explode at . p.m. the emperor happened at the time to be overwhelmed with work, and at the last moment he postponed dinner until . . { } the bomb exploded at the minute it had been timed for, killing many of the servants. my poor friend the lady-in-waiting was passing along the corridor as the explosion occurred. she fell unhurt amongst the wreckage, but the shock and the sight of the horribly mangled bodies of the servants were too much for her. she never recovered from their effects, and died in england within a year. after this crime, the winter palace was thoroughly searched from cellars to attics, and some curious discoveries were made. some of the countless moujiks employed in the palace had vast unauthorized colonies of their relatives living with them on the top floor of the building. in one bedroom a full-grown cow was found, placidly chewing the cud. one of the moujiks had smuggled it in as a new-born calf, had brought it up by hand, and afterwards fed it on hay purloined from the stables. though it may have kept his family well provided with milk, stabling a cow in a bedroom unprovided with proper drainage, on the top floor of a building, is not a proceeding to be unduly encouraged; nor does it tend to add to the sanitary amenities of a palace. russians are fond of calling the nevsky "the street of toleration," for within a third of a mile of its length a dutch calvinist, a german lutheran, a roman catholic, and an armenian church rise almost side by side. "nevsky" is, of course, only the adjective of "neva," and the street is termed "perspective" in french and "prospect" in russian. { } close to the armenian church lived m. delyanoff, who was the minister of education in those days. both m. and madame delyanoff were exceedingly hospitable and kind to the diplomatic body, so, when m. delyanoff died, most of the diplomats attended his funeral, appearing, according to russian custom, in full uniform. the delyanoffs being armenians, the funeral took place in the armenian church, and none of us had had any previous experience of the extraordinary noises which pass for singing amongst armenians. when six individuals appeared and began bleating like sheep, and followed this by an excellent imitation of hungry wolves howling, it was too much for us. we hastily composed our features into the decorum the occasion demanded, amid furtive little snorts of semi-suppressed laughter. after three grey-bearded priests had stepped from behind the ikonostas, and, putting their chins up in the air, proceeded to yelp together in unison, exactly like dogs baying the moon, the entire corps diplomatique broke down utterly. never have i seen men laugh so unrestrainedly. as we had each been given a large lighted candle, the movements of our swaying bodies were communicated to the tapers, and showers of melted wax began flying in all directions. with the prudence of the land of my birth, i placed myself against a pillar, so as to have no one behind me, but each time the three grey-beards recommenced their comical howling, i must have scattered perfect niagaras of wax on to the embroidered coat-tails { } and extensive back of the swedish minister in front of me. i should think that i must have expended the combined labours of several hives of bees on his garments, congratulating myself the while that that genial personage, not being a peacock, did not enjoy the advantage of having eyes in his tail. the swedish minister, m. dué, his massive frame quivering with laughter, was meanwhile engaged in performing a like kindly office on to the back of his roumanian colleague, prince ghika, who in his turn was anointing the uniform of m. van der hooven, the netherlands minister. providentially, the delyanoff family were all grouped together before the altar, and the farmyard imitations of the armenian choir so effectually drowned our unseemly merriment that any faint echoes which reached the family were ascribed by them to our very natural emotions in the circumstances. i heard, indeed, afterwards that the family were much touched by our attendance and by our sympathetic behaviour, but never, before or since, have i attended so hilarious a funeral. lord dufferin, in common with most of the members of the embassy, was filled with an intense desire to kill a bear. these animals, of course, hibernate, and certain peasants made a regular livelihood by discovering bears' lairs (the russian term, a corruption from the german, is "bear-loge") and then coming to petrograd and selling the beast at so much per "pood" of forty russian pounds. the finder undertook to provide sledges and beaters for the sum { } agreed upon, but nothing was to be paid unless a shot at the bear was obtained. these expeditions involved a considerable amount of discomfort. there was invariably a long drive of from forty to eighty miles to be made in rough country sledges from the nearest available railway station; the accommodation in a peasant's house would consist of the bare floor with some hay laid on it, and every scrap of food, including bread, butter, tea, and sugar, would have to be carried from petrograd, as european stomachs could not assimilate the sour, wet heavy black bread the peasants eat, and their brick-tea, which contained bullocks' blood, was undrinkable to those unaccustomed to it. it usually fell to my lot, as i spoke the language, to go on ahead to the particular village to which we were bound, and there to make the best arrangements possible for lord and lady dufferin's comfort. my instructions were always to endeavour to get a room in the latest house built, as this was likely to be less infested with vermin than the others. after a four or five hours' run from petrograd by train, one would find the vendor of the bear waiting at the station with a country sledge. these sledges were merely a few poles tied together, mounted on iron-shod wooden runners, and filled with hay. the sledges were so long that it was possible to lie at full length in them. the rifles, baggage, and food being packed under the hay, one lay down at full length, clad in long felt boots and heavy furs, an air-cushion under one's head, and a persian "bashilik," or hood of fine camel's hair, drawn over it to { } prevent ears or nose from being frostbitten. tucked into a thick fur rug, one composed oneself for an all-night drive through the endless forests. the two drivers sat on a plank in front, and one or other of them was continually dropping off to sleep, and tumbling backwards on to the occupants of the sledge. it was not a very comfortable experience, and sleep was very fickle to woo. in the first place, the sledge-tracks through the forest were very rough indeed, and the jolting was incessant; in the second place, should the actual driver go to sleep as well as his relieving colleague, the sledge would bump against the tree-trunks and overturn, and baggage, rifles and occupants would find themselves struggling in the deep snow. i always tied my baggage together with strings, so as to avoid losing anything in these upsets, but even then it took a considerable time retrieving the impedimenta from the deep snowdrifts. it always gave me pleasure watching the black conical points of the fir trees outlined against the pale burnished steel of the sky, and in the intense cold the stars blazed like diamonds out of the clear grey vault above. the biting cold burnt like a hot iron against the cheeks, until prudence, and a regard for the preservation of one's ears, dictated the pulling of the "bashilik" over one's face again. the intense stillness, and the absolute silence, for there are no sleigh-bells in northern russia, except in the imagination of novelists, had some subtle attraction for me. the silence was occasionally--very { } occasionally only--broken by an ominous, long-drawn howl; then a spectral swift-trotting outline would appear, keeping pace easily with the sledge, but half-hidden amongst the tree-trunks. in that case the smooth-bore gun and the buckshot cartridges were quickly disinterred from the hay, and the driver urged his horses into a furious gallop. there was no need to use the whip; the horses knew. everyone would give a sigh of relief as the silent grey swift-moving spectral figure, with its fox-like lope, vanished after a shot or two had been fired at it. the drivers would take off their caps and cross themselves, muttering "thanks be to god! oh! those cursed wolves!" and the horses slowed down of their own accord into an easy amble. there were compensations for a sleepless night in the beauty of the pictures in strong black and white, or in shadowy half-tones of grey which the endless forest displayed at every turn. when the earth is wrapped in its snow-mantle, it is never dark, and the gleams of light from the white carpet down the long-drawn aisles of the dark firs were like the pillared shadows of a great cathedral when the dusk is filling it with mystery and a vague sense of immense size. all villages that i have seen in northern russia are alike, and when you have seen one peasant's house you have seen all. the village consists of one long street, and in the winter the kindly snow covers much of its unspeakable untidiness. the "isbas," or wooden houses, are all of the same pattern; they are solidly built of { } rough logs, the projecting ends firmly morticed into each other. their gable ends all front the street, each with two windows, and every "isba" has its courtyard, where the door is situated. there are no gardens, or attempts at gardens, and the houses are one and all roofed with grey shingles. each house is raised some six feet from the ground, and they are all water-tight, and most of them air-tight as well. the houses are never painted, and their weathered logs stand out silver-grey against the white background. a good deal of imagination is shown in the fret-saw carving of the barg-boards, which are either ornamented in conventional patterns, or have roughly outlined grotesque animals clambering up their angles; very often too there are fretsaw ornaments round the window-frames as well. prominent on the gate of every "isba" is the painting, in black on a white ground, of the particular implement each occupant is bound to supply in case of a fire, that dire and relentless foe to russian wooden-built villages. on some houses a ladder will be depicted; on others an axe or a pail. the interior arrangement of every "isba" i have ever seen is also identical. they always consist of two fair-sized rooms; the "hot room," which the family inhabit in winter, facing the street; the "cold room," used only in summertime, looking into the courtyard. these houses are not uncomfortable, though, a russian peasant's wants being but few, they are not overburdened with furniture. the disposition of the "hot room" is unvarying. supposing it facing { } due south, the door will be in the north-west corner. the north-east corner is occupied by an immense brick stove, filling up one-eighth of the floor-space. these stoves are about five feet high, and their tops are covered with loose sheepskins. here the entire family sleep in the stifling heat, their resting-place being shared with thousands of voracious, crawling, uninvited guests. in the south-east corner is the ikon shelf, where the family ikons are ranged in line, with a red lamp burning before them. there will be a table and benches in another corner, and a rough dresser, with a samovar, and a collection of those wooden bowls and receptacles, lacquered in scarlet, black, and gold, which russian peasants make so beautifully; and that is all. the temperature of the "hot room" is overpowering, and the atmosphere fetid beyond the power of description. every male, on entering takes off his cap and makes a bow before the ikons. i always conformed to this custom, for there is no use in gratuitously wounding people's religious susceptibilities. i invariably slept in the "cold room," for its temperature being probably five or six degrees below freezing point, it was free from vermin, and the atmosphere was purer. the master of the house laid a few armfuls of hay on the floor, and his wife would produce one of those towels russian women embroider so skilfully in red and blue, and lay it down for the cheek to rest against. i slept in my clothes, with long felt boots on, and my furs thrown over me, and i could sleep there as well as in any bed. { } the russian peasant's idea as to the relation of holy russia to the rest of the world is curious. it is rather the point of view of the chinaman, who thinks that beyond the confines of the "middle kingdom" there is only outer barbarism. everything to the west of russia is known as "germania," an intelligible mistake enough when it is remembered that germany marks russia's western frontier. "slavs" (akin, i think, to "slova," "a word") are the only people who can talk; "germania" is inhabited by deaf and dumb people ("nyémski") who can only make inarticulate noises. on one of my shooting expeditions, i stopped for an hour at a tea-house to change horses and to get warmed up. the proprietor told me that his son was very much excited at hearing that there was a "deaf and dumb man" in the house, as he had never seen one. would i speak to the young man. who was then putting on his sunday clothes on the chance of the interview being granted? in due course the son appeared; a handsome youth in glorified peasant's costume. the first outward sign of a russian peasant's rise in the social scale is that he tucks his shirt _into_ his trousers, instead of wearing it outside; the second stage is marked by his wearing his trousers _over_ his boots, instead of thrusting the trousers into the boots. this young fellow had not reached this point of evolution, and wore his shirt outside, but it was a dark-blue silk shirt, secured by a girdle of rainbow-coloured persian silk. he still wore his long boots outside too, { } but they had scarlet morocco tops, and the legs of them were elaborately embroidered with gold wire. in modern parlance, this gay young spark was a terrific village "nut." never have i met a youth of such insatiable curiosity, or one so crassly and densely ignorant. he was one perpetual note of interrogation. "were there roads and villages in germania?" to the best of my belief there were. "there were no towns though as large as petrograd." i rather fancied the contrary, and instanced a flourishing little community of some five million souls, situated on an island, with which i was very well acquainted. the youth eyed me with deep suspicion. "were there railways in germania?" only about a hundred times the mileage of the russian railways. "there was no electric light though, because jablochkoff, a russian, had invented that." (i found this a fixed idea with all russian peasants.) i had a vague impression of having seen one or two arc lights feebly glimmering in the streets of the benighted cities of germania. "could people read and write there, and could they really talk? it was easy to see that i had learned to talk since i had been in russia." i showed him a copy of the london _times_. "these were not real letters. could anyone read these meaningless signs," and so on _ad infinitum_. i am persuaded that when i left that youth he was convinced that i was the nearest relative to ananias that he had ever met. no matter which hour of the twenty-four it might { } happen to be, ten minutes after my arrival in any of these remote villages the entire population assembled to gaze at the "nyemetz," the deaf and dumb man from remote "germania," who had arrived in their midst. they crowded into the "hot room," men, women, and children, and gaped on the mysterious stranger from another world, who sat there drinking tea, as we should gaze on a visitor from mars. i always carried with me on those occasions a small collapsible india-rubber bath and a rubber folding basin. on my first expedition, after my arrival in the village, i procured a bucket of hot water from the mistress of the house, carried it to the "cold room," and, having removed all my garments, proceeded to take a bath. like wildfire the news spread through the village that the "deaf and dumb" man was washing himself, and they all flocked in to look. i succeeded in "shooing" away the first arrivals, but they returned with reinforcements, until half the population, men, women, and children, were standing in serried rows in my room, following my every movement with breathless interest. i have never suffered from agoraphobia, so i proceeded cheerfully with my ablutions. "look at him! he is soaping himself!" would be murmured. "how dirty deaf and dumb people must be to want such a lot of washing!" "why does he rub his teeth with little brushes?" these and similar observations fell from the eager crowd, only broken occasionally by a piercing yell from a child, as she wailed plaintively the russian { } equivalent of "mummy! sonia not like ugly man!" it was distinctly an embarrassing situation, and only once in my life have i been placed in a more awkward position. that was at bahia, in brazil, when i was at the rio de janeiro legation. i went to call on the british consul's wife there, and had to walk half a mile from the tram, through the gorgeous tropical vegetation of the charming suburb of vittoria, amongst villas faced with cool-looking blue and white tiles; the pretty "azulejos" which the portuguese adopted from the moors. oddly enough, a tram and a tramcar are always called "a bond" in brazil. the first tram-lines were built out of bonds guaranteed by the state. the people took this to mean the tram itself; so "bond" it is, and "bond" it will remain. being the height of a sweltering brazilian summer, i was clad in white from head to foot. suddenly, as happens in the tropics, without any warning whatever, the heavens opened, and solid sheets of water fell on the earth. i reached the consul's house with my clean white linen soaked through, and most woefully bedraggled. the west indian butler (an old acquaintance) who opened the door informed me that the ladies were out. after a glance at my extraordinary disreputable garments, he added, "you gib me dem clothes, sar, i hab dem all cleaned and ironed in ten minutes, before de ladies come back." on the assurances of this swarthy servitor that he and i were the only souls in the house, i divested myself of every stitch { } of clothing, and going into the drawing-room, sat down to read a book in precisely the same attire as adam adopted in the earlier days of his married life. time went by, and my clothes did not reappear; i should have known that to a jamaican coloured man measures of time are very elastic. suddenly i heard voices, and, to my horror, i saw our consul's wife approaching through the garden with her two daughters and some other ladies. there was not a moment to lose! in that tropical drawing-room the only available scrap of drapery was a red plush table-cover. bundling everything on the table ruthlessly to the ground, i had just time to snatch up the table-cloth and drape myself in it (i trust gracefully) when the ladies entered the room. i explained my predicament and lamented my inability to rise, and so we had tea together. it is the only occasion in the course of a long life in which i ever remember taking tea with six ladies, clad only in a red plush table-cloth with bead fringes. returning to russia, the peasants fingered everything i possessed with the insatiable curiosity of children; socks, ties, and shirts. i am bound to say that i never had the smallest thing stolen. as our shooting expeditions were always during lent, i felt great compunction at shocking the peasants' religious scruples by eating beef, ham, and butter, all forbidden things at that season. i tried hard to persuade one woman that my cold sirloin of roast beef was part of a rare english fish, specially { } imported, but she was, i fear, of a naturally sceptical bent of mind. lady dufferin had one curious gift. she could spend the night in a rough country sledge, or sleep in her clothes on a truss of hay, and yet appear in the morning as fresh and neat, and spick and span, as though she had had the most elaborate toilet appliances at her disposal. on these occasions she usually wore a canadian blanket-suit of dark blue and scarlet, with a scarlet belt and hood, and a jaunty little sealskin cap. she always went out to the forest with us. the procedure on these occasions was invariably the same. an army of beaters was assembled, about two-thirds of them women. this made me uneasy at first, until i learnt that the beaters run no danger whatever from the bear. the beaters form five-sixths, or perhaps less, of a circle round the bear's sleeping place, and the guns are placed in the intervening open space. i may add that, personally, i always used for bear an ordinary smooth-bore sporting gun, with a leaden bullet. i passed every one of these bullets down the barrels of my gun myself to avoid the risk of the gun bursting, before they were loaded into cartridges, and i had them secured with melted tallow. the advantages of a smooth-bore is that at close quarters, as with bear, where you must kill your beast to avoid disagreeable consequences, you lose no time in getting your sights on a rapidly-moving object. you shoot as you would a rabbit; and you can make { } absolutely sure of your animal, _if you keep your head_. a leaden bullet at close quarters has tremendous stopping power. of course you want a rifle as well for longer shots. i found this method most successful with tiger, later in india, only you must remain quite cool. at a given signal, the beaters begin yelling, beating iron pans with sticks, blowing horns, shouting, and generally making enough pandemonium to awaken the seven sleepers. it effectually awakes the bear, who emerges from his bedroom in an exceedingly evil temper, to see what all this fearful din is about. as he is surrounded with noise on three sides, he naturally makes for the only quiet spot, where the guns are posted. by this time he is in a distinctly unamiable mood. i always took off my ski, and stood nearly waist-deep in the snow so as to get a firm footing. then you can make quite certain of your shot. ski or no ski, if it came to running away, the bear would always have the pull on you. the first time i was very lucky. the bear came straight to me. when he was within fifteen feet, and i felt absolutely certain of getting him, i fired. he reared himself on his hind legs to an unbelievable height, and fell stone dead at lady dufferin's very feet. that bear's skin is within three feet of me as i write these lines. we went back to the village in orthodox fashion, all with fir-branches in our hands, as a sign of rejoicing; i seated on the dead bear. as a small boy of nine i had been tossed in a { } blanket at school, up to the ceiling, caught again, then up a second time and third time. it was not, and was not intended to be, a pleasant experience, but in my day all little boys had to submit to it. the unhappy little brats stuck their teeth together, and tried hard to grin as they were being hurled skywards. these curious russians, though, appeared to consider it a delightful exercise. arrived at the village again, i was captured by some thirty buxom, stalwart women, and sent spinning up and up, again and again, till i was absolutely giddy. not only had one to thank them profusely for this honour, but also to disburse a considerable amount of roubles in acknowledgement of it. poor lady dufferin was then caught, in spite of her protests, and sent hurtling skywards through the air half a dozen times. needless to say that she alighted with not one hair of her head out of place or one fold of her garments disarranged. being young and inexperienced then, i was foolish enough to follow the russian custom, and to present the village with a small cask of vodka. i regretted it bitterly. two hours later not a male in the place was sober. old grey-beards and young men lay dead drunk in the snow; and quite little boys reeled about hopelessly intoxicated. i could have kicked myself for being so thoughtless. during all the years i was in russia, i never saw a peasant woman drink spirits, or under the influence of liquor. in my house at petrograd i had a young peasant as house-boy. he was quite a { } nice lad of sixteen; clean, willing, and capable, but, young as he was, he had already fallen a victim to the national failing, in which he indulged regularly once a month, when his wages were paid him, and nothing could break him of this habit. i could always tell when ephim, the boy, had gone out with the deliberate intention of getting drunk, by glancing into his bedroom. he always took the precaution of turning the ikons over his bed, with their faces to the wall, before leaving, and invariably blew out the little red lamp, in order that ikons might not see him reeling into the room upon his return, or deposited unconscious upon his bed. being a singularly neat boy in his habits, he always put on his very oldest clothes on these occasions, in order not to damage his better ones, should he fall down in the street after losing control of his limbs. this drunkenness spreads like a cancer from top to bottom of russian society. a friend of mine, who afterwards occupied one of the highest administrative posts, told me quite casually that, on the occasion of his youngest brother's seventeenth birthday, the boy had been allowed to invite six young friends of his own age to dinner; my friend thought it quite amusing that every one of these lads had been carried to bed dead drunk. i attribute the dry-rot which ate into the whole structure of the mighty empire, and brought it crashing to the ground, in a very large degree to the intemperate habits prevailing amongst all classes of russian men, which in justice one must add, may be due to climatic reasons. { } in the villages our imported food was a constant source of difficulty. we were all averse to shocking the peasants by eating meat openly during lent, but what were we to do? out of deference to their scruples, we refrained from buying eggs and milk, which could have been procured in abundance, and furtively devoured ham, cold beef, and pickles behind cunningly contrived ramparts of newspaper, in the hope that it might pass unnoticed. remembering how meagre at the best of times the diet of these peasants is, it is impossible to help admiring them for the conscientious manner in which they obey the rules of their church during lent. i once gave a pretty peasant child a piece of plum cake. her mother snatched it from her, and asked me whether the cake contained butter or eggs. on my acknowledgement that it contained both, she threw it into the stove, and asked me indignantly how i dared to imperil her child's immortal soul by giving her forbidden food in lent. even my sixteen-year-old house-boy in petrograd, the bibulous ephim, although he regularly succumbed to the charms of vodka, lived entirely on porridge and dry bread during lent, and would not touch meat, butter, or eggs on any consideration whatever. the more i saw of the peasants the more i liked them. the men all drank, and were not particularly truthful, but they were like great simple, bearded, unkempt children, with (drunkenness apart) all a child's faults, and all a nice child's power of attraction. i liked the { } great, stalwart, big-framed women too. they were seldom good-looking, but their broad faces glowed with health and good nature, and they had as a rule very good skins, nice teeth, and beautiful complexions. i found that i could get on with these villagers like a house on fire. however cold the weather, no village girl or woman wears anything on her head but a gaudy folded cotton handkerchief. i never shared the resentment of my russian friends at being addressed with the familiar "thou" by the peasants. they intended no discourtesy; it was their natural form of address, and they could not be expected to know that beyond the narrow confines of their village there was another world where the ceremonious "you" was habitually employed. i rather fancy that anyone bred in the country, and accustomed from his earliest childhood to mix with farmers, cottagers, and farm-labourers, can get on with other country-bred people, whether at home, or in russia, india, or canada--a town-bred man would not know what to talk about. in spite of the peasants' reputation for pilfering, not one of us ever had the smallest thing stolen. i did indeed lose a rubber air-cushion in the snow, but that was owing to the overturning of a sledge. a colleague of mine, whom i had hitherto always regarded as a truthful man, assured me a year afterwards that he had seen my air-cushion ranged on the ikon shelf in a peasant's house, with two red lamps burning before it. the owner of the house declared, according { } to my friend, that my air-cushion was an ikon of peculiar sanctity, though the painting had in some mysterious manner become obliterated from it. my colleague further assured me that my air-cushion was building up a very gratifying little local connection as a miracle-working ikon of quite unusual efficiency, and that, under its kindly tutelage, crops prospered and flocks and herds increased; of course within reasonable limits only, for the new ikon held essentially moderate views, and was temperamentally opposed to anything in the way of undue optimism. i wished that i could have credited this, for it would have been satisfactory to imagine oneself, through the agency of the air-cushion, a vicarious yet untiring benefactor of a whole countryside. on one of our shooting expeditions a curious incident occurred. lord dufferin had taken a long shot at a bear, and had wounded without killing him. for some reason, the animal stopped, and climbed to the top of a high fir tree. lord dufferin approached, fired again, and the bear dropped dead to the ground. it is but seldom that one sees a dead bear fall from the top of a tree. i witnessed an equally strange sporting incident once in india. it was just over the borders of assam, and we were returning to camp on elephants, after a day's big game shooting. as we approached a hollow clothed with thick jungle, the elephants all commenced trumpeting. knowing how wonderfully keen the elephant's sense of smell is, that told us that some beast lay concealed in the hollow. thinking it { } would prove to be a bear, i took up my favourite smooth-bore charged with leaden bullets, when with a great crashing and rending of boughs the jungle parted, and a galloping rhinoceros charged out, his head well down, making straight for the elephant that was carrying a nephew of mine. my nephew had just time to snatch up a heavy -bore elephant rifle. he fired, and by an extraordinary piece of luck succeeded in hitting the huge beast in his one vulnerable spot, just behind the shoulder. the rhinoceros rolled right over like a shot rabbit and lay stone dead. it was a thousand to one chance, and if i live to a hundred i shall never see anything of the sort again. it was also very fortunate, for had he missed his shot, nothing on earth could have saved my nephew's life. we found that the most acceptable presents in the villages were packets of sugar and tins of sardines. sugar is costly and difficult to procure in russian villages. the usual way of employing it, when friends are gathered round the table of some "isba" with the samovar in the middle and steaming glasses of tea before each guest, is for no. to take a piece of sugar, place it between his teeth, and then suck his tea through it. no. quickly passes the piece of sugar to his neighbor, who uses it in the same way, and transfers it to the next person, and so on, till the sugar is all dissolved. this method of using sugar, though doubtless economical, always struck me as being of dubious cleanliness. a gift of a pound of lump sugar was always welcomed with { } grateful thanks. sardines were even more acceptable, as they could be eaten in lent. the grown-ups devoured the fish, lifting them out of the tin with their fingers; and the children were given the oil to smear on their bread, in place of forbidden butter. after days in the keen fresh air, and in the limitless expanse of forest and snow, life in petrograd seemed terribly artificial. i used to marvel that my cultured, omniscient, polygot friends were fellow-countrymen of the bearded, red-shirted, illiterate peasants we had just left. the gulf seemed so unbridgable between them, and apart from a common language and a common religion (both, i acknowledge, very potent bonds of union) there seemed no link between them, or any possible community of ideas. now in england there is that community of ideas. all classes, from the highest to the lowest, share to some extent the same tastes and the same prejudices. there is too that most powerful of connecting links, a common love of sport. the cricket ground and the football field are witnesses to this, and it shows in a hundred little ways beside. the freemasonry of sport is very real. it was perfectly delightful to live with and to mix so much amongst charming people of such wide culture and education, but they seemed to me to bear the same relation to the world outside their own that a rare orchid in its glass shelter bears to a wild flower growing in the open air. the one is { } indigenous to the soil; the other was originally imported, and can only thrive in an artificial atmosphere, and under artificial conditions. if the glass gets broken, or the fire goes out, the orchid dies, but the wild flower is not affected. after all, man made the towns, but god made the country. { } chapter v the russian gipsies--midnight drives--gipsy singing--its fascination--the consequences of a late night--an unconventional luncheon--lord dufferin's methods--assassination of alexander ii--stürmer--pathetic incidents in connection with the murder of the emperor--the funeral procession and service--details concerning--the votive church--the order of the garter--unusual incidents at the investiture--precautions taken for emperor's safety--the imperial train--finland--exciting salmon-fishing there--harraka niska--koltesha--excellent shooting there--ski-running--"ringing the game in"--a wolf-shooting party--the obese general--some incidents--a novel form of sport--black game and capercailzie--at dawn in a finnish forest--immense charm of it--ice-hilling or "montagnes russes"--ice-boating on the gulf of finland. in my day there were two or three restaurants on the islands formed by the delta of the neva, with troupes of singing gipsies attached to them. these restaurants did a roaring trade in consequence, for the singing of the gipsy choirs seems to produce on russians the same maddening, almost intoxicating effect that the "skirl o' the pipes" does on those with scottish blood in their veins. personally, i thought that one soon tired of this { } gipsy singing; not so my russian friends--it appeared to have an irresistible attraction for them. i always dreaded the consequences when some foolish person, usually at or even a.m., proposed a visit to the gipsies, for all the ladies present would instantly jump at the suggestion, and i knew full well that it entailed a forcible separation from bed until six or possibly seven next morning. troikas would at once be sent for. a troika is a thing quite apart. its horses are harnessed as are no other horses in the world, since the centre horse trots in shafts, whilst the two outside horses, the "_pristashkui_" loose save for long traces, gallop. driving a troika is a special art. the driver stands; he has a special badge, peacock's feathers set in a round cap; he has a special name, "_yamshchik_," and he charges quite a special price. to my mind, the drive out to the islands was the one redeeming feature of these expeditions. within the confines of the city, the pace of the troikas was moderate enough, but as the last scattered houses of the suburbs merged into the forest, the driver would call to his horses, and the two loose horses broke into a furious gallop, the centre horse in shafts moving as swiftly as any american trotter. smoothly and silently under the burnished steel of the starlit sky, they tore over the snow, the vague outlines of the fir trees whizzing past. faster and faster, until the wild excitement of it made one's blood tingle within one, even as the bitter cold made one's cheeks tingle, as we raced through the { } keen pure air. that wild gallop through the forest was perfectly glorious. i believe that on us sons of the north real cold has the same exhilarating effect that warmth and sunshine have on the lotos-eating dwellers by the blue mediterranean. the troika would draw up at the door of a long, low, wooden building, hidden away amongst the fir trees of the forest. after repeated bangings at the door, a sleepy-eyed tartar appeared, who ushered one into a great gaunt, bare, whitewashed room, where other little yellow, flat-faced, tartar waiters were lighting countless wax candles, bringing in many slim-shouldered, gold foil-covered bottles of champagne, and a samovar or two, and arranging seats. then the gipsy troupe strolled in, some twenty-five strong; the younger members passably good-looking, with fine dark eyes, abundant eyelashes, and extremely indifferent complexions. the older members of the company made no attempt at coquetry. they came muffled in woollen shawls, probably to conceal toilet deficiencies, yawning openly and undisguisedly; not concealing their disgust at being robbed of their sleep in order to sing to a pack of uninteresting strangers, to whom, incidentally, they owed their entire means of livelihood. some ten swarthy, evil-faced, indeterminate males with guitars filled up the background. one of the younger members of the troupe would begin a song in waltz time, in a curious metallic voice, with a ring in it of something eastern, { } barbaric, and utterly strange to european ears, to the thrum of the guitars of the swarthy males in the background. the elderly females looked inexpressibly bored, and hugged their woollen shawls a little closer over their heads. then the chorus took up the refrain. a tempest of wild, nasal melody arose, in the most perfect harmony. it was metallic, and the din was incredible, but the effect it produced on the listeners was astounding. the old women, dropping their cherished shawls, awoke to life. their dull eyes sparkled again, they sang madly, frenetically; like people possessed. the un-european _timbre_ of the voices conduced doubtless to the effect, but the fact remains that this clamour of nasal, metallic voices, singing in exquisite harmony, had about it something so novel and fresh--or was it something so immemorially old?--that the listeners felt absolutely intoxicated. on the russians it acted like hypnotism. after the first song, they all joined in, and even i, the dour and unemotional son of a northern land, found myself, as words and music grew familiar, shouting the bass parts of the songs with all the strength of my lungs. the russian language lends itself admirably to song, and the excess of sibilants in it is not noticeable in singing. these russian gipsies, like the austrian bands, produced their effects by very simple means. they harmonised their songs themselves, and they always introduced a succession of "sixths" or "thirds"; emphasising the "sixth" in the tenor part. { } one can, however, have too much of a good thing. i used to think longingly of my far-off couch, but there was no tearing russians away from the gipsies. the clock ticked on; they refused to move. the absorption of much champagne has never afforded me the smallest amusement. the consumption of tea has also its limits, and my longed-for bed was so far away! the really staggering figure one had to disburse as one's share for these gipsy entertainments seemed to me to be a very long price to pay for a sleepless night. once a fortnight the "queen's messenger" left petrograd at noon, on his return journey to london. on "messenger mornings" we had all to be at the embassy at a.m. punctually. one morning, after a compulsory vigil with the gipsies, i was awakened by my servant with the news that it was close on nine, and that my sledge was already at the door. it was impossible to dress in the time, so after some rapid ablutions, i drew the long felt boots the russians call "valinki" over my pyjamas, put on some heavy furs, and jumped into my sledge. lord dufferin found me writing hard in the steam-heated chancery, clad only in silk pyjamas, and with my bare feet in slippers. he made no remark, but i knew that nothing ever escaped his notice. by noon we had the despatches finished, the bags sealed up, the "waybill" made out, various precautionary measures taken as to which it is unnecessary to enlarge, and the messenger left for london. i called to the { } hall porter to bring me my furs, and told him to order my sledge round. "his excellency has sent your sledge home," said the porter, with a smile lurking round the corners of his mouth. "then call me a hack sledge." "his excellency hopes that you will give him the pleasure of your company at luncheon." "but i must go home and dress first." "his excellency's orders were that you are to go as you are," answered the grinning porter. then i understood. nothing is ever gained by being shy or self-conscious, so after a hasty toilet, i sent for my heavy fur "shuba." furs in russia are intended for use, not ornament, and this "shuba" was an extremely weighty and voluminous garment, designed to withstand the rigours of the north pole itself. a glance at the mirror convinced me that i was most indelicately _décolleté_ about the neck, so i hooked the big collar of the "shuba" together, and strode upstairs. the heat of this fur garment was unendurable, but there was nothing else for it. certainly the legs of my pyjamas protruded below it, so i congratulated myself on the fact that they were a brand-new pair of very smart striped mauve silk. my bare feet too were encased in remarkably neat persian slippers of green morocco. lady dufferin received me exactly as though i had been dressed in the most immaculate of frock-coats. her children though, gazed at my huge fur coat, round-eyed with astonishment, for neither man nor woman ever comes into a russian house with furs on--an { } arrangement which would not at all suit some of my london friends, who seem to think that furs are designed for being shown off in hot rooms. the governess, an elderly lady, catching sight of my unfortunate pyjama legs below the fur coat, assumed a highly scandalised attitude, as though she could scarcely credit the evidence of her eyes. (i repeat that they were exceptionally smart pyjamas.) during luncheon lord dufferin made himself perfectly charming, and i did my best to act as though it were quite normal to sit down to one's repasts in an immense fur coat. the ambassador was very susceptible to cold, and liked the house heated to a great temperature. that day the furnace-man must have been quite unusually active, for the steam hissed and sizzled in the radiators, until the heat of that dining-room was suffocating. conscious of my extreme _décolletage_, i did not dare unhook the collar of my "shuba," being naturally of a modest disposition, and never, even in later years at colombo or singapore, have i suffered so terribly from heat as in that petrograd dining-room in the depths of a russian winter. the only cool thing in the room was the governess, who, when she caught sight of my bare feet, froze into an arctic iceberg of disdain, in spite of my really very ornamental persian slippers. the poor lady had obviously never even caught a glimpse of pajamas before. after that episode i always came to the embassy fully dressed. { } another instance of lord dufferin's methods occurs to me. we had a large evening party at the embassy, and a certain very pushing and pertinacious english newspaper correspondent did everything in his power to get asked to this reception. for very excellent reasons, his request was refused. in spite of this, on the night of the party the journalist appeared. i informed lord dufferin, and asked what he wished me to do about it. "let me deal with him myself," answered the ambassador, and going up to the unbidden guest, he made him a little bow, and said with a bland smile, "may i inquire, sir, to what i owe this most unexpected honour?" then as the unhappy newspaper-man stuttered out something, lord dufferin continued with an even blander smile, "do not allow me, my dear sir, i beg of you, to detain you from your other doubtless numerous engagements"; then calling me, he added, "will you kindly accompany this gentleman to the front door, and see that on a cold night like this he gets all his warm clothing." it was really impossible to turn a man out of your house in a more courteous fashion. there was another plan lord dufferin used at times. all despatches, and most of our private letters, were sent home by hand, in charge of the queen's messenger. we knew perfectly well that anything sent from the embassy through the ordinary mails would be opened at the censor's office, and copies taken. ministries of foreign affairs { } give at times "diplomatic" answers, and occasionally it was advisable to let the russian government know that the ambassador was quite aware that the assurances given him did not quite tally with the actual facts. he would then write a despatch to london to that effect, and send it by mail, being well aware that it would be opened and a copy sent to the russian ministry of foreign affairs. in this indirect fashion, he delicately conveyed to the russian government that he had not been hoodwinked by the rather fanciful statements made to him. i was sitting at luncheon with some friends at a colleague's house on sunday, the fateful st of march, (march , new style). suddenly our white-headed old chancery messenger burst unceremoniously into the room, and called out, "the emperor has been assassinated!" we all jumped up; the old man, a german-speaking russian from the baltic provinces, kept on wringing his hands, and moaning, "unser arme gute kaiser! unser arme gute kaiser!" ("our poor dear emperor!") we hurried to the embassy as fast as we could go, and found the ambassador just stepping into his carriage to get the latest news from the winter palace. lady dufferin had not seen the actual crime committed, but she had heard the explosion of the bomb, and had seen the wounded horses led past, and was terribly upset in consequence. she was walking along the catherine canal with her youngest daughter when the emperor's carriage { } passed and the first bomb was thrown. the carriage was one of napoleon iii's special armoured coaches, bought after the fall of the second french empire. the bomb shattered the wheels of the carriage, but the emperor was untouched. he stepped out into the snow, when the second bomb was thrown, which blew his legs to pieces, and the emperor was taken in a private sledge, in a dying condition, to the winter palace. the bombs had been painted white, to look like snowballs. ten minutes later one of the court chamberlains arrived. i met him in the hall, and he informed me, with the tears streaming down his face, that all was over. that chamberlain was a german-russian named stürmer, and he was the very same man who thirty-four years later was destined, by his gross incompetence, or worse, as prime minister, to bring the mighty russian empire crashing in ruins to the ground, and to drive the well-intentioned, irresolute nicholas ii, the grandson of the sovereign for whom he professed so great an affection, to his abdication, imprisonment, and ignominious death. there was a queen's messenger due in petrograd from london that same afternoon, and lord dufferin, thinking that the police might give trouble, desired me to meet him at the station. the messenger refused to believe my news. he persisted in treating the whole thing as a joke, so i ordered my coachman to drive through the great { } semi-circular place in front of the winter palace. that place presented a wonderful sight. there were tens of thousands of people, all kneeling bare-headed in the snow, in close-packed ranks. i thought the sight of those serried thousands kneeling bare-headed, praying for the soul of their dead emperor, a strangely moving and beautiful spectacle. when the messenger saw this, and noted the black and yellow imperial flag waving at half-mast over the palace, he no longer doubted. the grand duke vladimir had announced the emperor's death to the vast crowds in the traditional russian fashion. the words "death" or "die" being considered ill-omened by old-fashioned russians, the actual sentence used by the grand duke was, "the emperor has bidden you to live long." ("gosudar imperator vam prikazal dolga jit!") the words conveyed their message. the body of the emperor having been embalmed, the funeral did not take place for a fortnight. as the crow flies, the distance between the winter palace and the fortress church is only about half a mile; it was, however, still winter-time, the neva was frozen over, and the floating bridges had been removed. it being contrary to tradition to take the body of a dead emperor of russia across ice, the funeral procession had to pass over the permanent bridges to the fortress, a distance of about six miles. lady dufferin and i saw the procession from the corner windows of a house on the quays. on { } paper it sounded very grand, but like so many things in russia, it was spoilt by lack of attention to details. the distances were kept irregularly, and many of the officials wore ordinary civilian great-coats over their uniforms, which did not enhance the effect of the _cortège_. the most striking feature of the procession was the "black knight" on foot, followed immediately by the "golden knight" on horseback. these were, i believe, meant to typify "the angel of death" and "the angel of the resurrection." both knights were clad in armour from head to foot, with the vizors of their helmets down. the "black knight's" armour was dull sooty-black all over; he had a long black plume waving from his helmet. the "golden knight," mounted on a white horse, with a white plume in his helmet, wore gilded and burnished armour, which blazed like a torch in the sunlight. the weight of the black armour being very great, there had been considerable difficulty in finding a man sufficiently strong to walk six miles, carrying this tremendous burden. a gigantic young private of the preobrajensky guards undertook the task for a fee of one hundred roubles, but though he managed to accomplish the distance, he fainted from exhaustion on reaching the fortress church, and was, i heard, two months in hospital from the effects of his effort. we were able to get lady dufferin into her place in the fortress church, long before the procession arrived, by driving across the ice of the { } river. the absence of seats in a russian church, and the extreme length of the orthodox liturgy, rendered these services very trying for ladies. the fortress church had been built by a dutch architect, and was the most un-eastern-looking orthodox church i ever saw. it actually contained a pulpit! in the north aisle of the church all the emperors since peter the great's time lie in uniform plain white marble tombs, with gilt-bronze russian eagles at their four corners. the tsars mostly rest in the cathedral of the archangel, in the moscow kremlin. i have before explained that peter was the last of the tsars and the first of the emperors. the regulations for court mourning in petrograd were most stringent. all ladies had to appear in perfectly plain black, lustreless woollen dresses, made high to the throat. on their heads they wore a sort of mary queen of scots pointed cap of black crape, with a long black crape veil falling to their feet. the only detail of the funeral which struck me was the perfectly splendid pall of cloth of gold. this pall had been specially woven in moscow, of threads of real gold. when folded back during the ceremony it looked exactly like gleaming waves of liquid gold. a memorial church in old-russian style has been erected on the catherine canal on the spot where alexander ii was assassinated. the five onion-shaped domes of this church, of copper enamelled in stripes and spirals of crude blue and white, green and yellow, and scarlet and white, may possibly { } look less garish in two hundred years' time than they do at present. the severely plain byzantine interior, covered with archaic-looking frescoes on a gold ground, is effective. the ikonostas is entirely of that vivid pink and enormously costly siberian marble that russians term "heavy stone." personally i should consider the huge sum it cost as spent in vain. edward vii and queen alexandra, in those days, of course, prince and princess of wales, represented great britain at alexander ii's funeral, and remained in petrograd a month after it. a week after the funeral, the prince of wales, by queen victoria's command, invested alexander iii with the order of the garter. as the garter is the oldest order of chivalry in europe, the ceremonies at its investiture have years of tradition behind them. the insignia, the star, the ribbon, the collar, the sword, and the actual garter itself, are all carried on separate, long, narrow cushions of red velvet, heavily trimmed with gold bullion. owing to the deep court mourning, it was decided that the investiture should be private. no one was to be present except the new emperor and empress, queen alexandra, the grand master and grand mistress of the russian court, the members of the british embassy, and the prince of wales and his staff. this, as it turned out, was very fortunate. the ceremony was to take place at the anitchkoff palace on the nevsky, which alexander iii inhabited throughout his reign, as { } he preferred it to the huge rambling winter palace. on the appointed day, we all marched into the great throne room of the anitchkoff palace, the prince of wales leading the way, with five members of his staff carrying the insignia on the traditional long narrow velvet cushions. i carried nothing, but we made, i thought, a very dignified and effective entrance. as we entered the throne room, a perfectly audible feminine voice cried out in english, "oh, my dear! do look at them. they look exactly like a row of wet-nurses carrying babies!" nothing will induce me to say from whom the remark proceeded. the two sisters, empress and queen, looked at each other for a minute, and then exploded with laughter. the emperor fought manfully for a while to keep his face, until, catching sight of the member of the prince of wales's staff who was carrying his cushion in the peculiarly maternal fashion that had so excited the risibility of the royal sisters, he too succumbed, and his colossal frame quivered with mirth. never, i imagine, since its institution in , has the order of the garter been conferred amid such general hilarity, but as no spectators were present, this lapse from the ordinary decorum of the ceremonial did not much matter. the general public never heard of it, nor, i trust, did queen victoria. the emperor alexander iii was a man of great personal courage, but he gave way, under protest, to the wishes of those responsible for his personal safety. they insisted on his always using { } the armour-plated carriages bought from napoleon iii. these coaches were so immensely heavy that they soon killed the horses dragging them. again, on railway journeys, the actual time-table and route of the imperial train between two points was always different from the published time-table and route. napoleon iii's private train had been purchased at the same time as his steel-plated carriages. this train had been greatly enlarged and fitted to the russian gauge. i do not suppose that any more sumptuous palace on wheels has ever been built than this train of nine vestibuled cars. it was fitted with every imaginable convenience. alexander iii sent it to the frontier to meet his brother-in-law the prince of wales, which was the occasion on which i saw it. during the six months following alexander ii's assassination all social life in petrograd stopped. we of the embassy had many other resources, for in those days the british business colony in petrograd was still large, and flourished exceedingly. they had various sporting clubs, of some of which we were members. there was in particular the fishing club at harraka niska in finland, where the river vuoksi issues from the hundred-mile-long lake saima. it was a curious experience driving to the finnish railway station in petrograd. in the city outside, the date would be june , russian style. inside the station, the date became june , european style. in place of the baggy knickerbockers, { } high boots, and fur caps of the russian railwaymen, the employees of the finnish railway wore the ordinary uniforms customary on european railways. the tickets were printed in european, not russian characters, and the fares were given in marks and pennies, instead of in roubles and kopecks. the notices on the railway were all printed in six languages, finnish, swedish, russian, french, english, and german, and my patriotic feelings were gratified at noting that all the locomotives had been built in glasgow. i was astonished to find that although finland formed an integral part of the russian empire, there was a custom house and customs examination at the finnish frontier. finland is a country of endless little hills, and endless forests, all alike bestrewn with huge granite boulders; it is also a land of endless rivers and lakes. it is pretty in a monotonous fashion, and looks wonderfully tidy after russia proper. the wooden houses and villages are all neatly painted a chocolate brown, and in spite of its sparse population it seems very prosperous. the finns are all protestants; the educated classes are mostly swedish-speaking, the others talking their own impossible ural-altaic language. at the extremely comfortable club-house at harraka niska none of the fishermen or boatmen could talk anything but finnish. we all had little conversation books printed in russian and finnish, but we usually found the language of signs more { } convenient. in later years, in south america, it became my duty to interview daily the legation cook, an accomplished but extremely adipose female from old spain. i had not then learnt spanish, and she understood no other tongue, so we conversed by signs. it is extremely derogatory to one's personal dignity to be forced to imitate in succession a hen laying an egg, a sheep bleating, or a duck quacking, and yet this was the only way in which i could order dinner. no one who has not tried it can believe how difficult it is to indicate in pantomime certain comestibles, such, for instance, as kidneys, liver and bacon, or a welsh rarebit. the fish at harraka would not look at a fly, and could only be hooked on a phantom-minnow. the fishing there was very exciting. the big fish all lay where lake saima debouched into the turbulent vuoksi river. there was a terrific rapid there, and the boatmen, who knew every inch of the ground, would head the boat straight for that seething white caldron of raging waves, lashing and roaring down the rocky gorge, as they dashed up angry spurts of white spray. just as it seemed that nothing could save one from being hurled into that mad turmoil of leaping waters, where no human being could hope to live for a minute, a back-current shot the boat swiftly across to the other bank. that was the moment when the fish were hooked. they were splendid fighters, and played magnificently. these harraka fish were curiously { } uniform in size, always running from to lb. though everyone called them salmon, i think myself that they were really bull-trout, or _salmo ferox_. a salmon would have had to travel at least miles from salt water, and i do not believe that any fish living could have got up the tremendous imatra waterfall, some six miles lower down the vuoksi. these fish invariably had lice on them. in great britain sea-lice on a salmon are taken as a certain indication that the fish is fresh-run. these fish cannot possibly have been fresh-run, so i think it probable that in these great lakes there may be a fresh-water variety of the parasite. another peculiarity of the harraka fish was that, though they were excellent eating, they would not keep above two days. i have myself caught eleven of these big fellows in one day. during june there was capital grayling fishing in the lower vuoksi, the fish running large, and taking the fly readily, though in that heavy water they were apt to break off. there were plenty of small trout too in the vuoksi, but the densely-wooded banks made fishing difficult, and the water was always crystal-clear, and needed the finest of tackle. i spent some most enjoyable days at koltesha, a small english shooting-club of ten members, about twenty miles out of petrograd. during september, for one fortnight, the marshes round koltesha were alive with "double-snipe." this bird migrates in thousands from the arctic regions to { } the far south, at the approach of autumn. they alighted in the koltesha marshes to recruit themselves after their journey from the north pole, and owing to circumstances beyond their control, few of them continued their journey southward. this confiding fowl has never learnt to zig-zag like the other members of the snipe family, and they paid the penalty for this omission by usually proceeding to the kitchen. a "double-snipe" is most delicious eating. the winter shooting at koltesha was most delightful. the art of "ski-walking" had first to be learnt, and on commencing this unaccustomed method of locomotion, various muscles, which its use called into play for the first time, showed their resentment by aching furiously. the ground round koltesha being hilly was admirably adapted for coasting on ski. it was difficult at first to shoot from the insecure footing of ski, and the unusual amount of clothing between one's shoulder and the stock of one's gun did not facilitate matters. everything, however, can be learnt in time. i can claim to be the pioneer of ski on the american continent, for in january, , i brought over to canada the very first pair of ski ever seen in america. i used to coast down the toboggan slides at ottawa on them, amidst universal derision. i was told that, however useful ski might be in russia, they were quite unsuited to canadian conditions, and would never be popular there, as the old-fashioned "raquettes" were infinitely superior. humph! _qui vivra verra!_ { } koltesha abounded in black game, "ryabchiks," or hazel-grouse, and ptarmigan. russian hares turn snow-white in winter, and are very difficult to see against a snowy background in consequence. it is almost impossible to convey on paper any idea of the intense delight of those days in the sun and the cold, when the air had that delicious clean smell that always goes with intense frost, the dark fir woods, with their purple shadows, stood out in sharp contrast to the dazzling sheet of white snow, and the sunlight gilded the patches of oak and birch scrub that climbed down the hollows of the low hills. one returned home glowing from head to foot. we got larger game too by "ringing them." the process of "ringing" is as follows. no four-footed creature can travel over the snow without leaving his tracks behind him. let us suppose a small wood, one mile in circumference. if a man travels round this on ski, and if the track of any animal crosses his trail, going _into_ the wood, and this track does not again come _out_ of the wood, it is obvious that that particular animal is still taking cover there. measures to drive him out are taken accordingly. we got in this way at koltesha quite a number of elks, lynxes, and wolves. the best wolf-shooting i ever got was at the invitation of the russian minister of finance. great packs of these ravenous brutes were playing havoc on his estate, two hundred miles from petrograd, so he invited a large shooting party to his { } country house. we travelled down in a private sleeping-car, and had over twenty miles to drive in rough country sledges from the station. one of the guests was an enormously fat russian general, a perfect mammoth of a man. as i was very slim in those days, i was told off as this gigantic warrior's fellow-passenger. although he took up nine-tenths of the sledge, i just managed to creep in, but every time we jolted--and as the track was very rough, this was pretty frequently--i got lb. of russian general on the top of me, squeezing the life out of me. he was a good-natured colossus, and apologised profusely for his own obesity, and for his instability, but i was black and blue all over, and since that day i have felt profound sympathy for the little princes in the tower, for i know what being smothered with a feather-bed feels like. the minister's country house was, as are most other russian country houses, a modest wooden building with whitewashed rooms very scantily furnished. the minister had, however, thoughtfully brought down his famous petrograd chef, and i should judge about three-quarters of the contents of his wine-cellar. we had to proceed to our places in the forest in absolute silence, and the wolf being an exceedingly wary animal with a a very keen sense of smell, all smoking was rigorously prohibited. it was nice open scrubland, undulating gently. the beaters were skilful and we were very lucky, { } for after an interminable wait, the entire pack of wolves rushed down on us. a wolf is killed with slugs from a smooth-bore. i personally was fortunate, for i got shots at eight wolves, and six of them felt disinclined for further exertions. i still have a carriage-rug made of the skins of the wolves i killed that day. the banging all round meanwhile was terrific. in two days we accounted for fifty-two of these pests. it gave me the utmost pleasure killing these murderous, bloodthirsty brutes; far more than slaying an inoffensive bear. should a bear encounter a human being in the course of his daily walks, he is certainly apt to hug him to death, as a precautionary measure. he is also addicted to smashing to a jelly, with one blow of his powerful paws, the head of a chance stranger. these peculiarities apart, the bear may be regarded as practically harmless. it is otherwise with the wolf. some of the british colony were fond of going to finland for a peculiar form of sport. i use the last word dubiously, for to kill any game birds during the breeding season seems a curiously unsportsmanlike act. circumstances rather excused this. it is well known that black game do not pair, but that they are polygamous. during the breeding season the male birds meet every morning at dawn on regular fighting grounds, and there battle for the attentions of the fairer sex. these fighting grounds are well known to the keepers, who erect there in early autumn conical shelters of fir { } branches. the birds become familiar with these shelters (called in russian "shagashki") and pay no attention to them. the "gun" introduces himself into the shelter not later than midnight, and there waits patiently for the first gleam of dawn. he must on no account smoke. with the first grey streak of dawn in the sky there is a great rushing of wings in the air, and dozens of male birds appear from nowhere; strutting up and down, puffing out their feathers, and hissing furiously at each other in challenge. the grey hens meanwhile sit in the surrounding trees, watching, as did the ladies of old at a tournament, the prowess of their men-folk in the lists. the grey hens never show themselves, and make no sound; two things, one would imagine, contrary to every instinct of their sex. a challenge once accepted, two males begin fighting furiously with wings, claws, and beaks. so absorbed are the birds in their combat, that they neither see nor hear anything, and pay no attention to a gun-shot. should they be within reach of the "shagashka," that is the time to fire. it sounds horribly unsportsmanlike, but it must be remembered that the birds are only just visible in the uncertain dawn. as dawn matures into daylight, the birds suddenly stop fighting, and all fly away simultaneously, followed by the grey hens. i never would kill more than two as specimens, for this splendid bird is such a thing of joy in his breeding plumage, with his glossy dark blue satin coat, and white velvet waistcoat, that there { } is some excuse for wanting to examine him closer. ladies, too, loved a blackcock's tail or wings for their hats. it was also the only way in which this curious and little-known phase of bird life could be witnessed. the capercailzie is called in russian "the deaf one." why this name should be given to a bird of abnormally acute hearing seems at first sight puzzling. the explanation is that the male capercailzie in the breeding season concludes his love-song with a peculiar "tchuck, tchuck," impossible to reproduce on paper, moving his head rapidly to and fro the while. during this "tchuck, tchuck," the bird is deaf and blind to the world. the capercailzie hunter goes out into the forest at about a.m. and listens intently. as soon as he hears a capercailzie's song, he moves towards the sound very, very cautiously. when within half a mile of the bird, he must wait for the "tchuck, tchuck," which lasts about two minutes, before daring to advance. the "tchuck" over, he must remain absolutely motionless until it recommences. the snapping of a twig will be enough to silence the bird and to make it fly away. it will be seen then that to approach a capercailzie is a difficult task, and one requiring infinite patience. once within shot, there is no particular fun in shooting a sitting bird the size of a turkey, up at the top of a tree, even though it only appears as a dusky mass against the faint beginnings of dawn. the real charm of this blackcock and capercailzie shooting was that one would not otherwise have { } been out in the great forest at break of day. to me there was always an infinite fascination in seeing these great northern tracts of woodland awakening from their long winter sleep. the sweetness of the dawn, the delicious smell of growing things, the fresh young life springing up under one's feet, all these appealed to every fibre in my being. nature always restores the balance of things. in russia, as in canada, after the rigours of the winter, once the snow has disappeared, flowers carpet the ground with a rapidity of growth unknown in more temperate climates. these finland woods were covered with a low creeping plant with masses of small, white, waxy flowers. it was, i think, one of the smaller cranberries. there was an orange-flowering nettle, too, the leaves of which changed from green to vivid purple as they climbed the stalk, making gorgeous patches of colour, and great drifts of blue hepaticas on the higher ground. to appreciate nature properly, she must be seen at unaccustomed times, as she bestirs herself after her night's rest whilst the sky brightens. in petrograd itself the british colony found plenty of amusement. we had an english ice-hill club to which all the embassy belonged. the elevation of a russian ice-hill, some forty feet only, may seem tame after the imposing heights of canadian toboggan slides, but i fancy that the pace travelled is greater in russia. the ice-hills were always built in pairs, about three hundred yards apart, with two parallel runs. both hills { } and runs were built of solid blocks of ice, watered every day, and the pitch of the actual hill was very steep. in the place of a toboggan we used little sleds two feet long, mounted on skate-runners, which were kept constantly sharpened. these travelled over the ice at a tremendous pace, and at the end of the straight run, the corresponding hill had only to be mounted to bring you home again to the starting-point. the art of steering these sleds was soon learnt, once the elementary principle was grasped that after a turn to the left, a corresponding turn to the right must be made to straighten up the machine, exactly as is done instinctively on a bicycle. a wave of the hand or of the foot was enough to change the direction, the ice-hiller going down head foremost, with the sled under his chest. longer sleds were used for taking ladies down. the man sat cross-legged in front, whilst the lady knelt behind him with both her arms round his neck. possibly the enforced familiarity of this attitude was what made the amusement so popular. we gave at times evening parties at the ice-hills, when the woods were lit up with rows of chinese lanterns, making a charming effect against the snow, and electric arcs blazed from the summits of the slides. to those curious in such matters, i may say that as secondary batteries had not then been invented, and we had no dynamo, power was furnished direct by powerful grove two-cell batteries. one night our amateur electrician was { } nearly killed by the brown fumes of nitrous acid these batteries give off from their negative cells. we had an ice-boat on the gulf of finland as well. it is only in early spring, and very seldom then, that this amusement can be indulged in. the necessary conditions are ( ) a heavy thaw to melt all the snow from the surface of the ice, followed by a sharp frost; ( ) a strong breeze. nature is not often obliging enough to arrange matters in this sequence. we had some good sailing, though, and could get forty miles an hour out of our craft with a decent breeze. our boat was of the dutch, not the canadian type. i was astonished to find how close an ice-boat could lay to the wind, for obviously anything in the nature of leeway is impossible with a boat on runners. ice-sailing was bitterly cold work, and the navigation of the gulf of finland required great caution, for in early spring great cracks appeared in the ice. on one occasion, in avoiding a large crack, we ran into the omnibus plying on runners between kronstadt and the mainland. the driver of the coach was drunk, and lost his head, to the terror of his passengers, but very little damage was done. it may be worth while recording this, as it is but seldom that a boat collides with an omnibus. it will be seen that in one way and another there was no lack of amusement to be found round petrograd, even during the entire cessation of court and social entertainments. { } chapter vi love of russians for children's games--peculiarities of petrograd balls--some famous beauties of petrograd society--the varying garb of hired waiters--moscow--its wonderful beauty--the forest of domes--the kremlin--the three famous "cathedrals"--the imperial treasury--the sacristy--the palace--its splendour--the terem--a gargantuan russian dinner--an unusual episode at the french ambassador's ball--bombs--tsarskoe selo--its interior--extraordinary collection of curiosities in tsarskoe park--origin of term "vauxhall" for railway station in russia--peterhof--charm of park there--two russian illusions--a young man of delivers an ultimatum to russia--how it came about--m. de giers--other foreign ministers--paraguay--the polite japanese dentist--a visit to gatchina--description of the palace--delights of the children's play-room there. the lingering traces of the child which are found in most russian natures account probably for their curious love of indoor games. lady dufferin had weekly evening parties during lent, when dancing was rigidly prohibited. quite invariably, some lady would go up to her and beg that they might be allowed to play what she would term "english running games." so it came about that bald-headed generals, covered with orders, and quite elderly ladies, would with immense glee play "blind-man's buff," "musical chairs," "hunt the slipper," and "general post." i believe that they would have joined cheerfully in "ring a ring of roses," had we only thought of it. { } i think it is this remnant of the child in them which, coupled with their quick-working brains, wonderful receptivity, and absolute naturalness, makes russians of the upper class so curiously attractive. at balls in my time, oddly enough, quadrilles were the most popular dances. there was always a "leader" for these quadrilles, whose function it was to invent new and startling figures. the "leader" shouted out his directions from the centre of the room, and however involved the figures he devised, however complicated the manoeuvres he evolved, he could rely on being implicitly obeyed by the dancers, who were used to these intricate entanglements, and enjoyed them. woe betide the "leader" should he lose his head, or give a wrong direction! he would find two hundred people inextricably tangled up. i calculate that many years have been taken off my own life by the responsibilities thrust upon me by being frequently made to officiate in this capacity. balls in petrograd in the "'eighties" invariably concluded with the "danse anglaise," our own familiar "sir roger de coverley." i never saw an orchestra at a ball in petrograd, except at the winter palace. all russians preferred a pianist, but a pianist of a quite special brand. these men, locally known as "tappeurs," cultivated a peculiar style of playing, and could get wonderful effects out of an ordinary grand piano. there was in particular one absolute genius { } called altkein. under his superlatively skilled fingers the piano took on all the resonance and varied colour of a full orchestra. altkein told me that he always played what he called "four-handed," that is doubling the parts of each hand. by the end of the evening he was absolutely exhausted. the most beautiful woman in petrograd society was unquestionably countess zena beauharnais, afterwards duchess of leuchtenberg; a tall, queenly blonde with a superb figure. nature had been very generous to her, for in addition to her wonderful beauty, she had a glorious soprano voice. i could not but regret that she and her sister, princess bieloselskava, had not been forced by circumstances to earn their living on the operatic stage, for the two sisters, soprano and contralto, would certainly have achieved a european reputation with their magnificent voices. how they would have played amneris and the title-rôle in "aïda"! the famous general skobeleff was their brother. two other strikingly beautiful women were princess kitty dolgorouki, a piquant little brunette, and her sister-in-law, winning, golden-haired princess mary dolgorouki. after a lapse of nearly forty years, i may perhaps be permitted to express my gratitude to these two charming ladies for the consistent kindness they showered on a peculiarly uninteresting young man, and i should like to add to their names that of countess betsy schouvaloff. i may remark that the somewhat { } homely british forms of their baptismal names which these _grandes dames_ were fond of adopting always amused me. our two countries were in theory deadly enemies, yet they borrowed little details from us whenever they could. i think that the racial animosity was only skin-deep. this custom of employing english diminutives for russian names extended to the men too, for prince alexander dolgorouki, princess kitty's husband, was always known as "sandy," whilst countess betsy's husband was invariably spoken of as "bobby" schouvaloff. countess betsy, mistress of one of the stateliest houses in petrograd, was acknowledged to be the best-dressed woman in russia. i never noticed whether she were really good-looking or not, for such was the charm of her animation, and the sparkle of her vivacity and quick wit, that one remarked the outer envelope less than the nimble intellect and extraordinary attractiveness that underlay it. she was a daughter of that "princesse château" to whom i referred earlier in these reminiscences. in the great russian houses there were far fewer liveried servants than is customary in other european countries. this was due to the difficulty of finding sufficiently trained men. the actual work of the house was done by hordes of bearded, red-shirted shaggy-headed moujiks, who their household duties over, retired to their underground fastnesses. consequently when dinners or other entertainments were given recourse was had { } to hired waiters, mostly elderly germans. it was the curious custom to dress these waiters up in the liveries of the family giving the entertainment. the liveries seldom fitted, and the features of the old waiters were quite familiar to most of us, yet politeness dictated that we should pretend to consider them as servants of the house. though perfectly conscious of having seen the same individual who, arrayed in orange and white, was standing behind one's chair, dressed in sky-blue only two evenings before, and equally aware of the probability of meeting him the next evening in a different house, clad in crimson, it was considered polite to compliment the mistress of the house on the admirable manner in which her servants were turned out. there is in all russian houses a terrible place known as the "buffetnaya." this is a combination of pantry, larder, and serving-room. people at all particular about the cleanliness of their food, or the nicety with which it is served, should avoid this awful spot as they would the plague. a sensitive nose can easily locate the whereabouts of the "buffetnaya" from a considerable distance. from petrograd to moscow is only a twelve hours' run, but in those twelve hours the traveller is transported into a different world. after the soulless regularity of peter the great's sham classical creation on the banks of the neva, the beauty of the semi-oriental ancient capital comes as a perfect revelation. moscow, glowing with colour, { } is seated like rome on gentle hills, and numbers over three hundred churches. these churches have each the orthodox five domes, and this forest of domes, many of them gilt, others silvered, some blue and gold, or striped with bands and spirals of vivid colour, when seen amongst the tender greenery of may, forms a wonderful picture, unlike anything else in the world. the winding, irregular streets lined with buildings in every imaginable style of architecture, and of every possible shade of colour; the remains of the ancient city walls with their lofty watch-towers crowned with curious conical roofs of grass-green tiles; the great irregular bulk of the kremlin, towering over all; make a whole of incomparable beauty. there is in the world but one moscow, as there is but one venice, and one oxford. the great sea of gilded and silvered domes is best seen from the terrace of the kremlin overlooking the river, though the wealth of detail nearer at hand is apt to distract the eye. the soaring snow-white shaft of ivan veliki's tower with its golden pinnacles dominates everything, though the three "cathedrals," standing almost side by side, hallowed by centuries of tradition, are very sacred places to a russian, who would consider them the heart of moscow, and of the muscovite world. "mother moscow," they call her affectionately, and i understand it. the russian word "sobor" is wrongly translated as "cathedral." a "sobor" is merely a { } church of peculiar sanctity or of special dignity. the three gleaming white, gold-domed churches of the kremlin are of quite modest dimensions, yet their venerable walls are rich with the associations of centuries. in the church of the assumption the tsars, and later the emperors, were all crowned; in the church of the archangel the tsars were buried, though the emperors lie in petrograd. the dim byzantine interior of the assumption church, with its faded frescoes on a gold ground, and its walls shimmering with gold, silver, and jewels, is immensely impressive. here is the real russia, not the petrograd stuccoed veneered russia of yesterday, but ancient muscovy, sending its roots deep down into the past. surely peter prepared the way for the destruction of his country by uprooting this tree of ancient growth, and by trying to create in one short lifetime a new pseudo-european empire, with a new capital. the city should be seen from the kremlin terrace as the light is fading from the sky and the thousands of church-bells clash out their melodious evening hymn. the russians have always been master bell-founders, and their bells have a silvery tone unknown in western europe. in the gloaming, the eastern character of the city is much more apparent. the blaze of colour has vanished, and the dusky silhouettes of the church domes take on the onion-shaped forms of the orient. delhi, as seen in later years from the fort at { } sunset was curiously reminiscent of moscow. i do not suppose that more precious things have ever been gathered together under one roof than the imperial treasury at moscow contained in those days. the eye got surfeited with the sight of so many splendours, and i can only recall the great collection of crowns and thrones of the various tsars. one throne of persian workmanship was studded with two thousand diamonds and rubies; another, also from persia, contained over two thousand large turquoises. there must have been at least a dozen of these glittering thrones, but the most interesting of all was the original ivory throne of the emperors of byzantium, brought to moscow in by sophia palaeologus, wife of ivan iii. constantine the great may have sat on that identical throne. it seems curious that the finest collection in the world of english silver-ware of elizabeth's, james i's, and charles i's time should be found in the kremlin at moscow, till it is remembered that nearly all the plate of that date in england was melted down during the civil war of - . i wonder what has become of all these precious things now! the sacristy contains an equally wonderful collection of church plate. i was taken over this by an archimandrite, and i had been previously warned that he would expect a substantial tip for his services. the archimandrite's feelings were, however, to be spared by my representing this tip as my contribution to the poor of his parish. the archimandrite { } was so immensely imposing, with his violet robes, diamond cross, and long flowing beard, that i felt quite shy of offering him the modest five roubles which i was told would be sufficient. so i doubled it. the archimandrite pocketed it joyfully, and so moved was he by my unexpected _largesse_, that the excellent ecclesiastic at once motioned me to my knees, and gave me a most fervent blessing, which i am persuaded was well worth the extra five roubles. the great palace of the kremlin was rebuilt by nicholas i about . it consequently belongs to the "period of bad taste"; in spite of that it is extraordinarily sumptuous. the st. george's hall is feet long and feet high; the other great halls, named after the russian orders of chivalry, are nearly as large. each of these is hung with silk of the same colour as the ribbon of the order; st. george's hall, orange and black; st. andrew's hall, sky-blue; st. alexander nevsky's, pink; st. catherine's, red and white. i imagine that every silkworm in the world must have been kept busy for months in order to prepare sufficient material for these acres of silk-hung walls. the kremlin palace may not be in the best of taste, but these huge halls, with their jasper and malachite columns and profuse gilding, are wonderfully gorgeous, and exactly correspond with one's preconceived ideas of what an emperor of russia's palace ought to be like. there is a chapel in the kremlin palace with the quaint title of { } "the church of the redeemer behind the golden railing." the really interesting portion of the palace is the sixteenth century part, known as the "terem." these small, dim, vaulted halls with their half-effaced frescoes on walls and ceilings are most fascinating. it is all mediæval, but not with the mediævalism of western europe; neither is it oriental; it is pure russian; simple, dignified, and delightfully archaic. one could not imagine the old tsars in a more appropriate setting. compared with the strident splendours of the modern palace, the vaulted rooms of the old terem seem to typify the difference between petrograd and moscow. it so happened that later in life i was destined to become very familiar with the deserted palace at agra, in india, begun by akbar, finished by shah jehan. how different the oriental conception of a palace is from the western! the agra palace is a place of shady courts and gardens, dotted with exquisitely graceful pavilions of transparent white marble roofed with gilded copper. no two of these pavilions are similar, and in their varied decorations an inexhaustible invention is shown. the white marble is so placed that it is seen everywhere in strong contrast to akbar's massive buildings of red sandstone. during the coronation ceremonies, king-emperor george v seated himself, of right, on the emperor akbar's throne in the great hall of audience in agra palace. { } though moscow may appear a dream-city when viewed from the kremlin, it is an eminently practical city as well. it was, in my time, the chief manufacturing centre of russia, and moscow business-men had earned the reputation of being well able to look after themselves. another side of the life of the great city could be seen in the immense ermitage restaurant, where moscow people assured you with pride that the french cooking was only second to paris. the little tartar waiters at the ermitage were, drolly enough, dressed like hospital orderlies, in white linen from head to foot. there might possibly be money in an antiseptic restaurant, should some enterprising person start one. the idea would be novel, and this is an age when new ideas seem attractive. a russian merchant in moscow, a partner in an english firm, imagined himself to be under a great debt of gratitude to the british embassy in petrograd, on account of a heavy fine imposed upon him, which we had succeeded in getting remitted. this gentleman was good enough to invite a colleague and myself to dine at a certain "traktir," celebrated for its russian cooking. i was very slim in those days, but had i had any idea of the gargantuan repast we were supposed to assimilate, i should have borrowed a suit of clothes from the most adipose person of my acquaintance, in order to secure additional cargo-space. in the quaint little "traktir" decorated in { } old-russian style, after the usual fresh caviar, raw herrings, pickled mushrooms, and smoked sturgeon of the "zakuska," we commenced with cold sucking-pig eaten with horse-radish. then followed a plain little soup, composed of herrings and cucumbers stewed in sour beer. slices of boiled salmon and horse-radish were then added, and the soup was served iced. this soup is distinctly an acquired taste. this was succeeded by a simple dish of sterlets, boiled in wine, with truffles, crayfish, and mushrooms. after that came mutton stuffed with buckwheat porridge, pies of the flesh and isinglass of the sturgeon, and heaven only knows what else. all this accompanied by red and white crimean wines, kvass, and mead. i had always imagined that mead was an obsolete beverage, indulged in principally by ancient britons, and drunk for choice out of their enemies' skulls, but here it was, foaming in beautiful old silver tankards; and perfectly delicious it was! oddly enough, the russian name for it, "meod," is almost identical with ours. only once in my life have i suffered so terribly from repletion, and that was in the island of barbados, at the house of a hospitable planter. we sat down to luncheon at one, and rose at five. the sable serving-maids looked on the refusal of a dish as a terrible slur on the cookery of the house, and would take no denial. "no, you like dis, sar, it real west india dish. i gib you lilly piece." what with turtle, and flying-fish, and calipash and calipee, and pepper-pot, and devilled land-crabs, i { } felt like the boa-constrictor in the zoological gardens after his monthly meal. i was not fortunate enough to witness the coronation of either alexander iii or that of nicholas ii. in the perfect setting of "the red staircase," of the ancient stone-built hall known as the "granovitaya palata," and of the "gold court," the ceremonial must be deeply impressive. on no stage could more picturesque surroundings possibly be devised. during the coronation festivities, most of the ambassadors hired large houses in moscow, and transferred their embassies to the old capital for three weeks. at the coronation of nicholas ii, of unfortunate memory, the french ambassador, the comte de montebello, took a particularly fine house in moscow, the shérémaitieff palace, and it was arranged that he should give a great ball the night after the coronation, at which the newly-crowned emperor and empress would be present. the french government own a wonderful collection of splendid old french furniture, tapestries, and works of art, known as the "garde meubles." under the monarchy and empire, these all adorned the interiors of the various palaces. to do full honour to the occasion, the french government dispatched vanloads of the choicest treasures of the "garde meubles" to moscow, and the shérémaitieff palace became a thing of beauty, with louis quatorze gobelins, and furniture made for marie-antoinette. to enhance the effect, the comte and comtesse de montebello { } arranged the most elaborate floral decorations, and took immense pains over them. on the night of the ball, two hours before their guests were due, the ambassador was informed that the chief of police was outside and begged for permission to enter the temporary embassy. embassies enjoying what is known as "exterritoriality," none of the police can enter except on the invitation of the ambassador; much as vampires, according to the legend, could only secure entrance to a house at the personal invitation of the owner. it will be remembered that these unpleasing creatures displayed great ingenuity in securing this permission; indeed the really expert vampires prided themselves on the dexterity with which they could inveigle their selected victim into welcoming them joyfully into his domicile. the chief of police informed the french ambassador that he had absolutely certain information that a powerful bomb had been introduced into the embassy, concealed in a flower-pot. m. de montebello was in a difficult position. on the previous day the ambassador had discovered that every single electric wire in the house had been deliberately severed by some unknown hand. french electricians had repaired the damage, but it was a disquieting incident in the circumstances. the policeman was positive that his information was correct, and the consequences of a terrific bomb exploding in one's house are eminently disagreeable, so he gave his reluctant permission to have the embassy searched, though his earlier { } guests might be expected within an hour. armies of police myrmidons appeared, and at once proceeded to unpot between two and three thousand growing plants, and to pick all the floral decorations to pieces. nothing whatever was found, but it would be unreasonable to expect secret police, however zealous, to exhibit much skill as trained florists. they made a frightful hash of things, and not only ruined the elaborate decorations, but so managed to cover the polished floors with earth that the rooms looked like ploughed fields, dancing was rendered impossible, and poor madame de montebello was in tears. as the guests arrived, the police had to be smuggled out through back passages. this was one of the little amenities of life in a bomb-ridden land. during the summer months i was much at tsarskoe selo. tsarskoe is only fourteen miles from petrograd, and some of my russian friends had villas there. the gigantic old palace of tsarskoe is merely an enlarged winter palace, and though its garden façade is nearly a quarter of a mile long, it is uninteresting and unimpressive, being merely an endless repetition of the same details. i was taken over the interior several times, but such a vast quantity of rooms leaves only a confused impression of magnificence. i only recall the really splendid staircase and the famous lapis-lazuli and amber rooms. the lapis-lazuli room is a blaze of blue and gold, with walls, furniture, and chandeliers encrusted with that precious substance. { } the amber room is perfectly beautiful. all the walls, cabinets, and tables are made of amber of every possible shade, from straw-colour to deep orange. there are also great groups of figures carved entirely out of amber. both the lapis and the amber room have curious floors of black ebony inlaid with mother-of-pearl, forming a very effective colour scheme. i have vague memories of the "gold" and "silver" rooms, but very distinct recollections of the bedroom of one of the empresses, who a hundred years before the late lord lister had discovered the benefits of antiseptic surgery had with some curious prophetic instinct had her sleeping-room constructed on the lines of a glorified modern operating theatre. the walls of this quaint apartment were of translucent opal glass, decorated with columns of bright purple glass, with a floor of inlaid mother-of-pearl. personally, i should always have fancied a faint smell of chloroform lingering about the room. catherine the great had her monogram placed everywhere at tsarskoe selo, on doors, walls, and ceilings. it was difficult to connect her with the interlaced "e's," until one remembered that the russian form of the name is "ekaterina." how wise the russians have been in retaining the so-called cyrillian alphabet in writing their tongue! in other slavonic languages, such as polish and czech, where the roman alphabet has been adopted, unholy combinations of "cz," "zh," and "sz" have to be resorted to to reproduce sounds which the { } cyrillian alphabet could express with a single letter; and the tragic thing is that, be the letters piled together never so thickly, they invariably fail to give the foreigner the faintest idea of how the word should really be pronounced. take the much-talked-of town of przemysl, for instance. the park of tsarskoe is eighteen miles in circumference, and every portion of it is thrown open freely to the public. in spite of being quite flat, it is very pretty with its lake and woods, and was most beautifully kept. to an english eye its trees seemed stunted, for in these far northern regions no forest trees attain great size. limes and oaks flourish moderately well, but the climate is too cold for beeches. at the latitude of petrograd neither apples, pears, nor any kind of fruit tree can be grown; raspberries and strawberries are the only things that can be produced, and they are both superlatively good. the park at tsarskoe was full of a jumble of the most extraordinarily incongruous buildings and monuments; it would have taken a fortnight to see them all properly. there was a chinese village, a chinese theatre, a dutch dairy, an english gothic castle, temples, hanging gardens, ruins, grottoes, fountains, and numbers of columns, triumphal arches, and statues. on the lake there was a collection of boats of all nations, varying from a chinese sampan to an english light four-oar; from a venetian gondola to a brazilian catamaran. there was also a fleet of miniature men-of-war, and three of catherine's great { } gilt state-barges on the lake. one arm of the lake was spanned by a bridge of an extremely rare blue siberian marble. anyone seeing the effect of this blue marble bridge must have congratulated himself on the fact that it was extremely improbable that any similar bridge would ever be erected elsewhere, so rare was the material of which it was constructed. i never succeeded in finding the spot in tsarskoe park where a sentry stands on guard over a violet which catherine the great once found there. catherine, finding the first violet of spring, ordered a sentry to be placed over it, to protect the flower from being plucked. she forgot to rescind the order, and the sentry continued to be posted there. it developed at last into a regular tradition of tsarskoe, and so, day and night, winter and summer, a sentry stood in tsarskoe park over a spot where, years before, a violet once grew. the russian name for a railway station is "vauxhall," and the origin of this is rather curious. the first railway in europe opened for passenger traffic was the liverpool and manchester, inaugurated in . five years later, nicholas i, eager to show that russia was well abreast of the times, determined to have a railway of his own, and ordered one to be built between petrograd and tsarskoe selo, a distance of fourteen miles. the railway was opened in , without any intermediate stations. unfortunately, with the exception of a few court officials, no one ever wanted to go to tsarskoe, so the line could hardly be called a commercial { } success. then someone had a brilliant idea! vauxhall gardens in south london were then at the height of their popularity. the tsarskoe line should be extended two miles to a place called pavlosk, where the railway company would be given fifty acres of ground on which to construct a "vauxhall gardens," outbidding its london prototype in attractions. no sooner said than done! the pavlosk "vauxhall" became enormously popular amongst petrogradians in summer-time; the trains were crowded and the railway became a paying proposition. as the tsarskoe station was the only one then in existence in petrograd, the worthy citizens got into the habit of directing their own coachmen or cabdrivers simply to go "to vauxhall." so the name got gradually applied to the actual station building in petrograd. when the nicholas railway to moscow was completed, the station got to be known as the "moscow vauxhall." and so it spread, until it came about that every railway station in the russian empire, from the baltic to the pacific, derived its name from a long-vanished and half-forgotten pleasure-garden in south london, the memory of which is only commemorated to-day by a bridge and a railway station on its site. the name "vauxhall" itself is, i believe, a corruption of "folks-hall," or of its dutch variant "volks-hall." even in my day the pavlosk vauxhall was a most attractive spot, with an excellent orchestra, myriads of coloured lamps, and a great semicircle of restaurants and refreshment booths. when i { } knew it, the tsarskoe railway still retained its original rolling-stock of ; little queer over-upholstered carriages, and quaint archaic-looking engines. it had, i think, been built to a different gauge to the standard russian one; anyhow it had no physical connection with the other railways. it was subsequently modernised. peterhof is far more attractive than tsarskoe as it stands on the gulf of finland, and the coast, rising a hundred feet from the sea, redeems the place from the uniform dead flat of the other environs of petrograd. as its name implies, peterhof is the creation of peter himself, who did his best to eclipse versailles. his fountains and waterworks certainly run versailles very close. the oriental in peter peeped out when he constructed staircases of gilt copper, and of coloured marbles for the water to flow over, precisely as shah jehan did in his palaces at delhi and agra. as the temperature both at delhi and agra often touches ° during the summer months, these decorative cascades would appear more appropriate there than at peterhof, where the summer temperature seldom rises to °. the palace stands on a lofty terrace facing the sea. a broad straight vista has been cut through the fir-woods opposite it, down to the waters of the gulf. down the middle of this avenue runs a canal flanked on either side by twelve fountains. when _les grandes eaux_ are playing, the effect of this perspective of fountains and of peter's gilded water-chutes is really very fine indeed. i think that the { } oriental in peter showed itself again here. there is a long single row of almost precisely similar fountains in front of the taj at agra. as at tsarskoe, the public have free access to every portion of the park, which stretches for four miles along the sea, with many gardens, countless fountains, temples and statues. there was in particular a beautiful ionic colonnade of pink marble, from the summit of which cataracts of water spouted when the fountains played. the effect of this pink marble temple seen through the film of falling water was remarkably pretty. what pleased me were the two small dutch châteaux in the grounds, "marly" and "monplaisir," where peter had lived during the building of his great palace. these two houses had been built by imported dutch craftsmen, and the sight of a severe seventeenth-century dutch interior with its tiles and sober oak-panelling was so unexpected in russia. it was almost as much of a surprise as is groote constantia, some sixteen miles south of cape town. to drive down a mile-long avenue of the finest oaks in the world, and to find at the end of it, amidst hedges of clipped pink oleander and blue plumbago, a most perfect dutch château, exactly as governor van der stell left it in , is so utterly unexpected at the southern extremity of the african continent! groote constantia, the property of the cape government, still contains all its original furniture and pictures of . it is the typical seventeenth-century continental château, the main building with its façade { } elaborately decorated in plaster, flanked by two wings at right angles to it, but the last place in the world where you would look for such a finished whole is south africa. to add to the unexpectedness, the vines for which constantia is famous are grown in fields enclosed with hedges, with huge oaks as hedgerow timber. this gives such a thoroughly english look to the landscape that i never could realise that the sea seen through the trees was the indian ocean, and that the cape of good hope was only ten miles away. macao, the ancient portuguese colony forty-five miles from hong-kong, is another "surprise-town." it is as though aladdin's slave of the lamp had dumped a seventeenth-century southern european town down in the middle of china, with churches, plazas, and fountains complete. there is really a plethora of palaces round peterhof. they grow as thick as quills on a porcupine's back. one of them, i cannot recall which, had a really beautiful dining-room, built entirely of pink marble. in niches in the four angles of the room were solid silver fountains six feet high, where naiads and tritons spouted water fed by a running stream. i should have thought this room more appropriate to india than to northern russia, but one of the fondest illusions russians cherish is that they dwell in a semi-tropical climate. in petrograd, as soon as the temperature reached °, old gentlemen would appear on the nevsky dressed in white linen, with panama hats, and white { } umbrellas, but still wearing the thickest of overcoats. should the sun's rays become just perceptible, iced kvass and lemonade were at once on sale in all the streets. on these occasions i made myself quite popular at the yacht club by observing, as i buttoned up my overcoat tightly before venturing into the open air, that this tropical heat was almost unendurable. this invariably provoked gratified smiles of assent. another point as to which russians were for some reason touchy was the fact that the water of the gulf of finland is perfectly fresh. ships can fill their tanks from the water alongside for ten miles below kronstadt, and the catches of the fishing-boats that came in to peterhof consisted entirely of pike, perch, eels, roach, and other fresh-water fish. still russians disliked intensely hearing their sea alluded to as fresh-water. i tactfully pretended to ignore the fringe of fresh-water reeds lining the shore at peterhof, and after bathing in the gulf would enlarge on the bracing effect a swim in real salt-water had on the human organism. this, and a few happy suggestions that after the intense brine of the gulf the waters of the dead sea would appear insipidly brackish, conduced towards making me amazingly popular. in my younger days i was never really happy without a daily swim during the summer months. the woods sloping down to the gulf are delightful in summer-time, and are absolutely carpeted with flowers. the flowers seem to realise how short the { } span of life allotted to them is, and endeavour to make the most of it. so do the mosquitoes. i have very vivid recollections of one especial visit to peterhof. in the summer of , the ambassador and two other members of the embassy were away in england on leave. the chargé d'affaires, who replaced the ambassador, was laid up with an epidemic that was working great havoc then in petrograd, as was the second secretary. this epidemic was probably due to the extremely unsatisfactory sanitary condition of the city. consequently no one was left to carry on the work of the embassy but myself and the new attaché, a mere lad. the relations of great britain and france in the "'eighties" were widely different from those cordial ones at present prevailing between the two countries. far from being trusted friends and allies, the tension between england and france was often strained almost to the breaking-point, especially with regard to egyptian affairs. this was due in a great measure to bismarck's traditional foreign policy of attempting to embroil her neighbours, to the greater advantage of germany. in old-fashioned surgery, doctors frequently introduced a foreign body into an open wound in order to irritate it, and prevent its healing unduly quickly. this was termed a seton. bismarck's whole policy was founded on the introduction of setons into open wounds, to prevent their healing. his successors in office endeavoured to continue this policy, but did { } not succeed, for though they might share bismarck's entire want of scruples, they lacked his commanding genius. ismail, khedive of egypt since , had brought his country to the verge of bankruptcy by his gross extravagance. great britain and france had established in a dual control of egyptian affairs in the interest of the foreign bondholders, but the two countries did not pull well together. in the incorrigible ismail was deposed in favour of tewfik, and two years later a military revolt was instigated by arabi pasha. very unwisely, attempts were made to propitiate arabi by making him a member of the egyptian cabinet, and matters went from bad to worse. in may, , the french and british fleets appeared before alexandria and threatened it, and on june , , the arab population massacred large numbers of the foreign residents of alexandria. still the french government refused to take any definite action, and systematically opposed every proposal made by the british government. we were perfectly well aware that the opposition of the french to the british policy was consistently backed up by russia, russia being in its turn prompted from berlin. all this we knew. after the massacre of june , the french fleet, instead of acting, sailed away from alexandria. amongst the usual daily sheaf of telegrams from london which the attaché and i decyphered on july , , was one announcing that the { } british mediterranean squadron had on the previous day bombarded and destroyed the forts of alexandria, and that in two days' time british marines would be landed and the city of alexandria occupied. there were also details of further steps that would be taken, should circumstances render them necessary. all these facts were to be communicated to the russian government at once. i went off with this weighty telegram to the house of the chargé d'affaires, whom i found very weak and feverish, and quite unable to rise from his bed. he directed me to go forthwith to peterhof, to see m. de giers, the russian minister for foreign affairs, who was there in attendance on the emperor, and to make my statement to him. i placed the attaché in charge of the chancery, and had time admitted of it, i should certainly have smeared that youth's cheeks and lips with some burnt cork, to add a few years to his apparent age, and to delude people into the belief that he had already begun to shave. the dignity of the british embassy had to be considered. i begged of him to refrain from puerile levity in any business interviews he might have, and i implored him to try to conceal the schoolboy under the mask of the zealous official. i then started for peterhof. it is not often that a young man of twenty-five is called upon to deliver what was virtually an ultimatum to the mighty russian empire, and i had no illusions whatever as to the manner in which my communication would be received. { } i saw m. de giers at peterhof, and read him my message. i have never in my life seen a man so astonished; he was absolutely flabbergasted. the gladstone government of - was then in power in england, and it was a fixed axiom with every continental statesman (and not, i am bound to admit, an altogether unfounded one) that under no circumstances whatever would the gladstone cabinet ever take definite action. they would talk eternally; they would never act. m. de giers at length said to me, "i have heard your communication with great regret. i have noted what you have said with even deeper regret." he paused for a while, and then added very gravely, "the emperor's regret will be even more profound than my own, and i will not conceal from you that his majesty will be highly displeased when he learns the news you have brought me." i inquired of m. de giers whether he wished me to see the emperor, and to make my communication in person to his imperial majesty, and felt relieved when he told me that it was unnecessary, as i was not feeling particularly anxious to face an angry autocrat alone. i left a transcript i had myself made of the telegram i had decyphered with m. de giers, and left. a moment's reflection will show that to leave a copy of decoded telegram with anyone would be to render the code useless. the original cypher telegram would be always accessible, and a decypher of it would be tantamount to giving away the code. it was our practice to make transcripts, giving the { } sense in totally different language, and with the position of every sentence altered. after that, as events in egypt developed, and until the chargé d'affaires was about again, i journeyed to peterhof almost daily to see m. de giers. we always seemed to get on very well together, in spite of racial animosities. the clouds in egypt rolled away, and with them the very serious menace to which i have alluded. events fortunately shaped themselves propitiously, on september , , sir garnet wolseley utterly routed arabi's forces at tel-el-kebir; arabi was deported to ceylon, and the revolt came to an end. a diplomat naturally meets ministers of foreign affairs of many types. there was a strong contrast between the polished and courtly m. de giers, who in spite of his urbanity could manage to infuse a very strong sub-acid flavour into his suavity when he chose, and some other ministers with whom i have come in contact. a few years later, when at buenos ayres, preliminary steps were taken for drawing up an extradition treaty between great britain and paraguay, and as there were details which required adjusting, i was sent , miles up the river to asuncion, the unsophisticated capital of the inland republic. dr. ----, at that time paraguayan foreign minister, was a guarani, of pure indian blood. he did not receive me at the ministry for foreign affairs, for the excellent reason that there was no such place in that primitive { } republic, but in his own extremely modest residence. when his excellency welcomed me in the whitewashed sala of that house, sumptuously furnished with four wooden chairs, and nothing else whatever, he had on neither shoes, stockings, nor shirt, and wore merely a pair of canvas trousers, and an unbuttoned coat of the same material, affording ample glimpses of his somewhat dusky skin. in the suffocating heat of asuncion such a costume has its obvious advantages; still i cannot imagine, let us say, the french minister for foreign affairs receiving the humblest member of a foreign legation at the quai d'orsay with bare feet, shirtless, and clad only in two garments. dr. ----, in spite of being indian by blood, spoke most correct and finished spanish, and had all the courtesy which those who use that beautiful language seem somehow to acquire instinctively. it is to be regretted that the same cannot be said of all those using the english language. not to be outdone by this polite paraguayan, i responded in the same vein, and we mutually smothered each other with the choicest flowers of castilian courtesy. these little amenities, though doubtless tending to smooth down the asperities of life, are apt to consume a good deal of time. once at kyoto in japan, i had occasion for the services of a dentist. as the dentist only spoke japanese, i took my interpreter with me. after removing my shoes at the door--an unusual preliminary to a visit to a dentist--we went upstairs, where { } we found a dapper little individual in kimono and white socks, surrounded by the most modern and up-to-date dental paraphernalia, sucking his breath, and rubbing his knees with true japanese politeness. eager to show that a foreigner could also have delightful manners, i sucked my breath, if anything, rather louder, and rubbed my knees a trifle harder. "dentist says," came from the interpreter, "will you honourably deign to explain where trouble lies in honourable tooth?" "if the dentist will honourably deign to examine my left-hand lower molar," i responded with charming courtesy, "he will find it requires stopping, but for heaven's sake, mr. nakimura, ask him to be careful how he uses his honourable drill, for i am terrified to death at that invention of the evil one." soon the satanic drill got well into its stride, and began boring into every nerve of my head. i jumped out of the chair. "tell the dentist, mr. nakimura, that he is honourably deigning to hurt me like the very devil with his honourable but wholly damnable drill." "dentist says if you honourably deign to reseat yourself in chair, he soon conquer difficulties in your honourable tooth." "certainly. but dentist must not give me honourable hell any more," and so on, and so on. i am bound to admit that the little jap's workmanship was so good that it has remained intact up to the present days. i wonder if japs, when annoyed, can ever relieve themselves by the use of really strong language, or whether the crust of conventional politeness is too thick to { } admit of it. in that case they must feel like a lobster afflicted with acute eczema, unable to obtain relief by scratching himself, owing to the impervious shell in which nature has encased him. i dined with the british consul at asuncion, after my interview with dr. ----. the consul lived three miles out of town, and the coffee we drank after dinner, the sugar we put into the coffee, and the cigars we smoked with it, had all been grown in his garden, within sight of the windows. i had ridden out to the quinta in company with a young australian, who will reappear later on in these pages in his proper place; one dick howard. it was the first but by no means the last time in my life that i ever got on a horse in evening clothes. dick howard, having no evening clothes with him, had arrayed himself in one of his favourite cricket blazers, a pleasantly vivid garment. on our way out, my horse shied violently at a snake in the road. the girths slipped on the grass-fed animal, and my saddle rolled gently round and deposited me, tail-coat, white tie and all, in some four feet of dust. the snake, however, probably panic-stricken at the sight of howard's blazer, had tactfully withdrawn; otherwise, as it happened to be a deadly jararaca, it is highly unlikely that i should have been writing these lines at the present moment. the ineradicable love of dick howard, the cheery, laughing young antipodean, for brilliant-hued blazers of various athletic clubs will be enlarged on later. in indian hill stations all men habitually ride out to dinner-parties, { } whilst ladies are carried in litters. during the rains, men put a suit of pyjamas over their evening clothes to protect them, before drawing on rubber boots and rubber coats and venturing into the pelting downpour. the syce trots behind, carrying his master's pumps in a rubber sponge-bag. all this, however, is far afield from russia. alexander iii preferred gatchina to any of his other palaces as a residence, as it was so much smaller, gatchina being a cosy little house of rooms only. i never saw it except once in mid-winter, when the emperor summoned the ambassador there, and i was also invited. as the far-famed beauties of gatchina park were covered with four feet of snow, it would be difficult to pronounce an opinion upon them. the rivers and lakes, the haunts of the celebrated gatchina trout, were, of course, also deep-buried. alexander iii was a man of very simple tastes, and nothing could be plainer than the large study in which he received us. alexander iii, a colossus of a man, had great dignity, combined with a geniality of manner very different from the glacial hauteur of his father, alexander ii. the emperor was in fact rather partial to a humorous anecdote, and some i recalled seemed to divert his majesty. outside his study-door stood two gigantic negroes on guard, in eastern dresses of green and scarlet. the empress marie, though she did not share her sister queen alexandra's wonderful beauty, had all of her subtle and indescribable charm of manner, { } and she was very gracious to a stupid young secretary-of-embassy. the bedroom given to me at gatchina could hardly be described by the standardised epithets for russian interiors "bare, gaunt, and whitewashed," as it had light blue silk walls embroidered with large silver wreaths. the mirrors were silvered, and the bed stood in a species of chancel, up four steps, and surrounded by a balustrade of silvered carved wood. both the ambassador and i agreed that the imperial cellar fully maintained its high reputation. we were given in particular some very wonderful old tokay, a present from the emperor of austria, a wine that was not on the market. we were taken all over the palace, which contained, amongst other things, a large riding-school and a full-sized theatre. the really enchanting room was a large hall on the ground floor where many generations of little grand-dukes and grand-duchesses had played. as, owing to the severe winter climate, it is difficult for russian children to amuse themselves much out-of-doors, these large play-rooms are almost a necessity in that frozen land. the gatchina play-room was a vast low hall, a place of many whitewashed arches. in this delightful room was every possible thing that could attract a child. at one end were two wooden montagnes busses, the descent of which could be negotiated in little wheeled trollies. in another corner was a fully-equipped gymnasium. there were "giants' strides," swings, swing-boats and a { } merry-go-round. there was a toy railway with switches and signal-posts complete, the locomotives of which were worked by treadles, like a tricycle. there were dolls' houses galore, and larger houses into which the children could get, with real cooking-stoves in the little kitchens, and little parlours in which to eat the results of their primitive culinary experiments. there were mechanical orchestras, self-playing pianos and barrel-organs, and masses and masses of toys. on seeing this delectable spot, i regretted for the first time that i had not been born a russian grand-duke, between the ages though of five and twelve only. i believe that there is a similar room at tsarskoe although i never saw it. { } chapter vii lisbon--the two kings of portugal, and of barataria--king fernando and the countess--a lisbon bull-fight--the "hat-trick"--courtship window-parade--the spurred youth of lisbon--portuguese politeness--the de reszke family--the opera--terrible personal experiences in a circus--the bounding bishop--ecclesiastical possibilities--portuguese coinage--beauty of lisbon--visits of the british fleet--misguided midshipmen--the legation whaleboat--"good wine needs no bush"--a delightful orange-farm--cintra--contrast between the past and present of portugal. a professional diplomat becomes used to rapid changes in his environment. he has also to learn to readjust his monetary standards, for after calculating everything in roubles for, let us say, four years, he may find himself in a country where the peseta or the dollar are the units. at every fresh post he has to start again from the beginning, as he endeavours to learn the customs and above all the mentality of the new country. he has to form a brand-new acquaintance, to get to know the points of view of those amongst whom he is living, and in general to shape himself to totally new surroundings. a diplomat in this way insensibly acquires adaptability. it would be difficult to imagine a greater contrast to petrograd than lisbon, which was my next post. { } after the rather hectic gaiety of petrograd, with its persistent flavour of an exotic and artificial civilisation, the placid, uneventful flow of life at lisbon was restful, possibly even dull. curiously enough, in those days there were two kings of portugal at the same time. this state of things (which always reminded me irresistibly of the two kings of barataria in gilbert and sullivan's "gondoliers") had come about quite naturally. queen maria ii (maria da gloria) had married in prince ferdinand of saxe-coburg, who was raised next year to the title of king consort. maria ii died in and was succeeded by pedro v. during his son's minority king ferdinand acted as regent, and pedro, dying unmarried eight years after, was succeeded in turn by his brother luiz, also a son of king ferdinand. when the corps diplomatique were received at the ajuda palace on new year's day, the scene always struck me as being intensely comical. the two kings (universally known as dom fernando and dom luiz) entered simultaneously by different doors. when they met dom luiz made a low bow to dom fernando, and then kissed his father's hand. dom fernando responded with an equally low bow, and kissed his son's hand. the two kings then ascended the throne together. had "the gondoliers" been already composed then, i should have expected the two monarchs to break into the duet from the second act, "rising early in the morning," in which the two kings of barataria { } explain their multitudinous duties. as king luiz had a fine tenor voice, his majesty could also in that case have brightened up the proceedings by singing us "take a pair of sparkling eyes." dom fernando was a perfectly delightful old gentleman, very highly cultured, full of humour, and with a charming natural courtesy of manner. the drolly-named necessidades palace which he inhabited was an unpretentious house full of beautiful old portuguese furniture. most of the rooms were wainscoted with the finest "azulejos" i ever saw; blue and white tiles which the portuguese adopted originally from the moors, but learnt later to make for themselves under the tuition of dutch craftsmen from delft. these "azulejos" form the most decorative background to a room that can be imagined. a bold pictorial design, a complete and elaborate picture in blue on white, runs along their whole length. it is thus very difficult to remove and re-erect "azulejos," for one broken tile will spoil the whole design. the portuguese use these everywhere, both for the exteriors and interiors of their houses, and also as garden ornaments, and they are wonderfully effective. dom fernando had married morganatically, as his second wife, a dancer of american origin. this lady had a remarkably strident voice, and was much to the fore on the fortnightly afternoons when dom fernando received the men of the corps diplomatique. for some reason or other, the ladies of the diplomatic body always found themselves { } unable to attend these gatherings. the courteous, genial old king would move about, smilingly dispensing his truly admirable cigars, and brimful of anecdotes and jokelets. the nasal raucaus tones of the ex-dancer, always known as "the countess," would summon him in english. "say, king! you just hurry up with those cigars. they are badly wanted here." i imagine that in the days of her successes on the stage the lady's outline must have been less voluminous than it was when i made her acquaintance. the only other occasion when i heard a monarch addressed as "king" _tout court_ was when a small relation of my own, aged five, at a children's garden-party at buckingham palace insisted on answering king edward vii's questions with a "yes, o king," or "no, o king"; a form of address which had a pleasant biblical flavour about it. the portuguese are a very humane race, and are extraordinarily kind to animals. they are also devoted to bull-fights. these two tendencies seem irreconcilable, till the fact is grasped that a portuguese bull-fight is absolutely bloodless. neither bulls nor horses are killed; the whole spectacle resolves itself into an exhibition of horsemanship and skill. the bulls' horns are padded and covered with leather thongs. the _picador_ rides a really good and highly-trained horse. should he allow the bull even to touch his horse with his padded horns, the unfortunate _picador_ will get mercilessly hissed. { } these _picadores_ do not wear the showy spanish dresses, but louis quinze costumes of purple velvet with large white wigs. the _espada_ is armed with a wooden sword only, which he plants innocuously on the neck of the bull, and woe betide him should those tens of thousands of eager eyes watching him detect a deviation of even one inch from the death-dealing spot. he will be hissed out of the ring. on the other hand, should he succeed in touching the fatal place with his harmless weapon, his skill would be rewarded with thunders of applause, and all the occupants of the upper galleries would shower small change and cigarettes into the ring, and would also hurl their hats into the arena, which always struck me as a peculiarly comical way of expressing their appreciation. the _espada_ would gaze at the hundreds of shabby battered bowler hats reposing on the sand of the arena with the same expression of simulated rapture that a _prima donna_ assumes as floral tributes are handed to her across the footlights. the _espada_, his hand on his heart, would bow again and again, as though saying, "are these lovely hats really for me?" but after a second glance at the dilapidated head-gear, covering the entire floor-space of the arena with little sub-fuse hummocks, he would apparently change his mind. "it is really amazingly good of you, and i do appreciate it, but i think on the whole that i will not deprive you of them," and then an exhibition of real skill occurred. the _espada_, taking up a hat, would { } glance at the galleries. up went a hand, and the hat hurtled aloft to its owner with unfailing accuracy; and this performance was repeated perhaps a hundred times. i always considered the _espada's_ hat-returning act far more extraordinary than his futile manipulation of the inoffensive wooden sword. during the aerial flights of the hats, two small acolytes of the _espada_, his miniature facsimiles in dress, picked up the small change and cigarettes, and, i trust, duly handed them over intact to their master. the bull meanwhile, after his imaginary slaughter, had trotted home contentedly to his underground quarters, surrounded by some twenty gaily-caparisoned tame bullocks. to my mind spanish bull-fighting is revolting and horrible to the last degree. i have seen it once, and nothing will induce me to assist a second time at so disgusting a spectacle; but the most squeamish person can view a portuguese bull-fight with impunity. even though the bull has his horns bandaged, considerable skill and great acrobatic agility come into play. few of us would care to stand in the path of a charging polled angus bull, hornless though he be. the _bandarilheros_ who plant paper-decorated darts in the neck of the charging bull are as nimble as trained acrobats, and vault lightly out of the ring when hard pressed. conspicuous at a lisbon bull-fight are a number of sturdy peasants, tricked out in showy clothes of scarlet and orange. these are "the men of strength." should a bull prove cowardly in the ring, and decline to fight, the public { } clamour for him to be caught and expelled ignomiously from the ring by "the men of strength." eight of the stalwart peasants will then hurl themselves on to the bull and literally hustle him out of the arena; no mean feat. take it all round, a portuguese bull-fight was picturesque and full of life and colour, though the neighbouring spaniards affected an immense contempt for them on account of their bloodlessness and make-belief. a curious portuguese custom is one which ordains that a youth before proposing formally for a maiden's hand must do "window parade" for two months (in portuguese "fazer a janella"). nature has not allotted good looks to the majority of the portuguese race, and she has been especially niggardly in this respect to the feminine element of the population. the taste for olives and for caviar is usually supposed to be an acquired one, and so may be the taste for lusitanian loveliness. somewhat to the surprise of the foreigner, portuguese maidens seemed to inspire the same sentiments in the breasts of the youthful male as do their more-favoured sisters in other lands, but in _bourgeois_ circles the "window-parade" was an indispensable preliminary to courtship. the youth had to pass backwards and forwards along the street where the dwelling of his _innamorata_ was situated, casting up glances of passionate appeal to a window, where, as he knew, the form of his enchantress would presently appear. the maiden, when she judged that she might at length reveal herself { } without unduly encouraging her suitor, moved to the open window and stood fanning herself, laboriously unconscious of her ardent swain in the street below. the youth would then express his consuming passion in pantomime, making frantic gestures in testimony of his mad adoration. the senhorita in return might favour him with a coy glance, and in token of dismissal would perhaps drop him a rose, which the young man would press to his lips and then place over his heart, and so the performance came to an end, to be renewed again the next evening. the lovesick swain would almost certainly be wearing spurs. at first i could not make out why the young men of lisbon, who had probably never been on a horse in their whole lives, should habitually walk about the town with spurs on their heels. it was, i think, a survival of the old peninsular tradition, and was intended to prove to the world that they were "cavalleiros." in spain an immense distinction was formerly made between the "caballero" and the "peon"; the mounted man, or gentleman, and the man on foot, or day-labourer. the little box-spurs were the only means these lisbon youths had of proving their quality to the world. they had no horses, but they _had_ spurs, which was obviously the next best thing. fortunes in portugal being small, and strict economy having to be observed amongst all classes, i have heard that these damsels of the window-sill only dressed down to the waist. they would assume a _corsage_ of scarlet or crimson plush, and, { } their nether garments being invisible from below, would study both economy and comfort by wearing a flannel petticoat below it. it is unnecessary for me to add that i never verified this detail from personal observation. some of the old portuguese families occupied very fine, if sparsely furnished, houses, with _enfilades_ of great, lofty bare rooms. after calling at one of these houses, the master of it would in continental fashion "reconduct" his visitor towards the front door. at every single doorway the portuguese code of politeness dictated that the visitor should protest energetically against his host accompanying him one step further. with equal insistence the host expressed his resolve to escort his visitor a little longer. the master of the house had previously settled in his own mind exactly how far he was going towards the entrance, the distance depending on the rank of the visitor, but the accepted code of manners insisted upon these protests and counter-protests at every single doorway. in germany "door-politeness" plays a great part. in one of kotzebue's comedies two provincial notabilities of equal rank are engaged in a duel of "door-politeness." "but i must really insist on your excellency passing first." "i could not dream of it, your excellency. i will follow you." "your excellency knows that i could never allow that," and so on. the curtain falls on these two ladies each declining to precede the other, and when it rises on the second act the doorway is still there, { } and the two ladies are still disputing. quite an effective stage-situation, and one which a modern dramatist might utilise. in paying visits in lisbon one was often pressed to remain to dinner, but the invitation was a mere form of politeness, and was not intended to be accepted. you invariably replied that you deeply regretted that you were already engaged. the more you were urged to throw over your engagement, the deeper became your regret that this particular engagement must be fulfilled. the engagement probably consisted in dining alone at the club, but under no circumstances must the invitation be accepted. in view of the straitened circumstances of most portuguese families, the evening meal would probably consist of one single dish of _bacalhao_ or salt cod, and you would have put your hosts to the greatest inconvenience. with the exception of the opera, the lisbon theatres were most indifferent. when i first arrived there the lisbon opera had been fortunate enough to secure the services of a very gifted polish family, a sister and two brothers, the latter of whom were destined later to become the idols of the london public. they were mlle. de reszke and jean and edouard de reszke, all three of them then comparatively unknown. mlle. de reszke had the most glorious voice. to hear her singing with her brother jean in "faust" was a perfect revelation. mlle. de reszke appeared to the best advantage when the stalwart jean sang with her, for she was { } immensely tall, and towered over the average portly, stumpy, little operatic tenor. the french say, cruelly enough, "bête comme un ténor." this may or may not be true, but the fact remains that the usual stage tenor is short, bull-necked, and conspicuously inclined to adipose tissue. when her brother jean was out of the cast, it required an immense effort of the imagination to picture this splendid creature as being really desperately enamoured of the little paunchy, swarthy individual who, reaching to her shoulder only, was hurling his high notes at the public over the footlights. at afternoon parties these three consummate artists occasionally sang unaccompanied trios. i have never heard anything so perfectly done. i am convinced that had mlle. de reszke lived, she would have established as great a european reputation as did her two brothers. the lisbon musical public were terribly critical. they had one most disconcerting habit. instead of hissing, should an artist have been unfortunate enough to incur their displeasure, the audience stood up and began banging the movable wooden seats of the stalls and dress circle up and down. this produced a deafening din, effectually drowning the orchestra and singers. the effect on the unhappy artist against whom all this pandemonium was directed may be imagined. on gala nights the lisbon opera was decorated in a very simple but effective manner. most portuguese families own a number of "colchas," or embroidered bed-quilts. these are of satin, silk, { } or linen, beautifully worked in colours. on a gala night, hundreds of these "colchas" were hung over the fronts of the boxes and galleries, with a wonderfully decorative effect. in the same way, on church festivals, when religious processions made their way through the streets, many-lined "colchas" were thrown over the balconies of the houses, giving an extraordinarily festive appearance to the town. as at berlin and petrograd, there was a really good circus at lisbon. i, for one, am sorry that this particular form of entertainment is now obsolete in england, for it has always appealed to me, in spite of some painful memories connected with a circus which, if i may be permitted a long digression, i will relate. nearly thirty years ago i left london on a visit to one of the historic châteaux of france, in company with a friend who is now a well-known member of parliament, and also churchwarden of a famous west-end church. we travelled over by night, and reached our destination about eleven next morning. we noticed a huge circular tent in the park of the château, but paid no particular attention to it. the first words with which our hostess, the bearer of a great french name, greeted us were, "i feel sure that i can rely upon you, _mes amis_. you have to help us out of a difficulty. my son and his friends have been practising for four months for their amateur circus. our first performance is to-day at two o'clock. we have sold eight hundred tickets for the benefit of the french red cross, { } and yesterday, only yesterday, our two clowns were telegraphed for. they have both been ordered to the autumn manoeuvres, and you two must take their places, or our performance is ruined. _je sais que vous n'allez pas me manquer_." in vain we both protested that we had had no experience whatever as clowns, that branch of our education having been culpably neglected. our hostess insisted, and would take no denial. "go and wash; go and eat; and then put on the dresses you will find in your rooms." i never felt so miserable in my life as i did whilst making up my face the orthodox dead white, with scarlet triangles on the cheeks, big mouth, and blackened nose. the clown's kit was complete in every detail, with wig, conical hat, patterned stockings and queer white felt shoes. as far as externals went, i was orthodoxy itself, but the "business," and the "wheezes"! the future church-warden had been taken in hand by some young frenchmen. as he was to play "chocolat," the black clown, they commenced by stripping him and blacking him from head to foot with boot-blacking. they then polished him. i entered the ring with a sinking heart. i was to remain there two hours, and endeavour to amuse a french audience for that period without any preparation whatever. "business," "gag," and "patter" had all to be improvised, and the "patter," of course, had to be in french. luckily, i could then throw "cart-wheels" and turn somersaults to an indefinite extent. so i made my entrance in { } that fashion. fortunately i got on good terms with my audience almost at once, and with confidence came inspiration; and with inspiration additional confidence, and a judicious recollection of the stock-tricks of clowns in various continental capitals. far greater liberties can be taken with a french audience than would be possible in england, but if anyone thinks it an easy task to go into a circus ring and to clown for two hours on end in a foreign language, without one minute's preparation, let him try it. the ring-master always pretends to flick the clown; it is part of the traditional "business"; but this amateur ring-master (most beautifully got up) handled his long whip so unskilfully that he not only really flicked my legs, but cut pieces out of them. when i jumped and yelled with genuine pain, the audience roared with laughter, so of course the ring-master plied his whip again. at the end of the performance my legs were absolutely raw. the clown came off badly too in some of the "roughs-and-tumbles," for the clown is always fair game. the french amateurs gave a really astonishingly good performance. they had borrowed trained horses from a real circus, and the same young hungarian to whom i have alluded at the beginning of these reminiscences as having created a mild sensation by appearing at buckingham palace in a tiger-skin tunic trimmed with large turquoises, rode round the ring on a pad in sky-blue tights, bounding through paper hoops and over garlands of artificial flowers as easily and { } gracefully as though he had done nothing else all his life. later on in the afternoon this versatile hungarian reappeared in flowing oriental robes and a false beard as "ali ben hassan, the bedouin chief." riding round the ring at full gallop, and firing from the saddle with a shot-gun, he broke glass balls with all the dexterity of a trained professional. that young hungarian is now a bishop of the roman catholic church. before i had occasion to meet him frequently. whenever i thought that on the strength of his purple robes he was assuming undue airs of ecclesiastical superiority (to use the word "swanking" would be an unpardonable vulgarism, especially in the case of a bishop), i invariably reminded his lordship of the afternoon, many years ago, when, arrayed in sky-blue silk tights, he had dashed through paper hoops in a french amateur circus. my remarks were usually met with the deprecatory smile and little gesture of protest of the hand so characteristic of the roman ecclesiastic, as the bishop murmured, "_cher ami, tout cela est oublié depuis longtemps,_" i assured the prelate that for my own part i should never forget it, if only for the unexpected skill he had displayed; though i recognise that bishops may dislike being reminded of their past, especially when they have performed in circuses in their youth. in addition to the hungarian's "act," there was another beautiful exhibition of horsemanship. a boy of sixteen, a member of an historic french family, by dint of long, patient, and painful { } practice, was able to give an admirable performance of the familiar circus "turn" known as "the courier of st. petersburg," in which the rider, standing a-straddle on two barebacked ponies, drives four other ponies in front of him; an extraordinary feat for an amateur to have mastered. my friend the agile ecclesiastic is portrayed, perhaps a little maliciously, in abel hermant's most amusing book "trains de luxe," under the name of "monseigneur granita de caffe nero." it may interest ladies to learn that this fastidious prelate always had his purple robes made by doucet, the famous paris dressmaking firm, to ensure that they should "sit" properly. on the whole, our circus was really a very creditable effort for amateurs. the entertainment was, i believe, pronounced a tremendous success, and at its conclusion the only person who was the worse for it was the poor clown. he had not only lost his voice entirely, from shouting for two hours on end, but he was black and blue from head to foot. added to which, his legs were raw and bleeding from the ring-master's pitiless whip. i am thankful to say that in the course of a long life that was my one and only appearance in the ring of a circus. my fellow-clown, "chocolat," the future member of parliament and churchwarden, had been so liberally coated with boot-blacking by his french friends that it refused to come off, and for days afterwards his face was artistically decorated with swarthy patches. before , i had frequently pointed out to my { } friend the bishop that should he wish to raise any funds in his hungarian diocese he could not do better than repeat his performance in the french circus. as a concession to his exalted rank, he might wear tights of episcopal purple. should he have retained any of the nimbleness of his youth, his flock could not fail to be enormously gratified at witnessing their chief pastor bounding through paper hoops and leaping over obstacles with incredible agility for his age. the knowledge that they had so gifted and supple a prelate would probably greatly increase his moral influence over them and could scarcely fail to render him amazingly popular. could his lordship have convinced his flock that he could demolish the arguments of any religious opponent with the same ease that he displayed in penetrating the paper obstacles to his equestrian progress, he would certainly be acclaimed as a theological controversialist of the first rank. in the same way, i have endeavoured to persuade my friend the member of parliament that he might brighten up the proceedings in the house of commons were he to appear there occasionally in the clown's dress he wore thirty years ago in france. failing that, his attendance at the easter vestry meeting of his west-end church with a blackened face might introduce that note of hilarity which is often so markedly lacking at these gatherings. all this has led me far away from lisbon in the "'eighties." mark twain has described, in "a tramp abroad," the terror with which a foreigner { } is overwhelmed on being presented with his first hotel bill on portuguese territory. the total will certainly run into thousands of reis, and the unhappy stranger sees bankruptcy staring him in the face. as a matter of fact, one thousand reis equal at par exactly four and twopence. it follows that a hundred reis are the equivalent of fivepence, and that one rei is the twentieth of a penny. a french colleague of mine insisted that the portuguese were actuated by national pride in selecting so small a monetary unit. an elementary calculation will show that the proud possessor of £ _s._ can claim to be a millionaire in portugal. according to my french friend, portugal was anxious to show the world that though a small country, a larger proportion of her subjects were millionaires than any other european country could boast of. in the same way the frenchman explained the curious lisbon habit of writing a number over every opening on the ground floor of a house, whether door or window. as a result the numbers of the houses crept up rapidly to the most imposing figures. it was not uncommon to find a house inscribed no. in a comparatively short street. accordingly, lisbon, though a small capital, was able to gain a spurious reputation for immense size. a peculiarity of lisbon was the double set of names of the principal streets and squares: the official name, and the popular one. i have never known this custom prevail anywhere else. thus the { } principal street was officially known as rua garrett, and that name was duly written up. everyone, though, spoke of it as the "chiada." in the same way the splendid square facing the tagus which english people call "black horse square" had its official designation written up as "praça do comercio." it was, however, invariably called "terreiro do paço." the list could be extended indefinitely. street names in lisbon did not err in the matter of shortness. "rua do sacramento a lapa de baixio" strikes me as quite a sufficiently lengthy name for a street of six houses. lisbon is certainly a handsome town. it has been so frequently wrecked by earthquakes that there is very little mediæval architecture remaining, in spite of its great age. two notable exceptions are the tower of belem and the exquisitely beautiful cloisters of the hieronymite convent, also at belem. the tower stands on a promontory jutting into the tagus, and the convent was built in the late fifteen-hundreds to commemorate the discovery of the sea route to india by vasco da gama. these two buildings are both in the "manoeline" style, a variety of highly ornate late gothic peculiar to portugal. it is the fashion to sneer at manoeline architecture, with its profuse decoration, as being a decadent style. to my mind the cloisters of belem (the portuguese variant of bethlehem) rank as one of the architectural masterpieces of europe. its arches are draped, as it were, with a lace-work of intricate and minute stone carving, as delicate { } almost as jewellers' work. the warm brown colour of the stone adds to the effect, and anyone but an architectural pedant must admit the amazing beauty of the place. the finest example of manoeline in portugal is the great abbey of batalha, in my day far away from any railway, and very difficult of access. at the time of the great earthquake of which laid lisbon in ruins, portugal was fortunate enough to have a man of real genius at the head of affairs, the marquis de pombal. pombal not only re-established the national finances on a sound basis, but rebuilt the capital from his own designs. the stately "black horse square" fronting the tagus and the streets surrounding it were all designed by pombal. i suppose that there is no hillier capital in the world than lisbon. many of the streets are too steep for the tramcars to climb. the portuguese fashion of coating the exteriors of the houses with bright-coloured tiles of blue and white, or orange and white, gives a cheerful air to the town,--the french word "riant" would be more appropriate--and the numerous public gardens, where the palm-trees apparently grow as contentedly as in their native tropics, add to this effect of sunlit brightness. as in brazil and other portuguese-speaking countries, the houses are all very tall, and sash-windows are universal, as in england, contrary to the custom of other continental countries. house rent could not be called excessive in portugal. in my day quite a large house, totally lacking { } in every description of modern convenience, but with a fine staircase and plenty of lofty rooms, could be hired for £ a year, a price which may make the londoner think seriously of transferring himself to the banks of the tagus. in the "'eighties" lisbon was the winter headquarters of our channel squadron. i once saw the late admiral dowdeswell bring his entire fleet up the tagus under sail; a most wonderful sight! the two five-masted flagships, the _minotaur_ and the _agincourt_, had very graceful lines, and with every stitch of their canvas set, they were things of exquisite beauty. the _northumberland_ had also been designed as a sister ship, but for some reason had had two of her masts removed. the old _minotaur,_ now alas! a shapeless hulk known as _ganges ii_, is still, i believe, doing useful work at harwich. as may be imagined, the arrival of the british fleet infused a certain element of liveliness into the sleepy city. gambling-rooms were opened all over lisbon, and as the bluejackets had a habit of wrecking any place where they suspected the proprietor of cheating them, the legation had its work cut out for it in endeavouring to placate the local authorities and smooth down their wounded susceptibilities. one gambling-house, known as "portuguese joe's," was frequented mainly by midshipmen. they were strictly forbidden to go there, but the place was crammed every night with them, in spite of official prohibition. the british midshipman being a creature of impulse, the { } moment these youths (every one of whom thought it incumbent on his dignity to have a huge cigar in his mouth, even though he might still be of very tender years) suspected any foul play, they would proceed very systematically and methodically to smash the whole place up to matchwood. there was consequently a good deal of trouble, and the legation quietly put strong pressure on the portuguese government to close these gambling-houses down permanently. this was accordingly done, much to the wrath of the midshipmen, who were, i believe, supplied with free drinks and cigars by the proprietors of these places. it is just possible that the admiral's wishes may have been consulted before this drastic action was taken. midshipmen in those days went to sea at fourteen and fifteen years of age, and consequently needed some shepherding. as our minister had constantly to pay official visits to the fleet, the british government kept a whale-boat at lisbon for the use of the legation. the coxswain, an ex-naval petty officer who spoke portuguese, acted as chancery servant when not afloat. when the boat was wanted, the coxswain went down to the quay with two bagfuls of bluejackets' uniforms, and engaged a dozen chance tagus boatmen. the lisbon boatman, though skilful, is extraordinarily unclean in his person and his attire. i wish the people who lavished praises on the smart appearance of the legation whaleboat and of its scratch crew could have seen, as i { } often did, the revoltingly filthy garments of these longshoremen before they drew the snowy naval white duck trousers and jumpers over them. their persons were even dirtier, and--for reasons into which i need not enter--it was advisable to smoke a strong cigar whilst they were pulling. the tides in the tagus run very strong; at spring-tides they will run seven or eight knots, so considerable skill is required in handling a boat. to do our odoriferous whited sepulchres of boatmen justice, they could pull, and the real workmanlike man-of-war fashion in which our coxswain always brought the boat alongside a ship, in spite of wind and tremendous tide, did credit to himself, and shed a mild reflected glory on the legation. the country round lisbon is very arid. it produces, however, most excellent wines, both red and white, and in my time really good wine could be bought for fourpence a bottle. at the time of the vintage, all the country taverns and wine shops displayed a bush tied to a pole at their doors, as a sign that they had new wine, "green wine," as the portuguese call it, for sale. let the stranger beware of that new wine! though pleasant to the palate and apparently innocuous, it is in reality hideously intoxicating, as a reference to the th verse of the second chapter of the acts will show. i think that the custom of tying a bush to the door of a tavern where new wine is on sale must be the origin of the expression "good wine needs no bush." { } the capabilities of this apparently intractable and arid soil when scientifically irrigated were convincingly shown on a farm some sixteen miles from lisbon, belonging to a colonel campbell, an englishman. colonel campbell, who had permanently settled in portugal, had bought from the government a derelict monastery and the lands attached to it at torres vedras, where wellington entrenched himself in his famous lines in - . a good stream of water ran through the property, and colonel campbell diverted it, and literally caused the desert to blossom like the rose. here were acres and acres of orange groves, and it was one of the few places in europe where bananas would ripen. colonel campbell supplied the whole of lisbon with butter, and the only mutton worth eating came also from his farm. it was a place flowing, if not with milk and honey, at all events with oil and wine. here were huge tanks brimful of amber-coloured olive oil; whilst in vast dim cellars hundreds of barrels of red and white wine were slowly maturing in the mysterious shadows. outside the sunlight fell on crates of ripe oranges and bananas, ready packed for the lisbon market, and in the gardens tropical and sub-tropical flowering trees had not only thoroughly acclimatised themselves, but had expanded to prima-donna-like dimensions. the great rambling tiled monastery made a delightful dwelling-house, and to me it will be always a place of pleasant memories--a place of sunshine and golden orange groves; of { } rustling palms and cool blue and white tiles; of splashing fountains and old stonework smothered in a tangle of wine-coloured bougainvillea. the environs of all portuguese towns are made dreary by the miles and miles of high walls which line the roads. these people must surely have some dark secrets in their lives to require these huge barriers between themselves and the rest of the world. behind the wall were pleasant old _quintas_, or villas, faced with my favourite "azulejos" of blue and white, and surrounded with attractive, ill-kept gardens, where roses and oleanders ran riot amidst groves of orange and lemon trees. cintra would be a beautiful spot anywhere, but in this sun-scorched land it comes as a surprising revelation; a green oasis in a desolate expanse of aridity. here are great shady oak woods and tinkling fern-fringed brooks, pleasant leafy valleys, and a grateful sense of moist coolness. on the very summit of the rocky hill of pena, king fernando had built a fantastic dream-castle, all domes and pinnacles. it was exactly like the "enchanted castle" of one of gustave doré's illustrations, and had, i believe, been partly designed by doré himself. some of the details may have been a little too flamboyant for sober british tastes, but, perched on its lofty rock, this castle was surprisingly effective from below with its gilded turrets and moorish tiles. as the castle occupied every inch of the summit of the pena hill, the only approach to it { } was by a broad winding roadway tunnelled through the solid rock. openings had been cut in the sides of the tunnel giving wonderful views over the valleys far down below. this approach was for all the world like the rocky ways up which parsifal is led to the temple of the grail in the first act of wagner's great mystery drama. the finest feature about pena, to my mind, was the wood of camellias on its southern face. these camellias had grown to a great size, and when in flower in march they were a most beautiful sight. there was a great deal of work at the lisbon legation, principally of a commercial character. there were never-ending disputes between british shippers and the custom house authorities, and the extremely dilatory methods of the portuguese government were most trying to the temper at times. i shall always cherish mildly agreeable recollections of lisbon. it was a placid, sunlit, soporific existence, very different from the turmoil of petrograd life. the people were friendly, and as hospitable as their very limited financial resources enabled them to be. they could mostly speak french in a fashion, still their limited vocabulary was quite sufficient for expressing their more limited ideas. i never could help contrasting the splendid past of this little nation with its somewhat inadequate present, for it must be remembered that portugal in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries was the leading maritime power of europe. portugal had { } planted her colonies and her language (surely the most hideous of all spoken idioms!) in asia, africa, and south america long before great britain or france had even dreamed of a colonial empire. they were a race of hardy and fearless seamen. prince henry the navigator, the son of john of portugal and of john of gaunt's daughter, discovered madeira, the azores, and the cape verde islands in the early fourteen-hundreds. in the same century diaz doubled the cape of good hope, and vasco da gama succeeded in reaching india by sea, whilst albuquerque founded portuguese colonies in brazil and at goa in india. this race of intrepid navigators and explorers held the command of the sea long before the dutch or british, and by the middle of the sixteenth century little portugal ranked as one of the most powerful monarchies in europe. portugal, too, is england's oldest ally, for the treaty of windsor establishing an alliance between the two countries was signed as far back as . this is not the place in which to enter into the causes which led to the gradual decadence of this wonderful little nation, sapped her energies and atrophied her enterprise. to the historian those causes are sufficiently familiar. let us only trust that lusitania's star may some day rise again. { } chapter viii brazil--contrast between portuguese and spanish south america--moorish traditions--amazing beauty of rio de janeiro--yellow fever--the commercial court chamberlain--the emperor pedro--the botanic gardens of rio--the quaint diversions of petropolis--the liveried young entomologist--buenos ayres--the charm of the "camp"--water-throwing--a british minister in carnival time--some buenos ayres peculiarities--masked balls--climatic conditions--theatres--restaurants--wonderful bird-life of the "camp"--estancis negrete--duck-shooting--my one flamingo--an exploring expedition in the gran chaco--hardships--alligators and fish--currency difficulties. my first impression of brazil was that it was a mere transplanted portugal, but a portugal set amidst the most glorious vegetation and some of the finest scenery on the face of the globe. it is also unquestionably suffocatingly hot. there is a great outward difference in the appearances of the towns of portuguese and spanish south america. in brazil the portuguese built their houses and towns precisely as they had done at home. there are the same winding irregular streets; the same tall houses faced with the decorative "azulejos"; the same shutterless sash-windows. a type of house less suited to the burning climate of brazil can hardly be imagined. there being no outside shutters, it is impossible to keep the heat { } out, and the small rooms become so many ovens. the sinuosities of the irregular streets give a curiously old-world look to a brazilian town, so much so that it is difficult for a european to realise that he is on the american continent, associated as the latter is in our minds with unending straight lines. in all spanish-american countries the towns are laid out on the chess-board principle, with long dreary perspectives stretching themselves endlessly. the spanish-american type of house too is mostly one-storied and flat-roofed, with two iron-barred windows only looking on to the street. the moorish conquerors left their impress on spain, and the spanish pioneers carried across the atlantic with them the moorish conception of a house. the "patio" or enclosed court in the centre of the house is a heritage from the moors, as is the flat roof or "azotea," and the decorated rainwater cistern in the centre of the "patio." the very name of this tank in spanish, "aljibe," is of arabic origin, and it becomes obvious that this type of house was evolved by mohammedans who kept their womenkind in jealous and strict seclusion. no indiscreet eyes from outside can penetrate into the "patio," and after nightfall the women could be allowed on to the flat roof to take the air. those familiar with the east know the great part the roof of a house plays in the life of an oriental. it is their parlour, particularly after dark. as the inhabitants of south america are not mohammedans, i cannot conceive why they { } obstinately adhere to this inconvenient type of dwelling. the "patio" renders the house very dark and airless, becomes a well of damp in winter, and an oven in summer. to my mind unquestionably the best form of house for a hot climate is the anglo-indian bungalow, with its broad verandahs, thatched roof, and lofty rooms. in a bungalow some of the heat can be shut out. on my first arrival in brazil, the tropics and tropical vegetation were an unopened book to me, and i was fairly intoxicated with their beauty. there is a short english-owned railway running from pernambuco to some unknown spot in the interior. the manager of this railway came out on the steamer with us, and he was good enough to take me for a run on an engine into the heart of the virgin forest. i shall never forget the impression this made on me. it was like a peep into a wholly unimagined fairyland. had the calls of the mail steamer been deliberately designed to give the stranger a cumulative impression of the beauties of brazil, they could not have been more happily arranged. first of pernambuco in flat country, redeemed by its splendid vegetation; then bahia with its fine bay and gentle hills, and lastly rio the incomparable. i have seen most of the surface of this globe, and i say deliberately, without any fear of contradiction, that nowhere is there anything approaching rio in beauty. the glorious bay, two hundred miles in circumference, dotted with islands, and { } surrounded by mountains of almost grotesquely fantastic outlines, the whole clothed with exuberantly luxurious tropical vegetation, makes the most lovely picture that can be conceived. the straggling town in my day had not yet blossomed into those vagaries of ultra-ornate architecture which at present characterise it. it was quaint and picturesque, and fitted its surroundings admirably, the narrow crowded ruado ouvidor being the centre of the fashionable life of the place. it will be remembered that when gonçalves discovered the great bay on january st, , he imagined that it must be the estuary of some mighty river, and christened it accordingly "the river of january," "rio de janeiro." oddly enough, only a few insignificant streams empty themselves into this vast landlocked harbour. during my first fortnight in rio, i thought the view over the bay more beautiful with every fresh standpoint i saw it from; whether from botofogo, or from nichteroy on the further shore, the view seemed more entrancingly lovely every time; and yet over this, the fairest spot on earth, the angel of death was perpetually hovering with outstretched wings; for yellow fever was endemic at rio then, and yellow fever slays swiftly and surely. one must have lived in countries where the disease is prevalent to realise the insane terror those two words "yellow fever" strike into most people. on my third visit to rio, i was destined to contract the disease myself, but it dealt mercifully with me, { } so henceforth i am immune to yellow fever for the remainder of my life. the ravages this fell disease wrought in the west indies a hundred years ago cannot be exaggerated. those familiar with michael scott's delightful "tom cringle's log" will remember the gruesome details he gives of a severe outbreak of the epidemic in jamaica. in those days "yellow jack" took toll of nearly fifty per cent. of the white civil and military inhabitants of the british west indies, as the countless memorial tablets in the older west indian churches silently testify. before my arrival in rio, a new german minister had, in spite of serious warnings, insisted on taking a beautiful little villa on a rocky promontory jutting into the bay. the house with its white marble colonnades, its lovely gardens, and the wonderful view over the mountains, was a thing of exquisite beauty, but it bore a very evil reputation. within eight months the german minister, his secretary, and his two white german servants were all dead of yellow fever. the brazilians declare that the fever is never contracted during the daytime, but that sunset is the dangerous hour. they also warn the foreigner to avoid fruit and acid drinks. conditions have changed since then. the cause of the unhealthiness of rio was a very simple one. all the sewage of the city was discharged into the landlocked, tideless bay, where it lay festering under the scorching sun. an english company tunnelled a way through the mountains direct to { } the atlantic, and all the sewage is now discharged there, with the result that rio is practically free from the dreaded disease. the customs of a monarchial country are like a deep-rooted oak, they do not stand transplanting. where they are the result of the slow growth of many centuries, they have adapted themselves, so to speak, to the soil of the country of their origin, have evolved national characteristics, and have fitted themselves into the national life. when transplanted into a new country, they cannot fail to appear anachronisms, and have always a certain element of the grotesque about them. in my time dom pedro, the emperor of brazil, had surrounded himself with a modified edition of the externals of a european court. a colleague of mine had recently been presented to the emperor at the palace of são christovão. as is customary on such occasions, my colleague called on the two court chamberlains who were on duty at são christovão, and they duly returned the visit. one of these chamberlains, whom we will call baron de feijão e farinha, seemed reluctant to take his departure. he finally produced a bundle of price lists from his pocket, and assured my colleague that he would get far better value for his money at his (the baron's) ready-made clothing store than at any other similar establishment in south america. from another pocket he then extracted a tape measure, and in spite of my colleague's protest passed the tape over his unwilling body to note the { } stock size, in the event of an order. the baron de feijão especially recommended one of his models, "the pall mall," a complete suit of which could be obtained for the nominal sum of , reis. this appalling sum looks less alarming when reduced to british currency, , brazilian reis being equal to about £ _s_. i am not sure that he did not promise my colleague a commission on any orders he could extract from other members of the legation. my colleague, a remarkably well-dressed man, did not recover his equanimity for some days, after picturing his neatly-garbed form arrayed in the appallingly flashy, ill-cut, ready-made garments in which the youth of rio de janeiro were wont to disport themselves. to european ideas, it was a little unusual to find a court chamberlain engaged in the ready-made clothing line. on state occasions dom pedro assumed the most splendid imperial mantle any sovereign has ever possessed. it was composed entirely of feathers, being made of the breasts of toucans, shaded from pale pink to deep rose-colour, and was the most gorgeous bit of colour imaginable. in the sweltering climate of brazil, the heat of this mantle must have been unendurable, and i always wondered how dom pedro managed to bear it with a smiling face, but it certainly looked magnificent. one of the industries of rio was the manufacture of artificial flowers from the feathers of humming-birds. these feather flowers were wonderfully faithful reproductions of nature, and were { } practically indestructible, besides being most artistically made. they were very expensive. the famous avenue of royal palms in the botanic gardens would almost repay anyone for the voyage from europe. these are, i believe, the tallest palms known, and the long avenue is strikingly impressive. the _oreodoxa regia_, one of the cabbage-palms, has a huge trunk, perfectly symmetrical, and growing absolutely straight. this perspective of giant boles recalls the columns of an immense gothic cathedral, whilst the fronds uniting in a green arch two hundred feet overhead complete the illusion. the botanic gardens have some most attractive ponds of pink and sky-blue water lilies, and the view of the bay from the gardens is usually considered the finest in rio. owing to the unhealthiness of rio, most of the foreign legations had established themselves permanently at petropolis, in the organ mountains, petropolis being well above the yellow fever zone. on my third visit to rio, such a terrible epidemic of yellow fever was raging in the capital that the british minister very kindly invited me to go up straight to the legation at petropolis. the latter is three hours' distance from rio by mountain railway. people with business in the city leave for rio by the a.m. train, and reach petropolis again at p.m. the old emperor, dom pedro, made a point of attending the departure and arrival of the train every single day, and a military band played regularly in the station, morning and { } evening. this struck me as a very unusual form of amusement. the emperor (who ten months later was quietly deposed) was a tall, handsome old gentleman, of very distinguished appearance, and with charming manners. he had also encyclopædic knowledge on most points. that a sovereign should take pleasure in seeing the daily train depart and arrive seemed to point to a certain lack of resources in petropolis, and to hint at moments of deadly dulness in the imperial villa there. dom pedro never appeared in public except in evening dress, and it was a novelty to see the head of a state in full evening dress and high hat at half-past six in the morning, listening to an extremely indifferent brass band braying in the waiting-room of a shabby railway station. nature seems to have lavished all the most brilliant hues of her palette on brazil; the plumage of the birds, the flowers, and foliage all glow with vivid colour. even a brazilian toad has bright emerald-green spots all over him. the gorgeous butterflies of this highly-coloured land are well known in europe, especially those lovely creatures of shimmering, iridescent blue. these butterflies were the cause of a considerable variation in the hours of meals at the british legation. the minister had recently brought out to brazil an english boy to act as young footman. henry was a most willing, obliging lad, but these great brazilian butterflies exercised a quite irresistible { } fascination over him, and small blame to him. he kept a butterfly-net in the pantry, and the instant one of the brilliant, glittering creatures appeared in the garden, henry forgot everything. clang the front-door bell so loudly, he paid no heed to it; the cook might be yelling for him to carry the luncheon into the dining-room, henry turned a deaf ear to her entreaties. snatching up his butterfly-net, he would dart through the window in hot pursuit. as these great butterflies fly like handley pages, he had his work cut out for him, and running is exhausting in a temperature of degrees. the usual hour for luncheon would be long past, and the table would still exhibit a virgin expanse of white cloth. somewhere in the dim distance we could descry a slim young figure bounding along hot-foot, with butterfly-net poised aloft, so we possessed our souls in patience. eventually henry would reappear, moist but triumphant, or dripping and despondent, according to his success or failure with his shimmering quarry. after such violent exercise, henry had to have a plunge in the swimming-bath and a complete change of clothing before he could resume his duties, all of which occasioned some little further delay. and this would happen every day, so our repasts may be legitimately described as "movable feasts." it was no use speaking to henry. he would promise to be less forgetful, but the next butterfly that came flitting along drove all good resolves out of this ardent young entomologist's head, and off he would { } go on flying feet in eager pursuit. i recommended henry when he returned to england to take up cross-country running seriously. he seemed to have unmistakable aptitudes for it. the streets of petropolis were planted with avenues of a flowering tree imported from the southern pacific. when in bloom, this tree was so covered with vivid pink blossoms that all its leaves were hidden. these rows of bright pink trees gave the dull little town a curious resemblance to a japanese fan. there are some lovely little nooks and corners in the organ mountains. one ravine in particular was most beautiful, with a cascade dashing down the cliff, and the clear brook below it fringed with eucharis lilies, and the tropical begonias which we laboriously cultivate in stove-houses. unfortunately, these beauty spots seemed as attractive to snakes as they were to human beings. this entailed keeping a watchful eye on the ground, for brazilian snakes are very venomous. no greater contrast can be imagined than that between the forests and mountains of steamy brazil and the endless, treeless, dead-flat levels of the argentine republic, twelve hundred miles south of them. when i first knew buenos ayres in the early "'eighties," it still retained an old-world air of distinction. the narrow streets were lined with sombre, dignified old buildings of a markedly spanish type, and the modern riot of over-ornate ginger-bread { } architecture had not yet transformed the city into a glittering, garish trans-atlantic pseudo-paris. in the same way newly-acquired wealth had not begun to assert itself as blatantly as it has since done. i confess that i was astonished to find two daily english newspapers in buenos ayres, for i had not realised the size and importance of the british commercial colony there. the "camp" (from the spanish _campo_, country) outside the city is undeniably ugly and featureless, as it stretches its unending khaki-coloured, treeless flatness to the horizon, but the sense of immense space has something exhilarating about it, and the air is perfectly glorious. in time these vast dun-coloured levels exercise a sort of a fascination over one; to me the "camp" will always be associated with the raucous cries of the thousands of spurred argentine plovers, as they wheel over the horsemen with their never-ending scream of "téro, téro." as in most countries of spanish origin, the carnival was kept at buenos ayres in the old-fashioned style. in my time, on the last day of the carnival, shrove tuesday, the traditional water-throwing was still allowed in the streets. everyone going into the streets must be prepared for being drenched with water from head to foot. my new chief, whom i will call sir edward (though he happened to have a totally different name), had just arrived in buenos ayres. he was quite { } unused to south american ways. on shrove tuesday i came down to breakfast in an old suit of flannels and a soft shirt and collar, for from my experiences of the previous year i knew what was to be expected in the streets. sir edward, a remarkably neat dresser, appeared beautifully arrayed in a new suit, the smartest of bow-ties, and a yellow jean waistcoat. i pointed out to my chief that it was water-throwing day, and suggested the advisability of his wearing his oldest clothes. sir edward gave me to understand that he imagined that few people would venture to throw water over her britannic majesty's representative. off we started on foot for the chancery of the legation, which was situated a good mile from our house. i knew what was coming. in the first five minutes we got a bucket of water from the top of a house, plumb all over us, soaking us both to the skin. sir edward was speechless with rage for a minute or so, after which i will not attempt to reproduce his language. men were selling everywhere in the streets the large squirts ("_pomitos_" in spanish) which are used on these occasions. i equipped myself with a perfect woolwich arsenal of _pomitos_, but sir edward waved them all disdainfully away. soon two girls darted out of an open doorway, armed with _pomitos_, and caught us each fairly in the face, after which they giggled and ran into their house, leaving the front door open. sir edward fairly danced with rage on the pavement, shouting out the most uncomplimentary opinions as to the { } argentine republic and its inhabitants. the front door having been left open, i was entitled by all the laws of carnival time to pursue our two fair assailants into their house, and i did so, in spite of sir edward's remonstrances. i chased the two girls into the drawing-room, where we experienced some little difficulty in clambering over sofas and tables, and i finally caught them in the dining-room, where a venerable lady, probably their grandmother, was reposing in an armchair. i gave the two girls a thorough good soaking from my _pomitos_, and bestowed the mildest sprinkling on their aged relative, who was immensely gratified by the attention. "oh! my dears," she cried in spanish to the girls, "you both consider me so old. you can see that i am not too old for this young man to enjoy paying me a little compliment." _autres pays, autres moeurs_! just conceive the feelings of an ordinary british middle-class householder, residing, let us say, at balham or wandsworth, at learning that the sanctity of "the laurels" or "ferndale" had been invaded by a total stranger; that his daughters had been pursued round the house, and then soaked with water in his own dining-room, and that even his aged mother's revered white hairs had not preserved her from a like indignity. i cannot imagine him accepting it as a humorous everyday incident. our progress to the chancery was punctuated by several more interludes of a similar character, and i was really pained on reaching the shelter of our official { } sanctuary to note how sir edward's spotless garments had suffered. personally, on a broiling february day (corresponding with august in the northern hemisphere) i thought the cool water most refreshing. our chancery looked on to the fashionable calle florida, and a highly respectable german widow who had lived for thirty years in south america acted as our housekeeper. sir edward, considerably ruffled in his temper, sat down to continue a very elaborate memorandum he was drawing up on the new argentine customs tariff. the subject was a complicated one, there were masses of figures to deal with, and the work required the closest concentration. presently our housekeeper, fran bauer, entered the room demurely, and made her way to sir edward's table, "wenn excellenz so gut sein werden um zu entschuldigen," began frau bauer with downcast eyes, and then suddenly with a discreet titter she produced a large _pomito_ from under her apron and, secure in the license of carnival time, she thrust it into sir edward's collar, and proceeded to squirt half a pint of cold water down his back, retiring swiftly with elderly coyness amid an explosion of giggles. i think that i have seldom seen a man in such a furious rage. i will not attempt to reproduce sir edward's language, for the printer would have exhausted his entire stock of "blanks" before i had got halfway through. the minister, when he had eased his mind sufficiently, snapped out, "it is obvious that with all { } this condemned (that was not quite the word he used) foolery going on, it is impossible to do any serious work to-day. where ... where ... can one buy the infernal squirts these condemned idiots vise?" "anywhere in the streets. shall i buy you some, sir edward?" "yes, get me a lot of them, and the biggest you can find." so we parted. returning home after a moist but enjoyable afternoon, i saw a great crowd gathered at the junction of two streets, engaged in a furious water-fight. the central figure was a most disreputable-looking individual with a sodden wisp of linen where his collar should have been; remnants of a tie trailed dankly down, his soaked garments were shapeless, and his head was crowned with a sort of dripping poultice. he was spouting water in all directions like the crystal palace fountains in their heyday, with shouts of "take that, you foolish female; and that, you fat feminine argentine!" with grief i recognised in this damp reveller her britannic majesty's minister plenipotentiary. upon returning home, we found that our two english servants had been having the time of their lives. they had stood all day on the roof of the house, dashing pails of water over passers-by until they had completely emptied the cistern. there was not one drop of water in the house, and we had to borrow three pailfuls from a complaisant neighbour. a few years later the police prohibited water-throwing altogether, so this feature of a buenos { } ayres carnival is now a thing of the past. as time went on i grew very fond of sir edward. his temper may have flared up quickly, but it died down just as rapidly. he was a man with an extraordinarily varied fund of information, and possessed a very original and subtle sense of humour. he was also a great stylist in writing english, and the drafts i wrote for despatches were but seldom fortunate enough to meet with his approval. a split infinitive brought him to the verge of tears. the argentine authorities were by no means easy to deal with, and sir edward handled them in a masterly fashion. his quiet persistence usually achieved its object. it was a real joy to see him dealing with anyone rash enough to attempt to bully or browbeat him. his tongue could sting like a lash on occasions, whilst he preserved an outward air of imperturbable calm. sir edward both spoke and wrote the most beautifully finished spanish. a ball in a private house at buenos ayres had its peculiar features in the "'eighties." in the first place, none of the furniture was removed from the rooms, and so far from taking up carpets, carpets were actually laid down, should the rooms be unprovided with them. this rendered dancing somewhat difficult; in fact a ball resolved itself into a leisurely arm-in-arm promenade to music through the rooms, steering an erratic course between the articles of furniture, "drawing the port," as a scottish curler would put it. occasionally a { } space behind a sofa could be found sufficiently large to attempt a few mild gyrations, but that was all. the golden youth of buenos ayres, in the place of the conventional white evening tie, all affected the most deplorable bows of pale pink or pale green satin. a wedding, too, differed from the european routine. the parents of the bride gave a ball. at twelve o'clock dancing, or promenading amidst the furniture, ceased. a portable altar was brought into the room; a priest made his unexpected entry, and the young couple were married at breakneck speed. at the conclusion of the ceremony, all the young men darted at the bride and tore her marriage-veil to shreds. priest, altar, and the newly-married couple then disappeared; the band struck up again, and dancing, or rather a leisurely progress round the sofas and ottomans, recommenced. a form of entertainment that appeals immensely to people of spanish blood is a masked ball. in buenos ayres the ladies only were masked, which gave them a distinct advantage over the men. to enjoy a masquerade a good knowledge of spanish is necessary. all masked women are addressed indiscriminately as "mascarita" and can be "tutoyée'd." convention permits, too, anything within reasonable limits to be said by a man to "mascaritas," who one and all assume a little high-pitched head-voice to conceal their identities. i fancy that the real attractions masquerades had for most women lay in the opportunity they afforded every { } "mascarita" of saying with impunity abominably rude things to some other woman whom she detested. i remember one "mascarita," an acquaintance of mine, whose identity i pierced at once, giving another veiled form accurate details not only as to the date when the pearly range of teeth she was exhibiting to the world had come into her possession, but also the exact price she had paid for them. it takes a stranger from the north some little time to accustom himself to the inversion of seasons and of the points of the compass in the southern hemisphere. for instance, "a lovely spring day in _october_," or "a chilly autumn evening in _may_," rings curiously to our ears; as it does to hear of a room with a cool _southern_ aspect, or to hear complaints about the hot _north_ wind. personally i did not dislike the north wind; it was certainly moist and warm, but it smelt deliciously fragrant with a faint spicy odour after its journey over the great brazilian forests on its way from the equator. all argentines seemed to feel the north wind terribly; it gave them headaches, and appeared to dislocate their entire nervous system. in the law courts it was held to be a mitigating circumstance should it be proved that a murder, or other crime of violence, had been committed after a long spell of north wind. many women went about during a north wind with split beans on their temples to soothe their headaches, a comical sight till one grew accustomed to it. the old german { } housekeeper of the chancery, frau bauer, invariably had split beans adhering to her temples when the north wind blew. the icy _pampero_, the south wind direct from the pole, was the great doctor of buenos ayres. darwin used to consider the river plate the electrical centre of the world. nowhere have i experienced such terrific thunderstorms as in the argentine. sometimes on a stifling summer night, with the thermometer standing at nearly a hundred degrees, one of these stupendous storms would break over the city with floods of rain. following on the storm would come the _pampero_, gently at first, but increasing in violence until a blustering, ice-cold gale went roaring through the sweltering city, bringing the temperature down in four hours with a run from degrees to degrees. extremely pleasant for those like myself with sound lungs; very dangerous to those with delicate chests. the old-fashioned argentine house had no protection over the _patio_. in bad weather the occupants had to make their way through the rain from one room to another. some of the newer houses were built in a style which i have seen nowhere else except on the stage. everyone is familiar with those airy dwellings composed principally of open colonnades one sees on stage back-cloths. these houses were very similar in design, with open halls of columns and arches, and open-air staircases. on the stage it rains but seldom, and the style may be suited to the climatic conditions prevailing there. { } in real life it must be horribly inconvenient. the italian minister at buenos ayres lived in a house of this description. in fine weather it looked extremely picturesque, but i imagine that his excellency's progress to bed must have been attended with some difficulties when, during a thunderstorm, the rain poured in cataracts down his open-air staircase, and the _pampero_ howled through his open arcades and galleries. the theatres at buenos ayres were quite excellent. at the opera all the celebrated singers of europe could be heard, although one could almost have purchased a nice little freehold property near london for the price asked for a seat. there were two french theatres, one devoted to light opera, the other to palais royal farces, both admirably given; and, astonishingly enough, during part of my stay, there was actually an english theatre with an english stock company. a peculiarly spanish form of entertainment is the "zarzuela," a sort of musical farce. it requires a fairly intimate knowledge of the language to follow these pieces with their many topical allusions. the spanish-american temperament seems to dislike instinctively any gloomy or morbid dramas, differing widely from the russians in this respect. at petrograd, on the russian stage, the plays, in addition to the usual marital difficulties, were brightened up by allusions to such cheerful topics as inherited tendencies to kleptomania or suicide, or an intense desire for self-mutilation. what { } appeals to the morbid frost-bound north apparently fails to attract the light-hearted sons of the southern hemisphere. buenos ayres was also a city of admirable restaurants. in the fashionable places, resplendent with mirrors, coloured marbles and gilding, the cooking rivals paris, and the bill, when tendered, makes one inclined to rush to the telegraph office to cable for further and largely increased remittances from europe. there were a number, however, of unpretending french restaurants of the most meritorious description. never shall i forget sir edward's face when, in answer to his questions as to a light supper, the waiter suggested a cold armadillo; a most excellent dish, by the way, though after seeing the creature in the zoological gardens one would hardly credit it with gastronomic possibilities. the soil of the argentine is marvellously fertile, and some day it will become a great wine-growing country. in the meantime vast quantities of inferior wine are imported from europe. after sampling a thin spanish red wine, and a heavy sweet black wine known as priorato, and having tested their effects on his digestion, sir edward christened them "the red wine of our lady of pain" and "the black wine of death." when the president of the republic appeared in public on great occasions, he was always preceded by a man carrying a large blue velvet bolster embroidered with the argentine arms. this was { } clearly an emblem of national sovereignty, but what this blue bolster was intended to typify i never could find out. did it indicate that it was the duty of the president to bolster up the republic, or did it signify that the republic was always ready to bolster up its president? none of my argentine friends could throw any light upon the subject further than by saying that this bolster was always carried in front of the president; a sufficiently self-evident fact. it will always remain an enigma to me. a bolster seems a curiously soporific emblem for a young, enterprising, and progressive republic to select as its symbol. it would be ungallant to pass over without remark the wonderful beauty of the argentine girls. this beauty is very shortlived indeed, and owing to their obstinate refusal to take any exercise whatever, feminine outlines increase in bulk at an absurdly early age, but between seventeen and twenty-one many of them are really lovely. lolling in hammocks and perpetual chocolate-eating bring about their own penalties, and sad to say, bring them about very quickly. i must add that the attractiveness of these girls is rather physical than intellectual. the house sir edward and i rented had been originally built for a stage favourite by one of her many warm-hearted admirers. it had been furnished according to the lady's own markedly florid tastes. i reposed nightly in a room entirely draped in sky-blue satin. the house had a charming garden, { } and sir edward and i expended a great deal of trouble and a considerable amount of money on it. that garden was the pride of our hearts, but we had reckoned without the leaf-cutting ant, the great foe of the horticulturist in south america. at rio, and in other places in brazil, they had a special apparatus for pumping the fumes of burning sulphur into the ant-holes, and so were enabled to keep these pests in check. in private gardens in brazil every single specially cherished plant had to have its stem surrounded with unsightly circular troughs of paraffin and water. in front of our windows we had a large bed of gardenias backed by a splendid border of many-hued cannas which were the apple of sir edward's eye, he gazed daily on them with an air not only of pride, but of quasi-paternity. the leaf-cutting ants found their way into our garden, and in four days nothing remained of our beautiful gardenias and cannas but some black, leafless stalks. these abominable insects swept our garden as bare of every green thing as a flight of locusts would have done; they even killed the grass where their serried processions had passed. for me, the great charm of the argentine lay in the endless expanses of the "camp," far away from the noisy city. the show _estancia_ of the argentine was in those days "negrete," the property of mr. david shennan, kindest and most hospitable of scotsmen. most english residents and visitors out in the plate cherish grateful { } recollections of that pleasant spot, encircled by peach orchards, where the genial proprietor, like a patriarch of old, welcomed his guests, surrounded by his vast herds and flocks. i happen to know the exact number of head of cattle mr. shennan had on his estancia on january , , for i was one of the counters at the stocktaking on the last day of the year. the number was , head. counting cattle is rather laborious work, and needs close concentration. six of us were in the saddle from daybreak to dusk, with short intervals for meals, and december is at the height of the summer in the southern hemisphere, so the heat was considerable. this is the method employed in a "count." the cattle are driven into "mobs" of some eight hundred ("rodeo" is the spanish term for mob) by the "peons." some twenty tame bullocks are driven a quarter of a mile from the "mob," and the counters line up on their horses between the two, with their pockets full of beans. the "peons" use their whips, and one or two of the cattle break away from the herd to the tame bullocks. they are followed by more and more at an ever-increasing pace. each one is counted, and when one hundred is reached, a bean is silently transferred from the left pocket to the right. so the process is continued until the entire herd has passed by. should the numbers given by the six counters tally within reason, the count is accepted. should it differ materially, there is a recount; then the { } counters pass on to another "mob" some two miles away. under a very hot sun, the strain of continual attention is exhausting, and those six counters found their beds unusually welcome that night. the dwelling-house of negrete, which was to become very familiar to me, was over a hundred years old, and stretched itself one-storied round a large _patio_, blue and white tiled, with an elaborate well-head in the centre decorated with good iron-work. the _patio_ was fragrant with orange and lemon trees, and great bushes of the lovely sky-blue paraguayan jasmine. i can never understand why this shrub, the "jasmin del paraguay," with its deliciously sweet perfume and showy blue flowers, has never been introduced into england. it would have to be grown under glass, but only requires sufficient heat to keep the frost out. i had never felt the _joie de vivre_--the sheer joy at being alive--thrill through one's veins so exultantly as when riding over the "camp" in early morning. i have had the same feeling on the high veldt in south africa, where there is the same marvellous air, and, in spite of the undulations of the ground, the same sense of vast space. the glorious air, the sunlight, the limitless, treeless expanse of neutral-tinted grass stretching endlessly to the horizon, and the vast hemisphere of blue sky above had something absolutely intoxicating in them. it may have been the delight of forgetting that there were such things as towns, and streets, { } and tramways. and then the teeming bird-life of the camp! ibis and egrets flashed bronze-green or snowy-white through the sunlight; the beautiful pink spoon-bills flapped noisily overhead in single file, a lengthy rosy trail of long legs and necks and brilliant colour; the quaint little ground owls blinked from the entrances of their burrows, and dozens of spurred plovers wheeled in incessant gyrations, keeping up their endless, wearying scream of "téro-téro." i always wanted to shout and sing from sheer delight at being part of it all. the tinamou, the south american partridge, surprisingly stupid birds, rose almost under the horses' feet, and dozens of cheery little sandpipers darted about in all directions. birds, birds everywhere! should one pass near one of the great shallow lagoons, which are such a feature of the country, its surface would be black with ducks, with perhaps a regiment of flamingoes in the centre of it, a dazzling patch of sunlit scarlet, against the turquoise blue the water reflected from the sky. in springtime the "camp" is covered with the trailing verbena which in my young days was such a favourite bedding-out plant in england, its flowers making a brilliant league-long carpet of scarlet or purple. there are endless opportunities for shooting on the "camp" in the province of buenos ayres, only limited by the difficulties in obtaining cartridges, and the fact that in places where it is impossible to dispose of the game the amount shot must depend { } on what can be eaten locally. otherwise it is not sport, but becomes wanton slaughter. the foolish tinamou are easily shot, but are exceedingly difficult to retrieve out of the knee-high grass, and if only winged, they can run like hares. there is also a large black and white migratory bird of the snipe family, the "batitou," which appears from the frozen regions of the far south, as winter comes on, and is immensely prized for the table. he is unquestionably a delicious bird to eat, but is very hard to approach owing to his wariness. the duck-shooting was absolutely unequalled. i had never before known that there were so many ducks in the world, nor were there the same complicated preliminaries, as with us; no keepers, no beaters, no dogs were required. one simply put twenty cartridges in a bandolier, took one's gun, jumped on a horse, and rode six miles or so to a selected lagoon. here the horse was tied up to the nearest fence, and one just walked into the lagoon. so warm was the water in these lagoons that i have stood waist-high in it for hours without feeling the least chilly, or suffering from any ill effects whatever. with the first step came a mighty and stupendous roar of wings, and a prodigious quacking, then the air became black with countless thousands of ducks. mallards, shovellers, and speckled ducks; black ducks with crimson feet and bills; the great black and white birds argentines call "royal" ducks, and we "muscovy" ducks, though with us they are uninteresting inhabitants of a { } farm-yard. ducks, ducks everywhere! as these confiding fowl never thought of flying away, but kept circling over the lagoon again and again, i am sure that anyone, given sufficient cartridges, and the inclination to do so, could easily have killed five hundred of them to his own gun in one day. we limited ourselves to ten apiece. splashing about in the lagoon, it was easy to pick up the dead birds without a dog, but no one who has not carried them can have any idea of the weight of eight ducks in a gamebag pressing on one's back, or can conceive how difficult it is to get into the saddle on a half-broken horse with this weight dragging you backwards. in any other country but the argentine, to canter home six miles dripping wet would have resulted in a severe chill. no one ever seemed the worse for it out there. at times i went into the lagoons without a gun, just to observe at close quarters the teeming water-life there. the raucous screams of the vigilant "téro-téros" warned the water-birds of a hostile approach, but it was easy to sit down in the shallow warm water amongst the reeds until the alarm had died down, and one was amply repaid for it, though the enforced lengthy abstention from tobacco was trying. the "camp" is a great educator. one learnt there to recap empty cartridge-cases with a machine, and to reload them. one learnt too to clean guns and saddlery. when a thing remains undone, unless you take it in hand yourself, you begin wondering { } why you should ever have left these things to be done for you by others. the novice finds out that a bridle and bit are surprisingly difficult objects to clean, even given unlimited oil and sandpaper. the "camp" certainly educates, and teaches the neophyte independence. i shot several pink spoonbills, one of which in a glass case is not far from me as i write, but i simply longed to get a scarlet flamingo. owing to the spoonbills' habit of flitting from lagoon to lagoon, they are not difficult to shoot, but a flamingo is a very wary bird. perched on one leg, they stand in the very middle of a lagoon, and allow no one within gunshot. the officious "téro-téros" effectually notify them of the approach of man, and possibly the flamingoes have learnt from "alice in wonderland" that the queen of hearts is in the habit of utilising them as croquet-mallets. the natural anxiety to escape so ignominious a fate would tend to make them additionally cautious. anyhow, i found it impossible to approach them. the idea occurred to me of trying to shoot one with a rifle. so i crawled prostrate on my anatomy up to the lagoon. i failed at least six times, but finally succeeded in killing a flamingo. wading into the lagoon, i triumphantly retrieved my scarlet victim, and took him by train to buenos ayres, intending to hand him over to a taxidermist next day. when i awoke next morning, the blue satin bower in which i slept (originally fitted up, as i have explained, as the bedroom of a minor light of { } the operatic stage) was filled with a pestilential smell of decayed fish. i inquired the reason of my english servant, who informed me that the cook was afraid that there was something wrong about "the queer duck" i had brought home last night, as its odour was not agreeable. (the real expression he used was "smelling something cruel.") full of horrible forebodings, i jumped out of bed and ran down to the kitchen, to find a little heap of brilliant scarlet feathers reposing on the table, and paquita, our fat andalusian cook, regarding with doubtful eyes a carcase slowly roasting before the fire, and filling the place with unbelievably poisonous effluvia. and that was the end of the only flamingo i ever succeeded in shooting. a london financial house had, by foreclosing a mortgage, come into possession of a great tract of land in the unsurveyed and uncharted indian reserve, the gran chaco. anxious to ascertain whether their newly-acquired property was suited for white settlers, the financial house sent out two representatives to buenos ayres with orders to fit out a little expedition to survey and explore it. i was invited to join this expedition, and as work was slack at the time, sir edward did not require my services and gave me leave to go. i had been warned that conditions would be very rough indeed, but the opportunity seemed one of those that only occur once in a lifetime, and too good to be lost. i do not think the invitation was quite a disinterested one. the leaders of the expedition probably { } thought that the presence of a member of the british legation might be useful in case of difficulties with the argentine authorities. i travelled by steamer six hundred miles up the mighty paraná, and joined the other members of the expedition at the alexandra colony, a little english settlement belonging to the london firm hundreds of miles from anywhere, and surrounded by vast swamps. the alexandra colony was a most prosperous little community, but was unfortunately infested with snakes and every imaginable noxious stinging insect. as we should have to cross deep swamps perpetually, we took no wagons with us, but our baggage was loaded on pack-horses. for provisions we took jerked sun-dried beef (very similar to the south african "biltong"), hard biscuit, flour, coffee, sugar, and salt, as well as several bottles of rum, guns, rifles, plenty of ammunition, and two blankets apiece. we had some thirty horses in all; the loose horses trotting obediently behind a bell-mare, according to their convenient argentine custom. in argentina mares are never ridden, and a bell-mare serves the same purpose in keeping the "tropilla" of horses together as does a bellwether in keeping sheep together with us. at night only the bell-mare need be securely picketed; the horses will not stray far from the sound of her tinkling bell. should the bell-mare break loose, there is the very devil to pay; all the others will follow her. it will thus be seen that the bell-mare plays a very important part. in french families the { } _belle-mère_ fills an equally important position. we were four englishmen in all; the two leaders, the doctor, and myself. the doctor was quite a youngster, taking a final outing before settling down to serious practice in bristol. a nice, cheery youth! the first night i discovered how very hard the ground is to sleep upon, but our troubles did not begin till the second day. we were close up to the tropics, and got into great swamps where millions and millions of mosquitoes attacked us day and night, giving us no rest. our hands got so swollen with bites that we could hardly hold our reins, and sleep outside our blankets was impossible with these humming, buzzing tormentors devouring us. if one attempted to baffle them by putting one's head under the blanket, the stifling heat made sleep equally difficult. in four days we reached a waterless land; that is to say, there were clear streams in abundance, but they were all of salt, bitter, alkaline water, undrinkable by man or beast. oddly enough, all the clear streams were of bitter water, whereas the few muddy ones were of excellent drinking water. i think these alkaline streams are peculiar to the interior of south america. our horses suffered terribly; so did we. we had three argentine gauchos with us, to look after the horses and baggage, besides two pure indians. one of these indians, known by the pretty name of chinche, or "the bug," could usually find water-holes by watching the flight of the birds. the water in these holes was often black and fetid, { } yet we drank it greedily. chinche could also get a little water out of some kinds of aloes by cutting the heart out of the plant. in the resulting cavity about half a glassful of water, very bitter to the taste, but acceptable all the same, collected in time. prolonged thirst under a hot sun is very difficult to bear. we nearly murdered the doctor, for he insisted on recalling the memories of great cool tankards of shandy-gaff in thames-side hostelries, and at our worst times of drought had a maddening trick of imitating (exceedingly well too) the tinkling of ice against the sides of a long tumbler. in spite of thirst and the accursed mosquitoes it was an interesting trip. we were where few, if any, white men had been before us; the scenery was pretty; and game was very plentiful. the open rolling, down-like country, with its little copses and single trees, was like a gigantic edition of some english park in the southern counties. in the early morning certain trees, belonging to the cactus family, i imagine, were covered with brilliant clusters of flowers, crimson, pink, and white. as the sun increased in heat all these flowers closed up like sea anemones, to reopen again after sunset. the place crawled with deer, and so tame and unsophisticated were they that it seemed cruel to take advantage of them and to shoot them. we had to do so for food, for we lived almost entirely on venison, and venison is a meat i absolutely detest. when food is unpalatable, one is surprised to find how very little is necessary to sustain life; an { } experience most of us have repeated during these last two years, not entirely voluntarily. chinche, the indian, could see the tracks of any beasts in the dew at dawn, where my eyes could detect nothing whatever. in this way i was enabled to shoot a fine jaguar, whose skin has reposed for thirty years in my dining-room. one night, too, an ant-eater blundered into our camp, and by some extraordinary fluke i shot him in the dark. his skin now keeps his compatriot company. an ant-eating bear is a very shy and wary animal, and as he is nocturnal in his habits, he is but rarely met with, so this was a wonderful bit of luck. we encountered large herds of peccaries, the south american wild boar. these little beasts are very fierce and extremely pugnacious, and the horses seemed frightened of them. the flesh of the peccary is excellent and formed a most welcome variation to the eternal venison. i never could learn to shoot from the saddle as argentines do, but had to slip off my horse to fire. i was told afterwards that it was very dangerous to do this with these savage little peccaries. there are always compensations to be found everywhere. had not the abominable mosquitoes prevented sleep, one would not have gazed up for hours at the glorious constellations of the southern sky, including that arch-impostor the southern cross, glittering in the dark-blue bowl of the clear tropical night sky. had we not suffered so from thirst, we should have appreciated less the unlimited { } foaming beer we found awaiting us on our return to the alexandra colony. by the way, all south americans believe firmly in moon-strokes, and will never let the moon's rays fall on their faces whilst sleeping. i judged the country we traversed quite unfitted for white settlers, owing to the lack of good water, and the evil-smelling swamps that cut the land up so. that exploring trip was doubtless pleasanter in retrospect than in actual experience. i would not have missed it, though, for anything, for it gave one an idea of stern realities. on returning to the alexandra colony, both i and the doctor, a remarkably fair-skinned young man, found, after copious ablutions, that our faces and hands had been burnt so black by the sun that we could easily have taken our places with the now defunct moore and burgess minstrels in the vanished st. james's hall in piccadilly without having to use any burnt-cork whatever. on the evening of our arrival at alexandra, i was reading in the sitting-room in an armchair against the wall. the doctor called out to me to keep perfectly still, and not to move on any account until he returned. he came back with a pickle-jar and a bottle. i smelt the unmistakable odour of chloroform, and next minute the doctor triumphantly exhibited an immense tarantula spider in the pickle-jar. he had cleverly chloroformed the venomous insect within half an inch of my head, otherwise i should certainly have been bitten. the { } bite of these great spiders, though not necessarily fatal, is intensely painful. the doctor had brought out with him a complete anti-snake-bite equipment, and was always longing for an occasion to use it. he was constantly imploring us to go and get bitten by some highly venomous snake, in order to give him an opportunity of testing the efficacy of his drugs, hypodermic syringes, and lancets. at alexandra a dog did get bitten by a dangerous snake, and was at once brought to the doctor, who injected his snake-bite antidote, with the result that the dog died on the spot. a river ran through alexandra which was simply alive with fish, also with alligators. in the upper reaches of the paraná and its tributaries, bathing is dangerous not only because of the alligators, but on account of an abominable little biting-fish. these biting-fish, which go about in shoals, are not unlike a flounder in appearance and size. they have very sharp teeth and attack voraciously everything that ventures into the water. in that climate their bites are very liable to bring on lockjaw. the doctor and i spent most of our time along this river with fishing lines and rifles, for alligators had still the charm of novelty to us both, and we both delighted in shooting these revolting saurians. i advise no one to try to skin a dead alligator. there are thousands of sinews to be cut through, and the pestilential smell of the brute would sicken a chinaman. we caught some extraordinary-looking { } fish on hand lines, including a great golden carp of over lb. ("dorado" in spanish). it took us nearly an hour to land this big fellow, who proved truly excellent when cooked. when i first reached the argentine, travel was complicated by the fact that each province issued its own notes, which were only current within the province itself except at a heavy discount. the value of the dollar fluctuated enormously in the different provinces. in buenos ayres the dollar was depreciated to four cents, or twopence, and was treated as such, the ordinary tram fare being one depreciated dollar. in other provinces the dollar stood as high as three shillings. in passing from one province to another all paper money had to be changed, and this entailed the most intricate calculations. it is unnecessary to add that the stranger was fleeced quite mercilessly. the currency has since been placed on a more rational basis. national notes, issued against a gold reserve, have superseded the provincial currency, and pass from one end of the republic to the other. upon returning to buenos ayres, my blue-satin bedroom looked strangely artificial and effeminate, after sleeping on the ground under the stars for so long. { } chapter ix paraguay--journey up the river--a primitive capital--dick the australian--his polychrome garb--a paraguayan race meeting--beautiful figures of native women--the "falcon" adventurers--a quaint railway--patiño cué--an extraordinary household--the capable australian boy--wild life in the swamps--"bushed"--a literary evening--a railway record--the tigre midnight swims--canada--maddening flies--a grand salmon river--the canadian backwoods--skunks and bears--different views as to industrial progress. as negotiations had commenced in the "'eighties" for a new treaty, including an extradition clause, between the british and paraguayan governments, several minor points connected with it required clearing up. i accordingly went up the river to asuncion, the paraguayan capital, five days distant from buenos ayres by steamer. a short account of that primitive little inland republic in the days before it was linked up with argentina by railway may prove of interest, for it was unlike anything else, with its stately two hundred-year-old relics of the old spanish civilisation mixed up with the roughest of modern makeshifts. the vast majority of the people were guaranis, of pure indian blood and speech. the little state was so isolated from the rest of the world that the nineteenth century { } had touched it very lightly. since its independence paraguay had suffered under the rule of a succession of dictator presidents, the worst of whom was francisco lopez, usually known as tyrant lopez. this ignorant savage aspired to be the napoleon of south america, and in declared war simultaneously on brazil, uruguay, and the argentine republic. the war continued till , when, fortunately, lopez was killed, but the population of paraguay had diminished from one and a quarter million to four hundred thousand people, nearly all the males being killed. in my time there were seven women to every male of the population. the journey up the mighty paraná is very uninteresting, for these huge rivers are too broad for the details on either shore to be seen clearly. after the steamer had turned up the paraguay river on the verge of the tropics, it became less monotonous. the last argentine town is formosa, a little place of thatched shanties clustered under groves of palms. we arrived there at night, and remained three hours. i shall never forget the eerie, uncanny effect of seeing for the first time paraguayan women, with a white petticoat, and a white sheet over their heads as their sole garments, flitting noiselessly along on bare feet under the palms in the brilliant moonlight. they looked like hooded silent ghosts, and reminded me irresistibly of the fourth act of "robert le diable," when the ghosts of the nuns arise out of their cloister graves at bertram's command. they did not though as { } in the opera, break into a glittering ballet. on board the steamer there was a young globe-trotting australian. he was a nice, cheery lad, and, like most australians, absolutely natural and unaffected. as he spoke no spanish, he was rather at a loose end, and we agreed to foregather. asuncion was really a curiosity in the way of capitals. lopez the tyrant suffered from megalomania, as others rulers have done since his day. he began to construct many imposing buildings, but finished none of them. he had built a huge palace on the model of the tuileries on a bluff over the river. it looked very imposing, but had no roof and no inside. he had also begun a great mausoleum for members of the lopez family, but that again had only a façade, and was already crumbling to ruin. the rest of the town consisted principally of mud and bamboo shanties, thatched with palm. the streets were unpaved, and in the main street a strong spring gushed up. everyone rode; there was but one wheeled vehicle in asuncion, and that was only used for weddings and funerals. the inhabitants spoke of their one carriage as we should speak of something absolutely unique of its kind, say the statue of the venus de milo, or of some rare curiosity, such as a great auk's egg, or a twopenny blue mauritius postage stamp, or a real live specimen of the dodo. nothing could be rougher than the accommodation howard, the young australian, and i found at the hotel. we were shown into a very dirty brick-paved { } room containing eight beds. we washed unabashed at the fountain in the _patio_, as there were no other facilities for ablutions at all, and the bare-footed, shirtless waiter addressed us each by our christian names _tout court_, at once, omitting the customary "don." the spanish forms of christian names are more melodious than ours, and howard failed to recognize his homely name of "dick" in "ricardo." as south american men become moustached and bearded very early in life, i think that our clean-shaved faces, to which they were not accustomed, led the people to imagine us both much younger than we really were, for i was then twenty-seven, and the long-legged dick was twenty-one. never have i known anyone laugh so much as that light-hearted australian boy. he was such a happy, merry, careless creature, brimful of sheer joy at being alive, and if he had never cultivated his brains much, he atoned for it by being able to do anything he liked with his hands and feet. he could mend and repair anything, from a gun to a fence; he could cook, and use a needle and thread as skilfully as he could a stock-whip. i took a great liking to this lean, sun-browned, pleasant-faced lad with the merry laugh and the perfectly natural manner; we got on together as though we had known each other all our lives, in fact we were addressing one another by our christian names on the third day of our acquaintance. dick was a most ardent cricketer, and his { } baggage seemed to consist principally of a large and varied assortment of blazers of various australian athletic clubs. he insisted on wearing one of these, a quiet little affair of mauve, blue, and pink stripes, and our first stroll through asuncion became a sort of triumphal progress. the inhabitants flocked out of their houses, loud in their admiration of the "gringo's" (all foreigners are "gringos" in south america) tasteful raiment. so much so that i began to grow jealous, and returning to the hotel, i borrowed another of howard's blazers (if my memory serves me right, that of the "wonga-wonga wallabies"), an artistic little garment of magenta, orange, and green stripes. we then sauntered about asuncion, arm-in-arm, to the delirious joy of the populace. we soon had half the town at our heels, enthusiastic over these walking rainbows from the mysterious lands outside paraguay. these people were as inquisitive as children, and plied us with perpetual questions. since howard could not speak spanish, all the burden of conversation fell on me. as i occupied an official position, albeit a modest one, i thought it best to sink my identity, and became temporarily a citizen of the united states, mr. dwight p. curtis, of hicksville, pa., and i gave my hearers the most glowing and rose-coloured accounts of the enterprise and nascent industries of this progressive but, i fear, wholly imaginary spot. i can only trust that no paraguayan left his native land to seek his fortune in hicksville, pa., for he might { } have had to search the state of pennsylvania for some time before finding it. i have already recounted, earlier in these reminiscences, how the paraguayan minister for foreign affairs received me, and that his excellency on that occasion dispensed not only with shoes and stockings, but with a shirt as well. he was, however, like most people in spanish-speaking lands, courtesy itself. dick howard having heard that there was some races in a country town six miles away, was, like a true australian, wild to go to them. encouraged by our phenomenal success of the previous day, we arrayed ourselves in two new australian blazers, and rode out to the races, howard imploring me all the way to use my influence to let him have a mount there. the races were very peculiar. the course was short, only about three furlongs, and perfectly straight. only two horses ran at once, so the races were virtually a succession of "heats," but the excitement and betting were tremendous. the jockeys were little indian boys, and their "colours" consisted of red, blue, or green bathing drawers. otherwise they were stark naked, and, of course, bare-legged. the jockey's principal preoccupation seemed to be either to kick the opposing jockey in the face, or to crack him over the head with the heavy butts of their raw-hide whips. howard still wanted to ride. i pointed out to him the impossibility of exhibiting to the public { } his six feet of lean young australian in nothing but a pair of green bathing drawers. he answered that if he could only get a mount he would be quite willing to dispense with the drawers even. howard also had a few remarks to offer about the melbourne cup, and flemington racecourse, and was not wholly complimentary to this paraguayan country meeting. the ladies present were nearly all bare-foot, and clad in the invariable white petticoat and sheet. it was not in the least like the royal enclosure at ascot, yet they had far more on, and appeared more becomingly dressed than many of the ladies parading in that sacrosanct spot in this year of grace . every single woman, and every child, even infants of the tenderest age, had a green paraguayan cigar in their mouths. these paraguayan women were as beautifully built as classical statues; with exquisitely moulded little hands and feet. their "attaches," as the french term the wrist and ankles, were equally delicately formed. they were "tea with plenty of milk in it" colour, and though their faces were not pretty, they moved with such graceful dignity that the general impression they left was a very pleasing one. our blazers aroused rapturous enthusiasm. i am sure that the members of the "st. kilda wanderers" would have forgiven me for masquerading in their colours, could they have witnessed the terrific success i achieved in my tasteful, if brilliant, borrowed plumage. { } asuncion pleased me. this quaint little capital, stranded in its backwater in the very heart of the south american continent, was so remote from all the interests and movements of the modern world. the big three-hundred-year cathedral bore the unmistakable dignified stamp of the old spanish "conquistadores." it contained an altar-piece of solid silver reaching from floor to roof. how lopez must have longed to melt that altar-piece down for his own use! round the cathedral were some old houses with verandahs supported on palm trunks, beautifully carved in native patterns by indians under the direction of the jesuits. the jesuits had also originally introduced the orange tree into paraguay, where it had run wild all over the country, producing delicious fruit, which for some reason was often green, instead of being of the familiar golden colour. everyone envies what they do not possess. on the continent cafés are sometimes decorated with pictures of palms and luxuriant tropical vegetation, in order to give people of the frozen north an illusion of warmth. in steaming asuncion, on the other hand, the fashionable café was named, "the north pole." here an imaginative italian artist with a deficient sense of perspective and curious ideas of colour had decorated the walls with pictures of icebergs, snow, and polar bears, thus affording the inhabitants of this stew-pan of a town a delicious sense of arctic coolness. the "north pole" was the { } only place in paraguay where ice and iced drinks were to be procured. being the height of the summer, the heat was almost unbearable, and bathing in the river was risky on account of those hateful biting-fish. there was a spot two miles away, however, where a stream had been brought to the edge of the cliff overhanging the river, down which it dropped in a feathery cascade, forming a large pool below it. howard and i rode out every morning there to bathe and luxuriate in the cool water. the river made a great bend here, forming a bay half a mile wide. this bay was literally choked with _victoria regia_, the giant water-lily, with leaves as big as tea-trays, and great pink flowers the size of cabbages. the lilies were in full bloom then, quite half a mile of them, and they were really a splendid sight. i seem somehow in this description of the _victoria regia_ to have been plagiarising the immortal mrs. o'dowd, of "vanity fair," in her account of the glories of the hot-houses at her "fawther's" seat of glenmalony. few people now remember a fascinating book of the "'eighties," "the cruise of the falcon," recounting how six amateurs sailed a twenty-ton yacht from southampton to asuncion in paraguay. three of her crew got so bitten with paraguay that they determined to remain there. we met one of these adventurers by chance in asuncion, captain jardine, late of the p. and o. service, an elderly man. he invited us to visit them at { } patiño cué, the place where they had settled down, some twenty-five miles from the capital, though he warned us that we should find things extremely rough there, and that there was not one single stick of furniture in the house. he asked us to bring out our own hammocks and blankets, as well as our guns and saddles, the saddle being in my time an invariable item of a traveller's baggage. dick and i accordingly bought grass-plaited hammocks and blankets, and started two days later, "humping our swags," as the australian picturesquely expressed the act of carrying our own possessions. that colour-loving youth had donned a different blazer, probably that of the "coolgardie cockatoos." it would have put joseph's coat of many colours completely in the shade any day of the week, and attracted a great deal of flattering attention. the ambitious lopez had insisted on having a railway in his state, to show how progressive he was, so a railway was built. it ran sixty miles from asuncion to nowhere in particular, and no one ever wanted to travel by it; still it was unquestionably a railway. to give a finishing touch to this, lopez had constructed a railway station big enough to accommodate the traffic of paddington. it was, of course, not finished, but was quite large enough for its one train a day. the completed portion was imposing with columns and statues, the rest tailed off to nothing. here, to our amazement, we found a train composed of { } english rolling-stock, with an ancient engine built in manchester, and, more wonderful to say, with an englishman as engine-driver. the engine not having been designed for burning wood, the fire-box was too small, and the driver found it difficult to keep up steam with wood, as we found out during our journey. we travelled in a real english first-class carriage of immense antiquity, blue cloth and all. so decrepit was it that when the speed of the train exceeded five miles an hour (which was but seldom) the roof and sides parted company, and gaped inches apart. we seldom got up the gradients at the first or second try, but of course allowances must be made for a paraguayan railway. lopez had built patiño cué, for which we were bound, as a country-house for himself. he had not, of course, finished it, but had insisted on his new railway running within a quarter of a mile of his house, which we found very convenient. i could never have imagined such a curious establishment as the one at patiño cué. the large stone house, for which jardine paid the huge rent of £ per annum, was tumbling to ruin. three rooms only were fairly water-tight, but these had gaping holes in their roofs and sides, and the window frames had long since been removed. the fittings consisted of a few enamelled iron plates and mugs, and of one tin basin. packing cases served as seats and tables, and hammocks were slung on hooks. captain jardine did all the cooking and ran the establishment; his two companions (howard { } and i, for convenience's sake, simply termed them "the wasters") lay smoking in their hammocks all day, and did nothing whatever. i may add that "the wasters" supplied the whole financial backing. jardine wore native dress, with bare legs and sandals, a poncho round his waist, and another over his shoulders. a poncho is merely a fringed brown blanket with hole cut in it for the head to pass through. with his long grey beard streaming over his flowing garments, jardine looked like a neutral-tinted saint in a stained-glass window. it must be a matter for congratulation that, owing to the very circumstances of the case, saints in stained-glass windows are seldom called on to take violent exercise, otherwise their voluminous draperies would infallibly all fall off at the second step. jardine was a highly educated and an interesting man, with a love for books on metaphysics and other abstruse subjects. he carried a large library about with him, all of which lay in untidy heaps on the floor. he was unquestionably more than a little eccentric. the "wasters" did not count in any way, unless cheques had to be written. the other members of the establishment were an old indian woman who smoked perpetual cigars, and her grandson, a boy known as lazarus, from a physical defect which he shared with a biblical personage, on the testimony of the latter's sisters--you could have run a drag with that boy. the settlers had started as ranchers; but the { } "wasters" had allowed the cattle to break loose and scatter all over the country. they had been too lazy to collect them, or to repair the broken fences, so just lay in their hammocks and smoked. there were some fifty acres of orange groves behind the house. the energetic jardine had fenced these in, and, having bought a number of pigs, turned pork butcher. there was an abundance of fallen fruit for these pigs to fatten on, and jardine had built a smoke-house, where he cured his orange-fed pork, and smoked it with lemon wood. his bacon and hams were super-excellent, and fetched good prices in asuncion, where they were establishing quite a reputation. meanwhile, the "wasters" lay in their hammocks in the verandah and smoked. jardine told me that one of them had not undressed or changed his clothes for six weeks, as it was far too much trouble. judging from his appearance, he had not made use of soap and water either during that period. dick howard proved a real "handy man." in two days this lengthy, lean, sunburnt youth had rounded up and driven home the scattered cattle, and then set to work to mend and repair all the broken fences. he caught the horses daily, and milked the cows, an art i was never able myself to acquire, and made tea for himself in a "billy." patiño cué was a wonderful site for a house. it stood high up on rolling open ground, surrounded by intensely green wooded knolls. the { } virgin tropical forest extended almost up to the dilapidated building on one side, whilst in front of it the ground fell away to a great lake, three miles away. a long range of green hills rose the other side of the water, and everywhere clear little brooks gurgled down to the lake. i liked the place, in spite of its intense heat, and stayed there over a fortnight, helping with the cattle, and making myself as useful as i could in repairing what the "wasters" had allowed to go to ruin. they reposed meanwhile in their hammocks. it was very pretty country, and had the immense advantage of being free from mosquitoes. as there are disadvantages everywhere, to make up for this it crawled with snakes. jardine's culinary operations were simplicity itself. he had some immense earthen jars four feet high, own brothers to those seen on the stage in "ali baba and the forty thieves" at pantomime time. these must have been the identical jars in which the forty thieves concealed themselves, to be smothered with boiling oil by the crafty morgiana. by the way, i never could understand until i had seen fields of growing sesame in india why ali baba's brother should have mistaken the talisman words "open sesame" for "open barley." the two grains are very similar in appearance whilst growing, which explains it. jardine placed a layer of beef at the bottom of his jar. on that he put a layer of mandioca (the { } root from which tapioca is prepared), another layer of his own bacon, and a stratum of green vegetables. then more beef, and so on till the jar was half full. in went a handful of salt, two handfuls of red peppers, and two gallons of water, and then a wood fire was built round the pot, which simmered away day and night till all its contents were eaten. the old indian woman baked delicious bread from the root of the mandioca mixed with milk and cheese, and that constituted our entire dietary. there were no fixed meals. should you require food, you took a hunch of mandioca bread and a tin dipper, and went to the big earthen jar simmering amongst its embers in the yard. should you wish for soup, you put the dipper in at the top; if you preferred stew, you pushed it to the bottom. nothing could be simpler. as a rough and ready way of feeding a household it had its advantages, though there was unquestionably a certain element of monotony about it. as a variation from the eternal beef and mandioca, jardine begged dick and myself to shoot him as many snipe as possible, in the swamps near the big lake. those swamps were most attractive, and were simply alive with snipe and every sort of living creature. dick was an excellent shot, and we got from five to fifteen couple of snipe daily. the tree-crowned hillocks in the swamp were the haunts of macaws, great gaudy, screaming, winged rainbows of green and scarlet, and orange and blue, like some of dick's blazers endowed with feathers { } and motion. we had neither of us ever seen wild macaws before, and i am afraid that we shot a good many for the sheer pleasure of examining these garish parrots at close quarters, though they are quite uneatable. i shall carry all my life marks on my left hand where a macaw bit me to the bone. there were great brilliant-plumaged toucans too, droll freaks of nature, with huge horny bills nearly as large as their bodies, given them to crack the nuts on which they feed. they flashed swiftly pink through the air, but we never succeeded in getting one. then there were coypus, the great web-footed south american water-rat, called "nutria" in spanish, and much prized for his fur. that marsh was one of the most interesting places i have ever been in. the old indian woman warned us that we should both infallibly die of fever were we to go into the swamps at nightfall, but though dick and i were there every evening for a fortnight, up to our middles in water, we neither of us took the smallest harm, probably owing to the temporary absence of mosquitoes. the teeming hidden wild-life of the place appealed to us both irresistibly. the water-hog, or capincho, is a quaint beast, peculiar to south america. they are just like gigantic varnished glossy-black guinea pigs, with the most idiotically stupid expression on their faces. they are quite defenceless, and are the constant prey of alligators and jaguars. consequently they are very timid. these creatures live in the water all day, but come out in the evenings { } to feed on the reeds and water-herbage. by concealing ourselves amongst the reeds, and keeping perfectly still, we were able to see these uncouth, shy things emerging from their day hiding-places and begin browsing on the marsh plants. to see a very wary animal at close quarters, knowing that he is unconscious of your presence, is perfectly fascinating. we never attempted to shoot or hurt these capinchos; the pleasure of seeing the clumsy gambols of one of the most timid animals living, in its fancied security, was quite enough. the capincho if caught very young makes a delightful pet, for he becomes quite tame, and, being an affectionate animal, trots everywhere after his master, with a sort of idiotic simper on his face. one evening, on our return from the marsh, we were ill-advised enough to attempt a short cut home through the forest. the swift tropical night fell as we entered the forest, and in half an hour we were hopelessly lost, "fairly bushed," as dick put it. there is a feeling of complete and utter helplessness in finding oneself on a pitch-dark night in a virgin tropical forest that is difficult to express in words. the impenetrable tangles of jungle; the great lianes hanging from the trees, which trip you up at every step; the masses of thorny and spiky things that hold you prisoner; and, as regards myself personally, the knowledge that the forest was full of snakes, all make one realise that electric-lighted piccadilly has its distinct advantages. dick had the true australian's indifference to snakes. he never { } could understand my openly-avowed terror of these evil, death-dealing creatures, nor could he explain to himself the physical repugnance i have to these loathsome reptiles. this instinctive horror of snakes is, i think, born in some people. it can hardly be due to atavism, for the episode of the garden of eden is too remote to account of an inherited antipathy to these gliding, crawling abominations. we settled that we should have to sleep in the forest till daylight came, though, dripping wet as we both were from the swamp, it was a fairly direct invitation to malarial fever. the resourceful dick got an inspiration, and dragging his interminable length (he was like euclid's definition of a straight line) up a high tree, he took a good look at the familiar stars of his own southern hemisphere. getting his bearings from these, he also got our direction, and after a little more tree-climbing we reached our dilapidated temporary home in safety. i fear that i shall never really conquer my dislike to snakes, sharks, and earthquakes. jardine was a great and an omnivorous reader. dick too was very fond of reading. like the hero of "mr. sponge's sporting tour" he carried his own library with him. as in mr. sponge's case, it consisted of one book only, but in the place of being "mogg's cab fares," it was a guide to the australian turf, a sort of southern cross "ruff's guide," with a number of pedigrees of australian horses thrown in. dick's great intellectual amusement was learning these pedigrees by heart. i used { } to hear them for him, and, having a naturally retentive memory, could in the "'eighties" have passed a very creditable examination in the pedigrees of the luminaries of the australian turf. our evenings at patiño cué would have amused a spectator, had there been one. in the tumble-down, untidy apology for a room, jardine, seated on a packing-case under the one wall light, was immersed in his favourite herbert spencer; looking, in his flowing ponchos, long grey beard, and bare legs, like a bespectacled apostle. he always seemed to me to require an eagle, or a lion or some other apostolic adjunct, in order to look complete. i, on another packing-case, was chuckling loudly over "monsieur et madame cardinal," though paris seemed remote from paraguay. dick, pulling at a green cigar, a far-off look in his young eyes, was improving his mind by learning some further pedigrees of australian horses, at full length on the floor, where he found more room for his thin, endless legs; whilst the two "wasters" dozed placidly in their hammocks on the verandah. the "wasters," i should imagine, attended church but seldom. otherwise they ought to have ejaculated "we have left undone those things which we ought to have done" with immense fervour, for they never did anything at all. "lotos-eaters" might be a more poetic name than "wasters," for if ever there was a land "in which it seemed always afternoon," that land is paraguay. could one conceive of the "wasters" displaying { } such unwonted energy, it is possible that-- "and all at once they sang 'our island home is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam'." they had eaten of the lotos-fruit abundantly, and in the golden sunshine of paraguay, and amidst its waving green palms, they only wished-- "in the hollow lotos-land to live and lie reclined." i should perhaps add that "cafia," or sugar-cane spirit, is distilled in large quantities in paraguay, and that one at least of the lotos-eaters took a marked interest in this national product. there were some beautiful nooks in the forest, more especially one deep blue rocky pool into which a foaming cascade pattered through a thick encircling fringe of wild orange trees. this little hollow was brimful of loveliness, with the golden balls of the fruit, and the brilliant purple tangles of some unknown creeper reflected in the blue pool. dick and i spent hours there swimming, and basking _puris naturalibus_ on the rocks, until the whole place was spoilt for me by a rustling in the grass, as a hateful ochre-coloured creature wriggled away in sinuous coils from my bare feet. i accompanied jardine once or twice to a little village some five miles away, where he got the few household stores he required. this tiny village was a piece of seventeenth-century spain, dumped bodily down amid the riotous greenery of paraguay. round { } a tall white church in the florid jesuit style, a few beautiful spanish stone houses clustered, each with its tangle of tropical garden. there was not one single modern erection to spoil the place. here foaming bowls of chocolate were to be had, and delicious mandioca bread. it was a picturesque, restful little spot, so utterly unexpected in the very heart of the south american continent. i should like to put on the stage that tall white church tower cutting into the intense blue of the sky above, with the vivid green of the feathery palms reaching to its belfry, and the time-worn houses round it peeping out from thickets of scarlet poinsettias and hibiscus flowers. it would make a lovely setting for "cavalleria rusticana," for instance. i never regretted my stay at patiño cué. it gave one a glimpse of life brought down to conditions of bed-rock simplicity, and of types of character i had never come across before. we travelled back to asuncion on the engine of the train; i seated in front on the cow-catcher, dick, his coat off and his shirt-sleeves rolled back, on the footplate, officiating as amateur fireman. this vigorous young antipodean hurled logs into the fire-box of the venerable "vesuvius" as fast as though he were pitching in balls when practising his bowling at the nets, with the result that the crazy old engine attained a speed that must have fairly amazed her. when we stopped at stations, "vesuvius" had developed such a head of steam that she nearly blew her safety-valve off, { } and steam hissed from twenty places in her leaky joints. one ought never to be astonished at misplaced affections. i have seen old ladies lavish a wealth of tenderness on fat, asthmatical, and wholly repellent pugs, so i ought not to have been surprised at the immense pride the english driver took in his antique engine. i am bound to say that he kept her beautifully cleaned and burnished. his face beamed at her present performance, and he assured me that with a little coaxing he could knock sixty miles an hour out of "vesuvius." i fear that this statement "werged on the poetical," as mr. weller senior remarked on another occasion. i should much like to have known this man's history, and to have learnt how he had drifted into driving an engine of this futile, forlorn little paraguayan railway. i suspect, from certain expressions he used, that he was a deserter from the royal navy, probably an ex-naval stoker. as dick had ridden ten miles that morning to say good-bye to a lady, to whom he imagined himself devotedly attached, he was still very smart in white polo-breeches, brown butcher-boots and spurs, an unusual garb for a railway fireman. for the first time in the memory of the oldest living inhabitant, the train reached asuncion an hour before her time. the river steamers' cargo in their downstream trip consisted of cigars, "yerba mate," and oranges. these last were shipped in bulk, and i should like a clever artist to have drawn our steamer, with tons and tons of fruit, golden, { } lemon-yellow, and green, piled on her decks. it made a glowing bit of colour. the oranges were the only things in that steamer that smelt pleasantly. i can never understand why "yerba mate," or paraguayan tea, has never become popular in england. it is prepared from the leaves of the ilex, and is strongly aromatic and very stimulating. i am myself exceedingly fond of it. its lack of popularity may be due to the fact that it cannot be drunk in a cup, but must be sucked from a gourd through a perforated tube. it can (like most other things) be bought in london, if you know where to go to. at buenos ayres i was quite sorry to part with the laughing, lanky australian lad who had been such a pleasant travelling companion, and who seemed able to do anything he liked with his arms and legs. i expect that he could have done most things with his brains too, had he ever given them a chance. howard's great merit was that he took things as they came, and never grumbled at the discomforts and minor hardships one must expect in a primitive country like paraguay. our tastes as regards wild things (with the possible exception of snakes) rather seemed to coincide, and, neither of us being town-bred, we did not object to rather elementary conditions. i will own that i was immensely gratified at receiving an overseas letter some eight years later from dick, telling me that he was married and had a little daughter, and asking { } me to stand godfather for his first child. my blue satin bedroom looked more ridiculously incongruous than ever after the conditions to which i had been used at patiño cué. the river plate is over twenty miles broad at buenos ayres, and it is not easy to realise that this great expansive is all fresh water. the "great silver river" is, however, very shallow, except in mid-channel. some twenty-five miles from the city it forms on its southern bank a great archipelago of wooded islands interspersed with hundreds of winding channels, some of them deep enough to carry ocean-going steamers. this is known as the tigre, and its shady tree-lined waterways are a great resort during the sweltering heat of an argentine summer. it is the most ideal place for boating, and boasts a very flourishing english rowing club, with a large fleet of light thames-built boats. here during the summer months i took the roughest of rough bungalows, with two english friends. the three-roomed shanty was raised on high piles, out of reach of floods, and looked exactly like the fishermen's houses one sees lining the rivers in native villages in the malay states. during the intense heat of january the great delight of life at the tigre was the midnight swim in the river before turning in. the tigre is too far south for the alligators, biting-fish, electric rays (i allude to fish; not to beams of light), or other water-pests which nature has lavished on the tropics in order to counteract their irresistible charm--and to prevent the whole world from { } settling down there. the water of the tigre was so warm that one could remain in it over an hour. one mental picture i am always able to conjure up, and i can at will imagine myself at midnight paddling lazily down-stream on my back through the milk-warm water, in the scented dusk, looking up at the pattern formed by the leaves of the overhanging trees against the night sky; a pattern of black lace-work against the polished silver of the southern moonlight, whilst the water lapped gently against the banks, and an immense joy at being alive filled one's heart. i went straight from buenos ayres to canada on a tramp steamer, and a month after leaving the plate found myself in the backwoods of the province of quebec, on a short but very famous river running into the bay of chaleurs, probably the finest salmon river in the world, and i was fortunate enough to hook and to land a lb. salmon before i had been there one hour. no greater contrast in surroundings can be imagined. in the place of the dead-flat, treeless levels of southern argentina, there were dense woods of spruce, cedar, and var, climbing the hills as far as the eye could see. instead of the superficially courteous argentine gaucho, with his air of half-concealed contempt for the "gringo," and the ever-ready knife, prepared to leap from his waist-belt at the slightest provocation, there were the blunt, outspoken, hearty canadian canoe-men, all of them lumbermen during the winter months. the fishing was ideal, and the { } fish ran uniformly large and fought like trojans in the heavy water, but, unfortunately, every single winged insect on the north american continent had arranged for a summer holiday on this same river at the same time. there they all were in their myriads; black-flies, sand-flies, and mosquitoes, all enjoying themselves tremendously. by day one was devoured by black-flies, who drew blood every time they bit. at nightfall the black-flies very considerately retired to rest, and the little sand-flies took their place. the mosquitoes took no rest whatever. these rollicking insects were always ready to turn night into day, or day into night, indiscriminately, provided there were some succulent humans to feed on. a net will baffle the mosquito, but for the sand-flies the only effective remedy was a "smudge" burning in an iron pail. a "smudge" is a fire of damp fir bark, which smoulders but does not blaze. it also emits huge volumes of smoke. we dined every night in an atmosphere denser than a thick london fog, and the coughing was such that a chance visitor would have imagined that he had strayed into a sanatorium for tuberculosis. things are done expeditiously in canada. the ground had been cleared, the wooden house in which we lived erected, and the rough track through the forest made, all in eight weeks. no one who has not tried it can have any idea of the intense cold of the water in these short canadian rivers. their course is so short, and they { } are so overhung with fir trees, that the fierce rays of a canadian summer sun hardly touch them, so the water remains about ten degrees above freezing point. it would have been impossible to swim our river. even a short dip of half a minute left one with gasping breath and chattering teeth. i was surprised to find, too, that a canadian forest is far more impenetrable than a tropical one. here, the fallen trees and decay of countless centuries have formed a thick crust some two or three feet above the real soil. this moss-grown crust yields to the weight of a man and lets him through, so walking becomes infinitely difficult, and practically impossible. to extricate yourself at every step from three feet of decaying rubbish is very exhausting. in the tropics, that great forcing-house, this decaying vegetable matter would have given life to new and exuberant growths; but not so in canada, frost-bound for four months of the twelve. two-foot-wide tracks had been cut through the forest along the river, and the trees there were "blazed" (_i.e._, notched, so as to show up white where the bark had been hacked off), to indicate the direction of the trails; otherwise it would have been impossible to make one's way through the _débris_ of a thousand years for more than a few yards. i never saw such a wealth of wild fruit as on the banks of this canadian stream. wild strawberries and raspberries grew in such profusion that a bucketful of each could be filled in half an hour. { } there was plenty of animal life too. a certain pretty little black and white striped beast was quite disagreeably common. this attractive cat-like little creature was armed with stupendous offensive powers, as all who have experienced a skunk's unspeakably disgusting odour will acknowledge. unless molested, they did not make use of the terrible possibilities they had at their command. there were also plenty of wandering black bears. these animals live for choice on grain and berries, and are not hostile to man without provocation, but they have enormous strength, and it is a good working rule to remember that it is unwise ever to vex a bear unnecessarily, even a mild-tempered black bear. our tumbling, roaring canadian river cutting its way through rounded, densely-wooded hills was wonderfully pretty, and one could not but marvel at the infinitely varied beauty with which providence has clothed this world of ours, wherever man has not defaced nature's perfect craftsmanship. the point of view of the country-bred differs widely from that of the town dweller in this respect. here is a splendid waterfall, churning itself into whirling cataracts of foam down the face of a jagged cliff. the townsman cries, "what tremendous power is running to waste here! let us harness it quickly. we will divert the falls into hideous water-pipes, and bring them to our turbines. we will build a power-house cheaply of corrugated iron, and in time we shall so develop { } this sleepy countryside that no one will recognise it." here is a great forest; a joy to the eyes. "the price of timber is rising; let us quickly raze it to the ground." "our expert tells us that under this lovely valley there runs a thick seam of coal. we will sink shafts, and build blatantly hideous towns and factories, pollute this clear air with smoke and mephitic vapours, and then fall down and worship the great god progress. we will also pocket fat dividends." the stupid, unprogressive son of woods and green fields shudders at such things; the son of asphalte, stuffy streets, tramways, and arc lights glories in them. like many other things, it all depends on the point of view. { } chapter x former colleagues who have risen to eminence--kiderlin-waechter--aehrenthal--colonel klepsch--the discomfiture of an inquisitive journalist--origin of certain russian scares--tokyo--dulness of geisha dinners--japanese culinary curiosities--"musical chairs"--lack of colour in japan--the tokugawa dynasty--japanese gardens--the transplanted suburban embassy house--cherry-blossom--japanese politeness--an unfortunate incident in rome--eastern courtesy--the country in japan--an imperial duck catching party--an up-to-date tokyo house--a shinto temple--linguistic difficulties at a dinner-party--the economical colleague--japan defaced by advertisements. petrograd was the only capital at which i was stationed in which there was a diplomatic _table d'hôte_. in one of the french restaurants there, a room was specially set apart for the diplomats, and here the "chers collègues" foregathered nightly, when they had no other engagements. when a spaniard and a dane, a roumanian and a dutchman, a hungarian and an englishman dine together frequently, it becomes a subject of thankfulness that the universal use of the french language as a means of international communication has mitigated the linguistic difficulties brought about by the ambitious tower-builders of babel. two men whom i met frequently at that diplomatic _table d'hôte_ rose afterwards to important { } positions in their own countries. they were baron von kiderlin-waechter, the german, and baron von aehrenthal, the austrian, both of whom became ministers for foreign affairs in their respective countries, and both of whom are now dead. kiderlin-waechter arrived in petrograd as quite a young man with the reputation of being bismarck's favourite and most promising pupil. though a south german by birth, kiderlin-waechter had acquired an overbearing and dictatorial manner of the most approved prussian type. when a number of young men, all of whom are on very friendly terms with each other, constantly meet, there is naturally a good deal of fun and chaff passed to and fro between them. diplomats are no exception to this rule, and the fact that the ten young men talking together may be of ten different nationalities is no bar to the interchange of humorous personalities, thanks to the convenient french language, which lends itself peculiarly to "persiflage." germans can never understand the form of friendly banter which we term chaff, and always resent it deeply. i have known german diplomats so offended at a harmless joke that they have threatened to challenge the author of it to a duel. i should like to pay a belated tribute to the memory of the late count lovendal, danish minister in petrograd; peace to his ashes! this kindly, tactful, middle-aged man must during my time in petrograd have stopped at least eight duels. people in trouble went straight to count lovendal, and this { } shrewd, kind-hearted, experienced man of the world heard them with infinite patience, and then always gave them sound advice. as years went on, count lovendal came to be a sort of recognised court of honour, to whom all knotty and delicate points were referred. he, if anyone, should have "blessed are the peacemakers" inscribed on his tomb. at least four of the duels he averted were due to the inability of germans to stand chaff. kiderlin-waechter, for instance, was for ever taking offence at harmless jokes, and threatening swords and pistols in answer to them. he was a very big, gross-looking, fair-haired man; with exactly the type of face that a caricaturist associates with the average prussian. his face was slashed with a generous allowance of the scars of which germans are so proud, as testifying to their prowess in their student-duelling days. i think that it was the late sir wilfrid lawson who, referring to the beer-drinking habits of german students and their passionate love of face-slashing, described them as living in a perpetual atmosphere of "scars and swipes." though from south germany, kiderlin snapped out his words with true "preussische grobheit" in speaking german. fortunately, it is impossible to obtain this bullying effect in the french language. it does not lend itself to it. i should be guilty of exaggeration were i to say that kiderlin-waechter was wildly adored by his foreign colleagues. he became minister for foreign affairs of the german { } empire, but made the same mistake as some of his predecessors, notably count herbert bismarck, had done. they attributed bismarck's phenomenal success to his habitual dictatorial, bullying manner. this was easily copied; they forgot the genius behind the bully, which could not be copied, and did not realise that bismarck's tremendous brain had not fallen to their portion. kiderlin-waechter's tenure of office was a short one; he died very suddenly in . he was a violent anglophobe. baron von aehrenthal was a very different stamp of man. he was of semitic origin, and in appearance was a good-looking, tall, slim, dark young fellow with very pleasing manners. some people indeed thought his manners too pleasant, and termed them subservient. i knew aehrenthal very well indeed, and liked him, but i never suspected that under that very quiet exterior there lay the most intense personal ambition. he became austro-hungarian minister for foreign affairs in , being raised to the rank of count next year. this quiet, sleepy-mannered man began embarking on a recklessly bold foreign policy, and, to the surprise of those who fancied that they knew him well, exhibited a most domineering spirit. the old emperor francis joseph's mental powers were failing, and it was aehrenthal who persuaded him to put an end to the understanding with russia under which the _status quo_ in the balkan states was guaranteed, and to astonish europe in by proclaiming the annexation of bosnia and herzegovina { } to the austrian empire. this step, owing to the seething discontent it aroused in bosnia, led directly to the catastrophe of sarajevo on june , , and plunged europe into the most terrible war of history. aehrenthal, whether intentionally or not, played directly into the hands of the pan-germanic party, and succeeded in tying his own country, a pliant vassal, to the chariot-wheels of berlin. it was aehrenthal who brought the immemorially old hapsburg monarchy crashing to the ground and by his foreign policy caused the proud austrian empire to collapse like a house of cards. he did not live to see the final results of his work, for he died in . colonel klepsch, the austro-hungarian military attaché at petrograd, another _habitué_ of the diplomatic _table d'hôte_, was a most remarkable man. he knew more of the real state of affairs in russia, and of the inner workings and intentions of the russian government, than any other foreigner in the country, _and his information was invariably correct_. nearly all the foreign ambassadors consulted colonel klepsch as to the probable trend of affairs in russia, and at times he called on them and volunteered pieces of information. it was well known that his source of intelligence was a feminine one, and experience had proved that it was always to be relied upon. to this day i do not know whether this mysterious, taciturn man was at times used as a convenient mouthpiece by the russian government, at the instigation of a { } certain person to whom he was devotedly attached; whether he acted on instructions from his own ambassador, or if he took the steps he did on his own initiative. this tall, red-haired, silent man, with his uncanny knowledge of every detail of what was happening in the country, will always remain an enigma to me. i mentioned earlier in these reminiscences that lord dufferin on one occasion accomplished the difficult feat of turning an english newspaper correspondent out of his house with the most charming courtesy. after an interval of nearly forty years, i can without indiscretion say how this came about. the person in question, whom we will call mr. q., was an exceedingly enterprising journalist, the correspondent of a big london daily. he was also pretty unscrupulous as to the methods he employed in gathering information. it is quite obviously the duty of a newspaper correspondent to collect information for his paper. it is equally clearly the duty of those to whom official secrets are entrusted to prevent their becoming public property; so here we have conflicting interests. at times it happens that an "incident" arises between two governments apparently trivial in itself, but capable of being fanned into such a fierce flame by popular opinion as to make it difficult for either government to recede from the position they had originally taken up. the press screams loudly on both sides, and every government shrinks from { } incurring the unpopularity which a charge of betraying the national interests would bring upon it. experience has shown that in these cases the difficulties can usually be smoothed down, provided the whole matter be kept secret, and that neither the public nor the press of either of the two countries concerned have an inkling of the awkward situation that has arisen. an indiscreet or hysterical press can blow a tiny spark into a roaring conflagration and work up popular feeling to fever-pitch. it may surprise people to learn that barely twenty years ago such a situation arose between our own country and another european power (_not_ germany). those in charge of the negotiations on both sides very wisely determined that the matter should be concealed absolutely from the public and the press of both countries, and not one word about it was allowed to leak out. otherwise the situation might have been one of extreme gravity, for it was again one of those cases where neither government could give way without being accused of pusillanimity. as it was, the matter was settled amicably in a week, and to this day very few people know that this very serious difficulty ever occurred. nearly forty years ago, just such a situation had arisen between us and the russian government; but the ambassador was convinced that he could smooth it away provided that the whole thing were kept secret. mr. q. was a first-rate journalist, and his _flair_ { } as a newspaperman told him that _something_ was wrong. from the russians he could learn nothing; they were as close as wax; so mr. q. turned his attention to the chancery of the british embassy. his methods were simple. he gained admission to the chancery on some pretext or another, and then walking about the room, and talking most volubly, he cast a roving eye over any papers that might be lying about on the tables. in all chanceries a book called the register is kept in which every document received or sent out is entered, with, of course, its date, and a short summary of its contents. it is a large book, and reposes on its own high desk. ours stood in a window overlooking the neva. mr. q. was not troubled with false delicacy. under pretence of admiring the view over the river, he attempted to throw a rapid eye over the register. a colleague of mine, as a gentle hint, removed the register from under mr. q.'s very nose, and locked it up in the archive press. mr. q., however, was not thin-skinned. he came back again and again, till the man became a positive nuisance. we always cleared away every paper before he was allowed admittance. i was only twenty-two or twenty-three then, and i devised a strictly private scheme of my own for mr. q.'s discomfiture. all despatches received from the foreign office in those days were kept folded in packets of ten, with a docket on each, giving a summary of its contents. i prepared two despatches for mr. q.'s private eye and, after much { } cogitation, settled that they should be about afghanistan, which did not happen to be the particular point in dispute between the two governments at that time. i also decided on a rhyming docket. it struck me as a pleasing novelty, and i thought the jingle would impress itself on mr. q.'s memory, for he was meant to see this bogus despatch. i took eight sheets of foolscap, virgin, spotless, unblackened, folded them in the orthodox fashion, and docketed them in a way i remember to this day. it ran: first the particular year, then "foreign office no. . secret and confidential. dated march . received march ." then came the rhyming docket, "general kaufman's rumoured plan to make abdurrahman khan ruler of afghanistan." under that i wrote in red ink in a different hand, with a fine pen, "_urgent_. instructions already acted on. see further instructions re afghanistan in no. ." i was only twenty-two then, and my sense of responsibility was not fully developed, or i should not have acted so flightily. it still strikes me though as an irresistibly attractive baited hook to offer to an inquisitive newspaperman. i grieve to say that i also wrote a "fake" decypher of a purely apocryphal code telegram purporting to have come from london. this was also on the subject of { } afghanistan. it struck me at the time as a perfectly legitimate thing to do, in order to throw this paul pry off the scent, for the ambassador had impressed on us all the vital importance of not disclosing the real matter in dispute. i put these flagrant forgeries in a drawer of my table and waited. i had not to wait long. my colleagues having all gone out to luncheon, i was alone in the chancery one day, when mr. q.'s card was brought in to me. i kept him waiting until i had cleared every single despatch from the tables and had locked them up. i also locked up the register, but put an eight-year-old one, exactly similar in appearance, in its place, opening it at a date two days earlier than the actual date, in order that mr. q. might not notice that the page (and "to-morrow's" page as well) was already filled up, and the bogus despatch and fake telegram from my drawer were duly laid on the centre table. at twenty-two i was a smooth-faced youth, in appearance, i believe, much younger than my real age. mr. q. came in. he had the "well, old man" style, accompanied by a thump on the back, which i peculiarly detest. he must have blessed his luck in finding such a simple youth in sole charge of the chancery. mr. q. pursued his usual tactics. he talked volubly in a loud voice, walking about the room meanwhile. the idiotic boy smoked cigarettes, and gaped inanely. mr. q. went as usual to the window where the register lay in order to admire the view, and the pudding-brained youth noticed nothing, but lit { } a fresh cigarette. that young fool never saw that mr. paul pry read unblushingly half a column of the eight-year-old register (how it must have puzzled him!) under his very eyes. mr. q. then went to the centre table, where he had, of course, noticed the two papers lying, and proceeded to light a cigar. that cigar must have drawn very badly, for mr. q. had occasion to light it again and again, bending well over the table as he did so. he kept the unsuspicious youth engaged in incessant conversation meanwhile. so careless and stupid a boy ought never to have been left in charge of important documents. finally mr. q., having gained all the information for which he had been thirsting so long, left in a jubilant frame of mind, perfectly unconscious that he had been subjected to the slightest crural tension. when the councillor of embassy returned, i made a clean breast of what i had done, and showed him the bogus despatch and telegram i had contrived. quite rightly, i received a very severe reprimand. i was warned against ever acting in such an irregular fashion again, under the direst penalties. in extenuation, i pointed out to the councillor that the inquisitive mr. q. was now convinced that our difficulty with russia was over afghanistan. i further added that should anyone be dishonourable enough to come into the chancery and deliberately read confidential documents which he knew were not intended for his eye, i clearly could not { } be held responsible for any false impressions he might derive from reading them. that, i was told sharply, was no excuse for my conduct. after this "official wigging," the councillor invited me to dine with him that night, when we laughed loudly over mr. q.'s discomfiture. that person became at length such a nuisance that "his name was put on the gate," and he was refused admission to the embassy. the great london daily which mr. q. represented at petrograd published some strong articles on the grave menace to the empire which a change of rulers in afghanistan might bring about; coupled with cassandra-like wails over the purblind british statesmen who were wilfully shutting their eyes to this impending danger, as well as to baneful russian machinations on our indian frontier. there were also some unflattering allusions to abdurrahman khan. i, knowing that the whole story had originated in my own brain, could not restrain a chuckle whilst perusing these jeremiads. after reading some particularly violent screed, the councillor of embassy would shake his head at me. "this is more of your work, you wretched boy!" after an interval of forty years this little episode can be recounted without harm. talking of newspaper enterprise, many years later, when the emperor alexander iii died, the editor of a well-known london evening paper, a great friend of mine, told me in confidence of a journalistic "scoop" he was meditating. alexander iii { } had died at livadia in the crimea, and his body was to make a sort of triumphal progress through russia. the editor (he is no longer with us, but when i term him "harry" i shall be revealing his identity to the few) was sending out a frenchman as special correspondent, armed with a goodly store of roubles, and instructions to get himself engaged as temporary assistant to the undertaker in charge of the emperor's funeral. this cost, i believe, a considerable sum, but the frenchman, having entered on his gruesome duties, was enabled to furnish the london evening paper with the fullest details of all the funeral ceremonies. the reason the younger diplomats foregathered so in petrograd was that, as i said before, petrograd was to all intents and purposes extra-european. apart from its charming society, the town, qua town, offered but few resources. the younger continental diplomats felt the entire absence of cafés, of music-halls, and of places of light entertainment very acutely; so they were thrown on each other's society. in far eastern posts such as pekin or tokyo, the diplomats live entirely amongst themselves. for a european, there are practically no resources whatever in tokyo. no one could possibly wish to frequent a japanese theatre, or a japanese restaurant, when once the novelty had worn off, and even geisha entertainments are deadly dull to one who cannot understand a word of the language. let us imagine a party of europeans arriving at some fashionable { } japanese restaurant for a geisha entertainment. they will, of course, remove their shoes before proceeding upstairs. i was always unfortunate enough to find on these occasions one or more holes in my socks gaping blatantly. in time one learns in japan to subject one's socks to a close scrutiny in order to make sure that they are intact, for everyone must be prepared to remove his shoes at all hours of the day. we will follow the europeans up to a room on the upper floor, tastefully arranged in japanese fashion, and spotlessly neat and clean. the temperature in this room in the winter months would be arctic, with three or four "fire-pots" containing a few specks of mildly-glowing charcoal waging a futile contest against the penetrating cold. the room is apparently empty, but from behind the sliding-panels giggles and titters begin, gradually increasing in volume until the panels slide back, and a number of self-conscious overdressed children step into the room, one taking her place beside each guest. these are "micos"; little girls being trained as professional geishas. the european conception of a geisha is a totally wrong one. they are simply entertainers; trained singers, dancers, and story-tellers. the guests seat themselves clumsily and uncomfortably on the floor and the dinner begins. japanese dishes are meant to please the eye, which is fortunate, for they certainly do not appeal to the palate. i invariably drew one of the big pots of flowers which always { } decorate these places close up to me, and consigned to its kindly keeping all the delicacies of the japanese _cuisine_ which were beyond my assimilative powers, such as slices of raw fish sprinkled with sugar, and seasoned with salted ginger. the tiresome little micos kept up an incessant chatter. their stories were doubtless extraordinarily humorous to anyone understanding japanese, but were apt to lose their point for those ignorant of the language. the abortive attempts of the europeans to eat with chopsticks afforded endless amusement to these bedizened children; they shook with laughter at seeing all the food slide away from these unaccustomed table implements. not till the dinner was over did the geishas proper make their appearance. in japan the amount of bright colour in a woman's dress varies in inverse ratio to her moral rectitude. as our geishas were all habited in sober mouse-colour, or dull neutral-blue, i can only infer that they were ladies of the very highest respectability. they were certainly wonderfully attractive little people. they were not pretty according to our standards, but there was a vivacity and a sort of air of dainty grace about them that were very captivating. their singing is frankly awful. i have heard four-footed musicians on the london tiles produce sweeter sounds, but their dancing is graceful to a degree. unfortunately, one of the favourite amusements of these charming and vivacious little people is to play "musical chairs"--without any chairs! they made all the { } european men follow them round and round the room whilst two geishas thrummed on a sort of guitar. as soon as the music stopped everyone was expected to sit down with a bang on the floor, to these little japs five feet high, the process was easy, and may have seemed good fun; to a middle-aged gentleman, "vir pietate gravis," these violent shocks were more than painful, and i failed to derive the smallest amusement from them. no japanese dinner would be complete without copious miniature cups of sake. this rice-spirit is always drunken hot; it is not disagreeable to the taste, being like warm sherry with a dash of methylated spirit thrown in, but the little sake bottles and cups are a joy to the eye. this innately artistic people delight to lavish loving care in fashioning minute objects; many english drawing-rooms contain sake bottles in enamel or porcelain ranged in cabinets as works of art. their form would be more familiar to most people than their use. japanese always seem to look on a love of colour as showing rather vulgar tastes. the more refined the individual, the more will he adhere to sober black and white and neutral tints in his house and personal belongings. the emperor's palace in kyoto is decorated entirely in black and white, with unpainted, unlacquered woodwork, and no colour anywhere. the kyoto palace of the great tokugawa family, on the other hand, a place of astounding beauty, blazes with gilding, enamels, and lacquer, as do all the tombs and temples erected by this dynasty. the tokugawas usurped power as { } shoguns in , reducing the mikado to a mere figure-head as spiritual ruler, and the shoguns ruled japan absolutely until , when they were overthrown, and shogun and mikado were merged into one under the title of emperor. i fancy that the japanese look upon the polychrome splendour of all the buildings erected by the tokugawas as proof that they were very inferior to the ancient dynasty, who contented themselves with plain buildings severely decorated in black and white. the lack of colour in japan is very noticeable on arriving from untidy, picturesque china. the beautiful neatness and cleanliness of japan are very refreshing after slovenly china, but the endless rows of little brown, unpainted, tidy houses, looking like so many rabbit hutches, are depressing to a degree. the perpetual earthquakes are responsible for the low elevation of these houses and also for their being invariably built of wood, as is indeed everything else in the country. i was immensely disappointed at the sight of the first temples i visited in japan. the forms were beautiful enough, but they were all of unpainted wood, without any colour whatever, and looked horribly neutral-tinted. all the famous temples of kyoto are of plain, unpainted, unvarnished wood. the splendid group of temples at nikko are the last word in japanese art. they glow with colour; with scarlet and black lacquer, gilding, enamels, and bronzes, every detail finished like jewellers' work with exquisite craftmanship, and they are amongst the most { } beautiful things in the world; but they were all erected by the tokugawa dynasty, as were the equally superb temples in the shiba park at tokyo. this family seemed determined to leave japan less colourless than they found it; in their great love for scarlet lacquer they must have been the first people who thought of painting a town red. the same lack of colour is found in the gardens. i had pictured a japanese garden as a dream of beauty, so when i was shewn a heap of stones interspersed with little green shrubs and dwarf trees, without one single flower, i was naturally disappointed, nor had i sufficient imagination to picture a streak of whitewash daubed down a rock as a quivering cascade of foaming water. "our gardens, sir," said my host, "are not intended to inspire hilarit .. ee, but rather to create a gentle melanchol .. ee." as regards myself, his certainly succeeded in its object. a friend of mine, whose gardens, not a hundred miles from london, are justly famous, takes immense pride in her japanese garden, as she fondly imagines it to be. at the time of king george's coronation she invited the special japanese envoys to luncheon, for the express purpose of showing them her gardens afterwards. she kept the japanese garden to the last as a _bonne-bouche_, half-expecting these children of the land of the rising sun to burst into happy tears at this reminder of their distant island home. the special envoys thanked her with true japanese politeness, and loudly { } expressed their delight at seeing a real english garden. they added that they had never even imagined anything like this in japan, and begged for a design of it, in order that they might create a real english garden in their native land on their return home. as i have said, no japanese woman can wear bright colours without sacrificing her moral reputation, but little girls may wear all the colours of the rainbow until they are eight years old or so. these little girls, with their hair cut straight across their forehead, are very attractive-looking creatures, whereas a japanese boy, with his cropped head, round face, and projecting teeth, is the most comically hideous little object imaginable. these children's appearance is spoilt by an objectionable superstition which decrees it unlucky to use a pocket-handkerchief on a child until he, or she, is nine years old. the result is unspeakably deplorable. the interior of our embassy at tokyo was rather a surprise. owing to the constant earthquakes in tokyo and yokohama, all the buildings have to be of wood. the british embassy was built in london (i believe by a very well-known firm in tottenham court road), and was shipped out to japan complete down to its last detail. the architect who designed it unhappily took a glorified suburban villa as his model. so the tokyo embassy house is an enlarged "belmont," or "the cedars," or "tokyo towers." every { } familiar detail is there; the tiled hall, the glazed door into the garden, and the heavy mahogany chimneypieces and overmantels. in the library with its mahogany book-cases, green morocco chairs, and green plush curtains, it was difficult to realise that one was not in hampstead or upper tooting. i always felt that i was quite out of the picture unless i sallied forth at a.m. with a little black bag in my hand, and returned at p.m. with some fish in a bass-basket. in spite of being common-place, the house was undeniably comfortable. everything japanese was rigidly excluded from it. that in far-off lands is very natural. people do not care to be reminded perpetually of the distance they are away from home. in calcutta the maidan, the local hyde park, has nothing eastern about it. except in the eden gardens in one corner of it, where there is a splendid tangle of tropical vegetation, there is not one single palm tree on the maidan. the broad sweeps of turf, clumps of trees, and winding roads make an excellent imitation of hyde park transferred to the banks of the hooghly, and this is intentional. there is one spot in particular, where the tall gothic spire of st. paul's cathedral rises out of a clump of trees beyond a great tank (it may be pointed out that "tank" in india does not refer to a clumsy, mobile engine of destruction, but is the word used for a pool or pond), which might be in kensington gardens but for the temperature. the average briton likes to be reminded of his home, and generally manages to carry { } it about with him somehow. the russian embassy at tokyo had been built in the same way in paris and sent out, and was a perfect reproduction of a french louis xv house. the garden of the british embassy had one striking feature which i have seen nowhere else; hedges of clipped camellias, four feet high. when these blossomed in the spring, they looked like solid walls of pink, crimson, or white flowers, a really beautiful sight! some former british minister had planted the public roads round the embassy with avenues of the pink-flowering cherry, as a present to the city of tokyo. the japanese affect to look down on the pink cherry, when compared to their adored white cherry-blossom, i suppose because there is colour in it. certainly the acres of white cherry-blossom in the uyeno park at tokyo are one of the sights of japan. in no other country in the world would the railways run special trains to enable the country-people to see the cherries in full bloom in this uyeno park. the blossom is only supposed to be at its best for three days. in no other country either would people flock by hundreds to a temple, as they did at kyoto, to look at a locally-famed contrast of red plum-blossom against dark-brown maple leaves. i liked these japanese country-people. the scrupulously neat old peasant women, with their grey hair combed carefully back, and their rosy faces, were quite attractive. their intense ceremonious politeness to each other always amused me. whole family parties would continue { } bowing to each other for ten minutes on end at railway stations, sucking their breath, and rubbing their knees. when they had finished, someone would recommence, and the whole process would have to be gone through again, the children sucking their breath louder even than their elders. anybody who has lived in a warm climate must be familiar with the curious sound of thousands of frogs croaking at once in a pond or marsh at night-time. the sound of hundreds of japanese wooden clogs clattering against the tiles of a railway platform is exactly like that. in the big shimbashi station at tokyo, as the clogs pattered over the tiles, by shutting my eyes i could imagine that i was listening to a frogs' orchestra in some large marsh. excessive politeness brings at times its own penalty. at the beginning of these reminiscences i have related how i went with a special embassy to rome in my extreme youth. the day before our departure from rome, king humbert gave a farewell luncheon party at the quirinal to the special british ambassador and his suite, including of course myself. at this luncheon a somewhat comical incident occurred. when we took our leave, queen margherita, then still radiantly beautiful, offered her hand first to the special british ambassador. he, a courtly and gallant gentleman of the old school, at once dropped on one knee, in spite of his age, and kissed the queen's hand "in the grand manner." the permanent british ambassador, the late sir augustus paget, { } most courteous and genial of men, followed his temporary colleague's example, and also dropped on one knee. the italian ministers present could not do less than follow the lead of the foreigners, or show themselves less courteous than the _forestieri_, so they too had perforce to drop on one knee whilst kissing the queen's hand. a hugely obese minister, buttoned into the tightest of frockcoats, approached the queen. with immense difficulty he lowered himself on to one knee, and kissed the royal hand; but no power on earth seemed equal to raising him to his feet again. the corpulent minister grew purple in the face; the most ominous sounds of the rending of cloth and linen re-echoed through the room; but still he could not manage to rise. the queen held out her hand to assist her husband's adipose adviser to regain his feet, but he was too dignified, or too polite, to accept it. the rending of the statesman's most intimate garments became more audible than ever; the portly minister seemed on the verge of an attack of apoplexy. it must be understood that the queen was standing alone before the throne, with this unfortunate dignitary kneeling before her; the remainder of the guests were standing in a semi-circle some twenty feet away. the queen's mouth began to twitch ominously, until, in spite of her self-control, after a few preliminary splutters of involuntary merriment, she broke down, and absolutely shook with laughter. sir augustus paget and a roman prince came up and saved the situation by raising, with infinite difficulty, the unfortunate { } italian statesman to his feet. as he resumed a standing position, a perfect niagara of oddments of apparel, of tags and scraps of his most private under-garments, rained upon the floor, and we all experienced a feeling of intense relief when this capable, if corpulent, cabinet minister was enabled to regain the background with all his clothing outwardly intact. and all this came about from an excess of politeness. the east has always been the land of flowery compliments, also the land of hyperbole. i once saw the answer the viceroy of india had received from a certain tributary prince, who had been reprimanded in the sharpest fashion by the government of india. the native prince had been warned in the bluntest of language that unless he mended his ways at once he would be forthwith deposed, and another ruler put in his place. a list of his recent enormities was added, in order to refresh his memory, and the warning as to the future was again emphasized. the prince's answer, addressed direct to the viceroy, began as follows: "your excellency's gracious message has reached me. it was more precious to the eyes than a casket of rubies; sweeter to the taste than a honeycomb; more delightful to the ears than the song of ten thousand nightingales. i spread it out before me, and read it repeatedly: each time with renewed pleasure." considering the nature of the communication, that native prince must have been of a touchingly grateful disposition. { } the late duke of edinburgh was once presented with an address at hong kong from the corporation of chinese merchants, in which he was told, amongst other things, that he "was more glorious than a phoenix sitting in a crimson nest with fourteen golden tails streaming behind him." surely a charming flight of fancy! true politeness in china demands that you should depreciate everything of your own and exalt everything belonging to your correspondent. thus, should you be asking a friend to dinner, you would entreat him "to leave for one evening the silver and alabaster palace in which you habitually dwell, and to condescend to honour the tumble-down vermin-ridden hovel in which i drag out a wretched existence. furthermore, could you forget for one evening the bird's-nest soup, the delicious sea-slugs, and the plump puppy-dogs on which you habitually feast, and deign to poke your head into my swill-trough, and there devour such loathsome garbage as a starving dog would reject, i shall feel unspeakably honoured." the answer will probably come in some such form as this: "with rapturous delight have i learnt that, thanks to your courtesy, i may escape from the pestilential shanty i inhabit, and pass one unworthy evening in a glorious palace of crystal and gold in your company. after starving for months on putrid offal, i shall at length banquet on unimagined delicacies, etc." should it be a large dinner-party, it must tax the host's ingenuity to vary the self-depreciatory epithets sufficiently. { } the mention of food reminds me that it is an acute difficulty to the stranger in japan, should he wander off the beaten track and away from european hotels. japanese use neither bread, butter, nor milk, and these things, as well as meat, are unprocurable in country districts. europeans miss bread terribly, and the japanese substitute of cold rice is frankly horrible. instead of the snowy piles of smoking-hot, beautifully cooked rice of india, rice in japan means a cold, clammy, gelatinous mass, hideously distasteful to a european interior. that, eggs, and tea like a decoction of hay constitute the standard menu of a japanese country inn. i never saw either a sheep or cow in japan, as there is no pasture. the universal bamboo-grass, with its sharp edges, pierces the intestines of any animal feeding on it, and so is worse than useless as fodder for cattle or sheep. all milk and butter are imported in a frozen state from australia, but do not, of course, penetrate beyond europe-fashion hotels, as the people of the country do not care for them. the exquisite neatness of japanese farm houses, with their black and white walls, thatched roofs, and trim little bamboo fences and gates, is a real joy to the eye of one who has grown accustomed to the slipshod untidy east, or even to the happy-go-lucky methods of the american continent. i never remember a japanese village unequipped with either electric light or telephones. i really think geographers must have placed the th degree in the wrong place, and that japs are really { } the most western of westerns, instead of being the most eastern of easterns. pretty and attractive as the japanese country is, its charm was spoilt for me by the almost total absence of bird and animal life. there are hardly any wild flowers either, except deliciously fragrant wild violets. being in japan, it is hardly necessary to say that these violets, instead of being of the orthodox colour, are bright yellow. they would be in japan. this quaint people who only like trees when they are contorted, who love flowerless gardens, whose grass kills cattle, who have evolved peach, plum and cherry trees which flower gloriously but never bear any fruit, would naturally have yellow violets. they are certainly a wonderfully hardy race. i was at beautiful nikko in the early spring when they were building a dam across the nikko river. the stream has a tremendous current, and is ice-cold. men were working at the dam up to their waists in the icy river, and little boys kept bringing them baskets of building stones, up to their necks in the swift current. both men and boys issued from the river as scarlet as lobsters from the intense cold, and yet they stood about quite unconcernedly in their dripping thin cotton clothes in the keen wind. had they been europeans, they would all have died of pneumonia in two days' time. a race must have great powers of endurance that live in houses with paper walls without any heating appliances during the sharp cold of a japanese winter, and that find thin cotton clothing sufficient for their wants. { } the outlines and pleasing details of those black and white country dwellings with the graceful curves of their roofs are a relief to the eye after the endless miles of ugly little brown rabbit hutches of the towns. at tokyo the enclosure and park of the emperor's palace lay just outside the gates of our embassy, surrounded by a moat so broad that it could be almost called a lake. it was curious in the heart of a town to see this moat covered with innumerable wild duck. although i have been in the imperial palace at kyoto, i was never inside the one at tokyo, so i cannot give any details about it. the glimpses one obtained from outside of its severe black and white outlines recalled a european mediæval castle, and had something strangely familiar about them. i was never fortunate enough either to be invited to an imperial duck-catching party, which i would have given anything to witness. the idea of catching wild duck in butterfly nets would never occur to anyone but the japanese. the place where this quaint amusement was indulged in was an extensive tract of flat ground intersected by countless reed-fringed little canals and waterways, much on the lines of a marsh in the norfolk broad district. i saw the ambassador on his return from a duck-catching party. with superhuman efforts, and a vast amount of exercise, he had managed to capture three ducks, and he told me that he had had to run like a hare to achieve even this modest success. all the guests were expected to appear in high hats and frock-coats { } on these occasions, and i should have dearly loved to see the ambassador arrayed in frock-coat and high hat bounding hot-foot over the marshes, his butterfly net poised aloft, in pursuit of his quacking quarry. the newspapers informed us the next day that the crown prince had headed the list as usual with a bag of twenty-seven ducks, and i always believe what i see in print. really europeans start heavily handicapped at this peculiar diversion. i have known many families in england where the sons of the house are instructed from a very early age in riding, and in the art of handling a gun and a trout rod, but even in the most sport-loving british families the science of catching wild duck in butterfly nets forms but seldom part of the sporting curriculum of the rising generation. though the imperial family are shintoists, i expect that the buddhist horror of taking animal life is at the bottom of this idea of duck-catching, for the ducks are, i believe, all set free again after their capture. we always heard that the emperor and his family lived entirely on rice and fish in the frugal japanese fashion, and that they never tasted meat. i had the opportunity of seeing a very fine house of sixty rooms, built in strict japanese style, and just completed. count mitsu is one of the few very wealthy men in japan; he can also trace his pedigree back for three thousand years. he had built this house in tokyo, and as it was supposed to be the last word in purity of style ("itchi-ban," or "number one," as the japanese express it), he very { } kindly invited the ambassador and myself to go all over it with him. we had, of course, to remove our shoes on entering, and my pleasure was somewhat marred by the discovery of a large hole in one sock, on which i fancied the gaze of the entire mitsu family was riveted. nothing can equal the high-bred courtesy and politeness of japanese of really ancient lineage. countess mitsu, of a family as old as her husband's, had a type of face which we do not usually associate with japan, and is only found in ladies of the imperial family and some others equally old. in place of the large head, full cheeks, and flat features of the ordinary japanese woman, countess mitsu and her daughters had thin faces with high aquiline features, giving them an extraordinarily high-bred and distinguished appearance. this great house consisted of a vast number of perfectly empty rooms, destitute of one single scrap of furniture. there was fine matting on the floor, a niche with one kakemono hanging in it, one bronze or other work of art, and a vase with one single flower, and nothing else whatever. the mitsus being a very high caste family, there was no colour anywhere. the decoration was confined to black and white and beautifully-finished, unpainted, unvarnished woodwork, except for the exquisitely chased bronze door-grips (door-handles would be an incorrect term for these grips to open and close the sliding panels). i must confess that i never saw a more supremely uncomfortable-looking dwelling in my life. the children's nurseries upstairs { } were a real joy. the panels had been painted by a japanese artist with everything calculated to amuse a child. there were pictures of pink and blue rabbits, purple frogs, scarlet porcupines, and grass-green guinea-pigs, all with the most comical expressions imaginable on their faces. the lamps were of fish-skin shaped over thin strips of bamboo into the form of the living fish, then highly coloured, and fitted with electric globes inside them; weird, luminous marine monsters! each child had a little chinese dressing-table of mother-of-pearl eighteen inches high, and a tub of real chinese "powder-blue" porcelain as a bath. the windows looked on to a fascinating dwarf garden ten feet square, with real waterfalls, tiny rivers of real water, miniature mountains and dwarf trees, all in perfect proportion. it was like looking at an extensive landscape through the wrong end of a telescope. the polite infants who inhabited this child's paradise received us with immense courtesy, lying at full length on the floor on their little tummies, and wagging their little heads in salutation, till i really thought they would come off. the most interesting thing in count mitsu's house was a beautiful little shinto temple of bronze-gold lacquer, where all the names of his many ancestors were inscribed on gilt tablets. here he and all his sons (women take no part in ancestor worship) came nightly, and made a full confession before the tablets of their ancestors of all they had done during the day; craving for pardon should { } they have acted in a fashion unworthy of their family and of japan. the count and his sons then lighted the little red lamps before the tablets of their forebears to show that they were not forgotten, and placed the exquisitely carved little ivory "ghost-ship" two inches long in its place, should any of their ancestors wish to return that night from the land of spirits to their old home. the underlying idea of undying family affection is rather a beautiful one. that same evening i went to a very interesting dinner-party at the house of prince arisugawa, a son-in-law of the emperor's. both the dinner and the house were on european lines, but the main point of interest was that it was a gathering of all the generals and admirals who had taken a prominent part in the russo-japanese war. i was placed between an admiral and a general, but found it difficult to communicate with them, japanese being conspicuously bad linguists. the general could speak a little fairly unintelligible german; the admiral could stutter a very little russian. it was a pity that the roads of communication were so blocked for us, for i shall probably never again sit between two men who had had such thrilling experiences. i cursed the builders of the tower of babel for erecting this linguistic barrier between us. i found that i was a full head taller than all the japanese in the room. princess arisugawa appeared later. this tiny, dainty, graceful little lady { } had the same strongly aquiline type of features as countess mitsu, and the same high-bred look of distinction. she was beautifully dressed in european style, and had rue de la paix written all over her clothes and her jewels. i have seldom seen anyone with such taking graceful dignity as this daughter of the imperial house, in spite of her diminutive stature. the old families in japan have a pretty custom of presenting every european guest with a little black-and-gold lacquer box, two inches high, full of sweetmeats, of the sort we called in my youth "hundreds and thousands." these little boxes bear on their tops in gold lacquer the badge or crest of the family, thus serving as permanent souvenirs. in a small community such as the european diplomats formed at tokyo, the peculiarities and foibles of the "chers collègues" formed naturally an unending topic of conversation. there was one foreign representative who was determined to avoid bankruptcy, could the most rigorously careful regulation of his expenditure avert such a catastrophe. his official position forced him to give occasional dinner-parties, much, i imagine, against his inclinations. he always, in the winter months, borrowed all the available oil-stoves from his colleagues and friends, when one of these festivities was contemplated, in order to warm his official residence without having to go to the expense of fires. he had in some mad fit of extravagance bought two dozen of { } a really fine claret some years before. the wine had long since been drunk; the bottles he still retained _with their labels_. it was his custom to buy the cheapest and roughest red wine he could find, and then enshrine it in these old bottles with their mendacious labels. at his dinner-parties these time-worn bottles were always ranged down the tables. the evidence of palate and eye was conflicting. the palate (as far as it could discriminate through the awful reek with which the oil-stoves filled the room), pronounced it sour, immature _vin ordinaire_. the label on the bottle proclaimed it château margaux of , actually bottled at the château itself. politeness dictated that we should compliment our host on this exquisite vintage, which had, perhaps, begun to feel (as we all do) the effects of extreme old age. a cynical dutch colleague might possibly hazard a few remarks, lamenting the effects of the japanese climate on "les premiers crus de bordeaux." life at any post would be dull were it not for the little failings of the "chers collègues," which always give one something to talk of. the japanese are ruining the beauty of their country by their insane mania for advertising. the railways are lined with advertisements; a beautiful hillside is desecrated by a giant advertisement, cut in the turf, and filled in with white concrete. even the ugly little streets of brown packing-cases are plastered with advertisements. the fact that these advertisements are all in chinese characters { } give them a rather pleasing exotic flavour at first; that soon wears off, and then one is only too thankful not to be able to read them. they remain a hideous disfigurement of a fair land. one large japanese-owned department store in tokyo had a brass band playing in front of it all day, producing an ear-splitting din. the bandsmen were little japanese boys dressed, of all things in the world, as highlanders. no one who has not seen it can imagine the intensely grotesque effect of a little stumpy, bandy-legged jap boy in a red tartan kilt, bare knees, and a glengarry bonnet. no one who has not heard them can conceive the appalling sounds they produced from their brass instruments, or can form any conception of the japanese idea of "rag-time." we have in this country some very competent amateurs who, to judge from the picture papers, have reduced the gentle art of self-advertisement to a science. i think these ladies would be repaid for the trouble of a voyage to japan by the new ideas in advertisement they would pick up from that enterprising people. they need not blow their own trumpets, like the little jap highlander bandsmen; they can get it done for them as they know, by the press. { } chapter xi petrograd through middle-aged eyes--russians very constant friends--russia an empire of shams--over-centralisation in administration--the system hopeless--a complete change of scene--the west indies--trinidad--personal character of nicholas ii--the weak point in an autocracy--the empress--an opportunity missed--the great collapse--terrible stories--love of human beings for ceremonial--some personal apologies--conclusion. i returned twice to petrograd in later years, the last occasion being in . a young man is generally content with the surface of things, and accepts them at their face value, without attempting to probe deeper. with advancing years comes the desire to test beneath the surface. to the eye, there is but little difference between electro-plate and solid silver, though one deep scratch on the burnished expanse of the former is sufficient to reveal the baser metal underlying it. things russian have for some reason always had a strange attraction for me, and their glamour had not departed even after so many years. it was pleasant, too, to hear the soft, sibilant russian tongue again. my first return visit was at mid-summer, and seeing peter's city wreathed in the tender vivid greenery of northern foliage, and bathed in sunshine, i wondered how i could ever { } have mentally labelled it with the epithet "dreary." rising from the clear swift-rushing waters of the many-channelled neva, its stately pillared classical buildings outlined through the soft golden haze in half-tones of faintest cobalt and rose-madder, this northern venice appeared a dream-city, almost unreal in its setting of blue waters and golden domes, lightly veiled in opal mist. russians are not as a rule long-lived, and the great majority of my old friends had passed away. i could not help being affected by the manner in which the survivors amongst them welcomed me back. "cher ami," said the bearer of a great russian name to me, "thirty-three years ago we adopted you as a russian. you were a mere boy then, you are now getting an old man, but as long as any of your friends of old days are alive, our houses are always open to you, and you will always find a place for you at our tables, without an invitation. we russians do not change, and we never forget our old friends. we know that you like us and our country, and my husband and i offer you all we have." no one could fail to be touched by such steadfast friendship, so characteristic of these warm-hearted people. the great charm of russians with three or four hundred years of tradition behind them is their entire lack of pretence and their hatred of shams. they are absolutely natural. they often gave me as their reason for disliking foreigners the artificiality of non-russians, though they expressly { } exempted our own nationality from this charge. that is, i think, the reason why most englishmen get on so well with educated russians. seeing petrograd with the wearied eyes of experienced middle age, i quite realised that the imposing palaces that front the line of the quays and seem almost to float on the neva, are every one of them built on piles, driven deep into the marshy subsoil. every single house in the city rests on the same artificial base. montferrand the frenchman's great cathedral of st. isaac has had its north front shored up by scaffolding for thirty years. otherwise it would have collapsed, as the unstable subsoil is unable to bear so great a burden. on the highest authority we know that only a house built on the rock can endure. this city of petrograd was built on a quagmire, and was typical, in that respect, of the vast empire of which it was the capital: an empire erected by peter on shifting sand. the whole fabric of this empire struck my maturer senses as being one gigantic piece of "camouflage." for instance, a building close to st. isaac's bears on its stately front the inscription "governing senate" (i may add that the terse, crisp russian for this is "pravitelsvouyuschui senat"). to an ordinary individual the term would seem to indicate what it says; he would be surprised to learn that, so far from "governing," the senate had neither legislative nor administrative powers of its own. it was merely a consultative body without { } any delegate initiative; only empowered to recommend steps for carrying into effect the orders it received. and so with many other things. there were imposing façades, with awe-inspiring inscriptions, but i had a curious feeling that everything stopped at the façade, and there was nothing behind it. students of history will remember how, on the occasion of catherine the great's visit to the crimea, her favourite, potemkin, had "camouflage" villages erected along the line of her progress, so that wherever she went she found merry peasants (specially selected from the imperial theatres) singing and dancing amidst flower-wreathed cottages. these villages were then taken down, and re-erected some fifty miles further along the empress's way, with the same inhabitants. it was really a triumph of "camouflage," and did great credit to potemkin's inventive faculty. catherine returned north with most agreeable recollections of the teeming population of the crimea; of its delightfully picturesque villages, and of the ideal conditions of life prevailing there. the whole russian empire appeared to my middle-aged eyes to be like potemkin's toy villages. my second later visit to petrograd was in , in midwinter, when i came to the unmistakable conclusion that the epithet "dreary" was not misplaced. the vast open spaces and broad streets with their scanty traffic were unutterably depressing during the short hours of uncertain daylight, { } whilst the whirling snowflakes fell incessantly, and the low, leaden sky pressed like a heavy pall over this lifeless city of perpetual twilight. the particular business on which i had gone to petrograd took me daily to the various ministries, and their gloomy interiors became very familiar to me. i then saw that in these ministries the impossible had been attempted in the way of centralisation. the principle of the autocracy had been carried into the administrative domain, and every trivial detail affecting the government of an empire stretching from the pacific to the baltic was in theory controlled by one man, the minister of the department concerned. russians are conspicuously lacking in initiative and in organising power. the lack of initiative is perhaps the necessary corollary of an autocracy, for under an autocracy it would be unsafe for any private individual to show much original driving power: and organisation surely means successful delegation. a born organiser chooses his subordinates with great care; having chosen them, he delegates certain duties to them, and as long as they perform these duties to his satisfaction he does not interfere with them. the russian system was just the reverse: everything was nominally concentrated in the hands of one man. a really able and zealous minister might possibly have settled a hundredth part of the questions daily submitted for his personal decision. it required no great political foresight to understand { } that, were this administrative machine subjected to any unusual strain, it would collapse into hopeless confusion. being no longer young, i found the penetrating damp cold of petrograd very trying. the airlessness too of the steam-heated and hermetically sealed houses affected me. i had, in any case, intended to proceed to the west indies as soon as my task in petrograd was concluded. as my business occupied a far longer time than i had anticipated, i determined to go direct to london from petrograd, stay two nights there, and then join the mail steamer for the west indies. thus it came about that i was drinking my morning coffee in a room of the british embassy at petrograd, looking through the double windows at the driving snowflakes falling on the troitsky square, at the frozen hummocks of the neva, and at the sheepskin-clothed peasants plodding through the fresh-fallen snowdrifts, whilst the grey cotton-wool sky seemed to press down almost on to the roofs of the houses, and the golden needle of the fortress church gleamed dully through the murky atmosphere. three weeks afterwards to a day, i was sitting in the early morning on a balcony on the upper floor of government house, trinidad, clad in the lightest of pyjamas, enjoying the only approach to coolness to be found in that sultry island. the balcony overlooked the famous botanic gardens which so enraptured charles kingsley. in front of me rose a gigantic saman tree, larger than { } any oak, one mass of tenderest green, and of tassels of silky pink blossoms. at dawn, the dew still lay on those blossoms, and swarms of hummingbirds, flashing living jewels of ruby, sapphire, and emerald, were darting to and fro taking their toll of the nectar. the nutmeg trees were in flower, perfuming the whole air, and the fragrance of a yellow tree-gardenia, an importation from west africa, was almost overpowering. the chatter of the west indian negroes, and of the east indian coolies employed in the botanic gardens, replaced the soft, hissing russian language, and over the gorgeous tropical tangle of the gardens the venezulean mountains of the mainland rose mistily blue across the waters of the gulf of paria. i do not believe that in three short weeks it would be possible to find a greater change in climatic, geographical, or social conditions. from a temperature of ° below zero to ° in the shade; from the gulf of finland to the spanish main; from snow and ice to the exuberant tropical vegetation of one of the hottest islands in the world! the change, too, from the lifeless, snow-swept streets of petrograd, monotonously grey in the sad-coloured northern winter daylight, to the gaily painted bungalows of the white inhabitants of the port-of-spain, standing in gardens blazing with impossibly brilliant flowers of scarlet, orange, and vivid blue, quivering under the fierce rays of the sun, was sufficiently startling. the only flowers i have ever seen to rival the garish rainbow brilliance of the gardens of port-of-spain { } were the painted ones in the "zauber-garten" in the second act of "parsifal," as given at bayreuth. it so happened that when nicholas ii visited india in as heir-apparent, i stayed in the same house with him for ten days, and consequently saw a great deal of him. he was, i am convinced, a most conscientious man, intensely anxious to fulfill his duty to the people he would one day rule; but he was inconstant of purpose, and his intellectual equipment was insufficient for his responsibilities. the fatal flaw in an autocracy is that everything obviously hinges on the personal character of the autocrat. it would be absurd to expect an unbroken series of rulers of first-class ability. it is, i suppose, for this reason that the succession to the russian throne was, in theory at all events, not hereditary. the tsars of old nominated their successors, and i think i am right in saying that the emperors still claimed the privilege. in fact, to set any limitations to the power of an autocrat would be a contradiction in terms. nicholas ii was always influenced by those surrounding him, and it cannot be said that he chose his associates with much discretion. there was, in particular, one fatal influence very near indeed to him. from those well qualified to judge, i hear that it is unjust to accuse the empress of being a germanophile, or of being in any way a traitor to the interests of her adopted country. she was obsessed with one idea: to hand on the autocracy intact to her idolised little son, and she had, in addition, a { } great love of power. when the love of power takes possession of a woman, it seems to change her whole character, and my own experience is that no woman will ever voluntarily surrender one scrap of that power, be the consequences what they may. when to a naturally imperious nature there is joined a neurotic, hysterical temperament, the consequences can be disastrous. the baneful influence of the obscene illiterate monk rasputin over the empress is a matter of common knowledge, and she, poor woman, paid dearly enough for her faults. i always think that nicholas ii missed the great opportunity of his life on that fateful sunday, january , , when thousands of workmen, headed by father gapon (who subsequently proved to be an agent provocateur in the pay of the police), marched to the winter palace and clamoured for an interview with their emperor. had nicholas ii gone out entirely alone to meet the deputations, as i feel sure his father and grandfather would have done, i firmly believe that it would have changed the whole course of events; but his courage failed him. a timid autocrat is self-condemned. instead of meeting their sovereign, the crowd were met by machine-guns. in , nicholas ii had only slept one night in petrograd since his accession, and the empress had only made day visits. not even the ambassadresses had seen the empress for six years, and there had been no court entertainments at all. { } the imperial couple remained in perpetual seclusion at tsarskoe selo. in my days, alexander ii was constantly to be seen driving in the streets of petrograd entirely alone and unattended, without any escort whatever. the only things that marked out his sledge were the two splendid horses (the one in shafts, the loose "pristashka" galloping alongside in long traces), and the kaftan of his coachman, which was green instead of the universal blue of public and private carriages alike. the low mutterings of the coming storm were very audible in . personally, i thought the change would take the form of a "palace revolution," so common in russian history; _i.e._, that the existing sovereign would be dethroned and another installed in his place. i cannot say how thankful i am that so few of my old friends lived to see the final collapse, and that they were spared the agonies of witnessing the subsequent orgies of murder, spoliation, and lust that overwhelmed the unhappy land and deluged it in blood. horrible stories have reached us of a kindly, white-headed old couple being imprisoned for months in a narrow cell of the fortress, and then being taken out at dawn, and butchered without trial; of a highly cultivated old lady of seventy-six being driven from her bed by the mob, and thrust into the bitter cold of a petrograd street in january, in her night-dress, and there clubbed to death in { } the snow. god grant that these stories may be untrue; the evidence, though, is terribly circumstantial, and from russia comes only an ominous silence. if i am asked what will be the eventual outcome in russia, i hazard no prophecies. the strong vein of fatalism in the russian character must be taken into consideration, also the curious lack of initiative. they are a people who revel in endless futile talk, and love to get drunk on words and phrases. eighty per cent. of the population are grossly ignorant peasants, living in isolated communities, and i fail to see how they can take any combined action. it must be remembered that, with the exception of lenin, the men who have grasped the reins of power are not russians, but jews, mainly of german or polish origin. they do not, therefore, share the fatal inertness of the russian temperament. i started with the idea of giving some description of a state of things which has, perhaps, vanished for all time from what were five years ago the three great empires of eastern europe. there is, i think, inherent in all human beings a love of ceremonial. the great influence the roman and eastern churches exercise over their adherents is due, i venture to say, in a great measure to their gorgeous ceremonial. in proof of this, i would instance lands where a severer form of religion prevails, and where this innate love of ceremonial finds its rest in the elaborate ritual of masonic and kindred bodies, since it is denied it in ecclesiastical matters. the reason that buddhism, { } imported from china into japan in the sixth century, succeeded so largely in ousting shintoism, the ancient national religion, was that there is neither ritual nor ceremonial in a shinto temple, and the complicated ceremonies of buddhism supplied this curious craving in human nature, until eventually buddhism and shintoism entered into a sort of ecclesiastical partnership together. i have far exceeded the limits which i started by assigning to myself and, in extenuation, can only plead that old age is proverbially garrulous. i am also fully conscious that i have at times strayed far from my subject, but in excuse i can urge that but few people have seen, in five different continents, as much of the surface of this globe and of its inhabitants as it has fallen to my lot to do. half-forgotten incidents, irrelevant it may be to the subject in hand, crowd back to the mind, and tempt one far afield. it is quite possible that these bypaths of reminiscence, though interesting to the writer, may prove wearisome to the reader, so for them i tender my apologies. i have endeavoured to transfer to others pictures which remain very clear-cut and vivid in my own mind. i cannot tell whether i have succeeded in doing this, and i hazard no opinion as to whether the world is a gainer or a loser by the disappearance of the pomp and circumstance, the glitter and glamour of the three great courts of eastern europe. the curtain has been rung down, perhaps { } definitely, on the brave show. the play is played; the scenery set for the great spectacle is either ruined or else wantonly destroyed; the puppets who took part in the brilliant pageant are many of them (god help them!) broken beyond power of repair.--_finita la commedia!_ { } index a abdurrahman khan, a deaf diplomat, aehrenthal, baron von, , , agra palace, india, a journalist outwitted, akbar, albuquerque, alexander ii, ; attempted assassination of, in , , assassination of, _sqq._; sorrow of the people for, ; funeral of, _sqq._; king edward and queen alexandra at, , , . alexander iii, order of the garter conferred on, _sqq._; precautions for safety of, , . alexandra colony, _sqq._ ali pasha and the congress of berlin, , . alsace, ampthill, lady, ; saves the life of william ii, ampthill, lord, andrassy, count, and the congress of berlin, , an embarrassing situation, an exclusive court, arabi pasha, , argentine girls, beauty of, aristocratic waitresses, - arisugawa, prince, arisugawa, princess, asuncion, _sqq._ augusta, empress, austria, disappearance of the court, austrian aristocracy, characteristics of, ; interrelationship of, austrian diplomat, a deaf, awkward predicament, an, - b bahia, barmecides' feast, a, bay of chaleurs, beaconsfield, lord, and the congress of berlin, , , bear hunt in russia, a, - beauharnais, countess zena, beethoven, bieloselskaya, princess, bismarck, _sqq._, , ; on male and female nations, bismarck, count herbert, , , biting-fish in south america, blessing of the neva, the, blowitz, m. de, , botanic gardens at rio de janeiro, the, brazil, british minister, a, in carnival time, _sqq._ broadminded scots parents, buckingham palace and berlin schloss compared, - buenos ayres, _sqq._; carnival at, ; masked balls in, ; sport in, _sqq._ bulow, hans von, c calcutta, the maidan at, "camp," the, buenos ayres, campbell, colonel, canada, _sqq._ carnival at buenos ayres, the, cathedrals, three famous moscow, carolath-beuthen, princess, catherine the great, ; and the violet in tsarskoe park, charlemagne, cintra, circus in lisbon, circus performer who became a bishop, - classification of nationalities, bismarck's, clown, the author's personal experience as a, commercial court chamberlain, a, congress of , the, in berlin, connaught, duchess of, conversational difficulties, - , court beauties, , courting in portugal, a curious custom, "croissants"--viennese roll, origin of, crown prince, culinary curiosities in japan, - curious sporting incidents, _sq._ d darwin, dawn in a finnish forest, _sq._ "deaf and dumb people," deference paid to austrian archdukes, delyanoff, m., minister of education, ; curious obsequies of, - delyanoff, mme., dentist, a polite, - depreciated currency in the argentine, de reszke, edouard, de reszke, jean, de reszke, mlle., diaz, dolgorouki, prince alexander, dolgorouki, princess kitty, dolgorouki, princess mary, , dom fernando, , , dom luiz, - dom pedro, emperor of brazil, - - - doré, gustave, - dowdeswell, admiral, drunkenness in russia, - duc de croy, the, a belgian and an austrian subject, dué, m., swedish minister to russia, dufferin, marchioness of, - , , , , , dufferin, marquis of, ambassador to petrograd, _sqq._, , , ; his diplomatic methods, - - e easter supper in russia, the, easy-going austria, edinburgh, duchess of, edinburgh, duke of, elector of brandenburg, emperor frederick, , emperor william i, - empress marie, empress elisabeth, - empress frederick, , england, "junker" party's hostility to, environs of berlin, _sqq._ european courts, disappearance of, exciting salmon fishing, - expensive entertainment, an, exquisite russian church music, extradition treaty between great britain and paraguay, f ferdinand of saxe-coburg, prince, finland, - _sqq._ footman as entomologist, the, - formosa, fortress church, petrograd, , francis ii, last of the holy roman emperors, - franz josef of austria, , frederick charles of prussia, princess, frederick count of hohenzollern, frederick the great, , , - frederick william i, french ambassador's ball at moscow, unusual incident at, - g gapon, father, gargantuan dinner, a, - gatchina palace, ; children's play-room at, - george v, german "door-politeness," germany, disappearance of the court, germany, music in, - ghika, prince, roumanian minister to russia, giers, m. de, russian minister for foreign affairs, , , , gigantic court pages, gonçalves, gortchakoff, prince, and the congress of berlin, , , gourmet, an ecclesiastical, - gran chaco, the, groote constantia, gulf between russian nobility and peasants, h harraka niska, _sqq._ henry the navigator, prince, hilarious funeral, a, - hohenzollerns ever a grasping race, "holy roman emperor," the, hooveny m. van der, netherlands minister to russia, howard, dick, , , humbert, king, hungary, invasion of, by the turks in , i ice-boating on the gulf of finland, india, indoor games, russians' love for, inelegant palaces, inquisitive peasant, an, "intelligenzia," the, irritating customs in vienna, - ismail, khedive of egypt, ivan iii, j japan, - , _sqq._ japanese advertising, japanese politeness, jardine, captain, _sqq._ jena, jomini, baron, "junker" party, hostility of, towards england, k karolyi, countess, austrian ambassadress in berlin, , katheodory pasha and the congress of berlin, , kiderlin-waechter, baron von, - king edward attends alexander ii's funeral, king of prussia proclaimed german emperor at versailles, kingsley, charles, klepsch, colonel, koltesha, - - koltesba, shooting at, _sqq._ königgrätz, kremlin, the, _sqq._; the great palace, kyoto, the emperor's palace, l ladies' unchangeable court fashions in russia, lapp encampment on the neva, - lawson, sir wilfrid, lazareff and the great orloff diamond, leopold i, "les bals des palmiers," leuchtenberg, duchess of, _see_ beauharnais liebknecht, herr, lisbon, lisbon, beauty of, lister, lord, liszt, lobkowitz palace, lobkowitz, prince, lopez, francisco, lorraine, louis xiv, louis xvi, louise margaret of prussia, princess, louise, queen, of prussia, - lovendal, count, danish minister in petrograd, - luncheon in pyjamas, luxembourg palace, the, m "making the circle," trying ordeal of prussian princesses, margherita, queen, maria ii, queen, marie antoinette, mendelssohn, midnight drive, an exciting, - militarism in germany, _sqq._ misguided midshipmen, - mitsu, count, mitsu, countess, , moltke, field-marshal von, montebello, comte de, french ambassador, - montebello, comtesse de, montferrand, m., architect of st. isaac's, petrograd, moscow, beauty of, - _sqq._ moscow cathedrals, three famous, moscow, imperial treasury at, splendour of, music, germans as lovers of, "musical chairs" in japan, n napoleon i, ; coronation of, - ; bribes electors of bavaria, württemberg, and saxony, "napoleon iii," - narrow escape from drowning of william ii, natural beauties of brazil, neva, blessing of the, newspaper enterprise, nicholas i, - nicholas ii, , , _sqq._ nihilist friends, _sqq._ nikko river, japan, nondescript waiters, novel form of sport, a, - _sq._ o old schloss, berlin, - ; comparison with buckingham palace, - opera in lisbon, organ mountains, the, , oriental traits in russian character, orloff diamond, the, p paget, sir augustus, palaeologus, sophia, wife of ivan iii, paraguay, _sqq._; extradition treaty between great britain and, paraguayan race meeting, a, paraguayan women, attractive, paraná river, the, patiño cué, _sqq._ peace congress between russia and turkey in berlin, , _sqq._ peasant's house in russia, a, - _sqq._ pernambuco, peter the great, , , - _sq._ peterhof, ; its charming park, ; a plethora of palaces round, petrograd, transference to, ; a disappointing capital, ; english embassy at, ; palace ball, ; balls at, peculiarities of, ; famous society beauties of, ; inclement climate of, ; revisited, _sqq._ petropolis, diversions at, - , pombal, marquis de, portugal, two kings of, portuguese bull-fights, bloodless, _sqq._; comparison of with spanish, portuguese coinage, portuguese politeness, potemkin, potsdam, - _sqq._ potsdam palaces, - prussian militarism, _sqq._ prussian princesses, a trying ordeal, "princesse château," _sqq._, pugnacious court pages, - q quebec, queen alexandra attends alexander ii's funeral, queen victoria, queenly dignity of, queen victoria confers order of the garter on alexander iii, _sqq._ quirinal at rome, the, r radziwill, princess william, "rag-time" and rubinstein, - rasputin, rauch, red-bearded priest, the, richter, gustav, richter, mme., river plate, the, "ring," the, in berlin, rio de janeiro, beauty of, rome, the quirinal, rubinstein and "rag-time," - russia, disappearance of the court, russia and turkey, peace congress in berlin, russian frontier police, russian gipsies, - ; their fascinating singing, - russian illusions, - russian imperial yacht club, the, russian ladies' unchangeable court fashions, russian language, difficulties exaggerated, russian limitations, russian police, russian village habits, russians really orientals, s sadowa, st. isaac's church, petrograd, ; midnight easter mass at, _sqq._ salisbury, lord, and the congress of berlin, , - scandalized governess, a, schleinitz, mme. de, "schlüssel-geld," an unpopular tax, schouvaloff, count peter, and the peace congress in berlin, , ; schouvaloff, countess betsy, - secret police in russia, the, seven weeks' war, the, shah jehan, - shennan, mr. david, - sigismund, ski-ing, _sq._ skobeleff, general, slovenly russian uniforms, sobieski, john, king of poland, routs the turks, spanish and portuguese bull-fights, difference between, sport in russia, - strauss, johann, ; an exacting conductor, "street of toleration," the, strousberg, herr, railway magnate, stürmer, m., destroyer of the russian empire, sullivan, sir arthur, in petrograd, t talleyrand, tel-el-kebir, tetschen, teutonic knights, the, tewfik, tigre, the, toboganning in finland, - _sq._ tokugawa dynasty, tokyo, tokyo, uyeno park at, ; trinidad, tsarskoe park, curiosities in, tsarskoe selo, _sqq._ turkey and russia, peace congress in berlin, turks, invasion of hungary, by, in , turks routed by john sobieski in , u ultimatum to russia, a young man's, unusual occupants of a palace, urbain, the cook, v van der stell, governor, vasco de gama, victoria, queen, victor emmanuel, vienna, _sqq._ vienna, delightful environs of, viennese court entertainments, viennese orchestras, _sq._ viennese restaurants and orchestras, excellence of, viennese women, comeliness of, villages in russia, similarity of, - vladimir, grand duke and death of alexander ii, w waddington, m., and the congress of berlin, , wagner, the "ring" in berlin, - , waitresses, aristocratic, - water-throwing at buenos ayres carnival, wends, the, william iv, winter palace, petrograd, the, - _sqq._ wolseley, sir garnet, wolves as fellow travelers, y yellow fever at rio de janeiro, - - joan of the sword hand _works by the same author._ the stickit minister. the raiders. the playactress. the lilac sunbonnet. bog-myrtle and peat. the men of the moss hags. cleg kelly. the grey man. lads' love. lochinvar. the standard bearer. the red axe. the black douglas. ione march. kit kennedy. sweetheart travellers. sir toady lion. [illustration: "she met on the middle flight a grey-bearded man." (page .) _frontispiece_] joan of the sword hand by s. r. crockett london ward, lock & co., limited new york and melbourne _the illustrations to this edition of "joan of the sword hand" are by frank richards._ contents chap. page i. the hall of the guard ii. the baiting of the sparhawk iii. joan draws first blood iv. the cozening of the ambassador v. johann the secretary vi. an ambassador's ambassador vii. h.r.h. the princess impetuosity viii. johann in the summer palace ix. the rose garden x. prince wasp xi. the kiss of the princess margaret xii. joan forswears the sword xiii. the sparhawk in the toils xiv. at the high altar xv. what joan left behind xvi. prince wasp's compact xvii. woman's wilfulness xviii. captains boris and jorian promote peace xix. joan stands within her danger xx. the chief captain's treachery xxi. isle rugen xxii. the house on the dunes xxiii. the face that looked into joan's xxiv. the secret of theresa von lynar xxv. borne on the great wave xxvi. the girl beneath the lamp xxvii. wife and priest xxviii. the red lion flies at kernsberg xxix. the greeting of the princess margaret xxx. love's clear eye xxxi. the royal minx xxxii. the princess margaret is in a hurry xxxiii. a wedding without a bridegroom xxxiv. little johannes rode xxxv. a perilous honeymoon xxxvi. the black death xxxvii. the dropping of a cloak xxxviii. the return of the bride xxxix. prince wasp stings xl. the loves of priest and wife xli. theresa keeps troth xlii. the wordless man takes a prisoner xliii. to the rescue xliv. the ukraine cross xlv. the truth-speaking of boris and jorian xlvi. the fear that is in love xlvii. the broken bond xlviii. joan governs the city xlix. the wooing of boris and jorian l. the din of battle li. theresa's treachery lii. the margraf's powder chests liii. the head of the church visible epilogue of explication chapter i the hall of the guard loud rang the laughter in the hall of the men-at-arms at castle kernsberg. there had come an embassy from the hereditary princess of plassenburg, recently established upon the throne of her ancestors, to the duchess joan of hohenstein, ruler of that cluster of hill statelets which is called collectively masurenland, and which includes, besides hohenstein the original eagle's eyrie, kernsberg also, and marienfield. above, in the hall of audience, the ambassador, one leopold von dessauer, a great lord and most learned councillor of state, sat alone with the young duchess. they were eating of the baked meats and drinking the good rhenish up there. but, after all, it was much merrier down below with werner von orseln, alt pikker, peter balta, and john of thorn, though what they ate was mostly but plain ox-flesh, and their drink the strong ale native to the hill lands, which is called wendish mead. "get you down, captains jorian and boris," the young duchess had commanded, looking very handsome and haughty in the pride of her twenty years, her eight strong castles, and her two thousand men ready to rise at her word; "down to the hall of guard, where my officers send round the wassail. if they do not treat you well, e'en come up and tell it to me." "good!" responded the two soldiers of the princess of plassenburg, turning them about as if they had been hinged on the same stick, and starting forward with precisely the same stiff hitch from the halt, they made for the door. "but stay," joan of hohenstein had said, ere they reached it, "here are a couple of rings. my father left me one or two such. fit them upon your fingers, and when you return give them to the maidens of your choice. is there by chance such an one, captain jorian, left behind you at plassenburg?" "aye, madam," said jorian, directing his left eye, as he stood at attention, a little slantwise in the direction of his companion. "what is her name?" "gretchen is her name," quoth the soldier. "and yours, captain boris?" the second automaton, a little slower of tongue than his companion, hesitated a moment. "speak up," said his comrade, in an undergrowl; "say 'katrin.'" "katrin!" thundered captain boris, with bluff apparent honesty. "it is well," said the duchess joan; "i think no less of a sturdy soldier for being somewhat shamefaced as to the name of his sweetheart. here is a ring apiece which will not shame your maidens in far plassenburg, as you walk with them under the lime-trees, or buy ribbons for them in the booths that cluster about the minster walls." the donor looked at the rings again. she espied the letters of a posy upon them. "ha!" she cried, "captain boris, what said you was the name of your betrothed?" "good lord!" muttered boris lowly to himself, "did i not tell the woman even now?--gretchen!" "hut, you fool!" jorian's undergrowl came to his ear, "katrin--not gretchen; gretchen is mine." "i mean katrin, my lady duchess," said boris, putting a bold face on the mistake. the young mistress of the castle smiled. "thou art a strange lover," she said, "thus to forget the name of thy mistress. but here is a ring with a k writ large upon it, which will serve for thy katherina. and here, captain jorian, is one with a g scrolled in gothic, which thou wilt doubtless place with pride upon the finger of mistress gretchen among the rose gardens of plassenburg." "good!" said jorian and boris, making their bows together; "we thank your most gracious highness." "back out, you hulking brute!" the undertone came again from jorian; "she will be asking us for their surnames if we bide a moment longer. now then, we are safe through the door; right about, boris, and thank heaven she had not time for another question, or we were men undone!" and with their rings upon their little fingers the two burly captains went down the narrow stair of castle kernsberg, nudging each other jovially in the dark places as if they had again been men-at-arms and no captains, as in the old days before the death of karl the usurper and the coming back of the legitimate princess helene into her rights. being arrived at the hall beneath they soon found themselves the centre of a hospitable circle. gruff, bearded wendish men were these officers of the young duchess; not a butterfly youngling or a courtly carpet knight among them, but men tanned like shipmen of the baltic, soldiers mostly who had served under her father henry, foraging upon occasion as far as the mark in one direction and into bor-russia in the other, men grounded and compacted after the hearts of jorian and boris. it was small wonder that amid such congenial society the ex-men-at-arms found themselves presently very much at home. scarcely were they seated when jorian began to brag of the gift the duchess had given him for the maiden of his troth. "and boris here, that hulking cobold, that hans klapper upon the housetops, had well-nigh spoiled the jest; for when her ladyship asked him a second time in her sweet voice for the name of his 'betrothed,' he must needs lay his tongue to 'gretchen,' instead of 'katrin,' as he had done at the first!" then all suddenly the bearded, burly officers of the duchess joan looked at each other with a little scared expression on their faces, through which gradually glimmered up a certain grim amusement. werner von orseln, the eldest and gravest of all, glanced round the full circle of his mess. then he looked back at the two captains of the embassy guard of plassenburg with a pitying glance. "and you lied about your sweethearts to the duchess joan?" he said. "ha, ha! yes! i trow yes," quoth jorian jovially. "wine may be dear, but this ring will pay the sweets of many a night!" "ha, ha! it will, will it?" said werner, the chief captain, grimly. "aye, truly," echoed boris, the mead beginning to work nuttily under his steel cap, "when we melt this--ha, ha!--katrin's jewel, we'll quaff many a beaker. the rhenish shall flow-ow-ow! and peg and moll and elisabet shall be there--yes, and many a good fellow-ow-ow----" "shut the door!" quoth werner, the chief captain, at this point. "sit down, gentlemen!" but jorian and boris were not to be so easily turned aside. "call in the ale-drawer--the tapster, the pottler, the over-cellarer, whatever you call him. for we would have more of his vintage. why, is this a night of jewels, and shall we not melt them? we may chance to get another for a second mouthful of lies to-morrow morning. a good duchess as ever was--a soft princess, a princess most gullible is this of yours, gentlemen of the eagle's nest, kerns of kernsberg!" "sit down," said werner yet more gravely. "captains jorian and boris, you do not seem to know that you are no longer in plassenburg. the broom bush does not keep the cow betwixt kernsberg and hohenstein. here are no tables of karl the miller's son to hamper our liege mistress. do you know that you have lied to her and made a jest of it?" "aye," cried jorian, holding his ring high; "a sweet, easy maid, this of yours, as ever was cozened. an easy service yours must be. lord! i could feather my nest well inside a year--one short year with such a mistress would do the business. why, she will believe anything!" "so," said werner von orseln grimly, "you think so, do you, captains boris and jorian, of the embassy staff? well, listen!" he spoke very slowly, leaning towards them and punctuating his meaning upon the palm of his left hand with the fingers of his right. "if i, werner of orseln, were now to walk upstairs, and in so many words tell my lady, 'the sweet, easy princess,' as you name her, joan of the sword hand, as we are proud----" "_joan of the sword hand! hoch!_" the men-at-arms at the lower table, the bearded captains at the high board, the very page boys lounging and scuffling in the niches, rose to their feet at the name, pronounced in a voice of thunder-pride by chief captain werner. "joan of the sword hand! _hoch!_ hent yourselves up, wends! up, plassenburg! joan of the sword hand! our lady joan! _hoch!_ and three times _hoch_!" the hurrahs ran round the oak-panelled hall. jorian and boris looked at each other with surprise, but they were stout fellows, and took matters, even when most serious, pretty much as they came. "i thank you, gentlemen, on behalf of my lady, in whose name i command here," said werner, bowing ceremoniously to all around, while the others settled themselves to listen. "now, worthy soldiers of plassenburg," he went on, "be it known to you that if (to suppose a case which will not happen) i were to tell our lady joan what you have confessed to us here and boasted of--that you lied and double lied to her--i lay my life and the lives of these good fellows that the pair of you would be aswing from the corner gallery of the lion's tower in something under five minutes." "aye, and a good deed it were, too!" chorussed the round table of the guard hall. "heaven send it, the jackanapes! to rail at our duchess!" jorian rose to his feet. "up, boris!" he cried; "no bor-russian, no kern of hohenstein that ever lived, shall overcrow a captain of the armies of plassenburg and a soldier of the princess helene--heaven bless her! take your ring in your hand, boris, for we will go up straightway, you and i. and we will tell the lady duchess joan that, having no sweetheart of legal standing, and no desire for any, we choused her into the belief that we would bestow her rings upon our betrothed in the rose-gardens of plassenburg. then will we see if indeed we shall be aswing in five minutes. ready, boris?" "aye, thrice ready, jorian!" "about, then! quick march!" a great noise of clapping rose all round the hall as the two stout soldiers set themselves to march up the staircase by which they had just descended. "stand to the doors!" cried werner, the chief captain; "do not let them pass. up and drink a deep cup to them, rather! to captains jorian and boris of plassenburg, brave fellows both! charge your tankards. the mead of wendishland shall not run dry. fill them to the brim. a caraway seed in each for health's sake. there! now to the honour and long lives of our guests. jorian and boris--_hoch_!" "_jorian and boris--hoch!_" the toast was drunk amid multitudinous shoutings and handshakings. the two men had stopped, perforce, for the doors were in the hands of the soldiers of the guard, and the pike points clustered thick in their path. they turned now in the direction of the high table from which they had risen. "deal you so with your guests who come on embassy?" said jorian, smiling. "first you threaten them with hanging, and then you would make them drunk with mead as long in the head as the devil of trier that deceived the archbishop-elector and gat the holy coat for a foot-warmer!" "sit down, gentlemen, and i also will sit. now, hearken well," said werner; "these honest fellows of mine will bear me out that i lie not. you have done bravely and spoken up like good men taken in a fault. but we will not permit you to go to your deaths. for our lady joan--god bless her!--would not take a false word from any--no, not if it were on twelfth night or after a christmas merry-making. she would not forgive it from your old longbeard upstairs, whose business it is--that is, if she found it out. 'to the gallows!' she would say, and we--why then we should sorrow for having to hasten the stretching of two good men. but what would you, gentlemen? we are her servants and we should be obliged to do her will. keep your rings, lads, and keep also your wits about you when the duchess questions you again. nay, when you return to plassenburg, be wise, seek out a gretchen and a katrin and bestow the rings upon them--that is, if ever you mean again to stand within the danger of joan of the sword hand in this her castle of kernsberg." "gretchens are none so scarce in plassenburg," muttered jorian. "i think we can satisfy a pair of them--but at a cheaper price than a ring of rubies set in gold!" chapter ii the baiting of the sparhawk "bring in the danish sparhawk, and we will bait him!" said werner. "we have shown our guests but a poor entertainment. bring in the sparhawk, i say!" at this there ensued unyoked merriment. each stout lad, from one end of the hall to the other, undid his belt as before a nobler course and nudged his fellow. "'ware, i say, stand clear! here comes the wild boar of the ardennes, the wolf of thuringia, the bear from the forests of bor-russia! stand clear--stand clear!" cried werner von orseln, laughing and pretending to draw a dagger to provide for his own safety. the inner door which led from the hall of the men-at-arms to the dungeons of the castle was opened, and all looked towards it with an air of great amusement and expectation. "now we shall have some rare sport," each man said to his neighbour, and nodded. "the baiting of the sparhawk! the sparhawk comes!" jorian and boris looked with interest in the direction of the door through which such a remarkable bird was to arrive. they could not understand what all the pother could be about. "what the devil----?" said jorian. and, not to be behindhand, "what the devil----?" echoed boris. for mostly these two ran neck and neck from drop of flag to winning-post. through the black oblong of the dungeon doorway there came a lad of seventeen or eighteen, tall, slim, dark-browed, limber. he walked between a pair of men-at-arms, who held his wrists firmly at either side. his hands were chained together, and from between them dangled a spiked ball that clanked heavily on the floor as he stumbled forward rather than walked into the room. he had black hair that waved from his forehead in a backward sweep, a nose of slightly roman shape, which, together with his bold eagle's eyes, had obtained him the name of the spar or sparrow-hawk. and on his face, handsome enough though pale, there was a look of haughty disdain and fierce indignation such as one may see in the demeanour of a newly prisoned bird of prey, which hath not yet had time to forget the blue empyrean spaces and the stoop with half-closed wings upon the quarry trembling in the vale. "ha, sparhawk!" cried werner, "how goes it, sparhawk? any less bold and peremptory than when last we met? your servant, count maurice von lynar! we pray you dance for us the danish dance of shuffle-board, count maurice, if so your excellency pleases!" the lad looked up the table and down with haughty eyes that deigned no answer. werner von orseln turned to his guests and said, "this sparhawk is a little dane we took on our last excursion to the north. it is only in that direction we can lead the foray, since you have grown so law-abiding and strong in plassenburg and the mark. his uncles and kinsfolk were all killed in the defence of castle lynar, on the northern haff. we know not which of these had also the claim of fatherhood upon him. at all events, his grandad had a manor there, and came from the jutland sand-dunes to build a castle upon the baltic shores. but he had better have stayed at home, for he would not pay the peace geld to our henry. so the lion roared, and we went to castle lynar and made an end--save of this spitting sparhawk, whom our master would not let us kill, and whom now we keep with clipped wings for our sport." the lad listened with erected head and haughty eyes to the tale, but answered not a word. "now," cried werner, with his cup in his hand and his brows bent upon the youth, "dance for us as you used to do upon the baltic, when the maids came in fresh from their tiring and the newest kirtles were donned. dance, i say! foot it for your life!" the lad maurice von lynar stood with his bold eyes upon his tormentors. "curs of bor-russia," he said at last, in speech that trembled with anger, "you may vex the soul of a danish gentleman with your aspersions, you may wound his body, but you will never be able to stand up to him in battle. you will never be worthy to eat or drink with him, to take his hand in comradeship, or to ride a tilt with him. pigs of the sty you are, man by man of you--wends and boors, and no king's gentlemen." "bravo!" said boris, under his breath, "that is none so dustily said for a junker!" "silence with that tongue of yours!" muttered his mate. "dost want to be yawing out of that window presently, with the wind spinning you about and about like a capon on a jack-spit? they are uncanny folk, these of the woman's castle--not to trust to. one knows not what they may do, nor where their jest may end." "hans trenck, lift this springald's pretty wrist-bauble!" said werner. a laughing man-at-arms went up, his partisan still over his shoulder, and laying his hand upon the chain which depended between the manacled wrists of the boy maurice, he strove to lift the spiked ball. "what!" cried werner, "canst thou, pap-backed babe, not lift that which the noble count maurice of lynar has perforce to carry about with him all day long? down with your weapon, man, and to it like an apothecary compounding some blister for stale fly-blown rogues!" at the word the man laid down his partisan and lifted the ball high between his two hands. "now dance!" commanded werner von orseln, "dance the danish milkmaid's coranto, or i will bid him drop it on your toes. dost want them jellied, man?" "drop, and be damned in your low-born souls!" cried the lad fiercely. "untruss my hands and let me loose with a sword, and ten yards clear on the floor, and, by saint magnus of the isles, i will disembowel any three of you!" "you will not dance?" said werner, nodding at him. "i will see you fry in hell fire first!" "down with the ball, hans trenck!" cried werner. "he that will not dance at castle kernsberg must learn at least to jump." the man-at-arms, still grinning, lifted the ball a little higher, balancing it in one hand to give it more force. he prepared to plump it heavily upon the undefended feet of young maurice. "'ware toes, sparhawk!" cried the soldiers in chorus, but at that moment, suddenly kicking out as far as his chains allowed, the boy took the stooping lout on the face, and incontinently widened the superficial area of his mouth. he went over on his back amid the uproarious laughter of his fellows. "ha! hans trenck, the sparhawk hath spurred you, indeed! a brave sparhawk! down went poor hans trenck like a barndoor fowl!" the fellow rose, spluttering angrily. "hold his legs, some one," he said, "i'll mark his pretty feet for him. he shall not kick so free another time." a couple of his companions took hold of the boy on either side, so that he could not move his limbs, and hans again lifted high the ball. "shall we stand this? they call this sport!" said boris; "shall i pink the brutes?" "sit down and shut your eyes. our prince hugo will harry this nest of thieves anon. for the present we must bear their devilry if we want to escape hanging!" "now then, for marrow and mashed trotters!" cried hans, spitting the blood from the split corners of his mouth. "_halt!_" chapter iii joan draws first blood the word of command came full and strong from the open doorway of the hall. hans trenck came instantly to the salute with the ball in his hand. he had no difficulty in lifting it now. in fact, he did not seem able to let it down. every man in the hall except the two captains of plassenburg had risen to his feet and stood as if carved in marble. for there in the doorway, her slim figure erect and exceedingly commanding, and her beautiful eyes shining with indignation, stood the duchess joan of hohenstein. "joan of the sword hand!" said jorian, enraptured. "gott, what a wench!" in stern silence she advanced into the hall, every man standing fixed at attention. "good discipline!" said boris. "shut your mouth!" responded jorian. "keep your hand so, hans trenck," said their mistress; "give me your sword, werner! you shall see whether i am called joan of the sword hand for naught. you would torture prisoners, would you, after what i have said? hold up, i say, hans trenck!" and so, no man saying her nay, the girl took the shining blade and, with a preliminary swish through the air and a balancing shake to feel the elastic return, she looked at the poor knave fixed before her in the centre of the hall with his wrist strained to hold the prisoner's ball aloft at the stretch of his arm. what wonder if it wavered like a branch in an uncertain wind? "steady there!" said joan. and she drew back her arm for the stroke. the young dane, who, since her entrance, had looked at nothing save the radiant beauty of the figure before him, now cried out, "for heaven's sake, lady, do not soil the skirts of your dress with his villain blood. he but obeyed his orders. let me be set free, and i will fight him or any man in the castle. and if i am beaten, let them torture me till i am carrion fit only to be thrown into the castle ditch." the duchess paused and leaned on the sword, holding it point to the floor. "by whose orders was this thing done?" she demanded. the lad was silent. he disdained to tell tales even on his enemies. was he not a gentleman and a dane? "by mine, my lady!" said werner von orseln, a deep flush upon his manly brow. the girl looked severely at him. she seemed to waver. "good, then!" she said, "the dane shall fight werner for his life. loose him and chafe his wrists. ho! there--bring a dozen swords from the armoury!" the flush was now rising to the boy's cheek. "i thank you, duchess," he said. "i ask no more than this." "faith, the sparhawk is not tamed yet," said boris; "we shall see better sport ere all be done!" "hold thy peace," growled jorian, "and look." * * * * * "out into the light!" cried the young duchess joan, pointing the way with werner's sword, which she still held in her hand. and going first she went forth from the hall of the soldiery, down the broad stairs, and soon through a low-arched door with a sculptured coat-of-arms over it, out into the quadrangle of the courtyard. "and now we will see this prisoner of ours, this cock of the danish marches, make good his words. that, surely, is better sport than to drop caltrops upon the toes of manacled men." werner followed unwillingly and with deep flush of shame upon his brow. "my lady," he said, going up to his mistress, "i do not need to prove my courage after i have served kernsberg and hohenstein for thirty-eight years--or well-nigh twice the years you have lived--fought for you and your father and shed my blood in a score of pitched battles, to say nothing of forays. of course i will fight, but surely this young cockerel might be satisfied to have his comb cut by younger hands." "was yours the order concerning the dropping of the ball?" asked the duchess joan. the grey-headed soldier nodded grimly. "i gave the order," he said briefly. "then by st. ursula and her boneyard, you must stand to it!" cried this fiery young woman. "else will i drub you with the flat of your own sword!" werner bowed with a slightly ironic smile on his grizzled face. "as your ladyship wills," he said; "i do not give you half obedience. if you say that i am to get down on my knees and play cat's cradle with the kernsberg bairns, i will do it!" joan of the sword here looked calmly at him with a certain austerity in her glance. "why, of course you would!" she said simply. meanwhile the lad had been freed from his bonds and stood with a sword in his hand suppling himself for the work before him with quick little guards and feints and attacks. there was a proud look in his eyes, and as his glance left the duchess and roved round the circle of his foes, it flashed full, bold, and defiant. werner turned to a palish lean bohemian who stood a little apart. "peter balta," he said, "will you be my second? agreed! and who will care for my honourable opponent?" "do not trouble yourself--that will arrange itself!" said joan to her chief captain. with that she flashed lightfoot into one of the low doors which led into the flanking turrets of the quadrangle, and in a tierce of seconds she was out again, in a forester's dress of green doublet and broad pleated kirtle that came to her knee. "i myself," she said, challenging them with her eyes, "will be this young man's second, in this place where he has so many enemies and no friends." as the forester in green and the prisoner stood up together, the guards murmured in astonishment at the likeness between them. "had this dane and our joan been brother and sister, they could not have favoured each other more," they said. a deep blush rose to the youth's swarthy face. "i am not worthy," he said, and kept his eyes upon the lithe figure of the girl in its array of well-fitting velvet. "i cannot thank you!" he said again. "tut," she answered, "worthy--unworthy--thank--unthank--what avail these upon the mountains of kernsberg and in the castle of joan of the sword hand? a good heart, a merry fight, a quick death! these are more to the purpose than many thanks and compliments. peter balta, are you seconding werner? come hither. let us try the swords, you and i. will not these two serve? guard! well smitten! there, enough. what, you are touched on the sword arm? faith, man, for the moment i forgot that it was not you and i who were to drum. this tickling of steel goes to my head like wine and i am bound to forget. i am sorry--but, after all, a day or two in a sling will put your arm to rights again, peter. these are good swords. now then, maurice von lynar--werner. at the salute! ready! fall to!" the burly figure of the captain werner von orseln and the slim arrowy swiftness of maurice the dane were opposed in the clear shadow of the quadrangle, where neither had any advantage of light, and the swords of their seconds kept them at proper distance according to the fighting rules of the time. "i give the sparhawk five minutes," said boris to jorian, after the first parry. it was little more than formal and gave no token of what was to follow. yet for full twenty minutes werner von orseln, the oldest sworder of all the north, from the marshes of wilna to the hills of silesia, could do nothing but stand on the defensive, so fierce and incessant were the attacks of the young dane. but werner did not give back. he stood his ground, warily, steadfastly, with a half smile on his face, a wall of quick steel in front of him, and the point of his adversary's blade ever missing him an inch at this side, and coming an inch short upon that other. the dane kept as steadily to the attack, and made his points as much by his remarkable nimbleness upon his feet as by the lightning rapidity of his sword-play. "the kernsberger is playing with him!" said boris, under his breath. jorian nodded. he had no breath to waste. "but he is not going to kill him. he has not the death in his eye!" boris spoke with judgment, for so it proved. werner lifted an eyebrow for the fraction of a second towards his mistress. and then at the end of the next rally his sword just touched his young adversary on the shoulder and the blood answered the thrust, staining the white underdoublet of the dane. then werner threw down his sword and held out his hand. "a well-fought rally," he said; "let us be friends. we need lads of such metal to ride the forays from the hills of kernsberg. i am sorry i baited you, sparhawk!" "a good fight clears all scores!" replied the youth, smiling in his turn. "bring a bandage for his shoulder, peter balta!" cried joan. "mine was the cleaner stroke which went so near your great muscle, but werner's is somewhat the deeper. you can keep each other company at the dice-box these next days. and, as i warrant neither of you has a lübeck guilder to bless yourself with, you can e'en play for love till you wear out the pips with throwing." "then i am not to go back to the dungeon?" said the lad, one reason of whose wounding had been that he also lifted his eyes for a moment to those of his second. "to prison--no," said joan; "you are one of us now. we have blooded you. do you take service with me?" "i have no choice--your father left me none!" the lad replied, quickly altering his phrase. "castle lynar is no more. my grandfather, my father, and my uncles are all dead, and there is small service in going back to denmark, where there are more than enough of hungry gentlemen with no wealth but their swords and no living but their gentility. if you will let me serve in the ranks, duchess joan, i shall be well content!" "i also," said joan heartily. "we are all free in kernsberg, even if we are not all equal. we will try you in the ranks first. go to the men's quarters. george the hussite, i deliver him to you. see that he does not get into any more quarrels till his arm is better, and curb my rascals' tongues as far as you can. remember who meddles with the principal must reckon with the second." chapter iv the cozening of the ambassador the next moment joan had disappeared, and when she was seen again she had assumed the skirt she had previously worn over her dress of forester, and was again the sedate lady of the castle, ready to lead the dance, grace the banquet, or entertain the high state's councillor of plassenburg, leopold von dessauer. but when she went upstairs she met on the middle flight a grey-bearded man with a skull cap of black velvet upon his head. his dress also was of black, of a distinguishing plain richness and dignity. "whither away, ambassador?" she cried gaily at the sight of him. "to see to your principal's wound and that of the other whom your sword countered in the trial bout!" "what? you saw?" said the duchess, with a quick flush. "i am indeed privileged not to be blind," said dessauer; "and never did i see a sight that contented me more." "and you stood at the window saying in your heart (nay, do not deny it) 'unwomanly--bold--not like my lady the princess of plassenburg. she would not thus ruffle in the courtyard with the men-at-arms!'" "i said no such thing," said the high councillor. "i am an old man and have seen many fair women, many sweet princesses, each perfect to their lovers, some of them even perfect to their lords. but i have never before seen a duchess joan of hohenstein." "ambassador," cried the girl, "if you speak thus and with that flash of the eye, i shall have to bethink me whether you come not as an ambassador for your own cause." "i would that i were forty years younger and a prince in my own right, instead of a penniless old baron. why, then, i would not come on any man's errand--no, nor take a refusal even from your fair lips!" "i declare," said the duchess joan impetuously, "you should have no refusal from me. you are the only man i have ever met who can speak of love and yet be tolerable. it is a pity that my father left me the evil heritage that i must wed the prince of courtland or lose my dominions!" at the sound of the name of her predestined husband a sudden flashing thought seemed to wake in the girl's breast. "my lord," she said, "is it true that you go to courtland after leaving our poor eagle's nest up here on the cliffs of the kernsberg?" von dessauer bowed, smiling at her. he was not too old to love beauty and frankness in women. "it is true that i have a mission from my prince and princess to the prince of courtland and wilna. but----" joan of the sword clasped her hands and drew a long breath. "i would not ask it of any man in the world but yourself," she said, "but will you let me go with you?" "my dear lady," said dessauer, with swift deprecation, "to go with the ambassador of another power to the court and palace of the man you are to marry--that were a tale indeed, salt enough even for the princes of ritterdom. as it is----" the duchess looked across at dessauer with great haughtiness. "as it is, they talk more than enough about me already," she said. "well--i know, and care not. i am no puling maid that waits till she is authorised by a conclave of the empire before she dares wipe her nose when she hath a cold in the head. joan of the sword hand cares not what any prince may say--from yours of plassenburg, him of the red axe, to the fat margraf george." "oh, our prince, he says naught, but does much," said dessauer. "he hath been a rough blade in his time, but karl the miller's son mellowed him, and by now his own princess hath fairly civilised him." "well," said joan of the sword, with determination, "then it is settled. i am coming with you to courtland." a shade of anxiety passed over dessauer's countenance. "my lady," he answered, "you let me use many freedoms of speech with you. it is the privilege of age and frailty. but let me tell you that the thing is plainly foolish. hardly under the escort of the empress herself would it be possible for you to visit, without scandal, the court of the prince of courtland and wilna. but in the train of an envoy of plassenburg, even if that ambassador be poor old leopold von dessauer, the thing, i must tell you, is frankly impossible." "well, i am coming, at any rate!" said joan, as usual rejecting argument and falling back upon assertion. "make your count with that, friend of mine, whether you are shocked or no. it is the penalty a respectable diplomatist has to pay for cultivating the friendship of lone females like joan of hohenstein." von dessauer held up his hands in horror that was more than half affected. "my girl," he said, "i might be your grandfather, it is true, but do not remind me of it too often. but if i were your great-great-grandfather the thing you propose is still impossible. think of what the margraf george and his chattering train would say!" "think of what every fathead princeling and beer-swilling ritter from here to basel would say!" cried joan, with her pretty nose in the air. "let them say! they will not say anything that i care the snap of my finger for. and in their hearts they will envy you the experience--shall we say the privilege?" "nay, i thought not of myself, my lady," said dessauer, "for an old man, a mere anatomy of bones and parchment, i take strange pleasure in your society--more than i ought, i tell you frankly. you are to me more than a daughter, though i am but a poor baron of plassenburg and the faithful servant of the princess helene. it is for your own sake that i say you cannot come to wilna with me. shall the future princess of courtland and wilna ride in the train of an ambassador of plassenburg to the palace in which she is soon to reign as queen?" "i said not that i would go as the duchess," joan replied, speaking low. "you say that you saw me at the fight in the courtyard out there. if you will not have the duchess joan von hohenstein, what say you to the sparhawk's second, johann the squire?" dessauer started. "you dare not," he said; "why, there is not a lady in the german land, from bohemia to the baltic, that dares do as much." "ladies," flashed joan--"i am sick for ever of hearing that a lady must not do this or that, go here or there, because of her so fragile reputation. she may do needlework or embroider altar-cloths, but she must not shoot with a pistolet or play with a sword. well, i am a lady; let him counter it who durst. and i cannot broider altar-cloths and i will not try--but i can shoot with any man at the flying mark. she must have a care for her honour, which (poor, feckless wretch!) will be smirched if she speaks to any as a man speaks to his fellows. faith! for me i would rather die than have such an egg-shell reputation. i can care for mine own. i need none to take up my quarrel. if any have a word to say upon the repute of joan of the sword hand--why, let him say it at the point of her rapier." the girl stood up, tall and straight, her head thrown back as it were at the world, with an exact and striking counterpart of the defiance of the young dane in the presence of his enemies an hour before. dessauer stood wavering. with quick tact she altered her tone, and with a soft accent and in a melting voice she added, "ah, let me come. i will make such a creditable squire all in a suit of blue and silver, with just a touch of nutty juice upon my face that my old nurse knows the secret of." still dessauer stood silent, weighing difficulties and chances. "i tell you what," she cried, pursuing her advantage, "i will see the man i am to marry as men see him, without trappings and furbelows. and if you will not take me, by my faith! i will send werner there, whom you saw fight the dane, as my own envoy, and go with him as a page. on the honour of henry the lion, my father, i will do it!" von dessauer capitulated. "a wilful woman"--he smiled--"a wilful, wilful woman. well, i am not responsible for aught of this, save for my own weakness in permitting it. it is a madcap freak, and no good will come of it." "but you will like it!" she said. "oh, yes, you will like it very much. for, you see, you are fond of madcaps." chapter v johann the secretary ten miles outside the boundary of the little hill state of kernsberg, the embassage of plassenburg was met by another cavalcade bearing additional instructions from the princess helene. the leader was a slender youth of middle height, the accuracy of whose form gave evidence of much agility. he was dark-skinned, of an olive complexion, and with closely cropped black hair which curled crisply about his small head. his eyes were dark and fine, looking straightly and boldly out upon all comers. with him, as chiefs of his escort, were those two silent men jorian and boris, who had, as it was reported, ridden to plassenburg for instructions. none of those who followed dessauer had ever before set eyes upon this youth, who came with fresh despatches, and, in consequence, great was the consternation and many the surmises as to who he might be who stood so high in favour with the prince and princess. but his very first words made the matter clear. "your excellency," he said to the ambassador, "i bring you the most recent instructions from their highnesses hugo and helene of plassenburg. they sojourn for the time being in the city of thorn, where they build a new palace for themselves. i was brought from hamburg to be one of the master-builders. i have skill in plans, and i bring you these for your approval and in order to go over the rates of cost with you, as treasurer of plassenburg and the wolfsmark." dessauer took, with every token of deference, the sheaf of papers so carefully enwrapt and sealed with the seal of plassenburg. "i thank you for your diligence, good master architect," he said; "i shall peruse these at my leisure, and, i doubt not, call upon you frequently for explanations." the young man rode on at his side, modestly waiting to be questioned. "what is your name, sir?" asked dessauer, so that all the escort might hear. "i am called johann pyrmont," said the youth promptly, and with engaging frankness; "my father is a hamburg merchant, trading to the spanish ports for oil and wine, but i follow him not. i had ever a turn for drawing and the art of design!" "also for having your own way, as is common with the young," said the ambassador, smiling shrewdly. "so, against your father's will, you apprenticed yourself to an architect?" the young man bowed. "nay, sir," he said, "but my good father could deny me nothing on which i had set my mind." "not he," muttered dessauer under his breath; "no, nor any one else either!" so, bridle by jingling bridle, they rode on over the interminable plain till kernsberg, with its noble crown of towers, became first grey and afterwards pale blue in the utmost distance. then, like a tall ship at sea, it sank altogether out of sight. and still they rode on through the marshy hollows, round innumerable little wildfowl-haunted lakelets, and so over the sandy, rolling dunes to the city of courtland, where was abiding the prince of that rich and noble principality. it had been a favourite scheme of dead princes of courtland to unite to their fat acres and populous mercantile cities the hardy mountaineers and pastoral uplands of kernsberg. but though wilna and courtland were infinitely more populous, the eagle's nest was ill to pull down, and hitherto the best laid plans for their union had invariably fallen through. but there had come to joan's father, henry called the lion, and the late prince michael of courtland a better thought. one had a daughter, the other a son. neither was burdened with any law of succession, salic or other. they held their domains by the free tenure of the sword. they could leave their powers to whomsoever they would, not even the emperor having the right to say, "what doest thou?" so with that frank carelessness of the private feelings of the individual which has ever distinguished great politicians, they decreed that, as a condition of succession, their male and female heirs should marry each other. this bond of heritage-brotherhood, as it was called, had received the sanction of the emperor in full diet, and now it wanted only that the duchess joan of hohenstein should be of age, in order that the provinces might at last be united and the long wars of highland and lowland make an end. the scheme had taken everything into consideration except the private character of the persons principally affected, prince louis of courtland and the young duchess joan. as they came nearer to the ancient city of courtland, it spread like a metropolis before the eyes of the embassy of the prince and princess of plassenburg. the city stretched from the rock whereon the fortress-palace was built, along a windy, irregular ridge. innumerable crow-stepped gables were set at right angles to the street. the towers of the minster rose against the sky at the lower end, and far to the southward the palace of the cardinal archbishop cast peaked shadows from its many towers, walled and cinctured like a city within a city. it was a far-seen town this of courtland, populous, prosperous, defenced. its clear and broad river was navigable for any craft of the time, and already it threatened to equal if not to outstrip in importance the free cities of the hanseatic league--so far, at least, as the trade of the baltic was concerned. courtland had long been considered too strong to be attacked, save from the polish border, while the adhesion of kernsberg, and the drafting of the duchess's hardy fighting mountaineers into the lowland armies would render the princedom safe for many generations. pity it was that plans so far-reaching and purposes so politic should be dependent upon the whims of a girl! but then it is just such whims that make the world interesting. * * * * * it was the last day of the famous tournament of the black eagle in the princely city of courtland. prince louis had sent out an escort to bring in the travellers and conduct them with honour to the seats reserved for them. the ambassador and high councillor of plassenburg must be received with all observance. he had, he gave notice, brought a secretary with him. for so the young architect was now styled, in order to give him an official position in the mission. the prince had also sent a request that, as this was the day upon which all combatants wore plain armour and jousted unknown, for that time being the ambassador should accept other escort and excuse him coming to receive him in person. they would meet at dinner on the morrow, in the great hall of the palace. the city was arrayed in flaming banners, some streaming high from the lofty towers of the cathedral, while others (in streets into which the wind came only in puffs) more languidly and luxuriously unfolded themselves, as the black eagle on its ground of white everywhere took the air. all over the city a galaxy of lighter silk and bunting, pennons, bannerettes, parti-coloured streamers of the national colours danced becking and bowing from window and roof-tree. yet there was a curious silence too in the streets, as they rode towards the lists of the black eagle, and when at last they came within hearing of the hum of the thousands gathered there, they understood why the city had seemed so unwontedly deserted. the courtlanders surrounded the great oval space of the lists in clustered myriads, and their eyes were bent inwards. it was the crisis of the great _mêlée_. scarcely an eye in all that assembly was turned towards the strangers, who passed quite unobserved to their reserved places in the prince's empty box. only his sister margaret, throned on high as queen of beauty, looked down upon them with interest, seeing that they were men who came, and that one at least was young. it was a gay and changeful scene. in the brilliant daylight of the lists a hundred knights charged and recharged. those who had been unhorsed drew their swords and attacked with fury others of the enemy in like case. the air resounded with the clashing of steel on steel. fifty knights with white plumes on their helmets had charged fifty wearing black, and the combat still raged. the shouts of the people rang in the ears of the ambassador of plassenburg and his secretary, as they seated themselves and looked down upon the tide of combat over the flower-draped balustrades of their box. "the blacks have it!" said dessauer after regarding the _mêlée_ with interest. "we have come in time to see the end of the fray. would that we had also seen the shock!" and indeed the blacks seemed to have carried all before them. they were mostly bigger and stronger built men, knights of the landward provinces, and their horses, great solid-boned saxon chargers, had by sheer weight borne their way through the lighter ranks of the baltic knights on the white horses. not more than half a dozen of these were now in saddle, and all over the field were to be seen black knights receiving the submission of knights whose broken spears and tarnished plumes showed that they had succumbed in the charge to superior weight of metal. for, so soon as a knight yielded, his steed became the property of his victorious foe, and he himself was either carried or limped as best he could to the pavilion of his party, there to remove his armour and send it also to the victor--to whom, in literal fact, belonged the spoils. of the half-dozen white knights who still kept up the struggle, one shone pre-eminent for dashing valour. his charger surged hither and thither through the crowd, his spear was victorious and unbroken, and the boldest opponent thought it politic to turn aside out of his path. set upon by more than a score of riders, he still managed to evade them, and even when all his side had submitted and he alone remained--at the end of the lists to which he had been driven, he made him ready for a final charge into the scarce broken array of his foes, of whom more than twenty remained still on horseback in the field. but though his spear struck true in the middle of his immediate antagonist's shield and his opponent went down, it availed the brave white knight nothing. for at the same moment half a score of lances struck him on the shield, on the breastplate, on the vizor bars of his helmet, and he fell heavily to the earth. nevertheless, scarcely had he touched the ground when he was again on his feet. sword in hand, he stood for a moment unscathed and undaunted, while his foes, momentarily disordered by the energy of the charge, reined in their steeds ere they could return to the attack. "oh, well ridden!" "greatly done!" "a most noble knight!" these were the exclamations which came from all parts of the crowd which surged about the barriers on this great day. "i would that i were down beside him with a sword in my hand also!" said the young architect, master johann pyrmont, secretary of the embassage of plassenburg. "'tis well you are where you are, madcap, sitting by an old man's side, instead of fighting by that of a young one," growled dessauer. "else then, indeed, the bent would be on fire." but at this moment the princess margaret, sister of the reigning prince, rose in her place and threw down the truncheon, which in such cases stops the combat. "the black knights have won," so she gave her verdict, "but there is no need to humiliate or injure a knight who has fought so well against so many. let the white knight come hither--though he be of the losing side. his is the reward of highest honour. give him a steed, that he may come and receive the meed of bravest in the tourney!" the knights of the black were manifestly a little disappointed that after their victory one of their opponents should be selected for honour. but there was no appeal from the decision of the queen of love and beauty. for that day she reigned alone, without council or diet imperial. the black riders had therefore to be contented with their general victory, which, indeed, was indisputable enough. the white knight came near and said something in a low voice, unheard by the general crowd, to the princess. "i insist," she said aloud; "you must unhelm, that all may see the face of him who has won the prize." whereat the knight bowed and undid his helmet. a closely-cropped fair-haired head was revealed, the features clearly chiselled and yet of a grave and massive beauty, the head of a marble emperor. "my brother--you!" cried margaret of courtland in astonishment. the voice of the princess had also something of disappointment in it. clearly she had wished for some other to receive the honour, and the event did not please her. but it was otherwise with the populace. "the young prince! the young prince!" cried the people, surging impetuously about the barriers. "glory to the noble house of courtland and to the brave prince." the ambassador looked curiously at his secretary. that youth was standing with eyes brilliant as those of a man in fever. his face had paled even under its dusky tan. his lips quivered. he straightened himself up as brave and generous men do when they see a deed of bravery done by another, or like a woman who sees the man she loves publicly honoured. "the prince!" said johann pyrmont, in a voice hoarse and broken; "it is the prince himself." and on his high seat the state's councillor, leopold von dessauer, smiled well pleased. "this turns out better than i had expected," he muttered. "god himself favours the drunkard and the madcap. only wise men suffer for their sins--aye, and often for those of other people as well." chapter vi an ambassador's ambassador after the tourney of the black eagle, leopold von dessauer had gone to bed early, feeling younger and lighter than he had done for years. part of his scheme for these northern provinces of his fatherland consisted in gradual substitution of a few strong states for many weak ones. for this reason he smiled when he saw the eyes of his secretary shining like stars. it would yet more have rejoiced him had he known how uneasy lay that handsome head on its pillow. aye, even in pain it would have pleasured him. for von dessauer was lying awake and thinking of the strange chances which help or mar the lives of men and women, when a sudden sense of shock, a numbness spreading upwards through his limbs, the rising of rheum to his eyes, and a humming in his ears, announced the approach of one of those attacks to which he had been subject ever since he had been wounded in a duel some years before--a duel in which his present prince and his late master, karl the miller's son, had both been engaged. the ambassador called for jorian in a feeble voice. that light-sleeping soldier immediately answered him. he had stretched himself out, wrapped in a blanket for all covering, on the floor of the antechamber in dessauer's lodging. in a moment, therefore, he presented himself at the door completely dressed. a shake and a half-checked yawn completed his inexpensive toilet, for jorian prided himself on not being what he called "a pretty-pretty captainet." "your excellency needs me?" he said, standing at the salute as if it had been the morning guard changing at the palace gate. "give me my case of medicine," said the old man; "that in the bag of rough silesian leather. so! i feel my old attack coming upon me. it will be three days before i can stir. yet must these papers be put in the hands of the prince early this morning. ah, there is my little johann; i was thinking about her--him, i mean. well, he shall have his chance. this foul easterly wind may yet blow us all good!" he made a wry face as a twinge of pain caught him. it passed and he resumed. "go, jorian," he said, "tap light upon his chamber door. if he chance to be in the deep sleep of youth and health--not yet distempered by thought and love, by old age and the eating of many suppers--rap louder, for i must see him forthwith. there is much to set in order ere at nine o'clock he must adjourn to the summer palace to meet the prince." so in a trice jorian was gone and at the door of the architect-secretary, he of the brown skin and greekish profile. johann pyrmont was, it appeared, neither in bed nor yet asleep. instead, he had been standing at the window watching the brighter stars swim up one by one out of the east. the thoughts of the young man were happy thoughts. at last he was in the capital city of the princes of courtland. his many days' journey had not been in vain. almost in the first moment he had seen the noble youthful prince and his sister, and he was prepared to like them both. life held more than the preparation of plans and the ordering of bricklayers at their tasks. there was in it, strangely enough, a young man with closely cropped head whom johann had seen storm through the ranks of the fighting-men that day, and afterwards receive the guerdon of the bravest. though what difference these things made to an architect of hamburg town it was difficult (on the face of things) to perceive. nevertheless, he stood and watched the east. it was five of a clear autumnal morning, and a light chill breath blew from the point at which the sun would rise. a pale moon in her last quarter was tossed high among the stars, as if upborne upon the ebbing tide of night. translucent greyness filled the wide plain of courtland, and in the scattered farms all about the lights, which signified early horse-tending and the milking of kine, were already beginning to outrival the waning stars. orion, with his guardian four set wide about him, tingled against the face of the east, and the electric lamp of sirius burnt blue above the horizon. the lightness and the hope of breathing morn, the scent of fields half reaped, the cool salt wind from off the sea, filled the channels of the youth's life. it was good to be alive, thought johann pyrmont, architect of hamburg, or otherwise. jorian rapped low, with more reverence than is common from captains to secretaries of legations. the young man was leaning out of the window and did not hear. the ex-man-at-arms rapped louder. at the sound johann pyrmont clapped his hand to the hip where his sword should have been. "who is there?" he asked, turning about with keen alertness, and in a voice which seemed at once sweeter and more commanding than even the most imperious master-builder would naturally use to his underlings. "i--jorian! his excellency is taken suddenly ill and bade me come for you." immediately the secretary opened the door, and in a few seconds stood at the old man's bedside. here they talked low to each other, the young man with his hand laid tenderly on the forehead of his elder. only their last words concern us at present. "this will serve to begin my business and to finish yours. thereafter the sooner you return to kernsberg the better. remember the moon cannot long be lost out of the sky without causing remark." the young man received the ambassador's papers and went out. dessauer took a composing draught and lay back with a sigh. "it is humbling," he said to jorian, "that to compose young wits you must do it through the heart, but in the case of the old through the stomach." "'tis a strange draught _he_ hath gotten," said the soldier, indicating the door by which the secretary had gone forth. "if i be not mistaken, much water shall flow under bridge ere his sickness be cured." as soon as he had reached his own chamber johann laid the papers upon the table without glancing at them. he went again to the window and looked across the city. during his brief absence the stars had thinned out. even the moon was now no brighter than so much grey ash. but the east had grown red and burned a glorious arch of cool brightness, with all its cloud edges teased loosely into fretted wisps and flakes of changeful fire. the wind began to blow more largely and statedly before the coming of the sun. johann drew a long breath and opened wide both halves of the casement. "to-day i shall see the prince!" he said. it was exactly nine of the clock when he set out for the palace. he was attired in the plain black dress of a secretary, with only the narrowest corded edge and collar of rough-scrolled gold. the slimness of his waist was filled in so well that he looked no more than a well-grown, clean-limbed stripling of twenty. a plain sword in a scabbard of black leather was belted to his side, and he carried his papers in his hand sealed with seals and wrapped carefully about with silken ties. yet, for all this simplicity, the eyes of johann pyrmont were so full of light, and his beauty of face so surprising, that all turned to look after him as he went by with a free carriage and a swing to his gait. even the market girls ran together to gaze after the young stranger. maids of higher degree called sharply to each other and crowded the balconies to look down upon him. but through the busy morning tumult of the streets johann pyrmont walked serene and unconscious. was not he going to the summer palace to see the prince? at the great door of the outer pavilion he intimated his desire to the officer in charge of the guard. "which prince?" said the officer curtly. "why," answered the secretary, with a glad heart, "there is but one--he who won the prize yesterday at the tilting!" "god's truth!--and you say true!" ejaculated the guardsman, starting. "but who are you who dares blurt out on the steps of the palace of courtland that which ordinary men--aye, even good soldiers--durst scarcely think in their own hearts?" "i am secretary of the noble ambassador of plassenburg, and i come to see the prince!" "you are a limber slip to be so outspoken," said the man; "but remember that you could be right easily broken on the wheel. so have a care of those slender limbs of yours. keep them for the maids of your plassenburg!" and with the freedom of a soldier he put his hand about the neck of johann pyrmont, laying it upon his far shoulder with the easy familiarity of an elder, who has it in his power to do a kindness to a younger. instinctively johann slipped aside his shoulder, and the officer's hand after hanging a moment suspended in the air, fell to his side. the courtlander laughed aloud. "what!" he cried, "is my young cock of plassenburg so mightily particular that he cannot have an honest soldier's hand upon his shoulder?" "i am not accustomed," said johann pyrmont, with dignity, "to have men's hands upon my shoulder. it is not our plassenburg custom!" the soldier laughed a huge earth-shaking laugh of merriment. "faith!" he cried, "you are early begun, my lad, that men's hands are so debarred. 'not our custom!' says he. why, i warrant, by the fashion of your countenance, that the hands of ladies are not so unwelcome. ha! you blush! here, paul strelitz, come hither and see a young gallant that blushes at a word, and owns that he is more at home with ladies than with rough soldiers." a great bearded bor-russian came out of the guard-room, stretching himself and yawning like one whose night has been irregular. "what's ado?--what is't, that you fret a man in his beauty-sleep?" he said. "oh, this young gentleman! yes, i saw him yesterday, and the princess margaret saw him yesterday, too. does he go to visit her so early this morning? he loses no time, i' faith! but he had better keep out of the way of the wasp, if the princess gives him many of those glances of hers, half over her shoulder--you know her way, otto." at this the first officer reiterated his jest about his hand on johann's shoulder, being of that mighty faction which cannot originate the smallest joke without immediately wearing it to the bone. the secretary began to be angry. his temper was not long at the longest. he had not thought of having to submit to this when he became a secretary. "i am quite willing, sir captain," he said, with haughty reserve, "that your hand should be--where it ought to be--on your sword handle. for in that case my hand will also be on mine, and very much at your service. but in my country such liberties are not taken between strangers!" "what?" cried otto the guardsman, "do men not embrace one another when they meet, and kiss each other on either cheek at parting? how then, so mighty particular about hands on shoulders? answer me that, my young secretary." "for me," said johann, instantly losing his head in the hotness of his indignation, "i would have you know that i only kiss ladies, or permit them to kiss me!" the courtlander and the bor-russian roared unanimously. "is he not precious beyond words, this youngling, eh, paul strelitz?" cried the first. "i would we had him at our table of mess. what would our commander say to that? how he would gobble and glower? 'as for me, i only kiss ladies!' can you imagine it, paul?" but just then there came a clatter of horse's hoofs across the wide spaces of the palace front, into which the bright forenoon sun was now beating, and a lady of tall figure and a head all a-ripple with sunny, golden curls dashed up at a canter, the stones spraying forward and outward as she reined her horse sharply with her hands low. "the princess margaret!" said the first officer. "stand to it, paul. be a man, secretary, and hold your tongue." the two officers saluted stiffly, and the lady looked about for some one to help her to descend. she observed johann standing, still haughtily indignant, by the gate. "come hither!" she said, beckoning with her finger. "give me your hand!" she commanded. the secretary gave it awkwardly, and the princess plumped rather sharply to the ground. "what! do they not teach you how to help ladies to alight in plassenburg?" queried the princess. "you accompany the new ambassador, do you not?" "you are the first i ever helped in my life," said johann simply. "mostly----" "what! i am the first? you jest. it is not possible. there are many ladies in plassenburg, and i doubt not they have noted and distinguished a handsome youth like you." the secretary shook his head. "not so," he said, smiling; "i have never been so remarked by any lady in plassenburg in my life." the courtlander, standing stiff at the salute, turned his head the least fraction of an inch towards paul strelitz the bor-russian. "he sticks to it. lord! i wish that i could lie like that! i would make my fortune in a trice," he muttered. "'as for me, i only kiss ladies!' did you hear him, paul?" "i hear him. he lies like an archbishop--a divine liar," muttered the bor-russian under his breath. "well, at any rate," said the princess, never taking her eyes off the young man's face, "you will be good enough to escort me to the prince's room." "i am going there myself," said the secretary curtly. "certainly they do not teach you to say pretty things to ladies," answered the princess. "i know many that could have bettered that speech without stressing themselves. yet, after all, i know not but i like your blunt way best!" she added, after a pause, again smiling upon him. as she took the young man's arm, a cavalier suddenly dashed up on a smoking horse, which had evidently been ridden to his limit. he was of middle size, of a figure exceedingly elegant, and dressed in the highest fashion. he wore a suit of black velvet with yellow points and narrow braidings also of yellow, a broad golden sash girt his waist, his face was handsome, and his mustachios long, fierce, and curling. his eye glittered like that of a snake, with a steady chill sheen, unpleasant to linger upon. he swung from his horse, casting the reins to the nearest soldier, who happened to be our courtland officer otto, and sprang up the steps after the princess and her young escort. "princess," he said hastily, "princess margaret, i beg your pardon most humbly that i have been so unfortunate as to be late in my attendance upon you. the prince sent for me at the critical moment, and i was bound to obey. may i now have the honour of conducting you to the summer parlour?" the princess turned carelessly, or rather, to tell it exactly, she turned her head a little back over her shoulder with a beautiful gesture peculiar to herself. "i thank you," she said coldly, "i have already requested this gentleman to escort me. i shall not need you, prince ivan." and she went in, bending graciously and even confidingly towards the secretary, on whose arm her hand reposed. the cavalier in banded yellow stood a moment with an expression on his face at once humorous and malevolent. he gazed after the pair till the door swung to and they disappeared. then he turned bitterly towards the nearest officer. "tell me," he said, "who is the lout in black, that looks like a priest-cub out for a holiday?" "he is the secretary of the embassy of plassenburg," said otto the guardsman, restraining a desire to put his information in another form. he did not love this imperious cavalier; he was a courtlander and holding a muscovite's horse. the conjunction brought something into his throat. "ha," said the young man in black and yellow, still gazing at the closed door, "i think i shall go into the rose-garden; i may have something further to say to the most honourable the secretary of the embassy of plassenburg!" and summoning the officer with a curt monosyllable to bring his horse, he mounted and rode off. "i wonder he did not give me a silver groat," said the courtlander. "the secretary sparrow may be dainty and kiss only ladies, but this prince of muscovy has not pretty manners. i hope he does not marry the princess after all." "not with her goodwill, i warrant," said paul strelitz; "either you or i would have a better chance, unless our prince ludwig compel her to it for the good of the state!" "prince wasp seemed somewhat disturbed in his mind," said the courtlander, chuckling. "i wish i were on guard in the rose-garden to see the meeting of master prettyman and his royal highness the hornet of muscovy!" [illustration: "he gazed after the pair till the door swung to." [_page _]] chapter vii h.r.h. the princess impetuosity the princess margaret spoke low and confidentially to the secretary of embassy as they paced along. johann pyrmont felt correspondingly awkward. for one thing, the pressure of the princess's hand upon his arm distracted him. he longed to have her on his other side. "you are noble?" she said, with a look down at him. "of course!" said the secretary quickly. the opposite had never occurred to him. he had not considered the pedigree of travelling merchants or hamburg architects. the princess thought it was not at all of course, but continued-- "i understand--you would learn diplomacy under a man so wise as the high councillor von dessauer. i have heard of such sacrifices. my brother, who is very learned, went to italy, and they say (though he only laughs when i ask him) worked with his hands in one of the places where they print the new sort of books instead of writing them. is it not wonderful?" "and he is so brave," said the secretary, whose interest suddenly increased; "he won the tournament yesterday, did he not? i saw you give him the crown of bay. i had not thought so brave a man could be learned also." "oh, my brother has all the perfections, yet thinks more of every shaveling monk and unfledged chorister than of himself. i will introduce you to him now. i am a pet of his. you will love him, too--when you know him, that is!" "devoutly do i hope so!" said the secretary under his breath. but the princess heard him. "of course you will," she said gaily; "i love him, therefore so will you!" "an agreeable princess--i shall get on well with her!" thought johann pyrmont. then the attention of his companion flagged and she was silent and distrait for a little, as they paced through courts and colonnades which to the secretary seemed interminable. the princess silently indicated the way by a pressure upon his arm which was almost more than friendly. "we walk well together," she said presently, rousing herself from her reverie. "yes," answered the secretary, who was thinking that surely it was a long way to the summer parlour, where he was to meet the prince. "i fear," said the princess margaret quaintly, "that you are often in the habit of walking with ladies! your step agrees so well with mine!" "i never walk with any others," the secretary answered without thought. "what?" cried the princess, quickly taking away her hand, "and you swore to me even now that you never helped a lady from her horse in your life!" it was an _impasse_, and the secretary, recalled to himself, blushed deeply. "i see so few ladies," he stammered, in a tremor lest he should have betrayed himself. "i live in the country--only my maid----" "heaven's own sunshine!" cried the princess. "have the pretty young men of plassenburg maids and tirewomen? small wonder that so few of them ever visit us! no blame that you stay in that happy country!" the secretary recovered his presence of mind rapidly. "i mean," he explained, "the old woman bette, my nurse, who, though now i am grown up, comes every night to see that i have all i want and to fold my clothes. i have no other women about me." "you are sure that bette, who comes for your clothes and to see that you have all you want, is old?" persisted the princess, keeping her eyes sharply upon her companion. "she is so old that i never remember her to have been any younger," replied the secretary, with an air of engaging candour. "i believe you," cried the outspoken princess; "no one can lie with such eyes. strange that i should have liked you from the first. stranger that in an hour i should tell you so. your arm!" the secretary immediately put his hand within the arm of the princess margaret, who turned upon him instantly in great astonishment. "is that also a plassenburg custom?" she said sharply. "was it old bette who taught you thus to take a lady's arm? it is otherwise thought of in our ignorant courtland!" the young man blushed and looked down. "i am sorry," he said; "it is a common fashion with us. i crave your pardon if in aught i have offended." the princess margaret looked quizzically at her companion. "i' faith," she said, "i have ever had a curiosity about foreign customs. this one i find not amiss. do it again!" and with her own princessly hand she took johann's slender brown fingers and placed them upon her arm. "these are fitter for the pen than for the sword!" she said, a saying which pleased the owner of them but little. the courtlander otto, who had been on guard at the gate, had meantime been relieved, and now followed the pair through the corridors to the summer palace upon an errand which he had speciously invented. at this point he stood astonished. "i would that prince wasp were here. we should see his sting. he is indeed a marvel, this fellow of plassenburg. glad am i that he does not know little lenchen up in the kaiser platz. no one of us would have a maid to his name, if this gamester abode in courtland long and made the running in this style!" the princess and her squire now went out into the open air. for she had led him by devious ways almost round the entire square of the palace buildings. they passed into a thick avenue of acacias and yews, through the arcades of which they walked silently. for the princess was content, and the secretary afraid of making any more mistakes. so he let the foreign custom go at what it might be worth, knowing that if he tried to better it, ten to one a worse thing might befall. "i have changed my mind," said the princess, suddenly stopping and turning upon her companion; "i shall not introduce you to my brother. if you come from the ambassador, you must have matters of importance to speak of. i will rest me here in an arbour and come in later. then, if you are good, you shall perhaps be permitted to reconduct me to my lodging, and as we go, teach me any other pleasant foreign customs!" the secretary bowed, but kept his eyes on the ground. "you do not say that you are glad," cried the princess, coming impulsively a step nearer. "i tell you there is not one youth----but no matter. i see that it is your innocence, and i am not sure that i do not like you the better for it." behind an evergreen, otto the courtlander nearly discovered himself at this declaration. "his innocence--magnificent karl the great! his plassenburger's innocence--god wot! he will not die of it, but he may be the death of me. oh, for the opinion of prince wasp of muscovy upon such innocence." "come," said the princess, holding out her hands, "bid me goodbye as you do in your country. there is the prince my brother's horse at the door. you must hasten, or he will be gone ere you do your message." at this the heart of the youth gave a great leap. "the prince!" he cried, "he will be gone!" and would have bolted off without a word. "never mind the prince--think of me," commanded the princess, stamping her foot. "give me your hand. i am not accustomed to ask twice. bid me goodbye." with his eyes on the white charger by the door the secretary hastily took the princess by both hands. then, with his mind still upon the departing prince, he drew her impulsively towards him, kissed her swiftly upon both cheeks, and finished by imprinting his lips heartily upon her mouth! then, still with swift impulse and an ardent glance upward at the palace front, he ran in the direction of the steps of the summer palace. the princess margaret stood rooted to the ground. a flush of shame, anger, or some other violent emotion rose to her brow and stayed there. then she called to mind the straightforward unclouded eyes, the clear innocence of the youth's brow, and the smile came back to her lips. "after all, it is doubtless only his foreign custom," she mused. then, after a pause, "i like foreign customs," she added, "they are interesting to learn!" behind his tree the courtlander stood gasping with astonishment, as well he might. "god never made such a fellow," he said to himself. "well might he say he never kissed any but ladies. such abilities were lost upon mere men. an hour's acquaintance--nay, less--and he hath kissed the princess margaret upon the mouth. and she, instead of shrieking and calling the guard to have the insulter thrust into the darkest dungeon, falls to musing and smiling. a devil of a secretary this! of a certainty i must have little lenchen out of town!" chapter viii johann in the summer palace at the door of the summer palace not a soul was on guard. a great quiet surrounded it. the secretary could hear the gentle lapping of the river over the parapet, for the little pavilion had been erected overhanging the water, and the leaves of the linden-trees rustled above. these last were still clamorous with the hum of bees, whose busy wings gave forth a sort of dull booming roar, comparable only to the distant noise of breakers when a roller curls slowly over and runs league-long down the sandy beach. it was with a beating heart that johann pyrmont knocked. "enter!" said a voice within, with startling suddenness. and opening the door and grasping his papers, the secretary suddenly found himself in the presence of the hero of the tournament. the prince was standing by a desk covered with books and papers. in his hand he held a quill, wherewith he had been writing in a great book which lay on a shelf at his elbow. for a moment the secretary could not reconcile this monkish occupation with his idea of the gallant white-plumed knight whom he had seen flash athwart the lists, driving a clean furrow through the hostile ranks with his single spear. but he remembered his sister's description, and looked at him with the reverence of the time for one to whom all knowledge was open. "you have business with me, young sir?" said the prince courteously, turning upon the youth a regard full of dignity and condescension. the knees of johann pyrmont trembled. for a full score of moments his tongue refused its office. "i come," he said at last, "to convey these documents to the noble prince of courtland and wilna." he gained courage as he spoke, for he had carefully rehearsed this speech to dessauer. "i am acting as secretary to the ambassador--in lieu of a better. these are the proposals concerning alliance between the realms proposed by our late master, the prince karl, before his death; and now, it is hoped, to be ratified and carried out between courtland and plassenburg under his successors, the princess helene and her husband." the tall fair-haired prince listened carefully. his luminous and steady eyes seemed to pierce through every disguise and to read the truth in the heart of the young architect-secretary. he took the papers from the hand of johann pyrmont, and laid them on a desk beside him, without, however, breaking the seals. "i will gladly take charge of such proposals. they do as much credit, i doubt not, to the sagacity of the late prince, your great master, as to the kindness and good-feeling of our present noble rulers. but where is the ambassador? i had hoped to see high councillor von dessauer for my own sake, as well as because of the ancient kindliness and correspondence that there was between him and my brother." "his brother," thought the secretary. "i did not know he had a brother--a lad, i suppose, in whom dessauer hath an interest. he is ever considerate to the young!" but aloud he answered, "i grieve to tell you, my lord, that the high councillor von dessauer is not able to leave his bed this morning. he caught a chill yesterday, either riding hither or at the tourney, and it hath induced an old trouble which no leech has hitherto been skilful enough to heal entirely. he will, i fear, be kept close in his room for several days." "i also am grieved," said the prince, with grave regret, seeing the youth's agitation, and liking him for it. "i am glad he keeps the art to make himself so beloved. it is one as useful as it is unusual in a diplomatist!" then with a quick change of subject habitual to the man, he said, "how found you your way hither? the corridors are both confusing and intricate, and the guards ordinarily somewhat exacting." the tall youth smiled. "i was in the best hands," he said. "your sister, the princess margaret, was good enough to direct me, being on her way to her own apartment." "ah!" muttered the prince, smiling as if he knew his sister, "this is the way to the princess's apartments, is it? the moscow road to rome, i wot!" he said no more, but stood regarding the youth, whose blushes came and went as he stood irresolute before him. "a modest lad," said the prince to himself; "this ingenuousness is particularly charming in a secretary of legation. i must see more of him." suddenly a thought crossed his mind. "why, did i not hear that you came to us by way of kernsberg?" he said. the blushes ceased and a certain pallor showed under the tan which overspread the young man's face as the prince continued to gaze fixedly at him. he could only bow in assent. "then, doubtless, you would see the duchess joan?" he continued. "is she very beautiful? they say so." "i do not think so. i never thought about it at all!" answered the secretary. suddenly he found himself plunged into deep waters, just as he had seen the port of safety before him. the prince laughed, throwing back his head a little. "that is surely a strange story to bring here to courtland," he said, "whither the lady is to come as a bride ere long! especially strange to tell to me, who----" "i ask your pardon," said johann pyrmont; "your highness must bear with me. i have never done an errand of such moment before, having mostly spent my life among soldiers and ("he was on his guard now") in a fortress. for diplomacy and word-play i have no skill--no, nor any liking!" "you have chosen your trade strangely, then," smiled the prince, "to proclaim such tastes. wherefore are you not a soldier?" "i am! i am!" cried johann eagerly; "at least, as much as it is allowed to one of my--of my strength to be." "can you fence?" asked the prince, "or play with the broad blade?" "i can do both!" "then," continued his inquisitor, "you must surely have tried yourself against the duchess joan. they say she has wonderful skill. joan of the sword hand, i have heard her called. you have often fenced with her?" "no," said the secretary, truthfully, "i have never fenced with the duchess joan." "so," said the prince, evidently in considerable surprise; "then you have certainly often seen her fence?" "i have never seen the duchess fence, but i have often seen others fence with her." "you practise casuistry, surely," cried the prince. "i do not quite follow the distinction." but, nevertheless, the secretary knew that the difference existed. he would have given all the proceeds and emoluments of his office to escape at this moment, but the eye of the prince was too steady. "i doubt not, young sir," he continued, "that you were one of the army of admirers which, they say, continually surrounds the duchess of hohenstein!" "indeed, you are in great error, my lord," said johann pyrmont, with much earnestness and obvious sincerity; "i never said one single word of love to the lady joan--no, nor to any other woman!" "no," said a new voice from the doorway, that of the princess margaret, "but doubtless you took great pleasure in teaching them foreign customs. and i am persuaded you did it very well, too!" the prince left his desk for the first time and came smilingly towards his sister. as he stooped to kiss her hand, johann observed that his hair seemed already to be thin upon the top of his head. "he is young to be growing bald," he said to himself; "but, after all" (with a sigh), "that does not matter in a man so noble of mien and in every way so great a prince." the impulsive princess margaret scarcely permitted her hand to be kissed. she threw her arms warmly about her brother's neck, and then as quickly releasing him, she turned to the secretary, who stood deferentially looking out at the window, that he might not observe the meeting of brother and sister. "i told you he was my favourite brother, and that you would love him, too," she said. "you must leave your dull plassenburg and come to courtland. i, the princess, ask you. do you promise?" "i think i shall come again to courtland," answered the secretary very gravely. "this young man knows the duchess joan of hohenstein," said the prince, still smiling quietly; "but i do not think he admires her very greatly--an opinion he had better keep to himself if he would have a quiet life of it in courtland!" "indeed," said the princess brusquely. "i wonder not at it. i hear she is a forward minx, and at any rate she shall never lord it over me. i will run away with a dog-whipper first." "your husband would have occasion for the exercise of his art, sister mine!" said the prince. "but, indeed, you must not begin by misliking the poor young maid that will find herself so far from home." "oh," cried the princess, laughing outright, "i mislike her not a whit. but there is no reason in the world why, because you are all ready to fall down and worship, this young man or any other should be compelled to do likewise." and right princess-like she looked as she pouted her proud little lips and with her foot patted the polished oak. "but," she went on again to her brother, "your poor beast out there hath almost fretted himself into ribands by this time. if you have done with this noble youth, i have a fancy to hear him tell of the countries wherein he has sojourned. and, in addition, i have promised to show him the carp in the ponds. you have surely given him a great enough dose of diplomatics and canon law by this time. you have, it seems to me, spent half the day in each other's society." "on the contrary," returned the prince, smiling again, but going towards the desk to put away the papers which dessauer's secretary had brought--"on the contrary, we talked almost solely about women--a subject not uncommon when man meets man." "but somewhat out of keeping with the dignity of your calling, my brother!" said the princess pointedly. "and wherefore?" he said, turning quickly with the papers still in his hand. "if to guide, to advise, to rule, are of my profession, surely to speak of women, who are the more important half of the human race, cannot be foreign to my calling!" "come," she said, hearing the words without attending to the sense, "i also like things foreign. the noble secretary has promised to teach me some more of them!" the tolerant prince laughed. he was evidently accustomed to his sister's whims, and, knowing how perfectly harmless they were, he never interfered with them. "a good day to you," he said to the young man, by way of dismissal. "if i do not see you again before you leave, you must promise me to come back to the wedding of the duchess johanna. in that event you must do me the honour to be my guest on that occasion." the red flooded back to johann's cheek. "i thank you," he said, bowing; "i _will_ come back to the wedding of the duchess joan." "and you promise to be my guest? i insist upon it," continued the kindly prince, willing to gratify his sister, who was smiling approval, "i insist that you shall let me be your host." "i hope to be your guest, most noble prince," said the secretary, looking up at him quickly as he went through the door. it was a singular look. for a moment it checked and astonished the prince so much that he stood still on the threshold. "where have i seen a look like that before?" he mused, as he cast his memory back into the past without success. "surely never on any man's face?" which, after all, was likely enough. then putting the matter aside as curious, but of no consequence, the prince rode away towards that part of the city from which the towers of the minster loomed up. a couple of priests bowed low before him as he passed, and the people standing still to watch his broad shoulders and erect carriage, said one to the other, "alas! alas! the truest prince of them all--to be thus thrown away!" and these were the words which the secretary heard from a couple of guards who talked at the gate of the rose-garden, as they, too, stood looking after the prince. "wait," said johann pyrmont to himself; "wait, i will yet show them whether he is thrown away or not." chapter ix the rose garden the rose garden of the summer palace of courtland was a paradise made for lovers' whisperings. even now, when the chills of autumn had begun to blow through its bowers, it was over-clambered with late-blooming flowers. its bowers were creeper-tangled. trees met over paths bedded with fallen petals, making a shade in sunshine, a shelter in rain, and delightful in both. it was natural that so fair a princess, taking such a sudden fancy to a young man, should find her way where the shade was deepest and the labyrinth most entangled. but this secretary johann of ours, being creditably hard of heart, would far rather have hied him straight back to old dessauer with his news. more than anything he desired to be alone, that he might think over the events of the morning. but the princess margaret had quite other intentions. "do you know," she began, "that i might well have lodged you in a dungeon cell for that which in another had been dire insolence?" they were pacing a long dusky avenue of tall yew-trees. the secretary turned towards her the blank look of one whose thoughts have been far away. but the princess rattled on, heedless of his mood. "nevertheless, i forgive you," she said; "after all, i myself asked you to teach me your foreign customs. if any one be to blame, it is i. but one thing i would impress upon you, sir secretary: do not practise these outland peculiarities before my brothers. either of them might look with prejudice upon such customs being observed generally throughout the city. i came back chiefly to warn you. we do not want that handsome head of yours (which i admit is well enough in its way, as, being a man, you are doubtless aware) to be taken off and stuck on a pole over the strasburg gate!" it was with an effort that the secretary detached himself sufficiently from his reveries upon the interview in the summer palace to understand what the princess was driving at. "all this mighty pother, just because i kissed her on the cheek," he thought. "a princess of courtland is no such mighty thing--and why should i not?--oh, of course, i had forgotten again. i am not now the person i was." but how can we tell with what infinite condescension the princess took the young man's hand and read his fortune, dwelling frowningly on the lines of love and life? "you have too pretty a hand for a man," she said; "why is it hard here and here?" "that is from the sword grip," said the secretary, with no small pride. "do you, then, fence well? i wish i could see you," she cried, clapping her hands. "how splendid it would be to see a bout between you and prince wasp--that is, the prince ivan of muscovy, i mean. he is a great fencer, and also desires to be a great friend of mine. he would give something to be sitting here teaching me how they take hands and bid each other goodbye in bearland. they rub noses, i have heard say, a custom which, to my thinking, would be more provocative than satisfactory. i like your plassenburg fashion better." whereat, of course there was nothing for it but that the secretary should arouse himself out of his reverie and do his part. if the princess of courtland chose to amuse herself with him, well, it was harmless on either side--even more so than she knew. soon he would be far away. meanwhile he must not comport himself like a puking fool. "i think in somewise it were possible to improve upon the customs even of plassenburg," said the princess margaret, after certain experiments; "but tell me, since you say that we are to be friends, and i have admitted your plea, what is your fortune? nay, do you know that i do not even know your name--at least, not from your own lips." for, headlong as she had proved herself in making love, yet a vein of baltic practicality was hidden beneath the princess's impetuosity. "my father was the count von löen, and i am his heir!" said the secretary carefully; "but i do not usually call myself so. there are reasons why i should not." which there were, indeed--grave reasons, too. "then you are the count von löen?" said the princess. "i seem to have heard that name somewhere before. tell me, are you the count von löen?" "i am certainly the heir to that title," said the secretary, grilling within and wishing himself a thousand miles away. "i must go directly and tell my brother. he will be back from the cathedral by this time. i am sure he did not know. and the estates--a little involved, doubtless, like those of most well-born folk in these ill days? are they in your sole right?" "the estates are extensive. they are not encumbered so far as i know. they are all in my own right," explained the newly styled count with perfect truth. but within he was saying, "god help me! i get deeper and deeper. what a whirling chaos a single lie leads one into! heaven give me speedy succour out of this!" and as he thought of his troubles, the noble count, the swordsman, the learned secretary, could scarce restrain a desire to break out into hysterical sobbing. a new thought seemed to strike the princess as he was speaking. "but so young, so handsome," she murmured, "so apt a pupil at love!" then aloud she said, "you are not deceiving me? you are not already betrothed?" "not to any woman!" said the deceitful count, picking his words with exactness. the gay laugh of the princess rang out prompt as an echo. "i did not expect you to be engaged to a man!" she cried. "but now conduct me to the entrance of my chambers" (here she reached him her hand). "i like you," she added frankly, looking at him with unflinching eyes. "i am of the house of courtland, and we are accustomed to say what we think--the women of us especially. and sooner than carry out this wretched contract and marry the prince wasp, i will do even as i said to my brother, i will run away and wed a dog-whipper! but perhaps i may do better than either!" she said in her heart, nodding determinedly as she looked at the handsome youth before her, who now stood with his eyes downcast upon the ground. they were almost out of the yew-tree walk, and the voice of the princess carried far, like that of most very impulsive persons. it reached the ears of a gay young fashionable, who had just dismounted at the gate which led from the rose garden into the wing of the palace inhabited by the princess margaret and her suite. "now," said the princess, "i will show you how apt a pupil i make. tell me whether this is according to the best traditions of plassenburg!" and taking his face between her hands she kissed him rapidly upon either cheek and then upon the lips. "there!" she said, "i wonder what my noble brothers would say to that! i will show them that margaret of courtland can choose both whom she will kiss and whom she will marry!" and flashing away from him like a bright-winged bird she fled upward into her chambers. then, somewhat dazed by the rapid succession of emotions, johann the secretary stepped out of the green gloom of the yew-tree walk into the broad glare of the september sun and found himself face to face with prince wasp. chapter x prince wasp now ivan, prince of muscovy, had business in courtland very clear and distinct. he came to woo the princess margaret, which being done, he wished to be gone. there was on his side the certainty of an excellent fortune, a possible succession, and, in any case, a pretty and wilful wife. but as he thought on that last the wasp smiled to himself. in moscow there were many ways, once he had her there, of taming the most wilful of wives. as to the inheritance--well, it was true there were two lives between; but one of these, in prince ivan's mind, was as good as nought, and the other----in addition, the marriage had been arranged by their several fathers, though not under the same penalty as that which threatened the prince of courtland and joan duchess of hohenstein. prince wasp had not favourably impressed the family at the palace. his manners had the strident edge and blatant self-assertion of one who, unlicensed at home, has been flattered abroad, deferred to everywhere, and accustomed to his own way in all things. nevertheless, ivan had managed to make himself popular with the townsfolk, on account of the largesse which he lavished and the custom which his numerous suite brought to the city. specially, he had been successful in attaching the rabble of the place to his cause; and already he had headed off two other wooers who had come from the south to solicit the smiles of the princess margaret. "so," he said, as he faced the secretary, now somewhat compositely styled--johann, count von löen, "so, young springald, you think to court a foolish princess. you play upon her with your pretty words and graceful compliments. that is an agreeable relaxation enough. it passes the time better than fumbling with papers in front of an escritoire. only--you have in addition to reckon with me, ivan, hereditary prince of muscovy." and with a sweep of his hand across his body he drew his sword from its sheath. the sword of the young secretary came into his hand with equal swiftness. but he answered nothing. a curious feeling of detachment crept over him. he had held the bare sword before in presence of an enemy, but never till now unsupported. "i do you the honour to suppose you noble," said prince wasp, "otherwise i should have you flogged by my lacqueys and thrown into the town ditch. i have informed you of my name and pretensions to the hand of the princess margaret, whom you have insulted. i pray you give me yours in return." "i am called johann, count von löen," answered the secretary as curtly as possible. "pardon the doubt which is in my mind," said the prince of muscovy, with a black sneering bitterness characteristic of him, "but though i am well versed in all the noble families of the north, and especially in those of plassenburg, where i resided a full year in the late prince's time, i am not acquainted with any such title." "nevertheless, it is mine by right and by birthright," retorted the secretary, "as i am well prepared to maintain with my sword in the meantime. and, after, you can assure yourself from the mouth of the high state's councillor dessauer that the name and style are mine. your ignorance, however, need not defer your chastisement." "follow me, count von löen," said the prince; "i am too anxious to deal with your insolence as it deserves to quarrel as to names or titles, legal or illegitimate. my quarrel is with your fascinating body and prettyish face, the beauty of which i will presently improve with some good northland steel." and with his lithe and springy walk the prince of muscovy passed again along the alleys of the rose garden till he reached the first open space, where he turned upon the secretary. "we are arrived," he said; "our business is so pressing, and will be so quickly finished, that there is no need for the formality of seconds. though i honour you by crossing my sword with yours, it is a mere formality. i have such skill of the weapon, as i daresay report has told you, that you may consider yourself dead already. i look upon your chastisement no more seriously than i might the killing of a fly that has vexed me with its buzzing. guard!" but johann pyrmont had been trained in a school which permitted no such windy preludes, and with the fencer's smile on his face he kept his silence. his sword would answer all such boastings, and that in good time. and so it fell out. from the very first crossing of the swords prince wasp found himself opposed by a quicker eye, a firmer wrist, a method and science infinitely superior to his own. his most dashing attack was repelled with apparent ease, yet with a subtlety which interposed nothing but the most delicate of guards and parries between prince ivan and victory. this gradually infuriated the prince, till suddenly losing his temper he stamped his foot in anger and rushed upon his foe with the true muscovite fire. then, indeed, had johann need of all his most constant practice with the sword, for the sting of the wasp flashed to kill as he struck straight at the heart of his foe. [illustration: "the prince staggered." [_page _]] but lo! the blade was turned aside, the long-delayed answering thrust glittered out, and the secretary's sword stood a couple of handbreadths in the boaster's shoulder. with an effort johann recovered his blade and stood ready for the ripost; but the wound was more than enough. the prince staggered, cried out some unintelligible words in the muscovite language, and pitched forward slowly on his face among the trampled leaves and blown rose petals of the palace garden. the secretary grew paler than his wont, and ran to lift his fallen enemy. but, all unseen, other eyes had watched the combat, and from the door by which they had entered, and from behind the trees of the surrounding glade, there came the noise of pounding footsteps and fierce cries of "seize him! kill him! tear him to pieces! he has slain the good prince, the friend of the people! the prince ivan is dead!" and ere the secretary could touch the body of his unconscious foe, or assure himself concerning his wound, he found himself surrounded by a yelling crowd of city loafers and gallows'-rats, many of them rag-clad, others habited in heterogeneous scraps of cast-off clothing, or articles snatched from clothes-lines and bleaching greens--long-mourned, doubtless, by the good wives of courtland. the secretary eyed this unkempt horde with haughty scorn, and his fearless attitude, as he striped his stained sword through his handkerchief and threw the linen away, had something to do with the fact that the rabble halted at the distance of half-a-dozen yards and for many minutes contented themselves with hurling oaths and imprecations at him. johann pyrmont kept his sword in his hand and stood by the body of his fallen foe in disdainful silence till the arrival of fresh contingents through the gate aroused the halting spirit of the crowd. knives and sword-blades began to gleam here and there in grimy hands where at first there had been only staves and chance-snatched gauds of iron. "at him! down with him! he can only strike once!" these and similar cries inspirited the rabble of courtland, great haters of the plassenburg and the teutonic west, to rush in and make an end. at last they did come on, not all together, but in irregular undisciplined rushes. johann's sword streaked out this way and that. there was an answering cry of pain, a turmoil among the assailants as a wounded man whirled his way backward out of the press. but this could not last for long. the odds were too great. the droning roar of hate from the edges of the crowd grew louder as new and ever newer accretions joined themselves to its changing fringes. then suddenly came a voice. "back, on your lives, dogs and traitors! germans to the rescue! danes, teuts, northmen to the rescue!" following the direction of the sound, johann saw a young man drive through the press, his sword bare in his hand, his eyes glittering with excitement. it was the danish prisoner of the guard-hall at kernsberg, that same sparhawk who had fought with werner von orseln. the crowd stared back and forth betwixt him and that other whom he came to succour. far more than ever his extraordinary likeness to the secretary appeared. apparent enough at any time, it was accentuated now by similarity of clothing. for, like johann pyrmont, the sparhawk was attired in a black doublet and trunk hose of scholastic cut, and as they stood back to back, little difference could be noted between them, save that the newcomer was a trifle the taller. "saint michael and all holy angels!" cried the leader of the crowd, "can it be that there are scores of these plassenburg black crows in courtland, slaying whom they will? here be two of them as like as two peas, or a couple of earthen pipkins from the same potter's wheel!" the dane flung a word over his shoulder to his companion. "pardon me, your grace," said the sparhawk, "if i stand back to back with you. they are dangerous. we must watch well for any chance of escape." the secretary did not answer to this strange style of address, but placed himself back to back with his ally, and their two bright blades waved every way. only that of johann pyrmont was already reddened well-nigh half its length. a second time the courage of the crowd worked itself up, and they came on. "death to the russ, to the lovers of russians!" cried the sparhawk, and his blade dealt thrusts right and left. but the pressure increased every moment. those behind cried, "kill them!" for they were out of reach of those two shining streaks of steel. those before would gladly have fallen behind, but could not for the forward thrust of their friends. still the ring narrowed, and the pair of gallant fighters would doubtlessly have been swept away had not a diversion come to alter the face of things. out of the gate which led to the wing of the palace occupied by the princess margaret burst a little company of halberdiers, at sight of whom the crowd gave suddenly back. the princess herself was with them. "take all prisoners, and bring them within," she cried. "well you know that my brother is from home, or you dare not thus brawl in the very precincts of the palace!" and at her words the soldiers advanced rapidly. a further diversion was caused by the sparhawk suddenly cleaving a way through the crowd and setting off at full speed in the direction of the river. whereupon the rabble, glad to combine personal safety with the pleasures of the chase, took to their heels after him. but, light and unexpected in motion as his namesake, the sparhawk skimmed down the alleys, darted sideways through gates which he shut behind him with a clash of iron, and finally plunged into the green rush of the alla, swimming safe and unhurt to the further shore, whither, in the absence of boats at this particular spot, none could pursue him. chapter xi the kiss of the princess margaret the princess and her guard were left alone with the secretary and the unconscious body of the prince of muscovy. "sirrah," she cried severely to the former, "is this the first use you make of our hospitality, thus to brawl in the street underneath my very windows with our noble guest the prince ivan? take him to my brother's room, and keep him safely there to await our lord's return. we shall see what the prince will say to this. and as for this wounded man, take him to his own apartments, and let a surgeon be sent to him. only not in too great a hurry!" she added as an afterthought to the commander of her little company of palace guards. so, merely detailing half a dozen to carry the prince to his chambers, the captain of the guard conducted the secretary to the very room in which an hour before he had met the brother of the princess. here he was confined, with a couple of guards at the door. nor had he been long shut up before he heard the quick step of the princess coming along the passage-way. he could distinguish it a long way off, for the summer palace was built mostly of wood, and every sound was clearly audible. "so," she said, as soon as the door was shut, "you have killed prince wasp!" "i trust not," said the secretary gravely; "i meant only to wound him. but as he attacked me i could not do otherwise than defend myself." "tut," cried the princess, "i hope you have killed him. it will be good riddance, and most like the muscovites will send an army--which, with your plassenburg to help us, will make a pretty fight. it serves him right, in any event, for prince wasp must always be thrusting his sting into honest folk. he will be none the worse for some of his own poison applied at a rapier's point to keep him quiet for some few days." but johann was not in a mood to relish the jubilation of the princess. he grew markedly uneasy in his mind. every moment he anticipated that the prince would return. a trial would take place, and he did not know what might not be discovered. the princess margaret delivered him from his anxiety. "the laws are strict against duelling," she continued. "the prince ivan is in high favour with my elder brother, and it will be well that you should be seen no more in courtland--for the present, that is. but in a little the prince wasp will die or he will recover. in either case the affair will blow over. then you will come back to teach me more foreign customs." she smiled and held out her hand. johann kissed it, perhaps without the fervour which might have been expected from a brisk young man thus highly favoured by the fairest and sprightliest of princesses. "to-night," she went on, "there will be a boat beneath that window. it will be manned by those whom i can trust. a ladder of rope will be thrown to your casement. by it you will descend, and with a good horse and a sufficient escort you can ride either to plassenburg--or to kernsberg, which is nearer, and tell joan of the sword hand that her sister the princess margaret sends you to her. i will give you a letter to the minx, though i am sure i shall not like her. she is so forward, they say. but be ready at the hour of midnight. who was that youth who fled as we came up?" "a danish knight who came hither in our train from kernsberg," replied johann. "but for him i should have been lost indeed!" "i must have a horse also for him!" cried the princess. "he will surely be on the watch and join you, knowing that his danger is as great as yours. hearken--they are mourning for their precious prince wasp. to-morrow they will howl louder if by good hap he goes home to--purgatory!" and through the open windows came a sound of distant shoutings as they carried the wounded prince to his lodgings. "now," said the princess, "for the present fare you well--in the colder fashion of courtland this time, for the sake of the guards at the door. but remember that you are more than ever plighted to me to be my instructor, dear count von löen!" she went to the door, and with her fingers on the handle she turned her about with a pretty vixenish expression. "i am so glad you stung the wasp. i love you for it!" she said. but after she had vanished with these words the secretary grew more and more downcast in spirit. even this naïve declaration of affection failed to cheer him. he sat down and gave himself up to the most melancholy anticipations. at six a servitor silently entered with a well-chosen and beautifully cooked meal, of which the secretary partook sparingly. at seven it grew dark, and at ten all was quiet in the city. the river rushed swiftly beneath, and the noise of it, as the water lapped against the foundations of the summer palace, helped to disguise the sound of oars, as the boat, a dark shadow upon greyish water, detached itself from the opposite shore and approached the window from whose open casement johann pyrmont looked out. [illustration: "the secretary found himself swaying over the dark water." [_page _]] a low whistle came from underneath, and presently followed the soft reeving _whisk_ of a coil of rope as it passed through the window and fell at his feet. the secretary looked about for something to fasten it to, and finally decided upon the iron uprights of the great desk at which the prince had stood earlier in the day. no sooner was this done than johann set his foot on the top round and began to descend. it was with a sudden emptiness at the pit of the stomach and a great desire to cry out for some one to hold the ladder steady that the secretary found himself swaying over the dark water. the boat seemed very far away, a mere spot of blackness upon the river's face. but presently, and while making up his mind to practise the gymnastic of rope ladders quietly at home, he made out a man holding the ladder, while two others with grappled boat-hooks kept the boat steady fore and aft. a shrouded figure sat in the stern. the secretary seemed rather to find himself in a boat which rose swiftly to meet him than to descend into it. he was handed from one to the other of the rowers till he reached the shrouded figure in the stern, out of the folds of whose enveloping cloak a small warm hand shot forth and pulled him down upon the seat. "draw this corner about you, count," a low voice whispered; and in another moment johann found himself under the shelter of one cloak with that daring slip of nobility, the princess margaret of courtland. "i was obliged to come; there is no danger. these fellows are of my household and devoted to me. i did not dare to risk anything going wrong. besides, i am a princess, and--why need not i say it?--i wanted to come. i wanted to see you again, though, indeed, there is small chance of that in such a night. and 'tis as well, for i am sure my hair is blown every way about my face." "the horses are over there," she added after a pause; "we are almost at the shore now--alas, too quickly! but i must not keep you. i want you to come back the sooner. and remember, if prince wasp gets better and worries me too much, or my brother is unkind and insists upon marrying me to the bear, i will take one or two of these fellows and come to seek you at plassenburg, so make your reckoning with that, sir count von löen. as i said, what is the use of being a princess if you cannot marry whom you will? most, i know, marry whom they are told; but then they have not the spirit of a baltic weevil, let alone that of margaret of courtland." they touched the shore almost at the place where the sparhawk had landed in the morning when he escaped from the city rabble, and a stone's-throw further up the bank they found the horses waiting, ready caparisoned for the journey. two men were, by the princess's orders, to accompany johann. but with great thoughtfulness she had provided a fourth horse for the companion who, equally with himself, was under the ban of the law for wounding the lieges of the prince of courtland within the precincts of the palace. "he cannot have gone far," said the princess. "he would certainly conceal himself till nightfall in the first convenient hiding-place. he will be on the look-out for any chance to release you." and the event proved the wisdom of her prophecy. for as soon as he had distinguished the slim figure of the secretary landing from the boat the sparhawk appeared on the crest of the hill, though for the moment he was still unseen by those below. "goodbye! for the present, goodbye, dear princess," said johann, with his heart in his voice. "god knows, i can never thank or repay you. my heart is heavy for that. i am unworthy of all your goodness. it is not as you think----" he paused for words which might warn without revealing his secret; but the princess, never long silent, struck in. "let there be no talk of parting except for the moment," she said. "go, you are my knight. perhaps one day, if you do not forget me, i may be yet far kinder to you!" and with a most tender kiss and a little sob the princess sent her lover, more and more downcast and discouraged by reason of her very kindness, upon his way. so much did his obvious depression affect margaret of courtland, that after the secretary, with one of the men-at-arms leading the spare horse, had reached the top of the river bank, she suddenly bade the rowers wait a moment before casting loose from the land. "your sword! your sword!" she called aloud, risking any listener in her eagerness; "you have forgotten your sword." now it chanced that the sparhawk had already come up with the little party of travellers. he kissed the hand of johann pyrmont, placed him on his beast, and was preparing to mount his steed with a glad heart, when the voice from beneath startled him. "do not trouble, i will bring the sword," said the sparhawk to johann, with his usual impetuosity, putting the reins into the secretary's hands. and without a moment's hesitation he flung himself down the bank. the princess had leaped nimbly ashore, and was standing with the sheathed sword in her hand. when she saw the figure came bounding towards her down the pebbly bank, she gave a little cry, and dropping the scabbard, threw her arms impulsively about the sparhawk's neck. "i could not let you go like that--without ever telling you that i loved you--really, i mean," she whispered, while the youth stood petrified with astonishment, without sound or motion. "i will marry none but you--neither prince ivan nor another. a woman should not tell a man that, i know, lest he despise her; but a princess may, if the man dare not tell her." * * * * * "and what answered you?" asked the secretary of his companion, as they rode together through the night out on their road to kernsberg. "why, i said nothing--speech was not needed," quoth the dane coolly. "she kissed you?" "well," said the sparhawk, "i could not help that, could i?" "but what said you to that?" "why, of course, i kissed her back again, as a man ought!" he made answer. "poor princess," mused the secretary; "it is more than i could ever have done for her!" aloud he said, "but you do not love her--you had not seen her before! why then did you kiss her?" for these things are hidden from women. the dane shrugged his shoulders in the dark. "well, i take what the gods send," he replied. "she was a pretty girl, and her princess-ship made no difference in her kissing so far as i could see. i serve you to the death, my lady duchess; but if a princess loves me by the way--why, i am ready to indulge her to the limit of her desirings!" "you are indeed an accommodating youth," sighed the secretary, and forthwith returned to his own melancholy thoughts. and ever as they rode westward they heard all around them the rustle of corn in the night wind. stacks of hay shed a sweet scent momently athwart their path, and more than once fruit-laden branches swept across their faces. for they were passing through the garden of the baltic, and its fresh beauty was never fresher than on that september night when these four rode out of courtland towards the distant blue hills on which was perched kernsberg, built like an eagle's nest on a crag overfrowning the wealthier plain. at the first boundaries of the group of little hill principalities the two soldiers were dismissed, suitably rewarded by johann, to carry the news of safety back to their wayward and impulsive mistress. and thence-forward the sparhawk and the secretary rode on alone. at the little châlet among the hills where the duchess joan had so suddenly disappeared they found two of her tire-maidens and an aged nurse impatiently awaiting their mistress. to them entered that composite and puzzling youth the ex-architect and secretary of the embassy of plassenburg, johann, count von löen. and wonder of wonders, in an hour afterwards joan of the sword hand was riding eagerly towards her capital city with her due retinue, as if she had merely been taking a little summer breathing space at a country seat. her entrance created as little surprise as her exit. for as to her exits and entrances alike the duchess consulted no man, much less any woman. werner von orseln saluted as impassively as if he had seen his mistress an hour before, and the acclamations of the guard rang out as cheerfully as ever. joan felt her spirits rise to be once more in her own land and among her own folk. nevertheless, there was a new feeling in her heart as she thought of the day of her marriage, when the long-planned bond of brotherhood-heritage should at last be carried out, and she should indeed become the mistress of that great land into which she had ventured so strangely, and the bride of the prince--her prince, the most noble man on whom her eyes had ever rested. then her thoughts flew to the princess who had delivered her out of peril so deadly, and her soul grew sick and sad within her, not at all lest her adventure should be known. she cared not so much about that now. (perhaps some day she would even tell him herself when--well, _after_!) but since she had ridden to courtland, joan, all untouched before, had grown suddenly very tender to the smarting of another woman's heart. "it is in no wise my fault," she told herself, which in a sense was true. but conscience, being a thing not subject to reason, dealt not a whit the more easily with her on that account. it was six months afterwards that the sparhawk, who had been given the command of a troop of good hohenstein lancers, asked permission to go on a journey. he had been palpably restless and uneasy ever since his return, and in spite of immediate favour and the prospect of yet further promotion, he could not settle to his work. "whither would you go?" asked his mistress. "to courtland," he confessed, somewhat reluctantly, looking down at the peaked toe of his tanned leather riding-boot. "and what takes you to courtland?" said joan; "you are in danger there. besides, even if you could, would you leave my service and engage with some other?" "nay, my lady," he burst out, "that will not i, so long as life lasts. but--but the truth is"--he hesitated as he spoke--"i cannot get out of my mind the princess who kissed me in the dark. the like never happened before to any man. i cannot forget her, do what i will. no, nor rest till i have looked upon her face." "wait," said joan. "only wait till the spring and it is my hap to ride to courtland for my marriage day. then i promise you you shall see somewhat of her--the lord send that it be not more than enough!" so through many bitter winter days the sparhawk abode at the castle of kernsberg, ill content. chapter xii joan forswears the sword it was not in accordance with etiquette that two such nobly born betrothed persons, to be allied for reasons of high state policy, should visit each other openly before the day of marriage; but many letters and presents had at various times come to kernsberg, all bearing witness to the lover-like eagerness of the prince of courtland and of his desire to possess so fair a bride, especially one who was to bring him so coveted a possession as the hill provinces of kernsberg and hohenstein. amongst other things he had forwarded portraits of himself, drawn with such skill as the artists of the baltic at that time possessed, of a man in armour, with a countenance of such wooden severity that it might stand (as the duchess openly declared) just as well for werner, her chief captain, or any other man of war in full panoply. "but," said joan within herself, "what care i for armour black or armour white? mine eyes have seen--and my heart does not forget." then she smiled and for a while forgot the coming inevitable disappointment of the princess margaret, which troubled her much at other times. the winter was unusually long and fierce in the mountains of kernsberg that year, and even along the baltic shores the ice packed thicker and the snow lay longer by a full month than usual. it was the end of may, and the full bursting glory of a northern spring, when at last the bridal cavalcade wound down from the towers of the castle of kernsberg. four hundred riders there were, every man arrayed like a prince in the colours of hohenstein--four fairest maids to be bridesmaids to their duchess, and as many matrons of rank and years to bring their mistress with dignity and discretion to her new home. but the people and the rough soldiers openly mourned for joan of the sword hand. "the princess of courtland will not be the same thing!" they said. and they were right, for since the last time she rode out joan had thought many thoughts. could it be that she was indeed that reckless maid who once had vowed that she would go and look once at the man her father had bidden her marry, and then, if she did not like him, would carry him off and clap him into a dungeon till he had paid a swinging ransom? but the knight of the white plume, and the interview she had had with a certain prince in the summer palace of courtland, had changed all that. now she would be sober, grave--a fit mate for such a man. almost she blushed to recall her madcap feats of only a year ago. as they approached the city, and each night brought them closer to the great day, joan rode more by herself, or talked with the young dane, maurice von lynar, of the princess margaret--without, however, telling him aught of the rose garden or the expositions of foreign customs which had preceded the duel with the wasp. the heart of the duchess beat yet faster when at last the day of their entry arrived. as they rode toward the gate of courtland they were aware of a splendid cavalcade which came out to receive them in the name of the prince, and to conduct them with honour to the palace prepared for them. in the centre of a brilliant company rode the princess margaret, in a well-fitting robe of pale blue broidered with crimson, while behind and about her was such a galaxy of the fashion and beauty of a court, that had not joan remembered and thought on the summer parlour and the man who was waiting for her in the city, she had almost bidden her four hundred riders wheel to the right about, and gallop straight back to kernsberg and the heights of rustic hohenstein. at sight of the duchess's party the princess alighted from off her steed with the help of a cavalier. at the same moment joan of the sword hand leaped down of her own accord and came forward to meet her new sister. the two women kissed, and then held each other at arm's length for the luxury of a long look. the face of the princess showed a trace of emotion. she appeared to be struggling with some recollection she was unable to locate with precision. "i hope you will be very happy with my brother," she faltered; then after a moment she added, "have you not perchance a brother of your own?" but before joan could reply the representative of the prince had come forward to conduct the bride-elect to her rooms, and the princess gave place to him. but all the same she kept her eyes keenly about her, and presently they rested with a sudden brightness upon the young dane, maurice von lynar, at the head of his troop of horse. he was near enough for her to see his face, and it was with a curious sense of strangeness that she saw his eyes fixed upon herself. "he is different--he is changed," she said to herself; "but how--wait till we get to the palace, and i shall soon find out!" and immediately she caused it to be intimated that all the captains of troops and the superior officers of the escort of the duchess joan were to be entertained at the palace of the princess margaret. so that at the moment when joan was taking a first survey of her chambers, which occupied one entire wing of the palace of the princes of courtland, margaret the impetuous had already commanded the presence of the count von löen, one of the commanders of the bridal escort. the young officer entrusted with the message returned almost immediately, to find his mistress impatiently pacing up and down. "well?" she said, halting at the upper end of the reception-room and looking at him. "your highness," he said, "there is no count von löen among the officers of kernsberg!" margaret of courtland stamped her foot. "i expected as much," she said. "he shall pay for this. why, man, i saw him with my own eyes an hour ago--a young man, slender, sits erect in his saddle, of a dark allure, and with eyes like those of an eagle." a flush came over the youth's face. "does he look like the brother of the duchess joan?" he said. "that is the man--count von löen or no. that is the man, i tell you. bring him immediately to me." the young officer smiled. "methinks he will come readily enough. he started forward as if to follow me when first i told my message. but when i mentioned the name of the count von löen he stood aside in manifest disappointment." "at all events, bring him instantly!" commanded the princess. the officer bowed low and retired. the princess margaret smiled to herself. "it is some more of their precious state secrets," she said. "well--i love secrets, and i can keep them too; but only my own, or those that are told to me. and i will make my gentleman pay for playing off his counts von löen on me!" presently she heard heavy footsteps approaching the door. "come in--come in straightway," she said in a loud, clear voice; "i have a word to speak with you, sir count--who yet deny that you are a count. and, prithee, to how many silly girls have you taught the foreign fashions of linked arms, and all that most pleasant ceremony of leave-taking in kernsberg and plassenburg?" then the sparhawk had his long-desired view in full daylight of the woman whose lips, touched once under cloud of night, had dominated his fancy and enslaved his will during all the weary months of winter. also he had before him, though he knew it not, a somewhat difficult and complicated explanation. chapter xiii the sparhawk in the toils the princess margaret was standing by the window as the young man entered. her golden curls flashed in the late sunshine, which made a kind of haze of light about her head as she turned the resentful brilliance of her eyes upon maurice von lynar. "is it a safe thing, think you, sir count, to jest with a princess in her own land and then come back to flout her for it?" maurice understood her to refer to the kiss given and returned in the darkness of the night. he knew not of how many other indiscretions he was now to bear the brunt, or he had turned on the spot and fled once more across the river. "my lady," he said, "if i offended you once, it was not done intentionally, but by mistake." "by mistake, sir! have a care. i may have been indiscreet, but i am not imbecile." "the darkness of the night----" faltered von lynar, "let that be my excuse." "pshaw!" flashed the princess, suddenly firing up; "do you not see, man, that you cannot lie yourself out of this? and, indeed, what need? if _i_ were a secretary of embassy, and a princess distinguished me with her slightest favour, methinks when next i came i would not meanly deny her acquaintance!" von lynar was distressed, and fortunately for himself his distress showed in his face. "princess," he said, standing humbly before her, "i did wrong. but consider the sudden temptation, the darkness of the night----" "the darkness of the night," she said, stamping her foot, and in an instinctively mocking tone; "you are indeed well inspired. you remind me of what i ventured that you should be free. the darkness of the night, indeed! i suppose that is all that sticks in your memory, because you gained something tangible by it. you have forgotten the walk through the corridors of the palace, all you taught me in the rose garden, and--and--how apt a pupil you said i was. pray, good master forgetfulness, who hath forgotten all these things, forgotten even his own name, tell me what you did in courtland eight months ago?" "i came--i came," faltered the sparhawk, fearful of yet further committing himself, "i came to find and save my dear mistress." "your--dear--mistress?" the princess spoke slowly, and the blue eyes hardened till they overtopped and beat down the bold black ones of maurice von lynar; "and you dare to tell me this--me, to whom you swore that you had never loved woman in the world before, never spoken to them word of wooing or compliment! out of my sight, fellow! the prince, my brother, shall deal with you." then all suddenly her pride utterly gave way. the disappointment was too keen. she sank down on a silk-covered ottoman by the window side, sobbing. "oh, that i could kill you now, with my hands--so," she said in little furious jerks, gripping at the pillow; "i hate you, thus to put a shame upon me--me, margaret of courtland. could it have been for such a thing as you that i sent away the prince of muscovy--yes, and many others--because i could not forget you? and after all----!" now maurice von lynar was not quick in discernment where woman was concerned, but on this occasion he recognised that he was blindly playing the hand of another--a hand, moreover, of which he could not hope to see the cards. he did the only thing which could have saved him with the princess. he came near and sank on one knee before her. "madam," he said humbly and in a moving voice, "i beseech you not to be angry--not to condemn me unheard. in the sense of being in love, i never loved any but yourself. i would rather die than put the least slight upon one so surpassingly fair, whose memory has never departed from me, sleeping or waking, whose image, dimly seen, has never for a moment been erased from my heart's tablets." the princess paused and lifted her eyes till they dwelt searchingly upon him. his obvious sincerity touched her willing heart. "but you said just now that you came to courtland to see 'your dear mistress?'" the young man put his hand to his head. "you must bear with me," he said, "if perchance for a little my words are wild. i had, indeed, no right to speak of you as my dear mistress." "oh, it was of me that you spoke," said the princess, smiling a little; "i begin to understand." "of what other could i speak?" said the shameless von lynar, who now began to feel his way a little clearer. "i have indeed been very ill, and when i am in straits my head is still unsettled. oftentimes i forget my very name, so sharp a pang striking through my forehead that i dote and stare and forget all else. it springs from a secret wound that at the time i knew nothing of." "yes--yes, i remember. in the duel with the wasp--in the yew-tree walk it happened. tell me, is it dangerous? did it well-nigh cost you your life?" the youth modestly hung down his head. this sudden spate of falsehood had come upon him, as it were, from the outside. "if the truth will not help me," he muttered, "why, i can lie with any man. else wherefore was i born a dane? but, by my faith, my mistress must have done some rare tall lying on her own account, and now i am reaping that which she hath sown." as he kneeled thus the princess bent over him with a quizzical expression on her face. "you are sure that you speak the truth now? your wound is not again causing you to dote?" "nay," said the sparhawk; "indeed, 'tis almost healed." "where was the wound?" queried the princess anxiously. "there were two," answered von lynar diplomatically; "one in my shoulder at the base of my neck, and the other, more dangerous because internal, on the head itself." "let me see." she came and stood above him as he put his hand to the collar of his doublet, and, unfastening a tie, he slipped it down a little and showed her at the spring of his neck werner von orseln's thrust. "and the other," she said, covering it up with a little shudder, "that on the head, where is it?" the youth blushed, but answered valiantly enough. "it never was an open wound, and so is a little difficult to find. here, where my hand is, above my brow." "hold up your head," said the princess. "on which side was it? on the right? strange, i cannot find it. you are too far beneath me. the light falls not aright. ah, that is better!" she kneeled down in front of him and examined each side of his head with interest, making as she did so, many little exclamations of pity and remorse. "i think it must be nearer the brow," she said at last; "hold up your head--look at me." von lynar looked at the princess. their position was one as charming as it was dangerous. they were kneeling opposite to one another, their faces, drawn together by the interest of the surgical examination, had approached very close. the dark eyes looked squarely into the blue. with stuff so inflammable, fire and tow in such immediate conjunction, who knows what conflagration might have ensued had von lynar's eyes continued thus to dwell on those of the princess? but the young man's gaze passed over her shoulder. behind margaret of courtland he saw a man standing at the door with his hand still on the latch. a dark frown overspread his face. the princess, instantly conscious that the interest had gone out of the situation, followed the direction of von lynar's eyes. she rose to her feet as the young dane also had done a moment before. maurice recognised the man who stood by the door as the same whom he had seen on the ground in the yew-tree walk when he and joan of the sword hand had faced the howling mob of the city. for the second time prince wasp had interfered with the amusements of the princess margaret. that lady looked haughtily at the intruder. "to what," she said, "am i so fortunate as to owe the unexpected honour of this visit?" "i came to pay my respects to your highness," said prince wasp, bowing low. "i did not know that the princess was amusing herself. it is my ill-fortune, not my fault, that i interrupted at a point so full of interest." it was the truth. the point was decidedly interesting, and therein lay the sting of the situation, as probably the wasp knew full well. "you are at liberty to leave me now," said the princess, falling back on a certain haughty dignity which she kept in reserve behind her headlong impulsiveness. "i obey, madam," he replied; "but first i have a message from the prince your brother. he asks you to be good enough to accompany his bride to the minster to-morrow. he has been ill all day with his old trouble, and so cannot wait in person upon his betrothed. he must abide in solitude for this day at least. your highness is apparently more fortunate!" the purpose of the insult was plain; but the princess margaret restrained herself, not, however, hating the insulter less. [illustration: "the lady looked haughtily at the intruder." [_page _]] "i pray you, prince ivan," she said, "return to my brother and tell him that his commands are ever an honour, and shall be obeyed to the letter." she bowed in dignified dismissal. prince wasp swept his plumed hat along the floor with the profundity of his retiring salutation, and in the same moment he flashed out his sting. "i leave your highness with less regret because i perceive that solitude has its compensations!" he said. the pair were left alone, but all things seemed altered now. margaret of courtland was silent and distrait. von lynar had a frown upon his brow, and his eyes were very dark and angry. "next time i must kill the fellow!" he muttered. he took the hand of the princess and respectfully kissed it. "i am your servant," he said; "i will do your bidding in all things, in life or in death. if i have forgotten anything, in aught been remiss, believe me that it was fate and not i. i will never presume, never count on your friendship past your desire, never recall your ancient goodness. i am but a poor soldier, yet at least i can faithfully keep my word." the princess withdrew her hand as if she had been somewhat fatigued. "do not be afraid," she said a little bitterly, "i shall not forget. _i_ have not been wounded in the head! _only in the heart!_" she added, as she turned away. chapter xiv at the high altar when maurice von lynar reached the open air he stood for full five minutes, light-headed in the rush of the city traffic. the loud iteration of rejoicing sounded heartless and even impertinent in his ear. the world had changed for the young dane since the count von löen had been summoned by the princess margaret. he cast his mind back over the interview, but failed to disentangle anything definite. it was a maze of impressions out of which grew the certainty that, safely to play his difficult part, he must obtain the whole confidence of the duchess joan. he looked about for the prince of muscovy, but failed to see him. though not anxious about the result, he was rather glad, for he did not want another quarrel on his hands till after the wedding. he would see the princess margaret there. if he played his cards well with the bride, he might even be sent for to escort her. so he made his way to the magnificent suite of apartments where the duchess was lodged. the prince had ordered everything with great consideration. her own horsemen patrolled the front of the palace, and the courtland guards were for the time being wholly withdrawn. [illustration: "joan of hohenstein stood, looking out upon the river." [_page _]] it seemed strange that joan of the sword hand, who not so long ago had led many a dashing foray and been the foremost in many a brisk encounter, should be a bride! it could not be that once he had imagined her the fairest woman under the sun, and himself, for her sake, the most miserable of men. thus do lovers deceive themselves when the new has come to obliterate the old. some can even persuade themselves that the old never had any existence. the young dane found the duchess walking up and down on the noble promenade which faces the river to the west. for the water curved in a spacious elbow about the city of courtland, and the summer palace was placed in the angle. maurice von lynar stood awhile respectfully waiting for the duchess to recognise him. werner, john of thorn, or any of her kernsberg captains would have gone directly up to her. but this youth had been trained in another school. joan of hohenstein stood a while without moving, looking out upon the river. she thought with a kind of troubled shyness of the morrow, oft dreamed of, long expected. she saw the man whom she was not known ever to have seen--the noble young man of the tournament, the gracious prince of the summer parlour, courteous and dignified alike to the poor secretary of embassy and to his sister the princess margaret of courtland. surely there never was any one like him--proudly thought this girl, as she looked across the river at the rich plain studded with far-smiling farms and fields just waking to life after their long winter sleep. "ah, von lynar, my brave dane, what good wind blows you here?" she cried. "i declare i was longing for some one to talk to." a consciousness of need which had only just come to her. "i have seen the princess margaret," said the youth slowly, "and i think that she must mistake me for some other person. she spoke things most strange to me to hear. but fearing i might meddle with affairs wherewith i had no concern, i forebore to correct her." the eyes of the duchess danced. a load seemed suddenly lifted off her mind. "was she very angry?" she queried. "very!" returned von lynar, smiling in recognition of her smile. "what said the princess?" "first she would have it that my name and style were those of the count von löen. then she reproached me fiercely because i denied it. after that she spoke of certain foreign customs she had been taught, recalled walks through corridors and rose gardens with me, till my head swam and i knew not what to answer." joan of the sword hand laughed a merry peal. "the count von löen, did she say?" she meditated. "well, so you are the count von löen. i create you the count von löen now. i give you the title. it is mine to give. by to-morrow i shall have done with all these things. and since as the count von löen i drank the wine, it is fair that you, who have to pay the reckoning, should be the count von löen also." "my family is noble, and i am the sole heir--that is, alive," said maurice, a little drily. to his mind the grandson of count von lynar, of the order of the dannebrog, had no need of any other distinction. "but i give you also therewith the estates which pertain to the title. they are situated on the borders of reichenau. i am so happy to-night that i would like to make all the world happy. i am sorry for all the folk i have injured!" "love changes all things," said the dane sententiously. the duchess looked at him quickly. "you are in love--with the princess margaret?" she said. the youth blushed a deep crimson, which flooded his neck and dyed his dusky skin. "poor maurice!" she said, touching his bowed head with her hand, "your troubles will not be to seek." "my lady," said the youth, "i fear not trouble. i have promised to serve the princess in all things. she has been very kind to me. she has forgiven me all." "so--you are anxious to change your allegiance," said the duchess. "it is as well that i have already made you count von löen, and so in a manner bound you to me, or you would be going off into another's service with all my secrets in your keeping. not that it will matter very much--after to-morrow!" she added, with a glance at the wing of the palace which held the summer parlour. "but how did you manage to appease her? that is no mean feat. she is an imperious lady and quick of understanding." then maurice von lynar told his mistress of his most allowable falsehoods, and begged her not to undeceive the princess, for that he would rather bear all that she might put upon him than that she should know he had lied to her. "do not be afraid," said the duchess, laughing, "it was i who tangled the skein. so far you have unravelled it very well. the least i can do is to leave you to unwind it to the end, my brave count von löen." so they parted, the duchess to her apartment, and the young man to pace up and down the stone-flagged promenade all night, thinking of the distracting whimsies of the princess margaret, of the hopelessness of his love, and, most of all, of how daintily exquisite and altogether desirable was her beauty of face, of figure, of temper, of everything! for the sparhawk was not a lover to make reservations. * * * * * the morning of the great day dawned cool and grey. a sunshade of misty cloud overspread the city and tempered the heat. it had come up with the morning wind from the baltic, and by eight the ships at the quays, and the tall beflagged festal masts in the streets through which the procession was to pass, ran clear up into it and were lost, so that the standards and pennons on their tops could not be seen any more than if they had been amongst the stars. the streets were completely lined with the folk of the city of courtland as the princess margaret, with the sparhawk and his company of lances clattering behind her, rode to the entrance of the palace where abode the bride-elect. "who is that youth?" asked margaret of courtland of joan, as they came out together; she looked at the dane--"he at the head of your first troops? he looks like your brother." "he has often been taken for such!" said the bride. "he is called the count von löen!" the princess did not reply, and as the two fair women came out arm in arm, a sudden glint of sunlight broke through the leaden clouds and fell upon them, glorifying the white dress of the one, and the blue and gold apparel of the other. the bells of the minster clanged a changeful thunder of brazen acclaim as the bride set out for the first time (so they told each other on the streets) to see her promised husband. "'twas well we did not so manage our affairs, hans," said a fishmonger's wife, touching her husband's arm archly. "yea, wife," returned the seller of fish; "whatever thou beest, at least i cannot deny that i took thee with my eyes open!" they reached the rathhaus, and the clamour grew louder than ever. presently they were at the cathedral and making them ready to dismount. the bells in the towers above burst forth into yet more frantic jubilation. the cannons roared from the ramparts. the princess margaret had delayed a little, either taking longer to her attiring, or, perhaps, gossiping with the bride. so that when the shouts in the wide minster place announced their arrival, all was in readiness within the crowded church, and the bridegroom had gone in well-nigh half an hour before them. but that was in accord with the best traditions. very like a princess and a great lady looked joan of hohenstein as she went up the aisle, with margaret of courtland by her side. she kept her eyes on the ground, for she meant to look at no one and behold nothing till she should see--that which she longed to look upon. suddenly she was conscious that they had stopped in the middle of a vast silence. the candles upon the great altar threw down a golden lustre. joan saw the irregular shining of them on her white bridal dress, and wondered that it should be so bright. there was a hush over all the assembly, the silence of a great multitude all intent upon one thing. "my brother, the prince of courtland!" said the voice of the princess margaret. slowly joan raised her eyes--pride and happiness at war with a kind of glorious shame upon her face. but that one look altered all things. she stood fixed, aghast, turned to stone as she gazed. she could neither speak nor think. that which she saw almost struck her dead with horror. the man whom his sister introduced as the prince of courtland was not the knight of the tournament. he was not the young prince of the summer palace. he was a man much older, more meagre of body, grey-headed, with an odd sidelong expression in his eyes. his shoulders were bent, and he carried himself like a man prematurely old. and there, behind the altar-railing, clad in the scarlet of a prince of the church, and wearing the mitre of a bishop, stood the husband of her heart's deepest thoughts, the man who had never been out of her mind all these weary months. he held a service book in his hand, and stood ready to marry joan of hohenstein to another. the man who was called prince of courtland came forward to take her hand; but joan stood with her arms firmly at her sides. the terrible nature of her mistake flashed upon her and grew in horror with every moment. fate seemed to laugh suddenly and mockingly in her face. destiny shut her in. "are you the prince of courtland?" she asked; and at the sound of her voice, unwontedly clear in the great church, even the organ appeared to still itself. all listened intently, though only a few heard the conversation. "i have that honour," bowed the man with the bent shoulders. "then, as god lives, i will never marry you!" cried joan, all her soul in the disgust of her voice. "be not disdainful, my lady," said the bridegroom mildly; "i will be your humble slave. you shall have a palace and an establishment of your own, an it like you. the marriage was your father's desire, and hath the sanction of the emperor. it is as necessary for your state as for mine." then, while the people waited in a kind of palpitating uncertainty, the princess margaret whispered to the bride, who stood with a face ashen pale as her own white dress. sometimes she looked at the prince of courtland, and then immediately averted her eyes. but never, after the first glance, did joan permit them to stray to the face of him who stood behind the altar railings with his service book in his hand. "well," she said finally, "i _will_ marry this man, since it is my fate. let the ceremony proceed!" "i thank you, gracious lady," said the prince, taking her hand and leading his bride to the altar. "you will never regret it." "no, but you will!" muttered his groomsman, the prince ivan of muscovy. the full rich tones of the prince bishop rose and fell through the crowded minster as joan of hohenstein was married to his elder brother, and with the closing words of the episcopal benediction an awe fell upon the multitude. they felt that they were in the presence of great unknown forces, the action and interaction of which might lead no man knew whither. at the close of the service, joan, now princess of courtland, leaned over and whispered a word to her chosen captain, maurice von lynar, an action noticed by few. the young man started and gazed into her face; but, immediately commanding his emotion, he nodded and disappeared by a side door. the great organ swelled out. the marriage procession was re-formed. the prince-bishop had retired to his sacristy to change his robes. the new princess of courtland came down the aisle on the arm of her husband. then the bells almost turned over in their fury of jubilation, and every cannon in the city bellowed out. the people shouted themselves hoarse, and the line of courtland troops who kept the people back had great difficulty in restraining the enthusiasm which threatened to break all bounds and involve the married pair in a whirling tumult of acclaim. in the centre of the minster place the four hundred lances of the kernsberg escort had formed up, a serried mass of beautiful well-groomed horses, stalwart men, and shining spears, from each of which the pennon of their mistress fluttered in the light wind. "ha! there they come at last! see them on the steps!" the shouts rang out, and the people flung their headgear wildly into the air. the line of courtland foot saluted, but no cheer came from the array of kernsberg lances. "they are sorry to lose her--and small wonder. well, she is ours now!" the people cried, congratulating one another as they shook hands and the wine gurgled out of the pigskins into innumerable thirsty mouths. on the steps of the minster, after they had descended more than half-way, the new princess of courtland turned upon her lord. her hand slipped from his arm, which hung a moment crooked and empty before it dropped to his side. his mouth was a little open with surprise. prince louis knew that he was wedding a wilful dame, but he had not been prepared for this. "now, my lord," said the princess joan, loud and clear. "i have married you. the bond of heritage-brotherhood is fulfilled. i have obeyed my father to the letter. i have obeyed the emperor. i have done all. now be it known to you and to all men that i will neither live with you nor yet in your city. i am your wife in name. you shall never be my husband in aught else. i bid you farewell, prince of courtland. joan of hohenstein may marry where she is bidden, but she loves where she will." the horse upon which she had come to the minster stood waiting. there was the sparhawk ready to help her into the saddle. ere one of the wedding guests could move to prevent her, before the prince of courtland could cry an order or decide what to do, joan of the sword hand had placed herself at the head of her four hundred lances, and was riding through the shouting streets towards the plassenburg gate. the people cheered as she went by, clearing the way that she might not be annoyed. they thought it part of the day's show, and voted the kernsbergers a gallant band, well set up and right bravely arrayed. so they passed through the gate in safety. the noble portal was all aflutter with colour, the arms of hohenstein and courtland being quartered together on a great wooden plaque over the main entrance. as soon as they were clear the princess joan turned in her saddle and spake to the four hundred behind her. "we ride back to kernsberg," she cried. "joan of the sword hand is wed, but not yet won. if they would keep her they must first catch her. are you with me, lads of the hills?" then came back a unanimous shout of "aye--to the death!" from four hundred throats. "then give me a sword and put the horses to their speed. we ride for home. let them catch us who can!" and this was the true fashion of the marrying of joan of the sword hand, duchess of hohenstein, to the prince louis of courtland, by his brother conrad, cardinal and prince of holy church. chapter xv what joan left behind after the departure of his bride, the prince of courtland stood on the steps of the minster, dazed and foundered by the shame which had so suddenly befallen him. beneath him the people seethed tumultuously, their holiday ribands and maypole dresses making as gay a swirl of colour as when one looks at the sun through the facets of a cut venetian glass. prince louis's weak and fretful face worked with emotion. his bird-like hands clawed uncertainly at his sword-hilt, wandering off over the golden pouches that tasselled his baldric till they rested on the sheath of the poignard he wore. "bid the gates be shut, prince!" the whisper came over his shoulder from a young man who had been standing all the time twisting his moustache. "bid your horsemen bit and bridle. the plain is fair before you. it is a long way to kernsberg. i have a hundred muscovites at your service, all well mounted--ten thousand behind them over the frontier if these are not enough! let no wench in the world put this shame upon a reigning prince of courtland on his wedding-day!" thus ivan of muscovy, attired in silk, banded of black and gold, counselled the disdained prince louis, who stood pushing upward with two fingers the point of his thin greyish beard and gnawing the straggling ends between his teeth. "i say, 'to horse and ride, man!' will you dare tell this folk of yours that you are disdained, slighted at the very church door by your wedded wife, cast off and trodden in the mire like a bursten glove? can you afford to proclaim yourself the scorn of germany? how it will run, that news! to plassenburg first, where the executioner's son will smile triumphantly to his witch woman, and straightway send off a messenger to tickle the well-larded ribs of his friend the margraf george with the rare jest." the prince louis appeared to be moved by the wasp's words. he turned about to the nearest knight-in-waiting. "let us to horse--every man of us!" he said. "bid that the steeds be brought instantly." the banded wasp had further counsels to give. "give out that you go to meet the princess at a rendezvous. for a pleasantry between yourselves, you have resolved to spend the honeymoon at a distant hunting-lodge. quick! not half a dozen of all the company caught the true import of her words. you will tame her yet. she will founder her horses in a single day's ride, while you have relays along the road at every castle, at every farm-house, and your borders are fifty good miles away." beneath, in the square, the court jesters leaped and laughed, turning somersaults and making a flying skirt, like that of a morrice dancer, out of the long, flapping points of their parti-coloured blouses. the streets in front of the cathedral were alive with musicians, mostly in little bands of three, a harper with his harp of fourteen strings, his companion playing industriously upon a flute-english, and with these two their 'prentice or servitor, who accompanied them with shrill iterance of whistle, while both his hands busied themselves with the merry tuck of tabour. in this incessant merrymaking the people soon forgot their astonishment at the sudden disappearance of the bride. there was, indeed, no understanding these great folk. but it was a fine day for a feast--the pretext a good one. and so the lasses and lads joked as they danced in the lower vaults of the town house, from which the barrels had been cleared for the occasion. "if thou and i were thus wedded, grete, would you ride one way and i the other? nay, god wot, lass! i am but a tanner's 'prentice, but i'd abide beside thee, as close as bark by hide that lies three years in the same tan-pit--aye, an' that i would, lass!" then gretchen bridled. "i would not marry thee, nor yet lie near or far, hans; thou art but a boy, feckless and skill-less save to pole about thy stinking skins--faugh!" "nay, try me, grete! is not this kiss as sweet as any civet-scented fop could give?" at the command of the prince the trumpets rang out again the call of "boot-and-saddle!" from the steps of the cathedral. at the sound the grooms, who were here and there in the press, hasted to find and caparison the horses of their lords. meanwhile, on the wide steps the prince louis fretted, dinting his nails restlessly into his palms and shaking with anger and disappointment till his deep sleeves vibrated like scarlet flames in a veering wind. suddenly there passed a wave over the people who crowded the spacious dom platz of courtland. the turmoil stilled itself unconsciously. the many-headed parti-coloured throng of women's tall coifs, gay fluttering ribands, men's velvet caps, gallants' white feathers that shifted like the permutations of a kaleidoscope, all at once fixed itself into a sea of white faces, from which presently arose a forest of arms flourishing kerchiefs and tossing caps. to this succeeded a deep mouth-roar of burgherish welcome such as the reigning prince had never heard raised in his own honour. "conrad--prince conrad! god bless our prince-cardinal!" the legitimate ruler of courtland, standing where joan had left him, with his slim-waisted muscovite mentor behind him, half-turned to look. and there on the highest place stood his brother in the scarlet of his new dignity as it had come from the pope himself, his red biretta held in his hand, and his fair and noble head erect as he looked over the folk to where on the slope above the city gates he could still see the sun glint and sparkle on the cuirasses and lanceheads of the four hundred riders of kernsberg. but even as the prince of courtland looked back at his brother, the whisper of the tempter smote his ear. "had prince conrad been in your place, and you behind the altar rails, think you that the duchess joan would have fled so cavalierly?" by this time the young cardinal had descended till he stood on the other side of the prince from ivan of muscovy. "you take horse to follow your bride?" he queried, smiling. "is it a fashion of kernsberg brides thus to steal away?" for he could see the grooms bringing horses into the square, and the guards beating the people back with the butts of their spears to make room for the mounting of the prince's cavalcade. "hark--he flouts you!" came the whisper over the bridegroom's shoulder; "i warrant he knew of this before." "you have done your priest's work, brother," said louis coldly, "e'en permit me to go about that of a prince and a husband in my own way." the cardinal bowed low, but with great self-command held his peace, whereat louis of courtland broke out in a sudden overboiling fury. "this is your doing!" he cried; "i know it well. from her first coming my bride had set herself to scorn me. my sister knew it. you knew it. you smile as at a jest. the pope's favour has turned your head. you would have all--the love of my wife, the rule of my folk, as well as the acclaim of these city swine. listen--'the good prince conrad! god save the noble prince!' it is worth while living for favour such as this." "brother of mine," said the young man gently, "as you know well, i never set eyes upon the noble lady joan before. never spoke word to her, held no communication by word or pen." "von dessauer--his secretary!" whispered ivan, dropping the suggestion carefully over his shoulder like poison distilled into a cup. "you were constantly with the old fox dessauer, the envoy of plassenburg--who came from kernsberg, bringing with him that slim secretary. by my faith, now, when i think of it, prince ivan told me last night he was as like this madcap girl as pea to pea--some fly-blown base-born brother, doubtless!" conrad shook his head. his brother had doubtless gone momentarily distract with his troubles. "nay, deny it not! and smile not either--lest i spoil the symmetry of that face for your monkish mummery and processions. aye, if i have to lie under ten years' interdict for it from your friend the most holy pope of rome!" "do not forget there is another church in my country, which will lay no interdict upon you, prince louis," laughed ivan of muscovy. "but to horse--to horse--we lose time!" "brother," said the cardinal, laying his hand on louis's arm, "on my word as a knight--as a prince of the church--i knew nothing of the matter. i cannot even guess what has led you thus to accuse me!" the princess margaret came at that moment out of the cathedral and ran impetuously to her favourite brother. he put out his hand. she took it, and instead of kissing his bishop's ring, as in strict etiquette she ought to have done, she cried out, "conrad, do you know what that glorious wench has done? dared her husband's authority at the church door, leaped into the saddle, whistled up her men, cried to all these courtland gallants, 'catch me who can!' and lo! at this moment she is riding straight for kernsberg, and now our louis must catch her. a glorious wedding! i would i were by her side. brother louis, you need not frown, i am nowise affrighted at your glooms! this is a bride worth fighting for. no puling cloister-maid this that dares not raise her eyes higher than her bridegroom's knee! were i a man, by my faith, i would never eat or drink, neither pray nor sain me, till i had tamed the darling and brought her to my wrist like a falcon to a lure!" "so, then, madam, you knew of this?" said her elder brother, glowering upon her from beneath his heavy brows. "nay!" trilled the gay princess, "i only wish i had. then i, too, would have been riding with them--such a jest as never was, it would have been. goodbye, my poor forsaken brother! joy be with you on this your bridal journey. take prince ivan with you, and conrad and i will keep the kingdom against your return, with your prize gentled on your wrist." so smiling and kissing her hand the princess margaret waved her brother and prince ivan off. the prince of courtland neither looked at her nor answered. but the muscovite turned often in his saddle as if to carry with him the picture she made of saucy countenance and dainty figure as she stood looking up into the face of the cardinal prince conrad. "what in heaven's name is the meaning of all this--i do not understand in the least?" he was saying. "haste you and unrobe, brother con," she said; "this grandeur of yours daunts me. then, in the summer parlour, i will tell you all!" [illustration: "they stood ... looking down at the rushing river." [_page _]] chapter xvi prince wasp's compact "i cannot go back to courtland dishonoured," said prince louis to ivan of muscovy, as they stood on the green bank looking down on the rushing river, broad and brown, which had so lately been the fords of alla. the river had risen almost as it seemed upon the very heels of the four hundred horsemen of kernsberg, and the ironclad knights and men-at-arms who followed the prince of courtland could not face the yeasty swirl of the flood. prince ivan, left to himself, would have dared it. "what is a little brown water?" he cried. "let the men leave their armour on this side and swim their horses through. we do it fifty times a month in muscovy in the springtime. and what are your hill-fed brooks to the full-bosomed rivers of the great plain?" "it is just because they are hill-fed that we know them and will not risk our lives. the alla has come down out of the mountains of hohenstein. for four-and-twenty hours nothing without wing may pass and repass. yet an hour earlier and our duchess had been trapped on the hither side even as we. but now she will sit and laugh up there in kernsberg. and--i cannot go back to courtland without a bride!" prince ivan stood a moment silent. then his eyes glanced over his companion with a certain severe and amused curiosity. from foot to head they scanned him, beginning at the shoes of red cordovan leather, following upwards to the great tassel he wore at his poignard; then came the golden girdle about his waist, the flowered needlework at his wrists and neck, and the scrutiny ended with the flat red cap on his head, from which a white feather nodded over his left eye. then the gaze of prince ivan returned again slowly to the pointed red shoes of cordovan leather. if there was anything so contemptuous as that eye-blink in the open scorn of all the burghers of courtland, prince louis was to be excused for any hesitation he might show in facing his subjects. the matter of prince wasp's meditation ran somewhat thuswise: "thou man, fashioned from a scullion's nail-paring, and cocked upon a horse, what can i make of thee? thou, to have a country, a crown, a wife! gudgeon eats stickleback, jack-pike eats gudgeon and grows fat, till at last the sturgeon in his armour eats him. i will fatten this jack. i will feed him like the gudgeons of kernsberg and hohenstein, then take him with a dainty lure indeed, black-tipped, with sleeves gay as cranes' wings, and answering to the name of 'my lady joan.' but wait--i must be wary, and have a care lest i shadow his water." so saying within his heart, prince wasp became exceedingly thoughtful and of a demure countenance. "my lord," he said, "this day's work will not go well down in courtland, i fear me!" prince louis moved uneasily, keeping his regard steadily upon the brown turmoil of the alla swirling beneath, whereas the eyes of ivan were never removed from his friend's meagre face. "your true courtlander is more than half a muscovite," mused prince wasp, as if thinking aloud; "he wishes not to be argued with. he wants a master, and he will not love one who permits himself to be choused of a wife upon his wedding-day!" prince louis started quickly as the wasp's sting pricked him. "and pray, prince ivan," he said, "what could i have done that i left undone? speak plainly, since you are so prodigal of smiles suppressed, so witty with covert words and shoulder-tappings!" "my louis," said prince wasp, laying his hand upon the arm of his companion with an affectation of tenderness. "i flout you not--i mock you not. and if i speak harshly, it is only that i love not to see you in your turn flouted, mocked, scorned, made light of before your own people!" "i believe it, ivan; pardon the heat of my hasty temper!" said the prince of courtland. the watchful muscovite pursued his advantage, narrowing his eyes that he might the better note every change on the face of the man whom he held in his toils. he went on, with a certain resigned sadness in his voice-- "ever since i came first to courtland with the not dishonourable hope of carrying back to my father a princess of your house, none have been so amiable together as you and i. we have been even as david and jonathan." the prince louis put out a hand, which apparently ivan did not see, for he continued without taking it. "yet what have i gained either of solid good or even of the lighter but not less agreeable matter of my lady's favour? so far as your sister is concerned, i have wasted my time. if i consider the union of our peoples, already one in heart, your brother works against us both; the princess margaret despises me, prince conrad thwarts us. he would bind us in chains and carry us tinkling to the feet of his pagan master in rome!" "i think not so," answered prince louis--"i cannot think so of my brother, with all his faults. conrad is a brave soldier, a good knight--though, as is the custom of our house, it is his lot to be no more than a prince-bishop!" the wasp laughed a little hard laugh, clear and inhuman as the snap and rattle of spanish castanets. "louis, my good friend, your simplicity, your lack of guile, do you wrong most grievous! you judge others as you yourself are. do you not see that conrad your brother must pay for his red hat? he must earn his cardinalate. papa sixtus gives nothing for nothing. courtland must pay peter's pence, must become monkish land. on every flake of stockfish, every grain of sturgeon roe, every ounce of marled amber, your holy father must levy his sacred dues. and the clear ambition of your brother is to make you chief cat's-paw pontifical upon the baltic shore. consider it, good louis." and the prince of muscovy twirled his moustache and smiled condescendingly between his fingers. then, as if he thought suddenly of something else and made a new calculation, he laughed a laugh, quick and short as the barking of a dog. "ha!" he cried, "truly we order things better in my country. i have brothers, one, two, three. they are grand dukes, highnesses very serene. one of them has this province, another this sinecure, yet another waits on my father. my father dies--and i--well, i am in my father's place. what will my brothers do with their serene highnesses then? they will take each one the clearest road and the shortest for the frontier, or by the holy icon of moscow, there would very speedily be certain new tablets in the funeral vault of my fathers." the prince of courtland started. "this thing i could never imagine of conrad my brother. he loves me. at heart he ever cared but for his books, and now that he is a priest he hath forsworn knighthood, and tournaments, and wars." "poor louis," said ivan sadly, "not to see that once a soldier always a soldier. but 'tis a good fault, this generous blindness of the eyes. he hath already the love of your people. he has won already the voice that speaks from every altar and presbytery. the power to loose and bind men's consciences is in his hand. in a little, when he has bartered away your power for his cardinal's hat, he may be made a greater than yourself, an elector of the empire, the right-hand man of papa sixtus, as his uncle adrian was before him. then indeed your courtland will underlie the tinkle of peter's keys!" "i am sure that conrad would do nothing against his fatherland or to the hurt of his prince and brother!" said prince louis, but he spoke in a wavering voice, like one more than half convinced. "again," continued ivan, without heeding him, "there is your wife. i am sure that if he had been the prince and you the priest--well, she had not slept this night in the castle of kernsberg!" "ivan, if you love me, be silent," cried the tortured prince of courtland, setting his hand to his brow. "this is the mere idle dreaming of a fool. how learned you these things? i mean how did the thoughts enter into your mind?" "i learned the matter from the princess margaret, who in the brief space of a day became your wife's confidante!" "did margaret tell it you?" the prince ivan laughed a short, self-depreciatory laugh. "nay, truly," he said, smiling sadly, "you and i are in one despite, louis. your wife scorns you--me, my sweetheart. did margaret tell me? nay, verily! yet i learned it, nevertheless, even more certainly because she denied it so vehemently. but, after all, i daresay all will end for the best." "how so?" demanded prince louis haughtily. "why, i have heard that your papa at rome will do aught for money. doubtless he will dissolve this marriage, which indeed is no more than one in name. he has done more than that already for his own nephews. he will absolve your brother from his vows. then you can be the monk and he the king. there will be a new marriage, at which doubtless you shall hold the service book and he the lady's hand. then we shall have no ridings back to kernsberg, with four hundred lances, at a word from a girl's scornful mouth. and the alla down there may rise or fall at its pleasure, and neither hurt nor hinder any!" the prince of courtland turned an angry countenance upon his friend, but the keen-witted muscovite looked so kindly and yet so sadly upon him that after awhile the severity of his face relaxed as it had been against his will, and with a quick gesture he added, "i believe you love me, ivan, though indeed your words are no better than red-hot pincers in my heart." "love you, louis?" cried prince ivan. "i love you better than any brother i have, though they will never live to thwart me as yours thwarts you--better even than my father, for you do not keep me out of my inheritance!" then in a gayer tone he went on. "i love you so much that i will pledge my father's whole army to help you, first to win your wife, next to take hohenstein, kernsberg, and marienfeld. and after that, if you are still ambitious, why--to plassenburg and the wolfmark, which now the executioner's son holds. that would make a noble kingdom to offer a fair and wilful queen." "and for this you ask?" "only your love, louis--only your love! and, if it please you, the alliance with that princess of your honourable house, of whom we spoke just now!" "my sister margaret, you mean? i will do what i can, ivan, but she also is wilful. you know she is wilful! i cannot compel her love!" the prince ivan laughed. "i am not so complaisant as you, louis, nor yet so modest. give me my bride on the day joan of the sword hand sleeps in the palace of courtland as its princess, and i will take my chance of winning our margaret's love!" chapter xvii woman's wilfulness joan rode on, silent, a furlong before her men. behind her sulked maurice von lynar. had any been there to note, their faces were now strangely alike in feature, and yet more curiously unlike in expression. joan gazed forward into the distance like a soul dead and about to be reborn, planning a new life. maurice von lynar looked more like a naughty schoolboy whom some tyrant fate, rod-wielding, has compelled to obey against his will. yet, in spite of expression, it was maurice von lynar who was planning the future. joan's heart was yet too sore. her tree of life had, as it were, been cut off close to the ground. she could not go back to the old so soon after her blissful year of dreams. there was to be no new life for her. she could not take up the old. but maurice--his thoughts were all for the princess margaret, of the ripple of her golden hair, of her pretty wilful words and ways, of that dimple on her chin, and, above all, of her threat to seek him out if--but it was not possible that she could mean that. and yet she looked as though she might make good her words. was it possible? he posed himself with this question, and for half an hour rode on oblivious of all else. "eh?" he said at last, half conscious that some one had been speaking to him from an infinite distance. "eh? did you speak, captain von orseln?" von orseln grunted out a little laugh, almost silently, indeed, and expressed more by a heave of his shoulders than by any alteration of his features. "speak, indeed? as if i had not been speaking these five minutes. well nigh had i stuck my poignard in your ribs to teach you to mind your superior officer. what think you of this business?" "think?" the sparhawk's disappointment burst out. "think? why, 'tis past all thinking. courtland is shut to us for twenty years." "well," laughed von orseln, "who cares for that? castle kernsberg is good enough for me, so we can hold it." "hold it?" cried maurice, with a kind of joy in his face; "do you think they will come after us?" von orseln nodded approval of his spirit. "yes, little man, yes," he said; "if you have been fretting to come to blows with the courtlanders you are in good case to be satisfied. i would we had only these lumpish baltic jacks to fear." even as they talked castle kernsberg floated up like a cloud before them above the blue and misty plain, long before they could distinguish the walls and hundred gables of the town beneath. but no word spoke joan till that purple shadow had taken shape as stately stone and lime, and she could discern her own red lion flying abreast of the banner of louis of courtland upon the topmost pinnacle of the round tower. then on a little mound without the town she halted and faced about. von orseln halted the troop with a backward wave of the hand. "men of hohenstein," said the duchess, in a clear, far-reaching alto, "you have followed me, asking no word of why or wherefore. i have told you nothing, yet is an explanation due to you." there came the sound as of a hoarse unanimous muttering among the soldiers. joan looked at von orseln as a sign for him to interpret it. "they say that they are joan of the sword hand's men, and that they will disembowl any man who wants to know what it may please you to keep secret." "aye, or question by so much as one lifted eyebrow aught that it may please your highness to do," added captain peter balta, from the right of the first troop. "i said that our duchess could never live in such a dog's hole as their courtland," quoth george the hussite, who, before he took service with henry the lion, had been a heretic preacher. "in bohemia, now, where the pines grow----" "hold your prate, all of you," growled von orseln, "or you will find where hemp grows, and why! my lady," he added, altering his voice as he turned to her, "be assured, no dog in kernsberg will bark an interrogative at you. shall our young duchess joan be wived and bedded like some little burgheress that sells laces and tape all day long on the axel-strasse? shall the daughter of henry the lion be at the commandment of any bor-russian boor, an it like her not? shall she get a burr in her throat with breathing the raw fogs of the baltic? not a word, most gracious lady! explain nothing. extenuate nothing. it is the will of joan of the sword hand--that is enough; and, by the word of werner von orseln, it shall be enough!" "it is the will of joan of the sword hand! it is enough!" repeated the four hundred lances, like a class that learns a lesson by rote. a lump rose in joan's throat as she tried to shape into words the thoughts that surged within. she felt strangely weak. her pride was not the same as of old, for the heart of a woman had grown up within her--a heart of flesh. surely that could not be a tear in her eye? no; the wind blew shrewdly out of the west, to which they were riding. von orseln noted the struggle and took up his parable once more. "the pact is carried out. the lands united--the will of henry the lion done! what more? shall the free princess be the huswife of a yellow baltic dwarf? when we go into the town and they ask us, we will say but this, 'our lady misliked the fashion of his beard!' that will be reason good and broad and deep, sufficient alike for grey-haired carl and prattling bairn!" "i thank you, noble gentlemen," said joan. "now, as you say, let us ride into kernsberg." "and pull down that flag!" cried maurice, pointing to the black courtland eagle which flew so steadily beside the coronated lion of kernsberg and hohenstein. "and pray, sir, why?" quoth joan of the sword hand. "am i not also princess of courtland?" * * * * * from woman's wilfulness all things somehow have their beginning. yet of herself she is content with few things (so that she have what she wants), somewhat spartan in fare if let alone, and no dinner-eating animal. wine, tobacco, caviare, strasburg goose-liver--epicurus's choicest gifts to men of this world--are contemned by womankind. left to their own devices, they prefer a drench of sweet mead or hydromel laced with water, or even of late the china brew that filters in black bricks through the country of the muscovite. nevertheless, to woman's wantings may be traced all restraints and judgments, from the sword flaming every way about eden-gate to the last merchant declared bankrupt and "dyvour" upon the exchange flags of hamburg town. eve did not eat the apple when she got it. she hasted to give it away. she only wanted it because it had been forbidden. so also joan of hohenstein desired to go down with dessauer that she might look upon the man betrothed to her from birth. she went. she looked, and, as the tale tells, within her there grew a heart of flesh. then, when the stroke fell, that heart uprose in quick, intemperate revolt. and what might have issued in the dull compliance of a princess whose life was settled for her, became the imperious revolt of a woman against an intolerable and loathsome impossibility. so in her castle of kernsberg joan waited. but not idly. all day long and every day maurice von lynar rode on her service. the hillmen gathered to his word, and in the courtyard the stormy voices of george the hussite and peter balta were never hushed. the shepherds from the hills went to and fro, marching and countermarching, wheeling and charging, porting musket and thrusting pike, till all kernsberg was little better than a barracks, and the maidens sat wet-eyed at their knitting by the fire and thought, "well for her to please herself whom she shall marry--but how about us, with never a lad in the town to whistle us out in the gloaming, or to thumb a pebble against the window-lattice from the deep edges of the ripening corn?" but there were two, at least, within the realm of the duchess joan who knew no drawbacks to their joy, who rubbed palm on palm and nudged each other for pure gladness. these (it is sad to say) were the military _attachés_ of the neighbouring peaceful state of plassenburg. yet they had been specially cautioned by their prince hugo, in the presence of his wife helene, the hereditary princess, that they were most carefully to avoid all international complications. they were on no account to take sides in any quarrel. above all they must do nothing prejudicial to the peace, neutrality, and universal amity of the state and princedom of plassenburg. such were these instructions. they promised faithfully. but, their names being captains boris and jorian, they now rubbed their hands and nudged each other. they ought to have been in their chamber in the castle of kernsberg, busily concocting despatches to their master and mistress, giving an account of these momentous events. instead, how is it that we find them lying on that spur of the jägernbergen which overlooks the passes of alla, watching the gathering of the great storm which in the course of days must break over the domains of the duchess joan--who had refused and slighted her wedded husband, louis, prince of courtland? being both powerfully resourceful men, long lean boris and rotund jorian had found a way out of the apparent difficulty. there had come with them from plassenburg a commission written upon an entire square of sheepskin by a secretary and sealed with the seal of leopold von dessauer, high councillor of the united princedom and duchy, bearing that "in the name of hugo and helene our well-loved lieges captains boris and jorian are empowered to act and treat," and so forth. this momentous deed was tied about the middle with a red string, and presented withal so courtly and respectable an appearance to the uncritical eyes of the ex-men-at-arms themselves, that they felt almost anything excusable which they might do in its name. before leaving kernsberg, therefore, boris placed this great red-waisted parchment roll in his bed, leaning it angle-wise against his pillow. jorian tossed a spare dagger with the arms of plassenburg beside it. "there--let the civil power and the military for once lie down together!" he said. "we delegate our authority to these two during our absence!" to the silent plassenburgers who had accompanied them, and who now kept their door with unswerving attention, boris explained himself briefly. "remember," he said, "when you are asked, that the envoys of plassenburg are ill--ill of a dangerous and most contagious disease. also, they are asleep. they must on no account be waked. the windows must be kept darkened. it is a great pity. you are desolated. you understand. the first time i have more money than i can spend you shall have ten marks!" the men-at-arms understood, which was no wonder, for boris generally contrived to make himself very clear. but they thought within them that their chances of financial benefit from their captain's conditional generosity were worth about one sole stiver. so these two, being now free fighting-men, as it were, soldiers of fortune, lay waiting on the slopes of the jägernbergen, talking over the situation. "a man surely has a right to his own wife!" said jorian, taking for the sake of argument the conventional side. "_narren-possen_, jorian!" cried boris, raising his voice to the indignation point. "clotted nonsense! who is going to keep a man's wife for him if he cannot do it himself? and he a prince, and within his own city and fortress, too. she boxed his ears, they say, and rode away, telling him that if he wanted her he might come and take her! a pretty spirit, i' faith! too good for such a dried stockfish of the baltic, with not so much soul as a speckled flounder on his own mud-flats! faith! if i were a marrying man, i would run off with the lass myself. she ought at least to be a soldier's wife." "the trouble is that so far she feels no necessity to be any one's wife," said jorian, shifting his ground. "that also is nonsense," said boris, who, spite his defence of joan, held the usual masculine views. "every woman wishes to marry, if she can only have first choice." "there they come!" whispered jorian, whose eyes had never wandered from the long wavering lines of willow and alder which marked the courses of the sluggish streams flowing east toward the alla. boris rose to his feet and looked long beneath his hand. very far away there was a sort of white tremulousness in the atmosphere which after a while began to give off little luminous glints and sparkles, as the sea does when a shaft of moonlight touches it through a dark canopy of cloud. then there arose from the level green plain first one tall column of dense black smoke and then another, till as far as they could see to the left the plain was full of them. "god's truth!" cried jorian, "they are burning the farms and herds' houses. i thought they had been christians in courtland. but these are more like duke casimir's devil's tricks." boris did not immediately answer. his eyes were busy seeing, his brain setting in order. "i tell you what," he said at last, in a tone of intense interest, "these are no fires lighted by courtlanders. the heavy baltic knights could never ride so fast nor spread so wide. the muscovite is out! these are cossack fires. bravo, jorian! we shall yet have our hugo here with his axe! he will never suffer the bear so near his borders." "let us go down," said jorian, "or we shall miss some of the fun. in two good hours they will be at the fords of the alla!" so they looked to their arms and went down. "what do you here? go back!" shouted werner von orseln, who with his men lay waiting behind the floodbanks of the alla. "this is not your quarrel! go back, plassenburgers!" "we have for the time being demitted our office," boris exclaimed. "the envoys of plassenburg are at home in bed, sick of a most sanguinary fever. we offer you our swords as free fighting-men and good teuts. the muscovites are over yonder. lord, to think that i have lived to forty-eight and never yet killed even one bearded russ!" "you may mend that record shortly, to all appearance, if you have luck!" said von orseln grimly. "and this gentleman here," he added, looking at jorian, "is he also in bed, sick?" "my sword is at your service," said the round one, "though i should prefer a musketoon, if it is all the same to you. it will be something to do till these firebrands come within arm's length of us." "i have here two which are very much at your service, if you know how to use them!" said werner. the men-at-arms laughed. "we know their tricks better than those of our sweethearts!" they said, "and those we know well!" "here they be, then," said von orseln. "i sent a couple of men spurring to warn my lady joan, and i bade them leave their muskets and bandoliers till they came back, that they might ride the lighter to and from kernsberg." boris and jorian took the spare pieces with a glow of gratitude, which was, however, very considerably modified when they discovered the state in which their former owners had kept them. "dirty wendish pigs," they said (which was their favourite malediction, though they themselves were wend of the wends). "were they but an hour in our camp they should ride the wooden horse with these very muskets tied to their soles to keep them firmly down. faugh!" and jorian withdrew his finger from the muzzle, black as soot with the grease of uncleansed powder. looking up, they saw that the priest with the little army of kernsberg was praying fervently (after the hussite manner, without book) for the safety of the state and person of their lady duchess, and that the men were listening bareheaded beneath the green slope of the water-dyke. "go on cleaning," said boris; "this is some heretic function, and might sap our morality. we are volunteers, at any rate, as well as the best of good catholics. we do not need unlicensed prayers. if you have quite done with that rag stick, lend it to me, jorian!" chapter xviii captains boris and jorian promote peace now this is the report which captains boris and jorian, envoys (very) extraordinary from the prince and princess of plassenburg to the reigning duchess of hohenstein, made to their home government upon their return from the fords of the alla. they wrote it in collaboration, on the usual plan of one working and the other assisting him with advice. jorian, being of the rotund and complaisant faction, acquiesced in the proposal that he should do the writing. but as he never got beyond "to our honoured lord and lady, hugo and helene, these----" there needs not to be any particularity as to his manner of acting the scribe. he mended at a pen till it looked like a brush worn to the straggling point. he squared his elbows suddenly and overset the inkhorn. he daubed an entire folio of paper with a completeness which left nothing to the imagination. then he remembered that he knew where a secretary was in waiting. he would go and borrow him. jorian re-entered their bedroom with a beaming smile, and the secretary held by the sleeve to prevent his escape. both felt that already the report was as good as written. it began thus:-- "with great assiduity (a word suggested by the secretary) your envoys remembered your highnesses' princely advice and command that we should involve ourselves in no warfare or other local disagreement. so when we heard that hohenstein was to be invaded by the troops of the prince of courtland we were deeply grieved. "nevertheless, judging it to be for the good of our country that we should have a near view of the fighting, we left worthy and assured substitutes in our place and room----" "the parchment commission with a string round his belly!" explained jorian, in answer to the young secretary's lifted eyebrow; "there he is, hiding behind the faggot-chest." "get on, boris," quoth jorian, from the settee on which he had thrown himself; "it is your turn to lie." "good!" says boris. and did it as followeth:-- "we left our arms behind us----" "such as we could not carry," added jorian under his breath. the secretary, a wise youth--full of the new learning and of talk concerning certain books printed on paper and bound all with one _druck_ of a great machine like a cheese-press--held his pen suspended over the paper in doubt what to write. "do not mind him," said boris. "_i_ am dictating this report." "yes, my lord!" replied the secretary from behind his hand. "we left our arms and armour behind us, and went out to make observations in the interest of your highnesses' armies. going down through the woods we saw many wild swine, exceeding fierce. but having no means of hunting these, we evaded them, all save one, which misfortunately met its death by falling against a spear in the hands of captain boris, and another, also of the male sex, shot dead by jorian's pistol, which went off by accident as it was passing." "i have already written that your arms were left at home, according to your direction," said the secretary, who was accustomed to criticise the composition of diplomatic reports. "pshaw!" growled boris, bending his brow upon such superfluity of virtue; "a little thing like that will never be noticed. besides, a man must carry something. we had no cannon or battering rams with us, therefore we were unarmed--to all intents and purposes, that is." the secretary sighed. verily life (as von orseln averred) must be easy in plassenburg, if such stories would pass with the prince. and now it seemed as if they would. "we found the soldiers of the duchess joan waiting at the fords of the alla, which is the eastern border of their province. there were not many of them, but all good soldiers. the courtlanders came on in myriads, with muscovites without number. these last burned and slew all in their path. now the men of hohenstein are good to attack, but their fault is that they are not patient to defend. so it came to pass that not long after we arrived at the fords of the alla, one werner von orseln, commander of the soldiers of the duchess, ordered that his men should attack the courtlanders in front. whereupon they crossed the ford, when they should have stayed behind their shelter. it was bravely done, but had better have been left undone. "remembering, however, your orders and our duty, we advanced with him, hoping that by some means we might be able to promote peace. "this we did. for (wonderful as it may appear) we convinced no fewer than ten muscovites whom we found sacking a farm, and their companions, four sutlers of courtland, that it was wrong to slay and ravish in a peaceful country. in the heat of the argument captain boris received a bullet through his shoulder which caused us for the time being to cease our appeal and fall back. the muscovites, however, made no attempt to follow us. our arguments had been sufficient to convince them of the wickedness of their deed. we hope to receive your princely approval of this our action--peace being, in our opinion, the greatest blessing which any nation can enjoy. for without flattery we may say that if others had argued with equal persuasiveness, the end would have been happier. "then, being once more behind the flood-dykes of the alla, captain jorian examined the hurt of captain boris which he had received in the peace negotiations with the muscovites. it was but a flesh wound, happily, and was soon bound up. but the pain of it acted upon both your envoys as an additional incentive to put a stop to the horrors of war. "so when a company of the infantry of courtland, with whom we had hitherto had no opportunity of wrestling persuasively, attacked the fords, wading as deep as mid-thigh, we took upon us to rebuke them for their forwardness. and accordingly they desisted, some retreating to the further shore, while others, finding the water pleasant, remained, and floated peacefully down with the current. "this also, in some measure, made for peace, and we humbly hope for the further approval of your highnesses, when you have remarked our careful observance of all your instructions. "if only we had had with us our several companies of the regiment of karl the miller's son to aid us in the discussion, more cossacks and strelits might have been convinced, and the final result have been different. nevertheless, we did what we could, and were successful with many beyond our hopes. "but the men of hohenstein being so few, and those of courtland with their allies so many, the river was overpassed both above and below the fords. whereupon i pressed it upon werner von orseln that he should retreat to a place of greater hope and safety, being thus in danger on both flanks. "for your envoys have a respect for werner von orseln, though we grieve to report that, being a man of war from his youth up, he does not display that desire for peace which your good counsels have so deeply implanted in our breasts, and which alone animates the hearts of boris and jorian, captains in the princely guard of plassenburg." "put that in, till i have time to think what is to come next!" said boris, waving his hand to the secretary. "we are doing pretty well, i think!" he added, turning to his companion with all the self-conscious pride of an amateur in words. "let us now tell more about von orseln, and how he would in no wise listen to us!" suggested jorian. "but let us not mix the mead too strong! our hugo is shrewd!" "this werner von orseln (be it known to your high graciousnesses) was the chief obstacle in the way of our making peace--except, perhaps, those muscovites with whom we were unable to argue, having no opportunity. this werner had fought all the day, and, though most recklessly exposing himself, was still unhurt. his armour was covered with blood and black with powder after the fashion of these wild hot-bloods. his face also was stained, and when he spoke it was in a hoarse whisper. the matter of his discourse to us was this:-- "'i can do no more. my people are dead, my powder spent. they are more numerous than the sea-sands. they are behind us and before, also outflanking us on either side.' "then we advised him to set his face to hohenstein and with those who were left to him to retreat in that direction. we accompanied him, bearing in mind your royal commands, and eager to do all that in us lay to advance the interests of amity. the enemy fetched a compass to close us in on every side. "whereupon we argued with them again to the best of our ability. there ensued some slight noise and confusion, so that captain boris forgot his wound, and captain jorian admits that in his haste he may have spoken uncivilly to several bor-russian gentry who thrust themselves in his way. and for this unseemly conduct he craves the pardon of their highnesses hugo and helene, his beloved master and mistress. however, as no complaint has been received from the enemy's headquarters, no breach of friendly relations may be apprehended. captain boris is of opinion that the muscovite boors did not understand captain jorian's teuton language. at least they were not observed to resent his words. "in this manner were the invaders of hohenstein broken through, and the remnant of the soldiers of the duchess joan reached kernsberg in safety--a result which, we flatter ourselves, was as much due to the zeal and amicable persuasiveness of your envoys as to the skill and bravery of werner von orseln and the soldiers of the duchess. "and your humble servants will ever pray for the speedy triumph of peace and concord, and also for an undisturbed reign to your highnesses through countless years. in token whereof we append our signatures and seals. "boris "jorian." "is not that last somewhat overstrained about peace and concord and so forth?" asked jorian anxiously. "not a whit--not a whit!" cried boris, who, having finished his composition, was wholly satisfied with himself, after the manner of the beginner in letters. "our desire to promote peace needs to be put strongly, in order to carry persuasion to their highnesses in plassenburg. in fact, i am not sure that it has been put strongly enough!" "i am troubled with some few doubts myself!" said jorian, under his breath. and as the secretary jerked the ink from his pen he smiled. chapter xix joan stands within her danger so soon as werner von orseln returned to castle kernsberg with news of the forcing of the alla and the overwhelming numbers of the muscovite hordes, the sad-eyed duchess of hohenstein became once more joan of the sword hand. hitherto she had doubted and feared. but now the thought of prince wasp and his muscovite savages steadied her, and she was here and there, in every bastion of the castle, looking especially to the gates which commanded the roads to courtland and plassenburg. her one thought was, "will _he_ be here?" and again she saw the knight of the white plume storm through the lists of courtland, and the enemy go down before him. ah, if only----! [illustration: "captain boris was telling a story." [_page _]] the invading army must have numbered thirty thousand, at least. there were, all told, about two thousand spears in kernsberg. von orseln, indeed, could easily have raised more. nay, they would have come in of themselves by hundreds to fight for their duchess, but the little hill town could not feed more. yet joan was not discouraged. she joked with peter balta upon the louts of courtlanders taking the castle which henry the lion had fortified. the courtlanders, indeed! had not duke casimir assaulted kernsberg in vain, and even the great margraf george threatened it? yet still it remained a virgin fortress, looking out over the fertile and populous plain. but now what were left of the shepherds had fled to the deep-bosomed mountains with their flocks. the cattle were hidden in the thickest woods; only the white farm-houses remained tenantless, silently waiting the coming of the spoiler. and, stripped for combat, castle kernsberg looked out towards the invader, the rolling plain in front of it, and behind the grim intricate hill country of hohenstein. when werner von orseln and peter balta met the invader at the fords of the alla, maurice von lynar and alt pikker had remained with joan, nominally to assist her dispositions, but really to form a check upon the impetuosity of her temper. now von orseln was back again. the fords of the alla were forced, and the fighting strength of kernsberg united itself in the eagle's nest to make its final stand. aloft on the highest ramparts there was a terrace walk which the sparhawk much affected, especially when he was on guard at night. it looked towards the east, and from it the first glimpse of the courtlanders would be obtained. in the great hall of the guard they were drinking their nightly toast. the shouting might have been heard in the town, where at street corners were groups of youths exercising late with wooden spears and mimic armour, crying "hurrah, kernsberg!" they changed it, however, in imitation of their betters in the castle above. "_joan of the sword hand! hoch!_" the shout went far into the night. again and yet again it was repeated from about the crowded board in the hall of the men-at-arms and from the gloomy streets beneath. when all was over, the sparhawk rose, belted his sword a hole or two tighter, set a steel cap without a visor upon his head, glanced at werner von orseln, and withdrew, leaving the other captains to their free-running jest and laughter. captain boris of plassenburg was telling a story with a countenance more than ordinarily grave and earnest, while the table round rang with contagious mirth. the sparhawk found the high terrace of the lion tower guarded by a sentry. him he removed to the foot of the turret-stair, with orders to permit no one save werner von orseln to pass on any pretext. presently the chief captain's step was heard on the stone turnpike. "ha, sparhawk," he cried, "this is cold cheer! why could we not have talked comfortably in hall, with a beaker of mead at one's elbow?" "the enemy are not in sight," said the sparhawk gloomily. "well, that is bad luck," said werner; "but do not be afraid, you will have your chance yet--indeed, all you want and a little over--in the way of killing of muscovites." "i wanted to speak with you on a matter we cannot mention elsewhere," said maurice von lynar. the chief captain stopped in his stride, drew his cloak about him, rested his thigh on a square battlement, and resigned himself. "well," he said, "youth has ever yeasty brains. go on." "i would speak of my lady!" said the youth. "so would most mooncalves of your age!" growled werner; "but they do not usually bring their commanding officers up to the housetops to do it!" "i mean our lady, the duchess joan!" "ah," said werner, with the persiflage gone out of his tone, "that is altogether another matter!" and the two men were silent for a minute, both looking out into the blackness where no stars shone or any light twinkled beyond the walls of the little fortified hill town. at last maurice von lynar spoke. "how long can we hold out if they besiege us?" "two months, certainly--with luck, three!" "and then?" werner von orseln shrugged his shoulders, but only said, "a soldier never anticipates disaster!" "and what of the duchess joan?" persisted the young man. "why, in the same space of time she will be dead or wed!" said von orseln, with an affectation of carelessness easily seen through. the young man burst out, "dead she may be! i know she will never be wife to that courtland death's-head. i saw it in her eyes that day in their cathedral, when she bade me slip out and bring up our four hundred lances of kernsberg." "like enough," said werner shortly. "i, for one, set no bounds to any woman's likings or mislikings!" "we must get her away to a place of safety," said the young man. von orseln laughed. "get her? who would persuade or compel our lady? whither would she go? would she be safer there than here? would the courtlander not find out in twenty-four hours that there was no joan of the sword hand in kernsberg, and follow on her trail? and lastly--question most pertinent of all--what had you to drink down there in hall, young fellow?" the sparhawk did not notice the last question, nor did he reply in a similarly jeering tone. "we must persuade her--capture her, compel her, if necessary. kernsberg cannot for long hold out against both the muscovite and the courtlander. save good jorian and boris, who will lie manfully about their fighting, there is no help for us in mortal man. so this is what we must do to save our lady!" "what? capture joan of the sword hand and carry her off? the mead buzzes in the boy's head. he grows dotty with anxiety and too much hard ale. 'ware, maurice--these battlements are not over high. i will relieve you, lad! go to bed and sleep it off!" "von orseln," said the youth, with simple earnestness, not heeding his taunts, "i have thought deeply. i see no way out of it but this. our lady will eagerly go on reconnaissance if you represent it as necessary. you must take ten good men and ride north, far north, even to the edges of the baltic, to a place i know of, which none but i and one other can find. there, with a few trusty fellows to guard her, she will be safe till the push of the times is over." the chief captain was silent. he had wholly dropped his jeering mood. "there is nothing else that i can see for it," the young dane went on, finding that werner did not speak. "our joan will never go to courtland alive. she will not be carried off on prince louis' saddle-bow, as a cossack might carry off a circassian slave!" "but how," said von orseln, meditating, "will you prevent her absence being known? the passage of so large a party may easily be traced and remembered. though our folk are true enough and loyal enough, sooner or later what is known in the castle is known in the town, and what is known in the town becomes known to the enemy!" maurice von lynar leaned forward towards his chief captain and whispered a few words in his ear. "ah!" he said, and nodded. then, after a pause for thought, he added, "that is none so ill thought on for a beardless younker! i will think it over, sleep on it, and tell you my opinion to-morrow!" the youth tramped to and fro on the terrace, muttering to himself. "good-night, sparhawk!" said von orseln, from the top of the corkscrew stair, as he prepared to descend; "go to bed. i will send alt pikker to command the house-guard to-night. do you get straightway between the sheets as soon as maybe. if this mad scheme comes off you will need your beauty-sleep with a vengeance! so take it now!" "at any rate," the chief captain growled to himself, "you have set a pretty part for me. i may forthwith order my shroud. i shall never be able to face my lady again!" chapter xx the chief captain's treachery the duchess joan was in high spirits. it had been judged necessary, in consultation with her chief officers, to ride a reconnaissance in person in order to ascertain whether the advancing enemy had cut kernsberg off towards the north. on this matter von orseln thought that her highness had better judge for herself. here at last was something definite to be done. it was almost like the old foraying days, but now in a more desperate cause. ten days before, joan's maidens and her aged nurse had been sent for safety into plassenburg, under escort of captains boris and jorian as far as the frontier--who had, however, returned in time to accompany the party of observation on their ride northward. no one in all castle kernsberg was to know of the departure of this cavalcade. shortly before midnight the horses were to be ready under the castle wall. the sparhawk was appointed to command the town during von orseln's absence. ten men only were to go, and these picked and sifted riders--chosen because of their powers of silence--and because, being unmarried, they had no wives to worm secrets out of them. sweethearts they might have, but then, in kernsberg at least, that is a very different thing. finally, having written to their princely master in plassenburg, that they were leaving on account of the war--in which, as envoys extraordinary, they did not desire to be further mixed up--captains boris and jorian made them ready to accompany the reconnaissance. it proved to be a dark and desperate night of storm and rain. the stars were ever and anon concealed by the thick pall of cloud which the wind from the south drove hurtling athwart them. joan herself was in the highest spirits. she wore a long blue cloak, which completely concealed the firmly knit slender figure, clad in forester's dress, from prying eyes. as for werner von orseln, that high captain was calm and grave as usual, but the rest of the ten men were plainly nervous, as they fingered their bridle-reins and avoided looking at each other while they waited in readiness to mount. with a clatter of hoofs they were off, none in the castle knowing more than that werner the chief captain rode out on his occasions. a townsman or two huddled closer among his blankets as the clatter and jingle of the horses mingled with the sharp volleying of the rain upon his wind-beaten lattice, while the long _whoo_ of the wind sang of troublous times in the twisted chimneys overhead. joan, as the historian has already said, was in high spirits. "werner," she cried, as soon as they were clear of the town, "if we strike the enemy to-night, i declare we will draw sword and ride through them." "_if_ we strike them to-night, right so, my lady!" returned werner promptly. but he had the best of reasons for knowing that they would not strike any enemy that night. his last spy from the north had arrived not half an hour before they started, having ridden completely round the enemy's host. joan and her chief captain rode on ahead, von orseln glancing keenly about him, and joan riding free and careless, as in the old days when she overpassed the hills to drive a prey from the lands of her father's enemies. it was grey morning when they came to a goatherd's hut at the top of the green valley. already they had passed the bounds of hohenstein by half a dozen miles. the goatherd had led his light-skipping train to the hills for the day, and the rude and chaotic remains of his breakfast were still on the table. boris and jorian cleared these away, and, with the trained alacrity of seasoned men-at-arms, they placed before the party a breakfast prepared with speed out of what they had brought with them and those things which they had found to their hand by foraging in the larder of the goatherd--to wit, sliced neat's-tongue dried in the smoke, and bread of fine wheat which jorian had carried all the way in a net at his saddle-bow. boris had charge of the wine-skins, and upon a shelf above the door they found a great butter-pot full of freshly made curded goats' milk, very delicious both to taste and smell. of these things they ate and drank largely, joan and von orseln being together at the upper end of the table. boris and jorian had to sit with them, though much against their wills, being (spite of their sweethearts) more accustomed to the company of honest men-at-arms than to the practice of dainty eating in ladies' society. joan undertook to rally them upon their loves, for whose fair fingers, as it has been related in an earlier chapter, she had given them rings. "and how took your katrin the ring, boris?" she said, looking at him past the side of her glass. for jorian had bethought him to bring one for the duchess, the which he cleansed and cooled at the spring without. as for the others, they all drank out of one wooden whey-cog, as was most fitting. "why, she took it rarely," said honest boris, "and swore to love me more than ever for it. we are to be married upon my first return to plassenburg." "which, perhaps, is the reason why you are in no hurry to return thither, seeing that you stopped short at the frontier last week?" said the duchess shrewdly. "nay, my lady, that grieved me sore--for, indeed, we love each other dearly, katrin and i," persisted captain boris, thinking, as was his custom, to lie himself out of it by dint of the mere avoirdupois of asseveration. "that is the greater marvel," returned the lady, smiling upon him, "because when last i spoke with you concerning the matter, her name was not katrin, but gretchen!" boris was silent, as well he might be, for even as he lied he had had some lurking suspicion of this himself. he felt that he could hope to get no further by this avenue. the lady now turned to jorian, who, having digested the defeat and shame of boris, was ready to be very indignant at his companion for having claimed his sweetheart. "and you, captain jorian," she said, "how went it with you? was your ring well received?" "aye, marry," said that gallant captain, "better than well. much better! never did i see woman so grateful. katrin, whom this long, wire-drawn, splenetic fool hath lyingly claimed as his (by some trick of tongue born of his carrying the malmsey at his saddle-bow)--katrin, i say, did kiss and clip me so that my very soul fainted within me. she could not make enough of the giver of such a precious thing as your highness's ring?" jorian in his own estimation was doing very well. he thought he could yet better it. "her eyes sparkled with joy. her hands twitched--she could not keep them from turning the pretty jewel about upon her finger. she swore never to part with it while life lasted----" "then," said joan, smiling, "have no more to do with her. she is a false wench and mansworn. for do not i see it upon the little finger of your left hand at this moment? nay, do not turn the stone within. i know my gift, and will own it even if your katrin (was it not?) hath despised it. what say you now to that, jorian?" "my lady," faltered jorian, striving manfully to recover himself, "when i came again in the honourable guise of an ambassador to kernsberg, katrin gave it back again to me, saying, 'you have no signet ring. take this, so that you be not ashamed among those others. keep it for me. i myself will place it on your finger with a loving kiss.'" "well done, captain jorian, you are a somewhat better liar than your friend. but still your excuses should accord better. the ring i gave you is not a signet ring. that katrin of yours must have been ignorant indeed." with these words joan of the sword hand rose to her feet, for the ex-men-at-arms had not so much as a word to say. "let us now mount and ride homeward," she said; "there are no enemy to be found on this northerly road. we shall be more fortunate upon another occasion." then werner von orseln nerved himself for a battle more serious than any he had ever fought at the elbow of henry the lion of hohenstein. "my lady," he said, standing up and bowing gravely before her, "you see here eleven men who love you far above their lives, of whom i am the chief. two others also there are, who, though not of our nation, are in heart joined to us, especially in this thing that we have done. with all respect, your highness cannot go back. we have come out, not to make a reconnaissance, but to put your grace in a place of safety till the storm blows over." the duchess had slowly risen to her feet, with her hand on the sword which swung at her belt. "you have suddenly gone mad, werner!" she said; "let us have no more of this. i bid you mount and ride. back to kernsberg, i say! ye are not such fools and traitors as to deliver the maiden castle, the eagle's nest of hohenstein, into the hands of our enemies?" "nay," said von orseln, looking steadily upon the ground, "that will we not do. kernsberg is in good hands, and will fight bravely. but we cannot hold out with our few folk and scanty provender against the leaguer of thirty thousand. nevertheless we will not permit you to sacrifice yourself for our sakes or for the sake of the women and children of the city." joan drew her sword. "werner von orseln, will you obey me, or must i slay you with my hand?" she cried. the chief captain yet further bowed his head and abased his eyes. "we have thought also of this," he made answer. "me you may kill, but these that are with me will defend themselves, though they will not strike one they love more than their lives. but man by man we have sworn to do this thing. at all hazards you must abide in our hands till the danger is overpast. for me (this he added in a deeper tone), i am your immediate officer. there is none to come between us. it is your right to slay me if you will. mine is the responsibility for this deed, though the design was not mine. here is my sword. slay your chief captain with it if you will. he has faithfully served your house for five-and-thirty years. 'tis perhaps time he rested now." and with these words werner von orseln took his sword by the point and offered the hilt to his mistress. joan of the sword hand shook with mingled passion and helplessness, and her eyes were dark and troublous. "put up your blade," she said, striking aside the hilt with her hand; "if you have not deserved death, no more have i deserved this! but you said that the design was not yours. who, then, has dared to plot against the liberty of joan of hohenstein?" "i would i could claim the honour," said werner the chief captain; "but truly the matter came from maurice von lynar the dane. it is to his mother, who after the death of her brother, the count von lynar, continued to dwell in a secret strength on the baltic shore, that we are conducting your grace!" "maurice von lynar?" exclaimed joan, astonished. "he remains in castle kernsberg, then?" "aye," said werner, relieved by her tone, "he will take your place when danger comes. in morning twilight or at dusk he makes none so ill a lady duchess, and, i' faith, his 'sword hand' is brisk enough. if the town be taken, better that he than you be found in castle kernsberg. is the thing not well invented, my lady?" werner looked up hopefully. he thought he had pleaded his cause well. "traitor! supplanter!" cried joan indignantly; "this dane in my place! i will hang him from the highest window in the castle of kernsberg if ever i win back to mine own again!" "my lady," said werner, gently and respectfully, "your servant von lynar bade me tell you that he would as faithfully and loyally take your place now as he did on a former occasion!" "ah," said joan, smiling wanly with a quick change of mood, "i hope he will be more ready to give up his privileges on this occasion than on that!" she was thinking of the princess margaret and the heritage of trouble upon which, as the count von löen, she had caused the sparhawk to enter. then a new thought seemed to strike her. "but my nurse and my women--how can he keep the imposture secret? he may pass before the stupid eyes of men. but they----" "if your highness will recollect, they have been sent out of harm's way into plassenburg. there is not a woman born of woman in all the castle of kernsberg!" "yes," mused joan, "i have indeed been fairly cozened. i gave that order also by the dane's advice. well, let him have his run. we will reeve him a firm collar of hemp at the end of it, and maybe for werner von orseln also, as a traitor alike to his bread and his mistress. till then i hope you will both enjoy playing your parts." the chief captain bowed. "i am content, my lady," he said respectfully. "now, good jailers all," cried joan, "lead on. i will follow. or would you prefer to carry me with you handcuffed and chained? i will go with you in whatsoever fashion seemeth good to my masters!" she paused and looked round the little goatherd's hut. "only," she said, nodding her head, "i warn you i will take my own time and manner of coming back!" there was a deep silence as the men drew their belts tighter and prepared to mount and depart. "about that time, jorian," whispered boris as they went out, "you and i will be better in plassenburg than within the bounds of kernsberg--for our health's sake and our sweethearts', that is!" "good!" said jorian, dropping the bars of his visor; "but for all that she is a glorious wench, and looks her bravest when she is angry!" chapter xxi isle rugen they had travelled for six hours through high arched pines, their fallen needles making a carpet green and springy underfoot. then succeeded oaks, stricken a little at top with the frosts of years. alternating with these came marshy tracts where alder and white birch gleamed from the banks of shallow runnels and the margins of black peaty lakes. anon the broom and the gorse began to flourish sparsely above wide sand-hills, heaved this way and that like the waves of a mountainous sea. the party was approaching that no-man's-land which stretches for upwards of a hundred miles along the southern shores of the baltic. it is a land of vast brackish backwaters connected with the outer sea by devious channels often half silted up, but still feeling the pulse of the outer green water in the winds which blow over the sandy "bills," bars, and spits, and bring with them sweet scents of heather and wild thyme, and, most of all, of the southernwood which grows wild on the scantily pastured braes. it was at that time a beautiful but lonely country--the 'batable land of half a dozen princedoms, its only inhabitant a stray hunter setting up his gipsy booth of wattled boughs, heaping with stones a rude fireplace, or fixing a tripod over it whereon a pottinger was presently a-swing, in some sunny curve of the shore. at eventide of the third day of their journeying the party came to a great morass. black decaying trunks of trees stood up at various angles, often bristling with dead branches like _chevaux-de-frise_. the horses picked their path warily through this tangle, the rotten sticks yielding as readily and silently as wet mud beneath their hoofs. finally all dismounted except joan, while werner von orseln, with a rough map in his hand, traced out the way. pools of stagnant black water had to be evaded, treacherous yellow sands tested, bridges constructed of the firmer logs, till all suddenly they came out upon a fairylike little half-moon of sand and tiny shells. here was a large flat-bottomed boat, drawn up against the shore. in the stern a strange figure was seated, a man, tall and angular, clad in jerkin and trunks of brown tanned leather, cross-gartered hose of grey cloth, and home-made shoon of hide with the hair outside. he wore a black skull cap, and his head had the strange, uncanny look of a wild animal. it was not at the first glance nor yet at the second that boris and jorian found out the cause of this curious appearance. meanwhile werner von orseln was putting into his hand some pledge or sign which he scrutinised carefully, when jorian suddenly gripped his companion's arm. "look," he whispered, "he's got no ears!" "nor any tongue!" responded boris, staring with all his eyes at the prodigy. and, indeed, the strange man was pointing to his mouth with the index finger of his right hand and signing that they were to follow him into the boat which had been waiting for them. joan of the sword hand had never spoken since she knew that her men were taking her to a place of safety. nor did her face show any trace of emotion now that werner von orseln, approaching cap in hand, humbly begged her to permit him to conduct her to the boat. but the duchess leapt from her horse, and without accepting his hand she stepped from the little pier of stone beside which the boat lay. then walking firmly from seat to seat she reached the stern, where she sat down without seeming to have glanced at any of the company. werner von orseln then motioned captains boris and jorian to take their places in the bow, and having bared his head he seated himself beside his mistress. the wordless earless man took the oars and pushed off. the boat slid over a little belt of still water through a wilderness of tall reeds. then all suddenly the wavelets lapped crisp and clean beneath her bottom, and the wide levels of a lake opened out before them. the ten men left on the shore set about building a fire and making shelters of brushwood, as if they expected to stay here some time. the tiny harbour was fenced in on every side with an unbroken wall of lofty green pines. the lower part of their trunks shot up tall and straight and opened long vistas into the black depths of the forest. the sun was setting and threw slant rays far underneath, touching with gold the rank marish growths, and reddening the mouldering boles of the fallen pines. the boat passed almost noiselessly along, the strange man rowing strongly and the boat drawing steadily away across the widest part of the still inland sea. as they thus coasted along the gloomy shores the sun went down and darkness came upon them at a bound. then at the far end of the long tunnel, which an hour agone had been sunny glades, they saw strange flickering lights dancing and vanishing, waving and leaping upward--will-o'-the-wisps kindled doubtless from the stagnant boglands and the rotting vegetation of that ancient northern forest. the breeze freshened. the water clappered louder under the boat's quarter. breaths born of the wide sea unfiltered through forest dankness visited more keenly the nostrils of the voyagers. they heard ahead of them the distant roar of breakers. now and then there came a long and gradual roll underneath their quarter, quite distinct from the little chopping waves of the fresh-water _haff_, as the surface of the mere heaved itself in a great slope of water upon which the boat swung sideways. after a space tall trees again shot up overhead, and with a quick turn the boat passed between walls of trembling reeds that rustled against the oars like silk, emerged on a black circle of water, and then, gliding smoothly forward, took ground in the blank dark. as the broad keel grated on the sand, the wordless man leapt out, and, standing on the shore, put his hands to his mouth and emitted a long shout like a blast blown on a conch shell. again and again that melancholy ululation, with never a consonantal sound to break it, went forth into the night. yet it was so modulated that it had obviously a meaning for some one, and to put the matter beyond a doubt it was answered by three shrill whistles from behind the rampart of trees. joan sat still in the boat where she had placed herself. she asked no question, and even these strange experiences did not alter her resolution. presently a light gleamed uncertainly through the trees, now lost behind brushwood and again breaking waveringly out. a tall figure moved forward with a step quick and firm. it was that of a woman who carried a swinging lantern in her hand, from which wheeling lights gleamed through a score of variously coloured little plates of horn. she wore about her shoulders a great crimson cloak which masked her shape. a hood of the same material, attached at the back of the neck to the cloak, concealed her head and dropped about her face, partially hiding her features. standing still on a little wooden pier she held the lantern high, so that the light fell directly on those in the boat, and their faces looked strangely white in that illumined circle, surrounded as it was by a pent-house of tense blackness--black pines, black water, black sky. "follow me!" said the woman, in a deep rich voice--a voice whose tones thrilled those who heard them to their hearts, so full and low were some of the notes. joan of the sword hand rose to her feet. "i am the duchess of hohenstein, and i do not leave this boat till i know in what place i am, and who this may be that cries 'follow!' to the daughter of henry the lion!" the tall woman turned without bowing and looked at the girl. "i am the mother of maurice von lynar, and this is the isle rugen!" she said simply, as if the answer were all sufficient. chapter xxii the house on the dunes the woman in the crimson cloak waited for joan to be assisted from the boat, and then, without a word of greeting, led the way up a little sanded path to a gate which opened in a high stone wall. through this she admitted her guests, whereupon they found themselves in an enclosure with towers and battlements rising dimly all round. it was planted with fragrant bushes and fruit trees whose leaves brushed pleasantly against their faces as they walked in single file following their guide. then came a long grey building, another door, small and creaking heavily on unaccustomed hinges, a sudden burst of light, and lo! the wanderers found themselves within a lighted hall, wherein were many stands of arms and armour, mingled with skins of wild animals, wide-spreading many-tined antlers, and other records of the chase. the woman who had been their guide now set down her lantern and allowed the hood of her cloak to slide from her head. werner and his two male companions the captains of plassenburg, fell back a little at the apparition. they had expected to see some hag or crone, fit companion of their wordless guide. instead, a woman stood before them, not girlish certainly, nor yet in the first bloom of her youth, but glorious even among fair women by reason of the very ripeness of her beauty. her hair shone full auburn with shadows of heavy burnt-gold upon its coils. it clustered about the broad low brow in a few simple locks, then, sweeping back round her head in loose natural waves, it was caught in a broad flat coil at the back, giving a certain statuesque and classic dignity to her head. the mother of that young paladin, their sparhawk? it seemed impossible. this woman was too youthful, too fair, too bountiful in her gracious beauty to be the mother of such a tense young yew-bow as maurice von lynar. yet she had said it, and women do not lie (affirmatively) about such a matter. so, indeed, at heart thought werner von orseln. "my lady joan," she said, in the same thrilling voice, "my son has sent me word that till a certain great danger is overpast you are to abide with me here on the isle rugen. i live alone, save for this one man, dumb max ulrich, long since cruelly maimed at the hands of his enemies. i can offer you no suite of attendants beyond those you bring with you. our safety depends on the secrecy of our abode, as for many years my own life has done. i ask you, therefore, to respect our privacy, as also to impose the same upon your soldiers." the duchess joan bowed slightly. "as you doubtless know, i have not come hither of my own free will," she answered haughtily; "but i thank you, madam, for your hospitality. rest assured that the amenity of your dwelling shall not be endangered by me!" the two looked at each other with that unyielding "at-arm's-length" eyeshot which signifies instinctive antipathy between women of strong wills. then with a large gesture the elder indicated the way up the broad staircase, and throwing her own cloak completely off she caught it across her arm as it dropped, and so followed joan out of sight. werner von orseln stood looking after them a little bewildered. but the more experienced boris and jorian exchanged significant glances with each other. then boris shook his head at jorian, and jorian shook his head at boris. and for once they did not designate the outlook by their favourite adjective. * * * * * nevertheless, instinct was so strong that, as soon as the women had withdrawn themselves upstairs, the three captains seized the lantern and started towards the door to make the round of the defences. the wordless man accompanied them unasked. the square enclosure in which they found themselves seemed liker an old fortified farmhouse or grange than a regular castle, though the walls were thick as those of any fortress, being loopholed for musketry, and (in those days of bombards few and heavy) capable of standing a siege in good earnest against a small army. the doors were of thick oak crossed in all directions with strengthening iron. the three captains examined every barred window with keen professional curiosity, and, coming to another staircase in a distant part of the house, von orseln intimated to the dumb man that they wished to examine it. in rapid pantomime he indicated to them that there was an ascending flight of steps leading round and round a tower till a platform was reached, from which (gazing out under his hand and making with his finger the shape of battlements) he gave them to understand that an extensive prospect was to be enjoyed. with an inward resolve to ascend that stair and look upon that prospect at an early hour on the morrow, the three captains returned through the hall into a long dining-room vaulted above with beams of solid oak. curtains were drawn close all about the walls. in the recesses were many stands of arms of good and recent construction, and opening a cupboard with the freedom of a man-at-arms, boris saw ramrods, powder and shot horns arranged in order, as neatly as though he had done it himself, than which no better could be said. in a little while the sound of footsteps descending the nearer staircase was heard. the wordless man moved to the door and held it open as joan came in with a proud high look on her face. she was still pale, partly with travel and partly from the seething indignant angers of her heart. von lynar's mother entered immediately after her guest, and it needed nothing more subtle than werner von orseln's masculine acumen to discern that no word had been spoken between them while they were alone. with a queenly gesture the hostess motioned her guest to the place of honour at her right hand, and indicated that the three soldiers were to take their places at the other side of the table. werner von orseln moved automatically to obey, but jorian and boris were already at the sideboard, dusting platters and making them ready to serve the meal. "i thank you, madam," said jorian. "were we here as envoys of our master, prince hugo of plassenburg, we would gladly and proudly sit at meat with you. but we are volunteers, and have all our lives been men-at-arms. we will therefore assist this good gentleman to serve, an it please you to permit us!" the lady bowed slightly and for the first time smiled. "you have, then, accompanied the lady duchess hither for pleasure, gentlemen? i fear isle rugen is a poor place for that!" she said, looking across at them. "aye and no!" said jorian; "kernsberg is, indeed, no fit dwelling-place for great ladies just now. the duchess joan will indeed be safer here than elsewhere till the muscovites have gone home, and the hill-folk of hohenstein have only the courtlanders to deal with. all the same, we could have wished to have been permitted to speak with the muscovite in the gate!" "my son remains in castle kernsberg?" she asked, with an upward inflection, an indescribable softness at the same time overspreading her face, and a warmth coming into the grey eyes which showed what this woman might be to those whom she really loved. "he keeps the castle, indeed--in his mistress's absence and mine," said werner. "he will make a good soldier. our lady has already made him count von löen, that he may be the equal of those who care for such titles." a strange flash as of remembrance and emotion passed over the face of their hostess. "and your own title, my lord?" she asked after a little pause. "i am plain werner von orseln, free ritter and faithful servant of my mistress the duchess joan, as i was also of her father, henry the lion of hohenstein!" he bowed as he spoke and continued, "i do not love titles, and, indeed, they would be wasted on an ancient grizzle-pate like me. but your son is young, and deserves this fortune, madam. he will doubtless do great honour to my lady's favour." the eyes of the elder lady turned inquiringly to those of joan. "i have now no faithful servants," said the young duchess at last, breaking her cold silence; "i have only traitors and jailers about me." with that she became once more silent. a painful restraint fell upon the three who sat at table, and though their hostess and werner von orseln partook of the fish and brawn and fruit which their three servitors set before them in silver platters, it was but sparingly and without appetite. all were glad when the meal was over and they could rise from the table. as soon as possible boris and jorian got outside into the long passage which led to the kitchen. "ha!" cried boris, "i declare i would have burst if i had stayed in there another quarter hour! it was solemn as serving karl the great and his longbeards in their cellar under the hartz. i wonder if they are going to keep it up all the time after this fashion!" "and this is pleasure," rejoined jorian gloomily; "not even a good rousing fight on the way. and then--why, prayers for the dead are cheerful as dance-gardens in july to that festal board. good lord! give me the lady ysolinde and the gnomes we fought so long ago at erdberg. this stiff sword-handed joan of theirs freezes a man's internals like baltic ice." "jorian," said boris, solemnly lowering his voice to a whisper, "if that courtland fellow had known what we know, he would have been none so eager to get her home to bed and board!" "ice will melt--even baltic ice!" said jorian sententiously. "yes, but greybeard louis of courtland is not the man to do the melting!" retorted boris. "but i know who could!" said jorian, nodding his head with an air of immense sagacity. boris went on cutting brawn upon a wooden platter with a swift and careful hand. the old servitor moved noiselessly about behind them, with feet that made no more noise than those of a cat walking on velvet. "who?" said boris, shortly. the door of the kitchen opened slightly and the tall woman stood a moment with the latch in her hand, ready to enter. "our sparhawk could melt the baltic ice!" said jorian, and winked at boris with his left eye in a sly manner. whereupon boris dropped his knife and, seizing jorian by the shoulders, he thrust him down upon a broad stool. then he dragged the platter of brawn before him and dumped the mustard pot beside it upon the deal table with a resounding clap. "there!" he cried, "fill your silly mouth with that, fatsides! 'tis all you are good for. i have stood a deal of fine larded ignorance from you in my time, but nothing like this. you will be saying next that my lady duchess is taking a fancy to you!" "she might do worse!" said jorian philosophically, as he stirred the mustard with his knife and looked about for the ale tankard. chapter xxiii the face that looked into joan's the chamber to which the duchess joan was conducted by her hostess had evidently been carefully prepared for her reception. it was a large low room, with a vaulted roof of carven wood. the work was of great merit and evidently old. the devices upon it were mostly coats-of-arms, which originally had been gilded and painted in heraldic colours, though neglect through long generations had tarnished the gold leaf and caused the colours to peel off in places. here and there, however, were shields of more recent design, but in every case the motto and scutcheon of these had been defaced. at both ends of the room were windows, through whose stained glass joan peered without result into blank darkness. then she opened a little square of panes just large enough to put her head through and saw a walk of lofty poplars silhouetted against the sky, dark towers of leaves all a-rustle and a-shiver from the zenith to the ground, as a moaning and sobbing wind drew inward and whispered to them of the coming storm. then joan shut the window and looked about her. a table with a little _prie-dieu_ stood in the corner, screened by a curtain which ran on a brazen rod. a roman breviary lay open on a velvet-covered table before the crucifix. joan lifted it up and her eyes fell on the words: "_by a woman he overcame. by a woman he was overcome. a woman was once his weapon. a woman is now become the instrument of his defeat. he findeth that the weak vessel cannot be broken._" "nor shall it!" said joan, looking at the cross before her; "by the strength of mary the mother, the weak vessel shall not be broken!" she turned her about and examined with interest the rest of the room which for many days was to be her own. the bed was low and wide, with sheets of fine linen folded back, and over all a richly embroidered coverlet. at the further end of the chamber was a fireplace, with a projecting hood of enamelled brick, looking fresh and new amid so much that was centuries old. oaken panels covered the walls, opening mostly into deep cupboards. the girl tried one or two of these. they proved to be unlocked and were filled with ancient parchments, giving forth a faintly aromatic smell, but without a particle of dust upon their leaves. the cleanliness of everything within the chamber had been scrupulously attended to. for a full hour joan walked the chamber with her hands clasped behind her back, thinking how she was to return to her well-beloved kernsberg. her pride was slowly abating, and with it her anger against those faithful servants who had risked her favour to convey her beyond the reach of danger. but none the less she was resolved to go back. this conflict must not take place without her. if kernsberg were captured, and maurice von lynar found personating his mistress, he would surely be put to death. if he fell into muscovite hands that death would be by torture. at all hazards she would return. and to this problem she turned her thoughts, knitting her brows and working her fingers nervously through each other. she had it. there was a way. she would wait till the morrow and in the meantime--sleep. as she stooped to blow out the last candle, a motto on the stem caught her eye. it ran round the massive silver base of the candelabra in the thick gothic characters of a hundred years before. joan took the candle out of its socket and read the inscription word by word-- "da pacem, domine, in diebus nostris." it was her own scroll, the motto of the reigning dukes of hohenstein--a strange one, doubtless, to be that of a fighting race, but, nevertheless, her father's and her own. joan held the candle in her hand a long time, looking at it, heedless of the wax that dripped on the floor. what did her father's motto, the device of her house, upon this baltic island, far from the highlands of kernsberg? had these wastes once belonged to men of her race? and this woman, who so regally played the mistress of this strange heritage, who was she? and what was the secret of the residence of one in this wilderness who, by her manner, might in her time have queened it in royal courts? and as joan of hohenstein blew out the candle she mused in her heart concerning these things. * * * * * the duchess joan slept soundly, her dark boyish head pillowed on the full rounded curves of an arm thrown behind her. on the little velvet-covered table beside the bed lay her belt and its dependent sword, a faithful companion in its sheath of plain black leather. under the pillow, and within instant reach of her right hand, was her father's dagger. with it, they said, henry the lion had more than once removed an enemy who stood in his way, or more honourably given the _coup de grâce_ to a would-be assassin. without, the mood of the night had changed. the sky, which had hitherto been of favourable aspect, save for the green light in the north as they rowed across the waters of the haff, was now overflowed by thin wisps of cloud tacking up against the wind. towards the sea a steely blue smother had settled down along the horizon, while the thunder growled nearer like a roll of drums beaten continuously. the wind, however, was not regular, but came in little puffs and bursts, now warm, now cold, from every point of the compass. but still joan slept on, being tired with her journey. in their chamber in the wing which looks towards the north the three captains lay wrapped in their several mantles, jorian and boris answering each other nasally, in alternate trumpet blasts, like alp calling to alp. werner von orseln alone could not sleep, and after he had sworn and kicked his noisy companions in the ribs till he was weary of the task, he rose and went to the window to cast open the lattice. the air within felt thick and hot. he fumbled long at the catch, and in the unwholesome silence of the strange house the chief captain seemed to hear muffled feet going to and fro on the floor above him. but of this he thought little. for strange places were familiar to him, and any sense of danger made but an added spice in his cup of life. at last he worried the catch loose, the lattice pane fell sagging inwards on its double hinge of skin. as werner set his face to the opening quick flashes of summer lightning flamed alternately white and lilac across the horizon, and he felt the keen spit of hailstones in his face, driving level like so many musket balls when the infantry fires by platoons. * * * * * above, in the vaulted chamber, joan turned over on her bed, murmuring uneasily in her sleep. a white face, which for a quarter of an hour had been bent down to her dark head as it lay on the pillow, was suddenly retracted into the blackness at the girl's slight movement. again, apparently reassured, the shadowy visage approached as the young duchess lay without further motion. without the storm broke in a burst of appalling fury. the pale blue forks of the lightning flamed just outside the casement in flash on continuous flash. the thunder shook the house like an earthquake. suddenly, and for no apparent reason, joan's eyes opened, and she found herself looking with bewilderment into a face that bent down upon her, a white face which somehow seemed to hang suspended in the dark above her. the features were lit up by the pulsing lightning which shone in the wild eyes and glittered on a knife-blade about the handle of which were clenched the tense white fingers of a hand equally detached. a quick icy thrill chilled the girl's marrow, darting like a spear through her body. but joan of hohenstein was the true seed of henry the lion. in a moment her right hand had grasped the sword beside her pillow. her left, shooting upward, closed on the arm which held the threatening steel. at the same time she flung herself forward, and with the roaring turmoils of the storm dinning in her ears she grappled something that withstood her in the interspace of darkness that had followed the flashes. joan's spring had been that of the couchant young wild cat. almost without rising from her bed she had projected herself upon her enemy. her left hand grasped the wrist so tightly that the blade fell to the ground, whereupon joan of the sword hand shifted her grasp upwards fiercely till she felt her fingers sink deep in the soft curves of a woman's throat. then a shriek, long and terrible, inhuman and threatening, rang through the house. a light began to burn yellow and steady through the cracks of the chamber door, not pulsing and blue like the lightning without. presently, as joan overbore her assailant upon the floor, the door opened, and glancing upwards she saw the wordless man stand on the threshold, a candle in one hand and a naked sword in the other. the terrible cry which had rung in her ears had been his. at sight of him joan unclasped her fingers from the throat of the woman and rose slowly to her feet. the old man rushed forward and knelt beside the prostrate body of his mistress. at the same moment there came the sound of quick footsteps running up the stairway. the door flew open and werner von orseln burst in, also sword in hand. "what is the meaning of this?" he shouted. "who has dared to harm my lady?" joan did not answer, but remained standing tall and straight by the hooded mantel of the fireplace. as was her custom, before lying down she had clad herself in a loose gown of white silk which on all her journeys she carried in a roll at her saddle-bow. she pointed to the mother of maurice von lynar, who lay on the floor, still unconscious, with the dumb man kneeling over her, chafing her hands and murmuring unintelligible tendernesses, like a mother crooning over a sick child. but the face of the chief captain grew stern and terrible as he saw on the floor a knife of curious design. he stooped and lifted it. it was a danish _tolle knife_, the edge a little curved outward and keen as a razor. chapter xxiv the secret of theresa von lynar "go down and bring a cup of wine!" commanded joan as soon as he appeared. and werner von orseln, having glanced once at his mistress where she stood with the point of her sword to the ground and her elbow on the corner of the mantel, turned on his heel and departed without a word to do her bidding. meanwhile the wordless man had raised his mistress up from the ground. her eyes slowly opened and began to wander vaguely round the room, taking in the objects one by one. when they fell on joan, standing erect by the fireplace, a spasm seemed to pass across her face and she strove fiercely but ineffectually to rise. "carry your mistress to that couch!" said the young duchess, pointing to the tumbled bed from which a few minutes before she had so hastily launched herself. the dumb man understood either the words or the significant action of joan's hand, for he stooped and lifted von lynar's mother in his arms. whilst he was thus engaged werner came in quickly with a silver cup in his hand. joan took it instantly and going forward she put it to the lips of the woman on the bed. her hair had escaped from its gathered coils and now flowed in luxuriant masses of red-gold over her shoulders and showered itself on either side of the pillow before falling in a shining cataract to the floor. putting out her hands the woman took the cup and drank of it slowly, pausing between the draughts to draw long breaths. "i must have strength," she said. "i have much to say. then, joan of hohenstein, yourself shall judge between thee and me!" the fluttering of the lightning at the window seemed to disturb her, for as joan bowed her assent slightly and sternly, the tall woman kept looking towards the lattice as if the pulsing flame fretted her. joan moved her hand slightly without taking her eyes away, and the chief captain, used to such silent orders from his mistress, strode over to the window and pulled the curtains close. the storm had by this time subsided to a rumble, and only round the edges of the arras could a faint occasional glow be seen, telling of the turmoil without. but a certain faint tremulousness pervaded all the house, which was the baltic thundering on the pebbly beaches and shaking the walls to their sandy foundations. the colour came slowly back to the woman's pale face, and, after a little, she raised herself on the pillows. joan stood motionless and uncompromising by the great iron dogs of the chimney. "you are waiting for me to speak, and i will speak," said the woman. "you have a double right to know all. shall it be told to yourself alone or in the presence of this man?" she looked at von orseln as she spoke. "i have no secrets in my life," said joan; "there is nothing that i would hide from him. _save one thing!_" she added the last words in her heart. "i warn you that the matter concerns yourself very closely," answered the woman somewhat urgently. "werner von orseln is my chief captain!" answered joan. "it concerns also your father's honour!" "he was my father's chief captain before he was mine, and had charge of his honour on twenty fields." gratefully and silently von orseln lifted his mistress's hand to his lips. the tall woman on the bed smiled faintly. "it is well that your highness is so happy in her servants. i also have one who can hold his peace." she pointed to the wordless man, who now stood with the candelabra in his hand, mute and immutable by his mistress's bedhead, as if watching that none should do her harm. there was an interval of silence in the room, filled up by the hoarse persistent booming of the storm without and the shuddering shocks of the wind on the lonely house. then the woman spoke again in a low, distinct voice. "since it is your right to know my name, i am theresa von lynar--who have also a right to call myself 'of hohenstein'--and your dead father's widow!" in an instant the reserve of joan's sternly equal mind was broken up. she dropped her sword clattering on the floor and started angrily forward towards the bed. "it is a lie most foul," she cried; "my father lived unwed for many years--nay, ever since my mother's death, who died in giving me life, he never so much as looked on woman. it is a thing well known in the duchy!" the woman did not answer directly. "max ulrich, bring the silver casket," she said, taking from her neck a little silver key. the wordless man, seeing her action, came forward and took the key. he went out of the room, and after an interval which seemed interminable he returned with a peculiarly shaped casket. it was formed like a heart, and upon it, curiously worked in gold and precious stones, joan saw her father's motto and the armorial bearings of hohenstein. the woman touched a spring with well-practised hand, the silver heart divided, and a roll of parchment fell upon the bed. with a strange smile she gave it to joan, beckoning her with an upward nod to approach. "i give this precious document without fear into your hands. it is my very soul. but it is safe with the daughter of henry the lion." joan took the crackling parchment. it had three seals attached to it and the first part was in her father's own handwriting. "_i declare by these presents that i have married, according to the customs of hohenstein and the laws of the empire, theresa von lynar, daughter of the count von lynar of jutland. but this marriage shall not, by any of its occasions or consequents, affect the succession of my daughter joanna to the duchy of hohenstein and the principalities of kernsberg and marienfeld. to which we subscribe our names as conjointly agreeing thereto in the presence of his high eminence the cardinal adrian, archbishop of cologne and elector of the holy roman empire._" then followed the three signatures, and beneath, in another handwriting, joan read the following:-- "_these persons, henry duke of hohenstein and theresa von lynar, were married by me subject to the above conditions mutually agreed upon in the church of olsen near to the kurische haff, in the presence of julius count von lynar and his sons wolf and mark, in the year --, the day being the eve of st. john.--adrian, archiepiscop. et elector._" after her first shock of surprise was over joan noted carefully the date. it was one year after her own birth, and therefore the like period after the death of her mother, the openly acknowledged duchess of hohenstein. the quick eyes of the woman on the bed had followed hers as they read carefully down the parchment, eagerly and also apprehensively, like those of a mother who for some weighty reason has placed her child in peril. joan folded the parchment and handed it back. then she stood silent waiting for an explanation. the woman took up her parable calmly, like one who has long comprehended that such a crisis must one day arrive, and who knows her part thoroughly. "i, who speak to you, am theresa von lynar. your father saw me first at the coronation of our late sovereign, christian, king of denmark. and we loved one another. for this cause i moved my brother and his sons to build castle lynar on the shores of the northern sea. for this cause i accompanied him thither. for many years at castle lynar, and also at this place, called the hermitage of the dunes, henry of kernsberg and i dwelt in such happiness as mortals seldom know. i loved your father, obeyed him, adored him, lived only for him. but there came a spring when my brother, being like your father a hot and passionate man, quarrelled with duke henry, threatening to go before the diet of the empire if i were not immediately acknowledged duchess and my son maurice von lynar made the heir of hohenstein. but i, being true to my oath and promise, left my brother and abode here alone with my husband when he could escape from his dukedom, living like a simple squire and his dame. those were happy days and made up for much. then in an evil day i sent my son to my brother to train as his own son in arms and the arts of war. but he, being at enmity with my husband, made ready to carry the lad before the diet of the empire, that he might be declared heir to his father. then, in his anger, henry the lion rose and swept castle lynar with fire and sword, leaving none alive but this boy only, whom he meant to take back and train with his captains. but on the way home, even as he rode southward through the forest towards kernsberg, he reeled in the saddle and passed ere he could speak a word, even the name of those he loved. so the boy remained a captive at kernsberg, called by my brother's name, and knowing even to this day nothing of his father." [illustration: "i bid you slay me for the evil deed my heart was willing to do." [_page _]] and as the woman ceased speaking werner von orseln nodded gravely and sadly. "this thing concerning my lord's death is true," he said; "i was present. these arms received him as he fell. he was dead ere we laid him on the ground!" theresa von lynar raised herself. she had spoken thus far reclining on the bed from which joan had risen. now she sat up and for a little space rested her hands on her lap ere she went on. "then my son, whom, not knowing, you had taken pity upon and raised to honour, and who is now your faithful servant, sent a secret messenger that you would come to abide secretly with me till a certain dark day had overpassed in kernsberg. and then there sprang up in my heart a dreadful conceit that he loved you, knowing young blood and hearing the fame of your beauty, and i was afraid for the greatness of the sin--that one should love his sister." joan made a quick gesture of dissent, but the woman went on. "i thought, being a woman alone, and one also, who had given all freely up for love's sake, that he would certainly love you even as i had loved. and when i saw you in my house, so cold and so proud, and when i thought within me that but for you my son would have been a mighty prince, a strange terrible anger and madness came over me, darkening my soul. for a moment i would have slain you. but i could not, because you were asleep. and, even as you stirred, i heard you speak the name of a man, as only one who loves can speak it. i know right well how that is, having listened to it with a glad heart in the night. the name was----" "hold!" cried joan of the sword hand. "i believe you--i forgive you!" "the name," continued theresa von lynar, "was _not that of my son_! and now," she went on, slowly rising from the couch to her height, "i am ready. i bid you slay me for the evil deed my heart was willing for a moment to do!" joan looked at her full in the eyes for the space of a breath. then suddenly she held out her hand and answered like her father's daughter. "nay," she said, "i only marvel that you did not strike me to the heart, because of your son's loss and my father's sin!" chapter xxv borne on the great wave it chanced that in the chamber from which werner von orseln had come so swiftly at the cry of the wordless man, boris and jorian, after sleeping through the disturbances above them and the first burst of the storm, were waked by the blowing open of the lattice as the wind reached its height. jorian lay still on his pallet and slily kicked boris, hoping that he would rise and take upon him the task of shutting it. then to boris, struggling upward to the surface of the ocean of sleep, came the same charitable thought with regard to jorian. so, both kicking out at the same time, their feet encountered with clash of iron footgear, and then with surly snarls they hent them on their feet, abusing each other in voices which could be heard above the humming of the storm without. it was tall boris who, having cursed himself empty, first made his way to the window. the lattice hung by one leathern thong. the other had been torn away, and indeed it was a wonder that the whole framework had not been blown bodily into the room. for the tempest pressed against it straight from the north, and the sticky spray from the waves which broke on the shingle drove stingingly into the eyes of the man-at-arms. nevertheless he thrust his head out, looked a moment through half-closed eyelids, and then cried, "jorian, we are surely lost! the sea is breaking in upon us. it has passed the beach of shingle out there!" and seizing jorian by the arm boris made his way to the door by which they had entered, and, undoing the bolts, they reached the walled courtyard, where, however, they found themselves in the open air, but sheltered from the utmost violence of the tempest. there was a momentary difficulty here, because neither could find the key of the heavy door in the boundary wall. but boris, ever fertile in expedient, discovered a ladder under a kind of shed, and setting it against the northern wall he climbed to the top. while he remained under the shelter of the wall his body was comfortably warm; only an occasional veering flaw sent a purl downwards of what he was to meet. but the instant his head was above the copestone, and the ice-cold northerly blast met him like a wall, he fairly gasped, for the furious onslaught of the storm seemed to blow every particle of breath clean out of his body. the spindrift flew smoking past, momentarily white in the constant lightning flashes, and before him, and apparently almost at the foot of the wall, boris saw a wonderful sight. the sea appeared to be climbing, climbing, climbing upwards over a narrow belt of sand and shingle which separated the scarcely fretted haff from the tumbling milk of the outer baltic. in another moment jorian was beside him, crouching on the top of the wall to save himself from being carried away. and there, in the steamy smother of the sea, backed by the blue electric flame of the lightning, they saw the slant masts of a vessel labouring to beat against the wind. "poor souls, they are gone!" said boris, trying to shield his eyes with his palm, as the black hull disappeared bodily, and the masts seemed to lurch forward into the milky turmoil. "we shall never see her again." for one moment all was dark as pitch, and the next a dozen flashes of lightning burst every way, as many appearing to rise upwards as could be seen to fall downwards. a black speck poised itself on the crest of a wave. "it is a boat! it can never live!" cried the two men together, and dropping from the top of the wall they ran down to the shore, going as near as they dared to the surf which arched and fell with ponderous roar on the narrow strip of shingle. here jorian and boris ran this way and that, trying to pierce the blackness of the sky with their spray-blinded eyes, but nothing more, either of the ship or of the boat which had put out from it, did they see. the mountainous roll and ceaseless iterance of the oncoming breakers hid the surface of the sea from their sight, while the sky, changing with each pulse of the lightning from densest black to green shot with violet, told nothing of the men's lives which were being riven from their bodies beneath it. "back, boris, back!" cried jorian suddenly, as after a succession of smaller waves a gigantic and majestic roller arched along the whole seaward front, stood for a moment black and imminent above them, and then fell like a whole mountain-range in a snowy avalanche of troubled water which rushed savagely up the beach. the two soldiers, who would have faced unblanched any line of living enemies in the world, fled terror-stricken at that clutching onrush of that sea of milk. the wet sand seemed to catch and hold their feet as they ran, so that they felt in their hearts the terrible sensation of one who flees in dreams from some hideous imagined terror and who finds his powers fail him as his pursuer approaches. upward and still upward the wave swept with a soft universal hiss which drowned and dominated the rataplan of the thunder-peals above and the sonorous diapason of the surf around them. it rushed in a creaming smother about their ankles, plucked at their knees, but could rise no higher. yet so fierce was the back draught, that when the water retreated, dragging the pebbles with it down the shingly shore with the rattle of a million castanets, the two stout captains of plassenburg were thrown on their faces and lay as dead on the wet and sticky stones, each clutching a double handful of broken shells and oozy sand which streamed through his numbed fingers. boris was the first to rise, and finding jorian still on his face he caught the collar of his doublet and pulled him with little ceremony up the sloping bank out of tide-reach, throwing him down on the shingly summit with as little tenderness or compunction as if he had been a bag of wet salt. by this time the morning was advancing and the storm growing somewhat less continuous. instead of the wind bearing a dead weight upon the face, it came now in furious gusts. instead of one grand roar, multitudinous in voice yet uniform in tone, it hooted and piped overhead as if a whole brood of evil spirits were riding headlong down the tempest-track. instead of coming on in one solid bank of blackness, the clouds were broken into a wrack of wild and fantastic fragments, the interspaces of which showed alternately paly green and pearly grey. the thunder retreated growling behind the horizon. the violet lightning grew less continuous, and only occasionally rose and fell in vague distant flickerings towards the north, as if some one were lifting a lantern almost to the sea-line and dropping it again before reaching it. looking back from the summit of the mound, boris saw something dark lying high up on the beach amid a wrack of seaweed and broken timber which marked where the great wave had stopped. something odd about the shape took his eye. a moment later he was leaping down again towards the shore, taking his longest strides, and sending the pebbles spraying out in front and on all sides of him. he stooped and found the body of a man, tall, well formed, and of manly figure. he was bareheaded and stripped to his breeches and underwear. boris stooped and laid his hand upon his heart. yes, so much was certain. he was not dead. whereupon the ex-man-at-arms lifted him as well as he could and dragged him by the elbows out of reach of the waves. then he went back to jorian and kicked him in the ribs. the rotund man sat up with an execration. "come!" cried boris, "don't lie there like reynard the fox waiting for kayward the hare. we want no malingering here. there's a man at death's door down on the shingle. come and help me to carry him to the house." it was a heavy task, and jorian's head spun with the shock of the wave and the weight of their burden long before they reached the point where the boundary wall approached nearest to the house. "we can never hope to get him up that ladder and down the other side," said boris, shaking his head. "even if we had the ladder!" answered jorian, glad of a chance to grumble; "but, thanks to your stupidity, it is on the other side of the wall." without noticing his companion's words, boris took a handful of small pebbles and threw them up at a lighted window. the head of werner von orseln immediately appeared, his grizzled hair blown out like a misty aureole about his temples. "come down!" shouted boris, making a trumpet of his hands to fight the wind withal. "we have found a drowned man on the beach!" and indeed it seemed literally so, as they carried their burden round the walls to the wicket door and waited. it seemed an interminable time before werner von orseln arrived with the dumb man's lantern in his hand. they carried the body into the great hall, where the duchess and the old servitor met them. there they laid him on a table. joan herself lifted the lantern and held it to his face. his fair hair clustered about his head in wet knots and shining twists. the features of his face were white as death and carven like those of a statue. but at the sight the heart of the duchess leaped wildly within her. "conrad!" she cried--that word and no more. and the lantern fell to the floor from her nerveless hand. there was no doubt in her mind. she could make no mistake. the regular features, the pillar-like neck, the massive shoulders, the strong clean-cut mouth, the broad white brow--and--yes, the slight tonsure of the priest. it was the white knight of the courtland lists, the noble prince of the summer parlour, the red-robed prelate of her marriage-day, conrad of courtland, prince and cardinal, but to her--"_he_"--the only "he." chapter xxvi the girl beneath the lamp when conrad, cardinal-designate of the holy roman church and archbishop of courtland, opened his eyes, it seemed to him that he had passed through warring waters into the serenity of the life beyond. his hand, on which still glittered his episcopal ring, lay on a counterpane of faded rose silk, soft as down. did he dream that another hand had been holding it, that gentlest fingers had rested caressingly on his brow? a girl, sweet and stately, sat by his bedside. by the door, to which alone he could raise his eyes, stood a tall gaunt man, clad in grey from head to foot, his hands clasped in front of him, and his chin sunk upon his breast. the prince-bishop's eyes rested languidly on the girl's face, on which fell the light of a shaded silver lamp. there was a book in her lap, written upon sheets of thin parchment, bound in gold-embossed leather. but she did not read it. instead she breathed softly and regularly. she was asleep, with her hand on the coverlet of rosy silk. strange fancies passed through the humming brain of the rescued man--as it had been, hunting each other across a stage--visions of perilous endeavour, of fights with wild beasts in shut-in places from which there was no escape, of brutal fisticuffs with savage men. all these again merged into the sense of falling from immense heights only to find that the air upheld him and that, instead of breaking himself to pieces at the bottom, he alighted soft as thistledown on couches of flowers. strange rich heady scents seemed to rise about him like something palpable. his brain wavered behind his brow like a summer landscape when the sun is hot after a shower. perfumes, strange and haunting, dwelt in his nostrils. the scent, at once sour and sweet, of bee-hives at night, the richness of honey in the comb, the delicacy of wet banks of violets, full-odoured musk, and the luxury of sun-warmed afternoon beanfields dreamily sweet--these made his very soul swoon within him. then followed odours of rose gardens, of cool walks drenched in shadow and random scents blown in at open windows. yes, he knew now; surely he was again in his own chamber in the summer pavilion of the palace in courtland. he could hear the cool wash of the alla under its walls, and with the assurance there came somehow a memory of a slim lad with clear-cut features who brought him a message from--was it his sister margaret, or louis his brother? he could not remember which. of what had he been dreaming? in the endeavour to recall something he harked back on the terrors of the night in which, of all on board the ship, his soul alone had remained serene. he remembered the fury of the storm, the helpless impotence and blank cowardice of the sailor folk, the desertion of the officers in the only seaworthy boat. slowly the drifting mists steadied themselves athwart his brain. the actual recomposed itself out of the shreds of dreams. conrad found himself in a long low room such as he had seen many times in the houses of well-to-do ritters along the baltic shores. the beams of the roof-tree above were carven and ancient. arras went everywhere about the halls. silver candlesticks, with princely crests graven upon them, stood by his bedhead. after each survey his eyes settled on the sleeping girl. she was very young and very beautiful. it was--yet it could not be--the duchess joan, whom he himself had married to his brother louis in the cathedral church of his own archiepiscopal city. conrad of courtland had not been trained a priest, yet, as was common at that age, birth and circumstance had made him early a prince of the roman church. he had been thrust into the hierarchy solely because of his name, for he had succeeded his uncle adrian in his ecclesiastical posts and emoluments as a legal heir succeeds to an undisputed property. in due time he received his red hat from a pontiff who distributed these among his favourites (or those whom he thought might aggrandise his temporal power) as freely as a groomsman distributes favours at a wedding. nevertheless, conrad of courtland had all the warm life and imperious impulses of a young man within his breast. yet he was no borgia or della rovere, cloaking scarlet sins with scarlet vestments. for with the high dignities of his position and the solemn work which lay to his hand in his northern province there had come the resolve to be not less, but more faithful than those martyrs and confessors of whom he read daily in his breviary. and while, in rome herself, vice-proud princes, consorting in the foulest alliance with pagan popes, blasphemed the sanctuary and openly scoffed at religion, this finest and most chivalrous of young northern knights had laid down the weapons of his warfare to take up the crucifix, and now had set out joyfully for rome to receive his cardinal's hat on his knees as the last and greatest gift of the vicar of christ. he had begun his pilgrimage by express command of the holy father, who desired to make the youthful archbishop his papal assessor among the electors of the empire. but scarcely was he clear of the courtland shores when there had come the storm, the shipwreck, the wild struggle among the white and foaming breakers--and then, wondrously emergent, like heaven after purgatory, the quiet of this sheltered room and this sleeping girl, with her white hand lying lax and delicate on the rosy silk. the book slipped suddenly from her fingers, falling on the polished wood of the floor with a startling sound. the eyes of the gaunt man by the door were lifted from the ground, glittered beadily for a moment, and again dropped as before. the girl did not start, but rather passed immediately into full consciousness with a little shudder and a quick gesture of the hand, as if she pushed something or some one from her. then, from the pillow on which his head lay, joan of hohenstein saw the eyes of the prince conrad gazing at her, dark and solemn, from within the purplish rings of recent peril. "you are my brother's wife!" he said softly, but yet in the same rich and thrilling voice she had listened to with so many heart-stirrings in the summer palace, and had last heard ring through the cathedral church of courtland on that day when her life had ended. a chill came over the girl's face at his words. "i am indeed the duchess joan of hohenstein," she answered. "my father willed that i should wed prince louis of courtland. well, i married him and rode away. in so much i am your brother's wife." it was a strange awaking for a man who had passed from death to life, but at least her very impetuosity convinced him that the girl was flesh and blood. he smiled wanly. the light of the lamp seemed to waver again before his eyes. he saw his companion as it had been transformed and glorified. he heard the rolling of drums in his ears, and merry pipes played sweetly far away. then came the hush of many waters flowing softly, and last, thrumming on the parched earth, and drunk down gladly by tired flowers, the sound of abundance of rain. the world grew full of sleep and rest and refreshment. there was no longer need to care about anything. his eyes closed. he seemed about to sink back into unconsciousness, when joan rose, and with a few drops from dessauer's phial, which she kept by her in case of need, she called him back from the misty verges of the things which are without. as he struggled painfully upward he seemed to hear joan's last words repeated and re-repeated to the music of a chime of fairy bells, "_in so much--in so much--i am your brother's wife--your brother's wife!_" he came to himself with a start. "will you tell me how i came here, and to whom i am indebted for my life?" he said, as joan stood up beside him, her shapely head dim and retired in the misty dusk above the lamp, only her chin and the shapely curves of her throat being illumined by the warm lamplight. "you were picked up for dead on the beach in the midst of the storm," she answered, "and were brought hither by two captains in the service of the prince of plassenburg!" "and where is this place, and when can i leave it to proceed upon my journey?" the girl's head was turned away from him a trifle more haughtily than before, and she answered coldly, "you are in a certain fortified grange somewhere on the baltic shore. as to when you can proceed on your journey, that depends neither on you nor on me. i am a prisoner here. and so i fear must you also consider yourself!" "a prisoner! then has my brother----?" cried the prince-bishop, starting up on his elbow and instantly dropping back again upon the pillow with a groan of mingled pain and weakness. joan looked at him a moment and then, compressing her lips with quick resolution, went to the bedside and with one hand under his head rearranged the pillow and laid him back in an easier posture. "you must lie still," she said in a commanding tone, and yet softly; "you are too weak to move. also you must obey me. i have some skill in leechcraft." "i am content to be your prisoner," said the prince-bishop smiling--"that is, till i am well enough to proceed on my journey to rome, whither the holy father pope sixtus hath summoned me by a special messenger." "i fear me much," answered joan, "that, spite of the holy father, we may be fellow-prisoners of long standing. those of my own folk who hold me here against my will are hardly likely to let the brother of prince louis of courtland escape with news of my hiding-place and present hermitage!" the young man seemed as if he would again have started up, but with a gesture smilingly imperious joan forbade him. "to-morrow," she said, "perhaps if you are patient i will tell you more. here comes our hostess. it is time that i should leave you." theresa von lynar came softly to the side of the bed and stood beside joan. the young cardinal thought that he had never seen a more queenly pair--joan resplendent in her girlish strength and beauty, theresa still in the ripest glory of womanhood. there was a gentler light than before in the elder woman's eyes, and she cast an almost deprecating glance upon joan. for at the first sound of her approach the girl had stiffened visibly, and now, with only a formal word as to the sick man's condition, and a cold bow to conrad, she moved away. theresa watched her a little sadly as she passed behind the deep curtain. then she sighed, and turning again to the bedside she looked long at the young man without speaking. chapter xxvii wife and priest "i have a right to call myself the widow of the duke henry of kernsberg and hohenstein," said theresa von lynar, in reply to conrad's question as to whom he might thank for rescue and shelter. "and therefore the mother of the duchess joan?" he continued. theresa shook her head. "no," she said sadly; "i am not her mother, but--and even that only in a sense--her stepmother. a promise to a dead man has kept me from claiming any privileges save that of living unknown on this desolate isle of sand and mist. my son is an officer in the service of the duchess joan." the face of the prince-bishop lighted up instantaneously. "most surely, then, i know him. did he not come to courtland with my lord dessauer, the ambassador of plassenburg?" the lady of isle rugen nodded indifferently. "yes," she said; "i believe he went to courtland with the embassy from plassenburg." "indeed, i was much drawn to him," said the prince eagerly; "i remember him most vividly. he was of an olive complexion, his features without colour, but graven even as the greeks cut those of a young god on a gem." "yes," said theresa von lynar serenely, "he has his father's face and carriage, which are those also of the duchess joan." "and why," said the young man, "if i may ask without offence, is your son not the heir to the dukedom?" there was a downcast sadness in the woman's voice and eye as she replied, "because when i wedded duke henry it was agreed between us that aught which might be thereafter should never stand between his daughter and her heritage; and, in spite of deadly wrong done to those of my house, i have kept my word." the prince-cardinal thought long with knitted brow. "the duchess is my brother louis's wife," he said slowly. "in name!" retorted theresa, quickly and breathlessly, like one called on unexpectedly to defend an absent friend. "she is his wife--i married them. i am a priest," he made answer. a gleam, sharp and quick as lightning jetted from a thunder cloud, sprang into the woman's eye. "in this matter i, theresa von lynar, am wiser than all the priests in the world. joan of hohenstein is no more his wife than i am!" "holy church, the mother of us all, made them one!" said the cardinal sententiously. for such words come easily to dignitaries even when they are young. she bent towards him and looked long into his eyes. "no," she said; "you do not know. how indeed is it possible? you are too young to have learned the deep things--too certain of your own righteousness. but you will learn some day. i, theresa von lynar, know--aye, though i bear the name of my father and not that of my husband!" and at this imperious word the prince was silent and thought with gravity upon these things. theresa sat motionless and silent by his bed till the day rose cool and untroubled out of the east, softly aglow with the sheen of clouded silk, pearl-grey and delicate. prince conrad, being greatly wearied and bruised inwardly with the buffeting of the waves and the stones of the shore, slumbered restlessly, with many tossings and turnings. but as oft as he moved, the hands of the woman who had been a wife were upon him, ordering his bruised limbs with swift knowledgeable tenderness, so that he did not wake, but gradually fell back again into dreamless and refreshing sleep. this was easy to her, because the secret of pain was not hid from theresa, the widow of the duke of hohenstein--though henry the lion's daughter, as yet, knew it not. in the morning joan came to bid the patient good-morrow, while werner von orseln stood in the doorway with his steel cap doffed in his hand, and boris and jorian bent the knee for a priestly blessing. but theresa did not again appear till night and darkness had wrapped the earth. so being all alone he listened to the heavy plunge of the breakers on the beach among which his life had been so nearly sped. the sound grew slower and slower after the storm, until at last only the wavelets of the sheltered sea lapsed on the shingle in a sort of breathing whisper. "peace! peace! great peace!" they seemed to say hour after hour as they fell on his ear. and so day passed and came again. long nights, too, at first with hourly tendance and then presently without. but joan sat no more with the young man after that first watch, though his soul longed for her, that he might again tell the girl that she was his brother's wife, and urge her to do her duty by him who was her wedded husband. so in her absence conrad contented himself and salved his conscience by thinking austere thoughts of his mission and high place in the hierarchy of the only catholic and apostolic church. so that presently he would rise up and seek werner von orseln in order to persuade him to let him go, that he might proceed to rome at the command of the holy father, whose servant he was. but werner only laughed and put him off. "when we have sure word of what your brother does at kernsberg, then we will talk of this matter. till then it cannot be hid from you that no hostage half so valuable can we keep in hold. for if your brother loves my lord cardinal, then he will desire to ransom him. on the other hand, if he fear him, then we will keep your highness alive to threaten him, as the pope did with djem, the sultan's brother!" so after many days it was permitted to the prince to walk abroad within the narrow bounds of the isle rugen, the wordless man guarding him at fifty paces distance, impassive and inevitable as an ambulant rock of the seaboard. as he went prince conrad's eyes glanced this way and that, looking for a means of escape. yet they saw none, for werner von orseln with his ten men of kernsberg and the two captains of plassenburg were not soldiers to make mistakes. there was but one boat on the island, and that was locked in a strong house by the inner shore, and over against it a sentry paced night and day. it chanced, however, upon a warm and gracious afternoon, when the breezes played wanderingly among the garden trees before losing themselves in the solemn aisles of the pines as in a pillared temple, that conrad, stepping painfully westwards along the beach, arrived at the place of his rescue, and, descending the steep bank of shingle to look for any traces of the disaster, came suddenly upon the duchess joan gazing thoughtfully out to sea. she turned quickly, hearing the sound of footsteps, and at sight of the prince-bishop glanced east and west along the shore as if meditating retreat. but the proximity of max ulrich and the encompassing banks of water-worn pebbles convinced her of the awkwardness, if not the impossibility, of escape. [illustration: "joan looked steadily across the steel-grey sea." [_page _]] conrad the prisoner greeted joan with the sweet gravity which had been characteristic of him as conrad the prince, and his eyes shone upon her with the same affectionate kindliness that had dwelt in them in the pavilion of the rose garden. but after one glance joan looked steadily away across the steel-grey sea. her feet turned instinctively to walk back towards the house, and the prince turned with her. "if we are two fellow-prisoners," said conrad, "we ought to see more of each other. is it not so?" "that we may concert plans of escape?" said joan. "you desire to continue your pilgrimage--i to return to my people, who, alas, think themselves better off without me!" "i do, indeed, greatly desire to see rome," replied the prince. "the holy father sixtus has sent me the red biretta, and has commanded me to come to rome within a year to exchange it for the cardinal's hat, and also to visit the tombs of the apostles." but joan was not listening. she went on to speak of the matters which occupied her own mind. "if you were a priest, why did you ride in the great tournament of the blacks and the whites at courtland not a year ago?" the prince-cardinal smiled indulgently. "i was not then fledged full priest; hardly am i one now, though they have made me a prince of holy church. yet the tournaying was in a manner, perhaps, what her bridal dress is to a nun ere she takes the veil. but, my lady joan, what know you of the strife of blacks and whites at courtland?" "your sister, the princess margaret, spoke of it, and also the count von löen, an officer of mine," answered joan disingenuously. "i am indeed a soldier by training and desire," continued the young man. "in italy i have played at stratagem and countermarch with the orsini and colonna. but in this matter the younger son of the house of courtland has no choice. we are the bulwark of the church alike against heretic muscovite to the north and furious hussite to the south. we of courtland must stand for the holy see along all the baltic edges; and for this reason the pope has always chosen from amongst us his representative upon the diet of the empire, till the office has become almost hereditary." "then you are not really a priest?" said joan, woman-like fixing upon that part of the young man's reply, which somehow had the greatest interest for her. "in a sense, yes--in truth, no. they say that the pope, in order to forward the church's polity, makes and unmakes cardinals every day, some even for money payments; but these are doubtless hussite lies. yet though by prescript right and the command of the head of the church i am both priest and bishop, in my heart i am but prince conrad of courtland and a simple knight, even as i was before." they paced along together with their eyes on the ground, the wordless man keeping a uniform distance behind them. then the prince laughed a strange grating laugh, like one who mocks at himself. "by this time i ought to have been well on my way to the tombs of the apostles; yet in my heart i cannot be sorry, for--god forgive me!--i had liefer be walking this northern shore, a young man along with a fair maiden." "a priest walking with his brother's wife!" said joan, turning quickly upon him and flashing a look into the eyes that regarded her with some wonder at her imperiousness. "that is true, in a sense," he answered; "yet i am a priest with no consent of my desire--you a wife without love. we are, at least, alike in this--that we are wife and priest chiefly in name." "save that you are on your way to take on you the duties of your office, while i am more concerned in evading mine." the cardinal meditated deeply. "the world is ill arranged," he said slowly; "my brother louis would have made a far better churchman than i. and strange it is to think that but a year ago the knights and chief councillors of courtland came to me to propose that, because of his bodily weakness, my brother should be deposed and that i should take over the government and direction of affairs." he went on without noticing the colour rising in joan's cheek, smiling a little to himself and talking with more animation. "then, had i assented, my brother might have been walking here with tonsured head by your side, while i would doubtless have been knocking at the gates of kernsberg, seeking at the spear's point for a runaway bride." "nay!" cried joan, with sudden vehemence; "that would you not----" and as suddenly she stopped, stricken dumb by the sound of her own words. the prince turned his head full upon her. he saw a face all suffused with hot blushes, haughtiest pride struggling with angry tears in eyes that fairly blazed upon him, and a slender figure drawn up into an attitude of defiance--at sight of all which something took him instantly by the throat. "you mean--you mean----" he stammered, and for a moment was silent. "for god's sake, tell me what you mean!" "i mean nothing at all!" said joan, stamping her foot in anger. and turning upon her heel she left him standing fixed in wonder and doubt upon the margin of the sea. then the wife of louis, prince of courtland, walked eastward to the house upon the isle rugen with her face set as sternly as for battle, but her nether lip quivering--while conrad, cardinal and prince of holy church, paced slowly to the west with a bitter and downcast look upon his ordinarily so sunny countenance. for fate had been exceeding cruel to these two. chapter xxviii the red lion flies at kernsberg and meanwhile right haughtily flew the red lion upon the citadel of kernsberg. never had the lady duchess, joan of the sword hand, approven herself so brave and determined. in her forester's dress of green velvet, with the links of chain body-armour glinting beneath its frogs and taches, she went everywhere on foot. at all times of the day she was to be seen at the half-moons wherein the cannon were fixed, or on horseback scouring the defenced posts along the city wall. she seemed to know neither fear nor fatigue, and the noise of cheering followed her about the little hill city like her shadow. three only there were who knew the truth--peter balta, alt pikker, and george the hussite. and when the guards were set, the lamps lit, and the bars drawn, a stupid faithful hohensteiner set on watch at the turnpike foot with command to let none pass upon his life--then at last the lithe young sparhawk would undo his belt with huge refreshful gusting of air into his lungs, amid the scarcely subdued laughter of the captains of the host. "lord peter of the keys!" von lynar would cry, "what it is to unbutton and untruss! 'tis very well to admire it in our pretty joan, but 'fore the lord, i would give a thousand crowns if she were not so slender. it cuts a man in two to get within such a girdle. only prince wasp could make a shift to fit it. give me a goblet of ale, fellows." "nay, lad--mead! mead of ten years alone must thou have, and little enough of that! ale will make thee fat as mast-fed pigs." "or stay," amended george the hussite; "mead is not comely drink for a maid--i will get thee a little canary and water, scented with millefleurs and rosemary." "check your fooling and help to unlace me, all of you," quoth the sparhawk. "now there is but a silken cord betwixt me and paradise. but it prisons me like iron bars. ah, there"--he blew a great breath, filling and emptying his lungs with huge content--"i wonder why we men breathe with our stomachs and women with their chests?" "know you not that much?" cried alt pikker. "'tis because a man's life is in his stomach; and as for women, most part have neither heart, stomach, nor bowels of mercy--and so breathe with whatever it liketh them!" "no ribaldry in a lady's presence, or in a trice thou shalt have none of these, either!" quoth the false joan; "help me off with this thrice-accursed chain-mail. i am pocked from head to heel like a swiss mercenary late come from venice. every ring in this foul devil's jerkin is imprinted an inch deep on my hide, and itches worse than a hundred beggars at a church door. ah! better, better. yet not well! i had thought our joan of the sword hand a strapping wench, but now a hop-pole is an abbot to her when one comes to wear her _carapace_ and _justaucorps_!" "how went matters to-day on your side?" he went on, speaking to balta, all the while chafing the calves of his legs and rubbing his pinched feet, having first enwrapped himself in a great loose mantle of red and gold which erstwhile had belonged to henry the lion. "on the whole, not ill," said peter balta. "the muscovites, indeed, drove in our outposts, but could not come nearer than a bowshot from the northern gate, we galled them so with our culverins and bombardels." "duke george's famous fat peg herself could not have done better than our little leathern vixens," said alt pikker, rubbing his grey badger's brush contentedly. "gott, if we had only provender and water we might keep them out of the city for ever! but in a week they will certainly have cut off our river and sent it down the new channel, and the wells are not enough for half the citizens, to say nothing of the cattle and horses. this is a great fuss to make about a graceless young jackanapes of a jutlander like you, master maurice von lynar, count von löen--wedded wife of his highness prince louis of courtland. ha! ha! ha!" "i would have you know, sirrah," cried the sparhawk, "that if you do not treat me as your liege lady ought to be treated, i will order you to the deepest dungeon beneath the castle moat! come and kiss my hand this instant, both of you!" "promise not to box our ears, and we will," said alt pikker and george the hussite together. "well, i will let you off this time," said maurice royally, stretching his limbs luxuriously and putting one hosened foot on the mantel-shelf as high as his head. "heigh-ho! i wonder how long it will last, and when we must surrender." "prince louis must send his muscovites back beyond the alla first, and then we will speak with him concerning giving him up his wife!" quoth peter balta. "i wonder what the craven loon will do with her when he gets her," said alt pikker. "you must not surrender in your girdle-brace and ring-mail, my liege lady, or you will have to sleep with them on. it would not be seemly to have to call up half a dozen lusty men-at-arms to help untruss her ladyship the princess of courtland!" "perhaps your goodman will kiss you upon the threshold of the palace as a token of reconciliation!" cackled hussite george. "if he does, i will rip him up!" growled maurice, aghast at the suggestion. "but there is no doubt that at the best i shall be between the thills when they get me once safe in courtland. to ride the wooden horse all day were a pleasure to it!" but presently his face lighted up and he murmured some words to himself-- "yet, after all, there is always the princess margaret there. i can confide in her when the worst comes. she will help me in my need--and, what is better still, she may even kiss me!" and, spite of gloomy anticipations, his ears tingled with happy expectancy, when he thought of opportunities of intimate speech with the lady of his heart. * * * * * nevertheless, in the face of brave words and braver deeds, provisions waxed scarce and dear in castle kernsberg, and in the town below women grew gaunt and hollow-cheeked. then the children acquired eyes that seemed to stand out of hollow purple sockets. last of all, the stout burghers grew thin. and all three began to dream of the days when the good farm-folk of the blackened country down below them, where now stood the leafy lodges of the muscovites and the white tents of the courtlanders, used to come into kernsberg to market, the great solemn-eyed oxen drawing carts full of country sausages, and brown meal fresh ground from the mill to bake the wholesome bread--or better still when the stout market women brought in the lappered milk and the butter and curds. so the starving folk dreamed and dreamed and woke, and cried out curses on them that had waked them, saying, "plague take the hands that pulled me back to this gutter-dog's life! for i was just a-sitting down to dinner with a haunch of venison for company, and such a lordly trout, buttered, with green sauce all over him, a loaf of white bread, crisp and crusty, at my elbow, and--holy saint matthew!--such a noble flagon of rhenish, holding ten pints at the least." about this time the sparhawk began to take counsel with himself, and the issue of his meditations the historian must now relate. it was in the outer chamber of the duchess joan, which looks to the north, that the three captains usually sat--burly peter balta, stiff-haired, dry-faced, keen-eyed--alt pikker, lean and leathery, the life humour within him all gone to fighting juice, his limbs mere bone and muscle, a certain acrid and caustic wit keeping the corners of his lips on the wicker, and, a little back from these two, george the hussite, a smaller man, very solemn even when he was making others laugh, but nevertheless with a proud high look, a stiff upper lip, and a moustache so huge that he could tie the ends behind his head on a windy day. these three had been speaking together at the wide, low window from which one can see the tight little red-roofed town of kernsberg and the green kernswater lying like a bright many-looped ribbon at the foot of the hills. to them entered the sparhawk, a settled frown of gloom upon his brow, and the hunger which he shared equally with the others already sharpening the falcon hook of his nose and whitening his thin nostrils. at sight of him the three heads drew apart, and alt pikker began to speak of the stars that were rising in the eastern dusk. "the dog-star is white," he said didactically. "in my schooldays i used to read in the latin tongue that it was red!" but by their interest in such a matter the sparhawk knew that they had been speaking of far other things than stars before he burst open the door. for little george the hussite pulled his pandour moustaches and muttered, "a plague on the dog-star and the foul latin tongue. they are only fit for the gabble of fat-fed monks. moreover, you do not see it now, at any rate. for me, i would i were back under the bohemian pinetrees, where the very wine smacks of resin, and where there is a sheep (your own or another's, it matters not greatly) tied at every true hussite's door." [illustration: "these three had been speaking together." [_page _]] "what is this?" cried the sparhawk. "do not deceive me. you were none of you talking of stars when i came up the stairs. for i heard peter balta's voice say, 'by heaven! it must come to it, and soon!' and you hussite george, answered him, 'six days will settle it.' what do you keep from me? out with it? speak up, like three good little men!" it was alt pikker who first found words to answer. "we spoke indeed of the stars, and said it was six days till the moon should be gone, and that the time would then be ripe for a sally by the--by the--plassenburg gate!" "pshaw!" cried the sparhawk. "lie to your father confessor, not to me. i am not a purblind fool. i have ears, long enough, it is true, but at least they answer to hear withal. you spoke of the wells, i tell you; i saw your heads move apart as i entered; and then, forsooth, that dotard alt pikker (who ran away in his youth from a monk's cloister-school with the nun that taught them stocking-mending) must needs furbish up some scraps of latin and begin to prate about dog-stars red and dog-stars white. faugh! open your mouths like men, set truthful hearts behind them, and let me hear the worst!" nevertheless the three captains of kernsberg were silent awhile, for heaviness was upon their souls. then peter balta blurted out, "god help us! there is but ten days more provender in the city, the river is turned, and the wells are almost dried up!" after this the sparhawk sat awhile on the low window seat, watching the twinkling fires of the muscovites and listening to the hum of the town beneath the castle--all now sullen and subdued, no merry hucksters chaffering about the church porches, no loitering lads and lasses linking arms and bartering kisses in the dusky corners of the linen market, no clattering of hammers in the armourers' bazaar--a muffled buzzing only, as of men talking low to themselves of bitter memories and yet dismaller expectations. "i have it!" said the sparhawk at last, his eyes on the misty plain of night, with its twinkling pin-points of fire which were the watch-fires of the enemy. the three men stirred a little to indicate attention, but did not speak. "listen," he said, "and do not interrupt. you must deliver me up. i am the cause of war--i, the duchess joan. hear you? i have a husband who makes war upon me because i contemn his bed and board. he has summoned the muscovite to help him to woo me. well, if i am to be given up, it is for us to stipulate that the armies be withdrawn, first beyond the alla, and then as far as courtland. i will go with them; they will not find me out--at least, not till they are back in their own land." "what matter?" cried balta. "they would return as soon as they discovered the cheat." "let us sink or swim together," said hussite george. "we want no talk of surrender!" but grey dry alt pikker said nothing, weighing all with a judicial mind. "no, they would not come back," said the sparhawk; "or, at worst, we would have time--that is, you would have time--to revictual kernsberg, to fill the tanks and reservoirs, to summon in the hillmen. they would soon learn that there had been no joan within the city but the one they had carried back with them to courtland. plassenburg, slow to move, would have time to bring up its men to protect its borders from the muscovite. all good chances are possible if only i am out of the way. surrender me--but by private treaty, and not till you have seen them safe across the fords of the alla!" "nay, god's truth;" cried the three, "that we will not do! they would kill you by slow torture as soon as they found out that they had been tricked." "well," said the sparhawk slowly, "but by that time they _would_ have been tricked." then alt pikker spoke in his turn. "men," he said, "this dane is a man--a better than any of us. there is wisdom in what he says. ye have heard in church how priests preach concerning one who died for the people. here is one ready to die--if no better may be--for the people!" "and for our duchess joan!" said the sparhawk, taking his hat from his head at the name of his mistress. "our lady joan! aye, that is it!" said the old man. "we would all gladly die in battle for our lady. we have done more--we have risked our own honour and her favour in order to convey her away from these dangers. let the boy be given up; and that he go not alone without fit attendance, i will go with him as his chamberlain." the other two men, peter balta and george the hussite, did not answer for a space, but sat pondering alt pikker's counsel. it was george the hussite who took up the parable. "i do not see why you, alt pikker, and you, maurice the dane, should hold such a pother about what you are ready to do for our lady joan. so are we all every whit as ready and willing as you can be; and i think, if any are to be given up, we ought to draw lots for who it shall be. you fancy yourselves overmuch, both of you!" the sparhawk laughed. "great tun-barrelled dolt," he said, clapping peter on the back, "how sweet and convincing it would be to see you, or that canting ale-faced knave george there, dressed up in the girdle-brace and steel corset of joan of the sword hand! and how would you do as to your beard? are you smooth as an egg on both cheeks as i am? it would be rare to have a duchess joan with an inch of blue-black stubble on her chin by the time she neared the gates of courtland! nay, lads, whoever stays--i must go. in this matter of brides i have qualities (how i got them i know not) that the best of you cannot lay claim to. do you draw lots with alt pikker there, an you will, as to who shall accompany me, but leave this present joan of the sword hand to settle her own little differences with him who is her husband by the blessing of holy church." and he threw up his heels upon the table and plaited his knees one above the other. then it was alt pikker's time. "peter balta, and you, george the heretic, listen," he cried, vehemently emphasising the points on the palm of his hand. "you, peter, have a wife that loves you--so, at least, we understand--and your marion, how would she fare in this hard world without you? have you laid by a stocking-foot full of gold? does it hang inside your chimney? i trow not. well, you at least must bide and earn your pay, for marion's sake. i have neither kith nor kin, neither sweetheart nor wife, covenanted or uncovenanted. and for you, george, you are a heretic, and if they burn you alive or let out the red sap at your neck, you will go straight to hell-fire. think of it, george! i, on the other hand, am a true man, and after a paltry year or two in purgatory (just for the experience) will enter straightway into the bosom of patriarchs and apostles, along with our holy father the pope, and our elder brothers the cardinals borgia and delia rovere!" "you talk a deal of nothings with your mouth," said george the hussite. "it is true that i hold not, as you do, that every dishclout in a church is the holy veil, and every old snag of wood with a nail in't a veritable piece of the true cross. but i would have you know that i can do as much for my lady as any one of you--nay, and more, too, alt pikker. for a good hussite is afraid neither of purgatory nor yet of hell-fire, because, if he should chance to die, he will go, without troubling either, straight to the abode of the martyrs and confessors who have been judged worthy to withstand and to conquer." "and as to what you said concerning marion," nodded peter balta truculently, "she is a soldier's wife and would cut her pretty throat rather than stand in the way of a man's advancement!" "specially knowing that so pretty a wench as she is could get a better husband to-morrow an it liked her!" commented alt pikker drily. "well," cried the sparhawk, "still your quarrel, gentlemen. at all events, the thing is settled. the only question is _when_? how many days' water is there in the wells?" said peter balta, "i will go and see." chapter xxix the greeting of the princess margaret they were making terms concerning treaty of delivering thus:-- "when the last muscovite has crossed the alla, when the men of courtland stand ready to follow--then, and not sooner, we will deliver up our lady joan. for this we shall receive from you, louis, prince of courtland, fifty hogsheads of wine, six hundred wagon-loads of good wheat, and the four great iron cannon now standing before the stralsund gate. this all to be completed before we of kernsberg hand our lady over." "it is a thing agreed!" answered louis of courtland, who longed to be gone, and, above all, to get his muscovite allies out of his country. for not only did they take all the best of everything in the field, but, like locusts, they spread themselves over the rear, carrying plunder and rapine through the territories of courtland itself--treating it, indeed, as so much conquered country, so that men were daily deserting his colours in order to go back to protect their wives and daughters from the cossacks of the don and the strelits of little russia. moreover, above all, prince louis wanted that proud wench, his wife. without her as his prisoner, he dared not go back to his capital city. he had sworn an oath before the people. for the rest, kernsberg itself could wait. without a head it would soon fall in, and, besides, he flattered himself that he would so sway and influence the duchess, when once he had her safe in his palace by the mouth of alla, that she would repent her folly, and at no distant day sit knee by knee with him on his throne of state in the audience hall when the suitors came to plead concerning the law. and even his guest prince ivan was complaisant, standing behind louis's chair and smiling subtly to himself. "brother of mine," he would say, "i came to help you to your wife. it is your own affair how you take her and what you do with her when you get her. for me, as soon as you have her safe within the summer palace, and have given me, according to promise, my heart's desire your sister margaret, so soon will i depart for moscow. my father, indeed, sends daily posts praying my instant despatch, for he only waits my return to launch a host upon his enemy the king of polognia." and prince louis, reaching over the arm of his chair, patted his friend's small sweet-scented hand, and thanked him for his most unselfish and generous assistance. thus the leaguer of hohenstein attained its object. prince louis had not, it is true, stormed the heights of kernsberg as he had sworn to do. he had, in fact, left behind him to the traitors who delivered their duchess a large portion of his stores and munitions of war. nevertheless, he returned proud in heart to his capital city. for in the midst of his most faithful body of cavalry rode the young duchess joan, princess of courtland, on a white neapolitan barb, with reins that jingled like silver bells and rosettes of ribbon on the bosses of her harness. the beautiful prisoner appeared, as was natural, somewhat wan and anxious. she was clad in a close-fitting gown of pale blue, with inch-wide broidering of gold, laced in front, and with a train which drooped almost to the ground. over this a cloak of deeper blue was worn, with a hood in which the dark, proud head of the princess nestled half hidden and half revealed. the folk who crowded to see her go by took this for coquetry. she rode with only the one councillor by her who had dared to share her captivity--one alt pikker, a favourite veteran of her little army, and the master-swordsman (they said) who had instructed her in the use of arms. no indignity had been offered to her. indeed, as great honour was done her as was possible in the circumstances. prince louis had approached and led her by the hand to the steed which awaited her at the fords of the alla. the soldiers of courtland elevated their spears and the trumpets of both hosts brayed a salute. then, without a word spoken, her husband had bowed and withdrawn as a gentleman should. prince ivan then approached, and on one knee begged the privilege of kissing her fair hand. the traitors of kernsberg, who had bartered their mistress for several tuns of rhenish, could not meet her eye, but stood gloomily apart with faces sad and downcast, and from within the town came the sound of women weeping. only george the hussite stood by with a smile on his face and his thumbs stuck in his waistband. the captive princess spoke not at all, as was indeed natural and fitting. a woman conquered does not easily forgive those who have humbled her pride. she talked little even to alt pikker, and then only apart. the nearest guide, who had been chosen because of his knowledge of german, could not hear a murmur. with bowed head and eyes that dwelt steadily on the undulating mane of her white barb, joan swayed her graceful body and compressed her lips like one captured but in nowise vanquished. and the soldiers of the army of courtland (those of them who were married) whispered one to another, noting her demeanour, "our good prince is but at the beginning of his troubles; for, by brunhild, did you ever see such a wench? they say she can engage any two fencers of her army at one time!" "her eye itself is like a rapier thrust," whispered another. "just now i went near her to look, and she arched an eyebrow at me, no more--and lo! i went cold at my marrow as if i felt the blue steel stand out at my backbone." "it is the hunger and the anger that have done it," said another; "and, indeed, small wonder! she looked not so pale when i saw her ride along courtland street that day to the dom--the day she was to be married. then her eyes did not pierce you through, but instead they shone with their own proper light and were very gracious." "a strange wench, a most strange wench," responded the first, "so soon to change her mind." "ha!" laughed his companion, "little do you know if you say so! she is a woman--small doubt of that! besides, is she not a princess? and wherefore should our prince's wife not change her mind?" they entered courtland, and the flags flew gaily as on the day of wedding. the drums beat, and the populace drank from spigots that foamed red wine. then louis the prince came, with hat in hand, and begged that the princess joan would graciously allow him to ride beside her through the streets. he spoke respectfully, and joan could only bow her head in acquiescence. thus they came to the courtyard of the palace, the people shouting behind them. there, on the steps, gowned in white and gold, with bare head overrun with ringlets, stood the princess margaret among her women. and at sight of her the heart of the false princess gave a mighty bound, as joan of the sword hand drew her hood closer about her face and tried to remember in what fashion a lady dismounted from her horse. "my lady," said prince louis, standing hat in hand before her barb, "i commit you to the care of my sister, the princess margaret, knowing the ancient friendship that there is between you two. she will speak for me, knowing all my will, and being also herself shortly contracted in marriage to my good friend, prince ivan of muscovy. open your hearts to each other, i pray you, and be assured that no evil or indignity shall befall one whom i admire as the fairest of women and honour as my wedded wife!" joan made no answer, but leaped from her horse without waiting for the hand of alt pikker, which many thought strange. in another moment the arms of the princess margaret were about her neck, and that impulsive princess was kissing her heartily on cheek and lips, talking all the while through her tears. "quick! let us get in from all these staring stupid men. you are to lodge in my palace so long as it lists you. my brother hath promised it. where are your women?" "i have no women," said joan, in a low voice, blushing meanwhile; "they would not accompany a poor betrayed prisoner from kernsberg to a prison cell!" "prison cell, indeed! you will find that i have a very comfortable dungeon ready for you! come--my maidens will assist you. hasten--pray do make haste!" cried the impetuous little lady, her arm close about the tall joan. "i thank you," said the false bride, with some reluctance, "but i am well accustomed to wait on myself." "indeed, i do not wonder," cried the ready princess; "maids are vexatious creatures, well called 'tirewomen.' but come--see the beautiful rooms i have chosen for you! make haste and take off your cloak, and then i will come to you; i am fairly dying to talk. ah, why did you not tell me that day? that was ill done. i would have ridden so gladly with you. it was a glorious thing to do, and has made you famous all over the world, they say. i have been thinking ever since what i can do to be upsides with you and make them talk about me. i will give them a surprise one day that shall be great as yours. but perhaps i may not wait till i am married to do it." and she took her friend by the hand and with a light-hearted skipping motion convoyed her to her summer palace, kissed her again at the door, and shut her in with another imperious adjuration to be speedy. "i will give you a quarter of an hour," she cried, as she lingered a moment; "then i will come to hear all your story, every word." then the false princess staggered rather than walked to a chair, for brain and eye were reeling. "god wot," she murmured; "strange things to hear, indeed! sweet lady, you little know how strange! this is ten thousand times a straiter place to be in than when i played the count von löen. ah, women, women, what you bring a poor innocent man to!" so, without unhooking her cloak or even throwing back the hood, this sadly bewildered bride sat down and tried to select any hopeful line of action out of the whirling chaos of her thoughts. and even as she sat there a knock came sharply at the door. chapter xxx love's clear eye "and now," cried princess margaret, clapping her hands together impulsively, "now at last i shall hear everything. why you went away, and who gave you up, and about the fighting. ugh! the traitors, to betray you after all! i would have their heads off--and all to save their wretched town and the lives of some score of fat burghers!" so far the princess margaret had never once looked at the sparhawk in his borrowed plumage, as he stood uneasily enough by the fireplace of the summer palace, leaning an elbow on the mantelshelf. but now she turned quickly to her guest. "oh, i love you!" she cried, running to maurice and throwing her arms about her false sister-in-law in an impulsive little hug. "i think you are so brave. is my hair sadly tangled? tell me truly, joan. the wind hath tumbled it about mine eyes. not that it matters--with you!" she said the last words with a little sigh. then the princess margaret tripped across the polished floor to a dressing-table which had been set out in the angle between the two windows. she turned the combs and brushes over with a contumelious hand. "where is your hand-glass?" she cried. "do not tell me that you have never looked in it since you came to courtland, or that you can put up with that squinting falsifier up there." she pointed to the oval-framed venetian mirror which was hung opposite her. "it twists your face all awry, this way and that, like a monkey cracking a nut. 'twas well enough for our good conrad, but the princess joan is another matter." "i have never even looked in either!" said the sparhawk. some subtle difference in tone of voice caused the princess to stop her work of patting into temporary docility her fair clustering ringlets, winding them about her fingers and rearranging to greater advantage the little golden combs which held her sadly rebellious tresses in place. she looked keenly at the sparhawk, standing with both her shapely arms at the back of her head and holding a long ivory pin with a head of bright green malachite between her small white teeth. "your voice is hoarse--somehow you are different," she said, taking the pin from her lips and slipping it through the rebellious plaits with a swift vindictive motion. "i have caught a cold riding into the city," quoth the sparhawk hastily, blushing uneasily under her eyes. but for the time being his disguise was safe. already margaret of courtland was thinking of something else. "tell me," she began, going to the window and gazing pensively out upon the green white-flecked pour of the alla, swirling under the beams of the summer palace, "how many of your suite have followed you hither?" "only alt pikker, my second captain!" said the sparhawk. again the tones of his voice seemed to touch her woman's ear with some subtile perplexity even in the midst of her abstraction. margaret turned her eyes again upon maurice, and kept them there till he shivered in the flowing, golden-belted dress of velvet which sat so handsomely upon his splendid figure. "and your chief captain, von orseln?" the princess seemed to be meditating again, her thoughts far from the rush of the alla beneath and from the throat voice of the false princess before her. "von orseln has gone to the baltic edge to raise on my behalf the folk of the marshes!" answered the sparhawk warily. "then there was----" the princess hesitated, and her own voice grew a trifle lower--"the young man who came hither as dessauer's secretary--what of him? the count von löen, if i mistake not--that was his name?" "he is a traitor!" the princess turned quickly. "nay," she said, "you do not think so. your voice is kind when you speak of him. besides, i am sure he is no traitor. where is he?" "he is in the place where he most wishes to be--with the woman he loves!" the light died out of the bright face of the princess margaret at the answer, even as a dun snow-cloud wipes the sunshine off a landscape. "the woman he loves?" she stammered, as if she could not have heard aright. "aye," said the false bride, loosening her cloak and casting it behind her. "i swear it. he is with the woman he loves." but in his heart the sparhawk was saying, "steady, master maurice von lynar--or all will be out in five minutes." the princess margaret walked determinedly from the window to the fireplace. she was not so tall by half a head as her guest, but to the eyes of the sparhawk she towered above him like a young poplar tree. he shrank from her searching glance. the princess laid her hand upon the sleeve of the velvet gown. a flush of anger crimsoned her fair face. "ah!" she cried, "i see it all now, madam the princess. you love the count and you think to blind me. this is the reason of your riding off with him on your wedding day. i saw you go by his side. you sent count maurice to bring to you the four hundred lances of kernsberg. it was for his sake that you left my brother prince louis at the church door. like draws to like, they say, and your eyes even now are as like as peas to those of the count von löen." and this, indeed, could the sparhawk in no wise deny. the princess went her angry way. "there have been many lies told," she cried, raising the pitch of her voice, "but i am not blind. i can see through them. i am a woman and can gauge a woman's pretext. you yourself are in love with the count von löen, and yet you tell me that he is with the woman he loves. bah! he loves you--you, his mistress--next, that is, to his selfish self-seeking self. if he is with the woman he loves, as you say, tell me her name!" there came a knocking at the door. "who is there?" demanded imperiously the princess margaret. "the prince of muscovy, to present his duty to the princess of courtland!" "i do not wish to see him--i will not see him!" said the sparhawk hastily, who felt that one inquisitor at a time was as much as he could hope to deal with. "enter!" said the princess margaret haughtily. the prince opened the door and stood on the threshold bowing to the ladies. "well?" queried margaret of courtland, without further acknowledgment of his salutation than the slightest and chillest nod. "my service to both, noble princesses," the answer came with suave deference. "the prince louis sent me to beg of his noble spouse, the princess joan, that she would deign to receive him." "tell louis that the princess will receive him at her own time. he ought to have better manners than to trouble a lady yet weary from a long journey. and as for you, prince ivan, you have our leave to go!" whilst margaret was speaking the prince had fixed his piercing eyes upon the sparhawk, as if already he had penetrated his secret. but because he was a man maurice sustained the searching gaze with haughty indifference. the prince of muscovy turned upon the princess margaret with a bright smile. "all this makes an ill lesson for you, my fair betrothed," he said, bowing to her; "but--there will be no riding home once we have you in moscow!" "true, i shall not need to return, for i shall never ride thither!" retorted the princess. "moreover, i would have you remember that i am not your betrothed. the prince louis is your betrothed, if you have any in courtland. you can carry him to moscow an you will, and comfort each other there." "that also i may do some day, madam!" flashed prince wasp, stirred to quick irritation. "but in the meantime, princess joan, does it please you to signify when you will receive your husband?" "no! no! no!" whispered the sparhawk in great perturbation. the princess margaret pointed to the door. "go!" she said. "i myself will signify to my brother when he can wait upon the princess." "my lady margaret," the muscovite purred in answer, "think you it is wise thus to encourage rebellion in the most sacred relations of life?" the princess margaret trilled into merriest laughter and reached back a hand to take joan's fingers in hers protectingly. "the homily of the most reverend churchman, prince ivan of muscovy, upon matrimony; judas condemning treachery, satan rebuking sin, were nothing to this!" with all his faults the prince had humour, the humour of a torture scene in some painted monkish inferno. "agreed," he said, smiling; "and what does the princess margaret protecting that pale shrinking flower, joan of the sword hand, remind you of?" "that the room of prince ivan is more welcome to ladies than his company!" retorted margaret of courtland, still holding the sparhawk's hand between both of hers, and keeping her angry eyes and petulant flower face indignantly upon the intruder. had prince ivan been looking at her companion at that moment he might have penetrated the disguise, so tender and devoted a light of love dwelt on the sparhawk's countenance and beaconed from his eyes. but he only bowed deferentially and withdrew. margaret and the sparhawk were left once more alone. the two stood thus while the brisk footsteps of prince wasp thinned out down the corridor. then margaret turned swiftly upon her tall companion and, still keeping her hand, she pulled maurice over to the window. then in the fuller light she scanned the sparhawk's features with a kindling eye and paling lips. "god in heaven!" she palpitated, holding him at a greater distance, "you are not the lady joan; you are--you are----" "the man who loves you!" said the sparhawk, who was very pale. "the count von löen. oh! maurice, why did you risk it?" she gasped. "they will kill you, tear you to pieces without remorse, when they find out. and it is a thing that cannot be kept secret. why did you do it?" "for your sake, beloved," said the sparhawk, coming nearer to her; "to look once more on your face--to behold once, if no more, the lips that kissed me in the dark by the river brink!" "but--but--you may forfeit your life!" "and a thousand lives!" cried the sparhawk, nervously pulling at his woman's dress as if ashamed that he must wear it at such a time. "life without you is naught to maurice von lynar!" a glow of conscious happiness rose warm and pink upon the cheeks of the princess margaret. "besides," added maurice, "the captains of kernsberg considered that thus alone could their mistress be saved." the glow paled a little. "what! by sacrificing you? but perhaps you did it for her sake, and not wholly, as you say, for mine!" there was no such thought in her heart, but she wished to hear him deny it. "nay, my one lady," he answered; "i was, indeed, more than ready to come to courtland, but it was because of the hope that surged through my heart, as flame leaps through tow, that i should see you and hear your voice!" the princess held out her hands impulsively and then retracted them as suddenly. "now, we must not waste time," she said; "i must save you. they would slay you on the least suspicion. but i will match them. would to god that conrad were here. to him i could speak. i could trust him. he would help us. let me see! let me see!" she bent her head and walked slowly to the window. like every true courtlander she thought best when she could watch the swirl of the green alla against its banks. the sparhawk took a step as if to follow, but instead stood still where he was, drinking in her proud and girlish beauty. to the eye of any spy they were no more than two noble ladies who had quarrelled, the smaller and slighter of whom had turned her back upon the taller! they were in the same position still, and the white foam-fleck which margaret was following with her eyes had not vanished from her sight, when the door of the summer palace was rudely thrown open and an officer announced in a loud and strident tone, "the prince louis to visit his princess!" chapter xxxi the royal minx prince louis entered, flushed and excited. his eyes had lost their furtive meanness and blazed with a kind of reckless fury quite foreign to his nature, for anger affected him as wine might another man. he spoke first to the princess margaret. "and so, my fair sister," he said, "you would foment rebellion even in my palace and concoct conspiracy with my own married wife. make ready, madam, for to-morrow you shall find your master. i will marry you to the prince ivan of muscovy. he will carry you to moscow, where ladies of your breed are taught to obey. and if they will not--why, their delicate skins may chance to be caressed with instruments less tender than lovers' fingers. go--make you ready. you shall be wed and that immediately. and leave me alone with my wife." "i will not marry the prince of muscovy," his sister answered calmly. "i would rather die by the axe of your public executioner. i would wed with the vilest scullion that squabbles with the swine for gobbets in the gutters of courtland, rather than sit on a throne with such a man!" the prince nodded sagely. "a pretty spirit--a true courtland spirit," he said mockingly. "i had the same within my heart when i was young. conrad hath it now--priest though he be. nevertheless, he is off to rome to kiss the pope's toe. by my faith, gretchen lass, you show a very pretty spirit!" he wheeled about and looked towards the false joan, who was standing gripping nails into palms by the chimney-mantel. "and you, my lady," he said, "you have had your turn of rebellion. but once is enough. you are conquered now. you are a wedded wife. your place is with your husband. you sleep in my palace to-night!" "if i do," muttered the sparhawk, "i know who will wake in hell to-morrow!" "my brother louis," cried the princess margaret, running up to him and taking his arm coaxingly, "do not be so hasty with two poor women. neither of us desire aught but to do your will. but give us time. spare us, for you are strong. 'a woman's way is the wind's way'--you know our courtland proverb. you cannot harness the northern lights to your chariot-wheels. woo us--coax us--aye, even deceive us; but do not force us. louis, louis, i thought you were wise, and yet i see that you know not the alphabet of love. here is your lady. have you ever said a loving word to her, bent the knee, kissed her hand--which, being persisted in, is the true way to kiss the mouth?" ("if he does either," growled the sparhawk, "my sword will kiss his midriff!") prince louis smiled. he was not used to women's flatteries, and in his present state of exaltation the cajoleries of the princess suited his mood. he swelled with self-importance, puffing his cheeks and twirling his grey moustache upwards with the finger and thumb of his left hand. "i know more of women than you think, sister," he made answer. "i have had experiences--in my youth, that is; i am no puppet princeling. by saint mark! once on a day i strutted it with the boldest; and to-day--well, now that i have humbled this proud madam and brought her to my own city, why, i will show you that i am no wendish boor. i can sue a lady's favour as courteously as any man--and, margaret, if you will promise me to be a good girl and get you ready to be married to-morrow, i promise you that louis of courtland will solicit his lady's favour with all grace and observance." "gladly will i be married to-morrow," said the princess, caressing her brother's sleeve--"that is, if i cannot be married to-day!" she added under her breath. but she paused a few moments as if embarrassed. then she went on. "brother louis, i have spoken with my sister here--your wife, the lady joan. she hath a scruple concerning matrimony. she would have it resolved before she hath speech with you again. permit our good father clement to advise with her." "father clement--our conrad's tutor, why he more than another?" "well, do you not understand? he is old," pleaded margaret, "and there are things one can say easiest to an old man. you understand, brother louis." the prince nodded, well pleased. this was pleasant. his mentor, prince wasp, did not usually flatter him. rather he made him chafe on a tight rein. "and if i send father clement to you, chit," he said patting his sister's softly rounded cheek, "will he both persuade you and ease the scruples of my lady joan? i am as delicate and understanding as any man. i will not drive a woman when she desires to be led. but led or driven she must be. for to my will she must come at last." "i knew it, i knew it!" she cried joyously. "again you are mine own louis, my dear sweet brother! when will father clement come?" "as soon as he can be sent for," the prince answered. "he will come directly here to the summer palace. and till then you two fair maids can abide together. princess, my wife, i kiss your noble hand. margaret, your cheek. till to-morrow--till to-morrow!" he went out with an awkward attempt at airy grace curiously grafted on his usually saturnine manners. the door closed behind him. margaret of courtland listened a moment with bated breath and finger on lip. a shouted order reached her ear from beneath. then came the tramp of disciplined feet, and again they heard only the swirl of the alla fretting about the piles of the summer palace. then, quickly dropping her lover's fingers, margaret took hold of her own dress at either side daintily and circled about the sparhawk in a light-tripping dance. "ah, louis--we will be so good and bidable--to-morrow. to-morrow you will see me a loving and obedient wife. to-morrow i will wed prince wasp. meantime--to-day you and i, maurice, will consult father clement, mine ancient confessor, who will do anything i ask him. to-day we will dance--put your arm about my waist--firmly--so! there, we will dance at a wedding to-day, you and i. for in that brave velvet robe you shall be married!" "what?" cried the sparhawk, stopping suddenly. his impulsive sweetheart caught him again into the dance as she swept by in her impetuous career. "yes," she nodded, minueting before him. "it is as i say--you are to be married all over again. and when you ride off i will ride with you--no slipping your marriage engagements this time, good sir. i know your kernsberg manners now. you will not find me so slack as my brother!" "margaret!" cried the sparhawk. and with one bound he had her against his breast. "oh!" she cried, with a shrug of her pretty shoulders, as she submitted to his embrace, "i don't love you half as much in that dress. why, it is like kissing another girl at the convent. ugh, the cats!" she was not permitted to say any more. the alla was heard very clearly in the summer palace as it swept the too swift moments with it away towards the sea which is oblivion. then after a time, and a time and half a time, the princess margaret slowly emerged. "no," she said retrospectively, "it is not like the convent, after all--not a bit." * * * * * "affection is ever seemly, especially between great ladies--also unusual!" said a bass voice, speaking grave and kindly behind them. the sparhawk turned quickly round, the crimson rushing instant to his cheek. "father--dear father clement!" cried margaret, running to the noble old man who stood by the door and kneeling down for his blessing. he gave it simply and benignantly, and laid his hand a moment on the rippling masses of her fair hair. then he turned his eyes upon the sparhawk. the confusion of his beautiful penitent, the flush which mounted to her neck even as she kneeled, added to a certain level defiance in the glance of her taller companion, told him almost at a glance that which had been so carefully concealed. for the father was a man of much experience. a man who hears a dozen confessions every day of his life through a wicket in a box grows accustomed to distinguishing the finer differences of sex. his glance travelled back and forth, from the sparhawk to margaret, and from margaret to the sparhawk. "ah!" he said at last, for all comment. the princess rose to her feet and approached the priest. "my father," she said swiftly, "this is not the lady joan, my brother's wife, but a youth marvellously like her, who hath offered himself in her place that she might escape----" "nay," said the sparhawk, "it was to see you once again, lady margaret, that i came to courtland!" "hush! you must not interrupt," she went on, putting him aside with her hand. "he is the count von löen, a lord of kernsberg. and i love him. we want you to marry us now, dear father--now, without a moment's delay; for if you do not, they will kill him, and i shall have to marry prince wasp!" she clasped her hands about his arm. "will you?" she said, looking up beseechingly at him. the princess margaret was a lady who knew her mind and so bent other minds to her own. the father stood smiling a little down upon her, more with his eyes than with his lips. "they will kill him and marry you, if i do. and, moreover, pray tell me, little one, what will they do to me?" he said. "father, they would not dare to meddle with you. your office--your sanctity--holy mother church herself would protect you. if conrad were here, he would do it for me. i am sure he would marry us. i could tell him everything. but he is far, far away, on his knees at the shrine of holy saint peter, most like." "and you, young masquerader," said father clement, turning to the sparhawk, "what say you to all this? is this your wish, as well as that of the princess margaret? i must know all before i consent to put my old neck into the halter!" "i will do whatever the princess wishes. her will is mine." "do not make a virtue of that, young man," said the priest smiling; "the will of the princess is also that of most people with whom she comes in contact. submission is no distinction where our lady margaret is concerned. why, ever since she was so high" (he indicated with his hand), "i declare the minx hath set her own penances and dictated her own absolutions." "you have indeed been a sweet confessor," murmured margaret of courtland, still clasping the father's arm and looking up fondly into his face. "and you will do as i ask you this once. i will not ask for such a long time again." the priest laughed a short laugh. "nay, if i do marry you to this gentleman, i hope it will serve for a while. i cannot marry princesses of the empire to carnival mummers more than once a week!" a quick frown formed on the brow of maurice von lynar. he took a step nearer. the priest put up his hand, with the palm outspread in a sort of counterfeit alarm. "nay, i know not if it will last even a week if bride and groom are both so much of the same temper. gently, good sir, gently and softly. i must go carefully myself. i am bringing my grey hairs unpleasantly near the gallows. i must consider my duty, and you must respect my office." the sparhawk dropped on one knee and bent his head. "ah, that is better," said the priest, making the sign of benediction above the clustered raven locks. "rise, sir, i would speak with you a moment apart. my lady margaret, will you please to walk on the terrace there while i confer with--the lady joan upon obedience, according to the commandment of the prince." as he spoke the last words he made a little movement towards the corridor with his hand, at the same moment elevating his voice. the princess caught his meaning and, before either of her companions could stop her, she tiptoed to the door, set her hand softly to the latch, and suddenly flung it open. prince louis stood without, with head bowed to listen. the princess shrilled into a little peal of laughter. "brother louis!" she cried, clapping her hands, "we have caught you. you must restrain your youthful, your too ardent affections. your bride is about to confess. this is no time for mandolins and serenades. you should have tried those beneath her windows in kernsberg. they might have wooed her better than arbalist and mangonel." the prince glared at his _débonnaire_ sister as if he could have slain her on the spot. "i returned," he said formally, speaking to the disguised maurice, "to inform the princess that her rooms in the main palace were ready for her whenever she deigns to occupy them." "i thank you, prince louis," returned the false princess, bowing. in his character of a woman betrayed and led prisoner the sparhawk was sparing of his words--and for other reasons as well. "come, brother, your arm," said the princess. "you and i must not intrude. we will leave the good father and his fair penitent. will you walk with me on the terrace? i, on my part, will listen to your lover's confessions and give you plenary absolution--even for listening at keyholes. come, dear brother, come!" and with one gay glance shot backward at the sparhawk, half over her shoulder, the lady margaret took the unwilling arm of her brother and swept out. verily, as father clement had said, she was a royal minx. chapter xxxii the princess margaret is in a hurry the priest waited till their footsteps died away down the corridor before going to the door to shut it. then he turned and faced the sparhawk with a very different countenance to that which he had bent upon the princess margaret. generally, when women leave a room the thermometer drops suddenly many degrees nearer the zero of verity. there is all the difference between velvet sheath and bare blade, between the courtesies of seconds and the first clash of the steel in the hands of principals. there are, let us say, two men and one woman. the woman is in the midst. smile answers smile. masks are up. the sun shines in. she goes--and before the smile of parting has fluttered from her lips, lo! iron answers iron on the faces of the men. off, ye lendings! salute! engage! to the death! there was nothing, however, very deadly in the encounter of the sparhawk and father clement. it was only as if a couple of carnival maskers had stepped aside out of the whirl of a dance to talk a little business in some quiet alcove. the father foresaw the difficulty of his task. the sparhawk was conscious of the awkwardness of maintaining a manly dignity in a woman's gown. he felt, as it were, choked about the legs in another man's presence. "and now, sir," said the priest abruptly, "who may you be?" "father, i am a servant to the duchess joan of hohenstein and kernsberg. maurice von lynar is my name." "and pray, how came you so like the duchess that you can pass muster for her?" "that i know not. it is an affair upon which i was not consulted. but, indeed, i do it but poorly, and succeed only with those who know her little, and who are in addition men without observation. both the princess and yourself saw through me easily enough, and i am in fear every moment i am near prince ivan." "how came the princess to love you?" "well, for one thing, i loved her. for another, i told her so!" "the points are well taken, but of themselves insufficient," smiled the priest. "so also have others better equipped by fortune to win her favour than you. what else?" then, with a certain shamefaced and sulky pride, the sparhawk told father clement all the tale of the mission of the duchess joan of courtland, of the liking the princess had taken to that lady in her secretary's attire, of the kiss exchanged upon the dark river's bank, the fragrant memory of which had drawn him back to courtland against his will. and the priest listened like a man of many counsels who knows that the strangest things are the truest, and that the naked truth is always incredible. "it is a pretty tangle you have made between you," said father clement when maurice finished. "i know not how you could more completely have twisted the skein. every one is somebody else, and the devil is hard upon the hindmost--or prince ivan, which is apparently the same thing." the priest now withdrew in his turn to where he could watch the alla curving its back a little in mid-stream as the summer floods rushed seaward from the hills. to true courtland folk its very bubbles brought counsel as they floated down towards the baltic. "let me see! let me see!" he murmured, stroking his chin. then after a long pause he turned again to the sparhawk. "you are of sufficient fortune to maintain the princess as becomes her rank?" "i am not a rich man," answered von lynar, "but by the grace of the duchess joan neither am i a poor one. she hath bestowed on me one of her father's titles, with lands to match." "so," said the priest; "but will prince louis and the muscovites give you leave to enjoy them?" "the estates are on the borders of plassenburg," said maurice, "and i think the prince of plassenburg for his own security will provide against any muscovite invasion." "princes are but princes, though i grant you the executioner's son is a good one," answered the priest. "well, better to marry than to burn, sayeth holy writ. it is touch and go, in any event. i will marry you and thereafter betake me to the abbey of wolgast, where dwells my very good friend the abbot tobias. for old sake's sake he will keep me safe there till this thing blows over." "with my heart i thank you, my father," said the sparhawk, kneeling. "nay, do not thank me. rather thank the pretty insistency of your mistress. yet it is only bringing you both one step nearer destruction. walking upon egg-shells is child's play to this. but i never could refuse your sweetheart either a comfit or an absolution all my days. to my shame as a servant of god i say it. i will go and call her in." he went to the door with a curious smile on his face. he opened it, and there, close by the threshold, was the princess margaret, her eyes full of a bright mischief. "yes, i was listening," she cried, shaking her head defiantly. "i do not care. so would you, father, if you had been a woman and in love----" "god forbid!" said father clement, crossing himself. "you may well make sure of heavenly happiness, my father, for you will never know what the happiness of earth is!" cried margaret. "i would rather be a woman and in love, than--than the pope himself and sit in the chair of st. peter." "my daughter, do not be irreverent." "father clement, were you ever in love? no, of course you cannot tell me; but i think you must have been. your eyes are kind when you look at us. you are going to do what we wish--i know you are. i heard you say so to maurice. now begin." "you speak as if the holy sacrament of matrimony were no more than saying 'abracadabra' over a toadstool to cure warts," said the priest, smiling. "consider your danger, the evil case in which you will put me when the thing is discovered----" "i will consider anything, dear father, if you will only make haste," said the princess, with a smiling natural vivacity that killed any verbal disrespect. "nay, madcap, be patient. we must have a witness whose head sits on his shoulders beyond the risk of prince louis's halter or prince ivan's muscovite dagger. what say you to the high councillor of plassenburg, von dessauer? he is here on an embassy." the princess clapped her hands. "yes, yes. he will do it. he will keep our secret. he also likes pretty girls." "also?" queried father clement, with a grave and demure countenance. "yes, father, you know you do----" "it is a thing most strictly forbidden by holy church that in fulfilling the duties of sacred office one should be swayed by any merely human considerations," began the priest, the wrinkles puckering about his eyes, though his lips continued grave. "oh, please, save the homily till after sacrament, dear father!" cried the princess. "you know you like me, and that you cannot help it." the priest lifted up his hand and glanced upward, as if deprecating the anger of heaven. "alas, it is too true!" he said, and dropped his hand again swiftly to his side. "i will go and summon dessauer myself," she went on. "i will run so quick. i cannot bear to wait." "abide ye--abide ye, my daughter," said father clement; "let us do even this folly decently and in order. the day is far spent. let us wait till darkness comes. then when you are rested--and" (he looked towards the sparhawk) "the lady joan also--i will return with high councillor dessauer, who, without observance or suspicion, may pay his respects to the princesses upon their arrival." "but, father, i cannot wait," cried the impetuous bride. "something might happen long before then. my brother might come. prince wasp might find out. the palace itself might fall--and then i should never be married at all!" and the very impulsive and high-strung daughter of the reigning house of courtland put a kerchief to her eyes and tapped the floor with the silken point of her slipper. the holy father looked at her a moment and turned his eyes to maurice von lynar. then he shook his head gravely at that proximate bridegroom as one who would say, "if you be neither hanged nor yet burnt here in courtland--if you get safely out of this with your bride--why, then, heaven have mercy on your soul!" chapter xxxiii a wedding without a bridegroom it was very quiet in the river parlour of the summer palace. a shaded lamp burned in its niche over the desk of prince conrad. another swung from the ceiling and filled the whole room with dim, rich light. the window was a little open, and the alla murmured beneath with a soothing sound, like a mother hushing a child to sleep. there was no one in the great chamber save the youth whose masquerading was now well nigh over. the sparhawk listened intently. footsteps were approaching. quick as thought he threw himself upon a couch, and drew about him a light cloak or woollen cloth lined with silk. the footsteps stopped at his door. a hand knocked lightly. the sparhawk did not answer. there was a long pause, and then footsteps retreated as they had come. the sparhawk remained motionless. again the alla, outside in the mild autumnal gloaming, said, "hush!" tired with anxiety and the strain of the day, the youth passed from musing to real sleep and the stream of unconsciousness, with a long soothing swirl like that of the green water outside among the piles of the summer palace, bore him away. he took longer breaths, sighing in his slumbers like a happy tired child. again there came footsteps, quicker and lighter this time; then the crisp rustle of silken skirts, a warm breath of scented air, and the door was closed again. no knocking this time. it was some one who entered as of right. then the princess margaret, with clasped hands and parted lips, stood still and watched the slumber of the man she loved. though she knew it not, it was one of the crucial moments in the chronicle of love. if a woman's heart melts from tolerant friendship to a kind of motherhood at the sight of a man asleep; if something draws tight about her heart like the strings of an old-fashioned purse; if there is a pulse beating where no pulse should be, a pleasurable lump in the throat, then it is come--the not-to-be-denied, the long-expected, the inevitable. it is a simple test, and one not always to be applied (as it were) without a doctor's prescription; but, when fairly tried, it is infallible. if a woman is happier listening to a man's quiet breathing than she has ever been hearkening to any other's flattery, it is no longer an affair--it is a passion. the princess margaret sat down by the couch of maurice von lynar, and, after this manner of which i have told, her heart was moved within her. as she bent a little over the youth and looked into his sleeping face, the likeness to joan the duchess came out more strongly than ever, emerging almost startlingly, as a race stamp stands out on the features of the dead. she bent her head still nearer the slightly parted lips. then she drew back. "no," she murmured, smiling at her intent, "i will not--at least, not now. i will wait till i hear them coming." she stole her hand under the cloak which covered the sleeper till her cool fingers rested on maurice's hand. he stirred a little, and his lips moved. then his eyelids quivered to the lifting. but they did not rise. the ear of the princess was very near them now. "margaret!" she heard him say, and as the low whisper reached her she sat erect in her chair with a happy sigh. so wonderful is love and so utterly indifferent to time or place, to circumstance or reason. [illustration: "maurice stood ... holding margaret's hand." [_page _]] the alla also sighed a sigh to think that their hour would pass so swiftly. so margaret of courtland, princess and lover, sat contentedly by the pillow of him who had once been a prisoner in the dungeon of castle kernsberg. but in the palace of the prince of courtland time ran even more swiftly than the alla beneath its walls. margaret caught a faint sound far away--footsteps, firm footfalls of men who paced slowly together. and as these came nearer, she could distinguish, mixed with them, the sharp tapping of one who leans upon a staff. she did not hesitate a moment now. she bent down upon the sleeper. her arm glided under his neck. her lips met his. "maurice," she whispered, "wake, dearest. they are coming." "margaret!" he would have answered--but could not. * * * * * the greetings were soon over. the tale had already been told to von dessauer by father clement. the pair stood up under the golden glow of the swinging silver lamps. it was a strange scene. for surely never was marriage more wonderfully celebrated on earth than this of two fair maidens (for so they still appeared) taking hands at the bidding of god's priest and vowing the solemn vows, in the presence of a prince's chancellor, to live only for each other in all the world. maurice, tall and dark, a red mantle thrown back from his shoulders, confined at the waist and falling again to the feet, stood holding margaret's hand, while she, younger and slighter, her skin creamily white, her cheek rose-flushed, her eyes brilliant as with fever, watched father clement as if she feared he would omit some essential of the service. von dessauer, high councillor of plassenburg, stood leaning on the head of his staff and watching with a certain gravity of sympathy, mixed with apprehension, the simple ceremonial. presently the solemn "let no man put asunder" was said, the blessing pronounced, and leopold von dessauer came forward with his usual courtly grace to salute the newly made countess von löen. he would have kissed her hand, but with a swift gesture she offered her cheek. "not hands to-day, good friend," she said. "i am no more a princess, but my husband's wife. they cannot part us now, can they, high councillor? i have gotten my wish!" "dear lady," the chancellor of plassenburg answered gently. "i am an old man, and i have observed that hymen is the most tricksome of the divinities. his omens go mostly by contraries. where much is expected, little is obtained. when all men speak well of a wedding, and all the prophets prophesy smooth things--my fear is great. therefore be of good cheer. though you have chosen the rough road, the perilous venture, the dark night, the deep and untried ford, you will yet come out upon a plain of gladness, into a day of sunshine, and at the eventide reach a home of content." "so good a fortune from so wise a soothsayer deserves--this!" and she kissed the chancellor frankly on the mouth. "father clement," she said, turning about to the priest with a provocative look on her face, "have you a prophecy for us worthy a like guerdon?" "avaunt, witch! get thee behind me, pretty impling! tempt not an old man to forget his office, or i will set thee such a penance as will take months to perform." nevertheless his face softened as he spoke. he saw too plainly the perils which encompassed maurice von lynar and his wife. yet he held out his hand benignantly and they sank on their knees. "god bring you well through, beloveds!" he said. "may he send his angels to succour the faithful and punish the guilty!" "i bid you fair good-night!" said leopold von dessauer at the threshold. but he added in his heart, "but alas for the to-morrow that must come to you twain!" "i care for nothing now--i have gotten my will!" said the princess margaret, nodding her head to the father as he went out. she was standing on the threshold with her husband's hand in hers, and her eyes were full of that which no words can express. "may that which is so sweet in the mouth now, never prove bitter in the belly!" that was the father's last prayer for them. but neither margaret nor maurice von lynar so much as heard him, for they had turned to one another. for the golden lamp was burning itself out, and without in the dark the alla still said, "hush!" like a mother who soothes her children to sleep. chapter xxxiv little johannes rode "but this one day, beloved," the sparhawk was saying. "what is one day among our enemies? be brave, and then we will ride away together under cloud of night. von dessauer will help us. for love and pity prince hugo of plassenburg will give us an asylum. or if he will not, by my faith! helene the princess will--or her kind heart is sore belied! fear not!" "i am not afraid--i have never feared anything in my life," answered the princess margaret. "but now i fear for you, maurice. i would give all i possess a hundred times over--nay, ten years of my life--if only you were safe out of this courtland!" "it will not be long," said the sparhawk soothingly. "to-morrow von dessauer goes with all his train. he cannot, indeed, openly give us his protection till we are past the boundaries of the state. but at the fords of the alla we must await him. then, after that, it is but a short and safe journey. a few days will bring us to the borderlands of plassenburg and the mark, where we are safe alike from prince brother and prince wooer." "maurice--i would it were so, indeed. do you know i think being married makes one's soul frightened. the one you love grows so terrifyingly precious. it seems such a long time since i was a wild and reckless girl, flouting those who spoke of love, and boasting (oh, so vainly!) that love would never touch me. i used to, not so long ago--though you would not think it now, knowing how weak and foolish i am." the sparhawk laughed a little and glanced fondly at his wife. it was a strange look, full of the peculiar joy of man--and that, where the essence of love dwells in him, is his sense of unique possession. "do keep still," said the princess suddenly, stamping her foot. "how can i finish the arraying of your locks, if you twist about thus in your seat? it is fortunate for you, sir, that the duchess joan wears her hair short, like a northman or a bantling troubadour. otherwise you could not have gone masquerading till yours had grown to be something of this length." and, with the innocent vanity of a woman preferred, she shook her own head backward till the rich golden tresses, each hair distinct and crisp as a golden wire of infinite thinness, fell over her back and hung down as low as the hollows of her knees. "joan could not do that!" she cried triumphantly. "you are the most beautiful woman in the world," said the sparhawk, with appreciative reverence, trying to rise from the low stool in front of the venice mirror upon which he was submitting to having his toilet superintended--for the first time by a thoroughly competent person. the princess margaret bit her lip vixenishly in a pretty way she had when making a pretext of being angry, at the same time sticking the little curved golden comb she was using upon his raven locks viciously into his head. "oh, you hurt!" he cried, making a grimace and pretending in his turn. "and so i will, and much worse," she retorted, "if you do not be still and do as i bid you. how can a self-respecting tire-woman attend to her business under such circumstances? i warn you that you may engage a new maid." "wickedest one!" he murmured, gazing fondly up at margaret, "there is no one like you!" "well," she drolled, "i am glad of your opinion, though sorry for your taste. for me, i prefer the lady joan." "and why?" "because she is like you, of course!" * * * * * so, on the verge perilous, lightly and foolishly they jested as all those who love each other do (which folly is the only wisdom), while the green alla sped swiftly on to the sea, and the city in which death waited for maurice von lynar began to hum about them. as yet, however, there fell no suspicion. for margaret had warned her bowermaidens that the princess joan would need no assistance from them. her own waiting-women were on their way from castle kernsberg. in any case she, margaret of courtland, would help her sister in person, as well for love as because such service was the guest's right. and the courtland maidens, accustomed to the whims and sudden likings of their impetuous mistress, glad also to escape extra duty, hastened their task of arraying margaret. never had she been so restless and exacting. her toilet was not half finished when she rose from her ebony stool, told her favourite thora of bornholm that she was too ignorant to be trusted to array so much as the tow-head of a swedish puppet, endued herself without assistance with a long loose gown of velvet lined with pale blue silk, and flashed out again to revisit her sister-in-law. "and do you, thora, and the others, wait my pleasure in the anteroom," she commanded her handmaidens as she swept through the doorway. "go barter love-compliments with the men-at-arms. it is all such fumblers are good for!" behind her back the tiring maids shrugged shoulders and glanced at each other secretly with lifted eyebrow, as they put gowns and broidered slippers back in their places, to signify that if it began thus they were in for a day of it. nevertheless they obeyed, and, finding certain young gentlemen of prince louis's guard waiting for just such an opportunity without, thora and the others proceeded to carry out to the letter the second part of the instructions of their mistress. "how now, sweet thora of the flaxen locks?" cried justus of grätz, a slender young man who carried the prince's bannerstaff on saints' days, and practised fencing and the art of love professionally at other times; "has the princess boxed all your ears this morning, that you come trembling forth, pell-mell, like a flock of geese out of a barn when the farmer's dog is after them?" there were three under-officers of the guard in the little courtyard. slim justus of grätz, his friend and boon companion seydelmann, a man of fine presence and empty head, who on wet days could curl the wings of his moustaches round his ears, and, sitting a little apart from these, little johannes rode, the only very brave man of the three, a swordsman and a poet, yet one who passed for a ninny and a greenhorn because he chose mostly to be silent. nevertheless, thora of bornholm preferred him to all others in the palace. for the eyes of a woman are quick to discern manhood--so long, that is, as she is not in love. after that, god wot, there is no eyeless fish so blind in all the caverns of the hartz. with the northwoman thora in her tendance of the princess there were joined anna and martha pappenheim, two maids quicker of speech and more restless in demeanour--franconians, like all their name, of their persons little and lithe and gay. the princess had brought them back with her when at the last diet she visited ratisbon with her brother. "ah, thora, fairest of maids! hath an east wind made you sulky this morning, that you will not answer?" languished justus. "then i warrant so are not anna and martha. my service to you, noble dames!" "noble 'dames' indeed--and to us!" they answered in alternate jets of speech. "as if we were apple-women or the fat house-frows of courtlandish burghers. get away--you have no manners! you sop your wits in sour beer. you eat frogs-meat out of your baltic marshes. a dozen dozen of you were not worth one lively lad out of sweet franconia!" "swe-e-et franconia!" mocked justus; "why, then, did you not stop there? of a verity no lover carried you off to courtland across his saddle-bow, that i warrant! he had repented his pains and killed his horse long ere he smelt the baltic brine." "the most that such louts as you courtlanders could carry off would be a screeching pullet from a farmyard, when the goodman is from home. there is no spirit in the north--save, i grant, among the women. there is our princess and her new sister the lady joan of the sword hand. where will you see their match? small wonder they will have nothing to say to such men as they can find hereabouts! but how they love each other! 'tis as good as a love tale to see them----" "aye, and a very miracle to boot!" interjected thora of bornholm. the pappenheims, as before, went on antiphonally, each answering and anticipating the other. "the princesses need not any man to make them happy! their affection for each other is past telling," said martha. "how their eyes shine when they look at each other!" sighed anna, while thora said nothing for a little, but watched johannes rode keenly. she saw he had something on his mind. the northwoman was not of the opinion which anna pappenheim attributed to the princesses. for the fair-skinned daughters of the goth, being wise, hold that there is but one kind of love, as there is but one kind of gold. also they believe that they carry with them the philosopher's stone wherewith to procure that fine ore. after a while thora spoke. "this morning it was 'the princess needs not your help--i myself will be her tire-woman!' i wot margaret is as jealous of any other serving the lady joan----" "as you would be if we made love to johannes rode there!" laughed martha pappenheim, getting behind a pillar and peeping roguishly round in order that the poet might have an opportunity of seeing the pretty turn of her ankle. but little johannes, who with a nail was scratching a line or two of a catch on a smooth stone, hardly even smiled. he minded maids of honour, their gabble and their ankles, no more than jackdaws crying in the crevices of the gable--that is, all except thora, who was so large and fair and white that he could not get her quite out of his mind. but even with thora of bornholm he did his best. "that is all very well _now_," put in vain fritz seydelmann, stroking his handsome beard and smiling vacantly; "but wait till these same princesses have had husbands of their own for a year. then they will spit at each other and scratch--like cats. all women are cats, and maids of honour the worst of all!" "how so, sir wiseman--because they do not like puppies? you have found out that?" anna pappenheim struck back demurely. "you ask me why maids of honour are like cats," returned seydelmann complacently (he had been making up this speech all night). "do they not arch their backs when they are stroked? do they not purr? have you not seen them lie about the house all day, doing nothing and looking as saintly as so many abbots at high mass? but at night and on the tiles--phew! 'tis another matter then." and having thus said vain moustached seydelmann, who plumed himself upon his wit, dragged at his moustache horns and simpered bovinely down upon the girls. anna pappenheim turned to thora, who was looking steadily through the self-satisfied fritz, much as if she could see a spider crawling on the wall behind him. "do they let things like that run about loose here in courtland?" she asked, with some anxiety on her face. "we have sties built for them at home in franconia!" but thora was in no mood for the rough jesting of officers-in-waiting and princesses' tirewomen. she continued to watch the spider. then little johannes rode spoke for the first time. "i wager," he said slowly, "that the princesses will be less inseparable by this time to-morrow." "what do you mean, johannes rode?" said thora, with instant challenge in her voice, turning the wide-eyed directness of her gaze full upon him. the young man did not look at her. he merely continued the carving of his couplet upon the lower stone of the sundial, whistling the air as he did so. "well," he answered slowly, "the muscovite guard of prince ivan have packed their own baggage (together with a good deal that is not their own), and the minster priests are warned to hold themselves at the prince's bidding all day. that means a wedding, and i warrant you our noble louis does not mean to marry his princess all over again in the dom-kirch of courtland. they are going to marry the russ to our princess margaret!" blonde fritz laughed loud and long and tugged at his moustache. "out, you fool!" he cried; "this is a saint's day! i saw it in the chaplain's breviary. the prince goes to shrive himself, and right wisely he judges. i would not only confess, but receive extreme unction as well, before i attempted to come nigh joan of the sword hand in the way of love! what say you, justus?" but before his companion could reply, thora of bornholm had risen and stolen quietly within. chapter xxxv a perilous honeymoon never was day so largely and gloriously blue since courtland was a city as the first morning of the married life of maurice and margaret von lynar, count and countess von löen. the summer floods had subsided, and the tawny dye had gone clean out of the alla, which was now as clear as aquamarine, and laved rather than fretted the dark green piles of the summer palace. the princesses (so they said without) were more than ever inseparable. they were constantly talking confidentially together, for all the world like schoolgirls with a secret. doubtless prince louis's fair sister was persuading the unruly wife to return to her duty. doubtless it was so--ah, yes, doubtless! "better that prince louis should do his own embassage in such a matter in his proper person," said the good-wives of thorn. "for me, i would not listen to any sister if my man came not to my feet himself. the lady joan is in the right of it--a feckless lover, no true man!" "aye," said the men, agreeing for once, "a paper-backed princeling! god wot, were it our conrad we should soon hear other of it! there would be none of this shilly-shallying back-and-forth work then! we would give half a year's income in golden gulden for a good lusty heir to the principalities--with that foul muscovite ivan yearning to lay the knout across our backs!" "there is something toward to-day," said a decent widow woman who lived in the königstrasse to her neighbour. "my son, who as you know is a chorister, is gone to practise the wedding hymn in the cathedral. i am going thither to get a good place. i will not miss it, whatever it is. perhaps they are going to make the princess joan do penance for her fault, in a white sheet with a candle in her hand a yard long! that would be rare sport. i would not miss it for so much as four farthings!" and with that the chorister's mother hobbled off, telling everybody she met the same story. and so in half an hour the news had spread all over the city, and there began to be the makings of quite a respectable crowd in the dom platz of courtland. it was half-past eleven when the archers of the guard appeared at the entrance of the square which leads from the palace. behind them, rank upon rank, could be seen the lances of the wild cossacks of prince ivan's escort who had remained behind when the muscovite army went back to the russian plains. their dusky goat-hair tents, which had long covered the banks of the alla, had now been struck and were laded upon baggage-horses and sumpter mules. "the prince of muscovy delays only for the ceremony, whatever it may be!" the people said, admiring at their own prevision. and the better sort added privately, "we shall be well rid of him!" but the baser grieved for the loss of the largesse which he scattered abroad in good muscovite silver, unclipped and unalloyed, with the mint-master's hammer-stroke clean and clear to the margin. for with such prince ivan knew how to make himself beloved, holding man's honour and woman's love at the price of so few and so many gold pieces, and thinking well or ill of them according to their own valuation. the rabble of courtland, whose price was only silver, he counted as no better than the trodden dirt of the highway. meanwhile, in the river parlour of the summer palace, the two princesses were talking together even as the people had said. the princess margaret sat on a low stool, leaning her elbow on her companion's knee and gazing up at him. and though she sometimes looked away, it was not for long, and maurice, meeting her ever-recurrent regard, found that a new thing had come into her eyes. presently a low tapping was heard at the inner door, from which a passage communicated with the rooms of the princess margaret. the sparhawk would have risen, for the moment forgetful of his disguise, but with a slight pressure of her arm upon his knee the princess restrained him. "enter!" she called aloud in her clear imperious voice. thora entered hurriedly, and, closing the door behind her, she stood with the latch in her hand. "my princess," she said in a voice that was little more than a whisper, "i have heard ill news. they are making the cathedral ready for a wedding. the cossacks have struck their tents. i think a plot is on foot to marry you this day to prince ivan, and to carry you off with him to moscow." the sparhawk sprang to his feet and laid his hand on the place where his sword-hilt should have been. "never," he cried; "it is impossible! the princess is----" he was about to add, "she is married already," but with a quick gesture of warning margaret stopped him. "who told you this?" she queried, turning again to thora of bornholm. "johannes rode of the prince's guard told me a moment ago," she answered. "he has just returned from the muscovite camp." "i thank you, thora--i shall not forget this faithfulness," said margaret. "now you have my leave to go!" the princess spoke calmly, and to the ear even a little coldly. the door closed upon the swedish maiden. margaret and maurice turned to each other with one pregnant instinct and took hands. "already!" said margaret faintly, going back into the woman; "they might have left us alone a little longer. how shall we meet this? what shall we do? i had counted on this one day." "margaret," answered the sparhawk impulsively, "this shall not daunt us. we would have told your brother louis one day. we will tell him now. duchess joan is safe out of his reach, kernsberg is revictualled, the muscovite army returned. there is no need to keep up the masquerade any longer. whatever may come of it, let us go to your brother. that will end it swiftly, at all events." the princess put away his restraining clasp and came closer to him. "no--no," she cried: "you must not. you do not know my brother. he is wholly under the influence of ivan of muscovy. louis would slay you for having cheated him of his bride--ivan for having forestalled him with me." "but you cannot marry ivan. that were an outrage against the laws of god and man!" "marry ivan!" she cried, to the full as impulsively as her lover; "not though they set ravens to pick the live flesh off my bones! but it is the thought of torture and death for you--that i cannot abide. we must continue to deceive them. let me think!--let me think!" hastily she barred the door which led out upon the corridor. then taking maurice's hand once more she led him over to the window, from which she could see the green alla cutting its way through the city bounds and presently escaping into the yet greener corn lands on its way to the sea. "it is for this one day's delay that we must plan. to-night we will certainly escape. i can trust certain of those of my household. i have tried them before.... i have it. maurice, you must be taken ill--lie down on this couch away from the light. there is a rumour of the black death in the city--we must build on that. they say an astrakhan trader is dead of it already. for one day we may stave it off with this. it is the poor best we can do. lie down, i will call thora. she is staunch and fully to be trusted." the princess margaret went to the inner door and clapped her hands sharply. the fair-haired swedish maiden came running to her. she had been waiting for such a signal. "thora," said her mistress in a quick whisper, "we must put off this marriage. i would sooner die than marry ivan. you have that drug you spoke of--that which gives the appearance of sickness unto death without the reality. the lady joan must be ill, very ill. you understand, we must deceive even the prince's physicians." the girl nodded with quick understanding, and, turning, she sped away up the inner stair to her own sleeping-chamber, the key of which (as was the custom in courtland) she carried in her pocket. "this will keep you from being suspected--as in public places you would have been," whispered margaret to her young husband. "what thora thinks or knows does not matter. i can trust thora with my life--nay, what is far more, with yours." a light tap and the girl re-entered, a tall phial in her hand. with a swift look at her mistress to obtain permission, she went up to the couch upon which the sparhawk had lain down. then with a deft hand she opened the bottle, and pouring a little of a colourless liquid into a cup she gave it him to drink. in a few minutes a sickly pallor slowly overspread maurice von lynar's brow. his eyes appeared injected, the lips paled to a grey white, beads of perspiration stood on the forehead, and his whole countenance took on the hue and expression of mortal sickness. "now," said thora, when she had finished, "will the noble lady deign to swallow one of these pellicles, and in ten minutes not a leech in the country will be able to pronounce that she is not suffering from a dangerous disease." "you are sure, thora," said the princess margaret almost fiercely, laying her hand on her tirewoman's wrist, "that there is no harm in all this? remember, on your life be it!" the placid, flaxen-haired woman turned with the little silver box in her hand. "danger there is, dear mistress," she said softly, "but not, i think, so great danger as we are already in. but i will prove my honesty----" she took first a little of the liquid, and immediately after swallowed one of the white pellicles she had given maurice. "it will be as well," she said, "when the prince's wiseacre physicians come, that they should find another sickening of the same disease." thora of bornholm passed about the couch and took up a waiting-maid's station some way behind. "all is ready," she said softly. "we will forestall them," answered the princess. "thora, send and bid prince louis come hither quickly." "and shall i also ask him to send hither his most skilled doctors of healing?" added the girl. "i will despatch johannes rode. he will go quickly and answer as i bid him with discretion--and without asking questions." and with the noiseless tread peculiar to most blonde women of large physique, thora disappeared through the private door by which she had entered. the princess margaret kneeled down by the couch and looked into the face of the sparhawk. even she who had seen the wonder was amazed and almost frightened by the ghastly effect the drug had wrought in such short space. "you are sure that you do not feel any ill effects--you are perfectly well?" she said, with tremulous anxiety in her voice. the sparhawk smiled and nodded reassuringly up at her. "never better," he said. "my nerves are iron, my muscles steel. i feel as if, for my margaret's sake, i could vanquish an army of prince ivan's single-handed!" the princess rose from her place and unlocked the main door. "we will be ready for them," she said. "all must appear as though we had no motive for concealment." and, having drawn the curtains somewhat closer, she kneeled down again by the couch. there was no sound in the room as the youthful husband and wife thus waited their fate hand in hand, save only the soft continuous sibilance of their whispered converse, and from without the deeper note of the alla sapping the palace walls. chapter xxxvi the black death the princes of courtland and muscovy, inseparable as the princesses, were on the pleasant creeper-shaded terrace which looks over the rose garden of the palace of courtland down upon the sea plain of the baltic, now stretching blue black from verge to verge under the imminent sun of noon. prince louis moved restlessly to and fro, now biting his lip, now frowning and fumbling with his sword-hilt, and anon half drawing his jewelled dagger from its sheath and allowing it to slip back again with the faintly musical click of perfectly fitting steel. ivan of muscovy, on the other hand, lounged listlessly in the angle of an embrasure, alternately contemplating his red-pointed toes shod in cordovan leather, and glancing keenly from under his eyelids at his nervous companion as often as his back was turned in the course of his ceaseless perambulations. "you would desert me, ivan," prince louis was saying in a tone at once appealing and childishly aggressive: "you would leave me in the hour of my need. you would take away from me my sister margaret, who alone has influence with the princess, my wife!" "but you do not try to court the lady with any proper fervour," objected ivan, half humouring and half irritating his companion; "you observe none of the rules. speak her soft, praise her eyelashes--surely they are worthy of all praise; give her a pet lamb for a playmate. feed her with conserves of honey and spice. surely such comfits would mollify even joan of the sword hand!" "tush!--you flout me, ivan--even you. every one despises me since--since she flouted me. the woman is a tigress, i tell you. every time she looks at me her eyes flick across me like a whip-lash!" "that is but her maiden modesty. how often is it assumed to cover love!" murmured ivan, demurely smiling at his shoe point, which nodded automatically before him. "so doth the glance of my sweet bride of to-day, your own sister margaret. to all seeming she loves me as little as the lady joan does you. yet i am not afraid. i know women. before i have her a month in moscow she will run that she may be allowed to pull my shoes off and on. she will be out of breath with hasting to fetch my slippers--together with other little domestic offices of that sort, all very profitable for women's souls to perform. take pattern by me, louis, and teach the tigress to bring your shoes and tie your hose points. in a little while she will like it and hold up her cheek to be kissed for a sufficient reward." at this point an officer came swiftly across the parterre and stood with uncovered head by the steps of the terrace, waiting permission to ascend. the prince summoned him with a movement of his hand. "what news?" he said; "have the ladies yet left the summer palace?" "no, my lord," answered the officer earnestly; "but johannes rode of the princess margaret's household has come with a message that the plague has broken out there, and that the lady princess is the first stricken!" "which princess?" demanded ivan, with an instant incision of tone. "the lady joan, princess of courtland, your highness," replied the man, without, however, looking at the prince of muscovy. "the lady joan?" cried the prince louis. "she is ill? she has brought the black death with her from kernsberg! she is stricken with the plague? how fortunate that, so far, i----" he clapped his hand upon his brow and shut his eyes as if giving thanks. "i see it all now!" he cried. "this is the reason the kernsberg traitors were so willing to give her up. it is all a plot against my life. i will not go near. let the court physicians be sent! cause the doors of the summer palace to be sealed! set double guards! permit none to pass either way, save the doctors only! and let them change their clothes and perfume themselves with the smoke of sulphur before they come out!" his voice mounted higher and higher as he spoke, and ivan of muscovy watched him without speaking, as with hands thrust out and distended nostrils he screamed and gesticulated. prince ivan had never seen a thorough coward before, and the breed interested him. but when he had let the prince run on far enough to shame him before his own officer, he rose quietly and stood in front of him. "louis," he said, in a low voice, "listen to me--this is but a report. it is like enough to be false; it is certain to be exaggerated. let us go at once and find out." prince louis threw out his hands with a gesture of despair. "not i--not i!" he cried. "you may go if you like, if you do not value your life. but i--i do not feel well even now. yesterday i kissed her hand. ah, would to god that i had not! that is it. i wondered what ailed me this morning. go--stop the court physicians! do not let them go to the summer palace; bring them here to me first. your arm, officer; i think i will go to my room--i am not well." prince ivan's countenance grew mottled and greyish, and his teeth showed in the sun like a thin line of dazzling white. he grasped the poltroon by the wrist with a hand of steel. "listen," he said--"no more of this; i will not have it! i will not waste my own time and the blood of my father's soldiers for naught. this is but some woman's trick to delay the marriage--i know it. hearken! i fear neither black death nor black devil; i will have the lady margaret to-day if i have to wed her on her death-bed! now, i cannot enter your wife's chamber alone. yet go i must, if only to see what all this means, and you shall accompany me. do you hear, prince louis? i swear you shall go with me to the summer palace if i have to drag you there step by step!" his grasp lay like a tightening circle of iron about the wrist of prince louis; his steady glance dominated the weaker man. louis drew in his breath with a choking noise. "i will," he gasped; "if it must--i will go. but the death--the black death! i am sick--truly, ivan, i am very sick!" "so am i!" said prince ivan, smiling grimly. "but bring his highness a cup of wine, and send hither alexis the deacon, my own physician." the officer went out cursing the muscovite ears that had listened to such things, and also high heaven for giving such a prince to his true german fatherland. * * * * * prince ivan and prince louis stood at the door of the river parlour. the peculiar moving hush and tepidly stagnant air of a sick-room penetrated even through the panels. ivan still kept hold of his friend, but now by the hand, not compulsively, but rather like one who in time of trouble comforts another's sorrow. at either end of the corridor could be seen a guard of cossacks keeping it against all intrusion from without or exodus from within. so prince ivan had ordered it. his fellows were used to the plague, he said. at the princess's door prince ivan tapped gently and inclined his ear to listen. louis fumbled with his golden crucifix, and as the muscovite turned away his head he pressed it furtively to his lips. ever since he set foot in the summer palace he had been muttering the prayers of the church in a rapid undertone. "the prince louis to see the princess joan!" ivan answered the low-voiced challenge from within. the door opened slightly and then more widely. ivan pushed his friend forward and they entered, louis dragging one foot after the other towards the shaded couch by which knelt the princess margaret. thora of bornholm, pallid and blue-lipped, stood beside her, swaying a little, but still holding, half unconsciously, as it seemed, a silver basin, into which margaret dipped a fine linen cloth, before touching with it the foam-flecked lips of the sufferer. prince ivan remained a little back, near to where the court physicians were conferring together in stage whispers. as he passed, a tall grey-skirted long-bearded man, girt about the middle with a silver chain, detached himself from the official group and approached prince ivan. after an instinctive cringing movement of homage and salutation, he bent to the young man's ear and whispered half a dozen words. prince ivan nodded very slightly and the man stole away as he had come. no one in the room had noticed the incident. meanwhile louis of courtland, almost as pale as thora herself, his lips blue, his teeth chattering, his fingers clammy with perspiration, stood by the bedside clutching the crucifix. presently a hand was laid upon his arm. he started violently at the touch. "it is true--a bad case," said ivan in his ear. "let us get away; i must speak with you at once. the physicians have given their verdict. they can do nothing!" with a gasp of relief prince louis faced about, and as he turned he tottered. "steady, friend louis!" said prince ivan in his ear, and passed his arm about his waist. he began to fear lest he should have frightened his dupe too thoroughly. "see how he loves her!" murmured the doctors of healing, still conferring with their heads together. "who would have believed it possible?" "nay, he is only much afraid," said alexis the deacon, the muscovite doctor; "and small blame to him, now that the black death has come to courtland. in half an hour we shall hear the death-rattle!" "then there is no need of us staying," said more than one learned doctor, and they moved softly towards the door. but ivan had possessed himself of the key, and even as the hand of the first was on the latchet bar the bolt was shot in his face. and the eyes of alexis the deacon glowed between his narrow red lids like sparks in tinder as he glanced at the whitening faces of the learned men of courtland. without the door ivan fixed prince louis with his will. "now," he said, speaking in low trenchant tones, "if this be indeed the black death (and it is like it), there is no safety for us here. we must get without the walls. in an hour there will be such a panic in the city as has not been for centuries. i offer you a way of escape. my cossacks stand horsed and ready without. let us go with them. but the princess margaret must come also!" "she cannot--she cannot. i will not permit it. she may already be infected!" gasped prince louis. "there is no infection till the crisis of the disease is passed," said prince ivan firmly. "we have had many plagues in holy russia, and know the symptoms." ("indeed," he added to himself, "my physician, alexis the deacon, can produce them!") "but--but--but----" louis still objected, "the princess joan--she may die. it will reflect upon my honour if we all desert her. my sister must continue to attend her. they are friends. i will go with you.... margaret can remain and nurse her!" a light like a spear point glittered momentarily under the dark brows of the muscovite. "listen, prince louis," he said. "your honour is your honour. joan of the sword hand and her black plagues are your own affair. she is your wife, not mine. i have helped you to get her back--no more. but the princess margaret is my business. i have bought her with a price. and look you, sir, i will not ride back to russia empty-handed, that every petty boyar and starveling serf may scoff at me, saying, 'he helped the prince of courtland to win his wife, but he could not bring back one himself.' the whole city, the whole country from here to moscow know for what cause i have so long sojourned in your capital. no, prince louis, will you have me go as your friend or as your enemy?" "ivan--ivan, you are my friend. do not speak to me so! who else is my friend if you desert me?" "then give me your sister!" the prince cast up his hand with a little gesture of despair. "ah," he sighed, "you do not know margaret! she is not in my gift, or you should have had her long ago! oh, these troubles, these troubles! when will they be at an end?" "they are at an end now," said prince ivan consolingly. "call your sister out of the chamber on a pretext. in ten minutes we shall be at the cathedral gates. in another ten she and i can be wedded according to your roman custom. in half an hour we shall all be outside the walls. if you fear the infection you need not once come near her. i will do all that is necessary. and what more natural? we will be gone before the panic breaks--you to one of your hill castles--if you do not wish to come with us to moscow." "and the princess joan----?" faltered the coward. "she is in good hands," said the prince, truthfully for once. "i pledge you my word of honour she is in no danger. call your sister!" even as he spoke he tapped lightly, turned the key in the lock and whispered, "now!" to the prince of courtland. "tell the princess margaret i would speak with her!" said prince louis. "for a moment only!" he added, fearing that otherwise she might not come. there was a stir in the sick chamber and then quick steps were heard coming lightly across the floor. the face of the princess appeared at the door. "well?" she said haughtily to her brother. prince ivan she did not see, for he had stepped back into the dusk of the corridor. louis beckoned his sister without. "i must speak a word with you," he said. "i would not have these fellows hear us!" she stepped out unsuspectingly. instantly the door was closed behind her. a dark figure slid between. prince ivan turned the key and laid his hand upon her arm. "help!" she cried, struggling; "help me! for god's grace, let me go!" but from behind came four cossacks of the prince's retinue who half-carried, half-forced her along towards the gates at which the muscovite horses stood ready saddled. and as margaret was carried down the passage the alarmed servitors stood aloof from her cries, seeing that prince louis himself was with her. yet she cried out unceasingly in her anger and fear, "to me, men of courtland! the cossacks carry me off--i will not go! o god, that conrad were here! i will not be silent! maurice, save me!" but the people only shrugged their shoulders even when they heard--as did also the guards and the gentlemen-in-waiting, the underlings and the very porters at the palace gates. for they said, "they are strange folk, these courtland princes and princesses of ours, with their marriages and givings in marriage. they can neither wed nor bed like other people, but must make all this fuss about it. well--happily it is no business of ours!" then at the stair foot she sank suddenly down by the sundial, almost fainting with the sudden alarm and fear, crying for the last time and yet more piercingly, "maurice! maurice! come to me, maurice!" then above them in the palace there began a mighty clamour, the noise of blows stricken and the roar of many voices. but ivan of muscovy was neither to be hurried nor flurried. impassive and determined, he swung himself into the saddle. his black charger changed his feet to take his weight and looked about to welcome him--for he, too, knew his master. "give the princess to me," he commanded. "now assist prince louis into his saddle. to the cathedral, all of you!" chapter xxxvii the dropping of a cloak and so, with the mounted guard of his own cossacks before him and behind, prince ivan carried his bride to church through the streets of her native city. and the folk thronged and marvelled at this new custom of marrying. but none interfered by word or sign, and the obsequious rabble shouted, "long live prince ivan!" even some of the better disposed, who had no liking for the muscovite alliance, said within their hearts, looking at the calm set face of the prince, "he is a man! would to god that our own prince were more like him!" also many women nodded their heads and ran to find their dearest gossips. "you will see," they said, "this one will have no ridings away. he takes his wife before him upon his saddle-bow as a man should. and she will pretend that she does not like it. but secretly--ah, we know!" and they smiled at each other. for there is that in most women which will never be civilised. they love not men who walk softly, and still in their heart of hearts they prefer to be wooed by the primitive method of capture. for if a woman be not afraid of a man she will never love him truly. and that is a true word among all peoples. so they came at last to the dom and the groups of wondering folks, thinly scattered here and there--women mostly. for there had been such long delay at the summer palace that the men had gone back to their shavings and cooperage tubs or were quaffing tankards in the city ale-cellars. the great doors of the cathedral had been thrown wide open and the leathern curtains withdrawn. the sun was checkering the vast tesselated pavement with blurs of purple and red and glorious blue shot through the western window of the nave. in gloomy chapel and recessed nook marble princes and battered crusaders of the line of courtland seemed to blink and turn their faces to the wall away from the unaccustomed glare. the altar candles and the lamps a-swing in the choir winked no brighter than yellow willow leaves seen through an autumnal fog. but as the _cortège_ dismounted the organ began to roll, and the people within rose with a hush like that which follows the opening of a window at night above the alla. the sonorous diapason of the great instrument disgorged itself through the doorway in wave upon wave of sound. the princess margaret found herself again on her feet, upheld on either side by brother and lover. she was at first somewhat dazed with the rush of accumulate disasters. slowly her mind came back. the dom platz whirled more slowly about her. with a fresh-dawning surprise she heard the choir sing within. she began to understand the speech of men. the great black square of the open doorway slowed and finally stopped before her. she was on the steps of the cathedral. what had come to her? was it the duchess joan's wedding day? surely no! then what was the matter? had she fainted? maurice--where was maurice? she turned about. the small glittering eyes of prince ivan, black as sloes, were looking into hers. she remembered now. it was her own wedding. these two, her brother and her enemy, were carrying out their threat. they had brought her to the cathedral to wed her, against her will, to the man she hated. but they could not. she would tell them. already she was a--but then, if she told them that, they would ride back and kill him. better that she should perjure herself, condemn herself to hell, than that. better anything than that. but what was she to do? was ever a poor girl so driven? and there, in the hour of her extremity, her eye fell upon a young man in the crowd beneath, a youth in a 'prentice's blue jerkin. he was passing his arm softly about a girl's waist--slily also, lest her mother should see. and the maid, first starting with a pretence of not knowing whence came the pressure, presently looked up and smiled at him, nestling a moment closer to his shoulder before removing his hand, only to hold it covertly under her apron till her mother showed signs of turning round. "ah! why was i born a princess?" moaned the poor driven girl. "margaret, you must come with us into the cathedral." it was the voice of her brother. "it is necessary that the prince should wed you now. it has too long been promised, and now he can delay no longer. besides, the black death is in the city, and this is the only hope of escape. come!" it was on the tip of margaret's tongue to cry out with wild words even as she had done at the door at the river parlour. but the thought of maurice, of the torture and the death, silenced her. she lifted her eyes, and there, at the top of the steps, were the dignitaries of the cathedral waiting to lead the solemn procession. "i will go!" she said. and at her words the prince ivan smiled under his thin moustache. she laid her hand on her brother's arm and began the ascent of the long flight of stairs. but even as she did so, behind her there broke a wave of sound--the crying of many people, confused and multitudinous like the warning which runs along a crowded thoroughfare when a wild charger escaped from bonds threshes along with frantic flying harness. then came the clatter of horses' hoofs, the clang of doors shut in haste as decent burghers got them in out of harm's way! and lo! at the foot of the steps, clad from head to foot in a cloak, the sick princess joan, she whom the black death had stricken, leaped from her foaming steed, and drawing sword followed fiercely up the stairway after the marriage procession. the cossacks of the muscovite guard looked at each other, not knowing whether to stand in her way or no. "the princess joan!" they said from one to the other. "joan of the sword hand!" whispered the burghers of courtland. "the disease has gone to her brain. look at the madness in her eye!" and their lips parted a little as is the wont of those who, having come to view a comedy, find themselves unexpectedly in the midst of high tragedy. "hold, there!" the pursuer shouted, as she set foot on the lowest step. "lord! surely that is no woman's voice!" whispered the people who stood nearest, and their lower jaws dropped a little further in sheer wonderment. the princes turned on the threshold of the cathedral, with margaret still between them, the belly of the church black behind them, and the processional priests first halting and then peering over each other's shoulders in their eagerness to see. up the wide steps of the dom flew the tall woman in the flowing cloak. her face was pallid as death, but her eyes were brilliant and her lips red. at the sight of the naked sword prince ivan plucked the blade from his side and louis shrank a little behind his sister. "treason!" he faltered. "what is this? is it sudden madness or the frenzy of the black death?" "the princess margaret cannot be married!" cried the seeming princess. "to me, margaret! i will slay the man who lays a hand on you!" obedient to that word, margaret of courtland broke from between her brother and prince ivan and ran to the tall woman, laying her brow on her breast. the prince of muscovy continued calm and immovable. "and why?" he asked in a tone full of contempt. "why cannot the princess margaret be married?" "because," said the woman in the long cloak, fingering a string at her neck, "she is married already. _i am her husband!_" the long blue cloak fell to the ground, and the sparhawk, clad in close-fitting squire's dress, stood before their astonished eyes. a long low murmur, gathering and sinking, surged about the square. prince louis gasped. margaret clung to her lover's arm, and for the space of a score of seconds the whole world stopped breathing. prince ivan twisted his moustache as if he would pull it out by the roots. "so," he said, "the princess is married, is she? and you are her husband? 'whom god hath joined'--and the rest of it. well, we shall see, we shall see!" he spoke gently, meditatively, almost caressingly. "yes," cried the sparhawk defiantly, "we were married yesterday by father clement, the prince's chaplain, in the presence of the most noble leopold von dessauer, high councillor of plassenburg!" "and my wife--the princess joan, where is she?" gasped prince louis, so greatly bewildered that he had not yet begun to be angry. ivan of muscovy put out his hand. "gently, friend," he said; "i will unmask this play-acting springald. this is not your wife, not the woman you wedded and fought for, not the lady joan of hohenstein, but some baseborn brother, who, having her face, hath played her part, in order to mock and cheat and deceive us both!" he turned again to maurice von lynar. "i think we have met before, sir masquer," he said with his usual suave courtesy; "i have, therefore, a double debt to pay. hither!" he beckoned to the guards who lined the approaches. "i presume, sir, so true a courtier will not brawl before ladies. you recognise that you are in our power. your sword, sir!" the sparhawk looked all about the crowded square. then he snapped his sword over his knee and threw the pieces down on the stone steps. "you are right; i will not fight vainly here," he said. "i know well it is useless. but"--he raised his voice--"be it known to all men that my name is maurice, count von löen, and that the princess margaret is my lawfully wedded wife. she cannot then marry ivan of muscovy!" the prince laughed easily and spread his hand with gentle deprecation, as the guards seized the sparhawk and forced him a little space away from the clinging hands of the princess. "i am an easy man," he said gently, as he clicked his dagger to and fro in its sheath. "when i like a woman, i would as lief marry her widow as maid!" chapter xxxviii the return of the bride "prince louis," continued ivan, turning to the prince, "we are keeping these holy men needlessly, as well as disappointing the good folk of courtland of their spectacle. there is no need that we should stand here any longer. we have matters to discuss with this gentleman and--his wife. have i your leave to bring them together in the palace? we may have something to say to them more at leisure." but the prince of courtland made no answer. his late fears of the black death, the astonishing turn affairs had taken, the discovery that his wife was not his wife, the slowly percolating thought that his invasion of kernsberg, his victories there, and his triumphal re-entry into his capital, had all been in vain, united with his absorbing fear of ridicule to deprive him of speech. he moved his hand angrily and began to descend the stairs towards the waiting horses. prince ivan turned towards maurice von lynar. "you will come with me to the palace under escort of these gentlemen of my staff," he said, with smiling equality of courtesy; "there is no need to discuss intimate family affairs before half the rabble of courtland." he bowed to maurice as if he had been inviting him to a feast. maurice looked about the crowded square, and over the pennons of the cossacks. he knew there was no hope either in flight or in resistance. all the approaches to the square had been filled up with armed men. "i will follow!" he answered briefly. the prince swept his plumed hat to the ground. "nay," he said; "lead, not follow. you must go with your wife. the prince of muscovy does not precede a lady, a princess,--and a bride!" so it came about that margaret, after all, descended the cathedral steps on her husband's arm. and as the cavalcade rode back to the palace the princess was in the midst between the sparhawk and prince wasp, louis of courtland pacing moodily ahead, his bridle reins loose upon his horse's neck, his chin sunk on his breast, while the rabble cried ever, "largesse! largesse!" and ran before them casting brightly coloured silken scarves in the way. then prince ivan, summoning his almoner to his side, took from him a bag of coin. he dipped his fingers deeply in and scattered the coins with a free hand, crying loudly, "to the health and long life of the princess margaret and her husband! health and riches and offspring!" and the mob taking the word from him shouted all along the narrow streets, "to the princess and her husband!" but from the hooded dormers of the city, from the lofty gable spy-holes, from the narrow windows of baltic staircase-towers the good wives of courtland looked down to see the great folk pass. and their comment was not that of the rabble. "married, is she?" they said among themselves. "well, god bless her comely face! it minds me of my own wedding. but, by my faith, i looked more at my fritz than she doth at the muscovite. i declare all her eyes are for that handsome lad who rides at her left elbow----" "nay, he is not handsome--look at his face. it is as white as a new-washen clout hung on a drying line. who can he be?" "minds me o' the prince's wife, the proud lady that flouted him, mightily he doth--i should not wonder if he were her brother." "yes, by my faith, dame--hast hit it! so he doth. and here was i racking my brains to think where i had seen him before, and then, after all, i never _had_ seen him before!" "a miracle it is, gossip, and right pale he looks! yet i should not wonder if our margaret loves him the most. her eyes seek to him. women among the great are not like us. they say they never like their own husbands the best. what wouldst thou do, good neighbour bette, if i loved your hans better than mine own stupid old fritz! pull the strings off my cap, dame, sayst thou? that shows thee no great lady. for if thou wast of the great, thou wouldst no more than wave thy hand and say, 'a good riddance and a heartsome change!'--and with that begin to make love to the next young lad that came by with his thumbs in his armholes and a feather in his cap!" "and what o' the childer--the house-bairns--what o' them? with all this mixing about, what comes o' them--answer me that, good dame!" "what, gossip bette--have you never heard? the childer of the great, they suck not their own mothers' milk--they are not dandled in their own mothers' arms. they learn not their duty from their mothers' lips. when they are fractious, a stranger beats them till they be good----" "ah," cried the court of matrons all in unison, "i would like to catch one of the fremit lay a hand on my karl--my kirsten--that i would! i would comb their hair for them, tear the pinner off their backs--that i would!" "and i!" "and i!" "nay, good gossips all," out of the chorus the voice of the dame learned in the ways of the great asserted itself; "that, again, proves you all no better than burgherish town-folk--not truly of the noble of the land. for a right great lady, when she meets a foster-nurse with a baby at the breast, will go near and say--i have heard 'em--'la! the pretty thing--a poppet! well-a-well, 'tis pretty, for sure! and whose baby may this be?' "'thine own, lady, thine own!'" at this long and loud echoed the derision of the good wives of courtland. their gossip laughed and reasserted. but no, they would not hear a word more. she had overstepped the limit of their belief. "what, not to know her child--her own flesh and blood? out on her!" cried every mother who had felt about her neck the clasp of tiny hands, or upon her breast the easing pressure of little blind lips. "good dame, no; you shall not hoodwink us. were she deaf and dumb and doting, a mother would yet know her child. 'tis not in nature else! well, thanks be to mary mother--she who knew both wife-pain and mother-joy, we, at least, are not of the great. we may hush our own bairns to sleep, dance with them when they frolic, and correct them when they be naughty-minded. nevertheless, a good luck go with our noble lady this day! may she have many fair children and a husband to love her even as if she were a common woman and no princess!" so in little jerks of blessing and with much head-shaking the good wives of courtland continued their congress, long after the last cossack lance with its fluttering pennon had been lost to view down the winding street. for, indeed, well might the gossips thank the virgin and their patron saints that they were not as the poor princess margaret, and that their worst troubles concerned only whether hans or fritz tarried a little over-long in the town wine-cellars, or wagered the fraction of a penny too much on a neighbour's cock-fight, and so returned home somewhat crusty because the wrong bird had won the main. * * * * * but in the prince's palace other things were going forward. hitherto we have had to do with the summer palace by the river, a building of no strength, and built more as a pleasure house for the princely family than as a place of permanent habitation. but the castle of courtland was a structure of another sort. set on a low rock in the centre of the town, its walls rose continuous with its foundations, equally massive and impregnable, to the height of over seventy feet. for the first twenty-five neither window nor grating broke the grim uniformity of those mighty walls of mortared rock. above that line only a few small openings half-closed with iron bars evidenced the fact that a great prince had his dwelling within. the main entrance to the castle was through a gateway closed by a grim iron-toothed portcullis. then a short tunnel led to another and yet stronger defence--a deep natural fosse which surrounded the rock on all sides, and over which a drawbridge conducted into the courtyard of the fortress. the sparhawk knew very well that he was going to his death as he rode through the streets of the city of courtland, but none would have discovered from his bearing that there was aught upon his mind of graver concern than the fit of a doublet or, perhaps, the favour of a pretty maid-of-honour. but with the princess margaret it was different. in these last crowded hours she had quite lost her old gay defiance. her whole heart was fixed on maurice, and the tears would not be bitten back when she thought of the fate to which he was going with so manly a courage and so fine an air. they dismounted in the gloomy courtyard, and maurice, slipping quickly from his saddle, caught margaret in his arms before the muscovite could interfere. she clung to him closely, knowing that it might be for the last time. "maurice, maurice," she murmured, "can you forgive me? i have brought you to this!" "hush, sweetheart," he answered in her ear; "be my own dear princess. do not let them see. be my brave girl. they cannot divide our love!" "come, i beg of you," came the dulcet voice of prince ivan behind them; "i would not for all courtland break in upon the billing and cooing of such turtle-doves, were it not that their affection blinds them to the fact that the men-at-arms and scullions are witnesses to these pretty demonstrations. tarry a little, sweet valentines--time and place wait for all things." the princess commanded herself quickly. in another moment she was once more margaret of courtland. "even the prince of muscovy might spare a lady his insults at such a time!" she said. the prince bared his head and bowed low. "nay," he said very courteously; "you mistake, princess margaret. i insult you not. i may regret your taste--but that is a different matter. yet even that may in time amend. my quarrel is with this gentleman, and it is one of some standing, i believe." "my sword is at your service, sir!" said maurice von lynar firmly. "again you mistake," returned the prince more suavely than ever; "you have no sword. a prisoner, and (if i may say so without offence) a spy taken red-hand, cannot fight duels. the prince of courtland must settle this matter. when his justiciar is satisfied, i shall most willingly take up my quarrel with--whatever is left of the most noble count maurice von lynar." to this maurice did not reply, but with margaret still beside him he followed prince louis up the narrow ancient stairway called from its shape the couch, into the gloomy audience chamber of the castle of courtland. they reached the hall, and then at last, as though restored to power by his surroundings, prince louis found his tongue. "a guard!" he cried; "hither berghoff, kampenfeldt! conduct the princess to her privy chamber and do not permit her to leave it without my permission. i would speak with this fellow alone." ivan hastily crossed over to prince louis and whispered in his ear. in the meantime, ere the soldiers of the guard could approach, margaret cried out in a loud clear voice, "i take you all to witness that i, margaret of courtland, am the wife of this man, maurice von lynar, count von löen. he is my wedded husband, and i love him with all my heart! according to god's holy ordinance he is mine!" "you have forgotten the rest, fair princess," suggested prince ivan subtly--"_till death you do part!_" chapter xxxix prince wasp stings margaret did not answer her tormentor's taunt. her arms went about maurice's neck, and her lips, salt with the overflowing of tears, sought his in a last kiss. the officer of the prince's guard touched her on the shoulder. she shook him haughtily off, and then, having completed her farewells, she loosened her hands and went slowly backward towards the further end of the hall with her eyes still upon the man she loved. "stay, berghoff," said prince louis suddenly; "let the princess remain where she is. cross your swords in front of her. i desire that she shall hear what i have to say to this young gentleman." "and also," added prince ivan, "i desire the noble princess to remember that this has been granted by the prince upon my intercession. in the future, it may gain me more of her favour than i have had the good fortune to enjoy in the past!" maurice stood alone, his tall slender figure supple and erect. one hand rested easily upon his swordless thigh, while the other still held the plumed hat he snatched up as in frantic haste he had followed margaret from the summer palace. there ensued a long silence in which the sparhawk eyed his captors haughtily, while prince louis watched him from under the grey penthouse of his eyebrows. then three several times the prince essayed to speak, and as often utterance was choked within him. his feelings could only find vent in muttered imprecations, half smothered by a consuming rage. then prince ivan crossed over and laid his hand restrainingly on his arm. the touch seemed to calm his friend, and, after swallowing several times as there had been a knot in his throat, at last he spoke. for the second time in his life maurice von lynar stood alone among his enemies; but this time in peril far deadlier than among the roisterous pleasantries of castle kernsberg. yet he was as little daunted now as then. once on a time a duchess had saved him. now a princess loved him. and even if she could not save him, still that was better. "so," cried prince louis, in the curiously uneven voice of a coward lashing himself into a fury, "you have played out your treachery upon a reigning prince of courtland. you cheated me at castle kernsberg. now you have made me a laughing-stock throughout the empire. you have shamed a maiden of my house, my sister, the daughter of my father. what have you to say ere i order you to be flung out from the battlements of the western tower?" "ere it comes to that i shall have something to say, prince louis," interrupted prince wasp, smiling. "we must not waste such dainty powers of masquerade on anything so vulgar as the hangman's rope." "gentlemen and princes," maurice von lynar answered, "that which i have done i have done for the sake of my mistress, the lady joan, and i am not afraid. prince louis, it was her will and intent never to come to courtland as your wife. she would not have been taken alive. it was therefore the duty of her servants to preserve her life, and i offered myself in her stead. my life was hers already, for she had preserved it. she had given. it was hers to take. with the chief captains of kernsberg i plotted that she should be seized and carried to a place of refuge wherein no foe could even find her. there she abides with chosen men to guard her. i took her place and was delivered up that kernsberg might be cleared of its enemies. gladly i came that i might pay a little of my debt to my sovran lady and liege mistress, joan duchess of kernsberg and hohenstein." "nobly perorated!" cried prince ivan, clapping his hands. "right sonorously ended. faith, a paladin, a deliverer of oppressed damsels, a very carnival masquerader! he will play you the dragon, this fellow, or he will act saint george with a sword of lath! he will amble you the hobby-horse, or be the holy virgin in a miracle play. well, he shall play in one more good scene ere i have done with him. but, listen, sir mummer, in all this there is no word of the princess margaret. how comes it that you so loudly proclaim having given yourself a noble sacrifice for one fair lady, when at the same time you are secretly married to another? are you a deliverer of ladies by wholesale? speak to this point. let us have another noble period--its subject my affianced bride. already we have heard of your high devotion to prince louis's wife. well--next!" but it was the princess who spoke from where she stood behind the crossed swords of her guards. "that _i_ will answer. i am a woman, and weak in your hands, princes both. you have set the grasp of rude men-at-arms upon the wrist of a princess of courtland. but you can never compel her soul. brother louis, my father committed me to you as a little child--have i not been a loving and a faithful sister to you? and till this muscovite came between, were you not good to me? wherefore have you changed? why has he made you cruel to your little margaret?" prince louis turned towards his sister, moving his hands uncertainly and even deprecatingly. ivan moved quickly to his side and whispered something which instantly rekindled the light of anger in the weakling's eyes. "you are no sister of mine," he said; "you have disgraced your family and yourself. whether it be true or no that you are married to this man matters little!" "it is true; i do not lie!" said margaret recovering herself. "so much the worse, then, and he shall suffer for it. at least i can hide, if i cannot prevent, your shame!" "i will never give him up; nothing on earth shall part our love!" prince ivan smiled delicately, turning to where she stood at the end of the hall. "sweet princess," he said, "divorce is, i understand, contrary to your holy roman faith. but in my land we have discovered a readier way than any papal bull. be good enough to observe this"--he held a dagger in his hand. "it is a little blade of steel, but a span long, and narrow as one of your dainty fingers, yet it will divorce the best married pair in the world." "but neither dagger nor the hate of enemies can sever love," margaret answered proudly. "you may slay my husband, but he is mine still. you cannot twain our souls." the prince shrugged his shoulder and opened his palms deprecatingly. "madam," he said, "i shall be satisfied with twaining your bodies. in holy russia we are plain men. we have a saying, 'no one hath ever seen a soul. let the body content you!' when this gentleman is--what i shall make him, he is welcome to any communion of souls with you to which he can attain. i promise you that, so far as he is concerned, you shall find me neither exigent lover nor jealous husband!" the princess looked at maurice. her eyes had dwelt defiantly on the prince of muscovy whilst he was speaking, but now a softer light, gentle yet brave, crept into them. "fear not, my husband," she said. "if the steel divide us, the steel can also unite. they cannot watch so close, or bind so tight, but that i can find a way. or, if iron will not pierce, fire burn, or water drown, i have a drug that will open the door which leads to you. fear not, dearest, i shall yet meet you unashamed, and as your loyal wife, without soil or stain, look into your true eyes." "i declare you have taught your mistress the trick of words!" cried the prince delightedly. "count von löen, the lady margaret has quite your manner. she speaks to slow music." but even the sneers of prince ivan could not filch the greatness out of their loves, and prince louis was obviously wavering. ivan's quick eye noted this and he instantly administered a fillip. "are you not moved, louis?" he said. "how shamelessly hard is your heart! this handsome youth, whom any part sets like a wedding favour and fits like his own delicate skin, condescends to become your relative. where is your welcome, your kinsmanlike manners? go, fall upon his neck! kiss him on either cheek. is he not your heir? he hath only sequestrated your wife, married your sister. your only brother is a childless priest. there needs only your decease to set him on the throne of the princedom. give him time. how easily he has compassed all this! he will manage the rest as easily. and then--listen to the shouting in the streets. i can hear it already. 'long live maurice the bastard, prince of courtland!'" and the prince of muscovy laughed loud and long. but prince louis did not laugh. his eyes glared upon the prisoner like those of a wild beast caught in a corner whence it wishes to flee but cannot. "he shall die--this day shall be his last. i swear it!" he cried. "he hath mocked me, and i will slay him with my hand." he drew the dagger from his belt. but in the centre of the hall the sparhawk stood so still and quiet that prince louis hesitated. ivan laid a soft hand upon his wrist and as gently drew the dagger out of his grasp. "nay, my prince, we will give him a worthier passing than that. so noble a knight-errant must die no common death. what say you to the ukraine cross, the cross of steeds? i have here four horses, all wild from the steppes. this squire of dames, this woman-mummer, hath, as now we know, four several limbs. by a strange coincidence i have a wild horse for each of these. let limbs and steeds be severally attached, my cossacks know how. upon each flank let the lash be laid--and--well, the princess margaret is welcome to her liege lord's soul. i warrant she will not desire his fair body any more." at this margaret tottered, her knees giving way beneath her, so that her guards stood nearer to catch her if she should fall. "louis--my brother," she cried, "do not listen to the monster. kill my husband if you must--because i love him. but do not torture him. by the last words of our mother, by the memory of our father, by your faith in the most pitiful son of god, i charge you--do not this devilry." prince ivan did not give louis of courtland time to reply to his sister's appeal. "the most noble princess mistakes," he murmured suavely. "death by the cross of steeds is no torture. it is the easiest and swiftest of deaths. i have witnessed it often. in my country it is reserved for the greatest and the most distinguished. no common felon dies by the cross of steeds, but men whose pride it is to die greatly. ere long we will show you on the plain across the river that i speak the truth. it is a noble sight, and all courtland shall be there. what say you, louis? shall this springald seat himself in your princely chair, or--shall we try the cross of the ukraine?" "have it your own way, prince ivan!" said louis, and went out without another word. the muscovite stood a moment looking from maurice to margaret and back again. he was smiling his inscrutable oriental smile. "the prince has given me discretion," he said at last. "i might order you both to separate dungeons, but i am an easy man and delight in the domestic affections. i would see the parting of two such faithful lovers. i may learn somewhat that shall stand me in good stead in the future. it is my ill-fortune that till now i have had little experience of the gentler emotions." he raised his hand. "let the princess pass," he cried. the guards dropped their swords to their sides. they had been restraining her with as much gentleness as their duty would permit. instantly the princess margaret ran forward with eager appeal on her face. she dropped on her knees before the prince of muscovy and clasped her hands in supplication. "prince ivan," she said, "i pray you for the love of god to spare him, to let him go. i promise never to see him more. i will go to a nunnery. i will look no more upon the face of day." "that, above all things, i cannot allow," said the prince. "so fair a face must see many suns--soon, i trust, in moscow city, and by my side." "margaret," said the sparhawk, "it is useless to plead. do not abase yourself in the presence of our enemy. you cannot touch a man's heart when his breast covers a stone. bid me goodbye and be brave. the time will not be long." from the place where margaret the loving woman had kneeled margaret the princess rose to her feet at the word of her husband. without deigning even to glance at ivan, who had stooped to assist her, she passed him by and went to von lynar. he held out both his hands and took her little trembling ones in a strong assured clasp. the prince watched the pair with a chill smile. "margaret," said maurice, "this will not be for long. what matters the ford, so that we both pass over the river. be brave, little wife. the crossing will not be wide, nor the water deep. they cannot take from us that which is ours. and he who joined us, whose priest blessed us, will unite us anew when and where it seemeth good to him!" "maurice, i cannot let you die--and by such a terrible death!" "dearest, what does it matter? i am yours. wherever my spirit may wander, i am yours alone. i will think of you when the black water shallows to the brink. on the further side i will wait a day and then you will meet me there. to you it may seem years. it will be but a day to me. and i shall be there. so, little margaret, good-night. do not forget that i love you. i would have made you very happy, if i had had time--ah, if i had had time!" like a child after its bedside prayer she lifted up her face to be kissed. "good-night, maurice," she said simply. "wait for me; i shall not be long after!" she laid her brow a moment on his breast. then she lifted her head and walked slowly and proudly out of the hall. the guard fell in behind her, and maurice von lynar was left alone with the prince of muscovy. as the door closed upon the princess a sudden devilish grimace of fury distorted the countenance of prince ivan. hitherto he had been studiously and even caressingly courteous. but now he strode swiftly up to his captive and smote him across the mouth with the back of his gauntleted hand. "that!" he said furiously, "that for the lips which have kissed hers! soon, soon i shall pay the rest of my debt. yes, by the most high god, i will pay it--with usury thereto!" a thin thread of scarlet showed upon the white of maurice von lynar's chin and trickled slowly downwards. but he uttered no word. only he looked his enemy very straightly in the eyes, and those of the muscovite dropped before that defiant fierce regard. chapter xl the loves of priest and wife it remains to tell briefly how certain great things came to pass. we must return to isle rugen and to the lonely grange on the spit of sand which separates the baltic from the waters of the freshwater haff. many things have happened there since conrad of courtland, cardinal and archbishop, awaked to find by his bedside the sleeping girl who was his brother's wife. on isle rugen, where the pines grew dense and green, gripping and settling the thin sandy soil with their prehensile roots, joan and conrad found themselves much alone. the lady of the grange was seldom to be seen, save when all were gathered together at meals. werner von orseln and the plassenburg captains, jorian and boris, played cards and flung harmless dice for white stones of a certain size picked from the beach. dumb max ulrich went about his work like a shadow. the ten soldiers mounted guard and looked out to sea with their elbows on their knees in the intervals. three times a week the solitary boat, with max ulrich at the oars, crossed to the landing-place on the mainland and returned laden with provisions. the outer sea was empty before their eyes, generally deep blue and restless with foam caps. behind them the haff lay vacant and still as oil in a kitchen basin. but it was not dull on isle rugen. the osprey flashed and fell in the clear waters of the haff, presently to re-emerge with a fish in his beak, the drops running like a broken string of pearls from his scales. rough-legged buzzards screamed their harsh and melancholy cry as on slanted wings they glided down inclines of sunshine or lay out motionless upon the viewless glorious air. wild geese swept overhead out of the north in v-shaped flocks. the sea-gulls tacked and balanced. all-graceful terns swung thwartways the blue sky, or plunged headlong into the long green swells with the curve and speed of falling stars. it was a place of forgetting, and in the autumn time it is good to forget. for winter is nigh, when there will be time and enough to think all manner of sad thoughts. so in the september weather joan and conrad walked much together. and as joan forgat kernsberg and her revenge, rome and his mission receded into the background of the young man's thoughts. soon they met undisguisedly without fear or shame. this isle rugen was a place apart--a haven of refuge not of their seeking. mars had driven one there, neptune the other. yet when conrad woke in his little north-looking room in the lucid pearl-grey dawn he had some bad moments. his vows, his priesthood, his princedom of holy church were written in fire before his eyes. his heart weighed heavy as if cinctured with lead. and, deeper yet, a rat seemed to gnaw sharp-toothed at the springs of his life. also, when the falling seas, combing the pebbly beaches with foamy teeth, rattled the wet shingle, joan would ofttimes wake from sleep and lie staring wide-eyed at the casement. black reproach of self brooded upon her spirit, as if a foul bird of night had fluttered through the open window and settled upon her breast. the poor folk of kernsberg--her fatherland invaded and desolate, the sparhawk, the man who ought to have been the ruler she was not worthy to be, the leader in war, the lawgiver in peace--these reproachful shapes filled her mind so that sleep fled and she lay pondering plans of escape and deliverance. but of one thing she never thought--of the cathedral of courtland and the husband to whose face she had but once lifted her eyes. the sun looked through between the red cloud bars. these he soon left behind, turning them from fiery islands to banks of fleecy wool. the shadows shot swiftly westward and then began slowly to shorten. in his chamber prince conrad rose and went to the window. a rose-coloured light lay along the sea horizon, darting between the dark pine stems and transmuting the bare sand-dunes into dreamy marvels, till they touched the heart like glimpses of a lost eden seen in dreams. the black bird of night flapped its way behind the belting trees. there was not such a thing as a ghostly rat to gnaw unseen the heart of man. the blue dome of sky overhead was better than the holy shrine of peter across the tawny flood of tiber, and isle rugen more to be desired than the seven-hilled city itself. yea, better than lifted chalice and wafted incense, joan's hand in his---- and conrad the lover turned from the window with a defiant heart. * * * * * at her casement, which opened to the east, stood at the same moment the young duchess of hohenstein. her lips were parted and the mystery of the new day dwelt in her eyes like the memory of a benediction. southward lay the world, striving, warring, sinning, repenting, elevating the host, slaying the living, and burying the dead. but between her and that world stretched a wide water not to be crossed, a fixed gulf not to be passed over. it was the new day, and there beneath her was the strip of silver sand where he and she had walked yestereven, when the moon was full and the wavelets of that sheltered sea crisped in silver at their feet. an hour afterwards these two met and gave each other a hand silently. then, facing the sunrise, they walked eastward along the shore, while from the dusk of the garden gate theresa von lynar watched them with a sad smile upon her face. "she is learning the lesson even as i learned it," she murmured, unconsciously thinking aloud. "well, that which the father taught it is meet that the daughter should learn. let her eat the fruit, the bitter fruit of love--even as i have eaten it!" she watched a little longer, standing there with the pruning-knife in her hand. she saw conrad turn towards joan as they descended a little dell among the eastern sand-hills. and though she could not see, she knew that two hands met, and that they stood still for a moment, ere their feet climbed the opposite slope of dew-drenched sand. a swift sob took her unexpectedly by the throat. "and yet," she said, "were all to do over, would not theresa von lynar again learn that lesson from alpha to omega, eat the dead sea fruit to its bitterest kernel, in order that once more the bud might open and love's flower be hers?" theresa von lynar at her garden door spoke truth. for even then among the sand-hills the bud was opening, though the year was on the wane and the winter nigh. "happy isle rugen!" said joan, drawing a breath like a sigh. "why were we born to princedoms, conrad, you and i?" "i at least was not," answered her companion. "dumb max's jerkin of blue fits me better than any robe royal." they stood on the highest part of the island. joan was leaning on the crumbling wall of an ancient fort, which, being set on a promontory from which the pinetrees drew back a little, formed at once a place of observation and a point objective for their walks. she turned at his words and looked at him. conrad, indeed, never looked better or more princely than in that rough jerkin of blue, together with the corded forester's breeches and knitted hose which he had borrowed from theresa's dumb servitor. "conrad," said joan, suddenly standing erect and looking directly at the young man, "if i were to tell you that i had resolved never to return to kernsberg, but to remain here on isle rugen, what would you answer?" "i should ask to be your companion--or, if not, your bailiff!" said the prince-bishop promptly. "that would be to forget your holy office!" a certain gentle sadness passed over the features of the young man. "i leave many things undone for the sake of mine office," he said; "but the canons of the church do not forbid poverty, or yet manual labour." "but you have told me a hundred times," urged joan, smiling in spite of herself, "that necessity and not choice made you a churchman. does that necessity no longer exist?" "nay," answered conrad readily as before; "but smaller necessities yield to greater?" "and the greater?" "why," he answered, "what say you to the tempest that drove me hither--the thews and stout hearts of werner von orseln and his men, not to speak of captains boris and jorian there? are they not sufficient reasons for my remaining here?" he paused as if he had more to say. "well?" said joan, and waited for him to continue. "there is something else," he said. "it is--it is--that i cannot bear to leave you! god knows i could not leave you if i would!" joan of hohenstein started. the words had been spoken in a low tone, yet with suppressed vehemence, as though driven from the young man's lips against his will. but there was no mistaking their purport. yet they were spoken so hopelessly, and withal so gently, that she could not be angry. "conrad--conrad," she murmured reproachfully, "i thought i could have trusted you. you promised never again to forget what we must both remember!" "in so thinking you did well," he replied; "you may trust me to the end. but the privilege of speech and testimony is not denied even to the criminal upon the scaffold." a wave of pity passed over joan. a month before she would have withdrawn herself in hot anger. but isle rugen had gentled all her ways. the peace of that ancient fortalice, the wash of its ambient waters, the very lack of incident, the sense of the mysteries of tragic life which surrounded her on all sides, the deep thoughts she had been thinking alone with herself, the companionship of this man whom she loved--all these had wrought a new spirit in joan of the sword hand. women who cannot be pitiful are but half women. they have never yet entered upon their inheritance. but now joan was coming to her own again. for to pity of theresa von lynar she was adding pity for conrad of courtland and--joan of hohenstein. "speak," she said very gently. "do not be afraid; tell me all that is in your heart." joan was not disinclined to hear any words that the young man might speak. she believed that she could listen unmoved even to his most passionate declarations of love. like the wise physician, she would listen, understand, prescribe--and administer the remedy. but the pines of isle rugen stood between this woman and the girl who had ridden away so proudly from the doors of the kernsberg minster at the head of her four hundred lances. besides, she had not forgotten the tournament and the slim secretary who had once stood before this man in the river parlour of the summer palace. then conrad spoke in a low voice, very distinct and even in its modulation. "joan," he said, "once on a time i dreamed of being loved--dreamed that among all the world of women there might be one woman for me. such things must come when deep sleep falleth upon a young man. waking i put them from me, even as i put arms and warfare aside. i believed that i had conquered the lust of the eye. now i know that i can never again be true priest, never serve the altar with a clean heart. "listen, my lady joan! i love you--there is no use in hiding it. doubtless you yourself have already seen it. i love you so greatly that vows, promises, priesthoods, cardinalates are no more to me than the crying of the seabirds out yonder. let a worthier than i receive and hold them. they are not for a weak and sinful man. my bishopric let another take. i would rather be your groom, your servitor, your lacquey, than reign on the seven hills and sit in holy peter's chair!" joan leaned against the crumbling battlement, and the words of conrad were very sweet in her ear. they filled her with pity, while at the same time her heart was strong within her. none had dared to speak such things to her before in all her life, and she was a woman. the princess margaret, had she loved a man as joan did this man, would have given back vow for vow, renunciation for renunciation, and, it might be, have bartered kiss for kiss. but joan of the sword hand was never stronger, never more serene, never surer of herself than when she listened to the words she loved best to hear, from the lips of the man whom of all others she desired to speak them. at first she had been looking out upon the sea, but now she permitted her eyes to rest with a great kindliness upon the young man. even as he spoke conrad divined the thing that was in her heart. "mark you," he said, "do me the justice to remember that i ask for nothing. i expect nothing. i hope for nothing in return. i thought once that i could love divine things wholly. now i know that my heart is too earthly. but instead i love the noblest and most gracious woman in all the world. and i love her, too, with a love not wholly unworthy of her." "you do me overmuch honour," said joan quietly. "i, too, am weak and sinful. or how else would i, your brother's wife, listen to such words from any man--least of all from you?" "nay," said conrad; "you only listen out of your great pitifulness. but i am no worthy priest. i will not take upon me the yet greater things for which i am so manifestly unfitted. i will not sully the holy garments with my earthliness. conrad of courtland, bishop and cardinal, died out there among the breakers. "he will never go to rome, never kneel at the tombs of the apostles. from this day forth he is a servitor, a servant of servants in the train of the duchess joan. save those with us here, our hostess and the three captains (who for your sake will hold their peace), none know that conrad of courtland escaped the waters that swallowed up his companions. they and you will keep the secret. this shaven crown will speedily thatch itself again, a beard grow upon these shaveling cheeks. a dash of walnut juice, and who will guess that under the tan of conrad the serf there is concealed a prince of holy church?" he paused, almost smiling. the picture of his renunciation had grown real to him even as he spoke. but joan did not smile. she waited a space to see if he had aught further to say. but he was silent, waiting for her answer. "conrad," she said very gently, "that i have listened to you, and that i have not been angry, may be deadly sin for us both. yet i cannot be angry. god forgive me! i have tried and i cannot be angry. and why should i? even as i lay a babe in the cradle, i was wedded. if a woman must suffer, she ought at least to be permitted to choose the instrument of her torture." "it is verity," he replied; "you are no more true wife than i am true priest." "yet because you have dispensed holy bread, and i knelt before the altar as a bride, we must keep faith, you and i. we are bound by our nobility. if we sin, let it be the greater and rarer sin--the sin of the spirit only. conrad, i love you. nay, stand still where you are and listen to me--to me, joan, your brother's wife. for i, too, once for all will clear my soul. i loved you long ere your eyes fell on me. i came as dessauer's secretary to the city of courtland. i determined to see the man i was to wed. i saw the prince--my prince as i thought--storm through the lists on his white horse. i saw him bare his head and receive the crown of victory. i stood before him, ashamed yet glad, hosed and doubleted like a boy, in the summer pavilion. i heard his gracious words. i loved my prince, who so soon was to be wholly mine. the months slipped past, and i was ever the gladder the faster they sped. the woman stirred within the stripling girl. in half a year, in twenty weeks--in five--in one--in a day--an hour, i would put my hand, my life, myself into his keeping! then came the glad tumult of the rejoicing folk, the hush of the crowded cathedral. i said, 'oh, not yet--i will not lift my eyes to my prince until----' we stopped. i lifted my eyes. and lo! the prince was not my prince!" there was a long and solemn pause between these two on the old watchtower. never was declaration of love so given and so taken. conrad remained still as a statue, only his eyes growing great and full of light. joan stood looking at him, unashamed and fearless. yet neither moved an inch toward either. a brave woman's will, to do right greatly, stood between them. she went on. "now you know all, my conrad," she said. "isle rugen can never more be the isle of peace to us. you and i have shivered the cup of our happiness. we must part. we can never be merely friends. i must abide because i am a prisoner. you will keep my counsel, promising me to be silent, and together we will contrive a way of escape." when conrad answered her again his voice was hoarse and broken, almost like one rheumed with sleeping out on a winter's night. his words whistled in his windpipe, flying from treble to bass and back again. "joan, joan!" he said, and the third time "joan!" and for the moment he could say no more. "true love," she said, and her voice was almost caressing, "you and i are barriered from each other. yet we belong--you to me--i to you! i will not touch your hand, nor you mine. not even as we have hitherto done. let ours be the higher, perhaps deadlier sin--the sin of soul and soul. do you go back to your office, your electorate, while i stay here to do my duty." "and why not you to your duchy?" said conrad, who had begun to recover himself. "because," she answered, "if i refuse to abide by one of my father's bargains, i have no right to hold by the other. he would have made me your brother's wife. that i have refused. he disinherited his lawful son that i might take the dukedom with me as my dowry. can i keep that which was only given me in trust for another? maurice von lynar shall be duke maurice, and theresa von lynar shall have her true place as the widow of henry the lion!" and she stood up tall and straight, like a princess indeed. "and you?" he said very low. "what will you do, joan?" "for me, i will abide on isle rugen. nunneries are not for me. there are doubtless one or two who will abide with me for the sake of old days--werner von orseln for one, peter balta for another. i shall not be lonely." she smiled upon him with a peculiar trustful sweetness and continued-- "and once a year, in the autumn, you will come from your high office. you will lay aside the princely scarlet, and don the curt hose and blue jerkin, even as now you stand. you will gather blackberries and help me to preserve them. you will split wood and carry water. then, when the day is well spent, you and i shall walk hither in the high afternoon and tell each other how we stand and all the things that have filled our hearts in the year's interspace. thus will we keep tryst, you and i--not priest and wedded wife, but man and woman speaking the truth eye to eye without fear and without stain. do you promise?" and for all answer the prince-cardinal kneeled down, and taking the hem of her dress he kissed it humbly and reverently. chapter xli theresa keeps troth but they had reckoned without theresa von lynar. conrad and joan came back from the ruined fortification, silent mostly, but thrilled with the thoughts of that which their eyes had seen, their ears heard. each had listened to the beating of the other's heart. both knew they were beloved. nothing could alter _that_ any more for ever. as they had gone out with theresa watching them from the dusk of the garden arcades, their hands had drawn together. eyes had sought answering eyes at each dip of the path. they had listened for the finest shades of meaning in one another's voices, and taken courage or lost hope from the droop of an eyelid or the quiver of a syllable. now all was changed. they knew that which they knew. the orchard of the lonely grange on isle rugen was curiously out of keeping with its barren surroundings. enclosed within the same wall as the dwelling-house, it was the special care of the wordless man, whose many years of pruning and digging and watering, undertaken each at its proper season, had resulted in a golden harvest of september fruit. when joan and conrad came to the portal which gave entrance from without, lo! it stood open. the sun had been shining in their eyes, and the place looked very slumberous in the white hazy glory of a northern day. the path which led out of the orchard was splashed with cool shade. green leaves shrined fair globes of fruitage fast ripening in the blowing airs and steadfast sun. up the path towards them as they stood together came theresa von lynar. there was a smile on her face, a large and kindly graciousness in her splendid eyes. her hair was piled and circled about her head, and drawn back in ruddy golden masses from the broad white forehead. autumn was theresa's season, and in such surroundings she might well have stood for ceres or pomona, with apron full enough of fruit for many a horn of plenty. such large-limbed simple-natured women as theresa von lynar appear to greatest advantage in autumn. it is their time when the day of apple-blossom and spring-flourish is overpast, and when that which these foreshadowed is at length fulfilled. then to see such an one emerge from an orchard close, and approach softly smiling out of the shadow of fruit trees, is to catch a glimpse of the elder gods. spring, on the other hand, is for merry maidens, slips of unripe grace, buds from the schools. summer is the season of languorous dryads at rest in the green gloom of forests, fanning sunburnt cheeks with leafy boughs, their dark eyes full of the height of living. winter is the time of swift lithe-limbed girls with heads proudly set, who through the white weather carry them like dian the huntress, their dainty chins dimpling out of softening furs. to each is her time and supremacy, though a certain favoured few are the mistresses of all. they move like a part of the spring when cherry blossoms are set against a sky of changeful april blue. they rejoice when dark-eyed summer wears scarlet flowers in her hair, shaded by green leaves and fanned by soft airs. well-bosomed ceres herself, smiling luxuriant with ripe lips, is not fairer than they at the time of apple-gathering, nor yet dainty winter, footing it lightly over the frozen snow. joan, an it liked her, could have triumphed in all these, but her nature was too simple to care about the impression she made, while conrad was too deep in love to notice any difference in her perfections. and now theresa von lynar, the woman who had given her beauty and her life like a little saint valentine's gift into the hand of the man she loved, content that he should take or throw away as pleased him best--theresa von lynar met these two, who in their new glory of renunciation thought that they had plumbed the abysses of love, when as yet they had taken no more than a single sounding in the narrow seas. she stood looking at them as they came towards her, with a sympathy that was deeper far than mere tolerance. "our joan of the sword hand is growing into a woman," she murmured; and something she had thought buried deep heaved in her breast, shaking her as enceladus the giant shakes etna when he turns in his sleep. for she saw in the girl her father's likeness more strongly than she had ever seen it in her own son. "you have faced the sunshine!" thus she greeted them as they came. "sit awhile with me in the shade. i have here a bower where maurice loved to play--before he left me. none save i hath entered it since that day." so saying, she led the way along an alley of pleached green, at the far end of which they could see the solitary figure of max ulrich, in the full sun, bending his back to his gardening tasks, yet at the same time, as was his custom, keeping so near his mistress that a fluttering kerchief or a lifted hand would bring him instantly to her side. it was a small rustic eight-sided lodge, thatched with heather, its latticed windows wide open and creeper-grown, to which theresa led them. it had been well kept; and when joan found herself within, a sudden access of tenderness for this lonely mother, who for love's sake had offered herself like a sacrifice upon an altar, took possession of her. for about the walls was fastened a child's pitiful armoury. home-made swords of lath, arrows winged with the cast feathers of the woodland, crooked bows, the broken crockery of a hundred imagined banquets--these, and many more, were carefully kept in place with immediate and loving care. maurice would be back again presently, they seemed to say, and would take up his play just where he left it. no cobwebs hung from the roof; the bows were duly unstrung; and though wooden platters and rough kitchen equipage were mingled with warlike accoutrements upon the floor, there was not a particle of dust to be seen anywhere. as they sat down at the mother's bidding, it was hard to persuade themselves that maurice von lynar was far off, enduring the hardships of war or in deadly peril for his mistress. he might have been even then in hiding in the brushwood, ready to cry bo-peep at them through the open door. there was silence in the arbour for a space, a silence which no one of the three was anxious to break. for joan thought of her promise, conrad of joan, and theresa of her son. it was the last who spoke. "somehow to-day it is borne in upon me that kernsberg has fallen, and that my son is in his enemy's hands!" joan started to her feet and thrust her hands a little out in front of her as if to ward off a blow. "how can you know that?" she cried. "who----no; it cannot be. kernsberg was victualled for a year. it was filled with brave men. my captains are staunch. the thing is impossible." theresa von lynar, with her eyes on the waving foliage which alternately revealed and eclipsed the ruddy globes of the apples on the orchard trees, slowly shook her head. "i cannot tell you how i know," she said; "nevertheless i know. here is something which tells me." she laid her hand upon her heart. "those who are long alone beside the sea hear voices and see visions." "but it is impossible," urged joan; "or, if it be true, why am i kept here? i will go and die with my people!" "it is my son's will," said theresa--"the will of the son of henry the lion. he is like his father--therefore women do his will!" the words were not spoken bitterly, but as a simple statement of fact. joan looked at this woman and understood for the first time that she was the strongest spirit of all--greater than her father, better than herself. and perhaps because of this, nobility and sacrifice stirred emulously in her own breast. "madam," she said, looking directly at theresa von lynar, "it is time that you and i understood each other. i hold myself no true duchess of hohenstein so long as your son lives. my father's compact and condition are of no effect. the diet of the empire would cancel them in a moment. i will therefore take no rest till this thing is made clear. i swear that your son shall be duke maurice and sit in his father's place, as is right and fitting. for me, i ask nothing but the daughter's portion--a grange such as this, as solitary and as peaceful, a garden to delve and a beach to wander upon at eve!" as she spoke, theresa's eyes suddenly brightened. a proud high look sat on the fulness of her lips, which gradually faded as some other thought asserted its supremacy. she rose, and going straight to joan, for the first time she kissed her on the brow. "now do i know," she said, "that you are henry the lion's daughter. that is spoken as he would have spoken it. it is greatly thought. yet it cannot be." "it shall be!" cried joan imperiously. "nay," returned theresa von lynar. "once on a time i would have given my right hand that for half a day, for one hour, men might have said of me that i was henry the lion's wife, and my son his son! it would have been right sweet. ah god, how sweet it would have been!" she paused a moment as if consulting some unseen presence. "no, i have vowed my vow. here was i bidden to stay and here will i abide. for me there was no sorrow in any hard condition, so long as _he_ laid it upon me. for have i not tasted with him the glory of life, and with him plucked out the heart of the mystery? that for which i paid, i received. my lips have tasted both of the tree of knowledge and of the tree of life--for these two grow very close together, the one to the other, upon the banks of the river of death. but for my son, this thing is harder to give up. for on him lies the stain, though the joy and the sin were mine alone." "maurice of hohenstein shall sit in his father's seat," said joan firmly. "i have sworn it. if i live i will see him settled there with my captains about him. werner von orseln is an honest man. he will do him justice. von dessauer shall get him recognised, and hugo of plassenburg shall stand his sponsor before the diet of the empire." "i would it could be so," said theresa wistfully. "if my death could cause this thing righteously to come to pass, how gladly would i end life! but i am bound by an oath, and my son is bound because i am bound. the tribunal is not the diet of ratisbon, but the faithfulness of a woman's heart. have i been loyal to my prince these many years, so that now shame itself sits on my brow as gladly as a crown of bay, that i should fail him now? low he lies, and i may never stand beside his sepulchre. no son of mine shall sit in his high chair. but if in any sphere of sinful or imperfect spirits, be it hell or purgatory, he and i shall encounter, think you that for an empire i would meet him shamed. and when he says, 'woman of my love, hast thou kept thy troth?' shall i be compelled to answer 'no?'" "but," urged joan, "this thing is your son's birthright. my father, for purposes of state, bound my happiness to a man i loathe. i have cast that band to the winds. the fathers cannot bind the children, no more can you disinherit your son." theresa von lynar smiled a sad wise smile, infinitely patient, infinitely remote. "ah," she said, "you think so? you are young. you have never loved. you are his daughter, not his wife. one day you shall know, if god is good to you!" at this joan smiled in her turn. she knew what she knew. "you may think you know," returned theresa, her calm eyes on the girl's face, "but what _i_ mean by loving is another matter. the band you broke you did not make. i keep the vow i made. with clear eye, undulled brain, willing hand i made it--because he willed it. let my son maurice break it, if he can, if he will--as you have broken yours. only let him never more call theresa von lynar mother!" joan rose to depart. her intent had not been shaken, though she was impressed by the noble heart of the woman who had been her father's wife. but she also had vowed a vow, and that vow she would keep. the sparhawk should yet be the eagle of kernsberg, and she, joan, a home-keeping housewife nested in quietness, a barn-door fowl about the orchards of isle rugen. "madam," she said, "your word is your word. but so is that of joan of kernsberg. it may be that out of the unseen there may leap a chance which shall bring all to pass, the things which we both desire--without breaking of vows or loosing of the bands of obligation. for me, being no more than a daughter, i will keep duke henry's will only in that which is just!" "and i," said theresa von lynar, "will keep it, just or unjust!" yet joan smiled as she went out. for she had been countered and checkmated in sacrifice. she had met a nature greater than her own, and that with the truly noble is the pleasure of pleasures. in such things only the small are small, only the worms of the earth delight to crawl upon the earth. the great and the wise look up and worship the sun above them. and if by chance their special sun prove after all to be but a star, they say, "ah, if we had only been near enough it would have been a sun!" all the while conrad sat very still, listening with full heart to that which it did not concern him to interrupt. but within his heart he said, "woman, when she is true woman, is greater, worthier, fuller than any man--aye, were it the holy father himself. perhaps because they draw near christ the son through mary the mother!" but theresa von lynar sat silent, and watched the girl as she went down the long path, the leafy branches spattering alternate light and shadow upon her slender figure. then she turned sharply upon conrad. "and now, my lord cardinal," she said, "what have you been saying to my husband's daughter?" "i have been telling her that i love her!" answered conrad simply. he felt that what he had listened to gave this woman a right to be answered. "and what, i pray you, have princes of holy church to do with love? they seek after heavenly things, do they not? like the angels, they neither marry nor are given in marriage." "i know," said conrad humbly, and without taking the least offence. "i know it well. but i have put off the armour i had not proven. the burden is too great for me. i am a soldier--i was trained a soldier--yet because i was born after my brother louis, i must perforce become both priest and cardinal. rather a thousand times would i be a man-at-arms and carry a pike!" "then am i to understand that as a soldier you told the duchess joan that you loved her, and that as a priest you forbade the banns? or did you wholly forget the little circumstance that once on a time you yourself married her to your brother?" "i did indeed forget," said conrad, with sincere penitence; "yet you must not blame me too sorely. i was carried out of myself----" "the duchess, then, rejected your suit with contumely?" conrad was silent. "how should a great lady listen to her husband's brother--and he a priest?" theresa went on remorseless. "what said the lady joan when you told her that you loved her?" "the words she spoke i cannot repeat, but when she ended i set my lips to her garment's hem as reverently as ever to holy bread." the slow smile came again over the face of theresa von lynar, the smile of a warworn veteran who watches the children at their drill. "you do not need to tell me what she answered, my lord," she said, for the first time leaving out the ecclesiastic title. "i know!" conrad stared at the woman. "she told you that she loved you from the first." "how know you that?" he faltered. "none must hear that secret--none must guess it!" theresa von lynar laughed a little mellow laugh, in which a keen ear might have detected how richly and pleasantly her laugh must once have sounded to her lover when all her pulses beat to the tune of gladness and the unbound heart. "do you think to deceive me, theresa, whom henry the lion loved? have i been these many weeks with you two in the house and not seen this? prince conrad, i knew it that night of the storm when she bent her over the couch on which you lay. 'i love,' you say boldly, and you think great things of your love. but she loved first as she will love most, and your boasted love will never overtake hers--no, not though you love her all your life.... well, what do you propose to do?" conrad stood a moment mutely wrestling with himself. he had never felt joan's first instinctive aversion to this woman, a dislike even yet scarcely overcome--for women distrust women till they have proven themselves innocent, and often even then. "my lady," he said, "the duchess joan has showed me the better way. like a man, i knew not what i asked, nor dared to express all that i desired. but i have learned how souls can be united, though bodies are separated. i will not touch her hand; i will not kiss her lips. once a year only will i see her in the flesh. i shall carry out my duty, made at least less unworthy by her example----" "and think you," said theresa, "that in the night watches you will keep this charge? will not her face come between you and the altar? will not her image float before you as you kneel at the shrine? will it not blot out the lines as you read your daily office?" "i know it--i know it too well!" said conrad, sinking his head on his breast. "i am not worthy." "what, then, will you do? can you serve two masters?" persisted the inquisitor. "your scripture says not." a larger self seemed to flame and dilate within the young man. "one thing i can do," he said--"like you, i can obey. she bade me go back and do my duty. i cannot bind my thought; i cannot change my heart; i cannot cast my love out. i have heard that which i have heard, and i cannot forget; but at least with the body i can obey. i will perform my vow; i will keep my charge to the letter, every jot and tittle. and if god condemn me for a hypocrite--well, let him! he, and not i, put this love into my heart. my body may be my priesthood's--i will strive to keep it clean--but my soul is my lady's. for that let him cast both soul and body into hell-fire if he will!" theresa von lynar did not smile any more. she held out her hand to conrad of courtland, priest and prince. "yes," she said, "you do know what love is. in so far as i can i will help you to your heart's desire." and in her turn she rose and passed down through the leafy avenues of the orchard, over which the westering sun was already casting rood-long shadows. chapter xlii the wordless man takes a prisoner it was the hour of the evening meal at isle rugen. the september day piped on to its melancholy close, and the wild geese overhead called down unseen from the upper air a warning that the storm followed hard upon their backs. at the table-head sat theresa von lynar, her largely moulded and beautiful face showing no sign of emotion. only great quiet dwelt upon it, with knowledge and the sympathy of the proven for the untried. on either side of her were joan and prince conrad--not sad, neither avoiding nor seeking the contingence of eye and eye, but yet, in spite of all, so strange a thing is love once declared, consciously happy within their heart of hearts. then, after a space dutifully left unoccupied, came captains boris and jorian; while at the table-foot, opposite to their hostess, towered werner von orseln, whose grey beard had wagged at the more riotous board of henry the lion of hohenstein. werner was telling an interminable story of the old wars, with many a "thus said i" and "so did he," ending thus: "there lay i on my back, with thirty pagan wends ready to slit my hals as soon as they could get their knives between my gorget and headpiece. gott! but i said every prayer that i knew--they were not many in those days--all in two minutes' space, as i lay looking at the sky through my visor bars and waiting for the first prick of the wendish knife-points. "but even as i looked up, lo! some one bestrode me, and the voice i loved best in all the world--no, not a woman's, god send him rest" ("amen!" interjected the lady joan)--"cried, 'to me, hohenstein! to me, kernsberg!' and though my head was ringing with the shock of falling, and my body weak from many wounds, i strove to answer that call, as i saw my master's sword flicker this way and that over my head. i rose half from the ground, my hilt still in my hand--i had no more left after the fight i had fought. but henry the lion gave me a stamp down with his foot. 'lie still, man,' he said; 'do not interfere in a little business of this kind!' and with his one point he kept a score at bay, crying all the time, 'to me, hohenstein! to me, kernsbergers all!' "and when the enemy fled, did he wait till the bearers came? well i wot, hardly! instead, he caught me over his shoulder like an empty sack when one goes a-foraging--me, werner von orseln, that am built like a donjon tower. and with his sword still red in his right hand he bore me in, only turning aside a little to threaten a wendish archer who would have sent an arrow through me on the way. by the knights who sit round karl's table, he was a man!" and then to their feet sprang boris and jorian, who were judges of men. "to prince henry the lion--_hoch!_" they cried. "drink it deep to his memory!" and with tankard and wreathed wine-cup they quaffed to the great dead. standing up, they drank--his daughter also--all save theresa von lynar. she sat unmoved, as if the toast had been her own and in a moment more she must rise to give them thanks. for the look on her face said, "after all, what is there so strange in that? was he not henry the lion--and mine?" for there is no joy like that which you may see on a woman's face when a great deed is told of the man she loves. the kernsberg soldiers who had been trained to serve at table, had stopped and stood fixed, their duties in complete oblivion during the tale, but now they resumed them and the simple feast continued. meanwhile it had been growing wilder and wilder without, and the shrill lament of the wind was distinctly heard in the wide chimney-top. now and then in a lull, broad splashes of rain fell solidly into the red embers with a sound like musket balls "spatting" on a wall. then theresa von lynar looked up. "where is max ulrich?" she said; "why does he delay?" "my lady," one of the men of kernsberg answered, saluting; "he is gone across the haff in the boat, and has not yet returned." "i will go and look for him--nay, do not rise, my lord. i would go forth alone!" so, snatching a cloak from the prong of an antler in the hall, theresa went out into the irregular hooting of the storm. it was not yet the deepest gloaming, but dull grey clouds like hunted cattle scoured across the sky, and the rising thunder of the waves on the shingle prophesied a night of storm. theresa stood a long time bare-headed, enjoying the thresh of the broad drops as they struck against her face and cooled her throbbing eyes. then she pulled the hood of the cloak over her head. the dead was conquering the quick within her. "i have known a _man_!" she said; "what need i more with life now? the man i loved is dead. i thank god that i served him--aye, as his dog served him. and shall i grow disobedient now? no, not that my son might sit on the throne of the kaiser!" theresa stood upon the inner curve of the haff at the place where max ulrich was wont to pull his boat ashore. the wind was behind her, and though the waves increased as the distance widened from the pebbly bank on which she stood, the water at her feet was only ruffled and pitted with little dimples under the shocks of the wind. theresa looked long southward under her hand, but for the moment could see nothing. then she settled herself to keep watch, with the storm riding slack-rein overhead. towards the mainland the whoop and roar with which it assaulted the pine forests deafened her ears. but her face was younger than we have ever seen it, for werner's story had moved her strongly. once more she was by a great man's side. she moved her hand swiftly, first out of the shelter of the cloak as if seeking furtively to nestle it in another's, and then, as the raindrops plashed cold upon it, she drew it slowly back to her again. and though theresa von lynar was yet in the prime of her glorious beauty, one could see what she must have been in the days of her girlhood. and as memory caused her eyes to grow misty, and the smile of love and trust eternal came upon her lips, twenty years were shorn away; and the woman's face which had looked anxiously across the darkening haff changed to that of the girl who from the gate of castle lynar had watched for the coming of duke henry. she was gazing steadfastly southward, but it was not for max the wordless that she waited. towards kernsberg, where he whose sleep she had so often watched, rested all alone, she looked and kissed a hand. "dear," she murmured, "you have not forgotten theresa! you know she keeps troth! aye, and will keep it till god grows kind, and your true wife can follow--to tell you how well she hath kept her charge!" awhile she was silent, and then she went on in the low even voice of self-communing. "what to me is it to become a princess? did not he, for whose words alone i cared, call me his queen? and i was his queen. in the black blank day of my uttermost need he made me his wife. and i am his wife. what want i more with dignities?" theresa von lynar was silent awhile and then she added-- "yet the young duchess, his daughter, means well. she has her father's spirit. and my son--why should my vow bind him? let him be duke, if so the fates direct and providence allow. but for me, i will not stir finger or utter word to help him. there shall be neither anger nor sadness in my husband's eyes when i tell him how i have observed the bond!" again she kissed a hand towards the dead man who lay so deep under the ponderous marble at kernsberg. then with a gracious gesture, lingeringly and with the misty eyes of loving womanhood, she said her lonely farewells. "to you, beloved," she murmured, and her voice was low and very rich, "to you, beloved, where far off you lie! sleep sound, nor think the time long till theresa comes to you!" she turned and walked back facing the storm. her hood had long ago been blown from her head by the furious gusts of wind. but she heeded not. she had forgotten poor max ulrich and joan, and even herself. she had forgotten her son. her hand was out in the storm now. she did not draw it back, though the water ran from her fingertips. for it was clasped in an unseen grasp and in an ear that surely heard she was whispering her heart's troth. "god give it to me to do one deed--one only before i die--that, worthy and unashamed, i may meet my king." when theresa re-entered the hall of the grange the company still sat as she had left them. only at the lower end of the board the three captains conferred together in low voices, while at the upper joan and prince conrad sat gazing full at each other as if souls could be drunk in through the eyes. with a certain reluctance which yet had no shame in it, they plucked glance from glance as she entered, as it were with difficulty detaching spirits which had been joined. at which theresa, recalled to herself, smiled. "in all that touches not my vow i will help you two!" she thought, as she looked at them. for true love came closer to her than anything else in the world. "there is no sign of max," she said aloud, to break the first silence of constraint; "perhaps he has waited at the landing-place on the mainland till the storm should abate--though that were scarce like him, either." she sat down, with one large movement of her arm casting her wet cloak over the back of a wooden settle, which fronted a fireplace where green pine knots crackled and explosive jets of steam rushed spitefully outwards into the hall with a hissing sound. "you have been down at the landing-place--on such a night?" said joan, with some remains of that curious awkwardness which marks the interruption of a more interesting conversation. "yes," said theresa, smiling indulgently (for she had been in like case--such a great while ago, when her brothers used to intrude). "yes, i have been at the landing-place. but as yet the storm is nothing, though the waves will be fierce enough if max ulrich is coming home with a laden boat to pull in the wind's eye." it mattered little what she said. she had helped them to pass the bar, and the conversation could now proceed over smooth waters. yet there is no need to report it. joan and conrad remained and spoke they scarce knew what, all for the pleasure of eye answering eye, and the subtle flattery of voices that altered by the millionth of a tone each time they answered each other. theresa spoke vaguely but sufficiently, and allowed herself to dream, till to her yearning gaze honest, sturdy werner grew misty and his bluff figure resolved itself into that one nobler and more kingly which for years had fronted her at the table's end where now the chief captain sat. meanwhile jorian and boris exchanged meaning and covert glances, asking each other when this dull dinner parade would be over, so that they might loosen leathern points, undo buttons, and stretch legs on benches with a tankard of ale at each right elbow, according to the wont of stout war-captains not quite so young as they once were. thus they were sitting when there came a clamour at the outer door, the noise of voices, then a soldier's challenge, and, on the back of that, max ulrich's weird answer--a sound almost like the howl of a wolf cut off short in his throat by the hand that strangles him. "there he is at last!" cried all in the dining-hall of the grange. "thank god!" murmured theresa. for the man wanting words had known henry the lion. they waited a long moment of suspense till the door behind werner was thrust open and the dumb man came in, drenched and dripping. he was holding one by the arm, a man as tall as himself, grey and gaunt, who fronted the company with eyes bandaged and hands tied behind his back. max ulrich had a sharp knife in his hand with a thin and slightly curved blade, and as he thrust the pinioned man before him into the full light of the candles, he made signs that, if his lady wished it, he was prepared to despatch his prisoner on the spot. his lips moved rapidly and he seemed to be forming words and sentences. his mistress followed these movements with the closest attention. "he says," she began to translate, "that he met this man on the further side. he said that he had a message for isle rugen, and refused to turn back on any condition. so max blindfolded, bound, and gagged him, he being willing to be bound. and now he waits our pleasure." "let him be unloosed," said joan, gazing eagerly at the prisoner, and theresa made the sign. stolidly ulrich unbound the broad bandage from the man's eyes, and a grey badger's brush of upright stubble rose slowly erect above a high narrow brow, like laid corn that dries in the sun. "alt pikker!" said joan of the sword hand, starting to her feet. "alt pikker!" cried in varied tones of wonderment werner von orseln and the two captains of plassenburg, jorian and boris. and alt pikker it surely was. chapter xliii to the rescue but the late prisoner did not speak at once, though his captor stood back as though to permit him to explain himself. he was still bound and gagged. discovering which, max in a very philosophical and leisurely manner assisted him to relieve himself of a rolled kerchief which had been placed in his mouth. even then his throat refused its office till werner von orseln handed him a great cup of wine from which he drank deeply. "speak!" said joan. "what disaster has brought you here? is kernsberg taken?" "the eagle's nest is harried, my lady, but that is not what hath brought me hither!" "have they found out this my--prison? are they coming to capture me?" "neither," returned alt pikker. "maurice von lynar is in the hands of his cruel enemies, and on the day after to-morrow, at sunrise, he is to be torn to pieces by wild horses." "why?" "wherefore?" "in what place?" "who would dare?" came from all about the table; but the mother of the young man sat silent as if she had not heard. "to save kernsberg from sack by the muscovites, maurice von lynar went to courtland in the guise of the lady joan. at the fords of the alla we delivered him up!" "you delivered him up?" cried theresa suddenly. "then you shall die! max ulrich, your knife!" the dumb man gave the knife in a moment, but theresa had not time to approach. "i went with him," said alt pikker calmly. "you went with him," repeated his mother after a moment, not understanding. "could i let the young man go alone into the midst of his enemies?" "he went for my sake!" moaned joan. "he is to die for me!" "nay," corrected alt pikker, "he is to die for wedding the princess margaret of courtland!" again they cried out upon him in utmost astonishment--that is, all the men. "maurice von lynar has married the princess margaret of courtland? impossible!" "and why should he not?" his mother cried out. "i expected it from the first!" quoth joan of the sword hand, disdainful of their masculine ignorance. "well," put in alt pikker, "at all events, he hath married the princess. or she has married him, which is the same thing!" "but why? we knew nothing of this! he told us nothing. we thought he went for our lady's sake to courtland! why did he marry her?" cried severally von orseln and the plassenburg captains. "why?" said theresa the mother, with assurance. "because he loved her doubtless. how? because he was his father's son!" and theresa being calm and stilling the others, alt pikker got time to tell his tale. there was silence in the grange of isle rugen while it was being told, and even when it was ended for a space none spoke. but theresa smiled well pleased and said in her heart, "i thank god! my son also shall meet henry the lion face to face and not be ashamed." after that they made their plans. "i will go," said conrad, "for i have influence with my brother--or, if not with him, at least with the folk of courtland. we will stop this heathenish abomination." "i will go," said theresa, "because he is my son. god will show me a way to help him." "we will all go," chorussed the captains; "that is--all save werner----" "all except boris----!" "all except jorian----!" "who will remain here on isle rugen with the duchess joan?" they looked at each other as they spoke. "you need not trouble yourselves! i will not remain on isle rugen--not an hour," said joan. "whoever stays, i go. think you that i will permit this man to die in my stead? we will all go to courtland. we will tell prince louis that i am no duchess, but only the sister of a duke. we will prove to him that my father's bond of heritage-brotherhood is null and void. and then we will see whether he is willing to turn the princedom upside down for such a dowerless wife as i!" "for such a wife," thought conrad, "i would turn the universe upside down, though she stood in a beggar's kirtle!" but being loyally bound by his promise he said nothing. it was theresa von lynar who put the matter practically. "at a farm on the mainland, hidden among the salt marshes, there are horses--those you brought with you and others. they are in waiting for such an emergency. max will bring them to the landing-place. three or four of your guard must accompany him. the rest will make ready, and at the first hint of dawn we will set out. there is yet time to save my son!" she added in her heart, "or, if not, then to avenge him." strangely enough, theresa was the least downcast of the party. death seemed a thing so little to her, even so desirable, that though the matter concerned her son's life, she commanded herself and laid her plans as coolly as if she had been preparing a dinner in the grange of isle rugen. but her heart was proud within her with a great pride. "he is henry the lion's son. he was born a duke. he has married a princess. he has tasted love and known sacrifice. if he dies it will be for the sake of his sister's honour. 'tis no bad record for twenty years. these things _he_ will count high above fame and length of days!" * * * * * the little company which set out from isle rugen to ride to courtland had no thought or intention of rescuing maurice von lynar by force of arms. they knew their own impotence far too exactly. yet each of the leaders had a plan of action thought out, to be pursued when the city was reached. if her renunciation of her dignities were laughed at, as she feared, there was nothing for joan but to deliver herself to prince louis. she had resolved to promise to be his wife and princess in all that it concerned the outer world to see. their provinces would be united, kernsberg and hohenstein delivered unconditionally into his hand. on his part, werner von orseln was prepared to point out to the prince of courtland that with joan as his wife and the armies and levies of hohenstein added to his own under the sparhawk's leadership, he would be in a position to do without the aid of the prince of muscovy altogether. further, that in case of attack from the north, not only plassenburg and the mark, but all the teutonic bond must rally to his side. boris and jorian, being stout-hearted captains of men-at-arms, were ready for anything. but though their swords were loosened in their sheaths to be prepared for any assault, they were resolved also to give what official dignity they could to their mission by a free use of the names of their master and mistress, the prince hugo and princess helene of plassenburg. they were sorry now that they had left their credentials behind them, at kernsberg, but they meant to make confidence and assured countenances go as far as they would. conrad, who was intimately acquainted with the character of his brother, and who knew how entirely he was under the dominion of prince ivan, had resolved to use all powers, ecclesiastical and secular, which his position as titular prince of the church put within his reach. to save the sparhawk from a bloody and disgraceful death he would invoke upon courtland even the dread curse of the greater excommunication. with his faithful priests around him he would seek his brother, and, if necessary, on the very execution place itself, or from the high altar of the cathedral, pronounce the dread "anathema sit." he knew his brother well enough to be sure that this threat would shake his soul with terror, and that such a curse laid on a city like courtland, not too subservient at any time, would provoke a rebellion which would shake the power of princes far more securely seated than prince louis. the only one of the party wholly without a settled plan was the woman most deeply interested. theresa von lynar simply rode to courtland to save her son or to die with him. she alone had no influence with prince ivan, no weapon to use against him except her woman's wit. as the cavalcade rode on, though few, they made a not ungallant show. for theresa had clad prince conrad in a coat of mail which had once belonged to henry the lion. joan glittered by his side in a corselet of steel rings, while werner von orseln and the two captains of plassenburg followed fully armed, their accoutrements shining with the burnishing of many idle weeks. these, with the men-at-arms behind them, made up such an equipage as few princes could ride abroad with. but to all of them the journey was naught, a mere race against time--so neither horse nor man was spared. and the two women held out best of all. but when in the morning light of the second day they came in sight of courtland, and saw on the green plain of the alla a great concourse, it did not need alt pikker's shout to urge them forward at a gallop, lest after all they should arrive too late. "they have brought him out to die," cried joan. "ride, for the young man's life!" chapter xliv the ukraine cross upon the green plain beside the alla a great multitude was assembled. they had come together to witness a sight never seen in courtland before--the dread punishment of the ukraine cross. it was to be done, they said, upon the body of the handsome youth with whom the princess margaret was secretly in love--some even whispered married to him. the townsfolk murmured among themselves. this was certainly the beginning of the end. who knew what would come next? if the barbarous muscovite punishments began in courtland, it would end in all of them being made slaves, liable at any moment to knout and plet. ivan had bewitched the prince. that was clear, and for a certainty the princess margaret wept night and day. in this fashion ran the bruit of that which was to be. "torn to pieces by wild horses!" it was a thing often talked about, but one which none had seen in a civilised country for a thousand years. where was it to be done? it was shocking, terrible; but--it would be worth seeing. so all the city went out, the men with weapons under their cloaks pressing as near as the soldiers would allow them, while the women, being more pitiful, stood afar off and wept into their aprons--only putting aside the corners that they might see clearly and miss nothing. at ten a great green square of riverside grass was held by the archers of courtland. the people extended as far back as the shrine of the virgin, where at the city entrance travellers are wont to give thanks for a favourable journey. at eleven the lances of prince ivan's cossacks were seen topping the city wall. on the high bank of the alla the people were craning their necks and looking over each other's shoulders. the wild music of the cossacks came nearer, each man with the butt of his lance set upon his thigh, and the pennon of blue and white waving above. then a long pitying "a--a--h!" went up from the people. for now the sparhawk was in sight, and at the first glimpse of him they swayed from the riga gate to the shrine of john evangelist, like a willow copse stricken by a squall from off the baltic, so that it shows the under-grey of its leaves. "the poor lad! so handsome, so young!" the first soft universal hush of pity broke presently into a myriad exclamations of anger and deprecation. "how high he holds his head! see! they have opened his shirt at the neck. poor princess, how she must love him! his hands are tied behind his back. he rides in that jolting cart as if he were a conqueror in a triumphal procession, instead of a victim going to his doom." "pity, pity that one so young should die such a death! they say she is to be carried up to the top of the castle wall that she may see. ah, here he comes! he is smiling! god forgive the butchers, who by strength of brute beasts would tear asunder those comely limbs that are fitted to be a woman's joy! down with all false and cruel princes, say i! nay, mistress, i will not be silent. and there are many here who will back me, if i be called in question. who is the muscovite, that he should bring his abominations into courtland? if i had my way, prince conrad----" "hush, hush! here they come! side by side, as usual, the devil and his dupe. aha! there is no sound of cheering! let but a man shout, 'long live the prince!' and i will slit his wizzand. i, henry the coppersmith, will do it! he shall sleep with pennies on his eyes this night!" so through the lane by which the city gate communicated with the tapestried stand set apart for the greater spectators, the princes louis and ivan, fool and knave, servant and master, took their way. and they had scarce passed when the people, mutinous and muttering, surged black behind the archers' guard. "back there--stand back! way for their excellencies--way!" "stand back yourselves," came the growling answer. "we be free men of courtland. you will find we are no muscovite serfs, and that or the day be done. karl wendelin, think shame--thou that art my sister's son--to be aiding and abetting such heathen cruelty to a christen man, all that you may eat a great man's meat and wear a jerkin purfled with gold." such cries and others worse pursued the princes' train as it went. "cossack--cossack! you are no courtlanders, you archers! not a girl in the city will look at you after this! butchers' slaughtermen every one? whipped hounds that are afraid of ten score muscovites! down, dogs, knock your foreheads on the ground! here comes a muscovite!" * * * * * thus angrily ran taunt and jeer, till the courtland guard, mostly young fellows with relatives and sweethearts among the crowd, grew well-nigh frantic with rage and shame. the rabble, which had hung on the prince of muscovy so long as he scattered his largesse, had now wheeled about with characteristic fickleness. "see yonder! what are they doing? peter altmaar, what are they doing? tell us, thou long man! of what use is your great fathom of pump-water? can you do nothing for your meat but reach down black puddings from the rafters?" at this all eyes turned to peter, a lanky overgrown lad with a keen eye, a weak mouth, and the gift of words. "speak up, peter! aye, listen to peter--a good lad, peter, as ever was!" "strong jan the smith, take him up on your back so that he may see the better!" "hush, there! stop that woman weeping. we cannot hear for her noise. she says he is like her son, does she? well then, there will be time enough to weep for him afterwards." "they are bringing up four horses from the muscovite camp. the folk are getting as far off as they can from their heels," began peter altmaar, looking under his hand over the people's heads. "half a score of men are at each brute's head. how they plunge! they will never stand still a moment. ah, they are tethering them to the great posts of stone in the middle of the green square. between, there is a table--no, a kind of square wooden stand like a priest's platform in lent when he tells us our sins outside the church." * * * * * "the princes are sitting their horses, watching. bravo, that was well done. we came near to seeing the colour of the muscovite brains that time. one of the wild horses spread his hoofs on either side of prince ivan's head!" "god send him a better aim next time! tell on, peter! aye, get on, good peter!" "the princes have gone up into their balcony. they are laughing and talking as if it were a raree-show!" "what of him, good peter? how takes he all this?" "what of whom?" queried peter, who, like all great talkers, was rapidly growing testy under questioning. "there is but one 'he' to-day, man. the young lad, the princess margaret's sweetheart." "they have brought him down from the cart. the cossacks are close about him. they have put all the courtland men far back." [illustration: "maurice was set on high." [_page _]] "aye, aye; they dare not trust them. oh, for an hour of prince conrad! if we of the city trades had but a leader, this shame should not blot our name throughout all christendom! what now, peter?" "the muscovites are binding the lad to a wooden frame like the empty lintels of a door. he stands erect, his hands in the corners above, and his feet in the corners below. they have stripped him to the waist." "hold me higher up, jan the smith! i would see this out, that you may tell your children and your children's children. aye--ah, so it is. it is true. sainted virgin! i can see his body white in the sunshine. it shines slender as a peeled willow wand." then the woman who had wept began again. her wailing angered the people. "he is like my son--save him! he is the very make and image of my kaspar. slender as a young willow, supple as an ash, eyes like the berries of the sloe-thorn. give me a sword! give an old woman a sword, and i will deliver him myself, for my kaspar's sake. god's grace--is there never a man amongst you?" and as her voice rose into a shriek there ran through all the multitude the strange shiver of fear with which a great crowd expects a horror. a hush fell broad and equal as dew out of a clear sky. a mighty silence lay on all the folk. peter altmaar's lips moved, but no sound came from them. for now maurice was set on high, so that all could see for themselves. white against the sky of noon, making the cross of saint andrew within the oblong framework to which he was lashed, they could discern the slim body of the young man who was about to be torn in sunder. the executioners held him up thus a minute or two for a spectacle, and then, their arrangements completed, they lowered that living crucifix till it lay flat upon its little platform, with the limbs extended stark and tense towards the heels of the wild plunging horses of the ukraine. then again the voice of peter altmaar was heard, now ringing false like an untuned fiddle. "they are welding the manacles upon his ankles and wrists. listen to the strokes of the hammer." and in the hush which followed, faintly and musically they could hear iron ring on iron, like anvil strokes in some village smithy heard in the hush of a summer's afternoon. "blessed virgin! they are casting loose the horses! a cossack with a cruel whip stands by each to lash him to fury! they are slipping the platform from under him. god in heaven! what is this?" * * * * * hitherto the eyes of the great multitude, which on three sides surrounded the place of execution, had been turned inward. but now with one accord they were gazing, not on the terrible preparations which were coming so near their bloody consummation, but over the green tree-studded alla meads towards a group of horsemen who were approaching at a swift hand-gallop. whereupon immediately peter, the lank giant, was in greater request than ever. "what do they look at, good peter--tell us quickly? will the horses not pull? will the irons not hold? have the ropes broken? is it a miracle? is it a rescue? thunder-weather, man! do not stand and gape. speak--tell us what you see, or we will prod you behind with our daggers!" "half a dozen riding fast towards the princes' stand, and holding up their hands--nay, there are a dozen. the princes are standing up to look. the men have stopped casting loose the wild horses. the man on the frame is lying very still, but the chains from his ankles and arms are not yet fastened to the traces." "go on, peter! how slow you are, peter! stupid peter!" "there is a woman among those who ride--no, two of them! they are getting near the skirts of the crowd. men are shouting and throwing up their hands in the air. i cannot tell what for. the soldiers have their hats on the tops of their pikes. they, too, are shouting!" as peter paused the confused noise of a multitude crying out, every man for himself, was borne across the crowd on the wind. as when a great stone is cast into a little hill-set tarn, and the wavelet runs round, swamping the margin's pebbles and swaying the reeds, so there ran a shiver, and then a mighty tidal wave of excitement through all that ring which surrounded the crucified man, the deadly platform, and the tethered horses. men shouted sympathetically without knowing why, and the noise they made was half a suppressed groan, so eager were they to take part in that which should be done next. they thrust their womenkind behind them, shouldering their way into the thick of the press that they might see the more clearly. instinctively every weaponed man fingered that which he chanced to carry. yet none in all that mighty assembly had the least conception of what was really about to happen. by this time there was no more need of peter altmaar. the ring was rapidly closing now all about, save upon the meadow side, where a lane was kept open. through this living alley came a knight and a lady--the latter in riding habit and broad velvet cap, the knight with his visor up, but armed from head to foot, a dozen squires and men-at-arms following in a compact little cloud; and as they came they were greeted with the enthusiastic acclaim of all that mighty concourse. about them eddied the people, overflowing and sweeping away the cossacks, carrying the courtland archers with them in a mad frenzy of fraternisation. in the stand above prince louis could be seen shrilling commands, yet dumb show was all he could achieve, so universal the clamour beneath him. but the princess margaret heard the shouting and her heart leaped. "prince conrad--our own prince conrad, he has come back, our true prince? we knew he was no priest! courtland for ever! down with louis of the craven heart! down with the muscovite! the young man shall not die! the princess shall have her sweetheart!" and as soon as the cavalcade had come within the square the living wave broke black over all. the riders could not dismount, so thick the press. the halters of the wild horses were cut, and right speedily they made a way for themselves, the people falling back and closing again so soon as they had passed out across the plain with necks arched to their knees and a wild flourish of unanimous hoofs. then the cries began again. swords and bare fists were shaken at the grand stand, where, white as death, prince louis still kept his place. "prince conrad and the lady joan!" "kill the muscovite, the torturer!" "death to prince louis, the traitor and coward!" "we will save the lad alive!" about the centre platform whereon the living cross was extended the crush grew first oppressive and then dangerous. "back there--you are killing him! back, i say!" then strong men took staves and halberts out of the hands of dazed soldiermen, and by force of brawny arms and sharp pricking steel pressed the people back breast high. the smiths who had riveted the wristlets and ankle-rings were already busy with their files. the lashings were cast loose from the frames. a hundred palms chafed the white swollen limbs. a burgher back in the crowd slipped his cloak. it was passed overhead on a thousand eager hands and thrown across the young man's body. at last all was done, and dazed and blinded, but unshaken in his soul, maurice von lynar stood totteringly upon his feet. "lift him up! lift him up! let us see him! if he be dead, we will slay prince louis and crucify the muscovite in his place!" "bah!" another would cry, "louis is no longer ruler! conrad is the true prince!" "down with the russ, the cossack! where are they? pursue them! kill them!" * * * * * so ran the fierce shouts, and as the rescuers raised the sparhawk high on their plaited hands that all men might see, on the far skirts of the crowd ivan of muscovy, with a bitter smile on his face, gathered together his scattered horsemen. one by one they had struggled out of the press while all men's eyes were fixed upon the vivid centrepiece of that mighty whirlpool. "set prince louis in your midst and ride for your lives!" he cried. "to the frontier, where bides the army of the czar!" with a flash of pennons and a tossing of horses' heads they obeyed, but prince ivan himself paused upon the top of a little swelling rise and looked back towards the alla bank. the delivered prisoner was being held high upon men's arms. the burgher's cloak was wrapped about him like a royal robe. prince ivan gnashed his teeth in impotent anger. "it is your day. make the most of it," he muttered. "in three weeks i will come back! and then, by michael the archangel, i will crucify one of you at every street corner and cross-road through all the land of courtland! and that which i would have done to my lady's lover shall not be named beside that which i shall yet do to those who rescued him!" and he turned and rode after his men, in the midst of whom was prince louis, his head twisted in fear and apprehension over his shoulder, and his slack hands scarce able to hold the reins. after this manner was the sparhawk brought out from the jaws of death, and thus came joan of the sword hand the second time to courtland. but the end was not yet. chapter xlv the truth-speaking of boris and jorian this is the report verbal of captains boris and jorian, which they gave in face of their sovereigns in the garden pleasaunce of the palace of plassenburg. hugo and helene sat at opposite ends of a seat of twisted branches. hugo crossed his legs and whistled low with his thumbs in the slashing of his doublet, a habit of which helene had long striven in vain to cure him. the princess was busy broidering the coronated double eagle of a new banner, but occasionally she raised her eyes to where on the green slope beneath, under the wing of a sage woman of experience, the youthful hope of plassenburg led his mimic armies to battle against the lilies by the orchard wall, or laid lance in rest to storm the too easy fortress of his nurse's lap. "boris," whispered jorian, "remember! do not lie, boris. 'tis too dangerous. you remember the last time?" "aye," growled boris. "i have good cause to remember! what a liar our hugo must have been in his time, so readily to suspect two honest soldiers!" "speak out your minds, good lads!" said hugo, leaning a little further back. "aye, tell us all," assented helene, pausing to shake her head at the antics of the young prince karl; "tell us how you delivered the sparhawk, as you call him, the officer of the duchess joan!" so boris saluted and began. "the tale is a long one, prince and princess," he said. "of our many and difficult endeavours to keep the peace and prevent quarrelling i will say nothing----" "better so!" interjected hugo, with a gleam in his eye. jorian coughed and growled to himself, "that long fool will make a mess of it!" "i will pass on to our entry into courtland. it was like the home-coming of a long-lost true prince. there was no fighting--alack, not so much as a stroke after all that pother of shouting!" "boris!" said the princess warningly. "give him rope!" muttered prince hugo. "he will tangle himself rarely or all be done!" "i mean by the blessing of heaven there was no bloodshed," boris corrected himself. "there was, as i say, no fighting. there was none to fight with. prince louis had not a friend in his own capital city, saving the muscovite. and at that moment prince ivan the wasp was glad enough to win clear off to the frontier with his cossacks at his tail. it was a god's pity we could not ride them down. but though jorian and i did all that men could----" "ahem!" said jorian, as if a fly had flown into his mouth and tickled his throat. "i mean, your highnesses, we did whatever men could to keep the populace within bounds. but they broke through and leaped upon us, throwing their arms about our horses' necks, crying out, 'our saviours!' 'our deliverers!' god wot, we might as well have tried to charge through the billows of the baltic when it blows a norther right from the gulf of bothnia! but it almost broke my heart to see them ride off with never so much as a spear thrust through one single muscovite belly-band!" here jorian had a fit of coughing which caused the princess to look severely upon him. boris, recalled to himself, proceeded more carefully. "it was all we could do to open up a way to where the young man maurice lay stretched on the cross of death. they had loosed the wild horses before we arrived, and these had galloped off after their companions. a pity! oh, a great pity! "then came the young man's mother near, she who was our hostess at isle rugen----" "why did you not abide at kernsberg as you were instructed?" put in hugo at this point. "never mind--go on--tell the tale!" cried helene, who was listening breathlessly. "we thought it our duty to accompany the duchess joan," said boris, deftly enough; "where the king is, there is the court!" and at this point the two captains saluted very dutifully and respectfully, like machines moved by one spring. "well said for once, thou overly long one," growled jorian under his breath. "go on!" commanded helene. "the young man's mother came near and threw a cloak across his naked body. then jorian and i unbound him and chafed his limbs, first removing the gag from his mouth; but so tightly had the cords been bound about him that for long he could not stand upright. then, from the royal pavilion, where she had been brought for cruel sport to see the death, the princess margaret came running----" "oh, wickedness!" cried helene, "to make her look on at her lover's death!" "she came furiously, though a dainty princess, thrusting strong men aside. 'way there!' she cried, 'on your lives make way! i will go to him. i am the princess margaret. give me a dagger and i will prick me a way.'" "and, by saint stephen the holy martyr--if she did not snatch a bodkin from the belt of a tailor in the high street and with it open up her way as featly as though she were handling a cossack lance." "and what happened when she got to him--when she found her husband?" cried helene, her eyes sparkling. and she put out a hand to touch her own, just to be sure that he was there. "truth, a very wondrous thing happened!" said jorian, whose fingers also had been twitching, "a mightily wondrous thing. thus it was----" "hold your tongue, sausage-bag!" growled boris, very low; "who tells this tale, you or i?" "get on, then," answered in like fashion captain jorian, "you are as long-winded and wheezy as a smith's bellows!" "yes, a strange thing it was. i was standing by maurice von lynar, undoing the cord from his neck. his mother was chafing an arm. the lady joan was bending to speak softly to him, for she had dismounted from her horse, when, all in the snapping of a twig, the princess margaret came bursting through the ring which jorian and the kernsbergers were keeping with their lance-butts. she thrust us all aside. by my faith, me she sent spinning like the young prince's top there!" "god save his excellency!" quoth jorian, not to be left out entirely. "silence!" cried helene, with an imperious stamp of her little foot; "and do you, boris, tell the tale without comparisons. what happened then?" "only the boy's mother kept her ground! she went on chafing his arm without so much as raising her eyes." "did the princess serve joan of the sword hand as she served you?" interposed hugo. "marry, worse!" cried boris, growing excited for the first time. "she thrust her aside like a kitchen wench, and our lady took it as meekly as--as----" "go on! did i not tell you to spare us your comparatives?" cried helene the princess, letting her broidery slip to the ground in her consuming interest. "well," said boris, quickly sobered, "it was in truth a mighty quaint thing to see. the princess margaret took the young man in her arms and caught him to her. the lady theresa kept hold of his wrist. they looked at each other a moment without speech, eye countering eye like knights at a----" "go on!" the princess thundered, if indeed a silvern voice can be said to thunder. "'give him up to me! he is mine!' cried the princess. "'he is mine!' answered very haughtily the lady of the isle rugen--'who are you?' 'and you?' cried both at once, flinging their heads back, but never for a moment letting go with their hands. the youth, being dazed, said nothing, nor so much as moved. "'i am his mother!' said the lady theresa, speaking first. "'i am his wife!' said the princess. "then the woman who had borne the young man gave him into his wife's arms without a word, and the princess gathered him to her bosom and crooned over him, that being her right. but his mother stepped back among the crowd and drew the hood of her cloak over her head that no man might look upon her face." "bravo!" cried helene, clapping her hands, "it was her right!" "little one," said her husband, pointing to the boy on the terrace beneath, who was lashing a toy horse of wood with all his baby might, "i wonder if you will think so when another woman takes _him_ from you!" the princess helene caught her breath sharply. "that would be different!" she said, "yes, very different!" "ah!" said hugo the prince, her husband. chapter xlvi the fear that is in love thus the climax came about in the twinkling of an eye, but the universal turmoil and wild jubilation in which prince louis's power and government were swept away had really been preparing for years, though the end fell sharp as the thunderclap that breaks the weather after a season of parching heat. for all that the trouble was only deferred, not removed. the cruel death of maurice von lynar had been rendered impossible by the opportune arrival of prince conrad and the sudden revolution which the sight of his noble and beloved form, clad in armour, produced among the disgusted and impulsive courtlanders. yet the arch-foe had only recoiled in order that he might the further leap. the great army of the white czar was encamped just across the frontier, nominally on the march to poland, but capable of being in a moment diverted upon the princedom of courtland. here was a pretext of invasion ripe to prince ivan's hand. so he kept louis, the dethroned and extruded prince, close beside him. he urged his father, by every tie of friendship and interest, to replace that prince upon his throne. and the czar paul, well knowing that the restoration of louis meant nothing less than the incorporation of courtland with his empire, hastened to carry out his son's advice. in courtland itself there was no confusion. a certain grim determination took possession of the people. they had made their choice, and they would abide by it. they had chosen conrad to be their ruler, as he had long been their only hope; and they knew that now louis was for ever impossible, save as a cloak for a muscovite dominion. it had been the first act of conrad to summon to him all the archpriests and heads of chapels and monasteries by virtue of his office as cardinal-archbishop. he represented to them the imminent danger to holy church of yielding to the domination of the greek heretic. whoever might be spared, the muscovite would assuredly make an end of them. he promised absolution from the holy father to all who would assist in bulwarking religion and the church of peter against invasion and destruction. he himself would for the time being lay aside his office and fight as a soldier in the sacred war which was before them. every consideration must give way to that. then he would lay the whole matter at the feet of the holy father in rome. so throughout every town and village in courtland the war of the faith was preached. no presbytery but became a recruiting office. every pulpit was a trumpet proclaiming a righteous war. there was to be no salvation for any courtlander save in defending his faith and country. it was agreed by all that there was no hope save in the blessed rule of prince conrad, at once worthy prince of the blood, prince of holy church, and defender of our blessed religion. prince louis was a deserter and a heretic. the pope would depose him, even as (most likely) he had cursed him already. so, thus encouraged, the country rose behind the retiring muscovite, and prince louis was conducted across the boundary of his princedom under the bitter thunder of cannon and the hiss of courtland arrows. and the craven trembled as he listened to the shouted maledictions of his own people, and begged for a common coat, lest his archer guard should distinguish their late prince and wing their clothyard shafts at him as he cowered a little behind prince ivan's shoulder. meanwhile joan, casting aside with an exultant leap of the heart her intent to make of herself an obedient wife, rode back to kernsberg in order to organise all the forces there to meet the common foe. it was to be the last fight of the teuton northland for freedom and faith. the muscovite does not go back, and if courtland were conquered kernsberg could not long stand. to plassenburg (as we have seen) rode boris and jorian to plead for help from their prince and princess. dessauer had already preceded them, and the armies, disciplined and equipped by prince karl, were already on the march to defend their frontiers--it might be to go farther and fight shoulder to shoulder with courtland and kernsberg against the common foe. and if all this did not happen, it would not be the fault of those honest soldiers and admirable diplomatists, captains boris and jorian, captains of the palace guard of plassenburg. * * * * * the presence of prince conrad in the city of courtland seemed to change entirely the character of the people. from being somewhat frivolous they became at once devoted to the severest military discipline. nothing was heard but words of command and the ordered tramp of marching feet. the country barons and knights brought in their forces, and their tents, all gay with banners and fluttering pennons, stretched white along the alla for a mile or more. the word was on every lip, "when will they come?" for already the muscovite allies of prince louis had crossed the frontier and were moving towards courtland, destroying everything in their track. the day after the deliverance of the sparhawk, joan had announced her intention of riding on the morrow to kernsberg. maurice von lynar and von orseln would accompany her. "then," cried margaret instantly, "i will go, too!" "the ride would be over toilsome for you," said joan, pausing to touch her friend's hair as she looked forth from the window of the castle of courtland at the sparhawk ordering about a company of stout countrymen in the courtyard beneath. "i _will_ go!" said margaret wilfully. "i shall never let him out of my sight again!" "we shall be back within the week! you will be both safer and more comfortable here!" the princess margaret withdrew her head from the open window, momentarily losing sight of her husband and, in so doing, making vain her last words. "ah, joan," she said reproachfully, "you are wise and strong--there is no one like you. but you do not know what it is to be married. you never were in love. how, then, can you understand the feelings of a wife?" she looked out of the window again and waved a kerchief. "oh, joan," she looked back again with a mournful countenance, "i do believe that maurice does not love me as i love him. he never took the least notice of me when i waved to him!" "how could he," demanded joan, the soldier's daughter, sharply, "he was on duty?" "well," answered margaret, still resentful and unconsoled, "he would not have done that _before_ we were married! and it is only the first day we have been together, too, since--since----" and she buried her head in her kerchief. joan looked at the princess a moment with a tender smile. then she gave a little sigh and went over to her friend. she laid her hand on her shoulder and knelt down beside her. "margaret," she whispered, "you used to be so brave. when i was here, and had to fight the sparhawk's battles with prince wasp, you were as headstrong as any young squire desiring to win his spurs. you wished to see us fight, do you remember?" the princess took one corner of her white and dainty kerchief away from her eyes in order to look yet more reproachfully at her friend. "ah," she said, "that shows! of course, i knew. you were not _he_, you see; i knew that in a moment." joan restrained a smile. she did not remind her friend that then she had never seen "him." the princess margaret went on. "joan," she cried suddenly, "i wish to ask you something!" she clasped her hands with a sweet petitionary grace. "say on, little one!" said joan smiling. "there will be a battle, joan, will there not?" joan of the sword hand nodded. she took a long breath and drew her head further back. margaret noted the action. "it is very well for you, joan," she said; "i know you are more than half a man. every one says so. and then you do not love any one, and you like fighting. but--you may laugh if you will--i am not going to let my husband fight. i want you to let him go to plassenburg till it is over!" joan laughed aloud. "and you?" she said, still smiling good-naturedly. it was now margaret's turn to draw herself up. "you are not kind!" she said. "i am asking you a favour for my husband, not for myself. of course i should accompany him! _i_ at least am free to come and go!" "my dear, my dear," said joan gently, "you are at liberty to propose this to your husband! if he comes and asks me, he shall not lack permission." "you mean he would not go to plassenburg even if i asked him?" "i know he would not--he, the bravest soldier, the best knight----" there came a knocking at the door. "enter!" cried joan imperiously, yet not a little glad of the interruption. werner von orseln stood in the portal. joan waited for him to speak. "my lady," he said, "will you bid the count von löen leave his work and take some rest and sustenance. he thinks of nothing but his drill." "oh, yes, he does," cried the princess margaret; "how dare you say it, fellow! he thinks of me! why, even now----" she looked once more out of the window, a smile upon her face. instantly she drew in her head again and sprang to her feet. "oh, he is gone! i cannot see him anywhere!" she cried, "and i never so much as heard them go! joan, i am going to find him. he should not have gone away without bidding me goodbye! it was cruel!" she flashed out of the room, and without waiting for tiring maid or coverture, she ran downstairs, dressed as she was in her light summer attire. joan stood a moment silent, looking after her with eyes in which flashed a tender light. werner von orseln smiled broadly--the dry smile of an ancient war-captain who puts no bounds to the vagaries of women. it was an experienced smile. "'tis well for kernsberg, my lady," said werner grimly, "that you are not the princess margaret." "and why!" said joan a little haughtily. for she did not like conrad's sister to be treated lightly even by her chief captain. "ah, love--love," said werner, nodding his head sententiously. "it is well, my lady, that i ever trained you up to care for none of these things. teach a maid to fence, and her honour needs no champion. give her sword-cunning and you keep her from making a fool of herself about the first man who crosses her path. strengthen her wrist, teach her to lunge and parry, and you strengthen her head. but you do credit to _your_ instructor. you have never troubled about the follies of love. therefore are you our own joan of the sword hand!" joan sighed another sigh, very softly this time, and her eyes, being turned away from von orseln, were soft and indefinitely hazy. "yes," she answered, "i am joan of the sword hand, and i never think of these things!" "of course not," he cried cheerfully; "why should you? ah, if only the princess margaret had had an ancient werner von orseln to teach her how to drill a hole in a fluttering jackanapes! then we would have had less of this meauling apron-string business!" "silence," said joan quickly. "she is here." and the princess came running in with joy in her face. instinctively werner drew back into the shadow of the window curtain, and the smile on his face grew more grimly experienced than ever. "oh, joan," cried the princess breathlessly, "he had not really gone off without bidding me goodbye. you remember i said that i could not believe it of him, and you see i was right. one cannot be mistaken about one's husband!" "no?" said joan interrogatively. "never--so long as he loves you, that is!" said margaret, breathless with her haste; "but when you really love any one, you cannot help getting anxious about them. and then ivan or louis might have sent some one to carry him off again to tear him to pieces. oh, joan, you cannot know all i suffered. you must be patient with me. i think it was seeing him bound and about to die that has made me like this!" "margaret!" joan went quickly towards her friend, touched with compunction for her lack of sympathy, and resolved to comfort her if she could. it was true, after all, that while she and conrad had been happy together on isle rugen, this girl had been suffering. margaret came towards her, smiling through her tears. "but i have thought of something," she said, brightening still more; "such a splendid plan. i know maurice would not want to go away when there was fighting--though i believe, if i had him by himself for an hour, i could persuade him even to that, for my sake." a stifled grunt came from behind the curtains, which represented the injury done to the feelings of werner von orseln by such unworthy sentiments. the princess looked over in the direction of the sound, but could see nothing. joan moved quietly round, so that her friend's back was towards the window, behind the curtains of which stood the war captain. "this is my thought," the princess went on more calmly. "do you, joan, send maurice on an embassy to plassenburg till this trouble is over. then he will be safe. i will find means of keeping him there----" a stifled groan of rage came from the window. margaret turned sharply about. "what is that?" she cried, taking hold of her skirts, as the habit of women is. "some one without in the courtyard," said joan hastily; "a dog, a cat, a rat in the wainscot--anything!" "it sounded like something," answered the princess, "but surely not like anything! let us look." "margaret," said joan, gently taking her by the arm and walking with her towards the door, "maurice von lynar is a soldier and a soldier's son. you would break his heart if you took him away from his duty. he would not love you the same; you would not love him the same." "oh, yes, i would," said margaret, showing signs that her sorrow might break out afresh. "i would love him more for taking care of his life for my sake!" "you know you would not, margaret," joan persisted. "no woman can truly and fully love a man whom she is not proud of." [illustration: "joan indignantly drew the curtain aside." [_page _]] "oh, that is before they are married!" cried the princess indignantly. "afterwards it is different. you find out things then--and love them all the same. but, of course, how should i expect you to help me? you have never loved; you do not understand!" and, without another word, margaret of courtland, who had once been so heart-free and _débonnaire_, went out sobbing like a fretted child. hardly had the door closed upon her when the sound of stifled laughter broke from the window-seat. joan indignantly drew the curtains aside and revealed werner von orseln shaking all over and vainly striving to govern his mirth with his hands pressed against his sides. at sight of the face of his mistress, which was very grave, and even stern, his laughter instantly shut itself off. as it seemed, with a single movement, he raised himself to his feet and saluted. joan stood looking at him a moment without speech. "your mirth is exceedingly ill-timed," she said slowly. "on a future occasion, pray remember that the lady margaret is a princess and my friend. you can go! we ride out to-morrow morning at five. see that everything is arranged." once more von orseln saluted, with a face expressionless as a stone. he marched to the door, turned and saluted a third time, and with heavy footsteps descended the stairs communing with himself as he went. "that was salt, werner. faith, but she gave you the back of the sword-hand that time, old kerl! yet, 'twas most wondrous humorsome. ha! ha! but i must not laugh--at least, not here, for if she catches me the kernsbergers will want a new chief captain. ha! ha! no, i will not laugh. werner, you old fool, be quiet! god's grace, but she looked right royal! it is worth a dressing down to see her in a rage. faith, i would rather face a regiment of muscovites single-handed than cross our joan in one of her tantrums!" he was now at the outer door. prince conrad was dismounting. the two men saluted each other. "is the duchess joan within?" said conrad, concealing his eagerness under the hauteur natural to a prince. "i have just left her!" answered the chief captain. without a word conrad sprang up the steps three at a time. werner turned about and watched the young man's firm lithe figure till it had disappeared. "faith of saint anthony!" he murmured, "i am right glad our lady cares not for love. if she did, and if you had not been a priest--well, there might have been trouble." chapter xlvii the broken bond above, in the dusky light of the upper hall, conrad and joan stood holding each other's hands. it was the first time they had been alone together since the day on which they had walked along the sand-dunes of rugen. since then they seemed to have grown inexplicably closer together. to joan, conrad now seemed much more her own--the man who loved her, whom she loved--than he had been on the island. to watch day by day for his passing in martial attire brought back the knight of the tournament whose white plume she had seen storm through the lists on the day when, a slim secretary, she had stood with beating heart and shining eyes behind the chair of leopold von dessauer, ambassador of plassenburg. for almost five minutes they stood thus without speech; then joan drew away her hands. "you forget," she said smiling, "that was forbidden in the bond." "my lady," he said, "was not the bond for isle rugen alone? here we are comrades in the strife. we must save our fatherland. i have laid aside my priesthood. if i live, i shall appeal to the holy father to loose me wholly from my vows." smilingly she put his eager argument by. "it was of another vow i spoke. i am not the holy father, and for this i will not give you absolution. we are comrades, it is true--that and no more! to-morrow i ride to kernsberg, where i will muster every man, call down the shepherds from the hills, and be back with you by the alla before the muscovite can attack you. i, joan of the sword hand, promise it!" she stamped her foot, half in earnest and half in mockery of the sonorous name by which she was known. "i would rather you were joan of the grange at isle rugen, and i your jerkined servitor, cleaving the wood that you might bake the bread." "conrad," said joan, shaking her head wistfully, "such thoughts are not wise for you and me to harbour. i may indeed be no duchess and you no prince, but we must stand to our dignities now when the enemy threatens and the people need us. afterwards, an it like us, we may step down together. but, indeed, i need not to argue, for i think better of you, my comrade, than to suppose you would ever imagine anything else." "joan," said conrad very gravely, "do not fear for me. i have turned once for all from a career i never chose. death alone shall turn me back this time." "i know it," she answered; "i never doubted it. but what shall we do with this poor lovesick bride of ours?" and she told him of her interview that morning with his sister. conrad laughed gently, yet with sympathy; margaret had always been his "little girl," and her very petulances were dear to him. "it had been well if she would have consented to remain here," he said; "and yet i do not know. she is not built for rough weather, our gretchen. we are near the enemy, and many things may happen. our soldiers are mostly levies in courtland, and the land has been long at peace. the burghers and country folk are willing enough, but--well, perhaps she will be better with you." "she swears she will not go without her husband," said joan. "yet he ought to remain with you. i do not need him; werner will be enough." "leave me von orseln, and do you take the young man," said conrad; "then margaret will go with you willingly and gladly." "but she will want to return--that is, if maurice comes, too." "isle rugen?" suggested conrad, smilingly. "send your ten men who know the road. if they could carry off joan of the sword hand, they should have no difficulty with little margaret of courtland." joan clapped her hands with pleasure and relief, all unconscious that immediately behind her margaret had entered softly and now stood arrested by the sound of her own name. "oh, they will have no trouble, will they not?" she said in her own heart, and smiled. "isle rugen? thank you, my very dear brother and sister. you would get rid of me, separate me from maurice while he is fighting for your precious princedoms. what is a country in comparison with a husband? i would not care a doit which country i belonged to, so long as i had maurice with me!" a moment or two conrad and joan discussed the details of the capture, while more softly than before margaret retired to the door. she would have slipped out altogether but that something happened just then which froze her to the spot. a trumpet blew without--once, twice, and thrice, in short and stirring blasts. hardly had the echoes died away when she heard her brother say, "adieu, best-beloved! it is the signal that tells me that prince ivan is within a day's march of courtland. i bid you goodbye, and if--if we should never meet again, do not forget that i loved you--loved you as none else could love!" he held out his hand. joan stood rooted to the spot, her lips moving, but no words coming forth. then margaret heard a hoarse cry break from her who had contemned love. "i cannot let you go thus!" she cried. "i cannot keep the vow! it is too hard for me! conrad!--i am but a weak woman after all!" and in a moment the princess margaret saw joan the cold, joan of the sword hand, joan duchess of kernsberg and hohenstein, in the arms of her brother. whereupon, not being of set purpose an eavesdropper, margaret went out and shut the door softly. the lovers had neither heard her come nor go. and the wife of maurice von lynar was smiling very sweetly as she went, but in her eyes lurked mischief. conrad descended the stair from the apartments of the duchess joan, divided between the certainty that his lips had tasted the unutterable joy and the fear lest his soul had sinned the unpardonable sin. a moment joan steadied herself by the window, with her hand to her breast as if to still the flying pulses of her heart. she took a step forward that she might look once more upon him ere he went. but, changing her purpose in the very act, she turned about and found herself face to face with the princess margaret, who was still smiling subtly. "you have granted my request?" she said softly. joan commanded herself with difficulty. "what request?" she asked, for she indeed had forgotten. "that maurice and i should first go with you to kernsberg and afterwards to plassenburg." "let me think--let me think--give me time!" said joan, sinking into a chair and looking straight before her. the world was suddenly filled with whirling vapour and her brain turned with it. "i am in the midst of troubles. i know not what to do!" she murmured. "ah, it was quieter at isle rugen, was it not?" suggested margaret, who had not forgiven the project of kidnapping her and carrying her off from her husband. but joan was thinking too deeply to answer or even to notice any taunt. "i cannot go," she murmured, thinking aloud. "i cannot ride to kernsberg and leave him in the front of danger!" "a woman's place is at home!" said margaret in a low tone, maliciously quoting joan's words. "he must not fight this battle alone. perhaps i shall never see him again!" "a man must not be hampered by affection in the hour of danger!" at this point joan looked down upon margaret as she might have done at a puppy that worried a stick to attract her attention. "do you know," she said, "that prince ivan and his muscovites are within a day's march of courtland, and that prince conrad has already gone forth to meet them?" "what!" cried margaret, "within a day's march of the city? i must go and find my husband." "wait!" said joan. "i see my way. your husband shall come hither." she went to the door and clapped her hands. an attendant appeared, one of the faithful kernsberg ten to whom so much had been committed upon the isle rugen. "send hither instantly werner von orseln, alt pikker, and the count von löen!" she waited with the latch of the door in her hand till she heard their footsteps upon the stair. they entered together and saluted. margaret moved instinctively nearer to her husband. indeed, only the feeling that the moment was a critical one kept her from running at once to him. as for maurice, he had not yet grown ashamed of his wife's open manifestations of affection. "gentlemen," said joan, "the enemy is at the gate of the city. we shall need every man. who will ride to kernsberg and bring back succour?" "alt pikker will go!" said maurice instantly; "he is in charge of the levies!" "the count von löen is young. he will ride fastest!" said the chief captain. "werner von orseln, of course!" said alt pikker, "he is in chief command." "what? you do not wish to go?" said joan a little haughtily, looking from one to the other of them. it was werner von orseln who answered. "your highness," he said respectfully, "if the enemy be so near, and a battle imminent, the man is no soldier who would willingly be absent. but we are your servants. choose you one to go; or, if it seem good to you, more than one. bid us go, and on our heads it shall be to escort you safely to kernsberg and bring back reinforcements." the princess came closer to joan and slipped a hand into hers. the witty wrinkle at the corner of werner von orseln's mouth twitched. "von lynar shall go!" said joan. whereat maurice held down his head, margaret clapped her hands, and the other two stood stolidly awaiting instructions, as became their position. "at what hour shall i depart, my lady?" said maurice. "now! so soon as you can get the horses ready?" "but your grace must have time to make her preparations!" "i am not going to kernsberg. i stay here!" said joan, stating a fact. werner von orseln was just going out of the door, jubilantly confiding to alt pikker that as soon as he saw the princess put her hand in their lady's he knew they were safe. at the sound of joan's words he was startled into crying out loudly, "what?" at the same time he faced about with the frown on his face which he wore when he corrected an irregularity in the ranks. "i am not going to kernsberg. i bide here!" joan repeated calmly. "have you anything to say to that, chief captain von orseln?" "but, my lady----" "there are no buts in the matter. go to your quarters and see that the arms and armour are all in good case!" "madam, the arms and armour are always in good case," said werner, with dignity; "but go to kernsberg you must. the enemy is near to the city, and your highness might fall into their hands." "you have heard what i have said!" joan tapped the oaken floor with her foot. "but, madam, let me beseech you----" joan turned from her chief captain impatiently and walked towards the door of her private apartments. werner followed his mistress, with his hands a little outstretched and a look of eager entreaty on his face. "my lady," he said, "thirty years i was the faithful servant of your father--ten i have served you. by the memory of those years, if ever i have served you faithfully--" "my father taught you but little, if after thirty years you have not learned to obey. go to your post!" werner von orseln drew himself up and saluted. then he wheeled about and clanked out without adding a word more. "faith," he confided to alt pikker, "the wench is her father all over again. if i had gone a step further, i swear she would have beat me with the flat of my own sword. i saw her eye full on the hilt of it." "faith, i too, wished that i had been better helmeted!" chuckled alt pikker. "well," said werner, like one who makes the best of ill fortune, "we must keep the closer to her, you and i, that in the stress of battle she come not to a mischief. yet i confess that i am not deeply sorry. i began to fear that isle rugen had sapped our lass's spirit. to my mind, she seemed somewhat over content to abide there." "ah," nodded alt pikker, "that is because, after all, our joan is a woman. no one can know the secret of a woman's heart." "and those who think they know most, know the least!" concurred the much experienced werner. * * * * * for a moment, after the door closed upon the men, joan and margaret stood in silence regarding each other. "i must go and make me ready," said margaret, speaking like one who is thinking deeply. joan stood still, conscious that something was about to happen, uncertain what it might be. "i shall see you before i depart," margaret was saying, with her hand on the latch. suddenly she dropped the handle of the door and ran impulsively to joan, clasping her about the neck. "_i know!_" she said, looking up into her face. with a great leap the blood flew to joan's neck and brow, then as slowly faded away, leaving her paler than before. "what do you know?" she faltered; and she feared, yet desired, to hear. "that you love him!" said margaret very low. "i came in--i could not help it--i did not know--when conrad was bidding you goodbye. joan, i am so glad--so glad! now you will understand; now you will not think me foolish any more!" "margaret, i am shamed for ever--it is sin!" whispered joan, with her arms about her friend. "it is love!" said the wife of maurice von lynar, with glowing eyes and pride in her voice. "i hope i shall die in battle----" "joan!" "i a wife, and love a priest--the brother of the man who is my husband! i pray god that he will take my life to atone for the sin of loving him. yet he knows that i could neither help it nor yet hinder." "joan, you will yet be happy." the duchess shook her head. "it were best for us both that i should die--that is what i pray for." "may heaven avert this thing--you know not what you say. and yet," margaret continued in a more meditative tone, "i am not sure. if he were there with you, death itself would not be so hard; at all events, it were better than living without each other." and the two women went into the attiring-room with arms still locked about each other's waists. and as often as their eyes encountered they lingered a little, as if tasting the sweet new knowledge which they had in common. then those of joan of the sword hand were averted and she blushed. chapter xlviii joan governs the city it was night in the city of courtland, and a time of great fear. the watchmen went to and fro on the walls, staring into the blank dark. the alla, running low with the droughts, lapped gently about the piles of the summer palace and lisped against the bounding walls of the city. but ever and anon from the east, where lay the camps of the opposed forces, there came a sound, heavy and sonorous, like distant thunder. whereat the frighted wives of the burghers of courtland said, "i wonder what mother's son lies a-dying now. hearken to the talking of great peg, the margraf's cannon!" at the western or brandenberg gate there was yet greater fear. for the news had spread athwart the city that a great body of horsemen had paused in front of it, and were being held in parley by the guard on duty, till the lady joan, governor of the city, should be made aware. "they swear that they are friends"--so ran the report--"which is proof that they are enemies. for how can there be friends who are not courtlanders. and these speak an outland speech, clacking in their throats, hissing their s's, and laughing 'ho! ho!' instead of 'hoch! hoch!' as all good christians do!" the governor of the city, roused from a rare slumber, leaped on her horse and went clattering off with an escort through the unsleeping streets. when first she came the folk had cheered her as she went. but they were too jaded and saddened now. "our governor, the princess joan!" they used to call her with pride. but for all that she found not the same devotion among these easy courtlanders as among her hardy men of hohenstein. to these she was indeed the princess joan. but to those in castle kernsberg she was joan of the sword hand. when at last she came to the brandenburg gate she found before it a great gathering of the townsfolk. the city guard manned the walls, fretted with haste and falling over each other in their uncertainty. there was yet no strictness of discipline among these raw train-bands, and, instead of waiting for an officer to hail the horsemen in front, every soldier, hackbutman, and halberdier was shouting his loudest, till not a word of the reply could be heard. but all this turmoil vanished before the first fierce gust of joan's wrath like leaves blown away by the blasts of january. "to your posts, every man! i will have the first man spitted with arrows who disobeys--aye, or takes more upon himself than simple obedience to orders. let such as are officers only abide here with me. silence beneath in the tower there." looking out, joan could see a dark mass of horsemen, while above them glinted in the pale starlight a forest of spearheads. "whence come you, strangers?" cried joan, in the loud, clear voice which carried so far. "from plassenburg we are!" came back the answer. "who leads you?" "captains boris and jorian, officers of the prince's bodyguard." "let captains boris and jorian approach and deliver their message." "with whom are we in speech?" cried the unmistakable voice of boris, the long man. "with the princess joan of hohenstein, governor of the city of courtland," said joan firmly. "come on, boris; those courtland knaves will not shoot us now. that is the voice of joan of the sword hand. there can be no treachery where she is." "ho, below there!" cried joan. "shine a light on them from the upper sally port." the lanterns flashed out, and there, immediately below her, joan beheld boris and jorian saluting as of old, with the simultaneous gesture which had grown so familiar to her during the days at isle rugen. she was moved to smile in spite of the soberness of the circumstances. "what news bring you, good envoys?" "the best of news," they said with one accord, but stopped there as if they had no more to say. "and that news is----" "first, we are here to fight. pray you tell us if it is all over!" "it is not over; would to heaven it were!" said joan. "thank god for that!" cried boris and jorian, with quite remarkable unanimity of piety. "is that all your tidings?" "nay, we have brought the most part of the palace guard with us--five hundred good lances and all hungry-bellied for victuals and all monstrously thirsty in their throats. besides which, prince hugo raises plassenburg and the mark, and in ten days he will be on the march for courtland." "god send him speed! i fear me in ten days it will be over indeed," said joan, listening for the dull recurrent thunder down towards the alla mouth. "what, does the muscovite press you so hard?" "he has thousands to our hundreds, so that he can hem us in on every side." "never fear," cried boris confidently; "we will hold him in check for you till our good hugo comes to take him on the flank." then joan bade the gates be opened, and the horsemen of plassenburg, strong men on huge horses, trampled in. she held out a hand for the captains to kiss, and sent the burgomaster to assign them billets in the town. then, without resting, she went to the wool market, which had been turned into a soldiers' hospital. here she found theresa von lynar, going from bed to bed smoothing pillows, anointing wounded limbs, and assisting the surgeons in the care of those who had been brought back from the fatal battlefields of the alla. theresa von lynar rose to meet joan as she entered, with all the respect due to the city's governor. silently the young girl beckoned her to follow, and they went out between long lines of pallets. here and there a torch glimmered in a sconce against the wall, or a surgeon with a candle in his hand paused at a bedside. the sough of moaning came from all about, and in a distant window-bay, unseen, a man distract with fever jabbered and fought fitfully. never had joan realised so nearly the reverse of war. never had she so longed for the peace of isle rugen. she could govern a city. she could lead a foray. she was not afraid to ride into battle, lance in rest or sword in hand. but she owned to herself that she could not do what this woman was doing. "remember, when all is over i shall keep my vow!" joan began, as they paused and looked down the long alley of stained pillows, tossing heads, and torn limbs lying very still on palliasses of straw. without, some of the riotous youth of the city were playing martial airs on twanging instruments. "and i also will keep mine!" responded theresa briefly. "i am duchess and city governor only till the invader is driven out," joan continued. "then isle rugen is to be mine, and your son shall sit in the seat of henry the lion!" "isle rugen shall be yours!" answered theresa. "and when you are tired of castle kernsberg you will cross the wastes and take boat to visit me, even as at the first i came to you!" said joan, kindling at the thought of a definite sacrifice. it seemed like an atonement for her soul's sin. "and what of prince conrad!" said theresa quietly. joan was silent for a space, then she answered with her eyes on the ground. "prince conrad shall rule this land as is his duty--cardinal, archbishop, prince he shall be; there shall be none to deny him so soon as the power of the muscovite is broken. he will be in full alliance with hohenstein. he will form a blood bond with plassenburg. and when he dies, all that is his shall belong to the children of duke maurice and his wife margaret!" theresa von lynar stood a moment weighing joan's words, and when she spoke it was a question that she asked. "where is maurice to-night?" she asked. "he commands the kernsbergers in the camp. prince conrad has made him provost-marshal." "and the princess margaret?" "she abides in the river gate of the city, which maurice passes often upon his rounds!" a strange smile passed over the face of theresa von lynar. "there are many kinds of love," she said; "but not after this fashion did i, that am a dane, love henry the lion. wherefore should a woman hamper a man in his wars? sooner would i have died by his hand!" "she loves him," said joan, with a new sympathy. "she is a princess and wilful. moreover, not even a woman can prophesy what love will make another woman do!" "aye!" retorted theresa, "i am with you there. but to help a man, not to hinder. let her strip herself naked that he may go forth clad. let her fall on the sharp wayside stones that he may march to victory. let her efface herself that no breath may sully his great name. let her die unknown--nay, make of herself a living death--that he may increase and fill the mouths of men. that is love--the love of women as i have imagined it. but this love that takes and will not give, that hampers and sends not forth to conquer, that keeps a man within call like a dog straining upon a leash--pah! that is not the love i know!" she turned sharply upon joan, all her body quivering with excitement. "no, nor yet is it your way of love, my lady joan!" "i shall never be so tried, like margaret," answered joan, willing to change her mood. "i shall never love any man with the love of wife!" "god forbid," said theresa, looking at her, "that such a woman as you should die without living!" chapter xlix the wooing of boris and jorian "jorian," said boris, adjusting his soft underjerkin before putting on his body armour, "thou art the greatest fool in the world!" "hold hard, boris," answered jorian. "honour to whom honour--thou art greater by at least a foot than i!" "well," said the long man, "let us not quarrel about the breadth of a finger-nail. at any rate, we two are the greatest fools in the world." "there are others," said jorian, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the women's apartments. "none so rounded and tun-bellied with folly!" cried boris, with decision. "no two donkeys so thistle-fed as we--to have the command of five hundred good horsemen, and the chances of as warm a fight as ever closed----" "that is just it," cried jorian; "our hugo had no business to forbid us to engage in the open before he should come." "'hold the city.' quoth he, shaking that great head of his. 'i know not the sort of general this priest-knight may be, and till i know i will not have my palace guard flung like a can of dirty water in the face of the muscovites. therefore counsel the prince to stand on the defensive till i come.'" "and rightly spoke the son of the red axe," assented boris; "only our good hugo should have sent other men than you and me to command in such a campaign. we never could let well alone all the days of us." "save in the matter of marriage or no marriage!" smiled boris grimly. "a plague on all women!" growled the little fat man, his rubicund and shining face lined with unaccustomed discontent. "a plague on all women, i say! what can this theresa von lynar want in the muscovite camp, that we must promise to convey her safe through the fortifications, and then put her into prince wasp's hands?" "think you that for some hatred of our joan--you remember that night at isle rugen--or some purpose of her own (she loves not the princess margaret either), this theresa would betray the city to the enemy?" "tush!" jorian had lost his temper and answered crossly. "in that case, would she have called us in? it were easy enough to find some traitor among these courtlanders, who, to obtain the favour of prince louis, would help to bring the muscovite in. but what, if she were thrice a traitress, would cause her to fix on the two men who of all others would never turn knave and spoil-sport--no, not for a hundred vats of rhenish bottled by noah the year after the flood!" "well," sighed his companion, "'tis well enough said, my excellent jorian, but all this does not advance us an inch. we have promised, and at eleven o' the clock we must go. what hinders, though, that we have a bottle of rhenish now, even though the vintage be younger than you say? perhaps, however, the patron was more respectable!" * * * * * thus in the hall of the men-at-arms in the castle of courtland spoke the two captains of plassenburg. all this time they were busy with their attiring, boris in especial making great play with a tortoiseshell comb among his tangled locks. somewhat more spruce was the arraying of our twin comrades-in-arms than we have seen it. perhaps it was the thought of the dangerous escort duty upon which they had promised to venture forth that night; perhaps---- "may we come in?" cried an arch voice from the doorway. "ah, we have caught you! there--we knew it! so said i to my sister not an hour agone. women may be vain as peacocks, but for prinking, dandifying vanity, commend me to a pair of foreign war-captains. my lords, have you blacked your eyelashes yet, touched up your eyebrows, scented and waxed those _beautiful_ moustaches? sister, can you look and live?" and to the two soldiers, standing stiff as at attention, with their combs in their hands, enter the sisters anna and martha pappenheim, more full of mischief than ever, and entirely unsubdued by the presence of the invader at their gates. "russ or turk, courtlander or franconian, jew, proselyte, or dweller in mesopotamia, all is one to us. so be they are men, we will engage to tie them about our little fingers!" "why," cried martha, "whence this grand toilet? we knew not that you had friends in the city. and yet they tell me you have been in courtland before, sir boris?" "marthe," cried anna pappenheim, with vast pretence of indignation, "what has gotten into you, girl? can you have forgotten that martial carriage, those limbs incomparably knit, that readiness of retort and delicate sparkle of wendish wit, which set all the table in a roar, and yet never once brought the blush to maiden's cheek? for shame, marthe!" "ha! ha!" laughed jorian suddenly, short and sharp, as if a string had been pulled somewhere. "ho! ho!" thus more sonorously boris. anna pappenheim caught her skirts in her hand and spun round on her heel on pretence of looking behind her. "sister, what was that?" she cried, spying beneath the settles and up the wide throat of the chimney. "methought a dog barked." "or a grey goose cackled!" "or a donkey sang!" "ladies," said jorian, who, being vastly discomposed, must perforce try to speak with an affectation of being at his ease, "you are pleased to be witty." "heaven mend our wit or your judgment!" "and we are right glad to be your butts. yet have we been accounted fellows of some humour in our own country and among men----" "why, then, did you not stay there?" inquired martha pointedly. "it was not boris and i who could not stay without," retorted jorian, somewhat nettled, nodding towards the door of the guard-room. "well said!" cried frank anna. "he had you there, marthe. pricked in the white! faith, sir jorian pinked us both, for indeed it was we who intruded into these gentlemen's dressing-room. our excuse is that we are tirewomen, and would fain practise our office when and where we can. our princess hath been wedded and needs us but once a week. noble wendish gentlemen, will not you engage us?" she clasped her hands, going a step or two nearer boris as if in appeal. "do, kind sirs," she said, "have pity on two poor girls who have no work to do. think--we are orphans and far from home!" the smiles on the faces of the war-captains broadened. "ho! ho! good!" burst out boris. "ha! ha! excellent!" assented jorian, nodding, with his eyes on martha. anna pappenheim ran quickly on tip-toe round to boris's back and peered between his shoulders. then she ran her eyes down to his heels. "sister," she cried, "_they_ do it. that dreadful noise comes from somewhere about them. i distinctly saw their jaws waggle. they must of a surety be wound up like an arbalist. yet i cannot find the string and trigger! do come and help me, good marthe! if you find it, i will dance at your wedding in my stocking-feet!" and the gay franconian reached up and pulled a stray tag of boris's jerkin, which hung down his back. the knot slipped, and a circlet of red and gold, ragged at the lower edges, came off in her hand, revealing the fact that boris's noble _soubreveste_ was no more than a fringe of broidered collar. "ha! ha! ha!" laughed jorian irrepressibly. for boris looked mightily crestfallen to have his magnificence so rudely dealt with. anna von pappenheim clapped her hands. "i have found it," she cried. "it goes like this. you touch off the trigger of one, and the other explodes!" boris wheeled about with fell intent on his face. he would have caught the teasing minx in his arms, but anna skipped round behind a chair and threatened him with her finger. "not till you engage us," she cried. "hands off, there! we are to array you--not you to disarray us!" whereat the two gamesome southlanders stood together in ludicrous imitation of boris and jorian's military stiffness, folding their hands meekly and casting their eyes downward like a pair of most ingenuous novices listening to the monitions of their lady superior. then anna's voice was heard speaking with almost incredible humility. "will my lord with the hook nose so great and noble deign to express a preference which of us shall be his handmaid?" but they had ventured an inch too far. the string was effectually pulled now. "i will have this one--she is so merry!" cried solemn boris, seizing anna pappenheim about the waist. "and i this! she pretendeth melancholy, yet has tricks like a monkey!" said jorian, quickly following his example. the girls fended them gallantly, yet, as mayhap they desired, their case was hopeless. "hands off! i will not be called 'this one,'" cried anna, though she did not struggle too vehemently. "nor i a monkey! let me go, great wend!" chimed martha, resigning herself as soon as she had said it. in this prosperous estate was the courtship of franconia and plassenburg, when some instinct drew the eyes of jorian to the door of the officers' guard-room, which anna had carefully left open at her entrance, in order to secure their retreat. the duchess joan stood there silent and regardant. "boris!" cried jorian warningly. boris lifted his eyes from the smiling challenge upon anna's upturned lips, which, after the manner of your war-captains, he was stooping to kiss. unwillingly boris lifted his eyes. the next moment both the late envoys of plassenburg were saluting as stiffly as if they had still been men-at-arms, while anna and martha, blushing divinely, were busy with their needlework in the corner, as demure as cats caught sipping cream. joan looked at the four for a while without speaking. "captains boris and jorian," she said sternly, "a messenger has come from prince conrad to say that the muscovites press him hard. he asks for instant reinforcements. there is not a man fit for duty within the city saving your command. will you take them to the prince's assistance immediately? werner von orseln fights by his side. maurice and my kernsbergers are already on their way." the countenances of the two plassenburg captains fell as the leathern screen drops across a cathedral door through which the evening sunshine has been streaming. "my lady, it is heartbreaking, but we cannot," said boris dolefully. "our lord prince hugo bade us keep the city till he should arrive!" "but i am governor. i will keep the city," cried joan; "the women will mount halberd and carry pike. go to the prince! were hugo of plassenburg here he would be the first to march! go, i order you! go, i beseech you!" she said the last words in so changed a tone that boris looked at her in surprise. but still he shook his head. "it is certain that if prince hugo were here he would be the first to ride to the rescue. but prince hugo is not here, and my comrade and i are soldiers under orders!" "cowards!" flashed joan, "i will go myself. the cripples, the halt, and the blind shall follow me. thora of bornheim and these maidens there, they shall follow me to the rescue of their prince. do you, brave men of plassenburg, cower behind the walls while the muscovite overwhelms all and the true prince is slain!" and at this her voice broke and she sobbed out, "cowards! cowards! cowards! god preserve me from cowardly men!" for at such times and in such a cause no woman is just. for which high heaven be thanked! boris looked at jorian. jorian looked at boris. "no, madam," said boris gravely; "your servants are no cowards. it is true that we were commanded by our master to keep his palace guard within the city walls, and these must stay. but we two are in some sense still envoys extraordinary, and not strictly of the prince's palace guard. as envoys, therefore, charged with a free commission in the interests of peace, we can without wrongdoing accompany you whither you will. eh, jorian?" "aye," quoth jorian; "we are at her highness's service till ten o' the clock." "and why till ten?" asked joan, turning to go out. "oh," returned jorian, "there is guard-changing and other matters to see to. but there is time for a wealth of fighting before ten. lead on, madam. we follow your highness!" chapter l the din of battle it was a strange uncouth band that joan had got together in a handful of minutes in order to accompany her to the field upon which, sullenly retiring before a vastly more numerous enemy, conrad and his little army stood at bay. raw lathy lads, wide-hammed from sitting cross-legged in tailors' workshops; prentices too wambly and knock-kneed to be taken at the first draft; old men who had long leaned against street corners and rubbed the doorways of the cathedral smooth with their backs; a sprinkling of stout citizens, reluctant and much afraid, but still more afraid of the wrath of joan of the sword hand. joan was still scouring the lanes and intricate passages for laggards when boris and jorian entered the little square where this company were assembled, most of them embracing their arbalists as if they had been sweeping besoms, and the rest holding their halberds as if they feared they would do themselves an injury. the nose of fat jorian went so high into the air that, without intending it, he found himself looking up at boris; and at that moment boris chanced to be glancing at jorian down the side of his high arched beak. to the herd of the uncouth soldiery it simply appeared as though the two war-captains of plassenburg looked at each other. an observer on the opposite side would have noted, however, that the right eye of jorian and the left eye of boris simultaneously closed. yet when they turned their regard upon the last levy of the city of courtland their faces were grave. "whence come these churchyard scourings, these skulls and crossbones set up on end?" cried jorian in face of them all. and this saying from so stout a man made their legs wamble more than ever. "rotboss rascals, rogues in grain," boris took up the tale, "faith, it makes a man scratch only to look at them! did you ever see their marrow?" the two captains turned away in disgust. they walked to and fro a little apart, and boris, who loved all animals, kicked a dog that came his way. boris was unhappy. he avoided jorian's eye. at last he broke out. "we cannot let our lady joan set forth for field with such a compost of mumpers and tun-barrels as these!" he said. boris confided this, as it were to the housetops. jorian apparently did not listen. he was clicking his dagger in its sheath, but from his next word it was evident that his mind had not been inactive. "what excuse could we make to hugo, our prince?" he said at last. "scarcely did he believe us the last time. and on this occasion we have his direct orders." "are we not still envoys?" queried boris. "extraordinary!" twinkled jorian, catching his comrade's idea as a bush of heather catches moorburn. "and as envoys of a great principality like plassenburg--representatives of the most noble prince and princess in this empire, should we not ride with retinue due and fitting? that is not taking the palace guard into battle. it is only affording due protection to their excellencies' representatives." "that sounds well enough," answered boris doubtfully, "but will it stand probation, think you, when hugo scowls at us from under his brows, and you see the bar of the fifteen red axes of the wolfmark stand red across his forehead?" "tut, man, his anger is naught to that of karl the miller's son. you and i have stood that. why should we fear our quiet hugo?" "aye, aye; in our day we have tried one thing and then another upon karl and have borne up under his anger. but then karl only cursed and used great horned words, suchlike as in his youth he had heard the waggoners use to encourage their horses up the mill brae. but hugo--when he is angry he says nought, only the red bar comes up slowly, and as it grows dark and fiery you wish he would order you to the scaffold at once, and be done with it!" "well," said jorian, "at all events, there is always our helene. i opine, whatever we do, she will not forget old days--the night at the earth-houses belike and other things. i think we may risk it!" "true," meditated boris, "you say well. there is always helene. the little playmate will not let our necks be stretched! not at least for succouring a princess in distress." "and a woman in love?" added jorian, who, though he followed the lead of the long man in great things, had a shrewder eye for some more intimate matters. "eh, what's that you say?" said boris, turning quickly upon him. he had been regarding with interest a shackled-kneed varlet holding a halberd in his arms as if it had been a fractious bairn. but jorian was already addressing the company before him. "here, ye unbaked potsherds--dismiss, if ye know what that means. get ye to the walls, and if ye cannot stand erect, lean against them, and hold brooms in your hands that the muscovite may take them for muskets and you for men if he comes nigh enough. our lady is not joan of the dishclout, that such draught-house ragpickers as you should be pinned to her tail. set bolsters stuffed with bran on the walls! man the gates with faggots. cleave beech billets half in two and set them athwart wooden horses for officers. but insult not the sunshine by letting your shadows fall outside the city. break off! dismiss! go! get out o' this!" as jorian stood before the levies and vomited his insults upon them, a gleam of joy passed across chops hitherto white like fish-bellies with the fear of death. bleared eyes flashed with relief. and there ran a murmur through the ragged ranks which sounded like "thank you, great captain!" * * * * * in a short quarter of an hour the drums of the plassenburg palace guard had beaten to arms. from gate to gate the light sea-wind had borne the cheerful trumpet call, and when joan returned, heartless and downcast, with half a dozen more mouldy rascals, smelling of muck-rakes and damp stable straw, she found before her more than half the horsemen of plassenburg armed cap-a-pie in burnished steel. whereat she could only look at boris in astonishment. "your highness," said that captain, saluting gravely, "we are only able to accompany you as envoys extraordinary of the prince and princess of plassenburg. but as such we feel it our duty in order properly to support our state, to take with us a suitable attendance. we are sure that neither prince hugo nor yet his princess helene would wish it otherwise!" before joan could reply a messenger came springing up the long narrow streets along which the disbanded levies, so vigorously contemned of jorian, were hurrying to their places upon the walls with a detail of the plassenburg men behind them, driving them like sheep. joan took the letter and opened it with a jerk. "from high captain von orseln to the princess joan. "come with all speed, if you would be in time. we are hard beset. the enemy are all about us. prince conrad has ordered a charge!" the face of the woman whitened as she read, but at the same moment the fingers of joan of the sword hand tightened upon the hilt. she read the letter aloud. there was no comment. boris cried an order, jorian dropped to the rear, and the retinue of the envoys extraordinary swung out on the road towards the great battle. outnumbered and beaten back by the locust flock which spread to either side, far outflanking and sometimes completely enfolding his small army, prince conrad still maintained himself by good generalship and the high personal courage which stimulated his followers. the hardy kernsbergers, both horse and foot, whom maurice had brought up, proved the backbone of the defence. besides which werner von orseln had striven by rebuke and chastening, as well as by appeals to their honour, to impart some steadiness into the courtland ranks. but save the free knights from the landward parts, who were driven wild by the sight of the ever-spreading muscovite desolation, there was little stamina among the burghers. they were, indeed, loud and turbulent upon occasion, but they understood but ill any concerted action. in this they differed conspicuously from their fellows of the hansa league, or even from the clothweavers of the netherland cities. as joan and the war-captains of plassenburg came nearer they heard a low growling roar like the distant sound of the breakers on the outer shore at isle rugen. it rose and fell as the fitful wind bore it towards them, but it never entirely ceased. they dashed through the fords of the alla, the three hundred lances of the plassenburg guard clattering eagerly behind them. joan led, on a black horse which conrad had given her. the two war-captains with one mind set their steel caps more firmly on their heads, and as his steed breasted the river bank jorian laughed aloud. angrily joan turned in her saddle to see what the little man was laughing at. but with quick instinct she perceived that he laughed only as the war-horse neighs when he scents the battle from afar. he was once more the born fighter of men. jorian and his mate would never be generals, but they were the best tools any general could have. they came nearer. a few wreaths of smoke, hanging over the yet distant field, told where russ and teuton met in battle array. a solemn slumberous reverberation heard at intervals split the dull general roar apart. it was the new cannon which had come from the margraf george to help beat back the common foe. again and again broke in upon their advance that appalling sound, which set the inward parts of men quivering. presently they began to pass limping men hasting cityward, then fleeing and panic-stricken wretches who looked over their shoulders as if they saw steel flashing at their backs. a camp-marshal or two was trying to stay these, beating them over the head and shoulders with the flat of their swords; but not a man of the plassenburgers even looked towards them. their eyes were on that distant tossing line dimly seen amid clouds of dust, and those strange wreaths of white smoke going upward from the cannons' mouths. the roar grew louder; there were gaps in the fighting line; a banner went down amid great shouting. they could see the glinting of sunshine upon armour. "kernsberg!" cried joan, her sword high in the air as she set spurs in her black stallion and swept onward a good twenty yards before the rush of the horsemen of plassenburg. now they began to see the arching arrow-hail, grey against the skyline like gnat swarms dancing in the dusk of summer trees. the quarrels buzzed. the great catapults, still used by the muscovites, twanged like the breaking of viol cords. the horses instinctively quickened their pace to take the wounded in their stride. there--there was the thickest of the fray, where the great cannon of the margraf george thundered and were instantly wrapped in their own white pall. [illustration: "the sturdy form of werner von orseln, bestriding the body of a fallen knight." [_page _]] joan's quick glance about her for conrad told her nothing of his whereabouts. but the two war-captains, more experienced, perceived that the muscovites were already everywhere victorious. their horsemen outflanked and overlapped the slender array of courtland. only about the cannon and on the far right did any seem to be making a stand. "there!" cried jorian, couching his lance, "there by the cannon is where we will get our bellyful of fighting." he pointed where, amid a confusion of fighting-men, wounded and struggling horses, and the great black tubes of the margraf's cannon, they saw the sturdy form of werner von orseln, grown larger through the smoke and dusty smother, bestriding the body of a fallen knight. he fought as one fights a swarm of angry bees, striking every way with a desperate courage. the charging squadrons of plassenburg divided to pass right and left of the cannon. joan first of all, with her sword lifted and crying not kernsberg now, but "conrad! conrad!" drave straight into the heart of the cossack swarm. at the trampling of the horses' feet the muscovites lifted their eyes. they had been too intent to kill to waste a thought on any possible succour. joan felt herself strike right and left. her heart was crazed within her so that she set spurs to her steed and rode him forward, plunging and furious. then a blowing wisp of white plume was swept aside, and through a helmet (broken as a nut shell is cracked and falls apart) joan saw the fair head of her prince. a trickle of blood wetted a clinging curl on his forehead and stole down his pale cheek. werner von orseln, begrimed and drunken with battle, bestrode the body of prince conrad. his defiance rose above the din of battle. "come on, cowards of the north! taste good german steel! to me, kernsberg! to me, hohenstein! curs of courtland, would ye desert your prince? curses on you all, swart hounds of the baltic! let me out of this and never a dog of you shall ever bite bread again!" and so, foaming in his battle anger, the ancient war-captain would have stricken down his mistress. for he saw all things red and his heart was bitter within him. with all the power that was in her, right and left joan smote to clear her way to conrad, praying that if she could not save him she might at least die with him. but by this time captains boris and jorian, leaving their horsemen to ride at the second line, had wheeled and now came thrusting their lances freely into cossack backs. these last, finding themselves thus taken in the rear, turned and fled. "hey, werner, good lad, do not slay your comrades! down blade, old thirsty. hast thou not drunken enough blood this morning?" so cried the war-captains as werner dashed the blood and tears out of his eyes. "back! back!" he cried, as soon as he knew with whom he had to do. "go back! conrad is slain or hath a broken head. they were lashing at him as he lay to kill him outright? ah, viper, would you sting?" (he thrust a wounded muscovite through as he was crawling nearer to conrad with a broad knife in his hand.) "these beaten curs of courtlanders broke at the first attack. get him to horse! quick, i say. my lady joan, what do you do in this place?" for even while he spoke joan had dismounted and was holding conrad's head on her lap. with the soft white kerchief which she wore on her helm as a favour she wiped the wound on his scalp. it was long, but did not appear to be very deep. as werner stood astonished, gazing at his mistress, boris summoned the trumpeter who had wheeled with him. "sound the recall!" he bade him. and in a moment clear notes rang out. "he is not dead! lift him up, you two!" joan cried suddenly. "no, i will take him on my steed. it is the strongest, and i the lightest. i alone will bear him in." and before any could speak she sprang into the saddle without assistance with all her old lightness of action, most like that of a lithe lad who chases the colts in his father's croft that he may ride them bareback. so werner von orseln lifted the head and boris the feet, bearing him tenderly that they might set him upon joan's horse. and so firm was her seat (for she rode as the maid rode into orleans with dunois on one side and gilles de rais on the other), that she did not even quiver as she received the weight. the noble black looked round once, and then, as if understanding the thing that was required of him, he gentled himself and began to pace slow and stately towards the city. on either side walked tall boris and sturdy werner, who steadied the unconscious prince with the palms of their hands. meanwhile the palace guard, with jorian at its head, defended the slow retreat, while on the flanks maurice and his staunch kernsbergers checked the victorious advance of the muscovites. yet the disaster was complete. they left the dead, they left the camp, they left the munitions of war. they abandoned the margraf's cannon and all his great store of powder. and there were many that wept and some that only ground teeth and cursed as they fell back, and heard the wailing of the women and saw the fear whitening on the faces they loved. only the kernsbergers bit their lips and watched the eye of maurice, by whose side a slim page in chain-mail had ridden all day with visor down. and the men of the palace guard prayed for prince hugo to come. as for joan, she cared nothing for victory or defeat, loss or gain, because that the man she loved leaned on her breast, bleeding and very still. yet with great gentleness she gave him down into loving hands, and afterwards stood marble-pale beside the couch while theresa von lynar unlaced his armour and washed his wounds. then, nerving herself to see him suffer, she murmured over to herself, once, twice, and a hundred times, "god help me to do so and more also to those who have wrought this--specially to louis of courtland and ivan of muscovy." "abide ye, little one--be patient. vengeance will come to both!" said theresa. "i, who do not promise lightly, promise it you!" and she laid her hand on the girl's shoulder. never before had the duchess joan been called "little one!" yet for all her brave deeds she laid her head on theresa's shoulder, murmuring, "save him--save him! i cannot bear to lose him. pray for him and me!" theresa kissed her brow. "ah," she said, "the prayers of such as theresa von lynar would avail little. yet she may be a weapon in the hand of the god of vengeance. is it not written that they that take the sword shall perish by the sword?" but already joan had forgotten vengeance. for now the surgeons of courtland stood about, and she murmured, "must he die? tell me, will he die?" and as the wise men silently shook their heads, the crying of the victorious muscovites could be heard outside the wall. then ensued a long silence, through which broke a gust of iron-throated laughter. it was the roar of the margraf's captured cannon firing the salvo of victory. chapter li theresa's treachery that night the whole city of courtland cowered in fear before its triumphant enemy. at the nearest posts the muscovites were in great strength, and the sight of their burnings fretted the souls of the citizens on guard. some came near enough to cry insults up to the defenders. "you would not have your own true prince. now ye shall have ours. we will see how you like the exchange!" this was the cry of some renegade courtlander, or of a muscovite learned (as ofttimes they are) in the speech of the west. but within the walls and at the gates the men of kernsberg and hohenstein rubbed their hands and nudged each other. "brisk lads," one said, "let us make our wills and send them by pigeon post. i am leaving gretchen my book of prayers, my lives of the saints, my rosary, and my belt pounced with golden eye-holes----" "methinks that last will do thy gretchen most service," said his companion, "since the others have gone to the vintner's long ago!" * * * * * "thou art the greater knave to say so," retorted his companion; "and if by god's grace we come safe out of this i will break thy head for thy roguery!" the muscovites had dragged the captured cannon in front of the plassenburg gate, and now they fired occasionally, mostly great balls of quarried stone, but afterward, as the day wore later, any piece of metal or rock they could find. and the crash of wooden galleries and stone machicolations followed, together with the scuttling of the courtland levies from the post of danger. a few of the younger citizens, indeed, were staunch, but for the most part the plassenburgers and kernsbergers were left to bite their lips and confide to each other what their prince hugo or their joan of the hand sword would have done to bring such cowards to reason and right discipline. "an it were not for our own borders and that brave priest-prince, no shaveling he," they said, "faith, such curs were best left to the muscovite. the plet and the knout were made for such as they!" "not so," said he who had maligned gretchen; "the courtlanders are yea-for-soothing knaves, truly; but they are germans, and need only to know they must, to be brave enough. one or two of our karl's hostelries, with thirteen lodgings on either side, every guest upright and a-swing by the neck--these would make of the courtlanders as good soldiers as thyself, hans finck!" but at that moment came captain boris by and rebuked them sharply for the loudness of their speech. it was approaching ten of the clock. boris and jorian had already visited all the posts, and were now ready to make their venture with theresa von lynar. "no fools like old fools!" grumbled jorian sententiously, as he buckled on his carinated breastplate, that could shed aside bolts, quarrels, and even bullets from powder guns as the prow of a vessel sheds the waves to either side in a good northerly wind. "'tis you should know," retorted boris, "being both old and a fool." "a man is known by the company he keeps!" answered jorian, adjusting the lining of his steel cap, which was somewhat in disarray after the battle of the morning. "ah!" sighed his companion. "i would that i had the choosing of the company i am to keep this night!" "and i!" assented jorian, looking solemn for once as he thought of pretty martha pappenheim. "well, we do it from a good motive," said boris; "that is one comfort. and if we lose our lives, prince conrad will order many masses (they will need to be very many) for your soul's peace and good quittance from purgatory!" "humph!" said jorian, as if he did not see much comfort in that, "i would rather have a box on the ear from martha pappenheim than all the matins of all the priests that ever sung laud!" "canst have that and welcome--if her sister will do as well!" cried anna, as the two men went out into the long passage. and she suited the deed to the word. "oh! i have hurt my hand against that hard helmet. it serves me right for listening! marthe!"--she looked about for her sister before turning to the soldiers--"see, i have hurt my hand," she added. then she made the tears well up in her eyes by an art of the tongue in the throat she had. "kiss it well, marthe!" she said, looking up at her sister as she came along the passage swinging a lantern as carelessly as if there were not a muscovite in the world. but boris forestalled the newcomer and caught up the small white hand in the soft leathern grip of his palm where the ring-mail stopped. "_i_ will do that better than any sister!" he said. "that, indeed, you cannot; for only the kiss of love can make a hurt better!" anna glanced up at him with wet eyes, a little maid full of innocence and simplicity. most certainly she was all unconscious of the danger in which she was putting herself. "well, then, i love you!" said boris, who did his wooing plainly. and did not kiss her hand. meanwhile the others had wandered to the end of the passage and now stood at the turnpike staircase, the light of martha pappenheim's lantern making a dim haze of light about them. anna looked at boris as often as she could. "you really love me?" she questioned. "no, you cannot; you have known me too brief a time. besides, this is no time to speak of love, with the enemy at the gates!" "tush!" said boris, with the roughness which anna had looked for in vain among all the youth of courtland. "i tell you, girl, it is the time. you and i are no courtlanders, god be thanked! in a little while i shall ride back to plassenburg, which is a place where men live. i shall not go alone. you, little anna, shall come, too!" "you are not deceiving me?" she murmured, looking up upon occasion. "there is none at plassenburg whom you love at all?" "i have never loved any woman but you!" said boris, settling his conscience by adding mentally, "though i may have thought i did when i told them so." "nor i any man!" said anna, softly meditative, making, however, a similar addition. thus greek met greek, and both were very happy in the belief that their own was the only mental reservation. "but you are going out?" pouted anna, after a while. "why cannot you stay in the castle to-night?" "to-night of all nights it is impossible," said boris. "we must make the rounds and see that the gates are guarded. the safety of the city is in our hands." "you are sure that you will not run into any danger!" said anna anxiously. she remembered a certain precariousness of tenure among some of her previous--mental reservations. there was fritz wünch, who had laughed at the red beard of a prussian baron; wilhelm of bautzen, who went once too often on a foray with his uncle, fighting max of castelnau---- for answer the staunch war-captain kissed her, and the girl clung to her lover, this time in real tears. martha's candle had gone out, and the two had perforce to go down the stair in the dark. they reached the foot at last. "none of them were quite like him," she owned that night to her sister. "he takes you up as if he would break you in his arms. and he could, too. it is good to feel!" "jorian also is just like that--so satisfactory!" answered martha. which shows the use jorian must have made of his time at the stairhead, and why martha pappenheim's light went out. "he swears he has never loved any woman before." "jorian does just the same." "i suppose we must never tell them----" "marthe--if you should dare, i will---- besides, you were just as bad!" "anna, as if i would dream of such a thing!" and the two innocents fell into each other's arms and embraced after the manner of women, each in her own heart thinking how much she preferred "the way of a man with a maid"--at least that form of it cultivated by stout war-captains of plassenburg. without, boris and jorian trampled along through a furious gusting of baltic rain, which came in driving sheets from the north and splashed its thumb-board drops equally upon the red roofs of courtland, the tented muscovites drinking victory, and upon the dead men lying afield. worse still, it fell on many wounded, and to such even the thrust of the thievish camp-follower's tolle-knife was merciful. never could monks more fitly have chanted, "blessed are the dead!" than concerning those who lay stiff and unconscious on the field where they had fought, to whose ears the alla sang in vain. attired in her cloak of blue, with the hood pulled low over her face, theresa von lynar was waiting for boris and jorian at the door of the market-hospital. "i thank you for your fidelity," she said quickly. "i have sore need of you. i put a great secret into your hands. i could not ask one of the followers of prince conrad, nor yet a soldier of the duchess joan, lest when that is done which shall be done to-night the prince or the duchess should be held blameworthy, having most to gain or lose thereto. but you are of plassenburg and will bear me witness!" boris and jorian silently signified their obedience and readiness to serve her. then she gave them their instructions. "you will conduct me past the city guards, out through the gates, and take me towards the camp of the prince of muscovy. there you will leave me, and i shall be met by one who in like manner will lead me through the enemy's posts." "and when will you return, my lady theresa? we shall wait for you!" "thank you, gentlemen. you need not wait. i shall not return!" "not return?" cried jorian and boris together, greatly astonished. "no," said theresa very slowly and quietly, her eyes set on the darkness. "hear ye, captains of plassenburg--i will give you my mind. you are trusty men, and can, as i have proved, hold your own counsel." boris and jorian nodded. there was no difficulty about that. "good!" they said together as of old. as they grew older it became more and more easy to be silent. silence had always been easier to them than speech, and the habit clave to them even when they were in love. "listen, then," theresa went on. "you know, and i know, that unless quick succour come, the city is doomed. you are men and soldiers, and whether ye make an end amid the din of battle, or escape for this time, is a matter wherewith ye do not trouble your minds till the time comes. but for me, be it known to you that i am the widow of henry the lion of kernsberg. my son maurice is the true heir to the dukedom. yet, being bound by an oath sworn to the man who made me his wife, i have never claimed the throne for him. but now joan his sister knows, and out of her great heart she swears that she will give up the duchy to him. if, therefore, the city is taken, the muscovite will slay my son, slay him by their hellish tortures, as they have sworn to do for the despite he put upon prince ivan. and his wife, the princess margaret, will die of grief when they carry her to moscow to make a bride out of a widow. joan will be a prisoner, conrad either dead or a priest, and kernsberg, the heritage of henry the lion, a fief of the czar. there is no help in any. your prince would succour, but it takes time to raise the country, and long ere he can cross the frontier the russian will have worked his will in courtland. now i see a way--a woman's way. and if i fall in the doing of it, well--i but go to meet him for the sake of whose children i freely give my life. in this bear me witness." "madam," said boris, gravely, "we are but plain soldiers. we pretend not to understand the great matters of state of which you speak. but rest assured that we will serve you with our lives, bear true witness, and in all things obey your word implicitly." without difficulty they passed through the streets and warded gates. werner von orseln, indeed, tramping the inner rounds, cried "whither away?" then, seeing the lady cloaked between them, he added after his manner, "by my faith, you plassenburgers beat the world. hang me to a gooseberry bush if i do not tell anna pappenheim of it ere to-morrow's sunset. as i know, she will forgive inconstancy only in herself!" they plunged into the darkness of the outer night. as soon as they were beyond the gates the wind drave past them hissing level. the black trees roared overhead. at first in the swirl of the storm the three could see nothing; but gradually the watchfires of the muscovite came out thicksown like stars along the rising grounds on both sides of the alla. boris strode on ahead, peering anxiously into the night, and a little behind jorian gave theresa his hand over the rough and uneven ground. a pair of ranging stragglers, vultures that accompany the advance of all great armies, came near and examined the party, but retreated promptly as they caught the glint of the firelight upon the armour of the war-captains. presently they began to descend into the valley, the iron-shod feet of the men clinking upon the stones. theresa walked silently, steeped in thought, laying a hand on arm or shoulder as she had occasion. suddenly tall boris stopped dead and with a sweep of his arm halted the others. "there!" he whispered, pointing upward. and against the glow thrown from behind a ridge they could see a pair of cossacks riding to and fro ceaselessly, dark against the ruddy sky. "gott, would that i had my arbalist! i could put gimlet holes in these knaves!" whispered jorian over boris's shoulder. "hush!" muttered boris; "it is lucky for martha pappenheim that you left it at home!" "captains boris and jorian," theresa was speaking with quietness, raising her voice just enough to make herself heard over the roar of the wind overhead, for the nook in which they presently found themselves was sheltered, "i bid you adieu--it may be farewell. you have done nobly and like two valiant captains who were fit to war with henry the lion. i thank you. you will bear me faithful witness in the things of which i have spoken to you. take this ring from me, not in recompense, but in memory. it is a bauble worth any lady's acceptance. and you this dagger." she took two from within her mantle, and gave one to jorian. "it is good steel and will not fail you. the fellow of it i will keep!" she motioned them backward with her hand. "abide there among the bushes till you see a man come out to meet me. then depart, and till you have good reason keep the last secret of theresa, wife of henry the lion, duke of kernsberg and hohenstein!" boris and jorian bowed themselves as low as the straitness of their armour would permit. "we thank you, madam," they said; "as you have commanded, so will we do!" and as they had been bidden they withdrew into a clump of willow and alder whose leaves clashed together and snapped like whips in the wind. "yonder woman is braver than you or i, jorian," said boris, as crouching they watched her climb the ridge. "which of us would do as much for any on the earth?" "after all, it is for her son. if you had children, who can say----?" "whether i may have children or no concerns you not," returned boris, who seemed unaccountably ruffled. "i only know that i would not throw away my life for a baker's dozen of them!" upon the skyline theresa von lynar stood a moment looking backward to make sure that her late escort was hidden. then she took a whistle from her gown and blew upon it shrilly in a lull of the storm. at the sound the war-captains could see the cossacks drop their lances and pause in their unwearying ride. they appeared to listen eagerly, and upon the whistle being repeated one of them threw up a hand. then between them and on foot the watchers saw another man stand, a dark shadow against the watchfires. the sentinels leaned down to speak with him, and then, lifting their lances, they permitted him to pass between them. he was a tall man, clad in a long caftan which flapped about his feet, a sheepskin posteen or winter jacket, and a round cap of fur, high-crowned and flat-topped, upon his head. he came straight towards theresa as if he expected a visitor. the two men in hiding saw him take her hand as a host might that of an honoured guest, kiss it reverently, and then lead her up the little hill to where the sentinels waited motionless on their horses. so soon as the pair had passed within the lines, their figures and the cossack salute momentarily silhouetted against the watchfires, the twin horsemen resumed their monotonous ride. by this time jorian's head was above the bushes and his eyes stood well nigh out of his head. "down, fool!" growled boris, taking him by the legs and pulling him flat; "the cossacks will see you!" "boris," gasped jorian, who had descended so rapidly that the fall and the weight of his plate had driven the wind out of him, "i know that fellow. i have seen him before. it is prince wasp's physician, alexis the deacon. i remember him in courtland when first we came thither!" "well, and what of that?" grunted boris, staring at the little detached tongues of willow-leaf flame which were blown upward from the muscovite watchfires. "what of that, man?" retorted boris. "why, only this. we have been duped. she was a traitress, after all. this has been planned a long while." "traitress or saint, it is none of our business," said boris grimly. "we had better get ourselves within the walls of courtland, and say nothing to any of this night's work!" "at any rate," added the long man as an afterthought, "i have the ring. it will be a rare gift for anna." jorian looked ruefully at his dagger, holding it between the rustling alder leaves, so as to catch the light from the watchfires. the red glow fell on a jewel in the hilt. "'tis a pretty toy enough, but how can i give that to marthe? it is not a fit keepsake for a lady!" "well," said boris, suddenly appeased, "i will swop you for it. i am not so sure that my pretty spitfire would not rather have it than any ring i could give her. shall we exchange?" "but we promised to keep them as souvenirs?" urged jorian, whose conscience smote him slightly. "one does not tell lies to a lady--at least where one can help it." "it depends upon the lady!" said boris practically. "you can tell your marthe the truth. i will please myself with anna. hand over the dagger." so wholly devoid of sentiment are war-captains when they deal with keepsakes. chapter lii the margraf's powder chests it was indeed alexis the deacon who met the lady theresa. and the matter had been arranged, just as boris said. alexis the deacon, a wise man of many disguises, remained in courtland after the abrupt departure of prince ivan. theresa had found him in the hospital, where, sheltered by a curtain, she heard him talk with a dying man--the son of a greek merchant domiciled in courtland, whose talent for languages and quick intelligence had induced prince conrad to place him on his immediate staff of officers. "i bid you reveal to me the plans and intents of the prince," theresa heard alexis say, "otherwise i cannot give you absolution. i am priest as well as doctor." at this the young greek groaned and turned aside his head, for he loved the prince. nevertheless, he spoke into the ear of the physician all he knew, and as reward received a sleeping draught, which induced the sleep from which none waken. and afterwards theresa had spoken also. so it was this same alexis--spy, priest, surgeon, assassin, and chief confidant of ivan prince of muscovy--who, in front of the watchfires, bent over the hand of theresa von lynar on that stormy night which succeeded the crowning victory of the russian arms in courtland. "this way, madam. fear not. the prince is eagerly awaiting you--both princes, indeed," alexis said, as he led her into the camp through lines of lighted tents and curious eyes looking at them from the darkness. "only tell them all that you have to tell, and, trust me, there shall be no bounds to the gratitude of the prince, or of alexis the deacon, his most humble servant." theresa thought of what this boundless gratitude had obtained for the young greek, and smiled. they came to an open space before a lighted pavilion. before the door stood a pair of officers trying in vain to shield their gay attire under scanty shoulder cloaks from the hurtling inclemency of the night. their ready swords, however, barred the way. "to see the prince--his highness expects us," said alexis, without any salute. and with no further objection the two officers stood aside, staring eagerly and curiously however under the hood of the lady's cloak whom alexis brought so late to the tent of their master. "ha!" muttered one of them confidentially as the pair passed within, "i often wondered what kept our ivan so long in courtland. it was more than his wooing of the princess margaret, i will wager!" "curse the wet!" growled his fellow, turning away. he felt that it was no time for speculative scandal. theresa and her conductor stood within the tent of the commander of the muscovite army. the glow of light, though it came only from candles set within lanterns of horn, was great enough to be dazzling to her eyes. she found herself in the immediate presence of prince ivan, who rose with his usual lithe grace to greet her. an older man, with a grey pinched face, sat listlessly with his elbow on the small camp table. he leaned his forehead on his palm, and looked down. behind, in the half dark of the tent, a low wide divan with cushions was revealed, and all the upper end of the tent was filled up with a huge and shadowy pile of kegs and boxes, only half concealed behind a curtain. "i bid you welcome, my lady," said prince ivan, taking her hand. "surely never did ally come welcomer than you to our camp to-night. my servant alexis has told me of your goodwill--both towards ourselves and to prince louis." (he indicated the silent sitting figure with a little movement of his hand sufficiently contemptuous.) "let us hear your news, and then will we find you such lodging and welcome as may be among rough soldiers and in a camp of war." as he was speaking theresa von lynar loosened her long cloak of blue, its straight folds dank and heavy with the rains. the eyes of the prince of muscovy grew wider. hitherto this woman had been to him but a common traitress, possessed of great secrets, doubtless to be flattered a little, and then--afterwards--thrown aside. now he stood gazing at her his hands resting easily on the table, his body a little bent. as she revealed herself to him the pupils of his eyes dilated, and amber gleams seemed to shoot across the irises. he thought he had never seen so beautiful a woman. as he stood there, sharpening his features and moistening his lips, prince ivan looked exceedingly like a beast of prey looking out of his hole upon a quarry which comes of its own accord within reach of his claws. but in a moment he had recovered himself, and came forward with renewed reverence. "madam," he said, bowing low, "will you be pleased to sit down? you are wet and tired." he went to the flap of the pavilion and pushed aside the dripping flap. "alexis!" he cried, "call up my people. bid them bring a brazier, and tell these lazy fellows to serve supper in half an hour on peril of their heads!" he returned and stood before theresa, who had sunk back as if fatigued on an ottoman covered with thick furs. her feet nestled in the bearskins which covered the floor. the prince looked anxiously down. "pardon me, your shoes are wet," he said. "we are but muscovite boors, but we know how to make ladies comfortable. permit me!" and before theresa could murmur a negative the prince had knelt down and was unloosing the latchets of her shoes. "a moment!" he said, as he sprang again to his feet with the lithe alertness which distinguished him. prince ivan ran to a corner where, with the brusque hand of a master, he had tossed a score of priceless furs to the ground. he rose again and came towards theresa with a flash of something scarlet in his hand. "you will pardon us, madam," he said, "you are our guest--the sole lady in our camp. i lay it upon your good nature to forgive our rude makeshifts." and again prince ivan knelt. he encased theresa's feet in dainty oriental slippers, small as her own, and placed them delicately and respectfully on the couch. "there, that is better!" he said, standing over her tenderly. "i thank you, prince." she answered the action more than the words, smiling upon him with her large graciousness; "i am not worthy of so great favour." "my lady," said the prince, "it is a proverb of our house that though one day muscovy shall rule the world, a woman will always rule muscovy. i am as my fathers were!" theresa did not answer. she only smiled at the prince, leaning a little further back and resting her head easily upon the palm of her hand. the servitors brought in more lamps, which they slung along the ridge-pole of the roof, and these shedding down a mellow light enhanced the ripe splendour of theresa's beauty. prince ivan acknowledged to himself that he had spoken the truth when he said that he had never seen a woman so beautiful. margaret?--ah, margaret was well enough; margaret was a princess, a political necessity, but this woman was of a nobler fashion, after a mode more truly russ. and the prince of muscovy, who loved his fruit with the least touch of over-ripeness, would not admit to himself that this woman was one hour past the prime of her glorious beauty. and indeed there was much to be said for this judgment. theresa's splendid head was set against the dusky skins. her rich hair of venice gold, escaping a little from the massy carefulness of its ordered coils, had been blown into wet curls that clung closely to her white neck and tendrilled about her broad low brow. the warmth of the tent and the soft luxury of the rich rugs had brought a flush of red to a cheek which yet tingled with the volleying of the baltic raindrops. "alexis never told me this woman was so beautiful," he said to himself. "who is she? she cannot be of courtland. such a marvel could not have been hidden from me during all my stay there!" so he addressed himself to making the discovery. "my lady," he said, "you are our guest. will you deign to tell us how more formally we may address you? you are no courtlander, as all may see!" "i am a dane," she answered smiling; "i am called the lady theresa. for the present let that suffice. i am venturing much to come to you thus! my father and brothers built a castle upon the baltic shore on land that has been the inheritance of my mother. then came the reivers of kernsberg and burned the castle to the ground. they burned it with fire from cellar to roof-tree. and they slackened the fire with the blood of my nearest kindred!" as she spoke theresa's eyes glittered and altered. the prince read easily the meaning of that excitement. how was he to know all that lay behind? "and so," he said, "you have no good-will to the princess joan of hohenstein--and courtland. or to any of her favourers?" he added after a pause. at the name the grey-headed man, who had been sitting unmoved by the table with his elbow on the board, raised a strangely wizened face to theresa's. "what"--he said, in broken accents, stammering in his speech and grappling with the words as if, like a wrestler at a fair, he must throw each one severally--"what--who has a word to say against the lady joan, princess of courtland? whoso wrongs her has me to reckon with--aye, were it my brother ivan himself!" "not i, certainly, my good louis," answered ivan easily. "i would not wrong the lady by word or deed for all germany from bor-russia to the rhine-fall!" he turned to alexis the deacon, who was at his elbow. "fill up his cup--remember what i bade you!" he said sharply in an undertone. "his cup is full, he will drink no more. he pushes it from him!" answered alexis in the same half-whisper. but neither, as it seemed, took any particular pains to prevent their words carrying to the ear of prince louis. and, indeed, they had rightly judged. for swiftly as it had come the momentary flash of manhood died out on the meagre face. the arm upon which he had leaned swerved limply aside, and the grey beard fell helplessly forward upon the table. "so much domestic affection is somewhat belated," said prince ivan, regarding louis of courtland with disgust. "look at him! who can wonder at the lady's taste? he is a pretty prince of a great province. but if he live he will do well enough to fill a chair and hold a golden rod. take him away, alexis!" "nay," said theresa, with quick alarm, "let him stay. there are many things to speak of. we may need to consult prince louis later." "i fear the prince will not be of great use to us," smiled prince ivan. "if only i had known, i would have conserved his princely senses more carefully. but for heads like his the light wine of our country is dangerously strong." he glanced about the pavilion. the servants had not yet retired. "convey his highness to the rear, and lay him upon the powder barrels!" he indicated with his hand the array of boxes and kegs piled in the dusk of the tent. the servitors did as they were told; they lifted prince louis and would have carried him to that grim couch, but, struck with some peculiarity, alexis the deacon suddenly bent over his lax body and thrust his hand into the bosom of his princely habit, now tarnished thick with wine stains and spilled meats. "excellency," he said, turning to his master, "the prince is dead! his heart does not beat. it is the stroke! i warned you it would come!" prince ivan strode hastily towards the body of louis of courtland. "surely not?" he cried, in seeming astonishment. "this may prove very inconvenient. yet, after all, what does it matter? with your assistance, madam, the city is ours. and then, what matters dead prince or living prince? a garrison in every fort, a squadron of good cossacks pricking across every plain, a tax-collector in every village--these are the best securities of princedom. but this is like our good louis. he never did anything at a right time all his life." theresa stood on the other side of the dead man as the servitors lowered him for the inspection of their lord. the weary wrinkled face had been smoothed as with the passage of a hand. only the left corner of the mouth was drawn down, but not so much as to be disfiguring. "i am glad he spoke kindly of his wife at the last," she murmured. and she added to herself, "this falls out well--it relieves me of a necessity." "spoken like a woman!" cried prince ivan, looking admiringly at her. "pray forgive my bitter speech, and remember that i have borne long with this man!" he turned to the servitors and directed them with a motion of his hand towards the back of the pavilion. "drop the curtain," he said. and as the silken folds rustled heavily down the curtain fell upon the career and regality of louis, prince of courtland, hereditary defender of the holy see. the men did not bear him far. they placed him upon the boxes of the powder for the margraf's cannon, which for safety and dryness ivan had bade them bring to his own pavilion. the dead man lay in the dark, open-eyed, staring at the circling shadows as the servitors moved athwart the supper table, at which a woman sat eating and drinking with her enemy. * * * * * theresa von lynar sat directly opposite the prince of muscovy. the board sparkled with mellow lights reflected from many lanterns. the servitors had departed. only the measured tread of the sentinels was heard without. they were alone. and then theresa spoke. very fully she told what she had learned of the defences of the place, which gates were guarded by the kernsbergers, which by the men of plassenburg, which by the remnants of the broken army of courtland. she spoke in a hushed voice, the prince sipping and nodding as he looked into her eyes. she gave the passwords of the inner and outer defences, the numbers of the defenders at each gate, the plans for bringing provisions up the alla--indeed, everything that a besieging general needs to know. and so soon as she had told the passwords the prince asked her to pardon him a moment. he struck a silver bell and with scarce a moment's delay alexis entered. "go," said the prince; "send one of our fellows familiar with the speech of courtland into the city by the plassenburg gate. the passwords are '_henry the lion_' at the outer gate and '_remember_' at the inner port. let the man be dressed in the habit of a countryman, and carry with him some wine and provend. follow him and report immediately." while the prince was speaking he had never taken his eyes off theresa von lynar, though he had appeared to be regarding alexis the deacon. theresa did not blanch. not a muscle of her face quivered. and within his muscovite heart, full of treachery as an egg of meat, prince ivan said, "she is no traitress, this dame; but a simpleton with all her beauty. the woman is speaking the truth." and theresa was speaking the truth. she had expected some such test and was prepared; but she only told the defenders' plans to one man; and as for the passwords, she had arranged with boris that at the earliest dawn they were to be changed and the forces redistributed. while these two waited for the return of alexis, the prince encouraged theresa to speak of her wrongs. he watched with approbation the sparkle of her eye as he spoke of joan of the sword hand. he noted how she shut down her lips when henry the lion was mentioned, how her voice shook as she recounted the cruel end of her kin. though at ordinary times most sober, the prince now added cup to cup, and like a muscovite he grew more bitter as the wine mounted to his head. he leaned forward and laid his hand upon his companion's white wrist. theresa quivered a little, but did not take it away. the prince was becoming confidential. "yes," he said, leaning towards her, "you have suffered great wrongs, and do well to hate with the hate that craves vengeance. but even you shall be satisfied. to-morrow and to-morrow's to-morrow you and i shall have out our hearts' desire upon our enemies. yes, for many days. sweet--sweet it shall be--sweet, and very slow; for i, too, have wrongs, as you shall hear." "truly, i did well to come to you!" said theresa, giving her hand willingly into his. he clasped her fingers and would have kissed her but for the table between. "you speak truth." he hissed the words bitterly. "indeed, you did better than well. i also have wrongs, and ivan of muscovy will show you a muscovite vengeance. "this prince conrad of theirs baulked me of my revenge and drove me from the city. him will i take and burn at the stake in his priest's robes, as if he were saying mass--or, better still, in the red of the cardinal's habit with his hat upon his head. and ere he dies he shall see his paramour carried to her funeral. for i will give you the life of the woman for whose sake he thwarted ivan of muscovy. if you will it, no hand but yours shall have the shedding of the blood of your house's enemy. is not this your vengeance already sweet in prospect?" "it is sweet indeed!" answered theresa. "your highness!" said the voice of alexis at the tent door, "am i permitted to speak?" "speak on!" cried ivan, without relaxing his clasp upon the hand of theresa von lynar. indeed, momentarily it became a grip. "the man went safely through at the plassenburg gate. the passwords were correct. the man who challenged spoke with a kernsberg accent!" the prince's grasp relaxed. "it is well," he said. "now go to the captains and tell them to be in their posts about the city according to the plan--the main assault to be delivered by the gate of the sea. at dawn i will be with you! go! above all, do not forget the passwords--first '_henry the lion!_' then '_remember!_'" alexis the deacon saluted and went. the prince rose and came about the table nearer to theresa von lynar. she drew her breath quickly and checked it as sharply with a kind of sob. her left hand went down to her side as naturally as a nun's to her rosary. but it was no rosary her fingers touched. the action steadied her, and she threw back her head and smiled up at her companion debonairly as though she had no care in the world. theresa repeated the passwords slowly and audibly. "'_henry the lion!_' '_remember!_' ah!" (she broke off with a laugh) "i am not likely to forget." ivan laid his hand on her shoulder, glad to see her so resolute. "all in good time," he said, sitting down on a stool at her feet and taking her hand--her right hand. the other he did not see. then he spoke confidentially. "one other revenge i have which i shall keep till the last. it shall be as sweet to me as yours to you. i shall draw it out lingeringly that i may drain all its sweetness. it concerns the upstart springald whom the princess margaret had the bad taste to prefer to me. not that i cared a jot for the princess. my taste is far other" (here he looked up tenderly); "but the princess i must wed, as maid or widow i care not. i take her provinces, not herself; and these must be mine by right of fief and succession as well as by right of conquest. the way is clear. that piece of carrion which men called by a prince's name was carried out a while ago. conrad the priest, who is a man, shall die like a man. and i, ivan, and holy russia shall enter in. by the right of margaret, sole heir of courtland, city and province shall be mine; kernsberg shall be mine; hohenstein shall be mine. then mayhap i will try a fall for plassenburg and the mark with the executioner's son and his little housewife. but sweeter than all shall be my revenge upon the man i hate--upon him who took his betrothed wife from ivan of muscovy." "ah," said theresa von lynar, "it will indeed be sweet! and what shall be your worthy and terrible revenge?" "i have thought of it long--i have turned it over, this and that have i thought--of the smearing with honey and the anthill, of trepanning and the worms on the brain--but i have fixed at last upon something that will make the ears of the world tingle----" he leaned forward and whispered into the ear of theresa von lynar the terrible death he had prepared for her only son. she nodded calmly as she listened, but a wonderful joy lit up the woman's face. "i am glad i came hither," she murmured, "it is worth it all." prince ivan took her hand in both of his and pressed it fondly. "and you shall be gladder yet," he said, "my lady theresa. i have something to say. i had not thought that there lived in the world any woman so like-minded, even as i knew not that there lived any woman so beautiful. together you and i might rule the world. shall it be together?" "but, prince ivan," she interposed quickly, but still smiling, "what is this? i thought you were set on wedding the princess margaret. you were to make her first widow and then wife." "theresa," he said, looking amorously up at her, "i marry for a kingdom. but i wed the woman who is my mate. it is our custom. i must give the left hand, it is true, but with it the heart, my theresa!" he was on his knees before her now, still clasping her fingers. "you consent?" he said, with triumph already in his tone. "i do not say you nay!" she answered, with a sigh. he kissed her hand and rose to his feet. he would have taken her in his arms, but a noise in the pavilion disturbed him. he went quickly to the curtain and peeped through. "it is nothing," he said, "only the men come to fetch the powder for the margraf's cannon. but the night speeds apace. in an hour we assault." with an eager look on his face he came nearer to her. "theresa," he said, "a soldier's wooing must needs be brisk and speedy. yours and mine yet swifter. our revenge beckons us on. do you abide here till i return--with those good friends whose names we have mentioned. but now, ere i go forth, pledge me but once your love. this is our true betrothal. say, 'i love you, ivan!' that i may keep it in my heart till my return!" again he would have taken her in his arms, but theresa turned quickly, finger on lip. she looked anxiously towards the back of the tent where lay the dead prince. "hush! i hear something!" she said. then she smiled upon him--a sudden radiance like sunshine through rain-clouds. "come with me--i am afraid of the dark!" she said, almost like a child. for great is the guile of woman when her all is at stake. theresa von lynar opened the latch of a horn lantern which dangled at a pole and took the taper in her left. she gave her right hand with a certain gesture of surrender to prince ivan. "come!" she said, and led him within the inner pavilion. a dim light sifted through the open flap by which the men had gone out with their load of powder. day was breaking and a broad crimson bar lay across the path of the yet unrisen sun. theresa and prince ivan stood beside the dead. he had been roughly thrown down on the pile of boxes which contained the powder manufactured by the margraf's alchemists according to the famous receipt of bertholdus schwartz. the lid of the largest chest stood open, as if the men were returning for yet another burden. "quick!" she said, "here in the presence of the dead, i will whisper it here, here and not elsewhere." she brought him close to her with the gentle compulsion of her hand till he stood in a little angle where the red light of the dawn shone on his dark handsome face. then she put an arm strong as a wrestler's about him, pinioning him where he stood. yet the gracious smile on the woman's lips held him acquiescent and content. she bent her head. [illustration: "'the password, prince--do not forget the password!'" [_page _]] "listen," she said, "this have i never done for any man before--no, not so much as this! and for you will i do much more. prince ivan, you speak true--death alone must part you and me. you ask me for a love pledge. i will give it. ivan of muscovy, you have plotted death and torture--the death of the innocent. listen! i am the wife of henry of kernsberg, the mother of the young man maurice von lynar whom you would slay by horrid devices. prince, truly you and i shall die together--and the time is _now_!" vehemently for his life struggled prince ivan, twisting like a serpent, and crying, "help! help! treachery! witch, let me go, or i will stab you where you stand." once his hand touched his dagger. but before he could draw it there came a sound of rushing feet. the forms of many men stumbled up out of the gleaming blood-red of the dawn. then theresa von lynar laughed aloud as she held him helpless in her grasp. "the password, prince--do not forget the password! you will need it to-night at both inner and outer guard! i, theresa, have not forgotten. it is '_henry the lion_! _remember!_'" and theresa dropped the naked candle she had been holding aloft into the great chest of dull black grains which stood open by her side. * * * * * and after that it mattered little that at the same moment beyond the alla the trumpets of hugo, prince of plassenburg, blew their first awakening blast. chapter liii the head of the church visible "so," said pope sixtus amicably, "your brother was killed by the great explosion of friar roger's powder in the camp of the enemy! truly, as i have often said, god is not with the greek church. they are schismatics if not plain heretics!" he was a little bored with this young man from the north, and began to remember the various distractions which were waiting for him in his own private wing of the vatican. still, the church needed such young war-gods as this prince conrad. there were signs, too, that in a little she might need them even more. the pope's mind travelled fast. he had a way of murmuring broken sentences to himself which to his intimates showed how far his thoughts had wandered. it was the vatican garden in the month of april. holy week was past, and the mind of the vicar of christ dwelt contentedly upon the great gifts and offerings which had flowed into his treasury. conrad could not have arrived more opportunely. beneath, the eye travelled over the hundred churches of rome and the red roofs of her palaces--to the tiber no longer tawny, but well-nigh as blue as the alla itself; then further still to the grey campagna and the blue alban hills. but the pope's eye was directed to something nearer at hand. in an elevated platform garden they sat in a bower sipping their after-dinner wine. beyond answering questions conrad said little. he was too greatly astonished. he had expected a saint, and he had found himself quietly talking politics and scandal with an italian prince. the holy father's face was placid. his lips moved. now and then a word or two escaped him. yet he seemed to be listening to something else. that which he looked at was an excavation over which thousands of men crawled, thick as ants about a mound when you thrust your stick among their piled pine-needles on isle rugen. already at more than one point massive walls began to rise. architects with parchment rolls in their hands went to and fro talking to overseers and foremen. these were clad in black coats reaching below the waist, which made inky blots on the white earth-glare and contrasted with the striped blouses of the overseers and the naked bodies and red loin-cloths of the workmen. conrad blessed his former sojourns in italy which enabled him to follow the fast-running river of the pontiff's half-unconscious meditation, which was couched not in crabbed monkish latin, but in the free italic to which as a boy the head of the church had been accustomed. "so your brother is dead!--(yes, yes, he told me so before.) and a blessing of god, too. i never liked my brothers. nephews and nieces are better, so be they are handsome. what, you have none? then you are the heir to the kingdom--you must marry--you must marry!" conrad suddenly flushed fiery red. "holy father," he said nervously, his eyes on the alban hills, "it was concerning this that i made pilgrimage to rome--that i might consult your holiness!" the pontiff nodded amicably and looked about him. at the far end of the garden, in a second creeper-enclosed arbour similar to that in which they sat, the pope's personal attendants congregated. these were mostly gay young men in parti-coloured raiment, who jested and laughed without much regard for appearances, or at all fearing the displeasure of the church's head. as conrad looked, one of them stood up and tossed over the wall a delicately folded missive, winged like a dart and tied with a ribbon of fluttering blue. then, the moment afterwards, from beneath came the sound of girlish laughter, whereat all the young men, save one, craned their necks over the wall and shouted jests down to the unseen ladies on the balcony below. all save one--and he, a tall stern-faced dark young man in a plain black soutane, walked up and down in the sun, with his eyes on the ground and his hands knotting themselves behind his back. the fingers were twisting nervously, and he pursed his lips in meditation. he did not waste even one contemptuous glance on the riotous crew in the arbour. "aha--you came to consult me about your marriage," chuckled the holy father. "well, what have you been doing? young blood--young blood! once i was young myself. but young blood must pay. i am your father confessor. now, proceed. (this may be useful--better, better, better!)" and with a wholly different air of interest, the pope poured himself a glass of the rich wine and leaned back, contemplating the young man now with a sort of paternal kindliness. the thought that he had certain peccadillos to confess was a relish to the rich sicilian vintage, and created, as it were, a common interest between them. for the first time pope sixtus felt thoroughly at ease with his guest. "i have, indeed, much to confess, holy father, much i could not pour into any ears but thine." "yes--yes--i am all attention," murmured the pontiff, his ears pricking and twitching with anticipation, and the famous likeness to a goat coming out in his face. "go on! go on, my son. confession is the breathing health of the soul! (if this young man can tell me aught i do not know--by peter, i will make him my private chaplain!)." then conrad summoned up all his courage and put his soul's sickness into the sentence which he had been conning all the way from the city of courtland. "my father," he said, very low, his head bent down, "i, who am a priest, have loved the lady joan, my brother's wife!" "ha," said sixtus, pursing his lips, "that is bad--very bad. (bones of saint anthony! i did not think he had the spirit!) penance must be done--yes, penance and payment! but hath the matter been secret? there has, i hope, been no open scandal; and of course it cannot continue now that your brother is dead. while he was alive all was well; but dead--oh, that is different! you have now no cloak for your sin! these open sores do the church much harm! i have always avoided such myself!" the young man listened with a swiftly lowering brow. "holy father," he said; "i think you mistake me. i spoke not of sin committed. the princess joan is pure as an angel, unstained by evil or the thought of it! she sits above the reach of scandalous tongues!" ("humph--what, then, is the man talking about? some cold northern snowdrift! strange, strange! i thought he had been a lad of spirit!") but aloud sixtus said, with a surprised accent, "then why do you come to me?" "sire, i am a priest, and even the thought of love is sin!" "tut-tut; you are a prince-cardinal. in rome at least that is a very different thing!" he turned half round in his seat and looked with a certain indulgent fondness upon the gay young men who were conducting a battle of flowers with the laughing girls beneath them. two of them had laid hold of another by the legs and were holding him over the trellised flowers that he might kiss a girl whom her companions were elevating from below for a like purpose. as their young lips met the pontiff slapped the purple silk on his thigh and laughed aloud. "ah, rascals, merry rascals!" (here he sighed). "what it is to be young! take an old man's advice, live while you are young. yes, live and leave penance, for old age is sufficient penance in itself. (tut--what am i saying? let his pocket do penance!) he who kissed was my nephew girolamo, ever the flower of the flock, my dear girolamo. i think you said, prince conrad, that you were a cardinal. well, most of these young men are cardinals (or will be, so soon as i can get the gold to set them up. they spend too much money, the rascals)." "these are cardinals? and priests?" queried conrad, vastly astonished. the holy father nodded and took another sip of the perfumed sicilian. "to be a cardinal is nothing," he said calmly. "it is a step--nothing more. the high road of advancement, the spirit of the time. when i have princedoms for them all, why, they must marry and settle--raise dynasties, found princely houses. so it shall be with you, son conrad. your brother was alive, prince of courtland, married to this fair lady (what was her name? yes, yes, joanna). you, a younger son, must be provided for, the church supported. therefore you received that which was the hereditary right of your family--the usual payments to holy church being made. you were archbishop, cardinal, prince of the church. in time you would have been elector of the empire and my assessor at the imperial diet. that was your course. what harm, then, that you should make love to your brother's wife? natural--perfectly natural. fortunate, indeed, that you had a brother so complaisant----" "sir," said conrad, half rising from his seat, "i have already had the honour of informing you----" "yes, yes, i forgot--pardon an old man. (ah, the rascal, would he? served him right! ha, ha, well smitten--a good girl!)" another had tried the trick of being held over the balcony, but this time the maiden below was coy, and, instead of a kiss, the youth had received only a sound smack on the cheek fairly struck with the palm of a willing hand. "yes, i remember. it was but a sin of the soul. (stupid fellow! stupid fellow! girolamo is a true delia rovere. he would not have been served so.) yes, a sin of the soul. and now you wish to marry? well, i will receive back your hat. i will annul your orders--the usual payments being made to holy church. i have so many expenses--my building, the decorations of my chapel, these young rascals--ah, little do you know the difficulties of a pope. but whom do you wish to marry? what, your brother's widow? ah, that is bad--why could you not be content----? pardon, your pardon, my mind is again wandering." "tsut--tsut--this is a sad business, a matter infinitely more difficult, forbidden by the church. what? they parted at the church door? a wench of spirit, i declare. i doubt not like that one who smote pietro just now. i wonder not at you, save at your moderation--that is, if you speak the truth." "i do speak the truth!" said conrad, with northern directness, beginning to flush again. "gently--gently," said sixtus; "there are many minutes in a year, many people go to make a world. i have never seen a man like you before. be patient, then, with me. i am giving you a great deal of my time. it will be difficult, this marriage--difficult, but not impossible. peter's coffers are very empty, my son." the pontiff paused to give conrad time to speak. "i will pay into the treasury of the holy father on the day of my marriage a hundred thousand ducats," said conrad, blushing deeply. it seemed like bribing god. the vicegerent of christ stretched out a smooth white hand, and his smile was almost as gracious as when he turned it upon his nephew girolamo. "spoken like a true prince," he cried, "a son of the church indeed. her works--the propagation of the faith, the holy office--these shall benefit by your generosity." he turned about again and beckoned to the tall young man in the black soutane. "guliano, come hither!" he cried, and as he came he explained in his low tones, "my nephew, between ourselves, a dull dog, but will be great. he choked a ruffian who attacked him on the street; so, one day, he will choke this italy between his hands. he will sit in this chair. ah, there is one thing that i am thankful for, and it is that i shall be dead when our julian is pope. i know not where i shall be--but anything were preferable to being in rome under julian--purgatory or----yes, my dear nephew, prince conrad of courtland! you are to go and prepare documents concerning this noble prince. i will instruct you as to their nature presently. await me in the hither library." the young man had been looking steadily at conrad while his uncle was speaking. it was a firm and manly look, but there was cruelty lurking in the curve of the upper lip. guliano della rovere looked more _condottiere_ than priest. nevertheless, without a word he bowed and retired. when he was gone the pope sat a moment absorbed in thought. "i will send him to courtland with you. (yes, yes, he is staunch and to be trusted with money.) he will marry you and bring back the--the--benefaction. your hand, my son. i am an old man and need help. may you be happy! live well and honour holy church. be not too nice. the commons like not a precisian. and, besides, you cannot live your youth over. girolamo! girolamo! where is that rascal? ah, there you are. i saw you kiss yonder pretty minx! shame, sir, shame! you shall do penance--i myself will prescribe it. what kept you so long when i called you? some fresh rascality, i will wager!" "no, my father," said girolamo readily. "i went to the dungeons of the holy office to see if they had finished off that ranting philosopher who stirred up the people yesterday!" "well, and have they?" asked the pontiff. "yes, the fellow has confessed that six thousand pieces are hidden under the hearthstone of his country house. so all is well ended. he is to be burned to-morrow." "good--good. so perish all jews, heretics, and enemies of holy church!" said pope sixtus piously. "and now i bid you adieu, son conrad! you set out to-morrow. the papers shall be ready. a hundred thousand ducats, i think you said--_and_ the fees for secularisation. these will amount to fifty thousand more. is it not so, my son?" conrad bowed assent. he thought it was well that courtland was rich and his brother louis a careful man. "good--good, my son. you are a true standard-bearer of the church. i will throw in a perpetual indulgence--with blanks which you may fill up. no, do not refuse! you think that you will never want it, because you do not want it now. but you may--you may!" he stretched out his hand. the blessed ring of saint peter shone upon it. conrad fell on his knees. "_pater domini nostri jesu christi benedicat te in omni benedictione spirituali. amen!_" epilogue of explication it was the morning of a white day. the princely banner flew from every tower in castle kernsberg, for that day it was to lose a duchess and gain a duke. it was joan's second wedding-day--the day of her first marriage. never had the little hill town seen so brave a gathering since the northern princes laid henry the lion in his grave. in the great vault where he slept there was a new tomb, a plain marble slab with the inscription-- "theresa, wife of henry, duke of kernsberg and hohenstein." and underneath, and in latin, the words-- "after the tempest, peace!" for strangely enough, by the wonder of providence or some freak of the exploding powder, they had found theresa fallen where she had stood, blackened indeed but scarce marred in face or figure. so from that burnt-out hell they had brought her here that at the last she might rest near the man whom her soul loved. and as they moved away and left her, little johannes rode, the scholar, murmured the words, "_post tempestatem, tranquillitas!_" prince conrad heard him, and he it was who had them engraven on her tomb. but on this morning of gladness only joan thought of the dead woman. "to-day i will do the thing she wished," the duchess thought, as she looked from the window towards her father's tomb. "she would take nothing for herself, yet shall her son sit in my place and rule where his father ruled. i am glad!" here she blushed. "yet, why should i vaunt? it is no sacrifice, for i shall be--what i would rather a thousand times be. small thanks, then, that i give up freely what is worth nothing to me now!" and with the arm that had wielded a sword so often and so valiantly, joan the bride went on arraying her hair and making her beautiful for the eyes of her lord. "my lord!" she said, and again with a different accent. "_my_ lord!" and when these her living eyes met those others in the venice mirror, lo! either pair was smiling a new smile. * * * * * meantime, beneath in her chamber, the princess margaret was making her husband's life a burden to him, or rather, first quarrelling with him and the next moment throwing her arms about his neck in a passion of remorse. for that is the wont of dainty princess margarets who are sick and know not yet what aileth them. "maurice," she was saying, "is it not enough to make me throw me over the battlements that they should all forsake me, on this day of all others, when you are to be made a duke in the presence of the pope's legate and the emperor's _alter_--what is it?--_alter ego?_ what a silly word! and you might have told it to me prettily and without laughing at me. yes, you did, and you also are in league against me. and i will not go to the wedding; no, not if joan were to beg of me on my knees! i will not have any of these minxes in to do my hair. nay, do not you touch it. i am nobody, it seems, and joan everything. joan--joan! it is joan this and joan that! tush, i am sick of your joans. "she gives up the duchy to us--well, that is no great gift. she is getting courtland for it, and my brother. even he will not love me any more. conrad is like the rest. he eats, drinks, sleeps, wakes, talks joan. he is silent, and thinks joan. so, i believe, do you. you are only sorry that she did not love you best! "well, if you _are_ her brother, i do not care. who was speaking about marrying her? and, at any rate, you did not know she was your sister. you might very well have loved her. and i believe you did. you do not love me, at all events. _that_ i do know! "no, i will not 'hush,' nor will i come upon your knee and be petted. i am not a baby! '_what is the matter betwixt me and the maidens?_' if you had let me explain i would have told you long ago. but i never get speaking a word. i am not crying, and i shall cry if i choose. oh yes, i will tell you, duke maurice, if you care to hear, why i am angry with the maids. well, then, first it was that anna pappenheim. she tugged my hair out by the roots in handfuls, and when i scolded her i saw there were tears in her eyes. i asked her why, and for long she would not tell me. then all at once she acknowledged that she had promised to marry that great overgrown chimney-pot, captain boris, and must hie her to plassenburg, if i pleased. i did not please, and when i said that surely marthe was not so foolish thus to throw herself away, the wretched marthe came bawling and wringing hands, and owned that she was in like case with jorian. "so i sent them out very quickly, being justly angry that they should thus desert me. and i called for thora of bornholm, and began easing my mind concerning their ingratitude, when the swede said calmly, 'i fear me, madam, i am not able to find any fault with anna and martha. for i am even as they, or worse. i have been married for over six months.' "'and to whom?' i cried; 'tell me, and he shall hang as surely as i am a princess of courtland.' for i was somewhat disturbed. "'to-day your highness is duchess of kernsberg,' said the minx, as calmly as if at sacrament. 'my husband's name is johannes rode!' "and when i have told you, instead of being sorry for me, you do nothing but laugh. i will indeed fling me over the window!" and the fiery little princess ran to the window and pretended to cast herself headlong. but her husband did not move. he stood leaning against the mantelshelf and smiling at her quietly and lovingly. hearing no rush of anxious feet, and finding no restraining arm cast about her, margaret turned, and with fresh fire in her gesture stamped her foot at maurice. "that just proves it! little do you care whether or no i kill myself. you wish i would, so that you might marry somebody else. you dare not deny it!" maurice knew better than to deny it, nor did he move till the princess cast herself down on the coverlet and sobbed her heart out, with her face on the pillow and her hair spraying in linked tendrils about her white neck and shoulders. then he went gently to her and laid his hand on her head, regardless of the petulant shrug of her shoulders as he touched her. he gathered her up and sat down with her in his arms. "little one," he said, "i want you to be good. this is a great and a glad day. to-day my sister finds the happiness that you and i have found. to-day i am to sit in my father's seat and to have henceforth my own name among men. you must help me. will you, little one? for this once let me be your tire-woman. i have often done my own tiring when, in old days, i dared death in women's garments for your sweet sake. dearest, do not hurt my heart any more, but help me." his wife smiled suddenly through her tears, and cast her arms about his neck. "oh, i am bad--bad--bad," she cried vehemently. "it were no wonder if you did not love me. but do keep loving me. i should die else. i will be better--i will--i will! i do not know why i should be so bad. sometimes i think i cannot help it." but maurice kissed her and smiled as if he knew. "we will live like plain and honest country folk, you and i," he said. "let anna and martha follow their war-captains. thora at least will remain with us, and we will make johannes rode our almoner and court poet. now smile at me, little one! ah, that is better." in margaret's april eyes the sun shone out again, and she clung lovingly to her husband a long moment before she would let him go. then she thrust him a little away from her, that she might see his face, as she asked the question of all loving and tempestuous princess margarets, "are you sure you love me just the same, even when i am naughty?" maurice was sure. and taking his face between her hands in a fierce little clutch, she asked a further assurance. "are you quite, quite sure?" she said. and maurice was quite, quite sure. * * * * * not in a vast and solemn cathedral was joan married, but in the old church of kernsberg, which had so often raised the protest of the church against the exactions of her ancestors. the bridal escort was of her own tried soldiery, now to be hers no more, and all of them a little sad for that. hugo and helene of plassenburg had come--hugo because he was the representative of the emperor, and helene because she was a sweet and loving woman who delighted to rejoice in another's joy. with these also arrived, and with these was to depart, the dark-faced stern young cardinal of san pietro in vincoli. he must have good escort, he said, for he carried many precious relics and tokens of the affection of the faithful for the church's head. the simple priesthood of kernsberg shrank from his fiery glances, and were glad when he was gone. but, save at the hour of bridal itself, he spent all his time with the treasurer of the princedom of courtland. when at last they came down the aisle together, and the sweet-voiced choristers sang, and the white-robed maidens scattered flowers for their feet to walk upon, the bride found opportunity to whisper to her husband, "i fear me i shall never be joan of the sword hand any more!" he smiled back at her as they came out upon the tears and laughter and acclaim of the many-coloured throng that filled the little square. "be never afraid, beloved," he said, and his eyes were very glad and proud, "only be joan to me, and i will be your sword hand!" the end the gresham press, unwin brothers, woking and london. novels by guy boothby. _special & original designs._ each volume attractively illustrated by stanley l. wood and others. _crown vo, cloth gilt, trimmed edges, s._ mr. rudyard kipling says: "mr. guy boothby has come to great honours now. his name is large upon hoardings, his books sell like hot cakes, and he keeps a level head through it all. i've met him several times in england, and he added to my already large respect for him." a maker of nations. the red rat's daughter. love made manifest. pharos, the egyptian. across the world for a wife. the lust of hate. bushigrams. the fascination of the king. dr. nikola. the beautiful white devil. a bid for fortune; or, dr. nikola's vendetta. in strange company: a story of chili and the southern seas. the marriage of esther: a torres straits sketch. new complete library edition .. of .. g.j. whyte-melville's novels. complete in about volumes. _large crown vo, cloth gilt, s. d. each._ each volume is well printed from type specially cast, on best antique paper, illustrated by front-rank artists, and handsomely bound. =katerfelto.= illustrated by lucy e. kemp-welch =cerise.= illustrated by g.p. jacomb-hood =sarchedon.= illustrated by s.e. waller =songs and verses= and =the true cross=. illustrated by s.e. waller =market harborough=, and =inside the bar=. illustrated by john charlton =black but comely.= illustrated by s.e. waller =roy's wife.= illustrated by g.p. jacomb-hood =rosine=, and =sister louise=. illustrated by g.p. jacomb-hood =kate coventry.= illustrated by lucy e. kemp-welch =the gladiators.= illustrated by j. ambrose walton =riding recollections.= illustrated by john charlton =the brookes of bridlemere.= illustrated by s.e. waller =satanella.= illustrated by lucy e. kemp-welch =holmby house.= illustrated by lucy e. kemp-welch =the white rose.= illustrated by s.e. waller =tilbury nogo.= illustrated by stanley l. wood =uncle john.= illustrated by s.e. waller novels by joseph hocking. _crown vo, cloth gilt, s. d. each._ (each volume uniform.) though mr. joseph hocking's novels have been (by the _spectator_) compared to mr. ng-gould's and (by the _star_) to mr. thomas hardy's--next to whom it placed him as a writer of country life--and by other journals to mr. hall caine's and mr. robert buchanan's, they are, one and all, stamped with striking and original individuality. bold in conception, pure in tone, strenuously high and earnest in purpose, daring in thought, picturesque and life-like in description, worked out with singular power and in nervous and vigorous language, it is not to be wondered at that mr. hocking's novels are eagerly awaited by a large and ever increasing public. =the purple robe.= illustrated by j. barnard davis. =weapons of mystery.= with frontispiece and vignette. =fields of fair renown.= with frontispiece and vignette by j. barnard davis. =all men are liars.= with frontispiece and vignette by gordon browne. =ishmael pengelly: an outcast.= with frontispiece and vignette by w. s. stacey. =the story of andrew fairfax.= with frontispiece and vignette by geo. hutchinson. =jabez easterbrook.= with frontispiece and vignette by stanley l. wood. =zillah.= with frontispiece by powell chase. =the monk of mar-saba.= with frontispiece and vignette by w. s. stacey. =recent novels.= =lady barbarity.= by j. c. snaith, author of "mistress dorothy marvin," "fierceheart, the soldier," &c. illustrated by w. d. almond. crown vo, cloth gilt, s. "'lady barbarity' would cheer a pessimist in a november fog; it is so gay, so good humoured, so full of the influence of youth and beauty, that he must be a dull dog who finds no enjoyment in the reading of it."--_black and white._ =willow the king.= by the same author. illustrated by lucien davis, r.i. crown vo, cloth gilt, s. "the best cricket novel i have ever read. the heroine is drawn with amazing vigour and vividness. her wit, her volleying repartee, her humour, are almost incredibly brilliant."--_the star._ =the sanctuary club.= by mrs. l. t. meade, author of "the medicine lady," &c., &c. illustrated by sidney paget. crown vo, cloth gilt, s. in the "sanctuary club" the author has excelled her own brilliant record, and has written a novel as full of incident and breathless adventure as has been published for many a day. =the gold star line.= by the same author. illustrated by adolf thiede. crown vo, cloth gilt, s. "tales of mystery never fail to attract.... there is plenty of variety and excitement to be got out of this volume."--_bristol times._ =a daughter of the marionis.= by e. p. oppenheim, author of "false evidence," "the world's great snare," &c. illustrated by adolf thiede. crown vo, cloth gilt, s. d. "mr. oppenheim has boundless imagination. there is good thrilling mystery in his books, and not a few excellent characters."--_british weekly._ =the man and his kingdom=. by e. p. oppenheim, author of "a daughter of the marionis." illustrated by j. ambrose walton. crown vo, cloth gilt, s. d. "humdrum is the very last word you could apply to (a tale by) e. p. oppenheim."--_illustrated london news._ =a man of his age.= by hamilton drummond, author of "for the religion." illustrated by j. ambrose walton. crown vo, cloth gilt, s. d. this is a tale of the hugenôts, and is told with such dramatic power and such intense personal interest that the reader identifies himself or herself with the hero or heroine throughout. =a fair brigand.= by george horton, author of "constantine," "in unknown seas," &c., &c. illustrated by edmund j. sullivan. crown vo, cloth gilt, s. d. the scene of this tale is laid in modern greece, and is a funny, frolicsome story that will amuse every one, and likely take a lasting place in the reader's mind. =agatha webb.= by a. k. green, author of "the leavenworth case," "x. y. z.," &c. illustrated by adolf thiede. crown vo, cloth gilt, s. d. readers of "the leavenworth case" need not be told that a. k. green can write a detective story with consummate ability, and the present story is in many ways her masterpiece. =the eye of fate.= by alice maud meadows, author of "out from the night." illustrated by t. w. henry. crown vo, cloth gilt, s. d. "a weird and exciting story, very well written, the characters faithfully described, the interest vividly sustained from beginning to end."--_the queen._ =paul: a herald of the cross.= by florence m. kingsley, author of "titus," "stephen," &c. illustrated by henry austin. crown vo, cloth gilt, s. d. "a book not to be missed. in a word ... a triumph. it is rare to meet a book so contenting in all its features."--_literary world._ you cannot beat the best. the windsor magazine .. always contains the .. best work by the .. best authors .. and best artists. it has eclipsed every other sixpenny magazine, and has achieved the most brilliant success of the day. * * * * * =holds the record= for giving the best serial story of the year. =holds the record= for giving splendid exclusive articles by recognised specialists. =holds the record= for being the most varied, the most entertaining, and the most instructive of magazines. * * * * * the "times" calls it "wonderful." london: ward, lock & co., ltd. * * * * * transcriber's notes: obvious errors in spelling and punctuation have been corrected. variant spellings have been left in place.